MINUS 014 AND COUNTING

“Your boy is very good,” Richards said tiredly, when Donahue had retreated again. “I got him to flinch, but I was hoping he’d pee his pants.” He was begin­ning to notice an odd doubling of his vision. It came and went. He checked his side gingerly. It was clotting reluctantly for the second time. “What now?” he asked. “Do you set up cameras at the airport so everyone can watch the desperado get it?”

“Now the deal,” Killian said softly. His face was dark, unreadable. Whatever he had been holding back was now just below the surface. Richards knew it. And suddenly he was filled with dread again. He wanted to reach out and turn the Free-­Vee off. Not hear it anymore. He felt his insides begin a slow and terrible quak­ing‑an actual, literal quaking. But he could not turn it off. Of course not. It was, after all, Free.

“Get thee behind me, Satan,” he said thickly.

“What?” Killian looked startled.

“Nothing. Make your point.”

Killian did not speak. He looked down at his hands. He looked up again. Rich­ards felt an unknown chamber of his mind groan with psychic presentiment. It seemed to him that the ghosts of the poor and the nameless, of the drunks sleeping in alleys, were calling his name.

“McCone is played out,” Killian said softly. “You know it because you did it. Cracked him like a soft‑shelled egg. We want you to take his place.”

Richards, who thought he had passed the point of all shock, found his mouth hanging open in utter, dazed incredulity. It was a lie. Had to be. Yet‑Amelia had her purse back now. There was no reason for them to lie or offer false illusions. He was hurt and alone. Both McCone and Donahue were armed. One bullet ad­ministered just above the left ear would put a neat end to him with no fuss, no muss, or bother.

Conclusion: Killian was telling God’s truth.

“You’re nuts,” he muttered.

“No. You’re the best runner we’ve ever had. And the best runner knows the best places to look. Open your eyes a little and you’ll see that The Running Man is designed for something besides pleasuring the masses and getting rid of dan­gerous people. Richards, the Network is always in the market for fresh new talent. We have to be.”

Richards tried to speak, could say nothing. The dread was still in him, widen­ing, heightening, thickening.

“There’s never been a Chief Hunter with a family,” he finally said. “You ought to know why. The possibilities for extortion—”

“Ben,” Killian said with infinite gentleness, “your wife and daughter are dead. They’ve been dead for over ten days.”

Date: 2015-04-20; view: 603