72 Hours

He unwraps his arms from my waist and shakes his head. “As much as I know how nice that would be, we’re safer up here until we can figure something out. I’m going to drop down and check out one of those cameras, though. Wait here.”


With nothing else to do but wait, I let Noah move out from behind me. Like a thief in the night, he moves silently through the trees until I can’t see him anymore. Feeling slightly comforted by the fact that pulling out our chips seems to have worked, I lean back against the trunk and take a few deep breaths.

Minutes go by. Those minutes turn into an hour.

Noah isn’t back.

I can’t call out to him. I don’t even know if I should try to find him, but something inside, something right in my very core is telling me to go and look. I stand and leave my things in the tree, trying to take note of everything surrounding it so I’ll be able to find my way back. Then I silently move across branches, lowering myself until I can see the ground.

I can’t see or hear anything.

I let my eyes scan left and right, then go back up the tree and move along farther, dropping back down again. I do this three times until I finally hear something. It’s voices. Noah’s, and his. I move faster, gliding through the trees as quickly as I can to get closer to the sound. I reach it and move down through the trees until I can get a picture of the two men. Noah is standing, back against a tree, camera in his hand. The psycho is standing in front of him, gun pointed at his chest.

No.

I go to lunge out of the tree when Noah speaks, stopping me in my tracks.

“You want a real fight? You want a real hunt? Then don’t cheat. You claim to be a real hunter, a real killer, yet you’re not. You’re nothing without those cameras and those chips. You want to play a real game, then play it on even ground.”

“I could blow you to pieces right now,” the psycho snarls. “And you’d never see the light of day again.”

“We both know you’re not going to do that, because we both know you want the hunt. You want the game. You breathe for it. You want to make me suffer, to make her suffer.”

His body makes a strange shake, and he laughs, low. “I do. I want to hunt you like a pair of fucking rabbits and then skin you alive.”

“Then do it, but do it like a real hunter. You want a game”—Noah leans in close, big body strong and powerful—“make it a fair one, because right now you’re no hunter, no killer. You’re just a cheat. My mother could do a better job.”

Psycho stands there, gun pointed to Noah’s chest. Then he reaches up and pulls off his mask. I slap a hand over my mouth and gasp as I take him in. Noah barks out a familiar, “You!” But I’m too busy taking him in. The man from the Starbucks. The one who spoke to me that morning. Oh my God. He spoke to me. He acted completely normal. He looks like an average American boy next door. You could walk past him on the street without giving him a second glance except maybe to admire his good looks.

He even told me his name. What was it again? That’s right, Bryce.

But as I take him in, I realize that’s not the only time I’ve seen this man.

Flashes of memory run through my head of the night Nan died and … oh … oh my God. It was him. He was the one who called 911. He was there the moment I lost myself. He was there. All that time he was there. Watching. Waiting. Seeing the change in me. My knees wobble and I have to hang on extra tight to stop myself from falling down. Rachel, my nan, Starbucks … he’s been there, right in front of me all this time.

I can’t believe it. My body trembles with acknowledgment.

“What, nothing to say?” Noah continues, taunting him. “Too weak to play for real?”

Bryce doesn’t like that. Not at all. I hold my breath, terrified he’ll kill Noah for taunting him, but after a moment he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a device that looks like a small cell phone. He turns it to Noah, and I don’t know what’s on it, but he raises it up and throws it on the ground. Then he aims the gun and shoots it. I smother a scream with my hand. Heart pounding. Body on high alert. The tiny device explodes.

“Now I can’t see you. I can’t hear you. I can’t find you. That device was the control center for the cameras. Without it, they don’t work.” Bryce smiles, and it’s terrifying. “I’ll give you half a day. If I’m going to hunt, I’m going to do it to kill. You think I can’t find you without all those cameras, you’re wrong. I’ll find you, and when I do, I’m going to torture you bit by bit until you’re dragging your helpless, broken body along the ground, begging me to let you live. Only then will I end you.”

“That’ll never happen,” Noah snarls.

Bryce laughs. “Oh, but it will.”

Bryce steps back, aims the gun, and pulls the trigger.





SEVENTEEN

It takes me a second to realize that he’s hit Noah right in the leg. An agonized bellow leaves Noah’s throat as he tumbles backward. My hand darts up to my mouth to stop yet another scream. He doesn’t know I’m here. Be. Quiet. My body trembles as Bryce leans down to Noah and says, “Injury one. Let’s see how far you can get now. I’ll be back soon, and next time I won’t hold back.”

Bryce steps back and looks up into the trees. I don’t move. I just stay perched behind my branch, praying he can’t see me. “Better come and fix your boyfriend, Lara. Now that he’s injured, I wonder how well you’re going to be able to protect yourself. Oh and by the way, it’s lovely to see you again.”

He darts around the tree and I see him looking up at me. He grins. Fear clogs my throat.

A second later he turns and gets on his motorbike, disappearing into the forest.

No.

I wait a few minutes before scrabbling down the tree. Once I near the bottom, I lose my balance. Not wanting to fall on my injured leg, I opt to land on my side. The wind is knocked out of me and I spend a few seconds panting. I clutch my stomach, take a few deep breaths, and then roll and get up. I run toward Noah, who is clutching his leg, face pale, panting. God. No.

“Noah!” I cry, dropping to my knees beside him.

There’s so much blood. It’s soaking through his jeans, running down his hands. I need to stop it and I need to stop it now. I don’t think, I don’t even take the chance to freak out. I rip the bandage off my own poorly healing wound and wrap it tightly around his leg, trying to stop the blood. “I can’t clean it up until the blood is stopped.”

He doesn’t say anything. He’s so pale.

“Noah, hey, look at me.”

His eyes find mine, and the pain I see in them makes me want to wrap him up and get him the hell out of this place.

“Hey, you’re going to be fine. We’re going to stop the blood and clean this up.”