Page 24 of The Most Dangerous Games

Reg’s mouth goes dry. Breath too fast. Heart hammering like it wants out. He hasn’t felt this level of helplessness since right before the gold medal game in rugby.

No, since he was a rookie staring at a clock he couldn’t control. Only this time, there is no clock. That was sports, where he always felt he was in charge of the narrative.

Not now.

Who’s in charge of this narrative?

Just a voice and a microphone waiting on an empty stage.

19.

“The people in two of these lines will be divided up and flown tonight to two remote corners of the world,” Luca Tommasi hears The Host say.

There is a slight pause before he continues.

“And so you know,” The Host adds, almost amused, “I will not be calling out the rows in alphabetical order, what would be the fun in that?”

Luca’s throat tightens. He forces air in anyway.

What part of this is fun? Luca thinks.

It has been one nerve-wracking moment after another.

“Rows O, P, Q, R, S, and T,” The Host says. “Leave the field immediately.”

Luca hears groans from his right. The sound rolls across the crowd—pain, disbelief—then bodies start moving. Heads down. Like a team walking off after a loss they didn’t see coming.

The Host waits until they have left the field before resuming.

The speakers crackle again. “Rows C, D, E, F, and G . . .”

The Host waits, clearly as a way of torturing them a little more. Luca is certain that everybody still in front of the stage is having the same difficulty breathing as he is.

“All of you please leave the field now,” The Host says.

More groans. More movement. More quiet misery. This time from Luca’s left, even louder than the ones before.

Luca forces himself not to look around too much. Looking makes it real. Looking makes you start counting.

He’d rather be on a street in Rome, making a call he understands.

This is not a call. This is a verdict.

Despite having been called out as a liar in the tent, Luca had never been any good at lying to himself. So he knew why he was here, really.

He had lost his family. Was about to lose his job before flying to Ohio. This is his chance to be the man he was meant to be. The leader of men he told himself he ought to be.

“Letters H, I, J, K, L . . .”

Here it comes, Luca thinks.

His last chance to be the father he still imagined he could be if he was somehow reunited with his family at the end of this.

There’s no time. Not even time to say a quick prayer.

The next row out is ours, and I’m gone.

Luca knows this best of all: He isn’t ready to go home because he doesn’t have a home anymore.