Krista awoke to the sound of sirens.

“Where am I?” She asked, realizing she was on a stretcher.

“You’re alright, it’s going to be ok,” the paramedic assured her. “You took quite a bump.”

“Kevin! Where’s Kevin?!” she asked, but got no reply.

The medics gave her a sad look as they loaded her into the ambulance and closed the door.

Firefighters managed to put out the fire, and all that remained now were smoke and ashes, with a burnt out shell remaining of the original plane.

Inside the ambulance, Krista began to cry as she now realized that Kevin was dead.

Right next to her was another stretcher, which had a body covered with a sheet.

She couldn’t believe what she had endured, but he wasn’t about to look at one of those other poor people who didn’t make it out.

Closing her eyes, she couldn’t get that last image out of her head—Jason and Kevin fighting inside the plane and Kevin telling her to “seal the fucking door!”

That brought more tears to her eyes, as she could hear Metallica’s “Turn The Page” playing softly in the front seat.

An instant later, she saw movement under the sheet.

Hoping for the best, she removed the sheet.

And there he was--


Still alive, but barely.

“Oh my god!” She screamed. “KEVIN!”

As soon as she screamed, the medics came to her and were happy to proclaim, “Hey guys, we’ve got a live one here!”

That was about all they found alive that day.

They hooked him up to an IV, and within minutes, regained consciousness.

He looked up and saw Krista, and tears began rolling down his face.

“Hey!” Krista rejoiced, kissing him on the forehead. “I Love You!”

Kevin couldn’t respond.

Instead, he took his left hand and drew an imaginary heart in the air, symbolizing “I love you, too.”

“How did you get out?” She asked.

Again, he couldn’t say anything, but took his hands and made a crawling motion, indicating he crawled out of the window of the plane before he ignited the explosives.

Krista said nothing, she just held him as close as she could, until the medics had to take over his care.

Rejoiced, the ambulance then drove away down the dirt road, leaving the crew to clean up yet another mess at Camp Blood.


Back at the wreckage, crews were dousing the smoldering plane with water, when something caught the attention of one of the firemen.

He looked down, and, there before him, burnt beyond recognition, was the hockey mask of Jason Voorhees.

Or so he thought.

Because as he turned it in to the FBI and police there, he neglected to look at the back of the badly burnt mask.

Because, there, very faintly, read the Number 35.


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