15
I study the other nine women as we travel.
The purpose-built van we sit in has been designed to allow the camera crew to fit unobtrusively, and for the competitors to be arranged in such a way as to allow them to interact with one another.
The van, or maybe extended truck might be a better word for it, would easily fit half a dozen more people, allowing plenty of space for us nine.
Despite this, those who are more stupid than others tend to show their hands to some degree, or their alliances at least, by sitting close to their friends and continuing their whispering.
As usual I’d been the last to arrive and had little choice but to sit in one of the isolated seats near the door. Had I been given a choice, I’m not too sure where I would have positioned myself anyhow now that I see who’s on board.
Also sitting apart from other competitors are the Zurich twins and Evelyn, the American.
I catch her eye, and she gives me a frosty look.
If I had to describe her, I’d say she looks like the penultimate Stepford wife.
Coolly collected, perfect hair, perfect face; the epitome of class.
Of course, when she opens her mouth it’s a different story.
Her accent is quite strong. I think she said she comes from Pennsylvania or Philadelphia, something starting with a P, but I can’t recall what she did for a living.
Still, she’s not anyone I plan to underestimate, and the fact that we share a bedroom doesn’t seem to make her any more inclined to align with me than I am with her.
Quite the opposite.
I switch to studying the Australian, Miranda, where she sits next to Cherry, who despite all odds and much to all our chagrin, had returned from her one-on-one date with the Viscount alive and well and sporting a pretty neat little puncture wound to the throat.
She hadn’t discussed the bite, but she hadn’t hidden it either.
She and the Australian with the dimples now seem to be chatting happily about all manner of shit and don’t appear to be in the least worried about the challenge.
If I were Miranda, I’d keep my distance from the competitor many of us want to murder.
The twins from Zurich are another matter altogether.
As I look at them one narrows her eyes at me.
I’ve yet to learn their names, but Thing One and Thing Two seem like the perfect fit.
Red-haired and green-eyed, they’re startlingly beautiful in isolation, but as soon as you see them together you realise there’s something very off about them.
They spend a great deal of time, or so it seems, just sitting together saying nothing.
Evelyn had been spot-on when she said they were creepy, and I’m very glad she’d discouraged them from moving into our room.
Of everyone in the van at the moment I think perhaps they might be the biggest unknown.
“What are you looking at?” Thing One hisses.
“Not sure yet,” I shrug.
The Australian chortles but cuts off her laugh mid-snort at a sharp look from Thing Two.
I turn my attention to Natia, the Georgian, who sits quietly beside the Mongolian contestant, Khutulun.
Neither of them are wearing swimsuits, which surprises me.
They, too, had obviously not been given anything worth wearing to a challenge, but at the very least the dresses they were wearing, while flimsy, covered more of their skin than the rest of us.
I can’t help but wonder what they’ll do if it is a water challenge.
Strip down to their panties, I guess, although Natia didn’t seem like someone who would be comfortable doing that.
I’d heard snatches of their conversation here and there on the first night.
She’s from Tbilisi and studied law. A criminologist. This interests me no end, given my background, and I’d like to get to know her.
She is, though, seemingly someone who forms quick and intractable opinions about others.
I don’t know what she thinks of me, but she certainly hadn’t extended the hand of friendship as she outwardly had with Khutulun.
It strikes me as an odd alliance except for the fact that both of them have coldly calculating, intense eyes, which Natia now turns on me.
I look away quickly and raise my eyebrows at the Mexican, Regina, when she smiles at me.
She’s wearing a filmy shirt over her white swimsuit, which does nothing to hide her curvaceous figure.
I’m guessing she has it on because she doesn’t want to get sunburnt, which is bizarre given it's night out now, but it fits with my assessment of her intelligence. She’d tried to make conversation with me several times yesterday.
She struck me as a weak competitor who wanted to align with someone strong, and it surprises me that she’s sitting with the Brazilian model.
She’s the last person I’d ally with if I were looking for protection.
“I can’t wait to get there,” Regina breathes now. “I literally almost peed my pants when I heard my name read out.”
“Why?” I frown.
“Because he’s going to be there! My heart just speed-races whenever I see him.”
I sigh heavily and look away from her as others join in to discuss what he might be wearing, how he smells, how wonderful it would be to be his wife…
The only thing making my heart race is the idea that I’m about to fight for my life.
‘At least the car hasn’t been attacked. Perhaps our vampire guards have given my enemies pause. I can only hope. And at least I slept all day. In some respects that gives me an advantage. While they were all plotting and conspiring, I was resting.’
An announcement over the van intercom interrupts my study of those around me as the road beneath us becomes bumpy.
“We’re almost at the lake,” the director’s voice blasts out over the speakers, “famed for its brown sugar beaches and snakes. Good luck, ladies.”
“Snakes?” Miranda squeaks. “I fucking hate snakes!”
I can’t help but laugh. After all, she’s currently surrounded by them.