The Cabin in the Woods

She breathed in and tasted Holden’s mysterious, lightly spiced breath; glanced at the treeline to her left and saw Curt’s eyes peering over the trees, blood on his temple and cheek, confident smile on his face as he revved the dirt-bike; moved her hands across the rough, dry wood and felt the warmth of Jules’s blood on her skin. And Marty, dragged off and killed; sweet innocent Marty who’d had a crush on her which she had never truly acknowledged. She had enough memories for a million nightmares. If she could only keep them at bay a little while longer, she might have a chance to get away from here.

Through the woods, she thought. As far and fast as I can. Or back to the tunnel, see if I can climb up and over the mountain or down and across the ravine. Or… or… and what she’d said to Holden echoed back to her now, about how there would always be something in their way. Or someone. The puppeteers would see to that.

But by not giving in and drowning to steal Buckner’s bloody victory from him, she had decided to fight those fucking puppeteers. And she would continue to fight them, every step of the way.

Her breathing became more regular, her determination grew. She saw a point of light moving slowly above her and thought perhaps it was a satellite. Her paranoia rich and hot, she gave it the finger.

Something smashed into the wooden dock right beside her head. The impact thumped into her skull, the noise shocking, her hair flicking up, a breath of displaced air giving her ear an intimate caress. She sat up and turned onto her hands and knees, ready to leap aside, and saw Matthew looming over her. The crowbar was still sticking through his face.

“Come on then, fucker!” she shouted, and found that she was hardly surprised. But terrified, she realized that she’d wet herself with fear. And that made her fury grow into something blazingly hot. “Come on, come on, come on!”

He came.

TEN

Sitterson worked the room.

He could see the glances he was getting and they made him smile, but only slightly. If he beamed they’d see him reveling in his success. He wanted to be more aloof than that. Just a little more. That way they’d all find him more interesting, and there were a few women in here he’d never tried it on with yet. He always liked to end these events with a blow job at least, and up to now he had an unbroken record.

Today, buoyed by his vague celebrity status after the close call and his rapid thinking, he’d set himself a much higher target. And there she was, Lin, standing over by the opened mahogany panels and actually leaning against the last closed one, as if she was ready to pull the lever herself. She chatted with a male colleague without smiling. There was another drink in her hand. And by the end of the day, Sitterson wanted her writhing beneath him with her tight hair released over a plump, fresh pillow.

“Oh, yeah,” he said softly, taking another drink of tequila and glancing around the room. People from other departments had trickled in, most of them bearing drinks, food, and a readiness to celebrate their success. The atmosphere was relaxed and jovial, but Sitterson had been here long enough to sense the air of underlying hysterical relief that most people still exuded. Laughter was a little too loud and free, drinks were drunk just a little too quickly, and there was a sexual tension in the air that would undoubtedly be drawn upon before the day was over.

He remembered the evening after his first time. He’d started in Story, and following their first scenario the party had been hard and fast, like this one, and so had the woman he’d met from Admin. She’d been giving him head in a restroom, sucking like he was the last man alive, when someone from Control walked in on them. Sitterson had frozen, expecting reprimands and instant dismissal. But the woman had just smiled softly and backed out, and the Admin girl had barely missed a stroke.

There was something animal and desperate about that act, which he sensed in the air here and now, and he knew that what they did took them all back to basics. The present existed only because of what they had done today.

It was live or die, and what better way to celebrate surviving than with sex.

On the big screens the Virgin was fighting for her life with the Matthew Buckner zombie. Sitterson watched for a moment, then looked away, across the crowd. No one else seemed particularly interested, but he knew it was something far deeper than that. It didn’t matter now whether the Virgin lived or died, and everyone in this room dealt with stuff that mattered. They no longer had control over her fate, nor did they need to.