After all, there are no rules in tonight’s hunt.
I slip behind the bushes, following a group of students I overheard whispering about some sort of strategy earlier.
Usually, I’d put as much distance as possible between me and others, but I’m here to observe how these monsters function.
The only way to stop deranged people is to study them first—get under their skin and understand their workings.
Only then will you be able to inflict any sort of damage.
I’m not the one who’ll cause that damage, by the way. I’m too physically weak for that. But I have perfect spying skills due to my superpower.
The group of three don’t notice me following them from my place behind the bushes. My shoes are silent and any noise I make by sliding between the trees is in sync with the sounds they release.
We cut some distance in the forest while moving at a regular pace.
They’re working smarter, not stronger. Instead of running and attempting to avoid the Heathens, these three seem to somehow know their way around the forest and are using that advantage to reach the finish line faster.
“Numbers seventy-four and eighteen eliminated.”
I flinch at the sound of the speaker, and I force myself not to think about how they got eliminated.
The three I’m following, Five, Six, and Seven, don’t even pause at the announcement.
This must be a redo for them. Many who failed previous initiations may be invited back to the Heathens’ mansion if the members deem them worthy of another try.
One more reason why these are the perfect candidates to follow.
They push through fallen branches, and even though they’re not paying attention to the cameras, they tactfully slip between them.
The voice from the speaker echoes around us once and again, announcing the elimination of more numbers, sometimes in groups, sometimes in pairs.
Every time one of them comes, I jerk and alternate between breathing through my nose and mouth to remain calm.
Five, who’s at the front, comes to a halt and the others follow suit, their fists clenched at their sides.
Through the branches and leaves, I make out the dragging of a golf club on the ground before Orange Mask comes into view.
Six goes to punch him, and Orange Mask not only ducks, but he also hits him across the face with the club.
I slam my hands to my mouth to keep from shrieking as blood explodes from beneath Six’s mask and he falls to the ground with a thud. My legs tremble and I crouch between the bushes, watching the scene through the small gaps.
Five and Seven run in different directions and Orange Mask throws his golf club at the back of Five’s head, slamming him against the tree, then runs after Seven. His movements are sure, oozing with a frightening amount of control.
And power.
There’s so much power in every motion. Every action. Every sliver of decision he makes.
He didn’t even wait for his club to hit Five. He knew it would, and it did, as evidenced by the participant’s motionless body on the ground.
Something tells me he chose to run after Seven for a reason, and curiosity gnaws at my insides to find out what that reason is.
But I don’t.
Because that would mean following after them and surely getting myself eliminated.
Curiosity is the work of the devil and his minion demons in order to make us irrational.
The speaker says numbers six and five are eliminated, and I wait for number seven, but it doesn’t come.
Maybe he managed to escape. Go for it, random American lad.
Point is, I’m safe for now.
Slowly, I rise to my full height, cautiously studying my surroundings.
This time, I touch my wig, pushing it in place, and ignore the tingles in my sweaty skull as I tap my mask a few times to make sure it’s there.
The sound of several sets of footsteps reaches my sensitive ears and I crouch back down as four participants run across a clearing. Orange Mask heads toward them with Red Mask following. They send them flying in no time, and their unconscious bodies fall to the ground.
I cover my mouth with my hand again, nails digging into the mask’s plastic material and scratching at its surface.
Blimey.
This is a lot more gruesome than I could’ve ever imagined. Yes, I’ve heard the rumors about how cutthroat the Heathens can be and how they never hold back, but witnessing them actually hitting and punching is a completely different story.
It’s not only the image of exploding blood, of hard punches against faces and bodies, or that they’ve broken a few people along the way. It’s not only the Halloween-esque visual of heartless neon masks hunting people as if they’re animals.