I watch as the others strip their own boots and clothing, getting down to their underwear or pants depending on what they’re wearing. I try not to drool at all the muscles that are revealed and focus instead of making sure I have everything I need. My pistol is strapped to the bottom of the raft. The reeds are still unobstructed and not broken. My knife is on my thigh. The only thing left is the papers I’d taken from the testing facility. I drag the laminated map out of my duffel and roll it up tightly before I tuck it into my bra for safekeeping. The journals won’t make the trip. Their pages would disintegrate before we could get to shore. I’m disappointed I can’t bring them. Long ago, some scientist probably wrote those notes, was careful to record everything, only for it to mean nothing in the end. I don’t have any plans on returning to Prey Island, but if I did, I would come back for these bits of history. Besides, it’s also great evidence. There’s nothing I can do though other than shoving it into a crevice and hope it stays dry enough for some other lucky bastard to find.

If I don’t stop the next games first, that is.

“Everyone ready?” Jiro asks, rolling his shoulders.

“Ready,” I say. Everyone else repeats the word even though none of us look too excited to be climbing into the now dark water. The sun dips beneath the horizon and disappears, leaving the ocean before us like black glass with the lack of light. Only the moon reflects across the top of it, leaving behind a scattering of white streaks that make it impossible to see through the surface. Unease filters through me at the sight.

I’ve faced Hounds and assholes and coconut crabs, but this? No, I’m not ready for this.

The rocks are jagged and treacherous as we make our way down to the final edge and hover. I’m holding my smaller raft tightly, ready to set it in the water and ease onto it even if my heart is racing. I have to psych myself up to step into the warm water, to set my raft on top and wait for the others. Lol The rocks threaten to slice up my feet, but I’m careful to feel before each step, to make sure I don’t step on a sharp edge.

“No cuts,” Achilles warns as we all ease in. “Be as careful as possible, and once we’re out there, slow languid movements.” He looks at me pointedly as if he expects me to be the one to panic. I scowl in response. “If you’re bitten by a shark, immediately get on the raft and staunch the blood flow. We want to keep as much blood out of the water as possible.”