Chapter 5
Escape
Night of the Apocalypse
Nursing Facility
“Yep, I went five rounds with Monster Alien,” Robert said. “He was a big scary guy too, but I kicked his ass. They called me Robot, ‘cause I was a boxing machine. Back then I’d fight anyone, anytime. I was crazy. Don’t get many visitors here, so you come by whenever you want. My daughter, she keeps saying she’ll visit, but she lives in another state, hard for her to come by.”
“Fascinating. So you’re a monster alien hater?” Beginner’s Guide asked.
“No, I didn’t hate him, Monster Alien, he was an okay guy, but when I’m in the ring with somebody, they are not my friend. Monster Alien, he was the same way. Once we got in that ring together, we were both out for blood. Yep, I went five rounds with Monster Alien, I should tell you about that sometime. Had to retire from boxing soon after that, got hit in the head too many times, but those were the days.”
“I’m not supposed to do this, Mr. Robot, so don’t tell anyone, but you will wake up with a syringe next to your bed. Inject it into your arm immediately, because aliens will surround you, and they are out for your blood.”
***
Three Days Later
“Don’t know why Ellen got so upset, not like I killed her husband and grand-kid,” Gabe grumbled to himself, still mad about the way she’d slapped him earlier.
They headed home again, Gabe and Ian were loaded down with bags of supplies. Ellen, Sabrina, and Uncle Ben walked in front of them. Ellen carried a hunting rifle she’d taken from her gun safe. Dad and Stacy brought up the rear.
Ian felt something staring at him. He turned. A giant eye peeked shyly at them from above the roof of a nearby house. The giant eye ducked behind the roof when Ian looked back at it.
Shit shit shit, Ian thought. The shooting and fire must have attracted it. “Ben,” Ian hissed. “We need to move! We got company!”
“What kind of company?” Uncle Ben asked.
“Don’t know, but it’s big,” Ian said.
“Shit. Let’s move.” Uncle Ben picked up the pace.
The alien popped up from behind the cement block fence next to the Anderson home, looking like something out of Ian’s worst nightmares. No, it was worse than anything he could have dreamed up.
If an insane person combined a spider, a snail, a piranha, a short fat centipede with really long legs, and then added five eyestalks, they might get something close to what was looking down on them now.
Its head was black, with bright red dots and swirls that looked like tribal markings. Aside from that, the head consisted of little more than mouth and teeth.
Its head sat on hundreds of long, rapidly moving legs.
Ian noticed BG’s mental display pop up. This is a crawly. This crawly will pretend to be your friend, but will talk about you behind your back.
As usual, BG told them nothing about how to kill the thing. Uncle Ben, Stacy, Dad, and Ellen opened fire. The giant head was an easy target, and the bullets pushed it back, but they did little else. One shot severed an eye-stalk. Another eye-stalk popped up to replace one they’d shot off. The head spun all the way around, revealing a second mouth behind the first one. Its second mouth was more insect-like, with sharp mandibles.
It spat an enormous mass of thick green slime that slammed into Stacy, knocking her over. She struggled to get up. The green slime stuck to her like glue pinning her to the street. Ian dropped his bags and ran to help her.
A childish voice came out of the crawly, like it had eaten a six-year-old girl and absorbed her voice. “We are a peaceful, civilized life-form. I’m glad we can sit down and discuss our differences like rational beings.”
Unfortunately, there seemed no relation between the crawly’s speech and its actions.
They continued shooting, but the bullets didn’t bother it. It rocked back again, then spat a second green mass at Uncle Ben. He ducked behind the white pickup truck parked across the street from Ian’s house. The green mass splatted down on the truck, breaking the windshield.
“I’m glad we could put your paranoid concerns behind us. Alien life-forms are not all trying to kill you,” the crawly said.
A brick came out of nowhere and smacked the crawly’s head. The brick didn’t hurt the crawly, but it got the creature’s attention.
The old black man Ian had seen earlier walked casually down the street, holding a cane as if nothing was happening.
“You guys get inside, I got this,” he said.
The crawly’s five eyestalks turned to study this new threat. The crawly’s eyes were rather pretty, Ian noticed. Large and blue with catlike pupils.
Its head spun around and spat green stuff at the old man.
The old man jumped ten feet to the side, effortlessly dodging it. “You’re too slow, big guy.”
The crawly’s legs went into action. It spun around and charged.
“We are a peaceful, civilized life form,” the crawly said again. It tried to impale the old man with one of its legs. The old man slid to the side, and in a quick motion, trapped the leg with his cane, and broke it.
The old man got busy avoiding five or six other legs, and its enormous mouth, dodging or blocking them with his cane. Whoever the old man was, he was fast, moving with an economy of motion that was amazing to watch.
Dad grabbed Stacy’s arm and heaved, causing some fibers to snap, but most held firm. He pulled out a long hunting knife and started sawing. The fibers in the green slime were sticky and hard to cut. As he cut, the fibers stuck to his knife, making it useless.
“Everybody stay calm. Ian, Gabe, get to the house now! We’ll meet you there.” Dad’s hands shook, he was nowhere near as calm as he tried to appear. Gabe ran off, joining Ellen and her granddaughter on their front porch.
Ian didn’t move. This alien had to have a weakness, didn’t it?
Uncle Ben ran up to the crawly to get a better shot. The crawly backed away, maneuvering itself into a better position. A leg shot out. Uncle Ben’s armor saved him from being impaled, but it slammed him against the white pickup truck. His shotgun went flying,
Uncle Ben crawled away.
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There was something creepy about how the crawly moved its hundreds of legs in unison. The crawly always kept one set of legs facing its opponents. This seemed odd, considering the crawly’s head could turn all the way around. Why would the crawly care which leg it used to impale its victims?
The crawly wasn’t stupid. It used its green slime on the camouflaged human first and then went after the rest of them. The crawly had to have a weak point. If it wasn’t the thing’s head or eyes, then what? Ian almost laughed, it was so obvious.
“Stacy, shoot that leg!” Ian shouted, pointing at the leg it kept maneuvering to protect. This leg was thicker than the other legs. This leg must contain something vital. Brain maybe?
“What? why?” Stacy asked, fighting to get free of the slime. Ian could see she was panicking.
“Just do it! Shoot that leg!”
“Ian, I told you to get your ass to the house!” Dad shouted. Dad kept sawing at the green slime with his useless knife, making little progress.
Stacy’s left arm and hand were free enough to shoot, so she pointed her gun at the crawly and fired.
“Not that leg, the other leg!” Ian shouted, panicking himself.
She fired five more times. This time her bullets severed the thicker leg, along with three others.
The crawly stiffened, freezing up, then crashed to the ground. It had time to say one last “peaceful lifeforrrm,” before vanishing.
Ian’s mental display popped up.
You have contributed to killing a class 3 alien monster! Because you are a worthless human with no significant talent, your reward is 80 credits and a 1 stat point increase! Yay!
“How did you know?” Dad asked, looking impressed.
“I sensed it,” Ian lied.
“Guess that psychic stuff isn’t worthless after all,” Dad responded.
“You guys make it hard to save you,” the old man said, as he helped Uncle Ben to his feet and joined them. “I was trying to lure that thing away, so you could escape. My name’s Robert, by the way.”
“We appreciate that. I’m Carl Anderson, and this is my idiot brother Ben. If you guys could help me get my daughter free? We can get inside before something else shows up.”
“I might be of help,” Gabe said. “Once you guys killed that thing, this showed up in my inventory.” He held out a tiny green bottle with the words Slime Cleaner on it. “I hope it’s strong. This is all BG gave me.”
Gabe made a show of blowing on the bottle and rolling it between his hands. He put a drop on the thickest part of the green slime holding down Stacy. The drop made a big, rapidly expanding hole in the slime. Two drops later, Stacy was free. As soon as Stacy could, she jumped up and ran for the house. It was clear she did not like being trapped.
“I don’t remember much,” Robert said. Once they were safely inside, drinking coffee, Uncle Ben heated. “I was in this nursing home, and three nights ago I woke up. These monsters were everywhere. I had my speed back though. I’m not as strong as I was in my twenties, but I’m faster than I ever was. I fought those things off with this cane I found.” He held up his battered, steel-tipped cane for emphasis. “It was a nightmare; alien monsters eating the dead and dying. I joined a group of old folk and staff, and got out of there. I wanted to hole up, but some of the staff worried about their kids, so I went with them. I lost them when we got attacked by something. I holed up in that house across the street... Hoping I could stay there until I figure out where to go.”
“Kind of up to the couple living there,” Carl responded.
“About that,” Robert said. “When I entered the house, I found two giant fat alien plushies, and three skinny ones. I killed them, of course. Didn’t find no people.”
“Tell you what. If the Dunman’s show up and want their place back, we’ll help you find a new place and get moved in. Do you have any family?” Carl asked.
“A daughter in California. I think. We fell out of touch. Haven’t seen her in years.”
“Let us know if you need anything,” said Carl, extending his hand.
And then, after a round of handshaking, the adults kept talking.
Ian tuned them out and pulled up his mental display to check his stat increase. Next to the increase were the words: This is for a subcategory stat, you greedy human.
Great, Ian thought. A long list of physical and mental sub-stats appeared. Endurance, spacial-relations, memory, visual perception, etc. Then the words. Note. Your stat point could stack with your gifts, strengthening them. If you want to use your stat point in such a stupid fashion, I cannot stop you.
“Have you gotten any stat increases?” Ian asked Stacy. Sabrina had curled up on the livingroom sofa to sleep, and the three siblings retired to Stacy’s room.
“No, but I got several gun upgrades,” she said. She was trying to read one of her old graphic novels while picking at stray pieces of green slime stuck to her hair and clothing. A lack of electricity or internet limited their entertainment.
“How do those work?” Ian asked.
“It’s complicated,” Stacy answered. “Mostly what kind of bullet you can use, and how much energy is used to push the bullet forward. Dad lent me a book. Kid Barbie shoots 44 caliber bullets. They’re big bullets, great for zombies, but they’re slow. They’ll push something back, but they won’t go through armor.”
“So, the question is, what are you planning to shoot?” Ian responded, trying to understand.
“And we have no idea,” said Stacy. “So I put half the upgrades into increasing the gun’s power, and the other half in modifying the bullet, so it lets me change the type of bullet I use when I shoot. Not sure how that works, I think I concentrate, and the bullet changes.”
“Neat. Want to know what else is pretty neat? The way I saved all our lives today,” Ian said.
“No, you didn’t,” Gabe and Stacy said at the same time.
“Finding a weak point in a monster’s defense provides useful support so the real lifesaver could do her thing,” said Gabe, doing something at Stacy’s desk with a knife, a timer, and a microscope.
“Like he said,” came Stacy’s response.
“Well, either way you look at it, it was pretty amazing, so I was wondering if you could do something for me,” Ian said.
“What?” she asked.
“Teach me how to shoot,” Ian said.
“You’re so stupid. You could have just asked,” Stacy responded. “Don’t make it like I owe you one. You’re not touching my Kid Barbie pistols, but you’re welcome to my air gun.”
“Mind Mastering not working for you?” Gabe asked.
“I think we all need certain skills if we want to survive,” Ian answered. “You saw what happened to the Crabtrees. We’ve been lucky.”
“Remember gun safety,” Stacy said, as she watched him struggling with her air pistol. “Never point a gun at someone you’re not planning to shoot. And you know you’re supposed to hit the target, right?”
“This is harder than it looks.” Ian struggled to hold the pistol steady and point the gun at the tiny target on the other side of the room.
“Want to see something?” Stacy took the pistol from him. She closed her eyes and spun around several times. Then facing the wall away from the target, eyes closed, she pointed the gun behind her and fired. Ian saw a small hole appear in the center of the target.
“Okay. How did you do that?” Ian asked.
“No trick. If I know where the target is, I can hit it. Because of BG.”
Ian sighed, took the gun back, and kept practicing. “How long before I get skill points in this?”.
Gabe snorted, “Not enough time in the life of the universe.”
“Gabe, you got a sec? I got something for you.” Dad said from the living room. Ian looked out and noticed Robert had finally left.
“I’m checking for nanites,” Ian heard Gabe say. “I think BG is using nanites, that is microscopic robots, to accomplish her effects, but I keep getting a mental interface message from BG saying ‘there are no nanites, and they don’t want you bothering them.' So I think I’m onto something.“
“Good. I thought about what you were saying earlier. So I got you two books. The first is your spell-book, the second is our new monster manual. I’d like you to draw pictures of the monsters we’ve encountered, give a brief description of the monster, and how to kill them. We can share the book with other people, find out what they know, and possibly save lives.”
“These are notebooks, with nothing but blank pages,” Gabe whined.
“We have to start somewhere. The world’s first wizards didn’t have spell-books. They had to write their own. That’s where you are now. I’m sure you’ll meet other wizards eventually, and they can help, but for now, think of both books as works in progress.”
Gabe snorted. “This doesn’t help much.”
“I know, Gabe, but we all have to start someplace. You’re welcome to use my science books and equipment, and you’ll get the next suit of armor. If you can quit whining all the time,” Dad answered. “I know you helped me with the cuddle. How many credits did you get?”
“Ten credits,” Gabe answered.
“So you helped. You should be proud of that. I got inferior quality spider silk thread from the crawly. Which makes me wonder what we would have to kill to get high-quality spider silk? Let’s get ahead of this. We need to prepare.”
“I suppose,” Gabe responded. “Thank you.”
***
“Ian. What did you sense from Robert?” Dad asked later. Ian could hear Ellen snoring quietly on the couch next to Sabrina.
“You think he might be dangerous?” Ian asked.
“He seems like an okay guy, but if things go bad, it’s not like we can call the cops, and that old guy is pretty tough.”
“He seemed okay, lonely maybe,” said Ian, hoping he was right.
“Good. Don’t ever think you’re a waste of space. We saved a couple lives today because of you. Let me know immediately if you pick up on something. I’m counting on you.” Dad held out a hand. “What’s cool these days? Fist bump? Handshake?”
“As long as we don’t have to hug,” Ian responded, bumping fists with his dad.
“I’m taking first watch, Ben’s taking second. I’ll let you decide which watch you’re taking,” Dad said.
“I’ll take the second watch. Suddenly I’m exhausted,” Ian said. He pulled his air mattress into the living room. Sleeping was no longer a private thing, for obvious reasons. Too many things went bump in the night. “Put my stat increase towards my psychic gifts,” he told BG. He could swear he heard BG sigh. His one stat point vanished from his mental display. He felt no different. He needed to play this game to win. People were depending on him. No pressure.