Fur and Flesh

By: Darkfang Magus

Chapter 1

The Cessna hums, as its occupants glide above a canopy thick enough to hide the ground.

"See that!" the tour guide announces gesturing toward a particularly dense patch of jungle, "this area is known as Abor de Ka'trai. It is one of the few places even the indigenous populations will not step foot in."

While the guide prattles on to her intrigued passengers, their pilot barely hears a word. His mind is alive with thoughts and worries, as he fumbles for a fresh cigarette. These things are going to fucking kill me, but if the professor over there doesn't shut up soon I am going to outlive her by a couple minutes at least. A loud banging interrupts the guide's speech. Concerned she turns to their pilot.

"Is there a problem Señor Lacrosse?"

"Nope, just normal turbulence", what the hell was that sound? The rest of their trip remains uneventful. At a small airport in Tefé, he pays to get refueled then waits for the guide's two guests to leave before approaching her.

"Okay professor Marlissa-"

She raises her palm in a tut tut gesture bringing back memories of teachers interrupting him in grade school, "That is Professora Marissa, Señor Lacrosse".

"Yeah... Whatever, I believe you owe me 2000 Brazilian reals for this little sightseeing adventure. I am seriously pressed for time so I would rather receive my payment with minimal discussion."

Her dark brown eyes narrow, "You are a very rude man Señor, but very well." She pulls a small paper from her pocketbook. "Here is your fee".

Lacrosse grabs the check looking dumbfounded, "I was very clear about being paid in cash, this is bull-"

"Señor, I assure you that the Colombian University will back that payment. You simply need to stop acting so crazy and-"

"Look here, the people I am paying with this money don't take checks. I owe a lot on that plane, and they would rather see me dead than..." He stops, and gazes over her shoulder. Four Land Rovers are heading toward them. Even at three hundred meters, it is painfully obvious that they are not the professor's welcoming party. "Son-of-a..." Lacrosse turns nearly knocking the woman over, and runs toward his plane. Alright Jim, running for your life. A real hero. But at least I might not get shot. He pulls the fueling line free of his plane much to the discontent of the ground crew he soaks. After dashing into the cockpit, he bumps the starter, letting out a relieved breath as the 180hp engine sputters to life, luck must be on my side today. A sharp crack resonates in his left ear as a rifle round ricochets off the surface, maybe not. Giving the engine nearly enough fuel to stall it, he rolls onto the runway. This is just great, rolling down the runway with no clearance, a fine way to hit another plane head on, a pair of rounds pierce his cabin, of course a nice airplane wreck would be less painful then getting shot to death.

"Oh look, my little friends parked on the tarmac. They had better move cause I'm comin' through." As the Cessna picks up speed, and old song begin repeating in his mind, playin' chicken with the train-train, Playin' chicken with the train.

Seeing that he doesn't mean to stop, the men abandon their trucks on the runway. Sparks and smoke flood the aircraft cabin as automatic rifles tear through its control panel. "I can make this, yep going plenty fast. I'll just pull up and soar over the little buggers." Sweat beads Lacrosse's brow as he pulls back on the wheel. "Just a little higher".

There is a light squeak as his landing gear grazes one of the vehicles. "Ha ah, see ya later puntos; I'm free". Laughing nearly to tears he soars above the cloud cover. Ten minutes later he lays a finger on the map at hand; it flutters due to the air rushing into his cabin from multiple bullet holes. "Right there, Vasquez Cobo International Airport sitting on the border of this godforsaken country. Let's see, once I'm out of Brazil I could head west to the coast or North into Mexico. Hell I could go right through to Omaha and land in my brother's front yard. I bet the papers would love that," He gestures with both hands wide, "I can see it now in the Omaha state daily,

Vagrant brother crash lands in noted lawyer's lawn. Security at the scene were quick to take down Jim Lacrosse who they described as reeking of rum and sweat. When asked about the incident, his brother Robert Lacrosse replied, "I expected something like this sooner or later".

Lacrosse laughs mirthfully, "Alright Mr. GPS which way do we go?" He presses the power button several times to no effect. "Eh, took a bullet for me didn't you. I wonder what other casualties we've got here. Fuel gauge check, only half a tank though, altimeter is AWOL, navigation in general seems to be shot to shit." He rubs his temple and lets out an aggravated cry, not even a compass. Looking down, he checks his watch. "Good ol' Pulsar, you still work. 5 O'clock so the sun's in the west. All I have to do is follow it and I should be able to spot the landing strip. I ought to get there a little after seven if all goes well." He places an aluminum briefcase safely in his lap. Inside, 8000 Brazilian reals and a two-grand check promise freedom.

***

"7:02. I should be able to see the airstrip soon. I would be able to see period if visibility was more than three feet!" Lacrosse shakes a fist at his drenched window. A steady spray of water enters his cabin gradually soaking him to the skin.

*whup whup whup*

That didn't sound very good, Lacrosse checks what gauges remain. "Oil pressure good, temperature good, a half tank of fuel..." He stares at the fuel gauge_, half a tank? Not possible-I had that much when I left the last airport-unless this gauge is just as FUBAR as everything else_. With a feeble sputter the engine quits, well at least it's a lot quieter without that rattly thing ringing in my head. He stares for a moment not truly accepting what has happened. Stomach lurching he begins to truly realize how bad of a spot he is in. Feels like my stomach is going to come out my throat, is this fear-real fear. Wait a minute, I'm not sick from fear. I'm just falling out of the sky. Now that I have that covered I suppose it's time to start screaming.

Lacrosse pulls back on the control but to no avail. "Screw this", He unbuckles and pulls a dusty chute from beneath his seat. The protective plastic case disintegrates under his touch, eliciting a dubious grunt, "this sure looks dependable". He pulls the straps over his shoulders and begins to tighten the straps, Should just stay in the plane, likely it would be safer than this old piece of crap. Sticking his rolled up boonie hat in a free pocket, he grips the door release. When he opens the cabin, the air pressure nearly throws him out of the plane. Hanging from a grab rail, he tosses back a salute, "Adios".

Just before taking that final step into thin air, he spots his briefcase sitting in the cockpit, "aww crap, can't leave that". The floor is decidedly unlevel as he fumbles for the case. Gotta go, gotta go. Moving at a fast pace in the hopes that terror will not stall him Lacrosse leaps from his aircraft.

Stupid freaking idea-leaving a perfectly good plane behind. It was out of gas, but that is just a minor problem. I could live without fuel, but I'm going to freakin' die without a plane. He pulls the parachute lanyard and prays to god that it will hold. The recoil yanks his briefcase free. "NOOOOOOOOOO." Lacrosse stretches his arms toward the fallen item. "Is that it then, the final insult, nothing left. I might as well cut these strings loose and end everyone's misery."

The jungle canopy comes rushing upward all too quickly. Through the tangle of limbs he deflects with tiring arms one catches his brow hard. It isn't long before a fog overcomes his vision.

***

Thirty meters above the forest floor, a puppet hangs from nylon strings. Dawn's rays illuminate the beaten form. His booted feet dangle grimly in the breeze. Eventually his groans bring consciousness, and with conscious thought comes pain. "Ah my head..." Blinking through blurred vision, he checks the surroundings, "wet, hurt, and hanging from a tree. Sounds about normal." He spies a good looking limb below his feet, "alright, I'll just cut these strings, land on that stick, and then work my way down the tree. Simple really."

Five minutes later, he is lying on his back in the mud, now what part of that plan went wrong.

The jungle soon proves to be an unyielding adversary. Each step through the drenched landscape ends with more mud in his boots, in his skin, in his very soul. Hours of isolation seem as days. Lacrosse begins to think he had really died in the plane crash then something catches his eye. Amid the sallow wood, something reflects like a beacon. Trying to run but soon crawling on all fours he rushes toward the metallic object. It can't be . Cradled in the boughs of a fern, his briefcase sits mockingly. Laughing with giddy madness, he pops it open. The paper money remains in orderly rows wrapped with plastic. Hugging the case to his chest like a security blanket, Lacrosse considers his next move. Lost in the jungle, nobody bound to come looking for me. Wish I had a satellite phone, or even a radio. The plane has a radio, would have been smart to announce a mayday while I was still in the air. No matter, I find the plane and I find my freedom. A belated mayday is better than nothing. Unprepared as he may be, the lone wanderer heads west.

***

"I saw it again, I'm sure of it. Something fast and yellow is following me." Standing still as a dead man, Lacrosse nervously adjusts his boonie hat. Somewhere in the brush, feral amber eyes watch. Though merely one-hundred and fifty pounds the animal's lithe frame is bound with the muscles of a hunting cat. Its lowing haunts his every breath. For a brief instant, Lacrosse almost swears he can see it. As he continues his travels, every overhanging branch becomes suspect. A fern, or clump of yellow leaves need only to sway, and his nerves are on edge again. Should have went down with the ship, rather than become cat food.

"Not that anyone would care!" His outburst causes several of the jungle's denizens to take flight. "It would make a good headline don't ya think.

'Lawyer Breaks Case of the Decade'

at the top and on the bottom corner of page 6

'His brother's whereabouts are unknown. At this time he is presumed dead.'

It would be just freakin' perfect."

And so, the primitive fear of man comes to the forefront of one's consciousness here in a land untouched by civilization. At any moment the living can give way to death. This is where only the strongest survive, and Lacrosse feels weak indeed. His eyes dart at each windblown leaf, only sheer willpower makes frozen legs trudge onward, and the jaguar watches. This creature doesn't belong in her forest, he is noisy and careless. Only morbid curiosity has stayed her wish test his mettle. Would be better to observe for now, the unknown can be dangerous. Once his capabilities are judged, then would come a time for action.

Doubting his sanity, Lacrosse jumps at the sight of a yellow flash he takes to be the cat's tail. Caution goes to the wind as he breaks into a sprint. Tripping and stumbling through the underbrush, the flailing man crests a hill to be presented with a shallow river. Never thinking, he leaps headlong, into the rock-strewn water. At the opposite bay, he falls flat. Rolling onto his back, Lacrosse hold up his briefcase like a shield. Expecting nothing less than slashing claws and vicious fangs. But all is silent other than the slosh of running water. Lost it... I hope. Once he is sure that the creature is not going to jump him when first he moves, Lacrosse stands on legs that shudder with adrenaline.

The light patter of rain builds itself back up into a storm. Somehow in the drenching rain, he feels safe. Taking the boonie hat from his head to wring out dirty water, Lacrosse examines his filthy attire. "No shower for two days and covered in mud. The plane is probably miles away, and walking through the jungle with sand in my shorts won't make the trip any more pleasant ". A short walk down river, just in case, and he happens upon a pool of still water.

"At least there aren't any piranhas, I hope." The sun hangs low in a sky blotted from view by several canopies, even as dusk comes the storm does not subside. Tossing his vestments over a tree limb, Lacrosse wades into the pool holding his hat before him like a torch. As soon as the canvas contains enough rainwater to be dripping through the seams, Lacrosse takes a life-giving sip. Soon the fabric lies empty in his palm, "you don't realize how thirsty you are until you take that first sip. God I wish I'd have brought a canteen." Lacrosse finishes his bath, rather enjoying the cool water coming from upstream, before he rinses his clothing out in the pool.

While hanging his items out to dry, if the rain ever stops, they might dry, a foreign sound come from beyond the patter of raindrops. Thinking the animal has found him again, he freezes. All remains silent. "Wet clothes are better than no clothes", Lacrosse hurriedly dresses, "what the?" For a brief moment he clearly hears someone speak, though the word's meaning escapes him. Now focused on the sound, he steps off his riverbank. Grumbling to himself and hurriedly fastening buttons, Lacrosse pushes through the vines and underbrush, "Damn stupid to go walking into the woods just because I imagined someone was talking, and it's about to get dark just to top everything off." Nonetheless he proceeds, and the sounds intensify. The hidden entity cries out through the sheets of rain, as if hurt. Concerned and now more confused than ever, Lacrosse crests the next hill to find a small glade protected by ancient trees. A creature of sorts lies on the floral carpet below. Lacrosse rubs his eyes, believing them to give false witness, but when his gaze returns, the creature remains as it was. Curiosity can be a dangerous thing, but its allure drives him forward. The thing (he is sure now that it is female), looks almost human though her skin is covered in fur, through a sheet of rain he swears she possesses a tail.

"Whatever the case may be, she's the naughtiest little nymph I've ever seen." Back arched above the ground, she wantonly grasps her right breast as her left hand explores the area hidden between her legs. Now more certain than ever that he is still hanging unconscious from a tree, or maybe inhaling sweet carbon-monoxide coming off the smoking engine of his airplane, Lacrosse edges closer. This has got to be the most realistic dream I have ever experienced. Her soft moans come out smooth as purrs. Droplets run down yellow fur, soaking her curls of hair that lie pooled among flowers. Far from my usual dreams, since when did I become a furry anyway. Probably one of those repressed things that headshrinks are always yapping about.

Her lips slide back in a smile of ecstasy, revealing long sharp fangs. Never would have guessed those were behind such cute little lips. Feeling his crotch becoming painfully restricted, Lacrosse pulls down the zipper for a little freedom. Sitting fifty feet away, Lacrosse is careful not to make a sound lest she see him. No matter how dreamlike it may seem, this forest is a dangerous place indeed.

His cock feels like a hot rivet as it is being pelted by the cool rain. Getting a glimpse of her soft neither lips, he strokes himself. Erection painfully hard now, he watches as she arches her body off the ground, crying out as her tail slides deep into the warm recesses of her body. Masturbating with her tail now, the felid kneads her breasts, her body still tense above the earth.

Edging his way to the verge of release now, Lacrosse holds a tree limb for support. His unblinking eyes remain locked on the luscious feline before him. What the hell am I doing whacking off to some naked cat monster-of course there's no stopping now. Feeling the point of no return come rushing, Lacrosse gasps, the cords on his neck standing out. Hearing him, the cat-woman stops her playing and stares straight toward him. Lacrosse is beyond caring at this point, and the first burst of his seed sprays forth, even as the growls of a jaguar fill his ears.

Seeming to fall from the sky, a great yellow cat lands in front of him. Its eyes scream murder, while its long fangs are similarly threatening. Lacrosse remains rooted to the spot unable to stop his spurting member as the last few bursts of semen gush forward seeming to infuriate the jaguar further.

Then it is upon him all gnashing fangs and razor teeth. Doing the first thing that comes to mind, Lacrosse punches the beast in its face as it tears at his left forearm. In return he breaks his hand, as the jaguar growls menacingly. The cat-woman gives a strange call, and then the cat begrudgingly backs away from Lacrosse's now prone form.

Lacrosse remains on his back, what the hell just happened, blood oozes from his body out of several wounds most of them light except for the four cuts across his forearm that go nearly to the bone. Deciding his isn't actually dead, Lacrosse sits up. All is quiet even the rain has stilled. The cat-woman and her pet are gone, leaving barely a trace that they had ever existed.

While trying to get hold of himself, Lacrosse finds his left arm nearly useless; the four gashes had done something to the muscles. Using his broken right hand, he ties the shreds of his shirt around his left arm as best he can, then folds his knife and drops it back into his front pocket. The while process is relatively painless, thank god for adrenaline.

Feeling faint, Lacrosse takes five steps then falls headlong into some ferns. Lost a lot of blood... So tired... If I sleep I'll probably die. "But it feels so good", his eyes slowly shut.

To be continued...