8 – Tinker

Andy’s shoulder throbbed, and his breathing was ragged from the extended cat and mouse he’d been playing with the monstrous man. Even so, he managed to fend him off with the broken mop handle and the various environmental obstacles in Larry and Tina’s trailer. The stab wound he’d inflicted had driven the bear-like humanoid into a killing frenzy, but it was taking a toll. Thick rivulets of dark blood trickled out of the gaping wound where the broken end of the spear still jutted out from beneath the creature’s ribs.

A broad swath of that blood liberally coated the kitchen and living area of the trailer, painted by the bestial man as he pursued Andy. Several times, Andy almost took a risk, thinking he might be able to stab the broken mop handle into the monster’s eye or mouth or neck—someplace soft. He always backed off, though, as those huge clawed paw-hands whooshed uncomfortably close. Instead, he decided to play it safe and let the guy wear himself down.

Eventually, his strategy paid off, and the bear-man slipped on blood-slick linoleum and failed to get up. He scrabbled at the ground, grunting and gasping on all fours, but Andy just backed off and stood behind the couch, watching from a distance as the now pitiful creature slowly expired. “Not exactly heroic, but I won.” Bright yellow letters danced before his eyes:

***Congratulations on your victory, Andy! You’ve gained experience 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.***

Curious, Andy thought about his experience toward the next level. The line from his status sheet scrolled across his vision:

Experience toward next level: 37%

If he remembered correctly, it had been seven percent before. So, stabbing that bear-man had given him nearly a third of a level. Shaking his head, peering cautiously out of the broken window where the monster had entered the trailer, Andy approached the corpse, wondering if he could salvage his spear. Looking at the broken wood sticking out of the monster’s side, he shook his head. He needed a new handle, and he might as well use an undamaged knife.

Before searching for something suitable, though, his eyes lingered on the ripped khaki pants on the monstrous corpse. Frowning, he stooped to fish the wallet out of the back pocket. He flipped it open and found a driver’s license. “Sergio Romero?” He didn’t recall the name, but then, he hadn’t known everyone who lived in the park. He put the wallet on the counter and walked down the hallway, looking for a mop or broom.

At the end of the hall, he found a closet filled with blankets, quilts, and a vacuum cleaner—nothing he could fashion into a spear. “C’mon, guys.” He knew he could go back to his place and try to improvise another weapon, but he’d hoped to find something better than a broomstick. Before leaving, he walked into the primary bedroom, and his eyes widened when he saw a wooden baseball bat in the corner behind the door. He picked it up, pleased with its solid heft. “This’ll do until I find something better.”

A mirror was mounted on the back of the bedroom door, and Andy took a minute to peer at the claw marks on his shoulder. They were deep and had bled a lot, but it had stopped flowing. He’d have a hell of a bruise, too, but he could move his arm in every direction—nothing seemed broken. He quietly crept back to the front door and, gripping his new weapon, Andy slipped outside.

He immediately heard a man’s ragged yelling. Someone was screaming for someone else to stop. Part of him was beginning to believe that everyone else in the world was either dead or some kind of monster, so he gripped the heavy wooden bat tightly and ran toward the voice. He rounded the trailer adjacent to Larry and Tina’s and came upon a scene straight out of a horror movie.

An older guy with very dark skin and a grizzled gray and white beard was jabbing a shovel at a huge, wolf-like creature with its teeth wrapped around a young man’s ankle, dragging him toward the road. Every now and then, it would let go and snap at the older guy’s shovel, snarling and gnashing its teeth. At first, Andy wondered why the young guy wasn’t fighting or at least screaming, but then he saw the gash on his head and realized he was unconscious.

He ran forward, bat held high, and smashed it at the wolf’s head, or at least, he tried. The wolf saw the blow coming, and it moved, and Andy’s blow only glanced off its furry shoulder. It didn’t seem to care; it just redoubled its efforts to drag the kid away.

“Get ’im!” the old guy yelled, jamming his shovel at the wolf.

“Trying!” Andy grunted, smashing the bat at the animal again. This time, he connected with a solid blow near the animal’s spine, and it yelped, finally releasing the kid’s ankle. It snarled at Andy, then dodged another stab from the old guy’s shovel, and, apparently, deciding it didn’t like its odds, it turned and darted off.

“Keshawn!” the old guy said, kneeling beside the unconscious teen. “Come on, boy, wake up.” He shook him, but when the kid didn’t stir, he pulled off his sweatshirt and wrapped it around the bloody wound on the kid’s ankle. “Thanks for helping, buddy,” he said, looking up at Andy.

“Yeah, no worries. That your kid?”

“My grandboy.” He clicked his tongue. “Came to live with me last summer. Lord, what a mess we’ve got going on here! Did you see that damn wolf? That ain’t even the worst of it! My neighbor turned into a damned sasquatch! He’s the one who knocked Keshawn out!”

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Andy frowned, scanning the area, trying to make sure he didn’t get jumped by the next surprise horror in the trailer park. “Um, was his name Sergio?”

“That’s right!”

“Yeah, I ran into that guy, too. He attacked me back there.” Andy looked at the old guy’s shovel, and the part of him that had somehow become something of an expert on spears admired the stout, hardwood handle. “Hey, has the System been talking to you? I’m Andy, by the way.”

The older man looked up at Andy and nodded. “James Boyle. As to your question, yeah, the System thing has been sending me all sorts of messages.”

“Did you earn a class or anything like that?”

“A what now?”

Andy shook his head. “Never mind, but I was wondering, could I trade you this bat for that shovel? I kind of know how to fight with a spear, and the handle looks just about right for a—”

“You wanna turn my shovel into a spear? Hell, kid, if it helps you keep these damned creatures away from us, I don’t care. I’ll take your bat.” He nodded toward a single-wide trailer across the lane. “That’s my place. Help me get Keshawn inside, and I’ll fix a good knife to this here shovel handle.”

“You have duct tape?”

“Yeah, I do, but I’ve also got a drill and screws.”

“Yeah, but nothing works! Didn’t you notice?” Andy leaned down to grab the teenager under the arms, helping the older guy drag him toward the trailer.

“Ah, dammit! That’s right—my drill ain’t gonna drill, is it? That System thing—it told me something. I have a shotgun, and when I tried to blast one of those dog monsters, the shells just smoked and sizzled, and the buckshot only flew about ten feet. Then I got one of those damn messages saying something about the main-ah in the air draining energy, including explosive energy.”

Andy’s eyebrows shot up as he listened to James’s story. “You mean mana?”

He shrugged, lifting Keshawn’s feet with the motion. “However you say it.”

“It drains energy?” Andy looked at the sky, watching for another streak of lightning. When it came, it was spectacular, spreading through the sky in spider-web tendrils. “Shit! That’s why the lightning looks so wild! It’s slow.”

“Didn’t you notice how crazy it was? It’s kinda purple, too, ain’t it? I wouldn’t call it slow, but I guess for lightning, it is. Anyway, we don’t need to let that stop us. I have plenty of screwdrivers, and I even have an old hand drill. I’ll get you a decent spear made.”

“Cool,” Andy grunted as he hauled Keshawn up some steps and through the door into the trailer. The interior of the old guy’s trailer was cluttered but clean—lots of old furniture and knick-knacks, lots of art on the walls, and, as he’d mentioned, a big double-barreled shotgun lying on the kitchen table. Andy could see everything clearly because two butane camp lanterns were burning in the space, shedding the first really bright light Andy had seen since the storm hit.

James and Andy carried the wounded teenager over to the couch, and then the older man knelt beside him, putting his ear to the kid’s chest and then gently pressing his palm to his forehead. “I think he’s just knocked out. Damn! Of course, the first time he gets hurt, I can’t take him to the emergency room—I can’t even call his momma! She said this would happen. She said I was too old to raise a teen. He wanted to live with me, though! It’s a lot more stable here for him. Well—" The grizzled old guy looked around. “—it was

.”

“Nah, don’t beat yourself up. I think this stuff is happening everywhere. I was on the phone with my mom in Florida when it started. She got the System messages, too.”

“Damn it. Shit’s going to hell, kid.” James stood up and gestured to the shovel he’d left by the door. “Hey, kid—um, Andy, you think you can bandage up Keshawn’s ankle? I’ll get to work on your spear. I don’t know what the hell’s going on around here, but one thing is for sure: there’s some dangerous stuff prowling the trailer park.”

Andy nodded, slowly removing the sweatshirt James had wrapped around Keshawn’s ankle. “Do you have gauze or something? I think these cuts are beyond band-aids.”

“Yep, got a first aid kit under the sink. Put a lot of iodine on those bites!” James picked up one of the camp lanterns and, shovel in hand, walked toward the back of the trailer. He had a rolling gait like he was favoring one of his hips. “I’ll be back in a minute or two.”

Andy stood and walked into the kitchen. He found the kit right away—a big, toolbox-sized, red plastic case with a white cross on it. He carried it over to the couch and opened it up, smiling when he saw the rolls of gauze bandages, medical tape, and antiseptic. Sighing with relief, he pulled off his motorcycle helmet and removed his gloves.

He treated Keshawn’s ankle first, doing his best to wash the bite wounds with the big bottle of iodine. He didn’t envy the kid when he woke up; he could imagine the cuts would hurt like hell for a while. As he finished with the iodine, he wrapped the gashes with gauze and then secured the bandages with the tape. After that, he got to work on his own shoulder.

Andy’s cuts were much smaller and had stopped bleeding, so he just squeezed some triple-antibiotic ointment into them and pressed bandages over them. A couple of minutes after he finished, right when he was thinking about taking a look inside James’s fridge for something to drink, the old guy reappeared, carrying a pretty damn proper-looking spear.

He’d sawed off the shovel-head and cut a groove in the end of the wooden handle. Somehow, he’d taken the grips off a six-inch, commando-style knife and slid the metal tang into the groove. Two bolts ran through the assembly, holding the blade firmly in place. He brandished the spear, grinning. “Had this old K-bar knockoff lying around. I’ve got more knives, so don’t worry about it.”

“That looks awesome! Thank you, James.” Andy stood up from the couch and took the spear. It felt good in his hands—much better than the old mop handle.

“Did you ask me if I got a class before?”

“Yeah, the System said—”

“I just got one! When I made that spear, the System told me I learned some crafting stuff, and then it said I could activate the Tinker class.”

“Shit, really? Did you spend some of those, um, improvement points?”

“Not yet. I’ve only got one of ’em. What am I supposed to do with it?”

Andy shrugged. “That’s a hard one. If that class gave you a skill, you know, for making things, maybe you should spend the point on that.” Andy immediately second-guessed his advice. He didn’t have a clue what the best move was. He said as much. “Listen, James, I really don’t know. Might be best to ask some other folks after we get this trailer park cleaned up.”

“Cleaned up?” The older man raised an eyebrow.

“Well, yeah.” Andy shrugged. “Can’t have monsters and wolves and stuff running around in here.” He bent to pick up his gloves and helmet. “You keep Keshawn safe. I’ll go see if I can find some other folks who might need help.”

“All right, Andy. I’ll keep an eye out for you if you need a safe place for a breather.” He pointed to the kitchen. “Hey, I got a case of them energy drinks you kids are always chugging down. I bought ’em for Keshawn. I got some granola bars, too. Get yourself a snack before you go.”

Andy grinned and nodded. “I think you read my mind.”