In mythology, there are numerous stories of heroes with strength Numbers in the tens of thousands, able to fight dragons, withstand hails of bullets, and cut giant trees with a single swing of the axe. The highest verified recorded strength Number, however, is 1112 by Dan Dargin, born in 1645 in Montaine, Alcarta. In his prime, Dan was able to deadlift 2100 pounds (955 kg), and could withstand a .22 caliber rifle shot to his chest from ten feet away without it even breaking the skin.
- Excerpt from “Extreme Numbers: Fact and Fiction”
I ponder the potential meanings of Sam's arm of zeros and palm with a 20. Did his Numbers also get reset, just like mine? If that's the case, why does he only have a 20 on his palm, as opposed to the 100 I started with on my palm? And why did he not try to assign any of those 20 points into any of his attributes?
Although, if his Numbers got reset, that could account for why the rest of my class left so early. And if two of us had our Numbers change to zero, what are the odds that more people had their Numbers change to zero? What if the entire class' Numbers were completely lost? That could potentially explain how I was left behind -- in the panic and immediate evacuation of the cabin following the loss of everyone's Numbers, it would be easy to lose a student. That doesn't even take into account the fire and gruesome remains behind the shed.
I'm beginning to think that each of the earth-shattering surprises I've faced in the last few days are related -- my Numbers resetting, the burnt down cabin, the monsters, the lack of any rescuers, everything -- they all seem too significant and coincidental to be independent. The question remaining is which is the cause and which are the effects?
The cabin burning down can be explained fairly straightforwardly as an effect of losing Numbers. It would be easy, and almost expected, for someone who just was given an intelligence of 0 to forget something in the stove or for someone with a dexterity of 0 to accidentally knock down a candle. The monsters and losing Numbers, however, are a bit harder to determine. Both seem entirely unrelated to each other at first glance. However, thinking back to the leg of the second monster I killed and the way its Numbers blurred into zeros, only to increase the Numbers on my arm a second later suggests some sort of relation between the two. I just need to figure out exactly what that relation is.
And the authorities not showing up. Before seeing Sam, I had assumed that I was the only one who lost my Numbers. But what if the resetting of the Numbers was not some local phenomena that only happened to me and my classmates? What if this was something that happened at a national scale? Or even a global scale?
I shiver, as I can only imagine the chaos that would ensue. That would certainly explain the lack of a rescue party. If the entire world is dealing with suddenly losing the defining feature of society, I can't imagine that a single missing high school student would rate very high on the list of emergencies. At least I wouldn't rate very highly to the officials; my parents must be freaking out by now.
Despite the terror that comes from picturing the temporary collapse of society, I can't help but feel partially relieved at this possibility. I don't have to worry about being the only person above fifteen years old without a Number above one hundred anymore.
Does this make me a bad person, that some part of me hopes that everyone in the world also lost their Numbers? Potentially, but as they say, misery loves company, and I only allow the guilt to nag me for a second. I have more important things to worry about.
I return to examining the bus and surrounding area. I'm appreciative of the puzzle for temporarily distracting me from the horrific scene in front of me, but I can't put off trying to figure out what happened here. Finally gaining enough courage, I lean the shovel up against the outside of the bus and step over Sam's remains to look inside.
The bus flipped onto it's right side, so I'm walking across windows, peeking into each of the seats that I pass.
Three more bodies: one of a girl named Tammy, one of a boy named Josh, and one I can't even recognize. Part of my mind is screaming at me, but I force it to calm down, and look closer at what's left of my once classmates.
They clearly didn't die from the wreck -- just Sam's corpse could have told me that. Neither though, did they seem to die from the monsters I killed. Those monsters, and any other wild animal that I can think of that would be able to kill multiple people, have claws and teeth. They kill through tearing and ripping, and I would imagine would create a corpse similar to what I found behind the shed.
Each of the students on the bus, however, has no cuts on them that I can see. Sam's midsection and arm are completely crushed, as well as the head of the unidentified corpse. Tammy's neck bends at an unnatural angle, and I can't seem to find any killing wounds on Josh's body, although the fly landing on his open eye leaves no doubt to me of whether or not he is dead. Each of my fellow students, with the exception of Sam, seem to be crouching in the corners of their seats, as if they were hiding from something when they died.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
And while each of their left arms is covered in the same string of 0s, curiously, the palms on their left hands are different. Josh has no markings on his palm, but Tammy's palm is covered with a large 50. I am unable to get a better look at the palm of the unidentified boy, and am not curious enough to adjust his body to examine it closer.
Holding in a gag that's been building in me for a while, I decide I've seen enough. Grabbing the only intact, unburnt backpack I can find still on the bus, I head back to the rear exit, carefully stepping around Sam's corpse. I assume there will be more backpacks and supplies in the storage area of the bus, but I'm not sure I'll be able to reach them with the bus on its side.
As I step from the bus, I turn to look at the tree sitting in the middle of the road behind the bus.
That's...weird.
I assume that must have been what the bus swerved to avoid which caused the subsequent crash, but I specifically remember not seeing anything that could have caused it earlier. How could I have missed this tree? Sure, it isn't the tallest tree and doesn't have too many leaves, but it is not by any means small, maybe fifteen feet tall, and thick, with each of the branches about the size of my head at the base.
And who would have planted it here? There's no way it could grow here naturally, in the center of the road. The roots extend five feet in every direction around the tree, thick and halfway above ground. There's no way this tree could have grown up fast enough to avoid being run over as a sapling.
My heart starts to beat fast inside my chest. Something isn't right here. I slowly reach down to grab the shovel from next to me and drop the backpack. As I do, I notice how quiet the surrounding woods seems to be. The normal chirping birds and buzzing of insects throughout my earlier hike is no more. Perhaps that is simply from the proximity to so many corpses, but I'm not so sure. Only the gentle swaying of the tree's limbs in the breeze breaks the unnatural stillness.
Wait...breeze? None of the other trees on either side of the road are swaying. Suddenly frantic, I dash away from the strange tree to the side of the road.
The instant I start to move the slowly swaying branches spring into motion, the topmost limbs swinging down to impact the dirt where I was just standing. The roots seem to writhe on the ground as the trunk is lifted into the air, and the tree -- or whatever it is -- starts to move towards me.
What is this?! I sprint in the opposite direction. Unfortunately, it is away from my wheelbarrow of stuff, but I'm not concerned about this at all for the moment.
Reaching the side of the road, I glance back to see the tree-monster is following me. But...slowly. The roots are writhing along the ground, inching the tree along as the branches stretch in my direction, seeming to reach out for me. It looks strange, seeing a tree travel along the road, its movements strangely similar to those of an octopus crawling along the ground.
This...is probably what killed my fellow students, I think to myself. The giant branches whipping through the air would be more than enough to bludgeon a person to death, especially someone without any Numbers. It would also explain why there are only four corpses on the bus. Anyone who managed to get off of the bus would easily be able to outrun this monster. Only those trapped in their seats, unwilling or unable to flee, would be in danger from the tree.
I feel a hot surge of anger towards the tree thing. I probably wouldn't call Josh, Tammy, or Sam my friends, but they were all nice people, acquaintances and fellow students who didn't deserve to die, especially not such a violent death, trapped and bludgeoned by a tree-monster.
But my anger quickly burns out. Survival is first. As much as I would like to avenge my fellow students, or at the very least, give them a proper burial, that can wait until I made it back to town. And then I can return, with authorities, maybe a flamethrower, and gain the vengeance I desire, putting my acquaintances to rest properly.
Facing the tree, I consider my options. I need to go back for my supplies. Running around the tree is no issue -- it is only moving at a slow walking pace -- but passing it by again with the wheelbarrow on the narrow road is an entirely different, and more dangerous, prospect. After all, my speed with the wheelbarrow, on level ground, is barely faster than the plodding tree. Probably slower when I'm going uphill.
I take a few steps into the forest, looking behind me to see how the tree will react. As it nears the edge of the road, the branches that stretch to either side of the trunk seem to constrict into a line, enabling it to fit between the trunks. It crawls its first few feet into the forest, and I take a few steps further, about fifteen meters away.
Success! It is following me. All I need to do now is lead it far enough away from the road that I will have enough time to retrieve my wheelbarrow and be gone before it ever has a chance to respond.
What happens next is perhaps the slowest, yet highest stakes, game of tag ever played. Always looking over my shoulder, worried that the tree is hiding some heretofore unseen skill, I make sure to keep around twenty meters between myself and the tree-monster. The tree-monster itself is moving at a bit slower pace than it was on the road, having some trouble navigating between the trunks of other trees.
It is a very strange thing, the contrast between my racing heart and my casual, ambling pace. And it continues for about an hour. By the end, I am sure that my hair will be white simply from the stress of having a murderous tree-monster thing always within a stones' throw of my location. I am constantly worried that I'll trip and twist an ankle, or be attacked by another of the rabid dog monster things, or be hit by lightning, or some other equally likely event that will cost me the thirty seconds needed for the tree-monster to catch up and end my life, but nothing ever happens.
Finally, convinced that I've given myself enough space to be safely gone by the time it makes it back to the road, I break into a fast jog, run a loop around the monster, and head back to the road and my supplies.
S: 52
D: 28
W: 29 (+1)
I: 26
C: 25
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