Countdown

by Michelle Rowen

  I hoped he was rotting in Saradone right now.

  My wrists burned as the men released my bindings and one of them shoved me. I staggered forward until I realized where I was and stopped moving. At the top of a skyscraper. On the very edge of the roof. If I’d taken another step I would have dropped forty stories to the street far below.

  “Kira!”

  It was Rogan. Stretched between the tops of two skyscrapers was a small bridge, not more than eight inches wide. It must have been fifty feet across between the two buildings. In the exact middle was Rogan, lying horizontally, with his arms stretched above his head. His wrists were bound to the platform.

  I looked down at myself. I was fully dressed again, in the same clothes I’d worn before. My red shoes were still bright, still new-looking, but the cargo pants were ruined, with the bullet hole and dried blood evident on my right thigh. My tank top had definitely seen better days.

  “Welcome to level four,” the hateful voice continued. “Kira is to rescue her partner by crossing a narrow and dangerous bridge high above the city streets, and then the two must continue on to the other side to complete this level successfully. There will be no safety gear, no ropes, no tricks. All Kira has to work with is her sense of balance and self-preservation. Should they finish, they will be rewarded for their efforts. Our competitors have ten minutes to complete this level. Enjoy!”

  My mouth went dry.

  I didn’t move. I stood in place and stared at Rogan. I’d always thought that my only fear was of the dark. Who knew about this nagging little fear of heights I’d managed to develop in the past two minutes?

  Okay. So I had precisely ten minutes to rescue the boy who’d killed my family, all while trying not to fall dozens of stories to my death.

  I scanned the area. The men who’d removed my blindfold and bindings were departing through the rooftop door. I ran over to it and tried the handle, but it had locked behind them.

  I was all alone. Nobody to push me to do this. Nobody to force me.

  Returning to the edge of the building, I eyed the narrow bridge.

  “Nine minutes remain in this level of Countdown.”

  I was going to die.

  No, I admonished myself. Let’s at least try to think positively, okay?

  When I drew closer to the beginning of the platform, it was even narrower than I’d originally thought. I forced myself to breath normally.

  When I was ten years old, I took gymnastics. I remember balancing on the beam, trying not to fall off. I’d been pretty good at it then, even been able to do a cartwheel or two. But the f loor had been padded in case there were any tumbles.

  That felt like a million years ago.

  The platform seemed fairly stable. I tested it with my foot and it gave a little, but not much. Despite being healed by whatever medical magic Jonathan had done on me, my upper thigh ached. Still, it was way better than it would have been if he’d done nothing.

  These Countdown people wanted their contestants to be in top shape before their precious Subscribers got to watch them die.

  So sporting of them.

  “Kira!” Rogan shouted again. He had his head up and looked at me. “Be careful!”

  I ignored him. Thinking about him right now was only going to distract me. There was no time for me to be distracted. To say the least.

  Don’t look down.

  The problem was, not looking down left me with very few options. The platform was so narrow that when I focused on it, I couldn’t help but see the street so very, very far below me.

  My right foot shook as I placed it on the platform, and I wavered for a second, holding my arms out to either side of me as I established my balance. I let out a long breath and tried to center myself.

  Just like gymnastics. I needed to pretend that I was competing at the Olympics, if they were still being held. I wanted one of those gold medals I’d seen in the history books. I needed to focus on that gold medal. And nothing else.

  “Eight minutes remain in this level of Countdown.”

  The voice seemed louder in my head than usual, which surprised me. I shook a little before managing to steady myself again. I took another tentative step.

  “You’re doing great, Kira!” Even from twenty feet away I could tell Rogan’s expression was strained. He pulled at his bindings and the platform shook.

  “Don’t do that!” I snapped. “Just stay still.”

  “Sorry!”

  “Yeah,” I muttered under my breath, and a line of sweat trickled down my forehead and onto my nose. “You’re going to be sorry, you son of a bitch.”

  I couldn’t think about anything negative. Nothing. All I could focus on was putting one foot in front of the other—

  “Seven minutes remain in this level of Countdown.”

  —and doing it quickly.

  Damn it. That voice was so distracting.

  I took another step.

  A silver digicam buzzed past my face, so close that I felt the breeze it created.

  “How is Kira feeling right now?” the announcer asked. “Is she ready to win Countdown and receive her ultimate prize? Does she want all of her dreams to come true in the Colony after surviving the last two years of hardship and loneliness?”

  I glared up into its lens. “Go to hell.”

  It f lew away and out of my peripheral vision, but I could still see two other cameras whizzing around the air nearby.

  Jonathan had told them what I wanted to win. Okay, so that made it official. I was playing for keeps. I wanted that prize more than I wanted anything else in the world.

  Another step. Balance. Another step. Balance.

  Rogan was much closer now, his head still propped up, and he watched me as I approached. His jaw was tense. The muscles in his arms tight. As I got closer, I was shocked to see a small grin appear on his lips.

  “What are you smiling at?” I growled.

  “Just the fact that you’ve come to my rescue. Does that make you my knight in shining armor?”

  I didn’t smile. “I haven’t rescued you yet.”

  His grin faded. “Just watch your step. Don’t fall. Here comes another camera.”

  It buzzed close enough that it almost touched me. “Are they trying to knock me off this thing?”

  “They’re not trying to give you a helping hand, that’s for sure.”

  “Why’d you let them tie you up like this?”

  He pulled at the bindings. The platform shook slightly. “As if it was my idea. They took me outside the room and knocked me out again. I woke up here. Trust me, it was a big shock.”

  I studied the ropes that tied him. “This is going to be tricky.”

  “I don’t think the knots are too tight. It’s just awkward.”

  I studied the face of the boy who’d killed my family. Bluegreen eyes framed with dark lashes. Fading scar. He also wore the same clothes as before: bloody, dirty, ripped. I’d been drawn to him, despite what I’d been told. I’d let him charm me into believing in him. Or…at least, begin to believe in him.

  His dark brows were drawn together as he frowned up at me. “Why are you looking at me that way?”

  I blinked back tears. “Just shut up. I need to concentrate.”

  One lesson in gymnastics had been how to kneel down on the beam without losing my balance. It took me forever to learn that without falling off, but I had finally gotten it. However, that had been six years ago, and it was definitely not a skill that I used all the time.

  I slowly crouched down far enough that I could fumble with the bindings around his ankles just above his worn, black boots.

  His body took up the entire width of the platform and then some. He couldn’t move without shaking everything around, and I couldn’t get past him.

  He eyed his wrists. “Now what?”

  A camera whizzed past my ear, and I swatted at it, hitting cold metal.

  “Five minutes remain in this level of Countdown.”

  I met his
gaze and saw there was more than a trace of fear behind it. There was concern. For me.

  My heart wrenched. Why was he concerned for me? I hated that I’d convinced myself he was a good person—and even now, after everything, I still had doubts about his guilt. Was it because I wouldn’t allow myself to believe I could feel something for the boy who’d murdered my family?

  “I’m thinking.”

  He blinked. “What they said earlier…about what happened with you and that lawyer scumbag—”

  “It was true. All of it.”

  His jaw tensed. “If he wasn’t already dead I’d find him and rip his heart out.”

  I willed myself to stay focused on the platform. “Nothing happened. I learned my lesson the hard way.”

  “I’d still kill him.”

  “Is it that easy for you? Killing?” My voice broke on the word.

  His expression darkened. “I’ll do it for a good cause. For the right reason. To protect somebody I care about.”

  “Are you saying that you care about me?”

  “Sure.” He looked away. “And now I care that you untie me so we can get this goddamned level over with.”

  “Don’t forget it’s supposed to lead to a reward.”

  “I don’t care. I just want us to get through it in one piece. Now you’re going to have to climb over me and untie me so we can keep going. There’s not much time left.”

  I put a hand on his jean-clad thigh and slowly eased myself lower. He spread his legs so his feet dangled off the side of the platform to give me space to maneuver. Now on my knees, I slid myself closer to him until I couldn’t go any farther. I placed my hands on his firm stomach, then one at a time on his chest, sliding up to his shoulders. I grabbed the platform above his head on either side of his arms. Our bodies were now firmly pressed against each other.

  His breathing hitched. “Damn.”

  “What?”

  “Is it wrong that I’m enjoying this a little bit?”

  “Are you?”

  “Kira…” His eyes locked with mine, our faces so close I could feel his breath, hot against my lips.

  I leaned in closer and whispered in his ear. “Jonathan told me that you’re the one who murdered my family.”

  His eyes went wide. “What?”

  “You heard me. Two years ago when you were a Kerometh addict.” A tear slipped down my cheek and fell into the empty air beneath us. “You escaped from rehab and broke into our home in the dead of night. You shot my father, mother and sister. And you would have killed me, too, if the cops hadn’t arrived.”

  He shook his head. “No, Kira—”

  “Shut up. Just shut up.” My voice rose, pitchy and near hysterical. “That’s why they picked me to be your partner. Because they knew what you did to me. They knew. Jonathan told me—”

  “Jonathan’s a damn liar,” he spat out. “He’s one of them. Don’t you see? He’s lying to you. I didn’t kill your family. I swear to God I didn’t.”

  “And I’d believe you? Why would I believe you?”

  “You have to believe me.”

  “I don’t have to do anything.” I shook my head and slid past him, going hand over hand, pulling myself clear of his body. “I can leave you here. I don’t have to save you, as long as I save myself. You can die at the end of this level and I’ll live.”

  Something in his expression shattered. “You’re the only one who’s given me the benefit of the doubt in forever. Don’t take that away from me.”

  I just held on to the platform and closed my eyes tightly.

  He craned his neck to look at me, his expression haunted. “Kira, I’ve done bad things. I’ll admit that. I killed my roommate in juvie. But I’d never kill anyone who didn’t deserve it.”

  “Maybe you have a lousy idea of who deserves to die.”

  “I swear, Kira. I didn’t kill your family.”

  “How would you even remember? Are you trying to say you weren’t a Kerometh addict? That you weren’t in Jonathan’s treatment program?”

  There was deep anguish in his expression as he strained to keep me in his gaze. “That part’s true. I was addicted. I was a complete asshole back then, you have no idea, but I didn’t kill your family. You have to believe me.”

  I brought the back of my hand up to wipe at my eyes and frowned so hard that it hurt. If he wanted to lie to me right now, desperate for me to help him get through this level, why wouldn’t he just say he’d never taken Kerometh a day in his life?

  But he had. He admitted it.

  Lots of people screwed up their lives with drugs—but it didn’t automatically turn them into murderers.

  “There are three minutes remaining in this level of Countdown.”

  But I’d read Jonathan. I knew he was telling me the truth. He was the one who’d told me about my low-level Psi ability in the first place.

  But how did I know for sure that this was the truth? Because he read as being an honest man? Even honest men can lie when they had to.

  When they were forced to.

  What else had I felt? Guilt. Jonathan had felt a deep, bottomless sense of guilt.

  Maybe because he was being forced to lie to me about Rogan.

  If Rogan had killed my family and left me as an orphan who’d nearly had to sell her body just to avoid starving to death, then I hated him. But if he didn’t do it—if he wasn’t guilty of anything more than making some bad choices…

  I couldn’t know for sure. Not now and not with less than three minutes to go in this level. I didn’t have enough time or the ability to concentrate, to touch Rogan, to try to read him, and even if I did, would that tell me anything? I’d gotten a decent read on Jonathan, but that had only left me with more questions. More confusion.

  But I had to choose. Right now. One way or the other.

  I couldn’t trust words, not from anyone. I had to trust my gut.

  I started working on Rogan’s wrist bindings until they dropped away. I watched them fall, the ropes getting farther and farther away as they got closer to the street. I felt dizzy suddenly and tried to get up to my feet, but my hand slipped on the wet platform. It had started to rain. I hadn’t even noticed until now.

  Rogan scrambled to turn around and gripped my wrists. He held me in place just before I fell off the platform. We waited, facing each other on our knees until the platform stopped shaking. I stared into his eyes as the rain fell around us, soaking through our clothes.

  “I would have fallen,” I said, willing myself not to look down again.

  “I know.” His gaze had turned hard, fierce and haunted. “You’re the only one who believed in me, Kira. Please believe me now when I tell you I didn’t do what Jonathan said I did.”

  “Two minutes remain in this level of Countdown.”

  He didn’t wait for me to say anything else. He slowly and carefully got to his feet. He held a hand out to me. I took it and stood up.

  “Let’s go,” he said.

  I nodded and swiveled carefully to face the other building. I took a step, and then another step, and then another.

  “59…58…57…”

  “Don’t think about the countdown,” Rogan breathed from behind me into my now damp hair. “Don’t think about the rain. Don’t think about anything but surviving.”

  I swallowed hard. “I’m afraid of heights.”

  “Me, too.”

  I almost laughed at that.

  I took another step, and another. A camera whipped past me at breakneck speed, and I stopped. I felt Rogan’s hand press against my back to steady me.

  “You’re doing great, Kira, just keep going.”

  “7…6…5…4…”

  With a last step I touched the roof. Another step and I was on it completely and jumped down off the ledge. Rogan landed next to me. I turned to face him as streams of rain hit the rooftop around us.

  Our eyes met. And held.

  He reached out as if to touch me, but his hand fell back to his side.
/>   “Kira, I—”

  “Congratulations to Kira and Rogan on completing level four of Countdown successfully. This was also a reward level, so we hope that you will enjoy what we have in store for you next.”

  I braced myself for the blinding pain that usually preceded being struck unconscious by the implants, but instead a helicopter approached. My wet hair whipped around on all sides. Rogan grabbed my arm to pull me closer to him as the helicopter landed next to us.

  Three men in white coats jumped out. They held guns. I couldn’t hear anything because the sound from the helicopter’s propellers was too deafening. The men in white were yelling something. I turned away and tried to run, but one of the men clamped his arm around my neck so tight I couldn’t breathe. I fought him, clawed at him, but he dragged me to the helicopter and pulled me inside. The other two grabbed hold of Rogan and did the same with him.

  “Rogan!” I screamed, but couldn’t even hear my own voice.

  The helicopter lifted off from the roof and f lew into the dark, stormy sky.

  WHILE IN THE AIR, A MAN IN A WHITE COAT blindfolded me, while the other two held me in place. About ten minutes later, the helicopter landed and I was dragged out of it. The sound of Rogan yelling my name from the near distance was cut off as a heavy door slammed shut.

  Someone ripped the blindfold off my eyes so I could see the two guns held on me by men dressed all in white.

  “Strip,” one of them commanded. His gaze slithered down my body.

  Other than being totally white, the room had no other discernable features. “Forget it. You’re going to have to shoot me, asshole.”

  He smirked. “Don’t you want your reward?”

  “I don’t want any reward that starts with me getting naked in front of perverts holding guns.”

  I sounded a lot braver than I currently felt.

  He cocked the gun. “Strip now.”

  The door opened again, and Jonathan entered the room. Despite the fact that I now considered him a total lying bastard, given my current predicament I was extremely happy to see him.