Page 43 of Brutal

I briefly entertain the idea of finding a place to hole up and wait, to deny Brutal his fun by refusing to play the game. If he catches me doing that, though—or if someone else does—I know he’ll make me regret it.

I dart around the corner, blood beating in my ears as I strain to get through this without outright panicking.

There’s some sort of trick to this game. I don’t believe for a second the winner will get a reprieve. The exit might have men waiting for their prize.

Or maybe the trick is that there is no exit to this maze at all. That the walls are designed to lead everything around in a circle, and…

The walls. I stop and look at them. They’re high, but not that high. They don’t extend all the way to the ceiling. I push against them, and they’re sturdy enough that I think they could support my weight.

I just have to reach them. Even if I can’t walk along the top, I might be able to see what direction I need to go in.

I jog until I find another one of the weapons boxes, and this time I put it vertically along the wall and stand on top. It’s very wobbly, but it’s more well-made than the other and holds me well enough. The problem is the baseball bat. I need both hands if I want to pull myself up on the wall. I can hook the small lamp on my fingers, but the bat is too large and unwieldy.

I grimace, but I can’t see any other choice. I bite the handle of the bat with my teeth, then jump so I can grab the edge of the wall.

I only just manage it, and I hear the box clatter back down to the floor. I keep going though, pulling myself up slowly. I apparently should have been hitting the climbing gym.

Drool trails down my chin as I strain to keep hold of the bat.

Once I’m at the top, I stretch out on the narrow wall, take the bat in my hands, and take slow—and quiet—breaths.

A few feet away, I hear another woman screaming, followed by a male laugh.

I try to figure out my strategy. I could lie here the rest of the match, hoping no one looks up to see me, but I don’t know what happens to the women once the game ends. If I trusted my balance — if I wasn’t in the fucking dark — I might try to walk across it like it’s a balance beam, but I don’t think I can handle it.

I breathe slowly, trying not to pay attention to the screams and laughs and grunts and groans and instead focusing on more immediate sounds. I think I hear someone close, and I go still just in time for footsteps to pass me and continue around the bend. I don’t even dare let out a breath of relief.

The fear has turned into adrenaline, and with that comes a strange sort of confidence.

I can do this.

I slowly stand up, wobbling as pain shoots up from the soles of my feet. This would be easier if Brutal hadn’t fucking caned them so recently, but I don’t have time to dwell on that.

I don’t dare turn on my light, which would give my position away to everybody. I have to work with the little illumination I have from the few marked paths below. My steps are slow and unsteady, and I have to test every single one in case there’s a sudden break or turn in the wall.

When I reach the end of my current wall, I stop, breathing quietly, to take in my surroundings. It’s still pitch black, but I have a different view of the lights on the ground.

I also spot an area far enough away that has more lights than the others, and a faint outline of a door.

That has to be an exit. The problem is, can I get there? If I jump down, I’ll lose my view of it, and I’m sure there are plenty of walls in the way to disorient me.

Staying up here isn’t going to do anything for me though. I angle myself so I’m facing the exit, check to make sure there’s nobody below me, then slowly lower myself. The baseball bat drops out of my hands and lands with a loud clatter, but there’s so much screaming happening around me that I doubt anybody else noticed.

I hope nobody else noticed.

I wince when I land, the impact more than my feet could handle. I don’t regret having climbed up there, though. I feel more confident now that I have a plan.

I pick up the bat again and walk in the direction of the exit, until I hit a split in the path. I have no idea if left or right is better, so I pick one at random and keep my hand on the wall facing what I think is the direction of the exit.

The screaming gets louder, and I stop when I realize there are people ahead of me. It’s hard to tell with the bad lighting, but it looks like a man on top of a woman. She’s sobbing desperately while the man taunts her.

I could keep going. I could leave them to it, taking advantage of the sounds to hide my own steps.

My conscience would never forgive me, though.

These men sign up for this because it’s dangerous, right? There are weapons there for a reason — even if they obviously think they can be easily wrestled from a woman’s grasp and used against them in turn. My fingers tighten around the bat, and I quietly come up behind him, swinging at the back of his head.

Something must’ve alerted him of my approach, though, because he ducks out of my way. “You fucking whore!” he screams.

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