“And I think I want her,” the blond man pipes in, nodding at me. His searing gaze hasn’t lifted, causing sweat to pour down my spine and vomit to travel up to my throat.
“You’re sure, Xavier?” Francesca questions. “She’s not eligible, yet. Still has a lot of healing to do.” My heart bottoms out when I realize he’s the important man she told us about—Xavier Delano. And of fucking course, he’s targeting me.
God? Why do I always attract the big, bad wolves?
He licks his lips, a crooked grin forming. “I’ve never been surer of anything in my life. I’m confident I’ll get a taste of her soon. Whether it’s tonight… or another time.”
I feel my face bleach of color, and it’s becoming increasingly harder to keep from blowing chunks all over his snakeskin Armani shoes. He would definitely blend in with the place then.
The remaining men choose their targets, and soon, Francesca is leading us out of the door and back toward the deep woods. Crickets chatter, and the biting wind ravages our brittle statures. If we weren’t so tense, we’d bend like rubber beneath the strong gusts.
A massive bonfire rages directly behind the house, dozens of people crowded around it, bundled in warm clothing and drinks in hand. There are also several large TVs placed sporadically around. According to Francesca, the hunters will wear body cams, providing entertainment and viewing pleasure for the other guests.
My breathing escalates as I face the endless trees, shadows flickering from the fire behind us. The scent of fear emanates from the six of us as we line up, and I break out into a cold sweat. My boots sink into the mud, suctioning my feet deeply into the frigid earth. Part of me desperately wishes it was tar instead, granting me the fortune of getting stuck here.
Already, I’m plagued with memories of sprinting through these woods and coming so close to victory, only for Sydney to appear behind a tree, lips curled into an evil smile and reeking of malevolence.
What if she does it again? I think I’ll kill her if she does. Rip the arrow out of my body myself and stab it into her instead.
Behind us, the men ready their crossbows, the clanging of metal as they load arrows into them grinding against my frayed nerves. Risking a glance behind me, my eyes round when I see headgear settled over their eyes.
Night vision goggles.
Fuckers. Everything about this stupid fucking game is rigged.
“All right, ladies,” Francesca starts. “Let’s go over the rules briefly. You will be given a ten-minute head start. You are required to stay within the maze walls. If caught going outside of them, it will result in immediate death. They will shoot to kill, not shoot to maim. At the end of the maze, there is an open area. If you reach this location, you are immediately deemed safe, and no harm will come to you. If you are still within the maze but have not been shot, and the allotted hour depletes, you are also deemed safe, and no harm will come to you. Is that understood?”
None of us speak, and our lack of protest is answer enough.
“How’s it said from The Hunger Games, may the odds be ever in your favor?” a male cuts in, and it sounds like Xavier.
A round of laughter follows the bad joke, but before my lack of self-control can get me in trouble, he calls out, “Run!”
We take off, sprinting through the woods carefully, wary of traps. Strings will be tightened between two objects at foot level, and if tripped, we’ll be strung up, easy for the picking. Walls of branches are piled high on either side of us, makeshift barriers to confine us in a maze. Not only is it redirecting our focus onto getting out rather than staying hidden, but it’s also meant to disorient us and incite panic.
And fuck, does it work.
I bring myself to a halt and rush behind a trunk, my heart pounding rapidly. The walls of the maze are spread out, allowing plenty of trees in between.
There’s no point in covering my tracks up until this point; it’s from here on out that will matter. I tear through leaves and twigs, searching for a branch. My fingers are already red and stiff from the cold, but I hardly feel it with the adrenaline coursing through my system.
In the dead of night, it takes too long to find a suitable branch with leaves on it, brittle as they are, and even longer to accomplish what I’m doing.
After Jillian’s advice, I racked my brain for all the ways to cover my tracks without having to consistently stop and sweep them away as I run. I settled on fashioning a sweeper to my back, using a belt I stole from the beauty room to keep it in place.
She said gaining distance isn’t as important, but I want to accomplish both. Get as far away as I can and do so without a trace. I suppose one good thing is coming from this, and that’s learning how exactly I’m going to escape when the time comes.