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This Forsaken World

By Mantrid Brizon

Episode Four: The Haunted

Lying on his back, in the musty bedroom of the old cabin, Grey stares at the ceiling, his mind wandering. He turns his eyes toward the nearest window, seeing the morning rays trickling in through the thick film of dirt. The bed shifts, drawing his attention. Looking over at the sleeping Monica, who softly snores, she rolls over, turning from her back and onto her side. Now facing him, his eyes scan her nude body, admiring the two-tone coloration of her fur and taking in her splendid form. She opens her eyelids, her sterling orbs staring into his. The Voeldahn slithers closer, inching her way into his arms; one of them is already beneath the old pillow where she rests her head.

“Good morning." He smiles.

“Hi! So, how was it?!" She asks, her face lighting up.

“It was... Forceful."

“Well... I wanted it." She innocently remarks.

“Yeah, I noticed." Grey murmurs.

“You know you liked it." She coos, stroking his chest with her claws.

Monica leans in and kisses his cheek, before closing her eyes and embracing him.

“Maybe I did." He replies, wrapping his arms around her.

With his chin on her shoulder, he stares pensively at the wall behind her, her tail swaying gleefully in his peripheral vision.

“So did I." She speaks softly, nuzzling his face with her snout.

Embracing the human, Monica basks in his warmth. She'd always been fond of him. She was certainly attracted to him from the moment she'd laid eyes on him, the day she met him on the road. She'd taken her time when it was only the two of them, enjoying their flirting and the subtle, quasi-sexual games they'd play with each other. April, however, was a genuine threat to her; Monica felt her connection to Grey slipping. While she may be rid of her, Monica has no desire to share him with any females that they may encounter in the future.

Not wanting him to end up between another woman's legs, or waste a good bed, she made her move shortly after last night's dinner. While Grey examined his new Bersa Thunder 9 Pro pistol, she sat atop the bed, watching him intently. He never noticed her clandestinely disrobing, as she sat just behind him. Calling out to him, he turned his head and stared in shock and awe at the beautiful Voeldahn woman, whose naked body presented itself to him as if it were already his. Before he had a chance to react, she swiftly grabbed him with her clawed hands, kissing him with considerable vigor.

Pulling at him with great desire, he initially tried to resist her; he didn't last long as she licked his neck and tore at his clothes. She, too, had discovered his weak spot. Grey may be unique, but he's still just a man; few men, if any, can resist the thorough ministrations of a woman who desires them. Monica behaved as if she was in heat, thought the Voeldahn don't have such a thing; a female Voeldahn's cycles are like those of any human woman. It wasn't long before they were in the throes of carnal passion.

Monica was left thoroughly surprised and extremely satisfied with him. She'd had quite a few lovers in her twenty-five years, but none were of his caliber. The only thing that brings her more pleasure than Grey's exceptional equipment and skill is the fact that she's won. Now lying in his arms, in the musty bedroom of the old cabin, Monica looks to Grey with a wide smile. She nuzzles his bearded face with her canine nose, before giving him a tender kiss.

“This is a nice place, isn't it?" She asks.

“Yeah, it'd make a great home, but..."

“I know." Monica sighs. “We have to go south... Why south?"

“I don't know. I don't ask questions; I just hear the voice and do what it says."

“Alright." She cutely licks his face with the tip of her tongue. “We'd better get moving then, lover."

“Does this mean I still get to call you 'Precious'?" He smirks.

“You know I never disliked that, right? I just like fucking with you." She grins, baring her teeth.

“Get your cute ass out of bed and get dressed." He chuckles.

“Mmm, yes master." She winks, her bushy tail wagging happily.

Climbing out of bed, the pair don their clothes and weapons. Both Monica and Grey glance back at the other at regular intervals, admiring the other's form.

“Ready to go, furless?" She asks, adjusting the shoulder straps of her new, brown Musette bag.

“Yeah..."

Grey examines his new pistol and the holster that once held his Kahr CT9. It's made of plastic, molded to fit that specific firearm; it won't hold his new Bersa.

“Just one last thing." He remarks.

“Sure. Anything for you." She coos.

Grey takes a minute to enter the bathroom and search Bill's clothed skeleton. He quickly finds a generic holster near Bill's right hip, with a reversible belt tab and retention strap attached to a cracking leather belt. Claiming the holster for himself, he adjusts it to accommodate his left-handedness, slipping his old Kahr holster into Monica's pack. He pulls the straps of the main flap tightly, shifting the pack as it sits on her shoulders.

“Mmm, you know how I like it, baby." She winks, looking over her shoulder at him.

“Start walking." He chuckles, giving her firm butt a smack.

The pair emerge from the old cabin to the warmth of the morning sun. Monica closes her eyes, feeling the cool breeze on her soft fur. Grey places his hands on her shoulders, giving her a gentle squeeze. She opens her eyes, turning her silver orbs toward him, her lips curling into a little grin, around the corners of her snout. Returning to the old trail, they hike for miles, stopping periodically to rest. At the end of the day, they make camp, nestled deep within the sprawling forest. No sooner than Grey lays out their bed rolls, Monica slips her arms around his waist. Turning to face her, she kisses his cheek and neck, nuzzling him affectionately as she does. Again and again, she kisses him, but Grey seems hesitant.

“About last night..." He begins.

“It was great, wasn't it? I've never liked it so much. Let's do it again." She coos, kissing him with considerable passion.

“Stop." He pulls away.

“What's wrong?!" She asks, a perplexed look on her face. “I mean, you've already fucked me. Why not do it again?"

“Last night was interesting, but I wasn't looking for that."

“... Why? Don't you like me?!" She whimpers, a sorrowful look in her eyes.

“Of course I do! You're beautiful and strong, and I love your personality! You're making this whole journey worthwhile!" He swiftly replies.

“Then why not?"

“Listen, Monica."

“Precious." She corrects him, stepping closer and pushing her breasts against his chest.

“I've known you for less than a week; we have a long road ahead of us and plenty of time to learn about each other. I just think we should build into this relationship." He explains.

“Sex is a good way to build a relationship." She retorts.

“Wha-? ... There are better ways... Sex is the penultimate, just before having children together; we aren't really there yet."

“But... I don't know any other ways..." Monica murmurs.

Grey looks into her eyes, seeing the pain of a woman who's been abused; mistreated, sexually exploited, and growing up in a loveless world has damaged her. To her, sex is a valid method to show even the humblest of affection. It's also the only way that she knows how to gain validation. His heart breaks as he reads her soul, aided by a revelation that the voice had previously made aware to him; a dark secret that haunts the young woman. Reaching out a hand, he strokes her cheek. She rests her hand over his, squeezing him with her clawed fingers.

Cocking her head, she closes her eyes and pushes her face into his palm. Even a gesture as simple as this brings her immense comfort, something that she's rarely had in her life. He takes his hand away, only to wrap his arms around her slender body. She rests her chin on his shoulder, enjoying the warmth of their embrace.

“It's alright. I'll teach you." He whispers into her pointy, canine ear.

“You will?" She asks in a hushed voice.

“Mhm... This won't be like the others."

Releasing her from his grasp, Monica is pleased that Grey stays beside her, an arm around her waist. He uses his free hand to cook their meals beside the fire. After eating, they prepare a place to sleep. Grey drags his bed roll beside hers, taking the space furthest from the warmth of the campfire. Sitting atop the bed roll, he pats the empty space beside him. With a smile on her lips, her tail wags happily as she sits next to the human. He slips his arm around her, directing her to lie down onto her back. She's fully prepared for, and expectant that he'll initiate sex.

However, Grey surprises her. Lying down beside her, he wraps an arm around her slender form, holding gently but firmly and resting his chin on her shoulder. She turns her head toward him, wondering if he plans to make a move; will he kiss her or fondle a breast? She certainly wouldn't stop him if he tried either of those; she already desires much more than this. Instead, he merely smiles at her. The pinkish orange of twilight glows in her peripheral vision as she stares into his eyes. They dart to one side, looking at the sky before focusing on him once more.

“Isn't it a little early to sleep?" She asks.

“This is the part where we talk." He replies.

“About what?"

“About whatever." He shrugs.

Monica pauses. She wracks her brain for something meaningful to say. In a world without power or law or government, where stealing food is merely a part of daily life, and sex is the only joy that most people ever have, what is there to talk about?

“... ... I... I don't know what to say." Monica ashamedly admits, her eyes turning down.

“Start slow. Tell me about you. Tell me about Monica."

“W-what do you want me to tell you?" She asks.

“Whatever you're comfortable with sharing. We can trade; my history for yours."

Monica grins, a warmth growing in her chest and fueled by his genuine tenderness and curiosity. Never has anyone asked her for her background before; most simply didn't care. Thinking back on her childhood and a town she'd spent her formative years in, Monica slowly began. Soon, however, she's regaling him with the details, and before they know what's happened, the fire must be stoked just so they could see each other in the darkness. After hours of talking, Grey holding her in his arms; he gives her several little kisses before they drift off to sleep.

The next morning, they ration their food, sharing a large can of soup before continuing the journey. Deeper and deeper into the wilderness they trek, never encountering a single soul, or even seeing wildlife, besides the birds in the sky. It's as if they're the only two people alive in the world. Though Monica had certainly never seen this trail before, and Grey claimed ignorance of it, he always knows the way; they never lose the path, no matter how hard it is to see. Camping in the wilderness for a second night, Grey is eager for Monica to share more of her life with him, and she is equally eager to share it.

It feels nice to have someone listen to her background, to care about what made her who she is. After a pleasant dinner of canned ham, Monica realizes something; Grey has yet to say anything about himself. He merely listens to her speak and builds on her dialogue.

“Grey?"

“Yeah?"

“You've been listening to me ramble on for days." She begins.

“And I've enjoyed it!" He grins.

“Me too, but... I still don't know much about you; only what I've seen since you found me on the road. Why don't we switch it up?"

“Oh..."

“You said we would!"

“I know... I uh..." He hesitates.

Monica cocks her head, watching curiously as Grey's slumps forward. He stares at the space between his crossed legs and the fire some feet away, a stick in his hand to stoke it. He taps the charred wood into the dirt beside the fire, his lips pressed into an odd shape. Is he upset? Ashamed? Maybe embarrassed?

“There's not much to me." He speaks under his breath.

“Wow... I didn't know you could lie!" She smirks. “I guess you really are mortal after all."

“What did you want to know?" He turns his eyes toward her.

“A lot of things... How do you know about the Traveler's customs? They're so secretive. How could you speak their weird language? How did you learn to be such a fast and skilled shot? You know a lot about surviving in the wilderness; a man with your talents would be an asset to any town or group. How did you even end up on that road at all?!"

“Oh, that's all?" He chuckles softly.

“Okay, so we'll start slow; a little foreplay, if you will... Is your name really 'Grey'?"

After sharing a long and intense gaze, he turns his eyes away from her, once again staring down at the ground between himself and the fire.

“No..." He speaks in a near whisper, poking a log with the charred stick. “It's a traveling name..."

“You're part of the Guild?!" She gasps.

“I'm not a part of anything. I'm nothing and no one."

Perplexed by his answer, Monica cocks her head the other way and leans closer. Turning the log with his charred stick, the flames consume the other side, growing larger and more powerful. With the added light, her eyes, since adjusted to the darkness, can see a glint upon his face. A tear streams down his cheek as the human holds back his pain. He turns his watery eyes toward her, only to turn them away when he sees her looking at him. Heartbroken by the pitiful sight, Monica covers her gaping maw with a hand, methodically looking him over.

“What... What do you mean?" She sheepishly asks, scooting closer.

“I'm not a part of the Guild. I was around people who were, for a long time, but I never had a tribe."

“I don't understand... Where did you grow up?"

“Here." He lifts his head, turning his eyes toward the sky. “I hardly remember my parents; they died early in my life."

“Then who raised you?!"

“People... Myself... Both, I guess. I lived in the woods for the most part. I made a camp and upgraded it; I learned how to make a roof after being soaked in a rainstorm, I figured out how to start a fire with only sticks because I was cold... You'd be amazed at how quickly people adapt, especially little kids. There was a group of Travelers who formed a permanent village nearby; they were there since I could remember. They didn't like me being around and often chased me away, but some of the kids and a few of the younger adults came to my little camp with food and talked to me every now and then. That's how I learned to speak both languages."

Monica is flabbergasted. Even she'd lived with a tribe for much of her childhood and knew both her mother and father. It was a relatively loving and supportive family, before a raider attack cost Monica her father when she was only eleven. This began her downward spiral, and by fifteen, she was sleeping with boys for attention and protection, and fell into a gang, much like the one Grey had found her with. Though she was immediately attracted to him and witnessed him kill her associates with virtually no effort, she fought him anyway.

It was essentially a test of his worth, to see how much value she could place in him as a man. This continued for days, until she finally stopped the game when Rory nearly poisoned him, and she'd warned Grey, to save his life. However, while she'd struggled with hunger and abuse, as most women have, she'd still had a support group of some kind for a large portion of her life. How is he even alive if he was forced to survive alone in the woods? The fact that Grey became as dangerous as he is could be explained by his neglectful upbringing; he simply had no choice.

“What happened to your parents?" She presses.

Grey merely shrugs his shoulders.

“Some of the Travelers had some of their things that they said they'd found; this grey denim vest and that Kahr pistol I gave to April supposedly belonged to my dad. It might all be bullshit though; some of the Travelers like to exaggerate. I could never be certain it was true, so I took what they said with a grain of salt." He continues.

“Did they give you your dad's things?"

“No..."

“Oh... Then...?"

Grey sighs, hanging his head in shame. He takes a deep breath as he prepares himself.

“One night, when I was probably thirteen or fourteen, some older kids came to my camp to pick on me. They nearly burned my hut, so I got mad and hit one of them. It was purely on impulse; I didn't mean to... They beat the shit out of me and left me there, and I just snapped... I knew where they stored a lot of these things because I'd watched the village from a distance, so after dark, I snuck in, stole what I needed and..."

Grey hesitates to speak. He scratches the back of his head, examining the fire and poking it with the stick. It's clear to Monica that he isn't comfortable sharing, but she's just so curious.

“And?!" She leans even closer.

“And I did some very bad things... Afterward, I ran back to my camp, packed what little I had and started running. By the time my bruises and split lip healed, I'd found a gang of raiders. They got some weird amusement out of the half-feral human, but they let me live with them, doing more bad things... I was with them for about as long as I was in that camp by myself, climbing the ranks and earning what little respect that I could from people like that."

Grey closes his eyes, several more tears streaming down his face and disappearing into his long goatee. He takes a deep breath, sighing as if he were bored, but Monica knows better; he's struggling to maintain his composure.

“One day, after a particularly brutal attack on some poor caravan, I heard 'the voice'. It told me that what I was doing was wrong, and that I could change, if I wanted too. So, I packed what I needed and left, just like that. I've been walking the roads, going from place to place ever since; it's been a few years now."

Grey sniffles, hanging his head to one side as he rests his forehead in a palm, his fingers weaving through his hair. Monica watches him, her heart aching as he holds back his tears.

“Heh... Summed up over thirty years into a ten-minute talk. I told you there wasn't much to me." He speaks softly.

“Grey."

He turns his eyes toward her, shifting his head. Reaching out, she rests her hand on his cheek, feeling the streams beneath his eyes. Forcing his head up and directing him to look at her, she leans in. Monica kisses Grey's lips, being as tender and affectionate as she possibly can. One long kiss, and then another. She finally pulls away.

“I'm here with you now, and I'm not leaving you."

“You aren't, huh?" He asks with a little smile, sniffling.

“Nope. You're stuck with me, furless." She smiles back.

Grey leans in and kisses her, his passion growing; she can feel the difference as his hands glide over her body.

“Good, because you're stuck with me, too." He remarks.

“Good."

Kiss after kiss, they slowly inch toward the ground. Without looking, Grey tosses a few nearby logs onto the fire, to keep it alive through their upcoming distraction. Her jaw opens and their tongues caress, his hands feeling every inch of her torso. It isn't long before Monica slips off her boots, allowing her pawlike feet to slip through her pantlegs as he disrobes her. Soon, they're both undressed, naked as the day they were born. Grey takes his rightful place over her, on his hands and knees. Using both hands, she wrangles his organ, eager for his pleasure, but also for more; she wants his love and affection.

She'd been used many times before; it didn't take long after her father died before her body was exploited. Her abuse was facilitated by her own mother, who claimed payments in exchange for Monica's time. This is how she learned to deal with people and to share affection, but Grey is different. The mysterious human has touched her heart, and though she still enjoys the pleasures of the flesh, this is the first time that sex has had a deeper meaning to her. Her heart craves his care, just as much as her body craves his attention. Lying back and with her legs spread, they hold each other tightly and kiss.

Monica gasps as he penetrates her, taken aback by his methodical technique, as much as by his size. They spend a good portion of that night caught in passion's white heat, and after reaching her climax several times over, she basks in the pleasure of his copious and potent emissions. Grey floods her fertile body with his seed, something she partially facilitated by hold him inside of her. Afterward, and to her delight, he was more than happy to spend the night snuggling with her. Lying beside the fire, her new lover enveloping her in his arms, Monica enjoys a comfort she can't recall ever experiencing before, but something still bothers her.

“Grey..."

“Yeah?"

“What's your real name?"

He hesitates to answer, causing her to turn her head. Looking back at him with her sterling silver eyes, she waits patiently; she doesn't want to force it out of him. A tinge of disappointment grows within her chest as he pauses. Does he not trust her, after all she's told him? Maybe he's afraid she'll recognize it from his days as a raider, or perhaps he doesn't even remember it? Her mind races with each and every possibility, as she waits for him to speak. Leaning in, he kisses her cheek very softly, even more than usual. She shivers from a tickle as his nose brushes the edge of her pointy ear. He whispers, and her lips curl delightfully around her snout and she closes her eyes.

“Thank you."

“Are you going to use it?" He suddenly asks.

“No. I'm used to 'Grey', and I can tell you don't really like it."

“Thanks." He grins.

“But why 'Grey'?" She looks back at him.

“Because I'm not good, but I'm not evil. I'm not black or white; I'm in between."

Monica raises a brow.

“I'm flawed, but I'm trying." He sighs.

“Grey, huh? ... You're better than any of the men I've ever known, and most of the women too." She remarks.

“Thanks, Precious."

Kissing her face and then her shoulder, the couple settle in for the night, quickly falling asleep in each other's arms. This sets the stage for the nights to follow; for the next four days they walk through the woods, following the old trail by day and camping under the stars at dusk. Sometimes they'd make love, and sometimes they wouldn't but every night they hold each other; their bond continues to grow regardless. Using his skills as a woodsman, Grey often collects wild edibles to offset their supplies, stretching them for as long as possible. By noon of the sixth day, the pair find themselves emerging from the forest and reaching a familiar landmark; an old road sits before them.

“Finally!" Monica sighs with relief.

“Yeah. Home, sweet home, right?" He smirks.

“Almost. So... Which way?"

Turning back, Grey looks at Monica. To his surprise, she waits patiently, her lips curled into a now ever-present smile; since they've begun to seriously expand their relationship, she seems consistently happier and in good spirits. Perhaps that's why this is the first time that she's never snickered, rolled her eyes, or otherwise discounted the voice? It could also be that the many times he's made accurate predictions has finally validated the voice's existence to her. Either way, he's grateful that she hasn't mocked him, even inadvertently. Smiling back at her, he reaches out a hand, taking hold of hers.

“This way, Precious." He points with his free hand.

“Lead on, furless." She coos.

Walking hand-in-hand for some time, they follow the winding road as it curls through the forest. After a couple of hours traversing the two-lane blacktop, they crest a hill, gazing upon a splendid sight. In the distance is a moderately large village. Monica squeezes his hand, both from joy as much as nervousness; some towns are less than welcoming to strangers, and should they be nefarious, both her and her human lover could be in grave peril. However, it's usually worth the risk to venture into towns to barter for supplies or find work.

“It'll be okay." He assures her.

“I trust you." She nods her head.

Stepping closer, he lets go of her hand so that he can wrap his arms around her. Kissing her lovingly, he hugs her tightly.

“Or did you want to just camp out here?" She asks with a lustful growl.

“Come on." He chuckles.

With a spring in their step, they head for the village in the valley below. It doesn't take long for them to reach it. Crossing a little bridge that spans a freshwater creek, they enter the borders of the town. A crudely painted sign greets them, welcoming them to “Ogdin's Hearth". Neither have heard of the town, though both believe they should. Walking the streets, they estimate nearly forty families living there, and just as many random individuals roam about; compared to some towns, Ogdin's Hearth bustles. Though Grey seems oblivious, Monica can't help but notice a strange aura about the place, and the odd stares they receive from the locals.

“Excuse me! Hello?! Pardon me, human!" A strange, squeaky voice calls out to the pair.

“Huh?" Grey stops, turning toward the speaker.

“Hello, human! It's not often we see your kind 'round here!"

“You don't say." He smirks.

“I do say! Ever since The Ending, your race is less and less common!" The voice exclaims.

Stepping out from the shadows of a building, an aging Voeldahn man reveals himself. He's canine, standing barely to their shoulders with his hunched back. His once light brown and black fur, like a lighter German Shephard, has many streaks of grey, especially on his muzzle. His short-cut hair is salt and pepper in color, with more salt than pepper. His somewhat milky eyes look up at the pair as the old man walks slowly and with a cane. Leaving the porch of a rickety building, he approaches the couple, who stand in the street.

“And you've brought a pretty little thing with you, too! Oh, to be thirty years younger and have working plumbing." He sighs.

“... Excuse me?" Monica glares.

“It's a compliment, girl! Relax." The old man chuckles. “I'm Sorin. A pleasure to meet you!"

“Hey there, Sorin." Grey extends a hand.

“... Sorin?" Monica raises a brow.

“I'm from a different time, girl. People were a lot more eccentric back when the lights were still working, and the toilets flushed." Sorin grumbles. “Anyway, I'm sorry to trouble you, but I was hoping to speak with your human."

“About what?" Grey lowers his hand, untouched by the old Voeldahn.

“About the human experience, of course! I'm writing a book! Several, actually. One is just a history piece, but the other... I've been interviewing every human I've met since The Ending to build its content... Oh, for the glory days of YouTube." Sorin sighs.

“That's an odd thing to write about." Monica remarks.

“You wouldn't say that if you knew the gravity of it all. I was thirty-one when The Ending happened; I have a lot of years to look back on before everything was like this, back when this town wasn't called 'Ogdin's Hearth'. In fact, it used to be 'Jellico', in the great state of Tennessee. This old, shit-brown shack behind me? It used to be an abortion clinic, built in 2038, and I was here when people protested it, too." Sorin continues.

“A what-clinic?" Monica asks.

“See? You don't even know what I'm talking about! One day you will, though. I've since turned it into a library and my personal studio, where I can work in peace. Please, come with me mister...?"

“Grey. I'm Grey, and this is Monica."

“Come with me, mister Grey! I'd love to interview you!"

“Uh..."

Walking around the human, Sorin places his frail hands on his back, the hook of his cane resting on a forearm as he attempts to push the human toward the door. Looking back at Monica for her opinion on the matter, she shrugs her shoulders. Without a direct refusal, the curious Grey steps forward and Sorin nearly topples over as his pillar begins to abandon him. Stumbling, he's quickly caught by Monica.

“Pardon me, Monica. I'm just a little excited! It's been quite a while since a human's been through here! They've seen to that."

“... Who has?" Grey turns to Sorin, a look of concern on his face.

Ignoring the human, Sorin races as fast as a frail man in his mid-sixties can, pushing through the door and disappearing inside. Monica taps Grey's shoulder with the back of her hand. Turning to her, she points, drawing his attention to a group of Voeldahn. They stand near a rundown building and across the modest street, a building that was once a gas station and oil change shop. An older Voeldahn, possibly in his early forties, stares with his arms crossed before his chest.

“We should get inside. Come on, Precious." Grey calls out to her.

Stepping back, Monica turns, only to grip the barrel shroud of her Cobray CM-11 carbine rifle in front of the men, a not so subtle reminder that she's armed. Stepping into building, they enter a lobby with a semicircular desk. The structure that once held many rooms is now a single, opened space. Old wooden beams that were once part of walls now hold up the ceiling, with all but the most vital having been removed. Bookshelves from homes and the bland, metal shelving from looted stores are set-up in the building, containing thousands of books that are arranged by genre. Photographs of the world before The Ending decorate the building, some of which show Sorin as a young man, with a human woman and two human children.

“Wow... This place is great!" Grey exclaims.

“I'm glad you think so!" Sorin takes a seat in one of several chairs. “I'm hoping to gather all the knowledge I can about the old world, and what I can about this one too. I'm hoping that it won't be long before that group I've heard about makes their way down here and annexes us. They seem to be putting it all back together."

“What group? The Sijian Alliance." Grey asks.

“Mhm." Sorin nods.

“I've heard of them." Monica remarks, taking a seat in a chair opposite Sorin's. “A lot of people are heading south to escape them; mostly the piece of shit raiders who like living without laws, and the roamers who're afraid they'll lose their freedom."

“Personally, I can't wait for them to restore some semblance of law and order. With what I've been collecting, maybe then people will finally look back and we won't make all of those old mistakes from the past."

“What mistakes?" Grey asks, sitting in the chair beside Monica's.

“You don't already know?!" Sorin asks with surprise.

“Know what?"

“Fascinating. Maybe it's dying out." The old man murmurs.

He collects a pencil from a nearby coffee table and old, yellowed notebook paper that sits on a rusting metal clipboard. With his face mere centimeters from the parchment, he carefully scrawls some notes.

“Have you noticed any behavior towards you, Mr. Grey?"

“Like what?"

“Thrown objects, dirty remarks, physical assaults?"

“Just bullets, and yes to the other two, but that happens to everyone." Grey answers.

“Unfortunately..." Sorin sighs.

“What's all this about?" Monica sternly demands.

Setting the clipboard atop his lap, Sorin looks back at the pair with his failing eyes.

“This is about 'the folly', as I like to call it. That'll be the name of the book, actually! Goes with The Ending, right?! Sort of like a sequel!" He chirps.

“Just answer the fucking question!" Monica growls.

“Right, right... Well, before The Ending, things were... Strange... We lived in a bizarre world of clashing cultures. People would bomb houses for offensive jokes, but not imprison people for rape because they were a protected ethnicity. One of the strangest things, however, was the 'victim culture'. It bred a type of insanity that I personally found bewildering." Sorin begins.

“A victim culture? Who wants to be a victim?!" Monica snickers.

“Exactly! At that time, however, being a victim brought sympathy and even status; privileges that you'd normally have to work for. You see, this land used to belong to a country called 'The United States of America', and way back in the eighteen-sixties, over two hundred years ago, it was legal for humans to own the Voeldahn as slaves."

“What?" Grey gasps.

“Interestingly, some Voeldahn owned slaves too, and many humans were not slave owners. It split the country in two and we had a civil war. In the end, the side who hated slavery won. Their leader, a human, made slavery illegal. Rules made by the losing side made Voeldahn second-class citizens, but a movement in the nineteen-fifties and sixties solved all of that. Hell, one of our presidents was even a Voeldahn! I'm just old enough to remember him. Not that good of a president, but it showed us how far we'd come." Sorin continues.

“I think I've seen pictures of him." Monica remarks.

“Anyway, sometime during the two-thousands and on, it became more and more fashionable to be a victim. Voeldahn who'd never been slaves or even knew what it was like to never be allowed to vote or go to school began hating humans all over again. These people didn't even have living relatives who knew what those things were like! Rich Voeldahn with nice homes and fancy cars acted like they were second class citizens. Humans got in on it too, acting like they were guilty of something they hadn't ever lived through. It was insane... When The Ending happened, it all came to a head, and a lot of Voeldahn started killing humans outright."

“Your parents..." Monica turns her head toward Grey.

“But why would they..." Grey chokes out.

“What's this?" Sorin brings his paper and pencil close to his face.

“When he was a little boy, his parents died. He grew up in the woods near a group of Travelers who made a settlement." Monica begins, sharing his details with the old man rather freely.

“Travelers?!" Sorin's ears prick.

“Yes. They had some of his parent's things, claiming to have found them." She finishes.

“And they never allowed you to live with them?" He looks to Grey.

“... No." He murmurs.

“What's that?" Sorin cups a hand behind an ear.

“No." Grey says louder, shaking his head.

“Hm... The Travelers I know, the ones from the Guild, are mostly the leftovers of the weirdos who instigated a lot of the violence. They started speaking Russian before The Ending because they felt like it was akin to their Marxist roots. I'm surprised they let you live, though." Sorin thinks aloud as he scrawls some notes.

“What do you mean?" Grey asks, his voice trembling.

“Hm?" Sorin looks at him. “I mean, they most likely found and murdered your parents solely because they were human. That happened a lot for the first few years after The Ending. Your life expectancy dropped like a rock in the ocean if you were born without fur and a tail."

“Why leave him, then? Why let Grey wander the woods like that?" Monica asks.

“They probably couldn't bring themselves to murder a small child and thought the wilderness would do it for them. The fact that they didn't kill you once you began living near them is what surprises me. Although, now that I think of it, it's probably likely that most modern Travelers haven't a clue about any of this. They might not even dislike humans anymore!" Sorin scratches the greying hairs of his chin.

Thinking back on Havana, and even the children that he's known as he grew up beside the Traveler's village, Grey can understand and believe this. Perhaps after years of ponder their deeds, the adult Travelers never passed on their racial hatred? Or perhaps without humans to scorn, the children never took it to heart? However, with this new knowledge, Grey suddenly finds himself recalling the myriad of abuse he's suffered. From the Travelers, the raiders who took him in, and even some of the people he'd stumbled across in his time walking the earth, he's suffered plenty. Grey had simply assumed that everyone suffered undo cruelty, but perhaps he shouldered more than most?

“From all of my years, do you know what I've learned?" Sorin asks them.

“What?" Monica replies.

“That in a way, we're all the same; human and Voeldahn. We're equal in our ignorance and cruelty." Sorin says, still jotting down notes.

“Well, we can interbreed. We're not that different." Monica quips, glancing toward Grey.

“True!" Sorin nods.

“But wait... What about us?" Grey scoots toward the edge of his seat.

“What do you mean?" Sorin cocks his head.

“I mean us." Grey motions between himself and Monica. “We're together; I care about her." He begins.

Monica's lips curl into a pleased grin as Grey claims her in front of the old man. He doesn't hesitate, even after all he's learned.

“Before I was with her, I had other women come after me too. A lot of them, and they were all Voeldahn."

“And I've never seen a human paired with another human; male or female, they're always with one of us." Monica adds.

“I suppose we're equal in our lusts, too." Sorin smirks. “My late wife was a human. I loved the shit out of her, but the Travelers didn't care... They lynched her only a month after the lights turned off for good. Killed my two young sons too, because as a human, Marie could only give birth to more humans, just like your woman can only ever give you a Voeldahn..." He says, staring into Grey's eyes.

Though it's been many years, the pair witness the sorrow in the old man's milky eyes. For him, the pain is still as fresh as it was on the day it was inflicted. Sorin sniffles, setting the paper and pencil aside.

“Well... Perhaps we should take a break?" Sorin suggests, with a forced smile.

“That'd be fine." Grey nods his head.

A brick suddenly crashes through one of the windows of the clinic-turned-library. Sorin jumps in his seat, startled by the loud noise. Monica springs to her feet, taking the carbine rifle from her paracord sling and bringing it to her shoulder. Rising calmly from his seat, Grey turns toward her and holds up a hand.

“Just remain calm and keep that pointed at the floor, okay?"

“What?! Someone just threw that in here! What if that was grenade?!" She growls.

“I just don't want to escalate things. This might be an accident or a misunderstanding." He suggests.

“Get out here, human!" An angry man snarls.

“... Or not." Monica murmurs.

Sorin slowly pulls himself from his seat, heading for a far corner of his library. Following Grey as he heads for the front door, Monica keeps her rifle close to her chest, flipping off the safety and readying the weapon for firing. Stepping through the front doors and onto the small porch, the interracial couple find themselves looking at a half-dozen Voeldahn men. Most are younger, in their late teens and early twenties, but one man is different. It's the mature, forty-something who watched them from across the street. The tawny rabbit man glares with his brown eyes at the human.

“Careful, Larry. She got a gun, man." One remarks.

“So do I." The bunny man smirks. “We don't want yer kind 'round here." He growls, pointing a clawed finger at Grey. “You got zactly five minutes to run yo ass out, 'fore I rip you limb from limb."

“Thaaat's not going to happen." Monica raises her rifle.

“Woah! Put that down!"

Reaching out his hand, Grey rests it on the barrel shroud of her rifle. With a firm but steady push, he moves the business end away from the youths and their angry leader.

“Are you fucking serious?!" Monica growls. “What is it with you?! This is the perfect time to be defensive!"

“Let's just talk about this." He says to her.

“Ain't nothin' to talk about! You gotta go, or else!" Larry barks.

“Yeah!" A few others chirp.

“Why do I have to leave, Larry? What did I do?" Grey asks in a calm and polite tone.

“You a human, and humans can't be trusted."

“But what did I do to you?" Grey reiterates, stepping off the porch and approaching him.

Larry is taken aback, his brown eyes scanning the human who steps closer.

“Er... Nothin'... But that don't mean you won't!" He growls.

“I'm not here to cause trouble. We're not even staying." Grey speaks calmly.

“Yeah. We're just passing through." Monica adds, keeping her rifle lowered.

“All you humans do is cause trouble! Humans killed my fuckin' brothers!" Larry shouts.

Reaching for the small of his back, he quickly produces an old revolver. He aims the Smith & Wesson K Frame at Grey's face, the unjacketed lead bullets staring him in the face. Swiftly raising his hands up in surrender, Grey takes a step back. He audibly gulps and turns his eyes toward the sky.

“That fucker shot my brother in the face with a black and silver gun, just like you got on yo hip!"

“Put that thing down before I give you a few new holes!" Monica growls.

“I'll take 'em, if I get to kill me a human..."

Larry cocks the hammer of the revolver. The cylinder spins, lining up a round as the hammer and trigger lock back in preparation. To his frustration, Grey continues to look skyward.

“You're not killing my lover..." Monica's voice becomes more forceful.

“You fuckin' this guy?!" He snickers.

“Oh yeah!" Monica chirps, grinning sinisterly.

“Damn! ... Why you do that? I know you can find better, rare as his kind are."

“You don't know shit." Monica growls.

“Larry..." Grey begins.

“I know plenty... Fuckin' whore." The rabbit man grumbles.

“Lawrence." Grey reiterates.

“WHAT?!"

“I'm sorry about what happened, to Billy and Zeke."

“H-how do you know their names."

“Killing me won't bring them back, and it won't be punishing the man who did it... Zeke was the one driving the car when you crashed into each other." Grey steps forward.

Larry's hand tremors, his finger resting along the frame as his eyes scan the defenseless human standing before him.

“It was just an accident, Larry. He didn't see you with your lights off, driving that fast and in the dark. If The Ending hadn't happened, he'd have called for help, but Zeke lost his legs; his guts were hanging out, spilling onto the street."

“H-he... He shot Zeke! He wanted him to die!" Larry shouts.

His finger slips into the trigger guard, caressing the curved metal.

“No, he didn't." Grey speaks in a soft voice, unshaken by Larry's show of intent. “He pulled you and Billy away because he wanted you both to live. He didn't know that Billy had internal bleeding. There was nothing anyone could do."

“He said he was sorry... He didn't sound sorry; he ran off and left us there."

“He shot Zeke to put him out of his misery, because Zeke was in horrible pain and couldn't be saved; they both knew it... He didn't sound sorry because he was in shock over what happened, and that's also why he ran."

Monica and the group of young men listen to the dialogue in shock. Who is this human and how does he know these things? Larry had never shared this story with them before.

“Fuckin' liar..." Larry cries.

“He didn't want to do it, but he didn't want Zeke to suffer either. Please, put down the gun... This isn't going to make you feel any better."

“How do you know, huh? Maybe all I need is to kill you? Maybe then everything will go away? Maybe then I'll feel better?"

“It never made me feel any better..." Grey murmurs.

Reaching out a hand, he rests it on Larry's forearm. Rather than pull him to the ground and take the gun, or strike him, Grey merely pushes his arm away. Seeing one of the man's friends near that direction, Grey aims his arm down, for the young man's own safety. Monica lowers her carbine rifle as the Voeldahn drops his head, crying over the old pain of his deceased brothers.

“Fuck you... Fucking human." Larry sobs.

Stepping back from the crowd, Grey retreats to Monica's side. The younger men look to each other with shock and confusion. They have no idea who to do next, glancing to their weeping leader. Grey turns his back on the man, facing Monica, who remains on the porch and looks down at him.

“Maybe we should just go." He speaks quietly to her.

“Finally, you've said something smart." She smirks.

“I have my moments, Precious." He winks.

Monica's eyes turn toward Larry, her silver orbs growing wide.

“Look out!"

Grabbing his shoulders with both hands, she drops the rifle as she pulls Grey down and on top of her. Bang. Larry fires a round from his revolver, striking a portion of the wall where Grey's head had been.

“Fuck you!"

BANG! Everyone jumps as Larry flops backward, his arms flailing and his revolver falling as he drops to the ground in a heap. Grey and Monica look at his corpse, peppered with buckshot. Turning their heads, old man Sorin slumps against a wall, a pained look on his face. He was pushed back from the recoil of his double-barrel shotgun.

“Ow! Thank the merciful Lord I didn't put it to my shoulder!" He remarks.

“You fuckers!" A teenager shouts.

“You killed him! You killed Larry!" Another whimpers, kneeling beside his corpse.

“We'd better go..." Grey says as he rises to his feet.

He holds out a hand to Monica, who quickly grabs him, her free hand gripping he pistol grip of her carbine rifle at the same time. Pulling her to her feet, she shoulders the weapon.

“Yeah. Good idea." She says, taking aim.

“Fuck you!"

The shouting teen takes Larry's revolver from the ground before being shot in the chest and killed by Monica. Grabbing her shoulder, Grey drags her away while the other young men scatter. On their way to the door, Grey slips an arm around Sorin, helping the old man up and pulling him into his library. Gunfire erupts from townsfolk as they take cover behind the semicircular desk.

“This isn't how I planned to conclude my work!" Sorin remarks with a little laugh.

“You'll be fine! They won't kill you!" Grey assures him, attempting to yell over the gunfire.

“But what about us?!" Monica asks.

“We need to get out of here and keep heading south!" Grey answers.

“South?! Like Florida?! I have some old road maps right here!" Sorin chirps.

Crawling on his frail hands and knees, he reaches a rotating wooden stand with five sides. The long, pentagonal stand holds old postcards, maps and various touristy gifts that he'd collected over the years. With a lull in the firing, Monica and Grey lean over the counter, firing several rounds back at their attackers. They duck down behind the sturdy desk as the men outside resume, giving them another barrage from their handguns and rifles.

“At least I know it works!" Grey chirps, holding up his Bersa pistol.

“Nothing ever gets you down, does it?" She smirks.

“I'm a 'glass half-full' kind of guy." He grins.

Returning to the couple, Sorin presents copies of road maps of both the defunct states of Tennessee, Georgia, and Florida, complete with a booklet listing many of the cities and smaller but popular towns to visit.

“Take these! I've got dozens!"

“Thanks, Sorin!" Grey says, patting him on the back as he claims the gifts.

“Don't mention it! This will be the best part of my book!" He laughs. “Now get out of here! Take the backdoor and cut through the woods! No one ever goes that way anymore, so you can get lost in the woods real fast!"

Waiting for another lull in the firing, Monica and Grey shoot a quick volley, keeping the men outside on their toes. As they fire yet another barrage, the couple crawl on their hands and knees, away from the desk and toward the back. The rise to their feet, they run as fast as they can, once they're far enough away from the targeted area. Bashing through the back door, they see an overgrown yard and a fading trail leading into the woods. As old man Sorin had said, no one sees them escape. By the time the distant firing has stopped, they're nearly a half-mile into the forest and cutting off the trail, using the sun to keep their bearing as they head south.

“Well, that was fun." Grey says, gasping for breath as they slow their pace.

“Next time, we should find a racist human settlement so that you can defend me." Monica quips.

“Noted."

They walk for over an hour, never hearing anyone chasing after them. They're officially in the clear. Finding a stream, they sit beside each other on a log and rest. Drinking from canteens, Grey then claims them both, kneeling beside the stream to refill them. Monica, meanwhile, opens the maps to look for the town of Jellico, Tennessee, hoping to learn the layout of the nearby roads.

“Are we really heading for 'Florida'?" She asks.

“Yep."

“Wow... We've got a loooong walk." She remarks.

“Well, we have a long time." He smiles.

“I don't mind. You're the most interesting boyfriend I've had yet." She winks.

“I don't think I've ever had a girlfriend before." Grey comments.

“Really?!" Monica gasps with genuine surprise.

“Yeah. Raiders don't keep people long enough, and I did too much traveling afterward. I had more hook-ups than anything." He admits, returning to her side.

“Well, in that case, I'm happy to claim you." She coos, slipping an arm around him and giving him a kiss.

Grey kisses her back and hugs her before returning her canteen. As she looks over the map, she glances over to Grey, who looks up to the sky, staring pensively.

“What're you thinking about?" She asks.

“Just thinking about what Sorin said... Wondering if maybe someone else is suffering right now to, because of who they are."

Stopping the cart, April narrows her eyes. Looking into the distance, April, Augustine, and her solitary guard witness a group of figures pulling a man into a tree by a rope tied to his neck.

“Rifle." Monica holds out a hand.

The guard doesn't hesitate. He retrieves an SVD Dragunov with black plastic furniture, presenting the weapon to his leader. Shouldering the weapon and taking aim through the stock scope attached to the weapon, she caresses the trigger.

“Cover your ears, sweetheart."

April speaks to her daughter, without ever taking her eyes away from her target. Augustine complies, followed by the guard. The caravan stops, watching April aiming the rifle. After a short pause, April squeezes the trigger and fires. BANG! The 7.62x54R round rips through the air, striking a man in the back as he stands beside the hanging man, who wriggles and sways to their twisted delight. Seeing their friend shot dead, the group turn to see a whole caravan cresting a distant hill. Rather than stay and fight, they swiftly flee, releasing the rope and dropping their victim to the ground.

Coughing and gasping for air as he sits up, the dark-skinned human with dreadlocked hair looks toward the corpse. His brown eyes wide, he hears the caravan approaching. The first of the wagons reaches him in about a minute, the driver holding a strange but dangerous looking weapon, that's almost as big as she is. His eyes cannot help but scan the frame of the beautiful white tigress, admiring her ample breasts, flat belly and slim waist. He notes the wound on her side, which breaks his male gaze. Turning his eyes up to her face, she glares with piercing sapphires, her black pigtails swaying in the gentle breeze. She's stunningly beautiful.

“I'm April... And you're welcome."