19 Students Remaining #2
I push my door open. Zo’s wide eyes peer out at me from the darkness of the hall. “Are they really gone?” she asks me.
I nod and sorrow drops over her face like a curtain. “What happened?”
I swallow and tell her everything I can remember about the Chemistry test. The fire and the smoke, the way Seven never came out of the lab. My horrible fear that they’re dead.
I expect Zo to tell me I’m overreacting, that a school would never kill a student.
“I had a friend at Truth Quest who died on one of the hikes,” she says instead.
“She was dehydrated, and the counselors wouldn’t let her stop and take a break or even get more water.
They told her parents she died by suicide. ”
I close my eyes. That’s the worst thing I’ve ever heard. “We have to get out of here.”
“What about the password? And the getaway car?”
“I figured out the password, but we still don’t have a car.
” I hesitate. I’d been trying not to think about this part of the plan.
I’ve never broken through an Abus padlock in less than five minutes before.
I’m not sure it can be done. But the alternative is staying here and hoping that whatever’s waiting for us next won’t kill us, too.
“I’ll just have to move quickly,” I whisper to Zo. “You still think that device of yours can shut down the cameras?”
“The Penguin.” Zo pulls the tiny black device out of her pocket. “And yeah. I programmed it earlier. It’s set to disable all cameras twenty-four hours after it’s been plugged in, like you said.”
I nod. “Good.”
We creep down the stairs and out the front door together. My cloned key still works, thank God. Zo eases the door shut behind her, being careful to hold the handle until the door’s fully settled in the frame so the latch doesn’t catch.
“Stay to the shadows and the cameras won’t catch you,” I tell her, remembering Ian’s advice that first night we snuck out.
Zo nods. She’s wearing the giant gold croissant-shaped earrings tonight, I note. They’re incredible, like works of art. If we make it through this, I’ll have to ask her where she got them.
When we make it through this, I correct myself. Best to stay positive.
The grounds are silent and dark. We can see the lighted path from where we’re making our way across the grass, but a dark, looming shadow tells me a guard is patrolling, watching for students like us who aren’t supposed to be out after curfew.
I hesitate, then motion for Zo to follow me around a patch of dry grass and over to where the tree cover is thick, everything around us painted in shades of charcoal and a deep, inky black.
Zo moves like a hunter, barely rustling the scattered dry leaves when she takes a step.
I try to follow suit, but I’m clumsier than she is.
Every swaying tree branch makes me jerk to a stop, my heart leaping into my throat.
Every breeze in the leaves sends nerves shooting up the back of my neck.
Eventually, Sullivan Hall appears before us like a ghostly mirage. It looks lit from somewhere, as though there’s a spotlight aimed at it. Two armed guards are stationed at the main entrance.
“What now?” Zo whispers.
I jerk my head, indicating that she should follow me around the perimeter to the back entrance Ian and I snuck through. Luckily, this one isn’t guarded.
I lift my master key card to the lock, and it flashes green. The door swings open.
We don’t meet anyone until we reach the staircase that leads to the lower floors.
A guard paces the hall in front of it, looking almost bored.
I motion for Zo to follow me, and lead her back the way we came.
There’s another staircase on the opposite side of the building, and—luckily—this one isn’t guarded.
We slip down the marble stairs like shadows.
Once we reach the lower floor, Zo hands me the Penguin.
“All you have to do is get through the password and plug this into a USB port. It’ll do its thing, and you’ll know it’s worked because this light will change from red to green.
” She points to a little light on the bottom.
“And then the twenty-four-hour countdown will begin.”
I nod. “Okay, got it.”
Zo positions herself to the side of the staircase.
From here, she’ll be able to hear the guard if he starts down the steps, but he won’t be able to see her unless he turns and looks into the shadows when he reaches the bottom.
This floor is arranged like a big circle, so when the guard heads one way, Zo will head the other to warn me.
“And Lia…” Zo starts before I can leave her behind. She opens her mouth, then hesitates, eyes flicking to the stairs.
“What?”
She swallows. “It’s nothing. Just…I’ve been thinking about that book you saw in my bag our first day here. You know, The Count of Monte Cristo?”
I have no idea where she’s going with this. “Okay…what about it?”
“The only way to get out of the prison is to die.”
My skin goes cold. “Zo,” I say firmly, “no. No one else is going to die.”
Her eyes flick to mine, and something flashes through them. Not fear. Something else. Determination, maybe.
She says, voice calm, “Maybe it’s what’s supposed to happen. Maybe that’s how we get to the next level of whatever game they’re playing.”
She’s really freaking me out now. I need her to be strong. I can’t lose her, not after Seven and Mando. “You can’t think like that. You’re going to be fine. We’re getting out of here.”
She gives me another strange look and then says, “Yeah, no, you’re right.” She shoves me down the hall, not hard, but with intention. “Go, do what you came here to do. Make all this worth it.”
I consider arguing, but I can tell it won’t do anything except waste time. So I leave her at the far end of the hall and head to the Records Room alone.
The room around me is silent, save for the occasional creak of the building settling.
I hesitate at the doorway for a moment, looking around at the locked file cabinets.
My fingers twitch. I have my lockpick kit with me tonight.
I could get the file cabinets open. I don’t have time to try…
the only thing that matters right now is shutting off the cameras and getting the hell out of this place.
But, oh, what I would give for five minutes with one of those open drawers.
I’m so desperate to know who the hell is behind this place, what they want from us.
But there isn’t time, so I shake out my shoulders and make a beeline for the big computer. My heart is beating so hard I can hear it pulsing in my ears, feel it throbbing in my thumbs. I have to remind myself to breathe.
I’m a map, I think, reaching for the mouse.
The computer screen blinks to life. But the words I’d been expecting don’t appear. Instead, the screen reads:
The man who makes me doesn’t want me.
The man who buys me doesn’t need me.
The man who needs me doesn’t know it yet.
What am I?
“Shit,” I whisper to no one.
I’d been so focused on figuring out the original riddle. It had never even occurred to me that the riddle might change.