by Arthur Stone
When would he be done with that damned fuel tank? The trampler was likely not alone. A whole horde was running after them from around the bend, too. Infecteds were stubborn and knew to follow roads. Soon the quickest would show themselves.
There! Fatso began moving back towards the truck. He was hauling ass. Of course, any other speed would have been stupid.
After a minute fussing with the truck’s tank, Fatso was in the cab and waved his hands.
Cheater understood and jumped out of the truck bed and into the driver’s seat, quickly looking around to get used to the controls of the unfamiliar vehicle. Ignoring Roach’s incessant lamentation, he started the engine but did not hit the gas.
The truck would go first, as Fatso was the leader and would be choosing which way to go. Cheater had no idea how to return to the camp. On foot, sure. But how would they get back when the way they knew led straight through a dense forest?
Then, he saw movement in the side mirror.
An infected. It was his old friend, the cripple. Despite its injuries, it was still faster than all the rest.
But it was just a bit too late. Its prey was already leaving.
* * *
When he opened the door, Cheater practically fell out of the car. The final miles of the trip were the most fun. Fatso had only a vague guess at how to drive back to camp. Every now and then, they had to deal with some insurmountable obstacles, taking wide circles around. They nearly got stuck driving through a wide ravine, and in a couple of places the truck had to force its way through thickets barely passable by a human. Their hands ached from working with shovels and axes, and from steering over bad roads and dozens of potholes.
Roach had even stopped complaining, besides melancholy moans when the car hit a particularly bad hole.
March approached and handed Cheater an opened beer can. “Here you go, Cheat: have a drink. You need it.”
The latter shook his head. “Roach is in bad shape. He needs help, and fast.”
March opened the back door, looked at the bloody body, and pressed his hands hard against the man’s torn belly after casually taking a final sip and tossing the can over his shoulder. “Janitor, we have a patient with a serious problem.
“He might need help.”
The quasi approached slowly and stared at the wounded man. Roach opened his eyes. It wasn’t just pain in the man’s look. Roach was scared. Terrified. And it was something else, beyond just intestinal injury. “No... please... please don’t...” he muttered, barely above a whisper.
Cheater stared in disbelief. “You’re a surgeon, Janitor?”
“Not really. More of a gynecologist. But I can get anyone on their feet fast if needed.”
The quasi grabbed Roach’s ankles and easily yanked him out of the car. He sang the same song as he slid across the grayish grass. “No... please... don’t...”
The quasi’s pickax silenced Roach with a puncture through the skull.
Janitor straightened and yanked the weapon out, then reported calmly to March. “Surgery administered. Anything else you need?”
March nodded. “At ease, friend. Thank you. Hey! Button! We have a friend here that needs our help.”
“I see that,” the girl said as she approached, full of intent.
Cheater turned and walked slowly away. The party didn’t need a doctor. It had a priest. Roach was used to losing a life by now, anyway. He would come back with full health and with full cooldown for his ability, which could scare all living things within a decent radius away for a time.
Convenient for the party, but still quite a depressing treatment.
He heard coughing behind him, and then Roach expressed his misery.
“Fucking sons of bitches! Monsters!”
He was back. Cheater was unable to make a sound for a full minute after his first resurrection by Button. They said he would get used to it.
God forbid.
Chapter 14
Life Eight. The Human Compass
Clown tossed his sledgehammer back from one hand to the next, so easily Cheater had no doubt he could juggle five of them. “Hold this pin very straight, Cheater. Otherwise it’ll go sideways and I’ll get your fingers.”
Cheater glanced doubtfully at the sledgehammer. “How about we fasten this with some bolts?”
“Bolts would work, sure,” the mechanic agreed, “if we had any. We don’t. And no one knows where we can find them. We do have this pin, though. It won’t hold for long. But it might hold long enough for us to find some bolts. Or long enough for the pickup and machine gun to overheat. This climate is terrible for vehicles. Then we won’t even need to figure this out.”
The sledgehammer swung through the air carelessly and rang loudly on the pin grasped by Cheater’s nervous fingers. It was a solid hit that drove the iron halfway into the undercarriage without damaging a thing.
“Now we bend the other half and it’ll hold,” Clown declared.
Cheater considered the unpretentious fastening job with doubt in his brow. “Shooting the gun will jostle it.”
“Of course. Recoil and all that. But it’ll do for a while. Here’s a wire, wrap it around to secure it a bit more.”
“With a machine gun this powerful, a wire like this is about as strong as a spider web.”
“Like I just said, we don’t need it for long. Enough for a couple of belts. This is the Continent—sooner or later we’ll reach a workshop or factory or somewhere with tools and parts available. Our repair kit burned with the other truck. So we have to deal with what we’ve got. Come on, back to work—we still need to adapt our grenade launcher. Another shitty job.”
“Adapt?”
“To fit the roof, of course.”
“Why?”
“Just more convenient that way. If we need to break through, we shoot grenades ahead. And if we need to escape, we use the machine gun to kill whatever is chasing us. These grenades are little more than toys, but they’ll kill crowds of younger infecteds, of course. Including runners. And atomites, by the way. Atomites are as common here as shit in an outhouse.”
“Hey!” The Janitor was calling them to attention. “Warriors! Get over here! The commander wants a word, and it’s very important!”
Cheater left his work with the wire and hopped to the ground. The people who had been working on protecting the sides of the military truck with the body armor found in its back hopped out to head to Janitor, too.
March sat next to the quasi on a flat stone they had dragged over from the ravine. As usual, the commander opened another beer, slowly but not sluggishly, and looked calmly out into the distance. He showed no interest in the people gathering until the last of them appeared. Then, he turned. “Everyone here? I can see that some of you are not in the best of moods. However, I also have noticed that you all continue to accept Button’s resurrection. So you are not unwilling to die over and over in order to attain our goal here. Fatso, you are brash, but you can think straight. What did you think when you first came with me? I bet others will agree with you.”
Fatso hesitated. “When I first heard this team was assembling for a crossing, I paid no mind at first. The roster looked like a suicide cult. Then I found out one detail. About you. I heard you were the March everyone talks about.”
“And what do they say?” March asked.
“They say you came from far, far away. From somewhere to the north, or to the northwest. From the opposite coast. That you’ve made your way across twenty regions already, if not more. You want to get away from the regions where they know who you are. But the rumors multiply from there. They say you can do things that no one else can.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. It seems like nobody knows. Rumors, like I said. Things that no one in their right mind believes.”
“So due to stupid rumors you don’t even believe, you joined a random team. A pathetically weak random team.”
“There are other rumors, too. Confirmed rumors. The Spiders
have been ordered not to mess with you. Not to touch you or hurt you in any way. They’re supposed to pretend you don’t even exist, no matter the circumstances. I’ve been here for many months, and this is the first time I’ve heard about them trying so hard to ignore someone. I have no idea why. But I think the Spiders know more about you than I do. They have an easier time getting information than a loner like me. Something is different about you, March. Something that scares the Spiders. It prevents them from messing with you. And I think a person that dangerous might know something that helps him get along in this shitty life. I need to change regions urgently. So, I’m with you. You move to other regions frequently and easily. Maybe with you, I have a good chance. So here I am.”
March sipped again and nodded. “Clear, straightforward thoughts from a competent player. Does anyone else have something to add? Besides Roach, whose opinion we have heard repeatedly. How about you, Button? Go ahead, don’t be shy.”
The girl was clearly shy, and spoke quietly. “The Janitor hinted to me that on this trip we could get a reward that was impossible to get any other way. I’ve known him for a long time, and I believe him.”
“I see,” March nodded. “Does anyone else have anything to say?”
Clown joined in. “I once overheard the chatter of some drunk caravanners. They spoke about a player named ‘Arch.’ This Arch had done something that even a whole party failed to do. And in one go. After that, he added one letter to his name. That was a special bonus granted him by the System for defeating an enemy whose name I dare not say. Think about it. Arch. Add one letter, you get March. Of course, I don’t believe in that shit. But if they’re going to shamelessly lie about a guy like that, I want to know that guy.”
“Alright, so you’ve seen me. What now? You could go back.”
“Maybe I haven’t seen enough of you. Do you mind?”
“Look all you want. No touching, though. Anyone else have anything to say?”
“Enough questions,” Fatso muttered. “You brought us here because you wanted to say something. Well, say it.”
March nodded approvingly. “Yes, perhaps it is time. You’re already starting to think such crazy thoughts. The beginning of our journey did not exactly work out. We’re stuck in the gray clusters, our repeller is not the highest level, and our disguiser situation is terrible. But I don’t just drink. I know things. And I know what I’m doing. So well that you cannot fathom it. All that is required of you is to do what I say. Nothing else. Thinking about what will come next is my job, not yours. If this works out, those who reach the finish line will obtain a reward that no one else dare even dream of. I know you are unlikely to be convinced by flowery talk, so let me reveal a bit to you. How far from here to the border, Fatso?”
The man shrugged. “Not sure, exactly. Fifty, sixty miles? We’ve recently been traveling diagonally towards it, or even parallel to it, not straight at it. We’ve barely moved at all.”
“So which direction is the border?” March pressed.
Fatso pointed behind him. “That way, somewhere.”
“You’re right.” March tossed an empty can on the ground, pointed at it, and said, “The shortest straight line from that can to the border is 52 miles and 4,224 feet.”
“Are you kidding? Is your Cartography really that strong?” Physic gaped.
“My Cartography is about the same as yours. I really have come from a great distance—the rumors are true. But not because of my Cartography. I have a skill that reveals things to me. I can see the border. Not everywhere, but here I do. Even if you blindfolded me, I could still see the exact distance.”
“Very nice,” Georgy nodded once, “so we know we have fifty-two and change miles left. Not that much, really.”
March shook his head. “No. The first border is that way, and it’s 93.62 miles away.”
Roach gasped. “What? That’s almost twice as far!”
“Shut up!” Fatso rebuked—but also wondered, “The first border? What does that mean?”
“The first of two. There is a second border. We’re not just picking a random location, but the intersection of three regions. The northern region pushes into the southern with its last cluster. It’s an isthmus of sorts. Narrow, extending deep between two other regions like a sword blade. After the first border, we go in a straight line a mere 0.65 miles, and then we will enter the region you all were aiming for. Your plans will still be fulfilled, but you will cross two borders rather than one. One after the other. That doesn’t just double your bonus, it gives you the maximum possible bonus, along with an achievement. Combined with how weak our group is, we can expect an absurd reward. Right ahead of us, ready for the taking.”
“Ready to kill us all, more like it,” Roach sighed. “The areas where three borders meet are the most exciting places on the Continent. Even a division of tanks can’t get through. Why aim for a reward we have no hope of achieving?”
“A reasonable thought,” March allowed, “but as I said, all you have to do is what I say. I know where we can get across without too much difficulty. With a little luck, we’ll make it. You don’t need to know all of the details. Anything you need to know will be told to you in due time. My plan requires clean implementation of each and every phase. Without delays. We are on a schedule. Now that we’ve solved our transportation problem, we have a high probability of making it to the next phase in time.”
Fatso made a meaningful grimace. “I don’t know what your plan is, but you really do intend to get through a zone where a regiment of tanks is unlikely to succeed. That sounds interesting, to be sure. But also, impossible.”
“Has anyone ever crossed two borders in one day?” Georgy asked.
“I heard some people say March did,” Button supplied.
Everyone stared at the boss.
Looking up from his fresh can of beer, he nodded. “Those rumors are true. Only once, but yes.”
“How?” Roach asked, his interest piqued. “What did you get?”
“One whole night’s opportunity to screw your mother.”
“Oh, that’s no reward, more like a punishment,” Roach shrugged off. “Seriously, what did you get?”
“The System was well pleased. I received more than five ordinary border crossings would get you. Meaning normal crossings, of course, not insane rushes with weak parties.”
“It was nice, then? At least give us a hint,” Roach pleaded.
“A hint? What’s the point? The System decides who gets what, and how much. Everyone gets their own reward. There’s no standard. Even a level 6 runner can earn all kinds of different prizes. You should know how unpredictable these things are. But in our case, I assure you that it will be grand. And it is likely you will receive exactly what you need the most.”
“I need new lives,” Roach interjected. “I’ve already spent three, and we’ve got far to go yet. And then further still, for the second border.”
Button had a dreamy look in her eyes. “Two crossings—the reward for that really must be grand!”
Clown burst into laughter, even though his face remained humorless. The man was a paradox.
“Why are you laughing? Finally snapped?” Roach inquired.
“Maybe I have! So what? Everyone else here is already crazy. No sane person would try this. I knew things would be interesting, but this, interesting? You surprise me, March. Of course, I’m not easy to surprise, since I see nearly everything.”
“One border, two borders, what’s the difference? They’re less than a mile apart, if March is telling the truth.”
“Remember what I told you about the dungeons? Remember Impossible Mode?”
“The hardest of all,” Cheater responded.
“Right. But actually, I was mistaken. What March is proposing is far beyond that. A mode even harder than impossible. He’s nuts. And we’re trying for this with a group of ten in which there are approximately zero strong players. I never dreamed this would be so interesting.”
“And pr
ofitable,” March tried. “I haven’t heard the tales you told, but games always offered greater rewards for higher difficulties. Our difficulty is set to maximum. Think of the prize! Everyone will love it!”
“But no one will see it,” Roach frowned.
“Why are you suddenly wavering, young man? Has all that talk of tank regiments gotten to you? Forget all that! A tank division is a tank division. It can be seen and heard from miles away. Our crossing will be different. Quiet. Otherwise, yes, we will run into so many obstacles that one thousand tanks would not be enough. No, we must cross so quietly that no one knows we are present. That’s our chance. And it makes us stronger than any regiment of tanks. We are few in number, we are inconspicuous, and like a mouse we will slip through bars that a rat would get stuck in. Just do as you are told, and we will make it.”
Chapter 15
Life Eight. Bait
Cheater kept playing back what March had said in his head—and kept finding new problems. Particularly troubling was the “invisibility” he had mentioned, where they would slip through the fence like a mouse.
Stealth was not always in charge on the Continent. Especially when it came to the most unpleasant places, which included, among others, the borders between the regions.
They were not unpleasant just because of the dull landscape, nor because of the weak mobile signal that prevented you from viewing your favorite porn sites. There were too many perilous creatures. They may not be omnipresent, but they’re damn well close. And these creatures had fantastically advanced senses, perhaps even more than five. Add to that useful abilities for searching for players. No matter how much they covered their trail, sooner or later someone would sniff them out.
Immunes were, of course, heavily dependent on transportation. Walking immunes were easy to catch. But it was difficult to remain invisible when you were driving a convoy made up of a pickup and a pair of tractor trailers. No matter how good of a camouflager your squad had. They didn’t even have one.