by Michael Bray
“Please place your palm on the scanner.”
“What for?” Chase asked, giving the square pad a mistrustful glance.
“Standard health check,” the receptionist fired back, flashing a polite smile. “Policy for all applicants.”
This was something he hadn’t anticipated. He had planned on there being no health checks of any kind, especially due to the nature of the programme. His health was bad, he knew he had cancer and suspected it wouldn’t be long before it finished him off. He stared at the pad, then at the receptionist.
“Problem?” the receptionist asked.
“No, no problem, I just didn’t expect this that’s all.”
“Nothing to worry about, sir, just standard procedure. Please place your palm on the scanner and hold it there.”
Chase did as he was told, hoping he might be able to talk his way into the show when his symptoms flagged. The pad beeped as he placed his palm on it, and a digital bar started to fill as it scanned him. As the progress bar crept towards the one hundred percent mark, the receptionist started to ask him some questions, marking on the answers on a yellow form.
“Full name?”
“Chase Riley.”
“Age?”
“Twenty eight.”
“Marital status?”
“Married.” The receptionist marked his answers on the sheet at the progress bar on the scanner moved past sixty percent.
“Any long term illnesses? Diabetes? Epilepsy?”
Chase shook his head. “No.” Just the cancer, which you’re about to find out I’m riddled with, he almost added, then decided to stay quiet and keep praying for his miracle.
The receptionist made another mark on the form just as the scanner pulsed as the bar reached one hundred percent.
“Thank you; you can remove your hand now.”
Chase did so, heart thundering as he waited for the bad news to be delivered and him to be sent home.
“Did you receive and agree to the waiver form freeing The Lomar Corporation and its employees from any responsibility, legal or moral for anything that may or may not happen during the course of the show should you be accepted as a participant?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you also agree that if selected, you will be taking part in the television show of your own free will and agree that The Lomar Corporation can use your name and likeness in any way they see fit including but not limited to any and all merchandising?”
“Yeah, it’s all there on the form,” Chase said, feeling like the whole thing was a waste of time now that they were due to find out about his cancer. As if in direct response, the receptionist frowned at something that popped up on his computer screen. He manipulated the keyboard, fingers dancing with lightning speed, then turned to Chase and smiled.
“Okay, please go on through the door to your right. You will be greeted inside.”
Surprised, Chase choked on his words. “Yeah. Uh, thanks.”
He did as he was told, struggling to grasp the reality of it all. He assumed he would be there just to drop off his form, not have medical exams and actually starting to go through the process. Suddenly, the advertisement for The Island which had been airing every hour every day seemed like a very real thing. He approached the door the receptionist had drawn his attention to, frosted glass with the Lomar logo cut out of it across the centre. It opened as he approached. Inside were bright, harsh white lights and cold steel appliances. Waiting there was a doctor, short and balding, eyes kind behind his thick-framed glasses.
“Mr. Riley, please come in,” the doctor said, motioning to a chair beside a recliner bed. Chase remained standing. “I’m fine, I’ll stand. What is this about?”
“I’m under the impression that you applied to take part in the show?”
“I did, but… I thought it was just dropping in my application form.”
“Please, don’t be alarmed. This is all a part of the application process. Please, take a seat.”
Chase sat, curious as well as confused. The doctor sat opposite him, and picked up the digital tablet from his desk, scrolling through. “It says here your health scan came up with some irregularities.”
Chase said nothing, averting his eyes and letting the doctor go on.
“In addition to slightly elevated blood pressure, we detected mid-to-late stage lung cancer. Terminal.”
“Terminal?” Chase repeated, not quite comprehending what the doctor was saying.
“Are you telling me you didn’t know?” the doctor asked, watching for a response.
“No, well, yes. I… had a suspicion. But I haven’t seen a doctor or anything about it.”
“I see. Your family medical records also show that your daughter is suffering the same illness. Life prognosis of less than three months without treatment.”
“What? I didn’t… nobody ever told us that. I mean, we knew she was sick, but…” He trailed off, trying to battle his emotions and keep them in check.
“No, I suspect nobody did. Usually it’s practice to hold such information back. In this instance, I feel it’s pertinent to discuss it, if only because you are suffering the same illness. A very unlucky turn of events Mr. Riley, if you don’t mind my saying so.”
“Yeah, well, that’s why I’m here. She needs medical help.”
“As do you.”
“I don’t care about me. I’m fit to take part if that’s what you brought me in here for. The cough I can handle. Don’t worry about it.” He knew how defensive he sounded, but that didn’t matter. He suspected that without the say so of this doctor, he would be going straight home.
“Your lung capacity is reduced by thirty nine percent. Not to mention the advance state of some of the tumours. I assume you have been bringing up blood when you cough?”
“Look,” Chase said, feeling yet another opportunity slip away from him. “I can do this. Please don’t stop me from trying. Just give me the chance.”
“I have no intention of stopping you, Mr. Riley. Frankly, it’s not my decision.”
“So why am I here?”
The doctor leaned back and smiled. “Nothing to worry about, just a standard assessment. All applicants have gone through the same process.”
“So what happens now?”
“Now, you go on to the next room.” The doctor motioned to another door beyond his office. Chase got up, keeping a wary eye on the doctor and moving towards the door. Like the others, it opened as he approached. Beyond was a corridor, at the end of which was another door. He walked towards it, pleased to be away from the harsh lights of the doctor’s office. He wasn’t sure what his cancer meant for his chances as far as The Island went, but he was still in the game, and that meant he still had a chance. He paused outside the door and took a deep breath, or at least, as deep a breath as he could manage with his mangled lungs. Composing himself for whatever came next, he pushed open the door and went inside.
FOUR
There were seven other people in the room, which looked to be some kind of waiting area. Moulded plastic seats were arranged around the outer perimeter of the room. A large TV screen on one wall was showing some kind of cookery show on the Lomar Network, an elaborate fish tank underneath it, its colourful occupants having no concept of the shitty world they existed within. Chase took a seat, feeling the eyes of the other people on him as he tried to get comfortable. There were four men and three women. One of the people, a dark-skinned man who looked to be somewhere in his fifties, nodded at Chase as he sat. Chase didn’t return the gesture. Two seats down from him was another man. Young and strong. Broad shouldered and slim at the waist. He sat perched on the edge of his chair, tapping each finger in turn against his thumb as the network of nerves and muscles danced in unison in his forearms. He caught Chase staring, the latter quickly averting his gaze and staring at the floor. The third man in the room was pale and blond with a dashing of acne across his cheeks. He had the wide eyed appearance of a deer caught in headlights, and was chewing h
is fingernails as his foot tapped rhythmically on the floor. Opposite him were what appeared to be a man and wife. Both dressed in army fatigues, their eyes were devoid of emotion as they glanced at Chase. He estimated them to be somewhere in their late forties, and as he looked at them holding hands, Chase wondered what would possess a couple to apply for The Island when only one of them would be able to win if they made it through.
The two women in the waiting room were of similar age, Chase guessed very early twenties. One was blonde and had a coldness in her eyes. She seemed completely relaxed, slumped on her chair, the top of a tattoo poking out from the neckline of her t-shirt. The other girl was different again. Black hair, blue eyes, slim build. She looked fragile, and Chase wondered what in her life could be so bad as to make her want to be a volunteer to take on The Island. He supposed they might think the same of him, and wondered what was about to happen next. One thing was for sure, the experience so far was a million miles away from the vision he had of dropping off his form and going back home. Something felt strange, not quite right. Maybe it was the fear; maybe it was just that it was now becoming more and more real as time went on. Maybe it was because these people in the room might well be his competition, and if they were, there was every chance he might have to kill them in order to win.
Fifteen minutes passed, and although he expected more people to arrive, nobody else came through the door. Chase wasn’t sure if that was a good or a bad sign, and decided he didn’t want to think about it. Instead, he stared at his feet at waited to see what would happen.
As if on cue, the lights dimmed and the screen cut to a view of a beautiful golden beach and a rolling blue ocean. The word ‘LIVE’ flicked up in the corner of the screen. As they watched, Damien Lomar walked into shot. This time there was no suit, no expensive pinkie ring. He was wearing a loose-fitting cotton t-shirt and dark sunglasses. He turned to the camera and smiled.
“Hello from paradise,” he said, the voice slightly out of sync with the images on screen. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there to greet you personally, but as I’m sure you can understand, I’m a busy man. I’m sure the eight of you are wondering why you are here. I’m sure there are nerves and also a little apprehension. The truth is that despite our generous prize offer and extensive advertising campaign, we struggled to find suitable contestants. Some of you are here after a call back. Two of you are here for the first time after handing in your application forms during the last few weeks. One thing you have in common is that you all made the cut.” Lomar grinned.
Despite what should be good news, the atmosphere in the waiting room was heavy.
“We were looking for a certain class of contestant. People who had a good story to tell, people who had a good reason to fight for what they believed in and who could win. The handprint scan you undertook on your first visit was designed to look for certain markers as well as search through your personal records, looking for certain key traits that we were looking for.” Lomar smiled again, enjoying the sun, letting the news sink in. “In a moment, some of my colleagues will enter the room and further brief you on the next stage of the process. Paperwork will have to be completed, waivers and non-disclosure agreements signed. In three days, if you still wish to participate after signing said forms and getting a full rundown of what will take place, you will return here to this very room. By doing so, you will have passed the point when you can back out. For those who do, we have a reserve list of more than fifty contestants which we will draw from to ensure we have our full quota of bodies on The Island. Returning here will mean you will take part in the show and all that it entails. Use this time to spend time with your loved ones, to remind yourselves why you are taking part. Upon arrival, you will then be transported here, to my island, the place where I make my home. I will personally welcome you and give you a few days of luxury before the arduous task ahead of you.”
Lomar paused for effect. Crashing surf, a breeze ruffling the microphone. “The reason for this is twofold. Firstly, it is to give you the last taste of comfort before what will be the most traumatic and difficult task you have ever undertaken. The second reason is to give you a taste of what could be, to give you a glimpse of the life you could have if you should win. The eight of you are the elite, the season one island contestants. I’m sure you will make for great television, and for one of you, live out the life you always wanted. Hopefully I’ll see you all in a few days. Congratulations again from everyone here at the Lomar Corporation.”
The screen went dark and the lights came back on. There was a heavy silence in the room as the eight people inside came to terms with what they had just heard. Chase, too, was reeling. His day had started as a simple application drop off and had ended with him getting a pale on the show. As the door opened and Lomar’s staff entered with said application forms and waivers, Chase’s mind turned to his wife, and how he was going to tell her that not only had he gone through with posting his application, but was now a part of the deadliest show in the world.
LOMAR
THE SEA STAR
ATLANTIC OCEAN
MARCH 5th 2044
Chase stood on the deck of the boat, eyes half closed against the breeze as they cut through the water. It was cold, but he didn’t mind. This was the first real ocean he had seen, and certainly the first that was blue instead of the garbage-filled brown of New York where he had lived all his life.
Of the eight of them who had been chosen to take part in the show, two had failed to return. Chase wondered if the couple in army fatigues were the wisest of all for taking the opportunity to back out. For a time, his return to the Lomar building had also been in doubt. He had gone back and told Ashley the news, and although he had expected her to be angry, he didn’t anticipate the outright rage. She had screamed at him, eyes full of fear and betrayal. He let her vent, taking it in and soaking it up, his penance for putting her in such an impossible position. Reason was no longer an option. She knew as well as he did that it was really happening. Eventually she calmed enough to stop screaming, but still she didn’t speak to him, nor did she look at him. He knew why. The sooner she prepared for his death the better, and if that meant ignoring him in what could conceivably be the last days of his life, then she was prepared to do it. He thought she would come around, at least show her support eventually, but even with his bags packed and standing by the door on the morning he was due to leave, she still ignored him. Eyes down, not wanting to look, not wanting to acknowledge. He had gone into Elsie’s room, but like she was most days, she was sleeping, skeletal and frail, breathing wet and ragged. He didn’t want to wake her. Instead, he kissed her on the forehead, committing the image to memory as a reminder of why he was about to put himself through hell. Grabbing his bag by the door, he looked to Ashley, hoping she would at least look at him, or tell him she loved him, but she simply stared out of the window, eyes raw, cheeks wet. With nothing more to be said, he had left their apartment, possibly for the last time, and set out for whatever awaited him.
“Cold up here.”
Chase blinked, and glanced towards the man. It was the African American man who had nodded at Chase when he had first arrived in the meeting room. His hair was a black and white shortly cropped afro, his beard trimmed into a goatee and sporting the same colour scheme. He had kind eyes, the crow’s feet at the corners giving him a warm, fatherly appearance. Although it felt odd making small talk with a man who he might have to murder, Chase saw no harm in at least being polite.
“I don’t mind it,” he said, turning towards the man. “It feels good.”
Chase looked at the man’s shirt. Each of them had been given the same standard outfit. Boots and combat pants. Ration kit and sleeping bag. Khaki shirts each with their name stencilled both on the back and across the breast pocket in black. AWEYO the shirt read. To his surprise, the old man thrust out a hand.
“My name is Moses. I’d say I’m pleased to meet you, but under the circumstances, I’m not sure that’s appropriate.”
He grinned, an honest gesture.
Chase gave his own name and couldn’t help but smile as he shook hands with the older man. “We must all be crazy,” he said.
“Perhaps we are. Either us or the people who organise this barbaric game.”
Chase nodded. He was about to respond by asking what Moses thought of Lomar when the cough came. There was no warning. Chase leaned onto the side of the boat, coughing and unable to catch his breath. When it subsided, Moses was watching him, Chase unsure if the look was predatory or concerned. “Are you alright?” Moses said, the African twang in his voice showing no hint of insincerity.
“I’m fine, just a cough, that’s all.”
Moses nodded. He didn’t believe the lie but didn’t pursue it either. For a moment, neither man spoke, both enjoying the wind in their face and the salt taste that came with it.
“Do you believe you will win?”
Chase was surprised by the directness of the question, and half turned towards Moses. “Do you?”
The older man shrugged. “Surely we all do, otherwise why would we be here?”
Chase nodded. Moses was right. It was both ridiculous and frightening at the same time.
“What brings you to The Island?” Moses asked, jaundiced eyes watching carefully.
“That’s my business. I don’t see the relevance. I’m sure you wouldn’t like to answer the same question.”
“Fair enough. I meant no offence. For the record, I’m happy to discuss my reasons for being here.”
“Go on,” Chase said, not through any interest in Moses’s story, but because he was starting to realise that any information, however small, might give him an advantage later.
Moses leaned on the barrier, Chase noticing how thick and muscular his forearms were. A small alarm started to ring in his head, telling him that there may be more to this man than met the eye.
