ZerOes by Chuck Wendig Page A

hard-on for Chance Dalton.” He cocks an eyebrow and she rolls her eyes. “No, not like that. I mean, you want to burn him down. Wash him out. Punish him. Am I right?”
    â€œYou are, at that.”
    A wicked grin cuts across her face. “Then I can help.”

                                    CHAPTER 13
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  The First Message
    ----
    THE LODGE
    ----
    T he Lodge shuts everything down at 9 P . M . A female voice over a loudspeaker tells them that everyone is to be back in their cabins by nine thirty, at which point the cabins lock.
    Reagan is missing.
    At first, fine, whatever. Everyone’s nervous, it seems, but nobody really wants to acknowledge it. They keep peering out the door and the windows. All the other hackers—the prisoners, they have to remind themselves, since most of today it felt like they were just students on some kind of college campus hidden in the mountains—have gone to their pods, and only a few mill around. None of them seem to be Reagan.
    â€œShe’s gonna get washed out, first day,” DeAndre says.
    â€œGood,” Aleena says as she climbs the ladder to the loft. “Let her.”
    Chance says, “Couldn’t that hurt all of us?”
    â€œIt does seem like our fates are intertwined,” Wade says. “She messes up, we all gotta do the push-ups, you know?”
    â€œCrap,” Aleena says. “You think? Crap . She’s going to screw us.”
    9:25 P . M . Still no Reagan. Everyone shuts up. Like speaking will somehow scare her away. The uncertainty in the room is killing them.What happens if she’s not accounted for? Do they all wash out? Get packed back in SUVs and sent to prison?
    DeAndre hurries around the room, whispers in everyone’s ear—Chance assumes everyone gets reminded of the same thing: “They probably got mics or cameras in this room. You feel me?”
    Nine thirty rolls around. The door seals with a vacuum foomp . There’s a loud rattle as the lock engages. The lights in the cabin go out with a buzz and a click.
    â€œGood night,” Aleena says. And then she names them one by one until finally she says: “Good night, Reagan.”
    Time slows to a crawl. Like sap oozing from cold pine. Chance lies there in his cot. DeAndre and Wade nearby. Wade’s asleep. When the old man snores, he sounds like someone throwing kitchen appliances into a wood chipper.
    DeAndre’s not making any noise, so Chance takes a, well, chance, and says: “You awake, DeAndre?”
    â€œWhat? I am now.”
    â€œSorry.”
    â€œWhatever, man, I wasn’t actually asleep.”
    â€œI think I’m screwed.”
    â€œHuh?”
    â€œI’m way out of my depth, man. I don’t know what they’re gonna have us do, but first day I’ll be the guy who drowns in a puddle.”
    â€œYou’ll be all right.”
    I don’t think so , Chance thinks. He’s about to say something else, but from the loft, Aleena hisses:
    â€œShut up. I’m trying to sleep.”
    â€œWe are, too,” DeAndre says.
    â€œDoesn’t sound like it!”
    DeAndre snorts a laugh. Chance does, too. But that’s the last they speak.
    Eventually, sleep reaches a tentative, hesitant hand and takes them all.

    Hollis walks the nighttime perimeter of the Hunting Lodge. The forest is loud with chittering bugs. It’s isolated up here. Way too isolated. Hollis doesn’t do country mouse very well. He’s a city mouse—born andraised in D.C. The Hunting Lodge feels too remote. So far off the grid you start to forget there’s a grid in the first place.
    Hunting Lodge , he thinks. Given the targets they go after, it’s an apt name, if a little cocky. He wonders what his five