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Human nature

Common knowledge would tell you that the end of the human race would be an earth shattering event, the skies would split and the earth would shatter beneath it. The cities would burn and the waters would boil. The remains would that of ash or ice... but there was no ultimate war, no grand cataclysm, the mother earth simply bore witness to a silent extinction.

Mankind is not so easily forgotten.

Chapter One

"We are the inheritors of a great legacy, the Profits Aaron and Mikhail taught us the power of words, the wisdom left behind by the Uman and the gifts of the Father!" The booming voice carried so that one could hear these prophetic words even beyond the south fence. "These" he raised his hands to the sky "are the gifts of the father!" The old grey goat continued to rant to the crowd with force and fervour, his sweeping gestures moving as if to match his words.

From his perch he kept eluding to his followers that they were simply dumb animals before some mysterious Father figure bestowed to them the gifts of evolution; hands and the spoken word; teachings twisted by a hundred years of retelling. It was true in some sense; they were the offspring one human's hope, transformed from humble beginnings to a near mirror image of those long passed.

York was one of those descendants, a fine example of canine kind blessed with the physique of his ancestors built to be swift and precise. A fine charcoal coat hugging every defining line and a silvery grey sheen compliments of the sunny sky. Quite the noble sight with a red sash tied around his waist for sake of modesty, a variable thing depending on where someone found themselves. A scavenged single strap backpack hung over his shoulder, a relic of the past made to suit the needs of the new world.

York's golden gaze sought out the reason he risked walking through the gates, beyond reminding him why he hated these gatherings. He was there to fetch a few things, trade some relics for food and salvaged parts from the dead city. The old world was the source of most trade and that led to tenuous peace between the 'Fangs' and the 'Herd'; though neither side really cared for those labels they were better than 'predator' and 'prey', words made taboo by both sides in the Summer Treaties.

The beaten earth underfoot told a story all its own, it spoke volumes of how many hooves tread this path, how many paws padded toward the market this was Greenside. One of the few free towns not owned by either side; in fact one must only look beyond the east gate, the old tunnel entrance leading to the under-city. York hated seeing those tunnels too many nightmares he'd rather endure the constant stares of local watch.

Not all gazes were unwelcome. York looked back at the local girls the subtle shift in their steps as his eyes passed over them each in turn, some timid others a smile away from closing the distance. How many of them dreamt of bedding a Fang? How many were curious about the taste of danger, in an almost literal sense. It wasn't that it was odd to see a Fang, stray dogs, cats York saw them scurrying about as if they belonged here. His kind, on the other hand Wolves half-blood or otherwise were rare but not unheard of. Much like the 'big' cats or bears the more dangerous the reputation the less welcome they were and it only got worse the further south one traveled. York knew all too well...

York didn't like being alone here but necessity was usually partner to risk. He traded with a familiar mule that did business with the Rats in the Undercity. York made his way through the market looking for that blue scarf with a white sun emblazoned on it, smelled like the tunnels. He finally saw painted mule sitting centre of a kiosk draped in red wool, and like always that reeking rag hung about his neck. It took only seconds for him to notice the wolf's eyes on him, but as a credit of his kind he thought carefully about the first thing that would pass his lips "York."

"Lirahm." York didn't bother with pleasantries or pointless attempts to intimidate, neither ever worked. Instead he unbuckled his pack and slung it onto the table between them. York laid out three items and a list, Lirahm looked at them for a moment and made the smart decision; picking up the list first.

"Is Boston responsible for all these trinkets?" Lirahm really didn't need an answer but York nodded anyways. The mule recognized the writing, the thick green wax letters meant 'crayons' and remembering his dealings with the kitten, and the angry wolf was there too. Lirahm would've rather dealt with Boston; the wolf wasn't the most generous haggler. Looking over the list he saw a few hard to find items but glancing back to the table 'it was worth it'.

"Talented isn't he." Holding the palm sized lantern and winding the small crank on its side seeing it light up put a smile across his lips. He went through the others one by one the compass was in good shape and a folded tool, Lirahm remarking on the red handle and the faded white emblem indicating a quality piece.

Lirahm double checked the list in hand before rapping his knuckles against the table twice, Lirahm's eldest came into view eyes down and wary of the wolf. Without a word he was handed the list and was off and running.

All were welcome in this place as long as they kept their prejudices beyond these walls though not everyone could contain their hate mongering but still many of the Herd traders detested dealing with Fangs Lirahm acted as a go between and his children did the running for what ever he didn't have stowed away. York's ear perked up as whispers passed; 'killer' monster' mutt, all words that cut above the background.

York bit his tongue but his thoughts kept repeating themselves 'This was the last time I swear' knowingly lying to himself he'd be back with yet another list. Lirahm's eldest was quick; York could hear the distinctive clatter of his small hooves and the rustle of a cloth sack. The foal moved to hand it off to his father who simply shook his head and turn his attention to York. Nervously staring downward and trying to breathe calmly, a poor attempt at maintaining a brave face while extending the bag to York with a trembling hand.

York took the bag loosing the strings and peering inside trying to remember what to look for, the small parcels were food, and he could smell those easily enough. "The parts you have them?" Aiming the question at Lirahm as he filled his pack.

"Of course, one moment." Lirahm felt his old bones creak as he stood up, it was a matter of moments before he filled a small wooden box with what the wolf was asking for "It's been a pleasure."

York simply zipped up his pack and strapped it tight, shooting one last warning glance before leaving as if to say 'I better have everything' to which Lirahm nodded before he took his seat.

Rushing back through the market he didn't waste much time listening to the hushed conversation about 'that blood thirsty flea bag' he would love getting some time alone with some of these bigots. At that moment York was only concerned with pissing off one of the bulls trotting about the yard, getting caught by one of them and it meant being ground into an unrecognizable mass of broken bones and torn flesh.

Despite all the things that could go wrong his eyes kept wandering back over the vixens worth getting in trouble for, unknowingly inviting exactly what he intended to side step. The thundering approach was unmistakeable; York felt the tension roll down his spine seconds before he swept low and to the side, swinging wide raking deep across the passing thigh of the beast. The bull lost York somewhere in the dust, York crouched low and snarling his golden eyes locked on the subtle silhouette. York was more than prepared to defend himself but this could turn against him in an instant.

The bull circled striking his hooves into the dirt, eyes locked with the much smaller creature unaware that York intended to hobble the beast on his next pass. Two steps into the next charge and something white came between them, a loud clang and the bull was down. His own momentum used to slam him into the dirt a metal bar now braced under his chin the bull struggled under it. A massive white stallion pressing the bar down so hard the metal began to creak and bend "Quit longhorn!" The silver main hung over a broad neck and statuesque shoulders. The bull wasn't happy but choked out his submission to the stallion.

York still on guard, his mind locked in the moment waiting for something else to go wrong. The bull was sent on his way with a less than gentle shove, the white stallion was none other than Fenway. York recognized ashen flanks and muzzle, draped in deep violet cloth tied about his waist was new as were the trophies tied into his mane.

"It's ok York." Fenway kept his weapon at the ready the thick iron rod being his defence, York needed to be calmed, he kept his distance made no sudden move he simply waited warned others back merely with his presence.

York lowered his guard very slowly only to see the local peacekeeper march into his line of sight; York immediately started to walk away. He could hear Fenway following him the slight brush of an outstretched hand, York grabbing the thick wrist turned to level his eyes with the pale orbs of his former friend. "You should know better." York whispered.

"I just saved your life!" Fenway still cared, even though York held such hatred.

"And that's why I'm walking away." A quiet voice held such weight, Fenway standing stunned as the distance between them grew.

Hoping York had forgotten was wishing for too much "...How are the others?"

"Ask them." York stopped for a moment reaching into his long charcoal mane, dragging a claw through and plucked an old ornament from the many that adorned the braided strands. Throwing the silver bauble over his shoulder landing in front of Fenway in the dirt "I don't need the reminder anymore...but maybe you do."

Fenway swallowed the bitter taste of regret "Take care of Boston."

"I don't need you to tell me that." York didn't look back he just kept walking toward the gates synching the straps of his pack tighter and venturing out into the forest between him and home. He didn't need to glance back at the fences to know Fenway watched from the gates as they we're closed.

York made for the old fort at the other end of this interior forest that in ages past was once called Central Park. York went over the paths in his head; through the lake, around the reservoir and all the winding paths between. It would take him the rest of the day and that wasn't counting on the Fanatics between here and there; roaming lynch mobs looking for any unlucky fang to be stupid enough to get caught or brave enough to make a game of picking them off one at a time.

York sighed to himself knowing he didn't have time to toy with the bigots, taking a long look at the horizon and a deep breath and was off into the ancient forest. The sun cut across the twisted towers and rubble barely breaking through to canopy as he ran. He found it hard to imagine the beings that built all this, Boston would've likely read about it in one of those dusty moth eaten books.

****************

Boston had spent much of the day near the river bank; the sound of trickling water always relaxed him when York was gone. The white cat swaddled in a torn black shirt once long and baggy now hung in two pieces a single sleeve and collar torn in half, the long bottom half synched around his waist. He sat stretched out in the branches of an old oak lean legs keeping his balance a slender tail swaying in the breeze. Reading a worn and tattered book many of the pages still missing or ruined but that wasn't stopping him from reading what was there. He was secretly hoping to here about the dragons or world of living machines but was disappointed to read these short accounts of days past.

Journal entry January 3rd 2089

I can't believe it's too late...

_Years of work struggling for a cure and its come to one dead end after another. The news is getting more and more bleak with every broadcast, if that's possible to believe. _

_On the bright side the Apocalypse has made war obsolete people clinging to the last remaining years, on this earth. No one really knows when the last child was born only that I was among that last generation, and growing up among all that radical science and 'maybe-cures' was inspiring and terrifying all at once. _

Half the reason I studied so hard, I can still remember dreams of being the man who saved the human race...but fate had a cruel joke to play on me, I would be 'the harbinger' of the end.

I discovered the irreversible nature of the virus, but maybe I can give something to world we are going to leave behind.

I think I call it legacy.

Journal entry November 24th 2095

Its been two years and no one cares that I've commandeered this abandoned 'facility', I should just call it what it is instead of pretending anymore, it's the city zoo a fortified and central location I couldn't dream of a better place to begin.

_No one works here anymore; no one cares anymore, one or two dedicated people stayed on to help me, though I suspect it's more about the animals. _

I'll admit it feels good to walk by the pens and see the pups and cubs playing in the grass, used to think they were to the key to saving people but never worked.

I have to keep working, I had break into the local CDC...abandoned just like the rest of the city, everyone fled and clustered together in government 'colonies' searching for the impossible.

I found everything I needed and carted all the samples and equipment to my makeshift lab I may just be able to do this.

It was hard to grasp what was said, the numbers made no sense and words like 'November' were so strange, he had seen them from time to time, made him think he would have to steal Ellis' dictionary.

Folding up his book leaned back comfortable in the sun, nearly scared out of the tree "Boston!" A haggard raspy voice called up to him from below. The voice called again closer with the sound of long strides closing in.

The speckled brown pelt was a blur, the long ears and white tail nothing but a bouncing streak with each leaping step. Finally the figure came to a stop crouched in the brush long ears perked scoping a long wiry build coiled and ready to move the second he spotted his quarry. This was Fulsom a stubborn hare living on the wrong side of the border but his kind were rarely discouraged by bad odds. Despite his collection of scars he'd dealt out plenty more.

Boston slowly crawled out along the length of his branch, large blue eyes spotting Fulsom waiting there. He loved this game Boston tucked the book away in the hollow of this tree before making things interesting; swinging down to the next branch and leaping to the next tree. Fulsom's ears locked on the rustling leaves and leapt up after the sounds, only just miss Boston curling up to the other side of the tree. Ecstatic with engaging in this game, his tail betrayed him rising around the trunk. The sudden shake and shamble had forced him to drag down the tree to the ground claws cutting downward and dropping into the grass.

Before he could scurry up into the next tree Fulsom was on him in a tangled fit of limbs. Boston laying into a playful bite causing them to tumble down hill closer to the running river stopped only by the thick brush. Laughter was forced from Boston's breathless lungs. Fulsom wasn't about to call it quits rolling over to pin his quarry "I win."

"Isn't this a little backward," Boston said laughing, 'the rabbit catching the cat' he thought with a wide grin. Boston resisted wrapping his legs about Fulsom's waist and shifting their weight 'just' right. Boston now straddling Fulsom's waist baring his teeth mocking the long-ear "That's better." Boston was triumphantly gloating while pressed nose to nose with his capture, Fulsom enjoying his predicament more than he should. It wasn't unfamiliar having played this game since they were children, only it had meant more and more with each contest.

A terrible thought crossed through those big blue eyes, when Fulsom pulled him into a deep kiss, stealing Boston's words away from him... He was brought crashing to reality when Fulsom turned the tides on him. Whipped into the ground, his lungs robbed of air and again when Fulsom pounced on his chest. The dark hare pulled at the tie that held Boston's bottoms on while he struggled to regain his air, breathlessly refusing these advances.

Soon his hissing formed words "Stop," the fear was overcoming the desire that tugged at the back of his mind "we can't!"

Fulsom slowed and kneeled in steal another kiss to change the words that spilled from those white lips, to calm those frightened eyes "Its okay."

"No, no-no-no-no i not okay we can't...not here." Boston didn't want to say it, didn't want to hurt Fulsom. Watery eyes he tried desperately to make Fulsom see 'why'.

The hare cracked his knuckles in frustration and nodded dejectedly ears hanging lifeless at the sides of his head "...ok." Still on top of Boston he leaned back catching his breath, reigning in his urges. It was then Fulsom's ears shot up aimed to the southern brush immediately reaching to the cold metal strapped to his ankle.

Boston was right but for other reasons, he knew that if Fulsom was spooked it was worth fretting over.

"Put it away." The commanding voice came from familiar lips, and Fulsom obliged.

"You're back early York."

"Yeah..." His eyes found the peculiar scene Boston a little worse for ware and Fulsom taken almost completely by surprise, "Shouldn't be this far out, Boston." York was protective of Boston more than the others.

Fulsom stepped up and pulled the cat back to his feet "We're safe." York simply walked between them and grabbed Boston by the arm. Boston's blue eyes saying a silent apology as he was taken home.

Boston scared and embarrassed hoping against hope, 'he didn't see he wouldn't notice' the thought was torture, 'what would York think?'. Somewhere within those tangled thoughts he almost wished that York had seen them, and maybe he'd be jealous of Fulsom.

York simply couldn't risk Boston he was too important and he had a promise to keep, a firm grip and a steady pace leading them forward. Trying not to be 'cross' with Fulsom just the two of them, so close to dusk...

Fulsom was glad they weren't caught, relieved beyond measure but that hollow feeling persisted. The way Boston looked at York... It was cruel to see yet there was nothing to say or do, this 'secret' had to be kept. For Boston's sake...and for his own.