Headshot: One in the Gut (Book 1 of a Zombie litRPG Trilogy)

by Matthew Siege

  I was pretty sure that I had more than enough hit points for now, even though the tumble down the hillside had hurt me and I’d been careful to not hurt the Survivor I’d turned very much. I had the luxury of not having to eat him at least, because every now and then that ooze of hit points from my minion’s conquests gave me a little surge of health.

  Without the clock to guide me, I defaulted to counting the seconds in my head. I found that it was easy to do, and wondered if there was a chance that the game had let me sync my thoughts up with the processing cycles that it was running in the background.

  Ten minutes. Twelve. Fifteen. The guys beneath me didn’t say very much, and they seemed disciplined enough to wait for my possible allies to finally make their way up to us from LA. I wished there was a way for me to work out when my reinforcements would arrive, or if they were even on the way at all…

  That’d be just my luck, wasting my time in a tree only for the sun to come up and reveal my position when every other Zombie in California ignored the game’s impulse to back me up.

  Quit it, I told myself. These Survivors are obviously preparing for something. This many players wouldn’t be pissing away game time digging into the hillside if there wasn’t a battle on the way.

  It felt like I waited for a couple of hours, at least. The guys below me started to stir, but they were disciplined as well. Occasionally the radio would spit out a string of coordinates or code words, but as the night dragged on and the moon rose even higher above us, nothing happened. They didn’t really let their guard down, although now and then the guy with the sniping rifle stood up and stretched. The machete dude even went around the back of the tree for a piss, though I didn't believe that the game made him feel the urge to empty his bladder.

  Maybe it did, though. Not for the first time, I told myself that I had absolutely no idea what life was like as a Survivor. I'd always assume that they had every advantage, but there was a chance that I was wrong about that. After all, I was still alive, right? At a moment of my choosing I could drop down on the guy with the machete and possibly end him before the one with the rifle could bring his unwieldy weapon around on me.

  But I waited. Ideally, one of my minions hidden throughout Beverly Hills would spark a panic. I was hoping for the radio to catch fire with frantic calls for help. I needed a distraction. If panic ran through the ranks, I might even be able to take these two guys out without the rest of them knowing that this position was no longer secure.

  While I waited, I scanned the hillside religiously. There was the glint of moonlight off equipment. Above it was some idiot who shot a flare into the sky, obviously impatient for the fight. In its crimson light I saw a dozen other entrenched groups of fighters, most of them grim-faced and ready. There were even Survivors patrolling the streets, though they weren’t the hardcore fighters stationed on the perimeter.

  Finally, when first light was at least an hour away, I looked down the road towards Los Angeles and saw them coming. In ones and twos my shambling, rotting allies began to stream along the road toward us.

  The sniper saw them too. "Targets," he told his partner, leaning forward to look down the scope at them. "Just a few of them, and they’re a long way off. Tell Brigg.”

  His friend sighed. “Just take them out, will ya?”

  “They’re probably going to take an hour to get here. It’s better to wait, anyway. When the sun comes up, they won’t be able to hide as well and we’ll have an easier time of it. Just tell Brigg that they’re on the way, okay?"

  Machete shook his head. “I’m not going to radio that we’ve seen targets when they’re that far away. What’s the point?”

  “Just do it!”

  For a moment, I thought the one with the machetes would ignore the order, but when he reached for his radio, I knew that they'd forced my hand. I released my grip on the branch and let gravity do some of my work for me.

  I was glad that I hadn’t hesitated. I wasn’t going to get a second chance to atop them from radioing their message, and as I plummeted onto the machete guy’s back I strained my jaws and took chunk of flesh from his bicep.

  He beat at me with his fist, but I had to hand it to him; his first thought was alerting the others. His free hand was on the radio, and I grabbed it and did the only thing I could think of to stop him from bringing world of hurt down on my head.

  He needed his thumb to use the radio, so I bit it off and swallowed it whole.

  He screamed, but that was okay. Sound carried strangely as it bounced off the hill, and I didn’t think they’d be able to triangulate our position from the noise. I drove my stump into his gut and knocked the wind out of him. His machetes went flying as I tackled him, and when we rolled and I came up on top I started ripping with my claws and tearing with my teeth. He literally went to pieces beneath me, since I didn’t see the point in risking my life by waiting for him to go Zombie.

  He was strong, though. He kicked me off him and scrambled to his feet, standing over me with a speed and agility that had me worried. He was faster than I was, and clearly stronger. He didn’t have his machetes anymore though, and I saw his gaze dart around in the darkness as he looked for them.

  That was my saving grace. My weapons were permanent. I didn’t bother to get up, instead lashing out with my foot and cracking his knee backwards. He fell on top of me, and I made him regret it. His resilience caught me by surprise again, and maybe the eyepatch he was wearing made him hyper-aware of the depth perception he’d lost, since he started trying to gouge my own eyes out.

  It wasn’t an easy task, especially minus one of his thumbs. I got ahold of his other hand and bit the other one off too, giving him a matching set of worthless appendages.

  This was taking too long. I trusted my gut and rolled out from beneath him just as the boom of the sniper’s rifle smashed my eardrums. The one-time machete wielder’s body jerked with the bullet’s high velocity impact.

  I whirled on the remaining Survivor. This was exactly where I didn't want to be; well out of melee range, staring down the sights of a rifle is aimed it at me.

  And worse, I was out of tricks…

  Chapter 43

  I was crouched low to the ground, but that wasn’t going to save me. I could see him clearly with my Low Light Vision, and the bastard had a grin splitting his face from ear to ear. Now that he had me dead to rights, he was going to make sure that he enjoyed every moment between now and the end of my life.

  And I didn’t think there’d be all that moments left…

  The rifle on the ground at his feet crackled, spitting static before coughing up a worried message, but he wasn’t so stupid as to let it distract him. “Who took a shot? We’re hearing screams down here. Ridgetop units, report in!”

  My mind was racing. There were a couple of dozen things I could do, but I didn’t know which of them would work. If I found one of the machetes, would the game let me throw it at him? Maybe, but if it didn’t I’d be a goner and if it did I doubted that I’d be able to do enough damage to make a difference.

  I could Lunge, but something about the stance of the man with the rifle told me that was exactly what he was expecting. Lunge was one of the first abilities I’d gotten as a Zombie. A skilled and experienced killer like him would have probably seen a ton of other free players try to lunge at him, and he didn’t look like he was worried about the prospect. He’d chosen the distance he was engaging me from, and that probably meant that I’d land right in front of him right in front of him, just far enough away for him to rest the muzzle between my eyes and pull the trigger.

  Then what? I felt the sick, useless desire to give up swirling around in the base of me, but I ignored it. I was still in this. Things were bad and time was of the essence, but as long as I wasn’t staring at the cracked paint in my game room all of a sudden, I still had hope.

  The radio hadn’t shut up this whole time. Finally, for whatever reason, I saw a change in his face as he took a
step toward me and bent down carefully to retrieve it. Whatever hope I had that he’d step into range was dashed as he maintained what he thought was a safe distance, grabbing the radio off of the ground and hefting the heavy rifle with only one hand.

  I trusted his judgement. He seemed to know what he was doing, and at time like this I firmly believed that the behavior of your enemy will tell you exactly what they can and can’t do.

  “Get Briggs,” he barked into the radio.

  “Huh?”

  The Sniper glanced at what was left of his friend, and when he did, so did I. There wasn’t much left of him, but from where I was standing a sliver of moonlight fell across eyes slowly beginning to glaze over.

  The guy holding the gun on me didn’t notice. He was too busy getting tangled in the chain of command. “Just get our fearless leader on the radio, dipshit. I caught a Zombie up here and I need to know if Briggs has recruited one of those black ops researchers he was bragging about knowing. From the look of the Zombie in my sights, his head is full of stuff worth knowing.”

  I didn’t like the sound of that, not one little bit. Every time I thought I had a good handle on what Headshot could throw at me, it proved me wrong. Black ops researchers? Shit. There was no point in disputing what I’d just hard, either. Why would they make that up, especially when I still didn’t think the sniper knew I could understand him?

  Which meant I had to take his word as gospel. The Survivors had a class that could crack me open and read me like a book. That changed things. If they really could find out my secrets, they’d find out a lot more than I wanted them to, and much more than they were expecting.

  There was a chance that they’d find out what I knew about Sasha and the Eternals hacking the game, which would bring the wrath of the developers down on all our heads.

  I had to get out of here. Even if it meant taking a bullet to the head in the process, I had to do everything I could to make sure that the knowledge in my head didn’t fall into the wrong hands. If I got killed and lost Sasha’s damn brick along the way, so be it.

  It was better than having the cops show up at my door and drag me away in cuffs as an accomplice to a crime I was only just beginning to understand…

  Information is power. This guy wanted what was in my head, and that meant that

  I did my best to look craven, letting my head hang and looking from one side to the next with what I hoped would appear to be nervous energy and not some feral attack posture. If he thought that I was likely to attack, that I was subservient or willing to beg for my life, maybe I could-

  “Don’t move!” he yelled at me, relying on the steel in his tone to get his point across. “you’re mine, bitch.”

  I almost nodded. I was that close to making the gesture that would give away my understanding of his words, but I concealed it by dipping my head even lower in a protracted grovel. I risked a glance upward, and he mistook my interest in his reaction to my performance for subservience.

  “That’s right. Wait there, you stinking bag of bones. We’ve got someone on the way who’s going to love getting their hands on you.”

  I ignored the threat. All that mattered was that I kept him right where he was, holding the radio with one hand and the sniping rifle with the other. He was already splitting his focus between his conversation and myself, and, if I was lucky, there’d be one more thing for him to concentrate one in a minute or two.

  Because his friend was almost ready to be my friend, instead. I thought Get up and Roll over and Growl and whatever else I could think of at him as hard as I could. I didn’t need him to attack. All I needed was for him to drag the sniper’s attention for a crucial second, and I’d make it through this.

  My Zombie wasn’t far from being useful. The others I’d converted had come online a lot quicker than this one, but judging by the condition I’d left the machete guy in I knew I should be thankful that he was whole enough to do anything.

  Even better, that sniper rifle was heavy. I could see that the Survivor holding it wasn’t used to brandishing a real weapon. He thought you could just point it in a direction and forget about it, but the reality was much more deceiving. His muzzle had been drifting ever so slightly since he’d started making demands on the radio. He didn’t realize it, but if he pulled the trigger now his shot would miss me by a good six inches.

  I’d only been half-listening to his chatter on the radio. It wasn’t anything as groundbreaking as the existence of the black ops researcher, but someone higher up the ladder was confirming the sniper’s location and promising to send a team out for “collection”, a word that sent a shiver down my prostrate spine.

  “Hurry up,” the Sniper said at last. “I don’t trust this one. He isn’t like the others…”

  That was my cue. Once he put the radio back on his belt, he’d have both hands free to steady the rifle and correct his aim. Attack! I mentally screamed at the would-be Zombie. If he was ever going to be of any use to me, it was now or never.

  I couldn’t wait to see if he did nor not. I had maybe half a second to close the distance before the sniper was back in complete control of the situation, so I acted. With a growl and a snarl, I pretended to lunge forward. He did what I was hoping he’d do, pulling the trigger and sending a round screaming past me into the night.

  He calmly corrected his aim and pulled the trigger, his eyes going wide when he remembered it was a bolt action rifle and he needed two hands to reload it. He dropped the radio and worked the action, hammering another round into the chamber.

  I still hadn’t rushed him. I was cautious and wary, well aware that he could probably beat me to death with an empty rifle, if he really had to. Still, I had him worried, and I pressed my advantage, circling him like a prowling tiger. The fact that I wasn’t yet willing to close the distance made him bold, and it was that over confidence that I was relying on to save me.

  That, and the reanimated hand that latched on to his ankle… I’d turned the sniper around with my stalking, and he’d backed away from me right into the clutches of the machete-wielding Survivor that was even now shoving gnawing at his Achille’s tendon, trying desperately to get his teeth through the sniper’s thick combat boot.

  It still wasn’t a fair fight between the former friends, but when I walked forward and shoved the sniper over with all of the strength I had, he went down in a frenzy of screams, a tangle of blood and spurting arcs of high-pressure arterial blood.

  I stood over them, watching one ally eventually become two, and then made my escape. I didn’t want to be anywhere near here when that black ops researcher and his capture team showed up.

  Chapter 44

  Once I was back in the safety of the shadows a few minutes later, a message pinged away at me from the corner of my vision. Once I focused on it, a string of messages popped up in front of my eyes.

  Congratulations. One of your zombies has infected another. You will receive a trickle of hit points from all infected foes. You will also receive a percentage of experience points based on the kills made by those you infected.

  Congratulations. One of your zombies has infected another. You will receive a trickle of hit points from all infected foes. You will also receive a percentage of experience points based on the kills made by those you infected.

  Congratulations. One of your zombies has infected another. You will receive a trickle of hit points from all infected foes. You will also receive a percentage of experience points based on the kills made by those you infected.

  I couldn’t help but smile. It looked like my Zombies had been wreaking a little havoc while I’d been in peril beneath the weeping willow.

  Congratulations. Your endeavors have brought the Apocalypse one step closer. You have now reached your peak level of advancement. All further experience points will go into an experience pool which can, at your discretion, be given to members of your Zombie Horde.

  Awesome!

  You have gain the ability I
nfectious Influence. This is a passive ability, and unlike your others does not need to be triggered. Your indominable will makes allies better able to understand your wishes. Player controlled allies will receive much larger experience boosts for obeying your commands, and NPC allies will respond to your desires with more speed and alacrity.

  This just kept getting better and better. Sure, it would have been nice I’d been able to enjoy these benefits for more than twenty-four hours, but no amount of bitching about it was going to allow me to reclaim the missing time I’d experienced. At least this way, if and when my reinforcements showed up, I’d be able to give them a quick and permanent boost.

  If I had enough experience in the pool, of course…

  I’d retreated to a spot where I could keep an eye on the road from Los Angeles and the terrace with the weeping willow, and now I saw a team of five or six Survivors hop out of a black van and hurry to where I’d left the two guys I’d last tangled with.

  Silence.

  Gunfire.

  Panic.

  Chaos.

  Be aware, you will no longer receive individual notifications. Instead, your Infectious Influence has been bolstered by the ability to know how many allies are in your sway.

  That was interesting. I did what it seemed to be suggesting and tried to clear my mind for a moment in an effort to come up with a number. It didn’t take long.

  Thirteen.

  I felt like giving myself a high-five. Things were going better than I could've possibly hoped, and for a second it was easy to forget that I was well behind enemy lines, about to launch an insurgency. I brought myself back down to earth with the certain knowledge that the only reason I was still alive was because they didn’t know I was here. Nothing would get the Survivors more determined to root me out than if they discovered how much damage I’d already done, not to mention how many Zombies I had lying in wait in various parts of Beverly Hills.