Page 20 of Stream & Scream

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Olivia

Sunday

T he screams…

The screams alone will drive a person into insanity.

Two voices this time. One high and desperate—female, I realize—and another deeper, definitely a man.

I should feel more than what I’m feeling right now. Horror, maybe. Sympathy for whoever's dying out there. Relief that it's not my throat releasing the sounds of death.

The screams cut off abruptly, leaving behind a silence so complete that I can hear my own heartbeat. Then nothing. Just the whisper of wind.

I count to a hundred before moving, forcing myself to remain still despite every instinct screaming that I need to run and hide, and to put distance between myself and whatever the fuck just happened out there.

I've been walking for maybe an hour when I smell it.

Death. It’s a scent I’m quickly becoming familiar with. Nauseating, fowl, and rancid. The metallic tang of blood quickly rots once the heart stops, especially when it’s touching open air.

The stench leads me to what used to be Cody Reyes.

He's scattered across maybe ten square yards of forest floor, his body partially consumed by forest scavengers. What's left is barely recognizable as human—bones picked clean by birds, chunks of meat that look like they've been gnawed by a large dog.

But it's definitely Cody. The buzz cut is unmistakable, even matted with blood and dirt and whatever fluids leak from bodies when people die. The tracksuit is shredded but still recognizably black, still bearing the green "S&S" logo that marks him as part of this twisted human experiment.

My stomach lurches, but I don't vomit or run. Instead, I look for clues. For anything that’ll give me a look inside The Hunter’s mind.

The positioning suggests he didn't die here. Too neat, despite the scavenging. Too purposeful in the way the remains are distributed, like someone arranged as a feast for the carnivores of the forest.

I eventually find his wrist camera. The device is intact, somehow spared from the feeding frenzy that reduced its owner to scattered bones. It lies about three feet from what I’m pretty sure could have been Cody's left hand, its screen dark but responsive when I tap it back to life.

The battery is nearly dead—maybe an hour of power remaining, two at most. But the storage is full of footage that probably documents his final hours, his terror, his eventual confrontation with The Hunter.

I should leave it alone and respect the privacy of the dead, preserve whatever dignity might remain for him.

But curiosity wins out over respect, the same morbid fascination that made me watch Maxine's final moments despite knowing how fucked up it was.

I scroll back through the recorded footage, looking for answers.

The early footage is what I expect—Cody moving through the forest with a lot of nervous energy. Talking to his wrist camera like it's a diary, updating whoever's watching on his strategy, his observations, his growing suspicions for the show.

"I don't know if anyone's watching this," he says at one point, his voice tight with barely controlled fear as he walks around a fallen log. "But if you are, if someone in production is monitoring these feeds, something's fucked up out here. I think people are missing. Like, actually missing."

He was smarter than I gave him credit for. Not smart enough to survive, obviously, but awareness doesn't guarantee longevity when you're being hunted by an apex predator in his territory.

The footage continues chronologically, showing Cody's growing paranoia, his attempts to find other survivors, his eventual decision to hole up in what he thought was a defensible position but was probably just a convenient killing ground for someone who understands terrain better than his prey ever will.

Then I see it.

Movement in the background, so subtle that I almost miss it. A shadow that doesn't belong, a shape that moves in the darkness.

I rewind and watch again, slowing the playback to catch details that escaped me the first time.

The Hunter.

He's there, barely visible in the grainy footage, but definitely there. Following at a distance, matching Cody's pace, staying just at the edge of visibility.

I scroll further back, checking timestamps, comparing locations to my own movements based on landmarks I recognize from my own wandering through this nightmare landscape.

A growl interrupts me, ripping me back into reality, low and rumbling and definitely not human.

I look up from the camera screen to find yellow eyes watching me from maybe fifteen feet away, belonging to something large and gray and obviously interested in the scattered remains of Cody Reyes. A wolf, probably drawn by the scent of decaying flesh.

The wolf watches me with a certain level of calmness, like he’s assessing me and trying to determine whether I'm a threat, prey, or just another scavenger drawn to the same buffet he is.

I should run, but I’m frozen in place.

I can't move.

My hands are shaking and my heart is pounding against my ribs. I'm paralyzed by both fear and fascination.

The wolf takes a step closer, like he’s going to approach me. My spine straightens and I swallow.

Then a branch snaps somewhere in the forest behind me. The wolf's ears prick up, its head swiveling toward the source of the sound.

It looks at me one last time, then it melts back into the forest, disappearing into the shadows.

I'm alone with Cody's remains and the growing certainty that whatever made that branch snap is coming closer.

I should run. I know that.

Instead, I stand perfectly still in the clearing where death has been scattered like seeds, holding my breath and waiting for him to come through the trees and claim me again.

The sound of approaching footsteps grows louder, heavier, like he wants to be heard.

He's coming.

And this time, I'm not going to run.

But then the footsteps veer away right before they come into sight, moving parallel to my position rather than directly toward it, and I realize that this is part of his game.

He drives up my adrenaline. My anticipation.

He’s playing with me. He still has moves to make, other pieces to remove from the board before he’s done with me.

The disappointment is almost overwhelming.

I wait until the sounds fade completely before gathering myself enough to think about where I’m going to sleep in the dark hours that stretch between now and dawn. My legs feel shaky, uncertain, like they're not quite convinced that standing upright is a good idea.

But I force myself to move, to put distance between myself and this place.

I walk until exhaustion forces me to stop, until my body simply refuses to carry me another step through terrain I don’t belong in.

When I finally collapse, when my legs give out entirely and dump me on the forest floor, I find myself at the base of an ancient oak tree, massive beyond anything I’ve ever seen. Its trunk is easily twenty feet in diameter, and it rises into the canopy, towering high above the trees around it.

But it's the roots that capture my attention—enormous structures that spread outward from the base of the tree like the fingers, creating natural shelters and hiding places.

He won’t find me here.

One spot in particular forms a space that's almost cave-like, hollowed out by erosion and time into a shelter that could hide someone my size from just about anything.

It should be enough to hide me until dawn.

I crawl into the space between the roots and immediately feel better, safer , more protected than I've felt since this nightmare began. The earth smells rich, of loam and minerals.

This is where I'll wait out the night. Hidden in the embrace of this ancient oak tree.

But as I settle into my burrow, as I pull my blanket around me and try to find a comfortable position against the curved wall of wood and earth, I can't shake the feeling that I'm not actually hiding from anything.

I'm waiting.

Waiting for morning, maybe. Or waiting for him to find me again.