The Death Wish Game

by Jonathan Chateau

  “Chek-tah? Well, chek-tah this!” Bear brings down his tomahawk. There’s a crack. Blood spatters all over his face. It’s as if he crushed a watermelon with the tomahawk.

  Chase turns his head, winces.

  Bear rolls off the dead hunter, seizes the man’s tomahawk, and tosses it over to me.

  As I catch it, I ask, “You all right?”

  He shoots me an empty look, then glances down at his hands. They’re shaking. The shock of our situation has seemingly hit him. “I . . . just need . . . a minute.”

  “It hurts,” Liza cuts in, her voice hoarse. “It really hurts.”

  Kylie lifts Liza’s blouse just enough to get a closer look at the wound. There’s enough light to tell that she’s bleeding out and won’t survive if we don’t get her to a hospital soon.

  “Just stay with us, OK, sweetheart?” Kylie rubs Liza’s shoulders. Wipes the sweat from the woman’s brow.

  “How’d you manage to get away?” Chase asks Liza.

  “What?” Liza’s eyes flutter, head bobbing up and down. She’s about to pass out any second.

  “How’d you escape the bus?”

  “Don’t interview her,” Kylie snaps.

  Chase shoots her a cross look.

  “She’s in shock, moron.” Kylie turns to me. “We’ve gotta get Liza to a—”

  Liza’s arm shoots up, clutches Kylie’s wrist. “I didn’t . . . escape.” She coughs several times, then says, “They . . . they let me go.” She touches the broken arrow. “But one of them got me on the way out.” She grimaces. “I think God’s gonna take me now. I feel it. I feel the cold.”

  Bear snaps out of his trance. Rubs his eyes, then jumps up. He walks over to Liza, hoists her up as if she were made of feathers. “You’re not going anywhere yet.” He wraps his arm around her backside, steadies her onto her feet. “Not until we get you to a hospital.”

  “Agreed,” I say as I slide my arm around her as well. “Come on. Let’s go.”

  Liza lets out another groan, talks incoherently. Something about Damien. Something about him being “all wrong.” Hard to understand what she’s rambling about because she keeps going in and out of consciousness.

  “Guys, let’s be real.” Chase moves in front of the group. “She’s going to slow us down!”

  I say nothing for a beat. Glaring at this selfish little prick, part in surprise at his lack of care for others. Part in anger.

  He’d make a good Chad.

  My ex would probably go for a guy like this.

  “Move,” I tell him.

  “Wait-wait-wait.” Chase waves his arms in protest. “I thought we were running. What the crap happened to that plan?”

  “The plan changed, asshole.” Kylie steps forward and shoves Chase aside. “Now, do like the man said and move!”

  We keep walking in the general direction that I assume we were already headed. Trying to use the moon as my guide, though the tall trees surrounding us make it a little difficult. It doesn’t take long before Liza starts to get heavy, even with the two of us carrying her. Bear is doing most of the lifting, thank God, but he’s huffing and breathing hard.

  Chase runs in front of us again, turns and walks backward as he asks, “So where are we going, geniuses?” He spins in a circle, arms spread wide. “Don’t know if you all noticed, but we kind of got turned around. Exactly which way is east, west, or wherever the hell we’re headed?”

  The sound of a bird chirping cuts through the woods. It’s an unusual chirp. I can’t quite describe it—

  Another weird chirp.

  All of us stop in our tracks.

  “What’s that?” Bear asks, looking up at the treetops.

  Another chirp.

  Not that I’m an ornithologist, but that definitely doesn’t sound like any sort of bird I’ve ever heard before in my thirty-something years on this planet.

  And typically when I hear birds chirping, it’s accompanied by a sense of peace in my soul.

  Not dread.

  A distant chirp answers.

  “That’s the second weirdest sound I’ve heard all night,” Chase says, and I completely agree with him.

  Then it hits me. “They’re signaling to one another.”

  “What?” Chase asks.

  “We’re being watched,” I say. “Those hunters back there aren’t the only ones playing this sick game.”

  “Damien . . .” Liza mumbles.

  “Why does she keep saying that prick’s name?” Chase asks.

  Another flare rockets up into the sky. This time it’s a little closer . . .

  And in the direction we were already headed.

  “See,” Kylie says. “We are going the right way.”

  We continue walking what we now know for sure is east.

  “Yeah. Right,” Chase says. “Headed right into their trap. You guys ever think about that?”

  “We covered this already,” Bear says, his words a little tauter. “This whole thing was a trap.”

  “Damiiiieeeeen . . .” Liza mutters, eyes slowly opening.

  “Damien, what? Jesus! You’re creeping me out, lady,” Chase says. “Spit it out already!”

  “Chase, if they don’t kill you, I just might,” Bear says with a definite growl in his tone. “I’m about done with—”

  “Damien is coming for you all!” Liza suddenly blurts out.

  We stop dead in our tracks.

  “Please stop . . . I need . . .” Liza wheezes, her breathing ragged. “I need . . . I need a moment.”

  Chase and Kylie turn to face Liza.

  “What did you say?” Chase asks.

  “Damien.” Tears stream down Liza’s face as she strains to get the words out. “He’s the one . . . who let me go.”

  “What? But how?” Kylie asks. “We heard him screaming.”

  “Yeah . . .” Liza says with a nod. “That’s because they . . .” She gulps hard, her face slick with tears and sweat. Glistening under the red glow of these sinister woods. “That’s because they scalped him.”

  “And he didn’t die from that?” I ask.

  Liza shakes her head no. “He begged to become one of them, so they scalped him. It was horrible.” For a second, her mouth opens and closes, and no words come out. “I-I-I can’t get that image . . . out of my head. Then they were going after me next . . . but Damien stood up . . . blood all over his face. He had no skin left on his head . . . only . . . only a feather!” She takes a deep breath. “And he was smiling. Asked them to let me go.” She shudders in our arms. Eyes fluttering as if she’s about to tap out.

  “Liza!” Bear shouts. “Liza!”

  Liza comes to, and says, “He said he’s coming.” She turns her head in my direction. “Said he’s coming for you!”

  In the moonlight, with the bone-white rays of light spilling down between the treetops, I can clearly see the cold seriousness in her eyes. Dread washes over me. I shiver at the thought of that crazed teenager, bathed in his own blood, helping these maniacs pick us off one by one.

  Shaking off those feelings as best as possible, I muster as much confidence as I can generate with, “That’s . . . that’s not going to happen.” I’m telling her this as well as myself.

  Before Liza can utter another word, an arrowhead bursts through her neck. Blood sprays Bear and I as Liza’s head flops back.

  “Jeeeeeee-sus!” Chase backs away, turns and vomits.

  Kylie covers her face with her hands.

  Before Bear and I can react, a voice shouts from the pitch-black depths of the forest, “Jesus?”

  It’s a very familiar voice.

  “Not quite, assholes!”

  It’s Damien.

  Chapter 11—Fight or Flight

  Another arrowhead emerges from Liza’s chest. Blood bubbles up from her lips. She lets out a gurgled cry, collapses.

  “Get down!” I shout. We barely make it to the ground before a wave of arrows tears through the air and passes over us.

  There’s
a moment of silence. The four of us lay frozen, bodies flat against the earth, breathlessly awaiting the next dreadful thing to happen. There’s a soft thud near us. The sound of a rock or stone being tossed our way. My first thought is that someone or something landed next to us, but no further sounds are made. The unnerving stillness of the night continues for a few more minutes.

  Distinct, high-pitched laughter pierces the quiet.

  “Who in Christ’s name is that?” Chase asks, his chin still slick with a sliver of vomit. He wipes it away.

  “Damien,” I say.

  “Bullshit!” Chase says. “That kid’s corpse is a pile of charcoal by now.”

  Kylie’s gaze shifts between Chase and me.

  The laughter draws closer.

  “I bet when you pussies woke up this morning,” Damien says, “you didn’t think you’d end up in the boonies, hunted like rats.”

  “Yep,” I say. “That’s Damien all right.”

  “There’s no way,” Chase says. “That kid is as dead as we’re about to be if we don’t get the fuck out of here.”

  “Liza said he’s alive,” Kylie says.

  “She was delusional!”

  “Why would she say that, then?” Kylie asks.

  “Because she was hurt.” Chase suppresses a frustrated breath. “Pain will do that to you, you know?”

  “Chase, Bear, Rainbow Brite . . . Rodney.” Damien snorts and spits. “You’re all about to get yourselves a nice haircut tonight.”

  “That sound like Damien to you?” I ask.

  Chase stammers. Pauses. His brain suddenly not working. Then he mutters, “No-no-no-no-no-no-no. This can’t be happening.” He shuts his eyes tight. “I’m just dreaming. Sound asleep on the bus—”

  Kylie grabs Chase by the shirt and yanks him close. Her words are very terse. “This is no dream. This is our shared nightmare. Now nut up, shut up, and chill the heck out. You’re not helping.” She releases him, and he just glares at her. Mouth agape. Eyes glossy with fear.

  War cries call and answer from every corner of the woods like some sort of primitive alarm system.

  “What’s that?” Bear asks, looking around.

  “Just a guess, but it seems Damien’s signaled the others,” I say. “They’re surrounding us.”

  “And why’d they let him live?” Chase is no longer whispering.

  “Talk a little louder,” Bear says, “so you can ask them for yourself.”

  “So, what are our options?” Kylie asks me.

  “Well, if we run now, we’ll risk them loading our backs full of arrows.” I lift my head up from behind the log, survey the area. It’s just the ominous forest and that red fog floating along the ground. “I don’t see any sign of them, but there’s no telling how many of them are out there . . . waiting.”

  “And the other option?” Kylie asks.

  “We let them come to us, and we fight.”

  “Oh no!” Chase wipes the sheen of sweat off his face. Dries his hand with his hair. “No fucking way we’re going to fight them.”

  “We’ve got weapons,” I remind him.

  “Weapons? Yeah, you mean two hammers against God knows how many of those freaks!” Chase shakes his head. “Screw fighting. I say we run.”

  “If you think you can outrun an arrow”—Bear sweeps his hand toward the shroud of trees surrounding us—“happy trails. I’m sticking with Rodney.”

  “CHEK-TAH!”

  Liza is suddenly standing over us. Mouth open so wide she could swallow a softball. Teeth glowing. Ravenous eyes flashing red and orange like unearthly strobe lights. The arrowhead still protruding from her neck, fresh blood trailing down its tip. She cocks her head to the side. Raises a tomahawk above her head, and my first thought is, Where did she get that from?

  Oh yeah.

  That soft thud.

  One of the hunters tossed her a toma—

  “Moooooove!” Bear shoves me aside just as Liza brings the weapon down with such surprising force, the ground trembles.

  “Liza!” Chase shouts. “What are you doing?” He asks this as if there’s a remote possibility that she is going to issue a natural response given that she was dead moments ago and is now somehow still mobile with several arrows in her body, including one which no doubt hinders her ability to breathe.

  “Chek-taaaaaah!” Liza hisses. “Chek-taaaaaaah—”

  I jump up and swing my tomahawk. Stone meets bone. There’s a loud crack. Liza spirals backward. The second her backside hits the dirt, I straddle her. She glares up at me, eyes smoldering like hot coals. Spittle and blood foaming at the corners of her mouth backlit by her neon teeth.

  “I’m sorry.” I bring down the tomahawk and with one deliberate blow . . . Liza hisses no more.

  One of the hunters hiding within the trees lets out a war cry. Sounds as though he’s right next to us. Several shadows emerge from all directions. All of them heading our way.

  “Oh . . . shit,” I mutter.

  “Way to kill your own,” Damien shouts from some corner of the woods.

  “Oh my God!” Chase scrambles to his feet. “They’re coming right at us!”

  As their heavy footfalls draw in, we identify three hunters – two with spears, one with a tomahawk.

  No bows and arrows . . . thankfully.

  Everyone gets to their feet. Bear pushes Kylie and Chase aside. He points and says, “Get behind those palm trees.”

  Off to our left, a tight thicket of foxtail palms is the closest thing we have for cover.

  “Whaaaaat?” Chase protests.

  “You heard what he said! Move your ass!” I shout. “You’re both unarmed.”

  Kylie leans down, takes Liza’s tomahawk. “Not anymore.”

  “Screw this,” Chase says, breaking past Kylie and Bear. “I’m not waiting around for us to get slaughtered!”

  He takes off running.

  “Chase!” I yell. “Chase! Dammit, come back! Chase!”

  Too late.

  He’s already hauling ass, headed east . . .

  Toward what? God only knows.

  Chapter 12—Dark Corners of the Mind

  The hunters are almost upon us. Bear, Kylie, and I stand ready to fight or die. Three versus three, not including Damien, wherever the heck he is. My heart is pumping so hard I almost feel faint. Or maybe I’m just woozy from fear. Here I was . . . ready to take my own life because I let situations dictate my emotions. And now all I want to do is live.

  What a coward.

  If Kylie and Bear knew how scared I am, they might not be following me. They might be booking it alongside Chase. Sure, I’ve managed people within the safety of an office setting, but not under the duress of being slain by maniacs. I’ve conquered deadlines, but not the dead themselves.

  Then again, I’ve succeeded in getting us this far.

  Is this self-preservation? Have I regained my will to live?

  Or am I merely driven to not let these strangers die at the hands of these men?

  Doesn’t matter right now. All I want to do is kick ass, find out who’s behind this sick game, and shove this tomahawk down their throat.

  In the thick of the shadows, three pairs of smoldering red eyes come to life, zigzagging in the air like fireflies as they make their way toward us. Teeth glowing as if they’ve swallowed glow-sticks. They shriek as they raise their weapons. A raspy “Chek-taaaaaaah,” escapes their rotten mouths.

  “They’re coming!” Bear shouts.

  We raise our weapons.

  The hunters will be on us in three . . .

  Two . . .

  One.

  Everything goes haywire. A blur of motion. A collision of shadows outlined in red by the mist. Bodies colliding like trucks hitting one another head-on with deadly force. One of the hunters slams into me, and we’re earthbound. Our weapons go skidding off, disappearing into the brush. We roll around in the dirt. Both of us grunting, frantically struggling to get control. To get the upper hand. He grabs me, I g
rab him. He stinks. Smells of a sour mix of rotten meat and manure. He bares his fangs like a starved creature ready to chomp down on supper, but a quick left hook knocks that toothy smirk off his face. He yanks on my shoulders, and we roll over several times. Roll around for what feels like forever, but that’s how fights feel—

  Like an eternity. My martial-arts training taught me that. But it didn’t teach me how to deal with maniacal natives from purgatory.

  Or wherever they’re from.

  His bony elbow clips my chin. I wince. The pain is instant and bright, traveling from my jawline into my brain. Suddenly he’s on top of me. He brings up both hands, curls them into fists, and is about to hammer me into next week when I jab two fingers into his windpipe. Not sure if these guys breathe or not.

  No matter.

  The strike worked.

  He gasps, cups his throat with both hands and it’s all the time I need to prop up both feet against my butt and buck him off me. He quickly recovers, but so do I, and now we’re squaring off.

  Behind us, I hear Bear and Kylie taking on the other hunters. I want to jump in, help them out, but can’t break away. Stinky here whips out a knife of sorts. It doesn’t appear to be made of metal, but all I can make out is that it’s sharp and I don’t want it ending up inside of me. He makes several swipes, but I step backward with each swing. I’m praying that there’s nothing behind me to either back into, or cause me to trip. Either one would suck.

  He issues several more jabs. I dodge them all. Yeah, I’m still alive, but evading his attacks is wearing me out. My heart slams against my chest. Throat dry as Death Valley. Ears throbbing.

  The hunter winds up, haymaker style. He takes one big swing at my throat . . . and muscle memory takes over. I step inside the arc of his motion. With all his energy dumped into that single attack, his body leans forward just enough for me to catch his arm, bring it to my chest, and flip him over—still holding on to him the entire time. He crashes hard into the dirt, face-first, his arm breaking as he lands.

  He lets out a deathly wail.

  I spin around, using his shoulder as a pivot point, and break his arm a second time. The grip on his knife loosens. I steal it from him and plunge it into the back of his head. The soft spot. Right where the skull and the base of the neck meet.