Thirty-Three

Nicholas flung an armful of wood onto the bonfire, answered by a bright whoosh of sparks and a bloodcurdling scream from the dark.

Sitting on her log, Sally blanched as it sank into her gut and twisted.

Clare said, "Whoa. That was Brad."

"Yeah," Sally murmured.

"I thought you cared about him."

"I do," she said, like a machine.

Struggling to process what was happening.

Another scream of pure agony crossed the night. This time, it landed in her gullet. She leaned forward, hugging her ribs to fight past a sudden urge to be sick.

"Jesus," Clare said. "What's going on over there?"

"Bullshit is going on," Ashlee said. "I scream better than that."

Nicholas sighed. "Come on, Ash."

"What?"

"Please stay in character. You're ruining the fun."

She sniffed. "Yeah, you want me to do all the work to warm you up for your big death."

Sally shot her a quick glare. Ashlee was about as supportive as a wet blanket. When she wasn't sneaking mental wedgies on her castmates before they walked on set, she worked the director to try to steal their scenes. During her scene partner's close-ups, she delivered her lines with the emotional heft of a robot.

In Sally's view, she offered the closest thing this movie had to an actual monster. To make things worse, judging by the sniffing, she'd inhaled a prodigious quantity of cocaine before coming to the bonfire.

Another sigh from Nicholas.

"We're supposed to be helping—"

"‘Oh, please, Ash,'" she mimicked. "‘Gimme a quick handy, I'm about to go on set—'"

His face turned red in the firelight.

"Seriously, I—"

A final scream, the loudest yet. The anguish so real it defied acting.

Sally looked toward the town proper, where a handful of windows were still lit up, their occupants awake. Surely, they'd heard it. But they'd do nothing. The locals had been warned that they'd hear screams all night.

"Oh." Ashlee's sneer evaporated. "He's actually really good."

Sally said, "Guys, I think he might be hurt for real."

If only Max hadn't told his cast he'd be shooting their death scenes with the very camera that witnessed the Mary's Birthday massacre. The same camera that filmed Jim Foster getting pulverized by a truck.

If it'd been any other camera, Sally could dismiss Dan Womack's breathless warnings as the ravings of a damaged middle-aged actor. She'd be playing right now instead of worrying about people dying.

A camera that kills people in freak accidents. A director using it during a horror movie. Actors happily walking to their marks to die one by one.

It all added up to the perfect massacre.

Written by Dorothy, Sally's scene card read:

WANDA, congratulations on reaching the end of your journey! brAD walked off to find you in the ruins of your childhood home. He needs you way more than he lets on. You might just need him too—if you'd allowed it. Fate, however, has other plans tonight. Things that are out of your control, as much as you hate that!

Goal: After MICHAEL sets out to prove his leadership and determine brAD and JERRY's fate, go to the DOCKS by the lake (near base camp) to let fate know what you think of it. How you reject its permanent imprint on you. How you will be the master of your own fate from now on.

Fate hears you, my love. It does. Only it has other plans…

No victory: The shadow will descend upon you and end your life. In the lighted area, you will find two rocks. Stay between them and give us your best death! Max and the camera will take care of the rest!!!

"Something doesn't feel right," she added.

"Nothing about this trip feels right," Clare told her, still in character. "But I'm sure Brad's okay."

"I'd better go check it out," Nicholas announced.

Jaw set in steely resolve, he stood. Then checked his watch.

"Crap." He wasn't due on his mark for a while yet.

Someone called out in the ruins. A male voice yelling to Johnny.

Nicholas blew a sigh of relief.

"Jerry's got this. He'll find out what's—"

"Stop," Sally shouted.

They all stared at her.

"I'm not kidding. I think Johnny is actually hurt, maybe even dying."

"Brad," Clare softly corrected her.

"That's our Wanda," Nicholas chuckled. "Can't remember what man—"

"Quit acting!" Sally said. "I'm saying this is not a movie anymore!"

"Boring," Ashlee said.

Clare leaned toward Sally to hiss, "What's going on with you?"

"I just told you!"

"I mean you breaking character. Come on, play with me. It's all coming to an end. I want to go out having as much fun as possible."

Ashlee stood. "Screw this. I'm gonna go talk to Max."

Sally nodded. "Yes. Thank you. We should all go—"

"I feel like I'm at a birthday party where everyone is celebrating their birthday except me. I'm the star of this movie, and I should get to do something. All I'm doing is sitting around watching you guys have all the fun."

"Ashlee, don't," Sally said.

Ashlee laughed. In the distance, Bill shouted again.

"Look at you overacting," she said.

"What we should do is find Bill right now and get out of here. We're all in real danger."

"There it is. Can't act your way out of a paper bag. You're lucky the director is in love with you."

"We need—" Sally gaped. "Wait, what?"

"Even if you really believed what you're saying, I wouldn't," Ashlee told her. "Because nothing about you is convincing."

The actors gasped and fell silent. Even the snapping fire became subdued.

Sally fought back tears. Her vision turned red. What Ashlee said was the most hurtful thing anyone had ever said to her, strong enough to make her forget Max's murder spree for a moment.

"I'll leave you to your games," Ashlee said. "I'm going to go work."

Clare stood and cracked her knuckles.

"You'd better," she growled. "Before I beat your skinny—"

"Don't care," the actor called over her shoulder.

Sally stared after her until she disappeared in the dark, caught between wanting to save the woman and strangle her before Max had his chance.

Screw it, she decided. She'd tried. Ashlee could save herself.

Lightning flashed in the distance. Its faint blue light glimmered along the empty patch of ground where she'd last seen the woman.

"Are you okay, love?" Clare asked her.

"What?"

Nicholas eyed her with concern. "I'm so sorry, Sal. She didn't mean what she said." He considered. "Though that's half the problem."

Stop, Sally thought. Just stop talking.

She didn't care about any of this.

"I think Max is planning to kill us," she said.

Nicholas snorted. "Uh, yeah. We know. It's the whole idea."

"No. Please listen to what I'm saying. I mean, really kill us."

Clare reached to clasp her hand.

"You wouldn't be pulling a Jim Foster on us, would you, love?"

"What?"

Both she and Nicholas regarded her with another sympathetic look. They believed she'd run too far into the Method. They thought she couldn't distinguish fiction from the real and was maybe suffering a psychic break.

Were they right? Was she confusing this movie with reality? Which was more probable, that or Max had decided to kill off his actors with a cursed camera?

"No, I am not pulling a Jim Foster on you," Sally said. "I am dead serious."

In the distance, Bill roared in pain. The jarring sound wafted over the ruins like an animal roar of defiance, horror, and rage.

Then cut off with a sharp metallic clang.

In the ensuing silence, Clare and Nicholas slowly swiveled their heads to exchange wide-eyed stares. The truth apparently dawning on them.

Yes, Sally thought. Now you see.

"Whoa," said Clare.

"Yeah."

"I mean… Yeah. Whoa."

"That was really good," he admitted.

"Even better than Johnny's. The two of them set the bar right high, mate."

Sally groaned. Nicholas glanced at his watch.

"I'm up next," he said. "You just wait. You ain't seen nothing yet."