Chapter 32 Brek
brEK
I’m shivering when I wake up. The pain in my side is sharp and constant. My ankle has a dull throb. My head is pounding. When I open my eyes, there’s a light in the distance that’s dancing, doubling, echoing. I can’t stop shivering.
The light promises warmth, though, right?
I watch the light as I try to convince myself to move. There’s noise and then something louder. Part of the light breaks off and moves away through the trees. It disappears, and the light ahead of me condenses to two bright spots and a dimmer one.
It takes more energy than I think I have in me to push myself to my feet. I lean against a tree and close my eyes for a minute. It’s not that far away. Light means warmth. Safety. Well, relative safety anyway.
I hobble forward, taking small steps. The lights don’t seem to get closer for quite some time.
Maybe I’m not moving at all and I just think I am.
Every step hurts. One foot and my ankle throbs.
The other and my side feels like it’s being stabbed.
Or burned. Or… someone is digging their nails into it. I can’t tell.
“You made it,” a man with a rifle says. He smiles. “Looking a little worse for wear, but nice job, buddy. Congrats.”
I give him a tired smile. Fucked-up game.
He touches my hand, and I pause, though I think if I stand too still, then I’m not going to be able to keep moving forward again. If I stop now, I’m stuck right here.
The other man opens the door. They don’t rush me as I shuffle to the light. This is prophetic, right? Don’t the brainwashed say that there’s a bright light at the end of their life? Oh, wait. They don’t like being called brainwashed.
My brain swims so much that I laugh at my own thoughts. Maybe I laugh. There’s a chance that I only laugh inside my head.
“A little further, buddy,” the guy behind me says.
I take another couple of steps inside.
“There you go. Get cleaned up and get some rest. Nice win, kid.” The door shuts behind me.
They’re weirdly courteous. I lean against the wall and close my eyes as I think about that. Why are they so nice?
Hands on my face have me opening my eyes. “Brek. You’re alive.”
I stare at the face that looks so much like Voss that I can’t suck in another breath for a solid three seconds. Okay, now I know I’m dead. Maybe that bright white light is real. Maybe I’m part of the brainwas—uh… religious?
Nah.
“Say something. Are you okay?”
I shake my head. I’m certainly not okay. Clearly, I’m hallucinating Voss. If I look around, will I see my friends too? Part of me wants to look, but that means looking away from Voss, and I’m not sure I want to do that. Not now that I see him.
“He’s covered in blood,” someone says. Do I recognize the voice? “Bring him this way. We have a first-aid kit.”
“Seriously?” Imaginary-Voss asks.
“Yes. We have a strange number of luxuries. As if they’ve made an effort to keep us comfortable before sending us out to be murdered.”
I stop trying to keep track of the voices around me, though I listen. My eyes remain locked on Voss. I don’t care who else is there. I don’t care who answers when he asks questions.
“Lay him here. We need to find where he’s bleeding from, though the hole in his shirt and the concentration of blood might as well be a target.”
“I’m right here,” Voss says quietly. “I’m going to take your shirt off, okay?”
I don’t care what he does.
“I think he’s in shock.”
My feet struggle to move. I wince every time I need to put weight on my ankle. The adrenaline in my system is burning out now, and the pain is epic. I’ve never felt anything like this. It makes me dizzy. Sick to my stomach. My head spins.
“Wow! That’s the biggest first-aid kit I’ve ever seen.”
A new stinging pain punctuates my daze, and I jerk. A choking sound comes out of my throat. Holy fuck.
“We have to clean you, Brek,” Imaginary-Voss says. “Can’t let you get infected.”
“He looks like he was beaten up. Look at all the bruises and small puncture wounds. All the scrapes and skids. He’s a mess.”
“He was limping. We’re going to need to look at his legs.”
Their voices go in and out for a while as the pain spikes and recedes. It turns into background noise. A quiet, comforting murmur. At least I’m surrounded by people when I die. I think I’d rather die than continue to live with this pain.
Perhaps I’m being a baby. Is it acceptable to say I’d rather die than have to run for my life again?
The world fades. The pain throughout my body turns into a dull throb.
It doesn’t ever go away, but I’m so damn tired, so stressed, that I fall into a restless sleep.
Imaginary-Voss is right there. I can smell him.
His scent fills my lungs and head. I bury myself in that scent, appreciating that if I’m dying, this is the last thing I remember.
I’m not dead. Interestingly, I feel relieved that I’m not dead. I reserve the right to change my mind, but I still smell Voss. If I’m going to remain alive with the throbbing pain in my side and pulsing ache in my ankle, at least I can hallucinate Voss.
Fingers run through my hair, and for a minute, I’m confident that this is part of my stressed-out mind, but when I open my eyes, the world around me is far too familiar, and not in a good way. Except… Voss is here.
I pull back so I can look into his face. “Voss?”
Voss smiles. “Hey, you.”
“You’re… real?”
He presses his forehead to mine. “I’m sorry it took me so long to get here.”
“But… I don’t…. how are you here?”
“When we get out of here, I’m going to put a GPS tracker under your skin. Relying on others to lead me to you took far too long.”
His words don’t make much sense. I’m too tired to untangle that mess.
“Voss.”
He sighs, his arms tightening around me. “Everything is okay now, baby.”
“Baby. Where is Axl?”
I feel his smile as he turns his face into my hair. “Come on, Brek, be reasonable. I wouldn’t bring my infant into this mess. He’s waiting at home for us.” I feel his laughter as he holds me to him.
“Who is this guy?” someone murmurs. “He keeps talking like they’re getting out of here.”
Voss pulls away a little, and I can look into his eyes once more. He’s actually here. How is that even possible?
“You ready to burn this place down, Brek?”
“Is that an option?”
Behind me, someone chuckles.
“It’s an option, though we’re going to try not using fire. We are on protected land. I don’t actually want to contribute to the wildfire problem on this continent right now.”
“I don’t—how are we going home?”
Voss kisses my lips lightly, and my eyes flutter shut. “First, let’s take a look at where you were shot. Make sure you’re not going to get an infection before I can get Doc here to tend to it. Then we’ll begin plotting the downfall of these fuckers.”
I nod. Honestly, I think he’s lost his mind. He has no idea what he’s gotten into. I’m not even sure how he got here.
Voss helps me sit up. There are two guys on the floor by my bed. Both are covered in tats. One with long hair and steely eyes, the other with short hair and a grin.
“This is Azlan and Wade,” Voss introduces. “They work for my dad.”
“Oh.” I look between them and then take a breath. “Wait, what?”
Voss grins. He leans in, pressing his lips to my ear and whispers, “Time to let you in on a little Van Doren secret. I should warn you—this means I’m keeping you forever. We keep our secrets close.”
Shivers cover my body, and I smile.
He winks. Azlan and Wade get to their feet when we do. Everyone in the barracks is watching us. Suspiciously. Curiously. A few think we’re absolutely crazy.
Then there’s Malcolm, looking amused. I offer him a smile in greeting.
“Come sit, man,” he says and taps a chair. “Let’s see how your side is doing.”
I sit and raise my hand over my head. I haven’t looked at the wound. As he washes it with what is probably alcohol, based on how it fucking stings, I’m reminded of being shot. The loud pop echoes in my head, and I flinch. My breath feels like it was punched from my lungs.
“He really needs antibiotics,” Malcolm says. “That’s not something we have.” He offers me two pills. I examine them for a minute before meeting his eyes. “We have pain meds, though. Take them.”
I do and down some water. Someone brings me a plate of food, and I eat with Voss, Malcolm, Wade, and Azlan. We’re silent for a while. I’m not sure if we’re all waiting for the board to announce today’s victims or, like me, waiting to see what Voss has planned.
“Okay, man,” Malcolm says, his attention on Voss. “It sounds suspiciously like you ended up here on purpose.”
“I did,” Voss says. “My family doesn’t take kindly to someone messing with what’s ours. I’m here to retrieve what’s mine and tear this fucking place down on my way out.”
“That means you’re not just taking him and leaving the rest of us here, right?” someone else asks.
Voss shakes his head. “No. My family is closing in already. They’d already been on their way while we took the long route of being brought here as human prey.” He looks at his hand and frowns. “That man is going to be introduced to his fucking branding irons as he’s brought to death.”
“Are you part of the mafia?” someone asks.
Wade snorts.
Voss smirks. “No, honey. We’re far worse than that. After all, the mafia has proven to have a weakness, no? They’re all dead now.”
I don’t miss the way everyone exchanges looks.
“What’s the plan?” Malcolm asks.
“Depends. Who’s signing up to flip the tables on this operation with us?”
I’m not surprised when nearly everyone agrees. There are faces I don’t recognize who don’t readily volunteer. They’re new here. They haven’t been on a hunt yet.
Thankfully, I’m not the only one who notices.
Malcolm turns to them and says, “Let me explain to you what this place is. When your number is called up on that board there,”—he nods toward it, and the three of them glance up—“that means you’re up.
You’re driven into the middle of the woods and left there for a group of hunters to hunt you like wild animals.
Only, you’d be so lucky if all they did was shoot you.
They’re likely to beat, stab, mutilate, rape, or torture you before they let you die.
There is no sucking up. There is no getting on someone’s good side.
There are no favorites. When your number is up, it’s all on you to live or die. So… which will it be?”
As if his words were the trigger, the board starts clapping. Fear fills their eyes, but I stare at the board and pray to the brainwasher that my number isn’t up there.
Flipflipflipflip. 689. 704. 719. 737. 740. 643…
I sigh in relief when my number isn’t up there. I look over all twelve sets of numbers and sag.
“You’re just getting away today,” Wade says, and I turn my attention to him. He’s looking at Azlan. “Take surveillance. Do some recon. Maybe scare the fuck out of the hunters, but you’re not killing anyone today. Understand, Az?”
Azlan frowns.
My eyes drop to their hands. Azlan is 737. Wade is 738.
My heart nearly jumps when I grab Voss’ hand. 736. I nearly get dizzy with relief when he’s not one of the numbers on the board. However, one of the skeptical guys—he’s up. He’s looking a little green.
“I’ll show you what I know,” Malcolm says. “You can determine what’s useful.”
“Is there a weapon stash somewhere?” Wade asks.
Malcolm shakes his head. “Not that I’m aware of. I’m guessing that the guys who book their hunting bring their own weapons.”
“Where is the… admin?”
He shakes his head again. “That I don’t know, though I have an idea.”
“Recon,” Voss agrees. “Be careful.”
“Finish eating,” Malcolm says.
The room is silent except for Malcolm coaching the new guys. Only one of the three is called up to go out and die. Honestly, I think he’s going to die. Then again, I probably looked like that, too. I recognize the way he’s staring at Malcolm as if seeing through his eyes.
Disbelief. This can’t be real. It’s inhumane. It’s illegal. It’s sick.
Terror. I’m going to die today.
The two mix until it feels like an out-of-body experience. Like you’re watching from a distance. Watching your body as you slowly have a mental breakdown.
The door opens, and one of the armed men waits for the four on the board to head outside. When the door closes, Voss says, “I see twelve numbers and only four men left.”
“There are two other barracks,” someone answers. “From what I can guess, the numbers are pulled at random. Sometimes, only one person leaves here. Sometimes eight. There’s no rhyme or reason, so I think the numbers must be randomly generated.”
“That makes sense,” another man says. “They’re tracked when we return. Those who don’t return, their numbers are taken out of the rotation.”
Voss nods. “Good to know. Keep talking. Tell me more. I need every observation, every memory, every detail you can think of, even if it feels menial and useless.”
“You’re not concerned about your friend dying out there?” one of the new guys asks.
Wade laughs. “Azlan is a psychopath.” When no one reacts, he smirks. “A clinically diagnosed psychopath. He’s now the scariest thing in the woods. Trust me. He’ll be back without a scratch.”
A beat passes in silence before one of the guys who sleeps on the bunk behind me says, “I think we’re always dropped in the same spot.
Based on the distance we travel in the truck and how long it takes me to find my way back, I think it’s a couple of miles northeast of here.
Four miles tops. I’m nearly confident we’re dropped in almost the same spot because I’ve marked a tree, and I almost always find it.
We are not dropped with the guys from other barracks, and it’s rare that we cross paths or end up in another barracks.
I don’t know whether that means they’re quite a distance away or we simply run in the direction we came, knowing that relative safety is right there. ”
“Good. Do we have paper? Pen?” Voss asks. “Let’s use everyone’s estimation of where they’ve run and what they’ve seen to make a kind of map.”
I munch on the remnants of food on my plate as I watch Voss. I’m safe now.