The Gamer's Guide to Getting the Girl

by Kristine Scarrow

  “There’s hail in here, too.” Cooper points to random golf ball–sized pieces of ice sprinkled among the mess.

  I survey the scene. It reminds me of the Scorch in the Maze Runner series: an abandoned city in ruins, where numerous obstacles and potential dangers await. And, somehow, we’re harvesting materials out of this wreckage.

  “We need rope. And something hard to lay George on.”

  “All I see is metal, glass, and concrete.” I can’t fathom how we’re going to be able to put something together.

  “What’s that over there?” Cooper points to a big rounded piece of something solid-looking and aqua blue sticking up out from the wreckage. I can’t tell until I see the storefront about ten feet away. It’s Surfer City, the chain store ironically located in the middle of the land-locked prairies where no surf waves can be found for at least 1,200 kilometres.

  “A surfboard?” I guess.

  “We have a place that sells surfboards?” Cooper asks, smirking.

  “Maybe it’s a paddleboard.”

  “That would make more sense.” Saskatchewan has roughly 100,000 lakes, and paddleboards are a favourite out on the water.

  I test the stability of the pile of concrete in front of me and decide that it feels pretty good. I start to pick my way along the jagged landscape. Cooper follows me.

  “Careful, there’s glass everywhere!”

  As we get closer, we see that the entire store looks as though it’s been put through a blender. I try to pry the paddleboard out from under the debris, but it won’t come loose.

  “Here, let me get in there, too,” Cooper says. He scoots in beside me and together we pull as hard as we can on the moulded fibreglass. It wiggles free and the force of our pulling sends us both flat onto our backs on the jagged concrete.

  “Ouch!” Cooper yells. I watch as he pulls a three-inch piece of glass from his left hip. I wince both at the glass and my own pain. My back has taken a beating during this ordeal: getting knocked into the stairs, sitting for so long, and crouching down during the storm.

  “Will this work?” I ask him, breathless.

  “Yes. But we need something to secure him to the board with. It’s way too risky just laying him on there if we’re going to try to walk through this mess.”

  I look around but see nothing that would help us. I try to remember the stores in the mall.

  “There’s a camping place somewhere,” I say. “They’ll have rope.”

  “That’s right. The Woodsman.”

  “Isn’t it on the other side?”

  Cooper tries to get his bearings. “No. It’s beside that makeup store. I think it’s just around these elevators actually.” But there isn’t much less debris in that direction either.

  “You boys okay?” Erwin yells out the door.

  “Yeah, we’re good!” I call back. I watch as Cooper makes his way to the other side of the elevators with the agility of a monkey while I try to make it to solid ground with the grace of a bull in a china shop.

  I hold on to the paddleboard firmly and slosh over to the elevators by stepping into the open crevasses I see. My feet are growing numb from the shock of the sludgy, cold water.

  A few minutes later, Coop returns with a package of rope and a sleeping bag. He uses the sleeping bag to give his hands support as he manoeuvres through the maze of debris.

  “The security gate was blown right off of that store, too,” he tells me. “If we’re stuck here any longer, there’s a whole bunch of stuff we can use to help us.” He jumps toward me and lands in the water with a satisfying splash. “Let’s start Operation: Rescue George.”

  “Good job, boys!” Erwin says when he sees us.

  “So, we strap him onto here,” says Cooper. “The sleeping bag will help keep him warm and protected. But it’s going to be really tricky getting him out of here.”

  “We’ve got to give it a try,” I say.

  “Is this such a good idea?” Valerie steps in. “What about the rest of us?”

  “I think we should all go. Safety in numbers, remember?” Erwin says.

  “But we know we’re safe in here,” she says.

  “George is deteriorating. His best chance is to get out of here and into the hands of the people who can help him as soon as we can get him there.” George’s skin has taken on an even greyer pallor.

  “I understand, but aren’t we taking a big risk walking through an obliterated building?”

  Erwin nods.

  We all ponder that thought.

  “We gotta save George,” I say. “He kept us safe. We owe the same to him.”

  No one argues, but there is an uneasiness among us.

  Erwin makes the final decision.

  “Okay, then. Let’s get him loaded.”

  TIP #15

  Even if the princess doesn’t need to be rescued, she still likes a knight

  Even though we’re busy with George, I can’t stop thinking of Samara. I wonder if she’s trapped somewhere, hurt. Cooper must be wondering the same thing.

  “It’s okay, Zach. We’ll find her.”

  “Yeah,” I say. A lump forms in my throat. George doesn’t stir when we load him onto the paddleboard. Although he’s breathing, he remains unconscious. Erwin covers him with the sleeping bag and then Cooper ties the rope around him and the board multiple times.

  “What’s that saying? If you can’t tie knots, tie lots?” I tease, but Cooper is experienced in knot-tying. I once attended a scout camp with him during “bring-a-friend” week and the group activity had been to make a rope bridge that the entire group could walk on safely. Cooper knows what he’s doing.

  “He is still breathing, right?” Cooper asks. Erwin nods but he’s clearly concerned. Cooper addresses the group. “Okay, everyone, I want you to move slowly and carefully. There’s a lot of glass and twisted metal outside. It’s very easy to slip. Help each other out whenever you can.”

  Just then, Joaquin and A.J. appear. “Let us go ahead,” Joaquin says. “We’ll try to clear a path.”

  Although there’s significant danger in trying to move the debris, it’s George’s best chance. It’s also the safest way for Mildred and Peter and Valerie and Ira to get out of here.

  “It’s going to be hard to see metal and glass through that gross water,” Cooper says. He’s right. It’s like a grey soup, and it has a funky, dank smell.

  I turn to see Valerie closing her eyes and mumbling to herself. It takes me a moment to realize that she’s praying. When she finishes she makes a quick sign of the cross and then kisses the top of Ira’s head. I give her a supportive smile but she doesn’t smile back. Worry is etched into her face.

  Rory makes his way to the bottom of the stairs to talk to Erwin before they set out.

  “What about me?” I hear a familiar bitter voice. It’s the man in the business suit. Our resident thief. “Are you ready to take these things off yet?”

  Rory gives us a mischievous grin. “Not a chance,” he whispers, and then turns to the man. “You’re the least of my worries at the moment.”

  The man swears under his breath and starts banging the cuffs loudly and repeatedly against the handrail, obviously hoping to annoy everyone. We all try our best to ignore him.

  “You guys are doing a great job,” I tell Rory. “It’s not easy taking care of a bunch of cranky strangers.”

  “When I signed up to become a security guard I didn’t realize how hard it’d be,” Rory says. “People think we’re just basically rent-a-cops, but we deal with a lot more than you’d think.”

  After everything we’ve been through, I don’t doubt it.

  Peter comes down the stairs toward me. He looks troubled. “Zach, Mildred’s not going to be able to make it out of here on her own.”

  I nod.

  “We’re going to need someone to carry her,” he continues. “And I’m afraid I can’t do it any longer.”

  “I know,” I say, trying to reassure him. “How about when we get George
to the doors, we come back for Mildred with the paddleboard and transport her the same way?”

  Peter considers this. “I think that might be best.” His face registers relief. “I’ll go and talk to her and try to prepare her.”

  “We’ve got a path started!” A.J. yells back to us. I glance out the doorway and sure enough, there’s a path about twenty feet long and at least a foot wide that we can shuffle through with the paddleboard.

  “Yes!” I say excitedly. This feels like a major win considering the night we’ve just had.

  “Can you take a side?” Erwin asks me. Cooper has taken the front of the paddleboard and Erwin’s on the right-hand side. I make eye contact with Valerie, knowing I’m going to be leaving her and Ira alone for a while. She nods at me and waves me on. I grip the side across from Erwin, but we soon realize that there’s only room for two people to carry George. The pathway only allows for someone at the front and someone at the back.

  “Can you take this, Zach?” Erwin asks. I nod. Cooper and I make a much more even match. Erwin is an older gentleman himself, and his short, rounded stature makes carrying George a challenge for him.

  Together Cooper and I shuffle slowly down the pathway. Carrying George is a lot harder than I expected. My arms shake from the weight. Water sloshes around us and the odd piece of wreckage keeps sliding into our path, causing one of us to trip. It’s a bumpy ride for George, and slow-going. In minutes my hands start to cramp, and they keep sliding from the paddleboard because they’re coated with sweat. My breath becomes laboured. Cooper has it even rougher than me because he’s facing forward, gripping the paddleboard behind his back.

  I marvel at Cooper’s iron grip and his ability to guide us. He must be in much better shape than me because I feel like I’m going to drop George and pass out. We get to where A.J. and Joaquin are standing and see that the rest of the corridor is relatively clear from here on in.

  “Oh, thank goodness!” I say, signalling to Cooper to take a break. We lower George to the ground as gently as we can. I wipe the sweat from my forehead and peel my shirt away from my chest; it’s sticky and wet.

  “Want us to take over?” A.J. asks, and Cooper and I nod gratefully. To my surprise, Cooper looks as bagged as I am.

  I look back to see Liam and Henry, Nancy, Olivia, Brandon, the two sales women from Designer Dresses, and most of the others making their way through the water toward us. I yearn to see Samara walking with the rest of the group, but it feels like a pipe dream. I have to find her; I have to know that she’s okay.

  “I have to look for Samara!” I say to Cooper.

  He nods but he looks exhausted. “Where should we start?”

  “I don’t know. Anywhere at this point.” The destruction is overwhelming. I try not to picture her pinned under the debris but it’s hard to imagine where else she’d be. How did I not notice that she wasn’t with us? All along I thought she was safe in the stairs. Now I find out that she was on the second floor and that I was the closest to her of everyone in the group the whole time.

  “I’m going back,” I decide. “I’m going to check upstairs.”

  “Zach, the door was blown right off. There’s no way she was upstairs.”

  “That’s the thing — I think she was!”

  “Oh God,” Cooper mutters. He’s imagining the same horrors I am.

  I make my way past the other members of our group, jumping through the water in the pathway, and get to the stairwell door in record time. Suddenly I’m a lot more agile than I thought I was. I bound up the stairs, past Ira’s stroller, the handcuffed man, Rory, Peter, and Mildred.

  “Are you all right?” Peter asks me, concerned.

  “It’s Samara,” I say breathlessly. “She’s missing.”

  I race to the top where the steel door used to be. A gentle breeze makes some of the lighter debris flap in the wind. I’m standing on the second floor of the biggest mall in the city, and because the roof and part of the wall has been blown off, I can see everything outside. From here I get an open-air, panoramic view of part of my city — the city where I was born and raised. I don’t even recognize it.

  Trees have been snapped into jagged blades. A new neighbourhood being built just west of the mall has been wiped clean — the only evidence it ever existed is the exposed foundations left in the houses’ places. At once everything is familiar and unfamiliar — a battle in my mind between what once was and what I see before me. The two images are so incongruent that I blink to make sure I’m not hallucinating. Balls of coloured metal litter the landscape around the mall. It takes me a moment to decipher that they’re cars and trucks, steel vehicles crushed as easily as aluminum cans.

  The dense line of trees that borders the new development has been reduced to barren splinters. Even parts of the road have risen in great heaves toward the sky. I can see the bridge from here. It’s been washed clean away, and the water runs fiercely past where it used to be. The landscape is entirely different in the storm’s wake. It’s as though nothing in the storm’s path was sacred.

  I turn my attention back to the interior of the mall. Most of the second floor has been ripped up and carried away by the storm. There are gaping holes in the floor. I’m unsure about stepping out any farther, knowing that so much of the floor has collapsed onto the main floor below.

  “Samara?” I call out. My voice feels lost in the cavernous air space around me. “Samara, are you there?”

  I hear nothing. The pit in the bottom of my stomach turns into a boulder. I want to vomit.

  “Samara, can you hear me?”

  I pause to listen for a response but get nothing.

  I step out a bit, praying that I don’t fall through. It feels solid and sure, so I continue, stepping around the elevator and stairwell entrances to the other side.

  “Samara?”

  This time I hear something. I scan the debris and the blown-out storefronts. Looking for a human in this mess is a bit like playing a sick game of Where’s Waldo? and it’s a game I’m not up for.

  “Can you call out again? I’m trying to find you!” I say, unsure of who or what I may find but hoping it’s Samara.

  “Help!” I hear.

  I think of all of the strategy games I’ve played — how your character must explore dark landscapes and difficult terrain all the time. I just never thought I’d be doing something like this in real life. This mall is a veritable wasteland.

  I continue to examine all of the wreckage. Then I see a bright flash of colour. It’s her orange T-shirt … and a purple boot. It’s her. It’s Samara.

  Without thinking I run toward her, no longer assessing the danger around me. I’m on a mission to get her no matter what the circumstance. She’s gripping a post between two storefronts. The heavy glass pane from a store’s security door lies in a twisted pile over one of Samara’s legs … and something else.

  It’s Betty, Samara’s mom. The glass covers her from the chest down.

  “Zach!” Samara is breathing hard and tears run down her face. Her face is dusted with grey streaks of dirt. The stray wisps of her hair jut out in every direction. Even her clothing is torn in places. I think she’s both laughing and crying from the relief of seeing me.

  “Are you hurt?” My heart is racing.

  “No. I don’t think so.”

  Her mom watches the two of us.

  “What about your mom?” I ask. I don’t know what to call her. I don’t even know Samara’s last name.

  “I’m okay,” she says quietly.

  “We’re both pinned underneath this thing,” Samara says, trying to push the security gate off. It creaks and slides just inches off of her. “I can’t get it myself.”

  “Let me help,” I say, positioning myself so that I can get a better grip on it. “On three.”

  We count together. “One … two … three!” I bend my knees and get myself under it so that I can lift it straight up. Shards of glass rain down on Samara’s legs. Dots of blood appear where the
pieces of glass have nicked her. When I get the gate high enough, I toss it away from us.

  “Forget the storm. You are the Incredible Hulk.” Samara is beaming.

  “I thought you said he was a crazed behemoth.”

  “And I thought you said he was a genius,” she reminds me.

  “I’ll take that,” I say, pulling her to her feet. We both reach for her mom’s arms and help her up.

  “Thank you,” Betty says. She teeters as she tries to stand but smiles at me gratefully.

  “Mom, this is Zach. Zach, this is my mom, Betty.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” I say, holding out my hand. Betty shakes it and then puts her arm around Samara. She looks relieved to be with her daughter.

  “And Alec?” I ask. “Where is he?”

  Samara’s face sours. She glances at Betty, and says, “We’re not sure and we don’t care. We’re making a new start.” She and Betty share a meaningful look that I can’t quite decipher. I hope Samara’s right. There’s nothing I want more for her than to have a good mom — the kind of mom that might go to work every day, make a turkey dinner, bake cookies, read stories, and be a role model for her child, but most importantly, love her. A mom like mine.

  “How are your legs?” I ask. Both of her legs have been cut up.

  “Just a few scratches,” Samara says dismissively.

  “We have stuff to get you cleaned up,” I remind her. “The first aid supplies are still in the stairwell. We’re all moving down to the food court. We’re hoping that George will get access to help sooner from there. A.J. and Joaquin cleared a path for us and Cooper and I carried George on a paddleboard. We’re going to take Mildred that way, too.”

  I guide the ladies back toward the stairwell so that we can join the others. Samara and her mom stop abruptly when they see the wall that’s been blown out leaving a gaping hole and the view of the city. They take in the scene.

  “Oh my,” Betty says.

  “It looks like the apocalypse out there,” Samara says. She’s right. It does. They survey the same things I did: the washed-out bridge, the decimated trees, the homes that have been swept clean off of their foundations.