When the shot sang out, like some blissful angel, Jason’s machete was about to burst Halo Harlan’s left eyeball. Instead, the blade jerked to one side, scratching her left cheek with its very tip. Halo could smell gunpowder, the same kind she’d smelt back in the log cabin, and knew Jason had been hit by a shotgun blast.

Machete and mask vanished from the window as Jason stood up. He walked away.

Drip, drip. The splash of gasoline.

Suddenly, this mysterious cavalry didn't seem quite so beautiful. If a shot hit the vehicle, she'd quickly meet her maker. Seeing no reason to hesitate again, she twisted herself around, ignoring all pain which ensued from protesting limbs, so that her feet touched that left-hand door.

With all her might, she slammed both heels against it. The door flew open hard. Outside, Halo could hear someone yelling at Jason, their Southern twang evident.

"Now you stay right there, son. I don't know what you're doing with that cruiser, but I don't like the look of you one bit."

Halo began to drag herself out through the doorway.

"Stop right there I said," the voice continued. "Or I'll shoot to kill."

Don't miss, thought Halo. Please don't miss and hit the car.

She scrabbled at metal, plastic and anything else that gave her a hold.

"Stop!"
The shotgun fired again.

The car didn't explode, but it did shake violently, absorbing some kind of impact.

Finally scrabbling free, Halo saw that Jason had been struck by the blast, staggered back and lay sprawled across the car's up-ended rear bumper. Beyond him, in front of a small pick-up truck, stood a handsome old man with young eyes and long white hair. He looked like some kind of country singer.

He was looking at her imploringly. "I had to do it. He wouldn't stop walking, like I told him."

Halo cupped her hands over her mouth like a loudhailer. "He's not dead yet. Shoot the car."

Even as she spoke, Jason was stirring, raising himself off the bumper.

The newcomer set about reloading the weapon, snapping it in half and fumbling with a cartridge. He cursed under his breath.
"Quickly," she urged. "Before he—"

At the sound of her voice, Jason's head swung to face her. The blast appeared to have struck his chest, removing a chunk out of his mask's chin portion and revealing some of his jagged teeth. Despite appearing to be a mess of bullet hits, burn damage and other miscellaneous wounds, he was frighteningly steady on his feet.

The old man clunked the weapon back together and hurriedly took aim.

Chapter 15, Friday the 13th: Hate Kill Repeat