S.W. Tanpepper's GAMELAND, Season One Omnibus (159 page)

Very few people know about what happened to us, where we were and why and what happened. Which is strange. Then again, nobody's really paying all that much attention to us. It was a big deal when we disappeared, but quickly forgotten after we returned. There are even bigger problems to deal with right now, greater concerns. Not outbreaks or invasions, but rather problems with the Streams, with
Survivalist
, with… with the minutiae.

And that's the really frustrating thing of all. I look around and it seems like everyone and everything everywhere is normal, like all hell hasn't broken loose, or about to. The Streams still spoon feed us the same old propagandist bullshit—that is, when they're actually working, which is less reliably. Media still runs
Survivalist
, although most of it's older material. Nobody cares. As long as they get their daily dose of zombie beheadings they're happy. As long as the world doesn't suddenly tilt ninety degrees and go apeshit. That's all they care about.

But apeshit is what I'm waiting for. I can feel it coming.

Long Island is still there. Gameland is still there. Slumbering. About to wake up.

This morning I saw an episode of
Survivalist
and I thought I heard a dog barking in the background. I couldn't be sure. I plan on watching again on the evening Stream.

That kills me, too. It kills me that I've become obsessed with the show, watching it for hours on end. I can't get enough of it. Day and night, looking, searching. Always searching.

Not for Jake.

Or Ashley.

I know I won't see them.

But for Shinji.

And Cassie's parents.

And Cassie.

A family I never knew, yet somehow feel closer to than my own.

For Brother Walter and Sister Jane. And Grandpa.

But I don't see them. I never see any of them.

“
You're going back to school Monday,” Eric tells me through the door. “You've already missed a week.”

He waits for me to say something. I don't.

“
We need to maintain a sense of normalcy,” he tells me.

I laugh bitterly in reply. Nothing is normal. Nothing.

How can it be? We go about our lives, our routines, like nothing has changed, but we all know that nothing is the same. Ashley is gone. Jake is gone. Micah is in jail awaiting trial in a few days.

The house is as silent as a tomb.

Yet it roars like a crematorium furnace.

I sense Eric still standing out in the hallway, waiting, trying to think of something to say. Finally, he says the one thing I've been both dreading and yet waiting to hear:

“
They're arraigning him today, Jessie. You should be there.”

I stare at the ceiling and say nothing.

“
Did you hear me, Jess? I think you should go. You need closure.”

And that's what else kills me. Everyone holds their breath, afraid if they breathe too hard it'll knock down this delicate house of cards, content to pretend that all is right with the world. Everyone just wants to keep moving on. Not all of us can.

Everyone wishes the world won't tilt.

They don't know that it already has.

 

“It's driving me crazy,”
Reggie says. He finishes his Red Bull and crushes the can before tossing it toward the bin. It flies straight in. “I just wish they'd come and start interrogating us or something. All this pretending nothing happened is messing with my head.”

“
The police have a lot on their minds right now,” Kelly says. He scratches absently at a scab on his arm. He wears long sleeves and hides a bite on the back of his hand with a taped pad. The bite on his leg, the one that had gotten badly infected, is still bandaged, the bulky wrap showing through his pants when he sits. He still walks with a limp.

“
Yeah, underneath all this bullshit calm they're all freaking out. That's what worries me.”

Kelly gets up and moves out of the sunlight and into the shade beneath a scraggly maple tree. The tree looks half-dead, like it's not handling the heat very well. The leaves are droopy, their edges burnt. Several people pass us as we wait outside the Criminal Hearings Building, waiting for our turn to go in. Eric was supposed to meet us here ten minutes ago, but he's late. Looks like the hearings are running late, too.

“
I went by the Evan's place,” Reggie says.

Both Kelly and I snap our heads up. He hasn't said anything about Ashley since we got back. This is the first time he's brought her up, even if indirectly. We both notice that he doesn't use her name.

“
Yeah, I know,” he says. “Your brother told us not to go by there, but I couldn't stay away. I—I had to know.”

“
And?”

“
They're gone. The house is dark, the windows are dark. Nobody's home.”

“
They could be off visiting relatives.”

He shakes his head. “You know the feel of a house no one is living in. That's what this felt like. Besides their only other family was G-ma Junie.”

“
Still doesn't mean anything.”

“
That's right,” Kelly says, warningly. “It doesn't mean anything. Leave it alone. Don't push it.”

We don't speak for a few minutes. We watch the people passing us. They don't see us. They walk right by us and yet we're invisible to them. They focus on their Links and their little lives and two seconds after they've passed us, the whole memory of seeing us—if they even do—is completely gone.

“
I also went by Micah's old place.”

“
Jesus, Reggie! What are you trying to do?”

“
I told you I couldn't help it, brah.”

Kelly shakes his head, picks at his nails. The circles under his eyes are gone. Barely a week and they're already gone. If you were to just look at him you'd never be able to guess what had happened, what he'd been through. I guess it's the same for all of us.

But inside, we're all dying. In one form or another, we're dying.

“
Police tape everywhere.”

“
At Micah's?”

He nods. “And shiny black unmarked cars.”

“
Wonder who that could be.”

Reggie looks at me. “NCD?”

I chuff. “Hardly. They give them the old rusty crap vehicles.”

“
Yeah, well I've heard they're busy, too. I heard they arrested Smelly Deadhead yesterday.”

“
The Physiology and Behavior of Reanimates teacher?” I ask. “Mister Dedham? Why?”

“
I don't think it was NCD at Micah's,” Kelly says, interrupting. “Not in black cars.”

“
Then who?”

He shrugs.

The front door of the building opens and Eric appears, looking annoyed. “What are you doing out here?” he barks. “Come on! They're about ready to arraign Micah.”

We file in through the door. I'm the last to enter and he gives me a disappointed look.

“
You told us to wait outside for you.”

“
I said in the lobby.”

He shows his badge to the receptionist and she assigns us visitor badges. “Third floor,” she drones. “Elevator to the left. Turn left. Room three eighteen.”

We get on the lift and the thing lurches sickeningly before rising. Nobody speaks for the duration of the ride. When the doors open, Eric steps briskly through them and turns left. We follow quietly behind.

He stops just outside the door and instructs us not to speak. We all nod that we understand. Then we enter.

The room is frigid. And way too bright. And it smells strongly of disinfectant and sweat and moldy feet. It's just like the room we sat in to watch the hearing of the man the police caught with my Link in Seattle. The bailiff gives us a distrustful look. His sneer deepens when he sees the NCD badge on Eric's shoulder.

“
Anywhere special?” Reggie asks. There are six rows of folding metal chairs, most of them empty. The people already here are either asleep or quickly dropping off. I wonder if they come here so they can get out of the heat.

Eric frowns at Reggie and points to an empty row. Soon we're sitting.

Kelly scratches his scab. Reggie fidgets, asks where the bathroom is.

Eric glares at him and he shrugs and cracks his knuckles.

I just sit. And stare. At the wall. At the floor. At the window.

And wait.

For Micah.

They finally bring him in. We stand. Words are spoken. We sit. More words.

The trial for conspiracy to commit treason, for committing treason, will be on Wednesday.

They take him away. He doesn't look at us. Not once.

Then we go home.

 

“Media's down again,”
Eric says at dinner that night, checking his Link for the third time since we've sat down to eat. He sets the device next to his napkin and tries not to look worried, but forgetting his own rule about Links at the table tells me how distracted he is.

I push my soggy noodles from one side of the plate to the other. The sauce is separating, leaving behind a greasy pink congealing mess.

It's just the two of us tonight. It's always just the two of us now. Mom's off somewhere, most likely off getting drunk with some loser. Her chair has been conspicuously empty these past few days, and Eric has been conspicuously ignoring it. Just like we're both pretending there isn't a fourth chair at the end of the table and that it's empty, too. Grandpa may be gone, but his presence is still very much felt.

Mom hasn't been able to bring herself to talk to me since I got back. Four words is all she's said. Four words, and they were when we finally showed up at home and surprised her: “I'm glad you're okay.” Five, if you count the contraction as two.

She was wasted off her ass and could barely stand up, so I guess I should give her credit for at least recognizing me and remembering I was missing. But ever since then, she's been avoiding me, spending her nights away from home and showing up only long enough to grab a shower and a change of clothes before slipping out again. I stay in my own room. I have no desire to meet her latest boyfriend, or see her, or smell her.

The other night I heard her and Eric talking. I was surprised to hear him actually yelling at her, even more surprised to find myself getting defensive and wanting him to stop. But then, when I became aware of this, I just got even more pissed off at her. I almost went down to start yelling at her too, but a few minutes later the house was quiet. She was gone.

“
It was out this morning, too,” I say.

“
They're probably messing with some new security programs,” Eric tells me. Like he knows anything about computers and programming. “There's bound to be a few glitches.”

“
Yeah, but those glitches are getting more and more frequent, and they're lasting longer and longer. Arc's not fixing anything, they're covering their asses. You know that.”

“
They're writing new code, replacing their hardware.”

“
Yeah, I know, Eric. I got the update ping, too. But don't tell me you believe any of that. They're not fixing anything. Things are breaking down.”

“
Would they still be running Gameland if things were getting worse?” he asks. “Besides, even if you're right, they know what they're doing. And people need good news.”

“
It's all reruns, you know. They've been showing
Survivalist
reruns.”

“
I don't think so.”

I don't argue. “And I heard their security network is totally fried.”

“
Now that's just a rumor.”

“
Damn it, Eric. You are in such total denial. All you want to do is sit around the table and eat pasta and act like everything's normal!”

“
What else is there to do?”

“
What else is there to do?
” I ape. “What the hell does that even mean? Look at us. Look at you, sitting there, like everything's peachy keen. Talk about needing good news. You're totally in denial.”

I reach out a shaky hand and grab my glass of water and bring it to my lips and take a sip. I marvel at how easy it is to do that, at how much we take for granted something as simple as that. I sip and swallow and gently place the glass back down again, fitting it inside its watery ring. The ice inside tinkles quietly.

“
I'm not in denial.”

I shove Grandpa's chair with my foot so that it falls over backward. “We stood there and watched our own grandfather get shot in the back!”

“
He killed Halliwell!
” he shouts back. He quickly composes himself. “What do you want from me, Jess? You want me to feel sorry for the man? Well, I don't. And neither should you.”

“
I don't feel sorry for him. I'm
thrilled
it happened! And that's the problem, Eric. I'm happy and I don't fucking want to be!”

“
Jessie, don't…” He sighs. “Please. Don't yell.”

“
I'll yell if I want to! And swear. I'm pissed off. Pissed at Dad and Grandpa. Pissed at myself.”

“
This whole guilt by association thing has got to stop. You're not responsible for the Undead.”