Wasteland Warlords 2: A Post-Apocalyptic LitRPG Adventure by James Hunter & eden Hudson

Author:James Hunter & eden Hudson [Hunter, James & Hudson, eden]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Shadow Alley Press
Published: 2023-12-11T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 8

Fun and Games

Clay took aim and led the tangled knot of cords that seemed to be the lead cobra. With his new level of dex, he probably could’ve made the shot, but it was hauling ass toward Alex. He let the M4 hang on its sling and ran for his wife, pulling his K-Bar.

A thick coil whipped around Clay’s legs, tangling him up and ripping his feet out from under him. He hit the dirt, slamming all the air out of his lungs. Through the pain and desperate struggle to breathe again, he hacked at the cord.

Alex easily dodged the oncoming cord and swung her Mossberg like a solo escrima stick. The wallop sent the cord cobra reeling sideways, but another one looped over her shoulders from behind, cinching her arms tight before jerking her off her feet, too.

The Doppler effect sound of a shout shot past Clay and Alex as Joe was dragged between them. A split second later, Clay’s cord jerked. The grass and dirt tore at his hands and whipped his face as he was yanked backward. He stabbed the K-Bar into the ground, trying to grab some purchase, but it scraped across the hardpacked desert dirt without penetrating. He was barely able to keep the knife from being ripped out of his hand.

Then suddenly he stopped moving. The cord went slack around his ankles, and before he could jump up, a pair of cords snaked under Clay, shoved him to his feet, and spun him around.

He was back at the milk can tent.

Joe stood next to him, looking bewildered. A second later, Alex was shoved to her feet by the cords on Joe’s opposite side.

“What the hell?” She sank into a wide, defensive stance, pulling free her kusarigama.

The cord cobras hissed at the weapon and slithered around, crissing and crossing over one another, but for some reason, they didn’t attack.

“Guys,” Joe said, his voice hushed with fear and awe, “I think they want us to play this game.”

“Oh sure,” Alex said. “And then they want us to get a slushy and a funnel cake and ride some rides.”

“Think about it. Why else would they have dragged us back here?”

“He does make an excellent point,” Bacon Bits said. Sometime during the snake-fight, the teacup pig had climbed up onto the wooden table in front of the Milk Bottle Toss with Chonk. She pointed down at the painted sandwich board sitting outside the tent. “‘Must play,’” she read. “In my line of work, such things are often meant to be taken literally.”

Clay looked around the midway again, this time really taking things in. There were two other MUST PLAY signs sitting out, one in front of a shooting gallery lined with glittering green superhero capes, and the last in front of the Ring the Bell game surrounded by winnable pink inflatable hammers.

Blue pandas, green capes, pink hammers. Blue, pink, green, like the first three dots in the incorrect ellipsis. So where was the black-and-white prize? The closest thing he could find was the picture of an Oreo on the side of the deep-fried confections truck.

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