Blue sky.

High desert below. Dark green scrub, giant boulders, spiny cactus. Craggy, ancient mountains in the distance. Like pictures he’d seen of New Mexico and Arizona.

He looked down at himself and saw powerful robotic hands attached to muscular robotic arms. Black booted feet emitted cones of blue plasma, holding him aloft. An impressive red safety harness held him securely inside a Go-Boy Battle-Suit. A real Go-Boy Battle-Suit. Better than the simulator at the arcade. Better even than the expensive Hollywood version piloted by Colby Max, and he was the most well-known thirteen-year-old in the country, perhaps the world.

Parker sensed others nearby, kids his age, somewhere in the sky with him.

One of them was in trouble.

Parker spun around, scanned the sky.

He saw her, inside her Battle-Suit, on her back and falling headfirst, trapped in a flat spin. She spun like a leaf, a leaf made of lead.

Who was she? How did he know her?

It didn’t matter now. Questions later. If he could get to her before she impacted the hard ground, flattened in an unceremonious crunch of expensive metals and metallurgical polymers and whatever else Colby’s sidekick Igby used to build the fancy flying suits.

Parker rolled onto his back, accelerated hard. He dove from the sky in a tight loop, until he flew parallel to the earth. He accelerated harder, pushing his Battle-Suit faster and faster. Scrub and boulders and cactus rushed by in a blur.

He heard voices on the intercom, shouting, arguing, far away, as if he were under water. He ignored all of them, focused on her. He could save her. He could defy gravity and physics and statistical probabilities of survival. He could save her. He had to.

A giant cactus appeared in his flight path. Long green spines and sharp black spikes rushed toward him. He made a fist with his big robotic hand and punched the cactus as he flew into it. The cactus exploded. Shards of cactus meat and beads of cactus juice hung in the air as if in a photograph. The explosive impact rang his ears inside his helmet.

He flew on, faster and faster.

She neared the ground. Mountains loomed behind her. A few seconds more and it would be too late.

He would make it. He would catch her.

She wasn’t going to die.

Not today.

Parker stretched out his long robotic arms. Drops of cactus juice sparkled on the black palms of his robotic hands, blue sky and brown desert reflected a hundred times in miniature.

He focused on her. Twirling as she fell. Around and around she spun. His timing had to be perfect.

He reached out . . .

. . . waited, waited . . .

A shrill scream blared over the intercom.

The Battle-Suit and the girl screaming inside it disappeared behind a massive boulder.

The scream abruptly stopped.

From behind the boulder rose a cloud of brown dust.

 

 

CHAPTER ONE – BYE, MOM

 

 

          “I’m so dead.” She checked the rear view mirror again.

          “Mom. Relax. It’s one day of school. Besides, it’s my birthday. Remember?”

          “Yes, of course I remember.” She nestled into the driver’s seat and looked at him. She smiled. Her eyes checked the mirror. Again.

          “Mom.”

          Her eyes flitted back to him. “Sorry. This is a tow-away zone.”

          “They’re not going to tow the car with us still in it.”

          “If your father finds out you spent the day playing video games, we can say you played hooky because it’s your birthday. But if I get a ticket for parking in a red zone outside the arcade, we won’t get off so lucky.”

          “Fine. Go to school. Go teach.” He reached for the door handle.

          “You sure you have enough money?”

          “Yes. You gave me more than enough.” He smiled and opened the door.

          “Don’t tell your father. You know how he is about earning things.” Her eyes drifted to the rear view mirror again. “Is that a cop?”

          He looked over his shoulder. “No. It’s a taxi.” He put one foot out.

          “What time’re you meeting me back here?”

          “Three.”

          “We have to hurry to meet your father or he’ll know we were up to something.”

          “I know.”

          “What time?”

          “Three.”

          “You’re sure you have enough money?”

          He looked at her, sitting there behind the wheel, more matronly than usual in her work clothes, a long skirt and button-down sweater, hair piled atop her head like it always was in the mornings, with two blond strands framing her eyes. “Yes, mom. Go teach.”

          She smiled. A funny, different smile.

          He didn’t know what it meant. “What?”

          “Nothing.” She looked at him, the mirror forgotten. “You’re getting so handsome. You look more like your father every day.”

          “Dad says I remind him of you.”

          She smiled. “Does the watch fit?”

          He held up his wrist. “Perfectly.”

          “Good. He spent a lot of time shopping for the one you wanted. Make sure you turn it off until after school. We can at least pretend we’re following the rules. You’ll get my gift at dinner. I love you. My hope.”

          “Mom, please.”

          “What? It’s not every day my little boy turns ten.”

          “Go teach.”

          “Fine. Go… kick… What is it you’re kicking, exactly?”

          “Plasma.”

          “Right. Go kick some plasma. And, uh, ‘Take it to the max.’” She pointed her finger at the sky. “You’re sure you have enough money? Parker?”

          He wasn’t listening. He looked at the watch, remembering last night, minutes before his father had given it to him. He’d walked in on his parents, found them shouting at each other. He hadn’t slept because of it.

Halfway out the car door, he paused and looked at her. “Last night, what were you and dad arguing about?”

          She looked at her hands in her lap. “Grown up stuff.”

          Whatever that meant.

          “Are you getting a divorce?”

          She looked up. Her eyes widened in horror. “A divorce? No, absolutely not. I love you and your father more than life itself. I would never leave. Either of you. Why would you think we’re getting a divorce?”

          “You were arguing last night. When I came in, you stopped. It seemed like it had something to do with me.”

          Her eyebrows lifted and she smiled. She shook her head. “Respectful disagreements are perfectly healthy.” She looked at the mirror, then at the little round silver watch on her own wrist. “I have to go. You know how Midtown is in the morning.”

          He sat on the edge of his seat, looking at her. The wide red strap of his Go-Boy backpack hung on his shoulder.

“This is a topic for some other time, honey. It’s your birthday, remember?”

          He got out and closed the car door, not entirely convinced. “Bye, mom.”

          She smiled. “Have fun!”

          A siren woop-WOOP! behind them. He looked back at the blue and white cruiser, NYPD on the door. The big man behind the wheel held up his hands: I’m waiting…

“See!” She waved at the officer and threw the shift lever into Drive. “I am so dead.”

Parker watched her wave again, this time at him, and she smiled big, guilty, and her blond hair shook.

Suddenly she seemed young again. Her essence, her silliness outshone her years for a moment, a second or two. Then she was mom again.

“I love you!” She drove away, still smiling. He saw her head tilt as she watched him in her mirror. Then she was swallowed up by the morning traffic.

The police car remained at the red curb. Its steam engine purred. Tendrils of moisture wafted from the tailpipes and melted into the surprisingly cool July morning air. The police officer hunched sideways, his right hand on the headrest of the passenger seat, watching. His radio crackled. A woman’s garbled voice droned out of it. The officer watched Parker for a moment, then stabbed a button on the dash and the red and blue lights atop the car sprang to life. The officer whipped the car out into traffic.

Several taxis and a double-decker sightseeing bus screeched to a halt. The taxi drivers honked while the bus’ brakes squealed. The wide-eyed passengers on the upper deck bobbed forward in unison as the bus stopped, many of them shooting pictures and video of the hurried police car.

Parker turned and walked down the wide sidewalk toward the long row of silver doors. Men and women wearing business suits and athletic shoes streamed out of the crowded stairwells leading up from Penn Station. Parker felt the warm subway air engulf him as he passed. He inhaled deeply, relishing the unique smell of the subway; warm air, almost stifling, tinged with grease and mechanical things, the smell of the trains, rich, fried food, and the three-quarters of a million people who used the station every day.

He rode the elevator to the top of the mall. The arcade was nearly empty. Two guys played pinball in the corner. Their long hair rested on their shoulders. Each had a pack of cigarettes rolled into the sleeve of his wrinkled black t-shirt. Highschool guys. Cutting, like him. They saw him and grinned in appreciation.

The Go-Boy simulators were all unoccupied. The robots stood like sentries, waiting to be guided. He went to his favorite, the one that fit the best and had the fastest reaction time and lowest ping.

Number thirteen.

He climbed in and closed the canopy, giving it the little wiggle right at the end, to make a good seal.

He was in. He dropped his backpack on the floor and fastened the wide red straps of the safety harness around his chest. He took out the faded, crinkled bank card his mom had recharged in the car and inserted it in the slot.

The cockpit lights flicked on. The soft hum of the cooling fans speeding up. The scent of dust and electronics. He tapped the inside of the canopy. “Bring on the war mice.”

Orange clouds filled the canopy view. The sun was setting behind distant mountains, half a glowing red circle sinking below the black terrain.

The sim moved and his weight settled onto the wide red straps of the harness. He was flying. Just like Colby and Igby. By the time eight o’clock rolled around, bringing with it the World Premiere of Go-Boy Forever, he would be ready.

Far below on the ground lay a city. Tiny moving things. Cars, trucks, buses, and people. All of them were about to die. Parker angled his body downward, throttled up, and commenced his strafing run. He raised his arms, unsafed his cannons, and prepared for battle.

An hour later, he was sweating, twisting his body side to side, climbing and banking, diving and rolling, trying to get the bad guys off his tail. He’d been hit twice, was low on bullets, and was outnumbered twenty-to-one. Not even Colby went up against that many. There’d be another new high score after this one. All ten high-scores would bear his initials, P.J.P.

His new watch rang.

Lost in the moment of the game, he tapped his watch face without thinking. “Hello?”

“Parker?”

Uh-oh. He looked at his watch.

His dad looked back at him. He leaned closer and his face got bigger. “Where are you? I figured you’d have your phone off. Aren’t you supposed to be in Algebra?”

Parker paused the game. The cockpit was suddenly too quiet. Just the far away sounds of pinball paddles flapping, and the low hiss of his dad’s call. “I’m… in the bathroom.”

“Oh.” He didn’t sound convinced. “I was calling to tell you I got tickets to the eight o’clock show, the big theatre, like we talked about. And good seats, in the middle. Why is the bathroom so dark?”

That was a good question. No good answer. His dad waited, apparently expecting a response. Parker reached for the dial to increase the cockpit lights. The dial stuck, then broke free, and his hand slipped. His finger touched the Pause button, restarting the game.

“Take it to the max!” declared the voice of Colby Max.

Parker slapped the Pause button again. Silence.

“Are you at the arcade? Why aren’t you in school?”

Uh-oh.

His dad shook his head slowly from side to side. “I can’t believe this.” He didn’t look into the camera, but stared at something inside his office, out of frame. “You think because it’s your birthday you don’t need to go to class? You know how I feel about you getting an education. You are not going to be a code monkey like me.” His dad shook his head again.

“I like writing code.”

He turned into the camera. “Damn it, Parker, listen to me. There used to be a time when writing code was a prestigious, elite, even noble profession. But these days it’s about as glamorous as digging ditches under an outhouse.

“I even gave you your birthday present early. And this is how you behave. I think you better take off that watch until you’re ready to give more than you take.” He squinted into the camera, as if listening for something. “How did you get there? Did your mother drop you off? Is she in on this?”

“No, I—”

“She’s so dead.” His dad looked around his office again, then leaned back in his big black chair. “See you at the restaurant.”

The call ended. Parker’s watch went blank.

Now what?

Heavy thumping sounds rolled through the building. Just a few at first, far away. Then more, a lot more, coming closer. Coming fast.

Outside the sim, outside the arcade, Parker heard sounds, high-pitched shrieks and squeals like the brakes on the subway cars. It wasn’t brakes. It was people… screaming.

Before Parker could move, the walls groaned, flexed, and imploded, crushed by the shockwave. Then the sound of the explosion hit. The steady ringing of glass the instant it shatters. Pinball machines flew through the air. The simulators piled up like dominoes. Parker’s head whipped sideways. He was falling. The entire room was moving, collapsing, taking him with it. He was inside a tornado of chaos, feeling himself in motion, blind, holding tight to the safety harness. He slammed onto his back. High-pitched ringing in his ears. No air in his lungs.

Something hit the outside of the simulator, smashed against it. Stuck there. A bloody face, obscure on the other side of the dirty canopy. Brown, shoulder-length hair and black t-shirt. Eyes open. Blue eyes. Staring at nothing. Illuminated by the cockpit lights.

Parker stared at the face on the other side of the canopy. He couldn’t draw breath, couldn’t breathe. There was no sound. No light beyond the cockpit glow. Just before he passed out, he looked out into the muffled darkness and knew he'd been buried. Buried alive.