"That's right."

"Seems unlikely. I think the more realistic scenario is three dead bodies, not four."

"Maybe. But if I shoot you before you shoot me, I'll take out your friend back there, too. That's four."

"But you only have two shells."

On one hand, I wanted to call for an end to this ridiculous conversation, but on the other hand, it was keeping me alive.

"One last time," said Roger. "Drop the gun."

Goblin shook his head. "I'm not going to drop the gun. You know that. I'm fully prepared to take this as far as it will go."

"So am I."

"Then there's a lot more blood to come. But let me make a counter-offer. Let Witch go and I'll let you go. I don't care how we do it… you guys can slowly back into the woods and keep your gun pointed at her. It doesn't matter to me, but you might want to make a decision soon, because I'll wager Ogre isn't too far behind your friend's wife and kids if he hasn't caught them already."

Roger glanced at me. I nodded. Sure, I didn't trust these guys, but I definitely wasn't in favor of a shotgun blast to the stomach.

Roger backed up a couple of steps, keeping the gun pointed at Witch. I backed up as well. The others watched us carefully.

We backed up a few more steps, walking faster.

It really did look like they were going to let us go.

And then the damned camper exploded.

A PIECE OF SHRAPNEL, I'm not sure exactly what, slashed across my cheek as Roger and I were thrown to the ground by the force of the blast. I struck the dirt hard and my shoulder instantly went numb.

Roger's shotgun fell out of his hands and went off, putting a huge bloody hole in the side of one lunatic. Unfortunately, that lunatic was Ghoul, who was already conveniently dead.

Goblin, Witch, and Troll hit the ground as well, but they were recovering quickly. As Roger and I lurched to our feet, it was clear our best bet was to rely upon the age-old tradition of getting the hell out of there as fast as we could.

We had two options: Run into the left side of the woods, following Samantha, or run into the right side of the woods, following Helen and the kids.

Since we were already on the left side of the road, going after Helen would've added a few more seconds to our dash, almost guaranteeing we'd be shot down.

Roger ran to the left.

I followed him.

We made it into the woods right before the first shot went off, striking a tree just inches from my head. Several more shots fired as we sprinted between the trees, emitting obscenities at an almost supernatural rate.

I knew we'd have to circle around and go after my family, but for now our only chance to stay alive was to run.

Though the gunshots continued, nobody seemed to be pursuing us.

After about a minute, they stopped shooting.

After about five minutes, we stopped running.

"Are you sure it's safe?" asked Roger, as I slowed down to a walk.

I shook my head. "It's probably not. But we can't afford to get lost, not with everybody else still out there."

Roger suddenly looked crestfallen. "Do you think Samantha's okay?"

"She's probably riding a tank to our rescue right now."

"I'm sure Helen got away," Roger assured me. "And, hell, if they did catch her, you know they'd regret it in a big way."

I smiled, although it was more than a little forced. "Yeah, all she'd have to do is give them The Gaze and they'd run screaming like babies."

"Absolutely."

We walked in silence. I ran my finger across the cut on my cheek and found it wasn't bleeding too badly. At least I had that going for me.

"Oh, and I paid extra for insurance on the camper," I said. "Good call, huh?"

"You're the man."

"This is the new Andrew Mayhem. Yeah, I'm still spending half of my life pursued by homicidal deviants, but I'm doing it knowing the damages to the camper are fully covered."

"I always knew you had it in you to become a responsible citizen."

I sighed. Joking around really wasn't helping me feel any less terrified about what might be happening to my wife and children.

"Maybe we should call out for Samantha," Roger said.

"That'll give away our position."

"Yeah, but I don't think they chased us. She might need help."

I nodded. "You're right."

Roger cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted Samantha's name.

Silence.

Then, distantly: "I'm here!"

She was to our left, in the direction of the store. Roger took off running and I followed. She yelled again, and it took three or four minutes to reach her. Or at least where we thought she was.

"Samantha?" Roger shouted.

"I'm here!" she said, sounding extremely close. "Down here!"

Down here? That didn't sound good.

And it wasn't.

Samantha had fallen into a pit, about six feet square and six feet deep. She was pinned against the side, her hair messed up, her face contorted with pain, and her shoulder covered with blood.

Her arms were fully extended and her hands were pressed against a large vertical wooden board, the same size of the pit and about two inches thick. Dozens of wooden spikes were imbedded in it. From the gash on Samantha's right hand, it looked like one of the spikes had ripped across her index finger as she blocked the board.

The board was on a giant spring that protruded from the site of the pit. Clearly, when she'd fallen into the pit, the spring had released, hurtling the board at her. A bunch of dirt and some crumpled cellophane showed how they'd hidden the trap.

Roger crouched next to the edge of the pit. "How long have you been holding that thing?"

"I'm not sure… a few minutes…"

"Keep holding on. We'll get you out of there."

"I don't know if you can," said Samantha, her voice trembling. "I'm only alive because my foot got wedged under it."

I glanced down. Indeed, her right foot was extended and stuck underneath the board. It looked excruciatingly painful.

"How bad is it?" Roger asked.

"Broken, for sure. I might be able to pull it out, but if I do, I won't be able to hold this thing back."

"Don't worry, you'll be fine," Roger insisted. "It really doesn't look all that bad from up here."

Some sweat trickled into Samantha's eyes and she blinked it away. "You're cute when you lie."

I grabbed a branch off the ground, broke it in half, and tried to wedge it between the wall of the pit and the board. It was too long to fit. I broke off a piece of it, tried again, and it dropped to the bottom. This is why I failed shop class in high school.

Roger placed his hands against the top of the board and tried to push. "I can't get any leverage."

There was no way sticks were going to work. I leapt down into the safe side of the pit, gripped the top of the board, and tried to pull it back. It refused to budge. Roger jumped down and helped me, and with the two of us working together, pulling as hard as we could, we managed to move it just a bit…

But just a bit is all.

What would happen when Samantha got her foot free?

"Guys, I can't feel my arms. I'm not sure how much longer I can hold this."

Roger let go of the board. "Pulling isn't working. We'll have to push."

I'd really hoped he wasn't going to suggest that. We climbed out of the pit and moved to Samantha's side. Though her face was firm with resolve, her arms were shaking and she was panting.

"Roger, I love you…"

Roger swung his legs over the side of the pit.

"What are you doing?" Samantha demanded.

"I've never had the chance to experience a good old-fashioned spiked pit," said Roger, jumping down and bracing his arms against the board. "Andrew, get me stuff to wedge against the bottom."

I gathered up several branches and dropped them into the pit. Roger kicked away the cellophane and used his foot to shove them underneath the board as best he could.