The Dying Game by Asa Avdic

Author:Asa Avdic
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2017-08-01T04:00:00+00:00

RIGHT FROM THE start, the secretary had admitted that there was a major shortcoming with the ancient surveillance system—I would lose contact with the participants as soon as they left the house. There was no way for me to follow them outside.

“There is a camera directly outside the front door, but it has proven impossible to put up any others. They just get blown right down,” the secretary explained. Instead of arguing that he should mount his cameras a little better, I asked him what I should do if the group left the house.

“I suppose you should take the chance to recuperate,” he said. When he saw my hesitant gaze, he went on: “I would seriously recommend that you follow my advice on this point. You’re not going to get much sleep during these couple of days, so you’ll have to get what you can in small doses when you have the chance. Go ahead and sleep if they go out. If you’re able.”

I just about fell face-first on the staircase down to the Strategic Level. The secretary’s advice seemed so much more reasonable now than when I first heard it. I staggered to the fridge, grabbed another one of the energy drinks that took up half the space inside, and drained it in one gulp. Then I pulled over the warming blanket and sat on the floor, leaning against the wall, waiting to feel better. The trembling in my legs slowly abated, but my head still felt heavy and inert, and the soft lights and muted colors in my little bunker made me feel even more sluggish, as if I were underwater.

Once I was certain my legs would bear me, I stood up, took off everything but my underwear and camisole, crawled into the little bunk, and tried to run through and memorize everything that had just happened in the room above me. But I slowly drifted away, dozing off into half sleep where I dreamed that I, or maybe Siri, was catching crayfish in a lake where I had spent a terrible summer at camp when I was little. Nour had forced me to go, and I called home crying every day until she reluctantly agreed to come pick me up. I don’t even remember if I’d actually had a bad time there; maybe it was more about a power struggle between her and me.

When she finally agreed to come get me, it had felt like a victory, but as she stepped out of her old Trabant, her mouth set in a hard line, and I stood there on the gravel with my suitcase and a resigned camp counselor, I realized that what had appeared to be a victory might have been nothing of the sort. Even then, Nour was horrible at letting bygones be bygones. The worst part was that just when I got my way and was about to go home, camp became truly fun. I had participated in a crayfish-catching expedition on the last night before Nour came.

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