“I’m so glad to see you,” I tell him.
He sighs and gives me half a smile. “There’s a couple other things you should know, Jess.”
“What?”
“This happening the way it did busted open an on-going investigation that we’ve been conducting for a while. NCD has been sweeping through towns and cities all over New Merica, thousands of arrests. Some, even, of people close to you.”
“Who?”
There’s a shout and Eric turns to the side.
“I’ll explain when I get there. I have to go. Twenty minutes. And Jess… I’m glad you’re all right.”
Then the screen goes black and he’s gone.
I’ve wandered quite a distance from Kelly and Reggie and now find myself near the gate. I’m startled to find that a small group of Players is standing there. They’re silent as night, their dead, black eyes staring blindly in at me. The sun is setting behind them, a large orange ball of fire, and it makes them look like plastic cutout shapes. I count at least ten of them.
“Sister Jane?” I call, trying to be as quiet as I can.
She’d gone off to gather more of the plants to make more poultice for when Kelly wakes. Brother Walter and Micah aren’t anywhere in sight.
The Players moan at the sound of my voice and grow restless. This lasts only a couple seconds before they settle down again.
Something shiny flashes in one of the Player’s hands, and for a moment I think it’s a knife. I can’t really see what it is from this distance, not with the sun behind them. But as I draw closer, I realize it’s too small to be a knife. It fits entirely within the Player’s fist, only one corner showing. Curious, I walk closer.
The hill is quiet, just the late afternoon wind and the early evening bugs. There’s no hum of electricity; the current is still off. Thankfully, the gate is closed and latched. I supposed if they’d wanted to, they could’ve opened it and come in. If their Operators wanted them to. If Arc wanted them to. But they just wait. They seem almost… embarrassed.
I stop a good four or five feet away from them, well out of their reach should the fence suddenly disappear. A faint musky, synthetic smell wafts off of them. Their clothes are thick denim. They’re dressed just like the one Micah and I had encountered down in the parking lot. Like the ones we’d found scattered about here when we first arrived, their necks snapped by Matthew and Nicholas. Players. They all carry battle wounds, some crusted over with a thick, granular substance that reminds me of brown sugar, some weeping a yellowish amber-like fluid. This is what I smell, their wounds.
I’m not sure how long I stand there, staring, inspecting them while they let me. I don’t recognize any of them from the show. But then again, I was never much of a fan of Survivalist. How many Players are there in this place, I wonder. Hundreds? Thousands?
More likely tens of thousands.
“Why are you standing way over here?” I ask them, speaking barely above a whisper. “What do you want? Do I let you in?”
They look like they’re guarding us.
The closest ones shuffle their feet and moan at the sound of my voice. The rest follow suit, like a ripple spreading across the surface of a lake. But then they grow silent and still.
How does the control thing work? I wonder. Is there some sort of delay?
I wave my hand in front of one of them.
It lurches forward and I pull back with a yelp, my heart yammering in my ears. But it freezes after half a step. Then it slowly pulls back, like a toy resetting.
I move over to another and repeat the wave. This one manages to complete the step and begin another before it pulls back. It’s slower than the first.
Now I notice other differences. The second one has more wounds, even though it appears to be more freshly reanimated. Does that mean its Operator is slower? Is its L.I.N.C. connection to The Game not as fast? Or is it slower because it was slower when it was alive?
Perhaps unsurprisingly, none of them looks old enough to have reached its life expectancy. They were probably murders in life and were sentenced to early LSC.
The last one in the front row has only one visible wound, an inch-long flap of muscle hanging from its left cheek. This one is muscular and still has most of its hair. I wave my hand in front of its nose. It barely flinches. The connection between it and the Operator must be very strong and very fast.
I’ve been watching that new Player. Tanya’s voice, from the bus ride back from Hartford. The day I’d gone to Citizen Registration to report my Link missing and to get a temporary replacement. What a hunk. I bet he was a hottie when he was still alive. People say he’s going to outlast any Player that ever played The Game. There’s a rumor he was a Volunteer.
Standing four feet away from them, I can say with every assurance, if they’re not murderers, then they’re Volunteers.
“How much did they pay you?” I ask it. I can feel my bitterness rising up inside of me, my anger. What happened to that money? Did it go to pay for some poor child’s hospital bills? Did this Player have children it left behind?
How could anyone just leave their family like that?
“They’ve left for much less,” I whisper.
Now I look deeper into its eyes, past the point of fear, deep inside to where I know there’s someone living looking back out at me. “How much did you pay for him?” I ask. “Two million? Three?”
The Player doesn’t move. It doesn’t answer. It just stands there staring. I imagine the Operator sitting there in his or her cybernetic setup, looking at me, amused, curious, like I’m some kind of exotic bug. Maybe even tempted to let go of the controls. For just a second. To scare me. See what I’ll do. To show me that it’s better than I am because he’s richer and I’m nothing.
“How much!” I scream at it, suddenly furious. “How much did you pay!”
My voice slams off the buildings behind me and sweeps back. The Players all step forward as one, all open their mouths and moan, and for just a moment they are nothing more than IUs, uncontrolled, driven only by that instinctive hunger. They attack the fence, their fingers reaching through, as if they could separate themselves from the bodies that are too large to squeeze through. Reaching, straining, wanting to tear into my flesh. I hold my ground and abruptly they draw back again and are quiet.
“What the hell are you doing?” Reggie hisses into my ear, startling me. He appears at my side, grabbing my arm, pulling me away.
But then I see the shiny object I’d noticed earlier in the player’s hand. It had dropped it when I yelled. Now I can see what it is. Cautiously, I bend down and reach my hand through.
“Jessie, get the hell away from there.” Reggie tries to pull me away again, but I resist.
The Players don’t attack. My fingers close over the object. I pull it in. I see the message Ben left for me on it, but that’s not why I try to hide it from Reggie. He reaches over and gently pries opens my fingers, because he knows. He saw what it was. He knows it’s Ashley’s Link. He’s seen the blood on it.
His hand closes over it and he clutches it to his chest and falls to his knees. “Ah God,” he cries. “Oh God, Ashley! ASHLEY!”
And on the other side of the fence, the Players raise their voices and sing along their moaning death song. But their despair is not like Reggie’s. They cry out of hunger. They have fed, but they are hungry still.
Reggie weeps and the sun goes down and the sky begins to bruise. And suddenly the world is a very small place. But all I see before me, all I know, is those words Ben left for me to find on Ashley’s Link. They crowd the world and fill every corner, every niche:
<< READY FOR PART 2? >>
‡ ‡
[END OF EPISODE SEVEN]
Episode 8
Jacker’s Code
PART ONE
Hellos and Goodbyes
Chapter 1
Two weeks. That’s how long it’s been. Two weeks since our lives got flipped upside down and the shit shook out of them.
It was two weeks ago today that we drove down to lower Manhattan in Micah’s old beat up Ford to check whether we could even find the opening to the Midtown tunnel. Two weeks ago we were standing at the railing, looking down and trying to see beneath the reflective surface of the water, wondering what thrills might be waiting for us.
Two weeks since Micah pushed Kelly in and he got sucked down and swept up in the current.
Shirt caught inside the tunnel. Almost drowned.
This is no place for young folks like you to be. This from the NCD officer who had threatened to bust us. He’d thought we were looking for a place to make out. You should be at home enjoying the summer break. Like we were just another gang of typical teenagers.
If only that were true. If only we’d listened.
I remember sitting in the car on Kelly’s lap, passing the Teterboro Airport, the sunlight glinting off the swampy water surrounding the hangars. The old buildings had reminded me of giant eggs ready to hatch.
And the Meadowlands, sinking away into a mosaic of green and silver.
The impossible blue of the sky.
Looking down from the elevated portion of I-95 into Central Park and Reggie howling out the window like a dog at the moon. Us laughing. Me and Kelly kissing and Ashley telling us to get a room. Ashley with her red hair. Oh God, we were all so happy.
Memories. Echoes of memories. Haunting whispers of a happiness that was all a lie.
Two weeks ago from tomorrow is when we would have gone out to the reservoir, too excited to really pay much heed to Jake as he tried to teach us how to use the rebreather systems he’d ‘borrowed’ from his uncle’s store. The tension in the group—between the three of us—Kelly making fun of everything Jake had said. The kid was trying so hard to fit in.
Two weeks ago he was just a boy. A boy with a boy’s crush and a boyish desire to be a part of our little ‘grown-up’ group. Two weeks ago he was alive.
Now he’s turned into some kind of a monster—half alive or half dead. Or maybe something in-between. I don’t know. I honestly don’t know. Where could he have gotten to? Why would he run away if he was a zombie? Why would he hide?
Not typical behavior.
Kelly and I had gotten into a fight that morning. I can’t even remember the details anymore. I don’t want to remember them. Such minor, insignificant details. Not worth remembering at all.
He was too buoyant in the water, I remember that. Not enough weight on his belt and having trouble diving down. And Ashley kept forgetting to breathe only through her mouth. Losing her air. We should’ve stopped then. We should have stopped after she panicked the first time. Or after she panicked the second time. She’d almost drowned inside that abandoned shell of a building, down in that barren elevator shaft, the darkness pierced by the feeble beams of our flashlights. We’d thought that was scary.
We should have stopped. We had every opportunity to.
We had no right to continue.
Everything had happened so quickly. The planning and break in, the narrow escape coming back, Jake getting left behind and Kelly’s going back without the rest of us. To be a hero. SSC kidnapping us. By then it was too late. We were in way too deep by then.
And now Ashley is…what? Seriously hurt? Dead? She’s out there somewhere in the woods. Terrified. I don’t want to think about her like that. Tough on the outside, soft as marshmallow inside. The only way she’s not scared now is if Ben killed her. I don’t want to think about what she is now.
God, we think we’re immortal. We keep pushing forward thinking there’s no way it will ever end. Two near-fatal accidents before we even set foot here on the island. No, three. The attack in the tunnel. Stupid! We’re not immortal.
We die. We come back.
That doesn’t make us immortal.
Stop it!
That’s what we have to do: Stop. How can we go looking for her now? We keep saying it’s worth the risk, but when does it stop being worth it? Eric’s coming with a helicopter. To save us. From ourselves. It’s not worth it. She’s dead. It’s time to cut our losses and go home.
The late afternoon sun is trying hard to ignite the tops of the trees. Shadows are growing long, stretching their eager fingers toward us like midnight monsters ready to clutch at us. They pull the darkness from the woods, drawing it out with the Undead. Shadows come with the twilight. Twilight beckons night.
I check the time on my Link. Six thirty. Sunset won’t be for another two and half hours. Eric will come, and then we’ll be long gone from here.
Brookhaven first. We need to find Heall. Then…
What?
I don’t know.
I don’t know.
What will they do with Micah? I still can’t figure out why he contacted Arc, why he arranged to save us. Change of heart? What are his true intentions?
Olly olly oxen free, I think. It’s time to show them, Micah.
Will he try to run?
“We need to tie him up.”
My voice is a frog’s croak, hoarse, phlegmy from fighting this infection.
“Reg?”
He’s no longer openly sobbing. He kneels there with Ashley’s bloody Link in his hands and his hands between his knees, head bowed. Like he’s praying. His head and shoulders jerk with every hitching breath.
The Players outside the fence haven’t settled down just yet. They continue to howl and rattle the gate. Uncontrolled? Or just teasing us?
Damn Operators. Stupid rich pricks.
“Come on, Reg. We need to get away from the fence.”
I check to make sure the gate is latched. I flip the cover on the panel and wait, as if I could force myself to glean the code just by staring at the keypad. Need to turn on the current, stay safe. No mistakes before the chopper comes.
But the numbers don’t come to me. Jake knew them. Somehow. I don’t know how he did, but he did. The brothers knew the code. Maybe Sister Jane or Brother Walter knows.
I turn back to the Players and I wonder why they haven’t tried to come in yet.
They’re Ben’s.
Yes, Ben’s controlling them somehow. His Players.
First you got to get past the zombies.
That’s what he’d said. Well, we did that.
Then you got to get out of there. And that ain’t goin to be so easy.
No, I guess it won’t be. But it’s just a few CUs. Ten, maybe. They keep moving. Still, nothing we can’t handle. It won’t be easy, but we can do it.
Then you got to find me. That’ll be impossible.
Impossible now that we can’t use Ashley’s Link to track him.
I lay a hand on Reggie’s shoulder, brush my fingers over his neck. He doesn’t respond. He acts like he doesn’t even know I’m there. He’s lost, trapped inside his grief.
“Come on, big guy. Time to go.” I grab a handful of shirt and pull, and pain flashes in my side, ripping, arcing down my leg. The salve that Sister Jane put on me is wearing off. I’m beginning to feel a little feverish again. It’s probably just my exhaustion setting in again. I need to eat, but I’m not hungry.
Not even for brains?
I tell the noise in my head to shut up, but it laughs at me and won’t leave me be.
Why don’t zombies eat cheese with their fingers?
Shut up.
Because fingers go better with brain.
“Reggie, come on. Time to go.”
Get it? Brain?
“What does it matter now?” he moans.
I’ve got a million of them. Zombie zingers! Why did the IU go to the doc—
“Enough already!” I scream. I let go of Reggie’s shirt and throw my hands over my ears, as if I can block the voice inside my head. It doesn’t work.
Reggie looks up, startled. The tears on his cheeks glisten and he lets the Link drop from his limp fingers and he moans. It’s such a desolate sound that it breaks my heart. “She’s gone, Jessie,” he says. “I—I feel it. She’s dead.”
“Do
n’t say that.”
“No, I know. She’s dead. I can feel it. It’s time to go home.”
Chapter 2
The voice inside my head actually shuts up for a second, stunned into silence by Reggie’s surprise declaration. I hadn’t expected him to give up so easily.
“Do you hear me, Jessie? She’s dead.”
“You don’t know that, Reg.”
He doesn’t want her to be dead, dummy. He’s shutting down. It’s better than thinking of her as Undead.
He snoggers and wipes the tears from his face, composing himself. “We got company.”
I turn and see Micah loping across the field toward us, and my anger bubbles up again. I push it back down.
“What the hell are you guys doing out here?” he asks when he reaches us. “I went looking for you and—”
“How’s Kelly?” I demand, cutting him off. “Is he awake yet?”
He blinks, his eyes bouncing between us and the CUs standing outside the fence. “I—I don’t know. I haven’t seen him since you came up. What are you doing here? Why are they there?”
“They’re old friends of yours,” I snap.
“What?”
“Don’t bullshit me, Micah. You know what these things are doing here. Your buddy sent them. I don’t know how he’s controlling them, but he is.”
“My buddy?”
“Ben. Remember? Your friend from the SSC?”
“What are you talking…?” He tries to act confused, but he’s tired and he can’t control what his face does. It begins to twist. I see something flicker across it—realization, anger, impatience. Something. “You’ve got it wrong, Jess.”
“He took Ashley with him to find Father Heall, Micah.” I bend down and pluck the Link from the grass at Reggie’s feet and hurl it at him.
S.W. Tanpepper's GAMELAND, Season One Omnibus Page 102