Page 90 of The Hunt

Nikki shook her head. “I have no idea. We bolted so fast. I wasn’t even thinking about the direction,” she said. Her eyes narrowed as she stared down at the map. “As soon as I figure it out, we can try to get back on track.”

I glanced at the trees, their dark silhouettes identical in every direction. “I think we ran south, but I’m not sure.”

Nikki straightened and pointed to a gap in the canopy. I followed her gaze to see dark gray clouds blanketing the sky. “I really wish the sun was out,” she muttered. “If we knew its position, it would be a hell of a lot easier to reorient ourselves.”

I swallowed hard, trying to push past the weight of panic clawing at my chest. Every second we stood still felt like an invitation for danger to catch up.

“It’s okay,” Nikki went on. “I can still figure it out. It’ll just take a few minutes.”

“If you don’t mind, I need to find somewhere to squat,” Cheryl said. “I almost pissed myself back there.”

“Me too,” I said, finally remembering my aching bladder. It was weird how fear could make you fail to notice the most obvious things until someone else pointed them out.

“Okay. You guys do that, and I’ll work on this,” Nikki said, pulling out her compass. “Just don’t go too far.”

I grabbed the roll of toilet paper from my backpack and ducked behind the closest tree. Cheryl ventured a little farther, heading for a dense group of shrubs.

When I was done, I returned to Nikki. Her expression was odd—her brows slightly furrowed, her lips parted, and her head tilted as if she were straining to listen to something.

I ducked down and whispered to her. “Are you okay?”

Her gaze snapped over to me, and her shoulders sagged. “Oh, shit, it’s just you,” she said, laying a hand over her heart. “I thought I heard something and freaked out.”

“Sorry.”

“No, it’s not your fault. I’m just losing my shit,” she mumbled. “I fucking hate this place.”

“Me too.” I frowned and peered around. “Cheryl isn’t back yet?”

Nikki opened her mouth to reply, but before she could get out a single word, a yelp broke the silence.

“Oh, shit,” I muttered, springing to my feet. “Something’s happened.”

I desperately hoped that Cheryl had just tripped over something, but in this place, I could only assume the worst. Itwas more likely that she was stuck in a bear trap, foot mangled and pouring with blood, or impaled on a spike like Chris, unable to wrench herself off.

Nikki lifted a palm, signaling for me to be quiet, and then she motioned in the direction Cheryl had wandered off in, silently urging me to follow her.

We moved cautiously, avoiding crunchy leaves and brittle twigs that might betray our presence. When we reached a row of bushes, we crouched low, the dense foliage offering just enough cover to peer through without being seen.

Through the gaps in the bushes, I spotted Cheryl suspended midair, tangled in a net that swayed slightly as she struggled. The thick rope creaked under her movements, her frantic squirming only causing the trap to tighten around her limbs.

“Fuck,” Nikki whispered, eyes wide. “She must’ve stepped on a tripwire.”

Cheryl’s muffled grunts of frustration carried through the trees, and I clenched my jaw, willing her to stay quiet. Then came a sound that chilled my blood—a low, deliberate crunch of heavy boots trampling through the undergrowth.

Nikki and I exchanged panicked glances, and she held up two fingers. Sure enough, a second set of footsteps followed, slower but just as deliberate.

The footsteps grew louder. Closer. My grip tightened on the bush in front of me, heart pounding as shadows began to move through the trees.

I lifted my gaze to Cheryl again. She was still squirming in the net, grunting with frustration. My throat tightened as I watched her, and tears stung my eyes, threatening to spill.

I wanted to cry, to scream, to beg for some miracle to undo this nightmare, but I knew better. Trying to help her now would only get us all killed. That was the reality of this horrible place—the rules didn’t allow for heroics.

The footsteps were almost on top of Cheryl now, and I could hear the low murmur of voices. One was gruff and sharp, the other quieter, almost amused. They weren’t in a hurry. They knew they had their prey trapped, and they wanted to savor the moment.

“Was this your snare or mine?” one of the hunters said as they stepped into the small clearing.

“Mine.”

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