Chapter 7: Gold Mine (1)
The next morning, Jack groaned as he slowly rolled out of bed. Everything ached, and he felt like he'd been trampled by a herd of buffalo. His left foot still throbbed in pain, but when he stood, he found that the pain wasn't any worse. So at least he could still walk on it.
When he'd finally arrived at home the previous night, he'd gobbled down two food bars, guzzled some water, then promptly collapsed in bed, out in seconds. His dreams had been weird. The only part he could still remember was being chased through a forest themed mall by zombies in lab coats groaning "crisper".
He shambled out of his bedroom and down the hall to the bathroom. After showering, he stared at himself in the mirror. He was tall, at two meters, and lanky, and had no real muscle definition, and was just a little soft in the middle, but not fat. There were no bruises on his face, but he could see bruises forming on his hips, knee, and ankle. It was amazing he'd escaped serious injury. He must have hit every soft bush on the way down.
After putting on some sweats and a t-shirt, he entered his kitchen and grabbed some eggs and bacon from the fridge. Placing four strips of bacon in the pan and turning on the burner, he turned and leaned back against the counter, but winced in pain when the counter top pressed into his lower back. Grumbling, he pulled out a chair from the kitchen table and sat down carefully. Even his ass was sore, but at least the pain was bearable.
Despite the many disasters that had struck his life — losing his parents, then losing his adoptive father, and then losing his adoptive mother — he had experienced some blessings as well. His birth parents had taught him to value hard work, perseverance, and rational thinking. And his adoptive parents had reinforced those ideals and given him the support he needed to grow and thrive. Their loss still hurt, but the ideals they had taught him meant that their loss would not break him.
The bacon was sizzling, so he reluctantly got up from the chair, wincing from his various aches and pains, then went to turn the bacon. Once the bacon was cooked, he laid them on a paper towel lined plate and cracked four eggs into the still sizzling bacon grease.
While he ate, he checked the news on his phone to see if there were any signs of other people getting systems. He only found the usual political BS, fear mongering, drama. No sudden spate of car crashes, and no news of strange behavior, if you excluded the usual social media drama. It wasn't conclusive, but it was at least reassuring.
After eating, he put his dishes in the dishwasher and wiped down the counters and stove top. Bacon spatter tended to get everywhere. When he was done, he went into the living room and sank into his favorite spot on the couch. He was finally awake enough to start thinking about what to do next.
He started by looking at his status.