All you can hear is the pounding of your heart. All you can feel is the hot summer air. All you can see is the blood, blood everywhere in the cabin. The carpet, the wall, the body. Gods, the body. Brittany lays on the ground, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling, red seeping into her blonde hair.

You whirl around, steadying yourself on the porch railing as you gasp for breath. Four counselors, killed. Several were huddled in the lodge together, and you’d decided to break away and try to find other survivors.