The Survival Game Read Free Page A

Scream. They were towering over him, scrutinising him like he was some kind of lab rat. Prince Charles bent down and unceremoniously grabbed the travel bag John somehow still clutched onto for dear life. He yanked it from his grip. John tried with all his might to resist, but it was no use; by then all his strength had deserted him. It was like taking candy from babies.
    Prince Charles stood upright and finally removed his mask. John stared at him through his heavy, slitted eye, utilising the final remnants of strength and consciousness he barely held to take a mental snapshot, allowing that image to be branded on his mind—he clocked a meaty, shaved head; dark eyes.
    Prince Charles anxiously unzipped the bag, removed the jiffy bag, and peeked inside.
    ‘
Dobrze
?’ the gimp asked.
    Prince Charles nodded. ‘
Tak
,’ he replied with a broad smile. ‘
Dobrze
.’
    He replaced the jiffy bag and zipped up the travel bag.
    By then, the clown was now unmasked as well. He was just lounging, watching what was happening in silence. John snapped him—tall; skinny; short, spiky hair; a big mole on his right cheek.
    The gimp removed her mask. John now concentrated as best he could on her—short, dyed-red, spiky hair; nose ring; high cheekbones. Her dark eyes gleamed with lucid intelligence and for a second, John felt like he was staring at an alien Gray.
    And last but not least, off came the Scream mask. His face was a broad grin; he was waving John off into the realm of sleep.
    I’ll remember you, you bastards… I promise I’ll… remember…
    John stared beyond them at their van. Through his blurred vision, he could partially make out the first word painted on its side. It read ‘medics’ or ‘meds’ or something similar. He noted the symbol, which looked like…
a dagger with a snake wrapped around it?
    He groaned, now resigned to his defeat. His head fell back down on the concrete, the sound of their laughter—loud and echoing cackles—ringing through his mind. They were laughing. Taking the piss out of him like a bunch of hyenas after stealing lunch from a lion.
    You
malakes
got what you wanted, you won this round. But if our paths ever cross again, you won’t win the next. I promise you…
    John’s heavy eyelid slammed shut for the final time, and unconsciousness slipped over him like a giant glove.

CHAPTER TWO
    Alisha Evangelou had to choke back her tears the moment she laid eyes on her husband, lying there unconscious in a hospital bed. It was her worst nightmare come true. No, her worst nightmare would be having to pay him a visit at the morgue. This wasn’t
that
bad—he was still breathing after all—but it wasn’t that rosy either.
    She leant forwards and lovingly stroked the hair on his head, thinking if things would ever be normal, wishing that they would be. She gently pressed the icepack one of the nurses gave her on his swollen eye. They’d also put him in a room on his own, which was nice of them. They reckoned he’d been sedated with something, legal or illegal they couldn’t tell, but they saw no reason why he shouldn’t just eventually wake up seeing as he was stable.
    She hoped they were right. Glass half full and all that…
    She turned her head to the side to get a glimpse of the two men at the back of the room, standing there like a couple of hoods. The restaurant John was making deliveries to phoned that Aziz bloke to tell him what happened. Ahmed—his assistant or whatever—contacted her straight away and arranged to bring her to South London. It was nice of them, but as far as she was concerned, it was probably because of them that John was in this state. They were trouble; she could smell it all over them. But ultimately they were what they were. It was John who was at fault for always hanging around with these dodgy, low-life characters. She hated
that
aspect of him. He just couldn’t seem to find good people to be mates with, instead attracting these pieces of shit. She always