30
BREK
Dayfour (ish) and hunt number two for me. This time, I’m focused. Completely and utterly ready to fight my way back to the barracks. I had a moment of panic at the barracks when my number appeared on the board and nearly had a mental breakdown.
Malcolm talked me through it. His calm voice and endless tips helped me relax. Of course, as soon as I stepped outside, I vomited up my breakfast.
Now the truck is driving the four of us from our barracks deep into the woods. I try to pay attention to the way the truck turns around trees and slows for roots. It doesn’t take me long to determine that I have no fucking idea what direction we’re heading. All I know is that we’re driving away.
I also can’t decide whether this drive is further than the last time I was brought out. Are we always dropped in the same spot? Do we always run in the same direction? Where are the other two barracks?
Moreso, how many hunters are there? There are a dozen human prey let out for each hunt, so what’s the ratio of prey to hunter?
The truck comes to a stop, and the driver comes to the back to let down the tailgate. I’m almost amused as he helps the man closest to the tailgate down. They share a strangely kind exchange before the prey takes off into the trees.
I’m the last out, and I stare at the driver for a minute. He has a rifle. Of course, he does. Absently, I wonder if it’s loaded. Curiously, he’s not wearing armor. He’s armed but not protected. Is that an important detail to remember?
My feet hit the ground, and he gives me a smile. “Good luck,” he offers.
“Thanks,” I respond. It’s weird. I don’t care what anyone says. It’s fucking weird. Do they not realize that we’re actually being hunted? To the fucking death? This isn’t a VR game, and we can respawn later. Is this not real to them?
I turn away, and for just a second, I look around. The truck isn’t gone yet, so I feel relatively certain that there isn’t a hunterright here. Malcolm says they’re not allowed to ambush. They hunt like actual wild game. To me, that means that right here, for this very second, I’m safe from being gunned down.
It’s not easy ignoring the fear that claws its way up into my chest. I’m much more prepared today than I was the last time I was out here. I wouldn’t go so far as to say I’m confident. Weirdly enough, my biggest fear right now is witnessing another brutal murder as opposed to being the prey caught.
Especially one of a young kid. I know that witnessing any murder is going to stay with me, but I think the one I watched is as traumatizing as it is because he was a damn kid. A teenager.He’d barely begun living his life before having it ripped away from him.
“You should get moving.”
I turn around at the voice. The driver is back in the truck, with his passenger side window down as he leans over to see me.
“You could give me a ride back,” I suggest.
He laughs. “Good luck, buddy.”
Do I imagine the way he inclines his head off to his right? How he looks that way and then meets my eyes before sitting back upright and putting the truck into gear?
Do I trust him? If he is suggesting I go that way, is it out of kindness, or is he pointing me in the direction of a hunter? Does he know where the hunters are?
Hmm. Maybe Malcolm has it wrong. Maybe the hunters aren’t let out until the trucks get back. After all, if you see one of the trucks, your hunt is too easy. If I make it back, I’ll have to run this idea by Malcolm. Assuming I find the same barracks.
I take only another minute to determine whether I want to trust the guy and follow the direction he suggested. Or… the direction I imagined he suggested. It wasn’t the direction we came from, which is partially what gives me pause.
A loudwhackpropels me forward. I head in the direction he indicated. More or less. Not directly, because he works here. He works for those who abduct innocent people and release them in the woods for others to fucking hunt like animals.
Now that I think about it, I shouldn’t trust him at all. I turn and begin jogging in a more direct route back the way the truckcame, trying to keep my footfalls light and my ears strained, head on a swivel so I can see everywhere.
Movement in the distance has me stopping abruptly. I hunker down at the base of a wide tree, but there’s no brush here. I’m still extremely exposed except that I’m not at eye level, so hopefully that lends me some advantage.
The movement is another prey human. I watch them clumsily run, constantly looking over their shoulder. Tripping, falling, making a damn ruckus. I close my eyes, not wanting to see if someone is on his trail.
My heart races as I wait. For his scream or the deafening shot of a gun. Waiting for anything but the sound of his very loud retreat.
Nothing.
I choose to find that encouraging. He’s a very clear target, so if he’s not shot, there must not be a hunter in the vicinity.
Getting to my feet, I move a little quicker in the direction I’d been heading. Hopefully toward the barracks. It’ll likely be a while until I find a marker. I’m pretty confident that we were dropped further away than the first time I was taken out here.
