by Arthur Stone
“Check it out, huh? Everyone knows the truth about what they do in Rainbow. Man, Fatso, you’re so mean already. I’d hate to see you with something up your ass!”
“You’ll have something up your ass if you don’t give our ears a break from your shit right now!”
March appeared in the doorway. His face was not recognizable in the thickening darkness, but the silhouette of a man holding a cylindrical container of liquid was impossible to get confused.
“Ah. I’m not interrupting some friendly small talk, am I?
“If you’re here to talk business, go ahead. I’ll allow it,” Clown supplied.
“Well, thank you very much for that, my friend. Janitor was just wandering the dunes. He couldn’t see anything too far, but it seems that the road ends about a half mile that way.” He pointed. “The road that goes the other direction is much longer. It doesn’t go quite the way we need, but it’s not far off. So tomorrow, we will scout both roads. We need a vehicle. Two would be better. Anything is better than walking. If we ran into trouble on foot, we’d be, well, in trouble. Tonight, we got lucky. This group was small, and the cluster was an isolated one, so nothing else heard our gunshots. But luck never lasts forever. Next time, we might be in a real jam.”
“Send me out on a scouting trip,” Cheater said hotly. “I love being bait. And no need to cover me and waste ammo. I’ll manage.”
“Why are you so angry again? Mad that Janitor didn’t have time to kill the biter with his machine gun? Look, he’s not a magician. No one could have sighted that beast in three seconds from that distance. Try to understand that. And I couldn’t see too well from up there. It was getting dark already. I shot whatever showed up first in my sights. Cheater, we need you alive—it makes no sense to use you as bait unless we have you covered. Calm down, please. We’re going to have a busy day tomorrow. Tonight, we’ll keep a tight watch on the area. New posting every hour. Janitor’s first, and he’s already heading up to the roof. Now, I’m off to have a beer and get some sleep.”
* * *
Clown raked through the sand with the butt of his rifle, exposing the edge of the pavement. It was cut, as if with a knife.
The sand showed no evidence of the boundary, but the road certainly did underneath.
He shook his head. “Damn borderlands. Things go nuts out here. In normal areas, the System joins roads together, or at least attaches a road to a path. Usually, anyway. There should be at least something matching. But here, the road just stops. I’ve never seen anything like it before. Road, more road, more road, and then whump—you’re in the sand. Have you ever seen anything like it, Cheater?”
The marksman was on one knee, peering at the dunes near the cluster’s edge. He shook his head. “I’ve never seen so much sand in my life, either. In this life, anyway.”
“Neither have I. How many regions have you seen?”
“This is the second.”
“What was the first like? More steppes or some shit like that?”
“No. Hills, forests, rivers. There were some open places, but not steppes. I once saw a sandy hill in the middle of a forest. But it was no desert. Just a hill in a forest.”
“I see. And that’s where your Kitty is?”
The hairs rose on the back of Cheater’s neck. He did not wish to discuss Kitty. But Clown was different from Roach, and he ought to say at least something. So he compromised: not a word, but a nod.
“Is she really worth all of this crap?” Clown followed up.
Cheater thought about that for a moment. He really thought about it. Asked himself, directly, if he was just a childish moron. Taking such a risk for a girl he hardly knew anything about. Any player would have called his behavior maximally unreasonable. Here, if the System put you in different regions, you were to forget everything from before. It was like beginning a new life, from scratch. Returning was impossible, with only rare exceptions that confirmed the rule.
Perhaps it was for the best that players spawned without any memory, without intelligence, and with limitations. It was a primitive but effective defense mechanism, getting players accustomed from the start to not look back.
And thus not to regret what could no longer be.
But a new player listened to his feelings, not his sense of reason. Of course, they also remembered every single player they met during the first few weeks of life. He knew that none of them attracted him as much as Kitty. Appearance was not the issue. Kitty was not ugly, of course, but she wouldn’t win any beauty contests. He had met many prettier girls here.
But, for some reason, he could see no one as his life’s partner but her. It was as if she and Cheater were made for each other. He had realized that long ago. Nothing had changed that belief.
Others had expressed their doubts, but he had no doubts of his own.
Cheater nodded again. “Yes. She’s worth it.”
“What took you so long? Not sure, are you?”
“Serious questions demand serious answers.”
“Is she pretty?” Clown pushed.
“That’s not what I’m after.”
“Right, right. Everyone knows it’s about personality and all that. Uh-huh. Two large breasts attached to a slender figure with a nice ass and a pretty face, none of that matters. Right.”
“Think whatever you want. I’m going back to her.”
“I actually think you’ll succeed. You may not be overly smart, but you’re persistent. That’s obvious. I hope she really is worth it. But even if she’s not, your goal here is still better than mine. I’m just bored stiff. Every idea that can enter my head does. Sometimes, I want to leave the Continent. To burn all my lives. They say that when you do that, you enter the first level of the real game. That what we’re playing now is a pile of shit compared to the real game. I want to find out if this is true or not. That’s me. I’m looking for truly new experiences. Perhaps this girl you seek is better than all of our goals combined. But maybe Roach is right. Surely going all the way can’t be worth going all this distance.”
Cheater was still watching the dunes. “Can we climb up the dunes?”
“The bloody hell for? Not enough shit to do here?”
“We can get a look around. After all, we never found a car.”
“So? Even if we found a million cars beyond that dune, how would we ever drag a single one through the sand, back to camp? We need to get back before the sun bakes us again. I was covered in sweat yesterday and would rather not do that again. Maybe Tat and Roach had more luck. After all, their road is longer.”
* * *
As he approached the gas station, Cheater was delighted to hear the rumble of an engine. The sparks surprised him. Someone was welding, which was an unusual activity given the severed state of the local power lines.
Rounding the corner, he saw the source of power. He had been delighted too early. It was a noisy engine, yes, but not a vehicle. Cheater had not even looked in the workshop yesterday—Fatso had brought them all rags and oil for their weapon maintenance. A heavy diesel generator was among the workshop’s equipment, and it was on a wheeled cart. Convenient for working on welding jobs far from any power.
Such as any jobs in the entire Continent. March was the welder, oddly enough. Cheater made no attempt to determine what exactly they were doing. He silently entered the shade of the gas station, leaving Clown to report on their recon mission.
Despite March’s words, Cheater did not love the man at the moment. Perhaps their relationship would survive, but it was not the same as before.
Fifteen minutes later, as Cheater sat at the counter drinking nastily warm juice and some stale chocolate cookies, a chic black car drove up under the roof over the gas pumps. Roach jumped out of it and moved hastily towards the workshop. Clown emerged from the other side of the gas station at that moment. Immediately changing his course, he made for the car and grumbled his way around it in a few circles, exchanging a few words with Tat as she stepped out. When he looked inside, he
shook his head and lost interest, entering the building to grab a juice for himself instead.
Roach burst in before he took his first sip. His face was triumphant. Whirling a large keychain around his finger, he tossed it to Clown. “Here, boss.”
Carelessly catching the keys, Clown held them out, palm up. “What is this shit?”
Roach’s face fell. “Can’t you tell?”
“I can tell these are the keys to a crap ride. They smell like crap. Were you keeping them up your ass? I appreciate the gesture, darling, but you should take such proposals to Rainbow. You’ll have better chances there.”
“The hell are you talking about, Clown? I don’t get it. I found a car! It’s pretty cool, too. What’s up with the antics? Stomping around the desert got you overheated?”
“Do you know anything about cars, besides them having wheels? Or have you suddenly picked up a concern for the Continent’s ecological destitution and decided to fix things? Or do you just need a new battery for your dildo collection?”
“What the hell are you talking about? I suppose you think we just got back from a packed auto sales floor, with whatever we wanted available for the taking. No, some freaks burn or shoot up every car that dies on the roadside here. This was the only one they didn’t burn. Maybe because it’s harder to set on fire. But it’s a decent car. You know how much a ride like this would cost in the old days?”
“Well, this is the Continent, and here no one would take this car if you paid them. Because it’s hardly a car. It’s a pile of shit. Maybe in your favorite city of Rainbow it would fit in. Not here. It’s an electric car!”
“Of course it is. So what? That’s much better, even. Much quieter. And a little stealth goes a long way, you know.”
“You know what won’t go a long way? This car! How much battery does it have left?”
“I don’t know exactly. Maybe sixty miles. But even thirty will do for us. March said it’s twelve to the border, if we drive in a straight line. That’s nothing.”
Clown gave the grimace of a man dealing with a hopeless idiot for the umpteenth time. “Look, I can see this coming from Tat. She’s no fool, but she knows nothing about cars. Look, I’m no sexist, but men should know more about cars than women, right? I mean, as a rule. Unless you’re named after a pest. Didn’t it cross your mind to take a look at the car before you dragged it back here? To notice all the bullet holes? Ah, so you did notice. But you must have decided that everyone is as stupid as you are, and that they tried to blow up this car by shooting where they thought the fuel tank was. Right? Wrong! They didn’t shoot the fuel tank, because they weren’t idiots. They shot exactly where they meant to.”
“What?” Roach blinked several times. “The hell are you on? The car drives. I know because Tat and I just drove it back here. It’s fine!”
“I guess you didn’t pay attention to the lights on the dash?”
“Who the hell cares? It rides.”
“And that was the last of its charge. Why? Because they shot the batteries! Most of them are gone now. They could have caught fire, in fact, and I bet that’s what they were counting on. For some reason, they didn’t. Maybe there is some new anti-fire system I don’t know about. Or some fire extinguishing system was triggered. I don’t know. But that car will go three miles, tops. Six if you give it a full charge. There just aren’t enough surviving batteries for more than that. And we don’t exactly have a battery factory nearby. So what good is a car that can’t drive more than five or six miles? And that’s on an ideal road, not this impassable wilderness.”
“Five miles is better than none,” Roach insisted. “On the way, we can find batteries or another car.”
Fatso woke from his dozing in the corner to join the mockery. “We’ve got eight of us, with weapons, and that thing isn’t exactly a limo. Janitor alone would take up the whole back seat. Then there’s the driver, and the passenger. But don’t worry, cutie, I’ll take you on my lap. But what do we do with the other four, then? Stuff them in the trunk?”
Cheater imagined what it would be like to walk fifteen miles through the desert. He made a suggestion which surprised everyone.
“I know how we can bring Janitor along without taking up half the space. And if you’re good with electronics, Clown, I can tell you how to make this car go as far as we need.”
Clown turned. “Interesting. Let’s hear your solution, then.”
It didn’t take long. Just a few phrases.
Clown stayed silent for near ten seconds. “Cheater, remember how I said you weren’t the smartest guy I’d ever met?”
“Yeah.”
“I might have been mistaken. But then again, maybe not. It might just take an insane person to come up with an idea like that.”
Chapter 20
Life Eight. Off to the Races
A lot of cardboard boxes had been stuffed in the trunk, but they quickly gave way under Cheater’s weight. He was sitting nearly on the floor now, his legs hanging out the back at near eye level, as if they were pointing at Janitor’s face. The quasi didn’t look so good. It seemed uncomfortable for him to be riding along on the rattling generator cart hastily welded to the car’s hitch. The sight was, of course, hilarious, like a football player riding a toy train for a quarter at a shopping mall. Cheater wondered why he remembered that.
He could figure it out later.
It had taken Clown five hours of fussing with the electronics, but at last he managed to get the car powered by the diesel generator. They were connected by a rigid welded coupling, yes, but also by a cable. In theory, they could ride until they ran out of diesel fuel. The cart’s usefulness as a personal transport vehicle for Janitor was a bonus. The five skinniest people were in the car, and the larger Cheater and Fatso were in the trunk. Since its floor had been hard, they had tossed in the cardboard. And removed the trunk lid, of course.
Cheater’s idea had been fully implemented. Of course it never would have worked without Clown in the party. The man seemed to know everything about anything that moved. But Cheater, of course, earned the praise. For the first time in his life, he gained a bit of reputation as a player with a brain. The main disadvantage of this setup was that players riding in the trunk had a terrible view.
They could only see behind, and most of the scene was blocked by Janitor and his funny rattling cart. At one of their stops by an abandoned truck on the side of the road, Fatso stole a snapped-off side mirror with a long mount bar attached.
Sadly, the truck was no good. But now the players in the back could use the mirror to look ahead, which made their ride more interesting, at least. They took turns.
No matter how much Cheater peered into the glass, he saw nothing interesting. The car and its trailing “battery” continued down the same road, through the same dunes on either side. In some places, the sand that swept in from the dunes became thick enough to cover the pavement from view. Once they had to stop and all push the car, which had gotten stuck. Thankfully they had not needed to push far.
March had assured them that it was twelve miles from the gas station to the border.
That was a straight line, and with the boring scenery it seemed like they were going in circles. Judging by the position of the sun, the road was weaving, yes, but not enough to triple their journey. Still, his gut told him they had been moving at close to forty miles an hour for close to an hour.
That was too much, wasn’t it? They should have crossed by now.
Even more striking was the fact that they had not encountered a single infected the whole time. Even the runners seemed wiped off the earth by the sandy wind of the dunes. Perhaps some were following the noise from afar, but none of them had seen any. Cheater felt like he had killed the only flock in the whole desert the day before.
That was unlikely. The reputation of the borderlands held that infecteds swarmed the place. Romping about in a noisy vehicle at a moderate speed should have attracted at least one by now.
Another odd point wa
s that Roach’s words from earlier that morning were confirmed with each passing vehicle.
They were all badly damaged, and most were completely burned out. Two of them were good enough to take a look at—and both had their engine blocks shot up.
What rich traveler spent tons of priceless ammo to execute abandoned vehicles?
He did understand, however, why they made no moves to accelerate too much even on the best sections of the road.
March was a sensor, if a mediocre one. His gift did not always work and did not always apply. Traveling at high speeds definitely made matters worse along those lines. The boss didn’t want to run into the vehicle serial killers.
Cheater agreed.
At last, something happened. The car slowed down significantly. Janitor focused on some point up ahead and readied his machine gun. An enemy? The quasi would probably already be firing.
Fatso reached out the mirror. Cheater grabbed it and saw the problem. It seemed like the car had emerged into another cluster, or simply that the landscape changed dramatically here. The lack of any System messages was evidence for the latter. The sandy desert became stony ground at this point. Reddish cliffs began to rise on both sides of the road.
It was the beginning of a gorge. The road began to turn into it. In pressed the cliffs, more and more, limiting visibility to a few dozen yards. As far as Cheater knew, March’s ability didn’t work through solid stone walls. The party was moving without a sensor to guide them.
Tat’s ability worked through obstacles, in principle. But it had a negligible effective distance.
The car bounced on the rough road, happening to jerk Cheater’s arm so that the mirror showed him the sky. At last, he saw something interesting.
