Andy wandered through the shopping centre carrying a basket, getting lost. There were more zombies present than when he’d scouted the place that morning, but they were docile during the daytime. He trained them around just as he’d done in video games before the cataclysm, letting them follow him throughout the stores. When one got in his way, he dispatched it with his combat knife. Their skulls were brittle, it was like stabbing a cardboard box. Better to save ammo and not create any noise, there’d be no shortage of things to shoot later.
Andy gave his little entourage the run-around before returning to the plaza area via the ground floor. Climbing the knotted rope which was lowered over the table-made barricade atop the escalator, Andy returned before evening and slung the items off Clara’s shopping list onto a table beside those they’d recovered from their jeep. There was a plastic bag full of silver jewellery, the wooden handle of a rake, two hand axes, a coil of rope, duct tape, some canned food, a handful of smoke alarms, a few packets of pills which Andy didn’t recognise, a copy of the bible, a crucifix-shaped shampoo bottle, and finally, a bunch of ultraviolet tube bulbs.
Clara and the merc–Limpy–followed him inside. They were chatting about their lives pre-cataclysm. Andy didn't pay them any attention. He tucked into a can of unspoiled spaghetti hoops–the ones with the sausages–and washed it down with absinthe. He had a nice working-buzz on the go, which he intended to maintain until sunset.
“Should you be drinking?” Clara said. “I need you focussed.”
Andy teetered backwards on the legs of his chair, the mouth of the bottle gently pulling on his lower lip. “You’re forgetting sis, I work better while drunk now.”
“How’s that then?”
“My drunken monk ability. It improves all of my senses when I’m pissed.”
Negative, his AI chimed in his head. Interpretation incomplete. The module: Inebriation Inhibitor, maintains operative function while the user is toxically impaired.
Andy tapped his skull. “It agrees with me. Says I should get drunk.”
Clara raised an eyebrow sceptically. “Right, sure.”
Andy rocked unsteadily on his chair while he carved the wooden handles he had scavenged into stakes.
“Found these on a corpse,” the merc said, handing Andy a cigar. “Gave one to your companion too. Figured, light them up at the end.”
Andy fished around his pockets for a lighter, then put the cigar to his lips and lit it.
“No, no, no.” The merc took it out of his mouth. “Firstly, you cut the tip off when you smoke a cigar. It’s not a rolly. Secondly, we save them for the end.”
“The end what?”
“The end.” The merc spread his arms about the room. “Death, glory, victory. Whatever happens, that’s when you smoke this thing, and you hope it’s with the wind in your hair and your foot on the gas.”
Andy smirked, tucking the cigar inside a pouch on his combat vest. He patted the pouch. “Happy?”
“You bet.”
“What are these?” Clara asked about the UV bulbs.
“I found them at a pet store,” And said. “Ultraviolet bulbs. They emit a sort of version of sunlight. If we can hook them up to a power source, they could come in handy versus the vampy.”
“Good shout,” Clara said.
The lady scientist–Ballpit– joined them, exchanging small talk with Clara. Andy closed his eyes and wracked his brain for vampire puns he could use if it came to another epic confrontation.
“Think you could help me on this?” he said under his breath to his AI.
Clarify query.
“I need a good one-liner to say to the vampire when I kill it.”
Clarify query.
“Clarify what? Listen… if you give me a good vampire pun, it’ll make me way stronger in combat against it.”
Confirm.
“I confirm. Now what you got?”
Processing… Pun generation one: I’m here to add some garlic to your diet.
“That's shit, and we don’t have any garlic. Next.”
Pun generation two: Time to cancel your subscription to immortality.
“Okay, stop. Never do that again. Forget I said anything.”
Pun generation three-
“Stop.”
You tried biting me, now bite the dust.
“Stop!”
Clara nudged him. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, just talking to my AI about my abilities. Really interesting stuff.”
“Remember our bet?” She nodded towards the Ballpit, who was using the duct tape to strengthen the barricade of tables propped up against the restaurant’s plaza-side window.
“What do you want me to say?”
“Just ask her how she’s doing.”
Andy got up and walked over to the woman. She was almost two feet shorter than him, with black tangled hair tied in a ponytail. “Is this alright?” she asked as he stood beside her.
“Yes. And you?”
“Excuse me?”
“How are you feeling?” he said.
“I’m okay. A little afraid. Tired of waiting around, honestly.” She continued tapping the table legs together. In the heat of combat, Andy doubted her efforts would make any difference. “I guess you’re quite used to all this mayhem and violence?”
“Uh huh.”
“Well, I’m glad somebody is. I don’t think Linton and I are very suited for this line of work. We’ve always been in high demand, and well protected. You’re an Augmented person, aren’t you?”
“Yep.”
“Which Augment, may I ask?”
“Erm.” Andy forgot the official name for it. “Guns.”
“Gunslinger?” Her eyes widened. “I have never met anyone with a first generation Augmentation. Your breed are quite a rarity nowadays.”
“Why?”
“Because generation one was the first wave. They took the most casualties. Not many survived. Wave two is more common, but of course, still very rare.”
“What wave are we on now?”
Ballpit averted her eyes, busying herself with the duct tape and tables. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand the question.”
“What, er…” When Andy thought about it, neither did he. “Just making small talk.”
“There were two waves of Augmentation development, before the Bulwark Project went dark. But nevermind that, I am happy knowing that a Gunslinger is protecting us tonight.”
Andy flared his leather jacket open to reveal his arsenal. “Well equipped too.”
“Yes, I can see-”
“Five frags, two smokes and flashes, my 9mm, an assault rifle over there,” Andy pointed at their stockpile on a nearby table. “The HMG, that stands for humongous, massive gun. And Julie.” He patted his revolver in her holster. “She’s my babe.”
Ballpit smiled, then pinched her lab coat and pulled it aside just enough to reveal a small pistol at her waist. “I’ve only got this little thing.”
“Do you know how to use that?”
“No, not really.”
“Then don’t point it at me, or anywhere near me.” Andy was about to leave, when he caught Clara’s admonishing glare. “Other than that, good work.” He slapped the duct taped table barricade, and to his surprise, it didn’t wobble and collapse.
Andy left the fortified restaurant for his machine gun nest on the plaza balcony outside. He could see through the glass entrance that the sky was darkening, turning a blue-grey. The zombies outside were growing restless, banging their hands against the glass like flies trying to get in. Specs–the male scientist–had piled small furniture up against the entrance, but it wouldn’t do much to stop a horde once night arrived.
Andy moved his stool so that he could rest one knee on it and man the tripod, which stood on a row of marble plant pots. The table barricade to either side of him provided some good cover, each was made from hardwood about two inches thick–it should stop small-arms fire. He wandered around to the other’s position built on the opposite side of the circular balcony beside the second escalator. There was a trolley full of absinthe molotovs, and an extension cord. A plug lay beside it, attached to a small battery–the same type he and Clara carried for their headlamps. The extension cord ran away down the length of the balcony, then it coiled up one of the steel beams bracketing the glass archway over the plaza’s entrance. Andy wondered what would happen when the plug was connected. Almost against his will, he drifted towards connecting the cables.
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
“Don’t mess with that,” Clara said.
“I wasn’t going to,” he lied.
Motorbike engines buzzed outside the shopping mall. As the light dimmed, Andy could spot headlights cutting through the horde outside.
“Not long now,” Clara said. “I’ve briefed the others. Robert and Linton are going to stick behind this barricade, using the molotovs, focussing on the zombies. I’ll be behind that mobile phone standwith Riddhi.” Clara pointed to a kiosk with a flat roof a few metres away from the balcony. “I’ve created some elevation so I’ll have sights on the entrance, but I can’t see the plaza below. I’ll be hitting special targets, mainly, the cultists outside, or… anything else.”
“Grams the vamps.”
“Yeah, that. My assumption is that they’ll use the zombies as a first wave to flush us out, then come in after to try and secure ground.”
“Sounds good. What do you want me to do?”
Clara paused, seeming to gather her thoughts. “Make sure the zombies don’t get up those escalators. Make sure we don’t get overwhelmed. But try and make your ammo last all night.”
“And save some for the baddy-boss,” Andy said. “What do we do if our vampire friend returns?”
“Hopefully by then, there’ll be less minions to deal with. We can focus our firepower.”
“And if he comes straight in?”
“Hit him with everything you’ve got. The machine gun, grenades, flashbangs. If that doesn’t work…” Clara looked behind him, checking for something. Outside the restaurant, Limpy–the merc–was demonstrating to the two scientists how to operate their pistols, where the safety was, what the hammer did, and how to change a magazine.
“If it goes tits up,” Clara said in a hushed voice. “We grab the payload and make a run for it.”
“It’ll be tough to outrun vamps.”
Clara shrugged. “When’s it ever been easy?”
Andy took his position in the machine gun nest and waited. He filled his flask with absinthe and swigged from the bottle. His head was fizzy with impatience. A handful of zombies lingered in the plaza below them, having wandered in from the ground floor corridor which led into the main shopping complex, where Andy had gone on a scavenging run earlier. Outside a zombie banged on the glass, drawing the attention of the undead inside. They stumbled up to the glass, knocking into the flimsy barricade of cafe tables and chairs which Specs had spent all afternoon building. Zombies on each side of the barrier stared at one another, pressing their hands against the glass like estranged family members in prison.
“Alright, I’m willing to listen,” Andy said. “How can I kill this thing?”
Clarify query, his AI said.
“The vampire, obviously. Can you change me somehow?”
Precompiled software routines are undergoing modifications to align with operational data inputs. Beta releases are accessible at user discretion and risk. Recalibration at the Augmentation Master Console is imperative.
“What does that mean? Just give me something, and not like this drunken monk bullshit. I need something to take down a vampire.”
Processing…
Andy waited in silence. Julie hummed at his waist to comfort him, like a faithful dog resting its muzzle on his lap.
Zero suitable upgrades detected.
“Dammit, just when I thought I had you whipped.”
Something thudded against the glass entrance, louder than a zombie’s fist, then a bright green explosion burst at their feet, sending sparks lighting up the air. Another firework hit the glass, exploding in a flash of red. The zombies outside rushed towards the display, amassing behind the glass, pressing against it with crushing force. More fireworks exploded, lighting up the horde. Some sprayed fountains of sparks across the floor, others showered fairy lights softly above their heads. Then gunshots joined the assault. The glass chipped and cracked.
“Get ready!” Clara yelled. With a rush of adrenaline, Andy hopped off his seat and stood behind his barricade, assault rifle in hand. The furniture barricade downstairs fell apart. Zombies climbed over the obstacle, getting tangled up and falling down. More swarmed in behind the fallen, trampling them to dust. Once the barricade was broken, zombies frothed through the breach like a leak in an engine tank. Andy held his fire, letting his Augmentation swell in his veins. His heart beat steadily. Time seemed slower, more fluid, like the movement of each zombie was one much larger diagram of velocity, trajectory and priority targets. Though the absinth stuck to his tongue, the taste transformed to be more like vodka, with a modest rock of ice.
Andy caught the current of the trajectory and fired a Miraculous Ricochet at the zombie in first place. The bullet smashed down into its spine then blew out of its back, skipping into four more behind it before thudding into a fith’s chest, knocking it off its feet. It was a marvel to watch. The feeling was exhilarating, like hitting a perfect combination shot in pool.
Glass cracked, and another breach opened. Zombies came pouring through into the plaza below. Some charged up the escalators, but slipped down the tables tied at the zenith. The rest of the horde sprinted through the plaza, a desperate feral hunger on their gaunt faces.
“There must be a sale on at Primark.” Andy shouted over to Clara, who was positioned behind him, atop her kiosk. Then he remembered they had radios. He repeated the joke down their channel.
“I heard you the first time,” Clara said, firing her marksman’s rifle. “Focus.”
“Hah! Good one Andy,” Limpy said. Someone must have given the merc a radio.
Outside, in the distance, two vans positioned themselves behind the horde. Cultists stood on the rooftops, firing fireworks which zipped over the zombie’s heads and crashed into the glass like giant phosphorous arrows. One firework zipped inside the plaza and exploded. The zombies below flopped around in a frenzy, bashing into one another, working up a rage. They piled up on the escalators, charging up the steps and falling over the sides. Some collapsed onto the tables, providing a purchase for those behind to climb. Andy shot one that got too close to the top, flinging it backwards off the escalator.
A hundred heads snapped towards him at once. A shiver ran up his spine. The zombies rampaged up the steps, attracted to the sound, overflowing onto the tables like a champagne bottle shaken to burst. Andy settled into his rifle’s stock, trying to imagine each bullet’s trajectory leaving the barrel. Hazy lights zipped before him, drawing lines between zombie’s heads like connecting the dots on a kid’s colouring book. Andy took each shot as they appeared to him, but the lights were faint and hard to catch while firing in bursts on full-auto. He was hitting headshots, but wasting ammo just killing one zombie with one bullet.
Standing atop the plant pot, Andy drew a clearer line of fire down the escalator, and the lights before him expanded before him. He pulled the trigger, delighted to see one bullet pass through a dozen undead’s heads. Switching to single-fire mode, Andy picked his shots, each Mirraculous Richochet killing ten zombies apiece. They collapsed in unison as though their team had just lost the tug of war.
On the opposite side of the balcony, the merc fired his pistol into zombies climbing their escalators. The scientist man lit a molotov cocktail and threw it at the steps. It shattered against the railing, spraying liquid fire beneath it. Not a great throw. Andy watched him try again and miss, sending the bottle flying straight over the escalator into the plaza below. The merc had a turn, and did a better job of, setting one of the escalators alight. The zombies went up like tinder, their dried up bodies smoking and crackling like dry leaves. One fell over the barricade, a flaming ball of light, trailing thick smoke above it.
Something clanged off the balcony railing beside him. “Andy, get down,” Clara said over the radio, firing her rifle.
Andy jumped off his vantage point and took cover behind his barricade as shots pelted the marble plant pots he had been standing on. Outside, the two vans had driven closer, parking themselves within shooting distance of the entryway. Andy considered killing them, but he trusted Clara to take the shots. Besides, she was the one with a scope, and his job was with the zombies.
As he neared the end of his rifle’s magazine, he switched back to full-auto and cleared a swathe of undead climbing the escalator, then reloaded. An embankment of bodies spilled out below the escalator. Zombies tried desperately to climb up the landslide of bodies, but staggered and fell on the uneven footing, making it even harder for those behind them to progress. They writhed in a pile like worms, getting caught and tangled in one another. What this strain of zombies possessed in feral energy, they lacked in motor skills.
A fire was raging on the opposite side of the plaza. Smoke billowed from the horde, rising to the high roof above them. The flames spread like wildfire, creeping up their elevators, melting the rubber hand railings and blackening the glass barrier. It stunk of mouldy dust, like old, rotting leather, soaked in absinthe. Andy coughed and wrinkled his nose as smoke wafted his way.
Clara’s rifle thudded behind him. Andy spotted one of the goths roll off the rooftop of his van and into the horde below. His comrade tried to grab him, but ended up getting pulled down too. Both vans revved their engines and began turning out of sight. Finally, an excuse. Andy jumped on his machine gun and opened fire. Bullets punched through the glass entryway, flying over the heads of a thousand compacted zombies before slamming into one of the vehicles. The high calibre rounds ripped through the bonnet and front seats, halting it in its tracks. Andy turned his sights on the second van, tearing through the passenger compartment as it attempted to make a U turn and flee. Abruptly, the van stopped.
“See anyone getting out,” he radioed Clara.
“Two, but they both got caught by their own zombies.”
“Damn, that’s satisfying.”
One last fountain firework spat sparks in the car park outside, then it went dark. The crackle of flames accompanied the dry-throated hissing of emaciated zombies below. The horde rustled amongst one another, like a box of wood shavings being rattled. He and the others ceased fire. The zombies in the plaza below were drawn to the flames like moths. They piled around their dying kin, sticking their hands into the flames like curious children. The mass of bodies snuffed out the fires, depriving them of oxygen, but the merc kept topping the pyres alive with more cocktails. Each incendiary bomb burned through dozens of zombies. If there was an apocalyptic leaderboard, their kill count would definitely have made a new high score.
Before long, the plaza was carpeted with corpses beneath a thick layer of ash. Flames ate into the plastic chairs which had been used to barricade the entrance. The little coffee shop was in ruin. Smoke filled the air, obscuring Andy’s vision in the dark. He wiped his eyes, breathing into his t-shirt. The stench was horrible. He took a swig of absinthe, but the taste reminded him of the molotov cocktails.
There was a crash on the opposite side of the plaza. A half-burned table rattled down the metal steps and tumbled into the plaza below. The rope and duct tape used to tie them in place must have burned through.
“Status,” Clara said. “What’s your ammo?”
“Good,” he said. New ability works like a charm against hordes.
“New ability?”
“Oh, yeah. Magic Bullet Theory. Our robot friend gave me an upgrade on the ghost train.”
“You waited a while to tell me.”
“It didn’t come up.”
“Next time, make it come up.” Clara dashed over to the other escalators, chatting with the two men stationed there. Andy kept an eye on the entrance, squinting through the smoke as Clara and the others attempted to build a new barricade on the stairs. Feral zombies wandered in from outside, navigating clumsily around the cluttered, body-bogged plaza below. Andy stalked them with his ironsights, ready to dispatch them if they got too close to the other escalators, but they seemed more interested in the burning furniture and smoky ruins of undead, attracted to the lights and sounds of burning.
Clara approached his gunner’s nest. “I don’t think we can fix the barricade. It’d mean taking tables from inside the restaurant, and I don’t want to compromise our fall-back position. Plus, it’d take two of us to do the work, and that could take a while. I don’t think it’s worth it.”
“Sure thing,” Andy said.
“If there’s another attack, focus fire on the opposite escalator. Don’t let the horde get to the top.”
“Shouldn’t I just go over there?” Andy said.
“No. This escalator can’t become overrun or we’ll be cut off from our retreat.” Clara nodded at the restaurant behind them. “Stay here, and create as much noise as you want. Draw them this way.”
“Gotcha-ya.”
Clara darted about the plaza, handing out ration bars and bottles of water. Then they waited. Explosions detonated outside, the same as those which had been going all day. Presumably, the cultists were attracting a new horde. They probably wouldn’t need all day to do it this time, with the zombies being more active at night. Sure enough, before an hour passed, headlights brightened the car park again and zombies gathered around the glass. If all they had planned was to send in another wave of undead, then Andy had more than enough ammo to handle it. He hadn’t even had to draw Julie yet, or throw a grenade.
But Andy doubted that would be the case. Andy searched the skies. Perhaps it would take the vampire more than one day to recover from its defeat. Perhaps it was counting on its minions to do the job. If so, in the morning, he and Clara would stage a counterattack, steal a vehicle, and beat it west.
There was a distant detonation behind him. It rumbled in the soles of his boots. Andy frowned, that was different to the rest. But he didn’t have time to think about it. A volley of gunshots rang out and a wave of zombies crashed into the entrance, shattering what remained of the glass at its base. The second wave had begun.