Chương 40: Kill ALL the Bugs

So we killed bugs. We being me and the dogs, of course, not System Chelsea. She stayed in the RMI or wherever it was that she existed when I wasn't around. I asked the General if he'd like to join us, but he declined. Politely, but quite definitely. I suspected he objected to the dogs more than the bugs, but I accepted his rejection with a sense of relief.

I didn't know what we were getting into and while I was going to encourage him to get a few more levels eventually—enough to take down those mana-crazed squirrels on his own if he had to—it didn't have to be today. Before we stepped into the rift, I put all three dogs on leash. Riley, of course, accepted this with his usual equanimity, and Bear was used to me insisting she wear a leash when we went places, but Zelda acted like I'd stabbed her in the heart and then spit upon her corpse.

"It's just for a couple minutes," I told her.

"Or I could carry you?" She turned her head aside, the fur around her nose quivering in a way that said, I am better than this. I cannot believe you think so little of me.

"It's not you, Z, it's the place. With any luck, we're stepping into a coffee shop." Bear tugged at the leash, sniffing the rift's edge. Dirt, she announced. New dirt.

"We'll see," I said, wrapping the leashes around my wrist.

"I go first." Back when I just had Zelda, we had no door rules. She barreled out the door ahead of me, and I didn't notice or care. After I got divorced, though, I moved into a shared house with friends. Between us, we had four dogs, and when four dogs flood toward an open door, people get trampled. Door rules became non-negotiable. Riley had been one of the other three dogs. His owner—well, I'll be kind and say that his owner hadn't realized how big a responsibility a dog really is.

I'd taken over Riley's walks, then his training, then meals, then vet visits, and when Zelda and I finally moved out, he came with us. Door rules, though, became a little more flexible. So when I told the dogs I was going first, I thought it might turn into a struggle, dogs yanking on their leashes, tugging me into trouble. But they listened. Even Bear. I stepped into my RMI, hoping. Then the dogs were there with me, and the relief hit like a wave. Most of me had been sure we'd wind up in the same place.

Part of me, though, hadn't been convinced.

"Wonderful!" From behind the counter, System Chelsea clasped her hands together, looking delighted to see us.

"I'm sure you'll harvest that instance in no time." I didn't roll my eyes, but I didn't pause either, heading straight for the door to the rift. The dogs and I stepped out into dry Oklahoma warmth. The air smelled like dust and sun-baked asphalt, and the road stretched ahead of us toward the Dollar General. I promptly removed the dogs' leashes.

"We need to kill all the bugs," I told them. Riley was only Level 1 and Bear was Level 3, so the bugs might actually be tough for the two of them.

"Stay together, but… well, just kill anything that moves, okay?" Three days ago, I'd have known I was being ridiculous. No way could a dog understand that set of complicated concepts from my words. But I knew Zelda understood, I was pretty sure that Bear got the gist, and Riley… okay, Riley didn't understand a word. But he'd get there. I learned three things on that first run. One, the donuts sucked. Sickly sweet with goopy icing. How do you ruin a donut?

Whoever owned the shop this rift was modeled after had managed it. Or maybe the rift was to blame. Either way, I wouldn't be trying the donuts again. Two, my dogs were remarkably good at working together. Bear ranged ahead, flushing bugs out of hiding. Riley met them head-on, and when seventy pounds of Rottweiler mix smashed into a giant roach, levels mattered less than you'd think. Zelda played clean-up crew, chasing down any bugs that tried to escape. Three, the rift core was inside the gas station.

There were weird cricket-like bugs in the woods nearby, and half a dozen mutant beetles in the garage, but the actual core was in the back office of the gas station, lurking under the desk like a particularly shiny paperweight. I remembered to loot the bugs, but the rift core gave us our best reward: three collar clips with +2 Toughness. I promptly added one to each of the dogs' collars. And then we left the rift, turned around, went back inside, and did the whole thing all over again.

The rift core's reward was less impressive the second time: 10 credits. The third time through, I paused in the coffee shop first and checked the rift listing. The progress was listed at 5%, but I was tired. It wasn't that the bugs were hard to kill. They weren't. I had so much to do, though. I wanted to work on building a blockade on my driveway, figure out some kind of plumbing solution, check on the generator and the rain barrels…

The real world was calling me, and I didn't know why I was killing cockroaches when my survival depended on what I accomplished on actual Earth, not fake Oklahoma.

"Are you sure…" I started.

"Yes." System Chelsea waved at the door.

"Hurry up." She snapped her fingers at us. I glared enough that Zelda gave a low growl and dropped her head below her shoulders.

"It's fine, Z," I said, trusting my dog to understand my meaning, and back we went to the rift. Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original. It was late afternoon, the sky inside matching the sky outside. I felt like we'd spent the whole day killing bugs. I know I should make this part of my story interesting. I should diagram attacks and create suspense and offer every gross detail up as if we were in danger and the bugs were a threat.

Spoiler: the bugs were never a threat. Riley might have been in trouble if he were alone, just from the sheer numbers. Bear could have had a hard time with the boss bugs. But Zelda could practically blink and the bugs would keel over. I kept a careful eye on the fights to make sure the dogs stayed safe, but I mostly stayed out of them myself. I wanted the dogs to get stronger, and I knew nothing I could do in here would help me except as it helped them.

By the time we reached the rift core for the third time, Riley was Level 4 and Bear was Level 6. Neither Zelda nor I had leveled up. In my case, I was still hanging on to my levels for healing purposes, and I hadn't needed them since I hadn't even been scratched by the stupid bugs. Zelda simply hadn't gained enough XP to level, but then she was already Level 16. This rift was a walk in the park to her.

If I were a good Rift Keeper, or even just aspiring to be one, I'd be preparing my report for the rift rating and summary. Tier 1, definitely. Environment, tolerable. It was a little dry and dusty, but the temperature was comfortable, the air was breathable. The worst problem any average oxygen-breathing humanoid would have might be some pollen during allergy season. Denizens, ridiculously easy, with a max level of 5.

I didn't know where the other gate led, but it was located in the forest behind the Dollar General, looking innocuous enough, and if the rift denizens were any clue, it was a world with a lot of bugs, no sapients. I didn't know how to measure mana flow or stability, but resources? Well, my spatial pouch was stuffed full of dog food and cat food, with a few bags of weird chips thrown in for good measure.

On a scale that included magical ores and rare herbs and super-special precious stuff, the resources were probably crap. On the scale that said, hey, I'd like to feed my pets for a good long time, we were golden. I didn't have a map ability like Emma did, but the rift core had given me a map the first time I touched it, and the rift wasn't complicated. Or particularly big.

Call it four zones: the road in with no monsters, the Dollar General with the roaches, the forest with the crickets, and the gas station with the beetles. There was no big monster at the end, but the door to the office in the gas station wouldn't open until all the biggest bugs were dead. My third use of the rift core gave us ten credits again. I looked at it, wondering what credits were really worth, then headed for the exit.

The notifications light was blinking in the corner of my vision, but I wanted a cup of tea and a comfy chair before I dealt with the System. By the time we reached the gate, I felt like I was dragging myself along. The rift hadn't been hard, but it had been a lot. A lot of bugs, a lot of killing, a lot of stress. The third time through was the easiest in most senses. We knew where we were going, and there were no surprises. But I was tired.

Bear and Riley both had level-up energy—they were bouncing along as if it were still morning. And Zelda had the dogged determination of her breed. Jack Russells never quit. Me, though? I wished I'd put a few more points into Endurance. Pre-System, there was no way I would have lasted through hours of fighting bugs; my arms would have given out, my legs would have refused to keep carrying me. If I still had my step counter running, I'm sure I'd have 20, 000 steps or more.

But even with my System advantages, I felt wiped out. I hesitated when we reached the backyard. I wanted that cup of tea, but we could turn around and go back into the RMI. System Chelsea hadn't explicitly told me that the goal was to clear the rift, getting the progress percentage to zero, but it seemed obvious we were aiming for that. And we should have accomplished it with our third harvest, as long as it hadn't regenerated at all. If it had regenerated, we'd need to do it one more time.

Bear didn't wait for me to decide what we were doing. She bounded up to the French doors to the sunroom and pawed at them, tail wagging. Dinner time, she was saying. Time for dinner. Food! Now, food! Riley followed her, trotting over to the door, but Zelda looked up at me first, checking in. I nodded at her. We'd do dinner first and then figure out what came next. It was, what, Day 3 of the apocalypse? I felt like I was falling behind, but taking care of basic needs ought to always be a priority.

Armies couldn't march on empty stomachs, right? And my little army wanted to eat. When we got inside, the house felt stuffy. Shit. I flipped a light switch, just to check, and nothing happened. Yep, the power was out and the AC was off. I knew it was inevitable, but it still sucked. My fantasy of a cup of tea would have to wait. Bear headed straight for her spot by the fridge and dropped into an alert down, gaze focused on the empty bowl still on the floor from breakfast.

Her tail made lazy beats against the tile as she waited, not exactly patiently. Riley plopped onto his dog bed, the one by the fireplace. He rested his head on his forepaws, eyes on the kitchen. Zelda meandered her way to the closed office door, nose down, sniffing along the edge. Cat still here, she announced with her tail. That was fine by me. I'd feed the dogs first, and then bring the General some food. I'd also grabbed cat litter and a barebones litter box from the pet section.

While I didn't know how the General would feel about the indignity of using a litter box, I wanted him to have the option in case of monsters. In case of monsters. Yeah, I really had that thought. I shook my head at the insanity, then went into the pantry and started unloading my pouch, stacking the pet food along one of the low shelves. I'd need to start thinking about people food, too, but I had enough canned beans and tuna to last me at least a couple of weeks.

I was going to be sad not to have any fresh produce in the very near future, but the Dollar General had frozen vegetables, so my diet wouldn't be completely devoid of nutrition. My thoughts spiraled around food, healthy meals, chores, electricity, survival while I worked, habits taking over to keep me moving. Within a few minutes, the dogs were all eating, and I was entering the office, carrying a tray with bowls of fresh water and cat food. In the dim light, I couldn't see the General at first.

I had a moment of wondering if he'd left just as mysteriously as he'd arrived, but then I remembered Zelda had said he was still here.

"Um, General?" I said, feeling stupid. He responded with movement, and I realized he was sitting on the windowsill, on the far side of my dad's desk. He stood, stretched in that boneless way cats have, and then padded across the desk and sat again. I could sense the polite Good evening in his posture.

"I hope you've had a peaceful day," I said to him, moving to the table where I'd placed his food the previous night. He responded verbally, two distinct meows with a vicious hiss in between them. I bobbled the tray, nearly dropping it, and glanced in his direction.

"Could you repeat that? Cat is not my native language." There were… things… beyond the hedge, he told me.

"Things?" I set the tray down. He hissed again and added a fluffed-out tail to his description. Poisoned things. Creatures. They might once have been the wild dogs that howl in the night. I drew a deep breath. Great. Mana-crazed coyotes? Florida didn't have wolves, to the best of my knowledge. His tail deflated. They did not cross the barrier. But they paced the line and paced some more. Be wary if you venture outside your sanctuary.