《Lomion System: Worlds Beyond This One Await》 Chapter 1: Luck When Clay was 6, he dressed up as a hero for Halloween. He couldn''t remember which one. There was a vague recollection of a conversation between him and one of his friends from around that time. He couldn''t remember his face or his name. There was talk of why the subject of their respective costumes was better than the other. He couldn''t remember what exactly he''d been asked. However, Clay did remember his answer. Mostly. "[######] is the best because he never gets scared! Real heroes don''t get scared or cry or anything! Also, he''s the strongest!" The other boy said something about it being unfair. "It''s because you''re stupid!" Clay told him. This stuck out in his memory because it was associated with pain, the pain of being struck by another person for the first time. It turned out wearing the costume didn''t give him the strength to keep from crying. It was just a character, after all. The memory crossed his mind in a moment of lucidity. It sparked a funny thought. If he were a character, would anyone ever dress up as him? He didn''t think he''d like that. His thoughts were allowed to turn negative again. He was sinking, but it was a good thing. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ When Clay''s vision cleared, he found that his body was already running. Not just running. Sprinting. The dilapidated alleyways zoomed past before he was throwing himself into a nearby building through its already broken window. From what little Clay''s mind could pick up on amid this all-consuming panic was that this was an apartment building in the middle of a city. His sudden turn had landed him in the overturned living room of one of these apartments. The state of the place made it clear that whoever lived here had long since gone. Unfortunately, so had anything that might have been worth taking or using as a weapon. Keeping quiet, he looked through the window to check on the status of his pursuers. Just as he did, the two zombies that had been following behind had already shambled close enough that their reckless grasps might have reached him if he hadn''t instinctively shot backwards and started scrambling his way towards the front door of the apartment. Despite being corpses, they could still run just fine. It was hard to create meaningful distance when all he was doing was running in straight lines or diving over short obstacles. He turned the knob and sent the door slamming against the wall next to the doorframe. Clay barreled out into a hallway with similar doors, nearly falling over after unnecessarily putting most of his body weight into exiting the apartment. Clay¡¯s pale fingers pressed hard against the opposite wall and shoved him deeper into the apartment complex. Sounds behind him already told Clay that the creatures weren''t too far behind. He ran up a flight of stairs, two steps at a time until he was on the second floor. An array of doors down a hallway matched its cousin below, and flew by just as quickly as he fled up to the third floor as well. At this rate, Clay was going to end up caught or cornered. He couldn''t just keep running like this. Was there time to check if a different apartment had its door unlocked? He didn''t want to look over his shoulder to check; the harsh thudding of their feet trailing behind on the stairs was enough to tell him that if he was going to try opening doors, he was going to have to be quick about it. Mid-run, Clay''s hand whipped to the side to jostle a doorknob. Locked. He tried again on the next door. Locked. The amount that this slowed him down had felt negligible. However, even just trying those two doors caused him to lose too much ground for him to justify trying another. For the first time since they''d clawed at him from the window, he spared them a glance. As far as walking cadavers go, only one of them had the look of a stereotypical, rotting zombie. Tight grey skin against a skeletal frame. Off-white eyes that should have lost their function a long time ago. What few strands of hair remained flew loose in the air when it moved too aggressively. A man, most likely. The other was immaculate by comparison. Its eyes still retained their natural color, even if the look it gave him was just as vacant. Torn clothing revealed gashes that started to fester, but what caught his eye was a telling bite mark on the shoulder that its ruined shirt was showing off. A woman. The chase was taken to the fourth floor, but he left it behind without shaking any doorknobs. He couldn''t find the courage to slow down and check another door until he was on the fifth and final floor. Clay threw himself against the closest one he could find when he reached the top of the stairs. Sure enough, it opened for him. Clay didn''t waste any time invading the apartment, but had the inclination to deny further guests by slamming the door shut behind him and locking it. It even had a convenient secondary latch that felt strangely satisfying to slide into place. He took a few steps back and just stared at the door, feeling a sense of relief that made his knees buckle. Sweet, dangerous relief. Clay''s legs were about to give out completely when the zombies started pounding against the door. That sudden noise after the moment of serenity, as well as the not-so-reassuring sight of the door''s wood starting to warp from the ferocity of their strikes, did just fine in putting Clay back on the move. The apartment was a lot like the first one, with the only thing distinguishing it being the novel (but still equally run down and turned over) furniture it had. He had to find a means of escape from this apartment, or at least some way to fight them off. His body was already quick at work rifling through cupboards in the kitchen with panicked desperation. Obviously helpful things like knives and the like were replaced with empty holders and dust outlines inside of mostly vacant drawers. All there was to find that had passing usefulness was a fire extinguisher under the sink. Better than nothing. That''s where the good news ended, however, as the sounds of more footsteps pounding up the stairs towards the apartment overpowered the pounding on the front door. All the noise he made during that pursuit had attracted more of them. A lot more. Enough that the door, which was already reaching its limit with two determined zombies, would easily crumble if Clay did nothing. Newfound strength lit up his muscles alongside newfound survival instincts. The roughed-up couch in the center of the living room was pushed hard towards the door and used as a makeshift barricade that would, hopefully, buy him a little bit of time. It seemed like such an obvious thing to do now that he looked at it. Why hadn''t he done this first thing after locking the door? The short-lived security he''d gotten from sliding the latch was probably to blame. Complacency was dangerous. No time to ponder over that now. Clay sprinted to one of the bedrooms and shut himself inside. Picked clean like the rest of the home. Not even a mattress, just an empty bedframe. From the looks of a poster on the wall (for something called Mavoin''s Day Out, an animitated movie that Clay had never heard of), this room had once belonged to a little girl. There was a window! It didn''t seem too hard to open, either! However, there was the problem of what he was going to do once he got out the window. There wasn''t a fire escape, and five stories was way too high for him to just tank¡­though it might at least be better than getting ripped apart by the flesh-hungry beasts beating at the door. On them, Clay heard a dreadfully loud slam as the front door was finally brought off its hinges. It was hard to tell what was going on outside the room beyond that, but something told him that this bedroom was much less durable. All of the furniture here was too big and awkward for him to try and move them in front of the door. They''d be on him before it would make a difference. With no time to waste, Clay ripped open the closet doors and rifled through drawers for anything that might expand his options. He was left disappointed, save for a spare bundle of moderately fresh sheets. Was there enough time for him to tie this off somewhere and climb down the side of the building? His instincts told him no. Not only did he expect the hoard would be upon him before he could securely tie one end of the bedsheet to something, but the amount of length he could get from just one bedsheet wouldn''t be enough to save him from a painful drop. You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version. With a fire extinguisher in one hand and a bedsheet over his shoulder, Clay had no choice to but to hurry over to the window. They''d be on him in just a moment. Clay couldn''t think straight. He didn''t want to die like this. Fuck it! He''d have to make the drop. Who cares if he died from it? Maybe he should angle himself so his head would hit the pavement first just to make sure he at least went quickly. Ending up vulnerable from two broken legs and getting eaten alive anyway sounded like a sour deal. A grunt from him and some squeaky sounds from the window later, he had it open and was halfway outside when there came another crash. The zombies were filing into the room now, pushing and shoving as if the bodies of their brethren were just more inanimate obstacles between them and their meal. He found purchase on a ledge outside the window, barely wide enough for him to place his foot on when he turned it sideways. If it weren''t for that, Clay would have likely fallen down the side of the building completely when he started spraying the incoming zombies with the fire extinguisher. It had a little more kickback than he was expecting. It wasn''t so strong that he couldn''t keep it under control, he was just caught off guard for a second. There were at least ten of them in the room before everything was obscured in a cloud of white. At the same time, Clay angled himself to the side and planted both feet on the ledge. He stopped the fire extinguisher from spewing its contents and used one of his hands to start pulling himself along the wall and away from the window at the same time that one of the zombies appeared from the vapor and lunged towards him. If it weren''t for the fact that its vision had been distracted by the fire extinguisher, it probably would have latched onto him and sent them both falling. Instead, it brainlessly grabbed at the first thing it could and ''hugged'' his fire extinguisher. Clay immediately let it go, the zombie¡¯s momentum causing it to fall headfirst down to the sidewalk below with its new toy. >+10 XP Worked for Clay just fine. With both hands free, he was able to start moving along the side of the building. The ledge was too thin for him to do anything except carefully move sideways along its path, and not even a second passed before more of the zombies were poking their head out and trying to claw at him. A fire extinguisher''s emissions only last a few seconds at most, so they weren''t going to stupidly fall out because they couldn''t see him properly anymore. Instead, they were going to stupidly fall out because they''d overextend and get shoved over the edge by their equally ravenous peers. In the time afforded to him, he was at least able to get outside their reach. Barely. He couldn''t move too fast and risk slipping, but moving too slowly would have gotten him caught. All one of them had to do was get a solid grip on him and this whole thing would be over, and their filthy fingers always seemed to get too close for comfort. Luckily, they didn''t have the brain capacity or the coordination to follow Clay''s lead along the ledge properly. He was so focused on the zombies that he only noticed now how hard he''d been panting, cheek pressed tight against cool brick. Everything besides them had fallen beneath his notice. Clay earned himself some breathing room, but he didn''t dare let himself become complacent once more. Even after it became clear they wouldn''t be able to follow him, he still kept his eyes on the window they emerged from while he created more distance. Just the idea of taking his eyes off them for a moment made him feel uneasy. But eventually, he turned his head to look at the direction he''d been moving in and felt even worse. The window ahead of him had zombies trying to reach him as well. Not as many as the first, but enough still that it made shimmying to safety impossible. He was stuck here. Clay couldn''t even rest his body properly; just keeping his balance and pressing himself against the wall meant there was no relaxing. Unable to relax his body, the stress on his mind would just keep building. He knew he had to chill out and try to think of something, but¡­ Hadn''t he resolved to take the spill and die? Finding a ledge with his foot must have subconsciously given him enough hope to keep dragging this out. Clay should''ve known better - his luck was dogshit. Clay adjusted his head and looked up, chin tucked against the wall. The roof was above him, but the overhang extended out too far for him to just reach for it. He''d have to jump backwards a bit and catch the ledge like he was some kind of rock climber. Clay was no rock climber. In fact, the only thing that had gotten him this far was pure adrenaline. With things winding down enough for him to catch his breath, he was being reminded of how unathletic he really was. His limbs ached something fierce. The bottom of his feet hurt. In all that commotion, he''d forgotten he was barefoot. He was wearing a pair of slippers at the beginning of the chase, but he''d inadvertently flung them off once it intensified. If there had been anyone else around, the sight of him might have been either amusing or worrying under normal circumstances. A thin, lanky man clinging to the side of a building in his pajamas, his bathrobe and some bedsheets drifting idly in the wind. His body felt close to giving out. If he didn''t do something soon, he wouldn''t have the energy to do anything. Going down wasn''t an option if he was serious about surviving. The zombies that have been following him would just chase him down, especially with this fatigue. There''d be no more running through alleyways for him, not until he could rest. Right and left were suicide. So that only left¡­ Tired eyes narrowed at the overhang above him. The same daunting overhang, likely built as part of a system for draining rainwater; it hadn''t been made specifically to keep people from climbing up. The jump required was intimidating, but nothing that a normal adult couldn''t handle. It was doable. But still intimidating. He was running on fumes, and there was a lingering doubt in his mind that he could make it even in top condition. On top of that, the mental image of himself trying to jump for it made his already wobbly knees feel like jelly. Clay tried to psyche himself up for the task. He''d jump! He''d jump! He¡¯d go for it! If he didn''t make it, he could at least die from the fall. For some reason, the simple thought that failure would lead to a comparatively painless death made him feel better. Before he could talk himself out of it, Clay was already jumping from the ledge and pushing off the wall to give himself as much horizontal movement as possible. His long fingers managed to wrap onto the lip of the overhang enough that he didn''t plummet, but his grip was nowhere near good enough to start pulling himself up. Clay had expected as much, though. He''d already known how he wanted to do this before he jumped, predicting his lack of athleticism. An unassisted pull-up in his condition would be too much for him, and there was no way he''d be able to hang for very long. The second he stopped, he''d be worn out. Clay continued moving without skipping a beat. He swung his legs forward enough to press his feet against the wall, pressing himself upwards while his arms pulled with all their might to assist them. After a few seconds, he was able to get a final kick-off that gave him the final push he needed to throw himself above the overhang and hook his arm over the top of a small wall. Before much longer, Clay was laying on his back on an unfamiliar rooftop while trying to catch his breath. He couldn''t move his arms or legs, his lungs burned, and his hair annoyingly clung to his face after soaking in sweat. He let out a sound that momentarily disturbed his heavy breathing. A weak approximation of a laugh. But he''d made it. CLANG! Something metallic fell to the ground off to his side. Clay limply turned his head. In the rush of the moment, his mind had only noted some sort of chain on the rooftop''s door during his climb. Looking at it now, it had been looped through the heavy door handle and around a piece of rebar that had been hammered into the wall next to the door, likely for this exact purpose. Even those zombies would have a hard time making it up here. But that''s not where his attention was right now. Clay could only watch as a single zombie started limping towards him from the other side of the rooftop. His luck was dogshit. Chapter 2: Dead and Dying The zombie didn''t sprint at him like the other ones did. If it had, Clay would already be dead. It moved slowly, dragging one foot behind the other and reaching out with its arms in a way that more resembled the sort of zombies most would think of. It was a man wearing a hard hat and a reflective vest. Some sort of blue collar worker, it looked like. The noise that drew his attention had been its toolbelt falling to the ground from its waist, the metallic instruments it held clanging against each other. It caught on one of his ankles and was dragged along for a few steps more. Then it tripped, falling face-first. The reason was obvious: one of its feet had been cut off at the ankle, making it much harder to walk when it insisted on putting its weight on a bloody, rotten stump. Between that and the toolbelt at its feet (or foot), it was a wonder it had been able to make as many steps as it did. It crawled a few feet and finally left its toolbelt behind. Its body was blocking his view now, but Clay definitely saw a hammer among the belt¡¯s tools. However, there was no means for him to reach it at the moment, and even the effort he put into sitting up felt like a little too much for him. Clay''s body was tired and worn down, but it wasn¡¯t as if it had become useless. As if realizing the situation called for a little more verticality, the zombie also started picking itself up while continuing to move forward. Clay was faster in standing up, but was too scared of getting close to the zombie to do anything with the advantage. Wouldn''t he get infected if this thing bit him? It was best not to risk it if he didn''t have a weapon¡­ He also wasn''t confident about circling around to retrieve the hammer. Even if he had it, he''d have to get close in order to bash its head in. Movies and TV shows made it look so easy once you had any sort of weapon, but an average person like him couldn''t see himself suddenly getting a surge of confidence once he had something weighty in his hand. Melee range with a zombie was dangerous. But there weren¡¯t many options; the best he could do was minimize the chances of being bitten. An idea popped into his head quickly enough. Slowly, like he was trying not to let the brainless monster catch on to what he was doing, Clay allowed the bedsheet draped on his shoulder to fall into his hand. He flapped it against the air a few times to make sure it was properly unfurled and took two steps back. It would be obvious when it tried to lunge. Clay had the upper hand. It took a lot of effort getting here. He wasn''t going to get kicked out by someone who only had one foot to kick with. The thing prepared to lunge, taking a particularly determined step that put more weight than usual on its stump. That''s when Clay threw the sheet onto its head at the same time, covering its face and keeping it from being able to see him as he used a spurt of energy to duck to the side and let it run forward at where he had been standing. It clawed at empty space, ripping the sheet away from its head in doing so. It wasn''t given the moment it needed to get its bearings and attack him again. Clay ran up behind it and drove his foot as hard as he could into its back. Unable to catch itself or regain its balance, it was sent flailing over the edge and off the rooftop to the cold concrete below. He turned away to keep from seeing the aftermath. This was the power of someone with both feet firmly attached. After whipping his head around to make sure there wouldn''t be any more unexpected surprises, he finally sank back into a sitting position on the ground. >+10 XP What the hell was that? Clay had thought he''d been imagining things when he heard it earlier, but most of his focus was on the zombies then. There was no mistaking it this time. Actually, now that he had a moment to think¡­ How did he even end up in this city? The last thing he remembered before all this was sitting at his desk and wasting time on his computer. Wait, no. That wasn''t exactly true. There was something else tugging at the edge of his mind, something more. Vague recollections of important context. It refused to be remembered, like a half-forgotten dream. Pretty much all of it had vanished in the commotion of that harrowing chase, but he hadn¡¯t been left with nothing. Two words. He spoke real, coherent words for the first time since his arrival. "Open window." It appeared. A red-hued, slightly translucent window hung in the air a few feet in front of him. It was exactly like something out of one of those "I Died In a Motorcycle Accident and Now I''m a Motorcycle in Another World"-type webcomics. It had words on it, but it went through vague statements so fast that he could barely read before it moved on to the next one. >FIRST TIME OPENING OF KANFISK WINDOW >MEASURING [TRAVELER] APTITUDE >RANK ESTABLISHED >FINISHING SETUP >ERROR - MODIFIED SYSTEM DETECTED >ATTEMPTING AUTOMATIC SYSTEM FIX >PERMISSIONS DENIED >VERIFICATION STATUS OF TRAVELER PENDING >[TRAVELER] VERIFIED! WORLDS BEYOND THIS ONE AWAIT! >THE LOMION SYSTEM WELCOMES YOU, (Clay) The fact he saw those first few messages had probably been incidental. It only lingered on the welcome message a few seconds longer before the window expanded in size to accommodate a slew of new content. --------------------------------------------------------- You are Clay HEALTH: 0/0 | STAMINA: 0/0 --- LEVEL: 1/10 | EXP: 20/1000 | SKILLS: 0/1 --- STAT POINTS: 5/5 | SKILL POINTS: 5/5 --- BODY - Strength: 0 | Speed: 0 | Resilience: 0 | ?? MIND - ?? | ?? | ?? | ?? HEART - ?? | ?? | ?? | CIDURAC --- -SKILLS- CURRENT WORLD: Dead and Dying OBJECTIVE: Survive TIME REMAINING: ??? --------------------------------------------------------- Wait, was this stuff actually real? Was he some kind of video game character now? There was a lazy, slightly bewildered smile on his face as he looked over his ''stats''. It was probably best if he just skipped to the part where he accepts this reality and does his best to take advantage, lest this world be the one to take advantage of his skepticism and make an example out of him. This wasn''t a dream or a hallucination, at least as far as he could tell. It was in his interest to keep it cool and keep an open mind about these impossible windows. Hmm¡­ Well, the first thing that jumped out at him was the fact that he had no health. No stamina either, for that matter. Looked like it was a little different to him having just run out, too. He apparently had 0 maximum on those stats to begin with. 0 health logically meant death, so maybe it was meant to be more of a buffer between him and actual lethality? If his thinking was right there, it would definitely be useful to get those numbers up. Clay gave the Health stat an experimental poke. A smaller window popped up within, giving him more information. >HEALTH: Resilience x ??? Was this meant to be helpful? Okay. He recognized Resilience as one of his stats, at least. Did this mean his Health had something to do with one of the stats he couldn''t see? It probably had something to do with the small assortment of Stat Points he possessed. He tapped the Stat Points box in the same way he''d done his Health. >STAT POINTS (StP): Spent on upgrading or acquiring new Stats - You will gain 2 Stat Points per Level Now he was beyond interested. If putting these points into something like his Strength could actually make him stronger, then this whole zombie apocalypse thing would become so much more palatable. On the other hand, it was more of a priority to make himself survivable. Being able to take hits or stay on the run faster without falling over in a sweaty heap became pressing after he had to experience what it would be like in this world with his physique as it was. Figure out things like Health and Stamina first - and if his hunch was right¡­ Clay tapped his finger against the lock symbol underneath his Resilience stat. >Spend 1 Stat Point to unlock a mystery Body stat? >Yes His choice was followed by the lock dramatically opening, accompanied by an equally showy clicking sound. >ENDURANCE: Longevity of the body Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.Clay swiped the sub-window away and returned his attention to the Health stat. >HEALTH: Resilience x Endurance Ah-ha! So his Health would be decided by multiplying his Resilience stat by his Endurance stat. It was tempting to just go ahead and make both stats a little more substantial, given both of them being at 0 meant he still had nothing, but he thought he should learn more about the system before rushing into anything. This was good information¡­Oh, what about his Stamina? >STAMINA: Endurance x Strength Still 0 as well, but this was also good to know. There was also a passing thought of spending more points on unlocking the other hidden stats, but he already didn''t have that many left to waste. Maybe some other time¡­ Getting more information about his objective and the charged listing of his ''Current World'' would have been nice, but pressing them didn''t yield any enlightening sub-windows. It was disappointing, but he would have to just ignore his lingering questions about them for now and move on. Skill Points, it was! >SKILL POINTS (SkP): Spent on upgrading or acquiring new Skills - You will gain 2 Skill Points per Level >Would you like to open the Skill Shop? Uh, yeah? Then he was bombarded. A series of smaller, card-shaped windows absorbed his view. --------------------------------------------------------- [SKILL STORE] [IMMUNITY] (1SkP) - Passive Some people can shrug off the influence of dark forces on their biology. Now ''some people'' includes you! You are immune to the (Plague) of [Dead and Dying]. You also gain a 10% resistance against all other forms of disease and infection. Upgrading this Skill makes you more resistant to diseases of all kinds. [A GOOD FEELING] (1 SkP) - Active In times like these, it¡¯s important for people to stay positive. You gain a 5% bonus to ??? when attempting to do so. Any allies that can hear you gain a bonus equal to half of your own. Upgrading this Skill increases your bonus. [VEHICULAR FEEL] (1 SkP) - Passive Can''t drive if you don''t know how. You are (Intermediate) with any vehicle you drive. Upgrading this Skill increases your level of competency [SWEEP AND CLEAN] (2 SkP) - Passive It is difficult to survive on your own, especially in times like these. You gain 20% bonus in ??? when working with a group, though only in respect to that group. Upgrading this Skill increases your bonus. [WHAT RECOIL?] (2 SkP) - Passive It can be hard to keep those guns when they buck around like that, right? Even if you''re a stronger sort and have no problem with recoil in normal situations, you can''t get very creative or one-hand higher-caliber weapons, right? You experience 10% less recoil when using mundane weapons. Upgrading this Skill increases the amount of recoil it reduces. [SCORE!] (2 SkP) - Passive Someone up there really likes you. Gain a 5% bonus to ???. Gain a further 10% when searching areas for supplies. Upgrading this Skill increases your bonus. [NICE SHOOTING] (3 SkP) - Passive If you want to survive in this world, you¡¯re gonna need a lot more than just your fists. Weaponry, after all, is the great equalizer, especially guns. You are (Intermediate) with any mundane firearm you pick up. Upgrading this Skill increases your level of competency. [SOUND OF SILENCE] (3 SkP) - Active How many times have people in this world died because they carelessly made just a little too much noise? You have the ability to silence any sound in your line of sight, which is then saved up and deployed at your leisure. You can store up to (2) sounds at a time. You must empty a sound slot by deploying it in order to store up a new sound. Upgrading this Skill increases the amount of sounds you can store. [TAGGING] (3 SkP) - Active Losing track of people in a world like this is all too easy. Try not to do that. By touch, you can tag entities with invisible markers. You can feel the general direction of those you''ve tagged. You can tag (1) entities at a time. Upgrading this Skill increases its usefulness and increases the number of entities you may tag. [STRANGE BODY] (4 SkP) - Passive A human with an ability that makes more sense for a zombie would be a curious thing. Even more curious is that you possess an ability that no zombie in this world does! The connections of your form have grown stronger. You can move your body parts and sense things through them even if they are disconnected from the greater whole of your body. Upgrading this Skill increases its usefulness. --------------------------------------------------------- There was a lot going on here¡­ Clay took his time going through each Skill in order, soon forgetting the throbbing of his body in favor of putting his focus on the variety of new possibilities that had just opened up. With the amount of Skill Points he¡¯d started with, he could buy any one of these! He could even buy more than one if he decided to go for the cheaper options. The only problem was that some of those cheaper options, save for [Immunity], started off weak. He was meant to invest more points into them in order to bring out their full potential, so spreading himself too thin by splurging on the lower cost Skills would just be a waste. Clay reasoned that his best option was to make the most out of one or two Skills and work his way up to buying other ones later. Aptly, the strangest one was the [Strange Body] Skill. It was expensive enough that he''d have thought it would be incredibly useful¡­but didn''t it just suck? It didn''t say anything about keeping him from bleeding out or having the option of popping them back on. The only thing it would be good for was as an incidental contingency in the event he lost a part of his body. Even then, there''s no way something like an amputated arm would last long in a world full of flesh-hungry ghouls. [Strange Body] was an easy write-off. The part about upgrading it increasing its usefulness had at least caught his attention, though. The Skills that boosted stats he hadn''t unlocked yet were a little annoying, but they also narrowed down his choices. There was no reason to spend Skill Points on something that he couldn''t even use, especially when he wasn''t interested in blowing the rest of his Stat Points on locked stats. [A Good Feeling], [Sweep and Clean], and [Score!] were out. [Tagging] requiring physical contact hampered its usefulness enough that he didn''t feel the need to invest in it right now. Out. Half of them were pushed out of his mind for now in only a few seconds of contemplation, but he wasn''t done yet. [Vehicular Feel] was out. Clay hadn''t gotten his license, but he knew enough about driving to say that he could skip over this one for now. Maybe if he was expecting to get into a chase or needed to parallel park. [What Recoil?] would definitely be useful. However, Clay had never even held a gun before; if he were going to buy it, it would have to be in conjunction with [Nice Shooting]. This was one to come back to. That only left [Immunity], [Nice Shooting], and [Sound of Silence]. Speaking honestly, he didn''t think he could go wrong with any of these. [Immunity] instantly making him immune to the zombie virus was enough to justify the purchase by itself, even if he never ended up putting more points into it later. Looking at the Skill with an analytical eye suddenly made him feel vulnerable: if he''d been bitten before he had a chance to acquire it¡­wouldn''t that have been the end for him? Maybe even just being scratched by their filthy fingernails would have been enough to doom him. It was a must-buy. >Would you like to spend 1 Skill Point to purchase [Immunity]? >Yes >You have acquired the Skill [Immunity - LV 1]! If increasing survivability was the aim, then being immune to zombification was a big win. Now the only thing left to do was choose between [Nice Shooting] and [Sound of Silence]. Actually, was it wise to spend all of his points right this minute? He only started out with 5 of each, and he''d only get 2 more every time he leveled up. With the amount of XP received from killing two zombies, leveling up wasn''t going to be easy. But that was why he needed another Skill! Being immune to the virus would keep him from turning into one of them, but it wouldn''t do much against being ripped apart. Increasing his aptitude with guns at least made it so he wouldn''t be useless once he found one. Ah, no, maybe that was the incorrect way to look at it. Clay was absorbed in thought. When was the last time his mind had been so clear? Being decent with guns wouldn''t mean anything if he couldn''t survive long enough to find one. On top of that, any gun he found would be useless once it ran out of ammo. His eyes drifted towards the [Sound of Silence] card. This one would increase his options, always be available, and provide options for him to avoid combat. That last part was the most important to a coward like Clay. The idea of a rugged badass powering his way through the zombie apocalypse had its appeal, but that wasn''t him. The window said all he had to do was survive, a gaming objective clich¨¦ that wasn''t lost on him, but something he supposed would be made easier if he had this Skill. A large part of his previous ordeal had been caused by attracting the horde with loud sounds, after all. This was the right choice. Clay tapped [Sound of Silence]. >DENIED! User may not exceed maximum number of Skills! Clay''s face drooped. What? He became a lot more cognizant of the amount of sweat that had accumulated on his skin as he backed out to his stats page. --------------------------------------------------------- You are Clay HEALTH: 0/0 | STAMINA: 0/0 --- LEVEL: 1/10 | EXP: 20/1000 | SKILLS: 1/1 --- STAT POINTS: 4/5 | SKILL POINTS: 4/5 --- BODY - Strength: 0 | Speed: 0 | Resilience: 0 | Endurance: 0 MIND - ?? | ?? | ?? | ?? HEART - ?? | ?? | ?? | CIDURAC --- -SKILLS- [IMMUNITY - LV 1] --- CURRENT WORLD: Dead and Dying OBJECTIVE: Survive TIME REMAINING: ??? --------------------------------------------------------- Skills. 1/1. 1/1. 1/1. Clay was silent. He stared intensely at his maximum number of Skills, as if he were attempting to intimidate it into going up. He blinked first, running agonized fingers through his hair. Fuck! God damn it! Look closer before you do anything, you fucking idiot! Clay wasn''t the type to openly rage when he got angry, but he definitely would have cursed out loud if he wasn''t being careful about alerting any more zombies. The rooftop had been safe so far; no reason to tempt fate. If he''d known that he only had one Skill slot, he would have been more careful! Ughh, now his remaining Skill Points were basically useless! It would be a waste to throw them all into leveling up [Immunity] just because it was the only Skill he had! If he was playing a video game like this, he''d make a new character just out of principle! Wait. Stop. Stop. Don''t lose your head. Clay cooled down before long and thought about his situation. Yes, it sucked that he didn''t pay attention and ended up filling up his one Skill slot. It also sucked that his probing didn''t reveal any means for him to take it out to switch with a new one. But it''s not like his one Skill Slot had gone to the wrong one, right? ¡­ Fuck! It totally did! Thinking about it, if he ended up in a situation where a zombie was able to cling on and bite him¡­wasn''t he doomed anyway? Not getting infected wouldn''t matter if a zombie bit into his windpipe or slowed Clay down enough to let his stupid zombie friends catch up to him. It would have been better to use his Skill slot on something that kept him out of danger in the first place. I¡¯m so retarded! All of these thoughts ran through his head in only a few seconds. Within a minute, Clay felt he''d caught his breath enough to stand up. Alright, so he only had one Skill slot. These were game mechanics, so maybe he''d get more once he leveled up? Clay took a closer look at everything to avoid any more nasty surprises, even if what he noticed still didn''t make him feel any better. Just like his number of Skill slots, his Level had a maximum as well. >1/10 Did this mean he''ll just stop leveling up once he gets to 10? If that was true, then this game was over before it had even begun. Unless a single point in his stats made him grow in leaps and bounds, there was no way he''d get anything done with a maximum potential spread of 25 Stat Points. Having 25 Skill Points felt even more pointless since all he had to spend them on was his [Immunity]. He didn''t have a means to fight, so how was he supposed to level up and figure out how any of this stuff worked? And what about food? He''d have to scavenge for supplies in this hellhole all by himself. Clay looked to the horizon as the sun gently lowered itself. He had a decent view of the street and a few blocks beyond, though everything else was obscured by taller buildings from this angle. The system window followed him while he approached the edge of the rooftop. Even if he''d chosen a better Skill, this was sounding like a lot of work. Maybe he should just kill himself. He didn''t have access to any of his old stuff. No internet. No music. All of the numerous games, movies, and TV shows he''d downloaded onto his external hard drive were useless now. These sorts of things weren''t usually touched upon so much in isekai anime, but it all seemed so obvious. That he sounded like such a baby to be thinking this way wasn''t lost on him. Getting to be in a zombie apocalypse was some people''s dream, whether it was because they were bloodthirsty psychopaths or because they spent their time envisioning the freedom that society collapsing would provide. Clay had definitely been shortsighted enough to think that a situation like this was preferable when he was younger, but his adult mind buckled after less than an hour. He was blankly staring down at the street. Yeah, if he made sure to fall head-first-- Clay glanced at the system window. Its red hue matched the shade of the sky as day turned to night, an eye-catching sight he couldn''t help but partake in when he remembered it was there. He took a step back. Think it through. He hadn''t just been stranded in this world to fend for himself, not completely. Someone (or something) had given him an opportunity, left him with options that could potentially let him survive here. One could see this like a second chance, a gift from God! On the other hand, the brutal nature of this system left him with a different impression. Clay contemplated. Okay. Clay decided he''d suffer a little bit longer. There¡¯s a chance the five-story fall wouldn''t kill him instantly, anyways. Chapter 3: Bunker Wearing one shoe felt worse than wearing no shoes at all. It threw off one¡¯s balance and accentuated the discomfort their unprotected foot was feeling. His feet had already felt raw after stomping on asphalt and concrete so much, but he''d been running for his life then. Now that he was prowling between buildings and taking his time, Clay was forced to reckon with how intolerant being an inside cat had made him. The one boot that protected his lucky right foot was a morbid trophy from the amputated foot his rooftop zombie had left behind. A bite mark on the ankle told the story of a man who''d gotten infected and locked himself away. Either he had been too late, or cutting off body parts wasn''t a viable means of escaping infection. Brutal. A sock protected the inside of the shoe from the bulk of any rotting skin, but it still didn''t feel great to wear. Clay didn''t consider himself a germaphobe, it was just that¡­who''d feel comfortable wearing a dead guy''s shoe? Right off the corpse, no less. Also, he was pretty sure it was just slightly too big for him. Despite that, Clay wished he''d gotten a chance to loot the other one. Maybe he should have thought twice before booting that thing off the edge of the roof¡­ The only thing that stumped him was the location of whatever instrument he''d used to cut his foot off. Clay searched pretty thoroughly and couldn''t find any sign of it. His best guess was that it''d been belligerently thrown in a random direction once the deed was done. He tried to focus on more important things. His first goal, after yoinking the rooftop zombie''s hammer and toolbelt, was to find a business district of some kind. The progression of this place''s decay gave him the impression that most of the useful items would be long gone, but Clay could still possibly get his hands on some proper clothes. Maybe some food, too? Please? Before he climbed down from the opposite end of the roof and into a quiet alleyway, Clay used his elevated view to try and find some landmarks. There hadn''t been much, unfortunately. The only thing he saw that showed any promise was a distinct awning with black and white vertical stripes. It had branding on it, but it had gotten too dark for him to read it out from the roof. It was a few blocks away, a distance that made his feet ache just to think about. Better than wandering aimlessly in a city he''d never seen before, he thought. The number of zombies that were out had increased, but not as much as Clay had thought it would, and not enough that he didn''t think he could sneak his way through. Not that he did so very gracefully. If he even thought there might be a zombie nearby, he would tuck himself away behind whatever he could until he was absolutely sure they were gone. Sometimes that meant hiding behind sticky dumpsters for 20 to 40 minutes at a time. Some good fortune came when he realized that the zombies had a hard time with the dark, maybe even more than a normal guy like him. There were a few instances where he thought he''d been caught for sure, too slow to duck behind something, or because he had to stuff himself into a dim corner that he felt confident wasn''t dark enough, only for the zombie to shamble by like he wasn''t there. When it crossed his path, there was a moment when its decaying hand hung only a few feet away from his face. Only for a moment, and only in the light swinging its arms did as it left him without realizing how close it had been to dinner. That didn''t embolden him enough to do anything rash, though. Clay was perfectly fine spending most of the night sitting around doing nothing until there were no zombies within sight of the street he was on. It probably took him two hours longer than it should have to cross the distance, but eventually the target was in sight. From across the street, Clay could finally read that this place was called ''Bunker Beans: Restaurant Caf¨¦''. Was that meant to be a coffee bean wearing an army helmet? Who were they marketing to? He was halfway across the road when he felt a disturbing tension run up his back, like someone rubbed their head with a fuzzy blanket and poked him. Despite the physical comparison, it''d been a purely mental sensation. Nothing had touched him, but he knew exactly where it came from. Something was looking at him. Clay turned his head. At the opposite end of the road was a figure cast in the same dark that he''d thought was protecting him. All he could make out about it was that it was deathly thin, and that it had bright red eyes. They were distinct, vivid enough that Clay could see a lot more detail in them than he should¡¯ve been possible from this distance. No, at this distance that zombie shouldn''t even be able to see him. He took a slow step towards the caf¨¦. Its eyes followed him. Somehow, the fact that it wasn''t trying to approach him made his sweaty body feel cold. Clay didn''t know whether or not to continue walking. He was frozen, only able to shake under this thing''s crimson gaze. Was it using some sort of unique zombie ability to keep him locked in place? Shit. He knew he had to keep moving. He knew that, no matter what, there''d be no safety in staying where he was. He also just couldn''t bring himself to turn his back on it. What would it do? What could it do? Ah, Clay realized, this was just a typical fear of the unknown. The only thing keeping him there was him. Then he heard movement. Footsteps. A stampede. Zombies were coming out of nearby buildings and sprinting towards him, a few of them even allowing themselves to fall out of windows to partake in the hunt. That was all Clay needed to bolt for the caf¨¦. His body shouldn''t have been capable of it after all the running and exertion he''d already put it through, but¡­ --------------------------------------------------------- You are Clay HEALTH: 0/0 | STAMINA: 3/4 --- LEVEL: 1/10 | EXP: 20/1000 | SKILLS: 1/1 --- STAT POINTS: 0/5 | SKILL POINTS: 4/5 --- BODY - Strength: 2 | Speed: 0 | Resilience: 0 | Endurance: 2 MIND - ?? | ?? | ?? | ?? HEART - ?? | ?? | ?? | CIDURAC --- -SKILLS- [IMMUNITY - LV 1] --- CURRENT WORLD: Dead and Dying OBJECTIVE: Survive TIME REMAINING: ??? --------------------------------------------------------- He''d gone all-in on maximizing his Stamina! How else would he have gotten down from the roof? As far as tiredness went, Clay didn''t even feel winded right now. His feet still hurt, though. Clay snapped out of his dazed state the moment he realized those zombies were coming, so they hadn''t had enough time to totally close in on him. There was some breathing room, but not enough to keep him from panicking. A little bell rang as he slammed the double doors open, then again with the force he put into shoving them back into place. Clay had just enough time to look around, locate a discarded broom, and slide it through the door handles to keep the zombies from easily bursting in behind him. This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report. The door had glass panels in it, which meant that enough force would probably let them circumvent the broom, if the crowd of them didn''t just allow them to simply power through it. Either way, he didn''t waste a second hopping over the counter and sprinting into a kitchen area in the back. Would it be better to flee from the back entrance, or make some kind of stand? Cornering himself was a bad choice, but leaving without taking advantage of what he could in this new location would just lead to another prolonged chase. Dumb luck kept him from death before, even if it had also endangered him in equal measure. Clay had to do something besides run around. He ripped open stainless steel drawers and caused their contents to scatter across the ground. This place wasn''t just a coffee joint, it also had equipment and utensils that befit a proper restaurant as well. The most appealing of these were the knives, the pots and pans, and the discovery Clay made when he pulled open a small door underneath the oven. This place used propane tanks for its gas. That didn''t make any sense. Wouldn''t a stationary, commercial place in the city just get its gas¡­from the city? Wouldn''t electric be better than this setup, even? Clay''s expertise in this area was pretty much nonexistent, but even he thought this was strange. Agh! Who cares!? This was a good thing. It meant that this oven still worked and that more gas tanks might be lying around. Clay could hear them slamming against the doors from here. It kept getting louder and louder as more zombies followed the leads of their brethren and started throwing their bodies against the entrance. They were going to brute force it very soon. If there was any coordination in them, they''d have been on him already. He turned all of the burners on, already regretting having to leave behind a number of knives in his haste. Then he set to work. This would either be the smartest thing he''d ever done and save his life, or end in him dying instantly. Clay would call it a win in either case. Sure enough, looking around a bit more did end up finding him two more propane tanks. Not as good as he was hoping, but the fact that he even had this was a stroke of uncharacteristically good luck. With a firm twist on each valve, the room would start slowly filling with gas. Clay made sure to open them up as far as they would go. He heard glass shatter outside the kitchen. One of the glass panels had given out first. There was no more time to waste. Clay rushed for the backdoor and stepped out into an alley. There was nothing around to barricade or seal up the door behind him, unfortunately. If only he was strong enough to push that dumpster in front of it. Actually, that would slow him down too much. The door itself seemed solid and weighty enough on its own to act as a buffer, even if he couldn''t lock it. His brain was alight with ideas, possibilities. How much time did he have until the explosion sparked? Should he just try and get as far away as possible? No, the sound of the explosion was sure to bring more zombies on him. He should try and find someplace secure to hide instead. He heard wood snapping. The doors would be completely open now, allowing the whole lot of them to flood the caf¨¦. Clay could also hear more of them coming from other directions, even if he couldn''t see them yet. His escape routes would be shut down soon, likely before they could even be of any use. Only one option. A leap. The first few zombies stepped out into the alley around the time the explosion actually hit, a thunderous sound that was sure to shake the bones of anything close by, undead or not. That solid, weighty door that Clay had thought so much of was completely blown off its hinges and slammed into the opposite building. The charred corpses of some zombies, then a plume of fire following behind them as if it was kicking the creatures and door both from its property. The building itself was also more sturdy than Clay had thought. The shockwave caused a few loose bricks to fall on top of the dumpster he was hiding in, but that was about it. It was actually the incredibly loud sound that caused him the most distress, even though he''d curled up and covered his ears the moment he¡¯d fallen into the pile of trash below. An assault on half his senses took place, leaving Clay gritting his teeth the whole way through. >+10 XP! >+10 XP! >+10 XP! >+10 XP! >+10 XP! >+10 XP! >+10 XP! >+10 XP! >+10 XP! >+10 XP! >¡­ How do you like that? Even if he ended up dying, it''s not like he didn''t get his licks in! Victory would taste a lot sweeter if he wasn''t currently snuggling up with piles of trash that had been sitting in a dumpster for years(?), but the amount of XP the encounter fed him did a good job of keeping his spirits up. >+10 XP! >+10 XP! >+10 XP! >+10 XP! >+25 XP! >ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED! [HORDE SLAYER] >ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED! [BOO!] That''s new¡­ Clay wanted to open his window and have a look at what might have changed, even if he knew better. The excitement of the situation didn''t make him forget that there were still zombies out there that hadn''t been caught in the explosion. With a sound that loud, they were gonna swarm this place and probably leave him trapped here for a while. A whisper probably wouldn''t doom him, but he wasn''t the type to take those kinds of risks. His ears were still ringing so badly that he wasn''t sure if he could properly gauge his volume. It''d honestly be a lot better if he could open the window just by-- The window suddenly appeared above him, almost flush with the bottom of the dumpster''s lid. Clay adjusted his position in agonizingly slow fashion until he was lying on his back. Just thinking it would work as a substitute. Got it. --------------------------------------------------------- You are Clay HEALTH: 0/0 | STAMINA: 1/4 --- LEVEL: 1/11 | EXP: 445/1000 | SKILLS: 1/2 --- STAT POINTS: 0/5 | SKILL POINTS: 4/5 --- BODY - Strength: 2 | Speed: 0 | Resilience: 0 | Endurance: 2 MIND - ?? | ?? | ?? | ?? HEART - ?? | ?? | ?? | CIDURAC --- -SKILLS- [IMMUNITY - LV 1] --- -ACHIEVEMENTS- (+1 Max Level | +1 Skill Slot) --- CURRENT WORLD: Dead and Dying OBJECTIVE: Survive TIME REMAINING: ??? --------------------------------------------------------- He tapped the Achievements section, careful not to let his finger go through the window and jab the dumpster''s lid. --------------------------------------------------------- [ACHIEVEMENTS] [HORDE SLAYER] (+1 Max Level) Kill 20 zombies or more at once! [BOO!] (+1 Skill Slot) Kill a Spooker! --------------------------------------------------------- His hard, perpetually displeased expression from sitting inside a dumpster had the beginnings of a bitter smile. So this was how he was meant to get more Skill Slots. Even his max level had gone up. Judging from the amount of XP they¡¯d funneled to him, the number of zombies he¡¯d killed just then was probably a little closer to 40. Must be that there wasn¡¯t an achievement for that. More importantly, what was a Spooker? Was it the red-eyed zombie from earlier? If so, it must have been caught in the explosion. That also explained the comparatively greater amount of XP he¡¯d gotten near the end there. Clay contemplated what this meant. The Spooker was a distinctly different kind of zombie, likely with a unique ability. What that ability might be was a little beyond his power to guess, but he figured it might have something to do with how quickly an entire horde of zombies had suddenly known his location. It was also possible that the variety of zombie subtypes was more numerous than he¡¯d think, as would be their abilities. Big, strong ones? Almost a certainty. Smaller, jumpy ones? Maybe a little less likely, but anything was possible in this world where caf¨¦ restaurants in the city used propane tanks instead of hooking into the gas system. All of this also meant that he''d need to invest in a Skill and find a way to level up. The dumpster was pushed back by something and jerked suddenly, but not as much as the body of its occupant. He nearly flailed with an intensity that would have definitely revealed his location. There hadn''t been any intent in it. It was an incidental shoving that came with a necessity to make as much room as possible, though the myriad footsteps did a fine job of their own in bringing him out of his focus and reminding him that there were zombies running around only a few feet away. Hundreds of them, he guessed, and that was just the ones filing through the alley. There had to be more that came through, more on the way. Clay remembered. Don''t forget after just one victory that you''re nothing to these things. Even the blow you landed against them with this explosion doesn¡¯t mean much in the big picture. Well, it wasn''t like he was planning on defeating this zombie world. Just surviving would be enough for him. With that in mind, the Skill he should choose was obvious. >You have acquired the Skill [Sound of Silence - LV 1]! Once the coast was clear and he could get a move on, this Skill would let him make better ground. So many opportunities were open now that he wouldn''t have to worry about noise. With that, there was nothing left to do except lay low and wait until the storm passed. Clay curled his body up as tightly as he could and wrapped a hand around his one exposed foot to both keep it warm and assess if he''d seriously hurt it. Having an open wound while lying around in garbage could lead to an infection, a mundane sort of infection that would just be embarrassing to die to after all that. Changing his position caused something to fall from his hair and onto his cheek. Ugh, what was that? Clay lifted it up with his thumb and had a look. His eyes had long since adjusted to the dark and he could clearly see a small, light-colored worm. A really short wor-- He whipped it away from his hand! It was a maggot! There were maggots in the dumpster with him! Clay curled up even more tightly and tried to contain as much of himself in his bathrobe as possible. Every part of his skin felt like something was crawling on it now, no doubt ghost sensations fueled by his anxiety. The best he could do was flick away anything that crawled onto his face. Gross! So damn gross! Eventually, it became hard to tell when there was genuinely a maggot there and when it was just him being paranoid, though his tired body didn¡¯t have enough fight left to care. He could only lay there and accept the situation. ¡­ Everything had gone by so fast only a few moments ago. Not anymore. Time was passing by slowly. He had nothing to do but think now. Clay wanted to go home. It was the first time that thought had been so blatant in his mind. He''d thought about how horrible it was that he didn''t have his computer or his internet, but now his chest hurt more for the simple comfort of his bed. "Gkhh-!" Clay choked up. One of his hands came up to wrap around his face and stifle the sound, but he couldn''t stop himself from crying. The tears weren''t a problem, but it would all be over if he openly wept. Shit! Shit! Stop fucking crying! You can''t even be a man when it''s to save your own life!? Why was he such a fucking pussy? His thinking took a bitter turn. Clay couldn''t even make it in his world, a place where someone in his position should have been just fine. Even with these new abilities, there was no way he could do anything except fill some lucky zombie''s belly. It didn''t matter how many advantages someone like him had or who lent him a hand, nothing would ever work. He''s going to die. He''s going to die horribly. He''s never going to see anybody from his world ever again. He''s going to die. If he doesn¡¯t stop crying, he¡¯s going to die¡­ These thoughts cradled him darkly, lulling him deeper and deeper into a restless sleep. Chapter 4: Rat In middle school, Clay challenged one of his friends to an arm wrestling match. The cafeteria was serving ice cream that day, and he''d forgotten his money at home, so he was forced to get creative. A one-dollar bout between him and a more athletic kid he sat with was the only chance he had at a popsicle, with the promise that the moneyless Clay would bring his losses the next day when he lost. He obviously would have liked to challenge one of the weaker kids, or even someone on his level. There was nothing for it, though, as none of those kids wanted to risk the loss of their own ice cream day for such little gain. It was only Vince, easily the strongest out of all of them, that would take the bet. It was easy money from his perspective. "After you lose, you better not cry like you did during that chick flick we watched!" Vince taunted as he rested his elbow on the table between them. Clay practically snatched his hand as he got into the same position. "Molly and Me is not a chick flick, and I was not crying!" The rest of their friends made room for them and watched silently. Once the designated referee counted down from three and the game started, they immediately broke the silence to make commentary and jeer as if betting on fighting chickens. "You better not lose me this, Vince! I put the house up!" "Go, Clay, go! Your superior speed should definitely help you get the win!" "Rip his goddamn arm off!" "What the hell does speed have to do with arm-wrestling?" It was all Clay could do not to immediately lose, barely keeping their hands somewhat equal. When the other boy predictably took the edge and started bringing Clay''s hand closer to the table, it was time to enact his plan. With their hands out of the way, Clay puckered his lips and leaned forward as if to kiss his opponent. Vince instinctively drew back to keep the kiss from connecting, taking his weight off his elbow and allowing Clay to win the match before he could recover. "Hey! What the hell was that!? You gay or something!?" "Gay for money! Pay up, loser!" "No way am I paying a cheating rat fuck like you!" The fuss Vince kicked up made his popsicle taste all the sweeter. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The first thing he felt was his dry mouth, and the first thing he saw once he opened his eyes was a number of flies buzzing around him. They must have been there the whole time, left unnoticed in the darkness. Now there were thin rays of sunlight beaming in through small gaps in the lid. His head felt heavy and his nose burned from the smell, but the world outside his dumpster had finally grown quiet. It took him a long time to finally work up enough courage to sit up and gently raise the top of the dumpster with his head. Narrowed eyes peeked out around him in search of danger. There were two of them. One was shambling aimlessly in front of the caf¨¦''s backdoor, while the other was further down the alley, only a few feet away from stepping out onto the sidewalk. Things died down a lot faster than he expected. What time even was it? Right, no watches or anything. The sun directly overhead at least told him that it was somewhere close to noon. The heat bearing down on the dumpster was probably what woke him up; it had felt particularly stuffy, and he could actually feel the sweat stains on his clothes weigh down the fabric. He couldn''t take it any longer. Clay stood up completely, letting the lid flop back and stand against the wall behind. The zombie loitering around the door immediately took notice of him and ran in his direction. A commotion could easily break out if he didn''t work out what to do. Luckily, he had. The moment the zombie slammed its body against the dumpster, Clay used [Sound of Silence] to snatch up the resulting sound. If it didn''t require moving decisively to take advantage, he might have stopped to take more notice of how surreal it was to see something that should have made a bang make no noise at all. It was like watching a silent movie. Clay''s position was higher, and he was poised for this. He brought the hammer down on the thing''s head just as it was hooking its elbow on the rim of the dumpster to climb in. He hadn''t been confident in his strength, but the power of a blunt force weapon on a rotting body might have been the reason why he did even more damage than he expected, or perhaps the human body was more fragile than Clay knew. A dull thud and some lighter cracking noises followed the blow, but the zombie''s body went limp and fell backwards onto the ground before Clay could get a good look at what he''d done. He didn''t want to see it. The little he could make out as he stared down at its twitching form was enough to put a pit in his stomach. Soon, even that little bit of movement was gone. >+10 XP! Jesus. The feel of it wouldn''t be all that different from hitting a regular person. Clay had practically killed someone, a step away from doing so with his bare hands. He wasn''t na?ve enough to get broken up over the death of this creature. It was already dead, after all, and the person it used to be would probably even agree that it was Clay or him. No doubt he''d hate having his grotesque remains stumbling around and killing more innocent people as well. It was a mercy to put it down. It just¡­didn''t feel nice. Clay had to put it out of mind, though. Continue to the next stage. The other zombie hadn''t noticed the commotion yet, so Clay was able to enjoy another breath of relatively fresh air and lower himself back into the dumpster. He lowered the lid back down as well, maintaining a small gap to keep his view of the entire alley. Test #2. He focused on the opposite end of the alleyway and ''deposited'' the sound he stole when the first zombie slammed against his dumpster. SLAM! As if a similar occurrence took place where he''d been looking, the sound resonated and predictably caught the zombie''s attention. Clay thought he would need more practice to get used to [Sound of Silence], but it felt so intuitive. It was as if he''d stopped riding bikes for years and then decided to take one for a spin, an activity with intricacies his body refused to forget. There was no way he''d end up using it by accident or in a way he didn''t intend. The zombie didn''t run towards the sound. Instead, it strolled towards it in almost leisurely fashion. Clay supposed they might only run if they see humans, but most of the ones that had been running to break down the apartment door yesterday hadn''t even seen him yet. Strange. Once the zombie stepped past the dumpster, but still within a range that Clay was confident he could strike it from, he emerged from the dumpster once again and took a swing at the back of the monster''s head. His swing hit nothing. The reasons why were small, but many. Clay wasn''t particularly coordinated. Clay was still reeling from the sensation of killing the first one. His body felt weak, despite the sleep. His need to minimize risk meant that he didn''t make a move until it stepped far away enough that there was zero chance it would see him. Letting it get just far away enough meant that his sluggish, indecisive strike was just one step too slow to land. Most importantly, he put too much energy into a strike that hit nothing and ended up overextending. He fell forward onto the ground, landing right on his wrist and causing a shock of pain that made him let go of his hammer. Clay didn''t have time to inspect the damage. The zombie hadn''t missed the sound of him falling out, promptly turning around and throwing itself upon him almost as soon as it saw him. The hand that wanted to retrieve his hammer instead had to push against the zombie''s chest to try and keep it from bearing down enough for its teeth to reach. It was stronger than it should have been. The stage of decay it was at, where he could see small parts of its skeleton through gnarled openings in its skin, should have meant it wouldn''t have the muscle mass to put up a fight against him. But it did. If it weren''t for the fact that Clay was using both hands to keep it at bay, it would have nipped him by now. When it couldn''t immediately bite, it clawed. Its hands scratched haphazardly but dealt significant damage despite its randomness, if only to his mind. Feeling nails rake against his arms, his neck, and his face put Clay into full panic mode. It hurts! It''s drawing blood! I can feel it! All of his thoughts of concern about hurting these things that were once human melted away before primal instinct. He didn''t want to die. He wanted to live. It hurt. This thing was hurting him. It was going to kill him. Kill it first. Forget the hammer. He wouldn''t be able to properly wind his arm back enough to deal damage from this position. One of Clay''s arms worked its way down between them, keeping it pressed against the zombie''s body as his hand grasped something from his toolbelt. A screwdriver clutched tight in a reverse grip. After more struggling, the zombie dugs its nails deep enough into his neck that the pain it caused was distinct enough to send a new signal to his brain. He attempted to jam the screwdriver right through the zombie''s eye, but the awkward angle had him jabbing hard into its cheek instead. It didn''t flinch when he drew blood¡ªthick, black blood mixed with pus. Clay would have usually been disgusted at the idea that something like that could drip down and touch him, but he was in a heightened mental state and too focused to care. The screwdriver in its face was used to push it away a little more, then drawn back to try stabbing its eye again. It took two more tries before it sank into the socket, crushing its eye and sliding into its skull, where Clay started wiggling the handle as hard as he could. He had to destroy its brain, whisk its grey matter until it was mush in its head. He didn''t stop even after its limbs seized up and stopped moving to scratch him. Their positions reversed, Clay taking the dominant position and straddling its body while he jerked the screwdriver as much as possible. Once he was sure of his safety, Clay slowly stood up. He left the screwdriver protruding from its head and took a step back. He was already starting to blubber as he examined the damage done to his arms. A lot of the wounds were shallow, but he''d sustained two that slowly bled into the sleeves of his bathrobe. What was left of them, that is. The zombie had done a good job tearing through the cloth at the same time it was wounding him. Clay didn''t have a mirror, so he had to use his hands to feel his neck. He wasn''t hemorrhaging blood, at least. His panic had compounded during the struggle when he thought it was getting close to tearing through an artery on the side of his neck, but it hadn''t reached deep enough to do lethal damage. It would likely leave a scar, though. No way to check his face, unfortunately, but he already had a feeling that the damage done there was superficial enough that he wouldn''t be left deformed or with noticeable scarring. Hopefully.The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. Still panicking, all Clay could do was think of infection. He was immune to the zombie virus, but who knew what other types of bacteria had gotten into his system with every swipe of the zombie''s claw-like fingernails. Shouldn''t those have fallen off in the decomposition process!? He brought up his window. --------------------------------------------------------- You are Clay HEALTH: 0/0 | STAMINA: 2/4 --- LEVEL: 1/11 | EXP: 465/1000 | SKILLS: 2/2 --- STAT POINTS: 0/5 | SKILL POINTS: 1/5 --- BODY - Strength: 2 | Speed: 0 | Resilience: 0 | Endurance: 2 MIND - ?? | ?? | ?? | ?? HEART - ?? | ?? | ?? | CIDURAC --- -SKILLS- [IMMUNITY - LV 1] | [SOUND OF SILENCE - LV 1] --- -ACHIEVEMENTS- (+1 Max Level | +1 Skill Slot) --- CURRENT WORLD: Dead and Dying OBJECTIVE: Survive TIME REMAINING: ??? --------------------------------------------------------- Clay brought up the details on [Immunity]. --------------------------------------------------------- [IMMUNITY - LV1] (1SkP) - Passive - (CB: 10%) Some people can shrug off the influence of dark forces on their biology. Now ''some people'' includes you! You are immune to the (Plague) of [Dead and Dying]. You also gain a 10% resistance against all other forms of disease and infection. Upgrading this Skill makes you more resistant to diseases of all kinds. --------------------------------------------------------- It explicitly mentioned that it could protect him against other kinds of infections, which logically included mundane bacterial ones. The 10% resistance wasn''t enough for him at that moment; he needed as much as possible. In a moment of panic, he thoughtlessly used his last Skill Point to upgrade [Immunity]. >You have acquired the Skill [Immunity - LV 2]! He''d done all he could to protect himself now, but he was still rattled. How could he mess up so badly? Clay slid down against a wall and brought his knees up to cover his face. Fuck. He knew he couldn''t afford to sit around right now. He knew what was important was that he was still alive. But how could he mess up so badly? This was what happened when he had the drop on them. Wouldn''t he be doomed once something unexpected happened and he didn''t have a convenient caf¨¦ to blow up? Clay felt pretty clever for a second there, but it turned out bad. Just like everything always did. Shit! Don''t start crying again! At least nobody was there to see him, 22 years old and muffling his sobbing with his legs. A grown man. Why was he like this? Why couldn''t he just stop crying? God damn it! Why had he even bothered? He should have just--! "Ow! What the--!?" Clay was brought out of his stupor when he felt a sharp pain in one of his fingers. When he brought his hand up to look at it, he found there was a rat hanging from his ring finger by its mouth. "Fuck! Get off!" Clay shouted while he whipped his hand away from his face in an attempt to send it flying. Just what he needed¡ªmore avenues for disease! Oddly enough, it was actually pretty easy to get the rat to stop biting him. Instead of getting thrown against the parallel wall like he planned, the vermin let go at the moment he reeled his arm back to build up energy and plopped safely onto the ground next to him while Clay dashed his hand in the air for nothing. Didn''t matter to him. He was on his feet in less than a second and climbing up onto the dumpster to keep the less threatening but equally bitey new enemy from reaching him. The rat took one look at him, squeaked dismissively, then scampered off. Could he just not catch a break? Would he keep experiencing problem after problem? Was he going to slip on a banana peel and crack his head open next? Seriously, when was his luck finally going to take a positive turn? Did he use it all up with the trick in the caf¨¦? Okay, it wasn''t all bad. Clay thought he shouted sort of loud after the rat bit him, but there weren''t any other zombies in earshot to take advantage. There''d been so many last night that he thought he''d never get to sleep; now the place was almost serene. That''s good luck. The rat bite didn''t seem to cause any real damage, either. The throbbing of his scratch wounds overpowered any pain that might have held over after that little bastard''s attack. Hm. In all the new excitement, his thinking cleared up, too. Clay wiped the rest of his tears away with the torn remains of his bathrobe''s sleeve and focused on his next move. The bleeding wasn''t a pressing matter, but he should disinfect his wounds and properly cover them up. Medical supplies. He also needed things to eat and drink. Food supplies. These clothes weren''t going to last him much longer, either. It was also pretty annoying to walk around with only one shoe. ¡­So, more supplies. He needed supplies. He''d originally come to this caf¨¦ in the hopes he could find food and water, then use the location to find more nearby businesses. Maybe now that he could break windows without worrying about the sound, it might be worth doing a little breaking and entering? There had to be a priority to all this. First, he needed to deal with his wounds. Second, food and water. Third, finding new clothes. In the midst of all that, finding more weapons wouldn''t be a thing. He also wouldn''t mind if he ended up finding them out of order. Clay ended up taking a sitting position on top of the dumpster without really thinking about it. He was mostly vigilant, but his deep thought caused him not to notice that the rat had returned. It hadn''t reacquired his attention until it started squeaking up at him. What? It wasn''t done with him yet? When he looked down at the rat, he also spotted a candy bar next to it that hadn''t been there before. It still had its wrapper on it and everything. However, it was another case where he couldn''t recognize the branding. Nowhere in his life had he ever seen an ''Ampz'' bar. The rat squeaked again and then moved away from the Ampz bar. It¡­brought him food? Clay slowly stepped down from the dumpster and approached. "Is this for me¡­?" He asked, then made a concerned face on his own behalf. Now he was talking to rats like he was expecting an answer. Sure enough, it squeaked again and moved a little further away. Not only had the rat brought him food, it could also understand him. Clay got the impression he was the one being treated like an animal, given food and distance to keep from scaring him. The degradation didn¡¯t keep him from snatching up the offered candy and ripping open its wrapper. There was a chance that it was tampered with in some way, but he was so hungry, and it smelled so good. It had to be worth the risk, right? And it had been. Never has chocolate, nougat, and caramel tasted so good. It might have been a mediocre candy for all he knew, and it had probably gone bad in this apocalypse, but anything would have tasted like Nirvana after not eating for so long. His appetite ran off once he climbed into the dumpster, but getting to actually devour something like this was bringing it all back. It made him feel so ungrateful to feel this way, but Clay was still hungry. Thirsty, too. He wanted so badly to wash down his snack with soda or juice, but he''d even take water at this point. "Uh¡­" Clay began, but had to stop and clear his throat before continuing. "Thanks, man." The rat squeaked back at him. Somehow a rat that could understand him felt more otherworldly than anything else he''d seen so far. Now what? "I really appreciate you going out of your way to bring me something to eat. It couldn''t have been easy with your, uh, little rat body, but I feel like I should also ask why you decided to bite me if you''re a super smart rat." It just stared at him. Right. It might be a super smart rat, but he must not be a super smart human. It didn''t have any way of answering him if he asked complicated questions like that. "Okay, sorry. How about¡­" He spoke tentatively, "Did I do something to upset you?" Its beady eyes continued to stare at him. Maybe that was a no? "Can you show me where you found this candy bar?" It continued to stay silent. Hmm¡­ There hadn''t been any places nearby that he''d think would sell something like this, but it still returned so quickly. That quickness meant that the rat didn''t just randomly find it and bring it back to him, so it probably came from a nearby stash. It might be that it didn''t trust him with the location of the rest of its local food stores. "I think I understand. You''re not planning on just giving all of your food to me, right?" It finally graced him with another squeak. The picture was becoming clearer. Clay''s expression became pained. "You didn''t help me because you''re such a good rat, did you?" Squeak! A lone, helpless human like him¡­ "You want my help." Squeak! It makes sense. At this point, any useless humans like him were already dead or changing over to a flesh-only diet. The survivors would be well-established and likely to just kill the rat before it could make it clear that it was sentient, or simply ignore it in the best-case scenario. It demonstrated both its usefulness and its intelligence to Clay by feeding him, after all. Survivors in this world would already have some way of feeding themselves. This rat was more shrewd than some people he''d known. Clay didn''t ask, but stated, "You know where to find supplies." Squeak! "But, being a rat, there are some places you can''t go and supplies you can''t reach. So you need an able-bodied human to do all the heavy lifting while you sit back and do nothing¡­" Squeak! He should''ve known something like this would happen. Movies Clay watched in the past raved that lesser specimens like him would end up as the slaves of some war-mongering psycho coalition, but he couldn''t maintain enough dignity to be used by fellow humans. A rat. He was being taken advantage of by a rat. His pride as a human being and general irritation told him to tell this animal to fuck off, but his empty stomach and the lingering taste of chocolate told him he should at least haggle. "Listen, I''m not saying no, but I''m definitely not ready for any coolguy excursions right now." He held up his arms. "I''m roughed up. I''m also operating on no water and the one shoe I could steal from a dead guy. So¡­" It screeched at him impatiently. "I''m just thinking that you need to invest a little more than a candy bar in me, is all. There''s no way I can do anything the way I am now¡­" He tried to smirk, but it looked more like a nervous grin. "So let''s start this partnership off by getting me patched up. I''m no good to you if I drop dead of blood loss¡­" He looked away from the rat, then placed a hand against the wall to ''support'' himself. "Oh man, I think I''m already starting to feel lightheaded." Clay wouldn''t have had the nerve to bargain like this with a person, but the more he thought about it the more he realized that he had a lot more power in this deal than one would initially think. When was this rat going to find another loser like him? How shameless of him, but this thing did just bite him for no discernible reason and was being pretty open about wanting to use him. Why couldn''t he take advantage, as well? However, the rat chirped without hesitation, turned around, and ran to the sidewalk. It turned its head around to give him an expectant look. Oh¡­it already planned to do all that. Embarrassed at how cool he felt for a second there, Clay decided to just pick up his hammer and wordlessly follow behind his new master. Chapter 5: Slide It turned out the rat really knew its way around the city. Not only that, but zombies mostly ignored it unless it went out of its way to bother them. This was an ideal situation for scouting out a path that would leave Clay unmolested. There''d been a few places where he''d have liked to stop and look through the remains, but his new rat friend would silently speed up whenever he tried and make it clear the onus was on him to keep up and not get distracted. After a while of walking, he''d been brought to a clothing outlet. Clay spent the entire walk expecting to see a clinic or something like by the end, though he already knew ways that he could make do that the rat probably also had in mind when it led him there. During a time when it was in business, it had probably been called ''Cool Place'', but something had broken off parts of the sign until it read ''ool Plac''. It had two enormous openings next to both sides of the door where its display windows used to be, through which he could see that it had been thoroughly trashed but not entirely looted. It looked more like it had been turned over by a gang of unruly children; plenty of clothes were left intact on the floor after their hanging displays were knocked over, shelves packed with novelty shirts and jeans dashed to the ground with equal fervor. Tellingly, only the stuff that kept one from making a direct path from the front of the store to the back was pushed down, while the stuff that was displayed close to or on a far wall had been left untouched. Squeak! "I get it. I get it." Clay responded to its restless rushing by stepping through one of the broken display windows, then froze up mid-step after hearing his stolen boot crunch on broken glass. His bare foot kicked around in the air to try and maintain his balance while he hopped forward to keep from hurting himself. He did manage to stop his vulnerable foot from hitting the glass, though only because he jumped and fell forward onto his stomach away from the pile in graceless fashion. Clay turned his head, meeting the rat eye-to-eye after it scampered up next to him. There wasn¡¯t a way to read its expression, but he could swear it was mocking him. "Maybe don''t rush me so much next time!" Clay hissed. He should have just used the door. After collecting what was left of his dignity and making sure he hadn''t cut himself on any glass, Clay got to work patching himself up. First, he needed to abandon what remained of his bathrobe. It was bittersweet. This one had been with him for so long now that it was like having to toss out old childhood toys all over again. It didn''t deserve this, to be discarded so casually. But it needed to be done. Clay threw it to the side. Goodbye, old friend. Next was finding proper cloth for wrapping his wounds. Luckily for him, there were plenty of 100% cotton t-shirts and a utility knife in his toolbelt. As he was cutting up shirts, Clay mused on the usefulness of the utility knife. It''s a shame that it only amounted to a souped-up box cutter; the blade was super sharp and would have been nice to have as a weapon, but was also too small to do anything except swipe at a zombie''s skin. He caught the rat staring at him. "Would you believe me if I told you I only want some alcohol for the sake of disinfecting my wounds?" Clay asked the rat without looking at it, doing his best to make sure he was tying his makeshift bandages off correctly. He probably wasn''t. They were tight around where he made the actual knot, but loose at his wounds. Clay was confident they wouldn''t fall off on their own, at least. He also didn''t want to unwrap the cloth and try over and over again with the rat''s judgmental gaze on him. Slightly demoralizing, but he felt a whole lot better when he was able to use a couple of the extra scraps to wipe himself down and clear away some of the dried sweat and whatever the hell else some of these sticky liquids from the dumpster were. Having a second to get rid of loose gravel and the small amount of blood caused by tiny cuts on his feet wasn''t so bad, either. Clay was a long way from feeling clean, but this was definitely better. In the midst of his cleaning, he realized he''d need to change into some fresh clothes. Clay set aside a few articles in his size: a dark red shirt emblazoned with a logo for ''Dr. HurtsYou'' soda, a pair of jeans, socks, a corduroy jacket, and a pair of sneakers in his size. He honestly would have preferred a leather jacket that stood a better chance of defending against a zombie''s bite, but this was the best he could do. A bunch of smaller shirts wrapped around his arms underneath the jacket should add a little more protection. He considered going to one of the changing rooms until he caught a whiff of some foul smell radiating from that direction. Now he was just standing to one side of the store with his new outfit laid out on the cashier''s counter. Clay started to remove his shirt but stopped to throw a glance over his shoulder at the rat. It just continued to stare at him. After a few more seconds of staring, he narrowed his eyes at it. Where was the privacy? It quirked its head. "Do you mind?" It quirked its head deeper, then straightened it in realization. After a tiny change in its face, it turned around. Did you just roll your eyes at me!? Asshole. Clay put it out of mind for now and focused on changing. As he undressed, he continued wiping himself down so that his new, clean clothes would actually feel good to wear. What he''d have given for a shower... He was all dressed up in front of a mirror before long, straightening his jacket and wrapping an entire shirt around his neck like a scarf to cover up the worst of his zombie wounds. Huh. Didn''t he look kinda cool, all gussied up like this? Clay turned his head to examine some of the scratches on his cheek. Its too bad none of them would leave any proper scars; a battle-hardened survivor like him needed scars to prove his badassery. A horde slayer of the highest degree should have distinctive marks of their-- He noticed a maggot wriggling through his hair and immediately lowered his head to swipe at his scalp with both hands, sending a surprising amount wriggling to the ground. Alright, actually, he''d probably hate if his face ended up with fingernail scars all over it. Those were the kinds of wounds people got when they fought women or crazy homeless guys. Squeak! Squeak! Squeak! Clay didn¡¯t need to be a rat whisperer to know that it was laughing at him. "You need to shut the hell up, man¡­" He grumbled. Despite an embarrassing moment, Clay had gotten himself properly dressed and ready to look into the places his douchebag rat pointed him towards. However, he wanted to take a peek at what was causing that awful smell in the changing rooms first. It was morbid, but he was hoping it''d be a corpse. A normal one. Just in case, though, Clay had his hammer ready. Squeak! Squeak! "I''m just looking to see if there''s any more stuff laying around. If there''s a dead guy in there, they might have a backpack or something I can steal. You think I can just carry everything in my arms?" The rat was silent. There was a thick curtain separating the changing rooms from the rest of the store, and a curtain for each small room. The linoleum flooring was replaced with hardwood once he crossed the threshold. The first thing he noticed was a pool of blood coming from a dressing room with its curtains drawn closed, though it was less a pool and more a large, dried patch that had soaked into the wood a long time ago.Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. Clay held his breath when he approached the dressing room, raising his hammer above his head. He didn''t expect to find a zombie in there, but he wasn''t risking anything after how his last encounter went. His hand moved slowly at first, then jerked the curtain open all at once. Clay flinched and had to turn away almost immediately, hand clasped over his nose and mouth. It was definitely a corpse¡ªa normal, rotting, stationary corpse. A dude. He had been dressed in a thick jacket, camo pants, and combat boots. He was also wearing an army helmet that didn''t match the rest of his outfit at all. It wasn''t a modern-day camouflage one, but a hard green WWII-era helmet. Clay might have thought to take it from him if it didn''t irk him out so much. He''d desperately needed a way to protect his feet before, but the usefulness of the helmet didn''t justify the ick-factor in this instance. He was too squeamish to touch the other man with his hands, so he used the hook of his hammer to lift the helmet up by the front rim and get a better look at the damage. Clay hadn''t meant to, but he ended up completely prying the helmet off of the corpse''s head, where it plopped upside down into its owner''s lap. Its interior was caked in blood and grey matter. The corpse, the man, had shot himself in the head. Specifically, he shot himself through the roof of his mouth and up into his brain. That''s the way you gotta do it to make sure, Clay thought. If there was a dead guy here with a bullet wound, then that meant-- Ah-ha! He''d totally glanced over it and focused all of his attention on the dead guy, but there was a revolver on the ground in front of it. Clay picked up the gun as soon as he saw it. Hm. It was a little heavier than he expected. Did this mean it would be worth investing in the [Nice Shooting] Skill once he had the chance? Wait, before that, he needed to know how much ammo was even still in it. Unfortunately, Clay didn''t have a clue how to open a revolver. He could sort of see through the gap enough to know there was definitely something in at least two of the chambers, but not really any means to tell which of these were spent cartridges and which were live rounds. That was a problem, but he could figure it out later. Clay stuffed the revolver into one of the toolbelt''s pouches and started trying to use the hammer''s hook to get the corpse to lean forward enough to get a good look at his back. Squeak! Squeak! Squeak! "Calm down, I''m almost done. I just need to confirm whether or not this guy has a bag." But it only continued making little noises at him from just outside the changing room, urgently trying to get his attention. Clay stopped what he was doing and turned around to glare at it. "What? What''s the problem?" It wasn''t looking at him, but back into the store. It was like a dog staring at the front door after it heard something that disturbed it. Clay understood immediately. He pressed back deeper into the changing room, still making sure not to touch the dead man. Had he made too much noise and attracted some wandering zombies? No, the street had been pretty much clear, and he''d been careful not to speak too loudly or make much noise while gathering clothes. There was also the fact that zombies tended to sprint when they knew for sure there was prey nearby. They would''ve ran into the store and announced their presence by stepping on broken glass by now. Well, there was an exception to that. The Spooker. It didn''t pursue the moment it saw him, so maybe special zombies had special behaviors? It could be that there was even another survivor out there. Shouldn''t they have called out to him by now if that were the case? No, bad survivors that would find more advantage in sneaking up on him should also be something to consider. Clay was too scared to verbally pry for more information from the rat. He was so on edge now; the only thing that would make him feel safe was if he could figure out his gun. That''s right, if he''d had this last night, he could have shot the Spooker without having to get close. Discharging a weapon would have caused all kinds of other problems, but Clay didn''t dwell on that. He slipped the hammer into his tool belt and retrieved the revolver. There was definitely a way to get the thing open, he just had to find it. Fuck, he needed to calm down, think logically, and examine the gun. Unfortunately, his eyes kept glancing at the rat. It was slowly backing up down the changing room hallway. It''d be out of his sight soon. Clay''s hands were shaking, but his brain had still been thinking behind the scenes. It was possible to intuit the functions of something like this. He knew from watching cop shows where the safety on a pistol was. It was designed so that you wouldn''t have to maneuver your gun in a weird way to toggle it, so it wouldn''t be strange to think that it''d be similar for the opening mechanism. His eyes were frozen on the hallway in front of him, where he could only see into the open changing room across from him and at his own terrified expression. Both hands were on the gun, feeling around from a natural position for any promising notches or bumps. Clay hadn''t put his finger on the trigger yet. There was definitely something. His left thumb brushed against something prominent just above the handle, but pressing it didn''t do anything. Even he felt a presence now, a few shuffling sounds that were quiet enough that he might have missed them if he wasn''t so tense. Maybe it wasn''t something he''s meant to press. Safeties were more like levers, so following that logic¡­ The prominent bump slid forward and the chamber popped open to the side to let him see inside. Unfortunately, his eyes were too busy on something entering the hallway. It didn''t stumble or walk in like expected, but crawled. On the ceiling. There was a small gap between the curtain rod and the ceiling that let Clay see something resembling an arm pulling the vaguest impression of a person into the hallway. There were legs that pushed as well, allowing the monster to crawl above his regular sightline like a gravity-defying cat. It crawled along until it stopped in front of his room. It was just sitting up there, dead still the moment it no longer needed to move. Why? Did it not know he was here? That couldn''t be. It was specifically staying right above the doorway into his changing room. It knew exactly where he was. So, why? Then it clicked. If Clay were to look straight forward and ignore what he knew, it was possible for him to walk out of the changing room and not notice anything until it was too late. This was an ambush. Clay would have definitely fallen for it without the rat¡¯s warning. It wasn''t enough to just be quiet and wary of normal zombies, he couldn''t let his guard down for a single second. It didn''t seem to be aware that it''d been found out, though. There was a chance for the underdog human in the situation to turn things around with his shiny new gun. The only problem was that he had no idea how many active rounds were left. Maybe this guy shot himself with one bullet and left the rest of the chambers unused, but something told Clay that was unlikely. The only way to know was to unload the chambers and have a look. But he was scared. Just like with the Spooker, Clay couldn''t find it in him to look away. He could try firing the gun at it until a shot popped off, but he might agitate it if he makes any sounds that let it know Clay was aware of its presence. He didn''t want to risk anything; he had to make sure he shot it on the first try. All he could find the resolve to do was tip the gun back and allow its contents to spill into one of his hands. However, unwilling to look down and position his palm properly, three of the rounds tapped at an awkward angle against the side of his hand and fell towards the ground. His eyes snapped down in time to see them mid-air. Thinking quickly, he used [Sound of Silence] to deafen the impact they''d make with the ground. [Sound of Silence]''s weakness revealed itself. He could only store up as many sounds as he had sound slots. Two sound slots. Three rounds. Klink-klink! Clay went to one knee, registering two used-up casings and one live round. His fingers wrapped around the odd one out and tilted his head up at the same time. His limbs seized up under the weight of a new gaze on his kneeling form. The collected bullet fell from between two trembling fingers. Its eyes were nothing like those of the Spooker. Where the unique zombie from last night had bright, colorful irises that only appeared to overpower the whites of its eyes, this one had completely black orbs that seemed to absorb all light that came near. It was only after noting its eyes that Clay took in the rest: a head only a little smaller than a volleyball, hairless and riddled with small dents along its dark green skin, dangled down low enough to see what he was doing. It didn''t have a mouth, and its head swayed side to side slowly enough that it was barely perceptible. It was only a second. Probably not even a second. It hadn''t felt like a second. Clay was trapped in that second that wasn''t a second. His mind was racing but too unsure of what to do to make his body move. The zombie''s eyes twitched towards his revolver. The moment it saw the weapon, the all-consuming black of its eyes shrunk until they were two dots in a void of white. That sight was all Clay''s body needed to make use of something that kept his mind from holding it back. Instinct. At the same time the zombie tugged itself down and began its lunge into the changing room, Clay dove forward. He didn''t bother to look behind and see what missing him would cause it to do, opting instead to quickly get to his feet and get back into the main store as quickly as possible. In the time it took for Clay to cross the short distance back into the store and turn around, the zombie had recovered and leapt out of the changing room into a crawling position on the wall of the hallway. Out in the open, he had a better sense for its size. It was on the shorter side, to the extent where if it was standing at full height in front of Clay, the top of its head would probably only come up to his chest. All that remained of its previous human identity was a common display of ripped casual wear that gave way to a lithe, but muscled physique that made its height irrelevant to its current prey. Its head swung side to side rapidly now, a blur at the shoulders while its body crawled along the wall. Clay predicted another lunge and rushed to the side without thinking, causing him to slam into a table displaying folded shirts and fall on top of it. This had actually been a lucky thing, because the lunging zombie hadn''t simply jumped straight down the hallway towards him. It went to the opposite wall first and quickly jumped again in an attempt to intercept him when he tried to move to the side. If Clay had moved like he''d expected to, he would have been caught. Instead, it sailed over him while Clay and the table both clattered to the ground. Less lucky was how unprepared he was for the fall, which knocked his hold on the remaining three bullets in his hand loose and caused them to roll away on the ground. The fall also caused the chamber of his gun to slam itself closed, but his body wouldn''t let go of the revolver for anything. No! Clay picked himself up into a crawling position and tried to locate one of the casings while keeping the zombie in his periphery. It had been primed for another jump and there was nothing in its path to keep it from reaching him now. Chapter 6: One If he''d been thinking clearly, maybe he would have taken advantage of the first missed lunge to load his gun and shoot it while it was in an enclosed area. If he had been faster at loading the gun. If he hadn''t been too scared to look down and make sure he didn''t drop any bullets. If this. If that. Clay''s thoughts were those of a man that had already died. What could he do now? This thing was going to rip him apart, and all he had was an empty gun to protect himself with. He held up and pointed at the zombie in desperation. It had been possible that he could at least keep it at bay with his arm long enough for him to get his hammer ready and-- But it didn''t jump towards him. Its eyes centered on the gun once again and instantly jumped to the other side of the store to stick to the ceiling and start moving away from him. The way its arms and legs moved so quickly eerily reminded him of a spider. Why had it done that? Clay realized it right away. It was something he already started to pick up on after seeing it use ambush tactics and try to intercept his path a moment ago. This thing is intelligent! Maybe intelligent was the wrong word to use, but it was definitely smarter than the average zombie. It had the mental capacity to recognize the gun as dangerous and to be avoided, even if it didn''t have the sense to realize it wasn''t loaded. Clay thought to rectify that last part when he started using his other hand to palm near where he saw a bullet go while using his other hand to keep the revolver pointed at the ceiling-hugging monster as best he could. It happily stayed on the run to avoid giving him a clear shot. An awesome bluff, but not sustainable. The fact that the zombie hadn''t fled was a sign that it still thought it could deal with him, despite the revolver. It was looking for a path, jumping about and probing him for a weak spot. Clay wouldn''t have long. His fingers met the bullet, prompting him to snatch it up and rise to his feet. A live round; Clay just had to load it. He''d be vulnerable while loading the chamber, something that the leaper would no doubt take advantage of. Once he did, was he confident enough in his aim to shoot such a wily thing? He didn''t even have any experience shooting stationary targets, much less something this fast. The best thing Clay could think to do was back up and throw himself over the countertop of the cashier''s desk. While doing this, he''d at least have enough time to load the bullet and close the chamber before the leaper could jump on him. As he found momentary relief by hiding behind the counter, Clay thought about his next move and pulled the hammer back on his revolver. Click-click! His initial idea had been to shoot the leaper the moment he saw it try to hop over the counter after him, but he couldn''t help but doubt if something like that would work. It already showed him how sharp and afraid of guns it had been, so would it charge so foolishly? Clay needed to be absolutely certain he would kill it in one shot, because one shot was all he had. He turned from his back onto his knees and elbows, keeping his position low while crawling closer to the back of the store. Clay wouldn''t be able to reach his target while staying hidden, so his only chance had been to make a break for it. A creeping fear told him that risking himself like that could end in him getting caught and killed. It was much safer to just stay behind the counter where it couldn''t yet see him, at the very least. But a deeper feeling told him differently. Clay had to take a risk. It won''t work if I don''t run for it! I''ll definitely miss if things stay like this! I''ll miss, 100%! Clay got up. The leaper had crawled on the ceiling to the center of the store. From a vantage point like that, it had been ready to jump towards the first sign of movement that came out from behind the cashier''s counter. It did just that, first falling to the ground and rebounding in the direction of said movement when it went in the direction of one of the destroyed display windows. Just like Clay thought it would. It tensed up its muscles to try and preempt him and only succeeded in chasing foolishly after a bundle of clothes he''d thrown towards the window. It acted based on animal instinct, which was still predicated on logic. Prey tended to flee, and it wouldn''t have been strange for Clay to make a break for it through that window to get outside. Instead, he took the opportunity to go in the complete opposite direction towards the changing room hallway. Clay had thrown the clothes and sprinted to his goal without even checking to see if his gambit worked, but the time it bought for him was confirmation enough. He bolted across that threshold once again and closed the curtains behind him. No way would it leap in after him when it couldn''t verify his position, not a cautious ambush animal like this. He ducked into one of the changing rooms during that time when it couldn¡¯t see him. Crouched down and staring out into the hallway, Clay listened to the curtains leading into the hallway rip open all at once while he brandished his hammer in his other hand. It hadn''t jumped in, but it was no longer trying to be subtle either. Klink-klink! The sound of a bullet falling against wood came from a changing room that instantly earned the leaper''s attention. It bounded over from above and peeked in to see Clay in his lowered position like last time, displaying a hammer instead of a gun. It had to have known he still had the gun, but it went in for the kill before he had the chance to point it properly. It smashed hard into the mirror of the changing room. It had only been Clay''s intention to distract it with one of the noises he had stored in [Sound of Silence] and then pop out to shoot it while it was taking a peek, but the leaper moved in so quickly after seeing his reflection in the mirror that he didn''t have the chance to take a shot, nor did it have the chance to realize he had actually been in the opposite changing room. Clay became the one going in for the kill. It was disoriented and trapped in the confines of that changing room, giving him an even better opportunity than the original version of his plan could have hoped for. He closed the distance to keep the zombie from regaining its bearings. The thought of actually getting closer to the creature made Clay''s limbs feel heavy, but it was the only way someone with as little experience as him could guarantee the shot landing. Point-blank range. He pressed the gun into its head. As soon as it felt the cold metal shoved hard against the skin, its head started flopping side to side like before. With that unnerving movement, it could move its head out of the way of his gun without even having to move any other part of its body. If Clay timed it right, he could have probably shot it anyway, but seeing his gun pointed at thin air for only a moment caused critical hesitation. He only had one shot. He had to kill it in one shot. If he lost this one shot, he''d die. He couldn''t shoot unless it was a sure thing. It had to be 100%. It wouldn''t let him off for that. It turned around and surged forward. In the midst of that movement that had slowed down to a crawl from his perspective, Clay realized that it actually did have a mouth. A line formed from nothing where a normal person''s lips would usually be and started creeping up along both sides of its cheeks. It opened up like a jagged chasm to reveal two rows of filthy, bloody teeth. "Don''t--" Clay quietly started, but even he knew nothing was going to come of it. The arm that held his hammer moved up in front of the thing''s face. It had made things better, marginally. Though it hadn''t made much of a difference to Clay when it wrapped its mouth around his arm in a hard, blisteringly painful bite. There was no helping it, Clay cried out. He''d thought having his skin scratched at by the regular zombie earlier had been bad, but there couldn''t be any comparison. It only took a short second for the pain of this bite to brand his memory, as if it had bitten directly into his brain. Worse still, the movement of its head continued even after it clamped down, tugging his arm back and forth and forcing him to drop his hammer. "Let go! L-Let me go!" Clay struggled but was too scared of the damage that would be done to his arm if he tried to wrench himself free. Its hands latched onto his shoulders now, trying to keep him in place while it continued yanking on his arm with its head. Clay had a thought that it was like those videos he''d seen of K-9 units attacking people in padded suits during their training, how they went for the arms to bring them down. There was a key difference here, though.The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation. This monster was stronger than a dog, strong enough that enough tugging would probably let it rip his arm off. Clay reacted the only way he could think of. He pushed his arm harder against its mouth. "Fuck you! I''ll kill you! I''ll fucking kill you first!" He forced the zombie back until he had its head shoved against the shattered mirror, though that only slowed down the side-to-side jerking a little bit. That worked fine for Clay, though. He didn''t need it to stop, he only needed to minimize the chances of it reeling back. Clay pressed his gun against its temple and pulled the trigger. [Sound of Silence] ensured that the zombie''s brains made no noise as they were blown from its head until they splattered with grotesque squelching against the wall. >+50 XP! >ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED! [JUMPS-A-LOT] --------------------------------------------------------- [JUMPS-A-LOT] (+1 Skill Slot) Kill a Jumper! --------------------------------------------------------- >You have been infected with (Plague)! >You are protected from the effects of (Plague) by a Skill! The Achievement had called it a Jumper, but Clay felt like Leaper would have been a lot cooler. Whatever it could be called, it still had its teeth stuck in his arm. It might have even bit down a little harder after finally dying. Still worried about the damage, Clay decided to lower its body and lay it on the ground without moving its head around too much. Once he was lying on top of it, he picked his hammer up off the ground and used its hook to pry the Jumper''s mouth open. It took a little more effort than he thought it would, and every careless jostle sent jolts of pain shooting up his arm that made tears prickle at his eyes. By the time his arm was free, he was crying freely. Clay removed it from his jacket for inspection. The good news was that the extra shirts he tied around his arm for protection did their job. The bad news was that they hadn''t done it very well. The fact he could still make a fist was a good sign, but the amount of blood discouraged him. Clay slowly pulled away at the layers and made an ugly noise when he took in what''d been done to him. It was like a dog bite, but more brutal. The rapid movement it did with its head after biting down widened the wound as well; this maximized the amount of blood it got to drink, most likely. He''d need stitches, for sure. He''d never gotten stitches before. Clay slipped his gun and his hammer back into his toolbelt before stepping back into the main store, cradling one arm with the other. However, there came a familiar noise that prompted him to turn around. Squeak squeak! The rat ran up and stopped in front of him. "Oh¡­you''re still here. I thought you ran off when that thing showed up," Clay said breathlessly. The rat didn''t ''say'' anything. "I''m not mad or anything. I know there''s not much you could have--" "Don''t move." Came another voice from behind him in the store. A gruff, firm voice that made Clay''s body obediently cease any movement. Another person? Did they have a gun on him? Was he going to be shot after all that? Would that be preferable to bleeding out? "Turn around, slowly." Clay did as he was told and met the eyes of the only other actual, living person he''d seen since he was dropped into this world. A man with brown eyes that focused on him with such intensity that Clay thought it was possible that he''d already resolved to shoot him with that scary shotgun he was holding. His clothes were very utilitarian, Clay thought. Perfectly fitting jeans and a black shirt that fit snug against his developed biceps, with a tactical vest to hide the roundness of his belly as best it could. The only part of his ensemble that clashed with the professional vibe he had going on was a fisherman''s hat he wore. He was standing just outside on the sidewalk, sticking Clay up through one of the display windows. Once the stranger saw the state Clay was in, his eyes softened slightly, even if he was also making a slow approach that he didn''t stop until he was only a few feet away. Clay averted his gaze. "Shit, man¡­Looks like you got got good¡­" What? Wanna try that again? Clay thought to say, but bit his tongue. The stranger continued, keeping his gun trained on him despite asking after his status, "That''s a bite, ain''t it? A bite bite?" Clay considered lying, but thought better of it. If he got caught in a lie by someone with a shotgun and unclear intentions, it might end even worse for him. Instead, he nodded slowly. "That sucks, man." The other man took a second of his own to think, then went on, "You want me to¡­keep you from turning?" Clay realized what he meant in an instant and shook his head, responding plainly, "I''m immune." "Immune? Ain''t no such thing as immune, kid! One bite and you''re done-zo!" The man stated incredulously. For some reason, he trained the gun on Clay even more after he said that. The ''kid'' at gunpoint surmised that this man was expecting a melancholy moment with a survivor who was being forced to give up. Clay was certain he had that pathetic sort of look after crying so much. Making the claim of immunity gave the impression that he was still a threat because he hadn''t resigned to die. A survivor who wanted to live could be up to anything. Clay was getting anxious. There was a gun pointed at him and he had no way of knowing how much longer he''d last without medical attention. If he wasn''t so drained, he''d probably be bawling already. When he spoke, every sentence seemed to trail off. "I won''t turn, but I''m really roughed up bad¡­" "Yeah, I got eyes." "My name is Clay, by the way¡­" "I didn''t ask for your name, kid." Clay clammed up, creating an awkward silence. Talking was impossible when this guy shut him down at every turn like that. Why don''t you just shoot me, then? Getting his head blasted open with a shotgun might not be the cleanest way to go, but it''d be quick. However¡­ "You''re not gonna shoot me," Clay proclaimed weakly. That had the man even more on edge. "How do you figure that?" "A gun that loud is sure to attract a horde. It wouldn''t be smart of you to--" Clay was cut off when the man slammed him in the nose with the butt of his gun, sending him to the ground in a mix of pain from all over. His nose was certainly bleeding, but falling to the ground also agitated his injured arm. It already hurt to breath through his nose now, and the transition to mouth-breathing was started by a pained gasp. "Got a genius over here! Wish I''d of thoughta'' that!" The man sounded more angry than taunting. "Hey, genius, you even got ears? Some idiot caused an explosion last night that drew away most of the Crowders from this area! I wouldn''t even be here if I was too worried to use my gun!" He curled up on the ground, shaking like a leaf as he tried to rub the pain away from his nose. What the man said didn''t make much sense to Clay. The explosion drew the zombies there? That had been true right after he did it, but leaving the area the next day had been way too easy for that many zombies to have still been there, even if he did so with the rat''s help. "Gnnhh¡­! I''m sorry! I''m sorry!" Clay cried, trying to say whatever it was he thought the man wanted to hear. At the same time, one of his hands stealthily went for the gun tucked into his toolbelt. "What the hell are you sorry for? I just bopped you one because you were--Hey!" A boot came down hard on Clay''s wrist the moment the gun was revealed, forcing him to loosen his grip on it before he even had a chance to point it at his assailant. "Aghh! Stop!" The blow to his nose made his voice sound congested. "Well, now you oughta'' be sorry! I don''t take kindly to threats on my life!" The stranger ground his foot harder into Clay''s wrist, until his fingers completely opened and he was able to kick the gun out from his hand. "I-I was just going to scare you! I''m sorry! I just wanted you to stop hitting me!" Clay tried, using his hand to cover his head once it was freed from the man''s foot. "It''s not even loaded! You-You can check! It''s not loaded!" The man stepped away from Clay''s shaking form, keeping his gun trained on him the entire time he moved to retrieve the revolver and have a look inside. Maybe some good luck finally struck when the conflict caused it to end up empty. Now this guy could calm down after verifying his life was never in any danger. "Why do you have Kyle''s gun, motherfucker¡­?" The man asked, his voice edged with something more dangerous than what it''d become when he thought Clay was going to try and shoot him. When the hell am I going to catch a goddamn break!? "I don''t--Uh! I-I don''t know anyone named Kyle! I got it off a corpse in the changing rooms over there! Please, I''m hurt really bad¡­" At the mention of a corpse, the man''s head swung in the direction of the changing rooms. His nose wrinkled at a potent smell. Without worry about whether or not Clay might take advantage of the opportunity, he turned his eyes and gun from him to walk over and verify the death. In the few minutes that he was gone, Clay started crawling towards the door to the shop. He knew that he''d resolved to suffer a little longer, but this was just insane. Clay had killed a creature way above his level, but not only did he have to deal with an injury that turned his triumph into a pyrrhic victory, he had to deal with this asshole. Clay''s hand slipped on some of his own blood and sent him prone against the floor once more. His body felt so heavy now. Why? He was losing blood, but he thought he still had plenty of time before he lost enough for it to get this bad. >STAMINA: 0/4 So he''d been back on his own reserves. Probably had been for a while now, given that he only had 2 at the beginning of the day. Fuck it. Fuck everything. He''d just lay there then. Clay was so lost in feeling sorry for himself that he didn''t realize the man was back until he stood over him, looking down with confusion etched into his aging features. "You kill that Jumper back there, genius?" Clay nodded. "Bullshit. That thing had its brains blown out, and I was definitely close enough that I''d have heard a gunshot. I bet Kyle got bit killing it and you''re trying to take credit, whatever that''s worth these days." It did sound pretty unbelievable, even to Clay. However, he knew that the way out of this hinged on him getting help from this man. There was only one option left. "I have¡­special powers." The man scoffed, "Special powers? You telling me you''re some kinda V-Man?" Was everything in this world just an off-brand version of something from his if it wasn''t something insanely original? "Zombies that can crawl on walls is fine, but a normal human with powers is unbelievable?" "Zombies is zombies, and peoples is peoples. Peoples don''t do that shit." Clay felt a bit of confidence returning now and smiled as he pointed a finger gun at him. "The same thing that makes me immune also lets me steal sounds to use for later¡­I didn''t make any sound when I shot the Lea-the Jumper because I ''stole'' the sound of the gunshot." Without waiting for more disbelief, Clay made his finger gun buck upwards while depositing the sound of that earlier gunshot in the air between them. BANG! The man jumped back and pointed his gun at Clay. "Are you fucking stupid!? Even if there''s no horde around, shit like that is gonna at least attract stragglers!" Clay pulled himself up into a sitting position against the front door, offering a strained grin and speaking with a hint of bravado, "Patch me up and I''ll tell you more about it. If the answer''s no, then please shoot me in the head now that those zombies are coming no matter what you do." When the man didn''t immediately shoot him or say no, Clay''s smile tentatively widened. Chapter 7: V-Man "Daaad! This guy has bugs in his hair!" Exclaimed an annoyingly shrill voice to Clay''s right. "I told you not to get too close to him, honey." The former stranger said patiently while suturing Clay''s bite wound, "I''m pretty sure I told you clean up that room of yours, too." "But I want to see the smelly man cry!" Clay hated kids. Usually it only amounted to ambivalence or annoyance, but right now the only thing keeping his mind off of the treatment was his hatred for this girl, who seemed to be taking a weird amount of joy in his pain. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ After being drawn in by Clay''s display, the man (whose name turned out to be Alan) wrapped his injured arm as tight as he could in cut-up t-shirts before helping him to his feet. Alan got the job done better and more quickly than Clay, and it wasn''t even close. However, it hadn''t been like revealing his powers had instantly earned him the other survivor''s trust. At the same time that he''d been getting Clay ready for the journey, he also confiscated his toolbelt to ensure he had no weapons. It said a lot that Alan became so much more comfortable around him after that, as if it was just an unspoken reality that Clay wasn''t any sort of threat without something in his hands. Clay wouldn''t argue with that. This guy could snap him in half like a twig, even if he weren''t nursing the most out-of-this-world bite wound of all time. They stepped away from the store to safer ground before Alan''s preventative measures continued. Searching the rest of Clay''s person caused Alan to clap his hand a little too hard against the pocket of his jacket, from which the rat popped its head out with a peircing shriek. It must have crawled back into his pocket while he was wallowing on the ground. That made Alan jump back even more aggressively than the sound of Clay''s gunshot. There came some fuss, but Clay managed to talk him down by lying that training rats was one of his powers. He told tall tales about how he used it to scout areas and search out supplies all the time while stuffing it back into the pocket to keep Alan from staring at it, which caused it to angrily nibble at Clay''s fingers. The journey to Alan''s home hadn''t been nearly as eventful as anything else that happened earlier in the day, with the only standout moment being a few zombies that blocked their path and gave Clay another chance to show off his [Sound of Silence]. Not only could Alan blow them away without worry, Clay got his hands on the noise of two shotgun blasts. He didn''t end up using them for anything useful. "Never seen anything like it," Alan admitted in awe. "Is this one of those things where you got bit and ended up unlocking some secret gene instead of turning into a zombie?" "Uh, no. I was able to do this before I got bit." Clay''s answer had come out a little drowsy, and he often had to take little breaks so he could catch his breath. They''d only been walking for an hour and he had been on his fourth sit-down when Alan started really rushing him. "We gotta get a move on, genius. Can''t be sitting around every couple of minutes, y''hear?" Wow. It''s almost like I''m bleeding a shit ton and also having to contend with a nosebleed that makes it hurt to breathe at the same time! Might be that hitting people in the nose for no reason would make things a little harder for them! "Yeah¡­sorry," Clay said instead. That was the last time he took a seat before they got to their destination. Alan lived in an apartment building with all the doors and windows sealed up by wooden boards. The only means of entrance was the use of a fire escape on the side of the building that required an elongated hook hidden underneath some loose debris. Once they''d climbed the ladder, with some difficulty due to Clay''s weary body, Alan pulled the ladder back up. The measures taken to turn the fire escape into the only way in likely wouldn''t help much where Jumpers were involved, but regular zombies would have to break through the barricades that had been put into place. Clay figured that wouldn''t be a problem as long as not a lot of noise was made. Then they entered the building through a window. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Which brings things back to his current predicament of sitting at a dining room table with his head down and Alan periodically having to stick a needle through his skin to sew him up. He''d already started tearing up when the alcohol was applied and he didn''t want to full-on cry in front of this stupid little girl. It wasn''t by much, but Clay had a better time powering through physical pain than he did emotional distress. That didn''t make it hurt any less, though. "What did you get bit by, mister? Are you gonna turn into a zombie, too? What sort of zombie do you think you''re gonna turn into?" Clay grit his teeth against the treatment and her questions both, sometimes slamming his fist against the table to rail physically at the agony. He also sometimes did it just to cut the girl off. "Did you--?" SLAM! "Why did you--?" SLAM! "You smell like--!" SLAM! What wonderful noises one could make on the 6th floor of an apartment complex. "Angie!" Shouted another voice from outside the room, "Go clean your room!" Then she emerged from the living room, Clay''s guardian angel. A heavyset woman with long brown hair and a spatula that she pointed threateningly at her daughter. "Get a move on, girl!" "Ah, jeez!" Unlike when Alan had told her to, the kid listened well when it was her mother and immediately fled the scene. Clay supposed that was just the kind of power mothers had. To him, Alan was still the scariest one there despite that domineering display. When he''d first arrived, it was the woman that applied alcohol to his wounds and told her husband to hush down when he started grilling Clay for flinching. An angel! "You do smell terrible, though," Alan said in a matter of fact tone. At least he''d waited until his daughter was out of the room to keep from encouraging her. "Makes sense¡­" Clay started through clenched teeth, "I had to sleep in a dumpster last night." "Haha!" Alan laughed, which caused him to jostle the needle imbedded in Clay''s skin and make his patient slam the table again. "Sorry. I was just thinking of telling you that you smell like you crawled out of a dumpster, but I didn''t wanna come off like an asshole. Hearing that you really did crawl out of a dumpster¡ªI just thought it was funny." If you didn''t want to come off like an asshole, you would have done a way better job if you didn''t bash my nose¡­ Clay kept silent again. The silence continued for a few minutes until Alan spoke up with a more mild tone. "Hey, I just wanna say that I''m sorry for hitting you earlier." Clay didn''t move his head to look at the other man or say anything in response, but the sudden apology did raise an eyebrow. "I can tell from the way you act that you don''t get to talkin'' with other survivors. If you did, I''m imagining you''d be a lot tougher." Wasn''t this supposed to be an apology? "''Cause it''s the way you gotta be sometimes. You try getting robbed at gunpoint a couple times and see if that doesn''t make you act like an asshole sometimes." Clay didn''t have a bitter thought for that one. In fact, he was starting to understand a little better where Alan was coming from. What would he have become if he''d been forced to live in this world for as long as Alan clearly has? Lunch, probably. If not that, then probably someone who''d be willing to slap someone around a bit to keep from getting fucked over. Clay spoke succinctly to keep from making any undignified noises, "It doesn''t matter. I''m not angry or anything." "Don''t say it if you don''t mean it, genius. It''s okay if you''re peeved, I just wanted to make sure you heard that before I start getting down to the nitty-gritty here." Alan was halfway done with Clay''s arm, leaving Clay to think that he might have finished already if he just stayed quiet and focused instead of splitting his focus with these little asides. Okay, maybe Clay was still peeved, even after the apology. He thought it was possible to act nonplussed if he convinced himself the bandage on his nose made him look like a badass boxer. Alan continued, "I''m thinking now might be a good time to ask you about those powers of yours, but I''m also curious about Kyle." "Was he a friend of yours?" Clay asked. "He was a brother of mine." Shit. Well, that definitely explained the change in his tone when he found Clay with the gun. "Sorry." "Long as you didn''t kill him yourself, I don''t see no reason for you to be sorry. I figured when he didn''t come back a few months ago that this was probably the reason why." Clay wasn''t looking at him, but the slight wavering of Alan''s voice as he spoke on his brother made it clear this was still a major blow, and it made Clay ache as well. His thoughts momentarily turned towards home. Did the people he''d been forced to leave behind even realize he was gone yet? "I think I''m just sorry that you caught me looting his c--" Clay clicked his teeth; no need to say it so bluntly, "Uh, caught me looting him." "I''m not gonna hold it against you, kid. If it were me rotting away in there, I wouldn''t be fussed if another survivor made use of my shit." Alan stopped to think for a second, "Actually, I probably would be a little pissed off if they took everything I had. ''Least leave a man some dignity in death, you know?" "Fair enough¡­" Clay grunted in pain, rushing his next words out, "I don''t know much about what happened to him."This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. "Didn''t expect you would. Nobody has been able to get near that area for a while now after the horde moved in; otherwise, I would have found him a long time ago. I guess I gotta thank whichever dumbass it was that decided to make a huge ruckus and lead the Crowders away last night." "What was he even doing over there?" Clay inquired to move the conversation along and get off the subject of last night''s dumbass. "Why even get wrapped up with the horde to begin with?" "It weren''t always like that. Not in that part of the city, at least. We both used to hop over there to look for supplies from time to time, but it was just good ol'' fashioned bad luck that had him over there when the horde showed up. It would have been a bitch to find a way home, so I reckoned he decided to hide out until they were gone." It made enough sense to Clay, but it caused a question to linger at the back of his mind ever since this subject first came up at the clothing shop. If hordes tended to hang out around wherever they ended up, why did he have such an easy time escaping after causing that explosion? He should have been trapped like Kyle, right? There wasn''t any way to answer that question right now, so it was best to move on. "If you''ve already surmised all that, what questions do you have for me?" "I''m just wanting to know if you got yourself attacked by the Jumper before or after you found Kyle''s body. Don''t answer yet." Alan stuck the needle into Clay''s skin again and started running the thread through. "Okay, go ahead." "It was definitely after," Clay''s other hand went from slamming the table to clutching one of its far edges. He tried to focus on the conversation. "It was waiting for me to leave the changing room to drop down and get me." "Huh!" Alan exclaimed, in surprise from the sounds of it, "That means it probably left Kyle there on purpose to lure your ass in. Let me tell ya'', it''s a little bit of a relief to hear that." "¡­Why?" "Because that means my brother wasn''t killed by one of those stupid Jumpers! It probably took everything that thing had to get a bite on him, and even then Kyle didn''t give it the satisfaction of turning!" The sudden curiosity helped Clay power through another stitch while he asked Alan, "Are Jumpers not ordinarily that smart?" "Not most of ''em, no. I''ve heard it said that they get smarter the more they eat¡­" Alan trailed off. "But you don''t think so?" Clay guessed. "I dunno nothing about nothing, but something about that just doesn''t sound right to me. Always felt like they just learned like normal hunters do, or how people probably did before you used to be able to look things up on GlubeTube. Guess now we''re going back to them times of trial and error." "Mmm¡­" Clay hummed in agreement. Even some of the dumb animals of his world, which this one likely shared, were capable of simple hunting techniques like baiting out prey. There wasn''t much he could add to this conversation overall, though. If Alan knew ''nothing about nothing'', then Clay knew even less than nothing. Without any input or debate from him, the conversation simply moved on. "Anyway, you said you ain''t any kind of V-Man, so where did those powers of yours come from?" "I got them from the Sk--" Clay was cut off by a system window opening in front of his face, causing him to flinch. "Hey! I didn''t even stick you that time!" >CAUTION! It is recommended that you do not reveal your nature as a [Traveler] or the existence of the Lomion System! He''d been half a second away from revealing details about the Skill Shop and got a warning. The only other time anything like this happened had been when the system let him know that he''d gotten infected with the Plague earlier. "You alright over there? Why''d you stop talking?" Alan stopped sewing and lightly pushed Clay''s shoulder to make sure he hadn''t passed out. The thing that stuck out to Clay most was that the system recommended not revealing stuff like this to people. It wasn''t telling him he couldn''t or that it wasn''t allowed. On top of that, why hadn''t he gotten this message earlier when he told Alan about his powers? Was it because he hadn''t been about to mention where they came from? Clay needed more time to think this through. The system must have this warning for a reason. "I''m fine¡­I was just thinking for a second. I''ve never told anyone about my whole deal before, so it''s just weird. Can you finish sewing me up first?" "Fine, then. Just thought talking was doing a good job keeping you from making those weird noises every time I stick ''ya." Clay''s disposition towards this man was going up and down like a heart rate monitor. While that was being done, Alan''s wife walked back into the room and set a water bottle on the table next to Clay''s head before sitting at the table as well. She''d even taken into consideration the fact he couldn''t use both hands and had the bottle open for him already. An angel! "So you''ve got superpowers?" Alan''s wife, Milly, asked as Clay started guzzling down the contents of the water bottle, "Slow down, would ''ya? You''re gonna make yourself sick!" Clay remembered a time where he worked in the sun all day and quaffed water bottles all throughout, which ended in him embarrassingly vomiting it all back up. He stopped drinking now to keep from repeating the incident. "Haah-!" Clay let out a breath. He''d never been a big fan of water in the past, but his mighty thirst had made his taste buds much more accepting. "So, did you activate some sorta super-gene after getting bit by a zombie?" Milly asked. Alan cut in, "I asked almost exactly the same thing, too! Apparently that ain''t it!" The emphasis on ''apparently'' sounded accusatory to Clay''s ears. Did this dude really believe it would be that much cooler or more believable if he''d been bitten by a radioactive zombie and gotten zombie powers? "It''s complicated," Clay told them. "What isn''t complicated anymore?" Milly sighed, "Couldn''t possibly be any more weird than the world going to hell." "Let the boy alone, Milly. He ain''t gonna be in a talking mood until I''m done patching up his arm." Alan remarked. From the way the pain traveled, Clay guessed that he''d be all stitched up after a little while longer. During that time, Clay wondered if telling the truth about his powers would be the smart move. Doing so would reveal quite a lot for little return, but if he lied in a way that felt off or could be easily disproven, the best-case scenario for him would be having his ass thrown out on the street. But what would be the problem if they knew everything? No matter how deeply he thought about it, there wasn''t really anything to lose by just letting them in on a few of his secrets. Clay also realized he might not have to go as far as telling them every little thing, such as his status as an otherworlder. The only conceivable problem is being disbelieved, but at that point there wasn''t much the truth-telling Clay could do but say he gave it his best shot. Even a path where they used him for his abilities and his potential for growth was an acceptable endgame for him; at least he''d have a little backing in that case. Alan exhaled something between a breath and a whistle as he got up from the table. "That should do it! Mills, do me a favor and wrap this arm up while the hero of the hour washes his hands." "Real heroes don''t call themselves heroes, dear." She chided jokingly while replacing him in the chair across from Clay. "Happy to walk in parades and get medals pinned to their chests, though. Oh, but the second they start saying it, suddenly there ain''t ever been a real hero in the history of¡­" Alan''s voice faded as he walked into the kitchen. Is he actually going to wash his hands? Do these people have running water here? Clay thought in amazement. If they did, then an actual shower was not off the table. "How old are you, honey?" Milly asked as her hands deftly moved to wrap his arm in gauze. Proper medical gauze had a different feel to it than recycled t-shirts, for sure. "22," Clay answered quickly. "Mmh. Just a kid, then." Clay raised his head now that he wasn''t having to put up with the pain of Alan''s suturing, but didn''t let his irritation show on his face. A kid that''s old enough to drink. "I guess." She posed another question, "Where are you from, Clay?" Oh. So the interrogation had already begun, and with the worst possible question for him. Telling them about the system windows should be fine, but he''d come to the conclusion that knowledge of worlds other than this one could be a problem to spill to just anyone. So what could he say in response? "America," Clay decided. The appearance of a few US flags around the city told him that at least the countries should still be consistent. "You don''t say¡­" Milly didn''t stop wrapping his arm, but she did glance up from her work at his face. Clay instinctively averted his eyes. "I think the missus is trying to ask where you grew up, genius. Something like a town or a city." Alan''s voice heralded his return to the dining room before he emerged from the doorway, drying his wet hands with a cloth. "I''m from the city like you guys. A different one. Moved here not long before things popped off, which really messed with my ability to know my way around the city once I couldn''t just use my phone." Clay pulled his arm away from Milly once she was done. Hopefully it wouldn''t lose a lot of function by the time it healed. "I know it makes me sound old to say, but the younger ones really are just way too reliant on them phones. Bet you''re wishing you was in the boy scouts like me, huh?" Alan beamed in naked superiority. Kill yourself. "Do you have family here?" Milly continued gently, as if her husband hadn''t just been on his case. Clay froze at that, turning his gaze towards a wall. "No, not here. I haven''t spoken to any family in a long time, so I didn''t really have anywhere to go once my place got overrun and I realized what a pain it would be to leave the city." The fact that it might be dangerous to leave the city wasn''t something he''d confirmed, but doing any sort of travel in this world was dangerous enough that it was probably okay to just throw that out there. It must have been, because neither of them commented on it. "And what about those powers Al was telling me about? The thing where you¡­" She wiggled a finger in his direction, "You know." "Steal sound?" Clay finished, glancing towards them, "Well, here''s where things get even weirder than you were thinking." Thus began a series of explanations and questions about his system. He told them the basics about his stats and Skills, the Skill Shop, and the existence of Achievements. Of course, he left out the parts that pointed towards him being from anywhere else but here, specifically the part about him being some kind of [Traveler]. Milly asked him questions about its possible origins (couldn''t help her there), a demonstration of his power to steal sound with [Sound of Silence], and a drawing of what the system window he saw actually looked like. Alan asked him what level he was, what sorts of other powers he could acquire from the shop, and if the system could be shared. That last question had Clay experimenting, but nothing he did yielded any sort of party system. "You''re still a V-Man. It''s just the V stands for videogame now." Alan nodded along to his own logic. Clay also added [Rat Control] amongst his Skills, just so there wouldn''t be any contradictions with what he told Alan earlier. "Rat Control?" Milly started, looking at Clay closely, "How much use do you get out of that?" "Not a ton. Usually I''m pretty good at controlling the one in my pocket with my powers, but I think being a douchebag might just be a core part of its personality." Alan looked away nervously. What? "You brought a rat into my home¡­?" Milly asked, sounding a lot like Alan had when he first discovered Clay was in possession of Kyle''s revolver. She looked over her shoulder at Alan, who was also looking over his own shoulder to keep from meeting her eyes. "You brought a rat into my home?" "I forgot he had it!" Alan explained, turning his body fully away from them, "He says one of his V-Man powers lets him control it, so it shouldn''t be a big deal!" "Rats are filthy, Alan! They have diseases!" "Uhm, I can keep it clean if that''s a problem," Clay volunteered. "It''ll also only eat food I give it, so I don''t think there''s any chance it''ll get into anything." Milly''s gaze bore down on him. "It really does do what I tell it¡­" Clay added, a little weaker now. Alright, maybe Milly did scare him a little bit. The rat''s head poked out from his pocket now and stared at her, which started a prolonged staring contest. Milly blinked first. "And you can control rats¡­?" Milly asked cautiously. "Just this one." Milly narrowed her eyes at him. "My powers usually have limits like this. Even my ability to steal sound can only store up two at a time, and even then I have to use up the ones I already have to store up new ones." Clay lifted the rat from his pocket, earning him a few squeaks in protest as he held it up on his palm. "I can only control one rat right now, but I can more or less have it do whatever I want." Clay gave the rat an intense stare of his own. I swear to God if you ruin this for me, I''m gonna do something we''ll both regret, you toothy little bastard! If the rat got his message, it didn''t let him know in a way he''d understand. There was nothing left to do except hope for the best. "Stand on your hind legs," Clay commanded. The rat quickly rose to its hind legs, balancing itself carefully on the center of Clay''s palm. "Do a bow." It leaned in, bending its body forward enough to make it clear it was bowing without falling back onto its front legs again. Alan and Milly were both entranced by the show they put on. It was so quick to do what Clay told it that even he was starting to wonder if [Rat Control] was a hidden Skill of his. "Scamper back into my pocket so the adults can continue their conversation." Clay lowered his hand back towards his jacket so it could retreat into his pocket, which it did¡ªthough not without giving him a little nip on the way in to remind him who was truly in charge. The couple exchanged glances. It was Milly who handed down the verdict. "You still have to keep it clean like you said," Milly declared. "Speaking of, you''re gonna need a wash before anything else." Yes! Yes! Yes, please! It''s about time! Shower! Bath! Either one! Both! I''m not picky! "If you think that''s best," Clay answered politely. "Think he can get it done with one?" Alan spoke up again to ask. Milly leaned in and sniffed a few times to take in Clay''s scent. She didn''t have to lean far. "Better make it two," she said while pinching a bit of Clay''s hair, "and a comb. One we don''t care about." One? Two? What were they talking about? Did he reek so bad that they thought it would require him to take multiple baths to clean up properly? Alan plopped down two more water bottles in front of him, along with a washcloth, a bar of soap, and a pocket comb. Now that Clay was upright and looking closely, he noticed the brand on the water bottles was Dasani. That fact was almost enough to make him overlook the clear implication they''d brought him along with these select items. "Try to get both of yourselves clean with just this, genius," Alan told him, a wry smile appearing on his face once he saw Clay''s reaction. "We don''t like to waste water around here. We''ll talk about arrangements later." Chapter 8: Help Clay found the sound of his water-soaked hair dripping into the empty bucket soothing. It was far from the sort of therapy he''d likely need after all this, but he was willing to take anything at this point. A puddle was forming, enough that he could already see something like a reflection in it. He''d been sequestered to a bedroom to give him enough privacy to bathe. It was bare except for a bed and a mountain of boxes that Alan told him not to touch or risk being taken to a little place called Pound Town. One comb-through at a time, he removed what remained of the maggots in his hair and watched them fall into the water with growing relief. It sickened him to know that they were there in the first place, but the gradual purification of his body became another soothing sensation. The rat was watching Clay from on top of his discarded clothes while he wet a rag. Rag and soap both were rubbed hard against his body, clad only in the pair of boxers that remained as something from his old world. He would have been more proactive about keeping the rat from looking at him, but at this point he''d just wanted to be clean. It took a lot of doing, and even by the end he didn''t feel perfectly clean, but Clay was just too tired of scrubbing himself while also remaining wary of getting his bandages wet. He toweled off and put on the extra set of clothes provided to him, a pair of pajama pants and a shirt; both were a little too small to fit perfectly, but they got the job done. "Since you and I are in this together now, I can''t just keep thinking of you as ''the rat,''" Clay said to the rat. "I should probably think up a name for you." It looked up at him without making any noises. He leaned in and gestured towards its face with his index finger, "What about Bitey?" The rat proceeded to bite his index finger, which Clay saw coming. He snatched it up in his other hand and brought it towards a second bucket that he''d requested just for this. "You''re absolutely right. Bitey is way too obvious," he stated calmly while using the last half of water in the second bottle to fill up the bucket as much as possible. "Maybe something a little more ironic? I''m thinking¡­Kissy." The vermin started biting his hand rapidly now, but Clay''s preparations were finished once he dropped the soap bar into the water. "It''s Kissy''s bath time now!" Clay proclaimed with a saccharine smile. Kissy screeched as it was lowered into its bath. Despite the vibe Clay built up, he wasn''t going to hurt this rat¡ªeven if he definitely did think it deserved a little punishment for biting him so much. He''d never washed an animal before, so he was being extra careful and sometimes whispering directions to it in order to make things easier. Kissy flopped around and caused trouble at first but seemed to settle down once it was directed to keep its eyes closed against the soap it was now dripping with. "I think I might have underestimated how dirty you are, Kissy," Clay tsked. "Should have saved more water for you." Even with the handicap, Clay was more or less satisfied with how clean he''d gotten Kissy by the time he was finished. He also took that opportunity to quickly check its sex and dully noted that Kissy was a girl. A bit of a shame, considering that his demeaning pet name for it would have been a lot more effective on a boy rat. He''d been in the middle of rubbing Kissy with a towel when he heard a knock at the door. "You decent in there, genius?" Came Alan''s voice. Clay tried to think of something clever to say in response, but settled on a quick, "Yeah!" Alan opened the door and walked into the room, holding another water bottle and a handful of what Clay could only guess were cereal bars. "Got you a few things to eat and something to wash it down with." Alan handed the haul off to Clay, who gently placed everything on the bed. "Ah, thanks." "You also shouldn''t be moving that thing around too much or it won''t heal as good," Alan said, eyeing his injured arm. "It might be good to put it in a sling or something to keep it from wobbling around too much," Clay answered while anxiously rubbing at the edge of his wrappings. "That''s tomorrow business! I just wanted to make sure you got something to eat before bed." Alan started back towards the door. "Wait," Clay called, then immediately started rubbing the back of his neck once Alan actually stopped to look back at him with raised eyebrows. He felt a little weird about the sudden windfall. Usually he wouldn''t look a gift horse in the mouth by asking unnecessary questions, but he had the thought that these people were being too nice to him. It didn''t make sense. "Why are you helping me out so much? Is it just because of my powers?" Clay couldn''t meet the other man''s eyes while he spoke, "I mean, I wouldn''t mind if it was just because of that. It''d make sense. It''s just¡­does it outweigh the danger of bringing a stranger into your home where your wife and daughter live? Feeding him and letting him bathe and stuff?" Alan''s eyebrows raised a little bit more, as if he hadn''t really considered a lot of the ideas Clay was throwing at him. His gaze turned up towards the ceiling in thought and stayed there when he finally responded. "Hmmm¡­Well, I guess I was just thinking I could take a pipe cleaner like you down before it became a problem, especially as fucked up as you were!" Clay grimaced. "And I guess I just¡­sorta got the feeling you weren''t that kinda guy? I dunno. I already felt bad for bumping your nose after I realized you were just a dumb kid, then it turned out you avenged my brother¡­''Course, the fact that you have superpowers goes a long way in me investing a few water bottles in you, too!" Alan planted a hand on Clay''s shoulder, surprising him with the strength of his grip. They were roughly the same height, but the surety of Alan''s movements and his general vibe made it clear which of them was stronger. "And you ain''t got no people! Who doesn''t have people? Makes me think ''no wonder this guy is so weird if he don''t have anyone looking out for him,'' you know?" Alan said in such an overly exuberant tone that it was hard for Clay to parse how backhanded he was being, "As long as you don''t cause my family any trouble, I''m thinking this could be a really good arrangement. I''ll help you level up them V-Man powers of yours, and you help during my supply runs! Shit, we can be doing both at the same time!" It hadn''t hit him until just then, when Alan brought up the fact that he didn''t have any people, but Clay thought he was being awfully cheerful for someone who just found out his brother was dead. That hadn''t been a consistent thing, though. The chilling anger in his voice when he found the revolver and the way he talked up his death as being not so bad since he didn¡¯t die to a ¡®stupid¡¯ Jumper. This was his way of adapting, Clay realized. From the perspective of someone who has had to put up with this world, a weakling like Clay that would dwell on those things would definitely be a weird sight. "Okay, yeah." Clay nodded, finally making eye contact with Alan, "That sounds good to me. I''ll try to do my part." "Heh, that''s the attitude I like to see! Gonna have to wait until that arm heals up before you can come out on one of my morning runs with me, though! Probably you can help Milly with Angie and other stuff ''till then, I think." He took his hand off of Clay''s shoulder and picked up the water bucket that was now wriggling with drowning maggots. Ugh, anything but that! If I ever have to interact with that kid again, it''ll be too soon! Wait, hold on. "A morning run?" Clay suddenly asked. "Why don''t you just go out at night? The zombies have such sucky vision that it''s way easier to get around when it''s dark." Alan scoffed. "Seriously, how the hell have you lasted this long, genius?" Clay tilted his head. "C''mon, if you travel at night a lot, you can''t tell me you''ve never seen a Spooker before! You know, the ones with the glowin'' red eyes!" Clay''s head straightened. That''s right, everything had gone to hell the moment he saw that Spooker, and he''d already suspected that it had something to do with it. "Yeah, I did see something like that once." "Once? Damn, you might not be much, but you''ve gotta be lucky! Spookers are all over the place at night, and they''ve got the sort of vision that can spot your ass a bajillion miles away if they want to, even in the dark." Clay sat down on the bed and started opening one of the breakfast bars, which attracted Kissy''s attention and had her jumping up next to him. He allowed her to have the first few bites while he discussed things with Alan. "You only see them at night?" "Yeah, guy I talked to a while ago thinks that their eyes being so good makes it so they can''t handle the sunlight. I told him ''brother, are you aware moonlight is also sunlight'' and he started getting all smart with me." "He probably meant direct sunlight." "Yeah, take his side! I guess geniuses gotta stick together, right?" Alan complained while stealing the water bottle he brought for Clay and taking a few swigs from it. Ignoring the petty display, Clay leaned forward to press an elbow against his knee. "I have a feeling I know what the answer is, but why is getting seen by a Spooker such a big deal? Beyond, you know, the usual trouble that usually comes from getting seen by a zombie?" "Because once you get seen by one, all the Crowders in the area always know exactly where you are. It''s never happened to me, but I hear it''s pretty awful when you can''t hide or anything! The worst part is that it doesn''t even need to keep its eyes on you for them to be able to find you! Get spotted and you''re just fucked!" Clay started to sweat now. "Is there a way to get rid of the effect once you get spotted?" "Short of killing the Spooker? Nothing I know of." So if Clay hadn''t killed that Spooker in the caf¨¦ explosion, he''d still have to deal with the horde? Not even hiding in a dumpster would have helped him? Maybe he really was luckier than he thought. "Anyways, we can talk more about this stuff later. I gotta hit the hay," Alan yawned while throwing a lazy, waving hand over his shoulder towards Clay as he exited the room. "Night, genius." Then Clay was left alone. Well, not completely alone. Kissy had been gnawing on his breakfast bar through that little talk and had burned through half of it.Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. "Wha--? How did you eat so much already!?" Clay reeled his arm away from her, leaving Kissy squeaking in dismay. Ultimately, Clay decided to break off half of the remaining bar for her and eat the rest himself. He also poured a bit of water into the cap from the bottle and left it out for her to drink from. By the time things were properly winding down, Kissy returned to Clay''s clothes pile on the floor and fell asleep. Clay spent a bit of time staring at his status window. --------------------------------------------------------- You are Clay HEALTH: 0/0 | STAMINA: 0/4 --- LEVEL: 1/11 | EXP: 515/1000 | SKILLS: 2/3 --- STAT POINTS: 0/5 | SKILL POINTS: 0/5 --- BODY - Strength: 2 | Speed: 0 | Resilience: 0 | Endurance: 2 MIND - ?? | ?? | ?? | ?? HEART - ?? | ?? | ?? | CIDURAC --- -SKILLS- [IMMUNITY - LV 2] | [SOUND OF SILENCE - LV 1] --- -ACHIEVEMENTS- (+1 Max Level | +2 Skill Slots) --- CURRENT WORLD: Dead and Dying OBJECTIVE: Survive TIME REMAINING: ??? --------------------------------------------------------- He wondered if the reason why he¡¯d been able to make it back to Alan''s base was thanks to the two points he put into Endurance. It hadn''t been a comfortable trek by any means, but the fact that an out-of-shape slacker like him could do it at all after burning through his Stamina and suffering an injury felt like a miracle in his (not so professional) opinion. If that were true, then that means there was a sense in putting Stat Points into Endurance beyond making his Stamina more plentiful. Clay also remembered that his Stamina hadn''t fully returned when he woke up that day, which he could only chalk up to the quality of rest and the fact that he hadn''t eaten before going to sleep. Now that he was about to sleep on a proper bed after being given food and water, it would be a good way to confirm how Stamina recovery actually works. However, Clay was turning his attention more towards Health than Stamina right now. If he had something like a video game health pool, would it have been possible for him to just tank the Jumper''s bite? He rubbed his eyes. Jeez, why was he even thinking about this stuff when he should be trying to sleep? Eventually, despite the light chafing of bandages around his arms and neck, he did just that. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ The next two weeks were spent healing and helping Milly with a few of the tasks she and Angie would get done while Alan was out searching for supplies. This usually consisted of washing clothes, checking the building''s fortifications for notable damage, tending to a rooftop garden, and handing out rations to the few people who also still lived in the other apartments. Clay found it strange how the building was not even at half capacity and even asked Milly about it. "A few people died from the obvious stuff," she told him, "but most of them just left after some bigshot came through looking for people to join his group. He was making all sorts of outlandish promises and even offered to take in entire families. I never actually got to meet him, but the things Alan told me don''t paint a pretty picture." That explained why a lot of the people left were either too sick or old to be of much help to Alan. All of the younger, healthier people saw in the mysterious stranger a better opportunity. The only question for Clay was why Alan hadn''t also decided to go along with it. Had he felt for the people left behind that much? Alan became quiet when the subject had been brought up. He''d told Clay politely, but firmly, not to bring it up again. He had no reason not to oblige. A lot of the remaining occupants were very accepting of the newcomer, graciously taking the rations that Milly prepared for them and offering Clay small gifts to welcome him to the ''family.'' They would also take advantage of the meetings to talk his ear off about whatever was on their mind or tell him old stories. It was honestly pretty annoying, but Clay figured that some of the older folks were alone now without someone to regularly converse with, so he lent them an ear. "You''re too damn quiet," one of them grumpily said, a borderline geriatric man named Calvin. Twenty minutes of ranting later, he''d given Clay a box of old comic books his grandson left behind. He learned quite a bit about the infection and its history from Alan as well. The Plague itself hit them four years ago, but it was probably creeping its way into civilization for a little while before that. Concerning Clay, the reason why things had gotten so comfortable between them on his first day had been because Alan started to believe his claims of immunity after a few hours had passed and Clay showed no signs of change. Apparently, when one is infected, the first thing to happen is they become cold no matter how wrapped up they are. This tends to happen within the first three hours. Then they vomit up the contents of their stomach an hour after that. Their eyes become unfocused an hour after that, then they become delirious and speak nonsensically. Once they reach this point, they''ll become a full-on zombie in differing timespans, but it never takes longer than twelve hours. If infected, you can rely on that person being a zombie when you check in on them twenty-four hours later. Milly had proposed the idea of taking a sample of Clay''s blood, just in case it could be useful in the making of a cure. Clay pointed out that without a way to store his blood that would keep it from ''going bad,'' there''d be little point in drawing his blood ahead of time. If they could find someone with the expertise, Clay would just have to stick around long enough for them to draw his blood on their own. He also learned that his Stamina recovery did in fact depend on the quality of his sustenance and sleep. On nights where he chose not to eat or didn''t sleep for long, he only ever recovered half of his Stamina. Otherwise, it all came back just fine. Whether or not it would be harder to recover completely once he had more Stamina was difficult to say at this point, so the thought was tabled. Most fortunately, he didn''t have to interact with Angie as much as he''d first thought. Clay didn''t eat breakfast or dinner with the three of them and only interacted with Angie during their shared responsibility of doling out rations to the rest of the complex. When he had free time, Clay would sit on his bed and read through the comics Calvin gave him. There were a few issues of the V-Men Alan was always talking about, but the bulk of it concerned a rival comic company''s universe where a character named Giga-Guy was the premiere character. Giga-Guy was an alien from the future who was sent back in time as a baby to protect Earth, which was destroyed in a mysterious event that caused a chain reaction that eventually destroyed Giga-Guy''s home planet later on down the line. The experiments that brought about the technology that sent Giga-Guy back in time were invented by his own father but were looked down upon by the upper echelon. In the end, he only made enough progress to send something small back: his newborn son. Sending him back to 21st-century Earth was the safest option for a baby and also the least likely to cause problems in the timeline that would adversely affect the history of his home planet. Cool concept, but the character of Giga-Guy himself was sort of bland to him. True to its roots as a Superman expy, he was too much of a goody two shoes and was always portrayed as being correct in every situation by the writers. He couldn''t judge it too harshly; he would have been all about Giga-Guy as a kid. In the same universe was a character that really caught his interest. Mystery Man, the Hero Who Had it All! (Emphasis on HAD, folks!) It was the story of Walter Levets, a playboy billionaire from a well-connected family of politicians who scorned that life and lived carefreely thanks to his wealth. One day he''s visiting a scientist friend of his during an important project Walter''s family is financing. An accident occurs where a portal to another dimension is suddenly ripped open and Walter''s friend dies. If that weren''t bad enough, the eldritch culprit also steals Walter''s face to use his connections and extend its reach. Walter, now faceless, gains the ability to take on the appearance of anyone he''s ever touched and must use this new ability to somehow defeat the villainous secret invasion and, more importantly, get his face and life back. Walter is severely underpowered compared to his enemies and has to come up with clever tricks to come out on top. The few issues of Mystery Man in the box were engrossing reads for Clay, who always had a penchant for these kinds of characters back in his old world. There had even been a crossover comic between Mystery Man and Giga-Guy at one point, too. More than anything, Clay was fascinated by the sheer depth of this world''s fiction. They had stand-ins for the things from his world, but they were different enough that he could engage with them beyond being ''[character] but slightly different.'' If it weren''t for the zombie apocalypses, he would have really loved to read as many of these comics as he could, then see what other media was out there. He stayed up late the night before he was meant to go out on a supply run with Alan, who believed his arm healed up enough that he could start really helping out. As usual, he took whatever rations had been set aside for him and returned to his room without sitting at the table like the rest of the family did. In the dark of the night, Clay held up a flashlight to read the current issue of Mystery Man he was on. Kissy was sleeping in that same pile of his clothes. As he''d come to understand, Kissy was happy as long as he gave her enough to eat and drink and didn''t disturb her while she slept. Mystery Man, after easily dispatching a mook known only as Toe Sucker, meets his match against a servant of the force that stole his identity. This servant was Dogpuncher, a creature that takes human shape with the ability to shoot spectral dogs out of his fists towards his opponents. The story ended on a cliffhanger and, more disappointingly, the one who assembled this box hadn''t continued following up on Mystery Man''s adventures. This sucks¡­ Clay turned off his flashlight and flopped his head against the pillow with a dejected sigh. Maybe there''d be more issues of Mystery Man out there if he looked hard enough? With that in mind, braving the apocalypse after living two weeks on easy street seemed a little more appealing. It likely also had a lot to do with the fact that he wouldn''t be alone this time. Getting to sleep had been hard during those first few nights. Clay was so accustomed to distractions like his phone or noisemakers like the consistent flow of air from an air conditioner that the dead quiet became like a constant reminder that he was no longer anywhere close to home. Sometimes, if he listened closely, he could hear Kissy''s quiet snoring. Honing in on it usually helped him get to sleep quickly enough. It did the same for him tonight as well. Tomorrow, he thought before his thinking became jumbled by sleep, maybe I¡¯ll find some Mystery Man comics. Chapter 9: Method "You can''t swing for shit, genius," Alan observed from behind Clay. Alan had been kind enough to lend his new assistant a machete, but hadn''t ended up being very impressed with Clay''s aptitude. The dummy he prepared in the alleyway outside their apartment complex seemed plenty happy with the situation, however, as Clay consistently failed to hack through its neck and decapitate it all in one go. The recycled zombie corpse stood tauntingly tall after four attempts, held up by two lengths of rope at its wrists that kept it hoisted after the other ends were tied to the railings on the fire escape above them. Its expression almost seemed to be smirking at them, but any mirth it could get from the situation felt pitiful when one looked at its face and saw the way one of its eyeballs had popped into viscera when Alan shoved a knife into its socket earlier in the day. Clay thought he''d be able to cut its head off all in one go if it was with a machete, but not even the freshly sharpened weapon and the 2 points he put into Strength were of much use to him. "I''m more used to just smashing their heads open with hammers¡­" He murmured, cringing as Alan''s gaze mocked him from out of his sight, "Is this really necessary? The best use of my powers are to have me shoot them and take away the sound, right?" "You think ammo grows on trees, genius? Nuh-uh, you gotta at least be able to handle one Crowder close-range without getting all scratched up, if only because I need you to be able to watch my back. Not all of us got that Mario immunity you got!" Clay''s given up on being surprised when the referenced brand properties sometimes intersect with his world. "Alright," Clay sighed while sliding the machete into a sheath that hung from his toolbelt, "but why don''t I just stick with the hammer? Even a guy like me can cave a skull in when I swing it right." Alan shook his head, "Nope! That hammer ain''t got any range! The moment they get in close, it''s totally useless! I let you keep it because it''d be better than nothing as a last resort, but it sucks way too much to be your go-to! Trust me, once you get a little stronger, the machete is gonna be your best friend!" Do you have to talk so loudly? It''s pissing me off¡­ "But why do I have to go for a decapitation? Wouldn''t just bringing it down on their heads be good enough?" "If you want to risk it getting stuck, sure. Listen, it ain''t all about the oomph! You also gotta be extra precise!" Alan pointed at a spot on the side of the corpse''s neck. "Aim for right about there and give it your best shot!" Clay didn''t nod or anything, but silently waited until his tutor stepped aside and allowed him to take another swing. He pressed the blade of the machete against where Alan had directed, like a golfer lining up their shot on the ball. He pulled the machete back and all at once went for a wide swing. THUNK! Low hand-eye coordination from years spent sitting in front of a computer. Clay once again ended up hitting a vertebrae. On subsequent tries, even when he managed to hit the part of the neck that had been pointed out to him, Clay couldn''t manage to cleanly sever the head. In the end, Alan had to show him how it''s done by decapitating the corpse in one go. "Well, it''s a little about the oomph¡­" Alan said while trying to hide his pride, but he couldn''t keep his lips from wiggling into a light smirk. "You might be better off just lopping off the top halves of their heads¡­" Don''t look so smug, I did 90% of the work on that one! ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ "You didn''t pay attention when I was talking, did you, genius?" Alan told Clay where in his backpack to find a window-breaker, but Clay hadn''t actually caught all of the details because Alan had been keeping his voice down. Not wanting to ask him to repeat himself over and over again, Clay resorted to fishing randomly through Alan''s bag while it was still on his back. "I, uh¡­" Clay stopped looking through the bag and took a step back. He didn''t even know what a window-breaker looked like. "Forget it," Alan said dismissively while allowing the straps of his bag to slip down his arms. He plopped the bag down on the ground and found the tool himself. He held the pointed end towards the window of a ground-floor apartment that had taken the pair nearly two hours of walking to get to, with some stops to let Kissy scout ahead of them. After having pressed his face up against it for nearly five minutes, Alan was satisfied enough to say that the apartment was worth going into. At the established signal, he popped his hand against the other end, and both watched as the glass lost its clearness in a web of cracks. Clay''s [Sound of Silence] made sure any commotion caused by the shattering would be overlooked. Clay spoke as Alan cleared away the remaining glass to make it safe to crawl through, "I don''t think I fully understand why we''re going in like this. There''s no boards or other kinds of fortifications, so why don''t we just use the front door?" Alan responded airily from inside the building after hopping through the window, "It''s not always the huge mess of Crowders you gotta worry about. There could be Jumpers waiting to pounce on anyone who uses the obvious entrance." "Do Jumpers have a concept of an ''entrance''?" "They have a concept of openings that people use a lot, that''s for sure. I reckon an entrance to us is just rollin'' around their heads as a ''feeding hole.''" Alan gave Clay room to come in through the window as well and didn''t seem all that surprised when the following entrance was way less graceful than his own. Overly careful of any remaining crumbs of glass, Clay ended up flopping on the ground and quickly standing up from embarrassment. They searched the apartment first, careful of any straggling zombies. "Even if it ain''t a horde," Alan carefully told Clay while they examined the vacant home, "a few loose Crowders is all it takes to fuck you up if you''re not careful. It''s best to start from a single room that''s closed off from the rest of the building so that any Crowders that might be camping here become easy pickings. Strolling in through the front door is dangerous because, even if there ain''t a Jumper, it''s a lot more likely you''ll get seen before you can make any progress if there''s zombies chilling out in the hallway. Then your ass is sprinting back outside and possibly attracting even more Crowders. If this apartment is clear, we can fall back to it if we end up getting ambushed in the hallway." Clay was surprised that someone like Alan, who honestly gave him the impression of being a little simple-minded, was capable of thinking this through so much. All of this stuff sounded so obvious when it was explained to him, but it was the sort of thing that had probably come from having to carefully consider every option at the threat of death. Then Clay had another realization. Ah, that must have been why Alan was peering through the window so intensely; he''d been making sure the front door was closed and checking for any signs of movement inside. After guaranteeing there were no errant zombies in the apartment with them, Alan instructed Clay to proceed carefully with the intent of bringing anything they found back to this room for future transport so it wouldn''t weigh them down in the moment. The idea was that if they ended up finding a ton of stuff that they couldn''t lug back home in one trip, they could come back and just pick it up from this already secured room without venturing the hallways again. Alan was the one who opened the front door, as slowly as possible to keep any noisy hinges from bringing doom down on their heads. He created a tiny gap to peer into the hallway, then silently held up two fingers. Two zombies in the hallway. If they''d come in through the main hallway like Clay first thought to, they would have probably been spotted. "I have the sound of the window shattering," Clay whispered. "I can use it to lure them in a better direction for us." Alan shook his head, closing the door a little bit to quietly respond, "If you just slam down the sound of a window breaking here, we might end up luring out way more than two Crowders. We gotta secure this building a little bit at a time."Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings. "I also need to be the one to kill them," Clay reminded him. "No complaints here." Alan still unsheathed his machete. "Havin'' a guy who''s immune and wants to kill these assholes for me is already bringing up my mood, but I''m still gonna step in if you start getting messed up." Clay nodded and prepared his own machete. He would have preferred the sureness of a long, blunt-force weapon¡ªsomething like a crowbar, but Alan told him that carrying anything too heavy that could make a lot of noise when dropped or smacked against something was bad for a scavenger. He even recounted a story where he had to flee the scene after a crowbar hanging from his bag clanged against a wall after someone else assured him it was the perfect zombie survival weapon. That didn''t exactly sound universal to Clay, though he didn''t want to contradict him. He wasn''t prepared to completely give up on the utility of a crowbar, but Clay knew that he needed to keep his weight light to travel properly. This is the first time in two weeks he''s had to actually deal with zombies, and the first time since his mishap with the scratchy one that he was going to initiate the conflict himself. Clay peeked out into the hallway and confirmed the two zombies skulking around. Two men, both his height or a little shorter. After directing Alan to back off, Clay tapped his machete against the doorway to get the Crowders'' attention. The moment they turned around and spotted him, Clay took a step back into the apartment and readied himself at the side of the door. If he didn''t have the strength or the coordination to cut their heads off on his own¡­ As soon as the first one entered the apartment in pursuit, Clay swung into its head with the machete as hard as he could. He attempted to clothesline the zombie and use its momentum against it to cleave open its face and take the top half off of its head in one go. Unfortunately, while he did kill it, his machete hadn''t gone all the way through. Once the zombie died and fell into a motionless heap, Clay had to let go of the machete that was now stuck halfway in its head. >+10 XP! As the second one sprinted into the room a moment later, Clay jumped back and took the hammer from his toolbelt. In the pouch next to it was Kyle''s revolver, which he would have definitely gone with if it weren''t for Alan keeping all the ammo with him. But before a proper battle could take place, Alan moved in from the zombie''s blind spot and cut its head off without any fuss. The decapitated head''s teeth chattered eerily a few times as it fell next to its companion''s body, then all was still. Clay wanted to make some fuss about the fact that he''s meant to be the one killing them, and Alan probably knew as much by reading his expression. "I''m not gonna let you get into a tackle-match, genius. The second you lose your machete, all I''m gonna think is ''this kid is super dead if I don''t step in.''" Alan kicked the first zombie over and planted his foot on its chest so he could wrench Clay''s machete out of its head. "I think you were onto something with that swing from the side you did, but you need more arm strength if you''re not gonna try and go for the weak spots I told you about. Try something else." After being given his machete back, Clay was made to take the lead in opening doors because of his immunity. Commonly, these doors would be locked, but Alan told him that he had tools for unlocking them they could employ later after scoping out the rest of the building. In one apartment, Clay was bent down in a bathroom and rifling through the cabinets underneath the sink. Inside were cleaning products that could be brought out into the living room and later retrieved as ''low priority cargo.'' Keeping things spotless became less important, Clay had been informed, but there were still plenty of uses for chemicals; not that Alan could figure it out. Sometimes wandering survivors traded for them, and that was about the only reason Alan kept a small stockpile. Thunk-thunk Clay took two of them by the handles and made a small bit of noise as the hard plastic containers bumped against each other and then the ground next to him. At once, the shower curtains next to him deformed and fell down completely after enough weight was put on the shower curtain to cause it to collapse. Properly on edge, Clay kicked off the wall next to him to slide out of the way before the writhing shape could fall directly on top of his body. "Al-!" He started, but cut himself off. Clay told Alan that this apartment was clear, so he already moved on to the next one. He''d have to call out pretty loud to be heard, and that would be a pretty stupid thing to do when they went through so much trouble to keep quiet. The hand that emerged from the curtain and gripped onto his ankle, hard enough with its nails that he could vividly recall that day in the alley two weeks ago, told him this was just another Crowder. It was also disabled further by the shower curtain it didn''t have the wherewithal to get out of. Clay could at least handle this, right? He''d sheathed his machete to loot the bathroom, and the new sitting position made it awkward to retrieve, but he brandished it quickly enough to bring it down on the zombie''s wrist. With surprising ease, Clay amputated the creature''s hand at the wrist. He felt it seize and squeeze tighter for a short second, then relax completely. Clay was back on his feet a blink later, looking down at the zombie as its revealed arm continued waving in his direction, as if someone had forgotten to tell it that it no longer had a hand to grab him with. From this superior position, he had a moment to think. Like the blue-collar worker on the roof, this might have been someone who was bitten and hid themselves away. The hand he''d taken from it, with bits of bone and muscle clearly showing, told him it was also possible that this was someone who''d gotten infected earlier on and curled up in their bathtub, terrified and waiting for the storm to pass without knowing they were already doomed. Watching it clumsily try to unwrap itself from the curtain and attack him made Clay feel sorry for it. It was easy to compartmentalize in the moment when they were vicious monsters attacking him, but these had been people like him at one point. He wondered if the moments where he remembered that would become less frequent as time went on, if he''d just stop caring. That''d probably be for the best, Clay mused. He could only afford to become so melancholy every now and then, and only when he had the upper hand. It was only from this position of strength that he was allowed to pity the things that wanted to hurt him. Despite its pathetic state, it had given him an important hint. Thanks, friend, Clay silently recognized its help as he brought the machete above him and aimed for the head-shaped lump. Whatever sort of afterlife there might be, I hope you won''t be scared anymore. Despite the ceremony, its death wasn''t as quick and clean as Clay would have liked. He told himself that was just life. >+10 XP! With the apartment well and truly clear, he continued gathering any useful supplies onto a coffee table in its living room. Not a lot, but it could add up if the other rooms ended up providing similar hauls. He did not mention the mishap to his de-facto mentor, even if it was impossible to hide moments like these from the presence in his coat pocket. Squeak! Clay and Alan moved to the next floor together, observing that two of the apartment doors were already wide open. Kissy was dispatched to investigate them and came back with news. Clay pointed at the doorway on the right. Kissy made no noise. Clay pointed at the doorway on the left. Squeak! Squeak! Squeak! "Correct me if I''m wrong, and I hope I am," Alan placed a hand on Clay''s shoulder and spoke into his ear, "but is your rat saying there''s three Crowders in there?" Clay nodded sadly. Alan groaned, "All in one room, too. Alright, time to whip out the gun, kid. Put them hands out for your bullet rations." "As much as I''d like you to pour bullets into my hands like Skittles, there''s something I want to try first. It might let us conserve ammo." Alan gave him a questioning look and Clay suddenly became nervous. This was the first time he''d taken initiative and volunteered anything, which he thought should be a good thing, but maybe he''d overstepped. "What''re Skittles?" Alan asked, his voice losing quite a bit of its seriousness. Clay blinked and looked to the side. "Ah, it''s foreign candy¡­" --- The plan started with Alan slamming the hilt of his machete against the ground, which allowed Clay to steal the sound. That slamming sound was then deployed into the empty apartment across from the occupied one, luring the zombies towards it. Crowders didn''t start sprinting until they actually located a human or were following a horde, so they moved slowly. When the first one exited the apartment, they sprung into action. Clay emerged first, stepping into the first zombie''s view from inside the vacant apartment and absorbing its attention. Then Alan slipped forward from down the hallway, behind the zombie that had exited the apartment. It ignored him; rather, it hadn''t even seen him after becoming laser-focused on Clay. At the same time as it was taking its first, predatory steps towards Clay, Alan reached in and closed the door before the other two zombies could exit as well. He didn''t have to hold the door after it was closed since there was no worry of them turning the knob. They would start to throw themselves against the door and cause a ruckus now that they caught a glimpse of him, though. This meant that they''d need to finish things quickly before it got too loud. As Alan was turning around after closing the door, Clay took a step back to let the isolated zombie enter the apartment after him. Its hands were reached out towards him, crossing the threshold before the rest of its body did. Now! Getting grabbed is how you get bit. He remembered their grip and the sharpness of their nails. If one was caught by one or two Crowders, it was a clear sign of ineptitude from Clay''s perspective. His ineptitude. It was even more frustrating than being bit by the Jumper. Clay moved to the side and swiped his machete down on one of its arms close to the bicep. As its dismembered limb fell to the ground, he heard the first zombie slam against the opposite door. Uncaring of its lost arm, it continued to pursue him, which gave Alan enough room to enter behind it from its blind spot and promptly repeat Clay''s move on its other arm. The second slam came. Now armless, there was little risk for Clay as he attempted a finishing swipe at the top half of its head. However, it ducked under the swing with alarming coordination, but this was only because it now registered that it had to bite Clay without restraining him with its arms, so it lowered its position to bite him just in time for his swing to go wide. The third slam rang out. "None of that," Alan said calmly. Before it could take advantage of the miscalculation and properly attack Clay, Alan had hooked his hand into the waistband of the zombie''s pants to keep it from closing the distance when Clay took a step back. Clay didn''t even bother saying thanks. He just took another, more accurate swing at its head and turned the top half of its skull into a blur that scattered viscous fluids to the ground. The fourth slam. >+10 XP! The two already knew what they had to do next and moved without skipping a beat back towards the closed door. The fifth slam. Alan opened the door and pushed it towards the zombies enough to create a crack. The moment one of them reached for him through it, thus showing its face, Clay appeared and shoved the muzzle of his revolver into it. [Sound of Silence] made sure that the shot that killed it made no noise whatsoever. >+10 XP! With one of them gone, Clay and Alan both took a step back and allowed the final zombie free reign to exit the apartment. Once it did, it immediately attempted to attack Alan, which was Clay''s cue to take one of its arms away as punishment for ignoring him. After that, it just felt like bullying. >+10 XP! Chapter 10: Bad Alan at least had the common courtesy to turn his head away before spewing the soda in his mouth out onto the floor. As it started to soak into the floor of the first apartment they secured, Clay''s first thought was ants. That sugary sweet wet patch was going to attract ants. He caught himself. Had he really just thought that? "Blehh!" Alan made a face at Clay, stared at him for a second, then repeated, "Blehh!" "Not a fan, I reckon," Clay keenly observed. After dispatching the zombies, Clay and Alan retreated back to the first apartment they¡¯d secured in case the noise they¡¯d made attracted any more. After waiting a while, they¡¯d returned to scouring the complex and ended up killing plenty more zombies. Progress was slow, but they''d built a rhythm that had let them secure all the way up to the fifth (of seven) floor before Alan had realized that it was starting to get dark outside. It was getting closer to the winter months now, which meant the sun set sooner. Even if they¡¯d left at the moment of realization without picking which loot to bring back, there wasn''t any guarantee they''d make it back to Alan''s home before it got dark enough that the Spookers would come out to play. So it was decided they''d be staying the night in that first apartment and take the extra time to finish clearing the building of any threats. It hadn''t gone perfectly, but the amount of mishaps was low, and their severity was negligible. Now that Clay had Alan there watching out for him, the minor problems he had never spiraled out of his control anymore. Luckily, there also hadn''t been any special types of infected to cause them problems. It was Crowders all the way up. Once every hallway and apartment they could easily get into was clear, they¡¯d moved back down to the first floor with the intent to rest up before it got really dark and they ended up having to navigate the building with flashlights. However, Alan had singled out a locked door and decided to use a few of his more questionable tools to unlock it. They''d have to do this with all of the locked apartments at some point, something he¡¯d seemed giddy to dive into, but he restrained himself to just this one for the evening. No zombies had been waiting for them, but instead a few things of interest. Clay had entered the room of what he suspected was a teenage boy and walked out with a small stack of books, both comic and otherwise. When he¡¯d met back up with Alan in the main room, he was excitedly holding up a can of Dr. HurtsYou soda and a small bag of coffee beans. The can had been sitting in a powerless fridge at room temperature for four years, but Alan had seemed plenty willing to give it a try. Clay advised against it¡­yet he had also become very curious what four years would do to a soda. Would it still be any good? After a bit more scavenging and moving things to the first apartment, as well as covering up any windows with bookcases to reduce the risk of their flashlights attracting attention, Clay sat on a couch across from a recliner that Alan was relaxing in while taking a good sip out of the can. He¡¯d expected something, but hadn¡¯t thought Alan would just suddenly spit it out like that. "It''s all flat¡­and got this really shitty metallic taste to it. Can''t have shit anymore, man." Alan gingerly placed the can on a small table next to the recliner as if he was saving it for later, but he couldn''t even bring himself to look at it anymore. "I don''t know for sure, but I think glass bottles might do a better job maintaining the taste," Clay offered while diverting his attention to his status screen to see how far he''d come. Alan had let him do most of the killing, but sometimes there were situations where he''d needed to step in. --------------------------------------------------------- You are Clay HEALTH: 0/0 | STAMINA: 0/4 --- LEVEL: 1/11 | EXP: 715/1000 | SKILLS: 2/3 --- STAT POINTS: 0/5 | SKILL POINTS: 0/5 --- BODY - Strength: 2 | Speed: 0 | Resilience: 0 | Endurance: 2 MIND - ?? | ?? | ?? | ?? HEART - ?? | ?? | ?? | CIDURAC --- -SKILLS- [IMMUNITY - LV 2] | [SOUND OF SILENCE - LV 1] --- -ACHIEVEMENTS- (+1 Max Level | +2 Skill Slots) --- CURRENT WORLD: Dead and Dying OBJECTIVE: Survive TIME REMAINING: ??? --------------------------------------------------------- He was much closer to leveling up than he''d been at the beginning of the day. It was stressful work, but if he and Alan could keep up this pace, getting stronger wouldn''t be a dream. "Yeah? That''d be nice." Alan swished some water in his mouth and spat that out onto the floor as well. It was fortunate that he hadn''t been facing Clay after that, because he would have definitely seen the younger man narrowing his eyes in disgust. "There''s tons of shit I miss, like going to the range or hitting up the ping-pong tables with the boys, but I''d have given all that up if I could keep a steady flow of Dr. HurtsYou¡­and Bunker Beans coffee, too!" Clay''s eyes narrowed a little more. "What about you, genius?" Alan asked while pulling the lever on the side of the chair and reclining back, "What do you spend long nights wishing you had? ''Sides a girlfriend." If Clay''s eyes narrowed any further, they''d be closed. When he didn''t immediately respond, Alan turned to look at him. In the time it took for him to turn his head, Clay''s entire posture changed so that it appeared he''d been looking over pilfered books the entire time. No Mystery Man comics, unfortunately.If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. "I miss going on my computer, but I think the thing that I miss as much as you miss Bunker Bean would be¡­" Clay considered without looking up. "Air conditioning." "Ha!" Alan barked, "I hear that! It''s been so long that I totally forgot about air conditioning!" Clay''s body stiffened at Alan''s volume, which Alan seemed to take notice of. "Heh, oh yeah. Usually I''m at home by the time I''m relaxing like this, so I went into safe-mode for a second there. Sorry." Clay glanced at the barricaded window. "Speaking of which, is it really okay that we aren''t heading back today? Milly''s probably starting to worry." "Probably, but it ain''t no big thing. I''ve had to spend the night in weird places before and things turned out fine. They got enough supplies to last a few months without me, but the longest I''ve ever stayed out was¡­maybe three days?" Alan motioned towards the window. "And we definitely ain''t staying that long. Once the sun comes up, we''re gonna load up our bags and make the first trip back to the house to give ''em proof of life. Then we''re dragging our asses back here and looting until we''ve milked this place dry." Clay didn''t see any problems with that, so he just nodded and loosened the cap on his water bottle while Alan continued speaking. "Oh, and I also gotta say that I''m a pretty big fan of your arms-first maneuver. Going for the neck or the head is usually gonna make for a quicker kill, but I''m not against loppin'' off the grabbers in a straight-up fight." Clay finished sipping from his bottle to respond, "It''s only good when the number of zombies is low, I think. Given your experience, you probably had to have done the arms-first maneuver a few times yourself and worked out that weakness on your own." Alan shrugged. "Maybe I''ve cut off an arm or two, but I can¡¯t even remember that for sure. You gotta remember that us normal folk don''t have V-man immunity, so we usually like to kill Crowders before they even realize we''re there, and that''s when we have to kill them. I''ve probably killed more Crowders today than I have in the past few months, if I''m being honest. Arms-first is perfect for dudes like you who can take the risk of being bitten." "Fair enough¡­" Right. Normal people, people who didn''t get experience points and level up from killing zombies, would probably prefer not to fight unless they had to. Alan was only going out of his way so he could invest in Clay''s potential. Speaking of investing in me¡­ Clay opened up a packet of crackers he''d found and brought one close to his coat pocket for Kissy to begin biting into. If it weren''t for the rat, he''d probably never have met Alan in the first place. Looked like the price of one candy bar ended up getting it pretty far. Clay continued, "I think I''d prefer something with a little more range, though. Maybe¡­a spear? That''d be pretty easy to make with a broom, a knife, and some duct tape." "Only problem with that is it''d be hard to move with it." Alan moved his hand side to side. "Well, more like it''s not something a scavenger like me would find all that appealing. I like to have both hands at the ready when I''m not killing a zombie, but I also like to be able to get my weapon out in a split second. A spear would also probably need a holster on the backpack to be able to travel, so it wouldn''t be a speedy enough grab. Climbing through a window with it jutting up would be a real pain, too¡­" He gave Clay a bemused glance. "But I guess someone who''s lookin'' for trouble would probably find a spear pretty useful. I like to keep it stealthy, but you get face-to-face enough that you could justify it." Clay nodded without saying anything. He didn''t have anything constructive to add to the conversation when Alan laid things out for him like this, so the best thing he could do was listen. It felt awkward to just let him do all the talking, though¡­ "On another note, I''ll stay on the lookout for that soda you like," Clay said. "If there''s a supermarket in the area, I think it''s likely to have a few brands in glass bottles if they''re big names." "Hey, I appreciate the thought." Alan''s face had a knowing smile. "Downside is that all of the supermarkets I know about around here are already either looted or infested. Usually both." Clay had expected him to say something like that. Still, it wasn¡¯t impossible that he could find a glass bottle of Dr. HurtsYou in a fridge somewhere like they had with that can¡­ But Alan went on, "''Cept maybe for that Ball-Mart a drifter told me about. It''s outside the city and word is that zombies more or less steer clear from it for some reason." Clay raised an eyebrow. "Is it far away?" Alan leaned farther back into the recliner, shotgun on his lap, while he closed his eyes in thought. "It''d be a full day''s walk just to get there, not including the extra maneuvering we''d have to do to make sure we didn''t run into any Crowders. Even if it were a little easier to get to, I probably wouldn''t bother." "Why? Because it wouldn''t be worth the trip?" Clay asked. If they didn''t have anything to transport huge amounts of supplies at once, it''d be better to stick to looting like this. "It ain''t all logistics, genius. I''d just hate to come face-to-face with whatever it is in there that''s scaring away the zombies." He huffed. "Even the shit we''ve been doing today is something I don''t usually do unless I got somebody backing me up. At least, not at this level." So this excursion had been a break from the usual routine? He should have guessed that. Clay took his shoes off. "Did you use to do more stuff like this in the past?" "Yeah, sorta." And that was the end of that topic. Alan spoke up again before the silence could ferment for too long. "One other thing, genius. It''s pretty obvious you''re not used to shooting." To his credit, Alan continued without waiting for Clay to ask how he could tell. "The way you get all close before firing is a big hint, but mostly it''s the way you let the kickback rock your arm up because you don''t steady your aim with both hands. Shooting a revolver that strong with one hand as a limp-wristed rookie¡ªyou''re lucky it didn''t fly out of your hand." Maybe it''s the points I put into Strength. "Anyway, what I''m getting at is that we''re gonna need to get you more experience shooting things that aren''t right in front of you. Guns are meant to take things down before they get close, y''know?" "Yeah, I get it," Clay said blandly. "Don''t get mopey, kid," Alan grinned. "You still did plenty good for your first real outing." "I''m not getting mopey. I think I''m just tired, is all." Clay''s hands toyed with one of the books he¡¯d found. "Hey, I was just wondering, do you not have a ton of ammo for your shotgun?" Alan blinked. "I know you said that we couldn''t rely on your shotgun because ammo is a resource, but the fact that we didn''t end up using it even once¡­I just think it could have been useful when we had to deal with those three zombies in the one apartment earlier." Alan didn''t answer his question immediately, which made Clay nervous. The friendly atmosphere made him feel more comfortable to question things, but he still wasn''t entirely sure whether or not this man was someone who didn''t like having his rationale closely examined. However, it appeared that Alan had just been taking a second to consider how to properly put his thoughts into words that Clay could understand. "Well¡­" He still sounded casual, but now it felt slightly forced to Clay''s ears. "I have plenty of ammo at home, but I can only carry so much with me when I go out. If things had gotten real hairy, I wouldn''t have minded taking a shot, but I like to conserve them for other reasons besides just not being wasteful." "What sort of reasons?" "Taking shots at Crowders when you don''t need to is just risky for no good reason, but being able to save yourself from something like a Jumper or a Cutter is worth making a little noise. So saving my shots for the real bad zombies is one reason." Cutter? Clay hadn''t asked for as much extra information from Alan during that two week reprieve as he should have. He''d spent most of that time either delivering rations, helping Milly, or alone in the room they set aside for him. Alan''s reasoning didn''t end there, though. "But the biggest reason is people. I need my gun loaded and ready for if I meet another survivor." Now Clay was the one blinking. "I don''t just go around shooting people, genius. If I did, you and me probably wouldn''t even be having this talk. It''s just that this whole thing¡­society going to shit, it''s made people go crazy. They ain''t acting the way they used to." Alan took his fisherman''s hat off of his head and rested it in his lap along with his shotgun. "People used to be neighborly. Now you gotta worry about getting held up or shot every time you meet someone new. Times must be making them desperate." "Or maybe society collapsing just revealed who they really were all along," Clay said without thinking about it, then chided himself. Why say something so pessimistic and contrarian for no reason? All talk like that would probably do is make him look immature. But Alan''s response didn''t give the impression of annoyance, or even hard disagreement. "Maybe. Maybe. Even if that''s the truth, the ones that were secretly bad all along never bothered me until all this. Maybe not even they knew they were bad until they got put into a bad position." Alan clicked his teeth. "Maybe even someone who''s good to the core could go bad if that position were bad enough." "I think there''s truth to that, too. I''ve heard a lot about how overall decent people end up becoming completely different once they spend a couple of years in prison. Still, I wonder if bad circumstances can excuse the sort of terrible things people do sometimes." "Yeah, it can get real complicated. The only thing a dummy like me thinks on is whether or not someone is trying to kill or rob me; either one puts my people in a bad spot. Makes me do shit I don''t wanna do, you know?" Clay laid down on the couch, resting his head against one of its soft arms at the same time that Kissy slipped out of his pocket and scampered along his body so she could hop over to the table next to Alan''s recliner and try to drink some of his forgotten soda. "You ever had to kill someone?" Clay asked. Alan hesitated, but answered, "Yeah. It was me or him, and I''d choose me any day of the week if I could do it again, but I was a little shocked at how good I did. Even though he started it, he was all panicky and wasting ammo all over the place once shots started a-firing. Me? I don''t think my hands ever felt so steady, and my head was clearer than it''d ever been. I was more scared of how not scared I was." Clay didn''t say anything. He lay there wondering why Alan, unprompted, was giving him so many details. They weren''t exactly friends, more like something between strangers and acquaintances, so why was he opening up so much? "I didn''t even feel bad about it until I was walking home. Killin'' people definitely does something to your soul, makes you feel like a bad guy, but I guess it''s not something you always feel in the moment. I hope you never gotta know what I''m talking about." Alan said, a little awkwardly. Clay realized that this was probably the first time Alan had ever recounted this story out loud. He understood it. Alan couldn''t bring some of these darker moments home, couldn''t describe how he killed people in the heat of the moment with a disturbing coldness that he hadn''t realized he was capable of. In front of his people, Alan had to act like he had everything under control. Even if they likely suspected what sort of things could happen, he couldn''t confide in them. What would his daughter think if she knew her father was a killer? At her age, would she understand that he did what he had to do, that he did it for her? There weren¡¯t any working therapists now, so the best he could do was the younger man he¡¯d beat into submission two weeks ago. "I probably won''t," Clay admitted, "I don''t think I can kill people. Even killing zombies tends to make me feel bad." Alan chuckled good-naturedly. "Well, it probably ain¡¯t a good fit for the world as it is, but I don''t hate that kinda attitude." "Uhh, don''t get the wrong idea. I don''t think I hate the idea of killing people because I''m such a great guy or anything¡­" After finally being able to get her face into the can enough to lick up some soda, Kissy immediately yanked her head out and ran away from it like she''d been bitten by another animal. Clay hardly noted it. "Once you start killing people, it means you''re prepared to accept the idea someone might kill you, too. I don¡¯t like pain, so I don''t want to accept life-or-death battles as a requirement to live. Even if logic and Darwin say that I''m in the wrong." He glanced over towards Alan, who''d covered his eyes with his fisherman''s hat. "Even if it''s cowardly, I believe that sort of thinking is normal, something most people can relate to. Which is why someone like you, who can put that aside and risk his life all the time, can''t be anything except¡­cool?" "Haha!" Alan''s body jolted as he let out a loud laugh as if releasing all the tension in his body at once. Clay''s face started to burn. He let himself get a little carried away because he wanted to make Alan feel alright after opening up so much, but¡­ "Cool? Shit, I was not expecting to hear that." Alan said in between childish giggles. Aren''t you, like, 45 years old? He calmed down before long and peeked at Clay from under his hat. "Can''t believe I let the topic get all heavy. Sorry about that, genius. I guess it''s just easier for things to take a turn like that when it starts getting late." Clay waited until Alan was no longer looking at him to roll his eyes. "It''s fine. I was the one who suddenly asked about killing people¡­" "But if I can say one more thing on it before it gets to be sleeping time, I''d want to say that I like where your head is at¡­and also you have to stay up for a few more hours to keep watch in case anything happens." Clay sat up all at once. "Huh?" He hadn''t meant for it to come out so dejected. "Yeah, wake me up in a while and we''ll switch." Alan turned over onto his side. "You got extra stamina from your V-Man powers, right? You''ll be fine." But my Stamina ran out a long time ago! I''ve been on my actual reserves for like half the time¡­ "A-Alright. Sounds good¡­" Even Kissy had curled up in one of his shoes by now. At least the books gave him something to do. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ A week passed without major incident. Clay and Alan settled things in their first building within two days, then moved on to the next one. Many zombies were killed and much loot was secured, though there was still a worrying lack of Clay''s favorite comics. He still scrounged up whatever books he could and even ended up cultivating a small collection that he kept in boxes underneath his bed. Most importantly, in an alleyway on the way to a gas station they were planning to plunder, Alan watched on as Clay killed another armless zombie with growing ease. Immediately after, Clay heard a cheery tune play in his head. >+10 XP! >(Clay)''s Soul grows in size! >You have leveled up! (2) >+2 Stat Points! | +2 Skill Points! Finally! "Alan! It says I leveled up!" Clay shouted excitedly. "I honestly forgot that''s why we were going out of our way to kill these guys." >Applying Benefactor Bonus! What? >Benefactor Bonus is [Wheel of Welter]! >Will you spin the wheel? Chapter 11: DG "What? Something cool happen?" Alan asked. From his perspective, Clay must have seemed like he was staring off into space whenever he looked at the windows. "It''s letting me spin some sort of wheel." Clay raised his hand with a wary smile as he selected >Yes. "Things keep getting weirder and weirder¡­¡± Maybe he was becoming weird as well. He was actually excited to see what might come out. >[The Wheel of Welter] spins for you! >(???) bonuses are disabled before the power of the Wheel¡­ The second Clay tapped the window, it expanded in size until it was as tall as him and five times as wide. After its size reached that point, parts of it shrunk inwards until the translucent red box became a circle. A blue arrow appeared at the top of the circle, pointing downwards towards a set of wedge segments. The one it was currently pointing towards sported a black question mark, as did all of them. Clay thought at first that it might want him to physically spin something, but a few seconds after taking shape, it started to spin on its own. Click-click-click-click-click! Without knowing what any of the possibilities were, there wasn''t anything Clay could pray for. This actually took a lot of the weight off his mind and allowed him to enjoy the show the system was putting on. Click-click! Click..Click¡­Click¡­Click. It landed on a question mark that was no different from the others. The black symbol flashed white, then was replaced with a small picture of¡­some kind of box? >[The Wheel of Welter] has landed on [Mystery Box - Type DG] (Delayed Gratification) >A Mystery Box that gives out a random item! The tier of the item is decided by how long you* go without opening it! >Current Tier: Common *Only (Clay) may open this box! (Clay) must open it on purpose! The window shrunk back down and broke apart into glittering lights that startled Alan. Clay pointed. "You can see this?" Alan looked at it, then at Clay, then back at the lightshow. "No." Clay almost gave Alan a withering stare while his pointing hand reached in to grasp at the lights. When his fingers curled, the lights gave way to a small cube that now hung from Clay''s pinching hold. It was small and light enough that he could keep it from falling with two fingers and his thumb. The box was white with black, rounded corners and had a grey circle around a red button. There were no seams that suggested it was a box made to be opened, so it just looked like a bland cube. >Reach Level 4 to spin [The Wheel of Welter] again! Alan pointed at the unremarkable-looking cube and said in a deadpan voice, "I''m not seeing this shit either. I''m not seeing you pull a (What''s that? A box?) box out of fairy lights." "Then I guess you''re also not hearing that I have to wait to open it," Clay said with a quirk at the corner of his lips. "The window says I''ll get a better prize that way." "Jeeesus, more waiting? Did it at least give you some sorta clue on when you can open it? A week? A month?" "Nothing like that, but¡­" Clay looked closely. A tiny window popped up next to it. >[Mystery Box - Type DG] >Current Tier: Common "I''ll have some idea of when it could be worth opening, at least." He dropped his backpack onto the ground to shove the box into. The description explicitly told him that he couldn''t open it accidentally, so there wasn''t any worry about the button pressing against something in his bag and ruining his prize. "I guess you got something to look forward to." Alan bent down and cleaned the blade of his machete on to the mutilated zombie''s shirt. "What about the rest of your level up? You gonna be the big man on campus now?" "With only two points for Skills and stats apiece? Definitely not¡­" He groaned while looping his arm back through his bag, eyes reading over the Skill Store''s selection. "Damn it. If I''d gotten just one more point, I could have bought the Skill that makes me good at guns." "That''s a bummer, but you''re probably better off just getting good with guns the ol'' fashioned way. I don''t know how any of this Skill stuff works, but I don''t think you''d treat guns with the fear and respect they deserve if you just had aimin'' skills beamed into your brain." In the time he''d spent with Alan, Clay learned that his teacher had always been a little bit of a gun nut. Milly apparently hadn''t liked it, but she ended up looking really foolish when things took the turn they did. Should''ve just divined the zombie apocalypse was coming, idiot. All this talk of guns did put his eye back on a certain Skill, though¡­ --------------------------------------------------------- [WHAT RECOIL?] (2 SkP) - Passive It can be hard to keep those guns when they buck around like that, right? Even if you''re a stronger sort and have no problem with recoil in normal situations, you can''t get very creative or one-hand higher-caliber weapons, right? You experience 10% less recoil when using mundane weapons. Upgrading this Skill increases the amount of recoil it reduces. --------------------------------------------------------- This was in his price range, but was it worth the only two Skill Points he was likely to have for a little while? More importantly, was it worth filling out his slots again? The more he thought about it, the more he realized the answer was undoubtedly no. Clay could mitigate the effect of recoil with Strength, a stat that he''d definitely be investing into in the future. It was true that he''d be unable to get as creative as the Skill description described¡­but he didn''t really care about impressing some text. "Yeah, you''re probably right¡­" Clay said idly, just so Alan wouldn''t think he was being ignored. Alan seemed to realize Clay was off in his own and so threw his hands up and stepped away to scout things out a little further ahead. He''d save the SkP for later. As for his stats¡­ --------------------------------------------------------- You are Clay HEALTH: 0/0 | STAMINA: 3/4 --- LEVEL: 2/11 | EXP: 5/1000 | SKILLS: 2/3 --- STAT POINTS: 2/7 | SKILL POINTS: 2/7 --- BODY - Strength: 2 | Speed: 0 | Resilience: 0 | Endurance: 2 MIND - ?? | ?? | ?? | ?? HEART - ?? | ?? | ?? | CIDURACThis content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. --- -SKILLS- [IMMUNITY - LV 2] | [SOUND OF SILENCE - LV 1] --- -ACHIEVEMENTS- (+1 Max Level | +2 Skill Slots) --- CURRENT WORLD: Dead and Dying OBJECTIVE: Survive TIME REMAINING: ??? --------------------------------------------------------- He wanted to dump into Strength, but there were more things to consider. Clay could use these points to unlock one of his other hidden stats. He''s been burning with curiosity about what they could be, but was it worth using such valuable points to satiate his curiosity? Probably not. On the other hand, it only took a single point to unlock one. If he was going to get a better grip on how to build himself, he''d need to know what his options are. Unlocking them would also probably allow him to see what some of the Skills in the shop bolstered so he could keep them in mind. He grit his teeth. I''m just making excuses! I need to be patient and use these points well, or else I''ll end up carelessly throwing them away! Show a little self-restraint for once in your life, you fucking--! >Spend 1 Stat Point to unlock a mystery Heart stat? >Yes Wasn''t it also important to get a feel for what the Heart category affected? He could sort of guess what something like Mind had in store, but Heart could be pretty much anything. It was definitely not because he gave in. Clay assured himself many times in his head of how strong his will really was underneath it all. This was all logic. He was very logical. He loved logic. >LUCK: Fortune of the spirit Now that was not something he expected. Luck? Cool! The spark of joy at a new stat gave way to regret almost immediately. It wasn''t like he was going to put any points in it right now, and it also didn''t end up giving him a clue as to what the other Heart stats could be. All in all, it ended up being a waste. Should he just put the last point into Strength and be done with it? Maybe he could put it into Resilience and unlock his Health? Ugh, neither option felt like it would do enough good to matter. Given how quickly his Stamina drains, a single punch would probably break right through the tiny amount of Health he''d get from the deal and hurt him anyway. His Strength? Two points only showed minor changes, so one more was unlikely to make a big difference. And if he wanted more? >EXP: 5/2000 More killing. A lot more. If his math was right, he''d need to kill 200 Crowders to level up again. He ran a hand through his hair. This progression was so goddamn slow. The lack of immediate, tangible results from his points made him feel like he was probably never going to get far at this rate. He was going to end up dragging Alan and his family down if he couldn''t get strong quickly. It was probably his fault for not making moves on paths that would bring experience points faster. Killing those special zombies had given him a decent boost. Yeah, they even gave him Skill Slots when he killed a new kind for the first time. If I gun mostly for them, then I could definitely get stronger. It''d be dangerous, but would it really be that bad if I ended up-- "Ow!" Clay was pulled from his thought all at once as he felt Kissy bite at one of his fingers. She''d leaned halfway out of his jacket pocket to ensure a painful attack. Unlike some of the light nipping she did when annoyed, these more serious bites really hurt. "Fucking--Cut that out! I''m not in the mood!" Clay whipped his hand in the air in an attempt to ease some of the pain. Kissy curled back into his pocket. "Not in the mood for what?" Alan asked as he stepped back into the alley after hearing Clay''s shouting. Face turning red, Clay tried to disguise the reason for his hand movements by doing so with the other one as well. "A-Ah! The windows keep reminding me that I leveled up! They must have been just as excited as me!" Something about being caught whining after taking a bite from the rat he supposedly had control of felt too embarrassing to openly admit. Thinking it over again, this slow progression wasn''t really that big of a deal. It meant he wouldn''t be doing anything flashy any time soon, but things were going just fine at this pace. He was helping Alan bring plenty of supplies home and completing his objective of surviving at the same time. It definitely sucked that he threw away a point that would have better served him in Strength, but there''d be more points eventually. As long as he stays the course and just puts his future points into his Body stats, then everything would work out. In fact, the only real danger to him right now would be encountering those special zombies. Forcing an encounter with one in pursuit of XP was just asking for trouble that he wasn''t prepared for. As they continued their trip to the gas station, Clay peeked at his Skill Shop again. --------------------------------------------------------- [SCORE!] (2 SkP) - Passive Someone up there really likes you. Gain a 5% bonus to Luck. Gain a further 10% when searching areas for supplies. Upgrading this Skill increases your bonus. --------------------------------------------------------- The stat hidden inside of [Score!] had been Luck. He should''ve seen that coming. The spenditure hadn''t been entirely for nothing. [Score!] obviously wasn''t something that would be worth buying right now, but it was good to know. Once he had some spare SkP and a Skill Slot to burn, who knows? ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Gas stations in big cities looked so strange, especially this one. Normally, the sizes of buildings were relatively even when you drove down a road, but the gas station was so disproportionately small in comparison to the giant buildings beyond the street corner it called home that Clay had a thought to chuckle at the sight. He didn''t laugh, but he did point it out to Alan. A tiny building living among giants with the audacity to name itself ''Kevin''s Heaven''. Alan didn''t find it so funny. "I used to come to this gas station all the time when you didn''t have to keep in mind how loud your car was. I''m the proud owner of a Golden Cowboy card, which I do still keep, and I don''t take kindly to you talking down about America''s finest gas station." Seems he misunderstood what Clay was finding humorous. There was enough daylight that they didn''t worry about turning on their flashlights, though they did have them at the ready. In terms of supplies like food and other useful things, this place was just about picked clean. They weren''t here for that stuff, but to get their hands on diesel to fuel the heaters Alan looted a little while back. He also had the 12-volt batteries to power them but only realized a few days ago that his diesel supply was running dangerously low. As winter approached, they needed to secure a way to provide heat during the coldest days of the year. A siphon hose, a few red fuel canisters attached to their bags, and a date with the refueling pipe seemed as good a fix as any. "Not looking forward to it," Alan said as they checked for any scraps that could be worth taking. "I''m talking the winter stuff. To conserve diesel, a lot of us are gonna have to huddle together in one room. I''m talkin'' people from other apartments, too. I know you like to scuttle off to your cave when the day is done, so just be in the know that you''re gonna be freezing your ass off. Loner-style." "Thanks for the advice," Clay replied, then mumbled to his pocket as he reached down to pick up a sealed sleeve of white-power donuts and a cheap, plastic lighter. "Not that I ever really get to sleep totally on my own. Isn''t that right, Kissy?" Kissy hissed at his face pressing so close. As they checked deeper crevices of the store, away from the front windows, they started using their flashlights. Clay decided to scope out the back office while Alan scooped a few dented boxes of cigarettes. Clay opened the door to the office and shined his light inside. He wasn''t really sure what he was looking at and simply stood deadpan for a few seconds, but his breathing stopped once he could comprehend the view in front of him. Floors, walls, and ceiling. All of it was obscured by a layer of orange-red meat, which writhed and squirmed as if it were breathing. Anything that had once sat in this office was gone. All that remained was an undulating mass spreading into every corner wherever Clay had the courage to angle his flashlight. There was one thing he passed over that had been different, though. A shape? He slowly drifted his flashlight back towards the center of the room where he could make out a¡­torso? A ridiculously skinny torso, even more so than the Spooker''s. Skeletal seemed an understatement for describing its body. It was like the creature really was just a skeleton, and meat-glistening red was the color of its bones. A little lower was a pair of equally thin legs that tapered off and connected to the meat on the ground like two muscle strands. Moving back to the torso, Clay shakily observed that it had no arms. Slightly higher up was where he finally made eye contact with it. The light reflected off of two wide-open, milky white eyes that startled Clay enough to nearly make him drop his flashlight. He prepared for something to come of it, his muscles tensed and ready to jump to the side. But nothing happened. It was just staring at him. Wait, no. It was staring past him, like it didn''t even care Clay was there. He recognized those vacant eyes. A lot of the zombies that had obviously been around for a while had the same ones, but this was the first time he ever believed that they weren''t truly registering him. Was it sleeping? Did zombies sleep? Its eyes were set in an angular face with hollow cheeks that matched the rest of its body, mouth hanging open as if it were panting. It was still as a statue, with the only movement in the room being the subtle shifting of the room-meat. The top of its head was connected to the ceiling like its legs. It gave him the impression of one of those floor to ceiling punching bags. If it weren''t suspended in the air and standing in front of Clay, he supposed it would be two full heads taller than him. Clay was stuck. What should he do? Should he call out to Alan? Should he keep standing there? Should he close the door, at least? "You good over there, genius?" Alan asked from behind him. He sounded like he was still on the other side of the store. Clay couldn''t turn to check. He was silent, but Alan''s voice did at least get him out of his funk. Now wasn''t the time to freeze up and do nothing; it was the time to act decisively. It hadn''t made any moves against him, or any moves at all for that matter. Clay might have been wrong, but there was something distinctly¡­vulnerable about its appearance. His free hand drifted towards his toolbelt. Maybe now is the best chance to shoot it! At the same time Clay started to raise his gun, he felt something press against his foot with a soft squelching sound. He instinctively hopped back, half-expecting a part of his foot to suddenly be missing. When he found himself whole, he realized that the room-meat on the floor expanded through the doorway enough to touch him. The section of room-meat that made contact with him reacted viscerally. Unlike the slow, rhythmic movements of before, it jolted and spiked upwards like an angry cat. Its intense fluctuations started at the point of contact and worked its way back towards the thing in the middle of the room, then the entire mass started to ferociously tremble. It blinked. White eyes were replaced with unnervingly normal hazel ones. It was definitely looking at him now. The room-meat started to contract and shrink towards it. Clay fired his gun at it in a panic, too off-kilter to even think of using his [Sound of Silence] Skill. BANG! He hadn''t adjusted his aim or his posture at all, just a point and shoot. There was no way for him to know where that bullet just went, but it certainly hadn''t hit the creature. "What the hell are you doing, kid!?" Alan shouted at him. Clay could hardly hear his footsteps stomping closer over the sound of his own heartbeat. Room-meat slid and gathered against its body, forming around its legs like a thick layer of skin. Once coated, the layer would tighten and flex. They were muscles. Monstrously large, obviously powerful muscles. As soon as Clay realized what was going on, he turned around and attempted to sprint as far from the door as possible. Unfortunately, he ended up running right into Alan and being stopped dead by a hand on his shoulder. Alan was screaming in his face, "Are you losing your head!? We gotta give up the whole outing because of you, you dumbass! What did you even kill just now!?" He attempted to push Clay to the side so he could look inside, but he received enough pushback to be momentarily held off as the weaker man tried to shove him away from the door. "Alan! We need to go! I don''t know what the fuck that thing is, but I think I just pissed it off!" In the short-lived shoving match they had, Alan stopped after being able to see past him enough to realize something wasn''t right. There was no means for Clay to know exactly what he saw, but it left his face pale and his hands pulling Clay towards the front door instead of trying to push him out of the way. "Shit! Let''s just get the hell out of here!" Alan yelled. After some tugging, they were both moving in near-unison for the door as the world shook behind them. Chapter 12: Him Something Clay read in a book once had always stuck with him. The exact wording couldn''t be easily recalled, but the basic message burned itself into his mind: When running for your life, don''t look behind you; there''s nothing you can see that will make you run any faster. Reading that on a computer screen at two in the morning, only one thing came to mind. That''s a good call. Clay practically leapt from the door and out into the parking lot at the same time that a loud sound resonated at his and Alan''s back. Killing his curiosity before it could kill him, he just kept running without even throwing a glance over his shoulder. The sound brought the vision of a wrecking ball into his mind''s eye. The sounds of destruction and the dust of debris were in the air. He and Alan were totally unprepared for something like this. It would be easy for them to have two different ideas in mind and, without having the time to talk it out, end up separating. Clay quickly made the decision to put his trust in Alan. Just follow him and everything would be fine. Fortunately, it seemed like Alan already intended to take charge. Without checking whether or not Clay was following him, he started booking it down the sidewalk and hopefully out of any clear view of the gas station. Clunk-clunk-clunk! Their desperate footsteps were punctuated by the sound of hard plastic clanging against hard plastic. They''d moved quietly to avoid this, but there was nothing they could do now to stop their gas canisters from jostling around when they moved this quickly. "Ditch the bags, kid!" Alan directed, already allowing his bag''s straps to slide loosely down his arms mid-step. Clay hesitated. His bag didn''t have much in the way of supplies in it, but there wouldn''t be any time for him to get his mystery box out before-- "NOW!" Alan shouted openly as he tossed his bag to the side. All he had now was his shotgun and the machete at his waist. Clay quickly did the same. He had his revolver and whatever was in his toolbelt. Now that all this noise was being made, the attention of any nearby Crowders was as good as drawn. Clay figured Alan didn''t see any reason to whisper his demands at this point. Slam! Slam! Slamslamslamslam! Heavy footsteps that started slow were speeding up. Whatever this thing was, it had broken through the gas station and was in hot pursuit. Alan was fitter than Clay, but Clay was faster and had the advantage of surplus stamina. There wasn''t any danger of Alan being left behind, but seeing his compatriot pulling slightly ahead must have gotten him worried enough to look over his shoulder. Only a second later, Clay felt Alan shoving him to the side and onto the ground. He used that same pushing force to throw himself in the opposite direction. Clay grunted as his body unexpectedly slammed into the pavement. He sat up, about to do some shouting of his own before a hulking shape barreled past his eyes and momentarily blocked his view of Alan. Even after he had the chance to look at him again, his widening eyes were transfixed on the shape instead. It continued running for a few more yards until it could gradually bring itself to a stop. Now that he could see it in the daylight, Clay realized that his assumption back in the gas station had been correct. All of the meat in the room where he found it was now surrounding this thing''s body like armor made of flesh. Not that it looked unnatural. Without having seen it in its ''regular'' state, he''d have probably assumed that it just ordinarily looked like this. The figure he''d seen in the office didn''t have any arms, but as it was now, it had two impossibly burly arms that were topped off by a pair of hands with eight thick fingers between them. These eight fingers were not divided equally, with its right hand sporting six digits and its left two. Instead of tapering muscle strands, it now walked on two facsimiles of feet. It didn''t have any toes, but the basic silhouette of its feet was enough to call back to its human origins. If indeed it had ever been a human. Once it managed to fight its own mass enough to finally come to a stop, Clay watched it turn around and lean its head forward with purpose. The only thing reminiscent of what he''d seen in the gas station was its sharp face, but even that had a layer of muscle around it that caused its sunken eyes to sink even deeper, to the point where he couldn''t even see them anymore. Despite all of that aggressive movement, the zombie itself didn''t let out any of the primal yells or aggressive panting that he''d come to expect. Its face remained stuck in that open-mouthed, wide-eyed expression that now looked to Clay like a silent scream with the context of skin. This wouldn''t do. There was no way to outrun it once it got up to top speed. Perhaps they could keep ducking to the side every time, but that would kill any chance of them being able to create meaningful distance, something that would be even more important once the Crowders showed up. Clay didn''t have a lot of time to think, and so there was only one idea he could think of. "Let''s split up!" From an outside perspective, away from the danger, even Clay would look at an idea like this and say, "Doomed." But there was simple, understandable logic at play in his head. After seeing it run past them like that, he quickly came to the conclusion that there was no way it could chase them both down if they went off in different directions. The one it didn''t chase would have ample opportunity to create distance and hide themselves away. However, Clay wasn''t planning on there being a 50/50 chance on which of them it chases. "What!?" Alan called out in disbelief at his suggestion. There wasn''t any time to argue. Clay took aim at the muscle-bound beast and fired a silent shot. It was too big of a target to miss. The zombie still didn''t make any sounds once the bullet wound appeared on its chest, so protected by its thick skin that Clay swore he could see a bit of light glinting off the bullet shallowly sitting inside its body. What it lacked in animalistic railing against pain, it made up for in body language. It turned subtly, but solidly, in Clay''s direction. Clay himself was already sprinting across the street to get away from Alan. "I''ll meet you back at your place!" "What the fuck, kid! Don''t--!" It seemed like Alan was about to either insult him or say something important, but Clay couldn''t hear him anymore. He was already fleeing the scene, his head filled with nothing but the sound of that monster''s thunderous footsteps. He didn''t look back. You were going to say ''don''t be stupid'', right? Clay ran at an angle to try and reach a narrow path between the buildings that seemed too thin for the bulky zombie to follow him into; however, this also meant he was partly moving in its direction. It was a perfect opportunity for him to be intercepted. This wasn''t because he had a secondary plan to ensure his safety. In fact, beyond splitting up and reaching the alley, Clay had no clue what he was going to do. It was just that he figured this was partly his fault, and he didn''t want Alan to die because of his mistake. If I die saving you, you can''t be mad! Even I know that¡¯s such a stupid thought! I¡¯m the dumbest person on the planet! His saving grace was that the larger zombie had a slow start before it reached the speed that allowed it to gain on them so easily. Clay was already at his top acceleration. However, even with those advantages, he picked up on the fact that it would be a close call no matter what. "Haha!" He let out a delirious laugh. Clay allowed himself to become drunk on a specific thought once he realized he was likely going to die. His brain pumped with chemicals he didn''t know the name of. Everything slowed down. If I die saving someone, then it''s definitely okay! Even a worthless life like mine would be admirable if it was capped off with a heroic sacrifice!You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story. I''m going to die! Please let it end quickly, at least! It''ll probably be an ugly display, so don''t make me suffer too much! "I''m the hero of the hour!" Clay heard himself shout. He was embarrassed on behalf of that voice, as if it was someone else who''d said something so strange. There was another part of him at work, though. Without thinking about it, he used up his last Stat Point on the only thing that made sense. Slamslamlslamslamslam! >Speed: 1 Use ''em or lose ''em! It wasn''t clear how much difference a single Stat Point would make when two of them had barely done anything to his Strength. However, that ''barely anything'' was what the part of him that was desperate to live latched onto. He was faster now, even if it was only a little bit. Usually, the difference between 0 and 1 feels like nothing. Sometimes all it can mean is one extra footstep. Clay was able to enter the alley with the zombie only lagging behind by a step. It cast a shadow on the alley''s path. Too slow! I''m too slow! Always too slow! But a crushing force didn''t come. He could have sworn he felt it reaching in after him, but he must have gotten too far away. Maybe he''d only escaped its grasp by a hair. When he didn''t immediately die, when nothing stopped his forward movement, his mind sobered up. His drunk grin twisted back into the frightened expression he had when he first found the unique zombie chasing him down. I made it? He fled deeper into the alley. I made it! I didn''t die! Thinking about it, getting caught by that thing would probably be a painful way to go! Clay reached a t-junction in the alley and stopped to see if he''d actually lost it. He didn''t. It hadn''t been able to enter the alley with him, but it was strong enough that it wouldn''t have to fuss with a tight squeeze. Clay watched as it reeled its arms back and slammed its fists against both of the buildings at once, easily sticking its hands through solid brick and continuing its pursuit. Its arms and shoulders sank into the buildings as well, expanding the holes along the sides of the buildings like two worms burrowing through dirt. Doing so slowed it down, but Clay was no longer as safe as he''d thought. At this rate, if the zombie didn''t kill him, the collapsing buildings would. He made off down the path to his right, which would at least put him out of its sight for a little while. It opened up onto a street littered with abandoned cars, but also a fair number of Crowders that were moving in his direction towards the sounds of two buildings being torn apart like paper. As soon as he realized there were other zombies present now, Clay immediately took his gun out of his tool belt and shot the closest one in the head. [Sound of Silence] soaked up the sound, but now both of his slots were full. >+10 XP! He''d fired three times so far. Only three live rounds left. There were four Crowders left, and now they''d seen him. Clay unsheathed his machete, then briefly cast his eyes to the side and released the two gunshot sounds as far away as he could. He heard the echoes better than he heard the shots themselves. Any Crowders closer to that area might think to check those sounds before coming here and making his life even harder. In the same moment, two of them got close enough to lunge at him. The first one that entered his confidence radius, the 10-foot radius around him where he felt confident he could land a shot, received a bullet in the face for its trouble. No climactic gunshot sound accompanied its second death. >+10 XP! The second one had a part of its hand hacked away by his machete as Clay took a step back, putting a third zombie in his confidence radius in time to be quietly shot as well. >+10 XP! This is the first time Clay has ever fought with multiple zombies at once in a situation where he and Alan weren''t using methods to turn the fight against a crowd into a series of one-on-one encounters. He didn''t even have time to think about how well he was doing, focused entirely on batting these things out of the way so he could prepare for the real danger. One bullet left. The zombie that had half its fingers taken from it continued pressing forward, so Clay weaved to the side and relieved it of the rest of that arm. The final Crowder was behind it, and the step to the side gave it an opportunity to lash out as well when he was momentarily distracted with unloading one of the noises in his sound slots. It scratched Clay''s arm, ripping open the sleeve of his jacket and exposing some of the shirts tucked inside for extra protection. Clay shoved his gun into its forehead, ripping open its head and exposing the brain tucked inside its skull with the pull of a trigger. A fair enough trade. >+10 XP! He wasted no time turning his attention back on the one-armed zombie. With no bullets left, Clay had no choice but to make it into a no-armed zombie, then a half-headed zombie. >+10 XP! >ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED! [THE FIRST STEP] There was no time to celebrate. More Crowders were likely to arrive and Clay had barely come up with a plan that might bring down the buff zombie. It likely couldn''t build any momentum while fighting against the walls of two brick buildings, but sounds reminiscent of a construction site were getting closer and closer. It was only a matter of time before it emerged from the same opening Clay had. He cut away at the dismembered zombie''s shirt until he could rip it from its body, then ran further down the street towards one of the many cars lining it. With his head on a swivel, Clay popped open the gas tank and only hesitated for a moment to make sure the shirt''s fabric was mostly dry before stuffing it into the opening. As he used the cheapy gas station lighter to light the part of the shirt still hanging outside like a wick, his first thought was about the fact that he was pulling this trick again. I really don''t get any kicks out of blowing stuff up¡­Honest! The second it was clear the fire would travel without his help, Clay took off even further down the sidewalk, then crossed the street and stuffed himself underneath another car that was far enough that he felt he''d be safe from the coming explosion. He made sure it was also close enough to keep the doomed car in sight. He was careful not to crush the rat squirming in his jacket''s pocket as he went to the ground. Clay had to peek past a rear tire, but he could definitely see it. More importantly, he could see the entrance into the alley that he''d come from and from which the oversized zombie would soon emerge. Less than a minute later, it did just that. Buildings crumbled to make way for it, creating piles of bricks and concrete that kicked up huge clouds of dust. If Clay were much closer, he''d be worried about getting buried in the debris, which would have definitely happened if these had been apartment or larger business buildings. There was a worry that it had a means of finding him, like a tracking ability similar to the Spooker''s. The image of a blob of room-meat touching him and starting the chain reaction that woke it up made Clay think it was possible that the contact had marked him somehow, but the way that the brute, unfazed by the ruins created in its path of destruction, dumbly looked around for him cleared away any of those thoughts. I want you there¡­ BANG! One of his two saved-up gunshots was deployed near the car that he''d sabotaged, drawing the monster''s attention in that direction. It moved slowly, but even those tepid steps sent vibrations through the ground that he could feel despite the distance. It searched with as much coordination as something of its size could muster. That is to say, it smashed one of its fists on the roof of the car a few times. The windows shattered easily under the crushing pressure of the first blow, with both windshields following suit within the following four. It''s taking too long to explode! It took long enough that the car''s roof was completely crushed inwards into the cab. If someone had actually been in there, they''d have been unceremoniously crushed to death. Satisfied enough with its work, the zombie turned away from it to start doing something else. Clay didn''t wait to see what that something might be, unloading the second gunshot sound at the same place underneath the car. BANG! The zombie instantly twisted its body back around and started smashing the car again. Its tires popped loud enough that it briefly overpowered the sounds of it hammering away at the abused car. If someone had been hiding underneath the car, they''d have been dutifully crushed as well. Crowders were starting to appear from every which way now, but he was focused on the task at hand. Go! Blow up already! Blow--! And then it did, in sync enough with one of the zombie''s blows that Clay wondered if crushing the car had been the secret ingredient he''d needed. Clay had been watching so intently that he was a second behind curling up and covering his ears, the inside of his head ringing like a bell even after he cupped his palms to the sides of his head and made himself as small as possible. He turned his body to the side as well, away from the explosion, to protect the rat inside his jacket in the unlikely scenario some flying debris slipped into his hiding spot. His eardrums ached, but he thought he heard the sound of various metal objects clanking and smacking across the ground. Maybe there was glass breaking in there, too? But what he didn''t hear were the sounds of any Achievements, not even some XP gain. He slowly opened his eyes and peeked at the aftermath. No fucking way¡­ The car had definitely exploded, sending parts of itself flying into places Clay wasn''t in a position to see. What was left of it was charred, with small plumes of flame likely subsisting off of gasoline and the remnants of the car''s interior seating. The problem was that the zombie was still standing. Parts of its skin were torn and burned away, exposing the painfully thin body underneath from some angles. It hadn''t come away clean, but it was still moving just fine. Clay stared wide-eyed. The ''blowing something up'' trick had a 100% success rate until now, but it only caused this thing a moderate amount of damage. Maybe there''d be a chance if he could hit it with a few more, but there was no way he could pull that off from this position. The only things he had going for him now were the fact that he hadn''t been noticed and that at least he''d landed a substantial, if ultimately nonlethal, blow against the overpowered zombie. The Crowders were drawing in closer now, idly interested in the commotion caused by the smasher''s escapades. Once one of them shambled up next to the side of the car the smasher was on, an arm was immediately seized in one of its fists. It lifted the walking corpse off the ground and started taking it apart as if it were a toy. It started with the opposite arm, sending droplets of darkened blood dripping onto the sidewalk as it tilted its head back and brought the arm to its widening mouth. Clay''s eyes refused to close as he watched alongside the arm''s owner as its limb dropped hand-first past the smasher''s maw. The moment it fell into its stomach, veins that he hadn''t even noticed before darkened pitch black. Its skin started to move again, gradually sealing up the gaps in its body that Clay''s explosion had caused. There hadn''t been any thoughts in Clay''s head at the sight of it healing like this. No words, at least. Terror became like white noise that fogged his mind. As it continued taking the uncaring zombie apart and eating its parts one by one, he eventually regained enough sense to despair at one particular prospect. Just one step slower and it would have been him being torn and mutilated, and he certainly wouldn''t have been as graceful about it as the despondent Crowder. He imagined himself struggling fruitlessly in its grip, begging for help as it peeled one of his arms off. Soon after that, he''d probably just be begging to die quicker. He almost threw up. It moved on and started doing much the same to another Crowder, but Clay turned away again. He didn''t want to see it. It could have been him. Chapter 13: Attractive Bones crunching. Skin tearing. Ears ringing. Clay refused to open his eyes. He refused to even move. Was he going to become like this every time the world showed him a new horror? This was much more bizarre, but plenty of people from his world knew the terror of living life with death always looming close. Why couldn''t he just get over it? Clay knew. It was because he''d never known those types of hardships. He grew up with many of the cold facts of life not hidden from him, but kept at a safe distance. TV, movies, and books all spoke of those brutal things with lovingly crafted language that sometimes made one feel what it might have been like to experience a harsher existence. It didn¡¯t matter how well-made they were; they couldn¡¯t bottle up reality like soda. As a boy, he watched a minor street fight through the window of a school bus. As a teenager, he''d seen a few videos of people dying on fishy websites, and even that made him sick enough to not seek them out anymore. As an adult, he immersed himself in the culture of imageboards and video-sharing websites that sometimes spoke about suffering while laughing about the ridiculousness of things. That was the extent of his dealings with anything resembling what he''s seen today. There was always a layer of glass between him and the real world. What sort of face was he making now? "I should have ### ### #### ### #### ### ## ###." He thought being bitten by the Jumper would toughen him up or that the past few weeks spent killing Crowders would ready him. Maybe it had, but not to a degree that Clay could be satisfied with. His stomach still churned when he killed them. He couldn''t always shake the thought that they''d been people like him once. That sort of sentimental thinking would be fine in his original world, where he could look down his nose at issues far away and moralize from the safety of his bedroom. However, feeling sorry for monsters or curling up into a ball when things get serious wouldn''t serve him well here. He needed to get back to Alan''s apartment complex. He was safe there. That''s right. At least now there was a place for him to return to. Clay waited until there weren''t any more ugly sounds. He waited a long time. Maybe an hour passed before the coast was clear. All that remained of the Crowders that had gathered were stains from the smasher''s messy eating. The smasher either gave up on finding him or the Crowders satiated its appetite. In any case, it was gone as well. Even with every sign saying he could come out, Clay knew better than to rush things. He deployed Kissy to put his mind at ease. Squeak squeak! All clear. He dragged himself out from underneath the car and stood up, but his knees shook and landed him back into a sitting position. It was only due in small part to lingering dread, with the blame mostly going to a long time spent in an awkward position. Just get back. I just have to get back. Even after Clay could stand back up again, he moved slowly to get out from the street. His pensive, robotic movements made him feel like just another zombie. Kissy must have been getting annoyed with his pace because she poked her head out from his pocket to bite him when he idly pressed his thumb against it to make sure she was still there. The pain shot up his hand and rocked his senses back into his brain. The haze lifted. He was still scared, but his focus beyond a vague notion of ''getting back'' returned to him. Kissy still had her mouth open, primed to bite him a second time. Clay brought his fist up to his chest and wrapped a protective hand around the wrist. "I''m good, I''m good!" Clay said as aggressively as he could while maintaining a low volume. "Scumbag¡­" The first thing he did was make his way back towards another building he and Alan had looted earlier in the week. He knew vaguely how to get back to the apartment from there. While keeping his attention on his surroundings, Clay also thought about how he was meant to kill that Smasher (a good enough name for the thing since he couldn''t kill it and find out what the Achievement called it). It was strong, durable, and capable of healing its lost body mass by devouring people. Not just people, but even other zombies. Even that exploding car felt like it only took 5 to 10% off of its metaphorical health bar. Perhaps his best chance really had been to shoot it back at the gas station. He supposed it wouldn''t matter as long as he didn''t try to force another encounter. It''d be better to just get stronger from killing Crowders and prepare himself for a very possible point in time where he was forced to fight something that dangerous again. Killing something that strong at his current level would be impossible. Ah, speaking of, hadn''t he gotten an Achievement a little while ago? He totally forgot about it. --------------------------------------------------------- [THE FIRST STEP] (+5 Stat Points) Kill 100 zombies! --------------------------------------------------------- Clay read it a few times to make sure he had it right. 5 Stat Points? That was worth two and a half levels! Should he use them now? Surely there''d be a big difference if he put them all in Strength. Wait, with this many he could open the bulk of his remaining mystery stats instead. The dejected feeling he got after throwing away one of his points earlier in the day was still fresh enough that he didn''t want to rush into anything. Perhaps waiting until he actually needed them, like with his Speed, was an option? Yeesh, if Achievements could give him points like this, what was the point of leveling up? Clay guessed it could be a difference between income and gratuity. He couldn''t count on the points from Achievements to come very often, but he knew for certain that points could be received if he leveled up. He smiled uneasily to himself. It would be easy for him to get roped into doing dangerous stuff to get huge amounts of points after seeing the difference in amount. Clay decided to keep to the course he was already on as rigidly as possible. It was sure to get him stronger eventually, and he could get extra bonuses incidentally like he usually did. With Kissy at his side and a new ability to find his way around, Clay eventually returned to the apartments. Alan was waiting for him on the fire escape. It looked like he''d been waiting a while. He was sitting with his back leaned against the wall, but sprang to his feet when he noticed Clay''s approach. It made him feel a little embarrassed to have someone waiting for him like this, and the physical reaction Alan had made him feel even stranger. At least Alan knew not to call out to him. Instead, he stood there wringing his hands in anticipation to speak with him while he waited for Clay to climb up the ladder. As soon as he could, he dragged Clay inside by the arm. "You''re actually alive!" He whooped. "You gotta be one of the luckiest bastards I''ve ever met!" "You don''t know the half of it¡­" Clay filled him in on the things he did and saw, leaving out most of the details of what he''d been thinking at the time. "That''s insane. I ain''t even heard of a zombie like this before today. I was just as caught off guard as you." Alan looked off to the side in contemplation, then snapped his eyes back onto Clay. "Well, as happy as I am to see you ain''t bit the dust yet, we gotta have a talk about what went down back at the gas station." Clay fought the urge to grimace. "Things didn''t go exactly the way it looked like they did¡­" Alan openly scowled. "No? Because it looked like you took a potshot and pissed off a zombie that can tear through buildings like it ain''t no thing." "It already knew I was there before I shot it, man," he tried to respond assertively but ended up glancing towards the floor. "Its weird room-meat touched me and alerted it, so I was trying to get ahead by shooting before it got going. If I hadn''t missed, maybe things would have gone differently." "You were standing there for a little while before that, though. You tellin'' me you just sorta¡­stood there and stared at it until things popped off? Sounds like you were begging to get caught!" "I froze up!" Clay said defensively. "I''m not good with this stuff to begin with and even you said you''ve never heard of a zombie like this one! So, yeah, I froze up!" Alan looked at him closely, working his jaw like he was physically chewing on his thoughts.Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author. Finally, deadpan, he said, "That ain''t attractive." "Pfttt--!" Clay cracked up, then started laughing. He couldn''t help himself. There was just something about the way Alan said it after working himself up so much. He created a tense atmosphere like he was really going to let him have it, too. "Hahahahahaha! You-You''re--Hahahaha!" Alan was taken aback by Clay''s outburst. He looked embarrassed, but then his features subtly relaxed into a small grin. "You liked that one, huh?" After a few seconds, Alan started laughing just because Clay was laughing. "Hehehehe! C''mon, kid! It wasn''t that funny!" "I know! I know! Hahahaha! I''m just--" He let out a breath, followed by a few little chuckles. It wound down after a few seconds of chuckling and the two of them over-explaining to each other why it''d been so funny. Alan got them back on track. "Well, no matter how funny I am, I still say blowing shit up when you get into a bad spot ain''t a good idea. If it weren''t for the fact that this thing ate up those Crowders, your ass would''ve been stuck under that car forever." Alan adjusted his hat. "Still, gotta say that I''m getting badass movie star vibes even from you when I hear a story like that." "I''ve done it before," Clay admitted. "Remember the dumbass you were talking about when we met, the one that caused an explosion that carried away the horde? I thought it''d just complicate things to talk about, but that was also me." "Holy shit, so you''re some sorta pyromaniac?" "I wouldn''t say that. Explosions are loud, and I''m not even really a big fan of fireworks. It just happened to be the most convenient option." Even Clay thought he sounded like an asshole. Who didn''t like fireworks? Alan didn''t comment on that. "Who woulda'' thought a mopey kid like you was getting up to some serious carnage? Haha! What''d you blow up back then, anyways?" "A Bunker Beans," Clay responded casually. "I oughta'' kick your ass." ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ The conclusion Alan made sure Clay walked away with after the discussion was that he needed to stop freezing up during decisive moments. If he''d carefully taken aim and shot the Smasher before it collected enough room-meat to bulk up, it''s possible he could have killed it on the spot. Like I didn''t already know that? Clay was aware that he locked up sometimes. What could he do about it? He already bemoaned his weakness and figured that it probably wouldn''t go away. Not that he could be so flippant with Alan about it. "I''ll try my best." After that, they decided they would go and retrieve their abandoned bags tomorrow and hit up a different gas station for diesel. With the harrowing events they''d faced, Alan decided the rest of the day would just be to relax and unwind. Clay couldn''t truly relax until he was clean, so the first thing he did was bathe (he could get it done in half a bottle now!). He''d gotten to the point where he didn''t care whether or not Kissy watched him now. No matter how intelligent, it always felt more like he was bathing in front of a pet. It probably helped that he kept his boxers on as well. On her end, Kissy didn''t really even seem interested in the display to begin with. As he was finishing up, Clay caught sight of himself in a mirror he''d brought into his room a week prior to keep an eye on the parts of his body he couldn¡¯t ordinarily see, like his face or his neck. His face was clearing up, but his neck was definitely scarred. His fingers traced lines on his skin where a bleeding wound had once been, wondering when it would start to look a little more aesthetically pleasing. They were ugly to him, but at the same time not severe enough for Clay to feel proud of. Maybe he could start wearing a scarf once it began snowing outside? On the other end was the bite on his arm. The sutures were removed by Milly earlier in the week, with the information that this was pretty much what his arm was going to look like now. It was a hideous kind of wound that would maybe earn him some points with a rough and tough crowd, but Clay didn''t like this one either. It was too severe. What would he tell everyone back home once they saw this? Would there even be a chance to go home? They had to have noticed he was gone by now. Were they worried about him? There was probably a small measure of relief mixed in if he had to guess. Knock knock! "You decent in there, genius?" Clay, only wearing his underwear and a towel draped around his shoulders, called back, "Not at all!" "It''s fine, I''ll just tell you from out here." Alan gave the door another affirmative knock. "Milly''s whipping up some proper soup, so we''re having something besides breakfast bars to eat!" That''s a shame. I''m not sick of them yet. "You''re gonna eat out here with us tonight! Proper food''s gotta be eaten properly!" Fuck that. I hate eating at the table. It''s awkward enough when you have to do it with your family, but eating where strangers can stare and judge you the entire time is even worse. "Uh¡­" Clay was trying to find a way to filter that thought into a polite refusal. Besides his usual thoughts, today¡¯s events left him with a deep desire to be alone. But Alan knocked his door again before he could say anything. He heard his voice drifting away. "Should be ready in twenty minutes!" Clay glared at the door. Kissy squeaked multiple times in quick succession, which meant she was either excited about something or she was laughing. Perhaps he might be able to find a spray bottle on one of their outings? ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ "So that''s why you gotta keep your eyes all over the place if you ever go outside, Angie! Jumpers can be really tricky sometimes!" Alan told his daughter between spoonfuls of soup. "That''s really scary, Dad. Can we not talk about this stuff?" Angie said nervously, but she''d been so entranced in the conversation that she hadn''t actually eaten much of her soup. Clay didn''t like the way she was letting her bread just soak in it for so long. What was the point of talking to an 8-year-old about the zombies? Was he trying to scare her? "It''s not talk for the dinner table, dear." Milly seemed a little more anxious after hearing what Alan had to say, slowly spinning her spoon in the broth without eating any. "It''s like hearing about real-life bogeymen." Alan defended himself with a few assertions about the importance of educating the young about these monsters they now shared a world with. Clay ate his food throughout the discussion without adding anything. Silently though, he did have a thought or two. What else could he talk about anymore? Zombies saturated his whole life; at least half of his entire day was focused entirely on avoiding or killing them. They should just be glad they didn''t have to hear about encounters Alan had with other humans¡­ "Tell ''em, kid! This is important stuff, right?" Alan attempted to drag Clay down with him. So annoying. Why do I have to take a side? "Uh, I guess so¡­" "See! And this is coming from the guy who went toe-to-toe with the tallest, buffest zombie I think I''ve ever seen!" Then he started talking about what happened earlier that day. He kindly glossed over the parts where Clay inadvertently brought the Smasher''s ire on them in the first place in favor of highlighting his valor. "And then he lured the buff zombie away! This guy didn''t even think twice!" He felt Milly and Angie''s eyes on him. Being talked up like this wasn''t entirely unpleasant, but it did make him feel weird. "I just thought I should pay you back after you pushed me out of the way when it charged at us. I was too scared to look back, so I''d have been caught for sure." As the current center of attention, Clay thought he should acknowledge Alan as well. Honestly, he didn''t want to talk about it anymore, but he also didn''t want to ruin the positive mood Alan built up. Best to let him keep going and wear himself out. "What did you do after you lured it away?" Angie asked while turning her body towards him. He wasn''t getting off that easy. "Well, uh¡­" Clay recounted the story, leaving out many of the worrying or gruesome bits. With those sheared away, it was a lot easier for him to get through. He also ditched any details about the Lomion System since Angie wasn''t in on it. "So, in a way, you saved my husband''s life?" That was what Milly took away from it. "Hey hey, I wouldn''t go that far!" Alan stepped in, still smiling. "If it''d gone the other way, I would have been just fine!" Angie spoke up with a question nobody expected. "Why didn''t you just run away?" "Hm?" Clay glanced up from his soup at her. "You said you got away from it for a little while, right? I''d just run away after that!" Kids are so obnoxious. Clay had a conceited thought. The counter was obvious. But when he searched his mind for a simple answer, he came up empty. "I couldn''t just run off in a random direction because I didn''t know where a whole bunch of Crowders might come from. I wanted to try taking out the big guy so I could navigate properly without having to worry about him and any incoming Crowders at the same time." "Oh, okay!" That was a good answer, but it hadn''t actually been on Clay''s mind at all when he rigged the car to explode. Why had he done that if escaping was the goal? Had he been hungry for XP? That wasn''t it either. In the moment, it just felt like the thing to do. "I''m talkin¡¯ it up, but I don''t want to see you doing anything crazy-like when you get big, Angie! Y''hear me? Hey!" When Angie didn¡¯t immediately answer, Alan leaned in to pluck the soggy piece of bread from her soup and bring it over to his bowl. "Daad! I was about to eat that!" "Jumpers eat the liars first, y''know!" Alan declared before taking a big bite out of Angie''s bread. "Mmmmh! God damn that tastes good!" "Mooom!" Angie whined and laughed at the same time. "You''re so dreamy when you''re bullying our daughter! This must be what a real man looks like!" Milly said with exaggerated affection. Clay thought it would be awkward if he was the only one not smiling and prepared to fake it to fit the vibe, but found that he was already grinning. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ They left the apartment the next day lighter than usual, only with the things they usually brought alongside their bags. Clay''s tool belt and gun. Alan''s shotgun. The mission was clear: get to the stuff they''d been forced to abandon while running away from the Smasher and, if possible, continue their quest for diesel. It might be swarming with Crowders in that area by now, but they could case that out and come back later if need be. The only thing that was absolutely irreplaceable inside the bags was Alan''s siphoning hose and Clay''s mystery box, neither of which were in any danger of expiring or being destroyed. The chief concern was more that they''d end up stolen than ruined. However, there wouldn''t be any worry about that. After Alan hyped himself up and tried his best to do the same for Clay, they ended up finding both of their bags in the alley outside Alan''s home. They stared in disbelief for a little while. Alan stopped Clay with a hand on his chest when he attempted to take the first few steps towards them. "Hold on there, buddy. This is an awful convenient situation, so convenient that I''m thinking it could be a trap¡­" Alan internally weighed their options, then took his hand off of Clay''s chest and motioned to the bags with an overly cheerful smile. "Actually, go ahead, genius! I''m happy to see you taking initiative!" "No way am I going to do it after you got me all paranoid¡­" Clay said worriedly. In the end, Clay used the hook of his hammer to flop open one of their bags while keeping as far away as possible. There wasn''t anything weird inside that he could see. Then he kicked Alan''s bag to see if there might have been some kind of mechanism that''s activated when the bag itself is disturbed. Nothing happened. "Watch where you''re kicking, kid!" Alan scolded him from the complete opposite end of the alley. After they were satisfied, they dug through their bags to make sure nothing was missing. Everything was accounted for, even Clay''s mystery box. >[Mystery Box - Type DG] >Current Tier: Common Looks like it would take longer than a day to get anything good. When he took it from the bag, an envelope attached to the bottom followed it. Rather than the message being written on a piece of paper inside, it was written on the envelope itself. --- Sadman, I know you are a ''Player''. I''ve returned your bags to you as a gesture of goodwill. I want to meet you properly. Come to the address written on the back. Bring Alan with you if you want. Radman --- Turning it over just gave him the shipping address marked on the envelope. Chapter 14: Radman After Alan looked at the note as well, he scoffed humorously. Clay stood up a little straighter. Had Alan seen something he hadn''t that trivialized the situation? "He calls you ''Sadman''. Hehe!" I was hoping to gloss over that. Alan handed the note back to Clay and cleared his throat so he could convincingly take on a more serious tone. "But the fact that he''s been watching us long enough to know that mopey look you have is your actual resting face is kinda pissing me off." Do I really just look sad all the time? It probably wouldn''t help his image if he started asking people about it. No, the more important thing was the introduction of this person who knew he was a ''player''. Was this another person using the Lomion System trying to reach out to him? Somehow he doubted it. That was Clay''s gut instinct, but he didn''t know why. Wait, if he''d been watching them long and thoroughly enough to know they dropped their bags and where they live¡­ "Might be watching us right now for all we know." Alan finished his thought. Clay tried to seem disaffected when he instinctively looked around. The obvious place to look was at the windows of nearby buildings, then around the entrance to the alley. He even resorted to lifting the lid of a dumpster to see if he and this Radman were of a like mind. They weren''t. It seemed like the only way to confront this guy was to meet up on their terms. The idea scared Clay at first, but then he got to thinking about what it could mean for him. This was a person who knew about the Lomion System and possibly had information about it that he did not. What harm could there be if he just--? "What are you thinking over there, genius?" Alan cut off his thought. "I''m thinking I might go see Radman," Clay answered honestly. "There''s more upsides than downsides if I do, right? Who knows what sort of valuable information they might have about my powers if they can tell what I am? "You thinkin'' Radman might be a V-Man, too?" "I considered it, but I don''t know. I don''t think so. Still, there''s nothing to lose if I go to the meet-up." "Uh, actually, there''s plenty to lose. What if this is some kinda trap to get you alone?" "They said I could bring you, though," Clay said, trying not to sound argumentative. "Okay, but what if he''s a V-Man and it turns out you''re in some kinda real life battle royale kinda game? Maybe he''s saying I can come because he''s so strong that it don''t matter what you bring." Alan started miming a big circle that gradually shrinks towards the middle. Clay wondered what sort of battle royale games this world used to have. Was it something original, or was it just Fortnite? "If Radman were that strong, there''d be no reason to lure me out. They could just waltz into the apartment and rip my head off." "Yeah, but¡­" Alan sounded like he was on his last limb, "I still don''t think it''s a good idea. Didn''t your mama ever tell you not to talk to strangers?" "Do rules like that still apply with things the way they are?" "I feel like that''s one rule that oughta be carried on into the new world," Alan huffed. "That''s how I''d teach my kids. I thought I could stop worrying about Angie getting carried off by a Radman once the internet went away, but now these sicko freaks can even ruin the purity of sending letters. You should take a stand against this shit by not going!" What the hell are you on about, old man? Clay kept his response even, "I think this person honestly doesn''t mean any harm." Alan''s expression was sour. "It might just be me being overly trusting and falling into a trap, but I think Radman could have done a few things to force us to show up that they didn''t do," Clay justified as he held up his mystery box. "For example, they could have held my reward box hostage. They could have even kept our bags and left the note behind where we dropped them. Instead, they brought them right to us with all of our stuff still inside." "Sounds like the sorta shit someone would do if they were trying real hard to get your guard down." "True, but it also sounds like the sort of thing someone would do if they genuinely wanted to show goodwill. If it turns out they''re good and we scorn them, then they might start doing more extreme things to get our attention. It''s best if we verify their intentions now while they''re being nice, right?" It sounded like a good enough argument to Clay as he said it, but it didn''t factor into his decision at all. He was hooked the moment they revealed they knew anything about the system. Still, there was genuine merit in at least knowing who this person was, as well as what they wanted. Alan worked his jaw the way he always did when he had to think something over for longer than a few seconds. "Alright, fine. Since you''re going, I have to come along. So if this guy ends up ripping my arms off and beatin'' me to death with them, it''s on you." "¡­Okay." So they unloaded their gas canisters in the apartment to deal with the diesel problem another day. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ It was a good thing that Alan decided to join him, because otherwise Clay wouldn''t have had any idea how to actually get to the address on the envelope. The extent of his navigational knowledge was what he gathered from their outings, which were landmarks like ''apartment building that still has all of its windows'' or ''cleaned out bodega with red car in front of it''. This was probably the reason why Alan started the quest off by telling him to lead the way. It was so that he could graciously overlook how tech-dependent Clay''s generation was and guide him like the hapless child he was. "Can''t get around right without using your phone, huh?" He didn''t do a good job being gracious about it, but he did a perfect job finding alternative routes when Kissy''s scouting blocked off the more obvious paths. "I''m pretty sure this is taking us close to a real dangerous business district, so be careful." Some parts of the city were so flooded with Crowders that they were off-limits. The occasionally vacant street was a fairytale in Crowded areas. So why did Radman want to meet so close to one of these areas? It nearly made Clay rethink this person''s intentions. The building they were led to was labeled ''Elmwood Community College''. It was large in comparison to most of the shops near Alan''s complex, but quaint when one looked a little to the side and saw the skyscrapers in the distance. Clay and Alan filed in as quickly as possible to get out of the open. The first thing they saw was the front desk, the second thing they saw was an assortment of corpses, and the third thing they saw was a piece of paper taped to the front desk with a thin arrow drawn on it that directed them to the right. It pointed down a hallway, at the end of which was another arrow pointing them in a new direction. "This is some supervillain shit, man. Why didn''t he just meet us out here?" Alan complained. Clay found it hard to argue with him and opted to just silently follow the arrows. I''m getting the impression I''m going to end up in a giant mouse trap. The twists and turns brought them to a door with an arrow pointing directly towards its doorknob. Alan readied his shotgun and motioned for Clay to similarly prepare for the worst. Under his insistent gaze, Clay couldn''t do anything except ready his revolver before slowly opening the door. They couldn''t tell what sort of room it was, but a lot of its furniture had obviously been moved around in ways that the original occupant wouldn''t have tolerated. Directly in front of the door was a series of bookcases that forced anyone attempting to enter to shimmy against the wall to reach a single gap on the far right end before they could properly step inside. Only Clay was skinny enough to do so easily. Alan tried to follow behind, but couldn''t quite suck in his gut enough to make the squeeze. With a grunt of frustration, he tried to shove against the bookcase and knock it over. Unfortunately, the bookcase was being fortified by something out of sight to keep it from going down. It wouldn''t be impossible, but it was going to take him a lot of squirming and breath-holding. Alan whipped his head around to see if Clay was staring at the embarrassing scene. Clay had definitely been staring, but he''s sure he turned his in time to act like he hadn''t. In a corner overlooking the room, right above the gap Clay was moving towards, was a circular convex mirror. The kinds they had in gas stations so the cashiers could keep a better eye on the rest of the store from where they worked. The strange entrance made sense to him now. The bookcases slowed them down, and the convex mirror allowed anyone in the actual room to see intruders before they got in. Of course, this meant that Radman already knew they were here. Clay stepped through the gap and slid into the room. It obviously used to be some kind of administrative office, but a lot of its desks had been repurposed as work benches with tools and parts strewn all over the place. He felt Kissy pop her head out to look around as well.This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. He could already feel that there was some organization to it, however. An entire desk had been covered in a layer of newspapers and used exclusively for greasy parts. There was even a corner of the office where parts too big to sit on a desk were left in a neat pile. Clay had no idea what any of this stuff actually was beyond ''parts and mechanisms''. "Greetings, gentlemen." A chair behind a desk at the head of the office slowly turned around. Sitting in it was a¡­young man with a buzzcut? He was wearing a white doctor''s coat and had a pair of welding goggles lifted up against his forehead. His voice was low enough that it made it hard for Clay to parse his age, but not so low as to be comical against his youthful face. This was Radman? 15 years old. 16 tops. "I see you''ve¡­" He started, but then awkwardly trailed off and glared up at the mirror to see that Alan was still struggling to get inside. Clay pointed back towards the bookcases with his thumb. "Can I move these a little bit?" "Preparations have been made." The boy flourished a hand towards the far wall. "Behold!" He directed Clay''s attention towards a lever on the wall that was connected to a railing system behind the bookcases on the floor and ceiling. Attached to this railing system were a series of metal rods that kept the bookcases from being pushed further into the room. "Simply pull that lever a few times and Alan will be able to comfortably step inside," he declared dramatically, "no matter how fat he is!" "Don''t do it, kid!" Alan''s voice demanded between grunts of exertion. "That shit''s gotta be a trap! I''m almost through!" Clay wondered if it had just become a matter of pride. Deciding that he didn''t want to waste any more time, he stepped up to the lever and yanked it down. The metal rods were pushed further towards the door, squeezing Alan into the wall and making him release a pained yell. "Agghh! I told you! He''s killin'' me!" "No! Pull it the other way! Push it up! Do it a few times, like a carjack!" The boy shouted, voice losing a lot of its theatrical flair. "Sorry!" Clay quickly apologized and moved the lever as directed. The metal rods, also connected to the bookcases by brackets, were pulled back into the room towards the rails with each pull. Soon enough, both Clay and Alan were standing in front of the desk. Clay had his eyes focused straight forward to keep from making eye contact with his partner. "You guys have completely ruined the mood," Radman told them flatly, then turned his head to focus on Clay. "Sadman, I take it you''ve read my note." Alan answered for him. "Wouldn''t be here if we hadn''t." Radman looked at Alan briefly, then back at Clay. "I''m guessing you have some questions. Like how I know you''re a player, or how I found you." "Yeah, I''m wondering about that," Clay affirmed, "but I want to be sure of a few things first. Alan, do you know this guy?" Alan blinked at Clay, then raised the rim of his hat enough to get as good of a look at Radman as he could. "No way. I''m sure I''d remember knowing someone like¡­Well, now that you mention it, I think maybe he''s kinda familiar. He''s definitely ringin'' a bell." "I figured as much." Clay looked Radman in the eyes. Even he wasn''t so craven that he''d avert his eyes in front of a child, he thought. "He calls you out by name in the letter, but all I got was a nickname." Radman frowned. "I wasn''t really planning on hiding it, but it''s good to know you''ve got the barest minimum of brains. Yes, I do know Alan." "This is botherin'' the shit outta me!" Alan complained. "You''re gonna have to spell it out, cuz'' I don''t know a lot of kids these days." Radman''s frown deepened into a glare, his voice turning cold, "I''m not a kid. I''m 24 years old." "What?" Clay couldn''t believe it. This kid is older than me!? Agh, now he felt kind of bad for vocalizing his disbelief like that. It wasn''t this dude''s fault he was so short. "Now I remember you!" Alan snapped his fingers. "You''re the kid that lived on the second floor, the one whose parents were always out!" Radman was obviously doing his best to remain measured. "I did not live with my parents in that building. I was a college student who lived alone." Alan seemed pleased with himself for remembering, but then his jubilant spirit was soured once he stood with the knowledge a little bit longer. His words came out bitter. "What the hell are you doing back here, then? Get tired of having hot air pumped in through every hole?" "Alright, this isn''t how I wanted this talk to go. I was hoping you wouldn''t recognize me until I had a chance to speak with Sadman and work out a few things." He looked accusingly at Clay. "Good going, smartass. You ruined my mad scientist vibe." Clay was too confused to figure out if he should be offended by Radman''s remark. He dwelled on other things. So Radman had a past in this world. That probably meant that he didn''t have access to the Lomion System, but Clay had already figured that he wasn''t dealing with another user. He couldn''t place why he''d expected a normal person at first, but now he knew. Not only had he called out Alan by name, he also called Clay a ''Player''. Someone who saw the same windows as him would have probably used the term ''Traveler'' instead to subtly hint at the truth. He felt kind of smart for being able to put together the dots like that, and was slightly disappointed when he realized that Radman hadn''t been planning on pretending to be a player. It was a damn shame. He already had the scene all planned out in his head. "Hello, fellow player!" "Ah, but you see, the system has a term for people like us that I haven''t revealed to anyone yet. If you''re like me, you should be able to tell me what this term is." "Gulp! I, uh¡­" "I''ve caught you red-handed! Or should I say¡­silver-tongued?" Then Alan would clap and say, "Damn, you can really figure it out when you wanna! You just say the word and I''ll shut my mouth so you can think from now on!" Yeah, in a perfect world! In reality, Clay instead said, "You''re not a player, but you obviously know about the system. I''ve learned that nobody ever wants anything for free, so can I expect this to be some sort of information exchange?" Radman leaned back in his chair and wistfully replied, "You catch on quick, but not quickly enough. I''m hoping for an exchange, but there''s no information you have that I care about or don''t already possess." "Don''t listen to a word this guy says, kid." Alan stepped in front of Clay and pointed down at Radman. "This little scumbag is a goddamn traitor. The whole lot of you are!" "It was a complicated situation, Alan," Radman crossed his arms, "don''t pretend it wasn''t. Jesus, I thought it''d been long enough that this wouldn''t be an issue." It seemed that every time Radman attempted to dive back into an eccentric persona, Alan would bring him back down to Earth and force him to speak normally again. Clay figured this had something to do with the massive exodus that took place a while back that Milly told him about. Information on what went down, or even when exactly it happened, was sparse. Honestly, Clay could have probably been more proactive about asking after those circumstances from the other tenants in the building after Alan stonewalled him, but¡­ He hadn''t really cared. It seemed like a lot of trouble to go to for information that Alan would be angry at him for having. It also didn''t feel like a pressing matter. Now he had no choice but to try and salvage the discussion while tiptoeing around hurt feelings without knowing the full situation. "Alan," Clay tried, "this is the first time anyone else has brought up the system without already hearing about it from me. I don''t know what happened between you two, but it''s important that I at least hear him out." Alan worked his jaw. "Yeah, and it''s not like I was the only one who left back then," Radman added. Don''t be a pissant¡­ Alan threw his hands up and stepped back. "Fine! Fine! You listen to this guy say whatever he needs to say! But you just be careful what you buy into and be sure not to turn your back for too long, because he could be gone with the wind at any second!" Clay didn''t want to get off on the wrong foot with Radman by validating Alan, but he didn''t want Alan to think that he was all-in on trusting the newcomer (oldcomer?) either. He silently stared at Radman and waited for him to speak. "Sadman¡­Actually, what is your name?" "My name is Clay, but you can call me whatever you want." "Sadman¡­I know about the ''system'' because of a few circumstances I don''t really want to get into." Annoying. "As for how I found you, that''s mostly to do with the fact that I''m probably the single smartest person you''ve ever met." He shrugged with a nonchalant smile. "Not that the competition around here is very stiff." Alan said nothing, and Clay didn''t turn to see if he was making any faces. "The reason I''m here is because my previous group is incredibly dangerous, especially the leader. He has a tight hold on everyone there, to the point where he can get them to do just about anything he wants." Radman was the first one to break eye contact to look down at the desk. "He doesn''t mind ordering slaughters or taking everything small groups of survivors have when they don''t want to join us. And what he does to people he captures alive¡­" "I told you something was up with that guy! Oh, but I''m assumin'' you have nothin'' do with any of that, right? You''re totally innocent?" Alan cut in. Clay accidentally disregarded Alan by saying something without thinking, "So the leader of this group is a player." Radman looked taken aback. "Huh?" Clay''s lips parted slightly in shock. Why had he said that? Well, now that he was forced to think about it to keep from looking stupid¡­ "It''s obvious that you had to find out about the system from somewhere, and the only thing I can think of is that another player let you in on a few things. I figured it had to be someone from this dangerous group." Radman rubbed his chin, eyeing Clay warily. "Well, even if that were true, there''s no guarantee it''s our leader who would be the player." "Sure, but there''s no guarantee I''m right about any of this. I just thought it was more likely the one with superhuman abilities would be in charge¡­" Clay frowned. He wouldn''t have been confident in this assertion under normal circumstances, but he felt he had things figured out when he saw the look on Radman''s face. He was visibly caught off guard. Even if Radman said something to the contrary now, Clay would probably never fully believe him. "¡­Actually, you''ve pretty much got it worked out. Our leader is a player like you." "And he was a goddamn V-Man, too. Two of ''em running around now¡­" Alan murmured. "As for Alan''s accusations, I''m not proud of my involvement, but I can at least say I didn''t directly participate in any of the more obscene things that went down there." Alan most likely had an unconvinced look on his face, one that Clay shared. "I mean it! Look at me! You think I was kicking ass and taking names!?" Radman stood up from the chair. His height barely changed. "Maybe you can already tell, but my expertise is more in engineering. Did you like the thing with the bookcases? I made that." "No, it sucks ass," Alan spat. Clay said nothing on that. He thought it was genius. "Well, no matter what you think, my smarts are what kept me in his good graces and let me get close enough to overhear him talking with his inner circle about how he gets so strong so quickly." He adjusted the goggles on his head with a hint of a smirk on his lips. "After some experimentation, I realized that you players give off a unique energy signature and secretly made a few devices that let me find them." What? "One of my readers detected a spike of energy in the city a few weeks ago, so I decided to search you out. Once you caused enough ruckus to let me find you, I scanned you from far away with a smaller wave detector and confirmed it." Slow down! "After that, I just waited for a good opportunity to make my approach. Now here we are! So, what I--" "Hold on, hold on!" Clay interrupted, having to repeat himself a few times, voices overlapping until Radman finally got the message and allowed him to speak. "This is a lot to take in all at once¡­" He had so many questions, but he started simple. "Why didn''t you just come to the apartments?" "Because his ass ain''t welcome!" Alan commented. "There''s that," Radman admitted, "but I also can''t make obvious moves. This actually ties into why I got into contact with you in the first place." He adjusted his lab coat and tried to stand up as tall as he could. "That group really values my abilities, enough that they''re not going to just let me run free. You see, I left a project unfinished that those Cro-Magnons have no hope of completing without me." Radman rubbed his knuckles against his chest. "Not to brag, but I might be the only one in the world who can finish it now." Didn''t ask. "The fact of the matter is¡­I don''t know whether or not he''ll come for me or send a few goons, but someone will come for me eventually. Best not to make it too easy by going to the first place I''d likely be if I came back to the city. If he deigns to retrieve me himself, I think the only thing that could possibly stop him is another player." Clay''s features worried. "Is he that strong?" "Definitely. Jumpers were nothing for him last I saw, and that was two months ago." Do you actually think I could do anything to a guy like that? You''d have to be the biggest retard in the world to think I''d get anything but squished! "I don''t expect you to help me for free, of course! I''m not much in a fight, but the project I was working on was a serious game-changer for guys like you. If I''m allowed enough time to finish my work, you''re sure to find it very useful." "You''re using a whole lot of words without actually saying anything right now!" Alan shouted. And Clay agreed. Radman was playing things close to the chest while pretending that he was giving them a lot, which was probably the smart thing to do during a negotiation. If it weren''t for the fact Clay worked out his leader was a player on his own, he suspected that Radman would have kept it to himself. It made him annoying to talk to. He needed more information. "At least tell us what this project involves. You don''t have to get into the details, just tell us what it is so we can gauge whether or not it''s worth our time. You can at least do that, right?" Radman didn''t quibble like Clay excepted. He smiled. He''d been waiting for this question. "How would you like not having to deal with Crowders anymore? Interested in that?" Chapter 15: Cookie "Bull-fucking-shit!" Alan put into words what Clay was thinking, more or less. There''s no way something like that could exist. On the other hand, a month ago he''d have never believed that things like other worlds and real-life game systems were anything other than works of fiction. It would be best to keep an open mind. Not too open, though. Radman had every reason to say whatever would buy him their protection from the sounds of it. But what was that protection even worth? Clay certainly wasn''t at a level where he wouldn''t be scared of Jumpers, and it also sounded like this other player had the numbers advantage. "Believe what you want to believe. That''s my offer." Radman returned to his chair. "I''m not going to even risk being disposed of by you after divulging the bulk of my findings." "You think we''re like that? You think I''m like that?" Alan snapped. Radman observed his clenched fist. "The motive is definitely there. However, I can also sweeten the deal in ways you''ll find more believable. Before I was put onto the Crowder Deflection Program, CDP for short, I cut my teeth on a few smaller quality of life things that I could definitely recreate if you got me a few materials." "What kind of quality of life things?" Clay asked before Alan could outright refuse him. "Before everything went tits-up, I had been working on plans for more efficient solar panels and equally efficient external batteries." He excitedly gesticulated as he spoke. "Are you aware the energy efficiency of commercial-grade solar panels only reaches an absolute maximum of 25%? Even the stuff they use in satellites only gets as high as 45%! A lot of valuable energy is either reflected or lost as heat¡­" He started explaining the specifics of how solar panels worked, which Clay couldn''t really keep up with. Clay had a cousin like this who could go on and on about these sorts of things and seemed to always be looking for an opportunity to shift the conversation in that direction. They didn''t have the social awareness to realize that they were being annoying. This cousin was also crazy smart. There was some give-and-take when it came to genius, he supposed. "Anyways," Radman said, which prompted Clay to stop spacing out, "the important thing is that I''ve revolutionized solar energy! My panels can reach an efficiency of 75%!" That is definitely a bigger number. "I don''t really know what that means," Clay admitted. "And if you plan on explaining, could you put it in words people who had sex in high school can understand?" Alan quickly added. Radman wasn''t deterred by Alan''s rudeness. "Depending on the number of panels we set up, it''s not impossible for us to provide power to the entire apartment complex. I could build in a system for rationing energy to specific parts of the building, but we could also just wait until the system can properly support everyone. Well, if the complex is as empty as I remember, then we probably won''t be waiting very long." "If you think you can just worm your way back in--" Alan began. So caught up in his train of thought, Radman continued without seeming aware that he was interrupting Alan, "It''s also not impossible for us to have AC again!" "I think we should at least discuss it." Clay had a stoic look on his face to hopefully offset how shameless that statement was. He figured Alan had to be conflicted as well when he didn''t immediately jump down either of their throats. However, Alan wasn¡¯t the type to often be at a complete loss for things to say. "If you were so good with all this shit, how come you ain''t ever throw these ideas by me back in the day?" Radman''s hands and shoulders relaxed. He was still smiling, but Clay could have sworn he saw one of his eyebrows twitch. "Are¡­Are you serious? I tried to get you to listen to me all the time. I had to wake up early just to catch you in the morning and let you know how great it would be if you could somehow scavenge me some inverters. Even a pile of calculators would have helped a little." "Tons of people in the building were constantly requesting shit! I had to keep my eye on the ball and prioritize!" Alan shot back. "I understood that. That''s why I never complained. However, you never got me anything I asked for even once! What happened back then was bad, but I was only ever thinking about what was best for everyone! Even near the end when you were just sitting in your room all day!" "You son of a bi--!" Alan took a step forward. "Do you even remember my name, Alan!?" Radman stood up again. "My actual fucking name!?" Clay attempted to interject, "Guys, don''t let this devolve into--" "Your name ain''t worth fuck to me, cocksucker!" Alan continued like he wasn''t there. It turned into a shouting match after that, leaving Clay unable to do anything except allow things to take their natural course. Neither of them revealed any new information. They just angrily reiterated the same points because yelling at the other person felt good. Clay got the feeling that they were both still holding something back despite their anger. There was a lot of yelling like all was bared, but they danced around the heart of the problem. There wouldn''t be any proper resolution like this. Pointless screaming. Pointless fights. Why even bother? Even if Clay wanted to try and pretend he was detached from the situation, he couldn''t help how anxious he was becoming. Alan was getting really heated, creating a serious concern he might hurt Radman. However, trying to pacify Alan might give him the wrong idea now that Radman was getting just as loud. ''Why the fuck are you taking his side!?'' Something like that could easily happen. So the only in he had was¡­ Alan took another aggressive step forward. Clay stepped closer and placed a hand on his arm. He didn''t have the strength to stop Alan if he decided to take things down that road, but he at least got his attention enough to finally say something he could hear. "Alan, I know you''re angry, but there''s no reason to take things beyond this. He called us here so we can talk, so let''s just do that, alright?" Alan grit his teeth, conflicted. That was a sign his plan had worked. Waiting to intervene until now wouldn''t cause any misunderstandings because Alan, even in this mindset, could see Clay was just trying to help him. Radman would also probably appreciate not having to throw down with someone twice his size. Alan relented, stomping his way towards the gap in the bookcases. "Fine! I''m just gonna get the hell out of here! All''s I gotta do is wait for a stiff breeze to kill this asshole, anyways!" "Try not to collapse a lung squeezing your way out, fatass!" After some huffing and Clay pulling the lever again to let Alan leave more easily, he was alone with Radman. "We''ll talk it over," Clay calmly told him. The color in Radman''s face gradually worked down from its red hue as he let out a chuckle. The juxtaposition between Alan''s high-energy exit and Clay''s subdued demeanor almost made Clay laugh as well. "You do that. I can offer more as time goes on as well, but maybe something I could give you right after we''re in agreement is information about your rival player. It''s valuable intel, I assure you!" "I don''t really plan on taking the fight to anyone, so I''m gonna be honest and tell you that I''m not exactly enticed by that." Clay started making his way towards the bookcases as well, not wanting to risk Alan leaving him behind. "I''m more intrigued by the devices you used to find me."The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. If this other player was evil, or even just amoral, Clay didn''t want anything to do with him. Best case scenario, they never meet. On the other hand, if there was a way for him to get into contact with players that were as conflict-averse as him... "I don''t want to say too much about it while we''re in the low-trust stage, but it''s as good as it sounds." He smiled politely. "I''ll be here every day from sun-up until sun-down. If you bring anyone here I don''t recognize, you''re never gonna see me again." Clay stopped at the gap. "One more thing. Why are you so sure that you''re gonna have to deal with these guys at some point? The world''s a big place." "I don''t know the specifics, but I''m certain that my gracious leader has something that lets him track me. He''s disguised it in the past as just having super good intuition, but he''s always been able to guess the rough location when an important prisoner escapes." The [Tagging] Skill? "Why don''t you just stay on the move, then? If it only gives them rough information, you could just move from place to place." Radman let out a breathy laugh, "Are you kidding? How would I get any work done if I had to pick up and leave all the time? I can''t carry everything I need with me. No, I''m the only one at the forefront of fixing this world and I''m not going to let them ruin everything I''ve worked for." The man looked closer to his actual age when he gazed at the pile of parts in the corner. "I just want things to settle down." Clay said nothing else as he left. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ The walk home hadn''t been filled with as much discussion as he''d expected. Alan hardly spoke at all, despite Clay''s best efforts. "I know that this guy rubs you the wrong way, but I think we need to seriously consider this offer." "Yeah, we''ll talk about it later." They didn''t talk about it later. Alan went straight to his and Milly''s room when they got back. He even skipped dinner. It was Clay that had to give a rundown of the day''s events to Milly. "I get that it''s a sensitive topic," he said while helping her collect clothes off of a clothesline, "but now that it''s come to this, I can''t just not ask about it. What exactly happened during the huge exodus two years ago?" "It was a hard time for all of us, Clay. Can''t you wait until Al is feeling better and ask him?" Milly looked uneasy, which made Clay feel bad for asking. She was always so nice to him¡ªhe didn''t want to sour her view of him by being insistent. "Yeah, I guess I can¡­" The next day, Alan decided he and Clay could both take a day off from scavenging and stay home. He didn''t sit in his room like the day before and spent the bulk of the day doing things with Angie. She''d always complained about Alan not having the time to play through the stack of board games he''d previously collected, so it looked like he was making up for lost time. Not wanting to get into something so obviously personal in front of Angie, Clay waited until he could get a moment alone with him. Apparently that was too much to ask for. Alan didn''t stop hanging out with Angie the whole day. There were a few times where Clay worked up the courage to try and bring him aside, but he always deflected it. "Alan, can I talk to you?" "Come outta your cave, kid? Hey, how''s about you play a game of Cans and Coasters with us and tell me what''s on your mind!" "Ah, that''s okay, it can wait. I think Milly actually wanted me to help her with something." "Oh, yeah! The ration stuff! Hey, can you hand out Angie''s share, too?" "¡­Yeah, no problem." "Thanks, genius!" Angie exclaimed while rolling a pair of dice. Not only did he not get a moment to speak with Alan, but he also discovered and lost a means to get him alone at the same time. If he''d just waited until Angie had to go hand out rations, that would have been the perfect moment. Instead, he was stuck giving out food and water to everyone left in the complex. Having only ever taken up half the workload before, he only met half the remaining occupants during that time. Now he was having to waste his time properly introducing himself to more old people who''d only ever heard about ''Alan''s new helper''. There were six floors and four units per floor for a total of twenty-four apartments. Among those, only eight units still had anyone in them, which meant that he only had to deal with four of them during his two-week resting period. Now that he was introduced to everyone, he quickly realized that Angie had stuck him with all of the units where the person he spoke to was the sole occupant. That meant that the likelihood that they would talk the ear off of the first person they spoke to that day would shoot way up. One he had to deliver to had two people living there, and one even had three. They were almost all on the older side, with the genial politeness that he was growing accustomed to. "It''s really nice to meet you, Clay. Now that I have this water, maybe I could make you some tea?" "You''re tall!" "My wife and I need you to settle this debate for us. Which do you think would be the worse way to die--" Only two people broke this pattern. One was much younger than the rest but was disabled. A middle-aged blind woman who was very pleased to meet someone new. She wasn''t quite so old, but she was just as chatty. The other one wasn''t really all that polite. That would be Calvin, the man who''d given Clay the comic books that got him interested in what this world''s entertainment had to offer. "You remind a lot of a guy I used to serve with," Calvin said in a way that sat on the border between insult and nostalgia. "The man was a complete idiot! Would''ve gotten what little brains he had blown out of his head if I hadn''t been there!" That remark made Clay wonder what the national conflicts of this world looked like. Kyle''s helmet in the clothing shop appeared to be WWII-era; did that mean they suffered the same wars? I don''t really feel like asking him, though¡­ "I set those cookies out for you, you know!" Calvin complained. "You better eat them!" "Oh, thank you¡­" "What!? You gotta speak up if you want me to hear you! My ears have gone stupid!" "I said thank you," Clay told him again, raising his volume while being careful not to shout at him. "Hmph! Look at the sorry state of you! They even feedin'' you right over there?" "I''ve always sort of been like this. I''m usually more thirsty than I am hungry." Calvin took a cookie from the small plate on the table between them and gave it a hard bite. They probably weren''t meant to be so crunchy. "People ain''t plants, son! You eat proper! That''s what really makes the difference when you''re out in the field!" He pushed the plate closer to Clay. "Ain''t your fault you''re so damn skinny, though! Government''s been putting chemicles in the food to weaken men''s bodies for decades now! That''s why I only ever ate the stuff I grew on my rooftop garden before I got too old¡­Now it hardly matters what I eat." I''ll just gloss over most of that. Clay kept the small talk going in the hopes he could wrap this up soon. It was best to get Calvin to prattle on so he could finish the rest of the cookies and excuse himself. "I''m surprised you were allowed to have a rooftop garden. It feels like something landlords could get strict about." "Heh! Never had any problems, seeing as how I''m the landlord!" "Really?" Clay genuinely hadn''t known that, but he did feign a little extra surprise for Calvin''s sake. "Yup, I own this building, at least in the ways people used to own things. Now it''s hard to say anyone really owns anything anymore!" "It is a thinker¡­" That turned into its own tangent until the ball was put back in Clay''s court to say something or else suffer an awkward silence. It''d have been a perfect out, but he still had two cookies left. "Thanks for those comics, by the way," is what Clay settled on. "I would have been bored senseless without them. Are you wanting them back any time soon?" "Keep ''em! I ain''t never been interested in that stuff, and it''s not like my grandson is gonna be coming back for them! Have to have an ounce of gratitude in his body for that! So you keep ''em! You''re doing me a favor!" "Alright, I think a part of me was hoping you''d say that¡­" Clay said uneasily. He didn''t want to get Calvin going now that he was close to making an exit. Wait. "I hope you don''t mind me asking, but was your grandson with the group that left the apartments two years ago?" Calvin nodded. "Yeh! Blood''s supposed to be thicker than water, but all it took was a little spit of deception from a goddamn snake to turn my boy against me!" "Did you ever meet the guy he was speaking with?" "I ain''t ever got to see the leader-boy, no. Only ones I met from that side were the goons Jaden brought with him to pick up some of his shit! What''s it to ''ya?" Clay toyed with the last cookie between his fingers. "The information I''ve gotten about these guys tells me their leader is pretty dangerous. Just trying to learn everything I can in case something bad happens." "Peh! No chance of that! They''ve already gotten what they wanted out of us!" "Probably not, but unexpected things happen. Doesn''t hurt to be prepared, right?" "Suppose not!" Calvin spat harshly, even as he agreed with him. "The only thing a kid like you ¡®oughta be doing when unexpected things happen is turn tail and run! Your generation ain''t built for this sort of thing! So weak and so easily controlled¡­" Clay couldn''t be offended by that. Most people he met around his age were pretty much as Calvin described, especially Clay himself. "That''s usually my first plan of action, yeah." He split the cookie in half. "Do you know anything about what this leader was promising? It had to be pretty good to get so many people on his side." Calvin usually responded almost as soon as Clay finished speaking, but this time he was a little more hesitant. "You wouldn''t have had to promise all that much back then, but he was saying all sorts of things about community and free food and all that. It was tough going for a little while then, ''specially for Alan. He''s the bossman, so when things go downhill for him, we all feel it." "That sounds about right. Something we saw reminded him of that stuff and now he''s acting weird. We have to discuss something serious and I don''t know what to say because I''m just so out of the loop, but I don''t want to just say whatever and end up seeming insensitive." "Well, I''ll tell ''ya a thing or two about what happened back then, but I can''t say I know a ton beyond the broad details. Don''t tell nobody you heard this stuff from me, though. My memory might be starting to go a bit too. Gotta be careful of that when you''re talking to old folks!" Clay almost smiled in relief as Calvin started recounting some things he heard around that time. As he left the older man''s apartment, he allowed Kissy to eat the crumbling remains of the last cookie out of his palm. It might have been a good thing he was being made to interact with all these people, actually. "Anything you can tell me would really help me out. I''m not trying to pry, but me and him work together and I wouldn''t even be discussing it if I didn''t think it was important." The old couple who''d needed his input on a debate they were having earlier in the day ended up being less helpful than Calvin overall, but they filled some holes. The person he spoke to after that was even more helpful than Calvin and the couple put together. He couldn''t get the ones he hadn''t spoken to before today, except for the blind woman, to say anything he hadn''t already heard, but they did at least verify some previous statements. Sorry to take advantage of you chatterboxes, but I''ve been letting you guys use me as a sounding board for quite a while. All I''m asking you to do is talk about something I''m actually interested in. He had what he needed now. Something like a full story. The core of this tragedy was that Alan had a son. Chapter 16: Alan Alan had been a construction foreman when this world more closely matched Clay''s. Leading people had been his calling, apparently. His expertise in directing groups during stressful situations translated well when things went to hell. Everyone in the building just sort of knew to fall in line when he began giving orders. When only the small scraps of news came that there could be some kind of outbreak, he started taking precautionary measures right away. As things got worse, Alan had a headstart on building his credibility by being the only person with a surplus of supplies. He''d even had plenty of guns as well! Of course, Milly made sure everyone knew that he''d been collecting firearms for a long time. No need to give him too much credit. Back then, Angie had only been 4 years old. His son, Cameron, was 17. Cameron and his father had a lot in common, mostly because Alan made a point to let Cameron in on his interests. Once Cameron was old enough, he responded in kind by excitedly talking about the things he liked. What those things were wasn''t anything unusual for a boy his age. Alan had never been much into comics or video games when he was young, but partook on the surface level to please Cameron. Eventually, it was fair to say that he probably liked video games even more than his son, who was too interested in girls after a certain age to ''waste his time'' on those things. The only thing Alan couldn''t really get into that Cameron was big on was painting miniatures. One of the neighbors faintly remembered Cameron complaining about it while giving them something he''d painted for them. "Old man thinks it''s too much trouble to thin his paints," he''d said. From the way everyone spoke, Clay got the impression that Cameron was an outgoing kid; a little annoying, but overall a decent person. Like Alan. When people spoke about monsters on the news, it had been Cameron''s idea to fortify the building at the very beginning. During a time when nobody could guess that society was going to collapse completely, he was written off. A week later, they were doing exactly what he said they''d have to do. During a period where there was always a ruckus going on outside, it was the only window where they wouldn''t have to worry about all the noise caused by hammers and power tools. When the time came to make excursions for supplies, it was a much more dangerous prospect back then. People hadn''t been earnestly thinning out hordes or acting recklessly to shift their locations with loud noises. The streets directly outside the building were packed with zombies, and this was during a time when they thought all they had to worry about was Crowders. The upside was that they had more able-bodied men as well. The main group was made up of Alan, Kyle, a man named Leonard, and a man whose name nobody Clay spoke to could remember. The last man died on their first outing and had lived alone. Alan worked carefully to refine strategies for exploration, while Cameron tried many times to get himself on their outings. Alan had been adamant about not allowing Cameron to come along, but too much time passed without the government or any other organized group doing anything about the situation. A year went by and Cameron was an adult who was vocal about how he could make his own decisions. Hearing it secondhand like this made Clay think he was missing out on a lot of the nuance, but he could sense that there''d been a lot of pestering and sideways comments if Cameron were as much like his father as he suspected. Before much longer, Alan had to allow Cameron to come out with them just to get him to shut up. One of the neighbors, the man in the husband-wife pairing whose name Clay now bothered memorizing (Howard), remembered talking to someone from that group who told him Alan planned on showing Cameron how scary it all was so he''d give up. It turned out to be one of their best outings yet. Not a lot of danger, plenty of supplies. By that point, the streets outside cleared enough that they could reliably leave the building, and the rest of them were experienced to the point where they could deal with small gangs of Crowders if they worked together. Maybe all of that had given Cameron a false belief in his abilities? Possibly, but everyone Clay asked said that Cameron really had the makings of a leader. He took after his father too much for this not to be the case. Alan''s caution gradually gave way to pride. Cameron was looked at almost like a second in command, even if a lot of the older men didn''t really take kindly to being bossed around by someone they''d watched grow up and could only see as a little kid. It couldn''t be helped; when he gave advice and people followed it, good things happened. Cameron''s uncle, Alan''s brother, Kyle didn''t really care either way. The blind woman (Jessica, but please call her Jesse) spoke to Kyle on many occasions and got a lot of her information on the situation from him. He''d told her about how Cameron was practically made for this new world, whereas he''d probably have been lucky to live a life closer to his father''s if things stayed the course of normality. It didn''t take long for Alan to start handing more and more responsibility to Cameron. He''d been doing a lot of the administrative tasks himself, alongside being the one to lead the group and figure out which buildings were worth breaking into and which were too dangerous. The only one he''d trusted with any measure of responsibility that wasn''t directly under his supervision was Milly, who he left in charge of distributing rations after he calculated who should get what. During times when not a lot could be given out and some felt cheated, Milly was the cheery, understanding face that could make them feel silly for complaining. Even Calvin remembered when one of his tirades was squashed by his inability to make Milly feel bad, though that might have been for reasons beyond how nice she was. "Damn succubus, I tell ''ya¡­" "Ah." Clay couldn''t relate. He thought Milly was a pleasant enough person to talk to, but¡­ I''m not into fat chicks. Cameron was eventually given command of the out-group on days when Alan wasn''t feeling well or needed time for other things. Over the course of another year, the ratio of leadership started to favor Cameron. Just like his father, Cameron almost seemed eager to take on more responsibility. Jesse posited the idea that after being so heavily burdened for a year and a half, Alan was glad to be able to rest. Of course, the building''s population didn''t get to be the way it is now because things stayed good. Alan, for the tenth day in a row, allowed Cameron to lead the charge during an outing while he stayed home. During this outing, an incident took place that ended in Cameron''s death. Everyone who was actually there is either dead or gone, but Jesse heard a lot about it from Kyle after the fact. They''d been searching one of the closer apartment complexes and managed to acquire a decent haul but got tangled up with another well-dressed survivor. Kyle described the man as emaciated and weak despite his nice clothing, but mad enough from isolation that things became uneasy. The man raved at their group, calling them rude names and accusing them of stealing his ''fortune''. He got louder and louder. Kyle attempted to mediate and settle things down before it got out of control, but the man wouldn''t stop. Cameron, who''d been tired and antsy even since the beginning of the day, lost his patience and slammed the man against a nearby car. He''d been rough enough that the man was easily subdued, but also rough enough to activate the car alarm. The horde was on them in moments and they were forced to leave the man to be eaten alive while he was still recovering. One of them was caught because they refused to drop the supplies they were carrying, a mistake the rest of them didn''t replicate. Unfortunately, there weren''t many avenues of escape and Cameron was forced to take decisive action to save the rest of the group. Jesse didn''t remember specific details, but she knew that Cameron ended up shooting a propane tank and causing an explosion that created the opening they needed to get back home.If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. Wait. "He shot a propane tank and it exploded?" Clay interrupted. "That''s what Kyle told me. I hope he died in the explosion, considering the alternative¡­" That sort of thing happening is a myth, though¡­ "Sorry. Go ahead." Alan was a complete wreck when he found out. When he wasn''t crying, he was dead silent, and that was when anyone could get in to see him. He spent so much time in his and Milly''s room that it''d be surprising if anybody but his close family could speak to him more than once a week. He''d gone from being the one everyone could rely on to being completely absent. Everyone understood and gave him his space, but that all went away when two months went by and nothing had changed and they were going hungry. With no strong leadership, things were starting to fall apart. More fights broke out between them, more things got stolen, and more people died during outings. Kyle tried his best to take Alan''s place, but he''d also loved Cameron and had always been much more sensitive than his older brother. He''d been a standard businessman who never let go of his hope that the old world would return and so couldn''t fully adapt to the way things were. Consequently, despite wanting nothing but to help Alan, all he did was make things worse with his weak leadership. Milly was the one who showed the most strength. She couldn''t help with any supply runs, and Kyle was already trying to organize everyone and maintain the peace, but Milly did literally everything else. She refused to talk about Cameron with anyone except Alan. "She doesn''t want anyone to see her cry," Kyle had said. "God, I feel so useless!" It was the perfect moment for a perfect stranger. A man came with a well-organized, well-fed group and offered to take in anyone who wasn''t crippled or above a certain age. He''d take whole families, as long as they were all able-bodied enough to help the community. He came with gifts and cleared away enough zombies that one would only have to deal with Crowders while leaving the building if they were unlucky. Compared to a washed-up Alan, didn''t this guy seem like a safer bet? Alan was disheveled and had noticeably lost weight, but he was full of energy when a large swath of his people told him they were leaving him behind to go with the stranger. The man had been there as well and apparently threatened Alan with violence if he didn''t quietly accept the situation. He didn''t restrain himself from calling them traitors and other such insults. From what Clay could glean, the stranger did end up assaulting Alan before leaving with the new additions to his group. It went without saying Alan wasn¡¯t going with them and neither was his family. Whether or not the event acted as some kind of wake-up call, nobody Clay spoke to could guess, but he did eventually get back on his feet with Kyle and Milly''s support. He and Kyle had to do the supply runs on their own, but they also had fewer people to take care of. They made do. Alan seemed like he was back to the way he was before, so there was an unspoken rule to never speak on Cameron or the exodus to keep from sending him into another depression. When Kyle was gone long enough that they had to assume he was dead, they expected a repeat of those languid days. Instead, he said he''d have to start doing his best on his own and went out the next day like usual. Clay stood in the hallway outside Jesse''s apartment after he pieced everything together. He more or less had all the information he needed now, so what was he going to do with it? He''d thought the answer would be clear once everything was in front of him, but instead, his motivation to talk to Alan about any of it quickly died. This was all way too heavy for him to handle. Clay felt like he understood Alan a little better now, though. He''d spent all that time with everything on his back, then things went wrong the moment he relaxed a little bit. It explained why he tried to shoulder every responsibility while acting as if everything was fine. It also explained why he might be quick to attack random strangers he thought could be dangerous. His anger at the people that used to live here, too. Clay could understand it. From his perspective, he''d been abandoned at the lowest point of his life. On the other hand, they were also just people who wanted to survive. Even so¡­ Clay wasn''t there, so he couldn''t say whether or not they could have gone about it in a better way, but the whole thing still just felt so¡­callous. As a shut-in, and also probably because that was where his loyalties were, Clay felt his sympathies drift closer to Alan. He knew what it was like to want to shut himself away from the world, even pretend that he was alright so as not to worry the people around him. Maybe it would help if he spoke to Alan from that perspective? Don''t get ahead of yourself¡­ Clay frowned. Yeah, don''t try to turn this into an opportunity to whine about your pathetic life. This is a man who''s lived through actual hardship, so don''t patronize him by pretending you''re anything alike. He''s suffered in a way nobody should have to go through. You''re just a run-of-the-mill failure. He scolded himself. This was about Alan, not him. "What do you think I should do, Kissy?" Clay asked the rat, not actually looking for any sort of answer. As expected, she didn''t even squeak at him from his jacket pocket. For all he knew, she might have been sleeping in there. After a little more consideration, his next course of action almost felt too obvious. He stepped back into Alan''s apartment. "Hey there, kid!" Alan exclaimed while handing his daughter a small stack of fake money. "You get lost or something?" "I bet he got stuck listening to one of Calvin''s stupid stories!" Angie answered for him. Alan laughed. "Angie! Don''t be talkin'' about people like that!" "Alan, I want to talk to you about Radman," Clay said quietly. "Aw, come on! At least wait ''til I''m not playin--" Alan started before Clay cut him off. "I just want to say we should tell him no." Alan didn''t try to finish his sentence. His eyes widened and his hands stopped reaching for the dice Angie was trying to give him. "What?" While Alan was staring at Clay, Angie was trying her best to force the dice into his hands. "I don''t get it! Just take your turn, dad!" "I don''t think it''s worth the trouble. You obviously hate him, and helping him would get us into conflict with someone we probably can''t beat," Clay continued. "It sucks that we won''t get our hands on any of those incentives, but we do a good enough job on our own. It''s not worth the trouble." Alan limp-wristedly rolled the dice while he listened to Clay. His bewilderment gave way to curiosity. "I get where you''re comin'' from, but maybe the people here won''t like what they''d be missing out on if we decide not to." "Let''s just not tell them, then. You''re the one in charge of keeping them safe, so if your judgment is that taking a certain course of action would put them in danger, then just remind them of that if they ever find out." Clay knew this was the way to go. It was true that Alan disliked Radman, but the main reason he didn''t want to accept the offer was because of the bad memories it would bring back. He couldn''t give that as a reason to Clay, so he was putting it off and spending all this time with Angie until he could think of something better. "I don''t get it. What are you guys talking about? Quit talking about stuff I don''t know like I''m not here!" Angie whined. And maybe it was also because speaking with Radman reminded him of what he still had. In any case, Clay would give him this out. He wouldn''t pressure him into agreement. "Nothin'', honey. Just talkin'' about stupid adult stuff." Alan moved his piece. "Stuff we probably still gotta get into with the wife." Clay smiled. "Definitely. I was just about to say the same thing." At the end of the day, the three of them were in agreement that they''d decline Radman''s proposal. Clay was passively aware that he didn''t actually get a say, but he still advised Alan not take the deal and the vibe almost made it feel like his vote mattered. After the discussion was over, Alan confidently spoke about the building they would be going to for their next supply run after they told Radman to kick rocks. They''d still need to acquire diesel at some point, but it was more important that they get together food and plenty of wood for their makeshift wood stoves as well. The best source for that in the city would be townhouses, places filled with furniture they could easily break down in silence with Clay''s powers. The specific area had a moderately safer Crowder count and there''d be less trouble overall transporting broken pieces of furniture without having to worry about cramped apartment hallways. When Alan went off to bed, Clay was just about to do the same. After standing up, he was stopped by Milly''s comment. "You''re sneaky, Clay." He attempted a casual smile, but it was probably as nervous as he felt. "I am?" "Yeah, you are." Her smile was a lot more confident, and her tone remained as gentle as usual. "You don''t usually talk to anyone, so it''s hard to get a read on you. Then you spend most of the day talking to everyone. Pretty weird, huh?" Clay said nothing. "You''re okay, honey." She waved a hand towards him. "It says a lot when a shy thing like you turns into a door-to-door questionnaire. You must''ve been really worried about Al." Clay ran his hand along the back of the chair he''d been sitting on, unable to meet Milly''s eyes. "Maybe. I''m probably not as good as you''re thinking I am, though¡­" "Hmm, and how good do you think I think you are? Even if you ended up going about in consideration of Al, you still asked about things you had no business asking about." Milly''s tone overall was the same, but she leaned forward. She was staring up at him, but he couldn''t look at her. "Yeah, I''m sorry¡­" "I''m not mad at you. A little annoyed, but not mad. Just tell me why." Why get out of his comfort zone over something that would have been solved soon anyway? "I didn''t want to act until I had all of the information. I¡­I was worried if I said something wrong without having the full context, I might accidentally make the situation worse." In other words. I thought I could help fix it if you all stopped leaving me out. It was annoying that the reason why things got to this point was because of his status as a ''player'', but he was brushed off when he wanted to be taken into consideration. "And why do you think I haven''t told Alan about what you''ve gotten up to?" He wasn''t sure at first, but his best guess was¡­ "You agree with me that it''s all too much trouble. More importantly, it could force Alan back into a bad place." Milly held up a finger. "Well, you''re half right. I''m not worried about Al. That man is stronger than a lot of people in this building give him credit for. Stumble once and suddenly everyone thinks you''re always on the edge of an episode. I''m more concerned about this ''Radman'' and his group." "Yeah¡­you''re right." "That sort of sneakiness ain''t attractive, but you did what you did and said what you said for Al. I don''t think you''re good, but you''re doing just fine. That''s about all anyone can ask with things the way they are." Clay finally looked at her. "Should I say thanks?" "Just say ''yes, ma''am'' when I tell you not to do it again, okay?" "Yes, ma''am." Clay had a harder time than usual getting to sleep that night. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ The next morning, Alan was already eating and fully dressed by the time Clay was waking up. Was he that excited to tell Radman they wouldn''t be joining forces? His exuberance over it was enough to make Clay forget about Alan''s tragedies and remind him how annoying he could be. "You gonna tell ''em to fuck off, or should it be me? Can it be me?" "Maybe it''s a good idea if we try not to leave things off on a sour note? If we brush him off too strongly, he might reveal that I''m a player to his group out of spite if they end up catching him." "Right, right. That makes sense¡­I think I might still tell him to fuck off, though. Just once." And when they left the apartment complex to go speak with one man, they instead found ten waiting just outside. Chapter 17: Understand The group had been lying in wait until they''d left the building. They stepped out from all over the place. Alan noticed the first two walk out from behind a car and aimed his shotgun at them. "Stop right there!" He called out. "Alan¡­" Clay muttered to get his attention as more and more of them emerged, all with guns. He reached for his revolver. "I wouldn''t do that if I were you!" One of them said from outside Clay''s vision, drawing his attention towards him while he pressed his back against Alan''s. There was one next to the man who''d warned Clay that already had his gun aimed at him. Clay wasn''t much into guns, but he could at least recognize the one being pointed in his direction as an AK-47. "Don''t you move! Don''t you fucking reach for that gun! If you move an inch, I''m gonna blow you away!" His hand froze before his fingertip could even brush against the grip. His fingers were dead still, but the rest of his body experienced small tremors that threatened to bring him to his knees. They were quickly surrounded on all sides, with a few of them shouting over each other to get Alan to drop his weapon. "You''re surrounded, man! Put that shit down!" "It doesn''t need to go down like this! Put down the gun!" "I''m so done with this shit that I''d actually be happy to fucking kill you! Give me an excuse! Go ahead!" Clay felt Alan look around. His body was so tensed up that it was like being leaned up against a brick wall. The standoff only lasted a minute at the most, but time slowed to a crawl. Why couldn''t Alan give up a little faster? With all these guns on them, things could only end badly for both of them if shots were actually fired. So why was Alan being so obstinate? Clay gave in the second he saw how many of them there were. "Alan¡­" He tried not to whimper, "¡­please!" Alan turned his head to look at Clay from the side of his vision, stopped, then faced forward again. He slowly aimed his gun lower until he had it pointed at the ground. "Drop it! Drop your gun on the ground!" Alan clicked his tongue but leaned down to place his shotgun at his feet before standing up straight and placing his hands flat against the back of his head. Once there wasn''t any danger of Alan getting off any shots, two of them moved in on Clay and ripped his revolver out from his tool belt. "That''s a shiny one!" The stranger commented as he turned it in his hand. He wore a pair of sunglasses and a backwards baseball cap. Like the rest of them, he was wearing a tactical vest. "You''ve been doing a good job maintaining it!" Alan said he''d kick my ass if I didn''t¡­ "It''s even got something engraved on it¡­What''s GCC mean?" "Golden Cowboy Card," Alan answered on his behalf. It''s how he''d known for sure it was Kyle''s gun when he found him at the clothing store. "Sweet, man. I miss Kevin''s Heaven, too." Everyone was still pointing their myriad varieties of guns at them, except one man who allowed his gun to hang from a strap around his neck while he placed a hand on the shoulder of the one who''d taken Clay''s gun. He signaled him to step away, which he did. This must be their leader. He was tall, slightly taller than Clay and only a little less skinny. He had dark skin and darker hair cut short, just a step above a crewcut. He held Alan''s shotgun by the barrel in one of his hands while he briefly looked Clay over. He seemed unimpressed. The man circled back around to stand in front of Alan. His voice was calm. "I want to start by saying that I''m sorry we approached you this way. We knew you two would be armed, so I just wanted to make sure my men would be safe before we spoke to you. You understand, right?" "I guess," Alan gruffly responded. Don''t get an attitude! Clay imagined himself being shot in the stomach and left painfully crawling around before his life finally seeped out of him. "Alright," the man continued, "we''re looking for someone. We know he used to live here with you guys, so we thought it was possible he might have come back. He''s part of our group, you see, and we''re very concerned for his safety. Do you understand?" "Sorta." Alan was now trying to not let his anger with the situation show, but he was doing a terrible job. Clay wasn''t even looking at him, but just that one word told him the kind of expression he had on his face. "''Sorta''? Please let me know where I lost you. I''ll explain it simpler this time." His tone was friendly to the point of being patronizing. "I get that you''re lookin'' for someone who used to be here, but I ain''t met with nobody that''s flown the coop." "Mhmm¡­" The man hummed. Clay tried to turn his head to see what sort of face he was making. "Eyes forward, quickdraw!" Someone in front of him said, snapping his attention straight instead. The man who scolded him had a goatee and a pair of normal eyeglasses that made him look a little older than he probably was. Ignoring that, the one talking to Alan carried on with the interrogation. "See, this is a problem. I don''t want to put you in an uncomfortable position, so how about we make an agreement, as adults, to not lie to each other. Does that sound fair? Is that understandable?" "Sounds good to me," Alan answered. "Excellent. Now, please tell me when and where you met with Richard. Is he in your building right now?" "Now it''s gonna be me not wantin'' to put you in a hard place. I don''t know nobody named Richard who ever lived here, far as I can remember," Alan sighed. "Not sayin'' it''s impossible, but there used to be a lot of people who lived here. Hard to remember all them names, y''know?" "Yeah, I get it. It''s--keep your hands out of your pockets, please--It''s easy to lose track." Clay heard the sound of Alan''s jacket being softly disturbed. A pat on the shoulder? "The thing is, I know for a fact you spoke to Richard recently. The story he had to tell was pretty memorable, right?" There was a brief silence, then Alan said, "Don''t touch me, asshole." "Hey, hey!" The man rose his voice without losing any of its soft politeness; the rustling of clothing became hard slaps to Alan''s shoulder. "I''m being polite, aren''t I? I''m being an adult. You''re the one getting ugly here, okay?" "I don''t appreciate havin'' guns stuck in my face." "I already explained it, though. You heard me explain it, right? We had to do that for our safety. Would you like me to break it down a little more for you? I don''t want you to be confused!" Alan''s voice wobbled from the man''s blows to his shoulder shaking his body. "I get what you''re trying to say, but I already told you I can''t help you out here." "That''s fine! It''s fine if you don''t want to help, man. I just wanted to make sure you understood where me and my friends are coming from. I don''t want there to be any hard feelings. Everyone knows the best way to avoid bitter feelings is to make sure both sides understand each other, even in conflict." These men were obviously looking for Radman, whose real name was apparently Richard, and somehow knew they''d spoken with him already. Did that mean the group leader could be the leader? Was he a player like Clay? Clay tried to turn his head again to get a good look at him. "Eyes! Forward! That''s the last warning you''re gonna get, dumbass!" He tried not to make the same mistake a third time. The slapping to Alan''s shoulder stopped. "Sounds like everyone''s full of energy today. I don''t want to keep you guys from doing what you gotta do, so we''re gonna make this quick." His voice got a little further away as he took a step back from Alan. "I''m Ed, by the way. I already know a bit about you, including your name, so I thought it''d be impolite to not at least tell you mine." Alan said nothing. It''s not him. Alan already met the leader in the past and the way Ed spoke made it clear this was their first encounter. Ed hummed again. "Search the place top to bottom."Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. Clay felt Alan jerk forward, just in time for two men to move in as well. When Clay turned around, he saw that Alan had the muzzle of two guns nearly pressed against his head, keeping him from advancing on Ed any further. In spite of that, Alan''s hands clenched and unclenched with obvious intent to continue pressing his luck. Clay started moving to put a reassuring hand on Alan''s shoulder to try and calm him down before he got himself shot, but rough, calloused fingers latched onto his wrist and wrenched his arm behind his back. "I told you a million times to face forward! You used to take the short bus or something!?" Goatee-eyeglasses was the one who had Clay in a hold. He yanked his arm up hard enough that Clay impulsively attempted to pull away. In response, he felt his chin jerk to the side, followed by a floating sensation as he was brought to the ground. His thoughts were dazed. What was that? Oh, he was just punched by someone he hadn''t been keeping an eye on. Now the one holding his arm was bearing his weight down on his back and keeping him in place. The occasional pressure on his arm caused bursts of pain that brought him to his senses. He heard many people talking at once. Most vividly was the man on top of him. "You gonna behave!? Or do you wanna keep acting like an asshole!?" It felt like he was going to break Clay''s arm. "Aghh! Stop! Stop! I''m sorry! I wasn''t going to do anything! You''re hurting my arm! Please!" He heard Alan as well, "You ain''t goin'' in my place! You ain''t fuckin''--Get your guns out outta my face and come at me like men, you cowards!" Four men kept Clay and Alan company alongside Ed while the rest of the group easily located the rod they used to bring down the fire escape ladder and start heading inside. While Alan cursed and lied over and over again that he didn''t know what they were talking about, Clay thought over his options. He had 5 Stat Points. If he put all of them into Strength, would that let him overpower the man on top of him? He wasn''t confident in saying it would. On top of that, even if he got this one off, there''d be nothing stopping them from riddling him with bullets right after. [Sound of Silence] didn''t have any slots filled up because he liked to have them emptied out at the beginning of every day. It wouldn''t be much use here anyway. The only thing left was to bet on the possibilities hidden inside his Mystery Box. It was still at a Common rating, but things were dire enough that¡­ No, that wouldn''t work either. He couldn''t reach it from this position. "Why can''t you be reasonable like your friend?" Ed complained as if he were talking to a child. "Didn''t I explain our position? It''s annoying, but I can explain it again for you if you''re having trouble." There was a cold pit in his stomach. He stayed on the ground and kept quietly apologizing. So useless. Clay did his best to arch his back and take some of the pressure off of his waist. He could at least keep Kissy from being crushed underneath him. If their search was causing any commotion inside the building, he couldn''t hear it over the one around him. They couldn''t do anything except wait with their captors and hope for the best. After half an hour, they returned to the alley and reported that nobody in the building looked anything like Richard. One of them was holding a 24-pack of Dasani water bottles wrapped in plastic. "You''re gonna steal my water, you fucking asshole!" Alan shouted. "What the fuck!" "You got plenty left!" The thief responded almost defensively. Ed shrugged. "At least the trip won''t be wasted. I understand it''s frustrating to lose supplies, but it could be worse. Considering our position of strength, you stood to lose a lot more." At least nobody got shot¡­ Clay wasn''t going to start relaxing yet, but at least there hadn''t been any loud pops coming from inside the building during their search. "Ed, you won''t believe it; I found some comic books under one of the beds!" Another one said as he dropped down from the fire escape with the box Calvin had given to Clay. You might as well shoot me¡­ "That''s great, Cas," Ed pretended to clap. "We''re all so proud of you!" "Fuck you, man." Ed grinned and put his eyes back squarely on Alan. "Alright, looks like you got him someplace else. Wanna make it easy for us and just tell me where he is? I think we understand each other enough that you can trust me with a secret." "Fuckin'' scumbags! You better not''ve touched nobody in there or I swear to God--!" Ed cut Alan off with a blow to his jaw, jerking his face in the direction he swung his fist faster than Clay could properly register and sending his hat flopping to the ground. He''d briefly seen him reeling back, then the punch was already done. Alan leaked blood from his mouth while Ed took over from there. "Sorry, sir. It''s just¡­do you think people''s patience goes on forever? How many times do you think I''m going to let you yell at me? Didn''t I already explain everything to you? Now, where is--?" "I already told you I don''t know! If this is about one of those traitors that abandoned me a few years back, then I wouldn''t let ''em anywhere near me to begin with!" Alan spit a bit of blood onto the ground. "Fuck¡­" Ed stared impassively at Alan, scrutinizing him for any sign of deceit. Maybe it was because a lot of what Alan said came from the heart, but it seems he couldn''t find any. "Fine. Let them get up." Clay and Alan were standing in the alley while the gang kept them at gunpoint. The one who''d taken Clay''s revolver was now also holding Alan''s shotgun. "We''re gonna be taking your weapons. Sorry, can''t risk you two shooting us on our way out." Ed waved goodbye and started walking away. "You might see us around, but let''s be friendly from here on out, okay?" The goons walked backwards with their guns still trained on them for a few steps, then turned around to walk properly and converse with each other. Clay definitely heard one of them mocking him to the amusement of the rest. "Ooh~! Ooh~! I''m sorry! Oooh~! My arm~!" Clay clenched his fists. He wanted to kick something over, but he turned towards Alan instead. "You okay?" "Fuck no, I''m not okay," Alan said frostily as he stared at their shrinking silhouettes. "Those pieces of shit went into my home. God fuckin'' damn it¡­" Alan wiped some of the blood on his lip away with his thumb and turned to look Clay over. He at least tried to not sound as pissed off when he asked, "You okay?" "Yeah, I''m fine." Clay rubbed his chin. "I''ve had worse. One time a guy even busted up my nose." Alan forced a laugh. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Another day was lost picking up after the ambush. They checked around to make sure everyone was okay and saw that the group had turned everything upside down in search of Radman. They''d torn open closets, beat on walls to check for hidden rooms, and rolled over furniture. Clay spotted a tiny coffee table that couldn''t have possibly hidden anything that had still been flipped over. According to the to the people inside, they''d been equally unpleasant in their interpersonal dealings. "They didn''t have any business touchin'' me like that!" Calvin complained. "I told ''em you ain''t touchin'' my shit neither! Then they pushed me over!" Even when they have guns, this is how you act? You''re lucky getting pushed over is all that happened¡­ "I swear, if I was even 10 years younger, I''d have¡­" Calvin was unharmed, but very annoying while Clay helped him pick up. Everyone else had similar stories¡ªfrazzled, but unharmed. Not letting the rest of the building in on Radman turned out to be a good idea, as everyone they encountered either didn''t know who they were talking about or had obviously not seen him in two years. "They asked about Richard," Jesse told Clay, "the boy that used to live on the second floor. I guess those men must have been with that gang a bunch of old tenants joined a while ago, or an enemy of." For obvious reasons, Clay and Alan had to do all the work picking up Jesse''s things a little later on. She was very particular about where her furniture went. The real trial came when they''d started bothering Milly and Angie. From what Alan told him, Clay figured this was probably Angie''s first taste of anything quite like this, and it showed. She was still sobbing when Alan and Clay burst through the door, with Milly holding her close and soothingly rubbing her back while whispering assurances. They''d had guns put in their faces, with Angie receiving the brunt of a few threats if she didn''t quiet down. Of course, this only made her more upset. The little girl usually did nothing but get on his nerves, but Clay still felt angry that she had to go through something like this. He couldn''t even imagine what Alan was feeling. "Baby, I''m¡­" Alan sounded like he was going to apologize, but he moved in to hug her and lightly brush his fingers over her arms and legs. "Did those men hurt you?" She shook her head against Milly''s chest. "Hey," Clay said gently while he knelt down next to Angie. After a trip to his room, he produced a packet of white powdered donuts he''d looted from the convenience store. "I''ve got a present for you." "It''s hic¡­It''s all smashed up!" She said between sobs. It tends to happen when one is forced to lay on top of something when they''re hiding under a car. "Guess I''ll eat it, then." Clay opened the wrapper. "Don''t find these every day, you know!" "Nono! I want it! I want it!" Hassling their daughter had actually screwed over any chance they had of getting actionable information on Radman. Milly was the only person in the building that knew anything about it, and she could have been misled into revealing everything if the men had been smart enough. Unfortunately for them, they''d given Milly the perfect excuse not to say anything beyond short sentences while she cared for her child. Angie was so worn down from the encounter that it wasn''t hard for Milly to coax her into taking a nap so she could discuss things with them. "Look at your face¡­" Milly softly turned Alan''s head to get a look at what Ed''s punch had done to him. "Asshole had a mean right hook. Didn''t even see it coming." He tried to eat a cracker, but winced after chewing it a little. It probably wasn''t what made him slam his fist on the table, though. "Damn it! How did those scumfucks know we spoke to that midget!?" "I don''t think they did." Clay spoke up from the other end of the table. Milly had given him a water bottle that was left in the cold to press against his face. "Not for sure, at least." Alan looked up from staring angrily at the table to acknowledge Clay while Milly sat down next to him. "What makes ''ya say that?" "It''s just a gut feeling, but I feel like they would have pressed us a lot harder if they were 100% sure we knew where Radman was." Clay took a bite of a cracker as well. It didn''t hurt to eat, at least. "I got the impression we were being felt out, you know what I mean? Don''t you think they lost a lot of confidence after they checked the building and didn''t find him?" There was a silence, which made Clay feel like he said too much. "Take anything I say with a grain of salt by the way. I don''t know how to even begin navigating this kind of situation." "Nono, I think maybe you''re right," Milly reassured him. "It''s just that I can''t figure out how they''d get an inkling without being super sure. I can''t wrap my head around it¡­" "Fuck!" Alan slammed his fist on the table again. "I want to kill those motherfuckers so bad! Come into my home, scream at my little girl--!" "Alan!" Milly squeezed his shoulders, tenderly rubbing her thumbs into him in an attempt to soothe his anger. "Please! I''m angry too, but Angie is trying to sleep!" Alan''s fist tightened on the table, but he ultimately relented and started rubbing his face. "I''m sorry, Mils. I''m sorry. Fuck, I''m a goddamn mess¡­" Clay didn''t enjoy seeing him like this, but what could he say? The only thing he could think to do was move forward pragmatically. "Alan," Clay started as he looked off towards a recliner in the living room, "I appreciate that you didn''t because I''m not sure what would have happened to us afterwards, but why didn''t you just sell Radman out?" It was obvious Alan didn''t care much about what happened to Radman, so the easiest thing to do would have been to simply tell the group where he was. "Well, they were comin'' on so damn strong that I just lied on instinct. After that I was thinking that we all agreed we weren''t gonna step in one way or the other. Tellin'' them where he is as good as takin'' a side." Alan took a napkin off the table. "I hate that little bastard, but I''m sure as hell ain''t lookin'' to give any sort of advantages to those creeps. ''Course, if they''d actually threatened to shoot me or my people, I might''ve caved¡­" "There''s also no guarantee they wouldn''t have killed us after we gave them what they wanted," Clay added. "That too." Alan stuffed the napkin into his mouth to soak up some of the blood. "Didn''t they say they''d be around?" Milly asked while still rubbing Alan''s arm. "There''s also no guarantee they won''t come back, right?" Clay nodded slowly. "I was thinking the same thing, but I''m also thinking that we could be out of the woods already. As long as we don''t give them any reason to suspect us again, they might just leave us alone." "It sounds like wishful thinking, dear." Clay nodded again, this time in resignation. "I''m not going to deny it." But it made sense to him. Logically speaking, if there wasn''t any sign they could get to Radman through them, what would be the point of interacting with Alan''s group? Clay started tentatively throwing out ideas for precautions just in case, but he thought it was safe to assume that their trouble with the other group was over. Chapter 18: Jinx The trouble started even before Clay saw them again. "Fucking--!" Alan beat his fist against his bed to keep himself from shouting again. "Couldn''t stop at taking the ones we had on us, they even went lookin'' for guns while they were here. They took the pistol I kept in my bedside drawer." Clay was leaning against the doorway with a worried expression on his face. "Did they take all of our guns?" "Pftt!" Alan finally flashed a genuine smile. "Fuck no. I hid the bulk of ''em someplace real safe a long time ago to make sure nobody in the building could grab them up whenever they wanted. Had to make sure the ones drinkin'' their days away didn''t check out, y''know?" "Makes sense." Clay cleared his throat. "Speaking of which, I''m sorry I lost your brother''s gun. I know it''s not exactly my fault, but¡­" "Then no reason to be sorry. Plenty of guns left!" As if to give him further reassurance, Alan gifted Clay a new gun later on in the day. "I know you liked your revolver, genius." He nodded. It was easier to reload a revolver than it was to fiddle around with a magazine. Also no chance of jamming, he''s told. "Yeah, you do. So I got the perfect replacement, one that I''m just achin'' for you to lose. Seriously, this thing makes me sick." Alan handed Clay his new revolver. The one he''d inherited from Kyle was a loud silver, whereas this one was a matte black. The barrel was a bit shorter, but the most eye-catching thing about it definitely had to be how square it was. It was all hard angles and ridges; even its cylinder looked like a rectangular block. "That, my friend, is a Chiappa Rhino 40DS .357 Magnum. You know how every time you shot Kyle''s gun it felt like it was tryin'' to jump outta your hand?" Alan traced his finger along the bottom of the blocky barrel. "This ugly thing was made so that the bullets actually fire out of the bottom chamber here. See this? The muzzle is actually in line with your hand, so the force is sent back towards you instead of up. Reduces the effect of the recoil. Cool sorta novelty thing. Wouldn''t be caught dead with a gun this ugly in my collection otherwise." Shit, Clay didn''t want to say it out loud because Alan made his opinions on it very obvious, but he couldn''t help himself. "It''s so cool¡­" It had a futuristic feel to its design that made him think it wouldn''t look out of place in cyberpunk-type movie. And it was easier to fire? It''s no contest. "I''m thinkin'' maybe those guys knocked out whatever sense you had left in that head of yours, genius." The world belongs to the young and modern, old man. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ After a short span of time spent not getting anything done, Alan wanted to start by getting his hands on water to replace the pack of bottles Ed''s group stole from them. Once again, the quest for diesel or anything they could burn was delayed. They didn''t find much water, but it was a lucrative day for canned food and XP. >EXP: 105/2000 On their way back home, they were stopped again by a few members of Ed''s group only a few blocks away from Alan''s building. There were only four this time, but among them was the Goatee-Eyeglasses that had put Clay in a hold the day before. "I see you guys still had some guns lying around," he said while eyeing the rifle slung over Alan''s shoulder. Alan didn''t say anything; he merely maintained eye contact with a stony expression. "Well, I''m not gonna take them from you this time because I''m nice, but if we see you guys walking around with guns again we''re snatching them up." Maybe he was trying to smile politely, but it just looked like a smirk. "We need time for tensions to cool off, at least, but it''d be better for everyone if you just made do with those machetes until we find Richard and clear out of town." You don''t get to walk around with guns unless you tell us where Radman is. It was hardly subtle, yet the flare of frustration hit just as hard. This was either their way of trying to force them into a confession or just make their lives harder for not having the information they came for. All they could do was stand silently and wait for them to back off. Goatee-Eyeglasses took a can of peaches from a small cardboard box Clay was holding. Clay averted his gaze without thinking and immediately regretted not working up the gumption to at least look him in the eye like Alan did. "You already have so much stuff piled up, but you''re always finding more shit. You guys must be pretty smart." This haul was thanks to Kissy leading them to a place she''d probably meant for Clay to look into when they first met. Goatee-Eyeglasses flicked open a pocket knife that Clay couldn''t help but fixate on. It had a serrated blade and a dark green handle. It was spotless, but he flipped it into an underhand grip so effortlessly that Clay doubted he was inexperienced with it. "Me? I''m stupid as hell. I can admit it. If I were smart, I wouldn''t have to waste two months chasing after anyone because I''d have been put on doing more important things." He plunged his knife into the can and started sawing the lid open. "Look at this, dude. What kinda caveman opens a can like this? Hey, why aren''t you looking?" Clay''s eyes had been drifting to the side as the man spoke. He didn''t want to look at whatever weird display he was trying to put on because he knew that this was all about intimidating him. He hated that it was working. Would it calm his nerves if he didn''t look? "Alright, I guess you don''t have to look¡­Damn it, there was a little tab here I could''ve used to pull it open. Told ''ya I was stupid!" Goatee-Eyeglasses stuck a peach slice with the tip of his knife and lifted it up to point at Clay''s face. "Here. Pale ''fella like you, you need something to eat." He placed a hand on Clay''s shoulder that made him jump and finally look directly at the knife again as it was brought closer to his lips. What''s going to happen if I put my mouth near that knife? What the hell is this guy''s problem? Even though it was probably a fake-out, Clay didn''t want to capitulate. He slowly shook his head and attempted to take a step back. "Hey." The hand on his shoulder tightened. "Eat." With no options left, Clay slowly opened his mouth and leaned in to suck the peach off of the knife. At the last second, Goatee-Eyeglasses flipped the knife towards his own face and ate the peach instead. "Hahaha! You were really gonna do it, huh? Relax, man! It''s just a joke! You''re so tensed up over nothing!" I hope you get bit by a Jumper, you prick. They left a little while after that without any more fuss. Clay didn''t get the can of peaches back. "You good?" Alan calmly checked on Clay after they were left alone. He didn''t feel good. "Yeah, I''m fine. I think this is just posturing to make sure we know who''s in charge." The assumption was still that they were just flexing their muscles while they looked for Radman. Just a little longer and they''d get bored. That''s not what happened. For the next week, Clay and Alan would have run-ins with them almost every day. Sometimes all of them would be there, sometimes just a few. After being forced to walk around without guns, each of these encounters was fraught with tension. Fortunately, nothing ever got as physical as it did on the first day. The closest it got was when Goatee-Eyeglasses ''accidentally'' spat on one of Clay''s shoes. Likely sensing his weakness, they usually focused their antics on him. "Whoops! Sorry, bud! I was aiming for the ground!" "God damn it!" Alan snapped while stepping between them. "Leave the kid alone already!" "You lose your glasses, grandpa? He''s a big boy now!" Goatee-Eyeglasses moved forward, trying to look around Alan and get in Clay''s face. "How old are you? Aren''t you embarrassed to be letting your Dad fight your battles?" "That''s enough!" Alan shoved him away. Goatee-Eyeglasses put his hands up while the rest of the group aimed their guns at Alan. Satisfied with his work for the day, he continued taking steps back. "Fucking pussy¡­" He said just loud enough that Clay could hear as they departed. "You good?" Alan asked for the third time that week. Clay kicked over a trash can, a show of anger he didn''t usually allow himself. It felt like they were spending more time hassling them and less time actually looking for Radman. They didn''t even discuss him with the pair anymore, so what was the point in continuing these idiotic games? The answer was so obvious that he kicked himself for not realizing it sooner. He told Alan and Milly his thoughts after dinner. Clay had been thinking from a logical standpoint when he assumed they''d leave them be after their first encounter and when he continued to believe they''d get bored and leave them alone after bullying them for a little while, but people don''t always act logically. After months without any progress and their best lead all dried up, they must have had a lot of pent-up frustration to let loose. Clay and Alan just happened to be the only ones around, as well as the only ones that couldn''t fight back.This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience. "I thought something like this was gonna happen." Alan worked his jaw. "I just didn''t want to jinx it." "Do you guys think they might go too far?" Milly asked. "It''s a genuine concern when you''re dealing with people in a world without law enforcement. Sometimes people just do awful things, then carry on like nothing happened because nobody''s there to hold them accountable." "I''m thinkin'' they like trying to make the kid cry a little too much for that." Clay couldn''t argue with that. "On the other hand," Alan scowled, "you can''t be sure of anything when it comes to situations like these. If it weren''t close to snowing, I''d say we could just lay low for a couple''a days. We gotta get ahold of some diesel." Then it was time to bring back a topic of discussion Clay toyed around with from the first. "I should talk to Radman and get more information." Alan swatted a hand at the air like the idea was a fly buzzing in his face. "Fuck that! Lettin'' him lure you in like that was what got us in this mess in the first place! Vetoed!" Under most circumstances, Clay would let that be the end of it. Alan was in charge. However, he thought he''d earned a chance to have a proper say after a month spent with them, especially since things had gotten to a point where they couldn''t be sure what might happen. They had to get a leg up somehow. "We don''t know anything about these guys, Alan. Radman might be able to give us a few pointers on how we could deal with them, tell us how they think," Clay politely explained. "I could go and see him on my own." "The last thing we need right now is for them to catch you alone, kid." "Plus they have to be watching you two by now," Milly pointed out. "You could end up leading them right to him. Then they''ll know we lied. Things could spiral out of control." Alan nodded. "That''s right. The only thing we can do is stick it out and wait for you to get the [Immune to Bullets] power-up or something." That''s not in my Skill Shop¡­ On top of that¡­ >EXP: 155/2000 Having to scavenge for supplies without their guns kept them from acting as boldly as before. If things kept going like this, his already slow progression would slow to a snail''s pace. There''s no telling if they could afford to wait that long. Shot down from all sides like this, Clay had to think of something else or lose the argument entirely. "Wait, let''s just consider all the options here. Radman is a boy genius or whatever, right? Maybe he could make something that would give us an edge?" Alan scoffed. "If he could whip up a game-changer like that, he wouldn''t have gone lookin'' for you." "He can''t make much of anything right now. He told me that the reason why he doesn''t like moving around too much is because he can''t get serious work done. That''s the reason why he wanted our help. If he didn''t have to relocate, and I could get him whatever parts he needs, then there''s a chance he could make us something that might help." Alan finally stopped to consider what he was saying. Now that he had his attention, Clay kept piling points on, "It''s true that he might not be much help if we were dealing with the real leader, but these are just a bunch of normal guys. They also don''t know for certain that we''re in contact with him. Radman could be our ace in the hole!" "There''s just one thing about that, honey." Milly leaned back in her chair, plagued by obvious concern. "How would you get back in contact with him? We have to assume you guys are gonna be watched whenever you leave the building, and it''s not like we can just call him on the phone." "I know where he''s going to be during the day. As for making sure I''m not followed¡­" Clay glared at the table. He couldn''t believe he had to even consider this. "I''ll have to move at night. I have an idea for how we can correspond afterwards, but I''ll need to meet with him in person at least once." "Now I know you''re kidding!" Alan threw his hands up. "Remember that talk we had about going around at night, genius? You''re just beggin'' to be spotted by a Spooker and hunted down like a dog!" "That''s exactly why I have to do it at night. The zombies are everyone''s enemy, so they have to hide from the Spookers, too. I can sneak away and move freely, more or less." Clay''s glare deepened. "You''re right that it''s risky, but it''s a risk I''m willing to take. Since it was my idea, it''s only fair that I be the one to do it." That''s best I can do. If they say no after all that, I''ll accept it. It''s not a decision that only affects me. Clay would understand if they said no, but he wouldn''t like it. It was his fault they had to put up with this. It was his status as a player that drew Radman and the goons who followed him to them. He had to do something. Alan and Milly exchanged looks. Alan did something with his hand that seemed to say ''it''s your call.'' Milly was understandably conflicted. She didn''t even try to hide it. After having looked into their past, Clay knew for sure that Milly was a lot smarter and stronger of character than he''d ever thought. It wasn''t unfair to say she was the backbone of this place, which meant that the safety of the people here would be paramount. It''s why Clay insisted he go alone; if things go wrong and someone had to die, it was better to risk an outsider like him. Milly finally looked at Clay. Her eyes widened slightly, then hardened. "Okay. We''ll let you do this¡­" Milly said, then quickly added, "but we''re taking every precaution, young man!" Clay clenched his fist under the table, a mix of fear and excitement swirling inside him. His thoughts were equally opposed. Yes! I wish you''d taken the matter out of my hands by saying no! ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ They didn''t go through with this plan on the same night in case instigating them into action was part of their plan. The next day was taken off as well, but they found enough supplies throughout the week that the lost time wasn''t felt as much. Still, it was a day wasted because of outside forces. Not that it was spent relaxing. Clay walked Alan and Milly through a few more of his ideas for their approval, and Alan worked out what Clay should bring with him when he goes out. He had clothing close to his size that was fashionably at odds, a pair of sweatpants and a long-sleeved button-up. The only reason to wear such a mishmash was because they were both black. "It won''t matter much to Spookers, but this''ll at least help keep you hidden from Crowders and the asshole patrol." Alan said as he stuffed a bag with a few things for him. Part of the plan required Clay to stay in the college building overnight and wait for Radman to show up, so he was given a sleeping bag and some stuff to eat while he was there in case Radman wouldn''t be able to feed him. More importantly, Alan gave him something to protect himself besides the ''ugly'' revolver. Since he was trying to undermine the asshole patrol anyways, he might as well disregard their rules and be properly equipped. It was a hunting rifle. Clay almost mistook it for another shotgun, but the barrel wasn''t as thick, and there was some kind of hinge mechanism near the trigger that Alan lifted as a demonstration. The barrel itself was also shorter than the standard Clay had in his mind for hunting rifles. "It ain''t even snowin'' yet and you''re getting Christmas presents. This is a Marlin STP .45-70. It''s a lever-action rifle, so you can fire it quickly, but I wouldn''t recommend it because I have a feeling that firing this thing even once is gonna make you cry." Alan tapped his own shoulder. "It''ll kick your ass and it''s loud as hell, but you only gotta worry about one of those things. The main reason I''m choosin'' to give you this one--¡­Hold on, lemme make this clear, you''re borrowing it." "You don''t have to worry about me getting attached. I don''t like guns." It already hurt to fire Kyle''s revolver. If this was recoil that even someone as experienced as Alan had to mention, then he wasn''t looking forward to using it. "Hmmm¡­" Alan eyed Clay suspiciously, then went on. "Okayyy¡­Anyways, the main reason I''m givin'' you this one is because it''s got good range, hits hard as hell, and it''s short enough that you can travel with it once I put the sling back on. This is specifically for shootin'' Spookers if you can''t avoid ''em. Got it?" Clay nervously took the rifle from him and looked it over. Despite its smaller size, it still felt heavy. He could acclimate to that weight now, just like with the revolver in the dressing room. Alan showed him how to position it, adjusted the sight for him, and ran him through a few drills where Clay would have it slung over his shoulder and try to get it into position to fire as quickly as possible. "You don''t need to work on your trigger discipline at all, but I can tell that you''re not lookin'' down the sight right. Hold it up a little higher. Tuck in deeper here. You gotta be careful because once a target gets far enough away, you can''t just point and shoot like you usually do. You also can''t count on peoples to run at you like Crowders do, so be sure to lead your shots." Clay lowered the gun from the wall he was pointing it at. "I don''t plan on shooting actual people, though¡­" "Just lettin'' you know ahead of time in case something happens." Alan scratched the top of his head through his hat. "But outta curiosity, what are you gonna do on the off chance you get caught and they start seein'' red? You can''t just lay down and die, right?" Clay didn''t have an answer for that. He focused on practicing his aim. Alan didn''t press the issue. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Clay waited until well into the night before making his move. Alan and Milly stopped him a few times to nitpick over details, but ultimately assisted him in slipping out one of the only windows that wasn''t boarded up: a small rectangular window in a first-floor bathroom. "Seriously," Alan spoke gravely as he slipped Clay''s supplies through the window after him, "be careful." Clay would be lying if he said he wasn''t touched by his concern. He nodded. Then his nighttime journey began. The last time he traveled at night was all the way back when he was forced to sleep in a dumpster. It''d only been a month since then, even if it felt like longer. He ran into a small problem when he realized he''d actually forgotten the way to the community college. Luckily for him, Kissy was there to put him back on the right path while she scouted for zombies. Squeak squeak! Clay brought a flashlight but kept its use to a minimum so as not to attract attention. Now that he was properly educated about the danger of Spookers, he also examined every street he crossed. Even if it was clear of Crowders, he used a pair of binoculars to catch out any thin figures in the distance before he''d risk stepping out into the open. With the less-than-spectacular night vision normal zombies had, Spookers were the only risk. Unfortunately, they were a big one. Alan''s told stories about them spotting people from so far away that they couldn''t locate the Spooker in turn, even after turning in the direction of that tingly feeling everyone got from being ''marked''. Being in a city meant there was a lot of buildings to use for hiding, but it also meant there were a lot of vantage points Spookers could use if they ended up high enough. They were possessed of rudimentary intelligence, like Jumpers. It was their behaviors that differentiated them. Jumpers that got to do a lot of hunting would pull tricks like using corpses or wounded to lure in more targets, but Spookers were more like vultures that waited for the Crowders their marks brought onto the scene to do most of the work before they moved in to pick at the scraps. There wasn''t any danger of them losing out on dinner because they have to share since they''re the only zombie type Alan is aware of that specifically likes to eat bones. Other zombies eat bones incidentally if they have them in their mouth, but they prefer to tear the meat off and leave them behind in most cases. Clay figured that Spookers would be in places that gave them a good view, so he focused mainly on the far ends of long streets and the tops of buildings. He also wondered if it was possible that they could hide inside buildings and look out from windows, but that would be impossible to confirm without liberal use of his flashlight. So far, that didn''t seem to be a problem. It was slow going, like the last time he tried to move in the night, but he stepped with a lot more confidence. He could take care of stray Crowders without worry now that he had his gun to fall back on, so he wasn''t wasting nearly as much time cowering from every small bit of noise. What a relief. It was just a Crowder. When he caught himself at ease with the thought that it was ''just'' a zombie, he wondered if there was something wrong with him. Did simply having a gun make this much of a difference? It certainly did when he eventually spotted a Spooker before it spotted him. Just like he guessed, it was standing on the roof of a fast food restaurant called Bigboy Burgers. It hadn''t been caught out by its eyes or its presence like last time. If Clay had been able to see its strange red eyes, it would have been because it was looking back at him. No, he caught it looking off in a different direction. Crowders tended to wander around aimlessly, but this one was standing its silent vigil while barely moving at all. Clay took aim with the rifle and attempted to steady his breathing. From his lowered position in the alley and the distance, he wasn''t confident he could hit it with a gun he''s never used before. When it started turning its head, he lost his nerve and hid instead. He ended up leaving it be and continuing his journey without messing with it. It didn''t feel like it was worth the risk or the ammo if he could get through without fighting. Surprisingly, the rest of the trip to the college was easier than he thought it''d be. He had to dispatch a few Crowders on the way, but all in all it hadn''t been the harrowing thing he, Alan, and Milly thought it would be. >EXP: 185/2000 Chapter 19: Precautionary Clay didn''t do much sleeping once he got to the college building. It was hard to relax in an unfamiliar location, so he didn''t even try. He spent most of the time reading by flashlight in a classroom with a view of the hallway that would let him see Radman enter his office. "Do you know how to read?" Clay asked Kissy after seeing her toy around with a crumpled paper ball on the floor. Squeak! "You want to read this with me, then?" He held up the book for her to look at. ¡­Squeak! "Alright, just squeak when you''ve finished reading and I''ll turn the page." He said this with the impression that, being a rat, Kissy would be a slow reader. That turned out to be untrue, put politely. Squeak! Kissy chirped from where she sat on his knee. "You''re kidding! I''m only halfway through the first page!" Rapid fire squeak-laughing was her only response to his distress. The book was called The Lost Balloon. It was about a boy who wants to be a wizard with an older brother who already goes to a magic school. The description on the back made Clay think it was going to be a comedy about a young boy who lost a balloon that he filled up with his brother''s magic dust and must retrieve it, extract the dust, and make it back before his brother is expelled from school for misusing his magic tools. It was kind of like that, but a lot of the book was actually from the balloon''s point of view as it went from situation to situation. The prose sometimes described its movements and circumstances like it was alive but also made sure to always remind the reader that it wasn''t. Through luck and the small bits of magic infused into it, the balloon prevents a kidnapping, destroys an underground gambling racket, marries a dragon, and saves the life of the nation''s wizard president. In the end, the balloon was not retrieved, but a chain reaction ends up making the problem with the dust moot. The story of the brothers ended happily, but it becomes melancholy when it describes how the balloon just continued floating on alone. ''The red balloon floated when all else went to the ground. It floats alone. Always seen, but never found.'' It had the vibes of a book for older children, but the way it spoke and the complicated words it used at some points got him thinking it might be some kind of meditation or satire. "I don''t think I''m smart enough to understand this book," Clay dourly admitted. Squeak squeak squeak squeak! "I''ve been nothing but nice to you." At some point, all of the tension of his walk here and his lack of proper sleep from worrying over the asshole patrol caught up with him. There was also the thought that the night had gone on enough that he might as well just stay up and sleep later. So of course his body decided then was the time to make his eyelids heavy. When he woke up, it was because of a familiarly painful stinging sensation in his hand. Any trace of sleepiness instantly evaporated under Kissy''s wrath. Sunlight was starting to creep in through the windows, and, true to his word, Clay saw Radman opening the door to his office from where he was sitting. Clay scrambled up to start approaching him, which caused him to rustle his sleeping bag and draw Radman''s attention. "Wahh!" He immediately reached into his coat and whipped out a hunting knife to point towards him. From this angle and with only the beginnings of light starting to come in, Clay must have been hard to recognize. Even with the knife, which Clay was smart enough to still be wary of, Radman didn''t look very intimidating. "Radman! It''s me! Keep it cool, alright?" Clay announced himself as he stepped closer with his hands up and his fingers splayed. However, Radman waved the knife in his direction to keep him from getting too close. "What the fuck are you doing here!? I told you you could meet me, but that''s not an invitation to just ambush me like this! Did you camp out here overnight!?" Clay didn''t want to escalate things any further, so he did his best not to let his confused annoyance show on his face. "We¡¯re in the middle of a situation. Don''t you watch me? I thought you might have already known about it." "You think my life revolves around you, Sadman? I said what I needed to say last week and left whether or not we saw each other again in your hands." Radman wasn''t waving his knife around now, but he still had it pointed at him. "Then I can explain things to you. Let''s just talk like last time, okay?" Clay did his best to smile reassuringly. He eyed Clay closely, then slowly slid his knife into a sheathe attatched to the inside of his coat. "¡­Alright. I''m going into my office now¡ªfollow me in two minutes." Clay had no reason to say no. --- Once they were in his office and Clay had a chance to outline the situation with the asshole patrol, Radman became a lot more understanding. That might also have something to do with the fact that he conveniently left out the tidbit about how they planned on turning him down. "I see. That definitely does create complications for us¡­" He drummed his fingers against his desk in thought. Actually, his entire attitude shifted after being allowed to step into his office. He dealt with Clay a lot more casually, and that erratic twitchiness he exhibited in the hallway was completely gone. That could only mean one thing. Radman had defenses in this room besides the bookcase. These defenses might even be lethal, if the fact that he hadn''t been worried about him and Alan being in the same room with guns while they were having an intense argument was any indication. "Here''s what I don''t get." Radman motioned toward Clay with his hand after he got tired of drumming. "You''re a player; why don''t you just overpower them with your abilities?" It was finally time to shatter some dreams. "I didn''t want to say this before, but you''re under a pretty big misconception about how strong I am. I''ve only been at this for a month, and this other guy has been going strong for at least two years. It''s obvious that there''s going to be a disparity between us." "Hmmm¡­" Radman stared at Clay, as if only taking the time to truly examine him right this moment. "You are a little underwhelming. You definitely don''t have that overpowering aura of charisma that he did, but I thought it was possible you made up for it in smarts and strength." Best I can do is neither. He sighed and rested an elbow on the desk. "Okay, so maybe you''re not strong enough to go toe-to-toe with my leader yet. That''s no problem. It''s fortunate that he''s too lazy to deal with these ''lesser'' problems on his own, so we only have to deal with these Neanderthals. How strong are you, exactly? How many do you think you can take?" "Uh¡­maybe one, given I have a gun and he doesn¡¯t," Clay said with a straight face. "Alright, that''s¡­Okay, a lot of my plans are going to have to be thrown out now. How strong are you compared to an average person?" "I''m pretty much the average person. If it''s raw strength, then you''re better off talking to Alan." "What about your powers? Don''t you have a few special abilities?" "I don''t really think it''s in my best interest to outline all of my Skills, but I can tell you that I don''t have anything that''ll help me get one over on anyone unless the conditions are right." "Hey, no offense, but aren''t you kind of useless?" The guy I''m being compared to has had two years to grind! Clay''s response was collected, "Yeah, I''m not really all that useful. Besides some of my abilities, I''m mostly just an extra set of hands. I probably won''t ever be able to catch up to this other player, so you''re already doomed to fail if I''m your last hope. My recommendation to you would be to get out of the city before they track you down. That way you can lose them for a little while and also get them to follow you, leaving us alone." Radman gave him a mirthless smile. "Sounds like I''m the only one getting the raw end of the deal here. You guys get to go on living the way you want and I have to abandon my work yet again."The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. "It was you who chose to abandon Alan and follow this guy in the first place." Clay leaned forward, placing his hands flat on the desk. "We also didn''t agree to help you, so it''s not fair to force us to fight your battles." "They came after you guys on their own. I can''t control that." Radman didn''t bother smiling now. "And ''abandoning''? You don''t know what you''re talking about. You weren''t even there." "Exactly, which is why it''s especially unfair to drag me in as well. I have nothing to do with whatever is going on between you, Alan, and this other player. Even if you believe Alan is somehow at fault, I didn''t do anything wrong. Neither did Angie or Milly or anyone else in that building." Why was he being so confrontational? Hadn''t he come here to get Radman''s help? He couldn''t stop himself now. "If we''re talking about getting the raw deal, then it''s us who are suffering just for talking to you. You brought them here, and now we have to deal with them on our own? Explain to me how that''s fair." Now Clay understood; he was lashing out. He wasn''t immune to the same sort of logic-defying emotionality that drove the asshole patrol to torment him, and he doubted that he''d be going this far if Radman hadn''t said he was useless. It also helped that Radman was much smaller than him. If I''m useless, then what the hell are you? Radman made a series of faces during Clay''s rant. Irritation. Indignation. He looked angry enough to throw it back in Clay''s face somehow but glanced down at the desk between them to think instead. After a pause, Radman nodded in resignation. "You''re right. Not 100% right, but right enough that I can concede that you have a point. I put you all in danger because the two months I spent giving them the runaround built up my confidence enough to reach out to someone. I didn''t expect doing that would cause so much trouble for you. I''m sorry. Genuinely." Clay''s irritation cooled after the apology. Now he felt a little uneasy after going off on him like that, even if he hadn''t raised his voice. "It''s fine¡­Well, it''s not fine, but I know you didn''t mean to cause any harm. If you''re serious about not leaving, then I''d want to ask you to at least do a few things for me." "Hm!" After the moment of seriousness passed, Radman went back to leaning in his chair and doing his best to put on an aura of intelligence. "I sense you have a plan. Are you going to ask me to make something that can wipe these idiots out?" Clay nodded, removing his arm from the rifle''s sling and placing his gun on the desk. "Something like that, but I¡¯m not big into the idea of killing these guys unless I have to. There''s a chance they''ll leave us alone soon, after all.¡± ¡°Either way, I don¡¯t have the supplies to make anything properly helpful. I used up enough bits and bobs to secure this office, and my ability to make anything else is limited until I can scavenge more parts. You¡¯d have to be very realistic with what you want, even more so if you¡¯re determined not to kill anyone.¡± ¡°In that case, I wouldn''t even know what to ask for. I was more hoping you could give me information on the members of the asshole patrol and take care of a few miscellaneous things for me." "Miscellaneous things, eh?" Radman smirked. "Precautionary measures. Just in case. Some lethal, some not." "Mhmm¡­Alright then. As long as it doesn''t put me in the line of fire and it''s not too much of a pain, I''ll take care of it for you. Before that, tell me who it is that you''ve been forced to deal with." Clay proceeded to tell Radman about Ed and describe the appearances of the other men as best he could. Sometimes the descriptions were too vague and Radman had to ask follow-up questions that Clay couldn''t always answer. "Brown hair and a beard? How long was the beard?" "Maybe I know that guy. Did he have blue eyes?" "Hmmm, that''s a tough one. Did he stutter at all?" It was rough going, especially since Radman had apparently never been particularly close with anyone in his old group. For most of the men, it was open-ended things like ''if it IS him, then he''s a bit like this''. Potentially useless and not even that helpful if it did turn out to be the person he was thinking of. In the end, only two people could be confirmed. Ed and Goatee-Eyeglasses. From what Radman heard, Ed used to be a schoolteacher. He''s somewhat close with the other player. As for Goatee-Eyeglasses¡­ "That''s definitely Ronny. Total idiot. The thing that annoys me the most is that his vision is perfectly fine; he wears those glasses because he thinks it makes him look cool." Radman tilted his head as he looked up at Clay from his seat. "Man, I feel bad for you. Ronny''s got problems." As Radman tells it, Ronny had a penchant for singling out particular survivors that weren''t under their group''s protection and messing with them. A lot of the time it was antics that Clay was familiar with, but every now and again¡­ "I wasn''t there, but I''m pretty sure I remember hearing about Ronny beating a guy to death. Still, as long as you keep taking the passive approach and don''t try to fight back, you should be fine where he''s concerned." That''s not exactly what Clay wanted to hear, but it was at least useful. After that, it was mostly just a talk of logistics and things Clay wanted done or looked into. "Yeah, sometimes I''m in that area," Radman said in response to something Clay asked for. "Didn''t even have to go that far out of my way when I went to retrieve your stuff after you got chased off by that Hammer." It was called a Hammer? Yet another case where Clay believed the name he came up with in his head (Smasher) was far superior. Radman let out a breath through the side of his mouth. "It''s probably a good thing that this isn''t your plan A. I''d never suggest anything so risky." "It''s risky, but there''s a few things I noticed that could come in handy¡­" The differences in this world were small, but they added up to a theory in Clay''s head that could be taken advantage of in a worst-case scenario. And only in a worst-case scenario. In the midst of their conversation, things shifted away from the task at hand and towards the mundane. By this point, Clay went from standing in front of the desk to sitting in a chair he had to yank out of a pile of the office''s original furniture. "I like role-playing games and sandbox stuff, but I''m not averse to other kinds of games." Radman was leaned as far back in his chair as was possible, with his feet up on the desk. "Cool! Do you like RTS games at all?" "¡­Alright, I am averse to some kinds of games. RTS is definitely one of them." "Ugh, you''re one of those shooter-brains, aren''t you? Can''t handle a little bit of actual strategy in your games, ''V-Man''?" Clay frowned. "There''s plenty of strategy in games besides RTS ones. I can also definitely say I''m not shooter-brained. The last time I played something like Call of Duty was¡­gotta be close to eight years ago." "Call of Duty?" Radman asked in an easygoing tone. "That''s a game from your world, right?" "Y-" Clay stopped before even properly starting his response. He stared intensely at Radman. "Hmm, so you were keeping it a secret. It''s a good thing I didn''t bring up anything in front of Alan, eh?" What was going on? How could he know that? Was the existence of another world something else he learned indirectly from his leader? He made it sound like the things he learned from his time with this other group were limited, but there wasn''t any way to confirm that. He knew that Radman was playing things safe, so why had Clay lowered his guard? No, the better question is why did Radman bait him like that? If he knew for sure that Clay was from another world, it would be another thing he kept to himself, right? Clay blinked. Radman hadn''t been sure. He was using this as an opportunity to probe him for information. "Another world? I guess if you think of Europe as another world, that might make some amount of--" Clay tried, attempting to play it cool despite his nervousness. "Save it, alright? I don''t care if you''re from another world; I just wanted to know for sure." Radman tilted his head up, a touch of smugness entering his tone. "You were starting to tell a really funny lie, though. I wonder if you had that prepared or if you''re just that good at improvising off the top of your head. If I didn''t know what I know, that could have tricked me. Without any internet to be sure, how could I look up if there is a game like that in Europe?" Clay stayed silent. "Don''t misunderstand, Sadman, I wasn¡¯t trying to trick you just now. I just took advantage of an opening, that''s all. I''m intrigued by what else your world has that mine doesn''t. Do you mind answering some questions for me?" No, wait. Maybe this isn''t a bad thing. Clay''s stoic expression slowly gave way to a composed smile. "Not at all. As long as you don''t mind answering some of my questions in return." They spent the whole day talking about things both important and unimportant. Radman was also nice enough to feed him before the sun set over the horizon, which signaled that it was time for Clay to return home. "Goodbye, Sadman." Radman waved him off. "Goodbye, Kissy." Kissy hissed at him. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ When he returned to Alan''s building, Alan and Milly were both waiting for him. There was a small chat about what he and Radman spoke about, as well as some words about Alan''s rifle, but the bulk of it ultimately had to wait until after Clay could rest. He didn''t even remember his head hitting the pillow before he turned into a rock. After they were caught up to speed in the morning, Alan insisted they go out and scavenge for supplies. "Whatever the case, we need to hurry our asses. We''ve lost too many days because of these guys and I''m pretty sure I saw it snowin'' a little last night. We ain''t takin'' another day off for a long while, y''hear? Clay heard him loud and clear, even though he was pretty sure there hadn''t been any snow. The days of collecting supplies and occasionally being hassled continued on. After the third day, it definitely began snowing. On the fifth day, Alan decided enough was enough. "We can''t put it off no more. We gotta get our hands on some diesel, even if we gotta do it without guns." Clay finished untying a small pink ribbon from Kissy''s head. "Do we want to try that gas station again? Radman told me that Hammers usually like to hang around the same spot until they get too big for it." The more a Hammer is allowed to eat, the larger its body becomes and the more room-meat it has to cover itself in. "Are ''ya really gonna keep callin¡¯ that guy ''Radman''? We know his name''s Dick now. And wouldn''t you know it, I''m pretty happy to just call him that." "He keeps calling me Sadman, so I''m going to keep calling him Radman." Clay turned to grin lightly at Alan. "Kind of makes it feel like we''re in Top Gun." "I dunno what the hell Top Gun is, but I do know that if this Hammer fella'' is gonna be hanging around Kevin''s Heaven, then I ain''t goin'' anywhere near it. With or without guns." In the absence of guns, Alan hadn''t given Clay as much side-eye when he crafted a spear from a knife, a beheaded broom, and a lot of duct tape. Written down its length in Sharpie was the name Clay had given it: Facestabber. He''d considered naming it Facefucker to give it that hard, post-apocalyptic edge. Unfortunately, there was a child in the house who was learning to read. Facestabber was laying across Clay''s lap as he talked things over with Alan. "Do you know of another place we can get it, then?" "It''s gonna be a little out of our way, but I do have a place in mind. Bad thing is that it''s gonna take us back near the business district." The peek Clay got into what it was like in that part of the city made it hard to sleep at night when his thoughts drifted that way. So many Crowders packed so densely together¡­ "Is that really the only place left? There has to be other gas stations out there, right?" "I know what you''re thinkin'', kid, and I''m not trying to give you the impression that I''m eager about goin¡¯ anywhere near that place. The thing about it is that the business district has been that fucked up since the very beginning. Besides that Kevin''s Heaven we went to last time, it''s the only place I''m certain ain''t been drained. Nobody would be dumb enough to try scavenging anything from there." "Except us," Clay corrected. "Yeah. ''Cept us. I wouldn''t even be suggesting it if it weren''t for those sound powers of yours. We''re gonna fill them slots up with gunshots just to be sure." Alan pat Clay on the back so hard that the weaker man''s slouched posture straightened all at once. "Don''t worry over it so much. Long as we don''t do anything stupid like last time." This was happening whether Clay liked it or not. The only thing he could do is trust in Alan''s leadership and experience. "¡­By the way, if I had a cute nickname like Radman or Sadman, what do ya'' think it''d be?" Fatman. Clay sucked his lips into his mouth. It was best not to say it, but that''s the first thing that came to mind. It was also the exact sort of name that an adversarial Radman would give to Alan. "You''re makin'' a weird face, kid." "I was just thinking about it for a second¡­You like to wear that bucket hat, so maybe Hatman?" Chapter 20: Pop On the way to the place where diesel would hopefully be found, Alan was whispering to him about a comedian/actor that he''d been shocked Clay had never heard of. "Dexter D Satan. You seriously ain''t heard of him?" "Can''t say I have. Is he really that famous?" Clay wondered if this was just something weirdos like Alan were into. If it was on par with not knowing who Will Smith was, then maybe it could be a problem in the future. He''s been making a lot of references to ''foreign'' things, so it''s possible he could play it off like he used to be a foreign exchange student. "Famous? Are you really tellin'' me you ain''t seen the hits? I''m talkin'' genre-defining films here." Alan was practically hissing in his ear. "Dexter Vs the Surface of the Sun? Dexter''s Day Off? He was the main kid in Ryan Seacrest and the Dastardly Pencil!" Clay made a face at that last one. He told himself he''d stop reacting to some of this stuff when it got too silly, but that stun-locked him for a moment. "No, I haven''t heard of any of these movies. I used to be a foreign exchange stu--" "Shh, we''re getting'' too close to be talkin'' so damn much. Let''s shut up and just do like we talked about." You did that on purpose, didn''t you? It was true that they couldn''t afford to make too much noise now, though. Their approach to this gas station, an unfamiliar one called Ampz, had to be slow thanks to the collection of hard plastic gas cans they were carrying. As they stepped up to the fence, they reached the point where no more words would be said until they were finished taking what they needed. Things like how they¡¯d be carrying this out and what to do if anything went wrong had already been worked out, all the way down to where they could meet up if they got separated and where to offload their gas canisters for future recollection if they became too cumbersome to carry during a chase. They didn''t need Kissy to scout ahead and squeak that there were zombies nearby. They could hear them just fine. Along the road were small groupings of Crowders, the midway point between the calmer streets near Alan''s home and the absolutely untenable swarm deeper in the business district. They were shuffling and making occasional groaning sounds that all mixed together like the clamor of a crowded room. This was the reason why they had to take a peculiar approach from the back and climb over a fence. There was enough ambient noise that the light rattling of the fence wouldn''t be any cause for concern once they draped a particularly thick blanket over the top. Then it was just a matter of allowing Alan to straddle the fence and gently place their things on the other side before they continued on. There weren''t many zombies around the area where they would be spending the bulk of their time, but they went ahead and swiftly dealt with them. They couldn''t leisurely allow Clay to land the killing blow on all of them, so it didn''t amount to much extra XP. Including the ones he''d killed since talking to Radman, this made five total that Clay had been able to use to strengthen himself. >EXP: 235/2000 This gas station used a fill pipe behind the building that tanker trucks would fill, which was different from the one they''d initially meant to take from. When he was told, Clay had been concerned with the length of Alan''s siphon hose. Clay had to admit that he walked right into the joke Alan made when he assured him it would be sufficient. Their bags were left on the ground along with their gas canisters so they''d have full freedom of movement. They both had their machetes. Alan had a few extra knives on his person, and Clay had Facestabber to make up for the loss of their guns. They got to work immediately. Alan identified which opening would lead to the diesel and got it open and ready for the tube while Clay kept watch. If anything looked like it was about to see them, he''d tap Alan on the shoulder and refrain from speaking. Alan started sliding his hose inside. Clay felt naked without a gun. If anything happened that brought every Crowder in the area on top of them, he didn''t have an assured one-hit kill. He wasn''t confident enough in his prowess with the makeshift spear to see it as a true replacement for his revolver. Was he the same guy who had quickly killed five zombies like it was nothing? Not without his gun he wasn''t! It seemed like Alan only had just enough hose to hit the tank. Now all they had to do was pump until they could be sure of the contents. For all they knew, it could have been emptied a long time ago. Alan procured a manual pump to make up for the change in distance that made starting the siphoning process by sucking on one end of the hose impossible. It would require the squeezing of a ball-like hand pump. A lot of squeezing. Because they were above the underground tanks, they could only start relying on gravity to help them out once the diesel started flowing. Alan predicted that it was going to cramp up his hand at some point, so they agreed to switch their positions every few minutes. It really did take a lot of pumping, so much pumping that nothing changed until it was Clay''s turn to pump, but the diesel did eventually flow. They filled their first canister on Alan''s next turn, which meant it was Clay''s responsibility to get it back over the fence so it wouldn''t be left in dangerous territory if they had to make a mad dash. They were on the third canister with Clay on filling duty when he felt Alan urgently tap on his shoulder. He looked up while doing his best not to disturb the gas canister and cause any sloshing noises. A single Crowder was stumbling towards them. It wasn''t as decomposed as an older corpse. The man this thing had once been probably hadn¡¯t been as pale as his body was now, which made the pitch-black veins it possessed stick out even more. The hand on Clay''s shoulder went from urgent to reassuring before Alan broke away to dispatch it. At first, he really had felt a lot better that Alan was going to deal with the problem, but something didn''t feel right. It was definitely moving towards them because it could see them, that was obvious in the way its path didn''t diverge in the slightest even before Alan started making his approach. Why did that set off alarm bells in Clay''s head? Alan stepped closer. It was moving so slowly that it looked like he was just going to go for a simple decapitation. It wasn''t like the one on the roof who''d cut off its own foot before turning; its legs were completely intact. There was no reason for this zombie not to be sprinting like any other Crowder. This caused enough suspicion for Clay that he would have mentioned it to Alan if doing so didn''t require him to call out. It''s fine¡­It''s probably nothing. Clay thought that if there''d really been anything to worry about, Alan would have already caught on about something not being right. Everything would be okay. Everything would be fine. Its thick, black veins swished and wiggled ever so slightly with its movements. Alan took a purposeful step forward and cleaved the zombie''s head from its shoulders. Its body was more fragile than he''d likely expected, as the force of the swing was enough that its head actually flew up into the air a foot or two instead of just immediately rolling across the ground. From its open neck hole came an eruption of a black substance that shot up like a geyser, as if to reconnect the body to its lost head. "Wha--!?" Alan started to exclaim but cut himself off. He was taking a few panicked steps back when the body started to change as its head fell somewhere out of sight. Everything happened in less than two seconds. Alan was starting to move away after being made to confront something he''d never seen before, and the headless body of the zombie finished the step it''d been taking before it lost its head. At the same time its foot hit the ground, its leg bulged as if suddenly filled with fluid. Clay couldn''t perceive the moment its other extremities filled up in the same way. One blink later and its entire body was a grotesque human balloon. Then it popped. There were two pops. The first was the popping of its body as it drenched Alan and the ground around it in ink-black liquid. It could only be described as something between unprocessed oil and tar. The fact that he kept his mouth closed was probably a good thing¡ªotherwise, it would have easily filled with zombie oil. The second pop came from its head. It was much louder than the first despite being of a smaller size. It wasn''t as gooey of a sound, leaning more towards cartoonish. POP! It was loud enough that it made Clay flinch. Luckily, it also blocked out Clay''s voice. "Alan!" He abandoned the gas canister and ran towards the scene with his spear ready. "Shit¡­shit¡­" Alan quietly let out a string of curses as he struggled against the oil clinging to his body. He sounded scared, a different kind of scared from the panic of being chased by a Hammer. Clay understood immediately. He''d been attacked by a zombie he didn''t recognize and covered in something he''d never heard of. This was a quiet, trembling terror that came from facing the unknown. Alan didn''t even know if he was already doomed or not. All he could do was flail his arms and try to raise his feet. A perimeter of the stuff had been made in a rough circle around Alan, keeping Clay from getting too close without braving it himself. At about 15-feet, it was too far for him to reach out and touch him. "I can''t move, kid¡­" His voice was wavering, but he was still trying to keep quiet. "I''m such a fuckin'' idiot. I can''t move¡­" He could slowly move his arms, but every time he tried to lift his foot to take a step, it would be forced back into place by the stretching gunk that clung to his shoe like gum. A loud noise had just signaled to nearby Crowders where they were, and Alan couldn''t run. Damn it! If Clay had known it was coming, he would have sealed up the louder pop with [Sound of Silence]. Actually, both of his slots were already full. There was nothing he could have done. Acting quickly, Clay unsheathed his machete and tried hacking at the goo in front of him to hopefully clear a path. The oil he struck did come off, but not much, and only because it had now stuck to his machete. If he''d gone for a downward swing, he could easily see his weapon getting stuck. "Alan¡­" Clay said quietly, then loudly once he realized what was soon to happen. "Alan!" "Ughh! I''m stuck! I''m fuckin'' stuck, but it don''t hurt! I just gotta get out!" Half of his face was covered in the zombie oil, so Clay could only see one of his eyes when Alan turned his head enough to look back at him. "Don''t leave me here!" Clay''s face twitched. Aren''t you supposed to say the opposite in a situation like this? He found it so strange. If Alan had told him to flee and save himself, Clay would have probably done it. It''s the sort of thing people say when they secretly want to be saved anyway, but he''d have run away just because he was told to. Was he also going to risk dying just because Alan told him to? That was definitely part of it, but he also found Alan''s shameless desire to live admirable. This was someone who should live, someone who didn''t dilute themselves with deceptive heroics. Clay''s face twitched. His mouth was smiling without his permission at how funny it would be if someone in a movie tried to pull off Alan''s line. "I''m not going to leave! Try to get free while I try to figure something out!" "That look on your face is creepin'' me out, kid¡­" The bulk of the zombies would be coming from Clay''s side. His first thought was to create a perimeter of fire with the diesel, but lighting zombies on fire right before he had to fight them was more dangerous for him and Alan. It wouldn''t scare them, and the pain wouldn''t weaken them. The fire would also take a while to take them down, which would mean that Clay would have to be careful about catching fire himself once they got in close. He could hear them. A small stampede that made the hands gripping his weapons shake. Maybe the mystery box would help? No, he''d left it in his backpack over there. No way he''d reach it before they were on him. BANG! He dropped a gunshot somewhere in the distance, though not too far away that it''d be the echoes they heard. It might not do much now, but every little bit helped. It could lure some of them away. There was only one option left after that. It was finally time to allocate his Stat Points. Clay didn''t have much time to think, but that was okay. He''d been thinking a lot about how to spend them, so he just threw them into the stats he''d been eyeing. --------------------------------------------------------- You are ClayA case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation. HEALTH: 4/4 | STAMINA: 8/10 --- LEVEL: 2/11 | EXP: 235/1000 | SKILLS: 2/3 --- STAT POINTS: 0/12 (FrL: 7 | FrA: 5) | SKILL POINTS: 2/7 --- BODY - Strength: 5 | Speed: 1 | Resilience: 2 | Endurance: 2 MIND - ?? | ?? | ?? | ?? HEART - Luck: 0 | ?? | ?? | CIDURAC --- -SKILLS- [IMMUNITY - LV 2] | [SOUND OF SILENCE - LV 1] --- -ACHIEVEMENTS- (+5 Stat Points | +1 Max Level | +2 Skill Slots) --- CURRENT WORLD: Dead and Dying OBJECTIVE: Survive TIME REMAINING: ??? --------------------------------------------------------- 3 to round out his Strength. 2 in Resilience to finally unlock his Health. His increased Strength didn''t make him tremble any less. In fact, he didn¡¯t feel much different at all. The first of them clamored into view. There wasn''t any time left to prepare now. Just focus on keeping them away from Alan. That''s all. Keep calm. That''s all. Don''t die. That''s all. His intent narrowed on one zombie as it rounded the corner to the back of the building where Clay stood ready. It was a jarring sensation to have his tunnel vision disrupted by the appearance of four more shapes following behind the Crowder he''d focused on. He had to move fast before they ganged up on him. Thin their numbers. Clay dropped his machete and stepped forward with his spear. It was too gunked up to be of much use to him now. He didn''t charge right in, opting instead to meet them partway and stop to take full advantage of his spear. Clay didn''t fancy himself any sort of expert, but he did at least know that the advantage of the spear was that it allowed one to keep enemies with a shorter reach at bay. Unfortunately, he hadn''t had much practice with Facestabber beyond a few test thrusts in his room to make sure the knife wouldn''t come loose. The first attempt at actual face stabbing missed, flying over the zombie''s shoulder and giving it the chance to step in and grab Clay. Damn! He couldn''t let it initiate a grapple. On pure instinct, Clay leaned inwards and pressed the side of the thick wooden handle against the zombie''s head. Without a chance to reel back and take an actual swing, it didn''t have the force to deal any damage, but catching it midstep allowed him to send it sprawling to the ground as if he''d dealt a considerable blow. There wasn''t any time to finish it off or relax at all. More zombies were here. More zombies were coming. He recovered quickly enough to catch a zombie also making its way into his space. The second thrust of his spear wasn''t as sloppy. >+10 XP! With the zombie dead and his spear plunged into its head, he kept it balanced on its feet enough that it would remain standing while he stepped around its body to put it between him and the next closest zombie like a shield. In his mind, it was less a shield and more a buffer. Unfortunately, the zombie after that one was given an angle where it would soon be able to come at him from the side. Without even checking to see if he''d need to, Clay pressed his foot against the zombie corpse''s midsection to push it back while he pulled his spear back. The drooping body collided with the zombie in front of him at the same time that the one close to his side made its move. His spear was free, but the creature was coming in too fast for him to ready a thrust from his current position. There was a good chance it could catch him off-balance and take him down if he hopped back now. The one he pushed onto the ground was moving closer to him with the same movements it was taking to stand up. Rather than go for a straight shot, he swung the spear towards the side-zombie''s legs. He didn''t think slashing its head would do anything. It was better to buy time. Maybe it was his points in Strength finally paying off, but he managed to sweep it off of its feet. The bad news was that he managed to lose his grip on his spear once it twisted in an unexpected way after getting caught in the falling zombie''s bone. It wasn''t irretrievable. Losing it also didn''t leave him without options. He pulled the hammer out of his tool belt and brought it down on the head of the first Crowder that had just begun to lunge from its kneeling position on the ground. >+10 XP! The zombie that had to contend with having one of its brethren thrown at it was back in the fight, making its presence known by quickly getting in close and whipping both its hands at Clay. With no opportunity to pull back for another hammer swing, Clay used his free hand to catch one of its wrists while it did the same to the hand that held the hammer. It was too stupid to realize it was disabling his ability to use his weapon, so it had probably only done this because it had been the most convenient place to grab him while it leaned in to take a bite. Clay fought hard against its grip to guard his face with one of his arms. It was easier than he''d expected. It bit into the shirt-stuffed sleeve of his jacket. However, easier didn''t mean easy. He hadn''t managed to actually wrench himself free, but¡­ I''m stronger in a one-on-one grapple! Clay wasn''t in danger of being overpowered by the zombie pointlessly teething on his arm, but its nails digging into the skin of his wrist still didn''t feel nice. "Haghhh!" Clay let out a pained noise between clenched teeth. >You have been infected with (Plague)! >You are protected from the effects of (Plague) by a Skill! Despite having to drag along a spear digging into its leg, the other floored zombie crawled close enough to bite Clay''s leg. The centered focus he''d acquired over the course of the fight was ripped away from him immediately by the pain of that bite. It hurt so much. He just wanted it to stop. In manic determination, he took advantage of the difference in strength to slip the hand that had been gripping the zombie''s wrist up a little higher towards its fingers. It was already possible for someone to break another person''s bones without help. Among those bones, the ones in the hand were the easiest. Snap! Crackcrackcrack! Clay bent the fingers on that hand back as far as they could go. He was stronger, and the state of its body made it even simpler. When Clay let go and moved to take his hammer from the hand that was busy being attached to the arm being bitten, all it could do in response was vaguely beat its useless hand against his body in an attempt to regain a grip. Once the hammer was switched to his other hand, he brought it down on the Crowder biting his leg. He crushed the top of its head and most of its upper jaw. >+10 XP! He didn''t want to swing his hammer straight at the head of the zombie latched onto his arm, so he went to work pulverizing its other arm so it couldn''t grab him anymore. By the time he was finished, it was bent backward with much of the bone splintering. The noises its body made under his hammer would have caused a more visceral reaction if he hadn''t been hopped up on adrenaline. After that, he pried open its mouth with the hammer''s hook long enough to extract his arm and kick it away. Its back hit the pavement. With only one arm that could still barely function, it was slower in picking itself up. He sent it skidding farther back than he thought. Surely it was a combination of his increased Strength and the thing''s emaciated body. Clay backed up and retrieved his spear while doing a quick check on his status. >HP: 0/4 | STAM: 4/10 Gone already¡­ Even if that one bite had taken away all of his Health, it had also mitigated a lot of the damage. He''d certainly felt the pain of being bitten, even felt some of his blood flow out from the wound, but his leg only felt a little sore after what should have been a debilitating wound. Clay stomped his foot a few times to be sure. No major issues. He could hear more coming from far off. He couldn''t tell how many, but it was safe to say that it was too many. He had to finish off this zombie and-- "Kid!" Alan finally raised his voice to do something besides curse in frustration. Clay spared him a glance. Not only had he not made any progress in his escape, but he got himself in a more precarious position by trying to unsheathe his machete. His machete was glued to the scabbard and now his hand was glued to the hilt. More importantly, there were three more zombies barreling towards him. Actually, maybe that wasn''t as big of a problem as he thought it was. With the zombie oil in play, they''d get themselves stuck way before they''d reach Alan. His attention went back to the wounded Crowder he still had to finish off. It was finally up and taking slow steps forward to rev up for a sprint, about to step on his gooey machete. Clay considered whether or not having a machete stuck to the bottom of its foot would be advantageous to him. But that''s not what happened. When its foot came down on the machete, the oil moved to make way for it. The part of the blade it stepped on was left clear. Doesn''t that mean--? Now Clay was torn. There was enough room between Alan and the zombies that he had time to make moves, but the distance was closing fast. Wait. If this stuff worked the way he thought it did, he might need to handle things differently. No time left to think. His hammer went back into his tool belt. Clay charged at the same time the zombie in front of him did, choosing a bigger target by piercing it straight through its chest. It was stuck, but this time it was by design. Trapped on the business end of Facestabber, all the zombie could do was continue trying to push the weapon deeper into its body in a vain attempt to reach Clay while its target maneuvered it to switch their positions and pick up his filthy machete. He forced the zombie to walk backward in Alan''s direction while putting the blade of his machete close to one of its broken hands. In an endeavor to bat in his direction, it sent ''handfuls'' of zombie oil flying off of the machete. Clay smiled anxiously. That settled it. The zombies running towards Alan were coming in fast, and he also had to contend with the one constantly pushing back when he tried to move it into the black swamp Alan was trapped in. There was also the rampage of footsteps in the distance getting louder and louder. However, Clay was closer and better coordinated. "Alan! Have one of your knives ready, I might be a little slow getting over to you!" One of Alan''s hands was rendered useless on his machete, but the other one was still waving around as if it could grab onto something and lift him out. With so many knives on his person, there had to be at least one he could still make use of. "Ughh! Why the fuck are you movin'' that thing closer to me!? Are you losin'' it again, genius!?" Clay didn''t respond with his voice. When the zombie he was parading around took its first step back into the black swamp, the goop made a hole for it to step on the pavement. It made way for the zombie but also didn''t reform itself once it didn''t need the hole anymore. That meant Clay could use those holes as well and follow it into the black swamp without becoming trapped himself. It came together in his mind. He understood it now. The Popper (yet another name Clay came up with that''ll likely end up being replaced with something lame) creates a ruckus and traps victims at the same time so that surrounding zombies can easily swoop in and feast to their heart''s content. It was the opposite of the Spooker that singled out targets for destruction so it could lap up the leftovers. Another step. The frontrunner of the rushing three Crowders was sure to reach Alan first. Clay could see Alan''s knife. It''d be pointless if other zombies got stuck as well, so the Popper oil could tell them apart from normal people. However, the mud wasn''t sophisticated enough to know when making way would be a detriment. The Crowder ran into the black swamp. Predictably, the oil moved so it wouldn''t lose any speed. Zombie is close = MOVE. That''s the extent of its ''programming''. Even if Alan had a knife, Clay couldn''t risk it. In the state he was in, killing one zombie would be a miracle, but three would be impossible. What could Clay do about it? The zombie was halfway across the black swamp. It was reaching a hand forward. Clay angled the handle of his spear up and leaned in to put as much of his weight and strength into it as possible. The zombie was forced onto its back as its attacker took a wide step to plant his foot on one of its legs. Just like that, he''d turned his guide into a human bridge that let him close the rest of the distance. Keeping one hand grasped on the spear sticking upwards from its chest, he used the other hand to swing his machete and cut the rushing zombie off before it could reach Alan. Driven by its own momentum, his blade cleared away the top of its head easily enough. >+10 XP! Rendered lifeless once more, its remains flopped forward against Alan. The Popper oil caused it to stick to him. "Fuck! Get this thing off''a me! Get all this shit off''a me!" It stuck? Did the zombies have to be alive for the mud to recognize them? What was he meant to do? A possibility quickly entered his mind. He took his hand off of his spear''s handle and brandished his hammer. As the zombie beneath him wriggled and tried its best to reach up towards him, Clay took the blunt instrument to its teeth. The other two zombies that were high-tailing it towards Alan were more in sync, so taking care of them one at a time wouldn''t be possible. One of them was also a little off to the side where Clay couldn''t reach without braving the mud. There was the vaguest notion of a plan, but it would all come down to precision now. They clashed. The one zombie Clay could reach had one of its hands chopped off in the opening move. The second zombie put its hands on Alan and ended up clearing away enough of the Popper oil that it allowed its prey enough range of movement to shove a knife through its head. "Alan! The arm! Get the other one''s arm! Don''t kill it!" Alan was panicking, but he hadn''t lost his mind enough to think Clay would say something like this for no reason. That had to be the case, since words like ''Are you insane? Are you stupid?'' didn''t come out of his mouth. Instead, it was, "That ain''t happening with this knife, kid! I''d have to saw it off!" Clay had to intercept. He took one step into the black swamp to get enough reach to take the other hand as well. His other foot was still free, placed hard on the face of the zombie on the ground. He wasn''t done there. Clay was going to get them both free before the stampede was truly upon them and escape would be impossible. He turned his hammer around and hooked it onto the armless zombie''s lower jaw, then wrenched down to rip it away. Without proper hands or a means to bite them, the two zombies could only flail and reach uselessly towards them. The zombie that still had its upper row of teeth might have posed a danger if Alan''s jacket weren''t so thick, but in the end all it could do was press against him and clear away the Popper oil in the attempt. The zombie on the ground waved a hand towards their feet, immediately freeing Clay and then Alan a few seconds later. Once Alan could start using the holes Clay made earlier to hop out of the black swamp, they each finished one of the zombies as thanks. >+10 XP! There wasn''t any time for thanks or celebration yet, though. As soon as they could, Clay pulled his spear free, and they ran to get their bags so they could go for the fence¡­just in time to be spotted by the innumerable Crowders that were sprinting onto the scene. Once they hopped over, Alan used one of the diesel cans to douse the blanket they''d draped over the fence while Clay, understanding immediately, used his lighter to make it catch fire. It was the only thing they could possibly do to slow down even a fraction of them. All there was left to do was run. Chapter 21: Badass Escaping a smaller horde wasn''t so hard now that soundlessly breaking windows was on the table. With Alan knowing the surrounding area like the back of his hand, he easily pointed out a building for them to wait out the storm. During this time, the trace amounts of Popper oil on Alan''s body gradually sloughed off and turned from a viscous goo into dirty black water. After an hour passed and they were sure they''d made away just fine, Alan elatedly started grasping Clay''s shoulders and moving his feet in a vague dance. "We fuckin'' made it! We fuckin'' made it! I can''t believe this ain''t some dream! You saved--You''re a fuckin'' badass! Ha-ha-holy shit! I''m still shakin''!" Clay''s body felt floppy and weak, so all he could offer in return was a dull, tired grin. He broke away from Alan and sat down on a coffee table. >STAM: 0/10 No more extra Stamina for today. At least he felt like he could get back on the move soon. Clay rubbed the part of his leg where he''d been bitten. "Let me sit down for a little while longer. I''ve caught my breath, but my body aches like hell¡­" "Yeah! Yeah, for sure! Fair enough! Take a load off!" Alan proceeded to sit with Clay and recount the events they¡¯d both just lived through like he was describing a scene out of a movie. "Then you put that thing on the ground and walked on it! That was smart thinkin''! Then I¡­" It was a little annoying when anyone went on for too long, but Clay certainly didn''t hate being complimented so much. Yeah, he could be a little bit badass when he wanted, right? A lot of it had to do with his stats, sure, but he figured out the Popper''s weakness and saved Alan. A Skill hadn''t told him how to do that. It was all him. Clay smiled sheepishly. He was feeling pretty good about himself right now, even if he was doing his best not to get a big head over it. By the time Alan''s recap was finished, Clay felt good enough that they could start moving again. "You sure you''re good to go? A fight like that would even wipe out a guy who''s totally in shape, so there ain''t no shame if you need to chill a little while longer," Alan said while looking him over. "I''m alright now. I burned through all of my extra energy, but right now I only feel about as tired as I usually do when we''re halfway through one of our usual outings." "Damn, that must be good. I didn''t even get to do any real fighting and I''m beat." Alan picked up one of the diesel-filled gas canisters and motioned to the other one. "Sucks that we only got away with two, but it''s better than nothin''. Let''s move carefully and just get our asses home. Milly''s gonna get a real kick out of this one!" Clay nodded and took the other canister. Kissy made sure there weren''t any surprises when they left the building. During the walk back, he took a look at the filthy blade on the end of Facestabber. Chipped, blunted, and maybe even starting to come loose¡ªalso didn''t get to do a lot of actual face-stabbing. It was sad, but he was going to have to replace the knife later that night. "Wowie, you two look awful!" Clay and Alan both stopped at the sound of an obnoxiously familiar voice. Goatee-Eyeglasses (Radman had said his name was Ronny, right?) hopped out from a broken window and approached them. The day had already gone on too long from Clay''s perspective, so he probably didn''t hide his displeasure as well as he usually did. "Come on! What''s with the long face? Not happy to see me? I just wanted to hang out with my two favoritest guys in the whole world! So don''t be mean to me, alright?" Ronny stopped in front of Clay. It wasn''t just him. It wasn''t even just four of them. He counted six members of the asshole patrol here in front of him, but he also felt a presence that made him briefly look over his shoulder. They were all here, all ten of them. Even Ed. While Clay was distracted, Ronny snatched Facestabber out of his hand and started inspecting it. "Hey!" Clay complained but didn''t make any real attempt at taking it back. "What? I''m just having a look at your weapon to make sure it''s up to code!" Ronny traced his finger along the handle. "Facestabber? That''s cute. No, really. I think that''s a good name." He proceeded to snap the broom handle over his knee and throw the two splintered pieces to opposite ends of the street. What the fuck is your problem, man!? "You wanna know something interesting?" Ronny closed the distance once again, getting up in Clay''s face and driving him to nervously look off to the side to keep from meeting his gaze. "We know someone was talking to Richie again. Happened almost a week ago." Clay kept his eyes on one of the broken halves of Facestabber. "See, everyone else thinks it ruled you guys out because we''ve been keeping an eye on you around that time. Me? I think it''s a little suspicious we never saw you," he jabbed a finger into Clay''s chest, "specifically." The jab made Clay take a step back. That''s frustrating. If he''d known it was coming, he would have tried to stand more solidly. Even more frustrating was that Ronny was on the right track, even if Clay doubted that he''d been the one to come to that conclusion on his own. "Speaking of hierarchy, there''s another thing you should know about Ronny," Radman had said, "he never does anything unless he has permission to do it. If I could compare him, it would be to one of those middle-manager types that treat their underlings like shit while kissing up to the higher-ups. And you better believe he''s never had an original thought." Someone else in the asshole patrol voiced concerns, and now Ronny was being allowed to run with it. Why? Clay could only assume it was because of the ''rapport'' he''d already built with them. Unfortunately, letting him run his mouth gave away a crucial piece of information. "How many times do I have to say it?" Clay said while trying not to sound combative. "I seriously don''t know what you''re talking about. I came in after all of that. I don''t know anything about this Richard guy." "How many times?" Ronny scoffed while looking around at his friends. "Get a load of this guy! We hardly ever bother him and he''s complaining!" A few of them snickered. Ed didn''t say or do anything except stare at Clay. Without warning, Ronny pulled open Clay''s jacket and started rifling through his pockets. He started with his pants, then moved up to the inner pocket of his jacket. Clay dropped the gas canister and tried to push him away at the wrists. "What are you doing, dude!?" "Quit squirming." Ronny yanked him around a bit to demonstrate the difference in their strength, his voice coming out in a series of chuckles like he and Clay were two friends messing around with each other. The hammer Clay carried was removed and dropped onto the ground between them. "What else you got? I see a hammer in your belt there--Whoops, I dropped it! You give that one a name too? What''s it called? Guykisser?" When Ronny pulled his hand out from Clay''s jacket, what he retrieved was making quite a lot of noise. Hisss! Kissy was gripped in Ronny''s fist, doing her best to scratch and bite him through his glove. "Hey, what are you doing¡­?" Clay slowly put his hands up to reach for her as his volume lowered. Either he was too quiet to hear or he was being blatantly ignored. "Check it out! This freak keeps a rat inside his clothes!" Ronny took a few steps back and held Kissy up as high as he could so everyone could see her. "It''s my first time getting to see a furry since things got started!" "Maybe it''s not a sex thing, Ronny," Clay heard someone outside his sight say. "Could be a pet or something." Another one chimed in, "Or maybe it''s one of those super realistic stress toys!" Ronny''s chuckling turned into full-blown laughter. "Hahaha! Maybe you''re right! Here, let me give it a squeeze!" That was when Clay suddenly lunged forward to try and retrieve Kissy and shove Ronny at the same time. "Fucking--!" He was stopped dead by a pain in his torso that took all of the air out of his lungs. Ronny, almost like he''d been expecting that reaction, cut him off with a kick to his stomach. "Guhhk--!" Clay hunched over as he fell to his knees, making sputtered heaving sounds while he clutched his belly and tried to catch his breath. "Hey!" He heard Alan say before he took a few steps in his direction. The sound of jostling guns told Clay that he was being kept from interfering. "Jesus--! Come on, can''t you just leave him alone? He already told you he ain''t ever seen this Dick you''re lookin'' for!" Ronny didn''t say anything to Alan. Instead, he tapped Clay''s shoulder with the tip of his foot. "Looks like someone''s trying to earn their douchebag license." "He can''t breathe! Let him breathe, god damn it!" Alan shouted. Ed finally spoke, "If you keep screaming like that, one of us is going to have to shoot you. I understand it''s a hard situation, but we''re just doing what we have to do."Stolen story; please report. "You hear that?" Ronny asked Clay while beginning to actually step on his shoulder. "We''re just doing what we have to do. It''s you guys that''re making this hard." Clay''s hands moved to the ground to hold himself up. They clenched into fists as he started coughing hard enough to make tears blur his vision. I didn''t do anything wrong. "See? He''s breathing fine, grandpa!" Ronny nudged him with his foot. "Hey, quit being a bitch and tell your chaperone that you''re alright. I didn''t even kick you that hard!" Clay said something, but his voice was too raspy and it ended up sounding like more coughing. "What? Hey, you better say something before I give you something to cry about." I saved a life today. I shouldn''t have to put up with this. Clay tilted his head enough to glare up at him. "Fuck¡­you¡­" Ronny''s smirk grew incredulously. "Did I just hear that? Either you''re thanking me, or the biggest pussy I''ve ever met is finally starting to grow a backbone!" Fuck it. Fuck everything. "You''re¡­" Clay coughed until he could spit on the ground. "My¡­?" "You''re a fucking¡­poser.¡± He could breathe normally again, so he expelled the air in his lungs almost as fast as it came in to say something. ¡°All this grandstanding, but all I can think is that you''re just copying shit you''ve seen someone else do." Clay met his eyes with a worn-out smirk of his own. "I''ll bet anything that it was Ed who did the thing with the can of peaches first. It''s pretty sad to think you looked at that and thought, ''you know what''d make this even cooler? If it was me doing it.''" There was a moment of silence. One of them spoke up, "Not to side with him, but I do actually remember seeing Ed do the thing with the can of peaches." "Do what?" Ed asked. "What is he talking about?" One of them told him about the time Ronny intimidated Clay by nearly making him eat some peach off of a knife. "Ohhh¡­" Ed turned his head up and scratched the bottom of his chin as he tried to recall. "I kind of remember doing something like that¡­I think it was a slice of pineapple, though. I also didn''t do a switch-up at the last second." A few members of the asshole patrol started laughing. Clay''s hand found something familiar. "Really?" Ronny laughed as well, subtly grinding his foot harder against Clay''s shoulder. "I don''t think I was there for that!" Clay forced himself to laugh to further Ronny''s discomfort. "Now you''re trying to play it off¡­I wonder if there''s one thing I''ve seen you do that you thought of yourself. I bet it wasn''t even you that suspected me enough to come here." "Mann," Ronny groaned, "this is just getting sad now. I''ve been wanting to hear you say more than two words, but now I''m embarrassed for you. Seriously, it makes me cringe listening to dipshits like you that think they''re smart." "You''d know all about wanting to look smart." Clay let out another breathy laugh. "Your glasses. Are those prescription lenses? I bet not. A poser like you would definitely wear fake glasses just to look more refined. If you''re going to steal eyeglasses from a Ball-Mart, at least snatch a pair that actually fit your face, dumbass." This hadn''t been what he had in mind when he asked Radman for information on these guys, but those words tasted so sweet coming out. More of the group started laughing. Even Ed had a wry smile on his face. "He''s got you there, Ronny!" "I didn''t want to say anything, but¡­" "Ooohh! You really just gonna sit there and take that?" Clay''s smile grew as Ronny''s own friends started hassling him. This time his laughter was genuine. He wondered what sort of face Alan was making. This was so unlike how he usually was, Clay thought he might become self-conscious if he turned his head to check. Ronny lifted his foot off of Clay''s shoulder, only to slam it down again. His tone remained light to play it off, but the anger could be felt in that stomp. It hurt and didn''t hurt at the same time. Not holding back his thoughts felt good enough that the pain was worth it. "Fuck, you''re really trying to get your ass beat¡­" Ronny spiked Kissy down on Clay''s back, causing her to bounce off in a direction he couldn''t see from his position. "I liked you a lot better when you thought I was going to break your arm. Remember that, bitch? We still talk about it and once I find that little runt, I''m going to have a lot of fun telling everyone back home about it too." Ah, sorry about that, Kissy. I was so pissed off that I forgot he had you. Clay figured she was fine. It was himself he was starting to worry about. "''Ohhh! I''m sorry! Oh, please! Let go of my arm, sir! Please oh please!''" Ronny mockingly recalled. "Something like that. Hey, all this is just making me think that you sound a lot better when you''re apologizing!" Ronny began repeatedly stomping on Clay''s shoulders and back. "Let''s hear it! I''m just doing what I gotta do! Say you''re sorry in that whiny voice you do! I just want to make my friends laugh! It''s just a joke, so why did you turn it into something nasty!?" Clay cupped his hands over the back of his head as blow after blow rained down on him. He refused to give him any satisfaction; no noise he made was louder than a grunt. Beat me up all you want. Compared to zombie bites, this sort of pain is nothing. You can even shoot me if you want! If you''re going to get so worked up, just shoot me to make yourself feel better! Clay smirked through the pain, even as he heard Alan shouting. He knew it was a worthless thing to feel good about. In the long run, none of this would matter if he was beaten to death and this guy got to live on. It''s just that this was the exact sort of thing a protagonist in a show would do. Laugh off the pain, spit in the face of danger. "This guy''s a total wuss!" A 14-year-old Clay said while watching a movie with one of his friends online. The character was in a similar situation to the one he was in now. "He''s going to die anyways, so why even bother begging for his life?" "He doesn''t know that!" Nathan laughed. "And don''t act like you wouldn''t be crying or anything!" "I''d John Wick my way out of the situation before it ever got to that point, snap their brains while they''re blinking! From their perspective, I''d be teleporting!" Clay joked while miming aggressive hand movements even though his friend couldn''t see him. "At the very least, I wouldn''t beg for my life or anything. It''s a moot point, though; I''d never be in this position." "Yeah, you''d have to go outside for anything besides school for that to happen." "Hey hey, school can get pretty crazy too. And this guy is only in this situation because he killed that guy''s brother! I''m too big a bitch to kill people!" Another stomp took Clay away from the fond memory. Was this guy not giving it his all? Clay felt pretty okay despite taking so many blows, okay enough to know nothing was broken and definitely okay enough to look up at him again. "So you''re a big tough boy now, huh¡­?" Ronny''s voice trailed off as something else caught his interest. He was handling something, but Clay''s heartbeat was so loud in his ears that he couldn''t quite tell what was going on. "Wanna see something original?" Clay felt a small amount of pressure on his back, something seeping into his jacket, liquid running up his spine until it soaked into his hair. A stench wiped the self-satisfied smile off of his face. Ronny was pouring the diesel from Clay''s gas canister onto his back. "We''ve never lit anyone on fire before! Not that I know of! Hey, Ed, you think I''d be copying you if I lit this douchebag up?" Hey¡­ Ed hummed in thought. A different member of the group said something first, "We''re not supposed to go too far with the apartment guys unless we have to." "That only applies to the people that were there back then," Ed corrected. "Nobody back home will be upset if some drifter dies." Don''t talk about it so casually. "He''s--! That kid''s my nephew!" Alan blurted out. "He''s my nephew! He''s been here since the beginning!" "Keep it down, you lying piece of shit." It felt like the first time in a while that Ronny said anything to him. "He literally said a little while ago that he wasn''t here back then." You''re not serious, right? "Sorry, Alan," Ed said in his usual patronizing tone. "I''m leaving this in my friend''s hands. Do whatever you want, Ronny." "Hahaha! Shit, sucks when the crowd turns against you, huh?" Ronny laughed. "Looks like nobody is gonna give me any guff!" This is too much. People aren''t actually like this. People don''t do this. "I don''t think I''m gonna totally drench you. Since it''s mostly just on your back, it''ll take a little longer to actually kill you." Clay started trying to stand up, but Ronny''s foot came down on the back of his head and forced his face against the ground. All I did was talk back a little bit. Clay heard a clicking sound, something metallic followed by an ignition. It was the distinctive sound of a lighter being lit. "Of course, I think I''d probably be able to let this go if I could get an apology from you for all the stupid shit you said." Just because of that? You''d kill me like this just because of that? Clay''s body betrayed him and openly shook. The teeth he had clenched were starting to chatter. "If you''re willing to get lit on fire over all this, then maybe you are a secret tough guy." He could hear Ronny closing the lighter, then opening it again. "Probably won''t look so tough when you''re screaming like a girl. Still though, you''ll be a real badass for two seconds." Badass. Alan called him that earlier. Despite not wanting to get ahead of himself after one stylish victory, he must have subconsciously bought into the idea he was becoming some kind of cool protagonist. Cool protagonists don''t beg for their lives, and they certainly don''t take shit from people like this. Maybe that could be him? Clay spoke softly. "What?" Ronny lifted his foot enough for Clay to be able to speak. Reality hit. "I''m sorry¡­" Clay''s voice was choked up by the tears rolling freely down his cheeks. "Huh?? A little louder, please. We can''t all hear you." Why can''t you just shoot me? "I''m sorry! I''m sorry! Please don''t do this! I''m sorry!" "Hahaha! Not so badass now, huh? Hey, what are you sorry for? I don''t like to hold grudges, so I''ve already forgotten why I was even mad at you." I''m not in the wrong. I didn''t do anything to deserve this. I''m not the sort of person that deserves this. "I''m sorry for saying all that stuff! I didn''t know what I was talking about! I just got mad!" Things were starting to look up before you all got here. Clay continued, "If things could be different, I know you wouldn''t want to be here! I didn''t mean to make anyone''s job harder! I''m sorry!" I should have been smarter. I shouldn''t have lashed out. I don''t want to burn to death. I never wanted to meet you guys in the first place. At that moment, Clay had a startling realization. This was the real reason why he''d suggested they not get involved with Radman or his conflict with the other group. He dressed it up like he cared about saving Alan''s feelings, and maybe he did, but there had been something more important to him. Avoiding pain. Ronny hummed like Ed had earlier. He was mulling over whether or not to kill him like he was deciding what to get from the store. That easy-going kid who never thought he''d have to beg for anything¡­ "I''m sorry!" Clay sobbed. I''m sorry you grew up to be me. "¡­Pfthahahaha! What a switch-up!" Ronny''s words were occasionally interrupted by fits of laughter. "All that talk about me being a poser! Hahahaha! You were the one acting all cool a second ago! Who''s the poser now!?" No reason to live in fantasy. This was the real him. A few numbers going up wouldn''t change his core. This is normal. If people were honest, they''d do the same thing in my situation. Even Alan. I''m a normal human being. Ronny tapped the lighter against his glasses. "Just one thing: it feels a little like you''re lying about how sorry you are when it takes this much to make you apologize. You''d say anything to save your skin right now, right? Even shit you don¡¯t mean." I apologized like you wanted¡­ "Sorry, man. At least you were speaking a bit of truth near the end, though!" You''re not even human. But Clay knew that wasn''t exactly it. Humans have a long history of cruelty against their enemies for the sake of self-gratification. This was just as human a thing to do as anything Alan or Milly had done for him. And you''re all just going to sit there and watch. Out of ten people, there had to be at least one person who was uncomfortable with what was about to happen and still wasn''t going to do anything about it. That was human as well. It was for the same reason that Alan couldn''t do anything. Survival. I''m being ignored again. I''m human too. I don''t want to die a painful death. I want to survive a little longer. It''s not fair. He heard the lighter being lit. Clay''s body shook like it was seizing up. If that''s the way it is¡­ "If that''s the way it is¡­" His wavering voice weakly echoed the calm thought in his mind. I''ll be more human than you. "Got something else to say? I''m two seconds away from doing what I gotta do, so you better speak up." "I know where he is! The guy you''re looking for! I know where Richard is!" Silence. "Heh!" Ronny made an overly spiteful sound. "That''s really convenient." "Indeed," Ed said, another pair of shoes appeared in Clay''s view. "If you do know where he is, I''d have to stop Ronny from killing you." Ronny was already starting to sound disappointed, removing his foot from Clay''s head. "You heard the way this guy was begging. He''ll say anything he thinks we want to hear to keep from getting cooked." "Things like that do happen all the time," Ed concurred. "Hmm¡­" "I know things! He told me things!" Clay sat up so he was only on his knees and looked at them both with a craven smile on his face. "He''s Ra--He calls himself Radman now! Maybe he always did? He told me that Ronny didn''t need his eyeglasses and that you used to be a school teacher!" Ed''s posture changed. "He also told me a little about the secret project your leader had him working on! It was something that could keep Crowders away, right?" A few members of the group started whispering amongst each other. Ronny looked at Ed in disbelief. Ed''s face didn''t change; he was the only one who already knew what Clay was talking about. "Alright, let him stand up." Ed put a hand on Ronny''s shoulder. "If it turns out he''s lying or this is some kind of trick, I''ll let you do whatever." The whispering intensified. Clay didn''t even come close to looking in Alan''s direction. Ronny didn''t seem too bothered. "Damn, I''m good. I should be the one doing these interrogation things more often." The lighter closed. Chapter 22: Might "It''s messed up, right?" Radman suddenly asked him during their time together. It interrupted a rare moment of silence. "What is? My posture?" Clay had been practicing holding Alan''s rifle. "No. I''m not a gun guy, so I wouldn''t know anything about that. No, I''m talking about the reversal of roles." Radman had motioned towards Clay with a magazine he was holding. "You seem like a smart enough guy. Not as smart as me, obviously, but you got a good head on your shoulders." Clay shrugged. It was hard to be offended when it was a compliment wrapped up in a very true statement about their respective intelligence levels. "Modernity was supposed to herald a time where guys like you and I would stand on the apex of society." Clay? The apex of society? "You''re losing me." "I don''t know. I''m just thinking out loud here. I haven''t gotten to speak to anyone at length in a long time, and you''re easy to talk to. Indulge me while I buffer this out, okay?" Clay bowed dramatically to give Radman the floor. "I''m just thinking that we''re starting to go back to a time where might makes right. It''s messed up that this had to happen just as my life was getting started. I was working internships in places so important that normal people weren''t even allowed to know they existed." He sighed. "If it had happened just ten¡­no, five years later, I''d have been in a prime place to fix everything." "Mmmh, it sounds like you still could," Clay pointed out. "Hm?" "I''m not saying you should, but I think even working with this badguy leader would still be a path towards fixing everything." Radman''s lips tightened. "I understand what you''re saying, and I¡¯m telling you that it isn¡¯t an option. There are personal and ethical reasons for why." Clay nodded. It hadn''t been a serious suggestion anyway. "I''m sure you can tell that I''m not so great with people. Technology doesn''t have any moral compunctions; it''s how people use it. So, even though I''m not a people person, I have a responsibility to make sure only good people have actionable control over the things I make. It''s for the sake of humanity!" It was a pretty thing to say, but Clay didn''t buy it. "Helping humanity is good. I don¡¯t think that''s the deciding factor for you, though." Radman gave him a questioning look and waited for him to elaborate. Clay wasn''t anywhere close to being as capable as Radman. In fact, the few jobs he ever had were either in manual labor or fast food. Dead-end jobs that made him miserable. Staying in his room all the time also made him miserable, but the reason he chose to live that way instead had been because... "You just didn''t want to be a cog in someone else''s machine." Radman''s face split into a grin. "That makes sense, yeah. I don''t care who it is; I won''t let anyone shit on my legacy. I''m someone who should have ended up ruling the world, goddammit!" --- The lighter opened and closed behind Clay as he walked. His eyes felt fuzzy from all the crying, but he was much calmer now. I''m probably going to die. Alan was somewhere behind him with a gun to the back of his head. Clay had made a show about Alan not knowing anything about Radman. "He said he doesn''t trust Alan! He didn''t want to see him! I''m sorry for misleading you, Alan!" He''d said without looking at him. Fear turned him into a messy creature that couldn''t meet his eyes. Likely caught off guard by the situation, Alan said nothing and allowed things to go the way the asshole patrol wanted. Now he was leading them to where he''d told them Radman would be. Kissy was cradled in his hands, one of her legs twitching strangely. Clay whispered something to her. Squeak! "Holy fuck, I''m starting to wish I never got to talking to you," Ronny sneered, shouldering Clay''s empty tool belt while adjusting the stolen machete on his hip. "I thought you were just a normal kind of loser, but now I gotta see you talking to rats? Out of this world¡­" No way is this guy going to let me off, even if I hand over Radman. It was just a feeling Clay had. Ed acted like he was reasonable, but there wouldn''t be any reason to deprive Ronny of a good time after his usefulness was worn out. ''Rewarded as a traitor deserves.'' A bad ending like that was definitely in the cards. Clay sniffed. His clothes were soaked, and the weather was cold enough that there was a constant, thin layer of snow on the ground. He''d also been crying pretty hard. That too. Strangely, he didn''t feel as nervous as before. Despite this being the worst possible scenario, his thoughts were serene, even self-aware. Why am I so relaxed right now? Something''s wrong with me. He thought maybe he''d just become despondent, but that didn''t feel right. Was it resolve? No, there should still be some amount of fear behind resolve. A member of the asshole patrol was complaining. Clay didn''t know his name, but he did recognize him as the one who stole Kyle''s revolver from him. "Damn it, this is a lot of walking! Is that the same building from before? Is this guy leading us in a circle?" "Definitely not," Ed assured, "but I''m more worried about how many close calls we''ve had with Crowds. Are you trying to lead us into a horde?" Clay''s voice was monotone. "He lives close to a lot of hordes because he knows it''s dangerous for you to check near there. I''m used to going it alone, so trying to navigate with twelve people is hard." "You could just tell us where he is, then we could send a group over to check it out while the rest of us watch you." Ed patiently suggested. "No. He has defenses in place, so you''ll need a familiar face to lure him out. You''ll have to let me off if I do all that, right?" "Prudent, but I already plan on letting you go as long as you''re not lying to us." Sure you are. "Fuck, this guy creeps me out." Ronny entered the serious conversation with a ''joke''. "He was all crying and shit earlier; now he''s like a robot. I want to burn him up just to see if he''s got wires instead of veins under there." "He''s probably just in shock," another one pointed out. "If I was two seconds away from getting lit up like a birthday cake, I don''t know how I''d be acting afterwards." Even they can notice how weird I''m being. It didn''t matter. They could come to their own conclusions. Eventually, Clay took a bad step and fell forward. He allowed Kissy to slide smoothly onto the ground so he could catch himself with his hands. She proceeded to run off, away from them. "Hope you had him chipped!" Ronny taunted. Clay stared at the pavement as he propped himself up on his hands and knees. "It doesn''t matter. She''s probably safer on her own right now anyway." "Cope whatever way you want, man, just get your ass up and start walking." Clay stiffly got back to his feet. "I was already a little tired when we met up, so all this walking isn''t good for me. Can I just have a moment to rest?" "No," Ed told him straightforwardly. "You''ll have plenty of time to rest after we''re done. Please keep moving." "I didn''t want to complain, but I''ve already been feeling a little sick ever since Ronny hit me, so--" "Oh! So now it''s my fault you were being rowdy?" "Ronny!" Ed commanded sharply, cowing him into silence. "You, whatever your name is, that''s enough. Stop stalling and continue leading the way, or I''ll light the gasoline myself."This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. Clay looked over his shoulder, faced forward again, then nodded limply. "Yeah, sorry. To tell the truth, I''m stalling.¡± He adjusted the way he stood. ¡°Ever since I got to talking with Radman, I could see why people don''t really like him. He''s kind of an asshole. If it weren''t for his expertise, you guys wouldn''t even bother." Now that things had come to this, he was suddenly feeling much more talkative. "The thing is, even if he''s an asshole," Clay went on, "I still feel bad about betraying his confidence. I understand where he''s coming from, and I don''t think he''s wrong for running away from you all. I''d even go as far as to say that I like him." Nobody said anything. Even Ronny was just standing there with a grin on his face, just waiting to see where this was going. He still had his lighter in his hand, and he thought that was threat enough not to point his gun. "I was having second thoughts, but even if I like him, I like living a little more." Clay pointed to his side at a gas station¡ªa gas station that was half fallen apart. "He''s in there." "Doesn''t look like it would provide a lot of shelter," Ed observed. His wariness made Ronny flick open his lighter. "Makes you think it''s not worth checking, right?" Clay slipped his hand into the soaked bangs hanging in front of his face in preparation to move them out of the way. "There''s a trapdoor in the back office that he works out of. It''s still daytime, so he''ll definitely be here." Everyone was whispering again. Clay exchanged a glance with Alan. "It''s pretty genius, right?" Clay easily asked, starting to take a few steps towards it. "I can go lure him out like I said I would." "No, that won''t be necessary. I think you might subtly signal him somehow," Ed decided, prompting Ronny to place a firm grip on the sleeve of Clay''s jacket and keep him from going inside. His hair fell back in front of his eyes. "Thank you for being so honest with us. In return, I''m going to give you the same courtesy. I don''t like it when you talk either. You have the bearing of a spoiled teenager, and you have the same eyes as a lot of problem kids I''ve seen." Everything felt distant. He had no idea what sort of face he was making. Clay perfectly registered what this man had said. He just didn''t care. Ed pointed at three of his men and directed them to go ahead. The back office is completely wrecked. I can''t count on them stumbling on you like I did. They''re going to see you almost as soon as they go in. With guns at the ready, they entered the darkness of the gas station. If it had been a different time of day and the sun were right, they''d already know not to bother. At the same time, Kissy skittered back and hopped on top of his shoe. Clay raised his leg so she could use it like a bridge and climb into his jacket pocket. That''s why I''ve already provoked you. The world began to shake. There was shouting, then gunfire. "What the--!?" Ronny started to say, but Clay was already taking advantage of the distraction to take his hammer out from his waistband and slam it down against his knee. In the same motion, he looked over at where Alan was and dropped the sound of a gunshot next to the head of the man in charge of him. The man had been caught completely off guard, but Alan had seen it coming and was covering his ears. With an elbow to the throat, he had no trouble stealing the shotgun out of the bewildered man¡¯s hands and blowing a second member away. Everyone was out of sorts. There were too many things happening at once. Ed tried to make a command in the midst of all that, something crucial to rally his forces in a time of crisis. However, the sound didn''t come out. Clay stole it. It was the perfect storm for Clay and Alan to split up and sprint in different directions, leaving them to deal with the emerging Hammer. "Fuckk! You little piece of shit!" Ronny didn''t have his gun ready and used his critical split-second reaction to try throwing the lighter at Clay. He took a step forward on his newly injured leg and the projectile went wide. "I should have just did it! I''ll kill you if it''s the last thing I do!" Clay rounded a corner to start fleeing the scene, but he made sure to shoot Ronny a smirk before vanishing from his sight. "It''s a Hammer!" Ed was finally able to say. "Forget them! Shoot the Hammer and stay on the move! We have to get out of here!" Go on a rampage. If we''re back to living in a world where might makes right, show them how wrong they are. It was all in service to Clay at the end of the day. They could kill each other for all he cared. This had been one of his precautions from the beginning. Even where Alan was going now had been worked out far ahead of time in case things went down this route. He was going to meet up with Radman and take advantage of some intel that a certain rat allowed Clay to acquire. Squeak! If it weren''t for Kissy, they wouldn''t have had an easy way to correspond with Radman that wouldn''t set off any alarm bells. Notes tied to her body and a pink ribbon to tell her apart after an introduction streamlined communication in place of phones or radios. That wasn''t all. One day, after the asshole patrol messed with them, Clay deployed Kissy to follow them and later show them where on a map their base was located. Radman, of course, was given a copy. Now that a confrontation had been forced, Alan was going to tell Radman what''s happened, and then they were going to ambush whatever stragglers made it back to base. Depending on the plan they ended up having to go with, it could have been either Clay or Alan linking up with Radman. In most of their plans, it was Clay. Only in this, the most severe and volatile plan, did it have to be Clay who stayed behind. Why? Because this would be his best chance to kill the Hammer. If the Hammer was going to die, Clay had to be the one to kill it. When Clay proposed this idea, he never thought things would actually get to this point. He also never thought he''d be at risk of immolation, but that''s where life brought him. He passed by a series of preparations he had Radman set up on his behalf, the most important of which was hidden inside a trash can underneath a window with a smiley face drawn into the dust on its interior surface. Clay felt something surge inside him when he discarded his hammer and retrieved what had been left for him. It was the rifle that Alan gave him the night he went to speak with Radman. They couldn''t carry guns around or risk having them stolen, so Clay''s plan had been to have Radman put the gun somewhere he could reach it in a worst-case scenario, something Alan had not been happy to hear about. You should listen to me more often, old man! There was a decent amount of distance between him and the action now, but he could feel the vibrations of the Hammer''s rampage and hear the sounds of conflict. Gunshots, screaming, even an explosion. Did a few men have grenades on them he hadn''t noticed? It wasn''t a good situation for them. Clay hadn''t confirmed it, but he''d put stock into the idea that the three men Ed initially sent inside died quickly. Alan killed a fourth one during his escape. Two more would find it difficult to recover enough to escape in time, especially Ronny. That''s right. Odds were that Ronny would die first. I wonder if he''s going to be taken apart like that Crowder. Clay''s smirk didn''t waver at all. More than half of their forces were cut out of the equation with one move. It''d only be downhill from there. The best thing to do now was bide his time and wait until they did whatever they could against the Hammer, which would allow Clay to swoop in like a Spooker and eat the scraps. Once the commotion became more slamming than screaming or shooting, Clay started to make his move. As he walked back down the path he''d taken to get there, he took notice of how hard his heart was beating in his chest. It wasn''t hindering his hearing now. It felt good. His eyes saw things better than they ever had, like someone flipped a switch and he''d gone from low quality to high definition. He was perfectly aware of what he could and couldn''t do. His hands weren''t even shaking anymore. Clay was passively aware of the strangeness of this, but he was mostly focused on one thing. I think I can win. It wasn''t a certainty. Even with everything he''d put together, nothing was for sure. He''d be stressing over that if he were in his right mind. What if something went wrong? What if it wasn''t enough? What if there was an outside influence he couldn''t account for? At this moment he was sure that he''d done everything he could. If it wasn''t enough, he could figure it out as he went along. Clay emerged from the space between buildings he''d fled into when things popped off. He placed a hand on the wall next to him to peek around, fingers grazing over a telling chip in the surface of the brick. He hadn''t noticed in the commotion that someone had taken a shot at him when he was running. Had it been after he had already entered the alley, or had he just been so absorbed in escape and smug satisfaction to realize? How close had this close call been? The first thing he noticed was scattered, dismembered body parts. There was also fresh viscera he couldn''t identify any individual part of because it had all been smashed into one pulpy mass. It was only after he realized his lack of a reaction to it that he started to examine what was happening to him. Maybe he really was in shock. Clay hardly felt the vibrations now, even though he could see the Hammer a little ways down the street. It''s weird how there weren''t any Crowders around after all that noise, but he wasn''t going to jinx anything by thinking on it too much. He took aim. The Marlin STP had an ammo capacity of five, plus the one in the chamber. Clay was used to making six bullets count. Now that he had a chance to think about it, that fear hadn''t vanished. The world that was shaking felt far away. His face hurt from smiling so much, so he stopped. This sort of focus was unfamiliar to him, but he wouldn¡¯t deny it. I''ll ride the high! You''re not the only one that wants to go on a rampage! He pulled the trigger. The rifle slammed back into his shoulder. It hadn''t hurt as much as he thought it would. Like last time, even with this distance, the Hammer was too big of a target to miss. The Hammer noticed him even with the minor damage he inflicted. It could feel what happened to every inch of room-meat. Clay used the lever action to expel the used-up casing. The farther away a target is, the more he has to worry about wind and other factors he wasn''t experienced enough to know and not smart enough to intuit. He''ll only choose big targets or normal- to small-sized targets if they''re close enough. The Hammer was running at him now. He could see that it had already taken enough damage to leave noticeable gaps in the room-meat on its arms and chest. Clay maintained his aim and took a few steps to the right. There were a few things Clay noticed about this world that made it odd to him. The appearance of the propane tanks in that caf¨¦ had been the beginning of these thoughts. The Hammer was getting faster. The change in Clay''s position meant it would have to cut through the front of the gas station to reach him if it wanted to maintain its straightforward trajectory. The stories he heard had also caused him pause. Even the fact he was able to make that car explode the last time he faced the Hammer puzzled him the more he thought back on it. He even ended up asking Radman for clarification on a few things. "Propane tanks?" Radman looked at Clay like he was stupid, not that that was too different from how he usually looked at him. "Of course they''d explode when you shoot them. That''s basic stuff." This world wasn''t just an alternate timeline with a few things moved to the left. It had its own rules and physics that, while similar enough to his own that it was hard to tell them apart, were still different. It wasn''t just the zombies that made this world strange. It charged through the parking lot, next to a gas pump. Clay fired. Natives couldn''t see how weird it was, but he could. They thought he was abnormal even though they were living in a gamey powder keg of a world all along. The gas pump that should not have exploded blew up just fine after his bullet struck it. It caused a chain reaction that blew up the other gas pumps in equally illogical fashion. The first ignition was as silent as it was destructive after Clay used his [Sound of Silence], but the other explosions rang out without restraint. Clay ejected a second casing. The air pressure of the explosion made his bones shake and his hair fly back, but he was far enough away that he didn''t worry about debris. The volume of the explosions he couldn''t absorb with his Skill also made his ears ring, so he felt the continued movements of the Hammer better than he heard them. When it emerged from the smoke and fire, half of its body mass had been taken from it. Scattered pieces where he could definitely see the weak core it tried to hide. It wasn''t good enough. He needed more pieces missing around its head to finish it off. It''s not over. He''d slowed it down enough with the explosions that its charge had been interrupted. However, it hadn''t given up on reaching him yet either. Clay had four shots left and a few cards up his sleeve. He backed up into the alley once again. Chapter 23: Simplify When Clay was 8, he''d been learning how to ride a bike without training wheels with two other kids in the neighborhood. There was a three-week period after moving there where the two boys would curiously attempt to interact with the one they saw walking in and out of the house in passing. Clay was shy, though. Had it not been for the coaxing of his mother, he''d have definitely spent most of his time inside playing video games. It turned out to be a good thing¡ªthe boys were nice enough and also his own age. It was just a little embarrassing that he was the only one still with training wheels on his bike. Strangely enough, he''d actually been a faster learner than his reluctance made him out to be. Within a few hours, it was him challenging the other two to race down the road they lived on. Unfortunately, he''d gotten overexcited and leaned too far forward while going top speed. The young boy was sent flying forward, his face skidding against the road with a screeching sound that resembled the noise a car''s tire might make when braking suddenly. It hurt. Not as bad as one would think, but it hurt. It was only after an older sister of one of the other boys showed him his face in a makeup mirror that he started crying. The skin on his nose and a portion of his face had been ground away by the road. It healed back to a point where you''d never know such a thing happened within about a year, but the problem was mainly that this incident took place the day before Clay''s first day at his new school. Being seen with what he thought was a life-changing facial disfigurement horrified him, but more coaxing from his mother allowed him to put on a brave face. Nobody scorned or bullied him for his injury, and, in the long term, it hadn''t really amounted to much more than a story to tell people when he got older. By the time Clay was 10, he was already moving again. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Once Clay was in the alley, he recreated last time''s events. In order to reach him, the Hammer slammed its fists into the buildings on either side of its body and powered its way through a gap that was too narrow for its body. Two things were different. The loss in body mass translated to a loss in physical strength as well; it was still breaking through, just not as fluidly. The other point of divergence was that Clay had prepared for this ahead of time. Well, it was more Radman''s doing than his own. Clay thought that blowing up the gas station would do a good enough job winning the day, but Radman thought differently. "I''m going to put some propane tanks in strategic locations while I''m out there. Hammers, especially ones that have eaten like this one, are even tougher than you think they might be. If you''re planning on taking one down, use what you think will kill it, then prepare at least 50% more." Good call! Clay took a shot at a propane tank on a fire escape next to the Hammer''s head. He missed. Too bad I''m not a good shot. The propane tanks were smaller targets than Clay was used to shooting from this range. The intermittent shaking of the ground also threw off his aim. Even an expert marksman would have trouble under these conditions, right? Clay continued stepping back as he pulled the lever. Three shots left. Noticing his sweat somehow made his body feel even colder. This time he waited until right after it took a step, the brief period between shaking when he could expect to land a bullet anywhere close to where he was aiming. At the same time, the Hammer''s path caused its arm to start breaking through the fire escape. The metal bent and twisted in a way that could have easily caused his shot to miss. It hadn''t. The bad news was that it did cause the tank to start falling in the moment before exploding, slamming it somewhere between the back of its neck and shoulder. Damage was damage, but it still narrowly avoided a direct hit to its head. "Son of a bitch!" Clay shouted at it. "Just when I thought we were starting to get along, you pull a stunt like this!" As usual, the only noises it made were of the destruction it caused. If it kept obliterating every path of escape and pushing him back like this, Clay would be pushed against a wall. He also had to keep his distance to ensure he wouldn''t get caught up in the aftermath of the collapsing buildings. Bricks fell onto the Hammer''s body like raindrops. It disaffectedly continued as if the clay blocks really were just water running down its back. Radman overprepared in terms of the quantity of propane tanks, but some of them weren''t in useful spots and were either another casualty of the Hammer''s approach or had to be forgotten. It took a few steps, but Clay finally found one in an actionable position, within hand''s reach. He tossed it into the path of his pursuer and blew it up once it had rolled between its feet. Lever pull. Two shots left. The idea had been to slow it down while also creating a wider gap between steps. The damage dealt to its feet had only slowed it down a little, but it had also decreased the intensity of the shaking due to the loss in mass. If I had my revolver, I''d just do that a few more times. Whatever! I can take advantage-- Clay was caught off guard when the Hammer shoved its body against the side of a dumpster, sending it barreling towards him just by continuing to move. He was wired enough that he could react and move to the side, but it still clipped his elbow and sent him spinning awkwardly to the ground. BANG! The jolt to his body made him accidentally pull the trigger and waste a shot. His teeth clenched against an undignified sound the pain from his elbow caused. If he¡¯d fallen with a little less grace, he could have shot himself. His trigger discipline was usually so good, too. Clay dejectedly pulled the lever as he stood up. One shot left. Possibilities were drying up. He didn''t see a way to win with only one shot. Adrenaline was pumping, but even now he was starting to feel his body''s aches and pains. His retreat went on, gun pointed but rendered useless by Clay''s inability to let fly his last bullet. Wait. It wasn''t over. There were more guns. Some of the men who died had left their firearms behind. If Clay could get around this thing and back to that street, he could arm himself back up. Two problems: not only would this mean leaving behind the remainder of Radman''s preparations, but it would also mean having to find a way to get around something with a body so massive that it had to walk through buildings to move around the alleys. As well, stepping out onto an open street would let it pick up dangerous amounts of momentum. There was only one way to escape and preserve the path ahead, even if Clay didn''t like it. SLAM!...SLAM!...SLAM! This was the only way. He took a running start and jumped to throw his weight into the window of a building a little farther up ahead. Some kind of business building with desks, computers, and a set of stairs leading to a second floor. He ignored the sound it made, the shattered glass falling away from his body as he stood up, and the possibility of any Crowders in the building as he forced his legs to continue moving. Being inside a building, especially a multi-floor one like this, with a Hammer around was ill-advised, but if he was quick enough he could get back outside through an opposite opening and circle back around to where he could steal more weapons. There was a Crowder in the way that had been drawn in by the sound of the window shattering. He didn''t feel like he had time to kill it, but it would be a nuisance while running from the Hammer. Clay didn''t put much thought into sprinting towards it and slamming his foot into one of its knees with so much built-up force that he caved in its leg and inverted the bend of its knee joint, then continued on as it fell forward.This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version. It was only as he was halfway towards a door that he remembered the ability that made him fear the Hammer most: its ability to regenerate by eating. The reason why some of the damage it had been dealt by the asshole patrol hadn''t felt as substantial as he expected might have been because he ate some of them and regained the mass that they''d taken away. Leaving a disabled Crowder behind was too dangerous. Even if it were dead, that didn''t make its meat any less useful to the overpowered monster. Clay agonized over whether or not he could allow it. He had to, right? Realistically, what could he even do? Take the Crowder with him? Then an idea popped into the back of his mind. Small at first, half-disregarded. However, it continued to grow. It¡¯d be incredibly risky, severely decreasing his options and even cornering him in the event of a failure, but¡­ Maybe it could work! The building shook, filing cabinets and bookcases fell over, and parts of the ceiling cracked and splintered. The Hammer stepped through the room with all the destruction that entailed. Once one of the far walls was gone, it seemed like the only thing keeping the building from collapsing on that end completely was the bulky body of the one wrecking everything. Clay hid himself, watching closely. He likened the unnatural stillness he was pulling off to the Jumper when it had been attempting to ambush him; his view was equally elevated. The Hammer hardly looked around before it lurched towards the crippled Crowder. He had an inkling before, but looking at it a little closer confirmed his thought. It had definitely gotten a little taller since he last saw it. It had its back to Clay as it took the weaker zombie from the floor by its arm and began the process of ripping it apart. Clay saw what he''d been looking for. There was a gap in its skin near where the back of its neck started to meet the shoulder. In fact, its back was even more of a messy patchwork of missing pieces than its front. Just as the Hammer was dropping the first limb into its mouth, the barrel of Clay''s gun emerged from between the railings of the staircase and into the hole in its skin at an upward angle towards its brain. Just in time. The skin around that part had already been healing and now did so around Clay''s gun. It presumably used to be a person, but now it was just a dumb animal. Animals have behaviors that one can analyze and predict if they watch them long enough. Before, when it lost track of Clay, it satiated itself by eating Crowders instead. Repeating that incident and taking advantage of the opening was all he needed to do. Dragging it closer to the side of the stairs to put the Hammer in the best position was the hard part, and now he was thinking he should have taken a little more time to make sure the angle had been right. As it was, the awkward angle he had to put his gun in meant that he couldn''t prime it against his shoulder. When he pulled the trigger, the recoil rocked it back and out of his hands. It had been buried so deep that there was hardly any noise. Everything was still. He had to have gotten it right in its actual head. Clay waited for it to flop forward or even let go of the Crowder hanging from its grip that was now pointlessly reaching in his direction. The Hammer didn''t move at all. Notifications brought him out of the fog. It was dead. The corpse it left behind was a pillar of meat that barely kept everything from falling down around him. >+500 XP! >ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED! [HAMMERHEAD] >ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED! [DEFIANT NAIL] Clay finally let out the breath he''d been holding. His smile was both weary and incredulous. Not even enough for a level? How cruel can you get? Still, his body thrummed and ached in equal measure. He fell back laughing onto the stairs, fingers gripping at his face as if to make absolutely sure this was real. "Hahahahahaha! I did it! Fuck! It hurts! My body hurts!" But I feel amazing! Squeak! Clay removed Kissy from his pocket and brought her up to his face. "Sorry! Hahaha! You''re totally right! We did it! We''re the best! What about you? Are you okay?" Squeak! "That''s awesome! You were putting on such a good show earlier that I thought maybe you were really hurt! Hahahaha! You''re a really good actor! Me too! I''m a good actor, too! Pfthahahahaha! No, I''m not! I''m definitely not! I really thought I was going to die! I''m so embarrassed that you and Alan saw me like that, but I still feel so good! It''s okay if you think less of me! Hahahaha!" Squeak! Squeak! Squeak! Not only was he a badass monster hunter, but he was also pushing the boundaries of human/animal relationships. Had there ever been a time in this world or his where man and rat laughed together? --------------------------------------------------------- [HAMMERHEAD] (+1 Skill Slot) Kill a Hammer! --------------------------------------------------------- Nothing unusual about that. Too many Skill Slots and not enough Skills. --------------------------------------------------------- [DEFIANT NAIL] (+1 White Skill | Id Boost) Kill a Hammer single-handedly! --------------------------------------------------------- Single-handedly? Not even close. Not only did he have help from Radman in the background, he also technically had assistance from the asshole patrol. Did neither of those things count? If he had to guess, Radman''s help was too indirect to count, and the asshole patrol didn''t help him; he used them. If the criteria for gaining Achievements like this were so ambiguous, would it be possible for him to use that ambiguity to his advantage? Probably not. This was an Achievement with conditions that he couldn''t have predicted and also the only one of its kind. He didn''t get anything like this when he killed the Jumper alone. Honestly, he just wanted to put this out of mind and focus on finding out what the hell a White Skill even was. >White Skill: Skills given as rewards for accomplishing noteworthy feats! >White Skills are not added to your Skill Shop and can not be upgraded using Skill Points! >All White Skills have the additional ability of giving you an extra Skill Slot, canceling out the space it would take up! So earning a White Skill wouldn''t fill up a Skill Slot? Sure enough¡­ >SKILLS: 3/5 White Skills create their own Skill Slots. Neat! But what did this Skill actually do? When he pulled up his Skills, they all appeared as red card-shaped boxes that floated in front of him. The only outlier among his three Skills was the one he''d just acquired, which was as white as he imagined it''d be. [Id Boost] ¡­ ¡­ What? This Skill is amazing! Is he seriously getting a Skill like this for free? He turned his head and looked at the statue of meat. That''s right, it hadn''t been free at all. It took a lot of planning and effort to make this happen, and even then it had been a close call. "Sorry, meatman, but your smashing days are over." The Crowder made noises of exertion as it tried to reach for him while dangling from the meat statue''s fist. "Whoops, almost forgot about you. Sorry." >+10 XP! Turns out the building had been for a law firm that represented people involved in workplace accidents if the signage he saw on his way out was any indication. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Now that the excitement was over and he had to start walking home, Clay made as much use of Kissy as he could to make sure he wouldn''t have to engage in any more intensive physical activity. If he had to run away, he felt he could at least do that, but another bout of combat would be asking too much of him. He''d have liked to help Alan and Radman. It sucked getting sidelined, even if he knew they could handle themselves. The real danger was whether or not they could cooperate long enough to put this to bed. A stray thought popped into his head. Did they have to wait until the day they were going out to get diesel? ¡­ Actually, it took them a little longer than it should have for them to decide the situation was suspicious enough to move in. There''d been a five-day gap between his second meeting with Radman and the asshole patrol confronting them. Was there something to that? That only brought the question back to how they even knew Radman was talking to someone. The fact that they only came with suspicions the second time as well all but confirmed that Radman was unintentionally sending information back to the enemy player beyond just his rough location. It was either a Skill different from [Tagging] or an evolution of it. Clay envisioned it as being similar to a Steam notification. >Radman is >Talking to someone Something like that. It would explain why they knew Radman was communicating with people but couldn''t be sure of who. The specifics were just as rough as their bead on where he was. So why did it take them so long to act on this information? It had to be that there was a delay in the Skill, or in the means of communication between the asshole patrol and the main group. Maybe both? Ugh¡­ The incongruity of how tired his body was and how in-depth his train of thought became made him dizzy. "Hahaha¡­" Clay still laughed a little when his mind drifted back towards his fight with the Hammer and how pathetic he''d become in the moments leading up to it. He was even starting to become embarrassed at his overly chipper celebration after the deed was done. I''m so embarrassing¡­ But also. I''m kind of cool¡­ Alan''s apartment complex was fast approaching. Milly and everyone else were sure to get a kick out of this one. As the first one back, he''d get to tell her all about it. There''d be some worry over how Alan was doing, but he hadn''t expended as much energy as Clay had before things went down, knew where to ambush them where they thought they''d be safe, and even got himself a gun. He wasn''t worried about them, but he was perplexed by what he found when he entered the alleyway. The ladder to the fire escape was already down. Had Alan gotten back before him? That didn''t feel right, but Clay''s walk home had been slow enough for him to believe it could be possible. Once he moved up the ladder and slipped into the building, he noticed something else that bothered him. The window that he came in through had already been open. For someone like Clay, who had been paranoid enough about people entering his space to tell when someone else had opened his bedroom door by the subtle differences in the way the doorknob opened after they closed it, it only took a change in these two consistent variables to set him on edge. He proceeded slowly, with his empty gun pointed in front of him. Zombies couldn''t infiltrate this place like humans could. Humans could be scared by depleted firearms. Clay was halfway up the stairs to Alan''s floor when he heard the screaming. He still went slowly. "Oh, it''s you. This is a little awkward." "Mom! Mommy!" Ed was standing halfway down the hall. He was a little banged up and without his gun, but he did have a knife in his hand. His other hand was tugging Angie out of the apartment by her arm while she continuously tried to pull herself away and go back inside. She was hardly paying attention to Ed or Clay, just loudly sobbing while she tried to grip the doorframe to keep herself from being pulled away. "Mom! Mom! Help! Help me, Mom! Don''t lay down!" There was blood on Ed''s knife. "What did you do¡­?" Clay asked, his voice only just stable enough to keep from quivering. "Only what I had to." Ed wrapped an arm around Angie and picked her up. She was made into a perfect shield to protect his torso. "I tried to explain it in a way she''d understand, but she just wouldn''t stop--" "What did you do!?" Clay asked louder this time, pointing his gun at them and trying his best to lock onto his head. He was so mixed up that he didn''t even realize how pointless it was. "Let me go!" Angie whined, kicking and trying to scratch Ed''s arm. "Momm! Get up! Don''t go to sleep!" "I forgot I was dealing with two children." Ed''s knife edged closer to Angie''s throat. "Don''t worry, I''ll simplify things so even you two can understand it." Chapter 24: Tantrum "Chess sucks¡­" Clay, 13 years old, had just lost another game of chess against his cousin. "You''re only saying that because you always lose," he responded in a monotone voice. Of course, whenever Clay managed to win a game every once in a while by the slimmest of margins, his cousin would become snappy for the rest of the day. "Winning chess a lot doesn''t actually mean you''re smart, especially if it''s against me." His cousin started putting the pieces back in their proper place. "How come I only ever hear stupid people say that sort of thing? It''s like that time you were telling me the difference between book smarts and street smarts." "That stuff is totally real, though!" Clay asserted. "Between you and me, I know for a fact I''d do way better on the street." "Yeah, I bet you''d do incredibly well as a member of the homeless community." "Better than you! If you tried to pull this--" Clay did a stereotypical nerd voice, "''Rook to E5'' bullshit on the streets, you''d get shanked!" "And you wouldn''t?" His cousin made a tally mark inside of a notepad he kept in his pocket. "I''d be fine! Better than you!" "And what would you do if someone was coming at you with a knife?" Clay thought for a second, then quickly said, "I''d trick him into using the knife on someone else first! You can''t do that in chess!" "Technically, you can¡­Alright, let''s just go ahead and say you pull that off. What next? A street tough like him might not even need a knife to wipe the floor with a middle-class white kid like you." "Well, we both know I''m too handsome to punch, right?" Clay fluttered his eyelashes. "Hmm?" "Yes, you''re a very pretty girl." "Right! Nobody would want to destroy my boyish good looks, so they''d obviously go for a gut punch!" His cousin nodded. "Obviously." Clay mimed doing an underhanded punch against his other hand. Once he stopped his own punch, he unfolded his fist and made his fingers twitch like he was in pain. "Boom! Their fist slams right into the frying pan I hid underneath my shirt! While they''re reeling from having their hand broken, I''d take my frying pan out and slam them over the head with it!" "Wait, when was it established you get to have a frying pan underneath your shirt? I gave you a lot of unlikely things there, but I draw the line at the secret frying pan." "I never leave home without it! You''ve just never seen me have to use it!" "Yeah? Lift your shirt so I can see it." "I am currently inside my home, so of course it wouldn''t be on me right now." "Of course." His cousin nodded, slowly this time. "Okay, but now you''ve started a gang war. What are you going to do when the next guy comes along and is wise to your frying pan maneuvers?" "Then I guess it''s safe to say he''ll think it''s worth destroying the world''s eighth wonder to secure a win. He''ll go for my face!" Clay grinned confidently. "That''s when I''d surprise him at the last second with a mechanism that lifts the frying up through the neck hole of my shirt and protects my face. He breaks his hand, and then I slam him over the head with my frying pan." "What? So you''re meant to be some sort of inventor now? This is supposed to be based at least a little in reality." "In this situation, I''d have been able to guess that more guys would come, so I prepared accordingly." "Yeah, but what I''m saying is that these preparations are a little beyond you." Clay huffed. "I take offense to that. I have ''Boy Genius'' tattooed on my chest for a reason." "Lift your shirt then." "We''re not even married, and you want me to get naked for you? Stay in your lane, pal." "Cute." Correctly believing that their time playing chess was over for the day, his cousin set the board aside. "I don''t think your problem is insufficient ''book smarts''. You just rely too much on your ability to improvise, which suits you just fine when we''re playing something like Werewolf, but when we play chess you''re only planning two or three moves ahead." Clay had started pretending to snore halfway through all that. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Clay should have known something like this could happen. He should have thought far enough ahead. Milly knew where the guns were, but how was she to know that she needed one? The asshole patrol never bothered anyone besides Clay and Alan after they checked the building for Radman, creating a mental blind spot that Clay hadn''t factored into his planning. It all felt so obvious now. Pushed far enough into a corner, people like this would definitely take drastic measures. Alan should have thought of it. Clay should have thought of it and made a suggestion to Alan if he couldn''t think of it. "Claaayy!" Angie called out between little hiccups. "Clay! Mom''s not getting up! Clay!" "Don''t hurt her!" Clay urged Ed. He couldn''t focus on Angie''s feelings right now. "Why shouldn''t I? Things have gotten to this point; why shouldn''t I just kill as many of you as I can before you shoot me?" His voice was so calm. "Whatever''s going on, it''s between us! We don''t need to get other people involved! It''s nothing we can''t still work out!" "You almost sound like you mean it¡­That''s your leader''s wife in there, right? Do you think he''ll be kind enough to let me off after this?" Clay swallowed thickly. "Is she¡­?" "Dead? Do you want to step inside and check?" He momentarily pointed his knife at the door before moving it close to Angie again. She''s not dead. She''s not dead. There''s no way she''s dead. Someone like that can''t die. A world where someone like me is alive and she''s not¡­ "She''s not dead," Clay told himself. "Oh, she isn''t?" Ed tilted his head back. "That''s a relief. To be honest, I don''t enjoy killing people. Thank goodness we have a medical expert that can tell if someone''s alive or dead without even looking at them." That''d just be too cruel. "But on the off chance your diagnosis is wrong, keep in mind that I only had to go this far because of you." Clay said nothing. "I only wanted the girl because I figured it would pressure Alan into making you give me Richard. Looks like I was too slow¡­" Clay said nothing. "You have an unsettling look in your eyes. It reminds me of a time when I was certain I was about to be attacked by a teenage student of mine. You''re not planning to shoot through this girl to kill me, are you?" Clay said nothing. "Have you ever killed anyone yourself? A real person, I mean." Clay said nothing. "Are you going to kill me, or am I going to kill you? If you''re having a hard time making a decision, I suggest you just let me take the kid. We can trade for Richard later." Clay said nothing. I can''t let him leave. If Ed were allowed to get away, he might regroup with the other player. It''d be all over for Alan''s group. At the same time¡­ I can''t kill him. Not only was Clay''s gun empty, he also didn''t know if he had the guts to kill someone with his own hands. There was enough disconnect with guns that made it feel like one wasn''t even really doing anything. If pushed hard enough, Clay thought he could shoot someone. But his gun was empty. That meant that he''d have to beat him to death or stab him if he could steal his knife. He wanted to avoid that and just capture him instead. Clay took a step forward. Ed took a step back. "You''re playing a dangerous game right now, Clay." Ed glared at him. "If you come any closer, I''ll definitely kill this girl." "She''s the only thing keeping me from shooting you," Clay responded coldly. Ed had all the power here, even if he didn''t know it. Clay had to assert control. "Wow, you can code-switch on a dime, can''t you?" Ed tried a polite smile, but he couldn''t keep the contempt out of it. "Not too long ago you were lambasting Ronny for copying me. Then you were begging and crying like it was second nature. Now you''re playing the part of a disaffected negotiator. I wonder which of those is your real personality¡­" "Clayyy! Clayy!" "Shut up, already!" Clay snapped at her. "I''m trying to think!" He was exhausted, both physically and mentally. How was he supposed to help anyone when she kept yelling at him like that? Unfortunately, telling kids to shut up never works. Instead of speaking properly, Angie devolved into an ugly mixture of screaming and sobbing. "You don''t like kids, do you?" Ed raised his voice to be heard over Angie while he readjusted his hold on her to keep her from getting away. Clay said nothing. He couldn''t get swept up in his pace. Don''t focus on anything he says. Just think. "I''m the same way, actually. I despise children. Makes you wonder why I decided to become a teacher, huh?" "¡­" "I liked teaching and leading people. It felt good to be tutoring kids around my age, especially when they were older. I thought that would translate into a love of the classroom, but no such luck. I couldn''t get the qualifications to teach in universities, so it was only classes between 3rd and 12th grade for me." Ed took a step back. No, it''s actually a good thing if this standoff gets dragged on. If I just wait until Alan gets back, we''ll have him completely cornered. At the same time¡­ Alan might give him whatever he wants to save Angie or go totally berserk if he finds out Milly''s hurt. "What do you think is worse? Dealing with idiot children who don''t understand anything no matter how many times you patiently dumb it down for them, or arrogant teenagers who understand you just fine but insist on taking their anger at their parents out on you because they know you can''t really do anything to them?" Stop putting me in these types of situations! I only processed half of what you just said! "Seriously, I don''t think there''s any group of people that hate kids more than teachers. Being a parent is hard enough¡­" Ed jostled Angie. "Imagine a room packed full of kids like this." "Mommy¡­hic! Mommm!" Clay had a bitter retort to all of that, but he kept his mouth shut to keep from provoking him. Ed took a step back. "You don''t care, though. I bet you think all of your teachers were stupid killjoys who just didn''t get it." Clay did kind of think that.The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. "I''m letting you know now that you were the problem." Clay also thought that as well. "Now you''re an adult that thinks he can do whatever he wants without consequences. A typical case of arrested development." "What are you talking about?" Clay had a tense look on his face. "When did I ever do anything that could have possibly given you that impression?" "It''s just your behaviors, really. Like a class clown that''s big and bad in the classroom, you cry when you''re sent to the principal''s office." Ed took another step back. "You''ve done the things you''ve done; now you''re facing the consequences while acting like you''re the one being inconvenienced." Clay couldn''t understand this guy at all. What was he saying? Did he even have a point he was trying to make? A woman might be dead, and Clay was the one doing whatever he wanted? This is annoying¡­ Why did he have to listen to scum like this go on and on? Why did he have to experience this sort of clich¨¦? Clay''s posture changed when a door opened farther down the hall. Ed was too absorbed in the ''conversation'' to notice. "Fuck¡­" He spat on the ground. "It must be nice being able to hide behind a gun. You wouldn''t last ten seconds against me or any of my friends toe-to-toe." "Kinda what the gun''s for." Clay took a step forward. "You also didn''t seem to mind it much when you guys had ten guns on us." "I let you guys live because I was convinced you didn''t know where Richard was. This all just makes me regret not letting Ron do whatever he pleased with you¡­There were multiple occasions where he''d throw out some of the most juvenile, playground bully ideas, but I tempered him because I thought you were just some stupid kid. If it weren''t for me, you''d have been eating centipedes for lunch every day." By this point, Angie had wasted all of her energy. All she could do was whine while she tried to angle herself to be able to bite Ed''s arm. "Even now, I''m being so reasonable. I''m speaking to you reasonably. I''m offering you a deal where we can both walk away clean. Why do I have to share a world with you people who can''t just have a simple conversation with--?" "Give me a break!" Clay cut him off, thrusting his gun in his direction. "Don''t pretend like anything about this is reasonable! You think just because you''re not yelling, I should do whatever you say!? No wonder you couldn''t escape the school system, you''re a pseudo-intellectual high schooler to your core!" Ed''s attitude made a lot of sense now that Clay thought about it. He''d just lost most of his friends, and whatever was left of them were going to be dead by the end of the day. Like Clay, Ed was on his last mental rope. He put on a calm show, but¡­ "Acting cool about it doesn''t mean you''re not throwing a tantrum!" "JUST SHOOT THEM ALREADY!" Ed heard his own voice over his right shoulder and turned his head to look, leaving him vulnerable as Calvin moved in to throw his body against his lower left side. Clay had seen Calvin coming and decided to deposit the command he''d stolen earlier to keep Ed from giving a first-second order to his men. Clay¡¯s hope was to confuse the situation as much as possible and keep him from instinctively stabbing Angie. "Let go of ''er! Let go of the knife!" Calvin shouted at him as he seized the knife-brandishing arm. Ed was undoubtedly stronger, but it created a gap that allowed Clay to move in and slam the butt of his gun into his elbow and force him to drop Angie. Angie scrambled back into Alan''s apartment while Clay tried to slam Ed again, this time in the face. Unfortunately, he recovered enough to move out of the way with the same motion he used to ram Calvin into a wall. Even though it was surely a hard blow to take, Calvin still held onto Ed''s arm and kept trying to take the knife from him. Clay moved in again, but Ed sent a well-executed backkick into his stomach to knock him away. It wasn''t damage his worn body could afford to take; he wasn''t as quick to recover as he should have been. Unfortunately, now there was nothing stopping Ed from taking the knife into his free hand and slashing at Calvin''s face. "Aghh! Son of a bitch!" He started calling Ed all sorts of names, including quite a few racial slurs, but he also didn''t let go of his arm. There was enough blood on his face that Clay couldn''t tell exactly where he''d been cut. "Let go of me!" Shunk! Ed stabbed Calvin deep in the arm, deep enough that it must have gotten stuck in a bone. He couldn''t easily retrieve it. "You''re the one making me do this! I was trying not to hurt you people!" He screamed as he started punching Calvin in the face. It only took a few blows to make him finally loosen his grip and fall to the ground, incidentally taking Ed''s knife with him. Clay didn''t have any adrenaline left. There was nothing stopping him from shaking as he repositioned himself and pointed his rifle at Ed''s head. Fuck! Just point the gun at him! I don''t need to turn this into a brawl! "Stop! Stop moving!" Clay demanded. "I''ll shoot you! I''ll blow your goddamn head off!" Ed only hesitated for a moment, then took off down the hall without any regard for Clay''s threat. Did he know Clay doesn''t have any bullets? No, that couldn''t be. He just didn''t believe Clay would actually shoot him. Clay could only watch him sprint upstairs towards the roof, abandoning his knife. Smug asshole, I''d have shot you for sure if I had ammo. You didn''t read me at all. There wasn''t any time to waste. He couldn''t let Ed escape no matter what, even if it meant leaving everyone in a bad position. He could reach the fire escape from the roof and turn it into a chase. "Angie! Listen to me!" Clay called back while he started moving towards the roof as well. "Please, go to Howard''s apartment and tell them what''s going on! Do you hear me!? It''s really important you do what I tell you! Now!" He had to count on Angie to get Milly and Calvin help, even if he felt bad about leaving Calvin groaning on the ground about his eye and not even taking a second to see Milly''s condition for himself. The best way he could think of to make himself useful was capturing Ed. Capture Ed and he wins. His body had weakened to the point where even moving up a flight of stairs to the roof made his legs scream, but he had to move quickly. The faster he pacified Ed, the faster he could check on Milly and Calvin. Unfortunately, his impatience and his inexperience allowed for a critical opening. The moment he stepped out onto the roof, a hand came in from outside his view to clutch the barrel of his rifle and yank it upwards while another hand slammed up into his chin. "Ungh--!" Clay fell back on his ass, rifle torn from his weakened grip. His legs felt numb. He''d expected Ed to be in retreat when he stepped out, not prepared to ambush him. He should have seen it coming. "That goes to show how stupid you are." Ed pointed the stolen rifle at Clay and took a few steps back. "Pseudo-intellectual? You sure know how to talk, but I''ll bet you weren''t doing anything important before the plague either. People who use terms like that are just resentful manchildren who think they''re above formal education. Tell me, where did that mindset get you?" Alan was right, this guy had a mean hook. Clay could barely move. "Why--?" Clay started to ask a question. Click! Ed had pulled the trigger. He''d planned to kill Clay mid-sentence. He didn''t even blink at the idea of shooting him. Ed turned the gun over as if he''d find some malfunction he could quickly fix. Clay slowly stood back up, but he had to lean against the open door to keep from sinking again. "That''s awkward¡­" "Yes, it is. Also very unfortunate for you. Now I have to beat you to death." Ed said in a matter-of-fact tone. There was no point in fleeing, Clay wouldn''t get far like this. "Fuckk¡­" Clay groaned. "Aren''t you at least a little embarrassed to be doing all this? This is all so mustache-twirlingly evil¡­" "Evil¡­?" That one finally broke Ed''s composure. His detached expression contorted into a perfect picture of pure hatred, animalistic rage, and barely restrained violence. He turned the rifle in his hands again to hold it like a blunt instrument but also held himself back enough to try and correct Clay. "You killed my friends, you stupid piece of shit!" Clay was taken aback. Suddenly, the calm state he''d entered after he realized he was going to unleash the Hammer on them was completely ripped away. Just like Ed, he lost the last foothold he had on his mental state. "Don''t you fucking--Don''t you try and guilt-trip me!" Clay''s voice cracked. "I didn''t do anything wrong! I was just defending myself! It''s not my fault!" "If you''d just told us where Richard was, we wouldn''t have had to go as far as we did!" Ed started moving closer, shattering a nearby flowerpot when he swung his new weapon for the first time. "You protected him from the very beginning! What did he promise you that you were willing to kill over it!? The Crowder deterrent!? Solar panels!?" Clay couldn''t even focus on how unreasonable Ed was being or what he should be doing to prevent his own death, he just felt like he had to defend himself. "No! I didn''t even want things to--I thought you would all just go away! I just wanted you guys to leave us alone!" Clay shoved a finger in his direction. "You escalated it! Even if it was Ronny who was about to light me on fire, you all stood there and watched! I''m not the bad guy here!" "It''s all just excuses! It could have been ended by just giving us Richard! I was fully planning on letting you go, even after it turned out you''d lied to us the whole time!" Ed was only a few feet away from Clay now. "So we''re just going to ignore the fact that Radman doesn''t want anything to do with you guys!? Fuck how he felt about it!?" "Honestly, at this point, I don''t even care about Richard or making a trade! I was just hoping I''d get a chance to kill you!" Kill? Kill me? Ah, that explained a lot. Ed must have come straight here after everything went down, either suspecting something would happen if he returned to his base or too blind with his need for revenge to bother. The best option for Ed would have been to flee the city completely and let his leader know what happened. For how hard he tried to give off the impression he was an intelligent and reasonable person, he let anger cloud his judgment and put everything on the line. Just to have a chance to kill Clay. Clay didn''t mind the idea of dying, but there were limits that he was figuring out as time went on. First and foremost was that it couldn''t be too painful, but now he was realizing he also didn''t want to die to someone like this. He didn''t want to lose to someone like this. It felt like there was something crawling on his brain. "Hey¡­" Clay''s voice went to the opposite extreme from their screaming match. It was almost too quiet to be heard. "If I hadn''t suddenly revealed that I knew where Radman was, you would have let me burn, right?" Ed''s eyes widened. He didn''t answer. He took a purposeful step and brought the gun down on Clay''s head. Just in time for Clay to move to the side and send a quick punch into Ed''s face. It was clear he hadn''t expected the wobbly Clay to move so deftly. "Guuhh--!" Blood spurted from Ed''s nose as he was sent crashing back onto the ground, the rifle flying up into the air and falling someplace Clay didn''t care enough to pay attention to. Clay''s body flooded with strength, more strength than he''d ever possessed in his life. All of his fatigue vanished at once. "Shit¡­" Ed cursed as he jumped back to his feet. Blood continuously dripped from his nostrils, but he was otherwise still in fighting shape. "I should have known you were playing possum! It''s the only trick you seem to be any good at!" That wasn''t it. Clay hadn''t been pretending to be tired at all. This sudden turnaround was all thanks to his newly acquired White Skill. --------------------------------------------------------- [Id BOOST] You are in danger. Your blood is pumping. Your body is thrumming with power. You are alive. Double your Body Stats for 2 minutes. Halve your Body Stats (rounding down) for 5 hours after use. 5 day cooldown. --------------------------------------------------------- Clay flexed his fingers. "I''m not the bad guy. I didn''t move forward with my plan to trick you until my life was in danger. I scraped and begged so I wouldn''t have to hurt anyone. I''m not the bad guy." Ed took a stance and exhaled harshly to keep the blood from clogging up his nose. Clay continued before he could respond, "Don''t say anything." --------------------------------------------------------- You are Clay HEALTH: 12/16 | STAMINA: 36/40 --- LEVEL: 2/11 | EXP: 795/1000 | SKILLS: 3/5 --- STAT POINTS: 0/12 (FrL: 7 | FrA: 5) | SKILL POINTS: 2/7 --- BODY - Strength: 5 (10) | Speed: 1 (2) | Resilience: 2 (4) | Endurance: 2 (4) MIND - ?? | ?? | ?? | ?? HEART - Luck: 0 | ?? | ?? | CIDURAC --- -SKILLS- [IMMUNITY - LV 2] | [SOUND OF SILENCE - LV 1] | [Id BOOST] --- -ACHIEVEMENTS- (+5 Stat Points | +1 Max Level | +3 Skill Slots | +1 WtSkill) --- CURRENT WORLD: Dead and Dying OBJECTIVE: Survive TIME REMAINING: ??? --------------------------------------------------------- "It''s only fair that I get to throw a tantrum too."