TAKE ON ME [Survival LITRPG Apocalypse]

They broke through the treeline and waved to the sentries.

Most of the group went straight to Cindy to relinquish their furry and scaly bounties, but Tom lingered by the trees.

The woodland was wreathed in night. A breeze rustled the canopy. An owl hooted in the distance.

Tom's muscles slowly eased. He breathed normally for the first time since encountering the Dungeon.

Bo passed by as Tom handed a line of rabbits to Cindy.

"Be back shortly," Bo announced as he strode away. "I need to make sure everything's running smoothly. Don't wander too far."

It was just a short walk to the cookfires, and the familiar scents beckoned him. Tom wandered over to check how things were going.

He had anticipated long lines of famished faces, but there were no lines—only lively chatter and the sound of sizzling meat. Eight [Cooks] manned several new cook pits. Dozens of people lounged about, contentedly nibbling on Kabobs.

Tom greeted Heather, Megan, and the other [Cooks]. "Looks like you all have everything in-hand here." He pointed at a flat rock with a mound of steaming mashed potatoes piled on it. "What's this?"

"[Potato Bismol]." Tushar appeared beside Tom, his eyes alight with pride. "Priya found a way to detect wild potatoes. We don't have many, but it's enough for those feeling under the weather."

"Great job, man," Tom said.

A stack of Kabobs next to the mashed potatoes caught his attention: [Hearty Fish Kabob]. He was almost disappointed at how tantalizingly wonderful they smelled.

Another new recipe discovered by someone else.

"Who came up with these?" Tom gestured toward the fish. Heather raised her hand with a modest smile on her face.

"Would you be willing to teach me the recipe?"

"Sure thing. It's simple, just like the wolf."

Heather walked Tom through the proportions and steps needed.

Tom skewered a raw piece of fish onto a stick and placed it over the flames. The fish cooked quickly, its oils bubbling to the surface.

The final product was not only warming, but also imbued with an enhanced health recovery fish oil buff, and Tom was awarded with a new recipe.

"Nice job!" Heather said. "However, you'll notice that you seared the edges much too long, and we've discovered poorly made meals actually reduce the effectiveness of the buff."

Tom helped prepare a few more [Hearty Fish Kabobs], doing his best not to burn them.

Bo drifted over and waved at Tom, his hand moving as though the air was viscous.

Tom stepped out of the time dilation zone.

"Hey, can we chat?" Bo asked.

Tom nodded, and handed Bo one of the finished Kabobs.

They made their way up the hill to find the rest of their family members.

"Not bad," said Bo as he chewed. "Kind of burned."

The families gathered around one of the campfires, the flickering flames casting shadows across their faces.

"Staying here isn't an option anymore," said Bo, his voice steady. "That Dungeon . . . it's too close for comfort."

"Not if we defeat it," Amber interjected.

Tom crossed his arms. "Going into that Dungeon is off the table. That's a death trap."

"We chewed through the last Headless wave!" Amber's eyes gleamed.

"No. Way."

Bo cut in. "I don't want to go in there either. We've got to find a new place to live, or at least a safer spot to camp." He glanced at them all. "What I'm stuck on is that, no matter where we settle, to Chloe's point, it will likely have a Dungeon of its own."

"We don't necessarily need to build a settlement," Loo offered thoughtfully. "We could live like nomads, following the resources and seasons. Like the Native Americans did."

"Roaming . . . " Bo mused, stroking his beard. "Like, maybe more of a slow-paced exploration . . . But, again, without a clear destination we're just wandering in the dark."

"For now, I suggest we pack up and put some distance between us and the Dungeon," Tom said. "Maybe move closer to the lake, stay hidden in the woods, and avoid the giant flying monster. We can figure out our next steps from there."

Amber scoffed and looked down at the ground. She drew circles in the dirt with a stick.

This kid is driving me nuts.

Kate, Hana, and Bo all nodded in agreement with Tom's plan.

"Let's inform everyone that we'll have a subdivision meeting by the cookfires," said Bo.

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

"Do we have that much time?" Kate asked. "What if they picked up our scent at the Dungeon?"

Oh shit.

"Those things have known we're here for days," said Bo. "If we rush out of here without a plan, we'll lose people. There are a thousand ways to die in these woods."

Kate paused. "All right."

Bo nodded. "I'm gonna start spreading the word."

Tom headed to the [Butcher] area. Cindy was busy cutting the weird armadillo creature. Tom jumped at the opportunity to learn something new; maybe a recipe that would be valuable to defensive abilities, since it was a heavily armored animal.

"Can I have one of those?" Tom asked Cindy, gesturing toward the armadillo meat cubes.

"Sure." Cindy handed him a few cubes of meat.

Tom returned to one of the smaller cookfires. The flames licked eagerly at the dry maple branch he placed within them. He skewered the meat, and let it roast until the edges crisped slightly.

He had no luck with infusing the syrup.

Tom requested more pieces of meat from Cindy. He tried marinading it. He tried tenderizing it. He tried throwing it on the ground and swearing at it.

Nothing worked.

Tom's attention was drawn away from the squashed piece of meat; Heather and Cindy were standing over him.

"I heard you were having some trouble cooking this armadillo," Heather said with a smile.

Tom looked at Cindy, who shrugged.

"You were wasting a lot of meat."

She marched back to the [Butcher] area.

Heather picked up an unused piece of armadillo and examined it. She gently compressed it between her fingertips.

"It kind of reminds me of turtle meat," Heather said. "We used to cook all sorts of game back home."

She speared a chunk of armadillo onto a stick and watched it cook over the fire.

Slowly, as though moving through maple syrup, people were starting to gather around the cookfires for Bo's meeting.

Heather took the meat off the stick and pulled it apart. She threw some snow onto the fire to extinguish half of it, and set the stick back over it.

A few minutes later, Heather stood up with a triumphant grin. "The key is controlling the heat. This armadillo burns quickly, so you have to cook it on a lower temperature for a longer time."

She handed Tom another chunk of meat and a stick, and they crouched together by the fire while Heather shared tips and tricks for cooking wild game.

The [Hearty Armadillo Kabob] came out perfect, and the prompt notified him that he had learned the recipe. With each bite, added defense coursed through him, and his body warmed against the cold night air. He checked his buff; it added the normal warmth buff with an additional XS boost to toughness.

"Looks like we've got enough recipes to start thinking about who gets which buffs," Tom said aloud to himself. "The [Hearty Wolf Kabobs] are wasted on me, but this toughness buff is great."

"Glad to hear it," Heather said, patting Tom on the back. "I need to check on the others."

Tom cooked and stored a few [Hearty Armadillo Kabobs] in his backpack.

Nearby, Cindy's knife flashed in the firelight as she expertly dissected one of the rabbits. Her precision told of the years spent honing her craft.

The people around him were well-suited to their chosen professions. Including Bo, who was currently weaving around the hillside in slow-motion and ordering people to the cookfires.

Tom's culinary skills extended to HelloFresh and the occasional weekend cook-out. His satisfaction at learning the armadillo recipe dimmed.

"Here." Cindy appeared beside him, holding a few pieces of prepared rabbit. "You get three tries before I run off to tell on you again."

"Thanks, Cindy. Rabbit Kabob coming up." He threaded the rabbit onto the skewer and set to grilling.

Blake leaned toward a Latine man, pointing in animated slow-motion in the direction of the Dungeon. The man pulled his small son close, and craned his neck toward the woods.

"Damn it, Blake," Tom muttered under his breath. He didn't need to hear the slow-motion words to know what Blake was up to.

Blake pulled away from the man and his son, and inexorably drifted toward the next cluster of people.

A burning smell rose from Tom's cookfire.

Fuck.

Tom burned the next two rabbit cubes as well. He begged Cindy for one more try.

Tom smiled and let out a long sigh when the [Hearty Rabbit Kabob] prompt appeared. He sampled the rabbit, feeling the slight increase in speed it granted him. A useful buff for scouts, or maybe even Amber. He set the finished Kabob on a nearby rock.

The other [Cooks] had much larger piles of finished Kabobs than Tom did. In just one day they had become much more proficient and efficient than he was.

I should have listened to Job.

The thought of the Rune Smith profession he'd passed on was making him feel ill.

Cindy approached with a fresh cut of strange white meat.

"Raccoon," she stated, exhaustion lining her face.

"Ah . . . thanks, but we should probably give it to Heather or one of the other [Cooks]—"

"Will do." Cindy was already walking away.

Tom considered what type of buff raccoon might provide; maybe dexterity, or night vision.

Tom stood and stretched his aching muscles. It was time to find Bridget; they needed a system for food distribution that maximized each class's potential. No buff should be squandered—not when survival hung by such a thin thread.

Tom left his bubble and time resumed its usual pace. He made his way through the camp, dodging groups of people and the occasional darting child. There was a large gathering by the cookfires now.

Bridget was in deep conversation with Bo at edge of the hill, their heads bent over a hand-drawn mud-map with stick notes and rock markers. It looked like they were plotting the resettlement, the trail to get there, and how best to help older people and others with restricted mobility. They were debating ways to move a man who was paralyzed from the waist down. Tom had met the man—Dale—and his family by the cookfire. He had lost his wheelchair when their house collapsed. His adult children had dragged him through hell to get here.

"We haven't even got onto the small children yet," Bridget was saying, her voice threaded with concern. "There are so many people who are going to need help during the move."

Tom followed Bo's eyeline across the camp, to where Finn was sitting with some other kids.

"Bo, you all right?" Bridget said.

Tom inserted himself into the conversation. "Hey! Are you guys free to talk about food? We have access to some really nice buffs with the growing variety of food, and we might need a system where the buffs are separated out by class or role. Might be important for our trip."

Bridget nodded, her hands pausing on the dirt map. "Good idea I'll have food distribution and buffs addressed. Heather's been a marvel at organizing the [Cooks] today. She'll be essential in this."

"Right. Heather," Tom echoed. "I think it could be important to make sure we get the right buffs to the correct people. If Heather is busy with the other cooks—"

"Heather can handle it." Bridget's eyes darted back to the map, her mind already elsewhere.

Tom gave a muted nod, and moved into the gathering crowd.

Bo rallied a few volunteers to construct an impromptu stage in front of the cookfires. They stacked logs and stumps, forming a precarious platform that wobbled under Bo's weight.

Tom caught sight of Blake moving like a shadow, whispering into the ears of anyone who would listen.

"This fucking guy," Tom mumbled to himself, scowling.

A small part of Tom wondered whether Blake might be right, and whether there might be help out there. However, the apocalypse couldn't have singled out the lazy subdivision of Raintree alone. No; this was worldwide, as the prompt said.

Right?

The rest of his family came to stand beside Tom. He hugged Chloe around her shoulders, and she leaned into him.

Bo cleared his throat and waved his hands in the air.

The crowed hushed.

"Neighbors," Bo began, his voice carrying over the gathering, "First, some good news. We located a stream full of fish, found game trails rich with food, and," he paused to smile, "the other exploration group has chanced upon wild potatoes and various other edible plants."

Contented chatter spread. Several people applauded, their hands coming together in a soft patter like rain on leaves. Full bellies made for happy hearts.

A piercing voice cut across the hill. "Tell them about our new neighbors! Tell them about the tracks, and about where they're dragging our people!"

Other voices near Blake called out with him.

"We need to leave!"

"This place isn't safe."

"Yes!" Blake yelled. "Exactly! We live next to a damn monster Dungeon!"

Murmurs rose from the crowd.

Up on the stage, Bo's jaw visibly clenched, his eyes narrowing at Blake. "Yes, it's true."

The murmurs morphed into gasps and cries. The people at the edges of the gathering looked over their shoulders, as though they would see the Dungeon looming behind them.

Bo spoke over them. "We found the entrance to a Dungeon, closer than I would have ever guessed. That's why we're having this meeting." His voice tightened. "We need to leave the hill. The danger is too great."

A wave of agitated movement rippled through the throng.

"But let me be clear!" said Bo, his voice rising again to cover the noise. "We won't be running for help." His gaze locked with Blake's defiant stare. "We'll move west, toward the lake. We'll make camp there."

"What!" Blake erupted.

"We've proven ourselves capable," Bo spoke over Blake. "We can stay fed. We can stay warm. I don't intend for us to decide our entire future in this meeting. But I agree; the Dungeon is dangerous, so tomorrow we must pack up and leave. We've found several trails we can use to move the whole group safely to the new campsite. The Robinson and Damascus families, and Mike's group, will be the security for the trip. The new campsite is closer to the lake and streams, should give us easier access to food, and will put several hours between us and the Dungeon."

"We need to get the hell out of here!" yelled Blake. "Why do you insist on staying? Even a few hours away is too close to that hellhole!"

Chloe pulled away from Tom and stepped forward, toward Bo and the stage.

Bo looked puzzled for a moment, but leaned down to listen to her.

"It's that weird girl."

The whisper came from the back of the crowd.

Tom looked around, but couldn't figure out who said it. He was glad that Chloe—and Kate—didn't hear.

"What is she saying?" Blake was high-pitched now. "What are you hiding? We can't hear you!"

Bo held out his hand and pulled Chloe onto the stage. She looked like a frozen deer in headlights. Her jaw moved, but no words emerged. She shook her head, jumped down, and ran back to Tom.

"She said she doesn't think we can 'escape' the Dungeons, even if we run far away," translated Bo. "They're probably everywhere, which is an excellent point. We might end up wandering around, getting weaker and weaker, heading into more and more danger."

Bo let the statement hang in the air as he looked around at them all. "The Dungeon we found . . . the tracks implied it was a Dungeon only for the Headless creatures. It stands to reason there are going to be other Dungeons—for the Trolls and Goblins, and whatever the hell else is out there. It is our belief that there will be Dungeons no matter where we go."

Bo's words were suffocating. The silence that followed was filled with the crackle of the fires, and the distant calls of nocturnal creatures. Tom didn't need to look around to know the weight of Bo's statement was finally sinking in.

Nowhere is safe.