Apocalypse: 1.15 Liftoff (Patreon)

Liftoff 1.15

August 2015

Things had changed a great deal since the crustle incident, and yet not at all. The universe didn't care that Austin couldn't walk anymore. It didn’t care that Sabrina was deeply traumatized. Time moved forward and the townspeople collectively tried to put the incident past them. Perhaps it was callous, but there was a cold pragmatism to it: Life went on and survival was hard enough without carrying the ghosts of the past.

In two months, the general attitude towards Rocket had shifted. No longer was he treated like a rabid dog, barely kept on a leash. He, Scout, and the other pokemon were more readily welcomed. He’d even shown up at the school once or twice, allowing children to pet him and get used to the idea of working with our new superfauna neighbors.

That wasn’t to say the town magically transformed into a utopia. The suspicion was here, but it was now directed outward, in a clear “us vs them” perspective. Our pokemon were our protectors and thus safe; the wild ones were not. I wasn’t sure I liked this change.

As for me, I took over the rangers with Jarvis and Guilermo, the guy who owned the sporting goods store. He also maintained the bounty board so though he seldom went outside the walls himself, he was a good man to know. He acted as our point of contact with the Adams brothers, who were the town mechanics, and other relevant individuals.

I said “took over,” but it wasn’t as though there was a structured organization anymore. A few days after the funeral, a lot of the rangers got together and decided I should be in charge, at least nominally. I was pretty sure it was mostly because Scout, Tom’s tranquill, now took orders from me.

There was no ceremony. Scout didn’t demand that Rocket and I defeat him in a pokemon battle. One day, I woke up to find the bird snoozing on my trailer’s side-view mirror. I fed him, we chatted for a bit, and that was that.

What that meant in practice was that I was now responsible for liaising with Guilermo and Sabrina. Guilermo to manage our supplies and take occasional attendance to make sure no one died, and Sabrina to collect and process the information gathered in a centralized way. I was the only one she talked to much these days.

Beyond those broad strokes, the rangers as an organization dissolved. The bounty board became more important than ever, with Guilermo and I posting any notifications such as wild pokemon sightings there. We now had two boards, one for in-town jobs that anyone could take and another for work that had to be done outside.

Small groups of rangers would take on tasks from the board or use the information provided to go on their own rangings for a few days at a time. Others, like Alex and his brother, Luke, retired entirely from the profession. Large-scale rangings with a convoy of cars to Truckee or beyond were a thing of the past. They might be necessary eventually, but for now, Tom’s absence was felt.

Whatever the case, my new “promotion” kept me in town more often than not. As the new “chief ranger,” I couldn’t just fuck off with Rocket and Scout for two weeks with zero notice. I did get a few days to myself occasionally by leaving Jarvis in charge.

Truthfully, being stuck in town for the most part ended up being a blessing in disguise. Not because I suddenly made friends with the regular townsfolk, fuck those guys, but because I had much more time to myself to train the pokemon.

If anything, the pokemon were my true calling. Their continued progress was synonymous with the town’s security.

The two poochyena weren’t pups anymore. They were about half again as large as pitbulls, with a bite force closer to big cats than medium-sized dogs. Under Rocket’s guidance, they were taught to identify unusual scents and made to guard the perimeter of the town. These two didn’t have dedicated trainers, partnering instead with a rotating town guard. As young as they were, they were already more reliable than most humans I’d met.

Scout, being the most maneuverable pokemon we had, tended also to be the most independent. When he wasn’t sparring with Rocket to hone his Air Cutter, I had him flying a large, circular perimeter around the town, both to enhance his stamina and provide another layer of security.

Through this, I found out two things about him: First, he was a relatively poor flyer. Compared to the pidgey and spearow, he lacked agility. In aerial confrontations, he used his bigger size and increased mastery of Gust and Air Cutter to intimidate the opposition. He’d also lost a race against a friendly pidgeotto we’d briefly encountered a month back.

There wasn’t a whole lot I could do about his poor speed, but I opted to help him become more nimble through a set of training exercises. I, or sometimes the town’s children, would fling as many frisbees into the air as possible and Scout would do his best to snag them all out of the air. 

As if to make up for his shortcomings in the sky, I found that Scout’s eyesight and directional memory was phenomenal. There also seemed to be some inexplicable connection between us now that he’d recognized me as his trainer. No matter where I was, whether in the woods, lakeshore, or town, he could find me. I felt much more comfortable leaving my post for short periods knowing Jarvis could send Scout with a message should the need arise.

Another major development was the rise of pokemon-trainer pairs who weren’t rangers.

Some of the farmers finally got to working with the skiddo and oddish beyond helping to enhance the harvest. One of them, brave idiot, thought ingesting a Worry Seed could help keep him awake. He ended up having an anxiety-induced panic attack.

That said, thanks to his sacrifice, Doctors Lansdowne and Nguyen began a study on the right dose of Worry Seed. Only two weeks ago, they came through with a solution concocted from pine bark tea and trace amounts of Worry Seed. We now had a coffee-equivalent that could keep us alert without the increased anxiety, so long as it was consumed in small amounts.

The oddish still hated being disturbed during the day, but some of them agreed to donate their powders. The two doctors were hopeful that Poison Powder could be used to develop an antidote, at least for plant-based poisons we might encounter. We also began storing vials of Stun Spore and Sleep Powder for defensive purposes.

Hell, some of them had even begun to train, if only a little bit. I saw people running laps around the town in the mornings, sometimes even getting a skiddo or two involved in a game of tag. As scary as the crustle had been, I was glad at least a few people were stepping up to take ownership of the town’s security.

As befitting my starter, Rocket saw the most improvement in these two months. His Dig was practically fluid, like he could dive in and out of the ground as if it was water. It became a favorite trick of his to dig down, use Double Team, then emerge out of the ground with six different copies of himself, all running in different directions. The kids loved to try to guess which was the right one and it became a way to train Rocket’s abilities at misdirection.

Hone Claws was coming along as well. He’d always been able to use it well enough, but now, he could activate the buff in less than a second. He’d run, stutter for a brief moment to use Hone Claws, then use that moment to lose the opponent’s eyes, blurring in an unexpected direction with Liftoff.

It wasn’t about pure speed. In essence, I found him to be similar to a mosquito. The sudden shift in direction and acceleration made him incredibly hard to follow and he’d appear to become invisible for a short spurt. Using this trick in conjunction with Double Team, Rocket became an expert in striking for the kill in that instant of inattention.

My murder-scarf also picked up two new moves: Swift and Seed Bomb. Swift was easy enough, what with him already having a good handle on normal type aura, but Seed Bomb only came along thanks to a particularly playful skiddo. Apparently, the trick to teaching Rocket to harness grass type aura was to nail him with a Leech Seed one too many times. I was pretty sure he learned it out of sheer frustration.

I walked into the ranger station, now practically my house, with Rocket ambling happily by my side.

“Jarvis,” I called. “How goes it?”

My second looked up from his mug of Worry-Brew. There had been some talk about changing the name but the doctors insisted on calling it that so people wouldn’t forget to stop drinking the damn thing if they began feeling anxious.

It was about as close to a product label from Before as we could get. I wanted to say we weren’t that stupid, but some of these folks were why toothpaste came with disclaimers.

“Not bad, might possibly get worse though. Rocket and I headed out to the Merryweather Turnpike to confirm Scout’s report. He’s right. We’ve got at least one pack of sneasel. I found the local pidgey in a tizzy because a few eggs got robbed. Saw some claw marks on the trunks, too.”

Scout had recently returned from a recon trip with new intel for us. Our system was crude but effective: We had a sketchbook full of drawings of pokemon. He pointed out the area on a map and then pecked at the pokemon he saw. If he discovered a species we hadn’t seen before, he scratched the ground for each new find.

Jarvis swore at that. He was the one who went with Tom and I to fight that sneasel pack in the hospital. He was tough shit, and had the scars to prove it, but no one sane wanted anything to do with those things.

“Hopefully they don’t come here then,” he grunted. “We don’t have any eggs so those fuckers can fuck right off.”

“Agreed. I’m hoping they won’t become a problem.”

We sat in companionable silence. I had work to do if I wanted to hit the dungeon. Even now, two months since my decision, I still didn’t feel ready. I doubted I’d ever be.

We had so little information about dungeons that there wasn’t any real way to prepare. The best I could do was to train Rocket and Scout and make sure the town would be fine without me.

“No one’s making you go,” Jarvis said, looking at my choice of reading material. It was a compilation of news articles, opinion pieces, and scientific dissertations, what science could be done anyway, 2012 to 2014, shortly before the bombs dropped. Every one of them was about the dungeons. Some successes, but more often than not, failures. “The town’s fine. We have a wall. We have pokemon we’re getting along with. Our stockpile of food is decent.”

“It is,” I agreed. He didn’t get it. We were fine now. That was why I had to go while I could, while the town had some breathing room, while they could afford to lose me. “Carnelian Bay will be alright without me for a little while.”

“Your mind’s made up, huh?”

“Yeah. It’s just… I’m going to fight. There will be other crustles, probably things bigger and meaner.” ‘Like the snorlax,’ I didn’t say. The looming winter was a cause for concern, but that was one more reason I shouldn’t tarry in my mind.

“We can get through those by working together.”

“And I’ll be the one in the thick of it, me and Rocket.”

“We’re grateful. You’re a good leader, Shane.”

“That’s not what this is about, man. I’m saying that sooner or later, I’m not going to be good enough.”

“Like Tom?”

I felt a flash of anger at that. It came and went like the morning dew, leaving me feeling colder with the wind. Tom was… “Yeah, like Tom…”

“When? You know I’ve got your back.”

“You need to stay here. Why the hell do you think I made you my second? Someone’s gotta make sure the town doesn’t implode while I’m gone.”

“So you’re going alone then?” he asked skeptically. I felt him. Fuck, that sounded even stupider when he said it aloud.

Still… I held out the notebook I’d been writing in. “Yes, alone. The success rate of clearing a dungeon doesn't improve because more people happen to enter. Hell, it might drop.

“All those headlines about groups of hikers entering at a time? Or about entire military squadrons armed to the teeth? They almost always end in tragedy. One or two people might survive, if they’re lucky. Usually, the dungeon gets cordoned off after a week of waiting and the expedition is written for dead.

“The few success stories we have that don’t involve hilarious losses were attempted solo, or with a pokemon. I think… I think there’s something to that. The dungeons don’t reward military training or swarm tactics. At the bare minimum, the objectives inside are such that numbers don’t provide an advantage by themselves.”

“Or,” Jarvis pointed out, “those that attempted the dungeon in smaller numbers are dead but didn’t get reported because ‘Solo moron commits creative suicide,’ doesn’t sell papers. This could be media bias.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. He wasn’t wrong; there probably was an element of that here. Even if I was right, there was no guarantee that the specific dungeon I entered would be one that was winnable for me.

But there was a nagging in my mind, an incessant prickling that just wouldn’t go away. If the dungeons were made by Arceus, as the golden hoops around each gate implied, then maybe the dungeons were meant to be tests for the humanity of this world. In which case, perhaps Austin’s trust had not been so naive, merely… misapplied.

“I have to do this,” I said finally. “Not just the town, I personally need to get stronger.”

He sighed but didn’t push. “Just… Just tell Sabrina, alright? Don’t walk off on your own.”

“Yeah, I know.”

X

“You’re going then?” Sabrina asked. She looked tired, done with it all. By her feet, Spade carved his claws against a block of wood; the little guy had gotten into woodworking of all things.

She looked down and offered her partner a smile. Spade had been good for her. He acted as her assistant and cheerleader, keeping her from wallowing too long in her own memories. He even managed to get her out to the golf course to train once a week or so.

I nodded and took a seat across from her. Her wooden cabin was one of the nicer ones, but also one that felt too big now that she lived alone. “Yeah, I am. I’ve been thinking of possibilities. I thought I’d say goodbye, and see you soon.”

“You… You already know where you’re going then?”

“I think I do. I left a copy of my plans with Jarvis. He knows what to do if I don’t show in a wee-”

“Don’t! Don’t say that,” she whispered, looking down at her hands. They were trembling, balled into little fists and unwilling to let go. “Just…”

“I’ll come back,” I told her. “I always do, don’t I?”

“Don’t say that either, dumbass.”

“And don’t you just go through the motions either, Sabrina. Get out there. See Jarvis and Austin. Maybe do a study on Phil’s marill or something.”

“I… I’ll try…”

I suppressed a sigh. She looked so frail, like a brittle, dried out leaf. I motioned to Spade. “You take care of her, you hear?”

“Dril. Dril-bur,” he grunted, nodding solemnly.

“And drag her out of the house by her ankles if you have to.”

“Bur.”

I stood. “Good. I’m going.”

“Yeah… Be careful?”

“Always.”

X

Carnelian Bay was aware of four dungeons in total around the Lake Tahoe area. We knew nothing of what awaited me inside, but we could make a general guess based on the color of the golden hoop that framed each gate. They regularly pulsed with a bright, incandescent light that, according to Rocket, was indeed similar to his own aura.

Of the four, I wrote off the one nearest the town immediately. It was in the middle of the lake, the gate lying just beneath the surface. We’d only found out about it thanks to Plue the marill.

There was a chance that the challenge would be as simple as “catch the magikarp,” but I had no desire to find out if it was actually an underwater labyrinth. Or, Arceus forbid, “kill the gyarados.” Worst of all, if something did happen, there was a chance the nearby town would suffer for my stupidity. I couldn’t have that.

There was another dungeon gate we’d passed when we went to Truckee with the rangers. It pulsed a light-blue and was located at the base of the air traffic control tower in the Truckee-Tahoe Airport. If that didn’t scream “sky battle,” I didn’t know what did. Seeing how Scout wasn’t the best flyer and Rocket’s best ranged option was Swift, I gave that a miss as well.

Of the last two, the one at the Rubicon Trail trailhead was green, grass or bug, while the other at the Stampede Reservoir was a tawny-brown, rock or ground. I could have gone either way, but Austin pointed out a few days back that grass or bug also likely meant poisons. Those who cleared the dungeons did get healed, but that was contingent on actually clearing the damn thing and not running out to expire shortly after.

So, the Stampede Reservoir it was.

According to the travel guide, the reservoir was a popular fishing spot, with wide-ish plains and an artificial lake made by a dam. It was near Sierraville, which meant I was headed back north. It was only August but the brisk chill of autumn had already begun to set in, enough that I needed a coat to keep warm at night.

We traveled during the day and slept inside convenient ditches dug out by Rocket with a plastic tarp to keep the dirt off my things. Scout proved his worth, steering us clear of unnecessary danger. It’d have been humiliating to be forced to turn back because one of us got injured before we even reached the damn thing.

It took approximately twelve hours, two days of cautious hiking for us to reach the Stampede Dam. The dam was absolutely beautiful in a stark, rugged way. It had been years since it had seen maintenance. The concrete walkways around the reservoir had been consumed by nature. The reservoir itself had overflowed, creating a sort of boggy, muddy mess that hid the path.

And still, there was tranquility here. Maybe I happened to be in a poetic mood, but it felt soothing to see that nature would take back what once was hers.

I spotted the dungeon easily enough. It sat right in the middle of the dam, Arceus’ golden hoop gleaming in the setting sun. It spun lazily around the gate along an unknown axis, occasionally pulsing with a brown glow that reminded me of burnished bronze.

Scout landed near me, trilling his greeting. “Tran?”

“Are we going to go in?” I asked. Whatever bond allowed me to understand Rocket almost implicitly hadn’t quite formed yet with Scout.

“Quill.”

“No, not today. It’s already getting dark. Can you find us a safe clearing? Preferably away from the mud?”

“Quill.”

Once we set up camp, Rocket, Scout, and I ate a simple meal of dried meat and vegetable stew I kept for us in a big thermos. We then spent that night making last-minute preparations.

I barked out orders, shorthand code for different moves and formations. Despite being new to the team, Scout responded just as swiftly as Rocket; I was lucky to have smart partners.

I cleaned my crossbow and backup handgun with nervous energy before making sure my bolts weren’t bent and the extra bullets were where I’d left them. I sharpened my hunting knives, I’d taken to carrying a spare after breaking one off in a bucking stantler, and checked to see that the crude bombs I’d made using Stun Spore and Sleep Powder were still unbroken.

After dinner, I buried all unnecessary items inside a pit in the ground. Most of my food, extra clothes, and toiletries all went inside. I wanted to be as light as possible tomorrow, just in case the dungeon involved a lot of running. I retained enough supplies for an overnight stay, but I wasn’t betting on it. If I required more time with whatever the mission happened to be, I’d probably be dead in short order anyway.

We were as ready as we could hope to be.

Author’s Note

The note about tranquill comes from the pokedex. Shane might not remember the exact details, but he’s finding out some of the trivia written in them first-hand.

Watch the challenge be “Build a sand statue of Arceus.”

Random fact of the day: The moon spins on its axis as it orbits the earth. However, the speed of this spin is synchronized with the speed of its orbit. This means that no matter where in the sky it is, only one side of the moon is facing us. The reverse side that we cannot see from earth is often called the “dark side of the moon.”

Funny enough, this is also why so many different cultures across the world have stories about the “moon bunny.” From the Jade Rabbit of Chinese folklore to the adventurous rabbit who visits the moon with the help of a crane in Cree myth. Both the Cree and ancient Chinese saw the same dark markings and thought, “Bunny!”