Page 13 of Rat Race

Was that the last time I’d see Hope and the baby?

Eight.

If they were given the chance, would the Runners behind me kill me?

Seven.

Were other players the most dangerous thing I’d find in the maze?

Six.

Was I going to have to kill Elijah?

Five.

Honor your parents.

Four.

Make yourself an idol.

Three.

Make a show of it.

Two.

At all costs, for the glory of God.

One.

Play hard. Win, win.

The lights flashed before bathing us in green light, alerting us that it was time to enter the maze. The doors sat open and waitin’, the moment I’d been training my entire life for here within the blink of an eye. My heart beat so fast that it felt like I could cough it up as I stared down the thin runway into the maze, the sound of heavy footfalls echoing as players began to run across the walkway and through the doors.

I hesitated. First in didn’t always mean first out.

A few years ago, the first person into the maze was crisped up like a deep-fried turkey the second they crossed the threshold, stumbling over a tripwire that ignited a flamethrower meant to cull the herd within the first few seconds of the game.

Two large, hulking mascs—a well-rounded polite individual couldn’t assume pronouns in these trying, post-apocalyptictimes—and two femmes, the smaller, more skittish-looking one trailing several steps behind the others, rounded me to dash up our runway, entering the maze.

I wasn’t far behind them, my boots clanging against the metal walkway with every step until I crossed the threshold into the maze itself.

The noise that I’d become used to—shuffling from hundreds of feet, anxious whispers and yells from the crowd overhead—dulled with every step into the corridor. Deafening, oppressive silence followed, the absence of many voices and sudden dampened noise of my boots against concrete making me feel off balance.

Surprisingly disorienting.

A whoop of laughter up ahead warned that the Runners I’d let pass had already come in contact with their first obstacle, or at least I guessed so. The noise wasn’t joyful. It was strained, full of panic and anxiety.

As I came up to the first fork in the road, my watch dinged.

Hopel3ss:Left.

A smirk tugged at the corner of my mouth. Leave it to my favorite sister to point me in the right direction early. I took the left passage, hurrying through foot over foot of smooth gray stone.

It was like being in a sensory desert after all of the color and noise a moment ago. Like all the joy had been leached out of the world, leaving it barren and lifeless. We’d prepared for this sensation back at the Ranch—one of the most important things about Rat Race was your ability to mitigate the discomfort that came with the sudden shift of input. Far too many Runners let themselves get all out of sorts right out of the gate, losing track oftheir whereabouts and making it more difficult to get out of the maze.

What I didn’t expect—what surprised even me—was the unshakable feelin’ that I was beingwatched. And not just by the thousands of cameras built to view every square inch of this place. There was something’… more.

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