by Wyatt Savage
“You don’t say...”
Dwayne nodded, taking a few puffs from his pen. “You get XP, experience points just like a video game, like Monster Hunter. Points for survival and points for slaying. You can trade them in for weapons, gear, sick upgrades, and assume the identity of a badass fighter—”
“Ragetag,” I said. “You can become some other character for a short period of time. I saw it happen.”
“When?”
“Before I got here.”
“Where’d you get the pistol and shotgun?” Lish asked.
“I didn’t kill anyone if that’s what you were wondering,” I said, surprised at the steel in my voice.
“I didn’t say you did,” Lish shot back.
“There was something…some m-monster,” I blubbered. “It ate my neighbor and he had the pistol and I took it from him. Took it and killed the monster and then I got the shotgun,” I added, leaving off the part about shooting Steven Bruciak in the knee.
“Yeah, well, I did the same with the ax,” she said. “Self-defense.”
Dwayne’s face brightened. “That’s where you got your points, right?”
We both nodded. “Not very much though,” I added. “Just a few.”
“A few’s better than nothing.”
Lish tapped on the end of her axe. “They want us to kill each other. You know that, right? That’s the beauty of the game. It puts a price on everyone.”
“Fuck that,” Dwayne said, taking so many drags from his vape pen that it began to glow orange. “I’m not doing that, I mean I’m not killing innocent people and I sure as shit aren’t killing you guys, even though I’ve given it some consideration when it comes to Logan.”
“You’ll have to do it at some point,” Lish said. “If you want to live, if you want to make it to the wall, or get some medicine for that cut of yours, you’ll have to get your hands dirty.”
“It’s self-defense from here on out,” I said, surprising myself. “It’s not wrong, Dwayne. Everything on the outside wants to kill us, so we need to fight back.”
Dwayne nodded, but I wasn’t sure he was buying what I was selling.
The timer on my HUD blinked: 5:18:00.
“Alright, boys and girls, we’ve got five hours and eighteen minutes to get to the wall.”
“There’s no way we can make it on foot,” Dwayne said. “SITREP!” he shouted, and a cone of yellow light wreathed his head like a halo.
“How did you do that?”
“SITREP means situation report,” Dwayne answered. “That’s a shortcut you can use to see what the area around you looks like.”
I did the same and a field of light popped up. I could see the map, the little red dots indicating our adversaries along with black dots.
“Those are things the aliens have dropped down,” Dwayne said. “Intergalactic criminals, monsters like the behemoths in that Dauntless vid-game, you name it.”
“How many bad guys are left, Sue?”
“There are approximately three hundred ed and thirty-six thousand within a thirteen-mile radius.”
A popup showed images of various participants, monsters, and other horrible things that the Noctem had set loose in our neck of the woods.
Three against three hundred and thirty-six thousand bad guys. The odds were not good.
“We need some wheels,” I said. “A car, a truck, anything that we can use.”
Before the others could respond, a knock sounded at the front door.
I flinched.
Another knock, then three more, then peals of nasty laughter.
We grabbed our weapons. I removed the magazine from the pistol and placed a new one in, then tugged back on the slide like Ronimal had shown me. Then I peeked out from behind our hiding spot.
There was a face at the front door.
Pressed to the glass.
It was Bryson Fincher, our former manager, and he looked dressed to kill.
20
When I say Bryson was dressed to kill I mean it.
His head was completely shaved, there was athletic eyeblack under his eyes, and he was wearing what looked like homemade chainmail armor. He also had a hand-cannon of a pistol in one hand, and a machete in the other that he began dragging across the door, the shortened version of his stats reading:
Species: Homo Sapiens
Level:1
Class:Fighter
Health:10/10
Shit. He was at full strength.
“What does he want?!” Dwayne whisper-shouted.
“Nothing good,” Lish replied.
I think we all prayed that he would go away even as we knew that probably wasn’t going to happen.
“I KNOW YOU’RE IN THERE!” Bryson shouted.
I suddenly felt like one of the three little pigs. I was waiting for Bryson to say he was going to huff and puff and blow the store down.
“What do we do?!” Dwayne asked.
“Get ready to fight.”
Dwayne reached over and grabbed a set of hedge shears as beams of light suddenly splashed us.
I looked up and saw them.
The headlights on a truck.
Barreling toward the front of the store.
“GET BACK!” I screamed.
The front of the store exploded in a percussive BOOM! as the truck jackhammered into the exterior and windows. Chunks of glass, mortar, and metal filled the air like shrapnel.
The three of us dove for cover, the front end of the truck crumpling, knocking down several rows of shelving, separating me from the others.
The truck’s engine whined as the obscured driver tried to reverse the machine. Somebody opened fire near the front of the store and I cowered as bullets buzzed the air over my head.
I snuck a glance and the boxes on my HUD hopped between the driver, Bryson, and three other shadowy men who were standing near the front door, looking like dark cutouts. The stats for the other men were the same as Bryson’s: three Level 1 fighters at full strength. Crap.
My targeting reticle hovered over the driver and I brought my pistol around and fired a single shot that pierced the truck’s windshield.
-10 Health Points!
The driver slumped over the wheel, his head on the horn, which began to sound.
“Congratulations,” Sue said. “You have killed a Level 1 participant and gained 25 experience points.”
Species: Homo Sapiens (James, Logan)
Chattel:.45 AMT Hardballer; Winchester SXP 12-Gauge
Health:9/10
Level 1:1
Class:Fighter
Kills:3
Vitals:BP – 127/80; T – 98.03f; RR – 15bpm
XP:88
The other men aside Bryson opened fire as I lay on the ground, searching for Lish and Dwayne. There was so much smoke and dust in the air that I couldn’t see them. I was sure there was probably a way to utilize my HUD to cut through the silty haze, but at that moment I wasn’t familiar enough with the tech. Instead, I gripped my pistol and rose, taking aim at Bryson.
Unfortunately, he was holding his hand-cannon to the side of Lish’s head.
“Drop the gun, James,” he said.
“You first.”
“Do not fuck with me,” Bryson said. “You already killed my buddy Blaine. You don’t drop that gun, I’ll do your girlfriend here and not think twice about it.”
I dropped the pistol without acknowledging the shotgun that was on the ground.
“Where’s the other one?” Bryson asked, dragging Lish toward me. “Where’s the other member of the merry fucking bunch?”
“Who?”
“Who do you fucking think? Your boy Dwayne.”
A pinprick of light glowed fifteen feet away from me.
The end of Dwayne’s vape pen.
Bryson saw it and began to chuckle.
“Get up, Dwayne,” he said. And when Dwayne didn’t: “Get the fuck up!”
Slowly, very slowly, Dwayne rose, still puffing on the vape pen, his hands up in the air.
>
“Hands up, don’t shoot,” Bryson sneered.
The other men stood at the front of the door as Bryson shoved Lish to the ground. “Looks like I got myself the trifecta, boys,” Bryson said to his buddies.
“You don’t have to do this,” I said, keeping one eye on Bryson and the other on my shotgun.
“The hell I don’t,” he replied. “You’re 75 points, shit for brains. I combine those points with what I already have and it’s enough to get me one of those alien cloaking devices.”
“I hope you get it, sir,” Dwayne said, removing the vape pen.
Bryson raised his machete. “Yeah? Why’s that, Jackson?”
Dwayne sucked on his vape pen so hard his cheeks almost turned white. The end of the pen glowed like a road flare. “Because then maybe I wouldn’t have to see your ugly fucking face.”
Two things happened simultaneously: Dwayne flung the glowing vape pen at Bryson, and Bryson pulled his weapon up to shoot Dwayne.
The vape pen exploded in mid-air, sending bits of metal and plastic into Bryson’s face. Bryson covered his bloody, shredded face, dropping his weapons. He stumbled back over a section of collapsed shelving, rolling on the ground, wailing in agony.
-5 Health Points!
I grabbed my shotgun and aimed at the other men who’d accompanied Bryson, including a bearded goon, and another man who was wearing a Halloween mask of a Paw Patrol character from the kid’s show.
I pulled the trigger on the shotgun and of course nothing happened.
He tugged the trigger again, but something was wrong.
What a time to jam.
The two men laughed and raised automatic weapons at us as I threw up my hands in a defensive gesture.
ZZZTTTTT!
A rope of orange light burst from behind me, a pulse of energy that struck the bearded man in the middle of his chest.
It was Lish’s phaser!
The bearded man looked down at his chest, at the fist-sized hole in it. Blood spurted in thick ropes and he collapsed to the floor. My HUD revealed that he was dead.
The other man, the one in the Halloween mask, turned and ran and Lish fired another shot that burned a hole in his head, vaporizing most of it.
The man’s largely headless body fell like a sack of rocks and the third man, the one who was barely visible near the truck, turned tail and ran.
Clutching my pistol and shotgun, I pivoted to Lish who was holding her phaser, a little wisp of smoke rising from the barrel.
“Nice shooting,” I said.
“Thanks. I’ve been practicing.”
I motioned to Dwayne, who was pointing. I looked to my left. Somehow, in all the excitement, Bryson had managed to crawl off.
He was gone.
The three of us moved warily toward the front of the store.
I spotted a wending bloodtrail on the ground, leading through the shattered front door and figured Bryson, the weasel that he was, had found a way to escape.
Lish reached into the truck and dragged the dead driver out. She rummaged in his pockets and pulled out his wallet, removing the cash, which she stuffed in her pocket.
“Just leave that,” I said. “It’s worthless.”
“To you maybe,” she replied, before checking the machine out, examining the front end, the tires.
“I think we can drive it,” she said.
I nodded and Dwayne and I collected the weapons and some gear from the dead men, including an assault rifle that was added to my HUD’s chattel inventory.
“Congratulations, you have acquired a Colt AR-15 semi-automatic rifle manufactured by Colt’s Manufacturing Company in 2015. The weapon fires a 5.56 intermediate cartridge. You have twenty-seven rounds remaining in the thirty-round magazine.”
Dwayne hefted another rifle and placed the others into the truck. Then we did a quick sweep of the exterior of the store, looking for Bryson and any other sign of trouble.
“Sue, what’s the SITREP?” I asked.
My SecondSight populated with images of the surrounding areas, zooming in and panning left to right. The parking lot was deserted, but fires were raging everywhere, including on some of the other stores in the strip mall. A truck had apparently caught fire and rolled into a storefront, setting a nail salon ablaze. The fire was six or seven stores down, but it was only a matter of time before the whole place was consumed.
I heard the alarms on an approaching fire truck, but when I looked down at the street beyond the parking lot, the fire trucks were themselves on fire. In fact, they, along with several ambulances, were being chased by a squadron of trucks, including an ice cream truck, that were shooting at them with machine guns.
Dwayne gulped. “What happens when the cavalry needs a cavalry?”
Sue had been right. There was no help coming. We were on our own.
Scanning the map on my HUD, I examined the war zone, because that was what my town had become.
People were fighting everywhere, battling each other and bigger creatures, monsters and intergalactic prisoners that the aliens had decided to drop down into the Melee just for the hell of it.
“What happens if someone doesn’t want to fight, Sue?” I asked.
“They will be targeted by the Noctem who will force them to fight or die.”
“Why?”
“That is the only way to maintain momentum in the Melee.”
The sound of the truck’s engine arrested my attention. Lish was behind the wheel, sliding it into drive and reverse, trying to back it out of the storefront.
With much effort she finally did, swinging the truck back so that we could better inspect it.
“Tires are still in one piece,” Lish said, “engine sounds good, and she’s got a full tank of gas.”
“We need more weapons,” Dwayne said.
Lish stared down at the bodies of the dead men. “A few more points and I’ll be able to buy my way out of being a fighter.”
“What?”
“Change my class.”
My face fell. “Whoa. Seriously?”
She nodded. “I’ve got plenty of points.”
“I wouldn’t know,” I replied. “I can’t read you.”
“That’s on purpose, an option that comes with higher XP,” Lish said. “Once you hit 150 points, you can allocate a few to block people from seeing your stats.”
“You’ve got 150 points?” Dwayne asked, incredulous.
“200 points now,” Lish said, pointing to the two men she’d killed with her phaser. “Counting those two.”
“How many classes are there?” I asked.
She shrugged. “Ask Sue or whatever you call your SecondSight voice. There are more than I can count, variations on fighters like Sonic Warrior, Fire, Mages, Ice, and Wind Warriors, Monster, Apprentices, and a class called Animus. Those are just a few of ‘em.”
“I’ll bet it’s just like in gaming,” Dwayne said. “We’re trapped in a real-life version of something like Spellbreak. The higher the level, the more powerful you are.”
“I’m gonna become, like, a Level 10 Sonic Warrior and kick some fucking ass,” Lish said.
I slumped against the side of the truck, taking it all in, realizing that Lish had a far better grasp of the game than I did. “I wish I would’ve played more video games when I was younger.”
“That’s what you get for being a jock,” Dwayne said, patting me on the shoulder.
We spent the next five minutes combing through the store, gathering as many valuable chattel items as we could. Food, tools, clothes, medicine, and various items that we could use to construct weapons were all dumped into the truck’s cab and cabin. Unfortunately, we didn’t get any points for grabbing the gear, but it made me feel better to have the stash. Once that was done, we climbed into the truck, checked our weapons, and made ready to hit the road.
“Where to?” Dwayne asked, slapping a magazine of ammo into his assault rifle.
“The only place that matters,” Lish answered. “The w
all.”
I shook my head. “I have to go to my brother’s house first.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s on the way, there’s something there I think you’ll be glad to see, and I promised my parents I would.”
“Maybe we should separate,” Lish said.
Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. “What?”
“Maybe we’d do better alone.”
“Strength in numbers, Lish,” Dwayne said.
I nodded. “Besides, I’ve got a secret.”
She blinked. “Care to share?”
“What would you say if I knew where a bunch of secret vaults were?”
“Money isn’t going to do us any good, Logan,” Lish said.
“How about weapons and gear?”
“I’d definitely like to know more,” she said.
I smiled. “I’ll be happy to fill you in.”
“But only after we get to your brother’s place, right?”
I nodded and reached in my pocket and removed the laminated card Dad had given me. I held it up for the others to see.
“Okay,” Lish said, chewing on her lips. “Let’s go.”
21
We sped out of the strip mall parking lot as I explained the significance of the laminated card. Lish drove, I rode shotgun, and Dwayne was in the tiny bench-seat behind us. Everyone was supremely on edge as we barreled down the road, weaving between abandoned and destroyed vehicles, munching on snacks and drinking warm cans of soda.
Swerving past the hull of a burned-out minivan, I saw the remains of a family inside, carbonized, still strapped in their seats. Beyond this was a large bus riddled with bullets, the tourists who’d been inside hanging out of the broken windows. On the other side of the road, we watched cars T-bone into each other, the drivers exiting firing shotguns and pistols.
Suddenly, a figure lumbered out of the darkness up ahead, holding a chainsaw that he fired up.
“Jesus!” Lish shouted, throwing the wheel.
The truck sideswiped the man, who went spinning on his side, his arm falling on the spin chain, getting chewed up as more people emerged from the shadows and I studied them using my SecondSight. Men, women, average folks who were wearing homemade armor, catcher’s equipment, lacrosse padding, football helmets. They were holding gardening tools, golf clubs, shotguns and pistols that probably hadn’t been fired in years.
