Mayday (Reality Check #1) Read online

  MAYDAY

  A Reality Check Novel

  Casey L. Bond

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  FINN

  Untitled

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Untitled

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Untitled

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Untitled

  Chapter 10

  Untitled

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Untitled

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  JESSA

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Untitled

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Untitled

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Casey L. Bond

  Copyright © 2017 by Casey L. Bond

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblances to persons or circumstances are completely coincidental.

  Created with Vellum

  Chapter 1

  The Producers

  In sharp contrast with the bright blue sky and crystal clear water, the sound of panicked screams filled the air. But it was so much more than that. It was the sound of ratings; of money and success. The speedboat had been rigged with a small explosive, and the man they paid a measly fifty American dollars to steer the boat toward the deserted island did as he was told. He waved the production crew’s boat close, hit the detonator, and dove into the water right as a loud boom rocked the vessel, leaving the contestants to start the game.

  And that’s what it was.

  A game. It would be a vicious one.

  Who would win?

  The producers, or the two losers who’d volunteered to survive together for thirty days? It would all depend on what the fans wanted, of course, but they weren’t about to make it easy on the couple. If they wanted the million-dollar prize, they were going to have to work for it.

  Sea water slowly bubbled into the boat’s hull as the two contestants shouted, fighting to keep the boat afloat for a little while longer. Those editing the feed blocked the profanities flying from the mouths of the contestants—mainly one of them.

  This was the contestants’ first test: make it to shore through shark infested waters. Of course, the sharks were electronic, placed in the bay earlier that morning by the crew, but the two contestants didn’t know that.

  The production room was abuzz with laughter, shouts, and bets.

  Everyone watched as the live feed came in, because Mayday was a new type of real-time reality show. There was a ten-minute lag time between the feed they got and what the American audience was given; barely enough time to edit based on current regulations. And day or night, the world could watch these two collide via the internet live feed on their website.

  It was up to the producers to rise to the challenges that such an intensely short window of time provided. They had to determine which camera’s view to use, what to edit, what to cut. They wanted the audience to know just enough to keep them hanging on the edge of their seats. Viewers loved tension. They loved hanging from cliffs. They just didn’t know it.

  Viewers only knew the feeling of sitting on the edges of their couches, yelling at their favorite contestants, and cuddling with their own loved ones when sparks of love reared their head.

  The producers just had to choose the right couple to ensure Mayday rose to the top spot and stayed there, season after season. They were setting a new bar. Everyone else in the business could try to keep up, if they dared.

  FINN

  Reality Check Magazine: Thanks for agreeing to the interview, Finn.

  Finn: Thanks for having me.

  RCM: Let’s get straight to it. Tell me what you thought when you were picked as one of the potential final contestants for the new hit show, Mayday.

  Finn: I was surprised. The show had set up a tent on the lawn of the University of Miami as an open casting call for the show. I saw it and was having a bad day, so I thought, why not?

  RCM: What was your first impression of the Caribbean and your fellow contestants?

  Hello, land of milk and honeys! As the plane’s landing gear unfolded, the pilot spoke to us in broken English. She said that she hoped we’d enjoyed our flight, wished us a wonderful vacation, and hoped we would fly Paradise Skies again. If all went well, I’d make it onto the show and could fly Paradise whenever I felt like it. The plane was small, with only two seats separated by a narrow aisle. I was in the front row, on the right of the aisle, in seat B. Glancing around the cabin, the competition was all a chatter…except for the hot chick across the aisle from me in seat A, who had her face plastered against the window. Hot Chick’s skin was green and she looked like she was about two seconds away from vomiting.

  Glad I was sitting alone.

  All the ladies on this flight were mouth-watering. Most tits on display were fake, but I did not discriminate. The majority of them were fluffing their hair or applying more makeup, pursing pouty lips at their compact mirrors and glossing them to within an inch of their fat-injected lives. The other guys? They were built, and some of them were huge. They were all a lot bigger than me and probably equally superb at everything they touched.

  Anyway, the point is that everyone was attractive.

  Was that a TV show requirement?

  The plane taxied around a bumpy runway to a small building that looked more like a hut than an airport. The roof was made of layered palm fronds that fluttered in the breeze. Our stewardess came by, smiling and announcing that we could unbuckle our seatbelts and take our carry-on luggage with us as we exited the plane.

  I gestured at the aisle in case the hot chick across from me wanted to go first. She looked like she was in dire need of fresh air, but she just glowered at me. This chick didn’t suffer from resting bitch face. Nah, hers was active as fuck.

  Whatever. There were nine other girls on this plane who didn’t seem like they had a stick up their asses. Too bad though, because she was the best looking one there. Long, dark hair. Shorter than me—which I liked. Big brown eyes.

  I was staring, and she noticed. Now she was glaring at me. Great.

  I stood up to leave since she wasn’t going to, and knocked my head on the ceiling. A small sound pulled my attention back to the hot chick, who was smiling at me. She had a pretty smile. If she did it more often, she might actually get on the show. “You laughed?” I asked, rubbing my head.

  “It was funny,” she drawled, all sweet and southern. Damn. Got to stay away from that one. Southern women are nuts. Their version of an insult was ‘Bless your heart’. Who the hell did that? Demons – that’s who.

  I turned away from the little hellion and ducked down, quickly exi
ting the plane. How they’d gotten us all to fit in that death trap was beyond me. Two rows, outfitted with just enough seats for the possible contestants. The production crew was already here somewhere. I looked around and found five large vans parked in a row. A woman in a power suit stepped from the passenger seat of the lead van with a knotted bun so tight, she looked like she’d just had a facelift. Maybe she did. She marched across the dusty ground in stilettos, removing her sunglasses when she got close; revealing a set of hawkish eyes that raked over my features, not in appreciation, but in appraisal. She flashed me a bright red smile, probably to cover up her disappointment. There was definitely something ‘off’ with this woman.

  “Welcome, Mr. Cohen.”

  She knew my name. It turned out, she knew everyone’s name. She passed me by, shaking the hands of each person as they exited the plane behind me and greeting each one the same way.

  The way she said ‘Welcome’ didn’t feel sincere. There was a challenge in her tone. My bet? She was one of the producers, and she planned to try to keep us from winning the prize. Enemy number one in my book. Her accent wasn’t southern; she was from New York, if I was hearing her right, and she didn’t bother hiding her malice with a flowery ‘Bless your heart’. Her smirk said she wanted to see us crumble.

  Hell if I’d let her break me or my partner, assuming I made it onto one of the tapings.

  Hot Chick was the last person who stepped out of the plane and descended the stairs. She stared at the suit in silence and refused to shake her hand, which pissed the haughty bitch off.

  “I’m Amy Grayling,” the woman in the suit finally said. “For all intents and purposes, I’ll be the one choosing the launch pair. You would each do well to remember that,” she said, shooting a pointed glance at the hot chick. Hot Chick didn’t show weakness; she just stared Grayling down until she finally turned away and continued her speech. The girl had probably just ruined her chances of being on the first filming. There would be other chances to be on the show in the future if ratings were high enough, but to be on the first one? That was what everyone wanted. Set the bar high. Guts and glory and all that.

  “We’ll travel to a more private location where you’ll each be interviewed again. We’d like for you to tell us why you deserve to be on the show. Barring some sort of tragedy, you will each make it onto one of the segments, which will be filmed in succession. However, the pilot, also called the ‘Launch show’, is the coveted spot. Millions of viewers will tune in just to see what Mayday is all about. Some will get hooked, while others won’t look at the program again. You’ll have a twenty-minute ride to think of your pitch to make it on the Launch show. It better be good.”

  Crammed into the back row of a van between a guy named Ruger and a redhead named Star, who I thought might be a stripper by a few of the not-so-subtle things she said along the bumpy road, I tried to concentrate.

  A pitch. I needed one. A good one.

  I didn’t have anything, really.

  I was a former IT student who flunked out because he chose to party instead of going to class. I was a loser; even my Dad and Mom thought so. They cut me off when they heard the news.

  “You lost your scholarship!” Dad fumed when I told him about flunking out, the artery in his neck pulsating toward me. Dad yelled, Mom cried, and I begged them not to give up on me. Not my best moment, but I wasn’t too proud to beg.

  Even if I hadn’t fucked up at school, even if I was a computer genius, a true innovator of the field itself, none of it would help me survive on a deserted island. I mean, sure, I’d YouTubed the hell out of the whole stuck-on-a-deserted-island thing, but who hadn’t?

  With nothing left to lose, I’d simply offer myself up. They were supposed to pair us up based on skillsets. Maybe one of the ladies knew how to make a bow drill. Maybe they’d find me a girl with brains. I could handle being the brawn in the relationship.

  I glanced at Ruger as he flexed his pectorals, bouncing his muscles up and down. Star giggled, reaching across me to pinch his nipple. He nipped at her fingers and I tried to melt into the leather seat to get out of their way.

  Nineteen minutes and fifty-nine seconds later, we arrived at yet another open-air hut, although this one was larger than the airport terminal. Grayling exited the lead car and waited for us to gather around her. “We’ll take you in one at a time,” she commanded. “You’ll each have two minutes to convince me to let you on the show.”

  “Only two minutes?” Star complained, twirling a strand of her hair around a manicured nail.

  “Two minutes is more than enough time if you’ve given this more than a second’s worth of consideration. If you haven’t thought about it that much, you don’t deserve to be on the show, and anything longer than that is a waste of my time and yours.” With that, Grayling turned and walked into the enormous building without a backwards glance.

  A few moments later, Grayling’s voice called out over the radio channel of one of the production crew members. “Send Star in first, since she’s so well prepared,” Grayling taunted.

  Star’s posture slumped, but Ruger gave her a friendly nudge. “Don’t let her intimidate you,” he said encouragingly.

  Some things were easier said than done. Star tried to smile, pushed through the crowd who parted for her, and stepped into the building. When she emerged, she wasn’t smiling, but she wasn’t crying, either, so that was a plus. I hated it when women cried. It tore me up. Made me wish I could stomp the shit out of something or someone, just to make them feel better. But I couldn’t do anything stupid. I didn’t want to ruin my chances of getting on this show.

  Hopefully, the Launch show.

  One by one, the other women and men were called for, they entered, and then quickly exited the building. Just me and Hot Chick were left, and she was visibly pissed; arms crossed and hip cocked out, all kinds of sassy.

  I smiled at her.

  “What are you smilin’ at?” she quipped.

  “You.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “Think you’re gonna make it to the Launch?” I asked.

  She narrowed her eyes. “I think one of us stands a chance.”

  I was about to say Thank you when I realized what she meant, and then the giant meathead who’d just entered the building a minute ago waltzed back out with a cocky grin on his face. “You’re up, man,” he said to me. “Good luck.”

  Even Hulk knew I needed it.

  Shit.

  Chapter 2

  Reality Check Magazine: What was your first impression of the lead producer, Amy Grayling?

  Finn: She was nice enough when she showed up at the airport, but after that, it was game on for her. And we all knew it.

  I pushed the bamboo double-doors open and walked into a large room that had support poles to hold the roof up. Otherwise, it was nice. Serene. There were tropical flowers in planters strewn here and there. Desks. Camera equipment. No beds.

  Grayling was tapping her fingernails impatiently on the desk across the room.

  “Mr. Cohen, I haven’t met a single man who deserves to be on the Launch episode. Please regale me with your astonishing array of survival skills and tactics that are complete and utter bullshit lines in order to impress me so we can get this over with.”

  Well, she could call a bluff. On the plane, the guys boasted, but that’s all it was. They didn’t know much more than anyone else.

  “I can’t.”

  The words flew out before my mind-to-mouth filter caught them. “I’ve never spent time in the wilderness, and never camped out in my life.”

  “So, other than the money, why would you do this? There are dangers. Besides the obvious ones like dehydration, malnutrition, or battling the elements, there are poisonous animals, hypothermia—even on an island. Despite all of those risks, the underlying premise of the show is to uncover and exploit your weaknesses and fears. If you look at our waivers of liability, you’ll see that we’re basically legally untouchable. If something hap
pens to you out there, Mayday can’t and won’t be held responsible. Given all of those factors, why would you willingly choose to come on the show? Why would you want to?”

  “I need the money, it’s no lie, but I also... I want to show my parents that I can do something worthwhile.”

  “You failed last semester. Every class,” she said, opening a manila folder in front of her.

  “I did, but it’s more than that. I need to prove that I can make it on my own.”

  “But you won’t be on your own,” she argued.

  “I want to be part of a team. We can win this.”

  “You seem very sure of yourself.”

  “I am.” I was. We could do this. It was only thirty days, after all.

  “Well,” she said, pushing the file closed again. “Thank you for your honesty.”

  “So, I’m in?” I grinned hopefully.

  Her lips pouted. “I didn’t say that.”

  I hated all women in that moment. All of them.

  Back outside, I hated them even more. Hot Chick was openly smirking as I walked past her. “Don’t worry. I’ll love being your partner,” I teased.

  That knocked the smile off her face. “No way they’d pick you,” she said low but incredulously.

  I just shrugged, enjoying the anger that spread across her features, crinkling her nose.

  She walked inside with purpose. Maybe one of us did have a chance.

  When she emerged from the hut, Gary the walkie-talkie guy told us we’d be shown to our living quarters. I thought we’d each get a room or something, but there was nothing but a network of huts—smaller than the one Grayling and her team inhabited during the day. We each had our own slice of paradise. If nothing else, making it this far had been worth it.