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Deadtropolis

By Mantrid Brizon

Episode Three: It’s The End Of The World As We Know It

Small rocks and debris tumble before a weary Cameron. So uncomfortable was his little shelter in the burned-out store that he wasn’t able to sleep even a minute. With his pack weighing down his shoulders and the ruined city weighing down his spirit, he walks with a hand on his pistol, which he openly carries on his belt. Walking throughout part of the night and into the morning, Cameron is surprised by how void of life the area has become in such a short span of time. At first, he was fearful of daylight travel; you’re easier to see and most people naturally sleep at night.

Thankfully, the weeklong chaos before his escape has done much in the way of clearing the city. A distant gunshot, breaking glass and the occasional bark of a stray dog are the only sounds he hears. Finding a house as he crosses from the city proper and into a suburb, Cameron heads inside. A terrible smell worms into his nostrils, causing him to cough. Walking slowly through the house, his Beretta in hand, he carefully checks each room. The kitchen has been ransacked, leaving all but a dusty tin can of sardines and two-year-old foil packets of tuna stuffed deep in the cupboard.

Drawers are empty or entirely absent, and most of the valuables are missing. He can’t help but shake his head at the missing televisions. What’re people thinking when they steal such things? Do they think that the world will simply return to the way it was and they’ll actually enjoy using or selling it? With his water supply running low, Cameron takes a small, single-walled, stainless steel water bottle from his pack. Walking into the basement, he finds it void. The hot water tank has been pulled from its place and lay on its side, a huge gash in the metal. Cameron himself was looking for the tank, hoping to drain some leftover water.

“Well, looks like there are still some smart survivors left.” He thinks aloud.

Pulling away the washing machine, he uses a pocket knife to cut the water lines, draining just enough to barely refill his water bottle. Continuing with his search, Cameron heads upstairs. The steps creak as he moves slowly, hoping that no one else is inside and waiting for him. His heart beats rapidly as he walks through an eerie hallway; the daylight doesn’t quell his fear. Poking his head into a room, his eyes grow wide and he pulls back. Two people lie in bed, both naked and one atop the other! Certain that they’ve heard him, he brings his pistol close to his body and waits.

After standing there for a moment, a curious sound draws his attention. Flies are buzzing nearby. Slowly leaning over and peering inside once more, he looks at the two people. A brown furred man with a feline tail lies over a woman with black fur on her legs, her bushy canine tail lying limp between her own. The two Voeldahn don’t move as Cameron steps inside. Walking around their bed, he’s struck by their faces, both riddled with maggots. Immediately gagging, he turns from the corpses. They suffered several gunshot wounds as they were caught in the middle of having sex; the male still appears to be inserted into his partner.

Moving toward the door, he leans against the frame and gags. How will he ever erase their image from his mind? Turning his head, he sees a dresser with several decorative photographs and a vase filled with wilted flowers. Walking toward the dresser, he finds a wedding photo of the couple who lay a few feet behind him. Glancing over to their paw-like feet, he takes another look at their photo, picking up the frame. Opening the back, he collects the picture and folds it into fours, stowing it in a pocket. With a similar build to the deceased husband, Cameron looks through their drawers.

Apparently, whoever murdered the husband and wife forgot to ransack their bedroom; the drawers are still filled with clothes. Finding a brown jacket and black hoodie, similar to the one he’d left behind, Cameron slips them both on before shouldering his pack. He stops as he stands in the doorway of the bedroom, looking back at the corpses.

“Well, at least you two had some fun first... I’m sorry this happened to you.” He says to himself.

Leaving the house, Cameron checks two more houses, finding just enough hidden food and water to keep him going for a few more days, if he rations carefully. Wandering through the yards of the homes, avoiding open streets for his own safety, he hears a gunshot. Unlike the others, this one is close, and quickly accompanied by voices.

“Wooo-yeah! Get ‘er boys!” A voice cheerfully exclaims.

“No! Please!” A woman shouts.

Holding his pistol close, Cameron races from the front yard of a house, hearing several voices yelling from down the street.

“I’ve never had one of them, before!” A man shouts.

“Please, God, no!” The woman shouts.

“I hope she’s clean!”

“Like you are?!” One snickers.

The men laugh and the woman’s screams grow louder. With one hand on his gun, he grabs a short fence and vaults over it, landing with a thud and sliding across the grass of the backyard. Turning a corner, he can see three men of varying races, two human and one Voeldahn. They loom over a figure lying on the ground, grabbing her pack and tearing at their clothes. Recalling his betrayal, his anger grows increasingly overwhelming. He soon envisions them all as Jeffrey, the man he blames for his downfall. Without saying a word, he takes aim and fires. Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang.

Shrieking in pain, the Voeldahn stumbles away with a hole in his shoulder. A dark-skinned human spins around, taking three shots to the chest. The human with wavy brown hair and tan skin catches a round in the forehead. Unsatisfied, Cameron walks past the Voeldahn woman lying on the ground in the fetal position, his pistol held out in front of him. Blood seeping from his mouth, the Voeldahn man stumbles forward and begins to crawl. He turns around, resting on a side and holding up his body with a forearm, a hand outstretched before him.

“Please! I don’t want to die!” He begs.

“Neither did she.”

Bang, bang, bang. Two rounds strike him in the face while the third hits the dirt, his body limp as he lay dead. Looking back at the woman, he gets his first good look at her. With a massive, bushy tail that’s pulled up and along her back, she’s covered in a dense but soft looking coat of fur, with a color like wet sand. Taking a hand away from her head, her short, round ears protrude. Her matching hair, cut extremely short, accents her animalesque head; this is a particular fashion trend among traditionalist Voeldahn. With a short, rounded snout, the squirrel lay on her side, her top ripped open and a breast exposed, which she covers with a hand.

Holstering his Beretta, Camera steps over a cheap looking long gun, holding out a hand to her. The woman’s eyes look him over apprehensively, though after a moment, she reaches out to take his hand.

“I hope they didn’t hurt you.” He says, pulling her up.

“They certainly tr-LOOK OUT!”

Swiftly turning his head a Voeldahn man with a baseball bat prepares for a swing, having somehow snuck up on the both of them.

“RRAAAA!” He roars.

Bang! Cameron and the girl both flinch as the baseball bat wielding man falls dead on the ground. Standing just behind their attacker, a Voeldahn woman holds a tiny pistol, a little plume of white gun smoke rising from the barrel. She turns the weapon on Cameron, who holds up his hands. The squirrel covers her breasts with her light jacket and turns her head away, closing her eyes as if preparing to die. His eyes scan the woman before him. She’s a beautiful creature, nearly his height and with an athletic frame. Her figure is reminiscent of women he’d seen running track in high school, with a C-cup bust that looks quite large on her frame.

With naturally reddish fur with a white chin, neck and exposed midriff, a big, bushy tail, short and pointy ears and black fur covering her hands past the wrists, the fox Voeldahn is relatively clean, considering the circumstances. Her long, straight black hair is pulled into a high ponytail, with two streaks of bangs framing her face. The vixen narrows her amber eyes and Cameron waits, but the gun wielding vixen holds her fire.

“I guess these aren’t friends of yours.” The vixen comments.

“Hardly.” Cameron murmurs.

“Who are you, and what’re you doing here?”

“I’m Cameron, and I’m not even sure where ‘here’ is. Nothing looks the same all burned up.”

“Don’t get cute! Who is she to you?!” The vixen growls.

“Nobody.” He says.

“Another piece of meat?!”

“What? No.” He calmly answers.

“He saved me!” The squirrel says, stepping closer.

“Did he?” The vixen asks her, never taking her eyes off Cameron.

“You saw what he did to the others.”

“Maybe he wanted them gone so he could have you for himself.” The vixen remarks.

“Fuck this...” Cameron sighs.

Stepping back and turning around, he walks away from the two women.

“Hey!” The vixen barks.

Nearing a fallen rifle, dropped by the dark-skinned human, he takes the twenty-two caliber semi-automatic weapon from the grass, casually brushing it off. Searching the body, he finds two spare magazines of smoke colored plastic, each visibly holding twenty-fire rounds, plus a small box with nearly two hundred loose rounds.

“Hey, I’m talking to you, shithead!”

“He isn’t one of them!” The squirrel pleads.

“How can you be sure?!” The vixen growls.

“What are you even doing here?” Cameron suddenly asks, searching the next corpse.

“I’m here to save her! I heard her screaming from across the street; crossing yards is safer than walking in the open.”

“And why bother?” He presses her.

“I’ve seen what men do to women now, and even other men... It’s disgusting... Evil... I couldn’t sit by and let it happen to another person. There’s too many victims.” The Vixen replies.

“Exactly.” Cameron says.

“Exactly what?” She raises a brow.

He doesn’t bother to answer. The vixen lowers her silver pocket pistol, keeping the Jimenez JA .22 close to her body and pointed roughly in his direction.

“So... You’re not here to rape and pillage?”

“Rape, no, though I prefer to think of this as ‘scavenging’.” Cameron answers the vixen.

“Right... I’m Meryl.” The fox girl says, slipping her pistol into a pocket of her skin-tight jeans.

“And I’m Sandra.” The squirrel adds.

“Nice to meet you two.” Cameron says.

“Likewise!” Sandra chirps.

Taking a top-break, twenty-gauge shotgun from a corpse, he finds a handful of shells; high grade birdshot that’s only barely adequate for self-defense is far better than nothing at all. The next corpse has only a pocket knife, and the baseball player has nothing of interest or value.

“Which one?” Cameron asks.

Presenting the long guns to Meryl, she looks over the weapons. While the shotgun is far more powerful, she wonders if she can handle the weapon. It’s single-shot capacity bothers her as well. As twenty-two caliber is one of the few deemed acceptable by the government for civilian use, and she’s used one before, she points to the Ruger 10/22 rifle. Still somewhat apprehensive, she doesn’t want to reach out and grab it herself. Realizing this, Cameron gently tosses it into her arms, followed shortly with the box of loose cartridges.

“What about me?!” Sandra asks.

“Have you fired a gun before?” Meryl asks.

“... No.” Sandra admits, looking down as if ashamed.

“Here.”

Setting down his shotgun and taking off his pack, Cameron takes the twenty-two caliber, Taurus 94 revolver from his bag. He hands the blued, nine shot weapon to the girl, her amber eyes lighting up as she gazes upon the sleek form of the four-inch-barreled handgun. Meryl’s brow raises, visibly surprised that he has yet another weapon. Not many in America today own so many, not after the sweeping legislations passed years earlier. Sandra fondles the gun for a moment, aiming it at the ground. Seeing her finger on the trigger of the loaded gun, Cameron stands to his feet and slings his pack.

“Here. Like this.” He says with a soft voice.

Taking her hands into his, he briefly shows her the proper grip, explaining the basics of loading, unloading and firearm safety in the span of only a minute. A grateful Sandra thanks him, only to be further surprised by a gift of a handful of cartridges Meryl takes from the box of loose rounds. Slipping the gun into her front waistband, Sandra visibly shivers as the cold metal brushes her flat belly. She looks between Meryl and Cameron as the three stand there in silence for a moment.

“Well, that’s it then.” Cameron sighs.

He turns to leave, only for Sandra to rush up to him. Resting a hand on his arm, she calls out.

“Wait! Cameron!”

“Yeah?” He glances back at her.

“We should stick together.”

“She’s right. It’s not safe to travel alone.” Meryl adds, approaching the pair.

“True.” He nods.

“Where are you going?” Meryl asks.

“Nowhere in particular.” He answers.

“Well, that makes it easy. Want to head south? That’s where I’m heading.”

“Sure.” Both Cameron and Sandra answer.

Her lips curl into a little smile, her bushy tail swaying behind her. Though she won’t say it, at least not yet, she’s grateful for the company. Holding the rifle close, Meryl checks the chamber for a live round before leading the way. They leave the backyards, unwilling to traverse the many privacy fences that still stand on that block, walking through the front yards and staying close to the houses.

“So... Cameron...” Sandra says softly.

“Shh!” Meryl shushes her.

“Sorry!” Sandra whispers loudly. “What brought you out here?” She whispers to the human.

Glancing over to her, she looks quite curious and intrigued, her amber eyes gleaming in the sunlight and her lips curled into a little smile around her rounded snout; her face is so innocent. Reflecting on himself, he recalls how swiftly he killed three men, the first lives he’s ever taken directly, and he did so without hesitation. Sandra’s innocence is in stark contrast to the human, and the pain returns. Seeing his melancholy expression, Sandra’s smile fades, her eyes turning down and away from him.

“Sorry...” She murmurs.

“We’ll talk later.” He whispers.

“Okay.”

“What the hell did I say?!” Meryl whispers loudly at the pair.

Walking throughout the day and into dusk, Lauren and Natasha duck down as they see a fire flickering in the distance. This isn’t the now usual fire of a burning building but a controlled campfire. Squatting down, the pale-skinned human and her white and brown furred rabbit Voeldahn companion creep along a vandalized storefront. The camp lies within another storefront and just before a street corner, which they intend to take. Lauren, extremely knowledgeable of this area, tries to lead them as far from the city and southward as possible; the deeper into rural Michigan they go, the safer they’ll be.

“Damn! I burned my beans!” A man growls.

“Yeah, I think that last bitch was hot. She must’ve slept around a lot before we found her.” Another laughs.

“That’s not what I meant, Dave... Fuckin’ smart ass. Who’s the guy watching the fire?”

“Th-that’s me.” A mousy sounding boy speaks up.

“She was really loose too!” Dave continues.

Lauren and Natasha are petrified. Neither are promiscuous women, and neither have endured the horrors of the raiders. They’d rather die quickly and painlessly, than live after such torment.

“Get the fuck over here, Kyle!” The first man growls.

Low to the ground and nearly crawling on their bellies past the low wall of the storefront, the raiders camp is just across the barrier. The girls can hear the angry man grabbing the meek Kyle.

“Nnggff!” Kyle grunts, punched in the stomach by the nameless raider.

“Damn! Got his punk-ass good!” Dave laughs.

“Woo! Hit him again!” A fourth man says.

The girls stop as they hear several men rising from their posts, sitting near the windows that they crawl under. Turning her head, Natasha holds down her bunny Voeldahn ears with a hand to keep them from giving away their position. The barrel of a rifle pokes out from the broken store window. Lauren’s eyes bulge nearly out of her head as she sees Natasha slowly sitting up. Taking a risk, she peeks over the short wall, looking into the store. Five men stand around as a large Voeldahn beats a short and scrawny human boy. He looks to be barely fifteen or sixteen years old.

“Ngf! Agh! Oooff!” Kyle exclaims as he’s beaten.

Turning her eyes toward the abandoned rifle, Natasha slowly lifts an arm. Lauren wants to scream at her friend but she knows that she can’t. Reaching just over the broken glass, Natasha grips the barrel of the long gun, slowly pulling it up. Unable to pull it away from the glass without cracking it, she quickly releases and then grabs the rifle again before it can fall, shifting her hand and gripping it a little closer to the center. Still struggling with the weight, she grits her teeth and rotates her wrist, holding the rifle above the broken glass and gently pulling it away.

Clearing the window, she lies back, holding the stolen gun close to her chest, which thumps as her heart beats faster than if she’d just run a marathon. She turns her eyes down to Lauren, who looks at her with shock, fear and rage. Rolling over, they crawl on their bellies to the edge of the store as the man punches and kicks little Kyle.

“Okay, bro, that’s enough!” Dave says.

“Yeah, don’t kill him!” Another exclaims.

“Fucker burned my god damn food!”

Kyle screams in pain, a strange smell of burning hair filling the girl’s nostrils.

“I’ll just eat him instead!”

“Holy shit!” Dave exclaims in horror.

“That’s intense!”

Reaching the corner, the girls feel confident to power walk from the raiders, their escape masked by poor Kyle’s pained screaming.

“Hey, where’d my rifle go?” A raider asks as they walk away.

“Wherever you set it.” Dave replies.

“I set it right her, bitch!” The raider barks.

“Shut up and help me cook this kid!” The leader snarls.

Now in the clear, the girls sprint into the darkness. They don’t stop running until their bodies are drenched in sweat. Lauren’s clothes are damp and stick to her human skin, while Natasha’s fur is matted and musty. Their legs scream in pain and the pair stop running, walking slowly into a burned-out subdivision. They’ve been running for so long that they’ve traversed several miles and are nearing the edge of the city. It won’t be long before they start seeing rural farmland. Reaching a small patch of woods near the subdivision, they duck inside to rest. Natasha takes the time to carefully look over their new rifle, while Lauren guzzles her water.

“I feel so badly for that poor boy.” Lauren remarks.

“Why?”

“... What?” Lauren blinks. “Don’t you care that they beat, burned and killed that boy?!”

“Shh!” Natasha shushes her. “No, I don’t.” She speaks softly.

“But he was just a boy...”

“No, he wasn’t. He was another piece of shit crook. A fucking monster.” Natasha retorts.

“Maybe he had to follow them to survive?” Lauren suggests.

“For all we know, that dead kid was one of the guys who raped and murdered Clara!” Natasha yells loudly.

Lauren wonders who Carla is, suddenly recalling the Voeldahn girl they’d found dead in the store on the night they first began their journey out of the city.

“Maybe he raped others, too... Fuck him.” Natasha grumbles.

The sit in silence for a few moments, resting their muscles and watching for signs of anyone nearby. Natasha stands to her feet, holding the rifle in her hands and motioning with her head.

“Come on. I don’t feel safe here... Let’s keep going.”

“Okay.” Lauran murmurs, standing to her feet.