Oh God, oh God, I’m in so much trouble. With his flashlight gone, the night was inky and close. He couldn’t seem to pull in enough air. The fog’s webby fingers threaded up his nose and steamed into his brain, and then he was gasping as the fog squirmed into the space behind his eyes. His head went swimmy. The thinking part of his mind knew he was hyperventilating and only making things much worse, but he couldn’t help it. If he didn’t get out of this, if he couldn’t find his way back, he was going to faint, or freeze, or both.

He pushed to his feet and stood a moment, swaying, his pulse rabbiting through his veins. The fog was thick, but the flares showed through the storm, right? So, it stood to reason that if he could just get a little closer to his car, he ought to pick one out. From there, it was a cakewalk. All he had to do was get himself pointed the right way. Put the van at his back, and he was set.

He shuffled forward, pushing through the fog, the gasoline slopping and gurgling around his boots. After twenty steps, he still hadn’t found the van and panic started to bleed into his chest again. Where could it—

Bam! A bomb went off in his face, right between his eyes, and he screamed with pain. Blood flooded his mouth, then spurted from his broken nose in a great spume, and he simply dropped in a sodden heap. He couldn’t get up. Everything hurt, even his hair. Blindly, he put out a gloved hand, felt an upside-down door handle. In his terror, he’d run right into the van. Which side? He slid his hand down a bit then felt his glove sink into something soft and flaccid. “Ahhh,” he said, the sound coming out as a thick half-moan, half-scream. He must be at the passenger’s side window and that dead girl. Then his brain caught up to what his hands, even through gloves, had already registered.

There was the coat, yes. But …

No. He thought back to that slithering touch, and a swell of terror flooded his chest. No, no, she has to be here; she’s dead, she’s dead, she—

Over the thunder of his heart, Tony heard something new.

A single …

lonely …

splash.

TONY

Get Up, or You’re Dead

TONY FROZE.

Behind him. Someone there. Not Casey or Rima; he knew that. They would’ve called out. Even with the fog, he ought to see a little light, but—

Splash.

God, what was that? He felt the scream boiling on his tongue. That wasn’t an animal. No animal in its right mind would be out here, in the cold and dark, just hanging around, waiting for a dumb, stupid kid to bumble—

Splash.

Get up. Every hair on his head stood on end. Get up, or you’re dead. Get up, or it will find you. Get up, run, do something, get up!

But he did not get up. He couldn’t. Instead, Tony shrank, shivering, against the van, his nose still dripping blood, which was beginning to freeze to his chin.

Splash. Pause. Slosh.

The handset. He had the walkie-talkie. He could call for help. Call someone.

Slosh.

Eric can’t help. He’s probably too far away. I’m all alone out here and— Another splish, and now the lake of gasoline rippled and broke against his legs. Getting closer, coming right for me. He had to do something, do something.

Slosh. Splish.

He eased the handset from his pocket.

Splash. Pause. Splash-splash.

He brought the handset to his mouth.

Sploosh.

“Help.” His voice was so low, so small, there was almost no sound at all. “Help, help me.”

Splash-splash …

“Help,” he said, louder now. “Help me. Somebody, help!”

SPLASH-SLOSH-SPLASH …

“No!” Tony shouted. He stared in horror as the blackness gathered and folded and formed shadows in the dark: something monstrous and denser than the night, and it was right there, it was right there, it was right—

“HELP ME!” Tony shrieked. “HELP ME, SOMEBODY HELP—”

CASEY

Full Fathom Five

“CASEY!” RIMA GASPED. “That was Tony!”

“I know.” The words felt thin in his mouth, like flat letters on white paper. “I can’t see …”

“HELLLP!” Tony’s shriek tore through the night. “PLEASE HELP ME!”

“Tony!” Rima floundered around the hood, and that was when Casey heard not the shush of snow but a splash.

Water? He sniffed, and then his eyes widened. “Hey, do you smell that?”

“What are you …” She stopped moving and looked down, then shuffled her feet. Casey heard the slap and gurgle of liquid against the Camry’s metal chassis. “Gasoline?” she said. “But where did it come from? The van? How? The van couldn’t possibly hold that much.”