“Decided to follow/join me?”
I fall into step beside her, still not sure I’m doing the right thing. With my memory gone, I can’t let any possible clue go unchecked. “Where are we going? Why the rush?”
“I can’t tell you and no one gets in after eleven.”
It’s later than I thought, but the sleep refreshed me. And being around this girl gets my blood pumping.
“You might as well tell me where it is. I’m going to know in a few minutes.” What I don’t say is that directions and locations aren’t going to mean anything to me anyway.
She smiles that teasing smile and keeps walking.
Leaving the market place signals new territory for me. As I walk, up and down hills, I make sure to keep my bearings so I can get back to my room later. There’s little light away from the bustling market and the wind blows icy through ruins and abandoned buildings. Faint moonlight shining between scattered clouds allows me to pick my way along the road. The sight of stars stops me for a second but I shake the wonder free. I must have seen stars a million times before.
It takes serious concentration to keep up with the girl and not sprain an ankle in any of the cracks or potholes, or slip down one of the hills.
“What’s your name?” I ask, happy I’m not sounding puffed despite the swift pace she’s set.
“Megs.”
It suits her, short and no fuss, but cool. Very cool.
She halts at an intersection on the edge of a deep pothole. She unthreads something from the belt loops of her pants. I’ve never seen anything sexier. My mouth dries. She reveals a piece of black material. There’s a challenge in the tilt of her chin. “If you want to go any further you’ll have to wear this.”
“A belt?” I ask, to buy some time before having to decide whether I trust her. I don’t know who I am and I hardly know her. She could be leading me into a trap.
“Smart guy, aren’t ya, Blank? Around your eyes.”
She closes the distance between us with a graceful leap over the hole in the ground. I look way down to meet her challenging gaze. The green in her eyes is dark and glittering in the moonlight. Logic should send me back to my room, but only Megs seems to exist. Every step I take with her feels in my gut like it’s in the right direction. Toward answers.
She reaches up to blindfold me. Her fingers brush my skin as she places the black cloth over my eyes. I angle my head to see beneath the edge but she’s smarter than that. Unable to see anything now, I inhale her scent, fresh with a hint of apple like those I bought from the market. The belt’s warm from its close contact with her body.
She tugs at the material and it forces me to bend lower. The blindfold tightens around my head.
“Now what?” My voice comes out all throaty.
“Now I lead you.”
Her hand is small but strong in mine. I tread carefully alongside her, trying not to stumble. The last thing I want is to fall on my face in front of this girl. With my sight neutralized, my hearing takes over. Gravel crunches under our feet. A vehicle growls in the distance. Wind whines through nearby ruined buildings.
Whatever this city is, there aren’t many people around, at least away from the market. The busy stalls patrolled by the green robes seem to be a center for trade. Surrounding buildings are mostly rundown and abandoned.
I am certain I am not from around here.
The lack of familiarity could be a result of my memory loss, but my speech doesn’t carry the twang of every person I’ve heard since I woke in the garden. I’ve seen a range of skin colors here, but none the exact same caramel as mine. While I know about credit sticks and am able to name most things I see, it feels learnt somehow, like I haven’t experienced it firsthand before now. The answers are in my head, I’m sure of it, but when I try to access them I get nothing.
Earlier, being around Megs triggered my memory of another girl. Something else that draws me to her. She could be the key to getting myself back.
She stops me with a gentle pressure on my chest and my hand lifts to remove the blindfold. Megs catches my wrist and holds both my hands in one of hers. I sense her standing in front of me, close, and I tilt my head down toward her, like I would if I could see. Her hand grips mine tight. She’s stronger than she looks, but I’m confident I could shake free if I wanted. I don’t.
“You’re a trusting guy.” Her voice teases, challenges, hints at a darkness blacker than the one created by the blindfold. “For all you know I could have lured you here to—” Her fingernail presses into the sensitive skin beneath my ear and trails, in a slicing motion, across my throat.
Fine bumps spread out across my skin and I shiver. She feels it and laughs. Her breath is warm on my face. I notice a heavy beat and it isn’t my heart. Or hers.
And I can see. First Megs. Wide green eyes looking at me, her incredible mouth in a half smile. I swallow and drag my gaze away to check out the surroundings. We’re in another small alleyway, different to the one from this morning. Here it’s all redbrick walls and there’s no market buzzing at the end of the street, just darkness in either direction and a thumping I feel deep in my gut.
The clouds gathered overhead while we walked. They make the distant darkness seem impenetrable. I follow Megs through a rusted gate. Beyond is a large tin warehouse. The noise is clearer here. It’s some kind of music.
There’s a big guy at the door, his arms are folded and he’s got piercings in every available skin surface but that’s not what freezes me to the spot. The big guy is wearing a long green robe.
Crap.
All my efforts to avoid them and I’m about to walk into some kind of green robe party.
Megs notices my hesitation. She grabs my hand. “Come on, Shamus won’t bite.”
I laugh. If only my worry was simply about the guy’s size. He’s watching me now and running would only draw more attention. Maybe a tussle with a kid in an alleyway isn’t big news to whoever the green robes are. Here would be the last place they’d expect me to come if they are looking out.
I lean over and fumble with my shoe. “Stone or something,” I say loud enough to carry to the guy by the door. As we approach, his three-ringed eyebrow lifts. “Bringing a stray?” he says to Megs.
She laughs. “Keane always says to bring any likely gamers. I reckon Blank here,” she jerks her head toward me, “has potential.”
Keane? That was the name of the leader the kid was reporting to. It’s all I can do not to heave the stew I had for lunch on the security guy’s rubber boots.
I hope the turmoil I feel inside isn’t playing out on my face. The security guy looks me up and down. This close I appreciate that I’m actually taller than him. Maybe he won’t snap me in half with one hand.
“Playing or watching?” he growls.
I look to Megs. Time for a guess. “Playing, same as her.”
She flashes me a grin. I suppress a wince when the guy swipes a ridiculous sum off my credit stick and snaps an orange bracelet around my wrist.
Inside, the music is painfully loud. It’s a sea of green, with people either wearing the robes or hanging them off the back of their seats. I’ve landed in a bigger mess than I thought. If I manage to get out of here, I’ll think twice before trusting my instinct. I want to blend, but I tower over everyone and people are looking at me.
“We don’t get too many strangers to the games,” Megs says. I more read her lips than hear her, but I nod to show I understand. The warehouse is bigger than I thought and it takes a few minutes to wind our way through the throbbing, sweaty mass of people to get to the bar.
There are games everywhere. It’s similar to the place where I’m staying, but more and bigger. “Why am I paying two grand for this?”
Megs hears over the crowd. “Trust me.” Like I have a choice.
She orders us two drinks each and pays for everything. “Since you’re so worried about the cost,” she teases.
“I’ll ge
t the next round.”
“Whatever.”
We’re stopped five times by people who want to talk to Megs before we reach an empty table.
“You’re a popular girl,” I say loudly. If the tables weren’t so small she probably wouldn’t be able to hear me. Most of the people who stopped Megs were male. Most wore green robes and the looks they gave me were less than friendly. So far no one has been introduced as the mysterious Keane and the kid hasn’t turned up either. Maybe this won’t be the disaster I’m expecting.
She shrugs. “They’re probably wondering where I found such an overgrown guy.”
“I didn’t know you were a comedienne.”
Her eyes narrow. “You don’t know me at all.”
She’s right. But I like her. I like her attitude and her strength and her hot body. I like her in a way that has guilt lurking in the back of my brain. She’s not the girl for you.
I ignore it. I’m still working out what the big deal is with this place. Past the games machines, the room disappears into darkness that not even the laser light near the DJs penetrates.
Megs slides one of the bottles across the table. I unscrew the lid and the whole thing warms up. It’s green and thick and it’s bubbling. I sniff it. The sour fumes make my eyes begin to tear up. “What is it?”
“Focus’n. You’ll want some to concentrate.”
I hesitate.
She turns the bottle, where I read the ‘All natural’ label. I’m not convinced but all the ingredients are plants or herbs. Megs drains hers in one long swallow and raises her eyebrows. She leans across and takes a sip out of mine. “So you know it’s safe.” She wipes her mouth, eyes sparkling. “Trust me.”
Now there’s a challenge. I take a swig. It burns my throat on the way down and leaves me gasping.
Megs hands me another bottle. “Water to wash away the taste.”
I want the water but I don’t want to look weak. So I take a quick breath and choke the disgusting liquid down. The water that follows is clean and clear and cold in comparison. Delicious.
“Have you eaten?” Megs shouts across the table.
“Not recently.”
“Good. Less mess for later.”
“Later?”
“Motion sickness is pretty common.”
I swear the green drink is still bubbling in my gut. Great to know there’s something more sick-inducing ahead. I crowd watch, losing my thoughts in the persistent throb of the music.
Every time someone in green robes moves close to our table I feign extreme interest in the other direction. No one pays me any attention. Maybe coming here wasn’t so stupid. This Keane might be able to help me. This way I’ll get the lay of the land without having to reveal myself and my strange memory loss.
I look back at Megs and meet her green-eyed gaze. I’m captivated. Despite the dim light and flashing lasers I’m able to discern flecks of gray in the green, green depths of her eyes. Not just gray but shades of brown too. Is she wearing some kind of contact to make the color so brilliant? Everything around me disappears to nothing. I’m lost in those eyes, counting colors.
I lean across the table to get closer. There’s a darker ring of color dividing the green from the whites of her eyes but I can’t pinpoint the exact shade. Dark green? Brown?
Megs blinks and the spell breaks.
She laughs. “Eyes, huh? Just relax, you’ll get used to it in a minute.”
It’s the drink, not the girl. Or at least, it’s mostly the drink, because I was pretty fascinated with her before I choked it down. I lower my gaze and try to resist the urge to count the fine dark hairs on the back of my hands. She’s right. I begin to employ my enhanced focus without getting lost in the details.
I’m not sure which happens first but I notice the music has stopped and the lights at the other end of the warehouse are on. Like everyone else, I turn toward a huge room divided from the rest of the warehouse by a glass-like partition.
The darkness conceals the ceiling, if there is one. Inside there are huge boulders and scrap metal pieces drifting on unseen currents. On the floor, five small spaceships are scattered with their hatches open. The whole setup looks familiar somehow, like I’ve seen a game like this before. I blink and the hope of a memory fades.
The game resembles the graphics in so many of the games I saw at the bar, clunky games where players control spaceships and fire unreal-looking rockets to create low FX explosions in waves of descending aliens.
Without the music, the announcer’s voice carries easily over the crowd. “Could all green players report in. Game starts in ten minutes.”
Megs points to our orange wristbands. Not our turn yet. Good, I’ll have the chance to watch at least one game before having to play. The games machines around this end of the warehouse are warm-ups for the main event. I don’t bother with them. Pressing a few buttons and watching a screen won’t get me prepped for whatever controls are inside the plastic and metal vehicles.
The music starts up again, providing a soundtrack for the players to make their way to the game entrance and then follow an organizer to their ship and get strapped in. We’re not close enough here for me to see everything.
I glance at Megs and she seems to read my question. We weave through the crowd once again and nab a spot close to the glass. The partition is thicker than it seems, making the people moving on the other side a silent movie. Each ship’s about the height of me standing and wider around and has a number sprayed on its hull. What was cool from a distance is less impressive up close. None are exactly the same, and I’d bet they’ve been recently welded together from pieces of junk metal and plastic.
“Are these things taped together?”
Her chuckle bumps her arm against mine. “Pretty much, but the games are rough.”
Now, her comments about motion sickness make sense.
One by one the assistants slam and seal the hatches by smearing some kind of black jelly on the join. There’s a hum and the glass in front of me vibrates. Nothing happens with the ships.
“Do they manage to get off the ground?”
Megs nudges me with her shoulder. “Wait a second.”
The lights around us switch off and the playing arena lights up. Moments later the little ships rise off the ground in jerky movements. They dodge and dart through the crowded space, avoiding rocks and floating debris by a finger’s width. And each other. The ships seem to be steering clear of each other by mutual agreement. The tubes protruding from the body of the ship that I assumed were weapons systems aren’t being used.
I lean down toward Megs’ ear, trying not to get sidetracked studying the shining purple of her hair. “What’s the point? Are they trying to out-fly each other?”
She shakes her head and a strand of silky hair brushes against my lips with a hint of apple scent. “Gamers get five minutes warm-up with the vehicles.”
“What if you fire early?”
“Life ban.”
“Happen much?”
“Never.”
The lights flash off and signal the start. Ship One fires, hitting Five, and hits another from behind. Flames erupt along the jelly seal. It looks real. Hot, burning, real.
“It is real,” Megs says.
I glance down at her but she’s watching the game. Am I so easy to read?
The ships don’t get much of a chance to fire on each other before a line of green objects appear above them and move down in a regular pattern. The ‘aliens’ of the game. These fire in a regular pattern and are quickly dispatched but cause an engine to fail when they collide with a ship.
There’s a lull between the first and second wave of descending aliens. I picture LEVEL ONE COMPLETE flashing up on a screen. Ship Three takes the opportunity to strike at Ship Four. An explosion in the smaller craft’s right wing sends it ricocheting off a large rock. It smashes into the ground, causing an appreciative ‘oh’ to ripple through the crowd. This isn’t a
game for teamwork. I don’t need Megs to spell out there will be only one winner.
I point to the still-burning craft. “What if the guy in there is hurt?”
“There’s an emergency lever inside, but if the player uses it they can’t play again for a month.”
After the next wave of aliens is dealt with, only ships One and Three remain and they’ve both taken hits. They circle each other, using the debris for cover. Three scores a good hit, and One crashes to the ground.
As the lights come back on people hurry out to attend to the other ships. The winner’s lifted on her friends’ shoulders and three others are able to hobble out. A small crowd gathers around Ship One. A couple of assistants have a stretcher ready. It takes two others to get the girl out of the ship’s harness. Her chin rests on her chest. Blood runs down the side of her face and seeps into her white t-shirt. She’s placed on the stretcher and carried out another exit. Even with my enhanced focusing ability she doesn’t move. At all.
I can’t help but wonder whether she landed like that or wanted to play again so desperately that she chose not to signal for help. It looks like fun, sure, but that good? Maybe there’s a decent prize.
“What does the winner get?”
“The player chooses before the start of the game.” She shrugs. “Money usually. Information sometimes.” Her eyes narrow. “Sometimes people have stuff they want to know.”
I moisten dry lips. I guess I haven’t hidden that I’m a stranger and she’s a smart girl. My gaze returns to the place the girl was carried out, my breath fogging the glass. “The loser, what’s in it for them? Injury? Death?”
“They get to play the game. A game isn’t worth playing unless the stakes are high. It’s simple, don’t lose, and don’t get hit. Play to win.”
Unexpected anticipation zings through my veins. For all my questions, I want to play. I want to play desperately, now that I know winning could help me get information. The draw of the game comes from deep within me. Have I played it before?
Lifer Page 6