I make a quick stop in the bathroom and then I’m back in my office. I’m not going home. That’s too far away.
Fuck it. I lie on the floor and close my eyes. I’m tired enough that not even my fears can keep me awake. I fall asleep almost instantly and am startled awake what feels like minutes later when Uncle Kairo calls my name.
I jump to my feet and look around in confusion. Where the fuck am I?
“You sleep like a fucking rock. Get over here,” Uncle Kairo says.
Dad’s here. Jessica and Uncle Noaz, too. They’re all gathered around Uncle Kairo. I join them, and Uncle Kairo hits the spacebar.
I’m watching GPS leaving the truck stop where Brek was loaded into a tractor-trailer truck. It’s moving a million miles an hour since he has it on 24x speed. Zipping northeast on and on and on until Uncle Kairo slows it down. He takes the view from cartoon and puts it on satellite. They’re in the middle of the trees. That’s where the truck stops.
On another screen, Uncle Kairo has a map up of the area, and there’s a very large tract of land called the Arapaho National Wildlife Refuge. A wild game reserve.
“You’re sure this is the truck?” I ask, confused about what I’m looking at.
“Yes,” Uncle Kairo answers. “I’ve also backtracked it and hit a route where he made stops before picking up Brek. Jessica ran missing person reports in those areas, and there are several in each place that coincide with the truck’s stops over the last ten months.”
I stare at the wild game reserve. “I don’t understand. What does this mean?”
Uncle Kairo shakes his head. “That I haven’t figured out yet. That’s why I woke you. It’s time for you to do your magic, Voss. Time for you to find Brek.”
26
BREK
Theclapclapclapclapof the boards has my heart racing. Everyone is staring at it with confusion. Hunts aren’t run back-to-back, so the second morning in a row that the boards announce the numbers for a hunt makes everyone uneasy. Fearful.
My stomach drops as I stare at my number up there. The food I’d just eaten feels like it turned to lead in my stomach. I’m going to die today.
Malcolm grips my arm. “Take a breath,” he says. “As soon as you’re off the truck, start running back to the barracks, okay? I know it’s more difficult than it sounds, but also try to keep as quiet as you can while running.”
“If you see someone shot or… anything else, don’t scream. Don’t make any noise to call attention to yourself. Just run,” someone else says. “The hunters generally pay for one kill. So if they’re occupied with someone already, they’re likely not going to come after you, but then again, we’ve never done this two days in a row.”
My hands are shaking. I keep them fisted against my thighs. I’d really like to cry right now. I want to turn hysterical and let it out. I’m going to die today. I should be allowed to cry, right?
What the hell did I do in life to deserve this? How did I piss off karma?
Malcolm and the other guys are still talking. Giving me advice. Telling me how to get back to the barracks. Cautioning me about trusting any others I find out there. Everyone has the same goal, and that’s to survive. If that means throwing you under the bus to do so, they’re going to do it.
I hear their words as if they’re a dozen feet away. My vision blurs as I stare at nothing. This can’t be happening. I’m not ready to die.
The minutes tick by loudly. I hear every single second as if there’s a clock in my head.Tick. Tick. Tick.Counting down the last minutes of my life.
In a daze, I follow the other three guys from the barrack I’m in to the door. We load into the bed of a waiting pickup truck. I’m holding back my vomit. I’m the only new one in this round. New as in just arrived two days ago. The others have another day to rest.
The truck drives for ages. We’re not following a path but winding through trees, over roots, through brush. It stops, and we’re let out.
For a second, I turn in a circle and look at my surroundings. Trees. All I see are trees. It’s not completely flat here, but the earth rolls up and drops down. I don’t remember those dips while in the truck.
The truck drives on, continuing straight. Meaning we can’t just follow it back. One of the guys with me runs, but not in the direction we came from. I’m tempted to follow him. Maybe he knows where he’s going. Is there a different barracks closer than the one we came from?
In the distance, I hear a gunshot echoing off the trees. I jump and start running blindly. My heart races loudly, echoing in my ears. I run without direction. Run as fast as I can, crashing through dead limbs and over fallen leaves. I’m not quiet.
I’m breathless, though, so I can’t scream, even if I wanted to. The stitch in my side is becoming far too painful to keep moving, but I push on, terrified.
A shot, closer than the previous, hits off a tree ahead, and I abruptly change the direction I’m running. Away. Away, away, away. I try to lose myself in the mess of trees, not keeping a direct path, so I’m less of an easy target.
Somewhere to my right, someone screams. Until this moment, I never understood when someone claimed a scream is filled with pain or fear or something else. I can hear their pain, though.
