Scavenger

  DARTMOOR FALCONRY

  DARTMOOR FOLK FESTIVAL

  DARTMOOR LETTERBOXING

  Preoccupied, he was about to skip to the next item when the subtext of the LETTERBOXING item caught his attention.

  History of a hide-and-hunt game begun in 1854 on Dartmoor when a…

  The description jabbed Balenger’s memory. He suddenly remembered the time-capsule lecture, during which the fake professor had said that communities who lost time capsules were engaged in a hide-and-hunt scavenger game.

  In a rush, Balenger clicked on the item. The text that appeared, with photographs of low hills studded with granite outcroppings, set his brain on fire.

  Letterboxing is a hide-and-hunt game invented in 1854 when a Dartmoor guide, James Perrott, decided to challenge hikers to investigate a difficult-to-reach area of the moor known as Cranmere Pool. To make the hikers prove that they had indeed found their way to the remote site, Perrott placed a jar beneath a cairn of rocks on the bank of the pool. Any hiker who managed to reach the jar was instructed to place a message in it. Sometimes, a self-addressed postcard was left inside. A hiker who found it would replace the card with his or her own and then mail the card to its owner.

  Over the years, this activity—similar to a treasure hunt—proved so popular that jars were added at other locations on the moor. Later, the jars were changed to metal and then plastic containers, which became known as letterboxes because of the messages left in them. More than a century and a half after James Perrott placed his jar beneath that pile of rocks, there are an estimated 10,000 letterboxes throughout Dartmoor’s imposing terrain.

  The containers are carefully hidden. Clues guide players to the general location. Sometimes, the clues are numbers for map coordinates. Other times, they are puzzles and riddles, the answers to which guide the player.

  Because of a 1998 article in Smithsonian Magazine, the popularity of this hide-and-hunt game suddenly spread around the world. In America alone, every state has hidden letterboxes. Not every box is found, of course. Sometimes, on Dartmoor, game players are rewarded by the eerie discovery of a long-lost container that conceals a message left by someone many years earlier.

  Balenger stared at the screen for a long time. The reference to a “long-lost container that conceals a message left by someone many years earlier” took him back to the time-capsule lecture. One of the last things he remembered before lapsing into unconsciousness was the fake professor saying that more time capsules had been lost than had been found.

  Balenger’s heart seemed to stop, then start again. Coincidences? he wondered. Or did Karen Bailey intend for me to find this article? Why else would she have wanted me to read the paragraph about Dartmoor?

  His hands continued to tremble, but now part of the reason for that was an increasingly chill suspicion about why Amanda had been taken from him. He thought of what the librarian had said about clues to a scavenger hunt. A game? he thought. Is this really a damned game?

  Breathing faster, he went to the request counter.

  “Yes, sir?” a woman with streaked hair asked.

  “My name’s Frank Balenger. I asked for The Hound of the Baskervilles.”

  “Of course, sir. Let me see if…” She smiled. “Here it is.”

  The book was an old, musty hardback with dented corners. Balenger found an empty chair at one of the numerous tables. He opened the novel and skimmed its pages, concentrating on the first sentence of every paragraph, searching for “It is a wonderful place, the moor.”

  Balenger exhaled sharply when he found it. Page forty-six. Two-thirds of the way down. But that wasn’t all he found. Someone had used a stamp to put words in the margin: THE SEPULCHER OF WORLDLY DESIRES.

  The room seemed to tilt. Balenger was eerily reminded of the unusual name for one of the time capsules the “professor” had lectured about: the Crypt of Civilization. The Sepulcher. The Crypt. Another coincidence? he wondered. He needed to convince himself that he wasn’t grasping at imaginary connections. One way to be sure was to look at all the copies of The Hound of the Baskervilles the library had. This branch didn’t allow books to be taken from the building. Because there was no way for Karen Bailey to control which copy of the novel he was given, the only sure method to guarantee that Balenger got the message was to stamp THE SEPULCHER OF WORLDLY DESIRES in every copy the library owned.

  Balenger stood so fast that the screech of his chair made the other readers at his table glare. But when he hurried toward the request area, he had a nervous feeling that someone stared at him. He turned toward the entrance to the reading room.

  Someone indeed stared at him.

  A matronly, fortyish woman in a plain dark dress. Her brunette hair was pulled back in a bun.

  Karen Bailey.

  4

  The moment Balenger noticed her, she ran toward the corridor beyond the reading room’s entrance. Balenger’s urgent footsteps startled people at the other tables. He charged past the guard, who scowled at the commotion.

  In the corridor, Balenger looked in one direction and then the other. No sign of Karen Bailey. Other people scowled as he ran to the stairway. Again, no sign of her.

  “Hey,” he said to a man with a nylon book bag, “did you see a woman in a navy dress? Prim? Around forty? Her hair in a bun?”

  The man looked at Balenger’s distraught appearance and stepped back, suspecting he was dangerous.

  “All of you!” Balenger called to the half-dozen people in the corridor. “Did anybody see a woman in a navy dress?”

  The guard came out of the reading room. “Keep your voice down.”

  Balenger rushed along the corridor, checking various exhibition rooms. He reached a women’s room and didn’t think twice about shoving at the door, hurrying inside. At a sink, a woman turned and gaped. Balenger peered under the doors to the stalls. Jeans. Slacks. Nobody in a navy dress.

  He bolted from the women’s room and dodged past the guard who tried to grab him.

  “Karen Bailey!” Balenger yelled. “Stop!”

  Pursued by the guard, Balenger reached the stairs and leapt down two at a time. The next level had closed doors to what looked like offices. Hearing the guard chasing him, Balenger continued to rush downward, only to stop at the sight of Ortega climbing toward him.

  “I saw her!” Balenger exclaimed. “Karen Bailey! She’s in the building!”

  The guard reached Balenger. “Sir, I need to ask you to leave.”

  Ortega pulled out his police identification. “He’s with me.”

  “I saw her at the entrance to the reading room,” Balenger said. “The same navy dress. Hair in a bun. Then she ran.”

  “I didn’t see anyone who matches that description when I came into the building.” Ortega turned toward the guard. “Tell your security staff to block all the exits. Be careful. She might be dangerous.” He pulled out his cell phone. “I’ll call for backup.”

  As Balenger and Ortega ran down the stairs, Ortega blurted instructions into his phone. Then he glared at Balenger. “Ducking away from me in the crowd. Leaving me to report to the fire team on my own. Maybe you’d like to get arrested for obstructing an investigation.”

  “I didn’t have a choice. I told you there wasn’t time. I couldn’t wait.”

  “I was forced to lie and claim you’d gone for medical treatment.”

  “Thanks. If I can ever repay you—”

  “You made me feel like a damned fool. Don’t play games with someone who’s trying to help.”

  “I think that might be what’s going on. A game.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Karen Bailey leaves a piece of paper for me at the theater, but I need to find the theater before I get to read what’s on the paper. A stamp on it leads me to this branch of the library, where I need to pass another test and learn where the paragraph on the paper comes from. It turns out to be from The Hound of the Baskervilles. When I get a copy of the novel, I find words stamped next to
the paragraph.”

  “Words?”

  “The Sepulcher of Worldly Desires.”

  “The what?”

  “I think I’m supposed to find out what it is. This branch of the library doesn’t lend books, so she could be sure I’d find the message on the page. Step by step, I’m being led through some kind of game. The moor the paragraph refers to is Dartmoor in England. When I Googled Dartmoor, I learned about a hide-and-hunt game invented there a long time ago, a game called letterboxing that sounds like the game I’m being made to play—hidden messages leading to other hidden messages. Some aspects of letterboxing even sound like time capsules. Everything’s related.”

  “But why would anybody do this? Do you have enemies? Someone who hates you enough to put you through this?”

  “I told you before, the only person I can think of who’d be sick enough to do this is dead.” Balenger hesitated. “Time capsules.”

  “Something occur to you?”

  “When I was a kid, I found a time capsule in part of a school that was being torn down. The local newspaper made a big deal about it. My photograph was on the front page. It showed me holding the rusted metal box.”

  The skin tightened around Ortega’s eyes. “You’re saying someone went to the trouble of researching your past all the way back to when you were a kid? To find the bait that would make you go to the lecture at that house?”

  “In the attic, we found two video game cases,” Balenger said. “One was for Grand Theft Auto. You told me you’d never heard of the other one. Do you remember its title?”

  Ortega thought for a moment. “Scavenger.”

  LEVEL FOUR

  AVALON

  1

  As the roar of the explosion echoed off the distant mountains, Amanda stayed kneeling. Her chest was racked with sobs. Before her, the blood mist continued to drift in the breeze. The sandy depression was red with body parts. She smelled something pungent and sickening. “Bethany,” she murmured. Shock so overwhelmed her that she was hardly aware of the sharp stones under her knees.

  “Go back to the others,” the sonorous voice said through Amanda’s headset. The words were distorted by a persistent painful ringing that the explosion caused in Amanda’s ears.

  “Bethany,” Amanda said louder. She mourned not only her lost companion but herself and the others in the group. We’re all going to die, she thought.

  No, she told herself. I survived the Paragon Hotel, and by God, I’ll survive this.

  But in the Paragon Hotel, you had Frank to help you. She realized that again she disassociated, referring to herself as “you.”

  She wanted to scream.

  “Your friends are waiting for you,” the voice said. “You don’t want to deprive them of your company.” The voice paused. “As Bethany did.”

  Amanda nodded. Responding to the threat, she stood painfully. Frank, she thought. Again, she had the premonition that he was dead. She felt the increasing certainty that if, impossibly, she was going to survive this nightmare, she would need to do it alone. Tears clouded her vision. After pawing her eyes, she took one last look at what remained of Bethany and turned away.

  A hundred yards from her, past rocks, sagebrush, and the stunted pine tree, Ray, Derrick, and Viv gaped. Despite the distance, Amanda saw that their faces were drawn and pale. The combination of their green, red, and brown coveralls looked even more unnatural.

  Amanda plodded toward them. Her throat felt raw from shouting. Hunger contracted her stomach. But mostly, what she felt was a thick-tongued, dry-lipped thirst.

  All the while she approached, her three companions fixed their attention solely on the crimson area beyond Amanda. Only when she finally reached them, did anybody speak.

  “Are you okay?” Derrick managed to ask.

  The most Amanda could do was nod.

  “How did…” Viv sounded stunned. She turned toward Ray. “You’re the military expert. Was it a rocket? How was it possible?”

  “No,” Ray said. “Not a rocket. We’d have seen and heard it coming.”

  “Some kind of bomb she was standing on?”

  “No. The ground didn’t erupt.”

  “Then…?”

  Ray looked down at his jumpsuit. “Plastic explosive. I think it’s in our clothes.”

  A moment lengthened as the implication had its impact.

  “Our clothes?” Derrick too looked down.

  “Jesus,” Viv said.

  “Or our shoes,” Ray added. “Or our headsets.”

  “Or maybe it’s in these.” Hand unsteady, Amanda withdrew the GPS receiver from her pocket.

  Viv lurched back as if struck. “We’re bombs? He can blow us up whenever he feels like it?”

  “Whenever you disobey,” the voice said.

  The abrupt sound in Amanda’s ears startled her.

  “Whenever you stop playing by the rules,” the voice continued.

  “Rules? What damned rules are you talking about?” Ray shouted. “I haven’t heard anything about—”

  “Discovering the nature of the rules as you proceed is the essence of every great game.”

  “You think this is a fucking game?”

  “Ray, it isn’t necessary to use obscenities.”

  “A game?” Ray looked around as if fearing for his sanity. “The bastard thinks he’s playing a game.”

  “In which one hour has now elapsed. You have thirty-nine hours remaining. Do not waste them.”

  “What difference does it make?” Viv spoke so forcefully that the sinews in her neck bulged like ropes. “You’re going to kill us anyhow!”

  “I’m aware of only one game in which the winners were killed. It was a ball game played by the ancient Maya. That is not my intention. Winners should be rewarded. What happens to losers is another matter.”

  “So how do we win?” Ray demanded.

  “That is something you must discover.”

  “The map coordinates he gave us.” Amanda wiped away more tears. Her cheeks felt raw. “We need to reach that area.”

  Derrick nodded. “We’re not doing any good standing here. We need to move.”

  “And discover the rules,” the voice told them.

  Ray studied the screen on his GPS receiver. His whisker stubble made his narrow face look haggard. He seemed all too aware that at any moment the receiver could blow him up. “This way. Toward the trees.”

  Amanda forced herself to put one foot in front of the other. Her legs aching, her lungs still demanding oxygen, she neared the trees.

  “Cottonwoods,” Derrick said. “They need a lot of water.”

  Viv looked around. “There must be an underground stream.”

  “And all we need is a backhoe to get to it,” Ray said.

  The shadows of the trees provided relief from the heat. Then Amanda was in the sun again. The ground rose. Sweating, she climbed.

  Ray checked his GPS receiver. “The incline’s steeper than it looks. We’re at six thousand feet now.” He sounded out of breath.

  “Go up on a diagonal,” Derrick said.

  “Right. Use a switchback pattern,” Viv told them. “You expend more energy hiking straight up a slope than you do if you climb back and forth.”

  “Very good,” the voice said. “Use your resources.”

  Amanda felt pressure in her knees from trudging up. Slowly, the expanse of the rest of the valley revealed itself.

  “Holy…” Amanda straightened in awe.

  2

  A lake. About a hundred yards long, it glistened below them. Amanda thought of light reflecting off a jewel. As the group stared down, she heard their rapt breathing.

  “The voice told us we’d find what we needed,” Derrick said.

  “I’ve seen the world from the top of Everest,” Viv murmured. “But what I’m looking at now is the most beautiful…”

  “So, what are we waiting for?” Ray started down. “After the ten days I spent getting chased in Iraq, I promised myself I’d never
be thirsty again.”

  Derrick and Viv followed Ray down the slope, all of them breaking into a run. Amanda peered around, feeling threatened by the vastness surrounding her. The mountains felt close and yet far, tricking her sense of distance. She was reminded of a psychology course she’d taken in college, an experiment in which natives who lived in a jungle were brought into an immense field. The natives were so accustomed to having their vision blocked by trees that the open space overpowered them. Many developed agoraphobia.

  Never having been anywhere in which the horizon wasn’t blocked by buildings or trees, Amanda now understood the natives’ fear. But in her case, the fear was caused by the realization that everything in the vastness around her was a possible threat. Unlike the Paragon Hotel, where danger was limited to the rooms in the building, here death had what felt like infinite space in which to hide.

  “Aren’t you going to join them?” the voice asked.

  Amanda stifled her surprise. “I’m just admiring the view.”

  “Really? For a moment, it seemed that the view paralyzed you. Take a look at the screen on your GPS receiver. Do the coordinates I gave you correspond with that lake?”

  Amanda was still learning to use the device, but even to her, it was obvious that the red needle indicating their destination was pointed away from the lake and toward a spot on the hill. She glanced to the right and saw a plateau on which lay the ruins of a building. “Is that where we’re supposed to go?”

  “To play the game, you must learn the rules.”

  “Ray,” Amanda spoke into her microphone. “You passed the coordinates.”

  The group kept rushing toward the lake.

  “Derrick. Viv. We’re not supposed to go to the lake. There’s a ruined building up here. That’s our destination.”

  The group didn’t look back.

  “Can’t you hear me?” Amanda asked louder. “The lake isn’t where we’re supposed to go!”

  “In fact, they can’t hear you,” the voice said. “I isolated our conversation.”