Melee

by Wyatt Savage

  I’m pretty sure both sides were startled to see the other because nobody fired and we just kept on driving. Fires raged out beyond us and helicopters flew past. It looked like one of those end-of-the-world scenes from a zombie movie.

  Off in the distance, near a water tower that the neighborhood kids used to tag with graffiti, was a form, an alien monster. The thing had the head of a snake on the bulky body of an elephant, was twenty feet tall, and was churning through a row of McMansions, swinging its six arms and legs, leveling homes and killing anything that stood in its way. I saw the thing hoist several people up in its gnarled hands and eat them like they were chicken wings.

  “You just watch and see what happens when I level up,” Lish said, gripping the steering wheel so tightly I thought it might bend.

  “Don’t you need a Ragetag first?” I asked.

  “Technically no,” Dwayne said, leaning in between us. “It’s all about the points. You can choose a Ragetag if you’d like, or you can buy your way into another class.”

  “The goal is to become a Sonic Warrior,” Lish said. “Then I’ll be able to harness and weaponize sounds and vibrations in the air.”

  I looked outside and spotted several cars with their hazards on. Somebody was waving a white towel from inside.

  “Don’t stop,” Dwayne said. “It might be a trap.”

  He pointed to another street where we could see an ambulance speeding down the road. People inside the ambulance were shooting machine guns at anything that moved. Several people ran out in the street in front of the ambulance and were promptly mowed down. The ambulance skidded across their bodies, struck another person, and then flipped up over a fire hydrant that began spraying water in every direction.

  “You can’t trust anything anymore,” I whispered, gazing at the wrecked ambulance.

  We passed the cars and then I spotted something in the side mirror.

  “I see it,” Lish said, eyes peeled on the rearview mirror.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “Motorcycles.”

  There were flashes of light from the motorcycles.

  Gunfire.

  Lish punched the gas as the truck jolted forward. Bullets suddenly bounced off the back

  of the truck and one shattered the side mirror.

  Dwayne and I grabbed our guns.

  “Somebody needs to greet those bastards!” Lish said.

  Window rolled down, I eased out and saw that two motorcycles each had a driver and a shooter. All of the shooters were wearing ski masks as the stats flashed in my HUD:

  Species: Homo Sapiens (4)

  Level:1 – 1 – 1 - 1

  Class:Fighter(s)

  Health:8/10 - 10/10 – 7/10 – 9/10

  More gunfire.

  Bullets ricocheted, stitching the side of the truck, nearly taking my head off.

  I fired back with my AR-15 and the motorcycles separated. One went left, the other one swerved to the right.

  “Are you seeing this, Sue?”

  “Yes.”

  “Any words of wisdom?”

  “Do not get killed and check your HUD.”

  I spotted the boxes on my SecondSight reordering, fixing around the motorcycles, projecting their anticipated route of attack. I pointed this out to the others and we responded accordingly.

  The truck accelerated and Dwayne used the barrel of his rifle to push open the tiny window at the back of the truck.

  “Do you know how to shoot that thing?” I asked, pulling back inside.

  “How hard could it be?”

  Dwayne squeezed the trigger and fired a wild burst.

  “Hard!” Dwayne shouted. “It’s really, really hard!”

  “You can download tactical skills!” Lish said, fighting the wheel. “You can activate an implant that teaches you how to use weapons and fight!”

  “Not enough points,” Dwayne replied.

  “Take the one to your right!” I screamed.

  Dwayne fired again, this time a more measured burst. It didn’t hit anything, but the spray of bullets pushed the motorcycle back, which allowed me to take aim at my bike.

  The other machine swung out and the shooter took aim. “Get down!” I screamed.

  The bullets from his gun pounded the side of the truck, blowing out a window.

  Fortifying myself with a few gulps of air, I focused on my targeting reticle, which hovered over a back portion of the motorcycle.

  I put three rounds into the spot, which caused an explosion that incinerated the bike.

  “Congratulations,” Sue said. “You have killed two Level 1 adversaries and gained 50 experience points.”

  My statistics flashed to reveal a status update:

  Species: Homo Sapiens (James, Logan)

  Chattel:.45 AMT Hardballer; Winchester SXP 12-Gauge; Colt AR-15

  Health:9/10

  Level 1:1

  Class:Fighter

  Kills:5

  Vitals:BP – 129/80; T – 98.01f; RR – 17bpm

  XP:147

  With the two kills and the survival time, my XP were increasing nicely. I wanted to ask Sue how much I could buy with my points when Lish threw the wheel violently.

  The truck lurched to the left, nearly hitting the other motorcycle.

  The bike vroomed forward and Lish leaned out and fired a shot from her phaser.

  The pulse of energy sliced through the backs of the two men on the bike. The driver lost control and the bike swerved and slammed into a parked car.

  Lish blew a wisp of smoke from her phaser, allowing herself the faintest of smiles.

  “That’s it,” she said. “I’ve got enough XP. It’s time to—”

  She turned a corner and the words crumbled in her mouth as we were greeted by a wall of flames.

  It was the guy I’d seen before, the one with the Ragetag. The one called Immolator.

  He was standing in the middle of the road with his giant flamethrower.

  Looking for something to barbecue.

  22

  Lish screamed and pulled on the wheel as the fire from the Immolator’s flamethrower engulfed the truck.

  I couldn’t see anything, but the truck struck an object and I heard the sound of tires blowing as we clipped something and turned over.

  In seconds, we were being tossed around inside the truck like quarters in a washing machine.

  The truck finally came to a stop in a cloud of friction sparks, the hood still smothered in fire from the Immolator’s flamethrower.

  “Out,” I said, trying to get my bearings. “We need to get out!”

  Dwayne kicked open the door and crawled outside as I leaned over to Lish, who was pinned under the steering wheel. I could see through her partially open door that the Immolator and the rest of his posse were marching across the road.

  “Leave me,” she said.

  “No chance in hell,” I replied.

  “Why?”

  “I’ve kinda grown to enjoy your company, Lish. Besides, you’re the only one who knows how to use the phaser.”

  Something between a grimace and a smile etched her face. I used my feet to push the steering wheel back an inch or two, which was enough. Lish was free.

  I grabbed her arm and pulled her back as another ball of flames hit the truck. The heat from the fire singed the stubble on my face. Lish crawled past me and I searched the interior of the truck for the phaser.

  There it was!

  Down on the floor near the gas pedal.

  Realizing that I only had seconds to act, I dropped the AR-15, reached down, and grabbed the phaser as hands grabbed my legs and pulled me back.

  Dwayne and Lish tugged me out of the truck as another burst of fire overwhelmed the machine.

  Dwayne managed to pull an assault rifle out of the truck before it became a raging inferno.

  Laughter from the Immolator and his sweaty-browed goons echoed as I handed the phaser to Lish and we dashed down over the shoulder, taking cover in a stand of ornamental t
rees.

  Peering out, the shadowy form of the Immolator appeared, my HUD reflecting his stats again. I scanned the men around him to see that they constituted four Level 1 fighters in perfect or near-perfect health. They were armed with machine guns and one of them had a grenade launcher.

  The Immolator approached the truck and paused.

  “HUD,” Dwayne whispered.

  “What?”

  “He’s got a HUD too.”

  “So?”

  Dwayne gulped. “He knows we escaped.”

  I looked up and the Immolator was staring at us.

  “Oh, yeah!” he shouted. “Three together! A potential hat-trick!”

  The Immolator brought his flamethrower around and I fired a shot from my pistol. The Immolator’s flamethrower spewed a wide rope of fire that melted my bullet in mid-air.

  Dwayne fired his gun and the Immolator did the same, waving the fire, melting the bullets. Then he crouched and another spurt of orange flame belched from the end of his gun.

  “Incoming!” I screamed.

  We dove for cover as the fire, what looked like jellied gasoline, splashed our hiding spot, incinerating it, turning night to day.

  Turning and running, our feet got tangled up and we fell down over an embankment. Righting ourselves, we plodded forward. Dwayne was moving slowly, which I attributed to his injuries. They had reduced his health down three points. The Immolator and his brethren war-whooped behind us.

  Skidding down the end of the embankment, we came to a rest at the edge of a creek that emerged from a wide section of sewer pipe. On the other side, up over the banks, was a hill that bordered another section of neighborhood.

  “That way!” Lish said, gesturing to the hill. “We can hide up there.”

  A shrieking sound ripped the air and I glanced back and up and my HUD reflected the incoming projectile. One of the Immolator’s men had fired his grenade launcher.

  “There is a fragmentation grenade approaching,” Sue said matter-of-factly.

  “Grenade!” I screamed.

  We ran in separate directions as the grenade detonated at the edge of the stream, sending up geysers of dirt, and flinging bits of metal and debris in every direction. A hunk of rock struck me in the left eye.

  -2 Health Points!

  I cried out and dropped my shotgun. The only weapon I had left was my .45.

  Disoriented, I pitched to the ground, feeling blood running down my cheek, my stats reflecting the wound and a status assessment:

  Species: Homo Sapiens (James, Logan)

  Chattel:.45 AMT Hardballer

  Health:7/10

  Level 1:1

  Class:Fighter

  Kills:5

  Vitals:BP – 131/80; T – 98.08f; RR – 18bpm

  XP:156

  I’d lost two additional health points, three in all, and it was affecting me.

  My movements were slower, my head ached, my vision was spotty, my blood pressure was high, and it was becoming difficult to catch my breath.

  “What’s happening, Sue?!” I asked via Mindspeak, activating my night vision.

  “You have been wounded,” Sue replied.

  “No, shit!”

  “You are also not well-hidden.”

  “I know that.”

  “You will reach your journey’s end in five seconds if you do not move.”

  “Why?”

  “The other participants have spotted you.”

  Clawing at the earth, I shot to my feet, looking for Dwayne and Lish, who were nowhere to be seen.

  I called up Sue and checked my map as I lumbered up the hillside just as the Immolator and his boys appeared.

  They opened fire with everything they had.

  Bullets chewed up the ground all around me and a burst of fire set the tops of the nearby trees on fire.

  Diving forward, I hit the ground, covering my head. Then I rolled to the right and spotted the chainlink of a backyard fence. The rear gate was opened and I stood and struck off, slicing through it, heading around the side of the house.

  Several bodies were visible on or around the lawn.

  There was a man lying on his back, pincushioned with lawn darts, a woman pinned to the hood of a car with a crowbar, and a kid probably just old enough to vote who was lying under the garage door with an ax planted in his chest. They weren’t people anymore; hell, none of us were. We were just points.

  Navigating by my HUD, I ran past the bodies and through the front gate, my side cramping. I stopped on the sidewalk. Beyond me was the main artery into and out of the neighborhood and it was eerily silent.

  The power had gone out; the only illumination was from a handful of candles in windows, a burning Mercedes, and sliver of light from a skull-colored moon.

  A burst of fire swept over the rear of the house and I knew the Immolator was approaching.

  Black silhouettes appeared on the other side of the house. The Immolator’s men had found me!

  Heart hammering my chest, I ran into the street as a wall of bullets lapped at my feet. Flopping to the cold pavement, I squirmed behind the burning Mercedes, my nostrils pricked by the scent of smoldering rubber and gasoline.

  “You are well-hidden for the moment,” Sue said.

  I fired back at the Immolator’s men, sending them scurrying for cover. The Immolator wasn’t scared though. The big bastard waddled forward, firing up his flamethrower.

  “What’s the SITREP, Sue?”

  She didn’t respond, but a box began blinking on my HUD.

  The box was fixed on a streetlamp.

  The one near the house I’d just run from.

  The one that was currently just above the Immolator.

  “If you are clever, you can use the lamp against the participant,” Sue said.

  “It’s all over, kid!” the Immolator shouted. “Don’t feel bad. You did better than most.”

  “But worse than some,” I replied, emerging from the relative safety of the Mercedes.

  He grinned. “If it’s any consolation, I’m gonna use the points I get from torching your sorry ass to buy me a real nice meal or a super health boost.”

  “Glad I could help you out.”

  Memory clouded the Immolator’s eyes. “Hey, don’t I know you?”

  “I’m the guy you’re fixing to charbroil,” I replied.

  “No, you’re Logan James ain’t ya? Yeah, we played in the same industrial league. I was the catcher for Rockville Mailing.”

  I remembered the bastard. I’d struck his fat ass out three times during a July night game two summers back. I hoped he’d forgotten about that.

  “You struck me out twice,” the Immolator said.

  “Three times,” I said, correcting him.

  Anger etched his face. “Well, I guess it’s time for a little payback.”

  It was at that moment, on the verge of being fricasseed, that I fell back on my training as a baseball pitcher. Every good pitcher is part magician because pure athleticism is never enough. The essence of great pitching is deceit, fooling the batter, making strikes look like balls and balls look like strikes. That’s pitching.

  So what I did is this.

  My eyes and lower body made a motion as if I was going to the right and the Immolator tracked me and then, an instant before fire exploded from the end of his weapon, my upper body lurched to the left.

  This caused him some confusion; I could see it in his eyes.

  Plus, he was a big sonofabitch, upwards of three hundred pounds, and it takes some effort to right that kind of ship once you get it going in a certain direction.

  Bottom line is, his momentum swung one way and I went the other.

  Then I fired two shots at the streetlamp.

  The bullets found their mark and the streetlamp broke loose and struck the Immolator in the head.

  -3 Health Points!

  He staggered and I brought my pistol up, but he was a hair faster.

  Reflexively, he fired his flamethrower and I fel
l back to the ground. The Immolator was off balance so the wall of flames went wide, but did hit my foot, burning the exposed flesh on my ankle as I lost another health point.

  Teeth gritted, I smothered the flames on my leg and fired a shot at the Immolator’s leg. The bullet missed.

  The Immolator laughed and romped toward me when a beam of energy lanced at him from the other end of the street.

  It was Lish and she was coming to the rescue, firing on the run.

  The beam of energy missed the Immolator, but it caused him to turn to confront Lish and when he did I rose a final time and I fired my final bullet.

  The bullet punched through the canisters on the flamethrower pack the Immolator was wearing, spraying jellied gasoline or whatever the hell he was using in every direction.

  A tendril of the fuel touched the edge of the burning Mercedes. The fire spread back to the Immolator before he could react, igniting his flamethrower pack.

  Engulfed in flames, the Immolator struck out, shooting fireballs in every direction before his flamethrower pack exploded, sending napalm-like blots of fire flying through the air.

  Sue did not congratulate me on the demise of the Immolator, which I chalked up to the fact that Lish arguably deserved the kill points.

  I slapped the last magazine I had into the pistol and dragged myself down the street. Dwayne and Lish were visible, finishing off the Immolator’s men who were taking cover as Lish fired the phaser at them.

  One of the Immolator’s men was lying on the ground, severely wounded, his chest rising and falling.

  “Can I purchase medicine, Sue?” I asked via Mindspeak.

  “Yes, what are called ‘Rejuvs,’ medpacks some call them, are available, but in order to obtain one, you will need additional points as the Melee requires you to possess a minimum of 150 points before your first purchase.”

  I stared down at the wounded man, one of the ones who’d tried to kill me.

  The man spit at me and then I put a bullet through his head.

  23

  I’d like to say that I felt something terrible about killing that man, that maybe I lost a little of myself when I took his life, but that would be a lie. Whether it was because of the game or whatever technology the aliens had implanted in me, I’d grown a little hard-hearted. The world was divided into enemies and allies now and in order to go forward, to redeem my family and maybe take the invaders down, the new reality was that I was going to have to do things I otherwise might not want to do. That’s just how it was now.