The Leveller

by Julia Durango

  “It’s just a game,” I remind myself, as I take the machete in my left hand and ready a grenade with my right. I have to take out the plants first, according to the reports, as they’re faster than the snake, and sneakier. The next time I hear a whoosh, I turn toward the sound and quickly lob the grenade in its general direction. I hear a muffled explosion and smell a burning odor. Yes! Contact! And even more amazing, I can smell something! In the MEEP!

  But my delight is short-lived, as I immediately hear another whoosh from behind me. I whip around, fumbling for another grenade, but I’m stopped short by the horrifying sight of the second man-eating plant coming at me.

  It almost looks like it could be Jack’s beanstalk, if the stalk was a slimy, quivering tangle of pea-green intestines with a bulbous, kidney-colored, drooling head at the top.

  Its open beak reveals a fleshy, pulsing void that reeks of rotting meat. I’m no longer thrilled by my ability to smell things here, and I sure as heck refuse to get swallowed whole by that stinkweed.

  I whip out another grenade and lob it underhand, like I’m tossing a Ping-Pong ball into a fishbowl at the carnival. Bingo! Give the girl a prize. The carnivorous weed does a smoky little death dance, then begins to dissolve.

  I’d like to wave good riddance, but who’s got the time? I hear the slither before I can move the machete back to my right hand, so I end up making an awkward lefty slash behind me. I get nothing but air. A long, leathery tail wraps around my ankles and begins to encircle my legs, squeezing me from bottom to top like a tube of toothpaste. I figure it’s only a matter of seconds before my rib cage gets crushed in the serpent’s grip, sending me back to the Landing to start all over again.

  That is so not going to happen.

  I struggle to keep my arms free as long as possible and wait until I finally see the anaconda’s big yellow head swaying in front of me, its tongue flicking in and out of its mouth, licking its lips before dinner, no doubt.

  I take my machete in both hands and bring it down hard, like I’m cutting a watermelon in half.

  The snake’s head flies off into the jungle.

  That’s a nice line drive if I ever saw one.

  “And the crowd goes wild,” I say to no one, letting out a big sigh as the jungle finally disappears.

  I pause a moment in the white room to put away the machete and remaining grenades, then I pull out my crossbow and quiver. I’m actually looking forward to this next room.

  I follow the walls again, always turning right, until I reach a green button.

  A moment later, I’m standing on a long rickety rope bridge between two high granite cliffs. Several planks are missing from the bridge, threatening to drop me into the sea of boiling orange lava below. I quickly don my harness and clip myself to the ropes before the first pterodactyl attacks.

  The five dive-bombing dinos do their best to knock me into the lava gorge or spear me with their pointy beaks, but they are no match for this girl/weapon combo. My crossbow and I perform like a beautiful machine, a symphony of movement, a perfect, deadly blend of accuracy and precision. It’s like the bow and I have morphed into one body—a Transformer, only cuter and less clunky.

  We pick them off one by one, until the last one falls . . .

  . . . onto the rope bridge.

  Oops.

  The bridge sags under the weight of the beaky bird, then snaps in two.

  I’m already harnessed to one side of it, but I grab for the ropes anyway and we go swinging down like Tarzan, skim the boiling lava, and smash into the granite wall.

  Ouch is all I have time to think before my skull cracks like an egg.

  I wake up in the Landing. “Wyn Salvador, you son of a rasshøl!” I yell into the mall. I know it isn’t very nice, but I don’t care. At this point I thoroughly despise Wyn Salvador and his creepy fright fest. And now I have to start over again. I just lost thirty valuable minutes of time, not to mention a piece of my sanity. No wonder some of the MEEP-Os ended up mental.

  I fly through the Landing, reloading on ammunition and supplies. It’s one thing to create your own game in the MEEP, to know who your enemies will be before you go in. Like those Choose Your Own Adventure books for kids. Let’s say you decide to battle a dragon. You still feel a thrill of fear once that dragon starts chasing you with his razor-sharp claws and fiery breath, but at least you chose him, and if you’re any good, you also equipped yourself with some decent weaponry to fight him. It’s another thing entirely to battle unknown enemies that another player chose. It’s like someone telling you there’s a monster under your bed, then forcing you to stick your head down there to look.

  There aren’t enough chill pills in the world to get over that kind of mind game.

  But I’m not giving up yet. Not now that I know how to play.

  I race through the stores—more grenades, more arrows, extra batteries for the laser guns, and after much rumination, I trade in the mage staff for a Santa Claus fat suit from the Custom Costume shop.

  I have my reasons.

  I’m on a mission now to haul Wyn Salvador’s sorry butt back home so I can swear at him in person and make him grovel for mercy.

  I go back to the portal, arm myself, and start over.

  This time around I kill off the sharks, plants, and snake with speed and efficiency. I’m nowhere near as anxious on this run because I know what to expect. It’s still pretty terrifying, of course, but I just keep repeating my mantra whenever the fear starts to take over: It’s just a game, it’s just a game, it’s just a game. . . .

  I take down the pterodactyls even faster this time, and when the last one slams onto the bridge, I’m ready for it. I equip the Santa suit with lightning speed and let out a victorious “HO HO HO!” as I careen toward the granite cliff, waiting for my fat suit to cushion the impact.

  I bounce a few times off the wall like a big red Super Ball, and I let out a laugh, wishing Chang and Moose were here to see this amazing Christmas miracle.

  I stop laughing when I hear a SNAP above me. I’m so heavy in the fat suit that I’ve ripped the bridge off its moorings at the top of the cliff.

  Down we go, bridge and all, straight into the boiling lava.

  I don’t yell this time when I wake up in the Landing. Instead, I allow myself to daydream about all the things I will say to Wyn Salvador when I find him. They are very unpleasant things, things that should never ever be uttered aloud, lest you be struck dead by whichever God is currently on duty. It’s a risk I’m willing to take.

  Once again I run through the Landing and restock, occasionally muttering at the strolling Meeple in their natural-fiber Winter Solstice wear. They just smile at me and continue strolling, presumably filled with the spirit of the Winter Goddess or Nature or something Peaceful and Seasony. In contrast, I am filled with rage, which I try to channel into cold, hard determination. I open my storage locker to trade the damn Santa suit for my mage staff, but in my haste I access the potato gun instead. What the hell? I think, leaving it in my inventory. Maybe it’ll bring me luck, like Moose says, and God knows I’m ready for some.

  This time, I kill the sharks before they know I’m there. The man-eating plants are toast after the first whoosh; the anaconda doesn’t even have time to slither. I make sure to shoot the five wheeling pterodactyls at the three-o’clock or nine-o’clock positions, so they fall straight into the lava and stay away from my bridge.

  Finally, the lava gorge dissolves to white.

  Victory at last. I stand still for a few minutes, allowing plenty of time to prep myself for the next room. I’ve already blown my “Nixy Bauer, Home in an Hour” 5K bonus, so the extra time doesn’t make a difference anymore. Besides, this is the fourth room, the room where the MEEP-O Men before me died a thousand deaths before giving up in defeat. I’m determined to win this one the first time through, as a point of pride. Also, I’ll scream if
I wake up in the Landing one more time.

  I equip myself with an oak shield and a razor-sharp Gladius sword. Just before I push the yellow button to the next room, I swallow down the pricey speed potion I acquired just for this purpose.

  The whiteness turns into a golden haze, and it takes me a moment to get my bearings. I’m in a desert, melting hot, and the sun shines brightly into my eyes. I spin around in a circle to mark the location of my foes. “Just like the three bears,” Dad had said on the plane, “and you’re Goldilocks,” he added, while we were strategizing my attack. I laughed at the time and said I hoped they served a decent porridge, but it doesn’t seem nearly as funny now. Bears would be a welcome sight.

  Giant scorpions? Not so much.

  I see them now, right where they’re supposed to be. Papa is at four o’clock, shiny and black and the biggest of them, his stinger raised to a height about twice my own five feet ten inches. Mama’s at eight o’clock, copper-tinted and moving slowly, biding her sweet time. And Baby’s positioned directly at twelve o’clock, an iridescent greenish blue like a dragonfly and the smallest of the three, but also the fastest and coming right at me.

  “Okay, let’s get this done,” I say to myself. I run as fast as I can toward Baby, my sword high in the air. I move like a panther, my legs pumping at least twice their normal speed, and I feel like I’m about to go airborne. I’ve never used a speed potion before—performance enhancements have always been way out of my price range—and it almost feels like cheating.

  Baby sees me and raises his stinger even higher without losing speed. I can’t believe I’m playing a game of chicken with a giant scorpion, but here we are, running at each other like freight trains about to collide. “Wait for it . . . wait for it,” I mutter to myself as we get closer and closer, and then SWISH, down comes his stinger, straight at my heart.

  I whip up the oak shield just in time, and sink to my knees as the stinger plunges into the wood. It makes a loud THUNK, then Baby lets out an even louder high-pitched screech when he realizes he’s stuck. For a second I wonder if scorpions screech in real life, but then Baby lifts his tail with both me and my shield still attached, and my mind snaps back to the task at hand. I bring down the Gladius sword as hard as I can and slice Baby’s tail clean off.

  Baby lets out one last screech before he dissolves into thin air and I fall to the sand. There’s no time to brush myself off. If Papa and Mama were dangerous before, they’re in a murderous rage now. They come charging at me from opposite sides and it’s all I can do to hold my ground between them.

  They skitter around me, their black-and-copper stingers raining down in syncopated rhythm. Two Papa strikes for every Mama strike. As I tumble and dodge, flipping in between their tails like a Chinese acrobat on speed, I take note of their movements. Papa’s strikes are more forceful and rapid, but Mama’s got accuracy going for her.

  Just as Papa raises his tail to strike again, I roll myself between Mama’s coppery legs. CRUNCH. Papa’s stinger plunges itself into Mama’s back. Mama screeches and her body goes into defensive auto-pilot. I hear another CRUNCH as her stinger plunges into Papa.

  Papa doesn’t even complain, he just takes it like a boss and dissolves into the sand, locked in the fatal embrace of his wife.

  Whew.

  I sit down, shading myself with the oak shield until the desert turns back into the white room. I am exultant for a minute before a hideous realization descends on me like a school of poison jellyfish. If I weren’t virtual, I would shiver. The known portions of the maze are now complete. From here on out, I don’t know what to expect, how to equip myself, or what kind of monsters to watch for. It’s all guesswork. And if I fail, it’s back to the beginning. All of it—all over again.

  It’s enough to make a weaker person, a person who in no way resembles me, cry.

  I tap into my inventory and take a look around. I change my mind several times, then finally decide to arm myself with the rappelling gun and crossbow. Fight and flight, both covered. I can always trade weapons mid-challenge, though that’s often the best way to lose. In battle, every second is precious.

  I follow the white wall, which has become like my own yellow brick road, without a comforting trio of friends or trusty dog to help me out. I snort for a quick second, imagining Hodee trying to keep up with Dorothy on his squat legs as she skipped and danced around in those red ruby slippers. Nope, Hodee wouldn’t have made it past Munchkinland. On the flip side, there’s not a flying monkey alive who could have lifted his roly-poly body off the ground. Toto 1, Hodee 1.

  These images amuse me through several twists and turns of the maze until I finally reach a red button. I close my eyes and try to focus, ridding myself of Oz and dogs and other thoughts that might distract me from whatever comes next.

  I push the button and step into the room, crossbow cocked and ready.

  A face begins to appear on the white wall in front of me. It’s a pretty woman’s face, pleasant and smiling and all-American, like the kind you see in TV commercials for Oil of Olay.

  “Checkpoint complete,” she says in a soothing, robotic voice. “Checkpoint complete.”

  Praise the Lord and pass the life hearts! Wyn Salvador actually included save points in this horrid little game. I will not have to face those stinking sharks again, let alone all the other creatures. I’m so happy I could cry. I smile back at the nice checkpoint lady. Maybe she’ll take me to Wyn.

  Only now her face doesn’t look as pleasant as it did a second ago. Her eyes are turning red and her hair is turning white. Her teeth begin to . . . sharpen? . . . transforming her pleasant smile into a creepy, evil grin, as if she is now selling one-way bus tickets on the highway to hell.

  I instinctively raise my crossbow, though she is no more than a projection.

  The lights go out. I drown in the pitch darkness.

  Panic freezes me to the spot until something in my brain kicks into gear.

  “Inventory,” I yell, and quickly access the night-vision goggles Dad had insisted I carry. “He’s feeding on phobias, Nixy, and fear of the dark is a huge one,” Dad had said on the plane just a few hours earlier, though it now feels like forever ago. “Remember how you used to turn on not one but three night-lights in your bedroom?”

  I didn’t say so to him, but sometimes I still sleep with three night-lights. After today I’m going to need four.

  “It’s just a game, it’s just a game,” I repeat to myself as I slip the goggles over my head. Half of me can’t wait to put them on so I can see what the hell I’m up against. The other half doesn’t want to know.

  “Fy fæn!” I yell, and jump right out of my skin.

  The hag is directly in front of me, her demonic face inches from mine. An icy coldness seeps from her body like a thick fog. I feel like I’ve just stepped into a deep freeze.

  “RUN!” she screams, her hideous voice stabbing my ears like a dagger.

  She doesn’t need to tell me twice. I take off.

  The door to the room is open and I run back into the maze, which is now steeped in darkness. The night-vision goggles turn everything a ghoulish green. I run wildly, terrified of what I might find ahead of me, but even more horrified by what’s behind me. I risk a quick peek back and wish I hadn’t. The woman is flying behind me like a ghostly white witch, her teeth bared in that horrible grin. Her long bony arms stretch out before her, and her hands, which look more like sharp talons, try to grab me. She starts to cackle then, louder and louder until the cackle turns into a high-pitched shriek that makes my head feel like it might explode.

  I run left and right and this way and that, completely lost, completely out of my wits. I can’t think straight, can’t do anything but try to outrun her outstretched claws, her hideous shrieking. I make another left and hit a dead end.

  I feel her icy hands scrape across my back. Her talons cut through cloth and bone and a
searing cold permeates my chest, freezing and burning all at once.

  She’s ripping my heart out, my mind screams as I slip into unconsciousness.

  Yep. Dead end.

  Literally.

  EIGHT

  WHEN I WAKE UP, I’M BACK IN THE WHITE ROOM WITH OIL OF OLAY LADY smiling at me from the wall. Damn. No rest for the wicked. I reposition my goggles, load my crossbow, and wait for the lights to go out.

  A second later, all is dark. Leering banshee straight ahead.

  I aim an arrow at her horrible mouth. THWACK!

  It goes right through her.

  “RUN!” she screams.

  Oh God.

  I run. I can’t help it. I can’t bear the thought of those icy hands reaching into my body again. I shouldn’t be able to feel them. Why can I feel them? I’m not sure I even care at this point. I try to keep my hand along the right wall, always going right, but the inky green darkness confuses me, the night-vision goggles mess with my peripheral vision.

  Think, think, think, Nixy.

  I try to remember what’s left in my inventory as I run. Not much. I need to get back to the Landing and restock, but how?

  “Inventory!” I yell, and arm myself with a laser gun.

  I whirl around and pop her three times. It’s like shooting a water gun at a piranha. Totally ineffective.

  I keep running, but I’m lost again now that I’ve taken my hand off the right wall to shoot.

  Damn damn damn.

  I toss a grenade behind me. The banshee only shrieks louder.

  I don’t even notice the dead end this time until I run smack into it.

  I feel a frosty stab of pain enter between my shoulder blades, like I’ve just been impaled by an icicle.

  She steals my heart again.

  I do the same thing twelve times in all, with slight variations. Each time, I try another weapon from my inventory on the witch. Gladius sword, rappelling gun, machete, more grenades. I might as well be battling whipped cream or clouds, only not so fluffy and pleasing.