by Dan Thomas
“What if he changed his mind?” Pez asked, drinking his coffee with distaste.
“I came out of game and went on our private chatroom on the forums.” Max beckoned to Pez, who followed him back into the living room. After placing the beer bottle down on the table, he pointed to the screen showing the empty virtual chatroom. “Gone.”
Pez went close to the TV screen and peered at it closely. “These things get shut down all the time.”
“And these forum posts.” Max pulled up the forum, and then clicked through to another one where ShadowHog had been asking about the best ways to harvest Amica, which now showed an error message saying that the post had been deleted. “All gone.”
“Dude’s disappeared.” Pez turned to face Max. “It could all be innocent; he might have taken everything down when he left the Ravagers. You know, covering his tracks.”
“I thought about that.” Max set the keyboard down. “But why delete his stuff from the chatroom?”
“Maybe he didn’t trust you.” Pez was so busy trying to explain away what had happened.
“You don’t want to think about the alternative.” Max nodded. “I get it.”
“Listen, we have to focus. If we’re all worried this is going to blow up and hurt us in real life, then there’s a chance we’ll either lose our nerve or lose focus. You talked us into finishing this. You and Sam.” Pez sighed. “Let’s leave it at that. Forget ShadowHog and let’s take down those Ravagers and hang the consequences.”
Max nodded. “Tomorrow.” He inhaled deeply and let his breath out slowly. “Tomorrow it begins.”
“Tomorrow it begins.” Pez drained his coffee and headed back to the kitchen. “I’ll start brewing gallons of this stuff. We’re going to need it.”
“We’re going to need a lot more than coffee,” Max replied. “If we’re going to pull this off, we need a good dose of luck, too.”
“And cookies.” Pez pointed to him. “Lots of cookies.”
Chapter Fifty-One
“We need something like this.” Chopsticks stood on the floating rock, feet hip-width apart as it descended into the tunnel below. With his hands outstretched, he looked as if he were surfing a wave, not a magical flying rock.
“It’s pretty neat,” Max admitted, his focus fixed on the swarm of small dinos that jostled at his friend’s feet. He was tempted to lower the flaming torch in his hand and wave it around so that they gave him a little room. However, he also didn’t want to antagonize them. Not when they had such small sharp teeth. He shuddered trying not to imagine what it would be like to have all of those little teeth shredding his flesh. “How did you manage to breed so many?”
“It just kind of happened.” Chopsticks shrugged as the floating rock reached the bottom of the chute. “And how does it go back up?”
Max scrambled off the floating rock first as the small dinos surged toward him, their little jaws snapping at his ankles as he moved. “There’s a button here.” He pointed. “The best I can guess is it changes the magnetic field in the chute and lets the rock to rise even while it’s weighted. After a minute, it’s able to come back down if you pull that chain there.”
“Ingenious.” Chopsticks jumped off the rock and reached for the chain.
“We don’t have time,” Max warned him. “I have to get you in place before I go back to the base and cause a distraction. The others are waiting.”
After a lingering look at the button, Chopsticks followed Max down the tunnel, with only one last look over his shoulder as the rock floated back up the chute.
“I think we should visit Aerium. I want to check out the land of floating rocks.” Chopsticks ran to catch up with Max. “They have wyrms there. Can you imagine riding a flying snake from rock to rock?”
“Let’s focus on the attack first, shall we?” Max raised an eyebrow at Chopsticks. “No getting bored of waiting and running back down the tunnel to mess with the rock,” he warned.
Chopsticks screwed up his face. “Are you joking? We’ve been waiting for this day for months. Me and my little dino crew here are going to show those Ravagers you don’t mess with the little guy and expect to get away with it.”
“I wish I could be with you and see their faces when they try to get inside the vault and find you and the Coelophysis instead.” Max chuckled, although the little dinos still gave him the shivers.
“They like you.” Chopsticks put his hand down and three or four of the small reptiles sniffed his fingers, one of them even stuck out its serpentine tongue and licked him. “They still recognize you even though you’re in a different Crew.”
“The only reason they are not attacking me is because you are controlling them,” Max replied. “I’m not part of your Crew, they think I’m the enemy.”
Max caught one of the dinos eyeing him up. Many of these dinos were probably strangers to Murph, having been hatched after he had met the rest.
“Well, you’ve got a basic level of bonding with some of them. Don’t worry, I have them under tight control.” Chopsticks looked up ahead. “So, this is the door.”
“Yeah, this is the door.” Max flipped the catch and revealed the keypad. “So, you know the code?”
“I do.” Chopsticks nodded, humming the tune.
“This door opens outward and then there is a short corridor that turns to the left. There’s quite a big area in there. There’s a slope, which leads to the front door, if you can get onto there you should be able to hold them back from the door. We’ll try and stop them from bringing any of their big dinos in.” Max ground his teeth together. “Have you got that?”
“Dude.” Chopsticks rested his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “You’ve explained it to me ten times and drawn me a map.”
“I’m just nervous,” Max admitted. “It only takes one of us to get it wrong and the whole thing will blow up in our faces.”
“Then we won’t get it wrong.” Chopsticks ushered him away. “Go on. Go play with the floating rock. Leave me here with my little friends. All alone...”
Max grinned. “I’ll see you on the inside.”
With that, he turned and ran back down the dark tunnel.
This was it. As he reached the floating rock, he hauled it back down the chute, pressed the button, and jumped on board as it rose to the surface.
Breaking out of the tunnel into the humid jungle air, Max paused. He only hoped when the attack was over, it was worth it. If Chopsticks lost all those little dinos he’d bred, he’d be devastated. However, the plan was in motion. It was too late to change their minds.
Each of them had a part to play, but it once again all hinged on Murf.
Threading his way through the trees, Murf ran toward the Ravagers’ base for the last time.
Chapter Fifty-Two
“So, you finally gonna start laying bricks, Murf?”
Max looked up over the rail around the top of the tower to see Striker approaching him across the walkway. “Yeah, I think I’m just about there now that the scaffold is in place, just need a few buckets of water now.”
“Right,” Striker looked at him dubiously. “Hopefully this doesn’t take you another week to get done. I know we’ve had a lot of delays, but this needs to be done.”
Max stood up from the clay vessels and buckets of mortar that littered the platform around him. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure this wall is the least of your concerns.”
“That’s what I like to hear.” Striker walked away, looking down into the rest of the base, watching the workings of his Crew. Things had been a lot tenser the last couple of days, there was a brooding atmosphere in the base as if a storm was brewing, and Max was sure that the Ravagers knew something was coming their way.
Max had decided to stop pouring oil on the fire and had ceased his efforts to sabotage the base. Until now. He watched Striker go. The Ravagers had no idea today was the day the storm broke.
Luckily, between the resource collection and the building of the scaffold, he’d managed to
put off the repairs of the wall long enough without raising any suspicion.
Murf picked up an empty bucket in each hand and swung them as he left the damaged section of the wall, climbing down the steps of the tower, which had been temporarily reinforced with wood. Once on the ground, he headed for the farming area at the back of the base.
No one was currently working in the fenced area of tilled soil, the plants growing had already been tended to for the day, anything ripe harvested and replanted.
He pushed open the picket gate, walking down the path through the rows of crops, headed for the water tank at the back of the farm.
He dropped the buckets beneath the spout at the base of the tank, turning the metal valve to let the water flow out. As the bucket began to fill, Max looked up at the sheet metal water store.
This thing’s got to be able to keep a couple of thousand gallons of water inside, Max thought as he listened to the water flow. It wasn’t often that anyone had to take a dino out with a tank cart to the river to collect water.
As the first bucket began to overflow, Max pulled it aside, replacing it with the empty bucket. While he was still crouched down, he placed his hand on the second valve, which was connected to a thick piece of bamboo, angled toward the ground where it then fed into several other pieces of bamboo, leading to the irrigation system of the farm. He gave the valve a spin, hearing a rush of water from inside the pipe. With a discreet glance over his shoulder to check that no one was near or watching, he slipped the laser gun out of his pack and pointed it at the open valve. With a squeeze of the trigger, the gun whirred and shot out a bright pulse of energy that hit the metal, heating it up to a yellow color for a second, welding the valve open, the water inside hissing from the heat.
“Whoops,” Max said as he put the gun away, and grabbed his filled buckets.
As he walked back through the farm, he kept a straight face as he watched the soil turn dark around him as it became rapidly waterlogged. Max knew from firsthand experience from his early days in the Terra Verse how water from a storm could cause planted crops to spoil quickly, or just wash them away entirely.
Nerves and excitement felt like electricity running through his body as he closed the gate behind him. It was happening. After all the waiting, all of the uncertainty, they were finally making their move.
Max looked up at the sun, high in the sky. He had plenty of time, and it would take a while before his distraction would come to fruition. He wasn’t ready to risk blowing his cover quite yet, so he headed back to the damaged tower, taking care while walking up the steps with the heavy buckets.
Once back at the top, he set the buckets down next to his other building supplies.
Picking up some termite mortar, he tipped it into a large bucket and then added water until it turned to a paste.
Standing up, he took a quick look around the base, all quiet so far. One of the noobs was carting materials from the forge into the storehouse, Mamba and Remington were standing talking while Rednex was walking on top of the wall on the opposite side of the base.
He filled a spare bucket from the pile of stone bricks he had brought up to the wall earlier and picked it up along with his bucket of mixed mortar, moving it toward the edge of the wall that was missing the battlement.
Max grabbed one of the rock bricks from the bucket. Using a flat carved stick, he scooped up a clump of wet mortar and coated the stone in the paste. He then placed it down where the intact battlement ended, wiggling it into place before grabbing another rock and repeating the process.
As he worked, Max kept an eye on the tree line. He couldn’t see any movement, which was good. That meant it was unlikely anyone else looking would see anything either.
The hairs along the back of his neck prickled and he resisted the urge to stop what he was doing and watch the base. He was sure someone was probably keeping an eye on him. After the mysterious disappearance of ShadowHog, Max felt as though he was being scrutinized for a reaction.
Max kept his calm and continued sticking down bricks, quickly making it through his first bucket. He got up and headed for the pile on top of the tower, chancing a glance down into the base.
Nothing yet. Though from his vantage point, he could see the shine of water sitting on the surface of the flooded farm. It wouldn’t be long now.
Max turned back to his work, biding his time.
“Hey! I need help here!” A cry rang out from the direction of the farming area.
“Showtime,” Max muttered to himself.
Throwing the wooden trowel into the mortar mix, he practically flew down the stairs, taking off toward the farm.
Some seven other players in the base were also making their way over to the farm. As he ran, Max spotted Rednex, Suzaro, and a few of the newer additions to the Crew.
Everyone congregated around the farm fence, looking inside.
The rows of plants were practically underwater, and a steady stream of water was beginning to flow downhill.
Remington was hunched over the spout, which was streaming water out of the tank.
“Gah, fuck!” He stood up and gave it a kick. “It’s been welded open! Bullet!” He shouted into the crowd.
Max glanced over as Bullet57 barged his way through the small crowd and into the farm. “Yes, boss.”
Remington pulled a filled bucket from underneath the pouring water, replacing it with another empty, which began to rapidly fill. “You’re in charge of the farm, what the hell is going on?!”
Bullet shook his head. “I don’t know, I haven’t been in here since this morning, and I haven’t asked anyone else to do anything here either.”
“I thought I saw you on the shooting range.” Remington moved the now full bucket, before slamming down another empty.
“We’d already handled the plants for today, everything was fine when we finished.”
Max had to give Bullet credit; he didn’t crumble in front of his superior.
“Does this look handled?” Remington snapped.
“I think we need to ask who was in here last,” Striker said as he pushed past Bullet into the farm. “Murf.” He turned and singled him out.
“Yep.” Max stepped forward.
“You came here for water for your mortar. As far as I see, that makes you the last person to use the tank,” Striker accused.
“You honestly think I did this?” Murf asked as the water continued to pour out of the tank.
Striker’s jaw tightened. “I think it’s a reasonable assumption, considering.”
“Why would I tell you I was coming to get water and then sabotage the tank?” Murf asked. “I’m not that stupid.”
“He has a point,” Mamba said as he joined them, carrying a large toolbox under one arm.
“You’re taking his side?” Striker asked his crewmate.
Remington moved aside, crossing his arms as he watched the exchange.
“I’m not taking anyone’s side, but if you wanted to stop fingers being pointed at you then you wouldn’t tell someone where you were going and then wreck it. Like this has been wrecked.” Mamba knelt next to the damaged valve, placing the toolbox down and opening it up.
“Or did he tell me so that we wouldn’t suspect him?” Striker asked, standing behind Mamba. “Like reverse psychology.”
“Give me a hand with this,” Mamba ordered Murf.
“Sure.” Max sidestepped the flow of water as the tank continued to empty its contents, glancing over at Bullet who was staring daggers at him. “What do you need me to do?”
Mamba passed him a bulky tool that resembled a blowtorch. “We need to heat the metal here so we can turn the valve and force this thing closed.” Mamba glanced sideways at Murf. “I brought the heat gun to heat the metal, but I’m sure that laser gun of yours would work better.”
Max kept his eyes fixed on the valve. “It’s still flat. What I’d give for another battery pack, but I doubt I’d find one among all the dinos.”
Mamba and Stri
ker exchanged a glance. Mamba did suspect Max after all. But they had no proof. Though that might not mean much, from what Jag had told him.
“Oh, shit!” A distant shout came from across the base, gaining everyone’s attention.
Rednex waved from the top of the tower by the main gate. “Attack! There’s an attack coming!”
“What the fuck!” Mamba threw the wrench back into the tool kit and set off at a run toward the gate leading from the farm area. He paused. “I’ll get on the turret, you two get everyone ready.” He took off toward the command tower.
“What do you need us to do?” Max asked as Striker went after his Crewmate.
“Everyone!” Striker stopped and scanned the faces in front of him. “Follow me to the storehouse, get some weapons, and get on the walls!” He turned to Remington, who jogged to join him. “I think Maeve and Aedyn were out on the Carnotaurs. Message them and tell them to get their asses back here now. And get to the vault!”
Remington and Striker raced out of the farm, everyone making space for them, followed by a few of the noobs, while a few more hesitated, unsure what to do next.
“Holy crap, we’re going to be part of a raid?” he heard someone say.
“Yeah, man, I’ve never fought another player.”
“This is the second raid in a week!” someone else piped up.
“We’ll be fine, just do as Striker said!” Bullet’s voice rang out. “We fought off the Viper Crew, and we’ll do it again now!”
A small smile spread across Murf’s face as a plan materialized in his head.
Chapter Fifty-Three
Max dashed back to the tank and the overflowing bucket, slipping the plasma rounds Jag had given him out of his pack and into the open toolbox along with the wrench before slamming it shut.
As everyone else was turning away from the farm, running toward the storehouse, Max rushed past them, toolbox clutched in his arms.
“Where are you going, Murf?” Bullet yelled.
