Countdown. Michelle Rowen

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СКАЧАТЬ and persistent fear of the dark. I’ve had it ever since my parents and sister were murdered during an in-home burglary while I hid under my bed.

      In the dark I couldn’t see anything; all I could hear was the screaming.

      And then the silence.

      So, yeah. I’ve been scared like hell of the dark ever since. Go figure.

      Unfortunately, that’s where I found myself when I opened my eyes. Frankly, I didn’t remember closing them. I’d been in the mall, I remembered that much. I’d just lifted a new pair of shoes—my old pair was worn out since all I do is walk everywhere in the city, day in and day out. This pair was nice. Red. With strong laces that, if necessary, could double as a weapon.

      The streets were tough sometimes. Especially at night. Especially in the dark.

      Like right now.

      But this wasn’t the street, I knew that much. I was inside.

      Somewhere.

      Choking panic began to flood my body. I knew freaking out wouldn’t help, but sometimes you can’t stop yourself—or reason with yourself—when you’re in the process of freaking out.

      I felt a pinch at my right wrist and reached over with my other hand, trying to feel my way through the inky blackness. It was a metal cuff. Attached to a chain. Attached to the smooth, cold metal wall behind me.

      What the hell is going on?

      Had I been caught shoplifting? Was this prison? I wracked my brain to try to remember being arrested, but came up blank. No, I’d grabbed the shoes, shoved them under my coat, and left the store to go into the half-abandoned mall where I’d put them on and thrown my old ones in a garbage can. And then...then what happened?

      I remembered wanting to grab some food. I’d had two bucks to my name, so I’d figured I could buy a small order of French fries at one of the few restaurants that were still open. That would last me a day before my stomach would start complaining again.

      Had I even made it to the food court?

      I couldn’t have. I was still hungry. Starving. My body felt as if it was eating itself, but that was a bit of an exaggeration, I guess. Yesterday I’d had an entire meal. Ordered off the menu even, and then tried to skip out before the bill came. The owner of the diner had caught me, reprimanded me, and I’d figured that that was it—he’d call the cops.

      Instead, he’d taken pity on me and made me wash dishes. It was a humbling experience, but I’d had a lot of those since my family died.

      In the end, I appreciated his kindness. Washing dishes was a whole lot better than getting arrested.

      Okay, breathe, Kira, I told myself. And I did. I took a deep breath in through my nose and let it out through my mouth. My heart thudded hard in my ears.

      Why couldn’t I remember what had happened after I’d taken the shoes? Damn it. And where was I?

      I seriously had to calm down. This wasn’t helping.

      I took another breath in and out and forced myself to listen. For anything. There had to be something other than this total silence that told me absolutely nothing helpful.

      And then I heard...something. I pushed my fears out of the way as best I could and strained my ears.

      Breathing. I could hear soft breathing.

      Someone else is in the room.

      This realization did not ease my mind. Just the opposite. The thought that somebody was in the darkness with me scared me enough that I almost started to cry.

      But I was tough now. At least that’s what I tried to tell myself every morning when I woke up to face another day. This shouldn’t be any different.

      “H-h-hello?” Stuttering does not help the situation, I thought. “Who’s there?”

      The breathing hitched. I heard something heavy shift against the floor about fifteen feet away.

      Then the something spoke. “Wh...what the hell?”

      A guy’s voice. His words were gruff and raspy as if he’d just woken from a deep sleep.

      “Who are you?” I ventured again.

      Why did I sound so weak? I hated that.

      He cleared his throat and groaned. “Shit.”

      Well, he did seem to have a fine command of the English language.

      I strained to see something, but there was only black. “Tell me who you are.”

      There was a pause, and then another groan. It actually sounded like a moan of pain as I heard him shift position again.

      I frowned. “Hey, are you okay?”

      He snorted. “Fantastic. I’m just fantastic, thanks for asking. And you?”

      Sarcasm. Yeah, I recognized that.

      “I’ve been better, actually.”

      Chains rattled. Not mine, so that meant that this guy was also restrained. But why?

      “I’m Rogan,” he said after a moment. “So pleased to meet you.”

      “Where are we?”

      “I tell you my name and you don’t reciprocate? Didn’t your mother teach you any manners?”

      “My mother’s dead.”

      That shut him up. Momentarily. “Sorry to hear that.”

      “It was a long time ago.”

      “Doesn’t make it any easier.”

      Very true. Two years. Felt like forever—yet, at the same time, it felt like only yesterday. “My name’s Kira.”

      “Well, Kira, where we are is anyone’s guess.”

      I pressed back against the hard wall.

      We could be anywhere, and there wasn’t a damn thing to give me a clue where that was. Except for the main drags, the city was so vacant that we could be in any one of dozens of abandoned warehouses or factories. And nobody would ever find us.

      I’d heard about kids who’d vanished from the streets never to be seen again. I was sure they weren’t stories with happy endings.

      “What’s the last thing you remember?” I asked. “Who brought you here? Are you chained, too?”

      “I don’t know who brought me here. And, yeah, I’m locked up real tight.”

      “Who would do this?” My voice caught on the words.

      “Try to relax.”

      “I’m relaxed.”

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