Page 94 of The Most Dangerous Games

They keep walking.

Jimmy is almost certain his body is on the verge of shock. From the heat, dehydration, blood pressure, sheer exhaustion. His head is spinning. His mouth is so dry it feels like glass.

He’s worried about Alek. He can’t imagine losing her like this. But he knows it could happen. It’s happened before.

Finally, they make it all the way back around the farthest dune. When the mesquite trees finally come into view, Jimmy’s hope spikes so hard it makes him dizzy.

Jimmy stops again. But not because of fatigue or dizziness. Not because of the heat.

“They’re gone,” he says, his voice a raspy whisper. “They were supposed to be here.”

“Maybe they kept going,” Lopez says, scans the sand. “Or turned back.”

“I can’t speak for Marcelo,” Jimmy says. “But Alek wouldn’t turn back. You heard her.”

Is this where he left them? Has he become delirious?

Lopez’s voice goes colder. “Then she pushed her button.”

“She didn’t,” Jimmy says. He doesn’t know if that’s faith or denial.

He and Lopez keep walking toward the trees. They need shade themselves, and some rest, if only for a few minutes before they decide what to do next.

In the distance, they can see the tall dunes that were supposed to be the halfway point of this insane journey.

Jimmy stumbles into the shade and drops to a knee, forcing himself to think like a planner. He looks down.

There are prints. Dragged heels. Two sets. Leading away from the trees toward the dunes.

Jimmy’s heart kicks.

“They tried to finish,” Jimmy whispers.

Lopez nods once. “Then we go.”

They leave the shade and head into the open again.

A mile later Jimmy sees something dark against pale sand—fabric tied low on a branch.

Marcelo’s shirt. A marker.

Jimmy’s relief hits so hard it almost buckles him.

Then he crests a small rise and sees the second shock.

A drone. Low over the sand, circling, patient, camera pointed straight at the trail. Waiting. Watching. The real test isn’t “can you survive the heat.” It’s “what will you do when you realize someone has been steering this the whole time.”

The last shock doesn’t come for another mile.

Patrick Arrasmith

61.

Three Nights Later 100-Mile Wilderness

Maine

There are now twenty of them left. Out of the thousand invited to Ohio, out of the hundred shipped to the ends of the earth, out of the ones who made it through ice and sand and stone.