Countdown

by Michelle Rowen

  Oh, shit. I looked at Rogan with wide eyes.

  He raised an eyebrow. “Just keeps getting better and better, doesn’t it?”

  “What now?”

  “I guess we’ll soon find out.”

  I gripped my gun with both hands as I pointed it at the semidarkness of the hallway. I hoped Rogan still had ammo. A moment later, somebody appeared in front of us. He also held a gun, raised toward us.

  It was Jonathan. He was dressed in dark pants and a longsleeved shirt, but he wasn’t wearing his white lab coat. His forehead was shiny with sweat.

  “Drop your weapons!” he commanded.

  “You first,” Rogan snarled.

  “Rogan, you need to do as I say and drop your weapon.”

  “Not exactly taking orders from you right now, asshole. I will pull this trigger and waste you without a second thought.”

  Jonathan’s gun shifted in my direction. “Shoot me and I’ll shoot her. I know her gun’s empty. I was counting. And you only have one bullet left.”

  Rogan f licked a tense glance at me, then back to him. “One bullet’s enough to kill you.”

  I hadn’t expected him to come here. It was more proof that this had been a wrong move on my part. Damn it. My hatred for this liar surged to the surface, but I knew getting upset wouldn’t help. I tried to stay as calm as possible given the situation.

  “How did you know we were here?” I demanded.

  “Are you going to listen to reason, Kira? Or are you going to be stubborn like Rogan?”

  “Since you just threatened to shoot me, I’m thinking stubborn sounds pretty good to me.”

  I studied him for a moment, holding my useless gun so tightly that it began to cut into my skin. I remembered when I’d used my empathic ability on him—with his coaching.

  Why would he have lied about my abilities being low-level?

  One thing I remembered very clearly, the moment that had fooled me before, was that he gave the distinct impression of being honest and truthful. But there was an ocean of guilt mixed in—enough guilt to drown in.

  “What do you think you’re guilty of, Jonathan? Answer me that right now.”

  Surprise f lickered across his expression, but he didn’t lower his gun. “I’m guilty of a lot of things, Kira. I don’t even know where to begin.”

  “But you feel bad about what you’ve done.”

  His expression darkened. “Of course I do. That’s why I’m here. That’s why you need to hear me out.”

  “Am I a high-level Psi?”

  He blinked, surprised. “Yes.”

  I gasped. “Why did you tell me I was low-level?”

  “I didn’t want him to know. And I hoped that your ability might help you in the competition. And it has. You’re here. But there’s no time, you have to trust me. Drop your gun. Please, Kira.”

  Trust him? After he’d lied to me over and over?

  He’d told me I was low-level so Rogan’s father wouldn’t know. So he wouldn’t see me as a threat. So I could read him if I got the chance. So I could know the truth.

  Was it possible that Jonathan really was trying to help us?

  Only one way to find out.

  I stared at him for a moment longer, and then I dropped my gun and held my hands out before me.

  “Kira, what the hell are you doing?” Rogan growled.

  “Trusting my instincts.”

  “Your instincts are going to get you killed.”

  “My gun was empty, anyway.”

  Jonathan’s gun was still trained on me.

  “I did what you wanted,” I said evenly, despite my shaking on the inside. “Now talk.”

  “Your implants have started their self-destruct sequence, haven’t they?” When neither of us confirmed it, despite the constant ticking in my head, he continued. “I was notified the moment you escaped the game and moved out of network range.” A smile twitched on his lips. “Well played, by the way. Well played.”

  “No thanks to you,” Rogan said, each word coated in poison.

  A muscle in his cheek twitched. “I’ve done what I can. I healed you, Rogan. I healed Kira’s leg after the shooting. But now you’ve escaped. They know you must still be in the city.”

  Rogan glared at him. “And let me guess. You’ve notified them that we’re here. Isn’t that convenient?”

  Jonathan shook his head. “No. They don’t know. I’m the only one who knows where you are. They assume that when they do find you, they’ll be retrieving two dead bodies after the implants self-destruct.”

  “Then I guess it’ll be three bodies they find. You were wrong about how many bullets I have left—there’s more than one in here. Now lower your weapon away from Kira or I swear to God I’m going to fill you with so many holes that you’ll be able to see out of your own ass.”

  “Rogan—” My throat was so tight, it made it difficult to form words. “I honestly don’t think Jonathan wants to hurt us.”

  He gave me a sidelong glance. “Why? Because of your empathic instincts?”

  “Call it gut instinct.”

  “Sorry, not good enough for me.”

  Jonathan let out an exasperated sigh. “There’s simply no time for this.” He bent over and placed his gun on the ground. Rogan stormed toward him and grabbed his arm, swinging him around to shove him up hard against the wall next to the door. He jammed his gun against Jonathan’s head.

  “Now tell me why you’re here.”

  “I’m here—” Jonathan’s words were partially muff led by the fact his face was squashed against the wall “—because you pressed the buzzer. It’s connected to a device I wear at all times. It informs me if someone has found the safe house your father had me set up.” He nodded as much as he could. “I could see you through the hidden camera, so I came straight away.”

  I glanced up and saw the subtle glint of a small black lens in the corner of the ceiling.

  More cameras. God, how I hated cameras.

  Rogan grabbed Jonathan’s shirt and swung him back around roughly. “Explain more.”

  “Your father is not himself.”

  “I know.”

  “You know?” Jonathan’s eyes widened. “You know about the A.I. virus that corrupted his implant?”

  Rogan shot a look at me. My eyes were wide, my chest tight.

  He was possessed—I’d felt it. I didn’t know if it was a demon, an evil spirit, or a psychotic break that had split his personality in two.

  But I hadn’t expected this.

  “What do you mean?” I managed. “A virus? Like a computer virus?”

  Jonathan nodded. “It happened the night of the blackout— the power surge. He couldn’t fight it. We never could have expected anything like this. We created a monster through Ellis Enterprises’s billion-dollar artificial intelligence research and development department. And that A.I. monster now controls your father.”

  Rogan swore. “You expect me to believe this nonsense?”

  “Nine minutes until implant self-destruction,” the tinny voice announced.

  Jonathan’s chest heaved. “There were times in the beginning when the real Gareth was able to give instructions without the virus knowing. He attempted to stop what was happening. In the end he lost the battle for control of his body, but he was able to do some small things, such as set up this safe house. You are the first to make it here.”

  Rogan looked at me, and I could see the strain in his face at hearing all of this.

  “We need these implants out,” he said.

  Jonathan sighed. “Yes, you need them out or you’re both going to die. Now take your damn hands off of me, boy, so I can get to work.”

  JONATHAN UNLOCKED THE DOOR AND touched the light pad inside before hurrying into the small house. “Follow me.”

  He disappeared into another room through a narrow archway.

  “Eight minutes remain until implant self-destruction.”

  With that announcement I began to feel a disturbing burn
ing sensation at the back of my head. I was again reminded of what was left of Mac’s body on the roof after his implant exploded and turned everything above his shoulders into pulp. Shuddering at the memory, I followed Jonathan into the next room—a narrow kitchen with a stove, refrigerator and small wooden table.

  “Sit there.” He nodded at a chair to the side of the table.

  Without argument, I did what he said, easing myself onto the hard wooden chair.

  Jonathan produced a gauzy piece of fabric from his pocket, which he unrolled on the table in front of me. There were several silver medical instruments in it, all very sharp, all very dangerous-looking. He f licked a switch on one, and a bright orange light began to glow.

  “If you hurt her—” Rogan warned.

  “If you keep distracting me with that gun, I may do just that by accident.” Jonathan had a syringe in his hand and he filled it with a small amount of clear liquid from a tiny glass vial. “There’s no time to put you completely under, Kira, so a local anesthetic will have to do.”

  I eyed him uneasily.

  “Wait—” I held up my hand as he approached. “Rogan, didn’t you say that the implant will detonate if removed wrong?”

  Before Rogan could say anything, Jonathan replied instead. “That’s absolutely true. However, I am one of the very few who know how to remove such devices properly. But you must stop talking and hold completely still.”

  So, even though Jonathan had lied to me several times, I was now forced to put my life in his hands. It didn’t seem all that smart.

  Unfortunately, we’d officially run out of choices.

  “Put the gun down!” Jonathan snapped at Rogan. “Or I won’t do this at all.”

  I glanced at Rogan, who met my gaze. Finally, the muscles in his arms f lexing, he lowered the gun and placed it on the counter next to the stove. His expression stayed full of menace. I sensed that if Jonathan made one wrong move, Rogan would reach over and break his neck.

  Oddly enough, the violent image was reassuring.

  All thoughts, reassuring or otherwise, disappeared from my mind as I felt the jab of the needle to the back of my head. A few seconds later, my eyesight went a bit blurry and a numbness began to spread across the back of my scalp, out to my ears, and down to my cheeks and jawline.

  Rogan sat down next to me. I reached for his hand, and he didn’t pull away.

  “It’ll be fine,” he told me, his expression tense.

  “If you say so.”

  It’ll be fine, I repeated internally, trying to focus on anything other than the ticking in my head.

  Jonathan reached forward and chose a scalpel. I clutched Rogan’s hand, squeezed my eyes shut, and tried to be brave. Despite the freezing, I could still feel the knife score my skin, right where the original incision was. An ooze of warm blood slid down the back of my neck before Jonathan wiped it away with a cloth.

  The instruments rattled together as Jonathan took something else from the selection. First, he dabbed something on the wound.

  “I’m neutralizing the connection,” he said. “It should prevent the implant from exploding when I remove it.”

  “It should prevent it from exploding?” Rogan repeated. “You better be sure.”

  I squeezed Rogan’s hand tighter as I felt a strange pulling sensation.

  Then there was a pain so intense and pronounced that my eyes snapped open, and I couldn’t help it—I screamed.

  “Damn it.” Jonathan sounded strained. “Rogan, hold her still!”

  Rogan took a tight hold of my shoulders, and I gripped the edge of the table. I felt a series of painful snaps—one after another after another until I thought it would never end.

  Then, for a horrifying moment, I saw nothing at all. I’d gone completely blind—and the total darkness felt as if it was smothering me. But just as my paralyzing fear of the dark was closing in around me, my vision cleared. Jonathan tossed the bloody implant into a metal canister. It landed with a metallic thunk.

  He grabbed another instrument, the one he’d f licked on earlier. It was red-orange on the end, and I knew it was because it was extremely hot. He pressed it to the incision. The sickening, charcoal-like scent of burning f lesh wafted under my nose as he cauterized the wound.

  The ticking countdown was gone. It gave me a small measure of relief, but we were only halfway there. And there wasn’t much time left.

  I looked down at Rogan’s hand. I’d clutched it so hard that I’m made little half-moons that filled with blood from where my fingernails had dug in.

  “Sorry.” My words were still slurred from the freezing.

  “Forget it.” He gave me a grin. “You’re brave.”

  I managed to return the expression. “Thanks.”

  “How long do we have?” Jonathan asked.

  Rogan tore his gaze from mine. “Two minutes. Might not be enough time, I know.”

  Anxiety spiked inside me. “Hurry.”

  Rogan and I switched places, and I held his hand, being careful not to hurt him again as Jonathan began working on him. Rogan kept his eyes open through the operation, breathing steadily through his mouth, his expression tight.

  “How long now?” I asked.

  “One minute,” Rogan replied.

  “Jonathan, hurry!”

  “Believe me,” Jonathan said, “I’m going as fast as I can.”

  I didn’t want to look, but couldn’t help myself as Jonathan quickly numbed the area and then cut a line into his scalp about two inches long. He held back the f laps of skin to reveal the implant, which was an inch square. Little blue and red wires as thin as hairs disappeared into the skull itself.

  “Twenty-five seconds.” Rogan’s grip tightened on my hand.

  Without replying, Jonathan dabbed the implant with the colorless neutralizing solution and then inserted a f lat instrument underneath the implant. When he pulled up on it, Rogan’s grip on my hand grew painful.

  This must have been the part where I’d screamed.

  Now the implant was attached to the tissue only by metallic hairs. The implant, along with the attaching wires, suddenly reminded me of a spider. I shuddered at the thought. I hated spiders.

  “Ten seconds…”

  Jonathan used a tweezerlike instrument to pluck those thin wires out of the tissue connecting it to Rogan’s skull. When they were detached, the implant itself finally gave way.

  Rogan’s teeth were clenched together. “That was damn close.”

  His pained gaze slid to mine. I nodded encouragingly. “You’re brave, too.”

  He snorted weakly at that. “Thanks.”

  “What about Rogan’s other implant?” I asked Jonathan. “The prototype from years ago?”

  Jonathan closed the wound and used the cauterizer on it. “That would be a deep cranium operation. I don’t have the time or the facilities to accommodate an operation of that magnitude. It’s not a priority right now.”

  He f lipped Rogan’s implant into the canister along with mine and took it over to the counter. He dumped the contents into a blender and hit the on button.

  With a churning, metallic grinding sound, the implants were destroyed.

  I finally let out the breath I’d been holding.

  “Are you okay?” I asked Rogan. I couldn’t help but notice his face had paled considerably during the operation. I’m sure mine was the same.

  He raised an eyebrow. “I’m still breathing. And you?”

  “Never felt better.”

  “Glad to hear it.” He glanced at Jonathan, and his gaze turned wary. “Thank you for helping us.”

  “You’re very welcome.” Jonathan came over to the table and sat down heavily in a chair facing us. “Now we must see what we can do about getting the two of you to safety.”

  Rogan’s eyes narrowed. “That’s all you have to say to me? After the bomb you just dropped on me about my father? I am grateful for you removing our implants, but that doesn’t mean you’ve made up for everything you
’ve done. Before you go anywhere, I need more information.”

  Jonathan’s lips thinned. “An unexpected and powerful computer virus attacked the Ellis mainframe and attached itself to the artificial intelligence program that we’d been creating. Your father’s implant was among the systems compromised during the power surge. In just milliseconds, the A.I. program…adapted. It evolved. It’s incredible.”

  “Incredible?” Rogan bit out. “How can you say something like that?”

  “I’m a scientist. A researcher. If one looks at this strictly from that viewpoint, it was a breakthrough in cybernetic technology—a body of f lesh and blood fused together with artificial intelligence. This virus has been using Gareth’s power and inf luence to grow stronger with every passing day.”

  “How is this even possible?” I asked. Even back when I did go to school, science and computers had never been my best subjects. It was all I could do to keep up with this discussion.

  But I understood enough. Rogan’s father was possessed, just like I thought. But instead of a demon, he was possessed by an artificial intelligence computer virus that had become sentient. After everything I’d experienced as part of this game, and what I’d found out about Rogan’s father, I’d been searching for an explanation of how all of this could have happened. This was far-fetched…but it also made a weird kind of sense.

  “This is a very important part,” Jonathan said. “This A.I. virus—it feeds off the brainwaves of the Subscribers through their implants. Every week that has passed, he’s become more and more powerful. And with the Ellis fortune to back him in a city with an eighty percent poverty rate, all he has to do is throw money around and he has a legion of employees willing to do whatever he wants. Most of them believe they’re simply working for a power-hungry billionaire with very little moral fiber.”

  Feeds off brainwaves. The thought made me shudder. “How has Countdown remained a secret all this time?”

  “Fear,” Jonathan replied. “Those who come to work closely with Gareth sign a nondisclosure agreement which, if broken, has extremely harsh penalties.”

  “Who would sign an agreement like that?” I asked.

  “You’d be surprised what money can buy.”

  “This is insane,” Rogan breathed. “All of it.”