Crash (32 page)

He's right. We deserve this moment and the only way we get to have it is if we take it.

We step through into another empty lobby and alarm bells start clanging at the base of my skull. There was a team here. I saw them. But they aren't here now, and there's no way they had enough time to make the jump. I would have seen them disappear.

“This is wrong,” I say, spinning to face Jackson. The grass beneath our feet is patchy and brown, so dry it crunches and breaks under my soles. The trees that bound us are stark gray, bare branched. Not winter gray with the promise of rebirth in the spring. Dark gray, almost black. Brittle, like the slightest touch will make them turn to ash.

Dead.

“We need to go. Now.” Jackson grabs my hand and pulls me back toward the trees.

We both skid to a stop, just inches away from hitting
the forest as the weave of this reality unravels, revealing patches of endless dark. Cold. Infinite. The darkness a physical entity, thick and choking.

I shudder, backing up a step, and then another.

“This way,” Jackson says with a tug on my hand.

We run in the opposite direction, my heart pounding, fear driving me. Whatever time Lizzie's managed to buy for us, the sand's run out. Maybe she's hacked the system and everything's coming apart. Maybe the Committee's found us, or they've just gotten tired of humoring our little rebellion. The why doesn't matter. What matters are the stakes.

We cross the clearing and are about to fling ourselves at the forest when the two sides of the boundary pull apart, like tearing a piece of cloth in two, revealing the limitless darkness behind.

Darkness—the word doesn't capture the reality of it. It's . . . nothingness. Just . . . nothing.

Jackson skids to a stop and jerks me back just in time, his reflexes a shade faster than mine.

Panting, I turn a full circle, watching the forest all around us unravel.

I pull my kendo sword and weapon cylinder as Jackson pulls his own cylinder and his knife. We move to stand back to back in a well-practiced dance, though I can't think what value these weapons will bear against the unraveling of the universe.

Terror grips me, not just because I don't want to end
here in this place, my death marking no extra meaning to my life. It's because we have so much to do. It can't end this way. We can't fail like this. The Committee can't be left to destroy lives for millennia. For infinity, if everything Lizzie said is true.

Back to back, weapons at the ready, Jackson and I turn and turn, watching the world around us come completely apart.

The edges of the lobby inch toward us, the darkness creeping ever closer. The desolation of the void touches my skin, like spiderwebs on my arms, my neck, my lips.

“To your right,” Jackson says. “See it?”

I do. From the corner of my eye, I catch movement. People. Branches heavy with leaves. Green grass. Blue sky. I jerk my head to the side, trying to get a better look, and see only the darkness. Inky darkness, like the oily sludge that shoots from our weapon cylinders to swallow the Drau whole.

“Don't look. Just run,” Jackson says, grabbing hold of my hand. “Now!”

I duck my head and stare at my feet as I run full tilt for where I thought I saw a lobby, all the while hoping that Lizzie's watching and if Jackson and I are about to leap to our deaths, she'll grab us somewhere before the point of no return.

I glance back. Once. Behind me, the lobby we inhabit disappears, trees and ground and sky caving in on itself,
imploding, the spot where we stood swallowed by a surge of darkness.

Jackson shoves the middle of my back. I go flying forward, arms outstretched, and I feel myself breach the barrier, feel it tear away. The sensation of being stung by a thousand scorpions eats my hands, my arms, my face, my torso. I scream and fall face-first, slamming hard on the ground.

I lie there, facedown, panting, waiting for the sensation that my skin's on fire to subside. It hits me that my cheek is pressed to grass. I curl my fingers, grabbing two hefty clumps, and lift my head to see a half dozen kids staring down at me. It takes me a second to realize they're faces I've seen before, a group we already approached. One of the boys walks over and hunkers down beside me.

“You okay?” he asks.

“She's peachy keen. Come on, Miki. Up you go.”

“Lien!” I roll onto my back to see her standing over me, hand outstretched. I grab it and she pulls me to my feet.

I'm so happy to see her I throw my arms around her and hug her tight. She pats me awkwardly on the shoulder, then finally caves and hugs me back. When I let her go, I turn, looking for Jackson, panicking when I don't see him. I spin back, mouth dry, pulse slamming like a piston, and find him standing behind Lien.

“Hey,” he says.

“Way to scare the crap out of me.”

“What fun is it if I don't keep you on your toes?”

I turn back to Lien. “What are you doing here? Where's Kendra? Tyrone?”

Lien's not the most demonstrative girl I've ever met, but there's no mistaking the worry that hardens her expression. “I got pulled and arrived here about a minute ago. I haven't seen Kendra or Tyrone or Luka.”

My chest locks down like someone suctioned the breath out of me.

She stares at me and her eyes slowly widen. “No,” she whispers, shaking her head. Her hands come up like she's warding off a blow. “No.” The word explodes out of her. Her fingers curl into fists, and she looks around, frantic, searching for something to hit. Jackson grabs her and pulls her against his chest, his arms coming around her as she says Luka's name, a pitiful wail. It reaches inside me and twists around like a knife shredding my guts. I swallow convulsively, choking back the urge to puke on the grass at my feet.

Her grief scrapes away the too-thin scab over my own.

Jackson speaks softly against her ear. I can't hear what he says, but I imagine words of comfort. At least, as comforting as he can manage. He isn't exactly the fuzzy, warm type, but then neither is Lien. So maybe they get each other. Whatever he says, she nods and uses the hem of her hoodie to rub the tears from her eyes, and when she steps away from him, her jaw's set, expression hard, even if her eyes and nose are red.

The team leader we spoke with last time we were in this lobby stares at us, eyes narrowed. It hits me that he isn't staring at us, but rather, behind us.

“What's that?” he asks as I turn to see what it is that's grabbed his attention.

The edges of the trees waver and fade, then pop back into clear relief. The darkness that swallowed the lobby we escaped has followed us here.

“Run for the trees, there,” Jackson orders, pointing to the opposite end of the lobby. “Don't think. Don't stop. Close your eyes if you have to. You'll feel a stinging sensation. Push through and you'll be fine.”

There are murmurs from the group, and all I can think is that I'm glad they aren't kids we've never seen before, kids we have to convince from scratch. At least Jackson and I have already been through here. These kids accepted us after a bit of persuasion. I'm hoping and praying they'll listen now.

“What's happening?” a boy asks.

“The game's unraveling,” Jackson says. “Now move!”

“Listen to him,” Lien says over the rising murmurs, then louder, “Do what he says.” When no one moves, she throws up her hands, mutters, “Whatever,” and runs for the spot Jackson indicated. There's complete silence after she disappears into the trees.

“Go,” Jackson barks.

They go, following Lien's lead.

In moments, we're all in a neighboring lobby, the team
that's already there startled by our arrival. Again, it's a group we already met.

“We're being herded,” I say to Jackson as we hang back, waiting as the others run through into the next lobby, following Jackson's instructions.

“The question is, by Lizzie or the Committee?”

I look back at the far end of the clearing, the trees turning charcoal gray as they fold in on themselves, the sky falling, the ground curling like charred paper. “Right now, I'm not sure it matters.”

We follow the last of the teams into the next lobby, and the next. I lose count of how many times we run for the trees, collecting people as we go. Right now we're in a lobby with at least a dozen teams standing in small clumps, eyeing one another warily. The edges are already fraying, coming apart to reveal not grass and trees, but the all-consuming darkness. It's as if the lobbies are illusions projected on an obsidian screen.

The next jump is worse, leaving me feeling sick, bones aching, stomach churning, my skin prickling like I'm covered in a layer of fire ants. At the edges of my vision, the lobby breaks down even more.

Beside me, Jackson tenses, his head tipped to the side. “Don't look head on,” he says.

I stare at a spot in the distance, letting my vision grow unfocused, concentrating not on what's before me, but what's off to the sides. I see them, tiers of seats and the shadowy forms that fill them.

The Committee.

“We're in the amphitheater,” I say.

“That we are. And my guess is the lobbies have been here all along, artificially created zones, like holograms,” Jackson says.

I spin and spin again, watching the walls crumble, watching the Committee's deception fall away.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

..................................................................

THE EDGES OF THE CLEARING BLACKEN AND CURL LIKE BURNING parchment, revealing more and more of the amphitheater, tiers of seats rising all around us, disappearing into darkness. Every seat is occupied by a humanoid figure cloaked in drapes of cloth, their faces hidden.

Kids from the other teams startle and spin as they become aware of the lobby boundaries failing and the hidden world behind the walls. Most of them are seeing this place for the very first time. This isn't my first exposure to the Committee's abode, but even for me, the sight is chilling.

As I take in the shifting throng of bodies before me, I'm stunned by the sheer size of the amphitheater. It's at least as long as two football fields, end to end, packed with bodies.
Was it always this big, or is the Committee still manipulating my perceptions?

I scan the faces near me, trying to catch sight of the rest of my team. “Can you see Tyrone? Or Lien or Kendra?” Even a glimpse would reassure me.

“No,” Jackson says. “I think I saw Tara there”—he points—“a second ago, but there's no sign of her now.”

The space around us condenses, bodies packing tighter, and I realize it isn't that space is getting smaller, but that more people are being pulled in.

“It's like the Committee's respawning every team, all at once,” I say as Jackson grabs my hand and starts forward, shouldering his way through the crowd, towing me in his wake. I don't put up a fight. Times like this, size and attitude make a great combination.

“Yeah, and I suspect the crowd's only going to get thicker,” he says over his shoulder, pitching his voice to carry over the growing din.

I look around, trying to figure out where he's leading me. The walls rising from the floor of the amphitheater are at least twenty feet high—were they always that high?—surrounding us like a cage. A prison. No way to climb out. As the crowd grows thicker, groups melding into one another, the space fills until all around me is a sea of bodies. I can no longer see any hint of the remnants of the lobbies; there's just the amphitheater all around us, and the shadowy figures leaning forward in their seats. Watching. Waiting.

Someone grabs my belt loop. I glance back, yanking Jackson to a stop as I do.

“Tyrone!” He leans in and we give each other awkward one-armed hugs as we're jostled by the crowd. When he pulls back, he searches my face, expression somber. He knows about Luka. I can tell. Still, I try to find the right words to confirm what he clearly already suspects, but he shakes his head and says, “Later. He deserves more than a second of silence in a crowd.”

Tears prick my lids, but I blink them back and nod. He's right. What Luka deserves is for us to win, to somehow overcome the Committee, to make certain no more kids die for their amusement.

“Lien?” Tyrone asks.

“We saw her in a lobby with another team, then we lost her, but she's here somewhere,” Jackson says.

Tyrone's shoulders relax a little. “So she got pulled to another team? So did I, but I have no clue where they are now. Have you seen Kendra?”

Jackson shakes his head. “Not yet.”

“I like the way you added ‘yet.'” Tyrone offers a small smile. “Leaning toward the sunny side, Jackson?”

“Eternal optimist. Learning from Miki.”

Tyrone snorts. “You know what the hell's going on? Why we're all here?”

I fill him in, telling him about Lizzie, the Drau, the Committee's true motivations, keeping my explanation
brief. Tyrone looks like he just took an elbow hard to the gut.