In a minute, I was going to die.
Trapped inside an elevator of all places. I’d been stupid, and let myself get caught. It wasn’t a screaming terror so much as incredibly frustrating. Tack and I badly needed the supplies I’d gathered, but now our enemies would get them. Either that or they’d plummet to the bottom with me, and no one would benefit.
What a waste. Food was becoming a problem.
I could hear the Nolan twins clunking around on the roof. A loud clang echoed through the shaft, followed by a horrible wrenching sound as they tried to release the support cables. The brothers, wonderful guys that they were, had every intention of dropping this elevator into the basement.
Why had I deviated from the plan?
The Marina Hotel was hard against the water at the western edge of town, eight stories of picture-perfect lakefront views. I’d gambled that the Skyline Café might not have been pillaged yet, like the downtown restaurants, but I’d been wrong. Soon-to-be-dead wrong. The top-floor eatery was being guarded by two of Ethan’s goons. A snare for the unwary.
And I’d walked right into it, like a dumbass.
Of course they’d been watching the café—it was the highest vantage point in the village. Lower than the surrounding peaks, for sure, but still a great lookout position. At dawn I’d snuck up the stairs and into the kitchen, ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble. But I’d seen and heard no one. So, after raiding the pantry—cramming canned goods and boxes of noodles into two giant duffel bags—I’d decided to use the elevator to lug it all back down to street level.
Stupid. Stupid stupid stupid.
The elevator car had jerked to a stop between the fifth and sixth floors, and now the Doofus Brothers were trying to figure out how to make it fall the rest of the way down. Based on their muffled bickering, they weren’t having an easy go of it. If I’d brought a gun like Tack had urged, I could’ve blasted them through the ceiling while they stood scratching their heads. Sent them back to the Program, hand in hand. But I’d left the gun in my ski jacket, which I’d stashed outside so I wouldn’t rustle like a potato-chip bag as I snuck around the building.
Also stupid.
Not that I was confident with it. A simple Smith & Wesson revolver, I’d only learned to load and fire the thing two weeks ago, under Tack’s critical tutelage. He’d gathered all his dad’s weapons—a small arsenal—but I’d chosen the most basic one I could find. To begin with I could hit a barn door 50 percent of the time in good conditions. I’d improved with practice, but was still no markswoman. Not that it mattered at the moment, since I was unarmed.
Something heavy clattered on the roof. A voice howled in pain, then both twins began shouting at once. I smirked despite myself. Maybe I could simply wait them out. Then I shivered, wondering if they’d think of blasting me through the ceiling.
I knew Sarah would prefer I be captured rather than killed—that was the smart move—but the twins didn’t know who they had trapped. I’d refused to respond to their questions and threats. Chris and Mike weren’t deep thinkers, but they did like breaking things. Since they couldn’t pry the hatch open—I’d latched it from within; plus, they didn’t know I wasn’t armed—the brothers seemed content to drop the whole damn car down the shaft.
By sawing through a set of steel cables. Meant to hold up thousands of pounds.
And didn’t these things have automatic brakes? It was a dumb idea altogether, but that wouldn’t help me much. They’d give up soon and try a more direct method. I had zero doubt they had guns, and I was trapped inside a metal box with no place to hide.
Something hissed, punctuated by three sharp clacks and a low whoosh. I stared up through the ventilation slats. Spotted a nimbus of blue light.
The hairs on my neck stood. These boys had a blowtorch.
A screech, then the crackle of burning metal. Acrid smoke sank into the car.
The temperature rose and I began to sweat, my slick fingers hammering the buttons even though I knew it was useless. My breathing quickened as my pulse throttled up. Resetting aside, I really didn’t want to free-fall six stories down an elevator shaft.
The first cable snapped with a metallic warble, and the car lurched. Frightened yelps echoed above as Chris and Mike scrambled off the roof. Then something popped with a high-pitched thrum and the elevator dropped another foot before jerking to a stop.
The car vibrated, tremors shivering up my legs as it battled with gravity. The twins began murmuring excitedly. Made shuffling noises. I tried to claw open the doors—hoping I’d fallen even with the next floor—but they refused to budge.
I punched the door, then sank down with my back to it. Rested my head against the warm metal. My hand throbbed. I’d broken a knuckle or two, but it didn’t matter. I was going to die, and that was that. My hand would reset with the rest of me.
The thought wasn’t scary—I was well past that by now—but the fact that death was no longer frightening made me unaccountably sad. It felt alien. Like a vital piece of my humanity had been stripped away.
If death couldn’t scare me anymore, what was left? What was the point of anything? I shook my head at the wrongness of it all. Everything about the Program felt so . . . futile. How could there be justice in a world with no consequences? And without justice, what connected us as human beings? What was the point of existing at all?
Something clattered down one side of the car, stopping directly level with me.
A faint hiss echoed in the shaft.
Sweat exploded from my pores. Scrambling away from the noise, I pressed back into a corner. Buried my head between my knees and made myself small.
Damn it, this is going to hurt.
A roaring thunderclap. The wall exploded, shards of metal lacerating my arms and legs. Flames licked my skin and I screamed. Then my stomach did a somersault as the floor dropped from beneath my feet.
The elevator fell. I fell with it.
Contact. A horrible crunch.
My legs smashed up into my body.
The roof slammed down on top of me.
I gasped in pain, unable to scream as my chest caved inward. Flashes of light exploded behind my retinas. The world became soft and indistinct. The scent of copper filled my nose as I began to choke on my own blood.
My head swam. Images cycled through my mind at breakneck speed.
Me and Tack, way up high in a giant oak tree.
My body intertwined with Noah’s on a crappy trailer-park couch.
My mother, sitting in her chair, rocking as she knit while a storm raged outside.
I don’t want to live in a video game.
Everything faded to black.
I awoke in darkness.
For a terrifying moment, I imagined I was still trapped inside the mangled elevator car, broken but not quite dead. My arms lashed out wildly, encountered nothing but loose pebbles and a rough stone floor.
I sat up quickly. Realized I could move.
Pitching upright, I took stock of my body. Limbs felt fine. No breaks, bruises, gashes, or amputations. A light breeze ruffled my hair, tinged with the scents of wet rock and loamy earth. My eyes adjusted to the gloom. I was inside an enclosed space, yet still outdoors somehow. I could taste the chill night air. I was freezing.
Releasing a pent-up breath, I sat back and squeezed the bridge of my nose. Sighed. Then I blew into my fists for warmth, thanking my lucky stars that the fall had, in fact, killed me.
Dying sucked. It was painful and terrifying and the memories never left you alone. But to be badly wounded inside a demolished steel coffin—with no way to escape, and no one to save you—was a fate too awful to contemplate.
Much better to die and come back.
Reset. Again. But where?
I rose and slowly edged forward, until I spotted a brighter patch to my left. Sunlight was leaking between two walls of solid rock. The answer hit me: I was inside a cave.
Which meant I was at Noah’s reset point, up near the western canyon rim, close to the downed bridge. Stumbling awkwardly for the exit, I stepped out to a clear, cold morning in the Bitterroot Mountains.
Are these peaks still called that? Is this technically Idaho at all?
I blew out a long breath, misting the air around my face. Stop it. That kind of thinking would drive me insane.
My classmates and I might be dead, but we also weren’t. We lived in this valley now, virtual or not. Philosophical hand-wringing was pointless. What I knew for sure was that I needed to get home, get warm, and find something to eat.
There was a small ice-rimmed pond outside the cave, surrounded by a circle of pine trees. I’d been here once before, with Noah, in what seemed like another lifetime.
It was one, actually. How depressing is that?
Noah’s face invaded my thoughts, burning like a hot coal. My teeth clenched. For a moment I imagined him crashing through the pond’s thin ice, then struggling to keep his head above water, begging me for the help I’d never give him again.
Stop it.
I jerked my head away, ashamed. My anger with Noah always simmered just below the surface. Sometimes its intensity frightened me. Other times it spilled out in tears.
I’d never reset in his spot before. Never anywhere but my clearing in the northern woods. But the reset points were randomized now. I hadn’t died since the carnage at Town Hall, so this was my first taste of Phase Two. I didn’t want there to be another, but our fates rode a roulette wheel, and only the Program knew what would happen next. My classmates and I were prisoners in every sense of the word.
Another face floated to the surface. The Guardian. My murderer’s digital shadow, haunting me even here. It knew what was coming, but hadn’t shared any details. The black-suited man’s avatar was holed up in Town Hall like a spider pulling strings, unreachable until this new phase ended. Or so it claimed. But who could trust anything the Program said?
The rest of us? Left to fend for ourselves. Worse, left to savage each other.
I circled the pond to a deer trail leading down toward Fire Lake. How many murdered classmates had walked this path recently? The slaughter had reached a fever pitch last week, before vague battle lines had been drawn. Places where you’d catch a bullet for crossing into someone else’s turf. Tack was scouting them all, but they were borders of smoke, with no real meaning. The fighting continued every day. It’s hard to protect territory if your attackers don’t worry about getting killed. They just try again.
As I rounded a bend, a tingling sensation swept over me. I whirled and pressed my hands against the invisible barrier I’d passed through, a boundary field isolating the reset zone. It was the same at the other three compass points. Once you exited, there was no going back. Outside the protective bubble I was fair game, and human predators prowled the valley.
Leaves rustled to my left. I tensed, fingers itching for a gun I didn’t possess.
Tack emerged from the woods, a crooked smile on his face. “Ha! I’m two-for-two. I can track you like a bloodhound.”
I wanted to gasp in relief, but my heart wouldn’t stop thudding. I felt a twitch in my cheek, then my knees buckled and I nearly collapsed. Tack raced over and caught my arm, his smile evaporating. “Jesus, Min, are you okay?”
“Yes. Sure. Fine.” I straightened and stepped back. Rubbed my cheeks with my palms. What the hell was that? Nerves? One death too many?
“You don’t look fine.” Tack was watching me like a hawk, concern plain on his face. “Sorry I scared you. God, I’m such a jackass. You just fell down an elevator shaft, and here I am jumping out of the bushes at you.”
I cleared my throat, steadying myself. Forced a smile. “Really, I’m okay. Just a blood rush. How’d you know where I’d reset, anyway?”
He ran a hand through his unruly black hair, then shrugged. “I didn’t. This was the closest zone. Twenty more minutes and I was heading back to the trailer park. With an empty stomach,” he added significantly, his sharp blue eyes glinting with disapproval.
My mood soured. “I tried. They beat me.”
“I’m starving. Try harder.”
“What was I supposed to do?” I shot back, crossing my arms and bristling. “I can’t haul two gym bags full of SpaghettiOs down eight flights of stairs, and the twins hijacked the elevator after I got inside.”
“The plan was for you to toss the bags off the balcony,” Tack reminded me unnecessarily. “That’s why I was there. Standing outside. In the wind and snow.” He stomped his feet, then burrowed his hands inside the front pouch of his hoodie. A show for my benefit, since I knew he rarely felt the cold. “Like I’ve been doing out here for the last hour.”
“The balcony doors were locked,” I snapped. “Breaking the glass would’ve been like sounding . . .” I trailed off as the last thing Tack said finally penetrated. “Wait, only an hour?”
Interesting. Resets were coming faster than before.
“Well, it took me a while to figure out what happened and verify you were roadkill, then I had to slip out of town without anyone mounting my head over their fireplace. You were in the data stream for about ninety minutes, I’d guess.”
“Stop calling it that.” A shiver ran through me, and not just from the cold. I balled up my hands and tucked them into the sleeves of my sweater. It was still below freezing out despite the rising sun. “You don’t know where we go between resets. No one does.”
Tack noticed my discomfort, held up a finger. He stepped back into the woods and returned with my ski jacket, which I dove into gratefully. The revolver jabbed me in the ribs as I zipped up. Armed again. Yippee.
Tack shrugged, conceding the last word if not the point. He never stopped trying to figure out the Program, but everything he did was guesswork. We were adrift inside a circuit board, and no one had the answers. I felt like a hamster on a wheel.
“So what now?” Tack scuffed the dirt with his shoe, worry lines creasing his forehead. I sensed he was still annoyed I hadn’t followed the plan. Or maybe just hungry, which in this case was essentially the same thing.
I sighed. “Back to the trailer park. What else?”
“We can’t keep on like this, you know.”
“I do know.” Setting off along the trail. “You remind me every day.”
I didn’t want to talk about it, but Tack wouldn’t let it go.
“We need food, Min.” I heard his lazy footfalls follow me downhill. “We’ve ransacked ninety percent of our neighborhood. There’s maybe enough to eat for another week. And I’m talking about trash food. Beets, Melinda. The devil’s most garbage vegetable. Unless you want to get drunk a lot. How many calories are in a Bud Light? We’re close to finding out.”
Our former neighbors had proven to be thrifty shoppers and heavy drinkers. Some of our classmates might’ve found the situation ideal, but I’d kill for some bacon and eggs. Last night—in a drafty, dingy double-wide that used to belong to Francine the Cat Lady—Tack and I had split a box of Hamburger Helper, without the hamburger. Suboptimal.
But what were we supposed to do? Find some happy campers and persuade them to host a dinner party? Stroll downtown and talk Ethan into giving up his kingdom? It was laughable.
No one would listen to me. No one would take us in.
Why should they? What did I have to offer? I’d barely existed back in high school, and meant next to nothing to my classmates now. And I was fine with that. I didn’t want anything to do with them, either. Not anymore, not after taking a bullet in the back. I didn’t trust anyone except Tack.
“Come on.” I tried to keep my voice light. “There’s still that French-bread pizza over at the Jenkins place. Let’s eat it tonight.”
“Our victory pizza?” Tack snorted, drawing level with me as we reached the valley floor. “Sure, why not? It’s not every day you fail completely and get compacted in a falling elevator. I bet nobody else has died that way.”
I winced, sure Tack was right. That murder had been uniquely my own.
Lucky me.