In three days I had explored the area only partially: I barely remembered this sector of the forest. I hesitated at the fork in the trail and turned to the left. I almost fell into the hole of a wolf trap: slowing down sharply, I slipped on the wet ground and fell, inertia dragging me forward. The distance was enough for my legs to overbalance, pulling me into the trap. Imagining the sharpened stakes below, I grabbed at everything within reach and hung on the edge. I tried to get out by pressing my toes into the trap walls, but the rain was making my shoes slip. There was a scream in the distance, interrupted by a gunshot. I pulled myself up again, whimpering in pain: two fingernails were broken and splinters were stuck under the rest of them. Think positive, I was trying to urge myself on. A shot means a hunter, and a scream means death. And that death means that at least one more killer's daily limit is exhausted. It really doesn't take much in this life to become a cynic. Just three days of running through the woods from armed degenerates eager to kill you. Another push and I climbed out of the trap for good, falling on my back with a sigh of relief. I was alive. But the smile was immediately wiped off my lips by the crackling of a broken branch: they were close. The hunters' footsteps were barely audible, but I knew he was among them. He was following me, raising goosebumps all over my skin. I have felt his presence since the first day of the hunt. And here it was again, the quintessence of danger and fear
There were three pursuers. They were approaching from the right, and there was nothing I could do but go past the trap deeper into the woods. I had hardly run five meters when a bullet chipped a piece of bark off the tree in front of my face and made me freeze. I got the message, I was not allowed to go that way. I rushed to my left, but another bullet stopped me again. I could see the gamekeepers encircling me, but I kept darting from side to side, twisting and weaving. They weren't going to kill me today. They were just trying to scare me, as they routinely do. The circle tightened, and another pirouette brought me too close to one of the gamekeepers. He swung his rifle at my ankle, knocking me down. Well, that was that. This is it. I knelt without raising my eyes, and could see two silhouettes on both sides. The cold metal touched the back of my neck. I couldn't see their faces, but I knew exactly who was behind me, and whose gun was pointed at me. Jason.
Freeze.
The warning was unnecessary: in his presence I was afraid to even breathe.
With a yank, he made me get up, and pushed me toward Outcast standing nearby. I limped forward, but before I'd gone ten meters, he had me pinned against a tree.
You know what the blondie did to get the fat man to let her go, don't you? I can let you go too, if you want? he hissed into my ear with a nasty smile.
I could feel his tobacco-soaked breath on my face. Mixed with sweat, it turned into a nauseating cocktail of smells. The greasy hair touched my cheek. I jerked to the side, but Outcast was holding me tight.
Come on, doll, work your mouth, he grabbed me by the hair and tried to pull me down on my knees.
Get your hands off me, I gritted through my teeth.
Outcast, Jason called out to him. We're running out of time. There are four more to find.
The gamekeeper pulled away in annoyance.
I'll do you tonight, he promised, shoving me in the back.
I almost ran to the barracks. The rain was getting heavier. Streams of water ran down my face and into my eyes, hindering my vision. My jacket and jeans were soaked through and my boots were sloshing with water. Outcast's radio crackled behind me announcing the statistics: two targets had been caught in pit traps, and the snare traps remained undisturbed. The first thing I did when I crossed the threshold of the barracks was to look for Simon and when I found him, I was relieved: he was alive. Outcast chained me to the wall, giving me a nasty goodbye groping. I broke free from his hands. Simon jumped up, followed by Lesha, but I shook my head: don't mess with him.
Wow, you have defenders here, chuckled Outcast and swung his rifle butt at Lesha. The boy jumped back in fear and the gamekeeper laughed again. Pussy!
With the rifle on his shoulder, Outcast leisurely walked away and I looked around, counting the casualties. The Nigerians had lost Dayo, her mother was sobbing on her son's shoulder.
The fucking prick didn't just shoot the girl, he raped her first, Snezhana shared the details. Yesterday Lila wouldn't let him, so this time he made sure he shot the girl in the legs first so she wouldn't run away.
I could barely contain my gagging.
Why are you telling me this?
Do you think it's easy to keep it to yourself? Snezhana sobbed hysterically.
So you saw it!?
I threw up after all, barely making it to the bathroom in time. And then I sobbed under the cold shower for a long time, washing the vomit out of my hair.
The gamekeepers kept bringing in the rest of the survivors, and I kept adding up the bloody results. The Russian, Egor, had been killed. The knife didn't help him after all. And another Mexican, Roberto. A Vietnamese couple who irritated us with their wailing. And Barty wasn't back yet, but they were probably still looking for him. We stubbornly pushed away the thought that he was gone.
Maybe he fell into one of the traps. I suggested.
But this version didn't bear out. The last to be brought to the barracks were two Germans mutilated by the traps: one had his hand cut off at the wrist and was cradling the stump in a bandage made from a T-shirt. The other was more fortunate, having only a minor injury on his hip. He collapsed on the bed right in his blood-soaked jeans. Barty was still gone, though. After counting the rest of the men, we realized he was sixth victim after all. Could a hunter have broken the rules?
We leaned against the windows, hoping to overhear something, but nobody mentioned a possible disqualification.
Maybe he escaped after all? Lesha said with hope.
Dinner was brought in. I hid in the bathroom as a precaution to avoid being seen by Outcast, but he either forgot about the threat or found a better option. After habitually separating the probable sedative-laden contents of the meal boxes, we ate, still not touching the bottles, preferring tap water.
For the rest of the day and the rest of the next, the guys and I discussed an escape plan.
If Barty could do it, so can we, said Lesha.
I didn't try to dissuade him. Hope is not the worst incentive.
Armand is not a problem for us, he only chooses strong and hardy targets, Simon said with an authoritative manner. Eric and his girlfriend hunt together, so we have to run in different directions and climb over the wall in different places. Our problem is Frost or the cowboy. I can't understand Frost's system, he's more into spontaneity, but the cowboy is only dangerous for you. You're the last pretty girl in the group.
Thanks, that's reassuring, I grimaced.
Lesha timidly put his hand on my shoulder.
I we won't let you get hurt, he promised, stammering. He blushed when I smiled back.
Sweet couple, Snezhana passed by.
Without makeup on her face, she was surprisingly pretty. Or maybe the right mood had its effect. Snezhana had cheered up noticeably since last night when she was reunited with Diego. They were rather quiet during the night, but in the morning they activated the mode of non-stop sex with breaks for meals. Judging by the condition of the others, we were only given tranquilizers after the hunt and the following morning, because by evening the general lethargy usually disappeared. People lay down less and moved around more. Apparently, the hunters preferred cheerful targets.