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Keb looked at Blondie as if she’d
suggested surrendering their weapons and crowning Liam
King of The Barrens.
“We don’t need no one else, least of all a pretty boy with a pea shooter.”

The giant was still looking at Liam like
an angry dog waiting to be unleashed.

“Maybe the ink from your tattoos messed
up your hearing, so you didn’t hear when I said it the first time,” Liam
laughed, “but I’ve been shootin’ my entire life. Dad and I used to hit the
yards before I had hair on my balls, hunting game when rations thinned. I’ve
killed more zombies than all three of you combined.”

Goliath grunted again.

Liam figured he’d push his luck and play
hard to get. Eyes still on Blondie, he shook his head and said, “But hell, I
wasn’t even looking to partner with anyone, today, tomorrow, or ever. I plan to
win this thing, and I figure I’m better on my own.”

Goliath seemed indifferent, Blondie
curious, and Keb downright pissed.

Keb said, “You’re not going anywhere. If
you’re not with us, you’re against us. That means you die. We’re giving you one
chance to keep breathing. I suggest you take it.”

Liam stayed quiet as if contemplating the
offer.

“Well, my daddy always said I ought to
play better with others, and maybe walking The Barrens together isn’t a bad
idea.” He shifted his glance from Keb to the girl. “And if Blondie’s any good
with that crossbow, I figure the four of us could lay a helluva lotta hurt on
the rest of the herd.” He shrugged his shoulders but kept his weapon steady. “I
guess I’m game if you are.”

Liam smiled wider, his false grin now
stretching far enough to break his face.

“The name’s Chloe, not
Blondie
.”
Her expression was maybe a wink but likely a scowl. “Call me Blondie again and
I’ll put a bolt in your balls.”

Something in Liam was begging for a bit
of back and forth, but he wasn’t about to risk pissing off the alpha male of
the pack or the walking mountain. No use getting into anything that could get
him killed, especially if one, or both of the men, thought Blondie wanted to
get with them, which was how Blondie, or Chloe, was probably playing it.

“Way I see it, a team of four could go
far,” Keb said. “That gives us great odds if we stick together through the
Final Four. I say we walk as one, then battle shit out at the Mesa.”

Goliath didn’t seem convinced yet,
though, probably still wanting a chance to swing his pipe at Liam’s smart
mouth.

Liam relaxed his gun and looked down as
if thinking the offer over one last time. After a half-minute of nearly painful
silence, he said, “OK, I’m game if Goliath here agrees to shake and make up. I
don’t wanna be walking around wondering when big man is gonna snap.”

Liam took a chance, in its own way the
biggest of his life, and lowered his weapon with one hand while extending the
other in peace. Goliath turned to Keb, then to Chloe as if seeking permission.

Just like a big dumb dog.

“Shake it, and let’s get on with this,”
Chloe said.

Keb went first, reaching out and shaking
Liam’s hand, stronger than necessary. Liam stared at his arms, trying to untangle
the patterns beneath the blood.

“I’m Liam,” Liam said, meeting the man’s
eyes, appearing confident and respectful but not threatening.

“Keb,” the man said, then dropped his
palm.

Goliath went next, offering Liam a
surprisingly relaxed handshake. “The name’s Marcus.”

“Liam,” he repeated, trying not to get
lost in staring at the man’s forest of misshapen teeth. As they shook, Liam
caught a kindness in the man mountain’s eyes and realized the man was probably
only gruff due to years of abuse from others. He was the kind of guy who’d make
a loyal partner once you’d earned his trust.

Chloe lowered her crossbow and offered
her palm. “Good to meet you, Liam,” she said. “Don’t make us regret this.”

Liam shook Chloe’s hand, her fingers
gently teasing his skin as they parted. He turned, wondering if she could tell
he was semi-hard.
Probably.
She was good at working people, maybe better
than him. While Liam wasn’t fool enough to fall for her charms, he’d play
whatever game he had to in order to survive.

He hoped Marcus and Keb could hold their
tempers once Chloe started flirting overtly, trying to turn them against one
another once it suited her to do so. He’d bet his balls that was part of her
plan. She would expect the stronger to take out the weaker, and it didn’t
matter who was left.

“I promise you won’t regret it,” Liam
said to Chloe with a wink, then turned to Keb. “So, where we headed?”

“North,” Keb said, nodding up and along
the seam. “We heard from another player that there’s a weapons stash near the
river.”

“Another player?” Liam asked.

“Yeah, he didn’t make it,” Marcus grinned
awkwardly.

“All right then, to the north,” Liam
said, grateful they’d be heading toward where he hoped Ana was.

However, he still had to figure out how
to handle the situation once they ran into her. Without any bullets, he had
zero chance of stopping them from killing her. While it made sense for the trio
to partner with Liam and his advertised sharpshooting skills, there was no way
in hell this would ever be a party of five.

A
na had been walking for nearly thirty
minutes when she realized that she was lost.

She couldn’t find any sign of the Fire
Wall and wondered if she’d somehow shot past it and needed to turn around, or
keep heading in what she thought to be the right way.

Panic began to feed doubts at her faster
and faster.

What if I went too far south and
completely missed Liam?

What if Liam went to the spot, saw I
wasn’t there, figured I was dead, and kept going without me?

What if Liam is dead?

Standing in the cold, dark woods, far
away from everything she’d ever known, it was all she could do to not break
down right there.

But she thought of the humming orb
overhead, watching and broadcasting her every move.

I will not let them see me weak.

She looked up to the half moon in the
sky, peeking down through the clouds, giving just enough light that she wasn’t
completely blind. She was traveling along a path that she thought would lead
her back to the seam, with thick, dark woods on either side of her.

She tried not to think of the zombies or
mutant beasts lurking beyond the dark walls on either side.

Just keep moving.

You’ll find the Fire Wall.

You have to.

You’ll find the wall. You’ll find Liam.
And the two of you will fight to the end.

But then what? What happens at the end?
Will he kill you? Can you kill him?

The thoughts were too much and made her
head hurt. She tried to push them down and focus instead on her surroundings.

Ana heard a sudden crunch of snow to her
left, just beyond the veil of darkness that was the forest.

She dropped to one knee, sword ready,
tensed for attack, but nothing came. She stayed crouched, eyes scanning the
darkness, her fingers wrapping tighter around the sword’s hilt as her heart
pounded against her chest.

Another unmistakable crunch of ice told
Ana whatever it was, it had to be close, unless it was the whisper of the wind
or her imagination. Silence followed as Ana leaped to her feet and spun slowly,
sword in front, preparing for an ambush. After another minute of icy silence,
she gripped the hilt tighter, lowered it to her waist, then took a tentative
step toward the darkness where the sound originated from.

At least it’s not zombies.

Zombies were too stupid to stalk their
prey and rarely traveled in isolation, unless they happened to get separated
from the rest of the hordes.

It had to be another player, waiting to
strike. Ana had enough fear and doubts circling through her mind without adding
another player stalking her. Better to draw the player out and deal with them
now than have to worry and wait for when they’d strike, she figured. If Ana
took the initiative, then she controlled the exchange. It didn’t have to end in
a battle.

It was still early enough in the game for
an impromptu alliance. Calling out to her pursuer now could earn her a truce.
Even if the other player didn’t want to join her, they might realize that
ignoring Ana and moving on might be the easier route. Ana had a sword. If the
walking shadow was wielding a bow, gun, or any other long-range weapon, Ana
would be dead already, she figured. So she had an advantage if she handled it
smartly.

But she wasn’t sure the best way to
handle an opponent she couldn’t even see. On one hand, calling out another
player would make her seem bold and brave.

But it could also make her seem weak.

In a game built on survival of the
fittest, even the slightest show of frailty could get you killed. The Network
broadcast players’ flaws whenever it seemed reasonable that a chink in another
player’s armor might make for aggressive battle, conflict, or anything that
might keep viewers staring at their screens.

She had to appear strong, even if it was
a hollow conceit. Perhaps she could spout some nonsense words, loud and thick
with rage. Maybe screaming something her attacker couldn’t understand would
scare them into retreat.

It had worked for Crazy Cal Moody — well,
for a while, anyway.

Crazy Cal was a player from a few years
back who pretended he was a lunatic. Whenever he got into a fight, he drew a
perfect picture of insanity, biting people on the face, screaming at the top of
his lungs — utter nonsense that sounded like he was speaking in tongues — along
with anything else he could do to scare the living crap out of everyone around
him, at least long enough to get him to the Mesa virtually unscathed.

Cal’s false insanity was one of the best
tactics Ana had ever seen. No other players, and few viewers, had figured Cal
out. Her father called it early, almost immediately, though no one believed
him. “He’s only acting crazy,” he insisted. “You can see the cunning in his
eyes.”

Cal made it to the Final Four, and then
three, relaxing his guard only after befriending a 15-year old named Ben
Mallard, who faked a broken arm to earn other players’ sympathy. When Ben at
first resisted Cal’s offer of help, saying he was too scared to pair up with
the man, Cal let down his guard and told the kid he wasn’t crazy and wouldn’t
hurt him. To this day, nobody knew why Cal would drop his successful strategy
and befriend the kid. Some, like Ana, thought it was kindness while others
thought it was the loneliness of playing a purely solo game.

Whatever the reason, it would prove to be
Cal’s one mistake in an otherwise perfect game.

On the night before The Final Challenge,
one early morning’s walk from the Mesa, with just one other player left in The
Games, Ben and Cal settled in for their last evening’s sleep, both knowing only
one would make it to the end, but comforted that at least things were better
together.

They agreed to take shifts sleeping in
case The Game’s final remaining player, Jude Dawson, encountered their camp.
Cal went to bed, crazy enough to fall asleep soundly, believing Ben would keep
him safe, and not for a second expecting the boy to slit his throat six seconds
into his snoring.

Far better, Ana thought, to have other
players fear you than to embolden them enough to come at you.

Another crunch of snow split the
otherwise silent night.

Ana turned to the source, which remained
hidden in the darkness now roughly ten feet away from her, and said, “Show
yourself.”

Silence stretched for one minute too many
as Ana stood frozen in place, icy blade hovering in front of her body. “I know
you’re there.” She took a step forward and yell-whispered, “I can smell you!”
even though she couldn’t.

Another several seconds of silence were
followed by footsteps as the hidden player stepped forward from the darkness
and into the dim blue moonlight.

It was the red-haired 12-year-old girl,
the one who’d taken out the big man with the sword using a board with nails in
the opening of The Games. She stood eight feet away, her face caked with mud,
blood, and an almost savage concentration. The front of her violet coveralls
were even muddier and bloodier than her cheeks. Her eyes, wide and blue, were
stuck somewhere between innocence and shock.

Ana stared without any words in her
frozen throat. The girl held a knife, so small it may as well have been the
jagged edge of an old tin can. The blade gleamed in the moonlight, casting
fractured beams of secondhand moonlight from the girl’s hand into the snow.

Even armed, the child was tiny and
unassuming. But looks were often deceiving. The girl had already proven herself
once with a vicious, and incredibly fast, sneak attack on the fat man with the
sword.