Page 21 of Together We Rot

“What the hell?” I snap, hoping he doesn’t catch the hitch in my voice. I wait for him to hear me, for his eyes to land on me for the second time tonight, but they don’t. They’re blurry and unfocused, trained on something beyond me. He breathes in noisily, his legs moving for dear life.

My hatred ebbs for a moment, giving way to confusion.

Elwood nearly mows me over but stops dead in his tracks. The terror dials back on his face and a strange hope takes its place. “W-Wil?”

“What the hell do you want?” I snarl.

You’d think I tased him by the way he jumps. He stands there, whipping around like something might leap out any second and sink its teeth into his neck. God. I ease myself up, running my fingers along my legs.

I gawk at him, soaking in everything I missed. His skin is scraped from branches, and he’s shivering profusely. His fingers are a raw, blistering shade of red, and his lips are tinged blue.

I clear my throat, purposefully looking away. Mom’s image is carved into my mind; it takes everything to keep my voice level. “I know why I’m out here, but what about you? What’s your excuse?”

He looks out in the shadows again, and then lurches back toward me, snatching my arm. “It’s—” He shakes his head. “We need to go.”

“We are not going anywhere.” I yank my hand back, throwing a skeptical look over his shoulder. Nothing. No glowing red eyes, no sharp glint of a knife. His fear is contagious, sinking into me even after I try to swat it away. Maybe it’s all the cuts on his skin. The blood is enough to make me squeamish. But I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me tremble.

“You don’t understand.”

I steady myself. It’s easier said than done. My body acts on muscle memory; my traitorous arms long to wrap around him, my traitorous face keeps wanting to go soft. Thank God for my iron will.

“You’re right,” I bite through my teeth, “I don’t understand.”

Frustration wears differently on his skin. Mine manifests in clenched teeth and quivering fists. His is a quiet beast, built less on rage and more on desperation. A shiver works through him, his eyes wide. “Please. I’ll explain later. My family is—” But he doesn’t get to finish.

A sound breaks through the night: several feet wading through the snow, their boots crunching hard against the ice. Elwood’s body stiffens, freezing to stone. He doesn’t so much as breathe. He grimaces, and I watch his eyes bulge from their sockets. The darkness shields the strangers in the distance, but each step forward places them closer.

“My family,” he mouths.

Here in the shadows of the forest, the words feel heavier. They strip what little air is left from my lungs. Flashlights tear ribbons through the darkness. Light catches in the space beyond my shoulder, a perfect spotlight on the bark. Elwood doesn’t need to say anything. We need to go.

I give a dazed nod and my body burns with adrenaline. He yanks my arm, throwing me to his chest before the next beam can reach me. With my skin flush to his, he shields us behind the bloodied bark of the rabbit’s tree. Red drips from the branches, slithering a grisly path down his scalp. It rolls like a bead of sweat on his cheek. My eyes dart above him, training on the glossy wet stare of the corpse.

I wonder if it felt anything when they slit its throat. I decide I don’t want to know.

Time passes like half-dead roadkill: each second slow and agonizing, an eternity trapped waiting for the end to come. I’m not sure how long we stand like that, chests thumping in tandem, waiting for the lights to click off and the footprints to change course.

Eventually the yellow beam turns elsewhere, cold blue pouring in its place. The footsteps stop altogether and the silence is worse. I clamp a hand over my mouth to soften my breathing, hyperaware of each sputtering breath leaving my lips. My free hand finds Elwood’s and there’s nothing gentle in the latch of our fingers.

One second. Two.

Just like that, his family retreats. With the last muted step, Elwood peers into the darkness. It takes a swallow, a nod, and a tighter grip of my hand for him to decide to move.

The path I made earlier with my sneakers has been buried over. The snow is up to our knees, but that doesn’t matter. We race all the way back, dodging branches and wincing against each pummel of the wind. Ice sprays sharp streaks across my face. I have to wipe the snow from my eyes to see the motel in the distance. It’s an ugly finish line, but I’m sprinting toward it.

Minutes blur and I’m only slightly conscious of the change from forest floor to asphalt parking lot. Then the motel door is creaking open like a mausoleum vault. I squint against the yellow lights. They’re barely a comforting presence. They seem dingy and unstable, at risk of blinking out. The heat hits me hard with the doors slammed behind my back.

“Jesus.” I breathe, for lack of anything better to say. My body has thawed out, but I don’t think my brain has.

“I need to hide,” Elwood blurts, clearly more alert than I am. “Can you barricade the door? We can... uhh... push that desk in front of it.” He juts a finger out toward the lobby desk—all two hundred pounds of it. I know for a fact I can’t move it. I doubt he could, either. Together, we make a useless combo.

I swallow and wait for the words to come. Then I wait a minute longer to find my edge. “Yeah. No. We’re not doing that. You honestly look like you’re about to collapse, so I guess I’ve got to make sure you don’t keel over. As much as I hate you, if I let you die, the sheriff will be after me. We all know how much of a sweet spot he’s got for your family. And then as soon as you’re done, you need to get the hell out of here.”

“No,” he groans, more desperate than I think I’ve ever heard him in my life. He shakes his head, his skin growing paler by the second. He’s starting to look like he’s got tuberculosis. That, or like he’s a ghost already. “Please.”

That’s the last thing he says before he slumps to the floor. There’s a pooling snow stain on the carpet already, grimy gray ice working into the fibers.

Cherry is going to have a conniption over that when she sees it. My chest aches. Cherry would know what to do here. She wouldn’t be racing around like a chicken with its head sliced off. She’d figure it all out. I breathe in—one tight, deep breath that stings when I release it.

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