Dream Park

From his angle, Griffin saw only a small white snake with red and yellow trim slide out of the pile. Chester's face went slack and pale as he saw it, and paler still as it expanded its hood and reared back hissing. "Kill it!" Henderson whispered in a ghastly quiet voice, his eyes riveted on the reptile.

Alex hurled a stone at it. The snake disappeared.

"Damn." Chester said it with intense feeling. His face, already pale, had taken on a yellowish cast. "Oh, shit."

Margie helped him to his feet. "What is it, dear? The snake didn't touch you, did it?"

"It didn't need to. Oh no..." He seemed dazed and dis­oriented. Gina had broken away from the rest of the Garners and was beside him, steadying him. "Don't you see?" He spread his arms wide. There was a pale yellow glow all around him. "That was a bidi-taurabo-haza. I'm dead, Margie. I'm walking dead."

By now the mass of Garners had broken ranks and were grouped around him. Acacia pulled Alex to the side. "Did you see what happened? Why the hell didn't he scan that pile for danger?" Griffin lowered his voice. "He knew it was there. He tried to kill S.J. and Eames out of the Game. He got caught himself. Rough justice."

"Whew. So Chester finally got caught." A leashed chuckle. "I wonder how he'll get out of it?"

Gwen stood by the rock pile, concentrating with her eyes closed. Her aura glowed around her, then spread to envelop the heap. It too glowed white, fading as Gwen opened her eyes. She glanced around at Chester. "It's clean now."

"Great." He crooked a finger impatiently at the rest of the group. "All right, let's see what we have here." He motioned Gwen and Owen to his side. "Pool your strengths. Do you think you can save me?"

The two Clerics meshed aura for a few moments, then shook their heads. The older man clasped Chester on the shoulder. "I'm sorry, Ches. It's too strong for us."

The king was dying. Was that check, or mate? Griffin asked, "What does that do to us? Is the Game over?"

Chester flagged a hand impatiently. "No. Something that deadly, that struck without warning? And even worse, a snake? Not after the hell I raised about the snow vipers, he's too eager for a clean kill. No..." Henderson's gaze unfocussed, and he scratched his side reflectively with a bony thumb. "No, I think our

Mr. Lopez has prepared a way out for me. He's having another of his little jokes."

Bright red hair streaked with dust, and one slender arm scraped from wrist to elbow: Gina had moved a good many rocks very quickly. "We're almost finished, hon." She picked up her power staff and brushed it off. "What happens next?"

"We wait and see, Gina." The Lore Master reached out an un­steady hand for her, and when she took it he pressed it desperately hard against his cheek.

He looks like he thinks he's dying, Griffin thought. He looks like he is dying. How can he let a game do this to him?

As the rocks were pried loose or rolled away, three wooden boxes surfaced. Faded stencilled letters showed, and the Garners began to laugh.

Chester walked over to the others and, in spite of himself, began to smile. Still partially covered by pebbles and dirt, there lay three battered cases of Coca-Cola.

"Well, children, this is our way out," Chester said. "I hope." He motioned to Kasan, and the guide jogged up without hesita­tion.

"Yes, oh dying bwana?"

"Are your Cargo gods strong enough to save me from this dis­ease?"

"Oh, most assuredly, Mr. Henderson. The only real concern is what the gods may want of you in return for your life."

Chester seemed only mildly surprised. "You mean the under­taking of the quest is not enough?"

"Oh, no. You do it more for the sake of other Europeans than you do for us simple island folk."

"All right. Scan these boxes, ah... Owen and Bowan. We don't want any more screw ups just yet."

The pile glowed white and green, with no hint of red. Chester said, "Open them."

Margie produced a slender crowbar and, with an economy of movement that was delightful to the eye, she levered slats from a box. S.J. and Oliver attacked the others.

Each box contained twenty wasp-wasted bottles of caramel­colored fluid. Warm.

"All right. We're going to have to appeal to the gods of Cargo. That means we need to be as high and holy as possible. For this group, I'm afraid that means about three bottles each."

Kasan held up his hands. "Ah... none for me, bwana. You can count me out of this one."

Kibugonai deferred also, as did Lady Janet. "I'm allergic to caffeine," she said sweetly.

Chester sighed. "Then it's four bottles each. Let's get started."

Griffin sat cross-legged next to Acacia in the semicircle. Gwen and Owen were at the hub, the opened boxes of Coca-Cola at their sides.

"Hear us, Jesus-Manup. Hear us, God-Kilibob. Hear and ob­serve," they intoned slowly. Gwen opened a bottle and passed it to Owen. Owen gave it to Alan Leigh, Leigh passed it to Mary-em; it passed down the line until it reached Chester at the far end. Gwen continued opening bottles until all held twelve-ounce containers of lukewarm cola.

"We accept this thy sacred fluid into our bodies in thy names. .

Griffin gagged it down. "I don't like soda pop," he whispered to Acacia. "I don't drink this junk."

"Shut up and glug," she whispered back, not bothering to hide her grin. "You've got to."

Griffin finished his, and passed another bottle along. "What if I have diabetes?"

"Then you can have your implant adjusted after the Game. Drink," she commanded. Ollie handed him his next twelve ounces.

Griffin drained it, stifling a heartfelt belch. Then he recon­sidered and eructated with vigor. The echoes were fearsome; they seemed to go on forever, down the line and back up.

After the fourth round, moans could be heard from all corners. Tony looked green and had hiccoughs. Alex sympathized whole­heartedly.

"Who's ready for lunch?" Mary-em's question raised a chorus of vile suggestions.

Owen and Gwen finished their drinks, and sat amid a heap of empty bottles. "We are ready. Hear us, oh gods-" The air above the entire group began to shimmer with electric white. Owen low­ered his voice. "All join hands, please."

Owen and Gwen faced each other, interlocking fingers as they closed their eyes.

The aura jumped and crackled, a bird's nest woven of lightning.

The air sizzled with power. Griffin squinted against the glare. His skin crawled. The ground itself trembled.

A thunderous voice split their ears, a sound that echoed to the far mountains and back. "Yes, my children," the voice said with tremendous deliberation, each word rounded and perfectly enun­ciated. "I know what you wish of us. Yes, your leader may be saved. He shall pick five among you, quick-witted and wise, to compete for his life. i~ you win, his life will be returned to him. If not..."

The voice faded away, and the dancing glow lifted.

Chester definitely looked more yellowish. He rose unsteadily to his feet. "Leigh, Acacia, Oliver, Gina, and... Griffin." He gazed at Alex speculatively. "Something tells me that you might answer questions as well as you ask them."

Confusion ran unmasked on Alex's face. "Questions?"

Acacia took his arm comfortingly. "Don't worry. I think you'll do fine."

The sky rumbled above them, and clouds began to mass. Like soapsuds floating in a whirlpool, they swirled together, directly in front of the sun, eclipsing it. Darkness fell, and stars glowed above them. Then it seemed that the very fabric of space was twisting and torqueing, tortured by forces beyond imagination. The stars were rippled aside as the sky tore open. Soft, pale blue light pulsed beyond the edges.

From the region beyond the sky came a tiny shadow that growled noisily, growing larger by the second. Now it was plainly visible, an olive-drab Army-issue helicopter with its engine at full throttle. It hovered above them, then set down on the grass twenty meters away. A dark man in a smart white uniform hopped from the door and ran to them carrying a clipboard.