Chapter 16
Chapter
Sixteen
Krampus and I spend a good hour exploring the cabin, searching for any hidden spaces or other entrances to the panic room.
On the first floor directly beneath the lounge is a tucked-away laundry room, noticeably smaller than the room sitting atop it.
There’s not enough space for a panic room to sit behind the wall, but there must be the stairwell I caught a glimpse of, leading further down.
I suspect from the start that we won’t find another way in; there clearly was a reason that the family chose to gather in that room, and Louis was always eager to return to it after a couple of minutes away.
Louis. That coward. I can’t believe he left me, again. If I had any qualms about what I’m doing to him and his family, that action erased them.
As I explore the cabin and consider its layout, I become more and more certain that the panic room must be somewhere below the first floor, in a hidden basement.
There’s nowhere else that would make sense.
But I can’t find any way to get down there, not even in the form of a laundry or garbage chute.
Because of course they wouldn’t dirty their panic room with such things, knowing they might be forced to retreat there for the night.
“We could light the cabin on fire,” I suggest, when we’re done exploring other options.
We’re still in the laundry room. I lean against a wall, wincing as I put pressure on my abused back.
It hurts, but… there’s something satisfying in the hurt, like a pleasant soreness after being thoroughly fucked.
Krampus glances at me, and I press my thighs together, wondering if he can smell my arousal like he smells my sin. He looks so disapproving…
“The panic room is likely fireproof,” he says. Because of course, he’s thinking about my arson plan, not whether or not I’m turned on right now. I should do the same.
“Right,” I say. “And the smoke will rise, so that’s no good…
” I pause, nibbling my lip. Fire won’t work, but there’s something there that pings my instincts.
Fire. Smoke. Air… “They still need air,” I say, realizing.
I push away from the wall, wincing again, and search around the room with renewed vigor. “There have to be vents.”
Krampus watches me. “Vents,” he repeats, skeptical.
“Yes! They’ll still need airflow, and so…” I push aside a hamper and find an air intake low on the wall. “Here’s one. I just need a screwdriver, or…”
Krampus reaches down and rips the metal covering right off the wall.
“Or that works.” I crouch and squint at the dark, dusty passageway. I see it turn downward at the end, which means this probably leads to the basement. “Perfect.”
Krampus’s skepticism has only increased. “Tell me you do not intend to climb into that thing.”
“What? Hell, no.” I laugh, straightening up. “It’s way too small. Here, follow me, I need to find some cleaning supplies.”
Krampus still seems baffled, but at least he trusts me enough to follow as I search the house.
Soon, we return to the air vent with a huge bottle of bleach and an equally huge bottle of vinegar.
Simple, innocent cleaning supplies that just about everybody has on hand… and when combined, they create—
“Chlorine gas,” I explain with a smile. “It’s nasty.
Smells terrible, and feels even more terrible when you breathe it in.
Burning, coughing, breathing problems… and, well, death, if you breathe in too much.
And the best part?” I eye the vent again.
“It’s heavier than air, so it will sink right down into the basement.
They’ll have to either stay there and suffocate to death, or run for the exit. ”
For a moment, Krampus is silent. I wonder if he’s decided I’m even more wicked than he thought, that maybe he’s made a mistake working with me. But when I look up at him, he grins at me with a proud sort of viciousness.
“I would never have thought to do such a thing,” he says. “You are brilliant.”
I flush at the praise, and busy myself with the supplies. Nobody has ever seen the real me before, the one who thinks of plans like this, and I doubt most people would call me brilliant for it. They’d be far more likely to call me deranged, sick, crazy.
“Well, I haven’t exactly done this before,” I say. “Hopefully it works in practice… and I don’t make too much and kill them right away.”
“It will work,” Krampus says.
I nod, assured by his confidence. “Okay. Are you ready?”
“Yes.”
I splash an eye-watering amount of vinegar into the bucket I brought. Then, holding my breath and turning my head away, I add the bleach, and pour the mixture into the vent before retreating. Krampus scoops me off my feet and carries me out of the room, his ears flat against his head.
“Terrible smell,” he says through gritted teeth, taking me all the way to the back door so we can step out into the fresh air.
I gulp it down despite the cold, and wipe my stinging eyes as he sets me on my feet. “Hopefully worse for them.”
Then we quiet down, listening. We aren’t sure exactly where they’ll emerge from.
It doesn’t take long. Soon, we hear the metallic groan of doors bursting open nearby, followed by a riot of coughing and swearing.
They’re closer than I expected; there must be a tunnel leading outside.
Krampus and I share a grim smile before following the sound toward the snow-covered hill on the side of the cabin.
The metal hatch opens from a clever hiding place in a cluster of rocks disguised by the landscape and covered in a layer of snow.
I would’ve struggled to find this tunnel even if I knew where to look.
But my chlorine gas has successfully chased the rabbits out of their hole.
There’s a faint yellow tinge in the air around the open doors, and Louis and his parents are scattered across the hillside nearby, choking and retching.
My fiancé is on his knees in the snow, gasping for air in between racking coughs. His parents have managed to stay on their feet, but they both look disoriented, eyes streaming and legs unsteady.
By the time they see us, we’re almost on top of them.
Louis’s father holds the gun now, and Krampus goes straight for him.
But I home in on his mother instead. She’s armed as well—with a fucking crossbow, of all things—and I’m not going to underestimate her again.
As she blinks tears from her eyes and levels the crossbow at me, I know the feeling is mutual.
I sprint at her, bare-handed, and tackle her to the snow.
For a second, I wonder how I managed to get her without getting shot. Then I notice the bolt sticking through my upper arm.
“You crazy bitch!” I shriek.
We grapple with the crossbow between us, just like we did with the gun. But instead of trying to fight a losing battle, she tosses it aside and jabs her long fingernails toward my eyes. Soon, we dissolve into a clawing, biting, hair-pulling catfight.
Behind us, I can hear Krampus and Karl struggling in the snow. The gun goes off once, and it takes all of my willpower not to turn and see how my monster fares.
“Louis!” Theodora screams as I pin her down in the snow. “Help me!”
I spare a glance sideways. Will Louis come to help her?
Will he attack me to save his mother? I catch a glimpse of him staggering to his feet in the snow, head whipping between where Krampus fights his father and where I struggle with his mother.
Then he takes a step back, and another. He shakes his head wordlessly, turns tail, and runs into the forest.
Once a coward, always a coward. But this time it works in my favor.
Fingernails slash across my cheekbone as I’m distracted, and I turn my attention back to Theodora.
“My husband and son don’t see you for what you are,” she pants as I try to keep her sharp nails at bay. Blood drips down my cheek, splattering onto her cheek. “They think you’re just a foolish pretty girl. But you’re not. You’re dangerous. And I do not tolerate threats to my family.”
In response, I spit in her eye. She shrieks, writhing beneath me.
“You dirty little animal,” she screams. “We never should’ve allowed you inside! We should’ve left you out in the cold!”
“Yeah, you probably should’ve,” I say, and slap her across the face.
We roll through the snow, tearing at each other with teeth and claws like we’re both feral beasts.
I’m younger and stronger than her, but she has a wiry strength of her own, and I’m already wounded.
When she grabs the end of the crossbow bolt and shoves it further into my shoulder, I black out for a second.
When I come to, she’s on top of me with her hands around my neck.
The tendons in her thin body stand out as she throttles me with a shocking strength.
I struggle against her, but she has me pinned and helpless, and my nails aren’t sharp enough to do as much damage as hers.
She smiles grimly down at me. “I knew you weren’t cut out for this family,” she says.
A scream from behind us draws her attention to her husband and Krampus. She looks over her shoulder, but her hands stay locked around my neck.
I reach over to the bolt still sticking out of my arm.
Fumble with fingers going numb until I find the metal head emerging from the back of my bicep, along with a couple inches of wooden shaft.
I wrap my fingers around it and strain, but I’m growing weak with oxygen loss and the thing is fucking sturdy.
My vision is starting to go black around the edges.
I summon every ounce of strength I can find, tighten my grip on the bolt, and pull. The blinding pain grants me a rush of adrenaline—and the shaft snaps in my hand.
As Louis’s mother turns back to me, her face pale but her gaze full of determined hatred, I reach up and shove the broken crossbow bolt into the side of her neck.