Since high school the twins were never apart, and now was no exception. Hand in hand, they trotted through the woods, prevented from reaching a full run due to the bulkiness of their supremely fashionable, genuine leather thigh-high boots.
They had agreed from the beginning they would die here, but hadn't decided on how. They'd do so at the same time; that was the agreement. But if their prodigious organizer had no way of doing that, then somewhere in the forest would do.
"Should we stop running soon?" said the brother.
"But they said we should give them a chase," replied the sister. "We should get on their good side."
"Right, right."
They traipsed some more, admiring the look of the full moon from where they ran, when she spotted an unusual owl perched on a nearby branch, staring down with pitch black eyes.
"Hello," said the sister, stepping forward with their arms outstretched. The owl blinked. It cooed softly.
She muttered, "it's a sign."
Slowly, she continued to walk, till the branch was almost within arm's reach. She was not looking down, and thus did not see the ground terminate about half a foot from the owl's perch.
She fell before she could even let out a full scream. There was a loud, bone-cracking thud and the sound of heavy rolling. The other twin screamed.
"Lucy!"
There was no response. He could see her sprawled at the base of a thirty-five foot drop, a nearly canyon-like fall disguised by the night and the dark grass.
Ruined. It was all ruined. There was only one thing left to do. After a few seconds, another crunch of bone rang through the woods.
The owl preened itself and flew away.
—
"What's good, YouTube? It's ya boy MazzyMaz back at it again with another killer video!" Twigs snapped under his feet. Sweat stuck his hair to his forehead. "I'm here today in a random forest in another state— part of a murder game! You heard that right, a real actual murder game. The chick running it said not to record anything but she didn't check to see if I had a second phone, sooo. Suck it!"
The hum of crickets was deafening. He sweated more.
"You guys have been really craving that more extreme, in-person content— and the Maz is gonna deliver. Ain't nothing I wouldn't do for y'all. I'll get some footage of that girl too, it's funny as hell. She thinks she's gonna kill us when she's 5 foot nothing—"
His foot dropped through the rank earth and sank five feet, the rest of him following in a split second. He didn't even get a gulp of air before he hit the bog.
—
Cliff was near the perimeter of the forest, and all he'd have to keep up was a mild jog.
This shit was easy. There was no way that tiny Asian chick would be able to catch up to him. He was almost disappointed. But therein lay the thrill. He needed to lose thirty pounds by the end of the week, and the second best way to do that was to engineer a scenario of constant exercise. The first was sheer terror.
His father would regret kicking him off the team. They'd all regret—
"Fuck!" A blinding pain shot through his ankle as he slipped on a tree knot. He toppled over and hit dirt before he could break the momentum— then screamed as something cold and metal lodged into his eye. He'd fallen directly on top of something sharp and spiked, some kind of hunting trap.
"Augh! Fuck!" Disoriented, he scrambled to his feet, feeling hot blood pour down his face. Oh, fuck, had it hit his brain? The metal was all shifting and scraping against his socket. His head spun with pain and nausea.
Stumbling half-blind out of the treeline, he saw in tripled vision a conspicuous brown car and an obvious officer in plainclothes smoking next to it. He lurched towards him. "Hey! Hey!"
The officer startled at the sight of him and dropped his cigarette. He immediately went for his side piece and brandished it. "Stop! Hands where I can see 'em!"
Cliff's hands and arms were not obeying him. They felt limp and heavy. He needed to go to a fucking hospital. "Hel— help— help me—"
"Stop!" The officer screamed, spittle flying from his mouth. He cocked his gun.
He tried to stop but just ended up slumping in place, one arm stiffly lifting higher than the other. "I need— need ambul—"
"Drop the fucking weapon!"
"I'm not holding a fucking—" he was cut off by a round piercing his chest, blowing off flesh in a miniature explosion, followed by several more in quick succession.
By the time he dropped to the floor, his torso was full of metal. The officer continued to shout at the body on the ground, demanding he put his hands behind his head.
—
Kil Whan found the shed after an hour and thirty minutes. It was roughshod, made of shingled wood, and the front door was open. Kil Whan looked around but found no one. Slowly, he made his way inside.
It was cold, surprisingly so. Kil Whan pushed his way through the dark with hands outstretched. If he played his cards right, he wouldn't be seen at all.
His right hand touched something cold and wet at the same time he bumped into something sharp and metal. He recoiled, cursing softly, turning on his phone's flashlight when he was unable to make out the sight in the dark.
It was a partially skinned deer, hanging from the ceiling. A bucket sat below collecting blood from its slit throat.
He wrinkled his nose. A bit gross. Nothing he couldn't handle. He took the opportunity to look around. There were more shapes in the dark room. Taxidermied animals. He pushed through the bodies, trying to keep his footsteps light. There had to be a hiding spot here.
He saw an open locker— perfect. He'd be able to keep watch of the outside and be discreet. He had a pocket knifepocketknife to defend himself if their host came slinking around. Kil Whan made his way towards it. The door was partially ajar— it took a couple hard pulls to open. As Kil Whan wrenched it forth, something came loose, a spring releasing. A blur of motion in the dark was all Kil Whan saw— then something blunt slammed hard into his neck.
Kil Whan stumbled back, but the axe embedded in his throat moved with him. He tripped backwards over a taxidermied racoon and thudded hard to the floor.
Smoke began to drift from inside the locker. Kil Whan did nothing in reaction.
—
Fifteen minutes to midnight. Badr watched the movement of the moon from her waiting spot.
She had gone a fair distance before deciding she would stop. She wanted to meet this would-be killer face to face. It'd be a waste if she spent all this time not even encountering them. In the distance, she saw a flare of light and a growing plume of smoke.
"Well, what a nice surprise! I was afraid I wouldn't catch anyone!"
Badr's blood froze in her veins but she forced her body not to flinch. The organizer came closer with slow, shuffling steps.
"You'd think it'd be easy to find up to five people as loud as y'all, but I guess I underestimated the size of these woods. Or maybe how quickly they found my traps? Doesn't matter all that much." They shrugged. They were wearing a butchering apron, thick brown gloves, and hefting a woodcutting axe over their shoulder.
"You like the look? I spent most of my time deciding on it, not gonna lie..." They look down at themselves. "I thought about doing a raincoat, but that felt a little derivative."
They smiled at her again. For some reason, Badr felt a flash of anger.
"What do you keep looking at me like that for?" she gritted.
"Oh, I dunno..." They smile wider. "You never asked me a question. I guess I'm just curious. Do you really have nothing to ask? Are you that self assured?"
Badr was silent for a long moment. Finally, she asked the only question that had been on her mind.
"Why?"
"Why?" they parroted.
"Why are you doing this?" Badr let out a shallow exhale. "All my life I've been trying to figure out why everything is so hostile. How to live in it. Why am I here and not the people who deserve it?" Inexplicably, she found herself close to tears. "What am I supposed to do? None of it makes sense."
The organizer looked at her with a strange, contemplative expression.
"I get that." They leaned back on their axe. "You know... I lied a little bit, when I said this was mostly for fun. It is fun. But it's not a game.
"I moved here years ago. I was... tired of it I guess. Tired of the looks and the unspoken words. Tired of walking around and knowing out there, someone would see me and hate me for some reason or another. Maybe they'd decide one day I wasn't worth being alive, and if they acted on it, who was going to stop it?
"Being out here helped for a while, but it was only up to a point. As independent as you get, you can't ever fully detach from the rest of society... you can never really be free of what the worst bastards in the world are doing. It sucks."
They adjusted their axe. "So this isn't just for fun. I guess it's something like catharsis. Or practice."
"I..." Badr hesitated. "I know exactly what you mean."
They grinned. "Yeah."
"But I don't want to die."
"I understand. I came here to kill you, though."
"I understand too."
With that, they lunged.
Badr dodged, but not fast enough to fully avoid it. The axe cut deeply into her arm. A scream leapt from her throat, but it didn't stop her from moving as the organizer prepared another strike. The next landed on her ankle. She buckled, falling to one knee as her pursuer loomed over her. Their eyes were invisible still behind those glasses, their face inscrutable. They raised the axe over their head.
Badr used the opportunity for a last-ditch shove. She threw all her weight into elbowing the organizer's stomach, knocking both of them off balance. They struggled on the ground. The axe circled through the air.
Badr heard the impact first, before she saw where it had landed. The organizer seemed also surprised. The blade was wedged blade-deep into their sternum.
"Huh," they said.
—
"I really can't appreciate it enough," they grinned dopily at her from the hospital bed. "Hunters don't get insurance, you know?"
"You should really stop trying to sit up," Badr retorted, thumbing through her book. They hummed, not really listening. With the amount of painkillers they were on, it'd be surprising.
They were some miles away, carried away by emergency workers due to a "hunting accident". They weren't questioned about any disappearances, though one staff mentioned 'a raving, bloodied lunatic in those woods no one goes to.'
Badr guessed that meant that everyone else had been taken care of, one way or another. She wondered how long it'd take for them to be discovered, if at all. It was a small town. The idea of four missing persons from disparate locations showing up here seemed ludicrous.
"I guess I gotta get a new place," they mused. "My cabin's done." At Badr's inquisitive look— "I saw the fire a mile away. I rigged it so if someone were stupid enough to snoop through, it'd all get set ablaze. Lots of birds with one stone."
She hummed. A part of her felt some strange relief.
"Do you have anywhere you're going?"
"Not really," she said truthfully. There were many places she had gone, none of which she belonged to.
They smiled brightly at her. "Come with me cross country. We'll kill a CEO or something. You can document it."
She let out a scoffing laugh. "Maybe." She paused. "I just realized, I never got your name."
The host made a face. "Do you need to know that?"
"If you want me to sign off on your medical documents, yes."
They muttered briefly to themself, before finally stating,
"Marcy Skinner."
Badr blinked.
"It's my legal name," they grumbled.
Badr laughed. She laughed for a very long time, for the first time in she couldn't remember how long. By the time she stopped, the sun peeked over the horizon, shyly painting the dawn rose.