Chapter 63
There’s no way you’re ramming Blair’s car into that gate. Those cannibals might be trying to kill you, but so will Blair if you return the Audi with the fender smashed in.
Your only chance of getting out of here alive is if you get out of the car and open the gate manually. You don’t see any sort of lock, so maybe all you need to do is give the gate a good shove, and it will open up. That’s what you hope, anyway.
You say a silent prayer, then you climb out of the car. When you first got outside, the sky had been hazy, but the haze has cleared momentarily, and the full moon peeks out again. That will make it easier to see what you’re doing, at least.
As you walk over to the gate, you hear rustling coming from the bushes again. Your stomach churns slightly, but you try not to think about it. You’re going to be out of here in a few minutes anyway. You just need to figure out how to get this gate open.
When you get close to the opening between the two sides of the gate, you don’t see any sort of lock. You grab one of the bars with your hand and give it a firm shake—it doesn’t budge.
This is not good.
You grasp another bar with your other hand, and this time you push against both bars with the entire weight of your body, grunting with the effort. After a minute of this, you realize it’s hopeless. There hasn’t been even a millimeter of give.
That’s when the rustling sound gets louder.
You turn around, alarmed. Your heart leaps at the sight of Mr. Davenport Wentworth standing by your car. He is smiling patiently at you, his arms folded across his chest.
“Sloan, Sloan, Sloan,” he says. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“I…” Your throat feels so dry, it’s hard to even get any words out. “I’d like to go home, that’s all. Please.”
“But Sloan.” He cocks his head to the side. “We have your services reserved for the entire night. You can’t leave early.”
The rustling coming from the bushes is now disturbingly loud. You watch in horror as four of the other dinner guests emerge from the shrubbery. One of them is that man with the European accent, who is holding a spear in his right hand and licks his lips when he sees you.
You never should’ve gotten out of your car. If only you had rammed the gate like you were considering.
The man with the spear hurls it at you. It misses—barely—and wedges itself in the hood of the car. You let out a scream—Blair is going to kill you if you come home with a spear stuck in the car.
Panicked that the car might sustain more damage, you try to get back to the driver’s side door.
But you should have worried less about the car and more about yourself.
Those old people are surprisingly light on their feet, and before you can reach the handle of the door, they pounce.
You had thought your life couldn’t get any worse, but you had no idea that tonight you were going to be cooked and eaten by the Adventurous Eaters Club.
But on the plus side, you turn out to be delicious.
THE END
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