The Death Wish Game

by Jonathan Chateau

  Or when you consider eating a bullet yourself.

  I shrug Damien off. To the others, I ask, “You guys ready?”

  “Hold up. I said I’m not sure yet,” Damien says. “I didn’t say no.”

  “Cut the crap, emo boy!” Bear grabs Damien, brings him so close their noses touch. “In case you haven’t been keeping score here we’re down by six. Either you’re coming with us, or you’re taking your chances here with these two. It’s that simple.”

  “Get off me, tubs.” Damien pushes Bear away from him. “And thanks for helping me make up my mind. The last thing I want to do is tag along with you faggots.”

  “Fine. It’s your funeral,” I say.

  “Yeah-yeah-yeah. Cool,” he says without blinking.

  Such a weirdo. There’s just so much wrong about Damien. Like why is he so nonchalant given the situation? Like why—

  No time to psychoanalyze this jerk. The others are looking to me.

  “Let’s move.” I turn toward the front of the bus, crawling as quickly as possible, dragging the spear alongside me. Chase, Bear, and the woman with pink-and-blue hair follow close behind.

  “Yo, Rodney!” Damien yells. “It’s Rodney, right?”

  I glance over my shoulder.

  A wicked smile spreads across his lips and under the red glow cast from outside he almost looks like a devil. “Be saying a prayer for ya,” he says with a wink.

  The comment catches me off guard.

  The kid is baked.

  “I’m pretty sure you don’t pray,” I say as I grab the door handle. I take a deep breath.

  Here we go.

  Chapter 6—The Bus Stop

  “Ready?” I ask.

  Bear and woman with the pink-and-blue hair nod.

  However, Chase just gapes at me with that same slack-jawed, deer-in-the-headlights look he’s had on his face since I freed him from his seat. I share the sentiment, but thankfully I’m suppressing it . . . somehow. Fear is taking a temporary backseat to the desire to escape this massacre.

  “Chase . . . are you ready?” I ask.

  A beat, then, “Yeah-yeah-yeah.” He wipes away the fresh sheen of sweat on his face.

  I give him a quick pat on the shoulder. A reassuring gesture, perhaps for both of us. There’s a chance that I could be completely wrong. We could totally go out there and get ourselves slaughtered. Then Damien would have the satisfaction of telling Liza and Aaron he was glad he didn’t go with us.

  But then again, it wasn’t me who threw us into this real-life manhunt.

  It was Jim Grimm—or whoever he’s working with. Whoever it is that is placing bets, or managing this sick game.

  “All right, guys. On three. Follow me, drop to the ground, and stay close to the bus.” As I speak, I get a distinct feeling that they’re half-listening, half-thinking about what getting a spear to the chest might feel like. “No doubt they’ll take aim as soon as we exit, so be ready to dive into that grass like it’s a damn swimming pool.”

  Bear nods. So does the woman with the pink-and-blue hair. Chase remains frozen. As if someone hit his pause button. “Chase!”

  “Yeah?”

  “Did you hear me?”

  “Y-y-yeah.” If Chase doesn’t get a hold of his nerves, he’s going to do himself in.

  “Are you listening?”

  “Yes! I’m listening.” Chase grabs both sides of his head as if it is about to explode. “Jesus Christ!” he lets out with a gasp. “I’m just a little freaked out, people, in case you haven’t noticed!”

  “Oh, we noticed,” Bear says under his breath.

  “Ha! What a pussy!” Damien cackles from the rear of the bus. “He’s scared. I bet he shit his pants.”

  Chase turns back to him, spraying spittle as he shouts, “Fuck off and go get a real haircut, emo boy!”

  “Yeah, I’ll get right on that,” Damien says with a chuckle.

  I grab Chase, force him to look at me. “We’re all scared. But if we stay, we die.” The worried expression on his face doesn’t change. “Still not convinced? Why don’t you ask the other passengers on this bus?”

  “Hey, thanks for the vote of confidence,” I hear Aaron say. “Assholes.”

  “All right-all right-all right.” Chase shrugs me off as if I’m his fight doctor and now he’s finally ready to get in the ring. “I got it. I got it. We’re screwed no matter what. So let’s just do this.”

  “Wonderful,” the woman with the pink-and-blue hair says with a huff. “Let’s go already. All of this debating isn’t helping the situation get any better.”

  “Agreed,” I say with a nod. I take another deep breath. “Ready?” I look to each one in the group. Double-checking that they are still onboard. Tiny sparkles of sweat gather on the woman with the pink-and-blue hair’s forehead, and I realize it is true what they say.

  Men sweat. Women glow.

  There’s definitely a radiance about her, but it’s caused by something beyond her looks. There’s this energy she seems to exude. Something different. Like there’s more to her story. And I don’t even know her name. Here I was giving Damien crap, and I didn’t bother to even ask her for her name—

  Damien snaps me out of my thoughts with, “Good luck, retards!”

  “OK, guys.” Ignoring Damien, I tell the group, “On three.”

  Whatever is waiting for us out there might have been waiting for this moment.

  The moment we all decide to abandon ship. The moment we enter their world. The moment we expose ourselves to their game. But then again, that’s already happened.

  The minute we got on this godforsaken bus.

  “One.”

  Chase closes his eyes. Takes several quick breaths as if he’s going to go underwater.

  “Two.”

  Bear takes one deep breath himself. His barrel chest swelling as he gulps in the fetid air around us.

  “Three!”

  I pull on the door handle and nearly trip over the steps on my way down. The ground comes up quick. I land with a thud, kicking up sand in my wake. The spear slips out of my hand.

  Great!

  Adding to the symphony of crickets outside, I hear everyone stumble, and spill out all around me. This is going a lot clumsier than I had thought. At least we have some semblance of cover within the tall grass surrounding the bus.

  There’s a blur of motion. I feel arms and legs everywhere, hitting me in the face, the ribs, my backside. I taste grass and dirt. Our exit from the bus unfolds more like an end-zone tackle than a smooth escape.

  Someone yells out, “Holy shit!”

  There’s a grunt.

  Someone lands on me and knocks the wind out of me.

  Thankfully that someone is light. And they smell kind of . . . pleasant?

  Well, anything right now is better than the smell of piss and panic.

  I roll over, we meet face-to-face—the woman with the pink-and-blue hair. Time stops. I feel her panicked breath brush against my skin. Her hair spills around her cheeks.

  For a millisecond, I have a random thought: Her weight feels good on me.

  Haven’t been this close to a woman in a while.

  What a stupid thought in the middle of—

  The crickets surrounding us stop chirping.

  I get this sensation in my gut, and it’s not my libido stirring.

  It’s dread.

  In a flash, a word escapes me: “Move!” I roll her off me just as a volley of arrows showers the bus door.

  Someone screams. I think it’s Chase.

  No—it’s not a scream, it’s a high-pitched whooping. A bizarre cheering of excitement. Like a hunting party thrilled that they’re close to catching their prey.

  It’s that war cry again.

  “Everyone! Under the bus!” I shout. As I shift my body around, my leg kicks something—the spear. I grab it and wriggle my way under the bus. I glance to either side and catch Bear, Chase, and the woman with the pink-and-blue hair crawling up next to m
e. We’re all panting, breathless. A mixture of terror and adrenaline coursing through our bodies. The full moon above, along with the eerie red glow, casts just enough light on everyone’s faces that I can still discern who’s who.

  “Now what?” Bear asks me, catching his breath.

  Yeah, Rodney.

  Now what?

  Before I can think, let alone answer, someone peers under the bus and lets out this unearthly wail—the earsplitting sound of someone or something either in a lot of pain . . . or about to inflict pain themselves. I feel every single hair on my body stand on end.

  “What the fuck!” Chase squeals.

  The red haze outlines the figure in enough detail for me to make out a muscular man with the ripped physique of a CrossFit athlete. His screaming subsides, but his mouth still hangs open. Serrated, bright-white teeth glimmer under the moonlight like a row of iridescent candles. His eyes ignite; two hot coals burning bright shades of orange, yellow, and red.

  His natural display of supernatural special effects sends a quiver of fear through my stomach. My body locks up. I’m overcome with panic.

  The gasps and moans tell me that fear is overwhelming all of us.

  The man’s fiery eyes twitch erratically as he studies the group. His gaze hungry, sizing up each one of us as if we are entrée choices in a buffet line and he isn’t sure where to start. He abruptly lets out another horrifying, deafening screech, and brandishes some sort of primitive hammer.

  But before he can strike, the will to live exceeds my fear, and I raise my spear and drive it into his chest. His mouth opens impossibly wide as he lets out a shriek that could crack glass. Blood sprays my face, gets into my eyes. It smells like rotten meat.

  Smells putrid.

  Spoiled.

  Dead.

  He shrinks away, taking the spear with him, hands clutching it futilely. He staggers backward, trips and lands flat on his back. He shudders for a few seconds and then stops moving altogether. The spear sticks up from his body like a morbid flagpole.

  “Who was that?” Chase shouts.

  I look at Chase, then at the body, then at Chase again. Between panicked breaths, I say, “No . . . idea.” As I wipe the blood from my face, another war cry erupts in the distance. “But clearly he’s got friends.”

  Bear pushes past us, toward the dead man.

  “What are you doing?” the woman with the pink-and-blue hair asks. There’s a tremble in her tone that we all share.

  Bear tells her to hush. Reaches for something. Lifts up the man’s weapon. From what we know, it’s a stick with a rock tied to the end of it. As he crawls back, he says, “It’s some sort of . . . tomahawk.”

  “Seriously! What’s going on?” Chase asks.

  “Isn’t it obvious?” I ask. “We’re being hunted.”

  Chapter 7—One of You

  I motion for everyone to come close. They do, writhing together into a tight bundle. There’s very little clearance with the bus above our heads, but at least that leaves us with only four distinct directions we must monitor for movement.

  “What do you mean we’re being hunted?” Chase asks me as he brushes his forearm across his face, wiping away the sweat that’s accumulated within the last few moments.

  “I mean, we’re being hunted.”

  Bear then asks Chase, “Did you miss that asshole’s monologue back on the bus?”

  “Of course not!” Chase snarls, his teeth appearing a pinkish-white under the ambient glow. “Was I having a panic attack? Sure was. Difficult to focus on someone’s speech when you’re too busy freaking out about being strapped to a goddamn seat—”

  “Shut up, already!” The woman with the pink-and-blue hair covers Chase’s mouth with her hand. Looking to me, she asks, “So why this game? What’s the point?”

  “For fun? For shits and giggles? For money? Who knows?” I say. “All that matters is we’re going to find a way out of this.”

  A flare goes off to the east, racing upward into the sky, sparkling brighter as it climbs, then it sails downward, fading behind the wall of trees.

  Chase swats the woman’s hand away. “What was that?”

  “That’s where they want us to go,” I answer as the bitter taste of stomach acid—a result of the roiling dread in my stomach—stings the back of my throat.

  “And how do you know that?” Chase asks.

  “You really didn’t listen, did you?” Bear shakes his head.

  “OK, no! I didn’t!”

  “I know that because that’s what Jim mentioned,” I explain. “He said a flare would mark the safe zone.”

  “But why direct us to a safe zone?” the woman asks.

  “Because they don’t want us to just sit on the bus and get picked off. They want us to play.” I take a deep breath, then add, “Wouldn’t be much of a game if we just sat around and waited to die, now would it?”

  “No, it wouldn’t,” she answers.

  Bear pounds the tomahawk into the ground and says, “Guess we’ll just have to change the game.”

  “Oh great. Beautiful.” Chase wipes the sweat off his face again, this time with his entire hand. It does little to dry him. “So basically what you guys are suggesting is that we follow the light? Go where they want us to go?”

  I nod. “In the direction I initially said we should go. Toward that bank of trees to the east.”

  “So, what? So that they can jump us?” Chase asks.

  “They’ve already jumped us, dumbass!” the woman with the pink-and-blue hair snaps.

  Another war cry—this one closer.

  “OK, enough planning,” I say. “Let’s get moving—”

  “Oh, no-no-no-no-no! I’m not going out there. Screw that!” Chase worms away from us. “I’m getting back on the bus, that’s what I’m doing. I don’t care if I have to wait until morning, I’m not—”

  Another war cry cuts through the night.

  This cry is only several feet away from us.

  Bear rolls his massive body toward Chase, wraps one arm around him then puts a single finger on Chase’s lips, gesturing for him to shut up.

  A patch of the tall grass in front of us stirs. Another one of those men rises, like a prairie dog emerging from its hole. He approaches the fallen body of his comrade, places his hand on the spear, and with one swift motion, pulls it out. Raising it above his head, he cries out.

  “MWAHHHH!” he roars. “MWAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

  It’s a booming call. One that makes my skin crawl. It’s an exclamation of anger, furor, and sadness. Well, it’s hard to say for sure how many layered emotions there are bundled into the man’s unearthly shrieks.

  I can hear Chase’s muffled cries, and the mixed breaths of fear from everyone else, as we watch the man pump the spear in the air. Under the glint of the moonlight and the blanketing red haze surrounding us, his skin appears pinkish-gray. Ashen like that of a corpse. He’s bald except for a thick tangle of hair running down the center of the crown of his scalp. Several feathers protrude from behind his head. He’s either dressed like a Native American as part of this sick hunting game. Or he really is one.

  His eyes suddenly flicker to life as if sparklers were set off inside his irises. They alternate shades of red and orange and yellow. He bellows out another war cry, exposing rows of jagged, luminescent teeth—

  He stops screaming. Head snapping in our direction.

  My first thought: he sees us, huddled together under the bus chassis, shrouded by the shadows.

  Wait.

  It’s not us he’s looking at.

  He’s looking inside the bus.

  Aaron, Liza, and Damien must’ve seen him, too, because we hear a flurry of footsteps and muted conversations right above our heads. This is followed by Aaron shouting, “Move, move, move,” and, “Get over there,” followed by, “Get down, get down, get down.”

  But it’s not like they’re on a cruise ship.

  They’re trapped on a bus.

  There aren’t
many places to go or hide.

  The hunter leaps with superhuman strength onto the roof of the bus. We roll onto our backs, listening intently. The metal roof groans with each of the hunter’s steps.

  Aaron belts out more commands. More of the same. But there’s nowhere to go. They’re trapped. Mice in a cage. Yet we hear them move about. Footfalls thumping against the floor of the bus as they try in vain to find that safe spot—

  Glass shatters.

  Someone screams.

  “No, no, no, noooooooo!” Aaron shouts. “Oh God, please! Please!”

  Chase struggles to breathe, air whistling as it escapes between Bear’s fingers. Bear’s massive hand nearly covers Chase’s entire face, suppressing his protests rather efficiently.

  “Shhhh!” Bear says.

  “PLEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAASE!” Aaron pleads.

  This is followed by a loud gurgling sound.

  Like someone vomiting.

  Or being cut open.

  Our gazes fixed on the underside of the bus, we trace the sounds of footsteps with our eyes. Hefty steps that make their way toward the back of the bus. Toward Damien or Liza.

  “We should leave,” I whisper to the others. “Now. While that man—that thing—is distracted.”

  “You mean leave them behind?” the woman with the pink-and-blue hair asks.

  “They wanted to stay, remember?” I slide out of from under the bus, into the sea of grass ahead. Keeping low to the ground, I turn back to them and signal for them to follow. “Come on. Let’s go!”

  There’s a moment of hesitation. Then everyone files out.

  “Stay close,” I tell them.

  “What now?” Chase asks.

  I point east. “Now we make our way to those trees.”

  “That’s a long way to crawl, man,” Chase says. “Those trees are like a mile away.”

  “Who said we’re going to crawl the whole way?”

  Bear shoots me a look.

  “First we crawl. Then we run,” I say this with such confidence, I surprise myself. Maybe all those years managing shitty people for my shitty boss actually taught me something about being a leader.