The Kill Factor, page 5
Emerson rolled her eyes and looked to the stage, willing her face not to flush as red as the huge curtain.
The girl who loved facts slid in beside Emerson. “Did you know that lightning hits the earth over one hundred times every second?”
“No, I didn’t know that,” Emerson replied.
“It does. That’s about eight million strikes every day.”
“What’s your name?” Emerson asked.
“Huh?”
“Your name,” Emerson repeated. “Mine’s Emerson Ness. What’s yours?”
“Oh. It’s Vintage Patel. Did you know that some cats are allergic to humans?”
“No,” Emerson replied. “I didn’t know that.”
Thankfully, the curtains began to part, and the muttering crowd fell silent.
Standing alone in a spotlight was the diminutive and fatherly Producer. He raised his arms out to his sides in a welcoming gesture, smiling at the crowd of forty-seven spread out around the theater.
“Welcome. Welcome, contestants of season one of Retribution Island. It’s so wonderful to see you all.” That impossibly wide smile seemed to get even wider as he scanned the crowd. “Before we begin, some housekeeping: I’m afraid to say that your position on this show is not guaranteed. You can be replaced at any time. There are dozens of young offenders waiting to take your place. But don’t worry, all you have to do to keep your place in the show and hold on to this opportunity of a lifetime is to simply behave. Do not harm anyone, do not bully or demean anyone, do not destroy the property of others, and we will get along just fine.”
Emerson felt her face flash hot as she thought about throwing her roommate’s belongings overboard.
“Now, with that out of the way,” the Producer continued, “I would like to remind you that you are part of something new and historic. I know that most of you—perhaps all of you—are nervous, unsure, scared. That is a perfectly reasonable way to be at this juncture. Some of you are away from home for the first time in your lives. Know this: What you’re doing is remarkable and brave. You do not yet know just how revolutionary this show will be. You do not yet know just how innovative, how groundbreaking, how momentous this show will be. Your names will be remembered forever.”
The crowd was still silent, but Emerson could feel the atmosphere inside the Celebrity Theater beginning to change. People were feeling excited, hopeful, roused.
He hasn’t said why we will be remembered yet, Emerson told herself. Historic didn’t always mean good; in fact, more often than not, it meant very, very bad.
“The show is—first and foremost—about engagement. We need to get audiences watching online, on TV, on 3D, on Immersion, on any and every device. How do we do that when every format has been done before and there’s nothing new under the sun? Well, soon enough you will find out. For now, all you need to know is that it is your job to gain followers. Gain followers and you will stay in the game. Each viewer can only follow one contestant at a time, so you must continue to be appealing, or they will choose someone else to follow. You must be charming, you must be provocative, you must be funny, you must be likable. If you are not those things, you will be incarcerated for the rest of your life. It is grow or die out there, kids, and it’s up to you how you decide to use your creativity. You can work in teams, you can go solo, you can be conniving or sweet or funny or deceptive. Don’t have the personality to grow a brand? Be someone else! Don’t have the self-assurance to engage viewers? Be someone else! Don’t have the confidence to be seductive? Be someone else! Grow or die out there, contestants, grow or die. Grow your following or be voted off and die behind bars. Grow your brand or die alone. Do you understand?”
No reply from the crowd, but the excitement hovered in the air. It was a coiled snake, a scorpion’s tail.
“Do. You. Understand?” the Producer repeated. And this time the crowd screamed yes in response.
“Good!” the white-haired man continued. “Retribution Island exists to reform criminals, and that is what you are. Like it or not, you are criminals. But know this: I do not see you as criminals. I see you as young people who were dealt an unfair hand in life! I am here to help you! I believe in you. I believe in each and every one of you, and I believe that you can be rehabilitated. There are six faculties that good, responsible, law-abiding citizens have. Six faculties that criminals lack. They are: Self-Worth, Empathy, Work Ethic, Discipline, Respect, and Restraint.”
As the Producer listed these strengths, he raised one short finger at a time, counting them off. “You will learn these facets; they will be ingrained into your being, and you will become better people. These six faculties make up the basis of the six games you will take part in during the run of the show. Six opportunities to improve yourselves, six opportunities to prove yourselves, six opportunities to gain followers. The loser of each game will face off against whoever is at the bottom of the leaderboard in the public vote. The person who gains the most votes remains; the other will be escorted to their cell, where they will live out their days with no human interaction at all, not even with the other prisoners. After the sixth and final game, the person with the most followers is free to go home. It’s as simple as that: play the games, stay in the competition, gain followers, win your freedom. You will record video diaries each night, which will go out to millions of viewers, and other than that, your time is your own. I’d advise you to use it wisely. I’ll remind you once again, contestants, that you are a part of something gargantuan! You are pioneers, and just by boarding this ship, you have written your names into the pages of history. Congratulations. Now I will take any questions you may have.”
For a few seconds no one moved, then, slowly, the shaking and unsure hands of seven or eight young people went up into the air. But before any questions could be asked, the doors to the theater opened, and light spilled in. Everyone in the room turned in unison, and the Producer clapped his hands together.
“Ah, good,” he said, smiling broadly. “Please come in and sit down.”
Three lost-looking kids stood in the doorway. Two of them were rubbing their wrists where they had recently had their identifying numbers burned into them.
“Contestants 48, 49, and 50,” Never whispered, leaning over toward Emerson. “Kodi was right.”
The Q and A session inside the Celebrity Theater seemed to go on for hours. Each time a person asked a question, it seemed to raise three more, all of which the Producer was able to answer without giving away anything more than what he already had.
Finally, it had ended, with still more questions left unanswered.
It was almost four p.m. now and everyone was hungry. Emerson, Never, and Tiger walked back up to the top deck and looked back toward the docks, which were already gone from sight. They were surrounded entirely by the gray-blue sea, which rolled and heaved all around them.
“So, how do the drones work again?” Emerson asked, feeling the familiar pang of hunger pains hitting her.
“Oh, it’s easy,” Never replied. “Watch this. Calypso, get me some fries and a Diet Coke.”
The three girls waited, leaning on the rails that surrounded the upper deck and separated them from the massive drop down to the ocean below.
“It’s sort of beautiful, isn’t it?” Tiger said, mesmerized by the water.
“Yeah,” Emerson agreed, looking out to the horizon, where the ocean dipped into nothingness.
Never grunted. “Nah! It’s boring! Nothing but blue for hundreds of miles. Who cares? I’d much rather …” But she suddenly stopped talking and stood up straight, eyes wide. “Look at that!”
Emerson followed Never’s gaze and saw the most incredible thing she’d ever seen in her life: At first her brain couldn’t comprehend what her eyes saw. It was a whale breaching the surface of the water, rising up in a seemingly endless leap. The thing was almost too big to be believed. It seemed like something out of a fairy tale, impossibly majestic and beautiful, and when its staggering leap reached its peak, the whale crashed back down into the sea. The sound was like thunder, and the animal disappeared into the foaming ocean.
“Did you … did you see that?” Tiger asked.
A drone carrying a steaming plate of fries zipped up to Never, placed the food on a table beside her, and flew away again. Never ignored the food and stared at the spot where the whale had broken the surface, dived into the air, and crashed back down.
“That was unbelievable,” Emerson said, her eyes scanning the water to catch another glimpse of the whale.
There were only a few other people on the top deck of the cruise ship, but they were playing in the pool, or ordering drinks, or eating food. It seemed none of them had noticed, and so the moment had belonged only to the three who had been looking just in the right spot. The silence between the three girls was broken by the Producer’s voice booming out over the speakers.
“Contestants numbered 1 to 10, please come to the Infinity Suite on deck seven immediately.”
Now the silence that had grown between the three girls spread out across the top deck. Everyone was looking at one another with uncertainty in their eyes.
Emerson watched as number 10, the violet-haired Topsider who had told her to show more skin, climbed out of the pool and began walking toward the elevators.
“She was filming herself down in the shopping mall earlier,” Emerson whispered to Never.
“Unlikely,” Never replied. “No tech works on the ship apart from ship tech.”
“She had drones,” Emerson replied. “I saw them.”
“Nicotine Patch,” Tiger replied.
“Sorry?” Never said, looking down at the young Topsider.
“It’s a service that the ship offers. If you really miss making content, the ship will have drones follow you and you can sort of pretend. They call it Nicotine Patch because in the olden days, when people were trying to quit smoking cigarettes, they’d use these sticky patches on their arms as a substitute.”
“How do you know about it?” Emerson asked.
Tiger lowered her eyes. “Because I used it. In my room, I really missed making my singing videos, so I asked the ship for the Nicotine Patch service. The Nicotine Patch drones are designed to interfere with the signal of any electronic device, just in case someone tries to hack into a display board and make the drones send out live footage or something … but I just wanted to feel like I was being watched again, even if it was just pretend.”
Never put her arm around Tiger.
A few other contestants were heading toward the elevator and the stairs. Emerson wondered where Kodi was, and what was going to happen to him when he got to the Infinity Suite.
“What do you think is going to happen to them?” Never asked as the elevator doors slid shut.
“I don’t know,” Emerson replied.
Suddenly, it felt very cold on the top deck of the Calypso.
An hour later, the Producer’s voice echoed throughout the ship once again.
“Contestants numbered 11 to 20, please come to the Infinity Suite on deck seven immediately.”
Emerson was sitting at the pool when the announcement came. Without thinking, she looked down at her hand and reread the number there: 16. She glanced at Never, who gave her a sympathetic look in return.
“That’s us,” Tiger whispered, holding up her number 11 and then letting it drop back down to her side.
“Yeah,” Emerson replied, putting on a smile and trying to sound as though everything was fine. “Let’s go find out what it’s all about.”
Tiger nodded, but tears (that looked enormous, magnified in her glasses) were welling in her eyes.
“Hey,” Never said, trying her best to be comforting. “It’s gonna be fine.”
“Really?” Tiger replied, sounding doubtful. “Because the first ten people who left haven’t come back.”
The ride down to the third floor was quiet and tense.
Emerson and Tiger said nothing as they began the long walk to the far end of the corridor. A broad-shouldered boy of about eighteen joined them as they made their way to the Infinity Suite.
“Hey,” he said, his voice cracking in fear. “I mean, hey.” This time his voice came out deeper, with faux confidence. He shook his head in disappointment. “I’m Teller.”
“Hi, Teller,” Tiger replied quickly and nervously. “I’m Tiger. My favorite board game is Catan. I have a board from 1997. I really want to get a first-edition board from ’95, but they’re crazy expensive and rare.”
“Oh, right, cool,” Teller replied, staring straight ahead.
“I’m Emerson,” Emerson added.
“Hey, hi, Emerson. So, where is this Infinity Suite?”
Emerson pointed to a sign overhead that told them the Infinity Suite was at the end of the corridor.
“I don’t know what that says,” Teller replied, looking down at his feet.
“What do you mean?” Emerson asked.
“Like, I’m not really, exactly able to … read.”
“Oh,” Emerson replied. “It says the Infinity Suite is this way.”
“Oh, right,” Teller said, smiling. “Cool.” As he said this last word, he appeared to trip on nothing at all and tumbled spectacularly to the floor. He quickly got to his feet, brushed himself off, and continued walking.
“Took a bit of a tumble there,” Emerson pointed out.
“Yeah, I sort of fell, didn’t I?” the red-faced Burrower admitted, looking concernedly at the carpet burn on his right elbow.
“You’re 20?” Tiger asked, grabbing the boy’s hand and dragging it closer to her eyes.
“Huh? Oh, yeah, number 20,” he agreed, smiling awkwardly. “What about you guys?”
Tiger and Emerson held their hands up in unison.
“16,” Emerson said.
“11,” Tiger added.
The repeating patterns of the wallpaper and carpets began to give Emerson that feeling of vertigo once again, but there wasn’t enough time for it to mess with her head too much, as the trio found themselves outside a set of double doors.
“What … what do you think happens in there?” Teller asked.
“I don’t know,” Emerson replied.
“I guess there’s only one way to find out,” Tiger said, and reached out a hand. As her fingers touched the door handle, she shrieked in pain and began to convulse.
Teller screamed and took three quick steps back, stumbling and falling once again. Emerson moved to grab Tiger, but quickly stopped herself. If the door was electrified, then the current would flow through her too.
Tiger’s braided hair jigged like electric eels. Emerson looked around for something to push the young girl away from the door with, but was interrupted by the sound of laughter.
“Just kidding!” Tiger said, holding up both hands and shrugging.
Emerson shook her head. “I swear, Tiger, you have the weirdest sense of humor.” This made Tiger laugh even harder.
By the time Emerson’s heart had slowed back down to a normal rate, two other contestants (numbers 14 and 15, the two young boys from the Celebrity Theater who had become good friends since boarding the ship) had joined them.
“I’ve heard they’re throwing fifty percent of contestants overboard,” the scruffy-haired number 14 said.
Number 15 wiped his running nose on the back of his long-sleeved, patchy T-shirt, and added: “I’ve heard they’re letting some people go free. Oh lordy, I hope that’s true.” His blocked nose made almost all his Ps sound like Bs.
Emerson sighed. There was no point in waiting around in the corridor. She pushed down on the door handle and stepped inside.
The room was enormous. It was bright and open-plan. There was a grand piano in the center of the apartment, a huge fireplace, a fully stocked kitchen, and a marble staircase that led to a mezzanine level overlooking the whole suite. It was bigger than Emerson’s entire home in the Burrows.
“Wow,” number 14 said.
“Oh lordy,” number 15 said.
“Yeah,” Emerson agreed, unable to say anything else.
“Welcome,” a familiar voice said, and the four of them turned around to see the Producer standing on the mezzanine balcony above them. “Please, join your fellow contestants up here with me.”
Emerson and Teller shared a look of uncertainty, but there was no other choice. The five of them ascended the staircase, and when they made it to the upper level, they saw dozens of racks of clothes lined up on garment rails, shoes displayed on mini-platforms, and hats, sunglasses, gloves, and other accessories in glass display cases.
“What is this?” Tiger asked, clearly awed by the selection.
“This,” the Producer answered, smiling down at Tiger, “is all for you.”
Emerson noticed three other contestants sitting awkwardly on a white leather couch, cold drinks in their hands.
“But why?” number 15 asked, wiping at his nose again.
“Once all ten of you arrive, I’ll … Oh, here they are now,” the Producer said, stepping to the edge of the balcony once more and ushering the final two contestants up to the next level.
Once all of them were sitting down, the Producer stood before them.
“Contestants, here you will choose seven outfits for your time on Retribution Island. One outfit for each game. I suggest you choose wisely. Think carefully about how you intend to grow your followers, how you will entice them, how you will charm them, how you will convince them to follow you.”
Emerson raised her hand.
“Yes, Ms. Ness?”
“In the theater you said there would be six games, but you just said we should choose seven outfits, one for each game.”
“That’s right. But you’ll recall that I also said that after all six games are complete, the remaining contestants will have one final opportunity to appeal to the public for followers.”
Emerson failed to recall him telling her this. “You mean one final opportunity to beg?” she replied, feeling that old, familiar sting of anger piercing her heart.
“Ms. Ness, I am so sorry that this is difficult for you.” The Producer’s face fell into an expression of pity. “I truly hope that you can find the courage and the fortitude to try your best. I am so glad that you chose to join us. I would hate to see you waste this opportunity.”
