Chapter Ten: Bugs and More 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 base of the rift. 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 even notice. But then we moved into a living situation with four dogs, and door rules became non-negotiable. Otherwise every entrance and exit becomes a mad scramble, and you wind up accidentally kicking dogs when you just want to grab your Amazon package.

  When we left that living situation, Riley came with us, so we kept up our door rules. Sort of. I was casual about them. Regular time outside, I didn’t bother. Visitors or car rides, I did. When Bear joined us, she learned the rules too, such as they were.

  The point is: when I told the dogs I was going first, I wasn’t 100% sure that it wouldn’t turn into a struggle, dogs yanking on their leashes, tugging me into trouble. But they listened. Even Bear. I stepped into my RMI with a heartbeat of gratitude that I’d made it there, and then the dogs were there with me and that heartbeat turned into a flood. Most of me had been sure we’d wind up in the same place. Some percentage had been sure I was wrong.

  “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 quite glare at her, but I didn’t pause, either, heading straight for the door to the rift.

  “Good job! Well done!” System Chelsea called after me.

  I refrained from giving her the finger. Only because of my past history, though. There was a part of me that was so deeply suspicious about the “System” and everything to do with it that I was reluctant to be gratuitously rude. In real life, forcing a smile and being polite to people with power was so much safer than honesty. Was System Chelsea really someone who deserved that kind of caution? I didn’t know, but I wasn’t willing to take the chance.

  The dogs and I spilled out into our rift and I promptly removed their 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.

  Two things I learned on that first run: first, the donuts sucked. How do you ruin a donut? Whoever owned the shop this rift was modeled after had managed. Or maybe I should blame the rift.

  But the donuts were sickeningly sweet with icing like glue. I didn’t let the dogs have any, of course, but after my first taste of a so-called glazed, I didn’t want to eat them either.

  Second, the rift control center was inside the gas station. There were weird cricket-like bugs in the woods nearby, and a half dozen mutant beetles in the garage, but the actual rift crystal 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 crystal 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 crystal’s reward was less impressive the second time: 10 credits. How much had that Etherwyrm armor cost again? About 12,000 times through this rift? Never gonna happen.

  The third time through, I paused in the coffee shop first and glanced at 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 was dependent on what I accomplished on actual Earth, not fake Oklahoma.

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  “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.

  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 would have been in trouble if he was alone. Bear might have had a hard time with the swarms or maybe the boss bugs. But Zelda could practically blink and the bugs would keel over and I didn’t do much of anything. 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 picked up the rift crystal 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 14. This rift was a walk in the park to her.

  The third use of the rift crystal gave us ten credits again. I looked down at it, momentarily annoyed enough to think about destroying the crystal, and then I carefully set it back down where it came from and headed to 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.

  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 One, 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 in allergy season. Denizens, ridiculously easy, with a max level of five. I didn’t know where the other breach 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 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 the biggest bugs were dead.

  By the time we hit the exit, 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 like it was still morning. And Zelda had the dogged determination of her breed. Jack Russells never quit.

  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 completely harvest the rift, getting the progress percentage to zero, but it seemed obvious that that’s what we were aiming for. And we should have accomplished it with our third clear, as long as it hadn’t regenerated at all. If it had regenerated, though, 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 sunroom door and pawed at it, 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 A/C was off. I knew it was inevitable, but it still sucked. My fantasies of a cup of tea would have to wait.

  Bear headed straight for her spot by the fridge and dropped into an alert down position, 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 weeks. I was going to be sad not to have any fresh produce in the very near future, but the Dollar General had some 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 that Zelda said he was still here.

  “Um, General?” I said, feeling stupid.

  He responded with movement and I realized he was sitting on the window sill, 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.