“Deadman’s switch.”
“That thing until your arm gives out. You better hope Arc finds you before that happens.”
“You know as well as I that my arm won’t last that long. You can see it’s already shaking from the effort. I haven’t eaten anything in three days.” He winces, as if to drive home the point.
I stare at his hand, at the white knuckles and the tendons standing out, almost mesmerized by the way it quivers. He won’t last five more minutes, and I know it. But he’s the one who pulled that switch, not me. I can leave with a clear conscience and he can die by his own hand.
“I’m leaving,” I tell him, one final time. I turn back toward the door.
He laughs drily. “What do you know about your father, Jessica?” he asks.
The question feels vaguely familiar, though at first I’m not sure why. Then I remember: Eric had asked me the same thing the night after we returned from Long Island, the night he was called down to deal with a sudden influx of IUs into lower Manhattan, zombies that I and my friends accidentally brought back with us from here when we escaped.
“He’s not dead, Jessica.”
“Half his head was splattered over the walls and floor of the house we used to live in. “So, yes, he is dead. Dead and buried.”
His hand jerks, trembling wildly now. Now I can see the strain on his face from holding it up.
I turn away. He’s not worth it.
“No!” he shouts, startling me. Behind me, I hear the heavy blade rattle in its track. The cable twangs.
I step to the door. Other than confirming something I already suspected, coming to talk to him was a mistake. I shouldn’t have wasted my time. I insert the cardkey, then place my hand on the handle and twist it. “You had your chance,” I say. I yank the door open.
Kelly stumbles in. He’s bleeding and his face is smudged.
He pushes me aside.
“No!”
I hear the cable twang again, then the SHING! of the blade as it falls.
PART THREE
Promises Kept
Chapter 22
Kelly flings his backpack at the guillotine, catching the descending blade just before it slides into the upper half of the lunette. But the blade slices through the fabric like butter. There’s a loud screech! a thunk! and it comes to a sudden, shuddering stop.
Kelly and I tumble to the floor, our feet entangled. We both stare at the horrific scene, the vibrating cable thrumming like a swarm of wasps. Neither of us moves.
After a moment, Stephen blinks open his eyes and lets out a shuddering exhale. He raises his empty hands. The guillotine lets out a loud groan and the cable makes the sound of a spring tensed beyond breaking. Neither of us dares to move—Kelly, out of fear that we’ll trigger the blade to fall the rest of the way and sever Stephen’s head from his body, and I out of fear that it won’t.
Slowly, carefully, Kelly stands up again. There’s a long scrape down his arm and his shirt is torn and filthy. It’s one of the I♥NY shirts from the gift shop upstairs. Right now I can’t say I share that sentiment. He cautiously approaches the table, then he grabs the blunt edge of the blade and puts all his weight into lifting it.
“Get him out,” he shouts at me, as he struggles to raise the blade. “Untie him and get him out. We need him!”
I push myself off of the floor. The door swings shut, but before it latches, Tanya and Ashley come running through it.
“What’s all the shouting about?”
I work on loosening the bindings around Stephen’s legs and yell at Ash to untie his arms. Tanya looks on in shock, unsure of what to make of the scene.
“We need to lift the blade,” Kelly says, grunting. He sees Tanya and frowns, then turns to me for an explanation.
“She can help,” I say, freeing one ankle and moving over to the other. “Just tell her what to do!”
“Pull that lever down,” he tells her, gesturing with his chin.
She hurries over and reaches for the handle. “Pull it down,” Kelly repeats. “Hard!”
She tries, but the lever slips from her grip and slaps back up against the frame of the guillotine. She yelps and jumps back.
I push her aside and yank the lever down. A ratcheting sound comes from inside the frame.
“Now push it back up again and then down. Do not let go!”
I do as Kelly says and the cable tenses. The second pull is considerably harder than the first. The blade begins to rise. It’s very heavy. I repeat the steps until the blade reaches the bottom edge of the top crossbar. I hear a click and it catches.
Kelly reaches over and unlocks the lunette and lifts the upper half. “Pull him out,” he yells.
By now, Ash has gotten Stephen completely unbound. He’s visibly shaking, but he manages to curl himself away from the head of the table. He rolls off to the side and crumples to the floor.
I turn to Kelly and scream, “What the hell are we saving him for?”
“We need him,” Kelly pants. He rests his hands on his knees, trembling. “We need him.” And he slips to the floor.
“Someone want to tell me what’s going on?” Ashley says. She gives the guillotine a wary look, but the blade is locked into place and the triggers haven’t been reset. It’s not moving.
“I’d like to know that, too, Kelly,” I say. “Just a few minutes ago, you were in Foxhurst. Now you’re here. And what the hell happened to you? You’re bleeding. You’re a mess!”
He brushes my hands away. “We didn’t make it. We didn’t even get halfway when Jake started getting sick again.”
“I told you,” Stephen says, coughing. He grabs the side of the table and tries to pull himself up. The table creaks under his weight and the blade rattles loosely in the upright. We all eye it uneasily. “I told you your feeble attempt wouldn’t work.”
“Kelly, what happened down there? I just talked to Reggie a couple minutes ago. He said it worked. We were just getting ready to leave to come back.”
Kelly’s head jerks up. “Did he tell you to shut off the servers?”
Ash nods. “They’re all down. I just finished when I heard the shouting in here.”
“Shit,” Kelly says. He stumbles to his feet and turns toward the door. “God damn it, I’m so god damn stupid! We need to leave. Now!”
I move to stop him, pressing my hands on the bare skin of his arms. I can feel blood and grit beneath my fingers. There are oily smudges on his clothes and face; he smells of grease. “Where are Jake and Reggie?”
“They’re coming.” He tries to get by me. “Open the door.”
“Kelly, stop! What happened?”
His eyes dart past me, then spin around the room. He sees the broken window, but realizes it’s no exit for him. The other door is locked and I have the only cardkey.
“Kelly?”
He blinks rapidly and finally focuses on my face, seeing me as if for the first time. “It didn’t work, Jessie. It’s not going to work. All we’ve done is alert Arc that we’re trying to leave. And now we have to. Now! We need to get as far away from here as we possibly can.”
“There’s nowhere to go,” Stephen says. He leans on the table, barely able to hold himself up. “They’ll find you.”
Kelly spins on him. “That’s enough bullshit out of you! You’re coming with us. You’re going to take us to wherever we have to go so we can leave.”
Stephen stares at Kelly for a moment before lowering his head. He shakes it laughing.
“I know they can track us,” Kelly says. “I know we can’t hide. Our only chance is to get to where we need to go before they catch us again.”
Stephen looks up again and their eyes connect. Something passes between them, some sort of message. “And where do you think that is, Mr. Corben?”
“I have my suspicions.”
Stephen holds his gaze a moment longer. Then he shrugs and says, “Okay. You win.”
I pull Kelly’s arm. “Please, tell me what’s going on. Why
won’t shutting the servers down work?”
“Because that doesn’t block the failsafe,” Kelly says. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”
For a moment I think he’s accusing me, but then I realize he’s looking over my shoulder. I turn my head.
Ashley shakes her head. “I wasn’t sure.”
“Ash?”
She looks like she’s about to cry. “I wasn’t sure!”
“Damn it, Ashley! Tell me now!”
“It was the root files. I searched every square bit on those machines. They’re not there because the programs don’t live on the servers. They live somewhere else. The servers are only a processing center for the Gameland data and a relay for the failsafe programs.”
Stephen nods at the table. “You’ve done nothing but shunt those streams to another server bank somewhere else on the island.”
“The program still runs,” I whisper, realization hitting me like a splash of cold water.
Ashley nods.
“Guys,” Kelly says, pulling me toward the door. “Arc is coming. We can’t wait any longer.” He reaches for his mangled backpack, still wedged in the guillotine. One of the zippers is caught inside the track. It’s all that stopped the blade from reaching the bottom and slicing through Stephen’s neck. He tugs it, but it won’t come free.
Stephen just stands there watching. I’m still not sure he’s even grateful for the reprieve. I can’t tell if what he tried to do was just a threat or if he really did expect to die.
“Leave it,” I tell Kelly.
Kelly reaches through the upright and tries to twist the pack out.
“I said leave it! We’ve got enough already.”
He curses and starts to pull his arm back out. The catch at the top of the upright gives a loud snap! I watch in horror as the blade twitches at the top, then releases.
Chapter 23
The heat and humidity hit us the moment Reggie bursts through the security door to the underground shuttle area and we step outside for the first time in a week. But it’s nothing compared with the direct sunlight and glare that pound us as we hurry across Central Terminal Drive. The coolness inside the grungy windows of a Marriott Hotel looks inviting, but we pass it by, watching our ghostly reflections in the dusty glass, and instead plunge into the shade of the adjacent parking garage. Only eight-thirty in the morning and already the temperature feels like it’s approaching ninety degrees.
“Going to be a hot one,” Reggie grumbles to himself. “Should’ve grabbed us some hats. And sunglasses.” His voice bounces off the walls of the garage. “And lighter clothes, and—”
“Shh,” Ashley tells him.
“We’ll stay under cover whenever we can,” Kelly whispers. “But we can’t sacrifice speed for comfort.”
We ogle the parked cars as we hurry past them. It surprises me how many there are. I know the evacuation thirteen years ago happened very quickly and with very little warning, but there are still hundreds of cars left here, mute reminders of the hundreds of thousands of lives that were uprooted or lost when the outbreak took hold of the island.
“Raccoons,” Micah says. It’s the first words he’s spoken since early this morning. Not once while we were hurriedly packing up and rushing through the terminal did he speak.
He walks over and wipes a finger across the windshield of a van, which is covered an inch-thick with brownish-gray dust. Everything is. The only other thing marring the dirt is animal tracks. “Bat guano.” He looks up into the darkness above his head. We all do, but if there are bats here, they’re hidden away in the darkest nooks.
“Come on,” Ash says, nervously pulling him away.
“Why don’t we just drive?” Tanya asks, as we hurry along. The idea makes me shudder. Not being able to see inside any of these cars is really freaking me out.
“Not an option,” Kelly explains.
“It’d be quicker than walking.”
Yes, it would, but even I know there are several problems with that idea. First, these are all old tech cars with old tech motors. Even if they still worked—and that’s a big if—and they still had fuel in their tanks—even more doubtful—none of us knows how to get one started. And we’d probably need two to fit all eight of us. But the biggest problem is—
“Too much noise,” Kelly replies. “Attracts the IUs.”
“Just saying,” Tanya mopes. “If I had to choose, I’d rather be in a car driving away from zombies than to be captured by Arc again. In Survivalist, they—”
“We’re not on Survivalist,” Kelly says, turning on her. “This is not The Game. The zombies that are out there? They have no implants. They only know one thing, and that’s to eat. Us. There are no Operators controlling them, no live people with consciences who can say, “Oh, look, those aren’t other zombies I’m sending my Player after. Those are living, breathing people, so I’d better pull back.”
Tanya’s lips disappear as she frowns. “You didn’t have to shout.”
“I wasn’t shouting. And I’m sorry. Besides, even if we could find one that still works,” Kelly says, sweeping his hand at the cars, “I’d still have to jumpstart it. That’d take too long.”
“Since when do you know how to jumpstart a car?” I ask.
He sighs and shakes his head at me.
“What? I didn’t know you knew how to do that. Why are you being so pissy to me for?”
He checks his Link, then shakes his head at Jake, who’s falling behind already, and urges him to hurry. “We need to put some distance between us and Arc.”
Tanya goes back to help Jake. He’s still not fully recovered from his second encounter with the EM
“What if Arc does have cars?” Ashley asks.
“We’ll just have to deal with that if they do,” Kelly answers. He sees the concern on Ashley’s face and adds, “I don’t think they do.”
But he doesn’t look all that convinced.
We walk through the garage as far as we can, stopping only when we reach the end of the structure.
To the left, the tarmac stretches out like a dingy, gray lake, nearly indistinguishable from the murky waters of what used to be Flushing Bay. From up here, we can see how much of the runways have been swallowed up by the encroaching seawater seeping in from underneath the wall. In the distance, the hulking form of a rusting and moss-covered commuter jet rises above the surface of the concrete swamp, its side caved in from the relentless battering of years of storm surge. Levees were built when the ocean levels started rising some thirty-odd years ago, but now they’re gone, washed away by the tides and tidal waves and the absence of people to maintain and fortify them, replaced by the fifty-foot wall that now surrounds the entire island.
But even the wall hasn’t kept the water out. It wasn’t built for that. It was built to keep the Undead in.
A jagged line of salt at the very edge of the pan, alternating crystalline layers of brown and green, is our only clue to where the dry land ends and the water begins.
To the right is a highway, now empty except for a few stranded vehicles, overgrown with ivy, crumbling into decay.
Reggie shoves Stephen out in front and into the bright sunlight. He stumbles, but catches himself. “Which way, asshole?”
Stephen turns and glares, but he finds himself staring down a fireplace poker Reggie picked up in a bar on the top floor of the terminal.
“And remember,” Reggie adds, “you survive only as long as we survive.”
“All right, take it easy,” Kelly says. He studies the horizon, his hand arched over his brow.
Ashley moves forward and places a hand on Reggie’s arm, calming him. Micah looks around in wonder, his face twisted in confusion. It’s becoming an almost permanent expression. I catch Stephen glancing smugly over at him, and suddenly I want to go over and smack him with Reggie’s poker.
“About time you caught up,” Ashley tells Tanya and Jake. Tanya’s got her hand on Jake’s arm and he’s leaning a little on her for suppor
t. I roll my eyes. If I didn’t know better, I’d say Jake was milking the attention.
“Remind me again why we’re dragging this piece of trash along for?” Reggie asks.
“Because he’s going to tell us where we need to go to debug our implants,” Kelly quietly answers. “Isn’t that right?”
Stephen shrugs.
“I’ll take that as a yes. So, can we just do this without bickering, okay? First things first: getting a little breathing room from Arc.”
Reggie frowns at Kelly’s unexpected—and totally uncharacteristic—power grab. It’s so like the old competitive Reggie that for a fleeting moment I almost laugh as images rise from sodden memory, the two of them trash-talk each other while playing Zpocalypto in the basement of Micah’s house. Kelly relying on logic and reason and objective ideas. Reggie simply bashing away with whatever he can come up with and trusting that as long as he can out-shout and out-last Kelly that he’s winning the argument-du-jour.
“Which way, Stephen?” Kelly asks. He looks at him like he expects the man to cooperate simply because he asked and didn’t have to resort to name-calling or slurs against his family.
To my surprise, Stephen raises his hands from his waist and points. “East.”
“That’s south, idiot,” Reggie spits. He points out over the water toward the sun. “That’s east.”
“East is where we need to be, Mr. Casey,” Stephen replies. It constantly surprises me that he knows all our names, but then I realize that he probably knows as much about us as we know about each other. “South is how we’re going to get you there.”
“Why east?” I ask. “What’s there?”
He doesn’t answer.
“Holding out on us isn’t helping.”
“Leverage.” He grins. “Don’t worry. I’ll get you there. What you do when we arrive is up to you.”
Reggie groans at the sky in frustration. “Why should we believe him? Mr. Asshole says we need to go east, so he points south. He says it’s because that’s where we’ll find the program, but then he clams up. Why are we even listening to this guy? I say if he wants us to go east—or south—then we should go in the complete opposite direction.”
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