Dream Park

"Game. Yes. Ah, what happens to the Game if you and Mc­Whirter leave it now?"

"Worst debacle in Gaining history."

"oh."

Harmony thought it over, and Griffin found that he was holding his breath.

"What if this McWhirter cuts your throat and tries to run? He's killed once. If he perforates a Gamer... lawsuits... hmm."

"We can take precautions. McWhirter will have a machete with a hologram blade. We'll guard him all night. I'll have Marty seal this place-"

Tony whispered fiercely, "For God's sake put me on!" Alex handed over the wallet. Tony said, "Mr. Harmony? Lis­ten, I do not intend to run. Where would I go? And I didn't-"

"Just a minute, McWhirter. Have you been warned?"

"I have the right to a lawyer. I have the right to remain silent. If I choose to speak, I can be recorded."

"You are being recorded."

"Fine."

"Are you in possession of materials belonging to Dream Park?"

"No, but I hid them where nobody else is going to find them. I can give them to Griffin tomorrow. Look, Lopez will cream us if Griffin and I leave the Game now. And how would anyone explain it in Game context? It kills the plot line."

"Will the rest of your party trust you not to try to escape?"

"I swear it-"

"I want their word. On record."

It must have been obvious to all of them: in case Tony perfo­rated anyone while escaping, Harmony was forestalling a lawsuit. One by one they swore they trusted Tony McWhirter's word. Alex spoke last.

"I'm going to lock this place up tight," he said. "A mosquito won't be able to get loose. But I think McWhirter means it. It's going to be a long time between Gaines for him."

"I can hear the Board of Trustees now. Well, go ahead, and good luck. Oh, and I looked in on you while you were stealing that, ah, black fire?"

Didn't everybody? "Yeah?"

"It looked like fun."

The transceiver clicked-and everybody started yelling. Griffin bellowed, "Quiet!" They stopped. To his transceiver Griffin said, "Security, quick. Marty? Listen. I want airtight surveillance at every exit from the dome. If anyone tries to leave, the Game ends instantly. Don't miss any exits, and don't let someone past just be­cause he's wearing a uniform."

"Chief? You're not coming out?"

"Nope. Neither of us, not till one tomorrow, with our shields or on them." Griffin clicked his wallet shut and looked around. "You're crazy," he said. "You're all crazy, and I'm just as bad. I want a Gamer awake at all times to watch McWhirter, who is going to sleep with his feet wired together. Any objections from anyone?" Not a whisper. "McWhirter?"

He was pathetically grateful. "Hands and feet, Griffin, I don't care. Thank you."

"All right." Griffin sank back against the dune. He felt very tired-and light as air. His thoughts finally settled on something. "Henderson?"

The Lore Master still looked apprehensive. "Now what?"

"Eight of us left. All those undead. We don't even have boats. Just how are we going to win this mother?"

Chapter Twenty-Nine

END GAME

When dawn broke that final day, there were nine awake to greet

it.

Their clothes were soiled and torn. They themselves were scratched and bruised and unsteady on their feet, even with the benefit of a night's sleep. But all of them gripped their tools tightly: swords, machetes, and the magic staff now wielded by Chester Henderson.

Chester stood with eyes wide and nerves afire, waiting for the peep of a double sun that would signal the begi

Alex took no offense that Acacia stood with Tony. She had spent the night with the bound man. Not with someone else, not crying or hating or blaming; rarely touching him, but there.

Holly Frost, her Afro frizzled with sand and sweat, stood next to Alex, a Japanese short sword balanced uneasily in her hand.

She studied Panthesilea and Fortunato at a distance, expression carefully neutral.

Tony watched the horizon. He let his eyes sweep back and forth, barely acknowledging the girl at his side for minutes at a time, before relaxing with a great sigh and holding her fiercely to him.

Easy to understand the unyielding focus of his attention. Play well today, Tony. You won't be back for twenty years.

Mary-em, Margie and Ollie stood together. Margie had seem­ingly gained strength during the night, energy from the endless strategy sessions. She and Mary-em gri

The group formed a rough circle around their campfire, all di­rections covered. The circle enclosed Lady Janet, who carried a machete. Chester's instructions had been exact: "You don't fight unless you have to. Getting you out is part of our mission."

Facing the woods with a katana held tightly in his massive hands, The Griffin suddenly laughed out loud. Marty, Millie, Har­mony, are you watching? 1 hope you're enjoying this!

The second sun rose; the first faded out. Chester watched, crit­ically, as yesterday's wounds bloomed anew on his Garners and on his own body. The sounds of New Guinea filled the air: bird-calls, the lapping of surf, and a creaking of metal.

Low in the flank of the Spruce Goose, a door began to open. A long black arm pushed it back with deliberate slowness. Under a great black globe of hair, a small scarred face leered at them, mouthing words inaudible at that distance. It disappeared inside, and another figure climbed out, stiffly.

It was an Undead, its clothing strips of tattered cloth hanging against dark, ashy skin. It climbed down into the boat and set it­self at the oars. Two Fore priests joined it, untied the line, settled themselves. The boat moved toward shore with smooth, steady strokes from their hellish oarsman.

Chester snorted. "Bastards. Only one boat!"

Griffin stifled a sour bubble of gas, tasting his nervousness. The Fore seemed to be looking directly at him, leering with a mouthful of filed teeth. Now he could see the muscles in the zombie's back as it guided the boat toward shore.

Ten feet from shore, one of the priests stood in the boat and

began to chant loudly. After a time the second priest joined in, creating a melody that made Griffin's skin crawl to listen.

He didn't have leisure to critique the serenade. From the woods came answering sounds: a rustling, scraping promise, fulfilled within moments as the Undead began to line up.

There were at least thirty of them, all armed. As before, the women and children were the worst. They laughed endlessly, bod­ies twitching with spasms, the laughter blending to hungry growls. Many of the women were bare-breasted, but the effect wasn't erotic. Alex knew that it would be a long time before he could look at a half-naked woman without remembering the empty-eyed zom­bies of New Guinea.

Among the women and children were gray old men, crippled and deformed, their frail hands clutching edged weapons. But the front line held the healthy ones, so to speak: a dozen warriors who had died by violence.

Most of them were as dusky as the others, the Fore priests. Two were European. S.J. and Felicia Maddox, Dark Star. S.J. rolled his eyes with zombie fervor. He waved his machete fiercely and gri

Felicia's face was supernaturally calm, but she led the other zombies.