The sound of the zipper as I close the tent is music to my ears. I shed my jacket and throw it on the ground, then go to my cot and sit. My eye catches the notebook on my nightstand, and like a sick routine, I count the twenty tally marks, before taking the pencil from the notebook’s binding and drawing another next to the rest.


    Twenty-one.


    “It should be twenty-two,” I say, as if someone’s there to convince me I’m wrong, but there’s no one. There’s only me and my thoughts, and all I can think about is how the creep took Maisy but left me alive. My leg bounces. I rub my thighs. What’s left of the monster’s breath still warms my cheeks and burns my nose.


    I stand and slap the notebook off the table. “It should be twenty-two!”


    After the words leave my mouth, a low, hollow sound of the signal horns echo through the camp. I stiffen. I’ve never heard the signal horns before, but the reason for the call sinks in, too deep to swallow without choking:


    We’re under attack.


    I swipe my jacket and bolt outside. As kids exit their tents, campers who have been here longer move faster than others who look more confused than worried. I realize among the clueless expressions, I’m one of them. I have no idea what to do. But the call continues, until every kid, except the toddlers, has rushed by, shoulder-checking me and shoving me on their way to the gate. I follow.


    Once there, Caleb’s already shouting over the worried campers, his words unclear. I’m in the back, my view blocked by taller kids scattered throughout the crowd. The horns stop, and the silence they leave behind is deafening.


    “We have a runner!” Guy shouts, thrusting his finger at something.


    The campers finally shut up, leaving Caleb to speak. “What do you see?”Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.


    Jerry takes his eye away from the scope of his rifle, his attention remaining on whatever’s out there. “I think...I think it’s Maisy!”


    Gasps come from the crowd. Mine catches in my throat, and I feel my stomach drop lower than my knees. Even Caleb is silent at first.


    “She’s being chased!” Guy adds. “Three creeps!”


    The campers start an uproar, conflict shooting at Caleb. Some campers demand the gate be raised, while others demand it remain closed.


    “They’re getting closer!” Jerry puts his eye back on the scope.


    “Do you have a clear shot?” Caleb asks, and the question angers a lot of the crowd.


    Jerry slowly moves his body as he aims. “Nope!”


    “For God’s sake—open the gate!” a desperate female voice shrieks above the chatter. My eyes find Kelly weeping into her hands.


    “No!” another female voice strikes back. “Keep it closed!” Kirsten—I’d recognize that ‘all-knowing’ attitude anywhere. I find her among the others, but more importantly, I spot the pistol tucked in her pants.


    My fingers twitch, the cries, shouts, and sobs of the campers unintentionally reminding me this is my fault, as if I need to be reminded. The uncomfortable wetness in my pants is enough.


    I don’t let the thought pass my mind twice, and I don’t give a smarter thought the chance to fight it. I dash into the crowd, weaving around bodies, passing Kirsten just long enough to swipe the gun, giving her no time to react, and continuing before stumbling out at the front, at Caleb’s feet.


    “Jay?” He sounds confused.


    I steady myself, hearing Kirsten’s voice getting closer as she tries to stop me—not from doing what I’m about to do but from using her gun—and stare Caleb in the eyes.


    “Open the gate, Caleb.”


    “What?” He steps back, looking horrified.


    “They’re gaining on her, Caleb!” Guy shouts.


    I stomp my foot. “Open the damn gate!”


    The crowd hushes, and that’s when Maisy’s screams and the creeps’ awful panting are heard.


    Caleb’s eyes fall to the gun I’m holding.


    Kirsten steps from the crowd, demanding the weapon, but I ignore her. All I care about is this moment. I’m still on Night Shift. This is my responsibility. It was my mistake. And I don’t see anyone else offering to fix it.


    Caleb puts up his hands as if to calm me down. “Jay, whatever you’re thinking about doing, you don’t have to do it.” His voice is level.


    Mine’s not. “Open it!”


    Our staring contest lasts a heart-stopping moment longer before finally, he shouts, “Open it!”


    The gate rises, and before Caleb has a chance to say anything else, I bolt past him and under the only thing keeping any of us alive.