Countdown (7 page)

He hissed out a long breath. “I know you don’t trust me,
Kira—”
“Oh,
should
I trust you? As far as I can tell you’re just one
of the bastards who put me and Rogan in this situation in the
f irst place.”
“You include Rogan. Have you come to be concerned for
his safety as well as your own in such a short time?” I slunk down in the bed. “That’s none of your business.” “It is curious to me how a vibrant young girl like yourself would so quickly come to care for someone like Rogan.
You are aware of the reason he was sent to juvenile detention,
aren’t you? Why he was on his way to prison once he legally
becomes an adult?”
I frowned at him. “Crimes that I’d never forgive anyone
for.”
“Yes, given your history, and what happened to your family, I can see that. But you seem to like him, anyway. Why is
that, if I might ask?”
“Because he’s innocent,” I said simply.
His eyebrows shot up above the rims of his glasses. “Are
you so sure of that?”
“I’m sure.”
Jonathan studied me for a moment with curiosity. “Did you
use your Psi ability on him? Your ability to connect empathically with another?”
I went very cold and still at his words. “Excuse me?” “Don’t be alarmed. It isn’t common knowledge. In fact, I
am one of the very few connected with
Countdown
that know
of your hidden talents.”
“What are you talking about? What Psi ability?” My heart
was pounding loud and fast against my rib cage.
A frown creased his brow as he studied me for a moment.
“Don’t tell me you don’t know what you can do. Didn’t anyone ever tell you?”
I knew I had that…something. Something that made my
head feel as if it might split open. Something that gave me an
insight on whether somebody was good or bad. There were
times I’d considered that it might be Psi-related, but I’d never
been sure.
“Nobody told me anything,” I finally said, fighting to keep
my expression neutral.
He continued to study my face, perhaps to gauge if I was
lying to him. Finally, he nodded. “Then it’s high time you
knew. All doctors keep special records on their patients—
especially female children born after the Plague. A certain percentage have been found to be psychically gifted. Accord
ing to your records, you are one of these girls.”
“I am?” I’d never been told anything like this before. I had
a doctor before, of course. My father had worked for the university, so he could afford it. We had gone once a year for a
physical—blood work, body scans, everything. It had taken a
whole day, and it had been really boring. My friends never had
to go through the same thing. At the time, I’d envied them. My last exam had been a week before my family was murdered.
But if anything like this had come out of those tests, I’d
never been told a thing.
Jonathan nodded. “Perhaps you weren’t informed since
you’re marked down as a low-level empath, which typically
would not cause much interest from the scientific community.” He walked toward the small window overlooking another gray building. “Other girls with high-level Psi powers
are taken to the Colony as soon as their abilities are discovered, so they can grow up in a much more stable environment—given housing, education and access to peers who are
going through the same experiences. Those with the low-level
abilities are mostly ignored. But I spotted it in your files—in
your DNA profile. I thought your abilities might help you
along in the game in some small way. Perhaps I was wrong.” There was no smile on his face anymore as he turned from
the window to look at me.
I struggled to process everything he’d said. I was a Psi, a
low-level one. Somebody able to get a minor empathic read
on another human being. That fit with what I’d discovered
about myself already. It was as if a missing piece had just clicked
into place for me.
But I’d failed this test by not being strong enough. If I’d
been stronger, I would have had a better life. I’d be in the Colony right now, going to school, learning about my abilities. Instead, I was here, lying in a hospital bed after being shot
in the leg.
I didn’t want to admit anything to Jonathan, but I needed
more information. “If what you’re saying is true, how did you
think it would help me?”
“I wasn’t sure, exactly. An empath—well, it isn’t a tangible talent. If you were telekinetic it could be a different story.
Even having a low-level telekinetic ability would be an asset
in a game such as this. However, he doesn’t fully believe in
Psi abilities, so it doesn’t matter in the long run.”
Empath…someone able to sense another’s emotions—and
in my case, barely. Telekinetic…somebody able to move stuff
with their mind. I could see how that would have been a major
asset in this game. I had a f leeting fantasy of blowing up the
digicams with the power of my mind. Just my luck that I’d
landed a lame Psi ability.
I sat up higher in the bed. “Wait. Who doesn’t believe in
it?”
He hesitated before answering. “The producer of
Countdown,
Gareth. He’s pleased with your showing so far, but
doesn’t feel that your minor Psi abilities have had anything
to do with your success. Our Subscribers are also very happy
with the inclusion of a female player. We’ve had a forty percent increase in viewing time since your game began, making
Countdown
the number one program on the Network. And
the more they view our offering rather than switch to another
feed, the happier Gareth is.”
Gareth. At least I now had a name to focus my hatred toward. The producer. The reason I was here, fighting for my
very life.
I tried to process everything Jonathan had told me. If my
doctor had written in my profile that I had Psi abilities, did
that mean my parents had known? They’d never discussed it
with me. It had been a total surprise one day after my thirteenth birthday, when I’d touched somebody and felt…something. Luckily it didn’t happen
every
time I touched somebody,
because when this strange ability clicked in, it hurt really bad. I wanted to ask Jonathan if it was supposed to hurt. But I
held back my questions. Sharing
anything
about what I’d discovered felt as if I was exposing my vulnerabilities. Giving
my enemies a chance to use them against me.
Still, why was Jonathan sharing all of this with me? How
did this help the game? All he had to do was patch me up and
let me get back to the game, but I would have sworn I saw
concern in his gaze.
It was something. Maybe something I could work with.
“Jonathan, you have to help me. Help
us
. I don’t want to die.” “I know you don’t.” He nodded grimly. “Please, Kira, let
me see your leg.”
I shook my head.
“You don’t trust me.”
I didn’t trust anybody. “Despite this little heart-to-heart, I
can’t think of a single reason why I should.”
He rolled up his right sleeve and thrust his forearm at me.
“Test your empathic abilities.” He studied my face. “You
know
you have something, don’t you? You’ve known for a while,
even if it was never confirmed before today. Maybe it scared
you. Maybe it hurt you. But, please, try, right now. Touch me
and see if you can get a sense of who I really am.” I wanted to keep denying what he was saying, but words
failed me. I waited for a long moment before I decided to do as
he said. I tentatively reached out to touch the skin of his forearm just below his elbow, pressing my fingers against his f lesh. “Close your eyes,” he said. “And focus. Flex your mind.” Flex my mind? I closed my eyes and tried to push away all
other thoughts. Since my mind was currently rather full, this
took a bit of effort.
When my mind had cleared enough that I was able to fully
concentrate on my task, I reached out with that
something
inside of me, that strange thing I’d been aware of for three years
that scared me. I reached out toward Jonathan…
Then it was there—like a dark pool before me. I waded
into it ankle deep.
This was different than before. I was actually
trying
this
time, not coming across this situation by accident. It was real,
not just my imagination. I had proof now, even if it was only
Jonathan’s word. I had the chance to explore just a little deeper
than I normally would.
And I wanted to test myself, to know what I could do. It
suddenly seemed like the most important thing in the world. I inhaled sharply as the sensations began to f low over me.
It wasn’t anything coherent or totally understandable. Just
f lashes of emotion. Snapshots of feelings.
Jonathan felt tired. He felt angry, determined. Sincere. And guilty…about something. About
everything.
A sensation of goodness swept over me. Sadness. Despair.
Hopelessness. A man who’d been forced to do things he didn’t
agree with…
Then a spear of pain lanced through my brain, and I let go
of him, pressing my palms against the sides of my head. Agony!
Now
that
was a sensation I recognized.
After a moment, a cold cloth pressed against my forehead,
and I opened my eyes slowly. The f luorescent lights above
now seemed too bright, and I squinted. Jonathan held a wet
towel against my forehead. He stared at me with wide eyes. “You sensed something, didn’t you?” he asked breathlessly.
“I felt you in my mind.”
The pain began to subside. “Did it hurt?”
“No.” He frowned. “Though, it was a curious feeling. I
knew you could do it. I
knew
it. Are you well?”
I pushed his hand away. “Well enough, I guess.” “What did you sense from me? Enough that you now trust
me to help you? Were you able to see that I’m not trying to
deceive you?”
“I wouldn’t go that far, but I saw enough.” If what I’d
felt was real, I now knew he wouldn’t take much pleasure in
watching me or Rogan die on a Network death game. Finally, I pulled at the sheets that covered my hurt leg. It
was a small act of faith, but he seemed pleased by it. He undid
the bandaging and inspected my injury.
“Very good. It’s healed as well as I’d hoped.”
I frowned and looked down. Where I expected to find an
oozing bullet wound was only a soft, bright pink mark that
had already nearly healed over. It didn’t even hurt when he
touched it gently.
Rogan had said I’d been out for eighteen hours. But even
eighteen hours wasn’t long enough to heal a bullet wound. “How—?” I began.
“We have a great deal of technology at our fingertips here,
Kira. The company I work for has always had a hand in research—be it computers and artificial intelligence or medical
research. That is why I originally came on board ten years
ago. Unfortunately, due to recent rules and regulations and
the nondisclosure agreement I signed, I’m unable to share this
research with anyone outside of the corporation.” I touched my leg, running a finger along it. The wound
was f lat. I was healed. From an injury that had felt as if it had
torn my leg clean off.
“What kind of a company is this, anyhow? And who is this
Gareth guy? He has people doing secret medical research? And
he’s
the one in charge of this game?” I shuddered. “He sounds
absolutely horrible.”
“He wasn’t always.” Jonathan turned away from me to look
toward the small frosted window on the opposite wall. When
he returned his gaze to mine, it was f lat, hard. The emotion
I’d seen there a minute ago had left the building. “Now, I
must fill you in on the next level of
Countdown.
”
Tears of frustration stung my eyes. “But I can’t keep playing. You need to help me. Please, Jonathan.”
His jaw clenched. “I am sorry, but the only way you can
escape the game is to win it. You used your empath skills
to read me. You must know that there’s nothing I can do to
change what is.”
I had read him. The overwhelming feeling I’d gotten from
him before my head nearly exploded had been hopelessness. We were silent for a moment.
“Jonathan,” I began. “If I win…if Rogan and I both get
through all six levels—”
“It doesn’t have to be the two of you anymore.” My breath cut off. “What?”
“I know the rules were never properly explained to you. Plus, they’re different for each team who plays. For you, after level three, both you and Rogan don’t need to survive to the
end for one of you to be considered the winner.”
I let this disturbing information settle over me. “What about
the implants? We need to stay close.”
“You still do. But if one of you is killed during a level, the
other will be allowed to continue on.”
I swallowed hard. He put such a horrible outcome so
bluntly; it was as if someone had punched me in the stomach.
“What happens if we
do
win?”
“The champion or champions get to choose his or her own
prize.”
It was still difficult for me to find my breath. “Would I be
able to request transportation and entrance to the Colony?” The smile reappeared on his face. “Certainly. First-class
transportation to the Colony and a brand-new life.” “A brand-new life,” I repeated. “I like the sound of that.” Jonathan smiled. “I think you’d do very well in the Colony, Kira.”
I let all the wonderful possibilities, the dream of freedom
and a brand-new life, drift through my mind. “But we can
still both win, right? Both me and Rogan?”
“Yes, if you both survive, you will both win.”
The tightness in my chest eased a little. “Maybe Rogan
would like it in the Colony, too.”
A crease formed between his brows. “You believe he’s innocent.”
I nodded and arranged the sheets back over my legs. “That’s
right.”
“Did you use your empathic ability on him?”
I tensed. “I tried, even though I didn’t know what it really was, what I could do. But I didn’t have enough time to concentrate long enough on him. So I just asked him. He told
me the truth. I believe him.”
The grim expression on Jonathan’s face was not setting my
mind at ease. My heart began to race.
“I see.” He rubbed his fingers over his short black goatee. “You see what?”
I looked over at the door. Was Rogan still waiting outside?
Had those men taken him away? He couldn’t have gone too
far since my implant wasn’t giving off the ninety-feet-or-more
warning signal.
Jonathan didn’t say anything for so long that my anxiety
peaked.
“Jonathan! You see