The White Games

20) Chapter Twenty

#17 Oreo Dutton – Day Five - 2:35 PM

I watch the fog drift past below me as I rest on a tree's branch. The thick gray fog conceals most of the ground below me, so much so, that I cannot be sure if anyone is actually walking past. I hope not.

I shift my body around uncomfortably. I've been up here for hours now, since the first Challenger died today. Nic.

His death came as a huge shock to me. For the entirety of my time on the island, he's been glued to the #2 rank. He was perpetually one of the toughest challenges I'd have to face. Then suddenly and without warning, he was dead.

I don't know who killed him, but it had to be one of the top three, didn't it? Then again, our new #1 wound up dead as well. Felix Leonard. How'd he die? He was invincible to all us Challengers. The only thing I could think of, the only danger, is the same reason I'm hiding up in this tree.

Dogs.

I rotate my shoulder and a shudder runs down my body as I think of the dogs. I haven't seen them, but I've heard them, howling and snarling as they chased some unseen prey. I know what kind of dogs they'll be. I've seen the type before. Big, vicious, snarling dogs. They hunt in packs and don't give up until they have their quarry. My fear of them has kept me rooted in this tree despite the aches in my joints. I will not become dog food. I will not.

Stretching out my back, where a tense knot of pain has been aching, I tentatively touch the string of grenades hidden under my jacket. I will not be eaten by dogs. No matter what. I'd rather be blown to pieces then be eaten.

Snap!

Somewhere, an old, rotting stick snaps. The sound is muffled by the fog, but it still comes frighteningly close to my perch. My throat goes dry and I clench two hands around my machete. The blade quivers from my shaking arms.

They can't see me. The thought passes through my head. I'm too high, and it's too foggy. No matter who—or what—they are, they cannot possibly see me. Somehow the thought doesn't bring me much comfort.

If it were possible, my ears would be perked as I listen carefully, slowly pivoting in my perch, trying to see on all sides. But nothing can be seen through the fog. The thick, impenetrable fog. It closes in on all sides, suffocating and oppressive. Someone could be right below my tree and I wouldn't see them.

The muscles in my legs and shoulders continue to ache with tension as I strain my eyes to see through this accursed fog. What's that? A flimsy, indistinct shape flits through the fog. Is it a person? Or is it—

Snap!

The sound comes again, and this time something falls past my face. A branch. A broken branch. From above me.

Before I can move, there's a whirling sound, right before a sharp pain strikes me in the back of my head. Bright lights flash across my vision, everything narrows, and then I'm on the ground, rolling through the fog. I don't even remember falling.

My fingers grasp for my machete as an aching, throbbing pain ricochets in my head. It feels like a parade is storming by, playing all their instruments at the highest level. I can't think. It hurts too much. Everything is wobbly and blurry.

"Terrible luck you have!" A distant voice reaches my ears, as if from the end of a tunnel. I cast my eyes around, but don't see anyone or anything at all.

"Who's there?" I croak out. My voice sounds like sandpaper.

Something catches me in the ribs. I only have the shortest glimpse of a boot before I'm rolling over in pain, gasping for breath.