The Leveller - Julia Durango Page 0,9

suppose—that moment when I feel invincible, like there’s no one I can’t level.

At this moment, however, I’m far from that moment. The skeleton horde is now visible on the horizon, charging at me like a sea of rattling bones. I scoot inside and seal the door, then take the stairs two at a time until I’m at the top of the tower, where waist-high stone walls offer me protection on all sides. Even though you can’t physically feel pain in the MEEP, your brain still registers all the emotions that go with imminent bodily danger: fear, anxiety, panic, and sometimes even exhilaration, as crazy as it sounds, especially if you have a bit of a masochist streak like Chang. Though certain enemies still freak me out a bit—I’ve never been overly fond of anything that may want to take a bite out of me, for example—I’ve logged so many hours in battle now and “died” so many times that any dread I used to feel has mostly been replaced by anticipation. Right now I feel jittery, like my palms would be sweating and heart racing in the real world, but pumped, too, for the fight to come.

I ready my crossbow and wait for the horde to come within range. As they near, I see that they’re all dressed in ragtag fashion, like they’ve just popped into the Goodwill store on the way over. Some wear Civil War uniforms, others jaunty pirate hats and pantaloons; a few sport bridal gowns complete with flowered veils. Apparently, no regulation uniform is required in this oddball regiment. I like it. Even better, their weapons are all handheld: swords, clubs, and axes. Nothing projectile.

“Fish in a barrel,” I murmur under my breath, then whoosh, I loose my first arrow. A skeleton in a red fuzzy bathrobe goes down like . . . well, like bones in a bathrobe.

“One down, ninety-nine to go,” I say, pleased with myself, then quickly take down two more. My ultra crossbow is wicked fast, the perfect weapon at this height. The ragamuffin skeletons skitter around the tower, clamoring to get in. I pick them off right and left, my body working in perfect rhythm as I slide the arrows from my quiver, load, aim, fire.

I can taste the pecan pie now.

Even if Chang’s slingshot and Moose’s boomerang prove as deadly as my crossbow, I know I’ve got better aim than both of them. The rush sweeps over me: I’m in the zone. “Nixy B. for the win,” I crow aloud. Right then, a skeleton wearing what looks like a toddler’s sailor cap turns to the bonehead next to him and rips the guy’s arm right out of its socket.

“Holy sh—” I start to yelp, but before I can finish the obscenity, Sailor Cap flings the dismembered arm bones at me. I duck, but it’s too late, the arm too long. The bones hit me right between the eyes and knock me on my butt.

“That was humerus,” I joke to nobody as I stumble back onto my feet.

Though vexed the horde won’t be dispatched as neatly as I’d hoped, I can’t help but give a mental high five to the MEEP designer who programmed a big dollop of sassy into these skeletons.

I look down and laugh-snort at what I see next. The horde is working together to form a human—or undead, I should say—ladder up the side of the tower; all that’s missing is the circus music and peanuts. They stand on each other’s shoulders, three skeletons high on all sides, circling the tower like an overzealous cheer squad. They put our own high school cheerleaders to shame. Mindy and her crew always act a little too cool for school, if you know what I mean. In contrast, these boneheads have spirit, yes they do!

The spryer skeletons are now climbing the ladder, cracking their comrades’ bones with impunity as they use a ribcage here, a skull there, for purchase. I manage to ward off the first wave with some quick-fire crossbow action, but there are too many, too fast.

I whip my mage staff from the holster on my back and crouch down, tensely waiting for the second wave. One exhale is all I get before they come scrabbling over the stone walls like clicking white spiders. I jump to my feet and pivot-spin a full 360, taking off four skulls with my outstretched staff—WHACK, WHACK, WHACK, WHACK.

Not bad, I think, stopping to catch my breath before the third wave arrives.

CLICK CLICK,