The Kill Factor, page 22
“Voting begins in ten seconds,” the Producer announced.
The screens inside the tubes flickered to life. Emerson looked down at the names of all the other contestants on one side of the screen, and a table numbered 1 to 8 on the other side.
I have to rank them? she thought, and felt physical disgust at the prospect. I have to help choose who lives and who dies.
A countdown appeared at the top corner of the screen, indicating that she had one minute to make her decision.
“Hey, this isn’t fair,” a voice called out from three tubes down the line from Emerson. It was Teller. “I can’t read; I don’t know who I’m voting for.”
Imelda laughed. “You can’t read?” she said. “I guess I know who’s going bottom of my respect list.”
Decker laughed hysterically.
Without thinking, Emerson slid Imelda’s name over to number 8, and Decker into 7.
What have I done? she asked herself, looking at the names she had chosen as the least worthy to live.
Already the timer was down to thirty seconds.
“A quick note,” the Producer called out. “Those who abstain from voting will come last and face the wrath of the pressing stones.”
Emerson felt a rush of adrenaline. She began dragging names over. Kodi into first, Tiger into second, Never into third. Was that the right order? She didn’t know; she had only known them for a matter of days. There was no correct answer to this death puzzle. She moved Gwen’s name into fourth, then Teller, then Gamble.
It was done. Her list of who deserved to live more than others. She felt sick.
The timer told her she had three seconds left, and she thought about changing Teller and Gamble around, but a buzzer sounded.
“Voting is closed,” the Producer announced. “It’s time to see the results. We will begin with the current leader, Gwen Perez.”
All eyes turned to Gwen’s tube as the stone above her head began to slowly descend.
Everyone was silent as the enormous stone slowly made its way farther and farther down the translucent pipe.
Emerson looked around at the contestants and thought that Imelda would most likely have put her in last place, maybe Decker would have too due to his strange loyalty to Imelda, but where would everyone else have put her? Emerson looked down at her screen. She had put Gwen in fourth place. Had that decision been enough to condemn the pink-haired Topsider to death?
The stone dropped at its steady pace, lowered by some hidden mechanics buried beneath the island, perhaps even controlled from that strange plastic room behind the fake prison.
The stone was so low now that Gwen had to sit down in her tube. She crossed her legs, closed her eyes, and waited.
The stone came lower still, until the smooth gray base of it touched Gwen’s bright hair. And then it stopped.
Gwen breathed a sigh of relief, opened her eyes, and began to cry. She was alive.
“Next, Imelda Fleet,” the Producer announced.
Imelda’s stone began to lower, and the girl inside smiled a confident, bright smile. She crossed her arms and leaned against the inside of the tube.
After fifteen seconds or so, Imelda began to look as though this whole thing was a waste of her time. It wasn’t until the stone came so low, forcing her to crouch, that she began to look indignant.
“What the hell?” she asked, looking around at her traitorous peers who had dared not put her at the top of their respect lists.
Emerson watched as the stone pressed down on Imelda.
I feel nothing, she realized as Imelda began to scream. This place is supposed to fix me, but it has broken me beyond repair.
Imelda’s screams became muffled as the stone pushed her into the sand.
All of Imelda’s popularity among her group had indeed been built on fear. They had pandered to her in order to stay in her good graces, but no one had respected her, and now …
The stone stopped. Imelda was curled at the bottom of the tube. The stone pressed down on her, constricting her lungs. Another few centimeters and there would not be enough space to breathe, but as it was, she had just enough room to survive. Her wild and wide eyes rolled around in supreme terror.
“A close call for Ms. Fleet,” the Producer said. “Next it is the turn of Mr. Shimada.”
“Oh God, no,” Decker said, letting out all his fear in a high and breathless exclamation.
The stone came down, and down, and down.
Decker paced the short circumference of his transparent cylindrical cell until it was time to sit down.
And still the stone kept on coming.
Decker sat on the sand, a look of resignation on his face as the stone flattened his tall Mohawk, then bent his neck, forcing him to the ground.
“Mom, I’m sorry,” he said. Everyone’s eyes closed tightly shut as the stone pushed him farther and farther into the sand, crushing his bones.
Emerson felt tears in her eyes, and for one second she experienced relief that she still had the ability to feel anything at all.
“A sad end,” the Producer said. “But the show goes on. Next up is Ms. Jones.”
Never took a deep breath and waited for her fate.
The stone came down. Never had her eyes closed for the entire ordeal but needn’t have worried; it stopped before she had to move.
“Yes, Never!” Tiger shouted, clapping her hands.
Tiger was next. Her stone came down about a foot lower than Never’s, but because she was so short, Tiger didn’t have to move either.
“Mr. Sanderson,” the Producer said, turning slowly to face Teller.
“Wait!” Teller called out from his tube as he thumped on the thick plastic. “I didn’t finish voting! I couldn’t read the names!”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Sanderson, the rules were made perfectly clear to you.”
“No, you can’t kill me for not being able to read! You need to give me more time!”
Those were Teller’s last words. The stone above his head did not come down slowly. In an odd act of mercy, Teller was not made to suffer. Instead, he was crushed to death in an instant, his life snuffed out without warning or ceremony.
Gone, Emerson thought. Teller is gone.
There was no sign of the boy who had been standing there a few seconds earlier. Emerson couldn’t even see any blood. That was how perfectly the stone fit inside the tube.
“You must listen to instructions, contestants,” the Producer said, a lighthearted note of scolding in his voice. “You must pay attention and do what you are told. Let’s move on, shall we? I believe the next in line is Ms. Ness.”
As the Producer’s eyes turned to meet Emerson’s, the stone began to lower.
There was no fear inside Emerson. No thoughts of the pain that would come with being crushed to death. No sadness. Nothing. Emerson was empty of emotion, and again she thought of how this island had killed a vital part of her.
Is it killed? she wondered. Really? Or is it just in a coma? Can it be revived? Will I ever be normal again?
This was a question she felt she could not know the answer to until she knew whether or not she would live for more than twenty-four hours.
The descending stone pressed against her head, and she sat down. She looked out of the plastic tube and over to the rolling waves of the ocean. Her eyes turned to the moon. The moon is backward and the stars don’t make sense. She looked for constellations that she might recognize and saw none.
The stone stopped a foot above her. There was no relief or elation.
“Mr. Finch,” the Producer said, and there was some trepidation in the voice of the Producer as he turned to Kodiak. “You’re next.”
Kodi’s stone began to lower, and Emerson watched. She felt certain that he would be okay, but still there were sparks of fear flickering inside her.
Kodi’s stone halted a little lower than Emerson’s. He was alive.
“Finally, Mr. Delaney,” the Producer said, turning to stare into Gamble’s fearful eyes.
Gamble nodded. He ran his tongue over his big teeth, and looked up at the stone as it began to fall slowly toward him.
When, after a minute or so, the stone began to crush Gamble, he screamed “Stop! Stop! Stop!” as though the people behind this game had any kind of mercy.
He died screaming.
Emerson looked at the stars once again. She desperately wanted to see one of the constellations that Kester had taught her: Orion, Cassiopeia, Draco, or Leo, but there was nothing familiar about these points of brilliant light in the perfectly black sky … except … except there was something familiar. Orion’s Belt, a series of three stars in an almost straight line that tilted upward at a slight angle … only Orion’s belt was facing the wrong way.
The stars don’t make sense.
Once Emerson had seen Orion’s belt, she could make out the entire shape of Orion the Hunter. The great constellation’s bow, which normally aimed up into the night sky, was aimed down, as though he were firing arrows at Earth.
Impossible, Emerson thought. The stars can’t just flip around.
Whatever it was that Nick had noticed before he had killed himself, or that Alasdair had figured out before he had gone to jail, she was seeing it now too. But what did it mean?
The stones lifted and Imelda screamed with relief once she could finally breathe easy again.
“Contestants,” the Producer intoned, almost singing, “you have completed game number five and taken yet another step toward becoming valued members of society.” No one clapped or cheered, but the Producer stood triumphantly, as though he was about to deliver incredible news, and Emerson could imagine the editors of this hellish show adding sound effects of rapturous applause.
“Six of you remain, and only one game to go before a winner is crowned. All of you have come so far and learned so much. You are so close to being fully rehabilitated. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. There will be only one winner. Five more of you will bow out before the games are complete. And—to that end—I shall announce the winner and loser of today’s game. The person who has earned the most respect from their peers, and the winner of the Respect game, is … Ms. Never Jones!”
Emerson clenched her fist in celebration. Tiger hugged Never.
“Ms. Jones,” the Producer said, walking over to the winner. “How are you feeling right now having won the respect of your fellow contestants?”
“I feel awful,” Never replied. “Dozens of people had to die for me to still be in this game. It’s all a lie. There’s no rehabilitation here, just desensitization and hell!”
“Very good, Ms. Jones,” the Producer replied, grinning widely. “Now, you were chosen to come to this island because you committed a very serious crime, isn’t that right?”
“No,” Never replied. “I stole off rich people like you because the system is rigged! I had to feed my family. I had to pay rent. How was I supposed to do any of that when your kind are hoarding all the wealth?”
“I understand,” the Producer replied, a look of sympathy on his face. “And do you think the process you have been through on the island has helped you in any way?”
“No!” Never replied. “Aren’t you listening to me?”
“That’s so good to hear,” the Producer said.
Never’s shoulders slumped. “You’re going to change my words, aren’t you? When this goes out to all the people watching, you’re going to change what I’m saying.”
“That’s right,” the Producer replied, a look of hateful victory in his eyes. “Ladies and gentlemen, your winner, Never-Again Jones!”
Without warning, Never grabbed the Producer by the throat and squeezed as hard as she could.
“No!” Emerson screamed, knowing that her friend was signing her own death warrant.
The Producer’s face began to turn purple as he fell to the ground. Never landed on top of him, not losing her grip on his neck. Emerson ran toward them, hoping that if she could get Never away from the Producer in time, then maybe they wouldn’t release the poison, but as her hands grabbed Never’s shoulders, she knew she was already too late.
Emerson pulled the weakened girl off the Producer. Never stared up at the backward stars.
“Never!” Emerson cried, holding her friend’s head in her arms.
“I messed up,” Never replied, her voice shaking.
“No, you didn’t.”
“I could’ve won this stupid thing.”
Emerson pushed a strand of Never’s hair out of her sweat-soaked face. “You once promised to look after my brother. Well, now I’m promising you that I’ll get out of here and look after your family.”
Never nodded; her hand rested on Emerson’s.
Tiger screamed and fell to her knees as the life left Never’s eyes.
Emerson felt Kodi’s hand on her shoulder, but she didn’t need comfort or support in this moment. Instead of anger, instead of pain, instead of anguish, Emerson felt a resolve growing in her. There would be time for rage and hate and sorrow later, but for now, she knew only one thing: She would get off this island, she would find all the people responsible for this hell, and she would kill them.
“Never-Again Jones will receive immunity from the viewer vote,” the Producer said. Emerson turned to look at him. He was standing steadily on both feet, no sign of a bruise on his neck, no indication that Never had even shaken him at all. “Not that immunity is any good to her now.”
The slight smile on the Producer’s face set Emerson’s resolve in stone. “I’m going to kill you first,” she whispered.
“The loser of the Respect game is Imelda Fleet. Sorry, Ms. Fleet. It seems you do not command enough respect among your peers; perhaps some reflection is required.”
Imelda was still shaking and sobbing from her latest near-death experience.
“Follow me,” the Producer said. Again, the island began to turn.
For the first time since the first diary, Emerson refused to speak. She spent the entire time staring at the Producer, her mind turning over and over with thoughts of backward stars, fake prisons, mazes, and the giant cruise ship waiting on the waves.
“Contestants!” the Producer said. And by now, Emerson could almost speak along with what he was saying. “You have made it through the fifth game, and completed your video diaries. The footage is being aired as we speak, and in exactly one minute we will take a snapshot of your follower count and see which contestant will be facing Ms. Fleet in the viewer vote. I am proud of each and every one of you. Good luck.”
The Producer counted down from ten, the screen flashed, and Emerson looked to see which of them would be competing against Imelda.
Fireworks flashed in the sky as the Producer announced that Gwen Perez had retained her lead by a narrow margin, and would be receiving five new outfits as a prize.
It was all somewhere way in the background, though.
Emerson stared at the scoreboard.
Forty-five names were grayed out. Only five remained.
The name sitting at the bottom of the list was her own.
Emerson felt Kodi’s arms around her.
“You have to stay in the game,” he whispered. “No matter what.”
She looked into his gray-blue eyes and allowed that feeling of determined focus to reignite inside her. She nodded.
The drones shone their spotlights onto Emerson and Imelda as the Producer commanded them to step onto the stage. He was taking an envelope from the pocket of his suit jacket and opening it.
Emerson’s body felt numb. It was all happening too fast.
She stared at her name on the scoreboard.
Place
Contestant Name
Contestant #
Follower count
1.
Gwen Perez
7
2,290,236
2.
Imelda Fleet
33
2,276,797
3.
Tiger Quinn
11
1,721,600
4.
Kodiak Finch
1
1,577,203
5.
Emerson Ness
16
1,382,509
Focus, Emerson told herself.
“Tonight’s task,” the Producer proclaimed, “is to confess your deepest, darkest secret. Each of you will get a chance to speak for three minutes. Good luck.”
The screen flashed, and huge numbers appeared and disappeared, counting down from ten to zero.
Imelda’s face appeared first. She began to speak, but Emerson could hardly hear her words through the buzzing in her ears. Whatever she was saying was surely a lie. Emerson looked around at her friends. Tiger, who had her arms wrapped around herself; Kodi, who was nodding in encouragement. Emerson felt tears running down her cheeks.
Imelda was the best actress Emerson had ever witnessed. Her inflections, her calculated pauses, the moisture she was able to push to the brink of her eyes. A single tear fell just as the countdown hit five seconds.
“It was the lowest point in my life,” Imelda said.
Imelda’s follower count was skyrocketing.
When zero hit, Emerson’s face appeared on the screen. For ten seconds she didn’t speak. Her mind was blank. And then she felt the weight of everything she had been through pressing down on her.
Kester’s words flashed into her mind: Remember that people fall in love with honesty. Be honest and you’ll win them over.
Emerson inhaled a deep breath into her lungs. It was time to stop lying to herself.
“I’m here, on this island, because I was arrested for murder,” she said. “A man died because of a fire that started in a school that I was robbing. I have spent every day since I found out about the death of Marvin Tzu telling myself that it wasn’t my fault, that I didn’t start the fire, but the truth is: I did. I started the fire, and I did it on purpose. I wanted that school to burn.” Emerson didn’t hear her own words. Instead, she stood inside that dark and empty physics room in her mind’s eye, and smelled the gas as it billowed out of the tap in the middle of the desk.
