by Arthur Stone
Thankfully, he didn’t shoot before he realized. The ominous villain of the darkness was long dead. He couldn’t even tell whether it had been a man or a woman. Its feet and head were hidden by orange coveralls and a white helmet. He/she had thick-soled but rather small-sized shoes. The human’s face was decomposed beyond recognition. A rope was tied around its neck, providing a convenient place of rest for the flies buzzing around.
The other end of the rope was tied to a ventilation grill. Rocky had no clue how the short suicidal man or woman had tied it up there before tightening the noose and ending his or her life. People could show unprecedented ingenuity when they were taking a life. Even when it was their own life.
Wait, why do I care? This wasn’t a human. Just a digi. Why would an immune ever hang themselves?
But then again, why would a digi hang themselves, either? The System put them here with specific goals. They created the illusion of normal life for a time in fresh clusters. Then, they panicked and started going mad, before transforming into infecteds. Then they ate. And ate. And ate. Until there was nothing human about them left.
Not far from the body, Rocky noticed an open notebook on a desk. Each sheet had a table drawn onto it. He walked over, looked at the numbers and names, and realized this was some kind of logbook for the engineering staff here. He skimmed through the records, stopping at the last. “I had to lock Greg up in an old closet. He went mad, just like Jenson did before him. He was so strong that I could barely get him in there. I got bitten during the process. Soon, I’ll be just like them. But I will not become like them. Gail, if you ever read this—I’m sorry. This is better than becoming one of them. I left the emergency sluice open, so the dam will be fine. Goodbye to all of you. Paul.”
Interesting. This digi, because he had been bitten, had decided that meant he’d become a zombie. He proceeded to write an intelligible suicide note, then hung himself. Rocky knew for a fact that these people weren’t real. If he had had any doubts, this would have sustained them.
This was realistic behavior. Perfect AI.
He made sure there was no other way out, then returned to the hallway, closing both doors behind him. The stench continued to torture his nose, to eat into his clothing, to burn his skin. He couldn’t get rid of it, no matter what.
He retraced his steps, reaching the final staircase, and killed his light. Sunlight was creeping in from above, and it was enough for his dark-adjusted eyes to see with.
Kitty was there, just where Rocky had left her, on the top floor of the tower. The place was a sparsely-furnished office with wide windows on all sides. Kitty had managed to get some of them open. She hadn’t even needed to hobble. Instead she had ridden a wheeled office chair around, pushing a broom handle against the floor to propel herself.
Rocky grinned at the sight of the broomstick. “How’s it fly?”
“Oh, I only do that at night,” Kitty shot back. “Did you find anything?”
“Nothing alive. But someone downstairs hanged himself. It looks like he’s a digi. One who worked here. But there’s something strange about him.”
“What?”
“He acted like a real person. He thought he was bitten by a zombie and would turn into one soon. So he wrote a note to his darling and tied a noose around his neck. His body is badly rotted—he’s probably been up there a month, at least. Makes it impossible to breathe in there.”
“Digis come in all kinds,” Kitty said with a detached tone as she watched the nearest shore of the lake. “Some are harder to distinguish from us. Their programming is better. They called them ‘alphas’ in one of the regions I visited. Some of them were even immune.”
“Really? Digis immune to the infection?”
“Yeah. They live among players and are accepted in their communities. Wherever they’re not accepted, they live on their own. Some even have their own stables and trade among themselves and with player stables.”
“Fascinating.”
“Lots of interesting things here, Rocky. What else did you find?”
“The guy wrote in his note that he locked an infected up in an old closet. I didn’t find the closet, though. This place is a labyrinth, and my battery is about to run out.”
“No need to find him. A locked-up infected dies fast without food. What shape is the body in?”
“Rotten. Worm-eaten. Still has a puddle of fluids underneath it, and smells worse than a skunk burial ground.”
“No, that’s not what I meant. Besides the worms, has anything else eaten the body? Or has it been left alone?”
“Alone. Its clothing isn’t even torn.”
“Excellent.”
“You use that word differently than I do.”
“It is excellent because infecteds can smell rotting flesh from far away. Since they haven’t come yet, this place must not be a popular hangout of theirs.”
“Sure, I mean, why would they attack a dam when there’s a city over there?” Rocky pointed at the towering buildings in the distance.
“Infecteds don’t use quite the same logic we do,” Kitty pointed out. She was immediately distracted from the thought. “Look! They have tea, coffee, and treats! And I even found a bottle of brandy under the desk that will make some decent lifejuice.”
“Aw, I was hoping you were kicking off the housewarming party.”
“I don’t drink, and as long as you’re with me, you don’t, either.”
“Sadly, we don’t have our kerosene stove, so tea and coffee will have to wait until another time.”
“There’s a microwave here. And an electric tea kettle.”
“And no power.”
“Rocky, this is a power plant. We could try to get some of its juice flowing. I once saw a stable which ran cables to a hydro power plant in an adjacent cluster. They would fix the connections up after each reset and could shut their diesel generators off.”
“Do I look like someone who knows how to start up a power plant?”
“I don’t know what you know! Maybe you can and you just don’t remember.”
“I don’t remember anything at all. Power plants are no exception.”
“Damn.”
“And don’t you dare say that every man should know how to start up a power plant.”
“Idiot. I wasn’t about to. If you can’t start it up, oh well. I don’t know how to start it, either, and that’s fine. We’ll survive without the tea.”
“Are there any other dishes around?”
“Not that I saw.”
“See if you can find some. I’ll go check the cars in the parking lot.”
“Why? We already checked that area. It’s clear.”
“I’m not looking for immunes or infecteds. I just want to pamper you with some nice hot coffee, unless you object.”
“Quit acting like a fool, Rocky. Damn, I didn’t even hint that everybody with an ID that happens to have an ‘M’ on it should know how to boot up power plants and spaceships. That’s just stupid. You don’t have to prove yourself. I know that specialists like that are hard to find.”
“I’m not proving myself. Those cars might have food, which we could use some of. We only have two ration packs, after all. So I’ll have to go exploring anyway.”
“We don’t need too much food. But you’re right. A little excursion won’t hurt.”
* * *
The bit about food was just Rocky’s excuse to justify his trip to the parking lot. He only wanted to do one thing there: drain some diesel out of the truck.
Why? Because he was an idiot. He wanted to impress this girl, a lady who did not fit any of the tastes he had so specifically defined at the outset of this life. Why did he want to impress her so badly? Because he was done lying to himself. He thought about her day in and day out. At least, whenever there wasn’t someone directly trying to kill him, which happened often. I really am an idiot. His romantic daydreams, as the Battle of Sandy Hill had shown, distracted his attention. That forest had been open. Visibilit
y had been great. And yet he had allowed two ghouls to sneak up until they were right on top of him.
He had built a wall of personal preferences, yes. But sometimes the truly remarkable girls just find gaps in those walls, and make their way through to your heart anyway. Kitty wasn’t stupid, though. She was observant, and she had strongly hinted that Rocky’s interest was so off-putting to her that she wanted to separate from him as soon as possible, despite the hazards of their current situation.
If she came to suspect that this newbie had any sensual plans for her, well, that would be a catastrophe. She probably wouldn’t break his legs, but she would immediately send him far away, and without so much as a goodbye.
Why, then, should he go to so much trouble to make a hot beverage for her? Because she loved hot beverages. She would, of course, realize that Rocky was very obviously trying to curry her favor. To show that he would do whatever it took to make her smile. And that realization could cause an immediate relationship crisis.
Honestly, though, what kind of relationships could people have in this place? Even talking about them was pointless. He was carrying her around on his back all day like a horse carrying its rider, yes, but there was nothing to that for her. Honestly, if he were smart, he would keep as far away from her as possible. Her pronouncement that they were splitting up should have had him overjoyed. Kitty was a fountain of trouble. She was an immune with a clouded past during which she had driven her Humanity into the negative numbers. That was suspicious. And this intensely unpleasant Romeo was hunting her. Romeo might even consider Rocky an archenemy, if for the sole reason that he thought the newbie had spent too much time with the object of his base passions.
This was just based on what Rocky knew about Kitty. Perhaps it was only the tip of the iceberg.
But despite all of this, the only thing he wanted to think about was her. And stare at that foolish-looking, near-childish face of hers, which when viewed up close featured not a single attractive line.
It wasn’t about any one of those attributes. It was how they worked in combination. He loved them all together. As if a sculptor spent his whole life learning how to break all the rules—in such a way that the big picture was so original and so charming you simply could not tear your eyes away.
Not that it was about her looks. Rocky began to suspect that even if this girl had really been as physically repulsive as she had seemed in their first meeting, he would still like her.
She was something else.
So as he was siphoning out the diesel, he tried to figure out how to change things. He wanted to stay with Kitty, not walk to some stable alone, without her to help him stay out of trouble.
Kitty still needed Rocky. A lot. He was her legs. He had to prove that he was useful before she could walk on her own. Somehow. So think, Rocky. Think hard. He needed to somehow use this diesel fuel and all the metal available at the hydro plant to somehow boil water without sending up a column of smoke and flame to give their position away to the whole neighborhood.
* * *
He did it. By the end, he smelled like he had bathed in soot for days, but he achieved his goal.
But Kitty didn’t even appreciate his achievement. Starting up the power plant probably wouldn’t have even affected her. Not even if this was a nuclear power plant. As she sat on her “self-propelled chair,” she gazed out the open window, a steaming mug in her one hand as she stroked the stock of her rifle with the other.
Rocky clambered up onto the office desk and watched the same point she did. He took a careful sip from his mug. “What’s so interesting out that way?”
The girl made a long, ugly pause before answering. “Ghouls.”
“Where?!” Rocky perked up.
“The ones that were following us along the shore. They might figure out that they can just waltz all the way down here to the dam.”
“They won’t see us as long as we keep away from the windows.”
“They’re smarter than that.”
“I splashed some of the diesel oil around the entrance. That should mask our smell.”
“Any unusual smell can attract infecteds.”
Rocky hesitated, but no more than a second. He placed his mug on the table, straightened up, and stretched lazily, then calmly declared, “I’ll go take a look. If they really are wandering up the shore, I’ll lead them in the other direction.”
Kitty whirled, the disapproval and surprise evident on her face. “The hell has gotten into you?”
Rocky was already walking towards the stairs. He answered, in the same tone of voice, “Nothing yet. Hopefully I won’t have claws and teeth in me soon. With luck, I’ll even bring some spores back.”
“Hey, where are you going?” he heard from behind him. “Are you looking to get yourself killed? Stop! Come back here, moron! What is wrong with you?”
“Nothing. Just trying to get used to life on my own.”
“What?”
“Today you said yourself that we’re going to be splitting up. On our own.”
“Stop! I said stop! Goddammit!”
Rocky had stopped listening. He understood that he was probably making a mistake, but his mind had taken a backseat now. His body was under the control of some incomprehensible, irresistible desire to prove something to a specific person.
Well, when you took a man and stripped him of his memory, then paired him up with someone always calling him a moron, it was no wonder he felt like he needed to prove something. Though Rocky strongly suspected that if he grew to level ten, or even level twenty, this need would still remain.
This was no time to think. It was time to act. There was some reason behind what he was doing now, actually. The ghouls could not be allowed to approach the dam. He and she both needed this place to be a safe haven for at least a couple of days.
Kitty had lost her opportunity to pester him, but the chat window was blinking now, filling up with new messages. Rocky wasn’t about to go reading them. He knew what was written there. On the stairs, he grabbed a bag filled with various pieces of metal he had found in the cars and around the plant. Easy-to-wield crowbars, axes, and hammers, along with a massive homemade knife he had swiped from a tool shelf. He threw the bag’s strap over his shoulder and descended the stairs further.
As he was outside, approaching the reed-concealed water where he had left the boat, he pulled out an ax and, without even trying to aim, threw it into a young willow tree growing on the beach. His projectile made a few revolutions in the air, then embedded its blade into the tree trunk with a solid thunk.
Rocky smiled. This part of his cheater’s talent was new to him. He had suspected his ability when he threw that bottle at the exact spot he wanted to hit the shed where the town monster was hiding. But he had become fully and finally convinced of it just today, as he collected diesel from the parking lot. He had found a knife as he searched the truck, and had thrown it into the side of another truck—hitting the exact spot he had wanted, to his surprise.
His upgraded accuracy didn’t just apply to guns. It worked with thrown weapons, too. Of course this ability would not help take down serious opponents, but he could quietly take down the lesser ghouls without risking getting too close or deafening the neighborhood with a round of bullets.
This throwing ability might come in handy on this mission.
Rocky raised the oars, paddled the boat back out just over a hundred feet from shore, and then rode parallel to the bank. He had to paddle facing backwards, of course. It was annoying to have to turn around to avoid missing anything good.
The first fifteen minutes were sheer boredom. The naked shore was quite sad looking. It was a reddish clay strip, quite similar to some beaches, with sickly grass situated behind the clay and, here and there, thin, towering bushes. Not a single tree. No buildings, either. Just a bunch of high-tension power lines.
Despite the open terrain, though, the ghouls still managed to creep up on him. He turned to see a pack already nearby. It was four
of them. They didn’t look particularly scary, but they weren’t zeroes, either: Some of their clothing was gone, and the rest was preposterously soiled. They had managed to see him first and rush at him, as if they fully intended to charge into the water.
For a moment, he thought about leading them in the other direction, then breaking out into the middle of the water, returning stealthily to the dam once the pack had lost interest. Rocky and Kitty had gone to the dam too soon, forgetting that the infecteds would get bored and might decide to keep moving in the same direction they had pursued their potential food in.
But he rejected the plan. He didn’t come here to arrange an excursion for the ghouls. Rocky held one oar above the water and used the other to turn the boat pointing towards shore. He would reach the shore before they did, at this pace.
When he did, he threw the ratting bag of metal ashore, jumped out without getting his feet wet, yanked a couple of crowbars out and pushed them into the mud, and then equipped himself with one ax in each hand. He assumed a ready stance, cocked his arm back, and froze, waiting for the quickest infected to get as close as safely possible. His experience with the pistol had taught him that every weapon had certain limits, and his System-boosted shooting skill did not work well beyond those limits. He didn’t know those limits with thrown weapons, so it was best not to take any risks.
They were level four or five ghouls, far from the worst, but they had little of their humanity left, and getting into close combat with them would be a bad idea.
Rocky threw the ax when the closest infected was twenty feet away. It slammed into the beast’s face with a juicy crunch. The infected somersaulted and collapsed into the wet clay, legs twitching. The second kill was similar, but not as accurate. Left-handed. The third trick didn’t work. Rocky threw the crowbar too early in the heat of the moment, and it pierced the right side of the walker’s chest rather than its skull. The infected jerked in response but kept on running.
With the second crowbar, Rocky did not finish off the wounded man, his logic telling him that the injured infected would be easier to cope with in close combat than the undamaged one, which was now also in range. He wasn’t undamaged for long. With only one of the four left, the man leaped back into the water. He suppressed the temptation to draw his pistol. Drawing attention to the area with loud noises was exactly what he had to avoid.