Frazer Lee - Panic Button

The remaining screens flickered and a video window popped up on each of them.

Dreading what was to come, the passengers looked at the screens.

Mike, in his early twenties and dressed in a smart white shirt and dark slacks, was tied to a kitchen table. Pots, pans and broken crockery lay strewn on the worktops and floor around him — he’d put up a struggle before they got him. His mouth was taped shut with thick gaffer tape. He made terrified whimpering sounds as the cameraman’s gloved hand moved into frame, making a show of a huge razor-sharp machete. The unseen assailant brushed the flat of the blade across Mike’s cheeks, smearing the polished metal with his tears. The cameraman removed the blade slowly and Mike tried to cry out through the tape again. But he choked on his breath as his attacker lifted and swung the blade without warning, severing his right arm below the elbow. Blood cascaded from the eviscerated arteries across the kitchen table. Mike writhed in agony, his pitiful cries stymied by the thick tape gag.

Gwen wept openly, unable to quite process the horror she had just witnessed as Max, Jo and Dave watched Mike on the little screens.

He was bleeding out, helpless.

“If I take his other arm,” Alligator said, “he’ll bleed to death in minutes. Are you ready to say goodbye to your flesh and blood?”

Max looked at the video window anxiously. “Wait, wait!”

“Then put the axe down and return to your seat,” Alligator commanded.

“I’m not who you think I am. Whoever that guy is — he’s not my brother! Please… don’t do this.”

“Max, just please do as he says!” Jo pleaded.

The screen flickered, showing a close up of Mike’s contorted face. Tense silence fell across the cabin. Max hurled the crash axe onto the bar, shattering glasses and tipping over a bottle of champagne.

“There! Now listen to me!” Max went on, “I’m telling the truth! I don’t even have a bloody brother. Whoever that guy is, he’s nothing to do with me. Please, help him…”

A ghost image of Alligator’s predatory face appeared on the screens, superimposed over Mike’s. With a crackle, the image flickered again and cleared to reveal the killer was moving around to Mike’s other side. Holding onto Mike’s wrist with one gloved hand, the killer brought the machete blade hammering down, severing the other arm. The cameraman stepped back to survey his handiwork through the cold glass of the camera lens. Mike’s torso spasmed in shock as more blood gushed from the open wound where his other arm used to be.

Exasperated, Max punched the hull in frustration. “I’m not going to do a single thing you say — you hear me? Not one single thing.”

Alligator fell silent for a moment. The speakers crackled with static. It sounded like anger, and chilled the very air in the cabin.

“How noble,” Alligator purred, voice controlled once more, “Sit back, do nothing. The mantra of the Internet Generation. Doing nothing is what you are best at, after all.”

The screens went blank, leaving them to consider his words as the engines droned louder.

“What is the matter with you?” Jo demanded, “You just left your own brother to die.”

“You trying to screw things up for the rest of us, is that it?” Dave asked.

The winners were gathered in the lounge area of the aircraft, all eyes on Max, their accusing eyes demanding an answer from him.

“Max?” Jo said.

“I’m-not-Max!”

Dave groaned in frustration.

Gwen echoed his sound with a dismissive shake of her head.

Jo searched Max’s face with her eyes, trying to fathom him out.

“Listen. Why couldn’t I answer the questions in the game, eh? Do I look like a violinist to you? I’m not him, I’m not Max. God, I’m not even supposed to be on this flight,” he reasoned.

“But your name was on the list… I looked at your profile,” Gwen said.

“It’s not mine! Max is just some… student. I hacked his All2gethr account, changed his contact details…”

Jo glanced at the others. They looked as unsure as she felt about whether or not to believe him.

“I thought they’d rumble me at the airport,” Max said, “but they didn’t even check.”

“What a crock. You expect us to believe you?” Dave said.

“Believe what you want mate, but I’m telling the truth.”

Jo considered Max’s words for a moment. “So, who are you?”

“Like I’m going to tell you that,” Max replied, exasperated.

This quickened Dave’s anger. “Are you part of all this? You little prick…”

Dave lunged at Max. Jo put herself between the two men, holding her arms out to keep them apart.

“Wait! Wait!” She turned to Max and fixed him with a stare. “Who the hell are you?”

Max glanced at each of them. He could feel their tension, anger and fear. He recalled his own tangle of feelings from just moments ago, watching a stranger die with a confusing mixture of remorse and detachment. It was different for the others; Alligator was dangling their family and friends in front of them like bait. But he had no such limitations, he was operating outside of the rules — and he intended to keep it that way.

“Think about it,” Max said, “If I tell you, they’ll go after my friends, my family.”

“What about ours?” Gwen interjected, “They’ve got my sister. I saw her with my own eyes. She doesn’t matter I suppose?”

Dave’s eyes smouldered at Max. How some jumped up kid could deign to start playing mind games with them when there was so much to lose, he just couldn’t fathom. Just when Alligator was piling on the hurt, now this guy was having a go too. He wasn’t going to stand for this.

“You piece of shit!” Dave lunged at Max again, this time managing to punch Max hard in the nose.

Jo struggled with Dave, pushing with all her might to separate him from Max. Dave took a step back, Jo clutching his shirt at chest height.

“Screw you! I’m still going to die, same as you. Idiot…” Max spat, wiping blood from his nose, “You think I’m involved with this? Killing innocent people?”

“Show us some I.D. then,” Dave said.

Jo was in agreement, loosening her grip on Dave’s shirt.

“If you’re so afraid of telling us who you are, then show us.”

“I would,” Max said, “but I don’t have anything on me.”

This time Jo did not try to stop Dave as he muscled in on Max.

“Turn out your pockets,” Dave ordered.

Max looked at Jo and Gwen. They looked to be behind Dave all the way. Max begrudgingly took a cigarette lighter from his pocket, held it up then placed it behind him on the bar.

“And the rest,” Dave said, grabbing Max and frisking him against the bar, airport security style.

Max turned on him, quick as a flash, shoving Dave away, hard.

Dave raised his fist.

“Calm down,” Jo said to Dave, intent on avoiding further violence. “Let me,” she said, stepping close to Max.

She searched Max’s remaining pockets under Dave’s angry glare, finding nothing.

“His jacket.”

Dave grabbed Max’s jacket from its owner’s seat and rifled through it like a thief. He tossed aside a packet of cigarettes and dug into the inside pockets. Triumphantly, Dave pulled out a British passport. He held it up for Jo and Gwen to see, eyes goading Max the whole time.

“I’m fucking warning you!” Max said, worried, “If you say my name out loud I’m finished!”

Dave opened the passport and peered inside, flicking to the photo I.D. page at the back, stern as a border official.

“Mate, please!” Max pleaded.

“Well?” Gwen asked.

Dave looked Max over with suspicious eyes.