Page 25 of Stream & Scream
Trent clears his throat and tries to regain control of the conversation. "Look, even if something did happen to Naomi—and I'm not saying it did—that just proves my point. We need to stick together. Safety in numbers. Predators avoid groups."
Predators. Interesting word choice.
"This isn't summer camp," I say. "There's prize money at stake. Real money that could change someone's life. You think people are going to share that equally among however many survivors there are?"
"We can work out the details later," Trent insists. "Right now, we need to focus on making it through the night."
I study his face in the flickering firelight, noting details I missed at first glance. His hands aren't steady—there's a slight tremor in his fingers that he's trying to hide. His eyes keep checking the tree line, like he's expecting something to emerge from the darkness. And there's sweat on his forehead despite the cool night air.
He's scared. Genuinely, deeply scared, no matter how much leadership bullshit he's spouting for the cameras.
"Thanks for the offer," I say, shouldering my pack, "but I'll take my chances alone."
"Olivia, wait," Emily calls out as I turn to leave. "Please don't go. I'm really scared, and I don't know if I can do this by myself."
For a moment, I almost reconsider. There's genuine terror in her voice. Part of me wants to stay, to help.
But the practical part of my brain knows better. Groups make noise. Groups move slowly. Groups argue and panic and make stupid decisions by committee.
Groups will get people killed.
"Sorry," I say, and I genuinely am.
I disappear back into the trees before any of them can respond, leaving them huddled around their pathetic fire with their delusions. Behind me, I can hear Trent trying to rebuildmorale, his voice artificially bright as he explains how they're better off without someone who "doesn't understand the value of a team.”
A team. Right. I give their little alliance about six hours before someone decides the math works better with fewer people to split the money between.
I hike further, following the gentle slope of the land and eventually find what I'm looking for about a mile from Trent's group—a natural depression between the roots of an enormous oak tree, sheltered on three sides and invisible from more than a few yards away. It's not comfortable, but comfort isn't the goal here. Concealment is the goal. Survival is the goal.
I settle into the space without building a fire. It would attract attention. Instead, I wrap myself in my blanket and try to make myself as small and invisible as possible in the darkness.
The silence is absolute here, so complete that I can hear my own heartbeat echoing in my ears. No wind, no insects, no small animals moving through the underbrush.
The water from my bottle tastes flat and metallic, but it's wet and clean, so I drink it anyway.
My wrist camera continues its steady blinking, that red light a constant reminder of the people watching.
Am I the smart one for avoiding groups? The antisocial bitch who doesn't play well with others? The dark horse who might actually survive this nightmare?
Do they have favorites? Are there betting pools? Are people rooting for specific contestants to die in specific ways? How do they want me to die?
The thought makes me nauseous, but I push it aside. What the audience thinks doesn't matter. What matters is staying alive long enough to collect that money and get the fuck out of here.
I'm just starting to relax when I hear it.
Footsteps.
Someone is following me.
I reach for the sharpest piece of wood I can find in the darkness, my fingers closing around a branch about the length of my forearm with a jagged, broken end that could theoretically be used as a weapon. It's pathetic—basically a slightly pointy stick—but it's all I have.
A pointed stick against whatever killer is hunting us through these woods. I might as well try to stop a freight train with a strongly worded letter.
But it's better than nothing. Maybe.
The footsteps circle my hiding place, staying just at the edge of hearing, close enough to let me know I'm being stalked but far enough away to remain invisible in the darkness. Whoever it is knows these woods, knows how to move silently through terrain that would trip up most people.
They know how tohunt.
