Page 78 of House of Cards

I bolt for the nearest exit, slipping the goggles over my eyes. The world transforms into eerie green clarity. The maze that had been so disorienting before is now laid bare before me.

As I sprint down the corridor, a haunting scream echoes out after me, followed by a hollow yell that sounds as if it came from his friend.

They’ll be coming for me soon as the shock wears off, and they won’t be playing games anymore.

But now that I can see, I can fight.

My bravado lasts all of a minute, evaporating when I hear the faint echo of footsteps. It’s possible it’s a guy from the mannequin room, but something about those insistent footfalls makes me think a third competitor has entered the ring.

Jesus, I never stood a chance.

Did Smith know it would be three against one? Is that why he looked so unhappy? Or was he just sour because someone had hit the jackpot at his casino and he had to pay out a fraction of his earnings for the night?

I press myself against the wall, trying to control my ragged breathing. Through the night vision goggles, the corridor stretches ahead in ghostly green. The footsteps are getting closer. They’re measured, confident. Not the stumble of a man with a head injury or a missing ear.

This is definitely a new hunter.

There’s a junction ahead. If I can reach it before he rounds the corner behind me, I could stand ready and attack him as he follows.

I hurry forward, every muscle tense as I force myself not to sprint. I need him to follow me at a reasonable pace, because while I’m holding this plastic arm like a baseball bat, I’m thefurthest thing from a trained athlete. It was sheer luck I hit that other guy hard enough to send him to the ground.

Another stroke of luck is all I need to buy myself enough time to find an exit.

The footsteps pause. He’s listening, trying to locate me.

I hold my breath, frozen in place. After what feels like an eternity, the footsteps resume, closer now. He’s almost at the corner. Is he going to turn towards me, or away from me?

Doesn’t matter. Either way, I have to take a swing.

I grip the plastic arm tighter, my knuckles aching, my back flattened against the wall. Risking a quick peek, I instantly recoil when I see how close he is. All I saw was the edge of his silhouette. Broad shoulders, confident stance. He’s bigger than both other guys.

My heart feels like it’s going to explode out of my chest.

The tall figure steps into the junction, his skin glowing in the night vision goggles. He’s craning his head away from me, hesitating as if trying to sense which corridor I chose.

Idon’t hesitate.

“Ah!” I lunge forward, swinging the mannequin arm with every ounce of strength I have left, aiming for the back of his head.

The world blurs into slow motion as my makeshift weapon arcs through the air.

A large hand wraps around the plastic, halting its momentum so suddenly that I stagger forward, off-balance.

My attacker moves with inhuman speed, his free hand shooting out to grab my throat, fingers wrapping right around my collar. He slams me against the wall, pinning me there as he wrenches the mannequin arm from my grasp and tosses it aside. The goggles are next, clattering noisily to the floor by my feet.

My hands go reflexively to my throat, digging behind his fingers, trying to pull them away, just as I had with the otherhunter. I choke and splutter for air, staring pleadingly into the shadowed face of my captor, willing him to let me breathe.

“P-P-please,” I whimper, scratching at him with my nails, only to realize he’s wearing leather gloves.

“I told you to fight.”

I’d recognize that cold, precise voice anywhere.

Rage bubbles up from the pit of fear in my stomach. I grit my teeth, driving my knee up fast and hard.

Smith’s hand falls away from my throat as he grunts in pain, but he’s already reaching for me as I push away from the wall.

Run. Fight. Escape.