Sam’s body hit the floor. That was everyone. Her head thumped against the wooden floor and he hated that she landed faced him. Her eyes rolled back in her head but even from across the room he could see that they were dull and empty. A pool of blood staining the ground under her stomach.
He was alone now and that thing, Hannah-a little voice in his head reminded him, was focused on him. The gas was still hissing silently across the room. He could see it warping the air around it in tiny waves.
He couldn’t move he realized, his back was numb and when he tried to pull his legs under him to stand up they wouldn’t respond. He couldn’t even feel them. His hand curled tighter around the warm metal of his lighter.
His neck ached from where Hannah had snapped his head to the side. He couldn’t believe it hadn’t broken his neck. Everything had gone black for a few seconds when he hit the floor. But he could still move it, slowly and painfully, but it moved. Unfortunately his back seemed to be a different story.
Not that it mattered now anyway.
Hannah was hissing and screeching in his direction. He couldn’t let her leave. The smaller wendigoes, the miners, were still somewhere in the house. They had followed Sam and himself inside. Or maybe they followed Hannah. She was in here first. Maybe they had been coming to her. But they were all here. Some torn apart by Hannah. But some of them still had to be running around.
He could take them all out right now. He had to. He was the only one left.
Even flicking the lighter open took more effort than it should have. Everything hurt. But he still felt like laughing. It was just him and Hannah together now. Alone. Like she had always wanted.
But it wasn’t Hannah anymore. Not the sweet, naïve, eager Hannah who always gave him those shy little smiles and played with her hair. This thing was all teeth and bones and hunger. Sam’s blood coating one clawed hand. It wasn’t Hannah. He wasn’t killing Hannah. He was saving her. He was a fucking hero.
“Ha!” The thing’s head snapped toward him as he pressed his thumb against the little ribbed wheel, “Ha! How’s that feel you fuck?!” The flame lit up on the first try. Mike turned his face away instinctively but the fire swelled up in a roar all around him. The wendigo was screeching and if he thought everything hurt before, he was an idiot.
There wasn’t even smoke filling his lungs. It was just fire. Melting his skin, burning his clothes, shattering the windows. And he can feel himself slipping. Not even time to scream like the wendigo got. Just fire and heat and pain and then-
And then it's happening again.