James Frey - The Calling

She is not falling at all, not anymore.

She is flying.

Kala materializes in the attic of the Big Wild Goose Pagoda, tumbling across the rough wooden floor. She dove into the emptiness of the pyramid’s door and this is where it spit her out. She’s out of breath but relieved to be away from the other Players.

For now, she wants to keep it that way.

For now, she wants to retreat and breathe and decode the random string of Arabic numbers and Sumerian letters kepler 22b tattooed onto her consciousness like a sudden, driving madness.

She wonders if the codes are this intense for the others. She hopes they are. Because it’s strange and upsetting; it disarms her and confuses her.

She doesn’t want to be the only one who feels this way, an indecipherable message burned across the forefront of her mind. It would put her at a great disadvantage. She does not like being at a disadvantage of any kind. She will do what she can to remedy this. As soon as possible. Now.

The room is as she remembers it: dark and small and old. But there are no Players stacked like rugs in the corner, and there is no ghostly voice of kepler 22b. Blessings to Annunaki for that , she thinks. She does not want to be there when another Player arrives, and is not sure when that might happen, so she gathers herself and bolts down the small hidden stairway to the main room of the pagoda’s penultimate story, the room that has windows looking out over China, over the rest of the world.

The world that is going to end.

Filled with people who are going to die.

Kala pauses and balls her fists around her scarves and does a little pirouette as she eyes the open window. She has to get away. She shakes her body violently, and two flaps of webbing drop from her jumpsuit, one beneath her arms and another between her legs. She stares at the night outside. She takes a deep breath and runs straight toward the window.

She jumps headfirst. She’s done the math, knows how much distance she needs. She knows that she only has 200 feet before the ground will rush up to meet her. It’s just enough. Her scarves flutter and snap and the flaps catch the up-rushing wind and it happens. She’s not falling but gliding, flying. For a moment, a too brief moment, she feels free. Blessings.

The code seared onto her brain is gone. The others are gone. The pressure is gone. Just like that.

She’s flying.

But not for long.

Because here comes the ground.

She jerks her head and shoulders and thrusts her pelvis forward. The suit is special. Designed not just for flying but landing too. An array of miniature chutes opens along the flaps that slow her down. Kala pushes a button on a loop of cloth that is stretched around her middle finger, and the whole front of the suit inflates with a loud hiss. She hits the ground and it hurts, but she’s fine. The cushions deflate just as quickly as they blew up, and just like she has practiced 238 times, she is upright and already running. Running away from it all, and running toward it all as well.

Everything is here, Kala recalls kepler 22b saying. What does that mean? The way the creature said it made her feel small and meaningless. She didn’t like that. Kala cannot think about this for long, though. Because, as her feet move across the ground, the code comes back to the forefront of her mind like a supernova.

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