It's getting dark on the mountain, but we're not all dead yet.

Well, mostly.

Dave must have got Mary when he attacked her, because after about three hours barricaded in the bedroom, she started growling and went for Richard. Christopher, Chris, Dale, and I managed to haul her off, and Dale pushed her out the window, but she got ahold of him and he was bleeding. He went off on his own--he said "to finish this," and I'm really scared for him. He saved my life about a dozen times today.

Christopher, Chris, and Richard and I decided to make a break for it. Christopher has his bike; he thinks he can outrun them on it. I wish him godspeed; he's going to try to send back help. He's a brave man.

When we broke out, we found Gavin. God help me, I thought he'd gone into town with the others, but there he was battling up the stairs with a torch in one hand and a fire extinguisher in the other.

He was magnificent.

It just wasn't enough.

Richard and I are the last ones now, and.... Well. He's going to try to make it to the lodge; some of the goldsmiths are in there and they have a fire going. Maybe there's a little safety in numbers.

It's so funny. When we came up here, we were joking about how it was the perfect setting for a slasher movie. There's only one road out, the doors don't lock, it's isolated and spooky. We even started assigning people roles: Mary was going to be the good girl who survived, Richard was the serial killer who decoyed us all up the mountain on a pretext.

Isn't it ironic?

Me? I'm going to siphon some gasoline from the truck into all these empty diet coke bottles. I've got a lighter and the sheets from the bed. They travel in packs. Maybe I can attract a lot of them, all together.

There's a creeping numbness in my leg, and a lot of pus in the wound already. I don't think it's going to get any better.

The flies are already hovering.