Incarceration

Chapter Nineteen

A guard peers in at me through the window, her eyes blazing with a mix of nervous excitement. She motions to the food flap and obediently I get up from where I lie to be handcuffed. She opens the door and grabs me briskly by the shoulders, steering me down the hall.

Tentatively I ask, "Where are we going?" afraid to hear the answer.

"Game room," she grunts.

"No, no," I shake my head. She must be making a mistake. "I'm injured. You have the wrong prisoner."

"You've been getting around fine the past couple of weeks. We've been watching you."

"I still have staples in me," I say. "Lift up my shirt. You'll see."

She ignores me.

"Will I still have my job in game control?" I ask.

To my dismay, she shakes her head.

No, no, no, I'm thinking frantically. I need more time in the control room. The computer code. It's the key to . . . something. I need more time.

The delay before a game begins is always the worst part of the game itself. Inside the dark room, my heart begins to beat faster and I hear it thumping in my ears and feel it throbbing in my chest. Sweat forms on my brow and my eyes begin to adjust to the night. The Game Master box illuminates on the wall. My eyes cling to it, dreading to see who will come in. A caged animal, awaiting its hunter.

A man enters the player box, and I am relieved to see him in a guard's uniform. He is one of my players. My normal player. I'm okay. I draw myself up to full height and wait for the pixels of light to fall from the ceiling and begin the game. I watch as the man takes his seat and moves in toward the computer. He presses a button, triggering the Sim.

This time I am in a lush, circular field surrounded by trees. The wild grass grows to my ankles in various shades of green, dappled with flowers possessing the vibrant colors of the rainbow springing up from the sea of grass. The sky above is perfectly blue, dotted by thick white clouds that are flawlessly placed around the warm, welcoming sun. Maybe if I'm hurt enough in this game, I'll be able to return to the control room, I desperately hope.

I don't have much time to take in the beauty before I am running again. Out of practice, I grow tired quickly. My lungs burn with fire. I run until my limbs and lungs finally go numb. I feel light-headed as I run from the meadow and through the forests, onward and onward through mountain ranges and villages. I soon pass the state of blissful numbness and am back to the unbearable pain that quickly consumes me, my body's way of begging me to stop.

I have been running for three hours nonstop when my player seems to get bored. I have encountered no bears or mountain lions.

For the first time ever, I am disappointed when the logout screen appears and I am left unharmed. To escape from the game—to see Wyatt or go back to the control room—I would need to be hurt. Too hurt to run, too hurt to play.

The guards drag me out of the game room and into the hallway. My head is bent and my eyes shut but a familiar scent greets me, a weird but pleasant blend of fire and nutmeg. I look up to see Grayson's dark hair to my right.

Grayson! Is Wyatt okay? I need to talk to you, my mind races. Just a short conversation. That's all I need.