Sako and I are on a little expedition, the angels right beside us. Nothing crazy; we’re just scouting out our surroundings, trying to get a lay of the land. Neither of us is particularly strong right now, but we’ve grown enough that we should be able to protect ourselves from some of the weaker HET. Then again, I have nothing to base that theory on. Luckily, Angel says that there should be little to none in the forests around us, which is at least a little comforting.
During our training, I’ve tried to stick by Sako’s side at all times, fearing another incident like what happened with those two men, but she’s so rambunctious that I can’t keep up, and sometimes she disappears to train before the sun even rises. Her passive ability, Boundless Joy, doesn’t help either. Last to bed, first to rise. She was probably like that before all of this, too.
As we walk, the noises of the forest don’t frighten me as much anymore, though I still can’t help but stay on edge. I feel like the moment I believe every sound is just a squirrel scurrying up a tree will be the moment a HET attacks.
It’s about midday, and we stop for a break. Sako pulls her ‘house-made’ squirrel jerky from her bag, and we snack on it while sitting on some rocks. Ever since we ran out of rations, we’ve eaten mostly squirrel meat, the most abundant creature around. That means squirrel for breakfast, lunch, snacks, and dinner, often with a side of mushrooms or seasonal fiddlehead ferns.
I’m so goddamn tired of squirrel meat. Some McDonald's really would be really nice right now. I wonder how much EP it would cost to make some…
“I suggest you not waste your EP on useless abilities,” Angel says.
“And I suggest you stop reading my mind,” I say. “Besides, the ability to create sustenance isn’t useless.”
“McDonald's is hardly a source of nutrition,” Angel says. “Plus, using skills to create food is counterintuitive. Using energy to create energy will result in a net loss and-”
“Say, Lily,” Sako says, cutting off Angel’s incessant exposition. “Before the HET attacked, what kind of foods did you like?”
“Huh? That’s kinda random,” I say.
“Not really,” Sako says. “We’re talking about food, aren’t we?”
“Okay, but it’s pointless to talk about the things we can’t have anymore,” I say.
“That’s not true,” Sako says. “One day, when humanity drives away the HET, we’ll have to remember all the things we lost so we can bring them back. I think it’s always important to remember what we’re fighting for.”
Does she really believe we’re fighting to save the world here? I wish I could be that naive.
“To be honest, I don’t really have any favorite foods in particular,” I say. “It was mostly takeout and junk ‘cause Mom didn’t care enough to cook.”
“Then that’s all the more reason to fight and bring everything back!” Sako says. “I want you to experience all the things you were missing out on back then.”
“We might not be able to,” I say. “We’ve got no idea how many people are even left, or if any cities are still standing. For all we know, we could be the last two people in the world.”
“That’s… that’s not true,” Sako says.
I sense the mood shift, like I said something I shouldn’t have. Is that all it takes to sway this girl’s mood? Or maybe she has these thoughts too, and she’s doing everything in her power to keep them at bay. I often forget that, unlike me, she’s not a coward.
“Then again, it’s statistically improbable that we are,” I add. “So, um, what kind of foods do you like? Unlike me, I’m sure you have excellent taste.”
“My dad is Japanese, so I have a bias toward their food,” Sako says.
“What, like sushi?” I ask.
Alright, I know there’s more to Japanese food than just sushi. Before all this, I consumed an absurd amount of anime and manga, but I don’t want Sako to think I’m more of a geek than she already probably does.
Just thinking of how I used to be… it disgusts me. Sitting alone in the dark…
“Yeah, like sushi,” Sako laughs. “And ochazuke, takoyaki, and onigiri.”
I actually know what all of those things are.
“Oh, but my favorite is probably sauerkraut yakisoba,” Sako says.
“I’ve heard of yakisoba and sauerkraut, but never of them together,” I say.
“Well, my dad is Japanese, but my mom is Polish,” Sako says. “They’re both excellent cooks, so they’re always fighting over the kitchen. As a result, they’ve come up with some pretty creative fusion dishes. The aforementioned sauerkraut yakisoba, kielbasa omurice, curry pierogi… I could go on and on. I’d really love for you to try their cooking one day.”
I like how she talks about them as if they’re still here. It’s refreshing. It almost makes me think everything is normal, even if it’s just for a few fleeting moments.
“Did they teach you how to cook?” I ask.
“Yep! More than just squirrel jerky,” Sako says. “One day, I’ll cook you a proper meal, and you’ll see the glory of Polish-Japanese cuisine!”
“Yeah… that sounds nice,” I say. “I-”
“If you two are finished chatting, I think it’s time that we keep moving,” Titania says.
“We need to allocate some time to going back,” Titania continues. “Else you’ll be stumbling around in the dark, or sleeping in the dirt.”
After our short reprieve, we continue walking for a while longer. About thirty minutes or so. I’ve always had a punctual internal clock, so estimating times like this is quite easy for me. Not that it matters. I’m pretty sure our little AI friends have their own internal clocks that are atomically more accurate than my vague estimations.
Sako takes the lead because she’s way more in tune with nature and is better at spotting things like holes and tree roots. If it were me, I probably would have fallen on my face a few hundred times by now.
I’m about to suggest we start heading back when Sako stops and begins to peer around curiously.
“What is it?” I ask.
“There were people around here,” Sako says. “Or some other creature.”
“How can you tell?” I ask.
“There are branches broken off the trees, and some of the shrubbery looks like it’s been walked over,” Sako says.
My heart rate accelerates like a galloping horse, and my breathing grows uneven as soon as she says that. I might’ve been more hopeful of finding people before, but now I don’t want to encounter anyone- HET, human, or otherwise.
“R-Recently?” I hesitantly ask.
“I don’t know,” Sako says. “But this isn’t the work of any animal. At least, no animal from around here. It’s too messy and inconsistent. I think it’s best if we-”
She stops short as her gaze falls onto something in the distance. I look ahead too, trying to see what she’s spotted, hoping with all my heart it’s not a terrible creature.
Then, I see it. It’s not a HET or a person, but a small structure covered in shrubbery. I don’t want to go there, not in the slightest, but Sako’s already walking ahead. I grab her hand.
“We should go back,” I say.
She pulls her arm away from me and keeps walking. “No, we should investigate. That’s the whole reason we’re out here, isn’t it?”
How can she still be so callous? Shouldn’t she be more worried than anyone after what happened to her? Either she’s really dumb, or she has too much faith in me protecting her.
I have no choice but to follow. Her decision-making skills may be questionable, but at least she’s not rash. She chooses her steps carefully, making sure not to make any sounds along the way. I follow her footprints exactly so I don’t clumsily trip over a rock or step on a twig.
Slow and steady like snails, we creep. Sako takes us on an uneven path, sticking close to large trees and avoiding thorny brambles, and keeps going until the structure is even closer.
When we’re finally a few yards away, we see a concrete shed with a wide-open metal door, leading into a pitch-black interior. I’m getting nervous. I don’t think we should pursue this any longer, but I know Sako won’t be easy to sway.
Before I can say anything, she’s already broken out of the brush and is walking toward the overgrown shed. I muster up all the bravery inside of me, which isn’t much, and tail closely behind until we’re staring into the shed’s depths.
As it turns out, it’s not a shed at all. It’s another bunker. Unlike the one we were at, this one is smaller, or at least the outside entrance is; probably not an entire complex. Its staircase tunnels deep down to a depth we cannot see from the top, and a foreboding howl seems to emit from the darkness.
Without a word, Sako turns away from the open door and starts walking away.
Thank god. For a moment, I thought she was going to make us go down into that death trap. With the door open like that and the overgrown moss around the concrete, it was obviously the worst possible thing we could do. If I’d learned anything from cheesy horror flicks, it was to never investigate things that can kill you. You’d have to be as big of an idiot as the people in those movies to do something like that.
I start to follow Sako away from the ‘totally-going-to-kill-us’ bunker, but she stops abruptly. I watch as she reaches down and grabs a thick branch, inspecting it closely. Then, she rummages through her bag and grabs some torn cloth and tree resin she’d been storing in a jar she found. She coats the cloth in resin, wraps it around the torch, then turns back toward the bunker.
“What are you doing?” I ask. I already know the answer, but I ask arbitrarily in hopes that she’s going to subvert my expectation and NOT go down into Jigsaw’s little fun house.
“Isn’t it obvious?” she asks, using her fireball skill to light up her makeshift torch. “We need light to see in the dark, don’t we?”
“You can’t seriously want to go down there,” I say.
“It’s not that I want to, but aren’t you curious?” she asks.
“No, as a matter of fact, I’m not,” I say. “Haven’t you ever seen a horror movie?”
“Nope! They’re too scary,” Sako says.
That explains a lot.
“Okay, but what if there’s something bad down there?” I ask. “Like more awful people or HET.”
“Why would the HET be stowed away in a bunker?” Sako asks. “Besides, don’t we want to find more people at this point? It’d be pretty lame if I had to keep chugging along with a negative Nancy like you for the rest of my days.”
“After what happened last time, I don’t trust other people anymore,” I say.
“Did you ever?” Sako asks. “Even before this, I mean.”
No, I guess I didn’t. But now, I have a pretty damn good reason not to.
“C’mon, Titania, Angel!” I say to our AI companions, who have been eerily silent. “Surely this is a terrible idea; back me up here.”
“It is unlikely that there are any HET down there,” Titania says. “But there could be supplies or something useful. The risk-to-reward ratio is favorable.”
“Don’t worry about it!” Angel says. “The bunker is overgrown, and the door was open, so I doubt there are any people down there, either.”
I cannot believe that going down there is on the table right now.
“If you want, you can stay here,” Sako says, brushing me aside as she walks into the open steel frame. “But if I die, I’m gonna haunt you for the rest of your life.”
“Great, then I’d have to deal with aliens, humans, AND ghosts,” I say. “No, thank you. I’d rather die than have to deal with something so troublesome.”
“That’s the spirit!” Sako says. “I think…”
Looking down the depths of those stairs, I feel each individual hair stick up on my goosebump-ridden body. The flickering wick of Sako’s torch glimmers dimly in the darkness, providing a small sphere of light around us as we take our first step in the bunker’s depths.
I really hate this.