The Running Man: A Novel
Stephen King
Language: English
Pages: 416
ISBN: 1501143859
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
A desperate man attempts to win a reality TV game where the only objective is to stay alive in this #1 national bestseller from Stephen King, writing as Richard Bachman.
It was the ultimate death game in a nightmare future America. The year is 2025 and reality TV has grown to the point where people are willing to wager their lives for a chance at a billion-dollar jackpot. Ben Richards is desperate—he needs money to treat his daughter’s illness. His last chance is entering a game show called The Running Man where the goal is to avoid capture by Hunters who are employed to kill him. Surviving this month-long chase is another issue when everyone else on the planet is watching—and willing to turn him in for the reward.
With an introduction by Stephen King on “The Importance of Being Bachman.”
toothless maw at a blinding speed. “Said he goan to get medicine.” “If he gets busted, I’ll break his ass,” Bradley said, sitting heavily. “He won’t,” Richards said. “He’s got money.” “Yeah, maybe we don’t need no charity money, graymeat.” Richards laughed and salted his meal. “I’d probably be slabbed now if it wasn’t for him,” he said. “I guess it was earned money.” Bradley leaned forward, concentrating on his plate. None of them said anything more until the meal was done. Richards and
waiting for the silence to come. He returned, sat down, farted, and then the bedsprings shifted creakily as he lay down. “Bradley?” “What?” “Stacey said she was only five. Is that so?” “Yes.” The urban dialectic was gone from his voice, making him sound unreal and dreamlike. “What’s a five-year-old kid doing with lung cancer? I didn’t know they got it. Leukemia, maybe. Not lung cancer.” There was a bitter, whispered chuckle from the bed. “You’re from Harding, right? What’s the air-pollution
Newsbreak Top. I’ve got a hostage. Her name is Amelia Williams. From—” He looked at her. “Falmouth,” she said miserably. “From Falmouth. Safe conduct or I’ll kill her.” “Jesus, I smell the Pulitzer Prize!” “No, you just shit your pants, that’s all,” Richards said. He felt lightheaded. “You get the word out. I want the State Pigs to find out everyone knows I’m not alone. Three of them at a roadblock tried to blow us up.” “What happened to the cops!” “I killed them.” “All three? Hot damn!”
The force of it made her stagger, then crumple to the plush carpet of this plush first-class section with her face cupped in her hands, as if to hold it on. Richards’s blood had dried to a tacky maroon smear on her blouse. Her full skirt, spread around her and hiding her legs, made her look like a wilted flower. Richards felt sorry for her. It was a shallow emotion, feeling sorry, but the best he could manage. “Mr. Richards?” It was Holloway’s voice over the cabin intercom. “Yes.” “Do we…are
kidney-shaped mahogany desk with the Games symbol on it. “Hello there,” Richards said softly. He could have fallen out of his seat when Killian straightened up, grinned, and said, “Hello there yourself, Mr. Richards.” …Minus 017 and COUNTING… “I can’t see you,” Killian said, “but I can hear you. The jet’s voice-com ins being relayed through the radio equipment in the cockpit. They tell me you’re shot up.” “It’s not as bad as it looks,” Richards said. “I got scratched up in the woods.”