Scavenger (24 page)

He drove.

For the first time since flying from Teterboro, he activated the BlackBerry. Almost immediately, it rang. He picked it up.

“You exposed a flaw in the game,” the deep voice said. “Because I’m testing the prototype, I suppose I ought to be grateful.”

Again, Balenger wanted to shout in rage, but he managed to resist the temptation. To hide his emotions, he said nothing.

“You can’t be my avatar if I can’t follow your progress at all times,” the Game Master said.

“If you identified with me, you’d give Amanda back.”

“Tell me where you are. Maybe you’re going in the wrong direction.”

“I doubt it. Think positively. The game just reached a new level.”

“How?”

“You’re a player now instead of an observer. Try to anticipate my moves.”

“Do you ever watch
Survivor
?”

“All I watch is the History Channel.”

“Attractive people from different backgrounds are brought together in a hostile environment—a jungle, for example.”

Balenger stared ahead, impatient for the side road to come into view.

“The program attempts to create the illusion that the group is marooned, forced to survive by whatever means possible,” the Game Master continued. “But any thoughtful viewer sees through the illusion by realizing that the cameras, most of them handheld, need to be controlled by operators and that the hidden microphones are linked to audio technicians, and that behind the scenes there are crew members and producers, who aren’t in danger even though the contestants are supposedly struggling to survive.”

A police car went past. For a moment, Balenger was tempted to stop the cruiser and ask for help, but he kept remembering the BlackBerry image of the woman exploding in a red mist. Even if the police could somehow invade the valley without revealing their presence, it didn’t seem possible that they could get organized by midnight, and Balenger had no doubt that if he didn’t save Amanda by midnight, she would die.

“What if a show like
Survivor
had a fatal accident?” the Game Master asked. “What if, despite every precaution, someone fell off a waterfall, for example, and died? Would the producers cut the accident from the broadcast? Would they say, ‘This is a tragedy, and we can’t let you see it?’ Or would they say, ‘We need to include the accident to pay tribute to the brave contestant who risked his life for the program?’ Including it would prove that the show is indeed dangerous. Thereafter, viewers would tune in with the understanding that lethal accidents might occur at any time. People wouldn’t miss an episode.”

Balenger drove past the road to the valley, the road on which he’d seen tire tracks in the mud the previous night.

“With that precedent established,” the voice said, “other programs would include similar high-risk contests. It isn’t hard to imagine the inevitable evolution and the implied enticement: ‘Watch tonight’s episode. Someone might die.’”

“As you said earlier, things always get more extreme.” Balenger barely concealed his disgust.

Ahead, the side road beckoned.

“Yes, but that’s merely a television show while
Scavenger
is a God game combined with a first-person shooter game. Above the players is the Game Master, who can speak to the competitors, provide clues or withhold them, and observe the life lessons that the players acquire.”

“A God game,” Balenger said acidly. “But what kind of God doesn’t allow the participants to win?”

“Who said anything about not winning? Every superior game needs a worthy goal. To survive, all the participants need to do is find the Sepulcher of Worldly Desires.”

4

Amanda raised her head from the boards she lay on. Light struggled through the gaps on each side of the door. She and Viv were huddled against each other, trying to share body heat. Exhausted despite having slept, she worked to open her heavy eyes. Peering through the gap on the right of the door, she frowned. Everything outside was white.

She pushed the door. As it flopped down, the reflection from the bright sky made her squint.

Viv raised her head, blinking. Grief hollowed her features. She needed several moments to focus on what she saw.

“It snowed,” Amanda said, bewildered. “In June.”

Viv hesitated, straining to adjust to the renewed shock of Derrick’s murder. “In the Rockies,” she finally said, sounding numb, “I’ve seen it snow in July. What time is it?” She had trouble focusing on her watch. “The carbon dioxide must have drugged us. It’s almost nine o’clock.”

Fear overcame Viv’s grief. Startled by the time they’d lost, she and Amanda hurried to remove the laces from the door and shove them through the eyelets in their boots.

Amanda picked up the empty bottle she’d set outside. Snow capped the top. A little moisture was inside.

“Stuff snow into it,” Viv said. Another emotion—anger—was in her voice, and the confidence that she knew how to survive in the wilderness. “It won’t hurt us for now. The snow fleas haven’t shown up yet.”

Amanda felt her skin itch. “Snow fleas?”

“In spring, they hatch. They look like dirt on the snow. I don’t see any yet.”

The snow wasn’t deep—only an inch. Amanda studied it, making sure there weren’t specks. Then she skimmed some into a hand and raised it to her mouth.

“No,” Viv warned. “The heat your body uses to melt snow in your mouth saps your energy.”

Amanda found it strange that her thirst was greater than her hunger. Perhaps the fruit juice and pears she’d eaten the day before were of greater benefit than she hoped. Or perhaps my digestive system’s shutting down, she thought. Some kind of protective mechanism. She felt lightheaded.

She filled their lungs with the cool morning air—and something else. “Smoke,” Viv said.

They turned to the right. About fifty yards away, Ray had managed to get a fire going in the street. The flames crackled. Smoke rose. He stared at them, opening and closing his lighter.

“I see the dogs didn’t get you,” Viv said angrily into the microphone on her headset.

Ray pointed toward a horizontal open space under a pile of boards. It resembled a coffin on its side. A door lay in front of it. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

Viv put a hand over her microphone to prevent Ray from hearing what she said next. With a worried look, she turned toward Amanda. “I haven’t felt the need to urinate. We’re not getting enough water for our kidneys to work.” She drank half her remaining bottle of water and gave it to Amanda. The motive was clear—they couldn’t get revenge if they didn’t survive. “Drink the rest of it. I’m going to try to force my bladder.”

“Here, you’ll want this.” Amanda pulled the toilet paper from her jumpsuit and divided it.

Viv touched the paper as if it were something she’d never seen before and she couldn’t imagine why Amanda would share it. Boots crushing the snow, they walked in the opposite direction from Ray, then separated, each finding wreckage to crouch behind.

As Amanda unzipped her jumpsuit, she said into the microphone on her headset, “Game Master, if you’re watching, maybe you should be looking at porn movies instead.”

“Sex was never important to me,” the voice responded. “I’m not looking.”

“Right.”

“Not even Ray is looking.”

Amanda peered over the rubble and saw that Ray was indeed facing another direction, toward the area the GPS coordinates had led him to the day before. Seen in profile, he appeared to be frowning.

Amanda squeezed the muscles in her abdomen. Urine dribbled, orange, with a strong odor. Not good, she thought. After she covered the toilet paper with boards, she went back to Viv. “We need to get that water bottle from Derrick.”

Pale, Viv nodded. “
You.
I can’t.”

Amanda walked up the street. As the sun got warmer, the snow made liquid sounds under her boots. She neared Derrick’s body, seeing its contour under the slush.

“Stop,” Ray said.

Amanda thought he was telling her to keep a distance from him. But she didn’t give a damn what he wanted. She needed that water bottle. She stepped closer.

“No!” Ray yelled.

Then she did stop, because the contour didn’t look the same as the last time she’d seen Derrick’s body. It had an odd shape. Melting snow slid off him. If Amanda’s stomach hadn’t been empty, she might have thrown up.

Hearing Viv walk toward her, she whirled, trying to form a shield. “Go back!”

“What’s wrong?”

“Don’t look!”

But Viv did look. What she saw made her eyes widen.

Derrick’s corpse—not just his battered face, but his entire body—was unrecognizable. His guts had been torn out. His arms and legs had been chewed to the bone. His hands were missing.

The dogs, Amanda realized. Last night when we heard them fighting, I thought they’d cornered Ray. But now she understood that it was Derrick’s corpse they’d been fighting over.

“Hey, where’s she going?” Ray asked.

Amanda turned. Viv plodded away from them.

“Viv?”

She staggered on. Her gaze was fixed on the pass through the mountains at the end of the valley.

Amanda hurried to her.

“Too much,” Viv murmured.

“Stop.” Amanda kept pace with her.

“Enough,” Viv mumbled, staring toward the exit from the valley. “I can’t bear this any longer.”

“Remember what happened to Bethany,” the voice said through Amanda’s headset.

How could she not? The roaring explosion, the spreading red mist, and the flying body parts were seared in Amanda’s memory.

“Nobody leaves the game,” the voice warned.

Amanda put an arm around Viv. “You need to stop.”

“No more.” Viv reached the edge of town and trudged across slushcovered grass.

“Step away from her, Amanda,” the voice cautioned.

“Viv, turn around. We’re going back.”

“Can’t.”

“Final chance,” the voice said.

“Viv, listen to him.
Go back.
”

Hands grabbed Viv, pulling her toward town. They belonged to Ray, who gripped her tightly, forcing her up the street.

“Get away from me!”

“Make me.” Ray tugged her farther up the street. “Try to hit me. Go ahead. It won’t matter. You can’t hurt me.”

Viv twisted an arm free and swung, punching his shoulder.

“Is that the best you can do?” Ray mocked.

She swung at his jaw.

He dodged it, moving backward.

She pounded his chest. He shifted deeper into town. She punched him again, striking his mouth, his nose. Blood flew. With each blow, he stepped backward. They reached the middle of town and neared the shelter where Amanda and Viv had survived the night. The next time Viv swung, Ray grabbed her arm. When she swung with the other arm, he grabbed that, also. She writhed, trying to get away. Slowly, she lost strength and sank to her knees. Her chest heaved. Her sobs seemed to come from the depth of her soul.

“I’m sorry,” Ray said.

Amanda pulled Viv to her feet. “Come on. You need to lie down.” She helped Viv to the shelter and eased her into it. The snow she’d stuffed into a bottle was now melted. “Here. Drink some water.”

When Viv didn’t respond, Amanda tilted the bottle to her mouth. Water dribbled down Viv’s chin, but Amanda was relieved to see that Viv swallowed most of it.

Need to fill the bottles before the snow’s completely gone, Amanda thought. She put a bottle in each hand and held it under boards from which water trickled. Ray was suddenly next to her, doing the same thing.

She was troubled by his changed behavior. Did he feel guilty? Was he trying to make amends for killing Derrick? But somehow, guilt didn’t seem part of Ray’s nature. The only explanation that made sense to her was that Ray’s alpha-male personality compelled him to challenge any man he encountered, but when his only companions were women, he needed to try to make them like him. If I’m right, I can use that, she thought.

With Ray’s help, she filled seven bottles and retrieved the rubber gloves. “I need to talk to you,” she said. As Viv lay staring at the roof of the shelter, they avoided Derrick’s body and walked toward the fire. “I don’t know how we’re going to do it, but . . .” She had trouble saying it. “We need to bury him. If those dogs come back ... ”

“I found just the place for it.” Ray wiped blood from his mouth and indicated the area outside town where he’d gone the day before.

“What’s over there?”

“Use your GPS receiver and find out. Maybe that’s not the right spot. Check to see if I made a mistake.”

“You know more about these units than I do.”

“Check anyhow.”

She pulled her receiver from her jumpsuit. She turned it on and accessed the coordinates that had been written on the cans of fruit. A red arrow pointed toward the area beyond town.

“It appears to indicate the same place yours does,” Amanda said.

She and Ray walked to a connecting street and headed past more wreckage. As they neared the area, Amanda saw objects the wreckage had concealed.

“They look like ...”

“Grave markers,” Ray said.

Fifty yards from town, a collapsed wooden fence marked the boundaries of a cemetery. Scrub grass and sagebrush grew among wooden crosses, gray and cracked, some broken.

The names and dates on the crosses were carved into the decaying wood. Amanda went from grave to grave, managing to decipher the words. “More women and children than men.”

“Because a lot of women died in childbirth back then,” Ray said. “And a lot of kids died from diseases we now treat easily.”

Amanda heard a clatter and spun. Back in town, Viv was dragging boards from the wreckage and stacking them over Derrick’s body.

“She’s tough,” Ray said.

“That’s why the bastard chose us,” Amanda said. “Yesterday, when you found this place, something bothered you. What is it?”

“That line of crosses.”

Amanda read what was carved in the wood. “Peter Bethune. Died June 20, 1899.” She moved along the crosses. “Margaret Logan. June 21, 1899. Edward Baker. June 30, 1899. All in June.”

“Jennifer Morse. July 4, 1899,” Ray said. “Arnold Ryan. July 12, 1899. There are seventeen in a row. Each of them died between June and October of 1899.”