Catastrophe 23

Chapter 2: A Ballad of Birds and Rats

On the first day of the Catastrophe, we lost a tenth of the world's living population. Some drowned in the floods. Others were ravaged by the vicious beasts that emerged from the wilds. Yet some, those closer to the fumes perhaps, fell deeply into a state of slumber. A sleep deeper than death.

You might wonder why we stayed inside of the Herald for the next few days following the Catastrophe. Fuck me, hold a gun to my head and I couldn't give you a straight answer. All I knew was that the outside world was a kingdom come. So, like the coward that I was, I stuck to what I knew, which was about a ten-foot radius from my scratchy old desk.

Miranda, who'd been properly done in by the cacnea, certainly looked a right mess. Half of her body was covered in small brownish-green spikes, the other half beaten senselessly. At the time, it made no sense how such a small plant-looking thing was able to deliver such powerful blows, strong enough to break bones and then some. Miranda had been punished to just the brink of death. In any other situation, I would've been in some frantic state. She needed immediate medical attention, not the sort that I could half arse with an expired first-aid kit from the rec room. Yet something was off about her wounds, something that kept me from leaving the Herald immediately to go find help.

Her body was healing. No, it wasn't some miraculous burst of mega-recovery. No, with each hour that passed, I could tell that she was getting better. Her cheeks were reddening, recovering from the terrifying loss of blood. The wounds across her chest and thighs, slashes that had torn apart skin and muscle, were knitting together at an astounding pace. It was uncanny. No human being should have been able to heal that quickly. And if I knew anything about Miranda, it was the fact that she was very much human.

To be certain rather than sorry, I did try calling the local hospitals in vain. Either the lines were busy, disconnected, or just otherwise inaccessible. I wasn't keen on risking a seventeen minute walk carrying her on my back through post-apocalyptic Seattle, not without a damn good reason to. At least, not until I had a better idea of what was going on outside. So, against normal human convention, I made a judgement call regarding my friend Miranda's life: we'd keep her comfortable while her body did its magic. And while getting medical help from the outside was a bust, we weren't completely cut off from the rest of society.

The best part of being trapped in a newsroom? Reliable access to some fucking news, that's what.

I propped Miranda up against several seat cushions and a body-length pillow I pilfered from the temp Jenny's desk. One of the giant flatscreens that we certainly couldn't afford was rolled over. It took some flipping through channels and tweaking with the set-up, yet I was eventually able to turn on the news. What we saw, however, was far from comforting. In fact, some of the images would grow to haunt me for the rest of my life.

11.04% of the world's population was dead. Millions alone were killed in the Catastrophe of Tripoli, where the continent of Africa was practically split into halves. Footage of the incident, of hordes of screaming people trying to take shelter from the very earth trembling underneath them. Tremors toppled even the sturdiest of buildings, undoing generations upon generations of livelihoods built from the ground up. And at the centre of it all, there IT stood.

It was colossal. Motionless from the moment it emerged from the meteor, it was easily larger than the tallest of buildings in the area. Its two thick arms were the size of school buses, its maw could easily swallow a fighter jet whole. It had two gleaming ruby red eyes, devoid of any human emotion. Even with just a glimpse, you could tell in your heart that there was only one word to describe this thing: primordial. The creature, if you could even call it one, was simply a force of nature. As alien as it seemed at first glance, one could not help but feel a sense of divine awe at its presence.

Groudon, the legendary Pokemon. I had seen it before, in the form of pixels on a screen. The very same Groudon was now ravaging our planet, spawned from the greatest astronomical mystery of our time. Much was the same for most of the dozens of meteors that had made impact with Earth, something emerging from the rocks. Whether it was a herald in the form of a gargantuan blue whale off the coast of Barcelona, or a large canine prowing the outskirts of Birmingham, England, another monster most certainly lurked in the remains. Of the meteors, only three remained sealed as they were upon arrival. Three cities were spared from wanton destruction in the form of a primordial god: Istanbul, Seoul, and Los Angeles. Three cities, bearing nothing in common with one another, with meteors remaining idle and intact. A most puzzling yet thankful mystery.

Legendary Pokemon had appeared in bursts of sky debris. Yet they did not arrive alone. For soon after their emergence, the gas began to spread. Or, more accurately, a virus. Pokérus, I thought to myself, ironically.

President Ayaa Nguyen, the president of the United States and leader of the free world, was delivering a speech on the federal government's response to the Catastrophe. One that, admittedly, was not really amounting to much. Major cities for the time being were being quarantined, in some vain hope of containing the spread of the Pokérus. The rampage of the legendaries, on the other hand, there wasn't much to be done about that.

One particular piece of footage was shocking. The Chicago Bean had been the point of impact for the Windy City's own Catastrophe, completely annihilating the city's downtown district. From the remains of the space rocks, a winged beast clawed its way out with a bloodcurdling scream. Lugia.

That was enough television for me to stomach. I muted the news broadcast, struggling to keep down what was left of my meagre lunch. Since we were stranded in the Herald, it wasn't like we had a ton of food to go around. I ransacked the refrigerator and the vending machine from the employee lounge. It was mostly juice boxes, coffee and a bunch of dry pastries. Ayaa was in no state to be eating things and Eduardo was still lost in his own world. I'd managed to shove a stale bagel into his mouth and forced him to chew. In a world where God-forsaken Pokémon were coming to life, it wouldn't be very satisfying to die from starvation of all things.

I knew that we couldn't stay for much longer, even though Miranda was still healing at a decent pace. We would need food, water, and information that the news simply couldn't give us. So on the third day of our recluse, I had to make a decision.

"Guys, I'm going out," I said. The words felt coarse and scratchy on my tongue, as if they knew their utterance was a mistake unto itself. Miranda wasn't quite awake, but I could see her eyelids fluttering. Eduardo, on the other hand, just stared at me. It might have been my wishful thinking but he did seem less blank than normal.

"I'm going outside. We all know that staying here is damning ourselves. Miranda is doing better but I'm sure that an actual doctor would be able to help her more than I can," I said. "I've thought about this for a while now. Neither of you are in any state to be coming with me. At least, not just the three of us. I'm gonna find help. This isn't me ditching you two, okay?" Fuck. That sounded like a lie.

Miranda shuddered, twitching her fingers. I held her hand in my own, giving it a light squeeze. It would've been amazing if she could hear me. I wasn't quite certain that Eduardo was picking up what I was putting down.

Said Eddie was fiddling with something between his fingers. While he still refused to say anything, he made a motion as though he wanted me to take whatever it was off of his hands. A gesture that I followed up on, gently taking the slim piece of paper from him.

It was the picture I'd tossed out a few days before. The picture of me, young and brazen, smiling from ear to ear. Pokémon VGC. A fucking lifetime ago. He'd for some reason fished it out of the bin and kept onto it all this time.

I looked him in the eyes, trying to figure out what he meant by this. Of course, he had immediately retreated back to his state of shock, cradling himself and staying eerily still.

"Thank you, Ed. I've gotta say, I played a childrens' video game a long time ago. I have no clue about what to expect once I leave the building. I'll be back by tomorrow, either with good news or bad. If I'm not…" I gave his shoulder a pat. "I'm trusting Miranda with you, okay? I need you to take care of her. You've gotta snap out of this buddy. You saved her life before and I'm afraid you'll be doing it again at some point."

With that, there was no more conversation. I had said what needed to be said. All that remained was for me to pack some rations, a penlight, and what remained of all the courage left in my body.

Seattle, New Seattle, awaited me.

My plan was fucking brilliant. I would sneak out, maybe travel a few blocks on a classic recon mission. Everything would go according to plan. Everything would be fine.

Everything was fine until I reached West Lake Station. That was to say, shit didn't hit the fan until I was two blocks deep into my journey.

Remember those bird pokemon from the early routes? The little fuckers that are there for EXP fodder before you face the first gym? Yeah, birds don't normally show up one at a time. In fact, the anime was more accurate with the spearow on that front.

Pidoves. Dozens of them, ramming into everything in sight. The buggers were ruthless, charging headfirst like bulls in heat. I questioned both my eyes and their intelligence, choosing to place more faith in the former rather than the latter. Remnants of their latest meal were strewn about 3rd street, whimsy little tails that I assumed belonged to a very familiar purple rat.

Rule Number One of surviving in the Post-Poképocalypse universe: Never assume that anything is friendly. They probably aren't. Aggro was never as simple a game as the games had made it out to be. There wasn't 'tall grass' for a humble journalist to try and avoid. These creatures had all the instincts of regular animals, with bodies that simply weren't the same as before.

Rule Number Two? Humans were now at the bottom of the food chain. Even a fucking Pidove could do me in, judging from the dents in the cars.

I slowly creeped along the side of an already-assaulted buildingside. There were a few smaller pidoves trying to crawl their way inside. These, I took caution to not tread, lest I risk provoking the entire flock. Every now and then I threw a couple pebbles over towards the other side of the street, attracting a few overeager chickens to unleash their bloodlust elsewhere. As far away from me, if possible.

There wasn't anyone else out and about. I figured that this would be the case, what with the pidove mafia having claimed this territory. I only noticed a few bodies, which I tried my best to ignore. Instead, I clambered over to the other side of the street, for the first stop in my journey: West Lake Center.

I wasn't planning on a monorail trip anytime soon. This was the closest place I could imagine anyone evacuating to, with all the restaurants and stores that were ripe for looting. The glass doors were broken into, which sort of dashed my hopes of finding the whole place untouched. As expected, the second floor was almost completely devoid of salvageable foodstuffs. Although, I did manage to grab a bunch of burger buns and a pack of frozen potato chips. A win's a win.

The first floor proved to be more interesting. One of the stores, the one that sold Japanese merch, had been unsullied by would-be thieves like me. The window showed a giant Snorlax plush, the kind that one would use as a couch cushion. Over the glass, someone had spray-painted a crucifix along with the words JUDGEMENT DAY.

You gotta love a good ole' fashioned fanatic to brighten your apocalypse. I wasn't sure how relevant an omnipotent Abrahamic deity was to our particular plight. After all, it wasn't like the Lord Father would go toe-to-toe with Arceus and come out swinging.

The whole business with Arceus was another can of worms I wasn't willing to get into. After all, this was a god of a world that had no business mixing with ours. All the signs of the Catastrophe indicated that most, if not all of the legendaries, were now on Earth. So many possibilities rushed through my brain, most of them ending with the word 'Fuck.' I stepped away from the store, starting to make my way out of West Lake Center.

And then I ran into the rats.

They were about the size of a small dog, or a cat. Picking through the compost bins, three purplish rats were scavenging for something to eat. Rattatas. Rattata? Grammatical plurality of pokemon species was not part of my journalist training. Several of them were fighting amongst themselves, biting and scratching and gushing blood all over the pavement. Rule number one, I needed to escape.

I looked around, trying to see if there was any way out. Stepping back gently, I figured I could maybe backtrack and head out through another entrance.

Then of course I stepped on some glass. You couldn't get more cliche than this, folks. It was probably my fault for invoking the almighty in front of a giant poster of that one lady from Kill La Kill with the nude complex.

At the sudden cracking of shards, three of the rats snapped their necks in my direction. They began the squeak and chatter, hyper-agitated and looking straight in my direction.

I bent over and picked up a larger shard of glass, about the size of my palm. It wouldn't do much to one of these rats, but it was better than nothing. I held it like a knife, awkwardly in front of me.

"Back off. BACK OFF!" I shouted, probably in a much less threatening fashion than I'd pictured in my head. I was new to this whole physical combat thing, after all.

Rattata #1 lunged, fangs bared and ready to chomp down on my jugular. Forgetting the glass in my hand, I used the back of my heel to kick it away from me. Rattata #2 took a more careful approach. It paced around me, chittering and snarling in its little ratlike way. It eyed the glass in my hand, shivering and chattering. Tiny little squeaks of fear.

I looked down at the first rattata, who was just now recovering from my blow. If it were possible, it somehow looked even more outraged than before. I'm not an expert in rattata physiology, but its fur looked a bit spikier. Perhaps it wasn't too late to kiss and make up? I could've sworn that Miranda's refrigerator had a stash of cheese…

Rattata #2 leapt forward, noticing my averted attention. I swept my right foot around, sending the glass shards flying at it. It managed to dodge a few larger pieces, but it took an eyeful of the tinier glass dust. And it howled in pain, if a fucking rat can howl.

Rattata #1, who I decided to call Bucky, lunged once more for my leg. I tried to kick it again, but it twisted out of the way of my foot and managed to sink its fangs on the inside of my shin.

This time, the scream was my own. I desperately tried to shake it off, but Bucky just would not budge. If only I had a weapon…

I realised after a few seconds of agony that I still had the glass makeshift knife. I quickly bent down, and jammed it at the rattata. To my surprise, it barely even made a cut. However, it was just enough to get it off my leg, as it bounced away off the pavement.

It was clear that their fighting spirit was gone by this point. Both rattatas rushed back to their comrades, and scurried across the street, away from both me and the pidoves from earlier.

Once I was absolutely sure that they had disappeared, I let myself relax. The adrenaline of the day's events was starting to wear off, and my body felt heavier and heavier. I pulled up my trousers to take a look at the wound. It was not pretty. The rattata left a deep gash in the fleshy part of my leg. I gently dabbed at the hole with my hand towel, from my backpack.

"Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck," I cursed. I couldn't go out like this. Taken out of commission by a fucking purple rat of all things. I knew that if I made it out alive, I would never belittle Youngster Joey ever again. Top Percent indeed.

One thing was for sure. There was no way I'd make it all the way back to the Herald without first treating my leg. I needed some kind of alcohol to sanitise the wound, lest I get a nasty rat infection. Or worse, the cooties. Across the street, there was a bar that looked about as new as a Gameboy Color. My saving grace. Hobbling over there, I peered inside and cautiously hollered for help. Nobody answered, which I took as a good sign.

With my shoulder, I pushed my way inside. The lights were still on but there was nobody behind the counter. It seemed like the bar had been abandoned during the Catastrophe. A most fortunate series of events. What was the likelihood that someone would loot for booze in the middle of a fucking apocalypse?

I made my way over to the racks of liquor. I looked around until I spotted a half-finished bottle of vodka. Pouring in some water from the tap, I shook it up and unwrapped my leg. I did not like the colour of the gash, nor how deep it seemed to be with my limited first-aid experience.

"Action movies… don't fail me now," I prayed. I poured the vodka-water mix onto my wound. It burned like a motherfucker. It was probably the worst pain in the world, and I was sobbing profusely. The waterworks were uncontrollable.

Settling down the bottle, I rummaged through the bar for a first aid kit. All I could find was a dusty fire extinguisher which had expired back in 2014, and some strips of gauze and some inflammation meds.

Sniffing it to make sure it wasn't too musty, I wrapped the gauze around the bite. Tight enough so that it would hold, I downed the acetaminophen tablets. My eyes were getting harder to keep open. My thoughts began to drift to the events earlier that day.

Work. Having a normal entry level job where my only worries were strict deadlines and page checks. Messing around with Miranda. Eduardo and Molly's obvious-secret relationship. I wondered whether Molly was doing alright. She was probably worried sick out of her mind about Eddie. I hoped she was okay. Who else would be there to keep our resident goofball in check?

I smiled. The off-brand Tylenol had started to kick in. They weren't very powerful painkillers, but they were still a relief nonetheless. With my body thoroughly exhausted, I rested my head against the counter and my mind drifted off to sleep. What was the harm of a small break before heading back?

I let the darkness consume me.

…

…

…

"-should be waking up soon," someone said. He sounded like he was in his 30s.

"No good thief, that's what he is," another voice responded.

I opened my eyes, noticing that there were two strange figures faced away from me. The bigger one, a man who appeared to be in his 50's, was chewing on the butt end of a cigar. He had a goatee, a shaved head, and a pretty scary-looking gun attached to his waist. In layman's terms, I would call him 'strapped.'

We were moving. My arms were tied together by a length of rope. I could barely feel my fingers, what with how tightly they were bound. I struggled to regulate my breathing, to try and keep my ruse of unconsciousness up while I figured things out. Why the fuck was I in a car?

Or, more accurately, a school bus. They'd stashed me in the back of a school bus, next to dozens of cardboard boxes that all seemed to contain essential supplies during a doomsday event. As well as one box containing snow globes that I sincerely hoped was just a mistake. Hey, if I was going to be kidnapped, I would've much preferred to have not been picked up by psychopaths.

"We know you're awake, kid," the less scary one said. He was wearing a brown knee-length trench coat, while steering the bus. "How's the leg feeling?"

I leaned over to check out my injury. To my surprise, the wound had been cleaned and redressed, even stitched up from the looks of it. The work had been done by a professional, which meant that one of these two was a doctor. Just what Miranda needed.

"Hey. Hello! Yes, I need your help," I sputtered out. My throat was drier than a fucking desert. Scratchier than a cat post after a nip sesh. "My friend, she-"

"Oi. Shut up," the goatee guy said. I just then noticed that he had a shotgun in his lap, its end pointed in my general direction. It was enough of a warning for me, I clammed up instantly. "I'll ask the questions here, thief."

I nodded. It wouldn't do to anger scary guy with gun. That had probably never worked out in anyone's favour in the history of ever.

"Take it easy on him, won't you Texas?" the driver said. "Nasty bite you got there. Did one of the rats get you?" His voice was light and his tone spoke volumes about his character. If I was a betting man, I'd have wagered that this was the doctor of the two.

"Yes," I said carefully. "Rattata. It's called a rattata."

Wannabe Clint Eastwood raised an eyebrow, puffing at his cigar. "You know what the hell is going on out here? Well I'll be damned. You might actually be useful."

I shook my head. It wouldn't do to get anyone's hopes up. "All I know is that Pokemon are coming to life. I was attacked by a purple rat, which is called Rattata. You know what Pokemon is, right?" I asked.

He grunted, which I took for an affirmative. Since he seemed slightly less likely to shoot my face off. I mustered the courage to try and re-ask my earlier question.

"Look. sir. You're a doctor, right?" I asked the man in the trench coat. He didn't verbally respond, just nodding while his eyes were focused on the road. "I have a friend. Her name is Miranda. My name is Holt. She was pretty injured by a cacne- by a cactus. If you could take a look at her, help her-"

"Let me stop you right there, Holt. First off, you're in no place to be asking for favours from us. We caught you dead to rights in McArnol's bar, a bunch of stolen goods in your possession. The fact that you got treated at all is just because I can't let a kid die on me like that," the doctor said. "Second of all, we can't go help your friend. Not now, at least."

"What do you mean? Just why the hell not…" the words died in my mouth as I caught a glimpse outside the window.

"I'm guessing you caught the hint, huh," McArnol said. He laughed. "Welcome to Olympia, kid. Capital of our great state and the only place that'll make any goddamn sense."

A/N: Expect weekly Sunday updates. Do not expect this story to be the same as the original Catastrophe 23. Please give "McArnol" a warm welcome. Thank you so much for embarking on this journey with me once more.