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ADELE

The Game

The game had begun, the hiders all scattered. It felt primal, like a hunt beginning. There was a deep thrum of excitement, even though Adele knew she was the prey.

She was alone, running up the wet path.

The storm, wild, raged around her, lighting and then darkening the sky like someone flipping a switch on and off. She felt the thunderclaps vibrate beneath her feet. What was supposed to be a game now felt very real.

Was she going to die here, an ocean away from her babies?

She kept running, digging deep. Outrun the storm. Don’t get struck by lightning. Hide. Pray that morning comes. I’m sorry , she told her kids, God, herself. I should have known better.

Legs pumping, she moved deftly around fallen debris. Her feet struggled for purchase on the slick ground.

Where were the others?

They’d moved in opposite directions, unhesitating when Mav gave the word. As soon as the game began, it was everyone for themselves. Any connection she’d felt or imagined to the others was sundered when things started to get real. First the violence, then the vanished man, then the storm.

Was there even a game anymore? Or would she just hide out here like Chloe Miranda and never be found, her kids left with no answers about either of their parents?

Stop.

She couldn’t think like that. It would only weaken her. She would get back to them. She had to get back to them.

Keep running. Keep moving.

Around the bend, the small casita she’d found during her recon rose white and ghostly, nestled in foliage. She felt a measure of relief as she jogged up the path. It wasn’t the farthest one from the hotel, nor was it the biggest. But it was the one on highest ground, the only one intact.

Mom, when it rains, the lower part of the property will flood. This casita is high and dry.

That was the last piece of advice from her son.

She pushed through the door, stepped inside, and relished the blessed relief of being out of the rain. She was soaked through to the skin, her gear dripping. The rain beat on the roof, water leaking in from several holes in the ceiling, the scent of mold heavy in her sinuses.

She found the spot she’d staked out. A closet or crawl space where the door disappeared into the wall when it closed. Inside was the pack she’d left with supplies: water, some jerky, an extra light.

Her breath came easier; she settled into her space. She pulled her phone from her pocket, even knowing it was dead, staring at that black screen, willing it to life. Her only connection to her real life, the one she lived for Blake and Violet. For Miller, once. She’d sacrifice anything now to go back there. Had she really come here, risked everything—for money?

Those warnings. Who had been on the other side of those texts? Whoever it was, they were right.

She hardened herself. No tears. Sinking into sadness and fear was death.

Just breathe. Hide. Wait for morning or to be found. Win or lose. Just make it home.

She wrapped her arms around herself against the chill, shivering. She thought of home, dinner at the table with the kids, her cozy bed. She closed her eyes. Sometimes she would say to Violet, Be brave, be wild . Not wild like reckless or mindless. But wild as in untamed, connected to the strength of the natural world. Her heart rate slowed.

There. What was that sound?

She sat up, listening to the storm.

Was someone coming? Had they found her already?

A high-pitched cry.

Those birds again, always circling, always waiting for someone or something to die?

There it was again, connecting to every nerve in Adele’s body.

The very sound of terror. Someone screaming. Again. Again.

What was it? A trick. Something to lure her from her spot?

No, that was a sound that could not be faked. Someone was in mortal danger or terrible pain.

Adele didn’t have to think about it very long. She left her spot and started to run through the storm again in the direction of the sound.