“Stash,” he whispered. “Stash, do you copy?”
There was a hissing in his communicator, but no answer from Stash or anyone else. All he heard was static. He tapped his ear. “Stash? Freya? Charlie?”
There was no answer. Either something was blocking transmissions between the communicators or his was malfunctioning. Again he wondered if perhaps he was being tested. Maybe they’d turned off his communicator on purpose to see what he would do without it.
He worked his way deeper into the tunnel, becoming more and more certain that he had made a mistake. Stash had probably looked inside, seen no sign of the z, and left. Most likely he was looking for Josh right now and getting madder and madder. What a great first game, Josh thought miserably.
Then a loud creaking broke the silence, and a boat came rolling backward out of the rainy darkness toward Josh. He had to scramble sideways to avoid being hit, and just barely managed to get on the narrow walkway beside the track before the boat slid by him. It crashed into the stationary boat behind it, and Josh saw that it wasn’t empty. Stash was in it, and he was being pushed over the edge by a zombie.
The zombie was a clown. Its face was painted white, with blue stars around its eyes and a big red mouth that grinned stupidly. It was wearing a red and white polka-dot suit with giant pom-pom buttons down the front, and its bushy pink hair stuck out like a cloud around its head. It had its hands around Stash’s throat, and its face was hanging over his. Stash struggled, but he couldn’t scream because he was being choked. Instead he writhed like a bug stuck on the end of a pin.
Josh readied his flamethrower but quickly realized there was no way he could use it without hitting Stash. Thinking quickly, he dropped the weapon on the walkway and rushed the boat. Jumping into it, he grabbed the zombie around the chest and wrenched it off Stash. The z hissed angrily and clawed at Josh’s hands.
“Stash! Run!” Josh yelled.
Josh twisted to the side, still clutching the clown, and fell out of the boat. The zombie hit the floor first, with Josh on top of it. Scurrying back, Josh grabbed the barrel of the flamethrower and swung it up to firing position. He found the trigger and pulled, and the z burst into flame. To Josh’s surprise, the zombie rolled over and over, trying to put the fire out. He’d never seen a meatbag do that before. Usually they just beat at the flames uselessly. This one seemed to be trying to save itself. But it was doomed.
Having taken care of the zombie, Josh rushed to the boat to make sure Stash was all right. He was sitting up, but he was holding his hand to his shoulder. “The damn thing bit me,” he said, wincing in pain.
Bit? Josh thought. Since when can animatronic zombies actually bite? Before he could say anything, several figures emerged from the tunnel behind him. He whirled around, his flamethrower aimed at chest level.
“Weapon down!” he heard Scrawl shout.
Josh lowered the flamethrower. Scrawl jumped into the boat and took a look at Stash. Behind him, Seamus and Finnegan exchanged glances.
“I’m okay,” Stash said weakly.
“You’re bit,” Scrawl said. “It’s game over. You know the rules.”
Stash began swearing, but he didn’t argue. Scrawl turned to Josh. “That was a big risk you took,” he said. “That z could easily have gotten you too.”
Josh couldn’t decide whether Scrawl was angry or not. He shrugged. “Stash needed help,” he said.
Scrawl looked back at the injured player. “Yeah,” he said. “He needs help.”
“What happens now?” Josh asked. “Do we keep playing?”
“You do,” Scrawl said. “We’ll get Stash out of here. You meet up with the rest of the team. They’re at the roller coaster. You know where it is?”
Josh nodded. “You’re sure you don’t need help with him?”
Scrawl shook his head. “We’re good,” he said. “You go. And hey, congrats on your first kill.”
In all the commotion, Josh had forgotten about the zombie. He looked over at the smoking mess on the floor. “Thanks,” he said.
12
Peering into the terrarium on Charlie’s desk, Josh watched as the mechaspider spun its web. Its delicate body moved from side to side as the silk played out from its spinnerets. The mechaspider’s intricately jointed legs moved in a slow ballet as the creature made its way around its web, spiraling out from the center and connecting to the glass walls of its enclosure.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” Charlie said. “It’s a golden orb weaver.”
“It’s really pretty,” Josh agreed. The spider’s oblong body shimmered in browns and golds, while its long legs were banded in black. A pattern of small white dots speckled its carapace.
“If it were real, I would feed it moths and bees,” Charlie said.
“Have you ever seen a real one?” Josh asked her.
Charlie shook her head. “Biologists are supposedly growing them in labs from frozen eggs, but it will be a long time before most of us see real ones.” She sighed. “Yet one more thing our ancestors ruined.”
“My parents won’t let us have any mechapets,” Josh said. “My mother is freaked out by them.”
Charlie laughed. “But doesn’t she make imaginary animals real?” she said.
Josh laughed too. “I know. It’s weird, right? But she says that at least those are real animals.”
“I’m saving up for a tarantula,” Charlie told him. “I know exactly which one I want. Avicularia avicularia, the Guyana pinktoe.”
“Pinktoe?” said Josh. “That doesn’t sound very spidery.”
Charlie shook her head. “You should see them,” she said. “They’re all black except for the ends of their feet, which are pink. They live in trees and never touch the ground. That’s what I like about them. They’re always looking down on the world.” She smiled. “I have almost enough to get one,” she said. “Two more kills and it’s mine.”
Josh walked away from the spider terrarium and stood at one of the windows, looking out at the street. It was Sunday afternoon. This time he’d told his parents he was going out to take pictures for a photography-class project. He felt bad about lying to them again—particularly when they’d told him to have a good time—but he’d really needed to talk to Charlie.
“How’s Stash doing?” he asked. It was still raining. A woman was walking by, holding the hand of a small child in a red raincoat. The woman was trying to cover them both with an umbrella, but the child wanted to walk in the rain and was pulling on the woman’s arm and laughing.
“I guess he’s fine,” Charlie answered. “Clatter was fixing him up.”
“Do people get bit often?”
“Not often,” said Charlie. “But sometimes.”
“Have you?” Josh asked her.
Charlie shook her head. “No,” she said. “And I don’t want to. The meatbags may not be real, but they can do some damage.”
Josh had been thinking about what had happened, and it bothered him a little bit that Clatter’s cyber-zombies could really hurt the players. Torching the meatbags was one thing. They couldn’t feel pain. But Josh and the other players could, and putting them in danger like that seemed… strange. “Don’t you worry about getting hurt?”
“It’s all part of the game,” said Charlie. “The wagerers like it to be realistic.”
That made sense to Josh. After all, they were paying big money. The more real the game seemed, the more interested they would be. And ultimately he benefited. He thought about the money sitting in the box in his closet. He’d been shocked at how much Clatter had given him at the end of the game. It was more money than he’d ever had.