Carly could feel the hot breath of the exhaust against her bare and bloody legs. Boone didn't have his helmet, there was no time for that now. Putting her arms on Boone's back for support, she swung one leg over the bike. Then she clutched Boone's stomach in a bear hug so tight she doubted if he could breathe. He didn't complain.

He swung the bike in a wide arc, doing a U-turn of sorts in front of the circle of cabins. Then he aimed the bike toward the road.

He was driving past the shattered red convertible when the second shotgun blast exploded through the still night air.

   Chapter 17

“Boone!” Carly screamed.

There was no use. There was no way he could hear. She was still holding Boone's body on the bike. But the shotgun blast had blown away Boone's head.

   Friday the 13th: Mother's Day, chapter 18