Countdown (6 page)

All of it was fake.
I’d been ready to die to protect somebody who didn’t even exist.
“10…9…8…”
I raised the gun and pulled the trigger over and over until it was empty. I hoped it would be enough.
It was. It blew Bernard’s robot head clean off his body.
I dropped the gun, collapsed back to the ground, and let the pain wash over me. Rogan crawled to my side.
“Kira.” There was a red mark around his neck where the robot had almost choked him to death. “Are you okay?”
His hand clamped down on my thigh, attempting to slow the bleeding.
I tried to speak but found that I couldn’t form any words.
What I wanted to say was:
Okay? Do I look okay to you?
Just before I passed out, I heard the voice in my head:
“Congratulations, Rogan and Kira, on successfully completing level three of
Countdown.
”

IT WAS DARK THAT NIGHT. SO DARK.
“Mom?…Dad?” I said, too softly for anyone to actually hear me.
I’d gone to bed early, mad that I couldn’t get something—new jeans,
a new purse…didn’t matter anymore. Didn’t matter then. My bedroom door was closed. Locked. I didn’t want to talk to anybody. Not even my friends who were sending me text messages. I ignored the soft vibrating sound my new phone made every few minutes. It was after midnight on a school night. I remember I had a big
test the next day that I hadn’t studied for. Math, I think. Or NeoGeography. I didn’t care what happened—if I passed or failed. I actually couldn’t think of one thing in this stupid, boring city I really
cared about.
The creaking sound in the hallway of somebody moving around
startled me. I heard heavy boots and the scrape of something metallic, which immediately told me—through both my gut instinct and
my actual senses—it wasn’t either of my parents. It also wasn’t my
older sister returning from a late date and sneaking back in the house
so she wouldn’t get in trouble for breaking the new citywide curfew of
eleven o’clock. She’d gotten back from the movie theater hours earlier. It was somebody else.
Somebody bad.
For a moment I thought it might just be my imagination. My
overwrought, overworked brain always came up with the worst-case
scenario. My mom said I should be a writer since I always made up
such crazy, overly dramatic stories.
All I knew for sure, as I lay in my bed that night with the sheets
pulled up to my nose, listening to the footsteps outside my door, was
that I had this sense. A sense of impending doom.
Something was wrong. Horribly wrong.
I could hear my father’s footsteps as he moved into the hallway to
investigate the noises. I heard shouting.
There were gunshots—two gunshots—and then a heavy thump
as my father’s body hit the floor.
Then I heard the screams as my mother…and then my sister—oh,
God, both of them—as they were confronted by the intruder. More
shots rang out. My whole body shook as I tumbled off the side of my
bed and crawled underneath it, tears streaming down my cheeks. My
whole world narrowed in on that moment. Those three minutes felt
like three years.
When all was silent, when my family was dead, I heard my door
rattle as the murderer tried to get into my room. My door was locked,
but he would have had no problem busting it open.
I’m going to die,
was all I could think. And I was afraid. So
afraid.
But suddenly there came the sound of police sirens, and the intruder fled, without another sound, without a word, into the night.
He was never caught.
I hadn’t even said good-night to my family. And then they were
gone forever.
Ever since that night, the inky black of darkness just reminded me of how close to death I’d come. How powerless I was. Darkness, any
darkness, felt like hands clutching at my throat, holding me down.
“No… No…please. Not again.”
“Kira, it’s okay. You’re going to be okay. Open your eyes.
It’s okay. I’m with you.”
A warm touch brushed away my tears and stroked the hair
back from my face.
My eyes shot open. The first thing that came fully into
focus was Rogan. He sat on the edge of the bed I was lying
in. He looked like hell, still dirty and bloody and a total mess,
but the sight of him managed to chase away the last traces of
my nightmare.
He frowned. “What’s that?”
“What do you mean?” My voice sounded croaky. “That thing on your face.”
I reached up. “What is it?”
“I think it’s…yes, it’s definitely a smile.”
I let out a long breath and rolled my eyes. “Obviously a total
mistake. There’s no reason for me to be smiling right now. Is
my leg still attached?”
He glanced down the length of my body and then looked
back up at me with half a grin on his face.
“For now.” The grin faded. “You were having a bad dream.” “I can’t imagine why I would be. We’ve been having so
much fun.” I tried to look around but didn’t see anything other
than a bland room with a small window that only looked out
to another building. “Where are we now?”
“They brought us to a medical station. I guess you getting
shot wasn’t in the script.”
“There’s a script?”
He shrugged. “Who knows?” His gaze met mine, and I noticed for the first time since I woke up how anguished it
was. “I was worried about you.”
“That makes two of us.”
“Don’t joke.” He brought his hand back up to stroke my
face gently. “Seriously, though. I’m really glad you’re okay.” For a moment, he didn’t move his hand away, and I didn’t
push it away. But then he blinked and dropped his arm to his
side.
I bit my bottom lip. “So, uh, now what?”
“So now we’re waiting for somebody to check your leg
and release us, I guess. They took the bullet out already and
patched you up. They gave you some pain meds, which is
probably the reason you were out so long.”
“How long?”
“Nearly eighteen hours.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Eighteen hours?”
He nodded. I lifted the white sheets to look down at myself. My clothes were gone, and I was now wearing a white,
scratchy hospital gown. My right thigh had been bandaged. I looked up at him. “You’ve been here the whole time?
With me?”
He nodded. “They said I should wait outside, but I refused.
I thought they’d beat the crap out of me for giving them attitude, but they didn’t. Don’t know why. They let me sit in
here with you after they were finished with your leg.” “For eighteen hours? You’ve been sitting next to me the
whole time?”
“I dozed for a bit myself, but otherwise…yeah.” He looked
away. “I was here.”
I felt my cheeks heat up. He’d been watching me sleep. That
should totally creep me out, but instead it made me feel… I don’t know. It made me feel
secure
for some reason. Like he
was looking out for me. Making sure nobody hurt me. Which didn’t make a damn bit of sense.
Why would a murderer want to be my guardian angel? Why
did being around him fill me with anything but fear? Why
did I trust him not to hurt me when I was completely helpless? Because I didn’t totally believe he was guilty, that’s why.
I’d seen no indication at all that he was cruel or heartless—
someone capable of killing and dismembering nine girls.
While he’d admitted he’d killed his roommate in self-defense,
he hadn’t been able to bring himself to kill Bernard when he
thought he was just an innocent civilian.
He didn’t do it.
The clear and sudden revelation helped to push the rest of
my doubts away.
Which was probably why I found myself placing my hands
on either side of his face and drawing him closer to me. I slid
a hand down and over his chest to feel his heart pounding
hard and fast.
“Kira, what are you doing?” Our lips were so close. His
breath was so warm.
But then he tensed and pulled back. The look on his face
held such confusion and awkwardness that it almost made
me laugh.
I’d nearly kissed him.
Then it hit me with crystal-clear clarity.
Oh, my God.
I’d nearly kissed him.
It was the pain drugs. Yeah. Had to be the pain drugs.
They were totally tripping me out and making me do things
I would never normally do in a million years.
Not like this. Not here. And not with somebody like Rogan Ellis, who would only make my life even more complicated
than it already was.
I bit my bottom lip. “Can I ask you a question?” He eyed me as if I might do something else utterly unexpected—either kiss him or kill him. “Of course.” “When we were out there with that robot thing…you asked
if I believed everything I saw on the news.”
His mouth formed a thin line. “Yeah.”
“What did you mean?”
“Nothing. I was stalling for time. Didn’t work. He shot you
anyhow.” He crossed his arms. “You said no, right? That you
didn’t believe everything the news says.”
“That’s right. I don’t. And I don’t watch the news to begin
with, haven’t for ages.” I reached up and grabbed his shirt to
force him to look at me. “I’m going to ask you something and
I want you to tell me the truth. You hear me? The
truth.
” I
sounded surprisingly strong for somebody stuck on her back
with a bullet just pulled from her leg.
“What?”
“Did you do it?”
His eyes narrowed. “Do
what?
”
“What they said you did.”
His jaw clenched and he looked away. “I’m going to check
on what’s taking them so long.”
I grabbed a tighter hold of his shirt. If he was getting up,
then he was taking me with him. “Those nine girls. Did you
murder them like they said you did? Damn it, Rogan. Tell
me the truth.”
He searched my face. “Why are you asking me this? Everyone just assumes I’m guilty as sin. Why wouldn’t you?” “Because they’re the scumbags that plucked me out of my normal life and are trying to kill me in their stupid game.
Why would I believe
anything
they tell me?”
He was silent for a long time, and then said, “I’m a very
bad person, Kira.”
I clutched his hand tightly, just in case he was thinking
about trying to get away from me again. “Just being a bad
person doesn’t necessarily mean that you did what they said.” He looked away.
“Just tell me. It’s simple, really. You either did it or you
didn’t.”
He shook his head. “Nothing’s simple. Nothing in my life
has ever been simple.”
“Did you kill those girls?”
“No, I didn’t.” He met my gaze again—his tortured.
Haunted. He’d been through hell even before entering this
game. For someone who was still a teenager, his eyes held a
lifetime of pain and misery.
Rogan wasn’t lying to me. He was innocent of those horrible crimes. I’d bet my life on it. In fact, I think I already had. “You believe me,” he said very softly.
I nodded, my throat tight. “I believe you. But why would
they say that if it isn’t true? Why would you let them?” His brows drew tightly together. “It’s complicated.” My gaze softened, and I touched his face, tracing my index
finger gently along his scar. “So, you were locked up for something you didn’t even do?”
He swallowed hard and entwined his fingers with mine. “I
told you already. I’m a very bad person. If you knew the truth
about me, you wouldn’t be looking at me like that. You’d hate
me. And you’d sure as hell not want to be this close to me.” “You killed your roommate, but it was in self-defense. I
can’t hold that against you. You had no choice.”
He shook his head. “No, I’m not talking about that. It’s
something else. Something worse.”
My stomach twisted. “Tell me. Rogan. I promise I won’t
hate you.”
Our eyes locked, and I was certain he was going to answer me. But then the door on my right opened and Jonathan walked in. Two men dressed all in white accompanied
him, but they stayed by the door while he approached my bed. “You’re awake,” Jonathan said, adjusting his wire-frame
glasses.
I glared at him. “You’re observant.”
His smile held no warmth. “I’ve been instructed to tell you
that your next level will lead to a contestant reward. Should
you complete it successfully, you’ll receive something very
special.”
We both gave him a blank look.
He cleared his throat. “Rogan, would you mind giving
Kira and me a few moments alone?”
Rogan’s expression tensed. “I’d rather stay here.” Jonathan’s smile grew. “To protect her from me?” “Maybe.”
“Trust me, that won’t be necessary.” He paused. “I really
would prefer you leave of your own free will, Rogan. If not,
then there are other methods I can use to remove you from
the room.”
The silent, white-clad men stood at the doorway with their
arms crossed.
“It’s okay.” I touched his arm to find that it was tensely
corded muscle.
He met my gaze and nodded once. With a last look at Jonathan, one edged in violence, he finally let go of my hand
and left the room.
The two men also left, closing the door behind them, leaving Jonathan and me alone.
“Who
are
you?” I asked after a heavy, silent moment had
gone by.
“We already met earlier. Jonathan, remember?” I rolled my eyes. “I remember everything that’s happened
to me. Vividly. Consider it burned into my brain forever. But
that doesn’t explain anything.”
The smile continued to play on his lips, which I found annoying. To say the least.
“What’s so funny?” I demanded.
“You are, Kira.”
“Is that so?” I straightened up in the bed, my fists curled
tightly at my sides.
“I mean it as a compliment.” The smile faded around the
edges, and I noticed that it had never reached his eyes. They
were dead serious. “Most normal girls would not have lasted
as long as you have in this game. When you were chosen to
play, I had my doubts, but they’ve dissipated with each passing level.”
“What do you mean by normal girls?”
He spread his hands. “We’ve had only males play, until now.
Men and boys who were accustomed to a life of struggle and
violence, whom no one would miss should they be…unsuccessful. Some rise to the challenge and others crumple under
the pressure to perform, or face the consequences of failure.
We’ve never had a female competitor before.”
“Why was I the lucky chosen one? I’m sure there are a lot of women in prison who would have jumped at the chance
to come on this Reality TV show from hell.”
Jonathan cocked his head. “Is that what you think this is?
A Reality TV show?”
“Isn’t it?”
“This may bear a passing resemblance to the television
programs available decades ago, but that was then and this
is now. Nothing on the Network is like those innocent survival games.”
I glared at him. “Yeah, Rogan was telling me something
about elimination meaning death. And that robot guy put a
bullet in my leg to prove it.”
He glanced at the white sheet that covered me from my
chest down. “How is your leg? May I see?”
Was he evading this discussion? I needed more information. “No, you may not.”