Scavenger (14 page)

“It’s a piece of equipment we didn’t have before,” Amanda said. “I’ll hang on to it.” She started to lower it toward a pocket in her coveralls, but something caught her attention. “Numbers.”

“Where?” Viv stepped close.

“On the label. At the bottom. Someone wrote three sets of numbers.”

“Let me see.” Derrick took the bottle. “The numbers have ‘LG’ in front of them.”

Ray joined them. “Longitude?”

“They sure seem like longitude numbers. Hours, minutes, and seconds.”

“Where’s that bottle Ray threw?” Amanda made her way over the rocks, approaching the wall. She found the bottle next to the remnants of a bench. “Three sets of numbers. This time, the letters ahead of them are ‘LT.’”

“Latitude,” Ray said. “We’ll find out where we’re supposed to go next.”

“Wait. Something’s wrong.” Amanda tensed.

“Sure. This whole damned game is wrong, but—”

“No. Don’t you feel it.” The rocks Amanda stood on vibrated. The chunks of wood trembled.

Viv stumbled back. “My God, what’s happening?”

“I’m not sure, but I think we’d better—” Alarmed by the increasing vibrations, Derrick blurted, “Get out of here!”

The wall swayed.

“Go! Go!” Viv shouted.

As they scrambled over the rocks, Amanda lost her balance. The wall tilted. With no time to run, she dove to the vibrating rocks, wincing from the impact. Desperate, she pressed herself against the base of the wall and put her arms over her head. With a roar, the wall collapsed, rocks cascading. Impacts made her groan.

The rumble diminished. The vibration lessened. Soon everything was still, except for the pounding of Amanda’s heart. Dust made her choke.
Can’t breathe
, she thought, struggling to clear her nostrils and get air down her throat. The bulk of the rocks had fallen toward the middle of the church. Only the ones immediately above had landed on her, the higher ones following the trajectory of the wall and gaining distance when they plummeted. Even so, she felt crushed.

She heard shouts and charging footsteps, rocks being shoved aside.

“Are you hurt?” Derrick yelled.

“Sore.”

“I bet.”

“But I managed to protect my head.”

Viv and Derrick helped her up.

“And I kept
this
.” Wincing, Amanda gave Viv the empty bottle with the coordinates printed on it.

She couldn’t help noticing that Ray stood apart from them. He hadn’t made an effort to help dig her out. We can’t survive if there’s a split in the group, she thought. But then she saw Ray pointing down.

“More water bottles!” he said.

Derrick and Viv spun.

“The impact of the rocks broke open some of these fake timbers.”

As if attracted by a magnet, the group headed in Ray’s direction. The bottles glinted in the sun, their contents beckoning.

“There’s enough to go around,” Ray said. “Hey, Derrick, mind if I pick one up?”

Derrick considered him for a long moment. “Go ahead.”

“Thanks, boss. As long as I have your permission.”

Yeah, a split in the group
, Amanda thought. She picked up a bottle, untwisted the cap, and drank, the wonderful liquid clearing the dust in her mouth. She was so thirsty she wanted to guzzle the water as Ray had, to flood it down her throat, but she feared that would make her sick.

Meanwhile, Ray drank from a bottle and continued to look angry.

Viv’s stomach growled. “If we don’t get some food soon . . . ”

“Always complaining,” Ray told her. “In Iraq, I lived on bugs.”

“Go easy on her, man,” Derrick said. “All of us are hungry.”

“Whatever you want.”

“This is more entertaining than I anticipated,” the voice said.

The sound in Amanda’s ears made her cringe.

Derrick scowled at the sky. “Is this part of the game? Hoping we’ll fight each other?”

“Gold was found here in 1885.”

“Gold?”

“Thousands of miners flocked to the valley. A town was born almost overnight. An English real-estate speculator bought the land from a rancher who figured that the valley would be overrun no matter what, so why not take the generous payment he was offered and let someone else deal with the chaos he saw coming? As it turned out, the rancher was shrewd.”

“Gold?” Ray scoffed. “A while ago, you were talking about ice!”

“The Englishman who developed the town had a fondness for King Arthur stories. As you’ve already guessed, he named the place after the spot where Arthur lies in a death-like slumber, waiting for destiny to summon him. But after eight years, the last of the gold was taken from the valley. Most of the miners drifted on. That was in 1893, the year of a financial depression that spread through America and became known as the Panic. The people in town decided that there wasn’t much opportunity anywhere else in the country, so they stayed. The Englishman was forced to sell the valley back to the rancher, whose payroll kept the town in business. But that didn’t help the Englishman. Having counted on the boom to last longer, he was so financially overextended that, facing ruin, he trudged into the first blizzard of the winter. Months later, a crew cutting blocks of ice from the lake discovered his frozen body.”

“You keep telling us we’ve only got forty hours, and now you’re wasting our time,” Ray said. “Make your point.”

“I think that’s what he’s doing,” Amanda said. “He’s giving us clues to the game. Right?” she asked the voice. “You told us we’re in an obstacle race and a scavenger hunt.”

“You’re becoming my favorite player.”

“Swell,” Ray said. “Now she’s got an advantage.”

“
I’m right, though, aren’t I
?” Amanda told the Game Master. “At each stage, you give us a problem to solve and a threat to evade. Then you reward us with information we need to know to win the game. Is that what you meant by learning how to play the game as we go along?”

“You must play the game to learn the rules.”

“
But how do we win
?” Ray yelled.

“Why don’t you tell us, Amanda?” the voice asked.

She rubbed one of her bruised arms.

“Amanda, have you figured it out?”

“The words on the altar.”

“Yes?”

“The Sepulcher of Worldly Desires.”

“Yes?” The Game Master sounded eager.

“Nothing’s here by accident. That’s another clue.”

“But what does it mean?”

“Sepulcher? Sounds like a grave,” Derrick said.

6

Police officers ran up the stairs.

“Do you have any idea how large this building is?” a library administrator asked. “It’ll take hours to search it.”

“I can’t wait that long,” Balenger said.

“Is this woman dangerous? She’s not a terrorist, is she? You don’t suppose she has explosives or weapons.”

“I have no idea if she’s armed.” Balenger thought about everything that had happened. “But, yes, she’s dangerous.”

More police officers ran across the huge lobby and up the stairs.

Ortega hurried toward Balenger. “No sign of her.”

“Maybe she left the building before the police arrived,” Balenger said. “Or else she’s hiding on the third floor. That would explain why no one saw her running down the stairs.”

The reading-room guard was with them again. “Hell, I didn’t see her either.”

“But she was right there at the entrance to the room,” Balenger insisted.

“My back must have been toward her. When you jumped up and ran from the table, you were the only person I noticed. You made quite a commotion. She could easily have slipped away.”

“But why would she show herself and then run?”

“Good question,” Ortega said.

“Maybe she wanted me to follow her. But if that’s the case, why did she hide? Why didn’t she give me a glimpse of her so I could keep chasing her?”

“More good questions.”

“Something bothering you?” Balenger asked.

“I don’t know yet. I’m still waiting for answers to another part of the investigation.”

“
Another
part?”

“I’ll talk to you about it later.”

Puzzled, Balenger glanced at his watch. Almost four o’clock.
Time
, he thought. He pulled out his cell phone and pressed the numbers for information.

“Who are you calling?” Ortega wanted to know.

Simultaneously, a computerized voice asked Balenger what city he wanted. He stepped back from the noise of the hurrying police officers.

“Atlanta.”

“What listing?” the voice asked.

7

“Oglethorpe University,” the female receptionist said.

“I need to speak to someone in the history department,” Balenger said into his phone.

His heart beat faster as he waited.

“History department.”

Balenger remembered that the fake professor had mentioned something about a time-capsule society at Oglethorpe University. He prayed that wasn’t a lie. “I don’t know if this is the right place. Does anybody there know anything about time capsules?” It was a measure of how drastically his world had changed that he felt his request made perfect sense.

“I’ll transfer you.”

Balenger’s hand sweated against his phone.

“International Time Capsule Society,” a male voice said. “This is Professor Donovan.”

“I’m trying to get information about an object you might have a record of.” To escape the noise in the library, Balenger stepped outside. Instantly, the din of Fifth Avenue made him press the phone closer to his ear. “Its name reminds me of the Crypt of Civilization.”

“Which is here at Oglethorpe, of course,” the voice responded enthusiastically.

“Just a second. I’m calling from Manhattan, and the traffic noise is awful.” Balenger stepped back into the library’s vestibule. “Have you ever heard of the Sepulcher of Worldly Desires?”

“Certainly.”

“You
have
?”

“Possibly it’s a legend. But assuming it’s real, it would be on the list of the most-wanted time capsules.”

“Tell me everything about it.”

“That’ll take a while, I’m afraid. The Sepulcher’s a mystery, but there’s plenty of historical context. I’ll check the files. If you call back tomorrow—”

“I don’t have time! I need to find out today!”

“Sir, I’m about to leave the office for an appointment. This’ll need to wait until.... Did you say you’re calling from Manhattan? Maybe you
can
find out today. The person who knows the most about the Sepulcher of Worldly Desires teaches at New York University.”

8

Washington Square South. The shadows in the faculty building contrasted with the sunlight on the grass and arch in the park outside. Feeling the increased rush of time, Balenger got off an elevator at the seventh floor and hurried along a corridor until he reached a door with a name plate: PROF. GRAHAM, HISTORY DEPARTMENT.

Beyond it, he heard gunfire. When he knocked, no one replied. Breathing quickly, he knocked again, and this time, a distracted female voice said, “Come in.”

Opening the door, Balenger heard the gunfire more clearly. He saw a woman in her early sixties, small, with short, white hair and a narrow, wrinkled face. She wore a pale blue blouse, the two top buttons of which were open. She sat at her desk, captivated by her glowing computer screen, fiercely working the mouse and keyboard. The shots came from her computer speakers.

“Professor Graham?”

She didn’t reply.

“I’m Frank Balenger.”

She nodded, but whether it was in response to his name or what was on her screen, he didn’t know. Given her age, she manipulated the mouse and keyboard with amazing speed. The shots were rapid.

“I phoned a half hour ago,” Balenger continued.

She kept pressing buttons.

“What I need to talk to you about is important.”

The shots abruptly ended.

“Shit,” Professor Graham said. She slammed down the mouse and scowled. “Broke it. That’s the second mouse I destroyed this week. Why can’t they make them stronger? I mean, how much strength can these old fingers have?” She showed the fingers to Balenger. They were bony with slack skin and arthritic knuckles. “You said you’re a police officer?”

“Used to be. In New Jersey.”

“Ever play video games?”

Balenger was desperate to get the information he needed, but his experience as a detective warned him to establish rapport and not rush the person he was interviewing. He had to work to seem calm. “They never appealed to me.”

“Because you think they’re mindless?”

Balenger shrugged.

“I had the same bias,” Professor Graham said, “until, several years ago, one of my students made me an enthusiast. Sometimes, students are smarter than their professors. That particular student changed my life. Forget the content of video games, many of which are indeed mindless. Concentrate on the skills required to win. These games develop our reflexes. They teach our brains to work quicker and master parallel thinking. Some people claim multitasking is bad, but if I can learn to do a lot of things simultaneously and do them well, what’s the harm?”

“The two kids who shot those students at Columbine High School in Colorado were addicted to violent video games.”

“So are a lot of other kids. But out of millions of them—”

“Millions?”

“The video-game industry takes in more money than the movie business. Half the people in this country are players. Out of millions of kids who like violent video games, only a few go on shooting sprees. Clearly other factors turn them into killers. You were a police officer in New Jersey? Where?”

“Asbury Park.”

“I ice-skated in competition there when I was a kid.” The white-haired woman seemed to stare at something above Balenger’s head. “A long time ago.” Her gaze refocused on him. “Anyway, since you were in law enforcement, I’m surprised you don’t play video games. The one I was playing just now is called
Doom 3
. It’s a version of one of the games the Columbine shooters were addicted to. It’s a type called ‘first-person shooter.’ Basically, the player sees everything in the game from behind a gun. I’m a space marine on Mars on a base overrun by demons. When a threat jumps out, I blast it. They jump out often, and they’re very fast. I feel trapped in a labyrinth. Ceilings collapse. I never know what horrors wait behind locked doors.”