Chapter 3: The Next Game

Director Neal said there were four women, but one dropped out last minute. One less woman, one more Skylar—an experienced hiker—so her joining made sense. Eight people, still a full group. We barely had time to rest or restock before heading back out. My cousin was wired, bouncing with anticipation, pushing us to leave before his coffee even cooled. Skylar followed, quiet as a shadow. I couldn’t shake the feeling something was about to go wrong.

The woman who left—Rachel—was usually the leader. She’d be the first to give up in exchange for food and water, breaking down the last resistance in the targets. Like the lead sheep jumping off a cliff, the rest would follow. Did Skylar know the lead sheep wouldn’t show? Did she know what the lead sheep was supposed to do?

As we loaded the battered Suburban, gravel crunching underfoot and pine sap sticky on my hands, I kept sneaking glances at Skylar. The whole vibe was off—Rachel was always the one organizing group photos, the first to offer snacks. Without her, even the woods seemed to hold their breath.

By 4:30 PM, we were back at Maple Bluff, the first stop for every route and the spot where tourists always let their guard down. The ledge jutted out from the cliff, shaped like a giant mushroom, dirt rich and perfect for camping. The view stretched forever, and most tourists fell for it at first sight.

After pitching tents, everyone gathered by the campfire, singing, drinking, showing off. My cousin and I hung back, barely joining in. The plan was the same as always—make the women trust us, give up their supplies, and wait for them to run out of strength. But with Skylar here, it all felt off.

Smoke curled into the dusk, mixing with pine and cheap bourbon. The tourists were loud and happy—singing off-key, toasting marshmallows, playing cards by lantern light. My cousin and I stuck to the shadows, sipping from plastic cups, pretending we belonged. The idea was always to seem harmless, trustworthy, the kind of guys who’d pull you out of a mud puddle. But this group, with Skylar in the mix, was different.

“We shouldn’t have let Skylar in. She knows us, but we know nothing about her. No need to make things harder.”

“You don’t get it,” my cousin brushed me off.

Those words got under my skin. My cousin stared at the female tourists. Besides Skylar, there was Lila, Erin, and Vivi. Lila had that all-American look—freckles, white sneakers, and a high ponytail that made her look like she just stepped off a cheer squad. Compared to her, the others faded into the background.

After dark, the bonfire died down, and everyone sprawled on the grass watching the stars. Tonight’s sky was especially brilliant—Maple Bluff never looked better. Time seemed to freeze. Suddenly, Lila walked over to me.

The air buzzed with cicadas, and Lila’s sneakers glowed in the firelight as she approached. She moved with a nervous confidence, like she knew everyone was watching. The others laughed and told ghost stories, but she made a beeline for me. Her perfume was faint and floral, almost lost beneath the scent of burnt marshmallows and bug spray. I braced myself, half-expecting her to call me out, half-hoping she’d just ask for another marshmallow.