“What?” he asked, holding her lightly by the shoulders.
“I- I thought I heard a sound,” she stammered.
He laughed at her again. “You could not be more cliché if you tried. You really think there’s some crazed killer on the...”
Shink.
This time he heard it too. The sound of metal scraping on metal. They both stood perfectly still, neither making a sound.
Shink.
Again. Closer this time. It was coming from across the street, around the corner that they had just come from.
“Come on,” he said, taking her by the arm and they broke into a fast walk down the street toward her house. They rounded the next corner and stopped for a moment to listen. They could hear it.
Shink. Shink. Shink.
Metal scraping across the pavement, getting closer and closer to them. They broke into an all out run as they passed under a street lamp next to a gas station. Cathy stopped for a minute and banged on the windows as she went. “Help us!” she screamed to arouse the curiosity of anyone who might be inside, but there was no response.
Mike stopped a few feet past her, turning around when he heard the noise she was making, the expression on his face turning from unadulterated fear to pity for just a moment.
She stared into the tinted windows of the station, only the night lights on to let her see that everyone had left, every business had closed early. Everyone in this town had been spooked by Jamie Dawkins’ death. So the two were alone. Her lower lip shook as her eyes searched frantically amongst the dimly lit potato chip and cigarette displays for any sign of movement, desperation beginning to pump through her fragile body as fast as adrenaline.
Shink.
Mike jogged back toward her, taking her firmly but gently around her upper arm. “Come on. We don’t have time,” he said, his voice the only part of him showing his exhaustion.
She looked around the gas bar again, her hair whipping around her head, when the sound came again.
Shink.
It was so close she thought she had felt the blade graze the goosebumps on the back of her neck. She started to run with Mike again without even looking where he was leading her, taking off away from the abandoned station and back onto the street toward her home.
Mike turned around momentarily, looking into the gaping darkness through the thick fog. He heard the sound again, followed by a sight. The gleam of a long, curved piece of metal shining in his eyes. He turned back toward the front, the voice of his junior high gym coach ringing in his ears, telling him to keep his eyes facing forward. You run faster when you’re facing forward.
Cathy didn’t get far before she buckled over in pain. They’d been walking for hours, and now all this running had produced a spasmodic ache in the muscles of her stomach, sending shots of agony down her legs and upwards into her chest. She tried to get up, but her body automatically cried out in rebellion sending her back down to her knees. Mike looked back again.
Nothing.
He helped her to her feet and listened for a moment. Then, from the darkness, something slashed at her.
“Ah!” she cried, as she felt the heat of pain rip up and down her thigh. Something had tried to cut through her hamstring. She quickly propped herself onto Mike’s shoulder and then began to run, but Mike knew it was hopeless. She was hopping around on one foot, and he wouldn’t be able to take her added weight for too much longer.
When he looked over his shoulder again, he saw it. A tall, dark figure steadily making its way toward them. It wasn’t running, and yet it was making progress on them. With a single thought of horrible brilliance, a light went on in Mike’s head and he realized that they both wouldn’t make it. He stopped when they passed the next corner, a shocked look on his pasty white face.
The guy was close; they both knew it. Cathy’s house was only about a block away, but they wouldn’t make it. They both knew it.
“Why are you stopping?” she asked, wide eyed with astonishment and pain, tears already streaming down her face.
Holding her arms with both hands, he pulled her in and kissed her, then pushed her in the direction of her house. “Go.”
She started to cry fresh tears, but turned and ran toward her home.
Mike turned around to face their attacker. Suddenly, he felt a sharp pain in his right side as a long, double-edged sword plunged into him. He screamed as the attacker twisted the blade slightly before ripping it out again. Mike felt his blood flow freely from the wound. He turned. He wanted to know. Had to know who this mysterious figure was before he died.
But there was no one there. He was alone.
He turned and ran for Cathy’s home. The pumping of his legs increased the blood flow, and as her house came into sight, he started to feel light headed. He stopped for a moment on a bench to catch his breath. He put his hand on his side and pressed, shooting pain all through his torso. He looked down at his hand, soaked in blood, looking black in the darkness of the night street. Closing his eyes, he let his head rest a minute. Then he remembered what they tried to tell you on those medical shows that he and Xander loved so much. When you got a wound like this, you don’t close your eyes. There’s a good chance that you’ll never wake up again.
So he clenched his teeth and got up.
He fell immediately to the sidewalk, skidding his knees against the concrete. He vomited onto the gray stone, but then realized that it was