Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Elijah said the supply drop was on the northern beach.
It’s already midday. I’m not sure if I’ve missed it, but I’m guessing not.
From what I’ve gathered about the games, the game master wants them to be as sadistic as possible.
He’d definitely drop the supplies during the middle of the day when we have no ability to hide.
I have my rock with me.
Hatred rolls over me again. I hate that I have to go to this.
That I have to participate in their fucking bullshit.
But I’m so thirsty I feel woozy. I can’t kill anyone if I can’t function.
There’s a cup in my bag, but I know better than to drink water out of any of the streams. I could try to start a fire if I could figure out how, but everything here is so… wet. And humid.
My leg burns. I have no idea if that fucking bug was venomous, but it feels like it. The bite is red and swollen, and the pain is constant and unbearable. But I’ve used it to stay conscious, pushing on the wound every time my brain wants to check out.
The closer I push to what I assume is the northern part of the island, the more I have to duck and hide from sounds in the forest. Sometimes they’re people, and sometimes they aren’t.
I’ve started to notice that all of the…hunters or whoever they are, wear masks.
All of the people like me wear ear tags.
Some of them band together, some of them don’t. All of them are alert.
I stay small and quiet when they pass, gripping my rock while my heart races. I crouch on the forest floor, waiting for signs of weakness. Just like Connor taught me.
No one shows any, which makes me angry.
I almost puke a few times, despite the fact that I finished off the vanilla protein bar. I’m fucking thirsty. And tired. I cry a few times, and as soon as I’m done, I dig my finger into my leg and clench my jaw from the pain.
I won’t give up.
After what feels like a few hours, I catch sight of the beach again.
Immediately, I have flashbacks, seeing Elijah’s sad face.
And that makes me stop to hurl up some stomach bile and a little bit of vanilla sludge.
Then, I grip my rock so hard my fingers hurt, and I keep going. I have to keep going.
That’s when I hear it—a motor.
Freezing, I crouch, stretching the skin over the wound on my thigh.
The motor gets closer, roaring along the beach. I’m in a raised area with a good view down to the sand. I see a golf cart roaring up the beach. A golf cart that is weighed down with all kinds of things, including water bottles.
I focus. There are individual water bottles as well as gallon sizes. Also, things that look like snack foods, such as chips, pretzels, and cookies. The man driving the cart is huge and has on some sort of skull mask. My stomach sinks.
A skull mask.
Wyatt. The game master.
I look down the beach. No one else is with the man. At least, not that I can see. He continues down the beach, and I stare in hatred. That skull mask that would look good with my rock smashed in the middle of it.
As he drives, I see him reach back and shove something off the back of the cart. It lands in the sand. Then, further down, he pushes more. Water bottles.
I’m scrambling to get closer to the edge of the woods, vision narrowing on just the things in front of me. Those water bottles are mine. I’ll kill anyone who tries to take them from me.
As I near the treeline, I slow down, scanning the area. I’m hidden now, but as soon as I get out on the beach, I’ll become a target. People could see me just as easily as I saw the golf cart.
But there’s no one. The seagulls circle overhead, then swoop down to see what’s on the beach. From what I can see, it looks like a box of…mini bags of chips as well as a few bottles of water.
My hands start to tingle, making it hard to grip the rock. I need those supplies. I won’t be able to take anyone down if I’m dying of thirst.
And so, I make a run for it.