“Oh my God, they’re mulching the pre-meds!” one of the remaining kids shrieked.
Dale smiled, wiping sweat from his bald head. “You think we’ll make friends with the locals?” tucker and dale
The raccoons in the stove hissed in disagreement. But for once, nobody ran away screaming. “Oh my God, they’re mulching the pre-meds
A moment later, a college kid in a pastel polo came tearing out of the treeline, tripped over a root, and impaled his backpack on a low-hanging branch. He dangled there, screaming, “The backwoods killers! They’ve got a shack of horror!” But for once, nobody ran away screaming
The college kids—Allison, the sensible one with the glasses; Chad, the self-appointed alpha with the perfect hair; and three others whose names were lost to screaming—had decided to go camping near the “notorious Spruce Creek Killer’s territory” for fun. When they saw Tucker and Dale’s beat-up pickup parked outside a crooked cabin, they assumed the worst.
It started small. Allison, trying to get a better view of the cabin, slipped on a wet rock and started tumbling toward the river. Dale, doing his best impression of a rescue swimmer, dove in and hauled her out.