The Hunt

5

Martyn couldn't stop looking at Charlie for the next few days, his eyes didn't show the sheer joy that he had expected to come from this decision, instead he was met with unease. Martyn knew something had happened, how could he not? August and Wyatt didn't say a word, barely registering his existence, and twice a day Charlie would crawl to the short demon and beg for his absolution. August didn't laugh, nor did he smirk– he simply saw Charlie, much like Sherri and Jack, as a means to an end.

His room in the attic of Hell House was small, with slanted walls that leered above him to the one dusty window that looked out onto the front yard. A bed had been brought up at some point before his arrival and although the walls were bare, the floor squeaky and the spiders huge- it was his own room. He was alone when he wanted to be, the small ladder and hatch door able to be pulled up whenever he didn't want anyone to talk to him. Which was often. He had control over this space and it gave him back some power he craved, however fleeting.

Jack had gotten into the habit of using a broom handle to bang onto his hatch and bring him up a cup of tea. He assumed it was a peace offering but the man's ever persistent smile was worse than a drill to the brain, he was worming in with his endless optimism and apologies...but they both knew he didn't do much when August corralled him into the utility room to suffer. Jack wanted a runner, he got one.

Charlie let the ladder down when Jack knocked one early morning, he bid him hello with a grunt before moving back to his bed to pour over various articles about the fundamentals of American Hunt. Jack whistled with an impressed grin as he deposited his attempt at a British cup of tea on Charlie's bedside table.

"Every day this week you've been looking at these, learn anything new?" he asked curiously.

"That maybe there is technically...sort of, more than one brawn on the team. Judging by this and what I already know, when you enter the arena it is no holds barred- the trackers track the enemy team more so than the path to the idol...you corner and pick off each other one by one. If the entire team is eliminated then the other wins by default, but it can be different for each team...we need to study who we draw, are they aggressive? Are they cautious? The relationship they foster between trackers and brawn?...until December we can only practise teamwork and actually get to grips with the game at its base level"

"And what's that base level mean to you?" he asked, his tone even.

"Two teams entering the forest, searching for the missing piece and making sure to take out anyone who threatens that discovery. It means the leader knowing the land, the trackers knowing what to look for and the brawn always on guard"

Jack nodded in agreement "and the runner?"

"Runner runs. If the idol is found, everyone in the arena knows it...I watched a game once at some seedy bar...anyway, I think it was the Tier 2 final...the runner had the idol and the trackers managed to catch up to him. They threw him against a pillar before holding him down as their brawn arrived to knock him onto his back. Ding-ding! Elimination. They took the idol and their runner slowly walked to the exit while the other guy was carried out on a stretcher."

"Sounds about right, does it scare you?" Jack asked.

"No, being hunted is nothing new to me" he laughed before catching himself oversharing "what about you? You've never played before...what makes a college football player change sports?"

Transactional secrets and friendship is what Charlie felt comfort in, he wanted the man to spill something of his own to even the scales.

"Ah. That's a long, longgg story and barely mine to share. Maybe if we survive this training camp we can have a real heart to heart around a fire with smores" he laughed nervously before standing "you should come down to eat tonight, we're having some real southern food and Sherri is worried you're going to die up here before we get a chance to play one game."