Russell asked himself how he was still alive as he gaped at the wreckage of his truck.
“Dude, you’ve been at it for ten minutes,” Clayton said behind him. “Staring won’t change a thing.”
The pickup’s silhouette was an eyesore outside the clubhouse lobby, its front smacked right against one of the stone columns supporting the covered driveway. His bumper had crumpled inward from the impact. The hood resembled a folded accordion in the dark. And the state of the engine hidden inside was questionable at best.
Russell scratched his head. “How the hell am I gonna fix all this?”
“Not gonna lie, it doesn’t look good from where I’m sitting.”
“It’s fine.” Russell circled his truck, scrutinizing the problem he had in his hands. “Did all her repairs and maintenance for years. This…this is nothing.”
The shattered windshield bulged outward as if something had tried to burst out from inside. Serena’s recounting of what happened after the crash replayed in his mind, and he checked for any wound on his forehead for the dozenth time.
Serena’s family spared no expense in building their legacy, including this clubhouse. Had they constructed these porch columns with bricks, his truck might have blasted through the entire thing, shot up the short flight of stairs like a jump ramp, and barreled straight through the glass doors of the lobby, making a spectacular entrance in front of everyone.
Who knew how many people could have gotten hurt?
“Dude, how long are you gonna make me wait?”
“Can’t you see this gonna take a while?” Russell crouched beside the rear wheel, feeling for the rubber. Without a proper light, he had no way to tell how bad the wear and tear was, but at least he didn’t blow any of his tires.
“Yeah, no. I was talking about the words in your head,” Clayton said. “You promised you’d tell me more about them once we’re alone. Well, we’re alone right now.”
“Kinda busy here, Clay,”
“Man, just spill it already. Why are you keeping it all to yourself?”
Russell frowned over his shoulder. Clayton had hunched at the top of the steps to keep Russell company, his cardigan unbuttoned, a plate of kabobs in his hand, the large flashlight lying beside him. Above and behind him, near the glass entrance, a group of strangers used the concrete planter boxes as seats, taking swigs of their beer, observing the quiet parking lot.
Observing Russell.
“Why don’t you make yourself useful and help me instead,” Russell told his friend.
Clayton bit a piece of roasted meat and pulled it free from a skewer with his teeth. “Why don’t you help a brother out and explain something to me? You were so excited about these powers of yours only minutes ago and now…” Confusion knotted his eyebrows together as he kept on speaking with his mouth full. “I don’t understand you, man. What changed?”
“That was in the heat of the moment,” Russell admitted. He got back to his feet and resumed his inspection. “I shouldn’t have done it. Even Serena scolded me afterward.” No bloodstains on the bumper. Nothing on the ruined column except for fallen rubble. Nothing but a glaring gap between his truck and the ruined pillar. Did he hit a freakin' ghost?
“Well, you did it already. It’s done. Can’t deny something exists just because you refuse to talk about it.”
“Why are you so fixated on it, anyway?” Russell asked. “Everyone else is back inside worried sick while you’re out here bugging me about video games.”
“Because it is one!” Clayton exclaimed. “And I’m not the one who abandoned Serena to handle the panicking mob by herself.”
“I didn’t abandon anybody. I’ve said my piece.” Russell had told those people everything he knew about what happened. Whatever they did with his information was their problem.
“You sure it isn’t because the townsfolk back inside like Serena more than you?”
Russell grunted.
“Aw, c’mon, don’t be like that,” Clayton said. “Here, have some of this. The Solace Clan knows their stuff. They must be keeping one or two of them Michelin chefs in their payroll.”
Russell kicked the front tire to make sure it wasn’t flat. “I’m not hungry.”
“Seriously? But you haven’t eaten a meal the whole night.”
The visible gap between the bumper and ruined column stood out, a space large enough for a monster’s corpse, a corpse that wasn’t there.
Clayton chewed loudly as he munched on his food. “I can finish this entire plate. You know that, right?”
Russell continued to ignore him. After pushing away the rubble with his boot, he squeezed himself into the cramped space between his crumpled bumper and what was left of the pillar. His fingertips slipped under the lip of the hood before he gave it a push, but it didn't pop open like usual. He tried to lift it again, but the hood refused to budge.
His unwelcomed audience burst out laughing.
“Don’t mind the vultures.” Clayton leaned back on one elbow and flipped them the bird.
“Vultures?” Russell asked. “Because my truck’s the only vehicle in this entire club that’s still working?”
Clayton bobbed his head, chewing with a serious expression. “Ironic, right? They’ll mock you and call you names, but they’ll be the first ones to line up begging for a ride…if your truck ever works again, that is.”
“It will. Just wait and see.”
Clayton groaned and bits of food flew from his lips. “C’mon, man, you’re killing me. Why do you keep stalling? You know how much I love my games.”
Russell grunted. His hands wedged through the narrow opening under the hood. He then bent low and widened his stance. “This is not a game, Clay,” he said through gritted teeth, letting his burning frustration fuel him as he pushed with everything he had. “This…” A deep groan accompanied his words. “This is my freakin’ life we’re talking about!”
And the metal groaned with him.
“Woah…What did you just do?” he heard Clayton ask.
Russell blew out a breath and examined his work. “I…I opened the hood.”
“You didn’t open it, man,” Clayton said. “You bent it.”
The thick sheet of metal had already been deformed, but it looked even worse now. Russell stared at his hands. Was Clayton right?
Russell shook his head and leaned under the hood. Squinting his eyes, he tried to make out the shapes in front of him. The engine bay was finally in full display, but all he could see were blobs in the darkness.
A sense of déjà vu came over him, reminding him of a particular car earlier that evening. A convertible. Owned by a grumpy old man. An old man named—
“Will you tell me now?” Clayton asked, appearing next to Russell.
Russell banished the memory before it could take root. He had no easy source of light. The covered driveway hid his truck under its shade. The few candles the club staff had managed to salvage had been taken by those staying inside, and Russell couldn’t imagine any one of them would willingly lend their meager source of warmth and light even if he asked kindly.
The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.
Was there any other way?
“C’mon, Russ. Your truck’s not going anywhere. You pried your hood open. You can’t deny it. Aren’t you the least bit curious about what’s going on?”
Russell held his hand out. “Flashlight.”
“You mean this useless thing? It’s as dead as your truck.”
“Just give it here, will you?”
Clayton sighed before handing it over. “If you hadn’t performed your magic show earlier, I would’ve told you this was all caused by some kind of EMP attack. I would’ve blamed the Russians. Or the Chinese.”
Russell pressed the switch a few times without any luck. He banged it against his palm and gave the power button another try. Nothing.
“But seeing your ancient flashlight also not working? And the weird sky above us? Not to mention the glowing shard of yours earlier?” Clayton continued. “Sometimes, when you can’t make sense of something, it’s because it was never meant to be understood to begin with. Once you accept that possibility, you’ll realize the obvious answer.”
“Which is?”
“That only magic can explain what science cannot.”
Russell snorted. He propped his hands on top of the grill, his eyes staring futilely at the engine. “You think this magical event of yours is happening everywhere?”
“I…” Clayton trailed off. The sound of chewing food stopped.
Russell gave his friend a sidelong glance and read his mind. “California’s pretty far from here. Maybe they’re—”
“Learned to play golf after I moved there, did I ever tell you that?”
Russell paused. “What? Yeah…I guess you might’ve mentioned it.”
“The views are spectacular. The weather’s always perfect,” Clayton said, his attention on his plate, his mind far away. “I was planning on playing here this weekend, show off my skills. Even brought my clubs and everything, but…”
“Maybe whatever this is will blow over soon,” Russell said, waving around them.
Clayton blinked after a tense silence. “You think so?”
“Sure. You might even be playing a few rounds long before this weekend’s over.”
“Yeah…Yeah, sounds good to me,” Clayton said, lacking all the enthusiasm he normally had.
Russell cursed to himself. Now he felt sorry for the guy. “You know what? I might need to learn more about this game-thing after all.”
“For real?” Clayton asked. Even in the dark, his eyes shone with excitement.
If Russell had the choice, he wouldn’t want this ‘system’ Clayton kept talking about stuck inside his head. He had never let anyone probe his body; he had never even allowed a single needle near him all his life. Yet now he had to live with the unsettling reality of having something foreign inside him—probably until the day he died.
Which may or may not be tonight.
His friend was right. What’s done was done. He took a deep breath and braced himself for the coming disorientation.
[System Error]
Anomaly detected.
Local dimension unsupported.
Initiating—
“No, not those,” Clayton interrupted once Russell enumerated the words only he could see. “Those ones are old news. Read out the rest.”
Russell grunted before he “scrolled down” the text, his eyes glazing over as he searched for the most recent message, and it felt like he was replaying snippets of memories.
…
You have slain [Scaletooth Savage - 3rd Shard / Level 1].
…
…
You have unlocked your [Soul Records].
…
…
…
[Savage Might]
Type: Attribute Shard
“There! That one!” Clayton said. “You never mentioned what came next.”
“You saw the shard enter my body, right?”
“And?” Clayton spun his hand, urging Russell to go on. “Was there any new prompt after that? An update? Some kind of change?”
Prompt? Russell tilted his head, concentrating.
Assimilation successful.
He blinked in surprise when more lines followed.
Synergistic attributes have increased.
Strength +4
Agility +1
Endurance +2
Your [Soul Records] have been updated.
“That’s…that’s all dope,” Clayton whispered.
“You mean it’s all nonsense.”
“You can’t begin to understand just how monumental this moment is, my good man,” Clayton said, managing to keep a straight face. “Try thinking of the word ‘attribute’ this time. See what happens.”
Russell groaned but listened to his friend’s request, thinking of the word as a command.
[Attributes]
Strength: 10
Agility: 9
Dexterity: 8
Perception: 9
Intelligence: 6
Vitality: 11
Constitution: 7
Endurance: 8
He read the lines out loud, not fully understanding what he was reading. After he finished, Clayton raised his head, his hand covering his eyes as he breathed out a heavy sigh. “So it’s really a game…”
“It’s not,” Russell grumbled.
“There’s no need for you to work in construction all day long. No need to work out in the gym six days a week. You’re a veritable strongman now, just like that.” Clayton snapped his fingers. “And what the hell is up with your Vitality? Why is its starting value so damn high?”
“I thought you were good at math?” Russell said. ”Whatever this Vitality is, it’s only higher than my Strength attribute by one. How is that high?”
Clayton slapped his forehead before he gave Russell a crash course on RPGs and how they worked, including a brief explanation of what one’s attributes stood for and what their values meant.
And how 10 had always been a human’s limit.
By the end of his friend’s lecture, Russell was rapid-firing curses in his head. He made his way to the back of his pickup and leaned over the truck bed, his hands scrambling for whatever they could find under the mess. It was starting to sound like a freakin’ game. And if it were possible, his life made even less sense.
“Is that it? That can’t be it,” Clayton said. “I know how these games work. Attributes are always just the basics. You’re not holding out on me, are you?”
Russell shrugged.
“I know there’s more, Flynn. Why’d you serve me this oatmeal when I asked for the cereal?” Clayton continued to rant. “C’mon, man! What are you doing?”
“I’m looking for tools. Some kind of lever.” Folded tarp. Gas cans. Mismatched pairs of rubber and grip gloves. Even a couple of hard hats he had collected by mistake. He couldn’t find anything useful in the heap of junk. Where the hell was the car jack?
“Well, keep reading. Multitask.”
Blowing out a disappointed breath, Russell threw a socket wrench he hadn’t seen in months back on the pile and shifted his gaze past his truck. Even with the red sky above, darkness shrouded the parking lot, barely brighter than the extended porch they were in.
“What now?” Clayton asked.
“I need to retrieve my toolbox…”
“You mean the one you left in the parking lot? Dude, are you crazy?”
Russell grunted. “How else am I gonna fix my truck?”
“With your new magical powers, how else?”
Another crash resounded in the distance. The same noise had been recurring ever since they came out of the lobby.
“Uh, I don’t think you should go out there, man,” Clayton said with a worried tone. “Monsters could still be lurking nearby. You never know.”
Russell snorted as he picked up his flashlight. He rounded his truck, giving the switch a few more tries, hoping it would work. But it was as useless as all his efforts had been so far.
“I’m serious, man,” Clayton called out. “Can’t you hear that?”
“The crashing noise?” Russell asked. “I hear them all the time when we clear mountainsides for new roads. Those are simply trees falling.”
“No, no. I think…Shit! I see them shadows moving up ahead!”
Russell froze. His grip tightened on his weapon.
Ignoring the drumming in his chest, he let his mind focus on his surroundings. But he heard no song. His ears picked up nothing but silence—nothing but Clayton’s shenanigans.
Freakin’ Knox. Russell’s shoulders relaxed, his arms dropping back to his side.
“Oh, no!” Clayton exclaimed, keeping up with the charade. “Oh, dear gods! What are we ever gonna do?”
“That’s not something you should be joking about, Clay.”
“But what if it’s true? What if there are more of them out there? Isn’t that exactly what you and Serena are worried about?”
Russell hefted his flashlight a few times before returning to the truck bed. He pushed the items aside, wondering if he had something better to use as a weapon.
“You shouldn’t go to the other end of the dark, creepy parking lot without a plan or something,” Clayton said. “The only thing you have now is the game-like system in your head, so…”
Russell stared at the darkness beyond the clubhouse. A voice kept telling him his plan was stupid, his hindbrain warning him of the dangers that could be hiding out there, trying to scare him.
“You’re right…” he said, rapping his knuckles against the truck.
“Yeah?” Clayton asked, excitement tinging his voice. “Are you gonna share the rest of it now?”
Russell stopped beside one of the headlights. “Go stand on the other side.”
“What?”
“You were right. Retrieving my toolbox is too risky. So we’re gonna move my truck out in the open instead.”
“Dude, what?” Clayton asked again.
“Just freakin’ get to it, Clay. What’s the point of working out to get that body of yours if you aren’t gonna use it?”
“I may have this awesome body, but you know what I also have?” Clayton tapped his temple. “A working brain. Couldn’t you just…push your truck out into the open?”
“You think I haven’t tried that, genius?” Russell squatted at one end of the bumper and grabbed the bottom. “The clutch is too stiff. The brake pedal isn’t working. And—“
“Like I said, a working brain,” Clayton cut in. “And do you know what all these signs mean to anyone with a working brain? Your truck didn’t stall, dude. It’s already—“
“Will you just get to it?!” Russell snapped. “Stop whining like a baby. We’re simply gonna slide the front half of the truck a few feet. Nothing big.”
Clayton grumbled something under his breath as his footsteps approached the truck from the other side.
“You good?”
“Man, you’re even crazier than I remembered.”
“On the count of three, you ready?” Russell called out. “One. Two. Three,” he counted aloud and heaved.
The muscles in his shoulders and thighs strained under the heavy weight, and his fingers threatened to fall off, but they managed to lift his truck.
He breathed deeply through his nose, exhaled through his mouth. “Now, we need to—”
“Need to what?” Clayton asked from behind him.
The truck slipped from Russell’s grip and crashed back down on the ground.
“Freakin’ hell, Clay!” He leaned on the fender, panting for breath, his heart beating wildly from fright. “I told you to help me out!”
“Man, I told you so.”
“No, I told you to…wait, what?”
“Dude, don’t you realize what you’ve done?” Clayton pointed a half-eaten kabob at the truck. “You carried the entire truck on your own, Russ. I don’t think you’ll be needing any help.”