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My pulse jumps.
Here we fucking go.
We move with the crowd toward the maze, and somewhere along the way, the energy shifts. Not in a bad way. It’s anticipation, the kind that seems to ripple through everyone at once. The people around us are louder now, laughing and flirting as friends shove each other toward the entrance, while someone nearby loudly negotiates exactly how fast they’re willing to run before deciding they’d rather just get caught.
A huge illuminated sign stands at the entrance of the south field.
THE MIDNIGHT REAPING
RUN HARD. HIDE WELL. GET CAUGHT.
Mariah grabs my hand. “I’m so fucking excited.”
“Me too.” I giggle.
Ali looks considerably less convinced. “This is how every horror movie starts.”
I put an arm around her shoulders. “Relax. There’s like two hundred plus people here.”
“That doesn’t make me feel better.”
“It should.”
“It really doesn’t.”
We reach a row of barrels. An employee explains the rules while another checks wristbands. “Black ribbon means active participant. If you remove it, you’re out. White ribbon means spectator. Reapers won’t pursue white. Gold means partnered runners. Stay together. If one partner is caught, both are caught.”
Mariah looks at me. “Black.”
“Obviously.”
Ali sighs. “Black.”
I grin. “That’s my girl.”
We move toward the ribbon station. People reach into large wooden barrels and pull out strips of fabric. Mostly black. Occasional gold and a few white.
I step forward.
The employee smiles. “Ready?”
“I was born ready.”
“Okay…reach in.”
I plunge my hand into the barrel and fabric slides through my fingers. I grab one and pull.
The employee’s smile disappears only for a second. It was so fast I almost missed it. Then someone behind me gasps.
A woman screams. “RED!”
A strip of red satin hangs from my hands.
“Oh, shit.” Mariah says.
People start clapping. Someone whistles and the employee laughs, grabbing a bell hanging beside the barrel. She rings it. Once. Twice. Three times.
The noise travels across the field causing people to turn.
