Voorhees leaped at her. The side of the poker connected with her head and Alice felt the impact all the way up her arm. With a grunt, Mrs. Voorhees staggered and collapsed onto the couch. Alice brought the poker down again, clubbing her across the back, then stood over her, holding the weapon high, ready to bring it down again.

The woman didn't move.

My God, Alice thought, she's crazy! She's killed all the others and now I've killed her!

Then, she saw that the woman was still breathing and a small voice in her mind—a hysterical, instant voice—a voice that suddenly frightened her almost as much as Mrs. Voorhees had said "Finish it."

Alice backed away, shaking her head, not willing to listen to that voice. She sobbed and dropped the poker then turned and fled out of the cabin, thinking: the car! Get to the car! Get out! Run!

Behind her, Mrs. Voorhees stirred and moaned, slowly pushing herself up on the couch. Alice ran sobbing toward the Jeep. The headlights were still on. She prayed that Mrs. Voorhees had left the keys in the ignition. She reached the Jeep and yanked open the door.

Annie's blood-spattered body was propped up in the passenger's seat, throat slashed from ear to ear.

Alice recoiled, screaming hysterically. Even if the keys were still in the ignition, there was no way she could have jumped inside that Jeep with Annie's body in there and blood all over the seats. It would have taken more than she had to get inside, push the body out, and drive away. It would've taken reason and cold logic and all that Alice felt now was a blind, unreasoning panic—A screaming hysteria that shouted at her to get away, to run. It didn't matter where—just run. Escape. Flee from the horrid reality.

She bolted down the path, slipping in the mud, unable to stop screaming. Her feet slid out from under her and she slammed to the ground. The wind almost knocked out of her but she scrambled up again, terrified, slipped again, and ran, barely able to see anything in front of her.

Suddenly, a shape loomed up out of the darkness before and she skidded to a stop, almost running into Steve's body hanging upside down from a stout branch over the trail. It turned slowly in the wind, dripping blood onto the path like a slab of meat in a slaughterhouse.

Pamela Voorhees heard the screams and grinned. She stood outside the cabin, oblivious to the cut on her head where Alice had struck her with the poker. She felt no pain, only a raging lust to annihilate the girl responsible for Jason's death.