The Zero Game

77

Janos’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 pinata.

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

With 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