Page 107 of The Most Dangerous Games

“COVER!” Jack shouts, trying to be heard over the bombs.

They all dive to the ground, some throwing themselves into the massive craters in the street. Hannah lands on top of Rupert, shielding him the way Conner shielded her.

They stay down, waiting for this latest wave of bombing to be over, looking up enough to see what had been a convenience store, less than fifty yards away, now leveled, completely destroyed in the blink of an eye.

The shockwave slaps them sideways.

Dust fills the air.

And when the noise finally thins, Hannah twists around, wild-eyed, scanning through smoke.

“Where’s Wyatt?!” she screams.

71.

“Wyatt!” she yells. “Wyatt!”

Alek points toward the only apartment building still standing on the corner—barely standing—its windows vomiting black smoke, flames licking up the walls like they’re climbing for oxygen.

“He went in there,” Hannah says.

Jack grabs her shoulder. “We don’t know that.”

“We do,” Hannah snaps, and that’s new. Hannah Wagner doesn’t snap. She takes a deep breath, fighting for composure. She is usually the calmest of them all.

“He could be dead,” Hannah says.

“We don’t even know if he’s in there,” Jack says.

Alek steps forward, taking over. “Spread out. Now. Find him. Before the bombers come back.”

Then a voice cuts through the crackle of fire.

“UP HERE!”

Wyatt is on a third-floor terrace, framed by flame, arms stretched out for balance. For one stupid second he looks like a statue. Then they see what he’s doing. He’s not showing off or fooling around. He’s shielding someone behind him.

“There’s a kid inside,” Wyatt yells down to them. “Don’t try to come in. This whole place is about to go!”

He’s right. Black smoke is pouring through the open door behind him, flames spitting out of the windows on both sides of the terrace. Even on the ground, Alek and Hannah feel like they are standing in front of a blast furnace.

Alek takes one step toward the door and Jack yanks her back hard. Because the building makes a sound. A deep, groaning, structural sound. The kind that comes right before collapse.

When the smoke clears for a moment, Wyatt has disappeared again.

72.

“I’m going in,” Alek announces. She pauses and seems to consider her next words carefully. “I saved my mother from a fire like this.”

Hannah grabs her arm and holds on tight. “Alek, there’s no time for that.” Alek stares at her like she’s lost her mind.

“But we have to do something before the whole building comes down with Wyatt in it!” Alek shouts.

“And we’re going to,” Hannah says. “I’ve got an idea.”

Wyatt reappears on the terrace, no longer alone. Through the smoke, they can see he’s holding a small blond girl in his arms. Even from three floors below, they can see that the girl is clearly unconscious.

Hannah’s eyes lock in. She goes cold, in the best way. Like a surgeon. Like a scientist. “Good,” Hannah says, her voice calm. “The girl is dry.”