The Death Games

by Vannah Summers

  When no one spoke, he continued, “Good. Due to this round’s loss of contestants, we shall proceed to the third task with those remaining.”

  “All of us?” Grant’s surprisingly soft voice cracked, bewildered as he flicked his gaze my way.

  Death nodded and opened his arms wide in welcome, like the first time we’d met. “Yes, all of you. Fortune has favored the brave, today. Congratulations, warriors.”

  A gong sounded, joined by the roar of an invisible crowd, and before I could process the fact I wasn’t dying today, I was herded up the stairs along with the other contestants. With shoes wet with blood and other fluids, I slipped on the marble twice. No one offered to help as I limped along, my leg shrieking in agony with every step.

  After a short, silent ride in the hovertrain, we were thankfully sent for medical evaluations before they allowed us to return to our rooms. The stern doctor with gray hair inspected the bite on my leg and reassured my half-hysterical self that I wasn’t going to change into a flesh-eating zombie.

  After bandaging me up, he showed me to the door. “The bandage is safe to shower in.” His nose scrunched as he scrutinized the gore covering every inch of me. “I suggest you clean yourself up. Soon.”

  Sure thing, doc. I’d get right on that.

  Chapter 11

  Time Changes Everything

  Numb, I trudged through the empty hall toward the elevators. All I wanted to do was sleep. But the doctor was right; I was covered in all sorts of questionable grime. I needed a shower.

  As the elevator announced my arrival with a ding, I flinched. I cowered against the wall instinctively as the doors slid open, but no zombies staggered inside. I inhaled deeply to calm my racing heart and padded into the shower room. It was empty, but the floor glistened. The others must have already finished.

  Apparently, I was the only one injured enough to require extensive treatment. To be honest, I was grateful. I didn’t want to see or talk to anyone, especially when I felt moments away from shattering.

  Without bothering to gauge the temperature, I twisted the handle on the shower and stepped into the spray. The frigid water rushed over me, but I barely felt the cold. I watched the water tinge pink as the blood and filth washed from my body, swirling around my toes. My head hung, water dribbling from my limp curls. I squeezed my eyes shut against the unwelcomed images stabbing my brain.

  Bloody limbs, vacant eyes, and rotting flesh. They played behind my eyelids like a grisly film. My apathy fissured, and I swallowed the lump in my throat.

  “Jesus, Lea, what are you doin’?” a voice growled from behind me, and I whirled around with a cry of alarm, hands raised in defense.

  Grant stood in the entry of the shower stall, a deep frown tugging down the corners of his lips. He raised his hands, palms out.

  The fear dissipated as soon as it appeared, and I arched a reprimanding eyebrow. “Weren’t you taught to knock? What if I’d been naked?”

  Ignoring my tone, he gestured at the shower. “You’re the one who left the curtain open.”

  Really?

  Without another word, Grant dragged me out of the spray. “Seriously, green. What are you doin’? You’ll never get clean with your clothes on. They’re disgustin’.”

  I eyed my soggy outfit with a scowl and tugged at the hem of my shirt. It clung to my skin, filling me with claustrophobia as I attempted to rip it over my head. Stumbling as the wet material stuck to my face, I almost crash landed. Luckily, Grant caught me and assisted me in removing the shirt.

  With a mumbled thanks, I proceeded to yank down my pants.

  “Woah, there.” Grant stopped me, snatching a towel from a clean pile on the bench. He held it in front of my hips like a shield. “Okay, there you go.”

  I snorted at his need for decency and pried the pants from my body. Lacking my usual sense of modesty, I dropped my underwear as well before stepping back into the shower. I ignored the fact the curtain was still open and Grant stood just outside the stall. His face flushed as he ground his teeth.

  When the water finally ran clean, I shuffled out of the shower. Without looking my way, he held the towel out to me, dangling from his finger. I snorted. “It’s just a dick. It’s not gonna bite.”

  Shocked at my outburst, he glanced my way, his gaze dropping to my bare hips only to dart away. “That’s not… I was just tryin’ to give you privacy, smartass. Take the damn towel.”

  The numbness sheltering my fragile mind ebbed, and I accepted the towel with a mix of embarrassment at my attitude and shyness at my nakedness. “Oh, thanks. Sorry.”

  Scratching the back of his head, he shrugged away my apology. “I feel like I’m the one who should be sayin’ that.” The space between us filled with the hurt feelings of yesterday and the unbearable trauma of the second task. Grant scratched the back of his neck, flinching when he grazed a shallow cut there. “About yesterday. I didn’t know what you’d see in the pool, I swear. When I looked, I saw my sister, my family. They weren’t happy exactly, but they were there for each other, supportin’ each other. I thought maybe you’d see the same thing.”

  “I watched my sister grieve at my funeral.” The agony of that image had faded in the face of today’s events, but I was still human enough to care.

  “Yeah, I gathered that.” Grant stared at the floor as I finished drying off, his brows threatening to merge into one. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

  “Why?” I crossed my arms over my bare chest, eyes narrowed. “What does it matter? You were right before, about us. How can we be friends when we’re destined to kill each other?”

  Sucking his bottom lip into his mouth, he contemplated my depressing declaration before his cheeks darkened slightly, and he shrugged. “I don’t think I could kill you either way.”

  He avoided my puzzled gaze like his Afterlife depended on it, and I worried the inside of my cheek as I vacillated between pushing for clarity and alleviating him of his discomfort. I chose the latter, taking pity on him.

  “Maybe, at least for this week, we could be friends?” It left my lips more a request than a suggestion, and Grant tracked my every move as I stuck out my hand in a peace offering.

  He scoffed, shaking his head humorlessly before he clasped my smaller hand in his calloused one. “This is probably the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. But yeah. Friends.”

  We shook on it, sealing the temporary truce. “Friends.”

  When we simultaneously released each other, our arms fell to our sides, and I was reminded of my nakedness as water dripped from my hair onto my bare torso. With no choice but to reveal my nudity, I chuckled awkwardly, half turning away for privacy, and used the towel to soak up the water clinging to my curls.

  I realized too late I hadn’t brought clothes with me. Perfect.

  Securing the towel around my waist, I raked a hand through my unruly mane. “Well, shit.”

  As if he understood my need, fabric was shoved into my face. “Here, you can use this.” Evergreen drifted from the material, and, speechless, I accepted his shirt.

  “At this rate, I’ll own more of your clothes than I do my own.” With a soft smile, I dragged it over my head, chuckling under my breath as the hem fell to mid-thigh. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Rubbing the back of his neck, he pointed to the door. “I was just about to grab some food, but I don’t really feel like eatin’ with the others. Do you, I don’t know, maybe wanna, uh, eat together or somethin’? Now that we’re friends and all.”

  The uncharacteristic timidity helped thaw the ice in my chest, and I nodded. “Sure, Boston. I’d love to eat togethah.”

  He flicked my forehead with a chuckle. “And there’s the intolerable Lea I know.”

  Flipping him my middle finger, I smiled sweetly. “Go fuck yourself, Grant.”

  With a deep chuckle, the wrinkles of stress around his eyes smoothed, and he paused at the door with his hand on the handle. “Meet me downstairs, yeah
?” He paused, waiting for my response, and I nodded. “Okay. See you soon, green.”

  The door swung shut behind him, and I anxiously nibbled my lip. “See you soon, Grant,” I murmured to the empty room.

  Dressed in Grant’s shirt and my towel at my waist, I rode the elevator up to my floor. I exchanged my towel for boxer-briefs and a pair of plaid pajama pants and after much deliberation, I added Grant’s third shirt to the pile I had accumulated. Secretly, I enjoyed wearing his clothes, but the gesture seemed too intimate for a casual dinner between frenemies.

  I snuck downstairs, dodging Chuka and the second remaining female from Grant’s team—Maeve, I thought her name was—as they fucked enthusiastically between the two large ice machines near the elevators. Hetero sex… Just what I needed to witness!

  Shuddering in disgust, I took the stairs so as not to interrupt their hearty session, then caught the elevator for the rest of the descent. Funny how near-death experiences made people act crazy. Sure, I wasn’t opposed to Grant laying me down and fucking me into the sparring mat in the training room, but it was pure fantasy. Or maybe I didn’t want to think of myself as that desperate.

  What did they think they’d accomplish, other than a few days of orgasms? They’d just have to kill each other in the end.

  Kind of like you and Grant, my brain supplied as the elevator dinged.

  I sighed. Yeah, like me and Grant. Maybe this whole friendship business was a terrible idea. Good thing I was the master of bad ideas. Self-destructive behavior came with the territory of being me, after all.

  Like yesterday, Grant stood near the front door. Today he carried a large wicker basket. His weary face lightened the moment I stepped into his line of vision, and the anxious wrinkles marring his brow smoothed as I approached. I smiled tentatively as my stomach somersaulted, my treasonous heart skipping behind my ribcage when a weary grin formed on his lips in return.

  Yeah, I was totally fucked, wasn’t I?

  “Hey.” I halted a foot from him, and he adjusted his grip on the basket.

  “Hey. Ready?”

  Pointing to the basket, I arched a questioning brow. “Are you taking me on a picnic?”

  “Wow, way to make this sound like some cheesy, romantic rendezvous,” he scoffed, flipping me off. “I’m just bringin’ food with us. There’s no picnic blanket or wine or lame music. Just two dudes eatin’ together outside—fuck, that sounds like a picnic.”

  I burst into laughter. The stress of the second task leaked away as Grant’s face darkened in embarrassment. As tears stung my eyes, I guffawed until my body wracked with unattractive snorts. At some point, he joined me, and we ended up bent at the waist, hands on our knees as our faces flushed red from hilarity.

  “It’s cool, it’s cool,” I managed to sputter as I swiped at tears. “Picnics are great. Two dudes can totally rock a bro-picnic.”

  “I feel like addin’ no homo on to that statement doesn’t really work here.” He winked playfully as he opened the door and gestured me through.

  “Fuck you, asshat.” I punched his arm, though I hurt my hand more than his rock-hard biceps.

  With an eye roll, he shoved open the doors and waited for me to cross the threshold before following. Trudging down the stairs, we headed in the direction of the woods. Grant’s arm grazed mine as we walked, and his evergreen scent clouded around me each time the wind breezed past.

  A tap on my shoulder had me looking up into his Grant’s sincere eyes. “I’m just kiddin’, Lea. You know that, right?”

  His genuine words were too serious, and I jerked my gaze away to study the ground. “That you didn’t actually mean to pack me a picnic? Yeah, I know.”

  Another knock on my shoulder stole my attention, and I paused at the line of trees as Grant stumbled over his words, unsure. “No, about… I’m like the farthest thing from a homophobe. People like who they like. It shouldn’t matter, you know? And if the teasin’ bothers you—”

  “Hey, it’s cool.” My hand landed on his forearm, and I smiled reassuringly. “I never pegged you for a bigot. And the jokes don’t bother me unless the intention is to humiliate. We’re good.”

  “Okay, good.” Like a weight lifted from his shoulders, he stood straighter and released a deep breath. “I wanted to take you back to the pool so I could show you what I originally meant to show you. If that’s okay?”

  My stomach knotted at the thought, but I waved my hand toward the trees. “Okay. Lead the way.”

  Grant’s brows hiked up his forehead. “You’re not gonna fight me on it?”

  As we dove into the woods, I brushed our arms together and dropped my voice to a naughty purr. “What, and miss the opportunity to stare at your ass? Not a chance.”

  His chuckle was swallowed by the soft sound of rustling leaves in the forest. “You always this forward with your flirtin’?”

  “Actually, no.” I jumped ahead to hold a branch out of Grant’s way. “But I figured, I’m dead. What do I have to lose?”

  The playful delivery fell flat, and he hesitated at my side, his deep brown eyes finding my hazel ones. His nearness was suddenly suffocating, his gaze piercing. I lost my grip on the branch, sending it smacking into his chest with a whack!

  “Shit, sorry!” I helped him untangle himself, and he grumbled the rest of the hike about my butterfingers.

  Finally, we reached the small meadow with the pool in the center. Same as the first time, I was hit with the intense power of the place. It buzzed over my skin and rattled my bones, but I followed Grant anyway to the edge of the crystal-clear pond and folded myself on the ground.

  Criss-cross applesauce, we sat angled toward each other while mostly facing the water. Grant unpacked the picnic basket—because it was most definitely a damn picnic basket—and we proceeded to eat in relatively comfortable silence. I savored the cold sandwiches stuffed with purple cheese—I thought it was cheese—and bright vegetables, happily snacking on the bowl of oddly shaped fruit. Grant offered me a small portion of cubed meat in a thick sauce, but I declined.

  “Were you a vegetarian before you died?” he asked, and I started at the question. “I mean, I don’t think I’ve seen you eat meat since we got here.”

  I was more surprised that he’d noticed my eating habits at all, but I shook my head. “No, I like meat. Chicken mostly. I avoided beef unless it was a barbecue or something. But not for, like, hippie reasons. Just don’t like the flavor of red meat, I guess.” Flicking the container containing the offending meat cubes, I scrunched my nose. “My recent dislike for meat stems from the Afterlife’s shit recipes. Seriously, their food sucks!”

  “Definitely not Ma’s cookin’.”

  When we finished eating, Grant dumped the picnic supplies into the basket as I twisted my fingers through the grass beneath me. The water lay undisturbed despite the light breeze. I couldn’t stop myself from leaning forward to peer in. Like before, my reflection stared out at me. Then the image warped.

  My mom sat on my bed, eyes glazed and bloodshot as one of my T-shirts hung limply in her hand. Boxes scattered the floor, half-filled with my stuff, and a lump formed in my throat. The top two drawers of my dresser were empty, hanging ajar. My heart fissured as Mom swatted at a tear dragging down her cheek.

  Burying her face in my shirt, she inhaled deeply, then burst into tears. The tips of my fingertips hovered over the surface of the pool, wishing I could reach through the surface and comfort her. But I couldn’t. Because I was dead.

  The moment before my index finger dipped into the water, someone walked through my bedroom door. My dad. Hair messier than I’d ever seen it, he collapsed next to Mom and hooked an arm around her shoulders. Placing a kiss on her head, he held her close as silent tears streamed down his cheeks.

  They clung to each other as they mourned. I wiped my runny nose, tears dangling from my thick lashes. I knew my parents loved me, of course I did. But it was different seeing the absolute devastation on their faces as they wept for the loss of th
eir only son.

  Mom lifted her head and smiled sadly at Dad, her lips moving without sound. Dad nodded and cleaned her wet cheeks with a handkerchief from his pocket. He pointed to the cracked window near my bed, probably retelling the story of how I’d broken the damn thing when I attempted to sneak out. My foot had caught on the windowsill. When I tried to free it, my heel smashed into the glass, causing a webbed crack.

  As my parents talked, their tears turned to sorrowful smiles, laughing every now and then as they regaled tales of my misadventures. The pain in their eyes didn’t lessen; it probably wouldn’t fade for a long time. But they were there for each other. They wouldn’t buckle under the torment of losing a child. My death would make them stronger.

  Something in my chest lightened, like a load was lifted, and I grinned through my sniffling. Death could destroy lives, but it also possessed the ability to solidify ties and empower the ones left behind. Mom and Dad would be okay. They would always miss me, but time healed all wounds. Eventually, they would look back with nothing but sad fondness over the short time we had together.

  “You look a lot like your pa,” Grant murmured, his breath shifting my curls near my ear as his chin floated over my shoulder.

  “Yeah. Megan takes after Mom. I was the ugly one.” I smirked at him, studying his profile from the corner of my eye, and he rolled his eyes.

  “You’re not ugly.”

  I straightened from the pool as my parents faded, and my jaw dropped with a dramatic gasp. “Are you complimenting me, Boston?”

  “If not ugly is a compliment, then sure.”

  He chuckled as I smacked his shoulder. “You’re such an asshole. See if I ever compliment you again.”

  “Well, I already know you think I’m hot.” He shrugged smugly, and I pantomimed shooting myself in the face with finger-guns.

  “Told you your ego doesn’t need stroking.”

  Laughing, he poked my thigh and pointed to the water. “That’s my mom,” he said, boyish happiness coloring his face. “And May. They look like sisters.”