by Arthur Stone
Something swift, incomprehensible, flashed by. It seemed like a bird, but it was moving too fast. He turned his head, along with his binoculars. Some intuition made him look only near the convoy. A dozen seconds later, he had it: it was a black drone, carried by four propellers.
Whether it was military or civilian was unclear. But one of the vehicles held its operator. From its height, it could get a good view of the surroundings.
The terrain was designed for ambushes, unless there was surveillance from above. Disguising vehicles from bird’s-eye views was near impossible. Leaving them a good distance away was always an option, but then you lost the mobility and powerful mounted weapons they offered. A drone like that make life much easier for scouting parties.
The atomites seemed to notice the bird, as well, and realized that their position and their defenses were about to be discovered. They decided not to risk letting the convoy approach. Cheater did not see the launch of the rocket itself, but when he heard Roach inhale sharply, he turned and saw the tail of expelled fuel brightening a path towards the convoy.
Some of the Spiders noticed it, as well. One of the pickups veered sharply off the road and sped up, and the truck in front attempted to do the same. But not fast enough—it only had time to expose its side to the shot. The rocket struck between the cab and the cargo area, splitting the vehicle in a beautiful storm of debris. Bursts of machine gun fire let loose from the water tower. Cheater looked back at the complex and determined that the atomites really did have a mortar. Three figures in green cloaks were scurrying around the area under the netting. Soon, the mortar would begin to fire.
Janitor’s walkie-talkie chirped. “Janitor here. No, that’s not us. The Spiders just showed up, and now they’re fighting. It looks like this will take a while. They just lost a truck to a rocket, and another’s gone flat. The infantry is out and about to make their move. I see an auto grenade launcher and two speeding pickups with heavy cals. Pretty serious attack force. This won’t be over fast. There’s no point to interfering—we can just slip by. Say again? Copy that. We’ll be there in seven minutes. Or in five, if you grab us before the crossing. Just don’t go out on the slope, or you might be noticed.”
Cheater’s eyes were glued to the scene as he heard the conversation. It really was like a movie, and safe to watch from this distance. They didn’t even need the bushes, as no one was about to take a break and start examining all the mountains bordering the complex on three sides.
The machine gun continued pounding, with only minimal interruptions for reloading and for swapping out its barrel. Another blaze of fire squiggled through the sky, from the warehouse window towards the Spiders. The mortar was sending off volleys now. Both trucks were dead on the road, but the pickups had managed to survive, riding into the fire and hitting back with their own. The motorcyclists scattered to the sides, rode back a ways, dismounted, and started shooting in the direction of the complex. About a dozen Spiders who had crawled out of the slain trucks were crawling around the side of the road for no obvious reason. Wait, that’s why. The automatic grenade launcher thwapped, and small explosions hit the complex. It wouldn’t destroy any of the buildings, but it could earn a serious body count if it hit an open area.
Janitor had been right. The Spiders had taken a painful hit at first, but the atomites had no decisive advantage to press, so the battle would continue for at least a few minutes. This was just the distraction the three of them had come up here to arrange.
But as it turned out, they hadn’t needed to make the climb up again after all.
The quasi spoke to the radio. “We’re grabbing the ammo and hurrying down.
We’ll be at the crossing in five minutes. If we’re late, we’ll catch up on foot.”
“Five minutes?” Roach gasped. “Yeah, if we roll down the mountain like snowballs.”
“Climb, ride, jump, whatever you want, but you have five minutes. If you break your legs, I’m leaving you. Just make sure you bring the ammo.”
“What ammo?”
“For the machine gun. All of it.”
“You’re joking.”
“Five minutes, Roach. Well, closer to four now.”
Cheater hurriedly pulled the belt from the machine gun and, for the first time and hopefully the last, regretted that the Spiders had shown up. Without them, he would have been able to head down empty-handed. But Janitor was right to take the ammo, especially when it was a universal size.
As long as Cheater’s legs didn’t break under the weight.
As they ran, metal clanging and tongues panting, Janitor gave a monstrous smile.
“Now that’s what I call luck! The Spiders are working for us for once! We got off to a bad start, sure, but now things should go better for us. Good omen, you see.”
Chapter 9
Life Seven. So... boring... wait. Boring!?
Cheater saw the movement out of the corner of his eye and swung his machine gun swiftly. En route, he scratched the hood of the trunk with a sickening fingernail-on-chalkboard sound.
It was a false alarm, just a large bird sitting on a power line that stretched along the road.
Clown was not happy, as he was working under that very hood. “Why are you scratching the car?”
“What, is it your wife’s? Come on, it’s just an armored car, nothing special.”
“You don’t understand a thing about cars, Cheater. This is no shitty consumer vehicle—it’s a rare make of Jeep. I could tell you all kinds of things about it, but you wouldn’t remember a single one of them. People like you don’t understand cars. In fact, you don’t understand anything. You just live your lives with your eyes closed, until your trapped between a rock and a hard place and complaining that it’s not fair.”
“So you were a preacher in your past life, then.”
“I don’t remember who I was.”
“Neither do I,” Cheater shrugged.
“That happens. Some people say that we’re in hell. And that some of us did things so bad they were completely erased. I guess some things are too wicked even for hell. Now you just scratch cars, but maybe back then you dissected living humans and sold their organs. Or, I don’t know, ran a sex trafficking ring specializing in midget dogs.”
“I should have scratched you instead. But this engine’s all shot up. No matter how much you refrain from scratching this Jeep, it’s not going to start.”
“What makes you think the engine is shot up?”
“I may not be level 30, but I can see bullet holes.”
“This one didn’t puncture the engine. An assault rifle isn’t a great match for even a poor engine.”
“So you’re saying you can get it started?”
“Of course I could. If I fixed it first, that is.”
“How long with that take? It’s getting dark soon.”
“I’m not fixing it. No way.”
“Huh?”
“March said we need a car that runs. This one could run again, but only after a whole day’s work. In a fully-outfitted service station.”
“So then why were you wasting time under the hood?”
“I just wanted a look. I’ve never worked with this model before. And I just can’t fathom how that bullet did this much damage.”
“Ricochet,” Cheater suggested.
“Of course. But still, what are the chances?”
“Come on, stop wasting time and let’s get out of here.”
“Where are you in a hurry to go? March sent Janitor up the mountain to look around. We’re not going anywhere until he gets back.”
“I just feel uneasy about hanging around in the open,” Cheater admitted, “and we’re far away from the others. Too far.”
“This baby is worth it. It’s a rarity, you know. Sadly, it’ll disappear in the next reset.”
Cheater tried another tack. “We’ll find something else! What does March need another vehicle for, anyway? A refitted vehicle, sure—but a normal vehicle? Why?”
/> “He wouldn’t turn down a refitted car, sure, but where will you find one around here? The cars brought in from the ordinary world are not usually from the set of Mad Max.”
“I know.”
“If this Jeep were in working order, they’d cut it to pieces, like that pickup.” Clown practically sniffed back a tear. “That shitty pickup. This shitty Continent!”
“Who gave you your nickname?”
“A man.”
“Oh, that clears it up. I thought it was a horse. Why did they name you Clown?”
“What, you don’t like it? I know, I’m not the happiest man, and it’s not the greatest nickname anyway. But they didn’t ask me.”
“I’ve never even seen you smile.”
“Of course not. What is there to smile about here? I’ve never even thought of smiling.”
“I believe that.”
“The girls don’t like me either. Too gloomy. Sometimes, I try to improve things. That’s why I came along with March, since people said he was fun to be around.”
Cheater’s ears pricked up. “Who? What do they say about March?”
“No one knows anything for sure, but there are plenty of rumors. They say he’s a complicated person. And that certain people are always asking about him, people who leave most of the world alone. I once saw a man that knew March. Really knew him. He called March ‘Wandering Jew.’ That’s what they called a man who taunted Jesus on the way to the Crucifixion, and now is cursed to wander the world for all eternity. With no peace to be found, he just keeps walking. In that way, March can’t find peace anywhere. He’s always walking around, no purpose, no affection, no trust. And when he hides, no one can find him. A bad omen, they say.”
“It’s too muddled. Like shopkeepers babbling after a half dozen beers. Or after something stronger.”
“Sure,” Clown nodded sternly, “but March is very unusual. I can see things that the others cannot. That mask he wears of a hopeless alcoholic, it’s just a mask, and he’s not as simple as he seems. Interesting things happen to interesting people, so I decided to join him.”
“I haven’t known him for long, but you’re right—he’s not what he seems to be,” Cheater affirmed. “Have you ever crossed a region border before?”
“Twice.”
“Wow!”
“That’s nothing compared to March.”
“He’s done more crossings? How do you know that?”
“Rumors again. Sometimes, rumors are good enough to be believed. On the other hand, sometimes I cannot even believe myself. No one can be trusted. Especially in this world. Offend the wrong person, and you’ll be in deep shit. Just like the rest of this place.”
“You’ve crossed the border twice already. So do you think we’ll get across ourselves?”
“Do I look like a prophet to you?”
“You’ve got experience, so I’m asking you.”
“There’s something off about you, too. Your level is absurdly low, and yet you took that Spider out with a single arrow. I know. I saw. You showed perfect calm, your hands still as stone. And it was a clean, quick shot. I’ve never seen newcomers with—fortitude like that.”
“Calm? Ha, and I thought I was a nervous wreck.”
“When you die, there’ll be a look of calm on your face, that I’m sure of. Perhaps I’ll get lucky and die after you. But we’ll all die. That’s my answer to your question.”
“So you think we’ll fail. Why did you come along with us, then?”
“Traveling with a pitiful team like this can be a lot of fun. I told you I wanted to learn to have fun, didn’t I? We haven’t reached the best part, of course, but it’s been an interesting day already. Plus, March mentioned some kind of double bonus. We’re not going to make it, of course, but it’s always nice to hear about a potential reward.”
“You have a weird sense of fun.”
“Don’t we all? No normal person would have ever signed up for this.”
* * *
They preferred not to drive around the Continent at night. That would just serve to worsen their already-abysmal risk profile. Even though the deserted clusters near the border were places you could drive for three hours without seeing a single infected, none of them wanted to encounter anything. So, they stopped at a tiny thicket near the road as dusk approached. Hiding the cars under the trees and stretching signal wire around the perimeter, they picked watch posts and assigned watches through the night. Lighting fires was too dangerous, but they heated simple food on gas stoves.
His stomach full, Cheater reclined on a sleeping bag placed near a truck, covered his head with his jacket, and turned on the flashlight he had borrowed from Fatso. There, he studied the clumsy records he had been keeping since killing the elite. Observing the safe intervals between each prize consumption was crucial. Eating something a minute early could be fatal.
After checking the numbers twice, he grunted softly in satisfaction. He was not on a strict schedule, exactly, but he was safe.
The first day of the campaign was over. At first, he had been nervous, but then things had settled into normalcy and even boredom. Driving, driving, driving—with nothing interesting happening. Not even an infected any stronger than a raffler. The lack of infecteds almost made him want to settle down here.
But there was probably a reason they were all gone. Maybe the clusters that came in here were simply low-population areas. Occasionally they drove past tiny towns, but rarely did they have more than a few houses. So the food supply was simply too weak to support a large number of infecteds.
There was another possibility, of course.
A much worse possibility.
Infecteds were not the only threat in the border regions. There were creatures around that were so unpleasant it was considered a bad omen to mention them in conversation. Many players were superstitious, “speak of the devil and he’ll appear” types.
Something might be driving the infecteds away, or eating them.
And that something would probably want to eat March’s party, as well.
* * *
Cheater’s eyes snapped open, waking into a living nightmare. The sounds of numerous shots and explosions cut through the night, and tracers zipped overhead. It sounded like a serious battle.
He instinctively rolled underneath the truck. There, his senses awoke to the fullest. Thankfully, when he had moved to take cover, he had reflexively brought his machine gun with him.
But there was no way to discern what was actually happening. Some shouts were heard among the gunshots, but he could not tell what they were ordering—nor whether they were orders at all. Cheater turned his head and realized that there was continual fire from the road. Some bad humans, or nonhumans, had been driving past and spotted the camp, then attacked with everything they had.
A pair of legs ran by. Judging by their massive size, Cheater believed they belonged to the Janitor. Probably. The quasi stopped beside the truck. A flash in the dark indicated a serious explosion on the road, and Cheater involuntarily pressed his face into the earth.
When he looked up, the massive legs were gone, and he saw the tube of a disposable grenade launcher lying on the ground. It matched the model Janitor had often carried behind his back.
That didn’t help Cheater figure out what to do. The fight was raging in near-total darkness, with death raging through the camp, and occasionally knocking on the side of the truck. Further travel would have to be on foot. Now he knew why March had been so eager to add more vehicles to their posse.
Transport was too vulnerable. The more they had, the more likely a vehicle or two would survive a battle. You could run from your Continental enemies on your own two legs, yes, but not for long.
An unknown person dove under the truck. Cheater snatched his pistol, realizing he wouldn’t have time for the machine gun. But in the intermittent lighting of the shots from the road, he saw the person jerk back as she learned she was not alone.
He relaxed a little, reach
ed out, and pulled her under.
“Easy, Button. It’s me, Cheater! I’m one of the good guys!”
“What are you doing here?” she screamed hysterically.
“The same thing you were planning to do. Hiding. What’s going on out there?”
“I just don’t know. They came up very quietly, and we noticed them too late. Once they started shooting, March told me to hide under the truck.”
“It’s a good move. Where is March?”
“I don’t know.”
“Just lie down, and don’t lift your head.”
Something exploded mightily nearby. It rocked the truck with its shock wave, then showered it with numerous shards.
The explosion allowed Cheater to discern a new detail. From the depths of the grove, a column of people was approaching the camp, clad in familiar long robes. The atomites were here. Or—less likely—a whole horde of people who just loved cloaks.
The attack did not seem to have taken the squad completely by surprise. One vehicle on the road burned brightly, and a large-caliber machine gun which had sprayed bullets incessantly had now fallen silent.
But the attention of Janitor and the others was focused on the road. They were unaware of the attack approaching from their flank, sneaking through the thicket.
Then, he was hit with the most sensible thought he had perhaps ever entertained.
Button was the most valuable member of the team. She was the only one who could prevent the dead from zipping away to respawn and becoming useless to the mission. Her skill was so valuable, in fact, that she had to boost her mana reserves in every way possible, with no attention to anything else. Healers did likewise. Specialists like them could not survive on their own. They needed a group.
Of course, any group would be happy to take them along.
If Button were to perish, the mission could be considered a failure. She was, of course, unable to resurrect herself. She must be protected. At all costs.