The Rifleman - Ch.46

Chapter Forty-Six

Trouble comes in threes.

“We need to leave,” Malia hissed as she tried to sit up. “You know that.”

“You can’t walk,” Wesley insisted. The trip back had involved more of him carrying Malia than her walking under her own power. Being fed on by a wisp was having every drop of energy drained from you, so it tended to leave behind total and utter physical exhaustion even in those lucky enough to survive.

“You can carry me,” Malia struggled again to even manage to get off the couch he had laid her down on. “I’ll just have–” She passed out.

“Fourth time’s the charm,” Wesley shook his head. “At least, I hope so.”

“Why must we leave?” Joy asked again, “I like it—I am assigned here.” The squirrel woman fretted.

“There is no way to survive here if they want you gone,” Wesley replied. “The moment we can, all of us have to leave.”

“I-I understand,” Joy sniffled, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and determination. “I feel like I am failing the Bright-heart.”

“If it helps,” Wesley offered, “You leaving with us will make me very happy and prevent me from worrying about you.”

“Really?” 

“Absolutely,” Wesley insisted. “Also, can you make some more of those cookies before we go?”

“Do we have enough time?” Joy asked, perking up slightly. 

“Definitely,” Wesley nodded. “Malia is going to need hours of sleep, food, and even more sleep.”

“I’ll make sure to make lots then,” Joy scurried away, seemingly reassured to have something to do.

Wesley almost envied her the feeling. All he could do was wait and hope that Malia could recover in time for them to leave. 

“What happened?” Malia groaned as she woke up again.

“You passed out,” Wesley said firmly. “You need to accept you need rest. If you actually rest instead of fighting it, we might get out of here in time.”

Malia looked like she wanted to argue, so Wesley headed her off before she could start.

“Yes, I could carry you,” Wes acknowledged. “But then I would be too slow to protect Joy. We need to be able to fight our way out if necessary, and that means you recovered, not a limp shape over my shoulder.”

Malia started to protest again.

“I know,” Wes snapped. “Do you think I like this? I’d rather be over the next two zone borders before they even know we're here, but that ship has sailed.”

“That is one option you do have,” Malia said quietly. “You can get out of here in plenty of time. If you go alone.”

“Not happening,” Wesley smiled. 

“You have to think about it,” Malia said with determination in her voice. “Our chances of making it through this are slim to none. “

“You think I haven’t?” Wesley asked with a smirk. “I’m not some storybook hero over here, just your everyday Rifleman.”

“They why stay?” Malia asked directly. 

“Because I’m not that kind of person,” Wesley said honestly. “And I won’t become one. If I die, I die as me, not something this game made me into.”

“So we sit and wait for them to come and try to kill us,” Malia lay back on the couch with a heavy sigh.

“No,” Wesley grinned. “If I can trust you to actually rest, I can get started on the preparations.”

“I’ll rest,” Malia nodded. “But there’s not much you can do.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Wesley said with a wide smile. “I have a shovel.”

It was definitely petty and childish to say something like that and then refuse to explain, but Wesley did it anyway. In times of stress and fear, doing shit like that, cracking puns, and making terrible jokes was exactly how he managed his own stress level.

It wasn’t great, as personality traits go, but it helped.

He kicked the door to the Outpost shut behind him and got out his secret weapon.

Folding Spade: Unique

Deform terrain with a single swing of this spade.

Can remember and recreate up to 4 different designs.

Current designs: 4 of 4

The thing that had occurred to Wesley, as he sat and waited for Malia to wake up, was that they had kind of gotten lucky here. The Outpost was, after all, a tower. Tower defense was such a common theme in games back home that, for once, he had an actual idea of what to do. 

With his accidental creation of the spade, Wes had given them a fighting chance of actually surviving at least the initial onslaught. As for anything after that? Well, it was a good thing he was an actor. 

Part of being an actor was watching a hell of a lot of movies and TV shows. It showed you how things were supposed to be done, as well as let you see the mistakes others have made to avoid them yourself. It was, honestly, the best part of being an actor. Or at least the best part of his acting career. He supposed it was different if you were an actual success at it. 

So he had a shovel, a lot of time spent gaming, and the combined—if somewhat dodgy—knowledge of thousands of hours of movies and TV to help him.

“It ain’t a Swiss army knife, but I’ll just have to make do,” Wesley grinned and got to work.

The first thing he did was dig a large trench all the way around the tower, which almost immediately began to fill with the sludge this area used as water. That would be their final defense, as it were. Next, Wesley spent nearly three hours collecting dead plant and leaf matter, which he inexpertly wove into a series of covers to hide the ring of deep pits he built at scattered distances around the outside of his trench.

Running back and forth between one place and another, Wesley used all the displaced earth to make a middling wall on the far side of the pits before adding another trench and some uncovered pits to make sure that everyone got the point. He could hopefully count on a couple of attackers falling in, or at least being funneled into tighter clumps, where his Emergency Flare could get as many as possible. 

With his primary defenses sorted, Wesley moved on to the more tricky aspects of his plans. To start with, he finally had a use for the ammo pouch full of blank rounds. 

This plan was all about misdirection. He hid several of the en bloc clips of blank ammo in various areas around the perimeter, where they could be triggered later.

The idea relied heavily on his two simulacrums, which he had left summoned from the day before. That way, they could be resummoned if they died in the fighting, which was a distinct possibility.

Finally, he prepared a fallback area filled with pits and shallow trenches. 

With all that done, Wesley headed back into the tower.

His final plan was kind of insane, but he was willing to give it a go if Joy was.

The squirrel-kin was fussing over Malia, who was sleepily drinking some kind of tea, complete with a pair of delicate-looking biscuits. They both turned to look at him as he came in, neither of them smiling.

“How did it go?” Malia asked. 

“We have enough to slow them down at least, and a couple of surprises me and the squad can pull out as well,” Wesley replied. “But I do have another idea.”

“Uh-oh,” Malia almost smiled. “That’s your ‘I have a feeling’ face.”

“No,” Wesley corrected. “This is my ‘I have a crazy idea face,’ and it is quite different, I assure you.”

“No, it really isn’t,” Malia chuckled weakly.

“An idea?” Joy asked. “Can I do anything to help?”

“Well, yes, you can, and thank you for asking!” Wesley replied immediately, seeing the sudden look of hope shift to worry when Malia groaned theatrically. 

“I was wondering if I could have permission to set up My Domain in the area.” 

“Of course; where do you want to put it?” Joy said cheerfully.

“I was thinking,” Wesley looked at the floor. “Just about there will do.”

Joy’s eyes bulged.

“What are you thinking?” Malia asked. “The moment you move it, the whole Outpost will fall….” she trailed off and started to smile. “Ooh, nasty.”

/////////////////////

“You just stay hidden, okay?” Wesley reminded Joy. “You can call out anything approaching, but stay below the windows, just in case they have spells or something.”

The Keeper nodded rapidly, eyes wide. 

“You can do this, Joy,” Wesley said, giving her shoulder a squeeze. “I believe in you!”

“You do?” Joy asked, wide-eyed.

“Absolutely,” Wesley smiled. “Anyone who can make cookies that good can do anything she puts her mind to!”

“I’m just a squirrel-kin!” Joy protested, “I’m not a fighter or anything.”

“You are capable of anything you put your mind to,” Malia said, now sitting up on the sofa. “He’s right, Joy, you’re doing great.”

“Thanks,” Joy smiled a tiny, fleeting smile.

Outside, the last of the light left the sky, and darkness fell like a cloak over the swamp. The air filled with the sound of insects and the nightly chorus of croaking giant frogs.

“I’ll just head outside,” Wesley said in a relaxed tone he did not, in fact, feel, “See if we can maybe avoid this whole thing.”

“You can’t be serious,” Malia asked. “You think they will stop to talk?”

“Maybe,” Wesley shrugged, “It’s worth a try, at least.”

He didn’t have long to wait. He had been sitting on the wall of earth for less than half an hour when he saw lights moving closer. To his surprise, they were not torches but crude lightbulbs attached to sticks. It was… kind of cool looking, although he hated to admit it.

The lights were a pale yellow, casting the abominations holding them in shades of jaundice as they led shuffling and clanking figures behind them closer to the tower.

A gaunt, robed figure was leading the procession, holding a long cane with a shining silver tip as he walked. He had the pale skin that was typical of ghouls, and more than that, he even moved in the self-conscious way Pris did when she walked.

It was uncanny.

“Are you the best they could do for protection?” the ghoul spoke with a slight accent, but he couldn’t place it. He did notice the teeth had been sharpened to points, which was pretty creepy.

“Not protection,” Wesley answered calmly. “I am here to help them leave, which we will be doing as soon as possible.”

“It surely looks like you are intending to stay.” A big grin, deliberately showing as many teeth as possible.

“Logical precautions when we did not know what we faced,” Wesley replied, standing. “We have an injured person here; the moment they are well enough, we will leave and not return. There is no need for a fight.”

“Hmmm,” the ghoul tapped his chin in a sarcastic parody of thoughtfulness. “I guess there is no need to fight if you are leaving.” He made a show of turning around, but Wesley was unsurprised when he turned back. “Need? No. Want? Yes!” It laughed, “We shall see how our creations do against a prepared enemy. It will be a good test of our progress!”

Wesley opened his mouth to protest, but the ghoul's glittering eyes told him everything he needed to know. There was no way to end this by talking. 

His eyes raked the rows of undead, noting positions, counting what he could see, and when the yell came from Joy that they were being attacked from the rear of the tower, Wesley acted.

He leaped back behind the wall, calling out for his squad to fire at will. Within a few moments, he heard the sound of the blanks going off in two places. The ghoul whirled, sending abominations to both areas as the first few shots hit home, taking out abominations in quick succession. 

Wesley pushed up, firing a full clip into the enemies in front of him. Seeing the improved firepower at work as entire heads vanished in a shower of gore. 

Wesley fired off a pair of Improved Flares, one into the midst of the group and another high overhead, sending the ghoul screeching into the shadows before he dropped low, shifted to wisp form, and shot off around the wall, heading for where he knew the Sara clone would be fighting off the other attack.

Wesley popped up as he shifted back into his human form, seeing the front line of mechanical spiders was almost across the gap, with several already lying shattered by his sim’s shots.

Wesley added his fire to her own, driving them back into the shadows. A larger version began to come forward, the body easily the size of a pickup. Wesley nodded to the Sara clone, and they raised their rifles, aiming for the mechanical head of the large spider.

“Bust ‘em,” Wesley called, and they both fired an Armor-Piercing Round into the spider. Wesley aimed for the head while Sara hit the neck. 

He heard a high-pitched whistle from the tower and dropped behind the wall, shooting off in wisp form again as the mechanical monster began to collapse into a heap.

While he moved, he kept an eye on the tower, seeing one of the flags had been pulled in. That meant this was the right place, and he shifted back to step up onto the wall and open fire, just in time to see a charging abomination lumbering quickly past one of his open pits. Wesley aimed and fired, putting two bullets into the thing’s knee just as it shifted, and the joint snapped, sending the thing tumbling into the pit.

And so it went: Wesley shot back and forth out of sight in Wisp form, firing at whatever angle they tried to attack from, with his Sara simulacrum taking any secondary attack direction. 

For the next hour, Wesley heard the sounds of his blank stashes going off as his own clone led attackers in the wrong direction. He felt the moment it was destroyed and resummoned it immediately. His own clone appeared next to him, nodded, and went to take a third of the wall as his own watch.

After the second hour, the attacks stopped, and the night went silent. 

Wesley waited and fretted. He was well aware they would be back. By his count, they had used about half their mechanicals and twenty-five or so undead. They had, in short, plenty left to play with.

A clanking from the road drew his attention, and he turned to see the clockwork man striding confidently down the road, a collection of augmented abominations behind him. Wesley could see bolted-on armor—seriously, with actual bolts—and arms replaced with large clumps of metal or long, jagged blades like axes.

Each and every one of the abominations sported a large, metal, dome-like helmet.

Trailing behind them all was a zombie creature. Large tanks bolted to its back filled with a brown gold liquid that Wesley was sure was some kind of fuel. The zombie's arms were replaced entirely with a pair of sprayers, and a long, metal-plated robe covered the rest of it, except the eyes. 

“No healing shots, not until I say,” Wesley told his sims quickly. “Hot shots on my command.”

They nodded to him. 

Honestly, the simulacrums were great. Here they were, separated by almost a football field of space, and he only had to speak, and they heard him as if he stood right next to them.

The mechanical man stopped a fair distance from the earthen wall and called a halt before turning to face the tower.

“I am willing to accept your surrender now,” Its voice was tinny like it came from speakers, which it might have done, as the mouth never moved once.

“If we surrender, can we leave in peace?” Wesley tried.

“No,” The response was immediate. “But you will be allowed to serve us and the Pantheon in some way.”

“Is it as experiment subjects?” Wesley had no intention of taking the offer; he asked merely out of curiosity.

“No, you are unworthy of such an honor,” The fussy mechanical replied.

“Why?” Wesley asked as he quietly raised his rifle and rested it on the wall as he engaged the Whisper Mod, along with adding a charge of Armor-Piercing Round to the rifle.

“Such base creatures as NPCs, fleshy ones at that, are not worthy of—” It reacted faster than he believed possible. Raising a thick metal shield that sprung from its arm in less than the time it took to blink.

Unfortunately for it, the added armor was just what the round was designed for. The spiral trail followed as the bullet smashed straight through the shield, smashed the chest open, and lodged somewhere deep inside. 

“How, R-r-r-rude,” The mechanical man stuttered and twitched before two more shots slammed into the chest, its shield having fallen to one side along with the rest of the arm. It took a single step and toppled onto the marshy ground.

Wesley frowned as a little hatch opened on the back, and a damaged and dented sphere appeared on four tiny legs, leaking oil. It tottered away from the corpse, and a small speaker appeared as it rotated wildly. 

“Attack!” It called a second before Wesley destroyed it with a well-placed round. 

“Tricky little fucker,” Wesley grouched as the collected enemies began to lumber forward.