The Last One (15 page)

A scream wakes me, late. A baby, a beast, my fears crash around me. I thrash against them, but after a panicked few seconds realize I’m not being attacked. The sound’s gone. Heart thumping, I crawl outside. I see Brennan shivering, his knees pulled against his chest. He cries out, quick and sharp. The scream was his and he’s still asleep, or pretending to be.

Solo Challenge obstacle number one thousand thirty-seven: putting up with a stranger’s night terrors.
Great.

My adrenaline won’t allow me to go back to sleep. I sit by the exhausted fire, poking the ashes with a stick as I watch the night. A bat skitters across the sky and I think of my honeymoon. I remember the warmth of my husband’s arms around me as we sat on the balcony of a lakeside inn three years ago, watching bats at dusk. I remember him sneaking his hand to my hair and landing it there. I remember play-shrieking, dancing away—
get it off
—and I remember returning to his arms and all that followed. The next day we went swimming in the lake, and when we accidentally stepped on a little girl’s sand rampart, my husband stooped immediately to help repair it. My instinct was simply to stand there thinking,
Oh, no.

The balcony. The bats. My husband’s hand in my hair. If he were here with me now, he wouldn’t be able to get his fingers through the snarls. I pull my hood over my hair and stare at the ashes, half blind. I’d give anything to be back there, with him. I’d do anything.

Anything but quit.

In the morning Brennan is bright-eyed, nearly cheerful. Yesterday’s questions become today’s statements. As we walk he tells me about his family, his pet fish—a fighting betta—his school, his basketball team. I don’t ask him about his sweatshirt; I don’t ask him anything, and still he talks for most of the day, babbling like a toddler who’s just discovered speech. He peppers in phrases like “Before everyone got sick” and “This one doctor on TV said…” When he starts in about weaponized Ebola, I nearly crack, nearly yell at him like I did Heather. This is his job, I remind myself. This is why he’s here, to record and to irk. I can’t let him get to me. I tune him out as best I can and keep walking.

That night his screams wake me again, and I think that a pack of hostile robo-coyotes would be preferable to this. But I have to put up with it, with all of it, because he’s the cameraman.

In the Dark
—The twist?

The only way off the show is to speak Latin? That’s the twist? Ads had me thinking they’d be cannibals by now. But the maps are kinda cool and the survivalist dude is badass so I’ll give it another episode. Plus the gay kid crying in the woods was hilarious.

submitted 33 days ago by Coriander522

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[-] 3KatRiot
33 days ago

Like most “reality” television, In the Dark is a totally inaccurate depiction of wilderness survival. That map and compass “challenge” would barely qualify as an elementary school field trip. Put any of the cast in a real survival situation and they wouldn’t last a day. Except for Badass Survival Dude. You’re right about him.

[-] Velcro_Is_the_Worst
33 days ago

Meh. I could take it or leave it.

[-] LongLiveCaptainTightPants
33 days ago

You’re missing the point: all that JUST happened! They’re out there RIGHT NOW! And come on, they’re one episode in. Let them find their footing. Friday’s the first finale (weekly finales? Rad!), at least give it until then. I am.

[-] 3KatRiot
33 days ago

Doesn’t make it an accurate depiction of wilderness survival. Plus they’re shutting down all these public hiking trails and camping grounds to film this joke. This is what’s wrong with America.

[-] LongLiveCaptainTightPants
33 days ago

They’re not claiming to provide an accurate depiction of wilderness survival. The show’s not about getting on in the woods, it’s about breaking people—seeing how far each contestant will go before he or she quits. They explicitly said as much after they gave them the safety phrase. And if you want to discuss what’s wrong with America, I’m pretty sure there’s a thread for that
here.

[-] HamMonster420
33 days ago

You can’t have a “weekly finale.” It’s not a finale if it happens every week.

[-] Velcro_Is_the_Worst
33 days ago

Show needs more hot chicks.

[-] EarCanalSurfer
33 days ago

I could watch the redhead bend over all day.

[-] Velcro_Is_the_Worst
33 days ago

No way, too skinny. It’s remarkable her guts fit inside.

[-] 501_Miles
33 days ago

I like the blonde. She’s got moxie! And a great smile.

[-] Velcro_Is_the_Worst
33 days ago

Seriously? I’d choo-choo-choose Boobs over her any day.

[-] CharlieHorse11
33 days ago

Where are the acid volcanoes? I DEMAND ACID VOLCANOES!

…

10.

In the morning, the eleven remaining contestants assemble outside the log cabin, murmuring about their missing twelfth. An intern circulates among them, replacing the batteries in their matchbook-sized mic packs. The host steps up. He’s holding a black backpack identical to the one worn by each contestant. A large plastic bucket sits on the ground to his right and a tall wooden post juts toward the sky on his left.

“We have our first casualty,” says the host. He reaches into the pack and pulls out Cheerleader Boy’s knife and pink bandana. He pins the bandana to the post’s midpoint with a violent stabbing motion. A few seconds of shocked silence follow from the contestants, then whispering: “Did he quit?” “You think he got hurt?” “Scared of the dark, I bet.” “Who cares.”

The host commands their attention with an imperial step forward. “And now it’s time to distribute his supplies.” His voice is light and happy, a startling and intentional contrast to his forceful use of the knife. He pulls Cheerleader Boy’s trash bags from the backpack and gives one each to Air Force and Black Doctor. Exorcist steps forward to take the third, but the host turns from him to face the group of contestants who used to be Zoo’s team.

He hands the folded trash bag to Waitress. “He wanted you to have this.”

Waitress accepts the black plastic with a mix of reverence and guilt. Though her head is creaking, she slept on a mattress last night and was able to shower this morning. She feels far better than she did yesterday. But she’s not sure what to think about this bequeathal. She wouldn’t have given Cheerleader Boy anything.

Next the host pulls a water bottle out of the pack. It’s full—though this will go unspoken, any time a contestant quits, his or her Nalgene will be filled with clean water before being given to its next owner. “As for this, it goes to…” The host drags his gaze along the contestants as he paces left to right and back again, drawing out the moment. Waitress is the only one among them who doesn’t want the water; she has three bottles already and they’re heavy.

Cheerleader Boy’s exit interview will be shown now, intercut with footage of his being led out of the woods by an unidentified guide dressed in black. “Did I think I would be the first to go?” he says. “No, but who ever does?” He’s in the backseat of a car. The windows are tinted. “I don’t regret coming, but enough is enough, I’m ready to go home. I don’t really care who gets my stuff.”

The host stops in front of Black Doctor.

“Doc’s all right,” says Cheerleader Boy. “And he’s really concerned about having clean water. Give it to him, I guess. Anyone but Randy.” The muscles of his face twitch into hatred, almost too quick to see. He closes his eyes and eases back into the seat. “I can’t wait to be home.”

Black Doctor accepts the bottle solemnly, and the host moves on.

“Our second Team Challenge will take place today,” he says. “But first, a Solo Challenge to determine teams.” He indicates the bucket with a wave of his hand, and viewers will be treated to a view of what it contains: brown water rich with unidentifiable organic bits. The camera pans out, revealing a table with two more buckets on top. One contains sand, the other chunks of charcoal. Next to the buckets are eleven two-liter soda bottles, labels removed. Zoo’s hand is in her pocket, clenching a bundled blue bandana. The host explains what she expects him to explain: Using the items on the table, as well as the supplies already in their possession and whatever they can scavenge, the contestants have to filter water. They have thirty minutes. “You must have at least one cup filtered by the Challenge’s end, or you’re disqualified. Whoever’s water is the clearest wins.”

The half-hour-long Challenge will be compressed into three minutes. Much of those three minutes is focused on Zoo, who leaps into action, sawing a two-liter bottle in half with her knife then stabbing a series of small holes in its bottom. She dumps in her damp charcoal dust, packing it tight, then layers sand on top, followed by pebbles and blades of grass. Using the top half of the severed bottle, she scoops and pours dirty water into her makeshift filter. She holds the filter above her measuring cup and waits. As Zoo’s water dribbles through, Tracker finishes grinding his charcoal to ash and begins constructing his filter. The others are watching these two, emulating them with varying degrees of success.

“Yesterday, I thought she was being noble using her bandana for the ash,” says Carpenter Chick as she puts rock to charcoal. “I figured that would be the hardest to clean. It sucks that she has it now, but good for her, really. I wouldn’t have thought to keep it.”

“Smart,” says Engineer.

“Lucky,” says Waitress. She pokes her two-liter bottle with her knife, tentative.

Zoo’s water has filled her measuring cup but retains a yellow-brown tint. “Ten minutes,” says the host. She scoops the worst of the filtered goop from her top layer and replaces the grass, then dumps the once-filtered water back in.

Banker’s filter is a muddy swirl, his measuring cup dry.

“Think they’ll notice if I just fill it with this?” asks Black Doctor, holding up the bottle he received from Cheerleader Boy.

Rancher, Air Force, and Engineer are doing well. Almost as well as Tracker. If not for Zoo’s advantage, this would be a race.

“Time!”

Waitress and Banker have barely any water in their measuring cups. Exorcist is a third of a cup shy. All three are disqualified. Of the remaining eight, there is an obvious winner. Zoo’s water is not crystal clear, but it’s far less yellow than the rest. Biology’s cup looks like she dipped it straight into the dirty bucket.

“Congratulations,” says the host to Zoo. “As your reward, you get to assign teams for our next Challenge. Partners, but with one team of three due to the…oddness of the group.” The producers don’t like this; he’ll have to re-record the line later, sans pun.

“Do I get to know anything about the Challenge before I choose?” asks Zoo.

“No. Who do you want as your partner?”

Engineer is trying not to smile; it’ll be him. It
has
to be him—they caught a fish together.

Zoo doesn’t hesitate before naming Tracker. Engineer is quietly devastated. Zoo pairs him with Carpenter Chick, thinking that they will work well together. Her next move splits the young alliance as she pairs Air Force with Biology and Black Doctor with Banker. That leaves Rancher, Waitress, and Exorcist as the team of three.

The host motions for everyone to follow him. He leads them west, in the direction of yesterday’s field. The trek that follows will be glossed over—they’ve arrived! They’re at the southern cliff, the one visited by both Biology and Exorcist during last night’s Challenge. A salmon-colored rope now dangles from the top of the cliff, where it’s anchored to two tree trunks and a small sunken boulder.

Banker is smiling. “Nice,” he says. At Black Doctor’s curious look he adds, “We got this.”

“No way,” says Waitress. The editor decides to make this her catchphrase. “No way. I hate heights.”

Exorcist gives her a condescending look. “It’s only like thirty feet.”

Rancher considers the cliff face, the rope. “We have to climb that?” he asks. It’s unclear who’s more frightened—him or Waitress.

The host steps forward to stand at the base of the cliff. He tugs on the dangling ends of the rope with one hand. “Rock climbing,” he says. “It may not be an essential skill for wilderness survival, but it can get you out of a bind. Plus”—he flashes a white-picket smile—“it’s fun. The first part of this Challenge is to get one member of your team to the top as quickly as you can. Your finishing time will determine the order in which you set off on the next phase.” He turns to Zoo. “Who’s first?”

Zoo didn’t hear Banker’s confident remark to his partner and wonders if anyone here is a climber. She’s gone a few times with friends to indoor climbing gyms, but has never climbed outdoors. After a moment, she names Biology and Air Force to start.

“Have you climbed before?” Air Force asks his partner.

Biology shakes her head.

“Who’s ascending?” asks the host.

“I am,” says Air Force.

Time skips. Air Force and Biology both wear helmets and harnesses. All the contestants have received an off-camera lesson in how to take up a rope’s slack as a climber climbs—Banker scoffs at the equipment, “Anyone can belay with a grigri,” but he helps Black Doctor when he gets confused—and a guide who will never appear on camera positions himself behind Biology to serve as her backup. Air Force is tied in, and the belay device is clipped to Biology’s harness. The leg loops of the harness frame her rump, lifting both cheeks, and the waist is tight only a few inches below her breasts, like an underline. The camera lingers, shameless.