TravelingDreamer
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B7—Chapter 2: What the Hell?
🕑 Added 2025-08-15 14:47:58 +0000 UTCAfter five days in the wilderness, it was time to meet the locals. I basked in the quiet. It was great, fantastic, amazing, glorious, marvelous, wonderful, and every other epithet I could think of. It filled my mental reserves and rejuvenated me, along with my excitement for everything, but I no longer needed it. My peopling reserves were full for days to come.
On the Map, the stream I followed connected to a big river that had a town on its other bank. As good a destination as any.
It took me half a day to reach it, and I smiled when I finally saw it. The buildings reminded me of Earth’s architecture, without downturned bowls or pointy spires, so it was already a pleasant sight. Familiarity was always welcomed. But they also had all the colors of the rainbow. That definitely was in line with the current world. The row of houses stood along the water, their bright facades mirrored in the still surface. Reds, blues, yellows, and greens glowed under the soft afternoon light, like someone had painted the scene to make newcomers feel they had stepped into a postcard.
Of course, I took a picture.
After turning invisible and flying to the other bank, I went looking for people to learn the language, and here I hit a snag that grew more worrisome with every passing moment.
I started along the narrow path that followed the waterline, weaving between the bright houses. The air was still, too still, with no voices, no footsteps, not even the sound of a door creaking somewhere. I kept expecting someone to step out from behind a corner or look out from a window, but the place stayed silent.
When no one appeared, I tried the houses. Some doors hung open, as if they had been left ajar, while others were shut but not locked, giving way with a gentle push. Inside the first house, the table was set for two, plates still holding what might have once been stew. Now it was a crawling mess of worms and flies, the smell thick enough to make my eyes water. A chair had toppled over, lying on its side as if someone had stood up too quickly.
The second house was tidier, but no less unsettling. A pot hung over a cold, burned-out fire. Inside, the contents had blackened to an unrecognizable crust that cracked when I tapped the edge with a spoon. A loaf of bread sat on the counter, half-sliced, the knife still resting beside it. The air was heavy with the sour staleness of food left too long.
In the third house, sunlight streamed through an open window onto a floor scattered with clothes. Not folded or packed, just dropped. A child’s wooden toy sat in the middle of the room, a carved horse with one wheel missing. The beds were unmade, blankets tossed aside, and the water in a bucket by the door had gone green with a thin layer of scum.
Everywhere I looked, it was the same story: lives interrupted, as if everyone had stood up in the middle of a meal or chore and simply vanished. Even the chicken coops behind the houses and the animal enclosures were empty. Old straw lay scattered in the corners, and the water troughs were either bone dry or filled with stagnant green water. Feed buckets sat where they had been left, some still holding grain. No feathers or droppings, and no signs of struggle. Just absence—like the birds and animals had vanished, the same way the people did.
It was so strange and spooky. Zindor was full of ghost towns and cities, but there you could see the devastation, and I knew the reason for it. Here, there was nothing, which made it even spookier.
A plague?
That was one option, so I went looking for evidence. House after house, there were signs of people leaving suddenly, but not in a hurry. No things scattered this way or that, no half-interrupted packing. Just empty. And the most important part, there were no bodies at all. I even touched the water and spread my awareness through it. Nothing. The river held clear, clean water, full of fish and nothing else.
What the hell?
I combed the next house and found twenty-seven copper coins and two silver coins in a clay pot in the kitchen. That made it even stranger. If people had run away for some reason, they would have taken the money with them.
Now the place no longer looked picturesque, but downright depressing. I sat on the pier with my feet dangling above the water, staring at the ripples while my mind tried to make sense of it. Follow the river to the next town? Explore the area and try to find out why everyone left? Was it something dangerous? Something invisible?
The surrounding silence pressed in, heavy and unnatural. If it were a plague, where were the signs? If it was an attack, why was there no damage? And if it was something else... what could make an entire town vanish without a trace? The questions circled with no answers, and the longer I sat there, the gloomier I became.
I sighed, understanding that the answers wouldn’t drop on my head from the sky, and got up. Looking at the Map, the town downriver was closer. I took to the air and flew in that direction.
The next town was very similar to the first one. The same architecture and house colors. And the same emptiness.
A thin layer of dust covered everything, undisturbed except for the faint marks where insects had crawled. In one house, a loaf of bread sat on the table, and it had hardened enough to be used as a weapon. In another, bunches of herbs hung from the rafters, wilted and brown, their scent long faded. The water in the buckets had turned cloudy, with a layer of algae forming on its surface.
Out back, the gardens had gone wild. Weeds pushed up between the rows of vegetables, and the vegetables themselves were split and rotted where they lay. The chicken coops and pens were the same as before, empty and silent, but now the straw was damp from recent rains, clumping in the corners. Even the paths between the houses were losing their neatness, with grass beginning to push through the packed dirt. The houses with open doors had leaves and other debris scattered across the floors, blown in from outside.
It all had the look of a place that had been left behind long enough for time to start working, but not long enough for it to erase the signs of how suddenly the people disappeared.
It was getting dark, so I flew to the other bank, found a good spot, pitched my tent, lit a fire, and sat staring into the flames. My thoughts circled endlessly, never settling on an answer. Both towns looked as if every person and animal had stood up and walked away, leaving everything behind, and I couldn’t imagine what could cause that.
I wasn’t even sure it was my place to find out. On one hand, my curiosity was driving me crazy, and the urge to help tugged hard at me, a restless buzz in my bones pushing me to do something. Anything. On the other hand, if I discovered the cause and it turned out to be a global problem, would I stay to solve it? In three weeks? Not a chance. And that was the heart of it, my curiosity pulling one way, my sense of practicality pulling the other, leaving me stuck somewhere in between.
The following morning, I flew to the next town downriver. Same story. But here, the signs pointed to it having been empty for a longer time. Dust lay thick on everything, cobwebs stretched across doorways, and the gardens were nothing but dry stalks and brittle stems. The wood on a few shutters had begun to warp from the weather, and the paint was peeling in places.
The one after that showed even more devastation. Roof tiles had slipped and crashed to the ground, weeds had taken over entire streets, and vines climbed unchecked up the walls. The air inside the houses was musty, and the furniture had a faint layer of mold. In the fields, fence posts leaned or had fallen entirely, and the paths between the houses were nearly hidden under overgrown grass.
The last town, before the river met the sea, was in the worst shape of all. Many of the buildings had partially collapsed, their roofs caved in from storms or rot. Doors hung crooked on their hinges, and most of the windows were broken. Trees and shrubs had rooted themselves in what used to be gardens and even in the middle of the streets. The well in the center of town was full of leaves and debris, and the few buckets left behind had cracked from prolonged exposure to the sun. It looked like no one had lived there for six months, maybe longer, and nature had been quick to claim it back.
Based on the signs of the progressing devastation, it was clear this town had been abandoned first. Moving upstream, each settlement had been emptied in turn, as if whatever had happened swept through in stages, pausing before striking the next place. The gaps between them were hard to judge, but I guessed maybe a month or two from one to the next. Roofs sagged a little more in the older emptiness, weeds climbed higher, and the traces of daily life had faded further with each step back in time. Whatever had caused it had started here and moved against the current. The answer was somewhere upstream.
That night, I opened my house and cooked dinner in my kitchen. The excitement of a glorious vacation was long gone, replaced by an unsettled, troubled feeling that clung to me like damp clothes. This was one lousy vacation. Even dungeons were better. Well, maybe not the dungeons themselves, but the group clearing them, and me doing my own thing.
The next day, I flew upstream and reached the next town after the one I had started with. Again, empty. But here, the signs of departure were fresh, like the people had left only hours ago, a day at most.
In the animal pens, the ground had hoof and paw prints, and the feed in the troughs appeared to have been recently scattered. A few ropes still hung from posts where livestock had been tied. In one house, a pot of soup stood on the table. It was cold, but not spoiled. A loaf of bread sat beside it. Its crust was dry, but it was still soft inside. In another, a pan hung over the hearth, its contents blackened but still smelling faintly of cooked meat, with a few glowing coals buried under ash. A child’s cup lay on the floor near a small chair, the milk inside forming a thin skin. In the largest house, a platter of roasted vegetables waited on the counter, next to a knife that still had bits stuck to the blade.
Fresh footprints marked the dirt streets, some from bare feet, others from boots. The trail led toward the far edge of town, dozens of prints all heading in the same direction. Then, without warning, they just stopped. No scuff marks, no signs of turning back, no gradual fading, just an abrupt end, as if the people and animals had stepped off the world entirely. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and I looked around. My Luck and Perception were quiet, but I was spooked.
Looking left and right, I was unsure what to do. Finally, after some consideration, I decided to fly to the next town on the Map. It was the last settlement before a long mountain range where the river cut through, flowing toward the next mark.
I reached the town in the early afternoon, and this one was alive, with people walking along the waterfront. They were cocasion, with a light green tinge to their skin. Not green green, only an undertone, and dark hair. Most wore simple, well-made clothes in earthy tones, with the occasional splash of color in a scarf or vest. All of them wore pants, including the women. I didn’t see even one dress or skirt. A few women carried baskets filled with vegetables or bundles wrapped in cloth, while a group of men unloaded crates from a boat tied to the docks. Children ran between the brightly painted houses, their laughter carrying over the sound of the water lapping against the pier. A pair of fishermen sat on low stools near the edge, mending nets, while an older man leaned on a cane, watching them. He smoked from a long, carved wooden pipe with a wide, flat bowl shaped like a shallow cup. Now and then, he took a slow pull before coughing into his sleeve.
I paid for the language and listened to it until I had a solid grasp. I might have teased Al from time to time about his obsession with dignity, but he was right. It was better to wait and learn it properly than to start with broken speech like a new immigrant. Once I was ready, I glamoured myself to look local, green skin included, flew upstream, took out the most “simple” looking rowboat I had, and began rowing to meet the locals.
Comments
Zarek21
Seconded
Angela Roberts
Seriously, this is a get out moment!
Danielle Warvel
NOPE. NOPE to that horror movie s***. I would’ve just noped on out of that world immediately.
