high-fiving them (i dont see any symbols so like)
Exhale.
Inhale, shudder, exhale, shiver. She tries to wipe the grass-stains from her knees but they’re mottled with blood and dirt and pressed into the cuts (the stinging in her palms - taught around the bat - matches the stinging in her knees). The woods is so, so dark and the flashlight only lets Deb see trees and trees and tress. The moon is barely peeking through the canopy overhead - the eerie glow and worse silence of the grove give her goosebumps. Her steps are light and she hopes to god the lumbering, undead freak wandered off. (She wonders, briefly, while lost in the maze of pines if she is a bad person for this; surely if he doesn’t find her he’ll find someone else. Drag them off to die.)
When there’s ragged breathing behind her, Deb almost drops her weapon spinning around. Raising it and — “fuck! Vic….” Deb’s voice is shaky when she lowers her bat and the twigs crunch under her feet, racing toward the blonde. Vic doesn’t stop jogging - a halted pace and she’s holding her shoulder and she’s limping and it’s dark, it’s so dark, but she can see the whites of her eyes. When Vic slows a little, after Deb follows her out to the shore, out to a flickering campfire, theres a wrench in the silt. (In Vic’s hand, gripped so tightly her knuckles are white, which Deb never thought she’d see.)
The brush doesn’t even rustle when the blade slides through the branches. The blade is angry red and the fire-light is dancing on it, an animals toy distracting them from the shot. The mask comes last, peering through like a bloated, featureless face rising up from the lake.
When he approaches them slowly, dropping the blade into the sand with such an unearned softness. “Fuck off, fuck you,” Deb nearly whispers and separates from Vic, raising the bat again. “Coward.” (Move away from Vic, move toward the maze of trees. Lose him again. Move away from Vic, move toward the trees. Lose him again. Move away from Vic. Move into the trees. Lose him again. We both live. Maybe we live. We at least tried.)
“Why won’t you fucking die!!” Vic’s voice rings out in the silence.
When Jason lunges, they both lunge back like cornered animals. It doesn’t surprise Deb that Vic hits back, but in this condition? She’s surprised she can move her arm at all. It isn’t until Vic nearly shrieks in victory, letting go of her injured shoulder and holds up her hand to Deb. (Predator and prey, Jason is still. Dazed. A coward with a blade.) Deb slams her hand into Vic’s with a grin. Jason shifts.
When they run, back into the forest (Lose him; we live.) the ground crunches underneath their steps - slapping the earth in a hurry, a straight line toward a street light. Through the door of a cabin, fortified and trapped and silent and dark. Boxes strewn about the room leave them some cover while they sit and catch themselves.
Inhale.
Exhale, then hold your breath. Wait; listen. Is he there?