Dead of Summer

“Why this joke isn’t funny? Why you have an ax?” I offer; the questions flitting out of my mouth in a sour tone of voice. “Seriously, you could get in a lot of trouble if I tell anyone, Kayde. Fuck, I don’t even know where you got an ax!”

“Brought it from home, counselor.” He gives me a two-fingered scout salute, his grin catching and pulling at his lips. “Thought I’d get to use it for show-and-tell.”

“This isn’t funny!” I nearly cut him off when I repeat the words, and when he steps forward again, I refuse to trip backward. Instead, I match his step with my own. Though I can’t help it when I glance down at the weapon he holds, measuring how close the blade is to my stomach and wondering if I’ll have time to get away if he decides to swing it.

Probably not.

“Stop…stop fucking around, Kayde.” All I can do is fake my bravery and hope for the best. There’s no way he’s actually intending on?—

My brain slams to a halt as images of him kicking down a cabin door and blood flowing down the stairs invade my every thought.

“You know, I have to admit, you’re surprising me about all of this.” He doesn’t move closer, or away, though his grip adjusts minutely on the ax. “I thought you would’ve run away by now. I thought I would’ve had to chase after you to stop you. Never thought I’d need to know how fast you run, but fuck Darcy, right?” He says it so casually, like there isn’t a barely veiled threat in his words.

Run? My brain tries to imagine the scenario of me taking off toward camp. I can see his face contort in my mind, the ax coming up sideways before I’ve gone more than six inches, and digging in just above?—

I cut that thought off too, and glare up at him as my heart beats in a rabbit-like rhythm in my chest. “You can’t be serious,” I whisper again, the light in my hand barely illuminating his face since I don’t have the guts to shine it up into his eyes. “You can’t be?—”

“Well, if it makes you feel better, I never intended to kill you.” His smile is sheepish when he says it, shoulders hunching like I’ve caught him doing something oh-so-sweet. “I’d thought, maybe afterward, as long as I could keep you in the dark, that you and I could be the only survivors. Thought maybe…” His other hand comes up so his knuckles can trail along the edge of the ax as I watch.

“You know what trauma bonding is, right? It wouldn’t be my trauma, but I figured I could pretend for you after everything. When you were all alone and scared and waiting for the cops with me.” His eyes narrow under his lashes, mouth still curved in its pretty grin.

“What about Kinsley?” I whisper, somehow sucked into this terrifying fantasy right along with him.

His smile doesn’t fade. In fact, it stretches wider over his lips as he takes that one last step that puts the ax as close to me as possible without it touching my shirt. “Sweetheart,” he purrs, giving a small tilt of his head so he can stare at me with those pretty brown eyes. He doesn’t say anything else, though. Not for a few seconds, as he leans closer until his lips are so close to my ear that I can feel his breath tickling my skin.

When his mouth opens so he can speak, I feel that too. The brush of his lips makes my stomach curl, and for a moment, I think I might throw up all over the ax and our shoes. “You won’t trauma bond with me if there’s not enough trauma. I thought I’d leave her in pieces for you to find when you inevitably went to check on her first. Do you know what those pieces will look like after I’ve chopped her apart with this ax?”

My breathing just…

Stops.

I wonder if I could die like this, with the air punched out of me and the ax shifting closer, closer, until I can feel the cold metal pressing up against the skin of my stomach, pushing my shirt over my hips and out of the way for him.

“So how would you like to do this, hmm?” he purrs, leaning away just enough to meet my gaze. I can still feel the movement of the heavy blade against my skin; it sears my flesh, causing me to shiver and pull away before I can stop myself.

But, naturally, Kayde just follows me. Somehow, the ax stays hooked under my shirt, and every step I take backward is an easy half-step forward for him.

“W-well, it’s all ruined now, right?” I snap, fighting the urge to grab the blade and shove it at him so it’s not touching me any longer. Distantly, I realize we’re no longer on the trail, though it isn’t until my back hits a large, rough tree that I realize just what that means.

Kayde is quick to eat up the last of the distance between us, his free hand pressing to the bark above my head, fingers splayed as he cages me in place. “Elaborate,” he requests, eyes still doing that thing that tells me he knows more than I do and I’m going to find out the hard way in a second.

“You said…you don’t want to kill me. That you didn’t want me to know it was you.” It’s hard to keep my voice from trembling, and I dig my fingers into the bark behind me to keep myself somewhat grounded. “But now I know. And I’m not going to trauma bond with you when I fucking know it’s you, Kayde.” The words trauma and bond taste like ash between my lips, and it pulls my shoulder blades tight as I glare at him.

“So what, then?” he hums, the full blade of the ax pressing heavily against my stomach. “Should I just give up? Shrug my shoulders and disappear into the woods? That’s what you want, right? For me to be a dream or at least disappear like one.”

God, that is exactly what I want. But I don’t give him an answer to a question he knows the answer to. I lift my chin and fight to glare at him, instead of shrinking away and knocking the ax to the side like I want to.

“See, that’s the thing about doing this for a while.” My lack of a response doesn’t seem to faze him. “I have about four backup plans that involve you finding out what I’m doing. Whether before, or during.” There is no after included in that. As if he’s so sure I never would suspect him without seeing it for myself.

Maybe I wouldn’t.

“You die in one of those backup plans,” Kayde is quick to inform me, and I can’t help it when my eyes close against the words and my lungs burn around my next breath. “But that’s like, my worst-case scenario.”

“I’ll call the cops,” I promise him, eyes open and wide as I stare at him. “The moment you start walking toward the cabins, I’ll?—”

“You’ll call the cops?” he sneers, interrupting me. His free hand leaves the tree above me, and before I can even think to stop him, he digs his hand into my back left pocket, fishing out my phone quickly to brandish it in front of my eyes. “Okay, sweetheart. Why don’t you do that for me? Show me how you’ll call the cops.”

My heart pounds, and I finally reach back to touch my pocket, unsure how he knew exactly where to look for it even though he’s barely known me for two days. “How did you?—”