Countdown

by Michelle Maddox

  Because I didn't believe he was guilty, that was why. He was nothing like the man who'd murdered my family. I'd seen no indication at all that he was cruel or heartless, and he couldn't bring himself to kill Bernard when he thought he was just an innocent civilian.

  He didn't do it.

  The clear thought was like a revelation that pushed all my fears away.

  That would probably be the reason that I found myself placing my hands on either side of his face and drawing him down closer to me. I put a hand on his chest, which was going in and out with his increased breathing, and I could feel his heart pounding hard and fast.

  "Kira," he managed, just before our lips brushed together in an achingly soft kiss.

  It wasn't much at all. Just the briefest touch before he pulled back. The look on his face held such confusion and awkwardness for such a small thing as a kiss, it almost made me laugh.

  And then I realized what I'd just done.

  Oh, my God. What was I thinking?

  It was the painkillers. Yeah. Had to be the drugs. They were totally tripping me out and making me do things I would never normally do in a million years.

  Dammit. I wanted to kiss him again.

  I pressed my lips together, still stunned by how good he'd felt.

  I looked up at him. "Can I ask you a question?"

  Eyes still a bit wide and his hand hovering over his mouth, he stared down at me. "Uh … of course you can."

  "When we were out there with that robot thing … you looked at me and asked if I believed everything I saw on the news."

  He looked away, his mouth forming a thin line. "Yeah."

  "What was that supposed to mean?"

  "Nothing. I was stalling for time. Didn't work. The bastard shot you anyhow." He moved away as if he were going to stand up from the bed. "You said no, right? That you didn't believe everything the news says."

  "That's right. I don't."

  I reached up and grabbed his shirt to force him to look at me. Being the messed-up mass of emotions I currently was embodying, there were now tears on my cheeks again.

  Smile, cry, smile, cry.

  Pick one.

  "I'm going to ask you something, and I want you to tell me the truth. You hear me? The truth. And I want to hear it from you." 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 the hell is taking them so long-"

  I grabbed for a tighter hold of his shirt. If he was getting up, he was taking me with him. "Those nine girls. Did you murder them like they said you did? And the three counts of rape? Is that true? I don't believe you did it, but I want you to tell me. God damn it, Rogan. Tell me the truth."

  He blinked. "You … you don't believe it?"

  I shook my head. "No."

  His face was so tense it looked like it might shatter. "No one's ever questioned whether or not it's the truth before. Everyone just assumes I'm guilty as sin. Why wouldn't you?"

  "Because they're the scumbags who 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: "I'm a very bad man, Kira."

  I slid my fingers into his dark hair. "Just being a bad man doesn't necessarily mean that you did what they said."

  He licked his lips and wouldn't meet my eyes.

  "Just tell me," I said. "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 rape them? Three of those girls?" I said it so softly I was surprised he heard me.

  I watched a tear slip from his left eye, tracing the line of his scar. "No. I've never raped anybody. Ever. I swear to you."

  "Did you kill them?"

  "No." He shook his head as he met my gaze-his filled with so many conflicting emotions I couldn't even begin to pinpoint them all.

  But it didn't matter. I felt a huge weight lift off my chest. Even without using my flex, I trusted my ability to read people's faces. Some liars managed to still get past me, but they were few and far between.

  Rogan wasn't lying. I would bet my life on it. In fact, I think I already had.

  "You believe me," he said very softly. "You don't know how much this means to me, Kira."

  "Why would they say that if it wasn't true?" I asked. "Why would you let them?"

  "It's complicated."

  My gaze softened, and I touched his face, tracing my index finger gently along his scar. "So you went to prison for something you didn't even do?"

  He swallowed hard and took my hand in his. "I told you already. I'm a very bad man. 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 kiss me."

  I shook my head and twisted my fingers into his hair to draw him closer to me. 'Tell me, Rogan. I promise I won't hate you."

  Just then the door opened to my right and Jonathan walked in. Two men dressed all in white accompanied him but stayed by the door while he approached my bed. I tensed and Rogan straightened up. My hand fell to my side.

  "You're awake," he said, and then adjusted his wireframe glasses.

  I glanced at Rogan, then back at Jonathan. "You're very observant."

  He smiled. "I'm to tell you that your next level is a reward level. Should you complete it successfully, you will receive something very special."

  We both looked at him blankly.

  He cleared his throat. "Rogan, would you mind giving us 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 because I asked nicely, 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, then rose from the side of the bed and, with a last look at Jonathan, one edged with warning, he brushed past the men.

  With a nod from Jonathan, they, too, left the room, closing the door behind them.

  We were alone.

  "Who are you?" I asked after a moment had gone by.

  "We already met earlier. Jonathan, remember?"

  I rolled my eyes. "I remember vividly everything that's happened. Consider it all burned into my brain forever, but it still doesn't explain a damn thing."

  The smile still played on his lips, and I was finding it 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 unconsciously curling tightly beside me.

  "Don't take it as an insult. I mean it as a compliment." The smile faded around the edges and I noticed that it didn't include his eyes. They were very serious. "Most normal women would not have lasted as long as you have in The Countdown. When you were chosen to play I had my doubts, but they are dissipating with every passing level."

  "Normal women?"

  He spread his hands. "We've had men play, exclusively. Criminals who are accustomed to a life of struggle and violence, whom no one would miss should they be … unsuccessful. Some rise to the challenge and others crumble 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're a lot of women in prison who would have jumped at the chance to come on this reality TV show from hell."

  "Is that what you think this is? A reality TV s
how?"

  "Isn't it?"

  "This competition may bear a slight resemblance to the television programs available decades ago, but that was then and this is now. The Countdown is nothing 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 looked down at the white sheet that covered me from my chest down. "How is your leg? May I see?"

  "No, you may not."

  He let out a long breath. "I know you don't trust me, Kira-"

  "Oh, should I trust you? As far as I can tell you're just one of the bastards who put me and Rogan in this situation in the first place."

  "You include Rogan. Have you come to care for his safety as well as your own?"

  I slunk down in the bed. "That's none of your business."

  "It is curious to me how a vibrant young woman like yourself would so quickly come to care for someone like Rogan. You are aware of what he was in prison for, aren't you?"

  I frowned at him. "'Crimes that I'd never forgive anyone for."

  "Yes, given your history and what happened to your family, I can sec that. But you care for him anyhow. And why is that?"

  "Because he's innocent."

  "Are you so sure of that?"

  "I'm sure."

  "Did you use your psi ability on him? Your ability to connect empathically with another?"

  I went very cold and still at his words. Nobody knew about my flex. Nobody.

  He waved a hand. "Don't be alarmed. It isn't common knowledge. In fact, I am one of the very few connected with The Countdown who know of your hidden talents."

  "How did you-"

  "How did I know? We know everything. All doctors keep very special records on their patients. A large percentage of female children born after the plague are psychically gifted."

  "A large percentage?" I asked. This was the first I'd ever heard of this.

  He nodded. "Your abilities are marked down as low-level, which typically would not cause much of an interest from the scientific community." He walked toward the small window overlooking another gray building. "Many of the other girls with high-level psi powers were taken to Offworld as soon as they were discovered so they could grow up in a much more stable environment. Those with the low-level abilities such as yourself were mostly ignored. But it is still in your markup-your DNA profile. I thought your abilities might help you along in the game in some small way. I may have been wrong. He doesn't believe it makes any difference at all."

  There was no smile on his face anymore as he turned from the window to look at me again.

  I struggled to sit higher up in the bed. "Who are you talking about?"

  "Gareth. The producer of The Countdown. He is pleased with your showing so far but doesn't feel that your psi abilities have anything to do with your success. Our subscribers are also very happy. We've had a 20 percent increase in viewing time since your game began. And the more they view, the longer they use their implants, and the more they pay."

  I tried to process everything he'd told me. If my doctor had written in my profile that I had psi abilities, did that mean my parents knew? They'd never discussed it with me. It had been a total and complete surprise one day when I was sixteen and I happened to tap into it quite by accident when I touched somebody. It had hurt so badly that I hadn't attempted it again for six months.

  There was no reason Jonathan had to share all of this with me. All he had to do was patch me up and let me get back to the game, but I swear I saw concern in his gaze as he looked at me.

  I felt an unbidden tear slip down my right cheek. "Jonathan, you have to help me. Help us. I don't want to die."

  He nodded grimly. "I know you don't." He took in a deep breath and let it out. "Please, Kira, let me see your leg."

  I shook my head.

  He rolled up his right sleeve and thrust his forearm at me. 'Touch me. Use your ability if you don't trust me. See that I mean you no harm."

  I studied him for a full minute before I decided to do as he said. I touched the skin of his arm just below his elbow, pressing my fingers against his flesh. I could feel his quick but steady pulse.

  I closed my eyes and tried to push out all other thoughts from my mind. This took a couple of minutes, since my mind was currently rather full.

  And then I flexed.

  The images and sensations came to me in flashes. Nothing coherent or totally understandable. It wasn't home movies of the mind. Just flashes. Words. Thoughts.

  :::::::::Tired

  Angry:::::::::

  :::::::::Determined

  Sincere:::::::::

  :::::::::Sad

  Hopeful:::::::::

  :::::::::Guilty

  A wash of goodness swept over me. Sadness. Angst and despair. A good man forced to do things he didn't agree with. Someone who wanted to help to make things better.

  Then a spear of pain lanced through my head and I let go of him, pressing my palms against the sides of my head.

  Agony.

  Par for the course. One of the reasons I tried to use my flex as little as possible.

  After a moment I felt a cold cloth on my forehead and opened my eyes slowly. The fluorescent lights above now seemed too bright, and I squinted. Jonathan held a wet towel against my forehead. He stared at me with wide eyes.

  "Did you sense anything?" he asked breathlessly. "I felt you … I felt you in my mind."

  "Did it hurt?"

  "No, it was a curious feeling, but it wasn't pain. Perhaps you're not as low-level as indicated in your records. Are you well?"

  I pushed his hand away. "Well enough, I guess."

  I pulled at the sheets that covered me and bared my legs for him.

  He undid the bandages and inspected my right thigh.

  "Very good. It has healed as well as I'd hoped."

  I frowned and looked down. Where I expected to find an oozing bullet wound was only a soft, bright pink mark that had already nearly healed over. It didn't even hurt when he touched it gently.

  Rogan had said I'd been out for eighteen hours. But even eighteen hours wasn't long enough to heal a bullet wound.

  "How-" I began.

  "We have a great deal of technology at our fingertips here, Kira. The company I work for has always had a hand in research-be it computers and artificial intelligence or medical research. That is why I originally came on board ten years ago. Unfortunately, due to recent rules and regulations, I'm unable to share this research with anyone outside of the corporation at this time."

  I touched my leg, running a finger along the wound. It was flat. I was healed. From a wound that felt as if it had torn my leg clean off.

  "What kind of a company is this, anyhow? And who is this Gareth guy? He has people doing secret medical research? He's the one who's in charge of this game? He sounds horrible."

  "He wasn't always." Jonathan's eyes glistened and he turned away, took in a shuddery breath, and then turned back to me. "Now I am to fill you in on the reward level of The Countdown!'

  Tears pricked at my own eyes. "But I can't keep playing. You need to help me. Please, Jonathan."

  His jaw clenched. "Kira, please. The only way you can escape the game is to win it. You read me. You must know that there is nothing I can do to change what is."

  I had read him. The overwhelming feeling I'd gotten from him before my head nearly exploded was hopelessness. He was despondent about his lot in life.

  We were silent for a moment.

  "Jonathan …" I began. "If I win … if me and Rogan both get through all six levels-"

  "It doesn't have to be both of you anymore," he said.

  "What?"

  "I know the rules were never properly explained to you. The fact is, after Level Three, if you make it to the end together or separately, then you will be considered the winner."

  I let this information settle over me. "And if either or both of us do fi
nish successfully … we can ask for whatever we want?"

  He nodded. "The champion or champions get to choose his or her own prize."

  I licked my dry lips. "I'd be able to ask for a one-way ticket to Offworld?"

  The smile reappeared on his face. "A first-class one-way ticket. Definitely."

  "First-class," I repeated. "I like the sound of that."

  Jonathan smiled. "I think you'd do very well on Offworld, Kira."

  I let all the wonderful possibilities, the dream of freedom and a brand-new life, drift through my mind. "Maybe Rogan would like it there, too."

  He frowned suddenly. "You said that you believe he's innocent."

  I nodded and arranged the sheets back over my legs. "That's right. One hundred percent."

  "Did you use your psi ability on him?"

  "A little. But not fully. I haven't had time to concentrate long enough to use it. I asked him. He told me. I believe him."

  The grim expression on Jonathan's face was not setting my mind at ease.

  "I see." He rubbed his fingers against his small black goatee, his forehead furrowing into a deep frown.

  "You see what?" I looked over at the door. Was Rogan still waiting outside? Had those men taken him away? He couldn't have gone too far, since my implant wasn't giving off a signal.

  Jonathan didn't say anything for so long that my anxiety grew into a tight, dark ball in my stomach.

  "You see what?" I said again, louder this time.

  "It is not my place to say. In fact, I've stayed with you too long already. I was to check your leg and inform you that the next level is a reward level."

  "I don't care about any reward unless it's a shuttle to Offworld and out of this game." My voice had gone shrill and harsh. "What are you keeping from me? What do you know about Rogan?"

  He shook his head. "I should say nothing else, Kira. Time is running out. I must leave soon."

  I touched his arm and forced my gaze to soften. I commanded myself not to cry. "I got a read on you, Jonathan. I know you're a good man inside, no matter what this Gareth guy is making you do. But if there's something I need to know about Rogan … He's … he's not really guilty of those horrible crimes, is he?"