Chapter 3
Everyone left for the cocktail welcome party thing without me because I’m still getting ready.
“If you miss the ceremony…” Cass warned through the door.
“I won’t! Two more minutes.”
It’s been fifteen. My hair is still wet, makeup half-done. I braid my hair, flip it up, and adhere it to the back of my head with an excess of bobby pins—a damp, sloppy updo. I blend my foundation, tap on some blush, swipe on some mascara, lip gloss.
Twenty minutes. I need to hurry. I am hurrying.
I’m just not going fast enough. My priorities are all wrong.
It doesn’t matter what I look like if we’re all going to die, but somehow, I still can’t convince myself not to care about my appearance.
My nervous system is on high alert, but it’s been this way long before today.
When everything feels life-or-death, it’s impossible to parse out the actual stakes.
I step into my dress, my heels. It helps that my foot isn’t swollen and bruised. I press down on it anticipating the phantom pain but feel nothing.
Twenty-five minutes.
The more time that passes, the more it feels like last night never happened.
Or the night before. They seem like distant memories, the images warped and vague, like staring down at something dropped at the bottom of a pool.
There’s no reprieve from the dread churning in my gut, only a sense that whatever horrors I’ve already experienced are further behind me than they actually are.
I imagine a final girl running through the woods, turning around to the terrible realization that her killer is right at her heels.
Tick tick tick tick tick.
Thirty minutes.
I need to go.
I steal a quick last look in the mirror. Fine. It’s fine.
I grab my bag. My cigarettes. The key card for the cabin that was left on my nightstand. My car key, because I’ve learned my lesson.
When I step out onto the porch, I’m struck by the meat smell. It’s gotten significantly more potent. What do I do?
I hurry down the path, wobbling in my heels.
Flats. I should have just worn my fucking flats.
I circle around the reception hall and approach the floral arches.
There they are. Ravi and Tanya. Chatting with my friends near the bar—her fingers in his hair, his arm around her waist.
Seeing them together doesn’t feel as bad as dying, but it’s not far off.
I would’ve hoped that having already seen them, anticipating that this was coming, might lessen the blow, but nope. Because part of me was still holding out hope that today would be different. That Tanya didn’t exist.
How can this be in my head? How can I be imagining this?
My relationship with reality has completely deteriorated.
I can feel myself dissociating, eyes glazing over, body piloting itself.
My pace slows. I yawn into the crook of my arm.
The ceremony hasn’t even started yet and I’m dead on my feet.
I notice movement in the woods. Something shifting between the trees.
Too many eyes.
I see you.
Red, glowing.
Tick, tock.
Only it’s not the Eyeball Man. Or the Top Hat ghoul. It’s not a person at all. It’s…it’s an animal. I see flashes of brown, matted fur. Antlers.
A deer. It’s a deer. It moves erratically. It leaps forward, then doubles back. Spins around. Changes direction. It seems lost. Spooked.
I take a cautious step toward it to get a better look.
“I wouldn’t.”
I gasp, so startled that my knees give, ankles go weak, heels cave in under me. I almost fall.
“Whoa, whoa.” It’s Danny. He catches me. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Danny!” I say, pushing him. “You gave me a heart attack.”
He lifts his chin, suspicious. “Do we know each other?”
Yeah. You’ve been inside me. “Um, I know of you.”
“Uh-oh,” he says, grinning.
“I’m Willa. I’ve been friends with Steph and Jace since college.”
“Ah,” he says. “Nice to meet you, Willa.”
He reaches out his hand. I shake it. He holds on to me for too long, making eyes.
Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick.
There’s no time for this. I pull away. “Why did you say you wouldn’t? Wouldn’t what?”
“There’s something wrong with that deer,” he says, sipping from his flask. He offers it to me.
“No thanks. What’s wrong with it?”
“It’s hurt. I think that’s the…” He gestures around. “Aroma.”
First the ravens, now this? I’m like a cursed Disney Princess, a magnet for deranged wildlife. I have to worry about everything. What’s next? Bugs? The grass, the trees, the air? Fuck. How did I think I could do anything to stand in the way of the horror? “Hurt how?”
He furrows his brow.
“I’m, um, a vet.”
“Ah. Don’t think there’s any saving it. Its side is ripped open. Must have been attacked. Bear. Fox? I don’t know. It’s rough, but. You’re off duty.” He does his awkward laugh, winning me over for a moment, my vision going rosy. “We’re at a wedding.”
“We are. Well, I am. You’re drinking out of a flask in the woods.”
“Needed a minute to myself,” he says. “I get so anxious at shit like this.”
“I know. Formal, stand here, smile for photos, sit-down dinner, speeches, that weird mix of family and strangers,” I say, turning back toward the woods. The deer is gone, but something tells me this isn’t the last of it. “Maybe tonight will surprise you.”
“Oh yeah?”
I look up at him, and he’s looking back at me with that crooked grin, and even though I know that whatever’s between us is most likely a rickety bridge over a bottomless pit of nothing, I want to believe that there’s something more here than just fleeting chemistry.
I can’t help it. I want to assign it meaning, to hold on to something in this whirlwind of loss and pain and chaos and confusion.
I want this to last beyond tonight, for him to prove to me that there is a tomorrow.
I want him, someone, anyone to show me that it’s possible to open your heart without it ending up a complete fucking massacre.
The pianist comes in with her jaunty tune—queen of ruining the moment.
Danny takes another swig from his flask then tucks it away.
“On behalf of Stephanie and Jason,” the pianist says, “we welcome you to this celebration of their love. If you would please make your way to the lake and find a seat, the ceremony will begin shortly. Thank you.”
Danny offers me his arm, and I take it.
—
We’re the stragglers, last to arrive at the ceremony space. Luke waves me over, pointing to a saved seat between Cassie and Evan.
“Come find me later,” Danny says. “Okay?”
“We’ll see. If you’re lucky.” If we’re lucky. If there is a later. I slink away, mumble excuse me repeatedly as I squeeze down the row of chairs, trying to avoid people’s knees.
Cass pulls me down into the empty chair. “What is with you today? You’re late. Again.”
“Sorry. I’m sorry. I’m here.”
She sighs.
“Who were you with?” Evan asks, in a lazy attempt at a whisper. “Who is that?”
I get my phone out and open the Notes app, start typing. Danny. Jason’s childhood friend. PS u suck at whispering.
“Ew,” he says.
I type, ???
He takes my phone, rolls his shoulders back, then types out his response.
Spent the weekend with him and Jace a few years back he had a shaved head and gross tech bro beard then he’s INSUFFERABLE!
!! bragged about money women taking a model on a trip to Paris then ignoring her calls after went on and on about ethical nonmonogamy being the only sane form of monogamy meanwhile both Jace & I are in committed relationships.
The musical duo starts to play “Here, There and Everywhere” as Jace walks down the aisle.
“You’ve made your point,” I say, snatching my phone back.
Paris. Tokyo. I’m not special to Danny. I will never be special to him. I hate that I want to be. I hate that it’s so hard to know if my feelings are genuine or if I’m just desperate for validation.
He’s not special. There are plenty of hot charmers out there addicted to attention and allergic to commitment, who get away with whatever and absolve themselves by being careful with their words.
Plausible deniability. I bet he thinks he’s amazing in bed because he writes off any woman who tells him differently as being vindictive.
And still. Fucking still, there’s a part of me that wants to defend him, give him a chance. That hopes maybe this will turn out another way.
Isn’t that the definition of insanity? Doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.
Isn’t that love?
“Stay away,” Evan says. “Or proceed at your own risk.”
“I can handle myself,” I whisper.
“Sure.”
I kick his leg.
“Ow!”
The ceremony proceeds. Steph walks down the aisle to “Love in This Club.” I space out during the vows, attempt to stifle a series of insistent yawns that draw Cassie’s ire.
I watch Steph and Jace under the lattice awning, holding hands, gazing lovingly into each other’s eyes, and I adore them, but I cannot wait for this to be over.
It’s dragging. Probably because I’ve already sat through this exact ceremony twice before.
Probably because vows are boring to everyone not saying them.
I take a deep breath, turn away from the happy couple, and I notice I’m not the only one. There’s a distraction. Beyond the cocktail space, on the lakeshore in front of the woods.
The deer.
It’s wandered out from the trees, taking strange, skittish steps.
I’ve never seen an animal move that way, so disjointed and ungraceful.
It’s like someone spliced the footage funny, like the images are feeding into my brain wrong.
The deer wades into the water, makes a sharp screeching noise, backs out onto the grass.
It spins, revealing a gaping wound. Its entire side is gone, its insides exposed. White bones. Red guts. Black flies.
It’s happening, isn’t it? This is happening. Again.
I got caught up with Danny, with my emotions. I shut down. I deferred. I let the fear of ruining the day ruin the day. What’s the matter with me?
I tap Evan on the leg to get his attention.
“It’s a good thing I never liked venison,” he says.
“Shut up,” Cass whispers. “Focus on the ceremony.”
Evan takes out his phone and types, Why is she mad at us? She should be over there yelling at Tim Burton Bambi. This is why I think weddings should be inside nature is too unpredictable.
I take the phone and type, What’s wrong with it? Then I pass the phone to Wyatt.
He frowns. He looks worried. He grew up in the woods, camping and hiking and hunting and all that. A real outdoorsman. If he’s shaken, I’m shaken.
Steph and Jason kiss, unaware of the deer behind them stealing their thunder. There’s applause, the crowd temporarily shifting their attention back to the bride and groom.
Temporarily.
A set of grandparents spots the deer and promptly alerts the happy couple, interrupting their victorious walk up the aisle. Steph and Jace turn. Everyone turns. Whoever hadn’t seen it yet, they’re seeing it now.
It roams closer, shaking its head back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. It’s frothing at the mouth.
“Wyatt. Can deer get rabies?” Let it be of this world. Please, let whatever it is be of this world.
“It’s not common,” he says. “But yes.”
The deer screeches again, louder this time. Loud enough to be heard over the musical couple playing a cover of some ballad I can’t place. The deer takes off running, zigzagging across the lawn toward the ceremony setup. Toward us.
People scream. Jump up on their chairs.
“Get behind me,” Wyatt says, darting forward and reaching his arms out.
It’s getting closer. It’s almost to us. I can smell it. I can see its face—wide, sweet eyes oozing yellow, foam spilling from an ash-colored mouth.
The deer comes to a sudden stop just before it gets to us.
It falls.
It collapses onto its side, twitching for a moment before lying still.
A wave of shock and distress passes through the crowd, manifesting in mumbles and small, careful movements. The stench of rot is profound. I try not to breathe through my nose.
“A sick animal,” Wyatt says. “Steer clear and we’ll call—”
The deer stirs again, and it’s up, thrashing around.
“Wyatt!” Evan pulls him back, and he stumbles, knocking over a chair.
The commotion makes the deer go fucking wild. Its eyes bulge, foam spews from its flapping, hungry mouth. Wyatt grabs the chair and tries to ward it off, but it keeps coming. It’s relentless, and it’s loud. The screeching. It’s so, so loud.
What is this? What’s happening? This can’t be it.
A rabid deer seems too easy. I look around and spot one of the cater waiters in the distance.
He’s pummeling toward the water, frothing at the mouth, tearing at his own face, chewing on his fingers.
There’s a spray of blood as he trips onto the lakeshore.
He’s bitten one off. He’s bitten off one of his own fingers.
He turns toward the crowd, but there’s no recognition. Black flies crawl over his face. His eyes leak yellow.
Oh.
Great.
Zombies.