by Terry Tyler
That third of the blitz tablet has him fired up, heart pumping, but he still feels normal in his head, not Superman on speed like last time.
The second horn sounds; he rides away from the activity and parks his bike at another blind spot, a dark corner of the perimeter fence. In maybe half an hour he will hear the first alert. One of the thirty trying to escape over the fence. Then, his job will be to chuck them back into the game.
Chapter 35
Leah
Friday, October 6th, 2062
9.45 ~ 11 p.m.
We run into the darkness and I'm freezing cold, we're all laughing and shouting out because we can't see much once we get into the woods, and some of them are stumbling about; I still feel a bit weird, but I'm totally happy because Clark takes my hand and whispers, "You and me are going to win this. C'mon—let them hare around like idiots. If we hide for a while first, they'll all get a ton of hits."
I giggle. "Good thinking!" Then my vision goes all funny and I stagger.
Clark reaches for me, before I fall over. "You okay?"
"Yeah—I just keep feeling dizzy."
I see him frown in the moonlight, and he looks so handsome. "I wonder if they put something in the champagne."
"No—they wouldn't do that, would they?"
"They shouldn't, but if they did, I guess it's what this is about—winning despite all odds." He kisses me on the cheek, takes my hand, and we continue making our way through the trees. It's dodgy going 'cause it's so uneven underfoot, but when I stumble Clark pulls me up. My eyes are getting accustomed to the dark, the exertion has warmed me up, and I feel so good being here with him. I love the smell of the night air and the trees.
Then, suddenly, we hear it. From far away, back at the house.
The sound of a horn blowing.
Oh! They're coming!
"Here." Clark pulls me behind two big trees close together, with a big clump of brambles forming a sort of wall between them. We crouch down, panting and trying not to laugh.
"I feel like I should be running!"
"I know, but we gotta stay hidden."
We hear a few shouts, more laughter, and through the brambles I can just make out a green glow, which must be the headband of a hunter. Scary!
"We're safe here," Clark murmurs, close to my face—and then he puts his arm around me, leans in, and the next moment I feel his lips on mine. Oh wow. Oh wow. This is fantastic. Just kissing has never made me feel like this before; it's like I'm melting, from the waist down. I'm a virgin, but if we were anywhere else I'd succumb without another thought.
"Wow," Clark whispers, as we pull apart. "I've wanted to do that for ages."
Feeling very brazen, I pull him to me and kiss him again. "Me too."
All I can think about is Clark's hand on my thigh, inching upwards, and I'm in heaven, but it doesn't last long. We hear movement, remember why we're here. Leaves rustle as someone runs past; I hear a squeal. I lie down and suddenly everything feels all upside down and I can't get my bearings. Clark pulls me up, hugging me from behind, his warm body curled into mine. He's kissing my neck and it's gorgeous. Through the space between trees I see a girl creeping along—it's Meredith from MC13, I was talking to her earlier. Her pale legs, platinum blonde hair and luminous yellow dress show up in the dark—and behind her I see the green light of a hunter's headband.
"One hit for her, not us!" Clark says, moving his hands down to stroke my inner thighs, and I can hardly bear the anticipation. We could stay here all night like this, hidden, couldn't we?
Meredith stops, but she's looking in the wrong direction and doesn't see the green light come closer. The hunter is just a black shape, nothing else—he or she is all in black with a ski-mask.
Then the green beam shoots out, just like it did back in the house when snooty Sylvia shot Jerome.
"Wooh!" I whisper. "One down, Meredith!"
When Meredith cries out and staggers, I just think she's playing the game, like Jerome did.
But she didn't see the shooter. He shot her from the back.
She doesn't get up.
I whisper, "What's happening? Can you see?"
The hunter is beside her now, bending over her, like he's seeing if she's breathing.
"She could've had a bad reaction to whatever was in that champagne," Clark whispers. We wait, still and silent, assuming the hunter will call the house for help. The scene is dimly lit in the green glow from his head band; she's completely still.
"Should we go out and see if we can help?"
"Not just yet."
So we wait, and then the hunter does the weirdest thing. He pulls up his ski mask—I can see it's one of the Arabs. He hangs his headband on a branch, for light I suppose, then starts taking photos of Meredith, several, at all angles. Next, he drags her to the tree, props her up, crouches beside her and takes a selfie of the two of them—and then he runs off and leaves her there!
"What the fuck?" Clark kneels up. "Come on, let's go and see if she's okay."
We're just about to leave our hiding place when this small quad bike thing appears; it's almost silent. The person riding is all in black too, with a bald head shining under a light from a nearby tree.
He gets off, picks Meredith up, shoves her into some kind of container at the back of his bike, behind the seat, and rides off.
Clark stands up. "He's probably a medic—he'll be taking her back to the house, but they'll want to keep it quiet so the game can continue."
"Could be." I don't know, it's worried me. The way he folded her into that box thing didn't seem like he had any medical experience. I shiver, cold again. "Let's move."
"Yeah. We'll go further out."
For a while we hurry on, not seeing anyone; everything is in the distance, the squeals and laughing, a couple of screams. We must be quite near to the perimeter. I feel weird. Like this isn't so much fun now.
Clark's ahead of me; he turns around.
"Shh!" He drags me behind a tree and puts a finger to his lips. "Over there!"
It's our friend Joel from MC12, and a girl whose name I can't remember, creeping over to some trees, hiding; they're looking out, like they've spotted a hunter.
I'm just about to dash over and join them, to tell them what we saw, when the girl steps out from behind the tree, giggling.
The night is lit up by a green flash—and she falls.
She doesn't get up.
Like Meredith didn't.
We wait, and she just lies there, perfectly still.
Clark whispers, "She's just winding Joel up."
I don't think she is.
Joel crouches down beside her, shaking her shoulders, touching her face. "Fern? You okay? Fern?" He's lifting her shoulders up from the ground, but she drops back, like she's out cold. "Shit—Fern, wake up!"
The hunter approaches, and Joel looks up. "Hey—can you help? Something's wrong—I don't think she's breathing!"
The hunter doesn't speak. He just stands there. He's no further away than one end of my bedroom to the other, but he does nothing.
Joel gets up. "What's the matter with you, man? She needs help! You got a com?"
But as he takes a step, the hunter raises his gun.
Joel puts his hands up. "Hey, come on—gimme a break. Not now, eh? Are you going to call for help, or what?"
The hunter says one word: "Closer."
"What?"
"Closer."
And Joel walks into the light from his headband; it gives his skin a spooky green glow. They're only about six feet apart.
"Face up," says the man in black. "Closer." It's Brendan from Alaska, I recognise his voice.
"What d'you mean? Why—"
"Face up. Closer."
Joel takes another step. "What's going on?" He looks scared.
Brendan raises his gun and a green ray shoots out. Straight at Joel's thigh.
He screams in pain, falling to the ground.
"No—please, no—"
His f
ace. I don't think I'll ever forget his face.
Brendan says, "Stand." But Joel just sits there, crying.
"What you doing? What's that gun—it's supposed to be a game—"
"Stand."
"I can't!"
"Stand. Now."
Sobbing, holding his leg, poor Joel stands up shakily, stretching one arm out as if for help.
"Please—help me—please don't hurt me, I'm begging you—"
"Look at me."
"I am, I—"
"Face up."
Oh, the terror in his eyes—I'm crying, too, my hand over my mouth, clutching Clark's arm.
Another green dart, this time to his chest, and Joel falls.
Every nerve in my body tells me to run, get out of there, get away, but I can't move.
Brendan drags Joel and Fern behind a tree where it's darker, and I'm straining to see—and then, like the Arab, he takes photos. Oh, but he's making a meal of it, pushing Fern's hair back from her face, pulling up her dress—oh no, no, I think he's taking her clothes off, pulling her legs apart—I can't believe what he's doing—
"Don't look," Clark whispers.
I hide my face in his chest, clinging to him.
I hear a groan, some movement, then he's talking.
"Two up, man—we're even! Love this laser shit—damn sight easier than those freakin' crossbows, right?" He laughs, tucks away his com, and runs off.
"Fucking hell," whispers Clark. "Oh fucking hell, no."
He falls back against the tree like his legs have collapsed, pulling me down with him, folding his arms around me, and I can't stop shaking, can't get my breath—I'm too stunned even to cry. I just hold him as tight as I can as if he can protect me from this, even though I know he can't.
We hear movement; the bike to collect the bodies. Like before.
The man deposits Fern, then stands and looks at Joel for a moment before taking out his com.
"Cahill? I got two here, an' they're not going to both fit in the hold; one's male, tall. Can you collect?"
As he rides off into the darkness, we see the light of another bike.
This can't be happening. It can't be can't be can't be—
As the second bike moves off, Clark pulls away, looks out from where we're hiding, then turns back to me. He's whispering, holding me close. "Listen. We're going to find a place for you to hide, and I'm going to get back to the house, find anyone who's got a com—those guys who took our bags—and call the police."
"No!" The panic rises in my throat; I feel like I can't breathe or swallow. "Don't leave me! We can escape, over the fences—we can run!"
"As soon as the security men get an alert, they'll be on us."
"We'll be really quick!"
"No—they've got vehicles, and probably guns—listen, I can move faster on my own, I'll go round the edge of the fence to the house, find the staff." He looks around. "Over there, look. That bush, we can hide you in it."
"Will you remember where I am?"
"Of course I will! Quick, now!"
A scream rings out, the sound of hysterical crying, as we creep over to the bush, and I feel like I'm drowning, I'm crying too, trying not to make a sound—I nestle into the bush while Clark pulls it all around me, to hide me. I'm freezing cold, sitting on damp earth, shaking, hugging my knees to my chest to make myself as small as possible.
Clark edges back. "I can't see you. Don't move, and I'll be as quick as I can."
I say, "Please be careful!" but he's already off, slowly, carefully, moving from tree to tree.
please keep him safe please keep him safe please keep him safe
I peer out through the foliage and see a green light in the distance; not the hunter, just the light, but—
oh no oh no oh no
It's heading straight for the tree Clark is hiding behind.
look Clark look please look he's coming for you oh please look
He's seen it. He slides round the other side of the tree and in a moment he's up on a branch, then up, further up, and the hunter is getting closer, it's a small person, must be one of the Japanese—he looks from left to right, then charges off in another direction.
Clark slithers down and lands on the ground, bending his knees and making as little sound as possible. He clings to the tree for a moment, looking all round.
He creeps on, looking around before every step, until I can hardly make him out, just his shape and the white of his shirt—
—and my mouth falls open in terror because his shirt has just lit up with that greeny glow but he can't see it because it's behind him and I want to shout out to him to run, run, run, but if I do they'll know where I am and they'll kill me like they killed Joel and Fern and Meredith and like the hunter is going to kill Clark now in a minute
and I see the green laser beam dart out
and he screams
then there's another beam another scream an agonising wail and the greeny white shirt falls to the ground.
I don't know how long I’ve been here, crouched in the mud and freezing.
A long time.
If I'm in this bush I'm safe, but not forever because when they've killed all the others they'll know there's one missing and they'll know it's me and they'll all start looking for me and I'm crying so hard my mouth is open but I'm not making a sound because the horror of it all is beyond comprehension and I'm only sixteen and I don't want to die I want to live my life and if I knew where to go, or how to get out of this, I'd go but I don't know what—
"Shh!" Behind me. A female voice; I peer through the darkness and see Nadia crawling towards me, and at first I think she's naked but she's wearing her knickers.
"I took the dress off 'cause it made me easy to see. You should turn yours inside out so the sparkles don't catch the light." She crawls between the branches; she's shivering too, and she huddles up next to me. "You know what they're doing?"
I nod, silently.
"They got Lakisha," she says, putting her head on my shoulder and holding on to my arm.
"Clark and Joel, too." I'm getting colder by the moment, even more so when I take off my dress to turn it inside out, and I wonder if it's cold enough to get hypothermia. "Why is this happening?"
The earth is so cold and Nadia is shaking; I put my arms around her and we hold each other as close as we can, just to muster up a bit of body warmth. For a moment we just sit there, crying.
"It's sport for stinking rich psychos," she says, and even her voice is shivering. "I saw this movie once. Jed Wesley got it off the dark net. It was like this."
"Do you feel weird? I think the champagne was drugged."
"I did, but it's wearing off now."
I think mine is, too.
She whispers, "We can't stay here. The more of us that are dead, the more of them we'll have looking for us. We've got to try to escape."
The fear of crawling out of that bush, out of the place where I'm hidden, is so intense I think my heart might stop.
Nadia leads the way; she says her whole body is camouflaged. My arms seem to shine out in the shafts of moonlight through the trees. I pull at Nadia's arm to stop her, and in silence I point to the ground. I rub myself all over with dirt; she does my legs and hair while I do my arms and the dress.
Every time we hear a noise we leap for a tree to hide behind, or somewhere to crouch. Nadia is sure she knows the way to the edge of the forest, but I think we're heading back to the house.
I don't want to leave her, so I'm just hoping she's right.
Noise. Running.
I pull Nadia's arm back, drag her down into a dip in the ground. It's like a ditch, filled with autumn leaves; we nestle into them, and it's wet underneath, we're sitting in a shallow pool of freezing water.
We clutch each other, listening to the panting, the hysterical sobs—a girl stumbles past and I'm just about to reach up from our nest of leaves when I see that green light. She's fast on her feet but he gets her in the leg—she screams out, so loud that yo
u must be able to hear her all over the forest, but she gets up, limping, wailing, trying to walk, and the hunter catches her.
He shouts something that sounds like Japanese.
The girl is tall and athletic and so brave—crying out in pain, she leaps at him, knocks him to the ground and she's fighting for his weapon—she's got it, she falls back, kicking out at him as he crawls near, and he's holding out what looks like a knife, yes, it is, I can see the glint from the light in a tree further away.
She's wrestling with the gun, crying, wailing, I don't think she can work out how to make it fire—and then he's on top of her, grabbing the gun from her—he shoots her other leg, and she's trying to crawl away, but she's too weak; he drags her to where the light is, holds her head up to the camera, shouts something, and slits her throat.
He utters a whoop of triumph, picking up the gun and waving it over his head, so delighted with himself, then he gets on his com, chatters away in his own language, takes his photos, then runs off to kill someone else.
Nadia and I just hold each other, weeping for that poor, brave girl and for ourselves. Slowly, carefully, we inch up from our ditch to look at her.
Her neck streams with blood.
"Oh poor thing, poor thing," Nadia sobs, and leans over the girl, stroking her face. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry I don't know your —"
—a green flash to her head and she collapses on top of the other girl.
Still. Totally still.
My heart longs to go to her, but my head screams out Go! Go! Now!
Oh, Nadia, Nadia—
I take off, running, running, running, back the way I believe is the right direction, blundering through the darkness, tears streaming down my face—I can feel the hunter behind me, so I zig-zag in and out of trees, as fast as I can.
Green lights flash at my side, but they don't hit me.
A female voice yells at me in French, cursing.
I run and I run, until my chest burns with the effort and my thigh muscles ache, and twice I have to jump over bodies, I jump over a stream, too—it's no good, I have to stop, I have to stop; I lean against a tree and I look back; the hunter has gone, I'm guessing off to find an easier target.