by J C Lane
“You go after the Ref,” Amanda said. “I’ll try to get in touch with the others.” She felt responsible for the Runners. She’d seen them, but hadn’t recognized their shared crises.
She searched the Ref’s database and found what had to be the numbers for the other Players. “Call them,” Nerys said.
She dialed Laura’s number.
“We’re sorry,” a robotic voice said, “but outside calls to this phone have been blocked.”
“Try the other one,” Nerys urged.
Same recording for Tyrese Broadstreet.
Nerys held out his hands. “Time for some more hacking, sweetcakes.”
Amanda handed over the laptop. “Hurry.”
“Will do.”
He worked for several minutes without talking, muttering under his breath, forehead furrowed. Amanda grasped her knees, willing both guys to work faster, willing the Runners to hang on for just a short while longer.
“Any progress?” She turned to Charles.
He frowned. “It’s very strange. The Ref seems to be barricaded by numerous safety measures, some of which I’ve never seen. It’s like they’re homemade.”
“Can you get through them?”
“Certainly, but it’s going to take some time.”
“Which we don’t have.”
“I’m doing my best.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” She wanted to question Nerys, too, but realized all she would do was interrupt. He was working as fast as he could.
“How far yet?” she asked, instead.
“Ten minutes, maybe,” Solo said. “At X speed.”
Amanda couldn’t think about the other two people running for their lives. Tyrese Broadstreet wasn’t the best student, she’d seen in his file. Not terrible, but nothing special. However, he was big and strong, an athlete. He could take care of himself in a fight, but what if he didn’t know about the Tagger on the watch? What if Robert Matthews got close enough to push that button? Tyrese also had an injured arm, which she’d seen on the train, and had been running as long as she had. When she’d seen him on the El he’d been dirty, silent, and focused. Now that she looked back on it, he was also exhausted.
Laura Wingfield…she was different. Not an exceptional athlete, an okay student, B average. Lots of friends, according to social media, a boyfriend, three brothers. Nice and sweet, definitely not someone who should be thrown into the world to defend herself against some psycho rich girl.
“It’s not working,” Nerys said. “Everything I try sends me down a different path. It’s like a brain, but one that’s been re-routed so many times it can’t possibly make sense anymore.”
“Let me see,” said X.
“No,” everyone said in stereo.
“I’ll look,” Solo said. “He can advise, while watching the road.”
Nerys handed the laptop to the front. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly to Amanda.
Amanda grabbed his hand and rested it on his thigh. She wanted to tell him it was okay, but it really wasn’t. It also wasn’t his fault. None of it.
“What’s that?” X pointed to something on the screen and swerved onto the ribbed shoulder of the road.
“Drive!” Solo slapped his hand. “This makes no sense, and it might be making it all too simple, but I’m wondering. We’ve triangulated the lines to find where the Ref’s phone is, but where do these signals actually originate? Are they satellites? Towers? Or could there be a transmitter in the Ref’s headquarters itself? It seems like the only option left. If that’s true, we need the unique codes for that transmitter to cut things off from here.”
X let go of the steering wheel. “I could—”
“No!” they chorused.
“Then let me pull over. Solo can drive.”
“I can’t drive stick.”
“Just get us there,” Amanda said. “Please.”
X raced even faster.
“I can’t hack these firewalls remotely,” Charles said.
“Why not?”
“The kinds of safeguards the Ref has applied appear to be mechanical, rather than software and code. I can’t quite explain it.”
“We’ll just have to wait.”
“I can’t get these numbers to work,” Solo said. “Maybe they’re mechanical, too.”
“We’d better get there soon,” Amanda said. “Or two innocent people are going to die.”
Robert
Robert didn’t reply to Tyrese’s suggestion. Tyrese wanted to talk like men? Sure, Robert believed that. Just like he believed his father gave a rat’s ass whether or not Robert got to play basketball in college. Just like his father believed in him. Robert fought off the wave of self-pity that threatened to engulf him. Pity wasn’t what he needed now. Pity wouldn’t keep him alive.
Tyrese didn’t want to talk. He wanted to know where Robert was hiding so he could Tag him. Robert wasn’t stupid enough to fall for that. Besides, now he had a clue where Tyrese was. Not that he could see him, or that he could pinpoint the voice, but he knew Tyrese was down below. Close to the court. That meant Robert had some room to move. But he had to choose the precise spot to enter the court, where Tyrese would be too far away to Tag him, even if he saw him. But close enough that even if the Ref expected to start the Game over again, Robert would simply do it his own way. He took down that stupid guard, he could take down Tyrese Broadstreet. Who needed killer technology? All Robert needed were his own two hands, and his rage. He wasn’t going to give Broadstreet another head start, with the chance he could make it Home again. If Robert got the chance, he would end it. Pure and simple. He was ready.
Robert slithered into the aisle on his stomach, as close to the seats as he could get. There was no hurry, right? It wasn’t like the locater would tell Tyrese exactly where Robert was, down to the square foot. At least, it didn’t look like that when Robert was on the other end of things. Although he hadn’t actually tracked Tyrese to Home Base. Maybe once you were in the vicinity the proximity narrowed down to actual feet.
He couldn’t dwell on that.
He was sliding from Row PP to QQ when Tyrese spoke again.
“Let’s talk, Robert. I don’t want to kill you. I don’t even want to Tag you. All I want is for this to be over. We can work it out.”
The voice was closer now. Somewhere to Robert’s left, although that still meant an entire five thousand-seat range, and more. Slowly, he eased to the right, between the two rows, crawling farther away, making sure he was out of that twenty-foot range. He wasn’t going to talk, no matter how much Tyrese begged. Talking wasn’t going to give Robert any more of a chance when they got back home. It wasn’t like Glorious Tyrese Broadstreet would volunteer to give Robert his spot on the team. Not when scouts were still coming.
Although Tyrese was supposed to be signing with IU in two weeks. That was the rumor. He wouldn’t have to be on display anymore. He wouldn’t need the exposure. But the high school would still want its victories, and they believed Tyrese was the way to win. Even with a broken arm, Tyrese could put on a cast and play. Be the school’s hero.
Robert was important because his dad paid for the uniforms.
He belly-crawled to the end of the row. Tyrese wasn’t talking anymore. Robert peered out from behind the seat. He couldn’t see Tyrese, so he eased across the next aisle and scooted down that row. If he got himself to the opposite end and down to the lower sections, he would have no problem making it onto the court before Tyrese could Tag him.
He made it to the far corner, opposite the visiting team tunnel, and slowly, slowly raised his head. Either his eyes were playing tricks on him, or there was a Tyrese-shaped shadow down by the first row on the other end.
He could do it.
Robert slithered down the edge of the stairs, the concrete and hard rubber biting into his hands and thighs. His bi’s
and tri’s were feeling the strain from holding his body back, and had begun to tremble. Only a few more rows. Well, twenty-six, because he was at row AA.
When he arrived at M he took a moment to look across. Tyrese’s shadow was gone.
Robert crawled faster, like a lizard, knees banging, arms shaking, head spinning.
Finally, he reached the bottom.
It was now or never.
Tyrese
Tyrese’s voice echoed throughout the arena. He wasn’t surprised when Robert didn’t reply. It had been a mistake to call out. He hoped the reverberation was enough to keep Robert from pinpointing his location.
He crouched, shifting position only when his legs cramped so badly he wouldn’t be able to move if he had to. He pressed the proximity button.
Runner is out of range.
His eyes had adjusted enough to the relative darkness and cavernous space that he could see Robert if he made even one mistake. So he waited and listened and tried not to pass out from the pain in his arm.
Then he heard it.
Just a whisper, a soft, quiet sound like jeans brushing on concrete. To his right. He was sure.
Keeping his body still, he swept his eyes across the right side of the arena, concentrating on those open areas, the aisles, and the spaces around the court. If he had enough warning he could sprint across, get Robert before he came in. He saw no movement, which meant Robert was between rows, crawling across, or hiding in an aisle. Which also meant that if he was out of sight, Tyrese would be, too.
Tyrese crept from his position, staying along the front of the rows where he would be hidden from above. He couldn’t put any weight on his left arm, so his crawl was sort of a hop and glide on his fingertips and toes, hopefully not so loud Robert would hear him. Robert would most likely be concentrating on his own movement, so he wouldn’t hear Tyrese.
When Tyrese reached the three-quarter point down the side, he paused. Something sounded different, like Robert had also stopped and was waiting. Tyrese glanced through the legs of the rows just above him, but could see nothing. He kept going as quietly as possible, until he neared an aisle. The air, maybe even time, held still, suspended, along with Tyrese’s breath. His heart had forgotten the whole resting mode thing, battering away like he’d run a suicide drill.
He took in a breath and held it, trying to hear above his heart, to sense what was happening in the aisle not ten feet away. Ten feet.
Runner is within Tagging range.
Victory swelled in Tyrese’s chest. He had won. He would live to see another day. His finger hovered over the Tag button. Right there. Right now.
But winning meant killing Robert Matthews. His teammate. His classmate. Never his friend, but still. A guy he’d known forever. Could he really do that by pushing a button? Was that like really killing him? After all, Robert meant to kill him first, for no reason other than that he was jealous and a loser even though he was a rich, white boy.
A sound crackled in the silence, and a disembodied female voice spoke. “Mr. Hall is ready for Robert.” Silence. “Duane, please respond.”
Robert burst from the stairs, sprinting toward the court. Tyrese lunged forward, running, reaching, throwing himself ahead, knocking Robert to the side. Robert hit the front railing at full speed and flipped over head first, landing hard. He staggered up, but Tyrese tackled him again, bringing him down just two feet from the hard wood of the court.
Laura
The big men showed up in shifts, speed-walking through the mall, arriving on the escalators, congregating across the hall. When they came too close, Adam stepped in front of Laura. “She’ll do it! She’ll go inside!” The men retreated. They’d drawn a crowd at first, until the thugs made it clear there was “Nothing to see here.”
Laura would step into the Banana Republic, Adam meant. Home Base. All Laura had to do was slide over two feet and she would be within the store. Her GPS was telling her:
Home Base is two feet ahead.
But she wanted to do it this way. She wanted to talk with this crazy girl, make her see that they shouldn’t be enemies. Or at least find out why the girl thought they were enemies, which made no sense to Laura.
She and Adam sneaked into the mall, Laura wearing her sunglasses, a hat, and the brown sweatshirt, Adam’s arm over her shoulder like they were a couple out shopping. They’d seen a couple of thugs scanning the doorways, but slipped by undetected, joining another group of teens and talking with them like they knew them. The new girls were friendly and unsuspecting. It didn’t hurt that Adam was easy on the eyes.
Once upstairs, the two of them had marked off twenty feet in one simple pass toward the Banana Republic, because they knew the store would be watched and it was the only chance they’d get. Sydney had said twenty feet was the safety zone, but they’d paced off thirty to be sure. Laura was ready at a moment’s notice to dive into the store.
Finally, they heard the slap of shoes, and the girls arrived, Brandy and her brand new “killer BFF.” When the two of them arrived at the edge of the Big Man Circle, Sydney grabbed Brandy’s arm. “Wait!”
“Why? She’s right there! With him!”
“Yes.” Sydney still clutched Brandy’s arm. “I know. But look how close she is to the store. One step and it’s all over.”
Brandy glared at Laura. “Why haven’t you gone in? Are you an idiot?”
Laura glanced at Sydney, who gave an almost imperceptible shrug.
“I want to talk,” Laura said.
Brandy’s eyes narrowed. “About what?”
“About why you want to do this. Why you hate me. You don’t even know me!”
“I know your kind. Pretty and popular. You have everything and you don’t even try. Look at you! No makeup, bargain rack clothes, hair’s a plain old regular color, not even cut in any style. You should be at the bottom of the pile, not on the Queen’s court.”
“That’s what this is about? The Queen’s court? I don’t even go to your school!”
“No, but the other girl does.”
“What other girl?” Laura was feeling desperate now.
“The one who beat me out for the court, who’s dating the guy I wanted.”
“She’s not me!”
“Might as well be.”
“I don’t want to fight,” Laura said.
“I don’t, either. I want you to die.” She ripped her arm from Sydney’s and ran toward Laura, pressing the face of her watch.
“No!” Sydney screamed.
Laura dove into the store and collapsed.
4:15 p.m.
Amanda
“It’s an apartment building,” X said.
“Duh,” Solo responded.
They climbed out of the car, watching for any sign of electricity. The old brick building was nothing special. Amanda would never have wanted to live there. She counted five broken windows taped up with cardboard, and spied a short flight of front steps that slanted sharply to the right, like the concrete was crumbling off its foundation. The street was quiet in a way that made her wonder if people were hiding indoors, watching from behind curtains. “Do we have the location exactly pinpointed?”
“Third floor, far corner,” Charles said.
“Probably where that light is.” Nerys pointed to a window. “He’d have a generator of some kind.”
“Do we need to check out any other spot in the building?”
Nerys shook his head. “I say we storm the barracks. Take him out.”
“Or them,” X said.
“Or her,” Solo added.
Nerys raised his eyebrows. “If it makes you feel better.”
She wrinkled her nose. “It doesn’t.”
“How many entrances?” Amanda asked.
Charles checked the blueprints. “Front, back, fire escapes on each side.”
“One person for each?” X said. “Except for two for one.”
Nerys turned to Amanda, bowing slightly. “Battle plan, Goddess?”
“You guys,” she pointed to Nerys, X, and Solo. “East fire escape, back, west fire escape. Charlie and I will take the front.”
“I’m going with you,” Nerys said.
“No. Charlie has as much to lose as I do. It’s for the two of us to do.”
Charles bit his lip.
Amanda waved. “Let’s go.”
X and Solo waited for Nerys’ nod before taking off for their respective places. Nerys stayed longer, like he wanted to say something, but finally took off.
“Ready?” Amanda turned, raising a jeweled eyebrow.
“Ready.” Charles slipped on his special glasses.
“He probably has systems telling him we’re close,” Amanda said. “Do we take precautions?”
“SWAT team?”
“Yeah, that would be nice.”
The front door was locked with a simple alarm Amanda decoded within seconds. “Guess it’s the stairs,” she said, since they’d nixed the power.
They passed two open doors on the way to the stairwell, dark apartments with wrinkled, vacant-eyed occupants in sagging recliners. Amanda crept into the yellowing, stale-smelling stairwell. Halfway up, a skinny little kid with a mangy dog on a leash passed them. Amanda smiled, but the kid hugged the wall and trotted down the remaining stairs until they heard the door clang at the bottom.
When they reached the top, Nerys was already waiting. “Nothing going on at my exit.”
“It’s the apartment at the end,” Charles pointed.
They made their way down the hall until they stood outside the door.
“Do we knock?” Charles asked.
“No.” Nerys tried the door. It swung open, brushing the matted shag carpet. They poked their heads around the corner like The Three Stooges.
The main room was empty except for a ratty vinyl couch, some broken chairs, and a plasma TV with a hole in the screen. Wires hung from the ceiling where a light should be, and nails punctured the walls in a random pattern. The smell of mold and burning rubber hung in the air. Amanda tried not to breathe but ended up sneezing because of the dust covering every surface. Among a mound of pizza boxes sat a partially eaten pie that seemed fresher than others. Amanda touched a slice, and a chill raced up her spine. “Still warm. I think the Ref realized we were coming, dropped everything, and took off. We were this close.”
