Chapter Thirty-Three
Camp Weonoke, present day
An ambulance burned up the road before screeching to a stop on the grass next to some fire trucks sitting idle. First responders jumped into action, kicking up clouds of dust around the flashing red lights that streaked through the night sky.
The scene was pandemonium.
The four of them stood watching. Goldie squeezed Noah’s hand as Evie supported Chase’s weight.
They watched the scene like it was a movie.
A single female reporter in a navy blazer stared into the lens of a camera like a Gale Weathers impersonator.
“We’re live on the scene here at Camp Weonoke, where over thirty years ago an unbelievable tragedy befell this vibrant summer camp.
In a place where children gleefully spent their summers, six camp counselors fought for their lives, ultimately ending with only one survivor.
Today, a few heroes decided to paint a different picture . . .”
The camera panned right, directly on the four as they stared back. Noah turned his head to Goldie’s and looked down at her.
“Can we get out of here and into an ambulance?” she whispered.
“Yes, please,” Chase said in agreement. “I’d like to stop bleeding to death.”
“And I don’t think you’re supposed to lift heavy things with a concussion,” Evie threw in.
Noah took a deep breath and looked around before he nodded. “Yeah, there’s nothing here for me anymore.”
He didn’t only mean the camp. His old life was finally dead and buried.
Noah stretched his arm over Goldie’s shoulder and pulled her close as they walked back down the path, past the cameras and the questions, not stopping until they reached the medics.
“Are we going to be okay?” Goldie asked, blinking her green eyes at him.
Noah’s brows drew together as he cradled her face. “Killer . . .”
She wrinkled her forehead because the nickname felt a bit too on the nose, considering her DNA.
Noah smirked and corrected himself. “Rexy, we’re gonna be just fine, because we’ve always got each other.”