Running—Eric ran through the darkness.
Since entering this game, her daily existence had been little more than ceaseless running.
Running had become almost instinctual, and she optimistically mused that if her physical prowess within the game improved proportionally with each resurrection, perhaps she might one day excel as a sprinter, bringing honor to her nation.
Whoosh!
A rushing sound sliced through the air as Eric hurled a cutting board.
Clatter!
The board was pierced and fell to the ground, successfully halting the advance of the tentacled monster.
Her countenance was grim; two deep puncture wounds already marred her back, and one more blow would force her to collapse, leaving her no choice but to use a medkit.
She glanced despondently at the empty blood bag in her hand—the crimson fluid fully expended. Fortunately, she had diverted Rui, the tentacle beast, a fair distance away from the hospital. Eric produced a gasoline can and began dousing the ground as she ran, the acrid scent of fuel permeating the air.
After covering a few dozen meters and exhausting the first can, she pulled out another, swinging it violently as she spun on her heel—
Just as anticipated, she continuously flung objects behind her along the way. The tentacle creature had grown accustomed to destroying airborne projectiles, and this attempt proved no different.
With every ounce of strength, Eric hurled the can skyward, dislocating her hand from the effort.
At that moment, she witnessed the container rupture, unleashing ten liters of gasoline in a fiery cascade that drenched the bifurcated tongue and much of the monster's massive form.
She flicked her lighter; in an instant, the parabolic arc sent the flame to the soaked ground, igniting it with a thunderous roar.
Flames raced along the slick gasoline, engulfing the tentacled fiend. Its fur became an infernal fuse, intensifying the blaze.
The beast wailed pitifully, thrashing its tongue in a futile attempt to smother the fire, yet the soiled tongue that had punctured the gasoline can was not spared.
Seared by heat and smoke, Eric was thrown forward onto the ground. When she rose, the creature was fully consumed by flames. Its colossal body writhed in agony, the once formidable tongue shriveled and rendered harmless.
"Cough, cough!" Eric covered her mouth and sat, watching it slam pained into the nearby building while its howls gradually diminished.
She had discerned the truth: this tentacle monster was not a mindless zombie but—most likely—a dog.
A zombie dog.
Quite possibly the very canine companion of that enigmatic NPC.
"Farewell, Rui."
At the hospital, Tyler's face was smeared with gore. Hastily wiping it away, he plucked his serrated iron club from the skull of a fallen zombie and motioned for the NPC to follow.
In the distance, flickering flames rose, and worry clouded his mind. Could that commotion have been Eric's doing? She had the fortune to scavenge gasoline before—surely this time would be no different!
Alas, misfortune compounded misfortune: had he known the monstrous undead would pursue so swiftly, he would have conserved more fuel—perhaps even incinerated Rui, the building, and the horde together. Yet, only after igniting the blaze did he realize Rui had arrived.
Moreover, glancing toward the NPC emerging from behind a flowerbed, Tyler noted how peculiar the figure was—clearly acquainted with the tentacle monster. Confronting it openly was impossible before the NPC, so Eric's plan to lure it away was no doubt an act carried out in secrecy.
"The fire's started," the NPC remarked, eyeing the distant flames.
Tyler laughed dryly. "Probably a car exploded. The roads are littered with abandoned vehicles—too dangerous. Let's move upstairs. I'll teach you to climb the drainpipe. Keep a close watch."
Sticking his club behind his back, he spat into his palm, rubbed it briskly, and grasped the windowsill to begin ascending.
"Come up!" he urged, glancing downward.
The NPC shook his head and proceeded toward the main entrance.
"Hey!"
Startled, Tyler hastily descended and followed. Why had this man been obedient all along, only to falter at the crucial moment?
By the time Tyler reached the door, the NPC had already entered. Anxious, he drew his iron club. Flickering lights in the hall cast eerie shadows upon the shambling zombies—yet they barely registered the NPC's presence, allowing him to pass unmolested.
Tyler's suspicions were confirmed, sending a chill down his spine. Had the NPC truly succumbed to zombification? Was he now regarded as one of their own?
At least he hadn't gone berserk and attacked anyone on the way!
Chapter 56: Departure from Zombie Island and the Laws of Survival
Tyler ascended to the rooftop, and there it was—the helicopter, stationed precisely as promised.
Inside, only a single pilot was present. Tyler inquired his name.
"Ty-Tyler."
The pilot activated the portable computer strapped to his wrist and pulled up Tyler's profile. Comparing the photograph with the man before him, he nodded in acknowledgment. "Yes, this person exists. Come aboard."
Tyler boarded eagerly.
Settling into his seat, he felt as though all his hardships had been worthwhile. Exhaling a contented breath, he extracted a squashed biscuit from his pocket and began to eat. Curiously, he asked, "You still have our information on you?"
The pilot ignored the question, prompting Tyler to fall silent.
Several minutes later, a figure emerged from behind the rooftop door—it was the NPC who had ascended alone.
This time, the pilot disembarked to greet him personally. "Young master," he said, assisting the man onto the helicopter, then retrieving a small case. From it, he produced a vial filled with a cerulean liquid.
Tyler watched as the injection was administered into the youngster's vein. The pallid, almost lifeless countenance began to regain a semblance of vitality.
"Where is Eric? Why hasn't she returned yet?" Tyler's anxiety grew.
Had he become the last remaining player in this trial?
"Wait! I'm still here!" Jerry climbed onto the rooftop, appearing as bedraggled as ever. An acrid stench of congealed zombie blood and brain matter clung to him, his clothing resembling pickled vegetables, shedding blood crusts with every step. Evidently, his escape had not been easy.
Yet, no hardship mattered now that a plane was within reach. Laughing heartily, he approached the aircraft. "It wasn't easy! I couldn't locate the halo or find other players, feared this round was over! But upon hearing the chopper, it's just you and… this player? Just the two of you? What happened to the girl and Dennis—"
His words were cut short as the pilot halted him.
"Stay back," the pilot warned, leveling a gun at Jerry, who recoiled in alarm.
"What's going on? He's on my team—we came together!" Tyler was equally startled, hastening to explain. "Is there some kind of mistake? Has he been bitten by a zombie?" The possibility crossed his mind.
Jerry quickly waved off the notion. "I'm fine! I was bitten but recovered after using a medkit."
Understanding this, Tyler corroborated, "Yes, yes, my companion isn't infected. He's safe."
Jerry stepped forward once more—only to have a bullet strike the ground inches from his feet, sharp pebbles scattering and grazing his face.
Intimidated, Jerry stepped back.
From exhilaration to confusion, it was his first time encountering such hostility.
The helicopter was right before him. NPCs rarely barred the way. Why this mission differed so drastically was beyond him.
"What on earth is happening... young master, please ask on my behalf. I've protected and cared for you and my sister all along..." Tyler, bewildered, sought the young NPC's assistance.
It was not as if Tyler and Jerry shared a deep bond; their only connection was a brief encounter riding an ambulance to the hospital. Regardless, both players deserved clarity—why was Jerry being denied passage? Who knew if Tyler himself might soon face the same fate?
The young NPC turned to the pilot, asking, "Why is he permitted aboard?"
War had suddenly come crashing down upon Tyler's mind, a torrent of expletives restrained within him as he swallowed his anger.
"The list bears his name," the pilot replied, gun still trained on Jerry. "Without it, no entry."
Jerry was taken aback. "I—I do have a name! I'm—" He glanced at Tyler.
He wished to say "player" but held back. He was identical to Tyler.
Equally baffled, Tyler asked, "I don't understand either. And Eric? Is her name on the list?"
The pilot's tone remained unwavering. "There is one other passenger: Eric."
Both he and Eric appeared on the manifest—so why was Jerry, who remained among the living, excluded?
It made no sense.
"I'm here."
Eric climbed over the rooftop railing, exhausted, leaning against it to catch her breath. After a brief respite, she rose and proceeded toward the helicopter. Surpassing Jerry effortlessly, the pilot offered no objection, merely querying her name.
"Eric."
Matching her image on the portable computer, he nodded. "You are confirmed. Come aboard; we're departing now."
Tyler reached out to pull Eric aboard.
"What about me? I'm a player too!" Jerry pleaded, confusion and fear etched on his face. "I never entered the hospital; what's the problem?"
Regaining composure, Eric recalled the rooftop dialogue as she scaled the wall, swiftly analyzing the difference between herself and Tyler compared to Jerry.
The young NPC had said they were "contaminated" and thus barred from leaving, yet they appeared on the pilot's list.
Where did this list originate?
How did the pilot determine who was contaminated?
A metallic tang of blood lingered about her, her clothing grimed and soaked. Her thoughts drifted to when they had entered the ward and the nurse drew blood from her, Tyler, and Dennis.
No one had given that vial any importance—they were here on a mission, not for medical checkups—and none had been injured fleeing the outbreak. Eric herself had paid it no heed.
"We had our blood tested after entering the ward," Eric reminded Tyler.
"...Right! That's it!" Tyler's expression twisted in bewilderment. "Just that blood test? But—how could they do that? It's absurd!"
Jerry's protest echoed his disbelief. "This isn't fair! The game allows for many styles of play! It's unjust, I demand a complaint—"
Complaints? To whom? Where?
Unmoved, the pilot started the engine. The rotors whirred to life.
Jerry gritted his teeth and lunged forward.
"Quick! I've got you!" Tyler stretched out his hand.
Bang!
Jerry rolled aside, evading the bullet. His gaze met the cold, unfeeling eyes of the pilot—a mix of fury and desperation.
The pilot lowered his weapon.
Tyler withdrew his hand, face ashen. Eric gripped the handrail. Their eyes met, silently communicating the grim thought—
Killing the pilot to seize the helicopter.
But both shook their heads in unison.
Impossible. Clearly, this pilot intended to carry them to the finale. If he were slain, the mission might become impossible to complete.
"Help me... please!" Jerry's voice faltered as he futilely reached out.
Neither Eric nor Tyler responded.
At last, the commotion on the roof drew an overwhelming horde of zombies. Eric witnessed countless undead pouring from the rooftop door. She shouted, "Run!"
Her voice was drowned by the rotor's roar, but Jerry caught on, stammering as he scrambled over the railing, fleeing before the horde could devour him.
Half an hour later, a mushroom cloud blossomed over the island in the darkness, illuminating half the sky.
Two hours hence, the helicopter touched down upon the deck of a cruise liner, the translucent halo shimmering there. Eric, heavy with a blend of melancholy and numbness, set foot upon the vessel.
[Player Eric has completed the standard mission: Zombie Island, earning 4 points.]