by Arthur Stone
Everything went black.
Although he had seen it before, it felt the same as the first time. The sight was riveting—both captivating and revolting in the same instant. Whoa. The black assaulted his psyche like a sledgehammer.
He wasn’t the only one affected. Roach stood in dumb silence and unblinking stare.
A minute passed before March opened another can of beer and remarked, his voice detached, “If we drive across the fields, we’ll reach a convenient way out of the clusters six miles down. The cluster itself goes deep into the black. Nodium collectors used to set up base there. Only a temporary base, of course—it’s a standard speed cluster. That will lead us to two others. There we can skirt around, with a strip of black between us and the Spiders. They won’t suspect a thing.”
“So why aren’t we going?” Fatso asked. “Why are we standing here? And why are we facing the black instead of following the fields, like you say?”
It was a reasonable question.
March took a deep swig. His voice remained nonchalant.
“Who the hell knows? I wanted to stand for a while, so we stood. But I did have one thought. The Spiders are locals. They know the area. As for me, well, this is my first time here. I just know the way thanks to some maps and some stories I heard. They’re not idiots. They know the ways out of here, and they know how to cut us off. And cut us down while they’re at it. We can’t face them head on.”
“What are you suggesting?” the Janitor asked. “We walk across the black cluster?”
“Walk? Listen, there’s something you don’t know about me. Something like an ability. I can sense blackness. Learn things about it. This cluster is weak, and narrow. It seems narrow, anyway. I believe the cluster I mentioned, where the collectors had their nodium base, is just beyond. It’s perhaps a mile to the border, or perhaps a little more. I’m not completely certain. If it’s a mile, though, the trucks should be able to make it. Their diesel engines require no spark, and their operation is simple. No fancy electronics. No finesse, no fine tuning. Even in the darkest cluster, they would not fail immediately. The pickup, however, won’t make it ten feet. It’s a modern, gasoline-powered machine, the kind that do the worst in black clusters. The fuel injector is the weak point, you know. But if this cluster is indeed weak, even the pickup might have a chance.”
Physic raised his eyebrows. “You yourself just said it wouldn’t make it ten feet.”
“As it is now, it won’t. But with a little help, perhaps. We can shut it off, disconnect the battery, and tow it. Once it’s across, we’ll try starting it up again. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”
“What if it doesn’t start?” Roach again.
“Then it’s done for, but we’ll have two trucks left. Vehicles, of course, are our most important asset. We have to protect them. By all means necessary. I’m telling you all this so that you understand my thought process. I don’t know everything, sure, but I’m taking us where we need to go. We’ll get past the Spider stable. Beyond that, I have some ideas as well. But the closer we get to the border, the more difficult it will be to turn back. As it stands, we have a chance. If any of you believe that chance to be insufficient, turn back now. This is your last opportunity. But for those who remain, I can tell you I know something that assures that those who make it will be happy with what they get. I won’t tell you this information now—it is reserved exclusively for those who do not turn back. Just know that a special bonus is in store. A very special bonus. You have until I finish this can to decide. Once I’m done, we’ll be off. By the way—you may have noticed I never take long to finish a can of beer.”
“...and you never take long to start the next, either,” Roach muttered.
Chapter 7
Life Seven. Sweet Nodium Nectar
March was indeed sipping another beer. “What news, Clown?”
The man was responsible for the vehicles. Chief mechanic, and a man whose nickname fit its bearer even less than Fatso’s did. Cheater had never seen a more humorless person. The man didn’t even have to open his mouth for you to know he never smiled. Funeral homes would turn him away for being too gloomy.
Clown kept his head under the hood. “Bad news. Shit news.”
“Something tells me you’re not joking.”
“You ever seen a cow pie?”
“Probably.”
“Alright, March, now imagine a big, old cow pie. Nice and thick. Can you imagine that?”
“I’ll do my best.”
“If I replaced this injector with that cow pie, it would work better.”
“So the fuel injector’s broken.”
“No. An injector is a simple part, every idiot knows that. You can replace it with just about anything, and the car will drive. It’s turned into shit. Utter and total shit. These engines are complicated machines, March, not cow pies. They have to be respected, not dragged through black clusters!”
“Can you fix it?”
“Sure. If we find a service station. So where is the closest one? This pickup’s gone to shit, March. Forget about it. Or drag it along behind us, if you want. It might start up if you coax it. But you won’t get more than a few yards.”
“I understand. Strip the machine gun from it. Including the turret, and all its mounts. Take everything of value from inside. If we get our hands on a similar vehicle, we’ll make a sweet ride out of it.”
Roach shook his head. “So we’re not even one day in, and we’ve lost a vehicle already. And I lost a life. And no one knows where the hell we are. Except maybe the Spiders.”
* * *
The truck rattled along yet another beat up road. Cheater was reading over his logs for the hundredth time but couldn’t keep from thinking the same thought, over and over.
An ability. He had gained a new ability. Had Smile of Fortune helped him? Or just the normal probabilities of this world? He was certain now that the pearls were worth carrying.
The ability’s description was intensely compact and subject to various interpretations. A healer could explain everything to him. But there was no healer in the party, and the closest stable was certainly no option.
So he’d have to figure it out on his own.
Cheater’s Willpower was currently equal to 30. Its stats were as follows: Spirit of Styx cost (colloquially, mana cost): 62. Stops all motion in a sphere 25 inches in diameter for seven and a half seconds. Range: 21 meters. Cooldown: 3 hours, 15 minutes.
What did the bit about not stopping Brownian motion mean? Something told him that was just the way molecules bounced around. Stopping them completely would drop the temperature in the area to absolute zero, so that was one use unavailable to him. So microscopic movement would continue, and only larger-scale movement would be stopped.
How could he use that?
Suppose he used it against an attacking infected. A trampler moving at a cool thirty miles an hour. And then its left ankle becomes the target of Cheater’s new ability.
What would happen next? Would the beast’s momentum combined with the sphere of immobility sever the beast’s foot? Or perhaps it would only hinder circulation? In that case there would be no practical effect, for nanoseconds later, the beast’s foot would completely exit the ability’s sphere of influence.
Would it trap his leg entirely for seven and a half seconds? That sounded more promising, but he had no way of knowing. Until he tried.
Trying was a difficult prospect, of course—the cooldown was nearly a full day. Figuring out all of his ability’s potential could take a week, or even longer. There was one more problem. Tranquility took 62 mana, and Cheater’s mana meter only had 71 at its max. 62 points would take about nine hours to recharge, at his current rate. Not that he needed to always keep his mana full. But being unable to use his ultimate trump card, Smile of Fortune, for any length of time was not a happy situation. That ability took 23 mana.
Cheater would have to live as a more or less ordinary player for a few hours. Even in a decent stable, goi
ng without any abilities available was reckless. Foolish, even.
So rather than try it out, he would continue thinking through its possibilities.
* * *
At the next unexpected stop, the chat blinked in a strange order from March. He was summoning the Janitor, Roach, and Cheater. There was no mention of why. The Janitor was an amazing member, of course. Roach, not so much. But Cheater was laughable.
The trio gathered around their leader to hear his next order, but from there, the questions only grew. Even Roach did not talk back, though he must have seen the contradictions in March’s thinking.
It was a simple order, delivered between casual sips. “Somewhere over the hill there’s a train station. It’s easily defended: warehouses with strong walls and an old water tower that can cover the approach in all directions. The nodium collectors use to take up there. Farming the gray sectors was easy enough, since they’re right next door—and in this area, they’re quite rich. But then the Spiders pressured them, and the atomites settled in a little too close. They left the station empty. Of course, it might not be empty now. It’s a good location, and impossible to miss if you’re coming through here. Perhaps it’s occupied. So, going as a group is too risky. You three go check it out. If there’s someone there, find out everything you can about them. Alright guys, move out—we can’t lose any more time.”
The order was straightforward enough. Recon. Why all three of them, then? The Janitor’s eyes worked well enough. Roach was a human complaint generator, and Cheater a low-level tag-along.
Roach was apparently having the same thoughts. “Why am I signed up for this? I’m a repeller, not a scout. Hamster would’ve been a much better pick.”
“If March says you’re going, you’re going,” the quasi said without even turning his head.
“Oh, I’m not about to run away. Just asking. It sounds to me like our leader drinks a little too much beer for his own good. And for ours. So, sometimes, he gives stupid orders. How did you get involved in this, Janitor? They say you’re amazing. So why do you put up with that drunk? Is there something I’m missing here?”
“Everything.”
“Well, what then?”
“March brought me along for my skills at shooting enemies, not shooting the shit. I owe you no explanation. He ordered me to go scout the station, not scout the depths of your own stupidity.”
“Look. I’m a repeller, not a scout. Why send me?”
“Because you’re the smelliest repeller I’ve ever seen. And trust me, I’ve seen a lot of repellers. I think March has decided he needs a break from your stench, and that the others do, too. Everyone tires of you. Tires of your stink. March didn’t even ask Cheater and me. Know why? Because I’ll get the lay of the land ten times faster than anyone else on this team. And a recon trip is good for Cheater. He needs the experience.”
“Cheater is just a big puzzle,” Roach switched topics, facing the newcomer. “Where did you come from?”
“Straight out of his mom, not from the hairy ass of some Neanderthal like you,” the Janitor answered. “Now shut up before I give you the same features as your ancestors. God only knows what is waiting for us over that hill. Say what you will about March, he doesn’t just stop for nothing. He senses something.”
* * *
The region was a bona fide steppe. Some areas were as flat as a frying pan, while others had their surface broken by maned hills and rocky outcrops. Sometimes there were gullies, even ravines, but usually no sharp changes in the landscape. Farmers loved this sort of terrain. In parts, cultivated fields stretched out in three directions, as far as they could see.
What stood before them was one of the exceptions. The trio climbed a steep slope along a winding way through a labyrinth of rocky outcrops, steep slopes, even sheer cliffs. As they ascended, it became clearer with each step how impassable the region was. The black clusters around had peaks that nearly aspired to be the Himalayas.
The border was obviously close. Cheater had heard how the terrain at region edges could change radically from one cluster to the next. March’s course of action may have seemed ill advised, but now it made more sense. There was no way they could drive through here. If the terrain was similar over the hill, there was simply no way around. They could either turn back—and re-enter the Spiders’ territory—or they could try to push through another black cluster. The first had already cost them a vehicle.
Suddenly the climb became easier, and he realized they would reach the top soon. The Janitor realized, too. He bent close and muttered a command: “No time to hang around here. Follow me, and close. Those bushes look like they’re right along the edge, so we’ll try to make them our observation point.”
The quasi was right. The bushes brushed a thin greenish line along the low cliff on the other side He saw no easy way down, but the view was excellent.
The station sat ahead and below.
It was a meager complex, removed from any village or town. Just a few buildings dissected by train tracks. They saw the tower, as March said. It was as solid as a Middle Ages castle.
No ramparts and battlements of course, but there was something that bothered Cheater. Despite the distance, he saw something that looked suspiciously like a gun barrel sticking out of a window near the tower’s roof. Suspicious lines of human creation ringed the complex, as well. Creations of simple engineering: prickly, tangled wires stretched across the way, perhaps complemented with mines. He couldn’t say for sure. “Janitor—looks like someone has really settled in. That’s a machine gun barrel poking out of the tower, isn’t it?”
The quasi was studying the area with a pair of powerful binoculars. “Yes. Large-caliber machine gun.”
“Look!” Roach buzzed. “Someone just walked across. And there are some more of them, on the tracks. Plus a vehicle moving now. See it?”
“Yes, bug, I have eyes, you know.”
For once, Roach replied with no mockery. “Who are they?”
“Hard to say. Let’s ask them for ID, why don’t we?”
“Can you see the Spider emblem through those? They love their jacket tarantulas.”
“No, nothing of the sort,” the quasi replied flatly. “No jackets at all. They’re all in coats. Cloaks. Long things bound together in the front. I can think of two possibilities here. First, they’re exhibitionists. Robes are perfect for that.”
“Well, that’s easy to check,” Roach chuckled. “Let’s send Titty Tat down there to saunter past, with a little extra ass wiggle. If they start throwing open their cloaks, we’ll know. Wagging their dicks at a woman like her is a moral obligation for them. Good as law.”
“You nag so much we might have better luck sending you,” the Janitor mumbled.
“Come on, you know who they are. Cloaks and all.”
“Atomites,” the quasi nodded. “What do you say, Cheater?”
“I’m no specialist on atomites. Never seen one before, in fact.”
“I don’t mean that. I mean the whole situation in general.”
“Clearly they’ve been here for a while. Enough time to settle in and construct significant defenses.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Those lines running across the field are probably barriers. Tripwires or even barbed wire. And those poplars are toppled, which is very suspicious. They weren’t uprooted by a storm—the trees farther away from the tower are untouched. They were cut down to clear the line of fire. It looks like they’re drying clothes on those ropes over between the warehouses. Washing clothes means they’re here for the long haul, most likely. I don’t know why they’re here, but they intend to stay.”
“You have pretty good vision, Cheater,” the Janitor admitted.
“It’s not bad.”
“So how did you take that machine gunner out so quickly? You were the fastest of us all, and you did it with one shot. He had a gun, and still he didn’t get a shot off at you.”
“I have accuracy to match my eyesight
, I guess.”
“I told you he’s a puzzle,” Roach poked in. “There’s something about him, or else March would never have brought him along.”
“Could you just shut up for a single minute? Actually,” the quasi paused, “hold that. What’s your counter read?”
“Forty-two.”
“And what should it read?”
“I’m no rad specialist. Usually it reads ten. Sometimes fifteen, twenty. It’s rare to see it go over twenty. But I usually don’t watch it. Forty-two is above average, sure, but still nothing to be afraid of. The cluster could be clean, but our formerly alleged flashers might have carted some radioactive filth up here with them.”
The Janitor cocked his head. “Up on this mountain?”
“I don’t know how it got up here. Maybe they patrol the area, or just came here once. Or maybe the wind brought it here. What does it matter? We came, we saw, let’s get back.”
“No, we watch them for a while longer.”
“Why?”
“So that we don’t have to come back here again later.”
“Why would we do that?”
The quasi sighed, hesitated, and at last condescended to spell it out for him. “What do you think March will say when he finds out the news?”
“Well, uh... he’ll probably ask how many there are, how many vehicles they have, what weapons they have—”
“And how will we answer? Ah, you get it now. So we sit and watch, unless you want to climb back up here again.”
* * *
Cheater knew the most important fact about atomites: you had to stay away from them, at all costs. Of course, that rule applied to nearly everything that lived on the Continent.
It was an unfriendly place.
Atomites were pure threat, and trying to learn about them was difficult. It seemed like they were creatures of reason enough, but only evil reason. So aggressive that no negotiation was ever possible. Players held that they were a special type of infected. Descended from NPCs, like normal infecteds, but under specific conditions. They have to receive a strong dose of radiation before they turned. That allowed them to retain some of their human reason and appearance.
