In Chapter 14 of "Ready Player One," Wade's trailer is blown up by IOI.
This is a rewrite of sorts - I felt that Mrs. Gilmore was not paid enough attention, plus I have added some things.
Enjoy!
"Sorrento," I said, my voice shaking ever so slightly. I cleared my throat, "I want you and your bosses to know something. You're never going to find Halliday's egg. You know why?" Sorrento raised an amused eyebrow and turned his hand outwards, willing me to continue. I lent in closer, my index finger jabbing the table we sat at, "Because he was smarter than all of you put together," I said in my steadiest voice possible, "It doesn't matter how much money you have or who you try to blackmail. You're going to lose."
Satisfied with my words, I tapped the log-out icon my avatar immediately began to dematerialise. Sorrento shook his head slowly and sat back in his chair, seemingly not surprised at all. "Stupid move, kid," he murmured.
As soon as my visor went completely black, I wrenched it off of my head and sat clinging to it in the darkness of my hideout, waiting for the detonation. My entire body grew tense and my palms began to sweat as my heart beat hard against my ribcage. I could not help but gaze around my hideout, as if it would bear some sign as to whether IOI had really blown up the stack or not. A full, agonising minute ticked by as I winced in the dark, and still nothing happened.
Shutting my eyes, I let out a sigh. Nothing was going to happen. They'd been bluffing the whole time. Effective as it had been, it had just been a mind game. Taking in a deep breath, I pulled my haptic gloves off and reached over for a bottle of water. My mouth had gone very dry. I took a large swig and wiped my mouth against my sleeve. Then I sat still for a moment, my head pressed against the back of my hideout, and I allowed myself a small smile. It had just been a trick, after all. As I was screwing the cap back on the bottle, I thought that I should log back in immediately to warn Aech and Art3mis about IOI; I figured they'd be after them next.
Then I heard it.
A mighty roar filled my ears as the metal of several trailer stacks were torn apart by the explosion. The shock wave hit a second after, and I was pushed to the floor of my van. Instinctively, I curled up into a tight ball and held my hands over my head, protecting myself against debris that, of course, would not reach this far. Even so, my eyes and my fists clamped shut. The sounds continued as trailer after trailer fell through the air and crashed to the ground, metal and glass smashing against the earth in a heap. There were no screams that could be heard over the destruction.
A steady silence returned to the air, and I tentatively unclenched a clenched my jaw. My eyes fluttered open as I shakily got to my feet. I reached for the rear door of my van and stumbled outside.
My feet moved by themselves, taking me to the outskirts of the junk pile. As I reached it, I rested a sweaty hand against an old shattered car door as I peeped out from my safety zone. Smoke billowed into the air, coming from the other end of the stacks, less than a hundred metres away from where I stood.
Though my knees felt as though they were made of rubber, I pushed on, unable to tear my eyes away from the burning wreckage in the distance. A swarm of people came rushing out of neighbouring stacks, heading towards the collapsed trailers in search of survivors, or anything they could salvage. As I neared the stacks, I gazed down from the smoke and looked to the trailers instead. Almost immediately, I spotted my aunt's old trailer. It lay in a fiery, crushed heap under several similarly deformed trailers; its windows shattered and the frame bent completely out of shape. I only recognised it because of the footprints I'd left on the edge whilst going out the window every day.
A ring of onlookers had started to form around the burning heap, each person staring into the flames in wonder. It was obvious that no one could have survived the explosion, let alone the fall to the ground. Nobody said a word as they stared at the wreckage - in fact, many people held a hand over their mouth.
A piercing shriek suddenly filled the air and all eyes turned to a young girl, who stood cowering near the flames, pointing at something lying on top of one of the crushed trailers. A severed arm lay detached from its owner, bleeding and raw. My stomach churned. I felt sick.
As if the girl's scream had set something off, an old propane tank ignited in a small blast, setting off several others as shards of metal started to fly out into the air. The crowd around the trailer ruins instantly dispersed and dove for cover in the sand.
A few moments trickled by and the onlookers started to rise to their feet again. Murmurings began as neighbouring residents furtively discussed what to do next – they all knew that if the fire spread, their homes could be in danger too. Many people were already running back to their trailers to collect anything that could contain water in it in order to fight back against the smouldering flames. People came back, sprinting with buckets and large cups in their hands, or vases and cans. Soon, the flames had been cut back so they were small in intensity, and much easier to fight back.
During all this time, I had hung back, my legs quivering, positively shaking. As the flames began to finally die out, I picked up whispers of meth-lab accidents. Sorrento was right – no one suspected an attack of any sort.
This memory of Sorrento is what finally brought me out of my blank stupor. I suddenly realised that I was standing right out in the middle of the open, where IOI agents could very well still be lurking, checking to make sure that I really had been killed. Unable to stop myself, I instantly gazed around for anyone who looked suspicious, but no one seemed out of the ordinary.
I took a few steps backwards before I settled for a brisk pace back towards the junk pile. Careful not to stand out, I focused on walking straight, and not running. Hopefully if I was spotted, the agents wouldn't pay any attention to me and think I was just a selfish kid who was unwilling to help.
Once I had removed my key from my pocket, I crept back into my van and closed the door shut behind me. But I did not let go of the door handle. I stood with my back to the hideout for a long while, unmoving, my forehead pressed against the cool surface of the rear door. It took me a while to relinquish my grip on the door's now very sweaty handle, and when I did, all I did was crawl into the far corner of my van and curl into a ball on the floor. I sat with my head bowed and my arms clasping my legs tightly for what felt like hours, though it probably only lasted twenty minutes or so.
The shock had started to wear off now, and I was finally coming to my senses. The reality of it all really hit me a few moments later. IOI had tried to kill me, and in the process had killed hundreds of people, including my aunt and sweet, old Mrs. Gilmore, who I was sure had never hurt a soul in her entire life.
Mrs. Gilmore… she was one of the only people I felt any kind of affection for. It wasn't that I didn't care for my aunt – of course I did. It was just that she had never really been very kind to me, so I had never been fond of her either. Still, it wasn't as if I didn't have any nice memories of me and my aunt, and it was just these memories that started to swim through my mind, causing my lip my wobble and my eyes to swell.
I screwed my eyes shut as a mixture of regret, sadness, anger and fear all burnt up inside of me. I considered logging straight into the OASIS and informing the police about what had just happened, but would they believe me? I decided that no, they wouldn't. They'd think I was just another teenager, furious at IOI's attempts to win Halliday's egg hunt, and quick to blame them for anything. Besides, even if the police did believe me, Sorrento had the best lawyers money could buy.
It was in that moment that I felt utterly alone. The walls of the van did not offer their safe, secluded feel that they usually did. Instead, they felt more like a tomb, or a metal cage. There was no way that I would be able to leave the van for the next few days, not with the threat of Sorrento's agents still being about. Hurriedly, I opened the small backpack I kept my snacks in and examined the contents. I had just enough to food to last me just over two days, three if I rationed a bit.
Comforted by the knowledge that at least I wouldn't starve, I sat back, my head resting against the smooth metal wall and gazed up at the ceiling. My vision was blurry as tears began to slowly make their way down my cheeks. My mind swirled with fond memories spent in Mrs. Gilmore's trailer, or talking to her outside the window at night. She'd been the only IRL friend I'd ever had. I remembered when we met, when she'd caught me sneaking out of my aunt's trailer for the first time. She had not told me out for sneaking out, or warned me about the dangers of escalating the stacks, especially at night when I could not really see very well. Instead, she had simply invited me inside, offered me something to drink. She had listened to me, and told me her own stories. Made me laugh. From that night on, I'd felt a strong bond between us. And now she was gone.
Anger bubbled inside of me as the image of the severed arm drifted through my mind. The very idea that something similar happened to her… I clenched my fists tight and raised them slightly, drawing in a long breath. I brought my fists back down and slammed them against the car's floor and let out a strangled cry as I did so.
'Fuck!' I practically screamed, and I brought my hands back up to my face, wiping hastily at my eyes as I tried to steady my breathing. I needed a friend. I needed Aech. Not just to warn him about the Sixer's plans, but I just needed to see his face. Now that Mrs. Gilmore and my aunt were gone, Aech was my only real friend left in the world.
Thanks for reading!