The Death Wish Game

by Jonathan Chateau

  “More like receptive.”

  “That’s a pretty way to put it,” Chase says under his breath.

  “We picked up on the energies of those who’ve passed and could channel them. Kind of like spiritual conduits, or as Casey used to call us, human radios.” Kylie pauses, her gaze shifting between Chase and me. The muscles in her jaw tense as she goes on. “We provided the window and sometimes the microphone from their world back to ours.”

  “Umm . . . what does that even mean?” Chase asks.

  “Chase!” I snap.

  “What, Rod? It’s an honest question.”

  “What are you? A cop?” My hands curl into fists.

  “I’m just trying to understand, OK? This whole night has been a lot to digest,” Chase says. “I mean we’re being stalked by zombie hunters in a backwoods theme park overseen by a sadist. And now we find out that one of us is some sort of . . . clairvoyant?”

  “I get it.” I’m close to punching him. “But back off a little bit, all right?”

  Chase eyes my fists. Nods as he backs down.

  “Look, guys,” Kylie says, “I get it, too. I know it’s a lot to take in. And trust me . . . it’s not something Casey or I asked to be born with, but we were. We had that ability. We could feel the presence of those who’d passed on and sometimes they would inhabit our bodies—if only for a minute, just to get a taste of our world again.” Her gaze trails down to the floor, and a lock of her pink-and-blue hair spills across her brow. My hand twitches as I almost reach out to brush it aside, but I restrain myself.

  The heck?

  Why was I going to do that?

  Why do I feel this connection with a woman I’ve known only a few hours?

  Maybe it’s just the stress of it all.

  Some variant of Stockholm syndrome perhaps?

  Kylie continues. “Our father really didn’t appreciate this . . . gift. He called us ‘little witches.’ Told us that’s why Mom left. She left because we were freaks.” Her eyes glisten as she tears up. “And after many years of abuse and constant feelings of guilt, Casey finally broke. Took her life. Filled the bathtub, plugged in a toaster, and electrocuted herself.” As the tears fall, her dark mascara runs. She bows her head and shakes it from side to side, sniffling as she whispers. “She got the idea from a movie.” She lifts her head. “She was ten.”

  “Oh my God,” I say. “I’m sorry.”

  “Losing someone you love, kind of does a number on you, you know? Never got over that. Probably never will.” Kylie holds up her wrists, palms out. “And one day I’d had enough. Missed my sister too much. Hated myself for being a weirdo. Felt it was time to join her. So, I cut myself, but I didn’t get too far. My roommate just happened to get home early from work. Saved me. Woo-hoo. Lucky me.” She gets so close to Chase, it seems as though she’s going to bite off his nose. “So . . . there you go. I tried to kill myself. Shocker.”

  Chase says nothing, his mouth slung open as if he suddenly lost all ability to speak.

  “And yes, after a lifetime of pursuing affectionless relationships from non-committal pussies like you, I’m going to stick with Rodney because he and Bear have been the only men who haven’t abandoned me when I needed them most.” She laughs to herself. “Imagine that. Two strangers I met on a bus have been there for me more than any other man in my life.”

  Chase gulps. In a quivering tone, he asks, “Where-where-where is Bear?”

  Kylie cocks her head to the side, somewhat bewildered. Studies him. It’s as if Chase didn’t hear a word she said.

  “He didn’t make it,” I say.

  Chase then asks Kylie, “Why didn’t you mention that when you first saw me?”

  “Because you never bothered to ask, you selfish jerk!” Kylie turns to me. “I’m ready to go when you are—”

  “You’re totally right, Kylie,” Chase says.

  Kylie looks back at him. “What?”

  Chase slumps onto the couch, deflated. He stares at the floor as he says, “I’m a selfish jerk.” He looks up at us as he goes on. “I’m also a stockbroker—was a stockbroker. Got heavy into day trading. Figured out a ‘foolproof’ system that worked for a while. Bought shit tons of stocks with other peoples’ money, then unloaded them minutes later.” He laughs to himself, gaze trailing back down to the ground. “It’s amazing what you can earn when your stock goes up just a few cents—pennies! Fucking pennies!”

  Chase puts his head in his hands, and I glance over at Kylie. We share a moment, and I detect that she’s as curious as I am about what’s led the man here.

  “Other peoples’ pennies! And the easier the money came, the bigger my head got,” Chase says as he lifts up his head. “I became addicted to the high of picking the right stocks. The high of winning. And the more money I made, the more my ego grew. And the more addicted I got, the more I pushed everyone away. I just wanted that high—that feeling of winning—to never go away. I would day trade in my sleep, during sex, while I was taking a shit. I literally could not stop thinking about the money. About the movement of pennies. About what stock I could snag at 9:30 a.m. the next day.” He makes a gesture with his hands simulating an explosion. “Then it all blew up in my face. The market crashed. My system crumbled. And I lost everything. I lost my clients’ money, then my own, then my job, and naturally anyone I had remotely cared about in my life I had already pushed away.” He shrugs. “So I did what any irrational, desperate man would do.”

  I take a deep breath, knowing what’s coming next.

  “I tried to jump off a building. The very building I worked in.” Tears form in Chase’s eyes now. He looks at Kylie as he says, “I tried to kill myself for the very reasons you just spelled out.”

  Kylie says nothing. Crosses her arms again.

  “I was disgusted with who I’d become. Who apparently I still am.” He wipes away the tears quickly, not wanting to cry. “I’m really sorry for being that guy.”

  Kylie looks away.

  “The only reason I didn’t jump that day,” Chase says as he dries off his eyes, “is because an old man with the wrinkled skin of a hundred-year-old prune showed up. He talked me out of jumping. Told me to start a new life. Said if I got down off the ledge and went to the bus station downtown there’d be a bus waiting for me. That it would lead me to my greater purpose.” Eyes free of tears, he glances back up at us. “I thought that was a load of horseshit and told him to get lost until he said that he knew why I was going to kill myself. And he detailed how I was feeling right down to the last goddamn tear.”

  I feel my skin crawl as I put it together.

  The shaman.

  Chase points his thumb toward his chest and raises his voice a little as he continues. “And I never told anyone this shit! You guys are the first people to know.”

  “So how did he figure out your motivations for wanting to kill yourself?” Kylie asks.

  Chase shrugs. “No clue. The moment I took my eyes off him to get down from the ledge, he vanished.” He claps his hands together to drive the point home. “Poof! Old fart moved faster than a fucking ninja.”

  “So why’d you still go to the bus station?” I ask. “Why not just move on with life?”

  “What life?” Chase snaps, tears brimming again. “I lost everything thanks to my own pride.” He laughs at himself. “Figured if anyone knew that much about me and gave me some sort of direction—albeit random—it must’ve been a sign.” He shakes. “Too bad it turned out to be a trick to get me into this trap.”

  “Or maybe it was a wake-up call in disguise,” I say. “Maybe all of us needed tonight to see just how precious life is.”

  Chase wipes the tears away. “And maybe you should work for Hallmark.”

  “I’m not saying that we asked for this, Chase.”

  “Yeah, well maybe the old fart was right. Maybe we did ask for this.”

  The RV falls silent for a moment. I peek outside and find that Mac has vanished. There’s no sign of the other hunters,
either.

  “Well, speaking of Mac,” I say, breaking the silence. “He’s gone. Probably a sign that we should get moving.” Then to Chase, “So are you coming?”

  Chase looks up at me, eyes red and puffy. A nice welt stretches across his face courtesy of Kylie’s bitch slap—one he deserved for sure. “Yeah, let’s do it. Screw it.”

  “At least now we’ve got a real weapon. One that won’t disintegrate,” I say as I pick up the shotgun. “And speaking of weapons, let’s search the trailer for anything else we can use.”

  We spend the next few minutes ransacking the place, but only come up with six shotgun shells and two kitchen knives. Mac lived like a Spartan. Not much in the way of material possessions. Not even enough to cover his most basic needs, aside from bottled water and cans of sardines. It’s no wonder he was going crazy, he was hiding out in an old trailer in the middle of nowhere, living off a diet of Marlboros and canned fish.

  I throw open the front door and take a deep breath, not knowing what’s ahead. Not knowing if leaving the RV is a mistake, but something about this park just doesn’t feel safe. Not to mention feeling the constant anxiety of wondering if, at any moment, the place will go up in one big mushroom cloud.

  I glance over my shoulder. Chase is clutching a butter knife in his hand. Kylie wields a long, sharp steak knife. The dried makeup smeared across her face now resembling a sort of war paint.

  I hope I’m not leading us right into certain death.

  Chapter 17—Jump Right In

  Outside it’s dead quiet. Still no sign of Mac, Damien, or the rest of the hunting party. Though I’m sure they’re watching. I wish their eyes would glow all the time, that way we would be able to see them coming. We cut through the park and push forward, continuing east. Up ahead, two light poles stream amber light down onto the outer edge of the camp. Beyond that lies the supposed field of the dead. I feel a little better knowing that all of us are armed this time around. Although my preference for weapons would’ve been more than kitchen utensils and only a handful of shotgun shells.

  We pass under the warm yellow of the xenon bulbs above us, leaving the presumed safe border of the camp. It takes a moment for my eyes to once again adjust to the moonlight above as well as that ever-present red smog. I feel my stomach churn as we make our way deep into the forest. There’s this tingling dread in my gut as if we’re about to take a high dive, blindfolded, into a pool. No telling what to expect when we land.

  Will the pool be empty? Or will a hundred hands be waiting to catch us and tear us apart?

  The only certainty is uncertainty.

  “Keep moving,” I tell Kylie and Chase, but I say this to myself as well. Don’t want to let fear get the best of me or slow me down. Besides, it’s a little late for that. To let panic take over means death, and I’m not about to give these maniacs the pleasure.

  We run for a while, cutting through the thick foliage as fast as our legs, lungs, and hearts will allow. I’m starting to wonder where this field is when we spot a break in the forest up ahead. We hop through the last wall of bushes and shrubs and come upon a vast meadow. The celestial bodies above rain down milky white light, uninterrupted by the dense canopies of cypress, magnolia, and oak that comprise most the wooded areas around here.

  The only trees in the middle of the field ahead are leafless, with twisting branches that reach up into the night sky like giant, skeletal hands. The ground is covered in a sea of three-foot-tall grass, glowing as if strands of red rope-lights were strewn about at our feet. Just above the blades of grass, a thousand flickering lights come to life, each one alternating colors of yellow and white.

  My first thought is that since we made our way to the plot of the Kenneh’wah’s former village, a mob of very pissed-off hunters has just awoken to defend it. But I quickly realize that these aren’t the eyes of the tribe. They’re—

  “Fireflies?” Chase says in a hoarse whisper.

  “Yeah,” Kylie whispers back. “And they kind of just showed up out of nowhere and for no reason.”

  “Maybe we disturbed them,” Chase says.

  “You might actually be right.” I glance at Chase, then Kylie. “I bet it’s a signal to the Kenneh’wah.”

  “A signal?” she asks, staring out at the field, at the swarming cloud of brilliant, floating stars. “How do you know that?”

  “Just a guess.” I feel my stomach churn once more as I say, “Though something tells me that they know we’re here.”

  Chase curses and stomps his foot. “I already regret not staying in the RV!”

  Behind us, from the belly of the forest—the very direction we just came from—a loud bang, followed by the sound of several explosions. We drop to the ground as a wave of hot air rushes over our bodies. I think Kylie screamed, but the deafening sound momentarily drowns out everything. We roll onto our backs in time to see a great mushroom cloud swirl upward into the sky. Its source?

  West.

  Where the RV park is . . .

  Or was.

  Mac was right. The RV park was rigged after all. I get a slight sense of peace knowing that I made the right decision getting us out of there. But that peace is quickly replaced by the reality that we are still not free yet. Seems Baxter is very much in tune with what goes on in his arena of death here.

  We watch in silence as the curling ball of fire and smoke unravels into the night.

  “OK, so maybe that crazy prick was telling the truth after all,” Chase says. From the corner of my eye, I catch him glance at me. “Thanks.”

  “Thank me when we’re all drinking mojitos on South Beach.”

  We get to our feet. Up ahead the fireflies continue their creepy dance, twirling and zigzagging haphazardly over the field. A thought pops into my brain—under different circumstances this would be a truly spectacular sight. One to enjoy while sitting on the hood of a car, a bottle of wine on my left, and my woman on my right…

  A flare rockets up in the sky just beyond the field. East.

  “My God,” Kylie says with a gasp. “It’s like Baxter is watching our every move.” I turn in time to see the twinkle of the dying flare reflected in her eyes as her gaze follows it. She snaps her head in my direction, catches me staring at her. “What?”

  Clearing my throat, I answer her with, “Nothing. I just had a thought.”

  That, under different circumstances, I would totally ask you out on a date.

  That I would be so lucky to have someone as courageous, stunning and strong as you by my side…

  Gazing at fireflies dancing above the tall grass as we sip wine—

  Shaking off those random, stupid thoughts, I tell her the next thing that comes to mind: “Baxter wants to see how far we’ll get.” Her eyes meet mine. “He’s probably hunkered down somewhere, staring at a dozen monitors. Jerking off. Somewhat titillated at the possibility that we might actually make to the finish line.”

  Chase scoffs. “If there is one.”

  “I think there is,” I say. “And we’re going to find it here real soon.”

  “But what makes you so sure?” Kylie asks me.

  “Because we’ve made it this far.” I glance out into the field, gripping my shotgun as if it’s my best friend right now—because it is—and I turn back to them. “You guys ready?”

  They both nod.

  “I’ll lead. Stay close to me. Kylie, you watch our sides. Chase, you take the rear.”

  “Oh sure. Make the guy with the butter knife the caboose!” Chase whines, holding up the knife. “Come one, man. I’m sure you’ve seen enough movies to know the last one in line is the first one to get picked off.”

  “I don’t think the Kenneh’wah have watched enough movies to know that.”

  “Yeah, but I’m sure Damien has.”

  Without further discussion, I pat his shoulder and say, “There’s only three of us left. So please cover the rear.”

  “Fine!” he says in a huff.

  “Kylie, you keep one hand o
n my shoulder. Chase, you keep a hand on Kylie’s shoulder. This way, we stay close and avoid getting split up. We’re going to move quick, but steady.”

  “Aaaaaand why don’t we just haul ass?” Chase asks.

  “I don’t know about you guys, but between the adrenaline, the running, and the fighting, I’m beyond wiped. Which is a bit of an understatement. Not to mention we haven’t eaten.” I glance toward the field, at the swirling fireflies, and then turn back to the group. “We need to conserve as much energy as we can in case we get ambushed out there.”

  “And what if they show up and just start shooting arrows at us?” Kylie asks.

  “Well . . . then we haul ass.”

  “Oh, great plan,” Chase says as he rolls his head backward.

  “It’s the only one I’ve got.” I take another deep breath as if I’m going to jump out of an airplane, and say, “Let’s go.”

  Chapter 18—The SWAT Drill

  We hop over a small bank of shrubs and enter the field. The three of us look as though we’re doing some sort of a bizarre SWAT drill. I’m leading. Kylie’s behind me, hand clenching my shoulder tight. Chase is hopefully keeping at least one hand on her. My shotgun is at eye level. The stock is pressed tight against my shoulder. The front sight alternating between two o’clock and ten o’clock. With only six shots, I’ll have to make them count.

  The silence is almost deafening. Nothing stirs, nothing moves save for the swirling cloud of harmless luminescent bugs flying around us and the gentle sway of the tall grass in the thick humid air. Between the moon, stars and the red fog, it’s almost so bright out you’d think it was dawn.

  Wish it was.

  We press on. Walking through this grass is like wading through water. The field is the length of maybe two football fields. Surprisingly we’re already almost halfway through it.

  The further across the field we get, the more I start to worry.

  This is too easy.

  It’s too quiet.

  No war cries.

  No mutterings of “Chek-tah.”

  Just the crunching of grass in our wake and the sounds of our own rapid breathing.