FOR SEVENTY-TWO HOURS Steve had been locked up in a small, windowless room. His head still ached. No one spoke to him. Every once in a while he heard the dry metallic sound of a plate of chips being pushed under the door, and once, in the middle of the night, he thought he heard the swish of Pearl’s broom. Occasionally he heard voices. He was so lonely that his heart leaped whenever this happened, but he quickly grew afraid. Were they coming for him?
Mostly he worried about the kids. Was Andrew still alive? Or any of the kids, for that matter? He wondered if Chad had gotten into trouble. He had a million questions and no answers. But every time he asked himself whether it had been wise to intervene, he pushed aside his doubts. Maybe trying to rescue Andrew had been a reckless act, but it was the only shot he had had to try to keep Andrew alive. The more he thought about it, the more he believed that his dad would understand. A boy’s life had been at stake, and the rigged Survivor show didn’t leave him any other choice. He wouldn’t waste any time on regrets.
Suddenly keys rattled in the lock.
Steve felt sick. Was it time? Were the guards coming to beat him senseless? Or was it the bailiff for Court TV?
When the door opened, Chad stepped in.
The flood of light hurt Steve’s eyes and gave Chad a sort of halo. Steve stood up on shaky legs.
Chad beamed. “You’re a national hero.”
Steve’s mouth was dry. His voice was rusty. “The kids …” he croaked.
“… are fine.” Chad smiled. “The guards didn’t even tell you that?”
“Nothing.” Steve groaned, thinking of the last few days, when he had been so hungry for information.
“Thanks to you, the rescue was broadcast live,” Chad said. He sounded pleased.
Steve had almost forgotten about pushing that green button. “But is Andrew okay?”
Chad grinned. “Yes.”
Steve felt like crying, he was so relieved.
“After they took you here, to this prison”—Chad looked around with disgust at the cobwebbed room—“the kids managed to get Andrew inside the tent. He was dehydrated and weak, and his toes were badly frostbitten.”
Steve had been afraid of that.
“Everyone in the whole country saw how brave and strong the kids were. The audience witnessed how close Andrew came to dying. They understood how risky Historical Survivor is.” Chad lowered his voice. “So when the danger had passed, the viewers cut off their televisions!”
“You’re kidding!” Steve said.
“During prime time, the ratings of all shows dropped to zero,” Chad said.
Steve tried, but he couldn’t imagine billions of silent televisions.
“Then the President intervened.”
“What do you mean?”
“The President put the Secretary of Entertainment on mandatory leave and obtained a copy of the Antarctic Historical Survivor script. The script showed that the Secretary had set up a rival Amundsen expedition. The actor-Amundsen was waiting nearby. He was supposed to beat the kids to the Pole just as the real Amundsen had beaten Scott.
“The President declared the game over and sent the actor to Antarctica to rescue the kids. The kids’ parents met them in Tierra del Fuego. Doctors there gave them a clean bill of health. Polly, Andrew, and Billy are on their way home as we speak.” Chad beamed. “You stopped a Historical Survivor game.”
Just as he had feared, Steve had to be in a lot of trouble.
“But Robert and Grace decided to stay,” Chad added.
“What do you mean?”
“Robert wanted to be the first kid to reach the Pole, and Grace wants to stay just a little while longer. They’re halfway to the Pole now and doing fine.”
“And what’s going to happen to me?” Steve said.
“We haven’t been able to find you. We had no idea that you were locked up right here in the DOE. Jacob sent out an e-mail telling the public what you had done. When the Department took the MVP vote, the viewers wrote in your name.” He paused. “Or Birdie Bowers’s name. It’s the same thing.”
“What?” Steve said.
“You’re MVP on Historical Survivor, entitled to the prize money.” Chad’s grin grew wider. “The President has almost started taking credit for your intervention. She’d like to talk to you. A little while ago one of the Secretary’s guards cracked, and we learned that you were hidden in the building all along. Lots of reporters want to interview you, but I came alone to get you. You’re a rich man.”
No goons were going to beat him up. He wasn’t going to be an old man at seventeen. No Court TV. He wasn’t going to get a public whipping. Steve felt so overwhelmed with happiness that he was afraid he might faint.
“There’s more, but I’ll have to tell you later,” Chad said. “Let’s go. After you’ve had a chance to rest and eat, the President wants to talk to you.”
Steve tried to walk, but his legs were too shaky. He stumbled.
“Come on,” Chad said kindly. “I’ll help you.” He gripped Steve’s arm.
Jacob and a policeman Steve didn’t recognize were waiting for them outside the room.
“Hi, Steve,” Jacob said.
Steve smiled weakly at Jacob.
The policeman nodded. “There’s a crowd up there, sir.”
Steve tensed. He wasn’t ready to face a crowd.
“The sooner we go, the sooner you’ll get home,” Chad reminded him.
“I’ll get his other arm,” Jacob said, moving next to Steve.
Together with Chad and Jacob, Steve followed the policeman down the long, dank hall. As they walked up the stairway, he heard a jumble of loud voices.
Several police officers were blocking a group of cameramen and reporters. When the news reporters saw Steve, they began yelling at him from the top of the stairwell.
“Mr. Michael, what will you do with your prize money?”
“Why did you choose the alias Birdie Bowers?”
“Those kids could have made it!” a man wearing a cowboy hat shouted at him. “Why did you stop the Survivor show?” He stuck a mike in Steve’s face.
Steve had been alone for so long that the stares of the journalists made him feel lightheaded. How should he answer the last reporter? He had to defend himself. Oddly enough, a quote that he had heard in teleschool popped into his mind. He hoped Birdie Bowers had said it, but he couldn’t remember for sure. He cleared his throat.
“Survival is no child’s game,” Steve said.
Before he had time to say more, lights flashed, and Chad pulled him through the crowd.
“Mr. Michael will hold a press conference later,” Chad said over his shoulder. “But now he needs to get some food and rest.”