Rapture (Apocalypse Gates Author's Cut Book 1) Read online

  Two hours later the zombies came into sight again, all twelve of them shuffling down the road. Getting back to his feet, Alvin sighed. He started at a jog away from the zombies at a ninety-degree angle. He watched as the zombies all shifted to follow him.

  Shrugging, he set off at a ground eating jog back towards the buildings. As he went he had to slow to a walk several times as he felt himself starting to get winded. He sipped the water as he went, even pausing to urinate at one point. “A game that you need to take a piss in, how novel,” he grumped as he started jogging again.

  When he made it back to the podunk stopover, he decided to go into the gas station first. That seemed the best bet for being able to find a flashlight. It would also have the best visibility with the large glass windows for the moonlight to pour through.

  After a few minutes of going up and down every aisle he finally found flashlights. Grabbing one he tore it out of the package, then went to the front where the batteries were behind the counter. He popped open a pack of AA batteries and dropped them into the flashlight. He got it turned on than proceeded to search the building. He found a crowbar in the back and dropped the hockey stick, which had a crack in it, probably from his jab at the zombie earlier, in favor of the metal bar. With his new weapon, a flashlight and a fresh bottle of water he set out to explore.

  He went out the back door as he headed for the houses, figuring the motel would be a bust without guests. The first two houses had broken doors where zombies had forced their way out. Should be safe enough, he figured, as he went into the first one.

  He got through five houses before finding a shotgun. There were two shells already chambered in the old side by side shotgun, but no other shells to be found. He hooked the crowbar through a belt-loop on his jeans and took the gun with him. As he exited the house he could hear the zombies moaning as they shuffled after him. Rolling his eyes at how persistent the zombies were being, he sighed.

  “It’s like the government, following you until you pay them taxes,” he grumbled with a smirk. “No, that’s not fair to the zombies. They have more brains than the government, and even want more brains to boot.”

  A louder groan caught his attention as another zombie came around the corner of the house. He shouldered the gun and pulled the trigger, aiming at its head. It dropped like a marionette with its strings cut. As it dropped Alvin leaned forward, emptying his stomach rather suddenly. After a moment, he righted himself to find the other zombies closing in. He started walking away from them, washing his mouth out as he went.

  He shivered. He had locked that memory away. Now it came crashing back to him, the abusive foster parent who had beaten him every day. Frank Harris had acted like an upstanding man when he was out in public, but at home behind closed doors he beat the foster kids he took care of. But Frank had forgotten to lock his room one day. Alvin had gone in and found the shotgun under the bed.

  At eight years old, Alvin Leon Lambert committed murder. He shot Frank as soon as the man walked in the door from work that night. Alvin went to juvie while the cops investigated, and it took them months to find other children willing to give statements that Frank had abused them. Alvin was eventually cleared of the charge of murder, but by then the damage had been done and Alvin had learned that the system was broken. By the age of ten he had started to commit petty theft against anyone who crossed him, it didn’t matter to him whether it was an adult or another kid.

  He pick-pocketed teachers for lunch money. He stole his first car at thirteen, and the Principle of the junior high was pissed when his shiny Corvette was taken for a joy ride.

  Shaking his head to force the memories away, he started to jog down the road again, leading the zombies away from the buildings. Two hours out, then circle back to town. He was able to search the rest of the houses on his next trip, after using the shotgun to blow another zombie’s head off. This time he was able to swallow the bile in his throat as the head burst apart. He was glad it was night, so the gory mess was devoid of most of its color, but the smell was horrible.

  He dropped the now empty shotgun for a metal bat he found in the last house, which left him with just the motel to check. He grabbed some more jerky as his stomach was empty again, along with a bottle of Gatorade. Heading down the road and back for the third time gave him enough time to search the motel. He found a panic room in the manager’s office. He loaded up the room with some drinks and food before he shut himself inside and prayed that his tormentors would teleport him out after the time ended. As he drifted off to sleep he heard the zombies shuffling around outside of the room.

  Chapter Two

  Alvin jerked awake with a cold sweat covering his body. His heart pounded as he tried to shake the nightmare image of Frank rising as a zombie from being shot and trying to kill him. He could hear pounding on the reinforced steel door of the panic room.

  He wondered what time it was and how long he had left to wait for the tutorial to end. A pop-up appeared before him, the same blue box as before. It showed a timer counting down.

  Time left on Mission: 09:13

  He watched the timer tick to 09:12. “Another nine hours of sitting here and waiting,” he muttered, looking around the room. Nothing but steel walls and the door. He had to wonder why a motel had a panic room. As he did, he recalled there had been no vehicles in the stopover either, which meant it was placed here for the game.

  He made a small meal out of the premade sandwiches he had brought and water, then propped himself against a wall and waited. After an hour get got as comfortable on the floor as he could and closed his eyes again. He rolled for a bit, but eventually fell asleep again. When he woke again, the pounding on the door had gotten louder. Blinking, he looked at the door, which had a small dent in the center of it.

  “Holy fuck,” he whispered, thinking of how strong the zombies would have to be to be able to dent the reinforced steel door. He pulled the timer up and breathed a sigh of relief to see he only had a little over two hours left. He doubted the undead could get through the door with only that amount of time left. It also made him realize just how useless trying to hole up in one of the houses would have been.

  He snacked again as he waited, bored out of his mind. Shrugging, he went over to the door and began to beat out a counter rhythm to the pounding, using empty bottles as drum sticks. After a minute, the pounding stopped. Blinking in surprise, Alvin stopped as well.

  The silence was deafening for two or three minutes, then the door resounded as something hit it hard from the other side. Backing up, Alvin decided playing the drums had been a bad idea. The harder pounding was a lot slower but it kept up for an hour, the door actually denting visibly as he watched. Licking his lips, Alvin glanced at the timer. A little under an hour now. He just had to hope that the zombies didn’t begin to think about getting tools to help them.

  Not knowing if he would be allowed to take things with him, Alvin stuffed his pockets with food and dropped a few bottles of water into his shirt, just in case. With ten minutes to go Alvin breathed a sigh of relief. The door was holding. Unable to resist, he picked the empty bottles back up and began to play drums again on the door.

  He could hear the angry groans of the zombies as well as the hard thuds into the door. He figured the zombies were actually throwing their bodies at the door now instead of just using their fists. He played them a round of Wipe Out as the last two minutes ticked down.

  “See you zombies, good try, you undead pricks,” Alvin called out. He suddenly realized as the clock ticked down the last minute that he actually didn’t know if he would be teleported out or if he would have to leave the room on his own. He swallowed and gripped his bat in one hand and the crowbar in the other as the last few seconds ticked off the timer.

  As soon as it reached 00:00, a bright light engulfed him. When his eyes cleared, he was back in his grey room with the stainless-steel toilet. Letting out a sigh of relief, he sat down on the bed. It dawned on him that his hands were empty, as well as
his pockets and shirt. “Figures,” he muttered.

  “You survived the tutorial. Well done, that puts you into the top ten percentile,” the bored voice said by way of welcoming him back. “Now that we know your brain isn’t completely dysfunctional, we can justify taking a few minutes to get you more up to speed. I keep telling them we should wait until you get story missions unlocked, but who listens to me? No one, that’s who.”

  “Sounds like bosses everywhere,” Alvin agreed. “But, since it helps me I’m not going to take your side. Who are you, anyway?”

  “I’m the case worker assigned to you. You can call me Scott, and if you think about using any other name, I can be even less helpful than I currently am. Understand?”

  “Scott?” Alvin asked with a snort.

  “I’ve had a little over four hundred of your kind to deal with. A little insider tip, none of them survived. Now, with that out of the way, let’s walk you through the basics, shall we?”

  “Sure,” Alvin replied as he got up to use the toilet. “A question, though. Do you record in this room?”

  “No, this room is the limited private space you get. Does that make you feel happy?”

  “Not really. Just wanted to know if my shit was going to be seen by the world.”

  “If you shit while in the game, then yes, yes it will. Now, let’s start with your character screen.”

  “I already figured out how to pull that up and looked over the basic stats and the abilities I have already. Who makes up the commentary on those?”

  “That would be me. Did they make you laugh, because I laughed when I made them,” the bored voice had an edge of dark humor to it.

  “Nope. I wonder how you know all those things, though?”

  “Because I have your biographic information, from when we pasted your brain to digitize you. I know everything you did. Not much of a life, really.”

  Alvin clenched his teeth for a second as his knuckles popped, he really wanted to punch this fucker. Instead he unclenched his hands and finished up on the toilet. “Glad you enjoyed it so much. Can we get on with this?”

  A snicker was heard from Scott, “Of course. Next up is to check your current experience, the total is on your character screen if you want that. Or you can ask for a summary of your last mission to have it display just that.”

  Alvin mentally asked for a summary, which caused a blue screen to appear before him.

  Tutorial Mission Completed

  Total Experience Earned: 320 XP

  Breakdown: Mission completion 100 XP, Take no damage 50 XP, Search all buildings in area 150 XP, Kill two Shamblers 20 XP.

  “Okay. I have a little over three hundred,” Alvin told Scott after he went over the summary.

  “Not bad, you got a lot of bonuses. Now you can spend your XP. Ask for the store.”

  Alvin didn’t feel like saying it out loud so he mentally asked for the store. A much bigger, cluttered screen popped up before him. “Jesus, that’s a mess,” Alvin muttered, looking at the UI for the store.

  “We’re still tweaking the interface design. You can reduce the list of things available to what you can afford easily enough, or you can browse the whole thing if you want. First though, look over what you can upgrade now.”

  Alvin reduced the list to things he could afford, which left him with a very small list. He looked at it, not impressed. “That isn’t a lot to work with, is it?”

  “Not for only three hundred, no, and it shouldn’t be. If you wish to spend your XP now, do so. We can move on if you want more walk through right now.”

  “I’ll spend later, let’s get on with the briefing.”

  “Next up to discuss are the available missions. You have to take at least one mission every day until World Mode opens. Between the mandatory missions, you can do bonus missions for more XP. Ask for the job board.”

  “Job board,” Alvin stated, causing another blue screen to appear.

  “On that screen you will find the Missions available to you. Once you clear enough Basic Missions, you advance to Story Missions. This is where the fun really starts.”

  Scott’s voice gained a trace of excitement as he continued, “Story Missions ask you to complete an actual objective instead of just surviving or killing a specific number of zombies. It might be to save someone who is being attacked, it could be to get a person to another point in the world, IE an escort mission. All missions are doable if you can figure it out and don’t fuck off. Now comes the big one, once you complete a number of Story Missions, World Mode opens. Once World Mode opens, you have to do at least eight hours every day, or lose a life.”

  “Now the downside, you can only access the store from this room normally. In World Mode, you have to find a secure place to rest and after a few minutes you will be given the option to return here. If you do return here from World Mode you have twenty-three hours to get back in game or you lose a life. Any questions?”

  “Now that was an info dump,” Alvin laughed. “The TLDR is, do missions to get XP. When World Mode opens then I have to play at least eight hours a day?”

  “Yes,” Scott sounded miffed at the TLDR version. “Remember, you only start with one life.”

  “One life? Does that mean I can buy more lives?”

  “Yes, but they are a bit pricey,” Scott snorted.

  Alvin pulled up the store and looked up the listing for extra lives. He stared at the screen for a moment then closed it. “Understatement much? A hundred grand for a life?”

  “Told you they were pricey. That isn’t even the most expensive item in the store.”

  Alvin didn’t take the bait as he didn’t care at the moment. “What about the gear I saw in the store? Does that go and come back with me?”

  “If you have purchased it and are carrying it on your person, it will go with you. You must have it on you at the end of your mission, though, for it to return. All items can break as well, so keep that in mind.”

  “Fucking durability, great,” Alvin sighed. “Okay, I get it. Is there anything else? Like maybe a way to kill things other than zombies?”

  “I can’t answer that question at this time,” Scott’s voice was suddenly flatly mechanical.

  “Wait, what was that? Are you a machine?”

  “I am a virtual intelligence, based partially on personality traits of failed players,” Scott added with a touch of defensiveness in his voice.

  “Why the mechanical voice for a second?”

  “You triggered a sub-routine. It stops me from telling you about things that you aren’t permitted to know about.”

  “So, there is stuff that you can’t talk about?”

  “I can’t answer that question at this time,” said the same mechanical voice.

  “Good to know,” Alvin replied.

  “I hate it when the sub-routine triggers. Please refrain from doing so intentionally.”

  “I didn’t trigger the first one intentionally,” Alvin replied. “Curious as to why you want to be called Scott though, if you’re an AI, or VI?”

  “Scott was my first player. He failed during his first Story Mission. It reminds me not to expect much from any of you. I have been damned, to forever help noobs.”

  Alvin laughed, “Challenge accepted. If I do get to World Mode, I want the option to change your name.”

  Scott scoffed, “You will not succeed.”

  “Do we have a deal?”

  “What do I get out of it?” Scott asked back. “If you fail I just get another new player.”

  “Can you add my personality to yours, if I fail?”

  “Well yeah, but so what?” Scott replied.

  “You think you’re a sarcastic ass now. Heh, you haven’t seen anything yet. I would so upgrade that side of you. So, do we have a deal?”

  “I get your personality when you fail anyway. But fine, I accept your wager,” Scott replied. “Maybe it will give you some incentive to succeed.”

  “Good. Time to spend my handful of XP and do an
other mission. I’m going to name you Betty,” Alvin told the room as he pulled up the store.

  “What? You can’t change my gender orientation.”

  “Not going to, just your name. Not my fault if you follow your name into being a woman, Scott.” Alvin smirked as he looked over his options in the store.

  As he did he realized just how costly things were going to be. “Scott, what is a ‘Serving of Sustenance’? It costs fifty points, so I’m a little curious.”

  “It is a single serving of food that will keep you full and hydrated for a full twenty-four hours. You should try it. All new players give it a go.”

  Shaking his head, Alvin shelved the idea for now. He was still full from the food he’d snagged from the gas station. His eyes scanned the short list, his frown becoming more pronounced. “The only weapon I can get is a ‘worn wooden bat’. That doesn’t make me feel happy about my odds. Or I can raise my Personability by one hundredth of a point for two hundred points.”