Tag, You're Dead

by J C Lane

  Sydney was busy with her phone. “Okay, they’re coming this way. I told Mrs. Hawke we got lost, and she’s picking us up here, since they have to go past to get to the next place, anyway. We’ll take you on the bus.”

  “I can’t get on there with you.”

  “How come?”

  Because Brandy will kill you, too. “Everyone will know I’m not part of the group.”

  “No, they won’t. It’s tons of us from Wayland, and nobody’s sure who all came, and who didn’t, and who some of the people even are. Plus, we could bring guests, as long as they paid.”

  “But the teacher—”

  “She’s not a teacher. She’s a tour guide the school hired. As long as she has at least thirty people, she doesn’t care. Here they come!”

  “But I can’t—”

  “Shut it,” Sydney said. “Time for us to take charge.”

  The bus pulled up, and Laura had no choice but to go where Adam half-carried her.

  “Sorry!” Sydney said as she led us onto the bus. “Sorry, my fault! Got lost! Thought we were at the right exit!”

  Nobody seemed to care except the not-Mom tour guide, who said something about staying on schedule. Sydney breezed past her, searching for empty seats. There weren’t three together anywhere. The TurtleTop bus was crammed full, plus only two people could sit together in each row. Adam pushed Laura ahead of him, making it look like she was hopping between seats on her own, but really he had most of her weight.

  They followed Sydney to the very back, where she sweet-talked some folks into giving up the bench, so the three of them could sit together. Adam lowered Laura onto the seat, and Sydney swung her sideways, so Laura’s sore ankle was in her lap. Sydney wrinkled her nose. “Hey!” she yelled, making Laura jump. “Billy!”

  Someone punched a kid partway up the bus and he turned around, pulling a headphone off his ear.

  “See if there’s an ice pack in that first aid kit, will ya?”

  “Why should I?”

  “’Cause if you don’t I’ll tell Mom you were a butthead.”

  Frowning, he lumbered toward the front of the bus. He returned in seconds, dropping something onto Sydney’s lap.

  “Thank you,” she smiled sweetly.

  “Whatever.” He glanced at Laura, but snapped his headphones back on and returned to his seat.

  “Brother?” Laura asked.

  “Only one I got, so I might as well make use of him.” She lifted Laura’s foot and slid her pant leg up so she could wrap the ice pack around Laura’s ankle. The movement made Laura lean back onto Adam. He smelled nice. Felt nice, too. Nice, like Jeremy. She closed her eyes and pretended it was Jeremy. Adam shifted, making himself comfortable. He wrapped his arm around Laura’s middle, keeping her on the seat. It really could have been Jeremy. Or Laura’s older brother. Either way, she felt safe, and she allowed herself to relax.

  Laura gasped as the ice touched her skin. “What did I do to it?”

  “Just a sprain,” Sydney said. “At least there’s no bones sticking out.”

  Adam laughed. “Doctor Syd, to the rescue.”

  “Seriously,” Sydney said, “I don’t think it’s that bad. Once we ice it, you should get out and walk around. We’re headed to the Sears Tower next, so you can go slow in line and walk around once we’re on top.”

  “I can’t stay with you,” Laura said through clenched teeth. The ice felt like needles on her skin.

  “Stop,” Sydney said. “It’s not like you can go somewhere on your own. Something like this happens, you need people to help you, and you obviously don’t have your own people. At least not here.” She scooted across the seat under Laura’s leg, keeping the foot raised. “Really. What is going on with you? And how can we help?”

  Laura was pinned between the two of them, Adam’s arm around her, Sydney holding her leg. The bus was moving along in traffic, with no way for Brandy to pinpoint Laura’s exact location, especially since Laura’s position had been transmitted only five minutes earlier from the Art Institute. She—and therefore Sydney and Adam—were safe for now.

  “How long will you be at the Sears Tower?”

  “I don’t know. However long it takes to stay in line and go up to the top.” Sydney dug out her phone. “Here’s our itinerary. We’re supposed to get there at ten-thirty. Leaving for lunch an hour later.”

  Laura’s heart sank. Too long. By the time she got to the top of the tower, she’d be trapped, and this entire tour group would be at the mercy of some deranged teenager and her killers. The Rules forbade civilian casualties, but really, if you’re crazy enough to kill one complete stranger, what’s going to stop you from murdering a whole bunch of them?

  hic

  Ugh.

  “What’s wrong?” Sydney said. “You too hungry to wait that long?”

  “No.” Laura wiggled out of Adam’s grip and over Sydney, to sit alone at the end of the bench, gripping the edge of the seat. She tried to think. She’d been trying to think. At least this bus ride was getting her away from Brandy for the moment. She would just have to slip away from the group once they reached the tower. She glanced at her watch. The transmitter would go off right when they got there, so she couldn’t even have the luxury of waiting in line with Sydney and Adam as disguise. She’d have to take off immediately.

  She rested her head in the corner. She wasn’t used to making all these decisions by herself. If her parents weren’t involved in things, her brothers were always glad to make their thoughts known. And there was Jeremy, always helpful, and her friends…some more helpful than others. Rosie would suggest the opposite of anything Laura wanted, even something as simple as her homecoming dress. She meant well. Laura was just so different from her. Maybe that’s why they got along so well.

  hic

  Laura squirmed when she thought about Rosie, who now believed Laura had spent the night with Jeremy. Rosie must be completely freaking out. And whoever had Laura’s phone by now had probably received a million texts asking for details.

  Speaking of asking stuff, Sydney had finally stopped. She and Adam had their heads together, speaking quietly. From the way Sydney leaned into Adam, Laura could see they were used to being together. They didn’t strike her as a couple, but reminded Laura of what she and Jeremy used to be, when they were still just friends. It seemed like so long ago. Maybe Sydney and Adam were headed that way, too. Laura should tell them how good it could be to get together with your best friend as more than that…

  She closed her eyes, her head feeling both fuzzy and achy. It had been almost thirty hours since she’d slept, unless you counted those few minutes on the train. If she could just get a little nap, she could think more clearly…

  The bus slowed, and Laura jerked awake. As everybody stretched and got their stuff together, Laura gripped the back of the seat in front of her and pulled herself up. Her pocket buzzed, indicating the next location transmission had been sent. She peered through the windows, searching for taxis, and targeted a line of them outside the Tower. Plenty of them to take her far away. Or closer to Water Tower Place. Sydney stepped in front of her and pushed her back onto the seat. Adam stood beside her, blocking Laura’s view of the departing students.

  “You’re not going anywhere until you tell us what’s going on,” Sydney said. “You look terrible, and you’re hurt. Something’s not right.”

  “But I have to leave. Right now.”

  Sydney crossed her arms. “Then you’d better start talking.”

  Brandy

  “She’s at the Art Institute!” Brandy shrieked.

  They arrived within a minute, since they’d been waiting at Millennium Park. There was no telling where Laura could have gone in that huge city, but here she was, just down the block.

  Brandy ran up the wide front steps and burst into the foyer. She whipped her head around, p
ushing through kids and old people and museum workers. She didn’t see her Runner anywhere. She checked her proximity meter.

  Runner is within range.

  Heat flashed through Brandy’s body, and she laughed. She’d won. Wouldn’t her parents be surprised? They didn’t really think she could do it. They wanted her to, but thought the odds of her figuring it out were low. She searched the crowd one more time, hoping to see the Runner’s face as she died, but couldn’t see her anywhere. Brandy would have to be satisfied with viewing the Runner’s face after she died. Brandy pushed the Tag button.

  Runner is out of range.

  What? No! A group of teenagers hung out by the second-floor railing, talking and laughing, taking pictures, texting. She couldn’t see her Runner up there, but there were so many people.

  “Come on!” Brandy grabbed one of the men and yelled at the other to stay by the front door, in case the Runner tried to get out. She pushed past the ticket-taker and ran up the stairs, ignoring the calls of the museum guy, until she was in the middle of the group of teens.

  Runner is out of range.

  “Augh!” Brandy shoved her watch in a teenage guy’s face. “Did you see this girl?”

  He glanced at the photo. “No. Why?”

  “I’m looking for her.” Duh.

  “Haven’t seen her.”

  “Any of you?” She swung her arm around, but nobody paid attention. Instead, they surged around her, down the front steps.

  “Miss, I need your ticket.” The museum volunteer had caught up with her.

  “I don’t have one.”

  “You have to—”

  “Pay him,” Brandy told her man.

  The ticket-taker held up his hands. “I can’t take money.”

  “Go get tickets!” she growled at her guy. “I’m finding her!”

  Brandy ran further into the museum, punching the Tag button every few feet.

  Runner is out of range.

  Runner is out of range.

  “No! No! Nononononononono!”

  Brandy sped through the Impressionist rooms and down back stairs that led to a restaurant.

  Runner is out of range.

  She retraced her steps and sprinted through a Roman section before heading back into the Modern Art wing. The huge white hallway was empty.

  Runner is out of range.

  “Aaaaaaah!” She screamed, spinning around.

  Her man caught up to her, and together they raced to the end of the hallway, blowing past the museum volunteer and out onto the sidewalk. All she saw were cars, taxis, a tour bus, and unimportant people on the sidewalk.

  Runner is out of range.

  Brandy punched her man as hard as she could on his shoulder.

  He didn’t react, but her fist hurt like hell.

  Tyrese

  “Hang in there, young man. We’ll get you taken care of.” A woman in a white jacket patted the shoulder of his good arm. The injured arm wasn’t terrible. No bones were sticking out. It had to be just a fracture. It had to be, or he wouldn’t be playing ball this year, and that was not in the plans. Indiana University expected to be signing a healthy player in two weeks, not a player who couldn’t prove himself his senior year of high school. If only it hadn’t been his dominant arm the hillbilly had busted, it wouldn’t be so bad.

  “Don’t put me to sleep.” Tyrese struggled to sit up.

  “Wouldn’t dream of it, sugar. But if we have to set your arm, we’ll numb it up good so you don’t scare the rest of the ER with your screaming.”

  Tyrese stared at her. Weren’t nurses supposed to be good at the bedside manner stuff?

  “You allergic to any medications, sweetie?” She was filling out a form. So far, Tyrese had given her a fake name and address, fake parents’ names and phone numbers, and said he didn’t have his insurance card or ID because he’d been mugged.

  They worked through a whole list of questions about his health, which he could be honest about, because nobody could track him through whether or not cataracts were a problem in his family. She measured his height—“Oh, my, you are a tall one!”—and his weight—“That’s all muscle, honey,” and performed the temperature and blood pressure readings. He was surprised his numbers weren’t through the roof.

  A doctor arrived, interrupting the “taking of his vitals” to give Tyrese some painkillers and place a temporary splint on his wrist. “Just until we can get you to X-ray and see what we’re dealing with,” she said. “Don’t want anything more happening to it while you’re waiting.” Then she was gone.

  “Now you lie down and get some rest, honeybun,” the nurse said. “Got a car accident ahead of you that needs taking care of, so just sit tight. We’ll get to you as soon as we can.”

  He lay back on the hospital bed, pounding the mattress with his good arm. He couldn’t afford this delay. A transmission had gone out while he was being taken to the hospital, and the next location would be sent in a few minutes. So It would come right to him. He refused to die in a hospital bed. Refused. He wished the nurse had given him a stronger painkiller. A really strong one that wouldn’t affect his mind or make him fall asleep.

  A voice came from outside the curtain. “Hello, nurse? I’m looking for my friend. He was brought in with a broken arm.”

  Tyrese’s blood froze. He recognized that voice. He’d heard it before, lots of times. But who was it? He closed his eyes, listening so hard it made him lightheaded.

  “What’s his name?” It wasn’t Tyrese’s nurse who responded, but another one, who might not have seen him yet.

  “Tyrese Broadstreet. You’d know him. He’s as tall as I am, big, black guy—”

  “Well, I can check, but you’re not supposed to be back here. I need you to go out to the waiting room, and I’ll let you know if I find out anything.”

  “Can I just check in some of these rooms to see—?”

  “Absolutely not. Out those doors, please. Now.”

  “It wouldn’t take long.”

  “Out.”

  The voice had to belong to It. No one else, other than Mike the mechanic, knew where Tyrese was. And Mike didn’t know his name. Tyrese glanced at his watch. The next transmission wasn’t due for three minutes. How had It known where to come? He must have hit the Gas-n-Go soon after Tyrese and Mike had left for the hospital. Someone there had given away the location, probably those stupid hillbillies. And now this person, who Tyrese somehow knew, had tracked him here.

  Tyrese eased off his bed, knelt down where no one would be expecting eyes, and peeked out the curtain in time to see the guy push out the double swinging doors. Tyrese jerked back. No wonder he recognized the voice. He heard it every day at basketball. He played against him all the time at practice, when the coach matched them up because of their size.

  Robert Matthews. The team’s token self-important rich boy.

  Tyrese stumbled to the chair, where his shirt and jacket lay. He slid off the ridiculous blue gown and pulled on his clothes, wincing as he moved his arm to get it in the sleeve. His head spun, and he rested on the edge of the bed, downing the glass of water on the metal stand. He couldn’t believe it.

  At least now he knew who was after him, even if he didn’t know why, or what was really going on. He could put a face on It. That face was familiar, but it wasn’t liked, and sometimes it didn’t belong on the basketball team. Tyrese had put up with all kinds of crap from Robert Matthews over the years, and this year had been the worst. The spoiled bully must have finally realized he could never beat Tyrese on his home turf or on the basketball court, so he put him in this idiotic, deadly Game.

  Tyrese stood, waited until the wave of dizziness passed, and peeked out the curtain again. No one in sight but a man working on a computer at the other end of the hallway. Tyrese located the Exit sign a couple of rooms down, and made his decision. N
o way was he going to let some talentless brat beat him. Tyrese Broadstreet was a winner, especially against someone like Robert Matthews.

  He ducked back into his alcove and wriggled his right foot into a shoe, which he’d had to take off to get weighed. He was doing his best to tie it one-handed when he heard footsteps approaching. He backed into the far corner and hefted his remaining shoe. It wasn’t heavy, but the sole could give a good wallop. His heart pounded as he held his breath.

  The curtain opened.

  Robert

  Stupid nurse. She wouldn’t be so quick to dismiss him if she realized who he was. Who his father was, anyway. His father had probably paid for half of this hospital. Well, maybe not that exact hospital, but for a wing or two in other towns, and a complete orthopedic clinic in another. And that was just the medical stuff. One call from Robert’s father could send that woman home unemployed. He stared through the window at the curtained-off spaces. Tyrese Broadstreet was behind one of them, Robert knew it, and he was going to find him. Kind of ironic that Broadstreet would die in a hospital. He wouldn’t know what hit him, and neither would the ER staff. That would teach them to deny him access.

  He stepped back when a different nurse pushed through the swinging doors to greet a waiting family, all looking like someone had died. Maybe someone had. Wouldn’t be the last one today. The group huddled just outside the double doors, so Robert couldn’t see into the ER area anymore. He sidled to the back of the group, where he could look above their heads toward the hallway of curtains. No movement. If Tyrese was in one of those spaces, Robert would see him when he came out.

  Robert checked the new smartwatch. The proximity meter said he wasn’t close enough to perform the Tag. He hadn’t had a chance to check it when he’d been inside the doors because that stupid nurse had approached him. All it would have taken was a touch of his finger, and Tyrese would have been out of his life forever.

  The waiting room was only half-full, mostly with moms and dads waiting with kids who didn’t look like they’d be croaking anytime soon. There was also a woman using an inhaler, an old lady pacing with a crying infant, and a man in a garage uniform. He’d probably stuck a screwdriver through his hand, or something just as stupid. The rest of them maybe had a cough or a cold sore, or whatever, and had come to the ER because their doctor was out for the weekend. Robert never had to worry about that. His doctor, some guy his dad had gone to school with, came right to their house.