Logan didn’t know what to make of it. The System had given him a cursed item, but at the same time, if he took the description at face value, it had a ton of offensive use. Still, the thing was useless if it ate his own flesh.
Cautious, Logan inched forward, crouching and peering at the thing. It looked like a worthless length of rope: old, frayed. He was missing a finger on one hand and burns covered his other. If this fucker started eating his flesh, talk about cursed.
Logan held his breath as he used the hand still wrapped in bandages to touch it.
Nothing. It was only as his remaining fingers touched the rope, that a crackling noise like static electricity made him jerk back.
He peered down at his fingers. Other than his missing index finger, they appeared unharmed. Still, crackling electricity wasn’t normal.
More cautious than ever, Logan touched it again as sweat beaded on his forehead.
[Initiate bond with Cursed Length of Rope?]
Logan’s eyes widened. How could you ‘bond’ with a rope? Was the thing alive?
But there was only one possible response. If he refused, he didn’t know what would happen, but he knew it wouldn’t be good.
“Yes. Initiate bond.”
[Processing….]
[….]
[….]
[…]
Gradually, a strange sensation drifted into his awareness, as if invisible fingers were grasping onto him, investigating him.
Logan jumped back in alarm, but there was no retreating from this sensation. It was as if the invisible fingers were judging him and weighing him. Scene after scene passed through his mind, from his struggle to excel at hockey when he was a teenager, to his first cringe attempt at asking a girl on a date, to his awkward first kiss. A feeling of judgement and distaste came from the foreign entity as it focused on his first serious relationship, as if it deemed relationships beneath him and a waste of time. Then, it focused on the System initialization and the loss of his toe, to the fight with the stag, to the feelings of guilt he’d experienced after Eleanor’s death.
It wasn’t an immediate change, but as more apocalyptic events passed by like clips in a video, judgement and distaste turned to intrigue. The feelers paused on his realization that he was good at killing the hell out of shit, and then seemed to swell in glee.
With a silent cackle, the invisible feelers retreated, and Logan was once again alone with his thoughts.
Ding!
[Bond initiated and accepted! You are now bonded with Cursed Length of Rope! As the rope’s wielder, you will be immune to its secreting acid attack.]
Logan stared.
What the fuck.
The rope didn’t look any different. Still something he’d find in a junk pile. But maybe that was part of its power? After all, if he were facing an enemy equipped with an old rope, he’d be focused on the enemy rather than the rope. Its power could be its camouflage.
But how could something the width of a finger have the power to rummage through his thoughts, and the ability to feel judgement? In a normal world, ropes didn’t feel. It would be like his shoes becoming sentient shoe-creatures that judged how quickly he was walking or running.
Logan picked up the rope, tentatively at first, and then more confidently as the static electricity didn’t repeat and he felt nothing other than rough fibres. No more feelings, no foreign sensations. At first glance, it came across as something stuck in the dirt for centuries, something that wouldn’t be flexible.
It was the complete opposite.
The rope was flexible, like a nylon rope. It was also light. He could hold it without any problems—no hint of acid, nothing secreting.
But how the heck could he test it? The description said it ate organic flesh—what constituted organic in the System’s eyes? Logan wasn’t like Matt; he wasn’t going to hurt a defenceless animal just to test this thing. Just the thought of a kitten squirming in agony as acid ate into its little body made his stomach lurch.
Could he try it on a plant? For a second, he regretted killing all the bark ants.
Logan paced, considering his options. He needed to test the rope before he entered a life-or-death situation. Using an untested weapon in a fight was an early way to the grave. That did it. The System might not classify a plant as organic, but there was no reason he couldn’t try.
Logan went past the property line of his grandfather’s cabin—he didn’t want acid in the groundwater. When he travelled far enough, he narrowed in on a small shrub, unkempt and wild, with a decent stem. Gripping the end of the rope with his unburned hand, Logan threw it at the bush in a looping motion as if he were trying to lasso it.
And just like that, the rope transformed from inert fibres into a swishing thing with a life of its own! The other end of the rope flexed in the air, wiggling like a snake as it wrapped around the bush with a snap.
Logan didn’t know how, but he could sense the rope’s emotions. It gave off a sense of glee, as if there were nothing more pleasing than being able to move.
Swishing back and forth, it flexed around the bush, fibres leaking a sticky, syrup-like substance that hissed and steamed. It continued to sway, contracting around the stem even as its secretions ate into the material. Then with a snap, the stem broke, and the rope unwound with a feeling of smug satisfaction.
A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
Wiggling in the air and snapping in place once more, it drooped, then became limp and lifeless in his hand.
Logan stared.
He didn’t know how he’d sense the thing’s emotions, but it had come across as clear as his own thoughts. It had a hint of madness to its glee.
Logan remembered the System’s description:
[Beware. It has a mind of its own.]
Just great. He had a psychopathic rope as a weapon. Logan studied it, fingering the frayed fibres. It was back to a lifeless length of rope again; he couldn’t sense any thoughts—either malevolent or gleeful. What was clear—the name of the rope was making him even more cautious. Cursed. For now, Logan decided to use it as a last resort and willed it into his spatial collar. He was worried the spatial collar wouldn’t accept it, but it disappeared with no hints of resistance. Huh. It must not be ‘alive’ in a true sense.
The System rated the Cursed Length of Rope as C Grade, which once again made no sense. If Logan had to rate all the items he’d received from the tree fridge, the spatial collar had to top the list, yet it was rated S Grade. There was no logic to these ratings at all.
Logan took his baseball bat out of the spatial collar, fondly running his good fingers over the handle. He’d take the bat over the rope any day of the week.
Experiment complete. The tree fridge was a gold mine. The items all appeared to be worthless shit, but they were anything but. Once Logan rescued Lara and the kids, he’d have enough time to grow additional trees, make more money, and then he’d buy everything.
For now, he needed to make his final preparations before he left. And he meant preparations. Rowing to Hope’s End would take a week at least, so he needed to be prepared. That meant storing a ton of beans inside his spatial collar and stocking up on things like bedding and portable camping gear.
Logan swung the bat over his shoulder and began the walk back to Jack’s, making sure to scan his surroundings. He’d been lucky not to come across another snake or mutated stag, and in this world, he knew better than to not expect the worse.
Something underneath his feet vibrated just as the top of the willow tree became visible. Logan stared down at his feet, confused. It felt like an earthquake, but there were no earthquakes in the Okanagan.
His high perception picked up a percussion sound underground, followed by a rushing noise, like dirt falling down a cliff, and then the ground underneath his feet moved.
Logan jumped to the side, just avoiding an explosion of sand and gravel, gaping as a straight line of dirt caved in, creating a shallow depression. The depression was behind him and in front of him as far as he could see, as if a pipe had caved in underground.
Just as Logan looked towards his grandfather’s property, a tremendous explosion rocked the side of the building. The entire right-side caved in, fire rushing out, dust, debris, and plaster discharging in the air.
Holy shit!
There was a reek of rotten eggs before the dust, debris and fire were sucked in, as if an immense vacuum cleaner had cranked up the power.
Ding!
[The pollution contributor: extracted natural gas supply, has been purged from planet Earth. Do not attempt to extract further natural gas.]
[Good news, human! Due to the elimination of the pollution contributor: extracted natural gas supply, your ranking has increased.]
[20,759,324 humans have been eliminated—]
[Recalculating…]
[160,916,132 humans—]
[Recalculating…]
[304,284,496 humans—]
[Recalculating…]
[540,396,489 humans have been eliminated.]
[Current rank: 95,391 out of 6,870,860,033]
[You are currently in the 1%.]
[Advance and grow.]
It was yet another System purge. For a minute, Logan was relieved to see it hadn’t blown up all the trains. With cars, boats, and airplanes gone, that didn’t leave much for transportation. That wasn’t an issue in tightly packed areas, but the Okanagan was an isolated valley, geography-wise. There were 250 miles between Hope’s End and Vancouver alone. Trains were their only lifeline.
If they’d gotten away with an elimination of the natural gas supply, that seemed tame in comparison. Blowing up a supply didn’t seem too bad, until the System listed the casualty count.
Over 500 million?! 500 million in a second! How was that possible? The only possibility was that the System hadn’t just blown up the gas supply; it had eliminated everything that used it. Gas-powered furnaces and water tanks, fireplaces and barbecues—hell, even stoves.
The depression in the ground must have been the natural gas line. In the corner of the cabin, they had a hot water tank that ran on natural gas, but it was a small ass thing, always running out of hot water halfway through a shower. Holy crap, the corner of the building went from just that? The trickle-down effect of this must be massive.
Lara.
Oh hell, Lara!
Logan franticly pulled his cell phone out of his spatial storage device. As soon as the phone connected with the cell tower, he jabbed her name so hard he might as well have put a hole in his screen.
“Logan?”
The tension in his shoulders loosened as soon as he heard her voice. “You’re okay! Christ, that last System message gave me a heart attack. Are the kids okay too?”
“We’re fine. After the last time we talked I turned off the gas to the whole property. Sawyer and Hunter don’t like the lack of hot water, but a cold shower was better than a blown-up basement. What about Eleanor’s property? Is she okay?”
Right. He still hadn’t told Lara about Eleanor. At this point, was there any reason to withhold it? Her death was just one amongst millions. Lara knew the reality of their situation. “She…” He cleared his throat. “Eleanor didn’t make it, Lars.”
Silence.
Then Lara sighed. “Was it the cat? Buttercup?”
“No. She loved that cat. At least she was spared that.”
“Jesus. Jack must be devastated. He’s an odd man. Sometimes I thought it was Eleanor who kept him in line. Kept him sane.”
Logan ran a hand through his hair and closed his eyes. Thinking about Eleanor caused an ache to swell deep in his chest. Held-back trauma from her death was going to bite him in the ass one of these days. “Regardless, Eleanor’s property is full-on solar. All renewables. Sorry to say, though… Grandpa’s cabin has a hole in the side of it.”
A pause. “Turn on the news, Logan. This might be the last time we have power. There could be rolling black outs everywhere. Natural gas power plants were popular.”
A hydro electricity dam powered Hope’s End, but that didn’t mean other areas wouldn’t be impacted. Lara was right. “This could get worse, and fast. We could lose cell service.”
“Are you coming to get us?” For the first time, the stress of the situation was clear to hear in Lara’s voice.
“I’m coming. Leaving today. Provided I find a canoe or a boat without a motor, I think I can get to Hope’s End in a week. To be safe, let’s say eight days. I’ll meet you at the dock downtown—“
“No, it’s not safe. Too many people.”
Logan started pacing in a circle. Lara sounded stressed. Way too stressed. “Then where?”
“Leave the boat at Richton’s Tomb, hide it, cover it with leaves, tree limbs, whatever works, and then make your way to us on foot.”
Richton’s Tomb was the local name for a grave site next to a public beach about thirty minutes away from the downtown harbour. You could only reach the beach through a long, winding dirt path that took thirty minutes by foot. “…hide the boat?”
“People will steal it otherwise! Logan, it’s bad here. Really bad. If we lose power, I don’t know what you’ll be coming into.”
“But you’re safe?” he insisted, his voice tense.
“We’re safe. But haul ass, little brother.”