Game and Sanctuary

Phase I: Selection

So you want to know my story? Its nothing spectacular. Every year they play the game. Every year someone loses. But since you seem set on hearing it …

Its amazing how finding the answer to one question no one else ever thought of can change everything.

Its amazing what can come of a traffic ticket. I remember when a rolling stop cost a nominal fine. Now it can cost man his life. I loved crime dramas, and court shows, before they evolved.

I was sitting around the television with my family. Some of us had received tickets over the course of the previous year. I had failed to hold my foot on the brake long enough. My sister had driven while intoxicated. My cousin, was an accessory to drug manufacturing.

The announcer drew the first number, a 2. Several million players, my cousin included, won. Their charges were dropped, no questions asked. He celebrated by calling his co-defendants and saying he was “clear to go back to work.”

Number after number was pulled. My sister's charges were dropped in round 5. She hugged my parents, who began to weep.

I sat there, hearing the numbers be called, a sick feeling remaining when the last number, a 4, was drawn. My ticket number was 2,158,027. So much for “lucky 7.”

Before the announcer said my name, I was already prepared to run. Never had I dreamed I would be a fugitive, but I did not create the game. I just had the misfortune of becoming a contestant.

Hearing my name announced, my family gathered around me. Tears of joy became tears of sadness. My sister hugged me. My father shook my hand. My mother fell to the floor in a fit of emotion. My cousin pulled a 9mm pistol from under his shirt and two extra clips from his coat pocket. Shaking his head in disbelief, he handed them to me.

The announcer reiterated the rules of the game. I did not wait to hear them. Far from being the first person to lose in Phase I and, thereby, move on to Phase II, I had heard them all before. I accepted a bag of rations my father had thrown together, then stepped out the back door. Running to my car, I collected another bag, this one containing supplies I had collected against the possibility of this scenario. The car, I left. Too many contestants had been caught by means of someone tracking their vehicles.

Phase II: Collection

Looking back at my childhood home, I tried to burn the image into my brain. No one had ever won the later phases after losing Phase I.

I was one of millions of forced players, and only one person per year lost. Since the day I received the ticket, I had been planning my escape, along with several contingency plans. Making my way through the backstreets, I realized I had never believed I would need to exercise them.

I found a creek, knelt, and ducked my head under water. Withdrawing a razor from the supply bag, making short work of shaving my head and facial hair, including my eyebrows. Then, I covered my face with a dye guaranteed to make my hair grow back in red.

Covering my head and face with a scarf, I followed the creek to its outlet, then followed the river to the checkpoint to enter the next state. The customs agents were using facial recognition technology. It was time for a contingency plan.

Up river, I found a lock and dam facility. At nightfall, I crossed the dam. Setting foot in another State, I tasted freedom for 30 seconds, then heard a round being chambered. Someone said my name.

Turning, I saw the individual. A bounty hunter, seeking the reward for my capture. I raised my hands halfway, then ducked to the side, drawing the 9mm. Squeezing off several rounds, I ran for a line of trees. He returned fire, several rounds zipping past me.

Reaching a large, fallen tree, I squatted behind it and checked for pursuit. Seeing none, I realized I had either injured or frightened the bounty hunter. In either case, I doubted he was a professional.

I took stock. In the running I had dropped my supply bag. Going back would be tantamount to surrender. I looked down at my torso. I was bleeding.

Lifting my shirt, I saw an exit wound. I was losing blood. My medical kit was was in the dropped bag, so I used my scarf to stop the bleeding. I would move slower now, and would be easier to track.

I found two rocky crags with a space between. They would protect me from three directions, while allowing a clear view of the only approach. The bleeding had slowed, but not stopped. The cold of the night set in. I needed to rest in order to heal.

I awoke to the sound of a gun shot. Unseen, the bounty hunter said I was surrounded. Delirious from blood loss, I challenged him to come get me. Three shots came from three directions. Bullets broke away small chunks of rock. Dust filled my eyes. I surrendered.

Phase III: Transition

I'll never forget waking up on the stretcher, my arms folded across my body. I tried to move, but could not. I had been drugged. The effects would wear off before I reached the sanctuary. I attempted to speak, but could not. I recalled the show began live streaming 24/7 during Phase III. I wondered whether my family were watching.

I regained some sensation, and realized I was in motion, en route to the rocket. The man spoke again. He made a speech I had heard every year for two decades. He waxed eloquent, but his message was hard: I had lost in Phases I and II, progressing to Phase III. My actions would be monitored and transmitted for international entertainment. Someone told every player this was a great honor. Few people were the means by which their government educated the masses concerning the dangers of criminal activity. I was, he told me, a sort of antihero.

Strapped in, I felt the engines ignite. Gravity increased exponentially. I wondered if I would die. The extremities of the launch forced the little contents of my stomach to reverse direction. Weightlessness set in, and I regained my faculties.

Releasing myself, I searched for any means of affecting the rocket's course. Many had tried. All had failed. Still, I searched. I searched everywhere which seemed logical, then I searched places which seemed illogical, until I found a panel beneath the pilot's chair. The rules required my captors to send with me anything found on my body, so I located my pocket knife and used it as a screwdriver, finding the autopilot override. Flipping it off, I strapped in.

Having no training as a rocketeer, I defaulted to my experience flying crop dusters with my grandfather. The carryover was more than one might assume, but far from enough. I could turn the rocket toward earth, but would never be able to land, and Luna station was owned by the show's producer.

Phase IV is “ Endgame.” I decided to have my own version. I would not face off in the sanctuary. Looking into a camera, I informed viewers I had resolved to do my patriotic duty. Winning, for me, was no longer a matter of whether I would die. I would win by choosing how and when I died. I would die fighting what was before me, not fearing what was coming. I would die with my feet inside my boots, not inside the stomach a “beast” in the sanctuary. I aimed the ship.

Luna station came into sight. I searched for the sanctuary, pointing the craft ward it. Not toward the docking bay. Toward the structure itself. Laying on the throttle.

On the viewer, the image switched. The sanctuary hurdling up, toward me; became my sister, a gun to her head. A woman informed me of a new rule. If I continued, the sanctuary could be rebuilt. My sister would be the next player.

I flipped the autopilot switch.

Phase IV: Endgame

Everyone knows Phase IV. I could go into specifics, but most have watched the show and the yearly results make the evening news. What's important is how answering one, randomly thought of question, we can change everything.

I stepped out of the rocket, wary. The first day I never saw a “beast” clearly. I did detect movement within tree lines, nd heard pebbles being dislodged beyond valley rims. They would come for me at night. I knew this from previous seasons.

Having seen the creatures struggle with climbing and a sensitivity to bright light, I chose a location much like the one in which I had hidden the night of my capture. I gathered fire wood, collected water, found a large number of fallen logs and positioned them as a pseudo fort, placed bullets tip in inside the wall, and stacked dry grasses and rotten bark against the barrier. Then I built a fire and waited.

Just after dark, I heard “visitors” outside the barrier. Taking a burning log in my hand, I swung it around, seeing the faces of 5 “creatures” looking down upon me. When I approached them, they vanished. Silence ensued until just before midnight.

Hearing more noises, I grabbed my pistol and the torch. I saw them again, but here were 12. The population of the sanctuary was estimated to be 20. I had the opportunity to lower it by half, but … I could not do it. I raised the pistol. I took aim. I just could not do it. The idea of killing had never bothered me, but this was another human being, shipped here as a punishment prior to the first season of the game. It changed everything.

I attempted to reason with them, but the attempt was futile. After so long living in an artificial wilderness, they had lost the ability to communicate. Firing a shot into the air, I attempted to warn them off, but it excited them. Several climbed over the structure, approaching me. I determined it was time for my endgame.

Throwing the torch at the base of the wall, I climbed upward, inside the small cave. The light grew, and the “beasts” screamed in pain. Some retreated over the wall. Others fell back, into my camp, calling out to their compatriots.

One-by-one, the bullets inside the wall began to explode. Without the confines of a gun's chamber, they projected the light casings rather than the heavier rounds. My wall became an automatic, though uncontrolled line of fire.

The smoke cleared and I was alone. The trapped “beasts” had crawled out through the remains of the wall. They would not return before the next nightfall.

I determined to answer a question I pondered during my flight. What did the “beasts” eat during the 12 months intervals between the arrivals of a person from earth? Did the locals on Luna Station feed them? Not likely. Such would not be the type to serve as zoo keepers. Did they feed upon each other? No, their population remained steady from season to season. So somewhere aboard the ship, there must be a source of food. With the autopilot function, it could be dispersed on a rotation.

Daylight returned, and I returned to the ship. The show's creators claimed it remained docked with the sanctuary for all but 2 weeks out of the year. These being the time it took for the rocket to reach earth, be repaired and refitted, then return to the sanctuary. If suspected it must contain a year's worth of food for the inhabitants of the sanctuary. If so the “beasts” went unfed for the 2 weeks the ship was traveling and, I surmised, for the roughly 24 hours the average contestant spent inside the sanctuary before being killed and eaten by the “beasts.”

Flipping the autopilot off, I studied the controls. Several hours later, I located the correct mechanism. It was tied to the autopilot. It could only release the food according to a set timer, which only ran when the autopilot was on. I reengaged the autopilot.

Returning to camp, I repeated the previous day's preparations, adding some extra surprises. Then I waited, and fought again for my life.

The following morning, I returned to the ship. When the countdown ended, a supply of raw meat was dispersed into the sanctuary. I cooked the beef, then prepared for a third standoff … which never came. My neighbors were not intent upon eating me. They were only intent upon eating.

So I became the first person to win Phase IV. The show runners tried to send me home. As an incentive, the police back home offered me a detective's position. But I chose to stay.

Soon after the “beasts” were fed, they demonstrated a curiosity toward me which did not stem from hunger. A handful retained some broken language. We are helping the others to remember. We have formed a primitive community, with a code of laws. And we ration food in accordance with the “end-of-year hunger.”

The show's producers threatened to sue me. They said I killed their “cash cow.” But what can they do? Send another “criminal” here and make him or her play their game? I would help them survive. Oh, and let them try to force me to leave. My army of “beasts” will be waiting.