I swear to God that I won't do this again; I've already wasted all my sins.

Chapter 16: Mercy.

Jeremiah Whittaker.
Calgary, Alberta.

From here, my two allies could be anyone.

Two hazy shapes in the distance, one sitting while the other lies against a trunk. If I clear my mind, I can imagine they're different people from the boys that essentially forced me to go with them. If I'd had more of a chance to choose, I don't think I ever would have allied with Dane, and even Doran would have been a long shot; for as much as we have in common we never really meshed back at school. Regardless, they're here now, and I'll be the first to admit I feel safer with them than without them, even if they do spend most of their time together arguing.

Even now, as I finish relieving myself behind a tree, I can hear their voices drifting towards me, making my head pound. Dane's sat up now, barking in Doran's face, it seems. I want to stay out here, away from their bickering. But I'd rather be around an annoying pair I know than whatever's out in the darkness behind us. If I'm being honest, the woods spook me regardless of if there's anything out there or not.

I take a deep breath and head back, knowing it's the right thing to do, even though I've been deescalating their arguments most of the day and it's the last thing I want to be doing right now. Frankly, I just want some sleep.

We all could use the chance to restart—right ourselves, refresh our mental states.

"I told you, all I needed you to do was be quiet for once instead of keeping me up the whole time while you talked with him—"

"Why can't I talk to someone? I'm scared, Dane. We all are. It comforts me."

Their argument becomes clearer as I approach them. Dane's face, illuminated by the crackling coals of our dying fire, hints at fury and frustration beyond his normal annoyance at Doran. We've hardly had enough food between us to eat for a day, and the side effects of hunger, thirst, and stress have been setting in since the afternoon. I have my reasons for why I think it's affected Dane most of all—despite him being the only one of us on scholarship, his sense of entitlement is much more extreme than either Doran's or mine.

Not that I would ever verbally attack him over it. I probably wouldn't even have tried to step between them if I didn't know I was the only person who could.

"Guys," I start, coming back into the smoky reach of the fire; ash pricks at my eyes and I blink it away. I settle down on my knees between the two of them. "What's going on?"

"I just want to sleep, for once," Dane says, "but you two were being way too loud." Dane looks at me, and I see the same fear in his eyes as has been in Doran's. Or is it fear? I feel bad for him—for all of us— and he's probably right that our conversation was louder than it needed to be. But Dane could easily have spoken up sooner.

"And anyways, I don't like being out of the loop," he continues. "What if you guys were making plots while I was fast asleep? What if I wake up in the morning and you two are gone? Huh? How do you think that makes me feel?"

"Dane, we weren't—"

Even though it's rude, I cut Doran off. "Dane, I'm sorry—you're right. It was unfair of us to talk without you." I don't necessarily mean all of it, because it's impossible for him to be a part of every conversation that goes on between Doran and me. In fact, I've noticed his jealousy when he's seen us talking, even when we we'd just been discussing who was going to make the trek to get water earlier in the day. But still, it's more important that we defuse the situation. I've seen the way he snaps at Doran; I don't want this to escalate anymore, especially out here. "We weren't making plots, just trying to figure out what to do about water and food for tomorrow. And, yeah. I— we're— obviously all really nervous out here. It was kind of comforting to just talk about our fears."

But Dane isn't comforted. "No. I heard what you guys said. You said you weren't plotting… but even an idiot can tell you two trust each other more than me. Which means I'm the odd one out."

This was my fear in joining the alliance, in making a pair a trio. Someone's always going to be the third wheel.

Dane shifts himself sideways against his pack, grimacing at Doran. "We were supposed to be in this together. That's why I picked you after we were dropped off. You were supposed to have my back!"

"Who says I don't?" Fear and hurt reflect upon Doran's features before he becomes uncharacteristically stoic. "I've been behind you since day one. For what? For you to treat me like shit? I just wanted to feel appreciated. Just once. Or else, why should I bother?"

Dane frowns, and I want to believe he feels somewhat remorseful; it's in his expression for all of one second before his eyes narrow, face flushed. "Why should you? Maybe because it's the right thing. Because friends don't turn on each other for a guy they barely even know." He looks at me pointedly, and I shrink back instinctively. "But I guess now that's all off the table."

There's a glint in midair—a lick of flame reflecting off a shining, speeding blade.

Before I know what's happened, I've shoved myself backwards and Doran's flat on the ground, gasping in pain. Pushed back onto my elbows, I see Dane's fist fall again, bloodless knuckles bound around the knife.

Doran screams.

I know better than to interfere in my current state. I scramble to my hands and knees and dive for my pack, gasping away tears as I fumble to unzip it and grope around for my gun. There's no time to think—I just shoot.

It misses by a foot. I fall backwards and drop the weapon, caught off guard by its kick. Meanwhile, Dane's in a fury. There's no remorse in his face—no, he's fueled by his panic.

"Stop! Stop hurting him!" I choke out.

I reach back into the dirt, fumbling in the dark for the gun. My fingers tighten around it distractedly, my hand slippery. I reach my other hand over to steady my shaking hold on the gun. Choke out a breath. Fire.

The bullet cuts through his throat. Blood sprays into the air and sizzles on the hot coals.

He drops the knife. But the damage is done. On my wrist, my watch buzzes. "Doran Hillington is dead, murdered by Dane Hanson."

Dane gasps and gurgles on his own gore, a horrible, pitiful sound, and grabs at his throat. His hands come away soiled with red.

I want to flee. I want to run, but I can't. Dane slumps backwards, face frozen in shock.

I find myself sat next to him, not entirely sure how I'm still upright. His eyes bore into mine, wide in terror.

I watch through blurry, burning eyes as death overtakes him. It doesn't come nearly fast enough.

Gabrielle Harman.
Stockton, California.

Two alerts—two murders—are enough to keep me from drifting back to sleep. Not that I've been able to get much rest anyway.

Dane and Doran. No surprise they'd go together. I catch myself starting to question how Jeremiah, of all people, found it in him to kill someone and remind myself I do not give a fuck. None of that matters. What matters is how I'm doing, and what I'm doing to keep myself in a good position out here.

The air's beginning to grey with the threat of morning and my eyes, unadjusted to the brightness, squint against my screen until I can make out what it says. I push my aching body up to a generous definition of a seated position and reach for my water bottle—nearly empty. I'll need to fill it. I made what I assume was the smart decision last night and set up camp about a fifteen-minute walk from a small stream, trying to keep it close without spending the night being devoured by mosquitoes. Turns out I'm already finding welts on my knuckles. Figures.

Sipping the last of my water and cursing my desire to itch already, I find myself back on the map, scrolling to note any movements during the night. I'm more or less smack in the middle of the area. There's a few groups down together on the far side of the mountain. Scattered nearest the peak are Gwen, Harper, and Chanel; Seraphina's name has disappeared from beside Chanel's. They gave us no clue of what killed her, but my bet would be she was taken out in whatever explosions I heard last night that, honestly, kept me up far later than they should have with irrational fear. If she were actually killed by someone—her ally, for instance— we've learned from this morning's alerts that those Benefuckers would have announced it. Hell, if she died then I can only hope some of the others were hurt, too; that's three less people I've got to worry about.

Down to my right, what I'd estimate to be a couple of hours away, is the large alliance of Alaina, Eimer, Yuto, and the jocks, minus Wes who's somewhere between Monica's trio and what's now just Jeremiah on the other side. Alex and Jackson are further down from the fivesome, with Griffin furthest away, nearly all the way on the right side of the map.

That just leaves Gerard, the only one within a reasonable distance from me. And he looks even closer than he was last night when I last checked. He's still alone, which surprises me; I would have assumed he'd feel more protected with someone else. Or maybe, like me, he just doesn't know who he can trust.

I find myself inexplicably wondering if he'd be worth an alliance, then shake the thought away. I work better alone. Besides, this is the first time I've gotten some goddamn peace and quiet in who even knows how many days.

Then again, I can't be alone out here forever. Either I get someone on my side, or I have to start taking people out.

I weigh the pros and cons while I finish my water, pack up my meager amount of supplies, and head back towards the stream to refill. I check the map as I walk, but Gerard's staying in place and no one else is coming near me. Granted, it's early, but I don't want anyone sneaking up on me. That'd be a really shit way to go out.

I'm already down to my last few iodine tablets, but there's no sense trying to spare them; I need to drink. I sit and fill my bottle, then wait for the water to purify.

I don't want an ally. There is absolutely zero part of me that wants to have to look after someone else, share my last bag of turkey jerky with them, tuck them into their shitty dirty sleeping bag at night. I'd honestly rather get sniped between the eyes than have to pretend to befriend someone out here.

I look at the map again. One group of five. Two groups of three, now. Two pairs. There's a lot of stragglers—I'm not alone in, well, being alone. But what happens if I end up having to face off against one of the bigger groups? Whether or not I'm tougher individually than anyone here, all I've got is a single, shitty pistol. Not even any extra ammo. And unless I somehow become a queen of stealth and figure out how to use a gun with zero prior experience, I'm dead.

Fuck!

I don't want an ally, but I need an ally. Even in the wake of Dane and Doran being killed, I still think I'm better off with someone. And if it's got to be anyone, Gerard's probably the most tolerable person here.

I don't even know if he'd be interested anyways. If he's not, I guess I'd probably have to kill him or something, but then I'd know.

I guess I don't really have a choice, do I? If I've already decided I want to be the one who survives all this hell?

Cussing to myself, I tighten the lid on my bottle and straighten, stretching out my sore legs and lifting my arms out above my head. I guess I have to do this. So with my pack on my back and my bottle in my clenched fist, I head off to find Gerard.

It takes less than an hour of mostly flat hiking to come across him. He's heading further east as well, and as I follow I feel like I'm stalking him. If I'm already in this position—close, yet undetected—I consider that it might just be easier to take him out now. Save myself the trouble of possibly having to kill him up the road. But I decide against it; he doesn't deserve it. Besides, haven't I already established I need him as my ally?

Once in range, I debate the best way to get his attention without immediately risking being shot, and decide to be unoriginal. "Gerard!"

He jumps, ever so slightly. I swear his face pales when he sees me, or maybe that's just my imagination. I have to remind myself that fear isn't a good thing in this situation. I come closer to him, steadily, trying not to freak him out.

"What's new?" he asks, trying to look casual but concentrating a little too hard on my every step towards him. At least his initial instinct isn't to run or attack me, which is a pretty good start, honestly.

"Not much," I say blithely, taking a swig from my water bottle. Phew, it's warming up already. "Slept like shit, got some bug bites, so more of the same, I suppose. You?"

He shrugs. "Same for me, I guess." He eyes me up and down. "Not that you're actually curious about how I slept."

He's on his guard but hasn't made a move for his pack. Whether or not he's waiting for me to make the first move, I decide to get it all out in the open. "Look, I came here to ask for an alliance. That's it. What do you think?"

He appears pleasantly surprised. "An alliance? Sure. Yeah, I'll work with you."

That was… surprisingly easy. "Really?"

"If you made the effort to come all the way over here, then yeah. I'm sure we both could use the help."

He reaches his hand out. A smirk twists at my lips, but I swallow it before it shows. This doesn't mean anything. This is purely practical.

But I can't help but feel a sense of relief as I grasp his hand and shake it.

Jackson Stroud.
Sands Point, New York.

"Alex, I'm sorry, but you're being ridiculous."

He throws his hands up. "What? I'm not allowed to, I don't know, fear for my life a bit when everyone's literally out to kill each other?"

"I'm not saying you're not allowed…" I keep my voice steady, even though his nervous energy is frustrating me to no end. "What I'm suggesting is that you take some deep breaths and try to get control over yourself again. I'm scared, too. But we need to get to work today, and I'd really like for you to be able to help."

I'm no therapist. Even if I had any interest in trying to work out Alex's emotions, this really isn't the time or place. Fact is, I'm hungry. We need to find food and figure out a better plan than sitting around eating trail mix and changing moods every hour. I'm sure Alex would prefer to keep going, but we're running out of trail mix.

I truly expected him to be a bit more composed, have a bit more pride in his appearance. Whether or not either of us survives this, the least we can do is die with some dignity.

"Fuck you. You don't get it." He chuckles, but it's got the same amount of humor as a dry cough. "Take some deep breaths. Yeah, that'll do it!"

"Shut up," I mutter. I can't tell if this behavior is better than he was yesterday, when he spent most of the morning exhausted and sick before wasting the rest of the afternoon pacing and refusing to talk to me. Honestly, I wasn't 100% sure he wasn't going to do something stupid like try to stab me in my sleep, so I kept my gun on me all night, just in case. But even after I succumbed to sleep, I woke up in one piece with him silently keeping watch. He's erratic, sure. But if he'd wanted to kill me he would have done it last night. What's changed?

"You're not really that scared," he says, tugging off his sweatshirt in the warming morning air. "I don't think you really get it."

"Of course, I get it. I—" I sigh. I want to argue with him—believe me, I could go all day—but I decide against it for the sake of productivity. "Look. I've got your back. We need to go refill our bottles, but we'll stay close together. Is that helpful?"

"Sure," he says sarcastically. Which, at this point, I'll accept as an answer from him. He keeps a scowl on his face as we walk, but I don't comment. There's no need to set him off again.

It's not far to the water. We spent last night about a five minute walk from the wider parts of a stream, as terrain directly adjacent to the water was too rocky for much comfort. Besides, had anyone snuck up on us, I didn't want the water's trickling, however faint, to cover their footsteps. It's a little infuriating that I told Alex all this and yet he still doesn't think I'm taking this seriously. I'm convinced he just can't conceptualize the difference between vigilance and paranoia.

Alex and I strip our socks and shoes from our feet, leaving them next to our packs on the shore, then step ankle-deep into the water. We stoop to refill our bottles. The coolness is refreshing on my bare skin and I find myself desperately missing the comfort of cleanliness, of a nice warm shower at the end of the day. The desire comes so quickly and powerfully over me that I have to stand back up. "Would you do me a huge favor and put the tablets in mine, too?" I ask Alex, handing him my bottle. "I'm going to go down a bit further and rinse off."

He nods and waves me on. Grateful, I wade downstream to where the water's deeper. It's a gradual enough slope that the water is less shocking and more relaxing as it rises higher up on my legs. I can hear Alex upstream splashing back to shore as I strip down to my underwear, rinsing my soiled clothes and then laying them to dry out on the rocks. Perhaps it would take less time for them to dry had I waited until the early afternoon, but I'd rather be clean sooner. I wanted to do this yesterday, but with trying to form a camp and get some sustenance together, as well as making sure Alex wasn't legitimately going to pass out, I didn't get the chance.

Further downstream, the water's deep enough to dunk my head. I hold my breath and prepare for the shock of cold water to overpower my senses. It's not so bad after a few seconds. The numbness is calming, actually. With my eyes squeezed shut, I find the beating of the flowing current and pebbles slicing through the water soothing.

I come up for air and run my fingers across my scalp to help shake the water out. I blink water from my eyes, my vision blurry with moisture. There's a sharp pain across my right shoulder and I push away from the rocks; I must have scuffed it as I went down. I look over to check it out, and it's bleeding more profusely than I thought.

There's a quick bang. Whizzing as something flies past my ear.

My heart jumps. Those weren't pebbles. I dive under again, but I'm not quick enough. From upstream, Alex's bullet catches me in the jaw.

Before the pain explodes across my face, I realize he's holding my gun.

I want to scream with the force of his gunshot but opening my mouth makes the agony so intense it's dizzying. Under the water, the current seems to be taking over me. It's not that fast. But every instant hurts like hell. I can't breathe.

I pull myself up by the rocks. Alex is yelling something— "It was going to be one of us—" but I don't hear the rest of it as I gasp for breath. He fires again, and this one hits me in the collarbone. I lose my grip on the rocks and scramble to stay afloat, but I can't move my shoulder. I try to kick away, but on the shore, Alex is moving faster.

There's no way out. I'm powerless.

It'd do me well to accept it. But I'm starting to understand why Alex was so afraid. He cocks the weapon again, and I make the connection, why he didn't kill me before.

It's Dane and Doran. That's what changed. They set the precedent for allies turning on one another.

And here I was, thinking I had the right mindset. Assuming, as always, that I was the smartest guy in the room. The quickest to the best idea. But Alex beat me to it.

Bang.

I should have struck first.

Eimer Otero.
Gold Coast, Queensland, Australia.

"Jackson Stroud is dead, murdered by Alexander Grim."

"Three fucking murders!" Alaina is beside herself. "It's not even noon!"

Alaina, Yuto, and Blake are all on their feet, struck by the latest announcement. I'm still seated, reeling at the news. Jackson's dead too? Already?

"What did you think was going to happen?" Yuto shoots back. "We were all gonna link up on the mountain and sing kumbaya for seven straight days? That about what you expected?"

"Don't patronize me," she snaps back. "Just… this is so fucked up!"

Yuto drops back down next to me. I see him rooting around in his bag, but it's only for a pack of almonds. Alaina loses interest when she sees that he's not getting a weapon out. Yuto turns to me. "Want some?"

I'm caught off guard. "Um…" It feels wrong, when we've just heard the news that someone we know was murdered, to have a snack first-thing. "No thanks."

He shrugs and downs the packet in one go.

"Yuto, why weren't those almonds put in the food stash?" Of course, knowing that I'm getting attention, Alaina's suddenly paying attention again. I glare, but of course, she's not even looking at me. "Thought we agreed we were keeping everything together."

"Yeah, and I thought you were allergic to nuts," he mumbles, his mouth half-filled. "Sue me for trying to not kill you."

Before she can respond, Brandon emerges from the trees, hands filled with an assortment of plants and tree branches. "Left my watch back here. Guess I was just so excited to get my hands on all this wood." He smirks. "What'd I miss?"

I say, "Alex just killed Jackson," at the same time as Yuto says, "Alaina wanted my nuts in her mouth."

He looks surprised, but recovers quickly. "Isn't that the guy who was fucking Mrs. Langley?"

"Guess we'll never know," Yuto shrugs.

Brandon kneels down next to me to refuel the fire. I find myself shrinking away from him. Unlike Alaina, he's got no trouble looking me in the eyes after what he did with her, but I guess I shouldn't expect him, of all people, to feel any kind of remorse. Rich boys are all the same, aren't they? Selfish, proud, thoughtless. Now, by some cruel twist of fate, I'm stuck with him and Alaina, together, in probably the worst scenario I could ever find myself in.

I wonder if they'll be here when I die, or if they'll have already left me behind.

"You think they were allies?" Blake is asking Brandon. Unlike the others, I don't mind him being a part of our group. He's mellower and tends to keep things around the camp more civil, and better yet, I don't have any history with him.

"Must have been. They were together this morning when we checked the map."

"Shitty choice of allies then," Alaina says, pointing up her nose at him.

"Says you." Yuto can't control himself. "Sure, you act all holier-than-thou, but if there's anyone out of the five of us—" he gestures around— "who I'd guess would be just enough of a cunt to stab me in the back, it's you by a landside."

"Yuto, just shut up," Brandon says, but Alaina's had enough. She throws her bottle down and storms off.

Brandon shoots Yuto a look before he trails after her. Why is he so eager to console her? I wonder.

Blake looks awkwardly at the two of us, then picks up Alaina's bottle. "I'll… go refill this, then. Either of you need more water?"

We both shake our heads, and he rushes off, seeming relieved. I give Yuto a quizzical look; he finished the last of his water with those almonds. He just shrugs and gets to his feet.

"Where are you going?"

"I just need to get out of here for a little while."

His bottle's empty and his bag's packed. Even I can tell there's no way he's coming back. But if he doesn't want to talk about it, I've got no right to make him. He's got his reasons for leaving. Just like I've got my reasons for staying.

He hikes his pack up on his back and looks over towards where Alaina and Brandon went, but they're too far gone to be paying us any attention.

"I'll tell the others you went for some food," I say, and Yuto looks at me with a frown. "That way… they'll just think you got lost for a few hours."

Something dawns on him—a kind of brightness shines across his face—and then he grins, pulling me into a quick but genuine hug. "Thanks, Eimer. You're the realest one here, you know that?"

And then he's on his way out, checking one last time to make sure he can make his escape. But Alaina's as blind to him as she is to anyone else's feelings but her own. There's no reason I shouldn't let Yuto go; I don't owe the others anything, least of all Alaina. In fact, I'm almost looking forward to seeing how furious she is when she realizes he's gone.

Almost. I watch as Yuto disappears into the trees, wishing more than anything that I could do the same.

Pray by Bebe Rexha.

23rd: Doran Hillington. Killed by Dane Hanson.
22nd: Dane Hanson. Killed by Jeremiah Whittaker.
21st: Jackson Stroud. Killed by Alexander Grim.

Did Jackson fuck his teacher? That's one secret I'll never tell. xoxo, go piss girl.

Wanted to have this out sooner, but I got really behind on reading and reviewing some of y'all's new SYOTs and I was too overwhelmed to do anything else. Seriously, I'll take an hour nap and wake up to 3 new chapter notifications. Shit's exhausting, but I'm grateful for it; it keeps me nice and busy during quarantine. I was just thinking the other day how miserable and aimless I'd be without this site right now so I'm just really happy for the stories that are going on and the people that are here to share them with me!

Happy Saturday, for anyone who's as lost in the void of time as I am right now, and hope you have a solid rest of the weekend. Get some fresh air, get your blood pumping, make something tasty for a snack, do something today that makes you feel like a person again. We'll get through this!

Till next time.