Chapter 30
brEK
Day four (ish) and hunt number two for me. This time, I’m focused. Completely and utterly ready to fight my way back to the barracks. I had a moment of panic at the barracks when my number appeared on the board and nearly had a mental breakdown.
Malcolm talked me through it. His calm voice and endless tips helped me relax. Of course, as soon as I stepped outside, I vomited up my breakfast.
Now the truck is driving the four of us from our barracks deep into the woods. I try to pay attention to the way the truck turns around trees and slows for roots. It doesn’t take me long to determine that I have no fucking idea what direction we’re heading. All I know is that we’re driving away.
I also can’t decide whether this drive is further than the last time I was brought out. Are we always dropped in the same spot? Do we always run in the same direction? Where are the other two barracks?
Moreso, how many hunters are there? There are a dozen human prey let out for each hunt, so what’s the ratio of prey to hunter?
The truck comes to a stop, and the driver comes to the back to let down the tailgate. I’m almost amused as he helps the man closest to the tailgate down. They share a strangely kind exchange before the prey takes off into the trees.
I’m the last out, and I stare at the driver for a minute. He has a rifle. Of course, he does. Absently, I wonder if it’s loaded. Curiously, he’s not wearing armor. He’s armed but not protected. Is that an important detail to remember?
My feet hit the ground, and he gives me a smile. “Good luck,” he offers.
“Thanks,” I respond. It’s weird. I don’t care what anyone says. It’s fucking weird. Do they not realize that we’re actually being hunted? To the fucking death? This isn’t a VR game, and we can respawn later. Is this not real to them?
I turn away, and for just a second, I look around.
The truck isn’t gone yet, so I feel relatively certain that there isn’t a hunter right here.
Malcolm says they’re not allowed to ambush.
They hunt like actual wild game. To me, that means that right here, for this very second, I’m safe from being gunned down.
It’s not easy ignoring the fear that claws its way up into my chest. I’m much more prepared today than I was the last time I was out here. I wouldn’t go so far as to say I’m confident. Weirdly enough, my biggest fear right now is witnessing another brutal murder as opposed to being the prey caught.
Especially one of a young kid. I know that witnessing any murder is going to stay with me, but I think the one I watched is as traumatizing as it is because he was a damn kid. A teenager. He’d barely begun living his life before having it ripped away from him.
“You should get moving.”
I turn around at the voice. The driver is back in the truck, with his passenger side window down as he leans over to see me.
“You could give me a ride back,” I suggest.
He laughs. “Good luck, buddy.”
Do I imagine the way he inclines his head off to his right? How he looks that way and then meets my eyes before sitting back upright and putting the truck into gear?
Do I trust him? If he is suggesting I go that way, is it out of kindness, or is he pointing me in the direction of a hunter? Does he know where the hunters are?
Hmm. Maybe Malcolm has it wrong. Maybe the hunters aren’t let out until the trucks get back. After all, if you see one of the trucks, your hunt is too easy. If I make it back, I’ll have to run this idea by Malcolm. Assuming I find the same barracks.
I take only another minute to determine whether I want to trust the guy and follow the direction he suggested. Or… the direction I imagined he suggested. It wasn’t the direction we came from, which is partially what gives me pause.
A loud whack propels me forward. I head in the direction he indicated. More or less. Not directly, because he works here. He works for those who abduct innocent people and release them in the woods for others to fucking hunt like animals.
Now that I think about it, I shouldn’t trust him at all. I turn and begin jogging in a more direct route back the way the truck came, trying to keep my footfalls light and my ears strained, head on a swivel so I can see everywhere.
Movement in the distance has me stopping abruptly. I hunker down at the base of a wide tree, but there’s no brush here. I’m still extremely exposed except that I’m not at eye level, so hopefully that lends me some advantage.
The movement is another prey human. I watch them clumsily run, constantly looking over their shoulder. Tripping, falling, making a damn ruckus. I close my eyes, not wanting to see if someone is on his trail.
My heart races as I wait. For his scream or the deafening shot of a gun. Waiting for anything but the sound of his very loud retreat.
Nothing.
I choose to find that encouraging. He’s a very clear target, so if he’s not shot, there must not be a hunter in the vicinity.
Getting to my feet, I move a little quicker in the direction I’d been heading. Hopefully toward the barracks. It’ll likely be a while until I find a marker. I’m pretty confident that we were dropped further away than the first time I was taken out here.
I jog forward, remembering the stitch in my side last time. I’m not a runner. In fact, I hate cardio. I find a pace that I think I can keep up. Somewhere between a trot and a jog.
A scream in the distance makes me pause again. Fear spikes through me, and I drop to the ground to crawl toward the nearest big tree. The scream echoes off the trees again, and I close my eyes for a brief moment.
Then I think how stupid that is and open them wide. The screams keep coming. I can’t hear anything else but screaming. It’s not constant. Not even rhythmic. It’s periodic, but the screams are relatively close together.
I try desperately not to imagine what’s happening. I don’t want to know. Instead, I try to determine what direction the screams are coming from. It’s not easy. Everything echoes around me. The trees play tricks, throwing the sound back and forth like they’re playing catch with it.
Eventually, the screams stop. Through my fear, I feel relief. Relief that they’re no longer being hurt. It’s over for them. Death is a kindness right now.
I remain sitting there for a long time. Waiting. Watching and listening for any sign that the hunter is headed in this direction. When I’m relatively certain I’m still alone, I get to my feet.
My pulse sounds louder in my ears than it had been as I take a few steps forward. This is still the direction I was headed, right? Taking a breath, I regain my jog-trot.
I imagine my mistake is that I sat still for too long. A gunshot pierces the air. I jerk and then nearly fall on my face when the bullet slams into a tree to my right. Without thinking, my fear takes the wheel, and I sprint forward as fast as I can.
Another gunshot nearly has me yelping, but I don’t stop moving. I run, adjusting my direction to try to get out of range. To get lost in the trees and out of sight.
I’m brought to the forest floor as the next gunshot is met with a piercing pain in my side. I don’t scream because I don’t have the breath to do so. The pain is blinding for a minute, and I see nothing except a molten hot light.
Then, I’m forcing myself to my feet and stumbling forward. I won’t die here. I won’t.
Fear keeps me moving. Adrenaline gives me speed.
I take a single look over my shoulder, hoping to see my assailant.
My next mistake is looking over my shoulder while I run. I’d like to say that I run straight into a tree or simply fall over a root. Nope. I somehow fall down a fucking hill.
A damn hill that goes on for ages. The ground beneath me is riddled with saplings, sticks, slick leaves, and tree stumps. None of it slows down my descent, exactly. If anything, I might gain several more injuries outside of the bullet wound.
When I finally come to a stop, it’s at the bank of a stream. I can’t move. My body feels paralyzed as I try to catch the breath that was forced from my lungs in my fall during one of the many times I was slammed into a tree, rock, or stump on my way down.
Noise in the distance has me forcing myself to my hands and knees. I gasp as pain streaks through me, licking at my vision. I can barely see. My glasses, somehow still on my face, are cracked. Only one lens, though. These damn things have been through hell and haven’t failed me.
I look up the hill I went down and then around the stream. I need somewhere to hide. I’m in the open here.
A short way away, there’s an outcropping of rocks. I can’t manage to get myself on my feet. My ankle screams when I put weight on it. So, I crawl as quickly as I can. I’m not fast enough. A bullet hits the water right behind me, and I dive forward.
Stupid to do that. Rocks are unforgiving.
Somehow, I wedge myself within the rocks and completely out of sight. I can hear the stream and the gunfire. The bullets pepper the water. Do they think I turned invisible and they’re randomly going to hit me?
I strain my ears to listen. Is he going to come down the hill after me? If that’s the case, I’m a sitting duck. I’m as good as dead.
Closing my eyes, I sit in silence and listen to the world around me. The gunshots stop. I don’t hear anyone breaking their neck coming down the hill. I’m not sure what that means. Are they going to wait me out? Have they given up and are moving away?
I’m not sure what hurts more at this point—the gunshot in my side or my ankle that I’m assuming I twisted or something when I fell.
I grip my ribs, feeling the sticky wet warmth pool on my shirt.
There’s not enough light in this tiny place for me to examine my wound.
Not that I can move that much. I’m wedged in here.
Honestly, I’m not sure how I’m going to get out.
Adrenaline helped me get in. Now I’m fucking exhausted, terrified, and injured.
So I sit here, sink into the pain, and wait. I’m not sure what I’m waiting for. I just wait.
Time passes. I might doze.
Crashing through the trees makes me snap wide awake. Someone screams. I hear… thumps. Slaps? Squish? Water? Of course, water. I’m at the stream. Another scream. It’s close. My heart races, and I try to curl in on myself. They can’t see me, right? Is any part of me visible?
More screaming. “Please stop. Stop.”
Slaps. Squish. Screams. Grunts. Scrapes on stone. Screams.
I don’t know what I’m hearing, and I don’t want to know. I let go of my side and cover my ears with my hands, trying to drown out the sounds. It works for the most part, except for the screams. Those are louder than the rest. Probably because they echo more.
Without realizing, I’m humming under my breath, trying to drown out all the awful sounds of this man’s murder.
Brutalization. My mind plays tricks on me, showing me different visions of what those sounds are.
Slapping is the hand against the face. Maybe slamming them into the water, right? Slap against the surface of the water?
The squish and squelch are easy. Stabbing. I imagine the man fighting back, struggling, resisting. Trying to get away. Trying to throw the man off. With each minute that passes, he loses more energy. More blood.
His screams become weak.
Eventually, everything stops. If anything, my heartbeat becomes louder as I lower my hands and struggle to hear every sound once again. Have they gone? Have they moved past?
I don’t move for a very long time. There’s no way of knowing how much time has passed.
Maybe foolishly confident that everyone has moved out of the area, I begin struggling my way out of the rocks.
It hurts. It pulls everything painfully.
The pain is almost enough that I remain where I am and let the earth and wild animals take me.
Where the determination comes from, I don’t know, but eventually, I work my way out of my hiding spot and lie on my back with my eyes closed to catch my breath. Getting back to the barracks is going to be fun in this condition.
After some more time, I open my eyes and stare at the dimming light in the sky.
I roll to my side and push myself onto my hands and knees.
Okay, cool. Time to get to my feet. Ouch.
Every move hurts somewhere. God, if I have to go out again tomorrow, I’m simply going to curl up in a ball and let them kill me.
I move forward in a daze. My daze breaks when I come across the naked, brutalized body of the man I heard being murdered. Bile rises, and I quickly turn away before I vomit on him. What the fuck. What is wrong with people?
I can’t bear to look back at him as I force myself forward. Maybe in the direction of the barracks. Maybe not. I don’t know. All I know is that I need to keep moving. I need to get away from the body of the man who innocently lost his life at the hands of a cruel monster.
My mind races. Tears streak down my cheeks.
I can’t decide whether it’s fear or pain that has me crying.
But I keep moving through the pain. It becomes a rhythm.
I no longer feel anything as I struggle forward.
My footsteps aren’t as quiet as they need to be, and I’m not moving as quickly as I should be.
But I’m left alone. It’s dark before I spot the barracks in the distance. I’m so relieved that I drop to the ground and curl up, closing my eyes for just a short rest. Then I’ll go the rest of the way. A short rest is all I need.