Chapter 2

Jack crouched behind a thick cluster of ferns, pulling Nick down beside him. "We’ve got maybe two minutes," he whispered, his eyes scanning the jungle. "If we don’t get to the river, we’re toast."

Nick nodded, his eyes wide with fear. "Why are they after us?"

Jack hesitated. "They think we have something valuable."

"Do we?"

Jack met his Nick’s gaze. "You. That’s all they need."

Nick swallowed hard, his throat dry. "Great. So, I’m the prize in some psycho jungle hunt. That’s fantastic."

Jack allowed himself a small smirk despite the gravity of their situation. "You’re worth it, kid."

From their hiding spot, they could hear the hunters’ voices growing fainter. Jack knew they didn’t have much time. He grabbed Nick by the shoulders. "Listen to me. When we hit the river, don’t stop. Swim as fast as you can. I’ll be right behind you."

"What if they catch us?"

"They won’t," Jack said firmly. "But if they do... you keep running. Understand?"

Nick hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah. I understand."

Back at the scrambled trail, Mike knelt down, staring at the dirt. The tracks were a mess, but he could make out faint imprints leading toward the west. He didn’t call out to Snake or Turley. Instead, he stayed crouched, his mind racing.

This isn’t right, he thought. These aren’t enemies. They’re just a dad and his kid. Why the hell am I chasing them?

He wiped sweat from his forehead and glanced at the rifle slung over his shoulder. It felt heavy, wrong. Like it didn’t belong in his hands.

"Hey, rookie!" Turley’s voice cracked through the air, startling Mike. The man emerged from the trees, his face twisted in frustration. "What’s the holdup?"

Mike stood, forcing a casual shrug. "Trail’s gone cold," he lied. "I think they doubled back."

Turley scowled. "Figures. Jack’s a slippery bastard. Let’s regroup with Snake."

As they headed back, Mike couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling in his gut. This wasn’t just a game. And for the first time, he wasn’t sure which side he was on.

Mike trudged behind Snake, Turley, and Needles, his boots crunching against the damp jungle floor. The thick humidity clung to his skin, and the overpowering stench of Needles’ unwashed hair didn’t help. Mike’s mind raced as he tried to make sense of his situation. He knew this was some kind of simulation—or at least, it had started that way. Now, with the heat, the sweat, and the sheer adrenaline coursing through his veins, everything felt a little too real.

Snake, the de facto leader, crouched by the trail, examining the ground with an intensity that made Mike uneasy. His coiled snake tattoo gleamed with sweat, and his muscles flexed every time he moved. Turley leaned against a tree, one hand pressed to the bloodied patch on his shirt. He looked pale but determined. Meanwhile, Needles fiddled with a knife, muttering something incomprehensible under his breath.

Snake growled, "Damn it, I’ve lost it. They’ve covered their trail. Must’ve dragged something to screw with the tracks."

Mike glanced at the ground, pretending to know what Snake was talking about. "Looks like a branch," he said casually, trying to fit in.

Snake shot him a glare. "No shit, rookie. Question is, where’d they go from here?"

Needles snorted, his greasy hair sticking to his face. "They’re slippery, like eels. You ever catch an eel, rookie? Slimy little bastards. That’s what this feels like."

Mike ignored him, focusing instead on the muddy tracks leading to a shallow stream. The water sparkled in the patches of sunlight that broke through the jungle canopy. Snake picked up a branch left on the bank, examining it like a detective solving a murder.

"Okay," Snake muttered, "they went into the water. But which direction?"

Turley grunted, wincing as he shifted against the tree. "Probably downstream. Makes the most sense if they’re trying to lose us."

Needles chuckled darkly, twirling the knife in his fingers. "Or maybe they’re upstream, thinking we’re too dumb to check both ways."

Mike rolled his eyes. "Yeah, because arguing about it is really gonna help. Maybe we should split up?"

Snake turned to Mike, his expression unreadable. "You volunteering to go alone, rookie?"

Mike shrugged, trying to keep his voice steady. "Just saying, we’re wasting time standing here. They’re probably halfway to Cuba by now."

Needles laughed, a high-pitched cackle that grated on Mike’s nerves. "Look at this kid, all full of ideas. You think this is a game, rookie? You think you’re clever?"

Mike shot back, "I think you smell like a dumpster fire, Needles. Maybe focus on finding the trail instead of whatever you’re tweaking on."

Snake barked out a laugh, surprising Mike. "Kid’s got a mouth on him. I like that."

Needles sneered but said nothing, shoving the knife back into his belt.

Snake stood, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the stream. "Alright, enough screwing around. Turley, you’re too banged up to swim. Stay here and keep watch. Rookie, you’re with me. Needles, go upstream and see if you can find anything."

"Why do I gotta go upstream?" Needles whined, but Snake silenced him with a glare.

Mike didn’t like the idea of being alone with Snake, but at least it got him away from Needles’ stench. He followed Snake into the water, the cool stream a welcome relief against the heat. They moved slowly, the water sloshing around their boots.

"Listen, rookie," Snake said after a few minutes. "I don’t know what your deal is, but if you screw this up for me, you’re gonna wish you’d stayed in your little air-conditioned bubble."

Mike raised an eyebrow. "Air-conditioned bubble? What, you think I’m some spoiled rich kid?"

"Am I wrong?" Snake shot back.

Mike didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure what Snake knew—or thought he knew—but arguing felt pointless. Instead, he focused on the stream, looking for any sign of the boy and his father.

Suddenly, Snake froze, holding up a hand to stop Mike. "There," he whispered, pointing to a wet footprint on a rock near the edge of the water.

Mike’s stomach churned. He didn’t know why, but the thought of catching the boy and his dad made him feel sick. "So what happens if we find them?" he asked, trying to sound casual.

Snake smirked. "You ask too many questions, rookie. Let’s just find them first."

Mike bit back a retort, his unease growing with every step. This wasn’t a game anymore. It was something far more dangerous—and he wasn’t sure whose side he was really on.

Mike trudged behind Snake, Turley, and Needles, the humid air clinging to his skin like a wet blanket. The terrain was getting worse—uneven ground, thick brush, and now a stream that seemed to stretch forever. His boots squelched in the mud, each step heavier than the last. His mind raced as fast as his heart, but the same question kept spinning in his head: Is this real?

He looked down at his hands, caked in dirt and shaking slightly. Everything felt so vivid—the damp earth underfoot, the distant caws of birds, the occasional rustle in the underbrush that made him flinch. But wasn’t this supposed to be a game? If so, it was the most messed-up game he’d ever played.

Snake, always leading the pack, motioned for them to stop. “Shut up and listen,” he growled, crouching by the water’s edge. The father and his kid were clever—too clever. It was almost like they knew the jungle better than Snake did, and that thought clearly grated on him. “You hear that?”

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The distant splashing sounds of water broke the eerie quiet. Mike’s stomach sank. The father and boy had spooked some alligators—at least, he hoped it was them. Snake didn’t hesitate, motioning for the group to follow.

“This way,” Snake barked. He took off in a sprint, his movements sharp and calculated, like he was born for this. Mike groaned but forced himself to keep up. Needles, however, lagged behind, panting and muttering curses under his breath.

When they reached the water’s edge, Needles froze, his face pale as he pointed toward the murky surface. “Alligators,” he stammered.

Snake turned to him, his eyes blazing with impatience. “Yeah, dumbass, this is the Florida jungle. Of course, there are alligators.”

“But what if they’re in the water?” Needles asked, his voice trembling slightly.

Snake rolled his eyes and gestured broadly at the river. “They live in the water. That’s kind of their thing.”

Needles hesitated, taking a step back. “I’m just saying, they could… y’know, be there.”

Snake’s jaw tightened, and he turned to Turley, who was leaning against a tree, trying not to look like he was bleeding out from the gunshot wound in his side. “You believe this guy?” Snake asked.

Turley shrugged, then hoisted his assault rifle and pointed it at the water. “Fine. Let’s clear a path.”

Before anyone could object, Turley squeezed the trigger, unleashing a torrent of bullets that ripped through the surface of the water. The deafening noise was matched only by the chaos it unleashed—splashes erupted everywhere as terrified alligators dove deeper into the murky depths, their powerful tails thrashing in retreat.

Mike winced at the noise, his ears ringing as he tried to process what just happened. He turned to Snake, who was grinning like a maniac. “There. Problem solved. Let’s move.”

“Problem solved?!” Mike snapped, unable to stop himself. “You just emptied half a mag into a swamp. What if we need that ammo later?”

Snake whipped around, his grin vanishing as quickly as it came. “What are you, my quartermaster now? Shut your mouth and keep moving.”

Mike clenched his fists, but he didn’t say anything else. What was the point? He was stuck with these psychos for now. He glanced at Needles, who still looked pale, muttering something under his breath about karma and reptilian revenge.

The group crossed the now-silent stretch of water, the tension palpable. As they emerged on the other side, Snake slowed his pace, scanning the ground for fresh tracks. Mike couldn’t help but think about the father and son they were chasing. Why am I even doing this? he wondered. What’s the endgame here?

His thoughts were interrupted by Snake’s voice. “They’re close,” Snake said, pointing to a broken branch dangling from a low tree. “Real close.”

Mike swallowed hard. The jungle felt quieter now, almost like it was holding its breath. Somewhere out there, a boy and his father were running for their lives. And here Mike was, part of a team that looked like it was ripped straight out of a bad action movie, chasing them down for reasons he didn’t even understand.

The worst part? He wasn’t sure whose side he was supposed to be on.

Mike crouched behind a dense patch of foliage, trying to steady his breathing. The jungle air was thick, choking almost, and the sounds of distant gunfire made his pulse race. Why am I even here? he thought for the hundredth time. The terrain was unforgiving—mud that sucked at your boots, roots that threatened to trip you with every step, and the oppressive weight of the humid air. But Snake was ahead, trudging through the water like he owned the place, and Mike didn’t have much choice but to follow.

“Yo, Turley,” Needles said, his voice barely a whisper as he scanned the water nervously. “You think alligators got a taste for skinny dudes like me?”

Turley, still holding his smoking rifle, rolled his eyes. “Man, if you don’t shut up about the damn gators. I just cleared the path. Whatever was there is dead. Let’s move.”

Mike couldn’t help but mutter under his breath, “Yeah, great plan. Let’s just piss off nature itself. Brilliant.”

Needles glanced back at him, his greasy hair clinging to his forehead. “What’s that, rookie? You got something to say?”

“Yeah,” Mike said, loud enough for them all to hear. “Next time, maybe don’t piss off something that can eat you in one bite.”

Snake, who was a good twenty yards ahead, turned and shot Mike a glare. “Both of you, shut up. Keep moving.”

The three of them slogged forward, Snake’s pace relentless. Needles kept darting glances at the water, his anxiety practically radiating off him. “If something pops out, I’m gone. I’m telling you right now.”

“Great,” Mike said. “Save us the trouble.”

Turley snorted a laugh but quickly turned it into a cough when Snake glared at him.

Meanwhile, Nick and Jack were low to the ground, practically crawling through the underbrush to avoid being spotted. Nick looked back, his sharp eyes catching movement through the trees. He tugged at his dad’s sleeve. “Dad, I see them. Snake’s leading, but they’re still far off.”

Jack nodded, wiping sweat from his brow. His shirt was torn, his arms scratched up, but his focus was unwavering. He glanced around, his eyes landing on a structure in the distance—something concrete, maybe an old bunker or a storage facility.

“Over there,” Jack said, pointing toward it. “If we can make it, we’ll have cover.”

Nick nodded but frowned when he heard a beeping sound. He turned to see his dad fiddling with the camcorder strapped around his neck. “Dad, seriously? Now?”

“Just give me a second,” Jack said, pulling the tape out. He reached into his pocket for a new one and fumbled with it. The tape slipped from his hands, and Nick barely managed to catch it mid-air. “Hurry up!” Nick hissed.

Jack, unbothered by the urgency in his Nick's voice, took out his pocketknife. “Hold on,” he said, scratching something onto the tape’s casing. The metallic scrape of the blade was almost drowned out by the jungle’s cacophony of sounds. Once satisfied, he slapped a label on top of his handiwork and scribbled on it in sharp, deliberate letters: 'OVER AND UNDER.'

“What’s that for?” Nick asked, his voice tight with nerves.

“Insurance,” Jack replied, his tone cryptic. He tossed the labeled tape to Nick, who caught it easily and slid it into his backpack.

Back at the water’s edge, Snake crouched, scanning the ground for any sign of tracks. “They’re close,” he said, his voice low but firm. He motioned for the group to spread out slightly, his hand signals precise. Mike followed reluctantly, every step feeling heavier than the last.

“Yo, rookie,” Needles said, sidling up to Mike. “What do you think’s in the backpack, huh? Gold? Diamonds? Maybe some government secrets?”

Mike shrugged, his eyes scanning the horizon. “Probably something they don’t want jackasses like us getting our hands on.”

Needles chuckled, but there was no humor in it. “You talk a lot of smack for someone tagging along with us.”

“Yeah,” Mike shot back, “and you’re pretty brave for someone who’s afraid of gators.”

Snake’s voice cut through their bickering. “Both of you, shut it. We’ve got work to do.”

Mike bit his tongue, but his thoughts were racing. What the hell am I even doing here? These guys are insane. The kid and his dad probably think I’m one of them. He wanted to shout, to tell them he wasn’t part of this, but what good would that do? Trust was in short supply out here, and he wasn’t even sure who the good guys were anymore.

As they pushed forward, the distant sound of splashing reached their ears. Snake held up a fist, signaling for them to stop. “This way,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

Mike’s stomach churned as they moved toward the sound. He didn’t know what was waiting for them, but he had a sinking feeling it wasn’t going to be good.