Countdown

CHAPTER TWELVE

Another blindfold. More darkness.

You'd think I'd be used to it by now, but unfortunately phobias don't work that way. You don't simply get used to what you fear. It gets worse and worse and harder to deal with every single time. Even if you tell yourself it's irrational to be afraid.

The darkness made me hear my sister's cries and my mother's screams again, replaying like a horrific song, over and over and over.

But suddenly something made the darkness even harder to deal with.

My implant began to beep, and a sweep of pain brushed through my brain.

The rules replayed in my mind: To separate more than ninety feet from your partner will lead to immediate disqualification.

Where was Rogan?

"Rogan? Where are you?" I said aloud. There was a man at my back who had my arms pinned behind me as he pushed me ahead of him. He was big and strong, and I'd given up fighting against him several minutes ago when they led me out of the building I'd been in and into a car. I couldn't see anything, but we drove for about ten minutes before stopping again. I didn't know where I was, but I knew it had stopped raining. The wind was cool on my face.

I felt something else move past my face with a metallic whirring sound. A camera.

And so it begins again, I thought.

I felt a deep weariness then. Was Gareth right? Was I doomed to die in this game? Was my only chance to try to kill Rogan?

He'd offered me everything or nothing at all. A privileged life or certain death. That was my choice to make.

Knowing what I did now about him, it would be like selling my soul to the devil.

I was still hoping beyond hope for a third option to present itself.

Soon would be good.

I heard something heavy and metallic clang against the ground close by, then felt a shove at my back and I staggered forward, going over on my ankle as I tripped on something. My right ankle twisted and pain shot up my leg as I fell, hitting the ground hard. Instead of shouting out in pain, I yelled with anger, almost a war cry, and I forced myself to get back up on my feet.

The beeping from my implant was disorienting me, and I had to take a moment to steady myself, hands out at my sides.

I kept my weight on my left leg now and braced myself lor the next horrible thing to happen, but nothing did. It was silent then. Too silent.

"Rogan?" I said aloud. "Where are you?"

I felt for the back of the blindfold, hurriedly untied it, and let it fall to the ground. I blinked around. It was dark outside. Night. I could see a dim glimmer of the moon hidden behind the clouds and layers of pollution. Only one star could be seen, and not very well at all. The North Star.

I wished on it.

Please help me. Give me strength.

Perhaps not so much a wish as a prayer.

I looked down at what I'd tripped over. A long, thin piece of metal with a hook on the end of it. A crowbar.

Terrific. Just what I needed. So much for praying.

"Welcome to Level Five! Rogan and Kira are all rested up after their sexcapades, and raring to go on to the next level. The question is this… will Kira find Rogan before time runs out? Or will she go in the wrong direction and find nothing but death by straying outside of her ninety-foot boundary? The ties that Rogan and Kira have developed in their strange relationship-the murderer and the thief-are now more tangible as the farther apart they go, the closer to death they are. Kira has five minutes to locate her partner. The first part of Level Five commences now. Enjoy! "

The first part? I thought, my heart sinking. That wasn't fair. Now they were doing sublevels?

Cheating. Totally cheating.

Yeah, like Gareth cared about fairness. He didn't even care about the game, after all, did he? All he wanted was the subscribers using their implants as much as possible so he could feed off their brain waves.

The thought made me sick.

The sharp pain in my ankle helped me to focus.

I scanned the empty street. The darkness was oppressive, but at least I could see. The streetlights hadn't been properly maintained, and every third or fourth one along the street was dark, either broken or simply burned out.

"Four minutes remain in this level of The Countdown," the announcer said merrily.

"Is this fun for you?" I asked aloud, speaking directly to that bodiless voice that tormented me with its inane cheerfulness. "Do you enjoy your job?"

There was no reply.

Big surprise.

"Rogan!" I yelled as loud as I could, and began to limp along the street. After a few feet the beeping in my head got louder, the pain so acute that I couldn't think straight, so I stopped and changed my direction.

It was like that old children's game my sister and I played once upon a time, where we'd hide something and the other would try to find it. Warmer, warmer… colder… very cold. The warmer you were the closer you were.

Okay. Well, in this version of the game, warmer meant no beeping and I was close to Rogan; colder meant that my implant beeped and hurt; very cold meant that it was moments away from exploding.

Not as much fun as the game was in the good old days.

I tried not to think about how many ways Rogan could be hurt or injured or worse that would make him unable to respond to me. If what I'd been told about the implants was true-the ninety-foot rule-then he couldn't be very far away.

But where the hell was he?

I remembered his hands on my body. Warm hands, so gentle yet so passionate. Dammit. That shouldn't have happened. Even though it had felt so right, so perfect being in his arms, it just complicated things. This situation was complicated enough without bringing sex into it.

All contrived, too. Everything about this game was a setup-especially the reward level. I mean, I didn't know how I hadn't seen it. Food, wine, all spread out in a beautiful room with a big bed? And the huge bath just waiting for me to slide into it to relax. Put me in the mood. The whole thing had we want you to have sex with Rogan so the subscribers can watch written all over it.

And, stupidly, I'd done just what they wanted me to.

I wished I felt worse about it, but I didn't. Just the thought of him touching me, kissing me … it had been worth it. And the look on his face when he realized how much I wanted him? Just a little bit of pain and sadness had left his eyes.

My heart twisted. "Rogan! Dammit, where the hell are you?"

I'm not falling in love with him, I thought.

I'd steeled myself against that useless emotion years ago. Too dangerous. My heart was still mending from losing my family. I couldn't lose anyone else I cared about. So I wouldn't care about anyone else. It was as simple as that.

So simple.

"Three minutes remain in this level of The Countdown."

Dammit, where was he?

I slowed down and stood in the middle of the street.

Think, Kira, I told myself sternly. You've made it through four levels of this stupid game. Think.

I ran as quickly as I could, my ankle shooting with pain as I went, and pounded on every door I could. All locked. I called Rogan's name out again and again.

Nothing.

I turned around and around but there was no clue. No cars. No trees. No high wires. No platforms. All the doors were locked. I couldn't see any sign of him.

And yet my implant had stopped beeping.

That meant he was close.

My ankle throbbed. Did that guy mean to shove me so I'd twist it? The bastard. I glanced down at it, thinking I might be able to see the swelling through my new black lace-up combat boots, when I saw something a few feet away on the ground.

A sewer grate.

"Two minutes remain in this level of The Countdown."

I hobbled over to it and crouched down, pressing my fingers against the edges of it. It was awkward and heavy. There was no way I'd be able to lift it.

"Rogan," I called, trying to peer through the narrow openings. "Are you in there?"

There was no answer, but I knew he was. I just knew it. I'd never been more positive about anything in my life. If I had money, I'd bet it all.

But it was hopeless. How was I supposed to remove the cover to check?

Then I gasped.

The game had rules, after all. Structure. It wasn't a free-for-all chaos session. Gareth was controlled by a computer now-one that believed in science and logic. Science had rules.

In the beginning, we'd been given the keys to our locks; we simply needed to figure out how to use them properly. The Dumpster had the bell to ring that opened the door into Jonathan's office. The man we were supposed to kill in Level Three wasn't an innocent; he was a robot.

The game gave us the tools and clues to help us get through the level. We just needed to figure out when and where to use them.

I hobbled back to where I'd tripped and grabbed the crowbar, and then hurried over to the sewer grate.

"Forty-five … forty-four… forty-three … forty-two.. "

It took me only a few seconds to pry up the cover. After it was partially removed, I could get my fingers under it and move it to the side. It made a heavy, scraping sound against the cold, hard pavement.

I peered down into the darkness and it gave me chills.

"Rogan?" I asked, but was still met with silence.

I felt a wave of fear come over me. Would I have to crawl down into the darkness? What if I was wrong? What if I was wasting time I didn't have right now?

I forced myself to reach down inside and felt about for something to hold on to. It was warm and moist in there. My hand brushed the underside of the opening, and it felt slimy.

"Twelve … eleven … ten …"

Oh, God. There was no time. I had to hurry….

I plunged my hand farther into the darkness and touched the metal bars of the ladder.

"Rogan…" A tear slipped down my cheek. "I'm sorry … I'm sorry I'm too slow…."

Suddenly something grabbed hold of my wrist and I screamed. It was something firm and like an iron vise. It squeezed tightly. I tried to pull away but couldn't.

"Five.. four… three… two…"

Rogan's face appeared through the darkness. He held my wrist tightly in his hand as he climbed up the ladder and flung himself onto the pavement.

"Congratulations, Rogan and Kira, for completing Part A of Level Five successfully."

I collapsed to the ground next to him and started beating on his chest with my fists.

"You asshole!" I yelled. "Why didn't you say anything? Why didn't you tell me it was you down there? Goddammit, Rogan!"

He stilled my hands and pulled me into a rough hug until I finally relaxed against him.

"I'm sorry," he murmured into my hair. "When you were meeting with Gareth they had me in another room. They told me that if I said a word to help you locate me they would kill you on the spot. I wasn't willing to take that chance. It nearly destroyed me trying to remain silent waiting down here. I couldn't reveal where I was until you touched the ladder." He pushed me back from him so he could look into my eyes. He brushed the hair off my face. "Are you all right? Did Gareth hurt you?"

I shook my head, then touched his cheek. "Did they do that to you?"

His face bore a red mark that ringed his left eye. Before too long it would darken to a bruise. His bottom lip was cut and slightly swollen.

He grinned, but then grimaced from the pain it caused. "Let's just say that when they make a point they try to make it a memorable one."

I cupped his face in my hands and kissed his forehead gently, then lightly kissed his lips until he responded, parting them. After another moment I pulled back a couple of inches. "On the bright side, you weren't down there long enough to smell like a sewer."

"Good. I'd rather not be subjected to another hosing down in the near future."

He kissed me again, quickly, and then got back to his feet, holding out a hand to help me up. I took it.

He frowned as he watched me limp a few feet away. "What happened?"

I shrugged. "Went over on my ankle. I'll be fine."

"They did that, didn't they?"

"Maybe I'm just clumsy." I scanned the street. It was still vacant, still very dark. The shadows and light from the street lamps slid across the road like ghosts. "Rogan, I need to talk to you about Gareth-"

I heard a sound then. A hard, metallic sound like the crowbar hitting the pavement earlier. I turned in the direction of the sound and looked down the street. In the distance I could see the shapes of two figures standing a block away. I couldn't see much except for the fact that they were large and male. The metal sound was indeed another crowbar that one of the men tapped against the ground. They stared at us, but didn't say anything.

I got the strange feeling that I shouldn't wave my hand and try to be friendly.

"Who are they?" I whispered.

He shook his head, not taking his attention from the silent figures. "Not sure."

I felt a line of perspiration drip down my spine, and my heart pounded hard against my chest.

"Welcome back to The Countdown," the announcer piped up finally, and I jumped at the sound of his voice cutting through the inky silence. "Rogan and Kira continue to make a terrific team as they work their way through every level with ease.

"We've met Kira already. Now let's give you some insight into the mind of convicted rapist/murderer Rogan Ellis.

"Born into a life of privilege and leisure, Rogan grew up attending only the best private schools in the country. His father, Bertrand Ellis, the CEO of Ellis Enterprises, built his company to be a forerunner of all things technical, including the creation of the Ellipsis computer that, just before the plague, had taken over sales of both Microsoft and Apple. His two sons, Gareth, now thirty-two, and Rogan, twenty-nine, were the pride and joy of a loveless marriage to socialite Lissa Bartholomew Ellis.

"But before too long it was evident that the eldest son was the favorite and was being groomed to take over the family business. Rogan, still a teenager at the time, didn't seem to care. His interests lay in areas of a more base nature. He spent several years in San Carolinas, an exclusive mental hospital for the very rich, for schizophrenia and drug abuse, and his family feared he would never recover enough to properly function in society."

"Lies," Rogan hissed between clenched teeth.

I squeezed his arm.

"The day he was released, his parents picked him up from the hospital to bring him back to the Ellis mansion. Rogan was reportedly irate and acting erratically, and tried to take control of the car, which spun out of control and careened off the side of a cliff. His parents were killed instantly. Rogan's back was broken in three places, and he came very close to being a paraplegic from the accident."

My throat constricted, and I looked at him.

He blinked hard. "That's how they died. But it was a slippery road. They picked me up from private school that day." His eyes glimmered under the street lamp. "My father said the whole time that he should have just sent a driver, but my mother insisted they come and get me together." His Adam's apple jumped as he swallowed hard. 'Took me a year in the hospital to fully recover from that accident."

"After their deaths, Rogan became more despondent, and despite continuous help offered from his elder brother, he began a life that sank deeper into drugs and violence. Gareth Ellis is quoted as saying, 'Had I known what my brother would be capable of, I would have had him locked up in San Carolinas and the key thrown away before he could harm anyone else.'

"He refers, of course, to the night of terror when Rogan, high on Kerometh, broke into the city university dormitory and systematically went door to door in his path of heinous violence. A nineteen-year-old woman who escaped that night said she returned the next day to 'walls coated in blood,' the word bitch scrawled over the dorm room wall of every girl Rogan murdered that night, three of whom he also raped in his drug-clouded, misogynistic rampage. This was the same night four years ago when there was a city wide blackout that lasted three full days, and Rogan used that darkness to his advantage.

"He returned home that night drenched in the blood of his victims. His brother recalls Rogan laughing at what he'd just done. Sickened, Gareth knew there was no helping Rogan. He called the police and turned his brother in. In the ensuing years, Gareth has contributed over fifty million dollars to a fund in the murdered girls' names for the prevention of violent crimes against women, both here and Off world.

"After a quick and sensational trial, Rogan was sentenced and sent to Saradone Maximum-Security Prison. Eight months ago Rogan participated in an unwarrantedkilling spree that left two inmates dead and two injured. Rogan was sent to solitary confinement, where he has remained until being released to take part in The Countdown. "

Rogan shuddered. I wished I could block out the sound of the announcer's voice, shield Rogan from having to hear these horrible things being said about him, but the feed was directly through my implant and into my head, so there was nothing I could do but listen.

The other men continued to stand in place in the distance, one tapping the crowbar against the ground.

"Rogan has been unaware until now that two other Saradone inmates were also given the chance to be contestants on The Countdown, in a game that has run tandem to their own, and have also successfully completed four levels in this competition."

"No," he murmured. "Not possible."

"Mac Zebowitz and Kurtis Grimm were both convicted of first degree murder, as well as a laundry list of other crimes, including mob enforcement and Kerometh trafficking. They were the two men injured during Rogan's prison rampage, and it was their cellmates whom he murdered. They have sworn revenge against Rogan, and today they will have their chance.

"Level Five is an official death match. Only one pair shall go on to Level Six, the final level. Competitors, your countdown begins at twenty minutes. Kill or be killed. And to our subscribers … enjoy!"

At last it was silent except for the sound of my heart thudding loudly in my ears and the crowbar hitting the ground in the distance.

"Those men," I managed. "They're the ones who gave you that scar?"

He nodded. "I fought for my life against them and almost lost. I was damned lucky. I never thought I'd see them again."

I stared at the dark silhouettes. "So what do we do now?"

"I'm thinking."

"Think fast."

"Rogan!" one called out from a block away. "You're ours now. And you know what? Twenty minutes is a long time. We can play with you and your girlfriend lots before we cut your throats to win this level."

I didn't want to know the details of what he planned to do that would fill that time. I was willing to bet that it wasn't reminiscing about the good old days over a beer and a plate of nachos.

"How's that plan coming along?" I asked.

"Slower than I'd like." His voice shook. "Sorry, I… I'm not sure what to do."

I moved closer to him so I could feel the warmth of his body. I touched his face. "We're going to be okay, Rogan. We're going to make it."

He shook his head. "I don't know. I… I don't know if I can kill again."

I swallowed. "What are they waiting for?"

The crowbar tapped a steady tattoo on the street ahead, every five seconds without fail.

His hand closed around mine and squeezed tightly. "I won't let them hurt you, Kira."

I didn't hear the tap anymore. I watched the shadowy figures warily.

Suddenly, with a yell, both of the murderers started running toward us as fast as they could.

"Shit," Rogan breathed, and grabbed hold of my arm, spinning around. "Come on, we have to run. We have to run now!"

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

We ran past the shifted sewer grate cover and I snatched the crowbar off the ground. Rogan started toward a door to one of the surrounding buildings.

"They're all locked," I told him. My ankle cried in pain with every step. My hand was sweating, but Rogan clutched it tightly in his as if he didn't want to let go of me.

"I'm sorry for all of this, Kira," he said.

"I don't blame you."

"Yeah, well, you should. If I hadn't created the game in the first place-"

"Then I never would have met you."

He looked at me sideways and his lips actually quirked. "And that's a good thing?"

"Ask me again when we're finished running for our lives."

Because of my twisted ankle I wasn't running as fast as I could, and the men were gaining on us. Fast. I could hear them shouting from behind us, their heavy boots slapping against the road as they ran.

Rogan glanced over his shoulder at them. "I'll try to hold them off. You just hide."

"Bad plan."

"Why's that?"

'The ninety-foot rule? You go too far away and our heads will explode, remember?"

"Dammit."

"And besides, I'd rather not stand by and watch them beat the shit out of you."

He raised an eyebrow at me. "You assume they'd have the upper hand? I did kick their asses in prison."

"That was then and this is now. Besides, wouldn't want to tear your new outfit."

"Give me the crowbar," he said.

I decided not to argue, and handed it to him just as my already injured foot hit a piece of gravel. I stumbled, and Rogan caught me before I hit the ground. We didn't stop moving, but we slowed considerably as we turned the next corner. Another dark street with no cars. All concrete and cold stone and brick.

There was the shadow of something in the middle of the road ahead, though. Something much larger than a piece of gravel.

I picked it up, feeling the cold black metal in my hand.

A gun.

The show provided what we needed to finish a level. Just like the crowbar earlier. I stifled a feeling of gratitude toward whomever had left it there for us to find.

So, as I clutched the gun with both hands, Rogan at my back holding the crowbar, the men were on us. I saw their shadowy faces, the hiss of breath hitting the cold night air. They were also wearing the new black Countdown uniform. It looked much better on Rogan's tall, muscular frame than on their thick, oxlike bodies. They were grinning.

"That didn't take long at all," one of them said. He had a shaved head and thick eyebrows that met between his eyes. "Damn, Rogan, she's even prettier up close. Almost prettier than you are."

I noticed that one held the crowbar while the other had a short-bladed knife. They walked in a slow circle around us, six feet away. Rogan and I were back-to-back as we turned, keeping an eye on the two murderers.

"Mac, I don't think he has anything to say to us," the other guy, Kurtis, said. His dark, stringy hair was long, practically to his ass, and only emphasized his receding hairline. He smiled, showing off a mouth that was missing a few teeth. "Is that right, Rogan? You got nothing to say?"

"Nothing immediately comes to mind," Rogan growled.

"Did you miss us?"

"No."

"We missed you the last eight months you were in solitary. We had big plans for when you got out."

"Yeah, I bet you did."

"Okay," I said out loud, trying to keep my teeth from chattering. My arms already ached from trying to hold the heavy gun steady. "Look, guys. We're all in this together. We don't have to fight one another. Maybe we can get out of this if we work together."

Mac laughed hard at that. So hard that he had to stop walking and put his hands on his knees to support himself. "That's priceless. Where did they find this bitch? I thought Sesame Street went off the air decades ago."

My jaw clenched. Okay, so much for trying to make friends with the enemy.

Kurtis eyed me slowly, from the toes of my combat boots, up my thigh-high black stockings, to the bare skin the ridiculous skirt showed off. It barely covered the thong underneath. He licked his lips.

"Long time since I had me a woman," he murmured. "I miss how they screamed for mercy while I fucked them."

Mac laughed. "How about I let you have her first? We got time."

"Lay one finger on her and you'll be spending the rest of the level searching the city for your severed cock." Rogan's voice held no humor.

"Don't be jealous, Rogan. We'll get to you, too."

To say this was a bad situation would be an understatement. The food I'd eaten in the reward room churned unpleasantly in the pit of my stomach.

"I don't mean to interrupt," I said. "But I do have a gun. See?" I waved it. "Why don't I shoot the both of you and we end this level right now?"

Kurtis was staring at me and absently rubbing the crotch of his pants. "Kira, right? Yeah, during a rest period the show let us tune in to you and Rogan getting to know each other a bit better earlier. You give great head, honey. Made me hard as a rock just watching."

I felt bile rise in the back of my throat at the thought of him watching us.

Mac's grin widened. "And your skin's so perfect. I can just imagine this knife sliding over your neck while I take you from behind."

"Shut up." Rogan's voice quaked. "Leave her alone."

The men's taunts were making my hands shake even more than they already were, but I tried to focus. I raised the gun a little and pulled the trigger. The bullet hit the wall just over Mac's right shoulder. His eyes widened and he took a step backward.

"Didn't think I'd do it?" I snapped at him. "I'll do it. I'll shoot the both of you. I'm thinking it's no big loss for humanity."

"There are fifteen minutes remaining for this level of The Countdown."

"She's got some spirit to her," Kurtis commented. "That why you like her, Rogan? Does she remind you of the women you killed?"

'That was a lie," I said. "He's innocent."

"Is that why you spread your legs for him? Did he convince you he was wrongfully convicted?" Kurtis snorted. "Yeah, we're all innocent here, aren't we? That's why we're playing this game."

"Go to hell," Rogan growled.

"We're glad to be here," he said. "And we love to watch you, Kira. We were watching when Jonathan told you that Rogan killed your family."

I went cold inside. Of course there were cameras in the room with us then. There was no privacy in this game. Everything was fair game as entertainment for the subscribers. After all, if they tuned out, Gareth wouldn't be able to get his juice, would he?

Dammit. I needed to tell Rogan about that. He had to know his brother was trapped somewhere inside that thing and wasn't responsible for betraying him four years ago.

Kurtis lightly rubbed his blade along his chest, as if the act gave him pleasure. "See, the funny thing is that your convo with Jonathan made me remember something."

I looked at him. "Oh, yeah? And what's that?"

He had a grin on his ugly face. "Just before I went to prison seven years ago I'd been hired to kill a little girl with psi abilities."

My stomach turned at his words, but I kept my face blank. "Fascinating."

He laughed. "My employers hated psi freaks. So do I. They're a dark stain on humanity-a product of the plague. They singled out those they thought were of special interest and hired guys like me to take care of the problem." His expression darkened. "Your daddy put up a good fight trying to protect you. He knew it was only a matter of time before somebody came to get you-he knew what you were. He had tickets for your whole happy little family to go to Offworld later that week. Did you know that? He managed to take a hunk out of my leg with a big butcher knife. I wasn't going to kill him or your mother and sister, but I shot them all. Unfortunately your mama was still slightly alive after I'd finished with her, and she managed to call the police before she finally croaked. I had to bolt before I got to you, but I've remembered you all this time." He took a step closer and peered at me. "So, I'm curious. Can you read my mind, you psi bitch? Can you see into my soul like they said you could?"

I squeezed the trigger, and he jerked backward. Blood flowed from his shoulder wound, although it was barely noticeable against the black fabric that covered it in the darkness of night. But he was standing just under a street lamp and I could see I'd gotten him. Not good aim, though. I'd been shooting for his heart.

He yelled and clamped a hand to his shoulder, his face contorted in anger and pain.

Pure red rage filled my vision and pushed all other thoughts out of my head. "You're the one? You killed my family?"

"Kira …" Rogan said, still pressed up behind me. He was breathing hard. I felt the muscles in his back tense tighter than they were before.

"I'm going to kill you!" I yelled, and I aimed and squeezed off another shot at the murderer.

The chamber clicked empty. I pulled the trigger again and again, but there was nothing.

Only two men.

Only two bullets.

The show had given us just enough to kill them and nothing more.

"Dammit!" I threw the gun at Kurtis, who had slumped down to his knees, staring at the blood that gushed out from between his fingers. I heard Rogan's crowbar make contact with Mac's, a crash of metal against metal, and then a grunt of pain as Rogan managed to clobber Mac. He dragged me behind him as we began to run again as fast as we could, trying to put distance between us and the two injured murderers.

I was shaking with fury. He'd admitted what he'd done so freely, as if he were proud of it.

"I'm sorry that had to happen," Rogan said, his words pinched.

"Stop apologizing for everything," I yelled, directing my anger at him instead of the man behind us.

"Here." He stopped running in front of a door, and I skidded to a halt next to him. The streetlight was angled like a spotlight showing us the way. There was a chain across it, and he whacked it a few times with the crowbar until it broke. He tried the handle and it swung open. "Let's go inside."

"I'm sorry I yelled at you." My cheeks were wet with tears of frustration and rage. I wasn't sad; there was no time for that. I'd finished being sad a long time ago, and now there was only anger left behind.

"How about neither one of us apologizes anymore." He squeezed my hand. "At least not to each other, okay?"

I nodded shakily. "It's a deal."

We went into the building and he shut the door behind us. Then I felt his arms around me, hugging me against him while I sobbed against his shoulder. He slid his hands through my hair.

"I'm right here with you. I'm not going anywhere."

I finally stopped crying and nodded against his shoulder. There wasn't much light inside, only some from a bare bulb dangling from the ceiling, but it was enough to see we were in a small foyer that led to a staircase. Rogan moved toward the door and slid the lock across about two seconds before there was a loud, resounding bang on it from the other side.

"We know you're in there!" Mac yelled.

Bang.

"Come out, you little bitch!" Kurtis bellowed louder, but there was a tense, pained quality to his voice. Getting a bullet in the shoulder would do that.

I exchanged a look with Rogan.

"He doesn't sound too happy," Rogan said.

I swallowed and tried to force myself to calm down, to breathe slower, or I was going to hyperventilate. "He killed my family."

Rogan nodded grimly. "I'm so sorry, Kira." He closed the distance between us again and touched my face gently. "I wish I could take your pain away."

I looked up into his eyes. "Right back at you."

There was a creak as the door gave a little with the last pounding.

"We'd better move," Rogan suggested firmly.

"And where do you suggest we go?"

He eyed the stairs. "Looks like we only have two options: through those assholes out there, or up the stairs."

"Not much of a choice."

"I know."

I swallowed. "I vote stairs."

"Good choice."

Rogan started taking the stairs two at a time until he remembered that I was hobbling around on an injured ankle and he thundered back down to my side. He put an arm around my waist and helped support me as we went up flight after flight of stairs. I was in pretty good shape, but by the time we got to the top of twenty-five flights, I was panting, my heart slamming inside my chest.

Rogan pushed open the door at the top and we burst out onto the roof. I sucked in fresh air until I got my breath back. He ran over to the side and looked over.

"There's a fire escape over here. I think we can climb down."

"Seven minutes remain in this level of The Countdown," the announcer said loud and clear in my head.

"What are we going to do then?" I asked him. "We can run, but isn't the whole point of this level for only one team to survive?"

"That's true," Rogan said. "But you did shoot Kurtis already. And I hit Mac really hard. You don't suppose that counts, do you?"

"No." Mac emerged from the roof door. Kurtis limped behind him, still holding his hand against his shoulder. He glared at me from a very pale face. "It sure as hell doesn't."

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Mac was bleeding from his temple, but he still held the crowbar in his right hand.

"Five minutes remain in this level of The Countdown," the announcer said loud and clear in my head.

"How time flies when you're having fun," Kurtis said, although the sound of his voice, raspy and out of breath, didn't really fit the words. He clutched his left shoulder, dark red and shiny with blood from the bullet wound.

He noticed where I was looking. "You got me good, bitch. Are you proud of yourself?" He took a few steps closer to me. Rogan cut him off and stepped in front of me.

"Back off." He raised the crowbar defensively.

Kurtis managed a shallow laugh. "Never pegged you for the knight-in-shining-armor type, Rogan. Is she that good in bed?"

"I'm warning you."

"You're dead, rich boy."

Rogan's eyes narrowed. "You first."

Kurtis smirked at him through his obvious pain. "Nah. You first."

I saw the swing of the crowbar out of the corner of my eye as it came toward Rogan's head. He saw it at the last moment and was able to turn away from Kurtis, blocking the death blow from Mac with his own crowbar. The metal crashed together with a deafening sound.

Mac's fist made full contact with Rogan's jaw, and he went sprawling to the other side of the roof, the makeshift weapon knocked out of his hand. He got to his feet quickly and stormed at Mac, grabbing hold of the other man's black shirt.

My attention was now on Kurtis, who moved toward me slowly, his eyes never leaving my face.

"Hey, bitch," he snarled. "You don't have any weapons now, do you?"

I hadn't even realized I was backing away from him until my legs hit the side of the roof.

"Three minutes remain in this level of The Countdown."

He pulled his hand away from his shoulder long enough to crack his knuckles. "I've killed many people with my bare hands. I'll even tell you how I'll do you. I'm going to put my hands around your neck and I'm going to squeeze until I hear something pop. And then I'll keep squeezing until your tongue rolls out of your mouth, until your eyes bug out from your face and you go limp. Then I'm going to throw you off this roof and watch as your pretty red guts smear the pavement down there."

I felt the cold brick against my hands. The edge came up to the backs of my thighs. "Were you serious when you said that you killed my parents?" I blinked back tears. "Or were you told to tell me that to get a reaction for the cameras?"

He smirked. "Don't you believe me?"

"I don't know what to believe anymore."

He grabbed my hand in his. "I'll do you a favor before I kill you, bitch." He thrust my hand against his neck. "If you're really a psi, why don't you give me a read?" He laughed. 'Take a look at my soul and you tell me if I did it or not."

I searched his face for something that would indicate that he was lying. That he wasn't a horrible man who'd ruined my life. I wanted to see a glimmer of hope in his gnarled, scarred face.

I glanced over at Rogan and Mac, fighting hand to hand on the other side of the roof. Rogan looked over at me and shouted my name when he saw I'd been cornered by a man twice my size. He tried to move toward me, but Mac stopped him, pushing him back, and swung the crowbar like a baseball bat. I heard Rogan yell out in pain.

"Two minutes remain in this level of The Countdown."

My hand was still against Kurtis's neck. He was smiling at me, but it wasn't friendly or warm. It was amused, as if he were daring me to try something violent. My despair and confusion amused him.

"Can't do it after all, can you?" he said.

"Oh, yes, I can."

I closed my eyes, flexed my mind, and ripped into his.

::::::::::Filth

Disgust::::::::::

:::::::::::Anger

Betrayal:::::::::

:::::::::Rage

Certainty::::::

… and I'd do it again…. Love to take her now… no time left…. I'll win this fucking game…. So easy… bitch shot me… Want to kill her… like I killed her family. … Watched them bleed…. What a laugh…. I'll kill them all again…. Give me the chance…. Go to Offworld and do the same there….

The pain tore through my brain and I let go of him. It was even worse than before. Even worse than with Gareth. I couldn't see anything but white for a moment; I was blind from entering this bastard's mind. He was everything he appeared to be-scum of the earth.

And I knew for sure that he was the murderer who'd stolen my life seven years ago.

When my vision cleared and I was able to focus again, I saw him staring at me with widened eyes.

"It's true," he said. "You can do it. I felt it. You saw into my soul."

I cast a fearful look over at Rogan and Mac. I could see that Rogan was bleeding, but he was still fighting hard.

"Yeah," I said. "I saw your soul."

He pulled his knife out of his front pocket. "All the more reason for me to slice you open and watch you bleed."

"Kira!" Rogan yelled.

Without thinking twice about it, I lashed out and punched Kurtis in his injured shoulder. He screamed in pain and dropped his knife, but before I could twist away from him he grabbed my shoulders so hard I thought he was going to snap bone. I fought back against him as hard as I'd ever fought before: nails, teeth, fists, slashing and pounding anything I could reach. I tried to trip him, winding myself around his legs, and I felt him fall.

He still had ahold of me as he crashed against the side of the roof, and we rolled across it, and then suddenly there was nothing under my feet. I screamed and scrambled to grab hold of the building as we fell off the side.

My already short fingernails broke. My hands were sweating, slippery, but I clung to the building, trying to get a foothold below me.

The countdown began to thunder in my brain.

"Forty-five … forty-four … forty-three … forty-two …"

"Kira!" Rogan yelled again. "Kira!"

Hand over hand, scraping roughly over brick, I tried to pull myself back up to the roof. Just before I got a firm hold on the siding, I felt a hand on my ankle and then a heavy weight. I looked down. Kurtis was dangling off the side of the building, a few feet lower than I was, and he had hold of my left boot. He stared up at me, his expression frantic.

My hand slipped a little, and I struggled to hold on.

"Help me!" Kurtis pleaded. "Please don't let me fall!"

"Twenty-one … twenty.. nineteen …"

I forced the words from a throat that felt more like screaming at the moment. "I read you, Kurtis, with my tainted psi ability. And do you want to know what I saw deep inside of you? Deep inside your soul?"

"What? What?"

"Not a whole hell of a lot."

His hand slipped off my boot, and he was hanging on to the side of the building for a few seconds by only a couple of fingers. And then, with a terrified scream, he fell twenty-five stories to the street below.

Just before he hit I heard a loud bang from the roof. It scared me so much I almost lost my remaining grip.

What the hell was that?

"Rogan?" I managed. "Rogan, are you still there? Are you okay?"

It felt like an eternity, but it was only a few seconds until I felt hands gripping my arms, pulling me back up to the roof. Rogan, bloodied and beaten but still alive, crushed me against him.

"Congratulations, Rogan and Kira, for completing Level Five successfully."

"What happened?" I asked after a moment, pulling back enough to look at his face. I touched it gently.

"Ninety-foot implant rule," he said. "When Kurtis fell he went farther than that from Mac."

I braved a quick look to the other side of the roof. A large body lay there very still, a dark stain where its head should have been.

I rested my head against Rogan's chest. "The song 'Pop Goes the Weasel' is playing in my head right now for some strange reason."

"I think that's very appropriate." He managed to give me a very small grin.

I sighed heavily, feeling bone-weary. "Kurtis begged for his life at the end. I couldn't help him, but even if I could have, I don't think I would have. I'm glad he's dead; is that wrong?"

"Not in my book. The bastard had it coming."

"Rogan and Kira have only one more level to complete before they are considered the second set of winners ever in the history of The Countdown. Will they be successful? Or will the last level finally pull them apart forever? Stay tuned, subscribers. This game isn't over yet! "

I refrained from rolling my eyes. That freak seriously sounded like he was introducing a baseball team. Or doing an infomercial. Not hosting a game where death was the consolation prize.

This whole thing was sickening.

I frowned. "Rogan, I really need to talk to you."

He met my eyes, and his lost their warmth. "Is it about Gareth?"

"Yeah. I talked to him face-to-face."

His forehead creased. "What is it?"

"I was able to read him. I know what's actually going on, Rogan. He's not really-"

Just then Rogan clutched his head and roared in pain right before his eyes rolled back into their sockets and he slumped forward. I caught him in my arms and brought him down to the ground as gently as I could.

Breathing hard, my gaze darting everywhere, I waited for them to trigger my own implant to knock me unconscious, but nothing happened. I knelt there on the top of the roof for a moment, then got to my feet, looking around at the three silver cameras that circled the area.

"What now?" I yelled at them. "What do you want from me now?"

The announcer's voice boomed through the darkness. "Kira Jordan was told that certain information was not to be shared with her partner. If she doesn't comply with this rule then she will face severe penalties."

I gave the cameras a good shot of my middle finger.

"She was also given a choice earlier by the producers of The Countdown. If Kira eliminates her partner on camera she will automatically win the game. Her reward will he a first-class ticket to Offworld and enough money to start her wonderful new life."

One of the cameras hovered closer. A small spotlight shone down on the roof, highlighting the knife that Kurtis had dropped there earlier before he, well… dropped.

"Pick it up, Kira," the cheerful voice urged.

I resisted, but then felt a jolt of electricity zap through my implant. I stooped down and snatched up the knife, glaring up at the camera.

"Kill Rogan, Kira. Kill him now."

Rogan lay on the ground, his face bloodied but peaceful in sleep. His arm was sprawled across his chest as if he were lying in a comfortable bed.

And if I killed him I could have everything I ever wanted.

"The subscribers want you to kill him, Kira. They want you to win."

I swallowed hard and let a long breath hiss out between my clenched teeth. "The subscribers can go fuck themselves."

I threw the knife over the side of the building.

There was deadly silence for a full ten seconds.

Then pain ripped through my brain, and everything went black.