Six Years Later

The summer sun beat down on Jonas as he trudged through the apricorn orchard, sweat dripping down his back. He wiped his brow before replacing his straw hat atop his head and grabbing the handles of the wheelbarrow once more. Pignite trailed behind him, haphazardly clearing away pests with small embers. Flint brought up the rear, barking excitedly at the fleeing bug-type pokémon and sniffing at the burnt patches of grass Pignite left behind.

“The apricorns keep getting smaller,” Jonas sighed, taking in the withered trees and stunted fruit. Their thin skin was pale and papery. Another bad harvest. Jonas plucked one of the sad-looking pink fruits, turning it over in his hand. It had several dark spots, apparently scorched by the sun, and was hardly big enough to make a pokéball.

“Pathetic,” he murmured, shaking his head and tossing the apricorn into the wheelbarrow with the rest. Flint whined in agreement, and Jonas frowned. The pokémon’s ribs were becoming a little too prominent for his liking. Jonas’s father emerged from between rows, his weathered face wet with sweat.

“Chin up, son! We’re Brookses. A little dry spell isn’t enough to get us down! Besides, it can’t last forever.” He put on a brave front, but Jonas could tell his father was worried. This “little dry spell,” as he’d called it, had taken root in Canis Creek the previous summer and hadn’t let up. Even the creek for which the town was named had been low lately, and Jonas worried it would dry up completely soon. No amount of grit and determination could end the brutal drought.

His father took off his work gloves and hat, fanning himself with the wide straw brim. Jonas cringed, realizing how similarly they were dressed. Simple linen shirts and trousers, work gloves, and straw hats. Their clothes were certainly far from fashionable, but they were practical and, more importantly, they were cheap.

Jonas smiled back at his father. He knew he was just trying to keep his spirits up, but Jonas was more realistic.

He thought back to his childhood, when the trees had been heavy with a rainbow of fruits. Branches sagging beneath the weight were low enough to the ground that even Jonas could reach them. He had run through the orchard, snagging the low-hanging apricorns and chucking them at Pignite, pretending to capture him. Now, the few fruits to be found were scorched, dry, and small. Looking out over their meager yield, Jonas wondered if the children of Canis Creek even had enough hope left to pretend.

Things were getting worse, and it seemed like everyone’s troubles were the same. Money was harder to come by, businesses were closing, and belts were getting pulled tighter. Skwovet in the grain barrels, mareep escaping enclosures. Jonas looked past the orchard, toward the horizon, where the factories of Nova City belched smoke from their smokestacks.

Maybe…

He banished the thought from his mind. He wouldn’t know the first thing about surviving in Nova City, and factory work was a foreign idea to him. He belonged out here, under the sky. Jonas had always dreamed of adventure. To climb to the tops of the skyscrapers of Nova City, or to witness the majesty of Andromeda Falls. To simply stand on the docks of Lodestar City and look out at the ocean. Seeing Nova City was one thing, but living there? Working there? That was hardly the life Jonas wanted. Not that it mattered. His family needed him here, and that was that.

“Hmm?” Jonas asked, suddenly becoming aware of the fact that his father had been talking to him.

“I said, ‘These apricorns aren’t going to harvest themselves,’ son. Sometimes I wonder about you.” His father smiled and shook his head, amused by his son’s daydreaming. “Let’s get back to work.”

Jonas loaded the pitiful collection of fruit onto their wagon in somber silence. The paint was chipped and flaky, once a vibrant green, and nails were coming loose in too many places, but it still managed, and Jonas was thankful for that small victory. He huffed with a mixture of exhaustion and frustration as he loaded the last of the apricorns. He patted their old mudbray’s flank, and it stiffly started the trek through town, struggling to pull the weight of the cart, and Jonas wasn’t sure if the groans he heard came from the cart or the pokémon.

The trek through town was thankfully short; their shop was closer to home than the town square, but Jonas still counted a number of businesses between the orchard and the ball shop joining the ranks of those who had closed. The number was small today; only two this week. Doc Felix was still in town, of course, but, as Jonas unloaded apricorns into crates, he couldn’t help wondering if even he would eventually leave.

Old Man Crandall nodded as they passed, his tinkatuff hammering a plowblade into shape.

“Evening, Ethan! Jonas!” he shouted across the street, which was empty save for their wagon. Jonas waved back. “I suppose your ol’ mudbray there’ll be needing new shoes soon? Reckon you’ll come see me when that time comes?”

“I sure hope so, Crandall,” Jonas’s father said without looking up. “I sure hope so.”

The rhythm of the tinkatuff’s hammer faded behind them as the broad, dusty thoroughfare narrowed to rutted farm access lanes. Passing by Forrester’s ranch, Flint squeezed under his fence to chase the tired-looking, dusty tauros, which soon proved to bore him, the tauros not putting forth much effort to avoid his nips as he bounced around their hooves, yipping. He returned to Jonas’s side, where he stayed for the rest of their walk home.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

Behind them, the factories of Nova City poured out their smog, clouding the city’s air, and Jonas’s thoughts along with it.

Nova City…

***

The small dining room of the farmhouse felt heavy with weariness, not just from the long day in the fields but from something else. As Jonas was washing his hands in the basin, he could tell his parents were keeping something from him. He joined them at the scarred wooden table, ladling watery soup into his bowl. The soup was thin—chunks of dry bouffalant meat and diced vegetables floating in a babiri berry broth—and Jonas was incredibly glad his mother was such a good cook. It was barely enough to call a meal, but at least it tasted great.

“Soup’s good, Ma,” he said between mouthfuls, earning a stern look that softened to a smile.

“Thank you, Jonas, but don’t talk with your mouth full.”

Jonas’s father sighed, poking at his soup. Jonas could see the worry plainly on his face. It made him uncomfortable to see his father, a man usually so proud and full of life, looking so defeated.

“Dad… what’s wrong?” He asked, carefully prodding. He knew his father still saw him as a child and didn’t want to burden him with adult problems, but he was already sixteen, and he could help if only he knew how. His father cleared his throat.

“It’s… uh… it’s nothing, Jonas," his father finally choked out.

“Ethan…” Jonas’s mother admonished. Jonas’s father dropped his wooden spoon on the table and sighed deeply.

“The bank sent another letter today, son. Warning about the mortgage. They’re threatening to foreclose if we don’t make a payment soon.” His father continued, “I’ve thought about raising the prices on our balls, but folks are struggling as it is. I can’t possibly burden them further!”

Jonas nodded, understanding the extent of the situation. He had known they were struggling for a while, but he hadn’t thought it was that bad.

“There’s something I’ve been thinking about,” Jonas started haltingly. “What if we got a miltank? She’d give us milk, and we could maybe even breed her with one of Forrester’s tauros! A calf could bring in good money.”

Ethan’s eyes met Jonas's with a mixture of pride and embarrassment on his face.

“I’ve thought about that too, son. But a miltank means money, and that’s something we don’t have.”

Jonas continued his protests, getting louder. “Flint is plenty strong! I could go catch us a wild miltank! I’ve even been working on some pokéballs myself; I wouldn’t even have to take from your stock!”

Flint barked in fierce agreement from underneath the table.

“Jonas, no. That won’t work either. All the wild miltank are out west. Besides, it’s too dangerous. I won’t send you out to solve my problems.”

“But they’re our problems, dad! I live here too!” Jonas shouted, not realizing he had stood up. “Let me help, please! I’ve heard some people are drinking gogoat milk these days. They have to buy it somewhere. We could…”

“Jonas, that’s enough!” It was his mother who interrupted.

Jonas finally realized he was standing and sank back into his chair as his mother continued. “We know you want to help, and we appreciate it. But you’re still our son, and we can’t stand to think of you getting hurt while trying to solve our problems.”

Ethan reached across the table to rest his hand on top of Jonas’s.

“Remember, son,” he said, “we’re Brookses. We get through our problems together.”

***

Later that night, Jonas sat in a creaky wooden rocker on the back porch, watching as Flint bounded after the glowing volbeat and illumise that meandered through the air, their glowing forms tracing shapes in the darkening sky. Their looping dance usually brought a smile to Jonas’s face, but on this evening, nothing could lift the dark cloud from his mind as it churned with his family’s predicament.

A determined spark glinted in the brown of Jonas’s eyes as Flint leaped from the ground after an elusive volbeat that fluttered just out of reach.

“I’ve got to do something,” Jonas said to no one in particular, his words carried away by the evening breeze. The soft glow of Nova City shone on the horizon, a beacon in the distance, calling Jonas to action. Flint sensed the shift in Jonas’s mood and loped over to nuzzle against his leg. Jonas reached down to pet the growlithe, and feeling how thin the pokémon had gotten strengthened his resolve.

“I can’t let this keep going, Flint. I can’t watch this town fall apart!” The growlithe looked up at him with fierce eyes, seeming to understand. Jonas continued. “I have to do something! For Mom and Dad. For you. Heck, for Old Man Crandall!” Rising to his feet, he squared his shoulders, a newfound determination in his voice.

Flint barked triumphantly, leaping from the porch and finally catching an illumise between his jaws. The bug pokémon’s wings buzzed, and she scattered a shimmering powder over Flint, who sneezed and let her go, returning to Jonas’s side.

Jonas stepped into the dark farmhouse, his nerves steeled. “Nova City is only a few days from here. A week at most,” he chattered excitedly, packing a few meager necessities into his rucksack. “I can find a job there, send money back. I’ll show Dad I can help. I’ll make a real difference.” He looked around his room for last-minute supplies, stuffing in an extra sock for Flint to chew on. He was leaving the room when he remembered.

“Jonas, you idiot!” He half whispered, half shouted. He crossed back to his desk and grabbed the apricorn balls he had been working on. Two regular balls and a lure ball. They weren’t much, but they would have to do.

He scrawled a note to his parents and left it on the kitchen table, then headed out into the night with Flint trotting along at his heels. The dry soil crunched underfoot as he walked up the narrow lane away from his home. He turned to take one last look at the old farmhouse. It seemed so small now that his horizons were expanding rapidly.

“Just hang on a little longer, Dad,” Jonas whispered. “I’ll find us a way out of this mess. I’ll make you proud, I promise. We’re Brookses; we get through our problems together.” And with that, Jonas turned onto the rutted lane leading away from Canis Creek.