Chapter Text
-And he was alone again.
Just like that, a blink of an eye, Sam was dead. A terrified shiver had been her undoing. Everyone else had evacuated.
And Mike was alone.
Fear sunk in his gut. Before this, Mike didn’t think he could feel fear anymore, too overexposed to the feeling. He thought he would’ve felt numb, after everything he had been through. One would think he would’ve known this very moment was coming. Hell, he did know this moment was coming, he called it the minute Jess died. He wasn’t making it out of here alive.
That didn’t stop his knees from trembling. An argument could be made that it was a blessing nobody was around to see him as pathetic as he was in his final moments. Perhaps it should’ve made him happy to know that he would go down as a hero, remembered for saving the lives of his friends. Maybe they’d make a statue of him, tall and sturdy. Determined face. Maybe the statue would have all ten fingers. That would be funny. Yes, it should be a blessing.
Unfortunately, Mike couldn’t see it that way. The only thing that he cared about was the fact that he was alone. Mike hadn’t been alone in so, so long. Nobody was coming for him, nobody was waiting for him, they were all getting as much distance from the lodge as possible. Would they even mourn him? Maybe they were relieved that out of everyone there, it was him left with the Wendigo. Maybe they were almost excited to see him go up in flames.
Well. Best not to keep them waiting any longer.
Mike brandished the lighter in front of him, like it was going to do anything to ward off the approaching Wendigo. Give him another second to appreciate the feeling of air in his lungs. Why had he never appreciated that before? Air, cold and fresh, it felt wonderful. How had he managed to take that for granted before?
The Wendigo got closer, and the air wasn’t fresh anymore. It was rotten, smelled like sulphur and dirt and decayed flesh. Mike had to hold back a cough as more gas than oxygen filled his lungs. Oh, that’ll make things fun, yes. Exploding organs. Mike’s thumb pressed on the cold rigid wheel of the lighter, relishing how the textured metal dug into the pad of his finger. His eyes locked onto the butterfly tattoo on the creature’s arm. Hannah’s arm.
Perhaps he wasn’t alone after all.
Flames bubbled, burst, popped from the tip of his lighter, rolling through the air at an unnaturally beautiful speed. The Wendigo screamed. Yep, there went Mike’s lungs.
And he was-