Zero Game (34 page)

76

H
URRY . . . WE HAVE
to get help!” Viv insisted, tugging on the sleeve of Barry’s jacket.

“Relax, I already did,” Barry said, scanning the hallway. “They should be here any second. Now where’s Harris?”

“There . . .” she said, pointing back to the machinery room.

“What’re you pointing at? The door?”

“You can see?” Viv asked.

“Just outlines and shadows. Take me there . . .” Grabbing Viv’s elbow, he rushed forward, forcing her toward the door.

“Are you nuts?” Viv asked.

“I thought you said he was in there with Janos.”

“I did, but—”

“So what would you rather do—stay out here and wait for the Capitol cops, or get in there and maybe save his life? He’s alone against Janos. If Harris doesn’t get help now, it’s not going to matter.”

“B-But you’re blind . . .”

“So? All we need right now are bodies. Janos is smart—if two people walk in, he’s not risking a confrontation. He’ll run. Now you coming or not?”

Lost in the rush, Viv trailed Barry slightly as he tapped his cane through the hallway. Looking over her shoulder, she once again checked for the Capitol police. Barry was right. They were running out of time. Picking up speed, she quickly led him forward. She wasn’t leaving Harris alone.

Halfway up the hall, they passed Lowell’s lifeless body, still sprawled against the ground.

Viv glanced up at Barry. His eyes stared vacantly ahead. He couldn’t see it.

“Lowell’s dead,” she said.

“Are you sure?”

She looked back at the frozen body. Lowell’s mouth was wide open, lost in a final, soundless scream. “I’m sure.” Turning back to Lowell, she added, “Was he the one who called you?”

“What?”

“Lowell. Was he the one who called you? Is that how you knew to come?”

“Yeah,” Barry said. “Lowell called.”

Barry’s cane collided with the base of the door. Viv reached out for the doorknob. As she pushed the door open, a cool burst of air brushed against her face.

“How’s it look?” Barry whispered.

Peeking inside, she made sure it was clear. Nothing had changed. The mop bucket. The propane tanks. Even the army blanket was right where she’d left it. Further back in the room, though, she heard a deep, guttural grunt. Like someone in pain.

“Harris . . . !” she cried, tugging Barry into the room. As fast as she moved, he held tight to her elbow. She thought about leaving him behind, but Barry was right about one thing: There was still strength in numbers. “You sure you can keep up?” she asked as they rushed forward. To her surprise, even with Barry’s weight, it was easier to run than she thought.

“Absolutely,” Barry said. “I’m right behind you.”

Viv nodded to herself. He’d obviously done this before. But just as she turned away from Barry and focused back on the room, she felt his grip tighten around her elbow. At first, it was just an annoyance, but then . . .

“Barry, that hurts.”

His grip got tighter. She tried to pull her arm free, but he didn’t let go.

“Barry, did you hear what I—?”

She turned to face him, but he was already in midswing. Just as Viv spun toward him, Barry backhanded her across the face. The punch was wild, catching her just above the mouth. Her top lip split open, and as she fell off balance to the floor, she could taste the thick sourness of her own blood.

She put her palms out to stop her fall, but it didn’t help. Crash-landing on her knees, Viv scurried on all fours to get away.

“What, now you’re suddenly quiet?” Barry asked. He was right behind her.

“Harris . . .
Harris . . .”
she tried to scream. But before she could get the words out, Barry wrapped his arm around her neck and pulled as tight as he could. Viv coughed uncontrollably, unable to breathe.

“I’m sorry—did you say something?” Barry asked. “Sometimes I don’t hear so good.”

77

J
ANOS’S BLACK BOX
comes lunging at my chest. My eyes are focused on the two fangs on the end of it. They’re going straight for my heart—the same place I saw him stab Lowell. Twisting, I try my best to slide out of the way. Janos is ruthlessly fast. I like to think I’m faster. I’m wrong. The needles miss my chest, but they still punch through my sleeve, sinking deep into my biceps.

Pins and needles come first, shooting down my arm and rippling across my fingertips. Within seconds, the jolt begins to burn. A rancid stench that reminds me of burnt plastic fills the air. My own flesh and muscle burning.

“Rrruhh!” I shout, thrashing violently and shoving Janos in the shoulder with my free arm. He’s so focused on protecting the black box, he almost doesn’t notice as I snatch the golf club from his other hand. Enraged, he raises the box for another pass. I swing wildly, hoping to keep him back. To my surprise, the tip of the club catches the edge of the box. It’s not a direct hit, but it’s enough for Janos to lose his grip. The box whips through the air, eventually crashing on the ground and cracking open.

Wires, needles, and double-A batteries scatter across the floor as they roll under a nearby air-handler. I glance back at Janos. His unforgiving eyes tear me apart and are darker than I’ve ever seen them before. Moving toward me, he doesn’t say a word. He’s had enough.

I once again raise the golf club like a bat. Last time, I surprised him. The problem is, Janos doesn’t get surprised twice. I swing the club at his head—he sidesteps it and hammers the knuckle of his middle finger into the bone on the inside of my wrist. A jolt of pain seizes my hand, and my fist involuntarily springs open, dropping the club. I try to make a fist, but I can barely move my fingers. Janos is having no such problem.

Jabbing at me like a precision boxer, he drills the tip of his knuckle straight into the dimple on my upper lip. The hot burst of pain is unlike anything I’ve ever felt, and my eyes flood with water. I can barely see. Still, I’m not here to be his piñata.

Barely able to close my hand, I lash out with a sharp punch. Janos leans left and grabs my wrist as it passes his chin. Taking full advantage of my momentum, he pulls me toward him, and in one quick movement, lifts my arm up and digs two fingers deep into my armpit. There’s a bee sting of pain, but before it even registers, my whole arm goes limp. Still not letting up, Janos holds tight to my wrist. He shoves it even farther to his left, then uses his free hand to ram my elbow to the right. There’s an audible snap. My elbow hyperextends. As my muscles continue to tear, it’s clear that whenever the feeling comes back, my arm isn’t gonna work the same way again. He’s picking me apart piece by piece—systematically short-circuiting every part of my body.

Kneeling slightly, he lets out a throaty grunt and spears me with another jab that hits me right between my groin and belly button. The entire bottom half of my body convulses backward, sending me stumbling toward his corner of the room. As the back of my calves collide with a two-foot-tall section of vents, momentum again gets the best of me. Tumbling backwards, I trip over the vents and crash flat on my ass behind an enormous air-conditioning unit that’s easily the size of a garbage truck. On the side of the machine, a spinning black rubber conveyor belt chugs to life—churning fast, then suddenly slowing down, its short cycle complete. But as Janos thunders toward me, leaping over the vents and landing with a booming thump, his eyes aren’t on the conveyer belt . . . or even on me. Whatever he’s looking at is directly over my shoulder. Still on the floor, I spin around and follow his gaze.

Less than twenty feet away, a curving, corroded brick wall marks the edge of the air tunnel—but the focus of Janos’s attention is what’s right below it: a dark open hole that’s wider than an elevator shaft, and from the looks of it, just as deep. I’ve heard about these but never seen one for myself. One of the subterranean tunnels that runs up from under the building. Here’s where the fresh air comes in from—underground, below the entire Capitol . . . and feeding from one of the few fresh air-intake areas. Some people say the holes run down hundreds of feet. From the yawning echo that whistles past me with a burst of fresh air, that doesn’t sound too far off.

Next to the hole, a rectangular metal grate is propped upright, leaning against the wall. Usually, the grate serves as a protective cover, but right now, the only thing on top of the hole is a thin strip of yellow and black police tape with the word
Caution
on it. Whatever they’re doing down there, it’s clearly under construction. Of course, the Capitol takes its usual safety precautions: two yellow plastic
Caution—Wet Floor
signs are balanced right on the edge. The signs couldn’t keep out a sneeze—which is what Janos is counting on as he leans down and grips me by the collar of my shirt.

Lifting me to my feet, he shoves me backwards toward the hole. My legs feel like they’re filled with oatmeal. I can barely stand. “D-Don’t do this . . .” I beg, fighting for my footing.

As always, he’s stone silent. I try my best to stay on my feet. He again slams me in the chest. The impact feels like a sonic boom. I fight to hold on to his shirt, but I can’t get a grip . . . Stumbling backwards, I fly directly toward the hole.

78

W
ITH HIS ARM LOCKED
tight around Viv’s neck, Barry clenched his teeth and leaned back, squeezing as hard as he could. As Viv fought for air, Barry could barely contain her. From the span of her shoulders, she was bigger than he’d remembered. Stronger, too. That was the problem with judging by shadows—you never really knew until you got your hands on someone and felt for yourself.

Viv’s body squirmed and thrashed in every direction. Her nails dug into Barry’s forearm. Still gasping for a breath, she coughed a spray of saliva across his exposed wrist.
Filthy,
he thought. It only made him pull tighter, tugging her close. But just as he did, Viv reached over her shoulder and clawed at his eyes.

Protecting his face, Barry turned his head to the side. That’s all Viv needed. Reaching back, she grabbed a clump of his hair and pulled with everything she had.

“Aaahh . . . !” Barry roared. “Son of a—!” Leaning forward to stop the pain, he was up on his tiptoes. Viv bent down even further, making him feel every inch of her height. Barry was finally off balance. Throwing her weight backward, she launched herself toward the brick wall behind her. Barry’s back smashed hard into the bricks, but he still didn’t let go. Stumbling out of control, they plowed into the collection of propane tanks, which tumbled like bowling pins. Barry tried to tug Viv back, but as they continued to spin, Viv pushed off even harder. Flying backwards toward a nearby boiler, she felt her full weight crash into Barry as the tip of an exposed pipe drilled into his back, grinding into his spine.

Howling in pain, Barry crashed to his knees, unable to hold on any longer. He could hear Viv’s shoes scuff against the concrete. She scrambled deeper into the room. Not far. Just enough to hide.

Rubbing his back, Barry swallowed the pain and looked around the room. There wasn’t much light, making most of the shadows muddy blobs that seemed to float in front of him. In the distance, he heard a series of raspy grunts and nasally groans. Harris and Janos. It wouldn’t take Janos long to finish that, which meant Barry just had to focus on Viv.

“C’mon—you really think I can’t see you?” he called out, following the scratch of her shoes and hoping the bluff would draw her out. Up high, he could make out the edges of the air-handlers, but down toward the floor, the details faded fast.

To his left, there was a scraping of rock against concrete. Viv was moving. Barry turned his head, but nothing flashed by. It was the same muddy blob as before. Had it moved?
No . . . stay focused. Especially now,
Barry told himself. Once he got Viv . . . when they pulled this off . . . He’d been at the bottom—this was his turn at the top.

A second later, he heard a high-pitched clink behind him. One of the propane tanks. He turned to chase the sound, but the pitch was too high. Like a pebble against metal. She’d thrown a rock.

“Now you’re testing me?” he shouted, spinning back to the machines. He was trying to sound strong, but as he scanned the room—left to right . . . up and down—the shadows . . . no . . . nothing moved. Nothing moved, he insisted.

All around him, machines hummed their flat, droning symphony. On his right, the furnace flame flicked on, belching up a loud whoosh. On his left, a chugging compressor finished its cycle, clicking into oblivion. The wind whistled straight at him. But still no sign of Viv.

Searching for the panting rise and fall of her breathing, Barry isolated each sound—every clink, hiss, sputter, creak, and wheeze. As he stepped further into the room, it definitely got harder to see, but he knew Viv was scared. Off balance. This was when she’d make a mistake.

The problem was, the deeper Barry went, the more the sounds seemed to dance around him. There was a clang on his left . . . or was that his right? He paused midstep, freezing in place.

A brush of fabric wisped behind him. He spun back toward the door, but the sound stopped just as quick.

“Viv, don’t be stupid . . .” he warned as his voice cracked.

The room was dead silent.

There was a tiny snap, like a stick when it’s thrown in a campfire.

“Viv . . . ?”

Still no response.

Barry again turned toward the back of the room, scanning the outline of every machine. The blob was unchanged. Nothing moved . . . nothing moved . . .

“Viv, are you there . . . ?”

For a moment, Barry felt a familiar tightening at the center of his chest, but he quickly reminded himself there was no reason to panic. Viv wasn’t going anywhere. As long as she had that fear, she wouldn’t take the chance by trying something—

A loud screech tore across the floor. Shoes clunked at full gallop. Behind him . . . Viv was running for the door.

Barry spun around just in time to hear the mop bucket slam into the wall. There was a sharp grinding of metal against concrete as she picked up one of the empty propane tanks. Barry assumed she was moving it to get to the door, but by the time he caught sight of her, he was surprised that the mass of her shadow wasn’t getting smaller. It was getting larger. She wasn’t running away. She was coming right at him.

“Take a good look at this one, asshole . . .” Viv shouted, swinging the propane tank with all her strength. She held tight as it collided with the side of Barry’s head. The sound alone was worth the impact—an unnatural pop, like an aluminum bat smacking a cantaloupe. Barry’s head jerked violently to the side, and his body quickly followed.

“Did you see that? That bright enough for you?” Viv shouted as Barry fell to the floor. She’d been picked on since the first day they moved into their house on the edge of the suburb. Finally, there was a benefit to all the fistfights.

He reached for her leg, but his world was already spinning. Viv dropped the propane tank on his chest. With the wind knocked out of him, he could barely move. “You really thought you had a chance?” she screamed as streams of spit flew from her mouth. “You can’t see! What’d you think—you could beat me because I’m a girl?!”

Looking up, Barry saw Viv’s long shadow standing over him. She lifted her foot over his head, ready to stomp down. It was the last thing Barry saw as the world went dark.