A better world 4
A better world 4: what came before the storm
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. Later, Jack discovered that two more anthros were still living in the village - Marcus, a young Rottweiler, and Gunnar, a Pit Bull.
**
The first sign of trouble happened on Tuesday. More specifically, it was Tuesday, August 30th, 1988. How do I know the exact date?
Well, I'd gone shopping - and by shopping, I mean "shopping." Actually, I mean scavenging. I'd gone around to some of the houses in the village, looking for things we might need. I'd already taken most of the canned goods out of those houses, but, I wanted to make sure I hadn't missed anything. For another thing, well, I was bored and curious. I wanted to see if those houses might contain - I don't know - books worth reading, or medicines we might need someday, or warm blankets we'd need when winter arrived, or maybe feral dog toys for Hunter to play with.
It's funny. When all this started - after the plague caused society to collapse like a house of cards, and the surviving anthros had left the village, I had felt . . . weird about going into those empty houses. I had felt like I was violating someone's privacy, or trespassing, or something. On the one hand, everyone had left - and they'd left behind food. Not a lot, but there were canned goods, and snacks, and things like cereal. And this was back when the power was still on, and so I found things in fridges - all kinds of food items, as well as beverages like beer. (I felt justified eating and drinking all that fridge stuff - after all, I told myself, the power will go off eventually, and all this stuff will spoil).
On the other hand, I was going into someone else's house, their personal space, their refuge . . . and that felt weird. Sure, they'd left, and they'd left nearly everything behind, but what if they came back? What if the plague got cured, and civilization came back, and the other anthros in the village returned to their homes? Who knew?
Anyway, long story hopefully somewhat shorter, that was then and this was now. I no longer felt weird going into those empty houses. Four or five months after everyone left (well, almost everyone), and there I was, just casually "shopping" among the vacant houses which had been left behind by all those anthros who'd packed up their cars and trucks and gone somewhere else. There I was, walking through houses which felt . . . haunted? I guess that's a good word. They'd been emptied of people in a hurry. Emptied of people who'd _been _in a hurry. But they weren't empty of stuff. They weren't like houses after someone's moved out. No, the furniture was all still there. TV sets remained. Books had been left on coffee tables, on overflowing shelves. Clothes were still in closets.
I found a very expensive watch - at least, it looked expensive, to me - left behind on a bedside table, inside a house with pretty, blue shutters and a wrought iron fence all around it. And the watch still worked. It still showed the date and time. It wasn't the kind of watch I was used to - the kind you have to wind up, every now and again, to keep it running. No, this fancy watch didn't need winding. It didn't seem to need anything.
And that's how I knew what day it was when the first sign of trouble happened. Of course, we didn't know at the time that it was, indeed, the first sign of anything. We just thought it was an Odd Occurrence.
**
August had been, in some ways, a good month. For one thing, I'd been going to the rec center nearly every morning, to shower. It was great to have running water again - especially because the weather had been amazingly hot. With the power out, I couldn't run any fans, and the house was like an oven, even with all the windows wide open and a gentle breeze blowing in. Hunter and I had been sleeping out on the lawn. That's when I noticed how . . . _aromatic _Hunter was getting. One night, he slept just a few feet from me, and the wind carried over his scent. It was primal. The feral dog smelled like some ancient, primal beast which had rolled around in all sorts of muck and dirt. In a way, I suppose that's just what he was. So, the next day, I filled a tub with bottled water and I tried (and failed) to coax him into it. He just did not want to take a bath. I ended up splashing water on him, which he didn't like, and calling that good enough. However, when I went to take a shower at the rec, Hunter bounded into the room and stood under the spray. Apparently, he hated baths but was okay with showers. I poured shampoo on him, massaged it into his fur, and he let me. After I rinsed him off, the Bullmastiff shook his short fur, and then he stood there, looking happy and smelling great.
Aside from my feral friend, I had privacy when I showered, which I was grateful for. Marcus always slept in, and when he showered it was usually late afternoon. As for Gunnar, who lived at the rec, he usually cleaned up later in the day, after shooting hoops or otherwise exercising. Marcus and I had become friends, we'd been opening up to each other, sharing details of our lives and our personalities. It took me a little while to figure out that I didn't have a "thing" for Marcus - I didn't have a crush on him, or anything. Of course, there was no denying his good looks and his youth. Every once in awhile - not all the time, just every now and again - I'd feel a brief rush of lust when I was around the Rottweiler. He'd move a certain way, or flex a muscle, or stretch and yawn, for example, and I'd feel my pulse quicken, for just a second. It didn't happen a lot, but it did happen, and so I was glad I never saw him in the showers at the rec center. The shower room wasn't that big - he'd be . . . too close (and too naked, as well).
As I said, Marcus and I developed a friendship. Every two or three days, we'd meet at the pub where he was staying - I guess I might as well call it "his pub." We'd grill something, then try one of the bottles of liquor which were behind the bar, then we'd make small talk. Hunter would always be there, of course, half-dozing on the floor, waiting for scraps of food to fall. Marcus was a neophyte when it came to alcohol, I found out. I shouldn't have been surprised - he was, after all, only twenty. He'd had beer plenty of times, of course. But he'd only tried wine once (he didn't like it), and he'd never had liquor. Thus began our quest to work our way through the bottles behind the bar (and, of course, those stashed in the basement and the backroom). Some things we mixed with soda pop, or with other liquors, with varying degrees of success. Other liquors we drank in shots - again, with varying degrees of success.
Gunnar was always invited, but he rarely showed up. When he did, his share of the small talk was always about practical matters. Finding food. Growing food. Tending to the generator at the rec center, where he was staying. Getting ready for winter. Things like that. He'd only shown excitement the day I'd found the watch, because now we could know exactly what day it was, how many days we had until the really cold weather started. He also found it funny that we'd lost track of the days mostly because neither Marcus nor I had been in the habit of wearing a watch, and he'd lost his soon after the plague hit.
"Soon as the power goes out," Gunnar said, smiling in amusement, "And we can't plug in our alarm clocks, bam, right back to pioneer days."
"How did anthros know what day it was, back in those pioneer days?" Marcus wanted to know.
"I never thought about that," I realized.
So far, Gunnar hadn't opened himself up. He hadn't talked about himself at all - not that he had to.
I'd told my story to both Marcus and Gunnar, but the version I'd told wasn't very interesting. After a breakup, I'd realized how burned out I was - with living in the city, with things in general, and so . . . I'd come here, to this village. In telling the story, I made it short and dry. Of course, I left out chapters and chapters . . . so many chapters. I did not tell them about how I first moved to the city. I didn't tell them about how very much I loved the city, and how my life there kept getting better and better . . . until things fell apart. I didn't them that chapter either - how one bad thing led to another bad thing, and pretty soon, well, the city no longer felt like home.
**
One night, Marcus and I were sitting in his pub, drinking beer which we'd chilled in the fridge at the rec center.
We weren't drunk, or anything - in fact, for both of us, it was the first beer of the day. I was warming up some beans on the grill, which I'd parked right outside the front door. We'd lit some candles, as well as the two oil lamps.
"I feel like we should have a side dish of some kind."
"You always say that," Marcus replied. "No asparagus this time," he smiled, amused.
"We will not speak of the asparagus disaster," I matched his smile. I was able to joke about my cooking failure of a few days ago.
'So, hey," Marcus took a long drink. "I ever tell you why I was alone, here? It's no big deal - no big tragedy, or anything."
The young Rottweiler looked up at me, as he sat on the stool, casually leaning into the bar.
"Nope," I said. I quickly checked the beans, then I sat down next to him.
"Well, for starters, I grew up here. Born and raised. And my folks survived the plague." Marcus drank, then set the bottle on the bar. "I had _just _moved back home - when - when things got bad. Timing, right? Thing is, I was going to go to college - community college - you know, they have one over in Pottersville. Well. _Had _one, I guess. Dude, can you imagine that? Me, all college educated and shit? My folks said they'd help pay, and I could stay there rent free."
"Where were you living before?"
"Me and two of my friends rented a house. Thing is, other friends were always crashing there, someone's girlfriend was always crashing there . . . place was always full of anthros, and it was always a mess. I mean - really - a serious mess. It was awesome. Dude, it was such a blast. But I guess at some point I wanted more."
"I know _that _feeling," I nodded.
"Yeah," Marcus finished his beer. "So - dude - if all this shit hadn't happened, I'd be in school right now." He looked sad for a moment. "Anyway, like I said, my folks are okay, and that's cool, yeah? Not everyone can say that. But my grandparents - Dad's folks - live a few hours away, and they're, like, really old. So Mom and Dad decided to go up there, and stay with them. They packed up the car, and off they went."
"And you stayed here?"
Yes, 'cause of my sister. We don't know where she is, or if she's okay." Marcus looked into my eyes, as he clutched the empty bottle.
"That's, wow, that's really tough."
"Yeah. We were never really close - for one thing, she's four years older than me. For another thing, when she was sixteen, she insisted on switching schools - she wanted to go to this boarding school four hours away. And she always got her way. She came home for holidays, of course. When she came home for summer vacation, she got a job, and if she wasn't working she was hanging out with her friends. We hardly ever saw her. But, hey, you know, I was thirteen that summer, I had my own friends, my own stuff going on." As Marcus spoke, I got up, grabbed two bottles of beer.
"So, after she graduated high school, that fancy boarding school, she said she'd come home for the summer, but she didn't," Marcus continued. "And then . . . then she went to college in California. After that, she got a job in Atlanta. So, again, we hardly ever saw her. We know she survived the plague, but then the fucking phones went out. So . . . is she okay over there? Is she staying there? Is she coming back here? We just don't know."
"So you stayed here in case she comes home," I said, quietly.
"Yep," Marcus, said, simply. He stood up, stretched. "How are those beans doin'?"
**
Shit. I was going to write about the Odd Occurrence, wasn't I? Several paragraphs ago, I suppose. I'm not sure what happened, what sidetrack or diversion derailed me.
**
Marcus and I were sitting in front of the diner, talking. There was a large awning which stretched overhead, providing shade. We'd dragged over some comfortable chairs. Hunter slept, on his side - every now and again, he'd sit up, drink some water, then go back to sleep. It was a very hot day, as most were that month. Marcus had a basketball that he would either fidget with, or half-dribble on the ground. He was asking me questions about life in the city. As I answered them, I resisted the urge to tell him the truly outrageous stories - the stories about the sexual adventures I'd had (most of which had happened in my twenties).
Suddenly, Gunnar was walking towards us - walking very quickly, too. The Pit Bull seemed agitated. Or possibly angry?
Before I could say hi, or what's up, Gunnar spoke first.
"Not a big deal, but just wondering - have you guys been in the shed behind the rec center?" he asked us.
"What shed?" Marcus asked.
"No," I replied. "Why?"
"I've been stockpiling firewood for winter," Gunnar replied. "Keeping it in the shed. And now some of it's gone."
"Really?" I was surprised. "How much?"
"Well, the shed was half full. Looking at it, just now, I can tell there's less in there."
For a moment, I wasn't sure what to say. "Half full" and "less" were not precise measurements, for one thing, so it was possible Gunnar was mistaken. Perhaps the pile of firewood just looked different today? On the other hand, if someone had taken some of it, and it wasn't myself or Marcus . . .
"Was the shed locked?" Marcus asked. "Maybe a wild, feral animal got in."
Gunnar looked at the Rottweiler - one after the other, surprise, amusement, and anger all flashed across Gunnar's face.
"Why would a feral animal take firewood?" Gunnar snorted. "And, no, it wasn't locked."
"So someone else took it," I said. "There's someone else in the village."
"Well, then, it's someone who's hiding," Gunnar said, a dark cloud briefly passing over his face. "I looked around. I've been all over the village, checking houses and shops, looking for signs of other anthros."
"You have?" Marcus was surprised.
"I've done the same thing," I nodded. "Well, Hunter and I have."
"You have, too?" Marcus asked me. He dribbled the basketball, almost lost it.
"Well, that's just great," Gunnar looked angry. "Some anthro we don't know is hiding from us, and now they're stealing stuff."
"Guess we should look around again," I suggested.
"I was really hoping it was you guys," Gunnar said. "But I was pretty sure you would've asked first."
"We would have," I reassured him.
"I didn't even know you were stashing firewood," Marcus said. "That's a good idea."
"It's too hot to search today," Gunnar said, looking around. "We can do it in the morning, when it's cooler - hopefully, it'll be cooler. Maybe Hunter can sniff him - or her - out."
At the second mention of his name, Hunter opened his eyes, raised an eyebrow. Briefly, he wagged his tail, thumping it on the sidewalk.
I, too, looked around - at the empty street, the empty buildings. Was there someone else in the village? More than one? If so, why hadn't they shown themselves by now? And why steal firewood? As far as I knew, there'd been no theft up 'til that point. Why steal firewood? Of all things. Winter felt far, far off - the weather had been so hot lately. Unless they - or he, or she - felt like Gunnar felt - which was, why not start getting ready now? But why steal at all? The village was full of trees, after all, if you were looking for branches. If you walked to the south, which Gunnar had done, you'd find a large, rolling field stretching into the distance - a field full of fallen trees and fallen branches, perfect for firewood. If you walked to the north - which Gunnar had also done - you'd find the woods, which was, obviously, even more full of fallen branches. So why steal from someone's shed?
The whole thing just seemed odd.