by James Frey
“You’re not, though, even though you’re trying to be.”
“Thank you,” he replies, unable to stop himself from smiling, the diamonds in his teeth flashing. He decides to throw her a crumb. If she takes it, they will both know. He’s not sure that it’s a smart play, but he knows one must take risks to win Endgame. Enemies are a given. Friends are not. Why not take advantage of an early chance encounter and find out which this beautiful American will be?
“So, Sarah from Omaha who is here on vacation, while you’re in Xi’an do you want to visit the Big Wild Goose Pagoda with me?”
Before she can answer, a white flash comes from outside. The train lurches and brakes. The lights flicker and go out. A loud sound like a vibrating string comes from the other side of the dining car. Jago’s eyes are momentarily drawn to the faint blip-blip of a red light from under a table. He looks back to the window when the light outside intensifies. He and Sarah both stand and move toward it. In the distance, a bright streak runs across the sky, going east to west. It looks like a shooting star, but it’s too low, and its trajectory is as straight as a razor’s edge. Jago and Sarah both stare, transfixed, as the streak speeds against the darkness of the Chinese night. At the last minute, before it passes from view, the streak suddenly changes direction and moves in an 88-degree angle north to south, disappearing over the horizon. They pull back from the window and the lights come back and the train starts to accelerate. The other people in the dining car are talking urgently, but none seem to have noticed the thing outside.
Jago stands. “Come with me.”
“Where?”
“Come with me if you want to live.”
“What are you talking about?”
He holds out his hand. “Now.”
She stands and follows him but makes a point of not taking his hand. As they walk he says, “If I told you I’m the Player of the 21st line, would that mean anything to you?”
“I would tell you I’m the Player of the 233rd.”
“Truce, at least for now?”
“Yes, for now.”
They reach the table where Jago saw the blinking red light. The Chinese couple is sitting at it. They stop talking and look at the two foreigners quizzically. Jago and Sarah ignore the couple, and Jago kneels and Sarah bends to look over his shoulder. Bolted to the wall under the table is a black metal box with a small, faintly blinking red LED in the middle. Above the LED is the character . In the corner of the black box is a digital display. It reads AA:AA:AQ. A second later AA:AA:AP. Another second, AA:AA:AO.
“Is that what I think it is?” Sarah asks, taking a step back.
“I’m not willing to wait around to find out,” Jago says.
“Me neither.”
“Let’s get your bag.”
They head back to the table and Jago grabs the backpack. They move to the rear of the car and open the door, step into the space between cars.
If the letters are seconds, they have 11 left.
Sarah pulls the emergency brake.
It doesn’t work.
The moving landscape is there. Waiting for them.
“Go,” Jago says, stepping aside.
Eight seconds.
She doesn’t hesitate, jumps.
Seven seconds.
He hugs the backpack, hoping it will soften his landing, jumps.
It hurts when he lands, but he’s been trained to ignore pain. He rolls down a gravel embankment and into the dirt, takes a mouthful of grass, scratches his face and hands. He can’t be sure, but he thinks he’s dislocated his right shoulder.
Three seconds.
He stops rolling.
Two seconds.
She’s a few yards away, already standing, as if she somehow landed unhurt. “You all right?” she asks.
One second.
The train is past them.
“Yes,” he says, wondering if she can tell he’s lying.
Zero seconds.
She crouches next to him, waiting for the train to explode.
Nothing happens.
The stars are out.
They stare.
Wait.
Jago looks in the sky above the train and sees Leo and Cancer above the western horizon.
“Maybe we overreacted—” Sarah starts to say, just as the dining car lights up and the windows blow out. The entire car is lifted 50 feet or more into the air amidst a cloud of orange fire. The force ripples through the train. The aft cars crumple, momentum piling them into a screeching and jumbled pile. The forward cars are obscured by the blast and the darkness, but Jago can make out the lights of the engine as it’s twisted off the rails. The sound of grating metal tears through the night, and another, smaller, explosion goes off toward the front of the train. There is a brief moment of silence, just before the screaming starts.
“Mierda,” Jago says breathlessly.
“I guess we’re going to have to get used to things like that, aren’t we?”
“Yes.” Jago winces.
“What is it?”
“My shoulder.”
“Let me see.”
Jago turns to Sarah. His right arm is hanging low in his shirt.
“Can you move your fingers?”
He can.
“Your wrist?”
He can.
“Good.”
She gingerly takes his arm with both hands and lifts it a little. The pain shoots over his shoulder and down his back, but he doesn’t say anything. He has been through far worse.
“Dislocated. I don’t think it’s too bad,” she says.
“You don’t think, or you don’t know?”
“I don’t think. I’ve only set one of these before. For my brother,” she says quietly.
“Can you put it back?”
“Of course, Feo. I’m a Player,” she says, trying not to sound like she’s convincing herself. “I can do all sorts of wonderful things.” She lifts it again. “It’s gonna hurt, though.”
“I don’t care.”
Sarah pulls, twists, and pushes the arm, and it pops into place. Jago breathes deeply through his teeth, testing out his arm. It works.
“Thank you, Sarah.”
The screaming is louder.
“You’d have done the same for me.”
Jago smiles. For some reason, he thinks of the people who came to see his parents after the meteor struck Juliaca. There are some debts that must be honored.
“No, I wouldn’t have,” he says. “But I will now.”
Sarah stands, looks toward the wreckage. “We need to get out of here. Before the government gets here, before they start asking questions.”
“You think it was meant for one of us?” Jago asks.
“It had to be. This is Endgame,” she says, reaching out her hand, offering it. “My name is Sarah Alopay. I’m the Cahokian.”
He takes her hand, and it lights him up, feels as if it belongs in his, as if it’s something he’s been waiting for. It also scares him, because he knows these feelings can be dangerous, can make him vulnerable, especially with someone who has the skills he suspects she has. For now, though, he’ll allow himself to feel it, to love it.
“I’m Jago Tlaloc. The Olmec.”
“Nice to meet you, Jago Tlaloc. Thank you for saving my life. I owe you one.”
Jago looks up to the cloudless sky, remembering the streak of light that passed overhead, that short-circuited the train’s power long enough for him to see the blinking light of the detonator. He’ll take credit for saving Sarah, sure. It’s good to have another Player in his debt. But he knows the truth: that streak across the sky was a warning. A warning from Them, making sure that they would live until at least the Calling.
“Don’t mention it,” he says.
Without another word Sarah puts her backpack on and starts to run into the darkness. She’s fast, strong, graceful. He smiles as he watches her braid sway back and forth.
He has a new friend.
The beautiful
Player of the 233rd.
A new friend.
Maybe more.
43.98007, 18.179324xlv
CHRISTOPHER VANDERKAMP
Air China Flight 9466, Seat 35E
Depart: San Francisco
Arrive: Beijing
Christopher’s father is a beef farmer in the western prairie. A very successful beef farmer. At last count more than 75,000 head of cattle.
Christopher said good-bye to Sarah. He didn’t want to, but he did. He stood with Sarah’s family and watched her go through security. He stayed at the airport until her flight had departed.
He let her go.
He’s not used to letting things go.
And he’s never had to let anything go before.
Christopher was the starting quarterback of the football team. He is a great athlete. He was recruited to Nebraska in the fall to play football. He accepted, but he asked if they could give the scholarship to someone else. Someone who needed it.
On the field he never spent more than five counts in the pocket. He is decisive, has an arm like a cannon, legs like a thoroughbred, a heart like a lion. He is physically superior to most kids his age and to almost everyone he’s ever met.
Christopher is in love. In love with Sarah Alopay. In love with a Player of Endgame. All anyone can do is talk about the meteor, the school, the deaths, the disappearance of Sarah. What it all means. They don’t know, have no idea, couldn’t even begin to imagine the truth about what happened.
But Christopher knows—even if he still thinks it’s bullshit.
He’s 18 years old. Free. He has a passport. He has been to Europe, South America, and Asia. He has traveled on his own before.
Christopher is a fighter. His younger brother, John, has Down syndrome. Kids used to pick on him in grade school. They made fun of him and mocked him. Christopher took care of those kids, and John didn’t get picked on anymore.
Christopher is rich.
Decisive.
Fast.
Strong.
And Christopher is in love.
Christopher knows where she is going, the number of her satellite phone, about Endgame.
Christopher likes games.
He has spent most of his life winning games.
He believes he can win anything.
He realizes he lied to the girl he loves. He is not going to sit this one out. He is not going to wait.
Two days after Sarah leaves, Christopher leaves as well.
He is going to find her.
Help her.
They’re going to win.
Together.
The earthquake occurred near Huaxian, Shaanxi (formerly Shensi), China, about 50 miles (80 km) east-northeast of Xi’an, the capital of Shaanxi. Damage extended as far away as Taiyuan, the capital of Shanxi (formerly Shansi) and about 270 miles (430 km) northeast of the epicenter. There were felt reports as far away as Liuyang in Hunan, more than 500 miles (800 km) away. Geological effects reported with this earthquake included ground fissures, uplift, subsidence, sand blows, liquefaction, and landslides. Most towns in the damage area reported collapsed city walls, most to all houses collapsed, and many of the towns reported ground fissures with water gushing out (i.e., liquefaction and sand blows). Gu, et. al. says that “the identified death toll of soldiers and civilians was 830,000, and the unidentified was uncountable.” The earthquake was felt in all or parts of ninexlvi provinces: Anhui, Gansu, Hebei, Hubei, Henan, Hunan, Shaanxi, Shandong, and Shanxi.
CHIYOKO TAKEDA
Big Wild Goose Pagoda, Xi’an, China
Before the meteorite there were two Wild Goose Pagodas in Xi’an. One called Small and the other called Big.
Now there is one.
The Big Wild Goose Pagoda.
Chiyoko visits it on the morning of June 20.
There are tourists from everywhere, but mostly tourists from China. It’s a massive country in every conceivable way. Japan is crowded, but China takes crowds to another level. Ever since she arrived, Chiyoko feels as if China is all there is to the world, that there is nothing more. No ice caps, no Empire State Buildings, no Parthenons, no sprawling boreal forests, no Meccas, no Kremlins, no pyramids, no Golden Temples, no Angkor Wats, no Stonehenges.
No Endgame.
Just China.
Chiyoko sits on a bench. The Big Wild Goose Pagoda is surrounded by a scenic park. Chiyoko reads her guidebook and looks at pictures. The Small Wild Goose Pagoda had soft lines and a rounded taper. It was, before the meteorite, 141 feet tall. It was constructed around 708 CE and had been periodically reconstructed over the centuries. It suffered some earthquake damage in 1556 that, until its recent destruction, had remained unrepaired.
The Big Wild Goose Pagoda—the survivor towering before her—is harsher and more fortresslike. Its taper is fixed by a number—Chiyoko estimates that each successive floor is around 0.8 times smaller than the preceding floor. It is 210 feet tall. It was constructed in 652 CE and repaired in 704. The same 1556 earthquake damaged it extensively, causing it to lean to the west at 3.4°.
In less than 48 hours she will sneak into the Big Wild Goose Pagoda and find whatever it is that is waiting for her.
What is waiting for all the Players of Endgame.
Chiyoko watches the crowd of tourists. She nibbles on spicy rice crackers from a little white paper bag. She is convinced that other Players are here now, doing the same thing she is. Scattered among the Chinese throng are foreigners, and every one intrigues her.
Especially the young ones.
The African boy with the lollipop.
The Southeast Asian girl decked out in Hello Kitty gear.
The pale white girl with flame-red hair and skull-shaped headphones.
The brooding Indian boy in the cornflower-blue shirt.
The Central Asian girl smoking a thin cigarette as she swipes her thumb across the screen of her iPhone.
The squat blond girl wearing tight white jeans and leather Birkenstocks.
The sinewy pockmarked boy with the scar on his face.
Surely they are not all Players, but some are, some definitely are.
Chiyoko stands, walks toward the tower. She is determined to remain alone throughout Endgame. Any alliances she makes will be temporary and opportunistic. She finds friendships to be burdensome, so why bother with any in the crucible that is about to consume them? Nor will she strive to make enemies. These are even more annoying than friends. No, her plan is simply to follow for as long as she can. She will use her best skills and attributes—silence, furtiveness, ordinariness—to her advantage.
She walks to the pagoda. She is so unobtrusive and quiet that the guards don’t notice her, don’t ask for her ticket.
She moves inside. It is cooler there. The sounds are clearer. If there weren’t so many people inside, she would like it. There is so much noise in China. Very few understand the value of silence like Chiyoko.
She makes her way to the stairs, moving without any sound.
I must choose wisely, she thinks. She must pick the Player or Players she believes has the best early chance. Then she will shadow and track that Player. When they are not looking, she will take whatever it is she wants or needs and move on.
She makes her way up, up, up. She reaches the top of the Big Wild Goose Pagoda. There is a small door at the back of the room. She makes her way to it, casually inspects it. Etched into its wood, in very small markings, is the word ROBO.
As far as ciphers go, it is child’s play. But since it is recognizable as an English word fragment, it goes unnoticed.
Chiyoko notices, though.
Chiyoko understands.
And the others will too, if they haven’t already.
She turns from the door and goes to the western window. She peers out over the sprawl of Xi’an. There is the crater, where the other pagoda stood, still smoldering, six days after the impact. The wind carries the smoke to the south in black and gray tendrils.
A small group of monk
s arrives, clad in orange and red robes. Like her, they are quiet. Perhaps they also have dedicated themselves to silence.
She wonders if they’ll scream when it all comes crumbling down.
Chiyoko won’t scream. When the world goes to hell, Chiyoko will do what she always does. Slip away unnoticed.
CHRISTOPHER VANDERKAMP
Xi’an Garden Hotel, Dayan District, Xi’an, China
Christopher watches the Big Wild Goose Pagoda. He has not seen Sarah. But he has been looking, and he knows that she’s out there. He’d like to think that she can sense his love, but that would be crazy. He needs to keep his head on straight, to go about this rationally.
He didn’t travel halfway around the world, chasing his girlfriend who is involved in an apocalyptic game of allegedly alien design, to get sidetracked by silly puppy-love emotions.
His hotel is across the street from the pagoda. He has a telescope and two pairs of binoculars mounted on tripods. He has a DSLR with a 400-mm fixed lens. All of them face the Big Wild Goose Pagoda.
He watches.
Waits.
Dreams of seeing her, touching her, smelling her, kissing her.
Looking into her eyes and seeing love returned.
He watches.
Waits.
And on the night of the solstice it happens.
He sees seven people sneak into the Big Wild Goose Pagoda. Most are disguised, hidden, incognito. He can’t be sure if any of them is Sarah. Sarah said there were 12 Players, so he assumes the other five must have gone in from a different entrance, or gone undetected. He can’t cover all the angles from his room.
Snap snap snap.
He takes pictures.
Lots of pictures.
Only one person gives him a good image. A girl. Dark-tanned skin. Wearing colorful scarves over a form-fitting jumpsuit. Full black hair peeking out from a head wrap. The glint of brilliant green eyes.
He is tempted to go too. He doesn’t want to admit it, but he is afraid. Of the other Players. Of Endgame. Of—he can hardly believe he is thinking it—the Sky People.