FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Charlie and James By Ken Anderson

Chapter 13: The Burning

My eyes are tearing up as the fumes from the gelled fuel hits them. I'm feeling a bit woozy from the gas, and letting out sharp, hacking coughs while my body desperately tries to tell me that I need to get some oxygen.

"Roll down the windows, man!" I scream up to Zack. The sabretooth tiger nods his head rapidly, and I feel a gust of fresh air whipping through my bangs as the front windows start to recede. I turn my attention to the pop-out panels at my sides, and use the back of a fist to knock them open. If we don't get as much air as possible in this thing soon, we're all gonna pass out. The sealed van is like a gas chamber on wheels! I hear Charlie gasping loudly from beside me as the cool wind rushes through the back of the van towards us. He pushes his way past me, and sticks his muzzle up to the crack in the small, pop-out window to breathe.

"Are you alright?!" I yell over the wind.

"Yeah!" he replies. He takes a few deep breaths, and returns to his spot on the floor. "OZ! WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU PUT IN THIS SHIT?! IT FEELS LIKE I'M BREATHING IN STRAIGHT-UP GAS, MAN!"

"THATS ALL IT IS!" The otter screams back. "GAS AND STYROFOAM! YOU JUST DUMP THAT SHIT INTO THE FUEL UNTIL IT STOPS MELTING!"

I'm shaking my head in disbelief as I fill up the last of the beer bottles. I hand them over to Charlie, who stuffs some strips of gasoline-soaked cloth down their necks, before setting them into the cardboard cases on the floor. The easy part's done. Blinking my eyes to wash away the grogginess, I snatch up the large plastic cap, and snap it shut over the bucket containing the sticky mixture. FINALLY, I can breathe.

I choke out a sigh of relief. I'm about to let myself sink back against the metal walls of the van, when, out of the corner of my eye, I notice Oz attempting to spark a cigarette.

"NO!" Charlie and I scream in unison, both of us lunging forward to snatch the thing from the stupid otter's muzzle. I manage to reach it first, and crush the smoke in my hand, gritting my teeth against the pain as the flaming-hot tip sizzles against the skin of my palm.

"ARE YOU INSANE?!" I yell at him. "I must be going loopy back here, because it looks like you're trying to blow us all to FUCKING KINGDOM COME! What the hell's the matter with you?! You managed to make the fucking napalm, but you're crazy enough to light up a smoke in the same car?! CAN YOU NOT SMELL THE GAS IN THE AIR?!"

"Are you TWEAKING?! Have you gone retarded?!" Charlie agrees.

Oz shakes his head to clear away the fumes, and knocks his paws against his temples a few times when he realizes his stupid, almost fatal mistake. He jams the pack of cigarettes and the lighter back into his pockets, and leans over to Zack, in the driver's seat.

"Put your foot down!"

Charlie and I are thrown off our feet as the vehicle picks up speed. We let out screams of panic as our backs slam into the cold, solid steel of the van's rear door. I reach out both hands as everything slides towards us, and barely manage to stop the bucket of gelled fuel and one of the cases of bottles from crashing against my body. Charlie lets out a forced laugh as he shakes his head.

"Unbelievable..." I hear him mutter, "Un-fucking-believable..."

The van's stereo system begins to blare loudly as Zack hits the button for the CD player. Ear-shattering alternative rock begins to rattle our vision as we fly towards our destination. I can't recall the name of the song, but somehow, it seems entirely appropriate...

Wait... I know it... That's "Bridge Burning" by the Foo Fighters....

It's a good song.... yeah....

---

The music cuts off abruptly as we approach the Harbor City docks. Zack slows the van to a crawl as we roll through the warehouse district, our eyes scanning every corner of the area for the luxury cars that Oz remembers seeing parked in front of his house. I don't see anything that stands out around here... I'm taking in the details of our surroundings, and I suddenly realize that whoever these people are, they've chosen the perfect spot for an ambush.

The city's natural harbor is shaped like a giant teardrop. There's only one small, dead-end street leading in and out, and it's the one we're currently driving on. The warehouses, jutting from the ground like so many ugly fortresses of corrugated metal and rusted steel, cast a dark, imposing shadow on the immense cul-de-sac at the end of the deserted road. I spot several large sliding doors on the exterior walls of the numerous buildings, but none of these places seem like the kind of location where a group of well-financed gangbangers would make their home. There's a weird, almost chemical smell in the air, but I ignore it for now... I really don't know what I'm supposed to be looking for...

I can hear Zack growling softly from the driver's seat as he brings the van around in a long, slow circle in front of the seemingly abandoned buildings.

"It's too quiet out here, man..." he says. "I don't like this..."

I see Oz nodding his head, and I'm about to voice my agreement, when suddenly, the doors to the rusted, discolored warehouse building directly in front of us are slid open with a resounding crash.

The four of us turn our heads to see what's happening, and panic washes over every face in the van as several large figures come running out into the light. My eyes go wide as I see the sunlight reflecting off of what appears to be a Mac-10 submachine gun. I throw my arms around Charlie, and pull him to the floor.

"EVERYBODY GET DOWN!"

Zack and Oz barely have time to duck for cover as the bullets start flying. The repetitive 'pop' of the machine guns fills our ears, as the front end of the van gets peppered with bullet holes. "SCREW THIS! GET US OUT OF THIS DEATHTRAP!" Oz screams over the gunfire. Zack raises his head just enough to see through the cracked, bullet-riddled windshield, and slams his foot on the gas pedal.

Who the hell are these people?! Did they know we were coming? What kind of gang would come out shooting, without even bothering to check us out? The questions come pouring out of my mind, but I really don't have the time to figure out the answers right now...

Tires screech and rubber burns as we fly out of the cul-de-sac, towards the street. We're about to turn onto the main road, forgetting all about our plan for revenge, when a sleek, black Town Car swerves in front of our path, blocking off our exit.

We're trapped. We're dead; we just don't know it yet. Zack jerks the steering wheel to the left, causing the van to lurch to one side, and skid to a stop mere inches from the car's front bumper. My heart is in my throat as I reach frantically for one of the cocktails near my feet. If we're about to get shot, someone's coming with us.

The driver's side door opens, and I watch as a very pissed-off otter steps out of the car, before taking cover behind the open door as the gunfire picks up.

"It's Frank!" Oz shouts back to us. He grabs the handle to the sliding door in his paw, and tugs it open before jumping out. I follow him outside, my hand still gripping the single napalm cocktail by its neck as my heart pounds with adrenaline. Charlie grabs a case of firebombs from the back, and leaps out as well. He sets them on the ground next to the van as the bullets continue to punch through the soft steel of the vehicle's exterior panels. We leave the second case sitting in the rear of the van. I can see Zack trying desperately to crawl his way out from behind the wheel as several rounds pass through the air around his muzzle. He dives frantically over the the gap between the front and back seats, and hits the ground face-first as he falls through the sliding door.

"I TOLD YOU TO FUCKING WAIT FOR ME!" Frank screams at his younger brother. He's crouched securely behind the open door of his vehicle, and reaching for the gun attached to his belt. His light brown fur is drenched with sweat, and the olive-drab shirt he's wearing is completely soaked through. From where I'm standing, the look in his eyes is one of mixed anger and determination. I've seen that look before, on every cop I've ever had the displeasure of knowing. When you get a cop who has that look, it almost never ends well...

Oz is about to give his response, when a stray bullet whizzing past his head causes him to abandon the argument and duck for cover.

"They've got machine guns!" I yell towards him. "You could've fucking told me that!"

"HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO KNOW?!" Oz wails. I shake my head furiously as I hunch over, and pat my pockets for a lighter. Fuck this shit. It's time to even the odds.

I'm still searching for it, when I hear that familiar 'click' of a zippo lighter being sparked, and look up to see Charlie holding one out in front of my face. He's bent over next to me, with one of the cocktails in his paws and a giant grin plastered across his muzzle.

"You wanted to have some fun, right?!" he shouts. "Let's have some fun!"

I tilt the gas-soaked fabric sticking out of the beer bottle towards the flame, and my head jerks back as it ignites. Charlie lights one up as well, and we begin to make our way towards the rear of the van. I take a quick peek around the back of the vehicle, and pull myself away as a short burst from an unseen submachine gun obliterates one of the taillights. "There's three guys coming towards us. Fifteen feet away; twenty, max." I whisper to Charlie. "Straight ahead."

We step away from the van, cocking our arms back and getting ready to throw. I grit my teeth and grunt with the effort as I fling my cocktail over the roof of the van, and I can hear Charlie letting out a growl as he releases his own. I rush forward to watch through the front windows as the two bottles shatter dangerously close to their intended targets.

One of the goons, a large pit bull who looks like his face has been kicked in, gives a loud yelp of surprise as the burning napalm splashes onto the legs of his pants. He drops his gun immediately, and starts trying desperately to pat out the flames. But that's the thing about napalm... It ain't gonna happen, man.

The pit bull falls to the ground, and starts screaming in pain as the fire begins to work quickly up his legs. One of his partners, a well-built doberman who sort of reminds me of that bastard Johnny Echo, runs over to him and starts to drag him away from the patches of fuel sprayed across the smooth concrete. The remaining gangbanger, whose features I can't make out through the smoke, squeezes the trigger of his Mac-10 and empties a magazine towards the van to provide covering fire as his friends beat a trail towards the warehouse. Charlie gives a howl of triumph from next to me as he watches the scene unfold. I can't help shaking my head and chuckling as well.

I hear the clink of glass as someone grabs more cocktails from the box. Whipping around, I spot Oz and Zack, each of them holding two bottles.

"Light me up! I want some of that shit!" Oz instructs me. I snatch the lighter from Charlie's paw and do as I'm told, holding the flame steady while he and the tiger use it to ignite the bombs.

"Get some!" I tell them, sticking the lighter into my pocket before backing away.

Throwing caution to the wind, they dart out from behind the relative safety of the van, and get a short running start before lobbing the deadly weapons towards the retreating gang members. I hear their shouts of alarm as one of the bottles explodes behind them, cutting off their escape route. Another scores a direct hit in front of them, and I watch their panic turn to agony as the gelled fuel ignites, and sprays their bodies in thick gobs of sticky, burning death.

"YEAH!" I hear Zack roar. "BURN, MOTHERFUCKERS!"

He and Oz proceed to release their second cocktails. Two more direct hits. The smell of burning fur and searing flesh invades my nostrils. I squeeze my eyes shut and try not to gaze upon the grisly aftermath of our flaming assault. I think I'm gonna be sick...

Just then, I hear Charlie gasp from beside me as he notices something that I can't see. He takes off at blinding speed towards his bandmates, and tackles them to the ground as the loud cracking noise of an assault rifle starts to fill the air. I drop to my knees behind the van, and bury my head in my hands as the high-caliber rounds start tearing through our cover like a hot knife through butter. Frank scrambles away from his position behind the door of his town car as the bullets begin to spark against the hood. I move over and give him room as he slides himself next to me. I look up to see him panting heavily, his chest heaving with each labored breath. His police-issue nine-millimeter pistol is gripped tightly in his right paw. His claw is shaking in the trigger guard as he tries to steady himself.

"JESUS!" He yells. "These guys are serious! What the hell is in those bottles?!"

"Napalm!" I reply. "Oz said they used gas cocktails on your parents' house! I guess he wanted to give them one better!"

The tall, lanky otter chuckles halfheartedly as he nods his head. "That sounds like Oz."

He shuffles over to the front end of the van, and sticks his head out from near the front fender. I hear the sound of running footsteps, and turn around to see the others making their way towards us.

"You could've been fucking killed!" Charlie shouts at Oz and Zack. "Stay behind the van! Your fur's not gonna stop a bullet!"

"GUYS!" Frank interrupts them. "Shut up, and come check this out!"

We all make our way over to him, and lean over to see what he's found. I notice the smile forming across his muzzle as I spot the discarded Ingram Mac-10 laying on the ground next to a small puddle of burning napalm and broken glass.

Well, we can all see the gun, but what does he expect us to do; run out there and grab it?

"It's time to advance our position!" he screams. We're all looking around at each other with expressions of confusion.

"In English, please, for those of us who don't speak 'cop'!" Oz tells his brother. Another volley of machine-gun fire rips over our heads and causes us to drop to our knees. One of the van's front tires gets penetrated, and the vehicle falls a few more inches as air bursts out from the new hole.

Frank shakes his head, and grumbles something under his breath.

"Just be ready to move!"

He ducks out form behind the van, and fires several rounds wildly towards the warehouse as he moves quickly over to his Town Car. After several barrages of automatic gunfire, the luxury vehicle now resembles a sad-looking block of black swiss cheese on wheels. I feel sorry for the mechanic who's gonna have to work on it once this is over...

The rate of fire increases as more gunmen start to exit the building. Charlie pulls me to the ground as several bullets punch through the spot where I'd been leaning against the van. Oz and Zack are retrieving the remaining cocktails, shouting indistinctly over the gunfire as they collect the box and take cover. It's all so loud... My ears are shot; I can hear a light ringing... My heart is pounding furiously, and sweat is dripping from my forehead onto the dusty concrete. As Charlie covers me with his body to shield me from the bullets, I can feel his warm breath cooling the damp skin on the back of my neck. He's whimpering softly, a sound that I'm actually amazed to be able to hear.

The low rumble of an engine causes all of us to glance over to Frank's car. The otter is crouched low behind the wheel. Staring up from the ground, I see his paw feeling around blindly for the knob on the shifter. The transmission 'thumps' as the car gets put into gear. It must have taken damage from one of the bullets.

The back tires screech loudly as the car tears across the road, towards the spot where the machine gun rests on the battleground. Frank slides the vehicle expertly over the patch of burning napalm, extinguishing the flames as he skids to a halt. There is a momentary lapse in gunfire as our attackers pause to reload.

Charlie hops to his feet, and pulls me up by the shoulders. I look around the van, and see that the submachine gun is sitting right in front of the Town Car's driver's-side door. Frank ducks out of the car, and scoops the weapon into his paws.

"Come on! Move up!" he yells.

Charlie and I need no encouragement; we crouch as low as possible, and quickly shuffle over to our new position, ducking behind the back doors of the sedan as we reach Frank. Oz and Zack are close behind, and Oz tosses Charlie and me some cocktails before taking out his lighter. Frank checks the magazine on the Mac-10, and gives us a satisfied nod as he slams it back into place. A sudden burst of gunfire causes him to duck behind his open door.

"Let me know when you guys are ready; I'll cover you!" he shouts.

Zack sets the box of firebombs on the ground next to one of the rear tires, and pulls out another bottle before heading over to join us. Oz sparks his lighter, and the three of us tilt our weapons towards the flame. I cup the flickering light on top of my cocktail with a hand, and tap Frank lightly on the shins with the heel of my now-ruined leather shoes. He turns around and spots us holding our flaming bottles of napalm.

"You guys ready?!" he calls out. We all nod our heads.

"Alright. Let em' have it!"

The three of us leap from our positions as he braces the machine gun against the roof of the car, and starts letting out short, controlled bursts. A few of the gunmen duck for cover as the bullets start to fly past them. I heave my cocktail towards the first small group I find. The bottle smashes on the ground next to a team of two felines as they attempt to return fire on the car. I see one of them, a leopard wearing khakis and a polo shirt, rolling around on the concrete as he attempts to put out the flames licking at the fur on his legs. His partner, a skinny lion, tries to pull him away, but crumples to the ground when Frank delivers several rounds to his chest.

I close my eyes once more, and quickly duck behind Frank's car. I don't need to see this... I don't want to know that I've taken part in someone's cold-blooded murder... With all the counseling I've done for others over the years, I'M probably gonna be the one needing therapy after this...

Charlie and Zack use the moment of chaos brewing among the panicked gangsters to heave their bombs through the open doors of the warehouse. The sound of crashing glass and rushing flames intermingles with the panicked shouting of the people inside as more members of the gang come pouring out through the large sliding doors.

Zack and my mate take off at a run for the Town Car, ducking as several bullets fly over their heads, and I turn around to see Oz sitting against the back door, shaking uncontrollably as he hugs the cardboard beer case tightly to his chest. It's almost empty. There are two cocktails left in this batch. Charlie snatches both of them up, and holds them out towards Oz. The otter appears to be staring out into space. He's genuinely traumatized; I never thought I'd see it... After all, this WAS his idea... I consider asking him what's wrong, but the gravity of our current situation snaps me out of counselor mode. There's plenty of time for that later.

I manage to dig Charlie's lighter out of my pants, and use it to ignite both cocktails. He nods towards a few windows scattered around the building's main entrance, each one placed several feet above the ground. He's going for the final blow; the knockout punch. He's gonna burn the motherfucker down.

I hear him roar loudly as he runs towards the flaming warehouse, brandishing the two bottles as he approaches his target. More shouts of alarm come from within the building as he lets the bottles fly in succession from his paws. They both hit their mark, crashing through one of the large, dirt-smudged windows next to the door before exploding into a shower of flames inside. Charlie pumps his fists into the air, and lets out a scream of victory as he watches the entire building go up in flames. Zack and Frank also burst out in cheers. We've done it! They're on the run! Oz, however, is still sitting against the exterior of the Town Car, flinching every few seconds in between frightened gasps of breath. I guess I've found my newest client... Maybe I should go into private practice...

The remainder of the gang comes streaming out of the flames, some of them still burning as they run. I can hear the sound of car engines starting somewhere behind the building as a few of them attempt to make good their escape. But something makes me stop to think... There's something just... wrong... about the way they're all acting.

Instead of standing their ground to fight, they're all dropping their weapons and fleeing... They outnumber us two-to-one, at the LEAST... Instead of running for the main road, everyone seems to be jumping off the nearby pier into the water... Even those who AREN'T on fire... I run through the possibilities in my head, wondering what could prompt them to take such an odd course of action.

Suddenly, I remember the funny, chemical smell that invaded my senses before the fighting started. It brings back memories of my junkie days... But it's not burning scag... I'm getting this flashback... I'm shooting up in my old, crappy apartment one night, when this fellow addict I'd met earlier that day wakes me up from my nod to ask me if he could use my bath tub to do some 'cooking'... I'd shrugged my shoulders and said 'Yeah, sure...' Whatever it is, this stuff smells almost exactly the same....

My eyes go wide as I realize what that familiar odor is coming from...

"EVERYBODY GET IN THE WATER!" I scream.

I run up and grab Charlie by the scruff of his neck, before pulling him towards the pier on the opposite end of the harbor. "WHAT'S GOING ON?!" Zack yells towards me.

"IT'S A METH LAB!" I blurt out. "WE JUST BOMBED A FUCKING METH LAB! EVERYONE GET TO THE WATER BEFORE IT--"

The sound of the explosion drowns out my warning as the warehouse gets blown off the map. Sharp, jagged pieces of hot, rusty metal shrapnel shower our bodies as place goes up in flames. The force of the blast sweeps us all off our feet, and sends us flying back a good distance from the Town Car. The blast wave topples Frank's car and Zack's van onto their sides, and causes me to grit my teeth as the heat sizzles against the fabric of my dress shirt. I black out as I land on the hard concrete ground. The last thing I see before losing consciousness is a thick cloud of dark black smoke bursting into the sky........

---

My vision is foggy when I finally open my eyes...

I feel around with my hands, expecting to find the hard, gritty surface of the concrete I remember falling on... Instead, my fingertips brush over the soft, warm fabric of a thick blanket.

What happened? Where am I?

I try to turn my head to check my surroundings, but a sharp pain in my back causes me to give up. I flinch involuntarily, and a low moan forces its way past my lips as I feel something sharp pricking the skin of my right arm.

"Hey, babe. Are you alright?" A soft voice greets me.

"Charlie?" I whisper. "Is that you?"

"Yeah... You've been out cold for a few hours. I was starting to get worried..."

I grit my teeth against the pain as I force my head to turn towards his soothing voice. I raise my left hand to wipe away the sticky soot that has glued my eyes shut, and blink several times as my mate comes into focus. Looking down at my other arm, I notice a deep gash in the muscle of my right shoulder. Charlie's working quickly to close up the wound with a needle and some black thread. The irony of the familiar situation isn't lost on me. I let out a chuckle as I relax my arm, and allow him to continue.

"You know..." I say, "The last time something like this happened, it was ME who was doing the stitching..."

Charlie smiles and shakes his head as he finishes. He lowers his muzzle to the thread, and clamps his teeth down on it. The long, black string comes free in his paws.

"What happened?" I ask him. "Where are we? And why is my back killing me?"

"We're at home, in our bed... As for your back, you flew for about ten feet," he informs me. "The explosion dragged you across the cement when you landed. Talk about a killer case of road rash... Your shirt is history; so are your khakis. Me and Oz had to carry you up here. Don't worry, though, I made the guys wait in the living room while I stripped you down and patched you up."

I let my eyes fall to my body, and I feel my cheeks flushing as I realize that I'm completely naked. A fresh towel is draped over my legs. I silently thank Charlie for covering me up, at least...

"Don't move too much," he instructs me. "There's a huge bandage over the missing skin on your back. Frank ran down the street, and picked up a first-aid kit. I'm actually surprised you didn't wake up when I washed the spot clean with alcohol..."

That explains the stinging pain coming from my back... But not the familiar smell in the air. "Did you use rubbing alcohol?" I ask.

"No. I used Everclear."

My eyes go wide as I notice the drunken smile forming over my mate's face. "You used booze to clean me up?! Did you just stitch me up while drunk?"

"Well.... A little bit...." he replies.

"Is there any left?"

Charlie reaches over me to the bedside table, and comes back with the open bottle of grain alcohol. I take it from his outstretched paw, and raise it to my lips. The flavorless liquid burns a searing-hot trail down my throat as I suck down a mouthful. It's too much. I ignore the pain in my body as I tilt my head to the side and cough. I accidentally end up spraying the liquor over the jeans covering Charlie's legs, but he doesn't seem to mind. He just reaches for the bottle, and places it back on the nightstand. As he sets it down, he picks up a large roll of gauze located next to an open medical kit. I extend my arm, and he wraps the closed wound with the sterile, white fabric. Using a pointed clip that came with it, he pins the makeshift bandage down.

"Feel better?" he asks me.

"Not yet..."

I grab ahold of his dirt-smeared t-shirt, and tug his body toward mine. Our lips lock in a deep kiss, and I feel his tongue brushing over my own as he cups my face in his soft paws. After several seconds, he slowly pulls away.

"Now I'm feeling better." I say with a smile.

I feel his strong arm snaking under my neck. He gently lifts me into a sitting position. I heave a sigh as I brush several strands of black hair away from my eyes, before nodding my head towards our small closet.

"Think you can grab me some fresh clothes?"

A few moments later, I'm dressed in the colors and style of the life that I once lived...

I've pulled on a pair of ripped, acid-wash jeans, and a black t-shirt which hauntingly reads, "In this life, I've known no joy... Only pain."

The shirt hugs my chest and shows off my muscles. I still can't believe I was ever skinny enough to fit into it. I shake my head as I remember how out of it I must have been, how strung out; how careless... I walk slowly towards the bedroom door, and look at myself in the wall mirror next to it. The person who stares back at me is someone I haven't seen or spoken to in years... I almost reach out to touch my reflection; so many memories are starting to come back....

I'm pulled away from my thoughts by the feeling of Charlie's arms wrapping slowly around my chest, his paws interlocking at my stomach. He rests his chin on my uninjured shoulder, and I smile as I see his tail wagging slowly behind him in our reflection.

"Don't worry..." he tells me. "I'll never let you go down that road again..."

I nod my head silently in reply.

"Yeah..." I whisper, "But right now, I'm worried about you... We still have to get you clean."

"And we will." He sighs. "I can't say I'm not gonna miss the life, but I'll live, as long as I know you're there to keep me going."

I tilt my head to the side, and plant a kiss on his cheek.

"I'll always be there..."

He hands me a pair of my old, worn-out Converse All-stars, and I slip them on over my bare feet. The two of us hold hands as we open the bedroom door, and slowly make our way out to the living room. A couple of very worried faces turn to gaze at me as Charlie and I approach the couch. Frank and Zack look like they've both been waiting forever.

"How're you holding up?" Frank asks me, nodding towards the bandaged gash on my shoulder.

"Pretty good, all things considered." I reply. "Where's Oz?"

"He went to go visit Cory," Zack informs me. "Poor guy got second and third-degree burns on over half of his body... According to Oz, he was downstairs in the dining room when a cocktail came flying in and landed at his feet. He's gonna need a lot of surgery and skin grafts before his fur will grow back. I don't think I've ever seen Oz so shaken up..."

I nod my head, and motion for the two of them to scoot over so that I can take a seat. Charlie holds my hand firmly in his paw as I lower myself down onto the couch. I grunt in pain as the rash on my back throbs.

"Yeah..." I voice my agreement. "Usually he's the guy who throws the first punch. Hell, it was his idea to get one back for what those assholes did to Cory... But when I saw him sitting there in the middle of it all, holding that empty beer case, he seemed... Frozen. Like he was trying to put his mind somewhere else; somewhere away from all the carnage... As a counselor, I'd say he was showing all the classic signs of someone suffering from PTSD..."

"PTSD?" Zack repeats, confused.

"Post-traumatic Stress Disorder," Frank explains. "It's what they call it when you suffer a complete emotional and mental break after extremely painful or traumatic experiences. Like people who've been raped. Or who've lost someone they loved... People who've been robbed... Or soldiers who've clammed up or snapped after experiencing the horrors of war..."

I nod once more, and turn to Charlie, who's sitting next to me on the arm of the couch. He's wearing an expression of pure misery and worry. I guess he knows exactly how Oz is feeling right now... Except Cory wasn't as lucky as I was... I wrap his arm around my shoulders, and rest my head on his lap. I ask him if he has a cigarette, and he lights one up, taking a puff before handing it over to me.

"So what happened after I went down?" I ask them. "How'd we all end up getting back here?"

Frank and Zack end up interrupting one another as they try to explain the story at the same time. I hold up my hands to silence them both, and nod towards Frank to give his version of the events first. The tall otter clears his throat before starting.

"When you started screaming about the place being a meth lab, we were all spechless. At first, we couldn't believe you, but after the place exploded, we kind of figured that you'd been right. The blast knocked over my Town Car, along with Zack's van. We all landed a few feet back, but you took the heaviest hit, and got knocked out. When we got up from the ground, we didn't really notice anything wrong. We thought you were just too scared to move, so we decided to try to flip the van back over so we could get the hell out of there. We were just about to give it a shot, when Charlie told us that he could smell gas fumes. We opened the back doors, and sure enough, there was a case of shattered cocktails and a bucket of napalm spilled all over the place. The whole thing was getting ready to go up. I took a few seconds to think, and I figured that the easiest way to get rid of the evidence was to set it on fire. So I grabbed a couple of the intact bottles, and smashed them on my car. Oz lit up a cigarette, and tossed his lighter into the back of the van."

"I was SO PISSED when I saw that. " Zack takes over. "I mean, that was MY VAN! I'd had it since I was in high school, man; it really meant a lot to me. But anyway, Frank managed to talk me out of beating Oz to a bloody pulp, and we decided to get the hell out of there. We tried to wake you up, but you wouldn't budge. Charlie started crying, man; he assumed the worst. He picked you up and threw you over his shoulder, and we all started hauling ass. We got to the main road, and managed to flag down a cab. Frank told the driver that you'd had too much to drink, and laid a couple bills on him to bring us back here. As soon as we hit the freeway, BOOM! Both cars went up. We could hear the noise, and see the clouds shooting up from the harbor. We tried our best to keep quiet, and the cabbie pretended not to notice. He dropped us off downstairs, and Oz helped carry you up to your bedroom. Charlie told us that he had to take your clothes off to check out the damage, so we helped out a bit before we left the room--"

"Wait, you guys saw me naked?" I interrupt.

"No, man. I didn't see anything." Frank says.

"I just took your shirt off; that's all." Zack replies. "Anyway, Oz left to get your car from Fender's, and called to let us know he was going to see Cory. We've been sitting here ever since, waiting for you to wake up."

"Did the cops ever show up at the harbor?" I inquire. Frank nods his head.

"I put in an anonymous call to Harbor City P.D. after we got back. They should have fire crews and arson investigators covering the scene by now."

I shrug my shoulders, and give a soft chuckle. "Well, I guess that about covers it, then... What've you guys got planned for tonight?"

Frank takes out a cell phone form his pocket, and checks the time. "I've gotta get back home to my wife," he says. "I called in sick today, but the Director's probably gonna want to ask me some questions in the morning... Not to mention the fact that I'm gonna have to report my car stolen, to get Internal Affairs off my back... You should do the same." He points to Zack, who nods his head solemnly.

He gets up from the couch, and stretches his arms over his head. After wishing us all a good night, he starts walking towards the front door.

"Frank?" I call after him. The otter stops, and turns his head to face me.

"You're a good guy.... For a cop."

He smiles, and gives a hearty laugh, before turning the knob and leaving the apartment. Charlie, Zack, and I are still sitting quietly on the couch. I let my eyes drift over both of them. They're staring at the wall behind the TV, their eyes fixed on the white paint in a joined thousand-yard stare.

"You guys feel like a drink?"

This snaps them back to reality, and I receive two quiet nods of submission.

"Great..." I say, stubbing out the remains of my cigarette in the overflowing ashtray which rests on the living room table. "Charlie, you should have another bottle of Immodium before we go. You're shaking, babe..."

My mate stares down at his arms, which are trembling with the onset of his delayed withdrawal.

"Yeah..." he mutters. "I guess I've been too distracted to notice..."

He gets up, and heads into the bedroom to take his medicine. I notice that Zack has his head in his paws. I give him a reasurring rub on the back.

"Hey, don't worry..." I tell him. "Everything's gonna be all right. You'll see........"

He gives a soft whimper, and nods. I guess he's really messed up about it all.... I can't say I blame him....

After all that's happened, I realize that my first clients in Harbor City may very well end up being my closest friends... I may have to go into private practice; no more rehab clinics... My career may have to take an entirely new path.... But I can't worry about that right now. No; right now, my friends need me to be strong... My mate needs me to be there..... Right now, I've got more important things to tend to....

My eyes roam the floor as I feel tears starting to form. I blink, and watch as the single teardrop rolls down my cheeks and hits the soft fabric of the carpet.... I've got a feeling that it's gonna take a while to get things sorted.... Zack reaches a paw across the table, and switches on a small radio that's sitting next to the ashtray. It looks unfamiliar to me; Charlie must have purchased it while I was gone...... The sad, haunting tones of an acoustic guitar begin to echo off the walls of the small apartment as the song begins:

Underneath the bridge, _ the tarp has sprung a leak..._ _ and the animals I've trapped..._ _ have all become my pets._

_ And I'm living off of grass, and_ _ the drippings from my ceiling..._ _ It's okay to eat fish, cause..._ _ They don't have any feelings..._

---

The EKG monitor beeps steadily as the otter sobs quietly in his seat. He traces a soft paw over the forehead of the cheetah lying on the hospital bed; his jawline and chest covered in numerous padded bandages... 'What have I done?' he asks himself. 'What have I done?'...........

Something in the way _ Hmmmmm_ _ Something in the way, yeah,_ _ Hmmmmm_

As his body shakes, and his tears stain the soft brown fur of his muzzle, the otter rests his elbows against the bed's plastic barrier, and buries his head in his paws. He cries.... He wails.... He stares at the unmoving body of his mate, and he wonders if their life will ever be the same.....

Something in the way _ Hmmmmm_ _ Something in the way, yeah,_ _ Hmmmmm_

Oz gives a slight gasp as he feels a paw stroking the fur along his arm. Raising his head, he sees Cory watching him, a gentle smile pulled across his muzzle as he attempts to offer comfort to his grieving mate...

"Hey, Ozzy...." his soft voice whispers.

"Hey, yourself..." Oz replies with a smile, leaning over to kiss his lover gently on the lips. "I---"

Cory silences him with a single paw placed against his lips.

"I don't want to know... Just tell me one thing... Will you still love me?"

Oz cups his mate's cheek in his paws, and responds with another passionate kiss.

"Always..." he whispers. "I'll always love you."

_ Underneath the bridge,_ _ the tarp has sprung a leak..._ _ and the animals I've trapped..._ _ have all become my pets._

_ And I'm living off of grass, and_ _ the drippings from my ceiling..._ _ It's okay to eat fish, cause..._ _ They don't have any feelings..._

---

Lyrics to "Something in the Way" Are copyright 1991 by Kurt Cobain and Nirvana. All rights reserved.

Sorry it's taken me a while to post this up. It's been a wild and crazy week. Things have been getting kinda hectic. I apologize if any of the events in this chapter seem out of place or rushed; my mind just hasn't been the same recently... Oh well... It comes, and it goes, yeah? I'll start working on the next installment as soon as possible; bear with me here. In the meantime, there may be another short story in the works. Keep your eyes peeled, and your fingers crossed.....

--Ken