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Survivors' Tale - The Mad Man - Part 1

I stirred a little. The soft sound of rain outside had stopped, leaving something rare behind, absolute silence. No white noise, no rustling from wind, nothing. Not even the birds had begun to sing again. It was unnatural.

I opened my eyes, pulling down the knitted blanket I had pulled over my head to keep the moisture off my face. There was a soft light coming in from the outside through cracks and holes in the ceiling, either from weapons of war or the one weapon that nature always had, time.

The air was thick with the smell of mildew, but I didn't mind it. It smelled nice to me because it could only really be smelled in places that used to have civilization. The ruins of cities, a shack in the country side, or in my case, the back room of what used to be a convenience store. Mildew only grew thick enough in these places to really smell it.

I slowly got up, blinking my eyes several times and licking my lips as I stretched my arms upward and over my head. I heard the satisfying pops of my joints and then scratch my side where a mosquito had bitten me yesterday. A big fat thing that had lumbered off, filled with my blood before I had swatted it, leaving a distinct red splat on the side of a tree some miles away. Now the only reminder was the small red bump just under my ribs.

"You shouldn't scratch it," a voice said next to me as another figure rusted under the blanket. "It'll only make it worse."

I rolled my eyes and kept scratching. How could something that felt so good be bad?

"What's the plan for today?" I asked and took a quick look around the room. There were empty shelves. They had once been stocked completely with cans and boxes of food, but those had been plucked clean years ago. I was just making sure that no one had snuck in and stolen our few meager belongings. I wasn't worried about having my throat slit, most preferred to avoid blood shed because conflict led to injuries, injuries that there was no medicine for anymore.

I looked down at the still covered form next to me. I could feel his body still pressed against the side of my leg, a warm and reassuring presence.

"The same as usual," the form replied and turned enough that I could see a pair of black triangular ears poke out from under the sheets. "We keep going south and hopefully outrun the winter."

That had been the plan for us for the last year after we had left Juneau. It had been cold there, too cold to continue, especially since the last winter had killed off the last of those we cared for. Expect for each other.

"I suppose we should get going now that the rain had stopped," I commented, but made no effort to get up from the pile of cardboard boxes and old clothing that made our bed. It was the nicest bed we had shared in over two weeks.

"Yeah," the reply came as a sigh and the form next to me sat up, letting gravity pull the blanket off of him.

Orson

The first thing I saw, the first thing I always saw were those large brown eyes of his. Then of course, was the fur. Orson was human, not entirely. He was Anthro Sapien, or Anthro for short, the answer to a long war. Be home by Christmas was the saying. When did that ever happen? Now they, he, was here with the rest of us, the 'lucky' few who survived after the bombs had stopped falling because there was no one left to drop them anymore, marking the end of the Last War.

That was history now and no one likes history class. We were here in the now and right now, I got a good glimpse of Orson's bare ass and tail as he rolled over to grab his clothes.

I blushed slightly and felt a desire to take a handful, but restrained from doing so. We had to get moving while moving was still good. The last time I checked, the snow was still coming and wasn't going to stop to let us have our way with each other.

I rolled the other way, having no fur, I had slept with clothes on, rather than in the buff. I grabbed my bag nearby and put it on after getting up. It was lighter than I would have liked, but there was still the reassuring weight on my right shoulder where the rifle was strapped.

There were a lot of guns in the world, but not enough ammo. I just so happened to have about a hundred bullets for my hunting rifle and that was enough to keep most would-be robbers away. Most. Not every bullet shot was at a deer.

Orson got his clothes on quickly, a skill we both had since there wasn't always time to dawdle. He began to roll up our blanket which would then strap onto the top of his bag. He did something else, something that made me pause. He shivered.

He caught me staring. "We'll have to walk for a bit longer today than usual." He gave me a smile, but I could see the worry etched into the lines of his canine face. Sometimes I swore that they were far more prone to giving away their emotions via body language than humans.

I was worried too. We had been delayed for a month in a small town a week ago when it had been overrun by bandits, those few that decided that a life of murder and pillaging was better than one of simple survival. They had hunted for us that entire time and it was only luck that allowed us to be here today. Luck and a mudslide that had come down from far up in the mountains to wipe out half the town. Orson and I had been in the other half, they had been in the part that was now strewn in mud across several miles.

"Alright," Orson said and hefted his bag onto his shoulders. "Shall we?"

I grinned, leaned over and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. "Let's."

We had no real goal other than to go as far south as we needed to avoid a harsh winter. We followed the road, bouncing from town to town, spending nights indoors when we could or doing our best when it wasn't an option. We both kept a lookout for deer or rabbits, whatever that could feed us. He usually spotted it, but I shot it since he couldn't hit a house even if he put the barrel flat up against the side. Still, we made a good team and as the miles went by, the days turned into weeks, we survived.

"I almost feel tempted to just stay here," Orson commented as we walked down one of the streets of the small town we had just entered after crossing the border from what used to be the Iron Legion of Canada and into what I believe was Pacifica, one of the federations that appeared after the fall of the American Empire.

It was beautiful, a small thing nestled on the side of the mountain inside of a valley. A river flowed just down an embankment from it and there was a waterfall that led into a gorge as well.

"Still too far north," I replied and pointed towards the mountains where snow was beginning to accumulate on the tops of the trees like a light dusting of powdered sugar. "We still have a long ways to go."

"How bad can the winter be here?" Orson asked.

We passed by a gas station, still relatively intact with the gas price of the day before the bombs still hung up. It was over fifteen dollars per gallon here, whatever that meant since there was a dozen currencies at the end of the war.

"Bad enough." I looked around for signs of life. Sometimes these kinds of places still had people living here. Some were nice enough to let us be or even talk, others not so much, but not hostile and on very rare occasion, violent. The town seemed empty though and the day was growing old. "Though we should find a place to rest for the night."

Orson nodded and readjusted his shoulder straps. "Not much here, though the road signs did say there's another town just a mile down the road."

He was right, though it was odd for two towns to only an mile apart, however, I saw why once we got to the bridge that led over the river.

I could see it, down the valley and actually next to the river. Whoever made this town didn't want to be up above, but down by the river.

"There's probably fish."

We both agreed and left this place for the next.

Turns out there were people there. After a ten minute walk, Orson and I came to a gate made of thick logs and manned by a pair of Anthros.

"Stop right there," one of the guards, with bright white fur, shouted. He hefted a hunting rifle not unlike my own, but did not aim it at us. That was a good sign.

"Turn back," the other, with black fur, yelled down to us. "We're not taking any more sob stories." He made a shooing gesture. "Plenty of room in Metaline Falls, where you just came from."

So that was the name of the town.

I looked over at Orson. "Maybe we should just turn around. We only need a place to spend the night."

"But we need to go south. I didn't see any other way but this highway that they've built their gate on top of," Orson countered.

"We've tracked through the woods before," I said and gave the occasional glance up at the two Anthro guards. They hadn't moved, though their ears were flickering, trying pick up on our conversation.

"We had time then," Orson sighed and rubbed a spot behind his ear which meant he was annoyed. "The snow is too close now. We can't afford to divert away from the road."

"Maybe they have a map or can give directions," I offered this suggestion and Orson seemed to agree.

He nodded to me. "Let's ask."

I turned back to the two guards who instantly perked up.

"We need to head south," I raised my voice.

"No more people!" The black Anthro growled down at me.

"No more!" The other repeated. "No more people!"

"We just need to walk through the town," I said, trying to reason with them. "We don't want to say."

"No more people!" The white Anthro snarled this time and pointed his rifle at me.

"Whoa!" I raised up my hands and took a few steps back. It was enough for the white Anthro to lower his gun.

"Fuck," Orson complained. "We can't turn around."

"We can't go forward," I hissed. "Let's just take another route."

"We don't know another route and look around," he gestured in every direction. "Nothing but mountains."

We were in the Rocky Mountains. Roads were the best bet we had, anything else would just get us lost and turned around for days that we didn't have. He was right, we had to go this way.

"Go away!"

I glanced up at the two guards quickly and then back to Orson. "We can try to get past tonight. Just hug the river and sneak on by in the night."

Before Orson could reply, another voice came from the other side of the wall.

"Scott, Larson. Do we have guests?"

"N-no!" The white Anthro turned his back to us to address whoever it was that was speaking to them. "No one is here, but deer. Deer that will eat the crops."

The black Anthro got a look of concern on his face and made a shooing gesture to us. "Go away. Go." He seemed urgent and panicked now.

"You sure?" The new voice called out loud enough that Orson and I could hear. "Hello! Are Scott and Larson being rude again?"

"Please. Go." The black Anthro hissed.

"I think we should go," I leaned over and spoke to Orson.

"Yeah, I think we should."

We turned and instead of going straight back down the road, we went into the woods first for several hundred feet before turning to walk parallel to the road.

"What do you think that was about?" I asked Orson once we got back into the road again.

He shrugged. "I don't know, but those two looked scared." He glanced back down the road. "I don't really want to know why either."

"Yeah," I agreed. "We'll rest up and then try to circumvent the town tonight. Get it all behind us as fast as possible."

We made it back to the town of Metaline Falls and set up in what appeared to be an old apartment building that sat across from a field and a school yard. There wasn't enough time to hunt for anything, so I broke out the last stores of canned food we had. The labels had been torn off so it was anyone's guess at what was inside the three metal cylinders.

Sitting around the small fire Orson had built from old newspaper and pieces of furniture, I pulled out my knife and carefully began to remove the lid of the untabbed can.

"Behind door number one," Orson said in hungry anticipation. He scooted closer to me, nearly leaning on me as I peeled back the lid to reveal...

"Beans," I exclaimed. "Not cat food like last time."

"Cat food isn't bad," Orson said and stuck his spoon into the can, getting a hefty scoop. "Not as bad as dog food."

I scooped my own beans and inspected it for any signs of mold, but that was rare. Canning was reliable, which was why, even after years, they were still a viable food source when found. "You don't like dog food?"

"Hey now," he pointed a beam covered spoon at me. "Careful now."

"Just curious." I shrugged and ate my spoonful of beans and kept talking with food in my mouth. "What makes cat food better than dog food?"

He lowered his spoon. "I don't know. Cat food is just better."

"Well, if we're lucky enough, one of the their two cans might be cat food."

One was sausage and the last was soup. Neither of us complained, but instead, we dragged an old, rusted bed frame from the bed room. It still had a mattress on it that seemed to have avoided most of the mold and mildew. The frame was still sturdy enough to hold us and so we piled what we could onto it for cushioning and then we got into it ourselves.

We laid there, the sun still coming in from outside, in each other's arms. It was warm enough inside with the small fire that I had stripped down just like Orson. It was nice to feel his fur pressed up against my back.

"Orson?" I spoke quietly as if there was someone else in the other room.

"What's up?" He replied, his claws drawing small circles on my chest.

"What are we going to do when we get south?" I asked the same question I asked every night I could. He gave me the same answer as well.

"We'll find a nice piece of land and we'll actually start living our lives again." His voice rumbled in his chest and in doing so, in mine. It was a like a soothing massage. "Just you and me. In time, maybe others as well."

I stayed silent for a moment and then said, "hopefully you and me for a little while."

"Why is that," I could hear the smile in his tone.

I grinned and reached back to grabbed one of his muscular butt cheeks. "Because I can't do this with others around."

He flexed his butt and pressed his groin into the small of my back and down so that his hard and plump sheath dragged down my crack. "You can. They'll just have to look away or watch."

"You horny old dog," I inched my fingers further back until I was at the base of his tail that was slowly swishing back and forth under the blankets.

"Your older than me," me exclaimed and wrapped his thick arms around my waist, embracing me in a tight hug. "A pedophile. Sexy pedophile." He growled into my ear and nipped at the lobe.

"What do you mean?" I asked and squeezed his tail. "Aren't you seventy or something in dog years?"

"Oh. Oh." He let go of me in mock anger. "More of this dog stuff I see. What next? Want to know if I lift my leg when I pee?"

"Saw you the other day, marking up a dozen trees before we went to bed." It was actually true, though there was no leg lifting.

"I saw you masturbating the other day," he countered and I felt one of his paws creep down my chest. "Why would you do that when I'm here for you?"

I didn't answer, instead I waited and waited as his paw went further south. His claws dragged through my hair just under my belly button, tracing a Maine until he reached what we both wanted. He grabbed my already erect cock in his large paws and gave me a squeeze.

He got close again, using his other arm, he pulled me back into a warm, furry embrace, the feel of his sheath replaced with something slick and hot.

"Not always enough time," I leaned my head back to meet his for a quick peck on the side of his muzzle. "Sometimes I just got to take care of myself."

"Too much masturbation, not enough sex," he said in a low voice and I felt him push that hot cock of his between my cheeks. It was so hot against my skin as it dug in inch by inch until he was right up against my tight pucker.

"I- III." My voice raised several octaves as his tapered tip, wet and slimy from his previous that I was sure was ruining our already soiled sheets, pushed into me. It hurt a little, but it wasn't anything worrisome. Orson knew to go slow, especially in a world with no lube.

It took several minutes of slow and silent persistence, but I eventually felt the familiar press of his knot against my backside. He let it sit there, allowing me to get used to his girth before he slowly began to pull out and thrust.

I moaned with each movement. Each thrust ground against my prostrate that made me feel like I had to take a piss. Each pull left a void in me that needed to be filled again.

The sound of the ruined apartment was filled with the sounds of us and the squeaky, rusted mattress frame. A constant squeak that slowly picked up pace along with my moans and his dominating growls of pleasure.

He was picking up the pace and I could feel a sense of urgency in his thrusts. He was already getting close and so was I. It had been some time since we had had sex and the built up sexual tension and testosterone were expediting the process.

Claw points pressed against my sides as he leaned over me, nearly standing now, and jack hammered into me hard enough that I had to bit the disgusting mess that we called a bed spread to avoid sounding pained. He would stop the moment he believed he was hurting me, but he wasn't. Even though there was some discomfort, I was in bliss.

I didn't even have to touch myself to peak. My cock jumped and splattered the bed and my chest with white, sticky cum. The orgasm, one attained through only prostate stimulation, was numbing. I would have collapsed if Orson hadn't been holding my thighs up.

I clenched and unclenched as my powerful orgasm wracked my body, massaging his thick cock inside of me.

Moments later, I could feel him pressing his knot against my hole. As much as I wanted that baseball size knot inside of me, we would never get anything done tonight. So, to give him the stimulation he needed, but without bed ridding us for half a day, I reached back and grasped his knot . I gave him a hard squeezed and it was enough for him.

He had bitten me before, he had drawn blood before, tonight was the most of both.

Teeth sunk into me, instantly piercing my flesh as the part of him that shared heritage with an animal took over. It stung, it was a kind of pain that I hadn't experienced in some time. I cried out, but the feral over me didn't hear, or refused to hear. He tried as best as he could to sink that knot into me and tie us, but my hand stopped him and I squeezed the knot as hard as I could.

Soon, Orson's thrusts calmed down enough that I let go of his knot and he let go of my shoulder where blood was dripping down my arm. I could feel each individual tooth pulling out of my flesh.

"Oh, shit," Orson said, coming back to a decent state of mind. "I'm so sorry. I couldn't control myself."

I winced as he pulled out. I felt a rush of wetness travel down my thighs. "It's fine." I really didn't blame him. I had already half expected something like this to happen.

The bed creaked and listed to one side as Orson got off the bed and went over to his backpack. "It's not okay." He pulled out a tube of antibacterial cream and clean bandages. "I can't keep doing this. We're going to run out of medicine eventually and then you'll be vulnerable to infection. I can't. I can't let that happen." He came over to me and began to tend to my wounds.

I did my best to comfort him, but I could tell he was deeply distraught about this. There was a large amount of truth to his words. This was dangerous, but I didn't want him blaming himself for this. I wanted sex just as much as he did. I was just as guilty.

The cream stung. It stung a lot, but I kept silent as my shoulder was bandaged up. We then tossed out the soiled bed spread and made a new one before we both collapsed onto it and fell asleep.

I dreamt vivid dreams of the world before the war. It wasn't a great world to live in with the constant threat of terrorists, both radical religious and rebellious individuals who wanted to make a statement. Still, there was plenty of food and medicine as well as all the other niceties that civilization gives.

I was back at my old job in my dream, a dock worker. I loaded ships using the crane all day with small breaks. I was good at it and enjoyed my job. I enjoyed my life.

When I woke later that night, in the warm embrace of Orson, I was grateful to have something from my old life. I don't know what I would have done without Orson. I doubt I would have lasted this long.

Shortly after, Orson woke up as well. I was already dressed and I was checking my rifle. I hoped I didn't have to use it.

"Leaving without me?" He asked with a smile and rubbed the crust out of the corners of his eyes.

"You know it," I replied and tossed him his clothes. "Hurry up and get dressed. I want to get that place behind us before the sun comes up."

Orson gathered his things and got dressed. Ten minutes after that, we were on the road.

We walked in silence. I kept my bag only shouldered on one side since the bite was inflamed, but clean. I didn't want to irritate it more than t was already.

Orson kept white because he noticed me favoring the wounded shoulder and looked exactly like a guilty puppy. I would glance over to him on occasion, but he's just look away. We'd have a discussion later.

Just like when we were leaving the area of the gate before, we cut up and into the woods to avoid being spotted. It was tougher going through the dense woods, but safer. It wasn't long before I could see, just barely through the branches of the trees, that we were already past the main gate where there were a few torches burning, illuminating a pair of sentries. I couldn't tell if it was the same two from before and I didn't ask Orson either. Stealth was of paramount importance.

We passed the gate and began to get a look into the town.

There was a fence that went around it, not a wall. Inside, there was something that I thought not possible, electricity. Not much, but certain building did have that unmistakable glow of electricity and not fire. I couldn't tell how they were keeping the power up and part of me wanted to stay and find out, but a gentle nudge from Orson kept me moving.

We moved extremely slow and I began to fear that the sun would rise before we got around the town because we hit something that I dreaded.

About half way around, there was a massive cliff. It just went straight up. Not gentle slip or anything to warm us that this was coming.

"Let's go around," Orson said and looked down the cliff away from the town.

I followed his gaze and I could see more mountains in the distance, illuminated by moonlight. The cliff face wasn't going to relent for a very long time and if we went around that way, we'd lose sight of the road. We had no map of the area. All the maps in the previous town would have rotted away a long time ago. Without intimate knowledge of how the road winded though the mountains and trees, it was very likely we would get lost. We couldn't afford to get lost.

I shook my head and looked towards the soft glow of the town.

Orson's ears splayed out and he grimaced. He didn't want to get any closer and neither did I, but we both understood we had to get closer, even possibly go into the town before we could get away from whatever was going on in there.

When I began to move towards the town, hugging the side of the cliff, he followed.

When we got closer, I could hear music. I don't remember the last time I heard actual music coming out of a speaker. Probably the day the bombs fell.

We moved as quietly as we could. I didn't see anyone. They must have all been in for the night.

The town looked homely and with the river for fish and water, the hunting in the woods and some open areas for farming, I could easily see why people had settled here. I just couldn't see why the gate guards had been so anxious. Whatever it was, I didn't intent to find out.

We were about half way around the town when Orson and I ran into our first obstacle. It was a fence, about chest high that ran from the town and into the woods, blocking our route.

"Why would they put this here?" I asked Orson. It made no sense to just put a fence stretching from the town and into the woods from the middle of the town. No sense at all.

"I don't know," Orson shrugged. "Let's just get over it and get out of here. Probably lucky enough that we haven't run into anyone already."

I agreed entirely. The fence was chain link and seemed easy enough to get over. I might make some noise, but if I moved quickly enough, it wouldn't be an issue, though the fence had another idea.

I grabbed the fence and felt a tingling sensation in my arms. The tingly immediately turned into painful muscle spasms.

My mouth opened up to a silent scream as I was locked in a hold with the electric fence, unable to let go as electricity took over my muscles.

Orson must had shoved me with his foot because, I was hit from the side and was forced from the fence and to the ground where I still couldn't control my muscles. Everything was stiff as a board.

"Get up." Orson shook me. His head darted from side to side. "We need to... urk."

There was a loud crack and Orson's eyes rolled up into his head. He went limp and fell to the side.

"Or-Orson," I tried to yell, but my body ached all over.

"Don't worry about him," A figure appeared where Orson had just been. He held a baseball bat in his hands. He was human, bald and menacing in a leather jacket over a shirt with a tie. "I'd be more worried about yerself." He stood up and hit me in the face with the handle of the bat. It was darkness after that.