Page 140 of The Most Dangerous Games

“Fair,” Tipton says. “If I’m reading you correctly here, you’re proposing a bit of a separate arrangement?”

“Precisely,” Saad says. “It would certainly be the easiest way to end our current impasse. It’s practical—”

Tipton nods once, like he’s accepted the terms.

“Here’s what’s practical,” Tipton says.

He fires a shot. One crack of sound swallowed by rain.

The initial force of the bullet drives Saad backward. Unable to break his fall, the back of his head lands hard, spraying mud in all directions.

Somehow Saad’s weapon remains in his hand.

But he can’t raise his gun because his arms aren’t working. There is no way for him to stop the pain in the middle of his chest, or the blood that’s blooming out from around his heart.

Saad can’t move.

Can barely breathe.

He sees Tipton standing over him in the rain, the gun trained on Saad al-Harbi one final time.

This time he is aiming between the eyes.

“You said one bullet,” Saad manages.

Tipton’s voice drops even lower.

“No. He said one bullet.”

It is the last thing Saad al-Harbi expects to hear.

Tipton’s eyes flicker—just for a moment—like he hates hearing the words out loud.

Saad squeezes his eyes shut. Waiting for the end.

But it doesn’t come.

Not yet.

Instead, Tipton steps back. And when Saad opens his eyes, Tipton is already turning away.

“Don’t,” Saad whispers. “Don’t leave me here. End it.”

Tipton doesn’t look back.

Over his shoulder, he says, “I can’t. I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep being who they want.”

“You already are.”

“Push the button. They’ll save you. Or . . . you bleed out. Your choice.”

Then he disappears into the trees.

And Saad al-Harbi is left alone in the rain.

With his gun. With his blood. And with the sound of his own breathing getting thinner by the second.

He doesn’t push his button.