by Jack Heath
Then you see something that could save your life.
You wrench down on the guy rope in your right hand. The floating tent leans the other way, but doesn’t change direction as much as you’d hoped.
The ground rushes up to meet you. At the last second you let go of the ropes, hoping you won’t overshoot your target—
Wham! You slam down onto the tattered camping mattress. Torn scraps of melted rubber stick to your legs. Of all the mattresses you threw out of the tent earlier, this is the thickest, but it still feels like hitting a brick wall. You groan, lying on your stomach on the smouldering rubber as the tent flies over you and settles nearby, like a jellyfish washed up on the beach.
It’s like reaching dry land after hours of surfing. Your legs are so wobbly and sore that it’s a while before you can stand. You look back at the tremendous crater under a column of steam and smoke. On the far edge of it you can see the lookout perched atop the cliffs, unharmed.
You start trudging around the edge of the crater. It’s time to join your friends.
00:00
You survived! There are twelve other ways to escape the danger — try to find them all!
Click here to try again.
07:02
You dropped the box of matches when the mercenary grabbed you. You can’t reach it with your hands, but you might be able to kick it over to Harrison. You stretch out one foot for a practice swing.
“What are you doing?” Harrison asks.
“These restraints are made of plastic,” you say. “Maybe we can melt them. Here, catch.” You kick the matchbox. It bounces across the dirt and lands at Harrison’s feet. When he crouches, it’s just within his reach.
You can feel the seconds ticking away. The bomb could go off at any moment. “Hurry,” you say.
Harrison fumbles with the box behind his back for a while and eventually gets it open. He digs out a match and strikes it against the side of the box.
It doesn’t flare. He tries again. Nothing happens.
You’re about to tell him to toss it over to you so you can try, when the match bursts into flames. Harrison yelps and drops the match, but it doesn’t matter. The loop around his wrists has already caught fire, and it disintegrates almost immediately. Harrison is free.
But you might have created more problems than you solved. As Harrison rubs his burned skin, the fire spreads from the brush at his feet to the leaves of the tree you’re tied to. Branches crackle. Boughs smoulder. Harrison backs away from the burning tree.
“Give me the matches!” you cry.
Harrison snatches up the matchbox and throws it at you, too hard. You can’t move your hands to catch it, so it flies past and lands on the ground out of reach.
“Harrison!” you shout, but he’s already running away from the fire.
You try to reach the matchbox with your feet, but it’s not going to happen. Your legs aren’t long enough.
The fire snakes along the branch towards you, spitting hungry sparks. The smoke stings your eyes. You might burn to death before the bomb goes off—
Snap! Your wrists are suddenly free. The plastic loop has softened enough from the heat to break.
You try to crawl away from the tree, but the smoke has made you dizzy. Somehow you end up face down in the mud.
The mercenaries left you here, so you must still be in the blast radius. Dizzy or not, you’ll have to run for it …
You can see a ditch and what looks like a log only a few metres away. Maybe you should take shelter instead.
If you crawl into the ditch, click here.
If you get to your feet and run as far away as you can, click here.
12:18
The thought that your friendly camp leader is part of a violent corporate conspiracy is ridiculous. “Just what I told you,” you say. “She didn’t show me any ID, but she sounded serious.”
Harrison visibly relaxes. “Well, sometimes people play tricks on kids. Come on. Let’s head for the lookout.”
You follow him as he checks the last two tents, making sure no one has been left behind. Then he hops over a low fence and jogs into the trees. You don’t have any trouble crossing the fence; it’s designed to stop cars, not people. But you’re falling behind Harrison, who’s already hurrying up a narrow path into the forest.
“Wait for me,” you say.
Harrison slows down a little. “Come on,” he says.
“What’s the rush?” you ask, pushing a branch aside. “The stars will be there all night.”
He doesn’t look at you. “I don’t want the others to worry about us.”
That makes sense, but the way he says it leaves you feeling uneasy. Maybe Harrison is up to something.
If you keep following Harrison to get to your friends, click here.
If you try to lose him in the forest, click here.
02:01
You grab at the nearest rock with both hands. One hand misses. But the other manages to get a firm grip. You find yourself dangling from one hand over the mouth of the crater. Success!
But how are you going to get down? The walls of the crater are smooth and so steep they may as well be vertical. A jagged clutter of blasted stones fills the basin far below. If you fall, you’ll break every bone in your body as you bounce down to the bottom.
You’ll have to climb up instead, back over the remains of the ditch and into the safety of the forest. You heave yourself up—
The rock you’re holding on to pops out of the dirt like a rotten tooth.
Soil showers your face. You scrabble for another handhold, but it’s too late. You’re falling down, down, down, rolling towards the sharp rocks at the bottom of the crater …
Crunch!
THE END.
Click here to go back and try again!
04:59
You paddle over to where the big fan is bobbing on the water, grab the edge and try to clamber up on top of it. But it capsizes immediately, flipping you back down into the ocean.
Your heart is lodged in your throat. You can’t see the shark coming but you can feel it, rising up beneath you, jaws open wide …
You grab the fan again, this time reaching as far over it as possible, gripping the metal grille near the centre. The fan rocks from side to side as you crawl up onto it, but doesn’t tip over.
Wobbling like a hula-hoop champion, you stand in the middle. The fan takes your weight, but it’s far from steady. If you lose your balance, you’ll fall in and the shark will get you.
You choke back a scream as a chipped fin as big as a windsurfing sail rises above the waves and cruises past the floating fan. You can see the shimmering outline of the shark below, surrounded by the cloud of tiny parasites that follow it around and feed off its scraps.
It doesn’t seem to see you. The shark sinks into the darkness of the ocean and vanishes.
You let out a shaky breath. You can’t go back in the water. So without the hovercraft, how will you and Stacey get to shore? You’re stuck under an oil rig full of hostile—
Smash! The giant shark explodes out of the darkness beneath you and slams its jaws closed around the fan. You scream and topple sideways into the cold sea.
For a moment you’re blind and deaf. You thrash around in the water, trying to work out which way is up.
Your head breaches the surface, and is immediately submerged again. You fight your way back up. It’s like trying to stay afloat in a hurricane.
When you break through into the daylight you see the creature flailing like a trout on a hook, its tail flinging sheets of water left and right.
The fan is still stuck in its mouth.
The shark can’t chew through the steel. Its gigantic teeth are wedged in the grille — it can’t spit the fan out. This is your chance to swim to the shore.
You launch off the piling and freestyle to the beach, leaving the choking leviathan behind. Salt water slaps your face. Your feet are numb in the cold, but the adrenalin keeps them kicking.
&nb
sp; The beach comes into view from behind the cliffs. It’s about four hundred metres to the shore. Your personal record for swimming a distance like that was eight minutes. You feel like you’re about to cut that time in half. You’re so scared of the shark that you’re swimming almost as fast as you can run.
You risk a look back. There’s the oil rig on the horizon. You’re already a long way away from it—
But the shark is catching up to you.
A huge fin cuts through the water, heading for your legs. As the monstrous head approaches the surface, you can see that the creature’s mouth is closed. It has managed to spit out the fan — or swallow it. Those ancient eyes are looking right at you, getting closer and closer.
The jaws open wide, exposing a ring of teeth like kitchen knives. You scream—
Boom!
An explosion rips out from the shoreline. The bomb near the campsite must have gone off. Trees and rocks shoot up from the forest. The sea water kicks up and fizzles into vapour. You’re flung backwards as if by a massive wave, towards the shark’s open mouth—
But the blast knocks the shark back too, rolling it sideways in the water. You miss the mouth and crash into a grey wall. You’re so dizzy that it’s not until you touch the giant gills that you realize you’re up against the shark’s sandpapery flank.
The water swirls around you, heated by the explosion. It’s like being trapped in a washing machine. The shark is stunned, but alive. Its titanic jaws open and close like those of a goldfish.
You’re still a hundred metres from the shore. You could swim for it. But what if the shark recovers and catches up to you?
You spit out some salt water and take a deep breath. You don’t have a choice—
Or do you?
If you swim to the beach, click here.
If you climb up on the stunned shark’s back, click here.
07:02
You dropped the rope when the mercenary grabbed you, but it’s still within reach. You stretch out your foot, snag the coil and drag it back towards you.
“We’re already tied up,” Harrison says. “How is more rope going to help?”
“I’m not strong enough to break this branch,” you say. “But with your help, maybe I can.”
You loop the rope around the branch. It’s hard with your hands stuck behind your back, but eventually you manage it. You toss both ends to Harrison.
Every second counts. “Pull!” you yell.
You heave on the branch as Harrison pulls on the rope. The plastic tie cuts into your wrists. Your hands swell up. The branch bends, but doesn’t break.
“It’s not working,” Harrison grunts.
“Pull harder!”
Sweat pours down your face. The branch creaks behind you — and then cracks.
“Yes!” you cry. You keep tugging on the branch until it rips off the tree and hits the ground. The rope slips off. You pull your wrists under your legs so your hands are bound in front of you, rather than behind.
“Hurry!” Harrison urges.
You run over to him and fumble with the knots behind his back. The mercenaries knew what they were doing. The restraints are very tight.
“There!” Finally the rope comes loose. Harrison is free of the branch, although the plastic tie still holds his wrists together.
“Which way?” you ask.
“I think—”
Boom!
Click here.
19:56
You race up the trail to the lookout, keeping your eyes on the ground. Sharp rocks and sticks scatter the dirt. One false step could leave you bleeding and limping. In a forest with a bomb hidden somewhere in it, every second counts. Soon you can hear voices.
“Never?” Pigeon is saying. “Like, never ever?”
What’s she doing up at the lookout? Shouldn’t she be at camp?
“No. I’ve never read The Dreaded Ones,” Shelley says, sounding like her patience is wearing thin. “Why is that so difficult to believe?”
“But everyone’s read that book.”
“I haven’t,” Neil interjects.
“I meant every girl has read it,” Pigeon says.
“You assumed I haven’t read it just because I’m a boy?” Neil sounds offended.
“I assumed you haven’t read it because you just said so!”
Their discussion is cut short when you burst out of the forest, nearly crashing into Shelley. The area’s not much more than a patch of gravel, a small parking lot and a public washroom. A wooden handrail stops anyone from falling a hundred metres into the ocean below.
“There’s-a-bomb-at-the-campsite-and-a-federal-agent-has-been-kidnapped!” you pant.
A man sitting on a park bench nearby looks over at you in alarm. But your friends just seem confused.
“Wha …?” Neil says.
“Someone planted a bomb,” you say, still puffing from your run up the hill, “near the campsite. A federal agent told me about it — right before she was abducted.”
You look around. All the kids from camp are here, plus the man on the bench, who’s punching numbers into his phone. But there’s no sign of the camp leader.
“Where’s Harrison?” you ask.
“He sent us up here to do some stargazing,” Shelley says skeptically. “He said he’d be right behind us.”
“We need to call the police. Does anyone have a cell?”
“I do,” the man on the bench says. He’s a tall, skinny guy with big sunglasses. He stands up and holds out his phone. “Here, I’ve got the cops on the line.”
“Thanks.” You take the phone from him. “Hello?”
“This is Detective Sergeant Fred Hunt. Can we start with your name and date of birth, please?”
“We don’t have time,” you say. “There’s a bomb near the Karina Bay Surf Camp. It’s—”
“The bomb squad is en route,” Hunt says. “All civilians are at a safe distance. Name and date of birth, please.”
You tell him.
“Thank you. Now tell me about this agent who was kidnapped. Did you get her name?”
“Agent Stacey.”
“First name, or last?”
“I’m not sure.”
“OK. Did she give you any information? Anything we could use to find the perpetrators?”
“She said the bomb was planted by a mining company who want to get to the coal under the campsite.”
“Did she name the company?” Hunt asks urgently. “Or anyone involved? Did she show you any evidence?”
It sounds like he doesn’t believe Agent Stacey. And come to think of it, she never showed you any identification proving she was from the authorities.
You’re about to reply when you hear someone yelling in the background on the other end of the phone, “Don’t tell them anything!” before abruptly falling silent.
It’s hard to tell over the fuzziness of the phone line, but it sounds like Stacey.
“I want to know everything she told you,” Hunt says, as though nothing happened. “Word for word.”
Is Stacey with Hunt? If so, why would she tell you not to say anything? Aren’t they on the same side?
Maybe Agent Stacey isn’t a real agent — or maybe she is, and Hunt is one of the guys who kidnapped her. Who do you trust?
If you tell Hunt the truth, click here.
If you bluff and pretend Stacey told you everything, click here.
12:18
“You know!” you say. “About the bomb!”
“There is no bomb,” Harrison says. He’s not laughing now. Veins stand out on his neck.
“That’s why you sent everyone on a stargazing trip this early in the day,” you say. “That’s how you know the agent is a woman, even though I didn’t say so.”
“Do you know how crazy you sound right now?” Harrison pulls a phone out of his pocket. It’s old and chunky, with a keypad instead of a touchscreen.
“Did they threaten you?” you ask. “The mining company who planted the bomb? Or did they
offer you money?”
Harrison holds his phone out to you. “Take it.”
You hesitate. “Why?”
“So you can call the police,” he says. “They’ll tell you you’re being paranoid.”
He’s wearing shorts and a tight polo shirt. There’s nowhere he could be hiding a weapon. But he is bigger than you.
If you take the phone and call the cops, click here.
If you pretend to believe Harrison, click here.
02:00
You stick your fingers into the gills and haul yourself up the shark’s flank. Its skin is as scratchy as a cat’s tongue. The shark is starting to wake up — its spine bends left and right like a tree in a strong wind. Wondering whether this is all just a bizarre dream, you clamber up on the shark’s back and grab hold of its enormous fin.
You’re pretty sure the shark can’t see you up here — and because you’re out of the water, it can’t smell you or hear your heartbeat. You’re safe. As safe as it’s possible to be while standing on the back of a twenty-metre shark.
You stare at the bombed-out beach. It’s a wreck, the muddy puddles filled with blackened husks of trees. Ash rains down from the sky.
Your friends at the camp must be dead. Nothing could have survived that blast. There’s a painful twisting sensation in your chest.
The shark rolls over.
You barely have time to scream before you’re plunged into the sea. You keep your arms wrapped tightly around the massive fin as the shark drags you under.
Hundreds of years ago, sailors used to be “keelhauled” — tied up and dragged under their own ships as punishment for crimes. That’s what this feels like. Your lungs burn. Water pounds your eardrums and floods up your nose. You hold your breath until the shark completes the barrel roll and you surface on the other side. You cling desperately to the fin as the shark rights itself.
Having failed to dislodge you, the shark starts swimming for the shore. It’s not deep enough for it to descend, so it thrashes on the surface like an electric eel. You grip the fin tightly as the shark swims around in wild circles.
