From highway seas and thunder skies
We see our fate, you hear our cries.

Dane Hanson.
Springville, Utah.

Of course I know it's impossible that someone might come back for us. That they'd come back laughing at us and giving us some garbage about taking this so seriously, although if I hadn't seen what they just did to six of us I wouldn't put prank-pulling past them. They won't return, so why do we all stare pleadingly after the van? Why does it matter where it's going if we know it's never coming back?

Gravel crackles from somewhere behind me. I turn to see Mariana having sunk to the ground, kneeling defeatedly. "This… this isn't happening," she whines. "Pinch me. I'll wake up, won't I? And this won't be real?"

Gabrielle scoffs. "Fucking grow up. You know damn well this is real."

"Hey, don't be so hard on her," Jeremiah says, stepping in. Though his voice is steady, his eyes glow wide in the darkness, betraying his otherwise cloaked panic. "It's been a really terrible night."

"Yeah, we all saw them die," she says, her tone icy. "And, you know what? More people are going to die, so the faster you can accept that, the faster you can put yourself in a position not to be one of them." She strings an elastic around her tangled hair and snaps it taut. "I'm not going to be stuck crying when my survival is on the line."

There's a clattering of material, zippers clanging against the metallic shell of a hollow water bottle, as she hoists her pack onto her shoulders. I'd almost forgotten about my own. Even now, I wonder how significant it could really be. Is anything in there going to be enough to keep me alive for a week? Or to fend off anyone else?

"Wait," Jackson says. "You can't just leave!"

She's already running, auburn hair twisting around behind her.

"Gabrielle! We need a plan! Come back!"

Within seconds, her heavy footfall fades into the night. I'm too aware of the heavy breathing all around me, of my pulse drumming in my ears.

Gabrielle is gone. Envy pinches in my chest. Her move may have been selfish, but for her, it was the right one. No one wants to risk going after her in case we lose the rest of the group. In any case, it's probably best to have her as far away from us as possible. That's one person who I wouldn't put it past to rip my throat out for no reason.

Still, her bailing proves how quickly things are going to move out here. Panic and indecision only last so long. I know that much. I know that, within a few minutes, everyone is going to decide to either figure out how to swallow their fear and try to survive this, or give in to their emotions. For me, every minute I can stay ahead of them counts.

Doran jumps when I grab his arm. "We're going," I say.

"Now?"

"Well, it seems as good a time as any, doesn't it?"

"No one else is leaving!" Jackson clamps his hand around my other wrist and doesn't yield when I try to yank it away. "No, the rest of us are sticking together. Splitting up is the easiest way to get ourselves killed."

"Says who? What makes you the survival expert?" Audrey snaps.

"It's common sense," he replies. "We don't know what any of the other groups are planning, and I really don't want to take a chance on being overrun by a larger group. I think it's smart to be conservative here."

"And I think it's smart to be realistic," I say calmly, even though he's really grating on my nerves. "Look around. This just isn't a group that's going to work out in the long run. The only actually intimidating person we had just bailed on us. Technically, Jeremiah, or Blake…" My stomach drops when I realize I can't locate Blake in the dimness. "Blake?"

Silence.

"Oh, you're joking," I mutter.

"I was standing right next to him," Madison says. "I swear, I never heard him leave."

Jackson is unrelenting. "Well, we have to go try to find him!"

"Forget it!" I say. "The chances of us finding him out here are slim to none." Judging how emotional Blake's been, it's probably safer not to cross paths with him, either. "Look, that's two already gone. Eight is still far too many people to manage, especially in a place like this. Believe me, the sooner we split, the better."

"This will work, as long as we let it," he says, eternally optimistic, and eternally incorrect. "We'd be so much more powerful as a group. We'd have each other's backs. On your own, you're an easy target."

"But no one's going to turn on you," I say, partly hoping he senses my threat.

He doesn't bite. "Look, no one said anything about turning on each other-"

"It's inevitable!" I say, finally fed up, wondering why I've wasted my time with this argument when I could be moving right now, far from Jackson's arrogance and unmerited condescension. "Gabrielle knew what she was talking about. We can't pretend that this is just some joke anymore. People have died. People are going to keep dying. If you want to live, you're going to have to make choices of who you want to keep close. Plain and simple, this group won't last. I'm not going to stick around to see it fall apart." This time when I pull, Jackson releases my wrist. "Let's go," I say to Doran. "Grab your stuff."

As he pulls his pack up to his shoulder, I look around. My eyes latch on Jeremiah's. I certainly know Doran better- and trust him more- but it crosses my mind that he alone won't be enough to protect me.

I could use another ally, and if anyone here can pull his own weight, it's him.

"Jeremiah." His head jerks up. "Are you coming with us?"

He scans the rest of the group, weighing the theoretical security of a larger group with the rationality of separating himself for his own protection.

Slowly, he pulls his pack up and over his shoulders.

"Jeremiah!" Jackson bellows.

"It's... best this way," he says, his eyes narrowed in pain.

There's silence as he comes to stand with me. I can read the hurt on Madison's features, the grief in Mariana's. Even Jackson looks less furious than distressed, and it crosses my mind that this could be the last time I speak to them, the last time I ever see them alive. My heart swells in my throat.

But there's no time for compassion. No time for faith. Because every second I hesitate, I put myself in unnecessary danger. I can't risk my own life trying to save anyone else's.

"Come on," I say, and pull my two allies forward with me into the woods.

Mariana Brinley.
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.

I've never felt so powerless.

I'm not strong enough for this, not strong enough to cope with this terrible dread coursing through my body. I've never had to handle a life outside my idyllic, contented dreamworld, and I simply don't know how.

I don't want to get to my feet.

"You're the one who said we needed to stick together!" Alex yells at Jackson. Amidst the swirling in my head, I hear them as if from underwater.

"That was before half of us broke off!"

"What happened to wanting numbers?"

"Okay, do you want to know the truth?" Jackson throws his hands up. "I don't want to deal with you and Audrey on my own. I know there's something going on between you two and I can't let that get in the way of us trying to stay alive!"

Alex flushes, narrowing his eyes, but doesn't say anything.

"She's going to slow us down," Jackson continues. "Just admit it. She isn't going to help us in the long run."

"Excuse you?" Audrey says. "What do you know about any of this?"

Alex raises his voice above hers. "Since when was this an us decision, Jackson?"

"Since you decided you want to give survival a chance," Jackson says coolly, ignoring Audrey altogether.

They stare at each other for a long moment, before Alex throws his hands up. "Fine. Then we'll leave her. Since apparently it's your say above everyone else's."

"I'm just being rational here, Grim," Jackson says. "Not trying to control you."

"Fuck both of you," Audrey snaps. "I didn't want to be in your stupid alliance, anyway. You can go fuck yourselves."

Alex huffs and tosses his bag over one shoulder. For a second, he turns to look at her. She just shakes her head.

He turns around and follows Jackson into the darkness.

Someone taps me on my shoulder, and I jump. It's just Madison. She reaches a small hand out, and I wrap my fingers around it. She tugs me to my feet.

Audrey kicks her pack, sending it spinning in the dust.

"Hey." Madison says, her voice low. "Forget them. They're idiots."

"At least you're worth their time to argue over," I grumble, despite myself.

Audrey rolls her eyes, but steps on her pack instead of kicking it again. "I don't care. Like I said, I don't want to be stuck with them for the last few days of my life, anyway. God, could you imagine?"

Madison cracks a smile, but I don't find Audrey's words comforting at all. They're just another reminder of how real this is- how imminent death is. And how painful it must be. I shiver.

"Do we have a plan?" I ask, trying to get my mind off of the unthinkable.

"Well, since everyone else decided to ditch us-" Madison shrugs. "I'm pretty sure we have this neck of the woods to ourselves, so I feel pretty safe staying here for the time being. I'm in no hurry to go anywhere until we at least figure out what we have at our disposal."

Audrey and I just nod; she seems to know what she's doing. I'm glad at least one of us can keep her head.

We sit down right where we are and unzip our packs, and Audrey pulls a pen light from her bag, allowing us to see what we've been provided with.

A thick grey school sweatshirt is rolled up at the top of mine, one of those old battered crewnecks they made us wear during P.E. I wrinkle my nose; of course, they'd give us dirty ones. I slip it over my head. It's a little big, but it's cold out, and I'm in no place to be picky about my appearance. Still, I feel a little better after I roll the sleeves up a few times.

I pull packages of beef jerky, Kirkland trail mix, and granola bars from my pack, then a small first aid kit, stocked only with the basics- some band-aids, disinfectant, a coiled Ace bandage, tape, and a small pair of tweezers. I have iodine droplets, but no water bottle. A C-clip, a lighter, and, lucky enough, a pair of sunglasses. I try them on for size. They'll do, although they're nothing near as stylish as my Ray-Bans back home.

Home. It's never felt more distant than now. What I would give to see my sisters again, my mother. Of course, Father wouldn't be around, but it would be enough.

I felt so safe at home, so untouchable. Nothing bad could ever happen to me there. Nothing would have happened if I hadn't had to come to school in New Hampshire. But it's what we all were meant to do, my sisters and me. We couldn't stay at the estate forever.

But how I wish I could. How I wish for just one more quiet afternoon there, sitting in the window seat that overlooked the yard- overgrown in all the best ways, with ivy mounting our white painted fences, and trees shrouding the back garden. A vanilla candle would flicker from the table as I'd flip through an old novel, my worries confined to the cares of the characters in my hands.

It feels like it could have all been an illusory dream; I don't understand how such lovely and such terrible ways of life could coexist. We've spent less than a week here, but only the woods feel real anymore.

Audrey coughs. I look up to see her smirking. "It's, like, 4 in the morning. You look ridiculous."

I reach up to pull my sunglasses off, revealing my bloodshot eyes. Her smirk falls off her face.

"I'm sorry. It just looked-"

"I know," I sigh. "Forget it."

Neither Audrey or Madison say anything else, and I'm grateful. Because I couldn't begin to describe to them how much I ache, how deeply I miss my home.

Why couldn't I have appreciated things while I had them? Now, everything I've ever loved is gone.

And it's only a matter of days before I am too.

Blake Chapman.
New York City, New York.

The rhythm of my feet against the hard soil drowns out all thoughts.

It's been a long time since the burning in my calves gave way to bliss, to something wonderful and cathartic. Running has always done this for me; morning runs were always one of my favorite parts of football, even when the boys would give me shit for admitting it.

And, really, how different is it? Running to put distance between yourself and the other team, and running to put distance between yourself and, well… murderers? Maybe they're not yet. Not really. But we all played roles in the deaths of our classmates. Of Trina, Giles, Simone, Nico, Quincy, and Shane. How long has it been since they were alive? Three hours? Four at the most?

I don't stop running until I see water. A pond, its surface glassy and pink with the glow of the sunrise, stretches out before me. The edges of the mountains burn rose and lilac purple above the water.

I stretch my legs out in front of me on the water's edge, feeling instant relief as I lengthen my calves and hamstrings. My pack rests in front of me, in between my legs, and I unzip each pocket one by one.

There's nothing in the smaller pockets, but they'll be useful for organization later. Everything seems to have been crammed into the largest section of the pack, with no care for order. Once I see what's inside, I'll get to rearranging.

I start by pulling a water bottle off the top. It's empty, predictably. Luckily, I'm right next to an abundant water supply. Out of the tree cover, there's enough natural light for me to read the small package hooked to the lid. Portable Aqua- Water Purification Technology. Easy To Use!

I almost chuckle at how ridiculous it is for them to give us tablets that will keep us from getting sick, when their end goal is to see us all dead. Still, I can't help but feel a little grateful that I'll be able to stay hydrated out here, especially after such a long run.

Water is my very first priority, now that I know how to get it. I remove my shoes and socks and wade into the water, filling the bottle to the top. Back at my bag, I let my legs dry before putting my shoes back on. I️ scan the water purifying label and follow the directions for cleaning it.

As parched as I am- my throat feels more ragged every minute- I know not to rush into drinking dirty water, so I set my bottle aside. While I wait, I finish sorting through my bag.

There's a grey sweatshirt thrown inside that smells a little musty. My heart skips. It's a Haversmith Athletics sweatshirt, the type I wore almost every day freshman year, so excited to finally be on a real sports team. I eventually graduated to personalized team gear, but I've kept all my old team clothes for the sake of nostalgia.

I pull the sweatshirt out of my pack, uprooting a few bags of trail mix, and lift it up and over my head. It's softer than mine back at school, less worn and definitely less washed. It makes me feel safe, even in the middle of the woods.

I set the trail mix aside to categorize with the rest of my belongings: matches, bandages, extra socks, and a pack of beef jerky. The jerky and the trail mix are all the food I've been given. All that remains in the bag are a small black pouch, and a gun.

Sleek and silver, it's no sizable weapon. But if I have to defend myself, I could use it. I don't want to, though. Looking at it reminds me of Shane and the others, how their blood is on our hands. How, by the end of this week, we'll all be murdered, or murderers. Some of us will be both. I pack the gun back in my bag so it's easily accessible, but still out of my sight.

That just leaves the pouch. The material stretches and releases a thick black watch. Curious, I fiddle with the buttons on the side, and the screen comes to life. It's unlike any watch I've ever owned, as the screen is bulky and rectangular, almost the size of a phone. Even stranger, the display shows not an analog display, but a map.

Blue areas dot the otherwise green landscape- ponds and rivers, I assume. A simple black dot marks the edge of one of the ponds. When I tap it, it expands, pulling up a new page. My face stares back at me. Blake Chapman, it reads. It gives no other information.

I tap the screen again, and my image fades. I drag my finger around the map, surveying the other physical features. If I drag too far, the green fades to shaded grey, and eventually won't scroll any further- there are definitely boundaries, then. But there's still a good amount of land where we all could be, judging by the scale of the pond in front of me to its digital counterpart. It seems unlikely, if not impossible, that I could run into someone based solely on chance.

That should quell my nerves, but it doesn't. There must be some scheme to bring us together. I️ don't see how we're supposed to all kill each other in seven days when we can't even find each other.

I feel far more prepared knowing what I have and don't have with me. I repack the bandages, socks, and matches, then look over my food supplies. There's really not enough for one day, let alone seven. But if I'm planning on being alive as long as possible, I'll need to ration. On that topic, I should probably save my energy, too. I can't physically afford to be running everywhere.

That leaves the water bottle, the tablets, and my watch. As I move to put the watch on, my knuckle grazes its surface. Another menu comes up.

Display locations? it reads.

Yes, I select, curious.

The menu vanishes, replaced by a new map. It's identical to the old map except for smaller gray dots spotted across the mountain. I tap on one.

The image of a grinning, blonde-haired boy pops up. Brandon. Like my page, his offers no written information, but I already know what I need to know: He's not far from me.

The longer I sit alone, the more I realize how much safer I'd feel with someone else to watch my back. Not to mention, someone to talk to. Once the immediate tasks, packing and purifying my water, are complete, I'll be alone again with my thoughts. I can't risk anything creeping in.

Brandon and I were teammates for four years. We can work together as well as anyone here. Besides, knowing how sociable he is, he'll definitely have other allies. Jackson wasn't wrong when he said numbers would be valuable, but they weren't the right people.

My heart drums in my chest, excited at the prospect of a plan. I don't know what I'll do once I get there, but for now, finding Brandon is a small goal that will get me one step closer to going home.

Once my water's done, I'll finish the bottle and prepare a new one. Then I'll get going.

The only way to put this night behind me is to keep moving forward.

Seraphina Corvo.
Oakland, California.

Chanel's pace is overwhelming.

"We need to rest," I breathe, but she doesn't so much as look back.

"We don't have time to rest. Do you think anyone else is taking their time, relaxing?"

"They… probably… at least took the chance to look through their materials," I say. Even with mortal terror and adrenaline pressing me forward, my calves are killing me.

"We don't need to stop right now," she says simply. "Besides, best-case scenario, we won't even have to open our backpacks."

That's right. Because we don't plan on being here for more than a day. Chanel's master plan, as she explained to me after we took off from the drop-off, is to find a way out. A road, specifically, since someone's bound to come across us there eventually, and hopefully they'll get us out of here. First, though, she wants to climb to the top and survey the area. I guess it could be worse, given that the van dropped us at a fairly high point on the mountain, but I'm still exhausted.

I haven't found a way to tell her yet that I don't think things are going to be as simple as she hopes. If the adults went to all that trouble to cover up the kidnapping, then I'm sure they've found a way to trap us. But I'm trying to keep my dissent to a minimum. Chanel didn't have to pick me, out of everyone that was with us, to come with her. I'm not sure what use I am to her, exactly, but if anything she'll be able to protect me. I'll take any help I can get.

"But we are stopping for lunch soon, right?" I ask. I can't help myself. "Or breakfast? Since we haven't eaten since yesterday?"

She turns to look at me, but she doesn't stop moving. "You're actually hungry? After all that's happened?"

"I mean…" I hesitate.

She shakes her head, scoffing. "I'm not. We'll stop later."

Even though my ears are ringing and the rocky terrain in front of me sways and swirls, I bite my tongue and neck it out for another hour.

The sun is high in the sky by the time Chanel finally deems us at a good enough place to stop. We come to a rest in a shaded area blanketed by old branches and still-damp grass. I sink down in the grass, shrugging my shoulders to let my backpack fall to the ground.

Chanel just shakes her head and drops down into a crouch next to me. She keeps watch out of the corners of her vision as she starts unzipping her bag, head snapping to the side at a distant bird call. She's terrified, too, I realize, but I don't dare voice the thought.

"Are you going to open your bag or just sit there?"

"Oh. Sorry." With a grunt, I️ pull the bag in front of me and start unzipping pockets. An old P.E. sweatshirt rests at the top of the large pocket, and traumatic thoughts of fitness tests, of sprinting back and forth in our dusty gym, flood my mind before I remember that there are far more relevant issues to worry about. The sweatshirt will be good for nighttime, but at the height of the day it's of no use to me.

The rest of my supplies are fairly straightforward: some rope, a bottle of painkillers, and a few snacks. I'm pulling a small tube of some sort of disinfectant out of the bottom of my bag when I see what Chanel's holding.

"Jesus."

"Whoa." Chanel dangles an onyx revolver between her fingers.

"Be careful with that," I say.

"I'm not going to use it." But she eyes it for a few more seconds, her curiosity winning out, before she sets it down.

We pool our food together. I have some dried fruit, canned chili, and a few granola bars. Her stores are no more extravagant- all she has are fruit strips, a jar of salted almonds, and some pretzels. It's not much for one of us, let alone to share for multiple meals.

"So how should we...?" I start.

"Eat whatever you need to eat to keep going," she says. "We're not going to be here long enough to get hungry, anyways."

She's far too confident that we'll be able to beat the system. But I know better than to argue with her.

I grab a bar and bite in, famished. Chanel picks at a couple of pretzels, but doesn't act on her appetite.

"I'm thirsty," she announces, setting the bag down.

"Do you have any water?"

"No," she frowns. "A bottle, but it's empty."

Better than nothing, I think, looking at my own small pile of supplies. I don't have a weapon of any sort, unless you count the rope, which I don't. For a second part of me wonders if it was purposeful, me not getting anything good while she has both a gun and a water bottle. But I shake that thought away; what we got was all by chance. Wasn't it?

"We'll just have to find water on the way," she says, pretzels crunching in her mouth. "A lake, or something."

"Not a lake," I say, before I can stop myself. She frowns at me. "I mean, you don't want to deal with still water if you don't have anything to purify it with. We're better off looking for a running stream or something… in which case, heading uphill is still our best move."

She chuckles.

"What?" I say, crossing my arms across my chest.

"I'm not laughing at you, I promise. I just think it's crazy that almost everything has changed, and yet you're still exactly the same as you were back at school." She cracks a smile, despite everything. "I'm glad one of us paid attention whenever the hell they mentioned that sophomore year."

I blush, a little flattered. "Actually, someone mentioned it a few days ago at one of those outdoor lessons. I wrote pretty much everything down."

"I knew it!" she shouts, shocking me. "I knew none of the shit they taught us at Haversmith would ever matter." She grins at me, but I've sobered at her words.

"I know," I say. "It's weird. That everything that we used to worry about really doesn't mean anything anymore."

All the things my parents stressed me out about- my grades, my scholarships, my prestige as a musician, that stupid boy- they're gone now. They're obsolete. And it hurts, knowing I'm never going back to the way I was. The things I cared about, I'll never get to care about again. And didn't I waste all my time worrying, wasting the short life I had being controlled and pushed around like I couldn't look after myself?

"I'm not hungry anymore," I decide, putting my half-consumed bar back in my pack.

Chanel furrows her brow. "We've barely eaten."

"No, you're right." I get to my feet. "If you want to get out of here, we should probably get going sooner rather than later."

I can't be here another minute. Chanel hastily throws her things back together, but I'm far ahead of her by the time she starts back up the mountain.

I don't want her to see the tears in my eyes. It's heartbreaking to realize that this impossible mission to get out of the mountains is my only hope at surviving the rest of the week. Among performance days, auditions, interviews, tennis tryouts, and college acceptances, this is the only day of my life that means anything.

This alliance- this mission- is all I care about now.

Because if we don't escape the mountains, my entire life will have been meaningless.

Ritual by Ellie Goulding.

No deaths.

I found this in my drafts from November. November 2017. The last memory I have of writing this was during the middle of a Costco run last fall and until this week I hadn't so much as looked at it since.

Long story short, a week after I posted the last chapter, I joined my university's rowing team. Couldn't really make time to write among all my classes, 4am wake-ups 6 days a week, and just generally my mental health was not the best so I wasn't in any place to tackle a project like this. I've spent a lot of time reflecting on what I need to do to be happy and returning to writing is one of the best things I can do for myself right now. I'm not rowing anymore, either, so I'll have more time and energy to finish what I started. This story doesn't end until I say it ends.

It's been a full year since I've really been in the universe of this story, so if you notice inconsistencies, I really don't care enough to make this perfectly perfect anymore. Call me out though and I'll try to fix it.

If anyone's still on this site, try not to hate me too much. And if you're still reading, hey, I love you.

Till next time… and may next time not be a year from now.