Page 73 of Say You'll Stay

She uncaps the twisting top off the bottle and takes a few drinks to clean her mouth, spitting the liquid onto the ground. Then, Olivia saturates every surface within reach before throwing the entire thing into a cluster of test tubes, causing Lucy to cry again. It’s an acceptable price for the satisfaction of destroying this abomination.

She pulls out the lighter, flicking it on until the flame leaps in a soft glow.

“Don’t destroy it,” Carlton begs. “Without this data, we have nothing. This may not have been the best way to do it, but if one sacrifice can save hundreds, thousands, then isn’t it worth it?”

“Where is Cole?” she says calmly, ignoring his rambling.

“Near the back fence. They’re using him for the dunk tank.”

Her gut drops and her focus narrows to one thing, find Cole before one of his worst nightmares comes to life. There is no time to argue with this man and he poses little threat to her, so she dismisses him outright. “You should run now.”

Tossing the lighter onto a table cluttered with files, she watches the flames fan out in a satisfying swirl before rushing for the main exit with Lucy in one arm and the shotgun in theother.

* * *

Cole

The dirty scent of the bag over his head makes his nostrils flare. His wrists hurt from being zip-tied, and cold water tickles his feet. There’s a chain on his ankle tight enough to cut circulation and a cloth gag in his mouth.

Terrible possibilities of what might be happening to Olivia and Lucy while he’s held hostage flood his mind.

He failed them. Let himself be dragged away when he had a duty to keep them safe and now Lucy is in the hands of strangers bent on proving wild theories, and Olivia…his heart hurts even more when he imagines her crying for her baby. Can still hear her as he was pulled around the corner, calling out his name as if he could save them.

What if she’s already gone? What if he’s already lost them both? If he thinks like that, he’ll give up, and that’s not an option yet.

They must have some use for him if he’s still alive. Only when the bag is ripped away and he’s given a clear view of his surroundings does he understand his purpose.

The crowd cheers as he scans the area, finding families with children among the others, all holding small balls they plan to throw at the target of his dunk tank. The cotton candy vendor in the background passes out treats, the smell of popcorn fills the air. It all looks like a day at the state fair instead of a live murder.

So this is what the privileged do to pass the time. Bets are wagered on how long he might last once he’s under water, andthen how long it’ll be until he turns. Even those snotty women from the farmer’s market are eager for a chance at winning whatever the jackpot is. The end of the world changes people, but anyone who enjoys this had to be depraved from the start.

How many people have they done this to for it to be a well-planned sport?

The rules are announced, and he braces for one of his biggest fears to become reality. His body tenses and trembles as the crowd takes their turns one by one. Each miss is only a short reprieve, building the horrific anticipation until he’s yanking at his restraints with wild efforts. The ankle chain slices into his skin around the same time the fifth person misses and he wonders if he can force his foot out, even if it takes all the skin and muscle, and part of the bone. De-gloving his foot is a better option than drowning.

If he dies here, he’ll never see Olivia again. Never see Lucy. He’ll be leaving them to whatever fate this place has planned and he’ll do anything,anything,to make sure that doesn’t happen.

The sixth contestant does not miss. His chance of escape and breath are both stolen as he’s plunged underwater; his ankle chain shortened to keep him there.

Instantly, he is back in that bathtub with his foster father, fighting for his life while he’s held under. He kicks and screams into the void, all the sound of his distress muffled in his liquid prison, and water teasing his lungs. If he kept his composure he could hold his breath longer, but he stands little chance of battling this particular demon. He tries to pull his foot free with wild abandon, feeling the metal start to slice at his tendons, just as an explosion in the background shakes the earth and scatters the crowd.

And then he sees Olivia, parting the remnants of the onlookers and pointing the shotgun at him, signaling with the barrel for him to move to one side. He curls up against the glass, his lungs aching for air. All at once, the water is gone with the sound of a single gunshot. The glass breaks and all the contents, including him, rush out.

Rolling onto his back, he coughs and sputters after that first inhale, sweet as any drug, and greedily sucks in more.

“Are you okay? Where’s the key to the ankle cuff?” she says at his side, knelt down beside him with a hand on his chest that he covers with his own.

“I dunno. Think one of them took it when he ran.”

“Don’t move.”

“What are you—”

His question is cut off by a gunshot into the ground at the middle of the chain that tethers him to the tank. Although the first shot missed, the second hits the target, setting him free.

He thought he’d never see her again and here she is, saving his life.

“Lucy?” he coughs out, sitting up with her help.

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