“What’s wrong?” I ask, before I realize she’s just struggling to stay awake.
“Sorry,” she mumbles, then yawns and lets her head loll back again.
I don’t know how she can be nodding off right now, but I’m deeply envious. I haven’t slept properly in days. Anxiety has me coiled so tightly that I’m wide awake and on edge almost all the time.
Fifty-nine minutes.
When an alarm blares, I jerk as if I’ve been shocked.
“Finally!” Farrah says.
Lyla rubs hard at her eyes. “Was that the alarm?” She pushes to her feet. “I want to go next. I can’t sit here anymore.”
“Good luck,” I say.
She gives me a tense smile, and then she’s off, following the lighted path.
I settle against the wall, watching Farrah thumb through her phone. I could do the same thing, but I want to be completely alert in case something comes out of those shadows. Because someone is out there, somewhere.
I jump when the alarm sounds, not expecting to hear it so soon. I check my watch. It’s only been ten minutes, if that.
“Well, that’s a good sign.” Farrah rises to her feet. “I’ll go next.”
And then I’m alone. I wrap my arms tightly around my knees, my veins skipping and buzzing with adrenaline. There’s so much energy rushing through my body I can hardly stand it, but I don’t dare move, as if danger won’t be able to find me so long as I keep very still.
Time stretches out, every minute more painful than the last. I check my watch. Over half an hour. Soon it’ll be my turn. I’ll have to get up and walk into the building, face whatever is waiting for me. I blow out a slow breath.
This whole setup must take more than one person. I try to remember if there were any cars parked outside, a bike, anything. Were there tire tracks leading in? It’s useless thinking about it—it’s not like someone sophisticated enough to run this game would do something as stupid as parking a car out front—but I have nothing else to think about anyway, nothing to do but sit here and be scared.
I’m surprised when the alarm buzzes after forty-four minutes. What could the dare possibly be?
I stand up, wiping the dirt off my pants. It occurs to me that the dirt would have been a major fear before, but I didn’t think twice about sitting on the dusty floor. Somehow things like that don’t seem so important anymore.
You can do this, Hope. It’s just one more dare.
My footsteps echo softly as I follow the lights into the factory, passing blackened doorways, frozen conveyor belts, and stalled machinery. I don’t know if it’s the dark or the fact that it’s the first dare I’m doing without the other girls nearby, but my nerves are stretched tight and ready to snap and a cold sweat glues my shirt to my back. I start imagining things jumping out at me from the dark, and a whimper escapes me. I shake my head to get rid of the thought.
The other girls did this. I can do it too.
When the lights trip up a narrow, creaky staircase to a hallway full of dirt-encrusted windows full of moonlight, I almost collapse with relief. But before long the path dips back into utter darkness. Something drips slowly in the shadows, and I almost wish I’d never seen the light at all. Then I see it: a red Enter sign, like the ones they have at cheap diners, flashing and buzzing quietly above a steel door. I wipe my hands on my pants and step forward, gripping the handle in my damp palm. I push.
The door sucks open, and cold air mists around me. I blink against the sudden light, goose bumps flashing up my arms. When my vision clears, I see animal carcasses hanging from hooks along one of the frost-crusted walls, an empty stainless-steel cart pushed against another. My breath puffs in front of me. It’s some sort of walk-in freezer.
Snow crunches under my shoes as I step into the room. It has to be twenty degrees below in here. I wrap my arms around myself.
There’s a soft thump behind me, and I whirl around, my heart thudding behind my ears. It was just the door closing. I laugh to myself. Don’t be such a baby, Hope.
But when I turn around, there’s a body crawling toward me.
I scream and scrabble into the dead meat, then scream again and wheel for the door. But there’s no handle on the inside. Panic spikes in my system. I flatten myself against the wall and prepare to fight, when I realize who it is. Farrah. Her lashes are covered in frost, and her skin is tinged a sickly gray-blue. I rush toward her.
“Farrah!”
“C-c-can’t f-f-figure it out,” she stutters.
“Figure what out?”
She nods beyond me, the movement so sluggish that I shudder.
A keypad sits over a door on the other side of the room. The words “Enter Code” flash across the small screen. It’s some sort of riddle. We have to figure it out to get the door open.