Chapter 87.
A few minutes after eight the next morning they arrive as instructed at a huge ballroom. Bright chandeliers. Polished floors. A room meant for weddings and fundraisers.
Hannah hasn’t slept very well. She feels as nervous and as anxious—and filled with dread—as she had been on the boat that first day in Antarctica.
But she hasn’t quit.
None of them have.
“I know I’ve been scared before,” Hannah had said to Alek on their way to the ballroom. “But not like this.”
Alek had squeezed her hand and said, “You won’t fight me. I won’t fight you.”
Jack had said, “There were lines I didn’t cross even with enemies.”
Wyatt had said, “He wants us to become enemies. It’s crazy.”
“No,” Hannah says quietly.
One more time she reaches for Alek’s hand.
“It’s sick,” Hannah says.
“I’ve never fired a gun in my life,” Alek says.
“And knives?” Hannah says. “I was horrified when Tipton went after Jack with that knife he grabbed off the table.”
“This whole idea is sick,” Hannah says again.
The Host is waiting for them in the ballroom.
“I will be brief, as there is much for you all to do this morning,” he says. “This is the day when you learn even more about each other than you already have.”
He surveys the twelve people in front of him. Hannah thinks: It’s like we’re waiting to hear a jury verdict.
Or a sentencing.
“Without further ado,” The Host says, “I would like to first announce the pairings for today’s events, before I explain what the events will actually be.”
He looks as pleased with himself as ever, Hannah thinks. She fights the urge to walk across the room and slap him, even if it means being eliminated before the duels start.
I’m not quitting.
He looks out at them again, letting the moment build a little more.
“Mr. McHenry, you and Miss Wagner will be our first combatants,” the silver-haired man says.
He doesn’t even allow this fact to settle—an ex–Army Ranger going up against a teenage girl—before quickly going through the rest of the pairings:
“Ms. Andrich and Mr. Lopez.”
Alek’s eyes flick to Carlos Lopez. He doesn’t smile. But he looks . . . ready.
“Mr. Tipton and Mr. al-Harbi.”
Tipton’s face is stone. Saad’s is calm in a way that doesn’t comfort anyone.
“Mr. Jordan and Mr. Lin.”
Wyatt swallows. Lin Zhi gives a tiny nod like he’s accepting a routine.
“Mr. Oliveira and Mr. Hase.”
Marcelo and Fumio exchange a respectful bow. Fighters recognizing fighters.
“And finally—Mr. Bergeron and Mademoiselle Fontaine.”
Logan Bergeron looks at Gabrielle Fontaine like he’s about to apologize for being in the room.
Hannah is still trying to imagine any one-on-one competition that would pit her against Jack McHenry, who’s been as much a leader as any of them once they’d left Ohio.
The Host says, “Now the events.”
He lifts a small remote. Clicks it once. A panel in the far wall slides open, revealing metal cases on tables. Weapons cases.
“The weapons for Mr. Bergeron and Mademoiselle Fontaine will be knives,” The Host continues.
The rest of them hear Gabrielle Fontaine gasp and they turn to look at her. Gabrielle starts to say something back to him, but holds her fire for now as the man still in charge of them plows ahead.
“Ms. Andrich and Mr. Lopez will also fight with knives,” he says. “Saad and Mr. Tipton will be given revolvers—”
Tipton already knows which way the board wants this to go, but he can’t help himself. “How’s that going to work, exactly?”
The Host ignores him and proceeds, “—as will young Mr. Jordan and our friend Mr. Lin. Mr. Oliveira and Mr. Hase. Hand-to-hand combat, for lack of a better expression.”
The Host looks directly at Hannah Wagner now.
“Mr. McHenry and Miss Wagner will engage in hand-to-hand combat as well,” he says.
“Hold on,” Jack says. “You’re talking about me having a fistfight—with a teenage girl?”
The Host smiles again. “Fists, feet, elbows, knees. Knock yourselves out.” He shrugs, and grins. “Literally, if necessary. Whatever ends it.”
“Ends it how?” Jack snaps.
The Host’s smile doesn’t move. “You’ll find out.”
Hannah is studying Jack, seeing him already clenching and unclenching his fists, more upset than she is at the moment. She worries briefly that he might be the one to charge The Host and do something worse than slap him.
“I’ve never raised a hand to a woman in my life,” Jack says angrily.
The Host smiles, almost apologetically. “Unfortunately, Mr. McHenry,” he says, “there’s a first time for everything.”
“This just isn’t fair,” Jack says.
He doesn’t know how right he is, Hannah thinks.
She likes Jack so much. She’d seen him take the lead again last night. But he’s the same as everybody else standing here with her, these people who only see her as a brain.
They think they know her.