The Game

By Christopher J. Thomasson

Robert Daley (a soldier stationed in the Middle East) and Paul Gest (a seventeen-year-old gamer) share something in common - they are both pawns in a government advanced weaponry prototype.

Unable to work out the bugs in the software, General Aaron Singleton begins to take drastic measures to keep his weapons system alive...he's willing to try anything to maintain government funding, and that means using the minds of young children and the refurbished bodies of fallen military hero's.

Together, Robert and Paul work to end the General's plans but in order to do that, they must first survive The Game.

This novelette also contains an excerpt chapter from Christopher's upcoming full-length novel: The Gravedigger

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christopher J. Thomasson
• Release date: Jun 16, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311087720

Christopher J. Thomasson

Christopher J. Thomasson was born in Honolulu, Hawaii in 1972. His family permanently settled in the piney woods of East Texas when he was two years old. He discovered a love for reading and writing at a very young age and until recently, only ever wrote for himself, his family, and his closest friends.In April 2013, at the age of 40, Christopher suffered a mild heart attack while on the tennis court. Within a couple of days, he was undergoing triple-bypass surgery. Because of his love for tennis and the increased active lifestyle the sport provided, the doctors informed him of a miracle–with the clotting in his veins, his heart created new vessels to transport blood to those areas of the heart that were being depleted...and as a result of those new vessels, his heart had sustained no damage!As a result of this experience, Christopher realized that he has more to add to this life than merely existing–he has stories to share.

Book preview

The Game

by

Christopher J Thomasson

Also by

Christopher J. Thomasson

INSPIRATIONS:

Poetry, Commentary, and Short Stories

I AM NOBODY:

a memoir

NUGGETS:

A Collection of Micropoetry

AVERAGE JOE:

A Novel

Copyright © 2015 by Christopher J. Thomasson

All rights reserved.

No part of this story may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission from Christopher J. Thomasson, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages for reviewing purposes.

This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, any place, events, or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and storylines are created from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Editor: Erin Schroeder

Smashwords Edition, License Note

Thank you for downloading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favorite authorized retailer. Thank you for your support.

ISBN: 9781311087720

Part One

Dust chokes his throat. If there’s anything about this country that he just can’t get used to, it’s the dust. It never ends. Even in the heavily tree-lined mountains (if you can call them trees—where he’s from, trees tower hundreds of feet above the ground—here, they are barely taller than two men), the dust materializes from thin air. It’s so bad he can’t leave the barracks without a bandanna secured around his head to protect his mouth, nose, and lungs. It’s not uncommon for the stuff to gather around the openings of the eyes, nose, and mouth—to mix with the moisture and solidify like concrete. He can only imagine the horrors the stuff is doing inside his lungs.

But those are thoughts for another day—a day when he can finally sit at home in an air conditioned house, maybe with a loving wife and a few children. A dog would be nice. A good loyal purebred...not like the mangy mongrels found here. These dogs are so skittish he can’t get near them, even with a piece of dried jerky in hand. Briefly, his thoughts turn to his childhood dog, a beautiful Blue Heeler. She was loyal and the best companion a teenager could have. He remembers scratching her ears and saying goodbye to her before leaving for basic training. He remembers the letter he received from his mother six months later, telling him his dog had died.

Something moves through the scruff of underbrush ahead and he puts a closed fist into the air. The men behind him freeze in place then gracefully begin to fade into their surroundings. In seconds, they disappear—all that gear, all that equipment—it always surprises him at how silent they can be when necessary.

Robert Daley holds his position, standing motionless in the middle of the overgrown trail. It’s his responsibility to keep his men safe, and that means determining if the noises ahead are a threat. His eyes scan the shadows ahead, his mind now focused on the task and not with those things of the past. He slowly draws his rifle to his shoulder and sweeps the barrel to the left, then back to the right. He can’t see anything threatening but the rustling noises continue from a heavy clump of knotted brush ahead and slightly to the right. The barrel of his rifle automatically adjusts that direction—a product of his training.

He moves forward, creeping closer to the source of the noise. The brush rustles again as individual leaves and branches move, seemingly of their own will. There is no wind. Has to be a critter of some sort, he thinks. A chipmunk? Maybe a bird building a nest? He’s at the clump of bushes now. Using the rifle’s barrel, he pushes the branches aside. A sudden flutter of wings and feathers erupts in front of him as a bird takes flight, barely missing his face in its haste to escape the intrusion.

Rob doesn’t flinch—another product of his training.

He turns to the rear and signals the sign for all clear. His fellow soldiers materialize from the landscape. In the same way they blended into their surroundings a few moments ago—watching them materialize never ceases to amaze him. Seeing it reminds him these men are not just soldiers—they’re magicians.

His sergeant signals for him to continue on their mission but as Rob turns, the ground below him erupts in golden flames. As quickly as the brain functions, his mind never registers what is happening. In the space of a millisecond, darkness converges on him and wraps him in its unfeeling cloak of silence.

* * *

Hey everybody, come look at this!

Paul feels the crowd push closer and he fidgets nervously. His eyes dart away from the screen—the distraction is brief, but it’s almost enough to kill his virtual character. They continue to press in and he finds it harder to breath. The odor wafting from their bodies threatens to send him into an asthmatic fit. He tries to ignore them and concentrate on the game.

The arcade is noisy. Kids shriek in delight or disgust at the games they are playing—sometimes it’s hard to tell the two apart.

Other than the children, all the other noises are artificial. To the right are the racing games—the kind where the player can actually sit in a mockup of an actual racecar. Revving engines, squealing tires, and wrecking vehicles add to the mix of noise. To the left are the kiddie games with lots of flashing lights, carnival music, and ringing bells. Here in the center of the arcade, where Paul is currently playing, are all the war games. Grenades explode, rifles pop, and machine guns clatter in symphony to the artificial sound of dying men. As noisy as it can be, Paul can barely hear any of it now. The slight distraction he felt a few seconds ago is now gone, replaced by such a deep concentration that the surrounding auditory flood barely registers in his mind—like hearing the ocean in a sea shell.

Like gas fumes tickling an open flame, news of Paul’s potential feat sparks an vague curiosity in those present. Some leave their games unfinished, just to see what the commotion is all about.

An Act of War’s concave screen stretches approximately eight feet from the floor and wraps 150 degrees around Paul. Players stand in front of the screen using black plastic, wireless sub-machine guns. While two players can play the game simultaneously, Paul is playing alone, but in two-player mode—holding a gun in each hand.

There are endless levels of war playing out on screen. Like most games of this nature, the objective is for the player to shoot his or her way through the enemy and survive as long as possible, thereby gaining the highest score. Since the game’s arrival a few months before, Paul and several friends have made it a personal challenge to knock A.M.Y. off the top of the leaderboard. They have no idea who A.M.Y. is, but that doesn’t deter them from wanting their own name at the top. So far, Paul’s come the closest. His initials fill four of the top five spots.

But he