Playing Adam's Game

By Marshall Buckley

**Author's Note**
I recommend you read The Long Second and Broken first. (This book is not part of the trilogy).

***

Adam isn't Green. It's not that he doesn't believe in Climate Change, he just doesn't think it should apply to him.

If he can afford to run an expensive, gas-guzzling car, why shouldn't he? If he wants the heating on high so that he wakes up to a warm house every morning, that's his right. Or so he believes.

Every year, the world makes a gesture for Earth Hour, and this year Adam's town is joining in. But when the power doesn't come back on, how long would it take you to realise that the whole world has changed?

The streets are deserted, his cat is missing. There aren't even any birds in the sky. At first the silence and the freedom are exciting and liberating. No rules, nobody to tell you what to do, where to go, when to do it. The world is his plaything.

But there are small pockets of power, and once he finds these he tries to talk to the world, to see if anybody else is out there.

The only reply is from a computer game that wants him to play along. And when that game begins to infiltrate every electronic device wherever Adam turns. He can't avoid it and so must play along.

Where will the game lead him? What happens when he wins?

Where is everybody?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Marshall Buckley
• Release date: Jul 17, 2011
• ISBN: 9781466178243

Marshall Buckley

Marshall Buckley lives near London, UK and in Newfoundland, Canada. At the same time. He has a total of five children, three dogs, five cats and some small fish. These numbers change regularly. He is not as tired as you might imagine because he achieves all this by being two people. In March 2009 an innocent-looking Facebook post stated "I've an idea for a book, who wants to help me write it?" and, after a flurry of posts and emails, Marshall Buckley was born; very soon after, the result (which bears only a passing resemblance to that original idea) was The Long Second. The sequel, Broken, followed a few months later. The final part of the trilogy - Chronostasis - was published in March 2013. Playing Adam's Game is not part of the trilogy. Only Douglas Adams is allowed a trilogy of more than three parts. Work on the next book is well underway, though it has no definitive schedule. Its current title (which may change) is "The Dreams In Which I'm Dying".

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ISBN 978-1-4661-7824-3

Adam’s Game © Marshall Buckley 2011

Smashwords Edition Published worldwide 2011

All rights reserved in all media. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic or mechanical (including but not limited to: the internet, photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system), without prior permission in writing from the author.

The moral right of Marshall Buckley as the author of the work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

This is a work of fiction. All characters, organisations, locations and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

And resemblance to persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

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ADAM’S GAME

by

Marshall Buckley

Chapter 1

Earth Hour. What a waste of time.

Every year, Sydney leads the way by turning off the lights on the Harbour Bridge and the Opera House, while the rest of the world looks on disinterestedly, clapping their hands slowly and muttering a half-hearted ‘Well done, Sydney". At the same time you find a couple of businesses and one or two irritating colleagues who harangue you constantly into promising that you will join in and ‘do your bit’ because every gram of carbon saved is one more small step towards saving the world for our children.

Yawn.

This year was different. I think one of the busy-bodies at work must have infiltrated the town council. A couple of weeks ago a small piece in the local paper announced that we (as in the whole town) would be taking part in Earth Hour and setting an example to the rest of the country. You could have been forgiven for missing it, just a couple of column inches buried deep between tales of unfilled potholes and how grateful some obscure charity was for the few pounds it had raised at its most recent jumble sale. I didn’t even realise anybody held jumble sales any more. Thankfully, some observant soul, your typical 'Angry from Suburbia', spotted the article and wrote a note to the editor, which the paper published, clearly smelling the subtle scent of a brewing scandal.

That one letter very nearly sparked the riot that the original article, in all its carefully worded obscurity, had obviously been hoping to avoid. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a town’s population come together in such solidarity. For every voice in favour, there were at least 10 against, and this wasn’t a case of only a tiny percentage of the residents voicing an opinion. Everywhere you looked, every house, every shop, every office, even bus stops and lampposts, sported posters of objection. Any government receiving that level of support would have been elected with a landslide majority. It was heart-warming to see so many people’s passions running so high.

The sad thing was that everyone was getting upset over something that we probably all supported in principle. But isn’t that always the way? Principles are all well and good until they land in your back yard. I mean, everyone loves wind turbines – the way they harness natural resources, such elegant structures – until some vile corporation raises the spectre of building one on the nearest hill which just happens to overlook your house. Suddenly they are the root of all evil, nasty metal monstrosities that resonate at a peculiar low frequency which causes migraines, ME or even cancer (depending on just how vociferous the hate campaign happens to be, and which newspaper decides to take on the story).

Naturally, the council took all our feelings into account when they convened an emergency meeting. The chamber was packed to the rafters. Never before had there been such an enormous turnout, with everybody on the same side: against the council’s plan. The meeting ran on longer than planned. The debate was fierce and the speakers on the public side were well informed and their arguments sound and reasonable. Not one person said ‘Won’t somebody think of the children!’ and for that alone they won my respect. And, yes, I did attend, more out of curiosity than any strong feelings either way, but they won me round. The responses from the councillors, in contrast, were clumsy and ill considered. They looked uneasy in the glare of the public eye, sweaty balding heads glistening under the bright spotlights, as they shifted uncomfortably in ill-fitting, cheap-looking suits.

When it came to asking the public to vote on the proposal, the result was unanimous – at least that is the common perception. There may have been one or two abstentions but nobody was seen to vote in favour of the council’s proposal. Of course, the public vote carried no authority; it was taken only to judge the mood of the local populace. Fat lot of good that did.

The council then retired to complete their deliberations in private. Nobody seemed to believe that this had ever happened before. They left the chamber for only a few minutes and when they returned stood at the rear of the stage, save for the one poor representative who had been chosen to deliver the news. To say he looked scared would be an understatement.

The newspaper later reported that the announcement was met first with a silence of disbelief, followed by an outpouring of rage. It appears that the small moment of hesitation, that collective sharp intake of breath, had been just enough time for all the councillors to leave the stage and retreat to the safety of the council offices. I’m amazed that doors weren’t broken down, such was the mood of the crowd, but I think it speaks volumes for the pragmatism of the British public that they allowed them their refuge. The crowd then dispersed quickly and quietly, with much shaking of heads and muttering of 'poor show.'

I don’t rate any of their chances at the next local elections.

So here we are, with Earth Hour rapidly approaching and the prospect of the town being plunged into total darkness. And I mean total. The council maintain we’re blazing a trail, setting a precedent that all towns will be forced to follow next year when they calculate just how much carbon we’ve all saved. Personally, I’ll be interested to see just how many pensioners die because they didn’t get around to sorting out candles, or, indeed, how many house fires are blamed on those same candles that were set in unsafe places for children to knock over.

I’m pretty sure that, as well as plunging thousands of houses into darkness, it’s also messed up the plans of countless people who can no longer go out for a drink or a meal because their chosen establishment won’t be able to serve them, indeed won’t even be allowed to open, for Health and Safety reasons. How much trade will be lost during that one hour? How much will spent in neighbouring towns by those who are willing and able to make the journey and not have to worry about getting home afterwards?

It certainly messed up my weekend. I was supposed to be getting together with the boys for that rarest of things: a night out together, sans girlfriends. It’s tough enough at the best of times to get everyone together, and just as we’d sorted it out the council landed this on us and everyone backed out faster than you could say ‘under the thumb’. I did propose we all gathered at someone’s house, get the beers in, a few torches; who needs electricity anyway? But no-one seemed keen, or, to be accurate, no-one’s girlfriend seemed keen.

So that’ll be another Saturday night in, then.

At least that’s one advantage of having a laptop. Sure, I’ll have no internet connection but I have enough stuff saved locally to see me through the hour, and the battery should easily last that long.

I planned ahead, of course. The fridge is well-stocked with beer, there’s a big bag of crisps at my side and some chocolate for later.

Earth Hour? Bring it on!

Chapter 2

I was woken, earlier than planned, by bright sunlight streaming through the Venetian blinds at the window. I’d chosen blinds because I thought they looked more masculine than frilly curtains with tie-backs, not realising how useless they would be. A case of form over function, I cursed them every morning that wasn’t overcast, but then promptly forgot to do anything about the minute I left the bedroom.

I squinted at the alarm clock across the room, placed there so that when it sounded I had to get out of bed to silence it, meaning that I would already be up and that going back to bed would not be worthwhile. Great theory, rubbish in practice; climbing back into a warm bed was even more inviting. I squinted because I didn’t have my glasses on, a fact that I never failed to ignore when I was woken abruptly, whether by sun or alarm. So I leaned over the side of the bed and picked up my watch which was lying on the floor on top of last night's discarded clothes. Ten thirty, give or take. Far too early for a Sunday morning that I had planned to completely skip, intending to surface sometime after lunch, had the contrary spring weather not conspired against me. Only in this country could you go to bed to the sound of rain hammering on the roof, heavy drops threatening to pound their way through the slates, thunder rumbling menacingly in the distance and wake up to a clear blue sky, bereft of clouds.

I sighed, and rolled over, relishing in the familiar luxury of having the whole of this king-sized bed to myself, allowing me to sleep in whichever manner I chose: curled up in a corner, diagonally across, or star-shaped. I really ought to do something about sharing it once in a while, I thought, it had been too long since I’d woken up to a pretty girl by my side, or any girl, come to that. Not that I was in any hurry to give up my single-life and my freedom and independence, but a man has needs. There was always that dark haired lass at work, sweet little thing, might have to try my chances there.

The thought of a pretty girl caused stirrings, and I lifted up the sheet to see the beginnings of a morning glory. I chuckled to myself, so predictable. I considered taking care of it there and then, but chose to ignore it for the moment. With the whole day ahead, it was a shame to waste it so soon. Besides, these sheets had only been on the bed a few weeks, and I wasn’t in any rush to wash them. Not that I minded the washing, it was putting them back on afterwards I hated.

I rolled myself away from the window, taking care not to trap any protrusions beneath me, moving it out of the way and having a quick fondle while I was there. Facing away from the window just meant facing the massive, floor-to-ceiling mirrored wardrobes, which had seemed like such a cool feature when I’d moved in but served only to make the room even brighter on mornings like this.

This was hopeless. There was no way I was getting back to sleep now. I threw back the covers and swung my legs over the side of the bed, catching my reflection as I did so. A fine figure of a man, I thought, especially with that going on down there. I stood and wiggled my hips, allowing it to swing to and fro. No. Stop. Plenty of time for that later. With no plans for the day, freedom to do what I wanted, to my own agenda – getting up early excepted – I needed to pace myself.

I grabbed my dressing gown from the back of the door. Big, fluffy, white affair, complete with sewn-on logo: Hartson Hotel. Courtesy of a recent business trip, I’d never taken one before but everyone kept telling me the hotels expected to lose them, so it was too good an opportunity to waste. Shame I forgot to grab the matching slippers though.

I didn’t bother tying up the front of the gown, another advantage of living alone. I followed the directions of my little – or, not so little, I’ll have you know – friend and went to the bathroom. Not that you’d need directions in this little house. With only one bedroom the only other door upstairs is the bathroom. I can even manage to find it when I’m completely wasted, that’s how easy it is. I urinated with the door open; I’m such a big kid sometimes. I did remember to wash my hands though; I do have some standards. The shower and teeth brushing could wait awhile. Now fully awake my stomach was grumbling, calling for breakfast and my need for food now overrode any other base desires.

I trotted down the spiral staircase, only slightly surprised to not have to avoid stepping on Curly. He was probably out somewhere, not expecting me to be around this early on a Sunday. I filled up his bowl, expecting to hear the clatter of the cat flap, but he remained out of sight. It wasn’t exactly unheard of for him not to be here for his breakfast, but I couldn’t help worrying since his previous encounter with a dog somewhere had left him with a pronounced unsteady gait as a result of the nerve damage caused by a well-placed bite. Mind you, I’d like to have seen the dog afterwards; I can’t believe he survived unscathed from Curly’s razor-sharp claws.

What to have for breakfast? I’d been trying to be healthy lately; I’d lost a lot of excess weight and was determined to keep myself trim, but Sunday mornings just call out for a fry up, and the more unhealthy the better. A quick rummage in the fridge revealed bacon, eggs and sausages. A tin of beans from the cupboard and a couple of slices of well-buttered toast completed the line-up. With the pan sizzling and the bread in the toaster I filled the kettle and wandered to the front door to pick up the paper.

The mat was empty, as was the letter box. Sometimes the paper-boy leaves it outside the door. It is quite a task to squeeze all those supplements through the tiny opening. I tied my gown, out of respect for the neighbours more than anything, and opened the door, but there was no paper in sight. A nuisance, but not the end of the world. I’d call the shop later, get them to take it off my bill; can’t be bothered with getting dressed to go and get it, and all the delivery staff will have gone home now, no chance of anyone dropping it off for me.

The piercing sound of the smoke alarm reminded me I’d left bacon sizzling and I ran back to the kitchen. It wasn’t a problem, I like my bacon crispy, but the sausages were a little blacker than I’d have preferred; a quick scrape over the sink should get the worst of that off.

Still no sign of Curly; thought he might have come running at the sound of the door. He’ll turn up soon enough.

Breakfast – I think I put too much butter on the toast, I can feel my arteries furring up as I sit eating it – is taken slouched on the sofa. The iPod is plugged into its dock and playing random tunes, digging out some gems from my far-from-extensive collection as well as the occasional (well, okay, more than occasional) song that I would never publicly admit to owning. Call it a guilty pleasure. Another guilty pleasure, that is. I find myself singing along, somewhat tunelessly, to an upbeat, poppy, generic song from the late 90s, and then stop myself, suddenly convinced that a crowd will have gathered by the window to listen in wonder – and not a good wonder at that – at the noise I’m emitting. Thankfully, no such crowd is present. Lucky for me, but even more lucky for them, in truth.

I’ve been fighting the urge pretty much since I slid out of bed, but with breakfast eaten, the last smear of runny yolk mopped up by buttery toast, and probably with crumbs around my mouth, the laptop is calling to me. I’ll just log onto a few of the forums, see what people are up to; check Twitter see if anything interesting has happened; update Facebook: status Having a lazy day. Do Not Disturb!

It takes an age to boot. I really should do something about that; I used to just leave it powered on but even I’ve succumbed to the power that is the government’s Carbon Footprint campaign, even though I’m not entirely sure I believe in all that stuff. I mean, sure, we should probably all use a little less, but so long as I can afford to pay my bills (and I can) should I be worried? Sitting here waiting for the damn machine to get itself ready is seriously weakening my resolve. I’m a product of the instant gratification generation. I want it all and I want it now. Gimme, gimme, gimme.

Finally, it’s ready. No log-on screen for me, I’m the only user, why would I log on? Straight into the browser, but I’ve been too enthusiastic. Messenger is still loading, as is Twitter, and the poor machine just can’t cope with that much work all at the same time. I leave it, take my plate into the kitchen and make another cup of tea.

While waiting for the kettle to boil I look out over the garden. It’s a little overgrown – I’m no fan of gardening – but not too bad by my standards. My gown has fallen open again, so I step back from the door just a little. I’m not too overlooked, but it wouldn’t be right for the neighbours to choose the wrong moment to glance in my direction. Curly is still nowhere to be seen; I thought he might have been lurking in the shade of the bushes at the end of the garden, or soaking up the sun (though it hasn’t really reached this side of the house yet), but I can’t see him. Once again that nagging worry comes, but I dismiss it. He’ll be fine. It’s been a few years since his accident; he’s stronger and wiser now.

I unlock the door and open it. Despite the bright sunshine there’s still a bit of a nip in the air, but with no breeze it’s tolerable. It’s very quiet this morning. Maybe this time on a Sunday is always this quiet; I honestly can’t remember the last time I was up this early. You could be forgiven for thinking we were in the middle of the country rather than a large, modern town. I can’t even hear any traffic, but maybe that’s because of the lack of wind. I’m set far enough away from the main road for it never to be intrusive, but I’ve never really stood and listened – really listened – like this before. It’s very peaceful, very restful. I bet those that snigger about these new towns, these concrete jungles would never believe just how peaceful it is. Maybe I’m lucky, maybe it’s just this little corner of the town. I can’t help but smile though; this isn’t quite paradise, but its damn close.

I’m not entirely sure what happened last night. The power was only supposed to be off for an hour but after 3 hours there was no sign of it coming back on. I’d assumed that whatever systems the council had put in place to restore the power after their grand gesture had failed spectacularly. The papers would love that on top of the existing controversy.

It’s a sign of my laptop’s age that the battery didn’t last 3 hours. Neither did I, come to that… By the time I’d accepted that the council had screwed-up royally it was about eleven o’clock, and I decided I’d just hit my bed. That’s stupidly early for a Saturday night, but with no power, what else was I going to do?

The forums are unusually quiet, but then I remember that the clocks went forward last night. Although I’m lucky in that most of my clocks adjust themselves, it seems the rest of the community aren’t; they must be still lying in bed. Of course, that’s where I’d planned to be – clock change or no clock change – had it not been for those stupid blinds letting the sun through. Back in the days when I worked shifts I used to have to hang towels up over that window to block out the light; I’d never have got any sleep otherwise. Maybe I should start doing that again. Twitter is also quiet, but then most of the people I follow are the same people I see on the forums, and on Facebook. It’s a bit daft really; I mean, how many different ways can you tell people what you’re doing? Do we really need such constant updates on people’s lives?

Hah! Listen to me! I am the world’s biggest Facebook/Twitter/Forum whore; can’t get enough of them. Logging on and finding no updates is actually devastating. Yes, really, it’s beyond disappointing; it’s that bad.

With no activity on all the social networking sites, there’s only one thing for it. Where’s that piece of paper Dave gave me at work the other day with that website on it? I’m sure I put it somewhere safe.

Ah, here it is. Best close the curtains, don’t want any unexpected visitors. Not that I get many; I tend to be the ‘go to them’ person rather than the ‘come to me’. It doesn’t bother me and, as far as I can tell, it doesn’t bother my friends either. Unless those days when nobody is at home is really them just hiding in silence behind the sofa.

The rest of the day passed pretty much in the same vein. I showered, dressed casually (or scruffily, more like) but comfortably – needed to make sure I had plenty of freedom, you know? I sat listening to music, reading a book, just slobbing, basically.

I nibbled all day rather than make a proper meal – that’s one downside of being single, making food for yourself seems like such a chore sometimes. I really shouldn’t graze like I do, especially when I am trying to delay the appearance of the paunch.

I did try watching TV for a while, but there was nothing that took my fancy. I tried the radio but the local transmitter must have been having problems as the reception was awful, full of static. I could just about make out some song, something dull and inoffensive, but I wasn’t sure what it was. Not that it was much of a loss, the local station is all adverts and talk anyway, and the odd bit of music they do play is pretty awful. Which is saying something, coming from me, with my eclectic collection.

In the end, as the afternoon dragged on, I chose a DVD. A perfectly normal DVD, I’ll have you know, having returned to the PC a couple of times during the afternoon and evening and found no more activity and then accidentally wandered over to that