I stare at the gray sky and tsk. “Come on, give me an actual challenge.”
Someone breezes past me and I throw the bat as if it’s an arrow, whacking them from behind.
Seriously? I internally sigh, still staring at the sky. I said a challenge, not a stray rabbit.
The one I hit doesn’t fall. I wait for the speaker to announce their number, but nothing comes.
I stare at them again, only to see they used one of the other unconscious bodies as a shield. The bat hit number fifteen and fell to the ground.
The participant doesn’t look back as they continue running, slowly disappearing into the trees.
I didn’t even get a good look at them.
Well, fuck me.
Here it is. A challenge.
I grab my bat from the ground and stare down in search of their footsteps.
They’re…light. Barely there.
Either it’s a woman or a very slim man.
And it’s definitely someone who knows how to fucking run.
I crouch on my haunches to study the pattern of their shoes. Nike running sneakers.
Well, well. Aren’t they too prepared for this?
Still, a slow grin stretches my lips as I stalk in the direction they’ve taken. Then I break into a run, adrenaline tightening my muscles. The promise of an actually delicious prey causes my blood level to flatline.
My breathing comes in long intervals, in sync with my regulated heartbeat.
People’s bodies and brains fly in chaotic patterns when they’re excited. Their nervous activity will peak and their heartbeats skyrocket.
Not me.
Excitement brings me a level of calm nothing else can accomplish.
The closest thing I have to…peace.
It’s the exact same feeling I had when I cut open those mice or when I went on my first hunt. Or when I started taking pictures to document those moments of utter rapture.
Or when I have Glyndon completely at my mercy and she doesn’t break eye contact.
It’s the sensation of not having to repress any part of my true nature, of allowing it to run loose like all-encompassing smoke.
Once you see it, it’s too late.
A scream comes from behind me and another from the side, mixing like a symphony of violence. The numbers of eliminations mesh up together until they overlap.
The devil works fast, but Heathens work faster.
I don’t focus on their endeavors. Instead, I continue my pursuit of the cunning thing who keeps running in zigzags in between trees.
The more I chase them, the stronger my blood pumps and my breathing regulates.
Just you wait until I catch you, I’ll have a field day with you.
A figure cuts in front of me and I come to an abrupt halt despite my high speed so that I don’t crash into them.
Participant number eighty-nine screeches to a halt, too. A man—judging from his figure. He remains rooted in place like a statue, but he’s shaking uncontrollably.
Nikolai appears from behind, his neon yellow mask a bit crooked, blood smeared over the stitched smiling lines and the X’s at his eyes. Even his hands are all red, indicating all the fun he’s had.
Eighty-nine stares behind him, and for a moment, he makes the mistake of taking a step in my direction, probably thinking I’m the lesser of two evils.
“Look, I caught a stray cat.” Nikolai tells me with a slight manic edge. He’s definitely in the high mode right now. “He just wouldn’t stop running, you know, and has a temper. Threw a whole fucking branch at my face and nearly knocked me out. Gotta love the motherfucking feisty ones. They’re so fun to break into pieces.”
Tell me about it.
I slide my gaze over eighty-nine, then to his shoes. Not Nike. He can’t be the one who escaped earlier.
And my job here is done.
I lift the bat to get him when he keeps approaching me, but Nikolai practically jumps him from behind, locks him in a chokehold, and drags him back into the darkness between the trees.
Eighty-nine tries to struggle by elbowing and biting into Nikolai’s arm. He’s a fighter, I’ll give him that, but he’s simply no match for my cousin’s deranged strength.
Nikolai effortlessly drags him and eighty-nine’s legs leave a long trail in the dirt and his screams are muffled by something Nikolai’s done.
Shaking my head, I continue on my way in pursuit of my own stray rabbit. I’m not two steps in when a swish breaks the silence. I duck as an arrow hits a tree, right above me.
I whip my head to the side, but don’t see anything. When I pull the arrow out, I see that it’s a real one, not the rubber ones Gareth is using for the hunt.
Well, well. Looks like my older brother might be in the mood to kill me.
That is, if he’s the one who shot this, which I doubt—he’s too cowardly for such a daring move.
I break the broadhead off the arrow and slip it in my pocket to investigate it later—that is, if whoever aimed this at me doesn’t come back for a redo.
My steps are measured with the sole purpose of finding the little rabbit. Murder attempts can wait.
Jeremy and I meet as we’re running in different directions and we butcher about six participants combined.
Then I catch a glimpse of Gareth walking with one of the participants, shooting anyone who crosses their path.
He doesn’t even attempt to eliminate that participant. If anything, it’s like he’s…protecting them.
No, escorting them.
Hmm. I wonder who got my brother’s attention to that extent?
I shelf that for later and continue my hunt.
For some reason, I can feel the stray rabbit escaping in the area parallel to me.
So I follow my instincts and go deeper into the forest. It’s a more difficult path, but those who believe longer and safer is better than shorter and dangerous would definitely come in this direction.
I carefully follow the footsteps, my vision getting sharper with every passing second.
My feet come to a slow halt between three trees. The sneakers have made a circle here, but unlike those amateurs from earlier, this one obviously doesn’t know I follow steps, so they didn’t attempt to hide them.
On and on, they went in circles and then…
I stare at the path ahead. The most logical explanation is that they jumped on the rock in front of me and chose the bushes.
I stride to that direction as I smirk, letting them believe I’ve fallen for their trick.
It’s time to skin the rabbit alive.
16
GLYNDON
Ever since the stupid initiation started, I’ve been feeling like Alice in Wonderland.
The amount of fuckery I witnessed in my attempts to keep a low profile is astounding.
I’ve wondered this before, but now, I’m sure.
The members of the Heathens are batshit crazy.
I saw the one in the neon yellow mask single-handedly beat like ten people to a pulp, with no weapon, then he laughed derangedly if anyone attempted to hit him.