I knew I was in trouble the moment I heard motorcycle engines. Normally my morning run tends to be uneventful. Most of the more violent monster girls have learned to step lightly in neighborhoods with more guns than people, but it seems that forgetting my Sig at home was tempting fate too much.

As the roaring engines drew closer, I slowed my pace to a jog and looked behind me. The road was clear of cars this early in the morning, but a little ways back I could see the head lights of an orc motorcycle gang. I could make out at least half a dozen of them approaching, none of them wore helmets and they all wore riding leathers better suited to a strip club than the road. At the head of the pack was high orc in a micro skirt, an open vest festooned with patches, and nothing else.  As she drew closer, I could make out the words 'Born to squeal' on one of the larger patches.

I didn't start sprinting, though I did pick up the pace. Suddenly taking off at a mad dash would only make them want to pursue, hopefully they would just pass by and I could get on with my day. Unfortunately, those hopes were dashed when the gang slowed down and started jeering at me. I didn't bother paying attention to their lewd comments, they were rather bland and uninspired to be honest, but my hand did drift to the bear spray on my hip if any of them got too close. Thankfully, it didn't take long for me to reach my destination.

The gas station wasn’t anything special, just some small regional chain, but it was welcome refuge. The moment I entered the store, I searched through my pockets for my phone, only to realize I left it with my Sig. A few muttered curses escaped my lips and I took a look out through the glass door.

The orcs had parked their bikes in a row and had spread out in a rough line in the parking lot, some lit up cigarettes, sipped at hip flasks, or chatted with each other. If I was a more naive man, I might have thought they were just taking break before heading off, but the leering and come-hither glances sent my way left little ambiguity as to what they wanted. They hadn't approached the store, yet, but it was clear they weren't leaving until they got what they came for.

The longer I looked out at the parking lot, a thought started to coalesce: why not go out to them? I’m fairly sure that they don’t intend to kill me, at least not on purpose. The bear spray might get them to back off or at least give me enough time to get away, although I have heard high orcs have a higher resistance to it than most.  At worst, I’m sore for a while and have a new girlfriend.
That thought percolated for a moment more before I discarded it. No, it safer to wait for the police, if nothing else they could serve as a distraction to let me get away. Besides, even if I was in the market for girlfriend, I wouldn’t choose any of those orcs. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll date girls who have bizarre appendages, emit strange fluids, or even eat in bed, but a smoker is a step too far for me.

I flipped the lock on the door, it wouldn't stop them if really wanted to get in, but it sure made me feel better. Thankfully, there weren't any other customers to complain and the lone cashier seemed to find it mildly amusing. "Having a rough time out there?" she asked with a smile. She was an older woman, the picture of a doting grandmother with frizzy white hair and a face wrinkled by laughter.

A little nervous laughter bubbled out of me. "Yeah, could you call the cops?" I asked hopefully.

The woman bobbed her head, "Already done." She noticed my confusion and explained, "You're not the first man they've chased in here. This is the sixth time it’s happened on my shift, so I've gotten used to it." Her smile became reassuring, "Every time, the cops show up and the orcs scatter like cockroaches.”   That smile turned into a frown, "Though it may take them a while to get here this time.”

My brow furrowed, “And why is that?”

The old woman raised a snowy eyebrow at me, “Its springtime dearie.”

I stared at her uncomprehendingly for a minute before the penny dropped. “Oh,” I said tonelessly. My hand met my face, “Fuck.”