by Tracy Deebs
Suddenly, my laptop screen lights up, the entire thing turning supernova bright. I throw myself over it, try to cover it as my avatar slowly floats out of the fissure, my entire body alight with the power of the sun. Next to me, growing larger with every ray that shines over him, is a young man clutching a bow and arrow and a harp. Apollo, god of the sun.
He’s glowing as brightly as I am, and as I watch through the gaps in my fingers, the noxious odors disappear, baked away by the sheer, unconcentrated power of the sun that I have somehow managed to harness. I think of Orinoco, of its huge solar array, and wonder if what my father is saying here is possible. Can we really—
A huge hand slams down on the counter above me, and I jump, terror rushing through me as I look up and into the eyes of one of New Mexico’s finest.
“Drop the glass and stand up, hands in the air,” he says to us, gun drawn and leveled straight at Theo’s chest. We obey, making sure to keep our hands where he can see them as he shifts the gun back and forth between the three of us.
“What are you doing in here?” he demands. “This is private property.”
Figuring I’m the least threatening of the three of us, which isn’t saying much as I’m about three inches taller than the officer is, I take it upon myself to answer, sticking as close to the truth as I can manage. “We were driving and got caught up in the mess outside. When they stopped our car and started pounding on it, we got out and ran. We figured this was as good a place to hide as any until they moved on.”
He doesn’t know whether to believe me or not. I can see it in the way he’s looking at me, weighing my words. “Let me see some ID. One at a time and very slowly, please.” He nods at me. “You first.”
Oh shit, is all I can think. We’re sunk. Completely and totally finished. Major communications failure or not, it’s hard to imagine that he doesn’t know my name when Homeland Security is currently combing these streets looking for me. It occurs to me that he could be here right now because he’s been notified to be on the lookout for us.
“It’s in my bag.” I point to where my backpack lies drunkenly on its side. “Can I get it?”
His gun dances back and forth across Theo and Eli—a threat if ever I’ve seen one—before coming to rest on me. “Go ahead. But don’t do anything stupid.”
It’s way too late for that warning. I bend down, pick up my backpack. Fumble with it for a few seconds to buy myself some time—for what, I don’t have a clue. “Hurry up!” he tells me, and I know this is it. It really is done.
I reach for my wallet just as the walkie-talkie on his belt screams to life. I don’t understand the code that comes through it, but the words that follow are easily distinguishable. “Where are you, Crewshank? I’ve cleared my stores and am heading toward yours.”
As the words register with me, everything seems to slow down. I can hear Crewshank’s breathing, even as the pounding of my own heart slams in my ears. Backup is coming. Another police officer. Our chances of escaping just dwindled even more.
Before I even know I’m going to do it, I swing my heavy backpack out as far as I can, slamming it into Officer Crewshank’s face at the same time I dive back down behind the counter.
His gun goes off as he falls, the bullet flying into the wall directly behind where my head just was.
“Jesus Christ!” Eli yells as I scoop up my laptop and leap toward the back of the store. I slam through the shop’s back door, my two partners in crime hot on my heels. I’ve just added assault of a police officer to our list of offenses.
“I’m sorry!” I tell them as we careen around a corner, this time searching for the angry mob to get lost in. “I didn’t know what else to do.”
“You did fine,” Theo says, though his face is completely white. He’s as shaken up by what I just did as I am.
“I assaulted a cop!”
“Yeah. I’m trying to forget that part.”
“Good luck with that. By now, every cop in the vicinity is looking for us.”
Eli grabs my elbow, yanks me around another corner and into another shop. “Change your shirt,” he tells me as he rummages in his backpack. “The brighter the better.” Seconds later, he takes out his red hoodie, pulls it over his head.
I glance at Theo, who’s already following Eli’s directions. Soon, he’s wearing an orange polo shirt and a black baseball cap. I yank on the purple hoodie they bought me the other day at Walmart, and then we’re slipping out the back and into the alley behind the store.
I figure we’re going to make a run for it again, but sitting right there, next to the door, is a black BMW SUV. The driver’s window is smashed in, the radio’s missing, and the driver is passed out on the steering wheel, blood trickling down the side of his face.
Eli looks at Theo, Theo looks at me, and I stare at the ground. I know it’s the best way, know it’s what we need to do, but I don’t think I can do it. I really don’t think I can steal this car right out from under an injured man, even if it means we’ll be saved.
“We need to get him help,” I tell them. “We can’t just leave him here to die.”
“He’s going to be fine. He’s got a bump on his head. We need to get out of here.” Eli’s already opened one of the back doors and tossed his backpack inside. Then he heads around to the driver’s side. “Give me a hand, Theo.”
“Theo, no!” I tell him. “We’re not doing this.”
For the first time since I met him, he looks truly conflicted. “We have to, Pandora. We’ve got to keep moving so we can beat the game.”
“Screw the game! We are not just abandoning someone who’s hurt. Otherwise, what are we trying to do here? Who are we trying to save?”
“Ourselves!” Eli runs a hand through his hair in frustration. “You’re going to get us all killed. We need to move. Now.”
“So go. I’m not stopping you.”
“Damn it, Pandora! You’re wrong here.” He grabs hold of my arm, yanks me out of the way before reaching in to pull the driver out.
I see red—at his words and at the hand that is still locked around my bicep.
“That’s enough!” Theo steps into the fray, his voice low and final as he pries Eli’s hand from my arm and pushes him away from the car. “You need to chill the hell out.”
“Yeah, she does—”
“I was talking to you.” He points in the direction we came from when fleeing Homeland Security. “We passed a hospital about eight blocks that way. We can drop him off there.”
The fight leaves me as relief abruptly overwhelms me. “Thank you,” I whisper.
“Don’t.” He shakes his head. “You’re right. What’s the point of saving the world if we aren’t willing to save the people in it?”
He slides into the driver’s seat, moving the man to the passenger seat as he does. I climb in the back with Eli, doing my best to ignore the way he’s glaring at me.
The next few minutes pass in tense silence as Theo negotiates around the crowd. We have to go about twelve blocks in the wrong direction to avoid them, but it’s worth it. The whole time Eli and I slump down in the back so that if we pass any cops, they won’t see three of us traveling together.
When we get to the hospital, Theo and Eli pull the guy out of the car and carry him inside. I hop out and run for the parking lot, hoping to find another car to take. Besides having a broken window, the SUV is almost out of gas.
I find one—an old Ford Explorer—and hot-wire it the same way I saw Theo do. The engine roars to life, and I pull it around to the front of the ER so I can transfer the backpacks from the BMW to the Explorer.
Seconds later, the guys are back and buckled into the front seats. Eli’s still annoyed with me, but I don’t actually give a damn. I’ve done the wrong thing for the right reason over and over again since this disaster began. It feels good to do the right thing for a change. Now if only doing the right thing doesn’t end up getting us caught or killed …
31
As Theo drives
through the winding streets of Albuquerque, I log back on to Pandora’s Box, praying that whatever it is I did at the end of level two was enough to bump me up. It turns out it was, because when I start looking around I realize I’m no longer in the middle of the West Texas desert.
“I’m in,” I tell them as I begin exploring.
Eli reaches for his iPad, logs in, and races into level three to meet me.
“Where are we?” he asks once he catches up.
“I’m not sure.”
I’m in the middle of a town square somewhere, standing next to a large fountain. I turn in a circle, look around. There are trees everywhere and huge buildings, all Spanish in flavor but each with a distinct character.
A couple of them look familiar, and I run up to them, look closer. Smile. “I’m in Balboa Park.”
“Where?” Eli asks.
“San Diego. It’s a huge park, with museums, the Old Globe Theatre, an amphitheater for outdoor concerts. My dad and I used to love …” My voice breaks. I clear my throat, try again. I’m not going to get upset over something that was but never will be again. “We used to love to come here. When I was young, he was working on some superimportant project at a think tank here, and my mom and I would visit him every month or so.”
“What kind of project?” Theo asks intently.
“I don’t know. I just remember it drove my mother nuts when he talked about it, especially since he became so critical of her day job, which in those days was as counsel for Anderson Natural Gas.”
Theo doesn’t say anything else, but I see that the name registers. Just as I can see him thinking, filing all the bits and pieces away.
“So, where did you like to go?” Eli asks.
“Everywhere. We spent a lot of time at the Reuben H. Fleet, though. It’s a science museum for kids.” I fumble for the pictures, pull them out. Search for one that jogs my memory of Balboa Park. I find it in the one of my parents and me standing in front of some kind of a decorative white arch, connected to a fancy gazebo.
My dad is holding me with one arm—I’m about five or six here—and his other is wrapped around my mom. He and I are smiling hugely, but my mom just looks like she wants to get away. I don’t remember that from this trip. I wonder how I missed it. Wonder if my dad missed it, too, or if this was the beginning of the end and I just didn’t realize it.
“I know where I need to go,” I tell the guys as I take off running toward the amphitheater. It’s a hike from where I started, so I keep my finger on the arrow key, making my avatar run as fast as possible, jumping over, spinning around, or fighting any obstacles that pop up in the way.
It’s close a couple of times—there are more NPCs to get through in this level, and some of them, like the Eryines, or Furies, are tough enough that Theo pulls the car over and hurtles into level three to help me for a few minutes. By the time he pulls back onto the road, I’m feeling pretty good about myself—especially as I approach the amphitheater. There’s nothing here I can’t handle. At least until a huge, meaty fist comes out of nowhere and latches on to my hair, pulling me right off my feet and dangling me high off the ground. I look up and up and up, right into the large center eye of a Cyclops.
“Oh, shit,” I say as he brings a club around, poised to strike me. “I think I’m screwed.”
“Not yet you aren’t.” Eli races toward me.
The club comes right at me, and I twist and turn, try every key I can to avoid the hit. It doesn’t work, and he hits me hard enough to rip some of the hair off my head, to send me spinning across the hard concrete ground.
I land with a thud, and it’s obvious I’m hurt. I’m limping and holding the side that still hasn’t recovered from the giants’ attack. Plus I have the mother of black eyes.
I don’t have time to think about it, though, as the Cyclops is coming after me again, his club hitting the ground inches from where I am. I scramble backward, crablike. I scoot under a bench from the amphitheater and roll over, start to crawl from one to the next, trying to lose him.
He smashes at all of them, shattering one stone bench after another. But he’s always a second late, so that I’m not crushed beneath the rubble. I am, however, victim to flying stone pieces. Soon blood is dripping off me.
Other players get in the way, try to bring him down, but they end up being crushed beneath his powerful club. Old and young, male and female, rich and poor. People who won’t get another chance. My stomach hurts as a young girl meets a particularly gory end.
My shot at saving the world could be over as easily as hers. One wrong move and I’m gone.
My father really is insane. The fate of the world hanging on his teenage daughter and a video game. If I fail here, I let everyone down.
The Cyclops’s club slams into my back, knocks me to the ground. He lifts it again, starts to bring it down. But it doesn’t connect. Eli is there, blocking it, his huge strength pitted against the Cyclops.
“Run, Pandora!”
I do, ashamed of myself for leaving him, but this is too important. I have to get through this, have to find the next city coordinates.
Behind me, Eli and the Cyclops are locked in battle, the sounds terrible to hear. I glance back. Eli’s huge and strong, but he’s only a giant by reality’s standards. Here, in the game, the Cyclops towers above him—in height and muscle mass. He doesn’t stand a chance against him, not for long.
“Eli!” I scream as the club descends. “Look out!”
At that moment, Theo jerks the car to the right and drives halfway down a small alley before pulling over and turning it off.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Trying to be invisible. There are caravans of military trucks out there.” He reaches for his backpack.
“Caravans?” Eli and I echo at the same time, the game forgotten for long, crucial seconds.
“Yes. And soldiers with guns and riot gear. I think the National Guard’s been called in to restore order.”
We’re silent as we try to absorb what that means for us. How are we going to dodge the authorities and avoid popping up on the National Guard’s radar, too? And, since we’re attempting to figure out impossible problems, I add one more dilemma to the list. How are we going to get out of this alive?
As the question echoes in my head, I’m so mad, I’m shaking. How could my father do this to us?
The Cyclops roars, in duplicate and high definition, from both Eli’s and my computer screens. The noise startles us and we jump. But it drags our attention back to the game, where it needs to be right now.
“Just stay out of sight,” Theo says furiously, and we all slump down, trying to make the car appear empty. With my height, it’s hard for me, but I figure it’s impossible for Eli and Theo. “Get back here,” I tell Eli as I throw myself into the cargo hold of the Explorer.
He crawls under the bench seats and stretches out in an awkward bent-in-half manner. It looks uncomfortable, but I figure cramped is better than dead. Theo kind of drapes himself across the backseat, and he looks even more squeezed than Eli.
Then we play the game.
I don’t know where to begin looking for the coordinates. This place is huge, and half the hiding places have already been destroyed by Rampaging Cyclops Guy. I can only hope the numbers weren’t under any of those benches.
I remember playing on the huge pipe organ at the front of the amphitheater and run to it, checking in and around it, but there’s nothing there. I check the stone podiums, jump up onstage and check out the actual pipes the music comes from. Nothing.
In the background, Eli and Theo are taking on the Cyclops. Theo has managed to scale his giant muscles and currently has his hands wrapped around the monster’s throat as Eli beats and pokes at his legs with a huge stick he’s found in the rubble.
As I watch them, I notice the ornate archway a little bit up the hill from the amphitheater. It leads to a gazebo—the same gazebo my family and I were standing in front of in the picture. I hightail
it up the hill, through the arch, and into the gazebo. Look up at the ceiling, like the rotunda, but there’s nothing there.
I was wrong.
Behind me, the Cyclops falls with a huge roar and Theo is crushed underneath him. I run to help and as I do, I see the uneven stones on the path up here. One seems to be sticking out a little more than the rest.
I glance up. Eli has managed to get the Cyclops off Theo and is currently clubbing it in the head—so things seem like they’re under control, or at least as under control as any of this can be. I drop to my knees and start to dig.
It takes a couple of minutes, but I finally manage to pry the stone out. Turn it over. And right there, written in glowing green, are these coordinates: N 38°50’2”, W 104°49’14”.
“I’ve got them!” I shout. “Give me the atlas.”
Eli tosses me my backpack, and it lands with a thud on the pile of laundry at my feet. For the first time, I look around the cargo area, where I’m lying.
There’s a big laundry basket with neatly folded clothes in it. A red backpack. A black guitar case. A ratty pair of tennis shoes that are obviously the source of the disgusting smell I’ve been trying to ignore since I crawled back here.
Whose car is this? I wonder. A college kid who came home to do laundry only to have the world blow up around him? Or a man stuck in one of the hospital rooms because his plan for getting out of town went somehow awry?
The guilt is nearly suffocating. How many lives are we ruining as we run from one section of town to another, taking things that don’t belong to us?
I don’t realize I’ve asked the question out loud until Theo says, “How many people are we going to save if we pull this off? Get your head back in the game, Pandora.”
I know he’s right, but I’ve just about had it with his brand of tough love. I shoot him a nasty look even as I flip open the atlas.
It takes me a few seconds—I still don’t have the hang of this book yet—but I finally find the coordinates a little north of where we currently are. “We’re going to Colorado Springs.”
