The Immortality Game

A whimper escaped her lips as she slowed and slammed her hands into the hard plastic of the first swinging door. She had been into the station a few times as a young girl, invited by a girl her own age, whom she’d met while playing in the courtyard of her apartment building. The Trogs were a suspicious lot and guarded their underworld fiercely from outsiders. The first time she had entered the dimness of the metro entrance, Zoya’s friend was questioned by two elderly male guards before they consented to let Zoya proceed down the unmoving escalators into the station.

Now Zoya fully expected to be stopped by Trog guards, and she welcomed the thought. Whatever they might think of her, they would think far worse about allowing the mobsters or cops to invade their sanctuary. She was surprised to find no guards, only three ragged drunks huddled together against the near wall.

Zoya whipped around just in time to see a sky cycle skim to a halt a few meters away. She cried out and ran for the nearest escalator. Her instincts saved her at the last moment, sensing the utter darkness where the silvery steps should be. Her feet teetered on the brink, and she desperately grabbed the rubber rails to avoid plunging into the chasm. She had read about ancient escalators collapsing, often plunging dozens of Trogs to their death. Her injured elbow protested as she yanked herself back from the abyss. Zoya spun to the next lane and found the stairs still there. She raced as fast as she dared down into the darkness, the only light coming from lamps on the platform far below.

An elderly woman in a threadbare shawl was climbing slowly up the stairs, leaning heavily on the rail and breathing hard. She didn’t look up as Zoya tore by her.

“Zoya!” came a shout from above, echoing from the curved ceiling. “Give us the package and your mother lives!”

Zoya slowed her frantic plunge and tried to think. Could she deal with these criminals? Was Georgy being honest when he spoke about Tavik’s ruthlessness, or was it one of his typical exaggerations?

She halted and looked back up to see a shadowy figure standing at the top of the escalator. Gripping the rail as if to draw strength from it, she took one step back up and shouted, “Send my mama down to me and I’ll give them to you.”

“Done!”

Really? Just like that? It took a few moments to process what the man had said.

“Stay right there. We’ll bring her to you. A few minutes.”

Hope welled up in Zoya’s chest, but she fought it down. Maybe this is a trick to let them catch me easier. She rubbed her elbow and thought about continuing down the steps, but an image of her mother formed in her mind and she couldn’t move. She had to find out if the offer was real.

The old woman she had passed a few seconds ago had turned about, apparently frightened by the shouting man above. She drew close to Zoya and wagged a finger in her face. “You don’t belong here. You bring trouble to us.” The woman continued her painful descent without waiting for a response.

Zoya watched the top of the escalator, where the figure still stood, probably communicating wirelessly with Tavik. It felt like it was taking too long. Another figure joined the first, and Zoya caught a glint of light off metal in the man’s hand. A gun? She whirled around and started taking the steps two at a time, not caring about the dangers of a misstep in darkness.

“Stop! We’re bringing her right now!”

Zoya had expected to hear the blast of gunfire. When it didn’t come, she halted again. She could barely make out the figures at the top. “Send her down!”

“We will, but you must send the package up.”

“You’ll grab me if I come up.”

“We don’t need you or your mother. We just want our stuff. Have that old lady bring the package up to us.”

“Only if you send my mama down.”

“Same time. Send it up and we’ll send her down at the same time.”

Zoya turned and looked at the old woman, still trundling slowly down the steps. “Grandmother,” she said. “Will you please help me?”

The woman’s eyes glittered as she turned them on Zoya. “Go away. You bring trouble on our heads.”

“Please!” Zoya stretched a hand out toward the woman. “They have my mother. They’ll release her if you just take this package up to them.” She reached into her pocket to get the cards. Her hand found one, kept searching the pocket…‌nothing. Paralysis gripped her throat. One of them is gone! She tried to recall whether she had other chips in her pockets. She nearly always carried one on old Russian literature. Could she substitute it for the missing chip?

“Leave me be,” said the old woman, turning back to her descent.

“Zoya!” It was Tavik’s voice this time. “Your mother is here. She’s afraid and wants to come down to you. Please, stop playing games.”