The Survival Games

Chapter Seven: The Weight of Survival

The silence between the trees was thick enough to choke on. My lungs burned with every breath, but I kept them shallow. I crouched low behind a tree, eyes fixed on the clearing where #11 stood, blade still in her grip, knuckles white and trembling.

"You think you can just run away from me?!" she shouted. Her voice cracked. "You think running makes you smart?!"

She looked around at her surroundings not missing the slightest sound or movement.

"I know where you are!"

I know she didn't but I wanted her to think she did. For now, I need to distract her and make her impatient so she could loose her calm.

I looked around and a light flickered in my eyes. 

I moved quietly through the brush, weaving through branches and vines like smoke through cracks. Every step was calculated, every sound intentional. Not silent—baited. I rustled leaves, snapped a twig underfoot, left just enough sound to lure her in. 

Her head whipped toward the noise and walked towards the bush.

Excited she yelled "I found you" and stabbed the bush with her blade.

Nothing was behind the bush, anger showed up on her face and voice "How dare you trick me!" She whipped her head around and listened to the sounds coming from the bushes and the trees.

I threw a small pebble again to trick her.

She quickly moved again to where the noise was and stabbed the bush with her blade.

Again I tricked her repeatedly. She yelled her threats and curses at me every time when she thought she had found me. 

"Coward!" she screamed again. "Come out and face me, you rat bastard! I'm going to gut you and feed your heart to the animals!"

Her words echoed through the woods like hollow threats. There were no response.

Her confidence was cracking.

I moved again, keeping low, angling back toward the flat patch of dirt where I'd seen the stone earlier. A wide, flat rock partially buried in the earth. Smooth on one end, jagged on the other.

A trap, waiting to be sprung.

Perfect.

My breathing slowed as I crept around behind her blind side. She paced, cursing under her breath, huffing like a rabid animal. Her rage had blinded her. Her vision tunnelled. Her hands shook with adrenaline she couldn't control.

Then she heard the rustle of vines. Exactly where I wanted her to hear it.

She spun toward the noise and charged. "There you are—!" Her foot hit the rock. Taking no chance I kicked the inside of her knee and knocked her down.

And just like that, she tumbled.

She fell hard, arms outstretched, face-first into the dirt with a sound like a dropped sack of wet cloth. Her knife skittered from her hand, landing several feet away.

I didn't wait.

I launched forward, my sharpened stone clenched tight in my grip.

She twisted beneath me, kicking wildly, fingers scrambling for the blade. But I slammed my knee down on her shoulder, pinning her in place.

Her hand reached. I didn't wait. I launched forward, my sharpened stone clenched tight in my grip.

She twisted beneath me, kicking wildly, fingers scrambling for the blade. But I slammed my knee down on her shoulder, pinning her in place.

Her hand tried to reach for the her knife.

I brought the stone down—hard—onto her wrist.

Crack!

She howled in pain, the bone fracturing beneath the blow. The knife tumbled from her fingers.

Blood soaked the dirt beneath her arm, dark and thick. She screamed again. Wild. Panicked. Like a cornered animal.

I snatched the knife.

Stepped back.

Watched her squirm in the dirt, clutching her ruined hand, her eyes wide with disbelief and agony.

She saw me walk calmly towards her. "Don't—don't kill me!" she sobbed. "Please… I didn't mean it! You win, okay? You win!" She looked up at me, mascara streaked down her cheeks, mouth trembling.

But I didn't answer.

She saw that my face was expressionless and unreadable.

She started to panic and her tone changed—snapped into something sharp. "Do you know my family? My family will end you," she hissed. "You hear me? You're nothing. A gutter rat. They own the surveillance grids. The trackers. The police dogs, the secrete agents—everything. You kill me, they'll know."

I didn't flinch. I have never heard of her the family she said. Born in the slums, getting information outside of the slums would be hard as surviving. If what she said is true I know I will face the unknown dangers coming from her family...but... I know..now.. the game has specifically said that only one person can live. Be it her or me.

"You would've killed me if you had caught me," I said calmly.

She scoffed. "I—no! No, I wouldn't! I was just—"

"You tried. Twice."

"That was different!" She panicked and tried made ridiculous excuses.

I crouched lower, the knife gleaming in my hand. "It either I who die or you who die," I said. 

She realized then—truly—that she was going to die. Her lips opened, venom leaking from every word she screamed. "You filth. You lowborn trash. You'll die in a ditch and my family will hunt you down."

My hand trembled as I raised the blade.

Her last scream was pure hatred.

The knife came down across her throat.

Quick.

Final.

Blood fountained. Her body spasmed. Then stilled.

I dropped the blade and stepped away.

My stomach churned, not from guilt—but from the weight of it all. The exhaustion. I know this wasn't the first. And it wouldn't be the last.

How many had I killed now? Four? Five? My hands were red with their blood. I stood there in the clearing, letting the silence swallow me.

And then the system spoke:

"Player #17 has achieved final survival status. All other participants have been eliminated.

You will now be returned to your original location.

Congratulations."

No celebration. No relief. I dropped to the ground.

The world shimmered—rippling like disturbed water—and the trees dissolved into static. When my vision cleared, I was back.

The musty smell of expired goods and mildew hit me like a wave. The dull hum of fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. I blinked, heart still pounding.

I was kneeling in the same corner of the convenience store, tucked between rusted shelves and broken freezers.

A dream?

No.

I looked down on my my hand and my clothes. They are stained with blood.

I looked up and I saw #11's knife. Blood stained the blade. Her blood.

I observed the surroundings carefully and I rose slowly to my feet, every bone aching. The shelves around me were toppled, dust covering everything. Rats scurried in the dark. A broken television flickered static behind the counter.

The world outside hadn't changed.

But I had. 

To be Continued....