Page 86 of The Most Dangerous Games

Tipton barks out a laugh.

“You know, I may even end up liking you,” he says.

“Buckley’s chance,” Reg says again.

Already the temperature up here is 20 degrees cooler than it had been at the base of the mountain. It might be even cooler than that. The higher they get, the more the wind starts to pick up, making any progress, even ten yards at a time, vastly more difficult.

Another click. “You’re doing so well,” The Host murmurs. “Almost like you’ve done this before.”

Tipton’s fingers dig harder into the schist. His knuckles go pale.

They land on a slightly broader slab—one of the few places you can stand without feeling the mountain trying to shake you off—and then Reg speaks low enough that only Tipton can hear.

“You got someone talking in your ear?” Reg asks.

Tipton doesn’t answer.

Reg studies him for a second.

“You know what’s funny?” Reg says. “I used to think the scariest thing in my life was losing.”

Tipton finally glances at him. Suspicious. Almost . . . curious.

Reg keeps his eyes on the rock as he talks. “Then you win. You get the medal. You get the anthem. You get people telling you you’re special. And you wake up the next year and realize the scariest thing is being ordinary again.”

Tipton snorts, barely a sound. “World’s tiniest violin.”

Reg smiles without humor. “Yeah. That’s what I told myself too.”

Tipton looks away fast, like he’s seen something he doesn’t want to see.

The climb continues.

They can finally see the summit up ahead of them, after being on this mountain, making this slow climb, for more than half a day, at least.

With all that, Reg knows something that he wouldn’t even think about trying to articulate to the others:

Reg hasn’t felt this good—this exhilarated, really—since the Olympics, when he’d won gold medals and was the one on top of the world.

Only now he really is at the top of the world.

How could he explain this experience to someone else, that these games were changing him in ways he never anticipated?

Tipton pauses again, looks back over his shoulder, and asks if anyone wants to stop.

They all say no.

The summit is too close, almost close enough to reach up and touch.

But Tipton cautions them they can’t take a direct line to it, it’s not safe, this is no time to rush things, they need to traverse their way up there, first to the left, then back to the right, making the climb less steep, the last part of the ascent a little less dangerous.

“The mistake amateurs make is that they want to sprint to the finish line,” Tipton says. “That’s what can get them killed.”

When they begin to proceed in a straight line again, Reg lets Wyatt and Hannah get between him and Tipton, telling them that’s why they had him play fullback in rugby, so he could be the last line of defense.

A few minutes later, Tipton is the first to reach the ledge. They’ve reached the final summit. He pulls Hannah up first, then lets out a whoop of triumph. Hannah’s hands shake but her grip is iron. She gets up, breathing hard, eyes bright with something fierce.

He reaches down to pull up Wyatt, but suddenly releases Wyatt’s hand, as if he’s lost his grip.