Game Over (7 page)

“You have a smart phone in your shirt pocket, do you not?” he said.

Hepplewhite's hand hung in the air. His eyes narrowed in confusion. “Excuse me?”

“A phone. In your pocket,” said the slimy purple thing that had once been a genius.

Hepplewhite shrugged. “So?”

“So I have entered it.”

Hepplewhite did not understand. Entered his phone? What did that mean? He knew he should just shoot the man and get it over with. But he was curious. “Entered . . .?” he began to say.

“The phone. It's a computer after all. I have linked my mind to it through the MindWar Realm. I have taken it over.”

“Ah,” said Hepplewhite.
This is nonsense
, he thought. Once again, he started to reach for the gun beneath his jacket.

But Kurodar said, “If you put your hand inside your jacket, I will cause your phone to explode with a force that will embed a thousand shards of plastic in your heart. You will be dead before your gun ever clears the holster.”

Hepplewhite's face went blank. His hand froze midway to his jacket. He became very aware of the screens and machines blinking in the room all around him, the
machines whose wires ran into Kurodar's veins and nerve endings as if he and they were one. “No,” he said. “If you could do that, you'd have killed the Traveler and his kid—what's his name . . . Rick Dial—by now.”

“The Traveler's defenses are deep and strong. Yours aren't.”

Hepplewhite shook his head slowly. “I don't believe you,” he said—but he did not continue to reach for his gun.

Kurodar laughed again,
boom
,
boom
,
boom
, that dull drumming noise. “You believe me, all right. And here is what you are going to do now. You are going to leave here. You are going to return to your friends in the Assembly. You are going to tell them I want nothing from them. I need nothing from them. I am going to destroy the MindWar Project and I'm going to destroy the United States of America, and I need no one to help me.”

Hepplewhite's hand still hovered near his gun. He was not sure what to think. He was not sure what to believe. He was not sure what to do. He said, “What makes you think you'll succeed this time? The Traveler and his boy have defeated you at every turn.”

“Yes,” said Kurodar. “But this time I have a secret weapon.”

“What's that?” said Hepplewhite.

“Rick Dial himself,” said Kurodar.

And with that, the terrorist began to laugh again, a great booming laugh that caused him to throw his head back against his seat.

And Hepplewhite thought,
Now!
Like a flash, while Kurodar was fully distracted, the assassin's hand went inside his jacket and grabbed his gun.

A second later, Harold Hepplewhite was lying on the floor on his back, his eyes staring up at the ceiling through the round lenses of his glasses, his paisley shirt soaked with blood, his white jacket beginning to turn red, his heart shredded by the shrapnel from his exploded phone.

The two men who were tending Kurodar's machines—the two villagers from the continent—stood staring at the dead assassin with wide eyes.

“Take him out of here and bury him,” said Kurodar quietly.

7. MOONLIT GROVE

RICK DREADED THE
darkness. He dreaded sleep. Would his nightmares return? Would they take him back into the Realm again? Would they take him back to the Golden City and its living-dead creatures, Boars and Cobras and Harpies?

Were his dreams even dreams at all? Or were they some strange new form of reality? Was reality itself even real anymore?

Who could you trust if you couldn't trust yourself? If you couldn't trust your own mind?

Rick didn't know. He only knew he was afraid. Of the night. Of the dark. Of sleep and dreams.

He tried not to show his fear to the others. They were all sitting together in the Dials' living room. Raider had been sent upstairs to bed half an hour ago. But Rick and his mother and father and Molly and Professor Jameson remained. The scene was bizarrely normal. The Christmas tree stood in the corner, its crown scraping the ceiling, its branches hung with ornaments and lights. A fire was crackling happily in the fireplace. Rick's mother had
put some Christmas music on the Sonos—Mom loved Christmas music and played it every chance she got. Right this minute, “Adeste Fideles” was sounding softly in the background.

And they were talking about the murdered guard.

That's what made the normalcy so weird. In that homey Christmas setting, the conversation seemed like something from another planet, as if an alien language had been dubbed in over an ordinary family scene.

Outside, on the compound grounds, things were not normal at all. Ever since the guard had been found dead in the tower booth, everyone had been on edge. Commander Mars had ordered the entire area searched. The guard who had been assigned to the base of the tower was in custody and under suspicion. Miss Ferris had subjected Rick to a sharp interrogation about the incident, as if he were also a suspect, even though the Traveler had been with him the whole time. Even now, after nightfall, there were flashlight beams crisscrossing the darkness out there as guards went over the area yet again.

“You're sure you saw the Boar?” Professor Jameson asked Rick one more time.

“We both saw it,” said the Traveler. “It was there.”

“And not just a Boar Soldier,” said Rick. “A dead one. His face all rotted.”

“Ew!” said Molly.

“But how is that possible?” Professor Jameson asked.

Both Rick and his father shook their heads.

“How do I dream about battles and wake up with scratches?” said Rick. “None of it makes any sense.”

“Oh, I'm pretty sure it makes sense,” the Traveler corrected him gently. “We just don't understand the sense it makes. Not yet, anyway.”

They were all speaking in low voices. Partly, that was so Raider wouldn't hear them upstairs. But partly, too, it was because they did not want anyone outside to hear them either. No one would say it out loud, but the truth was they didn't trust anyone outside of their little circle. Like Victor One, they were all convinced there was a traitor within the project. Mars, Miss Ferris, even the Traveler's old friend Leila Kent . . . Any one of them could be the turncoat in their midst. That's why they had not told anyone about the Boar. Rick and his father had made this decision together. Mars was already angry and suspicious, threatening to ban Rick from the Realm. An incident like this would only make things worse. So for now, they allowed the death of the soldier in the guard tower to remain a mystery.

“I'm worried that it has something to do with me,” said Rick suddenly. They all turned to look at him. He dropped his eyes and stared at the floor. “Maybe what Mars says is true. Maybe when I went through the Breach, I caused . . . I don't know . . . some kind of disturbance . . .”

“Is that possible?” This was Molly, looking now from one face to another, from Rick to her father to Rick's father to Rick again. “I mean, how could that have anything to
do with a Realm creature coming into reality? How is that even possible?”

The Traveler's eyebrows went up over the top rims of his spectacles. He didn't answer. No one said anything for a long time. There was hardly a sound besides a choir softly singing “O Holy Night.”

“Well . . .,” said Professor Jameson finally.

He and Molly got up to go. They were leaving the compound tomorrow. They had been brought here to keep them safe from Kurodar's men—and the Traveler had seized the opportunity to get Professor Jameson to help him with his work. But since the guard's murder, Mars had declared that only necessary personnel would be allowed on the grounds. He had arranged to have a transport truck come and pick up the professor and his daughter and take them back to Putnam Hills. He would have them watched by security guards from now on to keep them safe.

Rick's father and mother walked them to the door. Rick went outside with them into the biting cold. Professor Jameson walked off to their barracks, leaving Molly and Rick alone in the night. They stood together near where Rick and his father had stood, near the little grove of trees outside the house. A half-moon had risen over the compound. Its silver light turned the winter branches into spiral patterns against the sky. Flashlight beams were visible here and there as guards patrolled the night. And above them, in the tower, Rick could make out the shadow of a new guard, pacing.

Rick and Molly stood close together in the darkness. Rick could see his old friend's eyes glistening in the moonlight. He could smell her scent. Her nearness made his heart hurt. There were so many things he wanted to say to her, but he couldn't find the right words for any of them. It wasn't like he had some stupid idea of ever getting romantic with her again. That was over; it was too late to bring those feelings back. He had seen the way Molly looked at Victor One in the hospital room. Something was obviously starting between them, and Rick had no right to interfere with it. V-One was a good man, a soldier, and a hero. He and Molly could make each other very happy.

Rick put his hands in his back pockets. His frosted breath turned silver in the moonlight.

“Well, listen,” he said, “I'm gonna miss you around here, but I'm glad you're getting away from all this. Things are getting very weird in old MindWarville, and you'll be a lot better off back at school.”

Molly didn't say anything, but Rick could see her nodding in the shadows.

He stumbled on awkwardly. “And listen, you know, you and I have been friends a long time, right? And so I just want you to know that I'm really glad, you know, if you and Victor One . . . what I mean is, V-One's a really good guy and . . . what I'm trying to say . . .”

Molly put her arms around him and kissed him.

It was such a surprise that Rick should have been confused. But he was not confused. He was not anything. He
was just kissing her. In fact, he was amazed at how easy it was to find himself doing this, how simple and right it was. He could not understand why he hadn't thought of it before.

Then he held her close to him, his cheek to her cheek, his lips to her ear, her lips to his.

“But . . . I thought you guys, you and Victor One . . . I thought it was you and him now . . .,” Rick whispered.

“That's because you're an idiot,” she whispered back. “You don't understand anything.”

Rick had to agree. He did not even understand what was happening now. He did not even try.

“There's no one else,” Molly said. “There's only you.” She drew back from him. She looked at him through the darkness. “Now you're supposed to say that back,” she explained to him. “You're supposed to say there's only me.”

“There's only you,” he said.

“Are you sure?”

Rick hesitated. He thought of Mariel. But in fact he realized that deep down he had always known it was Molly he wanted. “I'm sure,” he said. He put his hand against her cheek. His cold hand. Her warm cheek. Molly smiled at him. Then she shivered.

“You better go back to your barracks,” he told her. But he didn't want her to go. Inside his house, the darkness was waiting for him. His bed . . . sleep . . . dreams. The Golden City. The living dead. He wished he could stay out here with Molly forever. “Go,” he said again.

“All right,” she said. She smiled. “I understand. You have to do what you have to do. Go back into the Realm. Destroy the evildoers. Save the world.”

“Something like that.”

“Just do me one favor, okay?” Molly said. “Don't die. Can you remember that? I mean, even for a dumb jock like you, those are very simple instructions: Do not die.”

“How do you spell it?”

“Very funny. I laugh and laugh at your hilarious jokes.”

Even in the night, Rick could see the fear in her eyes just as plainly as he could feel the fear inside his own heart. He kissed her one last time. He wrapped his arms around her. “I won't die,” he said. “I promise.”

He wished he felt sure that he was telling the truth.

8. FEAR EFFECT

THE MOMENT RICK
stepped into the house—the moment he saw his mom and dad standing together in the living room, waiting for him—the moment he saw the looks of deep anxiety on their faces—he felt his heart drop so fast, so hard, it was nearly comical, even to him. A few seconds before, out in the brassy cold, he had felt so warm inside, full of Molly's presence and his feelings for her and her feelings for him, that for a few moments everything had seemed simple. Good. Now, here, inside, in the warmth, a chill went through him, making him shudder. It was the chill of fear.

Down the hall, behind the closed door, his room was waiting for him. His bed. Sleep. Those dreams . . .

He stood for another second, looking at the painful worry on his parents' faces. There seemed to be nothing to say.

“I guess I better get to bed,” he said. Again, he heard the pale sound of fear in his voice and he hated it.

In his room, he undressed slowly. All the while, he eyed his narrow bed as if it were some kind of prowling
animal—an animal that might suddenly leap at him. He pulled some sweatpants on over his scarred legs and worked his way into a T-shirt. Then he just stood there in the center of the room, staring at the bed.

There was a soft knock at the door. His mother came in.

Rick could not get over how different she seemed now that his dad was back. When the Traveler was gone, she had seemed to grow old instantly. She stopped wearing makeup. Her hair got gray and frizzy. Her shoulders started to stoop. Now that Dad was back, it was as if a fresh flood of life and youth had rushed through her. The lines on her face seemed to have disappeared almost magically. She looked wide awake and alert and her eyes were full of light and humor.