What’s the time limit for getting anti-rabies shots? he wondered.
He set down his knapsack and leaned his rifle against it, making sure the barrel didn’t get fouled with dirt. As the sun intensified, he removed the first-aid kit and the duct tape. He glanced toward the dogs. Their attention was riveted on him.
Shoot them, he thought.
But although his knapsack was heavy with ammunition, he needed to use it sparingly. It was better to blast the cameras apart…or kill the Game Master, he thought…than shoot two dogs he maybe didn’t need to. Later, he might want to give anything to get those two shots back.
Let’s see how smart they are.
He lifted the gun and aimed at the bigger dog, the one that looked like a German shepherd.
It raced away, its partner following. He tracked the bigger dog, tempted to squeeze the trigger, but hitting a target that got smaller and lower as it receded in the distance wasn’t easy, and he finally set down the gun.
He untwisted the cap on a bottle of water, sipped the unpleasantly warm liquid, and poured some over his knee, wiping away blood and dirt. The puncture wounds were circled with red, probably already infected. He opened his first-aid kit, took out an antiseptic packet, and tore its edge. The sheet inside smelled of alcohol. He rubbed it over the holes and winced from the pain. He tore open a packet of antibiotic cream, smeared it over the holes, and covered them with gauze. Finally, he used his knife to cut strips of duct tape and secured the gauze to his knee, creating a pressure bandage that he hoped would stop the bleeding. Duct tape. He remembered what some of the security operators he’d worked with in Iraq called it. The gunfighter’s friend.
He scanned the grassland, looking for more cameras.
When the BlackBerry vibrated again, he pulled the Kleenex wads from his ears and pressed the green button.
“Stop destroying the cameras,” the voice said.
“I thought the idea was for me to be resourceful.”
“Except for the vandalism, you’re doing everything the way I imagined I myself would.”
“Then why don’t you get down here and play the damned game yourself?”
No reply.
“Come on!” Balenger shouted into the BlackBerry. “Be a hero!”
“But someone needs to be the Game Master.”
“Why?”
Again, the voice didn’t reply.
“Think about it a different way,” Balenger said. “We talked about a flaw in the game, the fact that you couldn’t keep track of me. How about the flaw in the universe?”
“The game and the universe. Both the same. What flaw are you talking about?”
“God became lonely and created other beings, magnificent ones, angels, and that’s how evil got started because some of those angels betrayed Him. Then God became lonely again, but He thought He’d learned His lesson and created lesser beings, humans, so insignificant that they couldn’t possibly have the pride to betray Him. They betrayed Him, nonetheless. Is that your problem?”
“That people betray me?”
“That you’re lonely? You want someone to play with?”
In the distance, a hawk cried while the phone became silent.
“We’d be delighted to play with you,” Balenger told the Game Master, “as long as you don’t kill us.”
“Sometimes,” the voice said.
“Yes?”
“You confuse me.”
Balenger felt a surge of hope.
“How can I possibly come down and play with you? You’re not real.”
The transmission went dead.
“The rounds in this Mini-14 are real,” Balenger murmured. He put the BlackBerry in his pocket, looked for more cameras to destroy, and moved forward.
5
Hands bleeding, Amanda lifted the door at one end, Ray at the other, and helped carry it from the shelter that she and Viv had built the previous night. She recalled Viv sharing water with her and saying that they needed to work together if they were going to survive.
And now Viv was dead.
The shock remained numbing as she worked with Ray to carry the door. Her knees felt limp, her boots heavy. Hunger made her sluggish, but she wouldn’t allow herself to give in to weakness. Not long ago, she’d heard yet another shot, still closer, and if Frank was coming, as the Game Master promised, she wouldn’t let Frank see a quitter. She would do everything she could to help. She would work until she dropped.
That almost happened. Her boot struck a rock. She nearly fell with the door, but she regained her footing and plodded on, coming to the walkway she and Ray had constructed in the mud.
“This ought to do it,” Ray said.
He moved backward down the slope, holding his end of the door. Amanda followed, taking short steps that helped her stay upright on the downward-tilted boards.
When they reached the precarious bottom, they lowered the door to the walkway, setting it on its side so that Ray had room to shift along it, moving higher, reaching Amanda. The boards below them wavered on the mud. Around them, the stench of decay was nauseating. They upended the door so that it stood on its bottom. They walked it forward to the end of the boards, shoved it, and let it flop in the mud. Muck flew. Twenty feet away, a snake hissed.
The door landed next to the mysterious object whose rim was the only part that was visible.
The boards beneath them wobbled. Amanda and Ray held out their arms for balance.
“Too much weight.” Amanda bent her knees, trying for a low center of gravity. “We can’t both be in the same area.” She stepped onto the door, which settled but held. “I’m lighter. I’m the logical one to do this.”
Ray stepped onto higher boards.
Gradually, what they stood on became steady.
Amanda pivoted toward the rim of the object embedded in the mud. Four feet by three feet. Muck was inside it. “I still have no idea what this thing is.”
She knelt and peered warily into it, making sure a snake wasn’t inside. “So what am I supposed to do? Scoop out the mud and see if anything’s buried?”
She tugged out one of the rubber gloves. She put it on her right hand, hesitated, then sank the glove into the mud. She didn’t feel anything and groped deeper. The pressure of the mud rose almost to her elbow, reaching the upper limit of the glove’s sleeve.
“Find anything?” Ray asked.
“A lot of goo.” Afraid she might fall in, she knelt farther forward. “Wait a second.” Her fingers touched something hard. Round. The edges were rough. She closed her gloved fingers around it.
“Careful,” Ray said. “For all we know, there’s a trap inside. Something sharp.”
“No, feels like a…”
She strained her arm to pull the object free. The suction almost pulled the glove off.
“A rock,” she said, looking at the object in her hand. “Just a rock.” But she knew that seemingly insignificant objects often turned out to be important in the game, so she tossed it onto the bank. “I felt a lot of other rocks in there, also.”
“Maybe something’s under them,” Ray suggested.
“But I don’t know how to reach under them to find out.”
Ray checked his watch. “Twenty after two. Less than ten hours to go. We’ve wasted more time.” He frowned at something below her. “On the rim in front of you. The mud’s drying. Does it look like something’s engraved in the metal underneath?”
Amanda looked where he pointed. She rubbed the drying mud. “Numbers.” Although she tried to sound triumphant, her voice had the tone of the crust she broke away. “Two sets. LT before one. LG before the other.”
“Map coordinates,” Ray said.
Amanda wiped mud off the rim to the right and left. “Same thing here. I bet the numbers are on the opposite rim also—to guarantee we saw them, no matter which side we approached from.”
“Read them to me.” Ray programmed them into his GPS receiver. He studied the needle on the receiver. “Points west.
But I don’t know where exactly. The reservoir slope’s in the way.”
Amanda staggered up the boards. “Let’s find out.”
6
Balenger’s earlier suspicion was accurate—the rumble he’d heard was the sound of the dam being breached. As he reached the muddy basin and peered down at the devastation, he was puzzled why the muck seemed to move, until he realized there were snakes. Appalled, he shifted his gaze toward the deepest section and was startled to see two figures across from him. They were on a makeshift walkway that led down to a rectangular metal object in the mud.
One figure was a lanky, beard-stubbled man in a dirty green jumpsuit. The other was a shorter figure in a blue jumpsuit and cap smeared with mud. That figure’s back was turned, but with a surge of excitement, Balenger instantly knew who it was.
Overjoyed, he opened his mouth to shout “Amanda!” But the emotion shooting through him seized his throat shut. The sight of her made him dizzy.
On the opposite slope, the man noticed Balenger and blurted something to Amanda. She whirled. Her face was as muddy as her jumpsuit. But there was no mistaking it. Balenger’s heart pounded so fiercely that he thought it might break.
Amanda took a moment, as if she didn’t dare hope that the person she saw was actual. Then she stood straighter, and her smile—in the midst of her muddy cheeks—was dazzling.
Balenger managed to get his voice to work and ask the most important question. “Are you hurt?”
“Lots of small stuff, but I’m still moving!” She pointed. “Your leg! It’s bleeding!”
“Dog bite!”
“What?”
“I’ve got the bleeding stopped. Your hands!”
“Lost some skin. Broke some nails. My hands were never my best feature anyway!” Balenger swelled with love for her.
The man shouted, “Have you got food?”
“Yes. And water!”
“Thank God!” The man climbed the walkway.
Balenger watched Amanda follow him. Making her way up the boards, she looked repeatedly over her shoulder, determined to keep her eyes on him as much as possible.
For his part, Balenger never took his gaze off her all the while he hurried toward the shallow end of the basin.
“I thought you were dead!” Amanda shouted, moving parallel to him.
“I thought you were dead!” Balenger yelled back.
“What happened to you?”
“No time!” Balenger shouted. “I’ll tell you when we’ve got the chance!”
Getting closer, Balenger saw that both Amanda and her companion wore headsets with microphone stubs. They reached the narrow end of the basin, where an old bridge spanned the creek that fed the reservoir. On the opposite side, Amanda rushed toward the bridge.
“Stop!” Balenger warned, his instincts alarming him. “Stay off the bridge! It might be a trap!”
Amanda and her companion faltered.
“Food!” the man shouted. “We’re dying over here!”
Balenger took off his knapsack, removed two energy bars, and hurled them over the bridge. He was shocked by the desperation with which Amanda and her companion ran to them. They tore off the wrappers and chewed frantically. He was reminded of the two dogs who’d attacked him and how the energy bars had driven them into a frenzy. He tossed two bottles of water into grass on the other side of the creek.
Amanda and her companion lunged to them and twisted off the caps.
“Slowly!” Balenger yelled.
“We know!” The man’s eyes flashed a warning, as if he hated being told what to do.
“The last time we ate was yesterday afternoon,” Amanda said. “A few chunks of canned fruit.”
Knowing cameras were focused on him, Balenger tried not to show how enraged he felt. Jonathan, he thought, for a rare time using the Game Master’s name, you’re going to pay.
He peered under the bridge. The shadows were thick. He took his flashlight from the knapsack, moved closer to the bridge, and knelt, aiming the light. Strapped to a shelf, a dark, rectangular object had a smaller object attached to it.
“A bomb,” Balenger said.
Amanda and her companion stopped chewing the energy bars. They stepped back.
“The bastard,” the man said. “I should have thought.”
“Because you’re starving,” Balenger said. “Those energy bars will help.” He went down to the creek and decided that the water couldn’t be electrified if the snakes survived in it. He splashed through a shallow section and climbed to the other side.
Amanda hurried to him, holding out her arms. Balenger couldn’t wait to embrace her. But she surprised him by abruptly stopping. “Stay away.”
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“He planted explosives on us.”
“What?”
“We don’t know if they’re in our boots, our headsets, or these GPS receivers.” She pulled a unit from her pocket and showed it to him.
Now Balenger understood the image he’d seen on his BlackBerry: the woman exploding.
“The microphone on the headset also functions as a video camera,” the man explained.
“Yeah,” Balenger said acidly, “the Game Master likes cameras.”
The man lowered his bottle of water. “You know about him?”
Balenger nodded. “I don’t think he’s going to blow us up now that he finally got us together.”
Balenger walked to Amanda, touched her muddy face, and grinned. “I can’t tell you how much I missed you.”
When they kissed, it went on and on. He didn’t want it to end. Although midnight loomed, he needed to hold her forever. But at once she broke the kiss and pressed her cheek against him, shuddering.
He leaned back, not bothering to wipe away the mud that had brushed from her cheek to his. “We can do this. We can get out of here.”
Her eyes changed focus, as if she listened to a distant voice. “The Game Master says to tell you to put on Derrick’s headset. He wants to talk to you.”
“Derrick?” Balenger frowned. “How many others are there?”
“We started with five.” For a moment, Amanda couldn’t bring herself to speak. “Three are dead.”
“Three?” Balenger felt stunned. “Where’s the headset?”
“I’m not sure,” Amanda said. “It must be over where…” She looked at her companion, who in turn looked away. “It must be there.” She pointed behind her, toward the ruins of a town.
“Show me.”
As they walked, the man said, “I’m Ray Morgan.”
“Frank Balenger.”
They shook hands.
“Yeah, the Game Master talked about you,” Ray said.
“I’m sure it was flattering.”
“I don’t suppose you’ve got any cigarettes.”
“Afraid not.”
“It figures.” Ray had an edge in his voice. “I ate the energy bar slowly, like you said. Got any more?”
Balenger opened his knapsack and pulled out two more bars and two more bottles of water.
This time, Amanda and Ray weren’t frenzied when they tore open the bars.
“I was sure we’d lost so much strength from hunger and thirst that we couldn’t win the game,” Ray said.
“Scavenger.”
“You know about that, too?” Amanda asked in surprise.
“The Game Master and I had some heart-to-heart chats,” Balenger said.
“When I saw you, I wondered if I was hallucinating.” Ray gestured toward Balenger’s tan camouflage suit. “You look like you stepped out of Iraq.”
Something about Ray’s bearing made Balenger ask, “You’ve been there?”
“Marine aviator.”
“I was a Ranger in the first Iraq war. Proud to know you, Marine, although I wish to God it was under other circumstances.”
“Roger to that.”
Amanda pressed a hand to her headset. She sounded puzzled when she turned toward Balenger. “The Game Master w
ants to know if you’ve heard of the Doomsday Vault.”
“No, but I bet he’s going to tell me.”
They entered the ruins of the town. Balenger saw a pile of boards in the middle of the weed-studded street. The smell from it told him something dead was under there.
When he glanced at Amanda, expecting an explanation, she gave him a warning look. Ray appeared uneasy. Balenger didn’t raise the subject.
“Where’s the headset?” he asked.
Amanda listened to her ear buds. “The Game Master says…” She pointed. “There.”
Balenger walked to the edge of a collapsed building and found the headset among more boards. He picked it up and examined it. Specks of dried blood were on it. Remembering the cautionary look Amanda had given him, he didn’t ask about the blood. The sturdy headband was thin. The ear buds and microphone/camera were compact. He opened a small battery case on the left side of the headband.
“I don’t see any space for a detonator,” he said. “There doesn’t seem room inside the headband or the ear buds for plastic explosive. Maybe in the microphone/ camera. But I think the more likely place for a bomb is in your boots or your GPS receivers.” He glanced down at Amanda’s mud-covered boots. “Did they get wet?”
“Soaked.”
“The detonator would need to be awfully water tight not to short out. I could be wrong, but I think the GPS units are the bombs.”
Amanda listened to her ear buds. “The Game Master says, put on the headset.”
Balenger took off his hat. Under the weight of the sun, he adjusted the headset to his ears, then replaced the hat. “So what’s the Doomsday Vault?” he asked the Game Master. He scanned the wreckage, looking for a camera.
“You’re supposed to be suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder,” the voice said.
“I am. I’ve got a fan club of psychiatrists to prove it.”
“But you don’t show weakness.”
“I’m goal-oriented. Give me a task, and I focus on it so hard I forget I’m a psychological mess.” Balenger continued to survey the wreckage. “And believe me, I’m a mess. Can’t sleep without a light. Can’t stand closed doors. I have nightmares about a guy who wants to cut off my head. I tremble for no reason. I wake up screaming. The bed sheets are soaked with sweat. After this is over, after we win, I guarantee I’ll fall apart.”
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