The Battle of Zombie Hill

by Nancy Osa

  “Me, too,” Rob agreed.

  “Or what?” Turner challenged. “You would’ve told ’em to reach?”

  Frida laughed at Rob’s reddening cheeks. She punched him lightly. “Seriously, dude. Does that work where you come from?”

  “Yeah, well . . .”

  “Nice try, anyway,” Turner said.

  Rob was glad to have their company as dusk fell.

  CHAPTER 3

  THE THREE TRAVELERS REACHED FRIDA’S CAVERN just as moans, groans, skitters, and rattles filled the air.

  “Get inside!” Frida shouted.

  They followed her into a cave fortified with cobblestone and an iron door at the entrance. Frida slammed the door shut behind them, pitching the cave into darkness.

  Then she crafted two torches, illuminating the cave walls and revealing a large, black spider. It sprang toward Rob. Before his reflexes could respond, Turner eliminated the beast with a stone axe.

  “Thanks, man!”

  Turner nodded.

  Frida checked the arachnid body. “At least it wasn’t poisonous.”

  “It must have followed us in from outside,” Turner said as he scooped up the string the spider had dropped. “Just what I need. I’m making weapons tonight.”

  “Then you’re going to want what’s in my basement,” Frida said, motioning for Turner and Rob to follow her.

  At the end of the small cave vestibule was a staircase. Frida quarried into the wall and pulled out some coal, which she used to form several more torches to light their way. They descended through layers until they arrived at the bottom, where the cavern opened into a large great room. Rob was surprised at how cozy it looked. There was a bed, a fireplace, a wool rug, and another chest, which Frida approached and began to rummage in.

  She tossed a piece of wool to Turner and one to Rob. “You can sleep on that.”

  A bedroll! Rob thought. This was beginning to feel like home.

  But Turner declined the offer. “Trying to change my spawn point, eh, Frida? My spawn coordinates are a secret, and I mean to keep them that way.”

  She shrugged. “Up to you.” She bent over and lit the furnace. “Got any meat?” she asked Turner, causing Rob to drool a little bit.

  “Don’t I always?” Turner threw three hams in to cook. “We can use the same fire to craft some armor after we eat.”

  “Why armor?” Rob asked. “This place seems safe from attack.”

  “I’m low on all kinds of resources,” Frida said, “and we’ll have to cross the jungle boundary if we want to trade with the villagers.” She looked at Turner. “I’m assuming that’s why you’re here.”

  “Right. I need supplies, too. And don’t underestimate Dr. Dirt’s skeletons.”

  “I have an axe,” Rob offered, glad to have one weapon in his arsenal.

  Turner and Frida exchanged glances. “You don’t want to get in close when you’re fighting skeletons,” Frida told the cowboy.

  Turner flipped the grilling ham on its other side, and a rich aroma filled the enclosed space. “I recommend at least an iron chest plate and a bow and arrow—preferably several of each, in case some break. That will let you keep your distance but still meet fire with fire.”

  Frida saw Rob’s blank stare. “Skeletons. Shoot arrows,” she prompted, then sighed. “Yikes, Rob. What you don’t know would fill a book.” She swiveled toward Turner and added, “He’s new here. He’s lost. He’s a babe in the woods.”

  Turner grinned. “I can see that. But how did you two meet?”

  Rob and Frida pieced together their encounter and the events leading up to it, then explained his plan to trek to the extreme hills to find his way home.

  “Phee-ew!” Turner sighed. “Frida, you escaped from one of Dirt’s skeleton platoons on foot?” He regarded Rob with reserved respect. “And you fell out of the sky and spent your first night on a sand pillar? Even for a newbie, that’s pretty darn good.”

  “What about you, Meat?” Frida asked. “How did you make it to my section of the jungle?”

  Her friend let out a long breath. “It was pretty hairy. I was taken in by one of Dirt’s top griefers. Guy by the name of Legs. He told me he could get me the diamonds I wanted in exchange for my help crafting a cage. Once I built it, though, he used a potion of weakness on me and sent in a file of zombies to attack me.”

  Hearing the name of the monsters made Rob cringe. Still, he had to know: “What happened next?”

  Turner chuckled. “I had a high-level healing potion in my inventory to counteract the spell. I went after Legs, but the zombies surrounded him like an undead fence. I couldn’t get at him without getting to them, and if I battled them, he would’ve had a chance to hit me with something else from his bag of tricks.” Turner paused. “I guess you could call it a draw. But then a wave of skeletons marched in, and I didn’t stick around to skirmish.”

  “How’d you run into that bunch?” Frida asked.

  “I was just minding my own business, looking for bodyguard work, when I crossed over the cold taiga boundary. Legs appeared, saying he wanted to trap a wild wolf and needed a cage. I figured I’d make a few diamonds off the job and keep moving, but that’s when the grit hit the fan.”

  “And they attacked you,” Rob concluded, recalling how Frida had lured him into her trap. At least she had been acting to defend herself, not trying to con him.

  “That’s creepy,” Frida said. “Dr. Dirt’s legions are as far out as the cold taiga? I met them at the plains and mesa boundaries.”

  Rob guessed that these zones lay between the jungle and the extreme hills. Not good. “It’s like this guy is trying to take over the world!” he said.

  Turner narrowed his eyes. “Take over the Overworld is more like it.”

  *

  The three debated the topic as they ate their ham.

  “What do you think the odds are of Dr. Dirt managing to infiltrate every world boundary?” Frida asked.

  Turner folded his arms. “It would be pretty tough. There are more than sixty biomes, with double or triple the boundaries.”

  Frida frowned. “This is going to cause havoc for villagers across the grid. Trading is about to get tricky.”

  Turner spoke through a mouthful of ham. “Just making a living is about to get tricky. I have to cross a boundary at a moment’s notice. It’s my stock-in-trade.” He swallowed and held out his arms, which were covered with the ink drawings that Rob had noticed earlier.

  “What are they?” he asked.

  “Each one represents a biome that I’ve explored,” Turner said smugly. “I make my gems protecting other people’s valuables from mobs and griefers.” He deflated a bit. “Only now, my credibility ain’t so hot.”

  Rob worried. If this leatherneck had been taken in by a griefer, what chance did he have?

  Frida’s eyes moved from Turner’s to Rob’s. “There’s safety in numbers,” she said quietly.

  Turner wasn’t sure he’d heard her right. “You mean, this guy—?”

  Frida put a hand on Rob’s shoulder. “He’s green, but he’s got spunk.”

  “We’re gonna need a lot more than spunk,” Turner said dryly.

  Rob thought back to his world, where his skills had been more than sufficient to survive on the range. “I’ve got way more than, er, spunk,” he assured them. “I can rope, mend fence, round up cattle, and gentle even the wildest bucking bronco.”

  “That all sounds so sweet.” Turner shook his head. “But I think I’ll do better on my own.”

  Frida stepped in. “Ah, give him a chance, Meat. Some of the stuff he can do might come in handy.”

  Turner considered this a moment. “Well . . . all right. But if I take an arrow because of him, I’m cutting you two loose.”

  They finished up their meal and sat around the furnace relaxing. Frida’s basement stronghold was well fortified. They could hear banging on the iron door above, but nothing penetrated it.

  “I can see why you wouldn’t w
ant to leave this place,” Rob said, admiring the homey chamber.

  His host shrugged. “Oh, it’s just temporary. Sooner or later something or someone will find a way in. A girl doesn’t stay alive in the jungle for long by sticking in one spot. I’ll probably mine this out and move on.”

  “But what about safety in numbers?”

  “For traveling to villages, yeah,” Frida said. “Otherwise, I’m pretty much a loner.”

  Turner started lining up items from his inventory. “When it comes to resources, Newbie, we’re all in competition.” He eyed Frida, who had risen to search for something in her supply chest. “It’s a friendly rivalry,” he continued, “but it’s still a rivalry.”

  “Second that.” She backed away from the chest and threw Turner three sticks she’d taken from a stack. “Can I have some of that spider string?”

  “You got it.” He tossed her a ball of it, and they got down to crafting bows.

  Rob still licked his fingers, savoring the cooked meat taste as long as possible. He tried to understand Frida and Turner’s relationship. Out in the wild, they—and others like them, he supposed—competed for food and raw materials. Here inside the shelter, though, they helped each other out. They even shared a crafting table, and the work progressed quickly. He wanted to point out that teamwork might be a more efficient way to get by, but this was their world. And they weren’t herding cattle.

  Frida and Turner went ahead making armor and fashioning arrows together, not saying much, yet seeming to know what the other needed. When at last they ran out of feathers, they had to put off filling their slots with arrows.

  “These ain’t near enough,” Turner said, closing his inventory. “We’ll have to trade for some feathers as soon as we get to the village.”

  Frida crossed her fingers. “Hope we don’t run into trouble on the way.”

  This reawakened Rob’s worries. “I don’t have anything to trade yet. Or anything to craft weapons from.”

  Turner placed a bow and a few arrows on top of one of the iron chest plates he’d made and shoved it over to Rob. “Here ya go, Newbie. You can pay me back with interest someday.”

  Rob glanced at him, thankful. The tattooed mercenary waved a hand emblazoned with a mountain biome, like the loan was no big deal. Then they each retreated to a corner, Frida blew out most of the torches, and they went to sleep for the night.

  *

  After a breakfast of apples, the three newly allied friends packed up their gear and stepped out into the leaf-filtered sunshine. But in no time, a jungle shower blew through.

  As rain dripped through the dense tree canopy, Frida’s brown leather cap kept her head dry. Turner donned a chainmail helmet that was nearly waterproof. Rob wished for the hat he’d lost at sea, but he wasn’t about to complain. Besides, a jungle rainstorm was warm. And shade-loving orchids were blooming right before their eyes. It could’ve been worse.

  “So, there’s a village not far from here?” Rob asked, excited at the prospect of more humans and houses. Maybe it would be more like his home. Maybe someone would even know a way to get there.

  “We’ll be at the village by nightfall,” Turner said, “unless something . . . interesting happens.”

  “Like what?”

  Just as the question escaped Rob’s lips, three dark forms with long limbs teleported up and over the group, landing behind them with a soft thud.

  Rob turned to face them, but Frida blocked him. “Endermen! They got wet! They don’t like that. Don’t look at them!”

  How was he supposed to not stare at a bunch of weird, black, gangly-legged creatures that were trying to surround them? Frida threw up a screen of the vines she’d cut the day before, and she and Turner crouched behind it, waving Rob over.

  “You hold down the fort!” Turner whispered. “These ain’t your friends!”

  He drew his sword and burst from cover to attack the Endermen, which had already suffered rain damage. Turner killed all three in no time, and each dropped an Ender pearl as they ceased to be.

  “Grab those, Newbie!” Turner directed. “Hang on to them until you find some more. You’re the one who might need to locate an Ender portal.”

  Rob had no idea what Turner was talking about but thought the items might have trade value.

  Frida reeled in her vine screen, and they walked on. To Rob’s relief, the rain petered out and the canopy thinned above them. The darker it was, he knew, the greater the chance of something . . . interesting happening, as Turner had put it.

  “There’s a lake up ahead!” Frida called out. “Hey, Meat. Got a fishing pole? I’m getting hungry already.”

  “I can make one,” Turner said. “Hang on!” He riffled through his inventory, dismantled a bow, and swiftly crafted a fishing rod.

  Rob’s mouth watered just thinking about a mess of trout, or catfish, or whatever kind of fish might live here. But as they approached the small lake, they could see that someone else had beat them to the spot.

  A horse’s whinny cut through the air, alerting a teenage boy sitting on the bank to their presence. The boy’s skin was ultra pale, his brown, wavy hair cut close, and he was as thin as an Enderman, although not quite as long-limbed.

  Rob felt the tension stretch like a live wire between his group and the teen.

  “Catching anything?” Turner called casually.

  The fellow nodded.

  “What’s biting today?” Frida asked.

  As they arrived a few blocks away, the boy cried, “Pufferfish!” and hurled an object their way.

  Frida ducked in one direction, and Turner ducked in the other. Rob’s jaw had dropped, and he caught the spiny fish—in his mouth!

  A wave of severe hunger hit him like a tsunami, and he thought he was going to be sick to his stomach. His arms and legs seized up, and he couldn’t move. “I’m dying!” he yelled.

  “It’s just poison,” Turner said, as though it were nothing.

  “I’ve died scores of times,” the fisherboy added. “You’ll come back.”

  Frida turned to him angrily and growled, “We meant you no harm!”

  He looked ashamed and tossed her a bottle of milk. “Here, patch him up. I always carry some with me when I’m fishing, just in case.”

  Frida held Rob’s head up and helped him drink. He was amazed at how fast the effects of the poisonous pufferfish wore off.

  From a thicket came another whinny, and the boy called to the horse that everything was okay.

  “Where’s your pony?” Rob asked, slurring his words a little, but desperately wanting to see a live animal again—one that didn’t cause instant paralysis.

  “That’s Beckett, begging for sugar,” the boy said, waving at the thatch of trees. “I tie him up while I fish; otherwise, he wades in and scares everything off.” He smiled apologetically at Rob. “I’m Jools. Sorry about the fish bomb. A guy can’t be too careful around the biome boundaries.”

  “Mind if I try my luck?” Turner asked, pulling out his fishing rod.

  “Be my guest,” Jools said. “There’s plenty more scaly types biting. I’m just hunting pufferfish for crafting potions.”

  “Good idea,” Frida said. “I hear Dr. Dirt’s army is still roaming the plains perimeter.”

  “Right-o. I want to be ready for them.”

  Something occurred to Rob. “If you’ve got a horse, can’t you just outrun them?”

  Jools grinned and shook his head. “Not on old Beckett. He’s sound transportation, but a bit of a nag. Hence the need for potions.”

  Rob felt a kinship with another horseman, even one that had cast spells made from deadly fish. “I’m Rob. And this is Frida and Turner. We’re on our way to the village to do some trading. I wish we could ride instead of walk.”

  “You can,” Jools said. “I know where there’s a whole herd of horses just waiting to be tamed. Unfortunately, it’s on the other side of the boundary.”

  “I’d wrestle a skeleton any day for the chance to gent
le a good horse,” Rob said, then saw Turner roll his eyes. “Besides, horses might come in handy in the next fight.” That got Turner’s attention.

  The mercenary pulled in a salmon and set his fishing rod down on the bank. Then he went over and peeked among the trees, and came back. “Hey, Jools. You say you know where to find a flock of these beasts?”

  “A herd,” Jools corrected. “They’re not chickens.”

  “Might taste like chicken,” Turner said, making Rob’s stomach lurch again. “Just kidding. A quick getaway might be just what we need to make it to the village in one piece.”

  Rob cheered. “Now you’re talking!”

  Jools eyed his outfit. “I see you’re wearing chaps. I’m mad about western garb. Do you ride?”

  Rob puffed up beneath his vest. “Do I? I was the Far Western Sector Rodeo champion three years in a row. Got the belt buckle to prove it . . . at home. On my ranch,” he added when Jools appeared skeptical.

  “He’s on the level,” Frida said. “He’s no griefer. This boy doesn’t have a false bone in his body.”

  That made Rob feel good. He’d made a solid impression on her, and he could tell that Frida didn’t trust many people.

  “Well, seeing is believing,” Jools said.

  “I’ll prove it to you,” Rob replied. “Will you take us to the herd?”

  “What’ll you give me for doing it?”

  Rob thought a moment. “How about some Ender pearls?”

  The pale boy’s eyes sparkled. “You’ve got a deal.” He paused. “There’s just one problem.”

  They waited.

  “We’ve got to cross the border into the plains tonight. It’s not safe to keep Beckett in the jungle when the mobs come out.”

  “I’m up for a fight!” declared Turner. He turned to Frida and Rob. “You guys in?”

  Frida nodded fiercely.

  It didn’t seem to Rob like there was much choice. The sky was turning a soft purple, and night was coming on quickly. Besides, this might be the only chance to find some wild horses. He swallowed. “I’m in.”

  CHAPTER 4

  AS THEY JOURNEYED ON, JOOLS WAS LESS THAN forthcoming about his background. Frida asked him about his spawn points, and he’d answered, “Here and there.” When Turner inquired what Jools did for a living, he’d said, “Consultant.” And when Rob asked about his riding skills, Jools claimed he was self-taught.