Bexli's P.O.V.
I BEGAN TO PULL MACKENZIE TOWARDS MY CAR, DESPERATELY TRYING TO GET TO THE SAFETY OF THE VEHICLE. I had watched as Delaney's neck had swung around and faced forward again, resting at an unnatural angle. She had stared at us for a few seconds before she ran down the street, her limbs moving awkwardly, as if not meant to move at all.
More people were moving in our general direction, moving as though they were wolves in a pack, although they followed no leader. I had screamed out of desperation and terror. We were in an episode of The Walking Dead. I was so sure of it. There was no other explanation for the absurdity.
Mackenzie must have seen the horde of them, because she started running toward the passenger side of the car and jumped in as I put the car into drive and sped off down the street.
I glanced at her; her face cold and impassive, and her eyes lifeless. My heart broke. She didn't deserve this. We didn't deserve this. Uncle John and Uncle Parker didn't deserve this... The list went on. I tore my gaze away from her face, just in time to see that we were nearing Peyton's house.
I slowed my car down to a halt, leaning my head against the headrest for a second to gather my thoughts and breath.
"Okay. Peyton said that her dad was trying to attack her, so we'll have to move around him... Without dying, of course." I said, getting out of the car. Mackenzie nodded and slowly, cautiously, started toward the house.
"You know, we're not superheroes. We might not walk out of this house alive like Mr Bean would have. Peyton's dad is a big man – one blow, and we're out!" Mackenzie huffed. I didn't even want to know why she thought Mr Bean was a superhero.
"Let's just find a way to distract him, get Peyton out and then we'll talk about how Mr Bean is not a superhero."
Mackenzie rolled her eyes, muttering something about the fact that Mr. Bean would have made it out alive and something inside of me – the very irrational part of me – agreed.
We both decided that it would be a good idea to check that there was nobody else in the house, moving from the living room to the kitchen. I moved toward a drawer and picked out two steak knives, handing one to Kenzie. She looked at me questioningly. I shrugged. "We might need them to, like, kill things or something."
I stepped into the garage, Mackenzie following behind me. It was stuffy and cluttered; random objects strewn across the floor. Peyton's pink bicycle from when we were eight lay in the corner of the room, dents all over the metal. The lights flickered eerily and I couldn't help the shiver that ran through my body. Never mind The Walking Dead, this felt like a full-time horror movie.
I jumped suddenly as I heard a crash, a scream escaping me. I smacked my hand over my mouth before turning around, my knife poised to stab at whatever was there. Mackenzie was in a crouched position on the floor, glaring at a pickaxe that had fallen next to her. I let out a breath of relief and then laughed at her facial expression as she glanced at me sheepishly.
Just when we thought we were out of the woods, we both froze as the sound of a man wailing reverberated through the house. Kenzie and I turned to one another, both of us recognizing the deep baritone voice of Peyton's dad, Keith.
I saw fear flash in her eyes before she turned back into the house and crept toward the staircase, her long legs carrying her up two stairs at a time. My stubbier legs could only take me up one stair at a time, so I watched as she turned right at the top of the staircase, looking into the master bedroom, before joining me again; mouthing "All clear."
