Saturday, July 23, 2016

Pokémon: The Golden Apocalypse, Chapter Twenty-Seven

     Perhaps Nyoromo was not entirely helpless, but the occasional bubble was no match for the vicious flock that waited outside. They wouldn't be able to fight their way out, but it was doubtful they could stay here either. The wind was picking up again, and loose dirt and small rocks were beginning to trickle down into the shallow cave they sheltered in. The might of the birds probably couldn't tear the tree from the soil, but Red suspected they could find some way to kill or expose them if they had long enough.
     "You don't have any other attacks you've been hiding from me, do you?" asked Red.
     "Wag," said Nyoromo, looking a little deflated.
     "Hey, no. Don't feel bad. You did good fending off that thing. We'd already be done for if not for you."
     "Poli?"
     "Yes, really," said Red, feeling foolish that he was holding a conversation with an animal.
     "Poliwag!" Before Red could stop him, Nyoromo scurried out to the entrance, puffed up to his large size. He staggered for a moment in the wind before blowing a bubble. Or, rather, attempting to blow the bubble. The film was pushed flat against his face by the gale, which grew stronger and stronger until Nyoromo flew back and bounced off Red's head, landing in his lap.
     "Ow!" Red cried. "Are you okay, Nyoro- Ow!" He rubbed his forehead where a pebble had struck him. The incoming detritus was growing in both size and amount. Before Nyoromo could do anything stupid, Red scooped the little thing up in his pack. Ignoring the pokémon's cries, he folded his arms over it and waited with his head bowed against the rising storm. Twigs and rocks struck almost continually, but none had enough force to draw blood. Red reminded himself of this fact repeatedly to aid his struggle against panic. 
     The winds continued for some long minutes, and Red shifted uncomfortably. When this proved difficult, he opened his eyes, blinking in the dust. The little cave he was in was filling up with dirt, and he was slowly being buried. Though he wasn't in immediate peril, it was clear that he would either be forced to face the pidgey's avenging family or accept that he sat in his own tomb. 
     Red pulled out Nyoromo and whispered fiercely to the tiny pokémon that surely could not comprehend. "We're going to make a break for it. It's our only hope, and it's a small one. I'm going to carry you out. If you have any more attacks, use them. It's life or death. Hopefully, they'll give up if they don't see the dead pidgey." He stuffed that in the bag. "If they stop me, I'm going to throw you and you'll have to run and hide. Don't come back. Neither of us can beat these. Got it?"
     Nyoromo gurgled.
     "I guess that's good enough. Here we go, then. One. Two. Three!"
     Red heaved himself from the hole, but the dirt around him held him tighter than he had thought, and he fell flat on his face in the open. He hadn't even had time to get Nyoromo to safety. He braced himself for the inevitable attack.
     Then he realized that the forest had fallen silent. No shrieks. No wind. Everything was still until one high-pitched little voice spoke.
     "Pika?"

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