Nerve (24 page)

“What’s so damn funny?” Ty asks.

“Us,” Ian says. “We’re acting like scared little rabbits in the dark. There’s nothing we can do, so why not give our audience the show they want? Maybe if we’re good enough, they’ll add on to everyone’s prizes.” He moves past me.

I grab his shirt with one hand and keep the other one aiming at Micki until we make our way around the love seat and hit the table. Ian squeezes my hand and then lets go, moving to the side of the table near our enemies, while I stay on this side and reach in the air until I find the cable that the glass plank is attached to. Hopefully, Ian’s doing the same on the other side. If he’s going to betray me, it’ll be soon.

“Anyone for a little swinging?” Ian says, giving the table a push.

Micki shouts, “We’re supposed to be aiming, moron.”

I grit my teeth, but try to keep my voice cheery. “Some of us are able to play and aim at the same time.”

“What are you guys doing?” Syd asks.

I yank my cable in time with Ian. “If NERVE is happy with our performance, maybe they’ll give you and Tommy a break.”

Between Ian and me, the heavy glass sways side to side. I hold my aimed gun close to my chest so the cables don’t smack it.

Ian laughs again. “Anyone want a ride before Vee and I climb on and start rockin’ this thing?”

Samuel’s voice trembles. “Those cables might not support all the extra weight.”

I groan. “You calling me fat?”

Ian and I push the table harder. The cables creak.

“Last call,” Ian shouts. “C’mon, Micki, you and Jen could show us how it’s done.” As he talks, the table taps the wall. Hopefully, no one notices.

“Fuck off,” Micki says.

Will NERVE swoop in and stop us somehow? Or, maybe the mystery of what we’re doing is raising the Watcher approval ratings to levels that satisfy the product sponsors.

“Next push,” Ian whispers.

This is it. If my plan fails, I have nothing else. No other way of saving my friends. My knees feel weak with the weight of what we’re up against. They start to buckle, the way they did when I tried out for the play. The way they wanted to when I poured water on myself in the coffee shop. The way they always threaten to do when I’m the center of attention. I try to straighten them. This is my time to be strong. For once, I need to perform.

When the table comes back to us, I heave in a deep breath, gather my strength, and wrench the cable with every ounce I’m worth. Will Ian make this last push too or suddenly yank his side to a stop, showing his true allegiance?

But the table flies. With cables wailing, it slams into the wall, which I’m praying is a window after all.

An ear-splitting crash reverberates through the room. And then I hear the loveliest sound of the night, the screams of the audience on the other side of the glass wall.

Welcome to our show, assholes.

“What the hell?” Micki shouts.

“Ooops,” Ian says.

I catch the cable as best I can on the return swing, and we push again, causing more piercing cracks of glass hitting glass. A burst of gunfire goes off. I duck as the strobes and more gunfire boom around our heads. Is it real? The screams sure are.

Between the flashes, a steady stream of light penetrates the room from the hallway. Is this the thrill the front-row Watchers were seeking? I feel a rush of hatred toward the audience, who’s hovered so closely by but hasn’t rescued us.

Even when the strobes stop, the light from the hallway casts a dim glow in the room. This makes our task easier and harder, since Ian and I can see what we’re doing, but we can also be seen.

Ty rises from behind his love seat. His gun wavers between Ian and me. “What are you ass-wipes doing?”

“What NERVE told us to,” I say. “Didn’t you get the message on your phones?” Ian and I catch the cable and give it another push. Even if the other players don’t quite realize we’ve violated the integrity of the dare, NERVE must. It’s only a matter of time before they respond with another consequence or something worse. With no reason to maintain a fake aim, I tuck my gun into the back of my skirt’s waistband so I can have both hands free for the next push.

The table hits the wall of glass again, about two feet from the floor, and widens the hole to about a foot across. More light. More screaming. I wish the table had blasted all the way through to the hallway, crashing into our worthless audience, who sound like they’re running for cover.

The panels above flash a message in giant letters. INTEGRITY VIOLATION! AIM YOUR GUNS AT ANOTHER PLAYER NOW OR EVERYONE LOSES THEIR PRIZES! A long horn blares.

Micki jumps up, frowns at the hole in the wall, but keeps her gun on me. “They’re trying to escape again. When we’re eight minutes from winning our prizes!”

Eight minutes from getting killed in a grand finale slaughter is more like it. Ian and I get in one more slam before he rushes to my side of the table. A chunk of glass falls away from the wall, leaving an opening of about a foot and a half in diameter.

Micki yells, “Stop or I’ll shoot, you assholes!”

Ian grabs my cable and we give the table a lopsided push. “We aren’t even holding our guns. You going to shoot us in cold blood?”

I hold my breath. Will she?

Her face is a mask of rage. “I’m giving you one more chance to stop screwing with the table and get back into the dare.”

Ty’s next to her. “Me too.”

Ian and I make another unbalanced push, which hits the glass wall with less force than the previous ones.

I swallow. “There’s no way you or NERVE could convince the whole audience that you shot Ian and me in self-defense when we aren’t holding our weapons. Plus, Tommy called the police before he got here. You really think you’ll get away with it?” I glance at Jen and Daniella, hoping that they’ll join the good guys, but both of them hold their guns more or less in my and Ian’s direction.

“
You
really think you’ll screw me over?” Micki lunges over the love seat.

I scoot alongside the table away from her. But instead of firing, she yanks the cable Ian had, preventing it from doing more damage to the glass. That’s my cue to run toward the hole in the wall.

Ian’s right behind me, and Tommy and Syd are next to us. I kick at the edge of the opening, causing another chunk of glass to fall off. The hole comes up just past my knees and is
about two feet wide, with edges that look like they could cut through bone.

Down the hall, a Watcher yells, “Move it! The little shits are getting loose!”

Micki launches herself at Ian while I kick at the hole’s bottom, breaking another chunk free. Sydney’s trying to kick the wall too, but her stilettos are useless. Tommy just stands there looking stunned until Ty grabs him with a sickening crunch.

Tommy groans. “Stop! This isn’t what we signed up for. You need to end it now.”

Hell, he and Syd didn’t sign up for anything except rescuing me. But neither Ty nor NERVE gives a damn.

Ian wraps his arms around Micki’s torso and swings her back and forth so that her flailing legs whip into Ty, who’s pulled Tommy away from the wall. Jen yanks Syd by the hair and they spin off into cat-fight mode. Daniella slouches nearby with her hands to her ears. Is she crying? As long as she isn’t attacking.

I kick at the glass wall. Ian keeps swinging Micki, and either her feet or Tommy’s hit Ty in the groin, because he doubles over and drops Tommy in a heap.

I call to Samuel, “Help me.” I free another chunk, wishing I’d worn heavier shoes.

Samuel shakes his head. “Don’t ask me to throw away my future, Vee.”

Is he for real? “If we stay, there is no future, dumb-ass. You don’t think NERVE will throw something worse at us in the next five minutes? It only takes seconds to kill someone.”

My next kick is harder and breaks away a chunk of glass the size of Samuel’s face. This brings the hole all the way down to the floor. Ty begins to straighten up. Tommy’s on the floor in front of him, but it doesn’t look like he’ll be able to hold anyone off. Ian swings Micki back and forth again, which might keep Ty away from me, but only for a few seconds more. I’m out of time.

To protect my hands, I pull my arms as far into my sleeves as I can before I get on all fours. Then I crawl out, trying to pad softly on the remaining glass. The top of the hole scrapes at my jacket, but the thick brocade keeps my back from getting sliced. I enter the deserted hallway. Going to the right would lead to the closed door at the end, which could be an exit or an execution chamber. Heading to the left would lead to the reception area, where Watchers may be lurking, waiting to ambush me.

Before I can decide, something yanks my ankle and twists my leg around. I flip onto my butt and gaze into Ty’s bulging face through the opening. He has a clear view up my skirt, but his eyes are on mine, burning with anger. Around his face, the wall, which on this side is a giant window, displays the room in perfect focus. Above the window are several screens, each with a different camera shot of the game room.

Ty pulls at my leg. I use the other to kick him in the face. He gasps, but his grip on my leg barely loosens. I try kicking again, but he’s ready for it and grabs my other ankle. With a smile, he lowers his heavy chest onto my feet, pressing them into the rubbery carpet. On my side of the window-wall, glass shards scrape through my tights into the backs of my thighs.

Ty pins the bottom six inches of my legs beneath his forearms. “I can lie here all night, you know. Or maybe I’ll just drag you back in here.”

Oh God, there’s no way I’ll make it back through the opening without getting sliced up. I stretch to my right in an effort to grab the silk wall-hanging for support, but it’s been pulled off to one side like a curtain, too far to reach. I twist my arm behind myself to try and pull out my gun, but my jacket and skirt are twisted around it, trapping it in my waistband. Thankfully, the pocket with my phone has landed on my stomach. I reach inside. Can I dial 911 fast enough? Will the reception work now?

Ty must figure out what I’m up to, because he almost crushes my ankles as he shifts his weight to get onto his knees. He tugs my feet, causing my butt to slide a few inches closer to the room, and more glass to graze my legs. I dig through my pocket, even though I can’t imagine making a call in time. That’s when my fingers brush against something next to my phone, the campaign button. Oh, thank God for Jimmy C! I
grab the button and, without pausing to think, snap it open and jam the pin into Ty’s cheek.

He screams as I jab his forehead and other cheek. “You fucking bitch!”

Although my kick to his face hadn’t been enough to force him to let me go, the little campaign pin carries more power. While Ty grabs at his cheeks, I pull my legs from the hole and scoot backward over glass shards that crunch under my butt and dig into my palms. Getting up, I quickly check my hands. Only one piece punctured skin, causing a sharp pain at the base of my left thumb. But the backs of my thighs sting with what must be half a dozen small cuts. I brush at them quickly. Nothing more I can do now.

Ty starts to crawl through the hole, his face contorted in rage, but his broad shoulders won’t clear the opening without serious damage.

Ian yells, “Run, Vee! If one of us escapes, the game is over!”

After all of my struggle to get free of the room, I still hesitate for a second, wanting to be with Ian, Sydney, and Tommy, but unsure how. Leaving them feels like the worst kind of abandonment. But getting help is our best hope.

Ty gets up and kicks at the hole, breaking away another piece. “You’re dead, bitch.”

I run.

“I’ll find the police!” I holler back as I dash left, toward the reception area. The corridor suddenly goes dark. My shoulder
wails in pain when it slams into a wall. I clutch it and keep running, spurred by the thumping and crunching sounds behind me.

A shot rings out, startling everything into silence.

No, no, no!

“Get back here, bitch, and take your next consequence or whatever the game tells you to do,” Micki yells. “Or the next bullet goes into one of your friends.”

My mouth goes dry. Would she do that? She didn’t shoot in cold blood before, but now she’s more desperate.

Sydney shouts, “Go, Vee!”

Ian joins in. “The game is already over.”

Is it? What’ll Micki and Ty do if I keep going? What’ll they do if I return? My brain tells me that Ian’s right, but it feels like betrayal. Glass shatters behind me. Ty must be almost through the wall. I flail in the dark, bumping into something with sharp corners. The concierge desk. I’m almost out of here. Then I remember my phone. I fumble it from my pocket, panting with hope. A quick glance makes me groan. Still no service.

But at least I can use the phone’s display as a tiny flashlight, which reveals the main door. Behind me comes grunting and yelling, and then another gunshot.

Oh God, oh God, oh God. But if Micki’s done the unthinkable, going back will only make things worse. I open the door that leads to the small entry area in front of the elevators, and I’m blinded by the light, even though it’s still
set to a moody level. There’s movement in front of me—the elevator door to the left begins to close on a car full of six or so Watchers. Their clothes are colorful, but their faces are gray. One man, in his fifties, with slicked-back hair and a tailored leather jacket, blows me a kiss.

Son of a bitch. I recognize him as the chaperone from the Purity Promisers, who threw Ian and me out onto our butts.

I leap forward, pull out my gun, and jam it into the last inches of narrowing space between the doors. Steel crushes against steel, and the Watchers shriek as they move toward the walls of the elevator. Not such a fun show anymore, huh? And then, with a little bouncing motion, the elevator doors give up and open.

I point my gun at the guy who blew me an air kiss. “You, throw me your phone.”

He shrugs. “We left our phones with the chauffeurs. NERVE doesn’t want anyone charging for game videos except them.”

Damn. Do I force them out of the elevator and take it down by myself to look for police who may or may not be searching the building? I can’t afford the time. Another plan takes shape.