Episode 5 Celeste #2
“Clearly not well enough.” Atlas shouts, face red as the cards she probably collects during her soccer games.
Dana holds up both hands. “Easy, easy. There was no grand plan to let our only meat source escape. Mistakes happen. Calm down, Atlas.”
That has the opposite effect. Atlas goes nuclear. “This is un-fucking-believable. I don’t like this.” Atlas motions toward the empty crate, then points a finger at Bo. “And I don’t like your face right now. You’re sidelined.”
I watch Atlas storm off. I’m pissed too, but Jesus. That was brutal.
Head down, Bo scurries in the opposite direction muttering she was going to search for the lost birds, leaving the four of us stunned after what we just witnessed.
Lex breaks the silence. “If no one else is going to say it, I will.” She bends down, picks up the chicken crate, and sighs. “I think we need a new plan for tonight’s vote.”
The trek to The Summit is long and exhausting.
We march in a silent, single file line, my torch heavy in my hands.
Sweat beads along my lower back and the smell of burning kerosene fills the humid night air.
The sheer weight of holding the flame steady while climbing a steep incline is enough to make me never want to do this again.
Steph Rhodes taps her heavy Summit staff against the stone ground and flashes a bright smile as we enter.
“Welcome to The Summit. Tonight, you will vote out the very first player in the game. I’m sure no one wants that title after that steep hike.
Have a seat, everyone, and let’s chat about the game so far. ”
I walk to the end spot on the wooden benches and sit near Beya and Dana.
The Summit is more intimidating in person than on TV.
Its jagged stone platform carves directly from the cliff face.
Off to the side, a large firebowl roars next to a wooden catapult.
The mechanism used to fling a player’s torch into the ocean when they are voted out.
The flames throw an intense heat against my skin even from the benches. Behind us, the dark, quiet jungle seems to swallow the path back to camp while the pitch black ocean waves crash violently against the rocks.
My stomach twists into knots. Despite the majority of us agreeing on a plan, knowing that someone is about to become the very first casualty of The Summit is anxiety inducing. Having a game show host who clearly lives for chaos doesn’t help.
Minutes later, we’re deep into Steph’s famous open forum questioning.
Atlas crosses her arms over her chest when she’s asked if she feels safe tonight. “All I know is we need to keep our team strong. We haven’t won a single challenge yet. I’m not the weakest link.” Her glare zeroes in on Bo. “And I’m not the one who let the chickens escape.”
“Celeste.” Steph glances my way. “Atlas is drawing a firm line in the sand about team strength. Where do you stand? Are you ready to make a tough cut tonight to ensure this team wins the next challenge?”
I force a neutral expression, feeling all eyes on me.
I choose my words carefully. “We have to do what’s best for the long term success of this team, Steph.
Nobody wants to be the first one gone, but if we don’t start making logical choices based on performance and camp life, we’re just going to keep losing. ”
Atlas nods at my response, a smug smile tugging at her lips. “I agree. It’s all about integrity, Steph.”
Steph smiles, seemingly satisfied with the tension. “Does anyone want to play anything that might change their odds?”
I peer around at everyone doing the same. Nothing. Silence.
“On that note, it is time to vote.” Steph looks at me. “Celeste, you’re up.”
At the private voting table, the pen sits heavy in my hand.
I think about my decision for a long moment.
Then it hits me. Even though the majority agreed on a name, I’m the one who must answer for my vote.
Someone’s fate is in my hands. I swallow the knot forming in my throat, making a mental note to ask Meg how she makes this look so effortless.
I write the name my intuition has been whispering since day one and hold the paper up for the camera.
No words necessary. Finally, I drop the vote into the gold wooden chest and return to my seat.
After everyone’s finished voting, Steph rises and gives our stern faces a once over.
“Time to count the votes.” She stabs the ground with her Summit staff and disappears. Later she returns from the voting area and opens the lid of the gold chest. “Does anyone have anything to add before I read the votes?”
Silence.
My mind instantly flashes to the weight of the relic hidden in my pocket. If I ever choose to play it, this is the exact moment I’ll have to speak up. I hold my breath, waiting to see if anyone else moves.
Steph reaches inside the chest. “The first vote of The Final Summit is…Beya.”
Expected. I meet Beya’s eyes and we exchange a subtle nod. That must be Atlas’s vote.
Steph pulls another name from the chest and reads it. “Celeste.”
What the hell? My brow darts upward when my name is called. I glance around. Beya and Dana appear surprised as well. Who the hell voted for me?
“One vote Beya. One vote Celeste. One vote Atlas.” Then Steph flips the next parchment paper over. “Atlas. That’s two votes for Atlas.”
Atlas stiffens. I can practically hear the pending snarl vibrating in her throat.
Steph doesn’t rush. She lets each vote hang in her hands. Other than the host and my racing heart, The Summit is silent, the only sound is the crackle of the firebowl.
“Atlas.” The fifth parchment. “Three votes Atlas.”
A ragged sigh rips from down the bench. She is pissed. Her glare burns holes into Bo, before shifting to Lex, then me. None of us give her the luxury of the reaction she wants.
Steph reaches inside the golden chest and pulls out the final vote. She reveals the name to the group. “The first person voted out on The Final Summit is…Atlas. Atlas, bring me your fire.”
I exhale a long breath. Thank god that’s over. My thought of playing this game didn’t include getting trapped in a season with a delusional Coach from hell.
When Atlas approaches, Steph firmly nods, gestures toward the mechanism off to the side. “Your team has chosen. Your climb ends here.”
Atlas shakes her head as Steph takes her lit torch from her hand, loads it into the cradle chamber of the catapult, and pulls the heavy lever. The mechanism releases and the arm swings.
Mouth ajar, I watch as the fiery blur arcs through the night sky, until it plunges into the waves below and goes dark.
Before The Summit’s first victim exits, she turns back to face us one last time.
“You should’ve listened to me,” Atlas says. Her voice trembles with rage. She looks at each of us, her glare lingering on Beya last. “This is the move that’s going to cost everyone’s game.”