“You stay away from us.” Sam moves past him roughly. “Joe, you cover inside.”
The brawny boy with the giant orange gun nods and tramples off into the trees.
“Marcus, take the left,” Sam says. “Shorty, stick with me.”
“When does the timer start?” I ask.
“As soon as the Unstables appear.”
I clutch the copper to my chest and glance at Oliver. He’s a little shaky now.
A hollow choking sound reaches my ears, coming from behind.
I spin, pressing a knob on my gun so it’s ready to fire. Overhead, red numbers appear in the sky: 10:00:00, and the team scores: 0:0.
The clock has started.
“First kill is yours, Shorty,” Sam says with a smirk. “Think you can handle it?”
This is all in my head. All of this is fake.
“Of course,” I say.
Sam narrows his eyes. Guess he doesn’t like my confidence.
A broken, strangled sound bubbles up from the river. Strands of hair emerge, then the top of a head, dripping wet. Dark fingers stretch from the water, reaching for the mud of the bank. Eyelids, nose, and a mouth appear, grayish and wrinkled.
“H-help me,” a voice cries.
I freeze with my finger on the blast button. The bags under his eyes are dark, even darker than mine looked before my operation. When his eyes open, they’re the color of dusk. His limbs shake as he digs his nails into the mud and drags himself out of the river not five feet away from me, his bony chest heaving.
I’ve never seen an Unstable this close before—not even the woman I shot in the glass compartment. They’re dangerous, and we aren’t allowed to get this close to them. So why make a game where we have to fight them?
“Kill it,” Sam orders.
Pressing my lips together, I touch my finger to the blast button and start to press.
“P-please…”
The Unstable coughs, choking on phlegm.
An awful realization hits me—
Slaps me—
Shocks me.
He sounds like Laila did when the officials dragged her into the hov-pod, that day they took her to quarantine. She begged them to let her stay. She swore she’d try harder to raise her Promise, but they didn’t care. They dragged her away while she struggled to give me her shoes. Her shoes, her ripped-up shoes. That’s all they let her leave behind.
“I said kill it,” Sam hisses.
“What if we can help him—”
“He’s not real, you idiot. Kill it.”
I ease my finger over the button, readying to press but still staring at the Unstable.
Why does he look so real? His dusk-colored eyes lift to mine, and I see the sky in them. Vast, never ending, gray-blue. Starry-night eyes, like Logan’s.
Sam’s elbow knocks into my face.
Dots—dots—
Teeth clenched—
Stumbling—
A gunshot goes off in the distance.
Oliver catches me with clumsy hands. “Sam, stop it!” he says.
Another gunshot.
When my vision clears, I’m gasping for breath, and Oliver hasn’t let go of me. Sam is in my face. “You shoot them, for krite’s sake, or I will kill you.”
“It’s only a game.” Oliver tightens his hold on me.
“Phantom isn’t just a game,” Sam spits. “It teaches us how to strategize in combat. It trains us, like most things here do, in case there’s ever another rebellion in the outer sectors and we have to fight them.”
I stare at him. He said most things here train us for that. Extraction training, too? Colonel Parker’s obstacle course?
But it makes no sense. There won’t be any rebellion. Every person in any of the sectors who disobeys or seems like a rebel ends up in a detention facility, or marked Unstable. The officials take care of that.
Before I can reply, Sam wrenches me away from Oliver and throws me to the ground. I land hard on my hands and knees in shallow water. His boot smacks into my side.
“I said I’ll kill you if you don’t shoot. Do you think I’m joking?”
“No,” I sputter.
“Then shoot them.”
Through the curls falling over my eyes, I see Unstables everywhere. Piling like dead bodies in the river, staggering from the trees, all of them coming for us, moaning and crying. Lasers and cracks and zaps of guns fill the air on the opposite bank. The Unstables turn to mist when their hearts stop beating. Real people don’t turn to mist, so these definitely aren’t real. This is only a game.
I push off the ground and get to my feet.
“I said shoot them,” Sam says.
I’m already aiming. I press the blast button on my copper. The recoil makes me stagger back several feet, but I get an Unstable in the face. The laser blows her to bloody chunks that sink with a gurgle into the murky river before vanishing.
“Finally.” Sam growls, blasting his sixth or seventh to smithereens.
I stare at the copper in my hand, at the metal barrel that’s smaller than the gun I used to shoot a real Unstable. The welcome ceremony. Would Sam say that was supposed to train us for rebellion, too?
I remember what Ariadne said earlier before we entered the obstacle course: They’re training us to be soldiers.
I laughed at her then. Commander Charlie trains some people to be soldiers, to keep order in the outer sectors. But he doesn’t need to train everyone because there isn’t any war. There’s no one to fight.
And even if there was, I could still refuse. He can’t train me to be mindless.
I don’t know why my hands are trembling.
Stumbling out of the water, I aim at another Unstable and hit it in the leg. It’s much easier when I don’t look at faces. When I don’t see Logan in their eyes.
“Clementine!” Oliver says. Two Unstables lurch toward him. He tries to back up from them and almost trips over a rock. His arms shake when he fires his gun, and his lasers keep missing.
I got him into this. I can’t let him get hurt.
“Duck!” I yell.
He obliges, and I aim at one, then the other. Their blood splatters on his face.
A searing pain shoots through my elbow. I cry out, spin around, and slash an Unstable’s face with my copper’s knife until its teeth loosen their hold on my skin.
“Speed it up!” Sam shouts. “Clock’s ticking.”
The timer overhead is already down to five minutes. The score is 34 to 47 with team one in the lead. We are losing.
Ignoring the soreness in my arm, I turn my head and concentrate on our environment. Giant flowers, jungle plants, turbid river water, weeping trees. There has to be something in here that can help me eradicate a bunch of Unstables at once. Something the other team won’t think of.
A child-size Unstable lunges at my leg. I jump back and blast him. Turning, I knock the butt of my copper into another Unstable and make for the trees.
I don’t know what I’ll find, but I will look regardless.
“What’re you—” Oliver starts, but something distracts him, and I don’t hear him anymore. Moss and jungle leaves muffle gunshots. I hope he’ll be all right without me.
The canopy of branches overhead makes it darker, harder to see where I’m running. I stumble; I pick myself up. A body appears behind a tree trunk, teetering toward me. Then another with an arm outstretched, reaching for my face. I try to shoot it down, but I don’t wait to see if it works.
I search for the tallest tree.
Branches snap beneath my feet. Vines slap my cheeks when I fail at ducking under them. Jungle smells seep into my nose: musk, stuffy air, and the sweet and tangy scents of pollen. If there are silver asters in here, I’ll be crippled and knocked out with fire bleeding through my body when Sam finds me and shoots me.
Maybe that would be for the best.
I duck underneath a web of leaves and spider silk, and the muzzle of the orange mega-gun points straight at my eyes. A scream escapes my lips before I
even think it.
“Oh, krite. Sorry.” The muscular boy with the gun, Joe, quickly lowers his weapon.
“Think before you fire,” I say through gritted teeth.
“I think I just did.”
“Barely.” I wipe saliva off my mouth with the back of my palm.
He frowns at me. “What’re you doing here? Sam told you to stay with him.”
“I’m looking for something.”
“Vrux.” He pushes me out of his way, and a loud whooshing sound peals from his gun. A shriek, then the slam of a body hitting the ground.
“Come on, we’ve got like two minutes left.” He tramples off again.
Two minutes, and through cracks in the canopy, the numbers in the sky say we are falling further behind. I press my hands into my knees, doubling over. What can I do? Even if Sam doesn’t kill me, he’s going to hurt me if we lose. I don’t have any doubts.
Think, I tell myself. What do I know?
We’re in a simulation. I don’t know much about this game, but I know simulations of this size often have hidden functions in them—buttons or levers that blend into the environment, which could turn off a simulation or switch it to a different mode.
We’re still inside a dome. If there’s a secret button or lever, the best place to hide it would be some part of the wall or ceiling, since neither is visible while the game is in motion. Maybe, maybe, a different mode would help my team win. If I can even find the switch and set it off.
“Joe!” I yell, stumbling after him.
I’m wrong, no doubt, but I’ll try regardless. I have an idea where a switch might be. However, I need a stronger weapon.
“What?” Annoyed, Joe slows and turns to me, sweat dripping down his forehead. “We’re gonna lose!”
“Switch guns with me.”
“What?”
“Switch guns with me!”
He looks at me like I’m crazy.
“Joe, trust me. Switch with me!”
He growls, but his grip loosens on the mega-gun. I grab it from him and push my copper into his fingers.
Turning, I look to the tallest tree in the vicinity. It looms over my head, some thirty feet tall, at least. I heave myself onto the lowest branch. Moss tangles in my eyes, my hair, my face. Back, I tell it.
“What’re you doing?”
I don’t answer.
It’s hard to climb with only one hand. I manage because I have no other choice.
Logan used to say I’m the best climber there is. One time, he tried to race me up one of the trees on the edge of the forest. I told him not to try, because of his limp, but he did it anyway. He was taller; I was faster. I beat him, and he didn’t scowl or laugh or chide me for it. He hugged me. He wrapped me in his arms, in his warmth, like he would never let me go.
Branches scrape my hands. Sweat gathers on my face and under my armpits. With every step, the gun feels heavier and heavier in my hand.
Thirty seconds left, the sky says.
The weapon slows me when I want to fly, but I need it or this won’t work.
Please work. Please work. Please work.
Above, through a break in the weeping leaves, a pair of red-gold wings flies past over the treetops. I can’t see the steel of the dome, but it’s there. I know it is.
Fifteen seconds, the sky says.
There’s no time. I clear the last of the branches that are heavy enough to hold me. I grip the barrel of the orange gun and aim at invisible steel. My finger brushes the biggest blast button.
Ten seconds.
I smash the button.
Squeeze my eyes shut.
There’s a rushing sound and a blast so loud its vibrations rip through my skull. I open my eyes and block out the jungle fading away. I block out everything but the scores in the sky: one is 72, and the other is 97 … 105 … 117 … it’s still rising.
It worked. It worked.
The branches of my tree turn to mist, and my relief shatters in my throat. I have nothing to cling to.
I fall through nothing but air, screaming.
15
Lights flicker on overhead like stars.
I’m shaking. I’m shaking so badly, air can’t even reach my lungs. Fire shoots through my legs and arms and chest, and I gasp for breath. I need that adrenaline back. But the pain in my body mingles with relief. The ground could have been linoleum or stone. I could have died when I slammed into it.
What a funny thing that would be, to escape death only to find it in the place where I’m supposed to be safe.
I heave myself onto my elbows. It’s dark in here, even with the lights like stars. Shadows make for the exit door. Boots and legs stumble past one another. The scores have disappeared from the sky.
A shadow drops beside me. Oliver’s glasses glint where they aren’t smeared with blood.
“What happened to you?” His voice is anxious.
“N-nothing.” I try to get up. “Did you see who won?”
“Not yet. They took the scores down.”
I bite my lip. I want to tell him what I did, but at the same time I’m afraid I dreamed it.
He grasps my wrist and pulls me to my feet. My leg screams in pain, and I gasp and lean against him heavily.
He frowns. “You don’t seem fine.”
I clench my teeth so I won’t cry out. “Really, I’m good. Let’s go see the scores.”
He grumbles something, but helps me walk.
*
The outer rim of Phantom has shifted. I can tell as soon as we step through the door because the place is different. The weapons are gone, and the room is smaller, with black walls and pale lights. This must be what it looks like pre-game. My teammates and opponents crowd before a gray hologram displaying the words:
SCORE PENDING
To my right, a WEAPONS AND ARMOR DISPOSAL slot in the wall flashes red. Oliver eases the laser-proof vest off me, and I slide it in after the mega-gun. The slot makes a crunching sound as if it’s eating the metal.
I shift my weight to the wall and dig my nails into my arm to distract me from the pain in my leg. I notice that mud coats Oliver, like he rolled around in it. Blood soaks spots in the fabric of his leather suit, but I don’t think the blood is his. I hope it’s not his.
He frowns and pulls a clump of leaves out of my hair.
“Did you kill many Unstables?” I ask.
“A few. Sam kept knocking me out of the way.”
“I’d like to punch him. Where is he?”
“I don’t know.” Like me, Oliver is too short to see him.
Ariadne steps into the room, running her fingers through her braid and glancing around nervously. She spots us and hurries over. There’s a small cut on her left cheek where a strand of hair is plastered to dried blood, but that’s the only wound I see.
I open my mouth to ask if she was okay in there, but her eyes widen, and she speaks first. “Clem, what happened?”
I touch a hand to my face and feel my mouth. My upper lip feels fatter than it should, and my forehead stings, but that’s all. “Is it that bad?”
“It looks like they reversed the beauty operation.” Oliver grimaces.
I snort. “Oh, really?”
Ariadne frowns. “No, you just have a couple scrapes.”
“Thanks, Oliver.” I hit his arm.
“Ow.” He rubs his elbow. “I was joking.”
I shrug and smile. He shakes his head, but his eyes catch mine, and he smiles too.
A flicker runs across the gray hologram.
The scores pop up:
TEAM ONE: 72 TEAM TWO: 286
Gasps fill the room. I stare at the final score. It’s higher than I ever imagined it would be.
The scores slide to the top of the hologram, and two columns appear, one with individual scores and one with a leader board.
LEADER BOARD
FIRST:
CLEMENTINE
178
SECOND:
SAM
58
/>
THIRD:
BEECHY
56
FOURTH:
RILEY
44
Relief runs through me again, and this time nothing stops it. I don’t know how my plan worked—it doesn’t actually make any sense, now that I think about it—but I don’t care. I didn’t make us lose, which means Sam won’t try to kill me.
My lips spread into a smile. I beat his score. I beat every score.
Ariadne gapes at me. So does everyone else.
“What did you do?” Oliver breathes.
“She must’ve shot that thing Sam was trying to find,” someone says. “Every game, there’s a spot that explodes everything. They say you have to be ridiculously smart to find it.”
“That doesn’t exist,” a boy says flatly.
“She must’ve cheated,” another says.
“I didn’t cheat,” I say, but maybe I did. No one explained the rules to me.
“Oh, yeah?” The annoying girl from earlier crosses her arms. “Then how’d you do it, huh?”
“It could be a Phantom glitch,” someone offers.
“Phantom doesn’t glitch,” Joe cuts in, grinning at me. “She found the spot. She’s vruxing brilliant.”
“Uh-huh, sure, Joe, that makes so much sense.” The girl rolls her eyes.
“Shut up,” Sam says, and I’m so short I can’t even see where he is. “All of you, shut up.”
He shoves through the group, past Ariadne and Oliver, and stops two feet in front of me. Tension flickers in his jaw, his body, and his clenched fists.
“Get out,” he says. “Everyone, get out.”
The girl starts to say something, but everyone complies, heading through a glass door that slides open and reveals the main floor of Recreation Division. Ariadne shifts on her feet. Oliver mouths “Come on” to me.
Sam’s eyes turn me to ice. I purse my lips and move toward my friends. He blocks me with a strong arm.
“Everyone but you,” he says. His face is too close.
“No way,” Oliver says. “We’re not leaving you alone with her.”
“Clem?” Ariadne’s voice is uncertain. She glances at Sam with wide eyes.
“Get out,” Sam says again. His gaze burns me.
It hits me that my plan was a bad idea. He doesn’t like that I beat his score—which almost makes me smile. I did beat him, finally. That makes me feel stronger. More Promising.
Extraction Page 14
