PANIC BONUS CHAPTER!

Author's Note

In celebration of Amazon Prime Video's newest series Panic, I am thrilled to be teaming up with Amazon Prime Video and Wattpad to write this exclusive chapter that puts my characters from this story into the world of Panic!

I hope this chapter intrigues and inspires you to learn more about Panic. Visit the #PanicWritingContest on Wattpad for the chance to put your creative writing chops to the test and learn more about the show!

To find out more about the contest, prizes, and how to enter, check out the #PanicWritingContest here: wattpad.com/AmazonPrimeVideo

Don't forget to watch the series premiere on May 28th, only on Amazon Prime Video, here: http://primevideo.com/

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Trace

Now usually, I don't do this.

Dwell on the past, I mean.

But I can't stop thinking about the night my band got stranded in Carp, Texas—the place where kids play a game that no one talks about.

Over the years, Soundcrush has been through some crazy shit. Dramatic shit. But the five of us have never seen anything like what went down that blistering July night in a cornfield on the outskirts of that dying town.

We weren't famous then. We were just kids ourselves. I guess that's why we didn't walk away. Why we didn't call the cops. Why we didn't even try to talk the other players out of it. I think we all saw something of our former selves in those kids. Like me and Bodie, a lot of them had seen bad things happen in their young lives, and they wanted out of that town as fast as they could get out. Like Leed and Mac, some of them were flat broke and desperate for the means to make something of themselves. Some, like Adam, didn't fit into the lives their parents planned for them and were looking to break out.

For Soundcrush, our music has always been our way out. But these kids? All they had was their courage. And the game.

And that night? We played it with them.

My bandmates and I haven't talked about that game since the morning we stumbled away from it. We're all a little ashamed that we got caught up in it.

We'd put it behind us. Until yesterday, when our manager got an anonymous email. Tell the band not to worry, the email said. I kept them out of it. Out of the book, and out of the show. It was our story, anyway. Not theirs.

There was a link attached to the email-a special invitation to preview a new tv show debuting on Amazon Prime, later this summer. It's based on a book of the same name. I wouldn't have thought anything of it, except for the name.

I felt a sweat break out, staring down at the five letter word.

Panic.

The name of the show was the name of the game that nearly got us killed.

I called all the guys right away. The consensus?

What.The.Fuck.

They came over to binge the show. Then we looked up the book and its author. The author's identity is probably a false front. I don't remember her from the cornfield that night, and only those kids we met and my four bandmates know what really happened out there. Whoever wrote that book and consulted on that show—they left us out of the story, but there was enough truth in the fiction for us to recognize the night we tried to forget.

We were four weeks into Soundcrush's first tour—by tour I mean a series of bar gigs I'd rustled up across Alabama, Louisiana, and Texas. Four of us had done our part to scrounge together the cash for the beat-up utility van that became our "tour bus."

Now you would think my privileged, cash-carrying roommate would have been one of the four, but back then, Adam wasn't as responsible and upstanding as he is now. He was the baby of his family, and the rebellious black sheep, too. The combination had made him a rather spoiled, selfish slacker in high school, and he was having a hard time breaking out of the role to become the kick-ass brother he is now.

That spring—our freshman year of college—Adam had splurged on a new bass and amp. He also hadn't worked and saved as much as the rest of us, so he hadn't kicked in for the van. But he had an uncle who owned a mechanic shop in Nashville, and he swore his contribution would be to make sure the band van was serviced and in good enough shape to get us through the tour. Apparently, the weekend he was supposed to take the van up to Nashville to have it checked out, he didn't. Which was how we ended up on the side of a dusty Texas secondary road after midnight, smoke pouring out from under the hood, with no other cars in sight.

"Best-case scenario? It's overheated," Bodie said as he dropped the hood after a brief inspection, hoping for a loose hose. "Worst case, we threw a rod."

"Fuck." I stood with one hand tucked into my jeans, staring morosely at the time on my phone. "There's no way we are getting a call out for a tow."

"It's been what... an hour since we passed a gas station? It was a good fifty miles back." Adam kicked a rock, looked at the road sign that said Carp 10 miles, and sighed. "I'll go to the next town for help."

"Damn right you'll go," I said without heat. "You were supposed to get the van checked out."

"Something came up. I said I was sorry, man."

"We all know what came up, Adam. You chased that honey in your music theory class around all weekend, didn't ya?" Leed said, lighting up a cigarette and leaning against the van. Bodie and I gave each other a look, wondering just how philosophical Leed would be if he knew the honey in Adam's music class was Mac.

"Nobody wants to hear about Adam's lame love life with virtual virgins," Mac scoffed, as she hopped down from the driver's seat. "And Adam doesn't have to hoof it ten miles to town. Look." She pointed down the road, toward Carp. The highway angled slightly, allowing us to see a caravan of at least twelve pairs of headlights snaking toward us. In the flat plane of night, it was impossible to tell how far away they were, so we waited what seemed like forever as they approached. Finally, they were close enough that the headlights hurt our eyes, and we could hear a cacophony of competing bass and drumbeats caught on the wind, pushed toward us from the first few cars.

"I'll handle this," Mac said confidently, stepping up to the road and preparing to flag the lead vehicle down.

She never got the chance, because every single one of them extinguished their headlights and their radios and turned left at the same spot, a few hundred yards up the road from us. Before the last car turned, four more cars were visible in the distance. They slowed at the same spot, went silent and dark, made the same left turn.

Leed cocked his head, stared at the last car turning in as he pulled down the last drag of his cigarette. "What do you make of that?"

I was a city kid, but North Atlanta fades quickly into the country, and I'd been part of many a caravan such as that. "Big party in the backwoods," I suggested with a fair amount of confidence.

"Just what we're looking for," Bodie mused.

"No, we're looking for an auto mechanic," I objected.

"Among other things. We're also looking to resupply." Bodie grinned at me. Usually we bought our weed at the bars we played, but the bouncer at that night's show was caught short of our needs.

"We don't need to blow cash on weed. We don't know how much repairs will cost."

"I know the tow and the repairs and the gig we are probably going to miss already means we are in the red. It doesn't matter if we spend our last fifty bucks on weed tonight. You're gonna have to use your lifeline, Trace," Bodie shrugged.

"Fuck," I growled. He was right. I knew I would have to call my dad, beg him to turn my credit card back on. He cut it off when we got into an altercation about me spending my life's savings on the musical equipment and van needed for this tour of dive bars.

"Somebody needs a mood boost," Adam grinned

"Definitely. Let's check out the party," Mac agreed.

"Yep. I think so." Leed snuffed his cigarette, reached into the open van door, grabbed a handle of booze, and sauntered down the road. "Let's make some new friends."

"Who will help us get a tow truck out tonight," I objected.

"Sure. After we kick back for a minute," Leed tossed his red mane and the words over his shoulder. "Worst case, we get wasted, sleep in the van, and our new buddies send out a tow for us in the morning."

"I dig it," Bodie laughed and jogged down the road to catch up to Leed. In those days, when Leed and Bodie got a like mind to party, I would have had to resort to acting like a full-on bitch to block it. I didn't have it in me after the kick ass show we put on. Resigned, I picked up our other full handle of vodka and followed them. "Fine, but I'm calling a vote: Adam has to stay sober to problem solve, if any problems arise. All in favor?"

"Aye," Bodie and Leed said in unison.

"Motion carried. Meeting adjourned," I grinned and glugged vodka.

"Fuck," Adam complained from somewhere in the dark behind me, but I could hear how Mac's footsteps fell in with his and how his irritation faded into quiet conversation with her. I snorted at the idea that they were back there, holding hands in the dark, believing I didn't know what they were doing.

We found the place where the trucks had turned, a dirt path that divided a sparsely populated wood and a cornfield. We followed it in. After a half mile or so, two guys standing behind their truck blocked the way. There was no moon, and we couldn't make our their features, but they seemed to be arguing. I tensed when one swung around, brandishing a long, large object in his hand. A gun?

We all halted automatically.

The taller one with free hands pretended to relax on the tailgate in a disingenuous way. In reality, I could tell he was an aggressive type primed for trouble. Like recognizes like.

"The judges declared no spectators tonight," he said casually. "Y'all didn't hear?"

"Digger's falling down on the job," his companion with the long, suspicious item complained. "He's supposed to spread the word."

An awkward silence descended as they realized we didn't know what the hell they were talking about.

A click, then a flashlight beam blinded me in the face.

"Who the fuck are you?" The taller, more aggressive one stepped forward. "How did you hear about tonight's challenge?"

He kept the light trained on my face, forcing me to raise a hand as a shield. Unreasonable fury coursed through me, because I hate feeling exposed and defenseless. "Fucker, you better shine that shit somewhere else—"

Bodie, always quick on his feet, stepped between me and the guy pissing me off. He blocked the light, made a show of uncapping the booze and taking a long swig. "Relax, man. We're just passing through. We're musicians. We played at that little hole in the wall bar in the next town over. You know the bouncer over there? He said he was from around here. He said if we stopped in Carp, I could ask around for Tyler Young. I'm looking for a little restock, but my man over there was tapped out for the night. Said his brother could hook me up."

"Goddammit, Ray," the short guy with the potential weapon snarled, turning toward the taller one. "Tyler's brother is running his mouth to strangers at the bar just to sell an eighth of weed. All it takes is one undercover narc looking to bust the Young Brothers hearing the wrong thing, and we're all in deep shit over what happened last summer—"

"Shut up, Lyons. You're the one runnin' off at the mouth," the smarter one growled, flashing the light on the shorter one. I relaxed somewhat. The thing in the guy's hand was a metal detector. My relief didn't last long because the assholish one—Ray—pushed right up in Bodie's face. "Tyler Young isn't here tonight. That pussy quit the game. So you all get the fuck gone before I make you disappear."

That was the point I realized something was seriously fucking wrong in this town. These kids couldn't be more than eighteen. They should be drinking and raising hell and listening to music, not barring spectators from some kind of game run by judges and kept secret because of what happened last summer.

Bodie laughed scornfully and shoved the guy backwards. "Dawg, you want to get up out my face right the fuck now. Y'all acting seriously crazy. We just came to party."

"Yeah? Well, this isn't a party," Ray sneered. I could see his face now, thanks to Adam's flashlight phone. He had the same raw-boned looks as Leed, the kind that made him seem older than he was. Unlike Leed, something bad had made him hard. It pulled at his features in an unattractive way.

"We can see that," Leed said grimly. "You know, you're not just an asshole, you're a dumbass. You do realize you're completely outnumbered here."

"Not really." Two more guys emerged from nowhere around the sides of the truck. One was shirtless, with long dark hair and... makeup? He identified Leed as his rival, and Leed returned the favor. The two show ponies circled one other, each sizing the other up.

The other new guy was wiry and serious-faced beneath his sandy hair, but he didn't seem hostile. He noted our performance clothes, our gelled hair, and Mac's leather mini-skirt. "Ray, chill the fuck out, man. They're not from around here, obviously."

"You are not from around here either, Dodge," Ray drawled with more arrogance than one guy should have. "We don't want you here any more than them."

Dodge ignored Ray. He examined all our faces and addressed Adam, probably because Adam looked the least murderous. "What's going on?"

"We have no fucking clue, man," Adam said mildly. "Our van quit on us a ways down the road. We saw your caravan and thought it was a party. We're just some college kids in a band looking to share our booze in exchange for help getting a tow in the morning."

Dodge nodded. "This isn't a party. This is private property, and the guy that owns it? He's dangerous. Go back to your van. I'll come find you, after."

"After what?" Mac asked with alarm as the group suddenly enlarged again. Several stone-faced girls had slipped into the light of our phones, along with more guys. One big, possibly menacing. Another guy, holding a piece of paper and talking rapidly on a cell phone. The guy with the phone motioned for everyone to be still.

"Everybody, chill. The judges will handle this."

"Yeah, you guys chill. We're going to go." I hook a thumb behind me.

"No. You're not." Ray and the big guy and the rival rockstar all block our path. "Not until Digger talks to the judges."

There was one tense minute where Bodie and I both were considering bowing up and throwing punches, but the kid talking on the phone suddenly pocketed it and declared, "The judges have decided. The game has changed."

They moved as one, surrounding us.

Adam tugged Mac behind him. "Look, we don't want any trouble. We don't give a shit what twisted games you play in the backwoods. Carry on, and we'll get going."

"That's not going to work. You already know too much," the leader said.

Leed said nothing, but put his back to Mac, completely shielding her between him and Adam. I said, "You don't want to fuck with me, okay? I'm not as nice as I seem."

Bodie still stood shoulder to shoulder with me. "Look, I'm warning you all. Step the fuck off. I've killed people." I was fairly sure it was a lie. Then again, Bodie had been in juvi for three years. That's long time for a juvi sentence.

"So has the game," the kid that seemed to be in charge said. "But we play it, anyway. It's our only shot out of this town. Tonight, it's your one shot, too."

"Fuck no," Ray growled. "I collected that cash from every kid in our class for four damn years. I'm not seeing it go to strangers, Digger."

"You should have thought of that before you and your idiot friend," Digger jerked his thumb at the kid with the metal detector, "exposed us all. We don't have a choice but to give them a chance to win. I'm betting they could use the money as much as all of us."

He wasn't wrong. In less than nine months, we would sign our first record deal, but at that time? We were all broke as shit, with no way to make it to our next show.

Mac shoved her way from behind Adam, spinning in a circle, taking the measure of all the kids surrounding us. She didn't look a bit scared. "So you're playing some kind of dare game, and the winner gets cash?"

"Normally, the winner would get points, because we play Panic all summer. The player with the most points at the end gets the whole grand prize. But this year's pot is the biggest ever. And since your band has stumbled on our game, the judges are willing to buy your silence for a chance to play. Tonight's winner gets a one time cash prize of five thousand dollars."

"Bullshit. Show me the money," I said automatically.

"I can't," Digger conceded. "I'm the emcee, and Ray is the collector, but neither of us know where the prize money is right now."

"How do we even know this is real?"

"It's real," Ray said, in a flat voice. "I've collected a dollar a day from every kid in school since the ninth grade."

All the kids in the group nodded in agreement. Ray kept talking. "I turn the money over to the bagman. If the judges have changed the game—even though it's complete bullshit—tonight's winner will get their prize money tomorrow. They'll have the bagman make a drop in the morning, and Digger will give the cash to the winner of tonight's challenge."

My bandmates and I looked at each other. Nothing had been decided yet, but our frontman spoke what we were all thinking.

"What's the challenge?" Leed asked.

Digger looked down at the card in his hand. "Time flies, so fly like the crow—" he began in a self-important voice, but one of the girls cut him off impatiently. "You already said all that, and no one understood it the first time." The girl addressed Mac with a quirky smile. "You have to break into the farmhouse and steal something. Send Digger photo evidence by text."

"That's it?" Mac says flatly.

"Well, it's not that simple. This challenge is repeated every summer we play Panic. The farmhouse is occupied by a hermit. Old Man Spurlock is crazy, and he doesn't get any more sane waiting all year, knowing a bunch of thieves will descend on him some random summer night, and never knowing why we return all the shit the next day. He's got the whole place booby-trapped, and every year he adds more ingenious and more deadly traps. So while you're breaking in, you have to try not to die."

"Has anyone actually ever died, or is this just some bullshit you're making up to fuck with us?" I scoff.

"2012. John Davis Hale. Google him if you don't believe me," Digger says solemnly.

Adam rolled his eyes, pulled his phone. After a long moment of reading, he grabbed Mac by the hand, pulling her close. To Digger he said, "We're not going to narc, but we're not doing this."

"Five thousand dollar prize. And your van is busted," Digger grinned. "Are you sure you can afford not to play Panic?"

"We need the money. We're probably going to have to cancel the rest of the gigs without it. So I call a band vote," Mac said automatically. "All in favor of playing Panic?" she asked, raising her hand.

"Fuck no," Adam growled at her. "A kid got killed on this farm, doing this shit. This isn't a game. You could get hurt, Mac."

I stared at him, wondering where my reckless, irresponsible roommate was. For the first time, I wondered if whatever he had with Mac was about more than libidos and convenience.

"Band vote," Mac repeated firmly.

I thought about the godawful thwonk the van made before it died. I was pretty sure Bodie was right. The engine was probably blown. Thoughts of my dad followed hard. How I swore to him I was through with him, that I was going to make it on my own and never ask him for another goddamn thing.

Then there was the plea in Adam's eyes, begging me not to call a vote, because he knew how it would roll. "This isn't a band vote thing," I said slowly. "Everybody has to decide for themselves, but I'm playing."

"Why not?" Bodie added, reaching for the vodka, taking a fortifying drink. "Leed?"

"Can't leave my brothers all the glory," Leed shrugged with a grin, and Bodie passed him the bottle.

Adam turned to Mac, taking her by the arms. "I'll play. I'll play if you won't."

"Adam," she cut a nervous eye to Leed.

Leed snorted in disdain. "Are you guys sleeping together? Seriously? You fucking promised not to mess with my sister, Adam."

"We're not sleeping together," Adam lied. "Do I have to be sleeping with my bandmate to care about her safety? I would think you would care."

"I care," Leed said. "But she's her own person. It's not like I can forbid her—"

"I'm not saying that," Adam countered, quickly dipping his head to Mac. "I'm not telling you not to play. I'm asking you. For fuck's sake, I'm begging you—"

"Wow. You musicians are like, way overly dramatic, aren't you?" Ray said. "News flash. This is not your stage. This is our game. And it's time to play." Ray swaggered over to Mac, into her personal space, leering at her. "Are you in or out, hot stuff?"

She grinned up at the arrogant asshole, as she put her hands on her hips emphasizing her micro skirt. "Oh, I'm totally in. Don't you wish you were?"

He reached for her hip, Adam knocked his hand away, and then Ray and Adam were in a shoving match.

"Jesus, Adam, will you fucking relax? I was just messing with him!" Mac yelled, grabbing at Adam's arm as I hauled him back, and some of the Carp kids shoved Ray away.

Adam's pleading demeanor turned to cold fury. "No, you were messing with me. As usual. I swear to fuck, I don't even know why I bother. You're like, incapable of caring about anybody but yourself. Go get yourself killed if you want to. Don't mind me, I'll just be out of my fucking mind about it for the rest of my life."

He stalked away, as if he was going back down the path to the busted van, but then Mac sighed. In relief. That's when I realized she made him angry on purpose, in the hopes that he would do exactly what he was doing—stalking off in a rage. Not playing the game.

It almost worked, but Adam heard her sigh, too. He turned.

"Go. Fucking go, Adam!" she yelled at him.

"Is that what you want?" he growled back.

"Yes!" she hissed. Through tears.

Bodie chuckled, Leed groaned, and I remained impassive, watching Adam curiously. The Adam I had roomed with the last ten months would definitely walk off in a childish huff.

They glared at each other for a long moment. Adam's anger sputtered and died, just like our van. "Too bad. I'm in, too," he said quietly, returning to Mac's side. He put a hand around her waist. She twisted violently, shirking him, and he did not try to touch her again, but he remained by her side.

"Awesome," said a pretty girl with the most sarcastic voice ever. She had a sexy pout, long dark hair and better clothes than anyone else. "Some of us don't care at all about you nubes and your band. Some of us would like to play before we get old and die. Hollywood won't wait forever." She tossed her hair and jutted her jaw, emphasizing her good looks.

"What's your name, baby?" Leed smiled at her.

Even back then, Leed's presence was almost hypnotic. Though the richy-bitchy girl tried to disdain him, she found herself murmuring, "Natalie."

"Natalie's not wrong." Leed winked at her. "The bright lights await—some of us. Let's get this show on the road."

"Okay, the goal remains the same. Break into the Spurlock Farm, steal something from his war memorabilia, send me a photo," Digger says. "All the regular players who complete the challenge get fifty points to add to their Panic points. In addition, the first person to send the picture wins five thousand dollars, to be paid out in the morning."

Most of the kids scramble off alone, but Dodge, Natalie, and a third girl whom I heard Dodge call Heather, move away into the corn field together.

"They are the ones to beat," I mutter to no one in particular. "They're organized. Cooperating."

"You can't count Ruthless Ray out," Bodie replied automatically.

I halted my band as soon as we stepped into the cornfield, pulling my phone. We got lucky. There was signal, and I was able to pull up a satellite image of the farm on Google maps. "That way," I marked our heading. Adam pulled out his multi-tool, took a bearing with the compass knob at one end, and nodded to me.

In my band, I already knew we each had our strengths. Mac was always the stronger partner of our songwriting team. Leed was obviously the man—the front with the presence, the sex appeal, the charisma. Bodie was unwavering in his good mood—the optimistic back-beat of our band. I've always been the driver, the hustler, the one with the vision and the ambition to make it happen. Until that night, I'm not sure Adam knew his place, but he became the earth beneath our feet. His childhood on his family farm honed his perception that night. None of us would have had a chance without him. He kept us on course toward the farmhouse with his compass when my phone signal failed. He maneuvered us over a dozen trip wires. He saw the bear trap Bodie nearly stepped in.

When Dodge and his group neared us, Adam gave us the halt sign. We listened to Natalie and Dodge sharing plans in the dark.

As they moved away, Mac murmured, "What happened to Heather?"

"Good question," I replied.

Something near the ground glinted, catching the beam of my phone flashlight. I held up my hand, repeating the halt signal Adam had used, tracing the trip wire with my phone. "What do you think happens if we actually trip one of those?" Leed ponders.

"Let's not find out," Adam replied, stepping over. He took the lead once again.

It was slow going, watching for constant traps. We passed by a creepy-ass scarecrow, dark stitches lashed in his burlap head, mimicking a grotesque face beneath a moldy hat. A breeze blew through the corn and the scarecrow shuddered, creaking on its pole, twisted by the wind so that it seemed he was watching us as we passed him by.

"What the fuck are you looking at?" Mac challenged the grinning monster.

"Don't worry, Macaroni. He can't help it. He's just the kind of guy with a permanent stick up his ass," Leed drawled, putting an arm around her.

We laughed. Quietly. And not for long.

Once we heard a kid calling out in a low voice for help. "Get me out of here!"

Instinctively, Adam veered toward his call, but Bodie held us back. We listened for a few more minutes. He called again, asking for someone to pull him out.

"He's not hurt," Bodie said. "He doesn't even sound that scared."

Adam nodded agreement. "He's probably in some kind of pitfall. Leave him. We'll come back this way, help him out after we get the cash."

We kept going. We reached the edge of the cornfield. Thanks to my satellite planning and Adam's navigation skills, we'd positioned ourselves at the side of the weathered, gray farmhouse, where we could see both the front and back entrances. The farmyard was quiet. We saw no other kids. We were discussing our game plan when Mac shushed us, turning abruptly, staring into the corn behind us.

"Come out. I know you're there."

Heather crossed into our row of corn. She looked small among the massive corn stalks. She was panting heavily—that's what Mac had heard—and her long hair was messy, as if the corn stalks, or maybe someone, had tousled it. She looked rattled, scared even, but she lifted her chin defiantly. "You shouldn't be here. This isn't your game to win."

"Is it yours?" Leed smiled at her.

"Yeah. No one thinks I can, but no one wants it as bad as me."

"That sounds familiar," I said. I was thinking of my dad, who didn't believe in my rock 'n roll dreams. "Look, all we want is tonight's prize, so we can fix our van and get the hell out of Nowhere, Texas. You're in it to win the whole thing, right? Stick with us. We'll help you get your points, if you'll help us take the cash prize."

She shook her head. "I have a crew."

"Do you?" Mac challenged. "I don't see anybody that has your back right now."

Heather's reply was cut off by the wail of a siren. The farmyard flooded with light. It was shocking, how loud and bright everything went all at once.

"Well, I guess we know what happens when someone trips a wire," I said with sarcasm, in defiance of my pounding heart.

A burly man in a robe burst through the front door, bellowing on the porch about damn kids and trespassing. He raised a shotgun and fired into the field. Once, twice, straight out from his front door. Then he stalked to the edge of the porch and swung the gun our way.

"Jesus, get down!" Bodie hissed, dragging Heather with him. Leed and Adam had both lunged for Mac. I hit the dirt just as Spurlock fired. The buckshot peppered the stalks above our head, hissing as it tore through the cornfield. The smell of gunpowder and plant blood filled the air.

The old man screamed in fury and fired again in our direction. The sound of the shot shredding the cornstalks and the duller thud of it penetrating corn made me feel sick. My heart pounded, my muscles tensed, and I fought the urge to run. He fired again, and it sounded different, due to the blood hammering in my ears. Every time it thudded corn, I imagined what the buckshot would sound like hitting flesh. I knew nothing of guns. I wondered abstractedly if it would sizzle as it burrowed in, puncturing lungs, creating dozens of holes, robbing a person of all their air as it slowly claimed their life. I thought of the worst sound I'd ever heard before this—my parents' screams, the sound of breaking glass, heavy stone hurled through a window.

The shotgun fire was worse. Much worse.

"Move! Move!" Bodie was hissing. In the few seconds I had zoned out, Spurlock had stalked to the other end of the porch, firing in the opposite direction. The idiot was going to shatter his own greenhouse. He didn't seem to care. Adam, Mac and Leed were already crawling through the corn, skirting the side of the farmyard, trying to get past the front of the house to avoid any more fire from the front porch. Bodie shook me, and I shoved at him, pushing him ahead of me toward Adam. Heather tugged at me.

"No, this way," she said, pointing into the corn, in the exact direction Spurlock was firing. "I think I know how to get in."

"Are you crazy? We're not crawling into his line of fire." I grabbed at her arm, trying to pull her along with me, but she jerked away, got to her feet, and ran in the opposite direction, crouching low.

I don't know what makes me do it—try to save every random girl I meet. It's a problem, I realize, but in the moment that realization didn't stop me from trying to go after her. Bodie is a helluva lot more pragmatic than me. He grabbed my ankle, jerking me back down to the ground.

"What the fuck are you doing, Trace? She's just some random girl. Everybody you give a shit about is that way!" He pointed in the direction Leed, Mac and Adam were moving.

More bellowing, another boom of the shotgun. Bodie and I caught up with the others, crouched just back from the edge of the corn. We could see the back of the farmhouse. There was a door, some windows. It wasn't lit up like the front, and there was no one brandishing weapons. Which worried me almost more than the lunatic with the shotgun on the front porch.

"Fuck this shit," I said. "Five grand is not worth getting killed for. I'll call my dad, beg for my credit card."

"Naw," Leed replied softly. He had that look on his face like he gets before a show—that ferocious I-am-King-hear-me-roar-look. "We're right here. It's ours for the taking. Bodes, let's go. Me and you."

"Yeah. I got your back, brother."

"No, we can all go. It's all good. That's seven," Adam murmured.

"What?" Bodie asked.

"Seven shots. That's a high performance shotgun with seven shots. He's out of ammo. But we've got to go now. Any second he's gonna try to fire again, realize he's out, and he'll have to reload."

"Or go back into the house and grab his other gun. You know, the one probably sitting by the backdoor?" Mac growled. She grabbed his shirt, fisted it in her hands. "You're not going without me. Put that misogynist bullshit out of your big fat head."

Apparently, Adam and Leed were cut from the same warrior kind of cloth, because Adam was exuding surety and testosterone. "I want to fucking win, Shortcake. The record contract. The rock star life. And you. If it has to start here, with this stupid fucking game, so we can get to our next gig, then so be it. I was wrong when I asked you not to play. Your place is with me, and my place is in that farmhouse, helping Trace win this game, because I'm the one that fucked up in the first place by not getting the van serviced. I couldn't help it. You're so fucking sweet when we're alone, you make me never want to leave your bed."

"You're so damn dumb," I groaned.

"You're dead," Leed growled. "If this fuck with the shotgun doesn't kill you, I'm gonna."

"You're wasting time, all of you." Bodie grits out.

Mac and Adam weren't paying any attention to us. They were staring at each other like they were on a windswept beach, not a buckshot riddled cornfield.

"You're insane," she whispered.

"You're everything," he promised her.

He moved to kiss her, but at that moment a dark figure darted from the woods behind the farmhouse, making his way to the backdoor.

"It's that wannabe rock star with the lipliner. Let's take that guy down before he gets in," Leed growled.

I grabbed him by the arm. "Wait. It's probably booby trapped. Let him take the fall."

Sure enough, the guy made it to the back door, grasped the handle, but before he could pull it open, whipcord sounds zinged through the darkness toward us, and he flew up into the air, flipped upside down, caught in a snare around the ankle, rising higher and higher, dangling from a line attached to the roof somehow.

At the same time, lights and noise erupted from the greenhouse. Someone must have broken in there, triggering the alarm. This enraged Spurlock. His bellows increased, and we could hear him thunder down the porch steps, then saw him lumbering into the corn toward the greenhouse like a raging rhinoceros. I hoped the memorabilia we needed to collect wasn't in there—he seemed awfully protective of that greenhouse.

"Now or never," Bodie muttered.

We slipped across the backyard, in the back door, beneath the guy dangling in the snare. He cursed us, but I didn't waste time with him, just tossed him up my pocket knife. I figured it would take a while to cut himself down, and he might even dislocate a shoulder in the fall, but he almost deserved the life lesson. What kind of dumbass made it that far without expecting the back door to be booby trapped?

The back door opened into an old-fashioned mud room, cluttered with jackets, boots and shelves lined with canned goods and mason jars.

"Jenkies, Fred. What do we do now?" Mac said to me, giving her best imitation of Danger-prone Daphne.

"Oooh, ooh, I want to be Shaggy!" Leed whispered with actual excitement.

"Will you fools shut up?" Bodie hissed. Now that we were doing a crime, he was all business. He stood to the side of the half-glass door that led into the kitchen, and Adam took the other side, motioning for everyone to stand back. With a swift motion, Adam pushed it open and flattened himself against the wall, narrowly missing the metal bat that swung down through the doorway, powered by a fierce mechanical force.

"This guy has one helluva hobby," Bodie muttered as we edged around the bat. Leed casually removed it from the contraption and hoisted it to his shoulder.

There weren't any more booby-traps on the main floor. It's hard to rig actual living space, I guess. But neither was there any of the war memorabilia we were supposed to steal. Just a lifetime of less interesting clutter. In the hallway with the staircase leading to the upper bedrooms, there was also a door that reason told me probably led to a basement.

"Up or down?" I asked Leed. He's always been a cat with good instincts.

"Down." He sounded resigned. "I fucking hate basements, man."

"You and Bodie stay here on the ground floor."

"That doesn't make sense," Leed complained.

"Yeah it does," Bodie said darkly. He pointed out the front window, where another contestant was creeping across the yard toward the door. "Here comes our buddy Ray. We'll keep 'em out."

"Oh goody, I'm at bat," Leed casually swung the bat, but Bodie rolled his eyes and took it from him. His grip and his look were hard.

Adam gripped our drummer's shoulder. "Bodes."

"Don't worry, Preacher. I'm not gonna hurt anybody. Can't say the same for the Lion here. He's still got murder on his mind, when it comes to you."

We might have laughed, but just then a scream of agony pierced the night, flowing in through the front door, stopping the stealthy creeper outside. It went on and on, changing from ear-piercing to a wet sloppy sob.

It was a girl, I thought. There was so much anguish in the cry, it was honestly hard to tell.

"Jesus Christ," Mac whispered.

Adam pulled her close, and this time she didn't resist. "Bear trap, maybe. I didn't hear a gunshot." He meant it as a comfort that the injury wasn't fatal, but Mac shuddered at the gruesome thought.

Shit, who am I kidding? So did I.

"If you're going down there, fucking go," Bodie barked, heading out the open front door to confront Ray. "Fuck," Leed muttered, but he drew himself up to his full height, growing broad and menacing as he grabbed up a fire poker and followed.

Mac and I stood well away from the basement door as Adam opened it. Nothing happened. I shined my light down into the basement. A rickety metal staircase led to darkness. I took a tentative step down and waited. Then another. All good. I motioned for Mac and Adam to follow. Adam had the foresight to wedge the door open with something, just in case it locked behind us. We were halfway down before I heard the click. I didn't even have time to curse before the stair treads gave way beneath our feet, flattening into a slide that sent us tumbling. We landed on the basement floor in a heap, Mac letting out a yelp as her bare legs ground into rough concrete beneath Adam's considerable bulk.

In response to Mac's surprised cry of pain, Adam rolled off her at once, pulled her to sitting and inspected her all over. Mac's cry had been short-lived, and I wasn't worried. I panned the basement with my flashlight. A pale figure with wild hair and wide, staring eyes leapt forward in the light.

"Jesus Christ!" I yelled at the... whatever it was rushing me. For a second I thought it was a ghost or one of those scary wet children you always see in horror movies, but it wasn't. It was Heather, racing past me in order to get to the large wall of guns and knives behind me.

Spurlock's war memorabilia. Of course it would be weapons, not medals. I whirled, but Heather was already there, snatching something off the wall.

"Watch out!" I lunged at her. I didn't know what would happen, I just knew something would. I wrapped my arms around her, and jerked us both backwards as violently as I could, taking the impact on my right shoulder as jets of boiling steam shot from the display wall with a scream like a dozen tea kettles. I rolled us over, as the steam condensed in the cool basement and hot water drenched us, blistering my back through my t-shirt.

The blast died away, and I immediately found myself on my knees, jerking off my steaming t-shirt.

"Fuck," I hopped to my feet, walking off the stinging pain, wishing for a cold shower to take the heat away.

Heather sat on the floor, shocked, watching me. "You're hurt."

"Not more than a bad sunburn," I said through gritted teeth, hoping like hell I was right.

"If I had taken that blast in the face..." she trailed off.

"You'd be burned bad. Scarred for life," I said. "This is no game, Heather. This is crazy."

Heather said nothing. Instead, she pushed back her tangled hair, stood, smoothed her clothes and held up the Army issue bayonet she'd pulled from the wall. "Here. Take a picture. Send it to Digger."

"You should take it, and the five grand, and quit this game," I tell her.

"I'm not quitting. It's not just about the money anymore," she tells me. "But like I said, this isn't your game. Take tonight's prize, get your van fixed and...get out of here."

I could see it in her eyes. This girl was a dark horse, tougher than anyone in Carp probably imagined. She would not back down. This was one girl I couldn't save. She would save herself.

I reached for the bayonet and my phone at the same time. I sent Digger the picture. He texted back right away, letting me know I'd won the game. I didn't feel like I'd won anything, because Heather or someone she cared about was going to lose big time, playing this game, and I knew I had failed to make her see that.

Mac was already on the phone with Leed, relaying our victory and arranging a rendezvous, and they magnanimously stepped aside so Ray could continue the challenge. Heather and I found that not all the war memorabilia was on the booby trapped wall. We found an old service medal on a workbench, and she texted Digger for her points. I had won, so it didn't matter to me and the guys who else claimed their points, but Heather was still playing the game. She didn't want to make it easy on anyone else, so we didn't look for a way to reset the steps, hoping the steep slide might make others think twice about what they might be sliding into. Adam insisted we leave a note on a support post, warning contestants about the steam booby-trap, but he didn't have to insist, because we all thought it was a good idea. We followed Heather out the way she had come in, through the tunnel she had navigated safely from a trapdoor she'd run across in the cornfields.

Leed and Bodie looked extremely happy when we finally found them in the cornfield. "Don't get too smug," I warned. "That asshole with the gun is still out here somewhere."

"No, he's not," Bodie replied. "He fell into one of his own damn pitfalls."

I could feel the collective relief. Mac laughed. Adam squeezed her shoulder and kissed her temple. Even Heather grinned—the first time I had seen her do so."How do you know that?"

"Heard it from one of the kids. We also found out the real reason this guy is so paranoid about people coming on his land." Leed pulled out a bag of dried, packaged and weighed marijuana. Despite all the shit we went through, I found my head nodding in approval.

"That's some high-quality home-grown," I remark, inspecting the gorgeous buds.

"I think we found the Young Brothers' supplier," Bodie smirked. "But don't worry, I paid the going rate. I just cut out the middleman."

"You really left Spurlock cash?"

"Yep. In the greenhouse on his packaging bench. I'm no thief," Bodie scoffed. He pointed to the bayonet that remained in my hand. "You're the thief. Let's go help that other kid out of the pit, if someone hasn't."

Back on the dirt road where the kids' cars were parked, there was some grumbling about our victory, but Digger and Dodge squashed it pretty quick, reminding everyone that the judges always adjust the rules, and the players always play by the rules the judges set. The girl whose foot got caught in the bear trap was already on the way to the hospital in the neighboring town, thanks to Digger calling some of her friends who weren't contestants to come to her aid. He also had already called a prior year's winner to tow our van to town. Another kid said his parents were out of town, and we could crash at his place until our van was fixed. Even though some kids didn't like that we had won, everyone was invested in getting us all—including Soundcrush— the hell away from the Spurlock farm as quickly as possible, before the cops showed up.

A lot of what happened in the next few hours has hazed over like the dirty glass of Spurlock's windows. All my adrenaline had been burned through, and my mind was exhausted. I couldn't tell you the name of the kid we stayed with, or what his house was like. I couldn't tell you much about the mechanic's shop where our van was hauled. I only recall that it didn't need a new engine, just a new thermostat, which was a quick repair.

While we waited for the van repairs, I do remember Soundcrush all piling into a diner for lunch the next day. Dodge worked at the counter, and he took our orders like we were strangers. Like we hadn't all gotten shot at by a crazy pot-grower whose house we robbed last night.

Heather came in with her friend Natalie. She gave us the barest head nod, but otherwise pretended as if she didn't know us, too. She and her friend huddled with Dodge, probably talking over last night's events.

"Something's not right there," I said to my band, as we watched the three of them. I knew what it was, for people to have your back. And I knew what it wasn't. That trio was not what it seemed.

We were still waiting on the call from the mechanic when the girls finished their sodas and left.

I swaggered over to the counter. While I paid the bill, I casually said to Dodge. "Something tells me you're playing the game, but you're also playing your own game."

He didn't look at me, just wiped the counter. "Perceptive guy."

"What about Heather? Is she a perceptive girl?"

"You don't have to worry about Heather," he said a little too quickly. "She's a good person. She has good friends, in the game and out."

"Yeah, but something tells me Natalie's not one of them."

He meets my eyes. "I don't know about that. I just know Heather is my friend, and I watch out for my friends." He tried to hand over my change, I told him to keep it.

Digger came in after that, ordered some fries, and waltzed over to us.

"What's the name of your band again?"

"Soundcrush," I told him.

"I heard from some kids who were at your show that you were actually good."

"We're damn good," Leed stretched his arms on the back of the booth. He sat between Mac and Adam.

He'd given them his blessing, but something told me it wasn't going to be that simple. Every time Adam smiled at her that morning, Mac looked like a deer in headlights. Last night was too intense for whatever is building between them. In the moment, Mac had been a total bad-ass. In the aftermath, she was freaked at the idea of how much it might hurt if something bad happened to Adam. Adam thought they were good now. Looking at my song-writing partner, sensing her agitation, I figured they were far from it.

"Good enough to be famous one day?" Digger prompted.

"No doubt." Bodie slurped his soda.

"What he said." I fist bumped my drummer.

"Well, in that case, can I have your autograph?"

He gave me a weird stare as he slid a spiral notebook toward me. I flipped it open, let the envelope with the money fall into my lap, and carefully wrote Soundcrush Is at the top of the page. Then I scrawled my name across the middle. I passed the pen, and each one of us signed. I bit my lip as Leed added the date at the bottom of the page, but something in me didn't protest. That was the first time we ever gave an autograph as a group, it would have been bad mojo to rip it up. Besides, it wasn't really an autograph. It felt more like a mutual non-disclosure agreement.

We split town shortly after that. I have always wondered if one day that autograph—an admission that we passed through Carp that summer—would come back to haunt us.

Apparently not. The entire world now thinks Panic is just an invention on a TV show. But my friends and I know there is truth behind the fiction. We will always wonder who broke the pact—who let the world into the game of Panic. And we wonder if Heather, Natalie, Dodge, Ray and the others got the endings that were written for them, or the endings they deserved.