She spent a good minute studying the compass, panicking to the point of hysteria, and then decided to follow a south-west direction, keeping as quiet as possible, listening for their voices.
Luckily, she found them, coming up from behind and placing a hand on Cindy’s shoulder so she didn’t get trampled by their quick pace.
Unluckily, they weren’t alone.
The man chasing them was so grotesquely tall it was almost funny. But unlike the cannibals, he had short hair and was clean shaven, and his clothes, though odd, looked relatively new.
Sara raised the weapon in her hand, pointing it at the tall man.
“Stop,” she said, Not loud enough to attract undesired attention, but hard enough to show it wasn’t a request, but rather an order.
The tall man stood still, his arms still outstretched. “The woman has a flare gun.”
Sara had hoped it would be mistaken for the real thing, but she rolled with it. “And if you come any closer, I’m going to shoot it at you. It doesn’t shoot bullets, but I’m pretty sure it can set you on fire.”
He lowered his arms and titled his head at an angle, like a confused dog.
“Is the woman Martin’s wife?”
She wasn’t prepared for the question, but she answered. “Yes. I’m Sara.”
“Lester will take the Sara woman to Martin.”
“Where is Martin?”
“Martin is at the prison. With Tom boy, and Georgia girl.”
“Is Jack there?”
Lester smiled, baring teeth that looked like they belonged to an alligator. “Baby Jack is there. Doctor is taking care of baby Jack.”
“Doctor Plincer.” Sara felt the lump in her throat. “And you’re Lester Paks.”
“Lester is Lester Paks. Doctor Plincer is Lester’s friend. Martin is Lester’s friend. The Sara woman should come with Lester.”
Sara’s hand was shaking now. She believed,
“How about Joseph? Joe? Joe Randhurst? Is he at the prison, too?”
Lester’s eyes got wide, and his angular head bobbed up and down in a nod. “Of course Joe is there.”
Sara limped in front of Cindy and Tyrone, putting herself between them and the serial killer. Her gun hand was shaking, but she made sure her words were strong.
“Thank you for talking with us, Lester. But we aren’t going to go with you right now.” She tried to swallow, but her mouth was dry. “We’d like you to go away.”
Lester pulled something out of his pocket, and Sara cringed, trying to shield the kids. But Lester didn’t have a weapon. It was only a camera.
He snapped a picture, the flash momentarily blinding her.
“The Sara woman is pretty.”
Sara blinked a few times, tried to focus.
“Thank you for the compliment, Lester. Now you really do have to go. I don’t want to have to shoot you.”
Lester took another picture.
“I’m serious, Lester. It’s time for you to leave.”
A tongue flicked out of Lester’s mouth, running across his bottom lip. He seemed to come to some sort of conclusion. “Lester is going to ask Martin.”
“We want you to leave us alone, Lester.”
“Lester will ask. Lester wants permission first.”
“You need to go. Now.”
“Lester wants permission to bite the Sara woman’s pretty face off.”
He opened and closed his jaw several times, his sharp teeth making clicking sounds.
“Get. The fuck. Back.” Sara said.
Lester raised the camera, took one more picture, and then advanced on them.
Sara didn’t think. She reacted. Planting one foot, pivoting her hips, swiveling them around and kicked Lester as hard as she could, throwing her bad leg into his stomach.
The pain was otherworldly, making her vision burn orange.
But the blow had its desired effect, doubling the tall man over, making him fall onto his ass.
Lester stared up at Sara, his face a mask of disbelief. Blood tricked from the corner of his mouth.
“Lester bit his tongue.” The aforementioned tongue darted out, licking at the line of blood, making an even bigger line of blood.
Lester’s eyes got a glassy look, and he smiled, his vampire teeth streaked with red. He held up his hand and stared at it, as if in a trance. Then he opened his jaws wide, and began to gnaw on his fingers.
The blood really started to flow after that.
“We need to leave,” Sara said.
Tyrone nodded. “No shit.”
Lester moaned, then locked eyes with Sara. She saw depths of hatred there that she didn’t think possible in a fellow human being. He tugged his bleeding hand from his mouth, spat at her, and then rolled over, scurrying on all fours off into the woods.
Sara stood guard for a moment, listened to the woods. All she heard were crickets.
“That was seriously effed up,” Tyrone said. “I would have shot his ugly ass.”
Sara nodded. “Me too. But the flare gun is empty. I couldn’t find any cartridges.”
“He dropped something.” Cindy began to move toward the spot where Lester was sitting. “It’s his camera.”
She brought it over to Cindy. It was a digital model, with a large LCD screen on the back. Dread perched on Sara’s shoulders like a gargoyle, weighing her down. Even though she didn’t want to look at any of the pictures, her finger hit the play button, beginning a slideshow.
A photo of Sara appeared on the screen, the one Lester had taken a few moments ago.
A second later, a photo of Cindy and Tyrone came on.
Then a photo of everyone sitting around the campfire, Martin telling his story.
Then a photo of Georgia, alone on the beach.
Then a photo of Tom, looking terrified.
Then a photo of Sara and Laneesha, walking in the woods.
Then a photo of Meadow, locked into the gridiron…
Sara put a hand over her face, stifling the cry. The image was the single most horrible thing she’d ever seen.
But the next picture shook her even more. Sara let loose with a cry that was half sob, half scream, and she fell to her knees, her whole body trembling.
It was a picture of Jack, being held by an old, bald man in a white lab coat.
Tom hurt. Physically, and emotionally. As he walked the tightrope between hysteria and unconsciousness, he knew he was going to die.
A weighty realization. Tom’s ADHD meant he took self-interest to a whole new level, and the thought of him no longer existing was almost too much to grasp.
And yet, having spent his whole life not caring about anyone but himself, Tom was somewhat surprised that another thought entered his head. A sympathetic thought, for someone other than himself.
Tom prayed to God, asking for an answer.
God didn’t reply.
