by Justin Coke
The vault was opened and inside was a note. Mad Hatter took it.
“Summons,” Mad Hatter said as the door opened and his character stealthed again. That would only buy him a few seconds, as they knew of his presence.
Hayes summoned as quickly as he could. The foes flew through the cavern, casting fire and ice all over the cavern in the hopes of knocking Mad Hatter out of stealth.
The summons landed and was accepted, just as a fire ball landed at Mad Hatter’s feet. With the power of lag and the server’s meticulous adherence to its idiosyncratic Order of Operations, Mad Hatter was alive, in Londinium, on fire.
“I think he got me,” Mad Hatter said. “That DOT went supercritical.”[109]Mad Hatter was right and soon resurrected in the corner of the inn.
“It’s a note,” Mad Hatter said. “As predicted.”
“What does it say?” Hayes said; the resolution on his feed was not quite good enough, or maybe he need a new prescription. He’d been avoiding it, due to having shit vision insurance.
“It’s a gibberish link,” Mad Hatter said.[110] “Fuck I love being right.”
“Send it to me,” Hayes said.
“It’s a .zip file,” Mad Hatter said, “a rather large one. Almost a gig. I’ll email you the link.”
Hayes began to download the file. Halfway through, Tick Tock logged into Marconi.
“What’s up?” she said.
“We got to the vault,” Mad Hatter said, “There was a link inside to a big file. Video, I think.”
“Ooh, gimme.”
“Check your email.”
“I’m kind of pissed you guys are doing all this cool shit without me,” Tick Tock said.
“Sorry hun, but you’re never on.”
“They’ve been threatening to take my computers,” Tick Tock said. “I’m about to claw my eyes out, I’m so sick of hearing about Jesus.”
“Take your computer?” Mad Hatter said, horrified. That was the worst thing you could do to someone.
“They caught me with some stuff,” Tick Tock said. “Nothing bad, just music.” She said that in a tone that implied they would be able to fill in the rest of the story.
“So?” Hayes said.
“So they’re freaking out.”
“Because you had ... music.”
“Yes.”
“Did you steal the music?”
“No. Paid for it.”
“Were you playing it really loud?”
“No.”
“I’m not getting it.”
“My family is very strict. Any music that isn’t from the Governing Body is banned.”
“Who?”
“The Governing Body. They are, uh, God’s messengers on earth.”
Mad Hatter messaged Hayes in game.
Mad Hatter: W T F is she talking about?
Hayes: I think she’s in a cult.
Mad Hatter: I mean, that makes a lot of things kind of fall into place.
“And they make music?”
“It’s like, if you took Kenny G and then cut off his balls, gave him a cheap synthesizer, and forced him into a life of composing elevator hymns. It’s awful.[111] This file is like the size of an HD movie. What is it?”
“Who knows,” Mad Hatter said.
Hayes, sensing that she wanted to talk, didn’t let the conversation derail on the topic of file size.
“So what music was it that got you in trouble?” Hayes hadn’t been running in the crazy evangelical Christian circuit lately, but he guessed they weren’t that worried about Def Leppard anymore. Whatever came after gangsta rap, maybe? If there was anything to get white middle-aged people into a tizzy, it was black people. Techno, maybe, since everybody was on Molly and having a wonderful time, which seemed to run against the whole ethos of those weirdos.
“I,” Tick Tock said, in a tone of confession, “had a special edition Boys Love U first album. The found it in my hiding spot in the attic and burned it.”
Mad Hatter, paralyzed with horrified laughter, had the decency to keep the mic muted as he howled with laughter.
Hayes didn’t understand. Boys Love U was as clean cut and asexual as it was possible to make a group of young men who oozed the non-threatening masculinity that was calculated to appeal to girls who had sublimated their feared and half-understood sexuality into an adoration of horses or clean cut and asexual boy bands. To Hayes they were about as threatening as the ladies handing out bite-sized samples at the grocery store. He was too old to even hate them the way he used to when he was fifteen. Fearing BLU was like fearing SpongeBob was reenacting Satanic rituals on the show.
“So they’re threatening to take the computers away?”
“They don’t know that I’ve been saving all the money I can. They also don’t know that I’m graduating high school early. Three days, I’m out of here. Got my assignments all turned in, graduation is a lock. Already bought my ticket. I’m sorry guys, I just can’t pretend it’s not happening anymore.”
“I ... ” Hayes said, unsure of what to say.
“This file is super weird,” Mad Hatter said. “I really want you to see it, Tick Tock.”
“Five minutes, maybe less,” she said.
“Where are you going to go?” Hayes said.
“I’m going to go to concerts for nine months, until college starts. Just that. Buy a tent. Be a hobo.”
“Isn’t that dangerous?”
“I can’t do this for nine more months. I’ve known I was in a cult for eight years, eight fucking years, and I have to go. Just have to. I’d rather die than spend the next nine months here.”
“I ... I don’t mean anything sexual,” Hayes said, “but you could stay with me if you needed to. I could even get you a job.”
“I might do that,” she said, and she sounded like she meant it.
“It’s just a bunch of fragments, I can’t figure out what to do with any of it,” Mad Hatter said.
Hayes’s download completed. He unzipped the file; his first impression agreed with Mad Hatter. It was a load of nonsense.
“Let me take a look at it,” Tick Tock said. “No offense, but ya’ll are computer illiterate.”
“Not illiterate,” Hayes said. “But yeah, looking at this is making me want to punch a nerd.”
“Me no read good. Me punch good tho,” Mad Hatter said.
“File’s opening. Taking a while to extract,” Tick Tock said.
Kid Twist entered.
“What’s up guys,” he said, sounding terribly tired.[112]“We’ve busted open the vault and we’re about to figure out what Teabagz has been up to,” Mad Hatter said. “You sound exhausted.”
“Very, very long week,” Kid Twist said with a hint of a smile in his voice. “But that’s awesome.”
“No...” Tick Tock said.
“You had a shit week too,” Mad Hatter said.
“No. No. No! No! No!” Tick Tock said, her voice escalating with each repetition.
“What?”
“It’s malware—it’s fucking Zbot.”
“What’s it doing? Should I turn off my computer?”
“It’s already got everything,” Tick Tock said, almost in tears.
“What does it have?”
“IP address, all the information in your history—they got everything.”
“Should I turn off the computer?”
“We should turn off our computer, change our passwords from another computer, and then run.”
“Run?”
“They know where we live.”
“So they’ll SWAT us or order some pizza to our house or some shit,” Mad Hatter said.
“It’s real crime shit, dummy. Real crime shit. These people have legit skills.”
“Oh god,” Kid Twist said.
“So you think they’re going to like send hitmen?”
“I think they thought maybe we were cops. They’ll figure out we aren’t. After that? Why not?”
“Let’s call the cops,” Hayes sa
id.
“You can do that,” Tick Tock said over the sound of furious typing, “I’m going to sleep at a friend’s place, then get all my money in cash and disappear. I’d advise you all to do the same.”
“You’re overreacting,” Mad Hatter said.
“Am I?” Tick Tock yelled. “Am I? Who the fuck has that kind of malware sitting around? This isn’t some RMT bullshit, they’d never need to go this far. This is real crime shit. This isn’t some high school weasel selling dime bags over Mundis—they wouldn’t be this organized. This is a serious organized group of criminals. Organized crime. Who knows? Cartels? Isis? Who knows? I don’t.”
“We shouldn’t lose contact,” Kid Twist said.
“I’ll buy a burner tomorrow, call you tomorrow. You’re still safe, they didn’t get you, so everyone, you can still communicate with him. But get new cell phones when you do it, who knows what these guys can do. They have your Mundis password. They have all the passwords stored on your computer. Bank accounts, email. Change it all, get as much cash as you can, and if you aren’t ready to run, at least watch your back. I’m going to go pack. Good luck,” Tick Tock said as she logged off.
“Fuck,” Mad Hatter said.
“Well,” Hayes said, “I guess I feel a little better that I’ve been getting my ass kicked by the Cali Cartel.”
“You won’t like it when they cut off your dick and jam it down your throat,” Mad Hatter said.
Hayes couldn’t think of anything to say while Kid Twist gagged into the mic.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Kid Twist pulled him aside into a quiet Marconi room.
“What’s your take on all this?” Kid Twist said.
“I’m losing my shit,” Hayes said. “I’m terrified. I’m just, like, a guy. If I end up buried somewhere, they aren’t going to send out search parties. ‘Loser disappears, presumed dead, only parents give a shit’ is how the papers will read.”
“You should lie low for a while.”
“Lie low? With what? I have forty bucks to my name until pay day. I guess that could keep me living out of my car for a few days.”
“I can help with money.”
“I can’t take your money.”
“You can, and you will. You can pay me back later. But the stakes are a bit too high, don’t you think, for playing this little game? You’ll take the money, and to be honest I don’t give a shit if you pay me back. Consider it a gift.”
“I couldn’t,” Hayes said, knowing that he could.
“Assassins may well be en route to your house,” Kid Twist said, in the tone of a man who was tired of having his ass kissed.
“Ok, fine, yes, thank you, I’ll take it, please give it to me now.”
“What’s your real name?”
“Why?”
“So I can Western Union you the money, fuckhead. I’m the last person you need to be worried about.”
“Western Union is still a thing?”
“Yes, it is. It’s also the easiest way to get you cash from India when your bank account is probably compromised. What town are you in?”
“West Memphis.”
“Where’s that?”
“Arkansas.”
“Where have I heard of that town before?”
“That documentary. Paradise Lost.” Hayes sighed. That was how everyone knew his town.
“Holy shit, you’re from there? Small world.”
“Yeah.”
“You know those guys?”
“I was a little kid. They were way older than me. That shit was like my OJ Simpson. No, I never really met them.”
“Weird. So, okay, we got locations ... that one is closed ... closed. There’s the Gold Strike Casino, which is really sad, but is open twenty-four hours. Can you get there?”
“Yes.”
“The money will be there when you arrive. Go. You have a pen?”
“Yes,” Hayes said, and jotted down Kid Twist’s cell phone number before loading a gym bag with clothes and getting in his 2003 Honda Civic, ragged and gray but mechanically solid.
The casino was a bit sad and desperate (Hayes always found casinos to be that way; and the old decrepit slots players that flocked to casinos unsettled him in ways he wasn’t comfortable admitting), but it had a Western Union location, as promised, and soon he had $2,999 in his hand. He stared at the money; it was more money than he’d had at one time ... since his student loans came in? It made him nervous, and he stuffed it in his pocket and left before anyone at the casino could get any ideas about RL ganking him for his gold.
As he drove to Wal-Mart he debated on whether he should lock the cash in the Civic and risk someone stealing it while he was inside, or carrying it with him and risking a pick pocket.
He decided that the Civic was good camouflage; nobody would think he was the kind of guy who just had $3000 sitting around. The lock on the glove box still worked, so most of the cash went in there, and he was soon in the back of the Wal-Mart, looking at pre-paid cell phones. He got a flip phone, the kind of thing that would have been a very respectable phone around 2002, and went back to his car.
Then he went back in to buy a pair of scissors, because there was no way he was getting the cell phone out of the box without a blade.
He got the phone open, and then realized he had no way to charge the thing, which lead to another trip for a cigarette lighter charger for the phone.
After his third trip, the phone sat in a cup holder, charging up. He used a prepaid card to put minutes on the phone, and finally, a sweaty and stressful hour later, he was texting Kid Twist.
Hayes: Got Phone. H.
KT: RGR. Mad Hatter is in Nevada. Tick Tock in Illinois, en route to Denver. Suggest you head to Denver and rally there. A friend has a mansion there. You can stay there.
Hayes: Mnsn?[113] KT: I have cool friends. I can get you a room at the Eagle Inn instead.
Hayes: No, its cool.
KT: Will be heading back to the states tomorrow. 20 hour flight. Plus time to make Denver. You can make it to Denver by then.
Hayes: Long drive.
KT: Long flight. Red Bull and your innate deserve to survive. Safety in numbers. Stay off grid. Will the money last?
Hayes: Can make 3g last two days.
That, Hayes thought, was the understatement of the year. How rich was Kid Twist anyway? Hayes had been expecting two hundred bucks and some good thoughts and here he was worrying a man couldn’t live off $3000 for a day or two.
KT: Sleep. Drive safe. If you want to purchase a gun, do it in Arkansas. Will be much harder if you leave the state.
Hayes: Really? Would u?
KT: I would, if I were you. Even if you can’t use it, it would at least be a factor for them to consider.
Hayes: Mybe. Thin k abut.
KT: Good luck.
I hope I won’t need it, Hayes thought as he put the Civic in reverse and glided out onto the dark rural roads of east Arkansas. He put the thought away of what could happen right under people’s noses (like what happened to those kids who were a year ahead of him and who he used to play foursquare with all the time),[114] and concentrated on making good time. It was late night rural highway driving, which meant he could damn near pick any speed he chose, but he kept it five over the limit—illegal enough to allay the “he must be hiding something” instinct but not illegal enough to merit a ticket. Cruise control on, his tires ate miles while he jammed out to Weezer.The sun was rising behind him, casting Sallisaw, Oklahoma, in bright lights and severe shadows. It was one of those small towns where all your needs were met on the two lane highway that served as Broadway: a guitar shop, then a pawn shop that was also a gun shop, a gas station. A treasured home to the residents; to Hayes, one of a dozen towns that would be forgotten within ten miles.
He cracked open a Red Bull and willed himself to keep driving past the Super 8 that beckoned like the Last Homely House. He almost made it, until his arms involuntarily jerked the car across the highway and into th
e parking lot of the hotel.
Sans credit card, but avec piteously bloodshot eyes and enough cash to leave a hefty deposit, he soon was swiping a key card into his room—a room remarkable only for its total mediocrity, but it was clean and the bed was there and so was the blanket and that was everything he wanted in the world. He slung the Do Not Disturb sign on the door handle and crawled into bed.
He woke at sunset, still exhausted.
He rolled over to his phone and texted Kid Twist.
Hayes: Passed out. In OK. Ul beat me 2 Denver.
Kid Twist: You’re the one being chased by criminals. You go as fast as you want. Greyhound is an option if you can’t hack road trips.
Hayes rolled his eyes and set out to find the local Waffle House.[115] He found it through some strange homing instinct; his phone was useless for directions. There he whiled away a few hours, sipping decaf coffee and getting his hash browns with cheese, chili, and onions, just as God had intended. His thoughts ran in strange circles; the enormity of his situation sat on him and he couldn’t stop thinking about it, but he couldn’t think anything productive about it. It was like a weight that had to be lifted, but he didn’t think he had the strength to do it. He felt alone and empty without Mundis or anyone to talk to.[116] He worried about the others; wondered who Kid Twist really was, since he was obviously way more successful than the average Mundis player, and fretted over the reality that he hadn’t done any of his daily quests and he probably wasn’t going to be able to get his arena points this week. He wished he’d thought to bring a book, but he hadn’t, and the Sequoyah County Times didn’t fend off the ennui for long. In the end he got tired enough to try to sleep again. He left a healthy tip,[117] went back to the Super 8, paid for another night, and slept, dreamless, until his alarm went off at 5:00 a.m. He was on the road, gas station hot dog in hand, by six.He glanced down at his key chain as something caught his eye—his authenticator was glowing blue, showing a numerical code. Someone was trying to get into his account. He fumbled with his hot dog, nearly dropping it. He put the hot dog back in the plastic case; he wasn’t hungry anymore.
He didn’t stop for anything besides food and gas until he rolled into Denver at 2 AM the next day. He texted Kid Twist for the address of this mansion and found a cheap hotel for the night.