Page 59 of Forsaking All Others

“You know perfectly well why, Evelyn,” I mutter, “you already said it. After the massacre of Season Five Hundred, there’s a limit on how many competitors you can shoot dead in a contest.”

“What happened?” Thorun asks, her tone hushed.

“One competitor killed everyone else, obviously,” Evelyn snaps, “and the season ended abruptly.”

“That’s right,” I nod, “so now, unless given special dispensation, as we were earlier when I had the option to dispense with you all, we’re only permitted to kill two contestants in each contest involving guns.”

“And you want Khutulun,” Thorun murmurs.

“I do.”

“So you’ve got it all planned out. Great. And just where does that leave us?” Evelyn snaps.

“You, Sona and Thorun will wait at the finish line,” I say quietly and firmly. “I’ll wait here. If any other team tries to cross the line I’ll threaten to shoot them. I’ll ensure the Mongolian’s team comes last and I’ll make damn sure we come first.”

“And my team?” Valérie asks.

“If you behave yourself, second. If you fuck around I’ll put a hole in your head. Now play along, here they come.”

48

The first team to arrive is no surprise to me.

I’d watched them fast-track through the torture trial easily since there were only two of them, having abandoned their third member, Valérie, early in the competition. They’d spent an inordinate amount of time reaching the surface, though, since they only had the one clue. Nevertheless, both intelligent women, they’d eventually made it ahead of everyone else despite that handicap.

I move to congratulate the German and Scottish competitors when I’m interrupted by the director.

“Ah, Viscount. Ah, two things. One, they still have a third team member somewhere in the tunnels, so technically, they can’t win until she crosses the line. And, ah, two, we’d like to draw out the congratulations until our host is recovered from your, ah, attempt on his life.”

“There was no ‘attempt’ about it, Gerry,” I snort. “I snapped his neck.”

“Yes, ah, you did,” he stammers, stepping a little further back than usual.

“He’ll recover,” I snigger, “give it an hour or so and the sick little fuck will be right as rain, more’s the pity.”

“Yes, an hour,” Gerry nods, none too confidently. “We can draw out the congratulations until then, surely?”

“We obviously won’t need to if there’s still no winner,” I sigh heavily.

“Yes, yes, exactly,” he smiles nervously and turns to talk to the camera crew as I inform the two contestants of his ruling.

“Och, how can that be?” The Scottish girl, Claire, gasps to her teammate, astonished that Valérie’s still alive. “She doesn’t have gills now, does she?”

“I thought she’d drowned,” her German teammate, Silke, shrugs, missing the joke entirely. “What should we do? She could be anywhere down there. We barely found our way out last time. We might get lost again.”

“No choice. We’ll have to go find the daft cow,” Claire sighs.

Silke nods, giving me a long, wistful look.

“Until we return, Viscount,” she says as she turns to run.

“Keep our spot warm,” Claire adds, blowing me a kiss as she spins away.

I turn to leave for a break, but mere seconds after they reach the entrance to the tunnels there’s a gunshot and a scream. The cameras zoom in, but apparently there’s a blind spot at the entrance tunnel because the crew had figured people would just be running straight through. Gerry starts frantically ordering camera men to run closer to the entrance to film, while simultaneously abusing those responsible for the fuck-up.

As they rush to get closer, Catriona’s team runs out — without their Italian teammate.

‘Surely they didn’t shoot her? No, I’d smell her blood from a mile away. That shot was for someone else.’