A Long Way From Home

A Long Way From Home
By Oliver_Hart
Tags: [Heeler] [Blue Heeler] [HMOFA] [Rural] [Sci-Fi]
Summary: A picture is worth a thousand words, and someone’s life.
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>You are Anonymous
>You are a bland featured human, a pretentious college-student that’s the scourge of every parent’s bank account
>You’d like to think you’re here today on some kind of soul-searching journey, Chris McCandles style (minus the dying)
>What with your camera bag, your meager toiletries, and solitary change of clothes
>But really, you’re on a bus, coasting out to the middle of fucking nowhere at 60 miles-per-hour (Speed limit is 75), you’ve got about $36 in cash, your phone is almost out of battery, and the fat lady next to you keeps farting loudly in her sleep
>As the barren landscape slides by, endless cornfield after endless cornfield after endless cornfield, you begin to think that your solo photography trip out into the country was a mistake
>With no planned route, no idea of what you want to photograph, and with the fading sunlight at your back, you hop off at the next stop, bag and all, the idea of calling your parents and taking a bus back home looming large in your mind
>The bus put you right outside a gas station with a small diner attached at the far end, almost like an after-thought
>Signs hint at a town just a few miles down the road
>You walk through the doors and a wall of cool air washes over you
>Feels good man, another hour on that bus and you would have smothered that fat lady to death with her own retarded ‘travel pillow’
>Tired and kind of sore, you shamble weakly towards the diner and plop yourself and your gear down in an empty booth
>You shut your eyes for a bit, just listening to the distant country moan of the in-store radio
>Okay Anonymous, when you open your eyes, you’re going to start thinking of the next step. No more un-planned photographic adventures to bumfuck-nowhere
>Secretly you hope you’ll be back in bed at home, but the shameful hope that this is all a really mundane dream only makes you feel less like a 22-year-old and more like a scared little kid
>You really don’t want to open your eyes. The comforting bliss of darkness is all that’s keeping you from crying like a kid
>Well, here goes nothing
>On 3, okay?
>1
>2

>”Can I get you some coffee, or a pillow?”
>Your eyelids peel open
>A waitress, a real fucking movie-ass waitress in a blue uniform with a notepad and all is looking impatiently down at you, her canine eyes half-open
>She’s an older looking Coyote, a little bored, wearing a purple bowtie in her rust-colored fur, like a super-model who had just cat-walked out of Wal-Mart
>You blink a few times
>Thought that waitresses only looked like this in movies?
>”So, should I come back or…?”
“No, no, I think I’m ready to order something to drink,” you stammer, snapping back to reality. “Can I uhhh… have some coffee?”
>She feigns delight. “Sure can. Cream, sugar?”
>You shake your head and smile nervously
>”Just black is fine.”
>She raises a questioning stare at you, as if to ask if you can ‘actually handle black coffee’
>After a few seconds, she swivels on her heels and sashays towards the kitchen
>You can’t help but watch her go, her tail swishing fluidly over her nicely padded butt, made all the more captivating by her hour-glass frame
>She’s kind of sexy, in like, a really trashy, milfy kind of way
>You’re not that kind of photographer, but if she offered, you’d have a hard time saying no
>Ah, speaking of
>You haul your camera out onto the table, hoping to at least take some artsy shots of the diner. It’d suck to come all this way and have nothing to show for it
>Your camera is a cheap one (by camera standards at least), and because you’re fairly stingy, you still only have the kit lens for it
>Which, on reflection, was probably a bad idea, because you have no idea what conditions you want to shoot in
>Okay, take a few shots, check the bus schedule on your (almost) dead phone, and head home

>You pop your head out over the booth to get a look around for a good subject
>Your gaze flicks around the cleanly-lit diner, scanning for someone...
>And you come up empty
>Wow, you’re really the only person here right now. That’s an odd feeling
>”You a reporter?”
>The waitress asks in a flat tone as she glares down at you, mug of coffee in hand
>Startled, you shake your head
“No, no. Just a college student out on a road trip, trying to see what I can see, you know?”
>She says nothing and continues to cast silent judgement down on you
>Without a dissatisfied grunt, she sets the coffee down and walks back towards the kitchen
>You wonder what that was about? She seemed awfully pissed off about the camera thing
>You quietly take a sip of coffee, but nearly spray it across the table when the painfully sweet taste of way too much cream and sugar passes your lips
>She put so much in this mug that it’s practically white
>You’re beginning to get the feeling that she doesn’t like you a whole lot
>You snap a quick photo of her sweet, sweet backside as she saunters back over to the kitchen
>The viewfinder renders in glorious HD the pear-shape of her body, dress tight against her frumpy butt, the rust-colored tail protruding just above the slope of her ass
>It feels like you got some semblance of justice, and you still try drinking the shitty cream coffee just because you paid for it
>Fuck you, you sexy milfy coyote lady. Fuck you

>After that you spend some time flicking through your photos
>Bored with that, You start taking shots of everything, from artful compositions of the booth you’re in, to shitty blog shots of the “coffee” sitting half-consumed on your table
>You’re so busy spitefully and boldly taking photos of everything, you don’t notice how much time slips away from you
>Or that you’re no longer alone
>”You a reporter from the city?” A voice from behind you causes you to nearly drop your camera (good thing you were wearing the neck strap)
>A blue heeler is peeking over the top of the booth behind you, his light blue eyes curiously watching as you find the words to answer
>You have none, but that’s okay, this kid is leading the conversation like a child steering a racecar
>”Can I see your camera?” He asks, extending a thin arm over the booth
>Well gee, that’s really fucking forward
“Ummmm, no...” you offer in return. “I’m just taking some photos of some stuff before I head back home.”
>”Oh, where you from?” His eyes light up, and a friendly smile widens across his face. “You from the city or something? You out here to write a story about meth?”
>What the hell is up with this kid?
>You tell him that you’re just a college student from the city, out on a photo project
>And you leave out the part about getting cold feet and wanting to go home
>When you’re finished with the explanation, the kid, who tells you his name is Jesse, practically leaps into the chair opposite of you
>He’s… Well, a little too friendly, and it makes you uncomfortable
>He might be trying to rob you, or he might be retarded
>Heelers: friendly, intelligent, high energy, usually find good work out in agriculture due to their heritage and breeding standards
>This guy must not have gotten the intelligence genes his breed is known for
>He’s wearing a heavy flannel buttoned all the way up, some loose and dirty jeans, a pair of work shoes, and he smells like he’s been rolling around the fields for a few days
>He leans eagerly across the table, extending the length of his thin body in order to peek at what you’re do-ing, and if it weren’t for the table separating you two, you’re sure he’d be touching you by now
>You’re assaulted by his seemingly innocuous questions of ‘what’s this, how’s that work, you ever taken photos for magazines before?’ And you do your best to answer all of them, leaving you practically out of breath by the time the waitress comes back over
>This guy is really reminding you of the fact that you’re an introvert

>The waitress returns, bearing an appraising scowl, especially when she finds you’ve suddenly gained a meal partner
>”Jesse, you bothering my customers again?” She asks with a cold tone
>The Heeler cocks his head, seemingly confused by the question
>”Naw Lee Anne, my friend here...” he looks at you, suddenly remembering he forgot to ask you your name
“Anon,” you answer, with a tone that says ‘I want to die’
>Jesse completely ignores your verbalized plea for death
>Yep, definitely retarded
>”My friend Anon and I were just catching up over dinner.”
>Wait, hold the fuck up, you didn’t say anything about dinner
>Lee Anne shakes her head with disapproval
>”Not if you ain’t got money this time. You got money darlin’?”
>Jesse smiles
>”Well, yeah, but my friend Ayynon said he was treatin’ me. So can I have a cup of coffee, some eggs n some bacon please? And uhhh, get my buddy Anon here a fresh cup of coffee, he looks like he mighta’ put too much cream into his. Clumsy hands. You know humans.”
>Lee Anne glares daggers at you
>”What a pal, a human buying a meal for Jesse. Ain’t you just so generous?”
>You can’t be sure, but you can almost sense some heavily veiled sarcasm from your waitress
>God you want to fucking die right now
>Lee Anne sighs before sauntering off, muttering something about ‘Making friends with humans is gonna get you shot round’ here hun.’
>The bell above the door chimes, but you pay it no attention
>It’s going to take all of your focus to get through this uncomfortable encounter

>As Lee Anne takes her sweet time in putting the order in, Jesse turns back to you and grins, obviously very pleased with the way this whole evening is shaping up
>You’re not grinning, you’re between strangling him and crying from the awkwardness
>But who should you be mad at? The anthro who just invited himself to dinner on your dime, or yourself, for not saying a damn word about it?
>Jesse smiles again, scrunching up his face
>That dopey look with his tongue partly out makes you wanna punch his lights out
>Guess you get to be mad at someone other than yourself for a change
“Hey, that wasn’t cool, dude. I didn’t say I would buy you dinner,” you hiss at him
>The dopey grin dissipates quickly
>”Yeah but you didn’t stop me or say no, so-”
“That’s not the point! The point is you don’t do that shit to people, especially if you don’t even know them!”
>Jesse still looks confused as the words leave your mouth
>Aren’t Heelers supposed to be an intelligent breed?
>The words finally register, and he nods, already ready with an answer for you
>”Well, we got dinner to get to know each other, right? No big deal. Out here mammals is a lot friendlier than you think.”
“Yes big deal,” you sigh. “You get your food and then I’m leaving, okay? I gotta catch a bus back home.”
>The Heeler cocks his head, trying to process your statement
>”Back home? The buses don’t run this time of night out here. You heading west? You’re gonna have to wait at least a few days I bet.”
>Your jaw drops
“Are you fucking me?”
>Jesse, who was taking a sip out of your coffee cup, practically chokes
>”Fuck you? I hardly know you!” He says through sputters, ears flattening back against his skull
>You swear you can almost see a crimson blush in his otherwise dark fur
>“And just what kind of girl do you think I am?”

“Wait, what do you mean by that?”
>”You know damn well what I mean. Look, I know I don’t have a lot of money, but if you think I’m doing any of that shit with you just because you bought me dinner, then I hope you’re into pain, college boy!”
>His- You mean, HER hands tighten into fists
>What the fuck is going on? He is a she? Is this crazy bitch about to assault you? Is a tranny about to kill you in some podunk little diner?
>You look at the anthro across the table again, this time really studying hi- HER
>She’s got black and gray fur that reminds you of salt and pepper, soft blue eyes, that are staring daggers at you, but that are alight with small traces of feminine charm and intrigue
>And suddenly you can start to see ‘him’ as a ‘her’
>Her facial features are soft and somewhat rounded (though to be fair you can’t tell most anthros apart), and her arms, when you last remember seeing them, were thin and wiry, either from a lack of nutrition, muscle mass, or both
>Her clothes are NOT doing her any favors. They look two sizes too big, and they’re fucking filthy
>Maybe she’s just really flat?
>But you could maybe start to see her naked underneath
>Your mind starts to wander to what this anthro-dog would look like disrobed
>Hmmm, small pink nubs on her chest where her tits ought to be, boyish, almost stick-thin frame, bright pink slit between her legs-
>You shake the thoughts violently from your head
>Now is not the time to be fantasizing! This bumpkin might stab you! Or claw your face off! Or worse,
>Your dick!
“Shit, no, I didn’t mean...” your voice drops to a whisper, “fucking, like...actual sex… It’s just an expression that we use at school.”
>Her shoulders drop, and she cocks her head a little
>”Wait, you just say that stuff to random people?” She questions, scratching a spot behind her ears. “That’s the most retarded thing I ever heard, and I can’t even go to college.”
“I guess it is,” you reply sheepishly. Now it was your turn to start blushing
>She suppresses a laugh behind her palm
>Yep, definitely a girl
>”Besides, if anyone out here found out I was shacking up with a human, they’d drag us both down to the creek and shoot us like frogs without a second thought.”
>Shoot us like frogs!?
”Are you fucking me?”
>”Didn’t we just go over this? No, I’m not fucking you!” Her voice echoes in the empty diner, barely compet-ing with the shitty drone of the radio
“No, no, that’s not what I meant!” You slap your head
>You want to find the people who wrote your ‘Human-Anthro Relations' textbook and strangle them
>They were dead wrong about heelers
“What I mean is: are things that… bad out here? Like, humans and anthros still can’t associate?”
>Nodding, She takes another sip of your ‘coffee’
>”I suppose so. It depends on where you are and what kinda skin you’re wearing. There’s towns out here where I wouldn’t dare visit, and there’s towns where you wouldn’t visit had you known’ little better. And then there’s places like Meeker, that are just… in between. This here is one of those towns where you’re probably better off not visiting, if I do say so myself.”
“What do you mean by ‘in between?’”
>Jesse nods and tilts your ‘coffee’ mug towards you
>”You think that Lee Anne accidentally put too much cream in your coffee? Naw, she did that on purpose, and she’d probably do much worse if she didn’t think you had money.”
>Which reminds you: You really don’t have any money
>You open your mouth to tell her that you probably won’t be able to afford a bus ticket AND her meal, but she’s not listening
>She rests her chin on her palm and stares off into the empty diner
>”Things aren’t like your fancy college out here. People aren’t as kind, and nobody’s tip-toeing around no-body. Kindness is as rare as the rain these days. It’s easy to get lonely out here. Been dreamin’ of leavin’, but I know I’d never make it outside of this lil’ shitheap.”
>You look around the diner, half expecting a pack of feral anthros to bust through the door and beat the piss out of you for not having fur
>Christ, what kind of mess did you get yourself into? This isn’t exactly Deliverance shit, but you’re starting to feel like you’re way out of your element
>You lean across the table, as close as you can get to her
“Psst, is it true about the busses this time of night?”
>She nods slowly
>”Yeah, you’re stuck here until at least tomorrow, and it feels like it’s getting late,” she remarks, picking up your ‘coffee’ again and downing the last of it
>You silently cringe as you watch it go down her gullet
>Good god that must have be like drinking pure syrup
>”Hope that food gets here soon, could use a good bite to eat,” she says as she digs her tongue into what’s left of the mug
>”And some coffee. I need a pick-me-up.”

>As if on cue, your favorite trailer slut waitress appears, a plate of food and two mugs of coffee at the ready
>Jesse hardly waits until Lee Anne is done setting the food down before practically stuffing her face
>”Christ hun, at least let me put the plate down first,” Lee Anne groans. “When’s the last time you ate?”
>Jesse looks up towards Lee Anne, her cheeks bulging, egg yolk running down her chin
>She swallows hard (nice) and holds up two fingers
>Lee Anne’s face twists up with disgust
>”Ain’t your tweaker momma feeding you? Or she spending all that government cheese on more crank?”
>Jesse stops her ravenous assault on the plate and stares down at the table
>Oooh boy this is getting awkward
>You want to say something, but you’re not sure what you could say in this instance
>A look of confusion and hurt plays out across her usually cheerful and excitable face
>The Heeler says nothing, just stares down at the table
>Lee Anne clears her throat, and you open your mouth to call her a fucking bitch, but she’s too quick, and you’re too beta
>”Well, if you ever need anything else to eat, try to bring another human by, maybe he’ll cover your meal too,” She smirks at you and hands you the check. ”Here Mr. Moneybags, bring that up when you’re ready or when she’s taken you for another ride.”
>And with that crushing performance, the coyote spins on her heels and saunters off, a very proud and caustic grin spreading across her rust colored fur
>You don’t know what to say, or what you could say
>Jesse just sits there, looking hurt
>You sit there in stunned silence, feeling conflicted
>On one hand, that felt completely uncalled for on Lee Anne’s part, and on the other hand, you wonder if you’ve just been taken for a ride, as if this is something Jesse does all the time
>You check the bill
>$24, so basically you can’t afford to get back home if you pay this
>Fucking hell
>Your start to say something, but Jesse grabs you by the hand and drags you out of the diner
>You try to say something when she drags you round back to where the dumpsters are, but as you open your mouth she clumsily shoves her tongue in
>For a solid 15 seconds there’s this confusing silence where you, profoundly awkward, and her, profoundly inexperienced, tongue wrestle
>It feels like you’re having a breathing contest, seeing who can go the longest without opening their eyes
>You don’t know where to put your hands either, and neither does she, so you two basically just stand there like weird statues, trying to imitate what you think making out is supposed to be like
>Do you…
>Do you grab her butt or something? How does this work?
>You’re about to make a move, but she pulls away quickly, leaving you breathless
>She quickly wipes a trail of spit from her lips, her face bright red with heat
>She clenches her eyes shut, sending tears rolling down her cheeks
>”T-That’s for dinner, and… and whatever else you want, because I owe you, and…”
>She’s trembling, and you’re not sure if it’s from embarrassment, sadness, or adrenaline considering she just forced herself on you
>Maybe it’s all three?
>”And I- I ain’t some kind of whore or anything, but I o-owe you for dinner tonight, and for being so k-kind...”
>You can tell that she’s trying very hard to hold back tears, given that she pretty much won’t look you in the eyes
>”We can go back to my place, or… wherever… My mom won’t care nothing, or about who I bring home,” she says, trying to wear a brave smile. “Besides, I swear I ain’t using you. I ain’t that type’a gal.”
>Another moment of indecision
>You realistically could say yes, because you haven’t gotten laid in like two years, and the last time was an awkward drunken hookup at a party you didn’t want to be at
>And she tasted like vomit
>But this feels almost wrong
>And her on the verge of crying doesn’t help
>You’ve never been great with women, so you just blurt the first thing that comes to mind
“I want to go home.”

>She ends up fully sobbing, and whispers something about how she wants to go home too, but you’re too paralyzed with the feels to actually say something comforting
>Does ‘there there’ even comfort anyone?
>Before you can actually do or say anything, she gently presses her head into your chest and grabs you by your shirt collar
>For the first time in what you imagine is a few years, you imagine, she allows herself to sob
>You go for a hug, but settle for a hover hand
>Jesus fuck why are you like this?
>”I’m sorry,” she chokes out, unaware of your awkward attempt at comforting her
>”I’m sorry for kissing you, and for using you, and for...”
>This time you actually just hug her, because you honestly can’t stand to hear her like this anymore
>You can feel a metaphorical pair of testicles drop into your literal sack
>She hushes up, and you let her sob silently into your ratty old college shirt

>A few minutes pass, and when she’s finally done, she blows her nose on the collar of her old shirt
>Eww
>She buttons up her crusty denim jacket and steps back, trying not to look you in the eyes
>”S-Sorry bout that,” she stammers
>You tell her it’s okay. Not the first time an anthro dog has cried into your shirt
>”Wait, are you kidding?” She slaps her head in disbelief. “In all the hurry I forgot to ask if you even had a girlfriend.”
>”Or a boyfriend?” She says cautiously, “I don’t judge much. If you can’t tell, I’m not really in a position to be judging others.”
“No, no,” you smile and shake your head. “I’m single as hell, and probably will be for the rest of my days.”
>”You ‘n me both, Anon. You ‘n me both,” she sighs, rubbing her palm on the back of her neck
>You can still feel the tension of what just happened between you two, but it feels somewhat dissipated by now
>The moon is already well into the night sky, and with the crickets chirping a summer symphony, you decide that it’s at least 8 or 9 p.m.
>Jesse notices too, and stifles a yawn
>”Normally I don’t do this, but since I made you miss your bus home, would you like to stay the night with me?”

>Come home? With her?
>Stay the night at a strange anthro woman’s ‘home’?
>What could go wrong
>No, fuck this, you’re going to see if you can sleep in the diner and wait for the next bus
>You open your mouth to issue your declaration of independence, but the roar of an engine clips your speech
>A pair of headlights open up on you, outlining your shapes in gold
>Pressed against the dumpster, Jesse blocking the source of the light with her back, you can only see two thin shadows piling out of a shitbeater truck
>Digitride feet
>Heaving tails
>Broad shoulders
>Ears like black knives standing atop predatory skulls
>These aren’t just anthros
>They’re carnivores
>You open your mouth to say something to Jesse
>There’s a heavy crack that pounds off the diner’s back walls, like lightning striking on a clear day
>Gunfire
>Jesse gasps, squeals, and then tumbles forward, crashing into you
>You manage to catch her in your arms
>…
>Holy shit

>”The bitch blocked my shot!” A deep voice groans
>”Best body armor he’s ever had,” another voice adds with a hateful chuckle
>You’re frozen
>Jesse isn’t moving
>This isn’t real
>And there’s blood leaking out of her ratty flannel
>And her tail is flat and limp
>And this can’t be real

>How does someone die so quickly and so senselessly?

>”Knew we’d find Jesse hanging around the human.”
>A coyote wearing light jeans, a dark red flannel and sporting a trucker’s hat steps into the light
>Judging by the set of his shoulders, his height, and the youthful snarl etched into his pubescent face, he’s still a teenager, maybe just barely older than a pup
>You imagine that if he were human he’d be sporting a fresh crop of acne
>”Smelled your scent from a mile away, pinkie.” He narrows a scowl at you
>He’s got a heavy wrench dangling from his right hand
>A similarly young crocodile trundles into the light, cradling a double barrel shotgun
>You swear your heart is going to leap out of your chest
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!” You scream at them
>You don’t know — the noise just exploded out of you
>The anthros flinch at your voice, their sensitive hearing spiking
>There’s a puddle of blood collecting beneath Jesse
>She’s starts to feel heavy in your arms — like a bag loaded with buckshot
>But you don’t want to let go
>You can’t let go
>You barely know this person and yet… you feel tied to her
>At the very least, she saved your life
>The croc cracks the barrel in half
>A spent red shell jumps out into the air
>You watch it arc in the headlights and crash onto the ground
>”We’re just having some fun is all-“
“FUN!?” You fire back. “You just killed her! What’s your idea of fun!?”
>The two predators narrow their eyes on Jesse’s limp body
>Her muzzle rests on your shoulder, and her blood is starting to get on your own shirt
>”Ain’t nobody gonna miss her. Plenty a' heelers round these parts” The coyote says with finality and not a hint of remorse
“Fuck you, she had a family,” you say, choking back tears
>”Barely,” the croc adds. “Shane’s right. Ain’t nobody going to miss her. Her mamma’s probably OD’d by now anyway.”
>”She don’t do nothin' round here ‘cept cheat and steal from people. We’re doing the town a favor.” ‘Shane’ the Coyote says. He spits into the dirt and stamps it out with the heel of his ratty tennis shoes
>The two predators take a step forward
>The crocodile, Bill, sets the barrel of his shotgun against his shoulder and aims down at you
>His narrow maw curls into a smile
>”You got five seconds to drop her and make this easy on yourself.”
“Fuck you!” you sputter. “This is murder, don’t you care?!”
>Okay, this time your actually crying
>And why shouldn’t you be?
>You never thought you’d go like this
>You hold Jesse even tighter in protest
>The coyote inches forward
>”Nobody’s gonna care about a little human gone missing. Not in this town. You and Jesse’s all the same — trash that someone’s gotta take out.”
>Big talk from two murderers
>The coyote thumps his wrench into his palms as a show of force
>”Mister either you let Bill take care of you, or I’m going to handle you with my wrench here. Now you got FOUR FUCKING SECONDS to drop the heeler and take it like a man.”

>A shotgun blast to the head is peaceful in its own way, you guess
>It’s one millisecond of agony, and then darkness
>Not so bad, right?
>You feel your grip on Jesse loosening
>And you’re about to drop her weight, when you hear her say, weakly, with a throat full of blood:
>”Go. Run.”

>You drop Jesse into a puddle of her own blood
>You don’t need any further instruction
>Satisfied, Bill takes aim at you

>You swing your camera out of the bag right as Bill’s scaly fingers tense around the trigger
>You hope to fucking God this works
>You press down on the shutter
>Anthros have sensitive eyes, right?
>There’s a white flash from your camera, a blinding, digital explosion
>And, right then and there, you duck, and roll to the side
>The shotgun barks
>The brickwork of the diner explodes above you, riddled with spray
>And when the light fades, you hit the dirt, feet pounding, heart hammering, excess adrenaline surging in your veins
>You set your sights on hiding in the tall cornfields, just a few feet from the diner
>A quick check over your shoulders shows that Bill and Shane are stumbling about, half-blind, pinching their blinded eyes with their forefingers

>Did it work?
>Did you get away?
>Another shotgun blast
>Did he reload that fast?
>You feel something sting the back of your legs
>Then that stinging pain becomes a fierce, gripping agony
>You stumble, trip, and are down for the count
>When you look down at your leg, outlined in silver by the light of the moon, it’s pretty much shredded to shit and geysering blood
>Shit
>You fumble for your camera again when you see the wrench-wielding coyote bounding towards you
>He leaps into the air with one powerful pulse of his legs
>Shane brings the wrench over his head
>Maybe you can-
>He lands on your chest
>And brings the wrench down on skull, shattering bone and-

>”Can I get you some coffee, or a pillow?”
>Your eyelids peel open
>A waitress, a real fucking movie-ass waitress in a blue uniform with a notepad and all is looking impatiently down at you, her canine eyes half-open
>She’s an older looking Coyote, a little bored, wearing a purple bow tie in her rust-colored fur, like a super-model who had just cat-walked out of Wal-Mart
>You blink a few times
>Thought that waitresses only looked like this in movies?
>”So, should I come back or…?”

>What the fuck

>”You a reporter?” She asks, eyes narrowing. “Because we don’t have need of a reporter in our town.”
>Seconds ago you were getting your brain evicted from your skull outside the diner
>And now you’re here, back in the diner
>And it’s day time now
>But how
>Was it all a dream?
>It’s starting to fade in your grainy imagination, wiping back to a clean slate, a constant running theater of incessant bullshit and noise
>That memory — that dream — is drowning in the sudden sensory overload of this diner
>The chimey radio
>The smell of coffee and the acrid stench of stale cigarettes
>The coyote waitress who clearly wants nothing to do with you
>The feeling that you’re being watched and appraised
>Think, you motherfucker!
>Grab hold of a memory like a comet’s tail and hold on
>You’d have an easier time holding smoke
>You can only remember a few things: This girl named Jesse, and these two carnivores, and she…
>You look up with a blank stare, mouth working but no sound coming out
>”Alright, I’ll just bring some coffee back.” The waitress spins on her heels and starts walking back towards the kitchen, every footstep like glass shattering against the (relative) quiet of the diner
>SHIT
>You lost it
>You were so close to retrieving that memory-dream-thing
>Well, whatever. It was probably just a dream, anyway
>You remember once when you woke up from a nightmare where you swallowed your tongue
>The first thing you did was jam your hand in your mouth and try to keep it from slipping down your throat
>Of course, you ignored your very obvious REAL tongue, at the time, fat and in the way
>This was life or death
>The point is: these types of dreams happen
>They can feel real, but… they just aren’t
>This is one of those dreams

>You pull out your camera and start poking through the pictures, none of them catch your interest
>Mostly just shots of campus, some pictures you took from the bus window
>Just gotta occupy yourself until the waitress comes back, because when she parks her plump, anthro butt right in front of you, you’re going to order some food
>You need some right about now with how heavy your body feels
>And when she leaves, you’re going to take a picture of her FAT ass
>…
>What? Nobody ever said you had good taste
>Creepy, too, but you consider it revenge for her acting like a bitch

>As if on cue, the waitress reappears with a steaming ceramic mug of coffee and a lording, venomous smile
>”Here ya’ go, hun. This’ll wake you right up.”
>When she sets the coffee down your enthusiasm deflates
>It’s loaded with so much cream and sugar that it’s practically white
>She slaps her hands on her hips
>”Anything else I can get you, Mr. News Man?”
>With the way she cocks her head, you’re certain that there’s more than just cream and sugar in this coffee
>You paint on a wide smile and thank her
“No, I think I’m okay.”
>”Good!” She brightens her tone to a high shine. “I’ll be back in a bit to grab your order.”
“Great, thanks.” You sink in your chair

>You flick through your camera’s LCD screen and ready a shot
>And then you pause on something
>The waitress is on the screen
>You blush
>Well it’s not specifically her
>It’s a shot of her sauntering away from your table, her fat ass on full-display
>But the thing is
>You just met the waitress
>You don’t remember taking this shot
>Is it cliché to say that ‘ideas start as small seeds buried in the mind’?
>The bell over the door chimes a happy little sound, like the tiniest of hammers banging on a silver sheet of metal
>You hear the waitress brighten her tone again. “Hey you two, need a table?”
>You poke your head above the dividers between tables
>A crocodile and coyote — both of them juvenile and covered in dirt/dust — saunter through the door
>The coyote locks eyes with you for a steady second
>It makes you feel uncomfortable, but you can’t place why
>Still, you drop your body into your seat, camera strapped around your neck
>You try to ignore the collision of neurons in your brain

>”You a reporter from the city?” A voice from behind you causes you to nearly drop your camera (good thing you were wearing the neck strap)
>A Blue Heeler is peeking over the top of the booth behind you, her (and she is most definitely a woman, not a man) light blue eyes curiously watching as you find the words to answer
>You have none, but that’s okay, this kid is leading the conversation like a child steering a race car
>”Can I see your camera?” She asks, extending a thin arm over the booth
>Well gee, that’s really fucking forward
“Ummmm, no...” you offer in return. “I’m just taking some photos of some stuff before I head back home.”
>”Oh, where you from?” Her eyes light up, and a friendly smile widens across her face. “You from the city or something? You out here to write a story about the meth?”
>What the hell is up with this kid?
>You tell her you’re just a college student from the city, out on a solo photo project
>And you leave out the part about getting cold feet and wanting to go home, because that’s not intrepid
>When you’re finished with the explanation, the kid, who tells you her name is Jesse, practically leaps into the chair opposite of you
>You introduce yourself as Anon
>She’s… Well, a little too friendly, and it makes you uncomfortable
>She might be trying to rob you, or she might be retarded
>Heelers: friendly, intelligent, high energy, usually find good work out in agriculture due to their heritage and breeding standards
>She must not have gotten the intelligence genes the breed is known for
>She’s wearing a heavy flannel buttoned all the way up, some loose and dirty jeans, a pair of work shoes, and she smells like she’s been rolling around the fields for a few days, so she definitely is doing some kind of manual labor
>She leans eagerly across the table, extending the length of her thin body in order to peek at what you’re doing, and if it weren’t for the table separating you two, you’re sure she’d be touching you by now
>You’re assaulted by her seemingly innocuous questions of ‘what’s this, how’s that work, you ever taken photos for magazines before?’ And you do your best to answer all of them, leaving you practically out of breath by the time she finishes up grilling you
>This girl is really reminding you of the fact that you’re an introvert
>”You know, I really want to go visit the city someday. Maybe I’ll visit your school,” she says, kind of absentmindedly
>”I need to put some miles between me and this shitty little town, and I always wanted to be on a college campus.”
“I’m sure you do. People here are kind of… rude?” You probe
>”Only just to outsiders, humans especially,” Jesse says. She looks around briefly for theatrical effect, and then leans in close, narrowing her shoulders
>”You picked the wrong town to stop off in,” she says in a whisper. “I’m tellin’ you this cause you seem like alright guy. You need to leave here as soon as possible.”
“What are you talking about?”
>And right at that perfect moment, that croc and coyote wander up to the table
>”Jesse.” The crocodile’s voice is heavy with abuse. “You making new friends?” He raises an eyebrow. “Human friends?”
>The coyote eyes you up and down, his cold, appraising eyes causes the hair on the back of your neck to stand up. “What’s with the camera? He a reporter?”
>”No, he ain’t a reporter. He’s just a-“ she turns to you
>You feel her kick you underneath the table
>Her powerful boots collide off your shin bone
>You nearly yelp
>”What’re you here for again?” She says with a modicum of urgency
>You start to speak, but the look that Jesse gives you tells you that you need to choose your next words carefully
“I’m a college student. From Fairmount?” You toss out your college like bait, hoping one of them will bite and this conversation will turn to pleasant, intellectual things
>Which is obviously never going to happen
>Why do they seem so familiar though?
>Something about them makes your heart start to race
>You desperately want to leave the diner
>But why?
>Fragments of that dream start to come back to you, but the tense silence is cut by the crocodile
>”Sure you are, friend. We get lots of ‘college students’ out here in the sticks,” he says, leaning in close
>There’s something strange about both of their eyes
>Their dark pupils are outlined in blood
>They look like they’ve been awake for days
>The coyote’s rust-colored fur is completely tossed and unkempt
>There’s even white powder sticking to it
>The croc on the other hand has a white foam accumulating around his jaws, a sign of exhaustion in reptiles
>They make even Jesse seem clean by comparison
>At least her salt-and-pepper fur is brushed and her coat is shiny

>The pair don’t seem to care much about you
>Instead they focus their attention all on Jesse
>”Looking for another handout, Jesse?” The coyote says
>The heeler shakes her head
>”Nope, just making friends with someone. Says he’s skipping out tonight, so I figured I’d get to know our guest over a cup of coffee.”
>She kicks you again under the table
>You notice that her ears are plastered against her skull
>”Says he’s skipping out tonight. Ain’t that right?” She repeats in no uncertain words
>You nod for all you’re worth
>Good work, that might have been the least natural thing you’ve ever done
>No way they believed that
>The crocodile gives you a devil’s grin
>”We’ll be seeing you,” he says, before pacing off. “Have a safe trip home.”
>The coyote lags behind
>”Jesse,” he says
>The heeler paints on a winning smile and even goes as far as tipping her head. ”Can I help you, hun?”
>”Come see us later tonight.”
>The smile never leaves her face
>”Can I come see you some other time? How about tomorrow morning? Over bacon?”
>”Tonight.” The coyote says, his voice firm, leaving no room for further bargaining
>For a pup he sure puts on quite a show
>He joins his partner on the other end of the diner, tail swishing aggressively behind him

>You switch focus to your camera
>It’s a total crapshoot, but you think you remember why these guys creep you out so much
>You flick through photos
>Jesse scoots to your side of the booth, unconsciously crowding you into the corner
>Her thin, rounded shoulder bumps into yours, and you can feel the heat her tight body is throwing off
>It’s… a lot
>She must sweat a ton
>Or she’s really nervous
>”You sure take a lot of pictures,” she remarks, clearly no longer worried about the two anthros who are just tucking in to their dinners. ”You should take one of me, I ain’t never had a proper picture taken of me.”
“Shhhh, I’m looking for a specific on-“
>And there it is
>The last one in the camera roll
>A night shot
>An anthro crocodile one-handing a shotgun
>A ratty looking coyote with a wrench, trying to block the camera’s flash from his sensitive eyes
>Their pickup truck in the background
>And at the bottom of the picture?
>Jesse’s body in a blood heap

>Ladies and gentlemen, we are floating in space

>Of all the pictures you don’t remember taking, this one is the most damning
>Dream or not, this one is… fucked
>Jesse’s breathing turns hard and heavy
>Her blue eyes widen as her ears droop like leaden folds
>”W-Where did you get this?” She asks
>…
“I just… I don’t know.”
>”Anon what the FUCK is this?” She’s shaking now, scooting out of the seat. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
>Your free hand shoots out and clasps onto her wrist
>She struggles
>”Let go of me you fucking weirdo!”
>You instinctively tighten your grip
>Sure, not suspicious at all, right?
>Your eyes meet for a quick second
>You communicate all that you cannot in words with a quick glance over your shoulder…
>…At the two anthros — the croc and the coyote — who are now staring over at your table
>She sneaks her own glance, and then one back at you
>You can physically see the internal monologue going on in her head
>The play of words between the heartbeat and the synapse
>And, thankfully, she elects to sit back down in your booth
>You release your grip on her wrist
>…
>Why did you do that?
>What did you get yourself involved?
>What happens in that ‘dream’ that you’re so scared of?

>”Ya better have a good fucking explanation for what that is.” She jabs the camera with a clawed finger
>The ‘dream’ is starting to crystallize
>Pieces coming together, like the torn remnants of a photograph of some unhappy moment forever immortalized in digital and kinetic space
”I don’t have one,” you reply, trying to keep your voice a low hiss
>”I don’t know much ‘bout photos. I know I’m a dumb hick from nowherseville. But that don’t give you the right to just… make creepy photos of me, okay?”
“Think about it Jesse — I just met you. There’s no possible way I could have made this up. And look, it’s night in the photo!”
>You point out the details on your LCD screen
>Jesse, still struggling, purses her lips and furrows her brow
>There’s a slight pause
>You hear the sound of forks and knives playing off a nearly empty plate
>The tinkling sound of ice in a glass, like bones rattling together
>Whatever happened in that ‘dream’ it ended with you and Jesse dying
>And those two predators now nearly finished with their meals?
>They were the ones who killed you both
>”So now what in the hell am I supposed to do? Are you saying this isn’t something you made up?”
>That’s a good point
>What ARE you supposed to do now that your dream is starting to bleed into reality?
>You don’t have a plan
>But you do have a choice:
>Fight?
>or flight?
>You look down at the untouched coffee cup, isolated on the table
>It’s so loaded with cream and sugar that it’s pale

>Flight

>You know what you’re going to do?
>Put a million fucking miles between yourself and this hick town
>And especially between you and this dumb heeler
>TONIGHT
>Let the chips fall where they may
>This ain’t about you
>Whatever’s going to happen will have to happen to Jesse and Jesse alone
>But how do you get out of here without a car?
>You hop out of the booth, bags slung over your shoulder
>Jesse follows quick behind you
>Shit, gotta ditch her FAST
>The sun is starting to go down, draining golden light out through the diner’s windows
>…
>Windows
>An idea rattles around in your brain, having to do with windows and your escape

>”You never answered me and- hey! Where the hell do you think you’re going?”
>She’s quick behind you, following in your footsteps
>”You ain’t even paid for that coffee yet.”
“I’m just going to bathroom,” you say in a rushed breath
>”Bathroom? Mister this ain’t the time to go listenin’ to your bladder. I wanna see that photo again.”
>FUCK, why is she still behind you?
>You walk into the gas station portion of the diner and scan for the bathroom
>The plan is simple: go to the john. If there’s a window, climb out of it and see if you can hitch a ride back to town
>If there’s not a window, just take a piss, come out, reevaluate
>A blue sign above the doors lets you know there is indeed a restroom at this gas station
“Seriously, I’ll let you take a look after I’m done, okay? I just wanna go pee.”
>”Fine! Go piss! But I’ll be waiting. And when we’re done we’re gonna talk about what’s on that camera!” Her voice booms in the small gas station
>You blush hard
>Fuck, people are going to think you’re a pervert
>And worse
>They’re going to know where you went

>The bathroom is… cleaner than you expected
>Guess it doesn’t get used much
>As for its layout, it’s got one stall, two urinals and…
>A frosted window at far end of the bathroom, the orange light of sunset pouring out onto the floor
>It’s as if the heavens have opened up and a host of heavenly angels have conspired together to offer you this one-way portal to freedom from Hicksville
>You start to pull open the window, but it’s stuck from years of disuse
>You dig your whole body into the effort, channeling all 150 pounds of your being into your grip
>The window starts to budge, just a crack though
>But it’s enough to let in a slant of light
>And that’s enough to give you hope

>Until you hear noise outside the bathroom door
>”Hey, Bill, LET GO YOU ASSHOLE!”
>It’s Jesse
>”You’re hurting me!”
>Heavy footsteps approaching the door
>The sounds of struggle sharp against your ears
>Heart beating in the tin drum of your chest
>The door flies open
>And you duck into the stall, hitching the lock
>”Where’d he go, Jesse?” A gruff voice commands
>Definitely reptilian. Definitely Bill
>There’s the sound of boots scuffling on the dirty floor
>”Where’s your reporter friend?”
>You jump up onto the toilet and keep low, so it looks like the stall is empty
>And yet locked?
>God this is bad
>All you can do is… wait and watch
>And listen
>”He’s not a reporter,” Jesse says, taking deep gulps of air. “How many times do I gotta say that!?”
>She sounds winded
>Then there’s a dull thud, the sound of bruised scales pounding into soft flesh
>Jesse yelps, her voice reaching an octave that sends your heart plummeting
>From your vantage, standing on the toilet, you look under the stall divider
>You see Jesse go down, head pounding off the bare floor
>One bounce
>Then two
>A trail of crimson carves its way down her muzzle
>Blood
>”Don’t FUCK with me, mutt. I know a reporter when I see one, and I know why he’s here.”
>Jesse tries to sit up
>The crocodile, Bill, stamps his heavy boots into Jesse’s chest, pinning her to the floor
>You watch as the heeler wheezes and struggles, having a lungful of air expelled in one cruel motion
>She reminds you of a bug with its legs ripped off
>The way she squirms, desperate, feral, trying so hard to comprehend her own pain
>”You squealed about the ice, didn’t you? You told that reporter what we got going on here and now he’s going to bust the whole thing open.” Bill seethes. “All so you can get outta town. But you ain’t gonna leave, little girl. You’re stuck here, just like the rest of us.”
>The sound of Jesse choking…
>It’s making you shake, isn’t it?
>That’s right
>You can feel yourself start to vibrate and pulse, tension and terror running in equal measure throughout your wired body
>And this is all before you saw the knife in Bill’s hands, gripped so hard that his knuckles are glowing white
>”You stupid bitch,” he says. “You stupid, stupid bitch. You’ve put us all at risk. Just give him up to us. You know what’s in it for you if you just tell us where he went.”
>The heeler struggles and kicks her legs, but Bill is too sturdy
>You can see the jagged edge of his hunting knife dangling just above her throat
>Holy fucking shit
>You’re about to witness a murder
>Holy
>Fucking
>Shit
>If you stay silent, they might not hear you
>You might still be able to get out of this
>He’ll kill her and leave
>You escape out the window and book it
>Even that makes your stomach turn
>”So I’m going to ask again, doggie. Where the hell is the reporter?”
>Jesse sucks down a fragmented gulp of air and rolls her bloody head to the side, facing under the stall
>Her eyes open up
>And your terrified gaze meets her own
>…
>There’s a quiet second, punctuated only by the rapid beating of your heart, where the two of you stare down each other
>You, too shocked to even communicate anything
>And her, wide-eyed and confused
>You can see something flitting behind her eyes
>More than just the brunt spark of recognition
>Gears are turning
>Gears that power a mechanism so vast and incomprehensible that it has no physical form
>In just a second you can see a quick mind spring into action
>But that second ends as abruptly as it came about
>”ANSWER ME,” Bill growls.
>She blinks twice at you, turns her head up at Bill, and says with a cough:
>”I have no idea where he went.”

>In life we’re given choices
>Handfuls of diverging paths that span a person’s timeline, some converging, some collapsing, like old abandoned buildings in factory towns run dry
>All choices, for as diverse as they might seem, with their infinite outcomes, reduce down into two options:
>Fight
>Or
>Flight
>Right?
>Can things be that simple?
>Can you separate the human experience into two camps with just the edge of a knife?
>Are you flight?
>Or are you fight?
>There is no third option

>You’re quick on the latch
>Bill never saw you coming
>With a feral yell, you cut loose and leap off the toilet like a madman
>You explode out of the stall, careening through the air
>Your target?
>A big, dumbfuck crocodile
>Who could probably snap your neck with his jaws
>Forward you fly, into the jaws of death

>You are fight

>You wrap your arms around him as your momentum carries you through the air
>You knock Bill off of his feet
>Good GOD this guy is huge
>His torso must be twice the size of yours
>Still, you caught him off-guard, and so this roughly 300-pound lizard goes down with you, the knife swinging wildly in his right arm
>Jesse gasps, sucking air into her lungs now the croc’s weight is off her chest
>There’s a solid *thump* as the back of Bill’s head slams into the sink, chipping the porcelain
>His eyes collapse in on themselves, like two bloodshot stars suddenly going dark
>Lights out
>His tremendous body comes to rest on the floor with you sprawled out on top of him
>”Anon?” Jesse coughs as she tries to stand
>It takes her a few shaky seconds, but with your help, she’s on her feet
>”Thank you kindly,” she says with another choking cough. “But you didn’t have to do that.”
“What the hell do you mean? He was going to kill you!”
>”I had the situation handled,” she adds with a sheepish smile
“So that’s what you call handling the situation?”
>”Well now we’re really up shit creek. I had it handled.”
“And I’m here to tell you, you did not have this handled.”
>“If he ganked me they woulda’ left and you coulda’ gotten away. But now we try to go out and Shane’ll probably crack open your skull like a peanut. And,” she points down at Bill, who is still down and out, “he’s going to come ‘round here pretty soon.”
>She picks Bill’s hunting knife off his body and mounts his body
>“Let’s light this candle.”
>Wat
>She raises the knife over her head, light blue eyes set on Bill’s padded throat
>Instinct forces your hand
>You catch her arms mid stab
“Jesus, wait a second,” you say in a low, urgent voice
>”Wait? Why wait? This prick tryda’ cut my throat. Was just ‘boutta return the favor.”
“Because… shit. We can still get out of this without murder charges. How about that?”
>She shakes you free
>”I reckon that in about 30 seconds this scaly bastard is going to wake up, or his tweaker pal is going to barge in on us. I may not be smart enough for your colleges, but I don’t see any alternatives other than to cut this green bastard’s throat and get the jump on Shane.”
>You clutch your head
>Holy fuck
>You need to think
>She’s crazy
>Everyone’s crazy
>This is crazy
>Wasn’t this supposed to be a dream?
>You feel the sun at your back
>A bird song floats in through the barely-cracked window
>Ah
>Right
>You tap Jesse on the shoulder and point towards the window
>She puts two and two together almost before you do
>”But I’m keeping the knife,” she declares
>And that’s fine with you
>Self-defense? That’s fine
>Straight up murder? Leave that to the universe

>With the window open you toss your bags out first
>Jesse slips out with anthropomorphic grace
>You throw one last look at your shoulder for reassurance
>Bill is still down for the count
>Satisfied, you climb out the window and put two feet on solid dirt
>Jesse is waiting for you
>She pockets the knife
>Alright, plan-
>Jesse grabs you by the arm and rushes you around the back of the gas station/diner
>You hardly have time to grab your bags before she’s got you pressed up against the brick construction of the gas station
“This is your idea of a hiding spot? Just a few feet away from those lunatics?” You say with a hiss. “We need to get back on the road and flag down a car-“
>She hushes you
>”You’re talkin’ too loud there city boy. Just hush up for a second while I think of sumthin’.”
“I already did the thinking for us: we start walking down the road and flag down a car-“
>”Where do you reckon you think you are, Anon? Ain’t nobody stopping for hitchhikers out here, specially not a human. Less they’re trynna skin ya.”
>She does have a point
>The wildlife — save for Jesse — hasn’t been all that friendly since you arrived
>Come to think of it, why is she being so friendly?
>What the hell does she get out of protecting you?
>…
>Her grip on you tightens, sending live wires of pain running up your arm
>You can feel her claws burrowing their way into your skin
>You flinch
“Jesse, relax. You’re hurting me,” you say
>Like a bear trap springing open, she releases her vise grip on you
>”S-Sorry,” she says. “Just a nervous habit.”
“You’re fine,” you say, rubbing your arm
>She actually managed to leave impressions in your skin
>You guess that she was a few more seconds from drawing blood
“Think of a solution?”
>She nods earnestly, ears springing up
>She points towards a cornfield just a few feet away
>Its green stalks are nearly twice your height, and dense as well
>They sway in the blue dusk pulled by the gentle wind
>You flatten your tone
“Got any better ideas?”
>”What’s wrong with hiding out in the corn fields? I know my way ‘round. There’s a country road nobody uses just on the other side of this field.”
“And then what, just live off corn?”
>”We jus’ lay low for awhile, that’s all I’m saying.”
>It’s not ideal, of course, but it beats getting stabbed
>Or shot

>Summer brings spiced winds, even at night
>You glance about you, drinking in the length of the corn stalks, the rolling hills, the empty road, the stars pin-holing the night sky like a scattering of winking diamonds
>Your trip through the corn fields was short-lived and left you with bugs all over your skin, so you’re glad to be out in the open, secluded by the waving shoots of corn
>It’s just you, Jesse, and the light of the silver moon to keep you chattering as the two of you trek down this dusty country road
>”Getting tired college boy?” Jesse swings her head over her shoulders
>You’re starting to lag behind, the weight of your bag and camera gear holding you down
>She gives you a toothy smirk
>”Us heelers, we don’t get tired. We just run all day and all night, like a truck on the highway.”
>You jog up behind her, sweat pinning your shirt to your back
”Even an engine has to stop for gas sometime,” you wheeze
>That’s enough to get her to slow her roll
>”Well, you got a point there. Ya know,” she says with a slight pause, “my house is just a few more miles down the road-“
“MILES?” You say, though you’re too winded to make more than a gasping sound
>”What’s wrong?” Need a drink? Some food?”
>Maybe you do. The last thing you had to drink was that shitty coffee. You’re running on empty
>The heeler pauses, narrows her eyes, and glances around
>”I think I know where we are,” she says, surveying the cornfield. “’Least, I think so.”
“Oh, well that’s reassuring.”
>”Don’t you get all dispargin’ on me now, we got plenty of road to go. But you’re right — I’m starting to get some cotton mouth myself. And if I’m correct, there should be a water spigot ‘round here.”
>How in the hell can she tell? It’s corn as far as you can see
>”I think it’s… right over here.”
>She weaves her fingers into yours, and before you even have a chance to protest, you’re practically slung through the field
>She’s a good few paces ahead of you, dragging you behind her like a child drags a toy behind her
“Hey, hold on for a fucking second!” You protest
>Her laughter booms throughout the cornfields. A handful of crows wing off into the sky
>Honestly, you have no fucking idea where you’re going. You can’t see anything ahead of you except her backside and… well… corn
>She must have not heard you, but you’re too tired to fight
>You let Jesse tug you through the veritable forest of corn, until you come to a clearing — a crop circle of some kind
>And at the center of it all is a small shed, which is buzzing with noise — probably an engine of some kind to pump water around the filed
>Attached to the edge of the shed is life itself: a small faucet
>Jesse’s eyes lock on almost instantly
>”See, didn’t I tell you? Spigot. Right there.”

>Jesse lowers her head and uses a free hand to crank the faucet on
>She laps greedily at the water as it waterfalls into the dust and dirt
>And…
>You whip your camera out of your bag and swing it into your hands
“Hold still,” you command, aiming down the viewfinder
>You crank up the aperture to compensate for the darkness
>Jesse stiffens up, water still trickling into her hungry mouth
>”W-What the hell are you doing?” She says, spilling a mouthful of water
“Don’t worry about, just keep drinking.”
>She giggles as you snap a few pictures…
>…And then wretches and gags, spewing water out of her throat
>You check the LCD screen at the back of the camera and you’ve got a few great shots of blue heeler lapping at some water, her over-sized flannel shirt slipping past her shoulders, jeans barely clinging to her thin body…
>…and then you’ve got a great many shots of water geysering out of her nose, eyes pinched shut, body retching forward
>Laughter explodes out of you
>Fuck it, you don’t care who hears you right now
>Jesse clutches the side of the shed and sputters water like an engine failing to kick over
>You laugh even harder
>She throws a middle finger (paw?) over her shoulders while you bust a gut
“Sounds like you’ve got a… DRINKING problem,” you say, as the audience hurls tomatoes at you for making such a shitty joke
>”I can handle my liquor, this water here jus’ caught me off guard’sall”
“Alright alright, I’m just teasing.” You flip your camera around your back and approach the shed
>Still coughing, Jesse steps to the side
>You notice she’s managed to absolutely soak the shit out of her shirt — turning it nearly translucent
>Silvered in the moonlight she looks…
>Like a goddess
>She wears the night so well
>And, soaking wet, you can see the way it outlines her delicate curves, tracing her shape with powdered light
>She’s feminine to be sure
>She just stands there, perfectly slouched, leaning one arm against the shed
>You finish taking a long, careful drink
>But you notice she’s not looking in your direction anymore
>She’s taken her hand off the shed, and instead has wrapped both arms around her shivering frame
>You stand tall in the twinkling darkness and focus your gaze on her
>”Jesse-“ you start
>She looks at you, her blush glowing crimson in the darkness, like a spangled banner of red stars against the blackening night sky
>”What!?” She barks. “I’m c-cold’s’all.”
>You slacken, unsure of what to do with yourself
>There’s a silence between you two Jesse trembles in the darkness, and you let the water drain out of the spigot
>…
“Wanna see some pictures that I took?”
>Her face lights up despite the cold
>”SURE!”

>You click through your camera roll, which is like a stop-motion film
>First it begins on campus, last fall
>Bright colors
>Auburn and gold
>You remember when you took this one
>You were exploring campus for the first time, so it’s a series of shots of you making your way from your dank dorm room to the quad
>Jesse leans in intently, the smell of wet dog radiating off of her
>She’s still shivering, so you let your shoulder bump into yours
>”Holy crap,” she says, as you scroll through pics of your quad
>There’s people — anthros and humans all mingling with one another as easy as fish breathe water
>She settles on a panorama of the quad, which is encased in red brick buildings on all sides
>In the center of the shot there’s a huge oak tree
>The leaves of fall drift on the autumn breeze
>It’s one of your favorite shots, actually
“I took this on my first day up at uni.”
>”No kidding? What was it like?”
>You throw your gaze upwards and search the clear skies for an answer
“I guess… it’s kind of like constantly feeling like you have to throw up.”
>”Oh, like when you’re sick. I get it.”
“Yeah. You’re entering a new stage in your life and leaving everything else behind so that you can grow and — hopefully — make some decent cash on the side. It’s scary.”
>Jesse lets out a puff of air
>”Not like I’d know. I was born and raised in this little town.”
“You mean you didn’t move out here?”
>She rolls her eyes, but you get the feeling the gesture wasn’t directed at you
>”Move out here from where? Another Podunk shitheap little town? Yeah. I been stuck here all my life. All I know is corn, meth, and speciesm, in that order.”
>You feel… uncomfortable
>What do you say?
>You flick through more pictures on your camera, desperately trying to find meaning and significance in them so as to distract from the sudden somber atmosphere
>They’re mostly of college life
>Shots of parties you didn’t want to be at
>Some work from class
>A low whimper escapes Jesse
“What’s wrong?”
>She hesitates
>”It- It’s just… damnit,” she exhales loudly and forces her eyes upward, latching on to the full moon. “You don’t know how good you got it.”
“I know I got it good. I got it too good, actually.”
>Jesse puffs a jet of air from her chest. “Whaddya mean by ‘too good’? No such thing as too good.”
“God damn right I got it too good. I’m too insulated where I’m at in life. Too comfortable to change.”
>”You don’t want what we got out here, Anon. Trust me, you stay comfortable and happy in your little bubble.”
“You want to know what the bravest thing I’ve ever done is?” You say, speaking over Jesse
>”Fuck someone without wrapping it?”
“It was coming out here on my own. No plan, vague goals and very little money. And now I fucked myself over.”
>You barely planned things as it is, but now that you hear it out loud…
>Man, it was really stupid to come out here
>You turn your focus back on your camera
>And out of the corner of your eye?
>You see Jesse fidgeting with something
>You turn your head

>Jesse is halfway out of her oversized flannel
“What the hell are you doing?!” You say, but all she does is give you a curious glance before returning to fiddling with her buttons
>”I’m getting cold because this shirt is wet,” she says. "I'm problem-solving."
>A shameful blush creeps over your face

>”Now what were you saying? About doing something stupid?” She says, flinging her shirt out in front of her
>When you look over at her again she’s only in her pair of jeans and her bra
>It’s plain and dark, but stands out nicely against her gray fur
>Seeing the gentle heave of her chest, you wonder why you first mistook her for a boy
>Or for someone that gives a shit about social grace
>She slides comfortably against the shed and into the trampled corn stalks
>You can see her panting hard and heavy, thick pick tongue lopping out of her mouth and hanging between her teeth
>How can someone simultaneously be hot and cold?
“I-I guess I did something stupid by coming out here… without a plan or anything. Getting myself involved in God knows what.”
>”Yeah but if ya think about it, it wasn’t all that bad.” She nudges you with her shoulder. “You got to meet me. And you got some funny pictures.”
“Yeah but I only got like a handful.”
>”Three good ones from what I saw.”
>Shit, she’s right
>You thumb through your photos again, and stop when you get to Jesse choking on water
>You can see the artistic value there — it’s kind of a statement, right?
>The plight of-
>”Hey Anon, can I ask you a favor?”
>Probably a good thing that Jesse cut off your pseudo-intellectual ravings
“Sure, what’s up?”
>”C-Can you…” she points at the camera. “Can you take some more photos of me? I ain’t never had a photo taken of me before you come along.”
>…
“Seriously?”
>”C’mon!” She throws her hands up in the air. “You think we got photo people out here? You’re probably the only person in miles with an actual camera. C’mon, I wanna be famous,” she says
>You think for a second, holding the camera at chest level
>Should you really be doing this right now?
>What, with being hunted down and all
>For ambiguous reasons
>Fuck it
“Jesse, before I do this, I have questions I need answered.”
>”Questions?” She tilts her head. “What kinda questions?”
“Why?”
>”Why what?”
“No, that’s my question. Why are we being hunted? Why me? What’s this all about?”
>”Oh, right.” Her tone slowly deflates as her eyes lower
>She digs her feet into the trampled dirt
>A warm summer breeze cuts through the stalks
>It lightly tosses the shag of her fur
>”It’s easier when I tell it like this: you were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Thems two fucktards and their buddies and everyone they ‘work’ with? They all got their ideas mixed ‘round. They think you’re some kinda city reporter here to crack open their meth operation they run outta the diner.”
>”But I’m not. I’m not a reporter. I’m,“ you clench your fists, “just a dumb fucking college kid. I’m not capable of even turning in a school project on time, let alone busting open a drug operation.”
>Jesse puckers her cheeks up and launches a wad of spit across the field
>”I told you, they’re too fuckin’ stupid to understand that. I’m pretty stupid myself, but these two make even me seem like I could go to college. Like you.”
“It’s not that hard,” you say, though you’re not speaking loud enough for her to hear you
“There’s only two sides in this shitheap town of ours,” she continues, “Mammals on crank and mammals makin’ it. There ain’t no room for a third.” She turns her head to face you, her eyes heavy
>”That means you.”
>Of course it means you
>Otherwise they wouldn’t be out looking for you
“It’s so funny.” You stand up and shake your head lightly. “I remember waking up in the diner from the strangest dream. One where you and I both died. I hope it’s not prophetic.”
>”How’d we bite it?” She stands up with you and stretches out her spindly arms
>A yawn that morphs into a near-howl escapes her
>You won’t admit it, but your eyes are drawn to her smooth and shiny coat, especially her stomach
>The minute she looks over at you, you pry your eyes off her glossy coat and force them back onto the camera
>You click through a number of shots of potato chips and floor tiles that Jesse obviously took while she was in the bathroom
>Then one catches your eye
>It’s a selfie of Jesse, the last on the roll
>She’s smiling wide, her eyes are half shut, teeth polished and clean
>…
>You feel sick to your stomach
>You can’t believe you were going to ditch her back there in the bathroom
>After she stuck out her neck (literally) for you
>Are you really scum, and she is the perfect center of the universe?
>No
>She has to be getting something out of this
>But what?
>You open your mouth to ask, but catch yourself
>Her eyes are sparkling as you wield your camera about
>It’s not love, or affection
>You look down at your screen
>And it’s on that photo you took, of Jesse’s body, of Bill and Shane
>You clench your teeth
>That look is blind loyalty
>She has a reason, but maybe she doesn’t know it yet
>”So? In that dream of yours?” She begins
>You step out into the middle of the field
>You aim the camera at her, a lump swelling in your throat
“Ready?” You say, silently thanking the moon above
>Everything has a bone-white glow
>She strikes a quick pose
>”Ya never answered me,” she adds with a giggle
>You focus your lens on her
>She splays herself out against the shed in a faux dramatic pose
>Tonight you bury that picture
>It was just a dream
>All it was
>”How’d we die?”
>Just a dream
>But you still see her dead in a heap, blood leaking from her body
>The look on those two predator’s faces
>Some pain you cannot shake, real or not
>So you tell yourself
>You press the shutter

>Crows arc into the sky
>Jesse lights up as your LED flash triggers, throwing her shadow on the shed behind her (even though most professionals say to never use your flash)
>The two of you watch the birds wing off against the moon, silent and as still as glaciers
>They look like shadows
>And that’s all they’ll ever need to be to you
>Your heart is pounding, but that’s only from the noise
>You swear it’s not because there’s a cute anthro woman with her top off standing right in front of you
>You’re startled is all
>”Did you get that one?” She laughs. “Because I think I had my eyes closed. Damn birds spooked me.”
>Jesse hears it before you do:
>The crashing through the brush
>Her ears twitch, as if jolted with electricity
>Her wet nose twitches
>It’s not one mammal
>It’s not even two
>A chorus of voices rise out of the field
>Crashing, slashing, yelling, shouting and howling, the deafening approach of some someones
>And then they fall silent, just short of your vision
>Your heart pounding in your ears is the only thing you can hear, and even that becomes quiet
>The tense and push and pull of blood in your veins sends you shaking, fingers still glued to the camera
>Those noises
>They came so close
>And now they’re gone
>If Hell is the absence of God, then the absence of sound is Hell’s ambient volume
“Jesse.” You don’t bother to lower the volume of your voice
>What good would it do now?
>She’s crouched, predatory, hunting knife in her right hand held out like an extension of her own arm
>Her chest heaves
>You wish you had half of her sense of smell or hearing
>There’s a snapping sound behind you
>You turn around in a flash, heart racing
>You expect to find Bill or that coyote.”
>”Jesse?” A timid voice squeaks
>Standing at the edge of the clearing is a heeler pup, clad in a heather-blue shirt three sizes too big for her
>It reaches her ankles
>One of the pup’s ears is missing, though the stump of it is still there
>You try to control your breathing, taking slow, even puffs
>It’s just a pup
>A pup that somehow knows… Jesse?
>”Kira?” Jesse lowers her knife. “Kira what the hell are you doing out here? And why don’t you smell right?”
>”Jesse!” She cuts loose with a triumphant cry
>The little heeler pup bounds forward through the clearing
>She blurs right past you, paying you no mind
>Instead, she leaps through the air, catching Jesse at the waist
>The pup throws her arms around Jesse and squeals with joy, eyes pinched shut
>Jesse absorbs the force of what must be her kin by bracing against the shed
>You just stand there, dumbstruck
>The sound of rustling in the corn stirs your attention
>You see… shapes…
>Shadows drifting among the stalks
>But the closer you look, the better you’re able to piece together their features
>Short, Salt-and-pepper fur with a coarse top coat
>Long muzzle slightly parted in apprehension
>Thin, athletic frames
>Long, silvery tails with another healthy coating of fur
>Light blue eyes glimmering in the moonlight, the color of glacial cores

>”Come on out, we found her!” Kira shrieks, unable to keep the excitement from exploding out of her
>She channels her excess into her swiftly fanning tail, which is beating like the outboard motor of a boat
>You swear, she could probably fly with that thing
>Jesse claps her palm over Kira’s mouth and issues a sharp hush
>”Kira, I need ya’ ta’ hush up listen very closely, okay?” She says
>Kira nods excitedly
>”Who all is looking for me?” Jesse casts her wary gaze about the corn field
>She slowly lifts her palm from Kira’s mouth
>You can see the older heeler’s muscles tensing
>Not to run, but to fight off anything that might want to hurt her kin
>”Well let’s see… There’s Cody and Jessup and Wyatt and Claire and Laurabell and Mildred! We all come to find you when you didn’t come home,” Kira says
>The shapes in the corn step forward into the moonlight
>It’s as you expected
>Heelers
>Lots and lots of heelers
>Each one of them just at the fringes of the clearing
>Each one of them eyeing you warily, none of them stepping too close to you
>They all look about Kira’s age and size, except one, who’s probably a few years older
>She’s nearly Jesse’s size
>She locks eyes with you and scowls, her fangs shimmering
>”Jesse!” The heeler says, jabbing a clawed finger at you. “What’s with the human?”
>She starts forward
>Her claws look like black razors at the tips of her fingers.
>”Is he with you?”
>You ready your camera in case you need to blind her
>”Laura, Laura,” Jesse peels away from Kira and races to your side. “Let off the gas girl, he’s fine.”
>’Laura’ stops just short of you, still letting a growl roll out of her chest
>Jesse takes you by the hand
>You feel her thumb gently smoothing over your sweaty fingers
>It starts to calm you, soothes your rapid heart like an organic benzo
>”Christ babygirl, ya’ can’t just fly off the handle like that anymore,” Jesse says in a lecturing voice “I thought I learned you better.”
>”Well I’m sorry,” Laura throws you a sideways glance. “First you go missing and we gotsta come find you, and then we find you half-naked in a field with a human?”
>The way she says ‘human’ sounds like she was spitting poison from her mouth
>”Everyone just cool it,” Jesse says, addressing the now circle of heelers who’ve closed in around you. “This here is Anon, and he’s my friend. And he’s-“
>Laura takes a quick step back, wide-eyed
>”Jesse, is this him?” She gasps
“What do you mean? I’m me-“
>Another voice cuts you off: Kira’s
>”Yeah Jesse is he the one?”
>With one swift motion you free your sweaty hand of Jesse’s grip
“What the hell are they talking about?” You say
>”A-Anon listen, we can talk ‘bout this later, okay?”
>NO
>THIS IS EVEN WORSE THAN NEARLY GETTING STABBED OR SHOT BY THE COYOTE AND THE CROCODILE
>”Keep yer’ voice down, all of you,” Jesse hisses. “Ya’ll shouldn’t have come out here lookin’ for us.”
>”We had to,” Laura says, eyeing you up and down. “Mamma and Pa didn’t come home last night.”
>”Shit,” Jesse says with all the cadence of a deflating kickball
>Her tired head droops
>”Alright, alright. I promise everyone, I’ll answer all of ya’ll’s questions later, okay?” She lifts her eyes and smiles at you. “I’ll do my best to tell you everythin’. But we can’t stay here. Not right now.”
>”Yeah, we heard,” Kira says. “You gone and really made the boys mad now.”
>The precocious pup wraps her tiny fingers around your own and gives a gentle tug
>You watch as she appraises you, as if deciding for herself that you’re a rational, intelligent mammal, just like herself
>”’Course I did,” Jesse says, voice barely floating above a quiet, somber prayer
>Laura grabs Kira and pulls her away from you despite the heeler’s indignant protests
>”Well, come on then,” Laura says, cradling Kira close. The older mammal locks her steady eyes with yours. ”We best get home before someone less pleasant than Kira finds us.”

>Jesse’s house is…
>Well it’s certainly not what you’re used to
>See, you live in a nice, cushy dorm out in school
>Everything’s wrapped in plastic and bubblewrap for you
>Christ, you even have a dining hall so you don’t have to cook anything beyond microwaving popcorn
>Jesse’s house is the antithesis of the college experience:
>It’s the embodiment of everything your chiding liberal arts professors say you should have compassion for
>It’s ground zero for poverty in America
>The minute you enter, you feel a deep sense of brokenness, even as you’re swarmed by malnourished heeler pups picking at your clothes and grabbing at any exposed skins
>You sink into a ratty arm chair in the family room while all the noises of poverty whip themselves up into a hurricane in your ears:
>Unattended pups
>Angry, discordant growls, screaming
>Somewhere a forgotten TV talks to itself, likely the cable news piped in from stolen wires
>The miasma cigarette smoke wafting in chunky clouds offends your senses
>It stings your eyes and nose
>Jesus, there must be at least three generations of heelers living here — that’s at least 16 mammals under one tiny roof
>When you approached it on your long walk, it small from the outside, but that’s because it stood alone in a pasture, just a leaning home with peeling white paint collapsing over the course of a decade
>But now that your inside, it feels even more claustrophobic
>And warm

>Jesse appears at your side
>”Just… get comfortable here for a second. I gotta go take care of something in the basement.”
“Am I sitting in someone’s bed?” You ask
>Figured you’d move if you were
>It’s getting late so maybe someone is trying to get some sleep around here, despite the noise
>”I-I know it’s not the fanciest place,” she stutters, a touch of embarrassed red heat peeking through her dark fur, “but it’s home for now. Just sit tight. I’ll be right back.”
>You open your mouth to say something, but she’s already gliding easily through the milling crowds of her kin
>You watch her descend a set of stairs into what must be the basement
>There seems to be a hierarchy
>The pups all gather around you, the lone oddity in the house, wide-eyed, tales wagging, jockeying for a spot
>They fire off questions a mile a minute, which you try to answer, growing more and more tired with each incessant yip
>You see where Jesse gets her spunk from
>The older heelers hang out near the fringes of the group, leaning their wiry bodies against walls or supporting beams
>Laurabell is among them
>This caste hasn’t said anything to you since you got here, but they’ve been watching you in between lungfuls of cigarette smoke
>As if they’re waiting for you to slip up, hurt one of the pups, or say something out of line
>And everywhere light blue eyes trained on you, glimmering from dark corners or stairwells
>You sit up in the chair
>It sags under your weight
>The minute you stand up, the older heelers, -- Laurabell in particular --  peel off the walls
>You’re starting to figure it out: you’re not getting out of here unless Jesse escorts you out
“What’s Jesse doing?” You ask
>Christ you can feel one of the heeler pups trying to get into your camera bag
>You gently pull it closer to your body
>”She’s busy,” Laura says rather coldly
>She digs her claws into her unkempt fur and scratches an itch, still maintaining eye contact with you
>A challenge
“Can I go talk to her? I have some questions for her.”
>”Didn’t you hear her?” Laura snaps at you. “She said to get comfy here.” The heeler nods towards the chair you were just sitting in
>”So do what Jesse says and there won’t be problems.”
>Right
>You ease yourself back into the chair without a retort
>Don’t want problems, not when you’re severely outnumbered
>”Don’t worry ‘bout Laurabell,” you hear a familiar voice to the right of you
>You look down
>Kira peers up at you, her eyes shimmering with curiosity
>You peel your eyes away from the stump of her right ear
>Hopefully she didn’t notice you staring
>”She’s just mad ‘cause she don’t like outsiders.”
>”Outsider and a human,” Laura takes a long pull on her smoke. “Ain’t no good gonna come of this. Mark my words.”
>The older heeler peels herself off the wall and wanders deeper into the house
>Kira climbs up on the couch arm, her nose wrinkling
>”You smell good,” she says, her eyes half shut. ”Do all humans smell like candy?”
“I don’t know about that,” you say, now acutely aware how obvious your scent must be to all of them. “I don’t know what humans smell like. Our ears and noses aren’t as good as yours.”
>”Ear,” Kira says, matter-of-factly. She points to the stump of her ear. “I only gots one ear.”
“Ah, yeah, my mistake.”
>Kira leans in uncomfortably close
>”Ma clipped it off when I was gettin’ into the shop downstairs,” she says in an excited whisper
>Wait, downstairs?
>You grab Kira by the waist and lift her off the couch and back onto the floor
“Is that what’s down there? Is there some kind of shop in the basement?”
>”Sure is! Jesse and Ma and Pa take care of it. They don’t want us goin’ down there, but I did, and-“
“What kind of shop is it? What do they sell?”
>Kira stares up at you with a wide-eyed expression, mouth working, but no sound coming out
>”I dunno!” She says at last. “It just smells real bad down there sometimes an’ we can’t go down there.”
>You’re about to ask her another question when a Jesse appears out of nowhere and scoops Kira up in her arms
>”Kira, you botherin’ Anon here?” She says, stroking the pup’s fur
>”Nah-uh, we was talkin’ is all!” Kira squeals. “I wasn’ botherin’ him none!”
>Jesse plops Kira down on the floor
>”Now run along, alright? Anon and I got some stuff we need to talk about,” Jesse says
>Kira opens her mouth to say something, but screws her mouth up tight when her older sister flashes her a stern look
>Kira bounds off, quickly lost in the shuffle of anthros, like a small wanderer in a forest of redwood trees
>”Come on now, let’s get somewhere…” She drifts off
>she tugs at her collar and looks around
>Her wide pink tongue lops out of her mouth
>Beads of saliva roll of its surface
”Let’s get somewhere quieter. Less mammals,” you say, already rising out of the chair
>Jesse nods and issues a weak smile

>You end up in what must be her parents’ old room
>It’s the only one not buzzing with activity
>There’s a large, unmade bed in the center of the room, the impressions of two bodies pressed into the sheets
>Annnndd not much else
>Clean or dirty, all of their clothes are corralled into a few laundry baskets or crusty piles
>Thankfully, there’s an open window, carrying in drafts like puffs of air from heaven
>You two sit on the floor by the window, facing one another, outlined in the moonlight
>She stares hard at you, trying to decode your exhausted expression, looking — like any desperate mammal would — for something lurking beneath the surface
>She wants there to be a deeper meaning — something that you know that she doesn’t
>But there isn’t
>You’re just… lost
>No ulterior motive beyond surviving the night and escaping back to civilization in the morning
>No deeper meaning
>You’ve got no shark beneath the waves
>But she does
>No need to broach the subject
>Just go in for the kill
>You’re done waiting

“It’d be awfully kind of you to start explaining some stuff to me,” you start. “What did your family mean when they said ‘Is this him’?”
>You’re starting to feel like you’re being used for something
>”That’ll come later tonight, I promise.”
“No. Not later. Not in the future. Now.”
>She nods
>”I can sense yer frustrated and confused right now. But if you just hush and listen-“
“Back there in the diner, in the bathroom, do you remember what you said?”
>”I… I don’t think so,” she says, raising an eyebrow. “Do you remember what happened back there?”
“I… I remember lots of things. Things that I shouldn’t remember. Things like dreams that don’t feel like dreams. That sorta stuff. In the bathroom, with a knife to your throat, you told Bill that you didn’t know where I was.”
>”What’s your point?”
“The point is, you knew exactly where I was. Why’d you lie? Were you trying to get killed?”
>Silence
>Well, relative silence
>The chaotic din of the house is only muffled by floorboards
>She throws her head to the side
>”What the hell kind of questions are those?” She asks, her voice a low hiss
“Because I need to know why you’d die for me.”
>”What?” She looks taken aback – hurt. “I don’t-“
“If I didn’t save you, you’d have a knife in your throat.”
>She flinches back, and, consciously or unconsciously, she places a hand lightly at the hollow of her throat — right where the knife would have plunged
>You feel your voice rising in tandem with your frustration, glowing red hot in the center of your chest
>Maybe you’re just tired, bereft of the gravity of sleep drifting in some vacuum where only your wants and needs exist
>Sovereign
>Or maybe this is the right thing to do
>Fuck it
“So I ask again, why am I so important to you? I barely even know you.”
>…
>She’s not saying anything
>She just looks…
>Defeated
>She’s dropped her head into her lap
>Her ears are plastered against her skull, and her tail is flat on the floor
>Blood thrums loud in your ears
>Your heart beats one step ahead of your feet, it seems
>But you’re not going to apologize
>You really, really need to know
>And who cares? After tonight you’ll never see her again
>She lifts her tired eyes to yours
>”Not everyone who needs saving knows they need it.”
>She steadies her gaze
>”You want the honest-to-Jesus truth? All you gotta do is look around you. What do you see?”
>You slowly pan around the room
>It’s… well… it’s a room
>Disheveled and filthy, but a room nonetheless
“What am I looking for?”
>”You really don’t see it? Hear it? Feel it?”
>She pulls her knees tight against her body and hooks her arms together
“No, I just see a shitty room. Can you get to the point?”
>”I’m trynna explain this in a way we can understand — why I need you to help me.”
“Well I appreciate you risking your neck for me, but you really don’t have to do anything. Next plan of action, I say, is we wait out here, and when dawn breaks, I hop on the bus outside the diner.”
>She turns her head to the side and fixes her blue eyes on the moon
>”You ever have dreams? Because I have a dream almost every night.”
>”And in that dream,” she continues, “I always bite it. Shot in the back. Stuck in my guts. Hit by a car. Something always gets me. And every night… every night I have this dream over and over again. Sometimes when I wake up, I don’t even know I’m awake. I’ll check my body for bullet holes. I’ll start hollerin’ if it’s a really bad one. My family hates it.”
>She chuckles lightly
>”Lately I’ve started to feel like I’m in… in a dream that repeats itself, over and over and over again. Every day is the same, and even the nightmares are startin’ to run together. I’m just stuck, is all. So when you showed up, I thought you could change something ‘round here. Be the answer I needed.”
>Huh
>Dreams that feel real?
>What the hell is she on abou-
>”You ever have dreams like that?”
>Without thinking, you nod slowly
>”I thought you did. I could tell the minute I met you.”
>Her form sags as she rests her chin on her knees
>Her eyes start to fall, pulled down the weight of the day
>”Can I ask you about those dreams?” Jesse says wistfully. “The ones that don’t feel like yer dreamin?”
>She sounds exhausted
“Why?”
>”Because,” she yawns. “Our ride is coming in tonight and I need something to keep me up
>OUR RIDE?!
>You’re getting out of here sooner than you thought!
>You check the clock on the night stand
>It’s exactly 11:00 p.m.
“Sure,” you say, excitement settling into your chest, lighting up your nerves. “You’re not the type that thinks dreams have any deeper meaning, right?”
>”Guess it depends on the dream.”
>You hope she’s wrong
>Dreams can’t be prophetic
>They’re just dreams
“What if I told you I had a dream with you in it?”
>She raises an eyebrow
>”What kinda dream?” She playfully nudges you with her elbow as her tail spins up. “Anything ‘fun’ happen in that dream?”
>You feel a touch of color grace your cheeks
>God sometimes she’s too forward
“No, nothing like that,” you shake your head. “Actually, the opposite.”
>And you can’t remember much more than Jesse’s death, besides the two mammals who did the killing
>You don’t want to admit it, but you’ve come to have a modicum of respect for her, so you refrain from telling her the crux of the dream — the part where she’s shot dead by the carnivores
>She’s given you her home, and almost gave you her life
>Maybe her reasoning is a little misguided, but that’s okay
>When you get out of this town, what if she came with you?
>Gah, don’t be a dumbass
>She can’t. Where would she even stay?
>Maybe there’s some other way of ‘saving her’ that doesn’t involve bringing her from her home?
>If you could even call it that
“That dream really got to me. It felt so visceral. So real. I swear to God, it happened,” you say. “When I woke up I was in the diner again. I swear I smuggled a picture out of that dream.”
>Wait
>The picture!
>You could show her again, explain the dream to her
>How you shouldn’t have this picture to begin with
>…
>But why?
>Why dig in to that?
>You swore you’d bury it, and you intend to keep that promise to yourself
>Jesse jolts upwards, eyes shot wide as she peers out the open window
>You follow her gaze
>A pair of headlights is rumbling towards the house, cleaving a path through the encroaching darkness
>”That’s it,” she says, and you can’t help but notice the slow cadence of her voice, like a funeral procession
>You stand up and ease away from the window
”Is it them? Did they find us?”
>”No,” she looks up at you with a weak, half smile. “That’s your ride out of here.”
>…
>Is this real?
>This is so sudden
“How come you didn’t tell me about this earlier? I didn’t know you had a way to get us out of here.”
>”C’mon Anon, you gotta go. They’re waiting for us outside.” She nods towards the door
>You pause
“So that’s it, isn’t it?” You whisper
>”What’s it?”
>The car idles outside, you can hear its heavy engine thrumming and sucking down gasoline
“I guess this is goodbye.”
>She stands up
>”Not quite. I’ll see you off.” She grabs you by the arm and starts to lead you downstairs
>The mood downstairs is… different
>Everyone comes to a standstill when they see Jesse descending the stairs with you in tow
>For whatever stupid, bullshit sentimental reason, you feel a lump bulging in your throat
>You’re getting emotional? Over this?
>Like you said earlier, you barely know this mammal
>So sack up, pussy
>You swallow hard, like you understand what’s happening
>Kira follows closely behind you guys as you approach the front door, which is a screen door hanging just barely on its hinges
>Jesse doesn’t seem to notice her younger sibling following in your clumsy footsteps

>You’re standing on the porch, Jesse at your left, Kira at your right
>The headlights from the truck that’s pulled up to the house blind you, so you throw up a skinny arm over your eyes, leaving just enough room to squint at the truck
>”Ready Anon?” Jesse asks in a somber voice. “Ready to get out of here?”
“Who’s taking me home? Friends of yours?”
>Her grip on your arm tightens
>She doesn’t answer
>God she must really be broken up about you leaving
>She wanted you to save her, right?
>Wake her up from the dream she’s been living in?
>You turn to face her
“Why don’t you come with me?”
>One, last, final effort
>She points her eyes forward, fixed on the idling truck
>She won’t even look you in the eyes before you go?
>”I can’t go with you,” she says at last
“Why not?”
>The passenger side door to the truck opens with a rusted creak
>You turn your head back to see who’s going to be taking you across the state on nothing but the goodness of their hearts
>A crocodile steps out of the cab and into the headlights
>A bolt action .22 rests in the crook of his arms
>Your heart sinks
>Jesse’s grip tightens
>You recognize that gator
>Bill
>He smirks that ugly, hateful grin that will forever be etched into the crevices of your skull
>”Hey there, Jesse.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“What- what’s going?” You try to take a step back
>Jesse holds you in place, her feral claws digging deep into your skin
>”You know,” he starts to load his .22, “for a dog, yer’ not very loyal. One phonecall’s all it took.”
>He yanks back on the bolt and chambers a round
>”I did my part of the deal,” she says, voice simmering into a low growl. “Now hold up your end and leave my family alone.”
“So that’s how it’s gonna be?” Your arms and legs feel numb, as if submerged in glacial creeks
“This whole thing was just an act, wasn’t it?”
>It all starts adding up in your head, the realization hitting like a baseball bat to the face
>’Be the answer I needed’
>’Is this him?’
>’Later tonight’
>”No sudden moves, Anonymous,” she says, still glaring straight ahead, eyes fixed on Bill — or more closely, his gun
>A vicious wind whips itself up
>It pushes Jesse’s fur up
>You can tell she meant that apology
>It doesn’t sound like she wants to do this
>”You’re going to leave my family alone?” She shouts, voice barely arcing above the roaring of the wind
>Bill sets his rifle down into the dirt. “You did yer’ part bringing us the reporter.”
>HOW
>MANY
>TIMES
>MUST
>IT
>BE
>SAID
“I’m not a reporter!” you cry. “For fuck sake Jesse, don’t do this!”
>But it falls on deaf ears
>Jesse pushes you forward with impressive strength
>You stumble off the porch, landing face first into the scrub grass and dirt
>Your camera bag swings out in front of you and absorbs the brunt of the impact
>Everything feels…
>Numb
>You close your eyes and internally admit defeat
>You got played, used
>In a way, you really did save Jesse
>It sounds like you paid off some kind of debt for her
>But now there’s the small matter of your mortal coil
>You don’t want to die
>Fuck it, you could rush Bill
>But he’s a croc
>And a big one at that
>He could probably tear you apart with his claws alone
>Times like these you wish you were a bear or a lion
>You clench your teeth
>This is all her fault, whether or not she wants to do this
>She saw an opportunity and took it
>Yeah?
>Well so do you
>One last act of defiance
>You roll over in the dirt to face Jesse…
>…Who stands statuesque against the tempest
>But in the light, you can tell she’s crying
>Good
“Hey Jesse?!” You cry, scoring your own throat with the volume
>You can feel the venom dripping off your voice
>She looks down at you, practically an emotional wreck
>God she really doesn’t want to do this
>Fuck her
>She made her choice
>And though it won’t mean much, this’ll make you feel better
>You hope she’ll dream about this every night
”In that dream I had about you?”
“You died.”

>Jesse’s mouth drops open to say something, the start of an apology
>There’s a tremendous noise, louder than anything you’ve ever heard in your life
>Jesse stumbles backwards in a spray of blood, bracing herself against the pillars of the porch
>Kira rushes to Jesse’s side
>”SISSY!” Her tiny screams are whisked away by the wind
>Jesse looks down at her stomach, palm pressed over her seething wound
>She lifts her bloodied paw to the moonlight, turns it over, and then presses it lightly against her guts
>Her legs start to tremble
>She locks eyes with you, tears streaming down her face, cutting clean lines through her scruff
>”I’m sorry,” she says with a cough of blood. “I just wanted to protect my fami-“
>Another bullet catches her in the chest, knocking her off her feet
>Her limp body slams in the siding of the house
>She ends up on her side
>The raspy sound of blood and air churning together in her lungs, combined with Kira’s shrieks flood your veins with concrete
>You want to move, but can’t tear your eyes from Jesse’s body
>And from Kira, tugging at her arm
>And then the dam bursts

>Legions of heelers rush from the house like a horde of feral wolves
>It occurs to you, while watching an enraged pack of canines spill from that shitheap of a house, that you’re between them and their prey
>And you can hear Bill loading another shot
>Anon: between an unstoppable force and an immovable object, about to be pulverized into primitive particles
>Bill shouts something, but you can’t hear him
>You jump to your feet and tear off towards the house
>Why the house?
>Because, it may be boarded up plywood, it’s still cover

>Another shot rings out
>A car door slams
>Another gruff voice joins the fray
>More shots
>The sound of frenzied screaming, whimpers, the guttural roar of a crocodile
>It’s all behind you as you ascend the porch steps
>You throw open the door to the house
>It’s dark inside, and were it not for the moonlight, it’d be pitch black
>But your eyes are drawn to something: Kira is standing by the basement door, shaking like a leaf
>When her sensitive eyes lock onto you, she throws herself at you
>Oh God
>Kira’s covered in blood up to her elbows
>Her tiny body collides with your leg, like a small boat crashing into a cruise liner
>”Anon, you’re going to protect us right?” She says, looking up at you with bloodshot eyes
>”Jesse said you were going ta’ save all of us.”
>Another gunshot
>You reflexively curl your body over hers
>Kira claps her palms over her ear
>The sound of glass shattering draws your attention
>Its pitched staccato is sharp against your ears; your heartbeat goes tumbling again
>Because it’s glass on the other side of the house
>There was a crocodile, right?
>But what about the coyote?
>Heavy footsteps pound on the kitchen floor
>You probably don’t have much time
>You scoop Kira up into your arms and throw open the basement door, making sure to shut it lightly behind you as you ascend the stairs
>Don’t need someone following you down
>Thankfully the lights are on
>You flick them off as soon as you reach the bottom of the stairs of the unfinished basement
>It’s like being in the skeleton of the house
>Sure, it’s a shitty house, but at least the walls were finished and coated in drywall
>This is just wood and concrete down here
>Oh
>And the meth lab

>Meth labs don’t look like you thought they would
>it’s just a series of card tables and plastic buckets, discarded bottles, glass jars and clear plastic tubing standing tall like polluted forests on top of the tables
>But man
>There’s a lot of it
>And to make matters worse, there’s absolutely no ventilation down here
>The air instantly feels heavier than usual
>Wetter, weighed down with noxious chemicals in the process of becoming something eviler than their constituent parts
>Kira struggles out of your arms
>”Jesse says I ain’t allowed down here!” She squeaks
>You hush her as quietly as possible
“Kira, we need to be really quiet, okay?” you say, perhaps a little too loudly
>You kill the lights in the basement and push Kira towards the corner of the room
>She ducks under a card table, shaking it as she does so
>An open jar of fluid spills all over her head
>The foul-smelling liquid soaks into her fur
>SHIT
>It smells like gasoline
>Then you hear a sound worse than gunshots
>The sound of creaking wood
>Of footsteps above you, isolated from din of chaos
>How can it be so loud outside, ripe with gunshots and death, and yet so painfully quiet inside this house?
>You’d rather have needles slammed into your ears then listen to the squeal of ratted floorboards
>They move further and further away from you
>You breathe a sigh of relief

>And then the door to the basement squeals open
>A silhouette looms at the top of the stairs, impossibly dark against the darkness of the house
>Shadows on shadows
>It all comes flooding back to you, the images from that dream
>They return in fractals
>Digitride feet
>Ears like black knives standing atop a predatory skull
>The silhouette starts down the stairs, an oblong shape dangling in its limp right hand
>Might be a bottle of some kind
>It leans heavy against the walls as it descends, until at last it stands at the bottom of the stairs
>Its breathing is heavy and ragged, like its throat was shot and lungs collapses
>You see its free hand go to its gut
>…
>Is that… Jesse?
>Couldn’t be
>You saw her bleeding on the porch
>Whoever it is, doesn’t look like they know you’re here
>That’s for the best
>Without warning, Kira crawls out from under the table and starts forward
>You catch her by the arm
>”It’s Jesse!” She says in a hush “I can smell her. She always smells like cars.”

>The silhouette draws its hand away from its stomach
>The click of a flint wheel sends sparks flying into the darkness
>A thin seed of flame goes up
>Wavering, but still holding on
>Your heart catches
>An open flame? This much fuel down here?
>You need to stop this
>Turns out, you don’t have to
>It lifts the item in its right hand towards the flame
>You only realize what’s in its hand when it catches fire
>It’s a rag, stuffed in a bottle

>“I ain’t your sister, sweetheart.” The coyote — Shane says
>The now burning rag throws the coyote’s shadow against the basement wall
>It looms 10 feet above you, like a giant ready to stamp your life out
>It’s then you notice that Shane’s hand goes back to his gut
>Blood puddles all around him
>His face, in particular in speckled in blood
>All the hard, angular features are either clawed up or slit open with glass, knives, claws, bottles
>But here he is
>”Ya’ know, I almost didn’t smell ya’ll down here — what with all this gas and chemicals. Normally humans light up like theys Roman candles. But I get ta’ thinkin’ lately—maybe there’s more at work here than just ordinary mammals. Maybe it’s not that I just got lucky, but that some higher power wanted me ta’ find ya.”
>You can hear the sound of claws scampering across wooden floors upstairs
>Sounds like there’s mammals up there
>”How ‘lucky’ for me, to have found you right where I was fixin’ to take a swig of this and breathe some smoke.”
>His coughs a hoarse wind of blood all over your shirt
>He lifts the Molotov cocktail into the air
>More gunshots boom in the night
>Think of something quick
“Shane, listen. If you drop that bottle, everyone of us is going to die.”
>The coyote’s arm goes slack
>But he still holds the flaming bottle in his hand
>Blood slips down his face from a gash in his forehead
>”My name…”
>He cocks his head
>”Where’d you learn it?”
>Yeah, that’s a great question
>Where did you learn his name?
>Think back
>Because the answer is broken, dangling from your neck
>Your camera
>That ‘dream’ you had
>Fuck, this could be everyone’s life here. Think of something good
>Don’t tell him it was a dream
“Bill told me. He said you’d know when to stop. After you got Jesse.”
>Laughter rolls out of his sagging chest
>Thick, rib-sucking laughter
>”Jesse was only part of the move tonight,” he says. “You ain’t been spared in Hell like we has.”
>He locks eyes with you
>”You don’t know shit.”

>The bottle burst open at his feet
>You throw yourself on top of Kira
>Your eyes slam shut
>There’s a tremendous flash of heat
>You can feel it on your face
>For a fraction of a second, between heartbeats, it feels like you’re facing towards the sun
>And then the pain comes

>The details of what happens next aren’t important
>A house’s foundation practically saturated in flammable liquids?
>A Molotov cocktail loaded with gasoline?
>Yeah, draw your own conclusions
>Because the most jarring part of all of this isn’t the heat or the explosion or burning to death
>It’s that fucking waitress, lording over you like she knows she’s better than you are, asking:
>”Can I get you some coffee, or a pillow?”
“Just a coffee, is fine,” you say as you sit up in your chair, blinking away the feeling that you’re on fire
>She feigns delight. “Sure. Cream, sugar?”
>This again
“Black is fine.”
>The waitress, wearing a badge that says ‘Lee Anne’, gives you a polite smile that says, ‘Honey you don’t look like you can handle black coffee.’
>”I’ll be right back,” she says despite her doubtful smile
>She turns on a heel and saunters away
>The camera around your neck is heavy, like a millstone, its presence constant
>Think, motherfucker
>What happened wasn’t a dream, that much is certain
>And it all comes back, sharp as glass against your skin
>Bill and Shane
>And most importantly
>Jesse
>The waitress places a ceramic mug of coffee in front of you, sharply rousing you from your daydreams
>She saunters off again without a word
>Damn
>You reach for the cup, but hesitate
>Last time it was practically all cream and sugar
>You look in the mug
>What the fuck?
>It’s a light brown, approaching orange
>Last time it was pretty much a pearly-white
>Sure, you’ll never be able to taste what little coffee there is in here, but that’s not important
>It’s different than last time

>Plan:
>You slam the ‘coffee’ down your throat
>It tastes sickly sweet, but with a hint of bitter coffee that actually kind of compliments the rest of the washed out tastes
>You power-walk your way to the door, acutely aware that you haven’t paid yet
>The bell chimes above you, heralding your escape
>Nope
>Fuck this
>The door slams shut behind you
>You’re done with this bullshit
>You’re halfway out into the middle of the road, ready to flag down a passing car, when you hear the bell in the diner ring
>”Hey mister, what are you doing out there in the middle of the road!?”