Riley
Three bows. Twenty-nine arrows.
I counted them three times. Not because I didn't trust myself. Because numbers were something I could hold onto. Something that made sense when nothing else did.
I kept one bow for myself. Thirteen arrows. That felt right. Not too many. Not too few. Just enough to do what needed to be done.
The rest I split between Sasha and Marcus. Marcus didn't want to take his. I could see it in his face. The way he looked at the bow like it was something dirty. Something that would stain his hands.
I shoved it into his chest anyway.
"Take it."
"I don't—"
"Take it or I give it to someone else. Someone who'll use it."
He took it. His hands were shaking. Good. Shaking was better than freezing. Shaking meant he was scared. Scared people stayed alive. Sometimes.
I turned to Sasha. She was watching me. Waiting.
"You know how to shoot?"
She raised an eyebrow. Like I'd asked her if she knew how to breathe.
"Well yeah. My dad taught me."
Something flickered in her eyes when she said that. A memory. Something warm. Something that didn't belong here.
I didn't ask. I didn't care. Or maybe I did. I didn't check.
I shoved the bow into her chest. Harder than I meant to. Ten arrows on top.
"Don't hesitate to kill."
She looked at the bow. At the arrows. At me. Her face didn't change.
"Wasn't planning on it."
Good. That was good. I didn't need someone who'd freeze when the time came. I needed someone who'd pull the trigger. Or the string. Whatever.
I turned away. Started walking.
---
We made it maybe an hour.
The ground was rough. Roots everywhere. Mud. Rocks. The kind of terrain that made you work for every step. My back was screaming. The burn Sasha had put on it was holding, but every time I moved, something pulled. Something tore. Something reminded me that I wasn't invincible.
I ignored it. Pain was just information.
Behind me, I heard the others. Breathing hard. Muttering. Footsteps dragging. Some of them were struggling. I didn't slow down.
Then the muttering got louder.
"She's insane."
"Did you see what she did?"
"She killed her. Just... cut her throat."
"She didn't even blink."
I kept walking. Let them talk. Let them get it out.
"I'm not staying with her."
That one made me stop. I turned around.
A group of them. Four kids. Standing at the edge of the trail. Their faces were pale. Their eyes were wide. They looked at me like I was something that crawled out of the dark.
"You want to leave?" I asked.
The one in front—a boy, maybe fourteen, brown hair, scared eyes—nodded. His jaw was tight. Like he was trying to be brave.
"You're a monster," he said. "You killed her. She was begging. She was—"
"She killed five people. She was going to kill us. She was going to bring Allen here and he was going to kill all of you." I looked at him. "I did what had to be done."
"You enjoyed it."
That word again. Enjoyed. Like I was capable of enjoying anything. Like the part of me that felt things like joy wasn't dead and buried somewhere in a foster home when I was six years old.
"Go," I said. "Leave. See how long you last."
They went. Four of them. Walking away from the group. Walking into the forest. Thinking they'd be fine. Thinking they'd find somewhere safe. Somewhere without me.
I watched them go. Felt nothing.
Sasha appeared next to me. Her bow was slung across her back. Her arrows were at her hip. She looked at the four kids disappearing into the trees.
"They're going to die," she said.
"Probably."
"You don't care."
It wasn't a question.
I didn't answer. I turned and kept walking.
---
The scream came ten minutes later.
I heard it before I saw anything. High. Sharp. The kind of scream that cuts through everything else. The kind of scream that means someone is dying.
I stopped. Raised my hand. Everyone behind me stopped too.
Another scream. Then another. Then voices. Shouting. Laughing.
I moved toward the sound. Fast. Quiet. My bow was in my hand. An arrow was nocked before I knew I'd put it there.
I found a spot behind a fallen tree. Thick trunk. Good cover. I crouched down. Looked through the branches.
The four kids were on the ground.
One was already dead. Arrow through his face. I could see the shaft sticking out. The fletching red with blood.
The others were kneeling. Hands on their heads. Crying. Begging.
And standing over them were the hunters.
Six of them. Maybe more. I counted from the shadows. Boys. Older than us. Seventeen. Eighteen. They had bows. Stone knives. Axes. Crude but deadly.
And at the back, watching, was a boy who could only be Allen.
He was tall. Eighteen, easy. Broad shoulders. Dark hair. His face was calm. His eyes were cold. He stood apart from the others. Like a king watching his soldiers work.
One of his guys—big, thick neck, hands like hams—crouched down next to the youngest kid. Twelve. Maybe thirteen. The kid was crying. His face was wet. His whole body was shaking.
"Where are the rest?" Allen's voice was quiet. Easy. Like he was asking for directions.
The kid looked up at him. His mouth was open. His lips were moving. No sound came out.
Allen crouched down. Put a hand on the kid's shoulder. Friendly. Almost gentle.
"It's okay. Just tell me where they're going. That's all. Then you can go."
The kid's voice came out in pieces. "M-Mountain. Ridge. S-She said... she said high ground. She said—"
"Who said?"
"R-Riley. The girl. The one with the high score. She said—"
Allen smiled. It was a nice smile. Warm. Like he was genuinely happy to hear the name.
"Riley," he said. "I've heard about her. Two forty-seven. Highest in her group." He stood up. Looked at the kid. "Thank you."
The kid's face relaxed. For a second, he looked relieved. Like he thought it was over. Like he thought Allen would let him go.
Then the big guy with the thick neck stepped forward. His axe was in his hand. Stone blade. Crude. Heavy.
The kid saw it coming. His eyes went wide. His mouth opened.
The axe came down.
I heard the sound. Wet. Crunching. The kind of sound that stays in your head. That plays over and over when you close your eyes.
The kid's body hit the ground. Didn't move.
"Let's get going, fellas," Allen said. He was already walking. Already moving toward the ridge. Toward the mountain. Toward us.
---
I had five seconds.
That's what I gave myself. Five seconds to think. To plan. To decide.
Allen was coming. He had six with him. Maybe more nearby. He had bows. Axes. Knives. He had something else too. Something I'd seen in the way he moved. The way he caught the kid's fear and used it. The way he smiled when he heard my name.
He wasn't just a survivor. He was a predator. The kind who'd been doing this longer than us. The kind who'd been released first. The kind who'd already figured out the rules of this place.
But I'd figured out something too. Something he didn't know.
I'd been watching.
---
I moved back to the group. Fast. Quiet. My bow was ready. My arrows were counted.
Sasha saw my face and didn't ask questions. She just nocked an arrow. Marcus was pale. The others were shaking.
"They're coming," I said. "Allen and his best. Six of them. Maybe more. They killed the four who left. They know where we're going."
Marcus's face went white. "We should run. We should—"
"No."
I cut him off. Looked at the group. At the scared faces. The shaking hands. The kids who thought I was a monster.
Maybe I was. But I was the monster on their side.
"You three," I said, pointing to the ones who looked like they could still move. "Take the others. Go up the mountain. Find the ridge. Don't stop. Don't look back."
"What about you?" one of them asked.
"I'm going to kill them."
I said it like it was simple. Like it was obvious. Like there wasn't another option.
Marcus opened his mouth. Closed it. For once, he didn't argue. He just grabbed the others and started moving.
Sasha didn't move.
"I said go."
"I heard you."
"Then go."
She looked at me. Her face was calm. Her bow was in her hand. Her arrows were at her hip.
"No."
I stared at her. She stared back.
"I'm not leaving you," she said. "So stop asking."
I wanted to tell her she was stupid. That she was going to die. That I didn't need her. That I didn't need anyone.
But the words didn't come. And she was already moving. Already finding a spot. Already getting ready.
So I let her stay.
---
I found a spot near the trail. Hidden. Covered. I could see the path they'd come from. The path they'd take to get to the mountain.
And in the middle of that path, I placed my gift.
Mira's head.
I'd cut it before we left. Clean. Quick. I didn't think about it. I just did it. Like everything else.
I put it in the center of the trail. Facing the direction they'd come from. Her eyes were open. Her mouth was frozen. Her cheek still had the burn mark from my knife.
A warning. A message. A line in the sand.
I climbed up to my spot. My back was screaming. Blood was soaking through the bandage. I didn't care. I nocked an arrow. Waited.
Sasha was twenty feet behind me. Higher up. Better angle. She'd moved without me telling her. Without me asking. She just knew.
I didn't know if that made her smart or stupid. I didn't care. As long as she could shoot.
---
They came ten minutes later.
I saw Allen first. He was at the back. Walking slow. Letting his people go first. His eyes were moving. Scanning. Looking for traps.
The front guy was a bait. I knew it the second I saw him. Tall. Loud. Walking right down the middle of the trail like he owned it. His bow was out. His eyes were on the trees. But he wasn't really looking. He was waiting to get shot. Waiting for someone to make a move.
Allen was waiting too. Watching. Ready.
I saw the head. Mira's head. The front guy stopped. His bow came up. Behind him, the others stopped too.
"What the hell..."
Allen pushed through. Looked down at the head. His face didn't change. But his eyes did. Something cold. Something hard.
"She's here," he said.
I drew my bow.
The front guy was still staring at the head. His bow was up. His back was to me. He didn't know. None of them knew.
I let the arrow go.
It flew straight. Fast. The front guy didn't see it coming. But Allen did.
I saw his hand move. Fast. Too fast. His hand came up. His fingers closed.
He caught it.
The arrow stopped in his palm. Inches from the front guy's face. Allen held it there. His fingers wrapped around the shaft. Blood dripped from where the fletching cut his skin.
He was smiling.
Impossible.
That's what my brain said. Impossible. People don't catch arrows. People don't move that fast. People don't—
But I'd done it. This morning. The arrows coming toward me. Time slowing. My body moving. Dodging. Surviving.
The experiments. The needles. The calibrations. They'd done something to us. Changed something. Made us faster. Sharper. Better.
Allen was just further along. He'd been here longer. He'd been through more.
He was stronger.
I nocked another arrow. Didn't aim at Allen. Aimed at the guy next to him. The one with the axe. The one who'd killed the kid.
I let it fly.
This one Allen didn't catch. He didn't see it coming. None of them did.
The arrow hit the guy in the neck. Right in the soft spot below his chin. He made a sound. Gurgling. Wet. His hands went to his throat. His axe fell. He dropped to his knees. Then his face. Then nothing.
The others panicked. Bows came up. Eyes scanned the trees. They didn't know where I was. They didn't know where to look.
I was already moving. Finding new cover. New angle.
Then I heard it.
A bowstring. Behind me.
Sasha.
Her arrow flew. Clean. Straight. I watched it go.
Allen saw it coming. His hand came up again. But this time, he wasn't fast enough. The arrow hit him in the chest. Right in the center.
I saw it hit. Saw the tip dig into his shirt. Saw his body jerk.
He didn't fall.
He stood there. Looking down at the arrow in his chest. His fingers touched the shaft. His face was calm.
Then he looked up. At Sasha's position. At the spot where the arrow came from.
And he smiled.
Impossible.
The arrow was in his chest. Deep. The kind of hit that should have dropped anyone. Should have put him on the ground. Should have killed him.
He pulled it out. Slow. Deliberate. The tip came free. There was blood. But not enough. Not nearly enough.
He dropped the arrow. Looked at the blood on his fingers. Then at the trees. At the spot where Sasha was hiding.
"Good shot," he said. His voice was calm. Easy. Like he was complimenting someone at a range. "Whoever you are. Good shot."
His chest was bleeding. But he was standing. Smiling. Waiting.
I felt something cold settle in my stomach.
The experiments. They'd done something to him. Something more than the needles. More than the calibrations. They'd made him harder. Stronger. Faster.
They'd given him a boost.
I didn't know how. I didn't know why. But I knew one thing.
He wasn't going down easy.
---
I had a backup plan.
I always had a backup plan.
The mountain behind us was steep. Narrow trails. Rocks that could fall. Places where a group of archers could get picked off one by one if they weren't careful.
But Allen wasn't just any archer. He was something else. Something the Project had made.
I looked at Sasha. She was twenty feet behind me. Her bow was ready. Her face was calm. But I saw the way her hands were shaking. The way her eyes were locked on Allen.
She'd shot him clean. Center mass. And he'd just... pulled it out. Like it was nothing.
"Fall back," I whispered. "Get to the ridge."
"What about you?"
"I'll hold them."
She stared at me. For a second, I thought she was going to argue. Then she nodded. Moved. Silent. Fast.
I turned back to Allen. He was talking to his people. Pointing. Gesturing. Splitting them up. Sending two around the left. Two around the right. Keeping one with him.
He was smart. Careful. He'd seen what I could do. He wasn't going to make it easy.
Fine. I didn't need easy.
I drew my bow. Waited.
The two on the left came first. Moving through the trees. Slow. Careful. Their bows were up. Their eyes were scanning.
I let them get close. Close enough to see their faces. To see the fear behind their eyes.
Then I shot.
The first one took it in the shoulder. He spun. Fell. His bow went flying. His friend stopped. Looked for me. Didn't find me.
I was already moving.
---
The fight lasted maybe ten minutes.
That's what it felt like. Ten minutes of moving. Shooting. Reloading. Moving again. I hit two more. One in the leg. One in the arm. Not kills. Just... stops. Just enough to slow them down. To make them think twice about following.
Allen didn't follow.
He stood at the bottom of the trail. Watching. Waiting. His chest was still bleeding. His smile was still there.
He knew I was baiting him. He knew I wanted him to follow. He wasn't going to.
Smart. Too smart.
I stopped. Found cover. Watched him.
He was looking at the mountain. At the trail. At the spot where the others had gone.
"Riley!"
His voice carried. Loud. Clear.
"I know you can hear me! Two forty-seven! Highest in your group! That's impressive!"
He paused. Tilted his head. Like he was listening.
"But I've been here longer. I've survived more. I've killed more. And I've got something you don't."
He touched his chest. Where the arrow had been.
"The Project made me better. Faster. Stronger. They can make you too. If you survive long enough."
He smiled. That warm smile. The one that didn't reach his eyes.
"So come find me. When you're ready. When you think you're strong enough."
He turned. Walked away. His people followed. The ones who could still walk. The ones I'd hit limped behind. The one I'd shot in the neck stayed on the ground. Not moving.
I watched them go. Watched Allen disappear into the trees.
My hands were shaking. Not from fear. From something else. Something that felt like fire. Something that wanted to chase him. To put an arrow in the back of his head. To watch him fall.
I didn't move.
I stayed in my spot. Watched the trail. Watched the bodies. Waited until I was sure they were gone.
Then I climbed up the mountain. Toward the ridge. Toward the others.
My back was soaked. My legs were shaking. My vision was blurring at the edges.
But I was alive. And so was Sasha.
That was enough. For now.