by Arthur Stone
They were past this group.
He bent down and struggled to free the blade, then pressed his shoulder against the limp ghoul body, of which only the head and its snapping jaws showed signs of life. He rolled it over the side, onto the road.
Only then did he realize that he should have cut into the biter’s sporesac. The System did not usually award experience for defeated monsters unless they were actually killed.
Whatever. The party had managed to kill at least 150 decently strong beasts by now. What difference would one ghoul make?
The pickup surged again, and then began to bounce savagely. It was the end of the smooth pavement. Here, the road looked like it had endured more than a few bombing runs.
Battered and bruised as he was, Cheater nearly toppled as he hurried to reload the guns and swap out the barrels, as well as reload his pistol. Every bullet mattered—the next flock was already making its way onto the road.
Janitor’s machineguns started firing just as Cheater was changing the last barrel.
He was just in time, but this challenge was greater than the last. Ghouls hit the cars from the front and both sides, simultaneously. They had been prepared for the encounter.
Cheater managed to deal with one side, then hurried to spin to the other, taking out the most nimble first so that they could not enter the trucks.
Then, he had no more time to help the trucks.
His own pickup was under attack.
Thankfully they lagged behind. That was, on the one hand, the most dangerous position in the convoy for situations like these. Sometimes, though, it worked to one’s advantage.
The trucks had scattered all of the beasts who might have attacked them from the front. One attack vector of three was cleared. Cheater remembered seeing fewer ghouls on the right, so he swiveled the guns to the left and let loose with both. He strafed with continuous fire, mowing down a whole wall of the grumbling monsters. Those who did reach the truck were wounded. They conveniently offered him a shot at their heads as they grabbed hold of the vehicle, allowing him to blow them apart at close range.
He turned, grabbing his sword as he did. Three beasts were already pulling themselves up, so this move was just in time. Two of these were not strong enough to get on board immediately, and so were still dragging their feet on the pavement. The third was quicker. He was stretching out his paw as he soared over the side.
Cheater doubted he was offering him a handshake, and severed the arm. Then, taking advantage of the creature’s temporary confusion, he took off its head. It was only a trampler. Not too bad. The carcass collapsed, flooding the truck bed with inhumanly hot blood. Cheater spat and cut the paws off the other two, then returned to the guns.
He had to help the trucks—the second one was in big trouble. A manmincer, or something close to it, had climbed up and was busy dismantling the machinegun nest. The shooter had apparently managed to escape, diving deeper into the truck. That would not be a long-lasting escape unless something was done.
Knocking the beast out with a well-aimed burst, Cheater then took out another who was holding to the underside of the truck. The rest of the attacking monsters had already been dealt with by the truck’s occupants. But the vehicle had been damaged. He didn’t know if its machinegun was intact, but its rear ramp door had been torn off, and the steel sheets lining its sides bulged outward.
A couple more invasions like that, and the truck would burst at the seams.
Janitor’s machineguns fired up again. He was not sparing any ammunition this time, which was alarming—something strong must be in his sights. Cheater had suspected as much. Up above, a bridge crossed over the road. Numerous infecteds stood atop it, waiting. They had been in a similar situation in the last crossing—and they had lost a pickup, along with its inhabitants. Yet this situation had some unique characteristics. The road was a bad one, but at least it was straight, so the vehicles were still moving at speed. Also, there were no threats from either side, for now. And there were comparatively fewer ghouls up top. They could handle them. Most had already been mowed down. A couple more volleys.
His positive thoughts jinxed them, as a veteran ghoul mounted the bridge, come to rain on the party.
His breath caught in his chest. An involuntary respect once again rose there.
It bore a reptilian appearance, with the mass of a world-record elephant. Its mouth was so wide that it could bite a person in half longways. That mouth was lined with double rows of dagger teeth.
Cheater saw Janitor’s colorful tracers ricocheting off the fiend’s armor. The volleys made the monster stumble, but nothing more. It mostly ignored the bullets.
He had the impression that he could see the monster’s teeth because it was, in its own way, laughing at them.
If only they had managed to save the antiaircraft gun.
He glanced back. A mob continued to pursue the convoy. The most nimble creatures were little more than a hundred yards behind. They were tired by now, but still easily able to overtake the most athletic of players.
Cheater bent down to collect his rifle and yelled into the radio: “Fatso, stop!”
“What?”
“Stop the car. Stop!” he shouted so loudly that his comrade could hear even without the radio, despite Janitor’s guns.
He had no time to explain, no time to convince. Only time to act. He had to act immediately. The slightest hesitation would see the trucks reaching the bridge and the monster leaping down on them. They would be dead themselves if the pickup failed to accelerate quickly enough after stopping.
But they had to stop. Even Cheater’s incredible Accuracy would not let him take a precise shot from a truck bouncing madly across so many potholes.
His talent was not omnipotent.
Cheater raised the rifle to his shoulder and generously loaded the next bullet with mana, activating Explosive Round. He didn’t have much Spirit of Styx left, but this was not the time to be stingy.
The creature was so confident in the face of the quad machineguns that it did not heed the stupid loner with the rifle.
It should have heeded. And it should not have opened its mouth. The Continent was a dangerous place. You never knew what might fly into your mouth, if you left it open.
The bullet was fired by a marksman taking aim in near-ideal conditions. Even at a hundred yards out, Cheater could see the deformation developing in the ghoul’s left inner cheekbone as the bullet ripped its way into the beast’s skull. The elite staggered and fell back, reluctantly, pushed over by Janitor’s continuing bursts.
Before it had even hit the ground, the quasi had switched back to the small fries, hurrying to take them out before they could start jumping off the bridge.
“Go! Go!” Cheater shouted, quickly spinning the turret.
The pickup started moving. It was not quick enough. The infecteds in pursuit had nearly caught up, and the truck simply didn’t have the required acceleration.
Cheater had to shoot straight behind them, for the first time all day. He shot exclusively at their legs, since he only needed to slow them down, and this was the best way to conserve ammo.
He had to conserve ammo. If his belts ran out now, the situation would move from bad to worst.
Only by the time they had reached the bridge and swerved to avoid the massive carcass twitching on the pavement, was the truck able to gain enough speed. Even with its punctured skull and mashed brains, the monster was still not dead. It was not writhing in final agony either, trying to get back up instead. Thankfully, its motor skills were disabled.
Cheater grabbed his rifle again and fired twice. Thankfully, the pavement was smooth—and they were right on top of the beast. The first shot was a miss. The second was right in the sporesac. The beast’s sac had been pointing upward, exposing its single vulnerable point. Cheater might have managed with the pistol.
The ghoul’s legs began to twitch. It was done.
Under different circumstances, they would slow down and gut
the loot from the sporesac. The monster was quite similar to the one Cheater had seen killed on the day he received his Accuracy boost. Several pearls had dropped, as he recalled, of all colors except gold and white.
There was no time to collect trophies now. All they could do was watch the monster die.
He had finished it off just for the experience points.
“Cheater, what the hell was that?” Janitor’s voice came over the radio.
“A miracle,” Cheater smiled tiredly.
“I hope you can do that again, if we need it. I’d have a better chance spitting at the beast than I would shooting it with these toy guns.”
“Well, I wouldn’t count on it,” Cheater replied cautiously.
Yes, Explosive Round could defeat even monsters like that dire elite. Especially when he was shooting a rifle loaded with the most expensive rounds money could buy. The mods helped a lot, too. But it had taken a massive amount of mana. He had dumped hundreds of mana points into that shot. Otherwise, the beast’s armor would have held, even the armor in the roof of its mouth.
A new horde of beasts appeared ahead. They were rushing for the road. The most nimble would reach it before the trucks were past. Beyond, a forest stretched out to run along the right side of the road. That was the safe side, but the reduced visibility was still unsettling. The convoy could easily find itself in a bind like it had during the first crossing. When they had lost the pickup.
Cheater genuinely hoped this convoy would not lose a pickup. The vehicle he rode in was the only one.
He glanced down, counting the bloodstained boxes of ammo. Only six belts remained. How had he used so many bullets already?
Six wouldn’t last long. There were more up ahead in the truck, but how could he get them at these speeds? He would have to come up with something. Those behind were still coming, and the convoy was still having trouble gaining speed.
How many were on their tail? Cheater estimated about three hundred that he could see. But he could not tell how many might be behind those. The terrain was not as open as it had been near the outpost station. Perhaps the whole horde was after them. After all, it had at some point turned towards them as a unit, and pursued them as one wave. It was like a telepathic signal, received by every member monster, had ripped through the mob.
But whether there were three hundred after them or a million, it didn’t matter.
If they stopped, they would die.
Two hundred yards remained between them and the beasts up ahead. Time to get back to work.
Cheater aimed the guns.
* * *
They got through. It was hard, but they did it. Pushing their vehicles to the maximum and sparing no ammunition, they pierced, knife-like, the tentacle stretching out from the horde. They did need to slow down in one or two places, but no losses were sustained.
Cheater had teetered on the brink of death several times. Pickup machine gunner was a dangerous profession. Often the craziest people in town were hired for the job. As a pickup gunner, you had no cover.
The hardest part of the final stretch was when two ghouls had climbed aboard at once. One had been crippled, but not badly. As Cheater cut into the faster one with his knife, his injured partner sunk its fangs into the player’s legs and grabbed the man with his claw, causing him to scream in agony. Somehow, he had pushed through the pain and finished the first target, only then taking out the greedy grumbler munching on his limbs.
He was grateful for the short respite that followed, allowing him to bandage his wounds. As far as wounds went, he had seen worse, but they were bleeding profusely. Every drop of blood that was lost reduced his Strength, little be little.
He needed every drop he could save.
Then, at some point, he had to catch additional ammo boxes they were throwing his way out of the moving truck. Thankfully, the damage sustained by the truck’s body actually made this easier. The infecteds had at last torn the side of the second truck down to the bare frame. The resulting gap was large enough to drive a motorcycle through.
They had tossed the boxes through that gap—nearly breaking Cheater’s leg once as the truck hit an untimely bounce just as they released.
Neither Goblin nor Gangrene were Olympic throwers, and their tosses were essentially random.
And so they kept going, losing blood, drop by drop, and leaving a trail of debris behind. When it was finally over, none of them knew it. The pursuit lagged behind them, more and more. Then, the quickest ghoul in the pack disappeared from sight. In all directions ahead of them, they saw no more ghouls. The horde had, on its way through this cluster, collected or devoured all of the ghouls within. None seemed to be left behind.
When he realized they had broken through, Cheater sat, right on the floor of the truck bed. Right in the blood and spent brass sloshing around on it.
He was exhausted, and needed a breather.
The convoy continued to rush down the pothole-ridden road at perilous speeds. Each of the drivers yearned to put as much distance between them and the horde as possible. After all, the mere fact that the ghouls could no longer be seen did not mean that they had abandoned the chase. Infecteds were renowned for their persistence. Sometimes, they could follow their prey for days.
Cheater shook his head. The sun had reached its zenith. How was it, then, that the convoy was heading towards it?
He frowned and checked his map. They were moving south. Why? Their intention was east. Had March selected this direction in order to avoid the horde?
Probably. But maybe not. March’s plans were unpredictable, inscrutable.
That was not the worst of what Cheater saw on the map.
The leader was either lost, or was leading them straight into a trap.
He doubted the latter. Despite March’s opaque nature, Cheater still trusted him.
They were a team.
Chapter 20
Life Nine. The Mountain Pass
The regions Cheater had managed to visit thus far did not differ much from one another in geography. Farmland, often hilly, with rocky outcrops and some significant peaks. The elevation differences between neighboring clusters were usually insignificant—only noticeable when crossing over, and that only sometimes.
Cheater had heard from numerous players that the Continent was similar in its other regions. Not that they were all alike—but that most were similar.
Cheater had, however, seen exceptions, places where the landscape changed dramatically from this cluster to the next. He had seen a cluster filled with greenery bordering a sandy desert, and a lowland cluster cut off by a mountainous one. But these violations of nature had only occurred in the clusters around regional borders.
Which was where they were now located. Breaking out of the horde had taken more than half a day. The convoy had surged east, drawing very close to the border. Here, the rules which applied to the central areas of each region broke down. The beautiful highway was suddenly transformed into a terrifying dirt road that even tanks would fear to tread. The potholes could not only shake the spirits out of the crew—they might also harm the vehicles.
So when they finally stopped, Clown rushed from one vehicle to the next, moaning in despair. The wild driving and the ghoul attacks both had caused immense damage. The lead truck had driven the final half mile with a flat rear tire. It had six wheels in all, so such movement was possible, but not at all desirable.
“Are we going to fix these up?” Fatso asked, worried. “The ghouls aren’t that far away. They’ll catch up fast.”
“We’ll do what March says,” Clown muttered, “but we won’t make it far on these rides in this shape. These roads are worse than shit.”
Cheater was listening with half an ear as he surveyed their surroundings. They were remarkable. The narrow road was sandwiched between two forests, as often happened. The forests, however, were thin and unusual. Spruce trees were not often found in this region, but in this cluster, they were the only tree that existed. They were tall
and gloomy, and their roots were covered with damp undergrowth which would be very difficult to chop through. It looked like two or three years back a storm had knocked down most of the largest trees, and no one had done any cleanup work.
Mountains poked out from behind various points in the forest. Real mountains, not just tall hills. Whole ridges and cliff faces. Even from this distance, he groaned at the prospect of climbing them. Was there any way through at all? The further he looked, the more sheer the cliffs, and the higher the peaks. Snow whitened the tops of some. He paused at the beauty of it, having never seen it here before.
Cheater walked decisively towards March. The man was engaged in his usual pastime, with a serene look on his face as he leaned up against the truck. This wasn’t his first beer for the stop.