Put That Kid Down

Chapter Fourteen

David was... pretty sure he couldn't take on four people on his own.

At least not four people who seemed to have kept a pretty good grip on their minds, if the fourth one's speaking was any indication.

He felt a shiver of fear mixed with anticipation run up his spine.

Yes, David probably couldn't take on four people at once. If he kept playing fair.

If he kept holding back.

His hand settled longingly on his knife, trying to keep track of the three still recovering and the fourth who had yet to attack. Unconsciously, his tongue wet his lips, which parted in a grin.

"Well, wouldn't you know it, I happen to know exactly where the kids are!" He told them with no little pep, "Isn't this our lucky day?"

"Alright," the fourth person, still in shadow, crossed their arms over their chest. "I get it. You're the pretender, aren't you? The one we were warned about. The one that won't stop until the world has ended." They stepped into the light, and David was surprised to see Officer Derek come clear, one of the beat cops who frequented the edges of the campground when Sal couldn't come up himself. He hadn't seen him since David had taken care of the whole incident with Nikki and Neil stumbling on a threat while looking for a mascot.

"New plan," the law enforcement officer sneered, "David first."

Well, good. David had been wondering how he'd get them away from camp. They were just on the other side of the counselors' cabin from the tents. Instead of letting his relief show, however, David forced a squeak and bolted for the woods. He heard Derek swear and the pounding of feet behind him.

Sneaking a peek back and nearly tripping for his efforts, David noted with relief that there were four chasers after him. He would have had to circle around if one of them had split off to search for the kids. Thank goodness they weren't quite as insidious as, say, Janette had been. David might not have known about her at all if he hadn't lingered- whoop.

David ducked a tree branch and rolled, jumping to his feet at the end and grabbing the trunk of a young tree. He swung around it, momentum intact, and slammed his knee into the fastest of the four's stomach. When they crumpled, he stomped a foot down on the back of their neck, and used the force to push himself to the side as the next quickest lunged at him.

Then his knife was free.

There was something luxuriant about a spray of blood. Whether it misted or spurted or gushed, it was like liquid life dripping down his face. Always an indulgence. The one on the ground screamed with rage as they took in the wound Second Fastest was futilely pawing at across their throat. Fastest made it to their feet just as Second Fastest dropped off theirs and their lunge ended with David's knife buried in their gut. The screaming joined with crying as David jerked it to the side, ignoring how Fastest scrabbled at his shoulders for balance, abandoning the punching in favor of attempting to remain standing. It was almost funny.

It was funny.

With a laugh, David wrapped an arm around their waist, pushing the knife in deeper with his other hand, and spun a half circle, as if they were dancing together. The first measures of a song escaped him in a pleased hum. Of course, when Third caught up, he had to throw his partially conscious dance partner at them to trip them up. Not the best dancing etiquette.

It also stopped the steady trickle of blood down his arm and he rather wanted it back.

They shouldn't have chased him.