by Cameron Jace
As I walk away from Roger This, a soldier shoots his toy plane. Roger This doesn't complain. He claims he has a plan B.
The teens in front of me are getting aggressive when I try to push through. Suddenly, I get hit in the face. Someone’s elbow, maybe. I don’t have time to realize what struck me. I feel dizzy, and there isn't even room for me to fall on the ground while I'm semi-conscious. I feel betrayed and weak, like a boxer knocked down in the first round. I want to cry, but no tears come out. The warm liquid I feel on my cheeks must be my own blood from my nose. I surrender to unconsciousness over someone’s shoulder.
I dream of…of Woo.
Woo looks at me with his peaceful, warrior face.
“Why are you doing this, Decca?” he asks me.
“You left, Woo. I am here all alone,” I say. “You’re my only friend in this world.”
“Why do you think I am still alive?”
“I remember you saying that if worse came to worse, all you’d have to do is not report that you’re alive on the iAm. You said you could fool them into thinking you’re dead.”
“But you saw my blood on Carnivore when he killed me on TV.”
“But they never found your body.”
“Carnivore could have only left my bones after he finished me.”
“I have a feeling you’re still alive.”
“Maybe it’s a delusion, Decca. A figment of your imagination. Something to live with, since you can’t comprehend that I am dead. You know that it is impossible to survive in the Playa after the games. It’s abandoned, and guarded by soldiers all year long. There is no food, no water, and no way out.”
“I know. But my heart tells me I’ll find you.”
Woo smiles faintly at me. “Okay. If you’re going to do this, you’ll have to go all the way. You are no quitter,” he says in his low, calm voice. “If this is the path you choose, and you trust your heart, you have to believe that there is a reason for this. Stop your hesitation and questioning your choice. Choices aren’t easy. They are long roads we commit to until we reach the end. My advice would be not to look for me right away. The Playa isn't a walk in the park. Learn how to survive it first, and then look for me. And, Decca, try to be low-key in the eyes of the Summit. Let them think you’re a fool, until your moment shines."
"I'll do my best."
"Your best isn't going to be enough. You know how many people do their best everyday?"
“I want to find you, Woo. I've been planning this. But since I was thrown out here in the real madness, I am afraid I will fail."
“You should always believe. Never,” he grits his teeth, “never,” he repeats, “not for one moment, should you give up. This is what makes you who you are. This is what makes you human, with no need for a number. I believe in you, Tender.”
Then he fades away. I want to tell him that he couldn’t survive the games himself. How does he expect me to?
He called me Tender. I used to love it when he did that. Woo always said he liked the Ten part in the name. He liked the Ten in Tender. In his eyes, he thought I should have been a Ten.
I have to wake up and face the situation. I am not going to bail out. Let’s play the game. When I wake up I am still on my feet, squeezed between the ones behind me and those in front of me. Shoegirl is behind me, all smelly. She held me up so no one trampled me. I thank her.
“No time for that. Look at the screen. Prophet Hannibal Xitler is announcing the games.”
I look up at the screen hung on one of the Zeppelins. I see the Burning Man logo again.
“The game that’s about to start isn’t just a game,” Prophet Hannibal Xitler says. “Because it’s the tenth game, a particularly special occasion, I have a big surprise for you. We have a guest Monster in the games. Actually, he is a volunteer who betrayed the Summit years ago. After being banned for four years outside the Burning Man, he’s come back, asking for forgiveness. He was a Nine. What a shame. Now he wants to repent. You know what that means, right?” Prophet Xitler laughs. “He will have to attend the games like any other Monster, as punishment for being unappreciative. If he survives, he’ll be forgiven though. This is the first time ever that the games will be attended by a Nine.”
The audience in the Zeppelins is excited out of their brainwashed minds. The soldiers begin to push us aggressively, as if we were hordes of sheep. I don’t know where we’re going. Then the unthinkable starts to happen. The ranked people from the Zeppelins throw everything they can at us, calling us bad names. They are enjoying this tremendously. They are brainwashed, thinking we are the enemy. Thinking that the likes of us destroyed the Old America. That we are society’s weak link. They hit us with tomatoes, napkins, and bubblegum. I shield my head with my hands. Still, I get one tomato splashed in my face. Tomato, blood, and mud. Surprise me! Can’t you hit me with something white for once? An hour ago, I was showered with flowers and presents.
In all this mess I can’t take my eyes off the screen, wondering who the guest monster is. The camera pans to the boy Xitler is talking about. I can see him on the screens rolling down from the Zeppelins.
It’s Leo.
8
Leo is standing, with his tense sealed lips, in front of the Playa’s entrance. The battlefield is dug twenty-feet below ground level. You can still see the upper parts of the fancy rollercoasters and the domes, and many other colorful features from up here. In another world, you would think this is a great place where kids could have fun, not get killed.
“Wow,” Roger This says, standing a couple of rows behind me. “The Playa looks awesome.”
Leo must be somewhere in front of me. The audience goes crazy when they see him, especially the girls.
“Redeem yourself for betraying us, and survive the games,” the senior boys in the audience say.
I suddenly realize how devious it is bringing A Nine to the show. It promises more excitement and viewership all around the world. It promises money. My curiosity could easily drive me to approach Leo, but I know better. I have to be on my own to find Woo. The cameras will definitely follow Leo in the field. Who wouldn't love to see a Nine? On the other hand, I have to escape the cameras. I don't need the attention. Leo could be a liability. I don't even know who he really is.
Teenagers are screaming in front of me. I can’t see why. The audience continues throwing things at us.
“We shall start our games,” says Xitler. “And what a game we shall have this year. For the first time in nine years, we have a new Trickster!” The audience hails. “May I present to you this year’s Trickster.”
The Trickster is the host of the Monster Show. Caleb Crux was the Trickster for many years, but he was getting old. The younger audience asked for someone their age to host the games. They claimed that Caleb wasn't funny, and made the show depressing. Talk about the looniest logic in the world. Prophet Xitler liked the idea of the Trickster being a sixteen-year-old.
“Did you know that the Trickster is chosen by the iAm?” Roger This popped up behind me like a weasel. “It is said the iAm chooses a Trickster the same way designers find a bug in a computer game. You know when the game you purchased has a bug, preventing you from playing it properly? Somehow, the same thing goes for humans. The Trickster is the bug in the game.”
“You mean the new Trickster is going to be mentally unstable?” I ask.
“They put it this way: a genius who is mentally unstable. Whatever that means,” says Roger This. “He has to be cruel but funny, to entertain the audience; like a joker in a king’s palace. He is the direct link between the Monsters, the audience, and the Summit; and he’ll be extremely motivated to make us suffer, since his rank depends on it.”
I live in a world where you get outranked because of bad grades or genes, and promoted a Trickster if you are mentally unstable. You must envy my life, right?
“Please welcome our new Trickster,” says Xitler, his voice sparkling with mirth. “Timothy Rabbit.”
It’s Timmy!
Timmy appears on the screen. Did he know he'd be the Trickster all day long? Was he just playing us, pretending he was afraid to get ranked?
“Wazzup, Faya?” Timmy smirks on the screen in a head shot. His nose is long, and too close to the camera. His eyes glitter with evil ideas and a touch of mascara. He wears red lipstick, and his face is covered in silver glitter. He looks like a total loon in a circus. He is a loon. Actually, the role suits him perfectly. The audience welcomes the Trickster with enthusiasm.
“In the name of the Burning Man, let the games begin!” Timmy shouts. “Play and die!” he follows. “We’re starting with a couple of warm-ups, to eliminate as many Monsters as possible,” the Trickster explains. “You know there is no fun in tracking three thousand Monsters,” his head looks as if it’s buzzing with electricity.
“Dear clownies — Oh — I mean Bad Kidz. Argghh. I mean little Monsters.” Now he is talking to us. “May I call you Monsters?” He grins again, and the audience laughs. “I hope you know the rules. We’re tracking you by your iAms. We use them to make sure you attend the games when announced. Even though this was not allowed, we’ve changed the rules a bit this year. You can certainly use it if you want to contact us or your families, but only with our permission, which will be granted according to how well you play the game.” He rests his palms on a podium. “The games are deadly. That is the point of it. We want you to die. But we don’t want you to die fast. The slower you die, the more entertaining. It's like in movies. We know the villain is going to get kicked at some point, but not that soon," He licks his lips. “You’re allowed to use any strategy that’ll keep ya alive—” He stops again and acts as if thinking, putting his index finger on his lips and staring upward. “— as long as possible, of course,” he adds, winking at the audience. The audience winks back at him, and nod to each other about how cool Timmy is.
“After every challenge, you have to push that red button on your iAm, and scream as loud as you can. I repeat. As loud as you can. You know what to say, of course.” He puts his hands behind his ears, pretending to be listening to the audience.
“I AM ALIVE,” the viewers say in one breath that rocks the ground underneath us.
“The game only ends,” Timmy explains, “when there is no one left to scream ‘I am alive’, or if you survive the next three days, long enough to be worthy of meeting the legendary Carnivore as your last challenge. If you beat Carnivore, you’ll be the first to ever do it.” Timmy knots his face and claws his hands against the screen, imitating an angry tiger. The audience gets crazy in a way I have never seen before. They love the Carnivore. “The best record in the games ever was accomplished last year. Only the sucker — urgh, I mean the Monster — died in the very last game at the paws of the vicious Carnivore. That Monster’s name was…” Timmy fumbles through some papers. “Ah — here it is. His name is Woo. I mean was Woo. Because Woo, after meeting Carnivore, has gone whoooof with the wind.” The audience laughs. I grit my teeth, and swallow my anger. You never make fun of Woo in front of me, but how am I going to kick all those viewers’ butts? “Who names his son Woo?” Timmy says absently, as if he is talking to me precisely. Timmy used to pretend Woo was his idol a year ago.
The camera shows a cartoon of Timmy running in a field, wearing sneakers. He is sweating. When he stops to take a breath, he wipes his sweat away and says, “Whoo.” The audience laughs more and more. I feel helpless, unable to stop the world from laughing at my best friend. “Oh — that was how his mother came up with the name,” Timmy says, showing his claws like the paws of a tiger again. So repetitive, cliché, and boring. It sells.
“Let’s see if you can do better,” Timmy says to us. “Let’s see if we have a Six coming out of the Monsters for the first time. Or better yet, maybe the audience will vote for you to become a Nine! Or maybe a Ten!” The audience boos at him for mentioning a Ten. No one ever jokes about Tens. “All right. All right. I know there is no Ten. I just want to encourage them. That’s all,” says Timmy. “And remember, Monsteries and Monsterellas, you have the right to remain silent because anything you say or do will not even be considered in the court of bfweeert.” He makes the sound of a fart with his mouth. “We’ll start with a brand new opening game unlike the likes of anything you have seen before. The SEBS game,” announces Timmy. The audience is excited and happy, as my world falls apart.
I have never heard of this game before. Of all the details I studied, this has never been played. What is going on? Are they changing the games this year? This would be the end of me. It means that I have no power in the Playa.
"For those of you across the sea who might be watching for the first time and don’t know what the SEBS is, it’s the Speed Exploding School Bus game. And yes. This year the games are all fresh and new. The things you will see, you will not believe your eyes.” Everyone is extra-excited. I don’t bother correcting him that the abbreviation should be SESB, not SEBS. All I can think about is that I am toast. Toast! All my plans just flew out the window. Why would they change the games this year? I am not prepared for this. “We all wanted to blow up our school bus so we could sleep the day away when we were kids, didn’t we?” he adds cheerily.
I am paralyzed with shock, not knowing what to do. All I have planned for has been messed with. Suddenly, someone squeezes my hand. I turn to look. It’s Leo. With his sealed lips, still not saying a word, and my plan thrown out into the ocean, he stares at me. I don’t expect him to talk. He is pushing me forward against my will. Where is he taking me?
10
“Did you hear the rules of the game?” I ask Leo. He doesn’t reply of course, dragging me behind him, and pushing everyone aside. “What is the Speed Exploding School Bus?” I ask the teenagers around me. No answers me. Didn’t anyone hear the rules of the game?
“It’s a nine-minute-long game, where we race on every vehicle possible,” another girl explains. At least someone listened to Timmy’s words. “We’re not allowed to drive or ride a vehicle slower than fifty miles per hour. We have to survive for nine minutes at that speed. The first ride is on a school bus that explodes after only three minutes. The last six minutes, you have to figure out for yourself. Anything you ride with a fifty-miles-per-hour speed will explode after three minutes, so you have to prepare your next ride beforehand. Nine minutes, three rides, never under fifty-miles-per-hour.”
I am dragged along, not fully understanding what she just said. This is worse than Chemistry 101. I ask someone else, “Did you hear the instruction? What will you do? You have any idea how to survive this?”
The girl smirks. “As if I am going to tell you, huh?”
I see a ramp sloping down the Playa. It is very steep, and it’s the one and only entrance. There is no way we can climb up again. The Playa was built that way to make it harder for Monsters trying to escape. At the bottom of the ramp, I can see tons of yellow school buses lined up, the ones we will have to drive fifty-miles-per-hour for three minutes, before we explode.
Leo isn’t dragging me toward the slope. We are walking diagonal to it. Oh my. We are walking toward a soldier standing in front of his Jeep, close to the starting point of the descending ramp.
“Where are you taking me?” I try to free myself from Leo’s firm grip, but he is unimaginably strong. I hate feeling weak like that. The shocking news about changing the games must have let me give in to Leo. I might need some time to focus again.
Leo approaches a soldier. He hits the soldier hard in the face with one hand, takes his rifle, still dragging me behind him. He throws the rifle into the open Jeep, lifts me up with both hands, shoves me into the passenger seat, and starts driving the car down the slope as the soldiers start shooting at us.
Okay. First the roses. Then the tomatoes. Then the bullets. I think I have had enough, thank you very much. Can we switch the channel?
Leo shoves me to the floor. My eyes are wide, and my neck is twisted. I wonder why he is driving down the slope with the t
eenagers screaming around us. I guess there is no use in trying to escape the games, with thousands of military soldiers surrounding us. The car is going to be useful in the field. We have immunity from soldiers in the Playa. They are not allowed inside.
As the car slides down, pulled by gravity since Leo doesn’t have the keys, I try not to bump my head on the inside of the Jeep.
Instead of driving faster, Leo is using the brakes to slow down. Other students are trying to hop inside for a ride as I crawl back up in my seat. I see the battlefield from this high point. It is huge. A city of its own. I can’t see its end. There is an amusement park in the distance. I can see a rollercoaster. There is a forest, a lake, a huge glass dome, a monorail, an area full of industrial buildings, and a main street where the buses are lined up, ready for the race. I turn back to the other students who try to hop in, and invite them to.
Leo looks angrily at me. He doesn’t want anyone else riding along, which I find mean. If we’re all going to die, we might as well die together. I don’t see the difference, Jeep or no Jeep. We are all going down to the yellow buses.