The Death Games

by Vannah Summers

  Collapsing onto a leather seat, I groaned pathetically and ignored the other contestants as they piled in around me. With eyes closed, I rested my head on the back of the seat and dozed to the gentle sway of the hovertrain. There was no possibility of actually sleeping; anytime I did tease the edge of unconsciousness, Knobbly Knees’ petrified cries for help woke me instantly.

  Upon arrival at the gated complex, I roused and scrubbed the dried mud and flaky blood from my face. We exited the vehicle at the base of the entrance steps and automatically herded together into a loose circle.

  Grant had yet to speak to me since our spat at the finish line, and he barely spared me a glance as our group halted at the glass doors. Said doors swung open, revealing two women and a man, and the mutes in matching black outfits who had guided us in the hovercar silently joined them.

  “Greetings, warriors,” one of the women said, her voice devoid of emotion. “Congratulations on completing the first task. Please separate by gender and follow your designated servants.”

  At the instruction, the leotard-wearing servants split into two groups by sex, and my fellow contestants and I followed suit. I shadowed Grant’s hulking form, glowering at his back.

  The men outnumbered the women fifteen to ten. The oldest and youngest contestants had been weeded out, and I remained the youngest left alive since Knobbly Knees was now fish food. The fifty-something-year-old grandmother was the oldest to survive the challenge.

  “We shall take you to the washrooms now, and once you are rejuvenated, we will offer nourishment.” The robotic blonde spread her lips in what would have been a smile, but never quite accomplished the sentiment.

  The awkward grimace might have made me laugh under different circumstances. As it was, I felt incredibly sad. It was like she’d been wiped of all that made her human. I couldn’t decide which was worse: being entirely erased or being present but still a slave.

  “Follow your servants, now,” she instructed.

  Our entourage split into two elevators as the women took a third. Grant and I made eye contact as I shuffled into the claustrophobic box, squeezing in beside my Asian friend from the challenge. I scoffed when Grant hesitated at the doors only to backtrack and join the second elevator. Apparently, sharing a seven-by-six-foot area was too much for his delicate mental stability.

  What a little bitch.

  Cheery elevator music pinged through the enclosed space as Tokyo, six other men, and I stood in uncomfortable silence. The servants stood near the doors, eyes glazed with hands clasped serenely in front of their hips. Their leotards left little to the imagination, and I wrinkled my nose at the thought of being forced to wear the ugly things for all eternity.

  Granted, they didn’t seem too disturbed by the spandex outfits. Or anything else, really. Mechanical and dead inside, they watched the numbers on the control panel light up one by one.

  On floor thirteen, the doors opened, and we spilled from the elevator into a glamorous corridor. Like a five-star hotel, lavish paintings and ornate furnishings decorated the walls. I’d never set foot in such a luxurious place before in my life, unless my room from this morning counted. Of course, it took dying for me to enjoy the finer things.

  Even when Andrew had wanted to splurge, we never went anywhere fancy. The motel two miles out of town was the most extravagant place we’d hooked up. Sure, it wasn’t the Hilton, but it beat fucking in the backseat of his Subaru.

  As the student teacher in my high school calculus class, our relationship hadn’t exactly been ethical, but he was twenty-three, smoking hot, and adjusted my test scores when necessary. High school boys were the worst. I had grown weary of sneaking around in janitor’s closets and abandoned locker rooms anytime the selfish, bi-curious bastards wanted a blow job.

  And Andrew was sympathetic. He understood the struggle of growing up in Bumfuck, Nowhere—otherwise known as Hays, Kansas—without a decent queer in sight. And, did I mention he was hot?

  Either way, I was of legal age, but the whole fucking-for-grades would probably have landed his beautiful ass in jail. Thankfully, we were sneaky.

  How sad to think I missed his Subaru. I wasn’t usually sentimental, but I’d lost my virginity in that cramped backseat. Some things would always hold significance, even if it was stained upholstery that smelled of smoke, jolly ranchers, and sweat.

  “Warriors, the washrooms for your convenience,” one of the male servants said with a slight bow, and I blinked away the memories of Andrew glued to my salty back as he fucked me.

  How had we gotten here? I hadn’t paid attention.

  “Not sure if I want the homo in there with me,” the Schwarzenegger-wannabe sneered in a European accent. “Shouldn’t you use the female showers?”

  “Fuck you, Schwarzenegger.” I flipped him the bird as I shoved into the tiled restroom, my mood plummeting.

  Andrew and I weren’t exactly serious. We weren’t in love. The moment I graduated, I was planning to head out of Hays, never to return. Yet, I missed him. I was never going to see him again, talk to him. I’d never feel his arms around me as we moved in perfect sync or hear him moan my name.

  I didn’t want him to be here, because that would make him dead. But if he was here, I had to believe I wouldn’t feel so alone.

  Did he even miss me? Would he cry at my funeral?

  “Best get cleaned up,” Tokyo said with a pat to my shoulder. I swallowed the lump in my throat as I nodded wordlessly.

  I avoided the mirrors over the sinks, taking refuge in a toilet stall to allow myself a moment to gather my wits. I couldn’t show weakness, not if I wanted to survive. Grant was right; I had no friends here.

  Since I was already in the stall, I used the toilet. As I feared, a few blood-suckers had attached themselves to the inside of my thighs, but my testicles were thankfully leech-free.

  By the time I finished ripping the disgusting creatures from my skin, the individual showers were in use. Grant, Schwarzenegger, and one I still hadn’t met yet had already claimed them, and the curtains were shut tight to allow as much privacy as possible. Eight of the other men were shamelessly washing in the communal showers. I averted my gaze as I headed to the sinks.

  Washing the dried mud and fresh blood from my hands, I finally peered into the mirror only to recoil. My cinnamon curls were caked in filth, my face splattered by all manner of dirt, and my normally hazel eyes were wide and glassy, terrified.

  No wonder Grant wanted nothing to do with me. I was a complete wreck.

  As I dried my hands, I spotted rows of small rucksacks hanging on the tiled wall near the door. Each bag was labeled, and I retrieved the one with my name and hugged it to my chest as I maneuvered to the bench where two men sat in wait for the private showers.

  Collapsing beside a now shirtless Tokyo, I offered my hand halfheartedly. “I’m Lea, by the way.”

  He shook it with an equal lack of enthusiasm. “Ye-jun.”

  We waited in awkward silence until Schwarzenegger vacated one of the showers, and I waved Ye-jun on before me. “It’s cool. I’ll wait.”

  Grant was the next to finish, and I did my utmost not to stare when he exited in nothing but a towel tied around his trim waist. I failed miserably, my eyes latching on to the droplets of water carving rivulets over his defined torso. He might be an ass, but he was a fine ass.

  “Sustenance will be served in five minutes in the mess hall,” one of the servants announced. I groaned as I was shoved out of the way by the remaining guy who needed to wash. I was going to be late to eat… again.

  Bored, I rifled through my bag, finding fresh clothes and a clean pair of underwear. Thank God, because these muddy boxer-briefs were starting to chafe!

  I rushed through my own shower when the third cubicle was finally vacated, but curly hair was simply impossible to clean thoroughly if I didn’t take my time. When I finally exited the shower stall, my relief at the empty room was quickly replaced with horror. Where was my bag of clean clothes?

/>   Water rushed from underneath one of the toilet stalls, and I hesitantly peeked inside to confirm what I already feared. My clean shirt and cotton pants floated in the toilet bowl as the water flowed over the porcelain sides. The underwear must have been what clogged it, shoved deep inside the pipe.

  It was stupid, childish. Yet, it was the final straw. I’d been deceased for going on two days now, a contestant in a dangerous Hunger Games knock-off, and now I was the easy target for high-school-level bullying.

  “Fuck!” I screamed, beating my fists against the toilet stall door until my knuckles bruised. Hot tears welled and streamed down my face as I stumbled to the bench and collapsed onto the seat. Dressed in nothing but my towel wrapped around my hips, I buried my face into my hands and cried.

  I mourned my pathetic existence and the family I treated like shit more often than not. I cried over the man I’d never loved yet shared my body with for eight months and lamented the backseat of his used Subaru. I grieved for the life that asshole cat stole from me!

  Sure, I was never going to cure cancer, but I had plans, dreams, aspirations like any other young person. Why couldn’t I live to see them come to fruition? Why was I dead when so many other worse people were alive and kicking? Why me?

  My pity party ended when the door to the bathroom creaked open, and I straightened immediately as I wiped at my swollen, tear-stained face. Of course, I wasn’t fast enough, and as dark eyes locked on me, my humiliation was complete.

  Sitting naked on a bathroom bench, I sniffled and turned away from Grant’s heavy gaze. “What do you want, Boston? Here to piss on my clothes before shoving them into my pillowcase tonight?”

  He shouldered the door open, his hands holding two trays full of food. My eyes narrowed in suspicion as he cautiously approached me.

  “I heard them laughin’,” he said as he gestured to the still running toilet. “One of the servants should be here soon with new clothes.”

  Like he faced a dangerous rattlesnake, he slowly lowered himself to the bench and tentatively offered me the second tray. I used the corner of my towel to dry my face as my cheeks heated in embarrassment, but he didn’t comment on my tears. I ignored them, too, and took the tray from his hand.

  “What’s this, then?”

  His jaw clenched as he pushed a strange, green goop around his plate. “Food. I didn’t think there’d be any left by the time you were dressed.” Humor curled the edges of his mouth as he added, “What with all your primpin’.”

  “Wow, you even manage to make a nice gesture terrible,” I griped as I speared an odd square of meat with my fork. “To what do I owe such kindness?”

  Apparently, my sarcasm amused him, and his smirk widened. “I don’t like owin’ people. You saved my life.” His smile evaporated as he ground his teeth in annoyance. “And I was kinda an asshole.”

  “Kinda?” I popped a bite into my mouth only to grimace at the weird consistency and gamey taste. “Christ, what the fuck is this?”

  Grant chuckled as he bit into a purple vegetable resembling a cherry tomato. “No idea, but it’s weird as shit.”

  “No kidding.”

  The weight on my chest lightened as we snickered, and we ate in companionable silence for several minutes. Regardless of taste, Grant devoured everything on his plate and then half of mine. I was too picky, nibbling on a strange cheese-like block and thin, cracker-ish wafers.

  “You know,” I broke the silence as I scooped the last bite of a creamy, peppery sauce into my mouth, “I saved your life, like, twice. So you still kinda owe me.”

  Guzzling a tin cup full of a pee-yellow liquid, Grant rolled his eyes. He set the cup aside on his empty tray and faced me, lips pinched. “Don’t push your luck. We’re still not friends.”

  I pouted, sipping at the same liquid—it tasted like cough syrup. “Well, friends or not, thanks.”

  Awkwardness curled between us as he shrugged, clearing his throat. “It’s whatever.”

  With a teasing nudge, I mimicked his heavy accent. “It’s not whatevah’ to me.”

  “Is this gonna be a thing? I can’t help the way I talk.”

  “I know you can’t help the way you tahlk.”

  “Shut up, green!” He shoved me, and I almost spilled the remaining food on my tray as I struggled to remain on the bench.

  If I wasn’t mistaken, his olive cheeks darkened, and I chortled. “It’s Lea.”

  This time, he leaned into me, his warmth sizzling my bare shoulder as a playful fire sparked to life in his eyes. “Whatevah!”

  Laughing, we focused on our laps, and I brushed a stray curl from my eyes as I searched for something to fill the silence. “So, um, how did you die?”

  He sobered, linking his hands in his lap as he rested his head on the wall. “Motorcycle accident. Creamed on the highway by a semi-truck ’cause the driver fell asleep.”

  As my stomach churned at the visual, I set aside my tray and nursed my drink. “That sounds horrifying. I’m sorry.”

  “Shit happens,” he said, and the quiet descended once more.

  Unable to bear the stillness, I spoke. “My sister’s cat killed me. I always knew he had it in for me, but then he tripped me and I fell down the stairs.”

  Grant snorted, muffling the sound with his hand as he feigned a cough, and I glared. “Sorry, it’s just…death by cat.” He grinned, the boyish look to his features returning, and my stomach somersaulted. “It’s kinda funny.”

  I surrendered, huffing indignantly. “Yeah, well, story of my life. Or death. Whatever.”

  Shivering, I crossed my arms over my naked chest to preserve heat. Grant watched my movement, his eyes scanning me from head to hips and back, and I swallowed thickly, suddenly shy under his scrutiny. Sure, he wasn’t checking me out, but it was still disconcerting.

  “Cold?”

  “Technically, I’m still naked, so…” I gestured to my towel-clad body, and he rifled in the bag he’d brought with him as he chuckled.

  “Not that the look doesn’t work for you, but here.” He offered me one of his shirts, and I was too shocked by both his generosity and his odd compliment to do anything but accept. “I have extras.”

  Holding the fabric to my chest, I fought the blush rising in my cheeks. I’d always wanted to wear Andrew’s clothes, but he said it was too risky. This wasn’t the same of course, but my heart pitter-pattered traitorously in my chest anyway.

  “Th-Thanks, Grant.”

  I slipped the shirt over my head, the larger size drowning me. Even if I removed the towel, the shirt would keep me decent, but I kept the towel where it was.

  “You’re welcome, Lea.”

  My name rolled off his tongue in a pleasant husk, and goose bumps that had nothing to do with the cold skittered over my skin. This was not good. He was hard to ignore with his dark features and tall, broad body, but if he was nice, too…

  Damn, this would be a disaster.

  “How old are you?” he asked as I finagled the excess fabric around my thighs.

  “Eighteen.” Doubt crept over his features, and I scowled. “Yes, I’m not a giant like you, but I really am eighteen. How old are you?”

  “Twenty.”

  I thought he was older, and I blinked in surprise. “Oh. Cool.” I fidgeted with the soft material of my towel. “Well, thanks. For the shirt and, uh, the food.”

  “It’s just food.”

  Smiling slyly, I glanced at him from the corner of my eye. “Well, I’m pretty sure in some animal kingdom cultures, that’s practically a marriage proposal.”

  To my delight, he burst into laughter, his guffaws echoing around the tile room. “Well, don’t get your hopes up for a ring. I’m a broke college student.”

  We laughed until I was wiping humored tears from my eyes. Grant sighed as he sifted a hand through his hair. There was a lightness to his face now, like some of the stress had lifted. Warmth bubbled in my gut as I studied the firm cut of his jaw and slope of his broad nose. He really
was attractive.

  “Listen, Lea.” He angled his head to catch my stare, and I cocked my head in curiosity. “The others were talkin’, and you gotta watch your back.”

  “Me?” I scoffed incredulously. “I’m like the smallest threat here.”

  His fingers wrapped around my arm above my elbow and tightened for emphasis. “Just because you lack brute strength doesn’t mean you’re not a threat. I heard the Russian. The T-shirt sail was your idea, and you chose the third path when most of us wouldn’t have. You’re smart.”

  “They can’t hurt me outside the tasks. You heard Death,” I said even as fear twisted in my chest.

  “Just be careful, green.” He released me as the door to the bathroom opened to reveal a servant carrying a new rucksack. “Not everyone plays by the rules.”

  Without another word, Grant rose from the bench. He slung his small backpack over his shoulder and greeted the emotionless servant before walking out the still open door. He glanced over his shoulder, meeting my gaze expectantly, and as if to answer some unspoken question, I nodded.

  His head dipped in acknowledgement, and then he disappeared into the hallway, leaving me alone wearing nothing but a bath towel and his too-large shirt.

  Chapter 5

  Tenuous Treaty

  To my utter shame, I slept in Grant’s shirt. No one would ever know this fact, yet the embarrassment licked at my chest when I woke the next morning lost in the bulky material. It would be my dirty little secret, and I’d take it to my grave…my second grave.

  After Grant left me in the locker room, I had taken refuge inside my bedroom and didn’t leave the temporary sanctuary for the rest of the day and night. I discovered snacks from the living world in the cabinet beside the mini fridge and proceeded to gorge on Doritos, Oreos, and soda as I binge-watched Netflix—yes, the Afterlife had Netflix.

  Eventually, I grew tired and depressed. Dressed in a pair of loose briefs and Grant’s shirt, I finally crawled into bed. I left the lamp on, hoping its comforting glow would keep the memories from today away, and squeezed my eyes shut. Forcing myself not to dwell on the first task and the deaths that took place, I sought solace in unconsciousness. I, mercifully, didn’t dream at all.