9. About that chainsaw…

9

About that chainsaw…

Harkins

S he's still quivering under me, the dead guy's arm wrist deep inside her pussy, when I hear a loud clamoring in the stairwell. I whip my head toward the darkness just in time to see a flash of orange in a corner. When I look back at her, she has the same wide-eyed look on her face that I'd bet matches mine.

"It's gotta be him." She pushes me off her, forcing me to pull the limb out of her. "Get him."

"No." I shake my head, scrambling to grab her jumpsuit and toss it her way. "I'm not leaving you."

"I'm a big girl, Demetri. Do not let him get away." Her tone is sobering; this matters to her.

I know her only regret from last year was letting that asshole get away, and here? Now? He's easy pickins', and everything about it is consequence free. We won't get another chance.

It would be a waste of the whole night if we didn't kill him.

I hesitate, doubling back to look at her still struggling to put her foot into the pants hole. "Go!" she shouts, and I slip on dead guard blood, grabbing the chainsaw before taking off down the steps.

Part of me is drenched with worry, fearful and anxious about leaving her alone and unprotected with real criminals running loose. The other part of me worries for them . I run, one foot after the other, chasing after the loud racket the Danvers kid leaves behind him. How he hasn't gotten merked by one of the prisoners yet is beyond me. My boots squeak below me, bloody footprints following on the ground.

He must have realized he couldn't get out from the entrance and tried to make his way back up through the stairwell. I step down to the dungeon with both feet at once, pulling my chainsaw from my back and switching the safety off. I press the throttle, lifting the saw into the air and revving the motor for sheer theatrics.

The kid is hiding in a corner somewhere, probably biting his nails. Taking large strides, I walk through the basement of the prison, passing by dozens of open solitary confinement cells, but there's no sight of Kyle Danvers.

I take a different approach, shutting off the motor of the chainsaw and throwing it behind me again. I step into an open cell, the wall-to-wall brick surrounding me, nothing but a narrow little window along the top for fresh air not even big enough to stick a hand through. It's hauntingly quiet, so I wait. A minute passes, but there are still no sounds, no footsteps, nothing that says he's coming out of hiding.

A breeze brushes past my neck. I feel a hand on my shoulder, but I know I'm alone in this cell, so I don't dare turn around. Stepping out, I bring my hand to my mouth and amplify my voice. "Danvers," I call out into the dark hall.

No response.

I try again. "Danvers."

The sound of rubber sneakers against the concrete are low in the distance. "Kyle."

"Professor?" His voice is shaky and filled with fright.

This is going to be easier than I thought. "Are you alright?" I feign concern.

I just need to keep him in my sights until she's here.

Then, it's up to her.

"Oh shit, fuck! Thank God it's you. There was some psycho with a chainsaw chasing me!" His squealing sneakers get louder as he runs my way.

I can't help but smile.

I despised Kyle Danvers when he was in my classes, and I hate him doubly now. He stumbles into me, chest-to-chest, bouncing off me and falling back on the ground. "Fuck," a pained shout leaves him.

There's a piece of me that says I should stick my hand out and help him up, but I don't. By the time he's standing in front of me again, I can hear the soft tapping of her boots against the concrete, and within a few seconds, she's at my back.

"Found him," I toss behind my shoulders.

"Naya?" he asks, his voice full of concern.

"Nope." Camila pops the P, still hiding behind me.

"Mila!" He exhales in relief. "I-I lost Naya. Have you seen her?"

"Nope." She does it again.

He takes a step back. I can't gauge his mood—it's too dark to see his expression—but I sense he's suspicious.

"W-where have you guys been?" His voice is shaky.

I take a slow step forward as Camila laces her tone in her sweet voice. "In the stairwell."

"D-doing what?" He puts distance between us, stepping back to where I can no longer find him in the shadows.

"Your mom." She bursts out laughing.

Kyle takes off running into the depths of the dungeon, but there's only more solitary confinement and the old warden's torture dungeon. There's no way out of here for him. Camila takes off running past me, cackling like a madwoman while taunting him. "Come back, bestie!"

One leisurely step after another, I follow, listening for the sound of her deranged laughter echoing in the distance to guide me forward. She is my compass, and her needle always points to hell.

By the time I get to The Death Warden's torture chamber, she has already cornered him. The glow of the battery-operated prop lanterns is the only thing in this whole prison providing any sort of illumination, the better to see the terrified look on his face. "M-Mila." He uses her nickname like he has any right to it.

Chainsaw already in front of me again, I rev it, just in case he hasn't taken the hint yet.

His eyes are Bambie-wide as he clutches the wall behind him like it'll save him while Camila just stands there, ax in hand, covered in blood.

She's the perfect vision of horror.

And she's going to be mine until our last days.

"I-it was you, wasn't it?" Kyle asks, body still pancaked flat against the wall, as if he's trying to somehow become one with it. "Last year, in the corn maze. You're the one who killed Noah."

"And his little dog, too!" Camila's impression is perfect, her sense of humor impossible not to love.

Loving everything about her is too easy.

She steps toward him, but there's nowhere else for him to go. His eyes dart from her to me, and I know exactly what he's thinking: he's trying to gauge whether or not he can plow through her before I cut him down.

I hit the throttle, revving the chainsaw in warning.

He dies the minute he lays a hand on her.

He'll die anyway, but at least here, we have some ground rules.

"Y-you're insane. We're in a prison!" he cries out.

Then, she lunges for him, ax still in hand. He tries to dodge her, but she hits him in the back before he can get past her, the blade of the ax slicing the side of his waist and sending him down.

He screeches, holding his side as he scrambles back into his little corner.

"S-stop, Camila!" Demanding, as if he has any authority over her.

My thumb itches for the throttle; I'm only waiting on her to give me the go. She snarls, biting at the air, amused at herself when she gets him to soil his pants by waving the ax too close to his dick.

"Gross. Why do they always piss themselves?" She turns back to me. "Remind me to Google that when we get home."

"It's the increased cortisol levels from stress," I explain to her. "It causes involuntary muscle contractions in the pelvic floor."

She sighs. "God, you're so hot."

"Y-you can't do this, Mila." He throws his hands out in front of her and waves them.

She chops at him with the ax, barely missing when he pulls back with frightened eyes. Her laughter is contagious.

"I think he's right," I tell her. "You can't do this." She spins on her heels, lifting the mask up for just a brief second to show me her confused expression. "It's going to take too long if you do it with the ax."

"Mmm. Grab him." It's all the command I need.

I lower the chainsaw, and in a few strides, I'm in front of him, a good four inches taller and far larger than this stringy ex-frat boy. He lunges to try to hit me, but I catch his fist in my palm, turning his hand backward and feeling the break too easily.

"Ah!" His scream is a pathetic wail, and he hits me with his one good hand while the other hangs limply in the wrong direction. "Fuck!" He blows snot bubbles from his nose, the tears running down freely.

I throw my fist into his face, stunning him long enough to pick him up. "What do you want to do with him?"

She's walking through the dungeon with the flashlight in hand, thumbing through all the torture devices set out for the haunted tour. "It's a shame we don't have time to play." There's nothing but amusement in her tone.

I chuckle under my breath. "I think we played plenty, Darkling."

With a pout, she turns on her heels, stopping in front of shackles. "Fine. Lock his wrists here."

Kyle stops moaning from pain to shout protests, hitting my back with his elbows. I toss him to the concrete floor on his back, sending my boot into his ribs. His blood sprays out with a cough as he wheezes, clutching his stomach.

I lower to a squat in front of him.

"You're going to die tonight, kid. She decided," I tell him, hoping that maybe if he understands this isn't something he can fight against, he'll stop struggling.

Makes it easier for me this way.

"N-no." Kyle shakes his head.

"Yes," Camila sings from the shadows.

"She is your reaper," I confirm, pulling him by the broken wrist to stand.

"Fuck! Fuck!" he screams, wailing and snotting freely down his lips.

I take his other wrist and match the injury, not waiting for his shouting to subside before I close each shackle around it. He's restrained to the wall now, feet still freely on the ground, but those can be easily removed.

He takes noisy breaths, working through the pain of shock as he shakes in the chains.

"Disembowelment?" she asks with a peppy voice, turning from the table with a sharp surgical knife.

"I think we've already done it," I remind her.

She brings the tip of the knife to her lip, like it's helping her think. "We could flay him?" she suggests, lifting the pliers.

"That'll take longer than the ax. Just use the chainsaw." I walk over to where I dropped it.

"Mm, yes. I agree. Cut him in half!" she declares, lifting her thumb in the air.

He's screaming like an absolute lunatic, a mixture of incoherent babbling and pleading that does nothing but draw more attention to the basement. We need to move quicker. I lift the chainsaw and position it at his midsection before lifting it back again.

"No!" she shouts, grabbing my attention before I cut. "Not like that. That's the boring way." I frown, waiting for her to clarify. "Hot dog! Not hamburger." She makes a vertical gesture with her hand.

The smile creeps its way back into my face. She really thought this one out. I squeeze the throttle, bringing the buzzing blade right next to his ear.

"No, no, no, no!" he pleads, trying to crawl up the wall with his feet.

"And start from the bottom, so he stays alive longer." She props herself up on a torture table, crossing one leg over the other as she readies herself to watch.

Kyle's eyes roll to the back of his head, and then he goes limp, fainting before I've even started.