The One at the Eleventh Hour

Five people running, one woman in an elegant black evening dress with an accouterment of jewelry and five men in suits or tuxedos. The night was still young, a cool breeze on the faintly balmy evening giving a false sense of calm and serenity. The five people dashed down a path to a dock...to where life...escape, was a large motorboat was moored just beyond.

"Come on," said Luke in his tuxedo which was uncomfortable in the mad sprint to the dock, "we don’t know who is next."

"I won’t be," said Clarissa, the woman in the evening dress, leading the quintuplet of escapees.

"Some party," commented Duncan in his suit, with his jacket that he had insisted he needed before the five escapees made a run from it.

"We didn’t even find the grand prize," said Holden with a bitter tone in his voice. "All we got was death."

"And more death," said Luke gesticulating for the five to continue down the long path to the boat.

"You know, this island off the coast will be Murder Point," said Quincy with his Texas drawl that contrasted with his finely cut suit, "or Murder Rock."

"I don’t care about the name or the prize," said Jenkins in his tuxedo, "I’m worried about survival."

"Yes," Luke said as they felt the reassuring wooden planks of the dock. "Let’s survive by blowing this nightmare gala and head back to the mainland."

"Let’s go..." Holden said in agreement.