《The Journey to Kyra's Rest》 Chapter 1 A flash of blue lightning struck the nearby antennae, followed by a sharp clap of thunder. The ground shook beneath my feet. I scolded myself for not preparing to take shelter earlier, but I had been hunting for hours on an empty stomach which grumbled at me, though I felt more than heard it thanks to the storm. I sulked at the prospect of no food, no fire, and a sad excuse for a shelter. Underneath the crumbling ceiling of an old a-frame style house whose doors had been pried off and windows shattered months ago, I worried for my safety. Weather before the apocalypse had been nasty during this time of year, but post-apocalypse weather was controlled by the System. From my own gaming experience, I figured out early on that the weather in my region was determined by an RNG (random number generator) with specific parameters relating to region. Since I lived in the mid-south, formerly known as Texas on world maps, I had to be prepared for tornadoes, harsh electrical storms, droughts, or flash floods. And that was just during Spring and Summer! Unfortunately, the weather was the least of my worries. If I somehow managed to avoid being struck by lightning, catching hypothermia, or death by starvation, it was highly likely that a Metamon would kill me. I rested my head back against the wall and mentally summoned the GUI - a transparent interface which now existed in reality for every single sentient being on earth. Well, what was left of sentient beings besides the fantastical monsters that appeared with the System. Penny Mathieson UIN: 004-82-9963-751 Health: 250/250 Sanity: 16/20 Stamina: 13/30 Nutrition: Low I''d never seen ''nutrition'' before, but the Guidebook said it calculated a person''s hunger, hydration, and nutrient levels which affected one''s stamina. If any of these three were too low, my stamina would decrease by 5 points every hour ¡ª an effect which I experienced first-hand over the next hour. I sat in misery with my stomach grumbling and the storm shuddering the house. I eased into a light sleep until the crash of glass awoke me. My hands instinctively nocked an arrow and pulled tight. Through blurry eyes and brain fog, I made out a pudgy dark shadow with wide glowing eyes. A Metamon! It hissed, then growled at me. I did not loosen my grip. Metamons were the reason humanity now teetered on the edge of extinction. Although some were cute and friendly, most were predators with a taste for human flesh. I had survived six months after the introduction of the System and Metamons; I was not going to die because of a pudgy cat. Not tonight. A fresh boom of thunder sent it skittering into another room of the house. I released a heavy exhale and lowered my arrow, but definitely not my guard. I shifted in my spot to keep an eye on the door frame where it hid. So much for sleep. As the storm eased up, I saw the creature poke its head around the corner to watch me. We waited, each cautious of the other, for the storm to completely pass on. It was well past midnight when the rolls of thunder were heard miles away. My stamina bar had decreased another three points and I could barely keep my eyes open. It was far too dangerous to leave the house alone at night, but the Metamon refused to leave well after the night was clear. I forced myself to find a section of the house where the mysterious creature couldn''t get me: the attic. I triple-checked it for any hidden Metamons before I finally made a makeshift bed out of whatever articles of material I could find and passed out.
I became conscious only a few hours later to hunger pangs. Painful ones. I felt nauseated and the room was spinning. There was no way I could hunt like this, but I had to find something to put in my stomach. That Metamon downstairs might make a decent meal if it really was as pudgy as I thought. I climbed down from the attic to search for it, arrow nocked, but it was gone. Big paw prints trekked mud out of the front door to the wilderness beyond. At least I wasn''t in danger of it eating me. I rummaged through the kitchen to find something, anything edible. In the cupboards, I found a bag of popcorn. What few kitchen appliances were left, such as the microwave, were useless without electricity and I had no idea how to cook popcorn with a campfire. Plus with the room spinning every few minutes, chopping firewood or searching for kindling outdoors to start a fire was not a good idea. After searching the rest of the house more thoroughly, I discovered a hidden stash of stale chips, half a package of beef ramen, and an unopened bag of rice. I ate the chips and stuffed the ramen and rice in my vintage field medic''s bag for later. Staying in any one place for too long risked being hunted by Metamon. Some of the locally spawned creatures (again, determined by RNG like the weather) preferred to hunt in packs. I did not have enough arrows to take on three or more monsters at a time and, to be honest, I wasn''t that great with my weapon of choice. The chips were enough to last me for an hour. In that time, I found a lost piglet, a Metamon known as Terraswine. One of the first monsters I''d encountered after the System took over, Terraswine had slowly become a favorite of mine because they were herbivores, non-aggressive, and adorable. The following entry appeared on my GUI for the Metapedia, a database compendium created by the System:
Terraswine is a young piglet with soft grassy fur and no horns. This mon relies on the adult Mossboars within its herd to protect it. Its special attack, Sod Barrage, is the only defense it has against predators.If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
The Metapedia tracked what monsters we''d encountered, hunted, or ¡ª the more elusive concept ¡ª tamed. I''d played games in the monster tamer sub-genre before, but those had specific mechanics such as tossing an item at the monster to ''capture'' it and transform it from ''enemy'' to ''friend''. As far as I knew, such a mechanic did not exist in this new, bizarre reality.From what little I''d learned about the nature of Metamons, once the youngsters got lost it was unlikely they would find their way back to the herd. Herds did not go looking for their young, either; they had too many and risked being attacked by predators (or, more accurately, lured by poachers). One lost piglet did not justify changing the herd''s track. I let it move on, knowing it would eventually be devoured by something hungrier than myself. I did not have the heart or stomach to hunt game. Instead, I found a sufficient amount of berries and plants to whet my appetite. With starvation no longer an immediate threat and my Nutrition levels slowly increasing back to a stable average, I trekked on in search of fresh water. It was mid-afternoon by the time I found a quaint, gurgling stream where I could refill my salvaged water canteen and cool myself off. The sensation of cold, wet water passing through my parched lips and down my dry, itchy throat refreshed my senses after several sips. It was important to sip it slowly, I''d heard, though no one ever explained why. I relaxed in the tranquility of the scenery with the odd chirping of Metamon birds and the gentle sway of the trees in the wind. I wanted it to last for the rest of the day after my long journey, but fate must have had other plans. Or, rather, the System did. An alarming notification, urgent yet not enough to hurl one into a full-on panic attack, alerted me to the approach of an enemy. Usually, these were Metamon predators searching for a meal, but every once in a while, there were threats far worse than wild otherworldly creatures: my fellow human beings. I heard the hunting party before I saw them and immediately bolted back the way I came towards a thicket of thorns and trees. Something may have built a nest here previously, but it was long abandoned by the time I curled up in it. The party were not chasing me, but they were certainly looking for something. One shouldered his hunting rifle and shimmied up an oak tree to scout the area. "No sign of him," he grunted. "Damn! I swore I heard footsteps, Manny, I swear¡ª" The man at the head of the party named Manny said something in Mexican Spanish I did not understand to the man who swore, and called him Oscar. Each of the four men were heavily armed and wore camouflaged hunting vests; Oscar and the fourth man carried hefty packs full of what I assumed would be ammo, supplies, or both. Manny hollered to the man up the tree who came down immediately. Among the four men, Manny had the buffer physique with prison tattoos showing around the collar of his neck and on his hands and knuckles. He gave another order in Mexican Spanish and the four pressed on. I stayed still in the thicket until I no longer heard their footsteps. Then, I pulled up the regional map which showed my location and the current threat which moved away from me. The moment they were well out of range and the red dot disappeared from the map, I crawled out of the thicket and hurried back to the stream. Who were those men? Who were they looking for? Why were they looking for ''him'' and what did they intend to do once they found this person? These questions and more buzzed around in my head as I splashed cold water on my face to lower my heart rate. Close encounters with humanity rivaled a shot of adrenaline to the heart, a leftover survival tactic from Milton''s War. The war lasted three months, a country-wide coup d''¨¦tat against those in charge of safe havens and sanctuary outposts. In the end, sanctuaries and havens were destroyed, people died en-masse, and what was left of humanity joined together in primeval factions to not only survive the cruel world, but to show others how cruel it could be still. I disliked people before, but Milton''s War and its consequences showed me the worst of our species. Metamons had an excuse: they were beasts with extincts to eat, expand territory, and protect what was theirs. Humans had the potential to rise above such animalistic behavior, but those in such factions chose not to. My encounter with this hunting party told me things had not changed in the three months since Milton''s War, and I doubted it would any time soon. The cold water did little to ease my anxiety. I wanted to put as much distance as possible between myself and Manny''s hunting group, so with my canteen refilled a final time, I followed the stream downwards in haste. I''d watched a few television shows and tutorials on the online video sharing platform Yink that claimed walking in a stream or river covered one''s tracks. I did that as I followed the stream in hopes they were right; I did not want a hunting party following me and killing me in my sleep ¡ª and that was the most civilized situation that went through my head. Shortly after sundown, I discovered a pleasant camping spot not far from the stream. With water nearby and a grove of pecan trees within reasonable walking distance, I knew I wouldn''t find a better spot for weeks. The wind picked up, but the night sky was devoid of clouds. After a hefty snack of pecans, I settled down for the night. Underneath the billions of stars and black abyss, I pondered my future. Is this what my life would be like in a year? In five years? When I was sixty? Foraging for survival at sixty, if I managed to last that long, was a hard figurative pill to swallow. Everything I''d worked for before the apocalypse - all those long nights studying, the stress over college grades and final exams, the relationships I''d cultivated with my friends and classmates - were rendered pointless in an instant. Nothing was as it should be, nothing happened the way I''d expected it might. Even the worst circumstances I''d presumed involved humanity learning its lessons from nuclear warfare and working towards a better future. My imagination had not been wild enough to conjure up an indiscriminately genocidal System, a real user interface tracked my body''s nutrition levels, and nightmarish monsters which had the potential to be tamed. My mind wanted to shut down completely after thinking through what my future held now that I, and thousands of other human survivors of the apocalypse, existed in this absurd reality. I closed my eyes and let the exhaustion overtake me. I didn''t want to be here anymore. I didn''t want to get up in the morning and have to repeat today''s efforts of finding food, water, and shelter. Surviving made for a lousy life... Chapter 2 Morning did come, regardless of how I felt or what I thought, and I repeated the daily routine of travel, forage, and follow the water just as I had done for the last six months. Survival sucked, but it was still a state one step up from death. I reckoned even a short-sighted life was better than being dead, nameless, and the evening meal of a Metamon. However, even the fate of being dinner began to feel inevitable once the stream led me to the edge of a regional wetland. I''d hoped for a lake where I could rustle up materials for a fishing pole and catch myself some dinner. Instead, I got a marsh of stagnant water which reeked, a dozen or more bites from a lively hoard bloodthirsty mosquitos, and a new chip on my shoulder. "Now where am I supposed to go?" I grouched aloud at nobody. I learned to keep myself company as early as five weeks after the apocalypse. Talking to myself at this point was perfectly reasonable. Nobody else was around to judge, relate, sympathize, or even answer. Nobody except for the damn System. I turned my glower upwards at the sky, as though the System overlooked the entirety of the world the way the old God was believed to: from the heavens. "What am I supposed to do now?" This time, I half-shouted. I wanted the System to hear me. I wanted it to answer. "You''re the one responsible for my predicament, y''know..." My stomach growled. I was hungry, grumpy, and sick of wandering around with no direction or end to my journey. I needed a destination, a purpose. Without one, I might as well sit down and wait for the wild Metamons or murderous humans to cross my path. I hated the idea of settling down in any one place. It''s not because I finally had the time and freedom to travel and roam where I pleased. As I started a fire to cook a portion of my rice, I tried to figure out what kept me on the move. Fear, probably. I was halfway through my bowl of rice, which I admit was under-cooked, when a flapping sound preceded a sinister caw. I glanced up into the branches of the trees and immediately noticed the a hideous bird Metamon named Vulturion, a vulture with markings and colors that resembled the armor of Roman soldiers including the signature red plume at the crown of the mon''s head. The Metapedia delivered a timely entry.
Vulturion is a shrewd observer. It patrols the borders of territories belonging to bigger, apex predatorial Metamons in exchange for scavenging the last remnants of the predator''s meals. When provoked, Vulturions can be malicious and violent. Its special attack, Vengeful Mangling, utilizes its razor-sharp talons to render the target defenseless before it maims and shreds the victim for easier digestion.
I glanced upwards at my new supervisor perched on a precarious branch, suddenly aware that I may be seen as a potential intruder. Had I already crossed the border into territory of an apex Metamon or was this Vulturion just beginning its patrol? I paid careful attention to the giant talons, one of which scratched subtly at the bark of the branch. This tedious movement reminded me of a movie villain who tapped impatiently at the table while contemplating his next move against the protagonist. Its keen dark eyes met mine. Thick, iron-colored feathers flapped to announce the arrival of a second Vulturion next to his kin. I assumed they were kin, though I became immediately concerned that the pair might correct me with a lethal Vengeful Mangling if I suggested they were related. To keep my skin on my body, I decided to leave. I was mostly packed and putting out the fire when the third Vulturion settled into the same tree, but on a different branch. They did not chatter or greet each other. All three of them maintained such strict focus on me that I feared I was the receiver of a very potent omen and might drop dead from a fluke accident at any given moment. Slowly, with my pack and quiver over my shoulder and bow in hand, I backed away. I followed the stream back up the hill, away from the wetlands. They did not follow. If I ever had a deathwish, at least now I knew where to find an Apex Metamon to do the job. I really wished I could mark the map: these wetlands would be crossed off in big, red crayon followed by a permanent marker which said NO!!! Halfway up the hill, however, I heard a heavy wheezing. I looked around and searched the area until I found the source: a pudgy, cat-like creature lay panting atop a sunlit rock. It looked exhausted and cranky, like someone who had pushed themselves well beyond their limits exercising. A second entry of the day popped up:
Sabelynx is a nocturnal, anti-social predator with a natural inclination towards filth and junk. Its rock-hard skeleton and poor hygiene are self-defense mechanisms to ensure it is not edible to most predators. Its fascination with shiny junk can override its senses and induce a strong sense of euphoria, similar to hallucinogens in humans. Once fascinated with an object, Sabelynx uses its Kleptoclaw special attack to steal the item. This makes it a natural enemy of the Corvid Metamon, Raveneaux.
It did not seem agitated by my presence and I did not care to provoke a predatory Metamon. I adjusted the shoulder strap of my bag and started to press on, but the night before last dawned on me. I recalled the silhouette of a pudgy feline that had burst into my shelter to take cover from the storm. I turned back around to face the Sabelynx. Its sable-colored eyes narrowed at me. "Did you...did you follow me?" It huffed in response and flopped onto the rock dramatically. I moved closer to the rock and squatted down. "Were you the one that came into the house with me? This is a long way for you to come, isn''t it?" It wheezed on. The longer I looked at it, the more I became certain it was the same type of Metamon which had shared the house with me. This may not have been the exact same one, though. Sableynx were probably as common to this region as Terraswine. The Metamon started to sweat. Purple droplets appeared all over its fur coat, accompanied by a foul stench. I covered my nose and backed away. No wonder nothing wanted to eat it. Something shook the canopy of trees further downstream: one of Vulturions had followed me after all. "Well, good luck," I told the Sableynx. "Hope you find a good trove of junk. Just don''t go that way. You might like the idea of stagnant wetlands, but I think that Vulturion is working for an Apex Metamon. It''s best to avoid tempting something like that to a meal." I held my nose until I was at the top of the hill. The interesting thing about East Texas were the topographical variations. You could stand on a low hill like this one and see for miles across flat plains. On the edge of the horizon further to the northeast, I spotted the first sign of civilization in months: an empty highway. That was as good a starting point as any. Highways meant somewhere along the way, there would be a destination such as a town, city, or even just a house. Any one of those things might have food. Or danger. I couldn''t rule out the possibility that any previous site of civilization might be claimed by a faction. Foraging kept me alive, but I needed meat. My nutrition bar declared Low and I was starting to suffer from the long-term effects of an insubstantial diet. Hunting was not my strong suit. Even if I managed to kill something with an arrow, I didn''t know how to turn it into edible food. I doubted one just stuck a long stick through the carcass of a deer and rotisseried it over a campfire...Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon. If only I''d had some warning of the apocalypse, maybe I could have done some research ahead of time. Then again, I probably wouldn''t have been able to stomach whatever came after killing an animal. "Too little, too late," I muttered to myself with a sigh. "Alright, Penny, let''s get a move on." A strong gale drew my attention to the southwest. Thunderclouds mounted high in the sky. Great, I needed to find shelter from another storm and forage for food. I paused at the stream long enough to refill my canteen again and hesitated to move forward, concerned that I might not find another source if I left this one. I brought up the map and tapped it. No markers appeared. "Oh come on! Don''t you have automatic updates or something?!" I shouted at the System. "I need a map-marking function! Are you helping or hindering? Seriously, were you made by Bioflex!?" Everyone knew that Bioflex games were glitchy as hell, no matter what the publishers and development teams did. They''d been dubbed by online lexicons as ''Bugflex'' and the verb ''flex'' came to mean "to crash as the result of bugs or software glitches". I didn''t expect the System to understand this reference... But it did. As though someone turned an intercom on in my head with the volume at an almost unreasonable level, I heard the automated voice of a woman. [Initiating software update. Please wait... The system will need to restart once the update has completed. Please be patient and do not turn off your device.] "How am I supposed to turn off¡ªwhat device?!" [Restart initiated...] "What are you re¡ª" Everything went black.
My eyes fluttered open. Daylight had faded to twilight while I was unconscious and I could see the edges of the storm clouds. Was I the device? No, that made no sense. Maybe everything was the device? Ugh! It didn''t matter. I''d lost time and now I was in danger of being caught up in an electrical storm. I needed to hurry and find shelter. When I stood up, I recalled what had been so urgent about the update. The map! Water! I mentally willed the map to appear and tapped it. Markers appeared! They even had colors and icons. Victory! Quickly, I marked the stream''s location on the map with a droplet icon, dismissed the map, and sprinted down the hill. The burst of excitement and confidence gave me renewed vigor. I crossed the wide plains and burst into a copse of trees just as the downpour started. Unfortunately, this proved a terrible place to camp especially when the harsh wind broke large tree branches that almost crushed me! I kept on the move, beyond the copse of woods, and found an old tractor abandoned in the field. The cab was enclosed, even if one of the windows had a hole in it. I scurried in and shut the door, prepared to wait out the storm. It wasn''t the most comfortable place: the seat was rigid, the wind blowing through the hole made a really annoying whistling sound, and I wasn''t entirely convinced it was safe when the lightning struck nearby in the field and the ground shook like an earthquake (not that I had any experience with them). But I wasn''t wet or struck by lightning. Unfortunately, I couldn''t start a campfire to cook any food, either. I tried several positions in the narrow cab to rest comfortably; sitting upright seemed the only way. I sipped on some water and watched twilight darken to night, flashes of electrical streaks alighting the sky with rosy pinks and warm oranges. It was beautiful, even if I hated how loud and sudden the following booms and shudders were. I didn''t realize I''d fallen asleep. Something rattled the cab of the tractor which startled me awake. The Sabelynx from the rock pawed desperately at the door, mewling to get in. Had it followed me again? Bewildered by the idea, I opened the door and it pounced at me. I yelped and threw myself backwards, slamming the back of my head against the other side of the cab. Rain whooshed in with a sudden gale which soaked both myself and the Sabelynx. It hissed, scratched, and finally rolled into the floorboard with a cantankerous yowl. I shut the door, trying to ignore the sting of the new scratches on my arms and collarbone. The sting took a turn for the worse into a searing pain that flooded through my veins. I grit my teeth so hard, I thought I might have cracked one. It felt like my blood was on fire. This went on for a good five minutes and when it ebbed, I wanted to scratch everywhere. I gripped the steering wheel of the immobile tractor so tight, my knuckles whitened. I glared down at the Metamon. "What did you do to me?!" It did not respond. The creature remained contently coiled under the safety of the steering panel with its paws tucked underneath its body, tail swishing back and forth. It stared at me, watched me. I turned my focus to the scratches on my arms and panicked when small, purple spots akin to measles welled up all over my skin. I checked the rear-view mirror. The spots grew to big, indigo-colored splotches and the burning pain in my veins returned. Finally, I threw the door open and hurled myself out into the cold storm. I wanted the pain to stop, for the rain to purify my skin and blood, to run from whatever was happening to me. I sat in the rain, able to breathe in the fresh air, and searched the Guidebook for answers as to what was happening to me.
Status Effects: Envenomed. Envenomation occurs when a venomous Metamon scratches, bites, or stings its target. The effects of venom can range from mild allergic reactions to death. Envenomation cannot typically be cured except with antidotes or the tears of a Mystriarch.
Envenomed? "I was poisoned?! You poisoned me, you bastard?!" I sucked breath through my teeth. It felt better to yell, but the Sabelynx hadn''t meant to scratch me. At least, I didn''t think so. It had only done so because it was trying to get away from the rain. And I hadn''t died yet. I calculated the venom of a Sabelynx measured somewhere between the ''mild allergic reaction'' and ''death''. "How long does this last? Will I die?" The Guidebook did not give any further information, nor did the System feel obliged to help as it had before. I tilted my head back to feel the rain on my face. A thread of lightning scrawled across the sky, followed by an immediate shuddering boom. I launched myself back into the cab of the tractor and closed the door, more afraid of being struck by lightning than the gradually subsiding pain flowing within me. The splotches and bumps on my skin did not get worse, nor did they fade. Would I be permanently marked like this? I hoped not. While I never thought of myself as pretty, I certainly did not want to go around being called ''Bad Luck Penny'', although I wondered how that nickname hadn''t stuck to me thus far. "Because you''re alone, idiot," I muttered. "No people, no rotten nicknames. Enjoy it." I turned my attention to the feline Metamon. It had fallen asleep, or at least it looked asleep. I decided against bothering it with questions it couldn''t answer anyway and rested my head back against the seat. My stomach growled some time later, and I pulled out the small pouch of pecans I''d stored. The glowing, wide eyes of the Sabelynx peered at me intently. "Do...you want some? Do you even eat pecans?" I tossed it one. It didn''t so much as look at it. "I don''t have any other food. And before you let the thought fully form, I''m not food." The Sabelynx still ignored me. "We''ll see what we can find tomorrow. If the storm blows over during the night, you''re welcome to go hunt. Fend for yourself and all." The pecans did not satiate my hunger, but my stomach eventually stopped growling. I could feel my body fighting off the venom, but I had no idea what the morning would bring. A third wave of the inflamed affliction hit me, this one twice as distressing as the previous two. A blood-curdling shriek of anguish escaped me just as the world started to spin and darken. I passed out with the final terrifying thought that I might not ever wake up. Chapter 3 Consciousness brought with it a migraine. My eyes were sensitive to light, my nose sensitive to the awful stench emanating from my feline roommate, and my stomach... My stomach was¡ªnope! I threw the door open and practically fell out of the tractor onto the ground, emptying what precious little contents were left in my stomach onto the dew-sparkled earth. The Sabelynx trotted out after me, stretched, and sniffed the vomit. Appalled at the idea that it might like stomach bile, I pushed myself onto shaky feet and wobbled back into the cab to rest. The splotches were gone, but the scratches left behind were obviously infected. The wounds themselves were red and puffy yet bubbling just underneath the surface of the skin, the pus took on a peculiar combination of purple, blue, and gray. I''d never seen pus this color and I wasn''t sure I wanted to find out what it might do if left untreated. I braced myself and opened the wound just enough to flush out the refuse with water from my canteen. I didn''t have bandages or any spare linen, and it wasn''t a good idea to try to make a bandage out of my filthy clothes. I needed an antiseptic to flush the wound out thoroughly, a topical antibiotic medicine, and clean bandages. The only way I''d be able to acquire any of that was to find civilization. My mind wandered back to the road. I cleaned off the rim of my canteen, sipped at some water and considered nibbling on pecans. I held off on eating. My stomach was not ready for food, though it might help with the migraine. I waited an hour, slowly sipping at water, in case the inflammatory pain from the venom returned. Nothing, thankfully. I climbed out of the cab. The sky was a clear blue with only small, fluffy clouds scattered across the sky. A tender wind ruffled through my hair. I whistled at the Sabelynx and headed in the direction I''d seen the road, bow in hand. Whether the Metamon followed me or not was his business, not mine. The sun''s position signaled mid-morning around the time I reached the empty farm highway. All sorts of vehicles crashed into each other or left behind in people''s rush to escape their inevitable deaths during the early days of the apocalypse. There were no bodies left, just pieces of discolored or molded leftovers from what the Metamons and wild animals didn''t drag away in the last six months. I checked a few vehicles for supplies, but after finding nothing in the first five, I decided it was a waste of time and effort to check all of them. "There''s food in town," I told myself to stop the panic from rising up. "Food, medicine, and bandages. And hopefully a stiff drink." It wasn''t panic that bubbled up from my stomach. It was bile. I dropped to my knees next to a car and hurled. The venom must not have left my body as I''d thought, or the infection had already turned septic. Blood poisoning would kill me if the venom hadn''t. I might only have days to live - and that was with a decent meal. A substantial meal would help my body produce the nutrients and stamina it needed to fight this crap. My vision blurred momentarily. The interface with my stats appeared in a dream-like haze. I could barely read the numbers, but my health bar looked like it was about half-full. "That''s not good," I mumbled. I ignored the other bars. What mattered at the moment was health. If I didn''t eat, I''d starve and my body would surrender to the venom and infection. If I did eat, well, it might speed things along or I might throw it all up again. Either way, I needed to find food. Sipping water and resting long enough to force some pecans into my stomach seemed to recover some sense. The haze lifted. I closed my eyes, hoping to take a short nap. Something fuzzy rubbed against my arm and startled me. It was the Sabelynx. It swatted my injured arm with its tail and glared at me. "If that''s your way of apologizing, you''re doing it wrong. I don''t accept." It pranced away in the direction I''d originally been going: northeast. I knew that if I went to sleep, I might not wake up. I''d been lucky so far, but it was naive to rely on luck. Someday, it would run out. With every ounce of willpower I had, I forced myself to stand and struggled to maintain balance for the first few steps. I sipped more water, nibbled on more pecans, and righted myself. Sabelynx sat atop the roof of a one-ton truck, impatiently flicking its tail. When I caught up to it, the Metamon dashed onward. Why was a Metamon following me? Or, I guess now I was following it... but why? I thought of all the possible reasons a predator like Sabelynx might behave this way. The Metapedia said they were antisocial and hunted at night. Was this one somehow different from typical Sabelynx? My line of questioning ended there. Two miles up the road was a building. I unloaded my pack and quiver next to a smashed Jeep to rest. More water, more pecans. While I rested, I double-checked the map. I almost spit out the water. I was deep in the heart of faction territory. My small blue marker was surrounded by an orange diameter which spanned a good ten miles in every direction. If the faction caught me, I''d be dead. Or worse. I poked my head around the vehicles to watch the storefront. For two hours, nobody came or went. I thought that was odd. It certainly lessened the chances that any valuable supplies were inside. There had not been a human-owned property, building or otherwise, that was left untouched by looters and scavengers since the first week of the apocalypse. This faction, whoever they were, might have been using it as a base or a hideout and routinely made a supply run elsewhere. "Best to do it while they''re out, I reckon." I prepared myself for a fight, nocked an arrow in my bow, and approached the convenience store with extreme caution. A mile away, I inhaled the vulgar tang of death. It threatened both my resolve and initiated a new bout of nausea. Within a quarter mile, my senses were assaulted by an abrupt permeating stench of rancid decomposition. It sent me heaving, but with nothing left in my stomach, my only option was to ride it out. I held my breath as I continued my approach towards the convenience store. Sabelynx scouted the exterior of the building while I neared the front. Windows were boarded up and the doors hung off their hinges with shattered windows. I pulled the bowstring tight and aimed my arrow at anything that moved.Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. The buzzing of flies alerted me to the corpses which littered the floor and rotted away in puddles of dried blood. "Rangers" and an encircled star had been spray-painted in bright orange above the interior threshold leading to the kitchen directly across from the entrance. Every single one of the victims wore an orange bandana somewhere on his or her person. Everyone except for a lone middle-aged man positioned upright against the counter facing the door with a rifle rested in his lap. As I stepped over the bodies to examine the scene closer, I realized all of them had been shot with a medium caliber bullet: the holes were small entry points and massive exit points¡ªif they exited. I surveyed the rest of the store in haste; my gut told me something was amiss here. Unsurprisingly, the shelves had been cleaned of non-perishable foods. Such foods were becoming more scarce with each passing month. Distracted by flies, my attention again swept over the corpses. Through the haze of my migraine, I realized most of them, men and women of assorted ages, wore steel-toed boots. My own cheap sneakers had holes in them from walking. Would any of the boots fit me? I took a few steps inside to check the size of the nearest woman''s boots. Pieces of shattered glass crunched under my feet. Out of the corner of my eye, the rifleman''s corpse made a movement. I instinctively I jumped back, bow stretched taught and my arrow ready to fly. The barrel of his rifle aimed directly at my own chest. Several minutes must have passed between us. My scrambled mind caught up to the present moment, a dominant thought taking over: don''t shoot! I''m alive! He didn''t fire! Gauging his own reaction, I suspected we were both surprised by the fact that we were still alive. Our swift reaction times had not translated to impulsive action. We must have both frozen. Despite this revelation of our ability to still breathe, I became fully aware of our mutual dilemma: one of us might still die if the other made the wrong move. "You with them?" he asked me. "No," I answered in a tight voice. "You?" "Nope. You alone?" "Yes." He slowly lowered his gun. "You should get outta here." Even after he assumed a non-threatening posture, my pounding heart and the adrenaline rush did not slow. Both contributed to my worsening migraine and I felt my judgment slip. I maintained my tight hold on the bowstring. "How do I know you won''t shoot me in the back?" "I don''t got a reason to shoot you unless you''re one of them." I glanced at the corpses surrounding me. "I just want some food. I''d rather not kill you if I don''t have to." He chuckled which immediately transformed into a groan of agony. "You couldn''t anyway." "Excuse me?" "Your aim is off. You might shoot my arm, but it wouldn''t kill me." He took a deep, rattled breath and closed his eyes. "If we''d shot each other, you''d be dead and I''d still be alive." I lowered my weapon at last, flabbergasted. He was right, of course. I had terrible aim, yet another of many reasons why hunting proved so difficult for me. I just hadn''t expected him to bluntly critique me. Up until that point, I''d assumed he was just another corpse. How could one man at such a disadvantaged position kill so many people and live? Details blurred in and out of focus because of the pressure in my head and, on closer inspection, I noticed dark blood stained his plaid hunting jacket. The interface appeared at my silent directive to show his profile. Although he counted as an enemy, I could see his health bar. It was extremely low, the last bit blinking in red. He was dying... I returned my arrow to the quiver and shouldered my bow to search the empty shelves. Even if much of the food was gone, some important artifacts remained. Among them, rubbing alcohol, pain pills, and packs of bandages. I gathered an armful of the items and dumped them next to the older man. His face screwed up in confusion. "What are you doing?" "Saving your life, I hope." "Who asked you?" I paused in the middle of fishing out my canteen, struck speechless and senseless by the tone in his voice more than the question itself. "Y-you want to die?" "Kid, I''m tired and¡ª" "Penny." "What?" "My name is Penny, and I''m not a kid." He seemed flustered. "I¡ªlook, I don''t care who you are! Just get outta here before the rest of ''em come back!" "I can''t walk away and leave you to die." I didn''t tell him that my guilt would make me sick to the point of malnutrition and, eventually, cause my own death. He did not immediately object or counter this argument and I took advantage of his silence to lighten my load. My pack and weapon restricted my range of motion. He turned to me with an astonished expression after spotting the red cross on my field pack. "You''re a field medic?" I didn''t answer him. Instead, I took a set of migraine pills. I''d be in more pain later for taking them on an empty stomach, but right now I needed all of my mental faculties and senses to concentrate on my task. I handed him the canteen and offered him similar pills. He growled. "No thanks." "Suit yourself." I eased him out of the jacket and his button-up shirt. Tattoos of both the prison and military sorts decorated his pale skin. To be honest, I had no idea what I was doing. I flushed the wound out with water, then alcohol to be sure. He might have noticed my hands shaking or my blanched complexion because he firmly gripped my wrist to stop my efforts. "You don''t have to do this." "But I¡ª" "You''re obviously not a field medic, so don''t bother forcing yourself." "I can''t..." "Kid, I don''t have much of a reason to live even if you could save my life." Crushed between the stress of saving a life of someone who wanted to die and the throbbing of my migraine with all the terrible smells, bright light, and disturbing silence, tears of frustration stung my eyes. I fell back into old habits learned from a lifetime of being completely neglected or agitated into panic attacks by family members; I responded the only way I knew how in this situation: I lied. "There''s a safe haven up north!" "Huh?" "There''s a safe haven," I sniffled and turned away to hide my tears. "It''s up north. I''ve been hearing rumors for weeks now from, y''know, stragglers. If you''ll let me save you now, I''ll take you there and you can do whatever you want." He assessed my expression in an attempt to gauge the truth. I have no idea how transparent I was to him, but he relented with a nod of agreement. "Fine," he growled. "Once we get there, though, we''re on our own. Even if I end up in this state all over again, you leave me there and walk away. Deal?" He spit on his hand and held it out to me. Spit was a binding contract in the South, as good as blood but half as wasteful. I spit in my own hand and we shook firmly to seal the deal. I''d rather lie to him now and save his life than walk away ¡ª for my own selfish, guilt-ridden sake. If he shot me later for it, well, I reckoned he''d be well within his rights. "Uh, is there a bullet still in there?" "I didn''t get shot. I got stabbed." "Stabbed? Who the hell would bring a knife to a gun fight?" "A moron, that''s who." I dabbled the topical antibiotic salve onto his wound. "Well, he''s a lucky moron." "Not so lucky. He''s dead, I''m not. Yet." He emphasized the last word with a scowl aimed at me. "Don''t waste all of that on me! Save some for yourself." I hadn''t forgot about my infected wounds (they were starting to itch again), but I did forget they were visible. To avoid more bickering, I tended to my own pus-filled scratches. It didn''t hurt as bad as the night before when the venom first entered my system; it wasn''t pleasant, either. I started on the bandages when we heard the distant roar of a vehicle. "Damn, they''re back!"