Ok... Chi-Chi Rodriguez & @MeghanMcCain are the first to go. Then @VancityReynolds wanders off into the woods to “drain the main vein” halfway through the movie, and just never comes back. That leaves @DwightYoakam, @alyankovic and me, holed up in a broken-down Winnebago. https://twitter.com/showupforthis/status/1100206762630631424

Dwight figures he can get the thing running again and drive us to safety—he’s pretty sure he saw an old distributor cap hanging in the abandoned gas station just down the road.

“You can’t go alone, Dwight. It’s too dangerous,” Al pleads frantically.

“Well, we can’t just sit here all night, waiting for that... thing to just pick us off one-by-one,” Dwight says, his jaw set in grim determination. “If I’m not back in 30 minutes, run back toward the highway. Even if it finds me, I may be able to buy you some time.”

They kiss.

Dwight takes off, running low to the ground, stopping occasionally to scan the woods for movement; but the moon’s pale light only seems to make the shadows deeper. Just as the old gas station comes into view, something bursts from the trees, knocking him off his feet.

It was just an owl.

Relieved, Dwight laughs ruefully, chiding himself for being startled.

The axe neatly splits his head in two.

Meanwhile, back at the RV, I’m struggling to keep Al calm, but he’s starting to lose it.

“He’s coming back, we should stay here and wait,” he says; but 30 minutes have passed since Dwight left, and our chances of getting out of this alive slip away with each passing moment.

“We’re sitting ducks, Al.” I try to explain. “If we go now, we may be able to make it back to the main road; but if we stay here, we’re dead.”

Finally, Al relents. We slip quietly out of the RV, and start running.

The road back to the highway takes us further away from the old gas station. With any luck, I think, Dwight’s heroic sacrifice gives us a good 1/2 mile head start on the killer. I silently curse myself, but there’s no time to be sentimental.

All that matters now is survival.

A cold mist drifts out of the woods. We run, holding hands so we don’t lose each other in the dark, but Al’s pace is slacking.

“For Christ’s sake, Al, lose the accordion. It’s just slowing us down!”

“I can’t do it... I can’t...” He stops in the road, panting, his breath ragged.

“I’m not gonna make it...” he wheezes.

I grab him by the shoulders, try to shake some sense into him.

“Come on, Al. It’s not far, now. Just a little bit further...”

In the misty darkness behind us, an engine coughs before rumbling to life.

“Dwight!” Al cries. “He did it! He’s alive!”

But I’m not so sure. I grab Al’s hand and try to lead him into the shadows to hide; but he pulls away, and stands in the road waving his arms in the air as the RV’s headlights come over the hill.

“It’s Dwight! Over here, Dwight!”

The RV’s engine roars as it picks up speed. Al stops waving his arms and the smile slips from his face as it dawns on him that the RV isn’t slowing down. At the last moment, he dives out of the way and the old Winnebago’s screams past, kicking up a spray of gravel.

The Winnebago swerves, then comes back around to run Al down as he lays stunned on the dirt road, but the driver misjudges the terrain. The RV nearly rolls, skids & slams into a tree. Something flies through the windshield, & comes to a stop in the weeds by the side of the road.

“Over here!” I call to Al from the shadows, but he doesn’t listen. Instead he rises to his feet, and cautiously inches toward the mangled, bloody body laying just beyond the reach of the RV’s headlight.

“I think he’s dead,” Al calls to me; but just as he reaches the body...

...it moves, lurching to its feet with inhuman alacrity. Al shouts, and turns to run toward the shadows where I’m hiding; but in his panic, he twists his ankle. By now the killer is striding toward him, dragging a bloody axe along the gravel road with his right hand.

I call frantically to Al, pleading with him to hurry, but the killer slowly raises the axe over his head, and with one powerful swing, plants it between Al’s shoulder blades. The blow knocks Al to his knees, but I can see he’s still alive, staring confusedly into the dark.

The killer pulls the axe free, and stands over the stunned accordionist, preparing to savor the kill.

He doesn’t see me climb behind the wheel of the Winnebago, but he hears as I shift the stricken RV into ‘reverse.’

The RV is wounded, but there’s enough life left in the old girl for one last joyride. I shift into ‘drive’ & step on the gas, shouting through the shattered windshield as I barrel toward the killer, who, for the moment, has forgotten the novelty songwriter bleeding in the dust.

“DIE YOU MOTHERFUCKER!” I scream. The killer raises his axe in defiance as the RV plows into him. The force of the collision throws the axe through the windshield, into the Winnebago’s cab, where it sticks in the passenger seat headrest. The brakes screech as I come to a stop.

The killer’s blood festoons the RV’s hood, but he’s nowhere to be seen. I peer through the broken windshield, into the darkness, panting...daring to hope.

A bloody hand reaches up from between the headlights, clawing for something to grab hold of.

“Fuck you,” I say, as I step on the gas and steer the RV toward a massive oak tree. As the killer pulls himself up over the hood of the RV, I leap from the driver’s side door, and roll into the weeds. The Winnebago slams into the oak, pinning the killer.

I rise to my feet, and see that the killer is still alive, but trapped between the RV and the oak’s sturdy trunk. I walk to the passenger side, and pull the axe from the headrest—careful to stay out of the killer’s reach.

Axe in hand, I approach the killer warily.

As I prepare to end this long nightmare, I notice long blonde hair streaming from the the killer’s mask.

“Meghan?!”

She turns her head, & stares wildly at me with soulless, sightless eyes.

“All this time?” I ask. “But why?”

Meghan gibbers, shrieks, then slumps to the hood.

I go back to Al, but he’s dead. I bury him next to Dwight—it’s what they would’ve wanted. I find Ryan nailed to a tree, and Chi-Chi drowned in the lake, where it all started. I dig a shallow grave for each of my friends, then turn to walk toward the rising sun.

“I’m the last one,” I say to myself. “I survived.”

But did any of us really survive this cursed weekend getaway?

I walk past the old gas station, the fresh graves, and the wrecked RV...

...too shaken by my ordeal to notice that Meghan’s body is nowhere to be seen.