22. Everly
22
Everly
The next few hours crawled by with a steady ache in my limbs and a numbing fog in my mind. This island felt like the bottom circle of hell itself, every twisted branch and shadowy corner a reminder of the death and desperation that surrounded me.
I’d lost count of how many player deaths had been announced by now. Half? More? All I knew was that they were gone, and I was still somehow here, wandering like a ghost in the ruins of this nightmare.
Just when I managed to get myself back on track to find the safe zone my group had been heading toward, I froze. There were voices coming from my left.
Panic surged through me, and I dove behind a cluster of bushes, clutching a jagged stick. My heart thundered as the voices drew closer, and then...
Three figures emerged from the misty woods, their movements sluggish and desperate. Two men and a woman—Craig, Nathan, and Chiara. I recognized all of them from the beach. Their faces were pale and spattered with dirt, and their eyes bulged like crazy when I stood up to reveal myself.
“Shit, you scared us,” Craig said hoarsely. “We thought you were a hunter.”
I didn’t lower the stick right away. I couldn’t trust anyone out here anymore. “I thought the same about you.”
“Do you have any food?” Nathan asked. “Or water? We haven’t made it to a single safe zone, and there’s nothing out here. We couldn’t even find a creek for water. Just a fucking puddle.”
I took a few steps closer and peered at them. Nathan’s claim was obviously true. Even though we were only two days in, all three group members already had a hollow quality about their faces. Their movements were clumsy too, like they were running on fumes.
My chest tightened, and I nodded and dropped the stick. “I’ve made it to a couple of safe zones, so I’ve got a few things stored,” I said, setting down my backpack. I got out three bottles of water, three muesli bars, and a packet of dried fruit. “Here. Share these.”
“Oh my god, thank you so much!” Chiara practically fell on the supplies, eyes wide. She took a long gulp of water, then looked back up at me. “We ran into another player about an hour ago, but he refused to help us.”
“That sucks,” I muttered, not really in the mood for conversation. My mind was still on Nikki and Cheryl.
“We think he was probably a mole,” Nathan added.
My gaze jerked up to meet his deep brown eyes. “You think there’s a mole too?”
“Yup. They said there were fifty players, but there were fifty-one packs at the start. So I think that means there’s an extra player here.”
“That’s exactly what I think too,” I said, nodding fervently.
“My first suspect was actually you ,” he said, raising a brow as he unwrapped a muesli bar. “Given your story about not signing up for the game.”
“I really didn’t—”
He cut me off. “It’s okay. I don’t think it’s you anymore,” he said. “After a while, I realized that there was no way the mole would make themselves seem so damn suspicious from the start. And you instantly drew a lot of attention to yourself with that story.”
“Yeah, I guess I did,” I said. I tilted my head. “So what makes you think this other player is the mole? And who is it?”
“Peter. I don’t know if you remember him from the beach.”
“Yeah, I remember him,” I said, nodding slowly. “The one with pancreatic cancer.”
Nathan’s lips thinned. “I think he might be lying about being sick. Firstly, he seems really healthy and fit. Not like he’s dying at all,” he said. “Also, I only got a glimpse as he left, but I think his backpack said fifty-one. Sus, right?”
“It was twenty-one,” Chiara mumbled. “Your eyes just suck.”
“I’m sure it was fifty-one,” Nathan insisted.
My shoulders slumped as his words sank in. Nikki and I had already discussed the backpack numbering issue and figured that there was no way the hunt organizers would make the mole so obvious.
On top of that, I really didn’t think Peter was lying about being sick. Lots of people with serious illnesses seemed fine for a long time… right up until the day things suddenly fell apart. I knew that from experience.
My mother had been diagnosed with Stage 3 ovarian cancer when I was a kid. At the time, she’d been working sixty-hour weeks as an ER doctor and training for marathons as a hobby. She’d seemed as healthy as a horse, and she only found out she was sick when she went in for a routine scan after falling pregnant with the baby that would’ve been my younger sibling, if it wasn’t lost during the subsequent treatment process.
Even after that loss, coupled with the shock of the diagnosis, Mom had seemed strong and capable for months, until one day when she suddenly couldn’t get out of bed anymore. It was jarring, seeing her go from fit and vibrant to frail and dependent in such a short period of time, and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. I certainly wouldn’t accuse someone of faking it, either.
“What do you think?” Nathan said, forehead creasing.
As he stared at me, I realized I still hadn’t replied yet. I cleared my throat. “Oh, um… I don’t know,” I said, not wanting to get into an argument. “All I know is I’m not the mole.”
“Me neither.”
The other two echoed him.
I actually believed them. I seriously doubted the mole would allow themselves to be starved and dehydrated for two days, no matter how committed they were to the role of trickster-saboteur.
“Okay, look,” I said flatly. “We’re about half an hour away from the next safe zone. I know how to get there, and you can come with me. But listen carefully. If you stick with me, you follow my rules.”
I repeated Nikki’s rules from yesterday, my voice monotone. To my surprise, the others didn’t argue. They just nodded, clearly too drained to protest.
The sky was still filled with dark, heavy clouds, and the rain started ten minutes before we reached the zone—cold, relentless, and soaking through our clothes in seconds. We hurried toward the cabin perched near the edge of the clearing, only to find the door locked.
“What the hell?” Nathan rattled the handle in frustration. “It’s supposed to be open for another three hours!”
I turned to scan the clearing around the cabin, frowning as I realized the blue spray-paint that usually bordered a safe zone was missing. Had the heavy rain washed it away?
I was about to suggest that we break one of the cabin windows to get in when I spotted a flash of blue to the far right—a small circle around a hatch, almost hidden under a layer of vines and moss.
“There!” I pointed at the hatch. “The safe zone must be underground. This cabin must’ve been put here to trick people.”
The four of us hurried over to the hatch. Nathan yanked it open, and we all climbed down into the shelter.
The moment my feet hit the floor, my whole body sagged with relief. The underground space was small but solid, with sturdy walls and a low ceiling that gave it an almost cozy feel. There wasn’t any food, apart from what was left in my backpack, but there was plenty of water and, best of all, there was a small basin and toilet tucked into the corner in a cubicle.
My breath hitched when I saw the makeshift bathroom, and for the first time in hours, I felt a flicker of satisfaction. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d washed away the sweat and dirt; the last time I’d felt truly clean.
The others busied themselves with washing and drying off before eating the leftover rations I spread out on the floor for the four of us to share. I cleaned myself up last, ate a small packet of crackers, and curled up in the corner for a nap.
I knew I wouldn’t get much rest, given the way my mind was racing—cycling through every death I’d witnessed and every possible ambush that might be waiting for me next—but I knew I had to try anyway, or I simply wouldn’t have the energy to go on.
Somehow, I managed to get two whole hours of sleep, but then I was suddenly awake again, mind racing as crazily as ever. The others were all fast asleep on the floor, getting what was probably the first safe rest they’d had in the last two days.
I slipped on my shoes and crept quietly up the steps to the hatch, being careful not to rouse anyone. Seeing as I was wide awake now, I figured it was a good idea for me to check the weather outside and plan accordingly. If it was still stormy and pouring with rain, we were going to have a bad evening ahead of us.
When I pushed the hatch open and climbed out, the cold bit into me instantly. The rain had stopped, thankfully, but the island was now cloaked in a heavy fog, thick enough to obscure the nearest trees. Tendrils of it snaked through the forest, clinging to the ground like a ghostly blanket.
I stood there for a moment, rubbing my arms as I gazed out into the eerie stillness. The fog looked scary, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized it could be useful. Sure, we wouldn’t be able to see hunters coming… but they wouldn’t be able to see us either.
A sudden pang of hunger gnawed at my stomach, and I let out a sigh as I remembered that I’d shared the last of my food with Nathan, Chiara, and Craig earlier. It was the right thing to do, because none of them had eaten in so long, but damn… I’d kill for another muesli bar right about now.
“Probably not the best choice of words for that thought process,” I muttered to myself under my breath as a mix of guilt and shame streaked through me.
I still couldn’t understand how or why I’d survived so long while the others around me dropped like flies. I was no survival expert, and I hadn’t even gotten a chance to practice before I arrived on the island, seeing as I never signed up for this damn game in the first place.
It was like I had a guardian angel watching over me… but I had no idea what a guardian angel was doing down here in the pits of hell.
I glanced toward the cabin on the other side of the clearing, half-shrouded in fog. I knew it was locked, but I figured there could be some supplies inside that we’d missed earlier. After all, we’d been so desperate to get out of the rain that none of us had thought of looking through the windows or checking for alternate ways in. We’d simply tried the door, freaked out upon finding it locked, and then bolted to the hatch.
Maybe a loose board or an unlocked window would give me a way in. My stomach growled again, urging me to try. Desperation could make even the most hopeless ideas seem worth a shot.
I slowly crept toward the small building, staying low just in case. The fog around me seemed to thicken with every step, chilling me to the bone, but I was grateful for it anyway, knowing it was keeping me hidden from any nearby hunters even though I was in the middle of a clearing.
Once I made it up to the front of the cabin, I quietly tried the closest window, grunting with irritation when I found it locked. Dammit. I scanned the wall beside it for any sign of an opening—a crack in the wood that I could widen, or a loose board—but there was nothing.
With a sigh, I headed over to the other side to check there instead. As I rounded the corner, I froze.
There, leaning against the cabin wall, his eyes locked on mine, was Rhett.