Chapter 77.
Ant Tipton isn’t in the lobby when it happens.
He isn’t even inside.
He’s around the corner, in the narrow strip of street that still smells like smoke and diesel and hot stone, catching thirty seconds of air. Stolen. A few seconds of the closest thing to peace.
He sees the soldiers in uniforms and gear different than he’s seen so far running from the hospital but doesn’t think much of it. They don’t see him. He pretends not to see them.
He has one hand braced on the wall, head down, trying to steady his breathing.
“I’m fine,” he whispers to himself.
If he feels it, he breaks. He starts thinking about a mountain. A ledge. A man falling.
He lets out a long sigh when his burner phone rings. He knows who’s calling. Only one other person has this number. As far as Tipton knows, he’s the only one of the competitors with a phone like it.
He answers on the first ring.
“Was that a grenade?” Tipton asks.
“Unfortunately.”
“Did you have anything to do with it?”
“If I did, Mr. Tipton,” The Host says, “you’d already know.”
“Why should I believe you?”
“Because you like believing you still have choices,” The Host says. “It lets you sleep.”
Tipton looks up and scans the street. No one watching. No one close enough to hear. Not wanting any of the others to spot him talking on the phone if they’ve realized he’s not in the hospital and have come looking for him.
“I could’ve been in there,” Tipton snaps.
“But you weren’t,” The Host says.
Tipton goes cold. He understands that line. It isn’t comfort. It’s ownership.
Tipton walks the fifty yards to the corner and peers around it. He knows he must get back before McHenry or one of the others come looking for him.
“When are you getting us out of here, by the way?” he asks.
“When the darkness comes to the edge of town, as someone once sang,” The Host says.
“If the opposing forces don’t get to us first,” Tipton says.
“Your problem at the moment, I’m afraid,” The Host says. “Not mine.”
Tipton lowers his voice. “You told me we had an understanding.”
“We do,” The Host says. “And you’re still useful. That’s the good news.” Tipton’s hand tightens around the phone until his knuckles whiten.
“And the bad news?” Tipton asks.
Nothing.
Tipton says, “I need to get back to the hospital before they’re all wondering where I am.”
The Host’s voice stays even.
“The bad news is that when you walk back into that hospital, you’re going to find out that one of you didn’t make it.”
Tipton swallows.
He forces the next words out like they’re easy.
“Who?”
“You’ll see,” The Host says. “And you’ll remember what I told you from the beginning.”
Tipton’s eyes flick to the hospital entrance.
“What?” he says.
“You don’t get to be a hero, Ant,” The Host replies. “You get to be what I need.”
The line goes dead.
Patrick Arrasmith