The morning sun over Camp Wawanakwa felt colder than usual, a pale disk hanging in a bruised sky. Trent sat on a weathered stump by the dying embers of the campfire, his fingers moving restlessly over the strings of his guitar. The tune was melancholic, a low, buzzing melody that seemed to mimic the unease settling over the island.
Nearby, Gwen watched him, her chin resting in her hand. There was a softness in her eyes, a mixture of growing affection and sharp, jagged worry.
They were in the bubble of their own world, unaware that the island's tectonic plates of power had shifted during the night. In the girls' cabin, under the cover of a flickering flashlight and muffled whispers, a "Triple Threat" alliance had been forged in iron. Heather, Lindsay, and Courtney had spent hours strategizing. Heather provided the malice, Lindsay provided the distraction, and Courtney—the CIT with the sharpest tactical mind—provided the execution.
The silence was shattered by a rustling in the bushes. Chris McLean emerged, but he looked like a walking nightmare of moss and twigs. He was wearing a full ghillie suit, a plastic binoculars strapped to his face
.
"Listen up, survivors!" Chris's voice boomed, startling a crow into flight. "The herd is thinning, and the game is getting meaner. Today's challenge is Extreme Hide-and-Go-Seek. You have the entire island—every swamp, every cliff, every stinking latrine—as your playground. You have ten minutes to vanish. After that, Chef Hatchet—equipped with military-grade thermal goggles, a high-pressure water cannon, and a mood that would make a shark flinch—will come hunting. If you're found and soaked, you're out!"
Chris leaned in, his eyes gleaming through the mesh of his camouflage mask. "But there's a twist for the desperate. If you get caught, you can strike a bargain. Help Chef 'flush out' another camper, and you gain Immunity for the night. Traitors get marshmallows; the loyal get the Boat of Losers. Now, run!"
The Hunt Begins
The clearing exploded into a frenzy of motion. Ezekiel didn't panic. He had spent his life tracking deer in the prairies; he knew how to disappear. He grabbed Gwen's arm, his grip firm.
"Follow me, eh!" Zeke whispered urgently. "I know a spot near the old mine. The sun don't even touch it, and the ground's too rocky for Chef to hear our footsteps."
Gwen hesitated for a second, then nodded, trusting Zeke's raw survival instincts. They sprinted into the thickest part of the forest, weaving through thorns that snagged at Gwen's stockings. Deep in the shadows, Zeke found what he was looking for: a massive, hollowed-out log buried under a mountain of wet, rotting moss and pine needles.
"Get in, real quiet-like," Zeke instructed. They crawled into the damp, dark interior. Zeke reached back out, expertly pulling a curtain of pine branches and moss over the entrance. Inside, it was pitch black and smelled of old earth. They sat shoulder-to-shoulder, Gwen holding her breath as she heard the distant, mechanical hum of Chef's goggles.
Meanwhile, Trent had found a spot behind a jagged rock formation near the cliffs, overlooking the churning water. He felt safe until a soft, frantic gasp came from behind him. He spun around to see Courtney. She looked disheveled, her hair slightly messy, her eyes wide and brimming with unshed tears.
"Trent! Oh, thank goodness," she whispered, her voice trembling with a vulnerability she had never shown. She stepped closer, into his personal space, her hand resting lightly on his forearm. "I think I heard Chef nearby. He's... he's being so aggressive today. I'm actually scared, Trent."
Trent felt a surge of chivalry. "It's okay, Courtney. We can hide here."
Courtney tilted her head, looking up at him through her lashes. She moved even closer, her voice a sultry, honeyed murmur that bypassed his logic. "You're so calm under pressure. If we stay together, we can watch each other's backs. I'll go up to that ridge over there—I'm smaller, I can see him coming without being spotted. I'll signal you when the coast is clear. Trust me?"
From a nearby pine tree, Duncan watched the scene with absolute disgust. He was perched high in the branches, invisible to the two below.
"Trent! Don't be a moron!" he hissed down. "She's playing you like a cheap fiddle! The girls are in a pack, man! Get out of there!"
Trent looked up, his face hardening. "Give it a rest, Duncan. Not everyone is a backstabbing snake like you. Courtney's helping me. Go find your own hole to crawl into."
Courtney offered Trent a dazzling, lingering smile, a look that promised a secret alliance. She blew him a kiss—a distraction so potent Trent didn't even notice the cold, calculating look in her eyes the moment she turned her back. She vanished into the brush, leaving Trent standing in the open like a sitting duck.
Duncan groaned, pulling himself higher into the leaves. "Fine. Get soaked. See if I care."
Chef Hatchet moved through the woods like a vengeful force of nature. He didn't have to look hard for his first "victims." Heather and Lindsay were standing in a clearing, looking as if they were waiting for a bus.
Chef raised his water cannon, but Heather stepped forward, her hand up. "Save the water, Big Guy. We have a deal. We know exactly where the 'big' threats are hiding. You give us the immunity, and we give you the targets on a silver platter."
Chef grunted, a sound of grim approval. The hunt turned into a calculated massacre.
Courtney didn't wait long. She led Chef straight back to the rock formation. Trent was still looking toward the ridge, waiting for his signal, when he heard a heavy footstep. He turned, expecting Courtney, but instead met the barrel of a high-pressure hose.
BOOM. A 50-gallon blast of swamp-chilled water slammed into Trent's chest, sending him flying backward into the dirt. Gasps for air, Trent looked up, dripping and shivering. Courtney stood next to Chef, her arms crossed, a bored expression on her face.
"Sorry, Trent," she said, her voice devoid of its earlier warmth. "Logic over lyrics. You were the easiest bait on the island."
Heather and Lindsay, meanwhile, were busy with the others. They found Owen hunkered down behind a blueberry bush. Heather didn't even need the hose. She pulled a warm, gooey chocolate chip cookie from her pocket—the aroma cutting through the smell of damp forest.
"Owen, honey," Heather cooed. "If you vote for Trent tonight, I have a whole box of these waiting for you. And I'll tell Chef to leave you alone for the rest of the afternoon. Deal?"
Owen's pupils dilated. His stomach let out a roar that could be heard in the next county. He grabbed the cookie, shoving it into his mouth before he even finished nodding. "Deal!" he muffled through crumbs.
Lindsay, following Heather's lead, tracked down Izzy. The wild girl was hanging upside down from a vine, pretending to be a bat.
"Izzy! If you vote for the guitar guy, you get to stay in the game!" Lindsay chirped.
Izzy dropped to the ground, her eyes darting around. She pulled a Canadian loonie from her hair.
"The spirits must decide! Heads he stays, tails he goes!" She flipped the coin. It spun in the air, glinting in the sunlight, before landing in the thick mud. Izzy leaned over, peering at it. "Tails. The spirits have spoken! Trent must fall!"
While the betrayals echoed through the woods, Gwen and Ezekiel remained in a different world. Inside the log, the air was stale and cold. They sat in absolute, suffocating silence. Gwen could hear the pounding of her own heart.
Twice, Chef walked directly over their hiding spot. The massive log groaned under his weight, and dust filtered down onto Gwen's hair. Ezekiel reached out, his hand gripping her shoulder—not in a romantic way, but with the steady, grounding force of a hunter. He signaled her to remain perfectly still. His discipline was infectious; even as a spider crawled across Gwen's hand, she didn't flinch.
They sat there for four agonizing hours until finally, the sirens wailed.
"TIME'S UP!" Chris's voice boomed over the speakers. "Chef found almost everyone, but he couldn't sniff out the Goth or the Prairie Boy! Gwen and Ezekiel win Immunity! and because they 'assisted' the hunt, Heather, Lindsay, and Courtney are also safe!"
The Campfire Ceremony
The sun set in a flare of angry orange and purple. At the campfire, the mood was funereal. Duncan and DJ huddled together, realizing they were on the wrong side of the numbers. They cast their votes for Owen, hoping his blatant bribe-taking would turn the others against him.
Gwen, Ezekiel, and a heartbroken Trent voted for Duncan, still viewing the delinquent as the ultimate threat to their survival. But the "Triple Threat" alliance was a monolith.
"The final marshmallow goes to..." Chris teased, prolonging the agony. "...the guy who actually tried to save a friend... Duncan!"
Trent stood up, the dampness still in his clothes, his guitar case feeling heavier than ever. He looked at Courtney, waiting for some sign of regret. She just examined a chip in her manicure, her face a mask of cold indifference.
"You... you really lied to me?" Trent asked, his voice cracking slightly.
"It's just a game, Trent," Courtney said, her voice sharp. "Don't be so dramatic. You should have known better."
Duncan walked up as the Boat of Losers pulled into the dock. He didn't gloat. He just looked at Trent with a grim sort of pity. "I tried to tell you, man. Next time, listen to the guy who's spent his life around criminals. We know how the world works."
Trent sighed, shook hands with Duncan and DJ, and gave Gwen a sad, lingering wave. As the boat pulled away, the girls sat on their bench, looking like queens on a throne. Heather reached into her pocket, patting the "Invincibility Statue" she thought she still had, unaware that Duncan was watching her from the shadows, the real prize tucked safely in his boot.
After the sound of the Boat of Losers' motor had finally faded into the distance, a heavy, suffocating silence fell over the camp. Most of the survivors slunk back to their cabins, exhausted by a day fueled by betrayal and cold calculations.
But two figures remained on the grassy slope overlooking the water, far away from the flickering red lights of the hidden cameras.
Gwen and Ezekiel lay side-by-side in the soft, dew-kissed grass. Above them, the Canadian sky was a masterpiece of thousands of tiny diamonds, with the silver ribbon of the Milky Way cutting through the infinite black.
"Look at that bright one there, eh," Ezekiel broke the silence, pointing his finger toward the horizon. "That's the North Star. My pa always said if you can spot that, you'll never truly be lost in the woods."
Gwen smiled slightly, tucking her arms behind her head. "I wish navigating real life was that easy, Zeke. Today was... brutal. Everyone turned on everyone. Courtney, Heather... even Owen."
Ezekiel turned onto his side, looking at Gwen's profile in the starlight. "I didn't turn on you. And I won't, eh. On the prairie, you learn that the person you hide from the storm with is the person you stick by when the mud starts flying."
Gwen turned her head to face him, their eyes meeting. In this moment, Zeke didn't seem like the strange, sheltered country boy anymore. He seemed like the only honest thing left on this entire island.
"Thank you, Zeke. For today. Without you, I'd be on that boat right now," she whispered, feeling a warmth in her cheeks that had nothing to do with the fading campfire.
"Don't mention it, eh," Ezekiel shrugged modestly, though his heart was hammering against his ribs. "You're the smartest girl I know. Just... sometimes you think too much about the shadows instead of looking at the lights."
Gwen let out a soft, genuine laugh. "Maybe you're right."
They fell into a comfortable silence, listening to the rhythmic chirping of crickets and the cool night breeze rustling the pine needles.
Slowly, Gwen reached out her hand, her fingertips accidentally brushing against Ezekiel's. He didn't pull away; instead, he tentatively interlaced his fingers with hers.
"The night is real nice," Zeke noted softly.
"Yeah," Gwen replied, and for the first time since the competition began, she wasn't thinking about the next challenge or a voting strategy. "It really is."
They lay there in the quiet dark, two allies who had found something much deeper than a strategic partnership. While the rest of the island brewed with intrigue and revenge, here, under the stars, there was only the two of them and the simple, honest safety they found in each other's company.