The hunt begins

Ben burst out of the woods, lungs burning, legs pumping harder than they ever had on the football field.

He could see the gate ahead — and just beyond it, Dylan and Mark waiting, waving frantically.

Almost there. Don’t stop.

But then, from somewhere behind him, a horrible wild laugh echoed through the night.

Ben glanced back.

Out of the trees, two figures barreled toward him — Willy leading the charge, his mouth twisted into a manic grin, with Sue trailing behind, a look of pure desperation on her face.

Ben threw himself at the fence. He scrambled up the rusted iron bars, his fingers slipping on the cold metal.

Halfway up, a hand grabbed his ankle — Willy.

“Gotcha, boy,” Willy hissed, yanking him downward.

Ben kicked wildly, fighting to stay on the fence, but the madman’s grip was like iron.

“Let go, you psycho!” Ben shouted.

Willy only laughed harder — a bone-chilling, broken sound — and bit down on Ben’s leg.

The pain made Ben lose his grip. He fell with a hard thud to the ground.

Before Willy could drag him away, Dylan and Mark did something crazy:

They jumped the fence.

Armed with nothing but terror and brotherly loyalty, the twins tackled Willy, trying to tear him off their friend.

“Run, Ben! Go!” Dylan yelled, grappling with the much bigger man.

Ben staggered to his feet, dazed but awake.

Behind him, Sue rushed forward — but not toward Ben.

She tackled Willy.

She wrestled him to the ground, shouting at the boys:

“GO! GET OUT OF HERE! NOW!”

The boys didn’t need to be told twice. Fueled by pure adrenaline, they sprinted back toward the fence.

Ben made it over first, scraping his hands raw. Mark and Dylan followed, climbing faster than they thought possible.

Behind them, Willy fought with a fury that didn’t seem human. He shoved Sue off, bellowing after the boys.

“You little shits! You’re not getting away from me!”

He scrambled up the fence, still determined to catch them — even as floodlights snapped on and the wail of alarms shattered the night.

Guards poured out of buildings, shouting orders, guns drawn.

Sue, bleeding and desperate, shoved her wrist — still wearing her hospital ID bracelet — through the bars of the fence, triggering the emergency alert manually.

The lights locked onto Willy just as he reached the top of the fence.

For a moment, he hesitated, snarling at the boys who were now racing toward Ben’s truck.

Then he dropped down inside the hospital grounds, vanishing into the trees like a wolf back into the woods.

The boys didn’t look back.

They reached the truck — Ben fumbling with the door handle until he remembered:

Touch to unlock.

They piled inside, slamming the doors shut just as Willy’s insane laughter echoed again, this time much closer.

Ben jammed the key into the ignition and floored it — but the truck coughed and stalled.

“No, no, no!” Ben shouted, slamming his hand against the wheel.

Through the windows, they saw shadows moving at the edge of the trees.

And Willy — still free — was somewhere out there, hunting.

“CALL THE COPS!” Ben screamed at Dylan, who was already fumbling for his phone.

Above them, a helicopter spotlight suddenly cut through the night, locking onto the hospital grounds — and onto the figures moving there.

Willy, seeing the light, hissed and bolted back toward the shelter of the trees.

Finally, the truck roared to life.

Ben didn’t waste another second. He tore down the old road, kicking up dust and gravel behind him.

They were almost out — almost safe — but deep inside, they knew:

They’d never really escape what happened at Camp Wildwood.