Countdown (2 page)

He smiled. His teeth were white and straight, which struck me as odd for a confessed killer. Though, I suppose it was a bit of a cliché to expect him to have broken, rotting teeth— especially at his age.
“True. Sorry I look like hell.” His smile widened. “They didn’t even let me have a shower before they knocked me out and dragged my ass here.”
“Forget it.”
His gaze slid down the rest of me, black tank top, khaki cargo pants and my new red shoes. My face warmed at his blatant appraisal, until I saw his eyes move away from my body and toward my side. He frowned. I looked to the f loor on my right and gasped.
There was a key lying there, only an arm’s reach away.

“TRY IT,” ROGAN PROMPTED.
I was way ahead of him. I’d already grabbed the key and found the small keyhole on my shackle, my heart drumming loud in my ears.
I frowned when it didn’t fit. I tried again. Why didn’t it fit?
I looked over at Rogan, who stared at me with a deep frown.
Something sparkled next to him, and I pointed at it. Another key. He grabbed it and tried his lock.
Nothing.
I heard a whirring and looked up toward the sound. At the top of the far wall to the left near the ceiling, a small shutter had opened and what looked like a security camera—only more modern, very sleek and silver—emerged.
“What is that?” I asked.
He looked up at it grimly. “Must be show time.”
I clenched the key so tightly that I knew it would leave an impression on my fingertips. “Why would they be recording us?”
“Because they like to watch.”
“Watch what?” I snapped. “Can you stop being so damn vague and just tell me what’s going on?”
But he wasn’t looking at me, he was looking at my key. “I’m going to take a guess here that your key fits my lock and my key fits your lock.”
I frowned. “How do you know that?”
“I didn’t say I
know.
I said I
guess.”
The nearly eighteenyear-old murderer smirked at me again. “Try to pay attention, would you?”
I gritted my teeth. “I don’t like you.”
“My heart is breaking. Now, why don’t you be a good girl and throw that key over here so I can test my theory?”
“Screw you.”
He shrugged and then grimaced as if the wound on his shoulder caused him massive pain. “We can do that, too, if you like, but I’ll need to be unchained first. Then again, we can bring the chains with us if you’re into that sort of thing.”
I gave him the look I always gave to guys who tried to pick me up. The losers and the freaks who thought sex was a sport and I was just somebody to score with. In the circles I’d hung out in lately, boys like that were the norm rather than the exception. All the good ones seemed to have left the city long ago. And you know what? With some of them, I played it as good as I could. I knew that I wasn’t ugly—that despite living on the streets a little more than I’d like, I’d developed a good body and a nice face that boys—and men—seemed to find attractive. I played them, and then I took their wallets when they weren’t looking.
So sue me. But not one of them had gotten in my pants yet.
This boy didn’t have a wallet as far as I could see. He had nothing I wanted. Nothing except that key.
I shifted my position into something a little more alluring. Chest out. Stomach sucked in. I raised an eyebrow and forced a smile to my lips. “Why don’t you throw me your key first?”
Not too much. Let’s not be obvious here, okay?
He studied me. I still wasn’t letting him have what he wanted, but the vibe I was giving off was much more…
friendly
. I mean, the guy had been in a detention hall I’d heard was worse than anything I could imagine—and with his record, I doubted he’d been in a coed wing. He had to be horny as hell by now, right? I could work with that. He should be putty in my hands.
Dirty, murdering putty. With nice eyes and—I hated to admit it—a sexy smile. An unusual combination, to say the least.
He licked his lips. “Oh, you’re good. If I didn’t feel like my arm was about to fall off, you might have me, but pain
does
help me focus. Your key. Throw it to me.
Then
I’ll throw you mine.”
My fake smile slipped. “And when I throw you my key, how do I know you’ll give me mine?”
“You’ll just have to trust me.”
“Give me one good reason why I should.”
He stared at me and then laughed that short, humorless laugh. “I’m coming up blank here.”
“Then I guess we’re both out of luck.”
“I guess so.” An unpleasant smile twisted his mouth, then he closed his eyes, and pain shadowed his face.
Damn. I didn’t want to feel sympathy for this guy. He was a murderer, just like the bastard who had killed my family. But if that blood was any indication, he was seriously wounded.
Then again, how did I know for sure? Maybe it was a trick. Maybe he was acting like he was hurt. After all, that camera had just appeared out of nowhere. What had he said a minute ago?
Show time?
The camera whirred again as it changed direction to point at Rogan.
He pried his eyes open and looked up at it.
Then he gave it the finger.
Suddenly the lights began to f lash, 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, computergenerated 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 f lash, 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 f loor. 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 f loor 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 f lash 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 f lickered 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. 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 shuff le. 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 f ly, 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 f lashes zipping through my mind like electrical charges. Not f lashes 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.”