Page 64 of Kingston
“I fucking stepped in something slimy.” He makes a retching noise. “It smells… dead.”
God, I don’t want to know. “There’s a wall over here. Sorry, I know that’s not entirely helpful.” I slide my hand along, until I find what I think is a door frame. “Door. I found a door.”
“Me too.”
Taggart is probably six feet from me, which means we can’t be at the same door. “Okay. I’ll check this, you try that one.” I slowly skim my fingertips over the surface of the paneled wood until I find the knob, twist, and open it.
“I’m going to see where this goes.”
“Okay.”
I swallow hard. Something feels off. Taking a deep breath and keeping both arms out, I step through the doorway, feeling around in front of me, but so far there’s only air. Then as I touch something that feels cloth-like, the door slams behind me. I give a startled yelp. “Who did that? Not fucking funny.” I try to sound brave, but I’m fairly certain I come off as anything but.
Determined to find a way forward, I extend my arms from my sides, catching a wall on either side. Either I’m in a narrow hallway or a closet.Oh fuck. No.My fears are confirmed when I shove what I now realize are clothes hanging from a rod sideways on the rack and encounter the back wall of the closet. My heart gives an unsettled lurch as I whirl around, stepping back in the direction I came, only my hands immediately meet the inside of the door.No, no, no …
I grab for the doorknob, and it twists, but when I attempt to push open the door, it won’t budge. Not an inch. I let go of the knob, my hands shaking. I pound on the door, screaming, but I don’t hear a single sound… or maybe I can’t above the hammering beat of my heart. If I don’t get out of here and the air horn goes off, I’m toast. My throat practically closes as I try to gulp down air because it tastes—yes, tastes—stale and bitter and like decay. From behind me, I hear something scratch on the floor and I lose it, screaming and sobbing until my throat is raw. What is in this closet with me?
All at once, the door pops open, and I fall forward hard onto my knees, the impact sending pain shooting through my legs. A hand grabs a fistful of my hair and yanks hard, sending me forward, my cheek smacking into the dusty, dank floorboards.
Thefuck.
And that’s when the air horn blasts from outside.
I whimper, dragging myself unsteadily to my feet. My cheek is painful from where I hit the ground, and I’m completely shaken from my time trapped in that moldy closet.
But if I can get to the other door, the one Taggart was lucky enough to choose earlier, maybe I can find my way out. I slide my hand over the wall, fingers coming into contact with what I can only assume is peeling wallpaper. Not two feet later, my fingers grapple with the second doorframe, and I find the open doorway. Walking slowly out of the horror chamber, I turn to the left, cautious. I edge my foot out and find the dropoff. Sure as shit, there’s a staircase right here. I grasp the splintering rail with one sweaty hand and begin my descent down the creaking staircase, counting the steps as I go. There’s got to be, what? Like twenty-five steps, maybe? Inch by inch, I fumble my way down to the bottom. It’s none too elegant, but I made it. My breathing is still shuddering and shallow as I struggle to remind my lungs how to work properly. That closet.Fuck.
From somewhere at the back of the house, Taggart yelps out a pain-filled, “Motherfucker!” He can’t be too far away from me. Maybe toward where I remember a kitchen being.
“Over here, Taggart! This way!” I can’t wait for him, though, I’m getting the fuck out of here. The door should be on my left. With my arm shaking, I extend my hand out to feel along the wall to find it. I have to be right. I need to escape this hellhole now. My hand fumbles along until I run into something metal. The doorknob!
But the next thing I know, I’m off my feet, the wind knocked out of me, falling through space in the pitch-black.
THIRTY-THREE
CANNON
I pace,hands clasped over my head. We let the blindfolded initiates loose in the old house for about an hour with the juniors walking around inside, observing the fumbling chaos that ensued, and screwing with their heads.
We blew the air horn about five minutes ago, but none of the initiates have managed to find their way through the front door yet.
If I had my way, I would have liked to have watched over them, but Kingston said that’s not how it’s done. Besides, he knows from last year’s experience, I wouldn’t have been too keen on messing with Elliot. We’d been way nicer to Dane, Will, and Zeke than the brothers who’d fucked us up while we were in there. I’d thought I was going to lose my mind.
At least Archer, Kingston, and I had worked together. We’d agreed who would be first to exit, based on the points that had been accumulated during the first game, so it all evened out again. I could see certain members of this group not wanting to help each other in the slightest. Mostly Bridger. He’s proving himself to be a grade A ass.
The front door flies open.
“Shit,” Archer mutters under his breath.
None other than Bridger has stumbled out onto the porch. “Can I take this motherfucking blindfold off?”
Kingston rolls his eyes. “Yes.”
“That was fucking ridiculous.” He yanks the scrap of material off without ceremony and throws it to the ground before he stomps down the porch steps.
Both Taggart and Elliot are still inside, and I’m becoming more and more anxious the longer we wait. Joel, Alec, and Stuart are in there somewhere as well.
A full minute later, there’s a distinct thud followed several seconds later by a “What the fuck?” then an “Oh god. Elliot? What happened?” Some scuffling. “Am I at the front door? I need help!”
