by Shade Owens
The white smoke—no doubt the result of smoke grenades—surrounded the entire area as if he’d strategically set them off to create a blinding wall. It had worked. Dead bodies lay in the sand across the Working Grounds, and by the way he kept pointing his gun toward the water, it was obvious that the surviving women had run away from the smoke and into the bay.
All of a sudden, a brown-haired head surfaced from the water and the man fired his shot as if playing Whack-A-Mole.
Blood and brain matter splattered into the air, and he reloaded his gun.
He was so preoccupied with hunting the women in the water that he hadn’t even heard us coming in through the smoke.
Aiming for his right thigh, I fired my arrow. It whistled through the air before piercing the middle of his leg. He let out a loud grunt and his rifle fell from his hands and remained dangling in one.
As much as I wanted to kill the worthless piece of shit, we needed him alive. I needed to know who he was, where he’d come from, and why he was hunting us like a bunch of wild game.
Almost falling over, he tore off his gas mask and his hateful eyes rolled up at me—the same eyes I’d seen earlier when he’d been hunting us.
Oh God.
This was my fault.
I had, in fact, led him straight here.
With a knot in my stomach, I stood there, trying to understand how I could have possibly allowed this to happen. He must have realized I was in my own head. Swinging half of his body for momentum, he regripped his gun and pointed it at me.
But he didn’t have the time to shoot. In a moment, I shot an arrow into his right shoulder. It tore through, the colorful fletching now sitting at the front of his forest green shirt like a boutonniere on a tuxedo.
Dropping his gun, he collapsed to one knee, barely able to hold himself up. He frowned and grabbed at his bloody thigh.
Got you, you bastard.
I took a step toward him, but at the same time, Rocket came bolting beside me with a sharp knife gripped in her fist.
Sand flew up into the air as she ran. “You’re a fucking dead man!”
“Rocket!” I shouted.
She was so intent on killing him that she couldn’t hear me.
“Stand down!” I ordered.
She couldn’t hear me.
Behind me, Biggie shouted, “Girl, stop runnin’!” but Rocket kept on moving at lightning speed.
She raised her knife in the air, prepared to slaughter him, when I did the only thing I could think of; I shot an arrow in front of Rocket’s feet.
The hit came so close that the arrow’s shaft hit her shin and she lost her momentum. With narrow slits for eyes, she swung around and gave me a look that screamed, Did you just fucking shoot at me?
Had I been off by even an inch, I’d have caught her in the heel or the ankle. But what was I supposed to do? If she killed him, we had nothing—no information whatsoever.
Jogging toward her, I shook my head. “Don’t kill him.”
“Why the fuck not?”
The man smiled up at her, a look so detestable it made me want to pour battery acid on his face. He threw his head back and laughed. Why was he taunting her? How was any of this amusing to him?
Rocket ground her teeth and twirled her knife in her fist. It was obvious all she wanted to do was stab this man in the throat.
Bending down, I picked up the man’s rifle and stared at him.
He sat in the sand with the weight of his body on his left elbow and bloodstains all over his clothes.
“You can come out!” I shouted, and one by one, heads started popping out of the water.
Women came walking out of the bay, some trembling, others crying.
One older woman with gray hair and smooth brown skin shook so hard her teeth clattered. “Wh-wh-who is that?”
I squeezed the grip of his gun, wanting nothing more than to break it with my bare hands. “That’s what I’m gonna find out.”
He parted his lips to say something—likely some smart-ass comment—when I turned the gun around and with its stock, smashed him square in the face.
CHAPTER 12
“You need to back off!” came Hammer’s voice.
Then, Rocket’s followed. “Brone gave you all an order! Back the fuck up!”
I didn’t blame them for wanting inside the cabin. Had I been in their shoes, I’d have tackled my way through the crowd to get a punch in.
In front of me, tied to a wooden chair, was the man who’d taken the lives of sixteen of my women.
Any minute now, he’d wake up to find me standing in front of him, waiting for answers.
His nose, now a crooked, bloody mess, would be enough to make him talk. If it wasn’t, I’d remind him of the break.
So I sat down across from him, closed my eyes, and waited.
Outside the cabin, women shouted and swore, while others cried. They wanted revenge, and that was understandable. Eventually, they’d tire themselves out, which may have been a heartless thought, but this situation needed to be managed without emotions.
I wanted him dead as much as the next woman, but I needed my answers, first.
Finally, one eye cracked open, and then another.
He moaned and swallowed hard.
“Welcome back.”
Our eyes locked, but he didn’t say anything. It was difficult to even look at him when everything about him ignited a rage within me—his thick uncombed eyebrows, his dark soulless eyes, his square bearded jaw, and his slobbery pale lips that he kept licking repeatedly as if to feed a compulsion.
“Well, would you look at that,” he said, his gaze searching the cabin. “You twits are capable of building things.”
What the hell was his problem? What could we have ever done to him to deserve anything like this?
“Who are you?” I asked.
He scoffed as if answering me were a privilege I was unworthy of.
“You come here with your fancy plane,” I said, clenching my teeth, “and you start shooting a bunch of innocent women.”
“Innocent!” he shouted, his voice bouncing off the cabin walls. “So you’re a murderer and you’re an idiot.”
Was that what this was about? The fact that we were convicted felons? Was he some sort of vigilante trying to prove something? Who the fuck flew this far out, on unauthorized land, to hunt down criminals?
“So you kill murderers,” I said, “and you’re doing the world a favor.” Leaning forward, I rested my hands on my knees to stare him square in the face. “What does that make you?”
When he didn’t answer, I grabbed the arrow’s shaft sticking out of his shoulder and pushed it sideways. He cried out, slobber dripping from the corners of his mouth.
When I let go, he didn’t speak.
Slowly, I stood up and turned away from him.
“You’re going to start talking,” I said, plucking my knife out of my belt. “Where are you from?”
Nothing.
I turned around again to catch him glaring at me with so much hatred I could almost see what he was picturing—holding me down and breaking every bone in my body. That’s when I noticed the digital screen on his chest, right over his heart. I hadn’t noticed it at first because the numbers weren’t illuminated, but every few seconds, a green number flickered.
An electrical component had evidently been damaged when I shot him in the shoulder.
Moving closer, I squinted at it.
The number read: 16.
“What is that?” I asked.
This time, he offered a dignified smirk.
When he didn’t answer, my nostrils flared and I rushed toward him, prepared to sever one of his fingers, or maybe even an ear. Although the idea may have caused projectile vomiting when I’d first landed on the island, it didn’t phase me now, especially not when dealing with a piece of shit like this guy.
Without warning, I swung downward and stabbed my knife through his hand and into the wooden armrest.
He s
houted, and outside, women cheered.
With clenched teeth, he scowled at me.
“Still don’t want to talk?” I asked.
Nothing.
Bit by bit, I turned the blade, and he screamed.
“Fuck you!”
I tore the knife out and stared at the digital pad over his jacket. The number wasn’t changing, and the format wasn’t time. What the hell was that thing? It reminded me of a scoreboard. Could it be—
“Is that a counter?” I asked.
When the smile on his face returned, bile rose in my throat.
“You’re keeping track of your fucking kills,” I said.
It all made sense—although we hadn’t removed the dead bodies from the Working Grounds just yet, I’d counted them, reaching precisely sixteen.
“What kind of sick fucking game is this?” I asked.
Something in his eyes lit up, almost as if he’d suddenly realized something.
“You’re right,” he said at last. “It’s a game… A game thousands of people are watching.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked.
He scoffed. “How do you think we got here? This island’s protected by the feds. No one makes it to Kormace Island. And trust me, people have tried. Now and then, the news talks about how a plane was shot down for getting too close to the no-fly zone.”
“What’re you saying?” I asked. “The government’s in on this?”
He shrugged his uninjured shoulder. “Depends on how you look at it. All they did was give us safe passage in exchange for half the profit.”
I clenched my teeth so hard they squeaked. “What profit?”
He threw his head back and laughed maniacally, revealing large red tonsils at the back of his throat. “A shitload of money. I mean, the Organizer set the whole thing up and told us it was a lucrative market. Didn’t actually believe the son of a bitch until he showed me the website.”
“You’re telling me this is online?” I said.
“Dark web,” he said. “We can’t be traced. People are paying us to watch us clean up the island.”
“Watch you?”
He glanced down at his jacket, where a small black dot hung at the end of a red and white wire. “Well, they can’t see my shots anymore, thanks to you.”
Pacing back and forth, I ran my fingers through my short hair. “What kind of profit are we talking about? Who’s getting the money? What the fuck is this?”
“Well, before we landed, the pot was up to twenty-three million dollars. When we landed an hour later, it jumped up to forty-eight million. People can only watch if they pay the entry fee, which means more and more people are watching.”
In an instant, I remembered the screen Rocket had shown me—it had indicated something close to fifty-two million dollars, and next to the amount was the word Bid. I wanted to vomit.
Was this truly happening? Why wasn’t this page being tracked and shut down? Why wasn’t anyone stopping this?
“The game ends in three days,” he added. “After three days, whoever has the most kills wins a third of that pot. The rest of it is shared with the Organizer, the feds, and a small payout goes to whoever bid on the right player.”
This couldn’t be happening.
It couldn’t be.
How the fuck would anyone allow something like this to happen? Hunting human beings for money?
I breathed in slowly, then exhaled through my nose.
“Listen, I can help you,” he said.
Tempted to stab my knife into his temple, I tucked it back into my belt. “How the fuck can someone like you help me? You’re here to kill us.”
“Yeah, and so are another five people,” he said.
I scoffed. “You think I’m going to believe anything you say? This whole thing’s a fucking game. Why should I trust you? And why the hell would you want to help me?”
“Because I want to help me,” he said.
When he didn’t smile or make some other smart-ass comment, I bit my lip.
“I’m listening.”
“Like I said,” he continued, “there’s another five players out there. There are six of us total, and the pilot, but he has nothing to do with the hunt. We saw your village when we flew overhead, so you can bet your ass the other players are on their way here. I hope you have weapons.”
What was he doing? Why was he turning on his own people?
He must have noticed my confusion. Offering a pompous smile, he said, “Listen, lady, these people aren’t my friends. We’re all ex-military, highly trained, and we came here for one thing… Money. Whoever gets the most kills wins. Right now, I’m top player. That’s why my number’s green. Blue is second player, red third, and yellow means you’re at the bottom of the list. So if you kill the other players before they raise their score, I win.”
“Not if you’re dead,” I growled.
“Even if I’m dead,” he said. “The contract states that in the event of a death, the funds will be distributed to immediate family. My wife knew the risks. All I want is for her and my kids to be taken care of.”
How could such a horrible piece of shit even have a family or care about another human being?
His eyes widened, and he looked at the cabin’s door as if to say, Well, what’s it gonna be?
“What help are you offering?” I asked, even though the last thing I wanted was help from this guy.
“Information,” he said. “First, I suggest you get to them before they reach your village. See my bag?” He threw his chin out at a large forest green bag. “There’re grenades in there… Knives, and a shitload of ammo. Use my gun. Use whatever you want. Just wipe them out.”
Walking toward his bag, I turned my head to look at him. “You’re a sick son of a bitch, you know that?”
He smiled so big all his teeth became visible. “Maybe, but I’m about to win this motherfuckin’ game.”
EPISODE 19
PROLOGUE
Rocket marched through the Village with a raised chin and a crowd of armed women behind her. They’d been ordered to go out in search of the remaining players and commanded to kill without hesitation.
What I hated most about being the leader was ending up in positions like these—forced to request that my friends risk their lives to protect the Village. But what was I supposed to do? Ask those I care about to sit behind? I had to set aside my emotions and think with my mind, not with my heart. All our lives were at risk, and I needed the best of the best to defend our land.
The best happened to be my friends.
As Rocket came marching back inside, I could tell something was wrong. They’d left minutes ago, so why were they already returning? Slowly, I lowered Robin into the grass and stood up straight.
The women behind Rocket reminded me of our sworn enemies, the Northers. Most of them wore skull masks over their faces, fur on their shoulders, and boots up to their knees. While I hated the idea of using recycled Norther attire, it was to our advantage to do so. The more frightening we looked, the more intimidating we were to our attackers, and same as with wild animals, this was crucial to our survival.
“What’s going on?” Ellie asked, leaning into me.
How could I answer that? I had no idea what was going on. The order that morning had been simple: exit the Village, spread out, and hunt down the remaining players before they could find the Village. Hammer had spent most of the night sharpening weapons to ensure they were ready for battle. Each Hunter was then assigned a team of women willing to fight with weapons, and it was their responsibility to lead their small group out into the forest.
As Biggie marched next to Rocket, she shook her head, and I couldn’t help but feel like we’d been defeated before even starting.
The moment Rocket approached us, she threw an arm out in the air. “They fucking trapped us.”
My eyes shot up toward the closing Village gates. “What do you mean, trapped?”
“These people are smart, Brone,” she said
. “They’ve got some sort of electric wire system all around the Village. We’re trapped.”
CHAPTER 1
“Explain it to me again,” I said, my voice carrying throughout the crowd.
I hadn’t meant to get snippy, but I didn’t understand how anyone could have set up some electrical barrier around our entire Village overnight.
Frowning, I shot my Tower Guards a look. Did they fall asleep? How the hell did no one catch this? Rocket must have sensed my hatred toward the women assigned to protect us. She reached for my shoulder, and when I pulled away, said, “You asked them to keep the fire out. They couldn’t see anything.”
“They don’t have fucking ears?” I snapped.
When everyone around me went silent, I realized I wasn’t making the situation any better. They were likely freaking out as much as I was, and the last thing they needed was for their leader to lose her wits. I sucked in a long breath and stretched my neck to the side until something cracked.
“Okay,” I breathed out. “It’s okay. We can figure this out.”
Everyone stared at me as if I held the answer to the Egyptian pyramids. It was astonishing how much these women trusted my judgment, but I consistently got us out of trouble and saved lives, which meant I had to trust myself as much as they did.
“How many wires are there?” I asked, directing my gaze at Rocket. “Can’t we walk over it?”
She shook her head and tightened her lips, which translated to, It isn’t that simple.
“There’s more than one wire,” she said. With her hands, she drew lines through the air, trying to draw out a picture. “There’s like, three or four of them, and they’re all at different heights.”
“So there’s no getting through it,” I said, more as a statement than a question.
Again, she shook her head.
“Where’s the electricity coming from?” I asked.
“We haven’t located the source of the power. To be honest, we didn’t do much investigating at all. We came back inside the Village to inform you—”