Gamers Con: The First Zak Steepleman Novel (22 page)

He turned square onto me, and I saw that his eyes had gone glassy from the tears threatening to burst out. “My life
ended
,” he said. “I wasn’t much more than a character in a video game . . . till Gamers Con rolled around, and I had a chance to get them back.”

Somehow he managed to muster a smile.

“A chance to have a
family
again.”

I did think about pointing out the irony—that to get back
his
one
family
it would mean tearing apart another
four
. . . but, then again, I guessed that it was impossible to think rationally in that situation.

I knew that
I
wouldn’t have been able to think rationally.

Over at the steel door to the jail cells—the door we’d passed through ourselves—I heard several metallic
thunks
.

Alan gasped and spun around.

Looked in the direction of the sound.

Then back to me.

His eyes were wide with fear. “He’s back,” Alan said. “He’s
here
.”

“What do we do now?” I said, feeling my heart humming in my chest.

Alan shook his head. “There’s nothing we
can
do.”

52

I HEARD the
beep-beep
from before, and I knew that Yorbleson had plugged the code into the security interface. Sure enough, a couple of heartbeats later, he emerged before us, still dressed in the cloak, with the hood folded down over his shoulders.

When he cast a glare over us, he smiled
wryly
. “So,” he said, “Come to visit Mum and Dad, have you?”

I bunched my fists down at sides, but, at the same time, I knew that I had to play by
his
rules—this
was
his game after all.

He could toss me out easily.

Without expending any extra energy.

I couldn’t think straight—all that flashed into my mind was how unjust this whole thing was, how Yorbleson was messing with our lives. Before I could stop it, my words just floated right out of me. “Why’re you
doing
this?” I said.

Yorbleson kept up his smile. “I like power,” he said.

“Yeah, but you’ve
got
power now—
real
power, in the
real
world . . . you’re the administrator for the Grand Tournament of Gamers Con, surely that’s enough?”

He held my gaze for a long while, his smile never dropping in its intensity. “It’s
never
enough, I can
always
do with more leverage in the
real
world.”

“But
why?
” I said. “We’re just
kids
.”

Yorbleson smiled even wider. “And
kids
grow up to be
adults
—and
adults
, well, let’s just say that they can be very useful
indeed
. . . four little puppets, just for
me
.”

That word ‘puppet’ sent a nauseous wave right to the pit of my stomach.

I tried to resist the horrible sensation but couldn’t and I felt the sting of bile at the back of my throat—I tasted the vomit in my mouth . . . but I swallowed it back, told myself to be stronger—if I was to keep my promise to the others, bring
all
our parents back, then I needed to be strong now.

Needed to stand my ground.

Yorbleson’s tone got even more jubilant, and the skin around his eyes creased up as he smiled even wider
still
. “And you, Zak Steepleman, are you ready to be named the champion of the Grand Tournament? First place, nothing to sniff at.” He lowered his voice a little. “And it only cost you your father.”

I felt my insides all collapse in on themselves.

But somehow I managed to hold myself together.

I gritted my teeth.

Knew that I had to bide my time.

Not make any rash,
snap
judgements.

From then on, Yorbleson seemed to lose his interest in me, and he turned to look at Alan. His smile dropped a few degrees and I wondered if he was going to lurch forwards, toss Alan out of the game once and for all—turn him back out to the convention centre.

But, instead, Yorbleson said, “A deal’s a deal, Alan.”

I watched on as he snapped his bony fingers.

The bars to the cell which held Alan’s parents swung open with an unoiled
creak
of the hinges. Neither of Alan’s parents made any sort of a movement to suggest that they’d heard they were now free—or that they’d realised
at all
that they were even anywhere else other than their own home.

From years ago.

The home that had now gone.

Been replaced by this
game
.

I thought that Alan would surge forwards, that he would rush into the cell, embrace his parents, maybe even try to wake them up, to tell them that they could leave now.

But, as it was, he hung back.

Appeared not to want to move from his spot.

“Go on,” Yorbleson said, his patience clearly waning.

“I . . . I . . .” Alan said.

“What? What
is
it?” Yorbleson said. “I’ve told you to go—so
go!
”

I studied Alan’s face, watched on as his skin wrinkled, then unwrinkled, and how his eyes seemed to constantly twitch from me to Yorbleson as if he was making a choice between the two of us, then he said, “No, I
won’t
leave—not till you’ve freed all the other parents, no kid should have to go through what
I’ve
gone through . . . growing up in a prison.”

Yorbleson’s smile—for the first time since I’d known him—now completely disintegrated. His lips warped into a sneer, and I thought that he might try to catch Alan off guard, attempt to send him back out of the game—his parents in tow—without him being able to defend himself.

Alan looked to me.

Caught my eye.

I knew it was the time to strike.

That
now
was our chance.

I pounced, threw myself at Yorbleson, caught him just beneath his chin with my shoulder. I felt his bones sink back into his frail body, and I knew that I’d made good contact.

Together, we fell down, onto the floor.

As I lay there, sitting on his chest, I felt him scrabbling about, trying to get back up.

It was then that Alan said, sounding a little stunned, “It’s like I thought—his powers down here, there’re not as great as up there, in the hall.”

As if responding to this, Yorbleson scrabbled about beneath me, but I held him down firm, determined not to allow him to get back up again.

To give him another chance.

“Let. Them.
Go!
” I said, still sitting on Yorbleson. “All our parents.
Now!
”

“Don’t you
want
to win the tournament, Zak?”

To be honest, I found that question fairly insulting, what with him insinuating that I’d prefer to win the tournament than, like, get my dad out of this place?

“Why don’t you just let them
free?
” I said, now realising that I was sounding like a whiny little kid—you know the type at Disneyland that complain about the length of the queue . . . not that I’ve ever been to Disneyland—maybe with my parents’ divorce looming that’ll be somewhere my dad thinks fit to take me on
his
weekends.

When Yorbleson spoke again, his words were still strangled . . . well, that much was obvious since I was
sitting
on him. “No, Zak, I
won’t
let them go.”

I looked over to Alan, trying to see just what we were going to do from here on out.

It was then that I saw him with his parents, stooped down over his mother and father, just . . .
looking
at them . . . kind of like a kid who’s really into science checking out some exhibit in a museum.

“Alan?” I said. “What’re we going to do now?”

For some reason, I thought I watched something pass over the surface of his eyes, like he was—just for a moment—thinking on that offer of Yorbleson’s . . . knowing that this was his chance to cut and run.

And yet, I was the one who was still sitting on Yorbleson.

I was the one in control.

For the time being.

“Where do we go next, then?” I said.

Alan gave me something between a pout and a shrug, and then he stared down at Yorbleson. “Way I see things, the only way we’re going to be safe is if we can find some way to trap him here the same way that he trapped our parents.” He looked to the cells—to the other parents behind bars. “But this is
his
prison, so I can’t see how we’re going to manage to lock him into it.” He looked back at me. “You saw how he opened the cell with just the
snap
of his fingers.”

I held still, applying the full force to Yorbleson’s chest.

If I hadn’t known that there was more to him than just being a frail, seventy-something-year-old man then I might’ve felt just a tad bad about what I was doing.

But, the way things were—the way I
knew
things to be—he was capable of so much more. He wasn’t even
human
thinking about it.

I shot a glance back at Alan, hoping that he might’ve come across something by now.

But he was back to staring at his parents again.

Maybe I was being a little harsh on him, what with the fact that he hadn’t
lived
with them for the past couple of years, that he’d lived out his time with Yorbleson here—doing whatever it was that he bid Alan do for him in the real world.

It was then that the thought struck me, though when I spoke it was clear—from the way my voice cracked—that it couldn’t be a
sincere
possibility.

Could
it?

“What if we kill him?” I said.

53

THOUGH, looking back, I was certain there was no echo in the place, whenever I think of it, I hear my voice reverberating about my skull—constantly coming back to me.

Like a tune stuck in my head.

It seemed like my words had had the same effect on Alan since he was sort of staring into the middle distance too.

Even Yorbleson had gone slack beneath me, and I knew that he simply didn’t have the energy left in his frail body to fight back.

“How’d we do it?” Alan said.

That sent a shiver down my spine.

Sent warmth flushing up to my skull.

I could feel the blood slurping at my temples.

All those thoughts bursting to be brought to life, to be played out for real.

I kept my weight planted firmly on Yorbleson’s chest even though he made no move.

“I won’t
open
the cells if you kill me,” Yorbleson said.

Though I felt myself shuddering inside—felt like my bones might buckle and break at any second—I managed to get out an assured reply.

“Who
says
we won’t get them open?”

Beneath me, I felt a kind of vibration passing through Yorbleson.

It took me a moment or two to realise that he was chuckling to himself.

“
Shut up!
” I said. “You free our parents now, or I’ll kill you.”

“No you won’t,” Yorbleson said, still cackling, sounding almost like he was choking, “I know that you don’t have the killer instinct, Zak, not in games, not in
life
, that was why you needed the help to make sure you got through the tournament, you might have great potential, but you still have a
long
way to go to become a truly professional gamer.”

I knew he was trying to wind me up.

Trying to egg me on into making a mistake so he could sliver on out from beneath me, so that he could, no doubt, do some of that
magic
of his . . . even if it was limited, there was no telling just what he might be able to do.

And unpredictability was a
massive
advantage right at the moment.

“I’ll do it,” Alan said, his tone cold, clean.

I looked to him, looked deep into his eyes.

And I saw the hate there.

I wondered—wondered
why
he hadn’t thought to do it before now, why the thought that he could simply
kill
Yorbleson had never occurred to him.

Was it because he’d seen him in the flesh, seen him in
human
form?

Was that what was holding him—
us
—back from doing what was surely the right thing?

I looked off to the cells around us remembering my promise. “You think we’ll be able to get these cells open?”

Alan gave me a firm nod. “Yes,” he said. “I think I know a way.”

I held my ground, not wanting to get up off Yorbleson, to give him a chance to escape. “So,” I said, feeling a tremble pass through me, “What do we do now? How do we do it?”

“Leave, Zak,” Alan said, his tone firm, and seeming to be many years older than he appeared. “I’ll do it—but you have to leave us alone.”

Though Alan had helped me out of that gunk—which I surely would’ve died inside if he hadn’t tugged me out—I couldn’t bring myself to
trust
him . . . not quite yet.

I felt Yorbleson stir beneath me, another of his chuckles vibrating through him, and I knew that it was the only choice.

Yorbleson was right.

I
didn’t
have it in me—that
killer
instinct.

This was something I’d have to leave to Alan.

I’d have to
trust
Alan.

I remained there, sitting on Yorbleson’s chest another couple of moments and then, all at once, my body seemed to act for me, and I lifted myself up off him,
away
from him.

And, just like that, I was standing on my own two feet.

Watching on as Alan took up my place.

Watched him lay a firm foot down on Yorbleson’s chest—pinning him to the ground.

Without turning to look at me, Alan said, “Outside, Zak—wait outside.”

I held my ground, still not quite wanting to leave all of the parents behind, and yet, at the same time, knowing that I’d
have
to.

If I wanted to
really
help them.

To
keep
my promise.

I gave a curt nod, even though Alan was facing away from me so he couldn’t have seen it, and then I scarpered on out the same way we’d come in, through that steel door, out into the corridor.