‘THE RULES OF THE GAME ARE AS FOLLOWS.’
CHAPTER 17
THE CURATOR
I run. Not for sport. Not for the thrill. For survival. The forest claws at me - branches lashing at my arms, pine needles crackling beneath my feet – it’s too loud. Every step is a betrayal, every sound amplified: my heartbeat, the thud of my footsteps, the far-off click of the towering speakers switching on. Then it comes, the voice, detached and icy, but achingly familiar. The sound slithers down my spine, curling around old memories I’d swore I’d buried. Same voice. Same forest. Different game.
Last time, I had a crossbow. I was the predator. Now I’m prey. I never meant to come back. My legs scream with every step, but I don’t stop. I can’t. I know the stakes. I know what happens when you hesitate. I’ve seen it. And worst of all, I know I’m being watched by somewhere above, somewhere near. The trees lean in like spectators holding their breaths. Their branches stretching out like fingers, too close, too knowing. Behind me – there’s a flicker. A blur. Was it a rabbit? Person?
Shit.
I don’t know anymore. The forest plays tricks, and I’m not sure I’m sane enough to tell the difference.
‘Stella?’ a voice calls out. My feet pound the earth.Sal?I trusted him; maybe that was my first mistake. Sal saved me from the fire, but what if he just whispered escape plans when the cameras weren’t rolling? The forest smells like déjà vu and betrayal; every snapped twig a feeling like punctuation at the end of a lie. I swallow the thought like poison, but it’s already coursing through me. I should have seen it; the script behind the smile. And Charlie, of course. The one person I still believed wasn’t playing. But, what if he was paid to drag me back here because Sal couldn’t? My legs don’t stop, my lungs tear open with every gasp. I dart through the trees like a hunted thing. Because, I am. The ground gives way beneath my feet. Loose soil, slick from last night’s rain, crumbles into the air as I skid – arms flailing, grasping at nothing.
The edge rushes up to me. A jagged drop. For a breathless second, I’m airborne. Weightless. Powerless. Exactly how he wanted me to be.
The wind claws at my clothes. Below, the world drops away – jagged rock faces plunging into a yawning void. One step too far and gravity will do the rest. Mist coils in the valley below, swallowing the forest in a pale hue. From the cliff’s edge, the drop looks endless, as if the earth itself has been torn open.
It looks so peaceful.
Then – an arm. Tight and unyielding it clamps around my waist, dragging me back from the edge. My chest heaves. Every instinct screams:Fight. Run. But then I see his eyes.
Sal.
Not cold. Not masked. No camera smile. Just panic. Just him. He could have let me fall...if that was part of the plan. But he didn’t. His grip tightens, grounding me. Then the forest shifts, and a cold metallic voice slices through the silence.
‘THE RULES OF THE GAME ARE AS FOLLOWS.’ The trees don’t move, but the air does. My breath catches, his eyes flick towards the sound, jaw clenched. Thiswasn’this plan. Because we’re both players, and the game has begun.
‘PREY: You are one of four. You must hide, outlast and endure. Remain unseen until the final bell, and you shall leave the game. Failure to do so, and you will be eliminated. PREDATORS: You are one of ten. One mission: Eliminate one prey. If you fail to eliminate prey before time runs out, you will be eliminated.’
My breath catches in my throat. ‘Sal?’ I whisper. He doesn’t answer right away, just watches the trees like they might move. ‘Four prey. Ten predators.’ I do the math aloud. ‘That means six of them are going to die no matter what.’
He pauses, and looks at me, his face darkening. ‘That means they’re not just hunting,’ he says, slowly, ‘they’re competing.’ Sal exhales, eyes fixed on the shifting treeline. ‘I know how this looks, Stella, but I trust Mr Lewis.’
My eyes search his, as if I’m trying to peel back the layers of loyalty. ‘So he sends you into this game. And you think he’s still pulling for you?’
Sal doesn’t blink. ‘I think he’s given us a chance. Even if it isn’t the one I wanted.’
I stare at him. ‘A chance?’ I scoff. ‘What kind of boss offers survival and calls it mercy?’
He turns to me. ‘You don’t know Mr Lewis.’
And maybe I don’t. But I know Sal.I nod, slowly. Not because I agree or understand, but because I trust him.
The glow from the lighter dances across the earthen walls. Sal calls this placeThe Rabbit Warrenwith a crooked smile, but there’s no hunger in it, just weariness.
The narrow hatch seals above with a final, muffled thud. The outside world vanishes. I sink into a far corner, cold dirt pressing against my back, the scent of earth now thick in my lungs. Sal moves like he’s done this before. He flicks the lighter beneath a lantern, then another. It feels like a bunker,anda tomb. He lifts a headset to his ears, mouth close to the mic. Two fingers press against his lips – a silent call for silence.
‘Warren secured. Two rabbits.’ The silence in that moment is deafening. He’s not commanding this game, he’s playing it. The voice on the other end crackles to life, it’s low and smooth. ‘Sal. Good. You made it.’ The voice crackles. ‘You’re both to remain in the warren. The game will resolve itself.’
Resolve? Like a puzzle? Like lives aren’t being traded for entertainment
‘There’s a couple of days’ rations. Canned mostly. Blankets in the bin. Sanitation is rudimentary. Make do.’
The words are final like a prison warden checking off a list. As the call ends, I stand up. ‘So, what... we just wait to die down here?’
My words echo against the curved walls. The silence that follows is long enough to feel like defeat. But then he turns, his face half-cast in the golden glow. His tone deepens, this time, rich, theatrical, every syllable spoken like a violin bow drawn slowly across a single string. ‘I can suggest one thing.’
