“We shouldn’t have robbed them,” Ash says, nibbling one of the Kingsnakes’ crackers. Rita reaches for what must be her sixth, before her seventh. She machines through them like a paper shredder.
“Well, if we hadn’t robbed them then we wouldn’t have this food,” she says in between mouthfuls. “And I was about to die.” Ash sighs and puts down his half eaten cracker. I pull the packet of crackers away when Rita reaches for it again. They’re dry and taste stale and yet, they’re the only thing she’ll eat.
I pick up my sticks from where they're lying on the ground and slide them into my hoodie. Ash raises an eyebrow.
“I’m just taking a walk,” I say. “Foraging.” Rita snatches back the packet as soon as I stand up. Once we win the next challenge, we can buy some real food for her to eat. Till then, dry, stale crackers and perhaps some jerky if she’s very hungry.
The sun is blocked out by the matted canopy of tree branches as I step under them, the shadowy haze that veils me now would make hunting easy but there will be no hunting today. The only weapons I have are these sticks and my deal with Victoria, none of which can snare a rabbit or put an arrow in a deer’s heart. I’m not even sure if there are deer on this island at all. I won’t see them even if there are, not with a constant buzz above my head. The show would be better if none of it is filmed which defies the whole point of it I suppose.
A faint rustle of shuffling leaves comes from the south side of the forest. I freeze. It’s most likely Victoria coming to grovel again but it becomes apparent that it’s not as they draw closer. Their outfit is the gray of metal, not the red with the same taste. She stops as she sees me. One Silver Boa- female. She wouldn’t’ve if I wasn’t wearing the white hoodie and I curse in my head for keeping it on.
“Hi,” she says, giving a small wave. I give her a nod. It’s either Briar or Chelsea but they both look the same so I don’t address her by a name. “Found any berries?” she asks.
“I wouldn’t tell you if I had,” I say. I should tell her to look by the snake statue so they can rob her but I don’t.
“Ah,” she says, raising both eyebrows. “I see.” There’s no fight in her eyes, I observe. She’s just letting me be. The girl will be out by the second round. If she is Briar, then her team should’ve picked the money; it would’ve been more helpful. She scans the trees for berries before moving past me to check those trees. I feel almost a little embarrassed. I should’ve just told her I hadn’t found any. Her blonde-ginger hair floats behind her as she almost hops away, nimbly skipping over roots and stones. I watch her for a while- checking that she hasn’t found any berries. Then she stops abruptly and stares at her wrist. My eyes instantly flick to mine where I see my watch is flashing. The drone above me floats towards it and my face. The 0000000 is gone, replaced with ROUND 1. It’s only there for a second before the screen morphs back to 0000000 but it’s enough. I sprint back to the cobra statue with something close to excitement. The Black Mambas have to win; Victoria will handle the Kingsnakes and nothing has suggested to me that the Silver Boas will be any competition and once we win, we can buy food for Rita and a bow and arrow to get food for the rest of us. Plus, the Kingsnakes will be a mess and won’t bother us for a few more challenges after that if any.
I arrive at the statue to see that the Black Mambas and the Silver Boas are already here. Veda welcomes me back with a slow blink and a slight nod of her head. I return the gesture before going to join them at the foot of the statue. I can hear the Silver Boas murmur amongst themselves. Snippets of ‘where are the Kingsnakes?’ and ‘when is the challenge going to start?’. Our team is silent- we know better than to ask questions whose answers don’t matter. We will find out when it starts when it starts. Asking won’t make it come faster.
My head snaps up to the cobra when I see Chelsea’s is. The rest of the Black Mambas follow and soon the Silver Boas. The stone mouth of the cobra is hinging open slowly, rocky dust making tiny clouds around the face as if it’s being opened for the first time in years when really, it was most likely tested a week before the show started. Some drones rise up to get a better shot of the snakes while others stay to get our reactions. The jaw stops widening and a figure dressed all in white sits on the stone tongue, her pale legs hanging off the side.
“Greetings players,” she says. “It’s time for your first challenge. It really is such a shame that the Kingsnakes aren’t here. I’m afraid that they couldn’t get here fast enough or they’re ignoring their watches.” Eyebrows are raised throughout the players here. In the briefing, it was made extremely clear that flashing on your watch means that you need to come to the snake statue immediately and stop all else. I also know that walking from one end to the other end of the island shouldn’t take too long. Perhaps Victoria is letting us get a head start. “The challenge is to capture the flag or rather the flags,” the woman says, her legs crossed over each other but swinging slightly. “First people to die, might. Winners won’t.” She tucks her legs in and spins around before lying on the snake’s tongue and shooting down in the hollow neck of it. It’s a graceful transaction but peculiar all the same. The stone mouth stays open though before almost spitting out clumps of black, red and therefore silver. It shuts when it has done that, snapping quickly with a bang and a poof of dust. We rush to where the clumps have fallen to find armor in our colors and helmets with visors, each piece is stamped with two letters. The Silver Boas scramble for their equipment but we hold back until they’re done. I reach past red plastic padded clothing to grab the one marked K.B. and find a gun there too. It’s not difficult to tell what it is from its distinct shape. Paintball. The first to die, might. She must mean that the first to be shot are up for elimination and the winners- the ones who capture both teams’ flags, will be safe.
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We all hold our equipment and a few cold stares are exchanged between teams but the red clothing stays at the foot of the statue. Untouched. Unclaimed. I look down at my now flashing watch. A countdown clock looks back at me. 29:54. 29:53. 29:52. I run. The rest follow me and the Black Mambas sprint into the woods. It’s awkward running with two backpacks, two long poles and the paintball equipment but I manage. Rita stops, panting with two hands on her knees a little ways from the statue.
“Come on,” Veda encourages. “We’ve got half an hour to hide our flags. We can’t afford to waste a second.” I silence her with my hand.
“We can set up here. It’s likely that the Silver Boas will have done the same so we can let them be the ones to create distance between us. Besides, the Kingsnakes will most likely be further in the direction we were running so if we stay here, we won’t be close to either of them,” I say. Rita is too tired to flash me a smile but she nods in appreciation. “Who has the flag?” I ask. Ash holds it up, the black fabric quivering in the leave- filtered wind.
“Bury it,” I say. “Bury it deep. Me and Rita will go create an obstacle course for the Silver Boas.” Ash and Veda nod and open the six packs one by one presumably to find anything resembling a shovel. When I walk deeper into the forest, Rita doesn’t follow me. Instead, she takes a red bag and transfers its contents to a black bag. I smile as I watch her repeat the action twice more until she has three empty red bags. She carries them over to me and we start walking.
“We should fill those bags with rocks,” I suggest.
“And then jam the zips,” she says. We both laugh.
“Here,” I say. “Let me take two of those bags.” She shakes her head but passes me one. “I’m twice as tall as you so it’s only logical that I carry twice as much.”
She scoffs, her green eyes glinting with determination. “That’s not logical or mathematically correct.” I laugh. She is worth the $20,000. Every single penny.
We keep walking until we reach a small river. Small, but big enough. It’s roughly knee deep but as I squint at the crystal water I can see dark shadows flitting past like the flies in the air.
“Want to learn how to fish?” I ask, laying the bag on the ground and pulling the two sticks from my back. She takes one and prods the end of it but it’s not sharp enough to draw blood. “If you stab it quick enough, it’ll puncture the fish.” I kneel on the river side and she follows suit. We wait with our sticks poised above the rippling water. I stab the water a few times but always too soon and the fish dart away every time the wood pieces the water. My hair falls into my face but I let it. Any movement could cost me the next catch. Rita’s emerald eyes stay trained to the end of her stick, which pokes slightly into the water. My eyes trace a fish as it weaves close to the side of the river. I stay still. It moves. Closer. Closer. I wait for it to glide just a few more inches towards my stick.
The stick stabs into the fish. It cuts deep. It flops on the wood for a few seconds, thrashing its tail with the pole pierced through its body like a kebab stick. Rita smiles and mouths a silent ‘gotcha’ as she lifts it out of the water and places it on the river bed. I find myself smiling too even though she stole my catch.
“We can cook that later,” I say. She’s not stupid and sees what I’m really saying. You can eat it later. She also chooses to detract herself from the discussion.
“We could set up ‘camp’ here,” she says, air quoting ‘camp’. I nod and use one stick to rake up a pile of rocks from the bottom of the river before scooping them out with my hands and filling the three empty rucksacks. Rita uses another rock to smash the zips after I close them before checking they won’t open without a fight. She lights a small campfire next to the bags, dipping a few leaves in the river water to make it smoke. I drag a log by the fire and we sit on it for a few minutes before I pull out my stick with the fish on the end and roast it like a marshmallow. I turn the stick every now and then watching the fish turn brown and the smoke billow from the fire, twisting and curling through the canopy above.
“It’s going to become a cloud in the sky,” Rita says, resting her head on my shoulder. “And then from fire will be rain.”
“That’s not logical,” I say, repeating her words from earlier.
“No,” she says. “I wouldn’t want it to be.”