by Arthur Stone
“Why are you screaming?” the quasi boomed.
“I dreamed that Lenin ate all my food,” Nut replied distinctly.
“It happens. But whatever you smoked before bed yesterday, don’t smoke that again.”
Fatso appeared in the doorway, weapon ready. “What’s with the screams?”
“Nut took a few too many before bed. Everything’s fine,” Clown replied for all of them.
“A few too many? Don’t you know where we are? The ghouls are coming this way now. They were roaming by, but now that they’ve heard that siren go off, they’ve changed course.”
March peeked out through the windows to evaluate the brightening dusk. “Well, since we’re all awake, let’s say it’s time to start the day. We’ll kill these ghouls, grab some breakfast, and drive out.”
“You misunderstood what I meant by ‘ghouls,’ Fatso said, worried.
“Well, then what did you mean?”
“There aren’t just a few of them. There are many. Hundreds. Thousands. For some reason, they’re all heading directly this way, which is bad. At least we slept well, right, Nut?”
Chapter 18
Life Nine. A Quick Escape
Mechanics were rightly valued. In a world where brand new vehicles could be easily found for free, such a profession might seem doomed to extinction. But only a player who had never needed to escape a horde of infecteds would think so.
All three vehicles started instantaneously, despite the damage, repairs, and alterations they had sustained, and despite the drivers’ nerves. Of course they were nervous. Thousands of infecteds were rumbling in a great chorus of the undead, accompanied by the cymbal crashes of one barrier after another disintegrating under their weight, and the timpani hits of mines exploding underneath them, ripping off their limbs and pummeling them with shrapnel. A lone shot rang out—someone had been unable to resist taking it on the run. But firing bullets and explosives into the horde was nothing but waste, like hurling snowballs at a tidal wave.
A tidal wave of infected monsters. An avalanche of ghouls, undeterred by any obstacle save tripping over themselves. The wall of beasts swept away all three barbed wire fences without even slowing down. Those who got stuck were simply walked over by the ghouls behind them, as the unfortunate vanguard had its bones crushed under its own horde’s weight.
It was this density of the crowd that saved the party. Before attacking the outpost, the infecteds had needed to cross a narrow, steep ravine. They had surged out over the edge, plummeting down to their deaths. Every member of the horde was heading for their target, ignoring everything in their path. So they bumped into each other, tripped, were trampled, and fell until eventually those behind could essentially walk across. Thankfully, no stronger ghouls were among the vanguard—they would have easily caught up with the party and delayed them, allowing the main force to close the gap.
The cars did not even move for the road—there wasn’t time. They moved along the grass, gradually closing with the highway. The pickup was behind the rest, and Fatso started nervously nudging the vehicle to the right, intending to pass the trucks. The incoming wall of the dead in the rearview mirror obviously made him nervous.
This maneuver made it difficult to aim, but Cheater did not see the point in unloading his machinegun into the approaching beasts, anyway. Even if the front rows perished and fell, it would only win them a couple of seconds, at best.
He found himself praying to the System that they would get away. And looking around for breakaways, faster infecteds that had to be killed before they caught the convoy.
At the same time, he assessed the general situation.
From atop the pickup, he saw nothing good. Everything was bad, as far as the eye could see.
The road the outpost station occupied stretched from west to east. Everything north of that road was covered in a thick spread of ghouls. Tens of thousands, or even hundreds of thousands.
If someone counted and concluded there were more than a million, he’d believe them.
The station was overwhelmed with a continuous mass of them, but further down, there were gaps between the subgroups within the horde. Empty spaces between each mass. They were eerily even, like pieces ordered on a chessboard, except that each piece was a large group. Only occasionally was a “square” occupied by just an individual. The bulk of them were moving west at a moderate speed. Only the very edge of the superflock had turned south. Those who had heard Nut’s screams.
Of course, they may have been attracted by something else. The move could have just been coincidence, or they could have sensed their prey some other way. Some advanced infecteds had abilities similar to those of the sensors. They could detect a hiding person from hundreds of yards away—or perhaps miles.
Cheater was not about to speculate. Now, they all could see and hear the convoy. The trucks were tall, and easy to spot from a distance. Quickly breaking formation, the whole left flank of the horde was high-tailing it for the road.
Cheater glanced east, and he could see the rear of the horde. For once, he was thankful for the lack of vegetation and the resulting level of visibility.
He estimated how long the grumbling horde stretched. Using the rangefinder while riding a madly accelerating pickup truck was a hopeless idea. He guessed two miles, maybe three.
They had to clear that distance before the whole horde managed to sweep over the road. If all of the monsters turned south right now, their cause would be lost. But the rearguard did not yet know what was happening up ahead. They continued moving west. As long as they did not react too soon, they had a chance.
Their only salvation would be pure speed. Shooting would not help. Only once things had become utterly hopeless would he touch the trigger. The rattle of a large-caliber machinegun would alert them all, and the road would be overrun.
They could try to drive off the pavement, but the ground alongside didn’t look so good. Off the road, they would be slowed to a speed that was unable to outpace the infecteds. In addition, patches of reeds could be seen up ahead. As the land stretched south from the road, they grew more frequent, eventually congealing into a wall of reeds. That meant they could expect a swamp or a lake there. Impassable for a vehicle. Once off road, they would be chased to the edge and would have to abandon the convoy in an attempt to escape, by running or by swimming.
One beast broke away from the crowd and mounted the roof of the outpost. It crouched on its backwards-facing legs, resembling a hideous grasshopper. For one second, it stared after the retreating convoy—and then jumped so far that Cheater thought it might have wings. Though it weighed a ton, or perhaps more, it flew at least sixty feet through the air. Once it touched the pavement, it continued moving just as quickly, running towards them.
Cheater realized it would catch them. The trucks could only accelerate slowly. The beast would reach them before they managed to hit 50 miles per hour.
“Cheater, stop that thing!” March barked through the walkie-talkie.
He did not explain how. But he obviously did not intend that Cheater use a machinegun or a grenade launcher to do so. They had to avoid making too much noise and exciting the horde up ahead.
Cheater had other means, including one ability particularly well suited to such nimble creatures: Tranquility.
Sadly, it was still in cooldown.
Before he knew what he was doing, Cheater had his bow up and drawn. He spent a generous portion of mana on Explosive Round and fired at the ghoul’s knee.
The creature was nimble. It dodged the incoming threat, which was not moving anywhere near bullet speed. But it did not dodge quickly enough, nor towards the correct side. When it moved one leg out of the way of the incoming arrow, it positioned the other directly in its path. The arrow slammed into the monster’s lower thigh.
Thanks to the many modifications on the bow and the power of the Explosive Round ability, the devastation was greater than any bullet could cause. The arrow drove deep into the creature’s f
lesh, shrugging off the armor in its way.
For an infected, it should be only a minor wound, but it either hit a vital tendon or stunned the beast. It had clearly not expected such pain from such a weak-looking weapon. Shuddering, it tripped over its own paws and tumbled to the asphalt, rolling after the truck like a deflated soccer ball.
It recovered and leaped up within a couple of seconds, but it was no longer a threat. Now that it had lost speed and time, it would not catch the convoy. Soon, the trucks would be moving fast enough that only dire elites would be able to compete. Even the most dangerous border clusters never held more than one or two dire elites. Cheater hoped they would not be members of this horde.
For several seconds, he watched the “grasshopper,” but as he had expected, the beast fell further and further behind, no matter how hard it tried.
He turned to see what was happening ahead of them. To the right, everything looked great. Reeds out to the horizon. Peace and quiet. Straight ahead was also good: just the flat ribbon of the highway, along which all three vehicles were now cruising down.
On the left—well, that was hard to describe. Masses of creatures would soon bury the road. In the distance, however, they were not yet moving—just beginning to turn their heads as they noticed the noise of the engines. A detailed study of the stages of ghoul reactions could be drawn up here, from ignorance in the far distance, to curiosity, to excitement, to jogging, to frenzied rushing.
“Beautiful, Cheater! Everyone: do not fire. Repeat, hold your fire!” the radio ordered.
No one shot. Only in the most extreme circumstances would any of them pull the trigger. Any shots would collapse this study of all stages of infected encounters into one mass study of the final stage. The road in front of them would disappear under a crowd of zombies, and crowd surfers beware.
Cheater gritted his teeth as he held the turret and watched the moving sea. According to his estimation, they would clear the horde at the very last moment. That estimate had no room for contingencies. The slightest delay would result in dozens of ghouls hanging onto the sides of their convoy.
The wave would wash over them. He had never before seen near this many infecteds in one place. All of the ghouls he had ever seen, in all his lives combined, would not total a quarter of this horde.
Another nimbler creature jumped to the edge of the road, well ahead of its competitors. It would not reach the trucks, but it might easily reach the pickup.
“Cheater, can you get that one?” the radio asked.
The question implied some alternative, but there likely wasn’t one. He radioed back, “Yes.”
This one took two arrows. The dodge this creature made successfully avoided the first arrow, causing Cheater to involuntarily admire its gracefulness.
The second arrow took it down when it was just a dozen yards away. Right in the knee. The ghoul skidded along the road, grumbling furiously as it stared at the escaping convoy.
Two elites jumped out in unison to intercept the convoy. They were only junior elites, but they were fast enough to cause serious trouble. One was moving so confidently that he could even reach the front truck, if unimpeded.
“Cheater, take the second one!” the radio ordered.
For some reason, he did not ask who would take down the first, nor how. Yet despite the urgency of the situation, his curiosity got the better of him, and he tried to keep an eye on it.
Because of that, he missed his first two shots. Only an Accuracy of 1000 or more would have been able to compensate for his rubbernecking. He pulled his focus together and fired another couple of arrows.
Now he turned and managed to see the first beast rushing in circles, swinging its paws furiously, as if beating back a swarm of hornets.
Some ability that he was unfamiliar with was obviously at work. The beast seemed to be blind. The effect did not last long. It returned to its senses and tried in vain to close the gap between it and the convoy.
He turned to look ahead of them and nearly cursed under his breath. All of the ghouls were rushing excitedly now. A gigantic flock, charging the road. The convoy still had a half mile to go. Beyond that, there were some stray infecteds, but nothing like the nightmare here.
“Open fire!” March commanded. “Hit the fastest, and the farthest ones down.”
It was clear what “the farthest ones down” meant. He meant the ghouls at the very end; those who might have time to reach the road.
The quad machine guns fired up immediately. Janitor fired short bursts to eliminate the fastest ghouls, or those he considered the most dangerous. A bit later, the machine gun from the truck behind joined the song. Cheater waited for five more seconds. He saw no worthy targets nearby, and shooting into the distance, even with his Accuracy, would be a waste of ammo.
At last he squeezed both triggers, hammering the leading ghouls with volley after volley.
By the time his entire belt was out, he was actually pointing the gun straight to the left, directly towards the side of the road, firing nearly point blank into ghouls dashing for the pickup. Some were even stretching their paws out greedily, reaching for the side. These and other parts of their bodies flew apart, as Janitor managed to take out the large targets, and Cheater’s 12.7 mm rounds did a number on the smaller ones.
One ghoul reached the vehicle. He seized the rear corner of the truck bed. Both machine guns ran out at that moment—it was time to reload.
Cheater drew his sword and severed the creature’s fingers, cutting a deep notch in the truck as he did so. The infected collapsed to the pavement.
It was the last of the fast ones.
Cheater grabbed a box of ammo, looking around as he did so.
He swore aloud.
They weren’t out of hot water yet.
Chapter 19
Life Nine. Land of the Ghouls
Every player knew the word “horde.” Even those with no memory of earthly history and limited vocabulary, and thus no knowledge of the word’s Mongol origins.
The System did not block such historical memories—it’s just that some players never had them to begin with.
The “horde” here referred to a Continental phenomenon. A chthonic assembly, terrifying the land without mercy. It came, not from the underworld, but from the border regions, and it moved along an arbitrary path, destroying everything in its way. Even large coalitions of powerful stables were not always able to stop a horde. A region could be utterly ruined by such an incursion. So yes, everyone knew about hordes.
Including Cheater. General knowledge is not enough, though—you also must be aware of specifics.
At first, the horde had seemed like a compact mass, steamrolling across the cluster, but that had been a false impression.
Yes, the horde had a core of densely concentrated ghouls. But beyond that, many tentacles stretched out from the center for miles. They covered more area than the center itself.
There were still no ghouls visible on the right side of the road, but the left had plenty. They were no longer an impenetrable mob of creatures tripping over one another, but decently sized subflocks could be seen. The territory covered by such flocks—including the gaps between them—was orders of magnitude larger than the “core.” These beasts, like their more centralized accomplices, rushed involuntarily at the convoy and its gunfire.
Cheater fired, reloaded, fired, reloaded. Every now and then he grabbed his sword and cleared out a beast or two clinging to the side. Sometimes, he had to use his pistol. Away he chopped and shot, covered in blackened blood from head to toe, changing out glowing machinegun barrels, and shouting out radio responses to March’s senseless orders.
He didn’t need orders to know that shooting and chopping were top priority.
An elite nearing the pickup truck managed to hit Cheater with a skill that turned his orientation upside down for a few seconds. That, at last, brought Cheater down. A biter grabbed the side and pulled himself up with one paw, swinging with the other.
&nbs
p; That would have been the end of Cheater’s ninth life, but his Reaction held out enough to cause him to recoil. The blow still took half his ear and tore into his scalp.
As the beast climbed further forward towards him, the pickup bounced as it ran over another ghoul. The biter lost its balance and leaned precariously out over the side, offering Cheater an opportunity to attack. Choppa cut into the beast’s groin upwards, driving up along the spine, going in to the hilt in the end. Without taking the time to pull the weapon out of the monstrous wound he had inflicted, Cheater shot a couple more ghouls off the side with his pistol. Rising, he determinedly sprayed the closest with the machine guns. That took the last of his ammo, but it was enough.
