“I have a feeling that’s going to be more pleasant than whatever’s inside,” the guy behind me mutters.
I don’t respond, though I think they’re likely right.
No one runs. I’m not going to lie. The thought of running sounds somewhat appealing. Hopefully, they shoot to kill. But when the cold metal of the knife touches my skin as the man cuts off the zip tie, and my gaze catches on the number on my skin, I decide that’s likely not how this would play out.
They’re not going to shoot to kill. That would mean I don’t participate in whatever they have planned. They’d shoot to stop me. Not kill me. It means that I’d end up impaired in whatever game they have going on here.
The tie falls away, and I walk inside as the second man opens the door for me. I don’t know what I think I’m going to see, but a barracks isn’t top of my list of possibilities. There are three rows of bunks and guys throughout the room.
It’s not difficult to determine which of them has been here the longest. They range from those relatively clean, neat, and somewhat unscathed, like me, having just walked inside, to those who appear like they’ve been through a damn blender. No exaggeration.
A new fear ticks up inside me.
The last person is ushered inside, and the door shuts with an unmistakable clang. The walls may have looked as if they weremade of wood from the outside, but the door shutting tells a different story.
There’s silence as we new guys stare at those already here. Only as I’m looking around, examining the faces, do I realize that while there are certainly far more men here than women, there are a few women.
“Welcome to the game of hell,” someone mutters.
“What does that mean?” a guy to my right says. “What is this?”
“Come in. You better get some sleep. A new game starts tomorrow,” a man at the side says. “Get as comfortable as you can.”
“Seriously, what is this place?”
“Have you ever hunted wild game?” a man asks. My stomach churns. Fuck, I don’t like where this is going.
I shake my head in answer, even as I feel all the blood draining in dread.
“This is just that. Only, we’re the game being hunted.”
“What the fuck does that mean?”
“From what I’ve gathered, people pay to hunt other people. Think along the idea of a purge, except it’s unfairly held where only one side gets weapons and the others are shoved out into the trees and try to survive until morning.”
My god, I’m going to pass out again. I sway on my feet and decide I need to sit down. A man on my right grips my arm and leads me to a bunk. He’s seen better days. He wasn’t one of the men who arrived with me.
“This can’t be real,” I mutter.
He snorts. “You must have been a shit person in a previous life,” he says, nodding. “Karma is punishing us all.”
I stare at the back of my hand, where the numbers burned into my skin are glaring up at me. A voice in the back of my head says I’ve always thought that, otherwise, I wouldn’t have been born to parents who never think I’m good enough to be part of their family.
“What do we do?” I whisper.
“For now, just sleep. Tomorrow, the board will light up with numbers. If yours is up there, you’re among the prey. A truck will be outside to bring you to your starting spot. If you make it back to the bunkhouse without someone killing you, you get to live another day.”
“This isn’t real,” someone says. “This is a fucked-up dream.”
“My name is Malcolm,” the man sitting beside me says. “I’m one of the… lucky ones. I’ve been alive for more than four months. One of the longest.”
I glance down at his hand. 643 looks back at me.
“Is there a strategy to survive?”
“Depends. Do you have any camping or hunting experience?”
I close my eyes as I shake my head. When I’m let out, I’m going to die. There’s no doubt in my mind. My number will be up.
