He was right on her heels. He reached back and grabbed the handle, started to pull the door closed behind him. It was five or six inches from slamming shut when something ripped the whole thing from his grasp, tearing the door from its hinges.
He bolted forward just as Bryson got halfway up the stairs.
“Go! Go! Go!” Michael yelled.
Then something was on his right shoulder. Heavy and sharp. It slammed him to the floor, knocked the air out of his lungs. Gasping for breath, he twisted onto his back, kicked and punched at the huge thing pinning him to the ground. Two yellow lights stared down at him, but everything else was darkness and shadow, seeming to alternate in form between solid and vapor. Michael heard footsteps on the stairs, heard Sarah call his name. Other dark shadows leaped over the one attacking Michael, barking their awful noises. Human screams followed almost immediately. It was an ambush.
The KillSim started battering Michael with four massive fists, as if it had changed its shape from canine to human. For a brief moment Michael pictured his real body back in the Coffin, thrashing as the different elements of AirPuffs and LiquiGels and NerveWire made him feel every last pounding of the creature. It was his own fault for choosing the most realistic Coffin on the market.
Adrenaline burned inside him. He gathered all of his strength and kicked out with both legs, connecting with the KillSim’s middle. It flew off him and slammed into the wall of the short hallway between the door and the stairs.
Even as the creature crouched for another attack, Michael was scrambling backward. He hit the opposite wall, then climbed to his feet. The thing jumped, its yellow eyes flashing as it flew toward him. Michael dove to his left to avoid it, leaping back to the ground toward the stairs, and heard its body crash behind him. On his feet again quickly, he turned to see that the thing seemed dazed, slowly trying to right itself on wobbly legs of shadow.
Madness surrounded Michael. The other KillSims had attacked his friends and Ronika, all of whom were fighting to get free. He watched Sarah get loose from her monster, kicking it in the face so that it tumbled down the stairs. Bryson was almost to the door at the top, punching and clawing. Ronika was in the worst shape, just a few feet away from Michael. The KillSim on top of her had pinned each of her limbs to the ground. Its mouth was yawning open above her, the jaws stretching impossibly wide as if it planned to swallow her entire head with one bite.
Michael moved forward to help, but just as he did, a creature pounced on him from behind. It threw him to the right, cutting a gash in his left shoulder. His head slammed into the wall and he collapsed, stunned. He’d barely recovered when the KillSim landed on him and knocked him onto his back, pinning his arms to the ground. Michael still couldn’t focus on its true form, but a dark wolf-shaped head leaned in closer to his face and the creature snarled its mechanical growl.
Michael couldn’t move. His muscles seemed to have turned to jelly, and his mind spun as he tried to focus on the code, wondering if he could bring in some sort of weapon or skill from another game. But it was impossible to think. The KillSim opened its jaws wider and wider, and Michael saw that it had no teeth, no tongue—nothing but pure darkness hovered above him. It was as if a black hole had winked into existence, ready to suck Michael into the cosmos. Behind him he heard Ronika screaming, heard Bryson and Sarah grunting as they fought, heard the thumps of bodies falling against the ground and walls. Michael tried to free his arms, to kick out again, but nothing did what he told it to. The mouth of the creature yawned wider, coming closer and closer, filling his entire vision.
There was a sharp crash behind them, like glass shattering. Another one followed immediately, the sound clear even over Ronika’s screams. All Michael could see now was blackness.
Then Bryson shouted in a strangled voice, “Its eyes! Squeeze its freaking eyes!”
The pain in Michael’s head turned to something else. More like an achy buzz, as if bees swarmed between his ears. He couldn’t tell anymore if his eyes were open, couldn’t feel the creature’s paws pinning his arms and legs. The hard floor seemed to no longer press against his body from below. He was floating. Floating in a dark void where the only thing that existed in the great abyss of the KillSim was that deep ache. The buzz increased in volume until he heard almost nothing else. Ronika screamed one last time, as if from a great distance. Sarah was yelling something, but it reached Michael’s ears as gibberish.
His thoughts wandered. For some reason he pictured the advertisement outside his apartment for Lifeblood Deep, pictured his parents, who’d been gone on their stupid trip for ages, it seemed. He remembered being a little kid—baseball, ice cream, playgrounds.
Michael realized he was completely disoriented. Enveloped by darkness, he squeezed his eyes shut and focused, throwing all his mental effort into pooling every bit of his consciousness into one place. Bryson had told him what to do—something about its eyes. Sarah was nearby, maybe trying to help.
They’d figured something out.
He had to fight back.
This thing was going to kill him.
Michael gathered his energy and screamed, then jerked his arms away from the shadow paws that held them down. He pulled free and groped blindly above him, finding the head of the KillSim, searching with his fingers until he found the place where those yellow lights had glowed. Michael could feel that the creature was trying to pin him again, but he rolled to evade its grip. His hands found two warm orbs, almost hot. He instantly took hold, clamping his fingers into tight fists around what had to be the KillSim’s eyes.
With every last drop of strength left in his body, Michael squeezed as hard as he could. The eyes felt hard and smooth as glass but gave way like gel. As his sight cleared, he watched the eyes begin to ooze between his fingers. The creature let out an anguished shriek and thrashed against Michael, struggling to get loose.
Then its eyes burst.
7
It was as if two eggs had imploded in Michael’s hands. The instant it happened, he felt a charge of electricity scorch his palms and run through his arms and chest. He screamed at the pain coursing through his body and pushed until the KillSim fell off him and thumped on the floor. Light swarmed back into Michael’s vision, and nausea hit him like a punch to the gut.
The room seemed a different color, duller than before, and his head ached like nothing he’d ever experienced. His thoughts were still jumbled, his mind in a haze. The KillSim lay in a heap at his feet, its outline distinguishable once again. Everything about it seemed to have shrunk; lying there on the ground, it looked like nothing more than an eyeless black dog.
“If we’d just known that from the start,” Bryson said.
Michael snapped his gaze away from the creature and toward his friend. The movement sent a spike of pain through his entire skull.
Bryson and Sarah knelt next to Ronika, another dead KillSim only inches away. Two other creatures had been killed as well—one at the bottom of the stairs and one halfway up. Both of Michael’s friends were still breathing heavily, and a quick glance showed him that their hands were burned raw. He looked down at his own and saw the same thing. Only at the sight of them did the pain hit him.
Ronika. Why wasn’t she moving?
Michael took a step forward and was just about to ask them what had happened when a blue light flashed from Ronika’s forehead and stopped him short. A crackle filled the air, and as Michael stood there frozen he watched her body completely transform.
Blue lights sparkled along her brow, increasing in brightness and frequency until he could no longer see her skin. Then the lights started to grow and spread, moving into her hair and down across her eyebrows, into her eyes and along her nose, her cheeks. Bluish-green butterflies—sparks that looked like wings—replaced her features as the twinkling lights expanded. The wings flapped and sent out sound like a zap of electrical current.
As if she’d been infected with some horrific skin disease, Ronika’s entire head submitted to the transformation, and soon there was nothing but a round ball of fluttering blue and green planes of glowing light where her skin had once been. Gradually the ball moved down her neck and spread across her shoulders, along her chest, leaving the strange butterflies in its wake. Michael stood there, helpless, no idea what to do.
Sarah finally spoke, her voice sounding odd through the crackling electricity emanating from Ronika’s disappearing body. “We must’ve been too late. The thing sucked her digital life out. Just like she warned us.”
“That would’ve been you in another minute,” Bryson added, giving Michael a look that said they’d probably never get over just how close it had been.
Michael returned his attention to Ronika without answering. Half her body had been devoured, and the butterflies that covered her head started fluttering away, floating several inches into the air before they suddenly lit up in a bright flash and then disappeared entirely, leaving nothing behind. Soon her entire face was gone forever.
As mesmerizing as the display was, and as badly as Michael’s head hurt, it finally hit him that they couldn’t waste another second. He looked to his friends, and without a word they got to their feet and ran up the stairs two at a time.
They got out of the club before anyone could ask questions, found a Portal, and Lifted themselves back to the Wake. By the time Michael stepped out of the Coffin, his head felt like a nest of scorpions had hatched inside it.
CHAPTER 8
A VERY SHORT MAN
1
Miserable, Michael lay in bed. Helga was nicer than ever, bringing him hot tea and soup and bananas—it was all he could stomach—whenever he dinged the little bell she’d placed on his nightstand. His parents had to extend their trip yet again, so with only him and Helga there, the apartment was quiet. He kept the blinds closed and didn’t listen to music or watch any shows. The sign that something was really wrong with him, though, was that he barely even looked at his NetScreen.
His head just plain hurt. And along with that was nausea. Constant, unrelenting nausea. He felt like he was going to throw up at least once or twice an hour. Hence the strange menu requests for Helga. As he lay there in agony, there was plenty of time to think about what had happened in the basement of the Black and Blue Club.
The KillSims. What they’d done to Ronika. How far had the creature gotten with Michael? Had some of his Aura’s essence been sucked out? How close had he come to being another brain-dead victim of Kaine? Had he suffered permanent physical damage? With his eyes closed and his skull throbbing, it sure felt like it. He worried that he was growing stupider by the minute—that he’d forget everything he’d learned and experienced inside the VirtNet.
He knew these thoughts were crazy, and he tried to stay positive. Hopefully they’d stopped the thing in time and his headache would slowly go away. He couldn’t imagine spending the rest of his life feeling like he did.
But surprisingly, the pain in his head didn’t make him want to stop. It only made him hate Kaine and made him sure of what they were doing. He wouldn’t stop until they found the place the VNS was looking for. Threats or no threats, it was simple. Like many games Michael had played before, it was kill or be killed.