The phone rang fifteen times. He counted. Fifteen times before someone finally picked up.
"Ah thank God, this is Garret an—"
"Your call is very important to us!"
"Oh for fucks sake…" He muttered and leaned against the mustard colored head of the Buster engine. He drew his coat up a bit more warmth.
"Pecan! C'mere!" His voice rolled over the iron tracks, and resounded off the stone.
"HEE-HAW."
It wasn't long before the clip clopping of hooves came about above the slow howling of wind through the mountain pass. She traced his path up to the train, and made her way down to the tracks again. She walked over to the man leaning against the engine, and pressed the top of her head to his hip.
"Whoa now." He pushed her back.
And her black tail flicked back and forth. He put his phone on speaker, and set it on the edge of the iron steps that led up into the conductor's cabin, and pulled the small, handheld chainsaw from the small pouch on the side of her saddle: made of an old curtain and some dowel rods all bound together with loose cuts and strips of leather from an old pair of shoes he had laying around back home. He had made sure to ask Logan; their quartermaster, it was full before coming up here just in case something like this happened and the track needed to be clear.
With the sound of the dial up, and the occasional:
"YOUR CALL IS VERY IMPORTANT TO US. PLEASE STAY ON THE LINE."
He pulled the cord once. Twice. Thrice. Four times. Five times.
He cursed and spat and cursed again. He unscrewed the cap and the wind swept into the small gas tank and rang out a hollow wooooosh.
"Mother fuck…."
He pulled he walkie-talkie out of his pocket and turned it back on. It beeped to life.
"Logan you bastard, did you forget to put gas in the chainsaw."
"Uh...shit, yeah I knew I forgot somethin'"
"What did you do with the 50 I gave you?"
"Uh, snacks…."
"Damn it Logan, there's a tree in the middle of the rail, how the fuck am I supposed to move it."
"Lift it?"
"Lift it? Are you retarded?"
"Aren't you like a superhuman?"
"Yeah?"
"Then lift it?"
"That's not my build — oh forget about it."
Garret sighed and slammed the walkie-talkie back into his pocket. He moved over to the log, gripped the bottom of it and squatted down. The seat of his jeans ripped as he tried to stand with it. The log budged the smallest bit, and he huffed. He needed to be stronger. He glanced around, and vanished into the treeline.
"Status." He said out loud.
Somehow he could hear the boys laughing back at the lodge. Ah, how he wanted to be there. In the fire. Cowboy fantasies are all well and good, but nothing beat a warm fire and hot tea.
His windows flashed in front of him: pine needles stuck through blue screen.
Name
Garret McMichaels
HP:MP
220/220 : 50/350
Strength
8 (+)
Endurance
12 (+)
Dexterity
8 (+)
Perception
13 (+)
Craft
20 (+)
Will
25 (+)
Class
Blossoming Moon Spearman
Level (Extra Stats)
5 (308/500) (15)
He could never let the boys see his class. Never. They would never let him live it down. What kind of sick…
He sighed, and pressed the (+) by Strength 15 times. The 8 scrolled up to settle on 23. He felt his muscles tighten, and he swiped away the screen and stepped out of the treeline.
"YOUR CALL IS VERY IMPORTANT TO US…"
"Yeah yeah." He muttered as he approached the log once more, and retook his position at its head.
He felt the seat of his pants rip a bit larger as he squatted down to grasp the log once more, took a deep breath, and slowly lifted the edge of the log; head over head. He pushed it over and it slammed into the snow with a loud, resounding thud that shook the very forest.
"Hello? Hello?"
A voice called over the phone.
"Shit. Hold on!" He took a few steps towards the phone: his boots snagged beneath one of the wooden tracks, and he nearly fell face first onto the ground. He recovered, and nearly ran into Pecan. "Move!"
Pecan brayed and listed, heading to an interesting patch of green she spotted somewhere; unearthed by the Warchief's rage. He swiped his phone off the iron step ,and placed it to his ear.
"Hey! Sorry, I had to do something."
"You know, it's very rude to keep people waiting on the phone, right?" The woman on the other side said.
Garret wanted to respond in a wry way, but, honestly, he just wanted to finish this damned job.
"This is Garret McMichaels; from G-Maintenance? We recovered the engine in the Rockies, and all you need to do is send a conductor to get her back up and running."
"Oh! Well, let me transfer you to our Outsourcing line…"
Calming music and then….
"YOUR CALL IS VERY IMPORTANT TO US."
Garret sighed and sank to the ground. The snow melted through his long-johns and all the muscles of his body contracted at once. Pecan trotted over to him, and pressed the top of her head into his forehead, and laid down by him: still half halfheartedly chewing a plant. It looked vaguely familiar. He had seen something like it somewhere before, but where…
The single, serrated leaf that wasn't currently being devoured by the mule was about the length of two palms, and the width of an arm. It gave off a soft glow and a low hum. Its roots: both still sticking out from the mule's mouth were tangled in soil, and fell from the central, soft green stem in symmetrical legs.
Earth Root! That was it.
Ah! He felt pleased with himself for having remembered it. Ever since the world changed: and the System got introduced after the Pleiades vanished new plants the world over began being discovered. They had remarkable properties: some, still, hesitated to call them magical. and Earth Root was one of them….
"Shit!"
He grabbed the remaining plant and pulled it from the mule's mouth. Pecan pulled back as if Garret had suddenly fancied a game of tug-of-war.
"Let go of it you ass!"
"Excuse me?"
A hollow voice rang from the phone.
"Shit."
He let go of the plant and scooped his phone up to his ear. "Sorry about that, was wrestling with...er, mount. I'm Garret from G-Maintenance, and I'd like to report that the engine y'all lost in the Rockies is cleared of monsters and is ready for recovery."
"Ah! Thank you. Will you be able to stay there to greet the conductor?"
"Course."
"Thank you, Mr. Mcmichaels. We will pay that invoice posthaste."
"Thank ya kindly."
*click*
Garret turned to the mule, and the last strand of root vanished up the creature's mouth.
"Ah well."
At least she'll be healthier. She was an old girl: Garret had inherited her from his grandfather 20 or so years back. Used to run her in the Mail Run festival back in Tulare County. Hopefully that Earth Root would add a few more years to her ticker.
She wandered off, and Garret turned to watching YouTube to help pass the hours until the conductor arrived. There was a video that the algorithm recommended at the top of his feed; titled simply, "This Greek Town Did THIS?!?"
The image was of a nice looking beach: sapphire waves and topaz shores, and small, clay formed buildings with red terracotta roofs: a Scottish flag inexplicably plastered on top, and a woman in the corner pressing her cheeks together as if she were auditioning for the live action role of Munch's The Scream. The final piece of this absurdist piece was a man, with his mouth agape, pointing at it all superimposed on top. He pressed it and half-heartedly listened through the first five minutes of ads for, "gamer supplements," that so and so Awakened recommends. Some mobile game, some….yada yada yada. Finally, it got to the point of the video.
It was about ten minutes into the video when the point given by the title. During that time Carlos' drone was hovering overhead, loudly. Incessantly. It got lower and lower until it was practically sweeping his hat from his head. He looked up at it.
"What?" He demanded: thrusting his hands toward the drone.
It jolted rightward three times as if it were telling Garret to glance in that direction. Garrett groaned and looked towards it: pausing the video as he did so. Pecan had her head bowed down near the treeline: chewing on something else. A whole, small outcrop of something. Of two leafed plants that gave off a soft glow.
"Oh, who's my lucky girl!"
This small grouping could really do wonders for the guild! Perhaps they could afford an actual refrigerator. Or a couch. Or a house that wasn't being pulled by an old Ranger. Or a car that didn't break down every other week, or a…
Garret tore his mind away from the misery and began pulling them from the ground. He stuffed as many as he could into his satchel until it bulged a little. Once he was finished, he took one of the fresh ones from the ground and looked at it. With a non-commital shrug he bit into it.
It was awful. As if he just chewed on dirt tainted with motor oil; (which is something that Carlos had dared him to do as a kid. Couldn't get the taste out of his mouth for months afterwards.)
[+1 HP, +.5 MP]
Normally you were limited to consuming one a day: if you ate anymore; its toxins would overwhelm your system almost instantly, and you would fall dead almost just as fast. Perhaps it was different for animals. There she was, chewing on her fourth. Or fifth and she seemed perfectly fine.
It wasn't the first time, either. She was probably the sole reason the guild was even solvent. This haul alone would be worth more than the 750 this job was going to net them. He scratched her behind the ear and went back to his spot by the train, and continued the video where he had picked up.
"So guys! Illios Greece. Just last year it was struggling…."
The camera panned to a golden sanded beach. The rays of the noon-time sun heavy in the sky —as deep blue of the Aegean stretched out before them: the hazy ghosts of distant islands. Thousands of people in skimpy outfits stood there: armed with weapons that looked as if they were made of gold, silver, platinum or something otherwise valuable. They posed for pictures in front of the swirling blue portal sitting above the foamy waters in the thinnest swimming gear imaginable. Pursing their lips together. Throwing peace signs, as the monsters that poured from its mouth swam to shore, and were chewed to death by the multitudes there.
Garret clicked his tongue. He found his lip involuntarily raising in a sneer, and bile rising in his throat. He turned off the video, and tossed the old, cracked phone into the snow. In the distant skies he could hear the thum-thumping of chopper blades hacking at the frozen air.
The woods were the first to notice. The wind swept downwards from the approaching bird. Bright white light swept through the small clearing. Garret lowered the brim of his hat to keep both the snow, and pine needles kicked up by the vortex'd wind from blinding him. Pecan bleated loudly, and the helicopter set down.
A young man: no older than Logan, with thick, curly hair and tan skin stepped out of the train. He looked around to the dead goblins: their bodies already quickly decaying into the latent mana that had reshaped the world. Some of them had white, belled growing out of their wounds. He looked at it. Eerily beautiful.
"You Garret?" The man called as he glanced to the man standing out of the way of the chopper.
"HEE-HAW."
"Aw, he's not talking to you, puddin'."
Pecan trotted to the pair of men.
The young man glanced to the approaching mule.
"Well, the company thanks you…"
Three people emerged from the helicopter, and approached the Hunter.
"Were you able to find the old conductor?" One of the men asked.
Each wore a yellow, plastic uniform. Masks over their face, and oxygen strapped to their backs — the long sleeves tucked into thick, blue nitrile gloves. Garret motioned to the half eaten man in the snow. The man sighed loudly.
"He's over here, boys."
Garret watched the men pull a gurney out of the helicopter and approach the corpse. There was a loud shluck like the sound of an oyster being removed from its shell, as the men pulled the frozen body out of the frost, set it on the gurney, and nodded a polite little nod as they passed by Garret and the conductor.
The blades spun. The snow did too. The needles. The air, and then they were gone. Once the ringing was gone he turned to the conductor.
"So...can me and Pecan here get a ride down to Silver Slopes?"
"Ah, let me ask."
The young man pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed a number.
"YOUR CALL IS VERY IMPORTANT TO US." The voice on the other side could be heard over the awkward silence that fell between the two.