Scavenger (19 page)

Grieving, he stopped trying to find a pulse. In the distance, he heard distraught voices, people running toward the sound of the crash. The backup team, he thought, trying to adjust to the shock of what had happened. They’ll question me at the station. It’ll take hours to explain. The footsteps sounded closer.

He struggled to his feet. The BlackBerry weighed in his pocket as he staggered along a hallway, turning a corner just before the voices arrived behind him. He crept along another corridor, then another, feeling trapped in a maze. He passed more sawhorses, boxes, and boards. He came to a window frame, its glass not yet installed. Breathless, he crawled over the frame, dangled, and dropped to the ground.

His ribs hurt. His legs ached. His left forearm felt biting pressure. For a few steps, he limped. Then he managed to steady his pace. Following the chain-link fence, he headed toward the end of the renovation site. The sun was lower. Traffic was sparse. The few students going by hardly looked at him.

Sirens wailed in the distance. When Balenger reached another gate in the fence, he found that it was locked. As the sirens came nearer, he found a piece of tarpaulin, climbed onto a Dumpster, and draped the tarp over barbed wire at the fence’s top. The sirens stopped on the street around the corner. He squirmed over the fence, unhooked the tarpaulin from the barbed wire, threw it into the Dumpster, and climbed down to the street.

He fought the urge to run. Look calm, he told himself. Keep moving.

Students came out of a coffee shop. A young man with a knapsack asked a friend, “You want to go down and check out what’s happening?”

“I stay away from war zones.”

Wise plan, Balenger thought.

More students came from the coffee shop. Hoping they gave him cover, Balenger turned a corner. He saw his reflection in a window, did his best to smooth his hair, and brushed dirt off his jacket.

Hearing other sirens, he knew he couldn’t keep walking much longer. When word spread that a detective had been killed, the police would close off the area for blocks in every direction
.
All the restaurants and bars in the area were student hangouts. If he went into any of them, he’d look conspicuous
.

He tried a door to what seemed an office building. It was locked. Need to get off the street, he told himself.

He couldn’t stop thinking about Karen Bailey. When she ran from her hiding place, he’d assumed that he panicked her. But now it was obvious that she wanted to make him chase her, to step onto the tarpaulin. Another trap. No, another
obstacle
, he corrected himself.

The words on the back of the
Scavenger
game case nagged at him. An obstacle race and a scavenger hunt
.
I survived the obstacle, and what did I get? he thought. A BlackBerry phone.

But how did Karen Bailey know where to find me?

An answer to that question abruptly occurred to him. It told him where to hide.

5

The corridor seemed longer than the last time. Reaching the office, Balenger again heard gunfire inside. He drew a long breath and knocked. No answer. He opened the door.

Professor Graham sat behind the computer monitor, furiously working the mouse and keyboard. The dark circles under her eyes were more pronounced.

“I thought you broke the mouse,” Balenger said.

“I always keep spares.” The elderly woman jabbed buttons in a blur, then scowled at the screen. “Damn, they killed me again.”

Balenger heard sirens outside.

“What happened to you?” Professor Graham looked at him. “Your pants.”

Balenger peered down and noticed dirt he’d missed. He brushed it off. “I ran into a couple of obstacles.”

“And the detective who was with you?”

Balenger did his best to keep his voice neutral. “Same obstacles.”

“Do those obstacles have any connection with the commotion outside?”

Balenger nodded. “And with everything we talked about. I’m glad you’re still here.” He didn’t add that, if she hadn’t remained in the office, he’d have done everything in his power to find where she lived.

“I stayed because my pills wore off.”

“Pills?”

“The ones I swallowed a while ago haven’t started to work yet.” The fatigue lines around her eyes seemed to deepen. “I won’t bore you with the specifics.”

Now Balenger understood why she seemed to age visibly when he spoke to her earlier. His suspicion about an illness was correct. “I’m sorry.”

She shrugged fatalistically. “Years ago, the student who taught me that video games prolonged time also made me realize that the reality in
there
—” She pointed toward the monitor. “—is more vivid than the reality
here
. What made you come back? Not to be rude, but I want to restart the game.”

“I had a thought.” Balenger prayed he was right. “If I’m being given clues, whoever kidnapped Amanda must have known I’d eventually come here and talk to you about the Sepulcher. You’re the expert in it. I reminded myself that you’re also a video-game expert.”

“An enthusiast. My student’s the true video-game expert.” Professor Graham’s face tensed, then relaxed, as a pain spasm ended.

Balenger hid his desperation. “Does he keep in touch with you?”

“Emails. Phone calls. He was upset when I told him about my health problem. That’s why he sent me this new computer. It has state-of-the-art game capability. The large monitor’s the best I ever had.”

“He’s very generous.”

“He can afford it. That’s why I didn’t refuse.”

“What’s his name?” Balenger made the question seem off-handed.

“Jonathan Creed. I see you recognize it.”

“No.”

“But you reacted to it.”

“Only because it’s distinctive.”

“Even non-game players sometimes recognize it.”

“Why?” Balenger had trouble concealing his intensity.

“There are a few people who are undisputed legends in the game world, people who designed games of such genius that they set an impossibly high standard. Or else they’re marketing geniuses. CliffyB, for one. His game’s called
Unreal Tournament
.”

“
Unreal
? That’s a significant title if I understand what you said earlier about the power of games to take us to an alternate reality.”

“Then there’s Shigeru Miyamoto, who created
Super Mario Bros
. He was the first to give character motivation to the game’s hero. Mario navigates an underground maze, fighting monsters while he tries to rescue a kidnapped girl.”

“A kidnapped girl?”

“I can imagine why the parallel strikes you.”

“Tell me more about these designers.”

“John Romero and John Carmack developed the first-person shooter games like the one I played earlier:
Doom
. In contrast, Will Wright developed God games.”

“God games?”

“Like
SimCity
. It’s a cartoon version of a city. With all the problems of a city. Pollution. Deteriorating infrastructure. Slums. Poverty. Labor problems. The goal of the game is to make adjustments to the city in an effort to improve it. But the game player soon realizes that by making well-intended changes, sometimes disastrous things can happen. That’s why it’s called a God game. Whereas first-person shooter games are viewed from the limited perspective of a weapon’s barrel, the player of a God game has an omniscient view of everything—and total control.”

“But unlike God, the player doesn’t know how everything’s going to turn out, right?” Balenger asked. “Unlike God, the player can make mistakes.”

“Who says God can’t make mistakes?” Professor Graham’s face tightened. “I don’t understand why these pills aren’t working.”

Balenger repeated her earlier comment. “An omniscient view of everything.” He gazed at the upper corners of the room.

“What are you doing?”

“Thinking about God.” With a chill, Balenger scanned the bookcases.

“What are you looking for?”

Balenger’s pulse raced. “When did Jonathan Creed send you this computer?”

“Two weeks ago. Why?”

Balenger leaned close and drew his hands over the monitor, examining it in detail. He suddenly felt off-balance, as if he’d entered the alternate reality they’d been discussing. “I know you want to continue playing
Doom
. But why don’t you let me buy you a cup of coffee somewhere?”

“You’re right. I
do
want to continue playing.”

“I think we could talk more freely if we went somewhere else.”

Professor Graham looked baffled.

“The monitor’s bugged.”

“
What
?”

“Look at the holes in the front and back corners. Miniature cameras. Probably microphones. We’re his private TV show! Let’s get the hell out of here.”

LEVEL SIX

AVATAR

1

The clouds thickened, darkening the valley.

“We don’t have much time. Do what I tell you.” Viv swung to survey the ruins. Her gaze lingered over her husband’s body and his crushed, bloody face. Then she roused herself into motion again. “There.” She pointed toward a fallen building where the walls and roof had landed in a crisscross pattern that resembled a pyramid.

Amanda hurried with her.

“Help me pull the boards from the middle,” Viv said. “We need to make a hollow.”

Amanda tugged the boards out, splinters jabbing her fingers.

“Put the boards on top. Overlay them so they cover gaps. We’re trying to make a roof.”

A cold wind pushed Amanda. Shivering, she glanced over her shoulder at the angry clouds roiling across the valley.

“Quickly.” Viv layered more boards.

Amanda worked harder. A cavity formed. As the wind nearly blew her cap away, she pulled and stacked.

Grunting with effort, Viv deepened the hollow. “Do you know what hypothermia is?”

“A drop in body temperature.”

“In the mountains, weather changes rapidly. Feel how cold that wind is.” Viv crisscrossed more boards. “If we get wet and chilled, we’ve got three hours before our core temperature drops so low that we’ll die. Basically, we’ll shiver to death.”

Amanda looked over her shoulder again, but this time not toward the storm: instead toward Ray. She saw him in an open area beyond the ruins, his green jumpsuit vivid against the dark sky. He stared down at something, obviously disturbed by it, but she couldn’t see what it was.

Viv whirled toward the wreckage. “That door. Help me with it.”

The door lay under part of a roof. It looked flimsy, three boards secured by cross boards. When they freed and lifted it, Amanda thought it might fall apart. The wind almost blew it from their hands. Struggling, Amanda glanced toward the open area two blocks away where Ray now faced the storm. He seemed so disturbed by what he’d found that only now was he reacting to the approaching weather.

They reached the shelter. Amanda saw Ray hurry toward the ruins. Then flying dust obscured him. Rain pelted the ground. Chunks of wood sped past her.

Amanda set the door flat. More rain hit the ground. She felt drops strike her back while she and Viv squirmed into the hollow. It smelled of mold and dust. She and Viv reached out and dragged the door in their direction, tilting it sideways against the opening. They left a gap on each end where they clung to the door’s edges.

The wind whistled against the gaps. Cold rain struck Amanda’s fingers.

“Don’t let go!” Viv’s shout was amplified by the small enclosure. Even so, the wind was so loud that Amanda barely heard. “Whatever happens, don’t let go!”

A hand grabbed the door and tugged.

“Let me in!” Ray yelled.

“No room!” Viv screamed.

“You’ve got to let me in!”

“Go to hell!”

Another hand grabbed the door. Ray yanked so furiously that he opened a gap at the top. His face leaned toward them: gaunt, beard-stubbled, eyes filled with rage. Rain streaked at him. Dust and chunks of wood flew past him. His gaze narrowed fiercely, suggesting he intended to drag Amanda and Viv out and take their place.

He seemed to debate with himself. Unexpectedly, he released his hold on the door. As the wind strengthened, almost veiling him in dust, he charged away.

Amanda got a tighter grip on the door an instant before the wind would have hurled it along the street. She and Viv pulled it over the shelter’s entrance. Rain struck the door’s edge, pelting Amanda’s fingers.

“Do you believe in the power of simultaneous prayer?” the voice asked.

“Shut up!” Viv yelled.

“Suppose a woman is seriously ill, and her church prays that she’ll get better. Hundreds of believers, all praying at once. What if the church’s pastor contacts churches all across the country, and those congregations pray at the same time also. Hundreds of thousands of simultaneous prayers. Do you believe those prayers will have an effect?”

The rain pounded the shelter’s roof so loudly that the Game Master’s words were faint through Amanda’s headset. Her fingers gripped the side of the door.

“Some studies suggest that if the sick person knows about the prayers, the psychological effect is so powerful that healing can occur. Now consider the power of a massively multiplayer online video game.”