Chapter 8

Orion - Day 2 of Landing

It’s amazing the kind of things you hear in the forest if you just listen. It also doesn’t hurt to have a Tracking skill card unlocked after spending a short time navigating through the groves. My short time out here has made me more aware of the directions of certain things that seem too obvious now. A river to the left of me was running, and to the right of me were the loud mating calls of birds, the buzzing of a swarm of hive insects, and behind me was the annoying voice of a younger brother. Every once in a while in our trek, which was mostly uphill, we would find sticks to plant into the ground upright to mark our trail, and when we would lose sight of one stick, we would plant another and keep moving forward.

“Check this out,” Cass said as he showed me a black beetle with purple stripes on its back, which I waved away, keeping myself attuned to nature.

The floor of the woods wasn’t just a blended scape of greenery anymore. I could pick out individual plants and herbs lying in the foliage. I pointed to green stalks that sprouted among clovers and weeds, and Cass picked them out of the dirt to reveal wild onions, their bulbs the size of pennies, their scent just a hint of pepperiness. The trees weren’t all just a uniform collection of long trunks in my path anymore; each one had its own distinct pattern and colors as distinct as human faces. Vibrant green mosses colored one, others with milk chocolate swirls, and others whose bark was as pale as chalk. One tree had a lumpy green fruit looking like a lime with tumors which, when opened with my knife, revealed mostly pits and strands of hard-to-eat fibrous flesh. When juiced, the green citrus fruit was bitter and tart smelling of bergamot and licorice. Cass stuffed a few of those into his leaf bucket. They tasted unripe but their juice and zest might pair well with the clams and other seafood.

I held my hand out to stop Cass and put my fingers to my lips. We found our quarry at last. A flock of six turkey-sized pheasants with red feathers and a white collar in the distance were picking bugs and worms off the ground, unaware of our presence. Unlike turkeys, however, these were dainty creatures with longer legs like that of a roadrunner. I thought about the best way to catch them and hoped they were like the dodo birds who were so unacclimated to predators they were hunted to extinction simply because humans could walk up to them and catch them.

“Stay here,” I whispered and brandished my obsidian knife.

Moving like a panther, I hid behind trees and bushes as I approached the flock, somehow managing to snag every branch, step on every twig that cracked thunderously beneath my feet, and trip over a few misplaced ledges on my way to my prey. When the obviously skittish pheasants noticed my approach, some two meters from where I had started, they made a break for it, scattering every which way beyond my line of sight. It took me approximately 50 meters of running before I realized that I wasn’t going to catch up to them.

At a full sprint, I’d be able to catch them, but through the rough terrain and obstacles the forest presented, it’d be nigh impossible for me right now.

“What are we gonna do, Rye?” Cass asked.

“Help me look for a huge flat rock,” I said as I scanned the forest floors for rocks.

Cass located one that looked perfect for my purpose, and I helped him lift it. Underneath, we both---well, I think it was both of us and not just myself---let out a yelp as a harmless-looking leather-colored snake slithered away after the rock was dislodged. I grabbed a few worms from the dirt and cut them up with my knife. Where the pheasants were previously feeding, I placed the flat rock upright and dug a wishbone-shaped branch into the dirt to hold the rock upright. Cass and I gathered some vines and other various plant fibers and started to braid them in a simple three-strand pattern, which we tied to a branch holding the flat rock up. We planted dead worms, bugs, and wild berries underneath the rock, digging it into the soil.

With my Crafting card up, a new temporary information card appeared to have been spawned from it.

Deadfall Trap

Quality D

10% more effective against rodents

Cass and I both waited some distance away, with the end of the rope tied to the trap in my hand. After an hour passed, Cass got impatient and started wandering near me, looking for rocks and examining insects. The sun was beginning to set on the horizon, the sky’s hue turning dark orange and gray. Just as we were about to embark back to base camp, a trio of the pheasants appeared, their bright feathers glowing out of some burrows. They circled the area while we waited before one decided to take the bait. When it was directly underneath the rock, I pulled the rope, dislodging the stick holding up the rock and making it fall awkwardly on the rear side of the bird. I rushed to it; the other pheasant quickly departed while the trapped one struggled beneath the weight of the rock. With my knife out, I came over to put it out of its misery, grabbing it by its neck as its head bobbed left and right. The dying creature made cackling sounds. My knife appeared over its neck, and I looked away as the edge of it came down like a guillotine.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

“Don’t look,” I said to Cass, who just stared curiously with no emotion as I made my killing blow.

Before it came down, I felt a sharp stabbing pain against the back of my hand as the bird pecked at me.

“Son of a---” I cried before my hand snapped away and right back down in brief anger, finally ending the bird. The knife wasn’t strong enough to cut through the neck of the creature, but it must have severed an artery, causing the animal’s blood to gush out onto my hands and the dirt below the flat rock.

I checked my hand while the carcass of the wild bird bled out, a red pockmark where the beak struck. No blood ran where I wiped at it, but it might bruise. It was careless of me to look away; I had to learn that not all these animals out here weren’t domesticated creatures or the few non-cat-or-dog animals I encountered at petting zoos.

“I heard some people drink animal blood. They make it into sausages and jellies,” Cass said, watching the blood seep out of the carcass.

As grotesque as that sounded, I would have to keep that in mind next time to harvest some of the blood. Still, I didn’t want to encourage my brother, so I said nothing and just removed the flat rock that held the body of the red pheasant in place. Then I took the piece of rope tied to the trap to wrap around the legs of the pheasant, tying the other end to my hand.

I carried the pheasant to a stream where I began to dress the animal, removing its lungs and guts. I didn’t know which parts were edible besides the meat and didn’t want to take the chance, so I just tossed all the random refuge out. Insects quickly swarmed on it. It felt like a waste since perhaps the liver might be good eating, but I was running out of time and couldn’t tell a liver from a lung. The rock might have crushed some of its organs, I thought.

The dressing of the pheasant was our break, and when we were finished, we made haste back to camp. I warned Cass not to dilly-dally on our way back as he usually does and wander off as nightfall was approaching. We would lose track of our guiding sticks. Time. I thought about time and how we could track it. This world or planet had a similar day and night cycle to Earth; perhaps the days were longer, but that could be due to where we were on its axis. Our camp would have to set up a sundial or a way to tell time soon so we wouldn’t venture out into the dark this late anymore.

“What class do you think I’ll get?” Cass asked.

“Is there a know-it-all class or bug collector class?” I wondered.

“You’re the know-it-all,” Cass said. “How did you know how to make that trap?”

“I watch a lot of videos,” I said.

“That’s so cool,” Cass said. “If you teach me how to craft things, maybe I’ll get a crafting class and help you out.”

“Right now, just get the stay-alive class and don’t get lost,” I said.

Before nightfall finally came, we saw the fire in the distance down the hills. My mind was already trying to make a map of the place. I knew there was a river close, a cave close, and several streams. Even in the dark, I could track the footprints we made to the birds. To master this place, we needed to know all we were dealing with. I still disagreed with Bianca over the location of the first shelter. We would have to go so far inland to get everything we needed, but it was a good temporary location. If there was a tracking skill, there had to be a cartography skill, a writing skill, and so many other useful skills.

I pulled out my cards while we made our way to the fire, which Cass still didn’t get tired of ever seeing. His wide eyes fixated on my palms as my cards flew out of them.

Cook - 4

Soul Food - S

Crafting - 2

Forager - 2

Tracking - 2

Firewielder - 1

Pottery - 1

My skill cards were leveling up. I didn’t feel like there was a sudden seismic shift, but it seemed like I had knowledge of the plants of this world innately. When I wanted rope, I somehow managed to pick the best piece of plant for it. When I constructed the trap, I somehow found the best branch that would hold it up. I didn’t think I was someone like Survivorman, but it was more like my aptitude, luck, and awareness of things regarding crafting and foraging became heightened as if I was recalling long-lost memories.

Thoughts of the system and the cards came to a halt when I heard screaming coming from the base camp. Cass came up behind me, hiding, and I readied my knife. Something was happening, something bad.

“I think that’s Bianca screaming. She’s in trouble,” I whispered.

“That screaming sounds like it’s coming from a man,” Cass observed.

“Probably not a good time to make fun of how she screams,” I shushed him. “Stay here, I’ll---”

Before I could rush forward, I realized there were three figures by the campfire holding a sleeping Alex down. One of them, a young bespectacled Asian man, was holding some black rod and branding or probing Alex, who, after a strained expression of either agony or ecstasy, fell into a sleepy bliss. The other two women were breathing heavily. They gasped and let go of Alex’s body. I covered Cass’s eyes to this obviously weird sexual masochistic deviancy ritual and came into the light.

“Did we miss anything?” I dared to ask.