Behind us, the men ready their crossbows, the clanging of metal as they load arrows into them grinding against my frayed nerves. Risking a glance behind me, my eyes round when I see headgear settled over their eyes.
Night vision goggles.
Fuckers. Everything about this stupid fucking game is rigged.
“All right, ladies,” Francesca starts. “Let’s go over the rules briefly. You will be given a ten-minute head start. You are required to stay within the maze walls. If caught going outside of them, it will result in immediate death. They will shoot to kill, not shoot to maim. At the end of the maze, there is an open area. If you reach this location, you are immediately deemed safe, and no harm will come to you. If you are still within the maze but have not been shot, and the allotted hour depletes, you are also deemed safe, and no harm will come to you. Is that understood?”
None of us speak, and our lack of protest is answer enough.
“How’s it said from The Hunger Games, may the odds be ever in your favor?” a male cuts in, and it sounds like Xavier.
A round of laughter follows the bad joke, but before my lack of self-control can get me in trouble, he calls out, “Run!”
We take off, sprinting through the woods carefully, wary of traps. Strings will be tightened between two objects at foot level, and if tripped, we’ll be strung up, easy for the picking. Walls of branches are piled high on either side of us, makeshift barriers to confine us in a maze. Not only is it redirecting our focus onto getting out rather than staying hidden, but it’s also meant to disorient us and incite panic.
And fuck, does it work.
I bring myself to a halt and rush behind a trunk, my heart pounding rapidly. The walls of the maze are spread out, allowing plenty of trees in between.
There’s no point in covering my tracks up until this point; it’s from here on out that will matter. I tear through leaves and twigs, searching for a branch. My fingers are already red and stiff from the cold, but I hardly feel it with the adrenaline coursing through my system.
In the dead of night, it takes too long to find a suitable branch with leaves on it, brittle as they are, and even longer to accomplish what I’m doing.
After Jillian’s advice, I racked my brain for all the ways to cover my tracks without having to consistently stop and sweep them away as I run. I settled on fashioning a sweeper to my back, using a belt I stole from the beauty room to keep it in place.
She said gaining distance isn’t as important, but I want to accomplish both. Get as far away as I can and do so without a trace. I suppose one good thing is coming from this, and that’s learning how exactly I’m going to escape when the time comes.
I grab onto the branch with leaves, poise it on my lower back, and use the satin belt to anchor it to me, tying the fabric in several tight knots. And then I start speed-walking, swiveling my head back and forth to both keep from kissing a tree, and ensuring the branch is doing its job.
It's too dark to tell for sure, but it appears as if it is, and that's good enough for me.
So I take off, counting my steps and lifting my branch carefully over the wire when I reach them. My pace is quick but steady, holding on to the belt tightly for extra security with one hand and keeping the other in front of me, preventing me from running into anything nature has to offer.
I dart from one tree to another, keeping myself concealed at all times. Several minutes later, I reach a dead end, and from the corner of my eye, I see a flash of dark orange to my left. Phoebe.
Of course, she doesn’t know how to cover her tracks as she runs. And as dangerous as she is to be around right now, I refuse to keep my mouth shut and allow another woman to fail.
“Phoebe!” I call out, keeping my voice as quiet as possible.
She skids and turns to me, breathing heavily. I can’t see much of her features, but I imagine her face matches mine. Panicked, and eyes dilated with fear.
“Cover your tracks. You’re leading them right to you,” I tell her in a whisper-shout, and then I take off in the opposite direction. I don’t know if she’ll listen, although I do know that it might be too late. She’s led them this far, and to ensure my own survival, I need to get the hell away from her.
The branch dragging behind me is loud, so I force myself to slow, counting my thirty steps and keeping an eye out for any wires. I’m nearly gasping for breath, willing my heart rate to calm. I should’ve put enough distance between the two of us by now.
So, when I turn to see Phoebe running after me, I fucking spazz.
“What are you doing?!” I exclaim, attempting to keep my voice down, only causing it to break from the pitch.
“Please, let me stay with you,” she pleads, no branch in her hands to cover her tracks. She didn’t even bother to try.
“What the fuck is wrong with you, no! You’re going to get me killed,” I snap, chest pumping as my eyes pinball, searching for any movement in the darkness. I'm almost positive our ten-minute head start has passed. They have night vision goggles—we don’t. Which means they could be anywhere.
Her pale hand clutches my arm and pulls me close, her nails digging in. Now that I can see her clearly, she looks crazed.
“Please, I can’t let them do that to me again. Let me come with you, please!”
I try to wrangle my hand from her, but her grip tightens, and she refuses to let go.