In ancient mythology, each pantheon of gods can be divided into categories. Within a pantheon, gods are aspected with particular attributes, and those in professions pursuing that attribute will follow the gods aligned with their attribute. For example, most greek soldiers followed Ares or Zeus, gods aligned with the strength attribute.

The alignment of the gods with the attributes can be helpful in remembering the relationships between the gods, as certain attributes, throughout multiple pantheons, have repeating relationships with other attributes (with certain notable exceptions). The gods of strength are typically on good terms with the gods of wisdom, while opposed to the gods of dexterity. The gods of charisma are alternatingly enemies and companions of all other gods, although never to extremes.

A full chart of the typical relationships within attribute aspected pantheons can be found on the following page.

- Excerpt from Patterns in Mythology: A Cultural Study, by Milton

By the time we finish with dinner, the sky is starting to get dark. Scott, the man Jeremy initially waved off at the entrance to the school, is apparently now responsible for me and Melete now that we are deemed unable to fight. He seems to think there’s not enough time left in the day for anything except heading to bed. Despite the presence of lights in the school, the rest of the town doesn’t have electricity and operates on a farmer’s schedule.

Scott leads us out of the school to the row of tents we saw when walking into the town. Gender segregation is enforced in the tents for those without spouses, so I regretfully wave goodnight to Melete and meet my new roommate, a guy who appears to be around my age with hair that looks as if he had just woken up: spikey on one side and smooth on the other.

“Timothy,” My roommate introduces himself as Scott walks away, leading Melete to her sleeping arrangements.

“Atlas,” I respond with a wave.

There’s an awkward beat of silence. And then Timothy opens his mouth.

“You just came into town? How did you survive out there for so long? Did you see lots of monsters? I’ve seen a ton, but most of them have been dead. Some of them are crazy weird, like the other day there was this one with a ton of tentacles and no face. I’m glad I didn’t have to see it while it was alive, that would freak me out.”

The words gush from his mouth, not leaving me time to respond to his questions. I simply wait and listen.

“...and then Missy said she saw a weird slime creature crawling around next to the school inside the safe zone. I didn’t believe her, of course, but the guards went to check it out. And what do you know! There was one. They had to call Gina to burn it up, shooting and stabbing it did nothing. It wasn’t fast though, just slowly would crawl, crawl, crawl. I didn’t see it in action, but I had to clean up the slime afterward. Boy was that gross.”

Timothy pauses for a moment to breathe and I jump in before he can start speaking again. “Why are we sleeping in these tents? Wouldn’t the houses or school be safer?”

He looks at me incredulously. “Of course not! Well, the school would be safer, but the rooms are pretty much all claimed by the fighters. The houses though, trying to stay there is a deathwish. These tents are all grouped together and have guards around them, twenty-four seven. The houses are all separated from each other. The guards do their best at the wall, but monsters are able to sneak in occasionally. And It’s the ones who are sleeping off on their own who are in the most danger from the sneaky monsters.” I must not look convinced, so he continues. “I mean, you’re welcome to sleep on your own in one of the houses, but it’s your funeral.”

From the way Scott led me over here, it certainly didn’t seem like I have a choice of where to sleep. And it certainly didn’t feel as if bringing me to the tents was for my own safety. I shake my head and change the subject before Timothy has a chance to keep ranting. “Do you know what I’ll be doing tomorrow? Scott implied that I would have an assigned job, but he wouldn’t tell me what it was.”

Timothy wiggles his hand side to side in an unsure motion. “I don’t know, he didn’t tell me. But usually they put people in the same tent on the same jobs, so I’m betting you’ll be working with me. I’m on digging and monster cleanup duty. Not the most glamorous of jobs, but I get to see some interesting stuff. Like three days ago, there was this candle monster thing. It just floated around trying to burn people and everything else. The guards finally managed to kill it, but it had already set some small fires, and as they were trying to put them out two more candle things popped out! I didn’t see this myself, obviously, but later on…”

Timothy continues to talk, and with a sigh I unroll my sleeping bag and lie down, listening to his droning voice.

I wake the next morning at dawn, lying still for the minute it takes to fix my leg with my skill. Last night Timothy had continued to talk for another thirty minutes until a guard finally yelled at him to shut up from outside of our tent. As much as I harbor resentment for our so-called “protection,” I feel no small amount of affection for that particular guard.

It turns out Timothy was correct in his prediction. After a quick breakfast of water and a bagel, I follow Timothy to a side of town I haven’t yet seen. We each grab a shovel, and with a guard standing watch nearby get to digging.

Despite the apocalypse, the amount of trash generated from the small town is sizable. I’m sure it’s not sustainable in the long term -- after all, no new plastic bags and empty cans are being added to the system -- but for now many resources are being used and discarded daily. Sadly, the garbage collecting service for Carscott is no longer functioning, and four-hundred people generate a surprising amount of trash. And it’s our responsibility to ensure it has a place to go.

We’re digging a landfill. At first, they had just dumped the trash outside of the fort, but Timothy says when his last partner died on a random monster attack they decided to find a place to dump it within the wall.

Large portions of what we’re digging remain unused and are significantly deeper. Timothy says he has no idea what they’re for, but I’d bet money that it’s eventually going to be a latrine. For now, the school and houses still have water to flush, but there’s no way the plumbing will last indefinitely. As we work Timothy continues to chatter about inane topics. The gossip of Fort Carscott at least is interesting, and I start to form a better picture of the relationships between Jeremy, the guards, and the non-combatants. But the majority of the time Timothy prattles on about completely unrelated topics: his favorite band, his skills with a pogo-stick, and how ‘hawt’ Jessica Alvarez is. I’m just thankful that the work is physical, requiring him to occasionally pause to catch his breath.

“...and their newest album is slated to come out later this month. I’m not sure how their schedule will change with all these monsters, but I think it’s already been almost completely recorded, so hopefully they will still…”

Timothy is cut off by the voice of a guard. “Timothy, new guy. There was just another monster attack at the Thames Street wall. Dog monster. Take it to Johnny, and bring whatever’s left out here.”

We drop our shovels and I follow Timothy. “What’s going on?” I ask.

“This is the other main part of our job: monster collection duty.” He explains. “We don’t want to just leave a bunch of bodies lying all over the town, even if it’s outside of the walls. Not hygienic, you know. So it’s our job to take and bury them in the cemetery, after seeing if Johnny can make any use of them of course. He’s the butcher.”

I nod. Coming to the wall, we cautiously climb over as guards keep watch around us. My hand rests on the hilt of my machete and my eyes search for danger. Thankfully, they let me keep my weapons, although my blades are little comfort compared to the multitude of guns surrounding me.

I hadn’t heard any gunshots while we had been digging, so apparently the guards didn’t consider the dog monster enough of a threat to waste their ammo. As we draw closer to the corpse the slashed throat reinforces that opinion. I grab the front legs of the monster while Timothy grabs the back, and we awkwardly shuffle back to the wall, throwing the monster over.

Our walk to Johnny the butcher takes longer than I expect, having to pause multiple times for rest breaks. After the second break, I get impatient enough to ask Timothy what his strength Number is.

“Seventy-nine!” He says proudly. “One of the highest of the non-combatants. Probably why they have me digging holes rather than washing clothes or something else easy.”

Despite Timothy appearing to be my age I can’t help but think of him as significantly younger, and his low Numbers only reinforces that opinion. Has he not killed a single monster?

Eventually, we arrive at the rear entrance to the cafeteria and Johnny comes out to accept the monster. He’s a large man with a bushy mustache, and without saying a word slings the dog monster over his shoulder and trundles back inside. I look to Timothy.

“Now we just wait until he’s done. It shouldn’t be more than a half-hour. Do you know the game called fingers?”

A restless half-hour with Timothy passes slowly. Johnny finally comes back outside with a bag filled with the unusable remains, a gross plastic sack filled to the brim with bones, tendons, and other unidentifiable parts. I gingerly grab the bag, hoping it won’t rip, and follow Timothy to the cemetery.

“How do you know what is safe to eat?” I ask Timothy when he pauses in his continual monologue.

He shrugs. “Experimentation mostly. Some of the monsters look pretty similar to normal animals, and those are easy -- it’s the weird ones you have to be careful for. For the risky stuff, they’ll ask for volunteers to test it out. Meat’s in short enough supply here for non-combatants that someone is almost always willing to give it a try.”

“Is it really that bad for non-combatants? Why don’t you demand better food?”

Timothy looks around us frantically as I ask my question. He doesn’t see anyone nearby -- I made sure that we were alone before broaching such a sensitive subject. He responds in a much lower voice. “I mean, it isn’t bad.” I give him a look. “Well, I guess it sucks, but what are the options? It sucks for everyone. Do you know how many people I’ve seen die since this all started?”

“You could always leave. Start a new fort and treat people right.”

“Are you crazy?!” He says. “I’d die in a heartbeat. It sucks here, but at least I’m alive.” He takes a deep breath and looks at the ground. “That’s better than I can say for most of my friends.”

I notice a shimmer in his eyes as tears form, and I begin to apologize. Less than a word into my apology Timothy cuts me off.

“...and besides, Jessica Alvarez is here. You know, the other day she looked in my direction and I swear she smiled. I mean, I know she’s way older than me, but man, I don’t care about age if it’s her. And it’s the apocalypse, I bet she doesn’t care much anymore about age either.”

I bite my tongue and follow behind him.

The cemetery is an appropriate name for our new destination. It used to be a soccer field, but new chalk lines have been added in the shape of small squares starting in one corner of the field.

“The lines mark where we’ve already buried stuff,” Timothy explains. He leads us to the most recent chalk square which has been dug out into a large hole, roughly five feet deep. “Just toss it in, we don’t pay any respect to the monsters.” I follow his advice and drop the bag of bones and guts into the hole. He peeks over the edge. “Hm, it’s starting to get pretty close to full. We’re probably gonna have to fill this one in and dig a new one tomorrow, assuming we get a few more monster attacks today. Which is almost guaranteed, by the way. We haven’t had a day with less than two attacks since this all started. The record is twelve attacks in a day. That’s since we cleared out the town and got the wall up, before that it seemed like monsters were just running around everywhere.”

I wipe my hands on my pants as he explains. Timothy looks up at the sky and exclaims. “About lunchtime! Let’s head to the cafeteria. Maybe we can snag some of the meat from the dog monster!”

Unfortunately, Timothy’s hopes aren’t realized and we’re stuck eating a few slices of bread and a paltry amount of cheese. The bread tastes on the verge of going stale -- I assume they’re trying to use up the supply before it gets moldy.

I eat in blessed silence, Timothy’s mouth finally occupied with something other than talking. I don’t see Melete or Styx, but Pallas sits in a corner surrounded by a bunch of other men with guns. I notice the rifle leaning against his chair, hopeful that we gain something from this place. When we make eye contact, he raises up a single hand, palm flat toward me: our symbol for ‘wait.’ I nod in response.

My spirit lifts at Pallas’ motion. While I have an overabundance of information on Fort Carscott from Timothy, it all is fairly trivial and limited in scope. I’ve been hoping that Pallas and Styx will have greater access to information with their ‘privileges,’ and I’m somewhat counting on them to come up with a plan to get us out.

Within fifteen minutes Timothy and I finish our meals and stand to leave. “Don’t want to take too long, Scott can be a bit pissy if he thinks we’re wasting time. Let’s go dig!”

I nod. On the way out, I spy Melete walking in. She looks extremely angry about something, her face screwed up in a scowl and hands clenched at her sides. I flash her the symbol for wait, hoping to encourage her, but she just rolls her eyes at me before nodding.

I smile to myself. While I hope it’s nothing serious that has Melete so angry, I take a small amount of satisfaction in knowing she’s just as miserable as I am. I try to tune out Timothy’s voice and follow him back to our shovels.

I go to bed that night exhausted. I’m sad to see that despite the hours of manual labor, my strength Number stubbornly remains at one hundred. Now that it’s back to something approaching reasonable for someone my age, I guess I can no longer expect it to rise naturally quite as quickly as it has been.

I’m disturbed from my musings by a muffled shout, followed by a dim hum. I sit up in panic, recognizing the sound as that of the swarm we faced a few days ago.

“Timothy, wake up!” I shout, reaching over and shaking his shoulder.

“Hmmm, wha…?” He mumbles. As he registers the noise around us, now interspersed with the occasional gunshot, he rolls back over. “Just go back to bed. This thing has passed through twice before, we’re safe here. The guards are just taking advantage of the free Numbers.”

I look at him in disbelief, snoring again within fifteen seconds.

The next half hour is extremely stressful, although not quite as bad as my first encounter with the swarm. I stare at the flap of the tent, flinching every time the flimsy material is brushed by something unseen. I wait for a tear to form in the wall allowing the bugs to slip in and overwhelm us. I scoot a little deeper into the sleeping bag, just in case.

It takes what feels like an eternity, but the hum eventually dies down, the gunshots silencing soon after. I settle myself deeper into my sleeping bag and close my eyes. My first day in Fort Carscott is finally over.

S: 100

D:100

W: 321

I: 100

C: 70

0

Skills: Adjust:Self