Gary stared with frustration at the group.

“You can’t just give up like this. There must be some hope here. Look, you said that the portals will only open when everyone on the planet is dead, right? So what if you stopped that happening here? What if you used this reality to fight back?”

“It’s a lost cause, Gary,” Annabel said. “A reality with so few defences, a population with no idea how to manipulate mana, craft magical items, use abilities gifted by the gods above? It’s hopeless. The living don’t stand a chance. For one thing, there’s no-one to train them.”

“Well, there’s you,” Gary retorted. “You could help if you wanted to.”

Forge had been staring into his tankard since his outburst. His eyes flickered in Gary’s direction. It was as if Gary had reached him for a second. Gary saw a glimmer of hope in the big man’s eyes. But then he turned back to his ale, his face grim.

“It’s been tried before. Everything has been tried before. The dead always win.”

If there had been a moment at which the others were considering Gary’s words, it passed. Forge was the group leader. He’d made his judgement.

“These are your choices, Gary. Come with us and maybe stand a chance of survival. Or die here,” Annabel stated.

“I don’t agree with that,” Gary said through gritted teeth. “I think there is another choice, and you are all too cowardly to take it. Maybe this is a backwater reality, maybe there isn’t much hope here, but it’s my backwater reality. And as long as there are people here willing to fight, then there’s still a chance.”

Gary picked up his shovel.

“So this is what I’m going to do. I’m going to go back out there and save the people that are trapped in that church. There are thirty people in there and if there’s something I can do about it, then I have to. And then we’re going to find somewhere safe, and we’ll work out the next part of the plan to keep fighting. You lot?”

He paused.

“You lot can go to hell for all I care.”

It was the most passionate speech Gary had ever given.

Gary had lived most of his life avoiding confrontation and arguments. He usually tried to be the peacemaker in conflicts. In his ideal world, people wouldn’t fight at all. His approach to defusing situations had worked well enough for him to date.

But this was different. He’d never been put in a position where lives were at stake, never mind all the lives on the entire planet. He felt fired up and ready to fight back. Because if nothing else, someone had to.

Forge didn’t look up at him, and Annabel cast her eyes to the ground. Morgan snorted and crossed his arms. Only Rain looked at him directly. She had a curious expression on her face, as if she was studying an interesting insect.

Gary shook his head and turned to leave.

“You’re making a mistake,” Morgan said, standing between Gary and the tent’s entrance.

“Maybe. I don’t care. Get out of my way.”

Morgan’s lip turned into a half-sneer and then he stepped aside, motioning with both arms towards the exit.

Gary stalked outside, stepping back into the church grounds.

There was silence in the tent for a few moments.

“Well, there’s no denying he’s got spirit,” Annabel stated. Her voice was flat.

“Spirit will get him killed,” Forge replied in a curt tone.

“Delphine would no doubt rush to help him, if she wasn’t, you know, undead at the moment,” Annabel returned. Her voice was doubtful now.

“Which is what got her killed in the first place, if you recall,” Morgan said, throwing his hands up in the air in exasperation.

“What do you think, Rain?” Annabel asked.

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“Morgan is right. Delphine was killed because of her compassion.”

“Our focus should be on getting to Galandriel and bringing her back to life,” Forge said, “Though Gods know we can barely afford the cost of it. We’re going to struggle without a spell caster on our side.”

“We should never have come here. If we’d portalled to Galandriel from where we were, we’d be there by now,” Annabel said.

“It was a snap decision,” Forge defended himself. “There was every chance this could have been a much more valuable run.”

“True,” Annabel nodded, “Okay. Fine. There’s no point in us staying here for the sake of a level 1 zombie glitch. Time to move.”

“Wait a second,” Morgan said. He was frowning as a thought occurred to him. “No, wait a moment. I think there might be a way to salvage this. I’ve just had an idea. Listen…”

*

Gary stepped out of the tent and into a sudden driving rain.

“Terrific.”

It was late afternoon. The sky was bruised and blackened, and a torrential downpour had begun. The light was dim as Gary walked towards the church. Glancing behind him, he noted that as soon as he’s stepped out, the marquee tent had vanished.

He counted that there were still three hundred or so of the undead trying to gain access to the church. A third of them were still scraping and pushing at the main door, the rest at the smaller side door.

“Okay,” Gary muttered, “here we go again.”

Even though he hadn’t been able to drink the ale of healing, his hit points had returned to their full value again. Gary felt a sense of urgency now, more than he had before. His family might be at the farmhouse by now. They’d need his help.

He considered abandoning his task, then shook his head and went back to work.

The driving rain made it harder for Gary to swing at the undead horde. The rain soaked him in seconds, his t-shirt and jeans clinging to him like a second skin. It was also lashing down at an angle, spitting into his eyes and half blinding him.

Gary ignored it and pressed on. Five more zombies went down. Three more skeletons. The rain drove even harder. It was as if the elements themselves were trying to persuade Gary to give up, to accept the offer of the group he had left behind.

He kept swinging. Three more zombies.

It was getting harder and harder to find places to drag the fallen bodies to. The asphalt of the church grounds was littered with corpses now. Gary had to stop and clear a path down to the grassy bank, to drag the bodies he felled away so that he didn’t end up with a wall of undead behind him.

Four more.

His muscles were aching. The feeling of being refreshed after the reprieve in the tent hadn’t lasted long. His shoulders, neck, biceps and forearms were straining after hour upon hour of swinging the shovel. Each impact had become a painful jolt through his aching body.

Still the rain lashed down on him and still he kept swinging and hitting, swinging and hitting. He screamed in frustration as he felt exhaustion and hunger creeping up on him. What was he doing? This was insane! He should stop, leave, let the people inside suffer whatever fate waited for them.

He started striking this way and that, no longer seeing the blur of notifications as they kept blinking across his eyes.

“Just die!” he shouted at the horde. “Just fucking die!!”

Simon felt as heavy as an anvil as he lifted it up again and again. Dragging the fallen bodies away from the horde became an exercise in frustration as he slipped on the already fallen bodies.

He stopped seeing the horde as individual zombies and skeletons to be taken down one by one. It was all just one big group of rotting bodies. He hit left, he hit right. He stabbed and he sliced, bringing the shovel down on their heads, smacking at the back of their knees, going for the necks.

More notifications.

He almost didn’t see the two notifications that told him he’d made a mistake.

He sliced a zombie to the left of him and up flashed:

You attacked Level 2 Zombie (Heavy). 2 points of damage.

Even as he read the message, he was already swinging at a zombie next to the heavy he’d injured. He was no longer even attempting to kill them one at a time. Instead, he was lashing out at the heaving mass of flesh-hungry undead at random.

Another notification flashed up.

You attacked Level 2 Zombie (Heavy). 3 points of damage.

Both of the heavies turned to glare at Gary.

Fear shot through him. He’d only just been able to deal with one heavy, using the improvised car trap. How the hell was he going to deal with two, exhausted as he was?

He swore and backed away. The first of the heavies lashed out with its savage claws, striking Gary across the chest. It ripped through his sodden t-shirt, tearing through Gary’s flesh. Blood sprayed from the four scratch marks as 6 hit points were deducted from his total of 25.

The two heavies had 42 and 43 hit points.

“Goddammit!” Gary shouted as he fell backwards over a corpse.

The heavies wasted no time and were on his fallen body in seconds. One took a chunk out of Gary’s left shoulder, whilst the other bit down hard on his right leg. Gary screamed again as more blood flowed from his body. He didn’t need the flashing notifications to know that he was close to finished.

He struggled with all his dwindling strength. He kicked the heavy at his leg in the face and using his shovel to push the other one off. Still half lying on the floor, he scrambled backwards, kicking his protesting legs against the bodies he had fallen on. He lashed out with Simon, more intent on pushing the two heavies back than doing any damage.

He struggled to his feet. The wound on his left leg was bleeding profusely. He took another exhausted swing at the two heavies, clipping both of them at the same time for another 2 points of damage each.

But it was hopeless, and he knew it.

Red flashed in front of his eyes as his hit point total flashed at 3 points.

The two heavies separated, moving to Gary’s left and right in a semi-intelligent display of tactics. Their eyes burned with hatred for Gary. They advanced swiftly. There was no room for Gary to manouever as they closed in on him.

He lifted Simon in a defiance.

This is it, he thought, this is how I’m going to die.