The small cut of meat TJ had been able to salvage from the coyote body sizzled over coals, and the scent of cooking meat set his mouth to watering. To get to this point had been more of an exercise in preparedness than he’d been previously ready for, and he thought about how he’d disassembled the bodies.
Once he had built the fire up from a steady flicker to a true blaze, TJ sat with his hands extended towards the dancing flames, the heat making his mostly numbed fingers tingle. As the cold leached from his hands, TJ’s right hand complained and ached with the return of sensation while his left whined about the blisters he’d given himself creating the fire in the first place.. The fire roared and crackled, the pine-rich wood frequently popping and sending flurries of sparks into the air. Pine burns fast and hot, and TJ forced himself up to his feet before long, gathering the thickest branches he could manage without exhausting himself or tearing his wounded shoulder back open.
With enough of a supply of firewood to ensure that he wouldn’t be left with nothing before long, TJ could actually focus on the corpses. They represented thousands and thousands of calories, energy he couldn’t leave behind. He’d never butchered an animal before, and now he had to learn quickly. When would the meat go bad? It was around freezing, so could it be counted as refrigerated?
Regardless, he couldn’t cook the meat while the fur was still on it. And how to cut it off? TJ searched around, hoping to find a magically sharpened rock that would function perfectly as a knife. No luck. In fact, much of the stone around here was crumbly and weak, wholly unable to keep any sort of an edge. Instead, he’d need to get BACK UP and find a rock that could actually help him. He couldn’t help but curse himself at how he’d laughed at his old man back in the day when TJ had asked him why he always had a pocket knife. The old man’s response was simply, “A man needs a knife. Whenever you don’t have it is when you need it.” He missed his dad. He’d know what to do now, but he’d been gone half a decade now, his mom too. Probably better they weren’t around for this. Mari… well, TJ was lying if he said he didn’t wish she was with him right now. Having learned his lesson, TJ very carefully wiped at his eyes without brushing his nose and set to finding a good rock.
TJ whistled the Indiana Jones theme song to himself as he wandered around, feeling slightly more like an adventurer as he did so. Who knew, maybe he’d find a whip and a Nazi to punch while he was at it. Eventually, he was blessed to find a little deposit of a harder, darker stone than much of the sandstone that surrounded him, and TJ grabbed a couple and happily trotted back to his fire to see if he couldn’t create a blade of some sort from it.
Once, with a master’s guidance, he’d made an obsidian blade, but this, unfortunately, was nothing like that. The stones were nearly spherical, and as TJ smacked them together again and again, he wasn’t able to make anything that even remotely resembled a cutting edge.
“Come. On. You. Little. Bastard. And. Become. A. Knife.” He repeated, smashing the stones together again and again with each word. Fortunately, on the fourth repetition of the same line, one of the rocks he was holding split almost cleanly through the center, leaving two half-spheres with a mostly flat face from between them. “Halfway there.” TJ grumbled before setting one of the stones with the new flat face perpendicular to the ground on a large nearby rock. There, he grabbed one of the remaining whole stones and, with growing force, smashed it again and again into the rock he wanted to have become his knife.
With a resounding crack, the stone split, and TJ cheered when he picked up several of the shards that had broken into flat disks with a serviceably sharp edge. Finally armed with a prehistoric utensil, he turned to the corpses. He was sickened and again nearly vomited as he was again forced to confront the reality of how he’d been forced to kill every one–crushing their skulls. Their heads hung awkwardly to the side, and the bone was obviously shattered while blood and mashed flesh dripped from their mouths.
“Well. Sorry. I’ll eat you, at least, so you’re not dead for nothing.” TJ grabbed the first coyote he’d killed and laid it out flat on the ground. It laid there, and he thought of the dogs he’d grown up loving. Then, he pulled up his sleeves and began attempting butchery. It was hard, bloody, disgusting work, and TJ did end up retching as he accidentally cut open its intestines and coyote shit spilled over his hands. Worse, he didn’t have water to spare to wash his hands or anything else, and he was slowed even more by having to return to the fire to stoke it and warm his chilled fingers pretty frequently. Eventually, he did have a roughly skinned and unappetizing looking coyote thigh, which he speared with a stick and held over the fire.
Of course, he accidentally burned the meat. After he dropped it in the fire. Because the stick broke. His poor Nana’s ears would curl hearing the string of profanities he’d shouted after that, but TJ didn’t care. He didn’t even care enough to scrape the burnt flesh off the bone before tearing into it. It was rangy, tough, and dry, while what little of the juice remaining in the “drumstick’s” skin dribbled down his chin. It wasn’t good. But it was food, and that was enough of a spice that TJ tore through the leg in record time.
Annoyed by the blood, viscera, excrement, and whatever else that coated his hands, TJ attempted to wipe himself clean on one of the coyote’s fur to limited success. He needed water, and the nearest water he knew of was the snow and ice that coated the next peak. He estimated it’d be another 20 minutes of hiking to get there, so maybe an hour to get there, fill up his water, drink his fill, fill up more, see where he needed to go, and then return to his fire. And now that he’d experienced how much better it was to not be freezing his balls off, walking over there in his shredded jacket and stupid mesh shorts sounded like hell.
It was disgusting, but the coyotes could maybe help with that too…
—-
Another two cooked thighs and an hour’s worth of skinning the three coyotes, going off his HP recovery of 10, assuming this was light activity, resulted with the most disgusting leg warmers that TJ had ever imagined. He wrapped two of the coyote pelts that he’d crappily pulled from the bodies around his thighs while the third was currently being scraped of all fat, blood, and whatever else was attached to the skin under the pelt. Once TJ was somewhat satisfied with the results, he held the most intact fur skin side down over the fire in an attempt to make what he was about to do less horrendously disgusting. Then, when it was warm and the skin under the fur was beginning to crisp and pop, TJ pulled his waistband out and wrapped the pelt around his waist between his shorts and his underwear. It was so pleasantly warm that he almost forgot how disgusting this was.
TJ didn’t give himself any additional time to think about it, to be grossed out, or anything. Instead, he grabbed his backpack, now empty of everything except his makeshift knives, water bottle, and goldfish, and, after piling several more thick branches onto the fire, prepared for his hike towards the next summit. Just earlier this morning, he’d been sleeping in his comfortable bed and drinking coffee, and now, he was shivering here. He couldn’t help but think of his morning.
Woke up to his alarm, which was an excited toddler jumping on him. How Junior consistently woke up at 6:30am every day, summer through winter, was one of the universe’s greatest mysteries. Regardless of how the three year-old woke himself up, he always made his way out of his room and into TJ’s, where, uncaring of how much or little sleep his dad had gotten, he happily patted TJ’s face until he woke.
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“Park? Go park? Big one? Please?”
TJ grumbled as good-naturedly as he could manage. A Saturday morning in early January was as good as any to go to the park, he supposed.
“It’s still early, bud. Let’s do breakfast first, then we’ll figure out going to the park, K?”
Though Junior whined and moped about not being taken to the park the same instant he woke, a bowl full of “foot woop” took the edge of his rage off. Then, given the sun still hadn’t risen, TJ cajoled and guided the distractible kid from room to room as he vacuumed, swept, and tidied. Still, it was only 9 by the time all the chores were done, and Junior was back to begging to go to the park. Southern Arizona wasn’t so cold as most of the world in the middle of the winter, but TJ did force Junior into a jacket and long pants before they left. All the child’s protests about how “Daddy not wearing pants!” were summarily dismissed with “Well, dads make the rules” and Junior quickly forgot the despotic unfairness of dads. Instead, he complained at the walk through Walmart. Then, he was heartbroken by only going through the McDonalds drive through, because how dare they visit merely for coffee? Only the promise of immediately proceeding towards the park kept the hysterics in check.
At the park, Junior happily clambered up and down and around whatever he could reach. Though it would be a beautiful day later on, in Tempe, it was only 45 or so degrees out, so no other kids had managed to convince their parents to get out of their warm houses just yet. Thus, TJ happily played alone with his son, making sure he didn’t fall from the jungle gym or eat too much sand. Then, once the caffeine had fully hit his system (and worked its way through in the freezing public restroom), TJ asked the fateful question.
“Wanna run?”
With squeals of excitement, Junior dragged TJ back to the car, where he pulled the jogging stroller out and, as soon as it was set up, Junior threw himself in while clapping for TJ to “Go fast! Super fast!” TJ only had enough time to get up to speed before he’d smashed his face on a suddenly appearing wall and found himself on his ass with his vision swimming and his ears ringing. Then, he’d hiked, and fought, and suffered. And here he was.
Shaking his lonely thinking from his head, TJ stood and began walking uphill. Water awaited him, and to take his mind from the past, he asked a question that had been burning for a while, but only now he felt he could actually ask it.
“Why are these animals attacking? A single coyote, or even a smaller pack would never attack a person around here. What happened?”
The native fauna has been adjusted by the Divine System so that they may better participate in the selection process for hopeful divines.
“So now they’re all bloodthirsty or something?”
To put it in so few words, correct.
“Then what can I–Shit. Are reptiles still hibernating? Or are they more active now?”
The physiology of much of the native fauna has been biologically adjusted by the Divine System to be more active.
“So are there any rattlesnakes nearby?” TJ looked around warily, not trusting to hear a rattle before receiving a deadly bite.
The Divine System does not give additional information to Participants that can be considered hints or especially helpful.
“Probably, then.” TJ forced himself to be quiet instead as he continued his tracks towards the snow-covered summit. Every step burned his injured calf, and though he’d patched it as well as he could, his shoulder’s wound cried out with every step. The only upside he could think of other than impending water was that the new mountain he began to scale was mostly bare compared to the one he had left behind, and if any coyotes decided to come attack, he’d have enough time to pick up a rock or something to smash his assailant with. Plus, a part of him realized that there was no guarantee that he’d be able to complete the requirements for the Neophyte Class anytime soon, and it might be better to just kill two more animals and become a Zealot. Even so, the Neophyte Class just called to him, and TJ didn’t want to throw in the towel just yet.
The twenty minute hike passed without any additional incident, and TJ stepped to this higher peak and looked across the valley between mountains. There, maybe six or seven miles farther down, was a cabin, tucked in a small clearing with an ATV trail leading up to it. Getting up to this mountain had taken him about 20 minutes, and TJ estimated it was only half a mile to get here. Looking up, it was just about midday, so there were only about five hours of sunlight left. Worse, the brush was thick and unmanageable down there, so TJ would have to slow himself even more to be especially careful to make sure he wasn’t ambushed or even just broke an ankle with an unlucky misstep.
“How would my Vitality’s HP regeneration help me with a broken bone?” He suddenly asked.
Returning to full HP does not mean that lasting injuries have been completely healed. Instead, it signifies the peak of health available to the Participant excluding major injuries. At your level of Vitality, it will take two weeks for a minor fracture to be healed, and up to six for a major break of the bone to return to its previously whole state.
Yeah, that’d be a death sentence. Grumbling to himself about how he’d need to come back tomorrow to make sure he could make it to the cabin before the sun set behind the mountains, TJ grabbed a couple handfuls of water to place into his water bottle to melt. Grandpa had said something about how eating plain snow was worse for you in a survival situation than finding a creek nearby, something about how snow made you colder than the water would. Given that Grandpa was right about the stupid knife, he’d listen about the snow.
TJ shook the metal bottle, the crunchy, more ice than snow breaking apart and melting under his ministrations. A minute later, he opened it and took a long drink. Beautiful. His parched throat gloried in the taste, a couple pebbles and pine needles included. He drank so deeply that TJ could feel the cold water settling and sloshing in his stomach, and though it was uncomfortable, he was happy for it. Then, preparing himself to go back to his impromptu camp, TJ filled the water bottle up once again with the ice, smashing the pointy bits that refused to let the cap screw on. Again whistling to himself, this time Star Wars, more John Williams, TJ made his way back to the camp.
Once he left the barren mountaintop, TJ picked up a rock and hefted it in his right hand. Wasn’t much of a weapon, but it was leaps better than nothing, and if a coyote tried to take a bite out of him again, he could kill it without having to feel its bones crack under his feet. He was lucky, however, that he didn’t have to kill anything before getting back to his hot coals.
The fire had mostly died down, but TJ had been confident that there would still be coals upon his return. He was correct, and a couple handfuls of pine needles and kindling let his fire return to its previous glory.
Now, if he was going to stay the night here before setting off towards the cabin tomorrow, he might as well make sure his night wasn’t entirely miserable. Remembering that a heat reflector of some sort would help the fire’s heat be better directed towards him, TJ let himself rest for just long enough to cook a coyote shoulder and eat about half of it. His belly was still full of the water he’d stuffed himself with, and he wouldn’t have any more water than what was in his bottle until he made the trek back to the other mountain. TJ wasn’t about to force more food down his gullet and make himself sick.
With a grumble, he walked off to gather the longest, thickest branches he could muster. There wasn’t much nearby, and TJ was loathe to get himself distracted looking for fallen branches and trees just so a coyote, mountain lion, or rattlesnake could kill him. After five trips back and forth dragging another couple of long branches, TJ was lucky enough to stumble across a fallen tree with most of its branches intact. Taking a big rock in hand, he smashed a dozen of the branches off before lugging them back to camp. Then he made another trip. And another. And another.
And finally, he had enough branches to make the most rudimentary of heat reflectors for his fire. Then, TJ needed to gather enough wood to keep his fire going through the night. That took him another two hours, at least. He wasn’t sure how long, since this level of hiking and carrying and transporting negated his HP recovery. TJ did take the time every two loads to sit next to the fire and watch his HP tick up two more points until it had recovered to 50/100. Then, with enough fire to keep him going through the night and enough of a shelter to keep him from dying from exposure, TJ sat and watched the fire.
Occupation unlocked.
Wait, what?