Countdown

by Michelle Rowen

  “So, you think all we need to do is confront him? Get him to admit who he really is?”

  He nodded. “That’s my theory. I’m hoping like hell I’m right.”

  Before I could say anything else, Rogan stopped walking and shouted, “Bernard Jones!”

  The man halted and turned around. We were currently in the middle of a city parking lot that was totally abandoned. No cars. Nobody was even in the pay booth. Dusk had begun to creep in and the shadows grew longer in front of us.

  Even from a distance I could see Bernard’s wariness as he saw the teenage boy who’d called out his name.

  “What do you want?” he asked.

  “Just to talk,” Rogan said.

  “Who are you?”

  “I’m Rogan. This is Kira. We need some help.”

  He shook his head. “Not from me, you don’t.”

  I looked back in the direction of the mall, but it was blocked by other buildings. This part of the city was vacant.

  No witnesses.

  No witnesses except for the cameras, that is. Two of them approached from behind us, parting and moving to either side of the parking lot.

  Multi-view. How convenient.

  “Who are you, Bernard?” Rogan asked.

  “Wh-what do you mean?”

  “I mean, who are you? Who sent you here? Tell me what you know.”

  Bernard shook his head. “I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”

  There was a sharp, discarded piece of metal on the ground, and Rogan snatched it up. He moved closer. “You have very little time. Tell us who you really are.”

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

  Bernard’s eyes widened, but he said nothing to give any indication that he was a game plant.

  Oh, God, I thought. He is just a civilian.

  “Rogan, what are you doing?” My heart was pounding painfully against my ribs.

  He didn’t look at me. “I already told you. I’m doing what I have to do.”

  I shook my head. “You can’t. Please. My family—”

  “What happened to your family has nothing to do with this.” He glanced over his shoulder at me and met my gaze. “I’m sorry, Kira. There’s no other choice. Not if we want to live.”

  His eyes held a look of despair, which quickly closed off to cold blankness. Then he tore his gaze from mine and stalked toward Bernard.

  Bernard froze as Rogan approached, weapon in hand.

  Why wasn’t Bernard running? We didn’t have him cornered.

  “You’re Bernard Jones,” he said.

  “Yes. I already said I was. I don’t know what this is about. I—I don’t want any trouble.”

  “Neither did I.”

  The man blinked nervously. “Listen, you can have my money. All of it. Just don’t hurt me.”

  “Money doesn’t do me any good anymore.”

  I’d approached on Rogan’s left side, and I touched his arm, which felt every bit as hard as that metal bar would.

  “Rogan…” He was going to kill this man in cold blood. I could see the icy determination in his eyes. I felt as helpless as I had the night my family was killed, when all I could do was hide in the dark and wait for the horrible silence to finally come, the silence that meant it was all over.

  “Please!” Bernard’s voice shook as he eyed the shiny weapon. “I have a family who needs me.”

  “Do I look like I care?” Rogan’s voice caught on the last word.

  “I recognize you,” Bernard babbled. “You…you’re Rogan Ellis. You killed people. Girls. Killed them brutally. Some while they were asleep in their beds. I remember seeing it on the news.”

  A tremor went through Rogan at his words. “Do you believe everything you see on the news?”

  “You’re going to kill me, too, aren’t you? Aren’t you?” He fell to his knees and shielded his face with his hands.

  “Rogan, please don’t do this,” I begged. I didn’t understand why this man was giving up so easily, without a fight. Without any physical resistance at all. “Please!”

  Rogan’s chest heaved in and out. Then he raised the piece of metal above his head as if he would bring it down in a death blow.

  But…something stopped him. Slowly he lowered the weapon back down to his side.

  He looked at me, his brows drawn tightly together over haunted eyes. “Do you believe everything you see on the news, too?”

  My breath caught. “I don’t watch the news. But, no. I make my own decisions. And you…I—I don’t believe you’re a bad person—no matter what they say. I don’t. You’re better than this. I know you are.”

  I meant every single word. Somehow, I just hadn’t realized it before this moment.

  His hands were shaking. “I can’t do it, Kira. I can’t do it. I can’t kill an innocent man. Even to save us. We’re going to lose.”

  The deadly piece of metal fell from his grip.

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

  I pulled Rogan to me and hugged him tight. “It’s okay. This isn’t losing. If you’d done it, that would be losing to me.”

  Bernard was fumbling around in his pockets. He let go of his shopping bag, and it hit the cement with a thud. Pieces of paper and old tissues fell out of his jacket pockets.

  What was he looking for? His wallet? His ID? A piece of gum?

  Then he pulled out a gun and raised it up to Rogan’s head.

  When he smiled, there was something unnatural about it. “Other contestants have taken me out in less than ten minutes.”

  Rogan tensed and swore under his breath as he let go of me, shoving me behind him. “I knew it.”

  “You are supposed to be a remorseless murderer. I expected that you would have no problem at all with this level. She—” he nodded at me “—was the wild card. She’s not a murderer. It would have been interesting to see if she tried to stop you, but she didn’t.”

  “I did,” I said as confusion slid through me over this unexpected turn of events. “I didn’t want him to kill you.”

  He shrugged. “You didn’t put up much of a fight. He would have killed me, and you would not have stopped him. Unfortunately, Rogan Ellis is a coward. The Subscribers will be horribly disappointed. According to a recent poll, they had very high expectations that you would survive this level.”

  Rogan eyed the gun. “Ask me if I give a shit what the Subscribers think.”

  Bernard smiled that strange, steady smile. “It is fine. The Subscribers will be sated when I eliminate both of you for failing to complete the level successfully.” He moved the gun toward me. “Perhaps I will start with you, Kira Jordan.”

  Rogan put an arm in front of me. “What are you?”

  I frowned at his choice of words: What, instead of who.

  Bernard’s head swiveled toward him. “I am highly surprised you don’t already know the answer to that, Rogan Ellis. I am an Ellipsis Cyber Drone, model number 6.1.”

  What kind of an answer was that? What did that even mean?

  “An Ellipsis Cyber Drone?” Rogan’s eyebrows shot up. “But—but how?”

  “There have been many advancements made in artificial intelligence in recent years, Rogan Ellis,” Bernard said evenly. “I am only one of them.”

  “What does that mean?” I asked, breathless, my hands raised in front of me, shaking. This was too much to understand— my head spun with confusion and frustration.

  “He’s a robot,” Rogan growled without taking his eyes off Bernard. “With a very advanced artificial intelligence program. I knew there was something wrong, but I guess I just don’t trust my instincts anymore. Of course they wouldn’t make us kill a civilian.”

  “Three minutes remain in this level of Countdown.”

  Bernard’s fake smile slipped back to reveal more of his bright white teeth. “Rogan Ellis, a murderer scheduled to be transferred to Saradone Maximum Security Prison in three days, could not
bring himself to kill an Ellipsis Cyber Drone. For that, both of you shall be eliminated from the game.”

  A cold line of perspiration slid down my spine.

  The robot smirked, and suddenly I could see what he truly was. Before I’d been too much in shock to see that this guy didn’t look human after all. He was too shiny, too seamless. His eyes ref lected no inner personality. His voice had a slight metallic tininess to it that reminded me of the computer countdown in my head.

  “Rogan Ellis, willing to risk his life to compete on Countdown rather than go to prison. Did you fear it? Did you have nightmares of what might happen to you there? My database tells me that the scar on your face is from a fight with two of your roommates at St. Augustine’s. They wanted to kill you. Instead, you killed one of them with your bare hands. You are a killer.”

  “You’re right,” Rogan growled, before f licking a look at me. “I am a killer. Don’t doubt it. And I’d kill that son of a bitch again if I got the chance.”

  “Self-defense,” I whispered, my throat tight. “It’s different.”

  “Didn’t feel different to me.”

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

  “You know what, robot?” Rogan said with zero emotion in his voice. “I still have two minutes left to reduce you to a pile of tin cans. You can’t kill us until after the level’s done, right? So, we still have time.”

  The robot nodded with a firm jerk of his head. “This is true. I cannot kill you yet.”

  He lowered the gun and pulled the trigger.

  I fell to the ground, screaming and clutching my leg where the bullet had ripped into my upper right thigh.

  “Kira!” Rogan roared.

  “However,” the robot continued. “I can still entertain the Subscribers as we wait for the level to come to its conclusion.” He chambered another round. “Rogan Ellis, I would have believed that you would appreciate watching another young girl writhing around in agony before her inevitable death. Why do you look so unhappy?”

  I could barely hear him. My leg was on fire, and it was all I could do to wrestle through the pain. For a moment, my vision went completely white. I couldn’t hear anything except the countdown, now at one minute.

  One minute until there would be no more pain.

  “59…58…57…”

  Rogan rushed Bernard and grabbed his arms, wrestling him to the ground. The gun skittered across the pavement, coming to rest an arm’s reach away from me.

  “Son of a bitch!” Rogan snarled as he pounded his fist into the robot’s face. Through my blurred vision I saw a glimmer of metal show beneath the artificial skin.

  With a metallic roar, Bernard f lipped Rogan onto his back, effortlessly pinning him to the ground. A viselike metal grip fastened around his neck.

  “Do not fear, Rogan,” the robot said in an eerily calm voice. “It will all be over soon. You failed. You failed Kira Jordan and you failed yourself.”

  “30…29…28…”

  I reached out and wrapped my hand around the gun, and then staggered up on my left leg, doing my best to ignore the searing pain in my right leg. Nausea nearly forced me back down to the ground. Swaying unsteadily, I somehow managed to stay upright. Bernard looked up at me from where he had Rogan pressed against the hard ground. I could see the robot underneath the skin. Just multicolored wires and smooth silver metal like the cameras that spun around the area taking in every angle of the scene. His skin must have been plastic. Just plastic.

  All of it was fake.

  I’d been ready to die to protect somebody who didn’t even exist.

  “10…9…8…”

  I raised the gun and pulled the trigger over and over until it was empty. I hoped it would be enough.

  It was. It blew Bernard’s robot head clean off his body.

  I dropped the gun, collapsed back to the ground, and let the pain wash over me. Rogan crawled to my side.

  “Kira.” There was a red mark around his neck where the robot had almost choked him to death. “Are you okay?”

  His hand clamped down on my thigh, attempting to slow the bleeding.

  I tried to speak but found that I couldn’t form any words.

  What I wanted to say was: Okay? Do I look okay to you?

  Just before I passed out, I heard the voice in my head:

  “Congratulations, Rogan and Kira, on successfully completing level three of Countdown.”

  IT WAS DARK THAT NIGHT. SO DARK.

  “Mom?…Dad?” I said, too softly for anyone to actually hear me.

  I’d gone to bed early, mad that I couldn’t get something—new jeans,

  a new purse…didn’t matter anymore. Didn’t matter then. My bedroom door was closed. Locked. I didn’t want to talk to anybody. Not even my friends who were sending me text messages. I ignored the soft vibrating sound my new phone made every few minutes. It was after midnight on a school night. I remember I had a big

  test the next day that I hadn’t studied for. Math, I think. Or NeoGeography. I didn’t care what happened—if I passed or failed. I actually couldn’t think of one thing in this stupid, boring city I really

  cared about.

  The creaking sound in the hallway of somebody moving around

  startled me. I heard heavy boots and the scrape of something metallic, which immediately told me—through both my gut instinct and

  my actual senses—it wasn’t either of my parents. It also wasn’t my

  older sister returning from a late date and sneaking back in the house

  so she wouldn’t get in trouble for breaking the new citywide curfew of

  eleven o’clock. She’d gotten back from the movie theater hours earlier. It was somebody else.

  Somebody bad.

  For a moment I thought it might just be my imagination. My

  overwrought, overworked brain always came up with the worst-case

  scenario. My mom said I should be a writer since I always made up

  such crazy, overly dramatic stories.

  All I knew for sure, as I lay in my bed that night with the sheets

  pulled up to my nose, listening to the footsteps outside my door, was

  that I had this sense. A sense of impending doom.

  Something was wrong. Horribly wrong.

  I could hear my father’s footsteps as he moved into the hallway to

  investigate the noises. I heard shouting.

  There were gunshots—two gunshots—and then a heavy thump

  as my father’s body hit the floor.

  Then I heard the screams as my mother…and then my sister—oh,

  God, both of them—as they were confronted by the intruder. More

  shots rang out. My whole body shook as I tumbled off the side of my

  bed and crawled underneath it, tears streaming down my cheeks. My

  whole world narrowed in on that moment. Those three minutes felt

  like three years.

  When all was silent, when my family was dead, I heard my door

  rattle as the murderer tried to get into my room. My door was locked,

  but he would have had no problem busting it open.

  I’m going to die, was all I could think. And I was afraid. So

  afraid.

  But suddenly there came the sound of police sirens, and the intruder fled, without another sound, without a word, into the night.

  He was never caught.

  I hadn’t even said good-night to my family. And then they were

  gone forever.

  Ever since that night, the inky black of darkness just reminded me of how close to death I’d come. How powerless I was. Darkness, any

  darkness, felt like hands clutching at my throat, holding me down. “No… No…please. Not again.”

  “Kira, it’s okay. You’re going to be okay. Open your eyes.

  It’s okay. I’m with you.”

  A warm touch brushed away my tears and stroked the hair

  ba
ck from my face.

  My eyes shot open. The first thing that came fully into

  focus was Rogan. He sat on the edge of the bed I was lying

  in. He looked like hell, still dirty and bloody and a total mess,

  but the sight of him managed to chase away the last traces of

  my nightmare.

  He frowned. “What’s that?”

  “What do you mean?” My voice sounded croaky. “That thing on your face.”

  I reached up. “What is it?”

  “I think it’s…yes, it’s definitely a smile.”

  I let out a long breath and rolled my eyes. “Obviously a total

  mistake. There’s no reason for me to be smiling right now. Is

  my leg still attached?”

  He glanced down the length of my body and then looked

  back up at me with half a grin on his face.

  “For now.” The grin faded. “You were having a bad dream.” “I can’t imagine why I would be. We’ve been having so

  much fun.” I tried to look around but didn’t see anything other

  than a bland room with a small window that only looked out

  to another building. “Where are we now?”

  “They brought us to a medical station. I guess you getting

  shot wasn’t in the script.”

  “There’s a script?”

  He shrugged. “Who knows?” His gaze met mine, and I noticed for the first time since I woke up how anguished it

  was. “I was worried about you.”

  “That makes two of us.”

  “Don’t joke.” He brought his hand back up to stroke my

  face gently. “Seriously, though. I’m really glad you’re okay.” For a moment, he didn’t move his hand away, and I didn’t

  push it away. But then he blinked and dropped his arm to his

  side.

  I bit my bottom lip. “So, uh, now what?”

  “So now we’re waiting for somebody to check your leg

  and release us, I guess. They took the bullet out already and

  patched you up. They gave you some pain meds, which is

  probably the reason you were out so long.”

  “How long?”

  “Nearly eighteen hours.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Eighteen hours?”

  He nodded. I lifted the white sheets to look down at myself. My clothes were gone, and I was now wearing a white,