FSE

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Deadtropolis

By Mantrid Brizon

Episode Two: Groundhog Day

Six days after the riots began, Jamie sits on a small end table. Chewing her fingernails down to the quick, she watches the devastation below. Smoke billows from burned out shops and the apartment across the street is missing nearly every window from the fourth floor down. A breeze flutters her hair as clouds gather in the morning sky. At this height, the windows don’t open, but a stray round from a high-powered rifle struck it the day before, shattering the glass pane. It could have been one of ‘the hunters’, the nom de guerre that everyone in Cameron’s complex has given to those who hunt other survivors for no apparent reason.

Indeed, she was sitting by the window when the round struck it. With only one pistol in his possession, Cameron could not fight back from their height. In fact, Cameron has been frighteningly unhelpful. Hearing footsteps, she turns to look as Cameron steps out of the bedroom.

“Hey... Did you get enough sleep?” He asks.

Glancing back toward the window, she continues to nervously bite her nails without even answering him. Having spent all night keeping watch, not for raiders but for Jeffrey and his new gang, he is incredibly tired. Jamie’s grown more and more distant with each passing day, but the least she could do is answer him. Walking up to the couch, he takes a seat. He pats the space beside him loud enough for her to know that it’s a signal. Jamie looks to him and hesitates, before slowly rising from her place atop the end table and approaching him.

“Are you alright?” He asks as she takes her place at his side.

“I’m fine. Just a little worried.” She speaks softly.

He can hear the tension in her voice and it breaks his heart.

“I’m sorry, babe. I did what I co-”

“Bullshit!” Jamie snaps, swiftly turning her head toward him. “You could have done something...”

Cameron is at a loss for words. Two days after the lights and water turned off, the battery powered radios lost all signals; the past four days have been dead air. Realizing that they were truly on their own, Jeffrey grew more emboldened. Sweet talking half of the tenants and muscling the others with his new goons, he now commands the ninth through twelfth floors. On the fourth day, he began a campaign to “consolidate the groups supplies”, just as a gang of raiders set up camp in the lower floors of the complex. This involved using the maintenance man’s keys to invade every apartment and tally the food, water, clothing and weapons.

Having still not revealed his firearms to Jeffrey, keeping them well hidden, Cameron hesitated to stop the lightly armed men as they barged into his home. With two pistols to their names and a series of random knives and blunt instruments, they outnumbered him, though he had superior firepower. Among their arms, he saw a collectible thirty-two caliber revolver that probably hadn’t been fired in decades, and a twenty-two caliber, Taurus 94 revolver. Fear is the reason he didn’t fight them, but not fear of the men in question. What if the government returned and restored order? What if fighting them would anger every other tenant?

As Jeffrey’s gang stole all but a few days’ worth of supplies, and drawing nearly all of the water from his bathtub, Cameron feels like a failure. Two days after the raid, he’s helpless and without hope or direction, effectively emasculated.

“I’m sorry.” Cameron finally chokes out.

“That doesn’t fix it.” Jamie mutters.

Her words cut him deeply. What could he do to fix it? The sounds of chaos and gunfire have diminished substantially in the last few days, though there are certainly dangerous people outside, and right below their feet. Could they make it outside of the complex? If so, could he flee with Jamie and find somewhere better? Anything’s possible.

“I think I can solve this, but you’re going to have to trust me.” He says as sternly as he can.

“Can I?” She snaps.

“Babe... I’d never betray you. I only care about your safety, and I won’t ever do anything to jeopardize your life.”

Jamie looks him over with her big blue eyes, her lips pressed firmly together as she visibly contemplates her options.

“Alright... I’m listening.”

“We need to leave.”

“Wha...” She chokes out. “Are you crazy?!” She speaks in a loud whisper. “We can’t leave! Where will we go?!”

“Somewhere else. If we can get out of the city, we can find a small town, or maybe a camp. This can’t be all there is, and we can find it. I know we can. We’re strong enough.”

Jamie’s look of shock and horror softens. Resting a hand on his shoulder, she leans in and holds him. It’s the first sign of affection that he’s received in nearly two days.

“Okay.” She whispers before softly kissing his cheek. “We can go.”

“Alright. It’s probably going to be safer to travel at dusk.”

“When do you want to leave?”

“I don’t know.” He sighs. “Soon, I guess.”

“Then you should get some sleep. You look like you’ve been up all night.” She says with a little smile.

“I have, watching over you.” He grins back.

After sharing a kiss, Cameron rises from his seat and walks back into the bedroom. Setting his pistol on the nightstand, he lies down as the sun creeps higher and higher into the sky. Only moments after lying down, he succumbs to exhaustion. Looking back at the doorway to their bedroom, Jamie feels her heart pounding. She can’t believe what he’s suggesting; he’s truly lost his grip. Rising to her feet, she walks barefoot, moving quietly toward the door. Slipping out, she walks to Jeffrey’s apartment, right beside their own and softly knocks on the door.

After a moment, it opens. Inside, she can see two of Jeffrey’s men sitting on his couch in the living room. A female tenant is on her knees before both of them. Though she can’t see anything, her view blocked by the armrest, she can see the woman’s head bobbing up and down over one man’s lap. The feline Voeldahn groans and Jeffrey looks back toward him. Glancing to Jamie with a twisted smile, he chuckles.

“She needed some extra supplies.”

“Oh... I need your protection.” Jamie softly begins.

“From what?” Jeffrey asks, stepping outside, a look of concern on his face.

“Cameron. H-he wants to leave.”

“What?! ... When?” He glares.

“I don’t know. I don’t want to go. I think he’s just trying to prove something to me, but it’s crazy and dangerous.”

Jeffrey turns his eyes toward Cameron’s apartment door, silently growling at the thought of losing one of his potential soldiers.

“You’re a real man... Please...” Jamie coos, wrapping her arms around Jeffrey’s neck. “Protect me.”

She kisses the soft, black fur on his muzzle several times.

“Protection is expensive.” He growls sensually, slipping an arm around her slender waist.

“Do you want me to suck your dick again?” She asks innocently.

“No... Protection will require more... Thorough and vigorous payment.” He says, grabbing her buttocks.

As she’s already secretly performed oral sex on him before for extra supplies, she knows that Jeffrey isn’t all that impressive, but somehow his dominance makes him considerably more appealing. Biting her bottom lip, she wonders if she would have agreed to this even if Cameron hadn’t suggested they leave.

“Okay. When do you want me to pay you?”

“Right now, and then a few more times until I’m empty.” He says, nuzzling her face. “Tell me what Cameron’s up to after we’re done.”

“Mmm. Alright, stud. Lead the way.”

Taking her by the hand, he opens his apartment door and pulls her inside, swiftly shutting it behind her. Sitting inside of the little room, the two women’s eyes lock.

“It’s been like a week, Natasha! I smell like a pig and my clothes make me look like one! I’m tired of using a bucket for a bathroom, too!” Lauran whines.

“Then what do you want to do? Just walk out there and head home? Is it even still there?! We have some food and water left, and no one’s found us yet.” Natasha retorts.

“Maybe that’s the problem?!” Lauren growls.

Still hiding in safe room of the store, the two survivors share a long stare. Natasha, the bunny Voeldahn, can see the frustration on the face of her human co-worker. While she feels the same, she knows better than to succumb to frustration; acting rashly costs people their lives.

“You want to be found? Let’s go ask the dead girl at your register how well being found by a gang of teenage boys worked for her. She came in for shelter and thought they’d be friendly, but we both heard what they did to her... For two days.” Natasha reminds her.

Lauren falls silent. She turns her head toward the locked door. After a pause, she closes her eyes. The screams still echo in her head. How she wishes they could’ve done something as no less than five male voices laughed and cheered as they had their way with the girl, over and over again. It broke their hearts, but without weapons there’s nothing they could do without making themselves victims as well. However, dying in a glorified closet isn’t appealing either. Opening her eyes, Lauren turns back to Natasha.

“At least it’s over for her, but it isn’t for us. If there’s somewhere better... Somewhere safer, then we need to find it while we still have the strength to run. Sooner or later, the food and water we have will run out... Maybe someone burns this place down because it stinks too bad, or just because they want to? Do you still want to be here then? By now, the whole city might be dead and we won’t even have a problem. We need to take that chance and leave; take what we can carry and just go. Please.” Lauren pleads with her friend.

Natasha can see the agony in Lauren’s soul, and though she’s afraid to open the door, she knows in her heart that she’s right. Glancing at the half-full shopping basket, the remnants of four, she knows there is only enough to make it a few more days. The store has most certainly been picked clean; there will be nothing left to survive on when their supplies run out.

“Alright... We’ll leave.” Natasha relents.

“Oh, thank God! When?!”

Natasha walks back toward one of their last burning emergency candles, their only source of light. Taking her battery powered wrist watch, she looks at the analog hands. It’s barely noon.

“It’s probably safer to travel at night. Easier to hide.” Natasha answers.

“So...?”

“We’ll wait and listen, and if it’s quiet outside we’ll open the door at dusk.”

Lauren grabs hold of Natasha and holds her tightly, the soft fur of the Voeldahn’s neck and cheek rubbing against her cheek. Trembling from both excitement and fear, she can hardly wait.

“That candle will be just about burned out when it’s time to go. Now you have something to wait for.” Natasha adds.

“Yeah.” Lauren nods vigorously. “There’s going to be a blue sky and fresh air out there, and someplace with green grass! I just know it!”

“... I hope so.” Natasha murmurs.

“Have some faith, sister!” Lauren chirps, her spirit lifted.

Walking around the back of the barn, Hal holds the top break shotgun in his hands. A double-barreled, twelve-gauge shotgun with a cheap rope sling, he found the weapon in an abandoned pickup found behind the barn. The vehicle arrived the day after they ran out of fuel and stowed their truck in the barn. Awakened by a single, loud report, both he and Alexey searched the area to find that a lone traveler, for some reason or another, decided that it wasn’t worth the struggle. After his truck’s hydrogen fuel cell died, the man in the car ‘opted out’.

Luckily for them, he had a large box of buckshot, leaving behind twenty-four shells and some camping supplies. For the past five days, they’ve lived inside of the barn, drinking bottles of water, Faygo Cola and Root Beer, and eating the junk food and candy that would have stocked the convenience store shelves had they finished their route. Looking at his watch, it strikes one but the sky is nearly as dark as night. A thunderclap overhead startles him and a streak of bluish-purple lightning flashes, touching down in the distant corn fields. Slinging the shotgun over his shoulder, he slips back into the barn.

“Hey, Al, it’s about to st-”

Glancing up at the combine harvester, he sees Alexey sitting in the cab and poking around at the controls.

“What the hell are you doing up there?!”

“What do you think these run on?” Alexey asks.

“On tracks and wheels?” Hal quips.

“Har-har... This model has a diesel engine, smart ass.”

“Really?!” Hal nearly gasps.

“Yeah! Someone must’ve been planting grain around here at some point.”

“Well, I only see corn outside... Where’s the tank? Is it even full?” Hal asks.

Alexey looks at the gauges and cycles the key. After waiting a moment, he climbs out of the cab and down the ladder.

“Well, it has power and a half-tank... Now we just need to find it... And some hose... And a pump...”

“You’ve instilled me with confidence.” Hal chuckles. “I’ve got to ask... Why didn’t you suggest this days ago?”

“I don’t know... I was sitting here, daydreaming about being a farmer, and it just came to me.”

“Fair enough. Let’s get to it, then.”

Beginning a more thorough search of the barn’s interior, they dig through a few old cabinets in the back; only a gap of a few feet between the swinging doors and the combine harvester allows them to open. After poking around for a few minutes, Alexey discovers a six-foot length of clear rubber hose and an empty, five-gallon water tank.

“Well, that’s a start.” He murmurs.

“I think I found the fuel tank!” Hal chirps.

Both men quickly get to work, preparing the tank for siphoning the old diesel fuel into the water tank. Without a pump, both men know that they’ll have to do it the old-fashioned way.

“If you start, I’ll do it the second time.” Alexey offers.

“... Fine.” Hal grumbles, snatching the hose. “Why couldn’t I have just won the lottery? I’d be sitting on a beachside manor, safe with my armed guards and year’s supply of food.”

“That’s not what you would’ve spent it on.” Alexey smirks.

“What do you mean?”

“We both know you’d be face deep in snow and balls deep in something else.” Alexey winks.

“Heh... Probably.” Hal chuckles.

The old, green colored fuel runs through the hose as Hal very slowly and carefully pulls it through the tube with his mouth, being careful not to inhale with his lungs.

“Oh god, that’s awful!” Hal coughs, putting his end of the hose in the bucket. “Why’s that have to be so bad?!”

“Don’t worry. I’ll do it the second time.” Alexey chuckles.

Swishing multiple flavors of soft drinks in his mouth and eating a travel sized tube of toothpaste, Hal glares at Alexey.

“Yeah... Well... The toothpaste is mine!”

“Noted.” Alexey smirks.

Walking toward the barn doors, Alexey leans on his forearm and peeks through a tiny crack in the wood, scanning the land outside. The two men can hear the rain as it pelts the old wooden structure.

“Hey... You ever wonder what other survivors are doing right now?” Alexey asks.

“Not really.”

Alexey glances back at Hal, who stands by the water jug, the diesel fuel slowly filling the large container. Subtly nodding his head, the human turns from the horse man, taking another look outside.

“I do.” He murmurs.

Waking up as the sun begins to set, a refreshed Cameron looks around his bedroom. Jamie is nowhere to be seen, his pistol sits on his nightstand, and nothing is out of place. Taking the weapon, he holsters it and heads for his closet. Digging out his M1936 style musette bag, he heads for his living room. To his surprise, Jamie isn’t in the living room or kitchen. Could she be in the bathroom? Without bothering to check, he takes what little food and bottled water they have and stuffs his pack full. Returning to his bedroom, he takes a single change of clothes and jacket, stuffing the clothes in the pack and setting his jacket on the bed.

With Jamie still nowhere to be found, he becomes worried. He quickly digs his spare ammo, magazines, and his grandfather’s Charter Arms Bulldog Classic and stuffs them into his pack as well. Stowing the pack just beneath his bed, he leaves the flap open, should they decide to take anything else with them. Heading for the front door, he slips on his shoes when he suddenly hears a scream. Jamie’s voice echoes from the hallway. Racing outside, he stumbles on his own shoelaces, falling into the hall as a man tries to grab him. Falling over him, Cameron struggles to his feet as more men surround him.

“The fuck?!” Cameron exclaims.

Jamie stands in the hall, several meters away and having feigned a scream; they must have heard him walking around and used her to lure him out. Before Cameron can even open his mouth to ask Jamie if they hurt her, Jeffrey emerges from behind the group. Draping an arm over Jamie’s shoulders, a hand rests over one of her breasts, giving the large orb a good squeeze.

“Good job, pet.” He says with a sinister grin.

“Wha... Why?! We were getting out!!!” Cameron cries out, his eyes watering and heart breaking.

“I don’t want to get out! You don’t know what you’re doing, and you’re going to get me killed. I need a real man to watch over me, and that’s Jeffrey.” She replies, her hand caressing the Voeldahn’s chest.

Turning to her new lover, they share a kiss in front of Cameron. He clenches his teeth through the anger as a man pulls his Beretta 92FS from his holster.

“Woah! Check out this hardware! I haven’t seen a gun like this except in some old movies!” A young feline Voeldahn chuckles.

“What do we do with him?” Mr. Carmichael asks.

“Tie him to a chair or something and put him in the apartment across the hall. I don’t want him in his.” Jeffrey casually orders.

“Yes, sir!”

“And don’t disturb me! I’ve got some more seed to plant.” Jeffrey adds, smacking Jamie’s buttocks.

“Still?!” Jamie giggles.

She glances at Cameron, and for a brief moment she has look of shame on her face. Suddenly, Jamie turns and embraces her new lover, kissing him quite deeply and passionately. Cameron’s heartache is overwhelming as the two men drag him into the apartment across the hall. As ordered, they tie him to a chair. With the apartment door open, all can hear Jamie moaning and Jeffrey grunting as he enjoys her. Though it makes Mr. Carmichael visibly uncomfortable, the young Voeldahn seems to find it quite amusing, watching Cameron who tries not to cry in front of them.

They leave him roped to a chair, stuffed in the small closet near the front door and across from the kitchen of his neighbor’s apartment. Sitting alone and in the darkness of the closet, he can hear everything.

“Nng, nng, ggrrraaaa-fuck!” Jeffrey growls.

“Nng! Nnf! Knot me, baby! Aahhh-yeah!”

As he listens, Cameron’s pain begins to transform. It mutates into a deep and seething hatred, giving him the strength to fight. Rocking back and forth in the chair and twisting his wrists, he grits his teeth through the pain of the friction burn. Wriggling in the chair, it begins to creak. Luckily, the person who lived across from him was elderly, and the chair is many decades old and worn. Cracking a rib of the backrest, he manages to slip a rope free. Using his teeth, he bites it from his wrist and unties the other before freeing his ankles and swiftly tying his shoes.

Slipping out of the closet, he can hear Jeffrey and Jamie finishing. Their cries of pleasure as Jeffrey cums makes Cameron even angrier. Looking into the kitchen, he finds that there are no knives, forks or even spoons inside of the drawers or cabinets. He’s forced to sneak across the hall unarmed. There, beneath his bed, he still has at least one firearm left. He’s thankful that he never shared its existence with Jamie. Creeping into the main hallway, he looks left, and then right. Seeing no one, he begins to tiptoe toward his apartment, the door not directly across from him, but about three meters to his right.

“Hey! What the hell?!” The Voeldahn guard yells.

“Shit!”

The squatting Cameron springs to his feet and races inside. A single gunshot strikes the doorframe a millisecond after he enters his own apartment. Dashing into his bedroom, he throws himself to the floor, landing painfully on the hardwood with a loud thud. He reaches underneath his bed and into his opened pack in a panic. The footsteps of the running Voeldahn grow closer. He feels something. A wooden grip brushes his fingers! Pushing deeper into the pack, he takes hold of the gun and yanks, ripping it from the holster, which is snagged on something inside of the bag.

Turning to face the doorway, he points the loaded revolver and cocks the hammer just as the young feline Voeldahn darts inside. His eyes grow wide as he stares down the barrel of a forty-four.

“Fuck!”

Bang! Cameron’s ears ring as he pulls the trigger, letting loose a single round that sinks into the young man’s chest. Striking him in the heart, he drops to the floor, dead, his hand releasing his weapon. It’s Cameron’s Beretta! Scrambling along the ground, he picks up the pistol as more feet stomp on the floor, quickly heading for the sounds of the gunfire. Taking aim with both handguns, he fires a round from the Bulldog and two from his Beretta as Mr. Carmichael pops inside of his front doorway, the twenty-two revolver in his hand. Hit by one nine-millimeter round and a forty-four slug, he lands on the ground and coughs up blood.

“Oh my God!” Mrs. Carmichael shouts.

“Aaahhh!!!” Jamie screams in terror.

Jumping to his feet, a man tries to pick up the revolver beside the dying Mr. Carmichael, but Cameron fires another shot. Striking just below his head, the round grazes the tip of his nose and scares him. He falls backward, urinating on himself and crawling away from the door, having never even touched the fallen revolver.

“What are you doing, Cameron? Be a good boy and stand down!” Jeffrey calls out from the hallway.

“I’m not your whore, like that bitch standing beside you! Let me out or I swear to God I’ll kill every last one of you motherfuckers!” Cameron growls.

“You won’t shoot Jamie!” Jeffrey laughs.

“You don’t know shit!!!”

Glancing at his pack and then back at the door, Cameron decides to take a second to quickly retrieve it. He tries to move quietly, but as he closes the pack’s flap with one hand, buckling it, he can hear the sounds of feet. Quickly slinging the pack over one shoulder, he darts outside, firing several shots into the hallway. Two bullets from his Beretta strike and kill a teenaged boy who walks into his living room, one of his neighbors. His hand drops the small revolver that once lay by Mr. Carmichael’s now very still body. A round from his Bulldog hits Jeffrey in his left arm, grazing him.

“Ow!” Jeffrey cries out, darting back into the hallway.

“What the fuck?!” A woman shouts.

“Are you nuts?!” Jamie screams.

“You’re God damn right!!!” Cameron yells, his voice cracking.

“We can work this out!” Jeffrey pleads.

“No, we can’t! Back off and let me out, or you’re all dead! I’ve got three out of four guns here and one isn’t even half empty!”

Realizing that they have no choice, Jeffrey and his goons steps back. Cameron can hear them from inside his apartment. Stepping closer, he snatches the little revolver from the floor and jams it deep into a pants pocket before adjusting his pack to sit properly on both shoulders, one gun always pointed at the doorway. Taking a deep breath, he jumps into the hallway, his shoulder slamming into a wall as a man tries to fire the old thirty-two. It clicks, misfiring.

“Nice try. Drop it.” Cameron warns, cocking the hammer of his Bulldog.

The man complies. Cameron kicks the pistol away, not bothering to take it; should it not even be functional, it’d be too much weight with no reward. He walks closer to Jeffrey and Jamie. Jamie is visibly terrified, as is Jeffrey. Their fear makes him feel empowered.

“Pass me those keys and get out of my way.”

Jeffrey complies, dropping the keys and stepping backward.

“You... You had your chance.” He growls at Jamie.

“I’m sorry, I-”

“Shut up! ... I hope they rape you to death.” Cameron barks.

Quickly scooping up the keys, the former prisoner makes his escape. Racing for the elevator, near the emergency stairs, he can hear the gang regrouping. Using the keys, he opens the stairwell door and slips inside, quickly tearing at the barricade. Breaking it down as fast as he can, he can hear feet racing to catch up to him. Without finishing the dismantling, he climbs over the barricade as Jeffrey’s gang enter the stairwell. A man aims the classic thirty-two and pulls the trigger. The round makes a weak puffing sound. Trying again, he pulls the trigger, blowing up the revolver as a good round strikes the back of the dead slug jammed into the barrel.

“Aaahhh!” He wails, two fingers hanging by threads of flesh.

Cameron chuckles and jingles the keys before Jeffrey and Jamie. To their horror, he drops them down to the ground floor over the hand rail, preventing them from locking the door until they can climb and fetch another set of maintenance keys, which Jeffrey’s left in their boxes. Racing down the stairs as they scramble to rebuild the barricade, he runs down to the seventh floor, just beneath the deactivated elevator. Blasting through the door, a few men cook a housecat over a fire, fed by pieces of carpeting and the wood from broken doors and frames. One rises to his feet, drawing a pistol.

“Hey, look!” One remarks as his friend takes aim. “He came from upstairs! There’s still people up there!”

“Let’s see what they got!” The armed man grins.

“I hope they have some women.” One remarks.

“Get the boys. It’s party time!”

Cameron rounds a corner and pulls open the elevator doors, grunting as he strains his muscles. Taking a bloody rag that sits on the floor nearby, he wraps it around his hands. With his lungs filled to capacity, he takes a spilt-second to prepare himself before lunging forward. Gripping the greasy cables tightly, he slides down fast.

“Oh shiiiiit!” He cries out.

He squeezes with the inner sides of his shoes and both hands, nearly shredding the cloth. Landing on his feet, he stumbles, kicking up a cloud of rancid dust in the bottom of the elevator shaft. Somehow, he’s managed to land without breaking anything. Struggling for a flashlight in his pack, he stands in an abyss of darkness. It terrifies him that he can’t see the tip of his own nose. Finding a light, he turns it on and pops the end in his mouth. Slinging his pack once more, he struggles to open the ground floor doors. They creak and squeak as they slide open.

Poking his head out, Cameron looks left and then right. With no one to be seen, he pulls himself out of the elevator shaft, his skin and clothes all a greyish-tan from the filth within the shaft. He can hear the echoes of screaming and gunfire echoing faintly through the shaft. Though he can’t be certain, he grins at the thought that it’s Jamie and Jeffrey. Walking with a light limp, a result of a mildly sprained ankle, he moves through the abandoned ground floor. Stepping outside through a broken window and into a downpour, he looks to the horizon. In the distance, a pinkish-orange sky teases him from well beyond the nearly black clouds that unleash a torrent.

The water is cool in the warmth of the summer night. His hair grows damp and he can taste the sweat and dirt as it’s washed over his scalp and cascades over his lips. He takes a few steps outside and turns back, looking up at the ninth floor. As angry and hurt as he was, now all he can feel is sorrow.

“I’m sorry... You should’ve come with me.” He murmurs to himself.

Slipping his guns into his waistband, he wishes he could’ve collected his jacked before leaving. He now needs to find a place to wait out the storm, check his supplies and reload his weapons; putting on his simple gun belt would also be a good idea. Looking toward a burned-out building, a portion of roof remains. Cameron quietly makes his way toward the building, one hand resting on the grip of his Beretta as he trudges through the puddles in his athletic shoes.

“Almost...” Lauren murmurs to herself.

Pacing back and forth in the darkness of the safe room, Lauren watches as Natasha packs their things into a cheap, empty backpack, forgotten by an employee who wasn’t on the clock that fateful day. Stuffing the large sack with everything that’s left in their shopping basket, Natasha is careful to leave out the things that they might need right away, such as pocket-sized flashlights and a lighter. Lauren’s ecstatic at the prospect of finally leaving, though she isn’t sure what to expect. All she does know is that she’ll soon be out of the room.

Hearing the storm booming outside doesn’t sway her from staying another night, though Natasha did try to talk her into it. It’s time they left, and both young women know it. Passing her the packed bag, Lauren slips the thick rope straps of the grey Nike backpack onto her back, while Natasha takes her place beside the door, gripping the handle tightly. They haven’t heard a single noise aside from the storm in over two days. Perhaps it’s safe? Slowly and quietly, Natasha unlocks the door of the saferoom. Pushing it open, a stench worse than their own waste in the bucket nearby fills their nostrils.

“Oh god, that’s horrible.” Lauren can’t help but choke out.

Neither woman needs to ask the other what the source is. They remember the girl from a few days earlier. Both women are briefly struck by the appearance of the store. Not only are the shelves bare, but some of them are actually missing. Carpeting near the front door and the tiles by the freezer units of the small market have been pulled up or broken. Why would anyone steal floor tile? Not a single pencil is left near the register that once sat at Lauren’s counter, while Natasha’s counter is smashed and the conveyor belt is torn to pieces. It’s as if a tornado blew through the store, smashing every last window on the way out.

Natasha spots something, tapping Lauren on the shoulder. Looking to her friend, her vision is directed by the bunny girl’s clawed finger, which points to a far corner. There, flies buzz around the ice-cold corpse of a female. The canine Voeldahn, her fur naturally black but with dyed cyan stripes, stands out like a sore thumb. Lying nude and face down, she probably died where she lay, near the door to the back room. Parts of her fur are matted with blood, deep cuts visible in her flesh. The fur of her bare buttocks is matted with copious amounts of another body fluid, which both disturbs and embarrasses the two women. The stench of her rotting corpse fills the market.

Lauren is heartbroken, but turning to Natasha, she can see that the death of the woman has hit her even harder. Is it because they are both Voeldahn? Did she know the girl from the neighborhood and simply doesn’t want to say? With fur like that, she’d be hard to mistake for someone else. Whatever the reason, she can see the devastation on her friend’s face as her bottom lip quivers and her eyes well with tears. She knows that she must take charge.

“Come on... Let’s go, before night falls and it’s too dark to see.” Lauren says softly, resting a hand on Natasha’s back.

“Right.” Natasha sniffles. “Lead on...”

Stepping outside and into a torrential downpour, they look around at the carcass of the once vibrant city. Burned out and dead, it reminds them of photographs from Detroit’s past; how it looked in the mid and late 2000s is how it appears now. A shop lies collapsed from fire, the burnt wreckage blocking half of the street. Nearly every car has smashed windows, while more than a few are turned over, wheels in the air like a dead animal. They look in shock for some time, their bodies soaked from the rain. Lauren shakes off the horror and turns to Natasha.

“Hey!” She yells over the sounds of the pouring rain. “Let’s head south! The city ends faster that way, and there’s small towns there!”

“Okay!” Natasha nods.

Trying to stay beneath what’s left of awnings and weaving between the rubble, the two women walk on their own through the city of the dead.

“Metro Detroit’s gone!” Lauren comments, looking at the wreckage.

“Yeah! It’s like a deadtropolis!” Natasha quips.

“That’s pretty good!” Lauren chuckles.

“I have my moments!”

Walking past a compact car with smashed windows, Natasha pauses. Looking at the car, which is in better shape than most, she quietly calls out to Lauren before slowly opening the car door.

“What are you doing?” Lauren asks.

“Just taking a look. Maybe there’s something we can use.”

“Are you sure we should be doing this?”

“I’m pretty sure the owners aren’t coming back.” Natasha retorts. “... This’ll go faster if you help me.”

Closing the door of the truck, Alexey slips the square key into the ignition module.

“Man, I’m glad I was able to just... Hold the hose closed until the water tank was empty. I get to enjoy this delicious gum.” Alexey teases before blowing a bubble.

“Shut up... Let’s just get out of here.” Hal grumbles.

“Why so bent out of shape?” Alexey chuckles.

“You knew the whole time that we’d only have to pull fuel once, didn’t you?”

“... Yeah. Are you mad?” Alexey asks.

“No... I probably would’ve done the same thing, had I thought of it first. Well, are you starting the truck or what?!”

“Oh, yeah, right!”

Turning the key and starting the engine, now fed with twenty-gallons of aged diesel, they drive through the opened door of the barn, leaving their secluded safehouse behind. With windshield wipers on high speed and driving slowly, they struggle to see through the heavy rain.

“Oh, shit!!!” Alexey yells.

Slamming on the brakes, several zebras and an elephant stomp past them, running off and into the woods.

“... The hell?” Hal raises a brow.

“I guess someone thought it would be nice to open the cages at the zoo.” Alexey remarks.

“Well, there’s a story to tell your grandkids.” Hal sighs.

“From which wife?”

“You’ve never been married.” Hal retorts.

“I know.” Alexey smirks.

Taking his foot off of the brake, Alexey carefully drives away, continuing on southward toward rural Michigan and eventually Ohio. Though they aren’t sure where they are going, or how long it will take to get there, they know that there’s someplace where they’ll be safe. Driving just past nightfall, the rain finally stops. They’ve covered nearly thirty miles but having taken only back roads, they still have considerable distance before they reach the border. Turning a corner, Alexey stops and Hal grumbles.

“Can’t we get a damn break?”

Before their truck is a small convoy, possibly broken down and all armed. A man holding an old AR-15 turns to face the truck, illuminated by the lights. He aims the rifle at Alexey, while another man checks his shotgun, making sure the chamber is loaded. A tapping on the driver’s side window makes them both jump. Looking over, a feline Voeldahn with multi-colored fur stands near Alexey’s door. With what appears to be a custom dye job, his dark fur with even darker stripes off-sets the pastel red that covers his chest, front neck and chin. He motions with his empty hand for Alexey to roll down the window, and Alexey complies.

“Hello there! I’m Charles McKraken, but you can call me ‘Sir’!”