The Government Game

CHAPTER SEVEN

Peter Anson had knocked down the front screen door of a house he spotted. There were gumtrees all over the area, kookaburras sounding their call, the smell of dung wafting through the air, striking his nostrils like a punch; it felt as though the dung scent was burning his nose hairs. He knew, of course, that was probably a crock of shit. He couldn't, however, quite place where the smell of dung was coming from: it was everywhere and nowhere. Perhaps it was another of the Government's callous tricks. Curse you, Government fools, he thought angrily.

But now he was inside a house with his Smith & Wesson in his belt, and he was smoking one of the Government-issued cigarettes he'd picked up from the Arena's service station. None of this, he knew, was good. He had to win, and he would win. But that girl he spotted ... was it a trick of the eye? He was in a daze, still tired and confused from the shock of finding out he had been picked for the Game.

I'm not going down without a fight. I will destroy the Government and everything they stand for, he thought, but he knew deep down those were delusional thoughts. Had anyone ever stood up to the Regime? Probably not. Victors of the war write the history. That's what he knew. And the Regime had not once lost a war. Whenever another nation had tried to liberate the citizens of the Regime, they were hastily defeated and then demoralised. Propaganda was everywhere in the Regime, too, so most of the regular citizens were brainwashed to think they were living the best life they could. He felt sick thinking about all of this, so he decided to shut off these particular thoughts and just relax with the cigarette in between his fingers, taking drags every now and then. He felt somewhat at ease, but he knew for a fact that he couldn't keep feeling this way. It would only be a matter of time until somebody would attack him.

He heard footsteps outside of the house. They were coming closer ... closer still ... even closer.

He gripped the handle of his Smith & Wesson, pulled it out, aimed it at the door, and hid underneath a table.

***

Harriet Dixon was carelessly walking towards the blip. She put her life into the hands of her god: Fate. She was either about to die in this horrible game, or find a regular contestant.

'Hello?' she called out when she made it to the patio. Her voice was quivering and she knew just saying Hello wouldn't suffice. 'It's Harriet Dixon. Who's there?'

***

'Hello? It's Harriet Dixon. Who's there?'

How in God's name? thought Peter, lowering his firearm. So it was her, and his eyes weren't messing with him. Was this another Government trick? Or was he just paranoid? He decided to return her call: 'It's Peter Anson, stay where you are,' he said calmly, rationally.

'Okay.'

He kept his Smith & Wesson in his grasp just in case it was another of the Government's trickery. He peeked out the hole in the wall where the door once was, and looked around. She had her hands in the air.

He aimed the gun at her. She felt her knees buckle, and next thing she was on the concrete ground. 'Please don't hurt me!' she cried desperately.

'I won't hurt you. How did you know I was in there? Be honest, or I'll search you.'

'Pete, it's Harriet. From high school. I'm as honest as th-they come, I promise.' Her voice was shaking something awful now.

'I know, but you can never be one hundred per cent sure.'

She pulled out the little tablet, turned it on, and pointed at the display.

'Oh,' is all Peter could muster.

'Yeah. I'm just a regular contestant. It was Fate that brought me to you, I think. Please, Pete, don't hurt me. I won't hurt you.'

'I won't hurt you, either, Harriet. I'm also a regular contestant.'

'Oh ...' She seemed to be taken aback.

'Okay,' he said, finally grasping the situation. 'Get inside, we'll discuss everything there. Quick, before somebody comes.'

And that's just what they did.