Leaving Perth behind, John and Truffle ventured east in the direction of Canberra. Staying close to the coast, they aimed to drive approximately 2,300 miles, hopefully less if the country was shrunken down as John theorised it was, to the nation’s capital where Buck had suggested they begin their search for the torii gate. Of course, John needed to collect his final card first… and they needed a car.

  Thankfully, the dinosaur had also given John a tip off for the suspected location of another card which wasn’t too far away. John felt sick just thinking about what Buck had told him about the place. If he was being honest, he’d have gone there even if there wasn’t a chance at getting his last card. He had to do something about it now that he knew.

  However, if they were going to reach it in time, and then make the thirty-six-hour drive to Canberra, they were going to need transport.

  “I think that’s a gas station up ahead,” Truffle said merrily as they trekked along the hazy heat-soaked road, Perth’s skyline glittering in the sun behind them.

  “Good,” John replied, “just where Buck said it would be. You know, for a weird, indentured triceratops, he’s not half bad.”

  As they approached the gas station, a single vehicle was parked next to the pump. Somehow it seemed to have survived the purging of Earth and appeared to be in good working condition. It was exactly what they needed if they were going to get to the location Buck had told them about.

  John approached the vehicle, shoulders sagging, and twisted the key which was helpfully slotted into the ignition. The engine roared to life with a steady thumping which was like music to his ears.

  “What the hell is this?” John said with an irritated sigh, “I take it back, that no good dinosaur. The next time I see him we’ll be having strong words.”

  ***

  Charlie’s head hurt and his body felt numb. He struggled to remember what had happened. One minute he’d been at the camp failing to get to sleep, an issue a lot of the kids had been having since the apocalypse. The next he was here, wherever that was, with the world’s worst migraine and unnaturally heavy eyes.

  Forcing them open, he saw a dirty, metal floor, his feet hanging above it. He tried to move his head and a shooting pain shot through him. Still, he needed to know more about his surroundings. That’s what Grandma had said: “always know your terrain, deary. It might just save your life one of these days.” She was a nice woman; she looked after all the Orphans Of The Apocalypse.

  With great effort he managed to move his head out of the lull to look around. It was dark, but he could hear the sharp, rhythmic clang of, what simply had to be, some kind of monster.

  Charlie wanted to gulp, but his throat was too dry to allow it. He’d always hated the monsters. He’d spent the first two days in Battle Royale hiding from them, it was awful. That was, until Grandma had found him. Surely she’d find him again. Maybe?

  As his senses slowly began to return to him, Charlie realised he was moving. Forcing his head to move again, he looked up to see that his hands were bound above his head – which explained why everything felt so numb. He seemed to be handcuffed to some kind of mini monorail which moved along a track with a slow chug.

  Then his eyes widened, if that was even possible in his pitiable state. Next to him was another kid, and another, and another. All hanging by their hands, attached to the mini monorail as it moved slowly towards the clanking sound of the monster.

  ***

  John and Truffle thundered down the deserted highway, the wind blowing pleasantly in their faces. Their new ride: an old motorbike with a carriage attached, was perfect for the duo, though John certainly didn’t think so.

  Thankfully there were two pairs of goggles in the vehicle which the two equipped, John begrudgingly so, to keep the wind out of their eyes as they rode towards their destination.

  “Boss,” Truffle shouted over the rushing wind. “I don’t know what your problem is with this bike, it’s amazing!”

  “My problem,” he replied incredulously, his duster rippling violently in the wind. “Is that I look like Hagrid on this thing. We’re not Batman and Robin are we? I look ridiculous.”

  “I think we look great,” Truffle replied, “and I’m sure our viewers will agree. This, this is travelling in style.”

  “If you say so,” John replied.

  They rode along the highway for a few hours until they neared their destination. A goblin camp made of crudely cut wooden stakes which blocked the road: the location Buck had told John about.

  They pulled over wearily.

  “Looks like we’re here,” John said in a low voice as he swung his legs off the bike. “Follow my lead.”

  Truffle nodded and the two walked slowly towards the gate.

  As they approached a new quest appeared in John’s interface.

  New Quest:

  Post-Apocalyptic Farming

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

  Objective:

  Investigate the goblin camp 0/1

  Reward:

  50 shards

  Simple and sweet, the system sure didn’t beat around the bush. Nor did it offer any kind of guidance apart from a vague trail to follow. Thankfully, John already knew what horrors he would find. He was a little annoyed by how small the award was though, fifty shards were hardly anything to write home about. It also suggested that this wasn’t going to be a boss battle or anything like that. At least that meant there wouldn’t be any annoying commentary from A.J. Probably.

  “Halt!” A goblin cried out, hanging over the top of the makeshift wooden walls. “Who goes there?”

  “A simple merchant,” John replied, “looking to trade with your settlement.”

  “We don’t trade,” the goblin said with a nasty smirk. “We take what we want, merchant. Come in if you want, but don’t expect compensation.”

  The wooden gate swung open and John walked towards it, fists clenched, heart pulsing. He knew what was inside already thanks to Buck. The thought sickened him, but the promise of his final card was enough to stay his rage for a moment. He could kill them all soon enough.

  “Why are there goblins now?” Truffle asked, “what happened to all the themed mobs like those fluffy bears and the shrimp?”

  “Dunno buddy,” John replied. “Maybe the show runners are getting lazy. Goblins exist in most fantasy games though, so it could just be that they’re using them as a common, low-level mob to pad out the game.”

  “Sounds like lazy writing to me,” Truffle huffed.

  As they wearily entered the goblin camp, John looked around at the butchery inside. Conveyor belts carried ambiguous minced meat, depositing it into steel barrels which goblin workers hurriedly sealed and replaced. The workers were small, green, bipedal andromorphs just like you’d expect. However, these guys wore yellow hard hats and high visibility vests.

  The chain of odd looking, green goblins the size of children passed the barrels down the line where they disappeared into a cobbled-together storehouse.

  They’re really going all in on the industrial theme.

  At the back of the camp was a large wooden building. Its barn doors were padlocked shut and a crude sign, which seemed to be written in blood, hung loosely from a chain above the door. It said: “keep out.” A rhythmic clanging sound came from inside the building and the conveyor belts all disappeared into it.

  That has to be where the meat is coming from, John thought angrily.

  Next to the barn was a small, round hut with a thatched roof. It was the nicest building in the camp by a mile and John figured that had to be where the chief lived.

  He made a beeline for the hut.

  “Oi,” the goblin guard shouted from atop the wooden battlements. “Don’t you be bothering the chief with your shitty wares, trader. He don’t give a flying fuck what you got to trade.”

  “Trust me,” John replied over his shoulder, “he’ll be interested in what I’m peddling.”

  “Fine,” the guard relented, “but it’s your funeral.”

  Like they were ever going to let us leave anyway, John thought as he strode up the rickety stairs to the chief’s hut.

  In lieu of a door, the hut had multiple ropes with skulls knotted onto them. They clattered loudly as John pushed through.

  “Well, well, well,” a gruff voice with an accent not dissimilar to an east London drawl, called out. “Audacious little human aren’t you?”

  John drew closer and saw the goblin before him. He was larger than his kin, and more muscular.

  A hob goblin? John wondered, though without the system or A.J to guide him, he had no way of knowing. It seemed this theory about this place was right, it wasn’t a boss battle or a challenge, if it had been then A.J would have begun announcing it already. No, this camp had side quest written all over it.

  “What brings you to my humble abode, meat bag?” the goblin asked.

  His skin was a yellowish colour and he wore a crown made of bone. Over one shoulder rested a glaive which was much too big for him and the only clothing he wore was a brown rag which covered his genitals. His teeth stuck oddly out of his mouth and they were a dark brown colour. He was a truly disgusting creature; John was going to take pleasure in his murder. But first he had some business to discuss.

  “I hear you have a card?” John said, putting on his best poker face.

  “And where’d you hear that? Sorry to disappoint but only contestants get to ‘av cards. You wouldn’t happen to be one of them would you? There’re some nice rewards for killing contestants.”

  “Nope,” John lied, “I’m just a humble merchant looking to trade some fine wares… but only to someone who can properly use them. The kind of person who has a card.”

  “I don’t believe you. All humans are contestants and you look pretty human to me,” the chief replied. “So here’s what’s gonna happen. First I’m gonna take your wares, then I’m gonna put you in the warehouse with the others. You’re a little bigger than them so it might be a tight fit. You won’t be there for long though…”

  “I told you this was a bad idea, Boss,” Truffle said, sticking his head through the opening.

  “Yeah,” John sighed, scratching the back of his head. “I only tried it cause Buck asked, this is my preferred method anyway.”

  He drew his revolvers, spinning them around his fingers like a cowboy from a western film. Deftly, he flicked the cylinders with his thumbs and the golden runes that glowed on the barrels of the guns turned a bright scarlet colour.

  “Is that a pig?” The chief asked, “I didn’t realise you meant you was selling bacon. I guess I’d better cut me off a slice.”

  With both hands he grasped the haft of his glaive and swung it down menacingly in front of himself.

  “Sorry to have to be the one to tell you this,” John said cooly, “but on this planet we outgrew martial weapons a long time ago.”

  With a sly smile, he squeezed the triggers of his guns and a vicious blast of flame erupted from the barrels with a cacophonous, explosive sound of atonal fury.

  The chief screamed as his loin cloth caught on fire, magnesium pellets peppering his flesh and setting his skin ablaze. He dropped his glaive to the floor with a clatter and pushed past John, throwing himself down the stairs and into the middle of the camp.

  Screaming, rolling, and fully on fire, the campground grinded to an immediate halt as the dazed, shocked goblins turned to watch their leader burn to death in front of them, leaving a trail of smeared blood wherever he rolled.

  “I guess he couldn’t handle the heat,” John said, as he stepped out of the hut blowing smoke from the barrels of his guns, and looked across the camp, flicking his cylinders back to .38 special mode.

  For a long moment he stood there, staring down at the goblins who stared right back at him, dumbstruck. The camp was completely silent with the exception of the machinery hum.

  Then, the sound of crunching bone and ripping flesh broke the silence.

  John looked towards the noise to see Truffle gorging himself on the charred remains of the goblin chief.

  “That pig’s eating the chief!” One of the goblins shouted.

  “What the fuck?” Another one responded.

  Then, just as all hell was about to break loose the rumbling sound of a nearby motor broke the silence once more and the entire camp turned towards the gate.

  A rocket propelled wheelchair blasted through the gates; dual gatling guns were attached to the sides. A lady sat in the wheelchair wearing driving goggles and a nightgown. Her grey permed hair was windswept and her wrinkled skin barely masked her glowing blue veins. An IV was connected to her hand, the bag containing glittering blue liquid.

  “Hello there deary,” she said in that typical old lady voice, “looks like you could use a hand, let old Agnes help you out, ok?”

  Dumbstruck, John nodded, mouth agape. He’d seen this woman on a recap a few days ago. She’d been fighting goblins then, and from what he could recall she was as deadly as she was utterly psychotic. He didn’t want to be anywhere near her when those gatling guns began to fire.

  “Kawa Bunga!” She screamed, cackling like an old witch as she squeezed triggers on both sides of her chair and the gatling guns revved up, sounding like twin chainsaws.