by Kate Messick
Bleeding and exhausted, we find ourselves opening a door to the roof. Goliath moves stiffly and I worry again about his bites. Maybe I should have pointed out that, despite the sunlight, he’s not stone. But it’s too late now.
Goliath’s bulk moves through the door and into the courtyard of a medieval castle, its turrets and roofs lost in the clouds above. The slate and onyx details in the black stone make it truly unique. Unlike the mass of constantly moving undead, the courtyard is still. Peaceful. There should be wind this high up, but there is none.
“Barricade the door,” Trixy instructs.
I look around and find some stone and two-by-fours that the castle builders left behind. The door is easily blocked.
“Hopefully, we will not be in a hurry to leave,” Strider says quietly.
We decide to take time to rest, bandage wounds, and heal before exploring forward, but our rest is interrupted early. Banging on the door we just barricaded has us jumping to our feet.
Goliath leads us through his castle. I’m not sure what we’re looking for. A final boss? A quest? If Goliath’s greatest fear is zombies, there should be more here. Instead, we walk through cold walls, lost in time, disconnected from the carnage we just fought through. We eventually make it to the throne room, and seated on the throne, her body slouched in sleep, is our witch. I shiver. We had left her sleeping at the bottom of the skyscraper. In fact, we hadn’t given her a second thought. Powerful magic must have moved her here.
We walk toward her, and for the first time we see her eyes flutter open. Her head moves enough that her orange eyes can fix on us. But like the zombies, her neck can’t support its weight, and her body remains slouched at uncomfortable angles.
“Well done, Goliath.” Her voice is a low, rusty alto. Much too mature for her young body. “But true fear is not born from a thing, but from an experience.”
Suddenly, the castle around us dissolves and we’re standing in a field, the bright sun beating down on our shoulders. I look at my skin and narrow my eyes. There is no change. Then I look at Goliath. He’s flesh and blood.
“You think being left alive and alone in a world where only zombies roam is terrifying,” the witch cackles. “What about living with the knowledge that you will slowly become a zombie, the only gargoyle-zombie in the world? Unable to heal, unable to lose your mind to the hunger, but just as utterly alone. Starving, killing, and then remembering over and over.”
If Goliath can’t shift, the virus will fill his veins and turn him, just like it would have us. I cover my mouth. He did all that to protect us. Suddenly, the sun disappears and we’re back in the dark throne room. The witch is still slumped on her throne as the scene around us begins to fade, the door oozing into existence.
“I have not turned to stone in days.” Goliath’s voice is quiet and I can see his hands tremble slightly.
“We will find the real sun again,” Strider advises. “The witch feeds on your fear – don’t let her.”
“I thought I was fearless, even in the face of my foes,” Goliath says. “But now I feel a seed of doubt, of panic, of fear. What even happens to a gargoyle who is bitten, but can’t heal the virus by changing to stone?”
“Don’t dwell on it,” I say, then hesitate. Goliath did so much for us. I’m not quick to share, but he, Strider, all of them are really starting to feel like friends now and I want to help. “The sun was not real; it would have affected me as well,” I add quietly. Goliath doesn't seem convinced and I’m not willing to give away more secrets. “The more you think, the more you fear, and the more you feed the bitch.”
“Have you ever been afraid, Nozomi?” Goliath asks me.
“Every day,” I answer. “Every day.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Reality, Joe’s House
Joe’s collection of D&D stuff is the opposite of his matching, well organized world. He has incomplete sets of manuals, some only digital. His collection of miniatures, some painted, most not, include pieces stolen from other games. His battle mats, DM screen, dice trays, and notes lie strewn across his kitchen table, alongside his massive bag of dice of every color, type and design.
Sandy Yuhi
“I’m just going to turn into a zombie?” Zack asks Joe, disbelief filling his voice.
“Don’t ask me,” Joe answers. “I would think it is safe to assume that while making Ruby and Trixy face their fears head on, the witch might be savoring your fear over time.”
“Would that be a FOT?” I snort. I used to play a video game where you could “DOT’ – Cast a spell that did “damage over time”, so fear over time was a play on the acronym. I’m not usually clever with words, but I’m on beer number three and feeling very relaxed in my spot between Joe and Dillon.
“That was terrible, Sandy,” Zack says, and then thinks. “If I have a FOT on me, is there any way to get it off?”
“Who are you asking?” Joe questions.
“Uh, you?” Zack responds.
“Uh, see previous answer. Don’t ask me,” Joe states.
“But … I really like Goliath,” Zack stammers.
“Then try not to be too scared he’s going to die while you’re gone,” Joe reassures. The table laughs as Zack turns beet red. “Look, I will give you one piece of advice. You might want to see if you can speed up these rooms – only two left. You guys are getting better and better at feeding the witch,” Joe adds the last part with obvious sarcasm.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Steven tells him. His stuff is mostly gathered, and he turns to his wife’s vacated seat. Lynda left her D&D supplies, playing till the last possible moment. “I have to run. I feel bad leaving Lynda alone with the kids on a Saturday night. That stuff can breed resentment in a marriage.”
“Everything ok?” Joe asks.
“Just peachy. Stress from planning holidays, and life,” Steven elaborates. “I would love a guys’ beer night when I’m back.” He stresses the word “guys”, giving me an evil look. Steven and I are getting along better, but we still don’t like each other.
“Did I insinuate in any way that I want to know more, or care, about your marital life?” I ask as I start cleaning up my area. “I should get Zack home.”
“Can you take him, Steven?” Joe asks. “I need to chat with Sandy a bit.”
I absently rub my knuckles and smile to myself. My knuckles hurt a little but are not worth fussing over. What’s nice is that Joe cares enough to do something for me. I’m not used to that. And I like it.
“Sure,” Steven responds. “Just take care of yourself.”
“You too, man,” Joe responds.
Joe, Zack, and Steven head toward the front door.
“Two rooms, two fears,” Dillon says next to me.
I pull my attention from Joe. “Yup, one is yours and one is mine.” Dillon is also not cleaning up his area. “No plans tonight?”
“Nope, free as a bird,” Dillon answers happily.
“We should go to that game cafe that opened up,” I suggest. “I’m in the mood for some socialization and rule digestion.”
“Tetreazy?” Joe says as he comes back.
“Yup,” I reply. “Three people is the perfect number for learning new games. And we’re going to need to find something to do with the campaign on hold next week. Silly people going on vacations.”
“I could use a vacation,” Dillon says.
Before I can comment, Joe brings us back to the original conversation. “Did something come out that you want to play?” Joe asks me. He sits on my other side and takes one of my hands. Slowly unwinding the ACE bandage he’d wrapped them in earlier that week. “How are these feeling?”
“Better. I can’t believe how long my wrists were sore,” I say. I can still feel little twinges of pain – though where Joe touches them, lovely little tingles of excitement combine with the pain.
“I really enjoy worker-placement games,” Dillon adds next to me.
“I read about a new worker pl
acement game called Scythe.” I dangle the carrot. I’m very hopeful to spend the night with friends and not dwell on my situation with Amorino. My abilities to avoid him are getting spottier. I don’t remember him being quite this aggressive before. I feel like I’m saying “no”, but he’s hearing “maybe”. Our long friendship has taught him that persistence pays off. I’m not sure that I can blame him. But it will not pay off this time, and never again. My resolve is firm; no more old habits. New friends, new games, new Sandy.
“They serve food till nine,” I add hopefully. “If we leave soon, we can still eat.”
“Let me finish taking care of your hands,” Joe says. “Dillon, do you want to go get us a table and see if the game is free?”
I turn and smile at Dillon who’s not looking at me, but looking darkly at Joe.
“Dillon, is everything ok?” I ask.
“It’s fine, but I’m bus bound, so no can do.” He turns to me and gives a half smile.
“We can just all go together,” I say happily. I’m so excited that I jump out of my chair and give Dillon an uncharacteristic hug. I pull back quickly and busy myself putting his dice in his fancy dice bag. The bag is brown leather and has a tray built into it. I suddenly find it fascinating. Actually, it really is. “Sorry,” I mumble. “I hadn’t noticed your dice bag before. This is really cool.”
“Kickstarter?” Joe asks.
“Yup,” Dillon answers, looking at Joe again. “I noticed your Wormwood dice tray. Kickstarter?”
“Yup,” Joe answers.
I’m not entirely sure what’s going on, so I just stay still. Something seems to pass between Joe and Dillon. Then the moment is over.
“Scythe, I think, was a Kickstarter originally,” I add. Joe grunts and reaches for bruised knuckles as Dillon smiles down at me. I like it that I don’t have to look too far up to see Dillon smiling at me.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Reality, Tetreazy, Downtown Boulder
Competition can bring out the best and worst in people. Especially in matters of the mind. Insecurities can lead to heated words. The feeling of elation when you foil a fellow’s plans mixes with the desperation of having your own plans foiled. Not everyone is strong enough to remain friends though those heated moments.
Dillon Dempsy
Three staff are on duty at Tetreazy. Their purple, green and blue tie-dyed shirts flit around the two rooms that make up the bulk of the space. The two rooms are separated by a narrow door outlined in glowing Tetris blocks too neatly put together to be a real game. We’re seated through the Tetris block doorway, its walls covered in shelves of board games and signed posters. A few tables dot the middle. The local radio station plays quietly in the background and voices drift into our little space from the much larger main room.
Despite there being only three of us, we had usurped the biggest table in the middle of the room, and three hours later there we still are. Our tasty, very beautiful, and very overpriced food has been eaten, our game played, and a new round of drinks are half-full, safely away from the plethora of Scythe pieces. I take my victory in stride as Joe and I find yet another thing we have in common.
“League of Legends is a competitive video game, e-sport,” Joe explains to Sandy. “Sports for nerds, kinda like a fun middle ground.”
“Right,” Sandy says, obviously not interested. “I’m not a huge fan of sports at all. Or really video games for that matter. Though I will play them if they are there. I like board games better.”
“Both are fun,” I comment neutrally, hiding my inner League of Legends fan boy.
“I like the different strategies in our game tonight,” she continues. “It was fairly close, but each of us approached the game in a different way.”
“I think the fact that you pick a faction to start with help cut through the mass of rules to remember,” I add. “I was surprised that you were so adamant that rules were wrong, Joe.”
I see Sandy simmer next to me. At one point in the game she’d been very close to a win, but Joe had said there was no way she could do what she wanted. Sandy had verbatim quoted the rule book without looking at it, and after some heated words and googling, it turns out they were both right. She’d remembered the rules perfectly, but the game had made an erratum, fixing of the printed rules for that specific situation.
“I found the game to be fairly balanced, at least with the factions we were playing, and it just made no sense that those specific objectives would be that powerful,” Joe responds.
“Rules are rules,” Sandy insists. “You can’t just go changing things; it breaks games.”
“Yes, but rules must also be judged by logic, or else we will never question anything,” Joe states.
“What’s this coming out of a military mouth?” I say trying to lighten up the topic. I have my suspicions as to the why, but I do know Sandy is very sensitive about her memory, and avoiding this topic seems ideal.
“Don’t judge a book by its cover,” Joe responds, taking the bait and getting side tracked. “And don’t assume that years of tradition equals a lack of learning. Most progress is made in times of need.”
“By times of need you mean war?” Sandy asks. “Historically speaking.”
“Exactly. And on a lighter note,” Joe brightens. “In war there is always a loser. Tonight, that is me. Though I lost the battle, I shall not lose the war, well the bigger war,” Joe’s voice becomes gruff as he finishes his proclamation. “This last round is on me.” We give him a cheer before the conversation lulls.
“You haven’t played Scythe before, right?” Joe confirms once again.
“No, this was my first time,” Sandy maintains. “I thought I said that when I suggested it.”
“You knew the rule book really well for your first time,” I praise, trying to soften Joe’s words. Why is he brining this back up?
Joe Smartin
I’m not sure if I would have praised her for that. She probably studied the rule book and worked out a plan before we got here. I didn’t think Sandy was that insecure, but I know something is up with her right now. And I know she likes to win. We had been flirting in our own way back and forth all night. It was a little awkward with Dillon here, but by the end I really didn’t mind his presents. In fact, Dillon is officially on my list of cool dudes.
“Thanks,” she responds and looks down at her drink. She’s embarrassed about something. I want to know what it is. I don’t know many adults that cheat at games, but I know they exist.
“Did you look up the rules before you suggested it?” I ask.
“No, I just have a good memory,” Sandy says flatly.
“There is nothing wrong with having a good memory,” I say lightheartedly. “But that was a huge rule book, it must be some memory.”
“Joe, my memory is like a steel trap and if you want to push me any further, I will leave,” she responds not so playfully. Her drink starts disappearing faster.
“You know, I will get you a second if that goes away too fast,” I tell her with a grin.
“I can drink as fast or slow as I want,” Sandy says quickly – and proves it when her straw creates the sound of air going through ice.
“Hey, over here,” I say rudely, getting the attention of one of the tie-dyed shirts. “One more of these and all four of those drinks on this, please.” I hand the man my card.
“You are going to drink that yourself,” Sandy stands, her little hands balled into fists. She looks like an angry kitten ready to spring. I can’t help but laugh a little at the comparison.
“Sandy, Joe didn’t mean anything,” Dillon says. His defending me gives me pause. Have I pushed things too far?
“I know when I’m outnumbered,” Sandy sighs. I suddenly realize that I have miss calculated.
“You don’t need to go,” I say quickly. “I’m sorry I accused you of cheating.”
“I don’t need to do anything,” she deadpans. In two seconds, she’s disappearing into the main room.
> The waitress arrives with our drinks. “Don’t forget to clean up your game,” she reminds us.
Dillon is already half out of his seat, but the waitress is clearly body-blocking him. He sits again. “What’s wrong with you, Joe?” Dillon asks with a frown.
“I honestly don’t even know what I said,” I answer.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Reality, Boulder Bus Station
The large brick building that houses the Boulder Bus Station had been voted the ugliest building in town. Always dirty, with several inexpensive uncoordinated extensions added to it, the station’s only saving grace is its location in the heart of downtown.
Sandy Yuhi
I grab my coat from the little coat room and quickly shrug into it. My gloves and my hat are in my pocket, but they can wait. The cold air stings my face as I hit the late fall chill.
I curse my choice to carpool. I wanted to drink, but I also somehow forgot that I don’t get along with people. Even Joe and Dillon, who I thought were becoming my friends. Joe just wouldn’t stop poking at my memory. And for some reason, I thought Dillon would have come to my rescue. But he didn’t. He sided with Joe.
I don’t want people to know about my memory. If they know I can memorize a rule book by looking at it, no one is going to be willing to play games with me. And I want to do this again. Don’t get me wrong, I still love my alone time and my books, but having friends again has made me realize how lonely I am. My relations with Amorino had been enjoyable but ultimately empty compared to what I’ve found in my friendships with Joe and Dillon. And now that I know I want friendship, I’m terrified I’m going to lose it if I do anything wrong.