Rodomonte's Revenge by Gary Paulsen Page B

him. Red flame licked the craggy banks. Lava flowed in scalding ripples. Its heat on his face felt like sunburn. “So what do we do?”
    â€œWe jump it.”
    â€œI can’t jump that. That’s eighteen feet, easy.”
    Tom snorted. “You’re afraid to try.”
    â€œNot really.” Brett stared down into the glowing current. “It looks so real, doesn’t it?”
    â€œIt’s a game,” Tom said, “and I’m not afraid of a game.”
    â€œTom …”
    â€œJust do as I do.” Tom walked back fifteen yards, planted his feet, then sprinted for the river. His arms pumped. The sword and pistol barrel whooshed in the air. When he reached the fiery bank, he jumped.
    He almost made it to the far side. Almost.
    â€œBrett, help me!” Tom hung by his fingertipsfrom a crag, his feet two inches above the flames and doing their best to scramble higher.
    â€œWhat am I supposed to do?”
    â€œSomething. Anything!”
    As Brett watched, one hand slipped loose, then the other. Tom dropped, screaming, into the flames. His body, all red and bubbled, boiled up once to the surface, then was gone.
    PLAYER ONE HAS ONE LIFE REMAINING. GAME CONTINUES .
    â€œAll right.” Tom, whose body was as good as new, was standing beside Brett again. “We’ll do it your way.”
    They followed the river parallel to the mountains. Three minutes into their hike, the banks drew together. Brett could have waded across in three steps if it hadn’t been lava.
    â€œYou were right,” Tom admitted. “This won’t take more than a ten-foot jump.”
    â€œSee what happens when you use your head?” Brett leaped the river and landed five feet beyond the far bank. Tom joined him.
    On their trek to the mountains, Brett kept waiting to run into an invisible wall; the gameroom was only so big. He wondered if the floor rolled back, like a treadmill. Maybe they weren’t really walking at all. Maybe with the game all around them, they just
thought
they were walking.
    â€œThis is weird,” he muttered. “Way too weird.”
    They had to cross two more fire rivers, but they jumped them easily. The mountains ahead loomed larger, gray and green and purple pyramids scraping the sky. Brett was beginning to wonder if the game had malfunctioned and left the buzz-bugs out of its program when he heard a noise.
    At first it was hardly even a whisper. But the whisper became a rumble, and the rumble became a roar that echoed in his ears.
    â€œWhere is it?” Brett searched the sky, the mountains, the sand in front and behind. “What is it?”
    â€œBuzz-bug!” Tom shouted. “Over there!”
    A small green dot darted from behind the mountains, growing larger with the sound. It turned from a dot into a dot with wings, then with wings, six black legs, and a round head with balloon eyes and mandibles like scythes.A dragonfly the size of a jet fighter was racing straight toward them.
    Tom charged the buzz-bug, his sword raised. The bug flew at him, then by him, as if he weren’t there. When Tom struck at its side, the sword glanced off its armored shell. The bug kept coming—straight at Brett.
    Brett raised his pistol and fired. The bug dodged quickly to the side, avoiding the bolt, then charged him even faster. He slashed his sword across its face, aiming for its eyes, but the bug was fast, and its mandibles were long and strong. Their pointed ends punctured each side of his chest, like hot spikes. The blood flowed. Brett couldn’t breathe. As the bug lifted him off the ground and the sand and world dropped away, everything went black.
    PLAYER TWO HAS ONE LIFE REMAINING. GAME CONTINUES .
    Brett stood in the sand. The buzz-bug was gone, and its death bite just a memory. “How are we supposed to fight something like that?”
    Tom shrugged. “I tried stabbing it, and nothing happened. You’d have to be John Wayne to