Chapter 3.

Mike trudged along behind Snake and the others, his mind spinning as fast as his heart was pounding. What the hell was I thinking, sticking with these guys? he thought. But what choice did he have? He wasn’t entirely sure what this game—or reality, or whatever the hell this was—had in store for him, but quitting wasn’t an option. Not yet.

Snake crouched low, raising a clenched fist to signal the group to stop. His sharp eyes darted around the dense jungle like a predator locked on prey. Mike, out of breath and coated in sweat, dropped to one knee, trying not to think about the fact that the guy he was following was one twitch away from snapping someone’s neck—or worse.

“Everybody hold still,” Snake hissed, his voice barely audible.

Needles, jittery as ever, whispered, “What we doing…?”

“Shut up,” Snake growled.

“Okay,” Needles muttered, but his voice carried a hint of sarcasm that made Mike smirk despite himself.

Snake whipped around and cocked his rifle, aiming it squarely at Needles’ head. The greasy-haired guy froze, his eyes wide. “Thank you,” Snake said with icy calm, lowering his weapon.

Mike rolled his eyes. “Real team-building vibes here, fellas,” he muttered under his breath.

Snake ignored him, dropping to the ground and pressing his ear against the dirt. His hand shot up, palm open, signaling silence. The jungle felt louder in the absence of their voices—birds chirping, insects buzzing, the distant rush of the river.

Snake pushed himself up, his face grim. “I think I got it. Let’s walk real slow. They’re heading toward the river.”

Needles muttered something about hating this job, but Turley nudged him in the ribs, signaling him to shut up. Mike followed behind, his boots sinking into the damp earth. Every step felt heavier, like the jungle itself was trying to drag him down.

Jack and Nick crouched low, their breaths coming in short, sharp bursts. Jack clutched his camcorder tightly while Nick held the tape he’d been given like it was his lifeline.

“Put that in your pocket,” Jack whispered, his tone sharp but calm. “Don’t lose it.”

Nick nodded, fumbling to shove the tape into his cargo shorts. “Okay, I’ve got it,” he said, his voice steady despite the fear in his eyes.

Jack glanced back, scanning the jungle for any sign of their pursuers. “Are you ready?” he asked.

Nick nodded. “Ready.”

“Follow me fast, but keep low. Let’s go.”

The father and son moved like shadows, darting between trees and ducking under low-hanging branches. They stayed close to the ground, their movements smooth and deliberate. Jack’s military background showed in the way he navigated the terrain, but Nick wasn’t far behind, mimicking his father’s every move.

The faint sound of a twig snapping made them both freeze. Jack held up a hand, and they dropped to their knees, listening. Nothing.

Jack whispered, “They’re close, but we’ve got the edge. Just keep quiet.”

Nick nodded, gripping the strap of his backpack tightly.

Mike couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling in his gut. Snake was leading the charge, his movements slow and calculated, while Needles stumbled behind, muttering complaints about everything from the humidity to the mosquitoes.

“This place sucks,” Needles grumbled. “I swear, if I see one more gator—”

“Shut your mouth,” Snake snapped without turning around.

Mike, trying to lighten the tension, added, “Yeah, wouldn’t want the gators to hear you. They might file a noise complaint.”

Turley snorted, but Snake shot them both a warning glance. “You two wanna joke around? Be my guest. Just don’t expect me to save your sorry asses when you step into something you can’t handle.”

Mike smirked. “Pretty sure I can handle more than this.”

Snake stopped in his tracks, turning to glare at Mike. “You think this is a joke, kid? This isn’t your little gaming theater back home. This is survival. So maybe shut up and follow my lead before you get us all killed.”

Mike’s smirk faded, and he clenched his jaw, biting back a retort. Not worth it, he thought, but the sting of Snake’s words lingered.

They continued their slow march toward the river, the sound of rushing water growing louder with each step. Mike’s thoughts raced. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to catch the father and son or warn them. Hell, he wasn’t even sure who the good guys were in this scenario—or if there were any good guys at all.

Jack and Nick reached the water’s edge, their feet sinking into the muddy bank. Jack scanned the area, his eyes narrowing as he spotted a hollowed-out log nearby. “Over there,” he whispered, pointing to the log. “We can use it as cover.”

Nick hesitated, looking down at the murky water. “What if there are gators?”

Jack gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “We’ll be fine. Just stay close.”

They moved quickly, crouching behind the log and catching their breath. Jack pulled out the camcorder, checking the tape again, while Nick kept an eye on the jungle behind them.

“They’re coming,” Nick whispered, his voice tight with fear.

Jack nodded. “Let them. We’re ready.”

Nick didn’t look convinced, but he trusted his dad. He always had. Still, as the sound of their pursuers grew closer, he couldn’t help but feel the weight of the tape in his pocket—and the secrets it held.

Mike was trailing a few steps behind Snake, Turley, and Needles, his breath heavy and his heart pounding like a drumline in overdrive. The jungle was alive with tension—every rustling leaf, every snapped twig felt amplified in the silence between gunshots. Mike kept his eyes darting between the three men and the jungle around them, trying to piece together this insane scenario.

Snake stopped abruptly, crouching low and raising his hand. “Hold up,” he growled. “They were just here. Look at this brush—it’s fresh. Look low. They might’ve gone to ground.”

The group spread out slightly, their weapons ready, sweeping their surroundings with sharp, predatory eyes. Mike, still clutching his own rifle like a prop he wasn’t sure how to use, glanced around nervously. He was playing along, but damn if he knew what game this really was.

Nick heard the faint sound of something hitting the ground behind him. He froze mid-stride, his stomach sinking. Reaching into his pocket, his heart sank further when his hand slipped clean through a gaping hole.

“Dad,” he whispered, panic creeping into his voice. “I dropped it. The tape.”

Jack turned sharply, his eyes narrowing. “What? Where?”

Nick gestured back toward the trail. “I don’t know, somewhere back there.”

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Jack let out a low, frustrated growl. “We don’t have time for this.”

“I’ll find it!” Nick hissed, already retracing his steps.

“No!” Jack snapped, grabbing his son’s arm. But Nick pulled away, darting back toward the trail.

Turley squinted through the thick foliage, raising his rifle. “I think I’ve got ‘em,” he said, his voice tinged with adrenaline.

Snake’s lip curled into a predatory grin. “Fire a couple shots in the air and let’s listen.”

Turley let off a few deafening rounds. The gunfire echoed through the jungle, sending birds squawking into the sky. Snake dropped to one knee, tilting his head like a predator catching the scent of its prey.

“Yeah,” Snake muttered. “I think we’ve got ‘em. Let’s move.”

Needles looked less than enthusiastic, glancing nervously at the surrounding jungle. “This whole thing’s starting to feel like a trap, man.”

Snake shot him a glare. “Then stay here if you’re scared.”

Needles scoffed, muttering something under his breath as he followed the group forward.

Nick spotted the tape glinting in the faint light beneath some thick brush. Relief washed over him as he dove for it, snatching it up. He turned to his father, tossing the tape.

But the throw was short.

“Damn it,” Jack growled, scrambling toward where the tape had landed. “Did you see where it went?”

Nick shook his head, panic settling in. “No. I’m sorry, Dad. It’s down there somewhere.”

Another gunshot cracked through the air, much closer this time.

“Forget it!” Jack barked. “We gotta go!”

The pair bolted toward the structure by the river, leaving the tape hidden in the underbrush.

Snake knelt near the disturbed ground, his sharp eyes scanning for signs of the father and son. “Look at this brush,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. “They were just here.”

Turley prodded at the ground with his rifle, sweeping foliage aside. “Anything?” Snake called over his shoulder.

“Not yet,” Turley replied, his voice strained.

Mike stood a few feet away, watching the exchange with a mixture of confusion and dread. His head spun with questions: Who were these people? What was the tape? Was this even real?

As Turley swept his rifle through a patch of brush, the butt of the gun clipped something small and plastic on the ground—a MINI DV tape. It spun slightly, catching the faint light filtering through the jungle canopy.

But Turley didn’t notice.

“You’re useless,” Snake snapped, shoving past him. He paused, glancing over his shoulder at Mike. “You. Keep an eye out. If you’re gonna stand there like a dumbass, at least do something useful.”

Mike clenched his jaw, swallowing the string of curse words bubbling up in his throat. Instead, he nodded, pretending to scan the area with his rifle. But his eyes darted to the tape lying in the dirt. Is that what they’re after?

They burst out of the jungle onto the muddy bank, gasping for breath. Jack scanned the area, his eyes locking onto the structure ahead—a small wooden shack half-hidden by overgrown vines.

“There!” Jack pointed. “We can make a stand in there.”

Nick hesitated, his chest heaving. “What if they catch us?”

“They won’t,” Jack said firmly, gripping his son’s shoulder. “Trust me. Now move.”

As they sprinted toward the shack, Nick couldn’t help but glance back. He saw the faint outline of Snake and his crew emerging from the jungle, their silhouettes framed by the dappled sunlight filtering through the trees.

“Dad,” Nick panted, “they’re coming.”

Jack didn’t look back. “Let ‘em. We’ll be ready.”

Mike trailed behind Snake, Turley, and Needles, keeping a wary eye on their every move. His nerves were on edge. The jungle seemed alive, every sound amplified by the tension in the air. Snake crouched low, scanning the ground for tracks.

Turley muttered under his breath, wiping sweat from his brow as he shifted his weapon - and Needles? He just looked like he wanted to quit and hit a vending machine somewhere.

Turley suddenly stopped. “Hold up,” he said, pointing his rifle ahead. “I think there’s something up there.”

Snake pushed past him, his sharp eyes narrowing. “Let me see.”

Turley’s rifle moved aside some brush, inadvertently covering a small, dirt-streaked object half-hidden in the mud—a MINI DV tape. He stepped forward, his boot coming down directly on the tape with a loud crunch, squishing it further into the ground. None of them noticed.

Jack and Nick pushed their way through the dense jungle until the structure ahead became clear. It was a weathered boathouse, its paint peeling and roof sagging slightly, but it was their best chance at cover.

“Inside,” Jack said, motioning for Nick to follow him.

Nick hesitated, glancing back at the trail behind them. “What if they catch us in there?”

Jack turned and gripped his son’s shoulder. “Then we make it as hard as hell for them to get us. Now move.”

The two darted toward the boathouse, shoving the creaky wooden door open and slipping inside. Just as they were about to catch their breath, a gust of wind caught the door, slamming it shut with a deafening bang.

The loud sound echoed through the jungle. Snake froze, his eyes narrowing toward the direction of the noise. “There,” he said, pointing toward the boathouse. “That wasn’t too hard. Adjust your sights—we’re going in.”

Needles groaned, slinging his rifle over his shoulder. “Why don’t we just torch the place and call it a day?”

Snake whipped around, his glare like a slap. “Because, genius, we need them alive. Now shut up and follow my lead.”

Turley adjusted his grip on his weapon, his face pale but determined. “What’s the plan?”

“The plan,” Snake said, cracking his neck like he was gearing up for a fight, “is to make them wish they’d stayed in the jungle.”

Mike stayed a few paces behind, trying to look like he was part of the crew while mentally begging himself to wake up from this nightmare. He didn’t know what the father and son had, but the way Snake was acting made it clear it was something big. Mike’s stomach cramped. Why the hell am I even here?

Rising above the dense jungle. From a bird’s-eye perspective, the scene unfolded like a chessboard. The positions of Snake and his crew were clear, slowly closing in on the boathouse where Jack and Nick had taken refuge.

Moving downriver, revealing a sleepy Florida town coming into view. Boats drifted lazily along the water, houses dotted the shoreline, and a large bridge loomed in the distance. The town was an odd mix of rustic charm and modern sprawl, with small businesses, a diner, and a sprawling school campus near the river’s edge.

The boathouse looked so small from above, its presence almost insignificant. But down on the ground, it was the heart of the storm. Mike glanced back at the path they’d taken, then forward toward the boathouse. He had a sick feeling that things were about to get a whole lot worse.