The Kill Factor, page 19
Emerson threw open the small door and stepped out into a dark room filled with blank TV monitors and a desk with sliders, buttons, and dials. There was no light in the room, just the remaining sunlight seeping through the windows.
“What is this place?” she wondered out loud, and almost at the same time the words came out of her mouth, she realized that she knew exactly what this place was: It was an editing room, the place where all the footage from the games was mixed and amended until it was ready for TV.
For a minute, all Emerson’s focus was taken up by the array of screens and dials, but as she looked up and out of one of the narrow windows, she saw exactly where she was on the island: the very center. And through the windows separating the room from the world outside were thousands and thousands of white walls that looked to be made out of the same plastic that had made up the tunnel that had led her here.
“A maze,” she said, staring at the parallel walls that twisted and turned in all directions, splitting into three lanes, then turning in on themselves over and over. She turned slowly around, looking at corridor after corridor of paths that turned to dead ends or junctions with multiple options.
This must be part of another game, she thought, and as her eyes traced the seemingly endless pattern of white walls, she saw something else that caused her to freeze in place.
As she looked up in the direction of where the bedrooms on the beach would be, she saw, towering up into the sky, the prison, only it wasn’t a prison at all. It was a flat wooden wall held up by steel poles that had been driven into the fake ground. It was no more than a stage set, or a vintage Hollywood movie backdrop.
“What the hell?” Emerson muttered to herself.
Her attention was drawn away from the prison and the maze when the sound of the hatch lock sliding back into place filled the room.
Emerson ran to the hatch and tried pulling it toward herself. It was locked fast; the Nicotine Drone that was hovering over her left shoulder was apparently no longer doing its job.
“No!” Emerson whispered as she pulled at the hatch, willing it to open. “No! No! No!”
Suddenly, the dim room grew a little brighter, then brighter still. Emerson turned to see the blank monitors switching on, one by one, and the control panel was lighting up in reds and greens. The camera drones of the beach had come back online. She looked to one of the monitors and she could see the Producer walking along the sand with a look on his face that somehow conveyed both deep rage and joyful avarice.
The Nicotine Patch drone suddenly fell out of the air, catching itself just before it hit the ground. It made grinding crunching noises, and then fell completely.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the Producer said, his voice coming through the speakers in the control room, sounding tiny and shrill. “Somebody is missing. That person has two minutes to get back to this beach, or their fellow contestants start to die. Your time starts now.”
The lock on the hatch clicked open.
“No!” Emerson cried out. And then she was running.
She hauled open the hatch and ran down the plastic stairs as fast as she could. The dull, empty sound of her footfalls mocked her as she pushed herself onward. The corridor had grown longer since the first time she had run along it. She was certain of that. She didn’t care that it was impossible, she knew it to be true. The staircase at the far end never seemed to get closer.
Finally, she made it to the staircase and sprinted up, her legs burning, her lungs bursting. She crawled out beneath the heart-tree and ran to the beach, where the enormous screen showed a clock at zero seconds.
“Too bad, Ms. Ness, you didn’t quite make it in time,” the Producer said, and there was no smile on his face now.
“I ran as fast as I could,” Emerson breathed. “Please … please don’t.”
“Rules are rules,” the Producer said. “A contestant will now be chosen at random to die.”
The screen flashed, and photographs of all the remaining contestants appeared on the screen. Each of the photographs began lighting up one at a time in rapid succession until the screen looked almost like a strobe light, and as the time went on, the light began to slow down.
Emerson’s own face was lit up for half a second, followed by Nick’s, then Imelda’s. The light slowed down further and Emerson knew what she was looking at: Whoever’s face was illuminated when the ten seconds ended would be the contestant chosen to die.
“Please,” Emerson begged. “Please. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. It was my plan, it was all me, none of these people knew anything about it. Punish me, not them.”
“Ms. Ness,” the Producer replied calmly, “I am punishing you.”
The faces were lighting up so slowly now that Emerson knew the ten seconds were very nearly over.
Alasdair’s face, Teller’s face, Never, Delilah … and finally it stopped.
Emerson felt her heart grow cold as Tiger’s face remained lit up on the screen.
That second seemed to last a lifetime, and then the light ticked over for the last time and landed on Delilah Scattergood.
“The decision is made,” the Producer said.
Emerson looked over to Delilah, who stood grinning in the sand.
“I’m so sorry,” Emerson said. “I’m so so sorry.”
“It’s been … fun,” Delilah said, and the smile on her otherwise vacant face remained, although her eyes told a story of agony as the poison was released.
The morbid girl with the black eye makeup fell to her knees, and then rocked backward into an uncomfortable, twisted position. She let out one final breath, and seemed to deflate into the sand. She was dead.
Emerson’s hand went to her mouth as her eyes filled with tears.
Your fault, she thought. This is your fault. That girl is dead because of you.
“No more mutinies,” the Producer said. “No more schemes. The games will continue, but one more act of rebellion and you all die. You think I won’t do it? If an example needs to be made for the good of season two, then I will make that example out of each and every one of you.”
Emerson’s internal pain grew as she chastised herself for feeling relief that it wasn’t Tiger, Never, or Kodi who had died. This was not a time to feel anything other than guilt.
The Producer glared at them, seeming to lock eyes with everyone on the beach. There was no sound other than the rasping breathing of Cobalt, who lay sweating in his bed.
“I will return this evening,” the Producer said. “To continue your rehabilitation.”
He walked away. Emerson fell to her knees in the sand and stopped trying to hold back the emotion that had built up inside her.
“How dare you?” Imelda said, her voice filled with rage. “How dare you try to sabotage this show without even asking the rest of us?”
“Not now, Imelda,” Kodi said, pushing past the Topsider and kneeling down beside Emerson.
“Yes, now!” Imelda cried. “Any one of us could have been killed! We should be counting ourselves lucky that it was just that freak Delilah!”
“Are you okay?” Kodi asked, and Emerson looked into his eyes, noticing for the first time the bruises and cuts that had been inflicted by Teller’s blows.
“No,” Emerson whispered in reply.
“Are you listening?” Imelda continued, stepping closer to the pair. “Your stupid actions could have ruined this opportunity for me, and it’s your fault that Delilah is dead!”
“I know that!” Emerson screamed. “Do you think I don’t know that? I’m sorry, all right? We were trying to save everyone and we … we … I’m sorry!”
Imelda took a step back, composed herself, and shook her head. “Whatever. You’re losers anyway.”
She walked away, followed by her cronies, and Kodi put an arm around Emerson.
“It’s not your fault, Emerson. The whole thing was my idea.”
But Emerson could do nothing but let the guilt bear down on her.
“Hey,” a voice said, and Emerson looked up from the sand to see Gwen Perez, the pink-haired leader of the games, standing over them. “I just wanted to say … thank you for trying, you know? Someone had to do something. You saw an opportunity and you tried. Thank you.”
Kodi nodded, and Gwen walked away.
Emerson found herself wondering if Gwen’s gratitude was merely a facade for the cameras: She was Imelda’s greatest competition; she had to take a contrary stance. Emerson shook her head; she didn’t want to think like this anymore. Being surrounded by cameras all the time was driving her crazy. She got up and went back to her bed, where she lay down and thought about the second life she had played a part in snuffing out.
As time ticked by and Emerson lay in abject despair, caught between the pain and guilt, she saw that her follower numbers were going up faster than ever.
Why are they so cruel? she wondered, thinking back to when Alasdair had asked the viewers to unfollow him. Why do they enjoy my pain?
At around five in the evening, a few people had gathered around Cobalt’s bed. He had become disoriented and confused, but it seemed to pass after an hour or so.
Finally, the sun began to fall, and with it, the next game.
“Contestants of The Kill Factor, game number four is about to begin. Please make your way to the other side of the island,” the Producer’s voice commanded from the speakers.
Emerson got out of bed and watched as five contestants, including Kodi, Tiger, and Never, lifted a screaming Cobalt out of his bed and carried him as the island began to turn.
The red sun shone eerily on the Producer as he awaited the contestants.
Cobalt was placed carefully on the sand, where he writhed in pain, sweat drenching his clothes.
This time, there were fifteen tiny huts built on the sand, each one emblazoned with the numbers of the remaining contestants in little brass numerals.
“Contestants,” the Producer said. “On this day, you learn about Discipline. The rules are very simple. The first person to fall asleep faces the viewer vote. There are fifteen of you remaining. For the person with the least amount of followers, Gamble Delaney, the game begins in thirty minutes; for the person in second-to-last place on the leaderboard, Nick Mason, the game begins in one hour; for third-to-last place, Tiger Quinn, the game begins in one and a half hours, and so on and so on until we reach the contestant in first place, Gwen Perez, who will start the game in seven and a half hours. I advise you to use your time wisely and try to rest. It’s going to be a long, long time until you can sleep again. Inside each of the huts behind me is a room with a bed; the hut is completely soundproof and is available to you until the game begins. Good luck—the game starts for Mr. Delaney in half an hour.”
Emerson shook her head and looked down at the sand.
“You okay?” Kodi asked.
“I haven’t slept properly in days,” she answered. “And to be honest, I don’t feel like I deserve to stay in this competition anyway.”
“Listen to me, Em,” Kodi said, taking her hands. “This is not real life. This is not who you are. This whole island is designed to twist reality and change you. The fact that you still feel guilt is a good thing! It shows that you are still you. People have died, more people are going to die, and your only job is to stay alive and stay in the game. We tried to escape and it didn’t work. Someone died, and it was my fault, not yours! The whole thing was my idea, never forget that. You can mourn the death of Delilah when you’re home with your brother with more brand-credit value than you could ever spend, but until then, stay in the game. Okay?”
Emerson sniffed away the tears that threatened to infiltrate her eyes, and nodded her head. “Yeah.”
“Good! Now get as much sleep as you can before this starts. It’s going to be a difficult few days.”
“You think it’ll last that long?” Emerson asked.
Kodi nodded. “It could be three, four days before the first person goes to sleep.”
Emerson nodded once again. Most of the contestants had gone into their temporary bedrooms now.
Never, Tiger, Kodi, and Emerson stayed behind to help carry Cobalt to his hut. The boy was hot with fever and pain, and he screamed incoherently as they got him into the comfortable bed inside.
After the door had slid automatically shut behind him, the four contestants looked at one another with grief in their eyes.
“He’s not going to make it, is he?” Tiger asked, adjusting her thick glasses.
“I don’t think so,” Emerson said.
Without saying anything, Never turned and walked to her hut. The door opened, she stepped inside, and it closed behind her. Tiger went to her hut next.
“Get some rest,” Kodi said.
Emerson was the last contestant on the beach.
She looked around, watched the sun become bisected by the horizon, felt the darkness begin to surround her, and then went to her hut.
As the door slid shut behind her, absolute silence replaced the whooshing of the waves, and perfect darkness replaced the graying air of twilight.
She lay down, and for the first time in days, her mind went completely blank, and she slept.
There were no dreams.
She was awoken by an alarm ringing inside her hut. For one second she was certain she was trapped inside a coffin, but she quickly remembered where she was.
She sat up, threw the blanket off her, and put her hand against the door of her hut. She hesitated. What would she find out there? The games were never fair, never honest, always lethal.
She took a breath, opened the door, and saw that there were five contestants on the beach, sitting around, talking. Nothing unusual, nothing extreme.
“Hey, Emerson,” Tiger said, and smiled.
Emerson smiled back. “Hey, Tiger.” She walked over to the group: Tiger, Nick, Gamble, Kodi, and Sadio.
“How was your sleep?” Gamble asked.
“Pretty good, surprisingly,” Emerson said.
“Lucky for some,” Gamble said, and smiled brightly, showing his big teeth.
“Yeah, sorry,” Emerson said. “It’s going to be pretty tough for you.”
“I don’t know,” he replied. “I was thinking—what if I just go to sleep? What’s the worst they can do, put me in the viewer vote? I’ve already done that twice, and I’m bottom of the leaderboard anyway.”
Emerson thought about it and couldn’t see a flaw in the plan. “It makes sense,” she agreed.
“I’m going to wait until everyone is here and tell them my plan; if they agree, I’ll just go to sleep, and the game will be over.”
“It won’t be over,” Sadio said, talking to someone other than Tanya and Goodwin for the first time since he had joined the ship late with the other two. He had become even more withdrawn and reclusive since Tanya had been voted off.
“No?” Gamble asked.
“No. People will still want to win. People will want immunity from the vote. People will want more camera time, more followers.”
“Let them,” Tiger said. “If they’re that desperate, they’ll never sleep again.”
This made Gamble and Emerson laugh, but the others fell silent and went back to staring at the sea.
Half an hour later Goodwin Goodhew came out of his hut, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He joined Sadio and immediately they sat away from the rest of the contestants, the remaining latecomers together again.
In the next two hours, Teller, Alasdair, and Cobalt joined the woken contestants. Cobalt had to be carried out onto the sand, and it worried everyone that he didn’t scream when he was placed down.
By the time Never came out of her hut, it was around four a.m. and the darkness of the night was starting to clear away.
“I was expecting carnage when I opened that door,” Never said, joining Alasdair, Tiger, and Emerson.
“Me too,” Tiger agreed, already looking a bit tired after staying up a full night.
“Yeah, me too,” Emerson said.
“Don’t get too comfortable,” Kodi added. “There’s a long road ahead of us.”
“Gamble has a plan,” Tiger said, looking at Never and then over to Gamble, who was lying on his back looking up at the cloudy sky. “He’s just going to go to sleep once everyone is up. He says that he’s in last place anyway, so he might as well sleep because he’s going to be facing the vote either way.”
“Bad idea,” Alasdair muttered.
“Why?” Tiger asked. “It means we can all just go to sleep, doesn’t it?”
“I don’t mean that his plan is necessarily bad; I mean saying it out loud while being recorded by camera drones was a bad idea.”
“Why?” Emerson asked, but she thought she already knew.
“Because they won’t like being outsmarted. They’ll react. You’ll see.”
By the time Gwen Perez was woken up and came out of her hut, it was 6:30 a.m., and all the contestants had fallen into their usual groups—all except Teller, who was alone now that Harlow was gone. He sat near the shore, inspecting the cuts on his knuckles where he had hit Kodi, occasionally laughing bitterly to himself.
Gamble explained his idea and got some pushback from the contestants at the lower end of the leaderboard, but ultimately, everyone agreed that it was a good plan. He tried to go back into his hut to sleep, but the door was locked.
“No problem,” he said. “I’ll just lie down in the shade.”
About an hour had passed since Gamble had gone to lie down when Alasdair’s prediction came true and the Producer’s voice came over the speakers.
“Contestants. There has been a slight change to the rules of the Discipline game. The first three contestants to fall asleep will have their poison capsules activated. The fourth contestant to fall asleep will face the viewer vote. Good luck.”
The beach fell silent; heads dropped. Gamble came walking out of the trees shaking his head.
“This is your fault!” Steele growled at him, taking his sunglasses off for the first time. “Because of you and your stupid plan, three of us are going to die!”
