Ash Williams's Arc

Chapter 5 of 5

Ash tested the iron stakes one more time, driving them through a rotted log behind the toolshed. They punched through wood like it was paper. The consecrated holy water made them bite deeper, hold stronger. Three deadites had come at him yesterday near the abandoned church, and all three stayed down when he pinned them. No getting back up. No crawling after him with broken bodies. Just dead, finally dead. The fishhook in his brain still pulled toward the forest, but now he had something that worked. Real tools, not just buckshot and luck. He pulled the stakes free and wiped them clean. The Necronomicon was still out there calling, but for once he wasn't scrambling just to survive. He lined up the bodies outside the toolshed like trophies. Six deadites in two days, all staying down. The one from this morning had been Cheryl—or something wearing what was left of her. It crawled up from the cellar with those glowing eyes and that sideways smile. Ash had put an iron stake through its chest before it got ten feet. The thing hissed and clawed at the ground, then went still. Actually still. He stood there for a full minute waiting for it to move again, but it didn't. The consecrated stakes worked on everything the book threw at him. The fishhook pulled harder as the sun dropped below the trees. Ash loaded fresh shells into the Remington and strapped on the chainsaw. Three more deadites stumbled out of the forest, drawn by the same call he felt in his skull. He met them at the clearing's edge with buckshot and blessed iron. The first went down with its head missing. The second took a stake through the spine. The third lunged at him with broken fingers reaching for his throat. He caught it with the chainsaw, then pinned what was left to the ground. All three stayed down. The pattern was clear now—he could fight them and win. Back at the toolshed, Ash added three more to the line. Nine bodies total, all finally dead. The fishhook still pulled toward the book somewhere in the forest, but the panic was gone. He had weapons that worked. Methods that killed them permanent. When the Necronomicon surfaced again, he'd be ready to push through whatever stood between him and destroying it. He cleaned the stakes and reloaded the shotgun. The night would bring more, but for the first time since the cabin, he wasn't just surviving. He was winning.