I Am Alive Page 11

  “Since you have spoken, Orin…” I can’t help myself. I have to express my anger. “I want to tell you that you could have saved me today. You killed the Bully next to the Breathing Booth I was trapped inside, and I was dying. I was screaming for you, and you didn’t save me. You didn’t even look at me. I can’t imagine you didn’t hear me. You were so close.”

  “I heard you,” says Orin bluntly. “It’s just I am not here to save anybody. I am not in the military anymore. This is me taking care of me.”

  There are two or three minutes of silence, except for the sound of flickering fire, and me gulping water. The eleven of us are still. What Orin said needs little explanation. Are we going to be there for each other, or is every one of us on their own? Is this going to be a fight within a fight, or should we stand united?

  Orin is a soldier. His mind is more tuned to the situation than most of ours. He is practical.

  “Hey,” Leo interrupts the tension, talking to Roger This. “I didn’t get your name, fellow gamer.” Leo has his chin up, not smiling.

  “I am Vern,” Roger This says, looking at all of us, suddenly remembering he never introduced himself — and none of us asked. “Don’t worry. I know all of your names from the Breathing Dome.”

  “What’s your nickname in Zeragon 5?” Leo says. It still boggles my mind how and when Leo had time to play computer games.

  “I am RogerThis.” Vern points proudly to his clean t-shirt with two fingers. He looks flattered that Leo asks him. “RogerThis007, actually, since Roger This was taken…”

  “I get it,” says Leo, chewing on a match. “If we survive the Monster Show, I’ll nudge ya.”

  22

  “So why did you dedicate your song to the Monsters?” Pepper asks Leo, dropping the real question no one dared to ask until now. “You know, you being a Nine, coming from an all-Nine family… It doesn’t make sense.” Pepper is forward. I like her.

  Leo looks like he has a sudden lump in his throat. Since I met him, I haven’t seen him hesitant and embarrassed, until now. “You’ll be surprised to know that I am no hero,” says Leo. “I did it because I wanted to make myself look like a rebel. I was sixteen, you know. Talking about Bad Kidz was prohibited. So I, in my rock star mode, wanted to do something outrageous. To sell more records, and win the Burning Idol. But I have to admit, I am glad I did. My life took such a crazy turn since then, especially when Xitler and the Summit banned me. I understood then what kind of a dictatorship we were living in. I turned against the Summit and went searching for the Breakfast Club everywhere, wanting to join them. But like Bellona, I never found them.”

  “So, you’re just like every one of us,” says Bellona.

  “If Leo is just as hopeless as we are, what’s the point of playing the game?” Pepper says. “We are all going to die.”

  “Especially if none of us has a reason to form an alliance with anyone else.” It’s the first time I agree with Pepper. Not that I feel like giving in, but I need to see where this is going.

  “The more we try to live — and eventually die — the more the audience is entertained,” explains Pepper. “Like in a horror movie, you can’t kill all the actors in the first scene.”

  “In a horror movie, the hero never dies.” I beg to differ. I don’t know what kind of horror movies Pepper watches.

  “The Monster never dies,” says Vern, with his knees pulled up to his chest, and his head buried between his legs. He thinks we didn’t hear him, then raises his head, surprised we’re all staring at him. “What? It’s a Stephen Zing quote.”

  “King,” Leo sighs. “Stephen King, not Zing. Zing sounds as if he were a Samurai or something.”

  “What’s a Samurai?” I ask.

  Leo rolls his eyes. He is not going to answer me. Mr. I-come-from-outer-space.

  “I am just messing with you. We killed the Bullies with Samurai swords, remember?”

  “I agree with Vern,” says Bellona. “The Monster never dies. Not that I like them calling us Monsters. But since they do, let’s show them how strong-willed us Monsters can be. Let’s bond together and show them that this year, at least one of us will survive. We have to teach them that the Monster never dies.”

  “How are we going to do that?” I ask. I am not here to win. I am here to find my friend.

  “Military style,” answers Bellona, looking at the skaters.

  “You sure you want to do it that way?” a skater boy asks.

  “Yes,” Bellona says. “But no one else can know about this but us.”

  “What’s going on? What does military-style mean?” asks Pepper.

  “First, I want your iAms turned off now.”

  Pepper nods. She seems convinced, or is playing along. We all nod too. How is a Monster never going to die?

  “What I am going to ask of you is a technique we use in the army,” explains Bellona. “It is called La Roche: a tactic for survival in extreme situations.”

  “Yes?” I prompt her.

  “We will have to create an internal ranking that no one knows about but us. A ranking from one to ten. One is the one we sacrifice first, ten is the one we sacrifice last.”

  “What does that mean?” Pepper asks, with a furrowed brow. She only has one eyebrow; the other is missing.

  “When we go back to the Battlefieldz tomorrow, the Summit will try to turn us against each other with all the psychological tricks they have. They will push us as much as they need to, so we lose the games.”

  “Okay?” I say.

  “If we want at least one of us to win the games, here is what we will do. We will give each other numbers that will tell us who sacrifices themselves for the rest. It’s going to be our secret code.”

  “This is awful.” I can’t believe my ears.

  “We are likely to die anyway,” says Pepper. “And don’t worry. I’m ready to be number one. I was raised with the idea that I am going to die to save others for sixteen years. It’s going to be easier for me.”

  “It is going to be our internal rank, to know who is worth the risk to save, and who is to die for the rest of us at any given moment,” Bellona repeats.

  “How are we going to choose?” Orin asks.

  “We vote,” Leo answers. He likes the idea.

  “No,” Vern says, raising his hand. “We toss. If we vote, I will be number two.”

  “And Decca will be number three.” Orin grins. This guy hates me.

  “I saved all of you in the dome today,” I yell at him.

  “Hah.” He shakes his head.

  “Okay. We toss,” Bellona says. “But leave Leo out of it.”

  “Why?” Vern asks.

  “He is the strongest, and most experienced,” says Bellona. “If he dies, I don’t see how we can make it.”

  “And if I don’t like my result?” Orin asks.

  “Then you are not one of us. You leave and play on your own, like you did with Decca in the dome,” Leo explains firmly.

  None of us asks Leo to participate. We all know that with him around, as silent and obnoxious as he is, we feel a little safer.

  We all agree. Leo takes the lead and carves our names on big leaves with his sword. He collects them in his bag. We start picking our numbers.

  Vern is number one, the first to be sacrificed. Pepper is two. I think she is okay with that. Orin is three. I would have wanted him to be one. Four, five, six, seven, and eight are skaters. Bellona is number nine.

  I am number ten.

  I wonder.

  Did Leo cheat in my favor?

  23

  The next morning, we pack the water caterpillars we need, and bury the rest under a tree in the forest. Leo marks the tree with a letter D using his knife. He says D stands for Decca, which is the number ten in Greek.

  “Are you saying my name is a number in some old language?” I raise an eyebrow.

  “Not exactly. The number is written as Deka in Greek, pronounced as Theka, but the resemblance is very close.”


  When I ask him who those Greek people really are, he says, “Interesting people with too many gods.”

  “Ah,” I muse. “You mean like the Burning Man?” I am just teasing.

  “Burning Man isn’t a God,” he sighs. “He is just a man who…got burned.”

  “Call me D from now on,” I say to Leo, swooshing my sword in the air, and posing like a warrior. Sleep has put me in a great mood, I guess.

  Leo shakes his head. Sometimes, he looks insulted by my existence.

  “Goooood morning, Faya!” Timmy cheers in our iAms. He is posing theatrically with arms outstretched, and plastering that devilish look on his face. “With four million viewers yesterday, this was the best opening day in ten years!” he announces proudly.

  Right now, only one million viewers are watching. People need to wake up, eat breakfast, wash their hands, check their iAms, and then go watch some kids fighting for their lives. Life is so hard for them. Duh.

  We gather and sit by the edge of the forest, closer to the main street, waiting for today’s game. Leo looks irritated, pointing his rifle at Timmy on the big screen.

  “Yesterday in the woods,” Timmy says to the camera, “the Monsters awarded themselves numbers.” Wait. How did he know about the numbers? We shot all cameras, and tuned off the iAms. “Numbers like ours,” Timmy starts mocking us. The audience is making jokes about us wanting to be cool like them. “You know like seven, eight, and nine.” Timmy counts on his fingers.

  “Booooooo.” The audience is insulted. How dare we Monsters call ourselves by numbers?

  “They have even given one of them the number ten.” Timmy cries bubble tears. They look like they’re causing him great pain as they come out of his eyes. The tears are rolling down his cheek, then they float in thin air, turning into shampoo-like bubbles. “A ten,” he repeats dramatically. He sounds torn apart by the appalling news, slamming two fists against the floor, bending his body dramatically. “Aahhhhhh!” It amazes me why the audience is offended by our actions. They are just numbers.

  Leo is signaling for us to move toward the main street. Then he whispers to us, saying we need to go out into the open, in case something crazy happens after Timmy’s speech. Although we don’t know who sold us out yet, Leo is scanning everyone with sharp eyes. I grit my teeth, feeling his anger. When he figures out who sold us out, he is going to do something crazy. Who is it? The only one Leo doesn’t look sharply at is me. I am surprised he doesn’t consider me among the suspects.

  Timmy dries his tears and sips green tea in the garden with legs crossed. He calms the audience down. Within two minutes of nonsense and crying, we have one million three hundred thousand viewers watching us. People surely love crap. “But it’s okay,” says Timmy. “Their misbehaving gave me an idea. Something that has never been done before in the Monster Show. It’ll be such an entertaining game today.”

  I imagine the next game will be extra brutal. It’s going to be punishment again. We are standing at the edge of the forest, waiting for instructions. Wherever I go, I remind myself to look for a clue for the Rabbit Hole, or the girl I saw yesterday. Where could she be? What is the Rabbit Hole? Is it a real hole? A portal? A vehicle? An opening hidden behind something? Is it a hole we have to dig in the earth for? Will I find Woo beyond it?

  Timmy gives the audience time to text each other on their iAms, and spread the word about today’s “supertastic show.” Pepper is amusing herself, checking out Monsterpedia.com. She says we’ve become famous, our names shining like stars on the website.

  “Today, the name of the game is…” Timmy whispers to the audience, sticking out his fat and bubbly lips. “Choices and Priorities.” He backs away from the camera. “I know, I know. How genius of me. Life is all about choices and priorities, so let’s see if our Monsters have got what it takes to choose and prioritize.”

  The counter shows two million viewers.

  “Monsterapocalypsers!” Timmy is knocking on the microphone. “Pay attention, please. We would like you to walk toward the Monorail station. In the meantime, I have secrets to share with the audience.”

  Suddenly, we lose connection with the outer world as our iAms stop broadcasting.

  I feel a soft shudder go through my body. The feeling of being disconnected is unpleasant, as if I am grounded for the weekend with no internet or iAm, locked up in a dark cellar.

  “How can they just disconnect us?” One skater boy freaks out, rubbing his arms with his hands as if he is cold. The sun is scorching.

  “Wow,” says Vern. “This is like the game Zombocalypse 8, where you play the last teen on Earth.”

  “They can do whatever they want,” Pepper answers the skater, ignoring Vern. She steps ahead of us on the asphalt of the main street. This is where we survived the speed exploding buses yesterday. It’s all cleaned up now. The street looks empty, abandoned, and creepy. I remember hearing the military choppers yesterday, sent to clean up. None of us dared to approach. They have the right to shoot us if we do. “Here we are,” shouts Pepper with open arms, looking at a flying camera above. “What are you waiting for?”

  “I have a bad feeling about this,” says Bellona. “It feels like a city of the dead.”

  “It is,” I say, looking at the sun shining in the sky. On any other day, this would have been beautiful.

  There is a silly sign on the left that says, “It’s a Nice Day to Die.” I believe it’s a part of the Summit’s mockery. Cautiously, we follow Pepper, crossing the main street. We should be looking for the Monorail station, but we’re distracted by the loneliness the situation imposes upon us. Walking the vast, spacious streets on our own makes us feel lost, as if we’re the last bunch of friends left on Earth. Too many choices, too many directions. None of them feel safe.

  Choices and priorities.

  To my right, I see the Breathing Dome, clean and shiny, as if none of us fought for our lives inside. To the left, the street leads to the ramp where the journey first started.

  Climbing the ramp up is impossible. It’s too steep, twenty feet high, and there is a fence above it. I remember someone getting electrocuted, trying to escape in a previous games. Behind the fence, there are soldiers waiting for us with a license to kill. That’s why the only way out of the Playa is the Rabbit Hole. If I understand correctly, the Rabbit Hole is a way to escape Faya, not get back inside. I am assuming it leads to the Wastelands.

  There are buildings that look like shopping malls in front of us. Entrances are locked, and windows are blackened. I wonder if there is someone inside, watching us.

  We see the Monorail in front of the buildings, arriving from beyond the Breathing Dome on the right. It’s orange with black, red, and yellow waves painted on it, drawn like horizontal flames. It draws to a halt. Where is the station to get on? The station should have some kind of an elevator to lift us up to it. We keep on walking, watching ourselves on the screen, which adds to the scare.

  “Face your fear,” says Bellona, addressing the rest of us. “Don’t focus on escaping it. Look it in the eye. Take a deep breath. Countdown from five. That’s how long you allow it to take hold of you. Then release. Breathe out. Free yourself from it, and override it.” Even though her words sound clichéd, they work just fine.

  The cameras stop televising. We can’t see ourselves in the screens anymore. We are locked out, and my heart sinks deeper. Are they doing this to scare us? Well, it works.

  I count.

  Five.

  I feel like I’m being watched, but I don’t know by whom or from where.

  Four.

  I don’t think I can survive this.

  Three.

  I feel abandoned, away from home.

  Two.

  A stranger in a strange land.

  One.

  I am afraid one test, one judgment, one action, or one choice will shape the rest of my life. I think this is what they call growing up.

  I exhale.

  It’s working. Now that I have filled my mi
nd with my fears, I remind myself that I am alive. I am here. I have survived so far, and there’s no point in letting the fear take hold of me. My mind is clear.

  “Here it is.” I point at an elevator. Bellona is right behind me. Pepper must have slowed down, or bailed on leading the way. I find myself the first in line.

  We take the elevator and arrive at a metal ledge about five stories high, leading to the Monorail’s door. It opens automatically.

  We get in.

  The Monorail’s electric double-doors slide closed behind us. The ride is on. The train takes a slight bend upward and accelerates. The Monorail works on its own. No one is driving. Spooky.

  The Playa looks safer from this high. I can’t imagine how vast it is. I’m unable to see the real world from here. It is huge. I see a cowboy-themed neighborhood, which looks like a Western movie set. Right after the second curve in the rail, we see a vast desert with never-ending white sands that turn into canyons after a while. The sunrays fall through the Monorail and onto our faces. I remind myself that it’s a beautiful day. Stay positive.

  The Monorail stops over what looks like an artificial lake. The doors open, and Leo is looking anxious. Although the game itself hasn’t begun yet, we are prepared for the worst.

  Nothing happens. The doors close again. A female voice announces the next station: CARNIVORE.

  My heart pounds again. This is where the last game will take place, if we ever survive.

  “As if we will make it this far.” Pepper’s pessimistic voice is annoying.

  The Monorail doesn’t stop at Carnivore, but we can see it from above. It’s scary. It’s a huge coliseum, a large theatre for open-air sports and entertainment. It’s oval, and has tiers of seats rising from the central open arena, where the deadly games are held. The Summit calls it the Monsterium. What’s crazy about the Monsterium is that it’s covered in white sand. All of it. The arena is like a huge waving carpet of white sands and dunes. The seats and the structures are all white. There’s no way a contestant can hide in it, unless he is as white as the sands. The rule of the games is to send the contestant wearing red out into the fields, while somewhere, hidden beyond all of that white, awaits Carnivore, a white tiger with one eye. This is where I believe Woo fooled everyone, letting them think he was killed by the paws of Carnivore. Then again, maybe he didn't. Maybe he died, and I'm just a hapless fool chasing a mirage.