Apocalypse: My Golden Vision Sees Every Drop

Chapter 4: Grenades

Jake didn't brake. He didn't ease off either.

The front wheel ground down on the Licker's torso, dragging it screeching across the concrete, carving a thirty-foot smear of blood into the pavement until it pinned the thing hard against a wall corner. The rear tire kept spinning, shrieking, throwing up white smoke.

Before the Licker could recover enough to fight back, Jake had his pistol out and was firing straight into its skull.

Bang, bang, bang

At that range, there was no missing.

The head caved in and the thing went still for good. The red card hovering above it dissolved into light, then reformed solid in Jake's outstretched hand. Only then did he let himself exhale.

Card secured, he didn't push his luck. He turned the bike around and rode straight back to his gutted shell of a house.

Getting a card out of that had already been more luck than skill. Push for more and he'd end up as another body in the dirt by morning.

With the gear he currently had, going toe-to-toe with a Licker wasn't a smart bet. Ordinary infected were a much safer trade.

Sure, regular infected dropped cards far less often. But at this point, that hardly mattered to him.

He held still in the ruins for another ten minutes until the gunfire across the settlement finally died down. Two more people had been caught by Lickers during that window. By the time it was over, the Caravan had lost at least five people that night, a real dent in their numbers.

Exactly how many Lickers had gone down would have to wait for daylight. Nobody was stupid enough to go check right now.

Once dawn finally broke, the survivors started counting.

Eleven Lickers total had attacked. All eleven were dead. Five people from the Caravan hadn't made it. Most of the dead had partners they'd been working with, except for one.

The one true loner in the group had his belongings picked clean by his own roommates within minutes of his death, leaving the late risers who'd hoped to loot him grumbling in disappointment.

"That fat bastard beat us to it again," one man muttered, clearly annoyed he'd missed out.

His friend hissed at him. "Keep it down. That guy's not someone you want to cross."

The first man glanced around nervously, checking that the man in question wasn't within earshot, then relaxed once he confirmed the coast was clear.

The two of them kept grumbling under their breath and wandered off.

None of it surprised Jake.

The Caravan looked unified from the outside, but underneath, it was a patchwork of small alliances, pairs and trios, everyone quietly watching their own backs. People guarded against the infected same as they guarded against each other.

If survival didn't require numbers, this group would've splintered apart a long time ago.

Jake wandered the settlement picking up firewood, planning to head back and cook, when he spotted Rachel climbing out of a van, her hair a mess.

She had a gas can in her arms, walking unsteadily, stumbling in the direction of his camp.

Wait, isn't that Old Man Vance's van?

So that's who she'd landed on.

Jake jogged a few steps ahead with the firewood and cleared his throat behind her.

She spun around, and the second she registered it was him, her expression flipped instantly, from irritation to something soft and wounded.

She held the can out weakly. "This is... the gas you asked for."

She didn't finish the sentence, but her expression did the talking for her, helpless, fragile, pleading.

"Follow me over there."

Jake didn't take the can. He didn't even acknowledge the performance. He just kept walking, firewood in his arms.

She hadn't gotten her card back yet, so she swallowed whatever complaint she had and trailed after him, can in hand.

Back at the tent, Jake dropped the wood, took the can, checked the weight, and satisfied it was roughly right, poured it into his spare fuel container.

He reached into his jacket for the card, about to hand it back, when he noticed how tense she'd gone, eyes locked on his hands like she was bracing for betrayal.

Something mischievous stirred in him.

"You know, that new guy you landed on doesn't seem like a great match. Maybe you should just let me hold onto this a while longer. Safer that way."

Her face went sharp with fury.

"Excuse me? You're going back on the deal? What kind of man are you?"

"I'm just saying, you handed this to the wrong person. Take it back now, and I doubt you'll manage to keep it."

He kept turning the card over in his fingers instead of giving it to her.

"I don't need you worrying about that. I just want what's mine."

Seeing she wasn't going to budge, Jake finally handed it over.

If this had happened before last night, he might have actually debated keeping it.

Not because Rachel was as easy to push around as she looked. She'd played along quietly this whole time for one reason only, she didn't want word of the card spreading and drawing unwanted attention.

If Jake had tried to keep it, she'd have made a scene loud enough to blow the secret wide open, and whichever man she was leaning on at the time would've come looking for Jake over it. Nobody would've walked away happy.

But now, with the golden vision glasses in his possession, none of that risk was worth it to him anymore.

It was one healing card. Play it safe, build up steadily, and strength would come on its own. No reason to invite a fight over a single item.

He'd only teased her about Vance because the man struck him as less trustworthy than he let on, plus, admittedly, a little bit of mischief for its own sake.

Once Rachel left, Jake boiled water, filled the kettle first, saved the rest for porridge.

He'd set aside half a bowl of leftover rice the night before for exactly this. White porridge with a bit of pickled greens made for a decent breakfast.

While the porridge simmered, he pulled out the card he'd claimed the night before.

Red cards were almost always weapon cards, and this one was no different.

Both sides showed a simple sketch of a grenade, with small text beneath it, Grenade × 5.

"Grenades. Not bad."

Given the choice, Jake would've preferred a firearm. Grenades weren't nearly as effective against the infected as guns were, though they'd do plenty of damage to a vehicle, if it came to that.

He didn't hesitate. He activated the card right there.

His current firepower wasn't much to speak of, and having grenades visibly strapped to him would do more to discourage anyone in the Caravan with bad intentions than keeping them hidden ever would.

The five grenades came packed in a proper tactical belt. All he had to do was buckle it around his waist, simple as that.