6 – Corrupted

Andy crept through the drizzling rain, keeping close to his trailer, peering into the near-dark of the storm. He focused on Larry and Tina’s trailer. Distantly, thunder cracked, and flickers of lightning gave his vision momentary clarity. He could see a figure moving from window to window in there—someone peering out through the blinds. The question was whether it was a human, someone, or another damn monster.

Andy could tell he was seeing and hearing things more clearly. He felt sharper, like he was noticing little movements more easily. Was that his Shadow Vigil ability? Even a hundred yards away, where the small, grassy lot for walking dogs opened up at the center of the trailer park, he could see shadows flitting about. Things were moving around up there. He didn’t know how he knew it, but he could tell they weren’t people, and they weren’t loose pets. He could sense a hostility about them.

Narrowing his eyes and squinting at Larry’s trailer, he decided he wasn’t getting the same feeling from the shadow moving around behind the blinds. He darted forward, edging around the trailer with his back to it. When he came to the front side, where the little stoop led up to the door, he froze in the shadows. Sheila’s other dog was there. Well, it wasn’t really her dog anymore, was it? She was dead, and the thing looked more like something out of a horror movie than a cute little pug.

It was hunched over something, ripping at it with its big, muscular arms, and Andy didn’t have any trouble hearing the chomping, gnashing sounds coming from it. It was eating something, and Andy didn’t think he wanted to know what the meal was. The gorilla-dog had its back to him, so Andy crouched, lowered his spear into a stance that could either defend or attack, and crept toward it, his sneakers nearly silent on the rain-slick concrete.

The Sleepy Saguaro Trailer Park wasn’t an upscale place to live. There wasn’t much grass, and the landscaping consisted of chollas, barrel cacti, and palm trees planted in the medians. Most of the lots were primarily covered with cement with patches of gravel here and there, and, if you were really lucky, your own cactus or maybe an aloe vera plant. Andy hadn’t cared about all that. He was just glad to be able to afford his lot while working odd jobs after dropping out of college.

At the moment, though, he appreciated the excessive concrete. He had no problem sneaking up on the gorilla-dog, and when he was within reach, he lifted his spear and, with a two-handed grip and an “Eeyah!” for good measure, he drove the eight-inch knife through the monster’s back into a spot he was reasonably confident would pierce a simian’s heart. The creature roared and whirled, flailing one of its long arms.

The movement ripped Andy’s spear out of it, but he darted back, the center of gravity low, spear ready to defend. Whatever knowledge the System had planted in his head about spear fighting was paying dividends. The monster charged, and he deftly jabbed the knife blade at its eyes, forcing it back. It grunted and wheezed, and Andy saw foamy, wet saliva flecking its lips as it coughed and wheezed. The pug was a terrible breather when it was a dog, and it hadn’t gotten any better at it with its mutation.

It wasn’t just a bad airway, though. Andy’s stab had hit home. He was sure he’d either perforated a lung or cut its heart. The monster listed to the side, coughing and wheezing, and then it collapsed. It twitched, its thick primate fingers weakly grasping at the concrete, and then it was still. “Shit. Heart, I guess.”

***Congratulations on your victory, Andy! You performed a stunning critical hit and vanquished your foe! Keep it up; it’s clear you’re learning valuable strategies! You’ve made progress toward your next level.***

***Your quest to compete for control of Sleepy Saguaro Trailer Park has advanced. You’ve made progress toward gaining control, earning contribution points toward a final reward. You’re currently ranked first for contribution! Others will see your name on reports like this.***

“Huh,” Andy said, standing over the corpse. He thought about his status page but focused on just the part that told him how close he was to the next level:

Experience toward next level: 67%

So, it seemed his new class was slower to level than when he’d been “unclassed,” but he’d still made a lot of progress with only one victory. Nodding to himself, he turned and walked over to Larry’s door. He pounded on it three times, then backed up, spear at the ready.

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“Who’s there?” The curtain on the door lifted, and sure enough, Larry peered out, eyes wide. “That you, Andy?”

“Yeah, open up!”

“Dude!” Larry’s voice was muffled. “Are you going nuts? Like everyone else?”

“No, man. Open up! There’s frickin’ monsters out here.”

The door rattled, and then Larry pushed it open. “Hurry, dude!”

Andy darted forward, climbing into the trailer. It smelled wrong. Stuffy and dirty with an undertone of ammonia. Larry slammed the door shut, and Andy heard the locks click home. He turned to regard the man. He looked like hell. His shirt was torn, his face was bruised and scratched, and he was shaking with some kind of weird essential tremor. “What happened to you, man?”

“What happened to me? Tina happened to me, man! She attacked me; damn near beat the shit out of me. I had to tie her up in the bathroom!”

Andy frowned, looking at his neighbor. It was hard to see in the dim light, but his skin looked the wrong shade—too yellow and wan. The circles under his eyes didn’t look real. At first, he’d thought they were bruises, but they weren’t. They were puffy and black, and while he watched, Larry reached up to scratch his nose, and his nail scraped away a long peel of skin, leaving behind a bloody groove. “Dude, you don’t look good.”

“She bit me, bro. She bit me so damn hard. Look!” He yanked his T-shirt collar down, revealing an oozing, pus-filled wound just below his left clavicle. “It feels wrong. I feel wrong. I’m sick, dog.” He licked his lips, and Andy couldn’t help thinking his tongue looked too fat, too slick. It gave him the heebie-jeebies, and he lowered the tip of his spear, taking a step back.

“Is Tina alive?”

“Wha-what, bro? Sure, she is. What a thing to ask!” While he spoke, Larry moved sideways, away from the door, like he was trying to sidle around him.

“What are you doing?” Andy asked, watching how Larry’s hands shook but noting the jagged, broken nails and dark stains on his fingers. “Man, you’re not right, are you?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Larry licked his lips again, his bulging eyes fixated on a spot beneath Andy’s eyeline. His neck?

“You don’t—” Andy started to reply, but Larry lunged, his arms outspread, his mouth wide, exposing too many sharp teeth. Andy didn’t have a chance to think or doubt—he just reacted, driving his spear straight into Larry’s guts. The way the knife punched through the skin would give him shivers of disgust for days to come. It gave an inch or so and then popped as the blade slipped through the flesh, muscle, and viscera.

Larry screamed and clutched at the offending weapon, and Andy drove him back. His only desire in that moment was to keep Larry’s disgusting, grasping claws from touching him. He pushed him until he bumped into the door, and then, when Larry’s clawing and thrashing intensified, he yanked the spear back in a controlled manner, angled its knife-blade tip upward, and drove it into Larry’s neck, just under his chin. He felt the blade scrape bone, and then Larry jerked and fell still, sagging like dead weight and pulling the spear tip down.

Andy, heart racing, breaths ragged, yanked his spear out and retreated several steps, watching the corpse, wondering if it would leap up and attack him again. It didn’t move, though, and he realized he was looking at Larry’s dead body. His neighbor. The guy he often joked around with and had even shared a beer with a couple of times. He felt queasy and dirty and had that strange, vague feeling you sometimes get after waking up from a horrible dream until reality reasserted itself and you realized none of those bad things had happened.

Only this time, he wasn’t dreaming, was he? Larry was really dead. Sheila was dead. “And I killed them.” He sniffed, shaking his head, forcing the dark thoughts aside; he had to deal with this shit, and he didn’t have the time or, hell, the safe space for guilt or tears. As if to reinforce that thought, brilliant yellow letters flew in front of his eyes, startling the hell out of him:

***Congratulations on your victory, Andy! You conquered a corrupted denizen of the trailer park! Your victory propelled you into level two of your Umbral Warden class! With each level of this class, you gain 5 maximum mana. You’ve earned another improvement point.***

***Your quest to compete for control of Sleepy Saguaro Trailer Park has advanced. You’ve made progress toward gaining control, earning contribution points toward a final reward. You’re currently ranked first for contribution! Others will see your name on reports like this.***

***You have a new quest opportunity: Discover what corrupted Larry Finster and put an end to it. Accept? Yes/No.”

Andy looked at Larry’s broken corpse, a fresh wave of guilt washing over him. He cleared his throat, wrinkling his nose at the rotten smells in the trailer, and said, “Yes.” While he stood there in the dark, he thought of his status screen, specifically his experience and improvement points:

Experience toward next level: 12%

Improvement Points: 2

So, he was about a tenth of the way through level two of his new class. Was he ready to spend those improvement points yet? He could bump up a stat or a skill. Was it worth it, though? Should he save them for something better? He wished he knew more. What were the odds he could unlock another class by spending those two points? Did he want to? He seemed to be doing pretty damn well with his makeshift spear.

That thought made him frown as he held the weapon's tip close, peering at his handicraft. The duct tape was holding up fine; after all, he’d put a quarter of a roll around that knife handle. Still, he wouldn’t mind a proper spear; the mop handle wasn’t anywhere close to perfect. A thud from the hallway drew his attention, and he lowered the spear tip, staring down that way. “Shit. Tina?” His improvement points forgotten, he stalked toward the deeper darkness.