On the floor below her was the hall pass her teacher had given her. The corner of it was soggy. She doubted he’d want it back.
Breathe.
Sweat trickled down her neck. She closed her eyes, tried to picture herself someplace cooler.
The bathroom door opened.
Peering through the slits beneath her eyelids, Jessie watched a pair of red sneakers step in. Nikes. Only a handful of girls in the school could afford such expensive shoes, and she wasn’t particularly fond of any of them. This pair especially, since they belonged to—
Ashley had a pair just like them, right after we came back the first time, except those had been green.
—Siennah Davenport. Red shoes were the girl’s trademark. She didn’t like it if anyone else wore the same color.
Jessie had had her share of run-ins with the girl. Like her, Siennah was a heavy gamer, except she didn’t play Zpocalypto like the rest of them. No virtual zombies for this girl, oh no. She was an Operator, and apparently quite good at The Game, too, if her own claims were to be believed. It helped that the Davenports were filthy rich. Her dad, Gavin, was Greenwich’s mayor, and the family could easily afford the million-dollar buy-in (and probably some back-alley virtual zeality lessons to boot).
It seemed that Siennah’s favorite pastime at school was to regularly update everyone on her kill stats. It didn’t take a math whiz to calculate she was making bank hand over fist.
And the rich get richer.
Jessie had watched more than her share of Survivalist over the years, the show highlighting the most exciting parts from The Game, but she’d never taken any particular interest in Siennah. She wouldn’t be able to pick her Player out of a line up.
Siennah returned Jessie’s apathy with antipathy. The feeling had little to do with Jessie’s relative poverty. Most of Siennah’s associates were just as poor as Jessie was. To people like the Davenports, sycophants who fed off the sloughed discards of the wealthy filled an important niche in society. They were the dust mites feeding on the dead skin cells shed by their hosts.
The true source of Siennah’s hatred was her envy of Jessie’s gaming skills. Everyone knew who the best Zpocalypto players were. It made little difference to Siennah that Zpocalypto wasn’t real, that when you killed a zombie, you left behind a digital corpse instead of a real one. That a digital murder was worth nothing in real dollars. Those were irrelevant technicalities.
Jessie drew her feet in closer to her body and checked that the stall she occupied was locked. She couldn’t remember pushing the latch across when she came in, but it was secured. She’d barely even made it in before the subsidized bilge they’d served in the lunchroom came gushing up her throat and into her mouth with such force that all she could do was open wide and hope for the best. By some trick of fluid dynamics and viscosity and gravity, most of the puke had maintained its integrity rather than aerosolizing. Most made it into the toilet, although the force of the splash had left wet runners on the tile wall behind. At the moment, it was slowly oozing its way toward the floor.
The initial wave of nausea had passed as abruptly as it had hit, but left in its wake a feeling of such exhaustion that Jessie had simply collapsed against the bowl with her head on the seat. She didn’t care what it smelled like or why exactly the floor was already wet— or what with. She just wanted to rest, to sleep until the sickness passed.
There had been more waves of nausea, only slightly less gut-wrenching, but without the vomit.
The stomach problems had been bothering her for the past several days. The cramps had struck both yesterday and today while she was in class— triggered, it seemed, by the rising of some unbidden memory from Gameland to her consciousness, by the flare of panic which would inevitably follow.
Eric had noticed — surprisingly — had even suggested that they were psychological in nature. She didn’t want to believe it was mental, but what was the alternative, that the infection was getting worse?
Maybe your mom was wrong. Maybe you really aren’t immune.
She tried not to think about this.
The embers of her anxiety flared as the bathroom door swung closed behind Siennah. A moment later, two more pairs of feet walked in, both shod in a regular cheap brand of sneakers. Jessie didn’t immediately recognize them, or the voice which spoke next:
“Ugh, that lecture was utterly lame.”
Siennah snorted. There was a moment of silence, then she said: “Have some. Double up. I got tons. They’re better that way.”
“Are you sure? Because I don’t want to totally zom out,” the other girl whined. “I still have pre-calc next period and, ugh, he makes us do problems in class. Just give me enough to get me through this period without tearing my hair out by the roots.”
The three girls giggled, then moved over to the sinks. There was a rattling noise, following by soft crinkling. A faucet came on and Jessie heard the telltale slurping of someone drinking from cupped hands.
Poppers, Jessie thought.
“I can’t go back yet,” Siennah said. “I told Doctor Dorkmond I was having my period. You should’ve seen how red his face got. He probably hopes I’ll be gone for the rest of the class.”
“Oh my god, Siennah, that’s utterly hilarious. You’re so naughty.”
Jessie rolled her eyes.
“Are you going to have another party this weekend?”
“Maybe,” Siennah replied.
“Ugh. You said there’d be more guys at the last one,” came the first voice. Jessie still couldn’t place it. “I was stuck with that dork Kenny Ratcliff all night.”
“Oh, stop complaining, Mon.”
Monica Anderson, Jessie instantly guessed. One of the two Anderson twins. Which meant the other girl was Samantha, her sister.
Each girl alone was barely tolerable, but paired up with Siennah they could be downright evil. Jessie quietly pulled herself into a tight ball and hoped they wouldn’t notice her.
“I hope you don’t mind, See, but it’s kind of boring just sitting around and watching you play.”
“Monica!” Samantha gasped. “Don’t worry, See-See. I utterly love watching you play. You’re so good.”
“Stop being such a kiss ass, Sam. And stop saying ‘utterly.’ It’s a stupid word. Besides, everyone knows you’ve got a mad crush on her Player.” She laughed. “You probably have fantasies about doing it.”
“Eew! That’s ut— That’s disgusting!”
“Yeah, Sam totally thinks he’s hot,” Siennah said, joining in. “I’ll let you have it once I get my new one.”
“Really?” Sam exclaimed.
“No!”
“Sam’s got a stiffy for the stiffy!”
They giggled again.
“So, I wonder,” Siennah said, sounding thoughtful, “if you did it with a Player, but say the Operator controlling it was really a girl, would that make you a lesbian?”
Jessie’s stomach clenched with revulsion. How could people actually talk about the Undead like that?
“Eew! That’s even grosser, See!”
“How long have you had this one?” Sam asked.
“Eleven weeks,” Siennah answered. “Sixty-two confirmed kills, so I’ve made back most of what we paid for it. And that’s not even counting IUs.”
“IUs shouldn’t count anyway,” Monica argued. “They don’t even do anything. They just stand there like sitting ducks. Some of them just stare up at the sky.”
“Shut up, Monica. I think Siennah might be the best Operator ever!”
“Hardly,” Siennah replied with false modesty.
What she really means, Jessie thought, is “Don’t stop kissing my ass.”
“Yeah, everyone knows Zpoc is a lot harder. The programmers do a good job of— What?”
Silence. Jessie couldn’t see any of their faces, but she could imagine Siennah’s right now. What Monica was suggesting was heretical to a girl like Siennah.
“What I meant was—” Monica hastily
said, but the air dryer came on and drowned out the rest.
By the time the blower shut off, the discussion had turned away from Siennah and The Game. They were now back on the subject of Monica’s boy troubles.
“I’ve seen you suck face with much worse than Kenny,” Siennah teased.
“Like who?” Monica grudgingly inquired.
“Yeah, who, See?” parroted Sam.
A baggie of little pink pills fell to the floor next to Siennah’s shoes and she bent to pick it up. Her blond ponytail brushed her laces.
Zoners. That’s no surprise.
They were the hottest new street drug. She’d first seen them last spring when Micah had brought some to one of their gaming sessions. He claimed that they sped up his reaction time, but Reggie had tried one and found he could barely remember anything while buzzing on them.
As quietly as she could, Jessie lifted herself up off the floor. She perched on top of the toilet and tried to ignore the cramping in her belly.
“I don’t feel anything yet, Siennah,” Monica complained.
“It’s only been a couple minutes, stupid,” Sam retorted. “You have to give it at least five minutes.”
Jessie’s stomach gurgled so loudly that it echoed off the walls. The conversation immediately stopped.
There was a moment of silence, then a flurry of whispers. “Who’s there?”
Jessie didn’t answer.
“I can see you,” Siennah said. “I know you’re in there. It’s cool. Come on out. There’s Zoners for everyone. I don’t mind sharing.”
Another giggle.
The stall door rattled. An eye appeared in the crack between it and the wall.
“Go away,” Jessie said.
The girls twittered with laughter. Jessie heard her name whispered.
“Whatever you think you heard, Zombie Bitch, just forget it,” Siennah said, her voice low and threatening.
“Hey, ZB,” Sam shouted, “eat any brains lately?”
“Kill any fake zombies?”
More laughter.
“Aren’t you supposed to, like, be in class?” Sam said. Or maybe it was Monica.
“Leave me alone.”
“Yeah, don’t bother her. She’s busy pooping.”
“Eeewww! Zombies poop? I didn’t know that.”
A hand swept over the top of the door. Before Jessie could react, Siennah’s fingers found her backpack and lifted it up and out of the stall. Jessie jumped up. “Give that back!”
“Give that back,” the girls chorused.
Jessie heard her tablet fall out. Twice in one day; the thing was definitely getting a workout. She feared they might stomp on it. The tablets weren’t easy to break, but they weren’t indestructible, either. And she didn’t have the money for a replacement.
“Ooh, what’s this?” Siennah sang. Her hand reappeared above the door waving Jessie’s inhaler. “ZB got asthma or something?” She gave it a squeeze and a fine mist fell into the stall.
Jessie could feel the anger rising in her, could feel it burning inside her gut like lava, burning her throat, filling her head. The nausea was now gone, and so was the fatigue she’d felt earlier.
“Give me that back,” she growled.
The girls’ laughter crescendoed.
She didn’t remember unlocking the door and stepping out. One second she was inside the stall, her body shaking with rage, the next she was facing the girls. She caught a fleeting glimpse of herself in the mirror over the sink and only later realized how utterly terrible she looked.
Stop saying utterly!
Her shirt was untucked and wet with throw up, her arms were shiny with spittle, her hair a tangled mess. There were dark circles beneath her eyes. But she didn’t see any of this. In that moment, all she saw were three girls whose necks needed breaking.
She stepped toward them, her fists clenching and the muscles in her back singing with tension.
She didn’t remember attacking them. Her senses returned to her only when she found herself lying face down on the floor, her cheek pressed cruelly into the cold, hard tile, the toe of a red sneaker an inch from her nose. She thought she’d been fast, but somehow the girls had been faster. And stronger.
Zoners. That’s what they do to you. Make you forget your inhibitions.
The girls were laughing again, their cackles sounding harsh in her ears. The red shoe shifted out of her line of vision, only to be replaced by Siennah’s face. “God, you stink like shit, zombitch. Like a fucking rotting corpse.”
Laughter peeled off the walls and bit into Jessie’s head.
Whichever one of the Anderson twins was kneeling on her shoved her knee harder into Jessie’s back and gave it a vicious twist. Jessie winced and a whimper of pain escaped from her lips. Siennah reached over and sprayed her inhaler into her face, then dropped it onto the floor and tried to crush it beneath her sneaker. Failing that, she picked it up and tossed it into the toilet of the stall Jessie was just in.
“This is my bathroom during seventh period,” she hissed, returning to where the twins were holding Jessie down. “Everyone knows that. Everyone. So stay out of it from now on. And that means any period. I don’t want you contaminating the seats and getting us all infected with your zombie germs.”
Jessie very nearly spit into her face, but she stopped herself and swallowed the thick gob in her mouth instead. It tasted like blood.
As much as she hated the girl, as much as she wished her dead right at this moment, she’d never forgive herself if she infected Siennah. Spitting in her face would be essentially like putting the gun to her head and pulling the trigger. And Jessie knew what that was like. She didn’t need the guilt.
“I don’t know what you’re playing at,” Siennah said, her nose only inches from Jessie’s. She spoke so low that Jessie doubted either Monica or Samantha could hear what she was saying. “You will never be better than me. Remember that, ZB. Poor bitches like you don’t belong in Gameland.”
Jessie’s heart nearly stopped.
How the hell does she know about that?
“I’m the queen of the zombie slayers,” Siennah hissed. “Not you.”
With that, she stood up and the girls exited.
Jessie pushed herself off the floor, her arms shaking. The girls’ laughter still rang through her head. She wanted to scream, to lash out and hurt someone. But what would it solve?
She dabbed at the blood on her forehead with a piece of toilet paper. The cut had already started to clot, and a hard, painful lump was beginning to form. She spit into the sink and wasn’t surprised to see that it was tinged pink.
Right into her eyes, she thought, staring into the mirror at her own face. I should have spit at her, taught the bitch a lesson.
And then what? Watch Siennah turn into a Reanimate? Watch her cause an outbreak? Is that what she wanted? Hadn’t she seen enough of it?
She turned the faucet on and cupped her hands under the flow. The cold water felt good on her face, but it couldn’t seem to put out the fire burning inside of her.
Her stomach hurt. She didn’t know if she was going to be sick again. She almost hoped she would; she wished she could just puke out all of the rage inside of her and leave her with nothing but the blessed feeling of emptiness.
When she had finally calmed herself, she retrieved her inhaler from the toilet, rinsed it off under hot water, then shoveled the pile of her belongings back into her bag.
The hallway was empty. Unlike yesterday, nobody stopped her this time as she made her way to the front doors. She pushed them open and walked home without once looking back.
‡ ‡ ‡
Chapter 4
Reggie knew from the moment Kelly brought the gaming equipment over and dumped it on the floor of his parents’ garage what he expected them to do with it. That had been a week ago, and despite Reggie’s initial resistance, despite believing he would never, ever go back to Gameland — not even virtually — here he was, actually eager to get to
it.
What the hell is wrong with me?
His mind had obsessed over every single horrible little detail of their ordeal. The blood and stench and noises of the place haunted his every waking hour. At night, visions of Ashley wandering the island as one of the Undead plagued his dreams. Two days after they’d set up the gear, he’d finally decided that maybe Kelly was right. They would never truly escape from the place until they had finished what needed to be done.
He had asked Kelly where he’d gotten the money to buy an invite into The Game. Although Kelly had refused to answer, Reggie was pretty sure it was the money Arc had paid him for keeping an eye on Micah. And considering that Micah had turned out to be a spy for the Southern States Coalition, Arc probably considered it money well spent. Hell, they might have even given Kelly the gear as a thank you gift. That would at least explain why the Player wasn’t registered and thus couldn’t earn killing points. Generosity wasn’t one of Arc’s more common attributes.
He knew that Jessie considered what they’d paid him as blood money. Despite Kelly’s insistence that he’d used it to pay for Kyle’s surgery, what especially pained her was that he’d kept the truth a secret from her until the very end. This was why Reggie hadn’t pressed the subject. He didn’t want to get between the two or cause more friction than there already was.
He didn’t like that Kelly made him promise not to tell Jessie, though he did have to agree that it was probably for the best. “She’s in a delicate place right now. She wouldn’t handle it very well.”
They’d all been having trouble adjusting since coming home. Eric described it as PTSD. Kelly called it survivor’s remorse. Reggie didn’t give a crap what name it went by. It didn’t change the fact that what they were going through now was pure living hell.
The nightmares were the worst. He hadn’t told anyone about them, not even his own parents. About how he’d wake up at night, the bed drenched with sweat and his sheets all tangled up in knots. He’d lie there in the darkness, his heart racing, waiting and listening for some unknown signal to come to him — a voice, maybe, or a smell — trusting that it would come if he just waited long enough. After awhile he’d finally realize that he could wait forever and it never would.
S.W. Tanpepper's GAMELAND: Season Two Omnibus (Episodes 9-11) Page 3