I Am Alive Page 12

  The female voice announces the next station: the Rabbit Hole.

  I exchange alarmed gazes with Leo and Bellona. It’s a weird coincidence. It doesn’t seem right. It could not have been that Timmy overheard us yesterday.

  But of course, I remind myself that we have a traitor among us. It might be that Timmy doesn’t know what the Rabbit Hole is — or where it is. He just got the name from the traitor. He is only fooling with us, so we turn against each other.

  The Monorail speeds up, then it stops, almost ten stories above the ground. I don’t feel like looking down now. In front of us, we see a dark tunnel that looks like a huge hole in the air.

  And…

  We are back to life. Connected. Screens, iAms, and Timmy’s voice are back online.

  “Welcome back, Monsters,” says Timmy, now dressed casually, sitting on a couch, playing a video game, pushing buttons with his hands. “Or should I say, welcome back, Timmy.” He points at himself. The audience applauds. What did he tell them while we were offline? “Hey, Roger This. I beat your top score.” Timmy presses a button on his joystick, making fun of Vern, letting us know that he overheard every word yesterday.

  Two million seven hundred thousand viewers are watching.

  “I just had a little chat with the audience. Believe me. This is going to be fuuuuuuuuun.” He leans back on the couch, his legs pedaling in the air.

  Timmy is holding his gaming device in his hand. He looks sharply into the screen, at us, his thumb caressing a button. “Welcum to ze Rabit Hawl.” He imitates a German accent. “Isn’t zis wut you arre looking vor?”

  Leo is making a strange low noise, like an engine about to explode, holding tight to the metal edge of his seat. I think Leo’s ancestors might be German or something. He looks offended. “Traitor,” Leo grunts.

  There is no time to deal with that. Someone sold us out to Timmy. Why? For what price? Is it Orin? Vern? A skater boy? Is it Pepper?

  It couldn't be Bellona, could it?

  “I had a little conversation with one of you yesterday while you were asleep,” Timmy is talking straight to us. “We made a deal. He or she told me about your conversation, and I gave them something in return.”

  “Who is it?” demands Pepper. It’s not like her, with her negative attitude, to be curious.

  “Later, Monsters,” says Timmy. “Now I welcome you to the Rabbit Hole. Not the one you’re looking for, but the one I made for you. Hold on tight. Once you finish the ride into the Rabbit Hole and reach the other side, the game instructions will be given in real-time, while you are playing.”

  “This can’t be,” Bellona protests. “You are supposed to tell us the rules of the game before we start playing. This is unfair.”

  “Shoulda. Woulda. Coulda,” says Timmy. “Stop whining. Here is my first hint: It is all about choices. The faster you reach a decision, the longer you stay alive. And the word to keep in mind is: ADAPT.”

  “Five,” Leo says aloud.

  “Four,” Bellona follows.

  “Haha.” Timmy rubs his chin. “Take in the fear. You Monsters and your mind games.”

  “Three,” I say, holding tighter to my seat.

  “Two,” one of the skaters joins in.

  “Push the damn button!” Pepper screams at Timmy. I guess that is her way of saying, “One.”

  24

  The Monorail speeds into the tunnel. My heart is plastered to the back of my seat. My spine hurts. The flesh in the back of my neck is burning. If I ever wanted to say stop, the muscles in my jaw wouldn’t allow me to open my mouth. My face is crumbling, like a paper bag in front of a vacuum cleaner. I hold on tight.

  First, the journey into the dark tunnel goes up, and then the monorail leans to the left, then down, gaining speed.

  Down. Down. Down.

  Finally, it slows down in the dark and maintains a slower speed for a while, like a train drawing into the station. I see tiny dots of light at the end of the tunnel, like small light bulbs, shimmering in the distance. They get bigger as we come closer. The sun starts shining through. We emerge from the tunnel, and the Monorail stops under the sunny spot.

  It feels like we have entered an alternate reality. One door opens to the left. We hurry to it, as if this crazy Monorail is about to explode. Above us, the sunny sky is a little different, as if missing its heart and soul. It looks as if it’s not real.

  “I present to you, Artificial Sky,” says Timmy. “The latest invention, exclusively designed for Faya, on the other side of the Rabbit Hole.”

  Beyond the door, there is a metal ledge in front of us, with star-shaped holes drilled in it. I can see the endless air underneath us, leading to oblivion. It’s hard to tell how high we are. I am afraid we are so high, we can’t see the ground through the holes.

  “Please walk forward,” a female voice says from the microphones.

  Leo starts walking in front of us. I cut in, wanting to be the first.

  “Not this time, sweetie,” Timmy interrupts. “In fact, you will be the last in line.”

  “No. She walks next to me,” says Leo, holding my hand.

  “Oh. So the cat didn’t eat your tongue like I was told,” says Timmy. The crowd laughs and starts hissing. The crowd favors Leo. Is it because he is a Nine? Or because he is just tediously hot – and dumb sometimes?

  “Not this time, Leo,” says Timmy. “I promise you, in the presence of over two million viewers, nothing is going to happen to her walking last in line.”

  Reluctantly, Leo lets go of my hand and keeps walking.

  “Stop,” says Timmy.

  Leo stops in front of a huge vertical circle made of iron. I can’t see what it is exactly, but it looks like a ring-shaped hole, surrounded by an iron structure.

  Farther beyond the circle, there is another metal ledge leading to a huge round clock made of wood. It looks rusty and old, with all kinds of swampy plants covering it. The clock is numbered from one to ten.

  An old woman in a red cloak stands before the huge clock. Her long silver hair shows from under the veil, fluttering in the light wind passing through. She is using a wooden cane to help her walk, as she hunches her back forward. Her eyes have a silver shade to them. When I look closer, I discover that she is blind.

  “Please say hi to Dame Fortuna,” says Timmy. No one says anything. “It’s true that Dame Fortuna is blind, but she is the Goddess of Fate,” Timmy laughs happily. “And Fate needs to be on the Monsters’ side today.”

  “That’s the gypsy woman who foresaw the Year of the Ten,” Pepper says.

  “So?” I ask.

  “So, she is a liar,” Pepper says. “Can’t you see? We’ve all been already ranked, and there is no Ten this year. All this Year of the Ten thing was a lie. God knows what this creepy woman has in store for us now.”

  “Please step carefully into the circle, and take your seats,” Timmy says to us. “What you see there, and what looks like a clock, is a Wheel of Fortune, although it rarely makes one fortunate.” Timmy smirks at the camera. “The horizontal metal ring in front of you has seats attached to its edges, circling around the huge void in the middle. Take your seats in the ring. You’ll find a blue box in front of you. Lay your palm flat on it, and Dame Fortuna will rotate the wheel. When the wheel finally stops, it will show your number.”

  “Why are they giving us numbers?” I ask.

  “It’s better we give you numbers, than you give them to yourselves,” Timmy responds bluntly.

  Leo takes a step down into the ring, and we follow.

  The ring itself has a metal floor, wide enough to walk upon without panicking about falling into the hole in the middle. I can’t see the bottom of the hole. It is infinitely deep. When I squint, trying to look harder, I see only fog and smoke. What is this place?

  I see the metallic seats attached to the ring. Haphazardly, we pick seats.

  Every seat is the shape of a vertical cylinder. It’s like a barrel. I stand in it, waist deep. It barely fits one
person, and it’s like my own private balcony, allowing me to look over at the others, sitting in similar balconies attached to a ring.

  Everyone takes a place. We are all standing in a circle, so we can see each other. Tight metallic belts buckle around our waists and shoulders. None of us can leave the balconies now.

  On the right, I see the box Timmy told us about. It has a blue substance inside that looks like jelly. This is where we are going to place our palms so the Wheel of Fortune can spin and give us a number.

  “What are the numbers for?” asks Pepper again, as if I haven’t already asked.

  “I will explain later,” says Timmy. “After each one of you places their palms on the blue jelly.”

  “So cool,” says Vern. I am glad that’s all he says. He can be distracting at times.

  I am dying to know what happened between Timmy and the audience when we were offline. It’s starting to bother me.

  “The only problem is that there are eleven of you, and only ten numbers on the wheel,” says Timmy. “The audience has the right to spare one of you from this part of today’s game.”

  This hasn’t happened before. The audience’s vote has never been taken into consideration.

  The screen shows the votes. With the iAm, you can get results within seconds. The screen shows that the crowd has favored Leo.

  “Leo, the crowd’s favorite, will be spared,” says Timmy. “So let’s play. Let’s start with Pepper.”

  I have a bad feeling about this numbering thing. Leo looks puzzled. We all do. What kind of crazy game is this? How much does this setting cost?

  Pepper places her palm on the blue jelly. She doesn’t hesitate a bit. Sometimes I forget that she has a death wish. Dame Fortuna gives the wheel a slight push.

  I could have imagined anything happening at the point when Dame Fortuna pushes the wheel, like the blonde host you see in lottery shows.

  Anything.

  All, but what I am actually seeing.

  How do they do something like that?

  I can’t believe my eyes.

  25

  “Boys and girls.” Timmy jumps up and down on his couch. “May I present to you… Artificial Sky and the Wheel of Fortune. I have experienced Instant-CGI,” continues Timmy. “I have heard about weekends on the moon. I have seen the most breathtaking visual effects. But this?” He keeps jumping. “This is what you have never, ever dreamed of. Artificial Skyyyyy.”

  Every time the Wheel of Fortune rolls, seasons change. I mean it.

  Dame Fortuna pushes the wheel for the first time. The first change is from the sunny morning to autumn.

  Brown leaves start falling upon us from the artificial sky, spiraling around us in circles. Cold and windy weather sends chills up my spine. I can smell the distinct crispness in the air. Trees grow out of the circular hole through the middle, like Jack Beanstalk’s famous tree; growing out of nowhere without soil or land, but out of air. The leaves are yellow, orange, and red.

  I am standing open-mouthed, unable to express my excitement.

  The wheel keeps turning. Dame Fortuna gives it another nudge, and the wooden fortune wheel starts to creak its way to the second season…

  It’s winter. Nighttime. Freezing cold. My nose is kissed by a slight touch of frost. White snow falls from the sky, lighting up the darkness. Naked trees, frosted leaves, and snowflakes that look like falling stars glittering in the artificial night. My cheeks hurt from the cold. I look at the camera, and I see they are rosy. Vern sneezes.

  “I can’t believe this,” Orin screams in disgust. “Rabbit hole my—” I can’t hear the rest because of the whirling wind.

  “Again!” yells Pepper, sounding euphoric. “Give me spring. I love spring.” I wonder if Pepper has ever thrown snowballs at her friends in winter, chased butterflies in spring, or tanned at the beach in summer. “If this wheel rotates one hundred times, I am going to be a hundred years old, like no one in my family ever got to be.” Pepper spreads her hands in the air. Her stiffly curled hair circles around her, making her look like a witch.

  The Wheel of Fortune turns one more time.

  It’s spring: warm sunrise, flowers blooming out of the hole. Fresh air, clear sky. Birds are singing around us. There are butterflies fluttering next to pink roses at the edges of the ring.

  In one minute, we have experienced three seasons, and now we are back to summer.

  The wheel stops, and its cursor settles on a number.

  The cursor on the Wheel of Fortune stops at number three.

  Pepper is number three. She shows up on the screen licking jelly off her hand. “It’s actually jelly. It’s delicious,” she says.

  Now it is Vern’s turn to be numbered…

  “Veeeerrrrrn, let’s tuuurrrrn!” Timmy wouldn’t miss out on such a rhyme.

  The rest of us follow, one by one, seasons changing with every number.

  Bellona is number nine. Vern is number one — again. Orin is number two.

  Leo has immunity from this game’s level. He is the crowd’s favorite, so he doesn’t get a number.

  I am last, and I know one number is left for me. I am number ten.

  Is that good or bad?

  If Leo had changed the numbers in my favor yesterday, who did that today? Or is it that I am destined to be number ten?

  After this is over, we hear the sound of buzzing machines from our balconies. A bow gun appears, attached to every balcony. Mine is set high enough that I can easily pull the trigger from where I stand. Orin is the first to reach for his gun. He points his gun at me, and pulls the trigger.

  What?

  Why does he want to kill me?

  Nothing happens. I reach for my bow gun and try it. It can swivel over a rotating base, so you can choose your target. The trigger is locked. That’s why Orin couldn’t shoot me.

  Timmy is the only one who can unlock the trigger.

  Woo taught me how to use bow guns. How is this possible? Did Woo spend his life teaching me how to win the games?

  “Is that it?” Bellona protests. “Are we going to end up shooting each other in this game?”

  “This is brutal. You can’t do this.” Even Pepper, with her death wish, doesn’t approve of such cruelty.

  “Who are these people?” Vern looks up at the huge iScreens around us. “What have we done? Why are they so happy killing us? I just played computer games, for God’s sake.”

  A box with a round red button on it rises mechanically from the metal balcony. It is covered with dust and spider webs. I clean it with my free hand.

  “So what are the numbers for?” asks Leo.

  “Cool down, Leo,” says Timmy. “I will explain in a minute.”

  “All set, boys and girls,” says Timmy. “Before we play today’s fantastic game, for the first time in history, we are happy to announce your UCP, Up Close and Personal tickets.”

  An orchestral piece of music is played with marching drums somewhere. This is not a death game. This is a carnival of silliness. This is a circus of the damned. Hallucinations from the other side. The dark side of the loon.

  We hear the drone of approaching aircraft. They roar in the air above us.

  It’s the Zeppelins.

  A New kind of Zeppelins I have never seen before, with power engines and glass balconies you can actually open. They are flying a little too low and getting closer, right above and around us. Everywhere. The game is going to be watched, not just on live TV, not just in real-time, but up close and personal, as if we are monkeys in a zoo.

  Four million national viewers are watching. One hundred thousand UCP tickets are sold instantly for tomorrow’s show. This means we won’t die today. Not all of us.

  “Now that we’re ready, let’s play,” says Timmy. “I want to show you something, Decca,” says Timmy in the microphone. Why is he addressing me? “I want you to stay very calm when I show you this, because the first part of the game is about you.”

  Why about me? I try not to look surprise
d. What’s going on?

  “I want you to look at this.” He pushes a button. There is a new video being broadcast on the iAm. It’s showing on the iScreens everywhere.

  The broadcast shows a woman who wants to talk to me. It’s my mother.

  26

  My mom sits, talking into the camera. I can’t tell where she is, but it is a live feed.

  “Hi, baby,” she says eagerly. She looks like she’s been crying.

  “Hi, Mom. Are you all right?” I don’t need to count down from five to let the fear in and breathe it out. I have no fear. I am going to stay strong.

  “I am,” she says. She is lying.

  “How’s my brother, my—”

  “Everyone will be okay.” She wipes tears from her eyes. “If you do as they say. If you play the game.”

  Transmission is fading.

  “Mom!” I want to jump out of the balcony, but I am buckled in from my waist up.

  “We love you, baby,” she says lastly, hiding somewhere beyond the transmission’s waves.

  Is that the last time I’ll hear from my mom? I turn to one of the flying cameras. “What do you want, Timmy?” I shout.

  “Me not want anything, dear,” Timmy puts a hand over his heart. “The audience wants.”

  “I am listening,” I say. “If I play the game, will you let my parents be?”

  “Hey,” Timmy protests. “I am not the bad guy here. I am just a messenger.” The audience goes into an instant silence. What did Timmy just say? Did he call the audience bad? Was it a slip of the tongue? Those watching us all over the world think that we are the bad ones, the Bad Kidz, the irresponsible brats who will cause this nation to fall. They think they are good, but Timmy knows different. He knows that we are the good guys, and that they aren’t necessarily the bad guys. That they are brainwashed.