.
Oh man, what a world, the things I hear
If I could act on my revenge, then, oh, would I?
Payton West, 15, Detroit, Michigan
It feels like the world is ending.
I fumble with my iPhone, struggling to slide it from my pocket. The people I'm with, Paige and Devon, they must think I'm crazy. But I'm not. I'm thinking strategically. If only I can get this footage, add a few sound effects and a couple of crops, and then manage to post it, I could be Youtube-famous in a matter of hours.
The quakes come, go, and Paige keeps pushing open doors, a thin sheen of sweat breaking out on her forehead. "I know it was one of these!" Her voice is high-pitched and desperate now. She's desperate to make us think that she's smart. While I don't mind, it's kind of embarrassing me for her.
I focus the back camera on my face, touching a bump on my chin that just might be acne. Gross.
"Here I am, in the middle of some earthquake or serious electricity malfunction or something…" I rake my fingers through my curls, suddenly wishing I had put in more gel this morning. "Will we make it out? Kinda uncertain. I must say though, even though I'm scared as hell, I'm also super excited to see where this takes us."
Devon shoots me a look. "The fuck are you doing?"
"I'm vlogging," I say warmly. "Care to let the world know who you are?"
She grabs my wrist, twisting the camera to face her. She doesn't even seem to care that it's upside down.. Her long nails dig into my skin. "Hi, world. I'm Devon and Payton here is quite possibly the world's biggest idiot for bringing out a slab of glass when we're falling to the ground every four seconds."
"Hey, now!" I pull the camera back, slightly offended. "I have a protective case."
"This is the door!" Paige shrieks with excitement, finally pulling open a door as nondescript as all the rest. "I told you guys that I knew where Elle went."
Devon and I share a look, but say nothing as we follow Paige down the staircase, down and down and down until boom, there's another quake, this one louder than all the rest. I clutch my phone tight, clenching my eyes tighter than ever as I crash into Paige, who collides with Devon. Collectively, we all give a scream and slide down the staircase like a sack of rocks.
It's Devon who slows to a stop first. "Motherfuck!" She swipes at her nose, revealing a river of crimson flowing from a nostril. She swears again, pressing her wrist to her nose to attempt and staunch the flow. "Either of you got a Kleenex?"
I frown down at my tissue-less pockets. "Sorry."
"Whatever." She shakes her head, sending blood droplets splattering everywhere. "We have to make it to the storm cellar."
There's a sudden rush from above, and we're greeted with three pairs of extremely wide eyes; Chase, Laurel, and Antonio. "Hello there," I call out cautiously. I remember my phone's still recording, and I hold it out tentatively, not fully registering what's going on until I see it on the screen. Chase and Laurel look as if they've been caught in a rainstorm, wrapped in towels. I think Laurel has shampoo in her hair. Antonio looks relatively normal, just shaken.
"What happened to you two?" Devon asks, not masking her mirth.
"The water shut out in the shower super early," Chase says back, teeth chattering, towel wrapped tightly around her chest. "There's no water in the building, like, at all."
"Water doesn't stop due to an electricity shortage." Paige's concerned voice turns our gazes over to her. "Water lines and electric wires are completely different things. The water tanks might run out, but the tanks for a building such as this would be huge. They wouldn't run out from two little showers."
"But the water does run out with electricity," argues Devon. "Unless you've got a well and a pump."
"Then tell me why the water kept on running even after the power went black!" Chase calls out over everyone.
"Everyone shut the fuck up!" Antonio groans. "What does this matter? Maybe this building's connected to a well somewhere, maybe there's some magical water generator that just stopped working, there's absolutely no use in arguing over why it stopped when. The important thing here is to get to the damn storm cellar, so why are we waiting around here on a staircase for the building to shake again?"
"That, too!" Paige says as we continue downwards, sobered up by Antonio's speech. "Buildings shouldn't shake like this. When was the last time that Michigan's experienced an earthquake?"
"Hardly ever?" I say hopefully.
She points back at me, still trekking. "When do we ever hear of earthquakes in major US cities like Detroit?"
"Sometimes," Laurel pipes up from the back. "One of my soccer coaches a few years back was from Kalamazoo County, and they had an earthquake a while back."
"That's besides the point," Paige huffs, her point past its age of maturity.
The staircase ends within seconds of her last vocalization and we all stand, nothing holding us back but a large door and a tiny square of cement. A telltale rumble growls in the distance. My calves suddenly feel unexplainably weak, and I shudder just a little, the cold fingers of fear scrabbling at my heart. I've never felt fear like this, not real fear. Maybe I've been scared when my mom yelled at me, or when I knew I was about to take a test that I didn't study for, but I've never genuinely been terrified like this. My life has been pretty sheltered thus far; I suppose I should be grateful.
"Someone open it," urges Chase.
Nobody makes a move, so I take the lead, holding my phone tight to my chest and wrenching open the knob.
It's times like this that I wish my life wasn't so sheltered.
Devon Carmichael, 16, Ness City, Kansas
Payton whips open the door, and there's Elle.
She's not alone. There's Natalie and Ailsa, huddled under thick blankets. Their faces are illuminated in green light, their eyes wide. Payton rushes into the small room, and reluctantly, the rest of us follow. I bring up the rear, slamming the door in our wake.
"This makes only eight," Elle says. Her lips are puckered into a frown, but for someone who's lost almost of her group, she looks relatively unbothered. "Where's the other four of you?"
"Sorry that we didn't run out and throw a search party for our lost friends," I deadpan. Arian, Raine, Etienne, and Mitchell are probably just stupid, reckless boys who didn't care enough to stick with the group. They almost deserve to be lost in the hotel as the floors shake and rumble.
I glance around, but there's not much to see. Two walls full of screens on a night-vision mode, broadcasting green snow out to the room. A couple crates containing cans and bottles of drink, with some heavy blankets stockpiled on top. Some boxes that say Walky-Talky on the side. If this is the storm cellar that Elle was talking about, it's a sorry excuse for one.
"You don't have to be so rude," Elle pouts. She folds her arms, eyes drifting off to the camera screens. A frown deepens on her face, and someone's stomach rumbles. "Who was that?" A pause. Her face looks sickly in the green light. "Are you hungry?"
Payton winces. "Just a little. We haven't really eaten since breakfast."
Elle huffs, like it's such a big burden. "You can try to crack open some of the cans. They're pretty good rations, actually, there's peaches and things."
I watch as Payton cautiously removes a single can from a crate and holds it up to the screen, examining it. "Hey, I got applesauce!" He cracks the lid open and takes a loud slurp, smacking his lips. "This is actually pretty good."
"Hand it over, I'm hungry, too." Natalie grabs it from him and takes a swig.
I watch in mild disgust as the can gets passed around the group, everyone slurping and gulping and humming in enjoyment. "Isn't that nasty?" I ask. "These cans have probably been down here for years."
Natalie, who the can's been passed back to, examines the label. "Nah. It's got a good nine months till the expiration date."
Out of nowhere, the soundless screens give a screech of static. Everyone's stare whips to one of the screens, seeing wide-eyed Mitchell creeping through a dark corridor. He looks like he's been sobbing, and he doesn't look as if he tried to hide it.
"Where is that corridor?" Laurel yawns. She sounds absolutely exhausted, though she looked perfectly normal moments ago.
"Seventh floor," Elle hisses. "I'm reeling his ass in. Anyone wanna come with me?"
I huddle deeper into my blanket, expecting Paige or one of the valiant narcissists to play the hero and accompany her, but nobody makes a move. Everyone stares at the ground in a dazed sort of way. I furrow my brows, eyes flickering from face to face. What's happening to everyone?
"Fine, stay here then." Elle purses her lips, surveying the room. "God. You all look like your dogs just died. Perk up a little, it's just a storm."
And with that, she's gone, slamming the door behind her. I swear I hear a lock turn.
I leap to my feet, a mixture of fear and anger burning in my chest. "What's wrong with all of you?" I kick Payton's foot, but he doesn't even snap at me not to touch his Adidas. "You guys look like zombies. The hell happened?"
"I'm so tired…" Natalie's eyelids flutter. Next to her, Ailsa's zonked. Her head lolls onto her shoulder, resting on Antonio's shoulder. Antonio himself looks like he's struggling to stay awake. His eyes meet mine.
"I know what this feels like," he croaks. "I think we were drugged. It's probably just fast-acting sleeping pills… but I don't know why we'd be drugged."
My eyes widen as I remember the almost-empty applesauce can, nestled in Natalie's hands. I whip it from her loose grip, cautiously bringing it to my nose. No smell other than the sickly-sweet apple scent. And yet… everyone's almost dead to the world. One by one, I watch helplessly as they each fall asleep. Antonio is the last one.
"What's happening… to us?" He blinks his eyes, head wavering on his neck. He looks like a floppy marionette.
"You definitely were drugged… I don't know what to do…!" I swallow hard, fear locking into my veins. It feels as if I'm rooted to the floor. Antonio looks pained, eyes never releasing their gaze from mine until he can't fight it anymore, and his eyelids slip shut.
The realization that I'm the only conscious one in this room comes over my mind. Panic suddenly consumes me, and I race to the door, heart beating rapidly. I can feel it in my hands as I jiggle and tug and push on the doorknob, to no avail. The lock click I heard was for certain. Elle locked us in here.
Frustrated, I kick a crate and send cans flying in every which way. I slump to the ground, head in my hands. "Where the fuck did I go wrong?" I whisper to myself.
My mother. It definitely started with my mother. If that bitch hadn't gone out whoring every night and started enlisting my sister, then I wouldn't have felt unsafe in my own home and run away searching for a new one… I wouldn't have left the only town that I've known my whole life. I could have stayed and retained the normalcy that sixteen-year-old girls are supposed to have. I could have joined volleyball and student government. I could be studying for a biology test right now, instead of being trapped in a sketchy basement in Michigan with seven random kids from God-knows-where across the country, kids that I've known for hardly a day, kids that are fucking unconscious and unaware of the drugged applesauce soaking into their bloodstreams. Maybe it did start with my mom. Maybe our family has a penchant for getting ourselves into fucked-up situations. Does being a prostitute even compare to being locked in a room where everyone's basically dead to the world? I doubt it.
I hear a key in the door and panic. Heart beating even wilder than before, I throw a blanket over myself and loll my head back, eyelids shut. I wonder if the person entering the room can see my heartbeat through my vulnerable, exposed throat.
"They all down?" A voice.
"I know they all had some applesauce. I watched them." Elle. That's fucking Elle. It'd be so easy right now to pop my eyes open, wave my arms around, and shout, 'Hey! You forgot me, you forgetful, stupid, traitorous bitch!' But I could never. I'm paralyzed. I'm so scared.
"Let's take them to floor six, then." Another voice. My heart sinks as I hear the foosteps. Not just three pairs, but many pairs. So many pairs. I hear shoes shuffling. I feel the person next to me being picked up – I think it was Paige.
And then I'm swept up, completely airborne in the hands of a stranger wearing heavy shoes, and it takes all the willpower I have not to shriek as I'm carried away.
Etienne Devere, 16, Columbia, Missouri
My eyelids flutter open.
The first thing I recognize is chains around my wrists and ankles. I take a gulp of air, struggling, hearing the metal clank against itself.
"Don't," a voice says from next to me. Wide-eyed, I see Antonio. He looks a thousand years older, all of a sudden.
"Why not?"
"You'll exhaust yourself."
His words soak in. I snap my head around the room, trying to take everything in. I see Raine, Devon, Natalie, Mitchell, Chase… I see everyone! Everyone from our group. I almost smile before I realize that everyone is in chains – everyone. Even tiny Paige, her small face turned to the floor. The chains seem especially bulky and huge on her thin wrists.
The room that we're in is odd – it's wall-to-wall in windows. Considering how small the room is, though, it's undoubtedly the same screen-things that we've got in our rooms. There's no building this high up that has a room this small, completely surrounded by windows like this.
Footsteps click-clack, and fear pumps itself in my veins. In comes four figures – I'm pretty sure they're a few of the group leaders that we were introduced to this morning. Kenny, Sierra, Colton, and yes, there's Elle, her tanned head hung in shame.
The blond one, Colton, is the first one to make his way to our circle. He hovers between Arian and Ailsa. "Hi," he starts.
"What the fuck is going on?" Natalie spits out immediately. His eyes widen, and he staggers back a couple steps, as if to avoid any more air bound saliva.
"You'll find out in a moment," Colton speaks slowly. His dark eyes are unreadable, but by the way his frown doesn't flicker, I can tell he's the bearer of bad news. I scan the circle once more – did someone die or something? "I just would like you to know, that this is not the doing of Kenny, Elle, Sierra, or I. We're merely pawns in the bigger picture – and you all are, too."
Everyone seems too shell-shocked to say anything, so I try. My voice is thin and unsteady, like a stream of water coming from a faucet that hasn't been used in years. "What big picture?"
Colton locks eyes with me before breaking our connection instantly. "I… I'd rather just read this with no questions. I understand you're all feeling… weird…"
"I feel scared as fuck," Antonio mutters under his breath. His wrists sag under their chains.
"Escapees," Colton says, reading from his phone. His eyes flicker up one last time, guiltily, then back to his screen. "In a real-life modification of the Hunger Games, the entire hotel resort has offered itself up as an arena for the fifth annual Runaway Games. The rules are simple, as per Hunger Games rules: eliminate everyone else on your path to victory, utilizing whatever tools you can on your rise to victory. Only one victor is acceptable, as was the rules of the original Games. May the odds be ever-"
"This is a fucking joke!" Natalie strains against her chains, metal clanking against each other. Her face is beet red with anger. "You're fucking joking!"
Cries of anger and confusion erupt across the room, but I'm too petrified to say anything. I feel as if my blood has frozen in my veins, rooting me to my chair in the position I'm forced into. This does seem like a joke. Using such soft language for such horrible themes. Using that mocking motto. My eyes search despairingly at the three free kids standing in the corner – none of them look older than me. I lock eyes with Elle. Hers are watery.
Colton waits until the cries die down, though it takes quite a few minutes. He looks personally victimized from everyone's anger. "You don't believe me," is all he says.
Arian, next to him, gives a taunting smirk. "Yeah, Bleach-Blond, we really fucking don't."
That's when Colton snaps. "You think it's fucking easy for me?" he shouts at Arian. "Having a body count of three. Thinking about the kids I murdered every fucking night when I fall asleep. Waking up with the knowledge that I'm an unconvicted serial killer. Having to show up for this every year and be the personal spokesperson to tell each new group of kids that hey, sorry you ran away and shit, but now you get to stab people and get those 'special opportunities' if you manage not to get your throat sliced!"
Everyone is shocked into silence, including me, but Colton doesn't let up. "Yeah, Arian, it's real fucking easy going to therapy every fucking day but that doesn't help, either, because the therapist is in on it and she knows what organization she's a part of but she doesn't help either, you know why? Because they've killed her brother already and they've got an arsonist ready to set her parents' house in flames if she dares leave Detroit. And she's forced to watch kids kill kids every fucking year, too, just like the rest of us." Colton's entire body shudders like he's been struck with an electric rod. "God, not even Kenny's innocent. Kenny. You all still don't believe me, do you?" Colton shouts, not looking for an answer. "Here, go believe the fucking screen. Believe the screen."
With that, he turns away, body convulsing over and over and over. He looks like he's dry-heaving, just how I feel like doing. The shock has consumed my body too heavily for me to move.
Then the screen drops from the ceiling, just behind me. I twist my neck to see the picture on the screen.
It's the lobby. The very lobby I was in not an hour ago – or so I think. I see Elle, all of a sudden, her blond hair in two thick braids. Her and a black-haired companion.
The sound is off and I can only see the screen from one eye, but I can tell something's happening. They're arguing. The black-haired girl is empty-handed, waving her hands around. Elle, increasingly agitated, has something clutched in her hand.
And then it happens.
The stabbing.
I watch in disbelief as TV Elle tackles her friend, driving the knife deep into her side. Her chest. Her stomach. Her neck. Blood flows everywhere. The black-haired girl can't even struggle anymore. I watch as Elle grasps and grasps for the knife, but it's buried in the other girl's windpipe, slick with blood.
I hear sobbing from the other side of the room and I see Elle. She's buried herself in Kenny's sweatshirt. Her small body convulses over and over and over.
"Do you fucking believe me now?" Colton stares out at us, dead eyes resembling a blond skeleton. He looks appalled. "Once we leave this room, your chains spring off of you. You're free. Nobody's leaving this hotel until only one of you is standing. You don't fucking believe me."
"You're psychos," Chase spits.
"We're not the psychos." Sierra speaks up for the first time. She glares. "You'll see. We're not the ones to avoid."
Those are her last words. None of the four make eye contact as a window panel slides upwards, allowing them through to a room unseen. The window slides down, and the chains binding my ankles and wrists suddenly slide off.
We're not the ones to avoid. I watch the people around me standing up shakily, rubbing their wrists, and I can feel my own panic bubbling up in my stomach.
The ones to avoid are in this very room with me.
A/N: Revenge by XXXTentacion.
Hope your October is going well so far. I'm hyped for the Games! Apologies for Etienne's POV being a bit longer than the rest, it had more descriptions and explanations than the others.
Reviews are appreciated!