Chapter 5: Prisoner’s Dilemma

04

Some classmates by the window shoved Brian, trying to bolt for the exit with the others.

In the chaos, elbows flew and backpacks hit the floor. Brian stumbled, his face drained of color as he narrowly avoided being trampled by the desperate crowd.

He was a few steps too late.

He tripped over a stray duffel bag and landed hard, pain flickering across his face. If he’d been faster, he might have been caught in the deadly smoke.

When he turned back toward the classroom, dark red splotches bloomed on his skin and he collapsed, choking for breath.

His scream was short, cut off by the toxic air. He crumpled by the door, clutching his arm. I wanted to help, but my legs wouldn’t move.

The rest of us broke down—crying, shouting, some punching the walls, others sinking to the floor, hugging their knees. The air grew thick and hot with panic.

I’d been so focused on choosing sides, I thought Aubrey was still with me—but now I realized she was gone.

My eyes darted around the room, searching for her curly hair or that yellow backpack. She was nowhere to be found. Guilt and fear churned in my gut.

When did she slip out with the others?

My mind reeled, replaying every moment—had she let go of my arm in the chaos, or was I just too caught up in my own panic to notice?

[Comments]

*Wow, exciting, half gone in one move.*

*They don’t know the safest place is this floor. If they leave, that guy will gas them to death.*

[End of comments]

I shrank into the corner where two walls met, scanning faces. Including myself, there were 28 of us left.

I hugged my knees, counting faces through blurry eyes. Every cough or cry made me flinch.

Someone suggested jumping out the window.

A tall boy—Shawn, maybe—pointed at the glass, voice trembling with a mixture of hope and desperation.

But four boys tried at once and couldn’t budge it.

They threw their shoulders into the glass, sweat beading on their brows, but it didn’t even crack.

They took turns smashing chairs against it, the clang of metal on glass ringing out, but the window held firm, like it was mocking us.

"Come on, use some force, damn it!"

Dwayne kicked Skinny Mike hard.

Skinny Mike—always the smallest—yelped and scurried away, hands over his head, tears streaking his cheeks.

"Bro, I really tried. This... just won’t budge."

His voice was small and defeated, echoing all our helplessness.

Brian tried to calm the group.

He moved through the crowd, hands raised, trying to sound steady—but his voice cracked and his hands shook. I saw the fear in his eyes, the kind that makes you feel less alone.

The big guy knew it was pointless, but everyone’s nerves were fraying.

He stepped back, jaw clenched, staring at the window like he could will it to break. We were all so close to the edge.

[Comments]

*Morons. Absolute morons. Are you sure these are supposed to be the smart kids?*

[End of comments]

Derek’s voice came over the intercom, irritated and sharp.

He sounded less in control now, frustration bleeding through. A harsh edge crept into every word.

"I’ll give you one more chance. Will anyone tell me what really happened that day?"

"Screw you, Derek! For a girl who transferred less than half a year ago, you want to kill the whole class? Are you even human?"

Dwayne hurled a dusty beaker at the intercom, the crash shattering the silence for a moment.

"She just slept with you, and I heard she’s even related to your family. You’re going to throw away years of friendship for her? You’re killing people now! Killing—do you even know that!"

"People!"

His shouts echoed, raw and desperate. The rest of us stared at the floor, wishing we could disappear.

Maybe Derek was laughing too hard—he coughed for a long time before stopping.

The intercom crackled with static and a harsh, hacking cough. It was chilling how normal he sounded, as if nothing had happened.

Suddenly, a dramatic symphony blasted through the speakers, the volume surging and fading, making the room feel even more surreal.

It sounded like one of those over-the-top movie soundtracks, the kind that plays right before everything goes to hell. Goosebumps prickled my skin.

The remaining classmates huddled in small groups, clinging to each other.

People squeezed hands, some crying quietly, others just rocking in place, trying to hold on. I found myself wedged between two drama club girls, our breaths coming in ragged bursts.

When the music ended, Derek tapped his fingers on a table: "Since none of you are willing to speak..."

The tap-tap-tap was maddening, so casual it made me want to scream. Like he was ordering takeout, not deciding our fate.

"Then let’s play a game."

05

I never thought I’d end up in a real-life ‘prisoner’s dilemma.’

It felt unreal, like something out of an ethics seminar or a Netflix thriller. But Derek’s voice was deadly serious, as if this was the experiment he’d been waiting for his whole life.

Derek divided us—28 survivors—into four classrooms, seven per group.

We shuffled through the hallways like inmates, eyes glued to the floor, skirting the bloodstains. The air stank of disinfectant and fear.

Each group could discuss freely whether to reveal the truth about that year.

But nobody trusted anyone enough to speak above a whisper.

If any one group told the truth, the other three would die by poison gas.

My mind spun—could I trust any of these people not to save themselves at my expense?

If all four groups—the 28 left—kept silent, Derek promised to let us go.

It felt like the cruelest hope. The kind that dangles freedom just out of reach.

Leaving the biology lab, I saw corpses piled in the hallway, the stench of blood thick in the air.

A varsity jacket lay draped over one of the bodies, the Maple Heights Mustangs patch stained dark. Faces were twisted, limbs at odd angles. I pressed my sleeve to my nose, fighting the urge to gag.

Some lay face-down, others face-up, unrecognizable.

There was something obscene about the way they were stacked, as if their deaths were just props for Derek’s game.

A few girls couldn’t hold it in and vomited onto the bright red flesh.

The retching echoed through the corridor, the sound making my stomach twist, but I swallowed it down.

I forced myself to scan the bodies, searching for my old deskmate Aubrey.

My eyes jumped from jacket to shoe, looking for her yellow backpack or those battered Converse. Relief and guilt tangled in my chest when I didn’t spot her red dress among the dead.

The class president’s "kind" reminder came through the intercom: "Classmates, you have only one hour. Heh~ heh~"

It was the worst kind of sing-song, like a teacher reminding us of a pop quiz. I wanted to scream at him, but my throat was too dry.

I followed Dwayne, Brian, Skinny Mike, Greg, Madison, and Tara into another classroom.

We moved as a tight knot, barely speaking, everyone shooting suspicious glances. The silence was broken only by the squeak of sneakers and the pounding of my heart.

Even if the big guy survived, his arm looked ruined.

He cradled it against his chest, sweat beading on his brow. Every move made him wince. The rest of us kept our distance, unsure what to say.

He kicked aside an empty glass bottle, shards scattering at the base of the window.

The clatter made everyone jump. Greg muttered, "Should’ve paid more attention in physics class," and for a second, the tension broke with a dark chuckle.

"I only came to this damned reunion because I was soft-hearted. We were all tricked by that lunatic Derek. 'Only one left,' my ass..."

His words echoed my own regrets. If only I’d ignored Derek’s texts, if only I’d stayed home with frozen pizza and Netflix.

I remembered the message Derek sent me—he’d said the same thing. He must have been plotting revenge for Lillian Carter for a long time.

Every line replayed in my mind, each word now a warning I’d missed.

Greg bent over and whispered to Dwayne: "Man, I’ll listen to you. Should we talk or not?"

His voice was shaky, bravado gone. No one wanted to be the first to betray the group.

Greg, with his curly hair and scruffy beard, always looked older than the rest of us. Right now, he looked like a scared little kid.

"Get lost, stay away from me, you disgust me."

Dwayne’s anger flared again, but there was no fight left in him. We all fell silent.

Greg turned away, glaring. The air crackled with old resentments, but nobody wanted to fight. Survival mattered more than old grudges.

The room fell quiet for a long moment.

It was the kind of silence that comes after a tornado—heavy, breathless, broken only by the occasional cough or sniffle.

I drifted to the window, lost in thought.

I stared out at the cracked parking lot, the faded football field. How many secrets did this place hold? How many regrets?

The day Lillian Carter jumped, by the time I found out, she’d already leapt from the roof.

The memory hit in flashes: blue lights, teachers crying, disbelief swirling through the halls.

It was graduation day—everyone had gotten their diplomas and transcripts.

The air was sticky with summer heat, the gym filled with proud parents and nervous laughter. We were supposed to be celebrating.

Lillian was the one handing out diplomas, smiling for every classmate.

Her smile looked painted on, the kind you wear for yearbook photos, not for real life. I barely spoke to her that day.

I remember she already seemed down.

A heaviness clung to her every move. Some of us noticed, but nobody said anything. That silence haunts me now.

Some boys had been making dirty jokes.

Their laughter echoed off the gym walls. I remember flinching, looking away, pretending not to hear. No one called them out.

At that time, where was Derek?