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"A slasher film, a mystery, and a survival story all rolled into one. Think Gone Girl meets American Horror Story."
Have you ever watched a horror movie and yelled, "Don’t go in there!" at the screen? Do you flee at the first sign of trouble? Do you always trust your instincts? Then you too could be a Final Girl, a member of a very exclusive club in this epic, adrenaline-fueled thriller!
"Final Girl" is the term the media gives to the sole survivors of horror movie-like mass killings. Quin...
"The first great thriller of 2017 is almost here: Final Girls, by Riley Sager. If you liked Gone Girl, you’ll like this."—Stephen King
Ten years ago, college student Quincy Carpenter went on vacation with five friends and came back alone, the only survivor of a horror movie-scale massacre. In an instant, she became a member of a club no one wants to belong to—a group of similar survivors known ...
Pine Cottage, 1am
The forest had claws and teeth.
All those rocks and thorns and branches bit at Quincy as she ran screaming through the woods. But she didn't stop. Not when rock dug into the soles of her bare feet. Not when a whip-thin branch lashed her face and a line of blood streaked down her cheek.
Stopping wasn't an option. To stop was to die. So she kept running, even as a bramble wrapped around her ankle and gnawed at her flesh. The bramble stretched, quivering, before Quincy's momentum yanked her free. If it hurt, she couldn't tell. Her body already held more pain than it could handle.
It was instinct that made her run. An unconscious knowledge that she needed to keep going, no matter what. Already she had forgotten why. Memories of five, ten, fifteen minutes ago were gone. If her life depended on remembering what prompted her flight through the woods, she was certain she'd die right there on the forest floor. So she ran. She screamed. She tried not to think about dying.
A white glow appeared in the distance, faint along the tree-choked horizon.
Was she near a road? Quincy hoped she was. Like her memories, all sense of direction was lost. She ran faster, increased her screams, raced toward the light.
Another branch whacked her face. It was thicker than the first, like a rolling pin, and the impact both stunned and blinded her. Pain pulsed through her head as blue sparks throbbed across her blurred vision. When they cleared, she saw a silhouette standing out in the headlights' glow.
No. Not him.
Quincy quickened her pace. Her blood-drenched arms reached out, as if that could somehow pull the stranger closer. The movement caused the pain in her shoulder to flare. And with the pain came not a memory, but an understanding. One so brutally awful that it had to be real.
Only Quincy remained.
All the others were dead.
She was the last one left alive.