Gears groaned after being dormant for so long.
The ski lift rumbled to life, painted green chairs cycling through the station like toy soldiers before floating up the hill in a steady line.
I let a few pass as the motor settled into a steady purr. This lift climbed the longest run in the resort. It hadn’t been fired up since the slopes closed in May. Then I shook my head. Stepped into position and let a chair scoop me, keeping the bar raised as I arced gracefully into the cold gray sky.
This lift had never been turned on, because it wasn’t real. It was a mirror image—a reflection of what had existed on this spot in the real Fire Lake valley, before it burned. But that was all gone.
As the chair rose, I marveled at the complexity of the Program’s simulation. How could the architects have gotten every tiny detail correct? I knew these chairs. Had ridden them my whole life. The paint was peeling in all the right places, the white seats slightly browned by weather and hard use.
Whoever designed the Program had been geniuses. They’d known what they were doing.
The chair glided above the tree line. I glanced back over my shoulder at the wide lake in the center of the valley. The surface had a leaden gleam—the ice was thickening, though not enough to walk on yet. Fire Lake was beautiful this time of year. A white carpet of snow made everything look pure and wholesome and safe.
Something moved on the waterfront docks. My eyes focused instantly—Vonda Clark was strolling along the wharf, hand in hand with that big blond Thor look-alike, Finn Whitaker. Interesting. Before the Program, those two probably never would’ve spoken.
Then I started. They were miles away, yet I had no trouble making out their faces.
I jerked back around to face the mountains. Stared at the craggy peaks encircling the valley, locking us in. This was getting scary.
The lift rocked gently in an icy breeze, but I ignored the cold. If I concentrated, I could detect individual stitches in my jeans as they pressed against my legs. My senses had been electric since the cabin raid. I could smell a fire burning in the ski village hundreds of yards away. I could hear the whine of the lift’s engine powering me up the mountainside even as I lofted well beyond sight of the station.
I didn’t worry about someone stopping the works and stranding me up there. If necessary, I could drop down to the snowpack and be fine. No reset needed.
The chair approached the halfway pole. I reached out, idly slapped it with an open hand. A sound like a warlord’s gong reverberated up and down the slopes. I sat back and flexed my fingers, amazed by their strength.
Something had happened to me during the raid. Some kind of . . . evolution.
I was stronger. Faster. Barely slept. I still ate regularly, but only to avoid drawing attention. I didn’t want the others to learn my secret.
Because the truth had become plain—kills in the Program gave you something. I recalled the flood of energy I’d experienced after firing into the cabin as it burned. As lives blipped out, flying back into the Program’s circuits to be reborn. But that wasn’t the half of it.
I’d felt an avalanche of power when Piper stopped twitching in the snow. And I knew what it meant.
I’d been right. The truth was terrible, remorseless, and cruel. But I’d been right and Min was wrong. Piper proved it. There was only going to be room for so many.
I hadn’t worked out all the details yet. Why had Piper failed to reset? If kills gave you power, did deaths take something away? Had I experienced that final influx as an accumulated effect, or was killing a person who stayed dead worth more?
God, listen to yourself. What was Piper worth?
I creaked higher up the mountain as frigid gusts swirled around my chair. The ground momentarily rose to nearly touch my feet, rife with the smell of moss and rotting logs. Then it dropped away again as I was carried over a shallow ravine.
It was insanely peaceful. So nice to be alone, without eyes on my back.
I’d tried to keep my new abilities from the others, but nature had betrayed me. Or the simulation did. Whatever. It was all the same now.
We’d been scouting a rough patch of country behind the chalet the day before—me, Akio, Richie, and Leah—trying to locate a cell tower, when a dragon’s roar froze everyone in their tracks. A tidal wave of white was tearing down the mountainside. We’d barely had time to cower behind our SUV before it struck. The avalanche hit like a giant’s punch, and the SUV tipped, threatening to crush us beneath it. But my survival instincts kicked in and I caught the vehicle on one shoulder, then pushed it back upright.
I should’ve let the damn thing crush us. Taken the reset. Now the others watched me cautiously as I patrolled our domain— the ski chalet and a little mountaintop shopping village beside it. They knew I was different, but did they know why? Had they put it together?
I’d sworn Akio and Kyle to secrecy about what happened to Piper. Or rather, what didn’t happen. Right there in the frigid night, next to the blazing ruin of the cabin. I wasn’t sure what to do yet, and didn’t need my whole team freaking out. I knew I shouldn’t trust anyone, but they’d seen Piper die with their own eyes. There was no other option.
The wind picked up, rocking my icy perch. Pregnant storm clouds crept over the horizon, swirling like ghosts, promising darkness and loss and pain. Jesus, why was I up in a damn ski lift? I was going to freeze to death.
Akio had gone patrolling last night and never came back.
I felt tightness in my chest. Maybe I’d been too aloof? Or maybe I should’ve deliberately scared the others with what I could do, to keep them in line.
Alone in this chair, a mile removed from everyone else, I could admit things.
I was terrified the others might see through me. That they’d sense I wasn’t really a leader, even with this new . . . whatever it was. God, what did they think of me right now, riding a freaking ski lift all by myself. I was acting like a weirdo.
I had to give them something. Some new reason to support me. If not they’d slip away and join my enemies. Like Akio had?
A knot hardened in my stomach. Had he abandoned me? Did he blab? Why didn’t I see it coming?
I slapped the lift bar down and leaned my elbows on it. I needed a win. A reminder to my team of why they were up here with me, and not lounging in town eating Fritos. Which meant I had to make Ethan look weak. But how?
The mountaintop station hove into view. My chair pulled in and I raised the bar, hopped off, then jogged a few steps to avoid the next one. I was several klicks east of the chalet, but my feet took me in the opposite direction. The trees opened up and suddenly I was staring down at the whole basin.
Fire Lake valley is a steep-sided bowl surrounded by white-capped peaks on three sides, with its signature lake directly in the center. The western edge drops hundreds of feet into Gullet Chasm, uncrossable with the bridge down even if there was something left on the other side. Which I doubted. All exits from the valley seemed deliberately blocked, and the Program had to be finite. For the sixty-four of us, this was our entire world.
Sixty-three. Piper is gone, and you sent her packing.
My eyes strayed east. To the fenced-off woods, where the silo was hidden.
Min.
Was she there? Her trailer park hid behind Miner’s Peak in the opposite direction, but I was sure she’d gone to ground at the heart of Project Nemesis. It was the smart move, and Min was the smartest person I knew.
I rubbed my chin, let the cold outside fill me within.
Was she in the control room right now, scared and alone?
Then I chuckled without humor. Min hiding? Weepy and sad? No chance. She’d be furious. Out for my blood.
And not alone. Tack was always with her, like a virus you couldn’t shake.
Acid filled my mouth as I pictured Min and Tack way down in the silo, lying in each other’s arms. Giggling together as they plotted my downfall.
Fire exploded in my chest. My arms tingled. My lips curled into a snarl as I tried to banish the taunting image. I turned and started back toward the chalet. I was wasting time. The others would wonder.
I kicked myself for not going to the silo first thing, weeks ago, but I’d been too afraid to leave my people alone without me. When I’d finally had the chance to sneak away, I’d found the outer door locked and tracks all around the gravel lot.
Someone had been there. Was probably still inside. It didn’t take a genius to figure out who—Min and Tack were the only other people who knew the silo existed. I’d retreated quickly before being noticed. Wasn’t ready for that fight.
Honestly, it was better this way. I didn’t want a real threat like Ethan or Sarah to learn the secrets hidden there. Min and Tack had probably gone in right after the Town Hall massacre, and would never come out. That worked for me. They could be my guard dogs for now. I’d deal with them eventually.
A twig snapped and I froze. I was still a couple hundred yards from the chalet. Not quite no-man’s-land, but who knew what the townies might try after the cabin bonfire. And for the last fifteen minutes I’d been winging through the sky like a clay pigeon.
I reached for my Beretta just as Kyle jogged from a thicket of longleaf pines. He saw me standing there, pistol in hand, and skidded to a stop, throat working as his hands flew up. Good. Be afraid.
“Yes?” I asked in my coldest voice. Can I trust you with our secret, Kyle?
Kyle swallowed again. He was sweating. “We, um . . . we have a problem.” I could tell he wanted to be anywhere but there.
I declined to speak.
“At the chalet,” Kyle continued, expelling a misty breath as I shoved my weapon back into a jacket pocket.
“What kind of problem?” Voice flat, but my heart began racing.
Kyle looked like he was about to throw up.
“There’s been an accident. I’m so sorry, Noah, but I think we’re screwed.”