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CHAPTER THREE

The Blairsville Pack

I wouldn’t know until much later in my adventures in this new world just how lucky I was to be around ferals and survive. At that moment though, when my eyes met the blank stares of the tagless female blocking my way, I knew I had limited options. After I had awoken I had been using my understanding of canine pack behavior to guide my interpretation of how these feral beasts acted. The fact I didn’t know what “we”, as a general species, were at the time didn’t help any, but I had to fill in the gaps somehow; experiment with my understanding and logic, utilize what I had before as a human and test it to what I had now.

That wasn’t to say I hadn’t studied up in my spare time on other animals, such as cat behavior, rodents, or birds, but none of that fit the criteria of what I was experiencing then. The female was genuinely sitting in a very canine-like way, with her head tilted to the side in a very canine-like inquisitive manner, and had her right ear down with her left ear pointed up. It was a clear indication she was trying to either perceive the threat I posed, or was waiting for me to react in a manner she anticipated. At least, that’s what I thought.

I had a dog at one time in my life. She was a Labrador Retriever mix, though I didn’t know what the other half was, and I called her Sandy due to her sandy-colored short-haired coat. She was a loyal dog, lived with me almost my entire trucking career and sadly died a year before I would be hospitalized. When she died was, funnily enough, when the world began to go to crap in a handbasket with whispers, and eventually quarantines, from the Curse Flu. Looking at the female beast in front of me now as I stood sideways to her, trapped at the end of the back end of an Ingles, my mind began to do funny things; my mind began to associate this female beast with Sandy.

A stupid thing to relate this beast to, I thought to myself as I adjusted my stance, moving to face them fully. I was still hesitant to react in a placable manner, but I also knew that to exhibit any manner of fear or stress would likely result in another confrontation. I wonder, though, is there any merit to my thoughts?

It wasn’t hope that drove my thoughts, it was pattern recognition. The female had been chasing me ever since we confronted one another in the stockade. She also didn’t have a tag which, if my backwoods mind could collaborate the meaning of such, likely meant she wasn’t a part of the stockade. I had a tag, for example, as did the other beasts and their alpha which I hoped was still loitering at the front of the store—though by now that hope was quietly dimming, unless I could figure out a way around this poorly constructed situation. Still, here this beast was, having chased me, and now cornered me, and looking at me like an inquisitive puppy.

I had thought to speak, to test the waters and see if any of my hypothetical thoughts held true, but something stopped me. For some reason, my mind refused that line of action. Similar to how it had at the stockades when my previous human dispositions towards actions were thwarted with a more primal behavior pattern. It felt comfortable, and safe, to allow what was inside me to direct my path. After all, it had saved my fluffy butt in permitting me control of this new and unfamiliar form—though control, in truth, was not an appropriate thing to describe it as. Instead, it was more like collaboration; there was something deeply innate inside me, new and alien, a personality and perception unlike anything I’ve known before, and it wanted to help me on a primitive and primal level.

The emotions my gut elicited toward me, and how my brain perceived them into legible words, was transitioning. Now, instead of feeling that had to be translated, I was hearing words cross the thoughts and perimeter of my conscious mind. Like something at the edge of my direct control, gently scraping claws against the shield of my awareness, speaking truths into the bubble of my perception. As my eyes stared into the white-colored emptiness of the female across from me, the words from my primal state of being had become clearer and clearer.

Danger, it kept repeating, this is danger. No weakness. Weakness is death. Death is the end. We cannot end. We must continue.

The uncomfortable realization that whatever was ushering warnings into my awareness was, in itself, an awareness, caused me to shudder involuntarily. My outward self shook side to side, as if shaking off the tension in my form, as I stood briefly on all fours and then sat again. To my surprise, the female beast took this as an invitation of sorts. Her ears drooped and she entered a low, almost submissive crawl toward me. I watched, and though I watched, parts of my mind were still screaming at the danger I was in. Almost as if being in the very vicinity of whatever she was, was in and of itself dangerous, like being around someone who was sick.

My tail curled around myself, my ears half-up with a partial flop to them as my eyes remained locked on the progress of the female. As she neared, my lips instinctually rose to begin to bare my teeth, trembling as if in half-decision. The female seemed to slink lower in her posture as her eyes widened and she rounded the corner of the back end of the storage area I was in. Moving to the left and beginning a half-circle around where I stood, she kept her head locked in my direction, but her eyes shifted to the opposite corner and back to me, almost as if seeking permission. As she neared the corner, she pressed herself between a shattered metal storage rack and the cinderblock wall, eyeing me out of the corner of her eyes as she laid down.

I realized then two very important things: she acted in a submissive and docile manner, and she was afraid of me or at the very least wary of what I would do. I looked back towards the pathway which she had previously occupied, now clear of obstacles and threats, and open to me leaving. I then looked back to her, my ears still half-perked, and I tilted my head halfway almost on instinct.

Why are you following me? I asked myself, though my thoughts directed toward her. Was it the fight we had in the pen? Was it something else? You’re clearly intelligent on some level, so what are you trying to tell me?

To my surprise, as I thought about those things—those thoughts directed toward her but said to myself—her eyes locked to mine. In them, in the milky-whites of her eyes that seemed unintelligent and absolutely devoid of thought, I thought I saw and I thought I felt something crossing them. A flicker of something, recognition or otherwise, and then it was gone.

This is dangerous! My mind screamed at me. You are in danger! You must escape!

The compulsion to run from this situation was high, but I had more self-control over myself than allowing the fear of the moment to overwhelm me. I was in a very dangerous situation, that much I agreed with my gut and whatever lurked at the back of my awareness. What I didn’t agree with was how to handle the situation. I wasn’t an animal, at least not yet, and while my mind was still toying with the possibility that the ultimate end of this virus was what I saw before me in the female beast, I myself wasn’t one yet. As far as I recalled from looking in the reflection of the water trough, my eyes weren’t milky-white and vacant of life. I was still a conscious, thinking, aware being.

Perhaps the instinctive urges I have are a prelude to the infection completely changing me, I postulated in my thoughts as I continued to observe the female calmly. Perhaps she is my future, insofar as what I’ll become. Maybe this virus, whatever it was, is destined to turn all thinking things to mere animals of impulse and survival.

It was a deeply sombering thought. I had fallen victim to a virus, whether genetically constructed from the government and accidentally released, or intentionally distributed and simply out of hand to control, that had the apparent conclusion of turning me into a simple beast of instinct of animalistic intent. My conscious awareness was fighting with this conclusion, my heart refusing to believe that I’d ever transition into something so simple and without thought, but my gut did not give me the same convictions.

I’m in the den of a pack of animals, I thought as the realization slowly dawned on me, and they are my future. Maybe that’s why this one hasn’t assaulted me more, or perhaps why the pack at the front of the store didn’t accost me further. Maybe they know I’m close to a change that’ll permanently seal off whatever humanity is left in me. Maybe this change completely destroys humanity, down to the very fabric of consciousness itself.

My mind didn’t postulate questions, instead every thought was a finality, as if it was already decided. I wasn’t a smart man, but I could deduce patterns, and with the pack having the tags on their ears and I having one similar, I saw a pattern emerging. A dangerous pattern, a pattern that was beginning to signal the death of what was “me” and what eventually would be the new “me”. I had already died from this virus, or at least succumbed to whatever stages still permitted me conscious thought. Somehow, I had been blessed to still be alive in this body, still retain my memories of before, and still retain some portions of my humanity. Now, it seemed, I was simply living out the last vestiges of myself as the virus completed its horrific course.

“I’m going to end up just like you, ain’t I, girl?” I said aloud, softly, watching as the beast's head turned toward me.

Their head tilted again similar to before; one ear perked up, the other drooped. One eye open and inquisitive while the other lazily half open, almost as if in a half-cocked expression of curiosity, or not being sure they heard something correctly. Seeing their docility was encouraging for the moment, knowing that while I was them in species, I at least seemed less of a threat as one. I didn’t know why, I could only postulate further from the endless postulating I had done mentally before, but the ultimate conclusion of it all was simply: I am them, and they are me, and I will eventually become them, and they know this.

The world had died, anyway. It was the apocalypse. All I had known was gone, and what was left were beasts of change and primitive awareness. Dogs, like my lovely Sandy that had gone before. Perhaps loyal to a fault, or perhaps beasts of savage intensity. I watched as the female's tail flicked, up and down gently, patting the concrete floor slowly. Her expression unchanged as she watched me. I knew I had a decision to make now.

I could run, continuing fighting whatever this was at the back of my mind, despite the fact it, also, wanted to run. I could keep fighting from area to area, searching for a humanity that I now believed was gone. Or I could see the world for what it was now, and see the practical beast-dog-dragon, whatever it was, before me as the future I was headed toward. I could accept the completion of the change and attempt to survive with what cards had been dealt to me. These animals weren’t trying to kill me, not yet, and despite the overwhelming urges and warnings from the edge of my awareness, none of it was panning out.

I rose gently up to turn and face toward the beast, sitting placidly almost like a dog would, my tail curling in a relaxed fashion. “Sandy,” I said, uttering the words of my dead, beloved dog, intending to direct the new name toward it in front of me. “I’ll call you Sandy.”

It perked both ears up then, head straight, eyes attentive. It was staring at me, still relaxed on its side, but its maw opened in a way as its tongue drooped. Panting, gently, in its own beastial way, as it eyed me with an intensity that belied the bestial nature of its milky-white eyes. She had no tag, and therefore my mind had to conclude she was a person at one point, someone who hadn’t been taken in by the government. She’d turned on her own and, whatever humanity was left, was clearly displaying itself in her behavior. She wasn’t completely lost as an animal, not yet, and the puzzle pieces began to offer themselves up to me as I followed my train of thought.

I reflected, then, on Sandy’s path toward me—I had already mentally decided to call this female beast that, in honor of my deceased dog. She had followed me to the stockade like a lost puppy, perhaps smelling me, but she’d been after the food primarily. A creature of survival, she had chased me to the clinic, and her primary interest had been the corpse for food. After she had fed, she uncharacteristically had relaxed and became vulnerable around me, sleeping off her meal while I had escaped. Then, in her urge to follow familiarity, perhaps, she’d followed me here to this Ingles. Here, to the back of the store where I had planned to escape the pack, and stopped me briefly before presenting herself as not a threat.

In Sandy’s own way, perhaps, she was trying to show me she wasn’t a threat to me. She wanted to appear docile, wanted to appear expressive, wanted to be interested toward me or at least showcase herself as such. It could very well be a way for her to get my guard down, I thought inwardly, still hearing the calls of danger from inside myself, but then again, she’s acting awfully similar to how canines do. There’s no sign of aggression or no sign she wants to fight me, she’s simply there, laying. If that isn’t an indicator she’s not wanting to be a threat, I don’t know what is.

And there was now a high possibility that Sandy would keep following me, regardless if I chose escape as the option. She would keep following me, further and further, until I acknowledged her or at least showed….showed what? Disinterest? Aggression? Why was I thinking so far ahead of things? I was an animal like her, a beast, and I’d already decided my end would be the total collapse of my awareness and humanity. However, what I decided and what would happen were two, very different things.

So what do I do? I asked myself.

Run away, my instinctual side roared. Run away!

Think, David, and whatever you are. If I am to be this, and you are to be me, why would I run? I asked myself, all parts of myself both old and new. My old self didn’t have a reply, but the newer half of things did. That reply was total silence.

My gut calmed, the twisted knots inside it at being so close to something perceived as dangerous subsiding. The screams and roars of “danger” and “run” quieted. I couldn’t be sure, but either I had asked it a legitimate question it could no longer answer, or it had given up entirely on me. Not giving up, I realized, It just has no answer.

And neither did I.

I had in some books during my time on the road that some animal species “played” with their food. That is, they knew their victim was no match for them, and they casually would stalk their chosen prey for however long until they gave their guard up. Some bigger cat species had this tendency on rarer occasions, but it was more prevalent in larger monitor lizard species such as the Komodo Dragon. Though, the implications of that process also offered more interesting questions. Such as, for example, if I was actually bitten by Sandy instead of clawed.

I turned my head to the side, one eye glancing on the claw mark on my shoulder. It was healing, not infected, that much I could tell. I looked back at Sandy, at the claw marks I had given her on the side of her head. Those, too, were not infected and instead showed signs of healing. It was clear, then, that transmission of anything I could speculate did not occur through claws or strikes. I absentmindedly looked across her laid-out form.

Ignoring the very obvious signs of her gender, I instead focused on her thighs, her barrel, her stomach, and other areas including her tail. She had obvious scarring marks across her body, but no signs of biting, no indication I could use to justify the line of thinking I was trailing down. She seemed to notice my intrusions on her figure, I heard a soft barking noise from her as head and eyes directed itself toward hers. It wasn’t hostile, it was more of a huffing bark, clearly intended to get my attention.

“I was just checking you for bite marks,” I said, softly, and her head tilted another way curiously. I didn’t know why I had to justify what I did to an animal, but it was clear she knew I was looking her over, and for whatever reason she wanted my attention diverted away from her body. I don’t think she liked me looking her over, I concluded mentally, keeping eye contact with her, trying to deduce what else could be done in this delicate encounter.

I instead looked into my large handbag around my neck that I’d found at the clinic. It was mostly full of the things I had scavenged; a bookbag, some handbags, ropes, and straps, some canned dog and cat food, and some medical supplies. I gently took it off with the help of my forepaw, setting it down with my mouth on the strap. It was an unusual action for me to take, to use my mouth as something to manipulate things. However I was adaptable, and the natural mannerisms of my new body compelled me to do those actions. I simply went with them.

Sandy watched me with some mild attention, still panting, as I reached in the bag and took out a can of dog food. The label was half missing except for the explanation of what was in the can, but otherwise it was in good shape. I set the can on the ground, using a claw to puncture, with several attempts, the lid. I repeated the action across the circumference of the lid, then peeled what remained back. I then poured the contents of the can onto the ground and, just as I had anticipated, Sandy rose and moved toward it. Without a look toward me, she lowered her maw to the giblets and gravy sauce and ate quickly. However what surprised me wasn’t that she readily ate what I offered, it was instead how she stopped and backed up, sitting, looking down between me and what was left.

So there is some intelligence within you, I realized as I looked between her and what remained. It wasn’t much, but it was clear by the way she acted, she expected either me to share, or was daring me to try. Here goes nothin’, I thought, as I leaned in.

There was no growling, no territorial sounds or displays as I leaned my snout closer to what remained of the dog food. As I opened my mouth to take in some of the giblets, my eyes glanced up, and I saw her eyes meet mine briefly before looking away. She relaxed again, falling on her side with a huff, and kept eye contact to a minimum as I ate. It was horrible tasting food, this stuff, but I’d eaten it before during hard times, and these times justified eating it again.

I guess she’s nothing more than a lost puppy looking for a master, I thought as I finished, raising my head up as I briefly looked toward her. Her eyes glanced at me dismissively, then looked away as she fully laid down. Her chest briefly rose, then I heard her exhale. It’s almost exactly the same way Sandy acted, I thought with some amusement. All she is, is a big dog!

Whether I liked it or not, I supposed, I now had a companion. I didn’t know if this placidity she displayed was a precursor to her otherwise being aggressive, or if it was genuine and she considered myself a member of her pack. It would make sense if she had been alone, seeking the comfort of a pack, or perhaps even seeing me as a male specimen of her species as something to protect her. Just like a stray dog trying to find the protection of a human, and the comfort of not being alone. I didn’t think too further on the subject as I focused back on my bags.

For the moment, at least, I could concentrate on other things. I briefly looked towards the hallway adjoining the entrances into the supermarket proper, seeing no further sign of the pack from before. I was still suspecting Sandy was a part of that pack, but with its absence here or any indication of overall hostility, I decided it was best to shelve investigation into it until later. Instead, I focused on my handbag, pulling out the bookbag and other materials as I slowly began to fashion myself something more comfortable for handling supplies.

Use this strap for this and that way, I thought as I progressed in my work, all the while Sandy was breathing calmly in front of me, her head not moving, sound asleep. And then perhaps this way too, tie it here and …. Yep!

After some time, which I suspected was at least the passage of two hours or so, I had managed to construct a makeshift saddle from the straps and ropes I had gained. I tested it out by tying the straps near the end of my rump and where my tail began. I realized in the process just how flexible my body was, using my teeth and tongue to great effect in tying together the straps easily in a way that I could utilize repeated usage. It only took a few minutes by my reckoning, and when it was done I stood up to inspect my work.

The bookbag now sat atop my croup, neatly facing the openings toward me so I could easily open them and close in place of valuables or items to store. The saddle structure expanded on both sides, with handbags that could be opened and closed easily attached to the saddle with their open ends facing upward. It was an extremely primitive setup, but it was one I was proud of, wiggling my rump to test the effectiveness of its hold. It was tight, but not uncomfortable, and my tail-saddle—for that was what I decided to call it—only jostled minorly and not enough to cause me concern. With that needed addition out of the way, I then sat down, watching as it conformed with my tail instead of against it.

Good, now I have a way to store things, so let’s pack up, I thought, going about the process of picking up the things in the original handbag and replacing them in either the bookbag or the two handbags on the side of my tail-saddle. I then looked down on the handbag that I’d used around my neck. Deciding more storage was a good thing, I replaced the straps around my neck and let it dangle again. No need to toss away anything I could use, I decided.

As I did all this, Sandy watched me with one eye. She still breathed gently, and she didn’t seem all too interested, but she watched nonetheless. When I finished and was satisfied, she let loose another long exhale, growling toward me in a more friendlier fashion that what I recalled before in the stockade; she whined toward me in the growl, in a half-needy and half-expectant way, like a dog expecting a pattern from their own to be conducted and concluded. I blinked down at her as she lifted her head, eyes fully on me.

“What is it, Sandy,” I asked, tilting my head. She responded by producing a huff, still staring into my eyes, expecting some course of action that was far absent from my own expectations.

When I went about to stand, she lunged forward unexpectedly, and gripped my barrel and neck with her forepaws. I almost panicked, until I realized she’d been careful and not used her claws. Instead, she used her body weight to force me toward her. I fell forward, my side turning and my barrel on its side as her strong forearms worked to pull me against her. My eyes wide as my brain struggled to process what was happening, I began to calm when the underside of her barrel met my upper, and her head bent as her tongue began to gently lick across my ear and mane.

She’s grooming me, I realized, and I didn’t resist. She was pressed close to me, and her actions were intentional, despite my observations to her capacity otherwise. Her tongue felt almost cat-like, but not with extensive barbs, though it was clear it could be used for grooming as she was doing now. I guess she does like me, I thought as I felt her begin to elicit a purr from deep within her chest. Either that or she’s getting a better taste of me as food.

The thought was humorous, that she was tasting her food, but it wasn’t unjustified. I felt her grip me tight to her, her tongue purposeful as it licked to straighten my mane. There were multiple possibilities for this behavior, but the one I settled on, and the most obvious one, where the same I had concluded before. That she genuinely saw me as either her master or a pack member, and her actions currently justified such a viewpoint. It was unusual, and I had a weird feeling in the pit of my stomach, but nothing that screamed danger. Not like before.

“You’re a loving one, aren’t you?” I said as I softly chuckled. Her licks persisted, and I felt a few nibbles against my fur and at the bottom of my presented ear near the horn. This was a grooming session and, as much as my human part of me might detest it, it also acknowledged that cats would do similar things to their owners as well.

There were patterns here, ever present patterns that I recognized from animalistic behavior. The only unfortunate aspect was I had no choice in the affair. Any time I tried to move or get more comfortable, she’d tighten her grip, and at one point I felt her claws press into my lower barrel, near my upper forelegs. I stopped by then, and just released a defeated sigh. To my surprise, she took it as a positive sign, and her previous hold relented as I was finally able to relax. Sometime during the persistence of her grooming and the feeling of her purrs on my back, I slipped into sleep.

~~*~~ * ~~*~~

“Mr. Thompson, I need you to stop resisting, okay?”

The words were spoken by someone familiar. The doctor, or nurse, that always tended to me. I felt myself struggling on the same hospital bed as two other orderly’s holding me down and strapping me to my bed. My eyes opened, only halfway, as I took in my field of view. I was still in the same containment area as before, with the thick, medical plastic curtains hiding any details of the outside world. There was light from above and behind me, and I still was on the same medical bed as before. The lines and tubes that had attached to me before were removed, and I could barely breathe. I was struggling to breathe, in fact, which was why I resisted.

“Can’t…breathe!” I tried to wheeze out, the orderly’s stopped their task to look at the doctor briefly before resuming. The doctor, the woman I’d seen so often during this ordeal, moved forward with a syringe in hand. “Please,” I begged, “I’m not….dead….yet!”

“I know you aren’t, sweetheart, we're just moving you to another location,” she said as my movements died down. I watched her stick me with the syringe, and I felt almost immediate relief as my pains died down. “This is a sedative, okay? Just relax. You’re gonna be just fine.”

I nodded, and the orderly’s quickly finished their jobs and left. The doctor, meanwhile, sat on my bedside and gently rubbed my head. I felt her hand through my hair, her fingers gently caressing. I blinked, looking her way, my eyes trusting.

“You’re going to be just fine, I promise,” she said. However as I looked, I noticed a hint of sympathy in her eyes. I had seen it before.

“You don’t have to lie to me, doc,” I said, the sedative allowing me to breathe easier, to talk easier, to my relief. There was something else in it too, like a burning sensation, but it wasn’t painful. “I’m going to die, aren’t I?”

She tried to reply, I saw her jaw move, though most of her face was hidden by a mask. She looked away, gently patting my head. “Don’t think about it too hard,” she said, and looked back. There was a little moisture there, but also something else. Something hidden. “You’re going to be fine. I’m going to protect you now.”

“Okay,” I said, knowing she was lying. I accepted death then, letting my thoughts linger on surrendering to my Creator. My eyes began to close as I relaxed with her ministrations on my forehead.

My mind was propelled forward violently, almost as if something had dragged it back from the abyss. I heard sniffling, growling, and then I awoke with a start.

~~~*~~~ * ~~~*~~~

My eyes shot open as I looked sideways. There was a heavy paw resting on my forelegs shoulder, and from my initial observations my greatest fear as of recent memory had come true. The large Alpha, with the ram-like horns, stared down at me with eyes vacant of feelings. He was growling softly, baring teeth as I felt the points of his claws begin to poke my shoulder. I felt more and more of his weight press upon me, and I dared not move, the instinctual feeling from before returning with a vengeance as it screamed of the danger I was in. Just as its head lowered to the point of opening its jaws, Sandy, still behind me, awoke with a start and huff.

I heard rather than watched her snap toward the Alpha. In response, the Alpha, startled, leaped back a step. It was then, and only then, that I allowed my head up, my eyes looking at Sandy as she bared her teeth fully. She growled in short increments towards the Alpha and, oddly, I felt her paws around my barrel resume their possessive tightness. My eyes looked to the Alpha, his imposing large frame dominating my view as his perplexed expression shifted between myself and the female beast.

Then, he huffed, eyes drifting away as he turned and headed to the corner of the storage area. Sandy ceased her growling, and only when the Alpha was a few steps away did she relent showing her teeth. She blinked, head then turning toward me, and tilted her head. I blinked at her, with the one eye that could face her, then looked away. What the hell had happened there?

I watched as the rest of their pack entered, with the youngest first, the one the Alpha had been grooming earlier. The much smaller beast rushed to its father, or what I presumed the Alpha was to it anyway. I was able to easily read its tag now, numbered five-zero-one. Behind it, the same female I saw before entered, its tag numbered five-zero-one. It looked my way dismissively, as if the subject of myself and Sandy was a past matter, and moved casually toward the Alpha beast. Trailing behind was the remaining two adolescent beasts, numbered five-zero-two and five-zero-three on their tags respectively. They merely glanced my way, though their attention was fully on the alpha and their, what I assumed now, mother.

My head turned as the large female approached. My one eye able to glance in that direction noted her casual gait. She was almost as large as the Alpha, and I was leading myself to conclude that the entire pack had been a very real and human family at one point. Now they were just animals, or at least something close to it. Her head lowered and I saw how Sandy’s head and hers butted intimately. The larger female gave a soft lick on Sandy’s forehead, then her attention turned toward me. My eye met her two, and I saw the same milky-whiteness that Sandy had, but in hers too I saw something akin to Sandy’s complexion.

There was a flicker there, very faint, something different than the absence of anything that I had seen before. She huffed heavily, moving forward cautiously, and pressed her snout against the side of my head. I didn’t react and kept any involuntary actions down with pure will, though her touch felt anything but hostile. She sniffed heavily, then parted her snout, looking to Sandy briefly before butting heads again with her and moving away.

I now could conclude that either Sandy was a member of their original family, or an inclusion to their pack, and one that was highly respected if the Alpha’s prior temperament was indication. Either the lead female had just scented me to remember, or she had simply tested me for my reaction to her presence. Whatever the reason, from what I could see from my limited perspective as the Alpha’s pack rested around him closely, I was no longer a threat to them. They dismissed me, with only minor glances, though I felt most of those glances were towards Sandy. My eyes shifted towards hers as she stared at me.

“Friends of yours?” I asked, and to my surprise I saw her tail thump on the ground. I suppose that was my answer.

I suppose that answers most of my questions and theories, I remarked to myself as I laid my head back down. I was still a little tired, and Sandy gave no indication she wanted to move either. Maybe I’ve been accepted by the pack, or at the very least tolerated. I don’t know what this means, I don’t know what any of this means, I’m just guessing my way through this. It’s all so strange. So very, very strange.

I felt Sandy’s tongue on my mane again, focusing primarily near my ear and horns. Her grip was gentle and for a moment, the thought of her as my pet seemed wrong. As my eyes began to close again, I began to wonder if she hadn’t claimed me as her pet, or something else similar. Silly things began to cross my mind, things left best forgotten for another time. It didn’t matter anyway, if my speculation was right, I was going to end up like them soon.

Maybe not now, maybe not in a few months, but they were any indication, it was inevitable. What better way to acclimate to these changes was there, then, to adapt to the life of being in a pack? I still had my mind about me, and there were hints they did too. I had no control over whatever this virus did, or the end result of this apocalypse, but I did have control of how I reacted towards it.

I could panic, try to avoid the inevitable, try to save the last vestiges of my humanity in a vain attempt to survive. But I wasn’t human anymore, I was something else, and I already had the first inklings of something else inside me. It was some alien presence that, before in my humanity, would never belong, but now here as a beast it felt right at home. Like I was inside it’s own body instead of the other way around. Like I was the guest, the inevitable demise of what once was bringing about what was to be.

The other option was to accept it. To embrace and adapt, in any way I could. I supposed since the Alpha hadn’t torn me to shreds, and her pack had been amicable in a manner to my presence—most particularly her mother, if that is what she was to Sandy—then I was already a league ahead in my full transition into whatever I was going to be. I was a beast now, an animal, and the other animals had accepted me in their own way.

As my mind drifted back to dreams, I felt relieved of my choice for some reason. Almost as if it had been presented as a choice all along.