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CHAPTER FOUR

The New World

Two Weeks Before Hospitalization…

“Canada has reported its stock market is in widespread freefall as the New York Stock Exchange hits record lows. Meanwhile the President is scheduled to initiate a press conference this evening addressing the rise of the Curse Flu, the new pandemic to strike North Americ-”

I turned off the TV, it was all the same. The Curse Flu had erupted in the news some week or two ago, and already the trucking industry had gone to crap. I was thankful I had finished my last broker run of the month and decided to come home early. The load boards were dry and there was too much competition as it was for what little remained. That and the government checkpoints across the country had become increasingly bothersome. No longer were you able to run coast to coast mildly accosted by highway patrol or Federal DOT officers. Now it was government “men in black” fellows stopping you, checking your blood, temperature, and all that dang crap. It had been too much for me, and I needed a break home after six months on the road anyway.

The news had proved useless once I turned it on. All it had been was reports I already knew, from other drivers on the road, about the state of the country and how it was going to shit in a handbasket real quick. The midwest and west coast had been hit pretty hard, and now the east coast was feeling the strain not only from the loss of goods but also from the pandemic itself. It was only a matter of time before it hit the Southeast, and finally Georgia where I resided. There were already some scary reports from drivers coming from the midwest, reports of strange beasts assaulting drivers and four-wheelers—the truckers term for pedestrian vehicles—on the road. Thankfully, all it was at current was just that: stories from the tired truck driver, or so I hoped.

Tired of the monotony inside the small camper trailer, I picked up my truck keys and exited onto the yard. Trees all around the property with four acres vacant, I looked briefly at my small hitch-trailer camper. It was a Legacy Elite II model travel trailer, and I had custom poured a concrete pad and had a contractor come out to install utility outlets a year or two back. It was only around twenty-three foot long from tongue to rear, very quaint on the inside, but everything I needed in my temporary home. Thanks to my efforts, I had enough stored up in the bank already to prepare for a real cottage build like I wanted. With the economy tanking and prices soaring, though, my future hopes of a more permanent home had all but been quashed. I instead was preparing to make the travel trailer more permanent on the pad for the years to come.

Beside the trailer and on a custom poured gravel driveway was my Freightliner Argosy cabover truck, painted white with a red stripe along the side. One of the last to be manufactured in the country back in 2006, I had grabbed it on a deal and later overhauled the engine. Hooked to it behind was a custom 3000R refrigerated trailer with the same matching red stripe down the middle, and I had used it to typically haul supermarket loads. Now most of that market was drying up fast with the slow loss of west coast produce and frozen goods, though there had been some good runs out of South Carolina and Alabama that I had done before that, too, dried up. I looked at them both in wonder, both in appreciation and wondering if I’d ever step foot in them again.

I dangled my keys again and looked forward of my cabover to my old green-colored 1992 Ford Ranger, shaking my head at the state of the world before entering my personal vehicle. I entered it, closing the door, and started the engine before heading out the driveway. It was twelve o’clock in Blairsville, Georgia right then, and I knew John would likely be at the Hole in the Wall downtown.

~~~***~~~

Blairsville was still as lively as I remembered it, which wasn’t much. Situated along the routes of US-76 and US-19, it was a perfect hidey-hole from the business of Atlanta way further to the south. The mountains to the east provided a decent view of untouched civilization, while the modest city that Blairsville had become provided a simple small-town feel in the upper wilderness of the state. There were still a lot of folk that lived here, and the government had already entered the city with its construction of what it called the Pandemic Building along Pat Haralson Drive to the north of the city. Still, though, little else had changed.

“There you are John,” I greeted as I entered the Hole in the Wall. It was a modest restaurant, having as rich a history here as old as the city, and a good place for long-timed locals to meet-and-greet and have a nice meal. My hand met that of John Wilsons, a trucker friend of mine, and his firm handshake was a good feel to my own. “Good to see you again, how’s the road been?”

“Empty,” he remarked with a grin. John was a tall man, taller than most I met, and about a foot taller than myself. He was an African-American with a surprisingly sturdy build for a truck driver, persistent in his workout routine even on the road. And he was a loyal and friendly person. He had moved to Blairsville some twenty-five years ago from Atlanta and never looked back, and I never blamed him.

“Oh, yeah?” I replied as we took our usual booth window seats. “That old cabbage run not giving you anything?”

In comparison to him, I was a foot shorter, and unlike John's bald head, I myself sported a thick layer of brown hair neatly combed. I didn’t have any facial hair, nor did John, and while he could easily count as a weight-lifter, I was anything but with my beer belly. I wasn’t too out of shape, but I definitely could not compete with someone on the grade John was with his capacity to life. He needed the strength to, he always took the hands-on grocery runs. He looked at me with a half-cocked grin as I reciprocated with one of my own.

“Nah, the place went out of business a week ago,” he replied, his deep baritone voice surprisingly soft for a man of his stature. “I’ve been looking for alternate runs, but my Broker went radio silent around three days ago and….well….you know how it is.”

“Yeah,” I replied, solemnly. I didn’t have as deep a voice as he, and my Georgian accent shone through more than his sophisticated tone. John was a well educated man, having two bachelor degrees in logistics and management, and I was still surprised he didn’t utilize it to find a higher paying job. “Anyway, why aren’t you on the road?” he asked.

“Same shit as you,” I said as the waitress came up.

We both turned our attention to her, a young lady probably in her early twenties, about as tall as myself and ever pretty with her neatly bunned hair. She smiled at both of us as we looked at her. She’d worked there all her life, I bet, and we knew her name was Amanda.

“My two boys back from the road again?” she said with a smile, her gentle voice always a nice ring to my ears. “Same as usual or something different?”

“Usual,” John replied, careful to look at me first but seeing no objection. I nodded as he replied as such.

“Alright then, two biscuits and gravies coming up. I’ll have your coke’s out in a moment,” Amanda said cheerfully, turning away.

“Sight for sore eyes,” John said, watching her go.

“You ain’t lyin’,” I replied. “Anyway, how’s the wife and kids?”

John sighed, looking out the window to the parking lot. “Judy’s still stay-at-home for now with young Darius. Timothy and Bobbie were trying for college, but with the world going to shit and travel restrictions down, their prospects are down.”

“Shitty times we live in,” I murmured, and John uttered a grunt of agreement.

Just as we began to ruminate, Amanda returned with our coca-cola’s. We thanked her as she gave us a smile before returning toward the kitchen. We both took a drink, before John pulled out his phone. “Ah, damnit,” he said, eyeing the smartphone briefly before replacing it back in his pocket.

“What is it?” I asked. He grunted.

“Darius threw up again. Judy’s got it under control for now, but she thinks he might be sick,” John said, looking my way. “If I wasn’t thinking right, I’d think we were all a bit sick.”

I nodded, but didn’t say a word. It wasn’t as bad here as other places, but rumor was any sign of sickness—even if it legitimately was a cold—meant government spooks would show up and escort you off. The look on John’s face told me everything; he was worried, deeply so, about the state of his family. I felt pity for him, glad for once I never married.

“Need to go?” I asked. “I can cancel the order.”

“Nah,” John said, waving a hand. “Judy has it handled. I need this meal anyway. It’s why I’m here. Glad you showed up, though, David. It’s good to see you again.”

I smiled. “Likewise, brother,” I said.

A short few moments later and Amanda brought our plates out. She gave us her signature smile, winking at me as she always did, and pursed her lips to give a gentle blowing kiss toward John. I watched John catch it, then toss it away. “You know I'm married girl,” he said as he laughed.

“Can’t help to try!” she replied with a smirk, then turned and headed back to the front. I let out a gentle laugh alongside John.

“I think that girl likes you,” I teased him.

“Nah,” he replied, beginning to dig into his meal. “I think she likes you. Maybe you should do something about it.”

“Maybe,” I said, starting on my meal as well. “Someday, maybe.”

~~~*~~~ * ~~~*~~~

Back in the present…

My eyes opened slowly as my mind fought to catch up. The memories of before still flooding my senses, reliving the times I’d been human, and the fonder moments of friends and acquaintances. The recollection of my home and belongings tugged at my consciousness, trying to remind me I was still a human being with responsibilities. The sense of overwhelming dread at the drastic changes in society lingered in my awareness as I fought of the gentle panic that threatened to overwhelm me. I tried to flex my arms and, much to my initial surprise, the feeling of them was replaced by something entirely different. The sense of dysphoria returned in force and my vision blurred, spinning as I let out a soft groan of pain at the onset of the headache.

No, that’s wrong, I reminded myself, looking down at my forepaws as I flexed my paws open and closed. I’m not human anymore, there’s no going back. Calm down. What’s done is done.

With my awareness returning, and my mental reaffirmation of my change, I began to feel myself normally again—or whatever passed for normal now in this new world. I felt my tail slide slowly on the concrete, briefly touching Sandy’s own as I felt her chest expand and contract gently against my back. I felt her forepaws around me, and her head resting gently in my mane. I settled my head back where it had been, letting myself recover from the onset of the dysphoria of self that threatened to usher in an uncontrollable hysteria. I closed my eyes to further recover for a few more minutes, before daring to open them again.

The pack, I mentally reminded myself. I’m with a pack of ferals now. Better or worse, they haven’t eaten me as food yet. And one of them is rather possessive of me. I’m safe, for the moment. Just relax.

I felt every alarm bell in my body slowly dwindle to nothing as I allowed my mental affirmations to settle in. As I settled, my senses expanded beyond myself, one of my ears perking gently to take in my surroundings. The gentle hum of an overhanging fluorescent light caught my attention first as my eyes remained fixed forward. Its light provided enough illumination in the backrooms of the storage area to see the plain-grey cinder block walls ahead of me, intermixed with the crumbled and half destroyed storage racks that contained nothing on them. I didn’t know what time it was, but something inside me ventured to guess it was early morning. The fact that electricity was still running in this ruined world wasn’t lost on me, and I wondered briefly on why that was.

Someone must be keeping the lights on, I guessed. Maybe that means there’s still a possibility of some inkling of humanity around. Then again, it’d be a poor hope I could return to it the way I am now. They’d likely see me as some twister monster, shoot me on sight. I would, anyway.

The thought sombered me deeply. I was a changed person, in every sense of the word. My entire physiology as a human being had been altered in a span of time I couldn’t accurately recollect. One moment of my memories was filled with the sense of dread that came with the onset of the pandemic, then the next was filled with the hospital. After that, nothing until I woke up in the stockade. In my perception of events, it had all happened so fast, but realistically this transformation could have easily taken days. Maybe by the time the doctors saw it happening they had moved me to prepare for future treatment, and, as I speculated further, maybe by that time they themselves had either died or become afflicted themselves.

I wonder if that means any of these ferals were someone I used to know, I asked myself. My breathing was easy as I thought on it all, but no correlation came immediately to mind to stifle the loose threads of evidence I had been manufacturing. Maybe these ferals were someone I used to know, someone either close or in passing. Probably just another family that suffered like I did, and some part of them remained enough not to kill me outright.

It was all intense speculation that warranted further review, but without any further evidence to support everything I had concocted up to explain the world I was in now, I couldn’t allow my thoughts to dwell further on it. I released a sigh, and I felt Sandy’s head lift from my mane as I heard her release a wide yawn. The feeling of her tongue briefly on my neck was a welcome respite, like a pet greeting their master when they first woke. I shivered a bit from the lick, but otherwise didn’t display any further reaction until she lifted herself up. When she did, I set myself up on my belly, stretching all my new appendages much like a cat in the morning after its first nap. I felt bones and joints pop gently as I stretched and huffed in relief, before turning my head to see where Sandy had gone off to.

Where are you going, girl? I thought as I turned my head the other way and saw her gentle gait toward the hallway. My answer was given when I saw her turn behind a bent storage frame and squat. I looked away before I saw anything further, thinking on the last time I had relieved myself of my own stored-up waste. Probably a good idea if I follow suit.

I lifted myself up and headed toward the hallway, Sandy absently watching me as I went through the double plastic doors into the supermarket proper. I was quiet as I began to investigate on a good spot to relieve myself, scanning the area as I settled on the front. There was the customer service counter, somewhat shattered and broken in places, and I meandered my way around it. A few minutes later and feeling less weight within me, I moved back around it, stretching again with a wide yawn as I looked toward the shattered windows at the front of the supermarket. It was dark outside and, not wanting to waste an opportunity, I headed out and stopped just a few feet on the leading asphalt near the front sidewalk.

“My God, the stars,” I wondered aloud softly.

My eyes were locked heaven-bound as I wondered at the clarity of starlight that now shone down. The lights from inside the supermarket were dim or inoperable behind me, only giving gentle illumination to the destruction within and providing no obstacle for my newly sensitive eyesight. I could see colors and shapes and sights in the heavens I knew I would have never seen before. The wide band of the milky way was bright and visible next to the shining stars on the moonless night, and the gentle croak of frogs and soft sounds of morning nature added to the effect of the beauty of the still infant morning.

I suppose there’s one benefit to the apocalypse, I thought, my mind softened and relaxed from the beautiful heavenly view. No light pollution to prevent you from seeing natures beauty.

My thoughts were interrupted as I heard soft padding behind me. I looked, seeing Sandy approach, her white-colored eyes reflecting gently with an glow of their own as she approached with her head and tail down. I watched as she moved to press her head into my side before sitting beside me, laying down on her belly as she looked briefly skyward then around. Her ears were active and moving as she listened to the nightjars and other creatures mark the passing of the previous night. My eyes caught hers as she looked back toward me, and for a fleeting moment I thought I felt some kind of odd connection there. Her slow blink interrupted it as she looked away.

Dutiful hound, I thought, looking back towards the parking lot. Plenty of abandoned vehicles in view to my eyes, despite the moonless night. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this nightvision, seeing things I’m not supposed to.

We sat there together for what felt like an hour. Sandy didn’t utter a sound of complaint the entire time. Behind us the sun was rising, and as I watched the dawn began to erase the clarity of the night stars. Bands of soft light began to illuminate the surroundings as the sun began to crest the foot of the Appalachian mountains behind us. It wouldn’t be long before the full morning of day was upon us.

“What’s on the agenda for today, girl?” I asked down to Sandy. She only perked one ear toward me, her head focusing in the other direction. I looked that way too.

She was focused toward the other end of the parking lot, adjacent to the Ingles itself, but the opposite end of where we sat. It was just past the two abandoned semi-trailer trucks that I saw them, twin pairs of reflective eyes, the very same that Sandy and the pack inside had; a feral, bestial reflection of both emptiness and also something else—curiosity and caution, perhaps. Something in my gut twisted, and as it did I heard Sandy growl as I watched both her ears direct themselves towards the two newcomers.

“Not friends of yours?” I asked, gently, and as if in response her growls grew in intensity. Yet in that brief moment I heard her growls subside briefly, her head twisting back to examine me with a soft whine, her eyes fixed on mine. She’s wondering why I’m not growling too, I realized, not warning the interlopers.

Sandy twisted her head back, resuming the growls, as if expecting me to join in. I thought a moment longer on the prospects of such as my eyes were trained on the two adult-sized beasts as they slinked across the entranceway asphalt and up into the parking lot proper. I had but a moment to make my decision, and in that moment, I ruminated.

I had awoken in a world of things new and strange to me, of animals and creatures who were all but feral. I appeared to be the only thinking, conscious thing left alive insofar as I had discovered. Everything else had already turned into something primal, animalistic, feral. I had deduced that this was the end result of the virus that infected me, that this would be my end. I had decided that, through my opinions as of recent, it was far better to prepare for the future than avoid it. And to compliment all that, I now resided—at least temporarily—with a pack of ferals that at the very least hadn’t tried to kill me.

I was already establishing myself in this new world, whether I accepted it or not. I had made my choice and until that choice was countered by some other greater force, I had already made the decision to be copacetic with it. And now, at the cusp of me enjoying the bounty and tranquility of however poor or grand of a choice that was, something was threatening the new opportunities that had presented themselves before me. I did the only thing, therefore, that made sense to me, compelled therefore by my instincts than my consciousness; the compelling of which surprised even myself due in part to the differences such instincts had with my awareness.

I growled, loudly, baring teeth and fang and posturing in a threat. Whereas Sandy’s growls had been met with the two interlopers slinking like children entering the aftermath of a candy sale, my growls added further intensity to the warning, joining Sandy’s to create a loud crescendo of primal growling that echoed in the morning toward the threats. They stopped immediately in their tracks, ears perked, eyes widened, staring in our direction.

We got their attention, I thought as I felt my body rise to all fours, posture midway between a crouch and full stand. Now what?

This was answered for me as Sandy rose to her fours, moving slowly toward the interlopers as she continued her growl. Remembering her gaze to me earlier, the trust and expectation expressed in those primitive eyes, I joined her almost immediately after she began. We continued growling, breathing in a snarl, and breathing out a deep growl that reverberated around us and in front of us. It was a new experience for me, these growls, and the feeling of control of them I had growing with each repetition. I began to let my mind slip further away from my awareness, allowing my instinctual nature to come to the fore.

I was no longer human, after all. I was an animal now, doomed to become one of them whether I wanted to or not. Best I entreat the impending demise of my mental faculties by embracing that which would eventually have full control, or at the very least forming a budding or firm friendship with it so upon such relinquishing I didn’t die a beggar's death.

As we neared I was able to garner a bit more about our two new visitors. Both had tags in their ears; the beast on the left had a tag numbered one-nine-nine-zero and the beast on the right had a tag numbered one-nine-nine-one. The left was slightly taller in stature and size than the right, with horns that bowed out and upward like those of a bulls. They had claw marks and bite marks across their body, severely scarred, and clearly a veteran of many battles. The one on the right was smaller than the left, with one horn broken off mid-way and the other jutting upward like a spike on their head. They also had many scars and bite marks, though considerably fewer than their—I assumed—pack leader.

Both of the beasts were shriveled to the bone, as if extensively starved and nearing the end of their efforts to acquire anything further. Which meant, I now knew, they were here out of pure desperation, and would be fighting to acquire some form of nourishment in whatever form it took. Part of me wanted to share my bounty with them, to open a can of dog food and permit them to take from it in exchange for a cessation of any hostility. My instincts, however, reminded me how foolish a concept that was since they would not understand, nor have the capacity to understand, mercy.

Defend your territory, my instincts now demanded, a far cry from previous demands to run and escape. Defend what’s yours. No mercy, no understanding of it. Dogs, packs, animals, aggression, teeth, growl more! Push!

I wanted to resist such primitive thinking, but with everything I’d already concluded compounding on the words of the instinctive half of my mind—the alien thing that existed in my head since I awoke and I now had some correspondence with—I knew it was right. I growled, showing more teeth as my lips rose further to show my gums and the full display of my new, predatory teeth and maw. Like a dog, almost exactly like a wolf, my jaws were slightly parted and the growls that I elicited echoed from the confines of my snout outward with such malice and intent of threat. I raised my tail behind me higher, mimicking what I knew canines would do in packs to establish dominance, and my gait was true and meticulous as I further neared the interlopers.

Embrace it, my alien instincts demanded. Embrace it, become it, use it, purge the threat! Strike! Strike now!

The compulsion to strike forward was overwhelming, my very muscles spasming in eagerness to be utilized in a thrust forward toward the threats. I watched the two interlopers move backwards a few steps, and their ears lower, and their tails only half lowered. They both postured in such a way as to be half-sideways presenting, heads faced toward us; a defensive posture, one elicited no doubt from the severity of Sandy and I’s claim.

Yet in the briefest instance of that moment, the human half of my mind felt pity; pity at the malnourished state of the beasts, pity at their plight, and a desire to at the very least help. My humanity threatened to overtake my instinctive actions, and the alien awareness inside me was quick to correct.

No! It screamed at me. Do not relent! Do not pity! Strike! Strike! Strike! Do not resist!

The intensity of my growls resumed as I neared, but that briefest lapse of conviction had caused the lead interloper to look at me differently, and step forward in their growls. That was all the permission I needed to let go as the floodgates of my mind burst open and the alien consciousness burst forward overtaking my own. My body was but a puppet as I felt myself burst forward, and I struck out with such ferocity that I feared I had already gone feral.

In but a second, my body had bridged the distance between myself and the lead interloper. My claws struck out much to their surprise and fear, claws extended as I struck the side of their head. Not once, not twice, not thrice, but four times in quick succession, like a feline correcting the errors of a persistent human who poked them too long. I saw blood and flesh be ripped from the back end of their jaw, but my strikes were careful, calculated, as I moved to roar in their faces and sidestep out of the lead interloper's retaliatory strike.

As I did, I saw Sandy burst forward and slam into the broken-horned interloper, causing it to lose its breath as she struck the center of its chest and forced it down. Pleased my pack-mate—for that is what I realized she was now—was doing their due diligence, I raised up briefly and expanded my forelegs in what I felt was an adequate threat display. To my surprise, the lead challenger did the same, and our barrels met with such force that I briefly lost the intensity of my growls. I pressed back against them as they did me, my claws digging into their forelegs as theirs dug into my shoulders, and we both elicited such ferocity in our roars such as to wake the dead.

My instincts possessed me further as I opened my jaw wide and, coming down through their mane and biting hard on the cusp of their neck and what constituted their shoulders. I heard an impossibly high-pitched whine from them as the force of my push was no longer met with equal measure, instead they were forced back by the searing pain of my jaws crushing into their fur, skin, muscle, and bone. Their whines were equal measure surprise and pain, their body twisting the harder I bit, and I used the opportunity to force them on the ground with my body weight. Only then did I release my jaws, moving back a step as I resumed my growls as they continued to shriek their whines of pain and submissiveness.

It should have been over, I knew. However I was caught off guard as an impossible force struck me by my shoulder blades, knocking me down as I rolled three times away. I was able to right myself in a flurry of claws against asphalt, pushing myself up as I glared to the front in challenge at whatever had struck me. My eyes briefly glanced at Sandy, who was mid-way between rising from the ground, and then to the broken horned beast who stared me down with deathly ferocity. It was only then I noticed the blood on their teeth as it dripped freely.

“Sandy?!” I cried in my growls, eyes flicking towards her form. I saw on her shoulders bite marks, deep but not critically so. She had been forced to the ground with a bite. “You son of a bitch!” I growled in both words and primal snarls, eyes flicking back, and for once I saw a flicker of surprise on both the interloper's faces, as if they hadn’t expected words at all.

Kill them! My instincts demanded, and for the first time I didn’t disagree.

My body shot forward of both the volition of my instincts, and myself. Seeing Sandy hurt had, for some reason, increased the intensity of my anger. My vision blurred, growing red as I couldn’t make out anything but the brokenhorned beast. Its eyes widened despite its aggressive stance and, as I leapt toward it in a surprise move, it began to prance backward—but it was too late, and my claws were already out, and my jaws already open for my attack.

I landed on the brokenhorned one, jaws clamping on the top of their neck just behind their skull. Their broken horn had allowed a vital part of their body to be vulnerable to attacks, and my instinctual urges had insisted this be the area to bite down. My forelegs and hind legs wrapped around my prey as my claws dug in, my forelegs wrapping their neck as the momentum of not only my strike but my twist forced them to the ground. My jaws clamped and, still seeing red, I felt all my strength go into the bite as I heard the brokenhorned ones cries and whines of pain increase in intensity—then, they were quiet. A snap signaled the end, and their body moved no more.

Sandy was beside me in an instant, growling as she limped over to me. I stood up from my first kill, despite somewhere in my mind knowing it was one of my kind, I relished in the great pleasure of it. My jaws dripped blood as I stalked toward the one I had forced to submit earlier. Its eyes were wide, mouth open, lips halfway between aggression and submission as they flurried between exposing teeth and hiding them. Their ears were flat against their head, tail tucked between their legs so intensely they couldn’t hope to walk. And yet I continued to move forward as the loud whines they elicited pierced the morning air.

I was going for the kill, wanted to kill again. I needed to. My jaws parted and widened and then—

A roar pierced the morning, a loud roar, a commanding roar, a roar from an Alpha. It bellowed with such intensity such as to quake the very asphalt and ground underneath my claws. My ears instinctively shot up, head turning towards the store. There, at the front, was the Alpha in their commanding glory. Standing tall, tail high, eyes stern and jaws just slightly a part. And beside them, their matriarch, just behind them. Both staring at Sandy and I, and then at the dead body, and then at the interloper. Their eyes widened briefly and for a moment I wondered why, until I felt it; a hard body pushed against me and knocked me down. I growled and roar in defiance as the interloper leader had his opening and took it.

I was forced down on my back, perspective shifted to look up at my attacker as they pinned me. Their forepaws swatted my head and neck, first with paws then with claws as I tried in vain to resist. I watched Sandy move up but just as quickly, the interloper swatted her away with a hind-leg strike, causing much anger inside me. Yet just as I was about to turn my body to strike, the interloper swatted me down and I felt blood enter my vision. I tried to curl and get my hind legs in for a strike, but the best I could do was impact his barrel which proved fruitless. Just as his jaws opened and he was about to bite down on my helpless form, my roars midway between ferocity and defeat, a blur took his figure away from my field of view.

All I heard was a brief whine then a loud crunch of bone and sinew. I panted as I rolled, moving quickly on my hind legs despite my blood trickling freely from my wounds onto the asphalt. I glanced down the entranceway, seeing the Alpha there, freely lifting the would-be challenger with its limp body dangling as its neck resided within the Alpha’s jaws. The Alpha looked at me briefly, snorted, and then began to move back toward the supermarket, the now-dead interloper no doubt the morning meal.

I growled softly, instinctively searching for Sandy. I saw her a few feet to my left, curled and hurt. The matriarch of the pack was already at her side, nuzzling, and I quickly rushed over. Sandy’s head immediately moved up and I saw, to my derision, one of her eyes was closed and bleeding. I felt immense pain for her, a grievance that I didn’t know I could possess, and my snout and head immediately found hers as I aggressively rubbed, and she reciprocated gently.

There was a growing flame inside me, one I didn’t know I could possess until now, as my head rubbed against hers and I tried in vain to take her pain as my own. It was the matriarch who nudged me away and I, looking dejectedly, lowered my head in submission and understanding. A moment later, after her insistent licks on Sandy’s shoulder wounds and eye wounds, I watched as she pushed her snout underneath Sandy’s barrel and lifted her. Sandy managed to find footing despite her injury and, as the lead female of the pack relinquished her head from underneath Sandy, she stayed side by side with her to guide her gait toward the store.

I stayed behind briefly, looking back at the brokenhorned body I had killed. Food, my instincts called out. Take food. Nourishment. Nothing to waste. Eat. And I understood, moving over to gently crouch, and bite down on the corpse's neck, before rising up and dragging it toward the supermarket like some cheetah or leopard who drug their prey toward a tree.

It didn’t occur to me how much I had relented of myself during that instinctual action. As I drug the corpse, my mind drifted briefly, the spark of my humanity detesting my actions but, in some twisted way, understanding them. I regretted that Sandy had been hurt, but my instincts regretted it more, seeing her as more than a pet. I realized the innermost alien of my mind saw her as something more, something I couldn’t see past in my current state of mind. I didn’t want to think further on it, instead focusing past the pain of my own wounds as I drug the kill into the supermarket.

It was a new world to me now, a strange and broken new world where thought and consciousness didn’t belong. Instead, instincts and survival were paramount. Not everyone would be lucky enough to embrace the decisions that were unavoidable. I had simply been blessed enough to comprehend and accept them before it was too late.

Though part of me, specifically the last remnants of my humanity, relented my decision to consider it at all.