Choosing the lesser of two evils, I kicked off my heels and sprinted barefoot under the psychotic laughing clown face and into the dark park. There had to be hundreds of places to hide within the park itself. Places that didn't involve getting lost in the stupid, fucking fun house again.
Note to self. Don't run into the damn fun house again, MK.
I was so focused on not being an idiot I did what every slasher flick heroine ought to be slapped for. I looked behind me.
There, in the middle of the clown mouth, backlit by the newly fixed entryway lights, was the same broad, shadowy figure from the trees.
It was surreal in a completely terrifying way. I wasn't sticking around to appreciate the drama of the whole setup, even though this prick had clearly put a lot of effort in. Instead, I bolted for cover, ducked behind a line of sideshow booths, then crouched down to hide my progress as I wove through busted-up old rides until I ducked behind the operation booth for the old Tilt-A-Whirl. If I could wait him out... if I could stay hidden and silent until he passed me by, I could run back to the entrance and...
And then what?
I had no car, no phone, no shoes. I was still bleeding from my head, and I was so cold my teeth had started chattering. I clenched my jaw to prevent the noise, but needed to keep a hand in front of my face to stop the puffs of fog from my breath from giving away my location.
A slow scrape of boots on concrete reached my ears, and I tucked into a tighter ball, huddling out of sight and desperately praying he passed by. The footsteps drew closer, slow and unhurried, like he was supremely confident I wouldn't get away.
Was that classic bad guy arrogance? Or had he thought ahead and blocked the exits? Fuck, I hoped it was the former.
His steps slowed, then seemed to stop directly beside my hiding place. My heart thudded so hard I worried I might have a heart attack. But a moment later, the steps started again—slow but steadily moving away from the Tilt-A-Whirl and me.
I let out one, long breath, trying to calm my nerves before shifting to my knees and peering over the control booth. I needed to see which direction he'd gone.
For a second, I couldn't see anyone, and the back of my neck prickled like he was going to be standing right behind me. But then I spotted movement over near my favorite attraction—the goddamn fun house.
By my guess, he—and I was pretty sure he was a he—was taller than six feet and had a broad, muscular build across the shoulders. He was dressed all in black with a hood pulled up and a full black ski mask over his face. Nothing about him struck me as familiar, but that was hardly surprising given the lengths he'd gone to to conceal his identity.
When I was sure he'd gone deeper into the park, I made my move.
Clambering back to my feet, I jumped over the operation booth’s barrier and sprinted at top speed back to the entrance. I had no plans beyond getting the hell out of the park. Maybe I could go back to the wrecked G-Wagen. Surely someone would come along and find it sooner or later. Even if I just stood on the road and flagged someone down I’d be better off. Anything had to be better than hanging around the Laughing Clown waiting to be made into a skin suit.
Skin suits frequently featured in my nightmares.
The lights came into sight, and hope soared inside me, but something crashed heavily in the direction I'd come from. I startled and whirled around on instinct. My nerves totally frayed as I tried to see what had just happened, but I found nothing amiss. Bats flapped frantically out of the big top, so I could only assume something had fallen over—or been pushed—inside there.
Chest heaving and heart pounding, I started running again.
Right into a black-clad man and a deadly sharp blade.
So sharp, in fact, that I didn't even register the pain until he pulled it out of my stomach and held it up to the light. I gasped, pain rendering me speechless as I clasped my hands to the wound on my abdomen. But my gaze remained glued to the blade. That blade that now dripped with my blood... but would have been a pretty, red steel even while clean.
I knew that blade.
It was Archer's.
"No," I whimpered, my heart squeezing painfully as my blood dripped from that distinctive red butterfly blade and onto the dark concrete. "No, no, no, not you."
Not waiting around to check if they were playing a prank—the freely bleeding stab wound in my stomach had cleared that right up—I took off running again.
He grabbed for me, but narrowly missed as I ducked under his arm and took off into the darkness of the park once more. Tears stung my eyes again, dissolving my mascara and making it hard to see, but my desire to live was strong. Keeping one hand on my wound, I swiped the other over my face and carried on.
I needed to hide. Hiding was my only chance. There was no way I could outrun him now. Or them? Were they all in on this? It would explain how he'd got in front of me so fast.
My stomach rolled, bile rising in my throat as betrayal burned through me. I wanted to scream. I wanted to break down and cry and feel goddamn sorry for myself and all the crappy breaks I'd been dealt in life. But those were luxuries reserved for the living—something I might not be much longer if I didn't fucking hide.
My bare feet pounded the hard ground, but I barely felt it. The wound in my side radiated agonizing pain in a way that made me lightheaded and nauseous, and cold sweat was forming on my skin. I knew the signs of shock all too well, but I couldn't give in. I couldn't give up. I'd fought too damn hard to give in now.
I made a beeline for the pavilion, my pink hair streaming behind me as I ran. There was no time to worry about what a target it made me, though. I was more concerned with the blood trail I was inevitably leaving.
Just as I approached the pavilion, a black-clad figure jumped out from behind a hut full of moldy stuffed animals. He grabbed my arm in a bruising grip, and I shrieked.
I swung at him, using my blood-coated fist to punch him in the face with every ounce of fear and rage boiling inside me.
A masculine shout erupted from him. He dropped my arm to clutch at his face and I was gone. Once inside the pavilion, I slowed my pace. It was a hell of a lot darker inside, and I didn't want to trip over something and break an ankle. Ducking behind a thick black drape, I took a moment to pause and lean against the wall. My chest heaved as my breath came in gasps, and my head was swimming. Fuck hiding, I needed a hospital. I pressed my hand back over the wound in my side and prayed Archer’s knife hadn't hit anything important. It couldn't have, right? Otherwise I wouldn't still be functioning.
Medical professional, I was not. I added that to my mental list of useful things to study if I ever made it out of the damn Laughing Clown alive.
When no footsteps followed me inside the pavilion, I silently continued on. I made my way through the stacked-up chairs and tables—this had once served as a dining area—and slipped out the kitchen exit.
From there, I could see the west gate of the park. Maybe if I could make it that far... They surely couldn't have every exit covered. Even if they did, I had to try.
There was no time for me to hesitate. If I stayed put, I'd likely bleed to death before they found me and killed me, so I sucked a deep breath and bolted.
My feet were damn near silent on the hard concrete, and I’d made it halfway to the gate when a shadow moved under the moonlight near the fence. A scream tried to escape, but I clamped my lips shut and pasted myself to the wall of a toilet block. The shadows covered me, for the most part, and I just had to hope it was enough.