Doomed

by Tracy Deebs

  “Tell me about my father,” I say impulsively, carrying my bounty back to the house and into Jean’s kitchen.

  She sighs and pours each of us a cup of coffee. For a long time it’s quiet between us, and I finally decide she isn’t going to answer. But then she does.

  “Being with your father was like harnessing lightning. Thrilling, fun, but more dangerous than anyone caught in his orbit likes to imagine.”

  I think back to my mother, to her making me swear to stay away from my father. Was that her experience, too? Was being married to him like trying to hold on to a lightning bolt? And if it was, how come I never noticed her struggles? I remember her being the interloper, but maybe I was too young to understand anything more.

  “I first met him when I was the same age you are now. We were at school together, at UC Berkeley, and he was leading a protest against nuclear armament. There was chaos all around him, students protesting, campus police trying to keep things in line, other students trying to push through the demonstration so they could get to class.

  “And there was your father. Right in the middle of it all. Completely cool, totally in charge, and having a fantastic time. I was hooked, from that moment on. I’d never thought much about the arms race—I mean, beyond what everyone else did—but I walked right up to your dad and told him I wanted to join the cause.”

  She shrugs, smiles a little shyly. “We were inseparable after that. For years.”

  Even after he and my mom got married? I want to ask. I think back on those times here, with Jean and my father, and know that yes, even then, they were together. I don’t understand any of this, but I want to. I really do. Something tells me it’s a key to figuring out everything else that’s going on.

  Even with all of that to process, there’s another question that begs to be asked. “Protest against nuclear arms?” Bitterness is in my mouth now. It coats my tongue, and when I laugh, it’s not a happy sound. “Tell me, please, how a man who once protested nuclear weapons went from that to creating a worm that breaks down nuclear-cooling towers? A worm that guarantees to eradicate the planet? It doesn’t make any sense!”

  “He won’t go through with it.” Jean’s voice sounds certain, but her hands are trembling when she reaches for the coffeepot.

  The desire to believe her is a fire inside me, burning me with the need to see my father as something other than a villain. Something more than a spoiled little boy who decided to break everything because he couldn’t have his way.

  “He already has. We’ve got six days left. I’m dancing to his tune, we all are, and yet the countdown keeps ticking. Technology as we know it has all but disappeared, and the nuclear-cooling towers aren’t functioning properly. It’s just a matter of time before this all gets away from him.”

  “You don’t know that. Mitch isn’t the kind of person—”

  “He’s exactly that kind of person! Can’t you see? Or are you so isolated on this farm that you don’t understand what’s going on?” I get up, walk to the window that looks out over acres and acres of food, and I think about that convenience store, emptied of supplies, its clerk murdered.

  “People are already dying. Right now, as we speak. They’re dying, Jean. And more are going to, even if he is bluffing about the nuclear thing—and I don’t think he is. Hospitals can’t run forever on their generators. Think about the people on life support. Don’t tell me he didn’t think about them. And if he didn’t, then he’s even more of a monster than I already believe he is.”

  “Pandora.” Her blue eyes are horror stricken and watery, tears slowly sliding down her cheeks. “He’s not a monster. Whatever you say, whatever he’s done, I won’t believe that of him. The Mitch I know—”

  “What? Tell me. Help me understand.”

  “Is that why you’re here? To understand?”

  “I’m here because it’s where he put me. I’m playing the game, trying to stop him, and he brought me here.”

  “Which just proves he doesn’t want to succeed! He would never involve you if it meant you might get hurt.”

  I stare at her in disbelief, as I think of everything I’ve done in the last few days. Stolen cars, fled federal custody, been in a high-speed car chase with Homeland Security, faced down men with guns, assaulted a cop, walked through miles of desert with very little water. Any one of those things could have ended badly for me, for Theo and Eli.

  Would my father have even cared? Or are we all just pawns in this crazy game he’s created? I shudder as I think of my own strategy regarding pawns when I’m playing chess. I always sacrifice them for the greater good of the game. Why should I think my father’s strategy is any different?

  I start to say as much to Jean, but she looks wrecked, and I’ve never been one to kick a person when she’s down. Instead, I walk to the sink and rinse out my cup. “Can I help you make breakfast?” I ask. “We probably need to get on the road soon.”

  Jean wants to argue, I can see it in her eyes. But she must see something in mine that changes her mind, because all she does is shake her head. “Go wake up the boys. They’re in the room next to yours. And get your dirty clothes so I can wash them. We’ll have breakfast and then I’ll pack some food for you, get you some gasoline, and you can be on your way.”

  “You have gasoline?” I ask, surprised. “Here?”

  “We have a lot of machines for harvesting. They don’t run on air, though it’d certainly be nice if they did.”

  I nod my understanding. “You don’t have to do this, you know. I appreciate it, but you may need the supplies.”

  Her look is surprisingly fierce, and seems out of place on her warm, kind face. “You’re Mitch’s daughter. If he didn’t send you here to stay, then I guarantee he sent you so I could do exactly this.” She holds my gaze for long seconds, as if she’s trying to tell me something I can’t quite understand. Then she shoos me out of the kitchen, turns toward the sink. “Hurry up and get your clothes. I’ll put on a load of laundry right away.”

  I nod even though she can’t see me and walk slowly down the hall to my room. It’s even prettier in daylight than it was at night. Sunlight reflects off the crystal knobs on the bedposts, sending rainbow prisms spinning across the floor and bed.

  I empty my bag, pull out my dirty clothes. Start to head next door. At the last second, I open up my laptop, stare at the AR gate waiting for the right code to let me level up. I pause for a second, then type in J. E. A. N.

  35

  The game beeps and I’m back in Balboa Park, in front of the entrance to the San Diego Aerospace Museum. A bunch of players cross through the open AR gate with me, and we stand there, staring at the circular white building, trying to figure out what we’re supposed to do now.

  Part of me wants to walk away forever. To smash my laptop into a million pieces so I never have to play this game again. I can’t do it now, but I promise myself that once I find my father I’m never logging in to Pandora’s Box again.

  I walk into the museum. Inside it’s one big hangar, with a bunch of planes on display, ranging from some of the first airplanes up to some of the most modern fighter jets. I look around for a minute, try to figure out what I’m supposed to do.

  One of the planes is glowing, so I walk toward it. It’s a small, two-seater plane like they use for crop dusting in old cartoons, and I have no idea what to do with it.

  Just then CarlyMoon IMs me, and instead of ignoring the message as I usually do, I click on it:

  PStar, I know how to fly a plane. In case you need some help or something.

  I write her back:

  I’m not sure what I need yet, but thanks.

  We chat for a minute or so, then:

  It’s interesting the way this game is set up, isn’t it? How, no matter what shape the Internet is in, you can still log in wherever you are and then get transported to real places around the globe. Like I’m in Boston, yet I can connect to SD because that’s where your avatar is. You pull us with you.

&n
bsp; I’m sorry. I don’t mean to.

  No, it’s cool. Are you in all these places in real life? Like, are you in SD right now?

  Her questions set off alarm bells inside me. I close our chat, but that doesn’t seem good enough. Or safe enough. If my instincts are right, and CarlyMoon is a federal agent, can she trace us through the game? Can she find out where I am?

  I slam my computer shut just as there’s a knock on my door.

  “I’m coming, Jean,” I call, scooping up my dirty clothes. But when I open the door, Jean’s not on the other side. It’s Eli.

  “Hey, Pandora.” He smiles lazily, his green eyes still a little unfocused from sleep, though he smells of mint toothpaste. “I’m supposed to tell you breakfast is ready.”

  “Great.” I grab my backpack and follow him out into the hall, where we run into Theo, fresh from a shower.

  “I found the code,” I blurt out. “To the AR gate. It’s Jean. She and my dad …” I trail off.

  “Did you finish the level?”

  “No. I ran into a player who freaked me out.” I tell them what happened, and they both look as concerned as I feel.

  “I don’t think they can trace us here, not with none of the com lines working,” Theo says as we settle at the table. “But I’d stay away from anyone who’s playing with us.”

  “I agree,” Eli says. “It’s impossible to tell who they really are.”

  “How long do we have before the time limit runs out?” Theo asks, pulling out his tablet.

  Oh, crap. I’d been so caught up in worrying about Carly-Moon that I let the time limit get away from me. “Probably not long.” I log on to the game and the guys do the same, entering the AR code so they drop down right next to me. As one, we stare at the glowing airplane.

  “We need to fly that baby?”

  “I think so.” The clock reads 5:34.

  “Then let’s do it.” Eli hops in the back. “You can sit on my lap, Pandora.”

  Theo climbs into the front, starts up the plane, and I clamber into the back. As soon as the plane starts to move forward, the walls of the museum disappear, and we’re rolling through the fields of Balboa Park.

  “You really know how to fly this thing?” I ask Theo.

  “This thing? Not exactly, but hopefully it’s not much different from my plane.”

  We bounce our way across the grass to a huge parking lot that is, thankfully, devoid of cars. Theo hits the throttle, or whatever that thing is called, and the plane starts coasting faster and faster. Within seconds, we’re airborne.

  “Now what?” I ask, and though the timer is quickly winding down, it’s nice to be able to concentrate on the game for once instead of having to flee for our lives.

  “I have no idea.” Theo does a loop-de-loop that has my avatar clutching on to Eli. As Theo straightens up, he flies higher than he had been, and lightning crackles across the sky.

  “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” Eli leans over to get a better look at the clouds we’re flying through.

  “I have no idea,” Theo repeats as he does another spin and more lightning crackles, followed by the boom of thunder.

  We soar over the scorched croplands outside of San Diego, and the higher we go, the more thunder and lightning there is. And then, as Theo executes a complicated sequence of twists and turns, it finally begins to rain.

  As it does, the fields below us start to grow.

  Instead of dusting the plants with chemicals, as the plane was originally intended, we’re bringing them water and the chance to flourish.

  Huge expanses of field stretch before us, and the timer is quickly ticking away. 1:21. “Can we get them all done in time?” I demand, as Theo pushes the plane to go faster.

  “We’d better,” Eli answers.

  We soar over the last field just as the countdown ends. This time, a man with a full beard appears on the screen, dressed in a white robe and clutching a lightning bolt in one hand. Zeus, king of the gods and weather, has appeared as we level up.

  We’re feeling good, at least until we move on to level four, and end up in the middle of what looks like a war zone. Streets messed up and houses in all states of disrepair.

  Eli takes one look and puts down his iPad. “Glad that’s done. I’m starving.”

  “Me, too,” Theo agrees, and I nod, as I can’t talk around the food I’ve already shoveled into my mouth. Jean is an amazing cook and she’s gone all out—fresh fruit salad, homemade cinnamon rolls, cheese-and-vegetable omelets, hash browns, coffee with cream. It’s a far cry from my regular morning bowl of Crunch Berries.

  When we’re done and I’ve carried my plate to the sink, I wash my hands and then reach for the pictures my father sent me. I lay them out, until I’m looking at the next photos. Neither are in front of something recognizable, not like a solar array with Orinoco’s name on it or a “Welcome to” sign. But still, Theo has no trouble identifying what my father and I are standing in front of in picture five. I’m an infant, wrapped in a lavender blanket with rosebuds all over it, and he’s holding me up for the camera, a look of pride, excitement, and love in his eyes.

  For a moment, I wonder who is taking the picture—Jean or my mom. Whoever it is, it’s obvious my dad is crazy about her.

  “That’s Jackson Square,” Theo tells me, pointing to the huge church behind us. “That’s the St. Louis Cathedral, in New Orleans.”

  “New Orleans?” I ask, surprised. I didn’t even know I’d been to the Big Easy. But it makes sense. In the game, that war zone we were in was probably just post-Katrina New Orleans.

  “What are you guys talking about?” Jean asks, leaning in to see the pictures. From the way her eyes soften at the sight of the New Orleans photo, I suspect she is the one who held that camera long ago.

  “I remember this day,” Jean tells us. “It was so cold the pipes had frozen at the hotel—one of those rare early winter days that New Orleans doesn’t quite know what to do with.”

  “What were you doing with him?” I ask. It comes out more accusatorily than I would like, but Jean doesn’t take offense. Or at least, it doesn’t seem as if she does.

  “We were in town for a convention, and your dad brought you and your mom along. He thought you’d have fun. But your mom worked most of the time, with conference calls or whatever, so he usually ended up carrying you around with him from meeting.”

  Now that, I can believe. My mom’s been wrapped up in work for as long as I can remember. I just didn’t realize it had started back when I was only a baby. It’s strange, after all these years without him, to think of my dad as the primary caregiver when I was young. I’m not sure how I feel about that.

  “You don’t happen to know where this picture was taken, do you, Jean?” Theo asks smoothly, sliding the picture of my dad and six-year-old me across the table to her. We’re kneeling in front of a huge field of corn, wearing jeans and matching red T-shirts. My dad is facing the camera, and the front of his shirt reads, “Try a tankful.” I’m kneeling away from the camera, my long red hair divided into two pigtails, and the back of my shirt proclaiming, “You’ll be thankful.”

  “Somewhere that makes ethanol,” she tells us. “That slogan is about a million years old and that’s what it refers to. ‘The Fuel of the Future.’ ”

  So, that’s where we’ll be going next. Some state that grows a lot of corn and produces a lot of ethanol. I reach for my laptop again. Might as well play the game and find out where. It’s nice here at Willow Farms, but as I open up my computer, the counter reads, “Total annihilation in 6 days.” It’s not like I’ve got so much time to waste here.

  We start to run down the torn-up streets, turning right and left and right again, looking for a way to get to Jackson Square, but we can’t do it. Everything narrows, hems us in, keeps us in this desolate stretch of New Orleans until we’re simply going in circles, spinning around ourselves.

  “What is going on?” Eli demands, frustrated. “Why can’t we move?”


  I slow my pace to little more than a crawl, look around the neighborhood we’ve been pacing for what feels like forever. And that’s when the truth hits me. “We have to do the task first.”

  “What’s the task?” Theo asks, sounding as annoyed as Eli.

  I point toward one of the dilapidated houses, where a huge pile of building supplies sits in the front yard, waiting to be used. “We need to build,” I say simply.

  “What? Like Habitat for Humanity?” Eli runs over to check what we have to work with.

  “That’s one of your father’s favorite charities,” Jean says. “He’s spent two weeks working with them every year for as long as I’ve known him.”

  I turn to her. “Where is my father, Jean? If anyone knows, I figure it would be you.”

  She shakes her head sadly. “I wish I did, Pandora. But he disappeared off the face of the earth two and a half years ago, and I haven’t heard from him since.”

  “What happened two and a half years ago?”

  She looks uncomfortable, like she’s got secrets to spill but doesn’t know if she should. I start to press her, but Theo looks up from where he’s knocking a hole in the wall of the existing house. “Your father walked away from a lucrative job at the number-one think tank in America.”

  36

  As Theo’s revelation sinks in, I stare at him for long seconds, mouth agape. In some dim corner of my mind, I realize Eli is doing the same.

  “How do you know that?” I demand. “What game are you playing?”

  He looks at me coolly. “The same one you are. But I’ve been thinking about this whole thing for days now, trying to put the pieces together. The Balboa Park fight helped me get my thoughts together a little more clearly, and then, being here, listening to Jean, made another big part of the puzzle slide into place.”