Eve Silver - Push

“Where are we?” Lien whispers.

I hold a finger to my lips. I want complete silence until we know if it’s safe to speak. I point over her shoulder so she’ll see what I see. There are two black sedans parked against the far wall. The license plates have three kanji—Japanese letters—followed by a number and, below that, larger numbers. So either we’re in Japan, or these cars were imported with license plates intact. I’m not sure it matters, but I store the info away in case I need it later.

Catching Luka’s eye, I nod toward the corrugated door as I pull my weapon cylinder. It’s smooth and cool and instantly contorts its shape, conforming to the contours of my grasp. He gets the message and pulls his weapon cylinder. The others take the hint and do the same, backs to one another, alert for any threat. I walk over and rest my hand on the hood of the first car. Cold. Same with the second. So they haven’t been driven in at least forty-five minutes or an hour. Again, I don’t know if that info is relevant, but I gather what I can.

I check my con. There’s a rim of green around the outside to measure my health, but most of the screen is taken up with a live feed of our surroundings. In the left corner is a small rectangle—a map of the room—and within it, a clump of five green triangles. Us. I hold up my wrist and gesture for everyone else to show me theirs—all green, no maps or live feeds. That means I’m the only one getting instructions. The Committee wants us to stick together. For now.

I move to the keypad by the door and stare at the numbers.

“Safe to talk?” Luka says against my ear, so soft I feel the words more than hear them.

I listen for any sound, anything at all. Nothing. If we can’t hear the Drau, I’m going to work with the idea that they can’t hear us, either. Actually, it isn’t just an idea; it’s a certainty. Perks of being the leader. The Committee dumps knowledge in my head: no threat. Not yet. But they’re out there, and they’re close.

“Safe to talk,” I say.

Lien looks around, frowning. “This place gives me the creeps.”

“Yeah.” Tyrone nods, and his agreement’s enough to snag my attention.

“Why?” I ask.

“There’s something familiar about it. Something weird,” Lien says.

“Familiar like . . . you’ve been here before? On a mission?”

“No.” She shakes her head. “But I feel like I’ve seen this place before. Does that make sense?”

“Does to me,” Luka says. “I feel the same way.”

“Resident Evil,” Tyrone says. “Or maybe Half Life .”

Luka frowns. “Yeah. Not quite, but close.”

“What are you talking about?” I ask.

“Big elevator. Two cars. Massive metal doors. Underground facility.” Tyrone pauses, then says to Luka, “I’m the guy who’s here to save the world.”

Luka snorts. “I thought I was the good guy.”

“No, no,” Tyrone says. “You’re on the team with the supersecret underground base. I’m the guy breaking into the base. That makes me the good guy.”

“What are you talking about?” Lien snaps.

“Splinter Cell: Chaos Theory,” Luka says.

“A game?” Lien asks, incredulous. “You’re quoting lines from a game?”

“Wait,” I say, holding up my hand, palm forward. I turn my attention back to Tyrone. “You’re saying you’ve seen this in a game? This place?”

“Not exactly this place but something like it. The elaborate underground base.” He shrugs. “It’s a common trope.”

I try to figure out why it matters. It shouldn’t. We’re in a big elevator leading into the ground. Games have big elevators leading into the ground. So do movies and books and manga. It is a common trope. But the whole thing has a creepy vibe.

“Heads up, eyes open,” I say. “If something’s off about this place, at least we have a warning, right?”

“There’s no if ,” Lien says.

“So what now, CL?” Tyrone asks, and he and Luka exchange one of those I’m-a-guy-and-that-makes-me-awesome looks.

I hold on to my patience by a thread. “CL?”

“Clan leader. That’s you. We’re the clan,” Lien explains, her tone terse.

“Nice,” Luka says, “and a little surprising.”

She shoots him a passive look. “What? You’re not the only person who’s ever picked up a controller.”

“I thought clans are teams that play other teams in FPS or MMO,” I say. “You counting the Drau as a team?”

Luka’s brows shoot up. “Been reading up on first-person shooters and massive multiplayer online?”

I shrug. “Checked out a couple of sites in case they might help me understand the layout of the game. Not that I’ve had much time to work on that yet. But I will, when we get back.” I say that last sentence like it’s a done deal.

“Task left unfinished,” Lien says, then elaborates when I glance at her. “You left a task unfinished so you’ll make it back to finish it.” I notice that Kendra’s hovering close beside her, saying nothing, staring at the ground.

“I thought that’s why ghosts come back . . .” Luka says.

Lien shoots him a cool glare. “I modified the superstition. It’s like we’re ghosts here. So we go back to finish the unfinished.”

“Oooookay,” Tyrone says.

“Did you leave a task unfinished?” I ask Lien.

She runs her fingers through her still-damp hair. “Blow-dryer’s still plugged in.”

Kendra slams the side of her thigh with her fist. “How can you be so calm?” she explodes. “Talking about bullshit? Even joking around?” She glares at us, tears shimmering in her eyes, then she rounds on Lien. “How can you chat with them about superstitions and stupid gaming terms as if they matter?” Her words tumble out in a rush. “As if we aren’t going to—”

“Get started on our mission,” I cut her off before she can finish the thought. None of us needs a reminder of our mortality. We know. Each and every one of us knows.

“You’re right, Kendra,” Tyrone says, conciliatory, holding up his hands, palms out. “We should save the chatty-chat.”

I nod. “Break time’s over. Let’s move.” I’m channeling Jackson. I understand so much more about him now, about the way he acted and the things he did. I only hope I get the chance to tell him that, to feel his strong arms close around me once more, to breathe the scent of his skin and rest my ear against his heart just to listen to the steady, solid beat.

“Move how?” Lien asks. “You got an idea to get us out of here? Or any idea of where here is?”

“We’re in an elevator,” I say as I examine the keypad by the door. I don’t have an ID card and I don’t know the code.

“Yeah, I guessed that much.” Lien plants her fists on her hips. “Got any idea as to the code?”

I key in a few sequences: 1-2-3-4. 4-3-2-1. 1-3-2-4. 4-2-3-1. We could be here for a week at this rate. I glance at the LED number overhead, and try: 7-7-7-7.

Nothing happens.

“You mind?” Tyrone asks, stepping up beside me.

“Knock yourself out.”

He enters 3-2-7-2. Luka snorts.

“Three- A-R-C ,” Lien says. “Add UNLOCK and it’s a cheat code for Call of Duty .”

When the door stays shut, I say, “Why COD ? Why not Halo , or . . . I don’t know . . . Donkey Kong ? There are probably hundreds of cheat codes for every game. How do we pick just one?”

“Try Resident Evil ,” Lien says.

Tyrone tries some codes. The door stays firmly shut.

Kendra’s pacing circles. I have a feeling that if we don’t get out of here soon, I’m going to lose her to whatever black hole her inner dialogue is dragging her to. I study the keypad.