The Kill Factor, page 6
Emerson looked into the Producer’s eyes, looking for something sinister, but there was only kindness there.
“I’ll try,” Emerson conceded.
The Producer nodded and the smile reappeared on his face. He stepped aside, and the other nine contestants leaped to their feet and began scrabbling through the rows of dresses, shirts, shorts, and shoes. Emerson waited, still thinking about the Producer’s words. Finally, she stood up and began moving slowly through the racks of clothes.
“Oh my days!” Tiger squealed. “Look at this!” She ran past holding a gold sequined dress and looking happier than Emerson had ever seen her.
Emerson watched as Teller held up a white tank top (that was clearly three sizes too small) against his chest and looked at himself nervously in one of the full-length mirrors.
“Hey, Burrower,” said a tall Topsider with a shaved head. “I’m Levi, what’s your name?”
Emerson looked at his number, 17, and then up into his glowing green eyes. “I’m Emerson.”
“Emerson, you’d look pretty hot in that,” he said, running the material of a tiny bathing suit through his fingers and smiling at her.
“That’s the creepiest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” Emerson said, pushing past him.
“Your loss,” Levi called after her, and laughed.
Emerson stopped at a rack of T-shirts that no one else was looking through and grabbed six of them in her approximate size. They looked comfortable. They felt light, as though she could maneuver well in them, and they were all dark shades, which could be good if any of the tasks required hiding or camouflage. Not to mention she preferred dark colors.
As practical as Emerson was trying to be, she couldn’t help but feel a jolt of excitement. She had not owned a single new piece of clothing in her entire life. It had always been third-generation hand-me-downs from cousins she had never met, or ancient thrift store shoes that smelled of the previous owner’s feet, or school uniforms from the anonymous donation bin.
She walked over to the rack of pants and jeans and shorts, and took four pairs of black jeans and two pairs of dark green shorts.
“Look at this!” one of the two young friends was saying, pushing a pair of ski goggles onto his face while his nose-blocked pal laughed with delight.
Emerson chose a pair of waterproof boots with good grip and a pair of sneakers for more athletic endeavors, then she walked alongside a shelf full of underwear that ranged from silk, to lace, to plain black cotton. She grabbed seven packs of the plain underwear and shoved all her new clothes into a huge, dark green backpack that she had chosen from a shelf, and then placed it on the floor next to one of the lavish couches.
She turned back to the well-lit rows of apparel and watched as Tiger danced dramatically around wearing a powder-blue suit jacket over the clothes she had boarded the ship in. The boy with the blocked nose (whose name was Skiba, if she had heard his friend correctly) was wearing a top hat and laughing uncontrollably at his reflection. Rose Pascoe, number 19, a short, strong-looking girl, was trying on sparkly silver shoes and then throwing them aside when she didn’t like the way they looked.
They were having fun. All these children (and Emerson reminded herself that that’s what they were), who were condemned to life imprisonment, were having fun.
And why not you, Emerson? she asked herself, watching as Tiger grabbed Skiba and danced him around in a circle. Why not you? Why can’t you be like them? Why can’t you let go and just …
She forced herself to stop thinking. There was no point. She had asked herself the same question while watching the other kids in her year in the swimming pool at school, or when her brother and his friends had played make-believe games down in the Burrows, and she had never really come to a satisfactory conclusion.
“Hey, Emerson, look at me!” Tiger called out, and did a handstand in a pair of long silk gloves. She slipped, banging her head on the polished floor, and laughed.
Emerson looked down at the backpack beside her. She had only chosen six outfits. There was still room for one more. She got to her feet and walked over to a knee-length green dress, and then stopped. It would be stupid to take such a thing. It would be a waste of space in her bag.
Just take another dark T-shirt and another pair of jeans and get out of here. You’re not going to get followers, so just focus on not coming in last. Besides, if you were going to gain followers, you don’t want to do it by dressing in …
“There’s nothing wrong with looking good, you know,” Rose Pascoe, the short, muscular Burrower, said, startling Emerson out of her thoughts.
“Huh?”
“Get the dress. You’ve got this hot grungy thing going on, but you’d look like a stone-cold smokeshow in that.”
Emerson felt her face turning red. “No, I’m just going to …”
“Oh wow!” Tiger said, sliding over in her stockinged feet, wearing a red cloche hat and a flapper-girl dress. “Get that, Emerson, it would totally suit you!”
“I don’t think so …” Emerson said, but reached out to touch the smooth and cold material of the dress.
“Why not?” Rose asked.
Emerson snapped herself out of the fanciful state she found herself in and shook her head. “No, it’s silly,” she said finally, and stepped over to the T-shirts, where she grabbed another brown one, a pair of tan chinos, and walked back to the couch where her bag was.
Tiger and Rose shared a bothered look, but quickly went back to their spree.
Emerson shoved the final outfit into her bag and pulled on the ties to tighten it.
“You don’t need that dress,” a voice said, and Emerson looked up to see Teller not making eye contact with her. “I know I’m not exactly smart, and I can’t read, but I know that you don’t need no fancy dress to look nice. You already look … nice. That’s all I wanted to say.”
By the time Emerson had processed Teller’s words, he had turned on his heel and walked away with his bag full of clothes.
Emerson had walked Tiger to her room and then had cautiously entered her own cabin, looking around for the silver-haired Topsider whose belongings she had tossed into the harbor some six hours ago, but there was no sign of her. The Producer had told each contestant to go straight to their rooms and not tell anyone else about what was going on in the Infinity Suite.
Emerson shoved the backpack full of new clothes under her bed and tried not to think of them, but as an hour passed, and then two, and she heard the announcements inviting numbers 21 to 30, then 31 to 40, to go and select their own new clothes, the excitement overtook her, and she hauled the bag out and turned the contents onto the bed.
It had grown dark outside the glass windows of the balcony doors, and the waves had become choppy, making the boat rock and dip in arrhythmic pulses. Emerson could hear the wind blowing out there too, a low, mournful whistle.
She ignored the changing weather and sat looking through all the clothes she had taken from the Infinity Suite, laying each T-shirt out on the bed, each pair of trousers, the shoes, even the underwear. She stared at the pristine fabric, marveled at the smell of the brand-new material, smoothed out the creases, and ran her fingers along the flawless stitching.
For some reason, the new clothes made Emerson think of Kester. He was so beautifully naive and sheltered from the truths of the world. Pristine, unspoiled. Yes, he was a kid from the Burrows, and he knew more about the realities of the unfair world than most, but he still had the lovely folly of youth on his side, the blue-eyed ambition that had not yet been stained and torn and ripped away by classism and nepotism and …
The door to the cabin flew open, and the silver-haired Topsider stood in the doorway, fizzing like a swarm of wasps.
“Where’s my stuff, 16?” she demanded.
Emerson looked at the girl, who was carrying her own bag of new clothes from the Infinity Suite, and raised her eyebrows. “Stuff?”
“Drop the act. I know you stole my bag.”
“Why would I steal your bag?”
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe because everything you own is trash?”
Emerson stood quickly, stepping close to the taller girl and looking up at her. “Keep talking, 33, see what happens,” she snarled.
The boat rocked then as the storm brewed, sending Emerson and the Topsider stumbling to one side.
“Last chance,” the taller girl said, looking down at Emerson. “Last chance to give me my stuff or we settle this right here.”
“I’d think twice about that if I were you,” Emerson replied calmly.
“And why is that?”
“Right now you’re trying your hardest to intimidate me, right? But take a look at my face; do I look intimidated? We’re all the same here. Do I look even a little bit scared of you?”
They stared at each other, both of them maintaining their balance as the waves began to stir like a waking leviathan. Emerson was ready to react to anything that the silver-haired girl might try.
The sound of pounding footsteps out in the corridor behind 33 was not enough to break their standoff, but when Teller appeared in the open doorway, out of breath and clearly worried, Emerson’s eyes went to him.
“They’re fighting,” he panted. “Up on the top deck, there’s a fight. We have to go break it up. The rules, remember, the Producer said he’d kick people off the show. Come on!”
He sprinted off down the corridor, bashing painfully into a doorframe in his haste to help.
Emerson pushed past 33 and ran after Teller. By the time she had climbed one flight of stairs, she had already overtaken the muscular Burrower, and a few minutes later she shoved open the double doors that led to the top deck.
A circle of twenty or so kids surrounded two boys grappling in the center.
Right away, Emerson recognized that one of the boys was Kodi, still dressed in his ratty old suit jacket.
“For crying out loud,” she muttered under her breath, and shoved her way through the swaying crowd that was struggling to keep their feet with the growing storm.
The first raindrops began to fall as Emerson broke through to the center circle and saw Kodi shove the tall, shaven-headed boy away from him. Emerson recognized the second boy as Levi, the boy who had hit on her in the Infinity Suite. Just then, Kodi threw a punch that landed square on the Topsider’s chin.
“Stop it!” Emerson shouted, running forward and standing between the boys. “You’ll get kicked off the boat, you heard what the Producer said!”
Levi was tall and muscular. He shoved Emerson aside and lunged at Kodi, who ducked under and swiveled so he was behind him.
“Stop! You have to stop!” came the cries of Teller as he bundled through the crowd.
Teller performed a strange and accidental ballet of running, stumbling, and slipping on the rain-soaked boards beneath his feet all at the same time.
Kodi reacted, sidestepping the onrushing Teller and giving him a shove toward the guardrails.
What happened next seemed to Emerson to happen in slow motion. Teller’s feet continued to slide on the wet surface, and he performed an almost elegant half turn. His back collided with the stainless-steel rail and his legs flipped up over his head.
He was gone.
Overboard.
The crowd fell silent as the reality of what had just happened set in. The rain grew suddenly heavier and the darkness of the evening seemed to wrap around the boat.
Emerson stormed up to Kodi as the crowd dispersed into the night, running away from the situation and whatever might follow. Even Levi had skulked into the shadows, no longer interested in his beef with Kodi.
“You did that!” Emerson cried. “It’s your fault he fell overboard—you have to help him!”
“He’s not my responsibility,” Kodi replied, shrugging and walking away.
“You can’t just leave!” Emerson yelled through the rumble of the rain, which was now bouncing off the wooden deck.
Kodi didn’t reply; he just joined the crowd of contestants who were exiting through the double doors.
Emerson didn’t think; she pulled off her raggedy old sneakers and leaped over the side.
The fall from the top deck to the ocean below seemed to last a lifetime. She felt the cold rush of the air around her, the adrenaline exploding inside her, the panic building rapidly.
And then she hit the water.
Her heart stopped as the ice-cold hands of the ocean grabbed her and pulled her under. In that moment she forgot everything: where she was, why she had jumped, what her damned name was! All she knew was that she had to claw her way to the surface because the impossible cold had taken away her breath.
She dragged at the water, hauling herself toward the surface but barely moving at all.
Too cold, she thought as her frigid muscles refused to cooperate. Too cold, I’m going to drown.
She kicked her legs furiously, forced her immobile arms to work, and inch by agonizing inch, she crawled her way up.
She broke the surface, gasping in air and spitting out salty water.
It took a full five seconds for Emerson to remember exactly why she had dived off the boat.
“Teller!” she screamed into the whirling, stormy ocean, but no reply came back.
The rain was falling like grain out of a silo, so thick and constant that Emerson was spitting out mouthfuls of rainwater every time she called out Teller’s name.
And then she saw him, facedown in the water, twenty yards away, being thrown one way then the other by the raging waves.
Emerson swam over to him, shaking now as the low temperature snatched the warmth from her body. Again, it felt as though—no matter how hard she pushed herself—she was making almost no progress toward the unconscious boy at all. After what felt like an hour, she grabbed him, flipping him onto his back, and held him around the shoulders to keep his head above water.
Emerson snapped her arm out into the water, spinning herself and Teller around. A flash of lightning lit up the ocean to almost full daylight for a split second, and Emerson was suddenly filled with an immense fear. The ocean was just so big.
She turned fully around to face the cruise ship, but she did not see the tall, broad side of the vessel; instead she saw the back of it. They were leaving without them.
No one had sent for help. They were alone. They were both going to die.
“Hey!” she screamed, waving her free arm. “Hey! Come back!”
But she could barely hear her own voice over the rain and the waves and the thunder. It was no use, they were going.
Kodi’s fault, she thought. This is all Kodi’s fault. He threw Teller overboard and then left me to die in the water.
She looked down at Teller’s unconscious face, and then up at the falling rain.
Who are you kidding? she asked herself. This is your fault. You should’ve told someone: the captain, if there even is a captain on that stupid boat. You should’ve told the Producer, seeing as he seems to be the only adult on board.
She thought about Kester, how she had let him down before she had even made it to the first day of the show. The whole point of this stupid thing was to make enough money to help her brother, and she’d messed it up before it had even begun.
Teller coughed suddenly, bringing up a fountain of salt water that poured from his mouth as he choked and gasped.
“What happened? What … what happened?” he asked, his voice shaking as much as Emerson’s body.
“Shh,” Emerson said, “save your energy, we’re going to be fine.”
She didn’t know what else to say as she watched the ship get smaller and smaller, disappearing into the storm.
Emerson looked away from the ship. She turned her eyes skyward through the chaotic, slushy rainfall and saw the raging black and purple clouds pluming and boiling overhead. Another fork of lightning flickered and showed her clearly just how hopeless their situation was.
“I’m sorry, Kester,” she whispered, and felt hope slipping away.
“We’re not gonna be fine, are we?” Teller muttered in her arms.
Emerson closed her eyes and wondered what it would be like when she finally lost the energy to stay afloat, when she finally slipped below the surface and drowned. “No, Teller, I don’t think we’re going to …”
She opened her eyes before she finished her sentence and stopped talking. Through the swirling, foaming waves, and the blankets of rain and hail that seemed to fall in bursts, a light appeared. At first, Emerson was certain that it was just one of the lights of the cruise ship, the last light she would see before the darkness ate them up completely. But the light grew, and soon it was bright enough to break through the curtain of darkness as it shone on her and Teller.
A boat was there, its almost silent electronic engine not loud enough to be heard over the sound of the storm.
“Over here!” Emerson cried out, waving one arm over her head to be seen, while clinging tightly to Teller. “Hey! Over here!”
The boat adjusted its course slightly, and came to a stop about ten yards away from the stranded pair.
“Thank God,” Teller moaned, still weak from his ordeal.
Emerson kicked her legs and made slow progress toward the boat.
“Stop right there,” a voice called out from the boat. Emerson could not see the Producer, but she knew him from his voice.
Emerson stopped and held a hand up to her eyes, trying to see through the glare of the spotlight that shone into her eyes.
“Get us out of here!” Emerson yelled.
“Who pushed the boy into the water?” the Producer asked.
“What?” Emerson replied.
“Who pushed Teller Sanderson overboard?”
Emerson was stunned into near paralysis. Why was the Producer not pulling them to safety? “Help us,” she managed finally.
“Not until the question is answered,” the Producer insisted.
Emerson’s head spun. She opened her mouth to tell the Producer the truth, that it had been Kodi who pushed Teller overboard, but before she could say a word, Teller spoke.
