In Beta

by Prescott Harvey

Jay turned the volume up all the way and tossed the walkie-talkie out the window. It clattered across the pavement, and immediately several of the white bodies peeled off, chasing it. Jay peeked up out of the broken window and saw the device engulfed in bodies tearing at the ground. Through the trees of Scallow Park, Jay saw more white figures rushing toward them. He glanced back at Liz. She was dressed now, cowering in the seat wells.

  “Get us out of here?” she breathed.

  Jay saw keys dangling from the ignition. He crawled back into the driver’s seat, keeping low. He pushed in the clutch, turned the key, and felt the engine rumble to life. For a moment, the bodies around the car stepped backward, startled. Then they rushed the car again in greater force, pounding its frame. Jay hit the gas. Tires squealed, and the car lurched forward.

  Jay swerved as faceless figures leapt onto his trunk. The squad car whipped around, wheels skidding across pavement. Jay peeled down Main Street. More white shapes gathered in the darkness. Bodies filled the road behind them like a sinister parade, blocking the path back to the school.

  They zipped past, watching the white riot grow smaller in the rearview mirror. As they moved farther into Bickleton, Jay saw the riot was everywhere. On every side street, clinging to every building, every rooftop.

  The windows of the squad car were all blown out, and freezing air filled the cab. Jay turned up the heat as high as it would go, blasting the cabin with warm air.

  “You getting any of that?” He looked at Liz in the rearview mirror, and saw she was shivering.

  The car’s roof was squashed down so low it brushed the top of Jay’s head. The driver’s side was a mess of fused metal from where the riot’s grip had scored it. Jay shivered as he turned onto Jewett Boulevard.

  “No going back that way,” Jay muttered.

  They drove through the dozen shops in the small strip of downtown Bickleton. This section, at least, seemed yet untouched by the riots or the earthquake. It was pitch dark, and the signs at Petey’s Barbershop and Classy Chassis car repair were all dark. But people—real people—were packed in there. The entire town seemed to have realized that they were under attack, and they’d migrated there. Trucks rumbled through the street, their beds filled with hastily packed suitcases and tarps. Screams and sobs filled the air; it was like a nightmare. A line of cars puttered south on Highway 24, trying to escape Bickleton. Jay shook his head, remembering what Hal had said about people getting trapped on the edges of the map.

  “They’re going to have a rude awakening when the road ends.”

  Something hit the car and Jay startled. On the passenger side, his mom’s face peered in through the window, incredulous.

  “Jay?”

  Kathy Banksman ripped open the passenger door and leapt inside, clambering over the median to throw her arms around him.

  “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God. Oh, I didn’t know what happened to you. I was so worried.”

  She planted big wet smooches on his cheek.

  “Mom, cool it. What are you doing here?”

  “It’s the apocalypse! The tornado, then the earthquake, then the Maganas next door—they got attacked by a bunch of—”

  She finally noticed the car. “Why are you driving the sheriff’s car? Where’s Elmer?”

  “Okay, the good news is that it’s not the apocalypse. The bad news is that things might actually be worse. You know all that money we got . . . ?”

  “I knew it! I knew another shoe was going to drop.”

  Jay sighed. “Mom, you did not. You were all about that money.”

  She shook her head defiantly. “I knew this was gonna happen.”

  “You knew a faceless riot was going to attack Bickleton?”

  She nodded. “Something very similar.”

  Liz rapped on the metal divider. “Hi.”

  “Oh, Liz! Hi!” Kathy fawned, changing her tone. “Did you guys have a nice time at prom together?”

  Jay was growing annoyed. “Would you like to actually get in?”

  “Yes, and I want to hear all about your night.” Mrs. Banksman smiled so hard that Jay turned scarlet. The car behind them honked and Kathy leapt into the passenger seat. Jay rolled the car forward, and they sat idling.

  Liz cast a worried glance back toward the school. “We have to get to that computer.”

  “We can’t go that way.”

  On the sidewalk, Jay watched a grizzled man throw a gas can in his truck, and a woman in camo walk out from the hardware store.

  “Where are all the kids?” he asked, suddenly noticing their absence.

  “Wish I knew,” Kathy chimed in. “The Beckers are worried sick for Shelby. Did you see where the kids went after prom? Nobody seems to know where they are, and everyone is worried.”

  Jay’s eyes widened with realization. “I don’t believe those idiots,” he muttered.

  He spun the steering wheel, pulling the sheriff’s car out of the queue and lurching down a side street.

  “Where are we going?”

  “To get help.”

  Fortifications

  Colin paced between the desks of Tutorial. He could hear the dull thrumma-thrumma of the generator just outside the door. The lamp they’d turned on in the corner pulsed slightly with the throb of the generator; its warm light

  danced dimly across the room. The outside window was black, covered in a deep darkness. It was impossible to tell the pine trees from the C-Court parking lot beyond. The baseboard electric heaters pumped out electric heat that kept the room dry and full of static electricity.

  Stevie was leaning on a desk, blowing into her hands and rubbing them.

  “I could go down to the gym and get your coat?” Colin offered.

  She held her hands up, as if to show that she didn’t need to be blowing on them. “That’s okay. It’s warming up.”

  She cast a sidelong glance at the computer. “What was that about a riot?”

  Colin shrugged. The quiet outside was killing him, and he didn’t have a good feeling about Jay’s abrupt sign-off.

  “I’m sure they’re fine,” he muttered. “Jay’s . . . resourceful.”

  Stevie stepped hesitantly to the computer. “Do you think we should test it? See if it works with the generator?”

  Colin shrugged again. “I mean, Hal can already see us up here, if he looks. Having the computer on won’t make a difference, right?”

  Stevie eagerly sat and depressed the Power button. The PS/2 beeped, the black MS-DOS boot screen flashed, and the Windows 3.1 logo blinked. Stevie gave Colin a grateful smile.

  “Least it works!”

  The desktop screen came up, and they both stared at The Build’s icon in the lower right-hand corner.

  “Do you think it would be bad to boot up the game? Just to see where Jay and Liz are?”

  “I guess not,” Colin responded slowly. “So long as we don’t make changes.”

  Stevie nodded and double-clicked the icon. The familiar pastoral load screen flashed up, and then they were looking down at Scallow Park.

  “Oh wow.”

  The houses surrounding the park were reduced to rubble piles. They watched small white figures writhe like maggots around the few remaining houses.

  “I don’t see Jay anywhere.”

  “What’s that?”

  Colin pointed to a block of houses with a blue outline and the small word hal. After a moment, more white maggots appeared there and began demolishing the houses. The blue outline jumped to the next block. Stevie nearly choked.

  “That’s Hal! That’s his cursor. He’s in the game, watching!”

  “Can he see us?”

  Stevie shook her head. “I don’t think so, unless we click on something.”

  “Get away from him.”

  Stevie obliged, scrolling back over to Tutorial. Their s
mall portable was barely visible in the darkness of the map.

  “Well, at least we know what Hal is doing.”

  “He’s gonna destroy the entire town.”

  “He looks pretty busy. You think he’s checking the code?”

  Colin’s heart leapt into his throat. “You want to make changes to The Build while he’s looking?!”

  “We should be ready for those creatures. Or if Hal comes back in.”

  Colin paced, wringing his hands. Every fiber of his being was shouting that they were already taking too many chances. But he couldn’t say no to Stevie. He gave the slightest nod. A grin spread across Stevie’s face.

  “Let’s put up some defenses!”

  Colin grimaced, wondering what Jay would say.

  Spot #7

  Bickleton had a list of revolving party spots, and the kids used numbers to keep their location a secret from any eavesdropping adults. Spot #1 was behind the firehouse on Snowden Road. Spot #2 was in a clear-cut on the Skookullom.

  Spot #7 was about ten miles south of town, on a river bend of the Little Salmon, a tributary to the Skookullom. A dusty road, barely visible from the highway, peeled off and plunged into a thick grove of cedars. Boulders and potholes played defense against all but the mightiest of trucks as the road bounced down, terminating at a tiny beach, a spit of gravel that the river swelled over in the winter, then uncovered each spring.

  Word had spread that the prom after-party would be at spot #7. Now, trucks lined either side of the road as boys and girls hiked in loafers and heels through an inch of mud, toward a bonfire that raged beneath veiled stars.

  They may have felt the earthquake, but none of them knew the scourges currently ripping Bickleton apart. All anyone wanted to talk about was the two Jays, and how they had kicked Jeremy’s ass yet again. The consensus was that Jay had taken weight class that year, though nobody could actually remember seeing him there. And now, apparently, Jay had a long-lost twin. It was a twist worthy of Melrose Place, and the party’s energy seemed to feed off it.

  From the open doors of John W’s truck, Garth Brooks crooned. At the fire’s edge, seniors in tuxedos swigged beers and took turns with a Mossberg 500, blasting the washing machine Chard Arkin had lugged from his parents’ garage, and causing nervous freshmen to jump as they sipped their Rainiers at the party’s fringes.

  John H was in the back of a pickup, bending over so that his hairy butt peeked out at the crowd. He passed logs of wood down to John W, who threw them onto the fire. John B, staggeringly drunk, held a can of gas over the flames until the fire flared up to lick the leaves above.

  Jeremy sat in an overstuffed easy chair in the bed of John D’s pickup, silently watching the party. He was feeling better since prom, now that his fingers were bandaged and he’d managed to put back a few. His mind kept returning to the two Jays, and the disk he’d used. Jeremy wasn’t dumb—he took some pride in his B average—but he couldn’t figure out what had happened. Somehow, Jay had found a way to thwart him again. That second Jay had boosted his stats even more powerfully than his own.

  None of it made sense, and it was starting to bother him. He watched his fellow seniors push a couch onto the bonfire, and John B walk across it as it burst into flames. Chris Hargrove pulled out a can of WD-40 and sprayed it at the fire. The vaporized oil burst into a fireball that singed John B, who leapt off the couch and pushed Chris Hargrove. The crowd howled in laughter.

  Jeremy sipped his Rainier and smiled vaguely. It was good to have some normalcy restored.

  Suddenly, a hush fell across the party. The shotgun blasts stopped. The only sound was the crackle of fire and the blare of the truck speakers.

  The partygoers turned to the road. Jeremy strained to see what they were staring at. Jay Banksman stood at the edge of the bonfire. His wet prom tuxedo was rumpled and singed. Liz stood to his right, still in her prom dress, her heels off now, her feet covered in mud. To Jay’s left was an older woman: Jeremy vaguely recognized her as Jay’s mom.

  Jay called across the staring faces.

  “Jeremy!”

  All eyes turned to the bed of the pickup. Jeremy sat, placid. Watching. Jay, he noticed, was back down to his old size. He flexed his huge muscles in anticipation.

  “We need your help.”

  Liz screamed.

  Kathy Banksman leapt out of the way, and then something hit Jay from the side. He tumbled over, and John B was on top of him, a crazed smile on his face, drunk eyes focusing and unfocusing.

  “Hey, Jeremy!” he screamed. “Look what I got!” John B yelled.

  The Johns dog-piled on top of Jay, their hands wrapping his arms, pulling them behind his back. Liz and Kathy screamed for them to stop, but the Johns paid them no heed.

  “Get a rope!”

  They dragged him through the crowd, and he felt the growing warmth of the bonfire as they hauled him in front of it. Students gathered, smiling, eager to watch. Jay felt a rope wrap his hands.

  “Do you know what’s happening back in town?” Kathy yelled. “Bickleton is under attack!”

  The Johns laughed, ignoring her, then fell silent. Jeremy slid off his tailgate. The revelers parted and he approached Jay. He stood over Jay for a few moments, dangling a Rainier can from his fingertips, then looked over to the dirt road, where the sheriff’s car sat in the shadows.

  “That’s Elmer’s car.”

  Jay nodded. “Elmer’s dead.”

  A murmur rose. Jeremy walked to the edge of the onlookers, to the trunk of a cedar tree where the sheriff’s car was parked. He studied its broken windows, its caved-in roof, the indents in its doors. He turned back to Jay.

  “You kill him?”

  Jay gestured to the car. “You think I could do that? Like my mom said, Bickleton’s under attack.”

  John H snickered. “Sounds like he’s been playing too many video games.”

  Jay nodded. “For once in your life, you’re right.”

  Jeremy turned definitively. “I don’t believe you.”

  Jay snorted. “You don’t have to. They followed us here.”

  From somewhere nearby, a low fluttering bristled through the forest. The Johns’ laughter died. Jeremy’s eyes narrowed, searching the trees. The partiers shifted, staring into darkness that suddenly seemed deeper.

  John D picked up a shotgun. Garth Brooks twanged across the riverbank.

  “Turn that music off,” Jeremy growled. Chris Hargrove leaned into the truck and turned off the ignition. The only sound now was the crackle of fire, the murmur of the river, and the low, otherworldly whisper that was growing louder by the second.

  A branch snapped. The whole party swiveled around, and a white figure broke from the trees, galloping toward the bonfire. Kids screamed, scattering, tuxedos disappearing into the night.

  “Shoot it!” someone yelled.

  John D pulled his shotgun up and fired. The figure tumbled and slid through the dirt, stopping just before Jay. In the firelight, Jay stared at its featureless white head.

  A second creature shot up from riverbank, rushing the party. John D swung the shotgun around. The thing leapt into the air, landing between Jay and Jeremy. It reared up to its full height, long arms dangling down. John D fired, and the creature flew back into the bonfire. John D lowered his gun.

  “Got ’em!”

  The Johns crept forward, searching the woods for more, but the murmuring sound had stopped. Jeremy strode over to the downed creature. A skinny freshman poked it with a stick.

  “What is it?”

  Nobody answered.

  Jeremy grabbed Jay and threw him back onto the ground.

  “What is it?!” Jeremy screamed into Jay’s face.

  His weight was atop him, pressing his body into the river stones. He poked a finger in Jay’s face.

  “You brought those things! Th
ey’re from your game.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Jay spat back. “You brought them. If it wasn’t for you and your stupid antics, he never would’ve built this world. Do you understand that, or is your code so limited that—”

  But he couldn’t finish, because Jeremy’s hands were around his neck, choking him. The Johns ran up, looking with fright at the dead white figure. John W grabbed Jeremy’s shoulder.

  “Jeremy, man, maybe we hear him out?”

  Jay heard his mom and Liz screaming, but Jeremy didn’t budge. His face was red with fury, eyes glazed over. Jay felt panic rise as he struggled against Jeremy’s grip. Without his extra strength, there was nothing he could do. How to get through to him?

  In the midst of the panic, a small part of Jay’s brain spoke calmly. He’s programmed to hate me. He doesn’t understand why. But that’s okay, because I do.

  The blood was pooling in his face now. Spots swam before his eyes. The Johns, Liz, and his mom were all pulling at Jeremy, trying to get him off.

  With the last of his voice, Jay squeaked:

  “Jay Banksman . . . is . . . a little . . . bitch.”

  Jay felt Jeremy’s hands loosen a little. Jay sucked in air, coughing. Jeremy stared down.

  “What’d you say?”

  Jay croaked. “I said . . . Jay Banksman . . . is a bitch.”

  Jeremy’s hands left Jay’s neck. He stared out into the night.

  “Yeah . . . so . . . ?”

  Jay’s breath returned.

  “So that guy back at prom? The other me? He’s running this world. He’s the one making changes. He wants to prove that he’s smarter, stronger, and better at baseball than you. And he’s going to destroy all of us, unless we can stop him.”

  Jeremy’s eyes glazed over, listening. Jay continued.

  “Have the Bickleton Vandals ever lost a scrimmage?”

  “No,” Jeremy whispered.

  “What’s your record?”

  Jeremy stared blankly. “Undefeated.”

  “You gonna let Jay Banksman break that record?”

  “No.”

  “You gonna let him take Bickleton from you?”