Flash Point (30 page)

Thirty-one

T
HURSDAY AND ON

WAVERLY WORE D&G
capris, a black silk top slashed into strategic ribbons, sandals studded with more rivets than a Boeing 747, and a sulky expression. Amy looked at the clothes and realized it must be summery outside. She looked at the expression and said, “What’s wrong?”

“I’m quitting the show.” Waverly tossed her purse, a cute clutch, on a plastic chair. “I wanted to tell you because, well, we went through a lot together.”

“Oh.” Waverly didn’t exactly look vulnerable—Amy had seen her that way only once, under extreme circumstances—but she did look more open than usual.

Waverly said, “I’ll probably never see you again, Amy. I mean, let’s not kid ourselves—we don’t exactly move in the same circles. But you’re not a bitch like Violet or a total opportunist like Kaylie, so I want to tell you why I’m leaving and give you some friendly advice.”

This speech struck Amy as condescending in so many different ways that she didn’t know where to begin to answer it. However, Waverly evidently didn’t expect an answer.

“The show is finished. Unless Myra comes up with something really spectacular, it will be canceled after this season. I—”

“How do you know that?”

“I know. I told you, my father has connections. I made a huge mistake thinking that
Who–You
would be an attention-getting way to launch my TV career. It’s the wrong kind of attention. I’m marked now with the general sleaze of the show, and it will take me a long time of different exposure to overcome that. Fortunately, Daddy is willing to help, which I should have let him do in the first place. I had this stupid idea that I wanted to do it all on my own.”

“Maybe it wasn’t such a stupid—”

“Yes, it was. I’m here to tell you that you should get out, too. Get a lawyer to break your contract, which is what I’m doing. You’ll have to forfeit that last big bonus, of course. But you’ll avoid all the bad publicity coming over the whole FBI thing.”

“What bad publicity? What FBI thing? You mean the death threats?”

Waverly retrieved her purse and poked around in it for a lipstick. “Oh, Amy, you have been out of touch, haven’t you? The FBI doesn’t care about those death threats. ‘Too vague and generic to warrant investigation.’ I care, which is another reason I’m getting out. But the FBI is more concerned with fraud. They’ve asked a lot of questions about rigged voting.”

“Rigged voting? But the show has given away millions of dollars!”

“I know.” Waverly applied her lipstick, which was a peculiar shade of blue-black. On her, with that outfit, it looked weirdly alluring. “I don’t understand it, and I don’t really care. Something about violating interstate commerce laws. You’d think they’d have something better to do with their time, wouldn’t you? Anyway, if there are subpoenas and testifying and all that shit, I don’t want any part of it. My advice to you is get out now.”

Amy didn’t know what to say. One thing she did know: Waverly might blithely “get a lawyer” and forfeit the TLN bonus, but Waverly had her father’s money behind her. Amy did not. On the other hand, she wanted nothing more than to leave the TV show.

“One more thing,” Waverly said. “They’ll need to replace me for the final scenario, whatever it is.”

“So? Who will they . . .”

Waverly gazed steadily at her.

Amy said, “Oh my God. Kaylie.”

“I don’t know that for sure. But I guess yes. She’s there, she knows the drill, she’s photogenic, and she’s a wild card. Just what Myra likes.”

“She’s only fifteen!”

“Not according to Kaylie. She says she had a birthday.”

Amy juggled dates in her head. Kaylie’s birthday had been two days ago, and Amy had completely forgotten it. Life in a hospital did that: erased time, erased any events except those connected with Gran.

“Bye, Amy,” Waverly said. “Have a good life.” She left, her walk sexy in the riveted sandals.

For several minutes Amy stared at the empty doorway, her mind a jumble. Kaylie’s birthday, Waverly’s quitting, the FBI . . .

Then all at once a phantom slashed into her mind, by far the strongest she’d ever had. Clear and bright, the phantom almost seemed outside her mind, a living thing in its own right. It was her mother’s face from Gran’s photograph, except that now her mother was smiling, a smile so warm and loving that Amy felt her heart rise in her chest.

The next moment, there was movement behind her. Amy whirled around. Gran sat up in her hospital bed, spine straight and eyes shining, and said joyously, “Carolyn!”

Amy rushed forward. She caught Gran as she toppled sideways, and she knew even before she called for the nurse that her grandmother was dead.

* * *

Amy never remembered the next hour. A nurse must have come, and a doctor, and someone must have led her away, someone must have taken Gran away. But all Amy could see was that phantom of her mother, appearing just before Gran called her mother’s name in that strong voice ringing with joy. Had it really been a phantom? A premonition? Something manufactured by her mind because deep down she knew what must come? Or had the phantom been something else, its own thing, unclassifiable but very real? A message?

“Carolyn!”

Whatever it was, it sustained Amy through the next days. It sustained her through Kaylie’s burbling phone call—“They put me in the show!” It sustained her through the brief funeral service. Gran had died happy, of that Amy was absolutely certain. If she knew nothing else, she knew that.

And the phantom of her mother’s face would sustain Amy through quitting
Who–You.
If Waverly could do it, so could she. Let Myra sue her for breach of contract. You couldn’t get money from someone who had none. Amy no longer needed medical coverage for Gran. Amy was getting out.

* * *

“You can’t!” Kaylie cried.

“Kaylie—”

“It’s not fair! No! I won’t let you do it!”

Amy stiffened. “You won’t ‘let’ me?”

“No!”

They stood facing each other across Kaylie’s bed at the Carillon Hotel. The bed was strewn with clothes, most of them Amy’s; evidently Kaylie had been trying them on. Her face contorted so much with anger that she actually looked ugly. Her green eyes narrowed to slits.

“You’ve outshined me my entire stupid life, Amy, and now I finally have my one chance and you are not going to ruin it for me! Do you hear me—you’re
not
! I’ve worked hard to get on this show and—”

“Worked hard how? By pretending to love a boy you don’t?”

“I never told Cai I love him! You can afford to be so fussy and holier-than-thou because you were born with all those brains and talents, school and chess and gymnastics and everything—well, I wasn’t! All I have is my looks and my personality and you can sneer all you want at how I use them but I’m not you! I’m not Saint Amy, and I sure the fuck don’t want to be! Just don’t screw this up for me!”

“I’m not, I—”

“Yes, you are! If you quit, the show would be down two people that viewers know and maybe Myra will cancel the whole thing! Don’t you see—this is my
chance
. Everybody says Myra has to do something spectacular to get the ratings up and I need to be part of it. I need to get something of my own!”

“You can get something else, something that isn’t a sleazy TV show that just exploits death and tragedy to—”

“No, I can’t get anything else! God, don’t be so selfish! If you won’t do this for me, do it for Gran!”

Amy frowned. “What do you mean, ‘for Gran’?”

“She wanted you to go to college, you know she did! It was her dream! She didn’t have any dreams for me, did she, but let’s pass over that for a minute. Gran wanted you to go to college and for that you need one of those ‘bridge’ schools that teach you all the stuff you lost by doing short-form high school instead of the real thing, and for that you need money. The amount of Myra’s bonus, in fact!”

“How do you know all that?” Amy said, but of course Kaylie would know from online research and from Cai. Kaylie didn’t bother to answer, instead plunging ahead.

“You have to go to college for Gran and you have to go on the show for me and not just throw it all away like you always do! You get good things hand-delivered to you and then you just rip them up—like this!”

Kaylie seized Amy’s layered silk top from the bed and tugged at it. The fabric tore with a horrible rending sound like fingernails on a blackboard. Kaylie threw it to the floor and grabbed Amy’s Fendi jacket. She put her teeth to the soft buttery leather.

“No!” Amy leaped onto the bed, then onto Kaylie. They crashed together to the floor, where Kaylie struggled briefly and then began to cry.

“Please, Amy, I need this, I do, please . . .”

“All right!” Amy was furious with Kaylie for begging, furious with herself for giving in, furious with Gran for dying, furious with Myra for everything else. It didn’t feel good. She got up off the floor, clutching her jacket. After a minute she hurled it away from her. She wasn’t doing this for a hunk of designer leather.

“Thank you,” Kaylie said.

Amy said, “You’re not all that welcome. And you know what? Later on you’ll actually think less of me for giving in to you!”

To Amy’s surprise, Kaylie actually considered this, head cocked to one side and face thoughtful. “I’ll try not to.”

“Good,” Amy said sourly. She knew it was the best she was going to get. Now all she had to do wait for Myra’s last scenario, hoping the wait would not be long. Amy didn’t want Myra to wait “out of respect”; she just wanted the final scenario over.

It came the next day.

Thirty-two

T
UESDAY

AMY’S CELL RANG.
She had been dreaming about Gran, a vague but peaceful dream in which Gran smiled at her and fixed her oatmeal with raisins, Amy’s favorite childhood breakfast. The dream had none of the joyful, preternatural force of that last phantom image of her mother (
“Carolyn!”
), but it was pleasant and Amy resented being woken from it by her cell. In the other bed Kaylie groaned and turned over. She’d stopped sleeping in Cai’s room, leaving him looking dazed and bruised and unhappy. Amy didn’t want to think that Kaylie had dumped Cai because she was now on the show and had no further need of him—but it sure looked that way.

“Hello?” Amy said. She hadn’t seen who was calling.

“This is Myra. Be dressed in outdoor clothing and in the lobby in half an hour. Same for Kaylie.” She clicked off, just as a text came in.

“Kaylie, get up. We’re on.” She fumbled with the phone, trying to access the text. The time said 4:30 a.m.

Kaylie bolted upright. “Really?
Really?
Showtime!” She bounded out of bed—Kaylie, who never woke before ten, and who needed another hour to remember her name. “I get the shower first!”

“We only have half an hour!”

Amy switched on the bedside light, blinked, and squinted at the text. It was from Mark Meyer, and consisted of just two words, set in all capitals:
LAST TIME
.

Well, she knew this was the last time for a scenario—why would he bother to text that? And at four thirty in the morning? Amy stumbled out of bed and gathered up her clothes, waiting for her turn in the shower.

Which she didn’t get. Kaylie took so long that all Amy had time to do was brush her teeth, wash her face, and put on minimal makeup. Kaylie, on the other hand, looked fabulous. She’d made up her eyes to look huge, with a pale mouth and gleaming dark curls. She wore her own jeans and boots but a new top—Myra must have sent it last night—in a shade of green that made her eyes glow emerald and showed the tops of her spectacular breasts. Amy, in jeans and white tee, felt like a wren beside a parrot. A very tired wren.

She said, “Come on, Kaylie. You don’t want to be late for your television debut.”

“No!” Kaylie said, utterly missing the sarcasm. The last time Amy had seen her sister this innocently excited had been before the All-City Talent Show, which seemed a million years ago.

And look how that had turned out.

In the elevator on the way down, both of them clutching their jackets, Kaylie said, “If Myra wants ‘outdoor clothing,’ should you be wearing those sandals?”

“They’re all I was given this time around. Too bad Waverly took away her combat boots.”

“Yeah.” Kaylie looked down at her boots, heavy and high. “Want to switch?”

“Your feet are about two sizes larger than mine.”

“Oh, yeah, right.”

Had Kaylie made the offer from concern over Amy’s sandals or from a desire for the designer footwear? Amy didn’t know. Maybe both.

Violet and Rafe waited in the lobby with Jillian, and a moment later Cai and Tommy joined them. Kaylie was the only one who looked fully awake; not even Jillian was perky at five in the morning. She got them all into a van, where coffee and muffins waited. The van took them to the airport.

“Hey,” Kaylie said, “where are we going?”

Rafe said, “I don’t know. But we’re going there in a helicopter.”

“Cool!”

By the time the helicopter lifted off, pink stained the sky. They left the city and flew out over the bay, then the ocean. As they approached a small island that looked all green from the air, the copter abruptly dropped so that they came in low and all Amy could see was a landing area on the edge of a steep cliff. The sun had not yet risen above the horizon, and the sky was a glorious tapestry of gold, red, orange. Below the cliff, mild waves broke white on the rocks. Amy, jumping down from the helicopter, saw a low wooden building set in a stand of trees.

“This is pretty,” Tommy said. “I like this place.” He gazed at the trees in half-bud, the wild roses ringing the wooden building, the fresh May morning.

Cai said, “But where are we?”

Rafe was working the GPS on his cell. He said, “Holtz Island. Privately owned. Undeveloped.”

Jillian said, “Inside, everybody.”

The low wooden building, which seemed very new, was furnished with only a few tables and chairs, rough wooden shelves along one wall, and a man in a Park Ranger uniform even though Rafe had said this wasn’t a public park. The shelves held cardboard boxes, a dorm-style refrigerator, a microwave, and a small television. On the opposite wall were two doors, both closed.

Jillian said, “Welcome to Maze Base. This is Ranger Compton. He has something to tell you after I explain the scenario. First, however, I need to collect all your cells, tablets, and other technology. It will all be here when the scenario is over.”

Everyone emptied their pockets onto the table. Jillian swept all the electronics into a large tote labeled TLN. For the first time that morning, Amy felt the old tightening in her stomach and tensing along her neck. Whatever she had to face lay just beyond one of those wooden doors.

“Wait!” Violet suddenly said, sounding almost desperate.

They all looked at her. Violet lowered her head and shook it, like a bull going into the ring. Amy couldn’t see Violet’s eyes through the swinging curtain of long black hair. Violet seemed to want to say something, but then she straightened, smiled, and said nothing. She took an elastic band from her pocket and pulled her hair into a bun.

Jillian said, “Violet, are you OK?”

“Never better!”

“Then I’ll begin. Behind that door”—she pointed dramatically—“is a maze. It’s enormous, covering nearly a third of the island. It took days to construct. You’ll be divided into teams. Each team’s task is to get through the maze, which will bring you back out that second door there.” She pointed.

Amy waited, but there didn’t seem to be more. Kaylie said, “That’s it? Just go through the maze?”

Rafe said, “I think the point is what’s in the maze.”

Jillian smiled. “You’re right. There’s a treasure in the maze. You’ll know it when you see it. There are other things in there, too: food, water, prizes. But you’ll have to find them. Like I said, it’s a
big
maze. Everybody put on one of these lanyards—that little button at the end is a microphone, to call us in case of emergency.”

Amy almost laughed aloud at this transparent ploy. The mics were to record the Lab Rats, of course. But no one said anything as Jillian draped the lanyards over each of their necks.

“The teams are Kaylie and Cai, Rafe and Amy, Tommy and Violet. You are required to stay with your team member at all times.”

Of course they were—otherwise there would be no conversation to record. But there must be more going on than just a maze; Myra needed a big last scenario. What else lay behind that door?

Jillian’s face turned serious. “Ranger Compton has something to tell you, too.”

Compton stepped forward. Tall, straight-spined, sunburned, he looked like a recruiting poster for somebody’s army. His face was as serious as Jillian’s. “Since the maze finished construction, a coyote was found dead on the island. Because of certain unusual aspects of the corpse, an autopsy was performed. The coyote died of Keegan’s syndrome.”

Rafe let out a long, low whistle. Everybody else looked blank. Amy vaguely remembered hearing something about Keegan’s on the endless news shows she’d watched with Gran—but what?

“Keegan’s syndrome,” Compton continued, “is one of the new diseases that have appeared since the Collapse. Like flu, it mutates easily. Like rabies, it attacks the brain. It is
not
rabies. But it’s dangerous, and we know that it can jump species far more easily than most viruses. Most mammals can be affected by it, including humans. Two days ago a second coyote was seen near the helipad with the symptoms of Keegan’s syndrome, which include staggering on weak legs, foaming at the mouth, and atypical behavior, including unprovoked attacks. The animal was shot. It carried Keegan’s. Taunton Life Network contacted us and we did a complete inspection of the maze. It is perfectly safe. No infected coyote, if indeed there are any left on the island with Keegan’s, can get through the walls of the maze. Coyotes cannot climb, and infected ones are too disoriented and weak to dig beneath the walls.

“The virus is fast-acting, more so than anything the CDC has seen before. But there is a completely effective antidote. It must, however, be administered within two hours of the bite, or else the victim undergoes quite a bit of pain and possible residual brain damage. In the unlikely event that one of you is bitten—although I don’t see how that would happen if you remain in the maze—you can call for help with your microphones and you’ll be taken out of the scenario. We have syringes of antidote stockpiled right here.” He pointed to the wooden shelves on the side wall. “Any questions?”

Before anyone could ask one, Jillian said earnestly, “We at TLN wanted to be perfectly straight with you. Now that you know the facts, are you still willing to run the maze?”

Amy stared at her. Jillian was completely sincere; Amy was sure of it. She was one of those people who believed what her employers told her, carried out tasks with all the ability she had, and cared about the outcome. She was, in fact, what Amy had been before she went to work for TLN.

Violet said, “We can opt out? Without violating our contracts?”

“Yes and no,” Jillian said. “You can opt out and TLN will of course take no legal action, but you forfeit the last bonus you received and the one for this scenario, too—which I’m happy to say is the same huge amount as the last one! The bonuses depend on completion of all specified services, as per your original contracts. It’s a lot of money, people.”

It was indeed. With two bonuses that size, Amy could not only do a bridge course to prepare herself for college, she could pay for the first year at university. And Kaylie could maybe go to some sort of school, too—modeling? acting?—or launch some kind of career, doing something . . .

That was what Gran had so desperately wanted for her granddaughters.

“I’m in,” she said to Jillian.

One by one, the others agreed. Only Rafe hesitated. He thrust his hands deep in his pockets, hunched forward as if protecting his own body, and said, “Keegan’s attacks the amygdalae directly. Those are the parts of the brain that control and inflame primitive emotion.”

“That’s right,” Compton said.

“In West Virginia two cases have been found with squirrels as carriers.”

“Yes. But this isn’t West Virginia, son. Here only coyotes have been found as carriers. And this is an island. Squirrels can’t cross that much water.”

Rafe chewed on his bottom lip. Then he glanced over at Amy, shrugged, and nodded.

“Great!” Jillian said. “If you’ll all just sign these brief statements saying that you were told about the coyotes . . . terrific! Let’s get you started!”

She walked to the left door and flung it open, looking as if offering them the entrance to Eden.

Amy scanned the paper, signed it, and passed the pen to Kaylie, who didn’t bother to read it at all. Joining Jillian, Amy peered through the door. A small square space enclosed with rough wooden walls set with three more doors. Except for the fact that the walls were ten feet high, it could have been a dog run behind a particularly shabby trailer. The three doors presumably led to the maze beyond.

Jillian said, “Amy, you signed first, so you get to choose which starter passage you and your teammate Rafe will begin with!” She had ramped up the perkiness so high that Amy looked for the hidden camera. She didn’t spot it. But then, she rarely did.

She said, “We’ll take the middle door.”

“Great!”

Another few minutes and the door had closed behind her and Rafe, and Amy heard a key turn in the lock. They were in.

More ten-foot-high walls, these about four feet apart, like a long hallway of unsanded, unpainted walls. The lumber was so new that it still smelled of fresh sawdust. Openings led to other branches of the maze. The ground underneath was dirt, interspersed with weeds and the occasional rock.

Rafe said, “I love what they’ve done with the place.”

“Do you want to go left or—”

“Just a minute, I want to check something first.” He slipped the lanyard over his head and held it up to his eye. From his pocket he pulled a small folding knife, carefully pried the back off the microphone, and examined the innards. “OK,” he said finally, “I think it
is
just a mic. Not also a camera. They can hear us but not see us, at least not through these. Although I imagine microcams will film us at strategic points along the maze. Hi, Myra!” He waved.

Amy said, “I have an idea. We should mark each turn we take so we don’t end up just going in circles. You can use your knife to cut notches in the wood.”

“Good. We’ll do it.”

They marked the first turn they took, branching to the left. Rafe said, “We should also keep the sun in mind as a marker, as well as remember that it’s moving through the sky. I have a feeling we’re going to be here all day. We’re facing the sun now. If we keep trying to turn our back to it, we’ll be at least heading back in the direction of Maze Base, which is where the second door is too.”