The Mating Run by Leeka

Survival
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Having a moment to myself, even if it’s all fabricated, brings a sense of relief, considering I’m likely being recorded on-screen
right now.
In the stillness, broken only by Zeke’s intermittent snoring, my mind wanders to Victor and Ettie. Most specifically Ettie, because
I’m still pretty furious with Victor. If I’m being honest with myself, I hope he sprains his ankle somewhere and learns a
lesson.
I
Ettie’s strength exceeds my expectations, but I can’t shake the memory of her groaning in discomfort after walking a few extra
minutes.
No matter what her hospital findings say, Ettie is not accustomed to the sights
and sounds of the outdoors. She’s more accustomed to the comfort of indoor spaces, where the hum of air conditioning soothes
her. The beach is her least favorite place, so she never ventures out of her house during the scorching noon. sun. Whenever she
wants to hang out, it’s usually at her place, where we can find
solace in the shared silence.
Victor and Ettie are complete opposites, not to mention he often takes jokes to an extreme. If he ever encounters a Hunter like
number 72 or Zeke, I shudder to think what might befall him. But then again, I’m sure that if he ever needs something, he’ll just
wave at a nearby camera and his father and other accomplices will obediently fulfill his every request.
I realize that my hopes of him teaming up with me were completely futile. Right from the beginning, it was clear that every
participant should complete the Mating Run alone. By the end of the run, any loyalties or teams that might have formed will be
completely wiped out.
As the day grows older, the siren’s blaring numbers become more pronounced, piercing through the late afternoon calm. A small
part of me is relieved by the absence of Victor’s number, but another part of me is filled with fear because I don’t know Ettie’s
number either. Among the deaths are Hunters, and the mere thought
that it might be Ettle causes a small piece of my heart to break.
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But she’s a fighter, I can sense it in the way she carries herself with confidence. No matter what, she’ll always remain resilient

against anything like this. We promised we’d see each other at the Mating Run. And Ettie never breaks a promise, her words
laced with sincerity, echoing in my ears.
I slump down further against the wall, my muscles aching from fatigue.
My stomach’s already growling, a reminder of how hungry I am, and from the looks of it, Zeke’s fever won’t go down anytime
soon, as his forehead remains flushed and sweaty. Zeke’s bag was disappointingly empty, void of biscuits or any kind of food. It
made sense though, as Hunters were required to hunt for their own sustenance. We still don’t have any medicine, and it’s not as
easy for me as it is for Victor to simply ask and receive it effortlessly.
I become aware of the parched sensation in my throat and the dryness in my mouth, as well as the cr acks in my lips. After a day
of non-stop movement, I can feel the exhaustion in every fiber of my being. I’ve been sweating buckets due to the intense heat. I
look down and notice dried blood stains on my clothes. On just the second day of the run, all I can think about is ending this and
collapsing into my cozy bed.
Once again, my stomach emits a loud rumble, causing me to groan and instinctively rub it.
With a sigh, I cautiously extend my hand to touch Zeke’s forehead, and as I expected, his fever has worsened. Although there’s
no medicine, a steaming bowl of soup might help him naturally alleviate his fever. Outside the forest, I spot a cluster of herbs that
could potentially be used. If I boil some water, I might be able to
create a drink for him.
I could use the water bottle to boil some water. Zeke’s got matches, so I’ll probably need some wood.
S hit. I turn to Zeke, his unconscious body lying still, and shoot him a piercing
glare.
“Make sure this is worth it, you as shole.”
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I answer the call of the forest, but not without a grumble and a heavy breath, irritated by the challenges it presents. As I search
for suitable branches, the cool air sends shivers down my spine.
“Ugh, this is so dam n annoying. Why the hell am I even doing this?”
Mumbling to myself, I hastily gather a handful of twigs and tuck them under my arm. As I gather supplies, my gaze naturally
gravitates towards the underbrush, where I discover a cluster of valuable herbs. And it’s just what I need to make Zeke
a ‘get well soon’ tea or something.
Glancing back at the cave, I see Zeke lying there motionless.

Unconscious, feverish, and completely at the mercy of my questionable
wilderness skills.
With a bunch of herbs in tow, I tiptoe a few more feet away from the cave, spotting a small stream trickling through the rocks. I
crouch down and feel the cool, damp earth beneath my fingers as I fill my water bottle.
With water secured, I turn my attention to the small pile of firewood, feeling its rough texture in my hands. I quickly glance at the
assortment, questioning whether I’ve collected an adequate amount. With a shrug, I turn around and head back to the cave,
giving Zeke’s stomach a gentle kick.
“This should do, right?”
I I direct my question to Zeke, momentarily forgetting that he is unable to respond. Pleased with what I have gathered, I get down
to business and start building a fire pit. I quickly sn atch his bag, feeling the smooth texture of the material, and rummage
through it to find the matches. As I ignite the twigs, the flames flicker to life, casting dancing shadows around me.
And now, the amazing Chef Alina is here to save the day. You’re welcome, your jerk.
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With a theatrical flourish, I declare, my words laced with dripping sarcasm. As I add the herbs to the water bottle, I can’t help but
feel a surge of pride in my resourcefulness as an amateur chef.
As the concoction starts to simmer over the fire, the scent of herbs wafts.
towards me.
“Never thought I’d be a five-star chef in the Mating Run, huh?”
I chuckle, playfully prodding Zeke’s cheek with a twig.
“Wish you could see who’s looking after you now.”
In the air, the comforting scent of my makeshift soup fills the space as it bubbles away. Despite the absurdity of the situation, a
wave of pride and satisfaction overcomes me. Perhaps the survivalist lifestyle isn’t for me, but I can still handle cooking a basic
meal over a cra ckling campfire.
“Alright, champ, it’s time for you to prove yourself.”
I grumble, silently cursing the peacefulness of his slumbering form. The realization of having to move him hits me, and I crouch
beside him, feeling the warmth of his body against mine as ‘wrap my arms around him. As I start lifting, a grunt involuntarily
escapes me, and I instantly feel the weight of his body.
“If I strain something, you’re on the h ook for the bill.”
Through gritted teeth, I mutter as I forcefully slam him against the cave wall. It requires a Herculean effort, leaving me panting

and unexpectedly getting a workout in the middle of nowhere.
However, my responsibility remains unfinished. I glance at Zeke’s flushed face, his cheeks rosy from the fever, and with a sigh, I
reach for the water bottle and pour some water into my palm.
“You really know how to ruin a girl’s first-ever Mating Run, don’t you? First, your
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try to kill me, now I’m babysitting your sorry as s?”
I quip, gently wiping the sweat off his forehead. Gently, I bring the water bottle. filled with herb-infused liquid to his lips, hoping to
awaken him.
“Hey, Sleeping Beauty, let’s get your medicine over with.”
With a playful tease, he lets out a groan and stirs, briefly before falling back into unconsciousness.
I sit back, rubbing my temples.
“Well, that’s progress, I guess.”
sipping his drink.
I mutter under my breath, carefully analyzing the situation. The cra ckling fire fills the cave with warmth and illuminates the walls
with flickering shadows, as I ponder my next move. The makeshift soup is a quick fix, but we need a more substantial and
satisfying option.
me.”
“Going through all this sh it for someone who probably wouldn’t do the same for
Grumbling under my breath, I cast a quick, irritated glance at Zeke, my expression a mixture of annoyance and concern. Yet,
despite my sarcastic remarks, there’s a lingering sense of responsibility that I can’t seem to shake off.
With a determined breath, I rise, hearing the distant call of birds and the rustling of leaves, ready to venture back into the wild.
“Don’t you dare die on me, Zeke. I’m not dragging your dead body to the finish line.”
With a half-serious, half-joking tone, I declare my statement. Without hesitation, I sn atch the knife from the sponsor and venture
outside the cave once more.
The first thing I do is get down on my knees and plead, desperately.
Whoever sent me the knife, I could really use some food. Staring straight into
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the camera, I say with unwavering confidence. I’ve already gone around the forest, and there’s nothing here. There aren’t any
rabbits or birds, or anything I can catch. It’s only us, no one else. I ate all my biscuits and Zeke needs to eat or he won’t get
better.
Begging in front of a dozen audiences is slightly embarrassing, but I have no choice at the moment. It’s a matter of utmost
importance, a question of survival. And even if Miles is probably already shedding tears because of my embarrassing display,
then all the more reason to continue.
He might be so ashamed of me that he ends my suffering by personally sponsoring me. Some of the PR people find it
acceptable to support their candidates through secretive means. Everyone at the Mating Run knows it, but it’s a secret they all
share.
I’ve read the rules thoroughly, and there doesn’t seem to be any prohibition on pleading with the camera. I persistently try,
presenting persuasive arguments for why they should sponsor me. I think I stay still for a couple of minutes, hoping to hear the
whir of another robot with my name on it, but there’s nothing.
With an empty stomach, I stay in the forest, grumbling and longing for something to eat.
An empty stomach combined with exhaustion is truly a bad mix. Although we could nibble on some of the herbs, they won’t
sustain us throughout the entire day. I have no intention of succumbing to starvation, a common cause of death in such
situations.
With a heavy heart, I tighten my grip on the knife, feeling its cold metal against my palm.
I might have to resort to rummaging through the bags of the deceased in search of food. It’s not ideal, but given the
circumstances, it’s the only food source that comes to mind. And I’m sure that I’m not the only one that’s missing food; the scent
of desperation would surely draw others that I have to fight off.
Despite my reluctance, the persistent grumbling of my stomach forces me to set aside my moral compass. Before proceeding
into the forest, I take a quick,
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reassuring look at Zeke, who is expertly hidden under a pile of foliage and
branches. The thought of someone discovering him and taking his life weighs heavily on me, so I hope he survives until I come
back. I don’t want all my hard work to go to waste.
Inhaling deeply, I set off in search of food, my rumbling stomach urging me forward.
Really, I’d be fortunate to stumble upon an unattended bag.

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