like Wes. And Shaun. And Arlo. And B.J.
Persey couldn’t save any of them, and as she slowly rested her forehead against the rough surface of the door, she wondered if there truly was no escape from all this death.
She understood why everyone had been brought to Escape-Capades that day, understood the gravity of what Riot and Wes and Mackenzie and Shaun and Arlo and even the unwitting Neela had done. But did they deserve this? Wasn’t there some kind of less lethal justice that could have been doled out instead? Couldn’t they have been turned over to the authorities and prosecuted for idea theft, extortion, something? Why wasn’t justice left to the authorities?
“This shouldn’t be happening,” she said out loud.
“But it is,” Kevin countered. He stood close behind her.
She turned to face him, tears welling up in her eyes. “Why?”
“It just is.”
That’s not an answer.
Kevin’s face was hard-set as he stared down at her. He looked bigger than before, wider and stronger, and he stood like a wall between her and whatever lay behind him in the room. The implication was clear—he meant to protect her. But would he be able to? If push came to shove, would he let one of the others die to save Persey’s life?
And could she live with that?
“I didn’t do anything. I didn’t. I didn’t do it.” Mackenzie paced in a tight circle, wringing her hands in front of her once-white shirt, like Lady Macbeth attempting to get the imaginary spots out. Her eyes were wide, hair half matted, half frizzy, and the carefully applied makeup from this morning was now smudged and smeared across her face, leaving raccoon eyes and the illusion of an off-kilter mouth. “I didn’t. This isn’t happening. This is all a dream. I’m stuck in a bad dream.”
“Mackenzie?” Persey asked as Mackenzie passed by. “Are you okay?”
“I’ll just wake up, that’s what I’ll do. I’ll wake up and I’ll be in the hotel and all of this is not real.”
Kevin waved his hand in front of her face, but she didn’t even flinch. “I think Mack has gone bye-bye.”
“Guys,” Neela said. “I don’t know what the hell that thing is, but I’m scared.”
“That thing?” Persey turned away from Mackenzie to face the rest of the room. It was almost entirely bare, a rarity in the Escape-Capades All-Star Competition. Instead of an incredibly detailed set, perfectly thematic and mindfully decorated down to the square inch, the space looked unfinished. Half conceived. The floors were a gleaming white tile, shined squeaky clean so that it reflected the bright overhead lights embedded in the ceiling. The walls were white to match, so unmarred that Persey assumed they had been painted that morning, perhaps not even dry. A single black dome on the ceiling housed a camera, which was mounted right in the middle of the room, as if begging to be seen and acknowledged. Not just a reminder that someone had been watching them all along, but a demand for that surveillance to be recognized.
But the walls and the tile and the camera were background noise to the star attraction in the room. Standing squarely in the middle of all that whiteness was a giant yellow tractor-looking thing, with a conveyor belt on one end and some kind of blower on the other. It looked as if it had been brought inside to do some kind of industrial construction work and just left there, forgotten.
There was one more item in the room, so small in comparison to the tractor that Persey almost didn’t see it at first. A table stood directly in front of the yellow machine: simple, small, and made of a clear acrylic material, it was the perfect display for the handgun that sat squarely at its center.
Just sitting there. Waiting for someone to take it.
“Welcome to True North.”
Neela jolted at the sound of the obviously male voice. “Wh-who’s that?”
Persey shook her head. “No idea.” They’d only heard Leah’s voice today, so this was jarring.
“Who the fuck are you?” Mackenzie screamed, spinning around the room looking for someone to address. Her trance had been broken, her hope that this was all a bad dream obliterated. “Why are you doing this to us?” Her entire body shook. The raccoon eyes now looked more like leaking inkwells, her face streaked black by running mascara, dragged down her porcelain cheeks by heavy tears.
The voice paused, contemplating. “Isn’t it obvious why you’re here? You’ve already had that conversation.”
Mackenzie sobbed uncontrollably, drool flinging from her