Amy leaned on Carson's shoulder as they staggered out of her cabin. Lucas met them outside wearing a fresh set of clothes. "No luck. Did you guys find anything? Sounded like you must've seen a rat or something considering you screamed so loud I thought—"

"Dad's dead." The words tasted cold on her lips, colder than the rain already soaking through her shirt.

"She found him in there," Carson said, nodding toward her cabin.

Lucas opened his mouth, only to close it again and stare at the mud. When he spoke again, his voice came as a hoarse whisper. "I'm sorry."

The rain washed away their footsteps almost as quickly as the mud captured them. How long had her dad been lying there? Hours? Minutes? Would they have found him in time if only they hadn't stopped to eat?

"It's not your fault."

Amy startled at the sound of Carson's voice. He'd quietly slipped her hand in his, sharing what little warmth he had. "How couldn't it be?" Amy said. "Everyone else got out of here before whatever killed him got here. If he hadn't been waiting for me..."

"Don't. Don't let yourself start thinking like that. If I got caught up in that after what happened to Jessica..." Carson exhaled a long, slow breath. "Just don't. You saw the statue. None of us could've stopped whatever did that. Let's just focus on getting the hell out of here, okay?"

Amy gave his hand a tight squeeze. "Okay."

Lucas led them toward Mr. Sterling's jeep. "This thing's rusty as all shit, but she should at least get us into town."

The idea was a tempting one. All that stood between Amy and a return to civilization and safety was a short road pockmarked with potholes.

But whatever had killed her dad was still out there, and so were the kids.

"We can't just go," she said. "What about the campers?"

"What about them?" Lucas asked. "They're probably home with their parents, or at least safe in a hotel."

"And if they're not?"

"Then it's not our problem. I get paid thirteen bucks an hour to basically babysit, not to get torn apart by whatever the fuck got Mr. Sterling."

Carson cleared his throat. "Can't we at least call Camp Maplewood, make sure everyone's okay?"

"You got their number? And a phone?"

"Dad's got a phone in his cabin, and their head counselor's number somewhere in case either camp needs to borrow anything." Or in case he and the other head counselor wanted to crack open a couple cold ones by the lake according to her mom.

"Fine, but as soon as you put that phone down, I'm out of here."

Unlike Amy's cabin, Mr. Sterling's still had power. Yet, even with the light preventing them from fumbling around in darkness and banging their shins on everything, the place still felt off. There was nobody there to greet them with mugs of hot chocolate and assurances that everything would turn out okay.

They only had each other.

Activity plans, notes from parents, and a smattering of crayon drawings rustled as Amy rummaged for the other head counselor's phone number. She found the sticky note at the bottom of the heap, pale and curling at the edges from age. Her throat tightened at the sight of the familiar chicken scratch. "I can't," she mumbled hoarsely as she fought back tears.

Carson took the note with an understanding nod. He took a seat at Mr. Sterling's desk and dialed the number. After three agonizingly long rings, he said, "Something killed Mr. Sterling. We're pretty sure a moose did it. You need to leave before it comes after anyone else."

The phone hit the receiver with a firm thunk. "Answering machine," Carson said.

"Let's go," Lucas said.

"You can't be serious." Amy crossed her arms with a scowl. "If that thing goes after them, they don't stand a chance."

"We left a message. I think they'll manage. Carson, back me up."

The other boy put up his hands. "Don't drag me into this."

"You want to die like your girlfriend?"

Carson set his lips into a thin line. "You want me to abandon a bunch of kids?"

"I'm going to warn them," Amy said before marching out of the cabin. She threw open the door to her dad's jeep, still mercifully unlocked, and searched for the spare key.

Lucas ran after her. "Let me get this straight. You're going to drive in this weather to a place you've never been to while a killer moose is running loose?"

"Yes."

"You're going to get yourself killed."

"Then at least I actually tried to do something."

Lucas stormed off with his hands jammed in his pockets. Soon, he was nothing but a dark speck across camp.

"At least we won't have to listen to him whining the whole time," Carson said. He gave her a halfhearted smile before easing himself into the backseat and helping her look for the key. "I don't think I could stand it if we have to walk."

They searched every nook and cranny of the jeep. Other than the first aid kit, nothing useful caught their eye.

Amy scowled as she popped open the glove compartment. Gum, candy wrappers, a photo of her mom in front of their house, back before it became just her dad's. No key. "I swear if I don't find the damn key in the next five minutes—"

"Good thing I found it for you," Lucas smirked as he twirled her dad's Jurassic Park keychain around his finger.

"Where on earth did you find that?" She knew her dad's usual strategy when it came to storing things: let the clutter handle it for him.

"You don't want to know." He yanked the keychain away when she tried to grab it. "I'll give it to you under two conditions. First, we gather supplies before we leave. I'm not charging off into the woods with nothing but the shirt on my back."

"And the second one?" Amy asked apprehensively.

"I'm driving 'cause I'm the only one who's ever been to that hellhole before."

Once they gathered as much supplies as they could squeeze into the trunk, Lucas slammed it shut and sauntered into the driver's seat.

As he started the ignition, Amy spotted dried blood speckling the keychain.