Countdown

Suddenly the lights began to flash, and an alarm sounded, so loud that I instinctively clamped my hands over my ears.

“What’s happening?” I yelled.

Rogan’s gaze darted around the room.

And then I heard something else. A metallic, computer-generated voice that seemed to come from every direction.

“60...” it announced. “59...58...57...”

Rogan began struggling hard against his chain. “Kira, throw me that key. Right now! Do it!”

“Why? What’s happening?”

“It’s the countdown!”

Okay, I’d figured out that much all by myself. If I hadn’t been scared out of my mind, I’d have taken the time to roll my eyes at him.

“Which means what?”

He craned his neck to look wildly around the empty room as the lights continued to flash, plunging us into darkness and light like a strobe light in a dance club. “We’ve wasted too much time.”

“52...51...50...”

“What happens when it gets to zero?”

He stared across the room at me, his gaze panicked. “When it gets to zero, we die. Do you understand? If you don’t throw me that key, in less than fifty seconds we’re both going to die!”

My stomach dropped. “What do you mean, die? How do you know that?”

“There’s no time to explain. I know you don’t trust me, but, please. Just do what I say so we can live.”

I stared at him. No. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t trust him. If I threw him the key, he’d unlock himself and leave me here. He was a murderer. He’d admitted it. He’d told me that there was no reason he could give me to trust him. And I didn’t trust him. I didn’t trust anyone but myself.

“Come on!” he yelled.

“35...34...33...”

I stared blindly around at the metal-walled room. Who would want to kill us? It didn’t make any sense. None of this made any sense.

Rogan swore so loudly it hurt my ears over the alarm and countdown.

“Fine!” he yelled. “Take it! You go first.”

He threw his key at me, and it landed by my feet. Without thinking twice I grabbed it and worked it into my lock. The shackles popped open and I scrambled to stand up.

Just as my bindings unlocked, a door to my left swung open into more darkness. I eyed it before I took a step toward it.

“Wait—” Rogan held a hand out to me. “What about our deal?”

I hesitated. He was a murderer bound for maximum security prison the second he turned eighteen. I should leave him here, wherever here was.

“19...18...17...”

“Forget it. Leave me. Whatever.” He slumped against the wall and looked away, his chest heaving with each labored breath. He wasn’t going to beg.

He’d given up just like that?

He thought he was going to die—honestly, truly die—when the countdown ended. I’d seen it in his eyes. You couldn’t fake that. Whether it was true or not didn’t matter. He believed it.

I swore under my breath and ran back to grab my key off the ground. I sank down beside him and worked the key into his lock. It snapped open. I quickly got to my feet and turned to go, glancing over my shoulder at him. He was struggling to get to his feet. It was the shoulder wound—it slowed him down. He could barely walk.

“10...9...8...”

I turned back and grabbed him around the waist, practically pulling him through the room with me. He leaned heavily against me.

“4...3...2...1.”

We were through the door on the last count and it slammed shut behind us with a deafening, metallic crunch that shook the ground.

Rogan groaned and collapsed to his knees. I frowned and reached toward him to touch his shoulder to find it was knotted with tension.

“You’re seriously hurt.”

He blinked at me. “You thought I was faking?”

“I wasn’t sure.”

“Thanks for the help.”

I was about to say “anytime,” which would have been the typical response, but I stopped myself. There was no “anytime” with Rogan. This was it. We’d escaped the room and I was so out of there.

However, I still wasn’t sure where we were.

We’d entered another room. This one didn’t look much more interesting than the first one, but I could see the outline of a door with no handle. I walked to it and kicked it as hard as I could.

“Let me out of here!” I yelled. My voice echoed against the metal walls.

“That’s not going to do anything,” Rogan said.

“We’ll see about that.” I kicked the door again. And again. I finally stopped when my leg started to hurt and the door didn’t look any worse for wear. I hadn’t even made a dent.

Panting and sweating buckets, I turned toward Rogan and thrust a finger in his direction. “Start talking. I want to know everything you know.”

He blinked at me, holding one hand against his wound. “You came back for me.”

“Yeah. I did. Don’t make me regret my decision.”

“I thought you’d leave me to die.”

“You still think we would have died if we stayed in there.”

He nodded. “The grinding noise was the ceiling slamming down on the floor. I’m just guessing that might have killed us on contact.”

I stared at him blankly.

“How do you—?”

Before I could finish, I was interrupted.

“Congratulations, Rogan and Kira, on successfully completing level one of Countdown.”

The disembodied voice came through unseen speakers, just as the countdown had. It was almost as if the voice was inside my head. I couldn’t pinpoint the exact direction, and the sound of it physically hurt, like something literally being pushed into my brain.

Unlike the countdown, which had had a metallic sound that had betrayed it as a computer-generated voice, this one sounded very human. Very male. And very smug.

“You son of a bitch,” Rogan growled. “Let us out of here!”

“Level one—” the speaker continued as if he hadn’t heard Rogan’s comment or was choosing to ignore it “—was to test your abilities of reason and compatibility. You have won the chance to continue on to level two, and due to your performance thus far, we have teamed you as partners.”

My heart slammed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t sign up for anything like—”

Suddenly, what felt like a bolt of lightning ripped through my brain. White-hot pain tore through me, and I screamed, clamping my hands on either side of my head as I fell to the ground.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Rogan do the same.

The pain vanished as quickly as it had come, and I stared around the room, numb and in shock.

“Wh-what—?” I managed.

The voice continued as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. “Your implants have been activated and tuned to each other’s frequency. Kindly keep in mind that you are playing as a team and to separate more than ninety feet from your partner will lead to immediate disqualification.”

I scrambled to my feet and stumbled over to brace myself against the cold metal wall.

“I want to know what is happening,” I demanded, my voice hoarse. “I want to be let out of here immediately or I’m calling the police!”

It was an empty threat. The police wouldn’t give a crap what happened to somebody like me. I didn’t even have ID. They’d probably throw me in St. Augustine’s for causing a disturbance.

I was on my own.

Rogan was struggling to get up from the floor as I moved toward the door and kicked it again, knowing it wouldn’t help but feeling the desperate need to do something—to do anything! “Come on! Come on, you bastards. Let me out of here!”

I saw a flash of light out of the corner of my eye and turned around slowly. The lights in the room dimmed and a holoscreen appeared out of nowhere, showing an overhead view of the city.

The only time I’d seen anything like it was when I’d snuck in to see an old sci-fi movie at the only theater in the city that was still open. I hadn’t thought technology like this existed in real life. Could it be real?

Obviously it was, because I was looking right at it.

I walked around the screen, trying to see where it was projected from, but there was nothing. I touched it, and the image flickered and morphed as if I’d dipped my finger into a shallow pool of water. It was partially transparent, and I could see Rogan on the other side.

He looked at me and shook his head. “It begins.”

“What begins? What is this?”

On the map a round, white glow appeared at an intersection that was otherwise unmarked.

“Level one has been completed successfully.” The disembodied voice sounded enthusiastic. There was a creepy singsong quality to the words. “There are six levels to Countdown. Complete them all without suffering disqualification or elimination and you will be considered the winner. Your next challenge is to reach the marker you see on the map by the time the clock runs out. If you are not successful, you will be eliminated. Do not delay. You have thirty minutes to complete this level. Your time starts now.”

The map faded into the image of a ticking clock. Then that also disappeared, leaving me staring directly at Rogan. The lights came up, and a draft of cool air brushed my bare arms.

I turned to see that the door I’d been kicking had slid open. Beyond it was the outdoors. The city. Familiar territory.

“Kira!” Rogan called after me.

But I barely heard him. I was too busy running.

LEVEL TWO

Chapter 3

THE BEEPING BEGAN when I’d run almost a block. It was soft at first but grew steadily in volume and speed with every step I took.

I decided to ignore it for now.

I’d escaped. And the more distance I could put between me and whatever that had been was distance well traveled.

I looked around at the gray street and the gray buildings that reached high into the sky. Not another person to be seen.

Yeah. Welcome to my city.

Twenty-five years ago it had been a thriving and successful place of business—one of the most prosperous cities in the whole country. In fact, the whole world had been on an upswing then. Technology was increasing. The economy was thriving. Things were good. And just when everybody was feeling all positive about the future, the Great Plague swept across the world, and in a matter of weeks, sixty percent of human life was wiped out. Dead and gone, just like that.

Those who survived continued on—I mean, what choice did they have? The world kept turning. They rebuilt, they had children, but everything was different. The city swiftly became a sad and empty shell of what it used to be as many people chose to move away from the more dangerous urban landscapes, full of gangs and scavengers and illness, in order to risk living off the land instead, as people had done hundreds of years ago. The Plague was gone, but other illnesses ran rampant and killed off tons of people every year. City or country, either way there were no guarantees that life would be easy. Living in the city was all I’d ever known—my father was a scientist who taught classes at the university, so we’d never lived anywhere else.

Still, I couldn’t imagine living here when the city was crammed with people. It was still busy over in the village, a ten square block neighborhood where almost everyone who remained had congregated in a sort of mini-city. But the rest of the streets and neighborhoods were close to deserted, like this one apparently was.

However, another city had been built—one with money, jobs, opportunities...and closed borders. It was called the Colony—a shiny, beautiful, environmentally controlled domed paradise that everyone aspired to get to.

You could live a healthy and prosperous life in the Colony. A life with a future. A life with a chance for happiness.

There’s this secret shuttle that will take you on the first leg of your journey. But to get on board, you need to know the right people, have the right kind of money, get the right entrance data, including a special scannable ID implant, and have a whole lot of luck. Even with sixty percent of the population no longer breathing, there were still at least two-and-a-half billion people looking for a ticket to a better life. That would be a pretty damn big shuttle. And a really big city.

The Colony was the only place of its kind, at least on this continent.

And it was my dream to get there. Somehow. Someday.

“Kira! Stop!” It sounded as if Rogan was catching up, but I didn’t look. I didn’t need more problems in my life, and that boy was one big problem from head to foot.

“Kira!” Rogan shouted again. I looked over my shoulder. He was running after me. Well, actually it was more like a speedy shuffle. He was injured, possibly dying, and yet he was still trying to catch up to me.

I ignored the rush of empathy that thought triggered.

Why was he chasing after me?

It was the pain that clued me in. The stabbing pain through my head that stopped me dead in my tracks. The beeping was so loud now, I couldn’t think, couldn’t concentrate. I fell to my knees and pressed my hands hard against my ears to block out the deafeningly loud beeping—like an endless train roaring over the tracks—but it wasn’t going to do any good.

The noise had to be coming from inside my head. Nothing I did could block it out. And it was getting faster. And faster. I looked to my far left. Rogan had stopped running and was holding his head.

And then I remembered what the voice told us.

Your implants have been activated and tuned to each other’s frequency.

And what else? I racked my tortured brain.

To separate more than ninety feet from your partner will lead to immediate disqualification.

I crawled over the rough pavement toward Rogan. The beeping decreased the closer I got to him, as did the pain. He lay on his side, only his moving chest showing that he was still breathing.

“Rogan—” I grabbed his shoulder.

He blinked his eyes open and looked at me. “That hurt.”

“Tell me about it.”

He frowned. “You run really fast for a girl.”

“Faster than you.”

“I have an excuse. I’m mortally wounded.”

“So you keep promising.” I let out a long sigh, but it wasn’t from relief, it was from frustration. “This ‘disqualification and elimination’ that voice was talking about in there—he means death, doesn’t he?”

His throat worked as he swallowed, and he propped himself up on one elbow. “Smart girl.”

“If I was that smart I wouldn’t be here, would I?”

“True.”

I looked him over thoroughly now that we were outside. The light wasn’t all that great. The sky was overcast. It seemed to always be overcast these days. Something to do with global warming and pollution levels. I never paid much attention to the news feeds. All I knew was I hadn’t gotten a good suntan in ages.

At the moment, Rogan looked barely strong enough to hurt a fly, but there was still an undeniable aura of danger surrounding him. Something in those pretty ocean-colored eyes made me think that I shouldn’t turn my back on him if I could help it. I couldn’t trust him. Not now. Not ever.

I would never trust a murderer.

But apparently we were partners. That is, if I didn’t want my head to explode.

“I’m not going to beg,” I said softly. “But you’re going to tell me everything you know about this...this Countdown.”

He nodded and tried to get to his feet. He failed. I stood and offered him a hand. He took it, and I helped him up. He didn’t let go of me immediately. His hand was as dirty as the rest of him, but firm with long fingers that wrapped warmly around mine.

I let go first, pulling my hand back before it was too late.

Before it happened.

I’d had just about as much pain as I could deal with for one day.

It had been like this since I’d turned thirteen, this weird, freakish thing inside of me. If I touched somebody skin to skin and focused on them for too long...sometimes it hurt. My brain hurt, that is. And then I’d get these bizarre flashes zipping through my mind like electrical charges. Not flashes so much as...feelings.

Not my feelings, either. Their feelings.

I didn’t know what it meant, and I’d never told anyone about it. All I knew was that it hurt. And, call me crazy, but I liked to avoid pain whenever possible.

Whenever it happened, I got a horrible headache that lasted for hours. The scummier the person that I touched, the longer the pain lasted.

The last person I wanted to touch was somebody like Rogan.

His expression shadowed as if my actions had somehow hurt his feelings, and he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his torn, dirty jeans.

“I’ll tell you everything I know,” he said. “But we need to move.”

“There are twenty minutes remaining in this level of Countdown,” the voice said from out of nowhere.

When I didn’t immediately start walking, Rogan raised an eyebrow at me.

“Let’s get going,” he said. “I’m not in good enough shape to keep running. Better make it a brisk stagger, so we need to move now.”

“Okay, yeah. Then let’s go.” I frowned and tried to recall the map. Damn. I should have paid more attention. Fingers of panic dug deep into my stomach.

As if he’d read my thoughts, he forced a grin. “Don’t worry, kid. I know where we’re headed.”

I scowled at him. “I’m no kid, I’m sixteen. And the name’s Kira.”

His grin widened a fraction. “No nicknames. Got it.”

I studied him for a moment longer. That scar across his left eye. I wondered how he’d gotten it. Probably at St. Augustine’s, in a scuffle with another loser. Or maybe his victim had attempted to fight back before he’d mercilessly snuffed out his or her life.

Scumbag.

He caught me staring at his face and turned away so I could see only the good side. “Let’s get going, Kira.”

Vain, was he?

We walked. Slower than I would have liked, but it was fast enough to keep some of my panic at bay. With every step, I felt the clock ticking down the seconds we had left. What if we didn’t make it in time? Would they really kill us? Just like that?

I was finding it easier and easier to believe.

“Countdown,” Rogan began as we trudged along, “is just what it sounds like. A series of challenges with a set time frame and a win-or-lose outcome. It’s a game.”

I glanced at him and kept walking. My heart pounded in my ears. “I didn’t agree to play any game.”

“You didn’t have to. Countdown plays to the fringes of society over a top-secret televised network. That’s what makes it so appealing to the Subscribers.”

“Subscribers?”

“Bored rich people who haven’t headed to the Colony yet and want to be entertained by a modern Roman Colosseum. Death matches. There are a few other twisted games on the network to hold their interest. This is only one on the list.”

My gut started to churn with disgust. “How is this even allowed? It’s illegal.”

“I know that. You know that. But, like I said, it’s a secret. Even if it wasn’t, do you really think cops would give a damn about what happens to criminals, no matter how young those criminals might be? Makes their jobs easier in the long run, doesn’t it? Subscribers are fitted with cranium implants so they can watch in their heads. It’s like virtual reality, only they’re just watching, not participating. Safer that way.” His expression soured. “Bunch of rich cowards who get off on violence.”

“How do you know all this?”

He didn’t look directly at me. “I just know. The players used to be older prisoners recruited from Saradone, but recently it seems like the Subscribers prefer younger meat. I knew a couple kids who disappeared one night a month ago. The rumor was they were offered the chance to play the game.”

“Why would they agree to something like this?” I hadn’t been given a choice.

He shrugged. “At least with the game there’s a possibility you can win. A fresh-faced eighteen-year-old transferring to a prison like that—no matter what his crimes are...” His jaw tightened, and he finally offered me a sidelong glance. “His days are numbered.”

“That’s how they got you. You didn’t want to go to Saradone if there was a way to avoid it.”

“Basically.”

I shook my head. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

“It doesn’t have to. The bottom line is that it exists. And we’re right in the middle of it now.” He eyed me. “I don’t get you, though.”

“Right back at you.”

“No, I don’t understand why you were recruited. You weren’t in detention. You haven’t been arrested. You’re into low-end crime, and you have no family, but still. Only sixteen...” His brows drew together. “You’re too young. Too soft.”

“There’s nothing soft about me.”

His lips twitched. “I don’t know about that.”

“Keep walking.” I put one foot in front of the other. “You’re sure you know where we’re going?”

He nodded. “Yeah, it’s not far from here.”

This was insane. All of it. “So, if we finish—how many levels again?”

“Six.”

“If we finish six levels like the voice said, we’ll win. What does that mean?”

“Freedom. Money. I don’t know what else. It depends on the player, I think.”

“And if we mess up—”

“No freedom, no money and a bullet in the brain. That’s if we’re lucky.”

My stomach lurched. “Who would want to watch this?”

“You’d be surprised. A subscription to the Network isn’t cheap, and it’s based on how much they watch. And the cranium implant that gets them access has to be surgically implanted. It’s not easy to do. The Subscribers expect to get their money’s worth. Maybe that’s why they had you join the cast. I don’t think Countdown has had a female contestant before.”

That wasn’t terribly comforting. “Lucky me. Maybe they think we’ll be a good team.”

He glanced at me. “Maybe we will.”

“Don’t bet on it.” I looked away. “Are we almost there?”

He nodded. “I think so.”

“You think so? I thought you were sure where we were going?”

“I’ve been out of commission for a while. Things change. Do you know this neighborhood?”

“No.”

I took a good look around. Gray on gray. No trees, no parked cars. Even the street signs were broken off the poles on the corner ahead. Nothing was familiar.

Something flew out from behind a corner ahead of us. A silver ball. It floated in midair and headed straight for us at lightning fast speed. I ducked so it wouldn’t hit me, but it stopped three feet in front of my face and bobbed at eye level.

A flying digicam. Yet another thing I’d never seen before in real life. It reflected me in the black iris of its lens.

The voice spoke again in my head.

“Level two for Rogan and Kira is well under way. Let’s take a moment to get to know these two contestants....”

It was an implant. That was what the voice said earlier, didn’t it? They’d put one of the implants in my head. I reached into the tangle of my dark brown hair and felt around until I found the stitches over a two inch cut in my scalp. The area surrounding it was numb. They’d put the implant in my head. That’s why I’d been unconscious in the metal room. I’d been recovering from surgery.

Outrage swelled inside me.

We didn’t have time for this. I attempted to get past the digicam, but it blocked my way.

“Kira Jordan, sixteen years old, was left an orphan two years ago after her family was brutally murdered. But don’t let her sob story or good looks fool you—she’s made her way in the world by becoming a street thief and pickpocket who would steal from her own grandmother if she still had one. And she isn’t afraid of using her body to get exactly what she wants. This girl’s as cold as ice.”

I felt the color drain from my face, and I glanced at Rogan.

“That’s not true,” I said.

His expression was guarded, but there was an edge of curiosity in his gaze. “All of it or most of it?”

“Most.”

The camera then whirred over to block Rogan’s path.

“Rogan Ellis, seventeen years old, is guilty of nine counts of first-degree murder in what is now known as the Dormitory Murders. After a one-night rampage that left nine female university students dead and dismembered, he was sent to St. Augustine’s Detention Hall for dangerous youths until his eighteenth birthday, when he was to be transferred to Saradone Maximum Security Prison to serve a life sentence with no chance for parole.”