Nerve (22 page)

I hang my head. “None of our phones work, and no one’s getting rescued or prosecuted. Not while we can entertain the Watchers. And now they’ve given everyone guns and made us watch a training video. I’m so sorry I got you into this.”

Tommy’s face is hard. He yells at Ian, who’s risen from the love seat and come out from behind the coffee table. “It’s your fault, you son of a bitch!” He takes a step forward.

Ian keeps his gun at his side, but his eyes go nuclear. “You don’t want to come any nearer.”

I dart in front of Tommy and hold out my hand. “Haven’t you been watching? As long as we’re stuck here, we’re lucky Ian has our backs.”

Tommy exhales loudly, pushing against me. “You call this having your back? You’d never have come in here on your own.”

My palm presses into his chest. Surprisingly, it’s as taut as Ian’s. “No one’s put a gun to my head. Yet. Ian’s in this horrible grand prize round just as much as me. And now, unfortunately, so are you and Sydney. Oh God, I wish you guys hadn’t come.”

Sydney’s hands are on her hips, the way they were in Act One, Scene Two. “A little late for that.”

“Why didn’t you call the police if you wanted to help me?” I ask.

She blows out in exasperation. “Police? For a game? Everyone knows it’s all choreographed.”

Now I’m exasperated. “You believe that?” I’m looking at Tommy. He should know better.

His cheeks are red. “They went skydiving in the Colorado grand prize round and all of the chutes opened. Your fear is manufactured.”

“Trust me, manufactured fear feels the same as the organic stuff.” I sigh. “We’ve all been duped.”

He pushes past me toward Ian. “Well, your partner didn’t help. He’s like a kind of Web whore. I found a few nasty sites with images that I’m sure are of him. Just wait until I run it against some facial recognition software.” He pulls out his phone and turns to me. “Here, I’ll show you.”

I grab at the phone. “I thought you didn’t have service. Call 911. Now!”

Micki and Ty jump from their places as Tommy clutches his phone to his chest and his eyes bug. “I don’t have service. I downloaded the video earlier.” He clicks on something and holds the phone up in front of my face.

Ian’s neck is red. “That’s bullshit!”

There’s a dimly lit video of what appears to be several barely dressed people wrestling, or whatever. I push it away. “This isn’t the time to be checking out weird videos.”

Tommy keeps the clip running. “You need to see who you’ve teamed up with and who you can trust.”

Micki laughs and peeks over the back of her chair. “What’s the matter? Virgin can’t handle a skin flick?”

The wall panels beep, luring our eyes to them.

ENOUGH CHITCHAT. HERE’S THE NEXT TASK: POINT YOUR GUN AT EITHER WHOEVER YOU VOTED FOR AS THE VICTIM OR ONE OF THE NEW ARRIVALS.

Sydney’s stilettos come an inch off the floor. “What the—”

A yelp escapes from my lips, and it feels as if all of my blood evaporates. Is this how I’ll die? Or get one of my friends
killed? Is that what the audience really wants to see? My throat is tight. Why didn’t I stay after the play to greet Mom and Dad? Any decent daughter would have.

Micki and Ty turn around and use their seat backs to rest their arms and aim. She holds her gun with two hands, Ty with one, straight and sure. The holes in the gun barrels stare at me and Ian, unblinking.

Samuel takes a big breath before raising his gun. “Sorry, Vee. But I promise I’ll never pull the trigger.”

“That makes me feel so much better.” My voice has risen an octave. I consider running to the bathroom for cover and taking my friends with me, but the door doesn’t lock.

“Pick up your gun,” Ty says to Daniella.

She crosses her arms around her chest. “I don’t know. This is getting too creepy.”

Ty’s jaw goes tight. “Thought there was more to you.”

She turns toward us slowly, biting her lip, and then picks up the gun with two hands, one on the grip and one under the barrel. Thanks to the film, I know the terminology. Will that be the last knowledge I ever pick up?

Daniella whimpers and uses her shoulder to wipe her cheek. Her wobbly movements cause her bracelets to jangle, jangle, jangle, and cause my guts to twist.

“Good enough,” Ty says.

Micki whispers something into Jen’s ear before nipping at her lobe. Jen sighs and picks up her gun too. That’s
one more barrel pointed at me, one more at Ian.

I turn to him. A pulsing vein bulges from his neck. Slowly, he picks up his gun and aims at Ty.

The room goes so quiet I can hear the buzz of the overhead lights.

I want to melt onto the carpet, nasty as it is, but I need to think. “Sydney and Tommy, this isn’t your fight.” I point to the main door. “Go stand over there.”

I begin walking around the table, back to my love seat, which is on the far side of the room from where I’ve directed Tommy and Sydney to go.

But they follow me.

I turn and say, “No. You’ll just give these jerks a bigger target. I know you’re smart enough to see that.”

Tommy leans in and whispers, “Also smart enough to have called the police before we got here. It’s only a matter of time before they get to this floor. All we need to do is stall.”

I want to sing in relief. Did NERVE hear him? I’m not sure if that would be bad or good. I whisper back, “I should’ve known. You’re amazing, Tommy. Now, please, go stall over there. I promise to check out any video you want after we get out of here.”

He takes Sydney’s arm, trying to nudge her in that direction, but it’s no use, of course. She pulls away and places her hands on my shoulders, as if she’s oblivious to the fact that she’s directly in the others’ gun sights.

Her eyes are moist, yet her makeup is still perfect. “Vee, even though you’ve behaved like a bitch and a half tonight, I came to help you, not huddle in some corner.”

“You know what, Syd? You’re right, I’ve been horrible. Somehow, I’ll make things up to you. But if you truly want to help, then please stay out of the way. Really. Please, please, please do it for me.”

She doesn’t budge. How can I get her to protect herself when she’s hardwired to stick up for me?

The lights begin to dim.

I push her toward the door. “Go now, before they turn off the lights and you’re stuck standing in the crossfire. Then you’re no help to anyone.”

She trembles, whether in fear or frustration, I can’t tell. But finally, common sense sinks in. She trudges away. Tommy follows, glancing back toward Ian and me.

I head to the love seat, bumping into the stupid table along the way, which causes it to swing with a groan. Samuel puts out his free hand to stop it, keeping his gun arm pointed at me. Instead of sitting, I get behind the love seat and crouch, using its back the way the others have to hold my gun. The flimsy back cushion probably wouldn’t stop a bullet, but it makes me feel better to hide behind a shield. Over it, I aim at Micki, who aims back with a sneer. I can hardly believe I’m pointing a weapon at another human being.

Ian’s still in the center of the room, out in the open. As
the lights dim further, he comes around the table too, taking a spot behind Samuel’s love seat. Why didn’t I think to tell Tommy and Sydney to hide there so they’d at least have some cover? Just another way I’ve failed everyone I care about tonight. My friends look so vulnerable huddled near the door.

Although the other players would probably hate to admit that Ian and I have the right idea, the two couples across the coffee table get out of their seats to take up positions behind them, the way we have. I’m sure that Samuel would like to get behind his seat, but since Ian’s there, he hurries around the table to join Daniella and Ty behind theirs. So, we’re like two armies, five against two, aiming over our love seats and across the coffee table border.

It’s only taken a minute for us to assume our positions, but we must’ve made NERVE impatient, because the beeping starts up again.

COCK THE HAMMER ON YOUR GUN.

The panels display an animation of a gun being cocked in case we don’t remember from the video.

My stomach drops. I press my thighs together to keep my legs from shaking, and I say, “Do you really think you can get away with this? If these guns are loaded and one of us gets shot, that’s the end of your game, for good.”

NOT THE END, AN ADVERTISEMENT. The words flash quickly on the panel across the room, the one that Ian and I face, but not on the one to our right. Sydney and Tommy
crane their heads toward the message I saw, but I don’t think they were fast enough to read it.

I speak to the camera, “Are you kidding? Even if no one can find you, who’d want to play your game after that?”

The other players look puzzled. Is the panel above my head, the one they’re facing, not working?

The panel across from me blinks quickly. PEOPLE WHO LIKE TO WIN WILL ALWAYS PLAY.

A dark corner of my brain knows this is true, no matter how badly I want it not to be. Look what I’ve done tonight in the hopes of winning fashion school tuition.

If I can’t appeal to NERVE, maybe I can find a shred of logic in the other players, who probably think I’ve lost it, since they only heard my end of the conversation. “C’mon, you guys. Let’s stop. They want us to shoot each other. As an advertisement. You think I’m exaggerating? Look at the carpet under the table, in the center. That’s a drain. Know what it’s for? To hose down this room. From our blood.”

Micki sneers. “No, it’s probably to wash out the piss, from babies like you who wet their panties.”

She rubs her thumb against the back of her gun, creating a loud
click
. Jen closes her eyes for a long moment, and then, keeping her gaze averted from mine, cocks her hammer too. Ty does the same. Ian too.
Click, click, click
.

Ty raises his eyebrows at Daniella. “What’re you waiting for?”

“Are these loaded?” she calls out.

WHAT DO YOU THINK? Now all of the panels are back in action. Have there been messages tonight that the others have seen that I haven’t?

Jen’s shoulders shake. “I don’t have any gun experience. What if it goes off?”

Ty scowls. “It won’t unless you pull the trigger, idiot. Cocking the hammer just shifts it from double action to single action.”

Samuel adds, “Which is only a problem if it’s a real bullet.”

What, he still believes the guns aren’t lethal? What does our audience think? No police have crashed in to save us. Does everyone really believe this is a big game of paintball or something? That we’ll walk out of here with nothing more than a few bruises? There are sadists watching who want it to be real. My friends, at least, must be watching in horror. And helplessness, because no one knows where we are.

I don’t remember what the video said about double action and bullets in the chamber, but I know that cocking the gun is one step closer to shooting it. And Daniella realizes that too. Mascara runs down her cheeks. But, ultimately, the fear of becoming the next victim if she screws up the grand prizes must get to her, because she cocks her gun.

“Vee?” Ian says.

I feel the same way Daniella does, not wanting to touch the hammer, to point this thing with less of a net. On the
other hand, if something crazy happens, I need to protect myself. And my friends. Holding my breath, I flick my thumb against the knobby protrusion at the back of the gun.
Click
.

Micki’s upper lip takes on a sheen that wasn’t there before. Good. A red veil shadows my vision.

“How long do we need to stay like this?” Jen calls out in a squeaky voice.

No answer from NERVE.

Ian says, “All the game told us was that we had to cock our guns, not how long we had to leave them cocked. We’ve completed that part of the dare, so now let’s flip the decocking levers and lower our weapons before anything stupid goes down.”

Samuel nods. I wish he’d say something.

We all look toward the panels, expecting NERVE to chime in.

Ian focuses on the players across the table. “How about I count to three and we decock them at the same time? Let’s quit before we pass the point of no return.”

He takes a breath. “One.”

Jen raises her eyebrows at Micki, whose gaze remains firmly on me.

“Two.”

Sweat drips down my spine. The room is quiet, no music, not even the squeak of a chair.

Ian inhales deeply. Will we be the only ones to decock our
guns? My breathing is so shallow, I think I’ll lose consciousness at any moment.

“Three.”

I move my thumb to the lever, but before I click it off, my world goes dark. The room’s lights have gone out. Strobe lights flash on. People scream. And shots fire.

Instinctively, I duck. The metal of the gun is heavy and slippery, yet I keep it propped on the seat back way above my head. My heart hammers in my chest like it’s trying to escape, and, as my hearing returns, I detect twangy music that you’d find at a square dance. Yee-haw. Clearly, some sicko’s idea of a joke.

My right arm is stiff, almost numb, so I slowly lower the gun to the floor, tempted to drop it. But I might need it to protect myself, against all of those other guns, which I’m sure are still pointed my way, even in the dark.

“Is everyone okay?” I ask the room in a soft voice, not wanting to startle anybody into more gunfire.

In the space to my left, Ian says, “Yeah.”

I speak louder, over the banjos. “Tommy? Syd?”

There’s a rustling in the far corner of the room, and then Sydney’s voice, which always projects crystal clear: “We’re fine.”

I exhale in relief.

“Aren’t you going to check on us?” Micki says in a sing-songy voice.

“I figured you survived, seeing as how I didn’t fire my gun.”

She grunts. “Like hell you didn’t, or maybe your pretty boy’s the one who shot at us.”

There’s a sound of Ian shifting his body. “No, some of us can control our trigger fingers.”

Ty laughs. “That’s not what she said.”

Samuel speaks up, for the first time in what seems like hours. “There were five shots. I didn’t fire. And the sound didn’t come from next to me. So it had to be you guys.”