The Aftermath by Jen Alexander

right along with the threat I made a couple minutes ago.”
    He shifts his body, and I moan as the bulk of his weight settles onto my lower back. I mumble something even I don’t comprehend.
    “I’m going to let you go now,” he says in a tone that reminds me of an adult admonishing a small child. “Just because I’ve no plan to kill you doesn’t mean I won’t electrocute you if I have to. Understand?”
    I grunt.
    As he lifts his body from mine, I release a long breath and roll over onto my back. He juggles his precious electroshock gun from his left hand to the right. I lash my foot out at him, aiming at his kneecaps. With almost unbelievable grace, he steps out of the way, then stretches out a hand to help me up.
    Glaring up at him, I knock his fingers out of my face and struggle to my feet. Tiny prickles annoy my legs from where they’d lain trapped beneath me for so long. When I finally steady myself, I whirl on him. “I’m not going to help you do anything.”
    “Why the hell not?”
    Because I am inches away from the fence I’m positive will lead me to my freedom and I don’t need his help getting through it. Because if I don’t get out now, I may die in The Aftermath. I might be able to last another day or even another three years, but it’s almost inevitable that this game will be the end of me.
    Because I am tired of being used.
    “I want to leave,” I say. My throat is sore from my breakdown a few minutes ago, so I clear it a few times. “I’m one person. You could turn your back. You can pretend—”
    “Nobody’s ever escaped the game. Nobody’s ever tried.”
    My voice finally collapses, and I sound like a lost child when I whisper, “But it’s possible.”
    “Up until today I would’ve said no. Nobody escapes because nobody is sentient. Except you—you are wide-awake, and I want to know why. What went wrong with your chip to make you become self-aware on your own?”
    “Why does it matter? Why do you care if I’m dead or alive? Sentient or not? Just let me go. I—”
    “Stop mewling, Virtue, and catch your breath, will you?” Declan says, thrusting a metal canister under my lips. Liquid sloshes around inside. When I stare at it for a long time, he snaps, “Don’t be such an elitist—just take it. This game is crawling with cannibals and you turn your nose up at filtered water?”
    I turn my nose up at fresh water given to me by the people who are responsible for designing this twisted game, is what I want to say. Not to mention that I have no idea why he hasn’t fessed up to being at the courthouse—meaning I can’t trust him one bit. But Declan wiggles the canteen a few more times and eventually my thirst outweighs my better judgment. I take the container in both hands. The water doesn’t taste like anything I’ve ever had. It’s sweet and there’s a hint of some type of flavoring. I finish drinking so fast I’m left coughing even more violently than before.
    “Don’t worry about me—I’m not thirsty,” he says dryly as I thrust the empty canteen back at him. He fumbles it, dropping it to the ground. When he bends to retrieve it, I pull the Glock from its holster. Then I kick the electroshock gun out of his hand. It clinks against the metal gate four feet away from us. After a few seconds of silence, during which his only movement is his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, he cocks his head to the right. The corners of his mouth twitch. “What are you doing?” he asks calmly.
    “I’m not helping you, Declan. Moderator. I’m getting out of this game today.”
    Sighing, he drops to a sitting position and shakes his head to each side. “Virtue, you—”
    “Shut up,” I say. I keep the gun positioned on his chest, right over his heart, as I walk backward. I grab his electroshock gun, then the pair of pliers I dropped earlier. Placing his weapon on the ground next to me, I stoop to the section of the fence I was trying to pry loose when he caught me and begin