There was no answer.

"Bill?" she shouted it louder. "Bill!"

God, she thought, this is all I need. Where was everybody disappearing to?

"Biiiiiiilllll…."

The door to the utility cabin was open. The light was on.

"Bill?"

There was no one inside. A slicker lay crumpled on the floor. She picked it up. It was still wet. It had to be Bill's. Where was he?

"Bill?"

She stepped outside and started to close the door. It felt strangely heavy.

Bill was hanging on the door, blood running down his face and chest. His throat was slashed. There was an arrow stuck in his eye. Another arrow pierced his neck and several more were rammed into his body, plunged in after he had been hung up. Driven in so deeply and so hard that they had gone straight through him and into the wooden door.

Alice screamed, bringing her hands up to her face and backing away from the awful sigh in disbelief.

"Bill!"

She grabbed the lantern and ran sobbing back to the main cabin. The terrifying knowledge of what had happened to the others overwhelmed her. She ran through the door and slammed it shut.

Searching wildly for some way to secure it, she spotted a length of rope and picked it up, tossing one end over a rafter and pulling it tight, then tying it to the doorknob so the door could not be pulled open.

Sobbing hysterically, she searched for something to barricade the door. She ran over to the windows and pulled the curtains shut, then picked p a large fireplace log and set it in front of the door.

Not heavy enough.

She grabbed a trunk and dragged it over, then a chair, piling things up in front of the door, half out of her mind with fear.

A weapon! She had to find a weapon—something to protect herself.

She grabbed a baseball bat in one hand and clutched the lantern in the other, trying to catch her breath, trying desperately to think straight. But all she could see was Bill's body hanging on the door, transfixed by arrows and covered with blood.

She started to hyperventilate. She ran into the kitchen and set the lantern on a table, then rummaged through the shelves. She pulled down a barbeque fork and readied herself to stab with it, still gripping the baseball bat in the other hand.

She stood in the center of the room, looking all around, expecting the killer to come bursting through the door at any moment. She swallowed hard and tried to control her breathing. Her heart was pounding.

My god. My god. She thought, They're dead. They're all dead! I'm the only one left! What am I going to do?

She glanced out the kitchen window, then quickly closed the curtains and leaned against the refrigerator, sobbing and gasping for breath.

Suddenly, the kitchen window shattered in a rain of glass as Brenda's body crashed through it.