Shadow Sun Survival

by Dave Willmarth

  Allistor put an ear to the metal, as did most of the others. He could hear scratching and snuffling on the other side. A series of yips told him what was out there.

  “Motioning for everyone to step back down the ramp, he waited for them to gather close. “Canids, I think. There was evidence that a pack of something killed everyone at the hospital. This might be the same one.”

  “So what do we do?” Lilly’s eyes were wide with fear. She’d seen what a few canids did to the unfortunate family at the campsite.

  Allistor said, “There are eight of us that can fight. No offense, Chloe.” He smiled at the little girl holding her mom’s hand.

  She smiled back and shrugged. “I know, I’m little.”

  Allistor continued. “So they outnumber us by about half. We can’t just open the gates and charge out there. We might win with the weapons we have, but I doubt we could do so without losing somebody.”

  Sam said, “We could use the trucks. Run over a few of them to even the odds?” Several people nodded their heads at that.

  “The trucks, yeah. But I don’t think we’d actually be able to run them over. And when we open the gates, they’ll charge in.” Allistor thought about it. “What if we use the trucks, and the trailer, as sort of a defensive wall?” He pointed toward the gates. “We could turn the trailer on its side right in front of the gates. Then when we open them, the canids have to go around it to one side or the other. We park the trucks across both gaps. We’ll be up in the beds firing down at the canids.”

  He paused as he pictured it. “Nancy, Chloe, and Meg can be in one cab. Lilly and Amanda in the other. You keep the windows up on the side closest to the gates. Shoot out the window on the other side at anything that gets past us. Meanwhile, Sam and Ramon are in one truck bed, myself and Michael in the other. We should be able to mow them down pretty quickly, with less chance of anyone getting hurt.”

  Nancy asked, “And if all of them go in one direction? That truck will get overwhelmed.”

  Allistor nodded. “Then we go with Sam’s plan. The other truck will haul ass over and try to run down a few of them. Guns blazing. We’ll keep the engines running. That way if things go badly, the ladies can gun it and drive us away from the pack so we can regroup. Maybe take shelter in the kitchen. Make them come through the windows at us.”

  Meg said, “Or we could just do that to start with. Open the gates and fight from inside the kitchen.”

  Sam shook his head. “None of us can outrun those things all the way to the kitchen.”

  Michael raised a hand and waited for everyone to be silent. “I think I have an idea.” He pointed over to their right. “The holding cell. The spaces between bars are narrow. I doubt those things could squeeze through. We go in there, fire at them through the bars. Keep the trucks close by in case some of them disperse through the cavern and we have to go after them. But I’m betting we could massacre them from inside there.”

  They all looked surprised at how simple it was. Sam added, “We could coordinate fire. Only shoot uninjured ones the first couple volleys. Then when they’re all wounded, finish them off.”

  Meg took a step toward the kitchen. “I have another idea. Sam, get a couple of those flares.” She took off running toward the kitchen as Sam went in search of her flares. Meg returned a minute later in one of the trucks, with a jug of cooking oil and a blanket. She rolled the blanket up into a sort of log and placed it on the floor against the bars nearest the gates. Then she poured a puddle of the oil between the blanket and the ramp. It was a narrow puddle front to back but stretched about twenty feet across from left to right. They all watched as oil began to spread and soak into the blanket.

  Sam returned with the flares and the other truck. Seeing what she’d done, he chuckled to himself. “Meg loves those zombie movies. She cheers when they lure them all together and light them on fire.”

  Meg nodded enthusiastically with a big smile on her face. “Zombiecue!”

  Nancy touched her shoulder. “But these things are going to be alive. They’re going to scream and bleed and…” she looked at Chloe, concern written all over her face.

  Meg took her hand. “I think maybe you and Chloe should be in one of the trucks. Hunkered down so they don’t see you. You can play the radio or something.” Nancy hugged her, grateful.

  Their plan agreed upon, everybody took their places. Allistor volunteered to open the gates. He was still the highest level among them, with the largest health pool. He wasn’t going to open the gates, exactly. Just unlock them and haul ass. With all the scratching on the outside, he was sure the canids could open the gates on their own. His plan was to be safely inside the holding cell, or at least close to it, by the time the first canid got in.

  Meg stood next to the door, a roll of duct tape in hand, one end already wrapped around the door frame. They didn’t have keys to the cell, so they were going to tape it shut and keep the canids away from their makeshift latch.

  As Nancy shut herself and Chloe in the truck’s cab and locked it, Allistor approached the gate. He took a moment to listen again, even going so far as to yell at the canids outside to get them riled up. Taking three deep breaths and exhaling quickly, he unbarred the gates and took off.

  He sprinted like he was running from, well… a pack of wolves. The others quietly cheered him on as he practically flew down the ramp. The three men in the group were on the far left of the cell, high-powered rifles already up and aiming past Allistor toward the gate. The first mob that stuck its nose through was dead meat.

  Allistor reached the cell just as the doors began to push open. Sam fired first, his rifle shattering a canid’s face as soon as it poked through the widening gap. Ramon and Michael each fired a moment later, hitting another of the canids and downing it.

  As Meg slammed the door shut behind Allistor and began quickly wrapping the tape around, he lifted his own shotgun and shoved it through the bars. He sighted on the foremost canid rushing toward him. Waiting until it was only about twenty feet away, he fired. Its front left leg and a good section of its chest were blown off. The thing faceplanted, and its momentum caused it to roll ass over teakettle, landing on its back. Allistor fired again, this time into its exposed belly.

  Canid Hunter

  Level 6

  Health: 110/650

  It wasn’t dead, but it was no longer a threat. Allistor moved to the next target, leaving that one to bleed to death. A quick scan showed him that over half of the canids were already down, either dead or wounded. His friends had been firing nonstop, downing one after another. He chose one that was almost at the bars of the cell and fired into its face.

  As it fell wounded, Meg flicked a flare to life and tossed it through the bars onto the oil. There was a brief delay, then a whoomph! as the oil caught fire. Four of the wounded canids, and two that were so far untouched, were within the area of the puddle. All of them caught fire as well. The yipping and whining of the canids was hard to hear. Allistor was a dog lover, as most people were, but these canids were here to kill them.

  The sound of breaking glass and high-pitched scream of a little girl caused them all to swivel towards the truck. The back half of a canid stuck out the passenger window of the truck, its four back feet scratching away the paint on the door trying to gain purchase and push through. Michael fired his rifle, the round tearing through the rearmost hip of the thing. Ramon fired half a second later, punching through its innards between the middle and back sets of legs. Another gunshot rang out inside the cab, and the thing quit moving. The only sound was Chloe sobbing.

  Allistor scanned the area. He counted corpses and found thirteen, including the one hanging out of the truck. One canid, its body afire, was bolting across the cavern toward the sleeping quarters. He could see both Michael and Ramon taking aim.

  A quick check of his interface didn’t show any red dots, other than the one. Which disappeared a few seconds after Michael fired. Nothing but green dots inside and out.

 
Meg frantically cut the duct tape and rushed to the truck. She yanked the dead canid free of the window and stuck her head inside. “Oh my god. Chloe. AMANDA! Oh my god.”

  Amanda was right behind her. She pulled open the door and grabbed Chloe. The girl had lacerations on her face and forehead and was drenched in blood. She set Chloe down and checked her over. After a few seconds, Amanda shouted. “She’s okay! She’s okay! Most of the blood is not hers. She’s got some deep cuts, but she’ll heal.”

  Nancy crawled out of the cab and dropped her shotgun as she bent to scoop up her baby. She and Amanda ran toward the infirmary, Ramon right behind them. Unconscious, Chloe’s arms and legs flapped limply as they ran.

  Allistor ran too but in the other direction. He ran to the gates, pulled the two canid corpses inside, then closed and barred the doors. He bent to loot the canids, but couldn’t. He hadn’t shot either of them. Returning to the cell area, he looted the two that he’d killed. He told Sam about looting the two by the doors, then watched the fire carefully as the oil burned away.

  When all the corpses were looted, they faded away. The group moved back to the fountain area, quietly waiting for news about Chloe. They were encouraged when they heard the girl crying after a few minutes. Eventually, Amanda came out.

  “She’s okay. Understandably traumatized. Nancy said the thing actually bit down on her head. Most of the scratches were from claws. But that thing’s teeth nearly punctured her skull. She’s eating some pie and drinking juice. With some rest, she should be fine by morning. I’m hoping when she heals, it won’t leave any scars.”

  She looked at Allistor, who removed his shirt so they could all see. Most of the cuts and scratches they’d seem him suffer had healed without any trace of scarring. But the recent deep bite on his shoulder from the lanx was still visible. He tried to reassure them. “This is from yesterday. It looked way worse when it happened.”

  Having received the good news, the others all went back to their individual business, in the infirmary, the crafting hall, the kitchen. Allistor sat at the table, staring at his hands. Michael rapped knuckles on the wood to get his attention. “You know, something just occurred to me.”

  “What’s that? That we should have had Chloe someplace safer?”

  “What? No. She should have been fine where she was. Things rarely go according to plan. Probably even less often in this new world that’s trying its best to kill us.” He paused until Allistor looked up at him.

  “What’s just occurred to me, is that in this world, this ‘system’… we’re the damn NPCs.” His face was grim as he watched Allistor absorb that thought. The look of horror on his face pretty well matched what Michael was feeling.

  “Think about it. We’re NPCs in the pre-alpha testing mode. Where the AI that runs the game is putting us through our paces, developing backstory, molding the world to prepare it for the arrival of players. In a year, when stabilization is over, the beta testers will come first. To test the waters. Then we’ll be flooded with millions of players who’ll think nothing of snuffing out the lives of one of us NPCs. Or a whole town’s worth.”

  Realizing he was breathing hard, he stopped talking for a moment. Allistor was staring at his hands as he clenched and unclenched them. “That’s why the damn level ten giant town killer showed up here in a newbie zone. Because they’re not looking at us as players who deserve a fair shake. We’re friggin’ disposable NPCs.”

  Allistor looked up, his eyes blazing. “And they’ll come and claim land. Levy taxes on the poor unfortunate NPCs who managed to survive the genocide and remain here. Use us for cheap labor or flat out slaves in their mines and lumber yards. Use us to fight their battles like the worthless fodder they see us as?”

  Michael nodded. “I mean, you seem like an okay guy. But how well did you treat NPCs when you were gaming? I can’t say I’m proud of the way I treated them. Can’t even count how many I killed to complete a quest or as part of a conquest battle.”

  Both men paused as numbers flashed up on their interfaces. The first was a golden +500 followed immediately by a crimson red -1,000.

  “What the hell?” Michael asked, his eyes tracking the bigger number.

  “Fame points.” Allistor’s voice was cold and emotionless. “And I’m guessing Infamy points. Different factions. I’d bet money that the Fame points come from some faction that believes in preserving the life or integrity of newly acquired worlds. Maybe they just don’t like killing. Or they object to the way things are being run around here. And the Infamy points would be from the ones who brought us here and planned this whole thing. Or those who are itching to come and take over. The ones who, as you’ve pointed out, don’t give a shit about us NPCs. Sentenced billions of us to death. We’re probably getting a little too uppity for them.”

  He looked up at the ceiling. Slamming his fists on the table, he shouted. “I got news for you! We humans, we don’t give up that easy. We’re violent, and smart, and cruel, and inventive, and most of all we adapt! We’ll find a way to survive your genocide! We’ll claim the planet for ourselves, and we’ll make you pay in blood and tears for every inch of it you try to take! Then, when we’re strong enough, we’ll come find you. We’ll take your planets from you. One by one, inch by inch if we have to! We’ll be the ones deciding that billions of your people deserve to die. Only we’ll have a reason! It’s called vengeance!”

  His throat was raw from screaming at the ceiling. The others had all come outside to see what the yelling was about. Allistor looked around, suddenly feeling tired. He sat back down. Looking at Michael, he said, “You tell them.”

  *****

  Allistor woke early the next morning. He’d gone to bed alone after brooding for much of the evening. His rage hadn’t subsided any. If anything, watching the others react to Michael’s realization had made him angrier. These poor people had been through so much. And their ordeal was only just beginning. Not being gamers, they hadn’t understood the horror of being an NPC. Michael had tried to explain it. But unless you’d been a player and seen the treatment NPCs received, or did some mistreating yourself, you just couldn’t understand it fully. He was afraid that at the end of the year, they’d find out the hard way.

  If they survived that long.

  Resolved to live up to the threats he’d made, he started the day by focusing on his own growth. The stronger he was himself, the more he could help the others to grow. And protect them while they learned.

  So first, he assigned his available attribute points. At level five he’d picked up two more, giving him five points. He put two into Intelligence and three into Will Power.

  Immediately he noticed that his mana pool increased. From the fifty points that it had been to four hundred. He felt more clear-headed as well. Connections he hadn’t quite made before were obvious to him now.

  Next, he pulled out the Levitate scroll and opened it. The moment he started to read, the knowledge of how to cast the spell flooded into his mind. But as he reflected on it, it wasn’t just the mechanics of casting the spell. He better-understood gravity and how to counteract it. He knew more about force and resistance, about density and momentum. All of the knowledge of the physical laws of the universe that were directly involved in levitating an object became clearer to him.”

  As the scroll disintegrated in his hand, he muttered to himself, “Damn. No wonder these things are so valuable. I was expecting to learn a chant or a hand motion or something. Not get a friggin degree in physics.”

  His spear sat leaning against the wall near the door. To test his new spell, he focused on the weapon and thought levitate at it as hard as he could. The butt of the spear lifted off the ground, but the point remained leaning against the wall, scraping along the stone as it rose. Unsure how to direct it, Allistor pointed a finger and moved it to one side, motioning the spear away from the wall as it floated a few inches above the floor. The butt end moved, and the spear point began to screech back down the wall until the spear was laying horiz
ontal. It continued to move away from the wall until he stopped it.

  “So… when I lift something odd-shaped like this, it doesn’t automatically remain upright. Makes sense. Its natural resting position is horizontal. I’m only negating the gravity to a certain extent.”

  Allistor tried another motion, this time twisting his wrist roughly ninety degrees as he pointed. The spear point rose so that it was nearly vertical. He mentally released it, and it fell to the ground with a clang of metal on stone.

  The flood of understanding decided a few things for him. He opened the market interface and checked on the status of the Mustang. The bid was over twenty thousand klax, and there were still almost twenty-four hours to go. There were three messages attached to bids from brokers offering top dollar for more rare items in a direct sale. Allistor smiled to himself. He didn’t know how to do a direct sale, but he’d find out. For those times when they needed funds quickly. Being careful not to say it aloud for whoever was watching him, he thought, That’s right. I’ll send you shit I don’t need, and you’ll send me the funds I need to make sure you never set foot on my world!

  The next thing he looked into was a bag of holding. He wanted to see if the system had something equivalent. He was beginning to believe that the legends and stories of his home had somehow been directly influenced by the Collective. To prime his race for entry into the system. Since so many tales and games included some sort of interdimensional storage, he assumed it would be a real thing on this new Earth. And he desperately wanted one.

  His initial search, bag of holding came up with nothing useful. Bags of many shapes and sizes, but all ordinary. Nothing interdimensional. So he tried different combinations of descriptive terms until he ran across what he wanted.

  They were called Personal Pocket Dimension Accessories and came in many forms including bags. And they weren’t all that expensive.