Game Breaker Read online

  Game Breaker

  By Cheree Alsop

  Copyright © 2018 by Cheree L. Alsop

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN

  Cover Design by Robert Emerson

  Editing by Sue Player

  www.ChereeAlsop.com

  To my husband,

  Every world is magical with you in it.

  To my children,

  Find joy in the journey.

  To my readers,

  Take time to smell the roses.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Everybody stared. Breccan ducked his head. His shrink had said he would get used to it, but the shrink had also reassured him that the phantom pain would go away. It hadn’t. Tired of all the looks, he shoved through the crowd and ducked into an alley. His heart thundered in his chest. He knew going out in public wasn’t going to be easy, but he couldn’t avoid it forever, as tempting as hiding away in his room for the rest of his life sounded.

  The scrape of a shoe on the cement behind him made Breccan walk faster. A form appeared at the other end of the alley. He tightened his grip on his backpack and ducked his head. Maybe they would ignore him. Perhaps the one in front was waiting for the one behind him. Maybe it was some sort of date and he was just an anonymous bystander.

  Breccan sucked in a breath and stepped around the man at the end. Just when he thought he was going to get by, the man grabbed his backpack, spinning him around. The right arm of Breccan shirt swung emptily like a deflated balloon. Breccan lost his grip on the backpack and the man took it from him with little effort.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” While the man’s tone was friendly enough, the look in his eyes was anything but. His shaved head and the tattoo of a black flower beneath his left eye warned that he was dangerous.

  “Home,” Breccan replied. He was glad his voice came out steady.

  “Where’s home?” the second man asked, coming up behind him. A glance back showed that he was wiry and small. He kept his feet moving as though standing still took effort.

  Breccan nodded east.

  “Oh,” the wiry man said. “You don’t say. I’m from over there, too. Maybe we can walk with you.”

  “And carry your backpack,” the first offered. He hefted the bag. “It’s a bit heavy, and you’re not exactly equipped for such a burden.”

  “I can manage,” Breccan replied with a spark of his old tenacity.

  “He can manage,” the bald man repeated.

  The wiry one grinned. “Well, it’s your lucky day. You don’t have to manage. We’ll take the backpack off your hands.”

  “I need it,” Breccan said.

  The false smile vanished from the bald man’s face and was replaced by a dark glare. “Give up, gimp. It’s ours.”

  Breccan threw a punch. The man batted it easily aside and answered with a haymaker that sent Breccan into the brick wall of the alley. His forehead rebounded off the solid surface. Spots danced in his vision. He slumped to the ground.

  “Stay down if you know what’s good for you,” the bald man said.

  Breccan pushed back to his feet.

  “He doesn’t know what’s good for him,” the wiry man pointed out. He gave a high-pitched laugh. “He doesn’t know what’s good for him at all!”

  The bald man kept his eyes on Breccan. “You want this bag?” he asked, eyeing him up and down.

  Breccan nodded.

  A hint of humor showed in the man’s dark eyes. He glanced up at the fire escape. “Tell you what. If you can keep up, the bag is yours.”

  He jumped and grabbed the ladder, then pulled himself up with little effort.

  The wiry man leaned closer. His breath washed over Breccan in a putrid wave. “Try to keep up,” he said with a grin that revealed rotting teeth. He gave another wild laugh and leaped for the ladder. With the appearance of a rat climbing a garbage can, the man scrambled up after his comrade and disappeared over the top lip of the building.

  Breccan eyed the fire escape. The ladder was at least two feet over his head. He could jump the distance, but pulling himself up with one hand would be another matter. He looked around quickly. A pile of broken crates along the far wall caught his eye. Breccan ran to them and threw as many as he could into a heap beneath the fire escape. It took a few precious seconds until the pile was high enough. Slivers from the rough wood embedded in his palm, but Breccan ignored them. He knew the men were probably long gone, but he refused to give up.

  He climbed onto the crates. The stack was precarious at best and wavered when he neared the top. Breccan grabbed the bottom rung of the ladder with a desperate swipe and used it to steady himself as he climbed higher. But the pile didn’t reach very far and he didn’t have enough time to get more. Breccan eyed the rungs further up. The crates swayed beneath him. One cracked and he fell down a few inches. Another snapped. Breccan gritted his teeth and threw himself upward.

  He caught a rung a few feet higher and hung on with his feet dangling in the air. A grunt escaped him as he pulled up slowly. Sweat beaded on his forehead and his body felt as though it weighed a thousand pounds, but inch by inch, Breccan was finally able to lift himself with his left hand far enough to shove his knee onto the lowest rung. He then grabbed a higher step and pulled up until he was able to get both feet on the ladder.

  Breccan made it to the first landing with a sigh of relief. The next ladder reached all the way down. He climbed up it in halting, fumbling movements, but didn’t stop until he reached the top of the building.

  He expected to see an empty rooftop when his head poked up; instead, the sight of two forms lounging on a pair of broken, rusted chairs silhouetted by the evening light made his heartbeat thunder in his ears.

  “Give me my backpack,” he demanded as he finished the climb and levered himself onto the roof.

  The bald man stood up with a look of surprise. “It seems our little friend has some gumption,” he said with a note of respect in his voice.

  The wiry one rose as well. “Do we give him the bag?”

  The first man watched Breccan with a calculating expression. “We’re not done here. You keep up, you get the bag, remember?”

  Breccan nodded. “I remember.” He tried to hide the fact that he was gasping for air. His lungs burned and his arm ached with the effort of the climb, but he also felt exhilarated and adrenaline pumped through his veins. He wasn’t about to quit.

  “Then let’s go,” the bald man said.

  He stepped to the edge of the roof and disappeared. The wiry man followed, his laugh ringing in the air.

  Breccan ran to the edge and looked down, half-expecting to see both men lying broken and twisted on the asphalt beneath. Instead, his eyes caught sight of a board stretched between the building on which he stood and the one next to it. An open window beyond showed where the men had gone.

  Breccan sat on the edge of the roof and lowered himself carefully onto the board. It was about four inches wide and dipped precariously in the middle as though tired of its duty. Breccan slid one foot forward, then drew his other foot behind him. But his balance wasn’t what it had been before the accident. He wavered from side to side, trying to find his center. Each time he leaned to the right, his heavier left side threatened to send him over the edge. Leaning to the left didn’t help because it nearly pulled him over.

  Breccan settled for a half-shuffle, half-slide step as he crossed
from one building to the other. The board bowed under his weight and he feared it would snap in the middle and send him to his death, but it held.

  He was nearly to the other side when his toe caught on a knot in the wood. Breccan pitched forward and managed to throw himself into the window. His knees hit the side of the window frame painfully and he ended up sprawling on the floor of a dark room.

  He pushed to his feet and a hysterical laugh caught in his throat. He had just escaped death twice, and for what, a backpack? But he couldn’t stop; he needed to prove something to himself and to the men he chased. He wouldn’t give up.

  Breccan stepped around a broken chair and the wooden frame of a bed that looked as though termites holding hands kept it together. He opened the door on the opposite wall and walked through.

  A long, empty hallway with peeling wallpaper and a scent of mildew and urine was revealed. The open window at the end showed where the men had gone. Breccan ran to it and looked out.

  “You coming, gimp?” a voice called.

  Breccan followed the sound to the two men who waited in a circle of lamplight at the end of the next alley. The bald man had given the backpack to the wiry one and he wore it as though he owned it. The thought made Breccan’s hand ball into a fist. He shoved through the window onto the landing.

  “That’s it,” the bald man said. “The first step’s a long one.”

  Breccan glanced around, but there wasn’t a ladder from this building to the ground. Instead, a garbage container filled with cardboard boxes that were dented in showed where the men had jumped.

  “You can stay with me.”

  The voice startled Breccan. He looked over his shoulder to see a woman leaning from the window. Her scraggly hair stuck up in every direction and when she smiled at him, her lips pulled back to reveal holes where her front teeth should have been. Dirt coated the wrinkles in her skin and the makeup that had been applied to her eyes made her look like a deranged clown.

  “Th-that’s alright,” Breccan stuttered. He moved carefully toward the edge.

  “You sure, sweetie?” the woman pressed. “We’re cozy here.”

  Breccan gave her what he hoped was a grateful smile and shook his head. “No, thank you. Have a good night.”

  He threw himself off the ledge. A few intense seconds were followed by a body-jarring crash. The cardboard wasn’t nearly as soft as he had hoped. His head whiplashed back and he bit his tongue. The coppery taste of blood filled his mouth, but he was grateful that he hadn’t broken anything.

  “You’re missing out,” the woman called.

  The two men chuckled from the corner before their footsteps took off again. Breccan sucked in a breath and heaved to his feet. He swung his legs over the edge of the garbage container and jumped to the ground. His knees wavered, but he forced them to hold and took off after the men once more.

  The night was growing darker. His mother was going to be worried. Breccan pushed the thought to the back of his mind as he pounded down the pavement. He skidded around the next corner and stopped at the sight of the two men waiting at the end of the alley.

  “You don’t give up,” the bald man noted. “I like that.”

  Breccan clenched his hand into a fist as he closed the distance between them. “Hand over my backpack.”

  The wiry man shifted his shoulders. “It’s comfortable,” he said. “I think we’ll keep it.”

  The bald man nodded. “Yeah, we’re keeping it. But I like you, kid. You’ve got some nerve.”

  Breccan stopped a few feet away. The fact that neither man appeared worried that he had caught up made him angry. He looked around for something he could use against them. His gaze landed on a broken table. He crossed to it and used his foot to help pry off one of the legs.

  “Now we’re in trouble,” the wiry man said with his high-pitched laugh.

  The bald man held up his hands. “Calm down, kid. You’re taking things too far.”

  “I want my bag back,” Breccan said.

  His heart raced and his conscience questioned whether he was making a stupid move, but he couldn’t bring himself to throw down the club. It might not give him much of an advantage, but he never did know when to quit. That was one of the things Garrick had always said. Breccan’s grip tightened.

  The bald man’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not getting it back. Turn around and go home. You’re out of your league here.”

  Breccan lifted the club and ran at the men. A wild yell escaped that didn’t sound anything like him.

  The bald man stepped in front of his companion before the club could connect with the wiry man’s skull like Breccan had planned. The man blocked the club with his left hand and drove his right fist into Breccan’s stomach, then he tore the club free. Breccan looked up just as the table leg came down. It cracked across his forehead. Lights sparked in front of Breccan’s eyes. He fell onto his stomach on the ground.

  “Give up next time and you won’t get hurt,” the man said, his voice gruff.

  The wiry man gave his wild laugh and said, “Thanks for the backpack, kid!” His voice lowered and he asked, “Did you kill him?”

  “I didn’t hit him that hard,” the bald man replied. “He’ll live, probably.”

  Breccan listened to their footsteps fade away. Something landed on his back and then his shoulder. He rolled over and stared up at the dark sky. Another raindrop hit his face. Breccan lifted his hand and gingerly felt his forehead. It stung when he touched it and a big lump was already forming. His fingers came away coated in blood.

  “Great,” Breccan muttered.

  He stared up at the stormy sky. The buildings on either side of the alley blocked out most of the light. The clouds above roiled in knots highlighted by the light pollution that meant Holram City was never really dark. The call of sirens and the sounds of traffic beat upon the walls even at the late hour. As Uncle Jix had noted when Breccan and his mother moved in, the heartbeat of Holram never stopped.

  He pushed slowly to his feet. Breccan’s head ached and his left knee twinged where he had hit it on the side of the garbage container, but the thought of what he had done twisted his lips into a small smile. He had climbed a building, walked a narrow board high enough up that to fall would mean his death, and he had jumped from another building into a dumpster full of boxes. The fact that he hadn’t been successful in retrieving his backpack seemed small compared to what he had accomplished. Garrick would laugh when he told him.

  Breccan’s smile fell. He limped to the mouth of the alley and peered out. Nothing looked familiar, and everything did. The brown bricks of the apartment building across the street looked like every apartment in the city. The dirty gutters, the street lights with the occasional broken bulb, and the cars and trucks that appeared as though they had never seen a car wash matched what Breccan pictured in his head when he thought of the way to his uncle’s house.

  “Great,” Breccan muttered.

  He pulled out his cellphone. The shattered screen reminded him of his mom’s offer to pay for a contact implant, but Breccan had refused. Out in Kirik Reservoir, implants were still considered new technology. It had taken only one day of hanging around his cousin for Breccan to realize how behind he was.

  The picture behind the shattered screen showed Breccan and Garrick standing on top of their high school in Kirik Reservoir. Their friends were crowded below, grinning and in the middle of the various stupid things they did to each other. Breccan clenched his teeth and pushed the only button on the phone.

  “Call Mom.”

  A few seconds later, his mother’s breathless voice answered, “Breccan, honey? Is that you? Breccan, where are you? I was worried sick! I thought you were dead! Brec, talk to me!”

  Breccan sighed and lifted to phone so he could look at his mother. Her eyes widened.

  “Honey, what happened to you?”

  “I tripped,” he replied. “It’s nothing.”

  “Don’t tell me it’s nothing!” she said. Tears
filled her eyes. “Brec, I’m getting tired of this. I don’t know how I’m supposed to handle it.”

  Breccan lowered his gaze. “I’m sorry, Mom. It won’t happen again.”

  “What won’t happen?”

  Breccan grimaced at his uncle’s stern voice. The phone was taken away.

  “I don’t know why you bother with these things,” the man muttered before his face appeared on the screen. “Breccan, why are you worrying your mother? She’s been here fretting herself to death because you can’t be troubled to come home when you’re told. You’re irresponsible and….” He paused, then asked, “What happened to your face?”

  Breccan knew better than to lie to his uncle. He glared at the wall across from him and said, “I got in a fight.”

  “A fight?” Uncle Jix repeated in surprise.

  “Breccan got in a fight?” Jonny said in the background. Laughter exploded from Breccan’s cousin. “How?”

  Uncle Jix ignored him. “Who did you fight with?” he asked in the level tone that let Breccan know he was walking a fine line between being in trouble and having the man’s respect. Needless to say, it was a very fine line.

  “Some guys that stole my backpack,” Breccan replied.

  “Did you get it back?”

  Breccan shook his head.

  His uncle let out a breath and said, “Well, don’t worry about it. I’m sure Jonny’s got another one around here somewhere. It’s not worth getting beat up over. Now, where are you?”

  Breccan lowered his gaze and said, “I’m not sure.”

  Uncle Jix gave a grunt of frustration and replied, “Go find a street sign and tell me what it says.” His tone indicated how stupid he thought the need for the instructions to be. “If you had an implant, I could just follow the signal. You and Maisy really need to get with the times. Being from a town like Kirik is no excuse.”

  Jonny started laughing again.

  With burning cheeks and an aching head, Breccan made his way to the end of the alley and read the sign.

  “Two point one over seventy-second,” he read aloud.