Deadwave Read online

  I strain my eyes forward, my body so focused on successfully completing its next step that I have completely blocked out the world in front of me. Even with us both slowing down into a fast jog, my legs still burn, and the blackness that envelops the landscape makes it nearly impossible to see anything but the jungle of corn surrounding us.

  “Oh crap, yeah, I do.” My eyes finally connect with the brown metal structure that appears to be an abandoned stable. Bales of hay are messily strewn across the yellow, grassy field outside of it. I can now finally break free from this disaster of a corn field and actually try and win this game.

  “Eventually, everyone in the game is gonna find this place. If we can get a good vantage point and stock up on supplies, we should be in a good position to kill anyone who comes through.” She takes a deep breath, her words becoming airy as we both near a stop at the edge of the cornfield.

  I want to shout out an emphatic response to her, letting her know how much I agree with her. But for some reason, I don’t have it in me to tell her how amazing her idea is, and how she might be the one who gets us out of this mess alive.

  Instead of telling the truth of how I feel, I hold on to my pride, and respond with a level tone. “Yeah. I like that plan. Let’s go for it.”

  So we do.

  Or more accurately, we stop to catch our breath for a few moments, and then at the height of the echoes of the gunfire in the distance, we use them as a distraction to sprint across the open field and make our way to the empty stables.

  Before we even enter the stables, I scan the perimeter, searching for any weapons or supplies I can dart to before Riva gets her hands on them.

  “They are gonna see this place any second.” Riva’s voice echoes off the ceiling of the stable as we run inside through the wooden front doors dangling from their hinges. The barn is long, containing about a dozen stables on either side with rotten wooden dividers between each hay-covered pen, and windows that allow the horses to see outside of the large metal box they are trapped in and out onto the surrounding plains. Stained wooden beams run across the ceiling twenty feet above our heads, with lights that flicker on and off dangling from them. At the back of the barn is what appears to be an office or storage closet of some kind that has a lower ceiling than the rest of the barn and a rusted metal door. There must be weapons, armor, or at least something of value in there.

  “Let’s try and get up to the roof. That will give us the best vantage point.” After having been run over by a horse minutes ago, my mind is back into its tactical mode—killer mode.

  “How do you suppose we do that?”

  “Look,” I say, pointing up to one of two gaping holes in the metal ceiling that my eyes connected with during my scan of the room. One thing I have always been good at is observing the world around me and reacting to it before other people even realize what is happening. “As long as we can climb up onto one of the beams and avoid the sharp metal at the edges of that hole, we should be able to get up there.”

  “You’re a genius.” She smiles, and somehow seeing her smile makes me happy. Oh no, don’t go there, remember you’re gonna have to kill her soon.

  “Well, let’s see if this works before we say that.” I walk away from her in long strides, wasting no time to try and see what I can find. “I’ll search the area for ammo and stuff. You’re welcome to help. Seems like we will need as much as we can get.”

  She nods. “Ten four.”

  I let her meander into one of the stables, likely seeing something amidst the mounds of hay, and the moment she does, I run to the back closet. My ears pick up on the high-pitched wheezing of some sort of creature. Here we go again.

  I don’t even turn around to look at whatever zombie animal emerged from one of the stables. Instead, I open the door and slam it closed, letting it serve as the perfect distraction for Riva.

  It is a large storage closet of some sort, with the only light protruding from a single light bulb at the center of the ceiling. Littering the floor is an array of supplies, including several smoke grenades, a machine gun, ammo, and spiked baseball bat. I shove all the supplies in my drawstring bag, not even hesitating when a round of bullets fire outside the door.

  Yes. A surge of adrenaline propels me out of the room even faster than I had dashed in. I hold my machine gun across my body, the rest of my supplies taking up the majority of my bag. This is going to work. I am going to win.

  “Wow, thanks so much for your help.” Riva stands above the body of the now dead zombie horse. Its right leg had decayed so that its white thigh bone was visible, and its face has been rendered unrecognizable from her gunfire.

  “Aye, I had business to take care of.” I hold the machine gun in the air, her hand instinctively moving to her own pistol the second I hold it up.

  “No, we have business to take care of.” She wastes no time to take action. For a moment, I think she is going to shoot me right then and there, easily eliminating another enemy on her path to victory. Instead, she walks past me to throw her gun and bag of supplies on top of the storage closet roof.

  “Here, need my—”

  “I don’t need your help.” She cuts me off before I can even finish. “I know what I’m doing.”

  I try to come up with a smart response as she steps on the doorknob and uses it to propel her way onto the concrete roof of the storage closet, but I decide against it. There are thousands of people who can hear our conversation right now. Probably even millions streaming this all over the world. I have to watch myself, especially with someone with such a rabid legion of fans as Riva.

  I throw my stuff on top of the storage closet, following her exact path to pull myself up onto the wooden beam that is within jumping reach of the top of the closet. Now all we have to do is manage to balance on the wooden beam across the middle of the barn to the opening in the roof, throw our stuff through that hole, and then use one of the diagonal beams as leverage to grab on to the roof and pull our own bodies up.

  “C’mon,” Riva taunts me as I stand there, trying to center my body weight. She moves across the beam, easily making it to the middle of the barn and throwing her stuff onto the roof in a matter of seconds.

  “Right behind you,” I call out. I try to ignore the fact that I am annoyed, since she is the one heading up the show and objectively doing better than me. I also try to ignore the fact that I’m even a bit embarrassed, only because she is a girl.

  I almost face-plant on the beam, my body weight teetering a bit too far forward, but I manage to regain my balance. If I fell, that would have been bad. I imagine the thousands of people that would laugh at me and the dozens of replays that I would have to watch of that moment over and over again.

  They will all get to watch me win.

  That one driven thought causes a surge of confidence to carry my body the rest of the way across the beam. I am now suspended fifteen feet above the ground, the echoes of the little posse that Maken formed and who pursued us through the corn field growing closer by the second.

  I chuck my machine gun and bag full of smoke grenades and a spikey baseball bat sticking out of it up to Riva, who already managed to force her way up to the roof in a move that is less acrobatic and more a show of her raw physical strength.

  “We have a perfect shot from up here!” She jumps with excitement, which is odd given we are trying to not die at the moment. I can’t ever allow myself to be excited about anything in a game of Deadwave, anything in life, unless I know I am going to win. Nothing else matters.

  “Great,” I grunt pathetically, the word sputtering off my lips as I scale the slanted beam and, once within reach, jump to grab the piece of charred metal that lines the hole in the roof.

  I exhale, hoping that by exerting every muscle fiber in my upper body, I will somehow be able to successfully muscle my way up there.

  “Looks like you need some help.” Riva smirks as she kneels, leaning her hand over the five-foot-wide hole to help my struggling body up. I relu
ctantly grab on to her wrist, allowing her to pull me up to the top of the roof, even though it practically kills my ego.

  A blast of wind hits my face upon exiting the disco-like lighting of the forgotten barn. I scramble to snatch my machine gun and bag before Riva even touches them. I don’t care how frantic I look; it’s no secret that I want to kill her. The only issue is she wants to kill me too.

  “Get ready to start firing.” Her voice echoes off the green, rusted metal roof of the barn.

  “Oh, don’t you worry. I’m ready.”

  The second the words leave my mouth, my eyes connect with the large plume of smoke eating away at the night sky. I run forward, careful not to trip as I run down the sloped gradient to try and get into a good firing position. The closer and closer I step to the gutter that marks the edge of the roof and a twenty-foot fall down, the more the fire comes into view.

  Massive swathes of the corn field are set ablaze, the flames spreading from a couple hundred yards to an entire square mile. The ash from the fire infects the air, causing my throat to feel dry and lungs heavy.

  It only takes me a second to figure out who set the fire: Maken. And it only takes me another second to notice him using his flamethrower to set even more fire. Yet this time, he is setting the barn ablaze.

  “Dammit.” Riva comes up right behind me, her own mind realizing the same thing I did.

  “We have to kill them all now and get out of here.” I speak softly so that only Riva can hear me. I raise the machine gun, getting ready to do my best to accurately unload an entire magazine of ammo on them from a few dozen feet away. They have not seen us yet, and it would be best to end them all before they do.

  I glance at the number of players still alive in the bottom left of my helmet. Only five left. This is it.

  “Okay.” Riva nods, the building already scorched in flames within seconds of being blasted with a flamethrower. “Fire on three. One, two, three.”

  Pandemonium unleashes in that instant. I fire the entire magazine upon them before they even have the chance to raise their guns. One of their bodies drops in the initial fire, but there is no chance any of them are dead yet. They all likely have health aids on them and good health to begin with—this won’t be easy.

  I reload another clip of bullets, the deafening roar of my gun and Riva’s firing in succession sending a jolt of energy throughout my body. The fire in the corn field seems to metastasize at an unfathomable rate. Just as the Deadwave players stationed at the floor of the barn return fire back at Riva and me, flames from the cornfield encircle the barn.

  Two bullets connect with me, sending my health down to 300 points.

  “I think we got one of them,” Riva calls out.

  “We better have. We don’t have too much longer.”

  The fire on the building itself is now beginning to spread throughout the outside walls, and inevitably to the wooden beams holding up the structure on the inside. Meanwhile, Riva and I keep firing away, both our bodies lying next to each other on the roof to give us the perfect angle to fire down upon them, with a nice cover from their bullets.

  The time is now.

  I know that I need to act fast, before Riva realizes she can easily kill me and the one person down there that is still alive. Before this place burns down.

  I open up my bag, Riva barely even noticing as she lies down on the roof, continuing to fire at the boys below. I use her distraction as the perfect opportunity. I throw one of the smoke grenades against the ground a few feet away from us.

  I look at the screen. There are only two of us left now, Maken, or whichever one of his group that had survived last, likely being swallowed by the flames that have enveloped the entire corn field and the grass surrounding the barn. The only place the flames aren’t yet burning away is the metal roof, but in only a matter of seconds, the whole barn will inevitably topple down too.

  I have to kill Riva to win.

  I have to survive longer than her.

  I gulp, part of me feeling like such an asshole, but the other part of me feeling like the king of the world. I lift up the spiked baseball bat, and as Riva directs her steady stream of bullets towards me, I lunge forward, using the smoke as the perfect cover for my attack.

  I swing the bat right into her neck as two of her bullets connect with my chest. My health is now at 100 points and draining fast from my profusely bleeding wounds. A sharp pain rockets through my body, but I don’t let it stop me from using the baseball bat to drive the nails deeper into her body.

  Then I shove her off.

  Her body hits the ground below with a dull thud. I hear her scream, not out of pain, but out of anger. The flames singe her skin off instantly and swallow her avatar into the deep orange flames.

  My health trickles down to 50 points as blood drips from my chest onto the roof.

  The smoke around me dissipates as her body disappears.

  I won.

  Chapter 11

  The best feeling in the world is winning.

  I stand corrected, the best feeling in the world is winning and having thousands of people cheer you on for your victory. Today, that feeling is mine. Victory is mine.

  I rip off my helmet as the simple white text congratulates me for winning. They didn’t need to add any special in-game graphics to make me feel good about my victory; the six-figure check they are about to hand me will serve that purpose fine.

  I for once allow myself to enjoy the moment.

  My eyes are taking in the bright neon lights that are flashing all throughout the auditorium, and my ears absorbing every cheer, scream, and clap from the crowd.

  This is it. This is the feeling I live for. The feeling that makes it all worth it. The one feeling that makes me feel like enough for a moment, until it fades.

  I pump my fist in the air as I step out of the gaming portal. All the other players besides me and Riva had exited the stage, but I refuse to look at her. I refuse to register the chorus of boos that undercut the deafening yells from the crowd.

  All I need to focus on is that I won. That I get to live. I’ll figure everything else out later.

  Riva advances across the stage, and it becomes apparent that she is walking towards me. She’s gonna still shake my hand even after what I did? Wow. I haven’t won since the beginning of the season (although I have placed well in most tournaments), so the customary handshake between the victor and loser isn’t even close to the first thing on my mind.

  But now I have Riva, who looks gorgeous with her hair tied up in a bun, and her form-fitting bodysuit from her own brand called Boundless, walking straight towards me, which is impossible to ignore. I didn’t want to smile, but I can’t hide my happiness, and whether it is fake or not, she is smiling back at me.

  “That was really fun.” She hugs me, speaking right into my ear so I can hear her. Yes, she hugged me. Now, I guess I’m not that special, because she always hugs everyone after she wins or loses, but still I love hugs, and a hug from her certainly is a bonus. Except I am sweaty and likely smelly, which puts a literal dampen on our hug, but part of me still feels excited at hugging her. The other part of me wants much more than a hug.

  “Yeah it was, you did great.” I let my arms fall back to my sides, much to the disappointment of the crowd, who went into a frenzy the moment we began to hug. “Thanks so much for saving me. I—”

  “Don’t worry about it.” She already knows what I am about to say from the look on my face. “I saved you because I had to make sure that I could beat Maken. I can’t afford to have him ahead of me in the rankings. And with the ending, you’re all good.” She steps away from me, her tone so soft and caring that I almost regret not letting her win in the first place. “I know you needed that win, it’s no worries.”

  At that, she steps away, waving to the crowd one last time as she walks off the stage, and I stay on for an extra moment, allowing the camera to do a close-up of my sweaty self. Most of the booing from the crowd subsides, and the light show
lights up the blackness in the auditorium one final time. I begin my own walk off stage seconds later, and take one last final breath as my eyes connect with the same peculiar men sitting in the front row.

  Except this time, they are backstage, and they are waiting for me.

  “Mr. Bennett, well done.” One of the men pats me on my back, his cold hand sending a chill through my veins as I step backstage. My instinct would normally have been to turn and punch the creepy dude for touching me, but there is something about the hardened look in his eyes and bald head that makes me feel like my only option is ignoring it. It must be my mind playing tricks on me. There is no way that it is them.

  One woman and man, both around my age, grab the helmet from my hands and escort me away from the three men who stand at the opening of the stage dressed in suits, their stares still drilling into my back as I walk away.

  “You did great!” The woman smiles at me, her voice ringing in my ears in a thick British accent. She has thin blonde hair, pale skin, and is taller than me, and probably stronger than me too.

  “DUDEEE.” Jake appears out of nowhere before I respond. He has his arms outstretched, ready to hug me before I can even tell him thanks for congratulating me. And yes, in the language of Jake, a heavily emphasized “dude” followed by a smile is one of the highest forms of approval.

  I nod at both the stage technicians, hoping that the soft look in my eyes can communicate my thanks for their work. Many of the ticket attendees and stage technicians work on a volunteer basis, the organizers of the tournament so hell-bent on funneling advertising and ticket revenue to their own selves that they are willing to exploit their fans to any length possible.

  “That was insane.” He is out of breath—in fact, there are even visible sweat stains beneath his arms. He probably had a bet on me to win. I grin. One of these days he’s gonna lose all his money on accident. “The zombie horse. The fire. Riva! One of the best games ever.”

  “Okay, okay.” I motion for him to quiet down as we both make our way over to my dressing room. His mind is clearly moving at a million miles per hour, and likely his heart is beating at a similar pace too.