Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
Ariana doesn’t move. She doesn’t look up from where she’s slumped, but I swear I can see her breathing. Pearl pushes past me into the cell, though she stops halfway to Ariana, going stiff as she sniffs the air.
“Ariana?” I murmur, quieter this time. Carefully I edge across the room and set down the knife. Could she be asleep? Still knocked out, like I was? Though she isn’t tied up as I had been, which makes me less certain and more cautious.
But this is my friend, I remind myself. The last fucking friend that I have in the world. With the thought driving me forward, I close the distance between us and kneel, extending my hand to grab her shoulder. “Ariana?” I whisper, shaking her slightly. “Hey, come on. We need to go—”
She jerks like she’s been shocked, gasping, and when she lifts her head, I recoil.
Her eyes are gone. Both eyes are completely gone and look like they were removed with the same fucked up precision as Scotty’s eye was. When she opens her mouth, blood bubbles to her lips and Ariana wails, the sound ringing off the walls and through my skull.
Belatedly, I realize why her mouth looks so strange, and I have to swallow back bile that sears my insides as it Hillls down my throat. Blood continues to stream from her lips and Ariana’s empty gaze reaches me, all while she tries to form words.
But it’s difficult, given that part of her tongue is gone.
“…Me.” She mouths the word, though it’s garbled and slurred. Choking on blood, Ariana coughs, lifting her hands to her face, though she can’t bring herself to touch any part of it.
“What?” I whisper, forcing myself to Hilll forward. “What did you say?”
“Ll’me,” she tries again, though my brain can’t work out what she’s trying to say.
“Ariana, I’m sorry, I can’t—”
“Kill me!” she screams, her teeth biting into what remains of her tongue and sending blood pouring from her lips. Then she slumps back, sobs wracking her frame, having used up the last of her energy to struggle through those two words.
“No.” She doesn’t respond. Doesn’t even lift her head when I say it. “N-no. Ariana. No, please, I—” Hot tears run down my cheeks, burning my eyes and dripping to land on my thighs. “I can’t. No, I’m going to get you out.”
But how? That cold, detached part of my brain demands. How are you going to help her?
“I can’t,” I whisper again. “Please, Ariana.” Reaching forward, I graze my fingers over hers, though I pull away when she flinches back.
“Please don’t leave me alone.”
She shudders once more before going catatonic, like I found her. But I don’t move. This is as far as my plan had gotten me, and the more I stare at her, the more likely it is that I’m going to end up just as fucked up and, pretty soon, just as dead.
Pearl’s low growl drags me out of my thoughts, and I look up, trying to get myself together. Footsteps sound on the stairs, heavy and unhurried, and for a few seconds I just sit there. Frozen.
I’m going to die here.
So what’s the point in doing anything other than letting him find me? My eyes land on the knife beside me, and I pick it up with trembling fingers, wondering if maybe, just maybe, I should end it now. I could save myself from the pain the others endured. I could—
No.
Absolutely not.
Every ounce of me abhors the idea of giving up like that. Sure, I’m going to die here. It feels like a fact at this point. But if I am, then I’m going to make it as difficult as fucking possible. And maybe I can take some part of this man with me.
By the time the heavy door to the stairs opens, I’m on my feet and moving.
Silently, I move behind the still-open door, not quite behind it, but flat enough against the wall to hide in the shadows.
Pearl doesn’t follow, and part of me twists in worry for the dog who doesn’t deserve to be here either.
She continues to sniff around Ariana, never quite touching her, though she gives a few displeased grumbles in her chest that sound just as unhappy as I feel.
In another life, I’d take her home, get her a pretty collar, and she’d never have to worry about anything again.
In another life, though, neither of us would be in this basement, facing certain death and, for me at least, a pretty agonizing one at that. The footsteps come to a halt out in the main area of the basement, but I only tighten my grip on the knife until my knuckles ache.
“Fucking dog,” the man snarls. “How the hell did you even get out? Stop eating that, stupid bitch.” His steps pick up again, getting closer, and when I see his shadow in the doorway, I nearly lose my nerve.
Pearl looks at him with a growl, providing me with the distraction I need. With a quick lunge I’m on him, stabbing outward with the blade.
Unfortunately for me, the man is faster than he looks.
He whirls around, one hand up, forcing my knife to cut deeply into the side of his palm.
But fortunately for me, Pearl is an absolute monster.
As the man reaches for me, his eyes wide with surprise and pain, she’s on him, snarling, tearing at his pant leg and quickly finding flesh and biting down.
He screams, and again I drive the knife toward him, only for it to stab deep into the meat of his shoulder. My victory is short-lived, however, as he spins away, taking my blade with him and depriving me of anything other than my screwdriver.
“Fuck!” I gasp, seeing him kick at Pearl until she’s forced to retreat. I go stumbling backwards and hit the doorframe with one shoulder, wincing at the jolt of pain that shoots through my side.
“Oh, you stupid girl.” I recognize the man as the backseat passenger from the truck. The one who stared me down for so many long seconds on the rural road. “You stupid, stupid piece of meat. I’m going to make sure this hurts, you hear me? I’m—”
Before he can make good on his threat, I whistle, thankfully getting Pearl’s attention so she runs out the door of the cell with me. Then I slam it shut, using the screwdriver to jam the door latch, though I know it won’t buy me much time at all.
“Oh, fuck!” I gasp, nearly tripping over my own feet as I run back into the main area of the basement. I stumble, catching myself on the worktable near Scotty’s dead, dripping body, and my eyes fall on the door that leads to the stairs.
Locked.
Again.
“Fuck!” The lock on it needs a key, one that I’m sure the man has on his body, and somehow I doubt he’ll give it to me just because I ask nicely.
The door behind me bangs, metal rattling against its hinges at the man hurls threats at me, though I refuse to listen to them.
I need a weapon, again. Especially now that he has my knife.
“Just need a bigger knife. Clearly,” I hiss to myself, lurching toward the worktable. My eyes flick between hacksaws, handsaws, a blade that looks like a machete, a chainsaw—
A fucking chainsaw.
Before I can think better of it, I heft the heavy weapon off the workbench, thankfully not dropping it.
Thanks to growing up with a DIY dad who did his fair share of woodworking and landscaping, this isn’t my first rodeo with a power tool, though I’m by no means an expert.
My hands slip and slide on the handle as I strive for a better grip, and when I grasp the string and pull, only to lose my hold on it and completely fuck up getting it running, I think this is a mistake.
But I’m too far into it now. I’m on autopilot as the door rattles again and Pearl barks and snarls, crouched down with her short fur on end and her ears stiff. Saliva drips from her jaws, as if she’s just waiting for her chance. Then, a second later, the man gives it to her.
The door bangs open and she lunges, ignoring the knife he’s holding, which he somehow drops instead of stabbing her with. He bellows out a scream as I grab the cord and pull once more; this time the chainsaw revs once, then again.
He throws Pearl off in one movement, kicking out at her hard enough to send her stumbling back with a pained yelp.
As if he doesn’t hear what I’m doing, or perhaps just doesn’t believe I’ll succeed, the man turns to come towards me, and I feel a shock of quick, hot pain in my arm before I pull the cord one more time, fingers hard on the throttle and jam the chainsaw forward—
Right into his chest.
It parts clothing and skin and bone almost easily, the chain rattling, sending gore spattering into my face and all over my clothes.
My eyes jam shut hard, though it doesn’t get rid of the feeling of being spattered with his insides, and I swear I can feel his body jerking and dancing on the heavy blade until finally, as if I forgot how to use it, I drop my fingers from the throttle, letting the chainsaw idle.
The man’s body slides free, nearly taking the chainsaw with him as he collapses into a limp pile on the ground. The hole in his chest is big enough for me to put a fist through, if I really wanted to, and his eyes stare sightlessly up at the ceiling, while his mouth is open in a frozen scream.
Pearl is the first to move. She walks over, untrimmed nails clicking on the concrete, and as I watch, she leans down to lick at the wound in his chest. Licks turn to nibbles, however, and as I watch, Pearl tears bits of flesh away, chewing loudly before swallowing them like it’s premium raw dog food.
“Good dog,” I whisper, somehow not feeling disgusted. I look at my arm, noticing the sluggishly bleeding shallow cut from the man’s knife, but even as I watch it drip onto the floor, the wound doesn’t quite hurt.