Page 25 of Slay Ride

After wandering for a half hour and fearing I’ve lost my way, the familiar practice area comes into view. There’s the log I smacked my leg on. And the pile of snow I fell on that was actually a snow-covered rock.

The whir of the lift buzzes nearby, and I head in that direction after depositing the snowboard and other gear in the equipment shed. I board the lift, just like Maverick taught me, and I’m proud when I don’t slip and fall to my death on the first try.

A blanket of white expands below me. As I pass near a stretch of trees, a caribou runs to the shadows for safety, its clunky feet pushing it silently along. It would be a magical moment if I wasn’t heading straight for doom.

“You can do this, Cat,” I whisper to myself. “Just get there and make the kill.”

I hope the Cattle’s mouth has been glued shut. If they plead for their life, I don’t know that I’ll have the strength to go through with it, regardless of what they’ve done. Maybe asking to make a kill without an audience was a bad idea. Peer pressure has its benefits. I wouldn’t have tried anal without it, and I love anal.

Unable to focus on the natural beauty in every direction, I turn inward and try to hype myself up. I just need to cut through the thick moral fiber that tethers me so firmly to righteousness.

Kindra says killing makes the world a little brighter because she’s ridding it of darkness. When she’s the one wielding the knife and doing the stabbing, I can see the rightness of her actions. Why can’t I feel that same sense of purpose when the knife is in my hands?

Maybe a knife is the wrong weapon?

Most killers have a preferred methodology. Not only do they prefer a certain victim, but they also prefer a certain way of getting the job done. There’s something to that, I think. I have my victim pool, so maybe I’m just missing the right weapon.

Exhilaration runs through me. I’ve just had an epiphany, and my determination to make this kill is renewed. Maverick said there’s a weapon shed at the bottom, which means I’ll have pick of the litter. With no audience to make me nervous, I can take as long as I need to find which weapon feels right for me.

As the lift nears the station, red splotches on the snow come into view. Three bodies lie in a pile nearby, though I’m still too far away to discern how they were killed. A fourth figure kneelsin the snow, and as the chair moves closer, I can see that the figure is shivering. It’s a man in a red snowsuit. He lacks any type of face covering, and his hands are tied behind his back. Since he isn’t making any noise, I can only assume his mouth is glued shut.

I step off the lift like I know what I’m doing, then hurry to the narrow path tucked behind the small building. This is the only path in the area, so I can only assume the weapons are this way. After a few minutes of walking, I find what I’m looking for.

The tin shed stands right off the path. It’s much smaller than the shed where we keep our gear at the top of the mountain, so I’m worried I won’t have much to choose from. I won’t know until I take a look, though, so I hurry to the door, whip it open, and step inside.

Sunlight struggles to filter through the doorway, so I reach out and feel for the lights. A single bulb dangles above my head. I pull the cord attached to it, and the bulb flickers to life.

This space looks more like a tool shed than a weapon cache. A bloody hammer lies on a wooden table, so I guess someone took out a lot of anger with their kill. Wrenches, saws, and extension cords hang on the far wall.

I take a few timid steps toward the extension cord and pull it from the hooks holding it in place. The weight feels good in my hands, but I doubt I have the strength to strangle someone. Kindra says it takes a lot longer to accomplish than what they show in the movies. I could always give it a try. If it doesn’t work, I can move on to something else.

Then again, if it takes too long, I might change my mind. I need something more final.

A case for a chainsaw catches my eye. That would certainly be quick, but then I remember what happened at the summer retreat. I need to make sure it actually works before I haul it all the way back to the kill site.

I step over a jackhammer and nearly break my neck as the extension cord tangles around my feet.Thank goodness for all this padding. That’s all I can think as I go down. I may not look cute, but at least I didn’t break anything. Instead of getting to my feet, I shuffle on hands and knees to the chainsaw case and open it.

It’s empty.

I guess someone else had the same idea, but they could have put it back where it belongs when they finished with it. Now what am I supposed to do?

Gripping the nearby wooden table for support, I try to pull myself to my feet. I’m no longer grateful for all this padding as I struggle to stand. And that’s when I notice the silence.

Instead of the distant whir of the ski lift, I hear only my heartbeat and each squeaky breath that whistles out of my nose. What a terrible time to get a nose whistle. If the Cattle somehow managed to get to his feet, he only needs to listen for each noisy breath I take.

But if I’m to be pitted against a killer again, I won’t let Bennett steal my thunder this time. I’ll take out this piece of shit all by myself.

My gaze flies around the room, landing on everything and coming up with an immediate reason why nothing will work. Most of these items require close combat. I need distance.

As I pull myself upright with a final heave, my panic only increases because the silence has been eaten up by the angry growl of a revving chainsaw. To make matters worse, the piece of shit knows which way I went. It won’t be difficult to follow my footsteps straight to me.

Shit, shit, shit. I have to get out of here.

I reach to the right and grab the first thing I see: a long flathead screwdriver. It isn’t much, but it’s better than nothing. With a steeling breath, I head for the door.

The sun is about as bright as it’s going to get today, which means it’s already lunchtime. Staying to the right of the path, I cut through the woods and head toward the sound. If nothing else, I can hop on the snowmobile and zoom to safety before the sicko notices me.

No cute woodland creatures scatter before me this time. It’s as if they’re just as terrified as I am. They know that evil walks the woods right now, and I’m heading straight toward it.

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