A better world 3
A better world 3: Strength in numbers
_Society has fallen, after a plague killed many anthros. Jack, an anthro Lion, believed he was the only one living in his village. (Not everyone in the village died - however, the survivors all left, most of them seeking to reunite with family far away). Jack found, and adopted, a stray dog - a feral Bullmastiff named Hunter. Hunter had been someone's pet, before the plague. His owner had either died or left. _
We left the hardware store, Hunter and I.
We started walking, but then I looked across the street. Shocked, I stopped, still, in my tracks. I nearly dropped the batteries. I hadn't seen another anthro in months - and yet - and yet - there he was, across the street, whoever he was. A young Rottweiler, wearing a pair of baggy gym shorts and loose sneakers - and nothing else. He stood in front of the real estate office, his back to me - and he was spraypainting something on the display window. Whatever the graffiti was meant to be, it was quickly turning into a nonsense blur of lines.
He must've sensed our presence, because he suddenly spun around. He looked just as shocked as I was, seeing another anthro there, staring at him.
Amused, Hunter cocked his head and looked from me to the young Rottweiler. He didn't bark or growl.
I fumbled for words to say, and the Rottweiler fumbled with his can of spraypaint. It fell from his hand, hit the sidewalk and rolled. The sound shattered the stillness of the empty air.
"Oh shit," the Rottweiler said, quietly. I tried to figure out how old he was. Teenager? Maybe.
"Hey, don't worry, we're cool," I said, raising my free hand in a gesture of peace. I nodded toward Hunter. "And he doesn't bite. I think."
"Cool, cool," the Rottweiler stuttered. "Shit, dude, you startled me. Um . . . this isn't your place, is it?" He looked back at the real estate office.
"No." I said, simply.
"Oh, wow, that is such a relief," he laughed. "Hey, my name's Marcus."
"Jack," I said, shaking his hand. "And this is Hunter."
"Hey, guy," Marcus looked at Hunter. "I haven't seen you guys around. Have you been here since . . ."
"Since everyone left," I finished his sentence. "Yeah. They all left. I stayed. I thought I was the only one."
"Nope," Marcus grinned. "I stayed, too. Hey, wait a minute - so you don't know about the other dude?"
"What other dude?"
"Dude!" Marcus' smile lit up his eyes. "That older dude. Not old, you know, just older." He studied my face for a moment, perhaps trying to guess my age. "Not that I mean anything bad by older, it's just, ya know . . ."
"I know." I smiled, briefly. "I'm thirty-eight."
"Shit, i would've never guessed. Well, I'm twenty."
"So where is the other guy?" I asked.
"I see him, sometimes, he goes to the rec center and shoots hoops. Actually, I think he lives there."
"I wonder if he's there now," I said, half to myself and half to Marcus. "I'd like to say hi, introduce myself."
"You can try, but he's not real friendly. He's not mean, or anything - least, I don't think so. When I met him, I felt like he wanted to be alone."
"Huh," I said, thinking about it.
"Shit, what the hell, right? What's life without taking chances?" Marcus' smile had returned. "Let's go see."
"Yeah? Okay, yeah, sure, why not."
Suddenly, Marcus' baggy gym shorts started to slip down. They didn't get very far before he grabbed them, and hoisted them back up.
"I got some serious clothing issues," he laughed. "This is what I get for going outside without underwear. Dude, my place is just around the corner. I'll go change my clothes, and we'll go see the other dude. Cool?"
"Cool."
On the way to Marcus' place, Hunter relieved himself on a streetlight. I gave him some water from one of the bottles I had in my backpack. He seemed like he was enjoying the unexpected adventure. For me, the whole thing was a tiny bit surreal. For a while now, it'd been just the two of us - myself and the feral dog. Now, suddenly, we'd met someone, and we were on our way to (possibly) meeting someone else.
All three of us went into Marcus' place, which was - had been - a bar. A small bar on the corner of the street, with just a few tables and a few benches. The Rottweiler had tossed a sleeping bag into the corner of the backroom, which was filled with paperbacks, clothes, and cans of food.
"You like to read," I noted, as Marcus kicked off his shoes.
"Yeah, I love books. Especially fantasy stuff. Some sci fi, too."
Casually, he slid down his shorts and kicked them towards the sleeping bag. I looked around the space. He'd moved the dart board into the backroom, I noticed. Out of the corner of my eye I could tell that Marcus was reaching for underwear and a pair of better-fitting shorts - but I didn't want to watch him get dressed. The Rottweiler was certainly attractive (and young - gods, let's not forget - young), but I didn't want to see his naked body. Even though he hadn't asked for privacy . . . I felt the need to give it to him anyway.
For another thing, well, I'd made the rather silly decision that . . . that chapter of my life was over.
I hadn't gotten the impression that Marcus was into other males -- but that didn't matter. That wasn't the point.
Whatever his orientation, whatever he was into . . . I just wanted to see Marcus as a fellow survivor, as someone who - like me - had decided to stay in the village. Perhaps we'd become friends. Perhaps not. Either way, we might need each other's help. At some point, we'd have to deal with winter, and snow, and we'd have to figure out how we were going to stay warm in the winter, with the electricity shut off. Both of us - if we stayed here - would also have to worry about food, some day, and we might need each other's help. (This is also why I wanted to meet the "other dude," as Marcus called him - he, too, was a fellow survivor who might, some day, need to either ask for or give some kind of help.)
That's the point I'm trying to make - I wanted to see Marcus as a fellow survivor, and as a potential friend. I didn't want to notice how attractive he was. I didn't want to be reminded of what I'd left behind.
**
The door to the rec center was shut, but not locked. We went inside, the three of us, and we followed the sounds of a bouncing basketball. I wondered if the mysterious "other dude" spent all his time there. That would explain why I hadn't seen him - I'd never gone near the ancient, brick building which housed the rec center.
A Pit Bull was shooting hoops, alone, in the large, nearly empty gym. The Pit Bull was stocky - beefy is a good word, I suppose. He wasn't fat, just - wide. Beefy. Later, I would notice how large his biceps were, how thick the muscles of his legs were. He was wearing beat-up sneakers, a pair of jean shorts, and a red, sleeveless tee. His fur was dark gray, and his eyes were steely blue.
When we entered the gym, he held the basketball up near his thick chest. He kept it there, a weapon he could easily throw at us.
"You again," he said, looking at Marcus. He glanced at me, briefly, then he turned his full attention to Hunter. "Is that dog . . ."
"He's friendly," I said, seeking to reassure the Pit Bull.
"Maybe," he said, his tone revealing he didn't believe me. "Why's he not on a leash?"
"He doesn't need one," I replied. "My name's Jack. I just wanted to meet you, say hi."
"Well, okay, you met me." The Pit Bull's stance was defensive, I realized. It was like he expected us to attack him. Or, maybe he was worried about Hunter.
"And, you know, I just wanted to say, um - if you ever need anything, I'm here, in the village."
"Good to know, I guess," the Pit Bull said. He moved the basketball down, near his hip. "Not that I do need anything - I don't, and I probably won't." He sighed, and it seemed like he spent a moment trying to decide something. "I'm Gunnar," he said, eventually.
"Good to meet you, Gunnar," I said. "We'll let you get back to your hoops."
I told Gunnar where my house was, and Marcus told him where his bar was. Gunnar's eyes briefly lit up, at the mention of the word bar.
"You know, we could all get together, some time, any time," Marcus said. "At the bar. Have drinks. That place is still pretty well stocked up."
"There's lots of other bars, in the village," Gunnar said. I suppose that was his way of turning down the offer. And yet, he looked like he wanted to accept it. Or maybe it seemed that way to me because I wanted him to accept it.
"Hey, no pressure," Marcus seemed amused. "The offer stands. You guys - both of you - you just come by whenever. Cool? You, too, pooch," he looked at Hunter, who wagged his tail for just a second.
"I just realized something," I said, looking up at the ceiling. "The lights are on."
"Yeah, this place has a generator," the Pit Bull said, somewhat reluctantly. "There's hot water, showers . . ."
"Showers!" Marcus smiled. "You don't want to know what I'd do for a shower. Dude, I've been just using bottled water, and a sponge, it's not - it's not fun. You know?"
I knew. I'd been doing much the same, only I had a bathtub. I never felt clean enough. My mane, especially, always felt dirty.
Before Gunnar could say anything, Marcus spoke up.
"Not today, of course - but, maybe someday I could come by, take a shower? I won't disturb you."
"Yeah, sure," the Pit Bull nodded. He didn't seem happy about it. "This isn't my place, you know - I don't own it." He almost smiled. "It's the rec center. I guess the village owned it? Anyway, I don't want to stop you guys from, ya know, getting yourselves cleaned up. Plus, there's a tiny kitchen. The stove is almost decent. You can cook stuff, if you want to."
**
Gunnar watched us leave the gym. We were halfway down the hall, almost to the exit, before the sounds of the basketball bouncing off the rim, bouncing off the floor, started up again.
"I kinda ran away from him, last time I came by here," Marcus said. "Shit, if I'd known he had showers here - that he had a - what's it called?"
"A generator," I replied.
"I don't know what that is. Might as well be magic," the Rottweiler laughed. "Whatever, long as it works."
We found ourselves blinking, startled by the bright sun, which had come out from behind the clouds.
"Want to come by later, for dinner?" I asked, spur of the moment, surprising myself. "I've been cooking stuff over a campfire, starting to get good at it."
"Dude, I've been eating stuff raw. Yeah, I'll come by."
Hunter and I watched him walk easily up the street. He went from the sidewalk, then into the street, than back to the sidewalk. He looked at all the nearby shops, looked into their windows. I wondered what his story was. Why was he alone, and why had he remained in the village?
More importantly, what was I going to make for dinner?