“Fine,” Bryson said. “And how about we don’t get killed? We’re forming bad habits.”
“Amen,” Michael responded. “Dying is my new least favorite thing.”
Michael looked out over the open space again. They had to get past dozens of battles, as well as ten or so other trenches. The odds of making it to the Portal without getting pulled into some sort of fight weren’t good. And judging by the look on Sarah’s face, she thought the same thing.
“Okay,” she said, suddenly in charge. “I think we can get through, but you have to follow my lead. If one of us gets intercepted, we need to stay and fight.”
“We got it,” Bryson said. “Stick together. Now let’s get this over with.”
Michael’s heart pumped like pistons in a race car. “Yeah” was all he could get out.
“Come on.” Sarah climbed to her feet and was suddenly running down the icy hill. Michael and Bryson hurried to catch up.
5
It took an hour to make it to the trench, and they fought the whole way there. Sometimes it was a single man or woman—those were the easy ones. But they faced a few that were far more difficult—gangs of two, three, or four soldiers coming after their small alliance all at once. The only positive of having died so many times was that it gave Michael and his friends the experience—and a little help from their programming-boosted powers—to fend off those attackers.
They weren’t going to die this time. Michael swore it to himself over and over. He grew more exhausted by the minute, but his adrenaline was high, and his energy seemed to reignite with every new confrontation.
They finally found themselves just a few feet from the edge of the Portal trench. The group was bloodied and bruised, their clothes ripped. Bryson had lost his backpack, and they only had one knife. But for a brief moment, they were alone.
Sarah dropped to her knees and unzipped her pack, dumping her cache of grenades onto the frozen ground. Michael added his own as Bryson ran over to the edge to scout the guard situation. “Five or six of them,” he reported back, falling to his knees next to them to help. “Start pulling and chucking! They’re just sitting there with guns, smoking.”
Michael got right to work. He grabbed a grenade, pulled the pin, then threw it into the long, narrow pit. He didn’t stop to see what happened; he took another one and repeated the process, throwing it at the same spot. Then another one. Another. Bryson and Sarah were just as fast, and in a matter of seconds they’d tossed more than a dozen into the trench.
Then Sarah closed her eyes—they flickered under her eyelids as she searched and manipulated the code. A bright flash of light flared up at her chest, brilliant enough to make Michael shield his eyes with his arm. He peeked and saw it whoosh away from her and shoot down into the trench like a fiery comet.
Michael noticed a man climbing up from the inside of the trench on the far side. He opened his mouth to warn his friends, but a deafening boom exploded from within the deep-cut ditch. Flashes of fire lit up the day, and metal shards flew in every direction.
“Let’s go!” Sarah yelled, already on her feet and moving toward the ladder. The man Michael had seen earlier was flat on his stomach at the very top, a huge gash sliced down the back of his coat. Nothing but red and ruin.
Michael ran after Sarah, Bryson by his side. They reached the edge of the trench. Michael ran alongside it, looking for survivors, but all he could see was death. He watched the bodies disappear one by one.
The three friends got to the ladder just as the man at the top rolled over onto his back. He wasn’t dead, but he was close, and the look on his face showed he knew.
Sarah started down the rungs, as did Bryson. Michael was right behind them when the man reached up and grabbed Michael’s arm, then spun him around. His strength was surprising for the condition he was in. Michael was able to pull himself free, but before he turned away, the man started mumbling something, his lips quivering with the effort, his whole body shaking.
Michael leaned in closer, thinking he’d heard his name. “What did you say?” he asked.
The soldier seemed to gather his strength for one last effort to speak. And then it came out in a short burst, and Michael heard every word.
“Be careful with Kaine. He’s not who you think.”
Then the man died, and his wrecked body vanished into the air.
CHAPTER 13
THE FLOATING DISK
1
“Get down here!” Sarah yelled from below.
Michael realized he was staring at the patch of bloody snow where the guy had been lying only seconds before. What was going on? The voice during his last attack that told him he was doing well, what this stranger had said about Kaine… What did it all mean?
Michael had a deep-down fear that Kaine knew exactly what they were doing and where they were. And he wondered if it could be possible—did the gamer
want
Michael to figure out where he was?
“Dude!”
Michael turned his attention back to the trench, and Bryson was staring up at him.
“What are you
doing
?” he yelled.
“Thinking,” Michael answered. He was fully aware of how stupid it sounded. “Sorry,” he added. People were charging in from all directions as he scrambled down into the slushy pit with his friends.
Bryson shook his head. “We really can’t take you anywhere.”
“Did that guy say something to you?” Sarah asked.
Michael nodded. “Yeah, but I’ll tell you later. We’re about to have a lot of unwelcome visitors. It looks like a zombie parade out there, and we’re the food.”
“It’s over here,” Bryson said, gesturing for them to follow him. They had trudged down the middle of the pit about fifteen feet when he pointed to a section of the wall where the black tarp had been shredded. In most places, white ice shone through, but there was a spot where a slight purple glow emanated.
The shouts and cries of the approaching players were getting louder.
“No time like the present,” Sarah said. She turned to Michael. “You stand guard while Bryson and I try to figure this out.”
As Michael took position, Bryson tore away a big swath of the black tarp. Behind it, a six-foot-tall tunnel had been carved into the wall of ice. Michael couldn’t focus on exactly where it happened, but at some point inside the tunnel the dark space transformed into a throbbing purple light. What lay beyond was impossible to make out—the harder Michael strained to see, the more his vision blurred.
“It’s those underage kids!” someone screamed from above. Even as Bryson and Sarah moved into the tunnel, Michael glanced up to see a man holding a long blade.
Michael didn’t hesitate—he spun around and followed his friends into the purple light.
2
The sounds of the War of Greenland quickly disappeared—the tunnel was silent, as if a door had closed behind them. And when he looked back, Michael saw that that was exactly what had happened. The trench they’d just escaped was no longer there. Instead there was the same odd purple glow.
He turned back around and was relieved to see that he hadn’t lost Bryson and Sarah. They were still on their hands and knees like him, only they were concentrating, eyes twitching back and forth behind closed eyelids, frantically working the code.
“I was able to latch on to some type of map or guide,” Sarah said, eyes still closed. “Do you see it?”
Bryson nodded. “It’s subtle. We’ll just have to keep checking the code to stick to it.”
“What’s going on?” Michael asked. “What should I do?”
Sarah turned toward him. “The Portal isn’t really blocked, per se. But it’d be extremely easy to get lost in here. And I mean lost—like forever. From what we can find, there are a series of markers in the programing. If we follow the markers, we should get to the first level of the Path.”
“Okay.”
Eyes still closed, Sarah reached out blindly and patted Michael on the shoulder. “I still think we need one person to keep an eye out, in case something comes at us. Can you? While Bryson and I keep scanning the code?”
Michael shrugged, even though his friends couldn’t see him. “Sure. Eyes peeled—easy enough.”
“I like a guy who can follow orders,” Bryson said with a smirk.
Sarah leaned back and turned away from Michael. “Let’s go, then. It’s this way.”
She moved forward on her hands and knees, followed by Bryson and then Michael, and they began making their way deeper into the tunnel.
Several minutes passed without anything changing. Michael felt a suffocating pressure in his chest, but every time he paused to take a deep breath, it loosened up and he was able to breathe easily again. The silence was strange as well—almost like it wasn’t silence at all but a constant buzz. For a while he assumed that the others were just quiet as they focused on the code, but then a thought crossed his mind. When he called out to them, no sound came out of his mouth. It was as if someone had pushed a mute button—and for some reason it was the most terrifying thing about the bizarre tunnel so far.
He kept moving, creeping his way forward, focused on Bryson’s legs. He was scared to death that his friend might disappear at any second, leaving him all alone. His hands and knees were beginning to hurt, his arms and legs cramping. And he was growing more disoriented and nauseated by the minute.
On and on they went, shuffling along like a line of ants. They’d gone at least a mile, maybe two. His body wasn’t used to such a thing. A whisper of panic was also starting to build within him, a claustrophobic feeling that threatened to take over. But he forced it down, took each moment, and inch, at a time, relying on his friends’ hacking and coding skills. He never thought he’d ever be so thankful for Bryson’s butt, a beacon in that purple fog.
They were still crawling in silence when something suddenly slammed down on Michael, pressing his body hard into the ground. He fell flat onto his stomach and lost his breath. His fear flared into terror, and he screamed and kicked. He was barely able to move. His mind began to cloud up, and a wild feeling crept in, like he’d lost control of his own actions.
And then it ended. All of it ended. The purple tunnel, the silence, the pressure that pushed him to the ground. He was lying on a hard gray surface. He got his hands under him and pushed up to his knees. Then he stared in wonder at what surrounded him.
He and his friends were crouched on the edge of a huge stone disk a few dozen feet wide, seemingly hanging in midair. Massive formations of dark clouds hung above their heads, growing and shrinking like living things. Lightning flashed and thunder boomed and the air was heavy with humidity, as if rain would pour down any minute.
Michael had no idea where they were—he’d never been anywhere like it in the VirtNet. Yet despite its oddness, he was relieved to leave the tunnel behind.
“Hey.” Bryson gestured with his head for Michael to look behind him.
Michael spun around to face the center of the disk. Nothing had been there when they’d arrived—he was sure of it—but now there was an old woman sitting in a rocking chair, the wood creaking as she slowly rocked back and forth. She was dressed in a shapeless length of gray wool. Michael thought she looked like a kind grandmother.
“Hello, my young friends,” she said in a hoarse croak. “Come on over and sit a spell.”
3
Michael just stared at the woman, and when neither of his friends moved, either, she stopped rocking in her chair and leaned toward them. “Gods above, you better get your rumps over here right quick or there’ll be hell to pay, I can tell you that much. Now!”
Startled by her abrupt change, Michael scrambled to his feet, Bryson and Sarah at his heels, and made his way to the center of the platform to join the woman.
“Sit,” she commanded. Her wrinkled lips were puckered as if she had no teeth, and her voice was scratchy.
They did as she said. Michael folded his legs beneath him and waited intently. Stuff like this was weird, he thought, but it wasn’t
that
weird—he’d spent half his life inside the Sleep, and he’d gotten used to strange characters like this appearing. Most of the time they were harmless, but still, he reminded himself, if they had made it to the Path, this lady might be linked to Kaine, and that spelled trouble.
The woman peered down at the three of them, her eyes the only thing about her that didn’t seem a hundred years old. They were sharp and bright, but the rest of her looked used up and washed out. Yellowed skin wrinkled and drooping from her frail bones. Wispy gray hair that was barely there. Two ancient hands lay folded in her lap, like gnarled tree roots twisted upon themselves.
“Where are we?” Sarah asked. “And who are you?”
The old woman’s eyes snapped into focus. “Who am I, you ask? Where are you? What’s this place, what is here, why is this, and how is that? Where’d we come from, and where will we be going? Questions tumble out of your mouth, girl. But answers hide in the mist of the clouds.”
The woman’s eyes wandered as she spoke, slowly drifting until she was gazing at something far in the distance. Michael glanced over at Bryson, who raised his eyebrows in a warning for Michael to keep
his
mouth shut for a change.
“You,” the old woman said. One of her hands lifted from her lap, shaking slightly, and a crooked finger pointed down at Michael. “Make one wisecrack and this will be your end.”
Her face had hardened into a scowl, and Michael knew right then that he didn’t ever want to cross this woman. For all he knew, she’d morph into a dragon and eat them. This was the Sleep after all.
“Did your brain process my words properly?” she asked, her skin wrinkling up even more around her eyes as they narrowed. “Do you
understand
me?”
Bryson elbowed him in the ribs. “Be good.”
“Yeah,” Michael answered her. “Loud and clear.”
The old woman nodded and leaned back in her chair, began rocking again. “You kids couldn’t even give an old woman a proper greetin’ before you started spewing questions.”