by Arthur Stone
So they limited their inspection work to thoroughly checking all vehicles for any surprises—and failing to find them, they drove on as though nothing amiss had happened. The only pause they made was to assemble the Nold turret, after which they crawled along at snailish paces to protect the capricious harness from vibration.
Once they saw the ravine approaching, they moved to act.
No one observing them should have suspected anything out of the ordinary. The installation site in their roadside motel stop had been hidden, and easily explainable as a pit stop. But the pickup stopped at the very place where the road made a sharp turn downward and to the right. The view of the river valley was stunning—as was the view of the massive wheat field on the opposite side and of the village which ribboned along the opposing dry riverbed bank. There, the would-be waylayers waited.
Or, there was nothing at all, and Clown was just paranoid. Cheater watched across the steep valley but noticed nothing suspicious. He was, of course, no stranger to hiding. Anything could be there, hiding in the trees and houses and fences.
He glanced towards the trucks as they continued their descent towards the bridge over the riverbed. He tensed, finger against the trigger, looking through the 4x telescopic sight. The convoy was about to reach the target destination. Then, either his turret would acquit itself admirably, or Janitor would see the signal that the test was a failure and start hitting the outer buildings and lots with the anti-aircraft gun. This would be less of a surprise, but better than nothing.
Clown had somehow calibrated the sight to the turret without the need for test shots, using some kind of a laser shooting simulator. In theory, the turret’s projectiles had to exit at a very high velocity and cover the half mile to the target on a smooth parabolic trajectory—which could not be accurately calculated without real data from past firings of the weapon. According to players who had seen this weapon in action, the explosion would be strong enough to dismember a tank convoy into scrap.
That was just speculation.
It was time to find out.
In addition, Cheater would be able to determine how close their estimated firing arc was to the actual.
He pointed his crosshairs at a shed with a brand-new slate roof. One of its walls overlooked the road which his convoy was going to take through town some minutes later. Cheater pulled the trigger.
His subconscious expectations were immediately proven wrong when the weapon’s recoil turned out to be barely perceptible. The picture in his scope twitched—that was all. For four and a half seconds, nothing happened, and then his scope filled with flame. A solid crimson cloud spread over the entire yard, leveling its trees and buildings alike. The initial blast expanded into neighboring lots, setting fences and forest ablaze instantaneously. There was no way for him to tell where the actual point of impact was. That shot must have covered nearly an acre of land. Of course the worst of it was in the center, but the edges were in bad shape, too.
Cheater had seen an Elite Nold do its worst, but none of the mech’s shots had been this spectacular. Clown had told him that the turret was initially designed to fire shells weighing more than half a pound. They could clear a mile in a matter of seconds and snipe a target the size of a shoebox. However, that kind of operation needed a full power supply, which they did not have.
Then, however, Janitor realized that pinpoint accuracy, extended range, and higher projectile velocity were of no use to their party. Their fights would be at much shorter distances. So they had bumped up the shells to a new weight: just under two pounds.
The projectile itself was just an ordinary sphere of steel. Iron with a touch of carbon. It was, essentially, a miniature cannonball. Therefore, Cheater didn’t quite understand how an explosion would be the result, and Clown and Janitor had not deigned to explain much. Perhaps they didn’t themselves really understand how the turret worked. They didn’t need to know.
But they should have warned him that the result might be this spectacular. He stared in amazement. That two-pound ball had dealt as much damage as he might expect from a hundred-kilogram aerial bomb.
Fatso’s enthusiastic rejoicing filled the cab—and then the sound of the explosion hit. It hit hard, despite the distance.
Cheater stammered for another moment, but not for long. The ambush party showed itself. These were clearly seasoned professionals. Anyone else would have panicked and fled at the sight of the incredible explosion. These people were unfazed.
They fired immediately at the most dangerous vehicle: the one which had stopped just before the descent.
Tracers stretched across the dry riverbed, from an unusable boathouse. The first volley hit the truck like a sledgehammer.
Cheater turned slightly and pressed the trigger again.
The gun twitched again, and this time he did not stare through the scope. He moved away from it and watched with his normal vision, squinting against the impending flash. Still, he had no way of discerning the actual point of impact. The boathouse, the fence behind it, the trees on the lot, and most of the closest house were engulfed in an inferno. Even that section of the river bed was filled with flames that nearly reached the other side.
His Accuracy had nothing to do with his effectiveness here. He could miss by a dozen yards, and still the targets would be dead. With these shells, the Nold turret had been transformed from a precise strike weapon to one of mass destruction.
Cheater pressed the trigger again and again, thoroughly demolishing the left side of the village. Only once more did he hear the sound of a counterattack: an explosion near his vehicle. It was something small, perhaps a grenade from a launcher. Not a single piece of shrapnel hit their truck.
At least, not that he could hear.
Fatso threw open the door and leaned out. “Cheat! Enough, or you’ll lose your shirt!”
Cheater blinked down at his shirt for a second before he realized what Fatso meant: each shot came at an astronomical cost.
Each batch of nodium powder.
He could not afford to get carried away, nor was there any point in firing further. Every building in the village had been swept away, in whole or in part. The leafless trees and wrecked frames were ablaze, and everyone for miles around would be able to see the columns of smoke rising into the sky. Perhaps some infecteds would be here momentarily to investigate. This was not the cleansed land of the Devils: there were a decent number of ghouls here, including the more dangerous subspecies. He was luring them here.
Cheater looked into his sight once more, but did not fire. He saw the wavering outline of a vehicle amidst the flames. It had been an ordinary truck, armored in the Continental fashion, before the shelling.
Cheater had not remembered aiming in this direction. He could not have sighted the truck itself, since it had been hiding behind a building, positioned there intentionally to prevent the party from seeing it as they descended the road. Even though the impact had been yards away, the vehicle had taken a beating.
As Cheater considered the possibilities of this weapon, he lost touch with his senses and failed to notice that heat had begun to build up in the Nold weapon. He jerked his hand back sharply: the trigger was approaching red hot.
He examined the turret with a new respect.
Its power was still evident, though no shots were being fired. It was hot enough to cook on. Clown should be informed that the cooling system had failed after a few shots.
His gaze returned to the village. The trucks were just now crossing the bridge. Janitor’s bulk was visible in the front. The quasi was aiming at the flames, but he did not pull the trigger.
His cannon was nothing compared to this piece of artillery. Could anyone have survived?
* * *
Someone had, in fact. Barely.
Cheater’s perceptive ability found her First, he had noticed that some moles and other small creatures had been lucky enough to be underground and thus survived the demolition above.
There was one person among
them too—in a basement.
They doubted she had been there all along and missed the whole thing. This had been an ambush party, after all, not playing hide and seek. She had sustained serious injuries, too, the kind which were unlikely to be sustained underground. So when the first round hit, she realized what was happening and fled for cover. However, she had reached the stairs a few seconds too late and been clipped by the flames as they tossed her down.
Her legs were crushed and her spine was broken. Her left arm was torn clean off, and burns and wounds of various severity covered the rest of her body. In addition, a board with protruding nails had embedded itself into her skull. They were unwilling to yank it out, but not because they wished to spare this prisoner. She was brought up only for a final conversation.
A heart to heart.
An ordinary human would have died of shock from such injuries, or at least passed—and then bled—out. Veteran players were barely human anymore, as far as vivacity was concerned. This one remained conscious, despite all that had happened to her. She even tried to fight them with her one good arm once they had reached her. Her knife came within an inch of Nut’s forearm, and the miss was likely only due to the fact that she had been blinded.
Gangrene here proved himself a useful addition to the party, to Cheater’s (and everyone’s) surprise. He had an ability that let him determine the physical condition of another person. The man, with one look, confidently declared that the woman could not see anything but could still hear and speak. He advised them to shout directly into her ear, however. The explosion had deafened her considerably.
March bent down and complied, barking into the side of her head. “Hello, young lady! How are you? Well? Fine, to be honest, I don’t give a damn. So don’t answer that—instead, tell me why the hell you were waiting for us!”
“And if I don’t?” the half-corpse mumbled.
“Well, we’d really like you did. We might... press you for an answer.”
“I can’t feel my legs. I’m missing an arm. Plus, I have nails drilled into my head. Do you really think you can somehow force an answer out of me?”
“Of course. I’ve seen worse, and my methods worked on them. I’d rather not have it come to that. I can tell with another ability of mine that you are eager to tell us, but something is holding you back. Want a beer?”
The cripple perked up a little at that. “A cold beer?”
“Yes, we can arrange that, if our conversation works out.”
After a few moments’ pause, she finally answered. “We’re Calamari’s team.”
“Calamari?” March blinked. “I was about to suggest that would go well with our beer. So that would be the second time today we fried up some calamari! I take it you’re not making this player up. Because I don’t know him, nor his team, so what could he and you have against us?”
“We got an order.”
“Who could possibly have such a deep interest in us?”
“No, not in you all. Just for one of your group.”
“Ah,” March nodded, “Cheater.”
“No. Not Cheater. We were supposed to nab a guy named Nut.”
Everyone, including March, was shocked by the response. The leader didn’t even have an immediate follow-up, he just shook his head in amazement. “Are you sure it wasn’t Cheater?”
“Yes. I know who Cheater is. We didn’t get an order for Cheater. It was for Nut. We were supposed to take him alive.”
“Why the hell would anyone want a washed-up junkie? Or is there something you haven’t told us?” March turned towards the punk pyromaniac. “Let me guess; you’re actually a long-lost princess, and they’re here to rescue you.”
“What!?” Nut stammered. “The hell are you...”
Returning to the prisoner, March spoke before Nut could finish. “Now then, who put an order out on this young man?”
“Thorns,” she whispered.
March turned back to Nut, whose confusion was still rabidly apparent. “Do you know this ‘Thorns’?”
Nut’s eyes flickered down and back up. “Uh, I’ve heard of him before, a long time ago. Some guy from up north. But I don’t know anything about him at all. Why would he put a bounty out on me? That’s bullshit. Maybe there’s another Thorns, or maybe this blistered bitch is spitting out fables. Why would anyone put a team like this together just to nab me? Even if I had five kidneys I wouldn’t be worth half of this.”
“Fuck that,” the prisoner croaked, burned lips stretching into a hideous grin. “You know why. You’re the asshole who blew up the biggest hotel in the North. Probably the best hotel on the Continent. Thorns toiled to build that establishment up from scratch. He lived in the penthouse suite himself. The best materials, the best craftsmanship, the best views, and the best restaurant, on the ground floor, with the best chefs. Everything was the best. It was a palace. So Thorns was perturbed when you blew it up. He’s put out fifteen thousand spores on your head. Plus another one and a half for each time you get killed after that. As long as he’s the one doing the killing. So by bringing you to him and then setting a watch on the other clusters, we have a shot at earning thirty big ones. You’ve got about ten lives before your region changes, after all, and Thorns wants them all. He wants to make sure no one, especially you, blows up his place again. I’m sure you know what Thorns is capable of.”
“Thirty thousand?” Nut exclaimed. “Guys, did you hear that? They’re offering thirty grand for my head. I’m worth a fortune!”
“Shut up,” March said calmly, before returning his attention to the woman. “So since you are after Nut, you decided to attack us all?”
“I didn’t hear that. Speak up!” the woman insisted.
“I asked, if you are after Nut, why did you plan to ambush all of us?”
“We weren’t going to touch you. Just stop you and explain ourselves.”
“You could have done that in Rainbow.”
“How? You would have just told us to get lost. No one gives up one of their own just like that. But here, out in the open, we could have engaged in a negotiation. It’s easy to get people to see your point of view when that view is straight down the barrel of a gun, pointed at their head. We had no plans to kill any of you.”
“Yeah, right. This was an excellent place for an ambush. If we had sensors, they wouldn’t see you from up above, and by the time they did it would be too late—we would be exposed on the slope. Plus, you sabotaged our truck. That doesn’t just affect Nut. A truck costs money, and some of our people might have been wounded or killed. No matter what you say, this was an attack on us all.”
“Dude, I’m not the person you want to be asking. The elder decides all of this. He would have made all of this right somehow. I don’t know how. We weren’t gunning for you. We just wanted to make you an offer that you couldn’t refuse.”
March shook his head. “That’s not how things are done. When we added Nut to the party, there were no wanted posters hanging up with his portrait on them. No one said anything negative about him at all. Once we accepted him, any complaint against him is a complaint against us. Any party that gives up its own is no party. You know that.”
“You’re right,” she agreed. “But that's none of my business. The elder decides. He would have made everything right somehow. They don’t give details like that to underlings like me. We were just going to stop you. And show that we outnumbered you. We also mined the road. That was supposed to make you more... accommodating. How were we supposed to know you had an artillery gun with you? What even was that?”
“We didn’t like getting ambushed, that’s what that was.” March turned to Janitor. “Let’s end this girl’s suffering.”
“Wait,” Clown said, bending over the cripple. “What did you do to our truck? How is sabotage like that even possible?”
“I don’t know. I knew they did something to your truck, but I have no idea what. That wasn’t my job. By the way, if we don’t come back for you, well, others will pick up
the slack. It’s a rich bounty, and easy to complete, until the rest of you showed up.”
“Tough luck,” Clown said as he stood up. “I have no more questions for her, Janitor. Take her out.”
* * *
Cheater didn’t watch Janitor send the prisoner to respawn. Clown was the hunter of spectacles, not he.
Climbing out of the pile of rubbish where a house had stood fifteen minutes before, Cheater caught up with March and shook his head to refuse the can offered by the latter. “No thanks. I’d rather stay sober.”
“Look, Cheat, you’re never going to become an alcoholic this way.”
“So?”
“If only you knew what you were missing.”
“I think I know enough. Now tell me what we’re going to do about Nut.”