by Arthur Stone
“What do you mean?” March cocked his head.
“You heard what the man said, didn’t you?”
“I’m drunk, not deaf. And not dumb like you. You should try being drunk instead of dumb sometime, Cheat. Then maybe you wouldn’t have such unconscionable thoughts.”
“Unconscionable? You know what’s bothering me, March. Nut is no longer just a green-haired punk mystery. He’s a marked man, with a tall bounty on his head. We have no idea how many teams are out looking for him. Are you completely sure we can’t do this without a sapper?”
March sipped again, thoughtfully, and then once more before his voice darkened. “There is only one thing I am completely sure of: this can is going to be empty soon. You could kill me right now, yet the result would be the same. Beer never lasts long in an open can. It’s one of the laws of nature. Look, plans are a funny thing on the Continent. Sometimes, even the most convoluted or confusing plan can work out. An impossible plan can go off without a hitch. Or, an elementary plan can go terribly awry. Thus no, I am not completely sure we need a sapper. I am also sure that Nut is not exactly a shining example of the best of humanity—and that he might bring us a lot of trouble. I don’t like that. But who cares? Everyone attracts trouble to some degree. I’ve learned to live with it. You should have stopped to consider your own situation. Potential trouble for our party could not get much more serious, Nut or no Nut. We have you. Some of the most dangerous people in the world are after you. You’ve offended them deeply. You make enemies easily. We also have the Janitor, who is on the most wanted lists in at least two regions. Both have plenty of people willing to pay well for each screenshot of a system message announcing his death. Those regions are far to the west, yes. But things are always shifting, even here on the Continent. Old ties are strengthened, and new ones appear. This world is slowly globalizing. I wouldn’t be surprised to hear of a couple of teams in this very region who have Janitor on their list. It’s not like they have to deliver his head personally, after all. There’s a way to make screenshots transferable, and trade caravans are eager to deliver such a lightweight and profitable good. Now, we have an insane healer and her two wretched companions. There were no background checks. Perhaps all three of them have just as much in their past. But when you find a healer, you take them along, no matter the cons. So we would have skipped the background checks, even if we had had the time for them.”
“Nut’s not a healer, and he didn’t get a background check,” Cheater squinted.
“He didn’t? That’s news to me. We checked him out.”
“I was there,” Cheater reminded him. “We didn’t.”
“I remember that you were there. Did you really think I was just guzzling beer and falling for his stories?”
Cheater nodded. “That’s exactly what you were doing.”
“Well, yes. Most of the time. But I also asked some locals about Nut. Relatively reliable locals. They said that Nut has some issues, but that no one is after him. After all, before the fall of the Devils, this area of the region and the North had little to do with each other. The North has its own clans and villains and conflicts. Neither group had any desire to run into the other, so they kept to their own areas. An Iron Curtain was up between the two. Well, not quite that strong. A Tinfoil Curtain, at least. But the news about recent funny stuff with the Devils reached the North quickly. Some took initiative and rushed south. Until they arrived, no one down here knew that a bounty was out on Nut’s head. He doesn’t look like the type to be hunted, you know. How could we have known? Plus, it’s rare that anyone gets that upset about someone here. OK, I admit it, it was my mistake. I was shortsighted, perhaps. But honestly, Cheater, how should I have known? Not even the locals knew. As an outsider, my chances of finding out were much worse.”
“I get it,” Cheater nodded. “Now, you know. So how do we proceed?”
“Proceed? As we were before. Or have you decided not to head east after all? If that’s the case, we can stay here. Start unraveling our problems and settling in.”
Cheater shook his head. “There’s nothing for me here.”
“So what’s your aim? Nut’s got problems. You’ve got problems. And Janitor. And the whole Order of the Putrid Healers. Our party is basically one big problem. Our priestess spent several weeks downing potent drugs and antidepressants. Probably some spec, too. Sometimes, when a person can’t stop crying, it is no longer from actual grief. Spec withdrawal is awful stuff. Drug addicts have it made here on the Continent in most ways—no overdose, habit, or withdrawal will kill a player. But that only applies to physical dependence. The System doesn’t help with psychological dependence. So our priestess might as well be a ticking bomb. No one knows when she’ll go off. In my opinion, she doesn’t even know that she’s been relocated to some other place. Once she figures that out, I have no idea what will happen. Meanwhile, the whole world is aware that we recently killed an Unnamed One. Many are the people who would love to see the loot we got. You and I, Cheater, are big fat targets. Those with the most initiative are already making moves. Against us. We don’t have a big party, and only a few of us are known to be trustworthy. So with all of this going on, it’s Nut that worries you?”
“You’re right, you’re right. I don’t care about Nut. But perhaps you can at least tell me why we need a sapper?”
“I already covered that.”
“When? How?”
“You need to start drinking. Maybe then you’ll also start understanding. I clearly said that he may not even be needed. However, there is a potential course of events in which he will be essential. Plus, a good sapper is a helpful addition to any team.”
“And he’s a good sapper?”
“Right, I’m not sure of that. But he seems to be just the sapper we need. Now, anything else you want to ask? Go ahead.”
“Yes. About the new weapon. Did you see the results? Clown’s idea to kick up the caliber size really worked. I have no idea how steel cores can cause such explosions, but I was overjoyed. It’s got a good rate of fire, and although its muzzle velocity is low, that doesn’t matter over short distances. So I did some calculations. Even at this cost, shooting an elite will turn a profit. And that’s with the assumption that we get no pearls, and that our luck is poor with all of the other items.”
March raised an eyebrow. “Since when are you a master mathematician?”
“I’ve always been good at numbers. Some extra sporesac loot will do us well. An Unnamed One is amazing game, of course, but they’re quite rare. Maybe we can hit one every three months, but it might be as slow going as one every six. Does that sound right to you?”
“Yes. The beasts are rare, as you mentioned—and my ability takes a long time to cool down. Why are you worried about money all of a sudden? You’ve got a whole pack of priceless mods. Your net worth is hardly calculable.”
Cheater shook his head. “We need good weapons. The best. You, me, Clown, and Kitty. Those are the people in the world that I trust fully. A main weapon, a pistol, and a melee weapon each. Then, we put the maximum number of the best modifications on each of them. Have you seen my rifle? I doubt there’s one like it in the whole region. But it didn’t used to be like that. I modded it up. I’m not carrying the superior mods in order to sell them, but to use them. Well, I’ll sell some of them, but not many.”
“You have more superior mods than I can count.”
“Sure, I have a lot, but it would be stupid to sell them. They can significantly strengthen our party—if we use a lot of them. Assembling a whole set is tough work. Many of the mods get spent in the process. So we need to keep all of the superior ones. The lesser kinds have nearly all been sold already.”
“You have that hidden pack.”
“I do. But even if I do ever go back for them, it won’t be anytime soon. Some downed elites would do us well.”
“You’ve seen how much effort it takes to set that thing up and load it? By the time you’re ready to fire, the elite
will have managed to eat twelve trucks whole, including yours. I’ve seen my fair share of elites, too. I’d bet you a hundred to one that this wouldn’t take them down with any consistency. Perhaps with a direct hit—but with a slow projectile like this one, making that hit would be sheer luck. And even your Luck knows how to let you down now and then.”
“Right,” Cheater nodded, “but that’s only because the apparatus we’ve built for it is, well, crude. We could find a more suitable power source, and specialists who can handle the rest. In the end, we’d have a powerful Nold cannon. Imagine how strong our party would be then. Maybe not even just a party then. A platoon or something.”
“A platoon? That escalated quickly.”
“Hem and haw all you want, March, but we have to think about it. The stronger our team, the better life will be for us. I have some ideas along those lines, including this Nold cannon. Think about it.”
“Sure. As soon as ‘cannon’ is the right word for it. So far, the gun is a neat gadget that wants to melt after just a few shots. Any more questions?”
“About a hundred,” Cheater admitted, “but I’ll save them for later. You can’t handle many questions at once.”
“Of course not. My mind is only able to digest two stupid questions at a time—or ten smart questions. Since you don’t have any smart questions, keep them to pairs, please. Now let’s beat it before the ghouls running towards this little shelling ground of ours show up.
Chapter 14
Life Nine. More Mechanical Mess
“You checked this vehicle several times over,” March scoffed, “and told me each time that it was in great shape. And without any of your sarcasm. Then the brakes just drop off, and now the fuel system is down. What happened, Clown? You’ve been making a few too many mistakes recently. Assuming this was, in fact, a mistake. You didn’t happen to be a used car dealer in your past life, did you? You have a clear talent for selling rust at the price of gold.”
The mechanic shrugged. “Insult me if you want, kill me if you want. I’m the one to blame, it seems. But I checked everything that needed checking, and I didn’t miss a thing. You’ll never find one who can do better. There’s just something about this car that attracts shit. Like it’s cursed. Bewitched. Sure, I still have no idea what they did to the brakes. I’ve tried.”
Cheater leaned over. “You think someone did something similar to the fuel lines?”
Clown’s head wavered. “I don’t know. Who would need to do that? And how would they pull it off? I understand that sabotaging the brakes is a cunning move. Well, why would they need to do anything to the fuel lines when they had already taken out the brakes? I guess it could be insurance. But no, I don’t believe that. Also, I’m not sure how anyone could take a fuel pump out like this. Only one little part is broken, right here. There’s simply no access to that part—give a mechanic ten minutes to get to it, and if he does, he’ll be setting a world record. I would bet nearly anything this is a manufacturing defect. Not like the brake lines, disintegrating into dust. If this were the work of the same group, I would suspect they’d use the same method. That’s not the case at all. Either this was the work of someone else, or this is just a coincidence. I’m assuming no one is about to suggest our truck was sabotaged en route by two different teams. No, this is a defect. Just bad luck.”
March replied mid-sip. “I really don’t know anything about cars. I just ride them. So tell me: can it go any farther? Or not?”
“It’s got wheels, so it can go. But there will be some difficulties.”
“Such as?”
“I can’t fix the pump, but I can fit a gas can onto the roof. Gravity will pull the fuel down, without the need for a pump. Then we can proceed.”
“You can do that?” Nut gaped.
“Of course. Don’t expect it to be a nice ride, though. If it were, everyone would stick the fuel on top and forget about pumps entirely. This is an emergency measure only. Worst case scenario. We won’t be able to move quickly. In addition, we could easily stall at any given moment. And a gas can doesn’t hold a lot, so it won’t take us far. Bit by bit, though, we can get where we need to go.”
“Crossing the border with gas cans on the roof doesn’t sound like the most solid plan,” March replied. “You’re the mechanic, of course, but I have my doubts.”
“Who ever said we had to cross the border in this shit? We just have to get far enough to find another truck. I don’t see any point in turning back—there were no suitable vehicles on the way that I saw. But there are plenty of vehicles without owners lying around the Continent.”
“So we’ll put the antiaircraft gun on the new vehicle,” Goblin announced.
Clown blinked. “Goblin, why isn’t your nickname Genius?”
“Uh...”
“Oh wait, that’s right: geniuses think with their heads, not with their fat rolls. Why the hell would we move the whole antiaircraft gun over when this truck just needs one little part? I’ll have the pump working again faster than you can hike up your pants. Then we’ll be back in business.”
“So why don’t we just look for the part, then?”
“Where are you going to do that, if not in another truck? I don’t see a car parts store nearby. No dealerships. No repair shops. We’ll only find something like that with insane luck, or perhaps if we’re in a good stable.”
Gangrene approached, his face frowning in disgust. “The girl is conscious. The little one.”
“Button?” Clown asked.
“Yeah. She’s beating her fists, sobbing, and getting snot and saliva all over the floor. Saying ‘just kill me, I’m not going anywhere’ over and over. ‘I don’t want to live anymore!’ Stuff like that.”
Fatso set off for the truck. “I’ll take care of her. Or I’ll try, anyway. If I can’t do it, no one can.”
“Get her done,” March said with a nod, “and Clown, you put that gas can on the roof and get it hooked up, and we’ll be off. Off to look for a new fuel pump.”
“There’s one problem,” Cheater piped up.
“Is there?”
“Who will drive the pickup if Fatso is busy with Button? You?”
“Ah,” March nodded, “no, I don’t like driving, and sensors should stay up at the front. We need Clown up with us, too. We’re the artillery, the best driver, and the radar,” he tapped his temple with his finger. “Hey, Nut, how good are you with pickups? You get along?”
“I haven’t driven one for a while, but yeah, I’m fine. Muscle memory and all.”
“OK, you’re taking Fatso’s place.”
“Who will take the truck machine gun?”
“Goblin and Gangrene, in shifts. One drives and the other mans the gun, and then they switch. Fatso will keep an eye on them.”
“The hell!” Goblin interjected. “We’re not machine gunners!”
“And I’m no mental health specialist, yet here we are. Who else do we have? Do you want to put Nipple on the gun?”
“You could take it.”
“I could. But I’m your only far-range sensor, and not even a very good one. If I’m driving, I become a worthless sensor. I’d miss an elephant standing right on the road. Don’t worry about it. Fatso will show you which end of the gun to point at the enemy. If we get in a fight, he’ll take the gun himself. Your job isn’t to fight—it’s to keep up appearances.”
* * *
This corner of the world had no cities whatsoever. It was a hodgepodge of small clusters, where even a decent highway could suddenly be replaced by a ruined dirt road—and at times, even a meager path, along which they made their way from one pothole to the next at snailish speeds. Abandoned vehicles were rare finds, and usually passenger cars. Clown did not even slow down to take a closer look.
A couple of times, they did stop near something more impressive, but neither of those cases had the fuel pump they needed. Or they did, but Clown rejected them as rusted or broken.
Cheater felt his stress levels rising. They
had piddled along like turtles for an hour and a half, with nothing to show for it. Plus, a couple of times they had to fight off serious infecteds tempted by the slow-moving targets they made. They were physically strong enough, but still too dull to realize that the party was much too tough for them.
Mightier beasts could appear at any time. That was at least as upsetting as their ridiculously plodding pace.
Any detour to a stable would take ages. They would lose time outright and, besides that, risk the notice of someone with ill intentions. Even then, the stable might not contain the necessary part or a suitable truck.
Perhaps the stable wouldn’t even have a settlement. The map showed one, but it was tiny—the kind of village that might easily be wiped off the face of the earth. Since the region was in turmoil, and old and new enemies alike searched for them in every part of it, it was best for them to stay as far away from populous areas as they could.
