Prometheus Mode: ZPOCALYPTO - A World of GAMELAND Series, #5

By Saul Tanpepper

Don't hate the game, hate the gamer.

 

For 5 gamer-hackers stuck in a live action, virtual reality arcade filled with the undead, surviving isn't enough. Sometimes you have to make sacrifices.

 

The newly refreshed and republished series continues in the fifth thrilling installment of the best selling post-apocalyptic cyberpunk saga by Saul Tanpepper.

 

Part gamelit, part action-adventure, this completely original hi-tech, high-stakes take on the end of the world as we know it will keep you enthralled from the very first episode to the fourteenth.

Download Zpocalypto now!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Brinestone Press
• Release date: Nov 7, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223643524

Saul Tanpepper

Subscribe for new releases & exclusive deals/giveaways: tinyletter.com/SWTanpepper Saul Tanpepper is the specfic pen name of author Ken J. Howe, a PhD molecular biologist and former Army medic and trauma specialist.  Titles include: The post-apocalyptic series GAMELAND (recommended reading order): - Golgotha (prequel, optional) - Episodes 1-4 - Velveteen (standalone novella, optional) - Episodes 5-8 - Infected: Hacked Files From the Gameland Archive (insights for the avid GAMELAND fan) - Jessie's Game #1: Signs of Life - A Dark and Sure Descent - Jessie's Game #2: Dead Reckoning Post-apocalyptic series BUNKER 12 - Contain - Books 2-4 (coming soon) International medical thriller serial THE FLENSE (a BUNKER 12 companion series) - CHINA: Books 1-3 - ICELAND: Book 1-3 - AFRICA: Books 1-3 - TBA Short story collections: Shorting the Undead & Other Horrors Insomnia: Paranormal Tales, Science Fiction, and Horror Visit him at tanpepperwrites.com

Book preview

PART ONE

From My Clay

Chapter 1

Come on already, Jessie, Micah pleads. "What are you waiting for? Let’s find the others and blow this joint.

He prowls at the fence line like an anxious guard dog. And that’s what troubles me, because how do I know he won’t attack me once I’m inside? I know he suspects something, or else he wouldn’t be acting this way.

I’m getting a really bad feeling standing around out here with all these bodies.

I recheck Kelly’s message on my Link, hoping I simply misread it. Or maybe a new message will pop up and tell me it was all a joke. Ha ha! Just teasing. Micah’s not a traitor. Just thought you needed a little something to keep you on your toes.

But no.

Micah wrote the failsafe script?

How can it be true? How can Micah be the one who set us all up?

The whole world suddenly feels like it’s collapsing around me, crushing the air from my chest. The roar of it deafens me. And like a bolt out of the blue, I suddenly realize that everything I’ve ever believed in about Micah is a lie. It all makes sense, though, now that it’s actually been said. The signs were always there, staring us in the face.

I tap a reply, a single word: Sure?

He sends me three more messages in rapid succession:

<< ASH 100% POSITIVE >>

<< DONT SAY ANYTHING >>

<< WE NEED PLAN >>

Jess? Micah calls. Was that Kelly? Are they okay? Then, hesitantly: What did he say? Tell me what he said.

He sounds even more worried now. Do I sense a note of hysteria in his voice? Or is it suspicion? What would he do if I were to confront him right now with the accusation? Would he confess? Or would he double down on the lie he’s been telling us for the past year? He’s not a Southern States Coalition exile; he’s an Arc spy.

Everything we thought we knew about us being here on Long Island is wrong, especially the assumptions I’d made about Kelly. Micah had coordinated with Arc to manipulate Kel into thinking he was doing the company’s bidding. They were just toying with him, using him. That must be how Arc knew about Kyle in the first place: Micah told them. And here I thought I was beginning to understand how all the pieces were fitting together. Now I know it was nothing more than a scene in a stained glass window. But the glass is shattered, and I can finally see clearly what had been hidden behind it all this time.

Micah betrayed us. He’s been betraying us ever since...

Well, probably since the moment we first met him last year.

I guess I’d always suspected on some level that he wasn’t who he said he was. We all probably did, just that we were always so willing to ignore the inconsistencies in his story. We pretended they were real, because we didn’t want to rock the boat. What he brought to the group, we didn’t want to lose.

God, we were such suckers.

I think back to last year. He’d shown up in summer school out of the blue one day, the new kid sitting alone in the back, minding his own business, trying to be invisible yet impossible to miss. Fresh blood, always the focus everyone’s fascination. New kids are full of untapped and unknown potential, like a Schrödinger’s Cat, inhabiting multiple quantum social states simultaneously. Would he become an outcast or Homecoming King? Class clown or Brainiac? Whichever it would be depended on what happened when someone eventually decided to poke that proverbial box open.

It wasn’t going to be one of us. We already had our little group— me and Kelly, Ash and Reg. We didn’t need another mixing things up, disturbing our homeostasis.

Or so we thought.

The stories about him started circulating almost immediately: his family had defected from the SSC by climbing over the wall at the porous Texas-Oklahoma border. This was during one of Oklahoma’s famous breaks from the Coalition. As many people left New Merica as entered it through that wall. Apparently there’d been a raid, and some members of Micah’s party had been killed or taken prisoner. The Sandervols luckily escaped.

They fled north and east with nothing but the clothes on their backs, eventually making their way to Connecticut, where Government assigned them to subsidized housing for refugees.

I don’t know exactly how it happened, but he eventually wormed his way into our cozy little club. I guess I can assume it was all planned. He must’ve sought us out for our skills. It wasn’t exactly common knowledge that we were hackers — we never advertised it, of course — but enough people knew. That’s the thing about open secrets: you just have to ask the right questions of the right people.

We should’ve known something wasn’t right by the fact that his parents were never around. As far as I know, not a single one of us has ever met them. Micah always just dismissed this oddity with offhanded remarks about his father working all the time and backhanded comments about his mother preferring to be with family out of the country. We rarely pressed the issue. We didn’t want to rock the party boat. Now I wonder if they even exist. And if they do, they probably work for Arc. Or Government. Or both.

Micah soon became an invaluable part of our group. His house became our go-to place to hang out. It was always conveniently empty, a safe and private haven allowing us to do whatever we pleased — most of it questionable, some of it undeniably illegal — without fear of parental interference or discovery by the authorities. Plus, he always seemed to have access to tech equipment whenever we had the need. It was never very good, mind you, but perfectly adequate for all but our most ambitious plans. Anything better probably would’ve caused us to ask questions.

It was all a big, fat house of cards. It says a lot about how committed he was to the charade to keep it up for so long. And how committed we were to believing it.

The conversation Nurse Mabel and that man — Beaucorps is what Stephen had said his name was — had had that night I’d regained consciousness now comes to mind. Was it really only a week ago? It feels like forever. Beaucorps had talked about someone coming on-stream within days to help her out with some implant issue. Another ArcWare coder, is what he’d said. And now Ashley’s figured out that Micah’s the failsafe script’s author. Are they one and the same? It has to be. Micah had certainly been off-stream while he was recovering from his injuries from the bombing.

And he had recovered within days.

Now I’m wondering about this whole not remembering how to hack thing. Could it, too, be just another lie?

Has to be.

At least now I understand why the failsafe didn’t affect him. He never got the new updated implant, but not for the reason we thought. It wasn’t because he was too seriously injured, it was because he wasn’t part of our test group. He wasn’t Arc’s lab rat like we were.

And what about that tracking script he wrote before we ever even came here? Kelly thought Arc was extorting him to steal it. The truth was, they must’ve already had it.

But the clincher has to be Professor Halliwell’s identification card. I’ve puzzled over this every which way till Sunday since I found it in Micah’s house, and I always come to the same conclusion. He’s connected with the man who murdered my father. He can deny it all he wants, but it’s too huge of a coincidence. Arc is that connection. They’re the glue that sticks everything together. I just haven’t figured out what it all means. Why would Arc still be interested in the guy all these years later?

Jessie!

I jolt upright, blinking stupidly. The fear and suspicion must be written all over my face, because he winces, as if I’ve hit him. He says my name again, hesitantly. He looks so vulnerable, so...

So innocent.

More lies.

But it works, because now I’m starting to doubt everything. What if Kelly and Ash are wrong? What’s their proof?

Since it’s coming from Ashley, I guess that it has to be Micah’s signature in the script. She’d said before it looked familiar. If anyone would know, it’s her.

But signatures can be copied. Styles can be faked.

No, Ashley wouldn’t say something so damning about one of our own unless she was absolutely certain.

Come out, come out, wherever you are, my mind whispers. Come on out, from inside that fractured little head of yours, Micah. The game is up. Show me the monster hiding inside.

But it stays well hidden. His expression reveals nothing. He just stands there and gives me this quizzical look and says, You’re starting to worry me, Jessie.

I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to react. Or what to do.

Fine. Stay there. I’m going to look for the others.

When he turns, I realize I’ve got no choice. I can’t let him get to the others alone. I need to protect them. And then we need to figure out what this all means for us and what we need to do next.

Wait, I call. I’m coming.

I step over to the tree and grab the lowest limb. I glance once more around me before beginning to climb.

Off in his little makeshift bed of flattened grass, Shinji raises his head and gives me a toothy yellow grin. No more barking now. He’s about as happy as a clam, unaware of the conflict brewing between his new human companions. He’s content to just lie there and chew on that old bit of fabric and stuffing. His stomach is full. The sun’s warm; the dew’s about to dry. He doesn’t care about the dead undead littering the field all around us or how they got there. Nor does he concern himself with the deadly deceits playing out right in front of him. None of that bullshit bothers him because he’s a dog. And with dogs, there is no such thing as hidden agendas.

I climb the tree without conscious thought of what I’m doing. My body remembers how to do it from my years as a tomboy. My mind is elsewhere. It’s a ghost possessing a machine guidance by reflex. I’m a passenger, barely aware of what I’m doing as I edge out over the fence.

Micah shouts at me to be careful, and I glance down and see that the toe of my shoe is dangling perilously close to the electrified wire. I’m almost tempted to just let it relax another inch or two, to see what it would feel like to have the charge surge through my body. I’m so angry right now I’m numb. I don’t want to feel this way.

But I don’t have the guts to do it. I never did, come to think of it. No matter how miserable I’ve ever felt, I would rather continue on in agony than to do the courageous thing.

I drop to the ground and he steps over. What the hell’s gotten into you all of a sudden?

The words sting, not because they’re so harsh, but because there’s this genuine-sounding note of concern in them. I want to slap him, to order him to stop. I want to demand he explain how he could do this to us. But I don’t. Kelly’s right. We can’t let on that we know, not until we figure out the much larger problems of saving ourselves and getting off the island.

He grabs me by the shoulders and shakes me. I flinch. What the hell did Kelly say to you? Tell me, Jess.

Olly olly oxen free. The monster is starting to reveal itself, isn’t it?

Nothing, I say, and brush him aside. It’s... personal. Let’s just go find the others.

Sure. Let’s get them and get the hell out of here. It’s time to go home, he says, unconvincingly.

The look on his face is all wrong. His lips are pressed into a frown. Yet is that a sinister grin lurking underneath it? Is there something off in the tone of his voice? His words say one thing, but they ring false to my ears. We both know getting back home is no longer going to be as simple as tapping our heels together. Even if Jake hadn’t been bitten, it’s still going to be a logistical nightmare. He knows this. And suddenly I realize that whatever ‘fix’ I came up to thwart his failsafe, in the end, he knows it won’t allow us to just leave. It’s not going to be as simple as that. It never was.

I think it’s this way, he says.

He turns and slides through the tall grass like a snake.

Chapter 2

We peek inside the nearest building, but it’s immediately apparent to me that we’re looking in the wrong place. The walls are painted a sickly orange color instead of the light gray we’d seen through Ashley’s Link. It looks like someone turned a pumpkin inside out.

Somebody was either color blind, Micah says, making a face, or this was one major screw up.

I grunt, resentful of his attempt at humor.

Thankfully, the walls in the second building are the right shade. An LED nightlight outside the door flickers. The detector’s either faulty or responding to the first rays of the approaching day.

Didn’t Kelly say it was the smallest building they were in? Micah asks. This would be it.

Whatever.

He frowns, as if I should be grateful he remembered this little tidbit of information.

The knob is smashed off. The metal bits are scattered over the cement step. I reach past him and pry at the door with the little penknife I found in Cassie’s parents’ room. It swings open, making barely any sound.

I check behind us. A wedge of sky has gone from black to dark purple, and at the very bottom is a thin blood-red line. Morning is coming, and with it the end of a very long night.

We’re still alone. No undead waiting to follow us inside.

Micah suddenly yawns, and it prompts a similar reflex in me. Despite the dire situation we’re in, I feel like I could sleep for three days straight. I’d just about kill for a Red Bull, he says, a bit too jovially. And some Golden Dragon cashew chicken.

I want to scream at him to shut the hell up. Instead, I step inside.

The lights are off, and the place is a mess. A few pieces of office furniture are strewn randomly about. Papers litter the floor. I pick a sheet up. It’s stiff and gritty in my hands, years of dust sheeting off of it. The ink is faded to a light brown. I squint at the words, angling it toward the faint light from the door. It’s a page from a technical manual of some sort talking about local area computing networks, something that undoubtedly became obsolete after Arc’s new Stream technology was adopted. I let it go. It drifts back to the floor.

Micah shines his Link into the gloom and steps forward. We encounter the first corpse twenty feet in, just past the entryway into the building’s largest room. Micah stops and stands there, just staring at the body. I push past him and scan farther inside. It’s a killing field. A dozen bodies lay strewn about the place. Beyond them, along the opposite wall, I find what I’m looking for: the elevator.

Micah’s throat clicks. Are any of them...?

No. They all look like infecteds. Remembering that Jake is now on his way to becoming one of them, I add, They’re not our guys.

We weave our way through the bodies. A few have clearly been undead for a very long time. Their skin has that characteristic grayish leathery husk and their scalps are patchy and brown. Infected undead. IUs. Victims of the outbreak thirteen years ago.

After all this time, they can finally rest in peace.

But the old ones are in the minority. Most of the corpses are fresher. Either they were trapped inside and decayed a lot slower, or they’re—

Players. Micah says. His lips curl into a snarl. He exhales noisily through his nose and shakes his head. A dozen or so, by the looks of it. Why are there so many here?

What do you mean?

"I mean here here. We’re nowhere close to any city."

So?

"So, you ever watch an episode of Survivalist that didn’t take place in the city? Nothing ever worth airing happens out in the boonies, which is where we are now. Where’d they all come from?"

You don’t know for sure if they’re CUs. And even if they are, I’m sure some Operators keep their Players out of the cities when they’re just starting out. Less reward, but also less risk. We encountered one on the road, possibly two, remember?

He chuffs. Cowards.

Hey, when you drop a few million for an invite, you can do what you want. But heading straight for the city is like skipping straight to level fifteen. The boonies is for beginners.

"I get that, but this many? And why here? Why now? Seems fishy."

Probably the same reason that one on the road came here, I say. They followed Kelly and the others.

Sure, maybe one or two, but—

So word got out, I snap. I’m getting exasperated by this weird obsession he has for the minutiae of the scene. We don’t need to understand it; we need to get out of here. You know how it goes. Operators are constantly pinging each other. All it’d take is one of them announcing that there’s easy kills and providing a location.

Arc doesn’t like that.

Arc says it doesn’t like Players going after anything other than other Players, and yet here we are.

Something doesn’t add up.

Yeah, you can say that again.

I eye him warily as he carefully makes his way through the twice dead. He kicks at several with the toe of his boot to make sure they’re really gone. There’s something eerily consistent about most of the bodies. It doesn’t strike me right away, but then I see it.

Their necks are broken.

What? he says.

I hadn’t meant to say it out loud. I reach over and flip on the lights so we can see the whole room at once. Just like the ones outside the fence. All of them, IUs included. Someone — or something — broke their necks.

I’ve never seen a Player go after another that way.

Probably because neck snapping doesn’t get the same ratings. It’s just not gory enough.

He nods. I guess.

Beheadings earns Operators the most points. People love to watch violence. They like blood and dismemberment. The bloodier and gorier the better for ratings.

So, if these are all noobs, he wonders aloud, why are they all dead? Did one of them turn on the rest?

Pretty damn efficient.

We stare at each other for moment, then he turns.

The last body lies directly in front of the elevator doors. I roll it over and recognize the decaying face of the IU that bit Jake. It’s