Countdown. Michelle Rowen

      Whenever it happened, I got a horrible headache that lasted for hours. The scummier the person that I touched, the longer the pain lasted.

      The last person I wanted to touch was somebody like Rogan.

      His expression shadowed as if my actions had somehow hurt his feelings, and he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his torn, dirty jeans.

      “I’ll tell you everything I know,” he said. “But we need to move.”

      “There are twenty minutes remaining in this level of Countdown,” the voice said from out of nowhere.

      When I didn’t immediately start walking, Rogan raised an eyebrow at me.

      “Let’s get going,” he said. “I’m not in good enough shape to keep running. Better make it a brisk stagger, so we need to move now.”

      “Okay, yeah. Then let’s go.” I frowned and tried to recall the map. Damn. I should have paid more attention. Fingers of panic dug deep into my stomach.

      As if he’d read my thoughts, he forced a grin. “Don’t worry, kid. I know where we’re headed.”

      I scowled at him. “I’m no kid, I’m sixteen. And the name’s Kira.”

      His grin widened a fraction. “No nicknames. Got it.”

      I studied him for a moment longer. That scar across his left eye. I wondered how he’d gotten it. Probably at St. Augustine’s, in a scuffle with another loser. Or maybe his victim had attempted to fight back before he’d mercilessly snuffed out his or her life.

      Scumbag.

      He caught me staring at his face and turned away so I could see only the good side. “Let’s get going, Kira.”

      Vain, was he?

      We walked. Slower than I would have liked, but it was fast enough to keep some of my panic at bay. With every step, I felt the clock ticking down the seconds we had left. What if we didn’t make it in time? Would they really kill us? Just like that?

      I was finding it easier and easier to believe.

      “Countdown,” Rogan began as we trudged along, “is just what it sounds like. A series of challenges with a set time frame and a win-or-lose outcome. It’s a game.”

      I glanced at him and kept walking. My heart pounded in my ears. “I didn’t agree to play any game.”

      “You didn’t have to. Countdown plays to the fringes of society over a top-secret televised network. That’s what makes it so appealing to the Subscribers.”

      “Subscribers?”

      “Bored rich people who haven’t headed to the Colony yet and want to be entertained by a modern Roman Colosseum. Death matches. There are a few other twisted games on the network to hold their interest. This is only one on the list.”

      My gut started to churn with disgust. “How is this even allowed? It’s illegal.”

      “I know that. You know that. But, like I said, it’s a secret. Even if it wasn’t, do you really think cops would give a damn about what happens to criminals, no matter how young those criminals might be? Makes their jobs easier in the long run, doesn’t it? Subscribers are fitted with cranium implants so they can watch in their heads. It’s like virtual reality, only they’re just watching, not participating. Safer that way.” His expression soured. “Bunch of rich cowards who get off on violence.”

      “How do you know all this?”

      He didn’t look directly at me. “I just know. The players used to be older prisoners recruited from Saradone, but recently it seems like the Subscribers prefer younger meat. I knew a couple kids who disappeared one night a month ago. The rumor was they were offered the chance to play the game.”

      “Why would they agree to something like this?” I hadn’t been given a choice.

      He shrugged. “At least with the game there’s a possibility you can win. A fresh-faced eighteen-year-old transferring to a prison like that—no matter what his crimes are...” His jaw tightened, and he finally offered me a sidelong glance. “His days are numbered.”

      “That’s how they got you. You didn’t want to go to Saradone if there was a way to avoid it.”

      “Basically.”

      I shook my head. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

      “It doesn’t have to. The bottom line is that it exists. And we’re right in the middle of it now.” He eyed me. “I don’t get you, though.”

      “Right back at you.”

      “No, I don’t understand why you were recruited. You weren’t in detention. You haven’t been arrested. You’re into low-end crime, and you have no family, but still. Only sixteen...” His brows drew together. “You’re too young. Too soft.”

      “There’s nothing soft about me.”

      His lips twitched. “I don’t know about that.”

      “Keep walking.” I put one foot in front of the other. “You’re sure you know where we’re going?”

      He nodded. “Yeah, it’s not far from here.”

      This was insane. All of it. “So, if we finish—how many levels again?”

      “Six.”

      “If we finish six levels like the voice said, we’ll win. What does that mean?”

      “Freedom. Money. I don’t know what else. It depends on the player, I think.”

      “And if we mess up—”

      “No freedom, no money and a bullet in the brain. That’s if we’re lucky.”

      My stomach lurched. “Who would want to watch this?”

      “You’d be surprised. A subscription to the Network isn’t cheap, and it’s based on how much they watch. And the cranium implant that gets them access has to be surgically implanted. It’s not easy to do. The Subscribers expect to get their money’s worth. Maybe that’s why they had you join the cast. I don’t think Countdown has had a female contestant before.”

      That wasn’t terribly comforting. “Lucky me. Maybe they think we’ll be a good team.”

      He glanced at me. “Maybe we will.”

      “Don’t bet on it.” I looked away. “Are we almost there?”

      He nodded. “I think so.”

      “You think so? I thought you were sure where we were going?”

      “I’ve been out of commission for a while. Things change. Do you know this neighborhood?”

      “No.”

      I took a good look around. Gray on gray. No trees, no parked cars. Even the street signs were broken off the poles on the corner ahead. Nothing was familiar.

      Something flew out from behind a corner ahead of us. A silver ball. It floated in midair and headed straight for us at lightning fast speed. I ducked so it wouldn’t hit me, but it stopped three feet in front of my face and bobbed at eye level.

      A flying digicam. Yet another thing I’d never seen before in real life. It reflected me in the black iris of its lens.

      The voice spoke again in my head.

      “Level two for Rogan and Kira is well under way. Let’s take a moment to get to know these two contestants....”

      It was an implant. That was what the voice said earlier, didn’t it? They’d put one of the implants in my head. I reached into the tangle of my dark brown hair and felt around until I found the stitches over a two inch cut in my scalp. The area surrounding it was numb. They’d put the implant in my head. That’s why I’d