Dead Series (Book 3): A Little More Alive (22 page)

“I fired Megan
Crawford because she was always late.” He paused. “And she was crazy. Besides,
Kate is different. I really like her,” he said, searching the campsite. “Now,
where’s the toilet paper?”

“Left it back in
the car,” Rory replied flatly.

His shoulders
slumped. “Are you serious?”

Rachel thumbed
behind her. “Plastic bag on the table.”

Clenching his jaw,
Woody sucked a breath in through his teeth. “Damn! I hate this part. Always
think a snake is going to bite me in the balls,” he said, hopping over to the
picnic table.

Rachel and Rory
turned to watch his ghost-white ass disappear into the trees.

“I hope we have
hand-sanitizer.”

Rachel shuddered.
“I always think I’m squatting in poison ivy.”

“You want me to
check?”

She batted her
eyelashes at him. “Would you?”

Ashley started
screaming bloody murder, pulling their attention to the lake just in time to
see her plunge beneath with a vicious splash. Clutch and Kate stood off to the
side, laughing and pointing.

“See what he
started,” Rachel murmured, shaking her head.

In a moonlit
flash, a dark figure exploded from the water and grabbed Kate from behind. Rory
lifted his brow, impressed with Ashley’s speed underwater. Kate’s surprised
shriek turned to an echo when the silhouette yanked her under.

Clutch released a
high-pitched shriek more fitting for a young girl finding a spider under the
bed. He dove in and swam for shore, arms paddling like hell through the water
until he beached himself. Stumbling to his feet, he sprinted toward Rachel and
Rory with a look of sheer terror wrenching his face. His dick smacked against
his stomach like a paddle-ball with each galloping stride, spraying the air
with shiny droplets. “Holy Shit,” he panted, hitting dry sand and picking up
speed. “There’s something in the water!”

Chapter
Five

Run

R
ory sat bolt upright
in the canvas chair, gaze honing in on the old man in a suit and tie rushing
from the water. Grunting and snarling, the man ran closer with a frightening
quickness that turned Rory’s blood cold. His heart thundered in his chest,
making his words come out in a shaky whisper. “Who the hell is that?”

Rachel’s cup
slipped through her fingers, painting her bare feet with red wine. “Oh my God,”
she said faintly, watching the man tackle Clutch from behind. An audible
oomph
escaped Clutch when he
face-planted into the sand. Rolling to his dress shoes, the bald man with
patches of gray hair grabbed Clutch’s ankle and dragged him back into the
water.

Clutch kicked and
screamed, desperately clawing at the sand. “Helppppp!”

Rory dropped his
beer and sprang to his feet, knocking the chair over backwards and darting for
the water.

Clutch sent one
last cry into the night before the water found his gaping mouth. He choked and
thrashed and then he was gone. Rory stopped with his feet in the lake, watching
the spot where the old man disappeared beneath the shiny surface with Clutch in
tow. For a moment, nothing moved. Nothing made a sound except the ragged
breathing in his ears and the thumping in his neck. The water settled around
his feet and the campfire shot sparks into the night.

“Clutch!” A
deathly silence answered his fading cry. Even the crickets and frogs seemed
shocked into a grave stillness that gave Rory the chills. Swallowing thickly,
his eyes skimmed back and forth across the water, waiting for Clutch, Kate and
Ashley to pop up and start laughing. Waiting for them to tell him it was all
some sick and twisted joke they pulled off with the help of a friend. Rachel
stopped beside him, their chests rising and falling in time as they watched the
water without speaking. The fire popped, making them flinch. Slowly, they
turned to meet each other’s horrorstricken gaze.

“Where’d they go?”
Rory asked in a cold whisper.

Rachel took his
elbow and pulled him away from the water. “I don’t know.”

He shrugged her
off and yanked his t-shirt over his head, throwing it to the sand. “Call the
police.”

“Rory, no!”

Going in up to his
knees, he stopped and surveyed the lake through bloodshot eyes. A light breeze
ruffled his brown hair in the dubious peace and quiet. There was no sign of
them and he was about to dive in and start searching with his hands underwater
when Rachel cried out behind him.

“We don’t have our
phones!”

He looked over his
shoulder. “Mine’s in the tent. Get it!”

Her eyes got wide
and she covered her mouth with both hands like her insides might spill out
through her lips onto the sand.

Twisting, Rory
followed her startled gaze and staggered backwards. The young boy calmly
emerging from the lake stole his breath. Dark hair ran in straight lines down
his forehead, mostly hiding the hollow eyes aimed at Rory. The kid’s shoulders
cleared the water, his rotting skin glowing in the moonlight. He plodded
closer, suit and tie clinging to his bloated body as he reached for Rory with
outstretched arms. Rory backpedaled on automatic pilot and the kid grinned,
revealing stained teeth with sharpened points. He couldn’t have been older than
nine or ten but looked like he had been in the lake for decades.

An elderly woman
shot from the water a few yards behind him, black dress hugging her emaciated
body as she ran for the shoreline at an alarming rate of speed. Rachel
screamed, snapping Rory from his trance.

“Run,” he
breathed, wheeling around and taking Rachel’s hand. Together, they bolted for
the campfire, glancing over their shoulders just long enough to see the old
lady blaze past the young boy in a moonlit blur. Her left eye was missing and
there was no way they could outrun her.

“What the hell is
that?” Rachel screamed in a high-pitched voice, trying not to stumble. “What
the hell is that?”

“Keep moving!” His
breath outran him as he navigated the campsite’s jittery shadows, expecting the
senior citizen to tackle them from behind at any second. His feet responded
with a surprising agility, flying over the sand and leading them into the
darkened woods. The trail was narrow and overgrown and he didn’t see most of
the branches until they tore at his face and arms. Everything brushed past in a
stinging streak. Using one hand to swat at the prickly limbs, he pulled Rachel
through the brush with the other. They ran and jumped and tripped their way
through the winding trail, somehow managing not to fall. A thorn bush tore a
lengthy gash in Rory’s right thigh, the pain all but annulled by his racing
adrenaline. Despite the protest from the foliage, they shot through the woods
with reckless abandon, not daring to waste a single second looking back. If
they looked back now, they would trip and fall and then they would die. It was
as certain as…

A black silhouette
popped out from behind a thick oak and Rory slammed on the brakes too late,
knocking the shadow to the ground while Rachel crashed into him from behind.
Rory’s heart skidded to a stop as well as, a cold realization settling in his
gut like acid reflux. Those
people
were all over the place and there was no escape. It was already too late.
Ashley, Kate and Clutch were dead and Rory and Rachel were next because the
old-timers were right.

Something was in
Lake Darling.

Something deadly.

*

Read the rest of
Floodwater
now and find out why reviewers are calling this standalone novel “creepier than
A Little More Dead
” and “Fisher’s
best yet”.

And don’t forget
to leave a quick review for
A Little More
Alive
by turning the next page!