Impervious (The Ascension Series Book 1) (17 page)

The Rebels whooped with excitement, and Fran smiled. Her plan would work. It
had
to work.

Chapter Twenty Seven

Fran waited with her cheek pressed against the venting and scanned the courts. A quick glance cross-court to venting A62 revealed a flicker of light as the eyes of a Rebel-brother blinked. She peeled her tongue from the roof of her dry mouth.

A commotion overhead captured her attention. They had come. Her stomach tightened. A small part of her hoped her overactive imagination had fabricated the whole thing. Panic began to rise.
Focus Wolf. 

A moment later, it began. Like all processions of the Council, Graphies and electrical fencing herded the throng of Impervieites from their activities in the West Court to the already crowded East Court. Once the entire West Court floor had been cleared, an enormous Graphie appeared in the center, his voice thundered while saluting the Superiors and then welcoming the awaiting audience.

That’s when she saw him.

On the stage.

In a velvety robe and whisper-soft slippers.

The scene unfolded like a dream as her mind attempted to disengage itself from the terrifying reality. Flashes of memories, like clips from a movie trailer, played out in another realm where time did not exist. The arching of his eyebrow, the sound of his howl, chocolate covered peanuts, and turkey sandwiches all melded together into one emotional collage before pulling apart with vivid clarity. Her throat closed up as she remembered his warm breath and the way he’d whispered her name.

Not Wolf.

Not Fran.

But Sarah, her real name.

Fran flashed her old Light-Genie to cue her team. She was certain the Council would take notice when every venting slid open. She, at least, had prepared to hear shouts from onlookers as thirty-one rebels exited their vents and into the barren courts. What she hadn’t anticipated as she slithered from the darkness, was hearing Pete’s shout from the stage.

“Wolf. Go back!”

Her feet froze in place, and her head turned to view the expanse of the Agora. It didn’t make sense. Not a single pixilated presence or computer generated voice declared each Rebel become Accountable. Yet, every tiny hair on Fran’s body rose, and her head buzzed with an intense electromagnetic manifestation.

Overhead lights dimmed, and a holographic scene unfolded. The smooth flooring of the shopping courts morphed into a desert-like terrain―just like the scene when she watched Nissa perform
Mission Perdition
for Ted. The Lunch Hut became a jagged butte with sharp rocks jutting out from its face. Hot wind burned her cheeks while pelting sand blew through the air. Artificial warmth engulfed her body. Her hands glowed.

“Ladies and Gentleman. Welcome to the Desert!” The voice boomed through the court and echoed off of the high ceiling.

“Tonight’s debut performance, brought to you by way of the Council, will be the ultimate in the gaming experience. Be prepared to go to the brink. Ready yourself for the show of a lifetime. You will find yourself on the edge of your seat as fantasy becomes reality and reality turns to fantasy.”

Fran’s mind reeled as every Rebel lit up like a glowing Graphie. A gritty substance scratched at her skin. She rubbed the heated surface and recognized the smell of magnetized dust, an element she’d been allowed to view, but not touch, on her sixth-grade field trip to The Inventor’s Wing. Besides that trip with her classmates, she’d never seen the element that turned a live man into a gaming avatar, getting rid of controllers and screens.

She had heard this new phase of gaming technology to be underway. Up until this moment, however, she’d thought it was no more than a hopeful rumor. Yet now highly-charged metallic receptacles attached to her skin. And, now, she had become the game.

Although from her vantage point, Fran clearly recognized each Rebel enshrouded within the glow of their gaming character, she realized that on the video screens and to the spectators watching from the balconies, they all appeared to be nothing more than gaming pieces.

Thirty-one vents hummed closed as Zombies pixelated in the court—dreadful holographs with open wounds and rotted flesh. Fetid odors surged through the courts; their shrieks and groans became a nightmarish audio backdrop as the announcer continued.

“Tonight, the battle of Behemoth and Queen Xyphon continues, as well as the fight between the dead and the Unaccountable. The Queen will rule with the Zombies, and the dreaded Behemoth will wreak havoc with the Rebels. Sit back and enjoy the entertainment as we present to you,
Mission Perdition II–Nightmare of a Rebel
.”

Music sounded as the words “Mission Perdition II” floated through the air.

This can’t be happening.
Fran’s head whipped from side to side. A few Rebels scurried back to the openings from where they had emerged. Fran shook herself from the shock-inflicted paralysis. Fight or flight—a human instinct as basic as breathing—overtook her senses. She back ran to her venting exit and swiped in the code.

Nothing.

Her hands shook. Maybe she swiped the wrong numbers. She tried again.

The grating remained stone cold. Unmoving. Locked up tight. She looked around as her comrades struggled to return to the safety of a vent. They scurried as they tried to dodge the ethereal light draped over them.

She looked up at the Viewing Loft. An opaque shield acted as a buffer between the Superiors and the courts. And the cheering crowd? They believed this spectacle to be yet another gaming experience. Death didn’t exist in this make-believe world.

About twenty-five feet away, Derrick, huddled against his venting pounding on the opening with balled fists. His face contorted, and his mouth moved as he screamed. The crowd cheered when growls of death rang out from the hidden speakers, drowning out his desperate cries.

A grisly, yellow-faced Zombie lunged at her Rebel brother and covered him in a mound of snarls and rotting flesh. Holographic blood squirted out from beneath the Zombie, painting a nearby wall with red pixilations.

Fran’s heart stopped.
But it’s not real.
She closed her eyes.
It’s not real. None of this is real.
She repeated it over and over. Maybe, in their insane minds, the Council believed they could use the Rebels as human avatars, but Fran knew it took more than holographic teeth and claws to kill a real man.

Even so, when the zombie stepped away, Derrick remained on the ground in a helpless pile. Unmoving. A pixilated stream of blood trickled from his body.

Fran screamed, “Derrick, get up!”

Her cries couldn’t be heard over the surrounding roar as the crowd went wild. The zombie lifted two hands over his head in the sign of victory as he lumbered away from Derrick, toward Fran.

“Derrick, get up!” She screamed the command over and over as she raced toward his body. As she lifted her hand, a spade pixilated in the air as if she held it. It stayed with her as she ran, and right when she moved past the zombie, the spade came down onto his head. When it sunk, a deep, gloppy, squishing sound heralded through the speakers. Holographic gray matter oozed, leaving Fran sick to her stomach.
It’s not real; it’s not real.

She continued running blindly toward Derrick and almost collided with Folsom as they both made the approach. Derrick still lay unmoving.
He can’t be dead. It was just a holograph.

She smelled it first―the odor of seared flesh. Her gaze locked on his body. He remained wide-eyed as if in shock. His arms jerked once or twice, and his legs followed suit, giving Fran a moment of hope. Yet, as she neared, she saw the absence of breath— no rise or fall of his chest. And a soft coil of smoke as it rose from Derrick’s body.

He had been cooked… from the inside out.

She gagged, threw her hand over her mouth and nose, and shuffled backwards, aware his body still teemed with a lethal dose of electricity.

Folsom reached out to him.

“Stop!” she screeched, but her warning was too late. The wave moved through Derrick’s body and lashed out at Folsom like a viper. While glued to Derrick, Folsom shook with unseen power, unable to release the hold. His legs thrashed, his back arched, and his head flopped.

Stop! Just stop!
Fran’s lips didn’t move as she screamed at the Beast.

A wave of excitement lifted from the surrounding structures. Cheers and whistles rang out from the four corners. Behemoth swept in. With the grace of a hawk, he grabbed a zombie with his vice-like claws. The zombie squirmed and moaned, and an explosion of holographic zombie body parts littered the desert-like sky.

A female droid voice hummed through the speakers. “Xyphon, twenty points. Behemoth, twenty points.”

Fran looked around the courts. Already piles of fallen Rebels and random pixilated zombie-parts, littered the holographic landscape. The winged avatar circle overhead and dove into the ring. She knew, at this very moment, Nissa sat in her simulated gaming chair, whooping and hollering every time a zombie went down. Did she even know the Rebels were real? And what about Ted? Was he at home cheering on his bride with the same crazy enthusiasm as the live crowd? At least she and Nissa were on the same side of the fight this time.

In one swoop, Behemoth took out two zombies. Just Nissa’s way of showing off. The audience roared. Some cheered while others booed and hissed. Then, a display of flashing lights drew attention to the main stage where Pete still stood, a world away from where Fran fought for her life in the courts. With much fanfare, a well-dressed guard ushered Pete away. Fran called out his name but knew he couldn’t hear. Was he already poisoned? Would he fall into the spasm of death as soon as he left her sight?

The stage transformed into a palatial throne room with walls of gold and gem-encrusted adornments. A silky white robe and an endless flowing train filled the throne room as the Queen pixilated to life. Thick, black tresses cascaded over her robe. The ends wiggled and hissed. A hundred pairs of gleaming eyes peeked out from the depths. Razor-sharp facial features and blood-red lips shimmered into view.

One word took shape in Fran’s mind:
Wicked.
Queen Xyphon moved with dignity and power as she climbed onto her elevated throne. From her pedestal, she became all-seeing, all-knowing. Her loud voice trumpeted through the speakers.

“Not one Rebel shall go unaccounted tonight. The blood will run deep, and the city will be cleansed of the rats that wander in a cloak of darkness. Zombies, you have been commissioned to do my work. I now bestow upon you the gift of speed.”

A nearby lumbering zombie broke into a full run. Fran’s heart raced. She had sprinted through the Agora plenty of times with ease. And tonight, with an overload of hot adrenaline, she was bound to break her old speed records. But would that be enough for human versus avatar?

Fran raced cross-court and moved behind the opaque, rocky outline engulfing The Lunch Hut. The zombie stopped running.
Seriously? You can’t see me?
She must have been losing her mind because for a
millionth
of a second, it all seemed comical.

Behemoth soared overhead and the zombie had no place to hide. A moment later, zombie parts littered the arena. Down to eleven. From her hiding place, Fran scanned the court and counted the heaps of her fallen Rebels. Her heart broke as she counted past ten, eleven, and twelve. She closed her eyes, unable to process the loss. The sounds of screams and groans accosted her ears. The high voltage waves bit at her skin like prickly barbs. The odor of burning flesh ignited her old memory of advanced HAZMAT and the swirling ashes of humanity. Imagining air tainted with the charred DNA of her comrades, Fran choked on her own breath. She needed an immediate place of peace. Maybe she should just show her face and let the zombie finish her off.

She pushed back tears as her mind went to the open air, to her mother and the love that had always rained down from her heart. She thought of her father and the short time they spent together. Fran pictured the vivid night sky and the light of the moon. She thought about Ted, how they had romped through the hallways trying to outrun the RIT’s when they were kids.

She reflected back to her learning years and the project in Englehardt’s class that garnered her an ‘A’ for the entire semester…collision rate of plasma energy. Her mind halted on that thought. She remembered Englehardt’s stern warning to the class after she had presented her findings.

“
Just remember, kids. That much impact would also have the ability to produce a synergistic blackout. Not something to be taken lightly.
”

Could it work? Could she force the hand of the Queen and destroy her entire army in one fell swoop? Fran felt certain she could draw them together if she had the right bait. Then she realized…
she
was the perfect bait.

She knew the lay of this land, had traversed the Agora under the radar more times than she could count on both hands. But could she do it in blinding darkness? A blackout would give her twelve seconds before an alternate power source rebooted. Could she get out in twelve seconds or less?

Fran peeked out from behind The Lunch Hut.

The Queen commanded.

The zombies ravaged.

Her comrades raced to and fro.