The Resort by Bryce Gibson

Author:Bryce Gibson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Young adult, teen, ya, teen horror, teen fiction, ya fiction, teen books, ya books, ya horror, mystery, thriller, horror, The Island of Dr. Moreau, The In Crowd, The Ruins, 90s horror, 1990s horror, 90s nostalgia, 1990s nostalgia, fear street, point horror, tropical island, beach read, the resort, bryce gibson
Publisher: Bryce Gibson
Published: 2018-06-11T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

Dad shines the flashlight in our direction. The light blinds me, and I’m sure I look like a deer caught in headlights.

He steps down from the porch and begins walking to where we’re standing. My heart is hammering in my chest. The laboratory is off limits, and I know that I’m going to be in trouble for going in. Plus, there’s the added idea of Dad being up to something really bad that continues to creep around in my mind.

There’s nowhere to go, and Kristen and I stand still. A second later, Dad is right in front of us. “What are you doing out here?” He is staring at me.

For some reason, I glance at his hands. I imagine them wrapped tight around David’s neck, strangling him. Was David killed for the same thing that Kristen and I just did—for going into the lab?

“Where did you get the code?” Dad asks matter-of-factly.

I don’t answer. I don’t know how. I know that if I tell him the truth—that we found it where Brockley left it in the dunes during the night of the frat party—he would know that I know. Instead of coming up with an excuse, I just shake my head.

“Take her back to the campsite,” Dad nods his head toward Kristen and then locks eyes with me. “You and I will talk about this later.” He turns around and starts to make his way back to the house.

I walk Kristen to where the golf cart is parked underneath the carport. After we sit down, I turn the key in the ignition and the motor flips over. A few seconds later, we are on the dirt road that will lead us to the beach.

“What the heck was that thing?” Kristen asks. I know that she is talking about the reaching plant tendril we saw in the lab. “It was like something from a horror movie.”

As I drive, I tell her about the rampantly growing vines on the cell tower and how, after I cut them off, they came back overnight. “It was kind of like that,” I say, “but the one in the lab was worse. Bigger.”

“Do you think it might be one of your Dad’s experiments?”

“It’s crossed my mind,” I admit, “but, honestly, I don’t know what to think about any of this. David, Brockley, Silas, the experiments, my aunt. None of it makes any sense, and, no matter what, I can’t seem to connect the dots.”

We ride in silence for several yards. Spanish Moss hangs from the old oaks that stand on each side of the road. The moon is full, but the canopy of thick tree cover barely lets any of the moonlight through. Under other, normal circumstances, the scene could be considered romantic.

“What are you going to tell your Dad?” Kristen asks. “The reason we went in there?”

My thoughts ramble with different answers to what I know will be an unavoidable question when I get back home, and I eventually settle on what I’m going to say.

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