The Dying Game

by J. D. Heath

Clark shrugs. “Same reason they make folks watch the auditions for singing shows. To ramp up excitement and get people to choose a favorite, place a bet. Get a good idea of who’ll make it and who won’t.”

  Paisley says, “We ain’t gonna be able to stay here. For one thing I gotta piss. Once that happens, and we stink up the place with it, we’ll be easy to find.”

  Clark nods. “True.”

  Gina asks, “Do you think they’re all hiding too?”

  I say, “If they’re smart they’re looking for the caches. One was here so we do have to get going. The other one’s still out there. I think we do need it but I also think one of the may have already gotten it.”

  Paisley says, “I’d bet on Hampton for that one. Tayne’s too crazy to think things through. If Baumer gets hungry or thirsty he’ll just take from the dead.’

  Yuck. My stomach rolls. Gina makes a low distressed sound in her throat and even Clark looks disgusted. It’s true, though, and we all know it.

  I say, “I wouldn’t disagree on that one. I also think Hampton, if one of the others hasn’t killed him yet, may be smarter than any of us think. Keep in mind he hid in the ductwork inside the building that housed the company he was fired from for two days, and laid out a scheme to kill as many as possible while he did it. That takes ingenuity.”

  Gina asks, “So we should do what we have to here and then burn it as a rest stop.”

  We all agree. Mick and I go to the open section of the ell. Paisley and Gina take care of their business and then they watch while Clark and I take care of ours. The smell of urine is rank and thick and we hurry away from it, dashing along the hallways to put as much space between us and it as possible.

  There’s really nowhere to go. We end up traveling around the game floor in a route that eventually lands in the third cache’s boundaries, but it’s gone, just as we thought. We leave that ell behind and travel back toward the cell room.

  The steel doors lining the3 hall catch my attention again. I say, “I know you think there’s nothing behind here Clark and maybe there isn’t but I wish there was a way to find out.”

  Clark produces a piece of bent metal and grins at us. “I found it on the floor. I don’t know what it was originally but I thought it might make a good lock pick. Let’s see if we can spot a door that doesn’t have a keypad.”

  A frown comes onto my face. “Has it occurred to anyone that no prison would have all this? I mean have you ever seen a prison with so many keypads?”

  Clark says, “I was thinking the same thing. Maybe it was built just for this, for the game.”

  Paisley said, “It would take a whole lot of money to do something like that.”

  Clark goes to the last door on the hall we’re in and shakes his head. “No joy. All keypads. Anyone good with computers?”

  “I am.” Gina steps up beside him and adds, “But these keypads probably have a set amount of tries built into the system. Get it wrong too many times and you’re locked out forever. We need some sort of code system, or at least a good idea of what the code would entail to hazard a guess as to how to open the doors.”

  “Or Norton,” I say. “He’d have the code.”

  Clark says, “I think you’re right on that one.” He does something with the metal and then we’re off again, but the doors keep my attention. What the hell is back there behind them?

  Hours pass. Of the others there’s no sign. We’re all staggering and weary. We need to stop and rest again but none of us mention that fact. We haven’t had any water since we ate and the heat in the Fortress hallways is thickening all the time.

  Gina’s steps have slowed. Her shoulders droop. She speaks in a listless tone. “We’re a few feet from the cell room. Again. There’s no place to go, really, everything leads back to here sooner or later.”

  I say, “We need a hidey-hole and sleep. We can try getting that in one of the corners that doesn’t have but one route to it, hope we lose the others in the maze.”

  Nobody argues. We troop onward and onward. Every step takes effort and I can feel fatigue cloaking every muscle. We settle into a tight hallway with Clark on one end, me on the either, and Paisley and Gina in the center. Even in that configuration we’re all close enough to touch each other.

  We eat more of the MREs, share out two bottles of water. Gina curls up into a fetal position and slides into a restless sleep. Paisley says she’ll take first watch with me and Clark also gets as comfortable as it is possible to be on concrete and falls asleep.

  Paisley whispers, “Why’d you do it?”

  “What?”

  “Kill those men?”

  “Justice.”

  It’s true. Sort of. I didn’t kill them but I need justice. It’s the only thing I know to go after, it’s the only thing that keeps me sane, the idea that justice can and will be served.

  I ask, “Why’d you do it?”

  “You know why. Hell the whole world knows why I guess. I got raped. The funny thing is, nobody wanted to believe it. I mean how do you rape a whore? Well, according to the world you just don’t pay her, but that ain’t true.”

  I say, “I know that’s not true.”

  “You’d be a singular soul then,” Paisley retorts. “There’s a world of difference between signing on to do somethin’ and havin’ that same somethin’ taken from you, even if you agreed to give it in the first place. Maybe that’s what folks, especially those folks that they put on my jury, couldn’t wrap their clean little hearts and minds around.

  “That it’s one thing to sell it or give it away but another to have it taken, and that someone can take more from you than you were willin’ to give and sell. And that, sweet stuff, is rape. Pure and simple. No way around it, unless all you see is a whore with a long line of dead men hanging over her shoulder.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Paisley snorts air through her nose. “I ain’t. I ain’t sorry for what I did. I must’ve turned five or ten tricks a day even on the days I was killin’. I didn’t kill every dude I blew or screwed, now did I? Nope. Just them. The ones that took from me. I think that should’ve been a key factor in my trial but no. But what was a key factor as my dumb ass saying I wasn’t sorry. I hate liars. Almost as much as I hate rapists and I didn’t aim to be a liar. I got to live with myself, you know.”

  I look away. “Yeah, I know.”

  “You got to live with yourself to dumplin’. If I had to guess I’d say you did what you did because of Baumer. I mean all of it. Went cop. Went rogue. I know you wanna kill him. Can’t say I don’t get that one. But when you do, your family’s still gonna be stone cold dead. You know that, right?”

  The heavy stone that’s a pain I’ve been living with my entire life rolls into place and weighs me down all over again. “I know.”

  “Do me a favor.”

  “What?”

  “If I die here, don’t let him eat my body. That’s the ultimate rape right there.”

  She’s right. I wonder if the profilers who worked on Baumer’s victimology ever considered that fact. “I’ll set you on fire or something if it comes to it. He only likes his food raw.”

  “I don’t know where you’re gonna find a match but if you can, do that.”

  Laughter bubbles up and then we’re both laughing at a grim and revolting possibility. That we might be killed and eaten by a cannibal who’s loose in these hallways.

  CHAPTER 13: GINA:

  Morgan’s sleeping. His hands twitch and curl and he kicks his legs every once in a while. Clark leans against the wall and his hands rub ta his legs. I ask, “You need help with that?”

  He gives me a smile but it’s ghastly. There’s lines of fatigue and pain written all over his face. “I’m good. Good as I can be, anyway. That wreck was supposed to kill me. Best laid plans, right?”

  I shift on the cold concrete, hoping to get more comfortable. “You were trying to kill yourself?”

  Clark’s fingers press into his upper thighs. “I decided to go out
on my own terms. I should’ve just pulled a trigger. I thought that that wreck would be more of a statement.”

  “Wow.”

  His shoulders lift and drop. “I’ll admit I didn’t think that through.”

  “I’d say.”

  Clark shifts a bit too. My butt’s killing me and so is my tailbone. Gloom hangs all over the hallways and I keep tensing up, which isn’t helping the cramps and stiffness in my body. We’re whispering but I don’t know if even that’s a bad thing since we have no idea where the others are, or if they’ve banded together for protection from us.

  Clark says, “I knew it was time for an accounting, that’s all. I knew there’d have to be one when I started killing. Everyone has to come to an accounting for their deeds sooner or later.”

  He’s right. My heart sinks as I consider that. One day I’ll have to take what I deserve for all the things I’ve done, but I don’t want that day to be now.

  Because there’s still so many things I want to do.

  I lick my dry lips. “Maybe some things are worth doing no matter how much they cost.”

  Clark’s eyes drill an intense gaze at my face. A slight vertical slash appears between his brows. “You say that like you’ve done something.”

  Shit. I walk that back. “Morgan shouldn’t be here. Maybe what he did was wrong, but it was justice. Same with you and Paisley. Well, you probably shouldn’t have killed the cops that were chasing you.”

  Clark said, “I started killing, really killing, because I was already dead and didn’t have anything to lose. They killed me the day they took my daughter’s life. But I was a killer before that. Only back then, before she died, they could justify it with patriotism. I’d say that’s the difference between me, Morgan, Paisley, and the others. We killed because something killed us first.” That gaze of his probes my face again. “I haven’t made up my mind about you yet.”

  I won’t drop my gaze away from his face. Clark’s dangerous. He sees too much. I know this. He breaks his look away from my face and leans his head against the wall. “Morgan and Paisley agreed to do whatever it takes to keep Baumer from eating their bodies if the other dies.”

  I wrap my arms around my bent legs and rest my cheek on one knee. “I’d get behind that.”

  Clark said, “Me too.”

  Time ticks by. Morgan stirs and sits up. Paisley eventually does too. We share a single bottle of water and eat as much as we can manage but two MREs turn out to be more than enough for the four of us.

  Paisley says, “I tell you dumplin’s what. I want to get into one of those rooms. Clark, you know escape and girly there knows computers. We should try for one.”

  I point out the obvious. “The cuffs might go off. The rooms aren’t marked as safe ground for us.”

  Paisley nods. “True. But I’m curious. Real curious. There’s somethin’ off about this place. It’s about a half-bubble off level, you could say. IF they open into somethin’ maybe it’s our best way outta here. If we can avoid running into Norton and get out, that’s a better plan.”

  “That’s true.” Morgan adds, “Even if it’s not a way out they could be store rooms, and we need water. It’s worth a shot, either way, and I think we should take it.”

  Clark looks down the hallway. His lips purse. “We’re just wandering in circles. Might as well do something to pass the time. The others are gone to ground. We need to hunt them, yes, but maybe having a door would be a big advantage in that hunt.”

  I say, “You mean it would make a great escape from them if we needed one.”

  Clark said, “Same thing. An advantage is an advantage.”

  “It’s all advantages until someone gets blown up,” I point up.

  Morgan stands and stretches. I stare at him, fascinated by the way his body flows and flexes. That attraction climbs up into my body, sending heat flushing and down my thighs. God I want to live. I do. Not just because of the things I have yet to do, but because I want to get to know Morgan better. To, maybe, make love with him. To find out if there was anything at all beyond that kiss he gave me.

  We gather our things and troop out of our small sanctuary. I don’t know what time it is, how long it’s been since the game started. There’s zero natural light and my body’s reacting to too many days of that and too little sleep as well.

  We make it to one of the hallways that don’t have any other halls cutting across them. It’s the safest place to start trying to open the door since it can be easily defended given that there’s only one opening into the hallway. Even if all three of them rush us we have the advantage of numbers, and a wall to put our backs against to fight them off. On the other hand they have the advantage of our being trapped in that corridor.

  Clark carefully tries a door. The keypad is unlit and the buttons covered by a thin veil of some kind of powdery dust. He wipes it off and says, “I don’t think this keypad’s even active.”

  I crowd in for a closer look. I trace the shape of the box with my fingers. “Maybe not. Give me one of the smaller knives please. One nobody’s using.”

  Paisley fumbles a knife out and hands it over. Morgan leans into me and says, “How can I help?”

  “When I lever this outer section up, hold it in place. I need to get a peek at what’s below.”

  “Got it.” His body, warm and firm, meets mine in a few places. Our hips touch. Our shoulders brush. He smells of sweat and blood but below that there’s a heady masculine scent that’s just his, and those things make my heartbeat quicken as I tilt the edge of the blade just a bit and get it between the front of the keypad and the base.

  I pause. It hits me. “Clark, did you notice how old these things are?”

  Clark rumbles out, “Yeah, that’s pure nineteen-eighty’ tech, or maybe early nineties.”

  The silvery blade stays right where it is. I consider that. Something niggles at the back of my brain but it won’t take shape. Morgan says, “If it’s that old maybe it hasn’t worked in years.”

  His body touches mine again and the parts of my skin not meeting his feel that absence. I want him all over me, on me and inside me. I want that so badly that it makes my fingers shake just a little. I take a steadying breath and pry the face of the keypad up. Morgan’s long and strong fingers are right there to lift and hold it while I peer in at the pile of circuits and wiring below. “Ugh. It’s a mess. Some of this wiring’s rotted clean away. There’s no way this works. We may not be able to get this door unsealed. Or any of them.”

  Morgan says, “I bet the ones closer to the cell room are modernized. They’d have to be. The guards had to sleep somewhere. And they have to have supplies. Also, you can’t tell me Norton lives here full-time. I don’t think they could play this game more than once a year or two without attracting notice, not given who they have as the players.”

  “You’re right.” I study the rotted and tangled wires again. “Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?”

  Morgan nods. Paisley and Clark scoot a little closer. I study the wires and the coils. Clark says, “Let me see.”

  I move back and he takes my place. He twists a few wires up and out of the box below the hovering keypad. “What do you think?”

  “It’s worth a try.”

  He and I set to work. Morgan’s body is closer than ever now, we’ve been forced into direct and immediate contact by Clark’s body. Paisley’s keeping an eye on the entrance and her toe taps against the floor every once in a while, setting my nerves on edge.

  The circuits give off a whine, a short little screech that rises to a low decibel then dies off. Morgan helps me to settle the keypad back into place. The face of it pulses off a pale green light and a reset button gleams.

  I settle my fingers on the buttons and then I type in four numbers. The keypad hums and groans. The buttons light, the keypad sits silent. Morgan asks, “Is it working?”

  “It’s ancient, as far as electronics go, so maybe. I don’t know. That might have been its last hurrah.”


  The whining sounds repeats. The keypad turns a funky shade of green again. Then something clicks and groans. A hollow bang sounds.

  The door we stand beside swings open with a screech of hinges and broken machinery.

  CHAPTER 14: MORGAN:

  It worked! We all stare at the door, hanging open at a drunken angle now. A dry, acrid scent drifts out and we exchange uneasy glances. Gina says, “I don’t like that smell.”

  Clark says, “It smells like a crypt.”

  Paisley scoots to just in front of the door. She says, “Can’t see a goddamn thing.”

  No, we can’t. But we can smell it. We all start to back away, looking at each other again. We’re distracted by the open door, by the smell, and so we don’t see Tayne until he’s already beside Paisley.

  He cries out, “You bitch!” The blade in his hand swings toward her neck. Paisley gets back just in time, but now Tayne’s inches away from Gina.

  I’m nothing but instinct and fury now. The blade in my hand slices upward, gouging a hunk of meat from his cheek, peeling it away in a long and curling strip. Blood shoots across the hallway in a skinny little rainbow-shaped spurt.

  Tayne howls and begins to whirl like a dervish. Shit. His screams will definitely let the others know where we are. I move, not even thinking. I grab Tayne from behind, locking my arms around his narrow body and spinning us both in a half-circle. I let him go, and momentum carries him forward and past the door.

  The low whump-whump sound starts. Tayne’s still howling and screaming. But now he’s forming words too. “There’s skeletons in here! There’s…”

  Clark grabs for the door, thinks better of it and lunges toward the entrance to the hallway. I grab Gina and we pelt toward it as well. Paisley’s right beside us, her feet keeping time with ours.

  I look over my shoulder and see Tayne. His back’s to the tunnel and his body’s framed by the doorway. Then that boom comes and it’s all flying blood and fire and bone back there.

  We’re running now, all four of us, not even bothering to try to slow down or be quiet. My heart’s hammering so hard I can feel it slapping against bone and flesh that covers it.