Fun and Games by Duane Swierczynski Read Free Book Online

fraction of a microsecond before using her good foot to vault herself forward. If he opened that door, it was all over.
    Hardie stepped into the vestibule, looking around for something out of place. All at once the silence was overwhelming. He was tempted to open the door to see if something had happened outside, like maybe the Rapture or Armageddon, but then a thought occurred to him. Hardie moved into the media room, then saw his reflection in the darkened flat-screen. After a few seconds he figured out what was missing: No digital time readouts on the components.
    The girl appeared in the room, bloodied mic stand still in her hand. The fact that it was his blood vaguely bothered Hardie.
    She leaned forward and whisper-yelled: “What are you doing?”
    “The power’s out,” Hardie said.
    “Oh God. So they know I’m in here. They saw you walk in, and they think I’m in here…”
    “Uh, you are in here.”
    “They didn’t know that before you showed the fuck up!”
    “Please, for the love of God… who is they? ”
    But the girl was already starting to panic, looking around at the windows and doorways, as if expecting a heavily armed unit of commandos to come storming into the house, spraying mace grenades and bullets.
    Hardie had to admit, it was all starting to feel seriously strange to him, too. The power just so happens to go out just after he got his dumb ass stabbed in the chest? None of the previous explanations his lizard brain had come up with seemed to fit now. If it was just the girl, that would be one thing. People on drugs cooked up some truly weird shit in their fevered brains. But this was no simple cocaine-fueled delusion. Hardie was living in it, too.
    He went to the front door, and, as predicted, the digital security panel was still lit. These systems always run by backup battery. That way, if home invaders cut the power, you can still call for help.
    The girl appeared behind him and took him by the wrist. Hardie flinched at her touch.
    “Come back downstairs with me,” she said. “ Please. I don’t want them seeing us through the windows.”
    “Hold on. The security’s still working. There’s got to be a panic button or something on here.”
    “No! Don’t you dare touch that!”
    “Why not?”
    “They could be anybody. What if they just put on a bunch of fake security team uniforms and come knocking? How would you be able to tell the difference between what’s real and what they want you to see?”
    “Just curious—do you realize how little sense you’re making right now? Or is this the drugs talking?”
    BEEP.
    Hardie’s eyes flicked to the right.
    The security display panel?
    Dead.
    “Security’s out, power’s out, everything.”
    “Okay. O’Neal—the wasp nest on the door?”
    “Mounted, loaded, and ready.”
    “Okay, let’s get bags ready, A.D.”
    “On it. How is your eye, by the way?”
    “Focus on the task at hand.”
    “Sorry—just asking.”
    “Ask me when the production is over. Now go.”
    By the time Hardie put it fully together—that, yeah, someone on the outside was fucking with them—the girl had already taken up a position in front of the heavy oak door, mic stand in hand. Her whole body trembled. She was wild-eyed. She pressed her free hand against the door, as if trying to sense what was on the other side through the power of touch.
    Hardie took a step forward. “You need to let me through.”
    She whisper-yelled at him: “No, I will not fucking let you through. Don’t you understand? That’s what they want! You open this door, and we’re both dead.”
    “If you don’t let me through so I can get to a hospital, then I might be dead, and you might be going to jail. Is that any better?”
    This was wonderful. Already this gig had earned its place in the House Sitter Hall of Fame.
    Hardie took a step forward. The girl raised her weapon—the bloodied mic stand—and pointed it at him.
    “Want me to go now?”
    “No. Wait to see if he comes