“Gas masks?” Henry asked.

“I forgot. You don't know about Pete. You're going to be fighting him, probably more than once. I'll teach you what I know about killing him.”

“So, he can be killed?” Henry asked.

“Every Ghost Story can be killed. One way or another,” Wendy said.

Mark nodded.

“She's right. Some are easier to kill than others, and sometimes it takes a while to figure out exactly how to do it. Luckily for you, Henry, we already know how. It happens that Pickaxe Pete is harder to kill than most Ghost Stories. Especially if you're unprepared. He spreads some kind of poison gas. It's invisible, and it surrounds him like a cloud. If you inhale it, you will quickly die. It turns your lungs and skin black until you choke. Believe me, it isn't a pleasant death. Hence the gas masks.”

“So he spreads black lung... That's nice. How do I kill him?” Henry asked.

“That's the simple part, comparatively. He wears a breathing apparatus. An extremely old model MSA. It only covers his mouth and nose. He can't breathe without it. That's the only way I found to kill him. Destroy his oxygen tank or take off his mask, and he'll suffocate. The problem is that you'll have to get close to him. Really close.”

Henry felt an involuntary shudder go up his spine. There was an unspoken fear in the way Mark talked about Pickaxe Pete. He could tell that Pickaxe Pete frightened Mark in a way the other Ghost Stories didn't. It could have been because it was his childhood monster, but Henry didn't think so. Mark didn't strike him as the type to be easily frightened. Quite the opposite, actually.

“So all I have to do is take off his mask or damage his oxygen tank to kill him?” Henry asked.

“That's all. Don't underestimate Pickaxe Pete, though. Believe me, it's more challenging than it sounds. While Henry holds Pete off, the rest of us will barricade the mine tunnels here and here,” Mark pointed to two tunnels on the map. “If Henry can kill Pickaxe Pete or keep him away from us for a day or two, We'll have the barricade up and a chance at the plan working. Once we get the barricades up, we'll be able to defend them from any Ghost Stories that come after us while we dig the tunnel. It may even hold back Pickaxe Pete with some luck.”

“It's a solid plan, but I have some concerns. There's a wild card we haven't considered.” Grace said.

Mark nodded.

“You're talking about Henry's ghost story. This Skeleton Man.”

Grace nodded.

“We barely know anything about him. He's clearly not bound to any one zone, like Wendy. And as Henry told us, it knows how to set traps. For all we know, the mines could already be booby-trapped.”

“It's a possibility, but I don't see another choice,” Mark admitted, “It'll be just as dangerous for us to stay here, if not more so. This Ghost Story is smart. It'd be foolish to assume he hasn't been watching us since Henry got here. I bet he already knows about this cave. It's only a matter of time until he tries something while we sleep.”

The whole group fell silent. That was certainly a troubling thought, and a very practical one. Henry had similar concerns, which is why he had decided to stand guard. Now that they knew just how dangerous the Skeleton Man was, none of them wanted a repeat of Stevey's death.

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“I hate to agree with the liar, but I think Mark is right. I don't see another choice. This plan is crazy, but at least it's a plan that doesn't have us trying to climb the wall.” Chelsey declared.

“I agree. We have to do this,” Wendy said.

Grace nodded.

“If we're all on the same page, then I'm in too,” Grace said.

“All right, then we have work to do,” Mark said.

He began to draw markers and construction plans across the map.

“Henry, are you ready for a grocery run?” Wendy asked with an excited smile.

It was the first time he'd seen her smile since she had found out about Stevey. She was hoping to find the Skeleton Man. Henry wasn't so enamored with the idea. He wasn't sure how to begin to kill a hunter for the firearm. He supposed if anyone here could kill the Skeleton Man, it would be Wendy.

“I am. Let's go.”

***

About thirty minutes after Henry and Wendy left for the grocery run, Grace Collins found her husband in their shared room. She had something she needed to talk to him about. Something she had been dreading since she'd overheard Mark and Henry talking yesterday. The man she loved and trusted more than anyone else was hiding things from her. She had to know why, and if Mark wouldn't tell her… Well, she'd handle that when she came to it.

He was sharpening his harpoon with a whetstone while sitting on their bed. She knew he did it to work out his stress. Seeing him holding it reminded her of the first time they'd met. He had died for her while killing Undertow. It hadn't taken much after that for her to fall in love with him. After all, he was kind and gentle when you got beneath all his bluster. Grace had thought he was honest too, but she wasn't so sure now. He had been hiding so many secrets—more than anyone should have.

“Grace… How's Chelsey?” Mark asked when you saw her.

“She's still upset, obviously. We all are. She'll come around, Mark.”

“I hope so. We'll have to work together if we are going to survive.”

Grace had to be strong. She fought the urge to walk away and leave the question unasked. She knew she couldn't do that. Her nature wouldn't allow it. Grace had never been one to hide in the face of injustice and she wasn't going to change now. She took a deep breath and did it.

“Mark. We need to talk.”

Her husband turned to study her with his piercing blue eyes. A frown grew across his face. Yes, he knew he was in trouble. Grace had always been bad at hiding her emotions. She always wore them plain on her face.

“Sure,” he said nervously, “What about, dear?”

“I heard you in the hall with Henry. You promised no more secrets.”

He closed his eyes tightly and sighed.

"Shit," he said.

“Shit? That's all you have to say." Grace asked.

Mark ran a hand through his hair.

“If you heard me and Henry, then you know I can't tell you. It would change things, Grace. The way you think about this place... the way you think about me. You can't make me tell you,” he begged.

She had to be strong. She could do this. She needed to know. It was time for the ultimatum.

“Then we're done. Divorced or whatever we do here. I mean it, Mark. I can't take the lies. I'm not sure I even know who you are anymore.”

Grace didn't think she'd really go through with it. For all his flaws, she truly loved Mark and couldn't imagine her life without him. But he didn't know that, so he'd cave. She knew him well enough to be sure of it, or at least she thought she did. Mark squeezed his eyes shut again. He held a hand to his temple.

“Fine,” He whispered, “I'll tell you. All of it. But I'm warning you, Grace. It changes everything you think you know. Are you sure you want me to tell you?”

The way he said it was unsettling, but Grace was sure. She nodded her head. She had to know.

“Then I'll tell you. To understand the truth, you have to understand how I came to be here. About the day I saw the man with red eyes," he explained.

“I know the story, Mark.” She said, but there was a hint of uncertainty in her own voice.

When her husband shook his head, she wasn't surprised. It still hurt her to know for sure that everything he'd ever told her was a lie. It hurt deep. He had lied to her for as long as she'd known him. Why?

“The story I told you was not mine. It was from one of the others, the people who were here before us. I couldn't tell you my story because it would change how you think about this place. I came to Paradise the day we were ordered to storm the French city of Metz to free it from the Germans. It was the day my men died… The day I died.”