Page 151 of Ignite

A flashlight.

Flick.

The beam slices through the night like a blade, and I exhale as light floods the space around me.

I check the supplies:

Protein bars.

A bottle of water.

One Liquid IV packet.

A pathetic first aid kit.

Matches.

Great.

Bare bones survival.

No sweater. No real food. No comfort. Just enough to stay breathing.

But I don’t need comfort. I need that fucking key. I’m trying to get my brain to focus on this one task so I don’t think too wildly about the rest—or the consequences for losing.

With the light in hand, I push forward.

Then I hear faint footsteps up ahead.

I kill the flashlight. My back slams against a tree, chest rising slow and shallow. I don’t breathe.

The steps aren’t heavy. Not a man.

A woman.

I creep forward, slow as death, waiting for a glint of her in the moonlight.

And there—a silhouette, feminine, about my size.

I flick the flashlight back on.

She whips around and freezes.

And I see it.

The key. Hanging from her hand on a chain.

I remember the rules. I can fight her. I just can’t kill her. Can I really be this woman?

I’m Contestant Ten. The last woman left. This might be it. My shot. I’ve probably been dropped in this part of the woods for a reason.

She tightens her grip on the key and takes a step back. We’re evenly matched.

She bolts.

And I go after her. Fight or flight, I chose to survive.

My legs scream as I push harder, faster, the flashlight shaking in my grip, tracking her. I’m trying to be quiet, but every branch I snap sounds like a gunshot in the silence.

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