"I heard it."
"So?"
"I could have sworn this was the right turn. I know this neighborhood. At least, I used to know it. It's been four years. Things change. I can't… I can't figure out…" His dark brows drew together.
I was now bracing his full weight against me to keep him from toppling over. "Yeah, you're a whole hell of a lot of help."
"I guess we won't be winning the grand prize, will we?" He said it so wryly that I knew he was joking.
Joking. At a time like this? The guy was crazier than he looked.
He was very pale, and there was a sheen of perspiration on his grimy face. My hand was on his chest to hold him steady, and I could feel his heart beating fast and erratically. I pulled at his shirt to take a quick look at the wound underneath. It looked raw and open, as if it had been inflicted with a sharp object, like a big butcher knife. Definitely not a bullet wound. I'd seen those up close and personal before, unfortunately. Blood oozed steadily out of his shoulder.
"You're a mess," I informed him.
'Tell me something I don't know."
"You stink, too."
"Again, well aware. Like I said, they didn't give me a few hours at the spa before locking me up in that room so I could smell like a flower for you, sweetheart."
My throat thickened with panic. "You really think this is where we should be? Are you sure?"
"I was. But there aren't any doors. There's nothing. And if we'd already reached the finish line you'd think there'd be some sort of indication." His words finally betrayed an edge of strain.
"I'm going to let go of you now," I said.
"Thanks for the warning."
He eased back against the crumbling concrete wall behind him, and I stepped away to stand in the middle of the alley. I turned around slowly, trying hard to ignore the ticking that potentially indicated the last seconds of my life.
"I used to watch TV shows like this before," I said. "Not exactly like this one, of course, but they'd have the races and the puzzles to solve. Usually at this level of a game it's fairly easy. Or at least, not insanely impossible to figure out." I glanced at the camera hovering in the air four feet from my face.
"You don't know the people who set this game up. It's all about the losing, not the winning for them."
"I'm just saying that it can't be the end. Not yet."
I scanned the alley. Two brick walls. One concrete wall, gray and unyielding behind Rogan's hunched-over frame. I looked up. There was a sliver of slate gray sky up above the thirty-story buildings that surrounded us like cold, emotionless sentries.
"What did you think we were running toward?" I asked. "What did you see on that map, anyhow?"
He looked around. "It was an office. I remember it from before I got sent away. I could have sworn it was right here."
"One minute remains in this level of The Countdown." "Fifty-nine …fifty-eight.. fifty-seven …"
There was a Dumpster to the side of us, full to overflowing. Strange, considering that the neighborhood was deserted, that there would be a full Dumpster just waiting for the garbage collectors to show up. A rotting apple core lay to the side of it, the fruit turning brown. No flies, though. Didn't seem like anyone or anything lived here anymore, but that piece of fruit didn't seem as old as it should have, considering the surroundings.
"What kind of office was it?" I asked.
"What?"
"What kind of office?" I repeated, loud enough to be heard over the countdown.
"It was a … a doctor's office. A shrink."
"Let me guess, your doctor?"
His expression shadowed. "I had a few appointments there, yeah."
"Obviously the quack wasn't very good at what he did."
He glowered at me.
A doctor's office. Right here. But now it was gone? Was Rogan tripping out? Or was he remembering something extremely important?
I sure as hell hoped it was something important. We didn't have enough time to be wrong.
I didn't think about what I was doing; I just did it. I went toward that Dumpster and jumped in.
"What the hell are you doing?" Rogan exclaimed.
'Trying very hard not to die."
I plunged my hands into the muck and filth I found in there. Rotting food, discarded boxes, plastic bags filled to overstuffing with rancid garbage. Living on the streets for as long as I had gave me a necessary talent for Dumpster diving. You could find some really good shit if you had the time and inclination to go searching.
Currently I didn't have the time, but I sure as hell had the inclination.
I didn't even know what I was looking for. Even when I found it, I still wasn't sure.
"Twenty-four… twenty-three … twenty-two.."
It was a bell attached to a sign that read: Please ring bell and the receptionist will he right with you.
"What are you doing?" Rogan shouted at me.
I held my breath and rang the bell.
Nothing happened for a moment, and I felt what little hope I had start to disappear, but then I heard something. Something heavy and metallic.
"Look." Rogan pointed at the ground.
I looked over the edge of the Dumpster to see that a door had slid open. I hadn't even noticed the edges of it before.
"Ten … nine … eight…"
I launched myself out of the garbage like a woman possessed and grabbed Rogan's arm. There was a flight of stairs leading down, and without thinking twice I pulled him with me and we quickly began descending into the semidarkness below.
"Three … two … one …"
The door above us slid shut. I froze and waited. When nothing happened I continued down to the bottom of the stairs. A short hallway led into a white room.
"I don't feel dead," Rogan said. "So should we be celebrating?"
I thought about that as I tried to bring my breathing back down to a normal pace. "If we're dead, then it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be."
"Congratulations, Rogan and Kira, on successfully completing Level Two of The Countown."
"Is he going to say that every time?" I asked. "Because that's going to get old really fast."
Another camera appeared and whipped past my face. I watched my eyes narrow in the shiny surface. By no stretch of the imagination did I look happy. My dark brown hair was matted and tangled, and the long bangs were slicked against my forehead. My jaw was clenched tightly, and my dark eyes flashed with anger. I hated that thing. Hated it more than I remembered hating anything for a very long time.
"You shouldn't look directly at it," Rogan advised, and he touched my arm with the hand that wasn't clasped to his injured shoulder.
"Why not?"
"You don't want to give the subscribers more than their money's worth. They want you look at them that way. It gets them off to see how much they're making you suffer." He pulled me away so that I wasn't staring right at the camera anymore. "How did you know to ring the bell?"
I finally looked at him. "It was just a lucky guess."
"Yes," a voice said. "Very lucky. And very smart."
I turned to see that a door had opened and a man had entered the white room. He was tall and skinny, with very short black hair and a trimmed goatee. He wore wireframed glasses and a white doctor's coat and held a clipboard tightly to his chest as he approached.
"Who the hell are you?" I asked, forcing myself not to take a step backward. He was the first live person I'd seen other than Rogan since this nightmare began.
He stopped walking. "My name is Jonathan. I'm your liaison to The Countdown?"