by Platt, Sean
CHAPTER 17 — Anastasia Lovecraft
Ana had been walking for nearly thirty minutes when she realized that she was lost.
She couldn’t find any sign of the Fire Wall and wondered if she’d somehow shot past it and needed to turn around, or keep heading in what she thought to be the right way.
Panic began to feed doubts at her faster and faster.
What if I went too far south and completely missed Liam?
What if Liam went to the spot, saw I wasn’t there, figured I was dead, and kept going without me?
What if Liam is dead?
Standing in the cold, dark woods, far away from everything she’d ever known, it was all she could do to not break down right there.
But she thought of the humming orb overhead, watching and broadcasting her every move.
I will not let them see me weak.
She looked up to the half moon in the sky, peeking down through the clouds, giving just enough light that she wasn’t completely blind. She was traveling along a path that she thought would lead her back to the seam, with thick, dark woods on either side of her.
She tried not to think of the zombies or mutant beasts lurking beyond the dark walls on either side.
Just keep moving.
You’ll find the Fire Wall.
You have to.
You’ll find the wall. You’ll find Liam. And the two of you will fight to the end.
But then what? What happens at the end? Will he kill you? Can you kill him?
The thoughts were too much and made her head hurt. She tried to push them down and focus instead on her surroundings.
Ana heard a sudden crunch of snow to her left, just beyond the veil of darkness that was the forest.
She dropped to one knee, sword ready, tensed for attack, but nothing came. She stayed crouched, eyes scanning the darkness, her fingers wrapping tighter around the sword’s hilt as her heart pounded against her chest.
Another unmistakable crunch of ice told Ana whatever it was, it had to be close, unless it was the whisper of the wind or her imagination. Silence followed as Ana leaped to her feet and spun slowly, sword in front, preparing for an ambush. After another minute of icy silence, she gripped the hilt tighter, lowered it to her waist, then took a tentative step toward the darkness where the sound originated from.
At least it’s not zombies.
Zombies were too stupid to stalk their prey and rarely traveled in isolation, unless they happened to get separated from the rest of the hordes.
It had to be another player, waiting to strike. Ana had enough fear and doubts circling through her mind without adding another player stalking her. Better to draw the player out and deal with them now than have to worry and wait for when they’d strike, she figured. If Ana took the initiative, then she controlled the exchange. It didn’t have to end in a battle.
It was still early enough in the game for an impromptu alliance. Calling out to her pursuer now could earn her a truce. Even if the other player didn’t want to join her, they might realize that ignoring Ana and moving on might be the easier route. Ana had a sword. If the walking shadow was wielding a bow, gun, or any other long-range weapon, Ana would be dead already, she figured. So she had an advantage if she handled it smartly.
But she wasn’t sure the best way to handle an opponent she couldn’t even see. On one hand, calling out another player would make her seem bold and brave.
But it could also make her seem weak.
In a game built on survival of the fittest, even the slightest show of frailty could get you killed. The Network broadcast players’ flaws whenever it seemed reasonable that a chink in another player’s armor might make for aggressive battle, conflict, or anything that might keep viewers staring at their screens.
She had to appear strong, even if it was a hollow conceit. Perhaps she could spout some nonsense words, loud and thick with rage. Maybe screaming something her attacker couldn’t understand would scare them into retreat.
It had worked for Crazy Cal Moody — well, for a while, anyway.
Crazy Cal was a player from a few years back who pretended he was a lunatic. Whenever he got into a fight, he drew a perfect picture of insanity, biting people on the face, screaming at the top of his lungs — utter nonsense that sounded like he was speaking in tongues — along with anything else he could do to scare the living crap out of everyone around him, at least long enough to get him to the Mesa virtually unscathed.
Cal’s false insanity was one of the best tactics Ana had ever seen. No other players, and few viewers, had figured Cal out. Her father called it early, almost immediately, though no one believed him. “He’s only acting crazy,” he insisted. “You can see the cunning in his eyes.”
Cal made it to the Final Four, and then three, relaxing his guard only after befriending a 15-year old named Ben Mallard, who faked a broken arm to earn other players’ sympathy. When Ben at first resisted Cal’s offer of help, saying he was too scared to pair up with the man, Cal let down his guard and told the kid he wasn’t crazy and wouldn’t hurt him. To this day, nobody knew why Cal would drop his successful strategy and befriend the kid. Some, like Ana, thought it was kindness while others thought it was the loneliness of playing a purely solo game.
Whatever the reason, it would prove to be Cal’s one mistake in an otherwise perfect game.
On the night before The Final Challenge, one early morning’s walk from the Mesa, with just one other player left in The Games, Ben and Cal settled in for their last evening’s sleep, both knowing only one would make it to the end, but comforted that at least things were better together.
They agreed to take shifts sleeping in case The Game’s final remaining player, Jude Dawson, encountered their camp. Cal went to bed, crazy enough to fall asleep soundly, believing Ben would keep him safe, and not for a second expecting the boy to slit his throat six seconds into his snoring.
Far better, Ana thought, to have other players fear you than to embolden them enough to come at you.
Another crunch of snow split the otherwise silent night.
Ana turned to the source, which remained hidden in the darkness now roughly ten feet away from her, and said, “Show yourself.”
Silence stretched for one minute too many as Ana stood frozen in place, icy blade hovering in front of her body. “I know you’re there.” She took a step forward and yell-whispered, “I can smell you!” even though she couldn’t.
Another several seconds of silence were followed by footsteps as the hidden player stepped forward from the darkness and into the dim blue moonlight.
It was the red-haired 12-year-old girl, the one who’d taken out the big man with the sword using a board with nails in the opening of The Games. She stood eight feet away, her face caked with mud, blood, and an almost savage concentration. The front of her violet coveralls were even muddier and bloodier than her cheeks. Her eyes, wide and blue, were stuck somewhere between innocence and shock.
Ana stared without any words in her frozen throat. The girl held a knife, so small it may as well have been the jagged edge of an old tin can. The blade gleamed in the moonlight, casting fractured beams of secondhand moonlight from the girl’s hand into the snow.
Even armed, the child was tiny and unassuming. But looks were often deceiving. The girl had already proven herself once with a vicious, and incredibly fast, sneak attack on the fat man with the sword.
Is she planning to attack me the same way?
Ana wasn’t a killer, and couldn’t imagine eliminating the child unless they were in the Final Battle. Right now they weren’t, and Ana’s life wasn’t in immediate jeopardy. Ana couldn’t kill the girl just because she might pose a threat at some point later in The Games.
But she could scare her away and avoid having to fight a child.
“I’ll kill you,” Ana said. “I already killed one guy, twice your size.”
The girl stared, like she was savoring her next words on the tip of her tongue, or maybe waiting
for Ana to say something else. Ana waited, hoping the girl would speak. It was too damned cold to stand still for this long.
“Go!” Ana yelled.
It was growing colder by the second, icy wind whipping through Ana’s hair. Standing here forever didn’t do either of them any good. If Ana was cold, the child must be freezing.
The girl stared at her, with a creepy look that both terrified and confused Ana. Her teeth were chattering.
Poor child. I should ask her to walk with me.
She had no idea what such a small child could have possibly done to get thrown in prison, much less sent outside The Wall and into The Darwin Games, but there was something about her that made Ana think she didn’t come from the Dark Quarters, or whatever equivalent stained the back alleys of City 2.
The girl stood, holding Ana’s stare while Ana held her sword.
Ana considered turning and running herself, but didn’t dare — surrender in The Barrens was always a mistake, and besides, the girl was probably faster.
The Network orb that had been hovering above Ana for fifteen minutes suddenly descended as though dropped by a god, spinning like a top through the frozen air and pouring brilliant blue light into the forest below. Kirkman wasn’t on screen and was likely at home in bed, but the orb was prepared for whatever was to come next, with an audience watching, eager for bloodshed, even if it was a child’s. Or Ana’s.
Ana continued to stare at the girl, wondering if her legs were as frozen as hers, standing in the snow for what felt like eternity. The girl took a small step, almost tiny, slowly moving forward with one tentative foot in front of the other — bold, brave, and almost beautiful as she cautiously crept toward Ana, stopping a few feet in front of her, silent.
What is she doing? Is she trying to make peace or preparing to strike?
“Are you gonna say anything?” Ana asked, confused.
The girl shook her head, then opened her mouth.
Her missing tongue told Ana a long, horrible story in one short, miserable second.
Ana had never seen a cut tongue but had heard plenty of stories about the many atrocities that happened to the girls and women in the Dark Quarters, often used in sex rings. Their pimps cut their tongues off to prevent them from ever naming their “customers.” This also served as a warning to any who might fight or flee — showing them how quickly a blade could change their lives.
Ana winced, then whispered, “Oh God.”
She wanted to invite the girl to stay.
They could team up. She’d keep her safe. She’d —
Blood erupted from Cal’s neck as Ben danced across the stage in Ana’s mind.
You can’t trust her.
You’re NOT a team.
Even if you SOMEHOW made it to the end together, you’d have to kill her at some point if you wanna win.
Can you do that, Ana? Murder a little disfigured girl who’s been through God knows what?
Ana lunged forward, twisting her face into an angry scowl. “GO!” she cried.
Ana swung her sword so close to the girl that her blade came back carrying a bloody tatter of coverall. The girl’s eyes widened, then she turned and ran back into the darkness of the woods.
Ana swayed in the snow, sick to her stomach as she listened for the final fade from the girl’s retreat. She felt horrible, but there was no time for feeling horrible. She had to get moving and find Liam.
Once the child’s footsteps had trailed into the distance, Ana began walking so fast it was nearly a run, trying to spark her body back into warmth. She made her way through the darkness, still freezing, slowing every few hundred steps as her brain begged her body to pause. She rested for only a second, then pushed forward, knowing that to slow was to stop and to stop was to die.
Eventually, she found herself back at the Fire Wall, breaking into a smile, grateful for its promise of warmth. She was just about to run from the woods and to the fire when movement stopped her cold in her tracks. There were four orbs floating in the distance. And below them, four players coming from the south.
Ana glanced up at her own orb, waving it back so as not to give away her location. To her surprise, the orb came down lower, resting just inches from her, and powered down its lights.
“Thank you,” she whispered as she dropped to her knees and waited for the players to pass her by. As they drew closer, so did their voices, chatter, and laughter.
She gasped in recognition of one of the voices.
Liam!
She wanted to run toward him but didn’t dare.
He was with others, and she had no way of knowing if the other players would see her as friend or foe. She waited as they walked past her. She noted that one of the players was a particularly pretty blonde who was laughing at Liam’s every joke.
Ana felt a bitter taste in her mouth, a mixture of betrayal and jealousy.
Did he even look for me, or did he just fall in with the first group he ran into?
As the group passed, Ana felt more confused than ever.
Should I follow?
Should I just go my own way?
The girl’s laughter carried back on the wind, bothering Ana more than she knew she should let it.
Fuck that bitch.
Ana decided to follow.
CHAPTER 18 — Jonah Lovecraft
It was Monday morning, by Jonah’s estimations, and it had been many sleepless hours since Egan disappeared from the room Jonah was being held in, leaving Jonah alone in the darkness to ponder what was happening with Ana.
Why is she in The Games?
Is it to punish me, or is there something more?
Did she get in trouble?
Where is Adam?
Who is taking care of him now that Ana isn’t?
Is Adam next?
Jonah waited for someone to come and turn on the tube lights above him, flickering though they’d been. Anything was better than the darkness. He’d had enough darkness to last a lifetime. In The Barrens, the darkness mocked you, reminding you that even though you should be sleeping, you dare not, or you might not wake up.
Now the darkness only served to add to the multiplying fears for his family. He had to get out and find Ana and Adam. Until then, nothing else mattered. Nothing.
The same curse that kept him from sleeping poured more memories forth, stacking the front of his mind with image after haunting image of a life with Molly, Ana, and Adam and the old world the four of them could never orbit again.
Remembering the holidays made him saddest, since that was when he had spent the most time with his family. Being a senior Watcher meant staying indoors while men with fewer credits, or no families, were obligated to clock double and sometimes triple shifts.
Nativity was a favorite holiday, though the Lovecrafts weren’t religious enough to enjoy the long weekend for more than a light upgrade in rations and the exchange of simple paper-wrapped presents. As much as he loved Nativity, Fertility was the family’s most loved, leaving them with a memorable week each year, starting April 1. The children enjoyed Fertility as much as he and Molly, though of course for an entirely different set of reasons.
The children loved their baskets, filled with two bars of chocolate and a bag of jelly beans each, left by the Fertility Bunny. And though Ana always proudly proclaimed that “this year” she’d be patient and make her candy last, it was always gone before nightfall.
He and Molly loved having an excuse to fuck like rabbits, even if they weren’t allowed to conceive without a voucher.
Jonah closed his eyes, thankful for the memories, even if they were painful reminders of all that he’d lost.
He could still remember the moment he’d opened the door to the end of his life as if it were yesterday.
He’d been working on an endless stack of forms to be filed when he got the call — Ana was sick and needed someone to pick her up from school. Molly wasn’t answering the com at home, and he figured she was likely sleeping since she’d stayed home from
work with a virus and was feeling like hell that morning.
So Jonah left work early, grateful for the chance to care for his baby girl — for both of the women in his life. Ana was growing too fast, and time was flying by. Before long, she’d be married and starting her own family, so who knew how many more father-and-daughter moments they had between them?
Jonah thought about pulling Adam out as well, but knew Academy wouldn’t like it, even if his rank as a Watcher kept them from argument.
By the time they were halfway home, Jonah had managed to make Ana laugh several times, even though she insisted her stomach was hurting and kept begging him to stop. It felt good to have a rare moment alone with her, and he couldn’t remember the last time it had just been him and her. Hell, he hardly remembered the last time it had been he and his whole family, what with his busy schedule.
“I’m glad you got sick today,” he said, as they walked down the hallway to their apartment. “Well, you know what I mean.”
“Me too, Dad,” she said, smiling back at him.
He opened the door to the apartment, still laughing, and called for Molly to see if she was awake. Molly wasn’t in the kitchen, family room, or anywhere else in the front part of their small apartment. It wasn’t until Jonah made his way to the back of his apartment that he found Molly — crumpled in the doorway to Jonah’s office, face down in a river of blood.
In reality, they screamed at the discovery together, but when The Watchers arrived on the scene, Ana’s story changed, and she swore that her father had bashed her mother’s skull in with his shock stick.
The Watchers, sure enough, found the bloody shock stick in his office and arrested him immediately.
Though Jonah had known he could get caught working with the Underground, he never thought the government would murder his wife, frame him, and somehow implicate his daughter in the cover-up. The only explanation that made any sense in the insanity was Duncan’s theory — the City had somehow planted false memories in Ana’s head via a chip implanted in her.
In all his years as a Watcher, he’d seen, and done, many illicit things in the name of justice, but he’d never seen a false memory planted.