Time stretches like bubble gum the deeper we venture into the island’s wilderness. The air is thick with the earthy scent of the forest, and sunlight filters through the canopy, casting a soft glow on the ground.
I hate Amara a little more with every small scratch, cut, and prickle from a bush or low-hanging branch I fail to dodge. I’m sure Ben had no say in the games or the cruise itinerary. He dances to every tune Amara plays. Probably because she was the first girl he slept with.
My muscles ache, sweat trickles down my back and I’ve tripped at least ten times already. The terrain grows more rugged, steep inclines and fallen trees littering our way. The sun and the horizon are well on their way to meeting when our not-so-stealthy march is interrupted by a rustling sound ahead.
We freeze, exchanging panicked, loaded glances and, without a word, we instinctively split up. I veer to the left, my heart racing faster than my legs as I sprint away from whoever’s approaching.
No way I’m getting tagged. Colt and I will have to split again tomorrow if we lose today. We’re docking in Miami shortly after lunch, but Amara has one last game planned for the morning. I’mnotlosing Colt on the last day. No way. No freaking way I’m getting paired with Grant again after their brawl.
He’s got a black eye to rival all black eyes, and his ego has been bruised so badly, said black eye has not looked at me for two days now.
Panting and wheezing, I stop when I reach the yellow tape marking the perimeter. There’s not much water left sloshing in my bottle, but I down it all, dropping onto the ground behind a huge tree until I catch my breath.
It takes a few minutes before my legs stop feeling like jelly. I should work out more. I’m such a weakling.
Once I can move again, I look beyond the tape, assessing the peak of a hill in the distance. My mother and Grant are on the yellow team. Knowing their lack of imagination, I’m willing to bet they hid the flag as far up as possible.
If not for the gruesome possibility of being paired with Grant again, I’d sayfuck itandturn around, but... obviously, I don’t.
I start walking, careful not to make any noise.
No way will I sprint again if someone crosses my path. Good job Colt’s not here because my legs ache and I’m still wheezing like I’m eighty, not twenty-two. It’s embarrassing.
Maybe he’ll take me to the gym with him on Monday.
The hum of the nearby river grows louder the higher I climb. I’m relieved because, according to the map Amara showed us during the game briefing session, the river marks the border between blue and yellow territory. After what feels an eternity, and tripping over at least another ten times, covered in dirt and a thin sheen of sweat, I stumble upon a clearing.
My thigh muscles are on fire.
Instead of the gym, I should ask Colt to let me go on top. I hear bouncing up and down on a cock makes for a great leg day.
Towering trees and boulders surround the area, creating a natural fortress—a perfect place to hide the flag.
A flash of movement catches my eye. Mother dearest perches on one of the rocks, no more than a hundred yards away. Her attention’s on her nails, but I still retreat behind a tree.
Really? They choseMomas the guard? She looks bored out of her mind, picking her cuticles or maybe chipping away the nail polish. If not for the bottle of bourbon beside her, I doubt she’d still be participating.
The flag moves in the wind, tied to a low-hanging branch just ten feet from her. Too close for a snatch-and-run strategy without running the risk of being tagged. Besides, I really don’t think I can move fast enough now.
My mind races as I plan my next move, casting a quick look around for the best escape route. The blue tape is somewhere on my left, so if I run that way, I’ll stumble into our territory. The only downside is the open space. I’ll have nowhere to hide if Grant or another yellow team member jump out of the bushes when I snatch the flag.
I think it’d be wiser to run straight ahead. From where I stand, it looks like we’re at the top of the hill, so passing the line of trees on the other side of the clearing should lead down.
Taking a moment to consider my options, I settle for the most obvious distraction: I throw a rock as far to the right as I can. It lands with a sharp crack, startling some birds into wing-rustling flight.
My mother’s ears perk up, her attention moving from her nails to scan the trees. She doesn’t move at first, but then, as if deciding she should at least make the minimum effort, she saunters ahead. As soon as she’s far enough from the flag, I muster what little strength I have left and bolt like a burst of energy across the clearing, certain my sophisticated mother does not have it in her to chase me.
She doesn’t.
Her only line of defense is a theatricalhey! as I snatch the flag, stuffing it down my bra, and then I’m gone, running toward what I hope is a way down the hill.
“Why are you just standing there?!” Grant’s voice bellows behind me. “Run, Victoria! Catch her!”
So he was somewhere nearby.
Good luck catching me, I think as myfeet pound the ground, the thrill of the chase and the inevitable taste of victory coursing through my veins. The excitement fades when I emerge into another clearing. Much smaller... and ending with a cliff. Damn it. There’s no way down this side of the hill, but...
There is a way across.
