Page 34 of Cruel Pleasures
Then it dawns on me what just happened—someone out of sight, presumably a warden, sniped him.
He’s dead.
The other players leap over his body as they carry on to the netted sandpit. They’re only marginally better off than twenty-one.
Players five and nineteen scream attempting to crawl under the net. The sand begins sucking them in no matter how hard they try to crawl forward. The theater room echoes with their increasingly desperate calls for help before they’re swallowed up whole.
They’re not alone.
Ten and thirteen make the mistake of following right after them.
I watch as each one sinks into the quicksand, never to come up again.
“Where are they going?” I whisper, nudging Archer’s arm with mine. “They’ll come out some other end, right?”
“Get real, Sasha. They’re probably ingesting mouthfuls—and eyefuls and earfuls—of sand right now. Can’t be a good way to go.”
The nausea lurches in my stomach as I turn my attention back on the obstacle course.
Several have made it through the second obstacle by gripping onto the net and crawling through that way.
Crossing the body of water makes the other two obstacles look like a joyous day at the park. As the remaining players begin hopping across the stepping blocks suspended over water, a pendulous blade begins swinging toward them. For every stepping stone they make it across, they’re presented with another violent swish of the blade sliding back and forth.
My hands clap over my mouth as player one literally gets sliced in half, stuck on the blade as it jams itself through his middle.
Archer curls his arm around my shoulders. “I told you you might not be ready. Did you think I was joking?”
I’m not sure if I’m more horrified by what I’ve just witnessed or by his cavalier attitude.
Everyone’s cavalier attitude. Everyone’s excitement, which has only increased the longer the obstacle course has gone on.
Seven leads as he reaches the final stretch. It seems innocuous enough, just a straight shot across grass toward the finish line. Then the caged doors on his left and right rise up and a pack of large dogs rush out.
The crowd laughs as player seven runs for his life and the rabid dogs race after him.
He makes it by the skin of his teeth—only after he’s nicked by the sharp bite of one of the dogs.
But several others don’t make it past the pack. They’re mauled to death in a violent blur of ripped flesh, pained screams and spilled blood.
I can’t hide that I’m sick to my stomach as several more players go down. I’m surrounded by society members that are engrossed in the action unfolding before their eyes while I want nothing more than for it to end. For the opportunity to rewind time to before the moment I ever made the decision to come to the Midnight Games.
“Excuse me,” I mutter.
Archer tries to grab my hand, but I’m out of my seat before he can.
I rush from the theater room with my stomach churning and teeth set on edge. Nolan is coming in as I’m coming out. He grins at me, lipstick smudged on the collar of his shirt. I barely acknowledge him at all.
The same goes for Talia who I pass by in the hall.
The theater falls away. Soon the only company I have are the clicking noises my heels make as I cross the first floor in search of a bathroom.
It’s as I turn down a new hall that I spot Lyra.
That I freeze and do a double take at the woman standing at the far end of the hall.
“Lyra?” I whisper, then my volume grows. “Lyra!”
I rush forward as the woman flees. I chase her down the hall ‘til I’m turning another corner and she’s nowhere to be found.
