S.W. Tanpepper's GAMELAND: Season Two Omnibus (Episodes 9-11)

by Tanpepper, Saul

  Micah, she shouted inside her mind, even though she knew he wouldn’t be able to hear her, not that way. What she was really hoping for was a whisper of his voice in her own head, something familiar.

  But there was none, no assurance that he was even still there or that he was still alive. It was possible that the Live Players had tracked her there and killed him.

  You should’ve done it yourself. They wouldn’t have shown any compassion.

  By the time they reached the church steps, Brother Walter’s head was drooping and his feet were dragging. “Come on,” she urged. “There’s bandages inside. You’ll be able to rest.”

  But his face was ashen and he’d stopped sweating. He was becoming critically dehydrated.

  He fell halfway up the steps, crumpling onto the soft, worn wood. And it was only by brute force and will power that she managed to get him the rest of the way up, leaving thick, black smears on each step and assailing her nose with its sharp coppery tang.

  Through the front doors.

  Inside the entryway.

  She laid him down on the marble floor, then shut and bolted the doors behind them. It felt so good to rest, to close her eyes and—

  Jessie!

  The alarm in Micah’s voice startled her upright, and she turned in time to see him coming up the center aisle toward her. It seemed, for just a moment, that he’d somehow come back to life, that he’d escaped the prison of his mind and reclaimed his own body.

  Shredded bits of tape hung from his wrists, peeled away or torn.

  But he wasn’t alive. As he drew close, the hunger on his face and the emptiness in his eyes became clear. He was still dead and he wanted only to feed.

  She let me go! he cried in her mind, even as he roared at her with such longing that it froze the blood in her veins. Jessie, get out! I can’t stop myself!

  “No!” she cried. She stepped past Brother Walter and held up her hands to stop him. “Micah, please! Don’t!” It was a futile gesture, and she knew it, but she couldn’t help herself.

  Her pleading only seemed to enrage him even more.

  It’s the blood, she realized. The smell of Brother Walter’s blood is driving it mad.

  She reached behind her for her staff before remembering it was gone. So was her sword, left back at the wall in her hurry to get away. And suddenly he was there, smashing into her, knocking her flying across the vestibule. The world spun as her head hit the wall.

  But he didn’t come after her. Instead, he bent down over Brother Walter.

  “No!” Jessie screamed. She kicked out, landing her foot on Micah’s neck. Something snapped, and he fell onto his side, but it didn’t stop him for long. He pushed himself off the slippery floor and crawled back on top of Brother Walter’s motionless body.

  Stop me! he cried. Jessie, please! I don’t want to—

  “Shut up!” she yelled back. She jumped to her feet and stepped over to him. Grabbing his collar, she started to pull him away. “I can’t concentrate with you shouting inside my head like that!”

  He was so strong, so rabid. His whole body stiffened as he dug his fingers into the seams between the marble tiles and tried to pull himself back toward the prostrate form. She could see his fingernails peeling away, coming loose.

  Break my neck, Jessie.

  “Shut up, Micah.” She lost her grip, fell back. He lunged forward once more.

  You have to kill me.

  “I said shut the hell up!”

  She knew she couldn’t do it, not even now. Maybe back before she knew he was still in there somewhere, still alive. Back when she still believed he’d betrayed her and wanted him dead. She would’ve done anything to kill him herself.

  But not now. She still needed him.

  She could feel his jumpsuit tearing, so she let it go and grabbed his ankle instead, but that ended up being even worse. He was so strong! So unnaturally strong. And the dusty floor was too slippery that she found herself being pulled toward him instead of pulling him away.

  “NO! STOP IT!” she screamed.

  He turned and snapped at her before the smell of blood overpowered him again and he went back to Brother Walter.

  Save yourself, Micah told her. You can’t save everyone. He’s dying anyway. I can see it.

  Micah lurched forward as her hand slipped, and he landed on his face with a graceless smack. Jessie scrambled to her feet, grabbed the backpack and considered running. Micah was already up again and moving back to Brother Walter. She tried to pull the EM pistol out of the pack but it was caught on something. She squeezed the trigger anyway. Micah dropped like a sack of potatoes.

  The two figures, separated by mere inches, remained motionless.

  Heaving a sigh of relief, she laid her head back and closed her eyes. She was shaking now. The tremors swelled until they threatened to render her to pieces.

  She knew what she had to do, but she didn’t look forward to it.

  * * *

  Now what, Jess?

  She opened her eyes, startled by the sound of Micah’s voice. Had she fallen asleep? How much time had passed?

  She bolted upright, expecting to see him up. But his body was still in the position it had dropped into.

  The timer on the EM pistol showed that it was still twenty-one minutes shy of fully recharged. Only nine minutes had passed. Still . . . .

  She got weakly to her feet. Twenty minutes to find the tape and tie him back up again. This time she’d make sure he couldn’t escape.

  Jessie, are you there?

  “Yeah, Micah, I’m here.” She rested her head in her hands and tried to catch her breath. “How can you be conscious?”

  I wasn’t, not at first. I guess the mind recovers faster. Or isn’t as severely affected.

  “Whatever.”

  Are you okay? I didn’t hurt you, did I?

  “No. I’m . . . okay.”

  I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

  “It’s not your fault.” She pushed herself up and went looking for the tape.

  Listen, you need to—

  “No!” she shouted from inside the nave. The shout echoed dully about the large space. “Don’t tell me what I need to do! I’m not going to do it. I can’t. I still need you.”

  I mean you need to hurry. It wasn’t a direct hit.

  She froze for a second, then swung around. Micah’s arm was twitching. His leg swept to the side, bent at the knee. She grabbed the roll of tape, then raced back.

  You need to hit me again.

  “I couldn’t, even if I wanted to. It’s still got another eighteen minutes to charge. Besides, a second blast so soon will scramble your implant’s firmware. It might reset, or it might just fry. Either way, you wouldn’t be able to talk to me. And I need you. We’re going to fix the codex, you and me. We’re going to destroy Arc.”

  She tore a long strip from the roll and grabbed one of his arms.

  Behind me this time, he said. Wrists and ankles. That way Siennah won’t be able to free me again.

  She did as he instructed, wrapping the fibrous tape around his extremities where he couldn’t bite them off. She felt like she was trussing a deer that had been shot for meat.

  Arc had to have known about the defect, he mused in her head. That’s why their EM pistols aren’t capable of recharging in less than half an hour. They probably couldn’t figure out an easy way to fix the implant defect, so instead of scrapping them, they put the risk on the living. Typical.

  “That’s how Ashley got the implant out of the Player,” Jessie said. “She modified the EM pistol, probably by tweaking the capacitor so it would charge faster. Two zaps to reset the firmware so the device wouldn’t self-destruct, but not enough to erase it.”

  She tore off another length of tape and patted the loose end tight against his leg.

  “And then she used the implant to hack into the game console to take control of Reggie and Kelly.”

  She added even more tape, wrapping it around and around until it wa
s a solid mass and she was satisfied that even the strongest person couldn’t tear through it. By the time she was finished, the physical part of Micah had fully recovered. He was awake and struggling to get to her.

  But how did Ash know to do that?

  “Ben’s Link. I found the instructions on his Link.”

  Which means the SSC knows it, too.

  Chapter 49

  “So, we’ve been walking now for, like, two hours,” Reggie complained. “Have you figured out how we’re getting in, yet? Or are we just going to walk around the whole damn island hoping to find a magical doorway?”

  He was hot and thirsty, his hand hurt, and the sun was directly in his eyes. He imagined how much worse it would be if the network were up and the wall was emitting that damn irritating signal into their heads. It was like having a million microscopic dentist drills doing root canals on every single nerve ending in his brain.

  “It’s not like we could even use the damn portals if we found one, not without power.”

  “We’re not going in through a portal.”

  “Then how?”

  But the woman wouldn’t answer. She just kept walking, and Reggie just kept getting hotter and thirstier and more and more irritated.

  Finally, she came to an abrupt halt. They were standing in the middle of a stream trickling from a small opening under the wall and emptying into the Sound. It was just one of many they’d passed already, but this seemed to be the one she was looking for. Or maybe it was simply because it was the first which hadn’t been blocked by a thick barbed wire barricade. This one cut directly into the rocks far beneath the bottom of the wall, beneath, in fact, the pale green stain of the high tide waterline.

  “Through there?” Kelly quietly asked.

  Doctor White was studying a small rusted metal plaque attached to a post beside the watercourse, running her fingers over the raised letters.

  “Northport Bay Creek Efflux?” Reggie read.

  She nodded. “This is it. You can stow the raft there beneath the trees. Make sure to tie it securely.”

  The boys exchanged annoyed glances, but did as she said. They were both relieved that they wouldn’t have to carry it anymore, but it would’ve been nice to get a thanks for bringing it all this way.

  The opening in the rock was quite large, certainly big enough to accommodate Reggie’s girth, though when they shone a light inside they could see that it narrowed. After clearing away the loose brush and driftwood which had been pushed in during the last high tide, they entered single file, Doctor White in front and Reggie last.

  The tunnel descended only very slightly before leveling off, quickly enveloping them in darkness. And when Reggie looked back, the light from the opening appeared above him like an inverted silver pool casting ripples along the black sides and floor of the cave.

  “We must be past the wall by now,” he said. His voice sounded flat, as if washed out by the water roiling over their shoes.

  “What’ll we do if there’s a grate at the other end?” Kelly asked.

  “Oh, there’ll almost certainly be one,” Doctor White replied. Her lack of elaboration seemed to imply she’d already considered this and had a solution at hand.

  Thirty feet in, and they were forced to use their Links for light. Ten more feet and the tunnel ceiling lowered so abruptly that they had to remove their packs and push them ahead while they shimmied along on their bellies.

  “I’m not so sure about this, guys,” Reggie said.

  “There’s light ahead,” Doctor White called back.

  “Just as long as it doesn’t get any tighter.”

  “It does. But I think you’ll fit.”

  “Think doesn’t exactly inspire confidence here. I’m already barely able to— Fuck! Fuck me!”

  The trio stopped. “You okay back there?” Kelly asked.

  “Just fucking banged my head. It’s bleeding. I’m fine.”

  The going was painstakingly slow. As the channel became increasingly rough and narrow, Reggie found himself struggling to keep up. “Fucking feel like a damn earthworm wriggling through a damn wormhole,” he grumbled.

  “Tight spot here,” White called back.

  Reggie stopped to catch his breath. All this pushing with his elbows and toes was giving him cramps, and the tightness of the tunnel made him claustrophobic. “You know, guys,” he said, gulping air for a moment. “Maybe I’ll just go back. There must be some other way in.”

  “We’re already in, Reg,” Kelly said. He sounded far away.

  “I can almost stand up here,” Doctor White said. “The grate’s right here. It’s wide enough to get through.”

  “Can you move it?”

  Doctor White tried, but it was stuck. “I’m going to cut it.”

  “With what? A nail file?” Reggie grumbled. He refused to move another inch until they got the grate off.

  And if they can’t . . . ?

  He tried backing up, just to see if he could. The rocks scraped painfully at his chest and back. He’d already skinned the shit out of his elbows, and his hand was throbbing.

  Remind me why we decided to come, he asked himself.

  Unfinished business, came the answer.

  A brilliant white light filled the walls ahead, accompanied by a shushing sound. Reggie could now see that they’d reached the end and that there was enough room that they could stand upright side by side. The light flickered, making it appear as if the walls were moving.

  “What’s she cutting it with, Kel?”

  “Some kind of mini acetylene torch.”

  “You brought a torch cutter?”

  “I think you mean, ‘Damn, that was nice thinking,’ Reggie,” Kelly said.

  “It’s not acetylene,” Doctor White explained. “It’s a copper oxide-based metal vapor torch. The flame burns at five thousand degrees.”

  The flickering went out and the sound ceased.

  “What’s the matter?”

  Doctor White’s muttered curse sounded loud in the quiet of the cave. “Cartridge is spent. I didn’t expect it to run out so fast.”

  “You brought more, though. Right?”

  “Six. Total.”

  “Well, you’ve cut through four bars, and there’s . . . .” twenty-four total,” Kelly counted. “It’s going to be tight.”

  Doctor White loaded another cartridge and began to cut. “I once knew someone who used these to shape metal for her sculptures.” Her voice cracked. She cleared her throat. “She was an artist. Veronica was her name.”

  “What happened to her?”

  “She died.”

  “Infected?”

  “Murdered.”

  “Jesus,” Reggie whispered. “Can we talk about something a little more cheerful?”

  The light faded and went out.

  “Only three bars that time. Better cut faster.”

  “Fucking hell, guys,” Reggie said.

  “I’m going to try cutting about eighty percent of the way through each bar and try to get through more.” She loaded another cartridge. “That way if we run out, we can try breaking through the cut ones with a rock.”

  “Oh, that just sounds wonderful. Why didn’t you just bring more?”

  “Reggie,” Kelly warned.

  They went through another three cartridges without talking, and when the fifth expired, White told Kelly to try and break through. He found a loose rock about the size of a melon and thrust it against the grate. The clang echoed down the tunnel.

  Two more hits, and Kelly shouted out in triumph. “They’re breaking!” he exclaimed, then complained that flecks of rock and rust were getting into his mouth and eyes.

  “Yeah,” Reggie said, “and in the mean time every damn IU and CU around is triangulating right on us!”

  But they couldn’t hear him. Kelly hammered away until the grate hung by a single piece of rebar. He dropped the rock, reached up, and began to bend the grate away until it broke free.

  “We’re through, and
the opening’s even big enough for you, Reg.”

  “Gee, that’s awful considerate of you.”

  “You can come on up now.”

  “No, I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because, asshole, I’m stuck.”

  Chapter 50

  It was shortly before noon when Jessie heard the first whisper, a woman’s, and she very nearly disregarded it as just another manifestation of her fatigue, which had been steadily suffocating her thoughts like the tsunami that killed all those people in their sleep in South Harlem years back. Why am I here? the voice wondered. What am I doing in this strange place?

  But then a second joined the first, the whispers emerging from out of the background of her troubled mind. This time it was the voice of a man. And it, too, seemed confused.

  Puzzled, Jessie stopped her restless pacing at the front of the nave. She’d been waiting for Kelly to connect with her, hoping against hope that he would, but as the minutes ticked past noon without her Link pinging she knew he wouldn’t. The device lay inert in her hands, and she cursed the Stream for still being broken, even as she was glad that it was.

  She went from dusty window to dusty window, squinting through the beveled stained glass for a glimpse of the Undead Players whispering inside her head, knowing that they would be out there. But they weren’t. The leaf-strewn street and overgrown lawn out front were empty.

  And yet the whispers continued, taunting her.

  She found them outside the south transept, which was closest to the main part of town— two Controlled Undead no longer being guided by their Operators. One was male, the other female. Jessie exhaled in relief. At least she wasn’t going crazy.

  There was little reason to fear them. Without the Stream to connect their Operators to them and exert their homicidal will, they were no different than the multitude of Infected Undead she’d already encountered, both inside and out of the gaming arena. Here, like this, they were uncoordinated, lacking any purpose but to feed.