Mathew

“Alright, you maniacs. Time to go over the rules.” Smitty stomped up the small aisle way.

“We know the rules!” the big man directly one row up from Mathew yelled.

“Still bears out a reminder. I’ll hit the highlights since you’ve signed your papers,” Smitty returned. “That okay with you?”

“Yeah, of course,” the man replied. “Love ya, Smitty.”

“Yeah, yeah. As I was saying, in approximately fifteen minutes we’ll be at the drop zone. You will each exit the airplane over an area that’s twelve square miles. It’s something like three by four for those who aren’t too slick at math. I know I’m not. I had to use a calculator.” Smitty grinned.

Heads swiveled up to follow Smitty as he walked and talked.

“In this location you will find buildings, cars, trucks, hell, some of you may even find an old tank. I know I did when it was my turn.”

“Which one?” Mathew asked.

“Second go around. I could tell you where it’s located but you’ve all probably seen it on video enough times. Once you’re on the ground, if you’ve done your homework, you’ll know where to find it. But a little heads-up. What you all have seen in video streams will not completely match up on the ground. It’s all about perspective, or angles, or some shit.” Smitty went back to striding up and down the aisle.

“The event will last for four hours. The area of operations is on a secluded section of land. As you all know, the location has never been revealed to the public, and it never will. Believe it or not, a lot of ghost towns exist in the world. The creators of Chicken Dinner got lucky and found one they could rejuvenate, in a manner of speaking. As for the former inhabitants, I don’t know what they did there, and I don’t care. Might have been a secret military base. It might have been for the Russians. All I know is that it was once inhabited, but no one lives there now. There’s a fence, a really long fence, but don’t try to go over it. We got drones, and if you decide to make a run for it you can expect a quick death via a sniper rifle.”

He didn’t have to remind Mathew about the fence. It was said that the fence, when powered up, could fry a person in their tracks. Blowing a hole in it would just alert sentry drones, and that would bring a squad of very bad men who would unceremoniously kill you with the harness.

There were even rumors that the producers had a crack team of paramilitary experts who could be dispatched into the field of play at the first whiff of someone cheating.

“Inhabited by mutated humans, that’s what I heard. They used to do experiments on that island. Lots of crazy stuff like that. You won’t hear that on the five o’clock news,” Eli leaned to the side and whispered to Mathew.

“Give me a break,” Mathew muttered.

“I’ve heard it all. There’s another rumor that they used to experiment on alien bodies there. Now ain’t that a hoot?” Eli chuckled.

“Let the man talk.” Mathew nodded in Smitty’s direction.

“Just getting my two cents in before we jump. Might be the last time I get to talk to anyone, unless, as I’ve planned, I come out the winner.” Eli grinned.

This fucking guy. Mathew gritted his teeth. With any luck he would be able to track down Eli when they were both on the ground and put an end to the man.

“Anyway, ladies, and gents. The minute you’re on the ground make for a building. Any building. Supplies, weapons, and body armor have been left inside. Gear up, get on the hunt, and don’t miss.” Smitty held up his hand, cocked his thumb, and then made a shooting noise, which brought peals of nervous laughter.

Mathew gulped. He had wanted to do this for as long as the game had existed, and now he felt a sense of elation even if it was tempered with a healthy dose of fear. He was about to go into the single greatest game that had been created since the time of the gladiators.

“One last thing and I’ll let you get back to praying, or shitting your pants, whatever floats your boat,” Smitty said as he walked. “We have a new twist in Chicken Dinner. Among you are twelve people who are here for a different reason than the other thirty-eight. Most of you have dreamed about being in the game, but these folks are here because they aren’t nice people.”

“I’m not a nice person,” one of the men toward the front of the plane yelled.

“Yeah, yeah, as I was saying, these guys, and gals, are all part of a federal program called life in prison. Each is a convict who is serving either a life sentence, or fifty plus years, and each has signed on to try and survive the game, and win a new lease on life. So welcome our frenemies with open arms, or bullet holes.”

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

Was the nutter Eli one of the cons? He sure as hell didn’t seem like the normal player. But he couldn’t focus on that right now because it didn’t matter who was who. All he needed to concentrate on was surviving the next four hours.

Here he was, about to jump out of an airplane, and within minutes he would be a target for the forty-nine other potential killers, but he had a plan, a good plan. After watching countless hours of footage from the last five games he was sure he had a perfect strategy.

He was going to jump early, and wait until the very last second to pop his chute. Those who jumped last were sitting ducks, and they would be late in finding weapons. It was a matter of being the first on the ground. Then he would move fast, gather weapons and gear, and when he had a proper get-up, he would find a very tall building with a dark corner and hunt from above.

People always speculated about the best way to play, but this was going to be Mathew’s key to winning. Camping out, and killing from a distance. He just had to hope he found a long rifle early on.

Mathew had spent days compiling spreadsheets. He’d broken the map into several sections, listed the hottest kill zones, the tallest buildings, and the likelihood of finding the best gear. It was one thing to be a dyed-in-the-wool killer, it was another to have all of the data at your fingertips.

“Are we there yet?” Eli yelled.

Mathew rolled his eyes. Could he kill this guy now and get it over with? He looked sideways at Eli and caught a glimpse of the woman next to the older man.

Mathew had thought he’d recognized her earlier. She was petite, had a blonde bob, and green eyes. She was quite a looker. He squinted his eyes as he tried to place her. The woman had been on TV, he was sure of it. Damn but she looked like an angel. No wonder Smitty had stopped to talk to her a few minutes ago.

Oh shit.

It came to him, then. America’s Sweetheart had been a title bestowed on the woman. Kathryn was her name, and she had killed a lot of people. Mathew was surrounded by potential killers, but all he could think about were the men Kathryn Pickford had murdered. He had been glued to the screen a few years ago when she had gone to trial. The defense had gone all-out claiming insanity due to the poor woman being repeatedly raped as a teenager.

Mathew thought that rapists were the scum of the fucking earth. He had tried to feel pity for her victims, but each had been selected by her based on the fact that they may have gotten away with, or served very short sentences after being accused of crimes against women. America’s Sweetheart had become a merciless killer, and on some levels, Mathew respected her.

As much as he would like to talk to a celebrity like her, he knew that if she got in his way during the game, he would put her down.

“It’s part of the rules, Eli.” Smitty spun and strode directly in front of the row. “All part of the agreement. You’ll be on the ground soon enough. But, look. If you survive, and want to go out for a big chicken dinner after the event, I’ll be your date.”

“You’d be up for that, wouldn’t you?” Eli said with a smirk.

“Now, if our esteemed smartass is done, I’ll finish up,” Smitty said. “You’ll find your tablet in your hip pocket. I suggest waiting until you’re on the ground to fire it up. This number will decrease over the coming hours. Do not lose your device. Don’t sell it to a buddy for a blow job, don’t even think about throwing it away in the hopes you can run off. That’s why we have the rules. You land. You fight. You live, or you die.”

Mathew had considered ditching the tablet the second they were on the ground. As far as he could tell the device was next to useless. It could show the next zones, but the watch’s display contained the same information in an abbreviated form.

The plane lurched and Mathew’s stomach clenched again at the prospect of being gunned down in the next few hours. Or worse, bashed over the head with a hunk of metal.

“You know about the harness. Every player wears one and it can’t be removed without the assistance of one of our producers. When you are in the red zone you’ll get a warning buzz. That little zap will make your lips pucker and your nipples hard.” Smitty continued his lecture. “If you don’t get out of the red zone the shocks will increase. If you manage to stay in the red zone the shocks will be so strong you’ll be immobilized, and that makes you a target. My advice? Stay out of the red zone. There’s nothing worse than sprinting while being shocked. Trust me on this one, folks.”

“Are you saying you don’t like a good shock to the ass?” one of the men at the back of the plane roared.

“I can neither confirm nor deny,” Smitty said with a good natured laugh.

The plane changed altitude and began to descend for a few seconds before it straightened out again.

“So far so good?”

Grim but determined looks all around.

“Once you are on the ground be on the lookout for weapons not only in houses or buildings. They could be located behind bushes. Hell, you might even find machine guns in old shipping containers, so search real good. You may also find pain pills, energy drinks, and on a few rare occasions, a bottle of hooch.”

Smitty took a large cell phone looking device from his pants pocket and pressed the screen. Near the front of the plane a huge screen lowered itself from the fuselage.

“Why did we have to wait so long for the in-flight entertainment?” someone yelled from the front of the plane.

“Because you didn’t fly first class!” Smitty roared.

Nervous laughter sounded around the airplane’s interior, but Mathew didn’t feel it. He suddenly felt ill and queasy. What was he doing here?

A map appeared on the screen near the front of the plane but it showed a large expanse of blue with an icon of an airplane in the middle that appeared to be on a westerly course. As the map updated, the outline of the game zone appeared.

“Keep an eye on the map and pick the place you want to exit. Don’t go too early because you’ll land in water. After that you will drown unless you’re a hell of a swimmer. That parachute, the pack, clothes, and boots will suck you down faster than a bucket of cement.” Smitty pointed at the screen. “Go too late and you’ll be out of the drop zone and also in water. You get the idea.”

“Why did I think this was a good idea?” Eli groaned next to Mathew. “Either way. Time to put my mouth where the money is. Good luck, young man. If I get to kill you, I’ll try to make it quick.”

“Back at ya,” Mathew said.

“Alright, ladies, and gents. On your feet.”

Mathew leaned forward, stood up, and stretched his legs. Feeling returned to his feet, as the rest of the drugs faded from his system. He dug into the seat pocket, found a Mule Punch energy drink, and popped the top, then managed to drain half of it in a few gulps. Mathew carried the drink with him as the line of folks filled the aisles, then he was among them and heading to the gaping maw in the rear of the plane.