said, trying to sound like she was in control. “Understand?” Mackenzie didn’t have a good track record when it came to taking Persey seriously, and this kind of command would have touched Mackenzie off a few hours ago, but to her credit, Mackenzie just nodded, and despite the nagging fear that Persey might be holding hands with a killer, they both made it safely to the other side.
Riot was next, and when Persey took his hand, she felt his thumb graze over the back of her own. It was the last thing she should have been thinking of, but her stomach fluttered, and for one fleeting moment, she thought of what it must be like to have someone in your life—anyone else—who cared about you.
Persey half expected to find Wes and Kevin engaged in a blind-man’s fistfight when she returned, arguing over who would go next. The countdown clock was at 378 seconds, or about six minutes if Persey’s crappy math skills could handle basic division, which meant she had time to get both of them out, even with the now-predictable spike volleys, but instead of the expected altercation, she found Kevin leaning back against the wall, arms folded across his chest, über-casual.
“I’ll go last,” he announced.
“Really?” she blurted out.
Wes answered for him. “Yes, really.” He inched his way toward her, one hand trailing against the wall. Even through night-vision goggles, he looked awful. The sheen of perspiration on his face glistened in green light. His hair was stringy and matted down, like he’d been running a sweaty hand through it repeatedly, and his eyes were puffy. She wondered if he’d been smoking more of his special weed while he waited.
She tried not to cringe when she took Wes’s moist hand.
They started across the plank at the same deliberate, steady pace Persey had used for the others, but Wes wasn’t content to move that slowly. “Hurry up,” he growled in her ear.
One-two. Three-four.
“The wooden plank isn’t very sturdy,” Persey said, refusing to be bullied. “We’ll make it halfway before the first big barrage, and you’ll have plenty of time to get down and avoid—”
He shoved her. “Move. Faster.”
Persey stumbled, hand down to the wooden beam for support, and just barely avoided a headfirst fall into the spike pit below. “Cut it out!” she yelled, trying to yank her hand free from his. If he wanted to run blindly in the darkness, he could go right ahead. But she wasn’t going with him.
One-two. Three-four.
“What’s wrong?” Neela cried. “Persey, are you okay?”
Before she could answer, she felt a hand smack her head. Then another. Wes was groping for her goggles.
“Fuck you!” she yelled, trying to fend him off. She dropped to her knees, gripping the plank with one hand and shielding her face with the other. If he managed to get them off her head, the rest of them were probably dead. Wes wasn’t exactly looking out for anyone but himself.
“Give them to me!” he roared.
“Wes, if you hurt her, I swear to God I’ll kill you.” Riot’s anger was sweet but impotent.
One-two. Three-four. Closer. Right behind them.
Despite the fact that Wes was a cheat, an asshole, and a selfish douchebag, Persey couldn’t just let him die. She reached back and tugged on his pant leg. “Get down. Now! Or you’re going to get—”
Persey wasn’t sure exactly what happened first. She felt the denim of Wes’s jeans slip from her fingers, as if he’d yanked his leg away from her. She heard a scream. Felt the air move above her as two dozen metal spikes shot across the room. Felt their impact. But also, another. A juicy thud was the best way to describe it.
“Persey!” Neela and Riot cried simultaneously. “Are you okay? What’s happening?”
“I’m okay.” Her voice was breathless. “I’m okay.”
“What about Wes?” Mackenzie’s voice was significantly calmer than it had been in the last half hour.
Persey raised her head and looked around. The sight that greeted her made her wish she hadn’t.
Wes’s body was almost directly beneath the bridge, faceup, eyes still open. Persey could see the spikes impaled through his body: arms and legs, abdomen, throat. He was still twitching.
She felt the world spin. The green-hued image of Wes’s death throes circling her field of vision as if she was on a carousel set to ludicrous speed. She staggered, unsure of where the bridge was, or the ceiling, or anything else. Just as she thought she was about to pitch forward, she felt an arm around her waist, pulling