Plum sprinted under the windows of Mabuz Villa.
Though she couldn’t spare the breath, she knew she had to scream a warning, just in case the locked-in inhabitants above hadn’t already heard them.
Just in case Jude didn’t quite get it.
“It’s DUDE! He’s going to burn the house down!” Plum shrieked. Actually physically feeling the cry shorten her steps, even as adrenaline pumped her legs harder.
Did they hear? Did they see? Plum couldn’t spare the moment to look.
“Stop chasing her!” a familiar voice shrieked.
Plum darted a glance up.
Peach must have made good on her promise to break into the next room, because she stood at the farthest window, with Jalen beside her.
A platform sandal whizzed over Plum’s head.
Dude made a nearly cartoonish “oof” as the sandal knocked into his chest. “Wait your turn!” he shouted to Peach.
“Help me down!” Peach urged Jalen as she climbed over the balcony.
Plum had gained only a few yards on Dude. But maybe that was all she needed to keep him from going back in and burning the house down . . . before her friends could get out.
There was a flurry of movement at one of the other windows, but Plum couldn’t spare a moment to glance up. She hoped it was Marlowe and Sofia.
There was a scattering of loose pebbles under her feet as the stone walkway turned into a dirt path. Plum skidded, losing precious seconds as she regained her balance.
“Run, little girl. Run!” Dude’s voice was behind her, mocking encouragement. His voice was getting closer. “Where are you going to go?”
Something grazed at Plum’s shoulder. A finger, his hand—perhaps he was that close.
Then the pain came, and Plum stumbled sideways, surprised as she lost focus on the path.
It was a lucky stumble. It might have saved her life.
The knife whistled through the air where she’d been. Plum hit the ground hard and rolled sideways, taking out Dude’s legs at the ankle. She barely felt the impact as he fell next to her. Her shoulder, that was another matter, stinging and wet with what she had to assume was blood.
She didn’t have time to wonder how badly he’d cut her. She popped up onto her feet and took off. Her shoulder shrieked with the pain, spots bloomed in her eyes.
Okay, so it was quite a deep cut, then. Plum tucked her left arm up tight and kept running.
Behind her, Dude shouted a laugh as he jumped up and began pursuit again.
Two goats looked up from the shrub they were methodically destroying as Plum ran past.
Dude was right. There was nowhere to go.
Worse, when she’d fallen, and when she’d gotten up, she’d allowed him to claim the ground between her and this side of the villa.
Which left nowhere to hide.
Just the last expanse of dirt pathway, then the sandy gravel and scrub grass beyond, leading all the way to the cliff.
Plum glanced behind her.
Dude was resting.
He’d seen it, too: nowhere to run. No weapon she could pick up.
Plum’s heart thundered like a rabbit’s, her instinct urging her to run, run, keep running.
Dude was advancing slowly, resting as he approached.
Plum feinted to the left, then darted to the right.
Dude wasn’t as fast as she was, but he didn’t have to be. He still reached her path in time to cut her off.
Literally.
He kept advancing, slashing the air as if he liked it so much he couldn’t stop himself.
Plum screamed a scream of pure frustration and terror.
Dude laughed and screamed back, advancing on her.
Plum Winter never expected it to end this way. “It” being both her life and Pyre Festival.
The festival was supposed to end with a celebrity-packed booze cruise.
As for her life’s end, Plum didn’t like to think about it, but when she did, she always imagined being a really old lady who died peacefully in her sleep.
But here she was, at the end of it all, and there were absolutely no boats, booze, or beds.
Instead, Plum had to decide which of two extremely unattractive deaths she would rather have.
Maybe she could save some people. Her people: Marlowe, Sofia, and Peach.
In front of her, Dude slashed the vicious knife in terrifying arcs. He was edging closer and closer.
This was where all her schemes had led her.
With no one to witness her last—some would say only—act of courage.
No one other than the killer . . . and the goats.
As if on cue, the black-and-white billy goat munching on the bush to Plum’s right let out an annoyed-sounding bleat.
It sounded like a heckler in a comedy club, like the goat was yelling “Meh!”
No doubt the billy goat was annoyed at the humans trampling his favorite grazing patch.
“Yeah, buddy,” Plum breathed, taking a tiny step back, feeling the wind from the cliff edge grabbing at her hair, snatching it up. “You and me both,” Plum muttered.
There was nowhere else to go. She had to do something.
Maybe she could take the killer with her.
Plum took a deep breath and screamed.
Dude smiled, rushing at her with the knife outstretched.
So. This was how it was all going to end.
Plum Winter desperately hoped there would be a heaven for clueless kids who just wanted to have a good time.