Dead Air, Michelle Schusterman [mobile ebook reader .TXT] 📗

put on a burst of speed. When a shadow lunged at him from one of the cells, I shouted a warning a second too late. The mess-hall chair slammed into Oscar’s head with a sickening sound.

THUD.

I screamed as Oscar crumpled to the ground. His attacker tossed the chair aside, then stepped over his motionless body and walked toward me. Terrified, I stood rooted to the spot, unable to focus on anything other than the glint of the knife in her hand.

Emily Rosinski smiled at me. “Hello, Kat.”

Without waiting for a response—my vocal cords seemed to have seized up, anyway—she grabbed my arm. I tried to call Oscar’s name, but all that came out was a small, strangled cry as she pulled me past his body and down the corridor. Even in the dark, I could see a giant lump already forming on his forehead.

Emily’s nails dug into my arm, and I winced. She pushed through a set of double doors, and I stumbled half a step behind her, dimly aware that we were outside. I was so fixated on the knife swinging back and forth at her side, several seconds passed before I realized I was still holding the walkie-talkie. I couldn’t call for help now, of course—no one could get to us in time. Glancing at Emily, I tucked it into my jacket pocket. We crossed a small, walled courtyard, heading straight for the guard tower.

“Hope you brought your camera!” Emily said cheerfully, kicking the door open. The DO NOT ENTER sign fell to the ground. “This’ll make quite a post.”

The steep staircase twisted like a snake inside the tower structure, just wide enough for one person. Emily nudged me forward. “Up you go.”

Weak with fear, I began to climb, Emily right on my heels. I glanced down every other second, my eyes seeking out the knife. By the time I reached the top, my legs burned and my heart hammered wildly in my ears. I hurried to the railing and stared down at the compound. The electric fence cast a long, jagged shadow that circled the courtyard. And there, huddled right outside the entrance to the main building with the rest of the crew, was Dad.

My knees nearly buckled with relief. I opened my mouth to yell for help and felt cool metal press against my neck.

“Don’t interrupt,” Emily said softly. “They’re filming.”

After a few seconds, she pulled the knife away. My breath came out in a shaky whoosh, and I gripped the railing until my knuckles were white.

This wasn’t the fun kind of horror. This was really, truly horrifying.

I could barely make out Dad’s voice as he slowly walked backward in front of Jess, her camera up and filming. Sam drifted along next to them, while Mi Jin trailed behind, glancing over her shoulder every few seconds. Probably wondering about Roland and Lidia, I realized, and almost laughed at the hopelessness of the situation. Roland was locked in the van, Lidia was possessed and doing who knew what, I was stuck in a tower with a lunatic, and Oscar . . . I felt sick when I remembered the way we’d left him lying unconscious.

“Almost midnight,” Emily whispered, her gaze locked on the crew. “The fans will love this, won’t they? Another host, gone. The curse continues.” Grabbing my wrist, she tugged me over to a grime-covered control panel with a single, rusty lever. “Bunch of morons. You figured it out, though.”

Confused and terrified, I watched her examine the lever. “Figured what out . . . ? That Roland got rid of all the hosts?”

Emily’s eyes widened almost comically. “Roland?”

“Well, y-yeah,” I stammered. “He got you fired, he framed Carlos with that exposé, he sent Bernice death threats . . .” I trailed off as Emily started giggling, a high, tinkling sound that made the hairs on my arms stand on end.

“Well, at least you got the first part right,” she tittered. “Roland couldn’t stand that Sam and I were in love. He told Jess I was unstable. Unstable! Can you believe the nerve?” Eyeing the knife in her hand, I decided now wasn’t the time to be a smart aleck. “So Lidia fired me. And after I kept her secret, too! But I promised Sam I would come back. I set Carlos up, I sent Bernice those letters. I made this ‘the most haunted show on television’—the host curse was all because of me.” Emily slammed the knife down on the console. “Just one more host left to get rid of, right, Kat?”

Before I could respond, she grabbed the lever and pulled hard. I covered my ears at the resulting screech. When I lowered my arms, the air vibrated with a soft, deep hum.

“What . . .” I stopped, a jolt of terror ripping through me. “Did you just turn on the fence?”

“Your dad could use a few tips on being a real reporter,” Emily told me, pulling out her phone. “After he interviewed that tourism-board member yesterday, I followed her to a bar and bought her a drink. Just talking about Daems had her all worked up. She told me—in the strictest confidence, of course—that even the city officials are so superstitious about this place, they never deactivated the fence. They think it keeps the ghosts in. Isn’t that funny?”

Giggling, Emily held up her phone and started to record a video. “It’s going to be an exciting episode, Kat. We should get a little extra footage. Don’t,” she added warningly when I stepped up to the railing. Dad and the others were crossing the courtyard, still filming, slowly making their way toward the fence. I spun around to face Emily.

“They don’t know it’s on!”

She snickered. “That’s kind of the point, isn’t it?”

“But—but what if Sam touches it?” I said frantically. “You don’t want him to die, do you?”

Anger flashed in Emily’s eyes. “He stopped responding to my e-mails. All he cares about is communicating with the dead,” she snapped. “He might as well be one of them.”

Okay, Roland was right. Total nutjob.

Without giving myself time to think about