Liftoff 1.4

April 2015

I headed back outside to load up on whatever the good folks of Sierraville left behind and began my trek towards Lake Tahoe. Carnelian Bay was, according to the travel guide I picked up from the ranger station, an unincorporated community made up of about 500 people. The guide advertised lakeside sports like fishing, speedboating, sailing, canoeing, and whatnot, all things I would've loved to try my hand at under better circumstances.

Unfortunately, I knew little of the new town I'd be joining. The letter Ranger Swanson left in his office was dated for mid-March, and it was nearing the tail end of April, so they would've had five or six weeks to get set up. A lot could change in five or six weeks.

He'd said that Truckee, a town that boasted 16,000 people, lost half its population since the bombs fell. A few died, but most likely just moved on. A town that size on a mountaintop? They were probably short on food without any supplies being driven up.

And then there was the snorlax. I read the letter again. It bothered me that he said it "wasn't a problem anymore." What the hell did that mean? Did they kill it? Drive it off with a big enough injury that it wouldn't be back? Neither option seemed likely, which meant he was underestimating the pokemon.

Of the 8,000 remaining people in Truckee, how many survived the snorlax? How many were willing to stick around after that when the food shortage went from worrying to critical? Was there any infighting? Divisions based on their opinions of pokemon?

And that was discounting whatever issues had cropped up among the residents of Carnelian Bay or other small towns during this time. Added together, a town made up of everyone on this side of Lake Tahoe should have a population north of 17,000. I had a sneaking suspicion that it wouldn't even be a quarter that.

I ripped open a bag of beef jerky and tossed a piece to Rocket. Smoky teriyaki, way too sweet, but a good source of protein on the go. Rocket caught it in midair with a happy bark. He'd developed a taste for cooked food since I'd met him. He especially seemed to gravitate towards smoky and savory foods, especially ones that had a spicy or peppery aftertaste. It was why I'd settled on the smoked teriyaki over the regular stuff in the first place.

"Rocket," I called.

"Lin?"

"We're going to start training. Like an actual pokemon trainer. I don't have a ball for you but we're partners now."

"Linoone," he chuffed, as if to say, "No fucking shit."

"And that means figuring out all the moves you know, thinking about how to use them tactically, picking up new moves, and making sure you grow stronger…"

"Lin."

"That's a lot of work, Rocket. I won't lie to you. I used to play games about pokemon, but that doesn't make me a trainer. All the things that got glossed over with stats and 'optimal movesets' and whatnot, they're all things I have no experience with."

It was sad, but also the truth. What did I know about nutrition? Or veterinary medicine? Or animal training? Or combat operations and small group tactics? He could do better in the hands of a vet. Or even a dog trainer.

Rocket skipped ahead and turned, swishing his considerable length through the snow. He stared me down with big, brown eyes and barked. "Linoone. Lin."

I didn't speak pokemon, but I knew what he meant. The conviction in his voice was unmistakable: I chose you.

I smiled. I wasn't one of those fancy Awakened. I had no education worth mentioning here. I didn't even have a fucking ball for him. But in the moment, none of it mattered: I had my starter and I'd make him the best fucking linoone in the world.

X

I spent the first several hours of our trek to Carnelian Bay shouting out move names I could vaguely remember linoone using. As it turned out, Rocket knew a fair number of moves, though none I'd consider "high power."

He of course knew Tail Whip, Growl, Tackle, Headbutt, and Fury Swipes, the basic normal type moves. I'd also been heavily relying on Odor Sleuth to find things for us so I didn't even bother testing that. To my delight, he'd picked up Slash along the way, a move that left deep wounds in trees more reminiscent of grizzlies than an oversized ferret. Beyond those, he only had Pin Missile and Dig for coverage options.

Though the games weren't exactly helpful, they did provide one benefit: I knew what the "strongest" linoone set looked like. The most "competitive" linoone sets boasted Extreme Speed alongside Belly Drum, Seed Bomb, and Shadow Claw. It was powerful. With a single turn to set up, it could rip through entire teams with a +2 priority STAB move.

I imagined what it might look like in real life. Rocket could be the embodiment of speed, a blur vanishing from sight to remove threats before they could even react, before they even knew he was there. It was a tantalizing thought, something straight out of a shonen anime, something worthwhile to work towards.

I promptly threw it away. That was a pie-in-the-sky goal. Perhaps later, but for now, I had bigger concerns.

No, my priority was survival. We'd come across dead pokemon before and had fought our fair share of spearow and poochyena. One thing stood out: There was no Nurse Joy. Never mind a subsidized, internationally available network of pokemon centers, the US government didn't even exist.

No medicine, no animal or pokemon care, no nothing, not even a single fucking oran berry. Which meant even a minor injury could literally cost us our lives in the form of infections or poor treatment options.

"Range is king," I declared the truth of this world. Man conquered the world by throwing pointy sticks at shit far bigger than us and I saw no reason to not do the same. "Range lets us abuse surprise attacks and cover. Range give us the time to strike again or back off. Range lets us avoid injuries that could cripple us otherwise. Range. Is. King."

"Linoone," he nodded understandingly.

"Which means I need to get my crossbow fixed as soon as possible, even if I have to pay through the nose for it. Until then, you're going to be doing the bulk of our hunting for us using Pin Missile."

"Lin."

"As we walk, I want you to work on target practice. Quantity is well and good, but sometimes, we need to unload on something specific. Focus on narrowing the spread of Pin Missile as much as you can, accuracy over width."

"Linoone."

"On top of that, you're going to work on Quick Attack and Dig. The faster you are, the less likely you are to be injured. And if you can avoid attacks or ambush a target even in the middle of a fight, even better."

"Linoone-lin."

I pointed to a tree roughly twenty feet away. "Good. Dig there and pop up just in front of the tree. I'll time you. Go!"

"Linoone!"

X

I woke up early so I could drill Rocket on some moves before feasting on a frozen pizza from the country store. It wasn't good, but after months of game, a bit of junk food made me feel like a human being again. Or a college student, which was almost as good.

We were a few hours in when I let out a soft whistle. Rocket knew it to mean we should stop. I gestured towards a pair of ruffled grouses that sat about sixteen yards away. They were one of the few species I could identify on sight, mostly by the black band on their tail-feathers. "One for each of us."

"Lin," he yipped quietly.

I pulled out the pistol Ranger Swanson left me, a Springfield M1911, and lined up a shot. "Go grab one after I shoot."

"Linoone…"

The crack of gunfire filled the forest air. The sound of a hundred pairs of wings taking flight followed as startled birds took to the air. I groaned as the bird I was aiming at took off. Dark blood dripped against its wing and I gave chase. It likely wouldn't get far and, as a hunter's courtesy, I felt obligated to finish what I started. Minimize suffering and all that.

"Rocket, hunt!" I called.

He let out a fierce bark and dashed off, Quick Attack leaving trails of white behind him. The second grouse managed to climb a solid nine feet before Rocket struck like… a rocket… to bring it down.

Then instead of helping me, he sat right back on his haunches and laughed as I chased a crippled grouse through the forest.

On such a small bird, a wound on its wing was crippling. Still, it took the better part of fifteen minutes for blood loss to slow it down. Not wanting to waste bullets, I nailed it with a rock and snapped its neck, wincing at the dull crack. It was sadly something I'd had to get used to this past year.

Rocket, still grinning like a loon with the grouse in his mouth, trotted over. I gave him the stink-eye. "You could've helped."

"Lin-linoone," he said with a shrug. No, I didn't speak pokemon, but his smug mug was all the translation I needed.

"Laugh, only one of us has opposable thumbs. Who'll cook your food now, huh?"

"Liinnn," he pouted. How a creature with the face of a ferret could pout was beyond me, but he managed somehow.

I reached down and scratched his ears. "One more thing you can't do, you oversized scarf."

"Linoone," he grumbled, nipping my fingers just enough so I could feel teeth.

We stopped there for lunch. Rocket dug us his customary fire pit and began to stuff branches into the hole for fuel. I'd have to place the tinder myself and tidy up the pit so no stray sparks started anything, but it was appreciated anyway.

While he did that, I sliced the heads off both grouses with skill born of experience and went about defeathering them. I grimaced as I slid my hunting knife in and dragged out their innards. Save for the liver, I fed them the offals to Rocket; he considered them something of a treat. I washed my hands and knife in melted snow before tidying up the fire pit.

The grouses were fairly small. With the extended winter, the fat deposits they built up over the fall were all but gone. Take away the downy feathers and they reminded me of Cornish game hens, a whole bird about enough to serve a grown man, or linoone. I spiced them with smoked paprika, salt, and dried rosemary, all looted from town, and wrapped them in foil with some spare garlic cloves.

I set them next to the fire, eyeballing the distance so they wouldn't burn. A can of Busch's baked beans, partly opened so steal wouldn't burst the can, also joined them. They'd be done in forty minutes or so, so long as I remembered to rotate the birds every ten minutes. My lips parted in a bittersweet smile as I remembered biting into raw bird more than once. Life truly was the best teacher, and if I didn't learn, well, life was happy to repeat the lesson.

I tossed a few harder woods into the fire, they'd burn longer, and dusted myself off. I gathered up some pinecones and palmed one in hand. "Right, Rocket! We've got forty minutes. Let's train!"

"Linoone!"

"Pin Missile!" I called as I chucked the pinecone as far as I could.

"Lin!"

His fur bristled angrily, making him look twice his size. Thinking about it, he looked a lot like one of those cats at a groomer's that just came out of the bath and had its fur floofed. He would've looked adorable if it wasn't for the lines of aura that formed white highlights through his fur. He lunged forward half a step as if to give his fur a head start.

Arcs of faintly glowing white needles lanced out into the sky. A lot of it went wide, Pin Missile just wasn't meant to be a precision technique, but enough struck the pinecone and left it looking like one of those mini cacti that a professor I had liked to keep on his desk.

"Good job, bud," I praised him. I hefted another. "Again!"

"Linoone!"

We practiced like that while the grouses roasted. Every ten throws or so, I used a stick to adjust the foil packets, turning them so they got an even blast of heat on all sides. Halfway through, I had Rocket switch to using Quick Attack and Slash to chase down the pinecones. I didn't want him to only be a ranged hindrance; he'd need to learn to scrap up close once in a while and getting in quickly so he could finish off a weakened opponent seemed like a good plan.

Forty minutes later, we had our lunch. I peeled back the foil with tongs and smiled as Rocket leaned in close. It made me wonder sometimes if his parents had been trained pokemon. Generational memories that passed down moves were proven fact with pokemon so why not a preference for certain foods? I knew nothing about biology beyond that pokemon laughed at every natural law.

I slapped his snout with the tongs when he lunged for a bite. "Not ready yet," I chided. "You gotta let meat rest. It'll just burn you otherwise."

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"Linoo," he crooned pitiably.

I sat back with a satisfied sigh. It was the simple pleasures like this that kept me going. Training with Rocket reminded me of throwing a stick with my dog, albeit with far deadlier intent. Then again, wasn't "playing fetch" just a watered down version of "go get me that duck?" All dogs started as hunting aides after all. In that sense, the relationship between Rocket and I wasn't so different.

X

The pair of us made it to Carnelian Bay in two days while traveling six hours per day. The bulk of our time was spent resting and training Rocket. I wanted to trust that the town would be a decent place to plant roots, but desperate people did stupid things. To that end, I wanted to be as rested as possible before walking into somewhere potentially dangerous.

Rocket advanced quickly, enough that I was jealous that I had no aura. What would it feel like to be an Awakened? To feel the same invigorating energy Rocket felt? Or to learn and practice the same movies that made pokemon such a dominating force?

I got to see firsthand the absurd growth rate of a pokemon that bothered to train. Once upon a time, I considered it within the realm of possibility for a decently athletic grown man, me, to fight off a pokemon. With a bit of luck, ingenuity, and the right caliber bullet, I could do it. Even the dex agreed with me, I thought: Ancient warriors in the pokemon world used skarmory feathers as swords, which meant humans at one point fought as soldiers, right?

Two days. In just two days, Rocket utterly shattered that misconception. I realized that the emphasis in skarmory's infamous dex entry shouldn't be on "warriors," but on "times long past." As in, they didn't exist anymore for very good reason.

I didn't know if it was proof that a true trainer-pokemon bond was forming between us, but after seeing my murder-ferret snipe down a pidgeotto and rip in half for trying to steal his smoked jerky, I had no faith in my ability to face down a trained pokemon. He'd gone from a dangerous animal with magic fur-missiles to a precise assassin.

It wasn't any single thing either. He didn't spontaneously learn Extreme Speed, or any other move for that matter. He simply refined what he had under my direction. He picked up cues, learned to associate a few whistles and finger snaps to specific maneuvers and tactics. He learned to time his Digs to optimize his positioning and catch his opponents off guard.

Two days was all it took to give me a healthy respect for a pokemon's growth potential, at least where combat was concerned, and a wary fear of people like Steven Stone. Already, if I so chose, I thought I could easily order Rocket to wipe out a small settlement on his lonesome. So then, what could a Champion's team do?

I shook my head to dismiss the thought. Carnelian Bay and Lake Tahoe stretched out before me; it wouldn't do to go in with plans to murder everyone.

I snorted. Isolation really brought out the teenage edgelord egomaniac in me.

The road, iced over and filled with slush, opened out to overlook a walled settlement. A line of trees had been cleared to provide the watchmen an open line of sight. The wall was only eight feet tall but I could see how it'd deter casual attackers. I could see a single gate and two watchmen standing atop the wall on either side. Right below the wall was a ditch, no doubt where the dirt had come from. Considering they'd managed to build this wall all around the town in just a month, it was impressive.

Seeing no other option, I walked out into the cleared area and put away my pistol. It wouldn't do any good at this range anyway.

"Rocket, to me. Stick close," I told him. "I don't want someone taking potshots at you because they thought you were wild."

"Lin," he chuffed in assent.

We were sixty paces away when the guard on top hollered down at us. "Hold! Who goes there!"

"'Hold?' What is this? Westeros?" I muttered. Sure enough, the man who called down to me was about my age with curly blonde hair. He wore a vest that could best be described as "tacti-cool." If there was one thing that told me he had no clue what he was doing, it was that his vest had twelve pockets and they were all filled with knives of some variety. Either this man was the deadliest knife thrower alive or he really misunderstood instructions.

"Shut up, Will," the guard across from him bit out. This one was a brunette with a prominent five-o-clock shadow and dressed more sensibly in a woodsman's jacket and a hat for shade. He was tall, a good four or five inches taller than me. A hunting rifle was aimed squarely between his feet but the way he thumbed it convinced me he knew how to use it. "Hey there, stranger. You wouldn't happen to be coming from Sierraville, would you?"

"That's right. Name's Shane Hayes," I nodded respectfully. I knew it'd been too long since I talked to another human because my own name sounded foreign on my tongue. I gestured to Rocket, who was smart enough to eye the gun. Sixty paces was far for a human, about 150 feet, but it wasn't so far that Rocket couldn't retaliate with Quick Attack and Pin Missile if I went down. "This here's Rocket, my linoone. Found Ranger Swanson's letter. It said there were trainers here and it sounded like you lot had a decent thing going."

"We do," the more competent guard said cautiously. "We've had some trouble with pokemon here and there. That thing trained?"

Rocket began to growl lowly. I clicked my tongue. "Rocket isn't a thing. And he can understand you just fine."

"Fine, just keep him on a short leash. Lots of people don't feel too kindly towards pokemon after that snorlax."

"That's something else I wanted to follow up on. I want to know what happened. If nothing else, figure out where I shouldn't be walking."

"Yeah, I hear you. Come on in then. I'll have you wait at the guardhouse for a bit while I radio Ranger Swanson. He and a buddy of his have taken over the town guard. I'm Tom by the way."

"Pleasure," I said, shaking his outstretched hand.

Tom left Will guarding the gate and took me to a little house just inside the wall. It was more of a booth, like what you'd find in front of a parking lot. Now that I looked, it looked like they'd built this part of town off what used to be a gated community center or something. I wondered how much square miles the wall covered, and how they were handling agriculture. It wasn't as though they had a granary or anything up here.

Tom left us waiting there and returned to the wall. There was a stairway on this side that allowed the watchmen to climb it easily. Ten minutes later, the most stereotypically "lone ranger" man I'd ever seen outside of New Mexico walked through the door. He had a hat with a brim as wide as his shoulders and sideburns that merged with his beard into mutton chops.

To my surprise, a drilbur waddled in next to him. It stood at about a foot tall but had claws half its size. I didn't know those things were out here too.

"Ranger Swanson?" I asked as I stood up to offer him a hand. "I got your letter."

"That's right, son. You got one of them pokey-mans too, eh?" he said, eyeing my linoone suspiciously.

"Pokemon," I corrected on impulse.

"Yeah, yeah, my daughter liked playing the games. She's still trying to make a pokey-dex or something, wants to make a list of all the ones out here in Tahoe. What's your name, son?"

"Shane Hayes, and this one's Rocket."

"Tom Swansom. The little fella's Spade. He's been a big help digging up them ditches you saw on the way in."

"I'll bet. I thought you said you had graveler."

"I said the town has graveler. There're an even dozen of those things rolling around. Austin, lad about your age, made a deal with 'em to help build us this wall. His pappy's the mayor and he knows a fair bit about these pokey-mans too so I figure we're in decent shape even if I don't trust 'em all yet."

I nodded and took that in. That was one drilbur and twelve graveler they had. That sounded like a solid team. "Alright, so what happens now?"

"Now you tell me about yourself, son. Where're you from? What do you think you can contribute to this community?"

"Ah, fair enough. I'm from Arlington, Virginia…"

I told him what amounted to my life story. The gruff ranger was an unexpectedly good listener; maybe that was why I talked more than I expected. He became much more guarded when I talked about why I'd left Bend but there was no hiding it; I couldn't exactly explain where I'd gotten a hunting crossbow like mine otherwise. He wanted to know if there were others coming south, but I couldn't tell him anything useful. Everything I knew was two months out of date. By the time I finished, Rocket and the drilbur called Spade had curled up in a corner to doze.

"And you think you can help out as a hunter?"

"If that's what you lot need. I figure Rocket and I are pretty good at it by now. How's the farming going?"

"Not bad. A few people who'd been living here in Carnelian made friends with a family of skiddo. A couple of oddish too. You recognize 'em?"

"Oddish, yes. Skiddo? No, no I don't. Just like those pika-clones I saw last week. I like to think I'm pretty familiar with pokemon, played all the games up to Black 2."

"The what?"

"Most recent one. 'Skiddo' isn't any pokemon I recognize though, and neither were the ones I saw. I think there might be more out there."

"That's not good news, son. Especially since Sabrina didn't recognize 'em either." At my confusion, he added, "my daughter, the one that wants to make the pokey-dex. She loved playing the games and used to be studying to be a vet. Says this is how she'll contribute."

I filed that away. She sounded like someone I'd want to meet. "You sound proud of her."

"Every daddy's proud of his baby girl. Mine just happens to be brainy too."

"Fair enough. So, farming?"

"Yeah. Them skiddo and oddish seem like grass types, whatever that means. Wherever they step, things grow better, faster. Someone also got a diglett, a shy mole-thing, not as chipper as Spade but damn useful."

"I know what they are. Dugtrio, their evolved form, can make a soil better for farming. They turn soil like earthworms do, but way faster. Don't see why diglett can't do the same."

"Then you know how important they are. We don't have enough crops to feed everyone so we've been relying heavily on fishing and hunting. That's where we come in."

"You're in charge of the hunters then?"

"That's right. You'll work with me. So long as you bring in more food than for yourself, you've got a place with us. I'll also have you and Rocket clear out wild pokemon, chop down firewood, that sort of thing. A healthy lad like you, we'll make use of you one way or another."

I nodded slowly. "We can do that. I'm gonna need my crossbow fixed though if you want me going out. Your M1911 isn't going to cut it for more than small game."

"Talk to Guilermo. He owns the sporting goods store, or what we could gather from Truckee 'cause Carnelian didn't have one. He'll either fix it for you or get you set up with another. 'Fore that though, let's get you settled into a room."

"Thanks, Ranger Swanson, I appreciate it."

"Thomas, 'Ol' Tom' if you need to distinguish between me and the Tom at the gate. Now, come on, I'll give you the grand tour."

X

Thomas led me around town, showing me where everything of import was. When I asked, he told me that there were only 2,300 people here, practically anemic compared to the original size of Truckee. Over the past month, they'd bled manpower and talent, though he didn't say any more on the matter. I wanted to press, but the dark look on his face made me think better of it.

On the plus side, that meant that growing enough food for the town would be a feasible goal within a year or so. Until then, we'd just have to get used to game and fish. He'd also led a few excursions back to Truckee for food items that wouldn't spoil apparently, to mixed results. I'd be expected to join those as one of the handful of people with pokemon.

As we walked, he pointed out several of the areas I'd be expected to familiarize myself with. First up was the doctor's clinic, the only one in town. It was staffed by two doctors, one from Sierraville and the other an original denizen of Carnelian Bay before the merge, Doctors Nguyen and Lansdowne.

Then he introduced me to Mayor Rodney McAllen, an Irish man with stereotypical ginger hair. He was short and chubby, enough to bring to mind a garden gnome. He had some muscle beneath the flab though, so I assumed he played sports in college or something. His son, Austin, was the one who had the bright idea to bribe the twelve graveler to build a wall for the town. With what, he didn't say.

After that came Guilermo, the man who manned the sporting goods store. At the moment, considering the state of the town, it really doubled as more of an armory. Rather than kayaks and fishing poles, his walls were lined with rifles, knives, and bows. He promised he could fix my crossbow as a freebie so I left it to him and moved on.

The final site to visit was the dock area. It boasted three piers, though none of them very large. The Tahoe Sailing Club had its branch office here back when people did that stuff for fun. The club chairman, an older gentleman by the name of Vincent Jackson, had taken the club members in hand and started what amounted to a fishing company. His son had a marill apparently, the sole aquatic pokemon in town. There were other, smaller piers along the shoreline where you could rent canoes and such, but the club was the biggest. I made a note to visit, if only because I knew linoone could learn Surf. Helping them out might be a decent way to get Rocket some type coverage.

Ranger Swanson finally wrapped up the tour and set me up with a tiny camper in what was quickly becoming the residential district of the burgeoning town. The sad truth was that though Carnelian Bay was the best place to start a self-sufficient town thanks to the lakeside access, it hadn't actually had much infrastructure. It was, after all, a tourist spot for campers and the like, not a resort by any stretch. My camper was one of many that they'd driven over with what gas they could get from the local pumps over the month. Dozens were parked in a makeshift trailer park on what used to be the golfing greens.

"It ain't much, but it's what you're getting," Thomas said, "not enough houses to go around and you're a month late."

"Fair enough. I've slept in worse. Besides, it's a little bigger than the others. I appreciate it," I thanked him. It wasn't a camper made for an entire family or anything, but there was enough room that Rocket and I wouldn't feel cramped. It came with a small kitchenette, toilet, bed, and a couch that folded out into a second bed.

"I know how much space them pokey-mans take up. If you get your hands on any more, you'll want the room anyway."

"True enough. Is there anything else I should know, Thomas?"

"The kitchenette don't work. We don't have the gas to waste on individual kitchens. If you think you can get an electric generator, you'll be responsible for it. You want running water, you're gonna have to fill up the freshwater tank on your own, or get Phil Jackson and his marill to help ya," he said, opening up the tank so I could see. He tapped the white hose. "That's the hose that leads to your freshwater. Don't mix it up with greywater or blackwater."

"What's the difference?"

"Greywater is waste from your shower and kitchen sink. Blackwater is your shit and piss. You're gonna have to figure out how to unload those on your own so until you know how, I recommend using the communal showers and toilets."

I frowned. I was hoping I could get utilities to myself but given how new this trailer park was, that was probably asking for too much. "Disappointing, but fine. How do you reckon I start learning?"

"Ask around; there are plenty of people who're familiar with campers here. What they'll ask in exchange is up to them. Otherwise, find yourself a water pokemon. Things'll get easier as we go, son."

"I hear you. Thanks for getting me settled, Thomas."

"It's my pleasure. You'll be working with me most often anyway." He handed me a walkie talkie. "Here, hang onto that. If it runs out of battery, go to Guilermo in the sporting goods store. He's got a manual generator. You'll get your cardio in one way or another."

With that final quip, he left me to my own devices.

The town was… It wasn't perfect. I could already see points of tension. Just from the way people looked at Rocket, I could tell that pokemon were a polarizing topic here, as expected, really. A lot of them probably knew friends or family who died because of pokemon. Simultaneously, they couldn't deny the aid provided by the graveler, grass types, and marill. It was no wonder. The impression I got from many in town was that they didn't like pokemon or trust them, but they'd use Rocket and I all the same.

Then there was the food shortage going on. There was still an obvious rationing policy in place and I'd be expected to contribute my share to the communal larders. It was attached to the communal kitchen and had been set up to include a smokehouse for preserving game and fish. More than likely, I'd be expected to go with Ranger Swanson to loot more canned food and other goods from neighboring towns.

Even despite all this, there were good reasons to stay. First, I could get my crossbow fixed. That alone improved my prospects immensely.

Second, we could train in relative safety. Giving more than I got to the town in the form of food and services shouldn't be difficult. Even going on ranges with Ranger Swanson and the others would be a good opportunity to get stronger with decent backup. Sure, most likely didn't have pokemon, but the advantage of numbers was a sort of safety in itself.

Third, it'd provide us with the chance to acquire new resources and skills. Fishing for myself. Water, grass, and ground type coverage options for Rocket if I could convince the pokemon to train with us. How to better maintain my gear than the slipshod lessons I'd picked up. Maybe even a new pokemon partner if I played my cards right.

Lastly, there was a real chance that this town could become something more permanent, a home. If I was being honest with myself, I missed human company. Rocket was great, but he couldn't provide conversation in the same way. How long had it been since someone knew me as Shane?

I had Rocket dig out a fire pit of our own in front of our new camper and started cooking a can of beans for dinner. It wasn't the best, but I didn't want to go to one of the communal canteens just yet. Rocket growled lowly as I rubbed his ears. "This ought to be interesting, eh, Rocket?"

Author's Note

Oof. Not gonna lie, this one kinda kicked my ass. A lot of setup, but necessary I think. Carnelian Bay is kind of what I imagine a new town to look like. There are very basic utilities. No electricity. No gas except for major operations to abandoned towns to get more food. Barely enough food to get by. A handful of key players who dictate terms by virtue of their resources. Enough to be worth staying, but hardly the amenities a real town can provide.

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.