"His Territory"
Part III

The horrible night…

Cindy Valentine stood with her arms wrapped around herself, watching the downpour in front of her from the safety of the cabin's front porch. The cabin's over hang spared her from the direct rain, but it was storming so heavily, she was still subjected to a lot of the splash back. Her legs were spotted with mud from the mad dash to the cabins as the sky had opened up, the jacket and skirt of her cream colored suit sprinkled here and there with dark water marks. And her red hair was slightly damp, hanging a bit more limply than it had been before the rain started. But other than that, she'd managed to keep from getting completely drenched as she and Mitch Monroe had scrambled to find shelter. The two had been arguing when it had happened, Mitch insisting that they try to walk back to town, while Cindy had felt confident that Lisa Clifton, the girl who'd abandoned them at Camp Forest Green would return.

"She's just being her usual bitchy self!" Cindy had exclaimed to Mitch, standing her ground on the issue. The two of them were still standing below the archway to the campgrounds at that time, where Lisa had left them. "She'll come back. Kyle's a nice guy, he wouldn't let her just abandon us!"

"Kyle's obsessed with Lisa, in case you haven't noticed." The scruffy boom mic operator had retorted. Despite the fact that the sun had been completely blocked out by clouds at that point, Mitch hadn't taken his ball cap or sunglasses off. It left him looking very cold and emotionless. "He'll be all stupid and snarky about it, but he won't dare contradict his goddess of darkness. They ain't coming back. We're stuck out here, and there isn't shit for cell phone service. We have to go back to town."

Cindy hadn't been anxious to go back to town. All they'd encountered there were a rage-a-holic sheriff and a completely psycho old man. Forest Green didn't exactly seem to be populated by the most pleasant people. There was definitely something hugely wrong with the town.

Before Cindy could further argue her point, however, an enormous blast of thunder had erupted in the sky above, shaking the ground and, frankly, scaring the shit out of her. As if it had been the sound of the clouds themselves splitting open, the downpour had followed almost instantaneously. Cindy and Mitch had run through the archway, into the campgrounds themselves and made their way to the six cabins arranged in a horseshoe shape in the clearing just beyond the entrance. They climbed up the steps of the nearest cabin, on the northern tip of the horseshoe and decided to wait out the storm beneath the cabin's overhang. The doors and windows of all the freshly renovated cabins were, of course, locked and bolted, so the two had come to terms with the fact that they'd have to wait out the storm on the porch.

However, after an hour of waiting, the downpour hadn't lessened one bit, and Mitch had grown impatient. Telling Cindy to stay on the porch, he'd decided to go into the woods and see if he could find any nearby residences, from which he might be able to make a phone call. Cindy hadn't had any qualms with this idea at the time. As long as she didn't have to go out into the storm herself.

But that had been almost a half hour ago. And it had grown significantly darker since then.

The rain was still coming down pretty heavily, but it had lightened noticeably from what it had been before. Cindy could clearly see the darkened woods surrounding the camp, and it was making her excessively nervous. She kept thinking she was seeing movement, but it was probably just the wind shaking the trees, or the rain rattling the leaves. Or animals. It could be any number of things!

But the lines from Lisa's script that Cindy had so much trouble memorizing earlier were coming back to her loud and clear now.

"The camp and indeed the whole town of Forest Green, aka, Crystal Lake, has a supposed 'death curse.' In 1979, seven camp counselors were brutally murdered by the deranged Pamela Voorhees, a woman who had been secretly sabotaging Camp Crystal Lake time and time again since her son's accidental death by drowning at the camp in the 1950's. Mrs. Voorhees blamed negligent counselors for the tragedy. Legend has it that Mrs. Voorhees' son himself, Jason, returned from the dead to claim the lives of anyone foolish enough to venture into the camp. Dozens of people have been cut down in the name of the Jason Voorhees legend…"

Jason Voorhees. She couldn't remember that name for the life of her earlier. Now she couldn't get it out of her head.

Somewhere off to her right, Cindy heard the loud snap of a branch. Even over the rain it was audible.

"Mitch?" she called out as she scanned the surrounding woods, her voice shaking. It wasn't from the cold. "Is that you?"

Silence was the only response. She saw no one.

Cindy swallowed hard, slowly sinking to a sitting position, against the wall of the cabin, trying to make herself as small and invisible as possible to anyone who might be watching her from within the woods.

She wanted to go home…

Elsewhere…

Britney's head was swimming as she sat cross-legged on the floor of the gigantic tent Bobby had pitched for he, Britney, and Lena to stay in. The pounding rain slamming into the tent's canvas roof again and again wasn't helping her clear her head at all. And the flickering of the kerosene lantern that sat between the three of them was really messing with her.

At first she'd watched in dismay as Lena and Bobby downed bottle after bottle of the beer Bobby had brought along, the two of them pressuring Britney the whole time to join them. Britney figured at least one of them should stay clear headed, but their pestering had gotten so obnoxious, Britney had finally, and somewhat impulsively, downed a whole bottle just to shut them up.

Britney had always been a bit of a lightweight. That bottle had loosened enough of her inhibitions for Bobby to convince her to join him and Lena in another. And another. And another.

And now, here she sat in her purple boy short panties, her blouse completely unbuttoned, but not off, exposing her plane, aqua blue bra. Five playing cards were loosely gripped in her hand. Bobby had convinced the two of them to play strip poker with him.

"It'll be fun!" he'd said. "Just to the underwear, nothing weird!"

Well Britney sure felt weird. Especially with the way Bobby's eyes kept flitting between her and Lena.

Lena, on the other hand was on her knees, chugging another bottle of beer, her cards lying on the canvas floor of the tent for the entire world to see. She had stripped down to her underwear completely at this point, but her lingerie was a different story than Britney's. Her bra and panties were black and lacy. Also calling what she wore "panties" was generous, considering how little of her they actually covered. She'd kept her thigh high black stockings on at Bobby's insistence.

Sitting between the two of them, wearing only his charcoal grey boxer briefs, was Bobby. He had several overturned bottles at his side, and held his five cards directly in his face, though his gaze was currently transfixed on Lena, who had finished downing her beer and was now smiling at him, running her fingers around the neck of the bottle suggestively. Britney shook her head.

"Y'know," she said. "We're all in our underwear now. That's as far as you said it would go. Why're we still playing?"

Lena bounced her eyebrows, curling her fingers through her long black hair. Her gaze never faltered from Bobby. "I dunno. I'm up for going farther."

Bobby leered back at her. "That's good!" He laid down his cards. "'Cause I got five aces! I'll let you ladies decide what you're taking off!"

Lena smiled and slowly reached behind her back to unhook her bra… when Britney finally stood up. "Alright! Enough! Seriously, Bobby? I might be a little buzzed right now, but I fucking know how many suits there are in a deck of cards! You can't have five aces, especially since I have the fucking ace of spades in my hand!"

Bobby's grin broadened. "Oops! I cheated!"

Lena burst out laughing as if that was the funniest thing she'd ever heard. Her hand hadn't dropped from the back of her bra, and Britney realized the only reason she hadn't taken it off yet was that she was too drunk to work the clasps. Britney stepped over the kerosene lantern and reached a hand out to Lena. "Alright. You're fucking wasted. C'mon."

"Ooo!" now Lena waggled her eyebrows at Britney, smiling suggestively. "Where we goin'?"

"To the car."

"You wanna do it in the car?"

Britney scrunched up her face in disgust. "What? Gross, Lena, no! We're going to the car and we're going to sleep off this blitz!"

Bobby's face fell. "No way! We're just starting to have fun!"

"Yeah!" Lena was still fumbling with the clasp of her bra. "We're juss startin' to have fun!"

Bobby reached over to the box of booze at his side. Only what he pulled out now, wasn't a bottle of beer. It was a bottle of Johnny Walker. He unscrewed the top. "You can go to the car, ya fuckin' prude. Lena and I are staying right here." He took a swig of the whiskey. "Aren't we?"

"Hell yeah!" Lena grinned, before her face morphed to a look of deep concentration as she worked the bra. Finally she huffed. "Fuck it!" She lowered her bra straps and began shimmying the whole undergarment down her torso.

Bobby's eyes instantly locked on Lena as she removed the little clothing she had left. Britney rolled her eyes. "I am so not staying for this. I'm going to the car." She glanced around the floor of the tent. "Where the hell's my coat… and my pants?"

Bobby's eyes remained on Lena who'd finally wrestled her bra off and was now wiggling out of her panties. "I threw 'em outside."

"You what?"

"Threw 'em outside." He glanced up at her just for a moment, winking. "In the rain. In a big ol' mud puddle. While you weren't looking. Didn't wanna risk you covering up those fine ass legs of yours. You could be so hot, Britney, if you'd just unwind and pull that stick out of your ass."

"Yeah!" Lena, who was now completely naked, save for her stockings, chimed in. She awkwardly crawled over to Bobby before sidling onto his lap. She glanced back at Britney. "Yer fuckin', hot Britney! Take it off! Wooooo!"

Britney sighed deeply. The whole reason she'd come up here was to help Lena avoid the situation she'd gotten herself into right now. And she'd failed. Well, fuck it. Even if she screwed up, she didn't have to watch it. She didn't care if she was half naked. She was going to sleep in the car. She'd be there to comfort the hungover and probably sobbingly remorseful Lena in the morning. She unzipped the tent and stumbled out into the downpour.

Bobby rolled his eyes as he watched her go. "Ah, fuck her."

Lena playfully nibbled at his ear lobe. She spoke in her sultriest voice. "Fuck you…"

Bobby looked back at her, sliding his hands around her waist. "Don't mind if I do!"

Britney trudged through the pouring rain, her bare feet squelching in the mud as she stomped toward the car. She was barely aware of the rain however.

She was just so angry! That fucking pervert, Bobby! He'd lured them up here for sex, just like Britney had known he had. He'd obviously been trying to get with the both of them, but had settled for just Lena, when Britney had proven so resistant. God, she just couldn't see what Lena saw in him! He was such a creep and a pervert! Why did her best friend have to be so stupid?

Of course, the booze hadn't helped. Lena got pretty indiscriminately, shall we say, wound up, when it came to alcohol. Tonight hadn't been the first time Lena had drunkenly made a pass at Britney, and it probably wouldn't be the last. Bobby probably knew that too, anyone who'd ever been to the same parties as Lena knew that she threw herself at everything that moved when you got a little alcohol in her.

Britney reached the station wagon, and yanked open the back door, climbing into the back, and pulling the door shut behind her. She paused, before hitting the automatic lock button on the car's back door, locking all the doors at once with a simultaneous click. She didn't want to risk Bobby sneaking up on her while she slept tonight. She glanced around, trying to locate the duffle bag she'd brought her clothes in, to try to find something dry to change into… when she suddenly closed her eyes and sighed deeply. Mother fucker. The bag was back in the tent.

She growled and punched the window in aggravation. Well, fuck it! She wasn't going back to that tent! Fumbling around beneath the seat in front of her, she managed to find the emergency roadside kit that she was sure Bobby's parents must've given him. Certainly Bobby wouldn't have had such foresight. Opening the kit, she found exactly what she was looking for: a folded wool blanket. She pulled the blanket out, wrapped it around herself, and collapsed against the floor of the car, sighing. She'd sleep off this buzz, and then in the morning, she was making Bobby take both she and Lena back to Apple Creek. Three day weekend be damned!

As she drifted off, Britney was comforted by the simple fact that at least this weekend couldn't possibly get any worse.

Britney, however, was completely unaware of the hulking figure watching her from the shadows of the tree line at the edge of the clearing in which she and her friends had made camp.

Jason Voorhees stared, emotionlessly, blankly, the rain drizzling down his grimy, hockey mask, as he saw the half naked girl stomp her way from the tent to the vehicle. In his right hand he held his machete. The weapon was old and rusted now, but still lethally sharp. Jason had retrieved it from his shack when his mother had informed him there was more work to do, after he'd killed that police man.

And now, he'd found the work that needed to be done.

(They must be punished, my boy! They were warned not to come out here and they've disobeyed! Now they must pay!)

Jason knew mother was right. He stepped out of the clearing and took a step toward the car he'd just seen the girl enter… when he heard a sound that froze him in his tracks.

It was a loud, high pitched, and rapturous female moan. It was coming from the tent that the half naked girl had just stomped out of.

Jason's one good eye narrowed. He knew what that sound meant. He tightened his grip on the machete.

(Them first!) His mother was practically shrieking in his head. (In the tent! They must die first!)

Jason slowly turned his attention away from the car and toward the tent. It was glowing with a soft, flickering, yellow light from within. Jason could vaguely make out the silhouettes of two intertwined people. A boy and a girl.

He stepped toward the tent.

Mitch had been walking for a good thirty minutes before he finally stumbled across the small, ramshackle, lean-to in the middle of the woods.

He'd left Cindy at the Forest Green campgrounds, travelling on what he'd thought was a path. And maybe it had been at one time, but since it obviously hadn't been kept up in years, it soon gave way and disappeared into the overgrown forest entirely. Mitch had found himself just wandering through the trees now, with no landmarks at all to follow, hoping he'd find a house. If he didn't he was kind of screwed, at least until morning. He was deep within the woods now, and was pretty positive he wouldn't be able to find his way back to the camp without at least the sunlight to help guide him. With the clouds overcast in the sky above, and not even the moonlight to see by, Mitch had finally been forced to remove his sunglasses, which he'd placed atop his ball cap. He practically had to feel his way through the trees now.

Mitch had been thinking about, for the umpteenth time, just how hard he was going to punch Kyle Stark in the face when they got back to Athens, Ohio, when he noticed a soft, flickering light, glowing among the trees some distance off. He'd followed it until he arrived in the small clearing where the shack rested. The glowing was coming from behind a dirty, white sheet that seemed to serve as a makeshift curtain for the shack's solitary, glassless window.

The shack itself looked like it'd been cobbled together from every type of building scrap imaginable. The slanted roof was made of corrugated steel. The walls of the shack were made of wood, and drywall, and metal sheets, all mish-mashed together like some kind of carpentry patchwork. The door itself didn't seem to be much more than a thin, tin sheet on hinges.

Mitch slowly made his way to the shack's tin door, and was about to knock when he paused, his knuckles inches from the tin. This shack obviously belongs to some crazy mountain man or something, a little voice in the back of his head said. What're the odds this guy's even going to have a phone?

On the other hand, reasoned a less cynical voice. Even if he doesn't have a phone, he's bound to know this area. Maybe he could point you in the direction of someone who would have a phone?

Mitch nodded to himself. Either way, it couldn't hurt. And it was better than blindly stumbling around the woods with his hands stretched out in front of him like fucking Frankenstein or something.

He knocked on the tin door.

Silence was the only response. He waited several seconds before knocking again.

Still nothing.

Without really knowing why, Mitch slowly reached out and pulled on the edge of the door. It swung open with a loud creak. Mitch stuck his head inside.

"Hello?" It was dark inside the shack, and Mitch's eyes were having trouble adjusting to it. He could hear the rain, which had finally started to slow to a drizzle, pattering on the steel roof above his head. He could see a faint light, spilling out from a doorway on the far side of the shack to the left of the door. The doorway was mostly blocked with what looked like a torn, red blanket, but Mitch could see the light flickering through the space between the bottom of the blanket and the floor.

Mitch's curiosity immediately welled up. There was something very odd about this place. He slowly stepped inside, his feet crunching on something. The shack's floor had no foundation and was made of dirt, which had mostly been turned to mud by the rain. Little stiff white objects were sticking out of the mud and as Mitch bent down to get a closer look, he suddenly realized they were bones. Lots and lots of tiny animal bones, some picked clean and bleached white, some still gristly and covered with bits of bloody meat. He stood, shuddering a bit as he glanced around the inside of the shack and took in the surroundings.

Immediately across from the entrance was what looked like a makeshift bathroom stall, with no door, made up of two hastily thrown together slats of drywall. A disgusting, filthy toilet sat inside, encrusted with some kind of brownish, dark material that Mitch didn't really want to think about. He doubted the shack had any indoor plumbing, so he didn't dare look past the toilet's lid. The whole thing looked like it hadn't been touched in decades.

Just to the door's left sat an old, wooden cot with a rotting, olive green canopy. It looked like it hadn't been used in ages either.

And then there was the room beyond the red curtain, with the flickering light. Mitch didn't know why he was doing what he was doing, why he was poking around this weird, creepy shack, but something was drawing him toward that room. It was more than just curiosity. He just couldn't place his finger on it. But he had to see what was in there.

Slowly, stepping carefully so as to avoid tramping on as many of the bones that littered the floor as possible, Mitch made his way across the room and to the red curtained door. He reached up and pushed the curtain aside.

It took a long moment for his brain to finally register and react to what it was seeing.

The room was small and dark. At the far end away from the door, a rickety, circular wooden table was set up. Draped over the table was a ratty and rotten, thick, sky blue old sweater. Surrounding the sweater were several ancient, half melted old candles, all of which were lit, accounting for the flickering light Mitch had originally seen that attracted him to the shack in the first place. The wax from these candles had dripped everywhere, mixing in with the fabric of the musty sweater and dripping over the table, hanging over the side like long, wax stalactites.

But all of this was secondary to the objects Mitch saw placed atop the sweater.

One of the objects was what looked like an old, worn out leather glove. Four long, rusty, looking razors jutted from the finger tips of the glove like bladed finger nails.

Sitting to the left of the glove was a severed head. It was ancient, decrepit, almost mummified looking. Its skin was brown and shriveled, it's eyelids closed and caved in. Its lips had tightened so badly that they were permanently peeled back, revealing the heads ghastly, rotting yellow teeth. It was impossible to tell if the head was male or female but it had long wisps of thin white hair protruding from the top. This head sat inside the collar of the sweater, as if it was meant to be wearing it.

The other severed head was even worse. It sat to the right of the first head, settled just behind the razor glove. It didn't look as badly decayed as the first severed head, but its skin was disfigured nonetheless. It was bald, with a hooked nose, and covered in what looked like hideous third degree burn scars. It looked decidedly more male than the head next to it. Its eyes were closed, its mouth gaping open, exposing its jagged, rotten teeth.

Mitch knew he should run. He was in a bad place, he could feel it. The air felt rotten in here, musty and evil. It smelled strongly of the rotten egg odor of sulfur. And it was hot; much hotter than the candles should've made it.

But he couldn't. He couldn't leave; he couldn't look away from the bizarre shrine he'd discovered. Something was drawing him to it, calling him. He could almost hear it in his head. He stepped closer to the shrine, bending forward slightly, trying to get a closer look at the heads. Were they even real? They were so badly disfigured it was hard to tell. He began slowly reaching toward the head on the right, the burned head, just to see if it was real or made of rubber, or…

The burned head's eyes suddenly snapped open. Cold and blue, they fixed directly on Mitch's eyes. The head smiled.

"Ah, ah, ah!" it cackled, its voice deep and gravelly. "No touchy!"

The bladed glove it sat behind suddenly flicked open, the blades lifting toward Mitch.

Suddenly the trance was broken. Mitch screamed, stumbling backward, tripping over something and falling hard to the ground, landing on his back. Quickly he sat up, scurrying to his feet. A blood encrusted axe laid on the ground directly in front of him. He hadn't seen it when he first entered the room. That was what he'd tripped over. His eyes widening, he quickly looked back up at the shrine.

Both heads were as they had been. The burned head's eyes were closed, its mouth gaping again. Dead. The glove before it lay undisturbed.

Mitch had had enough. This was fucked up! This whole place was fucked up! He didn't care that it was pitch black outside, he didn't care if it was raining and they couldn't call for help. He had to get back to the camp, back to Cindy. And then they were getting the fuck out of there!

He started for the door, then paused, bent down, and picked up the axe. Then, with a determined look on his face, he dashed out of the room, out of the shack, and back into the woods.

Lena slumped to the canvas floor of the tent, naked and sweating next to Bobby, gasping for air, her body still reeling from the sensations of pleasure she'd just been wracked with. Bobby, who was breathing just as heavily, his shaggy brown hair damp and sticking to his forehead, grinned, placing his hands behind his head as Lena rested her head against his chest.

"That," she breathed, "was awesome!"

"Fuck yeah, it was!" Bobby panted.

"You were awesome!"

"I know it." Bobby nodded. He stretched his arms above his head now, his back popping. "Told ya it'd feel better without the condom."

Lena nuzzled his chest, before looking up at him. "So… whaddya wanna do now?"

Bobby shrugged, placing his hands back behind his head. He yawned. "Dunno. I'm pretty beat."

"Already? But we've only just started!"

"Just started? Babe, fifteen minutes is a workout!"

Lena's eyes narrowed. "Seriously?"

Bobby sighed rolling his eyes. "Oh, here we go, the whole 'it's not just about you' nag. Look, Lena, the colossus can only do so much before he's gotta rest!"

Lena giggled. "The colossus? I think that's being a bit gener-"

"Shhh!" Bobby suddenly sat up, staring at the tent's front flap. "Did you hear that?"

Lena furrowed her brow. "Hear what?"

Then she did hear it. A rustling just outside the tent. Like someone's feet brushing through the grass. Someone was out there.

A grin slowly crawled across Bobby's face. "I think someone's ready to join us for round two!"

Lena's eyes narrowed again. "Round two? I thought you said you were tired."

Bobby ignored her, crawling over to the tent's entrance and fumbling with the zipper before finally managing to rip it open.

Lena growled. "Oh, sure. One pop and you're ready for bed 'til you find out Britney's coming back." Lena reached over, grabbing her panties and yanking them back on, before finding her bra and slipping it back over her shoulders as well. She clasped the hooks behind her back with a lot more success than she'd had unhooking them earlier. This was a mood killer. "You fuckin' pig."

Bobby stuck his head outside the tent. "Helloooo bay-buh!"

Suddenly, Bobby collapsed onto his belly, with a wet "thwack!" sound, and lay still, his head still sticking outside beyond the tent flap. Lena burst out laughing. Bobby was so fucking drunk! Judging by the wet sound she'd just heard, she figured he'd just passed out face down in the mud.

"What's the matter? Colossus can't hold his booze?"

Bobby didn't respond. He just continued to lay there, still. Almost too still.

"Bobby?" Lena nudged him. "You look pretty stupid with your head out the tent, and your naked ass sticking up in the air."

Still nothing. Finally, Lena grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him back into the tent.

"Hey, idiot, wake-" her voice caught in her throat.

Bobby's head was gone. His ragged stump of a neck was all that remained, the edges of the skin torn and stringy. Dark, gleaming meat was oozing out of the wound, blood spurting like water from a garden hose, pooling thickly on the canvas floor of the tent. Lena sat on her knees, her hands falling into her lap. She stared blankly as her mind, still hazy with alcohol, was reeling in its attempt to understand what it was seeing.

It looks like raw hamburger meat, she decided of the tissue spilling from the shredded stump where Bobby's head had once been. Funny. Bobby said he was going to make hamburgers tomorrow. Guess he won't be now.

Just then, from behind her, Lena heard a sharp ripping sound. Turning, she saw a long, rusty blade, covered in blood and chunks of meat, tearing through the back wall of the tent. A massive, gloved hand followed, gripping the torn edge of the canvas, and tearing the entire tent down the middle, as if it were made of tissue paper. Lena watched as the rip in the tent moved from the back, to the roof over where she still knelt. She felt the chill flutter of air as the tent collapsed in two piles on either side of her, exposing her almost naked body to the elements. She felt the first cold drops of rain spattering her bare back. It wasn't raining as hard as before.

And in the gleam of the kerosene lantern, which still stood in the center of what was left of the tent, she saw the owner of the blade.

He was enormous; he had to be close to seven feet tall. He wore heavy looking, ragged clothes; work pants, a sagging grey shirt, and what looked like a matted and filthy hunting coat. There was something wrong with his skin, every exposed inch of it a putrid, blackish blue color.

But the mask the man wore on his bald head was what really caught her attention; the stained, yellowish hockey mask, staring down soullessly at her.

At once, Lena knew who this was. Bobby's words from earlier came back to her.

"If Jason's out there, he probably won't take too kindly to a buncha uppity high schoolers spending the night in his territory!"

Jason. The legends were true.

Instantly, the haze of drunkenness vanished, replaced by a feeling of utterly sobering, abject fear.

FUCKING RUN! her brain suddenly shrieked at her and Lena didn't need to be told twice. She shot to her feet, spun on her bare heel… and slipped on the growing puddle of Bobby's blood that soaked the canvas at her feet. She managed to right herself before falling, but not before feeling a grinding pain shoot through her right ankle. She cried out in pain. Shit, she'd turned it bad! She stumbled forward anyway, running as best she could on her now throbbing ankle.

Behind her, Jason simply watched for a moment, almost curiously, as she attempted to flee, before following her. He was taking his time, slowly stalking after her.

Because he knows you have nowhere to go! Hobbling through the darkness, Lena felt tears stinging her eyes as this thought invaded her head. Suddenly, her eyes widened. The car! On the other side of the clearing, she could just make out the shape of Bobby's station wagon in the darkness. On their way to the camp, Bobby had asked Lena to fish a map out of the glove compartment and a key had fallen out. She'd placed it back in the compartment without mentioning it to Bobby. Maybe it was a spare key to the car! Maybe she could use it to escape!

Encouraged by this thought, Lena gritted her teeth and ran as hard as she could, ignoring the intense, agonizing spikes of pain that shot through her wounded ankle. Tears were now flowing down her face freely.

She was so close! Just a few yards from the car now! She chanced a quick glance over her shoulder. Jason was still in pursuit. His gait had become quicker, more aggressive, but it was still far from a run. Lena thought there'd be just enough distance for her to reach the car and get inside before he caught up to her.

She turned back to the car, pushing herself to run even harder. Finally, she reached the vehicle. Slamming herself against the driver's side door, panting heavily, she yanked on the door handle.

The door didn't budge. It was locked.

She rattled the door handle, screaming in frustration. She'd forgotten about Britney! Britney, who had left the tent to go sleep in the car. She must've locked the door! Lena ran around to the back of the station wagon, pounding on the rear window with her fist.

"BRITNEY, WAKE THE FUCK UP!"

Inside the car, Lena could see Britney stirring from beneath a blanket on the floor of the station wagon's rear compartment. She groggily sat up. Lena could hear her voice, muffled through the rear window, as she groggily muttered. "What the hell…?"

"Britney, we have to fucking go NOW! LET ME IN!"

Britney stared at her, completely uncomprehending, her mind obviously still addled from a mixture of alcohol and sleep. Lena was about to scream at her again when she noticed Britney's eyes suddenly snap wide open at something she saw behind Lena. Lena turned… just in time to see Jason, standing directly behind her, his machete held high above his head. Lena screamed and dove out of the way, just as Jason brought the weapon down hard. With a screeching thunk, the blade embedded itself in curve of the car's metal roof, just where it met the rear windshield. The impact was so forceful, that the rear windshield itself exploded into a million fragments, falling to the floor of the car. Britney just barely managed to jerk the wool blanket up over her head, avoiding the rain of glass. One of the larger pieces, a long, jagged shard, managed to imbed itself in Jason's forearm, blackish, rank blood oozing from the wound, as he wrenched his machete out of the car's roof. He gazed at the wound, giving almost an impression of fascination, when he suddenly heard Lena whimper. Quickly, his head snapped in her direction.

Lena had made her way to her feet and was stumbling toward the line of trees at the edge of the clearing. Jason started in her direction, before pausing a moment, and turning back to glare at Britney, who had just lowered the blanket once again, checking to make sure she hadn't imagined everything she'd just seen. The hateful look in Jason's good eye told her everything; he would be coming back for her once he was done with Lena. With that, he turned back in the direction the other girl had run and stalked after her.

Lena charged through the forest, haphazardly dodging trees as she ran, managing only to avoid slamming into any mostly by blind, sheer luck. Her bare feet were in agony as she ran, branches, pine cones, rocks, and other assorted objects on the ground snapping, crackling, and embedding themselves into her bare flesh as she went. Her right ankle was on fire, absolutely killing her. But the thought of the other thing that wanted to kill her, the giant thing with the machete, spurred her on. She didn't dare look back to see if Jason was still following her.

Her heart sank as she ran. She didn't know what made her feel worse. The fact that she'd basically lead Jason to Britney and left her best friend since the second grade to most likely be hacked to pieces by the madman, or the fact that she almost hoped that Jason had stopped to kill Britney, in order to give Lena a chance to escape.

This was all Lena's fault. She was the one that insisted they come out here with Bobby, just because she wanted to try to get some action. That had been her primary goal, and she couldn't have given two shits at the time if Britney came or went.

Well, she got her action alright. And now Bobby and probably Britney were both dead. And Lena didn't think her chances of getting out of this forest alive were all that high right now either. For one thing she had absolutely no fucking idea where she was. She had just run. She thought she'd been running in the direction of the camp, but if she had, she'd clearly gone way off course. The camp had just been through the line of trees. She would've been there by now. Instead she was deep within the labyrinthine woods of Crystal Lake.

It was also deathly silent, and Lena couldn't hear anything but her own feet thumping on the ground as she went and her own heavy breathing and heart pounding in her ears. Finally, she glanced back over her shoulder to see if Jason had given up.

This turned out to be a mistake. The moment she looked away from where she was going, her wounded right ankle became entangled in a large, gnarled tree root that she didn't see jutting out of the ground. She crashed face down to the forest floor hard, and let out a violent shriek of pain as her ankle was twisted yet again, and she heard an audible snap. She lay on the ground for a moment sobbing; she was cold, naked, hurt, and terrified. Her ankle was sprained before, but now she was sure it was broken. She slowly rolled over on her back, and started to sit up, preparing to see just how much weight she could place on her ankle… when she was suddenly forced back to the ground by a massive boot on her chest.

Jason stood over her, pinning her under his foot, glaring down at her.

Lena tried to scream, but she couldn't take in any air. Jason's boot was crushing her chest, and she couldn't breathe. She could only watch in horror as Jason slowly lifted the machete high above his head. Suddenly, he brought it down with lightning speed…

And with a loud "thunk" it became caught in a thick tree branch just above Jason's head. Jason quickly looked up, and began shaking the machete, his movements quick, aggressive, and annoyed. The machete wouldn't budge. Trying to take advantage of the distraction, Lena grabbed Jason's ankle with both hands and tried to force the undead monster's foot off her chest.

Immediately when she touched him, Jason's head snapped back down in Lena's direction. He released the machete, leaving it wedged in the tree branch for the moment, and grabbed both of Lena's hands by the wrists. Then, with his foot still on her chest, he began pulling.

Lena shrieked. The pain was explosive and unbelievably intense. Lena could feel the muscle in her arms stretching painfully and unnaturally as Jason pulled. The joints between her upper arms and her shoulders began popping, loudly, and Lena could feel the bones slowly being torn from their sockets, tendon slowly stretching and ripping. Blood began rolling down Lena's shoulders as tiny little stress holes began appearing in her arms, slowly stretching, tearing wider and wider, until gleaming red muscle was exposed.

Then, with a hideous, wet, ripping sound, both of Lena's arms came off in Jason's hands.

Unbearable agony gripped every fiber of Lena's being as she lay, shrieking on the ground. Jason glanced back and forth between the two severed arms he held, before tossing the now useless limbs to the ground and looking down at Lena. The girl lay on her back, still held down by Jason's boot, shrieking and crying, two bloody, torn stumps of shredded red meat where her arms used to be. A great pool of blood was rapidly forming beneath her.

But Jason wasn't finished.

Taking his foot off her chest, he knelt down and grabbed Lena by the throat, lifting her up, and slamming her back hard against a nearby tree, knocking the wind out of her and causing her to gasp for air. Then something suddenly caught Jason's eye.

The large, jagged piece of glass from the car's shattered windshield was still imbedded in the arm he held Lena with.

With his free hand, Jason reached over, yanked the shard of glass out of his arm… and rammed it into Lena's open mouth and down her throat.

Lena let out a horrible, retching sound as the glass sliced its way down her throat as far as Jason could shove it. Jason released her and she fell to the ground, lying on her side, unable to get up. Blood welled up from Lena's obliterated throat, pouring out of her mouth and mixing with the blood pooling from her the wounds where her arms used to be. She hacked, gurgling and choking. Each attempt her gag reflex made to eject the glass from her throat simply tore through the tender tissue within worse and worse.

Lena's lungs began to burn and slowly, whether due to lack of oxygen or blood loss, her vision began to fade. With the last of her rational thought, Lena prayed to just let it all end soon.

Moments later, her torment was over for good.

Jason stared down at the armless girl as she struggled and gasped for breath amidst the shard of glass down her throat, and the gush of blood it had drawn forth. Eventually, the girl finally laid still.

(Very good, my darling boy! But we're not finished yet! There's still more work to be done! There are more intruders to deal with!)

Jason reached up and grabbed his machete, still imbedded in the tree branch above him, and with one last, powerful tug, finally managed to rip the blade from the wood.

Then, with one last glance down at his latest victim, he turned and began trudging back in the direction of Camp Crystal Lake.