Girl Trip, by Rider Sullivan
Shannon and Dre are bad, bad girls. But there are worse things out there. They’re about to find out what happens when predators become prey.
Excerpt from Girl Trip
Morning broke through the bottom slates of the window shutters. Shannon rubbed her eyes, trying to make sense of it. Then she sat up and gaped. She nudged Dre with a sleep-numbed hand.
“I think she-she’s dead.”
Dre bolted up. She turned her head and looked.
Murder girl was sitting at the table, still with her head tossed backwards, her mouth wide open. Her body was covered in black and purple bruises and various thin cuts. She looked like a doll that had been left outside in the rain and then rung dry. A small pond of blood pooled on the floor at her feet. From outside came the whine of motorcycles waking to life.
Dre got out of bed and walked slowly toward the girl. She put two fingers on the girl’s throat in search of a pulse. The skin of the girl’s neck stuck to Dre’s fingers, pulling off like a spiderweb. Dre made a screaming face at Shannon and quickly wiped the thin skin off on her jeans.
From outside, “Send Katie out or I’ll fuck you up!” Laughter rang out. Motorcycle girl screamed, “I plan to fuck you up, anyway!”
Someone else shouted, “Come out now. It’ll be worse later!” Murder girl slid to the floor. Her skin clung to the chair while the rest of her flesh and bones tore away like the meat of a rotisserie chicken. She landed with a wet thump. Dre jumped at the sound.
Shannon whispered, “What do we do?”
Dre whispered back, “I don’t know! But whatever happened to her…it’s gotta still be here!”
Shannon shrieked and ran out of the bed. She clung to Dre; her thin arms wound tightly around the woman who’d always provided so much security. On the floor, Katie groaned as gas escaped her body. She deflated more; bones the color of ivory peeking out from the thin tissue of skin. They rattled to the floor as they peeled from her flesh.
Dre and Shannon took a careful step backwards. Motorcycles revved outside and something thumped the cabin.
“What do we do?” Shannon asked, wiping her face against Dre’s back.
“Look around,” Dre said. “There might be weapons we can use.”
Shannon glanced around, desperately searching the small cabin. There was nothing really there. Just a small kitchen and the main living area with the table and chairs, and the small bed. Whoever had lived here had taken their main stuff with them.
Shannon sobbed, digging through pots and pans for the battery run camping grill. Paperbacks and paperwork flew in the air. Dre started checking the room, looking for whatever attacked Katie the Murder Girl. She did it quietly, checking the locks on the windows with a brave face, yet Shannon knew. There was something in here, way worse than the motorcycle girls outside.