Wild Strawberry: Book 3 Ascent (22 page)

             
The concentration was written in the creases in Summer’s brow as she began to sing again,

             
“
I’ve been a wild rover for many a year

             
And I spent all my money on whiskey and beer,

             
And now I’m returning with gold in great store

             
And I never will play the wild rover no more.
”

             
None of them wanted the night to end.  Only Max, who slipped away during a rousing chorus of the Wild Rover, seemed unhappy.

             
“
And it’s no, nay, never,

             
No nay never no more,

             
Will I play the wild rover

             
No never no more.
”

             
The voices of the others echoed down the corridor after Max as he retreated.  He felt irritated, his hand ached and he was too tired to deal with drunken idiots.  It felt as if the singing was mocking him.  The others didn’t understand the enormity of what they were doing.  No, the enormity of what
he
was doing.

             
“
I’ll go home to my parents, confess what I’ve done

             
And I’ll ask them to pardon their prodigal son.

             
And if they forgive me as ofttimes before

             
Sure I never will play the wild rover no more.
”

             
Max’s head was pounding, he was shivering, and his injured hand was throbbing.  He had left the party to get on with his research, but as he walked he just felt weaker and weaker.

             
“
And it’s no, nay, never,

             
No nay never no more,

             
Will I play the wild rover

             
No never no more.
”

             
By the time the song had dissolved in laughter Max had collapsed on his bunk.  He lay there, sleeping fitfully, fully dressed, alternately sweating and shivering.

             
He woke to hear another song drifting down from the never-ending party,

             
“
Summer has come in,

             
Loudly sing, Cuckoo!
”

*   *   *

The others fell asleep where they sat.  When Jim woke in the small hours of the morning he roused Summer, guided her sleepy form into bed and tucked her in.  He was reminded of her as a little girl, and the aching cuteness and vulnerability of a small child.

             
Smiling sadly Jim walked back to wake the others.

             
He leaned over to rouse Elsbeth, who was lying slumped back in her chair, her hair in her face, her breathing audible, but not quite yet a snore.

             
She started when he touched her shoulder, then as her eyes grew accustomed to the dim light she smiled and reached up for his face.

             
The survivors staggered off to their bunks and slept.

This Troubled
Dream of Life

Max:

Max was outside.  The countryside was strangely familiar; there was an impossibly steep, smoking volcano in the distance.  He could see large, dark shapes circling the smoke-topped mountain; when he squinted they looked like dragons.  Dragons?

             
Max looked down at himself, he was no longer clothed in his ordinary clothes, he was not even in his lab coat: he was wearing the black and purple robes of a Mage. 

             
He knew where he was: this was the land of Necrothoona, it was from a ‘
Land of the Undead
’ expansion pack to his favourite online game.  He knew this land better than he knew most places in the real world.  But Necrothoona
is
a real world he thought to himself.  Here it was all around him, solid and as real as anything.

             
He looked inside the backpack he was carrying.  There were scrolls, orbs and gems, and an impossible number of gold pieces.

             
He realised he was carrying a staff that was crackling with white and gold lightning, “I am SlaineMaxRoth,” the Warrior Mage powers would make the world tremble. 

             
There were zombies in this world too.  Suddenly he was aware of a crowd running towards him.

             
They didn’t look right.  He expected slightly comical, slowly lumbering creatures, their arms outstretched in front of them.  But these creatures were hideous blood-and-gore-stained monstrosities.  And they were fast: far too fast.

             
SlaineMaxRoth spun his staff and sent a burst of lightning that crackled and hissed around the monsters.  It slowed them for an instant, but they carried on towards him.

             
He instinctively moved his hands and shot a fireball from his outstretched palm.  Several of the creatures exploded, and SlaineMaxRoth smiled at his own powers.  But then through the smoke more of them emerged.

             
He unsheathed his +10 Sword of Smiting and braced himself to fight hand-to-hand.

The battle was bloody, but these creatures were nothing to him.

             
As he fought, he kept thinking he recognised faces of people he once knew: his mother, his sister, his friends at college; he even recognised the zombified avatars of the friends he had played this online game with.  He gasped as he severed the head of G§dB§ll§cks, and sent NinaNymposium reeling backwards, her body split from top to bottom.

             
The fight continued for hours: so long it no longer seemed like fun.  SlainMaxRoth started to feel tired, his arm ached, and his hand throbbed horribly.

             
As the last of the zombies fell to the bloodstained ground, SlaineMaxRoth heard the sound of thunder.  The crashes were getting closer, then he realised that it was a huge, monstrous zombie, the size of giant, running towards him, its eyes glowing a fierce red.

             
“Fuck!” The hero cursed, “boss fight!”

             
He had to blast the giant zombie with electricity, run in close while it was temporarily paralysed, hack at it with his sword, then leap back before it could hit back at him.

             
He was able to land two or three blows each time.  Once he lingered for a fourth, and the monstrous zombie grasped him, picked him up and slammed him to the ground.  While he was on the ground the creature took a bite out of his hand.

             
The hand hurt, but he was back in the fight.

             
Then he realised he needed the Magic Pipes of Exorcism to defeat this monster.

             
There was another quest to complete before he could defeat the Zombie King.

             
He ran, glad of his +3 Boots of Speed.

             
He finally found the Cavern of Ultimate Protection, a place where no evil could enter.

             
He rested and tried to cast a healing spell on his bitten hand, but found he could no longer remember how to perform magic.  He tried a potion, but it felt as though he was drinking a cross between water and thin air.

             
The wound looked nasty.

             
He considered the injury, “This is going to cost me some hit points,” he sighed.

Siobhan:

Siobhan was on the surface again.  Her Priest was there.

             
“I didn’t know you’d survived:  I thought you’d died.”

             
“I didn’t survive, I’m one of
them
now.”

             
“What?”

             
“Don’t worry, we’re both dreaming right now.  Dreams are all you have left when you’re undead.”

             
“What’s it like?”  Asked Siobhan, gently, “being dead?”

             
“I don’t want to talk about that now, I want to talk about why you’re out here naked.”

             
Siobhan hadn’t realised that she was naked until that moment, and quickly covered herself with her hands.

             
“Don’t worry,” said the priest, “things like embarrassment lose their sting once your’re dead.  You’re worried about me seeing your naughty bits, while I’m stumbling around London with my intestines hanging out.”

             
“That’s-” Siobhan was lost for words, “that’s not the same.”

             
“No,” said the Priest, “no, it’s not.”

Misha:

Misha could fly.  She had dreamt about flying ever since she had been a child.  Sometimes there were terrors in her dreams of flight, but mostly they were dreams of joy and exhilaration.  She would spread her arms and soar into the sky.  Sometimes she would be flying over breathtaking scenery, sometimes over city streets where the people would stop and stare and cheer.

             
Tonight she was flying over a world that had ended.  The streets were filled with the undead.

             
If her powers of flight failed she would be plunged into the flesh-eating horde.

             
She flew all over the world, round London, across the Channel to France, where Paris was dead, into Spain, on to Morocco, Algeria, Tunisia, Libya, Egypt, Saudi Arabia, Iraq, Iran, Afghanistan, Pakistan, India, through Nepal and into China; then over Russia, Japan, and the endless blue of the turbulent Pacific Ocean.  Only above the towering waves did the world seem normal, healthy, at peace.  She flew high over Peru and Brazil, before the Atlantic brought back the sense of peace.

             
Everywhere that once had been inhabited was now full of the dead.  Even deep deserts were home to some scattered, wandering creatures.

             
She flew over the earth looking for signs of life, but there were none to be found.  She wondered if it was already too late.  Were she and her little community the last survivors of humanity, and would their cure would only forestall the inevitable extinction of humanity?

             
She remembered once seeing a picture of the world at night, the towns and cities created a sea of glittering lights.  Now the dark side of the earth remained utterly dark.

             
She wanted to fly further, to see the earth from space, to gain that sense of peace that could be gained by a view beyond the atmosphere.

             
She rose higher, knowing she had to be quick, as she wouldn’t be able to breathe out here.  It was cold; ice was forming on the downy hair of her arms, until the moment she hit the edge of the atmosphere when suddenly it grew hot.  She felt her clothes burn away, then her skin and flesh.  She flew higher still.  Though all that was left of her was ash and charred bone, somehow she could still see.

             
As the dark side of the earth turned round to face her she did not see the blue-green marble she had expected, but a huge bloodshot eyeball.  As she stared at it in horror, it stared back at her.

Jim:

Jim dreamt he was walking by the banks of the River Medway.  Slowly he realised that he was walking with Kate, his late wife.

             
“Hey,” she said to him, smiling.

             
“Hey, you,” Jim reached out his hand and took hers. It was cold, but soft and gentle in his firm grip, “I’ve missed you.”

             
“I’ve missed you too.”

             
Jim felt suddenly awkward in the presence of the love of his life, “I’m sorry I let you die.”

             
“Oh Jim, you did your best, there are a lot of people alive today who’d be dead if it hadn’t been for you.”

             
“I wouldn’t say
a lot
, we’ve lost a lot more recently.”

             
“Well, you gave them extra time, even one day’s more life is a precious gift.”

             
“It takes some thing like this to make us realise.”

             
“But then it’s too late. “