Chapter 5

The air retains the acrid taste of charcoal on the first of a three-day walk to Violet City. A mournful silence haunts the road. Elisabeth told me that Routes 30 and 31 were once the eastern sister of Ilex Forest, and her elementary school practiced drills for high winds, forest fires, and Pokemon swarms. "We wore bodysuits for Beedrill stingers, and gas masks to avoid inhaling Butterfree powder." They're only memories now, fading into ghost stories of a distant past. She was twelve when the Pokemon League gathered packs of Growlithe and Houndour to blaze a clearing. For months afterward, she coughed ashes.

Today is Thursday, so my Pokemon emerge at twilight. The latest research recommends sleep three nights a week outside of their Pokeballs, to prevent developing poor circulation otherwise. Cramming inside a Pokemon Center bedroom was a nightmare, especially while Oswald transitioned to a diurnal cycle, but patience and tolerance are necessary observances of science. He and Aris roam around as I set up camp, well acquainted with nature's sights, whereas Belle squats with her head tilted upward, mesmerized.

The starry heavens rotate above us, watercolors splashed onto the blanket of clouds drifting by. The hues of Cherrygrove and New Bark Town's skies reach navy at their darkest, and the fumes of Professor Oak's laboratory envelop Pallet Town in a chemical pink tinge; it's only far from humans that night turns this black, dotted by twinkling white.

When it's time to sleep, Belle jitters in Aris's presence. In an eternal dance, her twitchy feet force the Spinarak to scurry around evading her stomps, and in step she's unnerved further. Both adore Oswald, however. They curl up on either side of him, blanketed by his wings as they slumber.

Did Blue and Red lie in the meadow this way before they slept? What, or who, did they think about? I picture our sleeping bags resting on the grass side by side during our journey to Mt. Moon or Rock Tunnel or Saffron City, together. As our fingers point at our favorite stars and trace constellations, I open my mouth to ask a question.

No words come out. Again. I try again. Their lips move—empty. The scene is muted.

Reality is quiet now.

I didn't have friends in New Bark Town, but I did have chatter: coworkers who discuss science, Ethan's youthful curiosity, and Anya, of course, hounding me for rent. Now, my daily vocabulary has shrunk to permuting orders to attack. Training Pokemon is turning me feral.

The luck of Blue and Red, to have human companions on their travels. Each other. Maybe Blue would be fine regardless, with the suave and charm to chat up other trainers. He still would have been an invaluable presence for his standoffish friend.

These moments help me understand Red more than my brother.

#

The open field narrows on Friday—day two. Trees and a distant droning, the forest's gentle warning, close in on the path while Dark Cave looms ahead. Oswald patrols the fortress of bark and leaves as the rest of us work through a session of practice.

The welts Aris leaves on Rattata aren't mere stings anymore; they swell with a venomous bite. When blood trickles from a minor cut across Aris's leg, he returns to his Pokeball for a deserved rest. Belle hits all five branches with one leaf now, every try, so her drill has increased in complexity with added targets and changed timings. I'm prepared to throw eight branches in total, half with staggered releases, when a Hoothoot's cries sweep through the air.

I don't see Oswald flying.

I urge Belle to follow and sprint towards the sound. The buzz of the woods crescendos into a thump, a pulse. There are cobwebs and shedded exoskeletons—hints of a lurking Kakuna nest—that I try to ignore.

In the canopy, brown vines ensnare Oswald's body as he thrashes. Yellow heads pop out of the foliage.

People forget the Bellsprout line are carnivores, and their evolutions feast on more than bugs. They are waiting for their Weepinbell.

There's no direct path to retrieve him with his ball. "Razor Leaf!" When nothing happens, I turn back and see the green dot, her paws hesitating alongside the road.

She still cowers when confronted by rustling tall grass.

I snap a Pokeball off my belt. "Aris, get up there and use Poison Sting!" The Spinarak ascends along a silk string, toward the tree crown. His stinger rams into a Bellsprout root and releases Oswald. Another latches onto Aris's leg—I think the injured one—but the Hoothoot pecks it away. Tendrils writhe across the boughs, starving.

"Oswald, grab Aris and fly up!"

They burst through the leaves, giving me a clear shot. The beams from their Pokeballs line up and tuck them into the interiors.

A horde of Bellsprout peer at me through the branches before shuffling off to lure new prey.

Belle waits for me with that playful smile. "Unacceptable," I say. She cowers, but I persist. "Belle, listen to me. This is unacceptable. Oswald was in trouble. He could've been maimed or killed! Aris had to rescue him—and you saw him get injured earlier. I'm lucky no one was seriously hurt.

And it's because you run away. Every time, you run away. I've tried to accommodate you, I've tried to keep you out of fights, but this is unacceptable. You put everyone in danger today."

I didn't know Pokemon could cry.

We stand there while the sun sets. The scent of Pineco breezes past; the grass rustles around us. I'm not sure what to do. "Belle," I say, trailing off without a follow up.

The Chikorita raises her head and runs.

I could return her to her ball, but intuition screams at me to snatch my backpack and chase. Fatigue sets in. She's faster, fitter. In the distance I track her heading towards the mountainside and into Dark Cave. She won't go in far. I rest on my knees and heave for air outside the entrance and call her name. "Belle?"

The dimming light penetrates the cavern mouth two, three yards before it's swallowed by the dark.

"Belle?"

This time I hear squeals from within. She still doesn't come out. Thoughts of the Bellsprout incident dissuade me from sending Oswald, so I go inside. Every few steps I crash into a boulder. The ground is not dirt, smooth and soft. It is jagged stones, coarse grit, rock after rock.

"Belle?" As her voice grows louder, my ears direct me toward the ceiling.

A snare swallows my body and yanks.

Zubats swarm past our nets and take to the night as Belle and I scream. My hands grasp around for Oswald's Pokeball—not on my belt, and neither is Aris's. They must have come loose when I was launched up. Wings scurry by for what feels like hours, until the entire colony has exited the cave.

When I regain composure, my fingers rub against the net's taut, rugged texture. Weedle silk. They don't naturally live in caves, so these are a bug catcher's traps to snag Pokemon or rob unsuspecting trainers. The trapper might not return for hours or days. They might not be friendly, either.

Belle continues to fuss around. "Settle down." She must be right next to me; I still can't see. My phone light is enough, barely—she's there. I lean against the net, reach through the darkness, and come in contact with her leaf.

"Settle down," I hush, stroking her head.

"It's okay. Don't be afraid, don't be afraid. Settle down."

Over and over.

"I'm sorry for yelling earlier," I say. "You weren't raised to fight. But that's all this journey is. Fights. It's stupid, it's senseless, it won't end." The brooch inside my pocket presses down on my skin. "It will-I will keep going. You don't have to. You can return to Elm if you want."

Noises exit her mouth that I don't understand. She realizes, because after I don't respond, she touches me with her paws. "You have to battle if you stay." Despite the warning, she holds on.

"Fine," I sigh. We'll repeat this discussion again when she's flung into her next bout. Elm underestimated the importance of instinct when he decided on my starter. Silver must be shocked, running into the same frustrations. Except—the sight of Blair, doubling over in pain, as he twists the knob—his methods differ.

It occurs to me: instincts. Belle doesn't resist capture. With my palm on her forehead, I ask, "Did you try cutting the strings?"

She shakes a no.

Withdrawing my hand, I say, "Use Razor Leaf."

A soft thud. She's out. It's too dark to aim at my snare, not without the risk of hitting me, so I ask her to search for Oswald and Aris's Pokeballs instead. Whether she can activate them or deliver them to me is a worry for later.

Something rumbles to my left. I spin around with my phone and gasp. A Geodude sits on a stalagmite, two feet from my net. For a second it looks like he might swing a fist, but he stretches and yawns with his back turned.

A plan hatches in my mind as I rummage through my bag.

I poke an unused Pokeball through the net and tap the Geodude. He vanishes amidst a flash of light. My hand retracts as the capsule wobbles once, twice, thrice before it locks onto the target's DNA and confirms a catch.

I brace myself, hold my breath, and press the button. The Geodude emerges inside the net. The bottom trembles, lurches, then rips.

I scramble to my feet and wave my phone until it spots him. Aggressive Ground-types are difficult to control without the adequate threat of a Pokeball's electricity, so I prepare to recall him if there's any sign of attack. He raises his arms, shielding his head from the light.

"Damian," I say, pointing to him. I illuminate the sphere resting in my hand. "Damian," I say once more. "Do you understand?"

He rolls his head back and forth. I think that's a nod, a yes. "Good," I say, gulping as he's returned to his Pokeball. My fingers squeeze it as if to suppress a twitch, an attempted breakout.

A minute later, Belle rolls two Pokeballs to my feet and huddles against my legs. "Let's go," I say, gathering my belongings. "And, um, thanks. Good work."

It's off schedule, but I let everyone sleep outside tonight.