Under The Blade

by Serafini, Matt

  The driver side window was gone. The car had folded down onto itself, taking away his chance to escape through it.

  “Can you get out on your side, Mel?”

  She was looking around the cab like it was her first time on planet earth.

  “Melanie, please. We’ve got to go.” He wasn’t going to pretend this was an accident. Whoever was driving that car had steered right for them. They got exactly what they wanted. And they’d be coming to finish the job.

  Without any time to waste, he grabbed Melanie and pulled her across the cab so that their eyes locked. “Listen to me. There are people coming to kill us. We can not stay here.”

  “I-I know,” she said. Her speech was slurred, but her eyes looked less cloudy than they had a moment ago. “I blacked out there for a minute, but…”

  “Just squeeze through that window. Go!”

  Brady followed Melanie’s bruised and bloodied legs as she pushed past the twisted metal. Once she was free of the wreckage, she grabbed her stomach and rolled onto her back, groaning.

  Slipping free wasn’t so easy for him. He was larger than her and the window frame was bent. Jagged glass chewed his forearms as he forced himself through.

  He got to his feet and grabbed for his Glock. It was still in his holster, thank God. They weren’t completely helpless.

  Melanie grimaced as he helped her up.

  “Let me see,” he said and rolled her shirt up over her midriff to examine her stomach. “Nothing’s pierced so it’s all internal. A few broken or cracked ribs, most likely. Can you move?”

  “I-argh, I-think so.”

  “Alright, on me,” he said and started for the road.

  They found the other cruiser a few feet away. Its hood was a U, split down the middle by a gigantic Hemlock stump. The driver had gone through the windshield and lost his head in the process. Glugs of crimson poured from the torn gullet, like milk from a jug.

  Brady was relieved to see that he was dead and without uniform. It was short-lived respite, though, as he wondered how a civilian had gotten hold of a state police cruiser.

  “I need to see if the radio in that car is still working,” he said.

  The road was dark as they hustled up the embankment, neither of them able to stifle their discomfort. Once they hit the tarmac, they shuffled in silence, moving toward the incapacitated vehicle.

  Brady went through the opened passenger window, taking the radio in hand. It was dead, completely smashed and bent outward from impact.

  Behind him, Melanie screamed.

  Six people walked single file down the center of the road. They came at a casual pace, shoes scraping the pavement.

  Had to be the crazies responsible for this mess. Brady pointed his gun, hoping it’d be enough to discourage their advance.

  When they showed no hesitation, it was time to run.

  “Turn around,” he whispered. “I know it hurts, but you’ve got to run to town.”

  “Nate, no…”

  Brady steadied the firearm. “I’m not going to say this again: stop right there or I’ll open fire.”

  “Repent and submit,” their voices boomed in unison.

  “Jed’s store isn’t more than a half mile back, Mel. You’ve got to book it there. Get inside and call for backup.”

  “Come with me, Nate. Don’t be crazy.”

  “If we both go, they’ll follow us.”

  There was movement on their right—more shadows lurching out from behind the trees. They dragged axes and pitchforks scuffing the ground behind them.

  Melanie turned to run, and offered one last reluctant glance before going.

  Brady motioned for her to go and turned to face the attackers. Melanie’s footfalls faded from earshot as he leveled the Glock toward the nearest target.

  They fanned out like a seashell and converged from all angles. He counted fifteen of them. Which meant every round in the magazine needed to be a kill shot.

  “Repent and submit,” they repeated. “We take the Lost to satisfy the whispers.” It sounded like a prayer.

  Brady pleaded with them to stop but they would not.

  He brought his gun up to fire in self-defense—

  And was grabbed from behind.

  ***

  Melanie felt like dying but didn’t dare stop. Her body tingled from head-to-toe and her breaths were pathetic wheezes. This kind of run was normally a warm down for her, but it felt like a 20k tonight.

  Her phone was depleted and she cursed herself for not charging it on the drive from New Hampshire.

  Last Mile Gas was up ahead. All she could do was push forward and hope to get help—and a drink of water.

  The slower she moved, the better she felt, and the less she agonized. The less she agonized, the quieter she moved. No sense in alerting anyone to her presence. In a really selfish thought, she hoped that Brady had been able to keep them busy. The psychos had shown themselves at last, and Forest Grove was crawling with police.

  This madness couldn’t go on much longer.

  The gas station looked like a darkened square block beneath the pewter sky. Melanie found a rock in the overgrowth on Jed’s property and grabbed it. With an ache, she wound back and sent it spinning through the air. It crashed through the front glass of Jed’s dying store.

  Of course, there was no alarm.

  She slipped over the broken windowpane and headed for the counter to where the old man hopefully kept a phone. It was there, behind an old coffee thermos and a stack of magazines. She brushed them aside and took the rotary handset in her fist.

  There was dial tone as she fumbled her finger into the 9 slot, followed by the 1. She was on her way to the second one when the line snapped into silence.

  Her heart was turning in overdrive with the realization that someone was here with her. Nothing behind the counter could be used for defense, so she went rummaging through the store. The barren shelves seemed to mock her with useless offerings.

  In the corner of her eye, something rose up off the ground. Beyond the busted window, it was shifting in the darkness, rising. Standing. A steel faceplate glinted in the drab evening sky and Cyrus Hoyt stepped casually inside.

  Melanie’s throbbing stomach tightened. With her movement impaired, there was almost nothing to do. She thought fast and threw her shoulder into the nearby shelving. It toppled over, catching the next shelf and then the next.

  It was too slow for the killer to be taken by surprise. He sidestepped the dominos and circled around the front main aisle. An axe dangled from his hand, and he waved it back and forth like a pendulum as he walked.

  This was no way to fight him. She took an involuntary step back and eyed what little clutter was within reach—all of it worthless.

  There were old farm implements housed in the shed behind the house, but reaching them was like asking her broken body to run another sixty miles.

  Melanie made a break for it anyway and Hoyt followed. She leapt through the opened storefront and the throbbing pain subsided. It was still there, but adrenaline had blunted it.

  Her long legs sprinted for the tall grass, spending every last drop of energy to get there. Hoyt swiped the axe through the air at her back. As soon as she reached the waist-deep brush, she knew she was going to have to slow him down, or there wouldn’t be enough time to grab a weapon.

  She dropped to the ground on open palms, and kicked outward. Her foot connected with the killer, knocking him off balance. He tumbled into the brush and out of sight.

  Melanie’s breathing was even more labored now, but she plowed on. The rusted machete was where she last saw it, and no sooner was it in her hand than Hoyt came charging across the clearing like a runaway train. She swung the flaky, orange blade outward and braced her wheezing body for collision.

  The killer skidded to a stop with his arms outstretched. The axe must’ve fallen during his tumble, and he hadn’t bothered to look for it for fear of losing her.

  The stalemate didn’t last for
more than a second. He ducked into the woods to her left and disappeared, stomping off through the night.

  Melanie watched him go in disbelief, taking the opportunity to catch her breath. Clinging to the machete for dear life, she started back the way she came, a half-hearted jog was as much as her body would allow.

  Hoyt wasn’t quitting—she knew that. He was toying with her. After all this time, this was nothing but a big game, and he was savoring the cat and mouse stuff now that it was just the two of them. He retreated for the same reason he had arranged all his victims for her to find twenty-five years ago. He wasn’t done tormenting her.

  She considered breaking into Jed’s house to find a phone, but guessed that’s what Hoyt was betting on. Instead, she went back through the tall grass, glancing over her shoulder for no reason other than paranoia.

  What she saw made her feel completely hopeless.

  Hoyt stood on the steps of the old man’s house, a pitchfork by his side like a mockery of American Gothic.

  Melanie went running for the road, pushing her body beyond the gentle jog and hoping to give this bastard the slip.

  And somewhere behind her, he was running again, too.

  ***

  “Take it slow, chief.” Sleighton pushed the shotgun muzzle into his back. “I don’t want to do this, Nate, but there’s no other option.”

  In front of them, the Obviate halted their advance. Brady couldn’t see their eyes in the dark, but he felt them all. Every gaze was trained on him, and their bodies swayed silently in the breeze.

  “You’ll take him.” Sleighton called out. He repeated the words again, only louder. “I know you have not been pleased with the job he’s done. He is supposed to protect our way of life. Your way of life. But he doesn’t, does he? He lets drunk drivers off the hook, fixes to commit adultery…a disgrace to your practice. He is Lost! Take him for your sacrifice!”

  “Ron.” Brady didn’t know where this negotiation should go. He was attempting to reach the rationale of those who had none. He felt his words bounce off closed ears. “You’re willing to kill your daughter’s husband? You’d do that to her?”

  “I’m buying her life,” he said. “Think I trust you to do it?”

  “We have guns. They don’t.” Brady glanced at the Obviate fanned out before them. They could win this. Last thing he wanted to do was play Tombstone, but there was no other choice.

  “This ain’t all of them,” Sleighton said. “Not by a damn sight. Believe me, son, I wish there was another way.”

  “Just tell me where she is, Ron. I need to know that she’s safe.”

  “She’s not your responsibility anymore, Nate. I’ll find her and keep her safe once this is over.”

  “You’ll find her. You don’t know where she is and you’re doing this? Goddammit…” The gun slammed into the base of his spine and bolts of pain shot up his back. Negotiations were over.

  “This one will repent and submit,” Sleighton screamed. “Take him while a few of you go back for the Holden girl. They should die together. Do that and let me have my daughter back. She does not want your way of life. She will leave. Quietly and forever. There are police all over town. Let this end now!”

  They stepped forward in perfect unison. “Repent and submit” traded past their lips, pin-balling from one shadow to another. It was maddening to hear.

  “The fruits of your wife’s labor, Ron?”

  The insult didn’t register with the old chief. He was beyond reason now. “Yes, go on. Take him. Allow him to repent!”

  “Repent and submit,” the cultists cried. The nearest one advanced, and the veil of shadows lifted off him: the nondescript face that served him a slice every time he patronized Walt’s Pizzeria. He couldn’t believe his townspeople were sentencing him to death.

  “Walk,” was all he said.

  Brady felt the shotgun muzzle goad him again. “Let’s go, son.” Sleighton pointed him toward the forest. “Don’t make this any more difficult than it has to be.”

  Brady made for the trees with slow steps. His mind raced through the ways out of this, but he couldn’t envision a scenario that didn’t end with buckshot to the back.

  When they reached the forest’s shroud, the Obviate fell in line behind them, humming some kind of psalm beneath their breaths.

  ***

  Melanie’s lead on Hoyt was considerable, but he was out there.

  Hoyt had gone around the far side of Last Mile Gas, essentially blocking the road to town. She considered going back to Nate, but couldn’t risk running into the army of cultists.

  So she ran straight into the woods across the street, dodging tree limbs and branches as she moved. At last, there was some kind of fire road, one of the many trails that surrounded the camp. It wound in just about every direction, but she knew the ultimate destination.

  Hoyt’s aggressive pursuit continued, crunching long-wilted leaves in the distance as he searched her out.

  There was no way of knowing how much time had passed, but eventually the only noise out here was hers. Every so often, the exploding pain in her gut flared and a grimace would escape her throat. There was no way to ignore it. She hurt all over.

  She froze and listened to the silence. If she survived this, it was going to be the last time she ever saw a forest. The idea of being around an overwhelming capacity of people wasn’t exactly thrilling, but city living was preferable to this. The finest cafes, dollops of culture, and endless bustle—it sounded so good right about now.

  Hoyt could be anywhere. These were his woods and had been for a very long time. It might’ve been a pointless gesture but she decided to slink off the trail, moving in between a thick pair of trees. She made more noise this way, but her location wasn’t as obvious. If she could lose him out here, there was a chance to escape.

  Her body was long past the brink of exhaustion, and dared her to quit. Its pleas were persuasive, calling attention to a pine bed beneath her, and urging forty winks. But that would mean the end of everything.

  I won’t make it easy for him.

  Her spontaneous march went on and on, eventually giving way to a familiar clearing. She laughed when she saw it and was prepared to run back when she noticed the car parked at the waterfront.

  Melanie stared at it like it was a mirage. After all of this, her luck couldn’t be this good. And she was right. All four doors were locked and the driver was nowhere to be found. The keys weren’t in the ignition, otherwise, she would’ve smashed the window with her machete and escaped.

  “Come on,” she cried, but thought better of taking her frustration out on the sedan.

  Fate was never going to allow an easy escape. She knew it deep down. All roads led to Camp Forest Grove, and, as she turned to face the grounds, she remembered how foreboding the cabins looked when baked in moonlight.

  The blade was heavy in her hand—just holding it was tiring, but it would be put to use. The only way out of here wasn’t around Cyrus Hoyt. It had to be straight through him.

  Let’s do this you son of a bitch. Even her thoughts were exhausted as she shuffled toward the old counselor’s cabin. She might have laughed at this cruel twist of fate if she wasn’t so scared. Twenty-five years later and she was right back where she started.

  If she had to die tonight, it wasn’t going to be without putting up one hell of a fight.

  ***

  If I get out of this, I’m burning this fucking place down.

  Brady led the human caravan through the trees. He knew the area well after traversing it over and over for the last few days. He could lead them right to the camp.

  And that’s where they were going.

  He also wondered if he could use the cover of night to slip the Glock from his holster without Ron or the Obviate noticing. He tested the theory by dropping his gun hand within a few inches of the holster.

  “Raise ‘em up, Nate. Don’t insult me.” The response was quick, confident, and it said everything he needed to know about this
situation: there was no getting out of it.

  They filtered out of the forest single file, walking dead center down the familiar dirt road. From the back of the line, the singing was louder now but no more intelligible to his ears.

  Certain death was less than a mile away.

  Brady saw the beachfront first; the water was a deceiving placard of serenity underneath the clear sky. A car was parked near it, but it probably belonged to one of these maniacs. The skeleton of Camp Forest Grove was a reminder of the horrors that happened here. A rotted heart pumping tainted blood to the town’s organs.

  They reached the cabin where Mel had been snooping a few days earlier, and Sleighton pushed the gun against his lower back once again. “Take a step inside, son. And don’t do anything stupid.”

  Brady pulled the door open and stepped in, searching for a way to slip free. He was almost out of options, and dying on his own terms was preferable to winding up a ludicrous blood sacrifice.

  All he wanted to do was find Trish and get out of here—forever. His anger at Ron Sleighton expanded by the second. Not because he had a gun trained on him, but because he’d allowed his own daughter to come back to this insane asylum.

  For that, he wanted to kill the bastard.

  Please let me see Trish again.

  He couldn’t wrap his head around the possibility that he would not. The last time he felt anything remotely like this was when he stepped into that hearing room to explain to a counsel why an innocent teenage girl was dead by his gun. He knew he was going down for that—and more importantly, he knew he deserved it—but that had only been a threat to his livelihood.

  This was a threat to his existence.

  Sleighton followed him into the cabin, as did one of the cultists. The others remained outside, singing.

  “We will do it in here,” the Obviate said. “When our brothers and sisters return with the woman, we will flay them both. They cannot go into the next life when their flesh is so weak.”

  “And then you’ll let me go to my daughter? I promise to pack her bags myself.”

  The Obviate said nothing.