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The Calling. James Frey
Читать онлайн.Название The Calling
Год выпуска 0
isbn 9780007585212
Автор произведения James Frey
Жанр Детская проза
Издательство HarperCollins
“What’re you doing?” Marcus demands, flipping his knife from hand to hand.
An pauses. “M-m-m-m-meds. I have to take my m-m-m-m-meds.”
Chiyoko silently retreats into the shadows. No one notices her disappear.
Sarah looks at her watch. It is 3:13:46 a.m.
If Jago has the disk, then I am going with him, Sarah decides. Aside from the strategic advantage, I’m not sure I’m ready for this. Maybe he’ ll help me stay alive.
Hilal steps forward to where the center of the circle was. He holds out both his hands, empty. He’s one of the few not to have gone for a weapon.
“Sisters and brothers of Endgame, let’s talk,” Hilal says, his voice smooth. “We have much to discuss. This night does not have to end in bloodshed.”
Baitsakhan titters, amused by the coward. Everyone else ignores Hilal. Kala doesn’t take her eyes off Jago and doesn’t lower her spear.
Shari, noticing Chiyoko’s absence, barks in her Indian accent, “Where’s the mute?”
Alice scans the perimeter of their circle. “Lit out. Smart girl.”
Hilal looks grim, disappointed. He knew it would be difficult to make peace, but he expected them to at least hear him out. “Sisters and brothers, we should not be fighting. Not yet. You heard the being. There are no rules. We can work together, for the good of the people and creatures of Earth. We can work together, at least until we are forced to work against one ano—”
He is interrupted by a swoosh as a rope with a weighted metal object on the end of it flies from the shadows. It wraps tightly around Hilal’s throat. He raises his hands to his neck. The cord is pulled taut, and Hilal spins in place and falls, choking, to the ground.
“What the hell was that?” Maccabee asks, swiveling.
Baitsakhan doesn’t wait to find out. He also sprints into the forest. Another rope attack issues from the darkness, this one from a different place, as if from a different person. It lashes out at Jago, but as the rope nears, he jumps backward, and the cord falls limply to the ground before being whisked into the woods.
A twig snaps. They catch a glimpse of Chiyoko’s pale skin and black hair darting through the undergrowth.
“It’s the bloody mute!” shouts Alice.
As they turn to Alice, an arrow whistles from the darkened forest and hits Maccabee’s right thigh. He staggers and looks down. A long shaft has pierced the front of his leg and punched through the back; blood is welling and starting to run. It was that little mongrel boy, Baitsakhan, sniping from the cover of the woods. Without thinking, Maccabee snaps the shaft and pulls the arrow free. It is excruciating, but he does not cry. He is infuriated. The little shit ruined a perfectly good suit.
“To hell with this, I’m gone,” Kala says, forgetting about Jago. She sprints for the pyramid.
“Stop this madness!” Hilal has freed himself from the rope and gotten his breath back. “It does not have to be this way!”
In response, an arrow thuds into the dirt between his legs. Hilal scrambles away, also into the woods.
“Maybe save the sermon for another time, preacher,” says Aisling, before she follows him into the forest.
Another whistle cuts the air. Sarah’s instincts take over, and she reaches toward Jago’s head and with her bare hand snatches an arrow out of the air just before it would have found its mark in Jago’s skull. Jago looks at her. He has never seen someone do that before. He is wide-eyed, grateful. “How did you—”
“We have to get out of here,” Sarah says. She can’t believe she did that either. She practiced it over and over and over, sliced her hands to ribbons trying to catch arrows, but she never succeeded. Not until this moment.
She throws the arrow to the ground and grabs Jago by the hand. “Let’s go.”
They turn toward the forest and begin to run.
An Liu is no longer fishing around for his bottle of pills. He stands, shoulders square, facing what is left of the group. He wears a sinister smile.
A third arrow flies from the woods, striking An square in the chest. An looks down, amused, and flicks the shaft away from the ballistics vest that went unnoticed beneath his fisherman’s pockets. He casually tosses a small, dark sphere the size of a walnut toward the remaining Players. Marcus, who is closest, is taken by surprise. His instincts lead him to reach out and catch An’s offering. But just before it can land in Marcus’s hand, it explodes.
The blast is much bigger than the size of the bomb would suggest. Bodies fly. Sarah loses her hearing, and for a few moments all is chaos. She lifts her head to see the zombielike form of Marcus. Both of his arms are gone at the shoulder, and his jaw hangs dislocated and slack from his skull. Blood covers his face and upper body. The skin on the left side of his head is shredded like cheese, and his ear is hanging low by his neck.
Something falls spinning from the sky and lands at Sarah’s feet. A finger. Pointing 167°49'25".
Sarah’s stomach turns as she is reminded of the meteor strike and her graduation and leaving Christopher.
She is reminded of her best friend, Reena.
And her brother, Tate.
It was only a week ago. A week.
She should be grieving, with her family, sitting in the living room, eating and hugging and holding hands.
Instead, she is here. Alone.
Playing.
She glances at Jago.
Maybe not alone.
Marcus falls to his knees, face-plants into the ground. For Marcus
Loxias Megalos, Minoan Player of the 5th line, Endgame is over.
An spins, and a fire lights behind him as he disappears into the woods. He’s let off another incendiary device. The forest starts to burn. Even though the fire is 59 feet away, the heat stings Sarah’s face.
“Come on!” Jago says. He lifts her to her feet and they stumble away. They have to get out through the pyramid. Through the door that has reappeared, though they don’t know where it will take them. They can’t risk the woods, not with the fire, not with An, Chiyoko, Baitsakhan, and who knows who else lurking there. They reach the pyramid and stop at the door.
Its incandescent surface reflects the light of the fire, the dark of the woods. Sarah reaches out. A series of golden images drift across the doorway. Some are recognizable: the pyramids at Giza; Carahunge; the jumble of geometric stones at Pumapunku; Tchogha Zanbil.
Others are megaliths and signs, idols and statues, numbers and shapes that Sarah doesn’t recognize.
Another explosion rattles the air behind them.
“I think it’s asking where we want to go,” Sarah says.
Jago glances over his shoulder. “Anywhere but here,” Jago says.
He squeezes Sarah’s hand, and together they step forward and pass through the strange portal. They don’t notice that right behind them is Maccabee Adlai, bleeding and angry and hungry for death.
Xi’an Garden Hotel, Dayan District, Xi’an, China
Christopher wakes with a start. He can’t believe he fell asleep. He looks