I promised myself I wouldn't write this, but apparently I am terrible at keeping promises. Here is a Waterloo Road fic inspired by The Hunger Games. Oh, dear. (I've decided to put it in the Waterloo Road rather than the crossover section because it's much more a Waterloo Road fic; The Hunger Games just provided a concept.)

This is technically set in series six, but I've played with the timeline slightly, so some characters who left in series five are still around.

I hope you enjoy it!

The Waterloo Road Academic Games

Josh has a bad feeling about this assembly from the start. He has a bad feeling about every assembly Mr Tyler calls, just like every other former John Foster's pupil, but for this one, Mr Tyler's first assembly as head of Waterloo Road, he has an even worse feeling than usual.

"Miss Mason," Mr Tyler announces, "was obstructive. She seemed to have a terrible fear of allowing Waterloo Road to progress as a school."

There are low mutters amongst the assembled pupils; Miss Mason was popular, and even those who didn't particularly like her preferred her to Mr Tyler. Josh doesn't mutter; he's listening hard, waiting for whatever Mr Tyler is going to say next. Talking about progression is a danger sign, but maybe it'll be all right. Maybe he's just going to scrap first break or make everyone take five A levels or something.

Mr Tyler sweeps a silencing look across the room before he continues.

"Now that Miss Mason has left and I am headmaster, I can finally implement a few schemes she was... difficult about, let's say. In particular, I intend to introduce a yearly event that inspired an enormous improvement in marks at John Foster's."

Josh goes very still. Nearby, he hears Amy breathe, "Shit!"

"This summer," Mr Tyler says, "we will have the pleasure of watching the first annual Waterloo Road Academic Games."

The Games work like this:

Two pupils are chosen from each school year: a boy and a girl. All these 'tributes' are thrown into a big arena, where they fight to the death. The last one alive wins.

Mr Tyler's not lying when he says the Games improved marks at John Foster's. The tributes are chosen by drawing names out of a ball, but not everyone's name is in there the same number of times. If you've been averaging As for that year, your name goes in once; Bs, it goes in two times; Cs, three; you get the idea. A* pupils don't go into the draw at all, although it's not like there are many of those at Waterloo Road. If you don't want to end up in that arena, you've got to work hard.

Josh didn't get chosen at John Foster's. Well, obviously he didn't; he's still here, and he doesn't think he'd be the one to bet on with fourteen people all trying to kill each other. Then the merger happened. He thought he'd escaped.

Still, maybe he won't get picked. There are a lot of boys in Year Eleven with worse marks than him; the competition isn't nearly as bad as it was at John Foster's. He probably won't get picked.

But Finn easily might, and Josh's heart lurches at the thought.

He'll need to help Finn with his homework all this year, then. And the next two, if they're both still around.

The year flies by; they always seem to go quicker when the Games are looming at the end of them. It seems like no time at all has passed before they're all assembled in the hall, listening as Mr Tyler announces the names of the people who are going to be dragged off to kill each other.

The names are announced in year order going up, girl first and then the boy. By the time Mr Tyler reaches Year Eleven, Josh is shaking.

"Sambuca Kelly."

"No!" Lauren cries aloud, next to him.

Josh feels sick. Sam's not one of his closest friends, but they get on well enough, and she's really important to a lot of people Josh cares about. This is horrible. Maybe she'll win – she's probably tough enough to put up a strong fight – but it's not easy to feel hopeful. And he's seen winners. They're never the same.

Sam goes up and stands on the stage, keeping her eyes fixed on one point in the crowd. She doesn't cry, although it looks like it's a struggle not to. Josh doesn't have to look around to know she's watching her mum and Denzil.

"And now the male tribute from Year Eleven." Mr Tyler puts his hand into the ball and takes out a slip of paper. He unfolds it, grimaces and reads it out loud. "Joshua Stevenson."

It takes Josh a moment to realise what that means. Nobody ever calls him Joshua.

"Josh," Mr Tyler says, sharply, "come up onto the stage."

He's been doing well. He's been getting Bs. But that's still two slips in the ball, and Mr Tyler has drawn one of them, and now he's going to be killed. He doesn't stand a chance in that arena.

Josh breaks free of Lauren's arms somehow – he's not even aware of when she threw them around him – and walks numbly through the crowd. He can hear his dad shouting his name, strangely muffled as if there's a thick wall of glass between them, but he can't turn around and look at him because he knows if he does he'll burst into tears.

As he climbs up onto the stage, though, someone leaps in front of him.

"No way," Finn says. "I volunteer to go instead."

The fog in Josh's mind seems to lift – his senses are working again, the world doesn't seem to be moving in slow motion any more – and his stomach plummets, if possible, even lower. A moment ago he was almost praying for someone to volunteer in his place, but if it's Finn...

Mr Tyler smiles broadly. "Excellent. Well, step this way, Mr Sharkey, and—"

"No," Josh says.

Mr Tyler raises an eyebrow. "No?"

"I don't accept," Josh says. "I was there at John Foster's; I know the rules. I've been chosen, so I get to say if someone else can volunteer. Finn's not going. I'll go."

"Don't be stupid, you'll get slaughtered," Finn says. "I reckon I could win this."

Mr Tyler stares at Josh, then puts a hand on his shoulder and draws him firmly aside.

"Josh," he hisses, "think about what you're doing. Finn Sharkey is exactly the sort of blight on this school that we need to eradicate. You're a capable student, and if Finn takes your place Waterloo Road may well go up a couple of places in the league tables. Don't you want to help better your school?"

Josh looks coldly at him. "You can tell Finn to sit back down. I'm going into the arena."

"You'll regret this."

Josh already does, but he tries to hold Mr Tyler's eyes without letting his fear show.

The tributes get an hour alone in a classroom to say their goodbyes. Finn comes in to see Josh, obviously, and so does Lauren – she's a wreck; her two best friends are both going into the arena – and then, after they've gone, one more person appears at the door.

"Dad," Josh says. His voice sounds somehow small and strange to his own ears.

Tom crosses the room without saying a word and pulls Josh into his arms. Josh holds him back tightly and closes his eyes and tries to believe that when he opens them again he'll be back home.

"We're going to run away, son," Tom whispers into his ear.

"We can't," Josh whispers back. "There are snipers outside. Mr Tyler'll kill both of us."

Tom pulls out of the hug, but he stays close, his hands on Josh's shoulders. "There has to be something we can do. I'm not losing you."

Josh forces a weak smile. The whole thing is broadcast live to the pupils and teachers back at the school, his mind whispers. His dad is going to have to watch him die. "At least in the arena I'll have a chance."

"Why couldn't you have let Finn volunteer for you?"

"Dad," Josh says. "Don't."

Tom hugs Josh again, murmuring over and over again how much he loves him. In the end, the arena escorts have to drag him out.

Tom stumbles out of the school doors, slams his hands against a wall, tries to choke back his tears. Rose Kelly finds him there half an hour later, after the tributes' train has left.

"I'm going to kill Max Tyler," he snarls.

"We can do that later," Rose says. She's pale, but her voice doesn't waver. "I'm going to save our kids."

It doesn't start like the Games at John Foster's did. Josh is used to the first death happening within the first minute or so. But these are Waterloo Road kids. Apart from him and Lindsay and her sister, they haven't seen the Games before. They haven't watched their classmates kill each other; they haven't had time to get to grips with the idea that one day it might be them in that arena. It probably hasn't really hit them yet that, no, there's no way out; they really are stuck in a fight to the death.

So they slink around, keeping a wary eye on each other, gathering up the supplies and weapons piled around a circular fountain at the starting point. They're thinking about survival, not attacking.

All of them except Lindsay, who climbs to the highest place at the starting point – the top of a large abstract marble sculpture – and, once she's made sure Emily's with her, starts throwing knives.

Everyone scarpers pretty quickly then.

The arena this year seems like some sort of enormous semi-wild park, with woods and ponds and acres of grass. Not far from the starting point, Josh sees a herd of deer. Maybe they could be a source of food? With a load of tributes not used to the idea of fighting on this level, these Games could go on for ages; starvation could be a real danger. He really doesn't think he's the deer-killing type.

Josh worked out his strategy for the Games years ago, watching them for the first time back when he was twelve, if 'strategy' is the right word for it. He knows he's not a killer. He doesn't have the heart for it, and even if he did – as he knows from various disastrous attempts to practise with common arena weapons – he wouldn't have the skill. So his plan, if you can call it that, has always been to stay out of everyone else's way and hope that they all kill each other. And when there's just him and one other person left, maybe, if he's very, very lucky, they'll trip over their laces or something and die.

God, he's never going to see anyone he loves again.

It's an even worse strategy than usual this year, because it's a whole field of people who don't really know how this whole thing works yet. If he were an offensive player, this would be great; he'd be able to pick most of the others off while they were still trying to work out which end of a spear to hold. As it is, all it means for him is that it could take weeks for the other players to take each other down. He's going to need a lot of food and water, or he'll die even if nobody's trying to kill him. And, of course, he'll need to keep out of sight.

He makes his way into the woods as soon as he can; people who stay out in the open never last long.

As it turns out, the woods weren't the right decision.

It's Lindsay. It's Lindsay, who used to go to John Foster's, who was the only one who actually attacked at the starting point. And she's got a knife. And Josh has no fighting ability whatsoever.

"Don't hurt me," Josh pleads, even though he knows for a fact that that's not a line that has ever worked in the Games.

"My sister's in this arena," Lindsay says fiercely, tears in her eyes. "And I know she won't kill anyone. And she's got to win. I don't want to kill you, but I will."

Josh backs away, holding up his hands. He's not much of a runner, but maybe if he makes a dash for it he'll be able to get away? "You don't have to—"

"I'm sorry," she half-sobs, and she lashes out with the knife.

Josh stumbles back. For a moment he thinks she's just got his trousers, and then there's a stinging in his left thigh that rapidly escalates to an agonising, burning pain. He claps his hands over the cut and feels blood against his palm. Like he's going to outrun anyone now.

He was never going to survive the first day anyway.

Lindsay raises the knife again. Josh, breathing hard, thinking of Finn and Lauren and Dad and even Mum, closes his eyes.

And then there's a yell that isn't Josh's, and he opens his eyes again.

It takes him a moment to make sense of what he's seeing. There's a lot of blonde hair, and – it's Sam, Sam's jumped on top of Lindsay and she's trying to wrestle the knife away from her.

Maybe Josh will get to live for a few more hours, at least. He tries to run away while he has the chance; it's more a moderately fast limp than a run, but at least he's getting out of there.

Of course, once the fight's over, it's not difficult for the winner to catch him.

"Josh!" Sam calls. He can hear her trainers pounding the forest floor. "Josh!"

Josh tries to limp-run faster, but it's useless. Sam charges around in front of him, cutting him off.

"I just saved you," she says, holding up a bloodstained knife – Lindsay's knife. "I'm not letting you get away without a thanks."

"What, you did that for me?" Josh asks, taking a couple of steps back from the knife. It's good news if it's true, but somehow he has trouble making himself believe it.

"What else was I going to do it for? I'm not mad enough to pull a knife off some psycho for nothing. And I didn't kill her; stop looking so freaked out. She ran."

"Why'd you help me?" Josh asks. "Would've been easier for you if you'd just let her kill me."

Sam laughs. "Lauren'd never forgive me, for one thing."

Josh manages to smile a bit, his breathing starting to ease. "Yeah, same if I let you die. S'pose that means we should work together."

"How's your leg?"

Josh grimaces. He pulls the cut in the fabric of his trousers apart; the material moves reluctantly, slicked to his skin with blood. It's hard to tell how long or how deep the wound is with all the blood everywhere; all he knows is that it hurts.

"Got to get that bandaged up," Sam says. "They'll be able to track us if you're stumbling around leaving blood everywhere." She's undoing her tie as she speaks. "Give me yours."

Josh wordlessly pulls his tie off and hands it to her. Sam knots the ties together and pulls on the ends to make sure they won't come apart.

"Right, now your shirt," she says.

"My shirt?"

"What, you think a couple of school ties are going to solve that? I need to make a pad, don't I?"

"Out of my shirt?"

"Unless you've got a first-aid kit you're not telling me about."

Josh hesitates for a moment longer, then he shrugs off his blazer, takes off his shirt and gives it to Sam. He pulls his blazer back on straight away over his bare chest, very conscious of the fact that this will all be being broadcast at the school.

Sam doesn't plan on using the whole shirt, it turns out; she presses it up against a tree trunk and starts to hack off the sleeves with Lindsay's knife. Josh sits on a tree stump, trying to keep his weight off his left side and watching her mutilate his uniform. Not like he's ever likely to need it again.

"How'd you learn all this stuff?" he asks.

She doesn't answer for a long time, still working at the shirt.

"Marley taught me," she says, eventually. "My big brother. Back when Mum was drinking, we all just had to look after ourselves."

Josh tries to imagine what it must have been like. His life hasn't exactly gone smoothly all the time, but he's always had Mum or Dad around. He's never had to take care of someone the way Sam's had to take care of her brothers.

"You're probably going to win," he says.

Sam doesn't say anything.

Josh bites his lip. "Can you do me a favour?" he asks. "If you get out of here, can you tell Finn and Lauren I love them? And my dad?"

There's a moment's silence. "They'll have heard that, won't they? On the cameras." She doesn't turn to look at him, but she sounds a bit upset.

"Can you tell them anyway?"

Another pause, and this time when Sam speaks her voice is steady. "Maybe you'll be able to tell them yourself." She finishes getting the sleeves off, wads them up and throws the now-sleeveless shirt back to Josh. "You'll need to take off your trousers."

If anything can jerk Josh out of his bleak thoughts, it's that. "You've got to be having me on. The whole school's watching."

"Yeah, and if you're lucky you'll live long enough for them to laugh at you about it. But you need that cut bandaged first, and I can't do it over your trousers."

He really doesn't like this, but... well, it's probably better than bleeding to death.

"Right," Sam says, once she's done what she can for the cut and Josh, wincing, has pulled his blood-encrusted trousers back on. "What do we do now?"

Josh has been thinking about this – he spent the entire bandaging process trying to focus on anything other than what people might be saying back at school – and he's come up with a plan. "We get to the boundary," he says. "That way no one can come at us from behind."

"Good idea," Sam says.

She pulls his arm over her shoulder and – as best Josh can manage – they run.

The boundary is a solid metal fence, more than twice as tall as Josh even when he's stretching his arms up as high as they can go. He reminds Sam not to touch it – they were warned before entering the arena that the boundary fence was lethally electrified, although it wasn't as if Josh needed the warning after seeing what happened to a John Foster's classmate of his in Year Nine – and they sit down on the grass, resting their backs against a large rock.

They can't stay here for ever, obviously, but it's a good place for now. The fence is behind them, blocking off attack from that direction; the end of the woods is in front of them, so there's shelter within sprinting distance. There's a river running a little to the south, so they've got water.

No food, though, and hunger is already starting to creep up. They'll have to go looking at some point. What the hell does Josh know about surviving in the wild? He taught himself some snares a few years ago, just in case his name got drawn, but they don't have any rope, and their ties are busy holding his blood in.

Still. It's a good place for now.

The staff room is almost silent as everyone watches the Games unfold, the other teachers occasionally casting uncomfortable glances over at Tom and Rose. The kitchen staff are technically supposed to be watching in the hall with the pupils, but nobody questions Rose's presence here. She and Tom occasionally whisper to each other; they both want to run straight to the arena and try to pull the kids out, but they know they need to watch some of the footage first, get a feel for the arena layout, form a plan.

Christ, it's difficult to stay put when your son's been slashed in the leg, though.

"Have you noticed nobody's killed anyone yet?" Chris asks, breaking the silence. "We never went this long without a death at John Foster's."

"Lindsay's trying," Tom says, tightly.

"She volunteered, you know," Cesca says. "I think she wanted to make sure she could protect her sister, even if it means she'll have to kill herself for Emily to win. You have to feel sorry for her."

"How the hell have you not murdered Max Tyler yet?" Tom demands, glaring at Chris. "Having to watch this every year at that place?"

"The reason I came to Waterloo Road was to keep an eye on him. I wanted to make sure he didn't start this whole thing up again."

"Well, great job on that."

"Sorry," Chris says, getting angry now, "do you actually think I've never—"

Tom's itching for a fight, the mood he's in, but it's probably for the best that Cesca intervenes. "People say the children here are barbaric," she says. "I think this proves them wrong. It's a shame the same can't be said for the headteacher." She falls silent, watching as Lindsay and Emily struggle through the trees, sharing sips of their dwindling water supply. "There's a river just off to their left. I wish I could tell them."

Tom stares at her. "Wait. You know the arena?"

"Kelwood Park? I went there all the time when I lived in the south. It's horrible to see it used for something like this."

"Do you know where Sam and Josh are?"

Cesca looks at him, and a smile slowly begins to cross her face. "Well," she says, "if you print out a map, I can probably mark roughly the right area."

It's starting to get dark. There haven't been any cannons to announce a death yet. Are they not doing cannons this year? Leaving the tributes with no idea how many people they've got left to face?

And then the trumpets for an announcement play, and Josh sits up straight, listening hard.

"Waterloo Road," Mr Tyler's voice begins. "I am extremely disappointed in you."

Sam and Josh exchange glances.

"The Games have now been running for over twelve hours, and we have not seen a single death. At John Foster's, half the tributes would have been taken out by this point. Don't you have any pride?

"If nobody has died by tomorrow morning, I will begin to introduce dangers myself. Don't mistake me; one way or another, only one of you is going to survive this. Wouldn't you rather hunt than be hunted?"

There is a pause after the loudspeakers have fallen silent.

"What does he mean, 'introduce dangers'?" Sam asks.

"Could be anything," Josh says. "My first year at John Foster's people weren't fighting enough, so he set half the arena on fire. Five kids died. Third year there was tigers."

Sam frowns. "Doesn't sound good."

"Should we try to fight, d'you think?" Josh asks, reluctantly.

Sam crosses her arms, leaning further back into the rock. "Nah, I think we should fight Mr Tyler and just stay here. I'm sick of him."

It's a plan Josh is happy to agree to. He leans back as well, trying to get comfortable, trying not to think about what Mr Tyler might be planning to introduce tomorrow.

Halfway through the night, when Josh is keeping watch, Sam shifts to lean against his shoulder. Josh is a little taken aback, but he doesn't complain; it's nice to have a friend so close at a time like this. He hopes they don't end up having to kill each other.

Although they don't yet seem to have a fully-formed rescue plan, Tom and Rose have decided that they need to set off now, if Max is threatening some unknown danger in the morning; it'll take them most of the night to reach Kelwood Park by car. Cesca sees them off with a map and a fervent 'Good luck', and as she walks back to the school, all the windows dark except the hall, the staff room and the head's office, she sees that Chris is standing outside the front doors.

"Rose and Tom gone?" he asks, as she reaches him.

Cesca nods, and then, after a moment, decides to say what's taking up most of her mind at the moment. "We should help them."

"What can we do from here?"

"I don't know. Maybe we can get into Max's office? He might have some way of disabling the electric fence."

"He'll have armed guards outside his office for the Games," Chris says. "He always did at John Foster's. I want to do something, but I don't see how we're going to get anywhere near him."

"Hmm." Cesca pauses for a moment, thinking. "Well, what if we had the entire school on our side?"

Chris stares at her. "What, get the kids involved?"

"These are their friends, their classmates. They're good kids – well, most of them are. I'm sure they'd want to help."

"No," Chris says. "No way. We can't send them in to fight armed guards."

"I don't think we can stand back and watch as fourteen of them kill each other either, Chris. And in a fight between Waterloo Road and a handful of guards, I know who I'd bet on."

After speaking to the remaining teachers in the staff room ("I don't personally see how this bloodsport is any different from the normal daily routine at this place," Grantly said, not looking up from his newspaper, "but I suppose I'll do what I can to help"), Cesca heads to the hall. Night has fallen, and it's only technically compulsory for the pupils to watch during daylight hours, but they're all still here; nobody's going to stop watching when their friends' lives are at stake.

The hall is silent when she enters: the tense silence of a room full of people who were talking before you came in and are waiting for you to leave so they can begin talking again. All the pupils are watching the big screen up on the stage, on which Mark Fletcher – a Year Eight boy, not a great academic achiever but very sweet – is huddled in the hollow of a tree, trying and failing not to cry.

"I'm sure you're all very upset by these Games," Cesca says.

"You bet," Kyle Stack says, his feet propped up on the chair in front of him. "There's hardly been any blood."

Cesca ignores him.

"Thought the teachers were all meant to smile and nod along with whatever Mr Tyler says," Lauren says. It's obvious she's been crying, but her voice is hard and steady. "Why do you care how we feel?"

"Time to test your Spanish," Cesca says, smiling grimly. "Who here knows what revolución means?"

Lauren and Finn look at each other.

"You know, miss," Finn says, after a moment, "we were just talking about one of those."

Josh wakes slowly, Sam still leaning against him. It's a warm summer's morning, and the birds are trilling, and Josh is almost certain there weren't any cannons during the night, which means Mr Tyler is probably going to spend today trying to kill them.

Great. Although a part of Josh is almost pleased that none of the tributes have killed each other yet. It's as if they're all winning some kind of bigger game.

And then they hear a voice. It seems somehow dampened, as if there's more than distance between it and them, but it sounds as if it's calling Sam's name.

Sam sits up sharply. "Did you hear that?"

"Could be a trap," Josh says. "I'd stay put."

"Sam!" the voice calls, again, and Sam and Josh leap to their feet at the same time, whirling to stare at the enormous fence.

The pain in Josh's leg flares up with the sudden movement, but he ignores it. "Was that someone on the other side?"

"Mum?" Sam yells, disbelief clear in her voice.

"Sam, thank God you're all right!"

"Don't touch the fence, Mum, it's electric!"

"Please tell me Josh is still with you," another voice calls, and Josh wonders if he's dreaming.

"Dad, is that you?"

"Good to hear from you, son. We have to move quickly; the head's probably watching. D'you know how far down this fence goes?"

"How would I know that?"

"Right," Tom says, after a moment. "I suppose we might be able to—"

Sam gives a wordless yelp just as Josh realises something is wrong. Something weird has happened to his balance, some kind of shift, and he stumbles and it takes him a moment to realise the ground is crumbling beneath his feet.

This is the danger Mr Tyler was planning to introduce, he realises in a split-second; the arena is just caving in. He leaps to another patch of ground, which immediately begins to disappear as well. The ground isn't collapsing on its own, it seems, but it can't take any weight.

Better keep moving, then.

Josh keeps jumping from place to place, trying not to fall – he's vaguely aware of Sam doing the same nearby – but he can't keep this up for ever (his leg threatens to give way more urgently with every movement he makes) and if they keep going for too long they'll cut themselves off from this part of the fence, from his dad and Sam's mum.

"The fence," Sam yells, and after a second Josh understands. The ground under the fence won't crumble, because the fence has to stay standing. If they can get over there, they should be all right.

Josh runs as fast as he can manage (God, his leg), the ground collapsing behind him, and barely manages to pull himself up in time not to slam into the fence and end up fried. He doubles over, clutching his thigh, breathing hard, and when he turns around he finds himself standing on a narrow but stable ledge, staring into the abyss of his trail.

He's feeling weak, and his legs are trembling. How much blood has he lost?

It takes a moment for him to become aware of the urgent "Are you all right?" calls from the other side of the wall.

"We're fine," Sam answers shakily, standing close to the fence a little further up. "I think Mr Tyler knows you're here, though."

As she's still speaking, the announcement trumpets play.

"Josh Stevenson and Sambuca Kelly," Mr Tyler's voice says, tight and obviously furious. "Step away from the boundary."

"What are we meant to step away to?" Sam demands aloud, gesturing at the chasms where their feet have fallen.

"If you try to escape, the consequences will be dire not only for you but for your friends and families. Don't you miss Lauren and Finn and Denzil? Don't you want what's best for your parents? This concerns you as well, Tom and Rose. Think before you—" There's some sort of commotion going on in the background, shouts and screams and what sounds like a – is that a gunshot? "What the hell is—"

And then a very loud thud echoes across the arena, and another, and Mr Mead's voice comes over the loudspeakers.

"Right, Mr Tyler can no longer fulfil his duties as Gamemaker on account of being unconscious, so I'm taking over. First things first: I think this is the control for that collapsing-ground thing up on the screen, so I'll see if I can disable it." A brief pause. "Okay, Josh, Sam, one of you test the ground and see if it'll hold now."

Is this actually happening? Josh edges along the ledge and, very gingerly, out onto a patch of not-yet-collapsed ground. "Yeah, it's fine, sir."

"Great. The rest of you, make your way to the western fence, the part of it near the woods. Keep the sun behind you and you should find it. I'll see if I can turn off the electric current. And nobody kill each other, all right?"

There's a groan in the background, abruptly cut off by another, even louder thud.

"God, I wish I'd done this years ago," Mr Mead says, with grim satisfaction.

It's a few minutes before they hear from Mr Mead again. When they do, it's not the news they wanted, although it's hard to feel too disappointed about anything now that the Games have apparently been called off.

"I think I've found the electric fence controls, but they're password protected," Mr Mead says. "I can't get in. Sorry. We'll have to hire a helicopter or something."

Josh is looking down into the abyss where the ground caved in, and he's thinking.

"You know, I don't know how far the fence goes down underground, but I bet it's not all the way down there," he says. "You see the edge? It's not just a drop; it's sort of a steep slope. We could probably scramble down." His leg throbs just at the thought, but they could probably do it.

"What, and then dig out with our bare hands?" Sam asks next to him, half-laughing. "It'd probably be quicker to wait for the helicopter."

"Actually, that might not be a bad idea," Tom calls from the other side of the wall. "This 'down there' that collapsing-ground thing Mr Mead was talking about?"

"Yeah."

"How close is it to the fence? How far would you need to dig to get underneath?"

"Not far. Couple of feet?"

"Right. We've brought spades, but obviously we can't dig towards the fence because if the spade hits it it won't end well for us. So we'll dig straight down on this side, you dig out from the collapsed bit, and we'll try to meet up."

They get into position and get to work, Josh digging with his bare hands, Sam with the blade of Lindsay's knife. Josh has a feeling that this arrangement could well end up with him losing a couple of fingers, but that's a risk he'll take. Right now he just wants to get out of here.

The other tributes begin to arrive as they dig, some alone, some with partners. A few of them offer to help, but Josh and Sam decide that it's probably best if they keep going on their own; too many diggers will just get in the way. Josh accepts the knife a Year Ten girl hands him, though; his hands were starting to hurt almost as much as his leg.

Eventually, after missing each other a couple of times, they manage to link the two tunnels up. Josh wants to charge through straight away, but instead he eases himself out of their tunnel backwards, leaving Sam to keep widening it. His knees nearly buckle when he tries to stand up, and he has to brace a hand on his thigh to keep himself semi-upright. It comes away wet with blood. He'd thought his wound had stopped bleeding, but the digging or the leaping around earlier must have opened it up again. And apparently it's soaked all the way through his trousers and the pad of shirtsleeves tied against his leg. That can't be good news.

But they're almost out of here. He'll be fine.

Once he feels steady enough on his feet, he looks around at the other tributes. "Everyone here?"

"Lindsay's not here," the girl who gave him the knife says. She doesn't really sound concerned about Lindsay's welfare, and Josh can guess why; the entire left arm of her shirt is brown with dried blood. Lindsay isn't exactly Josh's favourite person either at the moment. But if Lindsay's not here then Emily's not here either, and Emily's done nothing wrong, as far as Josh knows.

Besides, it wasn't really Lindsay's fault. It's Mr Tyler's. Still hard not to hold a grudge, though. Josh knew the winners at John Foster's were just doing what they had to, but it's not easy to forgive someone if they've killed a friend of yours.

He supposes he'd better try to find them.

When he tries to climb out of the abyss, though, he finds he can't. The slope is too steep and his leg is far, far too painful. Sort of fits, really, that he can't go to look for Lindsay because of what she's done to him.

"Everyone ready to come through?" Tom calls down the tunnel from the other side.

"Lindsay and Emily aren't here," Josh calls back.

"Oh, well, Lindsay can stay here, then. Thought for a moment I'd lost you because of her."

"We can't just leave them here," Sam protests.

"Oh, all right," Tom mutters, and then there's a shuffling and scraping. Sam backs out of the tunnel so Tom can come through. It doesn't look very comfortable. Maybe the tunnel needs to be wider.

Once Tom is through and has managed to drag himself upright, he puts his hand on Josh's shoulder, briefly. "You all right?"

"Yeah," Josh says, giving him a quick smile.

"I've got them here on the camera," Mr Mead says over the loudspeakers. "They're just hanging back at the edge of the wood; they're not far fr— Lindsay, what're you doing, stay where you are!"

Tom immediately legs it past Josh and up the steep slope of the chasm.

Tom is gone for a while, and Josh finds himself worrying about him even though he knows this is probably just a normal park now that the Games have been cut short. To keep his mind off it, he tries to widen the tunnel a bit, but the throbbing in his leg has intensified to the point where he can barely force himself to kneel down. He's not looking forward to having to crawl through this.

Josh gives up and sits, leaning against the earth wall, while Sam helps a few of the younger tributes through the tunnel. He can hear Rose comforting them on the other side.

Eventually there are footsteps above and Josh gets to his feet so fast it makes him slightly dizzy, looking up at the rim.

"Lindsay here," Tom says, coming into view with the James sisters, "is very ashamed of herself. It's why she was hiding herself away instead of coming to leave with us. I'm not saying those of you she attacked have to forgive her straight away, but maybe take some time to think about it, okay? I know I don't have to tell you what a difficult situation she's been in." He pats her on the arm. "And eventually I'll forgive her for making me chase her all the way across these woods."

Lindsay says nothing, looking down steadily. She's covered in blood. Emily takes her hand, looking anxiously at her. But it's hard for Josh to concentrate on any of this, because the dizziness from standing up hasn't gone away; it's getting rapidly worse, in fact, and his head is starting to throb to match his leg. He blinks, hard, several times, with absolutely no effect.

"Right," Tom says from the top of the chasm, tired and filthy but smiling, "time to get you lot out of here," and then Josh's legs give way underneath him and he passes out.

Josh wakes in a hospital bed. He stares at the ceiling for a moment, then lets his head fall to the side. At first he's pleased to see Finn, and then his pleasure changes to confusion when he realises that Finn is in a bed as well; it doesn't look like he's visiting.

"Thought we were meant to be the ones in danger," Josh says. "What happened to you?"

"I got shot in the shoulder for you, mate," Finn says.

"What?"

"Had to overpower the guys outside Mr Tyler's office, didn't we?" He pats the bandage around his shoulder. "Turns out bullets are actually quite painful. They say I'll be all right, though."

"Is everyone okay?"

"What, apart from me being shot? Nothing too serious. I don't think the guys really wanted to shoot at a load of kids. Mr Mead really did a number on Mr Tyler, though; you should've seen it."

Josh snorts. "Yeah, 'cause I was really worried about how Mr Tyler was." He lifts the blankets to check on his leg; it's been cleaned and properly bandaged, and he feels a lot better, although he's starving.

"How's your leg?" Finn asks.

"Yeah, it's looking all right."

Finn smirks. "Told you you should've let me volunteer. You were useless at fighting, mate. You didn't even try. I did more fighting than you, and I wasn't the one in the arena."

Josh throws a pillow at him.

"Oi, you two, behave!" A nurse comes hurrying over and tucks the pillow under Josh's head again. "Good to see you awake, though; your dad'll be very pleased."

"Is he here?" Josh asks instantly.

"He's just outside; I'll ask him to come in." She smiles at him and leaves.

Tom doesn't say anything at first; he just comes in and sits by Josh's bed and takes his hand. Josh is happy to stay like that for a while.

"Thanks," Josh says, eventually. He seems to have a weird sort of lump in his throat; it's like it's only just hit him that it's really over. "For coming to save us."

"Wasn't just me," Tom says, with a smile. "By the sounds of it, we've got the entire school to thank. I hope they're not all expecting cards."

"Yeah, Finn was telling me how he got involved." The mention of school has stirred something in his mind. "Where's Mr Tyler? He's not still teaching, is he?"

"Arrested," Tom says, satisfaction clear in his voice. "Turns out making your low achievers murder each other to send you up the league tables is actually against the law."

When everyone who was injured in the whole mess is well enough to attend it, there's a party at Waterloo Road to celebrate the victors of the first and last annual Waterloo Road Academic Games: everyone but Max Tyler. Someone actually burns an effigy of Max in the car park. Strictly speaking, the school is probably supposed to frown on effigy-burning, but Tom feels he can let it slide just this once.

It feels like a win to him, but one person doesn't look happy: Chris, who by all rights should be bloody proud of himself, is off in a corner of the hall on his own, looking downright miserable.

"Look," Tom says, approaching him, "I'm sorry for snapping at you about Max. You really saved us back there."

Chris shakes his head. "No, you were right. I should've done more to stop it. I just... I can't stop thinking about all the kids I could've saved if I'd fought back earlier."

Tom frowns; in all that's happened, the fact that the Games at John Foster's presumably never ended so well had almost slipped his mind. Must be hell to live with. He puts a hand on Chris's arm. "You can't think like that, mate; it's not your fault."

"And it's not even over," Chris says. "I know Max had disciples in other schools. There are probably still Games going on in some places."

Tom stares at him. "What, really?"

Chris looks unhappily back at him.

This is impossible. More than one Max Tyler out there? What the hell is wrong with the world? For a moment, Tom wants to throw his hands in the air and give up on humankind.

But then he takes a look around the hall, at all the celebrating people. All the pupils, all the teachers, all of Waterloo Road. Not long ago, everyone in this school came together to save fourteen of their own. He's never been so proud of the place. And now he knows exactly what it can achieve.

"Right," Tom says. "What are we waiting for, then?"