by Arthur Stone
But beyond that, they were hardly human.
They were monsters. Their bodies were more deformed than had been possible with most genetic diseases. Their skin was intensely sensitive, too, especially to the light of the sun. So they wrapped their heads and bodies, covering themselves from the painful rays head to toe. Despite this, their shining enemy in the sky still gave them pustulating ulcers everywhere. Perhaps this made them so irritable they tried to kill anything and everything they saw. Even the birds knew of their temperament—not a single winged creature was near the complex.
Despite their monstrous appearance, the atomites retained enough reason to remain social beings who carried a lot of knowledge over from their previous lives. Cheater borrowed Janitor’s binoculars for five minutes and saw that the vehicles were just as advanced as those driven by players. It was indeed a heavy machine gun poking out from the water tower window, and one of the warehouse roofs held a disguised emplacement for anti-tank missile launchers.
He looked carefully at the atomites themselves, too. Their cloaks were green. Probably to disguise themselves. They really were smart.
But what did they want the station for? Nothing in the area showed any signs of being a good source of food or loot. It was an outpost in the middle of a wasteland.
Cheater voiced this question as he continued watching, and Roach immediately replied that they were only present to make the party’s journey harder than it already was.
But the Janitor said something useful. “They want the same stuff players do. Nodium.”
Cheater had to ask the embarrassing question eventually.
“I’ve heard about that before. What is it?”
Roach blinked twice. “Are you kidding? How the hell can you not know that? It’s nodium!”
“I could have told myself that,” Cheater snapped.
“All of the razers and their technology requires nodium,” the quasi elucidated. “And our doublers need nodium in order to practice their craft. Read the details for yourself in the game docs. In the section for noobs. I’m not a damned tutorial.”
“I read it. It didn’t say anything about that.”
“Then it wasn’t something you needed to know. You’re not a doubler, so why would the game confuse you?”
“Do the atomites trade with the razers?”
“No. Maybe they have their own doublers. But we really don’t know. They don’t really like to communicate with us. But don’t ever forget that everyone wants nodium. Come on, let’s go. We’ve learned enough.”
Chapter 8
Life Seven. Get the Popcorn
March listened to Janitor’s report very carefully. He didn’t try to interrupt, and even sipped from his beer only about half as much as usual.
The quasi laid everything out in a plain, orderly fashion, including some observations that had slipped past Cheater’s attention.
“Two light trucks with machine guns, one light troop transport, and one heavier armored transport. I recognize who made them, too. So the atomites either captured them or found them abandoned and repaired them. Plus one Jeep with a machine gun and automatic grenade launcher, and another Jeep with mounts but without any weapons in them. That one probably held the anti-tank gun that they yanked out and put up on the warehouse roof. There’s a very interesting pit between the warehouses. I think there’s a mortar there, covered with camouflage netting. Fortifications, trenches, and a camouflaged bunker—but facing the road that leads to the Spiders. So they only guard the direction the Spiders would come from. That spot is probably laced with mines of all kinds. Perhaps there are other such defenses, but some areas are not visible from the mountain. Thankfully, the mountain we were on has no atomite presence, but the next one over has a disguised machine gun atop it. I have no idea how many there are. After all, they look alike and never assemble. Maybe twenty, maybe forty. Based strictly on their vehicles, I’d say twenty or thirty. That’s maximum capacity for their vehicles. And I think it holds up—they can’t stay here without transportation. There’s simply not enough radiation. So it’s my best estimate. That is the situation.”
March threw the empty can behind him and managed to crack the other one open at the exact moment the first clanged against the stones on the ground. “So, definitely more of them than us.”
The Janitor nodded.
“We could use their vehicles.”
“You’re thinking of making them a deal?”
“Are you good at negotiating with atomites?”
“Everyone is terrible at that.”
“So they won’t sell us the cars. Now, you say the road runs by about a hundred yards out from the station?”
“Yes. Train tracks run parallel to it, too.”
“We can’t go around?”
“Cliffs. Even crossing by foot would be impossible.”
“And of course we simply must get through with our vehicles—” March considered.
“Don’t think of anything brash,” Janitor advised. “Their tower has an excellent view. They’ll pump several belts of ammo into us without having to blink. Plus a couple of rockets from the roof of that warehouse. That’s plenty to finish us.”
“What if we send snipers up onto the hill. Will they be able to take those points out?”
“Only a howitzer could take that tower down, and it would take many hits. It’s centuries old. Solid stone. The warehouse, now that’s a different matter. But we don’t have any snipers or rifles up to the task. Getting closer is too dangerous. The descent quickly runs out of trees, and we’ll be trapped. I think they would have some nasty surprises for us there, too. We have to figure something out from a distance. Which means this will be a tedious job. They’ll strike back at us, and they have better guns.”
“Are you trying to say there are no options?”
“Come on, you know me better than that. This is why you brought me along. To solve problems like this one. There are always options, March. These are atomites, not people. We make mistakes sometimes. They make them all the time. Almost all the time, anyway. There are a number of things we can try. The first option is to distract them so they don’t even pay any attention to the road. We use lots of noise, fireworks, and keep them going and loud so they can’t hear the engines.”
“Any ideas how to arrange that?”
“Of course. I need a couple of guys to go up on the hill.”
“Really? Just a couple? Then take Cheater and Roach. They’re experienced—they’ve already been up there.”
So they’d have to climb back up anyway.
Roach would hate that.
Cheater hated it already. He was inexperienced, sure, but he knew what kind of distraction they would have to set to keep a whole cult of evil, intelligent creatures from glancing at the vehicles charging past on the road.
Roach had been right. They had been going less than a day, and too many ill fortunes had happened to them.
And this wasn’t even the border, just the approach.
* * *
Cheater was not particularly versed in the numerical characteristics of combat technology. Immunes and NPCs and razers and atomites carried too many kinds of guns, and his memory was insufficient to memorize the details of all of them. The machine gun weighed over a hundred pounds, for sure. Maybe a little less, or more. Thankfully, Janitor did not ask for Cheater’s help. That was kind, as the newcomer had his own burden to bear. A machine gun was good.
But not on its own. It required ammo and something to prop it up.
Cheater and Roach carried ammo in green tin boxes, and a stand for the gun alongside. The stand was self-made, by the looks of it, but strong. When folded in, it did not prevent the gun from being mounted in a turret. And if the need arose, the machine gun could be easily disconnected and then wielded from the ground or some other flat surface in a matter of seconds.
Neither of the smaller men was cheered by their newfound packer duties. Roach, of course, complained half of the way up,
until he grew too tired to do even that.
The last two hundred yards were especially hard. Cheater managed to slam his knee painfully into a rock, and Roach nearly stepped on the tail of a snake slipping out from under his foot. He squealed like a girl.
As he dropped the ammo boxes behind the bushes, Cheater cheered himself up by recalling that he wouldn’t have to cart them back down. If everything went according to plan, only shell casings would remain. They were valuable, of course—they could be reloaded by a doubler, or at ammunition factories. But the circumstances of the day did not lend themselves to overzealous recycling. They would remain up here on the mountain, gathering rust.
Until the cluster reset.
They connected the machine gun to its stand, then adjusted the latter so that it would be more comfortable to shoot down from on high. The quasi scanned the area with the gun. “We’ll need to trim the bushes.”
“The bullets will do that for us,” Roach replied.
He did not want to do garden work after the alpine climb, and activity like that might cause the atomites to notice them.
Cheater found himself agreeing with the man.
The quasi understood their situations. “Let’s take a breather, then. It’s not urgent. I’m proud of you two for making it all this way.”
“We’re not oversized workhorses like you,” Roach muttered. “You could have taken it a bit easier.”
“Quite griping or you’re carrying this gun back down.”
“That would kill me, I’m sure.”
“Don’t even dream that I’d care. Alright, everyone remembers their job?”
Cheater nodded. “You shoot, we help reload. Once you’re done firing, we turn heel and head down.”
“They’re going to kill us up here,” Roach moaned. “They’ll kill us all, with no one to revive us. They won’t risk sending the priestess up here.”
“If you keep whining like that, they’ll kill you first,” the quasi mocked.
“I’m not one for superstitions.”
“I’ve been in a similar situation once before. We had a guy like you in the party. Always complaining. And he was the first one that got killed. We didn’t have a priest that time. Predicting bad outcomes is a bad omen, one that often leads to the death it fears.”
“This is certainly leading straight to our death. We should have changed the bullets, you know.”
“What?”
“Every fifth round is a tracer. They’ll locate us right away and hit us with the mortar.”
“So you’re a mortar guy?”
“Do I look like one?”
“I didn’t think so. A mortar isn’t like a revolver, cowboy. It’s difficult to wield. We don’t even know for sure that they have one. If they do, they need to conduct careful calculations in order to aim it. And even then, they’d have to haul it up to higher ground. You can’t hit a target as high as we are with a mortar. But despite the way their skin glows, atomites aren’t the brightest. There’s no way they can deal with the math tables, so the first few shots will be wide. During that time, we’ll finish up with all of these ammo belts and get out of here. They’ll keep attacking this location, and we’ll be gone. Up here, they won’t try to hit us with their machine guns, just their mortar and their grenade launchers. But even those will not be fired from immediately. As long as we move quickly, we’ll be out of here without a scratch. I know the atomites, Roach. They’ll keep pounding this area with their weapons for many minutes on end. They love reacting like that. Staring at their target—and not at the road. If they do see our party by that point, it’s unlikely that they’ll be able to redirect their large weapons at them. Our people just have to reach that turn in the road over there and they’ll be safe. From this complex, at least.”
Cheater frowned. “But in that case, they still notice them. What if they decide to chase them? It will take us quite some time to get around the complex on foot. We can’t just skip across the mountains.”
The quasi shook his head. “They’re not that stupid. Think about this from their perspective. Someone just pounded their position with a machine gun. They’re returning fire. There’s some confusing noise. A couple of trucks pass by. They move past quietly, peacefully, not firing a single shot. Do you think they’ll stop shelling the threat in the mountains and turn to attack the peaceful passersby? I don’t. They’re predictable, Cheater. Just like people, but with different habits. They might shoot after them, yes. But they won’t give chase, at least not right away. Later, anything could happen. So we’ll have to catch up to the party quickly, of course. Then we’ll see what happens. Chasing is much harder than getting away, since you have to close the distance. We’ve got a good cannon on that truck, and good chances at setting an ambush. In their current position, the atomites are dangerous, but there aren’t really that many of them. They’ll even reconsider coming after us if they see that gun. Aggressive and dumb as they may be, they’re not suicidal.”
Cheater was convinced. If the atomites still possessed human reason, they would not drop everything and rush after the party. Unless their commanders were idiots, which was possible. But there were ways it could go wrong. If that tower gunner moved to the opposite window, it could end their crossing party. The heavy bullets would drive through the truck’s side like a hole punch through paper.
Suddenly, the quasi looked off into the distance, raised his binoculars, and aggressively dialed the focus knob. He tensed, which made his body uglier than ever. “Guests.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know, but... They’re not here for us. They’re coming from the Spiders’ road, straight towards the atomites.”
Cheater tensed. “We have to warn March that there are more atomites.”
“Hold your tramplers there, noob. We don’t know who they are. So we watch. This is the Continent. They could be anyone.”
Cheater was jealous of the monster. He had nothing to augment his vision, not even a sight, and the hulk was not only holding powerful binoculars but also blocking his view. Still, he could see that someone was driving down the road. More than one vehicle. Something was wrong with the soil along that stretch of road. It kicked up far too much dust, creating a pale haze that rose from the horizon. As if they were driving on crushed chalk. The cloud only served to further obscure their identity.
Wait—what’s that in the front? It rose not only from the road, but from the sides of it, as well. As if a giant shotgun was being fired into the air from in front of the car. “Janitor, I think there are motorcyclists riding in front.”
“You’re right, Cheater.”
Roach breathed in sharply. “I’ve never heard of atomites riding bikes.”
“These are no atomites. They’re our old friends.”
“The Spiders.”
“Settle back, gentlemen, and enjoy.” The quasi’s voice was like that of a cat discovering a fresh bowl of milk. “Lights, camera, action!”
The convoy of Spiders, or players under their protection, was moving towards the “abandoned” cluster. Perhaps they had no idea the atomites were here. Or perhaps their journey was precisely intended to wipe them out.
Cheater guessed that the first option was more likely. It was an unbelievable coincidence. Or not. The Spiders have likely spread far and wide that they were searching for the party that had killed their comrades. Knowing the area as well as they did, they might have deduced that the fugitives had moved across the black cluster. Perhaps they even had evidence to that point. Then, they rushed along the road that led around. March had told them this cluster was sandwiched between black clusters. The path to Spider territory was very narrow, and there was no other. Most likely there was no way around the complex.
The party had unwittingly brought the Spiders in.
The Janitor had similar thoughts. “Looks like they’re about to make some noise without our help. Let’s just watch and keep count. No involvement. No matter who wins, this is a very lucky event. Let the
m work it out.”
“How many vehicles?” Cheater asked.
“Two pickups, a couple of trucks, and six motorcycles. Nothing too serious, but we don’t know what the riders are capable of. Here, have these binoculars. You’re new here, so this will probably be more entertaining for you.”
“You couldn’t care less?”
“I’ve seen everything by now. Or almost everything. Go ahead, watch. But never forget that you must be able to use your naked eyes. You cannot grow to rely on optical instruments. Especially when they limit your field of view. Details are sometimes more interesting than the bigger picture, which is why binoculars were invented.”
No matter what the quasi said, the lenses changed Cheater’s perspective completely. Neither dust nor distance nor dense half-monster interfered with his view now. There were two steel-lined trucks with machine gun turrets perched atop, two pickups also carrying machine guns, and six motorcyclists leading the way, an honor guard of sorts. Two of them were locked in some kind of stunt competition, weaving back and forth and cutting each other off dangerously. Apparently, the Spiders expected no trouble. In addition, there were relatively few of them. The group was probably assembled in haste to check this unlikely place. None of them suspected what lay ahead. It was no combat mission, just a ride through the country. With the cluster bordered by black on all sides, the density of infecteds was pitiful.
No—this was something else. They were brash idiots. Sure, there might not be many infecteds in these places, but the Continent had more dangers than infecteds. Including atomites—and worse.
Either they had all been dropped as children, or there was something they knew that Cheater didn’t.
