Alex Green (Boy 6) watched as, one by one, his friends were called.

"Boys #3, Dave Brunning," said Mr. Atkinson's toneless voice. Dave obediently got up and trudged out.

"Girls #3, Shabina Ghazali."

The cleverest student in the class grabbed her bag and hurried off, looking distressed. In the two minutes between names being called, Mahmoud (Boy 7) spoke up.

"None of us are playing, right?" he said.

There was relieved, nervous laughter. Of course, nobody was. How could any of them think of killing their classmates?

"Boys #4, Will Dalton," said the teacher.

Will stood up. "See you outside, then?" he said hopefully, then took off at a jog, tossing his bag over his shoulder. Nina Haczynski (Girl 4) went next, also running, looking scared out of her wits.

The thought occurred to Alex that some of them could already be dead. There were eight students out there now, alone in the dark – or maybe not alone - and armed. He was beginning to finally grasp the situation.

What if someone was playing? He trusted everyone in the room implicitly, classmates and friends all of them, since he transferred into the group three years ago. He'd been in the group long enough to have a fair idea of most of the personalities in the class, but what he'd never seen is how each one of them would react to extreme mental pressure. Being on the Program was terrifying. If it wasn't the constant fear and the lack of food and sleep, it was the cameras. Some people didn't cope well with being watched all the time. Being stared at by millions of viewers did not help the paranoia. If you got scared enough, it wouldn't be hard to equate playing with staying alive.

"Boys #5, James Dyer."

Alex thought of the consequences of a strong, athletic guy like James getting paranoid, hurting someone...

Then, his strategy came to him. At first, he'd planned to team up with whoever he could, try and think a way out of the Program. He was sure it could be done, there were some good thinkers in the class. But to do that denied any responsibility to the people who couldn't find groups, who got lost alone in the woods, who hid and waited and would eventually become players.

No, thought Alex. Not my friends. Not even the people I don't know well.

Emma Litchfield (Girl 5) was called. He heard Erin Lynch (Girl 6) whisper to her, "Wait for me, I'll meet you outside."

Would lifelong friends like Erin and Emma eventually turn on each other?

120 seconds until Alex was called. He realised what he had to do.

"Guys," he called out, "we can't get separated and spread out all over the island. That's what they want us to do. I had this idea... let's all meet on top of the mountain in the centre of the map, twelve noon tomorrow – you just turn up, I'll go looking for the ones who have already gone to tell them."

"That's a really good idea," said Natalie Rankin (Girl 10). Her warm approval made Alex feel a bit embarrassed, but gave him confidence. She was the student council representative, a born leader if there ever was one, and having her on board would definitely improve their chances of recruiting others.

"Yeah," said Mahmoud Ibrahim (Boy 7). "Count me in." There were positive noises from some of the others.

"Twelve tomorrow?" said Sophie Orr (Girl 8), a note of doubt in her voice. "Do you want to wait that long?"

"Maybe you shouldn't go alone," Sami Modha (Boy 9) suggested. "I'm not saying anyone is playing, of course."

Alex shook his head. "No-one is. It'll be fine - I don't want to wait around. I'll need time to find everyone. But nothing's going to happen to anyone overnight. We've got to trust each other."

"He's got a point," said Natalie. "Okay. Twelve noon tomorrow." She was even smiling. "Don't be late!"

"I promise," said Alex. As an afterthought, he scribbled down his mobile number and passed it to Natalie. "Don't know if it'll work, but... worth a try."

Then he was called.

"I'll see you all tomorrow," he promised, and left the room.

Outside the classroom was a long corridor. At the end, he could see darkness, and the shapes of trees, through an open door. In front of him was a rack with large backpacks on it, all khaki green and with the students' names in white ink. His own didn't look very full. Some of the bags were bulging, and looked to contain oddly-shaped items.

Alex shouldered his own, and cautiously advanced towards the door.

If I don't trust them, he thought, they're never going to trust me. I have to have faith in them.

A cool wind whistled through his hair as he stepped out into the open. Before him lay what had once been the school playground. The swings rocked gently in the breeze, with a slight creaking of unoiled chains.

There was no-one there. Everyone who had been called before him had decided not to wait. Alex looked around for a moment to get his bearings, seeing the small village laid out to the south, with the glimmer of sea beyond it. Of course. Anyone with half a brain would have gone there, found a safehouse to pass the night. The thick forest in front of him didn't look like a good option. It was so dark you could walk five metres into it and not be able to find your way back. No-one with any sense would have decided to hide out in there, and there was no point going in himself in the middle of the night. He unzipped his bag and grabbed a torch, a map and his weapon.

A knife. The sort of knife rugged movie heroes used to hack through thick vegetation or pick their teeth. Nicely crafted, a good weight in the hand. It'd do to slice bread, he thought, and dropped it back in the bag.

Then, he heard Mr Atkinson's recorded voice, muffled and dim, from inside the school. "Girls #6, Erin Lynch."

He realised that if he were still waiting by the door when Erin came out, she might think he was waiting for her. Either she'd be frightened and think he was lying in wait, or (worse) she'd work out that he liked her, that he'd thought she was cute and witty for quite some time now, and take offence at the idea that he wanted to protect her. He hurried off into the shadows. A path ran down from the low hill where the school was, which seemed to correspond with the quickest way into the residential zone marked on the maps. Alex turned his back on the school and vanished into the night.

Be safe, Erin, he thought. I'll find you.

Erin came out of the school a moment later, carrying a backpack that looked too large for her and bulged oddly at the side. She had her torch in her hand, which she flashed around before venturing out. She too found the playground area deserted and for a moment looked lost, squinting into the darkness. Perhaps something out there caught her eye.

Erin turned, seemingly without fear, and walked straight into the dark wood.

-

The front half of the room was now empty, with only five boys and five girls remaining.

"Boys #8, James Lewis."

Alicia's friend from the Christian Union rose slowly. He couldn't do this, not alone. Many people together are strong, but one by himself didn't stand much of a chance. Unlike Alex, he didn't think that everyone in the class was to be implicitly trusted. He was certain that some of them would play the game – boys like James Dyer, one of the more popular ones, fast and strong and with little interest in those less physically gifted than himself. Then there was muscular, sullen Jack Trull, who never said anything at all. On top of that was the unpalatable thought of being killed by a girl. He couldn't bear the shame. But girls sometimes won, and apart from Alicia and her friends, he didn't trust the girls in his class. Abigail Dawson (Girl 2), for instance – Abigail who had a boyfriend with a motorbike and hung about in the park drinking cider. He'd seen her friends, multiple-pierced, tattooed horrors who looked dirty and potentially violent. He had always been a little afraid of her. She'd left the room at a run – couldn't wait to get started? And then there was athletic Zoe Peacock (Girl 9), sitting behind him, drumming her fingers on the desk. They weren't nice girls. He'd heard the sort of things they talked about. They could be dangerous, out there in the dark where there were no rules but the rules of the game; no morals, no honesty, just the game.

James left the room at a casual pace, to show he was not afraid. Alone in the corridor, he was suddenly gripped by mortal terror. He tore his bag from the rack and fled, running as fast as he could into the night. They wouldn't get him if he ran. They couldn't get him.

In the classroom, now mostly empty, Natalie turned round to talk to Bethany Tupper (Girl 12) so she didn't feel excluded.

"You've got to go last then?" she said.

"Yes," said Bethany.

"You'll be fine. You can trust any of them, we're all friends." Natalie, probably the most popular girl in the class, could claim friendship with most of them, and as for the others, she didn't have ill-will towards them and was willing to give them the benefit of the doubt.

"None of us are secret homicidal maniacs," said Zoe, with a smile.

"You're right," said Bethany. Her eyes were slightly glazed. Natalie took it for an after-effect of the drug. She didn't know Bethany too well, but thought that perhaps she was shy, having joined the class when all the friendship groups had already formed.

One by one, the last ones were sent out. Jack Trull, probably the fastest of all of them out of the school. Natalie, waving and promising to see them all tomorrow, if not before. Joe Wright, dejected, slunk out with his head down, then Katie Robinson, who looked much younger than her years with her chunky child's haircut. Paul Yates took the time to put on his winter coat before leaving. Then the room was almost empty. Bethany Tupper was the last one.

She stared at the screen when her name was called, as if uncomprehending.

"Go on, Bethany," said Mr. Atkinson's voice. "You have to leave the zone before one-thirty."

She stood up and wandered out, leaving the doors open behind her. Around the island, the speaker system thundered out the first announcement: "00:48 – the game begins. Vacate zone E6 promptly."

-

In a tightly-guarded military compound several hundred miles away, Mr. Atkinson put down his microphone. He looked with tired eyes to the soldier waiting at his side.

"I've done my part," he said. "Now can I go home to my family?"

"Certainly. The car is waiting."

He said nothing. The commander turned back to his observation screen as Atkinson was escorted out by a detail of men. Outside, it was a cold, dank night, with curtains of rain falling across the compound, illuminated by the raw light of the floodlights. The Atlantic front was rolling in across the country, bringing the heavy rain that was estimated to hit the island in twenty-four hours, and was pouring over London now. Atkinson pulled his thin coat around him walked towards the headlights, blinking away the water in his eyes.

"Bastards, you bastards..." he muttered, before ducking into the back seat of the car. He put his head in his hands and thought of the kids he'd devoted the past five years to, the futures they'd never have.

At home, he sat down and switched on the Program, and watched. Like millions of others, he would sit and watch as, one by one, the unremarkable class of sixteen-year-olds was whittled down to a singularity.

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