S.W. Tanpepper's GAMELAND, Season One Omnibus (96 page)

“
There's power,” Brother Matthew explains, “but we use it sparingly. As you can guess, light and sound attract the Elders.”

“
Generator?”

“
We have one, but we try not to use it. It's loud and fuel is scarce and hard to transport. There are solar panels on the roof in back. They're badly in need of maintenance. Unreliable.”

We top the steps and he turns left down a wide hallway. The walls are scuffed and there's a dark splatter along one section. I don't ask about it. Neither does Micah, though he turns his head and stares at it as we pass.

Matthew stops and knocks at a closed door. “Brother Walter? It's Brother Matthew. I have…guests.”

There's a faint sound of bed springs rising inside the room, followed by footsteps. The door is unlocked and cautiously opened. A pair of dark eyes peer out at us through the crack, belly-high, dark eyes in a pond of gray flesh surrounded by black hair. The door opens all the way and we're treated to a full view of half a man. Brother Walter is short and pale with coal-black hair that falls well past his shoulders and over his chest. A thick carpet of hair covers a craggy, ashen face. But his eyes twinkle.

He looks us over for a moment and says, “Why would you bring Sinners here?”

Brother Matthew tenses beside us. “They aren't Sinners, Brother Walter.”

“
No? They look like Sinners.”

“
They're here for Father Heall. They need his…blessing.”

Brother Walter squints into the gloom and studies our faces, first Micah's, then mine. “They don't need his blessing.”

“
Not for them, but their friends.”

Brother Walter sighs. “Where?”

“
Inside the arcade.”

“
Not possible.” He shakes his head emphatically. “No time.”

I step forward. “Please. Our friend is dying. He was bitten. Brother Matthew and Brother Nicholas said he has less than two days. By tomorrow night, he'll be—”

“
No time.”

“
We rode bicycles to get here,” Matthew explains. “The car—”

“
I said no time!”

“
That's not all,” Brother Matthew continues. “They have news of Enoch.”

Brother Walter's eyes widen. He straightens himself, brushing his wrinkled shirt over his barrel chest. “Then they are Sinners.”

“
No. I'll explain, but first I'd like to get them situated.”

Brother Walter considers this for a moment before reaching back inside the doorway and into the room. His hand returns with a set of keys in it, which he turns over to Brother Matthew. “Take them to the Remington Room. You know what to do. Standard procedure. I'll be there in a sec.”

Brother Matthew nods grimly and turns, beckoning us to follow. I glance behind us as Walter slips back inside his room. He doesn't close the door.

“
What's standard procedure?”

We pass six or seven doors, all closed, before stopping at one. It looks no different than the others. Brother Matthew inserts the key and turns the knob. The door opens with a creak and we're engulfed in a puff of stale air, as if the room has sat unused for several months.

“
There are matches and candles on the dresser,” he says. “A flashlight, too. Use them all sparingly. And keep the shutters closed after it gets dark. I'll bring up some water for you to wash up in. You'll find fresh clothes in the closet and drawers. Do your best to find something that fits.”

I turn, frowning. “Both of us?”

He nods. “For now. Leave your backpacks out here, along with anything in your pockets.”

Micah bristles at this and opens his mouth to protest, but then Brother Walter shows up with an EM gun in his hand. He points it directly at us, so there's no question they mean business.

Nobody moves for a moment, then I ask, “What's going on?”

Brother Matthew turns to me. “Standard procedure. Just a precaution. Please, just do what we're asking you. It's for your own good. And ours.”

“
But we didn't do—”

“
You'll get it all back,” Brother Walter says. “Minus any weapons you may be carrying.” He gestures at the packs with the pistol.

“
Jess?” Micah says. I can see him weighing the options, considering whether to resist. But I shake my head once quickly and tell him no. “Do as they say.”

I unshoulder my pack and hand it over to Brother Matthew, along with the Link and the small pocketknife I'd been carrying. Even my inhaler, which I'd been seriously neglecting lately. It has to be running low by now, anyway. Micah watches me, but he doesn't make any move to follow suit. He clutches his pack to his body and stands with his back against the wall. When he sees the bundle of photos in my hand, now waterlogged and all stuck together, he lashes out and grabs them. “Have some decency!”

Brother Walter nods. “You can keep those.”

“
Gee, thanks.”

He takes everything else I've given him and sets it against the wall on the other side of the hallway. They wait for Micah to hand over his pack and empty his pockets.

“
No.”

“
Micah, please,” I whisper. “He said they'll give it back.”

He shakes his head and backs away. “We didn't do anything wrong.”

“
Micah!”

He takes a step toward Brother Matthew and I yell at him to stop, but before the word comes out, the world suddenly tilts and fills with a whiteness so bright that for a moment it seems almost divine. But then the light expands, blinding my eyes, roaring like a hurricane in my ears. I close my eyes but it doesn't block the glare, and I realize that they're already shut and that the whiteness and the wind are inside of me, not without. I'm drowning in it. I try to swim out of it, but my arms are rubber. They stretch for miles and the white liquid I'm swept up in goes on and on, unending.

Then it all collapses—the light and the sound and the smell of burnt plastic and the metallic taste in my mouth—and all my mind registers is that I'm lying on my stomach on the bare, hard, wooden floor and there's a flickering of light coming from somewhere, like a candle—I can see it reflected on the water-stained wall where the paper has peeled off—and that there's also a flickering pain, just on the periphery of my consciousness.

I try to move and the pain flares, finding me, staying. It grows into a mountain, feeding on my consciousness. Then, just as it seems to become unbearable, it shatters and becomes an avalanche of aches. I stop and rest for a moment, waiting for it all to settle.

Minutes and hours and years pass. The walls darken and I realize the flickering light isn't from a candle but from the dying light of day leaking in from an opening in the wall behind me, a window, presumably. There's a low moan, coming not from me but from somewhere I can't see. My heart nearly stops. I dare not move. Not that I could, even if I wanted to. The moan comes again, and now I can hear it shuffling toward me across the floor, closer and closer. And my mind shrieks and yet I can't move, not even when the wretched thing clamps itself onto my side and smacks its lips.

 

Micah moves in closer and his face blurs even more out of focus. I try to answer, but my lips and tongue won't obey my wishes and all that comes out of my mouth is a whisper of air. He shakes me a second time. “Jessie, can you move?”

The whisper turns into a groan.

“
Those cock suckers,” he says. He lets go of me and rocks back onto his heels. “I can't believe they fucking zapped us!”

“…
oor fuhl…”

Micah turns his head and frowns. “My fault? Why?” But he looks away before I can answer. He knows I'm right.

I raise a shaking hand to my head, amazed that I actually can. It takes all my strength and feels like a billion pounds. I watch it hover above me before it drops onto my forehead, sending shards of pain through me again. Apparently my fingers still don't work.

“
I think you caught the brunt of the blast,” he says.

No shit
, I want to say, resenting how much quicker he's recovered than I have. “Wuh tie…
mmmm
zit?”

He shakes his head. “Can't tell. They took our Links, too. But judging from the sun, it's probably close to five o'clock.”

Two hours!
I manage to get up onto my elbows. My arms are weak, my head pounds. I feel like I'm going to be sick. I'm actually surprised how much the EM blast affected me, given that my body rejected my implant. The thing is still working inside of me, but it's not connected to my brain anymore. Eric once told me that a direct hit with an EM blast can still knock you out, even if you don't have an implant. I'm just glad it wasn't fully connected or else this would've been much worse.

“
Where…Shin…ji?”

“
Don't know. I remember hearing him barking right before I blacked out. He's not here.”

“
Help me up,” I whisper. At least my lips seem to be starting to work.

Micah stumbles to his feet. He puts his hands under my arms and half lifts, half drags me to the bed. “Not sure I can do this,” he says, but he grunts and lifts. At the same time I straighten my legs and try to throw myself onto the bed. I end up partially on it, and there I stay, perched precariously as Micah angrily stomps across the room. I don't move. It's not very comfortable, the way I'm laying, but at least it's not the floor.

“
Door?” I ask. I tense the muscles in my side to keep from slipping, but it doesn't seem to help.

“
Locked.”

Of course.

The windows are barred, too. Not that it matters. We're on the second floor, and from what I remember seeing from the outside, it's a straight shot to the ground twenty-five or thirty feet down.

“
They better not hurt him.”

“
They don't want him. It's us they're not sure about.” He paces, shaking off the last of the numbness in his hands. His feet scuff the floor, sounding loud in my ears. I try to reposition myself, but I'm still too weak.

“
Why would they do that?” he says, gesturing angrily. “Why shoot us with an EM blast?”

Because you wouldn't give them your backpack
, I want to say, though I don't. It won't help and, besides, I know he's just venting. I would be too, if I could. Besides, I'm too twisted around and too numb to speak. I try and relax, but all I end up doing is rolling off the bed. Micah turns only when he hears me thump to the floor. My cheek hits the bedpost and pain flares inside my head.

“
Shit, Jess. I'm sorry!”

He hurries over but I wave him drunkenly away and instead try to prop myself up against the mattress.

“
This is all my fault, like you said,” he tells me. “But they have no right—”

“
Micah!” I cough weakly. “Shut up for a minute, will you?”

His face twists for a moment, a mixture of anger and anguish and embarrassment.

I watch him flit through the gloom. He ends up over by the window, lifting a hand to draw the curtains apart to look outside.

“
Sun's starting to go down.”

“
See anything?”

“
People? None living. Plenty Undead just standing around. But I heard voices earlier downstairs. No, wait… There's someone walking up the road, coming toward the house.” He watches for a few seconds, then curses under his breath.

“
What?”

“
He just walked right past an IU that was looking right at him.
Watching
him, even. Just walked right past and the thing never even went for him.”

I try to push myself up, but Micah stops me. “Don't bother. He's gone, out of sight.”

“
Sure you didn't just see another IU? Or a CU?”

“
Definitely not an IU.” He shrugs. “Could've been a CU. Moving pretty smooth for one, though…”

I wipe the sticky strands of hair from my face. “So much for getting washed up and changed.”

“
There are a couple basins of water over there. A pitcher, too.” He walks over to the dresser and picks something up, then he just stands there for a moment without speaking.

“
What is it?”

He turns and holds up it for me to see. “You ever think you'd be so happy to see a toothbrush?”

“
Toothpaste?”

He nods. “That, too.”

This time I manage to get to my feet. “Now that's worth getting up for. My teeth feel like I've been chewing on cow crap.”

He tosses me a bar of soap, saying, “You smell like cow crap.” It bounces off my hip and skitters across the floor. My reaction time is still screwed.

“
Fuck you,” I tell him, but I'm smiling.

At least, I think I am. I still can't feel my face.

† † †

The cold, clean water feels good on my skin. It invigorates me and in less than ten minutes I'm fully recovered from the EM blast. But the resentment still roils inside of me. I'm unsure who exactly I should be directing it to. The request to search our packs had come more as a surprise than an indignity. I'd do the same if I were them, though they could have warned us.

Even so, Micah shouldn't have argued. He should've known better. In fact, it really surprises me that he protested. We don't have anything to hide, not from these people. Regardless, I wouldn't go around intentionally antagonizing them, not when we're here to ask for their help.