The Zero Game

41

“SO CAN I GET YOU a room?” the woman behind the motel’s front desk asked.

“Actually, I’m just looking for my friends,” Janos replied. “Have you seen-”

“Doesn’t anyone just want to rent a room anymore?”

Janos cocked his head slightly to the side. “Have you seen my friends – a white guy and a young black girl?”

The woman cocked her head right back. “Those’re your friends?”

“Yes. They’re my friends.”

The woman was suddenly quiet.

“They’re my friends from work – we were supposed to fly in together last night, but I got delayed and-” Janos cut himself off. “Listen, I got up at four A.M. for my flight this morning. Now are they upstairs or not? We’ve got a big day ahead of us.”

“Sorry,” the woman said. “They already checked out.”

Janos nodded. He figured as much, but he had to be sure. “So they’re already up there?” he added, pointing at the tall triangular building at the top of the hill.

“Actually, I thought they said they were headed to Mount Rushmore first.”

Janos couldn’t help but grin. Nice try, Harris.

“They left over an hour ago,” the woman added. “But if you hurry, I’m sure you can catch them.”

Nodding to himself, Janos stayed locked on the headframe as he headed for the door. “Yeah… I’m sure I can.”

42

TEN MINUTES LATER, I’m ankle-deep in ru

The only thing making it worse is what I can actually see. Up above, along the ceiling of the tu

As I move in deeper, another burning yawn hits, even hotter than before. I feel it against my legs… my arms… at this point, even my teeth are sweating. I roll up my sleeves, but it doesn’t do any good. I was wrong before – this isn’t a sauna. With this heat… it’s an oven.

Feeling my breathing quicken, and hoping it’s just from the temperature, I glance down at the oxygen detector: 18.8%. On the back, it says I need sixteen percent to live. The footprints ahead of me tell me at least two others have made the trek. For now, that’s good enough for me.

Wiping the newest layer of sweat from my face, I spend ten minutes following the curve of the railroad tracks back through the tu

Retracing my steps, I open my wallet, pull out my bright pink California Tortilla Burrito Club card, and wedge it under a rock by the entrance of the tu

Following the sign that says Danger Blasting, I make a sharp right into the tu

Dead ahead… less than thirty feet… the tu

Shoving the sail out of the way, I grip the steering wheel with both hands and give it a hard twist. Red paint cracks off in my hands, but the hatch lets out a metal thunk. With a strong tug, I crack the hatch and pull it open. The smell hits me first. Stronger than the acidic stench of vomit… sharper than bad cheese… Ugggh… Crap. Literally.

Inside the hatch is a mound of juicy brown lumps. The whole cart’s filled with shit. Tons of it. Stumbling backwards, I hold my nose and fight to keep myself from throwing up. Too late. My stomach heaves, my throat erupts, and a firehose of last night’s grilled cheese sprays across the earth. Bent over and grabbing my gut, I spray the ground two more times. All the blood rushes to my face as I spit out the last few chunks. My body lurches with one final dry heave… then another. By the time I open my eyes, my light’s shining off the long, extended strand of drool that dangles from my lower lip. I glance back up at the wagon, and it finally makes sense. The shower curtain’s for privacy; the hatch is the seat. Even this far underground, these guys still need a bathroom.

Banging into the back wall, I fight for balance, my face still scrunched up from the whiff. I didn’t have time to close the hatch, and there’s no way I’m getting close enough to do it now. With a sharp shove, I push myself away from the wall and stagger back up the tu

Oh, no – don’t tell me it’s-

A high-pitched buzz erupts above my forehead. I immediately look up – but it doesn’t take long to realize the sound’s coming from my helmet. In front of me, the yellow glow from my light takes on an almost gold color. Before, I could see at least fifty feet in front of me. Now it’s down to thirty. I pull the helmet off my head and stare into the mine light. It pulses slightly, its color fading. I don’t believe it. My hands start shaking, the light quivers back and forth, and I stare down at the battery pack on my tool belt. Viv was right about the charging station… The problem is, as the light on my helmet hums once more and fades to a brown, it’s becoming increasingly clear I picked the wrong side.