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The rules are simple: Seven contestants will enter, only one will leave.
With his daughter in his arms, Stephen Swain is plunged into a terrifying fight for survival. The stakes are high, the odds brutal. He can choose to run, to hide or to fight - but if he wants to live, he has to win. For in this contest, unless you leave as the victor, you do not leave at all.
Readers all over the world have been cheering about Matthew Reilly’s lightning fast adventure thrillers. Contest, the action-packed extravaganza that launched this international bestselling career, is vintage Reilly at his explosive best.
end. Swain pulled Balthazar out of the lift and dragged him over to the hand-railing overlooking the Ground Floor. He was propping the big man up against the railing when the others joined them. ‘What do we do about that?’ Hawkins said, indicating the open elevator behind them. He spoke softly in the darkness. ‘Turn the light off,’ Swain whispered. ‘If you can’t find the switch, just unscrew the fluorescent tube. Apart from that,’ he shrugged, ‘I don’t know, leave it there. As long as it’s
out,’ he said finally. ‘What!’ Selexin and Hawkins said at the same time. Swain was already reaching up for the handcuffs, unlocking them. ‘For one thing, we can’t stay here,’ he said. ‘Sooner or later one of those bastards out there is going to break down this door. And when that happens, we’ll be trapped. I say we get ready to run as soon as something happens.’ ‘As soon as something happens?’ Selexin said. ‘A rather inexact plan if you don’t mind my saying so.’ Swain put the cuffs in his
thirty-four seconds long—three times longer than any other surge. And look at when it occurred: 6:46 p.m. That’s nearly twenty-three minutes after the surge before it. All of the others occurred within twenty minutes.’ Swain looked at Selexin. ‘The last surge was a separate surge. And it was big. Very big. Something that took a long time to teleport—thirty-four seconds to teleport.’ ‘What are you saying?’ ‘I think Bellos had someone teleport a teleporter into the library so he could get the
against the floor. Hard against the floor. Swain roared in agony as his wrist hit the marble floor. There was a loud clunking sound, followed by a sharp burning pain that shot right through his forearm. With the impact, his hand holding the lighter reflexively opened wide and the Zippo dropped to the floor. Swain never noticed it. And he had instantly forgotten about the burning pain in his forearm. Now he was staring. Staring at his left wrist in total disbelief. The wristband had hit the
Station. As for Contest, well, as any Hollywood screenwriter will tell you, the best creatures of all are the ones you make up. For when you create an alien species, there are absolutely no limits. They can bleed acid (Alien), they can see via infra-red (Predator), or they can just be bigger, meaner and nastier than the biggest, meanest and nastiest Earth-based creatures. Do you have the ending in your head when you start writing a new novel? Ah, yes! This is Frequently Asked Question No. 1.