Page 96 of Survive the Night

She finds one where the hallway makes a sudden ninety-degree turn, veering off in another direction as Charlie keeps moving straight ahead, colliding not with a wall but with a swinging door.

Not knowing where else to go, Charlie pushes through it, into another room. Thin gray light trickles through a set of doors at the other end of the room. Charlie bolts toward it, managing three long strides before colliding with something cloaked in shadow in the middle of the room. She slams into it with her hip, pain rushing up her side.

Charlie stops, regroups, takes in surroundings that are barely visible in the pale light coming from the doors across the room.

She’s in a kitchen. A big one. Like in a restaurant. There’s a wide stovetop, a stack of ovens, a fridge big enough to fit three people standing up.

The thing she collided with is an island in the middle of the room. Her fear-warmed hands leave palm prints on the stainless-steel surface. Charlie’s watching them disappear when she hears a noise.

Nearby.

Footsteps.

Moving purposefully toward the door Charlie just came through.

She knows it’s Marge. It has to be. She’s come looking for her like Charlie should have known she would. She feels suddenly foolish for thinking she could escape so easily.

Charlie drops to the floor and slides under the kitchen island. Holding her breath, she listens as Marge enters the kitchen, the soles of her shoes squeaking on the floor.

Squeak.

She’s closer now.

Squeak.

Closer still.

Squeak.

Marge’s shoes come into view. White sneakers. Sensible waitress shoes. The toe of the left one is spattered with blood.

Charlie stays completely still, even though her body begs her to run. If she remains silent and motionless, maybe Marge will think the room is empty. Maybe she’ll go away. Maybe Charlie can escape.

But Marge takes another step.

Squeak.

And two more.

Squeak, squeak.

She’s right beside Charlie now, the blood-spattered sneaker inches from her nose. Flat on her stomach with one cheek against the floor, Charlie’s heart thunders in her chest so hard she can feel it reverberate through the cold tile beneath her.

She fears Marge can sense it, too, because the sneakers don’t move. They remain where they are. So terrifyingly close.

Charlie doesn’t move.

She doesn’t breathe.

She stays that way until the sneakers move on.

Squeak.

Squeak.

Squeak.

Then... nothing.

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