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It was a cold, dreary night in December; around this time, people all over the remains of the _ Southern United States were dreaming of simpler lives. Lives before the world ended. Lives that revolved around going to work each day, having friends, going to the local pubs before coming home to a warm bed and a happy family. Lives that were full of cheerful faces, unmarred by the voracious wear and tear of many years worth of brutal Darwinism. They dreamed of a time before the world left them behind._

Nearly a hundred miles from the ruins of a grey, ash fallen metropolis, there was a small city of collapsed buildings that slept eternally in dereliction. The soft glow of a contained campfire could barely be seen through the broken walls of one of the blown out buildings. The glow illuminated the surroundings of the campsite that encased it; packs of supplies, a single folding chair, a makeshift stove and a pair of firearms that lay parallel to each other. But the most interesting object was the worn sleeping bag and the two figures that nested inside of it. A ragged cotton blanket was creased over the bag, giving its inhabitants warmth from the otherwise frigid night.

One, a slender yellow and gold coyote, slept warmly despite the cold air; the other, a muscular black wolf with an old scar over his right brow, was barely awake. He watched his bedmate with affection, keeping an arm over the sleeping coyote's waist. His gaze averted to the sky as his mind began to wander.

What do you do when you weren't supposed to live; when the world moves on without you? Do you just... go on, doing what you can until you can't do any more? Or do you just give up and die?

I guess it all depends on what you're fighting for; those little things that are still worth smiling about. Things like holding a loved one or remembering a good movie.

These aren't just things that you earn and forget about, either; every day, you fight for them, and every day you fight to maintain them (kind of like a well oiled machine). Whether the world has ended or not, these are the little things that can make all the difference; they can also quickly become the most important things in the world.

In the marine core, they told me to never stop fighting, not until the enemy put a bullet in my brain. Every single instinct I had told me to keep going, to keep fighting, to keep protecting; even though my body screamed at me sometimes to give in.

When I looked over at Matthew, I could tell by his loose clothing and dull fur that he was both malnourished and dehydrated.

I put my paw on his chest and I could feel his heart beat; fast and sometimes uneven, but in given circumstances, he was healthy. My own body felt sore and there were wounds I knew would never completely heal, but I was healthy too.

In this day and age, I know that means we should be grateful; and we were, though I could tell he was hurting on the inside. Working myself ragged took its toll on him as well, probably more than I knew. Regardless, we both just kept going; it was about all we could afford to do.

We'd bunkered down on the second floor of a caved in building; it required a little climbing, but that only made it safer, in my mind. I'd made a pit earlier for a fire while Matthew cleaned off an area for the sleeping bag.

That was another one of those things to be thankful for; the sleeping bag was easily large enough for two, and as a bonus, it was double layered. With that, the fire and the musty old cotton blanket we salvaged, we were about as warm as we could get in the night.

We kept the fire small as to ward of any attention, and the building we nested in was almost like a cave. It hid most of the fire's glow, and it was pretty well insulated. Whatever heat gathered would stay there over night.

As a treat, we were able to sleep in the bare minimum of our clothes; I was stripped down to my flannel shirt and boxers, and Matthew was nude. I pressed myself up against him, basking in his bare warmth; I can't remember the last time I was able to enjoy his naked body like that. My paw brushed over him, carefully feeling the contours of his chest and belly.

He was thin, but not too bad. Between the two of us and the supply packs we carried, room for food wasn't an issue. We definitely had to ration, but neither of us were too bad off. Still, I worried over him; I wish that we could afford to eat more, but with things like they are, we can't take any big risks.

He understood, but sometimes I could see the pangs of hunger in his hazel eyes. Once every few days, we'd put together whatever we collected to make a suitable meal. Usually it was stew of some sort, finished off with whatever treat we found from our salvaging.

We usually never ate enough for it to be irresponsible, but every now and then I'd let him get a second helping of whatever we were eating. It always made him smile genuinely; honestly, that was treat enough for me.

My paw wandered down his chest until it got to his lightly furred groin. I made sure that he was deep in slumber before letting my paw run over his flaccid member; I felt at it with curiosity. It was average sized and cut. Grasping it in my paw, I could feel that it was cold.

I stroked it softly to warm it up, letting it harden in my paw, before tightening the covers around him so that he'd stay warm everywhere.

I reached down further to feel his orbs; medium sized like his member and lightly furred, but warm. I cupped them in my paw and pressed them against his body, feeling their contents a little bit. He stirred softly and I quickly moved my paw to his chest, not wanting to disturb his sleep.

There was something about Matthew that I absolutely adored. It's like he kept a little of his old world innocence; it was a part of him that I wanted to keep as long as I could. I don't know how long that would last, but as long as I could lift my paw, I'd fight to the death to keep that alive in him.

Even before the end came, he kept his innocence about him. It was like he never let the harshness of reality sink into him; no matter how fucked up the situation got, he stayed relatively happy. It wasn't hard to love him, by any standards.

I laid my muzzle on his neck and gave him a few protective licks before peering up through the jagged remains of the roof, at the moon. It was nearly full; something that brought me much restlessness. By instinct, I wanted to howl at the top of my lungs, but I knew that was dangerous. The two of us had survived for this long by staying relatively unnoticed. There were plenty of things out there that could likely prove disastrous for us if we drew too much attention. Still, if it weren't for Matthew being there I might have done it anyway, being the wolf I am.

I pulled my wrist up and looked at the little grey watch that Matthew had found for me while salvaging; it was past midnight. I could tell from the location of the moon that there were about six or seven hours left before morning. As a rule of measure, I always got Matthew up thirty minutes after first light; neither of us enjoyed breaking camp before dawn came, so I let him sleep until things warmed up a little.

I was so happy when Matthew found that watch; he knew that I was uncomfortable not having a way to keep track of time. This uneasiness was a remnant of my past in the military; things had to be done precisely, or I might've been left behind in the dust.

Matthew was always very considerate whenever it came to my rules. It was one of the reasons I loved him so much.

I felt his tail against my leg and I pulled it close with my paw, feeling the texture of the fur between my finger and thumb. I always secretly enjoyed keeping him in front of me because his tail was so warm, like an extra blanket for me to cuddle when I needed it. Funnily enough, his tail was about the only thing that he really took pride in anymore, as far as his appearance goes.

I scoffed at him a few times over it, but he always shook it off and reminded me that I would have to put up with him even if he were mangy; that I was actually being done a favor by his careful tail-grooming rituals. Such a silly coyote.

I held it close as my eyelids grew heavy, my reality fading away to peaceful slumber. I fell asleep with the knowledge that, all things considered, I was doing pretty well by him. The thought made my lips curl into a smile as my muzzle buried itself deep against the warm nape of his neck. Soon, my mind faded away into the world of dreams, and I was asleep.

They both were asleep now. Turk slept soundly, but Matthew stirred, as if reacting _ to his dreams. Amid the night, the fire faded into a bed of glowing coals, a remnant of the former glory that fed heat to the surrounding campsite. The coyote whimpered softly under his breath, his dreams haunting him throughout the cold night._

I dreamed of the night the sirens went off, again. Like an old war movie, the sirens began their perilous screech somewhere off in the distance. Soon after, the percussive blasts of the bombs could be heard ringing through the night. Even though I knew we were safe for the time being (Turk made sure that we were a sizable distance from any targetable civilization), the haunting aria of the sirens made me shiver.

I'd never heard anything like them before, save the incomparable moan of the weather sirens. The sound and the following percussion was so alien to me, yet I understood it completely. Usually, when I dreamed of things like this, my sleep for the night would be terrible.

I felt Turk's paws against my sides, shaking them to get me to wake up. I opened my eyes and saw the subtle rays of dawn, setting on the opened corridors of the building that we slept in. As I had mentioned before, the quality of the sleep I got the night before was bad; I yawned groggily and began to stir, if only to let Turk know that I was awake.

I didn't know if he knew, but I was awake when he felt me up last night; it's okay though. I love it when he holds me like that; when he acts like I'm the only thing that exists. I know it's selfish; I know he has to worry about the two of us all the time. But when he holds me like that, when I can feel his breath on the back of my neck... I don't know. It's hard to explain.

It was the most amazing feeling ever, even back before the world ended; now especially, it brings a feeling of great bliss. Sometimes it's enough to make it feel like the world never ended at all, actually; like I could close my eyes and imagine that we were laying in our bedroom, in our old flat before hell broke loose. Turk tells me I shouldn't dwell in the past, but sometimes I can't help it.

"It's time t'wake up, pup" I heard Turk rhyme, his soft southern accent accompanied by the audible whispers of the morning breeze.

"Mnnn-nnh... just a few more minutes."

Turk unzipped the bag, letting in the cold air in. I shivered, and he hugged me close to keep me warm for a moment, before crawling out of the sleeping bag and walking to the smaller bag of supplies. I looked at him in his red flannel shirt and boxers, laughing to myself over the wolf's attire.

"We've gotta set out hunny; we've got a ways to go before we reach the next caravan, and I don't wanna spend the next two months getting there."

"I know love..." I said. I stirred a bit in the bag and looked over at the fire, now just a pit of embers. "What's for breakfast?"

The wolf went through the stores of dried food that we kept in the small pack of supplies, organizing it mentally before pulling out a few packets of brown, dried jerky.

"Your favorite babe; beef jerky." Turk held the packets up in his paw, showing them to me. I chuckled and sat up in the sleeping bag, rubbing my belly in hunger; it wasn't the most nutritious breakfast, but it was something, and it was something tasty. I grabbed two packets and opened one up, sniffing it groggily. It was pungent with a spiced beef flavor, even after all these years of being unopened.

"You know monsieur, you're spoiling me with these delicacies!"

"Mmmn-all the best for you, mon mignon,[*]" he replied in a faux French accent. I stuck my tongue out and began to chew on the jerky slowly.

"Hey, no eating in bed. You need to get up."

"Awwh, c'mon," I said, giving him the puppy eyes. "It's just jerky!"

"You say that now, but trust me. You don't want the sleeping bag to smell like jerky for the next few weeks."

Turk said this with a grin. I loved that grin; the wolf had the undeniable talent of looking unbearably goofy, and he used it to full extent. When he gave me that grin, it was almost like it was made just for me. I stumbled out of bed, still naked.

"Get dressed, too. You're gonna freeze, puppy."

Turk eyed me with halfway hidden hunger as I flexed my body, showing off my slight physique. I slipped my shirt on sleepily and turned around to step into my pants, before wiggling my rump towards him like a bee. He gave my body a glance before adjusting in his makeshift seat, attempting to hide a stiff groan.

I stopped torturing him and slipped my pants on quickly, coming over to him with the jerky in my paw. Sitting in his lap, I leaned against his inherently warm body, curling up against him with affection. He licked at my ear softly before starting on his own jerky, a pleased smile on his face.

We quickly finished breakfast and began to break camp; I loaded the blanket and sleeping bag up and he suffocated the burning embers, wanting to make sure to hide our trail. He was good at that; sometimes I was jealous by how easy he made it look.

Turk hoisted the largest pack of supplies up and onto his back. It must have weighed a hundred pounds easily, but he made it look light. I did the same with the smaller pack, which was full of tools, trading supplies and small repair parts for our firearms. The large pack was filled with everything else, including the food, the clothing, the chair, the blanket and the stove.

I grabbed the medical bag and slung it over my shoulder like a book bag.

Turk progressed first over the edge of the building's second floor, climbing down the crumbled side and landing on his feet on the ground level. He waited a bit, watching the area before offering me his paw. I took it eagerly, letting him help me down from the makeshift shelter.

We got to the side of the road and kept low so that the side of the ditch would hide us; Turk retrieved a pair of binoculars from my backpack before scanning the roads for signs of life.

Meanwhile, I leaned on my back against the side of the ditch and yawned. Glancing over the building that we'd slept in, I imagined that that was probably going to be the most comfortable place we will sleep in for a while.

Almost as if agreeing with the thought, my back pained a little bit. I rubbed it stiffly and rolled over on the side of the ditch, laying on my belly. Turk noticed this and reached over, massaging my back firmly while continuing to scan the horizon at the same time. I let out a soft murr in compliance and relaxed against the grassy ditch, taking a blade of grass and chewing on it softly. After a while, Turk spoke:

"There's nothing out there. I think it's too early."

"More the better for us to set out, right?"

Turk took his eyes off of the binoculars and nodded to me. "It's gonna be sunny though; put your hood on."

As if leading by example, Turk placed his own tan cowboy hat on his head and adjusted it comfortably.

"Y'ssir Sheriff," I said, innocently mocking his country accent. The hat and the thick chaps he wore made him look like a cowboy, and sometimes I liked to make sure he knew it. Turk replied with sarcastic grunt.

I threw my hood on over my head and tightened it with the drawstrings as Turk placed the binoculars back in my pack. We moved up onto the road and began the long trek south.

We were trying to reach one of the many settlements that were formed after everything fell apart. Once we got there, we could rest until a caravan heading south came through. Our plan was to make it as far south as we could, until we reached the coast; from there, we were going to salvage parts until we could fix up a seaworthy boat, and use it to sail down the coast and find a permanent place for settlement.

I missed the ocean dearly. Turk and I talked about it a lot; him being a marine and I having been practically raised on the water. Even before the world ended, we dreamed of taking vacations where we went to the coast.

It was kinda funny; it took the end of the world for us to finally take that vacation; I mulled the thought over in my mind for a little bit. It was sad how true that was.

"You okay pup?"

"Yeah, just... thinkin'."

"About what?"

"The sea."

Turk smiled at me while we walked forward, navigating the terrain of the broken road.

"What about it?"

"Do you think there'll be people just like us, trying to do the same thing we've been planning on for all this time?"

"Maybe" he said, grabbing my paw. "Maybe we'll be the only ones for miles around."

I squeezed his paw in my own. "I really hope not." I thought about it for a moment, hoping I didn't sound inconsiderate. "I mean-"

"I know puppy, I know." Turk lifted my paw to his muzzle and kissed it softly, letting me know that he understood. It made me smile. He could read me like a book. I dropped my paw around his back and massaged it softly through his clothes, staying close behind him.

Honestly, if we were the only ones there in the end, I don't think I'd mind much; I mean, it's how I thought it was going to be after the end happened. Though the thought saddened me a little bit at the time, I was simply glad that I still had my Turk.

Years later now, it's me and him against the world. We work well together; I obey his rules, and he enjoys having me around. I know that he 'gets off' on having somebody to protect; I can understand that completely.

But sometimes, I really wish he'd let me help more; I know how hard it is on him. I wish I could just take some of the load off, but it seems like he goes out of his way to keep me from helping him.

It's not that he's holding me back; I know he just wants to keep me safe. But I want to make things easier for him. He's a tough wolf, loyal to a fault and sweet, but I also know that he's hurting from everything that happened. He lost a lot of family when the world ended.

I don't know if he knows, but when he was out scouting one time, I looked at his wallet. I wondered why he'd keep it, even when none of the rules of identification still existed. When I saw what was inside however, I understood.

Pictures of his loved ones; his mother and father, his little brothers. Even his grandparents; they were dead even before the end of the world came. When I saw this, I began to cry.

All I could think was: I'm so sorry Turk. I never knew.

When he came back from scouting, I had already stored the wallet back in place and dried my tears. He could recognize that there was an air of melancholy about me, but he didn't ask. Still, he worked to cheer me up. I smiled, but on the inside I could only think about how much of a strain making me happy must have been for him.

From that point on, I made sure to at least attempt to stay happy for him. Sometimes it got hard, and other times, it was easy. But I wanted to take the strain off of his back as much as possible. I just wish he'd let me help more; nothing would make me happier.

For now, though, I'll just follow his orders and be a happy camper; in the end... no, after the end, that's all anyone could ever hope for.

---

[*] Mon mignon - My cutie: French.