The Last One(67)

Four words come, like ice down my back: VIOLATORS WILL BE GUTTED.

I turn to the north, where the road waits. He’s there, out of sight, I know it with horrendous certainty. He’s hanging from a tree, rope around his neck, entrails dribbling from his abdomen. Some psychopath appeared in the night to drag away my only companion. He jabbed a knife into his belly, twisted and sawed with a palm over Brennan’s screams. That’s what woke me, not the cold, not a plane. I see Brennan kicking and throwing useless elbows. The red of his blood flowing through the red of his sweatshirt. Dead, like everyone, waiting for me who is still here—why? I can’t do it, I can’t push forward anymore, knowing what’s waiting, knowing he’s gone, it’s too much and I— “Mae?”

I spin toward the voice and see him, staring at me. For a moment I can’t make sense of his appearance or what he said—who’s Mae? But as he steps forward and I see the concern written across his face, I remember.

“Where were you?” I ask. I can barely speak. I feel the cool wind on my hot face.

Brennan looks away shyly. “I had to go to the bathroom,” he says. “It took a while.”

I bite my bottom lip, readjusting. My body feels cold and tight. I release my lip and say, “You were off taking a shit.”

He nods, embarrassed. “Sorry if I scared you.” He walks by me without making eye contact and begins to take apart his shelter.

I feel ridiculous. For a second I thought he was really gone.

It doesn’t matter what I thought. He’s okay; he’s still here. He’s still in the game.

And so am I.





In the Dark—Why sign up for this?

Two episodes in and I have to ask—why would anyone go on this show?

submitted 31 days ago by HeftyTurtle





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[-] NotFunnyWinger 31 days ago

Million bucks to the winner. $250,000 to second and $100,000 to third. What other incentive do you need?

[-] MachOneMama 31 days ago

Don’t forget fan favorite! Another quarter million there. I’m voting for the carpenter. She’s the only woman who’s not useless and/or annoying.

[-] MuffinHoarder99 31 days ago

Preach-er! Preach-er! (For the hair alone.)

[-] MachOneMama 31 days ago

Are you kidding? Someone needs to punch him in the balls, stat.

[-] HeftyTurtle 31 days ago

Agreed. Mactress aimed too high.

[-] BeanCounterQ 31 days ago

Keep an eye on Albert. I know him from college and he’ll surprise you. Smart guy. Good guy.

[-] FStokes1207 31 days ago

What about the pilot? They’re ignoring his heroism. This show is unpatriotic.

[-] LongLiveCaptainTightPants 31 days ago Wrong thread. Add-a-Flag Campaign can be found here.

[-] LostPackage04 31 days ago

They’re attention whores, every last one of them. That’s the only reason anyone would go on a show like this.

[-] 501_Miles 31 days ago Maybe they just want an adventure, or a personal challenge. I think it’s brave. Really brave.

[-] LostPackage04 31 days ago

Adventure my ass. If you want an adventure go cliff diving. Don’t prance about for a prize.

[-] Snark4Hire 31 days ago

I’d do it! Just for that boulder! Cue Indiana Jones theme

[-] NoDisneyPrincess 31 days ago

It’s too bad they didn’t actually get someone with one of those. That would have rocked. Rocked! Get it?

[-] CharlieHorse11 31 days ago

Pretty sure Coop’s there just to show how much everyone else sucks. I mean, holy shit. Did you see him inflate the lungs?!

[-] Velcro_Is_the_Worst 31 days ago Because blowing into a severed esophagus is a useful life skill.

[-] CharlieHorse11 31 days ago

[content deleted by moderator]

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16.


The morning after the bear-tracking Challenge, the cameramen don’t reappear, and for the next four days the contestants rarely see anyone except for one another. The host is gone, and gone are the milling producer and busybody interns. Over the course of these four days, the contestants tiptoe toward competence. They are not quite thriving, but they are more than surviving—largely because Tracker has become a mentor to the group as a whole. On the second day, within range of one of the many cameras and microphones mounted around their camp, Black Doctor jokingly refers to him as “the village elder.”

A cameraman arrives with the third morning, silent and distracting, too close with his lens as he weaves through the group and taps Tracker on the arm. Time for a confessional. He seats Tracker on a log in the sun, in sight but out of hearing of the others. “Yes, I could just go off and live on my own,” says Tracker. Stubble has grown across his chin and cheeks, and even on his head, shading in a hairline that is not at all receding. “They’d probably get by. They’d make do. They’d learn, they are learning, she—I’m just helping them learn a little faster.” He pauses, glances past the cameraman, to the others laboring in the distance. “Why? It’s right. And it’s more interesting. I still don’t think any of them can beat me in the long run, but this way at least there’s an element of challenge. This way, I won’t become complacent.”