23
The next morning, we pack the water caterpillars we need, and bury the rest under a tree in the forest. Leo marks the tree with a letter D using his knife. He says D stands for Decca, which is the number ten in Greek.
“Are you saying my name is a number in some old language?” I raise an eyebrow.
“Not exactly. The number is written as Deka in Greek, pronounced as Theka, but the resemblance is very close.”
When I ask him who those Greek people really are, he says, “Interesting people with too many gods.”
“Ah,” I muse. “You mean like the Burning Man?” I am just teasing.
“Burning Man isn’t a God,” he sighs. “He is just a man who…got burned.”
“Call me D from now on,” I say to Leo, swooshing my sword in the air, and posing like a warrior. Sleep has put me in a great mood, I guess.
Leo shakes his head. Sometimes, he looks insulted by my existence.
“Goooood morning, Faya!” Timmy cheers in our iAms. He is posing theatrically with arms outstretched, and plastering that devilish look on his face. “With four million viewers yesterday, this was the best opening day in ten years!” he announces proudly.
Right now, only one million viewers are watching. People need to wake up, eat breakfast, wash their hands, check their iAms, and then go watch some kids fighting for their lives. Life is so hard for them. Duh.
We gather and sit by the edge of the forest, closer to the main street, waiting for today’s game. Leo looks irritated, pointing his rifle at Timmy on the big screen.
“Yesterday in the woods,” Timmy says to the camera, “the Monsters awarded themselves numbers.” Wait. How did he know about the numbers? We shot all cameras, and tuned off the iAms. “Numbers like ours,” Timmy starts mocking us. The audience is making jokes about us wanting to be cool like them. “You know like seven, eight, and nine.” Timmy counts on his fingers.
“Booooooo.” The audience is insulted. How dare we Monsters call ourselves by numbers?
“They have even given one of them the number ten.” Timmy cries bubble tears. They look like they’re causing him great pain as they come out of his eyes. The tears are rolling down his cheek, then they float in thin air, turning into shampoo-like bubbles. “A ten,” he repeats dramatically. He sounds torn apart by the appalling news, slamming two fists against the floor, bending his body dramatically. “Aahhhhhh!” It amazes me why the audience is offended by our actions. They are just numbers.
Leo is signaling for us to move toward the main street. Then he whispers to us, saying we need to go out into the open, in case something crazy happens after Timmy’s speech. Although we don’t know who sold us out yet, Leo is scanning everyone with sharp eyes. I grit my teeth, feeling his anger. When he figures out who sold us out, he is going to do something crazy. Who is it? The only one Leo doesn’t look sharply at is me. I am surprised he doesn’t consider me among the suspects.
Timmy dries his tears and sips green tea in the garden with legs crossed. He calms the audience down. Within two minutes of nonsense and crying, we have one million three hundred thousand viewers watching us. People surely love crap. “But it’s okay,” says Timmy. “Their misbehaving gave me an idea. Something that has never been done before in the Monster Show. It’ll be such an entertaining game today.”
I imagine the next game will be extra brutal. It’s going to be punishment again. We are standing at the edge of the forest, waiting for instructions. Wherever I go, I remind myself to look for a clue for the Rabbit Hole, or the girl I saw yesterday. Where could she be? What is the Rabbit Hole? Is it a real hole? A portal? A vehicle? An opening hidden behind something? Is it a hole we have to dig in the earth for? Will I find Woo beyond it?
Timmy gives the audience time to text each other on their iAms, and spread the word about today’s “supertastic show.” Pepper is amusing herself, checking out Monsterpedia.com. She says we’ve become famous, our names shining like stars on the website.
“Today, the name of the game is…” Timmy whispers to the audience, sticking out his fat and bubbly lips. “Choices and Priorities.” He backs away from the camera. “I know, I know. How genius of me. Life is all about choices and priorities, so let’s see if our Monsters have got what it takes to choose and prioritize.”
The counter shows two million viewers.
“Monsterapocalypsers!” Timmy is knocking on the microphone. “Pay attention, please. We would like you to walk toward the Monorail station. In the meantime, I have secrets to share with the audience.”
Suddenly, we lose connection with the outer world as our iAms stop broadcasting.
I feel a soft shudder go through my body. The feeling of being disconnected is unpleasant, as if I am grounded for the weekend with no internet or iAm, locked up in a dark cellar.
“How can they just disconnect us?” One skater boy freaks out, rubbing his arms with his hands as if he is cold. The sun is scorching.
“Wow,” says Vern. “This is like the game Zombocalypse 8, where you play the last teen on Earth.”
“They can do whatever they want,” Pepper answers the skater, ignoring Vern. She steps ahead of us on the asphalt of the main street. This is where we survived the speed exploding buses yesterday. It’s all cleaned up now. The street looks empty, abandoned, and creepy. I remember hearing the military choppers yesterday, sent to clean up. None of us dared to approach. They have the right to shoot us if we do. “Here we are,” shouts Pepper with open arms, looking at a flying camera above. “What are you waiting for?”
“I have a bad feeling about this,” says Bellona. “It feels like a city of the dead.”
“It is,” I say, looking at the sun shining in the sky. On any other day, this would have been beautiful.
There is a silly sign on the left that says, “It’s a Nice Day to Die.” I believe it’s a part of the Summit’s mockery. Cautiously, we follow Pepper, crossing the main street. We should be looking for the Monorail station, but we’re distracted by the loneliness the situation imposes upon us. Walking the vast, spacious streets on our own makes us feel lost, as if we’re the last bunch of friends left on Earth. Too many choices, too many directions. None of them feel safe.
Choices and priorities.
To my right, I see the Breathing Dome, clean and shiny, as if none of us fought for our lives inside. To the left, the street leads to the ramp where the journey first started.
Climbing the ramp up is impossible. It’s too steep, twenty feet high, and there is a fence above it. I remember someone getting electrocuted, trying to escape in a previous games. Behind the fence, there are soldiers waiting for us with a license to kill. That’s why the only way out of the Playa is the Rabbit Hole. If I understand correctly, the Rabbit Hole is a way to escape Faya, not get back inside. I am assuming it leads to the Wastelands.
There are buildings that look like shopping malls in front of us. Entrances are locked, and windows are blackened. I wonder if there is someone inside, watching us.
We see the Monorail in front of the buildings, arriving from beyond the Breathing Dome on the right. It’s orange with black, red, and yellow waves painted on it, drawn like horizontal flames. It draws to a halt. Where is the station to get on? The station should have some kind of an elevator to lift us up to it. We keep on walking, watching ourselves on the screen, which adds to the scare.
“Face your fear,” says Bellona, addressing the rest of us. “Don’t focus on escaping it. Look it in the eye. Take a deep breath. Countdown from five. That’s how long you allow it to take hold of you. Then release. Breathe out. Free yourself from it, and override it.” Even though her words sound clichéd, they work just fine.
The cameras stop televising. We can’t see ourselves in the screens anymore. We are locked out, and my heart sinks deeper. Are they doing this to scare us? Well, it works.
I count.
Five.
I feel like I’m being watched, but I don’t know by whom or from where.
Four.
I don’t think I can survive this.
Three.
I feel abandoned, away from home.
Two.
A stranger in a strange land.
One.
I am afraid one test, one judgment, one action, or one choice will shape the rest of my life. I think this is what they call growing up.
I exhale.
It’s working. Now that I have filled my mind with my fears, I remind myself that I am alive. I am here. I have survived so far, and there’s no point in letting the fear take hold of me. My mind is clear.
“Here it is.” I point at an elevator. Bellona is right behind me. Pepper must have slowed down, or bailed on leading the way. I find myself the first in line.
We take the elevator and arrive at a metal ledge about five stories high, leading to the Monorail’s door. It opens automatically.
We get in.
The Monorail’s electric double-doors slide closed behind us. The ride is on. The train takes a slight bend upward and accelerates. The Monorail works on its own. No one is driving. Spooky.
The Playa looks safer from this high. I can’t imagine how vast it is. I’m unable to see the real world from here. It is huge. I see a cowboy-themed neighborhood, which looks like a Western movie set. Right after the second curve in the rail, we see a vast desert with never-ending white sands that turn into canyons after a while. The sunrays fall through the Monorail and onto our faces. I remind myself that it’s a beautiful day. Stay positive.
The Monorail stops over what looks like an artificial lake. The doors open, and Leo is looking anxious. Although the game itself hasn’t begun yet, we are prepared for the worst.
Nothing happens. The doors close again. A female voice announces the next station: CARNIVORE.
My heart pounds again. This is where the last game will take place, if we ever survive.
“As if we will make it this far.” Pepper’s pessimistic voice is annoying.
The Monorail doesn’t stop at Carnivore, but we can see it from above. It’s scary. It’s a huge coliseum, a large theatre for open-air sports and entertainment. It’s oval, and has tiers of seats rising from the central open arena, where the deadly games are held. The Summit calls it the Monsterium. What’s crazy about the Monsterium is that it’s covered in white sand. All of it. The arena is like a huge waving carpet of white sands and dunes. The seats and the structures are all white. There’s no way a contestant can hide in it, unless he is as white as the sands. The rule of the games is to send the contestant wearing red out into the fields, while somewhere, hidden beyond all of that white, awaits Carnivore, a white tiger with one eye. This is where I believe Woo fooled everyone, letting them think he was killed by the paws of Carnivore. Then again, maybe he didn't. Maybe he died, and I'm just a hapless fool chasing a mirage.
The female voice announces the next station: the Rabbit Hole.
I exchange alarmed gazes with Leo and Bellona. It’s a weird coincidence. It doesn’t seem right. It could not have been that Timmy overheard us yesterday.
But of course, I remind myself that we have a traitor among us. It might be that Timmy doesn’t know what the Rabbit Hole is — or where it is. He just got the name from the traitor. He is only fooling with us, so we turn against each other.
The Monorail speeds up, then it stops, almost ten stories above the ground. I don’t feel like looking down now. In front of us, we see a dark tunnel that looks like a huge hole in the air.
And…
We are back to life. Connected. Screens, iAms, and Timmy’s voice are back online.
“Welcome back, Monsters,” says Timmy, now dressed casually, sitting on a couch, playing a video game, pushing buttons with his hands. “Or should I say, welcome back, Timmy.” He points at himself. The audience applauds. What did he tell them while we were offline? “Hey, Roger This. I beat your top score.” Timmy presses a button on his joystick, making fun of Vern, letting us know that he overheard every word yesterday.
Two million seven hundred thousand viewers are watching.
“I just had a little chat with the audience. Believe me. This is going to be fuuuuuuuuun.” He leans back on the couch, his legs pedaling in the air.
Timmy is holding his gaming device in his hand. He looks sharply into the screen, at us, his thumb caressing a button. “Welcum to ze Rabit Hawl.” He imitates a German accent. “Isn’t zis wut you arre looking vor?”
Leo is making a strange low noise, like an engine about to explode, holding tight to the metal edge of his seat. I think Leo’s ancestors might be German or something. He looks offended. “Traitor,” Leo grunts.
There is no time to deal with that. Someone sold us out to Timmy. Why? For what price? Is it Orin? Vern? A skater boy? Is it Pepper?
It couldn't be Bellona, could it?
“I had a little conversation with one of you yesterday while you were asleep,” Timmy is talking straight to us. “We made a deal. He or she told me about your conversation, and I gave them something in return.”
“Who is it?” demands Pepper. It’s not like her, with her negative attitude, to be curious.
“Later, Monsters,” says Timmy. “Now I welcome you to the Rabbit Hole. Not the one you’re looking for, but the one I made for you. Hold on tight. Once you finish the ride into the Rabbit Hole and reach the other side, the game instructions will be given in real-time, while you are playing.”
“This can’t be,” Bellona protests. “You are supposed to tell us the rules of the game before we start playing. This is unfair.”
“Shoulda. Woulda. Coulda,” says Timmy. “Stop whining. Here is my first hint: It is all about choices. The faster you reach a decision, the longer you stay alive. And the word to keep in mind is: ADAPT.”
“Five,” Leo says aloud.
“Four,” Bellona follows.
“Haha.” Timmy rubs his chin. “Take in the fear. You Monsters and your mind games.”
“Three,” I say, holding tighter to my seat.
“Two,” one of the skaters joins in.
“Push the damn button!” Pepper screams at Timmy. I guess that is her way of saying, “One.”