FSE

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formerly SoFurry search engine

The snow had laid thick while Bishop was sleeping. After the cover of the roof was left behind, he was already wading through the damnable coldness up to his thighs, and his winter coat just wasn't good enough to keep him warm like he'd hoped. The snow was over his paws and up his trouser legs, uncomfortable and chilly, and he hated the feeling. But with the liquor in his blood now, it was getting harder and harder to tell if the numbness setting in was from the drink, or the cold. Either way, he kept trudging onwards. That screech by the house he'd rolled out of was enough motivation to ignore that discomfort for now, he could deal with the consequences when he was in a safer position. Though he still wished he'd taken another swig before he wasted that scotch on a molotov.

Every step forward was with haste, leaving a funny looking trail in the snow where he pushed through. Like a plow in a fresh field, he cut a path by paw and tail. Mostly paw, as his tail swished from side to side on each right step, making little brush marks to either side of his path. Every so often it straightened and wiggled to knock snow out of the fur. He could handle the snow on his legs, but something about it caking up in that fluffy striped tail was infinitely annoying.

But with the midday sun overhead, and the snow packed streetlights on either side of what used to be a road, Bishop had a rough idea of where to go. A simple idea. He'd go down the street until he found something interesting enough to stop. Or until he got too cold. Or jumped again, but with the sun bright and shiny today, he felt confident he could stand his ground. The attack in the forest was a different matter, of course. He'd been startled from two sides of two different trees, they weren't fighting fair! Or, at least, that's what his mildly bruised ego said.

For the most part, every house on this suburbian road was a bust. A few burned down, one literally in pieces like a great fist had smashed it from the roof down. Oh, there's a blown up armored vehicle in that one's living room. Looks like something shelled it. Another was more razor-wire and plastic tent than house, must have been from early on in the month. Bishop's staring was interrupted as his left foot landed right into a pothole and the snow went up to his hip, before he stumbled forward out of it. His face grimaced against the snow in his waistband now, snout partially opening in a cringe.

_ "Dammit, 'ats colder'n shit." _

How he wished he still had that bottle now. Or some pocket hand warmers to duct tape to his lower half. Or some underwear that actually fit his new body, without being the most uncomfortable pair of clothes he'd ever had the misfortune of putting on. Hell, he wasted a good pair of work pants early on in the month trying to cut a hole for his tail that didn't feel like it was cutting it off. With a frustrated huff, and a puff, and a sigh, he continued on. Bishop half guessed he'd gone a half mile by now, looking back at his trail in the snow that seemed to lead off into oblivion behind him.

He did a quick once over himself again, checking his revolver to make sure snow hadn't packed into the barrel when he stumbled, and that he didn't pick up a pocket full of the stuff. Barrel looked clear, though he blew out some snow that settled in the spaces by the cylinder. Pockets were buttoned down, so it seemed good there too. Picking his head up, and trying to not squint too tightly at the sunlight reflected off the snow, he did a look about his surroundings to make sure it was all clear.

Not terrible, though the houses looked like they needed to be condemned. This place might have been a nice neighborhood before martial law drove the occupants from their homes. Bishop himself had dodged getting put in a camp, since he was out in the woods camping for the two weeks the 'evacuation' had occurred. Regardless, it was clear of any snarling or drooling lurchers stumbling towards him through the snow. Both hands reached up and plucked the earmuffs off Bishop's ears, thumbs slipping under the paracord he'd used to hold them to his head.

Relief struck as the pressure was removed from his ears, and the world stopped being so quiet. He sighed, hooking the earpro's paracord through one of his beltloops as he continued. It was nice to hear something other than the blood rushing through his ears and that faint endless ringing. If he had to shoot now, he'd probably go deaf for a while, but damn if those muffs weren't a pain to wear. Another thing he missed about being human. If he didn't have two great sonars ontop his head, he could wear that earpro with zero problems.

But enough about his ears, he could actually hear now. And hear he did. Hear nothing but the soft rush of wind as it started snowing again, and the rustling of himself through the snow. All punctuated by the swish of his tail. Houses passed in their varying states of destruction, like the sobering sight of walking through an old warzone. All it lacked was bodies left to rot against walls and sidewalks. If there were any, they'd likely be buried in the snow. Or walking about.

It didn't take too long before houses turned into small businesses and bigger roads. The snow was lesser here, an abundance of buildings blocking the wind from piling it up as deep, though the contrasting dark grays ahead gave the place a terribly gloomy and hopeless appearance. A sense of dread bloomed in Bishop's chest at the sight. If the shambling creatures had been in the woods, surely they would be here in greater number.

Looking at the first few buildings as he approached, his march slowed. Bishop would prefer to move through here without any trouble, or having to waste any shots, but there were no certainties to be had these days. And he needed his ears open now, ear protection was a no go for now. His stomach churned at the thought of getting into melee with the creatures after his discovery earlier in the day. Broken windows ahead greeted him, some doors thrown ajar or ripped completely off. Snow built up against the walls and spilling into the structures was a comforting sight for once. Neither footprints nor pawprints disturbed it.

His gaze wandered across faded signs as he checked what each building used to be. Plumbing supply and an auto store across from it. Huh. A little further down was a furniture store, though he wouldn't dare enter. Couches and dressers, beds and all sorts of bits n bobs piled the front door in a makeshift barricade. All from the outside too, which spoke foul of the interior. Across from the furniture pile was the shell of a building for sale. Through the broken window Bishop could see a scissor lift sitting at the back, with a ladder leaned up against it.

And just down the road was the jewel of all jewels, the treasure of all treasures. A gas station! One of the pumps had an SUV mashed into it, and Bishop would bet a bottom dollar there was no gas left in the place, but maybe there would be some goodies inside. At the very least it would let him get the snow off his crotch and shake out the cold that'd been creeping in with sobriety. Each step felt better and better as he approached the front door, where it was still closed and the glass was unbroken. If he was really lucky, there would be something with caffeine in here. Lord knows with how long he'd gone without it, even one of those nasty sugar free ones would hit the spot right about now.

The sliding door didn't open, though a part of Bishop wished it did. With his paws, one bare and one with the glove, he slipped claws in between the space of the two doors and carefully began prying them apart. For a moment he was worried he'd rip one of his claws out, but the doors finally gave and opened just enough for him to slip in. He didn't bother closing them behind him.

As the doors creaked and slid open though, his ears perked and tail bristled as a faint sound reached them. A squawk. Like a bird getting pelted with a peanut, or slipping on ice. That, followed by what sounded like a door closing at the back of the gas station, and the flapping of wings that slowly grew more and more distant. What the hell? Bishop's brow furrowed and his hand fell to rest on the handle of his snubnosed revolver. He hadn't seen any other birds than the vultures since the snow had been falling, and none of the vultures sounded that heavy or high in tone. If it was one of the creatures, surely it would have been coming towards him rather than away?

Stalking further into the gas station's lobby, Bishop did a quick clear to make sure something wasn't waiting for him behind the counter or in the aisle, before moving towards the bathrooms and employee area. He inhaled sharply as he cleared the tight hall and spotted his first sign of trouble. The employee area door was wide open, and wet snow was in the hall, tracked in from something. His gun flew from his holster as he drew it and advanced down the hall, keeping it tight to his body in case something made a grab for it. Quickly stepping around the open door, his gun went high and the hammer pulled back.

Doorway clear, he crossed the threshold to avoid lingering. Once more he pied off the room as best he could alone, though nothing shot or jumped out at him. He did notice more snow though, and the backdoor wasn't fully closed. More to his concern, a pile of the treasure he'd come looking for was reduced to empty wrappers and packages ontop of a table. Three empty packs of beef jerky stung his heart, though he knew he couldn't eat them. A mountain of chocolate bar wrappers, several honey buns, and a whole cinnamon roll 12 pack all reduced to cardboard and plastic wrappers.

For what sounded like a bird, the scene spoke more of a damn pig, but Bishop was only angry he didn't get to the treats first. Hell, they even wiped out a 24 pack of generic brand sodas. All recently too, if the liquid remnants around the cans spoke true. A snarl grew on his face as he hastened for the back door and shouldered it open, sweeping the back of the station with his gun. There was fuck all back there. Nothing but three toes prints in the snow and black feathers scattered about. Someone had a slow takeoff.

_ "Probly cuz they eat nuff fer tin fuggin peeple." _

Bishop spit, turning back into the building and closing the door behind him. With a click, he locked it and moved back to the front again to close the sliding doors. With the station as secure as he could stand for now, the red panda turned to take stock of what hadn't been struck by the pigbird he'd run off. It wasn't all looted and ruined, thank the Good Lord. This town must have been run through pretty quick. With the first aisle he went down, Bishop had come across plenty condoms and a handfull of allergy medicine. The condoms stayed on the shelf, useless to Bishop right now, and most of the medicine followed suit. The benadryl went into his pocket though. Auto oil would do no good, other than maybe starting a fire? Not in here though, he'd smoke himself out.

The next aisle was better. A pack of lime flavored sunflower seeds, a few packs of cashews and a small snack pack of cajun seasoned peanuts. A bag of dill pickle chips, though not at all what Bishop wanted, was still food. He didn't touch the slimjims, not even when he was still human. Those gummies looked kinda sketchy, but Bishop wouldn't mind a treat. Then again, he left those candies on the shelf too, as a bag of powdered donuts caught his eye. People must not like the cinnamon ones, huh. The chocolate and regular powdered donuts were totally gone. Bishop's trademark puff blew hot air as he grabbed the bag and moved on. Not much else worth taking. Meats he wasn't sure his new body could stomach, personal cans of beef and chili or frank and beans.

He did snag the last cup of chicken flavored ramen, though he had no clue how he'd cook them. He wanted to grab the pork rinds too, but again, he had no clue if he could stomach them. Next on the agenda was drinks. For the most part the waters and sports drinks were wiped out, though Bishop could make a guess to the culprit with the feathers at the bottom of the freezer. Some of the better sodas were of the same fate, but the fabled and unloved orange, purple, and green stuff stayed in stock. These people had no taste, clearly.

With arms full of edible gold, Bishop tapped his way back to the employees area and closed the door behind him. Pigbird be damned, shamblers be cast to hell, he was having a good meal. Maybe not the healthiest, but a tasty meal. As he sat down and popped open the bag of sunflowers first, his ears perked again. Something hefty just landed on the roof. He could hear the steps hopping around above him, and a faint flap of wings here and there.

That piggy bastard had come back.

Notes: Upload 3! I'm not super satisfied with this part, and I'm playing around with the progression pace so it doesn't feel so slow. I really don't want to drag it on like I usually do. As usual, thanks for the read!