by Arthur Stone
Now, had Cheater been noticed? There was none of the characteristic grumbling. Yet smarter infecteds might stay quiet until they figured out who precisely they were up against.
Cheater considered running at full speed along the wall before the approaching ghoul or group arrived, but it was a good hundred yards to the corner, and there were shopping carts scattered in the darkness. Collisions with shopping carts were quite loud. He decided it was best to hide. A large section of the thick glass window along this wall had adopted a crashed car, and Cheater figured he could climb inside the building that way.
He hesitated. There was too much broken glass around. He would need to be extremely careful not to crunch the shards. He did make it into the store, at last, and turned to look outside. That moment, the moon decided to finally peek out through the clouds, giving Cheater a clearer view of the moving shapes.
Two infecteds. He had trouble seeing more details even in the moonlight, but it seemed their levels were low enough. Runners. Level ten, max. The angular lines that rafflers boasted were clearly absent. Both had clearly been humans, though now their forms were beginning to differentiate themselves from their genetic past.
They were alert, but not excited, and moved at the pace of a slow jog. Both had seen movement in the darkness and had decided to check it out.
They followed Cheater’s trail with confidence. He didn’t want to engage them, but now it seemed he had no choice. Dammit. They had been too close. The smell of a human hung long in the still night air. He had carefully washed his sneakers and soaked them in a mix of vodka and spices. Smells that infecteds were unlikely to associate with food. But they hadn’t picked up his smells on the ground, but in the air.
Even these younger infecteds had a very developed sense of smell.
Cheater sighed and looked around at his environment, readying himself for a fight. The visibility inside was much worse than out on the street, but he took a dozen steps back so as not to encounter the creatures too close to the window, from which the sound of their conflict would spread to the whole block, or further.
The glass crunched. Apparently they’re still wearing shoes. Cheater smiled. That just meant their level was even lower than he’d expected.
He nocked an arrow. Its tip was just a blunt cone of tin he had fashioned in the apartment, but there it had been able to penetrate a plastic bucket. Unsightly as it was, his bow was strong, and he had to exert considerable force to draw the string.
The infecteds stopped just as they entered the building. Their silhouettes were perfectly visible against the moonglow edges of the shattered glass. Back and forth went their heads as they sniffed their new environment. Once Cheater had entered, he had walked several steps in all directions while trying to get his bearings, and this apparently confused them.
Making it all the easier to take aim.
He pursed his lips, anticipating the inevitable surge of pain beneath his ribs, and smoothly took aim and released the bowstring.. From the nearest ghoul came a sound resembling the noise of a punctured ball forced to let its air out faster as you press down on it with your foot. The arrow pierced his neck, and he fell onto the crunching glass.
Cheater almost cursed aloud. A painful cramp seized his body, forcing him to bend over. He couldn’t recover—the strain had been too much.
He felt paralyzed.
Dropping the now-useless bow, he grabbed his airsoft pistol from its homemade holster and fired two shots at the shadow rushing at him, without bothering to aim first.
Carbon dioxide burst into the short barrel and propelled the projectiles at the target. There was no way he could have missed, but the ghoul continued to run at him as if nothing had happened.
He would have gone for the hatchet, as awkward as his position was, but there was no time. The grumbling infected slammed into him, knocking him to the ground—with such force that his bones popped and his spine finally straightened.
A new wave of pain hit him, but it was a sobering one, not a disorienting one. Cheater managed to intercept the incoming odoriferous maw with his forearm, which he had wrapped with many layers of tough fabric. As the ghoul tried to chew, Cheater’s knife entered the fray.
The first blow was off target. The ghoul’s grapple of him was too cumbersome, and he couldn’t reach to the back of the beast’s head, so the knife cut from the skin of the temple backwards. That distracted the dead man from fussing with the tasteless rags. He leaned forward, his cheerless grin dripping over Cheater’s face.
To save himself, Cheater did the one thing he could: plunged the knife into that mouth, with such force that the blade broke as it reached hilt-depth.
The ghoul wheezed and twitched, and Cheater pushing him off. At last he grabbed his ax and raised himself to one knee, smashing one, two, three hands at the beast’s head.
It was more than necessary, of course, but Cheater was angry. Now his body ached under his ribs, along his entire spine, and up and down the arm that had been clenched in those bulldog-strong jaws.
Bastard! Perhaps March had been right. Cheater should have stayed in the apartment a couple of more days. But he had not liked the frequency with which infecteds had been passing by. Thankfully, none of them had stopped to investigate. The area had become too popular.
But haste was bad. Haste often led to pain, as it had this time. When you were missing a pair of ribs and some of your intestines, the experience became even more unpleasant.
Infected destroyed. Level 8. Chance of valuable loot: 83%. +1 progress point to Agility. +1 progress points to Accuracy. +1 Humanity point. Infected destroyed. Level 9. Chance of valuable loot: 85%. +3 progress points to Strength. +10 progress points to Endurance. +2 Humanity points.
Excellent. The battle was over. That was the best news Cheater had received all day. He needed time to recover.
And this clumsy clash had turned out to earn him some progress to his base stats. The numbers weren’t impressive, but the message would have given him +1 Joy, if that was a meter. The first kill had gone straight to his damn Accuracy. But the second had earned him no Accuracy, or almost none. For some reason, the bullets had not gotten any progress points.
That made sense. The creature had not fallen down dead, nor even slowed his pace. For some reason, the poison had failed to function.
But why? Cheater was certain he had hit. And the ghouls’ clothes couldn’t possibly have stopped the bullets—the fabric they were made of was too thin. But it wouldn’t hurt to make sure.
Cheater rose, breathing heavily as he grimaced, recalling that he hurt everywhere. He grabbed the infected by the arms and dragged the body into the depths of the grocery store, cursing how careful he was. Only when he was a decent distance away from the glass wall and behind a shelf of goods did he take out his flashlight and begin his inspection.
The first hit was clear, a spot of fresh blood on the ghoul’s shirt. It had punched through the fabric and gone so deep that he couldn’t feel it when he pushed on the ghoul’s skin. He had to work to find the second wound, but it was similar.
Cheater tore the holster and pistol off and discarded them. Why lug a non-lethal weapon around? Either the bullets had still managed to heat to the critical temperature despite their low travel speeds, or the System had somehow forbade him to have such an easy time of it.
He could experiment later. Maybe he could try darts instead of bullets. Something where the poison wouldn’t contact the inside of the barrel. That seemed to have some promise.
Now wasn’t the time to experiment.
He had already adapted the flashlight for stealth use, covering most of the glass with plaster and leaving only a thin slit for the light to escape through, after passing through several layers of scotch tape. It was compact already, and it produced virtually no light at all, barely enough to find the section of the grocery store that held water bottles. He wasn’t particularly thirsty; he just wanted to wash his hands. Not that he cared about infection from the ghoul’s i
nnards. Immunes didn’t get infections. But walking around with bloodied palms was unpleasant.
He cursed to himself again. The arrow he had used for the first ghoul was still in its body. They weren’t easy to make, and he hadn’t had enough materials to make many.
So he’d be getting his hands dirty again, then washing them again. Double the work.
* * *
Cheater had many memories involving roofs and attics. Most were not so nice. The rest were just acceptable. But reaching the highest point was the best way to get a view of your surroundings.
This small city had one building that loomed over the others, providing a good view with minimal risk.
It was a business center named after some bank, and going by the height of it, the bank had done quite well. Cheater located and reached the glass and concrete monstrosity before dawn came, and without any new meetings with infecteds.
He might have gone further, to the edge of town. Why did he need the roof?
But he might very well have lost his way, wandering about in the darkness. And walking in a straight line was no option, since that would bring him to wide open squares and parks or places filled with infecteds for one reason or another. So he would be potentially wasting a lot of time, and almost certainly wasting a life.
The elevators didn’t work, of course, so he set to climbing endless sets of stairs, his rib sockets screaming all the way. Most of the city was visible from the top. Here, he could rest and plan his route, then descend with the sun.
Also, he would finally have a decent meal. The grocery store had filled his backpack with its very best items. Seriously wounded immunes needed rich food, not dry ramen. More importantly, his Pleasure meter would thank him.
He alternated between sleeping on a chic leather sofa in some hotshot boss’s reception room and climbing to the roof to wander its perimeter with the binoculars he had located in one of the apartments two days prior. Cheater still continued his observation long after he had determined the best route out of the city, along with a couple of backup routes. It was the migrations of the ghouls that interested him the most. He was surprised to see them ignore certain places almost entirely, while being attracted as strongly to others as if by a magnet. So he watched his routes, checking again and again, noting any points of this malicious magnetism.
Lounging in an office chair at the edge of the roof, he lazily chewed a homemade sandwich made of a thick rectangle of hard cheese, butter, some canned tuna, and even a touch of red caviar. March would have complained about the lack of beer. But, here as in the “real” world, alcohol was not the best choice for a wounded man. Not that it was particularly good for a healthy one, either. Why not? Cirrhosis and other maladies were no longer problems. But in this dangerous world, intoxication was but another risk factor for death by monster. Even small doses adversely affected reaction time, attentiveness, and coordination, so Cheater’s roof had a strict ban on the stuff.
He heard a shot from below. It wasn’t very far away. It sounded like a rifle, or perhaps a single round from a machine gun. A large-caliber machine gun.
Cheater set his half-eaten sandwich on a stool next to the office chair and, crouching behind the short wall that ran along the roof’s length, walked to the edge closest to the shot. His binoculars were at the ready, but first he tried to discern where the shot had come from with his naked eyes. The ghouls were engaged in a flurry of activity. At first, they seemed erratic, but after a minute or so of watching, Cheater had triangulated the position he was looking for.
Another shot fired. As if on cue, a heavy machine gun took up the torch, belting out dozens of rounds without a care for their expense. Someone was in trouble.
The binoculars came out. Now his field of view was severely limited, but he saw gobs of new details. He followed the path of a small ghoul to its destination and at last saw the source.
It was a large pickup truck, with only moderate reinforcement. The usual steel bars and mesh. A bearded man, clad in the standard green clothes most players wore, manned the turret’s large-caliber machine gun. Bullet after bullet zipped from the barrel into the creature rushing after the vehicle. The distance was too great for Cheater to squint and call up the information panel, but even a level one player would be able to tell the beast was a young elite, or perhaps not quite yet an elite.
The machine gunner did his job well. Despite the beast’s armor, it was clear from its movement that it was already badly wounded. Dozens of rounds entered its left side, and soon it would have to stop the chase.
But the driver, unlike the shooter, was not doing so well. The pickup swerved stupidly, temporarily breaking the machine gunner’s aim and allowing the beast to seize the vehicle by the rear. Cheater was shocked that the moaning pickup made it through the turn. It should have skidded off the road, crashing into the tall curb.
But the pickup truck wasn’t in the clear yet. It entered a skid. It looked like the end, but then the machine gunner managed to hit the beast in both legs just before it looked to make its final, fatal jump at him. The elite lost its balance and went into a roll as the pickup broke out onto a wide street and took another awkward turn.
It approached one of those intersections where one road dove under the other, with four one-lane ramps for those looking to change roads. The pickup pushed into the underpass—preventing its crew from seeing anything on the other side.
A flock of beasts was just arriving, four in number. Three of them weren’t too strong, though clearly better than runners, yet the fourth was only a bit younger than the original elite.
By Cheater’s estimation, the machine gunner’s belt would be out soon. Unless he reloaded right now, in the underpass, he might not have enough to subdue these four. The wounded elite still followed them, too, and was already on the same wide street, moving quickly despite its double limp.
The pickup and the pack rushing towards it had entered the underpass at the same time, from opposite directions. The machine gun continued its muffled churn for a few seconds, but a dozen rounds later, it stopped. As Cheater had predicted. A rat-tat-tat replaced it. The shooter must have decided he didn’t have time to reload and had grabbed his semi-auto instead. A dampened explosion and more sounds of fighting followed.
Cheater watched the intersection for a long time, but neither the car nor any of the humans emerged. They remained below. Perhaps forever. A few minutes later, the infecteds surfaced.
Singly and in groups, both weaklings and monsters. They left quickly, for the intersection was no longer of any interest to the creatures.
Cheater thoughtfully laid his binoculars down. A wealth of opportunity had just opened before him. If he could make it to that intersection, of course. It was a good distance away from his main and alternate routes. Furthermore, it was in the middle of a cluster of danger zones.
But it was worth it.
He’d have to devise a new route.
Chapter 6
Life Six: The Intersection
The delicious meals and his rest on the roof worked wonders. Cheater enjoyed the site so much that he didn’t leave that night as he had first planned. One more day wouldn’t hurt. His lost ribs had not grown back yet, but at least each sneeze no longer caused him to contort in agony. Nor did he run out of breath with just a few hurried steps. That impediment had turned his trek up the stairs yesterday into an hour-long climb.
Now, he was in better shape, though not yet his former self. He hated losing a day, but it was much better than losing a life.
There were still quite a few ghouls hanging around near the intersection. Most did not come out to be seen, which was the worst part of it. They stood quietly, alone or in pairs rocking heel to toe, and they were nearly impossible to see in the shadows. He had to select a route that avoided locations where he could be seen from unseen places.
Sometimes, there was no choice. But Cheater’s luck held out until he finally landed softly on the pavement near the scene, after going over a ba
rrier.
He frowned at the jab in his torso, and frowned deeper at the eager grumbling that followed. It was quiet, but perilously close. One of the creatures had heard him. It had two options now: to come check on the sound, or to figure it had imagined it.
Cheater tried to stay one step ahead, pulling a vial filled with pepper and other spices from his pocket and sprinkling it generously on his trail. It was a simple trick that deceived the weaker creatures, and sometimes even the stronger ones.
He moved a hundred paces as quickly as he could, then slowed down. It was dark everywhere, but it was really dark up ahead. Nothing in the underpass was visible. The night cloud-extinguished stars offered no clarification, and what could be seen was often covered by the on-and-off drizzle. Cheater was a bit afraid of stumbling into something, or even crashing right into the pickup truck. Without light, he’d be all but groping about.
But light his flashlight? He might as well just light up a barbecue while he was at it. Anything could be hiding in the darkness, and other things could be following him, too.
Pressing his back to the wall of the underpass, he moved very slowly, sideways, holding his left hand out in front to ward off unwelcome obstacles. His right hand gripped his ax. Not that gripping the ax was particularly helpful, but it made him feel better. Concrete tactile sensations were good at giving him some confidence in blind situations.
The tortoise speed continued for half a dozen minutes. He could see the blacker horizontal surface of the roof covering the rainy sky. His eyes did not adjust. Still nothing. Where could the damned pickup truck be? He might spend all night looking, but still he dared not turn on his flashlight.
There must still be some ghouls down here. Many, many monsters had poured in. I shouldn’t have come down here.
