Page 25 of The Most Dangerous Games

The Host stops again before he gets to M.

“The people in those rows are now dismissed.”

“No way!” Luca hears from his left, sees that this voice belongs to the young pilot with the perfect posture. The one everybody’s been whispering about being some form of royalty.

“There obviously must be a mistake! I must’ve been given the wrong card!” the man shouts, voice carrying across the field. “You’ve made a mistake!”

He is still yelling his head off, even louder than before. The rest of the people in his row begin to file quietly off the field, heads down.

Saad digs in and refuses to go any farther until two guards arrive, each one grabbing an arm and walking him away.

“You can’t do this,” the man yells as they walk him away, pointing at the stage as if The Host is actually standing there. “Do you know who I am?”

Then he adds this: “You’re all going to pay a price for this. And trust me: I can afford it!”

Then he’s gone.

Just four rows left now.

Two hundred people out of the original one thousand.

A and B.

M and N.

Luca sees the two young women in front of him, a German redhead and a tall Eastern European woman, holding hands. He flashes back to pulling his gun without hesitation that day at St. Peter’s. The moment he acted. The moment he didn’t freeze.

This is different.

He’d given up control when he came here.

They all did.

The Host doesn’t drag things out any further.

“Rows A and N,” The Host says. “Leave the field.”

Madre di Dio.

Mother of God, Luca thinks. I made it.

He’s still here.

His knees almost buckle. He needs this more than he wants to admit.

The two girls in front of Luca let go of each other’s hands long enough to give each other a high-five. They turn and do the same with Luca, and he happily obliges them.

“The rest of you can think of yourselves as the chosen ones—please move closer to the stage,” The Host says. “Because in a day that has already been full of surprises, I have one more.”

20.

The survivors drift closer to the stage in small clusters and chat among themselves for the next few minutes, wondering if they’re finally going to see who The Host really is; if that’s going to be the next big reveal.

Mostly what they all feel is relief, at least for now.

They’ve just found out that they hadn’t come all this way for nothing.

But relief is dangerous. It makes you sloppy.