She cautiously approached it, poised to swing her giant knife instantly and without hesitation. She witnessed what happened if you hesitated. To second guess yourself meant certain and violent death. She had no intention of dying that way; she had no intention of hesitating.

With her knife at the ready, its sharp edge glimmering in the hot sun, she wrapped her fingers around the handle of the sliding door, took a deep breath then pulled.

A stabbing, metallic creak echoed in the stagnant forest. The smell hit her instantly, rushing into her nostrils and down her throat. Her hand instinctively covered her nose and mouth as if that could stop the rotting odor of death from racing deep into the bowels of her stomach.

Flies buzzed around the driver’s head and she barely managed to choke back a scream. She stared at the lifeless driver with remorse and stifled back the lump in her throat. Maggots crawled inside the driver’s mouth, and she gasped in horror. What little contents she had left in her stomach came rushing out. Puke spewed from between her fingers like an erupting volcano. She escaped to the road and continued to empty her stomach.

Through watery eyes, she looked towards the approaching mob. Deciding they were still a safe distance away, she walked back to the stench-filled van.

Duffel bags were scattered, tossed about during the head-on collision with the giant tree. She quickly rummaged through the bags, half holding her breath trying not to vomit again. She found a bottle of water. Precious water.

She took a long drink. It was disgustingly warm, almost hot, but it quenched her agonizing thirst.

She poured some over her head as if trying to wash away the stench and it trickled down her face like tears, but she did not have time to cry.

She wanted to, but she just didn't have time.

She took another drink of the warm water then rifled through the duffle bags, finding more of the sun-roasted water, a pair of running shoes, socks, and a t-shirt. She grabbed her cache then stepped outside to escape the stench that burned in her nostrils.

Sitting on the ground, she grit her teeth in pain and peeled the blood-soaked sock from her battered foot.

She took a deep breath and poured water over her wounds. Without taking the time to let the pain subside, she used a sock as a makeshift bandage to wrap her blistered and beaten foot.

Pain raced through her foot and shot up her leg as she tied the shoe tight. With a tired grunt, she lifted herself back to her feet, then stripped out of her torn shirt and unclasped her broken bra.

With the mob barely fifty yards away, she stood before them naked from the waist up.

She did not have time for modesty; they were not interested in the view. They wanted her for another reason.

She dumped more water over her head and shoulders to cool herself from the scorching sun, then pulled on the clean, white shirt. The shirt clung to her curves like a wet t-shirt contest.

She picked up her trusted machete and stared defiantly at the approaching mob. The emblem on the back of her shirt read “Cougars Cheerleading.”

She took one last look at the crumpled van that brought her here just two days ago and turned to face the approaching mob. Her lightly-freckled nose crinkled as she stared at them with pure hatred. Empty, emotionless eyes stared back at her. The corner of her lip curled in disgust as she turned her back to them and started to jog.

Pain shot through her foot with a jolt. Her thighs screamed for mercy. She had only taken a few steps before slowing to a fast walk. She knew she just needed to put some distance between her and them, and torturing herself was pointless. She knew they could not move any faster. The problem was they never tired either.

The image of the driver's shattered and maggot infested face forced itself back into her thoughts. More tears raced down her face. She was tired, scared and alone. Alone, except for that goddamned mob. The disfigured, bloody and relentless mob that just kept coming.

They only had one thought on their mind. Not a thought really, more like an instinct, because these people, if you could still call them that, had stopped thinking long ago. Now they only had instinct. One instinct.

In the last couple of days, she learned that whoever, or whatever they were, they were already dead. The other thing she knew about them scared her even more.

They were dead, but they were hungry. And the dead hunt.

The Cougars’ cheerleading squad ran excitedly onto the gymnasium floor for their final routine. The Cougars had already taken home the gold at the regional and provincial competitions, but this last competition was the illustrious Cheer Expo, the big daddy of cheer comps.

Tension and excitement filled the Halifax arena, and when a few hundred high-spirited teenage girls are thrown together into a competitive sport, things have a tendency to get a little nasty. Dirty looks were exchanged between some teams, while others were more vocal in their disapproval of their competitors. The sport may have been called cheerleading, but some of the girls were not exactly cheering each other on. There was plenty of nervous tension to go around as the undefeated Glace Bay Cougars took the floor for the final routine.

The Cougars’ music blared from the massive DJ speakers as the girls performed stunt after stunt practically flawlessly. Double twisting with lots of high-flying aerial tosses to please the roaring crowd.

The gym was alive with excitement and thunderous applause as the Cougars executed a superb routine.

The announcer read the judges’ final decision and dubbed the Cougars the “Triple Threat.” They had won all three major competitions.

Lucy and her two best friends, Lauren and Emma, anxiously packed their duffle bags as they talked about the grueling event and some of the rude comments the losing teams had made.

Lucy’s perfectly proportioned figure and extraordinary beauty often left men yearning in wanton desire and women thoroughly envious. Her silky brown hair framed her strikingly beautiful face perfectly, accentuating her deep green eyes and a breathtaking smile. Her soft, smooth skin tanned with just a hint of sun.

Lauren was a year older and a couple of inches taller than Lucy’s five foot frame. Both Lucy and Lauren were flyers and thoroughly dedicated to the sport of cheerleading. Although Lauren often considered herself rather plain looking, her girl-next-door good looks made her anything but average. A smooth cape of midnight colored hair hung over her shoulders and down her slender waist. Her chocolate brown eyes sang of sweetness and seduction, a song that captivated the wants and desires of many teenage boys.

Emma was quite simply the lovable one. Where Lucy looked like a runway model and Lauren had the whole girl-next-door thing happening, Emma was delightfully adorable in her own perky, innocent and naïve way. She was the same age and height as Lucy but slightly heavier due to her overly large breasts that looked entirely out of place on her petite frame. Her natural, wavy blonde hair and baby blue eyes made her an easy target for typical cliché comments: Blonde hair, blue eyes, big boobs and brainless.

Emma was naïve about a lot of things, but brainless she was not. She managed to keep an A minus average with very little effort.

Typically, cheer teams had the larger girls on the bottom with the smaller, lighter girls on top, but Emma was unusually strong for someone her size, and that landed her a spot on the team as a base instead of a flyer. That and the fact that she did not particularly like being tossed up in the air because it scared her.

The three girls walked to the spot where Lucy’s boyfriend, Paul Connors, said they had parked the van. Lucy was pleasantly surprised that Paul, Wade Adams, and Michael Blackwood had made the six-hour trip to watch the competition.