Pucking the Captain
The freezing wind whipped through the dense pines, stinging the fresh, bleeding cut on my shoulder, but I barely felt it because my entire world had narrowed down to the psychotic, grinning face of Derek Thorne.
He was standing in the moonlight, his hockey-bro facade completely stripped away to reveal the sadistic, unhinged killer underneath, and the bloody hunting knife in his right hand was dripping onto the snow.
"You look surprised, Captain," Derek sneered, his breath pluming in the freezing air as he took a slow, deliberate step toward me.