He picked up the camera from the ground, shoved it into backpack, and strode off into the forest.
I was alone. My one wrist continued to bleed, though it was slowing down a bit. I struggled to catch my breath and watched the beads of blood roll back and forth, depending on what way I turned my arm. A lot of the blood was starting to clot in sticky black balls.
I don’t know how long I stared at my wrist and my arm. It was much easier to think about that than it was to think about what had just happened. What I had just said. I had just ripped Dex’s heart and pride out of his body and stomped on it. It felt shamefully good at the time, the way the words just flew out of me like volcanic fire, wanting nothing more than to burn him with them, burn him slowly, so he could feel all of it.
Now I just felt ashamed. I had hurt the man I loved in the most poignant way possible. There was no way we could recover from that. Even though he was partially guilty, I had a feeling that this wound was impossible to blot.
Don’t forget, he thinks you’re the crazy one, I thought to myself in an effort to cover up the remorse that was taking over. I didn’t want to feel guilty about this. I needed to remember that he wasn’t innocent. Even though he should know better, he would rather think I was crazy than think I could actually be seeing ghosts. That said a lot about how he felt about me.
I let out a long, shaky breath and tried to get my bearings. Regardless of what happened, I still needed to cover up my other wrist.
I walked unsteadily through the salal bushes to where the strips of shirt had fallen like oversized confetti. Even vegetation was scary now.
I picked up a strip and quickly wound it around my wrist as tight as I could without cutting off the circulation. I really was going to have start getting ghost hunters insurance or something like that.
If I was even going to be a ghost hunter after everything that had happened. I wouldn’t be surprised if Dex decided he didn’t want to work with me anymore. Hell, I didn’t even know if by the time I showed up at the other beach, the boat would even be there. If he sailed away without me, it would be tantamount to homicide. But that look in his eyes had been murderous.
I’d just have to hope for the best. And I’d have to act on it soon. The longer I was here, alone, the more vulnerable I was.
I finished tying up the wound and threw the rest of the cloth back into the trees. As soon as I did so, a familiar scraping sound came from behind me.
I slowly turned around to see but there was nothing there except for the picnic table, our cooking gear and the tent.
The scraping sound again. Pebbles on the beach. The sound that the coffins had made the night before.
I didn’t want to look, but I knew I had to. I gingerly crept to the edge of the tent and poked my head around the side of it.
The coffins had washed up on the beach again. Eight of them; old, decaying wood crates, sitting there in the surf like dead whales. It was still terrifying, even in the daylight.
They were all lined up in a row, perfectly placed, waiting for…
The lids of the coffins popped off simultaneously, clattering on the stones.
The Chinese lepers with their poor bulbous faces and missing hands and feet, lurched out of the coffins and, catching sight of my head peeking out beside the tent, started heading my way in jerky, awkward movements.
Just like zombies, I thought mildly. Then it sank in. Whatever the fuck they were, they were coming for me, and considering they were walking around on stumps, some even on all fours like disfigured hounds, they were coming fast. The reality hit me like a sledgehammer. This was real. This was it.
I had to run and I had to run fast.
I turned and sprinted up the path, turning into the woods. I moved my legs as fast as they would go. I didn’t know if they could catch up to me and I didn’t want to waste time looking behind me, so I just kept going, leaping over logs, sprinting across dead twigs, launching myself over the mud puddles. The only advantage I had was that I had walked across this stupid, godforsaken path so many times, it was like I knew it like the back of my hand, knew each turn and twist and obstacle that was waiting to trip me up.
Then again, this island was their home. My knowledge was nothing compared to theirs.
I could only hear the blood from my heart pounding at a techno rate in my head, my breath as it wheezed with each painful inhale, the sound of my boots hitting the ground, kicking up sticks and sending dirt flying.
I rounded a slight bend, knowing that the dead glade was coming up ahead and the real mud pits that were waiting to try and swallow me whole again. I was making good time, at least I thought I was, but I hadn’t come across Dex yet. He must have run the whole way too. Smart boy.
I entered the glade seemingly at the speed of light, not looking around, just concentrating on the fast–approaching ground as it rushed at my feet. For some reason I had “More Human Than Human” as my mental soundtrack. It worked to keep me moving, to keep me going, to keep me from turning around seeing what was behind me. I was grateful and amazed at the adrenaline I had rushing through my muscles and that I was able to keep running without collapsing in a heap in the mud.
The mud was now upon me on either side, new puddles and depressions that weren’t there earlier. I had to leap quickly across them, narrowly going in a few times. I kept my eyes at my feet and up ahead on the trail. There was a huge puddle in the way.
I leaped to the left side of it, nearly colliding with an ancient mossy stump. I pushed myself off of it in time to see Reverend John Barrett leap out from behind it, rope stretched across his hands.
Before I had time to scream or react, his slimy, foul–smelling hand was at my mouth and the rope was going around my arms. I kicked out with my legs, squirming violently, trying desperately to break free, but it was useless.