Liftoff 1.2

April 2015

If the world warmed up in the past two months, I didn't notice. Even in mid-April, temperatures never rose above forty-five degrees during high noon and fell well below freezing at night. The cold was so bad that I'd stretched a sixteen day hike from Bend to Tahoe to a solid two months. Sometimes, it was all I could do to huddle inside my thermal sleeping bag with my oversized ferret for most of the day.

Despite the snow and ice and the drastically shorter window of time I could spend hiking each day, I'd chosen to make for higher ground for one primary reason: solitude.

The last I checked, thousands had migrated south from Portland, Seattle, and the like, settling in small towns that were woefully ill-equipped to handle the sudden influx. Bend had been better thanks to the presence of several key pokemon, but even they were succumbing to infighting and supply shortages before I dipped.

I remembered when the bombs first dropped, a mountaineer with even the tacit loyalty of a pokemon was eagerly welcomed. With Rocket's help, I helped hunt and forage as well as rescue travelers. As population shot up and food supplies slowly dwindled, my presence became less and less desirable. No matter how many times I went out, there was only so much prey within walking distance of the town after all.

So, seeing the writing on the wall, I'd left. I didn't need them any more than they needed me. I'd learned all the skills I needed to survive already.

I figured that if there were two cities in Northern California that would have definitely been hit by the bombs, they were San Francisco and Sacramento, the most populated city and the state capital. I didn't know much about where the bombs dropped, comms cut shortly after, but fallout traveled like any other gas. Safety videos said about six miles.

I was probably being overly cautious, but the increased elevation of the mountain routes made for clean air and water if nothing else.

Oh, and no people. Fuck people.

Maybe there will come a day when society reestablishes itself, but now? A mere nine months after nukes dropped? It was anarchy, every man for himself. I wanted no part of it. Fucking off to a lake resort where I could hunt and forage on my lonesome without fearing anyone stabbing me in the back sounded pretty damn great in comparison.

"Let's stop here," I told Rocket. The sun was peeking out above the treetops but I estimated I had only about two hours of light left before the tall pines made it impossible to see.

Rocket led me a little ways off the trail, to a clearing hidden behind a patch of gooseberry bushes. He then faced away from the wind and began to dig a ditch roughly a foot lower than the surroundings without prompting, our evening ritual an easy routine by now.

I had no idea what the hell I was thinking when I tried sending him away. Truthfully, he was the primary reason I was in good health. It wasn't impossible to survive on my own but without him, I'd likely have been severely malnourished, possibly driven insane from loneliness.

Linoone were never my favorite pokemon when I played the games but they sure as hell were now. Dig to make windbreaks and fire pits and reveal rabbit warrens. Odor Sleuth to locate berries, nuts, mushrooms, and edible roots. Pin Missile to hunt small game and strafe the air against overeager spearow. Utility, warmth at night, decent firepower, Rocket provided it all. He was no dragonite, but I quickly found that he was just about the most useful pokemon I could have as a backpacker. Hell, now that he'd evolved, he was taking care of me more than the other way round.

I laid out a mat against the ground to keep the dew off my sleeping bag before setting my sleeping bag atop it. I then hung a tarp across two trees so I could have a roof over my head in case it rained. I tugged on each end until the tarp was level with the ground, which put it a foot or two above the ditch that was my bed for the night. Rocket knew to cover the tarp in snow and brush; it kept away any nosy people. Or god forbid, ursaring.

My bed set for the night, I went about gathering firewood and making dinner. This at least was something Rocket couldn't do, not unless he grew opposable thumbs.

I made for us a stew of dried turkey, some mushrooms and Jerusalem artichoke we'd forged along the way, a few handfuls of rice, and some of the canned vegetables I'd brought from Bend. I'd stuffed my backpack with canned fruits and vegetables knowing I could get enough protein from the wild, but after two months, I was starting to run low and wasn't looking forward to pine bark jerky. It was a pity the gooseberries were unripe; the grape-like berries could be used for some decent sauce. They typically ripened in June but who knew when temperatures would rise.

I portioned out a hefty serving of a whole turkey leg, mushrooms, and tubers for Rocket. The stew was missing a lot of salt but it there wasn't much I could do about that. I'd run out a week ago after using the last of it to preserve some fish Rocket caught for us. Still, the unique flavor of the wild artichoke and mushrooms balanced out the gaminess of the turkey and made for a tolerable meal.

"We're running low on supplies," I said as I ran one hand through Rocket's thick fur.

"Linoone?" he gestured to the backpack. What used to be thirty-six pounds was a lot lighter now with most of the rice and vegetables gone.

"Yeah. We won't starve; we could forage just fine, but it'll be better to have a balanced diet."

"Lin…"

I pulled out the map. It was scrawled with all the things I'd seen, some good and others bad. "We're a day or two from Lake Tahoe. It's the largest freshwater lake in the Sierra Nevada Mountains and has Carson City right next to it towards the east."

"Lin?"

"Am I going into the city?"

"Oone."

"No. Absolutely not… at least for now," I amended. "I don't know what the situation looks like there. Let's take a wait and see approach. There ought to be ski resorts and hobby shacks all around the lake anyway. No need to go directly into the city."

"Linoone," he huffed. He didn't care much one way or the other. Instead, he tapped his claw against two black Xs on the map.

Dungeons. I'd found two of them, one right on the trail here and another when I'd gotten turned around for a few days and had to find my way by star. There was no rule that said they'd only crop up near dense human populations after all. In fact, if I remembered right, the Brits found one near one of their Antarctic laboratories in 2012, not that there was any attempt to clear it with the numbers present in the fucking south pole.

Dungeon gates were shimmering, spherical lights that hovered in the air at about chest-height. Each was surrounded by nine golden rings that orbited the spheres in seemingly random patterns. Each golden ring had two poles, with a colored gem engraved with some sigil or other. Writing that all the world's best linguists together could not make heads or tails of were carved into the gold.

And of course, the dungeon gates were indestructible. Everything from pokemon attacks to an Abrams tank firing on it in one memorable video failed miserably.

It all felt… artificial, created with intent. Eighteen gems. Eighteen types. Golden hoops that looked eerily similar to the one worn by the Alpha. The connection wasn't lost on anyone.

Question was, why?

I shook my head. The nearest dungeon was only a few hours northwest. I could go, but I hesitated. It wasn't worth it. Caution was the name of the game. Dungeons could have wildly different difficulties and clearing conditions and it was impossible to know anything about a specific dungeon until you dove headfirst. Entire military squads died in them.

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

Theoretically, it wasn't impossible for Rocket and I to clear a dungeon. Ziegler's dungeon, the very first cleared, was just "reach the goal." He apparently ran for his life from wild houndoom but that was easier than "kill the pack."

"You want to try a dungeon?" I asked my partner incredulously.

"Lin, linoone," he chuffed back. He dragged a claw from the dungeon to the city. "Oone. Linoone."

"You're right. Clearing one might give us a new friend. Maybe even something I can bargain with. Prove I'm an awakened, a real trainer. Maybe even get apricorns or berries or something else to show I can be relied on…"

"Lin."

"But it's also a huge risk. You're strong and I'm…" I tapped my crossbow. "Not helpless at least… But what if the clear condition is to fight everything inside? I don't fancy our chances against a full pack. Or to fight a single strong pokemon like a machamp?"

"Oone…"

"Fear is good. Fear is smart," I told him. "I marked them so we could come back if we feel desperate enough."

"Linoone," he nodded.

"We'll see about raiding a small grocery store or ski lodge tomorrow."

I saved what was left of the stew for breakfast tomorrow by burying it under the dirt and snow. The clamp-on lid would keep ants from getting into it. After washing out Rocket's bowl with snow, the two of us started to train.

I practiced my marksmanship against a tree until the light became too dark to see by. Rocket worked quietly in a corner of the clearing, digging in and out like the world's largest meerkat. He'd been at it for weeks now, the ground type move far too useful not to learn.

There were other moves that linoone could learn: Play Rough, Belly Drum, Seed Bomb, and the ever-precious Extreme Speed came to mind from my competitive days.

Then, as the darkness settled into the forest, we snuggled together in the sleeping bag and let sleep claim us.

X

I woke up long before the sun poked its head above the treeline. The nights were long in the forest and I had to get packing if I wanted to make use of as much available daylight as possible. I gently shoved Rocket.

"Up, Rocket, it's morning." I heard him grown under his breath before nuzzling deeper into the sleeping bag. With all the fur he had, one would think he'd be less skittish about the cold but one would be wrong. He hated leaving the warmth of our burrow even more than I did.

I eventually got fed up with the dozing ferret and flicked him on the nose, getting a half-hearted chomp for my trouble. Fucker's teeth were sharp.

"Fine, be that way," I told him. "I for one need to piss. And make breakfast."

After pissing into a bush and washing my hands with snow, I dug up the stew pot from the ground; the damn thing was basically a nugget of ice and fat inside an aluminum pot now. I set it over a fire and began to clear the brush and snow from our overhead tarp.

We ate in companionable silence. Rocket hated mornings and wouldn't be in any mood to socialize until well into the day. On the other hand, these mornings were my favorite part of the day. The forest was quiet now, with an austere solemness that placed me in a contemplative mood. This twilight was the time of transition, when nocturnal predators headed home to nest while many others cycled out to greet the sun. It almost felt like there was a truce here, a certain respect paid to the changing day.

I knew that wasn't true of course. Mountain lions hunted just fine in the twilight hours and I had to assume many pokemon did as well. Still, I loved the way the sunlight peeked between the trees, slowly warming the world and reminding me that I'd survived another night past societal collapse.

I washed the pot using a wire scrub and some melted snow before getting ready to leave. I wasn't desperate enough to head into the city yet, but with my food supplies running low, I'd likely have to keep an eye out for any waystations or lodges where I could restock. Of course, such lodges catering to travelers or resort-goers were also likely to have other bare necessities like basic first aid kits, thermal clothing, and toothpaste and other hygiene items. If I was lucky, one of them would have a backup generator and a working shower still.

I ran a hand through my hair and grimaced at the oiliness of it. I was at the stage where I'd happily maim someone for a hot shower. I'd never felt like this before, even when I was hiking the Appalachian Trail, but then I'd had the full expectation of returning to societal comforts at the end.

"Ugh, heading south past multiple latitudinal lines so I could take a fucking shower, Rocket. Look how far I've fallen," I joked half-seriously. I slung my newly packed bag over my shoulder. "Come on, let's go see if we can stumble on something good."

"Linoone," he barked, before running a tunnel through a particularly thick bed of snow and coming back out mostly clean. "Lin."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm jealous. Some of us don't have thick fur to keep us toasty in an ice bath."

"Lin."

"Smug fucker."

"Lin."

"I heard that…"

X

As we walked, I began to see signs of human habitation. Despite the wilderness around us, humans naturally weren't good trailblazers; we typically stuck to the trailheads established before the world went to shit. I saw the painted bark used as trail markers and the occasional broken stalks of nearby bushes that implied a more recent passage.

It all made me cautious. My crossbow was loaded and I made sure to keep my knife within easy reach. Ever since the asshole who tried to mug me over a boar two months ago, I'd had Rocket keep an eye out for humans. He knew now to treat them as threats and predators to be avoided, much like a bear.

We were fortunate. We met no one as we made our way to a ranger station, the Sierraville Ranger Station according to my map. To be fair, company would have been more surprising; most people would have chosen to go south, or at least go down the mountain to a slightly warmer elevation.

The forest rapidly gave way to concrete roads, iced over and littered with debris now that there was no one to maintain them. I took that as a good sign. To be safe, I hugged the treeline as more of the town came into view.

I'd picked Sierraville for my supply run because it was a "one main street" kind of town, the sort with one post office and a country store that doubled as the singular gas station for miles around. I knew nothing else about the place but small towns like this were likely to either swell hilariously like Bend, or be abandoned altogether.

"What do you smell?" I asked Rocket. "People?"

"Linoone," he chuffed, shaking his head.

I nodded in acceptance. As much as I'd prefer otherwise, I did need supplies and Rocket's senses were many times greater than my own. I trusted him to keep us safe.

"Okay. First things first, the country store. It's probably the first place people emptied if they stuck around for a bit before evacuating but it's worth a shot anyway. If we can't get any canned food from that, we'll head to what few restaurants and schools there are here before we start ransacking random houses. Then we'll see about going to the ranger station and post office. They might have a working radio or news from the past two months we've been off grid. Maybe even a gun someone forgot about if we're lucky."

"Linoone," he growled low, not largely caring one way or the other. It was mostly the food he'd taken a shine to.

It took us only ten minutes to find the Sierraville Service & Country Store. It was a gas station that doubled as the store and charged a ruinous $4 per gallon. A sign snidely informed all passersby that it was the only gas station in over thirty miles of "tranquil mountain roads filled with nature's bounty." If that wasn't extortion, I didn't know what was.

The whole place was abandoned and though it wasn't unreasonable to think a store like this would have a backup generator somewhere, that wasn't to say it had been turned on or the fuel maintained in the past year.

I ignored the gas station pumps and Redbox vending machine outside and stepped into the store. Sure enough, nothing worked. There were no lights, no heat, or that pervading hum of electricity. The fruit bowl on the counter had long since been picked through and scraps of bananas, oranges, and apples littered the cash register.

I wandered the aisles. The nonperishable things, such as a rack of beanies, magazines, and other gas station staples, were remarkably undamaged, the building acting as a ward against the weather. I took the chance to replace my own beanies with the few that were still on display, the others most likely having been taken by people in need. Mine were filthy with dirt, sweat, and grease by now and it'd be nice to at least have the facsimile of being clean again.

I noticed that some of the toilet paper, the ones that came in packs of three for truckers and RV campers, had been torn into, ripped into shreds for something or other. I wondered if birds or mice got into it for their nests. Some of the missing beanies could probably be attributed to the same.

The shelves of refrigerated goods were largely whole, with everything from frozen pizzas and hot pockets to cans of coke and beer on display. Even without electricity, the frigid temperature meant they were almost certainly still good.

"Rocket, we'll be eating good for a while," I told my partner. These weren't substitute for a good diet but I had to admit, I missed artery-clogging grease and carbs.

Unfortunately, I couldn't say the same for the soup and canned foods aisle. There wasn't a single thing left there save for the condiments like squeeze bottles of mustard and ketchup. I'd just have to look around the restaurants.

I got around to the frozen food aisle again to see if I'd missed anything, maybe vitamin drinks or something, but noticed that many of the ready-meals had holes in them as though they'd been gnawed on.

"Shit," I swore. We weren't alone.

Author's Note

Alright, so here's part two of three. Again, no real plans. Was an interesting writing challenge.

Have an econ fact: Back in 2015, gas prices sank to the lowest they'd been since 2009 at $2.43 per gallon by national average. Imagine that, $4 used to be "ruinous."

Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.