Samuel collapsed to the mud next to Blythe. His body trembled with exhaustion and despair as he tried to process the events of the past few hours. The ambush had left him and Blythe wounded, battered, and stranded in the middle of nowhere. His mind was clouded with anger, confusion, and a sense of... What, exactly? He wanted to be angry with the Core but, but he felt empty.
He stared at the gloomy sky, stars marred by the growing smoke, and clutched the hunting knife in his lap. It felt heavy. Heavy with the weight of failing to protect Oscar. He had tried to save him at the subway tracks, dragged his unconscious body from building to building, and for what? He had failed the man.
He was marooned, lost in a horrifying new world full of unknown dangers. He let the dagger fall to the ground and dug his fingers into the muddy earth, finding a strange solace there. He closed his eyes. The earth below him felt solid and tangible, a stark contrast to the chaotic and surreal nature of everything he’d gone through. It was as if the mud was grounding him, reducing the unfathomable path before him down to the simple fact that he existed and the world around him existed. For a moment, just a moment, he allowed himself to be fully immersed in the sensations of the earth and the crackling sounds of the roaring fire swallowing up the tavern. He let go of his worries and anxieties.
But the respite was short-lived. Memories of his lost loved ones flooded his mind, reminding him of the people that had left him behind and the people he had left behind. He thought of his roommate, his ex-girlfriend, and even his foreman. He felt a sudden urge to reach out to them, to hear their voices and know that they were safe—to lie to let them know he was safe. But as he fumbled for his phone and watch, he was reminded of the harsh truth: he was well and truly alone, cut off from everything he had known and loved.
He would have to rely on his own strength, skills, and wits to survive. The thought filled him with a mix of fear and determination. He knew he had to keep moving, to find a way to make sense of this madness and find a new purpose. With a deep breath, he picked up Blythe’s knife and rose to his feet.
Samuel and Blythe sat together in silence, their eyes transfixed by the blazing inferno before them. The once-quiet tavern was a chaotic sea of flames, its wooden beams crackling and snapping like gunshots in the night. The roof caved in, causing a wave of sparks and smoke to push up into the night air. The heat was intense, almost suffocating. It was as if the fire itself was alive, a living, breathing thing that consumed everything in its path without remorse. It seemed to Samuel that the flames and the zombies were alike in that way.
The bonfire cast an eerie light on the gargantuan trees surrounding them, making them look like monstrous sentinels guarding the forest. The light caused shadows to dance beyond the tree line, giving way to a darkness within the woods that felt deeper than it should. Samuel shivered at the thought of what could be lurking in the shadows, waiting to pounce on them.
Samuel closed his eyes, savoring the warmth on his face, trying to block out the overwhelming exhaustion that threatened to engulf him. His head throbbed with pain and his body ached from the wounds and bruises he had sustained. He felt the after-effects of Jon's Pacify spell creeping into him, trying to force him towards unconsciousness, but he fought against it, not wanting to succumb to the lure of sleep and the helplessness it would bring.
Blythe tended to her wounded arm, applying a stinking grey poultice that reminded Samuel of the sickly-sweet smell of rotting flowers. He watched her wrap her arm tightly in fresh linen bandages, securing it close to her chest in a makeshift sling.
“Will your arm be okay?” Samuel asked, breaking the silence between them.
“It’s broken,” She muttered, summoning her scroll to look over her status. “Won’t be able to use my bow for a week.”
“It’ll only take a week to heel?”
“A week’s a bloody long time.”
“A broken arm would have taken months to heal back home…”
“Your home sounds like a shit place, sojourner.”
“Not wrong.”
Blythe offered Samuel the leather holding the poultice.
“Put it on your burns. It’ll help.”
Samuel thanked her and rubbed the medicine into the more grievous burns. The relief wasn’t immediate, and the stuff stung a bit, but he could feel the pain slowly numbing underneath.
“Core…” Samuel started. “Can I go home?”
The Core did not respond. Above, through the haze of smoke, Samuel watched a cascade of shooting stars burn through atmosphere, sending trails of blues and gold behind them. It was the most beautiful thing Samuel had ever seen.
“Please…” he whispered.
Blythe watched Samuel with an unreadable expression. Samuel offered back the remnants of her poultice and she accepted it. She set about repacking her back and unstringing her bow.
Samuel summoned his Player Scroll. The sketch of himself had updated to show both a rendering of his front and back. The burns, cuts, the glass embedded in his skin, and singed clothing were all there in perfect detail.
He looked wretched.
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NAME: Samuel Cardwell
Race: Human
Stolen story; please report.
Body: 3/50
Strength: 4
Dexterity: 1
Mind: 8/70
Charisma: 2
Intelligence: 5
Spells:
Fire: Level 1.
Traits:
Permanent:
Foodie
Temporary:
Extreme Exhaustion: You pushed too hard for too long. Body meter recovers 75% slower. Mind meter recovers 25% slower. Sleep 8 hours to remove.
Burned (x5): You played with something hot and were burned. Body meter recovers 3% slower per count of Burn. Each count takes one hour to remove. Pass time or apply medicine to remove. Remaining time: 5 hours, 46 minutes, 48 seconds.
Cephalalgy, Moderate: You’ve overtaxed your mind and have a headache. Mind meter recovers 50% slower. Sleep 4 hours to remove.
Lingering Pacify, Minor: Someone wanted you calm. You can resist with your mind meter. Pass time or sleep to remove. Remaining time: 6 minutes, 11 seconds. Mind cost to resist: 1 point per 3 minutes.
Equipped Gear:
Rough-spun cotton shirt, bloodied, burned, ripped.
Rough-spun cotton trousers, bloodied, burned.
Rope belt, burned.
Leather shoes, worn.
Inventory:
Empty dagger sheath.
Iron Hunting Knife, normal.
----------------------------------------
Samuel blinked his eyes several times, trying to focus on the words in front of him. His eyes felt strained, as if he had been staring at a computer screen for hours. He lay down on his back, hoping that looking at the stars would clear his head.
The Fire spell he had acquired from the firestone was a new and exciting development. His inability to do anything more than singe Blythe’s wrist was troubling. He promised himself to experiment with the spell and test its limits when he had recovered a bit. He couldn't help but wonder if using magic would deplete his Mind Meter, and he didn't want to risk lowering it any further.
Another exciting change was that his strength and intelligence stats had gained a point each, and it seemed this had bumped up his Body and Mind Meter maximum by ten points each. He wasn’t exactly sure how that had happened. Was there a hidden experience system? Was it simply a matter of lifting heavy things and thinking hard thoughts until you could lift heavier things and think harder thoughts? The events of the night had certainly pushed both his strength and his intelligence to the limit. He was hesitant to delve too deeply into the hidden meanings behind everything, fearing that he’d give himself a false understanding of how it all worked. The more he thought about it, the more questions arose, leaving him feeling overwhelmed and uncertain. He worried briefly that all this thinking would damage his Mind Meter.
Too many questions. And his biggest concern was how low his Body Meter had gotten. Did zero equal death?
“Do you know how fast a Body Meter refills?” he asked Blythe.
“You really know nothing, huh?”
“Guess not.”
“How fast your Body Meter refills depends on a lot of things.”
“Such as?”
“Can we talk about it in the morning? Sleep’ll help. Let’s hunker down in the barn.”
She stood on shaky legs. Samuel stood to help steady her but found himself swaying under his own body weight. He swallowed and tried to stabilize his shaking legs.
“The barn, then?” He asked.
Blythe nodded and walked away. Samuel followed at a limp. His legs and joints felt as though he had just run a marathon.
“I’m pretty sure the things we fought tonight are zombies,” said Samuel. He wasn’t sure why he was explaining this to Blythe. Maybe to prove to her that he knew something, at least.
“What in the Sweet Mother’s name is a zombie?”
“Flesh eaters. Not really sure why Jon was stronger and smarter than the rest,” Samuel said. “But the rest were classic zombies. Fast ones. You’ll turn into one if they bite or scratch you. No exceptions. You didn’t get but or scratched… did you?”
“No.”
“Right then. I think you and a are good. It took Jon about a half an hour to turn off of a scratch, and it’s been at least that for us. And oh, you got to aim for the head. Only way to kill em’ is through the brain.”
“I already told you I missed that shot. I was aiming for his head.”
Samuel followed her inside and was hit with a wall of foul-smelling putrefaction. Hundreds of horse flies gorged on Yandry’s corpse, the pitchfork still embedded in his brain. The horses were angry, shuffling inside their stalls. A grey-maned mare in the back kicked the wall behind it, over and over, wanting to escape.
Samuel and Blythe tried to shoo the flies away but it was futile. They ended up having to drag the one-armed man out of the barn, angry flies biting at them and hovering incessantly over their meal. Samuel dislodged the pitchfork from the man’s skull and carried it back inside with them. He kept it for himself and gave Blythe back her hunting knife.
Blythe spoke softly to each of the horses, placating them as best she could.
With the door barred and the horses settled, the duo set themselves up on opposite sides of the barn and stared wordlessly at each other. The horse in the stall behind Blythe leaned forward, pressing its snout into the side of Blythe’s head. Blythe scratched its nose with the practiced ease of long companionship.
“What’s her name?” Samuel asked.
“His name’s Mouse,” she replied.
“Looks like Mouse likes you.”
“We look after each other.”
Samuel picked at the bits of glass embedded in his forearm, wishing he had a bit more of the alcohol to clean out the little wounds left behind. Blythe tossed him a leather bag. It had another poultice in it, this one smelling of thyme and soot. Samuel tentatively rubbed the stuff into his cuts. The black paste bubbled and burned, turned a light grey, and then hardened, holding the cuts sealed as if it were superglue. He thanked Blythe and returned the medicine to her.
The weight of the day settled itself in on Samuel’s consciousness. That same forced blackness was creeping in on the edges of his vision again. This time he let it, giving in to his exhaustion, no longer fighting it. He leaned his head against the wooden wall and closed his eyes. The horse in the stall behind him sniffed at his head, snorting with distaste at the smell of his burnt hair.
Samuel fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.
In the bowels of the burning tavern, under a mountain of scorched wood, coals, and ash, Oscar’s half-burned body convulsed. Purple tendrils of Decay whipped out like coiled snakes from his skin fighting back the surrounding flames as best they could. Whenever a flame came close to one of the tendrils, it burned hotter and died out, as if using up all its oxygen in a single moment. The magic worked relentlessly to keep Oscar’s body from suffering greater damage.
Oscar opened his purple-grey eyes.
Unbeknownst to Samuel, a new threat had been born, and it was coming for him.