S.W. Tanpepper's GAMELAND: Season Two Omnibus (Episodes 9-11) (116 page)

She stepped back toward the door, and a shot rang out, notching the wood beside her foot.

“I'm serious, young lady.”

“Just one reason?” she asked, trying to mask the shaking in her voice. He would know she was stalling, but she needed time to calm herself down so she could think properly. “What could I possibly say that would be better than the ten million reasons you've got to do it?”

Grant Pearson stood up from behind the car. It was a mid-sized sedan, probably painted sky blue, although it was difficult to tell anymore with the dirt caked onto it. He made the car look tiny.

“Ten mil
is
a lot,” he admitted. “Certainly not pocket change.” He placed the pistol on the roof and leaned forward on his elbows.

“So?” Jessie asked.

“So, I want to know what's so damn special about you that they'd want you dead this badly. I'm giving you a chance to tell your side of the story. Somehow, I don't think it's the same one Arc has been giving out.”

“What does it matter?”

“It matters. And, to be perfectly honest, I'm not sure I'm a hundred percent comfortable with this whole live-on-live thing.”

“Strange. That's not what you said the other day. In fact, I believe the word you used was
fun
. Like being back in the gladiator days is what you said.”

“I was trying to psych you out. I had no idea it would ever come true.”

“So what made you change your mind? Was it your daughters? Didn't you say they were about my age?”

Even from as far away as she was, she could see the emotion flash through his eyes. He plucked the gun from the car and pointed it at her head.

“Where'd you get the gun?”

“Arc issued ‘em to us,” he told her as he made his way around the car. “We had a whole new briefing, new rules, new weapons.”

“What rules?”

He shrugged. “Anything goes.”

“That must be why the Stream is off.”

He shook his head. “Killing must be done live or it doesn't count.”

So that's why he didn't do it!

“That's awful sporting of them,” she said, relaxing slightly. “The gun, however, doesn't seem very fair.”

“It's not meant to be. It's only meant to be effective.” He gestured toward the door. “Open it. Slowly now! Get inside.”

Now he was at the base of the steps. This was her last opportunity to escape. But as she stared down the barrel of the gun, she didn't like her chances. He could still shoot her in the leg, then finish her off when the Stream came back.

“Inside,” he repeated, then took the steps so quickly she didn't have time to react. He grabbed her shirt and shoved her up against the wall while he pulled the door open. “I'm feeling a little agoraphobic out here.”

She stumbled inside, then spun around.

“There,” he said, pushing her back again before ordering her to sit on the floor. He kept the gun trained on her as he dragged a large wooden cabinet from the entryway to block the door. The piece had to weigh two hundred pounds, yet he required only one hand to move it. “Where's your Player?”

“Dead. Where's your partner?”

He snorted. “Not too many alliances survive when there's ten million dollars at stake. After the briefing, everyone voted to go it alone.”

“How did you explain helping me?”

He ignored her.

“I'm surprised they didn't kill you right then.”

He shrugged. “I'm not their target, you are, and since I'm their best tracker, you can bet they're following me.” He smiled. “But not too closely. I didn't make it easy for them.”

“Now that you found me, they'll put a bullet in the back of your head first chance they get. Actually, how
did
you track me here?”

“Wasn't hard. They told us you'd be headed for the mainframe. After that, it was just a race against time to get there before you left. Unfortunately for me, the storm hit last night, otherwise I would've caught you twelve hours ago.” He chuckled.

“What's so funny?”

“Just thinking about that path of destruction you left behind. The place looked like a bomb hit it.”

“That was the storm.”

“I meant the Infecteds you killed. It's a real shame Arc's not paying you for them.”

“Maybe I should ask. I'll even split the money with you.”

He stepped over to her, the humor gone from his face. “I don't think you realize the gravity of your situation, young lady.” He shook his head. “Now, I'm not going to ask again. Where is your Player?”

“I already told you. He's dead.”

“I don't believe you.” He cocked his head toward the front of the choir. Jessie noticed it too, a scuffling sound. Micah had heard them and was trying to get loose. “Dead, huh?”

“That's Micah. I'm not lying about my Player. He's dead.”

“
It's
dead,” he corrected. “And what's a mica?”

She sighed. “It's a long story.”

“I'll give you ten minutes.”

“Screw you. What do you care?”

He pulled off his backpack and opened it up, then threw her a bottle of water and an emergency food ration.

“Not much of a last meal, I know,” he said, “but it's better than nothing.”

* * *

Grant shook his head as he paced. “I'm sorry, but I don't believe—”

“It's true. All of it.”

He stopped and stared at her, his face a mixture of skepticism and horror. She'd just finished telling him what Micah had told her, but had kept the part about the file on her Link a secret.

“Arc has been lying to us for years, Grant. You have to believe me.”

“Oh, I believe they've been lying about a lot of things, including their intentions for the technology. But I don't believe the part about them being alive.”

“So, you think Arc wants to take over control of our minds?”

He shrugged. “I was actually one of those people who protested the implants when the government first recommended that we all have them put in. It was everyone's biggest fear. But laws were passed forbidding access to our brains as long as we're still alive. And assurances were made that the implants would remain off until they were needed.”

“They're not kept completely off. They actually operate at a very low level. That's how they monitor our status, how Arc knows when we die.”

“Okay, let's assume I believe that and it's true—”

“It is.”

“And he— I mean, that
thing
on the floor over there told you this?”

Jessie nodded. “His name is Micah. He was a friend.”

Grant looked skeptical. He stood up and went to the front of the nave, where he peered down at him.

“You say you can
hear
his thoughts? How? Why can't I? Is it just him or any Undead?”

“The way he explained it to me, the implants have to be programmed specifically to connect.”

“How? The Stream's down.”

“It's short-range. Micah said there's a defect in their transmission protocol that allows them to communicate directly with each other bypassing the network. But the connected implants have to be in close proximity. And they have to be coded that way.”

“Can he hear your thoughts?”

“No. Latent implants can't transmit, only receive.”

“He told you this?”

“Look, I'm not crazy!”

“Says the girl who broke into Gameland
twice
.” He studied her for a moment, then shook his head. “Well, if not crazy, then definitely stupid.”

“I'm not stupid!”

“I have two teenage daughters, so I think I'm qualified to recognize stupid when I see. They make rash decisions all the time despite knowing better.” He paused and exhaled heavily. “It doesn't mean I don't love them, just means that I understand teenagers. But this . . . . Well, I hope they'd never do anything this spectacularly stupid.”

“Fuck you.”

He went over and kicked Micah. “I don't suppose you can prove any of this?”

“If you just wait till noon, my brother will tell you. He's head of Necrotics Crimes in Greenwich.”

“He's here? On the island?”

She shook her head. “Connecticut.”

“How's he going to get through the firewall?”

“You'll see.” She pulled the Link from her pocket. “Just wait another twenty minutes.”

“We may not have twenty minutes. I may be the best tracker. I was careful to cover my own tracks, but that doesn't mean the other Players are slouches.”

She shrugged. “Twenty minutes. You'll see I'm telling the truth by then. Then it won't matter if the others find us.”

“You sound pretty damn confident about this. For my own sake, I hope you're not bullshitting me.”

 

Lana Daniels watched Kelly until he disappeared back inside the hospital. She sucked in a deep breath and tried to rouse herself from the daze her pain medications put her in, but it was so hard to feel anything, much less a sense of urgency. She shut her eyes and tried to focus, tried to feel some alarm at what was happening.

She shifted in the seat and winced as her legs cramped up. Painful muscle contractions were a side effect of the kidney drugs they had her on. Thankfully, they'd been mild, but the sudden evacuation had exacerbated them, as well as woken her older injuries. Every part of her hurt; every muscle felt abused, every bone as brittle as ice crystals.

Even so, she was glad to be out of the hospital, away from the spiteful nurses and their hard needles and cold fingers and even colder and harder stares. They knew who she was, and they gave her no clemency beyond what was minimally expected of them as professionals.

Her abduction ordeal — that first cold and wet night in the woods behind the house, then in Ashley Evans's basement, had completely sapped her of strength and spirit. So when consciousness finally slipped away from her a few days later, she'd welcomed its smothering darkness. She resented waking up in the hospital and discovering she hadn't died.

She could see the guilt in Kelly's eyes for his role in her mistreatment, but she didn't blame him or Reggie for what they'd done. Though she'd never have guessed the horrible truth, she still knew that they weren't acting of their own accord. Of course, she'd also not suspected that it was Ashley behind it.

In her mind, there was only one person who hated her enough to do this, and that was her father-in-law.

Ulysses had never forgiven her for the affair she'd had with Eugene Halliwell during the Nobel Ceremony. Somehow he'd found out, and took it as a personal affront against him instead of his son. He'd refused to even acknowledge Jessie's existence, at least until he found out she carried the exact same immunity to Reanimation that Halliwell did.

When the kids told her Ulysses had died on Long Island, she had her doubts. He was too smart, too careful, too cunning, to be taken as easily as Jessie had described it. He
had
to be behind the implant hacking and abduction, not Micah. Not Ashley. They were all just pawns. It was Ulysses.

He was exacting his revenge.

She sighed and opened her eyes again. Keeping them closed wasn't really working for her, not with all the sirens getting louder and all the shouting going on. For a moment, she almost forgot what was happening.

Where's Kelly? How long has he been gone?

Besides, having her eyes closed made her feel claustrophobic again. It was the same feeling she'd had down in Ashley's basement.

She smacked her lips and wished she had something to drink, something preferably alcoholic, and that made her feel resentful again.

It was Jessie's fault. She'd made her promise to stop drinking. But though Lana had managed to keep that promise, where was Jessie? Nowhere to be seen.

Why won't she visit me?

Because she's still in Gameland.

I thought she was back home.

She returned.

Or had she dreamt that part?

God, it was so hard to keep her thoughts straight.

Resisting the alcohol had been so hard, harder than she'd ever thought it would be. Alcohol had been her shield all these years. It was the only thing that kept her sane.

She peered out past the parked cars and tried not to think about how ironic it was that her own daughter, who had been conceived in deception, could hold her sinning mother to such a high standard. Jessie tolerated nothing less than total loyalty and honesty, and in that way she was a lot like her grandfather. Like him, and yet nothing like him at all.

Eric, on the other hand, always forgave even her most grievous sins. He was always too easy on her.

Something in the Daniels blood
, she thought, remembering that Jessie carried none of it in her own veins.

She watched the people starting to flee the hospital.
What's happening out there? What am I doing here?

Kelly.

She remembered now that he'd brought her out.

It had been just a few people leaving at first, but now they were pouring out of the building in droves. Why were they leaving? It seemed strange, since most of them were on foot and still wearing hospital gowns. Some piled into their cars and tried to drive away, but the exits were jammed up. There was a lot of yelling. A lot of finger pointing. And banging.

She heard a loud crash and jumped in alarm. Smoke rose from behind one corner of the hospital.

There were more crashes, smaller ones, closer. Cars were ramming each other, turning the parking lot into a demolition derby. Hoods were dented, fenders crushed.

It was making her agitated. She kept expecting someone to slam into Kelly's little sedan at any moment.

More police cars arrived, dumping out teams of uniformed men and women. As soon as they jumped out, they started shooting.