Chapter 15
Zen and the Art of Monster Hunting
Seven Months Post Apocalypse
World Population 85,000,000
“She's not really dead,” Ian said over the crackling sound of the campfire. “Stacy I mean.” He wasn't sure why he said this. He was tired, and about to sack out in the back of the jeep.
A bitter December wind blew through their small camp in the desert. The wind would shift sometimes and blow smoke from their campfire into Ian's face.
Crazy Steve took a long drag from his cigarette, the end glowing in the darkness. The old man rolled his own cigarettes, smoking them one after another. Ian didn't complain; he was just glad Crazy Steve wasn't doing anything worse.
“I saw Stacy's body, Ian,” the old man responded, voice hoarse from cigarette smoke. “I know dead when I see it. Your sister's dead. A lot of people liked her. Stacy Kid Barbie, the little girl who could shoot the balls off a gnat. I'm sorry she's dead, Ian. I miss her too.”
“She's dead, but she's not dead dead,” Ian tried to explain. “She died in the game, and me and my brother, we're bringing her back.”
Crazy Steve shook his head. “I played Dungeons and Dragons as a kid, so I know what you're talking about. Your brother's a wizard, but that resurrection-necromancy-bring-back-the-dead-shit is serious magic.”
“I know,” Ian said.
Ian got up, leaving the warmth of the fire. He returned to the jeep and shivered until his body heat warmed his blankets.
Unable to sleep he stared out at the stars through the jeep's rear window. Without the ambient light from the human cities, the sky was much brighter. Amazing how stars helped put his problems in perspective. Humans might get wiped out, but the stars would remain.
He had no idea why he'd brought up the subject. Maybe because it was all he thought about. Two things kept him going: the thought of bringing his sister back, and killing as many of those fucking aliens as he could.
Curious, he pulled up his display and looked at his Stat Character sheet.
Name Lord Ian Mind Master
Sex Male
Age 14
Physical Attributes 3.3
With 10 being an Olympic athlete, and 1 being an invalid in a wheelchair, you are 3.3.
Mental Attributes 7.8
With 10 being a super genius, and 1 being severely retarded, you are 7.8
Status among peers Low
If your peers hadn't been eaten, they would still consider you a nerd and spasticle.
Spasticle is a human slang word that means an uncoordinated clumsy person.
Some irrational and misguided humans consider you dangerous because you killed people, and assisted in killing some mildly dangerous aliens. I assure them any normal human could do the same, or better.
Claims to fame.
If Coach Benson hadn't been eaten, he would still consider you the worst player to ever try out for his little league baseball team in the fifty years he coached baseball.
Special abilities
Psychic. Intermediate, level 4, specializing in aliens.
Any other Intermediate level 4 psychic who specializes in aliens would be doing far better than you.
Ian sighed. Great.
***
Whenever Ian and Crazy Steve spotted lower level aliens like the giant cockroaches, “crunchies,” or pterodactyl flying things, “flappys,” or even the occasional wuffle, they killed them, running them over, burning them, or shooting them with the jeep's machine gun. Between their teamwork and their armored jeep, low level aliens were no longer a problem.
“Okay Steve, you might have noticed we've hit a bit of a snag,” Ian said over breakfast. “The first two Kitykity we killed were easy.”
Crazy Steve shoved a Kityfruit in his mouth, and half chewed, half swallowed it whole. Kityfruit were about all he ate these days. “I don't know what you mean by easy,” he said through a mouthful of fruit. “They almost killed us. Look what the first one did to the jeep. I almost crapped in my pants!”
“We're fine. That first Kitykity did its 'I'm a poor wounded Kitykity' act, to lure us into the desert. I figured it might double back and hit us from behind. I was right.”
“Wait, you knew it would double back,” Crazy Steve said. “Why didn't you say anything?”
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So it wouldn't read your mind. Dumb-ass, Ian thought. “The point is, when it doubled back and tried to take us from behind, I used my gift to paralyze it, and you shot it in the eye with the jeep's machine gun. Go team.”
“It tore the shit out of our jeep!” Crazy Steve said, motioning to where four claws had sliced through the left side of Ian's armored jeep like so much butter.
“Jeep's fine,” Ian said. “That's why we have Monster tape.”
If Ian had paralyzed it even a second later, they'd both be dead, but he figured Crazy Steve didn't need to know that.
“The second Kitykity was stalking some other humans,” Ian continued. “and because it was distracted, I was able to get us close enough to paralyze the Kitykity so you could kill it.”
“What do you mean, you snuck up on the thing? I was driving.”
“The other three won't let me get near them,” Ian said. “They run off when I approach, and I can't get them to chase us. I was really hoping we'd have killed the damn things by now.”
“You know, I used to be a Zen master,” Crazy Steve said.
Ian made a face and put his head in his hands.
“What, you don't believe me?”
“I was hoping you had some ideas from when you used to serve in the special forces,” Ian responded.
“No no, when I was a Zen master, I learned to ignore the things I couldn't control, and focus my energy on the things I could. We can't do anything about those three Kitykity, but we can focus our energy on humans we can help, and the aliens we can kill.”
“That actually makes sense,” Ian said. “The Kitykity will be coming for us. I've helped kill three of their kind, so it's personal, but we can't do anything about them until they do. In the meantime, I'm worried about those two kids hiding in that underground bomb shelter. They're running low on food and water. We keep pounding on that manhole hatch doorway of theirs, and leaving them Kityfruit. I know they can hear us, but they're too scared to talk to us, let alone let us in.”
“You sure it's just the two of them?” Crazy Steve said. “They got any parents?”
“Their parents got eaten,” Ian said. “So let's pick up some Kityfruit, since everyone likes that shit, then we'll drop by the shelter and try to get the kids to come out and talk.”
“Kityfruit is the food of the gods,” Crazy Steve said. “Everyone who tries Kityfruit loves it, except for you.” He started loading the jeep with their supplies. They even had a small collapsible table Ian had bought from galactic market camp supplies.
“Everyone's crazy. Kityfruit tastes like shit,” Ian said.
The truth was Ian couldn't eat one without remembering what he'd done, and who had died to get him to this point, and that made him want to vomit.
The first Kityfruit tree Ian had helped create was in the middle of the Fortress, over 100 miles away. And Ian's dad had kicked them out of the fortress.
The third Kityfruit tree he'd help create was near the humans that Kitykity had been hunting. Ian had no doubt that the small community had picked that tree clean.
This left them the second Kityfruit tree, in a remote part of the desert. This was where they'd been getting their Kityfruit. Also only ten miles from the kids' bomb shelter.
At the Kityfruit tree that afternoon, Ian hung back in the warm jeep and let Crazy Steve pick the fruit. Ian knew the old guy would be happy to do the work since he'd eat most of them himself.
Kityfruit started out looking like a glowing green cherry, but if left on the tree, quickly ripened into what looked like a glowing violet plum. They had no pits or seeds, making it easy for Crazy Steve to continually shove them into his mouth, something he tended to do whenever he wasn't smoking.
It was strange to think that three weeks ago this tree had been a catlike alien the size of a small elephant. One that had come close to killing them both.
Ian had made a total of 85 stat points from the three Kitykity he'd helped kill. He'd put the stat points into his skill tree, focusing exclusively on Alien Paralysis and Mind Kill. The latter was for the future when he would hopefully be able to kill aliens with his mind. Though now he wondered if Alien Illusion might help him get closer to the damn things.
There was no question he was getting stronger. He'd barely defeated the first Kitykity he'd mind dueled a month ago back at the fortress. The second and third had been easier, and he was gaining confidence in his abilities.
The three remaining Kitykity were spread out over a mile away, well out of psychic attack range, but he could feel them stalking him. He couldn't read their minds any more than they could read his, but no question they were planning something.
***
“Don't see too many of them anymore. Odd to see two of them in the open like that,” Crazy Steve said, studying the two aliens.
“I agree,” Ian said, looking through his binoculars.
The two adult wuffles dragged themselves through the desert with their many tentacles. They were emitting a huge amount of psychic energy. Crazy Steve didn't notice anything, but for Ian, it felt like two sperm whales screaming. He'd sensed these psychic predators long before they came into view.
They weren't as big as the one in MonsterMart Ian had helped kill seven months ago. Both were only ten feet high and fifty feet long. These icky green glowing tentacled monsters should be holed up in a warm cave or a building someplace. Instead, they dragged themselves in the general direction of the kids' hidden bomb shelter. Ian wasn't sure if they'd hurt the kids, but had no intention of finding out. He wondered what could have driven the wuffles out into the cold like this.
“We'd better kill them,” Ian said. “No telling how much damage they'll do if we don't. You still got that flamethrower?”
Crazy Steve nodded. “We're running low on sunlight,” he said, tapping the jeep's sun gauge with his index finger. The sun gauge looked like a gas gauge, but had a picture of the sun on it. It was almost empty. They'd have to stop the jeep soon to let it collect sunlight. The jeep had no solar collectors and seemed to work through strange alien logic. They could drive for about an hour, but then had to stop for an hour to recharge. The jeep could somehow collect sunlight on cloudy days, indoors, or even at night.
“We're almost at the kids' bomb shelter,” Ian said. “Let's kill those things, and pay the kids a visit.”
They'd visited the shelter twice in the past three weeks. The two inhabitants refused to let them in or talk to them. But both times they'd visited, Ian had left a small box of kityfruit at the entrance. On their second visit the first box of Kityfruit was gone, and in its place they'd found a piece of paper under a rock, with Thank You written on it in crayon.
“You're the boss,” Crazy Steve said, turning the jeep and driving towards the two aliens.
Thanks to Ian's psychic gift, a monster that had been terrifying several months ago wasn't even a serious threat. The wuffles grew bigger as the jeep got closer, but with Ian blocking their psychic attack they were mostly harmless.
Ian reached out mentally, wondering what the three Kitykity were up to. He couldn't feel them. That shouldn't be possible unless...
“Turn around and floor it,” Ian said.
“What? What's the problem?” Crazy Steve asked.
“Turn around and floor it now!” Ian shouted.
Crazy Steve tossed his cigarette out the window, then turned the jeep around and accelerated, not understanding.
Two Kitykity jumped over the first wuffle. With thunderous roars, they charged.
The third Kitykity peeked out from behind the second wuffle. A small boulder next to it rose in the air and flew towards the jeep.
Telekinesis too. Really? You suck BG! Ian thought.
Crazy Steve screamed and tried to force more speed out of the jeep. They were already bouncing through the desert, doing over eighty. Crazy Steve swerved, almost tipping them over. The boulder crashed a few feet to their left.
Kitykity-one charged the jeep. Ian blocked and countered its psychic attack. Paralyzed, Kitykity-one fell back.
“Keep us away from those flying boulders!” Ian shouted. “Let me worry about the other two!”
Crazy Steve frantically swerved again. A second boulder hit the ground nearby.
Kitykity-two charged. Same thing happened, Ian blocked and countered, paralyzing Kitykity-two in time for Kitykity-one to recover and charge their jeep a second time.
Kitykity, it seemed, could run well over one hundred miles an hour.
As long as Ian could stop the two Kitykity from tearing their jeep apart, and Crazy Steve could avoid the thrown boulders, they'd be okay. But Ian was getting tired, his nose was already bleeding, and their jeep was almost out of sunlight. If they stopped, they'd be torn to shreds or crushed by boulders.
“We can hide in the bomb shelter!” Crazy Steve shouted. “You need to get the kids to let us in!”
Ian countered and blocked again. He was weakening. He reached out mentally to the kids. “Let us in! You know us! If you don't let us in we're dead!”
The older of the two children was a girl, maybe ten years old. Ian felt her make a desperate decision.
The bomb shelter was at the end of one of the many dirt roads going through this part of the desert. It was near a rundown abandoned house that had been off-grid back when there was a grid to be on.
Crazy Steve pulled up to the underground shelter in time to see the heavy manhole-cover-like steel hatch open a crack and someone peek out from underneath. The two Kitykity seeing them about to get away charged. Ian blocked them, and countered, barely. A diamond tipped Kitykity tentacle sliced through the passenger window, missing his head by inches.
Crazy Steve grabbed Ian and dragged him from the jeep. A boulder came crashing down where they'd been a second before. They flung themselves through the hatch, just missing the girl, dropping down a twenty-foot hole, barely slowing themselves on the iron rungs of the ladder. They crashed on the cement floor, nearly hitting the second child. A little boy, maybe six, who'd been looking anxiously up at them.
The girl slammed the hatch shut and locked it.
There was a thunderous roar. The whole bomb shelter shook as the three Kitykity surrounded the hatch and tried to force their way inside.
The girl climbed back down the ladder to join them on the shelter floor.