FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

You're really starting to regret your "eat the perishables first" approach.

At the very least the last house on the block has power, especially a toaster, but it doesn't help make the eighth meal this week of just sandwiches any tastier. You run your wolf claw through one of your fangs to pick out an errant crumb, the feeling of your new inhuman features still an overwhelmingly alien experience. You would grumble that you know you'll miss the taste of bread and lunch meat once they all start to go bad, but you know better than to start talking to yourself. That's how you go crazy and start obsessing over inanimate objects like they're people. You pause from your meal to look down the hallway at the thought of people, staring at the open door leading to a bedroom.

You shiver, a part of you wishing it was just because of the encroaching cold. In a bid to avoid going down the rabbit hole of self-reflection and depression, you try to "look at the bright side". Your new white fur certainly helps with keeping you warm. And hey, you can do whatever you want to do, at least within relative safety. Not a soul around you to prevent you from doing anything you could ever want to do!

... At least, not including whatever might be lurking out there in the snow-riddled streets.

...

... None of it is helping.

You're alone, forcing yourself not to think about all that's happened in just a single week, and trying to choke down the last of your food as you squat inside your neighbor's home.

... Once neighbor's home.

You force back a dread-filled sigh and look at the front door, eyeing the deadbolt again. Even with it latched, admittedly after some difficulty with your reduced height, you doubt that would keep those things out. At the very least you haven't heard anything out of the ordinary past the howling winds; one more perk for your new ears that have relocated onto the top of your skull. You finish off the sandwich, thankful to see that you've finished off the last of the bread. There are still a few slices of meat and cheese though... alongside several globs of mayo.

You let out your held back sigh as you gather up the remaining bits of food into a disgusting ball and scarf it down. Better to take the calories than waste them. You're pretty sure that's how survivalists do this kinda thing. You groan as you wipe your mouth and padded hands clean of mayonnaise, all the while hoping you won't get so quickly tired of eating the next bit of expirable food come tomorrow. You leave the kitchen and lay down on the couch in the living room, content on resting rather than continuing to search the house for anything else that might be useful. You would take the bed, but...

No, as it is, it's better to sleep here and keep an ear out for things. You have the kitchen knife close by, though you doubt it'll really help with how close you have to get to those flesh-warped things. You hoped you could find some duct tape here and maybe fashion a kind of spear from a broom, but Christ, nothing but scotch tape and small dispenser tape with each house all the way here. Maybe you'll get lucky and find something suitable with the next spot, but for now, you feel ready to fall asleep...

There's a scratching at the door.

Adrenaline kicks in as you shoot up at the sound, your exhaustion giving way to the burst of energy. You scramble for the knife, desperately pointing it towards the door as you prepare for the worst. You know it will probably be worthless to defend yourself with, but it's at least more reassuring than having just your newly formed claws. As the thrum of your anxious heartbeat starts to overpower the sound of scratching wood in the passing minutes, it suddenly stops. You sit there in silence, the only sounds you can hear being your own heartbeat and the wind outside.

A minute passes.

Then two.

Three.

Maybe even longer; for all you know, you could have been staring at the door for the past hour waiting for it to reveal itself.

Your heart rate starts to slow. You lower your knife, but before you could begin to breathe easy, you suddenly see a vague shadow start to slowly creep past the curtains. As it wanes left and right across the window, a part of you wonders if it somehow heard you, or maybe has a different way of knowing you're here. You place your hand at your chest in an attempt to calm your breathing, though you don't know if it would matter; maybe it just wants in and you're unlucky enough to be here at the wrong time. Even with just the basic shape of its shadow shifting left and right across the window in violent lurches, you can tell that it's something you shouldn't fuck with. Especially with what looks to be at least five appendages twitching off of its form.

Without wanting to put yourself at any more risk, you quickly decide that it would be best to sneak out than gamble on whether or not it decides to come in. You stuff and grab your backpack and ill-fitting clothes, all the while making sure to keep an eye on where that thing might be through the curtains. With everything collected as quickly and quietly as your panicked self could manage, you back away from the living room into the kitchen. You turn around to face the back door, jumping a few times to peek through the window to make sure there wasn't a second in the backyard, though thankfully it was empty. As you open the door, you're immediately greeted with a cold gust of wind blasting flurries of snow against your face. You fight your force of habit to close the door behind you as you step out into the freezing snow, thankfully just in time as you hear glass shatter behind you.

Panic once again fueling you, you leap on top of some snow-buried object near the fence and manage to jump over. With your landing muffled by the snow and the sound of the shrill wind, you quickly sprint away from the house and out of the neighborhood. You eventually slow down to a brisk walk as frost begins to stick against your fur and melt in your ill-fitting shoes. With the threat of your life gone for the moment, your mind begins to wander again. You don't even know if there are any other people out there, or rather any that aren't those mangled things you've only caught glimpses of outside. You're only a week or so in and you're already wondering if there's even a point.

Maybe you should find some way to go out painlessly, avoid starving or freezing or getting mauled from-

You shake your head, flinging off a few stray clumps of snow off your hair and fur. You've already had your panic attacks when all of this started; you can let yourself have another once you find someplace you know you'll be safe in. Forcing your mind into a state of quiet, you continue onward into the ongoing blizzard. You remember a gas station being close by, and with luck, you should avoid any more of those freaks. Maybe you'll even find someone else stuck in the same shit situation you're in. ...Hell, at this point, you think you'd welcome a crazed murderer, all just to confirm there's at someone other than just you out here.

---

"Twenty-something time's the charm?" you mutter as you twist the door handle, once again finding the door locked. You groan, restraining yourself from kicking the door open and making any unnecessary noise. So far, the apartment complex has been a bust with every checked door so far being locked, all with no clear way to get in without outright breaking in through brute force. You were lucky in the neighborhood, though your luck seemed to run dry the moment one of those things started prowling around outside. There are still some houses you haven't checked, but you doubt however many of the creatures there have left in the past few days. Your supplies haven't been used up fully just yet, though you'll definitely be hurting if you can't stock up while here.

You take another look out the hallway window at the snowy plaza, wondering if you should try your luck with rooting through the lobby for any keys. However, before you can make a decision, you hear a faint sound down the hall. Past the hum of the fluorescent lights, you can hear the crinkling of plastic being crushed. You can feel your muscles tense up as you weigh your newly presented options, already considering running away before you draw the attention of whatever might still be alive. However, against what you consider your better judgment, a thought occurs to you that gives you a brief pause: What if it's a person?

You try to assure yourself that you'd know by now if it was a person or not, especially since you haven't seen a single sign of anything that isn't horribly mutated being alive out here. You try to reason that even if it's a person, you won't know if they're friendly. You want to leave and take your chances elsewhere, at the very least ensuring you won't be horribly maimed. You want to back away... But you want to make sure.

With a slow and steady step, you creep down the hallway toward the source of the noise. Your knife is poised for any unwelcome surprises, though you know to run if you happen to see any threat first. As you near the end of the hallway, you notice one of the doors is slightly open. You grip the handle of your knife tighter and swallow the lump in your throat as you push yourself to look inside. Your height prevents you from getting a full layout of the room as you peek inside, prompting you to fully commit and push the door open to enter.

You flinch as the hinges of the door creak, most likely alerting whoever or whatever is inside. Before you could make a decision on whether to back away or not, the open door reveals the source of the sound. Sitting on the floor amongst various wrappers and scraps is a man dressed in plain pajamas. A human man. He looks no older than you with fair skin, brown hair, and blue eyes that stare directly into yours from across the room.

Your body is frozen as you're left unsure of what to say. A flurry of emotions course through you, a part of you elated and relieved at the discovery of another living person, but another dreading his inevitable reaction to your inhumanness. You expect him to break the silence first by speaking, maybe even screaming. You want to show him you mean no harm, but your mind is left blank as to how to even introduce yourself. The tension in the air now palpable as you both continue to look at one another, forcing you to try to make first contact. However, you're once again caught off-guard, as a wavering voice comes from the stranger.

"Hello? Is someone there?"

He shakily stands up, his hands reaching out to brace himself against the wall as he yells out, "Hey! Is someone there?!" As dozens of questions fly through your mind as he slowly stumbles towards the door, his gaze still focused on you, it's only then that realization finally strikes: he's blind. Even more uncertain of how to approach him, you stand dumbstruck as you stare at his face. His eyes are unfocused, his expression a mix of fear and exhaustion. He slowly guides himself along the counter towards the door, still unaware of your presence.

While a part of you is thankful that you've found someone, you don't know what to do next. Your shocked mind urges you to sneak away, though the loneliness that's been slowly gnawing at you ever since the first day prompts you to speak. "H-hello?" you respond, causing an immediate reaction from the man.

He perks up and shouts with desperation, "Hello?! Who's out there?!"

You enter the room, cringing slightly as your nose picks up strong scents. "I'm... uh... I'm from Joliet Drive," you answer.

"Joliet?" he mutters. "I- I think something's happened! I don't- I can't see anything anymore, and... And I don't know where everybody else is."

You set your backpack and knife down, unsure of how to respond. Beyond the things outside and what happened to you close to two weeks ago, you don't know any more than he does. Hell, you're not sure if you should even want to try to explain either of the two to him. You decide to be truthful and say, "I... I don't know what's going on. I just... I woke up and... I tried reaching out to someone, but I couldn't get any answers on the phone. I tried going to my neighbor, but... They were dead. Every house I've been to so far, they're- they're all dead."

The color in the man's face drains. His lip trembles as he tries to speak, but he remains silent. "What the fuck? What... what the fuck?" he mutters, his body shuddering. "Is- Is there anybody that isn't?"

"No," you half-lie, "you're the only one I've met so far."

You can see his legs start to shake as he keeps himself braced on the counter. "I tried calling the phone and- and screaming down the hall, but... Oh, Christ, I didn't think it was like that."

An uncomfortable silence begins to settle as you think of what to say. A question stays at the forefront of your mind, making you wonder if it's perhaps tied to what made you as you are now. "You said you couldn't see anything anymore. Were... you not always blind?"

He shakes his head, his eyes following along with the movement. "No, it happened... I think it happened more than a week ago.? I asked my phone what day it was, but it died a while ago. I can't tell what day it is anymore."

Granted, you're not keeping track too well yourself, though with the power in buildings still on, you're able to keep your phone charged to keep track for you. "It's Sunday... It sounds like the same time I woke up and... I found out what happened to everyone else."

As silence starts to settle back in, you realize you've been stuck in the doorway talking to the mystery man. Not wanting to attract any more attention than you should, you ask, "I'm, uh, sorry, but can I ask myself in?"

"Yeah... yeah," he responds as he slowly starts to walk away from the counter towards a couch. You close the door, letting out a small sigh of relief at having some form of protection from whatever else might be lurking in the building. You approach the man to try to help him to the couch, thankfully getting close enough in time as his foot catches against the rug and causes him to stumble.

"Woah!" you cry out as you grab his arm, stopping his momentum. "Phew. Here, the couch's here."

A part of you fears that he'll ask about your paws, undoubtedly feeling the texture of the pads and fur on your newly changed hand, though you decide that if he asks, you can easily deflect it as being winter gloves you picked up. Explaining that everyone is dead is one thing, explaining that there are mutant monsters is another, but telling him you're now some furry dog anthro? You doubt he'd believe you even if he had working eyes, and that's excusing the thought of him not panicking at first sight. As it stands, telling him what you've become will be thrown on the back burner for later down the line. As for what else used to be human... you don't think you'll ever be able to stomach the thought.

As he slowly sits down, you cringe again as the strong smell returns. You can smell various food scraps and browned fruit cores from the trash, though this scent is coming off strongly from him. You snort and start to ask him what the smell might be, though the words stop in your throat as you recognize it to be body odor. While you have no clue if the water pipes still work, not wanting to risk making any noise taking a shower or getting drinking water back in the neighborhood, you doubt he would want to get anywhere near the bathtub while completely blind. Surprisingly, you haven't got much of a scent that you could notice on yourself, though it's obviously been rougher on him than you. You opt to ignore it, distancing yourself slightly to breathe cleaner air.

He runs a hand over his oily hair, another sign of the lost luxury. "I noticed it's colder too. Is that... part of what's going on?"

"I have no idea. Maybe it's something else. What happened to everyone else is... fuck, I don't know, some kind of disease."

Another moment of silence is shared as he lets it all sink in. Is he thinking about his friends and family? Maybe how his life up until this point has been meaningless? Dreams and aspirations, talent and skill, everything rendered moot in the name of survival? Perhaps even whether there is any point in living anymore? Well, you certainly are.

You've been forcing the thoughts back ever since you heard the things skulking around outside. Though short, your conversation has allowed many repressed thoughts to hit you in full force. You were an artist once- fuck, you were human once. A normal day, a few commissions finished and sent out, and you once again went to bed late into the night. You then woke up as you are now. Though, to summarize it like that would be to ignore the pain you felt all across your body for the better part of a few days.

"I'm... I'm sorry," he speaks up, thankfully snapping you out of your thoughts. "I never said what my name was. I'm Michael."

"Ava," you respond.

You can hear him swallow the lump in his throat as he prepares for his next question. "What... What will you be doing next?"

"Huh?"

"Well... I just... I don't know, I don't know what's going on. I'm guessing you're... Well, scavenging, right?" he correctly assumes. "I have some stuff left, but it's just cans and things I can't really open."

You think you know what he's getting at, even if the question is hard to ask. By all means, he's completely at your mercy, even if he doesn't realize just to what extreme extent. You could very well promise him to get what you can from the nearby apartments, wish him luck, then be on your way... wherever the best direction may be to take. But you know that he will die if you did, if not soon then eventually. However, he isn't your responsibility to care for, and you know it would not only slow you down bringing him along but it could endanger yourself even more.

... But he is the only person you've seen so far that isn't dead.

Call it selfishness, but you can't bring yourself to ignore this one rare chance you have to avoid complete and utter loneliness. As your self-preservation and good morals to help a person in need internally clash, you hate that it's the one motivation that's winning you over. You let out a quiet sigh and answer, "I'm going to try to take what can be useful around here. And... I'll be straightforward with you. I don't think you're gonna live if you're here by yourself." You stand up and continue, "Do you want to come with me?"

You see his expression turn to a mix of confusion and relief. He takes a few moments before answering, "I'd... Yes, please."

"All right... So, Mike... Do you have any winter clothes?"

"I... Well, I think, but I can't remember."

"Hm... OK," you say as you look out the door at the other apartments. "I'm gonna take a look around, try to check the other homes here... Think you can tell me what size jacket you wear, then?"