PANIC BONUS CHAPTER!

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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

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