That isn’t to say that people hadn’t been worried. But if they were, they just didn’t play. The rest of us were willing to take Deep Dive studios at their word for the chance to play this game.
And did I mention it was free? At least to me. At least to 99% of us, actually.
They’d even proven that the game engine was only accessing certain parts of your brain. You could never really be sure if you believed that shit, but sometimes you can talk yourself into things if you want something bad enough.
And if they were really interested in knowing just how often I whacked off or what the passwords were to the several terabytes of porn I had on my hard drive, so be it. They were welcome to it.
I tore her closet to pieces, and there, hidden in the back corner, I saw a cardboard box with my name on it in her handwriting. It was one of those boxes that usually hold files, and it even had a lid. When I opened it up I noticed that my hands were trembling, but I told myself that was from the adrenaline leftover from my battle with Lori.
She’d kept it all. I couldn’t decide if this was a little shrine or just the place where she’d put my shit until she could get around to burning it on the front lawn and I suppose that right now, it didn’t matter.
I had bigger issues. I had to get the fuck out here.
Chapter 21
I knew Lori. I knew she wouldn’t let this rest. Even now I could feel whoever she had called to avenge her closing in. I may know the terrain, but the suburbs weren’t safe. I needed to go where there would be so many zombies that I couldn’t get singled out. If coming back here had shown me anything it was that I was wrong to think that the horde should become anything other than just that, a horde.
When I looked out her front window I saw, moving in the moonlight, a steady stream of Zombies heading north with the same idea.
They moved with purpose. Maybe they knew something I didn't. I hadn't been on the forums this whole time, and for all I knew word was already starting to spread amongst the Zombies that there were targets of opportunity back in Los Angeles.
L A was a big place, and I knew firsthand that any Survivors that had made it their home would be hard to pry out. But that wasn’t only a negative. People meant food. The suburbs would be so sparsely populated soon that even if I did stay here, there’d be too much competition for meat.
So, I left Lori’s house. A little chill ran up my spine. I knew that she’d probably already left a dozen or so messages on my phone, all of them bitching me out. Too bad. There were already enough Zombies in the street to feel like I’d be safe amongst them, and as I joined the throng I felt the game reward me. But not in experience points.
In happiness. In well-being. In the fact that my brain at long last knew with absolute certainty that I was doing exactly what I was meant to be doing. The fear was gone. That feeling of being hunted, of dreading the sniper’s rifle or the hollow thump of a Molotov cocktail vanished like it was never there.
Even so, I summoned up the strength of will to hesitate on the curb before I stepped into the street. I saw these players for what they were. My people. They were playing for the love of it, and when I joined them I couldn’t help but smile. For now, no amount of slinking through the shadows would have done me any good.
Not compared to the joy of acceptance that oozed through my brain and whipped around my veins.
As I walked, I was surprised to find that I wasn’t limping. After the Desert Eagle had torn me up I had gotten used to the idea that I was going to carry some of that structural damage with me going forward. But I was fine. Better than ever.
Lori had made me whole again, in her own way.
If I could eat, I could live. And if I wanted to live, I was going to have to go where the food was…
We moved north. Lori’s house fell away, as did mine. Then my neighborhood was just a memory as well. We grew from dozens to hundreds, and then swelled to even more. It seemed like Zombies stepped out from most of the shadows that we passed.
And even better, there were Tanks and Runners amongst us. The muscle went in the Vanguard, and I unsuccessfully attempted to quicken my pace as I tried get closer to them. The Runners were using their speed, sprinting off on what I could only assume were scouting parties and then occasionally hurrying back. We still couldn’t speak to each other, but we didn’t need words to make ourselves known. Simple hand gestures sufficed, and the Runners assured us that ahead of us the coast was clear.
Even when it wasn’t, a pair of Runners would skim past the mass of zombies and alert the nearest Tank. Then they’d vanish off down one of the streets for a while. Sometimes you heard gunshots.
Sometimes you didn’t.
This was what I wanted. This was what I needed to be a part of. Here, I felt like I had a purpose. I was only walking, just one amongst what may well have been ten thousand at this point. For hours it was like that, and when we choked the freeway as far ahead of me as I could see my game clock ticked down to when I should've gone to work and I simply ignored it.
I didn’t feel guilty. I’d gone in yesterday, when by the very nature of the game the most players would have been absent from their daily obligations. Now, I had better things to do then waste my time in that cubicle. It stood to reason that there’d be more employees today than there had been on Monday.
They probably wouldn’t even miss me, and if they did, so what? I might not do my job well, but I did show up to do it often. My job might not come with days off, but a day or two here or there wouldn't mean that I couldn’t keep the electricity on.
I expected that little voice in my head to argue. It always did. But not this time, and its absence made me smile. I knew that this game was addictive, but that didn’t make it dangerous. It was just alluring. I had a clear, proven path of advancement here, and even though I didn't really know all the rules that governed what lay ahead of me, I felt like I was a hell of a lot more in control of my fate in Headshot than in that shitty office building, pissing my life away in a steady stream.
I was tireless. The sun came up and we didn't stop. At least some most of us didn't. Now and then one of the other Zombies would shiver and then stopped walking, only to climb into a burnt-out car or dig a shallow grave for themselves underneath one of the freeway overpasses, obviously trying to find a place to safely log out.
I nodded to myself. It wasn't a bad idea. This place had so much Zombie traffic on it now that a Survivor would have to have a death wish to try and force their way through the mass of the horde. I hadn’t seen anything yet to disprove my notion that they were cowards one at all, and if they saw us coming they’d scatter like rats.
In fact, we really weren’t meeting any opposition at all. If the Survivors were around, they were indeed giving us a wide berth. Whatever little pockets of resistance the Runners found, they and the Tanks were dealing with.
I wanted to get in on the action, though. The euphoria that traveling like this had pushed through my system had kept me going this far, and I knew if I let it that it would carry me even further.
That was when I saw the diner. In the real world, you would’ve been right in saying that it wasn’t in a great location, since it was kind of tucked away from one of the off ramps. Probably, whoever owned it swore every day at the row of buildings that blocked it from having a good presence on the street, since you could drive right past it and not even see it unless you knew what you were looking for.
But in Headshot things were different. In fact, it looked to me like a prime location for a Survivor to set up shop.
It was seven in the morning. The sun glinted off the windows though I could tell that the interior of the diner was dark, since the power seemed like it would be off for the entirety of the game.
The windows were intact. That was my first clue that someone might be there. Nothing makes it to Tuesday morning without getting ransacked by one faction of the other, unless you’ve got someone inside willing to protect it.
<
br /> It looked promising, but not necessarily worth risking my connection to the horde. Just the thought of that made me feel a little empty inside, creating a pit in my stomach that was something akin to a new type of hunger.
Then I saw what looked like a small, bobbing light through the windows. It was only there for a second or two, and then it was gone.
I stopped in my tracks. There was a Survivor in there. That light had been a flashlight, and either they were signaling to someone outside the diner or they'd realized their mistake and shut it off as quickly as they could. Either way, I was determined to capitalize on the screw up.
Excited now, I shrugged off the mantle of the horde and mentally ran through the menu to re-acquainting myself with my abilities. I’d been hoping to find something in there that I’d missed, something that would let me better communicate with the Zombies around me but there was nothing. The only thing I could do was turn around, waving my arms frantically and even trying to physically steer a couple of the zombies down the off the ramp with me.
Thankfully, some of them decided that my little side quest had merit and changed direction to follow me.
That was another thing that I’d been expecting to find in Headshot and hadn’t. A goal. An objective. I was so used to clear, sometimes overly concise quests in other games that the absence here was jarring, but this sandbox seemed perfectly happy to let the experience move on with you or without you.
Live, or die. Gain experience, or don't. Eat, or waste away.
In one way, it was refreshing. I mean, I certainly didn't feel like I was stuck on the rails. If I wanted to simply stand here and stare at the sun until my eyes burned down to cinders and the hunger mechanic eventually took my control from me, I could. It would be a complete and utter waste of time, but it was up to me. I wasn't gathering Wyvern toes for hapless Rangers or whatever, only to be told that oh shit, can you go back to that same damn spot and get their wings? Sorry if the corpses are gone, but grind grind grind…
And that’s not even mentioning the Wyvern that were somehow born without wings in the first place, at least when you went to loot them…
On the other hand, I could see how the lack of direction in Headshot could be completely disconcerting. I didn't know where to go, at least not really. I didn't know what strategy would work and which one wouldn’t. Trial and error was the only teacher I had, which meant that at some stage I would make a mistake that would take me out of the game until the following Monday.
The trickle of Zombies that had been willing to accompany me fanned out as we got closer to the diner. When I turned around to count them I saw that there were seven of them with me. Counting myself, that made eight.
I didn't know if it would be enough, but it was better than nothing. As we moved past the buildings that blocked the diner from the street, I had a single second to wonder if I was doing the right thing before a high, sharp sound split the air. At the exact same time, the window in the front door of the diner exploded.
The zombie that had been standing nearest me was blown off his feet and his head vanished, replaced by a fine, pink mist.
Chapter 22
Well, there had been eight of us. Now there were only seven, and just as that thought ran through my head another bullet ran through one of my zombie friends.
Now we were down to six…
Shit. Unless we retreated, we had to make it across the parking lot before we got picked off one by one. Each of us went as fast as we could, but none of us were anything special. I saw the strain on their faces as they pushed their movement speed to the absolute max, but we were no better than sitting ducks.
The way I saw it, there were only two options. We could try and crouch behind one of the parked cars out here and hope that we could slink around and outflank them, or we could throw caution to the wind and rush them in the hope that the next head that got popped wasn’t yours.
Normally I’d be careful, but that sounded like the rifle was a high enough caliber to put a round through a car and get us anyway. Even if we managed to hide, we’d be pinned down. If the Survivors in the diner had a way to call the cavalry, it wouldn’t take much to mop us up.
Boom. Another shot, this one not nearly as well-placed. I heard a meaty impact and glanced over my shoulder to see that the bullet had taken one of the Zombies high in the hip. It spun him around on his feet like a drunken ballerina, but when he righted himself he was looking at the diner again. And he wasn't happy.
I’d heard enough of the gunfire enough times to know that there was probably only one weapon being used. That meant that there was either only a lone survivor making a last stand or that, however many Survivors there were, they only had one firearm between them.
Either way was just fine with me.
The situation was still dire, but it improved immensely when I glanced at the offramp and saw that a Runner and a couple of Tanks had heard the commotion and decided that our little field trip was worthy of their supervision.
The Runner was so fast that he was beside me a moment later, not that he offered me any respect for leading this little raid. Instead, he blitzed past me, running at a dead sprint and drawing immediate fire from the diner. The shots missed them, and he vaulted from the hood of the car parked nearest the building and then leapt, latching onto the overhang of the roof with his hands and hauling himself up with an agility that made me jealous beyond measure.
One of the Tanks was here now too, though instead of just bum rushing the diner like I expected him to he leaned over and hooked his massive hand under the rear bumper of a smoldering police car. He dragged it behind him, and I saw that he was making a shield for us.
I showed him my appreciation as best I could by cowering behind it gratefully.
Unfortunately, two of the Zombies that had started this adventure with me weren’t so quick to react. They’d already been hiding behind the cop car, and when the Tank moved it they were left exposed. Before they could try to change their situation, whoever was shooting the rifle took two quick, clean shots and both of my one-time allies slumped to the ground with an extra hole in their heads.
The other Tank was almost here too. I crept along behind the squad car as the first one hauled it closer to the building we were trying to storm. When I thought it was safe I made a break for the corner of the diner. Those Tanks and Runners were incredible, but nobody was watching the rear.
Besides, I wanted experience. I needed to level, and the only real way that was going to happen was if I got close to a Survivor. Killing one of them would be nice, but taking part in the kill was almost as good. Besides, I knew my place. I probably wouldn't be able to drag one down on my own without the element of surprise on my side, and judging by the amount of fire we were taking from the building that was already out the window.
We were all pushing ahead now, and the Runner was already on the roof. I could hear her up there, tearing at the building like a maniac as tiles rain down all around me. I liked her plan. At the very least, she would flush them out in short order.
Hell, if I was a Survivor, right about now was when I'd to be making a break for it. A long time ago I’d learned when playing these games that it was best to assume your enemy was at least as smart as you were. If my instinct would be to dash out the rear door and head for the hills, then that was just what I had to stop.
While the Runner on the top kept on burrowing into the building and the Tanks approached the front, I slid around to the back of the diner.
It’d been a couple of seconds since they’d last taken the shot. I half expected to see them already making tracks, and if that was the case the only way I’d be stopping them would be to somehow get the attention of the Runner over the racket she was making up there.
But I didn’t see any fleeing Survivors. I was pretty sure they wouldn’t make their last stand in there, and to me that meant that I had to be wary of the fact that they could be just inside the doorway, waiting f
or their chance.
I pressed myself into the shadows, telling myself to be patient. The longer the other players waited to attempt an escape, the more screwed they were. I couldn’t imagine that it would take that Runner very long to get through the rest of the roof, I shuddered to think of what the fight in that confined space would be like when something that fast and vicious dropped down on them.
But the Survivors had more guts than I gave him credit for. I actually heard the runner’s crazed giggle as she dove down into the diner. Sure enough, an instant later the careful, precise shots of the gun turned into the frenzied, panic rip of bullets as our soon to be victim flicked their rifle to the full auto setting.
I held my ground. Maybe whoever was in there really had managed to take out the Runner, but I wasn’t going to be the one to try and save them. That spray of bullets the Survivors had just squeezed off might be enough to cut down something fast and skinny, but the Tanks were there too.
And from the roar that made the asphalt tremble, it sounded like they were through playing around.
I know I should have been watching that rear door, but I glanced over my shoulder to see what was going on behind me. One of the Tanks was so enraged that he grabbed the building and started trying to tear the whole god damn thing down. It didn't really budge, at least not at first but when the second one decided to try and help, I heard the foundations shudder and saw giant cracks run up the cement wall they were attacking, spreading in every direction...
Above the noise of all that, the sounds inside had died down. Either the Survivors were dead, or the Runner was.
The back door in front of me burst open, and a moment later a woman of about twenty-five darted out. There was an assault rifle in our hands, but she didn’t look like she had any interest in using it anymore. I was only half aware that I licked my lips at the sight of her. She wore a big, rugged backpack as well as some type of makeshift leather harness over her clothes. I saw tools and weapons hanging from a dozen different places on her.
Headshot: One in the Gut (Book 1 of a Zombie litRPG Trilogy) Page 10