Bridget (Girl #19) was sitting with her legs crossed, head bent low. Her eyes were quickly scanning the page in front of her, racing over the words, quickly taking them in and storing them for later. There was one large pile to her immediate left, and another, smaller pile to her right. In front of her were two additional stacks, one larger than the other, the girl surrounding herself in information. A door opened to her left, and Heather (Girl #3) sauntered out of the small room, closing the door behind her. Heather's eyes fell on the other girl, and then around the otherwise empty room. She took a half-step towards Bridget, and then paused, biting her lip. She took a gulp and continued forward.
"Where are Jacob (Boy #13) and David (Boy #3)?" Heather said, approaching Bridget until she was about a foot away.
Bridget took a long deep breath, and didn't shift her eyes away from the file she was reading.
"They found the stairway up to the clock tower," the girl said without looking up, "They're up there trying to figure out how to make a giant 'G' that can be seen during the night and day."
"A 'G'?" Heather said.
"For 'Gathering'," Bridget said, "Remember, that thing that was your idea?"
"Oh, right," Heather said, not missing the blatant sarcasm. She paused, taking a breath. She glanced around the room, able to observe more since the sun had risen into the sky. The room was bare, and pretty spacious. The floor and walls were all made out of wood, and covered in a lacquer that gave everything a fancy shimmer. It also allowed the sunlight that flowed through the windows to reflect off the surfaces, illuminating the whole area.
"It still feels weird going to the bathroom into toilets that don't flush," Heather said with a slight chuckle and glancing at the door from which she had just emerged. Bridget grunted, or perhaps it was a frustrated sigh, and Heather bit her lip again. She leaned over Bridget's shoulder to glance at the contestant file.
"Girl #9 – Delilah?" Heather said, reading aloud. Bridget didn't say anything, instead slowly closing the contestant file. She stared straight ahead at the wall on the opposite side, the handcuffs still dangling from her wrists. Heather took a step to the side, feeling uncomfortable. Her shoe nudged the large pile, and Bridget gasped as she caught the papers before they toppled all over the floor.
Bridget glared up at Heather, saying through grit teeth, "Why don't you go see if the boys need some help?"
Heather backed up a few more feet, giving the other girl some space. She entwined her fingers, and glanced off to the side. The girl opened her mouth, but then closed it. Bridget made sure that the stack of papers wouldn't collapse on its own, and then returned to her current file. Her eyes returned to the words, and Heather continued to stand in that one place, her lips pursed tight. If Bridget could still feel Heather's presence, she wasn't showing it.
"Sorry," Heather said quietly, taking the stairs up to the second floor. The second floor resembled the first, but it was only a fraction of the size. It appeared that a good majority of space had been made for the gears and mechanisms of the clock. The room was empty, and Heather glanced around, confused. She wasn't sure where Jacob and David were, but she knew that, somewhere in the area, was a passage that had taken the boys up into the inner workings of the clock.
Right on cue, a portion of the wall swung open, and David emerged, blinking at the light that assaulted his eyes. His gaze fell on Heather and he grinned in recognition, nodding at her. Heather smirked back and heard the sound of footsteps approaching from the hole in the wall. Jacob appeared next, holding a hand over his eyes to shield them from the illumination.
"Hey guys," Heather said, and the boys greeted her in response.
"How's our…uh…prisoner doing?" David said with a slight grin.
"She's still reading," Heather replied, glancing down the stairwell that led to the bottom floor. She lowered her voice considerably when she said, "I don't think she likes me very much."
The boys glanced at each other, eyes still squinting from the glare. They both shrugged and gazed back at Heather.
"Makes sense to me," Jacob said. Heather's eyebrows knitted together, and she frowned, unsure what was being implied.
"It's obvious, isn't it?" David said, stepping forward, "You're a FLA, and she's from the College Crowd."
"So?" Heather said, "What does that have to do with anything?"
The boys glanced at each other again, almost to verify their thoughts. David tilted his head to the side in curiosity.
"Well, you're enemies, aren't you?" David said.
"Yeah," Jacob said, nodding, "That's what I always thought."
"Enemies?" Heather said, taking a step backwards, "Are you guys serious?" The boys stole a glance at each other for a third time, and then both faced Heather, nodding in unison.
"It actually surprised me that you didn't insist we force her to leave," Jacob said, moving toward the stairs. David followed close behind, with an expression that looked almost apologetic. They descended the stairs, but Heather hesitated for a moment. It had caught her completely off-guard. The FLAs and the College Crowd – enemies? She supposed that when she thought about it, Heather could rationalize those thoughts, but she didn't put any belief in them herself. The two groups had almost nothing to do with each other, other than the fact that they both existed in the same school.
The FLAs were extracurricular giants, taking part in almost every club or sport and charity the school offered. The College Crowd, meanwhile, only organized one event, over and over again – their infamous "Frat Nights". Word around school was that the bashes were open invite – that absolutely anyone from any grade could attend. But Heather never experienced any desire to go, and she didn't feel like she was missing out on anything either. She knew that college wouldn't be simply drunken revelry, as promoted by the College Crowd – it would be even more work than high school. And she knew the other FLAs shared her viewpoint.
So the FLAs and the College Crowd differed in their views on what life at a university would be like – that surely didn't make them enemies, right? They weren't friends, of course, but instead more like strangers. Just people who weren't acquainted with each other, who had nothing in common, who didn't speak to each other, not out of disdain, but rather indifference.
Heather spun on her heels and took the stairs down, walking in on the conversation between the boys and Bridget.
"The highlighters could work, but if we're wrong, then we'll have wasted them," Jacob said.
"How thick is the clock face?" Bridget said as she gently scratched the side of her head.
"It's hard to tell," David said, "I think we could break through it with the hammer, but probably not in the shape of a 'G'."
The three of them were quiet for a few seconds, and Heather simply stood there. She wanted to help, but the four of them had limited resources. Bridget's marijuana and lighter would be of no help, and neither would David's handcuffs, even if they weren't still around Bridget's wrists. Jacob's hammer could be useful, but Heather wasn't exactly sure how, and her contestant files were too important to do anything else with them.
"Okay," Bridget said at last, and the other three looked at her. She pulled a water bottle out of her duffel bag and handed it to David. Then she grabbed the small pile to her right and passed them to Jacob.
"Wet those papers with the water," she said, "and stick them to the clock face in the shape of the letter 'G'. We'll have to use water sparingly because we'll have to re-wet the papers as they dry, otherwise they'll peel off."
"Do you think this will work?" Jacob said skeptically.
"If the papers don't make enough of a shadow against the light clock face, add more layers," Bridget said, "It's the best plan I can think of, for now. Until more people join us, we have to use what we have."
"Don't you need these?" David said, pointing to the files she had given Jacob.
"I've already read them," Bridget said, returning to her current file, "Besides, those files are the six dead contestants. Their information isn't as important as the rest." She motioned to the large stack to her left, before pointing to the remaining piles in front of her. To the larger one she said, "Contestants not expected to play." To the other, smaller pile, she said, "Contestants expected to fight for victory."
Heather felt her eyes drawn to the pile of potential threats. A part of her wanted to know who those people were, so that she could be on guard, and not taken in by crafty killer. But a different piece of her didn't want to know, as if she were judging someone too soon, based on the assumption of a government psychoanalyst who couldn't predict someone's behavior, insofar as they could predict the weather. Contestants could be expected to do certain things, but that didn't mean that the actions were destined to happen.
The girl decided she would glance through the piles after Bridget had finished, firstly because she didn't want to give Bridget a reason to get angry with her. But secondly, she wasn't too sure how much trust to place in those contestant files. She didn't think they could be full of lies, but it was definitely a possibility. And Heather felt more comfortable making her judgments of people upon interacting with them in person, like she had with Bridget. If Heather had read Bridget's file and was forced to make a decision about whether to confide in her, Heather wasn't sure what she would do. However, after their initial meeting and after spending a few hours with the girl, Heather felt that Bridget was trustworthy, if only a little rude.
"Let's give it a shot," David said, and the two boys vanished up the stairs. Heather thought about following them, but her vision settled on Bridget once again, and the girl bit her lip.
"Do you think we're enemies?" Heather said. Bridget paused, and blinked before closing the file and staring up at Heather. The girl opened her mouth to speak, but then closed it. She placed the folder on the floor and clasped her hands together. Heather waited while she watched Bridget, unsure what the pause signified. If anything, Bridget looked confused by Heather's question, so the girl clarified.
"Your group and mine," Heather said, "The guys said they thought we are enemies. Do you think that too?"
There was another slight pause, until Bridget finally spoke.
"Enemies? No," the girl said, letting her eyes drift off to the side, "I would say more like rivals."
"Rivals?" Heather said, crossing her arms, "Of what? Our groups have nothing to do with each other."
Bridget raised an eyebrow, and a small smirk appeared on her face.
"You must be low on the totem pole," Bridget said. Heather frowned, saying that she didn't understand. "In the hierarchy of your group, you must be close to the bottom if you don't understand the relationship our groups have."
Heather wasn't sure if she was being insulted, but it certainly felt that way. Her eyes narrowed, and the girl realized she was angry with Bridget. Heather had been nothing but pleasant since Bridget had become the fourth member of their little circle, but the same could not be said in return. Bridget had been sarcastic and rude to Heather, while chatting with the guys amiably. If it was all due to some "rivalry" that Heather knew nothing about and also suspected didn't exist, then the girl felt justified in her outrage.
"There is no hierarchy," Heather said with a clenched jaw, "We're friends."
"I seriously doubt that," Bridget said in reply, meeting Heather's gaze head on, "Tell me, who is your leader?"
"No one," Heather said firmly, letting her arms fall to her sides.
"Are you sure?" Bridget said, "There isn't one person who organizes group meetings, delegates between disputes, discusses group activities? There isn't someone who usually takes control of the situation?"
Heather opened her mouth to retort that no such person existed, but in all honesty, there was a person like that inside the FLAs. She was usually the one to gather everyone to study groups, was the first to step in when a disagreement arose and no one ever really argued with her. She usually assumed control when the leadership position was open, and had no problem distributing jobs to her underlings. If anyone could claim the title of leader of the FLAs, it was Jillian (Girl #18).
Coming to such a conclusion, Heather found herself depressed. She and Jillian…well…they just never seemed to mesh. There was never any arguing or anything so overt, it was all subtle, sometimes so much so that Heather wondered if it was all in her head. If Heather found out she had received a better test score than Jillian, it became that much more satisfying, and if Jillian came out on top, Heather could almost sense an aura of smugness from the other FLA. It was like there was a hidden competition between the two of them, something that only they knew about and took part in. Heather couldn't feel the same sense of loftiness when Kristy (Girl #6) or Noah (Boy #18) received a better grade than she did, and the same could be said about all the other FLAs. But there was something…aggressive about Jillian, Heather felt.
Something savage.
"I don't understand," Heather said, "What are we competing for?"
"For control," Bridget said, letting her face relax a little, "Both the FLAs and the College Crowd are trying to control the school."
Heather's mouth dropped for a second, but she quickly recovered, her mind working around this idea that sounded so foreign to her. How could it be possible? There was no way. At least, not without Heather being aware of such a power struggle. The whole idea sounded utterly absurd.
"I don't believe you," Heather said.
"Yes, you do," Bridget said with a soft voice, "Deep down, you do. Because you know. You and the rest of the FLAs – you have a cult following at school. Students, teachers, they all bow down to you. It's like you guys are royalty, touched by God, the Chosen People. I've never heard of any of you getting disciplined, even when you break the smallest rules – late for class, missing homework – not once has a FLA been reprimanded in any fashion."
Heather wished she had a response to Bridget's claim, but she knew it to be true. She, herself, had been pardoned for being late a class several times, and she always got extensions for papers when they weren't completed on time.
"If you FLAs get behind an idea, it gets implemented, hands down," Bridget continued, "The faculty is honored to help you. I don't think you realize how much power you possess."
Heather wondered if Bridget was right. Past experiences appeared to synch up with Bridget's claim – if the FLAs became involved, shit got done, there just wasn't any other way to put it. It all felt so easy, so effortless – whenever Heather was drawn in, the teachers were only too happy to oblige, the principal as well.
Have I really been blind to this the whole time?
"The College Crowd does things differently," Bridget said, and Heather returned to the moment. She felt oblivious, like a pawn in a chess game she didn't know was taking place, didn't even know existed. And to suddenly realize she was on one side, to discover she was at war, Heather wanted to know about the other side too – her opponents, her rivals.
"I'm sure you've heard of our Frat Nights," Bridget said, "Everyone has. And yeah, it's a time for us to loosen up, to relax, to get a little crazy."
Heather nodded, listening very closely.
"But the information we gather at those parties," Bridget shook her head with a grin, "You won't believe what people will hand out with little to no coercion. Passwords, blackmail, anything we could possibly want to know, really."
She stopped, a frown on her face.
"Saying it like that, makes us sound like terrible people, and who knows, maybe we are." Bridget's face hardened as she gazed at Heather. "But we're no worse than you FLAs. Our methods are different, but ultimately, we're the same. Your group is trying to monopolize the school through success and glory. Our procedures are a little more underhanded, but we get the same results."
"You used Nina (Girl #20) to manipulate the faculty," Heather said, "And your parties to do the same to the student body."
Bridget paused, and then nodded slightly. Heather let herself collapse to the floor. Her eyes drifted downwards, until they became unfocused and foggy. She felt…used. As if everything she had done had instead been a part of someone else's plan. That her own accomplishments didn't even belong to her anymore – that she was just handed awards and titles and recognition because she was a FLA. It made her feel worthless and pathetic, but worst of all, it made her feel stupid.
"You really didn't know?" Bridget said with some sympathy in her voice. Heather didn't respond, she merely shook her head from side to side. "How did you get mixed up with them anyways?"
Heather raised her head slightly, and she stared at Bridget's face. A little voice told her that Bridget had revealed herself as the enemy, one who excelled in information gathering. But the warm smile on Bridget's face said that she wasn't interested in using Heather's past – Bridget was, instead, extending the metaphoric hand of friendship.
"Before the group had been branded the FLAs," Heather said, "It was just Kristy, Jillian, and my boyfriend, Evan (Boy #24). I had…a crush on Evan back then." Heather smiled, although it didn't feel completely genuine. "I was a pretty good student, so I fell into the crowd pretty smoothly. I don't think I would have tried to…if Evan hadn't been there."
Heather heard a sound, and she turned, realizing that Bridget was giggling. It seemed to suit her small frame and blond curls, but it utterly destroyed the image Heather had slowly developed of Bridget. Heather smirked and chuckled quietly too.
"The lengths we'll go for men, huh?" Bridget said. Heather nodded, and she felt the tension in her chest begin to ease.
"Was it the same for you, then?" Heather said. Bridget paused, and Heather could see some tension in her face, a hesitation in her breathing.
"Not quite," Bridget said, "The group had almost completely formed when I joined. And it started out as it intended – just a group of people who were looking to have a good time. I didn't care too much for school, and it was nice to find people who were like me – who wanted to enjoy their youth while they still had it."
"So who came up with the name?" Heather said, getting herself comfortable.
"Riley (Boy #6)," Bridget said, "He has an older brother who went to a university on the other side of the country. His brother told Riley that college was a ton of fun, a real blast, and that he should have started living it up while he was in high school."
"That's where the idea came from?" Heather said, almost in disbelief. Bridget nodded with a smirk.
"Riley took his brother's advice and started the party lifestyle. And he found others to join him, myself included."
"So, when did it become something else?" Heather said, "When did the group's focus change?"
Bridget's smile vanished almost instantly. She stared off to the side, and Heather could tell that there was a sense of fear rising off of Bridget's body. Heather shivered as a chill raced through her.
"Our leader joined the group last," Bridget said, her voice low, "That was when everything changed."
Heather slowed her breathing, not wanting even the slightest noise from interrupting Bridget.
"It wasn't about having fun anymore, it was about using the information we had gathered. Our boss said that we should use our strengths – that none of us stood a chance at even getting into college – but we could change that. We could get ourselves the grades to pass classes without doing work, or the money to buy ourselves anything we wanted – and we could do it through our parties! It all sounded so…"
Bridget took a breath.
"…too good to be true. Don't get me wrong, we weren't forced into anything. It had started out innocent enough, but…we're not like you, Heather."
The girl stopped, listening to Bridget very closely. The sun continued to shine through the open windows. The sounds of Jacob and David had vanished completely.
"None of us have ever felt special, or important, or anything like that. And to suddenly have people at our feet, doing anything we asked…even if it wasn't right, we all liked it. We liked not getting attitude from the faculty, we liked the cash in our pockets from the drugs we sold…"
Bridget trailed off. She took a long, deep sigh.
"I guess you and I are pretty similar," Bridget said, "We were both used. You were recruited to boost the head of the FLAs to become God of our school. And I was enticed to create our own Satan."
"It's weird when you say it like that," Heather said, stretching out her limbs, "Like good and evil are waging war at our school, both battling for control. But I don't know if I could brand one side as 'good'. Since we've been talking, both groups sound pretty terrible."
Both girls laughed at that, until slowly their chuckles faded into silence.
"At least you knew what you were getting into," Heather said softly, "I thought we had come together naturally, and that we were all trying to help each other become better people. I thought we were friends. To think that it was all a lie, that we were enlisted in order to make one of us god-like in the eyes of authority…"
"Who is it?" Bridget said, her eyes focused on Heather's, "Since the FLAs never came to our parties, the information we have on you all is virtually zero. Tell me – who is the head of the FLAs?"
Heather took a minute, listening to the question echo inside her thoughts. She still wasn't completely sure – if anything, she was just as confused as she was when the conversation had started. But if she had to choose, if there was someone inside the FLA who would do something like this, who could manipulate the rest, who could rise the group to power without letting any of the others FLAs catch on, someone with high ambition, someone with a plan…
It's her…it has to be her…
"Jillian," Heather said, the name repeating in the open air of the empty room. Silence settled on the two girls for a few moments. They continued to sit, still as statues, staring at one another, but there was something deeper at play, like the mending of an open wound. There had been an abyss between the two ladies, a chasm against which they had been pushed by the ringleaders of their respective groups. It had threatened to swallow them, to claw at them until one toppled in, leaving the other as the victor. But they had resisted, and instead, they had helped each other away from the summit. The initial shock, the feelings of betrayal and vulnerability, all began to melt away.
"Your turn," Heather said after a moment, "Who is the leader of the College Crowd?" She could see the growing fear in Bridget's eyes, noticed the hesitation in the girl's breathing. Bridget fidgeted, as if to ease the pressure weighing down on her. Finally she nodded, and took a breath.
"It's…"
-B-A-T-T-L-E-
Tobias (Boy #21) shook the compass in his hand. With a sigh he returned it to one of the duffel bags he carried with him. He pulled the second duffel bag closer to his seated body and opened it, pulling out another compass. He stared at it for a minute before tossing it back into the second bag.
"Two compasses," the boy said aloud, "and both are broken."
The lake water gurgled off to his side. The morning sun reflected off the placid surface, and it made Tobias squint as he gazed over the water. He wasn't sure why bad luck seemed to rear its ugly head, but for both compasses to be broken, there must have been some serious bad mojo floating around him. Bad enough he was chosen for The Program, but to also be at the mercy of his sense of direction…
Well, at any rate he'd managed to find the lake, which put him in the northwest corner of the map. He was grateful for that, at least, because if he hadn't stumbled upon the basin, he probably would have continued north until he exited the playing field.
And then, BOOM.
No more Tobias.
He sighed, absentmindedly making circles in the dirt with his finger. The whole compass problem wouldn't have been an issue if Tobias hadn't been alone. But that was not the case. Back when he first left the school, the boy anticipated that the rest of the College Crowd would be outside waiting for him, perhaps with a few fresh corpses at their feet. After all, they had lost Nina – it was important for the rest of the group to stick together.
But the area had been vacant. Empty. Tobias had been the final Crowd-er to leave the school, and not a single one was waiting for him upon his entrance into The Program. Not even Bridget, who was almost always there for Tobias when he needed her. She had been released only two people ahead of Tobias, but not even she had stuck around the school. At some level, this hurt the boy, that, after all they had gone through together, none felt they owed him anything, not even to wait for him. It started out as mere indignation, at the slight the rest of his friends had forced upon him, but in the six hours since the beginning of The Program, it had developed into something else.
An ire.
A fury.
A RAGE.
The boy was pissed, and in his own mind, rightfully so. For all he knew, the four of them were all together, and they had left Tobias to fend on his own. He could almost see them, the four all sitting in one of the many shacks littering the village, sipping on beers that they had managed to discover somewhere in the playing field (even though Tobias knew all materials had been removed prior to the game start).
"It's a good thing we left Tobias behind," Riley said inside Tobias' mind, "Otherwise there would be less beer for all of us." The other three laughed in agreement, and Tobias grit his teeth at the scenario playing inside his thoughts.
I'll show them! They'll be sorry they didn't share their beer with me!
Tobias reached into one of his duffel bags, searching for his weapon. With a sigh of frustration, he realized it was in his other bag, and he rummaged through it, finally pulling the dagger from its contents. He smiled wickedly, staring at the sharpened blade. After he was through with them, they would all be sorry they left him behind, sorry they didn't want to share!
Tobias sighed. Sure, the dagger was a pretty sweet weapon, but the boy had been given two bags, and he had hoped that they would both contain kickass items. But the duffel that was supposed to be Mike D's (Boy #9) had a plastic bag as its designated weapon.
A plastic fucking bag!
What was Tobias supposed to do with that? There was no way it was actually dangerous – more of a joke than a means of causing harm. The extra food and water would come in handy at some point, so all wasn't lost. But Tobias couldn't help but be disappointed that he had two chances to receive a gun as a weapon, and neither had been a firearm.
Tobias gazed back out at the lake, and a thought crossed his mind. He tilted his head, as a smirk made its way over his face. He placed the dagger back into his duffel bag (not Mike D's) and then stood. First he removed his shoes, and then his socks. His shirt was up and over his head and then his jeans dropped to the earth. He took a few steps toward the water before stopping, glancing back at his pile of clothes, and then removing his boxer shorts, tossing them on top.
The water was warm, and so he had no trouble entering the lake's depths. He paddled out a little further, treading water up to his neck. He took a long breath and then submerged himself, feeling the weightlessness relax his senses. Something tickled his foot and a surge of fear raced through him for an instant, but the sensation disappeared quickly and Tobias surfaced, feeling refreshed. Droplets raced down from his short hair over his eyes. He wiped them away with a free hand, and then resumed treading water. The warmth of the lake water, while comforting at first, was slowly raising Tobias' body temperature. One more dunk beneath the surface and then he'd get out.
Just as he submerged himself, a sound reached his ears.
It surprised him, and he immediately kicked out to resurface and discover the source of the noise. However, something slimy wrapped itself around his ankle, and tugged him back down into the depths. Tobias' mind screamed in terror, and he furiously thrashed in the water. More tendrils ensnared his limbs, preventing the boy from reaching the air his lungs began to desperately crave. Water rushed into his mouth as a spasm racked his chest. He could see the ripples and waves his swipes were creating above him, and he wondered how he could be so close to the surface, but unable to reach it.
Energy was slowly draining from him. His limbs felt heavier, and the water seemed to weigh down on him, pushing Tobias further and further into the murky depths. His lungs twisted and wrenched inside his body, trying to find air where none existed. He could feel a loss of control, a numbness that was gradually making its way through his body. Soon his chest would loosen, and liquid would rush inside him, and that would be it.
He would die.
An image flashed inside his head. On a paved road, a squirrel had been run over. Its head was flattened and part of its body as well, but the hind legs continued to kick, and the tail was straight up in the air, twitching. Even underwater, the smell of blood entered Tobias' nose, and a coppery taste rose in the back of his throat. His eyes widened, as the squirrel raised its flat head, and hissed at Tobias.
Immediately, his strength returned. Tobias thrashed and tore the tendrils, ripping them away from his arms, his ankles, his neck. He kicked his legs, feeling the strain on his body, and suddenly, he was up. He coughed and choked, the water rushing out of his mouth. The air was warm and heavy, but it entered his lungs and they calmed, satisfied with the renewed oxygen supply. He raised an arm, watching as it rose from the water, encased in seaweed. He tried removing the long coils of vegetation, when the noise reached his ears again.
The boy glanced at the shore, to see another person standing there, waving both arms.
"Hey, Tobias!" Wyatt (Boy #10) called out with a grin, "I'm over here!"
Tobias' anger returned with a vengeance, fueled by his near-drowning experience. Hadn't Wyatt noticed Tobias' splashes and apparent distress? Had the boy waited to see if Tobias would resurface? Didn't he know Tobias was in trouble?
The boy began to paddle back to the shore, the weight of the underwater plant life slowing his process. He found the soft earth eventually, and stood, finally peeling the layers of seaweed from his body. He turned and hocked up some leftover lake water still lingering at the back of his throat. He emerged onto the shore, exhausted, but not wanting to reveal any weakness to Wyatt.
"Oh man," Wyatt said, turning his back on Tobias, "Put some clothes on, Toby."
Tobias eyed his duffel bag, and his mind pictured the dagger hidden just inside. He could easily get to it and bury the blade into Wyatt's back before the boy even knew-
"Hey, man," Wyatt said, his back still turned, "I'm glad I found you. It's fucking scary out there without the rest of the Crowd, you know?"
Tobias paused and waited, his attention focused solely on the other boy. The water dripped off his body, but he didn't remove his eyes from the duffel bag and the weapon it contained.
"I waited a little while outside the school," Wyatt said, and Tobias slowed his breathing, not wanting to miss a single word. His lungs complained inside his torso, still a little shaken from his experience a minute ago. But the boy refused them, quietly listening.
"I mean, when I left the school," Wyatt said, "I expected Yvonne (Girl #1) and Riley to be there waiting, especially after losing Nina like we did."
Wyatt took a long deep breath.
"But neither of them were there," Wyatt said, "I stuck around the school for a little while, watching people leave, and when I looked at our contestant list, I saw that you and Bridget were going to be released close to each other."
Tobias grunted in some form of agreement, and then said, "Can I borrow your shirt?"
"Sure," Wyatt said, removing the article of clothing and tossing it backwards to Tobias, still without turning around. Tobias swiped the shirt from the air, and began to dry his body as Wyatt continued.
"I figured that you and Bridget would meet up, and that I should round up the other two, so the whole group could be together. But I couldn't find either of them, and by that time, the school had gone danger zone and I didn't know where to find you and Bridget."
Wyatt released a sigh that sounded like relief.
"I'm really glad I found you, Tobias. I-"
The strike came fast. Wyatt gasped as he felt the icy chill on the back of his neck, and the feeling of moisture, of wetness ran down his back. He reached back, his hand closing over the shirt, and pulling it around to his face.
"Dude," Wyatt said, spinning around, "You used my shirt as a towel?"
The boy saw that Tobias was almost completely dressed, pulling his socks over his feet.
"It'll dry," Tobias said.
"Yours would have too!" Wyatt said, slightly annoyed, "Why did you use mine?"
"Because then I couldn't wear mine," Tobias said in reply. Wyatt opened his mouth to argue, but Tobias interrupted him.
"Wyatt, do you have any beer?"
Wyatt stopped, and frowned in confusion. "Beer?"
"Yeah," Tobias said, standing up and slipping his feet into his sneakers without tying the laces. "Did you find any beer in the playing field?"
"No way, man," Wyatt said, shaking his head, "The Feds removed all the items from the area, remember? All we got are these bags."
Tobias nodded and then said, "But if you did find some beer, you would share it with me, right?"
Wyatt let an awkward grin cover his face. "Of course buddy," Wyatt said, "It's never any fun drinking alone."
Tobias smiled, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders. He walked towards Wyatt and embraced him in a tight hug.
"I'm really glad you found me too, Wyatt."
"Okay, man," Wyatt said, peeling Tobias' arms off his body, "Don't go all gay on me. I get enough of that ass smacking stuff from the other guys on the football team."
Tobias stepped back glancing over at his two duffel bags. Wyatt followed the boy's vision, and his smile widened.
"I forgot!" he said, "You got two bags! Show me what you got!" Wyatt paused for a second, and then asked, "Why are you carrying two bags? Wouldn't it be easier to carry everything in one?"
"But then I wouldn't know what stuff is mine and which is that dead FLA's," Tobias said with a tilt of his head.
"Does it matter at this point?" Wyatt said, and Tobias thought about it for a second.
"I suppose not," Tobias said, and began transferring all the items from Mike D's bag over to his own. He came across the compass and held it out for Wyatt to see.
"We'll need to use your compass," Tobias said, "Both of the ones I got are broken. See? They always point me north, even when I want to go east or west or south!"
Wyatt stared at the compass, and then back up at Tobias' face.
"You're joking, right?"
Tobias frowned, and then glanced at his compass, to see it once again pointing north. He bit his lip, but quickly plastered a grin on his face and met Wyatt's gaze.
"O-Of course I'm kidding," Tobias said. He chuckled softly and Wyatt grin too. "Still, I'm no good with these things. Why don't you navigate for the both of us?"
"Sure," Wyatt said with a nod, "I'll do what I can. But where are we headed?"
"Let's go find the rest of our friends," Tobias said, his grin looking a little more fierce than genial. "I have some questions I want answered." Wyatt tilted his head in curiosity, but said nothing and simply shrugged.
"Are we going to play?" Wyatt said. Tobias didn't respond right away, and so Wyatt continued. "The reason I ask is because my weapon is just some crappy duct tape. I don't know how much help I'll be in a fight so…" He trailed off, his gaze falling to the ground. The only sound that could be heard for a few seconds was the soft gurgling of the lake, both of the boys not speaking.
"Do you want to die?" Tobias said, and Wyatt raised his head to meet the boy's stare.
"No," Wyatt said with conviction, and he shook his head to emphasize his reply.
"Neither do I," Tobias said, "So I guess you and I should play."
Wyatt bit his lip and stared out at the lake, squinting because the light reflected into his eyes. Tobias knelt down and finished packing away the plastic bag and the rations from what would have been Mike D's duffel into his own. Wyatt still said nothing, his wet shirt still dangling in his hand, as the sun beat down on his bare chest.
Tobias said as he rose to his feet, "Simple, right?"
-R-O-Y-A-L-E-
"You're joking, right?" Heather said, her mouth hanging open, "Him? But I thought he was…I mean he always acted like he was…"
"Stupid?" Bridget said, and then nodded, "I know what you mean. None of us really know what to make of him. He comes across as a complete moron, but his plans work, his ideas are flawless. And he's dangerous."
Bridget stopped for a second.
"He's like a kid, you know?" Bridget said. Heather wasn't exactly sure what Bridget meant, so she let the girl continue, "He's simplistic. There's never really any grey area – it's either black or white. It's a juvenile way of looking at things, but it simplifies everything. Need some extra money? Sell some unknowing freshmen some basil or oregano instead of actual pot. A kid at school mouthing off to the Crowd? Invite him to a party and get a picture of him doing something unsightly to a potted plant – a photo that can easily be forwarded to college admissions."
"That sounds awful," Heather said quietly.
"It is," Bridget said with a nod, "But it works. And it proves my point – children are incredibly cruel. They're vindictive, and most grow out of the self-centered stage at adolescence."
Bridget shook her head, "But Tobias hasn't. I think that's why he comes across as an idiot, because he acts childlike." She paused for a minute, and Heather watched as a shiver ran through Bridget's body. "I think what scares me the most is that he could be faking the whole thing. It could all be an act, and he uses it to make people underestimate him, to earn their trust. That's what he did to us, essentially. None of us knew what we were getting into by including him into the College Crowd."
"But you know now," Heather said, "Why are you still a part of the group?"
Bridget smirked knowingly, "I'm here, aren't I?"
Heather laughed, "I guess that's true. The fact that you're here with us instead of out there with them…"
The girls were quiet for a few minutes, both of them taking in the knowledge that had come to light. Heather felt that each of them had learned a lot about the other in a short time, and it was a lot to take in. She truly did not want the conversation to stop because it felt like the first honest exchange she had had in a long time. But it seemed that the two of them appeared a little confused about how to continue. They had been strangers a few minutes ago, but very quickly they had managed to form a relationship, of sorts. It was comforting, but in some ways a little scary too. Heather wanted to tread carefully.
"Out of your group, who can we trust?" Heather said, deciding to keep the conversation on topic.
"Yvonne, probably," Bridget said after a few seconds of thought, "and maybe Wyatt too, but I'm not sure about him yet. Tobias is definitely a threat, and I feel that the same could be said for Riley."
Heather nodded, and she didn't even bother to wait for Bridget to ask.
"Well my group is a little tamer, I think," Heather said, "Jillian is definitely dangerous, but the rest I would expect to be okay."
"What about nervous dispositions?" Bridget said, "This game isn't just about people who are bloodthirsty or like to fight. It also affects the minds of weaker people. They'll give into the fear and paranoia and be driven to play."
Heather felt a sickness inside her stomach, but she knew Bridget was right. She herself had felt the urge to play back before she had stumbled across David and Jacob. It would be the same for the rest of them – Heather needed to take a closer look at her friends. The safety of the Gathering rested on her unbiased analysis of the other FLAs.
"Kristy is pretty even-keeled," Heather began, "Although she did mention something about anxiety medicine to me once. We should be careful of her, just in case. I would have said that Noah couldn't hurt a fly, but I was completely unaware of his…relationship with Mike D, so I don't know anymore. Layla (Girl #24) has always seemed a little off to me, but in a harmless way. I think she just sees the world differently – I think we could trust her. And my boyfriend Evan."
Heather smiled at his name.
"We can definitely trust him."
Bridget stared off to the side, her eyes falling onto the larger of the two piles sitting before her. She started to speak, but instead sighed deeply. She returned her gaze to Heather, her hands folding and unfolding. Heather frowned, but she didn't say anything – she merely waited for what Bridget was trying to announce.
"I…" Bridget stopped, but then shook her head, speaking with more conviction, "I wasn't going to show you this…until later." The girl reached into the pile and removed a folder. She held it in her hands, her index finger gently touching the edge. "I hope you realize that I'm not doing this for some spiteful reason. I just feel that…you deserve to know the truth."
Bridget extended the file outwards and Heather stared at it. She wasn't sure exactly what was being offered to her, but a feeling inside her chest told her that, whatever it was, she didn't want to know. However, Heather's arm disagreed, extending out and taking hold of the papers. Heather sat there for a full two minutes, the folder in hand, trying to discover what was terrifying her so much.
The sun continued to shine, and despite the heat the rays were bringing, Heather suddenly felt colder. She became aware that her butt stung from being seated on the hard, lacquered floor for so long. She took a few deep breaths, and glanced up at Bridget. The girl was intently staring back, and nodded once with assurance. Heather quickly opened the file, before she had a chance to second-guess herself.
"Boy #24 – Evan," said Heather out loud. She bit her lip and glanced up at Bridget. The other girl said nothing, she simply sat and stared, waiting for Heather to continue.
"Designated weapon: slingshot," Heather orated. Her worry kicked into gear, suddenly realizing that Evan was somewhere out in the playing field, and that his only means of protection was a measly slingshot. But Heather knew how adaptive her boyfriend could be – if there was someone out there that could learn how to use a slingshot quickly, Evan was the one. At the very least, Heather predicted that Evan would become proficient enough to allow himself time to escape if he should happen upon another contestant.
Heather's eyes quickly fell further, taking in her boyfriend's analysis. She was about to turn the page, when she frowned. She blinked a couple times and then brought a finger to the page, so that she could read each word slowly. The girl jumped to her feet as her mouth hung open for a second, before she pursed her lips, going back a few lines. She mouthed the words, to make sure there were no mistakes.
"Heather," Bridget said, slowly standing, "I'm so sorry."
"It's a lie," Heather said, closing the file, "It's a goddamn lie!" She threw the papers to the ground and they struck, making a loud slapping sound against the polished floor.
"Heather-" Bridget said.
"No, this proves that the files can't be trusted," Heather said, pointing an accusatory finger at the folders.
"Everything in my file was the truth," Bridget said softly.
"Then only his is a lie," Heather said, "They're trying to get me to play! That's the whole idea."
Bridget extended a hand out to the girl, but Heather drew back.
"NO," Heather said with wavering voice, "I don't believe it and I don't believe you. I won't let you convince me…he would never…"
Heather slowly brought her hands up to her face, but she refused to let any tears fall. Her face turned a bright red as she tried to keep in the deep ache that thudded inside her chest. She felt the urge to release a sob, but she swallowed it and the lump that had formed inside her throat.
"Not with her," Heather said, "Out of all of them, why did it have to be Jillian?" The tears began to flow freely, and Heather clenched her hands into fists. Her cheeks felt like they were on fire, and her anger burned fiercely inside her chest. She thought her legs would give out, but she remained standing, teetering to one side and then the other.
"I won't believe it," she said quietly, "He wouldn't betray our relationship. He wouldn't. And not for Jillian. Not for her."
But despite her words, Heather did believe. Somewhere inside her head, small details clicked into place, things that seemed inconsequential at the time: Heather calling Evan to discover that he and Jillian had organized a quick study group – just the two of them. Or even smaller things, like furtive glances and sly smirks between Evan and her. Or the unspoken competition between the two girls that Heather had always sensed, but couldn't describe. Had a part of her suspected it? Perhaps. But Heather didn't give into irrational urges and doubts. She had trusted him, and he had wronged her.
Betrayed her.
Heather released a screech of pain, of misery. It felt like the ground shook beneath her feet, and the scream did nothing to ease the fury, the hurt raging inside her.
"You!" a harsh voice called from the side. David hovered by the bottom of the stairs, his concerned eyes focused solely on Heather, as Jacob rushed forward, gripping Bridget by both shoulders.
"What did you do to her?" Jacob said, his voice low and angry. His fingers clamped into her flesh, and the small girl winced.
"You're hurting me," Bridget said, her eyes falling to the floor.
"What did you do to her?" Jacob repeated, his voice rising. He shook her back and forth a few times, his grip tightening.
"Nothing!" Bridget said, her eyes widening with fear, "I didn't do anything!"
"Don't lie to-" Before Jacob could finish his sentence, his face flew sideways as a loud smack echoed through the suddenly quiet room. His grasp loosened considerably, but it was the second slap that knocked the boy to the floor. Heather's hand stung, but it was nothing compared to the emotional pain that racked her body. Jacob looked up, rubbing the sore side of his red face, his expression confused.
"Don't touch her!" Heather said, her voice high and hysterical. Nobody moved as they watched Heather seethe with pure rage, her chest heaving with each labored breath.
"Boys…are so…FUCKING…STUPID!" Heather shrieked the last two words, before turning to Bridget and burying her face in the smaller girl's shoulder. Heather wept, her arms wrapped around Bridget's neck. The smaller girl tossed her head slightly to remove some blond curls from her face. She tried to raise her arms and return the embrace, but the handcuffs prevented such an action.
"It's okay," Bridget said quietly into Heather's ear, unsure if the girl could hear her through the moans and sobs. She repeated herself over and over, letting Heather cry into her shirt.
On the floor, Jacob rose to a sitting position. He continued to massage the aching part of his face, and with his tongue he checked to see if any of his teeth were loose. David slowly approached him from the side, extending an open hand downwards. Jacob reached up and grabbed it, allowing the boy to help Jacob back onto his feet.
"Are you okay?" David said, placing a hand on Jacob's shoulder.
"Yeah," Jacob replied simply. The two boys watched as the College Crowd-er continued to soothe the FLA. Jacob glanced over at David and his friend returned the stare.
"What…?" Jacob said.
David could only shrug in reply.
-B-A-T-T-L-E-
The Night Watcher (Boy #?) adjusted his weight slightly, and relieved the dull ache that was slowly making its way up his back. Sitting on top of gnarly branches wasn't exactly the lap of luxury, but he had remained completely undetected during the first six hours, and he didn't anticipate that changing as The Program wore on.
With the rising of the sun, the night vision lens had automatically switched off, rendering the Night Watcher as simply a boy with a helmet and a magnifying lens attached. Still, with the coming of the day, the boy could see much further than he could with his night vision – the sunlight illuminated the entire playing field, and from his tree-top perch, the Night Watcher remained the ultimate spectator.
At that moment, the boy could make out a few figures slinking around the village, independent of each other. Whether or not they were playing couldn't be determined, although the boy figured at some point or other, they would meet up with each other. Then, perhaps, he'd have some information on the other contestants.
He wasn't completely uninformed – he recognized some of the other students based on reputation. And somewhere inside himself, he acknowledged the longing for others he knew a little more intimately. There were those out there about whom he was concerned, and who also cared about him deeply.
Or rather, the boy he had once been.
He wasn't that person anymore. He had shed his government-issued contestant number, along with his birth name. His only means of escape was to strip himself of everything he had once been, and start anew. He was reborn, as the all-seeing eye of The Program. He felt no arrogance from his position in the limbs of the massive tree, but instead a numbing indifference. As much as he wanted to climb down, and begin the search for his loved ones, he knew that the only thing waiting for him on the ground was a painful death. At least high up, the Night Watcher could see threats coming from all over, and if the situation became futile, then he knew he had it in him to take that one small leap of faith, and end his life on his own terms.
He knew he was abandoning those closest to him by remaining up in the sky, but he couldn't see how his presence would be useful to them anyways. And the longer the Night Watcher sat on his perch, the easier it became to forget them, to forget himself, to forget that he was an active participant in The Program, and not just one of the millions watching it unfold from their living rooms.
I'm sorry.
The words appeared in his head before he even realized he had thought about them. And suddenly, faces flashed inside his mind's eye. The boy closed his eyes, trying to force them away, attempting to reclaim his persona as a distant observer. Slowly, they slipped back into obscurity. Except for her face. She lingered longer than the rest, and it took the boy a moment to realize he was crying.
His hands cramped as he gripped the branches tightly. His whole body tensed, waiting for her presence to leave him. One painful sob emerged from his chest, and he opened his eyes. Through the magnifier, he saw that two people had discovered each other inside the village. As reality bore down on him again, her face drifted back into his unconsciousness.
He watched the two contestants squarely face each other. One was a female with brown hair, and she carried a katana slung over one shoulder. The other was a male, and a large one at that. He towered over the girl, and in his hand he held a peculiar curved object that the Night Watcher couldn't easily identify from such a distance. The boy had darker skin and a buzzed haircut. The two of them faced each other (maybe they were speaking?) for less than a minute, when suddenly the girl turned and walked off. The taller boy appeared confused at the brunette's actions (and the Night Watcher seemed to agree), but he also continued on his way.
The Night Watcher sighed, thankful, at the very least, for the distraction that had helped remove the guilt from his mind. If anything, it was a reaffirmation of his decision. If he had come across either the large, dark-skinned boy or the girl with the katana, the Night Watcher doubted he could have survived the encounter. He was useless on the ground, both to himself and to those he cared about, but up in the sky, he had a chance at life.
The boy shifted his weight again. Guilt threatened to rear its head once again, but the boy suppressed it. As much as he wanted to see her face again, he knew that it would come at too high a cost.
After all, as far as he knew, she could already be dead.
He occupied his time watching the figures weave amongst the shacks in the village, hike around the vegetation through the forest, and in particular, the Night Watcher stared at a shadow that was slowly becoming more and more pronounced on the clock face at the town hall building.
"Huh…looks like a 'G'," the boy said to himself.
Current Danger Zones: 28
Pending Danger Zones: 20, 21, 33
(44) Contestants Remaining