The White Games

11) Chapter Eleven

#17 Oreo Dutton – Day Three - 12:32 PM

The morning is cold and chilly. The sun is blocked out in the sky, masked by dark gray clouds that inch closer and closer with every passing minute. Soon rain will come.

I stand on the beach, along the dry patch of sand. Imogen hangs back near the tree line. Fausto left to go scout out the immediate area. I know why they feel it's necessary, but I don't like it. We shouldn't be splitting up like this, especially not when he's ranked so much higher than us. What would happen if something happened while he was gone?

"See anything?" I ask Imogen as she passes by. Her homemade spear twirls in her hands as she paces alongside the trees. She's been keeping watch, for both Fausto and any would-be attackers.

She shakes her head. "No."

"You sound worried," I say, picking up an undercurrent of emotion hidden in her voice.

"It's just..." Her pretty face casts itself to the ground, studying the sand between her feet. "Nothing. It's nothing."

"Doesn't sound like nothing."

Her head snaps back up, intense blue eyes studying me. "We should go search for Misha."

"Excuse me?"

"I said that we should go search for Misha."

"Yeah, I know what you said, I just don't understand why you said it." Misha? The very same Misha who betrayed her? Why on Earth would we search for him?

"He could help us," She says lamely.

"Yeah. Help kill us, maybe." If someone betrayed you outside a game where you were forced to kill everyone else, why does she think for one second that he wouldn't betray her inside such a game?

Imogen just shakes her head. "He wouldn't...He's not like that."

"You're the one who said that he was a no-good jerk!"

"I didn't—" She stops, suddenly catching what I said. "Wait. I never told you—I told Fausto, but—Were you listening?" She sounds flustered, almost embarrassed. I don't know why.

"I wasn't asleep when you were talking. I overheard—" Something catches my eye. Movement in the forest near the cliffs. I make a motion for Imogen to be quiet, but she doesn't catch on.

"Misha knows me. He wouldn't—"

I tune her out, focusing on the movement. At first I think it's Fausto, but then I see two more shapes flanking it. It's definitely people. And that can only be a bad thing.

"Imogen..." The mere tone of my voice is enough to get her to stop and turn. Then two shapes break out of the forest, running full speed towards us.

I scream.

Imogen steps forward and heaves her homemade spear towards the largest figure, a tall, lanky boy. It falls several feet short and the two people blow past it, heading right for us. Imogen's face pales.

"Run!"

She turns tail and sprints right for the trees, ducking her head as her legs pump fast. One of the Challengers veers off to chase her. The other—the tall one—charges me. I run.

My heart rattles in my chest. Hyperventilating. Skin feels like it's on fire as my legs work faster then they ever have before. But I only get a few paces down the beach before the heel of my right shoe snaps and I tumble forward, face planting in the sand.

The first few drops of chilling rain begin to drop as I roll over and face my killer.

His face is pale and haggard as he stands over me, club in hand. His dark brown eyes hold no pity as they carefully regard me. Silent and deadly. Mr. White's perfect killer. Rain splashes off his shoulders, picking up the pace as he lifts his weapon to end me.