"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.
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—I 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."
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
"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—though 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."