“I know you are.” She puts her hand on mine, and a rush of electricity shoots through me. Feeling her body makes me feel better about the horrible thoughts coursing through my mind. “That’s how I know I can be open with you. You understand the pressure. You get what it’s like when everything is chaotic. You know the spotlight. And you know what it feels like when the whole world seems to be resting on your shoulders. Trust me, I know it all too. I know it all too well.”
“You can definitely trust me.” I smile, the energy of her body seeming to pull me closer to her. “Sometimes, I feel like I never have anyone to talk to. Like sometimes I’m all alone in my head. Like I can’t trust anyone. My dad and Jake, neither of them understand. They don’t know what I go through. But I’m glad you seem to get it. It’s refreshing.”
“I only get it all because when we teamed up during that Deadwave competition, I immediately got that the stress you feel, the beast that drives you to keep going even when your body is screaming at you to stop, is one and the same for both of us.” She brushes a hand through her hair, it falling in thick black strands through her fingers. It is graceful in the same way that a butterfly emerges from a cocoon, but even more beautiful than that. “That kind of drive, it only comes from a fear. A fear of what could have been if you don’t give life your all, and a hope that what it can be is worth it. I have a feeling it will be for both of us.”
“I could not have—” I abruptly stop speaking, looking at her with admiration for a moment. “That is exactly how I feel. That is like exactly it. You hit the nail right on the head. We are just scared of different things. Driven by different monsters, different dreams. Headed down different paths that both better end in a life we actually wanna live.”
“Exactly. Exactly.” Part of her seems almost excited that our thoughts are bouncing off each other—that our struggles mirrored one another’s. “Deadwave overall has been a dream for me, and I let the darkness of my past motivate me. Lately though, I have felt like Deadwave hasn’t been enough. It always used to solve all my problems, but I don’t know if anything can solve my current one.”
“What problem?” I sit directly next to her now, our thighs touching, my hairy, boney ones against her smooth, fuller ones.
“It all goes back to about eight years ago. My dad went to work one day and we woke up in the middle of the night to a call from the hospital. He had to be rushed there in the middle of his shift.” She chokes up for a second, tears welling up in her eyes.
“His supervisor was rushing him to clean out a meat grinder in the packing plant, and even though it’s not allowed, to do it quickly he turned it on so that the blades were spinning at operational speed. My dad eventually slipped into the meat grinder, and both his legs were severed off within seconds before his coworker could pull him out.” She wipes the tears from underneath her eyes only for them to continue to stream out. She keeps her composure, her voice oddly calm, but a deep anger present in her eyes that even scares me a bit. “So, my mom and I get this call at four a.m. from the hospital, telling us to get there as fast as we can. And when we arrive, my dad is lying in the hospital bed, his eyes closed, and his legs from the upper thigh down completely gone.”
I wrap my arms around her; at this point even my inept self is able to tell she needs a hug.
She utters through tears, “I still can’t get over that night. I still can’t get that image out of my mind. The pain that I could see on his face, even when the life seemed to barely be left in him.” She takes a deep breath. “He managed to survive, but surviving and truly living are very different things. He was unable to work, and due to our undocumented status, he was ineligible for unemployment benefits or workers compensation. And with no health insurance, our hospital bill easily rose into the six figures and beyond, as he had to have multiple surgeries, prosthetic limbs, and a host of medications to prevent infection. They said that he was lucky he survived, but my dad didn’t think so. That’s why he started drinking himself to death, while my mom worked herself to death.
“She sometimes had to work hundred-hour weeks to make ends meet. One hundred hours!” Her body leans into mine, and I hug her tight, the scent of her perfume tickling my nostrils. “At this point, between hospital bills, my mom enabling my dad’s drinking addiction, and then rent, we barely had enough money for food. I’m talking like Ramen was a luxury. Once my mom played this game where we had to make a meal out of whatever was left in the kitchen cabinet, and when me and my four little siblings looked in the cabinet, there was literally no food. And not too long after those dark times she had a heart attack, which put her out of work again. My brothers and I had to rely on food kitchens and the goodwill of our neighbors to survive. We are lucky the landlord didn’t kick us out because he felt bad for us.”
She laughs, despite the fact that tears are streaming out of her eyes. She speaks fast, her words at times slurred, but I understand every bit of it. “My sole escape from it all was the local library, which had gotten a grant to have a massive media room because we lived in a low-income community. In that media room was Deadwave. Soon I started skipping school, even befriending a librarian to stay in that room way past the regular hours, and soon my entire life became Deadwave. Eventually I got approached online to participate in local competitions, and the rest, as they say, is history. Except I wish it could be that simple.
“I may be a Deadwave star now, but Deadwave hasn’t solved everything.” Her body tenses in my arm as another round of tears pours out of her eyes. “For a while I thought it always would, but the last few weeks my dad’s health has begun to deteriorate again, and the nurses who come daily to check in on him say he is nearing the end of his life. I thought Deadwave would fix everything in my life, but now I’m realizing that maybe nothing can fix this.”
I keep hugging her, my hand wanting to brush a strand of her hair out of her eyes, but I hesitate. “There must be a way to fix this.”
“There isn’t for the tens of millions of others that die each year. He may be able to stay alive for a few more years, but I don’t know if he can ever get better.” She sighs, shifting up in her seat as she once again wipes the tears beneath her eyes. I sit there, staring into her deep brown eyes for a moment, and I have to push back against the urge to awkwardly lean forward and kiss her. “I used to be so close to my dad, but it’s been tough with me traveling for Deadwave and then his own health hitting a new low point. He was my everything. He was always the one who supported my Deadwave career, while my mom said I was tossing my life away. He always had my back; he still does to this day. And I want to have his too. I want to help him, but I don’t know how.”
“Sometimes you can’t stop the inevitable from happening. You have to enjoy every day you have while it’s here and make every moment a dream you wish could last forever. It’s the one thing I didn’t do with my mom.” I pause and look down at the floor, the memories of her crisp blue eyes and soft skin washing over me. “It’s the biggest regret of my entire life. I wish I took some time away from Deadwave and told her how much I love her and how much she means to me one last time. Whether your dad goes a decade from now or one week from now, you have to treat everything like that.”
“That’s great advice, but I’m not ready for him to go. I’m not ready for my next moment to be my last moment with him.”
“When awful things happen like that, you are never ready. Life’s not supposed to work that way.” I pause, trying to figure out something I can say that will make her dissatisfied expression happy again. “But I do know a way that he can possibly prolong his life, or at least some state of being. Remember the patents I talked about that they want to steal from Chimera? Well, the patents are for Life Pods, and I don’t know too much about them, besides the fact that they will be able to upload people’s minds to virtual worlds and have them live in a virtual world forever. And that they are coming out as an initial roll-out in just over a month.”
“Do you think my dad, Carlos,
would be able to go into one?” Riva asks, her sad expression suddenly shifting to an excited one.
“They still need to be tested to confirm that they are safe, but if everything works out, yeah, of course. My dad wants tens of millions of people to sign up for it. In fact, he is talking about offering you a massive sponsorship deal with Chimera. So, if Carlos ever wanted to go into a Life Pod, that would be very easy to make happen.”
Her mouth droops open. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah, I’m dead serious.”
“Oh my God, thank you so much.” She wraps her arms around me.
“Don’t thank me for anything. I’m just relaying information. I’m sure he will be in touch over the coming weeks.” I hug her back. For one of the only times in my life, I am thankful for my dad being a totally invasive helicopter over me.
“Well then I’ll hug you and you can hug him and say it was from me.” She smiles.
I have to hold back a laugh. Her statement is so silly considering the actual relationship between me and my dad that it sounds more like a joke to me than a serious proposition.
We sit on the couch, our bodies so close together that they begin to feel like one, my own self trying to take in the comfort of another human’s body. This hug puts every other hug I have had in my life to shame. It may be because she is by far the most attractive person who has ever had the desire to touch me, or it may be that she is an awesome hugger.
Either way, I am happy. And although it might not be much, hugging her sends an electric energy through my body that makes me feel on top of the world.
I finally forget about all my worries, let all the pressure flee from my shoulders, and for one moment I feel free.
Maybe even for once, the moment felt good enough for me, because my mind is finally trapped in the present instead of stuck in a future that seems to be further out of reach with each passing day.
But then it ended.
Chapter 21
The darkness is strangling me.
A cold breeze howls through the forest of evergreens that swathe the landscape, causing a cold chill to trickle down my spine. This feeling is exactly the opposite of the warm comfort that Riva’s body brought me. This feeling is dangerous. A different kind of rush. One that raises every hair on my body instead of the thing in my pants.
It has been five days since I’ve seen Riva, and part of me misses her.
But I can’t have her. I can’t be with her, at least not right now. We are both literally trying to kill each other, the stakes as high as they come in what is the last competition of the regular season in Chicago. To move on to the play-offs, I have to place in the top three, and to be ranked number one going into the play-offs, Riva has to place better than Maken, which likely means first place.
I sigh, beginning to walk directly forward from where I spawned in the world, the vague outline of the barks of trees visible in my peripheral vision. This map appears to be a giant forest covered in the darkness. It is impossible to tell whether there are clouds blanketing the sky or whether it’s speckled in stars due to the dense cover of the branches blocking out most of the view.
This map brings back bad memories. My first Deadwave competition, we spawned in a map quite similar to this, a forest at night on the side of a mountain, and I ended up coming in last place in what was one of the quickest Deadwave eliminations ever. It was pathetic.
Now I know what I’m doing. I scan the ground and the canopy of the trees simultaneously, searching for any signs or items that will help me to escape this darkness. Then I hear two gunshots in the distance—the games have begun.
My heart rate picks up, my mind spinning as it imagines what monstrous zombies lurk in the brush of the woods. I need night vision goggles. I run, not caring about the loud shuffling that my feet make against the dead pine needles and foot-tall pinecones below. I can’t risk all the pairs of night vision goggles being gone before I get to them. Everyone can try and shoot me if they want, I have to get to them first.
Everything turns into a frenzied blur as dozens of identical pine trees pass me on either side. They spring from the earth, towering hundreds of feet above the ground before the first branch even stems off from the tree. They are certainly physically impossible to grow on Earth, but in a virtual world, even a ten-thousand-foot tree can be made.
Anything is possible.
Another loud gunshot echoes throughout the wilderness, causing what sounds like two owls to angrily hoot back, this time a couple hundred feet away from me.
An erratic shuffling noise reaches my ears, the sound quickly approaching me as I continue to run forward to what looks like the outline of a large structure perched in the trees ahead.
The sounds grow closer, the figure making a blitz at me from my left side.
I have no way to avoid it.
Three ear-splitting screams cut through the darkness, light from an explosion tearing through the ebony in my peripheral vision. In the left corner of my vision, the total count of people drops from fifteen to thirteen. Two people die, their playoff hopes all but eliminated. Their careers practically over, as they will be replaced by newer, more popular players.
I can’t let my fate be the same.
The shuffling of the footsteps comes to a stop, the incessant whispering of the wind ceasing for a brief moment.
They—or it or whatever it is—is right next to me, and I can’t escape it.
I feel a sting as a pain digs deep into my right shoulder. My health dips by 100 points. It is impossible to know whether this thing is a zombie or animal with vicious fangs and long talons or a Deadwave player carrying a knife.
Either way I will kill them.
I grunt, pushing through the searing pain as the force connects again with my thigh. I lunge, throwing all my weight at the figure to the right of me, the silhouette of a human figure piercing the night.
I manage to knock the long blade of a knife from their hand, elbowing them handily in the face. They don’t scream, or even do as much as breathe, neither of us wanting to do anything to attract any zombies. It is clear by the lack of growling or any jaw clamping down on me that this is a human. Another Deadwave player that is bound to have their playoff hopes eliminated.
At least, I hope that is how this story goes.
I make the risky decision not to dive directly for the knife that audibly landed on the forest floor. Instead, I use my left hand to choke the person and use the force of my body that manifests in my digital avatar to pin the person down upon the earth.
A number of growls accompany the howl of the wind in my ears as mist falls from the treetops and lands on my body. I have all my weight above the person, who has night vision googles strapped around their head, their avatar sporting red skin and an intimidating yet impressive collection of skull tattoos.
I roll over to the left, after squeezing at least a few hundred health points out of my opponent’s neck, to grab the knife on the ground. With the handle of the pocketknife, which has a blade way too long to be legal, in my hand, I catapult my right arm forward, directly into the chest of the avatar. Blood gushes from the stab wound, resistance from its flesh making it difficult to pull the knife out. I erratically pull my hand upward, and with my body on top of theirs, continue to force the life out of them one hit at a time. The blood and their health drain out of them right before my eyes. In thirty seconds they have died.
It was Alex, a player who has never been much competition from the beginning. And now he can’t even compete.
Eleven left to eliminate. I can’t help but smile, the disgust and horror of virtually killing someone something that my brain had gotten used to years ago. I search his body and bag, desperately poking around for anything of value. I don’t have much time; with each passing second the growls of the zombies will only get closer.
I have to run.
I take a few bandages and a shot of adrenaline from his bag, which will allow me to run faster and carry more items without a
ny extra effort in a time of need. Then I rip the night vision googles off his head, the figures haunting the forest instantly discernible the moment I strap it around my head.
Three zombies are approaching me a few dozen feet to my right, while two players engage in a firing match between the cover of bushes a few hundred feet to my right. In the distance, the shouting and gunfire from the other players echo between the maze of trees, only adding another ominous layer to the chilling atmosphere.
I run forward with the knife in one hand and my eyes trained on the large wooden structure that comes into view. It isn’t worth my time trying to fight these zombies right now; odds are I can outrun them. They might be smart, but they aren’t smarter than me.
The zombies notice me begin to pick up my pace into a sprint, and chase after me. I glance at my health, which is slowly draining a few points a second as my right shoulder continues to bleed out. I don’t have time to put on bandages yet—I need to get out of the open alive. I need to get to that treehouse.
I don’t bother looking back, my ears doing a fine enough job at gauging how close the zombies are to tearing my guts apart, and it is clear by the increasing intensity of their awful cacophony of noise that they are growing closer.
I scan the horizon. No other players are focused on me. It is too dark for them to even try and pursue me or shoot at my running body. The thermal energy from the structure keeps blossoming into a deeper shade as I approach a few hundred feet from the massive structure. It spans between at least a dozen pine trees, and has a large spiraling staircase to the top. It blows away the Swiss Family Robinson treehouse, with multiple rooms perched hundreds of feet high, having a bird’s eye view of the blood bath below.
The number of people left living has ticked down to eight, but that still means nothing. Odds are the best players—Riva, Maken, Robert, and Mayo (his real name is Euan, and I honestly don’t want to know why everyone calls him that)—are still all in the game. The real fun is about to begin.
Deadwave Page 15
