“The Choice”

"Wake up!"

The back of my head bangs against the steel wall of the converted truck container, as an enormous man in army fatigues yanks the potato sack from my head and shoulders. A second later, a cold bucket of ice water is thrown into my face. Some of the icy water goes into my mouth and I let out a sharp gasp. This elicits sarcastic laughter from the seven people gathered in the dimly lit room.

"Looks like she's alive," a second man, with a ruddy face, says around the cigarette in his mouth. He takes a step closer and blows the smoke from his cigarette in my general direction. His voice takes on a deep tone and he leans to almost stare into my eyes. "That's good. We need a live one."

Fear, as well as cold, causes my body to shiver violently. My clothes cling to my skin where the water has drenched them, and I hunch my shoulders to keep another shiver from taking hold. Finally, I find the courage to speak.

"What is this? Who are you? And what am I doing here?" I say through chattering teeth.

"Who we are does not matter," the enormous man says. My eyes roam to the hunting knife on his right hip.

"As to what you are doing here? You're about to find out," army fatigue man says with a devilish smile.

"Why? Why are you doing this," I yell; while yanking at the tape binding both wrists. "I don't even know you. Any of you! What reason do you have to do this?"

Fatigue man pulls back his right arm and smacks me hard across the face. I bite down hard on my tongue, the taste of blood filling my mouth.

"I was getting to that," army fatigue man says. The evil grin never quite leaves his face.

A tall woman, with stringy hair melts out of the shadows. Her eyes are extremely sunk in and she appears unwell. A meth addict perhaps? Hard to tell in the darkness enveloping the room.

"We're here to play a game," the woman says. Her eyes lock on mine and there is no mirth in them. Whatever this game, I know I will not enjoy it.

"The game is called win, lose, and die," the woman says through widely spaced teeth. "You either win, or you die. It's that simple."

Ruddy face man steps even closer to my chair of bondage. He leans down into my face. So close that I can smell his rancid breath and count every blackhead on his nose.

"The rules are very simple,"ruddy face says. He lets out another puff from his nearly expended cigarette. "As you can see, there are seven of us here...Not counting you. We're all terminal cancer patients. Some lung cancer, Sweet Nelly over there has pancreatic cancer, and I've got the ole melanoma. But don't go feeling too sorry for us. We don't want your pity. We're also all former soldiers. The best of the best until cancer got its hooks into us. That's why I say, we don't need your pity. None of us wants to leave this world groveling and on our knees. We want to leave this world as we are....As what we've always been...Soldiers. Warriors for the cause. And you're gonna help us do that! Or you'll die."

The stringy haired woman, named Sweet Nelly, comes to stand beside ruddy face. A glint of metal catches the candlelight and I realize she is holding a large knife similar to the one on fatigue man's hip. She expertly flips the knife in the air, catches it, and then slams it into the wood of the small table beside me. I glance at the knife before returning my gaze to her face.

"I don't think Ronald here is explaining the rules right. So let me simplify them a little more for you. This game is all about the hunt. You hunt us...We hunt you," Sweet Nelly says. She makes a show of glancing down at the watch on her nearly skeletal wrist.

"It's 10:37. That gives me just under thirty minutes to lay down the ground rules and leave you to work out some things. At 11 p.m., we're gonna head into the woods. And you're gonna do your best to hunt us down...One by one...And end our misery. You can use anything you find around here. Nothing is forbidden. Anything goes. You have until sunrise."

"What?" I cry and once again pull at my restraints. "I'm not hunting down anybody! You people are crazy. Cut me loose. I'm not playing your sick little game. I won't tell the authorities. I swear. But I'm not killing anyone."

The fatigue man backhands me. He places a booted foot on the edge of the chair and snarls into my face.

"I don't think your comprehending what we're saying," he says in a baritone growl. "You don't have a choice. You play the game...Or you die. You lose the game...You die. Those are the rules. You think we'd let you see our faces if we had any intention of letting you return to the real world while we're still alive? Think about it. You can't be that stupid!"

"Thank you, Charles...I've got this," Sweet Nelly says all too sweetly. At that moment, it becomes very clear who is the real mastermind behind this sick game.

"Like I said, you have until sunrise. And for every hour that all of us are still alive...You lose a finger," Sweet Nelly says with a sick smile. "One finger...Or one of us. Your choice."

"No...No...NO," I scream and pull furiously at my restraints. "No. Help! Help! Somebody help!"

It is Sweet Nelly who slaps me this time. My head rockets back and bangs against the metal wall yet again.

"Shut up! Just shut up!" Sweet Nelly yells into my face. "No one's gonna hear you out here. That's just stupid! Shut up!"

"No...You can't do this!" I scream back. I consider spitting in her face, but realize that would be a reckless move. Especially, with a knife jutting out of the table less than three feet from me. "You people are crazy! CRAZY!"

Ruddy face simply shrugs. "So what? Doesn't change anything," ruddy face says and pulls a pack of cigarettes from his front shirt pocket.

"But I'm just getting to the best part," Sweet Nelly states. Her eyes become narrow portals into the blackness of her evil soul, and she wrenches the knife from the wood of the table.

"You lose one of your fingers now. Think of it as an incentive. Your choice. Right pinky or left? Can't have you losing any opposable thumbs. Might make it hard to do a lot of things."

"Nooooo...," I am unable to keep the scream from my lips. "NOOOO!"

"Oh?" Nelly says. "Then, I'll choose."

Before I can bat an eyelash, ruddy face and fatigue man leap forward. A handkerchief is pressed against my nose and consciousness starts to slip away. Somewhere in the back of my mind, as I slip further and further down into unconsciousness, I feel a jolt of pain in my left hand. My left pinky. She is hacking off my left pinky.

11: 06 p.m.

Game time

I awaken sometime later, facedown on the floor. My restraints have been cut off and there is a bandage wrapped around my left hand. My left pinky is definitely gone. I spy it sitting in a mason jar of solution on the table where Sweet Nelly had plunged the hunting knife.

Climbing slowly to my feet, I glance around the room. The candle has almost completely burned down, but there is a stack of unlit candles in the corner. My mind races as I grab two candles and stick the wicks into the flame of the one left burning. Instantly, the light in the room grows brighter. I use the lit candles to assess what is around me.

I search through every cabinet, and in every nook, cranny, and corner of the truck container. My progress is hindered by the persistent pain in my left hand. It is only a five on a scale from 1-5. So, I can only guess that the area was numbed; or maybe I was drugged. Either way, when the nerves finally wake up; it's gonna hurt like a son of a meat biscuit. I need to get moving.

Staring at all of my treasures, I sit down on the floor to begin assembling my weapons. Tripwires, nets, arrows, spears, and the knife covered in my own blood I found in a drawer. Not a bad start. I've got only 41 minutes before the next finger comes off.

If they really want it. Let 'em come and get it!

End Part One