Sure, it was risky. I wasn't in charge of my own actions, and something bad could happen. But, in order to make it fair, the convenience of that sort of fast travel had to have a big negative. If the Survivors knew what they were doing, they’d ambush those fast-moving hordes. If they hit them hard enough and quick enough, they’d be able to take out most of their enemy while the Zombies were blissfully unaware that should be logging back in to defend their bodies.
But I was happy with the trade-off. Besides, what was I going to do, complain about it on the forums? To whom? I wasn't paying anybody anything to play this game, and if all I got out of it was a few hours of entertainment and a breathless, almost giddy feeling when I came back into my body, that was enough.
Don’t forget to call in sick!
Right… But even as I reminded myself, I found myself struggling to yank the helmet off and reach for the phone. I wanted more than anything to dive back into Headshot and keep playing. Even though I figured that the Horde would keep me safe, but I didn't like being a passenger. I didn't like not knowing where I was going. After so long with my fate out of my hands in this boring, meat space that everyone was forced to live in for at least some of their life, I abhorred the idea of someone in the game controlling my destiny too.
And not just someone. Someones. Plural. Faceless entities that had somehow made it to the head of the Vanguard and were even now deciding if the Horde should go right or left, if we should speed up or slow down.
That sort of loss of control was enough to make me shiver.
When I picked up the phone I glanced at the clock, sure that I’d experience some missing time again like I had last night. Nope. I saw that I forty text messages, sixteen missed calls and eleven voice messages, all from Lori.
Right. I knew I’d have to deal with that crap sometime, but not yet…
I still had fifteen minutes to call in sick, so I summoned a few fake coughs to prepare myself for my Academy Award performance and made my voice as gravelly as I could, though I doubted that they were going to believe my story.
Why would they? Janice on reception had probably had a couple of hundred people called in sick yesterday, and unless there was some new plague going around I was sure that everybody making the hiring and firing decisions knew exactly what was going on.
Too bad. Just like in the game, I figured there was safety in numbers. And so, I dialed and held the phone up to my ear.
“Thank you for calling Bingham Data Entry Systems, this is Janice. How may I direct your call?"
I felt bad for her. She sounded so world-weary, and I thought I heard a hint of steel in her voice that told me that she knew that whoever was on the line was going to turn out to be another employee skipping out of work of the day. That's all she said. Not the usual how may I direct your call, and she sounded so world-weary and tired that I already knew she was certain that this was yet another employee calling in. Oh well, best not to disappoint her. "Hey Janice, it's Ryan from data entry."
“Ryan.”
I nodded, even though I was miles and miles from the office and of course she couldn’t see me. Even when I was just talking to the receptionist I couldn’t keep the awkwardness from creeping in. “Yeah. You know, the guy who helped you open those boxes of stationary last week?”
Silence.
“I accidentally drank your Coke that one time, and the next day I brought a bunch of cans in and hid them all over your desk…”
“I’m just kidding, Ryan. I know who you are. And let me guess… You’re sick.”
I smiled to myself. Maybe I was a better actor than I thought, though it took me a moment to realize that I hadn't even remembered to put on my fake sick voice. She was probably just assuming that she was going to have to hear the same BS from almost as many people today as.
I shrugged like an idiot and smiled weakly. "Yeah. Couldn't really sleep last night. I might be coming down with something, and I wouldn't want to pass it on."
"I see. Is that what you want me to tell them, then?"
"Yes please."
"Okay Ryan, I will.” I thought the conversation was over, but I heard a soft whump that made me think that she’d covered the microphone on her headset with her hand. Sure enough, her next words were pitched low. “And good luck in there. A lot of people are back already. Why, I got killed just last night when some damn Survivor pinned me to the wall with his car and then shot me through the windshield. Should have known they’d have gassed up death mobiles, since the bastards get everything else. I say if you’ve got the talent to still be kicking, you should get in there and give ‘em hell!"
I was so surprised that all I could do was stutter, "Thanks, Janice," and then hang up the phone before she heard how proud I was of myself come through my voice. Janice was somewhere around sixty-five. She was grandmother. Everybody that worked in the data entry section with me was in their twenties and thirties. I expected them to know what was up when it came to Headshot, but not her…
Well, maybe you really could teach an old dog new tricks.
Her confidence in me was gratifying. It would be interesting to see how far I could make it in the game. Everybody was playing, but there was an awful lot of destruction to go around. It struck me that I should probably go on the forums when I got a chance and try to work out what type of ratio we were looking at in terms of kill/death. There had to be leader boards, right?
Maybe. And maybe not. I could certainly see the Survivors keeping track of all that, and I was sure that all the extra money they paid got you the glossy charts and spreadsheet after spreadsheet of data. They probably had access to a lot of things I couldn’t even imagine, trade networks that they could manipulate off line while they were at work, some way of messaging each other between cities, you name it.
But the Zombies were never going to get any of that glitzy, fancy stuff. Not when we played for free, at least. I still wanted to see the forms, but not right now.
For now, even though I wanted more than anything to step back into my Zombie body and steer myself towards the fresh meat that I was sure was behind the barricaded doors in Los Angeles, I needed to sleep.
It hadn’t been my intention when I logged out, but my vision was getting blurry and my head was starting to pound. If I didn’t crash for a couple of hours, I’d make a mistake in the game that I’d end up regretting. That meant that I had to trust the horde that I was traveling with. If I couldn't, I’d get back in there and be too exhausted to be making the right decisions anyway.
At first I was just going to lay down in my game room, but then I stood up and forced myself to go into my bedroom instead. I could already feel that I was fighting to keep the two worlds separate, and if they bled together anymore I’d start to worry.
I made it to my bed, and when I lay down I wasn’t surprised at how quickly sleep reached up for me, dragging me down and down and down.
Chapter 24
I dreamed.
I didn’t want to. There was something about Headshot that made me feel like I’d already spent most of the past few days in a walking slumber. The game was an adrenaline-dripping headfuck if ever there was one, but my character in there was disconnected from most of the raw sensations of the simulated world.
If I could feel the wind, if the jagged slice of broken cement didn’t just tear my flesh but made me wince as well… If the Zombie faction was exposed to that sort of realism I was afraid it would be all too easy for me to lose myself in Headshot and the world it created.
But maybe the Survivors did feel that. If the game spat all the sensory input at them that the real world bombarded their brains with, then the fear that they were feeling might even be worse than the dread I’d started the game with. I was beginning to trust in my own ability to hold my own inside that world, and I could only imagine that the Survivors were watching their territory shrink.
The game was changing. The Survivors were going to have to start being more and m
ore careful, and that might mean that the Zombies would be able to press the advantage now and then.
But in the dream, I wasn’t disconnected at all…
I was standing behind the diner again, and when I felt the ground shudder beneath my feet I didn’t have to look over my shoulder to know that the Tanks were pounding the building into sand again.
This is when she runs, I told myself. This is when she takes her chance.
I knew that I was right. As soon as the door flew open, things started changing. I felt the chill wind on my face and it send a shiver down my spine. She was as bloody as she’d been before, but now I didn’t smell it the same way I had in the game. The sight of her didn’t make my stomach rumble this time. The only thing I felt in my gut was a sick, twisting sensation as I realized that she wasn’t going to get away. There was no escape, no miracle rescue. She was going to get caught.
And I was going to be the one that would catch her.
I felt myself step forward, picking up speed. I didn’t want to. It was too soon to the vicious, cutthroat destruction of Lori. At least she’d deserved it, though even as the thought crossed my dream-addled mind I knew it was a lie. Nobody deserved that.
No one.
What had Lori felt? When had her game ended? Was she still looking down the ruins of her body, damage messages bouncing around her vision as I chewed and swallowed and then went back for more?
The Survivor in front of me, the one desperate to get away, had red hair. I hadn’t noticed it the first time around. The harness she wore was the same, though now I could see a whole host of details that I hadn’t seen before. I had no way of knowing if the little nuances I was picking up on were even real. There was always the chance that my sleeping brain was making all of this up as I went.
She had a nice ass and mismatched boots. The blood on her back looked darker than it should, which told me it was either old or belonged to the Runner she’d just killed inside the diner. She was sweating. The barrel of the assault rifle in her hands was smoking.
I was going to reach for her. I could feel it, and I grit my teeth and fought the urge.
That was when she turned around. The look on her face was enough to stop me in my tracks. A thousand little things about her hit me all at once.
Green eyes. Little scar on her chin. Trickle of blood from her temple. Top three buttons of her shirt missing. Smudge of dirt on her left hand. Jingle of the harness as she reached for the radio. Full lips and even teeth and hope in her eyes and the tip of her tongue just visible as she speaks into the tech and watches me.
I can see the hope in her eyes, and just right before I lose control of my dream and launch myself at her I notice that both of her wrists are bandaged and the blood soaking through them is fresh.
And then I hit her legs. I hold her tight, and she doesn’t struggle to get away. I know she’s looking down at me again, but this time I press my face into the concrete and refuse to meet her gaze. She says something else, and then I hear the light pole smash into her and the radio clatter to the ground and we are both flying through the air together.
I land close beside her, but this time she isn’t dead. This time she has the strength to lean over and press her wet lips to my earlobe and say one word.
“Congratulations!”
Now I’m trembling all over, shaking so hard that my response sounds broken. “Wh… What did you say?”
I turn my head to watch her answer and this time she smiles sweetly and tells me, “Your Danger Sense ability has authorized Deep Dive Studios to access your phone and play this message. Your Danger Sense ability has authorized Deep Dive Studios to access your phone and play this message. Your Danger…”
I woke up with a scream on my lips, but I wasn’t sure if I’d made any noise at all. My phone was still blaring that message at me, and I hit the blinking button on the screen to shut it off.
Chapter 25
I almost didn't know who I was. I certainly didn't know what time it was, though a quick glance at the phone screen told me that it was 7 PM. How the hell had I slept for almost ten hours? I’d already known that this sort of VR was a weird thing, but the stuff that they were doing Deep Dive studios was even more different and clearly far more draining.
A while ago, some batch of scientists somewhere discovered that if you just close your eyes and concentrated on doing something that required muscle memory, kicking a goal in soccer let's say, that the muscles that were required to make that movement happen would be electrically activated. Not completely. It wasn't like you’d be laying down your bed and your leg to be going nuts, kicking the shit off your bedside table or anything, but the neurons would fire. The muscles were responding in the pathway between your brain and your body was strengthening.
You were also burning calories. More than usual, as if somewhere on some level your body was understanding that in order to make this happen, energy would need to be spent. Maybe this new reality we were playing with was doing the same thing to me. Maybe when I put that helmet on it was opening up part of myself to something that I wasn't really ready to deal with.
That dream had been far too realistic to forget, but it was the Survivor’s last words that were ringing in my ears. Danger Sense activated… It made my blood run cold. My breath caught in my throat and I forced myself to get to my feet and stumble toward my game room.
I banged my knee on the doorframe as I hurried out of my bedroom, and when I bent down to grasp at it involuntarily I smacked my face into the wall of the darkened hallway. Just great. I felt a trickle of warm blood run from my hairline down along the right-hand side of my nose, but I ignored it. It was just a scrape, and not at all comparable to what might my Zombie body would probably be experiencing in the game.
I had to get into Headshot I needed to see what was going on, and even though I’d been AWOL for far, far longer than I’d intended to be it was these last two minutes of dragging the helmet onto my head and kicking the system into high gear that were the most frustrating. I didn't know anything about Danger Sense, not what it took to set it off or how much warning it gave me.
I hadn’t even been aware was giving them permission to push their way into my phone like that, though there was every chance it was in some of the fine print and I’d missed it somehow.
Finally, the game was ready, and no sooner had I closed my eyes then I opened them once more, completely engulfed in the game world.
I heard the shouts of Survivors and the roar of a thousand Zombies over a torrent of gunfire. The stink of burnt rubber and the high, sharp scent of gunpowder laced the wind.
We were still on a freeway, though I was familiar enough with Los Angeles to see that we were nowhere near the spot where we’d been when I logged out. That made sense, since I’d been asleep for so long and the Horde mechanic made us move faster. Clearly, something had gone wrong and we’d had to change course. Whoever had been in the Vanguard had tried to circle around LA and come in across a lesser used road. It might’ve been a good idea, except for the fact that in front of us was a group of Survivors that were making a damn good stand and pushing us back.
And here I was, standing in the middle of the road like an idiot as bullets ricocheted around me and Tanks and Runners charged past, some of them immediately ripped to shreds by bullets and shrapnel and others plunging into small pockets of resistance, throwing the Survivors haphazardly from the overpass to splatter on the ground below.
Stunned, I threw myself underneath the car and tried to get my bearings.
The Survivors had us pinned down. That much was clear. There were hundreds of Zombies ahead of me, and though they fought like banshees they were losing. It didn’t matter. Forward was our only option, since when I glanced to our rear I saw thousands upon thousands of Zombies. Most of them were just milling around, but more and more players were beginning to take back control of their bodies, no doubt called to return to the game by their own use of Danger Sense.
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I would let have liked for the sheer weight of those numbers to give me a little bit of confidence, but they didn’t. They were useless the way they were, only serving to block our retreat. If we couldn’t take out the Survivors there were holding up our progress, I didn’t think very many of us would make it out of this alive.
How long had it been since I had been summoned back to the game? Only a couple of minutes. If things had gone this bad that quickly that I knew we were in trouble. There was nowhere to run, and if we didn’t dislodge the defiant defense that none of what had already happened would matter. The backpack, the radio, that cryptic congratulations from the game - I doubted that any of that would be available to me next time, unless I specifically sought them out.
Even then, maybe I was holding something incredibly rare in my possession. I didn’t know its value or its purpose, but I hadn’t seen anything like it before since.
I wasn’t going to give up without putting up a fight, so I scanned the area and try to come up with a plan.
The part of the freeway we were on was raised above the ground by at least 150 feet. I could hear that there was a battle going on down there as well, and that didn't bode well for anyone. History has shown that only the unwise will open up a fight on more than one front, and that's exactly what our two factions had done. I don't know whose idea was, but it was a bad one. If the Survivors were going to ambush us come they should've picked a spot where they could've followed us into a chokepoint and brought us to our knees through sheer, concentrated firepower.
They hadn't. They’d slowed us down to a crawl, but they weren’t hitting us hard enough to take us all at once. That meant that over the next few minutes more and more players were hopefully going to be getting back into their Zombie bodies and that was when the shit was really going to hit the fan. If anything, the Survivors’ tactics had simply made us more determined to shove forward, since it was the only direction we could go.
Headshot: One in the Gut (Book 1 of a Zombie litRPG Trilogy) Page 12