The Game of Lives (9 page)

5

A few hours later, they were well out of the mountains and on a freeway heading toward Atlanta, where Helga said they had an airplane waiting to take them north to D.C., the location of the Latvian embassy.

Throughout the entire drive, he'd tried and tried to make a connection with Gabby. He sent out dangler messages for her in several places, but she still hadn't responded. The universal Net signal had been spotty up in the mountains, so at first he was hoping that had been the problem. But now that they were back in civilization, he was beginning to worry. All he could think of was that cop hitting Gabby with the nightstick. If she was dead…

He barely knew the girl. But he felt a debt to Jackson Porter. It was bad enough that he'd stolen the guy's body. If he'd caused Jackson's girlfriend to die as well, Michael didn't know if he could handle the guilt.

“Anyone else starving?” Bryson asked. No one had spoken in at least an hour, and it snapped Michael out of his dark cloud. He'd long ago put away his NetScreen, and now realized he was hungry.

“I am,” Sarah replied.

Michael nodded absently.

“Find us a restaurant,” Helga said to Walter up in the front seat. “Preferably one with fried chicken.”

Michael laughed, the most random laugh that had ever escaped him. Maybe he was going cuckoo from the stress.

“You have a problem with fried chicken?” Helga asked him.

“Not at all. I'm just in a weird mood.”

Sarah squeezed his leg, then took his hand. “I'm sure it's nothing that a good bucket of greasy heart-attack food won't cure.”

6

Michael stood outside the restaurant, taking long, deep breaths to calm his nerves while he waited for the others to use the bathroom. He'd barely spoken while they ate—chicken had been an excellent choice—he was just too wired thinking about Gabby, Kaine, the VNS, and how in the world he and his friends were supposed to make a difference at the World Summit. What he would give for a switch that could turn off his brain for a while.

A car was passing him in the parking lot, one of those new, fancy things with only three wheels. It had barely gone by when it slammed on its brakes, the back end swerving around until it came to a stop sideways. Michael took a step back, nervous. There were three people inside, but the sun reflecting off the windows prevented him from getting a good look at them.

The car sat there, its engine still running with a high-pitched whine of electricity. Michael turned back to the restaurant to see if any of his friends were coming out, but there was no sign of them. The line for the bathroom had been long—it was a popular place for travelers, and they'd hit it right at the peak of lunch hour. He looked back at the car again; nothing had changed.

Michael tried not to stare, but things were feeling weirder by the second. Had the driver had a heart attack or something? Done in by one too many grease-soaked drumsticks? The other two people in the car weren't moving, either. Were they okay? Their heads were warped shadows behind the sparkling windows, totally still.

He almost jumped when all three windows started to go down. A man was driving, young and alive, and two women sat in the back. They looked to be about the same age as the driver, one blond and one brunette. All three of them stared at Michael, expressionless, their eyes glued to him.

He didn't know what to do. A chill ran across his shoulders and he shivered. He glanced behind him to see if they could be looking at something else, but there was nothing unusual—just the restaurant. He turned back toward the car. Still they stared.

The door to the restaurant jangled and Bryson and Sarah came out, laughing about something. Michael saw them out of the corner of his eye, and he suddenly felt sheepish, like he'd been caught doing something wrong.

“Man,” Bryson said, swatting Michael on the back. “Some dude had a major disagreement with his fried chicken. Held up the bathroom for a solid ten minutes. I've been in porta-potties that smelled better.”

Sarah laughed again, and the sound made Michael feel better. Safer, actually.

“You all right?” she asked. But even as the words came out of her mouth, she noticed what held his attention. “What in the world?” she whispered.

“Who are they?” Bryson asked. The car still sat there, windows down, the three people staring at Michael, frozen in place.

“I have no idea,” he answered. But he did know.

Sarah wrapped her arm around his, as if protecting him. “They're probably just Tangents who think you're famous.
The First.” She said that last word like a curse. “It's nothing to worry about.”

Michael shook his head, then found a spark of courage. He stepped forward and walked toward the car. The movement seemed to snap the strangers out of their hypnotic state, and as the windows began to go up, Michael caught a spark of terror in the driver's eyes before the glass sealed between them.

“Hey!” he shouted. “Who are you? What do you want?”

The engine of the car revved and it lurched into motion, the tires squealing as it sped off. Horns blared out on the street as the car swerved into traffic and disappeared.

1

Gabby finally responded.

Michael heard from her when they were just a few minutes from the airport. He'd been silent, thinking about those unsettling people staring at him from the car. He had no doubt that they were Tangents, but a part of him hoped it had been a random sighting and wasn't an omen of something worse to come.

When Helga announced that they were almost there, Michael decided to check his NetScreen one last time and see if Gabby had responded to one of his many danglers. As soon as the screen winked on, he saw that she had. And her response was short and simple:

Jackson. Michael. Whoever you are. They chased me but i got away. I'm at my grandparents' old farmhouse, south of Atlanta. Safe for now. But i'm
alone and scared. Coordinates attached if you'd like to visit and talk. If not, i understand.

Michael bolted up straight in his seat. The others could tell something was wrong right away.

Sarah was already reading over his shoulder. “Oh, man,” she whispered. Her tone made it plain that Gabby wasn't high on her priority list. “Well, at least she said she's safe.”

“We have to go get her,” Michael said. “Somebody chased her! I knew something was strange about how that cop walked right over to her. Whoever framed us hadn't planned on Jackson Porter's girlfriend getting involved and wanted her out of the picture. It's my fault.” He leaned back into the seat and let out an anguished sigh. “She deserves to be with us—to have the protection of the Alliance.”

“Michael—” Helga began, and he knew exactly what she was going to say.

“I know,” he said, cutting her off. “The World Summit. But it's still three days away. And look, this farmhouse of Gabby's is only a couple of hours from the airport. She
is
from Atlanta, after all.” He pointed at his screen, where he'd pulled up the coordinates and a map. “If we hurry, we can get her and she can come with us.”

Bryson was leaning over Sarah to get a look. “How much you wanna bet Agent Weber is the one who hassled the poor kid? The VNS's fingerprints are on everything. One of these days we need to get Weber locked in a room with some nice torture devices. I'm ready to go medieval on her.”

“We can't go, Michael,” Helga said. “We can't risk spending
time on one person when the whole world is on the verge of collapse. We have to get into that summit and figure out a way to make people listen.”

Michael clicked off his NetScreen, rubbed his eyes. “She deserves to be with us, not alone.”

“Then we can get her after we get back from D.C.,” Helga insisted.

“No!” Michael shouted, surprising even himself. “You don't get it. I stole Jackson Porter's body! His parents are probably insane with worry by now. And then I made his girlfriend help us get into the VNS's headquarters, and she's probably got a fractured skull because of it. Now she's alone, hiding in some creepy farmhouse. I have to help her!”

Sarah had been leaning into him, her hand on his leg, but she pulled away and folded her arms. Was she jealous? The thought made him want to punch the roof of the car. Nothing had ever sounded stupider.

No one responded to his tirade.

“Listen,” Michael said, forcing himself to speak more calmly. “We have weapons. We have three cars full of people. A little detour will be fine.”

Helga just sighed and shook her head.

“I'm with Michael on this one,” Bryson said. “Helping Gabby is good. But she might have also learned something valuable. Look, we don't know jack squat. We need answers. What good does it do if we sneak into that summit and say, ‘Cheerio, mates! Tangents are taking over you blokes!' They'll look back at us and say, ‘Duh.' ”

Michael wanted to hug Bryson right then, even though
his British accent was awful. “She's a human being. We owe her.”

Helga wasn't giving in. “One human. There are eight billion on the planet. We have to weigh our priorities.”

It took all of Michael's willpower to keep his temper under control. “Fine, then we'll split up. One or two of you can go with me. The rest of you go to D.C. I'll find you when I'm done.”

Helga recoiled from him, as if he'd slapped her, and Michael knew he'd played his cards right. There was no way she'd let him run off to rescue Gabby without her.

“Come on, Helga,” he said. “I'm only one human. Kind of. Let me risk myself, and you guys go save the other billions.” He refused to give up. He was going to get Gabby, end of story.

“What if it's a trap?” she asked, her last-ditch effort. “How do we even know it's her?”

“I have faith in my danglers.”

“Huh?”

Michael let out a sigh. “Fine, it might be a trap. Which makes it a good thing we have three cars full of people and weapons. Or…like I said, we could split up so we don't risk missing the fancy World Summit.”

Helga just slowly shook her head at him, defeat and anger in her eyes. “I miss the days when you were little and I could send you to your room without supper.” She leaned over the front seat and tapped Walter on the shoulder. “Don't turn off the freeway at the airport exit.” She looked back at Michael with a disapproving glare. “We're going to keep heading south for a while.”

2

They left the city far behind and entered a long stretch of flat land. Fields spread toward the horizon, broken only by the angular lines of barns and farmhouses, the curved towers of silos reaching toward the sky like castle turrets. Michael didn't recognize most of the crops, but the grand rows of corn took his breath away. Something about those crowded rows of tall stalks haunted him. Who knew what hid within?

Helga served as the official navigator, relaying directions up to Walter. The coordinates Gabby had provided eventually led them to a dirt road that sliced a field of corn right down the middle. Walter turned onto the path, sending up clouds of dust behind him, and Michael was glad their SUV was in front so he could clearly see where they were going. They drove for at least a mile, until finally they reached a clearing—a wide expanse of yellowed lawn, half-crumbled barns, and a huge farmhouse. A lone car—a small red hatchback—was parked by the porch.

“Stop!” Helga yelled.

Walter slammed on the brakes, throwing everyone forward against their seat belts. Michael heard the other two cars skid to a stop behind them.

“I thought it was still a few miles away,” Walter said, his voice tense.

“This has to be it,” Helga replied, looking down at the coordinates Michael had sent her back in Atlanta. “But the satellite pics don't show another house for at least ten miles.”

Sarah leaned over Michael to see the images. She'd been quiet the entire drive, making him wonder again whether
she was jealous. The truth was, he had no romantic interest in Gabby. All he wanted to do was to salvage one of the many things he'd royally screwed up in this world.

“Places out in the country like this aren't always exact with GPS,” Sarah said. “If this is it, at least we know there's no army waiting for us. We're winning, three cars to one.”

Those were more words than she'd spoken in the last two hours. Michael appreciated her being positive.

“I almost wish we were surrounded by soldiers or cops or goons totin' guns right now,” Bryson said. “At least then we'd know what we're up against. This place gives me the creeps.”

So much for the positive vibes
, Michael thought. He sure hoped he hadn't just wasted several hours of time the Alliance didn't have. The place
was
a little spooky.

“I'm not sure I share your wish,” Sarah replied to Bryson, heavy on the sarcasm. “I vote for
not
being surrounded by people who wanna kill us. That's just me.”

“There's only the one car,” Michael said. “And it's a farm in the middle of nowhere.”

Helga opened her door. “I'm not taking any chances. There might be an entire military base hidden underground.”

Michael loved Helga. He really did.

“Everyone grab a gun,” she said. “Let's check it out.”

3

The yellowed grass crunched under Michael's feet with every step. He had a pistol this time, a semiautomatic, fully loaded. He gripped it as expertly as any marksman. It felt like second
nature after all the years of gaming. He didn't mind taking precautions, but he hoped no one got trigger-happy and shot Gabby by accident.

He studied the house as they crept closer, half expecting a window to explode at any moment, gunfire raining down on them. But nothing stirred, not even the tattered curtains he glimpsed through the grimy glass.

The house had seen better days, that was for sure.

Tall and wide, with a steeply pitched roof and gables, it had a wraparound porch that reminded Michael of a game he used to play that took place on a plantation. It screamed iced tea and rocking chairs. But the porch was empty, and the house was a lot older than the one in the game. Shingles were missing from the roof, and the paint was flaking. The few places where it wasn't peeling, it had faded to something like pale yellow. The only real sign of life was that the parched grass on which they walked had been cut recently.

Michael and the group stopped a few yards from the porch steps and waited for the Tangents from the other two cars to join them.

“Walter,” Helga said, “you and me, front door. Amy, you and Chris go around back. Tony and DeeAnn, watch the windows on the side of the house. Michael, you and your friends watch those windows on the second floor—the gables. Holler if you see a fly twitch.”

Michael knew she was protecting him, but this wasn't the time to argue. He had no problem hanging back. This wasn't a game. He just hoped they'd be back on the road in the next few minutes, with Gabby on board.

“Okay,” he said, but Helga and the others were already on
the move, creeping ahead like trained soldiers. Soon Helga and Walter were up the creaky porch stairs and positioned on either side of the front door. They glanced at each other; then Helga reached out, twisted the handle of the door. It swung open with a haunted-house shriek.

She and Walter slipped inside.

4

A minute passed. Two. Michael stood breathless, straining to hear what was going on. Nothing moved behind the windows he'd been tasked with watching, and he could tell that his friends were getting just as antsy as he was.

“Nobody's in there,” he whispered. He almost dropped his gun to his side in defeat but knew not to be that stupid. “We came all the way out here for—”

“Michael!”

Helga. Shouting his name from inside. Everything else flew from his mind and he was on the move, sprinting toward the steps, taking them all at once, flashing through the still-open door. The front hall was empty, as were the two rooms he could see to either side, all wood and antiques and crooked pictures on the walls. This place was like something from an old flat-film, no sign of even a simple WallScreen.

“Where are you?” he shouted, just as Bryson and Sarah came barreling through the door on his heels.

“Up here! Quick!”

A staircase loomed on the right side of the hall. Michael
went to it, this time taking only two steps at a time because they were steeper. His breath came ragged—more from the adrenaline than the effort—by the time he reached the top. He caught a glimpse of Walter's shoulder in the nearest bedroom and ran to it. He slowed down and stepped inside.

An odd, haunting scene awaited him. A chair stood alone on the far side of the room, between a curtained window and a large wardrobe. Gabby sat in it, her hands tied behind her back and a gag wrapped around her mouth. She was disheveled, her hair a mess, her face red, and her clothes soaked with sweat. She looked awful, and she was trying to speak through the cloth.

And her eyes. She stared at Michael, pleading with her eyes for help.

He took a step toward her, but Helga quickly moved in front of him, blocking his path.

“No,” she said. “Not yet.” She turned to look at Gabby.

Jackson's girlfriend still had her gaze fixed on him.

“Take her gag off, at least,” he said. “She's obviously got something to say.”

Helga sighed, turned her attention to Walter. She raised her eyebrows.

Walter shook his head. “We need to leave. Now.”

“It won't hurt to take off her gag,” Sarah said, moving around everyone else and walking straight up to Gabby.

“Wait!” Michael shouted, suddenly picturing some sort of trap.

But nothing happened.

Sarah reached behind Gabby, fiddled with the knot in the cloth behind her head until it loosened, then let it drop around the girl's neck.

Gabby sucked in a big pull of air. “Thank you,” she whispered in a hoarse voice. “Don't worry, no one's going to hurt you. They promised.”

“What do you mean?” Michael asked. “Who else is here?”

“Just listen.” She took a couple more deep breaths, then looked around. “Someone is here—someone who wants to talk to you. They used me to get you to come. Forced me to send the message.”

“What're you talking about?” Helga asked before Michael could.

“Enough of this!” Walter yelled. “Let's leave. Now!”

Gabby shook her head adamantly. “No! Whatever you do, don't do that. They let you in, but they won't let you out unless you at least listen to what they say.”

“Who?” Michael asked.

“Just wait. He's coming. Like I said. He promised me that no one would get hurt unless you tried to hurt him.”

Suddenly a deep, resonant roar filled the room. It sounded like an enormous machine had started, rumbling from everywhere at once. There was a piercing whine and a grinding of gears. Then, just as abruptly as it had begun, the noise stopped.