James Frey - The Calling

He let her go.

He’s not used to letting things go.

And he’s never had to let anything go before.

Christopher was the starting quarterback of the football team. He is a great athlete. He was recruited to Nebraska in the fall to play football. He accepted, but he asked if they could give the scholarship to someone else. Someone who needed it.

On the field he never spent more than five counts in the pocket. He is decisive, has an arm like a cannon, legs like a thoroughbred, a heart like a lion. He is physically superior to most kids his age and to almost everyone he’s ever met.

Christopher is in love. In love with Sarah Alopay. In love with a Player of Endgame. All anyone can do is talk about the meteor, the school, the deaths, the disappearance of Sarah. What it all means. They don’t know, have no idea, couldn’t even begin to imagine the truth about what happened.

But Christopher knows—even if he still thinks it’s bullshit.

He’s 18 years old. Free. He has a passport. He has been to Europe, South America, and Asia. He has traveled on his own before. Christopher is a fighter. His younger brother, John, has Down syndrome. Kids used to pick on him in grade school. They made fun of him and mocked him. Christopher took care of those kids, and John didn’t get picked on anymore.

Christopher is rich.

Decisive.

Fast.

Strong.

And Christopher is in love.

Christopher knows where she is going, the number of her satellite phone, about Endgame.

Christopher likes games.

He has spent most of his life winning games.

He believes he can win anything.

He realizes he lied to the girl he loves. He is not going to sit this one out. He is not going to wait.

Two days after Sarah leaves, Christopher leaves as well.

He is going to find her.

Help her.

They’re going to win.

Together.

The earthquake occurred near Huaxian, Shaanxi ( formerly Shensi), China, about 50 miles (80 km) east-northeast of Xi’an, the capital of Shaanxi. Damage extended as far away as Taiyuan, the capital of Shanxi ( formerly Shansi) and about 270 miles (430 km) northeast of the epicenter. There were felt reports as far away as Liuyang in Hunan, more than 500 miles (800 km) away. Geological effects reported with this earthquake included ground fissures, uplift, subsidence, sand blows, liquefaction, and landslides. Most towns in the damage area reported collapsed city walls, most to all houses collapsed, and many of the towns reported ground fissures with water gushing out (i.e., liquefaction and sand blows). Gu, et. al. says that “the identified death toll of soldiers and civilians was 830,000, and the unidentified was uncountable.” The earthquake was felt in all or parts of nine xlviprovinces: Anhui, Gansu, Hebei, Hubei, Henan, Hunan, Shaanxi, Shandong, and Shanxi.

Before the meteorite there were two Wild Goose Pagodas in Xi’an. One called Small and the other called Big.

Now there is one.

The Big Wild Goose Pagoda.

Chiyoko visits it on the morning of June 20.

There are tourists from everywhere, but mostly tourists from China. It’s a massive country in every conceivable way. Japan is crowded, but China takes crowds to another level. Ever since she arrived, Chiyoko feels as if China is all there is to the world, that there is nothing more. No ice caps, no Empire State Buildings, no Parthenons, no sprawling boreal forests, no Meccas, no Kremlins, no pyramids, no Golden Temples, no Angkor Wats, no Stonehenges.

No Endgame.

Just China.

Chiyoko sits on a bench. The Big Wild Goose Pagoda is surrounded by a scenic park. Chiyoko reads her guidebook and looks at pictures. The Small Wild Goose Pagoda had soft lines and a rounded taper. It was, before the meteorite, 141 feet tall. It was constructed around 708 CE and had been periodically reconstructed over the centuries. It suffered some earthquake damage in 1556 that, until its recent destruction, had remained unrepaired.

The Big Wild Goose Pagoda—the survivor towering before her—is harsher and more fortresslike. Its taper is fixed by a number—Chiyoko estimates that each successive floor is around 0.8 times smaller than the preceding floor. It is 210 feet tall. It was constructed in 652 CE and repaired in 704. The same 1556 earthquake damaged it extensively, causing it to lean to the west at 3.4°.

In less than 48 hours she will sneak into the Big Wild Goose Pagoda and find whatever it is that is waiting for her.

What is waiting for all the Players of Endgame.

Chiyoko watches the crowd of tourists. She nibbles on spicy rice crackers from a little white paper bag. She is convinced that other Players are here now, doing the same thing she is. Scattered among the Chinese throng are foreigners, and every one intrigues her. Especially the young ones.

The African boy with the lollipop.

The Southeast Asian girl decked out in Hello Kitty gear.

The pale white girl with flame-red hair and skull-shaped headphones. The brooding Indian boy in the cornflower-blue shirt.

The Central Asian girl smoking a thin cigarette as she swipes her thumb across the screen of her iPhone.

The squat blond girl wearing tight white jeans and leather Birkenstocks.

The sinewy pockmarked boy with the scar on his face.

Surely they are not all Players, but some are, some definitely are. Chiyoko stands, walks toward the tower. She is determined to remain alone throughout Endgame. Any alliances she makes will be temporary and opportunistic. She finds friendships to be burdensome, so why bother with any in the crucible that is about to consume them? Nor will she strive to make enemies. These are even more annoying than friends. No, her plan is simply to follow for as long as she can. She will use her best skills and attributes—silence, furtiveness, ordinariness—to her advantage.

She walks to the pagoda. She is so unobtrusive and quiet that the guards don’t notice her, don’t ask for her ticket.

She moves inside. It is cooler there. The sounds are clearer. If there weren’t so many people inside, she would like it. There is so much noise in China. Very few understand the value of silence like Chiyoko.

She makes her way to the stairs, moving without any sound.

I must choose wisely, she thinks. She must pick the Player or Players she believes has the best early chance. Then she will shadow and track that Player. When they are not looking, she will take whatever it is she wants or needs and move on.

She makes her way up, up, up. She reaches the top of the Big Wild Goose Pagoda. There is a small door at the back of the room. She makes her way to it, casually inspects it. Etched into its wood, in very small markings, is the word ROBO.

As far as ciphers go, it is child’s play. But since it is recognizable as an English word fragment, it goes unnoticed.

Chiyoko notices, though.

Chiyoko understands.

And the others will too, if they haven’t already.

She turns from the door and goes to the western window. She peers out over the sprawl of Xi’an. There is the crater, where the other pagoda stood, still smoldering, six days after the impact. The wind carries the smoke to the south in black and gray tendrils.

A small group of monks arrives, clad in orange and red robes. Like her, they are quiet. Perhaps they also have dedicated themselves to silence. She wonders if they’ll scream when it all comes crumbling down. Chiyoko won’t scream. When the world goes to hell, Chiyoko will do what she always does. Slip away unnoticed.

Christopher watches the Big Wild Goose Pagoda. He has not seen Sarah. But he has been looking, and he knows that she’s out there. He’d like to think that she can sense his love, but that would be crazy. He needs to keep his head on straight, to go about this rationally.