FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

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_ Author's Note: this story is set between Chapter 30 and the Epilogue of “Bovine Parents", taking place some time during the latter half of that decade._

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“So whereabouts are ya from?"

“Out-of-state."

“Where ya headed?"

“Nowhere special."

“Can ya be any more specific, or is that too intrusive?"

“I'm just lookin' for a place to crash overnight, then I'll be off again."

Trent looked at the man's clothes. They were dirty, rough, dishevelled; the kind someone wears over and over again when times are tough. A heavy rucksack towered over his head, stuffed to bursting. It was a lot of weight to carry, but he refused any assistance. The man wanted nobody touching his things. Understandable...they had met a mere two hours ago. Trent's car broke down — something went wrong with the engine. He didn't know what exactly. He wasn't a car guy. They just got him from 'A' to 'B' and any hassle they gave him he had a professional check out. If he found a service station along the way that would be his journey ended.

“Ugghh..."

He narrowed his gaze at the man. Yeah, his car had broken down, and there he was: helpless on the side of a country road, like a headless chicken, with no real solution to his transport problems. Half an hour passed with him trying to figure out what needed fixing when the only other person he'd seen since setting forth on his drive showed up. Thought he was a bum at first, but he seemed too clean to have been homeless long, if at all. He introduced himself, and they talked for a moment. Trent wasn't getting anywhere with his car repairs so he took out the key and set off along the road with the other man. That was then, this is now — a long walk on a hot day.

“Couldn't have picked a worse day for this," he groaned, complaints frequenting his stride, “out walkin' in the god-damned sun! You sure you're okay under them clothes?"

“..."

His travelling companion kept to himself, not saying much. Trent coaxed little out of him, save his name which — even then — he wasn't sure he heard correctly. The man had a habit of slurring that particular word. Mace? Maison? Mason? Whatever it was, it began with an 'M'. He stuck with Mason, avoiding actually saying it out loud in case his guess was wrong. Names aside, beyond that he had nothing concrete to go on. 'Mason' was headed West, from Kola Ridge (or farther perhaps) to the other end of the state. Trent hadn't gotten a reason why, and from the man's appearance it was certain he was currently in a bad, bad place.

“You walkin' far today?" he asked, trying to reduce his boredom. No reply was forthcoming.

He's gone silent again, Trent thought, he's been doin' that a lot.

Still, he didn't seem crazy, so Trent was happy to have someone to talk to. Even if the responses (when they came) were terse.

Their silent trek continued for ten more minutes, until they rounded a long corner. Once the surrounding woods cleared they discovered their path had forked. The road diverged in a sharp 'V' with no clear route in sight. The junction noticeably lacked signs. Both forks went on and on, the same scenery every which way. Unsure of Mason's preference, Trent pulled out a compact paper map and flipped the booklet to where he reckoned they were.

“So...we came from the Canassia Wilds...through the Central Line...all along I-278 heading due West from Rover and the highway South up from...from...the state border with Centrassia..." he pondered, his through process audible to Mason, who had stopped beside him. “Damn," Trent cursed, “that's almost eleven miles..."

“Jesus," he swore, out-of-breath. “We've been walkin' for a couple hours now and we're still nowheres from anywhere!"

Mason moved in front of him, shambling back-and-forth from the centre of each road that forked from their position. A faint grumbling could be heard as he stepped. “What's on your mind?" Trent asked him.

“Fork."

“Huh?" Trent furrowed his brow.

“Y'said fork," Mason barked, “on the map there, and your eyes can see it, stupid!" his hand flicked in front of Trent's face, dancing a jig as he snapped his arm to point to the roads ahead. “Which one's better?"

“Between you and me," Trent replied, “the sooner we get back to civilisation, the better. I'm looking for a town, or something...anythin' that'll give me access to a phone."

“Ain't got one with ya? Not workin'?"

Trent removed his smartphone from his front pocket. “Nah," he sighed, “reception out here's a fickle bitch. I can't make a call without it droppin' in the first three seconds or so."

“Bummer."

“Too true. Closer we get to a town, I should either have cell coverage restored, or there'll be a payphone on the street or in a corner store. Tried the apps on this too — y'know, for maps — not much help, kept showing me a giant blue circle coverin' dozens of square miles instead of knowin' exactly where I am. Can't use the map directly neither, nothing's loading 'cause of the reception issue."

Should've set up offline maps, he bitched at himself, impatience and irritation burning inside him like the heat of the sun. That shit should be the god-damn default!

“Instead I got this thing," he shook the old-fashioned booklet, “in the glove compartment of my car. Don't think I ever used it before. Hell, don't think I ever seen it before now. Must've come with the car..." his train of though petered out, leaving him quiet.

Mason leaned over to peek at the map. The two of them scanned it, starting from their current estimated position down both possible paths. There wasn't much to see, but then they noticed something...

“We got a town or some kinda village either way," Mason pointed out. Trent scratched his chin, his neat-trimmed beard itching in the warm sun. “That we do," he said, “from the looks of it, they're both roughly the same distance from here."

“Well we gotta make a choice," Mason added, tapping the paper as he spoke, “this one or this one?"

“Flip a coin?"

They burst into bouts of raucous laughter. To sum up their decision with a coin toss! After recovering, Mason fished a quarter from his pocket. Heads: they take the upper road. Tails: the lower. Heads won, but not before the quarter slipped from his hand, bouncing once on the tarmac and rolling in a wide arc with its owner in hot pursuit. Snatching his coin from the road with suspicious neediness, Mason returned to his fellow traveller, still studying the map.

“You're right. If we make to here," he tapped on the map, awaiting correction from Mason. When none came, he continued: “if make it to here, there's ought-ta be a motel for you to stay while I call the auto company. Reckon so?"

“I do."

“Good. We'll do that."

Trent noticed the change in his companion's features now that they had a plan to stick to. Seeing Mason's face lighten, he handed him the map.

“You wanna take point for a while?"

“Be a pleasure, stranger," Mason smiled.

* * *

Mason wasn't sure what to make of his situation. Yes, he did have company...but that really wasn't the issue. Though he was cautious with his new acquaintance; fear that consumed the mind of an itinerant like him...fear of attack, or worse, was ever-present. He'd had the misfortune of being mugged several times in the past year, a hit to his finances he could ill afford. Trent, however, was a different breed of man. Unlikely to resort to base and vulgar methods in pursuit of wealth. Mason could breathe easy. This guy was even less street-smart than he!

“You okay?"

Dragged from his day-dream by Trent's voice, Mason shrugged. “Fine."

“You look unwell. Is the heat gettin' to ya?"

“I'm fine."

He was leading for now. They'd a fair amount of ground to cover, but were making good progress. Conversation was off the table, his head was already filled with things he needed to put in order, devoting time to small talk...not his priority. Not something he wanted.

“Reckon we got much left to cover before lunch?"

“Could you just stop askin' questions!?" Mason blurted out.

Trent fell back, his pace reduced slightly. “Sorry," he said, “I'll leave ya be."

Mason turned his head, glancing behind him at Trent. “It's just...my head's swimmin' with shit right now. Too much is goin' on." He double-checked the map. “Look," he showed him, “we'll be there soon, I think."

He'd started walking early this morning, after a decent breakfast. The place he'd found himself inhabiting was a town called Kola Ridge. Trent had guessed as much. However this place wasn't his home, and held no particular value to the traveller. For him it was one of a string of places he was forced to move on from. When he saw the same thing he'd seen happen many times afore, he gathered his belongings and set off on the open road, 'til the next town he came across had nothing to keep him there. Then, the cycle repeated.

Two bad years can ruin a man, leave him poor and paranoid. Three will make him desperate. Four or five? That's when darker thoughts begin to appeal, the gnawing non-feeling that becomes the norm grows and grows, until injury or death is the only way to feel anything anymore.

Mason was one to keep trucking on, hoping for a happy ending. He kept a tight grip on all his valuables, his money most of all. Seasonal labour was his source of cash, until the work dried up and he was left holding the ticking time-bomb of destitution. Again, this was nothing new; his life story — if ever it be written — held many passages much alike.

Later, as trust in his companion developed, he spoke more. Small things. Unimportant things. But they kept him sane on the long walk. Trent didn't share his love of the superficial, and often tried to pry. This was unwelcome in Mason's eyes. Maybe he'll get tired of—

“I have to ask..." Trent began. Mason winced. Those words: 'I have to ask', they always precipitated a serious exchange. 'I have to ask'...no you don't.

“Ya lose your home?"

“What sorta question is that?"

“A personal one. Very personal. Don't answer if ya don't wanna."

I'll take you up on that offer, stranger. “No. I won't."

“Okay then. Sorry if that sounded rude. Ya just—"

“I just look it?" he interrupted, pissed off.

“_Yuh-_yes," Trent answered sheepishly.

“Thanks." Mason's sarcastic response left an ambiguity in the air. He was content to let it hang there, but soon realised having this guy think he was a well-spoken hobo might sour their temporary relationship. He needed to fix that.

“I'm not homeless," he awkwardly declared.

“Good for you then."

“I just travel. A lot...for work."

“That's cleared that up then."

“I have money—"

“Okay, okay! Ya don't have to keep tellin' me. Let's just keep walkin'." Mason went back to grumbling to himself while Trent followed behind.

Then what drove him away, if not the looming threat of sleeping rough? The answer both angered and confused him. He remembered the police presence on the streets one day waking up. No townspeople in sight, not even his landlord. All he heard was they up sticks and left. “Shithole of a town ain't got no prospects no more," one man he'd bumped into explained, “farms in these parts don't fetch much in the way of the almighty dollar — unless you belong to some big city corporation." The man had been loading his truck as he spoke, preparing his own mini-exodus. “When we got an offer far beyond what anybody could hope to get for this land, we said 'hells yeah'!" Mason was left to fend for himself, his rental accommodation disappearing from under him. He lacked the clout of home ownership to stand up for once and demand answers.

Every time, every place... it's the same thing, he recalled. His legs were hurting.

Letting his mind wander some more, he dwelt not on the clear-out of Kola Ridge on the morning of the 'abandonment' (as he termed it). No, the odd part was the afternoon, when trucks and armed guards stormed into the town, cordoning off section after section. Mason had been floating aimlessly about town after learning he had no place anymore, his rucksack filled and he himself bracing for another journey. Armed guards...those vehicles...suits emblazoned with one word, burned into his memory: 'colony'.

Colony.

It was very strange. He wanted no part of this sudden drama. Kola Ridge had nothing for him. Hell, Kola Ridge probably stopped existing that very day. It was time for him to move on...