Countdown. Michelle RowenЧитать онлайн книгу.
head and took a moment to feel the incision mark. Then I felt for the same thing on Rogan. His dark hair slid through my fingers.
Strange. I felt not one but two incision marks on his scalp. Why were there two?
He appeared so innocent while asleep—and very nearly handsome. His eyelids fluttered, and I wondered what he was dreaming about. I looked closely at the scar on his face, and traced the line with the tip of my finger.
“Are you really as much of an evil bastard as they say you are?”
I glanced around the hallway. No one was within spitting distance, and as far as I could see, neither were the flying digicams. I wasn’t sure how long this fleeting moment of privacy would last.
I felt at his throat for his steady pulse, warm and alive beneath my touch. Then I slowly trailed down to his collarbone and under the edge of his ripped T-shirt to press my hand against his chest. Skin to skin. And I opened myself up to whatever it was I could do.
I didn’t think I was psychic or anything. But then, it couldn’t be my imagination. The pain made it real. Before, on the street, I hadn’t sensed anything from Rogan but a jumbled mass of...something.
Something.
I needed to know if I could do it again. If I could figure it out, get more this time. If I could get some sort of sense of just how bad Rogan Ellis really was and how much I should hate his guts.
All I knew for sure was that bad guys had this bad vibe that was impossible to ignore when I did this, like a cold blanket of darkness that sucked the warmth right out of me.
I didn’t know what this strange ability of mine actually was. What it meant. But I needed it to work.
I closed my eyes and tried to concentrate.
Then I suddenly found my hand in his as he pulled it away from his chest. “Hey—I’m out for a few minutes and you suddenly can’t keep your hands off me?”
I scowled at him. “Hardly.”
A glimmer of amusement lit up his ocean-green eyes. “Then what were you doing?”
“Just making sure you weren’t dead. FYI...you’re not.”
He gave a humorless laugh and glanced around wearily. “Where are we now?”
“We’re in the mall.”
“The mall,” he repeated with a frown. “Why are we in the mall?”
I reached back to feel my incision again. “We need to get these implants out.”
Rogan grabbed my wrist. “Don’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“You can’t tamper with it or it will kill us.”
“Who told you that?”
“Nobody. But it makes sense, doesn’t it?” He rose to his feet and held out a hand to help me up. I ignored it and got up on my own.
“You have two incisions. Does that mean you have two implants?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Do I?”
I nodded, surprised at his calm reaction to such a strange—to me, anyway—observation.
He reached around to the back of his head to feel. “Maybe they made a mistake when they were digging around. Put it in the wrong spot.”
“Maybe.” My gaze traveled to his wound. “What Jonathan did to you back there. That antidote. How do you feel now?”
He gingerly touched his shoulder. “It worked. I feel stronger already. It doesn’t even hurt much anymore.”
I couldn’t figure it out. “Why did he do that? Seems kind of risky for him to help somebody he doesn’t even know. Just another contestant.”
“Don’t know.” A grim smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Must be my charm. I’ve always been able to win people over. Make them do whatever I want.”
“Yeah, sure,” I said. “It’s working so well with me so far.” I glanced around again. I could see the main mall from where we were, but they’d tucked us down a hallway that was roped off for maintenance. I looked at Rogan. He wasn’t hunched over anymore, and I got a better sense of his height. He was tall—I’d guess a couple inches over six feet. Also, even with all that dirt and grime he was...well, I had to admit that he was far from ugly. I wondered what he might look like all cleaned up.
Like a cleaned-up mass murderer, probably.
I was fooling myself if I thought there was more to this guy. Wouldn’t matter if he was the most gorgeous boy in the universe. What he’d done made him hideous.
He seemed to flinch at my appraisal. “You don’t seem to like what you see.”
That wasn’t entirely true, unfortunately. But it was better for both of us if he believed that. “Should I like you, Rogan?”
He gave another half laugh that sounded pained. “Absolutely not.”
“Then I guess we’re in agreement.” I turned my back to him and tried to focus. The mall. I hung out here all the time and so did a good friend of mine. “Come on. I think I know someone who might be able to help us. Got to find him before that camera catches up to us.”
Before I got too far, his hand on my shoulder stopped me. “What are you talking about?”
“I know a guy, he’s like a computer genius. At least that’s what he’s always telling me. If I find him, he might be able to help us get rid of the implants—disarm them, remove them, whatever—and we can end this once and for all.”
“You think it’s that easy?”
“I think it could be.” I tried to pull away from him.
His grip on my arm increased. “You touch these implants, and unless you have the right tools, they’ll explode. Turn your brain to goo that’ll drip out your ears while you finish dying. Is that what you want?”
I grimaced at the thought. “You sound pretty certain. I guess I didn’t get the manual when I woke up on the do’s and don’t’s of implant ownership. Did they give you a quick course in juvie?”
He glared at my sarcastic tone. “People talk.”
I turned away again. “Doesn’t mean I have to listen.”
Without waiting to find out if he was or wasn’t going to follow me, I made my way out of the hallway and into the mall. Finally, I was somewhere I knew. It felt good, like I’d been returned home. It gave me some sense of control in this crazy situation.
Pre-Plague, this had been one of the largest malls on the east coast. Over a thousand stores in a complex that spanned blocks and blocks. Now there were about thirty stores still open. Three places to eat in the food court. Some old people said that it had an eerie, ghost town kind of feeling for them, just like the entire city now did. It didn’t seem that strange to me since I’d never known any other way. It was a good place to hang out indoors, and that was all I cared about.
I glanced over my shoulder. Rogan trudged after me. Just looking at him made me realize that we’d better make this quick. We didn’t have too much time before we got kicked out. Security wasn’t all that tight, but torn, dirty and bloodied clothes did not represent your average mall shopper. Luckily I knew where I was headed.
The food court. My friend Oliver hung out there a lot. If he wasn’t there, then he was at his other main haunt, some basement in the city where he disappeared for days at a time to play networked games with other geeks. I meant that term fondly.
I actually let out a small whimper of relief when I saw him sitting in his usual spot, tapping away on his laptop, an extra-large soda in front of him on the table. There were about ten other people in the large food court, scattered around at different tables.