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Almost without warning, the following few days became very eventful. For me, for Lowell, my parents, the rest of the remaining cell members, surviving Defiant, and the rest of the world.

The Devout asked the Canadian interim government for a temporary ceasefire. Seriously, they did. Just as it was reported that not only did the Devout army experience mutiny along the Quebec-Windsor Corridor, but that the C.A.F. were already beginning to invade northern New England in retaliation. By then, according to BBC, Devout President Sara Nessen was already having her officials announce a ceasefire (not to the Western Republic though, who continued breaking the stalemate).

The nuclear missiles brought by the Devout military were discovered by Canadian resistance to be fake. Nothing but empty shells to intimidate those operating satellites. Well, most of them were fake. The one missile captured in Ottowa was disabled before rebels could capture them and decide to use it against the DSA.

Meanwhile, British and Canadian news broadcasters wouldn't stop examining the terms and neither did everyone else. The Devout American officials didn't cite domestic insurrections or rioting in Devout American cities as the reasoning for a truce, but it did result in negotiations by Saturday. During which, Lowell and I swore we could hear fireworks in the distance.

My dad mentioned at some point, "They'd be foolish to take them at their word."

Honestly, I had to agree. The war wasn't over. Far from it. None of it would be over until the last Devout soldier surrendered, and the flag of Old America flew overhead. Just like how the maple leaf flag swayed with the wind outside on flagpoles, from buildings, homes, and postered on the front entrance door of Sudbury Jail.

Walking inside the bricked and brutalist structure, I could see the prison had experienced sudden ownership changes. Traces of torn-down posters on the walls and half-washed bloodstains on the floor made me question what kind of battle occurred. When I walked over to the badger receptionist's desk, the cracked dividing window caused her smile to look crooked.

"How can I help you?"

Sighing, I said, "Here to make a visit for Stephen McConnell."

She paused upon hearing my American accent but didn't comment on it. Neither did the stoic security bear standing near a metal door. The receptionist politely asked for an ID, so I offered her the green card that Johanna gave all of us the day earlier. It not only made our stay in Ontario all the easier in the long run but also satisfied the receptionist. After answering several more questions as well as receiving a quiet 'thank you for helping the resistance' from the bear security guard, I was escorted to the visitor booth room.

There, at the far end of the rows of seats and glass windows, I sat waiting. The basic, colorless walls reminded me of the conversion clinic, and trying not to remember the memories too much, I started recalling different, much happier days. Such as the morning after me and Lowell shared a bed together back at the Marigold, going out with my parents in the mid-afternoon to visit local shops, and enjoying the autumn wind on our faces. Lowell's smile. My parents' smile. Even Mr. and Mrs. Lange's smiles, especially at seeing local children play at a nearby park.

Lowell didn't want to join me. Neither did my parents, however much they tried to tell me it wouldn't be worth the grief. Still, Lowell supported my decision, waiting outside the front entrance doors for me once I said my goodbyes.

The place seemed quiet, but I could hear filtered noise coming through the doors on the other side of the glass. Where the prisoners could be found. As far as I knew, several Devout soldiers and sympathizers were being housed until Canada's interim government decided what to do about them. Likely, most of them would all face trial. If not, then the soldiers would be kept for prisoner-of-war exchanges. Of course, my former friend wasn't going to be considered. Not when he held such valuable information.

Finally, a buzzing noise stirred me from thoughts. A metallic door opened somewhere, and shuffling echoed on the other side of the separating glass as a stoic armed wolf guard towered above a red fox in orange and white attire. The former stared down at the latter, who glared at me with baggy eyes and a surprised gaze. Stephen didn't say a word. He merely sat down and watched me stare at him.

I absentmindedly grabbed a landline phone from the sidewall. He did the same. We could hear each other breathe against our ears, now perked attentively.

"I'm surprised," the fox spoke up. "I'm...I figured you already said what you wanted to say."

"I heard you're leaving for The Hague tomorrow, in Europe," I told the former tithingman, trying not to sound broken or let him notice my tail curling tightly around my leg. "From what Johanna's been able to tell me, the International Criminal Court wants your testimony, and this might be...the last time we ever get to talk."

According to Johanna, Stephen's role in the tithingman conspiracy would be useful for a larger case against Devout leadership, but his cooperation wouldn't be enough to let the red fox simply walk away. The I.C.C. wanted to charge him for assisting in crimes against mammalkind, along with the other tithingmen captured by Defiant cells--at least, the ones who managed to escape from Devout America for the north. Not that there were many.

"Yeah," he said, nodding. "They wanna charge me for keeping my community safe."

I ignored his comment, instead glaring at the red fox. His tired, hunched back and repeatedly blinking eyes indicated a lack of sleep. His despondent frown was infectious, as I wondered how we got to where we were. Just over a year prior, he was still my best friend. Not once did I ever consider him the enemy.

"So," he asked, "have you come to give me another one of their lectures about how I promote religious extremism? That I'm a terrible friend and a horrible excuse for a mammal?"

"I already said what I wanted to say," I said, then clarified, "back on the yacht."

Stephen's eyes narrowed in confusion. "Then why are you really here?"

"Maybe I just love hurting myself more, I don't know. I do know that this is going to be the final time I see you, Stephen," I reminded him. Gripping the landline phone in my paw, I started to feel it tremble. "Tomorrow, I'm never going to see you again, and you're going to spend the rest of your life in a European prison cell. Do you understand that?" When the fox didn't answer, my words turned into a frustrated hiss. "I don't know why I thought coming here was a good idea, and Low even told me it wasn't, but I just...I just wanted to say good-bye."

Stephen's eyes darted between me and the table his elbows leaned against. He didn't say anything for a while, but then, he gave a small laugh. It lasted for only a second, yet it was enough to catch me by surprise.

"Remember tenth grade geography?" he asked, tail wagging behind him. "Mr. Williams' class at last period? There was this pretty, black-furred vixen I kept romancing for a year named Lina. She wasn't interested in me, but she had a secret crush on Jim Heffley while her bestie Natalie had a crush on you, and you didn't even notice it. So, she kept on turning down my date proposals, and you didn't know why until I mentioned it by the last day."

Memories coalesced. "Actually, you told me about that weirdness the week before," I informed the fox. A smile crept up behind my whiskers. "Lina and Natalie wouldn't talk to me during lunch period, and I thought it had to do with you constantly drooling over Lina and getting on her nerves too much. I didn't even think it was about relationship drama."

"You were always so dense when it came to love," he laughed again, only to cut himself short at what he said. Clearing his throat, Stephen's nostrils flared through the electric phone, and I shook my head with his. "Sorry..."

"Yeah," I replied after a moment. "Why bring them up though?"

"Well, I believed...I was convincing myself," he corrected, "that dating her would make them go away. The inner thoughts."

I tilted my head. "About me?"

Stephen sighed guiltily. "And men in general," he said, then gave a nostalgic chuckle. "I can't help but wonder sometimes if she did say yes to the dates. Would I still be here? Maybe we'd just be two miserable fools, married with cubs and a house next to each other like our folks? Living the Devout American dream?"

"Maybe," I shrugged, "but that was then, and this is now, Stephen. We can't change what happened, or what you did. What we did. I wish it didn't have to be this way, but...we both made our choices, and now, we're going to be living with them for the foreseeable future."

"I..." he started to say, then stared back down at his clenched fingers. "I know."

We talked for half an hour more. Mainly about his living conditions in the cell, how the guards treated him compared to a couple of surrendered Devout soldiers, the phone calls between him and an I.C.C. official. They didn't want him to accept any interviews from BBC or foreign news channels once the news broke. The fox dared not bring up Donald or Hector's death when I mentioned planning to go to a memorial wake the next day. Instead, he mentioned possibly stopping by the United Republic of Ireland due to the layover flight, and a desire of seeing Amsterdam once he reached the Netherlands. If they allowed supervised furloughs.

We laughed at another memory, of when I first accidentally walked in on him naked in his bedroom. We were nearly out of high school, and his workouts after class did wonders for his stomach and calves, making him a desirable man to peek at. I didn't bring up the fact I'd jacked off to the ingrained memory countless times. One reason not just including the fact visitation phones were recorded. Let alone the fact the wolf guarding him silently in the background likely didn't need to know about my teenage urges.

Speaking of whom, time flew by without either of us realizing. When the guard told me my time with Stephen was up, my former friend's ears drooped down against his cheeks.

"Adam?" He cut in before I turned the phone off. "Can I ask for...for one favor?"

I looked to the wolf guarding him, who frowned before giving an indifferent shrug.

"Be quick about it," he spoke up.

Looking one final time at the red fox, I asked, "Sure, what is it?"

Stephen glanced back up at me without any expression on his muzzle. "Can you...give a prayer for me, later? If you get the chance? I could...really use it."

Perplexed, a sympathetic smile slowly creased again behind my whiskers.

Bittersweetly, I nodded my head, which caused Stephen to smile back. His eyes filled with unspoken regrets.

"I'll do that," I said, shuddering out another sigh. "...good-bye, Stephen."

His fingers clenched around the landline, then relaxed.

He murmured, "Good-bye, Adam."

Without another word, I placed the phone back into its holder, and stood from my stiff seat. Behind my uncurling tail, a red fox from my past held back a sniffle, then too left his seat as we went about to our separate futures.

Later that night in me and Lowell's hotel room, I found him sitting in bed, completely naked and reading his copy of Howl. The very same one from Chicago.

"How did it go?" he asked, pretending to keep reading.

I undressed. "Well enough."

Leaning over to kiss his cheek, Lowell smiled and set his poem collection aside, then we turned the lights off. As my wolf moodily slept in preparation for the following morning, I kept my promise and prayed for Stephen McConnell. For his soul and his unknown journey ahead.

Afterwards, I cried myself to sleep, with Lowell's arms comforting me as we dreamed.

***

Within the first week of arriving to Canada, my parents and I applied for political asylum, as well as did every other Defiant who survived the purge. Olivia and Oscar joined Lucius in helping a local cybersecurity company restructure the city's mainframe. Abigail and Jordan spent their free time helping Jeannie walk properly again, while Old Nick settled in retiring from his role as a Defiant member, claiming they were finished. Last I saw him, he was entering a local bar to drown his sorrows. As for Blu, he'd been weening from actively watching the news or waiting for updates on the state of his cell in Springfield. To keep himself distracted, the Doberman started applying for local jobs. Probably to purchase a cell phone.

Nobody knew what Johanna did, but it involved talking nonstop with military and government liaisons. The only times I saw her were during group activities or when Lowell went to visit his adopted mother for another 'blood checkup'. Whatever it entailed.

Dad applied to become a doctor at the local hospital, alongside Jordan and Abigail, the latter of whom started leading untrained nurses. Mom kept herself busy by volunteering, along with Nancy. So did Mr. and Mrs. Lange, the former actually working with a contractor in Sudbury who needed help in rebuilding important buildings. Otherwise, Kevin and Mary did whatever they could to try and get in contact with their daughter and grandcub in the Western Republic. To let her know they were safe and sound, and vice-versa.

Meanwhile, we all tried keeping ourselves occupied. Lowell joined me in jogging around the neighborhoods when the weather allowed it, or otherwise vigilantly watched the news for further updates on the war. Either way, it helped us in the days leading up to...Sunday.

The church we all congregated to wasn't Catholic. Nobody mentioned it, but the Devout military had been quick to demolish places of worship that weren't Protestant--or at least, capable of being easily converted into Devout America's version of Protestantism. Still, I believed Hector would be more than understanding.

So, we held a memorial wake. Not just for our fennec fox, but for all who was lost during the purge. None of us wore the traditional clothes one wore to a funeral, instead settling on neutral clothing or covering ourselves in our coats. The pastor leading the service thanked us for being there, and quoted Bible passages I sadly couldn't remember, due to my focus being on the azure-colored vase resting on the altar. Beside it stood a framed photograph of Hector from long before I joined the Defiant. Surrounding him were bouquets of flowers, as well as other pictures of other Defiant members who'd passed. Including Donald Griffith, giving a toothy smile.

Already, my eyes welled at the memories of them both. Donald giving me pointers in the Maverick Hotel's exercise room. Hector bickering with Lowell, and ultimately respecting me as a comrade-in-arms.

Following a minute of silence, people went up one by one to tell a story about Hector, or Donald, or someone they lost during the Defiant purge. Abigail, Jordan, Jeannie, Lucius, Olivia, Oscar, and others told their personal stories of what it was like to know the fennec fox. I couldn't find the strength to stand up to tell my own story, so Lowell took my place when my turn came up. He composed himself as he walked to the altar, then talked about first not liking Hector, only to see him as a brother over the years the more they quarreled or worked together.

"I've already lost my family because of Devout America," his voice started quavering near the end of his speech, "but I didn't think they could keep taking more from me. They keep taking the people we care about, and Hector fought with us to make sure that stopped. So, I'll keep fighting, for Hector's memory. And the memories of all the people we've lost to get where we are now..."

Lowell couldn't say anymore. He silently rushed back to join me and my parents in our pew, and Johanna led the attendants in further remembering Hector. His likes, his dislikes, his contributions to the cause, what he desired, and nostalgic remembrances of the fennec fox.

Eventually, people started to leave things in front of Hector's ashes. More flowers, a couple of cards, trinkets or beautiful pebbles. Not just his comrades, but much to our surprise, strangers nobody noticed started trickling in from the back of the church. No, not strangers--melancholic residents of Sudbury. Lynxes, wolves, badgers, deer, a few moose, and one Siberian tiger with an eyepatch and scars on his muzzle. They all lined up to pay their respects, or thank us for our service, as well as give their thoughts and prayers for who the Defiant lost.

An hour later, my parents said they were going to accompany Mr. and Mrs. Lange back to the Marigold Suites. When asking us if we'd like to come back, Lowell told them he wanted to take me out for some lunch. I agreed, and my parents exchanged another hug with me.

Lowell and I walked in silence out of the church. Though not before had we smiled at seeing Johanna speak with who we'd earlier learned was Sudbury's mayor. A middle-aged ermine with more gray fur than white, and sunken eyes behind thick glasses and a bittersweet smile. He and another ermine were discussing the possibility of a commemorative statue.

Lowell softly smirked. "Think they'll carve my good side?" He asked, then paused with me as we waltzed through the parking lot, staring in awe at a line of residents leading from the lot straight into the church. "Wow."

I gulped too. "Yeah, wow..."

Mammals held flowers, cards, or simply waited in silence. A few recognized us as Americans, either giving us quiet nods or whispering their condolences. We thanked them each before finally making it across the street, then walking into a diner. However, the friendly empathy didn't stop there, as the waiter whispered something to her manager when we asked for a table to be seated at.

"This way, please," the manager, a thin lynx in his late thirties, led us to a window booth looking out to the busy church. "By the way, uh...whatever you want, it's on the house. As thanks for what you and your people did to help us." He held a paw up before either of us could protest. "I insist. It's not everyday I get to feed freedom fighters."

My wolf's busy tail wagged at the manager's words. "In that case, I'll have your hardest drink," Lowell requested.

"Same here," I answered in kind. "Maybe have us look at the menu a bit."

"Right away, sirs!" The lynx manager chirped. "We'll be right with you!"

He walked off, leaving us alone at our window booth. Outside, the chilly wind continued to breeze by. The line leading into the church's memorial wake grew larger. A part of me wondered how many of Sudbury's residents would show up.

"How are ya feeling?" Lowell asked me, placing a steady paw on mine, and squeezing it gently. "Do you...still feel numb?"

"I do, it's just..." I didn't finish my sentence. Or I couldn't.

"I know what ya mean, Adam," Lowell sighed heavily. His eyes traveled to the table, his elbows, and he visibly tried to smile. "Sometimes, I've been half-expecting Hector or Donald to be walking down those corridors, back at the Marigold. Hell, I almost called the bartender downstairs 'Daniel' a few times...and one of the bears who do housekeeping, I referred to him as...as Brian."

"It's hard to believe they're still gone. All the Defiant are. We're all that's left." I exhaled. "What then? Johanna's not been mentioning what the next mission is."

"Surviving was the mission," my wolf revealed, "but I see what you mean. For now, she's just wanted the cell to appreciate being civilians again. Just...breathe again."

We sat in relative silence. Somewhere outside, a child's laughter could be heard. An owl hoot echoed through the glass. The line continued growing until it encircled the packed parking lot, much to me and Lowell's admiration.

"I'm thinking of joining the Canadian military," he said. "Johanna's been quiet, but she's mentioned wanting to gather the remaining Defiant together, make a team, and help take the fight back to the Devout."

"Go back to Devout America?" I asked, guffawing.

"Not exactly, but that's all she's told me." His ears perked up at a sudden idea. "Will you be up to joining me? If Johanna decides to let me join up?"

I felt my tail swish behind me in the chair.

"What do you think?" I pondered aloud. "After everything we just went through?"

He chuckled. "You're right, that's a stupid question."

"As long as we're doing it together, that's all I want."

"That's what we--"

"Seriously?" I interrupted with a roll of my eyes. "Right now?"

Laughter bubbled from Lowell's lips for the first time in a few days. I welcomed it greatly, the levity as addictive as knowing we could be open with each other. So, I leaned across the table to kiss my wolf on the lips. He froze, only to return the kiss.

Realizing what I did, I pulled away to sit back down. Yet I didn't stop holding his paw. I did feel relief though that the few customers sitting inside the diner didn't seem to mind. In fact, one or two rolled their eyes at us or gave us indifferent glances.

I smiled back at the dumbfounded wolf, and whispered, "I love you, Low."

He relaxed into that cocky grin I'd been missing. "I love you too, Adam."

Soon, the lynx manager personally handed us our cold beverages. Looking back out at the line of people coming to pay their respect to Hector as well as our fallen comrades, I felt hope. The future seemed uncertain, but things didn't seem as lost as before. In the corner of my eye, Lowell grabbed his glass bottle with a single paw, and raised it in a toast. Grinning, I raised mine up as well, and felt happiness swell in my chest.

One day, I would fulfill Hector's wish.

One day, the Devout States of America would fall.

One day, the United States would return.

One day, the Defiant would help bring democracy back to our country.

"To the Defiant, to Hector, to Donald, to everyone," Lowell toasted. "To the future."

"Yes. All of it." I raised my glass as well. "To the future."

---

_ AUTHOR'S NOTE: Adam and Lowell will return. _