Panic Button (10 page)

He unclipped his safety belt. “Fuck this for a game of soldiers.”

“What are you doing?” Jo asked, as Dave stormed to the front of the plane.

He paused at the curtain.

“I want to speak to the pilot,” Dave said, before striding through to the cockpit door.

Dave banged his fists against the unyielding cockpit door. The red glow from the LED light illuminated his face, accentuating his rage. He’d had enough, more than enough, of their host’s games and accusations.

“Open the door!” he yelled, phlegm rattling in the back of his throat. “Open the bloody door!”

Only mocking silence answered him. He turned his attention to the numerical keypad mounted on the wall next to the door. How difficult could it be? The factory default for anything electronic was 1-2-3-4; any fool knew that. He keyed in the numbers.

Nothing.

“Please return to your seat Dave,” Alligator boomed.

Dave tried more random numbers, little keys beeping as he pressed them with his sweaty fingers. Still nothing. He took a step back from the door, then raised one foot and kicked at it, hard.

“Return to your seat Dave,” repeated Alligator. “This is your final warning.”

“Who’s in there? Open this door!”

He kicked again, but the door would not budge.

Gwen watched from her seat. “Why won’t they answer?” she asked, concerned.

The monitor screens flickered with digital noise as Dave stormed back into the cabin.

“It’s fucking locked,” he fumed, “no-one will answer me.”

Jo shook her head.
 
“They’re not going to answer with you banging on the door like that are they?”

The on-screen digital noise flickered and bent, distorted, before eventually clearing to reveal the Alligator’s face. His voice followed, as cold as ice.

“As Dave
has
broken the rules and ignored my clear instructions, I have no choice but to initiate a forfeit.”

“A forfeit? Oh no!” Dave exclaimed in mock terror, “Do I look like I give a crap? I’m not playing your little game anymore...”

Alligator continued, oblivious. “One of Dave’s friends will now be selected from his All2gethr friend list.”

Dave’s profile appeared on all their screens, his list of friends in the familiar sidebar to the left of the page. A lot of little faces and names, scrolling up across the screen. Panting, Dave watched as the scrolling stopped. The name of one of his friends was highlighted - RORY. A window popped up, opening Rory’s profile page.

“What the hell is he doing?” Dave muttered under his breath.

The others looked on in silence as the screens filled with flickering digital glitches. A ghost-image of the Alligator’s yapping face flashed in and out of view. Then a video window appeared, a cursor blinking in the top left corner next to the words ‘LIVE FEED’.

Shaky video camera footage revealed an image of a suburban house. Whoever was operating the camera walked up the path to the rear of the house, panning the lens into a side window for a quick view of the living
room.
The room was lit by a large flat-screen television, muffled sounds of incendiary warfare coming from the speakers. Rory sat in front of the screen, his back to the window. He was wearing an online gaming headset, engrossed in a violent first-person shooter game and blissfully unaware of the camera-wielding intruder. The camera sailed past the window and arrived at the back door.

Alligator spoke again. “Let’s pay your friend Rory a little visit, shall we Dave?”

Dave laughed in disbelief. “Whatever, go ahead mate, knock yourself out.”

“Very well then,” Alligator said.

The long, thick double barrels of a shotgun came into view on the screen, held by the black leather-gloved hand of the cameraman. The gloved hand pushed at the door handle. It was unlocked. The intruder pushed the gun against the door and it swung open.

The sounds of video game carnage grew louder as the gunman entered the house, still filming. A pizza box lay open on the kitchen table, empty. Following the sound of the videogame gunfire and explosions, the gunman exited the kitchen into a small hallway. The living room door was on the left, ajar.

Rory looked up at the camera, stunned, as his assailant burst into the room. He raised a hand, defensively, still clutching the game controller.

The shotgun butt came down hard on his forehead, blood spurting from the impact wound.

“Oh God,” Jo whispered, inches from her monitor screen.

The assailant placed a booted foot into Rory’s chest, pinioning him to the sofa, then rammed the shotgun barrels into his gaping mouth. The camera lens whirred, joining the hellish cacophony of Rory’s video game. Rory’s terrified eyes filled the screen as the camera zoomed in on his face. He tried to scream.

Both barrels fired. What was left of Rory’s head slumped sickly onto the headrest of the sofa, his blood spattered all over the wall.

Gwen shrieked in horror.

The camera footage skittered, turned to digital noise,
then
snuffed out.

Dave looked stunned for a moment. Then, perversely, he laughed - a dry guttural sound.

“Bollocks! That wasn’t real.”

“Looked pretty real to me mate...” Max said
,
his face drained of
colour
.

“It’s a wind-up,” Dave countered, “Rory is in on it. That was pretty well done though, fair play.”

Jo watched Dave from her seat. He didn’t look entirely convinced by his own words.

He started slow clapping, looking around the cabin as though the alligator was an invisible presence enveloping them.

“Bravo!” he laughed, “What is this? Some
reality TV rubbish
?”

“Now that the forfeit is completed, let’s get back to the game shall we?” Alligator said, his voice bone dry.

Jo glanced at Max, who was tapping at his touch screen intently.

“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice loaded with worry.

Max gestured at her to be quiet, tapping at his screen.

Jo got up from her seat and crept over to his side, peering into his monitor. He had loaded up his profile page and was trying to log in to All2gethr Chat.

Each attempt was met with a pop-up error message, which read ‘ADMINISTRATOR ACCESS ONLY’.

Alligator’s reproachful voice boomed through the cabin. “Having fun Max?”

Max abandoned the Chat button, tapping the All2gethr E-mail button instead.

‘ADMINISTRATOR ACCESS ONLY’ appeared once again on Max’s screen.

He growled in frustration, hitting the screen with his fist.

“Chat, mail, everything - it’s all blocked!”

Gwen tapped at the All2gethr logo on her touch screen, loaded up her profile page, trying her email. The same admin error message popped up, blocking her.

“No, don’t,” Jo pleaded, “You’ll just piss him off!”

This was a red rag to a bull for Dave, who
swivelled
his monitor around and, still standing up, tried to access his mail. Just as he was about to tap the email log-in button, all their screens went blank.

“Max has breached the rules by attempting to contact people regarding the game.”

Max leapt to his feet, pleading skyward. “How can using All2gethr be breaking the rules mate? That’s insane!”

“It was in the Terms and Conditions,” Alligator replied, his voice laden with officiousness.

Jo groaned and rolled her eyes.

 

“To make amends I’m going to have to initiate another forfeit.”

The winners glanced at each other nervously.

“Max,” Alligator continued, “is going to have to lose a friend.”

Max spluttered and ruffled his hair with his fingers in frustration. His All2gethr friend list appeared on the monitor screens, scrolling up the screen rapidly.

“My, you’ve got quite a few to choose from haven’t you Max? You probably wouldn’t notice if a trimmed a few of these people off the list...”

The list stopped scrolling at the name of one of his friends. A profile photo was there for all the passengers to see. It showed a smiling man in his twenties, not much older than Max.

“Alan Williams. He’ll do. Bear with us.”

The monitors snapped off again, black screens reflecting the taught faces of the passengers.

They all turned to Max, looking tense.

Max tried to explain. “Look I had to try something, didn’t I? Thought I could contact someone at All2gethr...”

“And what, exactly? Lodge a formal complaint?” Dave said, incredulous.

“Can’t really blame him - after what they did to your friend Rory...” Jo said.

Dave looked at her blankly. “Come on love! They’re filming this for some reality TV
show,
it’s just a colossal wind-up! Hello Mum!” He waved into the tiny webcam embedded in the top of the touch screen’s casing then turned back to Jo. “Listen, there are probably a million people out there, laughing their
arses
off at us right now!”

Jo shook her head. “Dave, shut up! It looked real to me.
Really real.
I think we’re in serious trouble!”

“‘Serious trouble’?” he mocked, “He’s a bloody cartoon alligator!”

Right on cue, the Alligator’s voice oozed from the speakers again.

“I’d listen to Jo if I were you. She’s the expert. She likes to watch people put to death...”

Dave snorted. “He’s got your number, love...”

Jo lowered her eyes guiltily. “Don’t you start, and if you call me ‘love’ one more time...”

“You’ll what?” Dave said.

“You’re not even worth it. We’ve all heard about the kind of filth you get off on.”

Dave’s eyes glowered at her. For a moment he looked like he might actually raise a fist, then he turned away.

“Gwen thinks it’s real, don’t you Gwen?” Alligator countered.

Gwen remained in shocked silence, body stiffly upright in her seat.

“But still you watched didn’t you?” he went on, “Turned the other cheek like a good God-fearing girl...”

“What the hell is your problem?” Max spat.