Points East
Themes of decaying Americana and Nietzschean morality thread through a dark vignette as a runaway coyote on an eastbound bus meets a panther who does not believe in taking 'no' for an answer.
Themes of decaying Americana and Nietzschean morality thread through a dark vignette as a runaway coyote on an eastbound bus meets a panther who does not believe in taking 'no' for an answer.
To put my cards on the table, here's a story about a coyote girl who gets raped by an articulate panther whose worldview is sheer will to power. If that's not your "thing," hey, fair warning to go no further. I don't expect people will like it terribly much.
I am fascinated by the slow decay of the dreams threaded through those parts of America that have been left behind -- the overgrown stores and the abandoned houses and shuttered factories. I love Americana, and therefore the mix of adventure and melancholy evoked by Greyhounds, and I wrote this with Robert Bly's old poem "Come with me" in mind (the song that makes an appearance is "Albemarle Station," by the Silver Jews). It's also my critique of the "alpha male" narrative; this take on its tedious Nietzscheanism stems both from my antipathy and from my fear that it is chiefly the hallmark of decline.
I originally wrote this as part of my anthology Matters Out of Place_ before deciding to post it here instead. It's r_eleased under the Creative Commons BY-NC-SA license. Share, modify, and redistribute -- as long as it's attributed and noncommercial, anything goes.
"Points East" by Rob Baird
The unmolested white of fallen snow painted a second chance on the busy streets and crowded sidewalks of Denver. Settling on the pavement, it muffled the tread of booted pedestrians and slowed to a languorous crawl the cars whose headlights cut like specters through the clean, white veil. In the morning, the skies would be bright, and cold, and clear -- the residents would wake, and look through the steam of freshly brewed coffee over that soft, downy blanket, and wonder what marvels the day had yet to bring.
This, anyway, was what Lara Escobedo read between the lines of the weather application on her phone. The coyote had never really seen snow -- a skiing trip to Tahoe long before, yes, but the intervening years had blurred her memories and the camera's into mushy farrago.
In any case it wasn't snowing now. It was cold, though, and she drew her coat tighter around her lanky body. It was cold, and she was tired, and there didn't seem to be any place nearby to grab a cup of coffee. Instead she stamped her feet impatiently, looking out past the sodium-vapor streetlamps, waiting for the lights of the bus.
On an impulse, feeling that it might have buzzed in her pocket, she dug out her phone. Nothing -- but then, that was good, wasn't it? It meant they'd given up. A quick check confirmed that all twenty-seven missed calls had come from the same number.
It wasn't, the coyote felt, as though her note had been particularly unclear. She had said where she was going, after all, and when she intended to get there -- and that she was not to be dissuaded or ordered back. But the first calls had come when she was still waiting for the bus in Lodi, and they hadn't stopped in the four hours since.
It didn't matter. Lara pulled out her ticket, turning it over between two long, tawny fingers. It was marked with her name, and the next segment of her journey, and the thin white paper was so tangible and lovely that she couldn't help smiling. Sometimes it was hard to believe that she'd worked up the courage to buy the tickets at all.
By the time the bus arrived, there were half a dozen people waiting with her. She handed in her ticket, her brushy tail waving lightly in defiance of her tiredness, and took a seat towards the back of the bus. Inside and out of the cold, she closed her eyes and dozed.
When the coyote stepped off again in Reno, Nevada, a rush of cold wind briefly stole her breath. She gasped with it, shivering despite her thick fur, and in the harsh lights of the terminal realized briefly how small she looked, and inconsequential.
Around her, the neon of the Reno skyline blazed coldly beneath a cloudy sky smeared electric purple by light pollution and the first hints of a storm rolling in from the mountains to the west. The promise of snow seemed a little less appealing, without a warm house to retreat to, and she was grateful when the doors of the next bus opened and she could step out of the wind.
"This is the 1308, with service to Lovelock, Winnemucca, Battle Mountain, Elko, Wendover and points east."
Points east! And one of them, beyond the craggy walls of the Rocky Mountains, was Denver. Lara looked again at her ticket, to remind herself. Soon enough the sun would be coming up, and the straight road before them would drive like an arrow towards that city, and her future.
Her phone was nearly out of battery, but a glance at it showed no new missed calls. Yes, so she was finally free; she turned to the window, wet nose pressed to the cold glass, and watched Reno melt away to the soundtrack of quiet music in her headphones.
I passed an abandoned drive-in with ivy growing over the screen; 't was like I caught Hollywood sleeping -- sleep without the dreams...
A shadow appeared in the dim reflection, and she turned briefly. It was a black panther -- blacker in the darkness -- and his grey hoodie and jeans made him utterly unremarkable. "Seat taken?" His voice was deep, and smooth, and authoritative -- though from his face, the feline couldn't have been much older than his mid twenties.
"Well..." she demurred -- the back half of the bus was completely empty.
"No. It's not," he answered for her, and settled into the seat. Closer up, she caught the faint hint of body wash, and his worn jeans seemed more distinguished than impoverished. So perhaps he was a traveller like her -- perhaps also seeking his fortune, or an escape, or a new life...
He was quiet for a long time, but his mere presence was distracting, and she left the music on an endless loop. If thy kingdom ever comes you better run, run, run...
"So where are you headed?" she asked, at length. They were on the interstate again.
"Not sure yet. Maybe Salt Lake. Maybe Denver."
"That's where I'm heading."
"Yeah?"
The coyote nodded. "Yeah. I've got a friend there; a place to stay."
"Don't have that where you're from?"
She shrugged with what she hoped was indifference; feeling even as her shoulders dropped again that it came off as childish defiance. "Family, I guess."
He chuckled, and even his laughter seemed smooth and world-wise. "Running away from home, I see."
"I couldn't take it anymore."
"Abusive?"
"Stifling."
"Wouldn't let you get your ears pierced?"
Lara frowned, and those self-same ears swiveled back. They probably wouldn't have approved, certainly. But then, she'd never asked. "No, it's not that. I just got tired of not having a say in my future. Everything was planned for me. I'm pretty good at lacrosse, right? They don't care. My dad wants me to go into business at Berkeley, like he did. Well, what if I don't want to?"
"How old are you? Sixteen? Seventeen?"
"Eighteen," she declared. It was not worth mentioning, in her mind, that she had been eighteen for a matter of days only. "You know, like an adult."
"Sure," the panther nodded.
"I can make my own decisions."
"Sure," he said again.
The curtness of his voice put the young coyote on the defensive. "So why shouldn't I?" she asked hotly.
"You're arguing with yourself, little one, not me."
"But you don't agree."
He regarded her for an excruciating second in pale, piercing eyes. "Look. You said your dad went to school, so you're probably pretty well off. Berkeley's no Harvard, but it ain't Podunk Community either. So I figure, what? He's probably a middle manager somewhere; maybe he runs his own business or something."
"Largest architectural firm in Lodi."
"Heh. Fine. And your mom -- she probably works part time to feel like she does something, but there's always dinner on the table, and you eat it together. Maybe breakfast, too, on the weekends. Perfect, nuclear, American family -- just like a television show."
Phrased this way, it didn't exactly sound totalitarian; she groped about for a way to explain the claustrophobia of their house, with its manicured lawn in spite of the drought. Her father was so proud of that... "It's not all that."
"Of course not," he drawled, and she couldn't tell if he was mocking her. "Mom and dad have their little pup on a tight leash, I bet. First time you tried pot, you almost wanted to tell them, just to see what their reaction would be -- even though you hated the stuff."
"I haven't tried it."
"Cigarettes, then." She was silent; he chuckled again, and shook his head. "Now you're here. Got a friend in Denver who's offered to put you up for a while until you can land on your own two feet. You figure this is your chance to grab something for yourself, huh?"
"Isn't it?"
"You were born fifty years too late, pup."
Lara pinned her ears. "I didn't have a choice in that. But I do have a choice in what I do now."
He looked at her, and when he did she felt as though his eyes could see right through her. Was it scorn in them, or pity? "You know what they used to say about these busses?"
"No."
"'Every mile a magnificent mile; every highway a strip of velvet.' Jesus, pup, think on that for a moment. Fifty years ago they said you could look at a highway and see the American dream on the horizon, red carpet rolled right up to the door. You think it's that way now?"
"I don't know."
The way that his soft laugh bared teeth was unsettling. He eyed her again, and then reached for her neck so swiftly that she nearly yelped. "What is this?" He held the chain of a necklace between two dark fingers. "Is this silver or platinum?"
"My mother gave it to me. It was her grandmother's."
"Do I look like Antiques Roadshow? I asked what it was, not where it came from. Platinum?"
"Yes," she said quietly.
"Take it off."
"What?"
"Take it off," he snapped sharply, and she hesitantly complied. The panther took it for a moment, holding it up so that it caught the light of a passing car, and then dropped the necklace into her palm. "You feel that weight?"
The fine chain coiled like a snake in her dusky paw; the metal was still warm with the heat of her chest. "Yes."
"Where do you think it came from, originally? You think they grow precious metals somewhere? Pluck 'em off trees?"
Self-conscious, the coyote merely blinked, but when he made no move to stop her she reclasped the chain about her neck. "Well... no. They're mined."
"Of course. For all intents and purposes, Earth is a closed system. There's a limit -- a very small limit, at that -- to how much platinum there is in the world. You having this necklace means that someone else -- somewhere, at some time -- can't." His voice was a cold growl.
"So... you're saying I should... I should be grateful about my privilege?"
The black feline shook his head, exasperated. "No. Don't be stupid. I'm saying it's a zero-sum game. If you want to win, somebody else has to lose. There's no strip of velvet, rich girl. It's a long road, and a hard one, and you have to fight your way through it. Can you?"
"I..."
He snorted, and leaned back in his seat.
The bus was pulling off the highway, into the station at Lovelock. Outside, she stood on the other side of the bus to avoid the panther. Her arms were crossed; she shivered, and the coat she'd brought seemed far too thin for the bitter night. A few flakes of snow were drifting down; they melted into her arms like tears, and when the coyote glanced around she saw that the entire town was stained a thin white.
It was not so long to Salt Lake, she guessed. If the panther wanted to head on to Denver, she could wait for the next bus -- her ticket was good for that. Or maybe he would stay behind -- him and his dark philosophizing -- and she could continue on her way.
Didn't he suppose she knew how the universe worked? She'd been to San Francisco the year before, with a friend -- they'd passed the Occupy camp, with its signs and its dismal, dreary condemnation of the world. Yes, she knew how the universe was put together; that was no great mystery.
And hadn't she already taken the first step? Hadn't she bought her passage with money saved up from her summer job? Lara took out her tickets again -- they seemed almost more valuable than the necklace. A snowflake landed, and then another, blotting out the words. She was reminded of the way the white streaks of pigeon droppings had looked, on the sign at the Lodi station, and quickly stuffed the tickets back into her pocket.
She took her seat again, at the back of the bus, and stared out the window as the driver called out the route. When they were on the highway once more, rolling towards Winnemucca, she felt the weight of someone joining her, but the panther remained silent for several long, painful minutes.
"Well?" he finally asked.
"Well what?" she shot back, twisting her head around to face him.
At the reaction he'd provoked, the panther smiled, his sharp fangs gleaming. "It's the business of very few to be independent -- for that is the privilege of the strong. What are you, pup?"
"Strong. Enough," she clarified. "And anyway I don't buy it. People aren't like that. I mean, sure, they are if all you want to be is negative, but we... we work together. All the best things about our accomplishments, it's all from our ability to cooperate... or our ability to dream... or our generosity..."
The spirited protest had sounded convincing in her head, but the panther remained silent. "Give me that necklace," he said simply. "Out of your generosity." His eyes were locked on hers, ignoring the jewelry.
"I... but I got it from my mother. It's mine."
"Why? Because of her generosity? Then it's yours to give, as well. But you don't want to, because you don't like me..."
"Not especially," the coyote admitted.
He laughed again, that dark chuckle he'd used earlier. The admission did not seem to have bothered him. "Not especially," he echoed. "And look at you. Not a stunner, I suppose, but attractive enough to be liked. And because you're liked, and because you don't like me, you'd prefer an aristocracy of the favorers and the favored. Fine." His grin vanished instantly. "Then give it to me because I'm stronger than you, and I could take it by force if I wanted."
"But that's not how things work," she said. She couldn't help the nervousness creeping into her voice; the big cat was heavily muscled, and when he looked at her she could almost feel the power lurking in the fluid movements of his ebony body. "That's not the world I live in..."
"You say that," he purred. "And in a moment of perverse gullibility I might even believe it's true -- that you're different somehow. Better. But you know what, pup?" He seized her muzzle roughly, holding it fixed in place with sharp claws. "I'm not. The only way to be in this world is a predator, taking as and what we desire."
She swallowed nervously, and her eyes flicked about, as if the desperate glance could summon help from the other passengers. But they remained still -- silent shadows, asleep, listening to their music. "We -- we're not like that. We're not... animals."
"I am." There was no opening for doubt or argument in that bald statement. Slowly, hoping with each heartbeat he might change his mind, she undid the necklace again, her paw fumbling for his blindly until he took the thing with a dangerous grin. "Good. And now that we've established your place in the world, why don't you keep going?"
It was hard to continue meeting his gaze, but every time she tried to look away he jerked her muzzle back. "K-keep going?"
Strong fingers closed about her wrist with the gentleness of a machine press. He guided her paw to his crotch, and when she recoiled a little he pressed it into the bulge of his hidden bulk with a deepening purr. "You're only weak, rich girl -- not stupid." His other paw let her muzzle go, and she fell against the back of the seat in front of them. "Figure it out."
Lara's ears went back, and she looked again to the figures clustered at the front of the bus. Why couldn't one of them turn around? Gingerly her fingers found the sharp catch of the panther's jeans, and she pulled the zipper open carefully. When she paused, he undid the button as well, and his belt, sliding the thin cotton of his boxers down.
A hint of the feline's thick musk snuck through her muzzle, and she breathed out to try to clear her nose. In the darkness she couldn't see anything, but her long, soft fingers brushed over the heat of his sheath and he grunted some wordless encouragement. She did it again, stroking him with velvety fur. Soon the fuzz gave way to slick, hard flesh, and then a bit of wetness against her fingerpads.
He took her by the head, forcing it down and into his groin. She struggled a little, and his claws sunk warningly into her cheek. "W-wait," she stammered. There was a surreality to it all that made it difficult to believe it could even be happening; her voice sounded thin and distant. "Y-you want me to..."
"Be more productive than listening to you speak, wouldn't it?" Even in the darkness she closed her eyes tightly, reaching out with her tongue until it met the panther's stiffening erection. "That's better..." He pulled her closer, and when she lapped at him a few more times his grip relaxed, giving her a little more freedom.
But her continued hesitation drew a warning growl from the man, and she swallowed heavily. Steeling herself, the coyote parted her lips around the pointed tip of his shaft. Before she could even adjust to the taste he grunted, bucking his hips up to force himself deeper, smearing the salty tang of his precum over her silken tongue.
The coyote swallowed a few times, feeling the panther's pointed cock swelling larger in her maw. His scent filled her muzzle, until she was gagging on it, and as if to remind her of her place he jerked his hips again, until he was grinding up against her palate.
Lara shuddered, and tried to imagine it was nothing more than some twisted fantasy -- living out the scenarios she'd seen in video clips online. With her lips wrapped around his shaft she suckled gently, working up and down his length slowly.
At least, she thought, his cock hadn't gotten any larger; she could still breath around it. It was easy enough to find a suitable rhythm, though the fleshy nubs of his feline length rubbed provocatively against her tongue, and when he was all the way in her long muzzle she thought she might choke. But if there was nothing else... if this was enough...
She tried to ignore the rest of it -- the way he pulsed and quivered in her muzzle; the novel taste of his manhood. The coyote shuddered as a fresh spurt of precum drooled down his cock, trying to force away the thought that in different circumstances it might even have been arousing.
Above her, the panther's breath was coming a little faster; she could feel his tail lashing against her leg. Lara suckled harder on his shaft, telling herself that at least it would be over soon...
Then he shoved her away unceremoniously, slipping free of her muzzle with a lewd popping sound. His paw grabbed her by the throat, and he hauled her upright before throwing the young coyote roughly back against the worn seat. It took a moment for her to recover her senses -- when she did she found his paw prying open her jeans; tearing away her knickers with the sound of rending cotton.
Then he grabbed at her thighs to pull them apart. A twinge of pain shot up her leg as he stretched it out along the seat, pulling the loose-fitting denim of her jeans tight until it pinched her fur. He shoved her other leg to pin it against the back of the row in front of them. Then his lithe form was atop her, hips grinding sharply against her own, trapping his rock-hard shaft between their bodies. She opened her muzzle to cry out and he clamped his paw over it, silencing her.
Shaking her head, squirming, she felt his hips drop, the tip of his cock falling into place -- then he bucked once, spearing deeply into her as she let out a muffled yelp of protest and shock. His eyes blazed with predatory lust, and when she tried to bite at his paw he cuffed her, hard, with the other one. It dazed her more than it hurt; when her head cleared it was not the pain she was aware of but the stretching fullness of the big cat's cock, buried to the hilt inside her.
He waited a few seconds before pulling back, the thick meat grating against her walls. He kept his hold on her, tightening it when he made his second thrust, deep and powerful. His claws scored her, and her muzzle burned for a moment until the feeling of his cock pulling free again stole her attention.
In spite of the awkward way he loomed above her the feline's hips moved in a firm, sure rhythm, rocking up and into her with a powerful, feral urgency. The ache in her loins was starting to ebb; she was powerless to stop the primal arousal his thrusts evoked, and they grew easier as her slick juices mixed with the warm precum he spurted against her folds from deep inside.
When his paw relaxed its viselike hold on her muzzle she didn't scream like she wanted to; didn't beg for help. The thought that someone might know had become paralyzing, rather than an avenue for escape. Instead the coyote merely whimpered, as he pistoned swiftly between her thighs. Her brushy tail curled up, protectively, until it wrapped about one of his legs for a moment and he growled approvingly.
She didn't want to be on the road anymore -- didn't want to be pinned beneath the heavy bulk of the panther, feeling her body betraying her to his firm, confident thrusts. But there it was. Lara couldn't deny the growing wetness soaking into the fur of her crotch, or the pleasure that jolted into her as she was violated. He felt good -- better than her boyfriend had, certainly -- thick and warm and sure of himself as he bucked into her struggling body.
It was a no-win scenario. She couldn't stave off giving in to that raw gratification indefinitely -- much as she hated herself for it the panther's quick movements were pushing her helplessly towards climax. She could almost hear him deriding her for it -- mocking her as prey, as weak, as subject only to his whims.
Instead, when she arched sharply under him, her lean body twisted and wracked with pleasure, he merely gave a grunting laugh -- which was worse. He knew, and as her spasming folds milked his cock the panther continued to drive roughly into her, slamming his hips home with abandon, the force of his thrusts grinding her back into the cold side of the bus.
When she came back down she tried to struggle again, but she had no leverage. Her claws dug into his sweatshirt, until with one broad movement of his arm he swept her paws back, crushing them with her muzzle against the window of the bus.
Her trapped ears muffled everything but the sound of the road beneath unfeeling tires, and all she could see was the featureless roof as his hips bucked, moving with a renewed urgency. She felt, rather than heard, his grunting, purring growl. His sinewy bulk went rigid, his cock twitching in her snug folds. There was a rush of heat, burning deep inside her, and as his hips jerked she felt the flaring barbs of his feline member raking her.
She stopped fighting. There was no longer anything to fight against. For a few moments more the panther's hips pushed hard into hers, pumping the strong spurts of his warm cum into the coyote's body until it started to overflow around the base of his shaft. Then he came to a gradual stop, letting her paws and muzzle go.
Dazed, she slumped back when he tore his cock from her, and the trickles of his seed leaked from her abused folds, staining the seat and her disheveled blue jeans. She was dimly aware that he was buttoning up his pants again, settling down as though nothing at all had happened.
"Welcome to all that freedom you wanted," was all he said -- she suddenly thought that he had been nearly silent throughout everything that had come before. Like a force of nature, raw and untamed. Why had her body given him that satisfaction? Why hadn't it fought back? She wanted to ask him, but the thought of the answer terrified her.
She wasn't even aware of where they were, when the bus pulled off the highway and into an empty station. The panther stood to leave, and she tilted her head. "Is this your stop? I thought... I thought you were going to Salt Lake?"
Dawn sprawled drunkenly on the mountains to the east, a dim orange light that made the panther's peculiar glance look softer than it really was. "Wouldn't want to make things awkward." She watched him go; a thin layer of half-melted snow covered the ground, and as he trudged off his boots sunk all the way to the asphalt, leaving tracks as black and cold as his fur. It wasn't until the bus was moving again that Lara noticed the glint of metal, lying in a heap on the seat next to her. She looked at it for a few seconds, and then slipped it into her pocket, unable to bring herself to put the necklace back on.
Half an hour later she made the halfhearted effort to zip her jeans back up, and she smoothed down the denim, but mostly she looked blankly out at the brightening desert landscape around them. Featureless and blank, it stretched out to boundless horizons. They passed abandoned houses; derelict cars by the side of the road, and she thought of what the panther might've made of it. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps, in a universe governed by entropy, and decay, they could be little but rats -- fighting with bared teeth over the cooling body of the planet.
In Wendover she disembarked. She couldn't tell if she was imagining the harsh glare of the other passengers, as though they knew somehow that she was soiled, and different, and apart from their safe little world. She was not sure if she imagined it, no, but completely certain that she didn't care. Were they even human, those motionless shadows?
It was a gambling town, Wendover, right on the Utah border. Snow downed it, in the early morning, but she knew what lurked beneath: the vices, the sin, the unsung struggles against the bitter reality of one's true nature. A panhandler came up to her as she leaned against the bus; she glared at him until he slunk away into the waxing light of winter morning.
"This is the 1308 with service to Salt Lake City, Evanston, Rock Springs, Rawlins, Laramie, and points east." Denver was still out there, calling. She would be there by the evening. In the big city -- making her fortune. The coyote stared out the window at the passing fenceposts, her jaw set. She knew what it meant to be weak -- now there was only to learn what it meant to be strong, as well.
And all the while she caught the hints of music from her dangling headphones:
It's a beautiful, beautiful world.