The Death Wish Game

by Jonathan Chateau

  Hopefully not a shitty leader.

  “Now,” I say, feeling my own breathing pick up. Adrenaline starting to flow. I hope I’m not making a mistake, but I continue anyway. “When I tell you guys to run, you run! Got it?”

  Everyone nods.

  “OK, let’s go.”

  We make our way into the thick grass using the moon as a guide. The red glow on the ground brightens.

  “What’s with the special effects?” Chase asks, his voice barely a whisper.

  “The what?” Bear asks.

  “The red lights?”

  “I don’t know,” Bear says. “Want to go back and ask?”

  “Not really.”

  “Then shut up and keep moving.”

  “My sentiments exactly,” the woman says.

  We crawl away from the bus as quickly as possible. Behind us, we hear Damien crying out, not in pain.

  But in protest.

  “I’m one of you, you stupid dipshits!” His voice rises to a pitch that could probably be heard from miles around. “What are you doing? Aren’t you listening? I’m one of you!”

  The urge to peek above the grass and look back at the bus is tempting, but my gut screams at me to keep moving, which is exactly what I tell everyone to do.

  “I’M ONE OF YOU!” Damien’s pleas are so loud, they cover any noises we’re making. We pick up the pace.

  “I’M ONE OF YOU!”

  We continue slinking our way through the ocean of grass and weeds and wet patches of ground. As Damien’s cries fade behind us, I figure this is as good a time as any . . .

  To make a run for it.

  “OK, guys!” I jump to my feet. “Run!”

  “What?” Chase asks.

  Bear clutches Chase by the shirt. “He said run!”

  Everyone hops up and makes for the wall of trees.

  Damien stops shouting.

  A cold, dead silence follows.

  A vacuum of sound.

  Even the crickets remain quiet.

  There’s just the noise of the four of us gasping, wheezing, and crushing grass in our wake as we haul ass. But the steady thump-thump-thump of our feet hitting the ground is soon drowned out by the encroaching war cries . . .

  Of more hunters on the way.

  Chapter 8—The Name Game

  We’re running faster than I’ve ever run in my life. Difficult to tell if we’re being followed. I can’t distinguish the racket we’re making from the distant sounds of the hunters’ cries from somewhere around us.

  My lungs take in the damp, humid air. The fiery burn of lactic acid stings the insides of my calves and hamstrings. I half expect at any point that one of us is going to take an arrow or spear to the back. This expectation sends a spur of dread that prickles down my spine.

  However, instead of any of us falling prey to primitive weapons, we safely make it to the wall of trees. Instinctively all of us dive down to the ground as if going for a touchdown. As if we’ve reached some sort of safety zone.

  After a moment’s rest, everyone slowly sits up, chests heaving, gasping for air. My heart feels as though it’s about to explode. Lungs gasping desperately for precious oxygen. The effects of my sympathetic nervous system piloting my body on overdrive. Blood is pumping so violently through my body, I can feel my heartbeat in my ears.

  “We . . . we made it!” Chase says. “We freaking made it!”

  “Made it?” the woman with the pink-and-blue hair asks, her shoulders rising and falling with each breath. “We’re still in the middle of nowhere!”

  Several bright, yellow flares sail through the air, arcing downward. They land on the roof of the bus.

  “Look!” Bear is breathing so hard he can barely get the words out. “More . . . flares.”

  More flares?

  Wait.

  No.

  Those aren’t flares.

  They’re arrows

  Flaming arrows to be exact. Dozens more of them rain down on the bus. Their fire-tipped ends embedding themselves into nearly every square foot of the bus’s exterior. Within a matter of seconds, the entire vehicle is ablaze.

  “Well, thank God we didn’t stay there!” Chase says, and I can’t help but shoot him a dirty look.

  “Come on,” I say, getting to my feet. “We got to keep going.”

  “Where?” Chase throws up his arms.

  “Toward that first flare. Are you deaf?”

  “No, I’m just not dumb.” Chase clears his throat as if to make a point. “I’m still not 100 percent convinced that this flare bullshit is really going to end all that well for us.”

  “All right. That’s it.” Bear hops to his feet, picks Chase off the ground and pins him to a tree. “I’m a little sick of your attitude—”

  “Let go!”

  “And that sickness is amplified by the fact that you’re a city boy.” Bear leans in close. “That’s two strikes against you.”

  “You’re hurting me!”

  “If I hurt you, you wouldn’t be talking.” Bear lightly smacks Chase’s cheek. “Now I don’t know about you, but I’m going to make it out of this alive. I didn’t get out of prison only to turn around and die in the middle of a goddamn field!” Bear shakes him. “Now pull that stick from out your ass and calm down, capiche?”

  Chase is motionless. Mouth wide open, he looks like he wants to scream but doesn’t. Instead, he squeaks out, “Capiche.”

  Bear releases Chase, who drops to the ground like a bag of bricks.

  “Look . . .” Chase rubs his neck, straightens his collar as he gets to his feet. “I’m just a little freaked out, OK?”

  “A little freaked?” Bear asks.

  Chase dusts himself off. “OK, so scared shitless is more accurate!”

  Ignoring Chase’s antics, the woman with the pink-and-blue hair asks Bear, “So what’d you go to prison for?”

  Bear pauses. Chooses his words carefully. “Being stupid.”

  “Oh, because smart people end up in prison,” she says.

  Bear shoots her a cross look.

  She gets to her feet. “No, really. What’d you do?”

  “I’ll tell you if you tell us your name.”

  “I don’t like my name.”

  “I don’t like what I did,” Bear answers.

  “Which was?” she presses.

  “I helped commit a robbery. Things went south. An innocent woman got shot.” Bear glances at the ground briefly, then back to her. “That's all you need to know."

  The woman studies him as if trying to get a read on him, but Bear’s about as expressive as a rock. Finally, she says, “My name’s Kylie.”

  “Ha!” Chase chuckles to himself. “I thought you were going to say something like Gertrude, Maribel, or Betty Anne. Kylie’s not such a bad name.”

  “It’s my mother’s name.” Kylie’s eyes burn into him. It’s a piercing gaze that could cut glass. I’m glad I’m not on the receiving end. Chase shrinks.

  “What’s so bad about that?” Bear asks.

  “My mother was a bitch,” she says. “Couldn’t really handle the fact that I was . . . different than my brothers and sisters.”

  “Different?”

  Kylie closes her eyes, seemingly suppressing some nuclear emotion going off inside her. “Let’s save the therapy session for later, OK, guys? You know my name. Congratulations.” She reopens her eyes and nods back toward the burning bus. “Now we should get our asses moving. Those freaks are not that far behind us.”

  “That’s assuming they know we left,” Chase adds.

  “Well then let’s assume that,” I say.

  It’s as if they heard our conversation because another flare flies upward to the east. It brightens the sky momentarily like a falling star only at close range. A shroud of white light encircles it as it reaches its zenith, then arcs downward.

  “You guys think they can hear us or something?” Kylie asks.

  “Maybe. Maybe not.” As I watch the flare disappear deep in
to the forest, it hits me. “Or maybe they’ve been taking attendance.”

  “What do you mean?” Kylie asks.

  “Maybe they’ve kept track of who left the bus, and they know that four passengers are missing,” I say, feeling the dread build up inside me once more. “This is their game after all. It only makes sense that they would’ve shot the flares off. They wouldn’t have done that if they knew we were all slaughtered back on the bus.”

  “They could’ve just assumed and shot the flare off anyway,” Kylie says.

  “They could’ve, but I doubt it,” I tell her this though I’m not even sure how I’m so confident of this myself.

  Something is watching us.

  Something is tracking our movements.

  Maybe it’s the hunters. Or maybe it’s someone else.

  “So, what should we do?” Bear asks as he peers off in the direction of the flare. “Do you think we should—”

  “Wait-wait-wait a second!” Chase waves his hands in the air, cuts between us. “Why are you guys asking him? Who nominated Rodney team captain?”

  “Last I checked”—Bear leans close to Chase—“if it weren't for him, we would’ve either been skewered or barbecued on that bus. I’ll gladly follow him wherever he goes.” With that, he shoves Chase so hard he nearly knocks him over. “Meantime, if you’ve got a better idea, knock yourself out, amigo. No one’s going to stop you, that’s for sure.”

  Chase straightens his shirt. Lets out a grumble. “Whatever.”

  “Anyway…” Bear clears his throat, then asks me once again, “The plan?”

  “Well, like you said before, we’re going to show them how our version of the game is going to be played.” I watch the last bit of light from the flare fizzle in the distance. “We’re going to keep playing until we win. We’re going to the source of that flare, and we’re going to kick their ass.” I nod. “Now let’s move!”

  Chapter 9—A Surprise Visitor

  The ambient glow permeating the woods gave us more than enough light to avoid running into trees and clusters of shrubbery. The thick mist blankets the ground, brightened by a red light. It’s as if a network of LED lights has been woven into the soil, illuminating every step. There’s no simple explanation for where this light is emanating from, but I’m grateful for it. Without it, we’d be navigating this jungle in nearly pitch-black conditions with only the occasional flash of moonlight breaking between openings in the treetops.

  As we make our way through the dense forest, the tree trunks seem to close in around us as if we’re wading through a crowd of shadows at a rock concert. Twigs and leaves snap under our feet, the soft dirt giving way with each step. The ground is uneven, and one wrong step could reward one of us with a twisted ankle—a serious inconvenience. The pungent smell of smoke coming from the bus permeates the woods, serving as a reminder that our pursuers are still very much on our tails.

  That whoever those men are, they’re no doubt coming after us.

  I glance over my shoulder, making sure that I’m not running by myself. The sound of my own breathing and my legs pounding into the ground with each clumsy step is deafening in and of itself.

  Thankfully the group is keeping up with me.

  Kylie is right at my side. Chase, clearly not the athlete, stumbles clumsily over the terrain. Bear trails us, his hulking frame slowing him down. He’s panting so hard, I worry he might pass out.

  I come to a stop, and everyone hits their brakes. Bear leans over, hands propped on his knees, heaving, gasping for air. He looks up at us, and under the haze of the red mist, I see that he’s sweating profusely. Perhaps more so than the rest of us.

  “I’m an ex-smoker,” he says between wheezing, pained breaths. “But not ex enough.”

  Then again, we’re all gasping for air. Seems that this momentary break is just enough for our nerves and our bodies to catch up with our situation.

  A war cry cuts through the woods like an arrow itself. We all straighten up. Eyes and heads darting everywhere.

  “Jesus, that sounded close!” Chase says as he spins around, scanning for any signs of movement.

  “Yeah, it did,” Kylie says.

  “Shh!” I say, putting a finger to my lips.

  Another war cry—this one even closer.

  “Everybody, get down.” I lower myself to the ground and gesture to the others to do the same. There’s a rotting log a few feet away. We plant ourselves behind it and turn our gaze back toward the bus in the distance. It sparkles like a tiny orange gem.

  “Shouldn’t we be running?” Chase whispers.

  I feel everyone’s eyes on me, no doubt wondering the same thing.

  “Well?”

  I turn to Chase. “Shhhhhhhhhhhh…”

  A deathly stillness follows. Nothing stirs. No bats or birds fly by. There’s no breeze. Heck, even the crickets are quiet.

  “Rodney, seriously,” Chase whispers. “What are we waiting for—?”

  Bear smacks him on the back of the head.

  Chase winces, lowers his head like a scolded toddler, then mutters, “Jerk,” under his breath.

  Silence follows. Feels like an eternity before we hear something. Straight ahead, a twig snaps. A shadow dashes between the trees.

  Oh crap.

  It’s another one of those hunters.

  As he makes his way toward us, I get a glimpse of the hunter’s sculpted frame. Feathers protruding from the top of his head, flopping like an antenna as he hops over fallen trees and tall patches of grass with the effortless agility of a panther. His silhouette outlined by the moon, backlit by the red fog all around. For all we know, he could be the Devil himself.

  And the Devil is coming straight toward us.

  “You think he knows we’re here?” Chase asks, his whisper almost loud enough for the hunter to hear.

  “I don’t know,” I whisper.

  The hunter closes in. The thumping of his footfalls grows louder by the second.

  Bear brings his tomahawk up near his face, clutching it tightly. I wish I still had a weapon myself. All I have is the tiny blade on my pocket knife.

  The footfalls draw near. The hunters are almost upon us when he disappears behind a cluster of tall pines.

  Silence engulfs the night once more.

  For a moment, the only noises I hear are the sounds of everyone’s breathing. Fear in each exhalation. Then we hear more footsteps from off in the distance.

  “Jeeeee-sus,” Chase says. “Sounds like there’s a herd of those things headed our way.” He starts to get up, but I yank him back down. He turns to me, eyes milky white and full of dread.

  “Stay. Put,” I tell Chase, bringing my face close to his. Chase nods. Something tells me he must’ve been a handful as a kid.

  Just a wild guess.

  The second set of footfalls grows louder. Clumsier. More of a drunken stagger than the agile approach of a seasoned predator. Definitely not as coordinated and deft as the other hunter who is headed our way. This one trips several times as he makes his way toward us, but as he draws closer, a swath of moonlight rains down on his face—

  Or her face, rather.

  This is not just some random female hunter.

  It’s Liza.

  And somehow, she escaped the bus.

  Alive?

  Chapter 10—He’s Coming for You

  “O Lord, please!” Liza howls out as she stumbles through the woods. “Please, help me. Give me your favor, o Lord!”

  Liza is nearing the point where one of those hunters disappeared.

  Bear smacks my arm. “What do you want to do?”

  I turn to him. “I want to help her.”

  All of us jump to our feet, yell out, “Liza!”

  Liza looks in our direction.

  “Over here!” We shout this knowing full well any unseen attackers will know our position, but we can’t leave her out here to die.

  “Aw, Jesus. Thank you, Lord!” she says as she heads right at us.

&n
bsp; The hunter who disappeared before Liza arrived emerges out of nowhere. He swings a tomahawk right into her stomach. She doubles over, lets out a horrified yelp.

  Bear charges the hunter, who turns to face him just as Bear cracks him across the face with his own commandeered tomahawk. There’s a loud thwap! The hunter drops like a cinder block. Bear follows through with a kick to the face, knocking the hunter backward onto the ground.

  I rush to Liza’s side. “You OK?”

  “I’m . . .” She struggles to speak. “I’m . . . all right.”

  I kneel next to her. She’s bleeding from the mouth. There’s blood all over her blouse . . . and something protruding from her side.

  The broken end of what appears to be an arrow.

  “Oh my God,” Kylie gasps, covering her mouth with her hands in shock.

  “It’s . . . all right.” Liza’s speech is sloppy. She’s got the slur of a drunk. “I’m gonna be . . . all right.”

  Liza faints, nearly falls, but Kylie and I grab her in time. We sit her down next to a tree, resting her back against the tree trunk. Her eyes roll forward as she comes to.

  “We’re going to get you out of here, OK?” I say.

  Liza nods half-heartedly.

  “Yeah, Liza, we promise—” Bear barely gets the words out as he cries out in pain.

  The hunter is standing behind him, tomahawk in hand.

  Luckily he missed Bear’s head, but he struck his backside instead.

  Bear counters, spinning on his heels. He brings the tomahawk around in a wide arc. Puts all his two hundred-plus pounds into the swing. Connects with the hunter’s jaw, sending him spiraling downward onto his back.

  Bear straddles him. Pins the hunter to the ground with one hand. Raises the tomahawk above his head with the other hand—

  The hunter mumbles something through his bloodied, toothless grin.

  “What’s that, asshole?” Bear says. “Can’t hear you.” He releases his grip enough so that the hunter can speak, yet the words coming out of his mouth are completely foreign.

  “Chek-tah. Chek-tah,” he chants. Hissing out the word as if it were poison to speak. “Chek-taaaaaah!”