Multiplayer

by John C. Brewer

  Hector, used the deep shadow beneath the concrete plant to work his way unseen toward where his friends were being held captive. The darkness, so frightening before, had become his friend. As he leapt over and swung silently past girders and heavy equipment, memories peppered Hector’s mind. Flashes of Omega Wars with Izaak doing what Hector was doing now. Thoughts of being up at the school with Chaz and Sabrah. Playing Omega Wars with his father. He had become Izaak. Or Izaak had become him. Maybe the difference wasn’t even that important anymore. The only thing that mattered now was getting to his friends before it was too late.

  As Hector drew closer to the parking lot, the screams of his friends grew louder and the growling interrogation reached him as well. “Where is the other one?” “Which one are you?” “Don’t you care that you are about to die?” Whoever was asking the questions wasn’t Mal-X, and Hector didn’t hear any answers. And each cry that followed was like a hook tearing out part of his soul, but he forced himself to go forward until he stood at the rear of one of the trucks, panting and steeling himself for the final challenge. The smell of diesel fuel and gear oil filled his nose and gravel crunched under his tennis shoes.

  Hector hefted the two-by-four. The end was a bit too fat for a good grip. But it was heavy and swung well. A two handed-grip worked best, his hands placed a few inches apart. He held his breath and listened intently for any sound other than the relentless questions, the thud, and the cries that followed. Nothing. No one was coming, and he couldn’t wait any longer.

  Creeping from one truck to the next, Hector drew closer until he was on the other side of the very truck from which they’d been pulled. But the cries had grown quieter. He had to act now. A quick glance under the truck showed his friends lying motionless on the ground and two terrorists standing over them. Which meant one was still out there. Probably looking for him.

  “Who knows of operation Scimitar? Answer me, infidel!”

  “I’m not an infidel,” groaned a voice. “And you’re not a Muslim.”

  That one was Sanjar, Hector realized.

  “I follow the seven pillars,” the terrorist growled in the darkness.

  “Does that include torturing kids, jerk-off?” came another voice.

  And that one was Deion.

  “Why don’t you ask Allah!” The terrorist raised the stick over his head and Hector leapt forward. As the stick came down, Hector blocked it with his club, sending it spinning into the darkness. Both terrorists froze in surprise and Hector used the moment to his advantage. He swung hard and hit the interrogator in the head. There was a crunching thud and a cry of pain. Hector turned instantly toward the other and cocked the club for another strike when there was a tremendous bang. At the same time, something rammed into his shoulder like a sledgehammer. The force spun him around and he spiraled down to the ground, suddenly breathless and staring into a dark sky with cement trucks crowded around. Pain seared into him, as he realized he’d been shot.

  “What’d you do that for?” moaned Sanjar, and Hector realized he was lying on top of his friend.

  “I don’t know,” Hector gasped, wracked with pain and a sudden, overpowering nausea, “but it hurt really bad.” He tried to roll off of Sanjar but couldn’t move. The momentary pain was gone, and his entire left side was numb.

  “Hector, you idiot!” groaned Deion from a few feet away. “You could have got away.”

  “I made the call,” Hector hissed. “They’re on the way.”

  “Somebody wants to be a hero!” laughed Mal-X, trotting into the circle of light. “Let me guess, Izaak Ersatz.” He leaned over Hector.

  “Mal-X!” Hector grunted, eyeing the pistol in Mal-X’s hand. “You can go to hell!” Even in the darkness, he could see the heavy beard, the pale skin, and the ice blue eyes peering like cold gems from the man’s face. It was the American-looking gravedigger.

  “I’m honored you remember me, but I am sorry to disappoint. It is you and your friends who will be visiting Hell. In just a few minutes, in fact.”

  “Why are you doing this?” Hector asked. “You’re an American.”

  “America!” Mal-X spat. “Do you have any idea what that word means outside the borders of this prison? Oppressor of the world. The whore who rapes the planet. The Great Satan.”

  Hector was about to fire back a litany of virtues when he realized just a few short hours ago he had been acting exactly like Mal-X. His lip was still swollen. “Just let it go, Mal-X” Hector muttered. “Whatever it is that has made you so angry, just let it go, man. Killing us, killing the President, it won’t make the hate go away.”

  “Hatred!” he screamed. “America must be punished for her sins. It isn’t hatred. It’s justice.”

  “Be done with it,” said one of the other men. “Before the police arrive.”

  “Soon enough!” snapped Mal-X, then focused his attention back on Hector. “They need to know why they are dying.”

  Hector blinked and the world swirled around him, but he forced himself to stay conscious. His shoulder was beginning to throb. He had to stay awake. “You can’t kill the President. Don’t you know what will happen?”

  “I am counting on what will happen,” sneered Mal-X. “America has murdered thousands in the name of freedom. But what it really seeks to do is exterminate Islam. Or worse, turn it into a woman’s religion. America must be stopped before it destroys everything.”

  “You’re wrong,” groaned Sanjar. “We are Muslims. And men. We worship in peace.”

  “Do you know –” Mal-X began.

  “If you’re going to kill us, just shut up and do it!” blurted Hector. “This is the worst monologue I’ve ever heard! Do it!”

  “By Allah,” Mal-X sneered, “you disrespectful American brats! I bet I can kill you both with one bullet, because you’re not worth two. Like you kids might say, prepare to be pwned.” He raised the gun and Hector knew it was the end. Despite all they’d tried to do, the terrorist attack would go forward and the world would be thrown into chaos. He wanted to cry, but he was suddenly so tired he almost didn’t care.

  “You will be dead before your finger moves,” called a voice from the darkness, and Mal-X froze.

  “Dad!” cried Sanjar.

  “Don’t move, son,” came Mr. Zahedi’s voice. Hector turned his head to see two figures at the edge of the light, maybe a dozen yards away. One of them held a rifle and the other was shrouded in darkness

  “Are you okay, Hector?” called another voice, from the darkness.

  “Pappous?” Hector answered.

  “How are the others?” Pappous called.

  “They’re back in the truck, but they’re okay. We’re –” Actually, he wasn’t at all certain he was going to be okay. He could feel himself slipping away. “Hurry!” he added.

  “Baabaa…” Sanjar moaned softly.

  “Fools! Don’t you see what I am doing?” cried Mal-X. “This is for you! For all of us!”

  “I escaped Persia to get away from men like you,” growled Mr. Zahedi. “People who were always trying to help me get closer to Allah. I will not hesitate to rid America of such vermin.”

  “Seventy-two virgins await the martyr,” said one of the other men. “Do you –”

  “My wife is all I need,” replied Mr. Zahedi. One of the men broke into a string of what had to be curses.

  For holy men, they sure seemed to swear a lot, Hector thought, as his vision turned into a collapsing tunnel of gray. Still, he could sense Mal-X tensing. “Pappous…” he heard himself cry. “Help me!” As his vision faded, Hector saw Mal-X lifting his pistol. He heard gunfire, and all faded to blackness.

  Ch. 36

  Hector sat nervously on the couch in the bonus room. His mouth was dry and his heart thudded slowly in his chest. Sabrah squeezed his hand and gave him a silent, encouraging smile. The platinum hair framed her face making him feel weak inside, and stronger at the same time. He could do this. He nodded and reached for the controller with his left hand wi
thout thinking, and his breath hitched as pain stabbed through his shoulder. His mother entered the room at that moment and caught his wince.

  “Hector Franklin West! You are not to be using that arm. Not until the doctor says the sling can come off. Do you understand me?” Hector sank back into the couch and nodded, wishing he could rub away the piercing ache in his shoulder, but he knew from experience that only made it worse. He’d been lucky the bullet hadn’t hit anything vital, but he still wasn’t supposed to use his arm for another two weeks. That had been okay for the first week, when it hurt too much to move it, but now … Sure it didn’t feel good, but he hated the confinement of the sling. So for the last two days, he’d been slipping, and his mother had some sort of radar and caught him every time. Of course, it may be that she was just watching him more closely, relieved he’d survived the drug dealers’ attack on Mr. Zahedi’s store, taking them all hostage in the Hummer, and worried that such violence had invaded their safe, quiet neighborhood. If she only knew the truth!

  “Hello, Sabrah. You look lovely today,” his mother added. Hector grinned, watching the girl next to him blush with pleasure. His mom was right, although he’d probably use the word cute instead of lovely, but both were true. And he suspected Sabrah had noticed that his mom only said that on days she was not wearing her Goth mask, which were becoming more frequent.

  “Thank you, Mrs. West,” Sabrah replied, leaning forward to grab the controller. “And I’ll keep an eye on Hector for you to make sure he keeps his arm still.”

  His mother thanked her and shook her head. “I’m still not sure about you playing Omega Wars, Hector. But I guess it isn’t as dangerous as being out on the streets anymore.”

  Hector turned and looked his mother in the eye. “I know it’s just a game, Mom,” he said to assure her. His tone said the rest. He was better now. When he awoke in the hospital, it was like coming out of a long, dazed nightmare. One where he couldn’t stop himself from making the same mistakes over and over and over. Blinded by anger and fear and hatred to the world right in front of his nose. But now that had passed – or mostly so. The hole his father’s death left in his life still gaped open, sometimes threatening to swallow him, but the consuming anger was gone.

  “I’m going to the store,” his mother said. “Pappous is here if you need anything.”

  “Mom?” Hector called as she turned to leave. There was something he’d been thinking about.

  She spun around, her dark curls bounding about her round face. “Yes?”

  He swallowed hard. “Fatima never got that leg did she? The one we sent.”

  His mother froze and her rich olive complexion very nearly turned pale. “No, Hector. She didn’t.”

  A billion thoughts spun through his head. “I bet she’d like to walk again. Do you know how to get in touch with her?”

  Tears flooded his mother’s eyes. She nodded quickly and blurted a shaky, “Yes,” before running out.

  “What’s her problem?” Hector said, and turned to see Sabrah staring at him with the same doe-eyed expression. “What?”

  She leaned forward suddenly and kissed him on the cheek. “That was very sweet, Hector.” He felt his face flush and Sabrah quickly stuck a controller in his hands. “Are you ready?”

  “Not yet,” he answered still stunned, his cheek tingling. His whole body abuzz. “My grandfather will come through that door in about fifteen seconds.”

  “Are you sure you aren’t just stalling?” asked Sabrah.

  Hector rubbed his cheek and smiled. “They hover these days to make sure I’m okay. Mom probably told him to come up,” Hector explained, leaving out the other reason – him being in an upstairs room with a girl.

  And sure enough, Pappous appeared with a grin almost to the second of when Hector said he would. He settled himself onto the couch, his eyes twinkling. “Why hello, Sabrah. And how is one of my favorite young people today?” he asked jovially. Sabrah’s face lit up. Hector watched the two of them as they discussed the details of her day, even things that were none of Pappous’s business, like the fact that she only got ninety-two percent on the algebra test. Only a ninety-two? Hector took the test yesterday, three days after the rest of the class, to give him time to catch up after being in the hospital for two days, but he’d gotten his back today as well. An eighty-three. Still, it was improvement.

  “Pappous patted Sabrah’s knee encouragingly. “You’ve had much on your mind this week,” he told her. “And much that is more important than algebra. Do not worry about one test.”

  They continued to talk and after a few minutes, Sabrah paused and glanced at Hector before turning back to the old man. “Hector told me what happened last week,” she said. “I mean, I was there in Omega Wars, but I think I must have passed out or something. He told me what happened after that.”

  “Did he?” Pappous said curiously. “He was told by some very important people to tell no one,” the old man began in a serious tone, then a smile broke on his face, “but I agree it is appropriate that you know.”

  “I was just wondering,” Sabrah began, but hesitated as if she was about to ask something very personal. “Um, do you and Mr. Zahedi always drive around with guns?”

  Hector smirked. “They’re superheroes, didn’t you know? SpartaMan and the Muslim Avenger!”

  “I like the names,” Pappous laughed. “But no, we don’t. Though we do believe in being prepared.”

  “And how did you find them?” questioned Sabrah.

  Pappous snorted. “Something with Sanjar’s cell phone. I have no idea how it works. Steve is the rocket scientist.”

  “Keeping an eye on us,” Hector joked conspiratorially. “The next thing I know, you’ll be playing Omega Wars to keep an eye on all of us!”

  Sabrah’s eyes widened in surprise and her mouth began to fall open, but Hector’s grandfather gave a hearty laugh and winked at her. “I could see me trying to work a controller with these old paws.” He held up his grizzled hands.

  Hector grinned. “If I ever run into you in Omega, I’m going to take you down, old man.”

  Sabrah’s eyes shone. “You and what army, Hector?”

  Pappous just laughed. “So are you going to play now?”

  “In a bit,” Hector told him, turning to the TV to avoid his grandfather’s prying eyes. “But there is something we … something I have to do first to get ready.”

  “Ah. Yes. It is important to play a game with the right equipment and players beside you.” With that, Pappous rose. “I will be downstairs if you need me.”

  The right equipment and players? Sometimes Pappous sounded like he knew more about video games than he let on. But still, something clicked in his head. He wasn’t ready. He didn’t have the right people.

  “Come on,” he said to Sabrah as he rose and limped across the room. The gash in his leg was healing well, but still got stiff when he sat for very long.

  Sabrah sprang up after him. “What? Where are we going?”

  “You’ll see. And I think it will make sense to you.”

  Ω

  Three newbs stood in Hector’s lair: characters created for this purpose, since their regular ones were still in Alanya and currently had no way to get back. In front of them, a vanguard stood in a cryo chamber, unaware of its visitors. Forever unaware, because it, like Chaz’s body in the coffin, no longer had a soul. An empty shell for a player who would never log on. Hector studied the name on the front of the tube. C0L0N3L W35T.

  “I do not think I should be here,” a voice said quietly beside Hector.

  Hector was unable to take his eyes off his father’s vanguard, remembering every moment he had with the real person who used to control it. Everything from climbing on ruins in Turkey to chasing butterflies. Riding motorcycles in the mountains of North Carolina to multiplayer in Omega Wars. Hector had never really accepted that his father was dead. Somehow, he thought avenging him would bring his dad back and they’d have more adventures, as if nothing had ever
happened. He hadn’t understood the finality of death. And that’s why C0L0N3L W35T was still here. And Sabrah was right – that’s why he needed to go. C0L0N3L W35T would never rise again. Just like Colonel West.

  He inhaled deeply, taking in the rich scent of Middle Eastern spices wafting from the kitchen of Sanjar’s house. It reminded him of Turkey. Of Alanya. Of the last time he’d seen his dad. This was the right thing to do.

  He turned to the smaller, darker boy standing beside him. Standing, just as their characters were on the giant plasma screen. “No, Sanjar. I want you here. My father died…” Hector paused as a lump rose in his throat, but he pushed it down and continued. “He died trying to help good people. People like your family, but who are still over there. I am sorry for everything I did. For being such a jerk – more than a jerk – to you. I was …”

  “You have apologized enough,” Sanjar interrupted, cutting off the apology Hector had made more than once a day for the past week.

  “You should hate my guts.”

  Sanjar gave a short, good-natured laugh. “Actually, were it not for your guts getting in the way of that bullet, I would be dead instead of just this and some scratches,” he said, holding up the full cast on his right arm. “So in fact, I love your guts. I would rather remember that, than what came before. So please, do not mention it again. And I am honored that you would ask me to do this with you.”

  Hector turned back to the screen. He highlighted the name C0L0N3L W35T, chose DELETE from the pop-up menu, and stood with his thumb hovering over the button on his controller. He heard Sabrah inhale beside him. It was amazing how real this all felt. Sanjar said something Hector didn’t understand – a Muslim blessing – that he then translated as “the Good do not die, but become moved from this temporary world to that of eternal existence.” He then bowed his head in respect.

  Hector’s thumb hovered for another moment, until Hector closed his eyes and brought it down on the button. He felt sick, but this wasn’t real. He’d already lost his dad, and the image in the cryo tube wasn’t him. He opened his eyes and C0L0N5L W35T was gone. A lump formed in Hector’s throat. He’d hoped it would feel as if a weight had been lifted. It didn’t. He sank, weak kneed onto the couch.