Minecraft: Mob Squad: Never Say Nether: An Official Minecraft Novel
Mob Squad: Never Say Nether – Chapter 8

Under the dappled shade of the gently swaying oaks, I’m writing in my book. Chug is almost done with his crafting table—I think—when I hear someone screaming. I drop my broken bow and run, fingers searching my pocket for something, anything I can use as a weapon. I come up holding cookies and books, which is normally great, but in this case, not helpful at all. Chug is right behind me, though, and I know his pockets are full of sharp things.

As we run back to the fire, we see Mal sprinting toward a creeper as it starts to flash, close enough for Jarro to touch it, if he were as stupid as we always assumed. While he’s backing away, hands thrown over his head, Mal hits it with her diamond pickaxe, just one solid hit—

Boom!

I feel the explosion in my chest as my eyes squeeze shut. My ears are ringing, and somehow I’m on my back.

“Lenna? Are you okay?”

I blink, and there’s Chug, trying to help me stand up. I’m dazed, but I nod as he pulls me to my feet. Together, we run to where Mal and Jarro lie on the ground by a crater. The creeper is gone, but the explosion it made is bigger than anything Tok’s managed so far. It’s scary how Mal and Jarro aren’t moving.

Chug goes directly to Mal, no question, and starts talking to her, touching her shoulder, begging her to be okay. She’s limp and unmoving. That leaves me to help Jarro, and it occurs to me that I don’t generally like being touched, and I’ve spent my entire life trying to stay away from this bully, to avoid being touched by him, and now I have to touch him to make sure he’s not dead.

“Jarro,” I say, nudging his shoulder. “Jarro, are you okay?”

He blinks up at me, skin dusted with fine black powder, hair standing up on end, eyes red, and mutters, “What was that?”

Now that I know he’s alive, I say, “A creeper.”

Jarro shouts, “What?” as I turn my attention to Mal.

She’s not recovering as quickly, and Chug is starting to get worried. So am I. She was closer to the creeper than Jarro, and she took most of the blast, shielding him with her body.

“Do you have any Potions of Healing?” Chug asks me, desperate.

I shake my head. “Just cookies. And there’s the chicken you found…”

Chug glances around the little clearing. We have a crafting table, a fire, a shelter, and some half-cooked chicken. No golden apples, no potions, no way to make or obtain them. I know so much more than I did on our last trip, but that doesn’t mean I have access to all the wonderful things I’ve learned about. If we were back home, in Cornucopia, Nan and Elder Gabe would have Mal back to herself by dinner, but here…

“Let’s get her inside,” Chug says. He stands and carefully picks Mal up, cradling her to his chest like she’s a baby. He walks to the shelter with careful steps, murmuring to her. Inside, we have no beds, no pillows. As if understanding our problem, Poppy curls up against the hard stone wall Mal has recently dug, making a little nest of her side. Chug nestles Mal there, and she’s so pale and scorched that I don’t know what to do.

“What happened?” Jarro says loudly, appearing behind us.

“You were a stupid idiot who just stood there when a creeper showed up, and Mal saved your worthless butt,” Chug shouts, loud enough that Jarro can’t miss it.

“You never told me weird green things would run at me and explode!” Jarro argues. “How could I know that? How could anyone know that?”

Chug falters for a moment, remembering that it wasn’t too long ago that none of us knew about creepers, but his face shuts down again almost immediately. “I bet you can’t even make torches, can you? Useless.” Chug digs through his pocket, places our only torch on the wall, and stomps outside. “Stay with her, Jarro. Talk to her. Get her to eat. Let us know when she wakes up.”

“If she wakes up,” Jarro mumbles.

I have to grab Chug’s arm and pull him away to keep him from beating up Jarro right there.

Outside, the air still smells of gunpowder. The chicken is half raw, and Chug fusses with it, urging it to cook faster. He paces for a moment, then stands at the crafting table he just made, looking like he’s about to give up. I can see why—it’s…not the best crafting table. The sides are all a little bit off.

“You wouldn’t happen to have a recipe book, would you?” he asks me.

I pull three books out of my pockets to show him: Nan’s original Mobestiary, a book on flora and fauna, and my journal, where I’m adding all the new things I’m learning daily. Crafting and food recipes aren’t very interesting to me because they’re always the same. I like things that change.

“Okay,” Chug mutters to himself. “Okay, I can do this.” He looks up at me. “I need you to drag over any coal Mal dug up.” I nod and jog off.

As I bring him a few chunks of coal, Chug starts working. When Tok is at his crafting table, he has this sort of maniacal glee, like he can’t believe he has so much power and can’t wait to defy reality. When I’m standing at Nan’s crafting table, I feel tentative and anxious, like if I don’t do everything just right the whole world will fall down. But Chug seems like he’s being crushed under a boulder of self-doubt and is certain he’s going to fail.

“You can do it,” I tell him. “I believe in you.”

When he looks up at me, he’s stunned. “Why’d you say that?”

“Because you look like you don’t believe in yourself.”

He deflates a little. “I guess I don’t. This is what Tok’s great at. Every time he tries to teach me, I botch something up.”

I shrug. “Well, you can’t really botch up a torch. It’s pretty easy to burn things.”

“I was going to make a bed for Mal.” He’s blushing now. “I snatch up puffs of wool whenever I find them for Tok to use later, so there’s always some fuzz in my pockets. We need to get her up off the ground.”

He goes to work, and I turn the chicken over so it’ll roast evenly. It’s always better when Chug takes care of the food, but I guess we’re all just doing the best we can tonight. After what feels like an eternity of hammering and quiet cursing, Chug says, “Ready?” and I gather up some mostly cooked chicken before we head back to the shelter.

Jarro is sitting with his back against the wall as he watches Mal. He looks, honestly, a lot like Chug did recently—like the whole world rests on his shoulders and he can’t stay standing much longer.

“No change,” he says softly. “But she’s still breathing. That’s good, right?”

Chug ignores him as he sets up the bed in the farthest corner and carefully places Mal in it. She shifts, and the smallest smile flits across her face. We’ve seen Mal cut up and beaten and poisoned, but we’ve never seen her quite this bad. Once she’s settled, Chug places his torches around the small chamber at the usual intervals.

“We should’ve brought the cats,” he murmurs. “Then she’d be okay.”

“It’s not your fault,” I tell him. I wish that he believed me.

When he starts waving a bit of chicken under Mal’s nose, Jarro shakes his head and stands, heading back outside.

I follow him to where he leans against a tree, staring out at the blackened crater the creeper made.

“You don’t want to be outside after dark,” I warn him. “There are more creepers, plus zombies, skeletons, spiders, illagers. All sorts of things.”

“I’m surprised you guys aren’t locking me outside to get eaten.”

“You’re lucky we’re not voting on it,” I admit. “Chug would definitely tie you to a tree right now. Do you feel confident with the axe?”

Jarro pulls the axe out of his pocket and turns it over in his hands. “Against a log, yes. Against an enemy, clearly not. That thing came right at me, and I just froze.” I’ve known Jarro all my life, but I’ve never seen him like this. He looks like a lost little baby, like he might cry.

“That’s pretty normal,” I admit. “But maybe now that you’ve experienced an attack, you’ll respond differently the next time.” I glance at the sky and walk to the crafting table, checking that I have some spare string and picking up a stick on the way. “That’s why I like my bow and arrows. I don’t really do well in the close-range fights, either. I do better from farther back. I guess we all just naturally found our specialties and fell into our roles, but you don’t know yours yet.”

Jarro looks down and kicks at a tuft of grass as I work on my bow. “I don’t have a specialty. I’ve, uh, never really been good at anything.”

“Except bullying people,” I remind him, and even though the shadows have turned everything purple, I’m pretty sure he blushes.

“Well, I couldn’t bully that creeper.”

“Only cats can.”

He shakes his head. “See, that makes no sense. They’re scared of cats, but not people with weapons? Why? Are all monsters—mobs—like that?”

I inspect my bow and smile to see it repaired. I’m definitely going to need it on this journey. After I’ve stuck it back in my pocket, I pull out the Mobestiary and hand it to Jarro. “Read this. It’ll tell you about all the creatures in the Overworld, good and bad. I know it’s a lot to take in, but you just have to remember you’re not alone.”

“I sure do feel alone. Did you see how Chug looked at me in there? Like it’s my fault.”

“Well, it kind of is. You’ve got to be aware of your surroundings when you’re beyond the wall.”

Jarro cocks his head and really looks at me as if for the first time. “Do you just say whatever you think all the time?”

“Pretty much. It’s easier than trying to guess what people want to hear. I usually disappoint them, either way.”

“You’re really weird, Lenna.”

I shrug. “I know.”

“But not, like, loony. Just different.”

“Like I said—I know.” I hand him a spear of chicken from the fire. “Here. You need to eat. Food is the cure for all ills, out here.”

He takes the chicken with some suspicion but is soon wolfing it down. As soon as Chug appears, Jarro ducks back into the shelter with his chicken, wisely choosing a dank underground hole to Chug’s wrath.

“What were you guys talking about?” Chug asks as he selects a few wood planks and starts making a door.

“How Jarro needs to learn about the Overworld and figure out what he’s good at so he can be part of the solution instead of part of the problem.”

Chug barks a laugh. “And how’d that go over?”

“Well, he admitted he isn’t really good at anything, and I let him borrow the Mobestiary so the next time something runs at him, he can do something besides cower.”

That gets an actual belly-shaking chuckle. “You know, I’m mad at him—but then again, I’m always mad at him—and yet it’s also fun to see him struggle. I don’t think I’ve ever frozen in the face of danger.” sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ FɪndNøvel.ɴᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“I don’t think you can control how you react to things the first time, but you can try to do better the next time.” Chug stares at me as I nibble my chicken. “Also, I fixed my bow. Your crafting table might look a little wonky, but it works fine.”

Chug blushes as he holds up his door. It’s not a work of art, like Tok’s doors, but it’ll keep us safe through the night, and that’s what matters. “Let’s get down there before the zombies smell us.”

I sniff near him and pinch my nose. “Before the zombies smell you.”

He sticks out his tongue. “You know armor makes me stink!”

We’re laughing as I smother the fire and collect the rest of the chicken and Chug carries his door. Once it’s attached, he digs a quick little pit for Thingy and throws his pig some carrots before joining us all inside Mal’s shelter. She made this one a little bigger than usual, I guess to give Jarro and Chug a little space. Chug doesn’t have any more wool, so Mal gets the only bed, but that’s okay. Poppy is curled up on her feet, and Jarro sits in the farthest corner, reading under a torch.

The last time we traveled, things were so much easier. We had time, we had enough beds, we had extra food, we had Tok. And, of course, there was no Jarro, and Mal was conscious. I keep going over and over in my head what we could’ve done differently this afternoon. Could’ve fixed my bow, first off. Could’ve brought a cat. Could’ve told Jarro to run if he saw a skittering green monster. Could’ve stuck together instead of going off in separate directions.

But none of that matters. If wishes were mine carts, illagers would ride.

I pull out my journal and continue taking notes on what I saw today. Animals, plants, mobs. I’ve never seen a creeper explode before, so that’s new. If we’re going to suffer, I’m going to do my best to record every detail to help the next person who comes along.

I fall asleep with the pen in my hand and don’t wake up until I hear someone moaning in the middle of the night.

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