Countdown (15 page)

I exhaled. “These digicams see everything, don’t they?”

“That’s right. Eyes in the sky. They know where we are, can find us no matter what.”
“So, there’s no escape from them. Is there?”
His gaze was steady with mine. “No escape.”
“That really sucks.”
“Yeah.”
“Because if we could get away from those cameras…”
“Too bad we can’t.”
“Right.”
I glanced at the digicams, now circling us, recording our last conversation to be replayed over and over again for the entertainment of the Subscribers.
“What now, Kira?” he asked.
“Do you think that you can kill me, Rogan?” My throat was tight. I noticed that his attention had left me to look at the cameras.
He didn’t answer for a moment. “I should ask you the same thing.”
“If it meant your life or my life—and, guess what, it
does
— can you pull that trigger when it counts? Do you have a good enough aim?”
His attention shifted back to me. “I used to do target practice with my brother all the time. Don’t worry about my aim.”
My arm was beginning to burn from holding the heavy gun up. “Will it be worth it to shoot me? To clear your record?”
“What do you think?”
“Personally, I’d shoot somebody to stay out of Saradone. Do you have any idea what they’d do to a cute eighteen-yearold boy like you there?”
“Cute, huh? I was hoping you found me devastatingly handsome.” His lips quirked for a second before his gaze went cold. “But, yeah, I have a few vivid ideas of what they’d do to me in prison. And you? Would you shoot someone for a shiny new life in the Colony?”
“In a heartbeat.” I spoke without hesitation.
His lips thinned. He inspected his gun for a moment. “Got enough ammo in this gun to make sure we don’t miss. They haven’t taken any chances this time.”
“Two minutes remain in this level of
Countdown.
”
“So, shoot already,” I told him. My heart beat so loudly, I could barely think.
“Not yet. Haven’t given them a good enough show yet. I’m surprised they set it at only five minutes. They could have stretched this out way longer.”
“I’m not going to miss.”
His lip curled to the side. “You shot Kurtis in the shoulder when I know you were trying for a kill shot. I’m going to go out on a limb and say that you have lousy aim.”
“Okay, now you’re just being mean. I can hit something if I have enough ammo. Don’t worry about that.”
Silence fell between us. I alternated checking where the digicams were and keeping an eye on Rogan’s trigger finger.
“Not long now,” he said.
“59…58…57…”
A shudder of fear and dread went through me. Less than a minute until I found out just how good a shot I was. And Rogan, too.
It had to be perfect. If I didn’t aim perfectly, then I was going to die.
“The time has come,”
the announcer said, and his normally singsong voice was a bit breathless now.
“The facade of partnership and amity has faded away, leaving only two raw competitors behind. Who will be victorious in the remaining seconds?
“30…29…28…”
“So sick of that guy,” Rogan growled.
“Yeah. And if I never hear another countdown, it’ll be too damn soon.”
“See, we still agree on a couple of things.”
“Yeah, I guess we do.”
“So, I’ll do you one last favor.” He raised an eyebrow. “You can try to take the first shot.”
My hands were sweating. “I’ll do more than try.”
“7…6…5…”
I swallowed hard. “Ready?”
His eyes narrowed and his grip tightened on his gun. “Do it, Kira. Now!”
I swung my arm around and pulled the trigger. The camera that was in the process of getting a close-up of my face, of any potential emotion that might be found there, went f lying backward.
Then I heard gunfire, shot after shot after shot from Rogan’s gun—each making me jolt. I focused on the one digicam on the ground, sputtering and sparking. I shot it until my gun was empty before I frantically looked back at Rogan. Two silver digicams had crashed to the ground near him.
He looked at me, his chest heaving, a sheer gleam of perspiration on his forehead.
I met his gaze. I half expected the chips in our heads to spontaneously combust as punishment, but nothing happened. “Now what?”
He offered me the barest edge of a grin. “Now we run like hell.”

“I THINK I KNOW A PLACE WE CAN GO!” I YELLED as we thundered along another side street, sprinting as fast as we could. I ignored the pain from my sprained ankle and clutched my gun.
“Where?”
I had the brief glimmer of the location in my head—the address that had f lashed through my mind when I’d read his father. It wasn’t much to go on, but it was all we had.
“We’re almost there,” I said. “I hope you were right about those digicams being the link between us and the Network.”
“Since we’re still conscious, I’m guessing we were right. Nobody’s triggered us into painful unconsciousness yet. I’d have to bet that blowing the cameras glitched up their system and their ability to track us for a short time—based on our current and continuing consciousness. But it won’t be long before they can find us.”
“Up ahead. Turn left on that street.”
The village was about a mile away from where we’d been for level six. We slowed to a jog as we turned the corner. My ankle sang out with pain.
It was jarringly different from where we’d just been—a deserted part of the city that made me think nobody else in the universe existed except for Rogan, me and the disembodied voice of the announcer. Here in the well-populated village, I was reminded that the city, while definitely dying, was not yet dead.
This large neighborhood f lowed with people moving along the sidewalks. The road was trafficked by small, energyefficient cars and mopeds. This was how the entire city had been once upon a time. Alive. Busy. Full of people with jobs and families.
Hiding our guns, we weeded through the crowd while getting some sideways stares at our costumes. Black, shiny and tight didn’t really go with the muted colors of business casual we were bumping up against. An old woman eyed my black thigh-highs and short skirt, sneered at me with disapproval and muttered an insult.
I thought about running up to her and grabbing her hands, begging her to help us, to hide us, but I stopped myself. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly as I clutched Rogan’s arm tightly and continued to hobble along, favoring my right ankle, which was even worse for wear after our escape. I knew that we couldn’t drag anyone into our problems. No one would offer us sanctuary. No one would even believe us. Everyone was too busy worrying about their own lives, their own problems, their
own
safety.
“Up ahead,” I said to Rogan. “Number three-fifty-eight.”
He led the way without questioning me again. We’d tucked our guns into our waistbands. The black of the weapon blended against the black of our
Countdown
supplied outfits. The cold metal against my skin gave me a meager sense of calm, although it didn’t help my heart to stop racing. It was so loud that I was sure the people passing us would be able to hear it.
My gun was out of ammo since I’d used it all up on the digicams, but I didn’t throw it away. Just having it calmed me. Most people would cower away from the sight of a gun; there was no need to even pull the trigger.
Just before we reached the address, a man stepped in front of us. I felt Rogan tense up as he blocked our way and gave us a huge smile.
“You two look like fun kids.”
“Get out of our way,” Rogan growled.
“I have something you might be interested in.”
“What is it?” I asked, my voice strained.
He produced a tri-fold f lyer printed on light blue paper. “Have you been wanting to get away? Want to figure out how to finagle a seat on the Colony shuttle while you’re on a working class budget? Well, I have just the thing for you right here.”
“Not interested,” Rogan said. “Get yourself and your scam away from us.”
“Scam? Not even slightly. In my course, I will give you the top ten ways to get to the Colony and away from it all. There are always other options, other solutions. Just picture it— perfect temperatures all year, no pollution, silver skyscrapers, more jobs than you can shake a stick at, streets lined in gold! A perfect place for a perfect life, the Colony is. And you can get there with my help.”
“It’s a course?” I asked, disappointed.
“Yes. It’s called Ten Weeks to Paradise. Five hundred dollars and you, too, can realize your dreams.” He thrust the f lyer at me.
“Not interested.” Rogan’s voice went cold at the edges. “Get out of our way. Don’t make me say it again.”
The man cleared his throat and withdrew another f lyer from his inner jacket pocket. “Not interested, I can understand that. Perhaps a vacation a little closer to home? I can provide you with a steady supply of Kerometh to make every day a holiday—”
Rogan shoved him out of our way, and we started walking again.
“Dream dealers.” He said it under his breath, sounding pissed off. “Almost forgot they’re everywhere.”
I looked wistfully back at the man. How many people had he conned into taking his course that offered no promises? He preyed on the dreams of the people stuck here. People like me.
Not that I ever would have had five hundred dollars to spend on a stupid course of any kind. Education was for the rich, not for girls like me, girls living on the streets.
I pushed those thoughts out of my head as we closed the distance between us and our destination. The street number was set in brass above the large door.
I tried the door and was surprised when it swung open at my touch. We slipped inside, and the door closed behind us. The noise from the street vanished. We were now in an unadorned hallway lit only by a small window. I let out a shaky breath as we began to move along the passageway.
“What is this place?” Rogan asked.
“I’ll explain in a minute. Come on.”
Every time I came close to mentioning his father I’d been interrupted. I didn’t think that was a coincidence. The digicams had to be long gone, otherwise we wouldn’t have made it this far, but I wasn’t prepared to risk it. Not yet.
The passage went along straight for about twenty feet and then turned sharply to the right. The front of the house that faced the avenue had just been a facade.
Ahead of us there was a light above a red door. It had a buzzer next to it. On the door was the street number again.
This was the right place.
Rogan studied the door skeptically. “Kira, are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
“If I knew for sure, I’d tell you everything.”
“So, now what?”
“You know when people who haven’t been screwed over a million times try to think positively?”
“Yeah?”
“Let’s pretend to be those people.”
I pressed the button. The sound of a buzzer was deafening.
I half expected the door to swing into darkness and some monster to appear, grabbing us and dragging us inside. But nothing happened. Absolutely nothing.
We waited in silence for what had to be five full minutes.
Rogan raked a hand through his dark hair. “So, how long should we wait here? I’m trying to be patient, Kira, really I am. But you have to talk to me. Now.”
He was right. It was time.
I told him everything I knew—which, to be honest, wasn’t all that much. Everything I’d learned from using my Psi ability on his father. That this monster who’d kept the game going, who’d likely framed his own son to get him out of the way, who’d kept a game running that caused pain and destroyed lives…
Something wasn’t right. It wasn’t him. I’d heard the real Gareth Ellis—literally
heard
him—deep inside the shell of his body. He wasn’t in control.
He was the one who’d given me this address. To help me, to help Rogan.
He wanted us to escape.
Rogan listened to me in silence, his expression like stone. When I was done, I waited for his reaction. It took a moment.
“Why didn’t you tell me this before?” he asked quietly.
“I tried to, on the roof after Mac and Kurtis…and again just a little while ago before the room split. They were listening. They didn’t want me to tell you so they wouldn’t let me.”
His forehead creased into a deep frown. “You make it sound like my father’s possessed.”
“I know it sounds crazy, but that’s what it felt like. He’s not in control of his actions right now.”
I watched emotions play on Rogan’s face. Disbelief changed to anger, to the slow, grudging acceptance that this might be a possibility. Then his gaze snapped to mine.
“You said you read his thoughts? Literally read them?”
I nodded, still stunned myself by the possibility. “Same thing happened with Kurtis on the rooftop. It wasn’t just emotions, it was more than that.” Rogan was still giving me an odd look. “Why? Is that bad?”
“Not bad, just…” He didn’t speak for a moment. “Just… not low-level.”
“What?”
“Jonathan told you that you were a low-level, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Maybe Jonathan lied. Maybe you’re not a low-level empath.”
My heart skipped a beat. “Why would he lie about something like that?”
“Why does he lie about anything he does? I don’t know.” Rogan looked at the door again. “We need to get out of here. There are other places we can hide.”
He was right. I’d hoped this might be something—some help offered in an unexpected way, but it could just as easily be a trap. And it would become a trap no matter what if we stayed here while the Network pinpointed the location of our implants.
We turned back to the passageway just as the door leading to the street slammed shut and heavy footsteps approached.
Rogan pulled his gun out of his waistband and gave me a tense look. Without hesitation, I did the same.
Just then I heard a popping sound and something in the back of my head began to tick.
“Unable to detect implant signal.”
It wasn’t the announcer this time. It was a computer-generated voice. Inhuman, unemotional.
“Please return to proper signal range. Not complying will result in implant self-destruction in fifteen minutes. Countdown begins now.”
Oh, shit.
I looked at Rogan with wide eyes.
He raised an eyebrow. “Just keeps getting better and better, doesn’t it?”
“What now?”
“I guess we’ll soon find out.”
I gripped my gun with both hands as I pointed it at the semidarkness of the hallway. I hoped Rogan still had ammo. A moment later, somebody appeared in front of us. He also held a gun, raised toward us.
It was Jonathan. He was dressed in dark pants and a longsleeved shirt, but he wasn’t wearing his white lab coat. His forehead was shiny with sweat.
“Drop your weapons!” he commanded.
“You first,” Rogan snarled.
“Rogan, you need to do as I say and drop your weapon.”
“Not exactly taking orders from you right now, asshole. I will pull this trigger and waste you without a second thought.”
Jonathan’s gun shifted in my direction. “Shoot me and I’ll shoot her. I know her gun’s empty. I was counting. And you only have one bullet left.”
Rogan f licked a tense glance at me, then back to him. “One bullet’s enough to kill you.”
I hadn’t expected him to come here. It was more proof that this had been a wrong move on my part. Damn it. My hatred for this liar surged to the surface, but I knew getting upset wouldn’t help. I tried to stay as calm as possible given the situation.
“How did you know we were here?” I demanded.
“Are you going to listen to reason, Kira? Or are you going to be stubborn like Rogan?”
“Since you just threatened to shoot me, I’m thinking stubborn sounds pretty good to me.”
I studied him for a moment, holding my useless gun so tightly that it began to cut into my skin. I remembered when I’d used my empathic ability on him—with his coaching.
Why would he have lied about my abilities being low-level?
One thing I remembered very clearly, the moment that had fooled me before, was that he gave the distinct impression of being honest and truthful. But there was an ocean of guilt mixed in—enough guilt to drown in.
“What do you think you’re guilty of, Jonathan? Answer me that right now.”
Surprise f lickered across his expression, but he didn’t lower his gun. “I’m guilty of a lot of things, Kira. I don’t even know where to begin.”
“But you feel bad about what you’ve done.”
His expression darkened. “Of course I do. That’s why I’m here. That’s why you need to hear me out.”
“Am I a high-level Psi?”
He blinked, surprised. “Yes.”
I gasped. “Why did you tell me I was low-level?”
“I didn’t want
him
to know. And I hoped that your ability might help you in the competition. And it has. You’re here. But there’s no time, you have to trust me. Drop your gun. Please, Kira.”
Trust him? After he’d lied to me over and over?
He’d told me I was low-level so Rogan’s father wouldn’t know. So he wouldn’t see me as a threat. So I could read him if I got the chance. So I could know the truth.
Was it possible that Jonathan really was trying to help us?
Only one way to find out.
I stared at him for a moment longer, and then I dropped my gun and held my hands out before me.
“Kira, what the hell are you doing?” Rogan growled.
“Trusting my instincts.”
“Your instincts are going to get you killed.”
“My gun was empty, anyway.”
Jonathan’s gun was still trained on me.
“I did what you wanted,” I said evenly, despite my shaking on the inside. “Now talk.”
“Your implants have started their self-destruct sequence, haven’t they?” When neither of us confirmed it, despite the constant ticking in my head, he continued. “I was notified the moment you escaped the game and moved out of network range.” A smile twitched on his lips. “Well played, by the way. Well played.”
“No thanks to you,” Rogan said, each word coated in poison.
A muscle in his cheek twitched. “I’ve done what I can. I healed you, Rogan. I healed Kira’s leg after the shooting. But now you’ve escaped. They know you must still be in the city.”
Rogan glared at him. “And let me guess. You’ve notified them that we’re here. Isn’t that convenient?”
Jonathan shook his head. “No. They don’t know. I’m the only one who knows where you are. They assume that when they do find you, they’ll be retrieving two dead bodies after the implants self-destruct.”
“Then I guess it’ll be three bodies they find. You were wrong about how many bullets I have left—there’s more than one in here. Now lower your weapon away from Kira or I swear to God I’m going to fill you with so many holes that you’ll be able to see out of your own ass.”
“Rogan—” My throat was so tight, it made it difficult to form words. “I honestly don’t think Jonathan wants to hurt us.”
He gave me a sidelong glance. “Why? Because of your empathic instincts?”
“Call it gut instinct.”
“Sorry, not good enough for me.”
Jonathan let out an exasperated sigh. “There’s simply no time for this.” He bent over and placed his gun on the ground. Rogan stormed toward him and grabbed his arm, swinging him around to shove him up hard against the wall next to the door. He jammed his gun against Jonathan’s head.