The Last One (5 page)

You’re leaving. You’re getting out of here. You’re going home. Not thoughts, but wordless assurances from myself to me. You’re done, my body tells me. It’s time to go home.

Then the smell hits, and a heartbeat later: realization.

I recoil, stumbling away from their decaying prop. I can see it now, the vaguely human shape beneath the blanket. It’s small. Tiny. That’s why I didn’t see it from the window. The orb of its head was resting directly against the door, and now hangs slightly over the edge of the seat, a slick of dark brown hair slipping from beneath the covering. The nubs meant to approximate feet bulge only halfway across the seat.

This is not the first time they’ve pretended a child, but this is the first time they’ve pretended an abandoned child.

“All right,” I whisper. “This shit is getting old.”

But it’s not; each prop is as horrible and startling as the last. That’s four now—five, if I count the doll—and I don’t know
why,
how they fit, what they mean. I slam the door shut, and this, the sound I associate with triumphant arrival, stirs my anger further. I’ve hit the child-sized prop’s head, caught the brown hair in the door.

Is it real hair? Did a woman somewhere shear her head thinking her keratin threads would bolster the confidence of a child fighting cancer, only to have them end up a part of this sick game? Is the donor watching, and will she recognize the hair as hers? Will she feel the impact of the car door against her own head?

Stop.

I make my way to the other side of the car, take a deep breath, hold it, and open the door on that side. I yank the cooler from the car and slam the door shut. The sound echoes in my skull.

Cooler in hand, I ease myself to the ground in front of the car and lean against the bumper. My teeth feel as though they have fused together, top to bottom, and they tremble with the strength of their connection. I sit with my eyes closed, working to relax my jaw.

The first fake corpse I saw was at the end of a Team Challenge. The third, I think. Maybe the fourth—it’s hard to remember. It was me, Julio, and Heather, following the signs: red drips on rocks, a handprint in the mud, a thread caught in some thorns. We got turned around, lost the trail when it crossed a brook. Heather tripped and got wet, then bumbled into a stump or something and started whining about a stubbed toe as though she’d broken her leg. We lost a lot of time and, ultimately, the Challenge. Cooper and Ethan’s group got there first, of course. That night, Cooper told me that they found their target with a fake head wound sitting near the top edge of the rock face. I remember the anger in his voice, how surprised I was to hear it. But I understood.

We watched our target tumble over the cliff.

I saw the harness under his jacket; I saw the rope. But still.

At the bottom we found a twisted mess coated in cornstarch blood. It didn’t look very real, not that first time, but it was still a shock. The latex-and-plastic construct wore jeans, from which we needed to retrieve a wallet. Heather cried. Julio placed his hat over his heart and murmured a prayer. They left it to me. After I got the wallet my nerves were raw and Heather’s hysterics sliced through them. I don’t remember exactly what I yelled, but I know I used the word “bimbo,” because afterward I thought, What an odd word choice, even for me. I remember everyone staring at me, the shock in their eyes. I’d worked so hard to be nice, to be someone to root for—to vote for. But enough was enough.

Walking away from that Challenge, I thought I finally understood what they were capable of. I
thought
I understood just how far they were willing to go. And I knew I had to do better. I apologized to Heather—as sincerely as I could, considering that I’d meant everything I said and only regretted saying it—and I hardened myself until I was ready for anything.

I feel myself getting harder every day. Even when I startle and soften, even when my façade breaks, it seems to me that it always comes back harder, like a muscle strengthening with use. I hate it. I hate being hard and that my hatred hardens me further. I hate that I’m already pushing the child prop from my mind, thinking instead of the cooler.

I press the button, pull the handle so the top tilts away.

A Ziploc bag stuffed with green and white mold. Beneath it, a juice box. Pomegranate blueberry. I fish out the juice box and then close the cooler. I feel as though I should return the cooler to the car, like how I spread out the components of my debris huts each morning, returning everything to its natural place. But this is different, there is nothing natural about the placement of this car, this cooler. I stand and shove the cooler against the front bumper with my foot. A moment later, juice box in hand, I am walking again.

I wonder if I’ll make it home without hitting a boundary or finding another Clue—if they’ll let me go that far. Have they carved out a corridor for me all the way to the coast? Even this seems possible now. Or maybe—maybe I’m not even going east. Maybe sunrise and sunset have been reduced to parlor tricks. Maybe my compass is rigged, and my magnetic north is really a remote-controlled signal easing me into an oblivious spiral.

Maybe I’ll never make it home.

In the Dark
—Predictions?

I’ve never heard of anything like this show! They just started taping yesterday and the first episode airs Monday. Monday! And the production company that did Mt. Cyanide is behind it so you know the special effects are going to be INSANE. Their
website
calls it “a reality experience of unprecedented scale.” Sure, it’s their job to build buzz, but color me excited. What do you all think?

submitted 38 days ago by LongLiveCaptainTightPants

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[-] CharlieHorse11
38 days ago

My money’s on this actually being Mt. Cyanide 2. The acid-spewing volcanoes are spreading! Ruuuuuuuuuuuuuuuun!

[-] HeftyTurtle
38 days ago

From what I’ve read, they’ve got the budget like it is. We’re talking the realm of $100 million here.

[-] CharlieHorse11
38 days ago

Mt. Cyanide was twice that. I don’t want half as many acid volcanoes, I want ALL the acid volcanoes.

[-] LongLiveCaptainTightPants
38 days ago

Source?

[-] HeftyTurtle
38 days ago

Here.
Unofficial, but seems legit.

[-] LongLiveCaptainTightPants
38 days ago

Whoa. Yeah. Now I’m even more excited!

[-] JT_Orlando
37 days ago

Have you all seen the legal releases that leaked yesterday? 98 pages! Cast had to sign some crazy shit. I couldn’t get through it all but of what I did read my favorite was that they had to accept “All risks arising from engaging in vigorous physical activity in wilderness areas not readily accessible to emergency services, where conditions vary and hazards may not be readily apparent, where weather is unpredictable and where rock falls occur.” Also, “Risks arising from poisonous flora and fauna, including risks arising from encounters with bears, coyotes, venomous snakes, and other indigenous wildlife.” Full text
here.

[-] DispersingSpore
37 days ago

I like “Severe mental strain arising from solitude, prolonged periods of hunger and fatigue, and other psychologically trying conditions.”

[-] Hodork123
37 days ago

Standard boilerplate waivers resulting from our overly litigious society. Make it sound a lot more dangerous than it is, I bet.

[-] DispersingSpore
37 days ago

Love it or leave it, Commie.

[-] Hodork123
38 days ago

Another wilderness survival reality show? B/c that’s just what we need.

[-] Coriander522
38 days ago

Spoiler alert: It’s actually a singing competition.

[-] CoriolisAffect
38 days ago

My buddy’s a cameraman on the show. CaptainTightPants is right about the timing—it’s nuts. And my friend says they’ve got some seriously f*cked-up shit ahead. Stay tuned.

[-] NoDisneyPrincess
38 days ago

Zombies?

[-] CoriolisAffect
38 days ago

As the saying goes, I could tell you but then I’d have to kill you.

[-] NoDisneyPrincess
38 days ago

ZOMBIEEEEES!!!!

[-] LongLiveCaptainTightPants
38 days ago

Rad! You should get your friend to do an AMA once it’s all said and done. I’d love to know what goes on behind the scenes.

[-] Coriander522
38 days ago

Seconded!

[-] CoriolisAffect
38 days ago

I’ll see what I can do.

…

4.

“The rules for your first Challenge are simple,” says the host, standing in the field in stark afternoon light. “You each have a bandana and compass marked with your assigned color, or colors. For the duration of this adventure, anything meant specifically for you will be marked with those colors. Starting with”—he swivels to indicate a series of short painted sticks spaced throughout the field—“these.”

“Sticks?” whispers Asian Chick to no one in particular. “What do they do?”

The host shushes her, squares his shoulders, and continues. “Using your compass, you will need to find your way to a series of control points, and ultimately to a box containing a wrapped package. Do
not
open the package.” He smiles and runs his gaze along the line of contestants, then sticks his thumbs into his front pockets, assuming a laid-back stance that implies he knows something the contestants do not, which, of course, he does. It is his privilege to know many things they do not. “Find your colors and take your places.”

Waitress already has the compass in her hand, as do two others: Tracker and Zoo. Zoo didn’t need to use her compass to reach the gathering point, but she removed it from her pack the moment taping began anyway. She smiled as she did so, and she smiled as she walked with it unnecessarily in her hand, heading a few degrees right of north—following the footpath she was told would take her to the first Challenge. She is still smiling as she looks again to the spot of paint she noticed first thing—baby blue. It is this easy smile that endears her so to her coworkers and students at the wildlife sanctuary and rehabilitation center where she works—not a zoo, but close enough. It is this easy smile that the producers suspect will endear her to viewers.

Zoo sees her stick. Her pace quickens; she’s almost skipping. She took an orienteering class a few months ago. She knows to “put red in the shed,” and to “plug in” the compass to her chest. She knows to count her first step as “and” and her second step as “one.” She thinks it will be fun to put her knowledge to use. For now, this experience is a lark. She hurries to collect her instructions from a plastic bag beside the light blue stick.

A lanky young white man with wavy auburn hair cuts across Zoo’s path. “Excuse me,” says Cheerleader Boy in a snarky tone that betrays his unease. He hates the wilderness, hates that the color of the bandana he has tucked into his shirt like a pocket square is pink. He applied for the show on a dare from his squad’s flyer, who, really, should be the one here—she’s the bravest person he knows. Cheerleader Boy didn’t expect to be selected and accepted the offer for lack of a better way to occupy the summer between his sophomore and junior years of college—and because how could he reject a chance to win one million dollars, even a minuscule chance? By the time he realized taping wouldn’t start until mid-August and he would have to take a semester off from school, he was already committed.

The creators of the show all agree that the hostile tone with which Cheerleader Boy spoke to the most upbeat of the contestants is the perfect introduction to the character they’ve assigned him: the effeminate male so far out of his element he’s more caricature than man. Confronted, the off-site producer will argue that they simply followed the story provided by this opening shot. Circular reasoning. They chose the shot, they chose the moment, this flash of one of the many facets of this young man’s self. He could have been many things—scared, helpful, inquisitive—but instead he’s a jerk.

Settling into place at an orange stick not far from Cheerleader Boy is Biology, who wears her bandana as a headband with the knot above her ear. Biology is gay too—see, it’s fair, they’ll say: You’re allowed to root for her. But Biology, who teaches seventh-grade life science in a small public school, is the least threatening style of lesbian: a shapely, feminine one who holds her sexuality close. Her dark, spiraling hair is long, her light brown skin moisturized. She wears dresses to work as often as not, and tasteful makeup always. If a straight man were to imagine her with another woman, he would likely imagine himself there too.

Air Force steps up to a dark blue marker between Biology and Cheerleader Boy. He looks Biology up and down and then watches as Cheerleader Boy sighs and tries to shake his nerves from his fingertips. It’s been years since the repeal of “Don’t ask, don’t tell,” and Air Force doesn’t assume that Cheerleader Boy will be inexperienced in the skills necessary for the coming weeks. In fact, his first thought is,
I bet he’s a ringer.