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—otherwise, 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 Clay
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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.