Countdown

“What are they doing to us?” I asked after a moment, mostly to myself. “How could anyone find this entertaining?”

“You’d be surprised. Some people are sick.”

Yeah, he should know. “Why did they even put us here in the mall? Just to mess with our minds?”

“Something like that.” Rogan’s arm tightened around my waist then, as if he was trying to comfort me. Weird. A moment later, as if he realized what he’d done, he pulled away from me and crossed his arms over his chest. “Do you remember what Jonathan told us this level is all about?”

I tried to think back through the thick storm cloud of memories. “The accountant.”

He nodded. “Take a look.”

I looked in the direction he pointed to see the man who had been featured on the holoscreen. Bernard Jones. I recognized his balding head and bland features. He emerged from an electronics shop with a bag of purchases, then turned left and started walking toward the same exit we were headed for.

I heard the whir as a camera moved behind us. It was moving behind things to stay hidden from any regular people.

Rogan’s attention was fixed on the man. “We’ve got to follow him.”

“He’s got a wife. And a kid.”

“Yeah, you’re right. And we can’t let him leave our sight.”

“There are ten minutes remaining in this level of Countdown.”

I turned to meet Rogan’s gaze.

“You know what we’re supposed to do,” he said, his jaw tensing. “And we have ten minutes to do it.”

To successfully complete level three you are required to assassinate him, Jonathan’s instructions echoed in my mind.

I shook my head. “No. It’s not going to happen.”

“Do you want us to die?”

I blinked at him as a sick churning steadily grew in my gut. “I don’t want us to die. But I also don’t want to kill a man I’ve never met before. Somebody who doesn’t deserve it or even see it coming. There’s no way.”

“Come on.” He grabbed my hand and pulled me along with him. “We can’t let him get away.”

“You can’t kill him.”

“It’s him or us.”

“I don’t care.”

“We’ll see if you’re still thinking that way in a few minutes.”

“I’m not capable of murder. I’m not like you.”

Rogan let go of my hand but kept walking. He didn’t look at me. “You don’t know what I’m capable of. You don’t know me.”

“I don’t want to know a sick bastard like you.” I pressed my lips together to keep from saying anything more. That had sounded crueler than I’d wanted it to.

That earned me a sharp look. “We’re running out of choices. Get that through your pretty head. There are no choices. We do what they tell us to or we die.”

“Maybe I don’t care. My family was murdered. I’d never do that to another person’s family. I’d rather die first.”

“I’m not in the mood to argue with you, Kira. We don’t have the time.”

I watched as Bernard Jones exited the mall through the swinging doors.

“So you’re going to follow him and then what?”

“And then I’m going to kill him.” He raised an eyebrow. “But then again, I am a sick murdering bastard, right?”

“So it’s that simple for you?”

His fists clenched at his sides. “You’re acting as if I have a choice.”

“There’s always a choice.”

“Not for me,” he said grimly. “Not anymore.”

And with that he stalked out of the entrance to follow his prey. I raced to keep up with him.

Kill or be killed.

There had to be another way. And I needed to figure it out. Fast.

Chapter 6

BERNARD JONES WALKED down the sidewalk outside of the mall completely oblivious to the fact that he was being stalked.

“Where’d the camera go?” I looked around the area, gray and bland, and noticed that we were alone again.

“It’s around, I’m sure.”

“You seem to know a lot about how this game works.”

He raised a dark eyebrow. “Do I?”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Yeah. You do. Who are you, Rogan? Who are you really?”

“I’m nobody.” He flinched and looked away from me, but not before I saw a hint of pain slide through his gaze. “You’re imagining things.”

Was that a moment of vulnerability? It was enough to unbalance me again. “I—I’m not imagining anything. I swear I’m going to figure out what your real story is.”

“Sure. Good luck with that.” His gaze returned to mine, but this time it was more guarded. “You think you can figure out what makes me tick other than the countdown in my head?”

“Don’t make fun of me.”