by Jack Heath
03:01
You stay under the cover of the oak, watching fat drops of sea water slam into the dirt and fizzle out, leaving crusts of salt behind. It’s dark, but you’re not sure if night has actually fallen or if the clouds of steam have blocked out the setting sun.
The echoes of the blast are fading. The ocean roars as it floods back in to fill the void left by the explosion.
Snap! A root unravels on the other side of the tree. The force of the blast has damaged the oak too much. It’s coming down!
Before you can get out of the way, the tremendous tree slams down on your back. You don’t even have time to scream.
THE END.
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03:04
“I’ll get Harrison,” you shout. “You guys climb down the cliffs.”
You don’t wait to see if they follow your instructions. You run back towards the flames, squinting against the heat.
Harrison still hasn’t moved. A puddle is growing under his helmet. Maybe he puked — or it could be blood.
You shake him by the shoulders, heedless of broken bones. “Harrison! Wake up!”
He doesn’t move. You’re going to have to carry him. But how? He’s much bigger than you are. You haven’t thought this through.
Pigeon grabs Harrison’s hand. With shock, you realize that none of the others obeyed your order. They’re all here, trying to help you and Harrison.
The flames spit and crackle. You take Harrison’s other hand. Shelley and Neil lift his legs. Even divided by four, his weight is almost too much — but soon you’re all carrying him back up the hill to the lookout, running like medieval soldiers with a battering ram.
You quickly reach the wooden safety rail and can go no further.
“We can’t climb down with him,” you say.
“We can’t leave him here,” Pigeon says.
The flames lick closer and closer. It feels like plunging into a bath that hasn’t had enough time to cool. You look around, but there’s no way out. You’re all trapped in a shrinking cage of fire.
At least you’ll die with a clear conscience.
“Look!” Shelley shouts.
You turn towards the ocean. Through the flames you see something growing on the horizon. A tremendous wave — by far the biggest you’ve ever seen — is rushing at the shore, faster and faster. Soon it’s so loud and close that you can’t even hear the fire anymore.
“Down!” Shelley screams, which seems ridiculous. Surely the wave can’t reach the lookout, all the way up here at the top of the cliff?
But the wave keeps getting taller, and suddenly it doesn’t seem quite so ridiculous. The bomb must have set off some kind of oceanic quake. This isn’t just a wave, it’s a tsunami!
You throw yourself on the ground just in time. Water explodes over the edge of the lookout and slams down on top of you like a falling skyscraper. Had you been upright, the wave would have knocked you off your feet.
There’s a deafening hiss as the sea water hits the fire. Steam fills the air. Half your body is unbearably hot. The rest is painfully cold. The water blends into the dirt under your face. You fight to keep your head above the mud.
Then it’s over. The ocean recedes. Rivulets of water run away down the hill. The last of the ashes disintegrates. There’s not a tongue of flame to be seen.
You spit out some muck. “Everyone OK?”
A chorus of groans surrounds you. Everyone’s alive.
You lie on your back, catching your breath. Above you, the faded moon is coming into view.
00:00
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01:02
You jump back just in time to avoid Stacey’s clutching hand.
“No!” she cries, but it’s too late for her to stop. She tumbles off the platform and falls to her death—
Except she doesn’t. She falls only ten or fifteen metres before she grabs some kind of tag on the strap of her backpack and pulls it. A pair of artificial wings burst out of her pack, and suddenly she’s soaring like a hang-glider towards the shore.
The platform jolts under you again. You lose your balance and stagger closer to the edge. The more you try to back away along the tilting surface, the more you trip over your own feet. Suddenly you’re stumbling off the edge of the platform and hanging in the air, a hundred metres over the churning ocean—
And then you fall. As you spin around and around, plummeting faster and faster, the last thing you see before you hit the water is Agent Stacey cruising away to safety.
THE END.
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05:50
“Yeah, she gave me all the names and everything,” you say. “If the bomb goes off, or something happens to her, you should have no trouble finding out who did it.”
Hunt doesn’t sound convinced. “Tell me what she told you exactly.”
“I don’t remember exactly,” you say, “but I wrote it all down on a piece of paper.”
“Well, read it out to me.”
You’re about to pretend you gave the paper to your camp leader, when the man with the big sunglasses — the man whose phone you’re using — draws some kind of dart gun. A syringe sticks out of the barrel.
He takes aim at your face.
“Give me the paper,” he says.
Shelley gasps. Neil yelps.
You should have seen this coming. “Hunt” clearly isn’t a real cop, so the guy who called him must be part of the conspiracy.
“Give me the paper,” the man says again.
You end the call so Hunt can’t listen in. “I don’t have it,” you say.
“I’m not kidding,” he says. “There’s enough animal tranquilizer in this dart to knock out a megalodon.”
“A what?” you ask.
“Give it to me!” he screams.
Pigeon is edging sideways. It looks like she’s going to try to grab the guy from behind.
“I never made notes,” you say loudly. “I was bluffing.”
The guy whirls around to face Pigeon. “Hey, get back!”
Pigeon hops backwards and puts her hands up.
“All of you, get over there.” The guy waves the dart gun in the direction of the cliff.
Everyone shuffles to the guardrail, including you. The gunman stays well out of reach. He has you trapped. He could march you all off the cliff if he wanted to.
“Last chance,” he says. “Give me—”
A flash lights up the forest behind him.
“Down!” you yell, just in time.
Everyone drops to the ground — except the gunman, who hesitates, as if this might be some kind of trick. He’s still on his feet when the shockwave hits.
Boom! Even this far away from the campsite, the explosion is hot, bright and loud. It rolls right over you like a sudden sunburn. Dirt rains down on your back.
“No!” the gunman screams as the blast sweeps him off his feet—
And sends him flying over the guardrail. He vanishes into the darkness below the cliffs, screaming all the way.
Soon the heat fades and the echoes die away. When the smoke clears, you climb to your feet. “Everyone OK?”
The words tickle in your throat. You choke, and cough up some black spit.
“I’m OK,” Shelley says.
“Me too,” Pigeon says.
“Yeah,” Neil adds. “What happened to—”
He gets no further. There’s an ugly cracking sound.
“What was that?” Pigeon demands.
An ominous rumbling fills the air. The dirt shakes beneath you. The explosion must have damaged the underground caves …
“Earthquake!” Shelley yells.
And then the lookout starts to fall into the sea.
“The cliffs are collapsing!” you scream. “Run!”
The others are already sprinting back downhill to the f
orest. But the ground is crumbling around them. A deep crack opens up in the earth ahead, cutting all of you off from the mainland.
“Jump!” you yell.
The others sprint towards the widening chasm and leap over it, crash-landing on the other side.
You’re last. The crevasse yawns before you. The earth tilts and slides under your feet.
You have a fifty-fifty chance of surviving this. You run and jump …
Click here …
… or here.
01:02
You grab Stacey’s hand and jump. You both fly off the edge of the oil-drilling platform, plummeting towards the deadly water below.
What were you thinking? It’s too far down! You’re both going to die—
And then she pulls a tab attached to her backpack.
Whumpf! An enormous pair of nylon wings explodes out of the pack, tearing through the fabric. You hurtle down and down, gaining speed. At the last second, Stacey pulls up. Your shoulder almost pops out of joint as she takes your weight and swoops outwards. Suddenly you’re both soaring low over the ocean on Stacey’s wings. Your feet practically skim the water as the collapsing oil rig shrinks into the distance behind you.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” you shout.
“No time,” Stacey says. “Lucky you trusted me.”
Then she shifts her weight, banking left, carrying you to the safety of the beach.
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06:04
There isn’t much time. You grab a gnarled stick and plunge it into the remains of the fire. Yes! Under the ashes, the coals are still hot. The stick catches fire. You jam one end into the dirt and leave it to burn.
You run over to the biggest tent, which is a lightweight nylon dome. You tear the door right off, grab the foam-rubber mattresses inside and throw them out, along with books, portable coolers, backpacks — everything. When the tent is empty you unhook the guy ropes from the pegs and drag the whole thing over to the trees.
When you get there, you fling the big tent into the branches of the nearest tree. You snatch up the burning stick and run over to the dangling tent, trampling the mattresses in your haste. Shielding the flame with your hand, you hold the burning stick under the open door.
For a minute, nothing happens. Then the tent starts to bulge and stretch. It’s filling up with hot air. It looks like this will work — but will it work fast enough?
When the tent looks ready to burst, you knot the guy ropes together and pull it away from the tree.
The tent, full of hot air, hangs above your head like a giant thought bubble. It actually floats! You’ve made your own hot-air balloon. If you survive this, you’re going to be so famous.
You wrap the ropes around your body. You’re confident that they will take your weight, but it’s hard to keep them away from the flame, while still keeping the torch under the tent door.
The improvised balloon is pulling harder and harder at the ropes. You hold on tight, and then …
Your feet leave the ground. Liftoff! Slowly, but surely, the tent is taking you away. Soon it’s too late to change your mind and let go. You’re high enough now that the fall would break your legs.
Before long you’re among the treetops, and then you’re above them. The wind is stronger up here — it carries the tent sideways over the forest, towards the ocean. You fight to keep the guy ropes and the blazing stick steady.
Boom!
You happen to be looking down when the bomb goes off. It’s like staring directly into the sun. For a moment you’re blind. You can only hear the mighty roar and feel the ropes shuddering in your grip. The force of the blast knocks you in one direction while the wind pushes you the opposite way, fighting to fill the vacuum left by the explosion. Pebbles and dirt pelt your legs. You blink furiously, trying to get your sight back.
There’s a sickening ripping sound from above you. Your eyes recover in time to see a hole stretch open in the tent wall. A flying rock must have torn through the nylon.
The wind whistles through the tear as the hot air escapes. You’re not gaining altitude anymore. In fact, you seem to be falling.
And the forest below is on fire. The blast scattered enough superheated ash into the trees that the dry leaves and branches are ablaze.
The heat washes over you and dries out your eyeballs. Your kicking legs are getting closer and closer to the flames. You’re getting smoked like a pig on a spit. It’s looking less and less likely that you’ll reach the sea.
The tear in the tent has left it lopsided. It’s turning around in a slow circle. Maybe you could steer by pulling the guy ropes. But you’d have to drop the burning stick, which will make the tent descend even faster.
If you drop the stick and try to steer the tent to safety, click here.
If you hold on and wait for the tent to carry you over the ocean, click here.
02:01
You fling out a desperate hand to grab the surfboard, which is still wedged in the dirt. You manage to get a grip, but the board is slippery. You dangle over the crater, legs kicking helplessly as you fight for a firmer hold with your other hand.
The dirt shifts. The board creaks as it comes loose of its moorings. Suddenly you’re tumbling into the crater, along with the board and several clumps of earth!
It’s a long way down. A fatal drop. But the wall of the crater isn’t quite vertical. There’s a slight slope, leading to the bowl-shaped basin.
As you fall, you snatch the board out of the air and press it to your feet.
This seems too crazy to possibly work, but when the board hits the dirt wall, the fins snap off immediately and the board slides. Not as smoothly as on water, but it’s just steady enough that you don’t get thrown off. Whooping like a lunatic, you hurtle down the side of the crater, the surfboard skipping and slipping beneath your feet.
After a terrifying ride, the ground levels out. You’ve reached the bottom of the crater. You throw yourself off before you reach the sharp rocks, landing on warm dirt. The board grinds to an abrupt halt a few metres away.
You lie on your back, watching the smoke clear. You can hear a helicopter droning in the distance. Hopefully it’s the cops, here to rescue Agent Stacey — and to pick up your friends from the lookout.
But it could be a while before anyone comes looking for you here. You look up at the wall of the crater. Better get climbing.
00:00
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09:32
A sharp turn is coming up. Harrison will have to edge around a big rock that mostly blocks the path. Once he’s on the other side, it’ll take him a minute to realize you’re not following.
You wait for him to squeeze around the big rock, and then you sprint back the way you came.
Another trail splits off from this one. You almost didn’t see it — a shroud of hanging vines mostly conceals the entrance. You pull them aside and duck through. Hopefully Harrison will run right past.
“Hey!” he yells in the distance. “Where are you?”
You don’t stop, but the twists and bends of the trail get tighter and tighter, forcing you to slow down. Harrison is crashing through the brush somewhere behind you. Will he see the hidden path, or spot you in the foliage?
There! A narrow cave between two gigantic stones. He won’t see you in there. You slip into the shadows and hold your breath.
Harrison’s footsteps get closer and closer—
And then they fade. He’s gone past the trail without seeing your footprints. You let the air out of your lungs.
It’s not quite pitch black in the cave. It’s lit by a faint red glow. You turn around, looking for the source.
It’s a small LED readout, attached to a tangle of wires and a lump of what looks like orange clay. A code is printed
on the side: T4.
The screen says 05:20.
Now 05:19.
You’ve found the bomb.
You stare at it in silent horror for a moment. You have five minutes and seventeen seconds before this place turns into a smouldering crater. Is that enough time to get out of range?
Maybe not. But there aren’t very many buttons or wires. Perhaps it wouldn’t be too hard to defuse the bomb.
If you run for your life, click here.
If you try to defuse the device, click here.
04:03
You stagger and stumble away from the burning tree. It’s hard to see the trail through the smoke, but you make your own path by breaking branches and trampling shrubs. Your stomach muscles ache from all the coughing. The bitter stench makes you want to throw up.
You need to be sure you’re headed away from the bomb. But the forest looks the same in every direction. You’re hopelessly lost.
“Harrison?” you rasp. “Where are you?”
No reply. Hopefully the mercenaries didn’t hear you.
Boom!
Click here.
02:06
You let go of the stick. It plummets into the flames below.
With less heat flooding into it — and more in the air outside — the tent is falling faster and faster. You figure you have a minute at the most before you crash.
There’s a dark patch to your left. Nothing is on fire over there, so far. The ground is strewn with bits of camping gear and forest debris from the explosion, but there are no trees to burn. You yank the guy rope in your left hand. The tent tips and starts a slow circle downwards to safety.
Except it’s not safe. You’re falling way too fast now. Even if you make it out of the fire’s reach, you’ll still crush every bone in your body when you hit the ground—