Jason Voorhees's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

The two soldiers lay in the weeds behind the cabin. Jason stood over them, listening. Lamps bobbed through the pines. Voices called for Mitchell and Steel. The search had already begun. If the men found the bodies, they would find his den. He had to bury the dead before the light reached the porch. Jason dragged both corpses toward the tree line. The ground there was soft and black. He knelt and tore at the earth with his hands, fast, deep. Roots snapped. He rolled the sergeant into the hole first, then the blond lieutenant beside him. He raked dirt and leaves over their faces until the ground looked untouched. A branch cracked behind him. Jason turned. A man stood frozen at the corner of the cabin, a startled camper in a green shirt, mouth wide, eyes locked on the fresh grave. He had wandered ahead of the searchers. For one breath, neither moved. Then the man screamed. "Bodies! There are bodies out here!" Jason lunged. The camper bolted for the water. Jason caught his shirt, spun him around, and drove him down into the dirt he had just packed. It was over in seconds. But the scream had carried. Across the lake, a shape rose on a low ridge. Scarlett Crimson lay flat behind her long rifle, red hair tied back, scope trained on the cabin. She was the unit's sniper, sent to watch the perimeter while the others swept the woods. She had heard the shout. Now she saw the masked giant standing over a body by the trees. "Contact at the old cabin," she said into her radio. "He's got two of ours. Maybe three." Her voice stayed flat and cold. She settled the crosshairs on the white mask. "I have the shot." Her rifle cracked. The round smashed into Jason's shoulder and spun him half around. He did not fall. He looked across the black water toward the muzzle flash. Then he stepped back into the cabin's shadow, out of her line. Below the ridge, Lieutenant Cole Mitchell crashed through the brush toward Scarlett's position. Blond and wild-eyed, he had survived the cabin once and come back for his men. "Talk to me, Crimson. Where is he?" "The cabin by the shore," she said, not lifting her eye from the scope. "That's his hole. He's been living in it." Mitchell keyed his radio. "All units, converge on the lake cabin. That's the target's nest. Burn it if you have to." Jason watched their lamps turn and stream toward him through the trees. He had buried the bodies. He had killed the witness. But the sniper had seen his face and named his lair. The camp knew now. His den was no longer secret. Machete in hand, he moved to the window and waited for the light to reach his porch.