The Hunt

14. Everly

14

Everly

I woke up to the faint sound of waves lapping against the shore, my face pressed into cold sand. My head throbbed, and everything felt disoriented, like my brain was trying to catch up with my body.

Pushing myself up onto shaky elbows, I glanced down at myself. My red dress clung damply to me. It wasn’t soaked; just wet enough to suggest I’d been lying here for a few hours. My hair was fully dry, at least, and I brushed away a few stray grains of sand stuck in the ends.

My shoes were gone, and one of my earrings was missing too, but my wristband was still in place, the silver reflecting the sparse sunlight breaking through the gray clouds above. I scanned the area around me and spotted bits of debris scattered along the beach. A deflated flotation device lay a few feet away, tangled in seaweed.

As I struggled to my feet, brushing sand from my legs, a voice cut through the steady crash of the waves. "Hey.”

I spun around, startled, and saw a tall man with reddish-brown hair walking toward me. He was wearing a wristband like mine, and he looked just as ragged as I felt—clothes rumpled, hair mussed, shadows of exhaustion etched into his face. “Are you okay?” he asked.

“I… I think so,” I said shakily. “I’m just cold.”

“Me too. It’s this fucking wind.” He pursed his lips and looked at the sky. “Do you remember what happened?”

“The boat sank, didn’t it?”

He shrugged. “Guess so. I didn’t actually see it happening,” he said. “I got caught up in all the panic and hit my head on a railing. I don’t remember anything after that, so I must’ve passed out. Next thing I know, I’m waking up here.”

“I don’t remember much either,” I said, frowning as I strained to recall the fuzzy events of the previous night. “I started feeling really weird just before the boat started sinking. Dizzy from the boat tilting, I guess. Then I must’ve passed out at some point.”

“What do you remember?”

“I remember someone saying there was a hole in the boat. And someone from the crew said we were sinking.”

“A hole?” The man’s brows rose, and he looked out over the water. “I guess that’d do it.”

I swallowed thickly. “Do you have any idea where we are?”

“None whatsoever.” He patted his pocket. “I had my cell phone zipped in here, so it survived. But there’s no signal. So wherever we are… it’s got to be the middle of fucking nowhere.”

I blinked at him, his words sinking in slowly. Behind him, the ocean stretched out endlessly under a slate-gray sky, its choppy waves dull and lifeless. Everything about it felt wrong.

Hell, everything was wrong.

“Where did the boat depart from?” I asked.

“Havenport,” the man replied, giving me an odd look. “You don’t remember?”

“No.” I waved a dismissive hand. “Long story.”

“Right. Well, we left Havenport Marina around six. We were meant to sail up the coast for a few hours, then turn around and come back by midnight. I think all the shit went down around ten or eleven. So theoretically, we should be somewhere between Havenport and…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “Shit, I dunno. How many miles can a yacht sail in a few hours?”

“I don’t know. But probably not super far,” I said. “And everywhere around Havenport is built up. So if we’re anywhere near there, or even fifty miles north or south, there should be a phone signal. Even down here at the beach.”

“I’m guessing the storm washed us out a lot further than any of us remember,” the man said. “We could be all the way up in fucking Maine, for all we know.”

I doubted we were that far away—unless we’d both been unconscious for more than a day before we washed up—but it seemed pointless to start an argument with the only other survivor I’d seen so far.

“I’m Everly, by the way,” I said, extending a hand.

“Chris.” He shook my hand and gave me a tight smile. “I’d say it’s nice to meet you, but…”

He didn’t need to finish the sentence.

“Yeah,” I muttered, glancing around again.

“Do you think this accident will affect the game?” he asked. “I mean, it has to, right?”

Oh, god. Not this shit again.

“Sorry, but you’ll have to explain this game thing to me,” I said. “I asked a few people last night, and no one really told me anything.”

He gave me the same half-confused, half-suspicious look everyone else had given me on the yacht when I tried to quiz them about the game. Then he sighed and shook his head. “Never mind that right now,” he said. “We need to start looking around. See if anyone else made it. Or if there’s any sign of civilization around here.”

We trudged along the shoreline, wet sand clinging to our bare feet with every step. To our right, the ocean churned under the dull gray sky, its waves crashing against the beach in a relentless rhythm. Pieces of wreckage littered the shore—torn life vests, shattered wood panels, a lone chair tangled in seaweed.

On our left, a dense wall of forest loomed, dark and uninviting. The occasional rustle from within sent a shiver crawling down my spine, the sound too faint to tell whether it was the wind or an animal.

My breath hitched as something caught my eye—a nametag lying face-up. I stepped closer and saw the name of the waitress I’d spoken with last night. Alison. My chest tightened as dread sank in. Was she dead? Or had she survived like me and lost her badge the same way I lost my shoes and earring?

I could only hope it was the latter.

Chris and I rounded a bend on the shoreline, and my eyes widened. A much larger group of survivors was gathered there.

“Hey!” Chris called out and waved to attract their attention. Some of them waved back, gesturing for us to join them.

When we arrived, the group was a mess of voices, everyone talking over each other, trying to make sense of what had happened. I caught snippets of disjointed sentences, panic laced in every word.

“I was drinking so much I barely even remember anything.”

“Me too. Thank fucking god for that. I don’t want to remember.”

“Where’s everyone else? There’s only twenty-two of us here, and there were a ton of guests and staff last night.”

“They can’t be dead, because I haven’t seen any bodies.”

“You haven’t seen any bodies yet , you mean. They could be anywhere. Maybe still floating out there.”

“God, I can’t believe I was in a fucking shipwreck! ”

“Did anyone see the hole in the yacht? I heard it was huge.”

“If we were going to wash up somewhere, it’d be nice if it were a tropical island with a cocktail bar. Not this desolate shit. I’m freezing.”

No one seemed to have a clear memory of the night before, just vague flashes, so the general consensus seemed to be that everyone was so drunk or terrified that they’d passed out during the sinking.

“Will this affect the game?” a young brunette woman piped up.

“It has to,” another woman insisted. “I mean, half the contestants are probably dead, right?”

“Yeah, they have to cancel it. Or postpone it, at the very least.”

I held up my palms and raised my voice. “Can someone please tell me what this game is that everyone keeps talking about?”

A familiar voice was the first to reply. “Ugh, not this shit again.”

I turned my head to see a middle-aged man standing in the center of the group—the same one who’d approached me on the yacht last night.

“I’m serious,” I said frostily, narrowing my eyes at him. “I really don’t know what the game is.”

“Don’t listen to her,” he said, waving a dismissive hand. “She tried this last night. It’s some sort of strategy to—”

I cut him off. “It’s not a fucking strategy!” I shouted. “What the hell is this game you all keep talking about? Someone needs to tell me right now !”

The group of survivors fell into an awkward silence. Finally, Chris spoke up beside me. “We all signed up for a game called the Hunt,” he said in a tentative tone. “You didn’t do that?”

I shook my head. “I’ve never heard of it.”

“Last night’s yacht party was meant to be a sort of pre-game celebration before it starts tomorrow,” he said. “Well… today now, I guess. But they’re obviously going to postpone it after what’s happened.”

“No shit,” another woman said with a mirthless laugh. “I doubt they expected the yacht to get hit by a fucking freak storm.”

I took a deep breath, trying to push past the confusion that churned in my gut. “What happens in this Hunt game?” I asked, tilting my head.

One of the men, a tall guy with dark hair and a furrowed brow, stepped forward, glancing at the others before meeting my eyes. "It’s a survival game. We spend a week out in the wilderness getting chased by hunters.”

“Wait, what ?” I said, brows shooting up. “You actually signed up for that?”

He lifted a palm. “We’re just eliminated from the competition if we’re caught. It’s not a real hunt.”

“Yeah, it’s sort of like Tag, but on a much bigger scale,” another man added. “I think they use paintballs to mark us.”

My shoulders sagged with relief. “Oh. Right.”

“Anyway, there can only be one winner at the end, and that person wins five million dollars.”

“Five million?” My eyes widened. “That’s… wow .”

He grinned. “No shit. It’s amazing. Why do you think I signed up?”

It did sound amazing in theory, but something about all of this felt wrong anyway. After all, I still had no idea how I ended up on that yacht last night. Also, why did I have a wristband? I didn’t sign up for anything.

“I was told it can take longer than a week sometimes,” another man chimed in. “Sometimes the contestants are just that good at hiding, so the hunters take ages to tag everyone and get it down to the last man standing.”

“Or last woman,” a short brunette said in a crisp tone, folding her arms.

“I took two weeks off work just in case,” Chris said. “I was told it’s never lasted longer than that.”

“How did you all find out about this game?” I asked.

The awkward silence that followed was thick and heavy, like everyone was holding their breath. No one spoke. No one met my eyes. A few shifted uncomfortably, eyes darting to the ground or the sky, anywhere but at each other. It was like the question had broken something open, exposing the cracks they were all desperately trying to ignore.

Finally, the man who’d accused me of lying about the game spoke up.

“Okay, I guess I’ll tell you my big sob story first,” he said. “I was approached by the recruiters at the hospital, of all places. You see, I’ve got pancreatic cancer.”

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” someone cut in. “That’s so awf—”

The man lifted his hand, signaling for her to let him finish. “I’m fine. Eight to ten months from now, I’ll be fucked. But for now, I’m fit as a fiddle. Can still run ten miles a day and deadlift twice my bodyweight. Hell, you wouldn’t even know anything’s wrong if I didn’t tell you. But that’s the kicker, isn’t it? It all comes crashing down when you least expect it,” he said. “Anyway, when the recruiters told me about the Hunt, I figured—hey, this’ll be a once in a lifetime experience. It’ll be like living in one of those reality shows. Like Survivor, right?”

“Right,” a few people murmured in unison.

“Even if I get caught and lose, it doesn’t matter,” the man said, shrugging. “I’ll still have had a lot of fun playing. And if I win, my family will have five million to help them out after I’m gone. It won’t take away their grief, but it’ll make their lives easier.”

“True,” Chris said softly, face etched with sympathy.

“But first things first,” the man went on, eyes twinkling as a slow smile spread over his face. “If I win, you can bet your ass I’ll be buying myself a McLaren before I kick the bucket.”

Everyone smiled and laughed, though the awkward mix of tension and sympathy for the man’s illness was palpable.

A tall blonde woman spoke up. Her face was flushed. “I’m not sick,” she said, rubbing the back of her neck as she looked down at the sand. “I was approached by the organization at my bank. I’ve been having, um… a little trouble with my mortgage.”

“You don’t need to be embarrassed by that,” Chris said. “A lot of people are having trouble with debt these days.”

“Yeah, I was approached the same way,” another man chimed in. “Not about a mortgage debt, but a similar situation.”

“Hold on.” I lifted a palm, my mind racing. “Do these recruiters happen to be from a secret society called The Wild Hunt?”

Several pairs of suspicious eyes swiveled toward me. “I thought you said you didn’t know about any of this stuff,” someone called out from the back of the group.

“I don’t. But I go to college in Havenport with a bunch of guys from The Wild Hunt, and all of this game stuff… it seems related,” I said, pulse racing. “I mean, the name and concept of the game, the location of the yacht party, the huge offer of money—it all seems linked. Am I right?”

A woman near the front nodded. “Yeah, you are. The recruiters said they were working on behalf of The Wild Hunt when they approached me.”

Someone else nodded too. “I’m from the area, and I heard they recruit out of Hollingsworth,” he said. He looked back at me. “That’s your college?”

“Yup.”

Chris cleared his throat. “I should be honest with you all,” he said. “I’m not sick like, er…”

“Peter,” the terminally ill man said, dipping his chin in a perfunctory nod. “Peter Salerno.”

“Right. I’m not sick like Peter, and I’m not in any kind of debt either. I was—” Chris abruptly stopped, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath before continuing. “I was in prison up until a few days ago.”

“Prison?” One of the women stepped back, eyes widening. “What are you talking about?”

“I was approached by a lawyer. He said I’d be eligible for some sort of parole period if I participated in this game. Next thing I know, I’m at the Havenport Marina, getting ready to sail away for the pre-game party.”

My stomach churned with rising unease. Nothing about this situation sat right with me. Why were these people being offered so much money for what was essentially a glorified game of Tag? It didn't add up. Not unless it was all for a reality TV show that could attract millions of viewers… but no one had said anything about it being filmed.

Also, why were literal prisoners being recruited into the scheme?

“Wait a minute, you were really in prison ?” someone else said, clearly having the same thought process as me. “What for?”

Chris sighed and raked a hand through his hair. “I guess honesty is the best policy in this situation,” he muttered.

“Oh, shit. That means it was something bad,” a short, muscular guy piped up.

“Let him talk,” the tall blonde woman snapped.

“I was serving time for a double homicide,” Chris said, looking the short guy right in the eye. “So yeah, it was bad.”

I swallowed thickly and took a couple of slow steps away from Chris. This whole time, I’d been hanging out with a convicted murderer, and I had no idea.

“I didn’t do it. I swear,” he hurriedly went on.

“That’s what they all say,” the short guy muttered.

“I know. But I really didn’t do it,” Chris said. “You might even remember the case from the news, if any of you happen to be from Arkansas. I went out for a walk, came home, and found my parents shot to death. All I can guess is that it was a random break-in gone horribly wrong. But the state prosecutors were after my neck, and I had no alibi, so they pinned it on me. Easily.”

“I remember that case. I knew you looked familiar,” Peter said. He looked around the rest of the group. “A lot of people were protesting this man’s innocence. We shouldn’t be so quick to judge.”

“Speak for yourself. I’ll judge all I want,” the short guy said, eyes narrowing. “And my judgment is that I’ll be staying the hell away from this dude.”

Chris sighed. “Look, I understand, okay? I don’t expect anyone to get too close to me,” he said. “But the reality is: we’ve been involved in a terrible accident and washed up on a random beach somewhere, and we have no idea how close civilization is. This could end up being a literal life-or-death situation. So we need to put aside all the other bullshit for now and come up with a plan for what to do next.”

“He's right,” the blonde woman said. “We should—”

She was cut off by a shrill voice carrying over the chilly breeze. “Hey! Hey!”

I whipped my head around to see a young woman in a long navy-blue dress running up the beach. Another survivor. As she drew closer, I realized I recognized her from the finance center.

“Oh my god. Nikki ?”

I dashed toward her. When she saw me, her eyes widened, and she closed the distance between us before throwing her arms around me.

“Oh my god, Everly! You’re here!” she said, cold body trembling against mine. She jerked back a second later, lifting her palms. “Sorry. It was so weird of me to hug you. We barely even know each other.”

“No, it’s fine!” I said, flashing a weak smile at her. “I’m really glad to see a familiar face.”

“Yeah, me too. This whole thing is just…”

She trailed off, head shaking slightly as tears sprang to her eyes. I put an arm around her shoulder and slowly guided her toward the rest of the survivors. “Everyone, this is Nikki,” I said. “And I’m Everly. I forgot to say earlier.”

“I’m Nathan,” the short guy said. He gave Nikki a hard look and jerked a thumb toward Chris. “Stay the hell away from that guy unless you want to die.”

Chris ignored the dig. “What do you remember about last night?” he asked, peering at Nikki. “None of us remember anything. We were drinking too much.”

“I was pretty drunk too, but I remember quite a lot,” she said, blinking back the tears. “After they said we were sinking, I saw a lot of people faint. From the shock and fear, I guess. Or maybe there wasn’t enough oxygen for so many people below deck.”

“Actually, yeah, that would explain why so many of us passed out,” Nathan said, nodding slowly.

“It’s all pretty fuzzy,” Nikki went on. “But I saw the crew carrying everyone onto the life rafts. Or guiding people like me, who were still awake. They were so strong and brave. So…”

She trailed off and sniffed as more tears spilled down her cheeks. I patted her on the back. “It’s okay. Take your time,” I murmured.

She sucked in a few deep breaths and continued her story. “The last thing I remember is being guided toward a life raft by one of the crew members. And then… I think I passed out. I was just so overwhelmed. Then I woke up here.”

“Do you think the crew are dead?” someone asked her bluntly. “We haven’t seen any of them.”

“I think they survived,” she said. “At least… some of them.”

Nathan’s forehead creased. “You’ve seen them?”

Nikki shook her head and pointed down the beach. “No, but when I woke up, I saw lots of footprints in the sand going in either direction,” she said. “I came this way first. But if we all head the other way, I think we’ll find more people. Maybe the crew are there.”

“Shit, that’s the first piece of good news I’ve heard since I woke up,” Peter said. “Let’s go.”

We turned to head down the beach, palpable hope flickering in the air. After a few minutes, Nikki gently prodded me in the side. “Do you see that?” she asked, pointing to the left.

I followed her gaze to a thick tree at the edge of the forest. A black ribbon was tied around the trunk. My brows shot up. “Yeah, I see it. Any idea what it is?”

“It could be some sort of marker for forestry workers, right? Like a signal that the tree needs attention,” she said. “And that could mean there are workers somewhere nearby. Or maybe even a road.”

I nodded. “We should go and take a proper look once we’ve found the others.”

“Yeah. They can’t be too far away now,” she said, wrapping her thin arms around herself for warmth. “I wasn’t running for that long.”

As we moved toward the area where the footprints led, the sound of voices reached our ears. A mix of confusion and desperation hung in the air, carried by the breeze.

We rounded a bend in the sand, and there they were—around thirty people, gathered in a loose cluster near the edge of the forest.

They all looked just as lost as I felt. Some were huddled together in groups, while others stood apart, their faces drawn with exhaustion and fear. I recognized Cheryl amongst the loners and waved at her to draw her attention.

Her brows shot up when she saw me, and she hurried over. “I thought you were gone,” she said breathlessly. “Thank god you’re okay.”

“You too. Do you know, um… anything at all?” I asked, gesturing vaguely around us.

Cheryl shook her head. “We all woke up here. There’s stuff from the yacht lying around, but not much else.”

“Any crew?”

“No.” She frowned. “Only contestants.”

“That has to mean something, right?” I said. “I mean, what are the odds that all these players happened to survive the sinking while none of the crew did?”

“Yeah, it’s really weird,” Nikki interjected. She looked around, eyes narrowing slightly. “How many of us are there altogether?”

“There were twenty-two of us back there, and then you showed up. So twenty-three plus—” I stopped and looked at Cheryl again. “How many were here before we arrived?”

“Twenty-eight.”

“So fifty-one all up.”

She nodded, lips setting in a thin line. Then she picked up a piece of driftwood, held it in the air, and raised her voice.

“Listen up, everyone,” she called out. “Someone needs to take charge of this whole thing, so for now, I’m appointing myself as the speaker. Can everyone be quiet and gather around me? Just for a minute or two while we figure out the best way to handle this situation.”

There were a few grumbles and mutters, but everyone did as they were asked and gathered in a close crowd.

Cheryl waved the driftwood in the air. “We’ll call this the talking stick. Whoever has it can speak. Everyone else zips it,” she said, arching an eyebrow. “Now, first things first. Has anyone seen anything that might help us figure out where we are? Raise your hand if you have.”

She glanced around the crowd, waiting expectantly. No one stuck their hand up.

I nudged Nikki. “Why don’t you mention the ribbon?” I whispered.

She shook her head. “I was thinking about it, but… it’s just a ribbon around a tree,” she whispered back hesitantly. “It could’ve been there forever. So it’s probably nothing useful, and everyone will think I’m an idiot for bringing it up.”

“No, it really could be something,” I said insistently. “And no one else has seen anything at all. So you might as well say something, right?”

She bit her bottom lip. Then she swallowed hard and put her hand up. Cheryl handed the driftwood over. “What did you see?”

Nikki coughed to clear her throat, looking down at the sand. She was clearly worried that everyone would think the same as her—that the ribbon was just some meaningless thing left there years ago.

I gave her an encouraging smile and nodded.

“I saw a black piece of ribbon tied around a tree on the edge of the forest,” she finally said. “I was thinking… maybe it could be a marker for forestry workers? Like, a sign that the tree is sick or something. And if forestry workers come out here, then that could mean there’s a road somewhere nearby.”

An excited murmur went through the group, and multiple heads nodded. Cheryl gestured for Nikki to return the talking stick, and then she spoke up again. “I think we should go and check out this tree,” she said. “Does everyone agree with that? Put your hand up if you don’t .”

Not a single hand shot up. Cheryl nodded at Nikki, eyes glimmering with satisfaction. “Okay. Lead the way, please.”

We all turned and trudged down the beach, following Nikki. She stopped around five minutes later and pointed. “There,” she said. “That’s it.”

Several of the group members sprinted toward the tree, abandoning all thoughts of order. “There’s something here!” one of them called back to the rest of us.

We all hurried forward.

“It’s an arrow!” someone else said. “Carved on the tree below the ribbon.”

“It’s pointing downward,” Nathan said, frowning as he craned his neck to peer at the thick trunk. “Do you think that means there’s something in the ground here?”

“Yeah, maybe. Should we dig and see?” a petite auburn-haired woman asked, voice tinged with anxiety.

“Fucking duh ,” another woman shot back. “Of course we should. But not me. I hate sand getting under my nails.”

Nathan rolled his eyes and stepped forward. I stepped forward too, followed by Nikki, Cheryl, Chris, and a few other survivors whose names I didn’t know.

We arranged ourselves in rough lines, crouched down, and started digging into the cold, grainy mix of sand and dirt at the base of the tree. The wind picked up, howling in the distance, but it didn’t distract us as we worked, unearthed debris tumbling from our hands until— clink —one of us finally hit something solid.

Nathan’s fingers worked quickly to clear away the remaining sand, exposing the surface of a heavy metal hatch with a rusted latch.

"Help me open it," he ordered, his voice tight.

I reached forward, and so did Chris and Cheryl, our fingers scrambling for purchase on the enormous latch. It took everything we had for the four of us to pull it free, the metal groaning in protest as it creaked open to reveal what lay beneath.

It was an enormous cache, its contents piled neatly beneath the surface. My eyes widened as I saw an array of khaki backpacks, each one labeled with a number.

“What the hell?” Nikki muttered.

As if on cue, an audio device hidden in the cache crackled to life, its voice sending chills up my spine.

"Ladies and gentlemen... welcome to the Hunt."