Page 112 of The Most Dangerous Games

It has to be this way.

He has told them, will keep telling them, that one of the reasons they were brought here was to experience pain like this—and loss like this—firsthand.

He watches Jack walk out. Watches Hannah cry.

Good, he thinks. Not because he enjoys the pain. Because pain is the only teacher none of them can ignore.

As challenging as honesty is for him, he has at least been honest about that.

He knows there is more suffering to come, sooner rather than later, when they realize things are about to get worse.

None of them might want to hear this, but the fact is that there is no other way to complete the mission. It is for their own good, whether they want to hear that or not. They need to fear for their lives and somehow overcome that fear. Find a way, if they can, to rise above horrors like they’ve witnessed today. And will continue to witness.

It is why he has actually been pleased today to witness the leadership and the teamwork exhibited in saving a little girl whose name they still might not know.

It had been a complete—and inspiring—collaboration.

That happens to be a quality that will be essential in leading people out of the darkness—with his able assistance, of course—no matter who ends up being The One.

Something else they might not want to hear?

That person will also need to be as ruthless. With true greatness always comes that sort of ruthlessness. It’s part of why he was drawn to Jimmy Donaldson in the first place. He thought Jimmy understood what it takes for a person to succeed. He was wrong.

He shifts his attention back to the screen showing the chaos and movement and even panic in the lobby of the hospital.

He leans closer to the monitor, listening to the chaos in the lobby. And he knows what comes next. Not a bigger explosion. Not a louder bomb.

A choice.

A choice that will split them.

And for the first time since this day began, The Host feels something that surprises even him. Not pity. Not guilt. Fear.

Because he can see it now, clear as a target in a scope:

One of them is starting to become The One.

76.

When the doctor is back in the lobby, he waves Alek over, and the two have a lengthy conversation. They talk fast, close, trying to hear each other over the sirens and the crying and the constant churn of bodies being dragged in.

When they finish, Alek says to Wyatt, “They’ve got her in one of the operating rooms. Performing what’s known as a bronchoscopy, basically looking down her airway with a scope, checking for smoke damage. And checking to see if she suffered any internal injuries when the two of you . . . landed.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt her, I—”

“No one thinks that,” Alek says. “You saved her.”

Wyatt swallows. “Her name?”

Alek points toward the double doors. “Jelena.”

“Jelena . . . please be okay,” Wyatt says. “She’s just a kid.”

Alek puts a hand on his shoulder. She hasn’t just seen uncommon valor from Wyatt today, it’s the same valor she’d seen from him in the water in Antarctica, when Hannah was the one he was trying to save. And she’d seen something else today: Wyatt’s great heart.

He looks around the lobby, finally seeing what he hadn’t let himself see before. Kids. Too many kids. On stretchers. On blankets. In arms.

Alek touches his shoulder. “Look around, Wyatt,” she says. “There are a lot of Jelenas in here.”