The Running Man

MINUS 018 AND COUNTING

A half-hour later Holloway came on the voice-com again. He sounded excited.

“Richards, we’ve been informed by Harding Red that they want to beam a high-ntensity broadcast at us. From Games Federation. I was told you would find it very much worth your while to turn on the Free-Vee.”

“Thank you.”

He regarded the blank Free-Vee screen and almost turned it on. He withdrew his hand as if the back of the next seat with its embedded screen was hot. A curious sense of dread and deja vu filled him. It was too much like going back to the beginning, Sheila with her thin, worked face, the smell of Mrs. Jenner’s cabbage cooking down the hall. The blare of the games. Treadmill to Bucks. Swim the Crocodiles. Cathy’s screams. There could never be another child, of course, not even if he could take all this back, withdraw it, and go back to the beginning. Even the one had been against fantastically high odds.

“Turn it on,” McCone said. “Maybe they’re going to offer us-you-a deal.”

“Shut up,” Richards said.

He waited, letting the dread fill him up like heavy water. The curious sense of presentiment. He hurt very badly. His wound was still bleeding, and his legs felt weak and far away. He didn’t know if he could get up to finish this charade when the time came.

With a grunt, Richards leaned forward again and pushed the ON button. The FreeVee sprang to incredibly clear, amplified-signal life. The face that filled the screen, patiently waiting, was very black and very familiar. Dan Killian. He was sitting at a kidney-shaped mahogany desk with the Games symbol on it.

“Hello there,” Richards said softly.

He could have fallen out of his seat when Killian straightened up, grinned, and said, “Hello there yourself, Mr. Richards.”