Congratulations! You have learned the skill (Knot)!
Perfect. I grabbed four of the coils, shoving my handless arm through the center of them and then bending my elbow so they’d hang from my forearm. Once I was sure they were secure, I pawed through one of the boxes until I found a container of dishwashing soap. It was small enough for me to carry easily, especially since I didn’t completely trust my hand to do anything that even came close to requiring dexterity.
Then I went in the direction that I’d come. It was 6:14 now. I knew I had to hurry. I was less worried about not making noise, but there was something in my form that kept me stealthy anyway as I rushed back through the big rooms up the stairs.
I couldn’t be sure that they’d logged out in the bedrooms, but it felt right. They were gamers, after all. Be it computer or pen and paper, that was something written into our blood now that said that stories begin when we wake up and end when we go to sleep. It was poetic, in a way. I was relying on that remembered romance of role-playing games to dictate their actions, and I thought since these were most likely older gamers that I was on the right track.
So, I opened each bedroom door. I doused the inside knob with the dishwashing liquid before stepping back out of the room and closing it. Once I was done with that, I uncoiled the extension cords and crisscrossed the hallway, tying the doorknobs together. I was glad that Headshot seemed to be giving me more leeway and letting the knots work the first time, though that was probably because my archetype was designed to adapt.
Whatever the reason, I was feeling more and more confident as I dropped down to all fours and crawled beneath spider web I’d made in the hallway to secure the doorknobs to each other. It wouldn’t hold forever, but it didn’t have to. The soap would stop them from getting too much of a purchase, and the extension cords secured to the opposite door knob would hopefully make it so they couldn’t get enough leverage.
I didn’t want to lock them in forever. Just for long enough…
I went back down the stairs, marveling at the fact that none of the stairs creaked beneath my weight. Even I could tell that the carpets were lush beneath my feet, and now that I thought that maybe I had a few moments to myself before I had to worry about getting flanked by Survivors logging back in again, I let myself get angry about the way the game let them vanish when they were playing and made me have to scurry for cover just so I could go to work.
It wasn’t fair. Far from it. It was bad enough that the Zombies started the game so weak, without any real usable weapons. When we logged out, we were sitting ducks. Why was it okay that these guys could just run home, lock the door behind them and log out in relative safety?
I was trying not to let it get to me too much, but it boiled my blood. It was the same anger I’d fell back on the freeway during the battle. I’d lived my whole life watching these guys get use very advantage life had veer handed them to get even further ahead of me then they already were. It pissed me off that the same thing was happening in the game, but instead of letting my frustration get the better of me I smashed it flat.
Those emotions weren’t going to help me now. I need to be quick and calm. I already felt like I’d spent too much time in here, and every second I wasted on rage was one I wouldn’t have to enact this plan.
As I passed those big plate glass windows that looked out into the sunset again, I couldn’t help but glance in that direction. These mansions were set on plots of ground so wide you didn’t really have neighbors which meant that I didn’t have to worry about being spotted from the windows. The people who actually owned this house clearly demanded their own privacy, and went to great lengths to obtain it. I suppose it shouldn't have been a shock that, no matter how much I tried to see around to the left of the right, cunning tricks of the landscaping block my view of whatever properties were to either side of this one.
I went into the kitchen and cranked every burner on the stove up to the max.
Congratulations! You have learned the skill (Knob)!
Huzzah…! I couldn't help but laugh. Turning the knob seem like such a simple thing, but if the game was congratulating me on working out how to hold onto something and rotate it, I was probably in for the time of my life. It didn't bode well for what I had to do next, that was four sure.
Even though I was glad it had let me do that, it was massive space. There was no doubt that it was easily the biggest place I’d ever been in that had been pretending to call itself the house. It was going to take a while to fill the place up with enough flammable gas to bring it down.
That was fine. I’d already seen everything else I needed in the garage. The survivors had obviously spent a bit of their time stockpiling gasoline. They’d been methodical about it, and when I went back into the garage and tried to open one of the containers I was annoyed with the game threw an expected message at me:
Unfortunately, the childproof nature of this device has foiled your attempts to open it.
Even though it wasn’t surprising, I couldn't help but roll my eyes. After all I’d gone through, now the game was flat-out calling me a moron. I knew six-year-olds that could open one of these things, but it was apparently beyond my ability.
I didn't set the plastic container down, though. Instead, I brought in into the living room, set it on the ground and went to get another. And another. I only had one hand to carry them, so I took them one at a time. I carried some upstairs, and when I had twenty or so of them stationed around the house I made my hand into the same knife shape that had pierced Lori side and plunged it through the thin plastic skin.
Gasoline went everywhere. I was doused in it, and the carpet was instantly soaked. The fumes burnt my nose, and I felt the urge to sneeze once or twice. That must be a bug. Zombies don’t sneeze…
The developers better get on that, because a flaw as minor as my nasal cavity suddenly being irritated by something it shouldn’t could be a sign of something far greater going wrong.
Maybe when I logged out I do what I’d always done in the Beta. Back then there’d been a way to flag game errors while we were still there, staring at it in the VR world. I noticed that they’d taken that ability out, but I could still contact them.
I could still help them squash bugs…
I ruptured all the other containers one by one. So much for your childproof lock.
When I was finished, I was slogging through a mansion that was ankle-deep with gasoline in some places. I’d already been through all the drawers so I knew there were matches anywhere, but I already had a fix for that. There would be a cigarette lighter in the Humvee. All I would need would be a rag or felt paper to burn, and I’d have my own little Inferno.
Of course, I’d have to avoid getting burnt to a crisp myself…
I went back to the Humvee and open the door. They hadn’t locked it, though I suppose that was understandable. It was in their own garage, after all. I climbed into the front seat jammed my thumb down on the cigarette lighter. It stayed down, which I hoped was a good sign.
Congratulations! You have learned the skill (Button)!
Great, I thought to myself. With all these new abilities under my belt, I really be a force to be reckoned with. I’m building up quite an impressive repertoire…
But none of my snideness or sarcasm mattered right now. How long do these things take? I waited twenty seconds, then thirty seconds. While I waited, I happened to glance down at my hit points and saw that they’d already dwindled to three. There was every chance this is going to end badly, and I felt that ever present pressure that the game puts on you. Stay alive, but never let yourself get too far from your enemy since they’re only source of food that matters.
The cigarette lighter wasn’t working. I jammed it in again and waited two minutes this time, but when I yanked it out all I saw was stone cold metal at the end of it instead of glowing red coils I’d been hoping for.
Shit.
I didn’t have a car. I wasn’t a mechani
c. I suppose that all the chargers cars had for various devices these days had killed the idea of cigarette lighter ports being always connected to the battery. Too easy to drain it that way, just so your iPhone can get a charge…
Now what? I'd been so certain that that would work that I hadn't really been thinking beyond it, but now that I had to I was running into a brick wall. I wasn't going to panic, but I could feel that if I had a heartbeat, it would be raising. I didn't have a lot of time want to figure this out.
Maybe I should just abandon the whole thing. Part of being smart in this game was certainly the intangible ability of knowing when to cut and run from a bad idea, right?
I made one of my hands into a fist and slammed it into the dashboard. If I had my own abilities, the meager ones that I possessed back in my crappy house in the suburbs of Los Angeles, this would be easy.
Maybe I could now, anyway. I let my gaze drift to all the buttons on the instrument panel. I could use them now, right? Not they would do any good. I didn't have the keys to start the car, though I didn't know if putting them in the ignition and turn the battery and would even be an option. I couldn't imagine that I’d be allowed to drive.
I shrugged. I didn't have the keys anyway, which meant I couldn't even listen to the radio. I wondered for a second if some of the Survivors and got back on the airwaves, then pushed the thought aside. Who cares? That radio thing was proof enough that I couldn’t make much use of their technology.
AM. FM. Satellite. Battery level. Fuel. GPS.
My brain seemed to itch and the only thing that drove the sensation away was the game message had drifted across my vision.
Congratulations! You have unlocked the ability (Forgotten Language - Level 1). Somewhere in what is left of your brain, you are slowly beginning to piece together what little remains of the life you once had. Don't waste it!
Well, that was something. Now, at least I had a chance of knowing what I was looking. Lots of the buttons looked like they had to do with four-wheel drive stuff, like turning off the ABS brakes or unlocking the sway bar, whatever that was. As I scanned them again, and there it was, underneath the dash and a little to the left, a lever that said HOOD.
I pulled it and was rewarded with a heavy, metal chunk as the big hood just beyond the windshield popped up couple of inches.
As quickly as I could I climbed out of the Hummer, almost falling to my knees as I forgot about how high off the ground the damn thing was. Once I got back to my feet properly I went around to the front. The hood wasn’t really open, since there's always that lever that it catches on, but I worked my dead fingers underneath the lip of it and found what I needed to push to get it to let me crank it up all the way.
It wasn’t easy with only one hand, but it didn’t take me long to be looking at the guts of the cold engine, I had to work out how to start a fire.
And fast.
I didn't know very much about cars. I was pretty sure that the Survivors could pick up some type of skill tree and be a mechanic or an engineer or something and know all about this sort of thing, but not me. All I knew was the crap they told you not to do when you’re playing with batteries in the eighth-grade science labs.
I needed one more thing and thankfully, I’d seen it already.
Chapter 33
I needed some steel wool. I’d seen a big roll of it in that cleaning cabinet. The maids probably used it to scrub the pots and pans, but I had a very different purpose in mind.
I took one last look at the beach through those windows. Well, not the beach. We were too high up for that. But the ocean lay spread out before me with the last of the sun getting ready to disappear amongst those far-off waves that stretch to the horizon.
Now that I was ready to burn the place down, I wondered once again if the people who owned this place appreciated that view. Did they sit here and watch it, like I was now? Or were there better things on TV than in the actual world around them? How much of their life, in the real world where this mansion was actually a thing, had they traded away to be able to afford a view they never looked at?
Just before I glanced away, I saw movement down at the bottom of the manicured lawn. Did these rich idiots have ponies? I shook my head. Nothing would surprise me at this point.
But as the shape got rapidly closer, I realized that I was watching the approach of a massive dog. I didn't know the breed, but he had a powerful chest and long legs and a wiry coat. There was a spiked collar around its neck and it was clear that the thing mean business. It was barking, growling and slavering.
Something about the noises it was making told me that they weren’t for me, and before I could even really decide if it’d seen me already or not, it leapt through the plate glass window and vaulted the couch on its way toward me.
I’d already spent enough time in a mansion to know that that window he’d shattered didn’t have alarm system. I know it didn’t matter anyway power was out, but that barking got me to thinking at this beast would probably be a good way for Headshot to replicate the security systems that we all know and love…
And just like that, my Danger Sense went off. The first time I’d use that I hadn’t been in the game, and it adapted by sending me that text message to give me back in. Now that I was fully immersed in the virtual world reality that I was playing, it was a physical pain, like a distant buzzing that that set every fiber of my undead body vibrating.
It was too slow to respond to the dog breaking the glass, and that told me that it was responding to something else.
The Survivors were coming back in.
No sooner had that thought slashed through my brain then I heard a noise upstairs. It wasn't hard to make out the sounds of a heavy weapon being loaded, but the yelling and swearing when they couldn’t get the bedroom door open was even louder. It wouldn’t hold them for long.
Somebody was coming. They’d be tearing down those stairs pretty soon, and if I didn't find a way out of here, it would be game over.
Chapter 34
I had to do this fast. If one of them was back already, there was every chance that the others wouldn't be far behind. And just because three of them had been in the home be when it had parked in here didn't mean that there couldn't be more than that on the way. Who knew how many of them called this mansion the central base of operations?
Not me, that's who…
I turned and dashed into the cleaning room, grabbed the steel wool and darted back into the garage. I’d already checked the doorknob. You could lock the garage, but only from the inside. I turned a little knob anyway. Maybe if the guy didn't realize that the door was locked might it buy me a couple of much-needed seconds.
Between the barking, cussing and screaming, at least I didn’t have to worry about being quiet anymore. I snatched up a couple of oily rags from the workstation in the garage, intent on carrying this through. Maybe I should be running. Maybe discretion really was the better part of valor, but I’d put so much effort into formulating this plan that I couldn't stand to watch it go up in flames.
Or rather, to not go up in flames…
I unwrapped the steel wool and pressed it firmly against both the positive and negative terminals of the Humvees battery.
In high school, when we were supposed to be demonstrating to the teacher how batteries could light up a little bulb just from running one wire to the positive and one to the negative, we used to screw around instead, constantly getting in trouble because we were making the wires run through the steel wool instead. It wouldn't burst into flame right away, but it made a nice, glowing ember that crawled along the length of the metal. If you blew on it, the flame got bigger fast.
Right on cue, I heard the frantic scrape scrape scrape of the guard dog’s claws on the other of the garage door. It was still managing to bark and growl at the same time, but it sounded like it was alone. With any luck, the Survivor was still upstairs, struggling against the soapy doorknobs and the tied off extension cords.
I looked down and saw that the steel wool was already rewarding me with a surge of light and ember. It wasn't much, but it was enough. I climbed up on the Humvees bumper so that I could lean over the engine, pursed my lips, and blew.
Actually, no I didn't. I’d forgot that I wasn't breathing. There was no air in my lungs, and therefore nothing to force out. Even if there had been, it seemed like this dead body I was shackled to have absolutely no memory of how to make its diaphragm and lungs work anymore.
I was too far into this to give up, and right away might next solution presented myself. The oily rags were already hanging from my fist, and I frantically waved for them over the steel wool, literally fanning the flames. Once I saw that flicker of fire, I dangled the frayed ends of the cloth over it.
They caught immediately. They were just a dry enough to be ready to burn, and I mouthed a silent thank you at whichever Survivor had decided that his next activity would be to make a bunch of Molotov cocktails. They’d done a good job of getting the right materials. It wasn’t their fault that I was using them for something else…
The dog’s claws on the door changed, and I heard a Survivor out there no doubt shoving it out-of-the-way.
Time to go.
I darted back in the other direction and grabbed the whole shelving unit and yanked with all my strength. It came away from the wall with a high-pitched zing of broken screws, and I only just managed to get out of the way before it tumbled to the ground. The entire second row of alcohol smashed to the concrete, and I heard a whoomph as the alcohol fumes caught. Now the whole front of the garage, right near the entrance to the house was on fire. The smoke was already thick, and if the Survivor was dumb enough to open that door he’d be in for the last surprise of his life, this week.
Headshot: One in the Gut (Book 1 of a Zombie litRPG Trilogy) Page 18