Countdown

by Michelle Rowen

  scratchy hospital gown. My right thigh had been bandaged. I looked up at him. “You’ve been here the whole time?

  With me?”

  He nodded. “They said I should wait outside, but I refused.

  I thought they’d beat the crap out of me for giving them attitude, but they didn’t. Don’t know why. They let me sit in

  here with you after they were finished with your leg.” “For eighteen hours? You’ve been sitting next to me the

  whole time?”

  “I dozed for a bit myself, but otherwise…yeah.” He looked

  away. “I was here.”

  I felt my cheeks heat up. He’d been watching me sleep. That

  should totally creep me out, but instead it made me feel… I don’t know. It made me feel secure for some reason. Like he

  was looking out for me. Making sure nobody hurt me. Which didn’t make a damn bit of sense.

  Why would a murderer want to be my guardian angel? Why

  did being around him fill me with anything but fear? Why

  did I trust him not to hurt me when I was completely helpless? Because I didn’t totally believe he was guilty, that’s why.

  I’d seen no indication at all that he was cruel or heartless—

  someone capable of killing and dismembering nine girls.

  While he’d admitted he’d killed his roommate in self-defense,

  he hadn’t been able to bring himself to kill Bernard when he

  thought he was just an innocent civilian.

  He didn’t do it.

  The clear and sudden revelation helped to push the rest of

  my doubts away.

  Which was probably why I found myself placing my hands

  on either side of his face and drawing him closer to me. I slid

  a hand down and over his chest to feel his heart pounding

  hard and fast.

  “Kira, what are you doing?” Our lips were so close. His

  breath was so warm.

  But then he tensed and pulled back. The look on his face

  held such confusion and awkwardness that it almost made

  me laugh.

  I’d nearly kissed him.

  Then it hit me with crystal-clear clarity.

  Oh, my God. I’d nearly kissed him.

  It was the pain drugs. Yeah. Had to be the pain drugs.

  They were totally tripping me out and making me do things

  I would never normally do in a million years.

  Not like this. Not here. And not with somebody like Rogan Ellis, who would only make my life even more complicated

  than it already was.

  I bit my bottom lip. “Can I ask you a question?” He eyed me as if I might do something else utterly unexpected—either kiss him or kill him. “Of course.” “When we were out there with that robot thing…you asked

  if I believed everything I saw on the news.”

  His mouth formed a thin line. “Yeah.”

  “What did you mean?”

  “Nothing. I was stalling for time. Didn’t work. He shot you

  anyhow.” He crossed his arms. “You said no, right? That you

  didn’t believe everything the news says.”

  “That’s right. I don’t. And I don’t watch the news to begin

  with, haven’t for ages.” I reached up and grabbed his shirt to

  force him to look at me. “I’m going to ask you something and

  I want you to tell me the truth. You hear me? The truth.” 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’s taking them so long.”

  I grabbed a tighter hold of his shirt. If he was getting up,

  then he was taking me with him. “Those nine girls. Did you

  murder them like they said you did? Damn it, Rogan. Tell

  me the truth.”

  He searched my face. “Why are you asking me this? Everyone just assumes I’m guilty as sin. Why wouldn’t you?” “Because they’re the scumbags that 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 said, “I’m a very

  bad person, Kira.”

  I clutched his hand tightly, just in case he was thinking

  about trying to get away from me again. “Just being a bad

  person doesn’t necessarily mean that you did what they said.” He looked away.

  “Just tell me. 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 kill those girls?”

  “No, I didn’t.” He met my gaze again—his tortured.

  Haunted. He’d been through hell even before entering this

  game. For someone who was still a teenager, his eyes held a

  lifetime of pain and misery.

  Rogan wasn’t lying to me. He was innocent of those horrible crimes. I’d bet my life on it. In fact, I think I already had. “You believe me,” he said very softly.

  I nodded, my throat tight. “I believe you. But why would

  they say that if it isn’t true? Why would you let them?” His brows drew tightly together. “It’s complicated.” My gaze softened, and I touched his face, tracing my index

  finger gently along his scar. “So, you were locked up for something you didn’t even do?”

  He swallowed hard and entwined his fingers with mine. “I

  told you already. I’m a very bad person. 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 be this close to me.” “You killed your roommate, but it was in self-defense. I

  can’t hold that against you. You had no choice.”

  He shook his head. “No, I’m not talking about that. It’s

  something else. Something worse.”

  My stomach twisted. “Tell me. Rogan. I promise I won’t

  hate you.”

  Our eyes locked, and I was certain he was going to answer me. But then the door on my right opened and Jonathan walked in. Two men dressed all in white accompanied

  him, but they stayed by the door while he approached my bed. “You’re awake,” Jonathan said, adjusting his wire-frame

  glasses.

  I glared at him. “You’re observant.”

  His smile held no warmth. “I’ve been instructed to tell you

  that your next level will lead to a contestant reward. Should

  you complete it successfully, you’ll receive something very

  special.”

  We both gave him a blank look.

  He cleared his throat. “Rogan, would you mind giving

  Kira and me 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, 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. With a last look at Jonathan, one edged in violence, he finally let go of my hand

  and left the room.

  The two men also left, closing the door behind them,
leaving Jonathan and me alone.

  “Who are you?” I asked after a heavy, silent moment had

  gone by.

  “We already met earlier. Jonathan, remember?” I rolled my eyes. “I remember everything that’s happened

  to me. Vividly. Consider it burned into my brain forever. But

  that doesn’t explain anything.”

  The smile continued to play on his lips, which I found 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 curled

  tightly at my sides.

  “I mean it as a compliment.” The smile faded around the

  edges, and I noticed that it had never reached his eyes. They

  were dead serious. “Most normal girls would not have lasted

  as long as you have in this game. When you were chosen to

  play, I had my doubts, but they’ve dissipated with each passing level.”

  “What do you mean by normal girls?”

  He spread his hands. “We’ve had only males play, until now.

  Men and boys who were accustomed to a life of struggle and

  violence, whom no one would miss should they be…unsuccessful. Some rise to the challenge and others crumple 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 are a lot of women in prison who would have jumped at the chance

  to come on this Reality TV show from hell.”

  Jonathan cocked his head. “Is that what you think this is?

  A Reality TV show?”

  “Isn’t it?”

  “This may bear a passing resemblance to the television

  programs available decades ago, but that was then and this

  is now. Nothing on the Network is 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 glanced at the white sheet that covered me from my

  chest down. “How is your leg? May I see?”

  Was he evading this discussion? I needed more information. “No, you may not.”

  He hissed 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

  f irst place.”

  “You include Rogan. Have you come to be concerned for

  his safety as well as your own in such a short time?” I slunk down in the bed. “That’s none of your business.” “It is curious to me how a vibrant young girl like yourself would so quickly come to care for someone like Rogan.

  You are aware of the reason he was sent to juvenile detention,

  aren’t you? Why he was on his way to prison once he legally

  becomes an adult?”

  I frowned at him. “Crimes that I’d never forgive anyone

  for.”

  “Yes, given your history, and what happened to your family, I can see that. But you seem to like him, anyway. Why is

  that, if I might ask?”

  “Because he’s innocent,” I said simply.

  His eyebrows shot up above the rims of his glasses. “Are

  you so sure of that?”

  “I’m sure.”

  Jonathan studied me for a moment with curiosity. “Did you

  use your Psi ability on him? Your ability to connect empathically with another?”

  I went very cold and still at his words. “Excuse me?” “Don’t be alarmed. It isn’t common knowledge. In fact, I

  am one of the very few connected with Countdown that know

  of your hidden talents.”

  “What are you talking about? What Psi ability?” My heart

  was pounding loud and fast against my rib cage.

  A frown creased his brow as he studied me for a moment.

  “Don’t tell me you don’t know what you can do. Didn’t anyone ever tell you?”

  I knew I had that…something. Something that made my

  head feel as if it might split open. Something that gave me an

  insight on whether somebody was good or bad. There were

  times I’d considered that it might be Psi-related, but I’d never

  been sure.

  “Nobody told me anything,” I finally said, fighting to keep

  my expression neutral.

  He continued to study my face, perhaps to gauge if I was

  lying to him. Finally, he nodded. “Then it’s high time you

  knew. All doctors keep special records on their patients—

  especially female children born after the Plague. A certain percentage have been found to be psychically gifted. Accord

  ing to your records, you are one of these girls.”

  “I am?” I’d never been told anything like this before. I had

  a doctor before, of course. My father had worked for the university, so he could afford it. We had gone once a year for a

  physical—blood work, body scans, everything. It had taken a

  whole day, and it had been really boring. My friends never had

  to go through the same thing. At the time, I’d envied them. My last exam had been a week before my family was murdered.

  But if anything like this had come out of those tests, I’d

  never been told a thing.

  Jonathan nodded. “Perhaps you weren’t informed since

  you’re marked down as a low-level empath, which typically

  would not cause much interest from the scientific community.” He walked toward the small window overlooking another gray building. “Other girls with high-level Psi powers

  are taken to the Colony as soon as their abilities are discovered, so they can grow up in a much more stable environment—given housing, education and access to peers who are

  going through the same experiences. Those with the low-level

  abilities are mostly ignored. But I spotted it in your files—in

  your DNA profile. I thought your abilities might help you

  along in the game in some small way. Perhaps I was wrong.” There was no smile on his face anymore as he turned from

  the window to look at me.

  I struggled to process everything he’d said. I was a Psi, a

  low-level one. Somebody able to get a minor empathic read

  on another human being. That fit with what I’d discovered

  about myself already. It was as if a missing piece had just clicked

  into place for me.

  But I’d failed this test by not being strong enough. If I’d

  been stronger, I would have had a better life. I’d be in the Colony right now, going to school, learning about my abilities. Instead, I was here, lying in a hospital bed after being shot

  in the leg.

  I didn’t want to admit anything to Jonathan, but I needed

  more information. “If what you’re saying is true, how did you

  think it would help me?”

  “I wasn’t sure, exactly. An empath—well, it isn’t a tangible talent. If you were telekinetic it could be a different story.

  Even having a low-level telekinetic ability would be an asset

  in a game such as this. However, he doesn’t fully believe in

  Psi abilities, so it doesn’t matter in the long run.”

  Empath…someone able to sense another’s emotions—and

  in my case, barely. Telekinetic…somebody able to move stuff

  with their mind. I could see how that would have been a major

  asset in this game. I had a f leeting fantasy of blowing up the

  digicams wit
h the power of my mind. Just my luck that I’d

  landed a lame Psi ability.

  I sat up higher in the bed. “Wait. Who doesn’t believe in

  it?”

  He hesitated before answering. “The producer of Countdown, Gareth. He’s pleased with your showing so far, but

  doesn’t feel that your minor Psi abilities have had anything

  to do with your success. Our Subscribers are also very happy

  with the inclusion of a female player. We’ve had a forty percent increase in viewing time since your game began, making

  Countdown the number one program on the Network. And

  the more they view our offering rather than switch to another

  feed, the happier Gareth is.”

  Gareth. At least I now had a name to focus my hatred toward. The producer. The reason I was here, fighting for my

  very life.

  I tried to process everything Jonathan had told me. If my

  doctor had written in my profile that I had Psi abilities, did

  that mean my parents had known? They’d never discussed it

  with me. It had been a total surprise one day after my thirteenth birthday, when I’d touched somebody and felt…something. Luckily it didn’t happen every time I touched somebody,

  because when this strange ability clicked in, it hurt really bad. I wanted to ask Jonathan if it was supposed to hurt. But I

  held back my questions. Sharing anything about what I’d discovered felt as if I was exposing my vulnerabilities. Giving

  my enemies a chance to use them against me.

  Still, why was Jonathan sharing all of this with me? How

  did this help the game? All he had to do was patch me up and

  let me get back to the game, but I would have sworn I saw

  concern in his gaze.

  It was something. Maybe something I could work with.

  “Jonathan, you have to help me. Help us. I don’t want to die.” “I know you don’t.” He nodded grimly. “Please, Kira, let

  me see your leg.”

  I shook my head.

  “You don’t trust me.”

  I didn’t trust anybody. “Despite this little heart-to-heart, I

  can’t think of a single reason why I should.”

  He rolled up his right sleeve and thrust his forearm at me.

  “Test your empathic abilities.” He studied my face. “You know

  you have something, don’t you? You’ve known for a while,

  even if it was never confirmed before today. Maybe it scared

  you. Maybe it hurt you. But, please, try, right now. Touch me

  and see if you can get a sense of who I really am.” I wanted to keep denying what he was saying, but words