It should hurt, she thinks senselessly, when he hits that other version of her with the pipe, but Beth doesn't feel a thing. She stares, still stunned to silence, as the version of her -- the dead version, she realizes -- turns to look at him and she realizes they haven't even had time to introduce themselves.
Such a small thing, but if she's going to die here, she really wishes she would have asked his name.
The dead version of her looks at the boy and then raises her knife, but Beth realizes it isn't him she's going to attack. The knife plunges down, into her wrist, and even though that doesn't hurt either, Beth lets out a startled cry.
"You don't want her help," the dead version of her snarls. "She couldn't even help herself. She's just another dead girl."
Those are the words that have Beth on her feet, pushing past the version of her digging the knife into her own wrist. She seizes his hand, breathing so hard she can't speak, her chest shuddering, but she doesn't look back.
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Such a small thing, but if she's going to die here, she really wishes she would have asked his name.
The dead version of her looks at the boy and then raises her knife, but Beth realizes it isn't him she's going to attack. The knife plunges down, into her wrist, and even though that doesn't hurt either, Beth lets out a startled cry.
"You don't want her help," the dead version of her snarls. "She couldn't even help herself. She's just another dead girl."
Those are the words that have Beth on her feet, pushing past the version of her digging the knife into her own wrist. She seizes his hand, breathing so hard she can't speak, her chest shuddering, but she doesn't look back.