realized, as the world seemed to tilt in a violent, headlong rush. “That monster just used the moves I thought up for the Ultra-Reality demo. Which means . . .”
Dad did this. Adam clutched his temples. Dad did this, Dad did this, Dad did—
“NO!” Adam screamed.
The Z. rex turned from the bodies at his feet, his black, bright eyes fixing on Adam.
While the monster was distracted, Sedona left Bateman groaning beside the locker and scrabbled on the floor for an abandoned rocket launcher. “You’re not killing anyone else!” he shouted.
The Z. rex swung around. Its lethal tail lashed out and caught Sedona under the chin. The scientist’s neck snapped as his head twisted around one hundred eighty degrees, eyes turned to the door behind him, as if he were considering one final escape plan.
Then Sedona pitched to the floor, dead.
Adam stood very still, trying not to shake as, with a defiant growl, the Z. rex keeled over, apparently exhausted.
At the same moment, Bateman pulled out a stubby metal canister from a pocket in his hazard-suit and hurled it down on the floor with a clatter. Thick white mist started hissing from inside.
Oh, no way, thought Adam, new horror cutting blade-like through his thoughts. Gas!
9
DEPARTURE
A s the white gas began to fill the room, the Z. rex got back on his feet and a deep, crunching sound ripped through the air. Adam stared as the dinosaur’s back split open, revealing something dark and ridged underneath. The next moment, two huge, spiny sails of gnarled flesh unfolded, impossibly outward. . . .
“Wings,” Adam breathed in utter disbelief. “You’re a dinosaur . . . and you’ve got wings !”
Wings that the Z. rex now flapped, and a strong wind blew up, tearing the gas haze apart like invisible teeth. Charts and papers pinned to the wall were snatched into the vortex. The backdraft knocked Adam to the ground.
And in the middle of the homemade tornado, the Z. rex rose up into the air like some monstrous dragon of legend. He reached down with his muscular arms, upturned the buckled metal vat and then dropped it over the gas canister.
The clang and clatter jarred Adam from just watching; he stepped over Sedona’s body, ran through the white haze to the nearest of the two sprawled gunmen and clawed off a gas mask. He struggled into it and breathed again—sour, rank breaths but at least they were clearing his head.
“Mr. Bateman!” Adam shouted, staring all around, his voice muffled by the mask. “Where are you?” My best hope is a man who’s almost shot and gassed me, he thought miserably . He staggered through the fumes toward the broken bodies in the doorway. But there was no sign of the stocky survivor. Bateman must’ve run for it.
Which means, I’m left all alone with—
A wet clacking sound made Adam turn. The dinosaur’s incredible wings were folding up, disappearing into the thick ridges of scale and skin on his back. The Z. rex lowered his head and came stomping toward him once again.
“No!” Adam yelled, cowering on the floor. “Please!”
The monster scooped up Adam in his claws and thundered out through the doorway into the tunnel beyond. Adam clung grimly to the cold, muscular arm as though it were the restraint bar on a roller-coaster ride. He couldn’t believe that he had already survived so much violence. Where was this going to end?
Dad really did put this thing into the Ultra-Reality game . The realization kept biting at Adam, the dinosaur’s stomp kick and jab cross—and its aftermath—looping through his head in an endless action replay. Where else could the Z. rex have got those distinctive moves? But the Think-Send tech was modeled on my brain waves. The game wouldn’t work at all with anyone else playing it, Dad said so. . . .
How could his father be a part of this madness?
The creature’s step quickened, as if some scent were growing surer in his nostrils. As he rounded the corner, Adam saw a circle of night sky ahead,
Dad did this. Adam clutched his temples. Dad did this, Dad did this, Dad did—
“NO!” Adam screamed.
The Z. rex turned from the bodies at his feet, his black, bright eyes fixing on Adam.
While the monster was distracted, Sedona left Bateman groaning beside the locker and scrabbled on the floor for an abandoned rocket launcher. “You’re not killing anyone else!” he shouted.
The Z. rex swung around. Its lethal tail lashed out and caught Sedona under the chin. The scientist’s neck snapped as his head twisted around one hundred eighty degrees, eyes turned to the door behind him, as if he were considering one final escape plan.
Then Sedona pitched to the floor, dead.
Adam stood very still, trying not to shake as, with a defiant growl, the Z. rex keeled over, apparently exhausted.
At the same moment, Bateman pulled out a stubby metal canister from a pocket in his hazard-suit and hurled it down on the floor with a clatter. Thick white mist started hissing from inside.
Oh, no way, thought Adam, new horror cutting blade-like through his thoughts. Gas!
9
DEPARTURE
A s the white gas began to fill the room, the Z. rex got back on his feet and a deep, crunching sound ripped through the air. Adam stared as the dinosaur’s back split open, revealing something dark and ridged underneath. The next moment, two huge, spiny sails of gnarled flesh unfolded, impossibly outward. . . .
“Wings,” Adam breathed in utter disbelief. “You’re a dinosaur . . . and you’ve got wings !”
Wings that the Z. rex now flapped, and a strong wind blew up, tearing the gas haze apart like invisible teeth. Charts and papers pinned to the wall were snatched into the vortex. The backdraft knocked Adam to the ground.
And in the middle of the homemade tornado, the Z. rex rose up into the air like some monstrous dragon of legend. He reached down with his muscular arms, upturned the buckled metal vat and then dropped it over the gas canister.
The clang and clatter jarred Adam from just watching; he stepped over Sedona’s body, ran through the white haze to the nearest of the two sprawled gunmen and clawed off a gas mask. He struggled into it and breathed again—sour, rank breaths but at least they were clearing his head.
“Mr. Bateman!” Adam shouted, staring all around, his voice muffled by the mask. “Where are you?” My best hope is a man who’s almost shot and gassed me, he thought miserably . He staggered through the fumes toward the broken bodies in the doorway. But there was no sign of the stocky survivor. Bateman must’ve run for it.
Which means, I’m left all alone with—
A wet clacking sound made Adam turn. The dinosaur’s incredible wings were folding up, disappearing into the thick ridges of scale and skin on his back. The Z. rex lowered his head and came stomping toward him once again.
“No!” Adam yelled, cowering on the floor. “Please!”
The monster scooped up Adam in his claws and thundered out through the doorway into the tunnel beyond. Adam clung grimly to the cold, muscular arm as though it were the restraint bar on a roller-coaster ride. He couldn’t believe that he had already survived so much violence. Where was this going to end?
Dad really did put this thing into the Ultra-Reality game . The realization kept biting at Adam, the dinosaur’s stomp kick and jab cross—and its aftermath—looping through his head in an endless action replay. Where else could the Z. rex have got those distinctive moves? But the Think-Send tech was modeled on my brain waves. The game wouldn’t work at all with anyone else playing it, Dad said so. . . .
How could his father be a part of this madness?
The creature’s step quickened, as if some scent were growing surer in his nostrils. As he rounded the corner, Adam saw a circle of night sky ahead,
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