by Shade Owens
The crowd that had accumulated around the cabin broke apart, forming a clear path for me.
I bit down on my teeth so hard they squeaked and walked straight toward the center of the Village, clutching her hair as tightly as possible next to my waist. Behind me, she kept tripping and catching herself and mumbling a bunch of broken sentences such as, “You think—,” “The hell is—,” and “Hey, let—stop it—”
Inside, it was as if a switch had been flicked. I couldn’t stop the anger, nor did I want to. I’d done nothing but help this woman live a life she’d never dreamed of, and she’d turned on me—she’d hit me again and again and threatened my life.
I wouldn’t tolerate it.
The moment we approached the breakfast fire, now a lonely pit full of ashes, I threw her into the grass. She rolled sideways until she stopped on her back to face me. “Yo, what the fuck are you doin’?”
Women had exited their tents now, and they gathered around us like city dwellers after witnessing a horrible car accident. When I swung around to face my audience, most of them gasped, some pointed, and a few looked away.
“Who did that?” someone whispered, staring at what I assumed was a red swelling on my face.
“Was it Bridge?”
Their curious eyes rolled toward the woman, Bridge who’d hit me, and the bickering picked up again. How bad was the mark? Was there bleeding? Was that why they were pointing?
“As I’m sure you all can see,” I said, “this woman attacked me, your leader.”
Bridge glared up at me, pointing a finger my way. “The bitch killed Mason!”
No one spoke up. It was clear they already knew what had happened.
“What’s wrong with you?” Bridge said. “Why aren’t any of you pissed off about this?” Slowly, she stood and rubbed the back of her head. “How can you all stand there when this psychopath who calls herself our leader killed one of our own?”
Whispering broke out among the crowd, and it became obvious that no one knew what to do. Was Bridge in the wrong for having attacked me, or did they truly believe I was wrong for having killed one of our own?
Drawing my shoulders back, I made a conscious effort to look at as many women in the eyes as possible. “Not once have I ever done anything out of anger toward any of you. All I’ve ever cared about was your happiness and well-being.”
The women nodded, mumbling words I couldn’t understand.
“Yes, I did kill one of our own today, but not out of hatred or vengeance. I did what had to be done to protect all of you.”
With a slouched posture, fists clenched so tightly they looked like triangles by her hips, and a bowed head, Bridge looked at me as if preparing to jump me again. “How is killing my friend to save a captured terrorist going to protect anyone here?”
“I don’t have to explain my decision,” I said coldly. “I’m here because you all trust me to guide you in the right direction. If you can’t trust the decision I’ve made without demanding that I explain my thought process, then we have a problem.”
At the back of the crowd, Ellie emerged, looking more worried than I’d ever seen her before. She knew what was going on, and if my plan backfired, things would take a turn for the worse within a matter of minutes. But this was the only way to go about it without causing a divide among my people. If I didn’t involve everyone in this decision, women would do the one thing they knew how to do when angry or panicked—place blame.
Slapping both hands on my waist, I said, “The choice is yours. Her, or me.”
It felt like we were standing on trial, waiting for the jury to deliver the verdict.
This time, the crowd exploded into loud chattering, and women turned from side to side, searching each other for guidance.
“If you think I’m unfit to be your leader, now’s your chance to do something about it. I’m not a dictator—I’m not Rainer.” Venomous scowls spread through the Village at the sound of her name. “If you’re unhappy with how things are, I’ll walk away.”
“Stop playing your fuckin’ mind games!” Bridge shouted.
Ignoring her, I kept going. “As your leader, I intend to banish this woman for treason. She’s proved herself to be a threat, and if she refuses to go willingly or becomes violent in any way, I won’t hesitate to do what needs to be done. So, what will it be? Do you vote that I step down as leader of the Village, or that Bridge—”
Yet before I could finish my sentence, rapid footsteps echoed behind me, and I turned in time to see Bridge charging at full speed. With her mouth wide open and her triangular fists held up in the air, she let out a hoarse cry as she ran.
Still filled with rage, I reached for my carving knife on my belt and pulled it out, prepared to end this.
Before Bridge could even try to throw a blow at me, something hard hit her in the face, splitting her eyebrow in half. At once, she stopped running, reached for the blood over her eye, and blinked hard. At her feet lay a bone-made breakfast dish with speckles of blood on its edges.
“Brone!” one woman shouted.
“Brone!” said another.
And then, all of the women started chanting my name and pumping fists in the air.
Bridge glared at everyone like a caged dog, her teeth bared and her head turning from side to side so fast it looked like she was twitching. “You can’t do this!”
Then, another bowl was thrown, this time, knocking her square in the mouth. Two of her front teeth disappeared, and blood spilled over her bottom teeth. Women in the crowd searched the grass and reached for any hard object they could find to use as a weapon.
As I watched Bridge on her hands and knees, scrambling to get back up, I remembered who I once was: someone who would have never allowed another person to get hurt even if they deserved it. But that was all it was—a memory. I didn’t feel sorry for her. She was a threat to everyone in the Village.
Lydia would have felt sorry, but I didn’t, and the truth was, Lydia didn’t exist anymore.
Raising my chin, I stared at the crowd of furious women and nodded. With bowls, spoons, and forks clenched in their fists, everyone closed in on Bridge.
CHAPTER 4
Bending down to grab Player 1’s chair, I turned to Biggie and Rock. “Help me out.”
With a bloody gash on the side of his neck, Player 1 smirked up at me with a look that said, I’m untouchable.
It made me want to pull my throwing knife out of Mason’s chest and stab him in the eye with it. Arrogant piece of shit. The sole reason he was still alive was that he knew things we didn’t. Once this disgusting game was over, he wouldn’t have anything to smile about.
In fact, he wouldn’t be able to smile at all—he’d be torn to pieces by my women.
Biggie and Rocket each grabbed a part of the chair, and with a grunt, the three of us brought him back onto four legs. His chair landed with a thud, and behind him, Mason’s limp hand fell to the floor, her knuckles hitting hard against the wood and her knife slipping out of her grip.
Once this was over, I’d allow the women to take her body to our burial site—a space we’d cleared near the Working Grounds. It was quaint and surprisingly good representation of a typical graveyard. Handpicked rocks with poorly drawn engravings lay above the bodies in the earth, and around the graves were figures constructed of wood and hay, like scarecrows. It prevented certain animals from approaching the holes and digging out the bodies. It wasn’t a foolproof plan, but it was better than nothing.
Until Mason’s body could be transported to our burial site and placed inside the earth, she would have to be wrapped in leaves and left outside. If we didn’t end this war with the players, her body would start to decompose, attracting flies, insects, birds of prey, and even wildcats. The last thing I wanted was for a leopard to climb into our Village in search of food.
Crouching down beside her dead body, I closed her eyelids. Then, I made my way around Player 1’s chair, crossed my arms, and stared him in the face.
; “Thanks for that,” he said, his smile returning.
Biggie stepped forward, her fist balled up by her face.
“It’s okay,” I said, touching her forearm. “He’ll get what’s coming to him.”
Without responding, he elevated his chin, revealing the unsightly cut left by Mason.
I wiggled a finger at his neck. “Without treatment, that could get infected.”
He shrugged so nonchalantly that I all I wanted to do was kick him in the chest and send him flying on his back again. How was he so calm? So neutral? Was he not afraid of anything? He knew I had every intention of killing him after this was over. Was he delusional? Did he think he’d somehow survive? Had he planned for some sort of rescue mission?
“Do you want to die?” I asked him.
Again, he shrugged. “It’s not about what I want. It’s about providing for my family.”
“What’s he talking about?” Rocket asked.
His cold eyes slowly rolled from me to Rocket. “She hasn’t told you?”
With arms crossed over her belly, Rocket rotated the upper half of her body to face me. “Told me what?”
I’d explained to everyone that we were being hunted by psychopaths, but I hadn’t gone into the details about the money. The revelation of it all had already disturbed me beyond belief—why let my women suffer knowing that the lives of their friends had been lost for a game?
It wouldn’t have helped the situation and might even have aggravated it.
But Biggie and Rocket were my friends, and I trusted them more than anyone. Closing my eyes, I sighed. “It’s a game.”
Biggie scoffed, but then her features hardened when no one else laughed. “A game? ’Dis some sort of horseshit? What’re you talkin’ about, a game?” She punched her palm. “’Cause I ain’t playin’.”
“No,” I said. “He is. And so are the other players out there.”
“Playing what?” Rocket asked. “Some sort of killing game?”
“Basically,” I said. “People are bidding on different players, and whoever wins gets half the bid money. The rest is split between the government and the bidders—”
“The government?” Biggie snapped. She threw both arms into the air and frowned, her bushy eyebrows almost touching each other above the bridge of her nose. “Are you tellin’ me—”
“Why’re you so surprised?” Rocket cut in. She had to tilt her head back to look up at Biggie. “We all know how corrupt the government is—”
“Listen, ladies,” said Player 1, and both Rocket and Biggie turned toward him with flared nostrils, white-knuckled fists, and eyes so narrow it looked like they were trying to shoot him with invisible lasers.
“I hate to break up your little chitchat, but the more you stand around here talking like a bunch of idiots, the more danger—”
Crack.
Biggie shook her fist, wiggled her fingers, and smiled as Player 1 rolled his head back up and stretched his jaw muscles. I didn’t even bother scolding her for the hit—it had satisfied me too much.
“Is that how you treat someone who’s trying to help you?” he asked.
“Bullshit,” Rocket said. “You aren’t trying to help us. You’re trying to help yourself. You’ve been caught, which means you can’t play your fucked-up little game anymore.” Her eyes shot toward me. “Am I right? Is that what this is about? He’s willing to help us out so that his competitors can’t beat him.” She stopped talking and forced a choppy laugh when she noticed the green digital counter on his chest. “Let me guess… This is your kill counter. You sick motherfucking piece of—”
Crack.
Even though Rocket had been the one to clock him on the other side of the face this time, Biggie grinned from ear to ear. “That’s my girl.”
With his hands tied behind his back, all he could do was open his mouth wide to stretch out the tension. “Hit me again, and you won’t be getting my help—”
Clenching my fist as hard as I could, I swung a punch right into his ear. It must have hurt him enough; he let out a pathetic pained cry and shook his head, looking dazed.
“Listen here, you little shit,” I said. “You don’t tell us what to do. You’re the one strapped to the chair, and your counter is still green, which means you’re still winning the game. So unless you want to lose millions of dollars, I suggest you drop the arrogant act, pull your head out of your ass, and answer our questions without being a smartass dick about it. Got it?”
He stared at me a bit longer than I would have liked and then nodded without saying anything. “What information do you need?”
“Someone trapped us inside the Village,” I said.
When he arched a brow, I added, “There are electrical wires all around us.”
“Of course,” he said, the corner of his lip pulling upward. By the way he stared intently at the wooden floor panels of the cabin, it was obvious he knew what I was talking about.
“That’s BlueVolt’s fine work,” he said.
“BlueVolt?” I asked, feeling stupid even voicing the name aloud.
“We all have online names,” he said. “I don’t know his real name. All I know is that he’s a mastermind when it comes to electricity. I checked out his profile before entering the game, and he brags a lot about his own handmade weapons. On the plane, he didn’t say a word—no one did. We didn’t want to get into one another’s heads or give anyone an upper hand. But I do remember that damn profile, and you can bet your ass that guy has weapons you’ve never even dreamed of.” Biting his bottom lip, he searched the ceiling. “The guy has some weird weapons on him. I can’t say what they are for sure, but I’m willing to bet he’s planning on using them. He had this one bag full of ornament-sized balls, and one of them fell—”
“What’s your point?” I snapped. “We’re trapped. How does that give him the advantage? It’s not like we’re going to be stupid enough to try to pass the fence.”
“Good,” he said, “because whatever that fence is, you can bet your ass it’s military-grade. These guys, and women,” he corrected, “are professionals. There’s a reason we’re being paid the big bucks. So if he trapped you, it’s because he plans on killing all of you without you being able to escape.”
“How?” I asked. “He can’t even come in himself.”
“Well, he could if he wanted to, but that’s not what he’s planning.” Then, he smiled so big he looked like a kid who’d been handed their first A-graded assignment. “Fucking genius… I can’t believe it.”
“Can’t believe what?” I asked.
“How does the sky look?” he asked.
My eyes involuntarily rolled toward the ceiling. Was this some sort of joke?
He laughed again. “When you were out there. How’d the sky look?”
“What the hell—” Biggie started.
I raised a fist and she went quiet. Player 1 wasn’t an idiot, and he wasn’t playing mind games. If there was one thing I remembered most from science class, water and electricity were each other’s worst enemies.
“Cloudy,” I admitted.
“Those balls I saw him carrying around,” he continued, “well, he dropped one and it rolled out onto his seat. He didn’t think anyone saw, but I did. The thing looked like something out of a video game. It was silver, had a blue light on one end, and red stripes running on the sides. I didn’t realize what it was until now. It must be some sort of electrical grenade.”
“Electrical grenade?” Rocket asked. “What, it explodes with energy?”
“Not exactly,” he said. “It probably fires out a powerful, high-voltage electrical current, electrocuting anyone within a certain radius.”
But he didn’t have to explain anything further for me to figure it out.
“He’s waiting for it to rain,” I said. “And then he’ll start throwing them inside.”
CHAPTER 5
Player 1 pointed his chin at the wooden floorboards as if trying to draw out an image with his face.
> “I’m guessing the fence is what, six feet high?” he said.
Rocket nodded. “Something like that.”
“Most people would try the whole short-circuiting method to fry the fence, but as I said before, this thing’s the real deal. Unless you have professional tools to get the job done, there’s no short-circuiting that fence or cutting through it. The only way to beat this guy is to get around the fence, find the source of the power, and shut it down.”
“How’re we supposed to get around a fence like that?” Rocket asked.
She’d lost the attitude, perhaps realizing that regardless of the sick reasoning behind this man trying to help us, he was giving us valuable information.
“You’re a bunch of barbaric island dwellers… almost animals,” he said, glancing up at her. “Figure it out.”
When she took a step toward him, I threw my arm across her chest. “He’s right. We’re resourceful and we can figure something out.” Shifting my attention to him, I asked, “What does the power source look like? And won’t BlueVolt, or whatever his name is, have some sort of system in place to protect the source?”
Player 1 smirked, and it seemed almost condescending as if he hadn’t expected an island dweller like me to think this far ahead.
“I’m sure he does,” he said. “I can’t tell you what the power source looks like, other than that it’ll be attached to a wire leading to the fence. Could be a box. Could be a huge panel. And as stupid as this might sound, when you do find it, shutting it down is probably as simple as hitting the off switch. Question is, can you make it to the source without getting killed?”
“Let us worry about that,” I said.
“I’m on the line here too, sweetheart,” he said.
I grimaced at the word and contemplated telling him to go fuck himself, but I knew he was only trying to get a rise out of me. It was better to ignore his belittling comments and get on with saving our Village.
“All right, then let’s get moving,” I said, moving toward the door.
“Um, sweetheart?” said Player 1.