Michelle Maddox - Countdown

The map faded into the image of a ticking clock, and then that also disappeared, leaving me staring directly at Rogan. The lights came up and I felt a draft of cool air touch my bare arms.

I turned to see that the door I'd been kicking had opened up. Beyond it was the outdoors. The city. Familiar territory.

"Kira!" Rogan called after me.

But I barely heard him. I was too busy running.

The beeping started when I'd gone nearly a block away. Soft at first, but growing steadily in volume and speed with every step I took.

I decided to ignore it.

I'd escaped. Holy hell, I'd escaped. I didn't know where I'd just spent who knew how much time, but I was glad I was out of there. And the more distance I could put between me and whatever the hell that had been was distance well traveled.

I looked around at the gray street and the gray buildings that reached high into the sky. Not another person to be seen.

Yeah. Welcome to my city.

Twenty-five years ago it had been a thriving and successful place of business. In fact, the whole world had been on an upswing then. Technology was increasing. The economy was thriving. A new world had even been discovered that had the same life-sustaining properties as Earth. And just when everybody was feeling all positive about the future, the Great Plague swept across the world, and in a matter of weeks 40 percent of human life was wiped out. Dead and gone.

Those who survived continued on-I mean, what choice did they have? The world kept turning. They rebuilt, they had children, but the world was sure as hell not the way it used to be. The city, once prosperous and filled with life, was now a sad and empty shell of what it used to be. It was depressing, sure. But it was all I'd ever known since I was born almost three years after the plague was over with.

I actually couldn't imagine living here when it was crammed with people. It was still busy over on Paragon Avenue-as if everyone who remained here congregated there in a sort of minicity. But the rest of the streets and neighborhoods were close to deserted, like this one apparently was.

As far as that new world that was discovered, over the past twenty-five years it had grown a lot. People referred to the new colony as "Offworld," and it was this shiny, beautiful paradise where everyone aspired to go and start a new life.

Apparently there's some kind of a shuttle that will take you there. But you need to know the right people, have the right kind of money, and have a hell of a lot of luck. Even with 40 percent of the population no longer breathing, mat still leaves three billion people looking for a ticket off this dying world. That would be a pretty damn big shuttle.

Finding out more about that shuttle and how the hell I could get myself on it was my biggest dream. So far, no dice, though. Apparently I didn't travel in the right circles to get any solid information on the subject. Big surprise.

"Kira! Stop!" I heard Rogan yell from behind me, but I didn't look. I was out of there. Away from there and away from him. I didn't need any more problems in my life, and that man was one big problem from head to foot.

Maybe I'd use this bizarre "countdown" experience as a catalyst to turn my life around. I mean, I was almost twenty-three now. Not a kid anymore. I could get a job. A real job. Make a real living. Contribute to society instead of stealing from it. Give up the dream of going to Offworld and just find a nice guy and settle down over on Paragon Avenue. Maybe pop out a couple kids of my own. Maybe I could be happy if I let myself. Forget about my past. Run away from it like I was running away from the metal room and the dangerous-looking man with those hypnotic blue-green eyes.

If it just wasn't for all the damned beeping I might feel like a new woman.

"Kira!" Rogan shouted again. I looked over my shoulder. He was running after me. Well, actually it was more like a speedy shuffle. The man was injured, possibly dying, and yet he was still trying to catch up to me.

I ignored the rush of empathy that thought triggered.

What the hell was he chasing after me for?

And then I knew. It was the pain that clued me in. The stabbing pain through my head that stopped me dead in my tracks. The beeping was so loud now I couldn't think, couldn't concentrate. I fell to my knees and pressed my hands hard against my ears to block out the blinding, fast beeping-it was like an endless train roaring over the tracks-but it wasn't going to do any good.

The noise was coming from inside my head. And it was getting faster. And faster. I looked to my far left. Rogan had stopped running and was holding his head.

And then I remembered what the voice told us.

Your implants have been activated and tuned to each other's frequency.

And what else? I racked my tortured brain.

To separate more than ninety feet from your partner will lead to immediate disqualification.

I started to crawl on the pavement toward Rogan, trying to ignore the blinding pain as much as I could. It wasn't easy but I finally made it. The beeping decreased the closer I got to him, as did the pain. He had collapsed on his side; the only thing moving was his chest going up and down with erratic breathing.

"Rogan …" I grabbed his shoulder.

He blinked his eyes open and looked at me. "That hurt"

'Tell me about it."

He frowned. "You run really fast for a girl."

"Faster than you."

"I have an excuse. I'm mortally wounded."

"So you keep promising." I let out a long sigh, but it wasn't from relief; it was from frustration. "This disqualification and elimination that bastard was talking about in there? He means death, doesn't he?"

His throat worked as he swallowed, and he propped himself up on one elbow. "Smart girl."

"If I was that smart I wouldn't be here, would I?"

"Touche."

I licked my lips and gave him a good look now that we were outside. The light wasn't all that great It was overcast It seemed to always be overcast these days. Something to do with global warming and pollution levels. I never really paid much attention to the news. All I knew was that it had been years since I got a really good suntan.

Yeah, the world was dying. Tell me something I didn't know.

Despite his hard-to-ignore rock-hard build under those dirty clothes, at the moment Rogan barely looked strong enough to harm a fly. But there was still an undeniable aura of danger that surrounded him. Something in those pretty eyes that made me think that I shouldn't turn my back on this guy if I could help it. I didn't trust him. Not now. Not ever.

I would never trust a murderer.

But apparently we were partners. That is, if I didn't want my head to explode.

"I'm not going to beg," I said softly. "But you're going to tell me everything you know about this … this countdown."

He nodded and tried to get to his feet. He failed. I stood and offered him a hand. He took it, and I helped him up. He didn't let go of me immediately. His hand was as dirty as the rest of him, but firm, with long fingers that warmly wrapped around mine. I didn't pull away.

I considered using my ability on him, but I'd had just about as much pain as I could deal with for one day.

Back when I was still a teenager, I realized that I had a very special talent. If I touched somebody skin-to-skin and flexed my mind in precisely the right direction, I could get a read on them. As I've gotten older, my talent has gotten better and better. It's a very useful tool, actually.

The only thing I could compare it to was those Magic Eye posters that were popular years and years ago. It just seemed like a jumble of pattern and color unless you looked at it just right. Looked just beyond it and then suddenly the true picture appeared as clear as day.