Outbreak CH1
#3 of Outbreak
"The sun's coming down."
The bison didn't respond. He had found a tree stump with perfect lighting, and anymore perfect lighting was a rare and precious thing.
"Did you hear me?". This time the voice had a bit of an edge to it. Leaves cracked as footsteps approached. "We need to go."
The bison grunted in response. He didn't have much time to whittle lately and had made excellent progress on the tiny wooden figurine. One massive hand delicately rotated it as sharp, precise knife strokes sent shavings pirouetting to the ground.
There was a sharp intake of irritated breath and thin hands rested on the bison's shoulders. He felt delicate-needle tip claws slide through his shirt and part his fur, resting just on his skin. It wasn't a threat with any intent of violence behind it, but it was a threat nonetheless. He rolled his shoulders.
"Mike, while you're there, could you rub my neck a bit? I've got some really nasty stress knots," he teased. His deep voice had a hint of apology to it. Mike laughed nervously and withdrew his hands. He sidestepped and leaned over the bison's shoulders.
"It's...it's okay. It's just those shavings, the knife, those kinds of things give us away. I mean, with the sun coming down, it'll be a lot harder to tell what's approaching from where. You know?"
"Yeah. I know," he sighed, defeated. He placed the figurine in his pocket and the knife in its sheathe. "Let's go."
The puma smiled. He gave his friend a sharp pat on the back. "Thanks, Roy. We've still got a good twenty minutes of sunlight left, we can make it home before then."
They walked without speaking. Roy's hooves plodded mercilessly on the drying autumn leaves. A choir of crackling voices sang their location to anyone who wished to hear. Mike's ears darted in all directions, settling here or there for a few sections before moving along.
Roy kept his eyes straight ahead of him. He trudged along the familiar path with a pointed sense of purpose and nonchalance. The duffel bag he wore across his back like a sword bounced cheerfully with every step. A long day of work had yielded quite a bit of food, as well as some useful tools, and the day's success bolstered Roy's spirits.
Abruptly, Mike froze beside him. Roy stopped with a jerk, the pack slamming into his back. His eyes darted around them until they rested on what Mike had seen.
He had been athletic when he was alive. It wasn't just the torn biking outfit that announced it. He rippled with muscle, still toned despite the decay. Large patches of his ratty fur had been torn out, the hair sometimes taking skin with it. Bare, spindly fingers clutched eagerly at the air.
By the look of him, the opossum had been through a rough undeath. He was battle scarred, wounds clearly caused post-mortem. He had emerged victorious from other battles before, and it was a bad sign. His clouded, watery eyes fixed on Mike and he wheezed in a way that suggested a hiss.
Roy's hand went to his belt, danced over the smaller knife's hilt, swapped partners and settled on the handle of a machete.
"You should know not to hesitate, you stupid son of a bitch!"
This had the opposite effect on Roy, who paused with his hand still resting on the machete hilt. Mike had his pistol out and ready. His hands shook and it bounced erratically.
The voice cried out again, wordlessly, a shrill keen as a plank whistled through the air and connected with the opossum's neck. He staggered forward, his head snapping back and his torso jutting forward from the force. The plank snapped up and crashed down on his skull, shattering bone on contact. He dropped to the ground, its assault unrelenting, smashing his head into the dirt. It continued long after he stopped moving.
The slender female jackrabbit dropped the plank and spat on the opossum's newly re-corpsed corpse. "Motherfucker," she added, an afterthought as she wiped her muzzle with the back of her hand.
Her eyes snapped up when Roy began his soft, admiring clapping. She focused on him with a fiery hostility that simmered into a warm appreciation. She bowed with exaggerated humility.
"Jesus, lady, that was amazing. I think that's the most impressive save I've ever seen," Mike said, a wide grin on his face, his eyes energized.
"Only save," Roy added.
"Yeah, actually, you're the only person to ever save our asses, period. Gotta say, you set a high bar with that one. What's your name, warrior princess?"
"Vicky, and it isn't anything, honestly! I just really hated how his outfit clashed with his fur," she grinned, scratching the back of her head. She glanced at the ground and then back at the two men. "You look like you're going somewhere."
Roy looked at Mike. Mike looked at Roy. After a moment, Mike nodded. They looked back to Vicky.
"Home. My parents', actually, but I don't know where they are," Roy said, flinching as he finished the sentence. Vicky nodded sympathetically. "It's not far from here, you might actually have passed it. It's pretty well protected, though."
"I didn't see it, no. That's good though. I take it I can come along?"
"I think you proved that you're worth keeping around. We could use a little extra help keeping things safe. I'm Mike," he said, extending a softly padded hand. She took it and gave it a friendly shake. He pulled back and gestured with his thumb towards the bison. "That's Roy. We've pretty much got this survival shit on lockdown, but better safe than sorry."
"Isn't three a crowd?" Vicky grinned. Roy's brows twitched into a frown and back again, restraining their urge to weigh in on that thought. Mike smiled and shook his head.
It was dark by the time they hit the cabin, but any inclination Mike would have had to complain seemed to have gone away with Vicky's arrival. He kept stealing eager glances at her, glances she seemed to notice and neither encourage nor discourage. Roy snorted quietly to himself and settled onto a threadbare sofa. Mike eyed him with a frown, scanning the room for any other chairs that could accommodate two. Finding none, he collapsed onto a barstool with a petulant huff.
Vicky settled to the floor, delicately crossing her long legs. She looked at Roy, who leaned over and lit a lamp on the end table without acknowledging her, and then at Mike, who grinned at her in a very soppy and schoolboyish way. She grinned.
"So, what are you in for?"
Roy and Mike looked at each other, quietly debating who should begin the story.