Countdown

by Michelle Maddox

"What?"

  "You said that you didn't understand why Gareth would abandon you like that. Well, I know why."

  "Why?" There was strain in the quiet word. "Tell me."

  Just as I was opening my mouth to tell him the truth, words that would probably change his life, a loud alarm sounded, and the room we were in split down the very center, right through the middle of the bed. As if the entire thing were on wheels the room parted, and Rogan stared at me with shock as he moved farther away.

  The roof rolled back, and instead of stucco it showed the cloudy skies overhead.

  I realized with a sinking feeling-a feeling I'd gotten used to having on a regular basis in this game-that the motel room we'd been in was actually a set. All fake. All created to be the background for our "emotional pillow-talk scene." There must have been microphones all over the place. Hidden cameras. They'd probably been hoping for another explicit love scene, but instead when I was about to reveal Gareth's little secret they put an end to it again.

  Why the hell was Gareth so intent on Rogan not knowing the truth? Would it really make any difference?

  My side of the bed moved away from Rogan until we were stretching our ninety-foot rule to the limit. Any farther and I was going to bolt off the bed and start running toward him. The memory of the red stain on the roof where Mac's head should have been haunted me. I didn't want to die that way. Not after everything we'd been through.

  "Kira!" Rogan called, and he jumped up from the half bed. Another step took him off the makeshift set and onto the pavement of yet another abandoned street. He looked around at the surroundings quickly before focusing again on me.

  "Welcome back to The Countdown! Kira and Rogan are all rested up for this, the final level: Level Six."

  Three silver ball cameras zoomed into view, bobbing and moving along the street. They got to Rogan first and circled him like a nest of wasps as he glared at them.

  "Rogan Ellis never thought he 'd be one of the privileged few to reach the last level of The Countdown. Some of our original subscribers will recall that Rogan himself is the creator of this game, although it has improved a thousandfold since then in quality and excitement. If Rogan had any say in the matter, the game would no longer be available to entertain you, our glorious subscribers! Just before his incarceration for rape and nine counts of murder, he attempted to pull the plug on this show, but luckily he was stopped before any irreparable damage was done.

  "Such is the case with Rogan. He is a selfish man. As a bloodthirsty hedonist, he cares only for his own pleasures, and it doesn't matter to him who might get hurt. In an early poll amongst our subscribers, Rogan received a 3 percent approval rating. This is as low as any contestant in the history of the game. It is obvious to anyone watching that despite his handsome appearance, a cold heart lurks beneath his chest. There is no humanity or possibility of redemption within this poor excuse of a man."

  I wasn't close enough to see the expression on Rogan's face, but I was betting that it wasn't a happy one. This was what he'd been subjected to for all these years? This uncensored verbal hatred toward him? That must have destroyed something inside of him. All I wanted to do was take that pain away from him. I felt a small sense of pride knowing that I knew the real Rogan. That he was innocent. That he wasn't selfish or bloodthirsty. That he was wonderful in every single way.

  And that was about the moment that I realized I'd fallen completely in love with him.

  "Dammit," I said under my breath. "Not a good time for realizations like these, Kira."

  That would explain why my heart twisted with every hurtful thing that was said about him. Why I felt his pain and all I wanted to do was hold him and tell him that it was all going to be okay.

  I didn't even have to be using my flex to feel empathy for him. I felt for him because I was in love with him.

  Tears stung at the corners of my eyes and I shook my head. So inconvenient. Especially now. Especially here.

  The cameras left Rogan's side and swarmed toward me instead. They spun around my head and I could see myself reflected in their black, shiny lenses.

  "Kira Jordan has been a very popular player on The Countdown. It goes to show that despite her fragile exterior a female competitor is not necessarily going to be outplayed by her male counterparts. Kira has earned a 74 percent approval rating, a rating that has improved with every successive level.

  "A thief, a sultry vixen, and a woman who can lure men to their deaths, as evidenced in Level Five … this is a true Countdown competitor to be admired. Footage of her reward-level bubble bath, among many other memorable X-rated moments, is available in the archive section of our subscriber feeds for you to enjoy over and over again.

  "Kira, do you have anything you want to say to the subscribers who have enthusiastically supported you in the game so far?"

  One camera came down to eye level. I could see myself reflected from my waist to the top of my head.

  "Absolutely." I forced a smile to my lips. "I just wanted to let you know that every one of you subscribers disgusts me. Why do you sad, pathetic sacks of shit keep watching this? They're forcing us to play. We have no choice. You want to see people killed? You're sick! All of you are sick!" I spat at the camera. There was a long pause.

  "We are very sorry," the announcer piped up. "We lost our feed for a moment. We strive to bring you the best of entertainment, but we are slaves to our cameras, I'm afraid." He chuckled. "Kira wanted you all to know that she appreciates your support and that she's thrilled to have been able to bring you hours of entertainment. She would love to thank you all personally if she could, but there simply isn't enough time. Not if we want to get on with the show! "

  I tried to calm myself. It made me furious to know that the subscribers, however many of them there were, were sitting back watching in their mind's eye as Rogan and I fought for our lives.

  I wondered what they'd think if they knew their implant-provided brain waves were Gareth's version of a power lunch.

  It was like something out of a nightmare.

  "Everything has led to this final level," the announcer said. "Kira and Rogan have forged a partnership, found common ground, learned to work together, and given in to their carnal desires. Never has there been a better team on The Countdown and we are thrilled to have been able to present them to you.

  "They have worked together, helping each other when the other was down, for without one's partner, one is nothing in The Countdown.

  "That is, until Level Six."

  The cameras separated. One stayed in front of me, another went to Rogan, and the third hovered between us.

  "Underneath both sides of the bed, there is a gun. Kira and Rogan, please retrieve your guns now."

  I looked over at Rogan but didn't make a move to get up yet. What was left of the sheets was still tangled around my legs.

  I studied the camera closest to me.

  "Please retrieve the gun, Kira."

  "And what if I don't?"

  Three small green lights just above the camera's lens swelled slightly in intensity. I flinched as I felt a zap of pain to my implant. Not too much. Just a warning.

  I forced myself up off the bed and crouched down to look underneath. There was a gun. I wrapped my fingers around the handle of the gun and pulled it out.

  I stood there next to the half a motel room, right next to the gray of the pavement, holding the gun, and I waited, every muscle in my body tense and on edge.

  Rogan had his gun in hand as well. He held it loosely at his side.

  "There is only one way out of Level Six. There can only he one winner of The Countdown. Kira and Rogan have fought side by side in victory thus far, but now they must fight against each other. For only by defeating the other can they win the game.

  "Rogan fights now to clear his name of his crimes. Should he win, he will be able to start life with a clean slate, with his half of the Ellis fortune returned to him to do with as he wishes. He will have the freedom to remain here or to c
ontinue on Offworld.

  "Kira fights for a fresh start as well. Her desire is to leave the city by shuttle to go to Offworld. There she will find that her new life awaits her, including a house and a small fortune that will see her to the end of her days in luxury.

  "The only obstacle they face is each other. Whoever is standing at the end of Level Six… whoever is still breathing … shall be crowned the winner.

  "Should neither of them succeed in killing the other in the time allotted, the level will be forfeited and both competitors shall be eliminated.

  "There is a five-minute time limit for this level, which starts right now. Enjoy!"

  When the announcer stopped talking I stood there, completely stunned. I looked at the gun in my hand.

  They wanted me to kill Rogan.

  And Rogan was supposed to kill me first. That was what they said, right?

  Kill or be killed.

  And if we didn't kill each other, both of us were dead anyhow in five minutes.

  A line of fury ripped through me and I almost screamed, but I held it in. The rage burned just beneath the surface. I was sure that as I raised my gaze to look in the lens of the camera, any subscriber would be able to see what I was thinking. How much I hated them, those faceless, bloodthirsty bastards somewhere out there, watching every move I made.

  I was lost in my thoughts for a moment, so distracted that I didn't hear Rogan approach. At the last second I heard his boots slam against the pavement as he neared me.

  I automatically raised the gun and pointed it directly at him, and he stopped running. He held up his hands.

  "Easy, Kira, easy."

  "Easy?" I managed. "There's nothing easy about this. You heard what he said."

  "Yeah, I did." He still held his own gun loosely at his right side.

  "Just stay back."

  "There are four minutes remaining in this level of The Countdown."

  He frowned. "Kira, listen to me. I'm not going to shoot you."

  My hands shook. "But that's what they want. They want us to try to kill each other."

  "I don't give a shit what they want. I'm not doing it."

  A million different scenarios sped through my brain. There had to be a way out of this. I looked at the cameras that were greedily taking everything in.

  The cameras watched everything. All they cared about was getting a good shot. Providing good entertainment so the subscribers kept watching.

  Everything seemed to revolve around those cameras.

  Dammit. I had an idea but I needed like hell for him to play along. "Do you trust me Rogan?"

  He eyed the gun. "Yeah, I trust you."

  "Then you need to trust me right now. Point your gun at me. There's no other choice."

  He frowned deeply, staring into my eyes. It seemed to take him forever, but then slowly he raised his gun toward me. "Like this? Is this what you want?"

  "Three minutes remain in this level of The Countdown."

  "Yeah, that's exactly what I want. They picked us to be partners, Rogan. They knew that we were both damaged inside. How else could somebody make it through this game to the end? If it were a normal person they probably would have shut down. They couldn't handle the hell we've been through without giving up."

  He swallowed. "That's right. We're special."

  I glanced at the cameras, now circling us, recording our last conversation, to be replayed over and over again for the entertainment of the subscribers.

  "Do you think that you can kill me, Rogan?" I asked simply.

  He didn't answer for a moment. "Why are you even asking that?"

  "If it meant your life or my life-and guess what, it does-then can you pull that trigger?"

  His hand shook and he began to lower it. "You're going to have to kill me, Kira."

  "And I will. You murdered my family. I'll kill you and not even blink."

  His eyes widened. "But I-"

  I pulled the trigger and shot the ground next to him. The cameras had spun behind me and didn't catch me rolling my eyes at him.

  I mouthed the words, Please play along.

  He stared at me for a long moment before he finally raised his gun again. "Okay, have it your way."

  I tried to stifle my sigh of relief. "Yeah, thanks for joining us so late in the show."

  He snorted. "I guess I'm a bit of a slow learner."

  "Obviously."

  "Maybe this won't be as difficult as I thought it was. You pull your trigger. I pull my trigger. Whoever's the best shot wins, right?"

  Damn. My arm was beginning to burn from holding the gun up.

  "But it is difficult," I said steadily. "If it wasn't, then there wouldn't be any point, would there? I want to know something first. Was I ever more to you than just a … what did you laugh at earlier… a postprison piece of ass?"

  He gave me a very convincing sneer. "I've been in jail a long time, sweetheart. A hot little piece of flesh willingly spreads her legs for me? What am I supposed to do, refuse?"

  "I knew it."

  "You're so perceptive. So now that the truth's out you're going to shoot me?"

  "Maybe I am," I said. "Are you going to do something to stop me?"

  "Maybe I'll shoot you first. Got enough ammo in this gun to make sure I don't miss. They haven't taken any chances this time."

  "No." I glanced around at the cameras. "Can't take any chances."

  "Two minutes remain in this level of The Countdown."

  "Are you a good shot?" I asked him.

  "I used to do target practice in my teens. And you?"

  "I'm okay."

  His lip curled. "Wait, I remember that you missed Kurds and shot him in the shoulder. Either that was a precise hit or you're a lousy shot. I'm going to go out on a limb and say that you're a lousy shot."

  "Okay, now you're just being mean. I can hit something if I have enough ammo. Don't worry about that."

  "Are you going to shoot me or just talk about it?"

  "In a minute."

  "Fifty-nine …fifty-eight…fifty-seven …"

  Rogan's jaw tensed. 'Time's ticking away, sweetheart. Hope you know what you're doing."

  "I thought I told you not to call me sweetheart?"

  "If you're going to shoot, can you do me a favor?"

  "What's that?"

  'Try not to miss." He smirked at me, but an edge of worry slid behind his blue-green eyes.

  "The time has come," the announcer said, and his normally singsong voice was a little bit breathless. "The facade of friendship and caring has faded away, leaving only two raw competitors behind. Who will he victorious in the remaining seconds?"

  "Thirty.. twenty-nine … twenty-eight…"

  "So sick of that fucking guy," Rogan growled.

  "That makes two of us. And if I never hear another countdown it'll be too damn soon."

  "See, we still agree on a couple of things."

  "Yeah, I guess we do."

  "So, I'll do you one last favor, sweetheart." He raised an eyebrow. "You can take the first shot. Lead the way."

  My hands were sweating.

  "Ten … nine … eight.. "

  "Sounds fair," I said, and my voice shook on the words. "Are you ready?"

  His eyes narrowed and his grip tightened on the gun. "Do it, Kira."

  I swung my arm around and pulled the trigger. The camera that was in the process of getting a close-up of my face, of any potential emotion that might be found there, went flying backward.

  "Now, Rogan! Now!"

  I heard gunfire, shot after shot after shot. I focused on the one camera on the ground, sputtering and sparking. I shot it until my gun was empty before I looked back at Rogan. Two silver cameras had crashed to the ground near him. He looked over at me, his chest heaving with every breath he took, a sheer gleam of perspiration on his forehead.

  "We should probably run now," he said.

  "Good idea."

  I picked a direction and started running as fast as I could, with Rogan
at my side.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  "Where are we headed?" Rogan yelled, and I tried to ignore the pain from my sprained ankle as we thundered along another side street.

  I had the brief glimmer of the location in my head-the safe house that Gareth had given me when I'd done my flex on him. It wasn't much to go on, but it was all we had.

  "A place close by. We're almost there."

  "How did you know to shoot the cameras?" he asked.

  "Just a lucky guess, actually. I was hoping that you were right about their being the things controlling our implants."

  "Since we're still conscious, I'm guessing we were right. But they'll be after us on foot."

  "That's why we have to keep running."

  The safe house was at 358 Paragon Avenue. I was betting everything I had on the vision from Gareth being right.

  "Up ahead," I said. 'Turn left on that street."

  Paragon Avenue was the main street of the city and about a mile away from the street we'd been on for Level Six. We slowed to a jog as we turned the corner. My ankle throbbed.

  It was like day and night compared to where we'd just come from-a deserted part of the city that made me think that nobody else in the universe existed except for Rogan, me, and the disembodied voice of the announcer. Here on Paragon Avenue I was reminded that the city and the world around it, while definitely dying, were not yet dead.

  A steady flow of people moved along the sidewalks. The road was trafficked with cars and mopeds. However, there was a general feeling of malaise-these were the people who either couldn't afford to go to Offworld or had too many obligations-job, family, whatever-that kept them right where they were.

  There was a man on the street corner with a long white beard. He begged for money from the passing pedestrians but was ignored as if he were completely invisible.

  We weeded through the crowd while getting some sideways stares at our costumes. Black, shiny, and tight didn't really go with the business casual we were bumping up against. An old woman eyed my black thigh-highs and short skirt, sneered with disapproval, and muttered some insult I couldn't hear.

  I wanted to run up to her and grab her hands and beg her to help us, to hide us, but I stopped myself. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly as I clutched Rogan's arm tightly and continued to hobble along, favoring my right ankle. I knew that we couldn't drag anyone into our problem. No one would offer us sanctuary. Nobody would believe us. Everyone was too busy worrying about their own lives, their own problems, their own safety. I knew that very well after being on the streets for seven years. I was used to being like the man on the corner: invisible, insignificant.