Chapter 35: Killers (Patreon)

Two men in army fatigues and leather combat boots stood behind him. One was tall and bulky, with meaty biceps and a small gut, grey speckling his short hair. The other man was younger, just as tall but slender. Both men had long noses and narrow cheekbones. They resembled each other; either they were father and son or related.

The older man pointed a shotgun at Logan, while the other held a handgun. Logan should have known that stealing would come back to bite him.

“Where do you think you’re going with that canoe, son?” said the older man, his voice gravely like a smoker.

There was two ways Logan could handle this. The first? Pretend he was still in a civilized, reasonable world and expect they’d understand once he explained himself. The second? Run and paddle like hell. Logan was going with the first; after all, he wasn’t bullet proof.

Logan gave them an apologetic smile. “Apologies. I didn’t think anyone was home or I would have announced myself. I’m Logan. I’m not here to make any trouble, I’m just trying to find a way to get to Hope’s End. Since the System eliminated all the speedboats, I figured paddling was the next best thing.”

The man frowned and shot a look at his companion. “Well, Logan, I can’t say it’s nice to meet you. You’re right; you should have introduced yourself. That’s our property you’re making off with. We’re not happy about that. We don’t take kindly to stealing. Have to defend what’s ours, especially now.”

Logan held up his hands. “I get it. I’d feel the same way. Again, I apologize. How about a trade instead?”

The man scanned him from head to toe, eyes drifting to the canoe and lingering on Logan’s baseball bat. “It doesn’t look like you have much to trade.”

Shit. Logan had intended to give them a bucket full of green beans. After all, food had to be the scarcest resource, but how could he take it out of his spatial collar without them noticing? There was only so many times he could say he had a ‘skill’ before someone looked at his neck and put two and two together. Logan needed to do everything he could to ensure his collar remained hidden. Right now, it was the most valuable item he owned.

The younger man sidled up to what had to be his father and whispered in a voice that Logan could still clearly pick up with his high perception stat. “Dad, he’s level 13!”

“Really now,” the man drawled. His face took on a blankness Logan didn’t like. “Sorry about this, son.” He pointed his shotgun at Logan’s chest. “I’m afraid we’re interested in a trade after all, but it’s not the kind you’ll like.”

Oh fuck. Logan didn’t have time to process or even think of fighting back. The man’s hand pressed the trigger just as Logan jumped to the side, diving with all the agility he had to bear.

Logan tore through the water with large strokes of his arms, kicking with all his might as bullets crisscrossed through the water around him. The men continued shooting into the water and shouting.

Pain tore through his calf, the shotgun peppering him as he kicked one last time before the water engulfed him. Logan didn’t stop there. He swam as deep as he could until a fjord drop replaced the shallow water and he plummeted into the depths. Surprisingly, he continued to swim but he still hadn’t felt the need to take a breath.

Logan stopped swimming for a second, his legs pausing mid water.

Something blinked at him: pale, wide eyes in the darkness.

He gasped, small air bubbles rising to the surface as he froze. The water was blue, but he was so deep that it was difficult to see. Was it a fish?

There was a movement out of his sight line, something that looked like the flash of a tentacle with round suction cups. Hell no. Shit, it wasn’t just gunfire he needed to escape!

Logan swam like the lake was on fire, trying to get away from whatever that had been, travelling for what felt like half a mile before he pushed towards the surface. He was still deep in the water—so deep it was milky and difficult to see—when his lungs seized, an overwhelming need for air overtaking his body. Logan franticly tried to push harder for the surface, struggling, struggling—he needed air he needed air he needed air.

[Deepwater Idiot is Level 2!]

Just like that, it was as if a breath of fresh air had been injected into his lungs, and he could breathe even though he was impossibly deep underwater. [Deepwater Idiot] was turning into a life saver.

Logan still didn’t want to take any chances. He continued to kick as he reached for the surface. He tried to be as soundless as possible as he breached the surface, like an otter cautiously bobbing its head as it searched for a predator.

He wasn’t that far from the shore, but he’d moved down the property line. Far away, he could make out the two men. They were cursing and searching the water around the canoe. But it looked as if they had no idea he’d managed to swim so far.

The skinny one reached inside the canoe, pulling out Logan’s baseball bat and hefting it with a scowl.

Oh shit. They had his weapon.

Those buggers. He was out a weapon, out a canoe, and he had a pretty massive wound on his leg that was gushing blood.

They’d tried to kill him for the XP. The murders had spread, this time way too close to home. If Jack and the others encountered those men, who knew what they’d do.

Logan swam farther away, trying to be as soundless as possible. When he was far enough that even Logan was having difficulties seeing the men, he swam towards the shore and stumbled out of the lake. There was a piece of discarded drift-wood rotting on the beach, and he slumped on top of it, gasping and trying to catch his breath.

The wound on his leg was a persistent, throbbing pain, but compared to chopping off his own finger, it was practically a scratch. Hopefully he didn’t have any bullet fragments inside the wound—he wasn’t sure whether his constitution would heal over it, or whether it would eventually push it out like a sliver underneath a nail.

Logan willed his cell phone out of his spatial collar, pulling up his text messages. He’d added Tasha’s contact information to a group chat with Jack before he left.

Logan:Avoid the next-door neighbors, two men in army fatigues. They tried to kill me for XP.

Tasha:Are you okay?!!

Logan:I’m fine. Just be careful. You both might want to set up a watch. If they approach acting friendly, don’t trust them.

Tasha:Aargh, this is killing me. You’re getting all the action.

Jack: Which neighbors? The ones in the gated property?

Logan: Yes. Tiled roof.

Jack:….

Tasha:Jack took his shotgun outside. He looks scary.

Logan looked in the direction of Jack’s property, alarmed. Jack was no match for those two, especially if they both had guns.

Logan: Tell him to stay away!

Then, Jack finally responded.

Jack:The next-door neighbors are an elderly couple in their 80s. One is in a wheelchair. They have no family.

Tasha:Then who are those men??

***

Logan had been considering cutting his losses and leaving. He’d still managed to store two kayaks in his spatial collar which would make it easier to find a larger boat down the shoreline. That was before he’d learned the two men weren’t even property owners and had done who knows what to the former owners. He couldn’t leave those two on the backdoor of Jack’s property. Forget Matt; this threat was real.

Plus, retreating was something he’d do before the System arrived. After everything he’d been through, he wasn’t the same man. Logan had fled when he’d realized people holding guns wanted to kill him, but he’d never gotten a chance to see the men’s levels. He was still no match for a gun at point blank range, but if he managed to surprise them when they weren’t holding weapons, he might have a chance.

Logan pulled out a handful of green beans and chewed on them in violent distaste, taking out his anger on the only thing within reach. Hesitating, he weighed his options. If we were going to take on those men and win, he needed something other than his bare hands. An element of surprise would only get him so far before he’d be riddled with bullets, so many bullets that his constitution stat might struggle to keep up. There was only one option.

Logan took out the Cursed Length of Rope and ran the fingers of his good hand over the fibres. They were still rough, but the rope was solid, and it had a weight to it that felt unnatural. That did it. The rope was untried in battle, but he had limited options.

Logan had swum so far that he’d passed the property boundary. He had to go through another black fence, this time on the other side. The gate looked odd. It was closed, but the lock had been wrenched open, deep scratches and gouges on the gate frame. They must have forced their way in through this end of the property.

Logan swung the gate open, trying to keep the hinge creaks to a minimum. He was still far away from the dock and from where he’d last seen the men, but he stayed low, hiding in bushes and behind pine trees as he inched closer.

When he got closer to the dock, the men were no longer there. The doors of the shed were wide open, and they’d left the canoe half in the water, half on the beach. That showed that the canoe had been an excuse. They’d wanted to kill him all along.

Logan inched around the property, sticking to the edges, holding the length of rope in his unburned hand. Still no sign of them. The curtains in the main building were shut, no way for him to peer inside.

He circled around, approaching from the street side. In a normal world, a home invader would want to avoid the street side, but they were no longer in a normal world. Without gas powered cars, they might not think there was a risk of discovery. Rather, people would be coming like Logan had—from the waterfront.

He had been right. The curtains were open.

Logan crouched underneath the window next to the front door and peered inside.

The window had a direct view of the living room, decorated with red Spanish tiles, an immense stone fireplace, and two large couches. There was He could look down a hallway that led to a kitchen. Logan could only see part of the kitchen, but it looked as if the lights were on above the stainless-steel stove.

No sign of the men.

Logan doubted this would work, but before he forced his way in, he went up the wheelchair accessible wooden ramp, trying to keep his footsteps light as he tried the front door.

It was unlocked.

Brazen fuckers.

He turned the knob slowly, creeping the door open inch by inch. As he stepped inside the building, a stale stench overwhelmed his senses, like garbage left to rot.

“We could hang a sign up on the dock,” said a male voice from the kitchen. “How about, ‘we have food. All welcome.’”

Logan froze.

“You think they’re that stupid? Too obvious. Who would believe someone was that unselfish.” The other man had the same rough voice from the dock. It had to be the father.

“Desperate, hungry idiots, that’s who. Come on, I need more XP. I’m just on the cusp of reaching level 8.”

The man snorted. “We can try it, but first I want to check out the next property. Look at this.” There was a rustling sound, like paper, and then a hard thud against the kitchen counter.

“Well now,” drawled the other man. “You think ‘Eleanor’ is another senior? Weak pickings?”

“Better not be. The two geriatrics gave us shit experience. I still want to check it out. But get rid of those bodies before we go. This place is starting to reek, and I don’t want to come back to flies.”

“They can wait a day.”

The man’s voice hardened. “Get rid of them.”

A ball of tension tightened in Logan’s gut as he bounced on the balls of his feet, clutching the rope in a white knuckled hand. He could wait until they left and were headed to Jack’s before he approached them, but then they’d both be armed and wary. This may be the only chance he’d get. Unaware of Logan’s presence, distracted.

Logan waited until the younger man had left the kitchen, a large thud and bangs coming from the opposite side of the house. He could hear the patio door sliding open, and a slight breeze and welcome fresh air reached Logan as the man dragged something large outside.

There was only one thing it could be.

Logan’s stomach sank and resolve surged through him as he approached the kitchen, creeping forward.

The older man’s back was facing Logan, his attention on something in his hands.

It was now or never.