Faint of Heart

by Strand, Jeff

  "Sounds good to me," said Alan. "I thought we missed a great opportunity when we just bashed Doug's face on the rocks."

  He grabbed the back of Todd's head, and then thrust his face into the fire.

  Rebecca slammed her hand over her mouth. She was going to go insane. Right now. Her mind was going to collapse upon itself until there was nothing left.

  "Ow! Fuck!" Alan pulled his hand away from the fire, but quickly recovered and shoved Todd's head back into the flames. Todd's hair had completely caught fire, and Rebecca could see the skin blistering and blackening.

  "End it," said Stephen.

  Alan slammed the hunting knife into the back of Todd's neck. He gave it a good twist, and then Todd's body went limp.

  "Poor Todd," said Stephen. "And poor Doug."

  Alan dragged Todd out of the fire. He stood up, and then kicked his head a few times to put out the flames.

  "I'll kill you," said Nicholas.

  "Didn't we just hear that?" Stephen asked. "No, Nicholas, you most certainly will not kill us. Now would you like to know what happened to your son?"

  Nicholas nodded.

  "I scalped him," said Alan. "Scalped him good. Wanna see it?"

  "Enough," said Stephen. "Your son is fine. We never touched him. All of those scary, convincing details I gave? Those came from stalking him as a potential victim, but we were presented with a much better opportunity and took it."

  "Don't you feel like a dumb-ass?" asked Alan. "You got your best buddy killed and your son was never in danger. That’s gotta suck."

  Nicholas' expression was blank, unreadable.

  "Anyway, Nicholas," said Stephen, "let me quickly bring you up to speed. Rebecca's husband Gary went out camping with his two friends Doug and Scott, and we're currently reenacting that fateful night. As you've seen, Doug died a horrible death--not in the exact same way, but close enough. Guess what happened next?"

  Nicholas said nothing.

  "Go on, guess. You too, Rebecca. Tell me what you think happened next."

  Rebecca was surprised that she was even able to speak. "You murdered Scott?"

  "Wow. That's morbid. What do you think, Nicholas?"

  Nicholas just shook his head and was silent.

  "It's fine if you don't want to play. This is really Rebecca's game. Anyway, no, we did not murder Scott yet. What happened is that Alan was splashing around in Doug's corpse, and I have to admit that I was a little distracted, and then suddenly Gary and Scott made a run for it. We found ourselves chasing them through the woods toward their car. Gary made it. Let's see if you can."

  He lowered his shotgun.

  "The car is that way," he said, pointing. "Go. You get a ten second head start."

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Rebecca ran toward the darkness of the woods.

  A second later, she heard Nicholas follow her.

  Though it had been a long time since she'd allowed herself to believe that this all might be some sort of twisted prank, it was still a shock to see--beyond any possible doubt--that the danger was real. They'd murdered Todd right in front of her.

  She ran as fast as she could. She was running almost blind, and it would only take a minor piece of bad luck to strike a branch, hit the ground, and shatter her kneecap, but she had to move. Had to beat Stephen and Alan to the car. Had to make it to the next round of this psychotic game.

  She could hear Alan behind her, counting out loud. He was at five. "...four...three...two..."

  Technically, she didn't have to run toward the car. She could run in a completely different direction and try to save herself, escape from these maniacs, call the cops like she probably should have done in the first place.

  But that wasn't going to happen. Not a chance. She wasn't going to abandon her husband. If it meant that they died together, so be it, but there was no way in hell that Rebecca was going to leave Gary to the kind of fate that befell his friend.

  "...one..."

  She picked up her pace even more. It was only a mile. She could make it.

  "Ready or not, here we come!"

  A flashlight beam darted across the trees.

  Shit! They had lights. She shouldn't have expected them to dash around in the dark, but still...it would've been nice...

  Nicholas was right behind her, gasping for breath as he ran.

  He needed to take a different path. Every indication was that Scott had died an excruciatingly painful death, possibly worse than Doug, and if Nicholas followed her to the car he'd suffer in the same way. If he veered away into the woods at least he'd have a chance.

  "Don't follow--" Rebecca said, just as the dirt gave way beneath her left foot. It was just a bit, barely an inch, but enough for her to pitch forward onto the ground. She landed hard, and pain shot through her ankle and her hand at the same time.

  Nicholas ran past her then stopped.

  "Just go!" she shouted. "Get out of here!"

  He looked back and forth between Rebecca and the flashlight beams, cursed, and then ran.

  She suddenly realized why her hand hurt so badly: she'd been clenching the shirt in her fist when she fell, and several of the hooks had gone through her palm. One of them had gone all the way through the webbing between her thumb and index finger.

  As she quickly stood back up, a wave of pain coursed through her right foot.

  No. She could not have a sprained ankle. Not now. She tried to run, but nearly lost her balance and had to jam the spear into the ground to keep from toppling over.

  One of the flashlight beams focused directly on her. No, not a flashlight beam--Alan wore a strapped-on headlamp. He stopped running and walked up to her almost casually. The smug bastard had a wide grin as he held up his bloody hunting knife.

  "Gary didn't trip," he said. "Too bad for you."

  Rebecca slapped him in the face.

  It hurt like hell, almost as if her palm had been torn off, but Alan hadn't expected that move and she got him good, right on the left cheek. He cried out and clutched at his face.

  Now what? Run or lunge at him with the spear?

  To her great surprise, her first instinct was to lunge at the fucker with the spear. She aimed for his eye, but didn't come close. The spear struck him in the shoulder but didn't break through his jacket. Though it didn't draw blood, it was still a good hit. Alan lost his balance and fell to the ground. His headlamp popped off.

  Rebecca hoisted the spear above her head. There was nothing in the rules saying she couldn't slam a sharp stick right into his cranium. That would still leave Stephen alive to take her to Gary.

  "Drop it!" said Stephen. Rebecca glanced over and saw him standing about twenty feet away. He also wore a headlamp, leaving his hands free to point the shotgun at her.

  As Alan sat up, Stephen lowered the weapon and shook his head, looking disgusted. "Screw it. You two work this out. I'm going after Nicholas." He ran past them.

  Alan wiped some blood from his face and held up the knife. "I'm giving you another ten second head start," he said, with no trace of the sadistic playfulness he'd demonstrated before. "You think you can beat me with that stick?"

  No. She did not.

  But she also couldn't outrun him with an injured foot.

  She swung the stick again, this time swinging it like a golf club. It cracked against the side of his head and then snapped in two.

  * * *

  Alan screamed without shame as the stick broke against his left ear. He wasn't sure why this kind of thing hurt so much worse when his skin was cold, but it felt like a horsewhip lashing against his frozen ear.

  The bitch had taken him by surprise twice in, what, fifteen seconds?

  His mistake was obvious: he'd assumed that she'd behave like a chickenshit. Clearly she would dare to attack him, which was insane! Did she really think that a pudgy out-of-shape girl like her could beat him? Ripping up his face a little bit and hurting his ear wasn't going to put him out of commission. It was just going to make him mad. Really, r
eally mad.

  He was only supposed to go after her with about seventy-five percent of his usual effort, but screw that. If she was so tough, let her prove it without him pulling his punches.

  A shotgun blast rang out.

  Nicholas screamed. A lot of pain in that scream. Stephen had probably hit an extremity.

  Another blast.

  Alan slashed at Rebecca with the knife, but missed as she snatched up his headlamp and took off running. Crap! He pushed himself to his feet and went after her.

  * * *

  Rebecca's foot really ached, but it wasn't injured badly enough to keep her from running, so she might just live through this. Alan and Stephen's plan probably hadn't involved her getting a hold of the light. Alan would be able to see exactly where she was, but even with a hurt foot she thought she could probably outrun him if he couldn't see the path or the branches. She held the light out in front of her, shining it onto the ground as she ran.

  Nicholas was wailing. Rebecca could see Stephen's light--he was about fifty feet ahead, but it looked like they'd gone off the path.

  "Please!" Nicholas shouted. "Please don't!"

  What could Rebecca do? Stephen had a shotgun. She didn't even have her stick anymore.

  As she continued running, she saw Stephen standing over Nicholas, popping two more shells into the weapon. He looked surprised to see that it was her with the headlamp. Then he looked...amused? He gave her a light wave and then snapped the shotgun shut and pointed it down at Nicholas.

  She couldn't save him.

  There was just no way.

  She let out a sob as she kept running.

  "Help me!" Nicholas screamed. "Please somebody help me!"

  His scream was cut off by a third shotgun blast.

  Don't think about it, Rebecca told herself. It's not your fault. There was nothing you could have done. They had no intention of letting him live.

  Was that true? Had they murdered Scott with a shotgun as well?

  "I'm comin' to getcha!" Alan called out behind her. "Gonna cut ya up good!"

  Her heart gave a jolt, but Rebecca didn't pick up her pace. She couldn't risk tripping. Let him be the one to trip, if he wanted to run in the dark. There were plenty of obstacles on the path.

  Something swished past her head.

  "Dammit!" Alan shouted.

  He'd thrown his knife and missed.

  Go for the knife or keep running? Go for the knife or keep running? Choose quick, choose quick, choose quick...

  She kept running. The car wasn't that much further away, and Alan would waste valuable seconds finding the knife himself.

  A light beam shone across the path in front of her. Stephen was coming after her, too.

  He wouldn't blow her away with the shotgun, would he?

  Her good foot landed on a thick root, but she didn't stumble. Her lungs burned and it was becoming hard to breathe--she didn't do much running in her daily life--yet she didn't slow her pace. She could do this. She wasn't going to stop.

  "Gonna cut your head off!" Alan shouted. "I'm gonna jam my hand up your neck and work you like a goddamn ventriloquist's dummy!"

  He was losing it. Good.

  Up ahead, she could see the car. She was going to make it, just like Gary had!

  Stephen's light continued to shine in front of her, though he didn't emerge from the woods. She had no doubt that he could beat her in an even race, but he was on uneven terrain and if she could only make it another thirty seconds--

  "You're dead!" Alan sounded much closer than she'd anticipated. Why the hell couldn't he just trip and break a leg?

  She kept running.

  Now she could see Stephen, just ahead of her, moving toward the path, shotgun raised.

  She wasn't going to let either of them beat her. Not a chance in hell.

  How did this even work once she reached the car? Did she just touch it and call "Base!" They certainly weren't going to let her get inside and drive away.

  Stephen was almost to the path.

  It looked like they might even collide.

  Rebecca pushed herself into a full-out sprint, the kind she hadn't done since dropping out of soccer in high school. Stephen stepped out onto the path, but he was too late. She rushed out to the clearing and over to Gary's car.

  She tugged at the door handle. Locked.

  "Very well done," said Stephen, walking out into the clearing. Alan followed a few moments later, looking incredibly pissed. "Gary would be proud."

  Rebecca leaned against the car, barely able to catch her breath. "Now what?"

  "Now you drop to your knees."

  "Why?"

  Stephen pointed the shotgun at her. "Because I said so! Do you really want to get this far and make me blow your head off?"

  Rebecca got down on her knees. Stephen walked over to her and pressed the barrel of the shotgun against her forehead.

  "This is where we were going to murder Gary. But, like I said, he made a plea for his life that managed to touch the heart of even a sociopath like myself. It's time for you to do the same. Make it good."

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The shotgun barrel was like frostbite against her forehead.

  "Fuck this up," said Alan. "Please, fuck this up so I can use my knife."

  "Shut up," Stephen told him. "Go on, Rebecca. Impress me."

  Rebecca closed her eyes. If she couldn't see the men, couldn't see the shotgun, she just might be able to get through this. "You can't kill me," she said. "Gary and I need each other. I...I need him to tell me that I don't look fat, and he needs me to rub his shoulders after he gets back from playing racquetball. I need--"

  "Do you really think I care if you think you look fat?" Stephen asked. "Try a different angle."

  "I love him," Rebecca said. "I don't think I could live without him."

  "I think you could live just fine. For all you know, he's been dead all weekend, and you're still alive."

  "You're fucking uuuup," said Alan.

  Rebecca squeezed her eyes even more tightly closed. What did they want from her? What could Gary have said?

  "We're soul mates."

  "I don't believe in soul mates."

  "Please, you can't kill him. I'm begging you." Rebecca's whole body was quivering and she didn't try to stop the tears. "He's everything in my world. I've done everything you've asked so far, and you've got to at least let me see him one last time. One more time. That's all I'm asking. You owe me that."

  "No," said Stephen. "I don't owe you a thing. And you're begging for me to spare the wrong life, because right now I feel like showering your hubby with pieces of you. That's what we'll do. Pour a barrel of Rebecca parts over his head. How does that sound?"

  "If you want to kill me, then kill me. Just don't hurt him."

  "Open your eyes."

  Rebecca opened them.

  "Say that again."

  "If you want to kill me, then kill me. Please don't hurt Gary."

  "You look genuine. I'll be damned. You'd actually rather we kill you than your husband?"

  "Yes."

  Stephen glanced over at Alan. "You believe her?"

  "She sounds like she's telling the truth. Which makes her a fucking idiot, because I guarantee you, after three seconds she'd be wishing it was Gary under my knife instead of her. Three seconds. We should test that."

  "We should, but we're not." Stephen looked back down at Rebecca. "So you're willing to give up your life for his, huh? Very admirable. Very courageous. Unfortunately, it's not what I'm looking for. You get one more try. If your answer doesn't convince me that you should live, well, you're not going to."

  "I--I don't know what you--"

  "Think carefully before you speak."

  What was she supposed to say? What could change Stephen's mind? What did he want to hear?

  "Think carefully but quickly," Stephen said. "You have ten seconds."

  As he began the countdown, she suddenly realized what it must be.

 
"If you kill me, you won't get to end the game."

  "Killing you would end the game."

  "But you planned out an endgame, right? If you kill me here, you'll have wasted the time preparing it."