Page 137 of Forsaking All Others

We’ve been tramping now for weeks under pretty much constant rain, and so far have not seen sight nor sound of another competitor.

I expected we might while we’d camped on the beach, or when we’d reached the first drop point, but the closest we’d come was seeing smoke on the horizon.

“Everything feels mouldy,” Thorun groans as she reaches into her pack to bring out some smoked fish, “and it’s your turn to wear the camera.”

I nod but make no move to take the camera just yet. Since she’d ruined hers while we were still on the beach by falling into the lake and landing on a rock, we’d been sharing just the one. I was surprised the crew hadn’t come down to give us another, but I imagine they decided it was visually just as interesting to see from one person’s perspective since we were a team. Despite this, we’d been taking turns wearing it because it was annoying. Then again, everything is annoying at this stage of the game.

“If I never see a smoked fish again, I’ll be a happy woman,” I mutter, taking the proffered food and nibbling while we settle, preparing to rest for the evening.

“Well,” she laughs, positioning the camera on her pack where it can record both of us. “I still like them, but then, I’ve grown up on it.”

“I wouldn’t mind a bunny, or even a squirrel,” I muse, “maybe we should set some traps now and we might get something overnight.”

“I’m not eating a squirrel,” Thorun snorts, “that would just be wrong.”

I shrug and chew on the fish, but gag despite my hunger. Weeks of fish and seaweed and pine needle tea was just not enough to keep my strength up, and I’d had to tighten my belt four notches already. Last night we’d actually feasted on roasted hornets after Thorun had discovered a nest in a tree by accident. Remarkably, I’d kept them down. Thorun hadn’t. She’d vomited them all up a few hours later.

Now, as the evening begins to wane towards full darkness, I know I can’t go another day without something substantial in my stomach. We’d caught a few rabbits the first week in little snares Thorun had made, and I’m hopeful we might do so again. I’m almost salivating at the thought of spit-roasting one tonight.

“OK,” I rise and stretch, “you start the fire and spread the tarp for the night. I need to set a trap for a rabbit. I’ll go see if I can find any little obvious signs they’ve been around like you showed me, and if I can I’ll set something up.”

“We’re not far from the second drop site,” Thorun murmurs, “perhaps we should push on.”

“I can’t,” I shake my head. “If someone else is there I just don’t have the strength to fight. If we wait until morning, and if I get something to eat, we’ll be in a stronger position.”

Thorun nods as, collecting the twine we’d made from reeds while we’d been on the beach, I set off. But after half an hour of not finding any evidence of rabbits and realising the night is setting in fast, I decide to hunt a squirrel. Despite what Thorun says, I think when she smells one roasting she’ll set her sensibilities aside. Looking up at all the trees for signs of a trail or scat, I finally see evidence of a run up the bark of a large spruce, and carefully begin to climb. When I get halfway up I set the small noose against the bark and tie it to a branch. In theory the squirrel will run up in the dark, get its head stuck and strangle itself.

‘And there won’t be any blood, which will be a bonus, because I have nothing left in my stomach to vomit up.’

Happy with the job I’ve done, I turn to look through the branches to see if Thorun’s had luck lighting the fire when I notice a clearing a few hundred metres away, and in the centre what looks to be a body. It’s difficult to tell, given the darkness is almost complete now, but the shape is remarkably human-like, and I know I won’t be able to rest until I find out what it is.

‘Are we THAT close to the drop site? Our navigation must be slipping; I thought we were easily a few hours' walk away.’

Scrambling down the trunk, not caring that I’ve ripped a small hole in my pant leg, I race back through the trees to stop Thorun before she can continue with the flint. But the journey back takes way longer. I’d obviously come further than I thought, and I trip often in the darkness.

When I finally reach where I’d left her I can only puff out one word.

“Pack,” I lean down, gasping, hands on knees as I recover from the mad dash through the underbrush, “I think there’s another competitor nearby. And you’re right, the drop site is very close.”

“Fokk!” She exclaims, madly stashing the flint, a small amount of dry moss, the tarp and the fish pack, her eyes wild, actions seemingly confused as she tries to stuff things into her pack rather than organise as she usually does.

“Don’t panic,” I puff, “we have to be quiet and stealthy. It might not be someone, but it sure looks like it. If it is, she’s not moving. I don’t know if she’s sleeping or dead, but if she’s dead then someone could still be nearby. If she’s sleeping this could be our chance to take out a competitor and gain whatever is at the drop site.”

‘God, please let it be food and a tent.’

Thorun shakes her head, but follows nevertheless.

Every day since we’d been on this trial we’d had the same conversation. She knows she has to kill someone to make it to the end, but she’s determined she can’t. I, on the other hand, have absolutely zero qualms about eliminating another competitor, and in particular, Silke.

“I hope it’s not Silke,” I whisper now as we walk.

“Cat,” Thorun whispers back, “I don’t feel well.”

I turn to squint at her face. The moonlight is just a sliver through the trees and not shedding enough light to discern anything other than her eyes, which look wild.

“Thorun, you’re just having a panic attack.”

“No, I, I’m, something’s wrong.”