Page 63 of The Hunt

I could only hope it was the latter.

Chris and I rounded a bend on the shoreline, and my eyes widened. A much larger group of survivors was gathered there.

“Hey!” Chris called out and waved to attract their attention. Some of them waved back, gesturing for us to join them.

When we arrived, the group was a mess of voices, everyone talking over each other, trying to make sense of what had happened. I caught snippets of disjointed sentences, panic laced in every word.

“I was drinking so much I barely even remember anything.”

“Me too. Thank fucking god for that. I don’twantto remember.”

“Where’s everyone else? There’s only twenty-two of us here, and there were a ton of guests and staff last night.”

“They can’t be dead, because I haven’t seen any bodies.”

“You haven’t seen any bodiesyet, you mean. They could be anywhere. Maybe still floating out there.”

“God, I can’t believe I was in a fuckingshipwreck!”

“Did anyone see the hole in the yacht? I heard it was huge.”

“If we were going to wash up somewhere, it’d be nice if it were a tropical island with a cocktail bar. Not this desolate shit. I’m freezing.”

No one seemed to have a clear memory of the night before, just vague flashes, so the general consensus seemed to be that everyone was so drunk or terrified that they’d passed out during the sinking.

“Will this affect the game?” a young brunette woman piped up.

“It has to,” another woman insisted. “I mean, half the contestants are probably dead, right?”

“Yeah, they have to cancel it. Or postpone it, at the very least.”

I held up my palms and raised my voice. “Can someone please tell me what this game is that everyone keeps talking about?”

A familiar voice was the first to reply. “Ugh, not this shit again.”

I turned my head to see a middle-aged man standing in the center of the group—the same one who’d approached me on the yacht last night.

“I’m serious,” I said frostily, narrowing my eyes at him. “I really don’t know what the game is.”

“Don’t listen to her,” he said, waving a dismissive hand. “She tried this last night. It’s some sort of strategy to—”

I cut him off. “It’s not a fucking strategy!” I shouted. “What the hell is this game you all keep talking about? Someone needs to tell meright now!”

The group of survivors fell into an awkward silence. Finally, Chris spoke up beside me. “We all signed up for a game called the Hunt,” he said in a tentative tone. “You didn’t do that?”

I shook my head. “I’ve never heard of it.”

“Last night’s yacht party was meant to be a sort of pre-game celebration before it starts tomorrow,” he said. “Well… today now, I guess. But they’re obviously going to postpone it after what’s happened.”

“No shit,” another woman said with a mirthless laugh. “I doubt they expected the yacht to get hit by a fucking freak storm.”

I took a deep breath, trying to push past the confusion that churned in my gut. “What happens in this Hunt game?” I asked, tilting my head.

One of the men, a tall guy with dark hair and a furrowed brow, stepped forward, glancing at the others before meeting my eyes. "It’s a survival game. We spend a week out in the wilderness getting chased by hunters.”

“Wait,what?” I said, brows shooting up. “You actually signed up for that?”

He lifted a palm. “We’re just eliminated from the competition if we’re caught. It’s not arealhunt.”

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