Crouching, he hurries across the porch to the driveway side of the house. He sees Kaylee walking toward a barn door. The door opens and he squats near the porch steps, hoping to blend into the shadows. Dr. Jain appears, and she has a gun.
He hears her invite Kaylee inside. The combination of her measured voice and the pointed gun triggers something. Resentment. Hunger for revenge. Rage at himself. At Dr. Jain. At everyone involved with NEED. Everything that changed his life forever.
Out of the corner of his eye he sees something move near the far edge of the barn. Before he can yell a warning there’s a flash and a crack. He’s halfway down the steps when he sees Kaylee go down.
“Kaylee!”
Let her be okay. Let her be okay.
He sees Dr. Jain swing her gun, but he doesn’t stop running because the person who shot Kaylee is moving closer. He looks familiar, but it’s too dark to see him clearly. When the guy with the gun stops and aims again, Bryan doesn’t think. He doesn’t feel fear. He embraces the anger, puts his head down, and sprints toward him.
Ethan
ETHAN SMILES. Time to finish what he started and bump up his character’s kill ratio.
Ready. Set. Fire.
He pulls the trigger as something smacks into him. Hard. Pushing his arm upward.
What the hell?
The kick of the gun and the momentum of whoever just hit him send Ethan reeling backwards. He grabs a fistful of his attacker’s coat to keep his balance but goes down into the snow anyway, pulling the coat with him.
His arms are pinned to the ground, so he bucks at the weight on top of him. The snow is deep and cold, making it hard to move, and having someone on his chest makes it hard to breathe. Kaylee is screaming and crying from where he shot her. She’s supposed to be dead. This isn’t the way this is supposed to work, Ethan thinks. This is wrong. This never happens in the game. But he’s not going to stay on his back or go back a level. He’s not going to be taken down. Not now. He’s come too far.
The weight on his chest shifts and he takes advantage by shoving hard. His attacker rolls into the snow, and Ethan struggles to a sitting position. His gun. Where the hell is his gun? He pushes to his knees and scans the snow, one hand reaching toward his ankle for his backup piece. As good as the backup is, he wants his gun. It has to be here somewhere.
And when he hears a click, he knows exactly where it is. He holds his breath, slowly looks up, and almost laughs. Bryan VanMeter stands with his arms straight in front of him, gun pointed, looking as surprised to see Ethan as Ethan is to see him.
“Bryan?” He doesn’t have to fake his confusion. Bryan isn’t supposed to be here. Unless he has an assignment too. Well, only one of them can win. And when it comes to games, Ethan never loses.
“Ethan.”
Bryan’s arms release some of their tension. His finger doesn’t grip the trigger quite as tight. He’s soft. But Ethan isn’t. His fingers wrap firmly around the handle of his hunting knife.
“What are you doing here?” Bryan asks.
Ethan smiles as he slowly slides the knife from his leg holster. “Winning.”
He springs forward with the blade extended. His arm jolts as the knife slices through fabric and plunges into flesh and bone. Blood trickles onto his hand. Warm. Wet. He doesn’t care. The blood doesn’t matter. Neither does the fact that he’s known Bryan for years. The only thing that matters is that he’s won.
There’s a muffled pop and his knees buckle as something punches hot into his chest. Pain. Blinding pain. He can’t breathe. He can’t stand. He hits the snow face first and tries to lift his head, but there’s too much pain.
Help, he thinks as his chest explodes with heat and agony. He needs help. He needs . . .
Kaylee
“NO!” I SCREAM as I grab my upper arm and I lurch to my feet. It hurts. God, my arm hurts, but hearing the shots and watching Bryan crumple hurts worse. “Bryan!”
The world swoops and spins as I struggle to stay upright. I stagger across the snow to where Bryan lies so still. Bile burns hot up my throat as I see a thick black handle sticking out from his deep blue coat and the blood that is seeping from his wound onto the snow. Streaks of his life against a cold white blanket. It should be me. He was helping me.
“Hang on, Bryan,” I say, letting my legs collapse to the ground. “I’m going to call for help. You’re going to get help.”
“No, he’s not.” Dr. Jain wrenches the phone from my hand and shakes her head as she steps back, her gun aimed at me. “And before you try something heroic, I will tell you that a deep knife wound in that section of the abdomen tends to be fatal without immediate assistance. There’s nothing anyone can do.”
I want to believe she’s lying. Bryan is alive. I know he is, because I can see the way the air frosts when he lets out a breath. But there’s so much blood and he’s not moving. I put my right hand on his shoulder and say his name again so he knows I’m here. He deserves to have someone who cares near. For the last year, I thought I didn’t care about anything other than saving DJ’s life, but I do. God, I do.
I go still as I hear the whisper of my name.
“Bryan.” I swallow hard. “I’m here with you. Right here. I’m sorry.” I’m so, so sorry.
“No.” His eyes open. There is pain in them, but something else. Acceptance. For some reason that makes this worse. “Do me a favor?”
“Anything.” I lean closer, not caring about the pain that flares through me. His voice is so weak. So quiet. Oh God.
“Tell Amanda’s parents that I’m sorry.” He winces and closes his eyes. I can feel his struggle to breathe and I squeeze his shoulder, wishing I could do more. When he opens his eyes again they are filled with tears. “Tell them . . .” He stops and has to start again. “I loved her too.”
“I will,” I say as his breathing slows until I can’t see it anymore. I want him to breathe. Please breathe.
But he doesn’t. And when I skim my fingers over his face I know he’s gone. “I’ll tell them everything,” I promise.
The wind flutters the hair next to Bryan’s ear and I smooth it back, unable to say goodbye. Unable to walk away.
“Fascinating.” Dr. Jain’s voice cuts through the silence. “The most interesting thing about being a scientist is seeing how subjects deviate from projected behaviors. Bryan’s profile doesn’t skew toward heroic acts. That must have been your influence, Kaylee. You’re not always the most thoughtful, and you have a compulsion toward self-destructive behavior, but the thread that runs through it all is a desire to make things right. That compulsion for some reason makes you brave and unique. Bravery among your peers is not as common as you might think. Truly, I find it so intriguing that people raised in the same community can be compelled by such different things. Look at you three. Bryan’s concern about his physical appearance and desperate wish for acceptance. Your compulsion to fix what is broken. Even Ethan’s actions, which most people would term sociopathic, can be tracked down to his desire to feel special, and to be in control.”
Ethan?
I wipe my cheek on my uninjured shoulder and then turn to look at the body lying face-down in the snow. He’s wearing a black coat and a yellow and green hat. Suddenly I get it. Ethan is the one who dug the grave in my yard. Ethan Paschal. That doesn’t make sense. He’s not one of the kids who loves hunting or eggs houses for fun. And yet he tried to kill me. He killed Bryan. And now he’s dead too.
Because of her. As I turn toward Dr. Jain, I see the gun in the snow next to Bryan. If I can only . . .
“Don’t make me shoot you, Kaylee.” She smiles. “Leave the gun where it is and stand up. Now.”
She steps forward and grabs my injured arm. The world swims around me and my stomach heaves as she pulls me to my feet. She must realize I’m going to throw up, because she turns me away from her as my stomach empties again and again.
Once the worst seems to pass, she says, “Walk.” And I do.
I don’t lo
ok back. There’s no point. I can’t help them. I only hope I can find a way to help Nate and my family and anyone else who has been a part of NEED.
“Where are my mother and brother?” I ask as we reach the door to the barn. “You said they were coming to meet you.”
Dr. Jain shrugs. “I lied. Although if you called your mother, as I suspect you did, she and your brother are probably headed back this way now. For someone who rarely trusts, Kaylee, I’m surprised you assumed I was telling the truth. Then again, maybe you did think I was lying and it didn’t matter, since you still had to come for your friend.” She motions for me to go inside the barn, then follows and closes the door behind her.
I blink at the brightness, and look around for something that can help me escape Dr. Jain and her gun. The inside of the barn is nothing like the ones I’ve seen. No animals. No hay or farm equipment. The floor is cement. The walls are stained wood. Lining two walls are shelves filled with boxes of all sizes, along with colorful stone vases and other carvings. In the center is a large glass table equipped with enough desktop computers and printers and other machines to fill the lab at school. It’s the other two walls that grab my attention. On them are whiteboards filled with numbers and names. The name at the top is Amanda Highland. It’s followed by others:
VICKI BOCKNICK
LOUIS VAZQUEZ
MICHAEL DILLMAN
SAMEENA JAHN
GRADY OSTERMAN
AARON ZACHOWSKI
GINA FERGUSON
Dead. They must all be dead. Vicki, with her annoying laugh. Michael, who always wore brightly colored gym shoes. Aaron, the captain of the football team. Gina, with her mean smile and even meaner spirit. All dead. And the list isn’t complete. Two more, lying in the snow outside, have yet to be added. I’m sure I’m going to be ill again when I realize Nate’s name isn’t there. I just hope he’s not attached to machines that are the only thing keeping him off this list.
“Is your curiosity satisfied? I suppose you deserve some answers after everything. Take a seat.” Dr. Jain points to a black leather computer chair near the whiteboard with the list of names. “Now, if you’d please snap those cuffs around your right wrist, I’ll take care of the left one and do what I can to make that wound a little more comfortable. You’re lucky. Ethan was a terrible shot in real life. He should have stuck to video games.”
I look at the gun and at the chair, trying to ignore the pain in my shoulder and the way my body trembles. If I sit, I’m giving her permission to kill me. I don’t want to die. My shoulders droop as I turn toward the chair. I let out a sigh in hopes Dr. Jain will think I’ve admitted defeat. I don’t have to work too hard to stumble so it looks like I’m grabbing the chair arms for support. Pain shoots through me as I tighten my grip, pivot, and hurl the chair toward her. The gun goes off and I scream as fire sears through my injured arm. When I stumble this time there’s no chair to catch my fall, and I slam against the concrete floor.
“I asked you to take a seat. And rest assured I am a much better shot than Ethan. If I had wanted to kill you, I would have.”
The cement is cold against my cheek. I try to focus on that and Dr. Jain saying she chose not to kill me instead of the fire burning through my body. Everything hurts, but I won’t give in to the pain. I want to, but I can’t.
“Now, let’s try this again.” Dr. Jain stands the chair upright, places it back where it stood before, and comes to squat next to me. The gun is pointed directly at my head. “Can you stand on your own or do you need help? One way or another, you’re going to get in this chair. The only thing you control is how many more holes I have to put in you before that happens.”
“I don’t need your help,” I say, and grit my teeth as I struggle to my knees, then to my feet. “I never needed your help.” Blood drips down my arm from the two gunshot wounds and I sway back and forth. I take a step forward, determined not to show how weak and nauseated I feel as I drop into the chair.
“You’re right. You didn’t.” She smiles at me as she clicks a cheap metal handcuff that looks like a toy around my right wrist and around the arm of the chair. I decide I’m offended that she didn’t bother to spring for stronger handcuffs. It’s easier to focus on that than everything else—the way she restrains my other arm, how I’m starting to shiver, the sweat pouring down my back, the death of a friend who has been left outside in the snow, another who is missing, and whatever is going to happen next.
With a nod, Dr. Jain puts down her gun and takes out her phone, taps the screen several times, then walks to a cabinet on the other side of the room. “In case you were wondering, I meant it when I said I don’t plan on killing you.”
Hope flares and then just as quickly fades. “I know you can’t keep me alive. Not without jeopardizing your project.”
“You’re smart, Kaylee.” She turns, holding a syringe, gauze, and other medical supplies. “Despite what some of your teachers think, I’ve always known you’re smarter than you demonstrate in class. You’ve just put your attention in the wrong places. But you’re correct. A decade of work has gone into this project and there’s too much at stake. It has to be protected. So, yes. While I won’t one be the one to end your life, but I know who will.”
Sydney
DEAR NEED ASSOCIATE,
A SPECIAL ASSIGNMENT HAS ARISEN AND NETWORK MEMBER D385 IS NO LONGER AVAILABLE TO TARGET PROBLEM AREAS WITHIN THE SYSTEM. WHEN YOU DELIVER THE SUBJECT, YOU WILL FIND ANOTHER NETWORK MEMBER, KAYLEE DUNHAM, ONSITE. RETURN HER TO HER HOME, WHERE ANOTHER MEMBER WILL BE ASKED TO PERMANENTLY REMOVE HER FROM THE NETWORK—UNLESS YOU WISH TO ELIMINATE HER FIRST. IF SO, COMPENSATION WILL BE DOUBLED TO REFLECT THIS ADDITIONAL ACTION. THANK YOU FOR YOUR ASSISTANCE IN THIS PROJECT.
THE NEED TEAM
Sydney reads the email on his phone and shakes his head. Email with this kind of information is sloppy. It can be traced. Sending messages through the website is a better policy. The whole thing is more contained and easier to control. Network messages can still be printed out, but paper can’t be tracked back to the origin. This type of email can only lead to trouble.
From where he’s parked down the street, Sydney eyes the house and barn. Unlike the person who sent him the email, he knows it pays to think through all potential problems before picking a course of action. Which is why he prepared for every contingency.
Leaning across the seat, he pulls the handgun out from under the passenger seat. Sydney prefers the shotgun for hunting, but his grandfather made sure he knew how to use both with equal accuracy. He always told Sydney that a person had to pick the right tool for the job. Grandpa might not approve of the job, but he’d approve of the weapon. He should. It was his.
Sydney checks to make sure the gun is loaded. He knows it is, but he checks anyway. He’s just stalling and really, why? He’s made his decision and has taken the first step. Unless he wants to bow out, he has to follow through.
He looks back at Nate. Sleeping peacefully, but he should be waking up at some point soon with a hell of a hangover from the drugs. Well, it could be worse. And really, Sydney thinks as he opens the car door, it probably will be.
Kaylee
“HERE . . .” She unzips my coat and frowns. “I’ve never treated a patient who’s tied up in a winter coat before. This is going to be tricky. I don’t want to cause you more pain than you’re already in.”
“Why does it matter? Since you’ve admitted you’re going to kill me anyway.” I resist the urge to kick her. I hope I get to later.
“Just because something has to be done doesn’t mean it has to cause suffering,” she says, stepping back. “As a rule, I dislike pain. I think I’m going to have to cut the sleeve of your coat.” She takes a pair of scissors from the supplies she placed on a nearby table and begins to work. When she’s done, she rolls up the sleeve of my sweatshirt and pulls out a syringe. “It’s pain medication. I told you I won’t be the one to facilitate your elimination. Not unless there’s no other option. I’d rather n
ot contaminate the project data if I don’t have to. Now hold still.”
I do, because I want the pain to end. Then maybe I’ll be able to think clearly enough to find a way out of here.
Dr. Jain is efficient. In less than a minute, she has cleaned, poked, and put a bandage on the injection site. Compared to the pain in my shoulder when she cuts the fabric around the wound and bandages it, the jab with the needle is nothing.
As she puts the supplies back in the cabinet, I finally can’t help but ask, “Where’s Nate? What have you done with him?”
Dr. Jain stares at me, then shakes her head. “He doesn’t deserve your concern or your loyalty. We often trust those who don’t. It’s human nature, really, to trust those we love. Your father trusted your mother. I trusted my husband. Then I realized my trust was unfounded. Your father took longer to see the truth, probably because your mother was better at concealing her emotions. Betrayals are hard, but I had it easier in many ways than he did.”
“I thought we were talking about Nate.”
“We are. And we’re not.” Her smile is humorless. “You’re angry at your father for abandoning you, but you’re more like him than you might imagine. As soon as your brother’s illness progressed to the point where doctors felt a kidney donation would be needed, your father got tested. Like you, learning that he couldn’t be a donor for your brother was difficult. But his test results showed something he didn’t believe, so he had them run the test again and finally understood that he isn’t DJ’s biological father. The confirmation of that betrayal by your mother shattered everything. In many ways you could say that this all is her fault.”
“What? No. I don’t understand. What are you saying? My mother loves my father.” She flipped out when he left and has only spoken about him when I push her. He’s the one who shattered her. She loves him. Right?
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