Last One Alive by Amber Cowie

Author:Amber Cowie
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon & Schuster
Published: 2022-05-10T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER NINETEEN

9:19 A.M.

Neil’s eyes were wide enough that Penelope could see the red around the rims. He looked terrified.

“What’s going on?” Philip asked.

He placed his hands on Neil’s rapidly rising and falling shoulders. The gesture was so similar to the one Philip had made when greeting Neil the day before, yet the context was so different, that Penelope felt a nauseating sense of déjà vu. His face was as white as her frozen fingers. He responded in a rush of words.

“I crawled over Star to go to the outhouse because our stupid bed is pushed against the wall. I didn’t want to wake her up, but she didn’t even stir. I didn’t think it was weird until I came back and saw her face. I was yelling and I ran into the lodge but there was nobody there—oh god, her eyes…”

He had to choke back a sob that sounded larger than his throat could handle before he was able to continue.

“They were open—her eyes were open like she was staring at me but… oh my god, oh my god.”

Fran took Neil in her arms as his emotions overcame him. Philip started running. Penelope followed. They covered the ground between the still and the cabin in a blur of panicked speed and entered the small house with Penelope nearly tripping over Philip’s heels. Gray light streamed into the single-room cabin from two wooden-paned windows that rattled in a gust of wind as Penelope’s eyes darted to the still body on the brass bed pushed into the corner of the room.

Neil was right. Star’s eyes were open, but Penelope could tell immediately that she wasn’t seeing anything. The sparkle from the night before was gone. Star’s gaze was now flat and lifeless.

“Oh my god,” Penelope said.

Philip crossed the room, feeling Star’s neck with two fingers.

“No pulse.”

He frantically began CPR. Penelope watched as Star’s chest compressed under Philip’s strong hands. He breathed into her mouth over and over, leaning over to listen at intervals. Penelope scanned the room for something, anything, that would help. The walls were the same faded logs as those of the kitchen and dining room, though the floor was only a rough plywood. The small room felt cold with seeping moisture despite the small potbellied woodstove in the righthand corner closest to the door. Penelope saw two jackets hung on a row of hooks along the wall and a large pile of laundry heaped on the floor beside two backpacks. On the far left was a small table and chairs. Beside her was a counter with a two-burner hot plate and a shelf that contained jars of instant coffee and teabags above it. She joined Philip at the bed, feeling helpless and stupid as he continued CPR. She had learned the procedure at the rec center, but she knew Philip was far more skilled. After what seemed like hours, he raised his hands then let them fall to his sides, shaking his head before he checked Star’s pulse again.

Penelope put her hand on his shoulder as he hung his head.

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