The Leveller - Julia Durango Page 0,60

dealt with zombies before in my mini-games with Chang and Moose. “We need to go through our inventories again and divvy up the weapons before we go back in. The only way to defeat a zombie is to destroy its brain. We should probably conserve ammo as long as we can and limit ourselves to slice or strike weaponry.”

Wyn blinks a few times, then shakes his head briskly to pull himself together. “Right. Slice and strike. Inventory,” he says into the MEEPosphere.

“How about a crowbar?” he asks, after a few seconds of perusing.

“Perfect,” I answer. “Let’s see, you still have the Gladius sword and laser guns I gave you earlier, right?”

He nods. “Laser guns are both on low power, though. What about the grenades? I still have five left. Why not toss them in and get rid of the zombies all at once?”

I shake my head. “Too risky. The tomb might cave in and destroy the portal. Or we could break the code, like I did in Mama Beti’s room and then . . .”

Wyn blows out a breath. “Right, say no more. No grenades. What have you got?”

“Rappelling gun, crossbow, machete, and a shield. Half a quiver left for the bow. And a potato gun.”

Wyn raises an eyebrow at me. “In case we get hungry?”

I grimace. “Long story.”

“I’ll trade you my brass knuckles for the potato gun,” he says, like we’re in kindergarten.

“You’re on,” I say, “but you gotta throw in half a tuna sandwich to seal the deal.”

“Only if you give me the creamy half of your Oreo.”

“You’re a tough negotiator, Elwyn Brooks Salvador,” I say, as we trade weapons. “So what are you doing with brass knuckles anyway?”

Wyn looks at me mysteriously. “Oh you know, Havana in the 1950s can be a dangerous place . . . mobsters, shady politicians, money lenders . . . you never know when you might get caught in a brawl.” He’s grinning now, and I can’t tell if he’s teasing me or not.

“You programmed your Meeple to get in fistfights?” I ask.

He laughs. “Nah, it’s just one of my extras, when I want a break from building. I put in a boxing ring inside a bar called Sloppy Joe’s. Most of my opponents are Meeple, but I also have a rock golem and a robozilla in the rotation. They’re a little tougher to crack.”

“I am seriously sorry I didn’t get to see one of your matches,” I say, and I mean it. I would love to see Wyn take on a rock golem. “You ever win?”

Wyn shrugs. “What do you think?”

“I’ll reserve judgment until after we take out the zombies,” I reply.

“Speaking of zombies . . . shall we, señorita?” he says, extending his elbow to me in gentlemanly fashion.

I give him a little curtsy and slip my hand around his arm. “By all means, kind sir. I believe it is time to kick some undead fanny.”

We head down the stairs and pause for a second before the door.

“Three, two, one,” I say, and Wyn kicks it open.

As previously agreed, he goes left, I go right, and we both start swinging. The zombies on the left get treated to a head-bashing by crowbar, the zombies on the right suffer full or partial decapitation by my machete. I’ve equipped myself with the night-vision goggles, though I almost wish I didn’t have to see what I’m doing. The whole thing’s pretty gross. Close combat has never been my cup of tea, but I keep hacking away, my machete doing its thing.

Wyn has strapped the flashlight to his left arm, which he tries to keep raised so he can see what’s coming, but given that he’s also fending off a mob of flesh-hungry monsters, the lighting for him is erratic at best. We both count aloud every time we score a hit so we can get a sense of how many enemies we’re dealing with—especially important if we’re defeated and have to do this Zombie Cha-Cha all over again.

“Eight!” yells Wyn. He’s just caught up to me. I better step up my game.

I start spinning a 360, my machete raised at neck level. THUNK THUNK THUNK, I hear as my weapon makes contact. “Nine, ten, eleven!” I yell. Fortunately, the zombies disappear as soon as we kill them, otherwise we’d be tripping over the body pile. I swing some more and get nothing but air.

“All clear on the right!” I holler at Wyn.

Wyn raises his flashlight arm and finds me in his beam. “All