《Emergent Sovereign》


 - Future is Gone

    Part One


    Absolute Freedom


    <hr>


    The sky was beginning to lighten up, but not from the coming dawn. Thick and dark clouds were moving low over the buildings, covering up the moonless and star-filled sky above and reflecting the lights from the city back upon itself. It would soon begin to rain, the mundanity of the weather lost on a sole figure that was charging through the vacant streets and alleyways. If not for his desperate run and the sweat soaked office clothes clinging to his lanky body, he would not have looked amiss in his surroundings. Not long ago, his satchel bag would have been filled with documentation befitting his position in this city. Now it contained his only belongings, jostling inside by his running as he attempted to flee and steal away from what he had done.


    His breath was ragged and his lungs were burning even though he had barely ran a few blocks, his legs beginning to shake from the slight exertion he had forced upon them. Everything had gone wrong, another misfortune that had been heaped upon him since he had made his decision to flee the city. As he hid in the gap between two buildings he heard a resuming clatter of machine gun fire, this time much closer than it had been only minutes ago. Not for the first time his hand grasped at the holster hanging from his belt, finding assurance with the sidearm within. Where he had run from only moments before had now erupted in a turmoil of gunfire and screams muted by the distance.


    ¡°Damn,¡± He muttered between heaving breaths, struggling to recover himself for another quick sprint. Of course it had all gone to Hell. The ¡®Interference Squads¡¯ were mostly wiped out by now; surely there was no other explanation to why the Civil Reserves had already made their way into the industrial sector. It wasn¡¯t meant to work out this way¡­ the plan was set out too well to be routed so quickly.


    He wiped the beading sweat from beneath his eyes, readjusting his eyeglasses and trying to recollect his thoughts and remember where he was going. As he shirked deeper into the darkness of the alley he pressed up against the wall, resting his head against the rough concrete trying to bring some focus back to his psyche. It was all for naught as an earth rumbling explosion lit up the undersides of the clouds behind the cityscape. In the streets the lights flickered once before dying completely, the whole area plunged into an all consuming darkness for a few moments before the ghastly, red, emergency lighting winked on in their place. In the sky he began to see an unearthly, blue column of light steadily becoming brighter as it pierced the heavens above him. Below it, surely, was a boiling cauldron of nuclear fire that had just been violently birthed to wreak havoc and spread poison upon the world.


    ¡°Those charges worked a bit too well¡­¡± The quip had forced it¡¯s way out of his stressed mind. The containment building should have stopped the reactor from detonating so violently from his improvised explosives. That, or, the Demolition Group didn¡¯t succeed in destroying the substation first; he thought passively to himself.


    Just a moment later came a whine of interference that reverberated and echoed across the streets, the backup generators rumbling to life, providing power and starting up an emergency broadcast with a woman¡¯s deadpan voice:


    ¡°Attention! Attention! All Civilians will remain inside their residences. All Citizens will submit to Civil Agents and to the Civil Reserve. Any Citizens outside during this emergency will be detained. Resistance to detainment will be met with severe consequences.¡±


    There was a break in the announcement and the man strained to hear over his heartbeat the sound of any authorities in the street before him, his breath still ragged. In the pause, he only heard the sound of explosive ordnance detonating and the apparent exchanged of gunfire. As the announcement repeated he took off at a jog again, working his way back along the path he and the guerrillas had taken only a quarter hour before.If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    He did his job: He made the bombs, taught the roughneck fighters how to detonate them and even at the iron handed insistence of that pushy guerrilla woman he preformed look-out and warned them of the approaching Civil Reservists. Clearly he had done his part, his job was done as was any obligations he once had.


    Free¡­ he was free as soon as he could make it into the underground.


    A rumble startled him as he dashed across another empty road and he looked over his shoulder at the sky with the dread that the reactor was not yet through with it¡¯s death throes. His panic, however, was unfounded and he was met with the pungent odour of ozone. A fierce wind began to whip through the streets and a searing rain pelted down upon the steel and concrete yards of industry. The klaxons were muffled by the rain yet the sounds of battle seemed to grow more violent and prolonged within the downpour, lighting up the underbelly of the clouds with muzzle and grenade flash.


    With a turn of a corner, he was finally in sight of his goal: a small column of warm steam wafting up from an open manhole in the middle of a dead-end street. That glimmer of hope was enough to give him a second wind and he charged the two blocks that separated him from salvation. Once he was within those warm yet putrid depths, he could make his way to the next rendezvous location and finally be on his way out of this wretched country.


    Over the drumming of the rain he heard the rattle of equipment in time with the dreaded footfalls of Heavy Troopers. He was already caught running away, clearly. Redoubling his efforts, he sprinted towards the tepid embrace of the sewer system below. He was only a half block away, surely he could make it before the distant gunfire became a more present danger.


    ¡°HALT! You are being detained! Submit and Surrender!¡± Came the order, garbled over the helm-speaker the troopers wore.


    The runner gave no heed to the order, wishing instead that the hole in the pavement could have been moved closer or that the guerrillas had chosen some other manhole to pry open. As if in reply to his unspoken desires the asphalt beside him was suddenly ripped up, spraying him with rocky shrapnel as the terrible bray of machine-gun fire erupted from behind him. No sooner had the burst ceased that he was suddenly picked up off his feet and thrown forward by a tremendous blast, his ears ringing and darkness encroaching on his vision as he struck the ground.


    For just a moment he was unconscious before suddenly snapping back to his horrible reality, the sound of rain and enemy movement lost to the screeching in his ears as he tried to move. Just as sudden as the explosion that took him off his feet came a wave of pain that surged across his whole body. Stars were forming and popping in his vision as he looked back down the street at his attackers. His tunneled vision, however, couldn¡¯t look past what was left of one of his legs and the cauterized exit wounds in his stomach.


    Just below his knee was a mangled stump of flesh and splintered bone, pumping out blood from ruined arteries to be diluted and washed away by the rain. His heart thumped fast and loud in his chest, his life draining out of him in time with his pulse. Shock replaced the pain by an equally debilitating coldness that wrapped around his body. He wasn¡¯t long for this world, but the underground was still his goal.


    In his delirium he rolled onto his stomach and noticed he was only a foot or two away from the sewer hole. As a man possessed he gathered as much strength as his arms could muster and pulled himself forward, leaving behind what was once a foot and shoe. Just as his fingers wrapped around the opening in the earth a lucid part of his mind remarked on how violently he was shivering; asking, pleading with himself to find some way to stop the bleeding after he entered this sanctuary. With his vision growing dark he made one final heave of his arms and felt the ground beneath him disappear as he fell into the warm depths.


    He was dead before he hit the water.

 I - What to do now?

    His eyes suddenly snapped open, his mouth gapping as he took in an almighty gasp of air only to abruptly scream it out as he sat up, his hands grasping for a foot that was no longer there¡­ only to find that it was as it had always been. The pain had receded into memory in but an instance and he was left grabbing his bare calf. After a few more deep breaths he began to calm down for the first time in what felt like a century. He took a moment to look around, realizing he was in a rather large and empty room. An abandoned office space, perhaps.


    ¡°Okay¡­¡± He muttered, reaching up to remove his glasses and rub his eyes, diminutively noting that one of the lenses - while still present - had been cracked.


    Seeing as he wasn¡¯t in any immediate danger he turned his attention back to his mystically re-attached limb. It appeared much like it had any other time he had given it notice, only that he was down one shoe and missing most of his left pant leg below the knee. He wiggled his toes freely, even tentatively pinching and prodding at the flesh to banish any thought that he was hallucinating the appendage. With suspicions put to rest he rose to his feet and found that he could, in fact, bear his own weight.


    Taking a breath and closing his eyes, he struggled to remember what had happened between his last breath and this new reality. He knew he was missing something, much like someone who had left their house quite unprepared. There was something like a dream that happened after his death and quite like a dream it became less tangible in his waking reality. All he could gather of his memories were dozens of eyes opening in the darkness; peering at him and a garbled sentence that, for the life of him, he could only remember one word: ¡®Pneuma¡¯.


    It had no particular meaning to him, beyond definition. He shook his head, discontented with his memory and his situation. He paused and glanced across the empty room, noticing that brilliant sunlight was streaming in through the windows that ran the length of the building. It wasn¡¯t dissimilar to where he once worked, but something drew him towards the glass; to gaze upon the outside world. As his eyes adjusted to the clear afternoon sky before him he was quite shocked to see a familiar yet entirely alien world.


    Beyond the panes of glass was an immense city; a metropolis stretching out to the horizons. There were buildings that scraped the sky, but unlike the massive towers of glass and steel he knew, these were ornately built; an air of aesthetic class about them from an age only recently passed. Every building was built with such an apparent care and dignity about them that it struck him with awe, much in the same way the centuries old cathedral near his home had. He was in the perfect place to witness the grace of the city, in an office tower that was built on top of a noticeable rise in the land.


    Yet, as he looked onward, a great sadness welled up within him as he realized that he was looking upon but a gilded corpse. The city had been long dead and abandoned by those who built and maintained it. Far below the pavement was obviously cracked and worn; grasses and small trees forcing their way up from the exposed soil, braking up yet more of the asphalt. The buildings around him, as proud as they were, had the telltale signs of being worn down by weather and great drapes of vegetation grew upon their sun-ward walls.


    ¡°Where in the world am I?¡± He whispered to himself as he leaned closer to the window to survey this fantastic city.


    His mind was blank for a few minutes. He had no idea what it was he could, much less what he was supposed to do. There was an unknown quality to where he was, anything could be out there. Such a place could have only been seen in the novels of fiction and within the daydreams of Utopians. It was also wretchedly quiet, the usual daytime clamour of crowds and traffic absent; even so high up in this building. What had caused such a magnificent city to be left abandoned?


    Suddenly there was a panic the likes of which he had never felt before and he pushed himself away from the window. Stumbling back to the blank, white wall he had woken up beside he took a seat and tried to calm himself down. In his fidgeting he realized he still had his satchel on him and began to dig through it. Anything to distract himself from what loomed outside.


    Remarkably, all of his belongings had been spared from the explosion and his fall. He felt himself smile ruefully, as he had brought everything - at least all that he could acquire or think of - that would help him in his escape from the country. He had imagined himself trekking along old roads made of packed dirt, sleeping in the undergrowth to hide from the military patrols until he had finally fled into a country untouched by the Hell that had grown in his own. The thought made him look down and notice that his sidearm was still nestled in it¡¯s Kydex holster.


    Dully, he paused in his rummaging: ¡®I wonder what use this will be to me. If there is a society out there, would they even let me keep it? Do I dare imagine if there¡¯s no society out there at all?¡¯


    He scoffed at himself and shook those thoughts away, resuming his ferreting of the leather pack. In one of the pockets he rediscovered two extra magazines for said service pistol and a rather pitiful handful of cartridges. Within another pocket there resided something much more important. Simple in form: Two leather bound and aged books, so innocuous yet commanding respect. One book thick, the other slim yet it was just action for thousands to be smote over the basic act of possessing them.


    With tightened jaw he lashed the pocket shut and that too he shoved away from his mind. If he wasn¡¯t so weak in constitution he would have flung them out into roaring hellfire, yet he held onto them in a vague sense of duty. It was a bitter obligation, he thought to himself.


    Opening the main compartment of the bag he hoped to find something that didn¡¯t dredge up fears of past and future. There were a few journals that he always kept close to him. One of them held all of the chemical synthesis that he needed for his job; something he just couldn¡¯t part with, despite it all. Another he considered to be his hobby chemistry notes; diagrams, lists, thoughts on making compounds out of household chemicals and ingredients of dubious quality. A genuine smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he withdrew the book and flipped through it, glad rain nor fragmentation had sullied it. Then came the last volume. This one was empty, save for a couple of pencils that had been taped to it¡¯s inside cover. A refuge for a man¡¯s thoughts.


    Finally there were the more practical affects: a road-map of his country and the surrounding states, a sturdy multi-tool in a pouch to be worn on a belt, a raincoat that had been rolled up. Digging deeper into the bag there was a lighter - full of butane - a wristwatch which he fastened around his left wrist, a pocket-sized pair of binoculars and, perhaps what was most important for immediate survival: A water bag with a filtration straw.


    That was the last of his possessions, meager though they were it theoretically was enough to keep him alive for a while. However, now that he was left without distraction, the panic inducing thoughts crept back to the front of his mind and refused to be ignored. His breathing picked up in speed and he closed his eyes and rested his head back against the wall and muttered to himself that he would have to face things sooner rather than later.


    He considered getting up and having a pace about the floor or another look out the window. It was a tactic he got up to in his schooling days to procrastinate on his studies but this time he hadn¡¯t the energy to stand back up yet and the outside world was still too daunting. Instead he opened up his eyes, pulled out the empty journal he had and wrote out a one worded question:


    ¡°Pneuma?¡±


    With that achievement completed he stared at his work for a couple minutes with a dismal expression. Even with the physical word in front of him he had no idea what to make of it. Below that he scrawled the date that he could remember along with what had happened, as if having it written down would make it any more believable or even comprehensible. Yet another holdover from his schooling days and later his professional work; writing notes on the status of or any changes to a project. After another pause he asked aloud if he really was dead, if maybe everything that happened was all an incredibly lucid dream.


    ¡°No¡­ that would be stupid.¡± He muttered as he looked at his writings before tucking the book back into it¡¯s home. It was all much too real.


    Drawing his knees to his chest he stared out into vacant space. He remembered the screeching pain that radiated up his leg and across his body from the explosion. The violent shivering of his arms as he pulled his body across the pavement and then that fall into an eternal and numb darkness before that blinding flash of light. He most certainly died but now he had been resurrected or so it had seemed.


    Something stirred within his soul and he lifted his eyes up to the ceiling but was looking past it up to the heavens. He had been a skeptic of all manner of things - such is the duty of those who pursue the process of scientific thought - even of his own people¡¯s faith. He certainly had the desire for an afterlife; saw the teachings as worthwhile but he simply couldn¡¯t bring himself to follow in faith. It wasn¡¯t his calling in life.


    It was a circumstance that had saved him months ago but now he feared that he may have doomed his eternal life. He had been spared death by the government, for a time, but now that was¡­ quite immaterial.


    His hands found their way to his temples and he strained to hold back tears. Why couldn¡¯t he remember what had happened before his resurrection? If his people¡¯s faith was true, would he have not been resurrected and then judged ¡®according to his works and the desires of his heart?¡¯ He didn¡¯t appear to be in something he could aliken to Hell¡­ nor would he call this heaven. Perhaps a purgatory of sorts, a prison for his spirit until¡­


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    ¡°Until what?¡± He questioned his own thoughts. It was all becoming too much for the poor man and he realized the questions he was asking had answers that he couldn¡¯t even approach being comfortable with accepting.


    Before too long he let those thoughts simmer before they began to shrink to the back of his mind and his gaze wandered back over to the windows. Quite unlike the tempestuous thoughts in his head the weather outside seemed calm and wonderful. Perhaps he was thinking too much about things having just been manifested in this world. If his suspicions about the city being abandoned was correct it might be best to make it to the edge of the city. If all the buildings were as stripped down as this floor implied there may not be a consistent source of food and water he could rely on.


    He let out a long sigh - his affects and his thoughts in a mild semblance of order - finally standing back up. It was time to be greeted by the residents of this city, if there were any to be found. It was time to brave a new world, though he hadn¡¯t a clue how literal this platitude was in his situation.


    <hr>


    What had begun as a rushed decent ended with a breathless collapse upon the tiled lobby floor. As if to confirm the abandoned interior of the building the elevator¡¯s were unpowered or gone altogether and he was left with the stairwell being his only option. Twenty or thirty flights; he¡¯d damn well lost count on the way down and he was struggling to regather the breath he had expended. Whatever curses he hadn¡¯t swore upon the loss of his sock and shoe were likely forgotten by Mankind; heel spurned by the coldness of the floor and the cracks upon the stairs.


    Already his throat was parched and any attempts he made to find some source of water on the vacant floors turned out to be worthless. Every floor had been stolen away from by some very industrious thieves or swift renovators. Sweat had poured freely from him, soaking his unbuttoned collar and sleeves, made worse by the humid air. Standing and straightening back up he had gained back another breath, coming to the realization that this was becoming a rather familiar feeling of exertion. Not for the last time would he receive that piece of enlightenment.


    During his trip to the ground floor and before stepping out into the brilliant sunlight he had much time to think about what it was he should do. As he had seen from the windows above the streets were in great disrepair. Though, this disaster to infrastructure was a boon to the new resident of this dead city. With enough careful picking through jagged asphalt, he found something to satisfy one of his needs. A natural cistern; a deep puddle of rain-water that had formed inside a rent in the pavement.


    He was initially overjoyed at how quickly he had found some water, but seeing the twitching forms of mosquito larvae inside the stagnate smelling water immediately put him off drinking from this source. After cursing himself for not thinking that the water he would find would be tepid he turned away from what was once a gift to him in search for some fresher puddles. Walking down the pavement he noticed a strange absence of cars parked on the sides of the streets. There was also a bizarre lack of trash in the streets, as would normally be imagined to be in a overgrown and apparently abandoned city.


    Becoming a bit unnerved by the silence and the sense of isolation he raised a hand to the side of his open mouth. Yet, as he was about to call out for anyone¡¯s attention, he paused knowing that was probably a bad idea and potentially useless. Somehow, in the back of his mind, he knew he was standing in the midst of a dead city. Anything that was inhabiting the urban corpse probably didn¡¯t care for interlopers. His hand dropped to his side and the breath he had taken to ask for a voice to respond to him came out as a drawn-out sigh. The depth of his ignorance of the outside world was making itself known to him and he couldn¡¯t help but chastise himself.


    He thought he could make it out of the country with just a water filter and a lighter, yet here he was in this decaying purgatory: thirsty and ultimately isolated. A whole roller-coaster of emotion he had been riding for the past few hours felt ready to crash: from dread, to desperation, to relief, to panic and now a creeping despair. Stopping in his tracks he took a deep breath, letting his heart settle once more.


    ¡°I can¡¯t panic¡­ I¡­ need to figure something out.¡± He muttered to himself.


    He took back up his pace down the street, slowed by having to pick through the rubble that was once a city street or suffer a gash to his unprotected foot. That¡¯s where his first plan came to mind: ''I can¡¯t keep doing this. I need to find another shoe¡­ or somehow make a sandal or something like that.''


    As slow as he was moving - having not reached a city intersection yet - he at least got the time to think a bit more about his situation. He remembered his Father, a military man turned industrialist and carrying the philosophy from the military into his life. One of his remarks was an old turn of phrase: ¡®An army marches on foot and stomach.¡¯ He had explained it to him what it meant, but now the lone man in this new world properly understood the phrase. If he was as alone as he felt, any sickness or damage to his feet would immobilize and kill him. Any sickness or poison that invaded his body and attacked his stomach would provide the same outcome.


    Through his surefooted progress he managed to make it to an intersection, peeking down alleys as he went and becoming disconcerted with how empty they were; save for shade loving foliage. He was wishing to find some dumpster or pile of rubbish to pull something useful from, yet it was as if the city had never been lived in at all. Some metal cans or bottles would be invaluable in distilling water and perhaps making some simple meals in. That gave him pause and he stood in the crossroads, remembering an old black-and-white TV show his mother had shown him when he was young and a chill went through him. Isolation was just as thorough of a killer as sickness or becoming lame.


    There were more pressing things to consider and he scolded himself again for getting so wrapped up in his thoughts:


    ¡°There¡¯s no time for me to think about this. Just concentrate on water and a damned shoe.¡±


    For the next couple of hours he arduously picked his way down the street, disappointed that the street-signs he passed had their lettering worn away by time. Each time he peaked into the windows he only observed vacant lobbies, devoid of substance. He seemed to be in some sort of office district, but the buildings bore no advertisements or insignia¡­ at least, not anymore. As breathtaking as it was to traverse this wonder, there seemed to be nothing within it aside from abandoned beauty.


    Before long, the lone occupant of the city became dejected and his feet sore, giving up on looking through the windows of the buildings, both broken and undamaged. He did manage to get some luck, finding a silty puddle in the road to drink from; the filtered products of which tasting of road tar and dirt yet it drove away the dry spot on his tongue that had refused to go away only minutes ago. Every couple of intersections, he would find a displaced bit of curb to sit on and rest, but only recently did he think of removing his vest and using it as a foot wrapping. Remarking that it would last a little while - though doubting that the shrapnel torn article would put up to much abuse - he continued on his journey in a milder state of discomfort.


    He had noticed that the sun was settling lower and lower in the sky ahead of him and seemed to be reflecting off of something off in the distance. Where he was heading was sloped downhill and he considered that maybe this was a sign he could find more water. It was going to be late soon, however. The shadows of the buildings growing longer and making it ever so difficult to pick through the crumbling streets. There was no continuing into the evening and he reluctantly withdrew into another empty building to find some passable place to sleep.


    The best that was managed was putting his vest back on, using his bag as a pillow and laying flat on the floor of the second story. He didn¡¯t particularly trust falling asleep on the first floor, as he managed to scare some wildlife from the brush during his slow journey. As glad as he was to see deer and wild things other than plants, surely there were predators of such animals in the streets as well. There were doors in this building and they seemed sturdy enough to stop any intrusions larger than a mouse. However, if some determined predator wanted to get through the door he doubted it would take long.


    He reasoned that the door would keep him safe enough but it took till the sun fully set for him to drift off to sleep, agitated by the fact that it took him forever to figure out an odd noise emanating from the building. As he laid there, the air and floor cooling around him, this peculiar cacophony of groaning, popping and pinging noises began to sound in concert all around him. After a while, it felt like the whole city in the cover of night was complaining to itself about it¡¯s neglect. The imaginative thought gave him the actual answer and he felt more at ease with his impromptu accommodation: all the odd sounds were buildings were simply contracting in the cool air after the heat of the day.


    To be expected, his rest was fitful. Despite the muggy and hot day he had spent walking through the city in, the empty building and it¡¯s concrete floor kept a chill in his bones throughout the night. He dozed rather than slept, the raincoat he put on after the first shiver had awoken him doing very little to insulate him from the floor. Late into the night he was disturbed by a sudden downpour cascading against the windows of his shelter, made even more dramatic by the roar of wind slicing through the city streets.


    Bleary eyed and drowsy he peered into the darkness outside, calming himself down as he realized it was just rain. Yet - with his glance towards the windows - he noticed something bizarre for this time of night: there was a faint but steady glow outdoors. The curiosity overpowered his exhaustion and he moved to the windows to take a peek into the streets. Looking down at the road he saw what he had seen for the last few hours. It wasn¡¯t quite bright outside yet there was enough light to see the brush and shattered road below. However, it was when he looked down the dejected row of buildings that he noticed some of the street-lamps he had been walking past for the entire day were lit. Not exactly the most brilliant of light, yet it was steady and of a soothing orange-yellow colour.


    ¡°Despite everything¡­ there is power here?¡± He whispered as he gazed in awe at the remarkable feat before him.


    Clearly, the wonder of the city was not skin deep in nature.

 II - Children of the Water

    He had slept longer than he had intended to.


    The assurance of electricity and fresh water from last nights rainfall gave him much comfort, but he shivered till the early shafts of morning light touched his building. When he had awoken to the light he was so damn weary he merely covered his eyes with an arm and slept on in the dawn warmth. Though, it was still late morning when he awoke; quarter to ten-o¡¯clock as professed by his watch. He could have slept through the whole day; he had forgotten the last time he had the opportunity to sleep as much as he wanted despite the discomfort. Yet, his stomach growled and murmured at him to get up and try to find something to pacify it. When he stood he realized how sore he was, wishing not for the last time to have somewhere soft to sleep, if not an actual bed.


    After a couple minutes of getting his meager possessions packed and in order he was on his way outside. It was just as hot and muggy as it was yesterday, in spite of the thick cloud cover above. At least it had provided him a more abundant amount of fresh water in the street, which he drank enough of to try and trick his stomach into being full along with filling his water bag. With this new morning routine out of the way, he plodded along on the heading he had chosen yesterday: slightly downhill and to the West.


    He felt as though he was in higher spirits, despite still getting used to his surroundings. There was hope that he had upon witnessing the lamps come alight outside. Surely there should be someone, somewhere, that is producing power for the grid. Perhaps a town of sorts and the lights in the city simply being of a tangential connection? Additionally - if he found a building with lighting fixtures and perhaps some appliances - there was a chance he could create a sort of urban homestead to live from while he explored, gathered and hunted.


    A smile began to form on his face as he slowly moved along, skirting the sharp rocks as they emerged from the grasses and brush. The worries that had plagued him for the last couple of weeks - couple of years, to be more thorough - were suddenly and completely vanquished; the physical causes of them, at least. Sure, the necessities of food and water were a bit irregular in this world and he would have to provide for himself from hand to mouth, but, its better than being leashed to The Party for his food or starving at the mercy of It¡¯s whims.


    Keeping on at a comfortable pace he appreciated the architecture and engineering around him, pausing every so often to peer at worn street signs to understand where he was. Just like every other one he had passed, the markings had mostly faded away long ago, yet, some of the more preserved lettering was surely in a familiar form. Perhaps the language of this city was precisely the same as his own? That would be a tremendous stroke of luck if it were; just imagine all the books he could gather and scavenge knowledge and entertainment from!


    In his pseudo-archaeological musings and observations he didn¡¯t notice the figure in the road before him till he had to clamber over a particularly large bit of rubble blocking the street. It was less than a block ahead of him when he froze, having noticed it standing behind a rather shaggy bush beneath a sizable tree. His hand dropped down and fumbled to draw the handgun from his hip, deciding on suspicion and caution rather than stroking his curiosity. The figure had yet to move or turn in his direction and from this distance he could make out it¡¯s large head and arms, though it seemed less human the more he looked at it.


    Creeping through the brush as quietly as he could, the green reticle on the handgun¡¯s optic trained on the strange form in the shade ahead of him, daring not to take more than a shallow breath. During his approach birds exchanged their warning calls to one another before taking flight from the trees and brush, the cautious man flinching at the raucous escape of the songbirds. Yet, the silhouette remained still as a statue, as if intent upon something at it¡¯s feet.


    Only a minute passed in his furtive approach, but it felt like an eternity with his weapon clasped in his hands and unblinking eyes on his target. In only another minute he felt like an utter fool as he noticed the vines and moss that had long taken hold of what was once an object of suspicion. With a re-holstering of his gun he let out the breath he had been holding and strode forward to take a better look, his curiosity overpowering his caution.


    It was a robot, of sorts. Rather tall and quite large, it¡¯s purpose seemed to be that of a sanitary worker. It¡¯s arms were long with rather pointed fingers for gathering up trash and to it¡¯s mechanical waist a rather large and deep bin on wheels had been leashed to it. It did not have legs but, rather, some wide treads that were made of since dry-rotted rubber. It¡¯s head, lastly, was rather blocky; housing a singular ¡®eye¡¯ and sporting a rather rakish antenna.


    ¡°I suppose it is you I must thank for being unable to find any bottles.¡± He remarked to the dead machine as he perused its corpse.


    He had seen robots before, of course, though these were only during military parades and the rare ¡®private¡¯ tests he bothered to show up to. Compared to this specimen - despite the rust and lichen that dissolve its fine components - those were only stanchions to hang propaganda and hollow laurels of progress upon. He didn¡¯t know much about robotics, but he made an assumption that seeing one holding such a plain yet valuable occupation meant that whoever designed it surely must have been a genius. He couldn¡¯t imagine the effort it would have taken to create such a machine that could navigate this vast city and not get stuck or cause problems for people. It¡¯s joints were immaculate, made of a robust metal that was very precisely fitted to his eyes. The machine seemed to have been built to fold itself into a much smaller space compared to it¡¯s current corrosion-locked posture.


    After a short melancholic pause he wondered to himself as to how this world came to such a state. With this city still standing after apparent decades, such incredible technology and the flow of electricity still present in it¡¯s crumbling veins; how come no one is around? Why did everyone leave? Surely they left voluntarily or else there would be corpses and ruin in the streets beyond the sands of time.


    Strangely he felt the ghost of a smile tug at the corners of his mouth and he allowed himself a chuckle as he climbed upon the stoic automaton: ¡°I suppose I have all the time in the world to answer that question. Surely coming up with questions and trying to answer them will keep me going, even if I am alone.¡±


    He managed to grapple himself up enough to peer into the tote that was attached to the robot and was pleasantly surprised at the horde of treasures within. There was plenty of bottles mixed within a deep mess of compost and leaves that were nourishing a small amount of seedlings. Though, as he dug through, every single plastic he grabbed crumbled in on themselves and turned into chips and dust.


    At the end of his dumpster diving he found only a half-dozen bottles that were of any use. Though they were made of glass they lacked caps and were choked full of dirt, compost and whatever vague, sticky remnants of what they once contained. Regardless, he put them in his bag, reasoning that he could boil water in them sometime later. He would have preferred to have found some metal containers, but every one he found was too rusted through to use or so thin it was pocked with holes. Surely he could find some in the future, hopefully of a suitable enough condition for his needs.


    As he hopped down from his rummaging perch, he took a second look at the treads of the robot. He had doubted they would have held his weight, but they did while he awkwardly stood on one leg and dug around. Without further pause he fished around in his bag and pulled out the pocket-knife and began the surprisingly laborious task of cutting the rubber from where it was held by the robot¡¯s drive-train.


    Apart from some cracks in the material it wasn¡¯t in the worst shape, as far as he could tell. It¡¯s new purpose wouldn¡¯t be all that different from it¡¯s intended one at any rate, at least once he found some way to fasten it to his foot. That would have to come later and he stuffed the rubber mat into his bag and continued on his journey, giving a half-hearted wave at the dead street-cleaning robot as he turned away.


    He had plenty of time to think as he sawed through rather than cut the rubber plate and he had made another decision. He wanted to press onwards to the water that he thought was on the horizon, it was certainly the most sizable landmark that wasn¡¯t a sky scraper. Additionally an abundance of water, as his father had told him, would be a place that plenty of animals would flock to. He would only want for something to occupy his mind and for a comfortable place to retire to. It wouldn¡¯t be that difficult, he reasoned, to set up snares through trial and error, make a bow for larger game and live comfortably from there. But for right now, he needed to provide some insurance that he would make it there. Ducking into yet another empty building he found a place to sit down, where he could lash together some kind of sandal from the rubber he had reclaimed.


    Before too long he had shaped the tough slab into something that resembled the flat sole of a shoe, but, he had ran into an issue on how exactly he could keep it attached to his foot. He wasn¡¯t exactly as handy with knots and rope as he was with glassware and chemicals, even if he had any rope to use. It completely slipped his mind to have taken any kind of cordage with him when he packed his bag. Then again, he didn¡¯t think he would be in such a situation where he would need any so desperately. Only now did he realize how important something so simple, yet versatile could have been to someone as isolated and ill-equipped as he. Forgotten were the moments of interest in bush-craft that he hadn¡¯t had the idea to bring any rope with him.


    There were several minutes where he walked around the lobby of the building searching for any kind of lashing, but there was none to be found. He considered trying to get into the walls of the building to find some wires to use, but he was just as poor of an electrician as he was a survivalist. The fear of getting shocked, burned and potentially dying kept him from even attempting an expedition into the cracking drywall. Surly if the street lamps gathered power there should be at least some running through the buildings.


    ¡°Perhaps¡­ I¡¯ll need to risk it in the future.¡± He said aloud, looking towards the building¡¯s stairwell; wondering if it was worth stalking up yet another flight of stairs in the attempt of finding something of use.


    He only took a couple steps towards the stairwell before he decided against it, sitting down once again and puzzling over his crude footwear. Eventually he decided to cut apart the vest he had wrapped around his foot up until this point. As loathed as he was to do it - the fabric providing some warmth in the night - the sacrifice was worthwhile enough to be able to walk quicker without damaging his foot.


    The whole process took about an hour and several iterations of trial, error, failed knots and dozens of frustrated swears at each unsuccessful attempt. However, with enough time he eventually threw together a bizarre web of scrap cloth that wove through holes punched in the rubber that held up to his gait. The strips of what was once his vest were surprisingly comfortable around his ankle and the simple knot kept it in place reasonably well. The real test would be for how long his cobbled together sandal would hold together.


    It took longer than he would have liked, but the stop more than made up for the time he saved in traveling towards the water he saw on the horizon. There was more ground covered in that last half of a day than the previous twenty-four hours. It helped that much of the detritus on his downward path had apparently been pushed to the sides of the roads by the rains. In a city as grand as this there was very little for rainfall to be absorbed by, so anything in its path ways tossed to the side in the heavier storms or moved subtly over a period of months and years.


    From within one of these dry, urban creek-beds it was discovered that the body of water he had seen in the distance wasn¡¯t at all what he expected. Instead of the city being built upon the banks of a lake he saw, it was the lake that had actually encroached on the city itself. Before him many of the buildings had been sunk or otherwise flooded by the rising waters, these appearing to be more weathered and run down than any other he had seen so far. It was far from surprising, as the closer he got to the shores of this lake the realization dawned upon him that he couldn¡¯t even see the far bank of it. He had heard of large bodies of water being able to generate their own weather systems. Those buildings out in the water would bear the brunt of any waves and winds moving inland.


    The buildings around him began to change, though he hadn¡¯t paid much notice as he was often distracted by messing with his new apparel. Sometimes the vest scraps would pinch his skin in odd ways or the knot would give way when he made more ambitious steps over obstacles. It certainly wasn¡¯t an ideal fix, but it worked most of the time. As he gazed around now, he realized he had entered an entirely different district of the city. Buildings around him had become less towering, the spaces between them less claustrophobic and the evident purpose of the buildings shifting from commercial to industrial in nature. It looked like, from his limited perspective, that most of the high density areas of the city stretched northward while the materially productive parts did the opposite.


    It was a space that was more familiar to him, though mostly flooded. The skyline was less cluttered, now only dotted with the occasional high building, most of the buildings being large warehouses or lots for storing materials. The fenced in areas that were close or on dry land - to his surprise - actually had various raw materials staged in them like steels, kinds of wood or great baskets of miscellaneous types of items. He absolutely itched to start digging through more rubbish for anything of use, but a few thoughts stopped him.


    The first one was the sudden realization he was was oddly giddy about digging through trash. The next thought was a more practical one: He didn¡¯t care for climbing over the rusted, barb-wire topped fence or wading through the water to find an entrance into the building. Lastly, he wanted to clean out the precious bottles that were clinking around in his satchel, both to keep his bag from getting any dirtier and so he could keep a supply of water with him. He just needed to look around for some sand and perhaps a stick to scrape the scum and dirt out from inside the bottles. Perhaps he could even whittle down some of the slimmer branches of bushes to make rudimentary stoppers for his scavenged canteen bottles.


    Another thirty minutes passed and the clouds above were starting to roil and swirl together, a bit of a light breeze kicking up into a gentle gust as the heavens threatened to, yet again, douse the earth. In that time, the wandering chemist hadn¡¯t had much luck in finding much sand, though slim sticks were in abundance as he walked northward, there was more area for the scrub plants. His jouney had brought him to a sort of swampy land, like the head of a slow moving river, the ground mostly silt, save for patches of urban lawn between buildings and paths. He had considered just using dirt, but discounted it almost instantly. He was looking to clean dirt out, not put more dirt into the bottles¡­ it would make a great mess as well. However, it seems like the oracles of luck were smiling kindly upon misplaced wanderers on this day.


    He had some notion that, perhaps, in such a city filled with aesthetic beauty and ornamental architecture, there would be some landscaped features filled with sand he could use. And, Behold! The city did provide for him, though only after more walking and the sky growing progressively more dark. There was a rather large building ahead of him, bearing a standing logo on it¡¯s roof with letters in an order that he could understand. With glee, he read the part of the sign that was still somewhat legible to him: ¡°Motors.¡± Much of the other letters had since fallen from the sign.


    Clearly this building was once an assembly plant for engines or even the full vehicles that they would go into. What was more presently valuable to him was the landscaping feature in front of it: an artistic collage like statue that stood at the edge of the water and was surrounded by a small sand and rock garden. Beyond the artistic piece, there were two sets of doors, the first were standard lobby doors flanked by windows. The other were built by a corner in the building, making a partially hidden area where the remains of a picnic table laid. The doors, being made of metal and one hanging open slightly, probably gave access too and from a break and smoking area, something familiar from his old life. With a relieved smile that came from his search being over he took a few steps towards the waters edge but suddenly noticed a pungent odour hanging in the air. It smelt like discarded meat and he also began to notice a cloud of flies flitting around in front of him.


    Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    The source of the stench, he hadn¡¯t realized until now, was just at his feet and tangled within the swamp and water loving plants. He grimaced as he bent down to take a closer look but recoiled away from the rot assailing his nose. It was some kind of small animal, but whatever it was had been too torn to shreds for an amateur like him to identify. His stomach began to turn in knots, both from the smell and seeing that the majority of the corpse left behind was only ripped skin and crushed bones. An amateur like him knew, at the very least, that something bigger had killed and eaten the rest of it somewhat recently.


    As unnerved as he was he brushed it aside but was effectively warned that something that enjoys meat had made this area it¡¯s haunt. He had seen plenty of animals as they were flushed from the underbrush by his clumsy progress; surely he was safe now. He knelt at the waters edge and took the bottles from the bag, two of them being rather sizable wine bottles and the rest some kind of beer bottle, though the labels on all of them had since fallen away. It turned into a very similar routine to one of his responsibilities in his profession: cleaning glassware. Letting himself relax he rinsed the bottles, dug organic gunk out with a thin stick, wishing for a long handled bristle-brush and listening to the sounds of the nature conquered city around him.


    As with all mundane chores that must be done, he let his mind wander as his hands packed bottles with sand and water and shook them vigorously to abrade the filth from the glass. The sky above was becoming ever darker and he was becoming concerned that he would have to eventually find some shelter, perhaps for the rest of the night. Though, in the grand scheme of things, that wasn¡¯t too much of an issue.


    The quality of water he was working with, however, would be an enduring problem from what he could see. He was used to seeing small aquatic plants, tiny fishes and clear water when his father took him to the streams and ponds in the country when he wasn¡¯t confined to a bed in his childhood. It looked like that here - with the murk and the slight smell of sulphur coming off the water - the water wouldn¡¯t be potable in the slightest. In fact, he felt that the filter he had gone through much trouble to purchase was turning increasingly worthless in this crumbled city. Before too long he would have to find some way to distill the water to make sure it was completely safe to drink.


    The washing was going well, the filth that stained the bottles didn¡¯t take much persuasion to relinquish it¡¯s staining grasp. He thought about filling all the bottles with water and taking them along, but the thought of this tepid water damaging the other goods in his bag dissuaded him. Besides, he was in the presence of more water than he could do anything with. It was only a means of sticking to the shore and distilling water as he needed it. Yet, as he placed the empty bottles in his bag a thought occurred to him. Surely there was a more permanent water-source that fed this urban lake?


    ¡°Yeah, be a pain in the ass to distill water every day¡­¡± He muttered, closing his bag and shifting some leftover scraps of what was once his vest to stop the annoying clinking of the bottles. Unbeknownst to him in his liquid pondering, the songbirds that had previously been singing freely had suspiciously gone quiet after some raucous warning calls.


    ¡°I have tonight to collect rain water, if the weather keeps up like this, but I can¡¯t rely on only tha-,¡±


    His own comment was cut off by a distant movement off to his periphery. He turned, sure he had seen something moving close against the ground, yet when he looked towards this interruption he initially questioned if he had actually seen anything. The cracks in his spectacle lens weren''t helping either and he was about to turn away when something quickly leapt out from the long water-weeds towards him.


    ¡°Oh, shit¡­,¡±


    A panic arose in him and he turned to run as he heard a reptilian hiss from behind him, the sound of clawed feet rapidly slapping against the ground as the creature chased him. His flight felt as though he was running from something in a nightmare, his sprint slower than his nonathletic norm, hampered by his crude attempt at footwear. The goal of his retreat was the slightly ajar door that was only a couple dozen strides ahead of him, if he could make it there he would be safe.


    That is if the old doors would hold¡­


    It felt like it was his only hope, beyond those old, steel doors. His legs pounding the sand, then long grass, then cracked concrete while his lungs gasped for air and his heart thumped so loud in his ears he couldn¡¯t tell if it was his own pulse or his pursuer¡¯s footsteps. As he sprinted his hand smacked painfully into the holster at his side but he fretted that he couldn¡¯t draw it in time to have any sway over his death. He had little time to regret drawing his firearm, but as that thought came to his mind, he realized vividly that there was regret he could fixate on.


    He didn¡¯t want to die¡­ not again. He couldn¡¯t bear it a second time. Even thinking about it drove him onwards to gather up speed he didn¡¯t know is body could wield. He forgot his panting breath and burning lungs and bashed his body through the doorway only to reverse speed and brace against the door again. There was a momentary pause before and almighty smash jolted the entire frame of the door, the creature letting out an apparently annoyed hiss.


    A brief moment of triumph and relief flooded through him and he could have let his shaking knees give out beneath him, if not for a repeated slam against the closed door. The entrance opened up a few inches before clattering shut again as he pushed back against the reptilian beast. For a couple moments this violent dance was performed a few more times, his shield being thrust backwards further and further with each strike; at least until a long claw suddenly appeared right next to his face.


    Yelping, rather childishly, he jerked his head back as the wriggling, black claw began peel open the thin steel of the door with the ease of a can-opener. His breath was coming in short, jumpy gasps as the predator began to open up a hole through the door itself, it''s natural weaponry starting to make a hole large enough for it''s scaled hand to break through. He pressed all his weight against the door, but there was no escape from becoming this creature¡¯s meal. With a frustrated grunt he peeled one arm away from the door and pulled his gun from it¡¯s holster, the weight of his attacker slowly pushing him back and forcing the punctured door open.


    Shoving it against the door he rattled off several rounds, the sharp reports from the weapon causing his ears to immediately ring in such a confined space. As the piercing sound peaked and sluggishly started to recede, the force pushing the door inward suddenly relented and he could have sworn he heard the sound of a fleeing skitter through the damaged door. He hadn¡¯t noticed when he entered, but the hallway he was in was pitch-dark, save for the new holes that let light into the building. Letting the panic release it¡¯s grip on him he doubled forward and began to pant, trying to stop hyperventilation from attacking his lungs.


    Once his nerves had been gathered back up he took a nervous glance through the new peep-holes in the door. To his relief the creature had vanished and through an opened crack in the door he was greeted with a satisfying dribble of blood on the concrete in a trail away from its injury. He let out a final deep breath and he let calm fully replace his panic; sitting in the darkness and letting his heart settle to a point where it didn¡¯t feel like it would hop out of his chest. Yet, as he was calm he began to think more logically and became worried that perhaps the monster would come back after it regained it¡¯s own courage and tended to it¡¯s wounds.


    After picking up the ejected shell-casings from the floor and squirreling them into his bag he tasked himself with going deeper into the building. He felt blessed and a belated thankfulness to that guerrilla woman for giving him the specific pistol in his hands. It was an extremely modern piece, manufactured to be the military¡¯s new sidearm with all the bells-and-whistles: optic, light and a laser. Though he was unsure of how long the battery would last, it was fresh as far as he knew and should last a decent while. The thought crossed his mind that perhaps he could find replacement batteries for both the flashlight and the optic, but he wondered if that was too wishful.


    None-the-less, the torch switched on and the claustrophobic darkness receded from the cone of light projecting from under the handgun¡¯s barrel. In the new light that filled the hallway he was surprised, rather pleasantly, to see a row of chairs against the wall and several pictures hanging up across from them. In such a barren and lifeless city, even such regular decor soothed an anxiety inside him that he hadn¡¯t noticed, till now.  Perhaps there were still some things to scavenge from this city, maybe even some creature comforts.


    Moving pass the furniture and decorations, the hallway ended at an intersection with another set of double doors and a short hallway leading to an office area. To further satisfy his suspicions - though he felt he should leave the area as quickly as possible - he checked the cubicles before breaching the other set of doors.  His suspicions were correct, though he wondered why this was. Much like the entrance hallway, the cubicles were furnished with the usual and mundane objects of an office space. However, why here? Why were all the high-rise buildings stripped of anything valuable as well as the otherwise trivial objects?


    He shook his head and backtracked, confused by his findings as well as disappointed at not being able to search more throughly. There were plenty of cubicles to ransack, on top of all the desk draws there were to rifle through, but he just had to get out of here. Steadily his concern was beginning to rise as he heard rain patter and then pound upon the metal roof above him and he abandoned his perplexing surroundings. He needed to get out of this building¡­ no; this whole city. There was no telling how many of those creatures were around, if they were attracted to loud sounds¡­ or if they were smart enough to use the cover of rain and darkness for an ambush.


    It was luck; unabashed luck that he managed this far without encountering the monsters that apparently made this city their home.


    Pushing through the double doors, he found himself on the factory floor: the entire objective of the building. One of his assumptions about the building¡¯s name was correct: it seemed this particular factory made automotive engines. Of an impressive variety, no less, guessing by the different sizes of engines in various stages of assembly or repair. Though he didn¡¯t have a mechanical inclination at all, as he swept his light around he couldn¡¯t help but be impressed by the layout of the facility. Through some of dust and rust motes falling from the ceiling and the age upon the machinery, the facility was otherwise spotless save for the occasional toppled shelf and an industrial air conditioning unit which had fallen through the ceiling.


    Wavering light shone through the hole as rain poured through it, pooling upon the concrete floor before flowing towards the darkness of the rearmost wall of the factory. Initially he thought he could have climbed up the tall warehouse shelving, but he discarded that thought immediately when he saw on the far side of the facility another set of doors with an unlit ¡®EXIT¡¯ sign above it. Yet as he looked through the cavernous room a reflection caught his eye just a few steps before him, a lustrous sheen that winked at him from a shelf as his light passed over it.


    It was on his way to the exit, after-all, might as well take a look, he thought to himself as he walked down a couple of steps onto the floor.


    To his joy, it was a coil of thin copper tubing that was resting in a shallow box with some other vague engine parts and various mechanical opuses that were certainly integral to the function of an engine. Not that he would know it, however.


    There was perhaps twenty or so feet in the patina-tinged coil and he eagerly stuffed it into his bag with the gleeful intention of using it in his water purification endeavours. In another moment of awareness of his goals, he let out a half-chuckle at his yearning to simply distill water, as it was one of the most basic chemical experiments any primary-school student could preform. The blissful moment was brutally ruptured by a sky-splitting thunderclap and an eerie flash of light that blasted through the hole in the ceiling and he jumped in fright at the vocalizations of the growing storm above. He didn¡¯t care to spend a night in this factory, not with that creature about nor within this storm.


    As he shuffled forward he realized that he underestimated how much of the building was flooded; his mismatched foot-ware first slipping in the film of water before his feet began getting soaked as the murky water deepened. It was oddly slippery as he made towards his goal, a slick muck covering the floor in the deeper waters. He suddenly had the feeling that the building was sluggishly sinking down into the earth it had been built upon, mud flowing in from cracks in the floor and holes in the wall. As the mud sucked at his feet, trying to snatch his rubber flip-flop from his foot and trip him into the tepid water he noticed a different smell in the air.


    He wasn¡¯t all together sure when he first noticed it, but it felt rather familiar with a vague and nostalgic quality. However, it certainly wasn¡¯t a pleasant smell. In fact, it smelt of excrement and ammonia, the stench becoming noticeably more pungent and¡­ fresh.


    Then, three things happen in a quick succession.


    First: the man passing through this industrial facility had an eureka moment, connecting his memories to the present. It was a pleasant yet disgusting memory of his older sister dealing with some large lizard and it¡¯s ongoing indigestion while visiting her workplace with his father. Though she was several years his elder, she had the pleasant kindness and cheerful demeanour of a curious child who liked animals. It was little surprise that she wanted to study veterinary medicine and biology.


    The second was a mound of mud that he nearly fell into that had an eye-watering vapour hanging over them. The heap was made mostly of mud but as he skirted around it he noticed a depression in the top of it along with some speckled white orbs nestled into the sludge¡­ large eggs, he quickly realized.


    However, the events that replayed in his mind as he would later think back on his moment revolved only around what happened next.


    From the darkness a powerful, bass rumble erupted that seemed to ripple the very water he stood in and an abrupt silence followed. Then came a gasping inhale that filled monstrous lungs for another deep-throated bellow, the approaching splashes were nearly drowned out by the rumbling threat. In a panic he raised his handgun against the approaching creature, getting only a glimpse of it¡¯s horrific form before completely losing his nerve and breaking into an all-out sprint to the factories exit. The moment this monstrosity was revealed, predatory eyes reflecting the light, it¡¯s thick scaled body glistening with water and damp algae and terrifying jaws filled with large, conical teeth. Yet what struck him most in that brief moment was the gargantuan height of the creature as it stood on two legs and glared down upon him.


    As he fled and smashed his way out of the doors and into the raging storm the reptilian mother calmly receded back into the water, assured that her unhatched brood were safe yet again. The hunt would have to begin once they had hatched.

 III - Salvia Officinalis

    Despite the pelting rain he ran southward, or, as near as he could tell in the waning light. His clothes had been soaked almost immediately as he stepped outdoors and he didn¡¯t think to take the time to hide in any of the waterside buildings to dry off, even after constant glances over his shoulder confirmed he hadn¡¯t been followed. Those¡­ creatures had shaken him to his core and his recourse was to immediately vacate this city of beguiling beauty. He clearly wasn¡¯t welcomed by the new residents of this place - beyond being their dinner - that much was clear.


    He lost count of how many times he had to collapse against a wall or a convenient tree to shakily regain his breath and blink the swarming stars out of his eyes. As he ran or, more accurately, jogged and collapsed his way out of the city, the buildings became less grandiose and more suburban. The cracks in the pavement were less pronounced, yet what was once manicured laws and driveways were cluttered with young trees and thick grasses that overwhelmed the homes that were nearly obscured by the growth. The storm soon abated to a calm downpour and as night fell in earnest he barreled his way into what was once a small shop. An old fashioned barbers, judging by the stripped pole that was hanging by one tenacious screw on the outside.


    Having no idea how far he¡¯d traveled over the past couple of days his muscles cried out for rest as if he¡¯d been perpetually walking for weeks. His clothing were hanging off of him from the damp yet it felt as though some trickster had secreted lead weights into all of his pockets. Only too late did he stop long enough to throw his rain jacket over his body, the waterproof fabric only helping to make the clinging fabric stick more thoroughly to his skin. Though, now, he was at the very least dry in this shop and a cursory glance through the darkness - aided by his flashlight - revealed that this place was furnished just like the factory had been.


    As much as he wished to collapse, the paranoia of running into another one of those¡­ reptilians¡­ wouldn¡¯t subside until the small space was scoured of any hint of their presence. Thankfully, there was no such evidence. However, something rather innocuous unnerved him slightly when he noticed it tucked into a corner.


    It was a simple fireplace, something exceptionally mundane and normal to the peoples of his country; the winters being as harsh as they were and many opting to fell trees for wood rather than cranking up the heater and the costs along with it. Yet, as debilitated and mentally dull as he was, he wrinkled his nose at the otherwise cozy, brick-ware structure. The muggy, oppressive humidity and the constant rainstorms were surely a symptom of summer, but did it really get cold enough in the winters for a hearth to be built into a barbers lobby? Or, he thought, perhaps it was an old aesthetic touch to keep up with the rustic barbershop theme?


    As perturbed as he was by the notion of having to face a harsh winter in this world, he was at the very least grateful to be somewhere sheltered from the elements and relatively safe.


    ¡°I¡­ need¡­ to get dry.¡± He panted out, his throat dry from running himself ragged and he hoped was caused by thirst instead of an onset of a cold.


    ¡°Can¡¯t-Can¡¯t get sick¡­¡±


    Again he struggled against another involuntary buckling of his knees as a wave of fever seemed to take him from nowhere. A wearily familiar feeling to The Chemist, a loaming specter that hung over every cold and flu. He managed the willpower to wrestle himself out of the sickly feeling, at least enough to stay on his feet and shrug off his satchel and set up his pistol as a hazardous spotlight on the vacant receptionist¡¯s desk. To his relief, the bag had only gotten slightly damp during his escape; the delicate pages of his books barely wrinkled from the moisture but otherwise undamaged. Pushing those aside he grabbed the lighter stashed within and set the bag down and busied himself with a fire-starting attempt.


    His hopes for a warm fire to dry out in front of were dashed almost instantly as he noticed the firewood rack was devoid of any lumber. With a rub of his tired eyes and a wipe of the beading, feverish sweat from his brow he did the next best thing: stripping off his soaked suit. As he got down to his shorts he had a sudden realization that he just so happened to be surrounded by furnishings made from plenty of burnable materials.


    Before too long he had ransacked the room for papers, pulled the drawers out from the receptionists desk; anything that would help get a fire going and stay burning. During his hobbled destruction he was excited to notice some wooden chairs with some soft looking cushions on them. Yet, the appearance of comfort was a fiction, as in the half-light he noticed that the cushions had been ripped apart and the fluffy insides dragged away in the absence of care.


    ¡°Probably some¡­ rats or mice¡­dammit,¡± He grumbled, realizing he didn¡¯t have the luxury of a makeshift bed on this night.


    Striping the ¡®cushions¡¯ from the seats, he set about breaking them down, at first trying to take them apart gingerly but resorting to dashing them against the floor till they broke. Even in his feeble state, the wood was weakened with age and dry-rot. It still took a few overhead strikes at the floor, blistering his thin hands and breaking himself down into sickly panting after his efforts. At the end of it all, he had less wood than he would have liked, but it would hopefully be enough.


    The first fire starting attempt was lackluster, his weakened body and numbed mind impatiently shoving paper and drawers into the hearth. The butane lighter caused great licks of flame to curl up and devour the paper yet the flames didn¡¯t spread upon the heavier timber. Muttering swears as he dug out the knife, he bemoaned his siblings childhood with their father. Camping, hiking, hunting, fishing¡­ all while he was confined to bed and fever. His sister could have made a fire by scraping some twigs together and his brother could have had a deer tracked, killed, skinned and butchered by the first nightfall in this land. All he seemed to have was his father¡¯s verbal lessons and vivid stories.


    Knife in hand he took one of the chair legs and whittled strips away from them, rasping a pile of chips for the hungry flames to be more contented with. By the time the fire began to burn under it¡¯s own intensity, the desperate survivor was shivering from the perspiration and precipitation dipping from his thin frame. As the room brightened up and a cozy warmth began to radiate from the hearth his shivering lessened somewhat; the musty odour of the room was replaced by the reassuring smell of woodsmoke.


    He let out a sigh of relief as the flames grew and the emissions roiled up the chimney. He couldn¡¯t put his finger on it, but the tamed fire brought a calm upon his psyche and it felt like he could relax, just a bit, once again.


    After spreading out his wet, tattered and dirty clothes out to dry he hastily went to turn off the light on his handgun before returning to bask in the heat of the flames. It would be a terrible loss to have the battery die. There was very little that he could do with the rain still pelting down outside as well as having nothing to cook or boil over the fire. Yet, he had to keep his hands busy or let the stress overwhelm him. So, with the meager loose cartridges in his bag he reloaded the magazine in the weapon and counted what remained.


    In total, there were only sixty-eight rounds at his disposal. Three full magazines and a meager handful in reserve. After seeing that massive reptile creature in the factory he wasn¡¯t sure if a full magazine would be able to take it down. Not if it was bearing down on him with the savage ferocity of a crocodilian.


    Unfortunately, now with his hands idle, his eyes wandered and settled onto the coals of the fire and a growl rumbled from his stomach. Moaning to himself he drew his knees up to his chest and rested his head against them as a wave of nausea washed over him, making his slight fever feel like a crippling blight. It had been three days since he last ate; that stale, old granola bar that had been given to him before that final attack tasted like heaven and it haunted his cravings. Yet, a full meal that actually satisfied his hunger was a distant memory.


    As he sat in his ball, eyes closed and willpower occupied with pushing all the discomforts away from him; his thoughts began to wander to one of the more filling morsels he¡¯d been allowed. Those rebellious guerrilla fighters had given him a decent cut of a feral dog they had shot and cooked. As loathe as he was to eat it, there was not a chance of denying his body it¡¯s demands. He didn¡¯t care much for it nor that the conditions in the country had gotten so bad that packs of dogs had begun to roam around and even attack solitary wanderers for a meal. The Guerrilla, at least, seemed to have a knack for coming by food; as meager and dubious as it was.


    He wondered if any of them made it out of the city alive. If they managed to succeed in the plans they had shared with him of freeing some prisoners of war from a distant camp or if they had died, or, in the absolute worst case: been imprisoned themselves. The thoughts wandered over his hasty tutorship of how to safely detonate his explosives, their initial tense meeting, the whole group''s disdain for his desire to run away, even the woman that had command over the group.


    Letting out an extended sigh he shuffled himself closer to the fire, letting the heat sink into his skin. That last thought struck him in an odd fashion. He had his fair share of crushes; either on classmates in university or a few coworkers but there was something about that woman. He didn¡¯t particularly like her pushy attitude or how she had barked out orders at him as if he was in any way familiar with military action. Yet, in some other world, perhaps he could have fallen deeper for her. Her eyes - he couldn¡¯t help but remember - had this playful and mischievous glint to them; as if she knew the punch-line of a joke that everyone else was in the dark on. It seemed lost on her fellow militia-fighters, but to him it seemed to be a chink; a window through her rough-neck exterior into a more carefree nature that would have shone brilliantly, had circumstance been different.


    He felt a couple tears rolling down his cheeks as he reminisced only to push himself out of his ball and grope for the last of his water that was inside of his bag. There was no thinking about the past world now, even with the mountain of regrets and goals left unrealized. He would never know if they escaped or found their way into better lives, if the war had ended favorably and that the evils of his nation had been throughly expunged. He had no family to return to even if he could find some way out of this equally hostile world.


    After his clothing had dried and he had redressed, the fire was stoked back into a comforting blaze. Braving the rain outside he left the bottles out in the storm to gather water before creeping back inside to sleep. The fabric from the chairs, though they could not be fashioned into a bed; they at least made a comfortable enough pillow when rolled up. As the fire began to burn down into coals The Chemist had long since fallen asleep, one of the final thoughts in his mind was a simple goal for the next couple days: kill or gather something to eat.


    Going to bed and waking up hungry was something he wanted to forget. For a time, if not forever.


    <hr>


    Throughout the night he began to have peculiar and tumultuously vivid dreams that disturbed his rest and had him flailing and turning in his sleep. Flashes of the subconscious memory of his death, the burst of blinding light that scorched his slight-less eyes and burned his deathly skin yet only a soothing warm sensation he felt. Moments of terror at the multiple instances of being caught by the Civilian Protection Commission and the Civil Reserve.


    Then came a dream that had plagued him on most nights. A night of familial mutiny, arson, desecration of what was once a wholesome household; a dusk of evil committed upon mere suspicions and selfish ambition of sworn loyalty to The Party. Only the fires of Hell could have burned hotter than what villainous and corrupt wrath was wrought upon the abode of his Father and Mother. Terror and bitters of being marked for death and pursued by the zealous hounds of doctrine for an obligation to preserve what his parents had died to sustain.


    The dream had faded, the despair and rawness of the tragedy shook him from his sleep along with a peculiar clinking sound. For a moment he didn¡¯t bother to open his eyes, wanting to turn over and fall back asleep, dully hoping to have a more pleasant dream or none at all. In the fog of drowsiness the clinking turned into a rhythmic gurgling followed by the subtle sound of water splashing and his eyes snapped open.


    ¡®Reserve Troops? Have they found me?¡¯ He thought as his muddled mind began to stoke panic within him.


    With a start he jumped up and grabbed his bag, looking around for any exit to escape from imprisonment¡­ or a swift, unceremonious execution. There was, in fact, a window in the opposite wall from the entrance and he could surely flee through there. Perhaps fast enough to be long gone before the state dogs would become bored of messing with his bottles. That last thought gave him pause, though he had already strode halfway to the window. He knew he needed the bottles for water, but he hadn¡¯t quite brushed the cobwebs of sleep from his mind and he irritatedly dismissed his confusion in favour of flight.


    The moment his hands alighted upon the window to pry it open he heard the sound of a door handle jiggling followed by the protest of weathered hinges from behind. Letting out a breath in disappointment and resignation he raised his hands in surrender to the assumed troops and began to hope for detainment. Yet, the thought felt out of place to him and he didn¡¯t quite understand why these ideas had to plague him now.


    ¡°¡¯Lo?¡±


    The presumed arrestee¡¯s head recoiled in confusion and he turned around, slowly coming about to the realization that he was under no such threat. There wasn¡¯t a hint of malice or apprehension in the¡­ strikingly feminine voice. Simply surprise and perhaps a twinge of honest curiosity.


    ¡°Who¡¯r you?¡± It wasn¡¯t an accent that he was familiar with, but it absolutely resembled his native tongue.Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!


    As he faced his unexpected discoverer he was shocked in a number of ways by her appearance, enough so that he had to take a step back and question what exactly he was seeing. She, however, matched and overtook his step by taking a few paces towards him and then repeated her question again with a bit more insistence.


    Squinting and clearing his dry throat he adjusted his glasses, naively thinking that the cracks in the lens was affecting his vision more severely than he first thought: ¡°M¡­ my name is Fritz.¡±


    The woman before Fritz was as strange as she was naturally beautiful. She seemed to be younger than him, perhaps in her early twenties and the intensely curious, almost innocent glint in her eyes seemed to reflect her age. If she had existed in his world, it wouldn¡¯t be amiss to see her on billboards, television commercials or immortalized in marble. However, some of her features were evidence of life roughly lived: her body was tanned and athletic, she bore scars upon her knuckles and arms, her tangled hair was cut short and a gamy, unwashed odour was becoming more noticeable as she approached.


    ¡°Fitz? Odd-ear?¡± She questioned, slowly moving closer, her eyes wide and intensely affixed upon his face in much the same way his own eyes were mesmerized by the most shocking of her features. Yet, he noticed her face scrunched up slightly as if she had also smelled something foul.


    Of course, he thought to himself, he hadn¡¯t bathed in days and he certainly didn¡¯t count running through the rain last night. All the sweat, fear and dirt hung off of him as a miasma if he had the mind to notice.


    As much as she looked human there were the distinct features that ruled such classification out. Instead of ears on the sides of her head where they should have been there were two, pointed and hair tufted ears that twitched towards ambient sounds but mostly faced forward. The other feature was a large, fluffed tail that he wouldn¡¯t have noticed immediately, had it not been swishing to and fro like some kind of novelty cuckoo-clock pendulum. As she approached he noticed a mild concern replace his surprise, her apparent excitement becoming something unnerving. The animal woman didn¡¯t seem to have any weapons on her, in fact - aside from some kind of rawhide bag hanging from her neck - she had nothing aside from some primitive hide clothing.


    ¡°The hell are you doing? Step back.¡± He anxiously said, his hand wrapping around the grip of the firearm on his belt.


    She paused, her hand tentatively raised towards him, only an arms length away from his face. The woman could clearly sense a vague amount of danger, but some other force pushed her forward and her thumb and forefinger briefly grabbed upon his ear. Jerking back, he let out a slight grunt as he tugged his ear away and pushed the offending hand back.


    ¡°Seriously, what is your problem?¡±


    ¡°Prob-lem? Yor ear¡­ is odd¡­ not like¡­¡± She said, almost in a broken breath of awe as she pointed at her own ears over her head. ¡°Yor odd-ear.¡±


    ¡°My ears are odd? You have the ears of a fox! Who are you, then?¡±


    ¡°Me!¡± She replied with a kind smile, excitedly moving back into Fritz¡¯s personal space to inspect him more throughly¡­ much to the annoyance of the owner of said space. Her lack of a reply had completely flown over his head in these agitating circumstances. Other friendly beings were nice and all, but this one seemed to be more of an inconvenience to his desires than anything else. As much as he didn¡¯t care for this kind of attention she clearly didn¡¯t mean him any harm. He glanced out of the open door into the muggy morning and dully noted that one of his water bottles was gone.


    ¡°Okay, why are you here? And why did you mess with my water?¡±


    ¡°Jus¡¯ seein¡¯, like to see-in¡­¡± she paused as if she was trying to find a word before gesturing around her, clearly unsure of what to describe the building as.


    ¡°And my water?¡±


    Her ears flattened back against her head - almost the picture of shame - as she reached into her bag and presented one of the larger wine bottles to him: ¡°Like dis clear ¡®hing. Shape is neat.¡±


    ¡°Thing?¡± He gasped with some incredulity: ¡°This is a wine bottle. Glass.¡± He said bluntly, taking the bottle from her and placing it into his own bag. The patience he had from realizing she wasn¡¯t a threat was beginning to wane and he wanted to move on to the goals he decided on last night. His stomach was gnawing at itself in hunger and he didn¡¯t care to waste any more energy today. He navigated around The Fox Woman and went to pick up his waters, taking a large swig from one to wash the sleep-thick saliva from his mouth.


    ¡°Glas¡­ ohh¡­ Fitz know¡­ ¡®hings? Like other odd-ear?¡±


    Fritz choked and coughed out the last gulp of water, sputtering the liquid onto the ground before whipping around at her statement. He shot up, walking back into the lobby towards Sage: ¡°Others? Like me? There are other people that look like me here?¡±


    He ears twitched a bit, her face lighting up in excitement as she went outside and pointed eagerly down the road: ¡°Like Fitz. At my¡­¡± She paused for a moment, pointing at the wall just beside the chemist as he stood in the doorway. He waited for her to continue, but noticed her staring intently at him for a moment before she gesticulated towards the wall once again.


    ¡°Your¡­. House?¡± He filled in the missing word for her: ¡°Are they there? Can you take me there!?¡± He asked earnestly.


    The woman gave another quick nod before trotting down the street: ¡°Yes! ¡®Dere!¡±


    Fritz felt he had no choice but to follow, partly from desire to find more people and partly from the need to find some sustenance. If there were more people, particularly around her abode; it stood to reason that there would be some source of food and cleaner water nearby! Yet, as he strode after her a dark and sinister thought gave him some balance to his sudden upwelling of optimism. If there were people, indeed like him, they could be of the terrible type that he had been fleeing from till his untimely demise.


    She was moving at a comfortable and casual stride, yet she easily outpaced him and turned to watch him slowly catch up before bounding off again. Meanwhile, Fritz was struggling with being freshly awake along with the remnants of last night¡¯s fever. He shuffled along at such a slow pace even he was shocked at how sluggish he was; perhaps if he could have been more fit in his youth he wouldn¡¯t have to suffer tremendously so. Even though he was agitated in his weakness, his new acquaintance seemed like she couldn¡¯t be happier with her day.


    The Fox Woman roamed around the road, parting through long clumps of glass, running in her barefooted way back to gawk and occasionally prod at her newfound traveler. By the time the city had vanished behind the treetops and the surrounding suburbia became less planned and more sparse, Fritz thought there was a good chance that this wild woman had covered three times the distance traveled. He was sweating profusely beneath the zenith of the sun, yet she seemed no worse for wear.


    ¡®If not more peppy and wound up,¡¯ He thought wearily: ¡®At least she¡¯s grown bored of ogling me.¡¯


    Another thought crossed his mind; aside from finding him, he had the vague notion that this kind of journey was a very regular habit for her. As dangerous as this world had appeared to be to him, she walked in it as if there was nothing that could harm her. She wore no armour and - as if to accompany her somewhat revealing garments - she bore no arms. Perhaps she was confident in her abilities or this area was, in fact, as safe as she made it seem.


    As the day traveled along with the peculiar pair, Fitz grew a bit tired of acknowledging the woman and yet again he felt his attention wander through the foliage around him. In that way he entered the afternoon, noticing the redolence of the air as the foliage began to thicken and mature. There was the heavy smell of flowers and the sharp scent of the over-ripeness of fruit. At first he was only pleasantly soothed by the scents in the wind, at least before he remembered how ravenous he was.


    Yet the moment as he was about to make a dash into what appeared to be a fruit orchard overtaken by nature, his primal urge to feed was stayed by the potential danger of the unknown. Moving amongst the trees he saw many figures milling about, crouched at the base of trees and sifting around. At least they were until they took notice of him. It was a strange experience to him, as his adult experience with attention was something that he likened to being like wallpaper: unless people directly wanted something to do with him, they mainly didn¡¯t acknowledge him. Going unnoticed was the best way to avoid scrutiny and the potential danger of a Party dog catching wind of something¡­ undesirable.


    Now, however, it seemed that all the suspicion was affixed upon the young chemist as murmurs issued forth from the fruiting woods. The Fox Woman seemed rather oblivious, continuing her characteristic quick pace and her usual glances back to assure herself that Fritz was still following her footsteps. As much as he wished to hide his gaze from the prying eyes of the curious onlookers, he couldn¡¯t help but take in as much as he could about these peculiar people; the grip he held on his handgun tightening as he did so.


    However, once he met a few of these bizarre People¡¯s eyes with his own did he notice that perhaps the woman he was following was decidedly the most bizarre in comparison to the rest of her people. After he had noticed this his eyes wandered much less so and he began to lock them to his mis-matched footwear.


    ¡®Good Heavens, this woman is well dressed and groomed in this world¡­¡¯


    The men, the women and even the occasional young child that clung to their mother¡¯s side were all incredibly filthy with smears of mud on their hands and knees from foraging beneath the fruit trees. It was clearly a permanent habit of going without soap as their hair were in clumped dreads, the older men with beards in much the same state and the younger  adults with various stages of severe acne. To make things even less hygienic, every single individual was as nude as they were on the day they were born.


    After they had passed by, the crowd disintegrated and vanished much quicker than The Chemist would have thought. She still seemed remarkably curious about Fritz, whereas her people only whispered to each other for a few moments before going back to their foraging. The duo came, were remarked upon, then forgotten about in favour of rooting through the fallen fruits of the overgrown orchards.


    It was rather perplexing to him, not solely the oddity of these new people but this woman¡¯s differences to them. There was a deeper quality to her, as clear as day compared to the dull and disinterested eyes of those they had passed. Maybe it was do to her contact with the other ¡®odd-ears,¡¯ as she had called them. It would explain her clothing and carry-bag as well as her fascination with human materials and places, he pondered.


    And he continued on with his silent musings, snapping out of his deep thoughts enough to take notice of his surroundings or listen to his guide attempting to tell him something about the area in her broken version of language. Shortly after the orchards there were the overgrown fields of what must have been farmland at one point. Here it was much like where Fritz had spent his childhood: Within an old countryside shire-home neighbored by many similar houses and fields of grain.


    Up ahead was a hamlet of a very familiar size and it brought a painful nostalgia to him. Even though he was a sickly kid he was fond of the meadows and easygoing nature of the village people. His father was absent more often then due to his military duties, but when he was on leave he spent every moment with his children and their mother. It was a much simpler time and the world seemed so much bigger and more full of opportunity back then.


    As the pair walked the streets Fritz¡¯ mood became more blue as he looked down the bleak and narrow alleyway¡¯s of what would otherwise be a charming cluster of buildings in the country. He also realized he had greatly misjudged the size of the town from the road, the buildings winding along at a slight slope towards the North. It was like a hamlet had grown to the size of a small city but simply decided not to get as dense and congested. The eerie silence was also brought to his mind that perhaps his new acquittance hadn¡¯t been telling the truth. If there really were more humans here, why was everything still so run down? Why wasn¡¯t there a solitary individual walking the streets in the afternoon? Where was the smell of woodsmoke or the sound of conversation? Why weren¡¯t the people of this world living in the abandoned homes, operating the shops and pubs?


    Fritz was lead to a rather ornate building, carved stone walls clung with severely overgrown, decorative ivy. Despite it¡¯s lack of cultivation - much like many of the buildings he had passed in the city and now this town - the building was still standing strong and regal. As they entered he realized another similarity; the structure was most certainly a place of education, a college of sorts or maybe even a ritzy, private boarding school. It still seemed out of place in comparison to the rustic nature of the town, like it was a brand new building that was erected before everyone vanished.


    He was itching to explore, perhaps find one of the classrooms with the general science and chemistry equipment so he could see if anything was still left. Though, the unexpected journey further out into the country side had sapped what little energy he had regained over the night that adventure would have to come tomorrow. Keeping up with Sage, she walked straight through the lobby of the building and down one of the wide, dim hallways.


    She pushed open a door to one of the rooms and it was, indeed, a classroom, walls hanging with faded charts and posters of people in fashionable clothing. There were several large, square tables inside the room cluttered with a wide assortment of random items, but each one had a sleek sewing machine fastened down to each one. The Fox Woman took her bag off her shoulder and began to place the contents of it on one of the more vacant tables before turning and smiling at Fritz.


    To Fritz, it seemed that the class that was once taught here was some kind of fashion or seamstress trade course. It wasn¡¯t something he was familiar with, but going by the posters and the few decaying, half-finished pieces he saw clinging to hangers it surely was a rather applied curriculum.


    Dully, his interest in clothing waned as he realized there wasn¡¯t a single shoe to speak of in the area. On top of that - where The Fox Woman had lead him - there wasn¡¯t a single living soul apart from the two of them. He didn¡¯t think there would be since entering this town that had been frozen in time, but having it confirmed did little to energize his spirit.


    ¡°Ahem?¡±


    Her ears twitched, head tilting to the side, clearly waiting for him to continue.


    ¡°Where are the other people? The-the other odd-ears? I thought you said there were others.¡±


    Her smile re-appeared upon her face and she moved to the back of the classroom where there were a few bookshelves lining the wall. The shelves, much like the tables in the classroom, were filled with miscellaneous items that Sage had taken a fancy too. Except for one shelf, which was mostly empty. There wasn¡¯t a single book or even a stack of papers. The shelf being remarkably vacant of dust - constantly having a singular object picked up and placed back upon - was clearly important to her.


    Turning around she presented the object in her hands, pointing at the face of it: ¡°See? Odd-Ears. Like you. Not like me.¡±


    Fritz let out an exasperated sigh as he saw the cover, the smidgen of energy he had left vanishing from his body and he leaned back against one of the tables with hand pressed to his face as he felt close to faint. It was an innocuous enough item, but the absurdity of it had been the last bit of shock he could stand for the day.


    ¡°Yes, those are other humans. But that is a Summer Fashion Magazine. Pictures of humans.¡±


    The cover explained a few things - particularly his guide¡¯s ¡®haircut¡¯ and her dress - displaying the usual over-hyped products but more significantly: a pair of women modeling swimsuits for the summer. Letting his hand slide from his face and flop limply against his side he let out another weary sigh before extending his hand to see the thin, flimsy book. It was at least the first bit of literature he had seen that wasn¡¯t weathered away or used for urban navigation.


    The young woman hesitated a moment before handing him the book before sheepishly asking: ¡°Fitz is¡­. sad?¡±


    Though Fritz had heard her words, his mind was again torn asunder by yet another perplexing shock. The sub-heading of the cover had a title that he had initially thought was some hollow, vapid promotion. But as he flipped despondently to the article and read the first few lines he realized there was actually substance to it. Scientific substance, no less.


    ¡®Prepare for Infinite Summer: Eden¡¯s Return! Our ¡°Eden¡¯s Return¡± collection is in preparation of a new Weather Control Program to give much of the world a year-round growing season, weather systems you can set a watch too and the perfect temperature to enjoy a day in the water, all day! Thanks to ¡°Tritium Industrial Energy¡± and their ¡°Fusion Based Infrastructure¡± we can enjoy the summer of the millennium FOR a millennium!¡¯


    ¡°It all just¡­doesn¡¯t make sense.¡± He slurred from his mouth before sliding harshly down onto the floor into a deep, thoughtless unconsciousness. Perhaps he had pushed himself too hard over the past couple days. This could not go on.

 IV - A Few Days Earlier

    Despite the fetid and overbearing stench that hung in the ancient tunnels, Fritz was licking the grease from his fingers that was the remnants of the tough, gamy meat the rebels had given to him. He had been in the sewers for a couple days now, but he couldn¡¯t really tell beyond the limited amount of light that shone through the manholes or what the others had told him. At least it was somewhat warm underground and there was a surprising amount of fresh water that could be tapped from the conduits that ran in maze-like lines throughout the tunnels.


    He let out a breath and waited for the small meal to settle in his stomach before he wiped his hands clean with a rag. He was leaning against a wall just beyond the quiet circle of fighters, rifles slung over their backs or hanging by their sides. Low murmurs and the occasional bout of subdued chuckling echoed as the men were enjoying their down-time around their tiny stove. They weren¡¯t exactly hostile to him but, equally, he was unable to go on his way without their say-so. At least for the moment. Till his task is done.


    There was still a minor, bitter resentment towards the group. He had been so close to the border after following the wide, slow river that cut through the warring lands. Perhaps the guerrilla group that had jumped him had eavesdropped on the Civil Reserve officials or just assumed that the troop mobilizations of late were because of him. Now he was doing much the same thing as he was in the gilded prison he had just left. Only now he was surrounded by darkness and the stench of sewage, working by the light of a crank-up-lantern with rudimentary tools..


    Scowling he chucked the scrap of fabric into the slow canal of post-processed meals, covering mouth and nose in a sleeve. Perhaps it was time to go back to work. The sooner he was done, the sooner he would be free of both prisons. Maybe even with some friendly associates who could give him some accommodations when they return to their homeland¡­ that is if they intended to afterwards. The supplies should have all been acquired by now; through the smuggling lines that run through the underworld or by the covert thieving done by those above ground.


    After winding up the lamp he surveyed what he had been given to work with, sitting down on the mat that had been laid out to be his work bench. It had been weeks since he was captured in order to build the devices they required. In any other engagement they could have brought their own or liberated them from defeated soldiers. He had been told when this task was forced upon him they were down a man. In particular; their explosives expert had been killed in a skirmish just after they crossed the border weeks ago. It had taken them this long to scrape together the parts and electrical components and the hardest to procure: the explosive compounds themselves.


    ¡°Ah, Mr. Sakharov. Have everything you need?¡±


    Fritz sighed, recognizing the voice that belonged to the leader of the merry band of rebels he was forced into the company of: ¡°Yeah, it seems so. But I need more information on what you need these bombs for and how many are needed. I¡¯m not exactly a demolitions expert, so¡­¡±


    He had trailed off, half-heartedly sorting through the comportments to get started on the detonation mechanism. That part of it, reasonably, would be the same no matter what it¡¯s destructive purpose would be. All it needed was a timer and a blasting cap to initiate the detonation.


    The chemist heard the footsteps approach from behind till he felt a hand on his shoulder, the sound of clothing rustling as the leader knelt next to him and spoke less formally: ¡°None of us here have a clue how to work with explosives, so we are just in the dark. We have a target in mind, but it is heavily secured and we have a man on the inside we are trying to get in touch with. Tomorrow we¡¯ll know more¡­ we hope.¡±


    Fritz let a soft groan and rolled his head back, staring up at the ancient brickwork of the ceiling and he felt the leader sit down before leaning forward to look at him. Rather than from a sense of disgust or rudeness, he simply couldn¡¯t meet the leader¡¯s eyes. She certainly didn¡¯t seem like someone who could be in charge of a guerrilla fighting group¡­ perhaps that is why she was able to run the insurgency with a covert touch. It wouldn¡¯t have been far from the truth to say that he felt a decent amount of attraction towards her. She was competent, well spoken and beautiful. A trio of traits that made up many formidable and dangerous women in history.


    ¡°I hope so as well,¡± He vocalized at the ceiling: ¡°I need to know what the bombs are needed for¡­ a raw explosion isn¡¯t always the most effective, from what my father told me. Not unless you¡¯re heaping thousands of times more than what we have here.¡±


    He straightened his back and met the eyes of his captor and leader, feeling a oppressive weariness settle itself on his shoulders: ¡°If you can¡¯t tell me that, at least tell me that you can get me out of this country or simply let me go after I¡¯m done with this. This damn place has taken everything from me¡­ there is no future here for me, even if the demons in the government are cast out.¡±


    For a moment he saw a touch of concern and pity cross her face, but, in an instant it was replaced by her normal calm and reason: ¡°I¡­ can¡¯t make a guarantee. The men expect you to stay in our unit. I¡¯m sure you¡¯ve overheard enough to know that we have more targets and that getting more help from across the border is¡­ unlikely. Our nation owes a great debt to yours, so we are among the few that were be spared to fight back against The Party. Maybe once the disaster areas have recovered more and we¡¯ve garnered more support from your nation¡¯s citizens things will be different, but¡­¡±


    She stood and turned to leave but hesitated at the opening of the alcove they had turned into a workshop, saying softly: ¡°But I do understand your wishes¡­ do realize it hurts me to say: ¡®please, bear it a little longer¡¯ to anyone fighting. Without your work I¡¯m afraid the most we are is an inconvenience¡­ No, a batch of thieves to The Party. If things are to turn around for those under their heel, we must open another front against them. Their manpower is much too great otherwise.¡±


    Letting out an extended sigh he turned from the components back to the woman: ¡°The mildest of graces is that I¡¯m not the only one to have such a realization. I just want to be out of this country so I will do what I can for that.¡±


    It was a comment tinged with a hint sarcastic cynicism, the wounds the government and it¡¯s ideological agents had inflicted upon him and no doubt others would still be fresh for years. Even the collapse of the system or even the country would be of cold comfort. There simply wasn¡¯t a single thing left for him to consider his own. Even embracing his own culture felt like a perverse action, though it wasn¡¯t the cause of the hell-scape of the country. His home was burned down, mother and father cremated within the property and his sister had long fled to regions unknown.This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    Then there was his brother¡­ Fritz had uttered unending, vulgar curses at him, his being and all of his progeny. If there was a God, one day, retribution would find it¡¯s way to that cur¡¯s door. At the very least this bomb would be a final insult hurled across that bastards allegiance to a party of men that thought themselves God.


    Yet another cold comfort.


    <hr>


    A day later, just as the leader of the rebel squad had promised, the ¡®something¡¯ had arrived in the form of a rather gaunt, tall and elderly man. He had shuffled into the light cast by the small stove made out of a steel garbage can and some plumbing that they cooked their meals and warmed their bodies by, guided on either side by two of the fighters. He looked to be in his sixties - perhaps even his early seventies - sporting rather formal attire below a weathered and wrinkled face capped by a crown of unkempt silver hair.


    It was fortunate that he had arrived so early in the morning, escorted by a pair of their number in plain, civilian clothes. Two of them, before the important business was discussed, dipped their mugs into a pot of bitter coffee that had been brewed on the stove before sitting down to rest. It was clear that their night had been one of restlessness and decisive movements to get down here.


    Fritz was sitting with the group, the warmth of the beverage soaking into his hands from the old food tin he was drinking from. He could hardly call it ¡®coffee¡¯ as it wasn¡¯t nearly rich enough. It was more like hot water with the essence of coffee vaguely attached to it. A homeopathic tincture would, perhaps, be a better description. However, he wasn¡¯t fit to complain. It was the first hint of caffeine he had been allowed in weeks and it lifted his spirits. Coffee was already a rare product for the common individual, it would be vile to complain about it¡¯s quality in the efforts made to have the vacuum sealed bag last as long as possible.


    He took another sip, the energy in the dim tunnels rose as they drank and ate their meager rations, everyone gathering around the leader. She greeted the old man with a handshake and pushing a warm mug into his other hand before addressing her soldiers: ¡°Alright, everyone. We¡¯ve had a stroke of luck this morning. This is Dr. Zavoisky, head supervisor of the nuclear power plant and more importantly: knows the layout of the entire site and the operation schedules.¡±


    After his face had returned from it¡¯s grimace at the watery drink he nodded and spoke in a deep, confident drawl: ¡°The pleasure is all mine. The impious tyranny of The Party must end. It has gotten out of hand. I, for one, have seen the glory of this country in it¡¯s prime and before I die it shall be re-instated, God willing.¡±


    Fritz saw a rage upon the Physicists face as he spoke, the likes of which he had been familiar with in the past. Back when he desired nothing less than to drive a knife into his brothers throat. He couldn¡¯t help but feel a grim anger seethe through the armed crowd. He¡¯d been around them long enough to know that most were his own countrymen¡­ and more had been arriving down in the sewers by the hour, mostly in ones or twos.


    Something big was on the horizon; it was becoming clear to all in the rag-tag group.


    Looking to the Guerrilla Leader he noticed that her eyes were already on him. As their gazes locked he noticed that glint to her eyes even though her face remained stoic. Fritz couldn¡¯t help shake his head, straining to keep the ghost of a grin from appearing on his face. There was a confident idea shown to him in her gaze, that the future was brighter than it had once seemed. She strode towards him and grabbed his arm and pulled him to Dr. Savoisky and introduced him as their demolition man.


    A flash of recognition came across his face as he took the hand of Fritz and he, too, made his introductions. As he later found out; Savoisky knew his father. Back when he was the Minister of Military Development and before the evil truly began to grow vile thorns throughout the hearts of The Ministry. In that ideal past the Physicist was happily wrapped up in his work, splitting the atom and researching the resulting decays and marveling at the power that sleeps within the minuscule world of atomics. It was a glimpse at the power of God¡¯s Creation, in his philosophy.


    The lanterns were wound up and the Good Doctor began to sketch out a very simple map of the facility on the sewer wall with a lump of charcoal. As soon as the map was complete he directed them through the hallway¡¯s to their goals: The four reactors; charges to be placed on each reactor core and the local substation that distributed power to the grid. He theorized that cutting off the power grid from the damaged reactors would cause the whole facility to melt down and, potentially, explode. The water coolant would be it¡¯s downfall, as it flooded the reactor a steam detonation would take care of the rest of the core.


    He acknowledged, some what introspectively, that he could be contributing to a disaster the likes of which had never been seen before and would tarnish the atom for generations. In all likelihood the building would be cracked and the Corium would burn quite menacingly towards bedrock. Should the containment building be breached an invisible poison would ravage the land and it¡¯s inhabitants for decades. Yet, that worst case scenario would be the best for their purposes of hobbling The Party machine. The alternative was letting the cancer spread and killing the nation in entirety. Regardless, it would divert resources from the war to contain the radiation and cripple the electrical production the hogs of industry suckled at.


    A lesser of two evils. An ultimatum which should have been rare in the bartering of lives.


    Later that night the two scientists sat together and concocted the devices they would use for their destruction. With their fields of expertise they discussed, brainstormed and found a few eureka moments. The charges for the reactors were molded around large, conical street-lamp covers that had been snatched at their request. They were, by their estimations, just the right construction to be an effective shaped charge. Fritz, confident in his work, instructed the rebel fighters on their operation, how to deploy them safely and - should the worst happen - how to decrease the detonation time. The caveat to the explosives was that they had to explode two or three feet above the surface of the reactor in order to penetrate the core. The fighters would have to mount them on stilts for them to work in the most effective way, if the theory worked in practice.


    The last bomb was far more conventional. Nearly ten kilograms of plastic explosive packed into a canister. It would be used to destroy the transformers at the site just moments before the reactors approached meltdown. All that was required was for the device was to detonate in the substation. The cataclysmic short circuiting of the grid would take care of the rest.


    By some miracle, sped along by a couple sleepless nights, the plan was cemented and the bombs were complete. There would be a feint attack on government building by the Guerrilla forces. As the troops gave their lives in the distraction the real attack would begin. That was the group Fritz would be in, but he had privately demanded to be kept in the back lines or to move onto the next target to prepare. Despite his protests the leader merely thrust a pistol into his hands and told him to be on look out.


    The doctor, on the other hand, would be with the main attack. Acting as a guide he would make the success of their mission an absolute. It was planned in a satisfactory way. Their numbers were strengthened, every scrap of armour fastened and the smallest weapon to the largest gathered in their arms.


    The time was upon them and they made their final emergence into the cool night.

 V - Necessities and Sage

    Fritz¡¯s eyes snapped open and he dully realized that he was still laying on the floor. For a moment he considered that he had just had a feverish dream that spawned The Fox Woman and the other half-humans that he had seen. Not to mention that crazy fashion rag with the science fiction weather devices in it. Unfortunately, he was too exhausted to maintain the charade of denial and he slowly accepted that it was something he would have to get used to¡­ eventually.


    Denial was not something that he could manage, anyhow. Not with the woman crouched over him with a perplexed yet inquisitive expression. The Chemist reasoned he must have not been out for that long, maybe only a minute or two had the fatigue taken him down. He wanted to get up and he would have; if not for the overwhelming nausea and complete weakness that he felt. Instead he stared at the floor that he was parallel to, wondering how many past wasted meals he could regret.


    ¡°Fitz is okay?¡±


    Her voice wasn¡¯t grating and if it weren¡¯t for her broken language it wouldn¡¯t have been peculiar for it to be heard narrating a documentary. Fritz wondered where she learned what she knew, surely such a primitive people would pass on such a powerful thing, but, why was it so similar to his own? Why is it a decayed version of his language? If it was an emergent feature of their people why wasn¡¯t it more different; alien even? Did they learn it from writing but then¡­ how would they know what the characters sounded like?


    Closing his eyes and pushing the questions away, he slurred lightly: ¡°Yes, but, I¡¯m not sure for how much longer.¡±


    He finally noticed how uncomfortable he was in his position, his side digging into his satchel and all the items within jabbing back. With some effort he shifted himself to a supine position and sat the satchel right side up again. His father had told him that a person could last weeks without food but his diet had been so meager that he felt like he couldn¡¯t make one more day¡­ perhaps two if he didn¡¯t move any more. What¡¯s more is that his stomach was so starved that if his next meal was too rich, it would give him ulcers at best and at worst: it would kill him. It was a wretched thing his father had experienced during his enlistment. He said it was called ¡®Re-feeding Syndrome¡¯ and it killed many who had gotten their hands on a meal after starving for weeks.


    So lost in his thoughts he didn¡¯t notice that his host was still staring at him intently, waiting for him to say something more. He didn¡¯t realize she had gotten up and returned, at least until she held something in his vision and asked him a simple question.


    ¡°What is this?¡±


    She was holding up a large butane lighter, similar to one that he¡¯d seen on some kind of chef television show. He wasn¡¯t too confused by it but he wondered why it had taken this woman¡¯s fancy. It just seemed out of place but, no matter, it would help with fire-starting if his own lighter ran out of fuel.


    ¡°That is a lighter. It has a¡­ kind of ¡®water¡¯ inside it that makes fire.¡±


    He was sure he saw her hair stand on end at the mention of fire but it was gone so quickly he was sure it was his imagination.


    ¡°Fire¡­ how does it¡­ is fire? Do Odd-Ear know is how to¡­¡± She paused for a moment, once again searching for a way to be understood: ¡°¡­make nice?¡±


    The chemist wasn¡¯t exactly sure how or which question he should answer. He would have rather taken the effort to think about how he should gather food when his nausea faded. Then, he was struck by a rather sly and somewhat conniving idea. Perhaps he could use her thirst for knowledge to his advantage¡­ just a little bit till he was feeling more well. Maybe it wasn¡¯t as despicable as he thought, he rationalized; he was providing her something that she wanted while getting something in return. But, for now, he wished for his stomach to stop feeling like it was strangling it¡¯s neighboring organs.


    ¡°Fire¡­ is¡­ ah¡­¡± He wanted to go into a the scientific process of how fire words, but he was afraid she wouldn¡¯t quite understand: ¡°It¡¯s when things get very hot, fire comes from it and starts to eat and breath. But fire will only eat what is hot, so for fire to stay ¡®nice¡¯ it needs to be fed slowly and be away from things that fire likes to eat.¡±


    It wasn¡¯t the best of explanations.; it wouldn¡¯t have won him any adoring gazes from students at a lecture, but, The Fox Woman seemed to have understood him. In fact, by the rapid swishing of her tail it seemed to Fritz that he had, to her, divulged a deep and intrinsic secret of the universe.


    She brought the lighter closer to her face too look at it with a new found interest. Yet, in another moment, she had stood back up and lost her fascination in place of rummaging through her stockpile of artifacts. Before too long she returned and held up another item for him to classify for her.


    This time it was a small goose-necked tea kettle, maybe large enough to hold a pint of hot liquid and made of stainless steel. The Chemist couldn¡¯t help but smirk at the sight of something that suddenly became so critically vital. He¡¯d been wishing for a metal vessel to purify water in since his thirst on the first day; it would stand up to heating better than glass. Especially, in a time like this, it would be easier to make a thin broth for him to eat in a kettle rather than a wine bottle.


    ¡°Oh¡­ that is a ¡®kettle.¡¯ You put water in it and then put it over a fire. It makes the water hot. Uh¡­ ¡®Odd-Ears¡¯ often put certain kinds of leaves or seeds into it to change the flavour of the water. When the water boils, it will whistle to let you know it is hot enough.¡±


    The woman tilted her head in a bit of confusion, running her hands over the vessel as if it would grant her a wish: ¡°Boil? Wistle? Hows it¡­ do that?¡±


    He grimaced and brought a hand up to wipe his face as he suddenly realized the magnitude of the task he had brought upon himself. She certainly got the better part of the deal he had manufactured and intended to propose. Running his palm down his cheek he realized that there was a gathering of stubble upon his face. He should have taken a razor along with everything else that would have been more useful to his care. That thought brought on some introspection at his health. He was starting to feel like he could only focus on a singular thought at a time and it had been a struggle to even conceptualize it. His focus was coming in and out like the tides and he was becoming lost in sidetracked branches of thought. It was time to give the wager.


    ¡°Listen¡­ oh¡­,¡± His mind immediately blanked as he realized that she had never told him her name: ¡°Sorry, what¡¯s your name?¡±


    She tucked the kettle under her arm and pointed at herself: ¡°Me.¡±


    ¡°Okay, well¡­ I¡¯m not sure I understand. You asked me my name earlier, right?¡±


    She shook her head: ¡°No¡­ who¡¯r yu.¡±


    ¡®Good God, she doesn¡¯t have a name. I can¡¯t just refer to her by that.¡¯ He needed a name for her more than she needed one, that was clear. He would feel a bit rude and demanding if he had to continue calling her ¡®You¡¯ or ¡®Hey.¡¯


    His eyes narrowed and he turned his head to look back up at the ceiling: ¡°Ah. I see.¡±


    He let out a groan as he sat up and propped himself up against one of the tables so he could better look the woman in the eye: ¡°You¡¯re going to need a name, like I have. But, before that¡­ Listen, I need to ask something of you.¡±


    This next part was hard for him to actually say. It was so simple in his mind - all things were - but now here he was. Circumstance had pushed him too far and now he had to rely on trust in order to have a chance at survival. Faith in his countrymen had become thin after years of demoralization, but in this world it would have to be a more worthwhile gamble.


    He grimaced as he said it: ¡°If¡­ you can go out and gather me food, at least till I am back to full strength, I¡¯ll tell you more about all the things you like¡­ at least as much as I know.¡±


    She seemed a bit confused at first, perhaps by the look on his face. However, in the next moment, her face brightened up with an expression of unrivaled delight. Setting the kettle down and then rocketing up from her crouched position she gathered her crude bag and slung it over her head, already halfway towards the door: ¡°I get Fitz food!¡±


    She paused for a moment and pointed at the lighter that she had left at the edge of the table: ¡°Show¡­. Show me how fire lives.¡±


    And, with that, she vanished into the hallways, the sound of her bare feet slapping against the ground receding towards the building¡¯s entrance. Fritz, meanwhile, was going through the herculean feat of pulling himself into a standing position.


    ¡°Yes¡­ I¡¯ve certainly brought more trouble upon myself in this deal¡­¡± He further bemoaned as he shakily found his footing.


    ¡®I wonder how sharp her sense of smell is.¡¯ The thought had come from nowhere and he considered how much of her physiology different to his own beyond her animal characteristics. ¡®I imagine she can hear quite well with those ears too¡­ my sister would certainly be dying to study these bizarre attributes, were she here.¡¯


    He would have shaken his head in an attempt to clear his mind if he wasn¡¯t so sure he would wind back on the floor again. The best he could manage was to grab up the kettle that she had left behind at the cost of having to blink the stars away from his eyes after stooping to retrieve it. With the kettle and a quick look around for firewood he should have all he would need for a broth, save for his hunter coming back with food. If she ran to that orchard they had passed earlier he could make some kind of tea with the skins and pulp.


    Making his own way back into the hallway Fritz figured that tonight would be a repeat of the previous one. His first objective was to find a safe area to contain a fire but he wanted to find a good place to sleep before it got too dark outside. In his previous life he rather enjoyed his time in university, in particular, the lectures and experiments he was privy too. Yet, here, he had a few doubts that he would be able to experience anything similar to his cultivation of knowledge from then. This place, just like the city, felt oddly stripped of the regular objects that one would expect. The difference here was that it felt like the place had been looted rather than systematically cleaned out.


    The hallway had all manner of disturbed clutter: toppled furniture, various posters, placards and noticeboards in various states of disrepair from time or molestation by some figure in the past. The rooms he took the moments to peek into were much the same: desks and chairs toppled over or broken, shelves empty or with odd bits of disturbed trash, even the occasional broken window or rare hole in an interior wall. So far he had not found a place that he would be comfortable with spending the night in, hoping to find something with a bench or a couch, or at the very least a room with carpet to lay down on.


    It had taken him a few minutes but, he decided that his search for a resting place could continue later. There were, after all, more floors and an entire wing of the building to search after he prepared a fire. He paused and ducked into one of the classrooms he had passed and grabbed a steel-mesh trash bin he had seen earlier. Anything else he needed would be found outdoors or arriving shortly.


    There wasn¡¯t really much of an area in front of the building, unless he wanted to start a fire in the streets¡­ in addition to the herculean effort in his state to move a bunch of wood into the road.


    ¡°Perhaps out back there would be more space.¡± He muttered as he turned left down another hallway. Out in front of him there was a glass door with light streaming through it¡¯s dust and water marked pane; his consideration rewarded beyond.


    The exit lead to a rather impressive courtyard. He wasn¡¯t sure why, but the adjective ¡®Victorian¡¯ jumped to mind as he first looked over the garden. There were several bushes, once ornate trees, and veritable bouquets of flowers amidst tall grasses; all overgrown and fighting for resources and land in the absence of cultivation. In the middle of the yard there was a grand, proud Oak that was surrounded by a cobblestone walkway, the roots of the tree dislodging a few of the pavers. The paths and some of the special, more aesthetically pleasing bushes and flowers were guarded by wrought iron fences shaped into pleasant rows that remained as a mote of the care and dedication that was once shown to the garden.


    It pained him to see the courtyard in this - albeit, wildly verdant - state of disrepair and neglect.


    Perhaps he could bring it back to it¡¯s former glory. Though he was hardly a gardener nor a botanist, it could be something he could do while he waited to find his own end. Fritz reasoned he could teach that woman how to care for the garden and, in a more ambitious fantasy of his; the rest of the building that surrounded it.The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    He shrugged and made his way towards the mighty oak tree, the waste bin tucked under an arm before setting it in a reasonably clear area. It was still quite warm under the early afternoon sun but the wide canopy of the tree shaded the area well enough that there was a patch of bare earth in one section of the courtyard. He dumped his equipment and satchel down in the area and set about the task of gathering wood; this time the supply came from the ample amounts of dead branches shed from the hardwood giant.


    Thankfully, much of the timber was reasonably dry and lay in good quantities. In a few minutes he had a few arm-loads stacked up beside the overturned bin and he set about breaking off the small twigs and bits of bark to make a bed of kindling. Fritz then turned his attention to the bin, pulling his multi-tool from the bag as he tilted the mesh can to take a look at it. It would be a pain to do, but cutting a door in the side of it would make it easier to feed in sticks to keep the fire going.


    After he exposed the wire cutters on the tool he paused for a moment, wondering if it was worth the effort. The brief instance of hesitation, however, was quickly brushed aside and be began to cut though each link in the mesh. It was tedious, sure, but sitting on the ground in the shade was a nice way to break up the day. He hadn¡¯t quite realized it till now, but this was the first day in quite a while that he had to sit down and rest from all of his running and complicit schemes.


    The breeze was light, the bugs that buzzed around and inspected the foliage were docile enough and there was the floral aroma of many kinds of flower in the air. He had managed to cut about midway down the bin when another particular scent popped out of the swirling odours. Another nostalgic aroma, but this one was much kinder and more beautiful than what was previously experienced. It was his mum¡¯s favorite flower: Sage.


    He smiled to himself as he allowed his mind to take itself back to it¡¯s memories of Mom. She just adored the plant, using the dried leaves to make potpourri and light teas as well as decorating the garden with the living plant with it¡¯s blue, violet and pink flower buds. Fritz also recalled photos of the younger versions of his parents on their hikes, the flower present on the straps of his father¡¯s pack and in his mother¡¯s hair. A long, bitter-sweet sigh escaped from The Chemist as the early memory was unpacked from a dusty recess in his brain.


    As he clipped away more of the mesh, a shoddy ¡®door¡¯ began to form in the side of the waste basket. His hand was starting to cramp a bit from using the tool. It, after all, was designed to have many tools built into it; however, that came at the price of being less comfortable and effective at doing the jobs the individual tools would have excelled at.


    ¡®No matter,¡¯ He thought, as he let his focus and eyes wander. It wasn¡¯t too big of a deal and it would be temporary until a better solution was found. As he let his sight drift he noticed the clump of sage that he had been smelling, sitting in a patch of sunlight just at the very edge of the oak¡¯s shade. It looked a bit out of place to him, considering how well planned the gardens were. It was just off one of the cobbled paths where grasses would normally grow and the plant was growing around one of the iron fence posts. Perhaps some lucky seeds dropped from a bird made it grow there? It was unlikely but not impossible.


    However, as he payed more attention he noticed there were several similar groupings of the plant throughout the courtyard. He was a bit confused but he didn¡¯t think more of it and finished up his vandalism of the bin. A younger child version of himself would have placed it onto his head like some kind of pretend knight¡¯s helmet. He let a slight smile come to his face again as he placed it in the dirt and began stacking up the tinder on top of the kindling and then placed the progressively heavier firewood in a ¡®tent¡¯ above that.


    Around this time The Fox Woman had come back, her return heralded by the squeaking hydraulic arm on the glass door that lead into the yard. He turned to acknowledge her arrival but was immediately gob-smacked with surprise. The expectation he had was for her to return with fruits but, instead, her mouth and hands were tinged with red and clutched in the fingers of one of them were two rabbits.


    Fritz was a little bit shocked and a light chill of fear scuttled down his spine at the sight, like the look of a predator after a kill. He suddenly realized that was precisely what he was looking at. Sage was most certainly an efficient and confident hunter, a clear truth now that she had, apparently, ran down and killed rabbits in such a short span of time. Yet, she smiled in an unintentionally macabre way, the viscera in sharp contrast to her¡­ previously unnoticed and sharp teeth. She had teeth similar to that as the average human but her canines were much longer and came to finer points, slotting neatly against the bicuspids. It was¡­ a bit unnerving and uncanny to see on a person once noticed.


    ¡°See! Fitz! Fassmeat.¡± She presented the rabbits proudly before passing them off into her other hand and reaching into her bag and pulling out an orange: ¡°and tree meats.¡±


    The Chemist swallowed his surprise and the mild, primal terror, attempting to return her smile: ¡°That¡­ is great, um¡­ why did you get rabbits?¡±


    She looked at the small, lifeless mammals for a moment before sitting down next to Fritz and laying them out before him: ¡°Rahbits? Oh¡­¡±


    ¡°Hungry too,¡± The Fox Woman said, pointing to herself before she dumped the rest of her harvest from the hide bag.


    ¡°Ahh¡­ I see. Do you happen to eat those¡­ raw?¡± Fritz said with another wave of nausea rising up his chest to his throat.


    ¡°Rah?¡±


    ¡°Yes, raw, uncooked. It¡­ ah¡­ hmm,¡± He paused as he tried to think of a way to explain what ¡®cooking¡¯ was to this woman but, he realized, it would be better to just show her.


    ¡°I¡¯ll show you and explain. Just watch and don¡¯t touch this;¡± He gestured to the trashcan with the unlit fire, tapping the mesh with a short stick: ¡°It will get very hot, though you can¡¯t see it.¡±


    She nodded quietly, the pupils of her eyes widening a bit and her tail swishing a few times across the soil. The ¡®rabbits¡¯ were easy enough to catch¡­ if she caught something more difficult¡­ maybe she would learn something even more interesting. She wasn¡¯t sure if that is how the Oddear shared things, but, Fritz seemed to understand.


    He cleared his throat and dragged the bottles filled with water out of the satchel and began pouring the liquid into the kettle. After he set the kettle on the overturned waste bin he fished the lighter from his bag, the flammable gas sparked with a hiss into a small, blue flame. Fritz heard a sharp gasp of either fright or excitement from his side as the tinder ignited and he then slowly coaxed the embers into flame by feeding the thin twigs into the heart of it and gently blowing onto the new coals. It took a few moments for the flame to grow into it¡¯s own sustaining fire, but it hungrily consumed the sticks and the licking tendrils of heat began to stroke the bottom of the trash bin.


    Turning his attention to the oranges he peeled one and - not able to control himself any longer - squeezed the juices of it into his mouth. His lips puckered at the citrus liquid and an unbidden groan of euphoria escaped from him as the flavour exploded across his tongue. Fresh fruit¡­ another luxury that he had forgotten and previously taken for granted until now. He then began to drop the pulp and the rind into the pot before pausing, noticing some flowers nestled along with the oranges.


    ¡°Huh¡­ more Sage.¡± He murmured, picking up one of the flowers delicately between thumb and fore-finger. It was curious that she had brought back a few of them.


    Fritz exchanged the flower for another fruit to to exsanguinate, looking at the woman for a few moments while he thought and consumed. She was being a bit fidgety, her eyes darting between himself and the fire that was slowly growing in intensity, the blood around her mouth slowly drying and becoming crusty. Frankly, he couldn¡¯t bear to take the ichor spatter seriously anymore, pulling out another bottle of water and a rag from his satchel.


    Dousing the ripped cloth he turned to The Fox Woman, presenting the dampened rag to her: ¡°Here, wipe the blood from your face.¡±


    With a nod she took the cloth and began to delicately scrub the gore from her face while Fritz continued to talk: ¡°So, I take it you have planted all of the Sage in this garden. Do you like this kind of flower? Is that why you gathered them?¡±


    She gave another nod: ¡°Like how they look¡­ also smell.¡± Then she paused for a moment, the blood wiped from her face before she grabbed one of the flowers.


    ¡°Whats ¡®plant-ed¡¯? ¡®N ¡®flower¡¯? They have names?¡±


    Fritz stood up and moved to one of the sage patches to pluck a few of the leaves from the stocks, speaking as he did so: ¡°By ¡®planted¡¯ I mean the action of placing a plant in the ground so it can grow. Some of them grow flowers and, yes, us ¡®Oddears¡¯ like to name things so that we have a better understanding about them and how they connect with other things. At least¡­ it makes it easier to understand them, which is still a difficult process¡­ an unending, but fulfilling one.¡±


    He returned to the kettle, the water letting off slight tendrils of steam from it¡¯s open top and he dropped the leaves inside: ¡°How do you like the name of this plant? Sage¡­ would you like to share that name?¡±


    Her ears flicked once and she looked down at the flower in her blood flecked fingers: ¡°Things¡­ can share names?¡±


    The Chemist allowed himself another light smile and he nodded to her before turning to kneel before the fire to stoke it with more fuel: ¡°Yes, that they can. It¡¯s common for thousands of Oddears to be given the same name by their parents. Sage, as well, is a name given to a lot of related plants, though, they have more names we use to tell them apart.¡±


    Replacing the kettle lid, he sat back and began to peel open another fruit to eat, the rediscovered pleasure of flavour overriding his worry about eating too much food. The tea, he had hoped, would help his stomach. All in all, he thought, this wasn¡¯t the worst thing he had faced, even if the starvation was the closest thing to killing him¡­ aside from being blown to pieces.


    ¡°Alright, can you pull the skin off of the rabbits? I¡¯ll show you what cooking is.¡± He gestured to the two dead rodents and then grabbed one of the longer sticks he had gathered  and began to sharpen one of the ends into a shallow point.


    Sage set about as she was ordered, though her method was a bit barbaric: using her teeth to rip open the pelt behind the neck before ripping off the skin with the ease of someone taking off a soaked sock. Presented to him were the naked animals before he had even finished his whittling, their bare muscle glistening in the air. Fritz, trying to recall his father¡¯s attempts at training him to dress an animal, flicked out the blade on his knife and began to cut out the internal organs of the creature. All he needed to do, he remembered, was not to cut open the stomach or intestines and taint the meat.


    After a bit, he had pulled all of the gibbets and awful from what was once the animal¡¯s chest and abdominal cavity, pausing for a moment to pull out what he was reasonably sure was the heart and the liver. Then, satisfied that he had done to the best of his skills, he spitted the rabbit and propped the end of the stick against the back of the cut trash bin and waited for the flesh to cook. He set about gutting the next one, placing the livers in the kettle and leaving the hearts on the the flat metal bottom of the bin to cook, the water in the kettle coming to a roiling boil.


    As the fire burn down to blistering hot coals and the juices of the rabbit dripped down onto them, an intoxicating aroma began to envelop the two squatting around the fire. Fritz¡¯s own mouth was threatening to spill a river of saliva from the smell and Sage seemed to be in a similar yet more novel state of anticipation of the meal. He wondered what it would be like to have eaten everything raw for your entire life and to, for the very first time, witness your food being cooked and to wonder what it tasted like.


    She turned to him, pointing at the browning meat on the stick: ¡°Wh-what makes it smell like¡­ this?¡±


    Swallowing the saliva he nodded at the cooking meat: ¡°Cooking meat or¡­ cooking anything to eat, breaks down the proteins and fats¡­¡± he trailed off, noticing the confusion on his companion¡¯s face before revising his lecture: ¡°See¡­ it¡­ makes the meat¡­ less tough so it¡¯s easier to eat and your stomach¡­ get¡¯s full quicker. That smell is it cooking.¡±


    He scowled at himself, trying to figure out some way to tell her that breaking down the complex proteins in meat makes it easier to digest. He can¡¯t quite recall from where he heard it - most likely from somewhere in his university schooling - but, it was that cooking food allowed our stomaches to grow smaller so our brains could grow bigger. Less effort by our bodies to process food meant more time to spend on recognizing patterns and honing our tool use. Fire was humanity¡¯s technological catalyst, indeed; but Fritz wouldn¡¯t realize till some years later how apropos this truly was.


    However, Sage seemed to understand, nodding enthusiastically: ¡°Whens it done?¡±


    Fritz shook his head, his self doubt fading a slight amount as he looked to his watch; suddenly realizing that was worthless as he had never cooked over an open flame. As he looked up from his watch the kettle began to lightly whistle before becoming a keen wail, a white blast of steam coming from the goose-neck spout. He jumped up and took the kettle off the homemade hob and set it on the ground, the whistle dying with a whimper as he set it aside to cool.


    Before too long, after pulling the meat off the coals several times to cut it open to check if it was done, the rabbit eventually was. He gave the lot to Sage to eat while he poured the strange brew into one of the empty bottles, taking a cautious swig of the hot beverage. It was of a bizarre flavour, the combination of liver, herb and citrus giving him pause as to what he was thinking for making such a concoction. He was hungry enough to not care over much, but, in better times this would be the last thing he would consider doing to a perfectly good kettle.


    Sage, on the other hand, was wolfing down the rabbit with ecstatic glee and Fritz spitted the other one and placed it over the coals. From the long walk this morning to the more recent culinary endeavors, the chemist was feeling close to collapse from all the little events of the day. He sat back against the massive trunk of the oak and slowly drank his strange tea.


    In another thirty minutes the fire was put out and all the food and tea was consumed. Sage had experienced the first meal of what would become a life-long habit of cooked food and the use of fire. To say that she was elated would be a complete understatement, the smoked taste of the meat and the warmth it had while she ate it was a revelation. The fascination she had with Oddears would be more valuable to her than she could have ever known.


    Fritz, finding some luck as he continued his previous search for a place to sleep, found a teachers lounge of sorts. It didn¡¯t have any windows, which gave him some peace of mind, but, that meant there was hardly any light. What it lacked in light it made up for with shelving, some dead appliances and, most importantly, a couch in what appeared to be decent condition. From here he fantasized in his drowsy state: he would scavenge and build up a neat and tidy ¡®post-apocalyptic¡¯ home base of sorts. The kind of thing that showed up in those movies and books his father had once adored.


    For the first time in a while, perhaps due to the lack of security and comfort over these past years, he truly felt as though he was where he belonged. There was no danger from society here, just the threat of the natural world. It was a predictable, honorable danger that never smote you in the back or slowly crushed you with a parasitic regime. Here, with no one to hold obligations and responsibility to, he truly was free and left to his own devices. With his knowledge and supplies; along with the decaying ruins of this foreign civilization he could, in time, build anything he desired to create. The power and materials where all there for Fritz alone to exploit.


    As he laid on the couch, fading into a comfortable, warm sleep he had a thought that made him clownishly giddy. Though, he could scarcely remember what made him so happy come the morning.


    ¡®Maybe I was wrong¡­ perhaps this is my Heaven.¡¯

 VI - A Peaceful Interlude

    For the first time since he could remember Fritz awoke feeling well rested and generally unworried. Thankfully he had the good sense to appreciate the moment, stretching out and letting his mind stay at ease for once. He looked out into the hallway, remembering he had left the door open so that light could still get into what would be an otherwise dark and isolating room.


    Normally he wouldn¡¯t have been able to sleep with a door held wide to the outside world, but, he felt safe enough under the watch of Sage. If her senses were as sharp as he suspected she would be able to warn him of danger. As he was laying there he laid an arm over his eyes, deciding he would sleep a while longer and take advantage of the day. However, The moment he did so he caught a whiff of his own body odour that had been festering for an unbecoming amount of time.


    Violently blowing out the air he had just breathed in; Fritz stood up from his couch and groaned at the stench. Now that his mind was at ease he was beginning to realize how uncomfortable and disgusting he felt. His face felt crusty from sleep and filth whilst his greasy skin felt like it was beginning to bond with his clothing and his scalp was starting to itch ferociously as he became conscious of his unwashed state.


    He thought he would spend the rest of the day exploring the small town; both to assure himself it was safe as it appeared and to hopefully find some much needed supplies. As he unpacked some of his belongings to lighten the load he noticed that Sage had apparently left him a gift as he slept. Sitting on a counter next to a rather decrepit looking microwave was a small pyramid of oranges and a small bundle of sage leaves.


    He paused for a moment and smiled at the gesture, taking a few of the fruits and placing them in his bag so he could eat them during his scavenging. Before he left he checked Sage¡¯s room, but, it seems that she had also left to do her odd version of relic hunting. Though he did meander around her horde for any kind of soap or toiletries, she didn¡¯t seem to have an interest in those kinds of items or hadn¡¯t found any. Either way, that was another item he would need to find for both his comfort and long-term survival.


    Checking his watch as he left he saw it was close to nine-o¡¯-clock and he planned on coming back around noon to wait out the hottest part of the day. As he looked to the horizon, he thought that perhaps he could stay out all day as he saw massive, dark clouds starting to puff up on the horizon. Then again¡­ getting caught out in a storm again, even over the relatively short run back to The University, wouldn¡¯t be the best for his health.


    ¡°I shouldn¡¯t take too many risks,¡± He mulled over to himself before humming as he thought a bit deeper about his situation: ¡°Yeah, I¡¯ll just check a few streets then.¡±


    He paused as he walked down the steps to the street, his hand coming up to rub the stubble that had been growing on his face. He wondered if maybe he should slow down a bit now that he was in a better location. After-all: he had a steady supply of food from the orchards and Sage¡¯s hunting ability, plenty of water from the evident frequency of rainstorms and a decently sized village to, with some luck, scavenge whatever else he needed.


    After reaching the street he stopped again and realized he still had several floors of the university that he was too tired to search the previous day. He turned back and as his sandaled foot touched upon the first step he hesitated and looked down the rambling lane he had intended to walk down. There were a few shops on either side of the pavement, perhaps to cater to the students of the school, but, the immediate area around the school was dedicated to small gardens and a rather small parking-lot devoid of it¡¯s usual residents. He did seem to have all the time in the world¡­ and he would need something to do while the rainstorm passed.


    Fritz rubbed his eyes as he started his nonchalant walk down the avenue, reflecting that his situation was entirely novel to him. Sure, his pressed enlistment as a guerrilla demolitions expert wasn¡¯t dissimilar, but, here¡­ it felt more eerie rather than desperate. A village like this should have been filled with sleepy, peaceful residents, but the streets were abandoned, save for the odd tenacious plants growing up through the cobbles. Again he felt a small pang of sadness for a time that he wish he could have appreciated more. He was, he feared, still as alone as he had felt back in the city. The peculiar people of this land did not erect these structures and, stranger still; all but one of them deemed it more proper to live like a savage paleolithic tribe rather then take up residence in the town.


    Now, here was he, pillaging what was left behind by the people that built this village and then left it to vanish into time. The thought made him pause and he peered into one of the shop windows, a bakery by the looks of the equipment and furniture, devoid of the products and the once familiar scent of fresh made pastries. It was a sad sight and made The Chemist wonder what could have made these people collectively pack up and leave such a beautiful place.


    Unfortunately, that question had a familiar answer amongst all the possibilities. It didn¡¯t take long for a town to become gravely once all the dissident class had vanished. Then, like a parasite, secretive strangers would show up and pretend like nothing was wrong or even amiss in the world. As if no one else actually knew. As if everyone wasn¡¯t paranoid of who might hear unguarded words. Before too long the most hardy amongst his neighbors and their families embarked on a frontiersman-like journey into the wilderness. The rest - too timid, cowardly or meek - simply complied until living in a small town, artificially, became too inconvenient and everyone moved to the cities. Including himself.


    Ironically, his current situation wouldn¡¯t have been too different; had he the confidence to join those in the wilds. It would have been best, however, if the corruption was routed out before it became the sinister evil it blossomed into. Some of that responsibility was on him¡­ the tragic part was that something could have been done and was not.


    He sighed at his regretful thoughts and continued down the road, passing by the small stores. There wasn¡¯t much hope that they would be worth breaking into, judging by the bare shelves and displaced furnishings he saw initially. It was the residential houses that he was after, figuring that the average person wouldn¡¯t have been as particular about what they took with them compared to the average entrepreneur. At least when it came to mundane care products, was his hope.


    The first few houses were not favourable to his search, though he did find the odd chemical below some of the kitchen sinks. Some drain cleaner in one home, bottles of bleach and ammonia glass cleaner in another, all manner of assorted household cleaners, insecticides and a rare half-full bottle of laundry detergent. Most of them he decided to leave behind, save for the detergent. The drain cleaner and the ammonia would be useful for making some explosives with a few other ingredients, but, he didn¡¯t think he needed worry about that. Perhaps for a good bit of fun in the future, at the very most. There would be time enough to make the most of such freedom.


    Fritz thought himself lucky when he spotted canned food in a few of the cupboards he looked into halfheartedly. Though, his optimism was doused when he saw the rusty stain around the base of the cans that had succumbed to the humidity. The cans that were intact - from the outside - often had this sinister, but ever so slight bulge in the top and bottom of the can: signs of contamination, without a doubt. Any dry foods that were left were torn opens by small animals or made into nests by tiny bugs.


    In much the same way, the next dozen houses he searched a thoroughly as he could manage. Each one was similar to the last, down to the cold atmosphere of each building. There wasn¡¯t clearly something wrong with each household. All the furniture was in relative order, despite the dust, bugs and patches of rot. However, each one had a similar quality to walking into hotel room: disinteresting, impersonal and vaguely spooky. Any of the markers that would have implied a home instead of a house were long gone. Personal items and trinkets were gone; at least the ones that he could tell had some semblance of sentimental value, such as pictures, trinkets and jewelery. It was some kind of sign, but of what remained to be seen.


    Meanwhile, in the distance, he could hear the grumbling of thunder approaching, like some stumbling giant¡¯s footsteps. In the end he managed to find a half-bottle of hand-soap as well as a bar of some lavender scented soap - still in it¡¯s package - along with a couple of items that would be just as useful. Two kitchen knives, a couple spoons and forks, a pair of socks - mismatched in colour and size, of course - and a couple of bath-towels. It truly was better than nothing, but he was still concerned and that unease grew with each room he checked. It was starting to feel like after the original residents left some roving bands of scavengers, much like himself, picked through the houses for anything remotely valuable.


    But why was everything else still in such relative order if that was the case?


    Between him and the last house he had the will to search, Fritz sat down and split open the oranges he brought with him. Things were peacefully quiet in this town - aside from the various rodents he¡¯d found - but the questions kept on mounting and he was afraid that there would come to the point where there wouldn¡¯t be an answer to any of them. He wanted to shift his focus elsewhere¡­ then again, this world was just bizarre enough that he couldn¡¯t. Some new and esoteric detail would come up and confound him the longer he wandered this world.


    He let out a sigh and laid down on the stairs, allowing himself the luxury of a stretch and a small break before he got up again. Fishing another orange from his bag he looked to the storm approaching on the horizon, grey sheets of rain pounding the earth beneath it¡¯s shadow.


    ¡°¡¯Weather systems you can set your watch too¡­¡¯ huh.¡± He quoted before he popped another slice of orange in his mouth. It was an absurd statement, even for a marketing campaign¡­ but there was that stove in that barber shop. Had they actually cracked Nuclear Fusion various kinds of monstrous machinery could be easily powered. If automated and set up right, electricity could hardly ever become scarce. From there¡­ imagination and the speed of innovation was the only limit.


    Fritz had some sort of hypothesis, but until he found a way to reliably sustain himself and a way to gather more information there just wasn¡¯t time to test it. Information happened to be a wrinkle, he hadn¡¯t found any books yet and the computers he had seen required power. The power seemed to be interrupted for everything except what was attached to the main grid. There had to be something deeper that he just hasn¡¯t seen yet to explain why. There had to be.


    The Chemist stood up and walked to his final house, giving another glance at the tumultuous horizon. Maybe when he got home he would start documenting the weather, see if there was some sort of pattern. What that would tell him, Fritz had very little clue. It would do to keep his mind occupied at the very least.


    Pausing, he realized that if the weather had a consistent pattern and if he recorded it; he would have no shortage of water and there was plenty of value of knowing when and where a storm would hit. He nodded and let out a huff of satisfaction, glad to give himself some sort of extended goal. Not to mention, it wouldn¡¯t be too hard at all. All the effort he would have to expend would be remembering to write it down and looking at his watch every so often.Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    Beyond his meteorological goal; the final house was a disappointment and he didn¡¯t feel like searching beyond the foyer upon seeing that the place was mostly cleared out. The last thing he did was drag out a dead potted plant to leave on the stoop; marking that house as the furthest he¡¯d explored. He figured he would do the same tomorrow: ransacking every building he came across and taking what seemed useful. Sighing out his disappointment he turned back towards his new home, reasoning that he had gotten at least a little bit of what he wanted. In the next moment an almighty crash of thunder paired with a blinding flash of lightning split the sky above him, the dark clouds swallowing up the sun and plunging the town into an artificial twilight.


    Fritz broke into a sprint, the sound of the downpour chasing him up the street before it overtook him and dumped fat raindrops all around him. Swearing he held his satchel over his head, bemoaning that he didn¡¯t bring his rain slicker for this very likelihood. The cascade of rain was joined by a tempestuous gust of wind whipping through the streets, kicking up the standing water into a wave of drenching spray.


    Making it back to the row of shops, he burst inside and slammed the door against the maelstrom outside. Panting from his short sprint and clothes soaked from the split heavens, Fritz slung his bag onto the ground, not wanting to soak the towels before he¡¯d the chance to wash. To his surprise the building he crashed into was some sort of hardware shop and even more surprising was that there were still a few products inter-spaced on the shelves. Nothing that was readily usable, but, usable none-the-less.


    On one shelf there were a few bottles of stump remover, the label in a legible condition: ¡®Silvester¡¯s Accelerated Stump Stopper.¡¯ It was a bit of an ACME-esque label, but flipping the bottle around the chemical ingredients were the same as the similar products in his old life. A sad smile worked his way to his face as he read the main ingredient: ¡®Potassium Nitrate.¡¯ It was his first real exposure to oxidizing agents and he recalled the chemistry guides and books he had taken to in his early teenage years.


    It was one of those ¡®Home Experiment¡¯ books from the nineteen-fifties, covering topics of physics, biology, chemistry and general ¡®cool¡¯ interactions. Among all the ¡®family-friendly¡¯ experiments, there were a few rather dangerous ones which immediately became his favorites as he worked through all the steps. His first foyer into which was mixing a ground up oxidizer with Sugar¡­ way too much of both ingredients, in fact. So much so that the entire barn that he had taken to making experiments in got filled with smoke so dense he couldn¡¯t see a hand in front of his face.


    Only after the fact did he realize how dangerous of a situation he had put himself in. The barn was full of fuel that, in his ignorance, he had put his life on chance. It was one of the few times he¡¯d seen his father in a state of legitimate anger, once the danger was doused. It was not one of loud aggression, but one of cold silence and fierce stares. He hadn¡¯t even issued a punishment towards him in that moment, just the glare was enough for Fritz to abandon his chemistry experiments.


    For a few months, at least.


    Continuing down the aisles he took a mental list of all that was in here. Sulfur, Pool Chlorine, Paint Stripper, canisters of Acetone, all sorts of wondrously useful things. Chlorinated solvents, black powder, chloroform¡­ another earsplitting crash of thunder ruined his list of potential compounds he could make and Fritz peeked out the window at the sheets of rain outside. He let out a low grumble before realizing that the rain was letting up after-all. The storm seemed to be just a quick, but violent squall.


    The pounding sounds from the rain upon the roof began to subside, replaced in volume by the gurgling of the gutters trying to manage the downpour. Before too long he should be able to get home without getting overly soaked. That thought made him pause and he listened to the receding claps of thunder before an idea struck him. Dropping his bag he stripped off his clothes and darted outside, the packaged soap in hand. At the corner of the building was the downspout for the whole gutter system. It took a few tugs to pull down and surely he looked completely mental; naked and trying to dismantle part of the house in a storm. However, it was convenient at the very least.


    The water was chilly but refreshing as it poured over his head and a reflexive gasp escaped from him as it began to run down his body. The soap, however, disintegrated the moment it came out of it¡¯s package and made contact with the rainwater. He ended up smearing the entire bar on his body and mushing it into his hair, finding the dissolving soap to be more trouble than it was worth.


    After some furious scrubbing he was able to lather off all the grit and oils that had been stuck to his body. Fritz felt a newfound appreciation for how clean he felt and he stood underneath the damaged gutters, enjoying the sensation despite his teeth beginning to chatter. He could only imagine how a heated shower with proper pressure would feel at this moment, but, he was none-the-less satisfied. A thought came to him as he loitered underneath the slowly receding wash from the roof. Surely he could make his own soap? He would need to come across a source of lye and good amount of oils, but it was a good long term solution.


    A long shiver went through him and he hobbled his way back into the hardware store and dried off. It was a bit dissatisfying to put on his wet, filthy office clothes and his cobbled together shoes, but, what could he do? He didn¡¯t quite have the immodest habits of Sage¡¯s people nor had he found any replacement clothing. None that was acceptable enough in size or condition to wear, at least. Washing them with some of that detergent he found would have to wait.


    Outside the storm had eased into a gentle but consistent drizzle but the sounds of thunder still echoed over the surrounding landscape. It seemed like it would be like this for the rest of the day, so, The Chemist called his rummaging there and retraced his steps back to the school building. Unfortunately, he could hear the claps of thunder regaining their ferocity and he could see through the rainy gloom the streaks of lightning off in the distance. Hopefully tomorrow would be a dry day, he had thought as he walked inside the school lobby.


    He just wanted to dry off and relax, the familiar sensation of fatigue starting to weigh him down after such minor exertions. Fritz was off-handedly wondering if he would ever reach a satisfying level of fitness, looking down at his wiry frame. In the next moment, however, he was blindsided from his right and landed in a heap in the middle of the hallway. A tight knot of panic began to strangle his chest and he fished for his sidearm in an attempt to stay away his death. It wasn¡¯t one of those Reptilians, as he didn¡¯t feel scales, but felt flesh. Was it one of Sage¡¯s people coming to attack him? Did they see him as that much of a threat?


    His hand managed to clear the firearm from it¡¯s holster and he was about to fire when he realized it was just Sage. She was trembling incessantly, her sharp nails digging into his shoulder and bicep; threatening to draw blood. It was a bizarre experience, seeing the woman in such a state. That air of competence and kindness was replaced with an uncharacteristic display of terror. It was¡­ pitiful.


    ¡°Hey, hey, hey, Sage. What¡¯s wrong?¡± Fritz said softly, trying his best to calm her down.


    He wasn¡¯t comfortable with this kind of close contact and nervously holstered the pistol before letting his hands rest on her shoulders. There hadn¡¯t been the occasion for him to comfort anybody in ages and Sage was in such a state of distress. Her eyes were wide and her pupils were nearly the size of her malachite irises, breath shortened to fearful pants.


    ¡°Fitz¡­ whats¡­ loud flash?¡± She gasped out, her breath rankling his nose from being so close.


    ¡°What? Thunder?¡±


    ¡°WHATS-¡®HUNDER!?¡± She shouted; her hands tightening and driving her fingernails through his shirt and into his skin, small beads of blood welling up around the punctures.


    ¡°CHRIST!¡± He shouted out in pain: ¡°Sage, Sage! Stop, you need to calm down!¡±


    The fear in her eyes receded just a bit and her claws withdrew from his flesh: ¡°Whats¡­ -¡®hunder?¡±


    Then his coaxing was immediately undone by a sudden flash followed quickly by a clap of thunder. Sage¡¯s hands came to her ears and she belted out keening scream and that is when he spotted a chance to get out of her grasp. He swung his fist towards her jaw with as much speed as he could muster, knuckles scraping against her teeth after the strike narrowly hit her chin.


    The unexpected blow rather than the power of it surprised Sage enough that Fritz could get out from underneath her. He felt a twinge of regret at striking the closest person he had to companionship in this world. Without thinking but still wanting to comfort he gave her a gentle hug, saying as calmly as he could:


    ¡°Sage. It¡¯s just thunder. It¡¯s just thunder. You are safe inside a house. You are inside a house.¡±


    Trembling with her eyes squeezed tightly shut she whimpered: ¡°Whats-¡®hunder?¡±


    Fritz was a bit taken aback now that he really heard her requests. It was a terribly bizarre thing when he looked back on it in retrospect. In spite of being so fearful of a powerful natural phenomenon she still wanted to know what it was. Perhaps some subconscious understanding that if she knew the unknown she would be less afraid. Now, however, he tried to answer her despite his confusion:


    ¡°Well¡­ big clouds have a lot of¡­ energy or power in them. The ground has an opposite energy. When the cloud¡­ energy touches the ground¡­ energy, it makes a whole lot of heat¡­ fire. Fire so powerful it makes that loud sound, like when you clap you hands but larger.¡±


    It was <i>technically</i> a correct explanation. He didn¡¯t realize how abstract electricity tends to act and with how many sections of science a simple thunderstorm can cover. The sound waves, the raw power of the natural world, electrostatic discharge and meteorology were all deeply involved in Fritz¡¯ mind. It was difficult to make a simple explanation from that vast amalgamation of disciplines.


    ¡°Hows house safe?¡± She said, seeming to understand the danger at the very least.


    The Chemists mind blanked on how to explain grounding to her and he simply said: ¡°The house blocks the energy from hitting the ground.¡±


    She still looked very panicked and frightful, so, Fritz grabbed her by the shoulders and said:


    ¡°Listen. Odd-ears know things, right?¡±


    She nodded her head once.


    ¡°Okay. And do you see that I am not scared of the thunder?¡±


    She nodded again.


    ¡°See. You¡¯re safe because I know we¡¯re safe.¡±


    She nodded a couple more times, picking up speed with her gesture as she began to understand him.


    ¡°Here, come on, let¡¯s get further inside the building. It will be less loud there.¡±


    She quietly stood up, hands still covering her ears. How she heard him through her hands; Fritz could only assume was that Sage¡¯s hearing was just that keen. The odd pair, one gently guiding the other, took refuge in the interior of the building. Light was rapidly fading as the second storm began in earnest, enhancing the cold gloom of the shadows. The Chemist¡¯s knuckles stung severely and he later had to tend to the avulsions that her sharp teeth caused. His arm and shoulder were scratched up but Sage, on the other-hand, was physically fine but still heavily anxious.


    Here, within the building, the great claps of thunder were only a light, bass-like tremble from beyond the walls. Fritz once again used the flashlight on his firearm as a lamp with a fair amount of worry that his curious companion would be entranced by it. Though, as it turned out, she was so spooked that she simply sat on the couch in silence.


    ¡®Candles,¡¯ He mused: ¡®I need to see about finding candles or maybe a lamp.¡¯


    The battery is too important to waste even if he detached it from the gun. It also just didn¡¯t feel right to be sitting in the spotlight of a barrel. Even so, he sat in that anxious position and took the salvage out of his bag in order to dry it. The same went for his shirt, the cooling air and the soaked clothing starting to chill him. The second towel was dry enough to drape over his shoulders like a child¡¯s approximation of a cape.


    Sage had buried her head underneath one of the cushions and, more or less, shut down. Either she fell asleep or she just needed to isolate herself for a while. Fritz reasoned that she just needed to ride out her emotions for a little bit longer, so he left her to it. The rain pelted down for the rest of the day, the air cooling slowly as time passed. In the meantime, he retrieved his journals and some rags to clean the drying blood from his scrapes. Today was more stressful than he initially hoped, so, he fell on his habit and started jotting down notes. It felt like once he wrote his thoughts down his mind became less jumbled. As if he was removing the thoughts to make space for others. In a way, it was therapeutic that he had a record that he could always look back on.


    After-all¡­ it could be the only evidence of Fritz ever being in this world.


    Sage eventually got up from her catatonic rest only to stand up and lay down on the floor in the back corner of the room. For the briefest of moments he considered asking why she preferred the ground to a piece of furniture but, it hardly felt prompt to ask. There was quiet, at least; save for the scratching of pencil on paper and the receding reports of heavenly artillery.

 VII - The Reformation of The Academy

    <i>Day One: Pneuma?


    9th(?) October


    The plan almost worked. I was found and killed, somehow resurrected in a strange place.</i>


    <i>Day Four:


    It¡¯s probably some marketing scheme to sell magazines and fashion, but, if it¡¯s true that the weather is controlled such that ¡®you can set your watch to it¡¯, then, I don¡¯t know, it could be useful. I¡¯m not sure if there are seasons or if the pattern takes a month to redo, a year or several years, I¡¯m not familiar with meteorology either. If I¡¯m lucky the previous people would have made a schedule for the weather and if I¡¯m luckier still, I might be able to find one. Sage, as the both of us have decided on her name, is terrified of thunder. I wonder why that is? Either it¡¯s her animal features making it much too loud for her. Then again, maybe it¡¯s something to do with how primitive of a culture her people have.</i>


    <i>This world is largely quiet, filled with the sounds of the natural world. The only interruption would have to be thunderstorms, which can be pretty dangerous to be in. The wind, the lightning, getting chilled from the rain. Thunder is also very sudden as well. I¡¯ve never been scared of thunderstorms, I find them rather nice when I¡¯m indoors. But, I¡¯ve also been exposed to plenty of sudden and loud sounds compared to Sage. Car horns, backfires, fireworks, gunfire¡­ maybe the cavemen of old had a similar fear of thunder? When I think about it, lightning is quite the terrifying event. There¡¯s not really much quite like it in the world.</i>


    <i>I need to wash my clothes, find some basin to collect water, find some better light sources and also a damned pair of shoes.


    I¡¯m glad to have found this campus. I¡¯ll do a walk around the building for the rest of the day, see if there¡¯s anything useful around. I wonder if there¡¯s a chemistry lab in here. If so, maybe I¡¯ll move in there. That¡¯d be nice.</i>


    <i>That makes me wonder if I can get power to run in this building, somehow? If I can get power maybe I can get water to run? I¡¯m not sure about water, if it does work it wouldn¡¯t be clean, I don¡¯t think. Then again, the old civilization may have had an advanced water purification facility somewhere around here? I don¡¯t know how to get one of those running¡­ I¡¯m also not an electrician, so, if the power is disrupted that badly there¡¯s not a whole lot of hope there, really.</i>


    <i>I guess I will see. At any rate, it¡¯s safe enough here.</i>


    <i>Note to myself: Leave the next couple pages blank for weather notes. Maybe find another blank book just for weather updates.</i>


    <i>Day One: Sunny and very hot, no clouds, steady downpour at around midnight


    Day Two: Overcast, hot, heavy thunderstorm in the evening


    Day Three: Sunny and Very Hot.


    Day Four: Sunny in the morning, hot, storms started around 11:45AM in the area, lasted for three hours then turned into a steady drizzle, cooling off a bit. Storm came from the south?</i>


    Fritz sighed and closed his journal. He¡¯d written very little compared to the couple of hours of thinking he was doing over the course of his short entry. By now the storms outside had settled down, turning into a steady and soaking drizzle. Sage, thankfully, was now back to her former self, more or less. She had left for about an hour - to do what, he wasn¡¯t entirely sure - but, now, she was hovering tentatively at his side, engrossed in him as well as his writing. When he shut the book she finally spoke:


    ¡°Whats flower smell on Fitz? An whats¡­ Fitz doing?¡± She asked.


    The Chemist allowed himself a small smile; sure that Sage had been absolutely itching to ask for some time now.


    ¡°Oh, that is scented soap. Odd-Ears use it with water to clean their bodies and to smell better. And I was taking notes¡­ eh¡­ writing. So I can read it later and not forget things.¡±


    Sage looked somewhat confused for a bit, probably not realizing that she would have more questions from his answer than she thought.


    ¡°Oh. Sage uses just water. Soap¡­ is better? An writ-in¡¯? Read?¡±


    Fritz frowned and rubbed his eyes, thinking for a moment before answering: ¡°Soap does a better job at washing off oils and dirt. It helps keep you healthy. As for reading and writing¡­ well¡­¡±


    He flipped his journal back open and stared at his notes for a moment. A linguist, he was not and he hadn¡¯t the foggiest idea how to explain language to someone that was unfamiliar with the concept. He¡¯d never thought about it, frankly.


    ¡°Well, you know those pictures of Odd-Ears that you showed me, Sage?¡±


    The Fox Woman nodded enthusiastically: ¡°Yes! Odd-Ear pict-ures.¡±


    ¡°If you remember, underneath them are a bunch of lines of characters that look like these:¡± Fritz tapped the page full of notes with the tip of his pencil: ¡°That is writing. Its¡­. hmm¡­ like talking without using your voice. So, writing, what I was doing is like talking and when you read the words it¡¯s like hearing someone talk even though they¡¯re not around.¡±


    She bent forward and placed a finger on one of the sentences, the graphite smudging slightly under her fingertip. Bringing the smudge finger to her face to look at it closer she then leaned in a little bit more to study the book and letters. Fritz noticed her tail swishing back in forth, stirring up the motes of dust from the floor. Then she unexpectedly turned towards him and poked at the page asking insistently:


    ¡°How Fitz read ¡®an writ-in¡¯? Can Fitz tell Sage?¡±


    Fritz grimaced at the requests he should have expected to come from her. He suddenly realized he had placed himself in the major responsibility of teaching someone an entire section of something they would have learned over their formative years. It could take years to¡­


    Then again, her pleading look obliterated any notion that he could say ¡®no¡¯: ¡°Oh, well¡­ Sage it will take quite a long time for me to teach you. Maybe months or years and I am not the best at language or teaching. Are you okay with that?¡±


    ¡°Mont¡¯s? Years?¡± She quickly asked, clearly eager to learn more before she paused, answering his question: ¡°Sage wants to know.¡±


    He let out a humored sigh and smiled as he answered: ¡°Months are made of things called ¡®weeks.¡¯ Weeks are a period of seven days, morning to night. A year is twelve months.¡±


    As he mentioned the word ¡®days¡¯ a small revelation was made to him. Timekeeping was also a good subject to teach and Sage clearly had such a concept. So, reasonably, teaching her reading and writing along with time would make it easier to conceptualize. He turned back to his journal and struck a line through ¡®Day Four¡¯ and wrote ¡®Thursday¡¯ after a bit of hesitation. It was a major assumption, but, he had to start somewhere.


    ¡°For instance, each day of the week has a different name which then repeats.¡± Fritz said as he wrote each day of the week across the heading of the page. ¡°The week starts with Monday and then ends with Sunday.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡± Sage asked.


    It was a reasonable question, surely, but Fritz had never thought about that: ¡°Oh, well¡­ that¡¯s kind of always how it¡¯s been for Odd-Ears. I think it has something to do with the stars and how they follow a pattern throughout the year.¡±


    ¡°Stars?¡± She asked again.


    ¡°When you go out at night and you see all those lights in the sky? Those are stars.¡± He wanted to elaborate on what stars actually were, but he caught himself. Only two of her questions had caused the ¡®lesson¡¯ to go well off track. Actually, what he really needed was to give her something to ¡®do.¡¯ She seemed like the type to want to practice something in order to learn it.


    ¡°Say, how about this. Would you like to see how your name is written?¡±


    ¡°Sage can writ-in¡¯ now!?¡± She said excitedly, clearly enthusiastic at the notion that she would be shown how do something so readily.


    Fritz smiled again, picking up his book and then standing up: ¡°Okay, well, let¡¯s get to a room with a window so you can have some better light.¡±


    The room they settled on was the first one they walked into. It seemed to be a general sort of classroom, the tables arranged in a broad ¡®U¡¯ shape as if some phantom lecture was being held. Despite the dreary downpour outside, there was plenty enough light from the elegant bay windows to write by. Pulling out a chair for Sage he tore a couple of pages from the back of his journal before placing them before his student and handing one of his extra pencils over to her.Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.


    ¡°Alright, so, your name is spelled like ¡®S-A-G-E¡¯ He sounded out as he wrote out the individual characters, sounding out each one as he wrote them.


    She nodded


    ¡°Alright, good, good. Now you hold the pencil between your fingers like this, right?¡±


    Fritz held his pencil and let Sage study his hand like a blueprint before she eventually had a good grip on the pencil: ¡°And all you need to do is lightly press the pointy end against the paper, then you¡¯ll leave a mark. And, if you feel like you¡¯ve made a mistake, this pink, flat end will make the mark go away with a little bit more pressure.¡±


    She looked down at the paper but then she looked back up at him for a moment and Fritz realized that she was waiting for him to show her more. However, something held him back and he returned her stare with a very soft smile and a nod. He was curious how much she understood and how confident she was with new things. When she turned back to the paper he frowned as another thought - a peculiar one, this time - crossed his mind. For whatever reason he had asked himself if this is what it was like to teach a student. He¡¯d never imagined going into teaching, though he had sometimes wondered what it would be like to have a child and how raising and teaching them would feel. It was a fleeting thought and the more he thought about he reasoned that wasn¡¯t exactly accurate to Sage. She was much more than a child, both in maturity and understanding; that much was clear to him.


    He would have to take a moment to ponder the feeling, he had compromised with his subconscious. With that promise made with himself, he put the feeling away in his mind and he paid better attention to Sage¡¯s first attempt at writing.


    She was very lightly brushing the paper with the tip of the pencil, leaving thin and light streaks as she tried to imitate the first character he had written. But, she seemed dissatisfied with that and awkwardly turned the pencil in her hands and erasing the near imperceptible marks. Remarkably, the results of her next attempt was a rather good looking start to her name and she finished it with a slow and deliberate effort. She turned with a smile and asked:


    ¡°Like this?¡±


    Fritz nodded and laid a hand on her shoulder: ¡°Yes. But, you can get a lot better at writing, especially writing faster.¡±


    He leaned forward and quickly scrawled out the alphabet in as neat of a print as he could manage as a man before writing down the name of each day. It wasn¡¯t super overwhelming, just a matching and mimicking exercise, really.


    ¡°Here, these are all the elements that make up all words. Don¡¯t worry if you don¡¯t understand them, I¡¯m just trying to get you used to writing by copying it.¡±


    Sage¡¯s ears flicked and she smiled up at him before returning her focus on yet another new experience and skill. She was so engrossed and delighted to be shown another Odd-Ear thing, particularly a thing that had confused her until recently. Whenever she was flicking through that magazine and she saw the pictures being interrupted by these odd shapes; a weird feeling of confusion and annoyance filled her. Why would Odd-Ears do this? The pictures were clearly more pretty and the faces of the Odd-Ears in them showed how content they were. Now it was clear to her that the Odd-Ears could mark their voices on anything and soon she would be able to do the same.


    So engrossed in her thoughts and her new craft that she didn¡¯t take notice of Fritz excusing himself and slipping out of the classroom. A little later did the fox woman realize his absence, but, she didn¡¯t mind overmuch. What she had been given was exciting enough to occupy her till all the pages, front and back, had been marked with her practice.


    Fritz, on the other hand, was more keen on exploring his new home while he had the will and the energy to do so. He first wanted to rummage around the basement, reasoning that there must be some way to establish power in the building. He hadn¡¯t seen the town at night quite yet, but, it made sense that the electrical miracle he saw in the city would be present here as well. Just like the city buildings; flicking the switches in the classrooms didn¡¯t yield so much as a flicker of light. The problem surely had to do with the connection to the main power infrastructure and one would probably find those in the basement. Perhaps it was just as simple as replacing some fuses¡­ however that was done, Fritz would have to figure out.


    The pitch black stairwell he was met with on the ground floor, on the other hand, convinced him he would have to start his electrician education some other day. He was a bit tired and rooting around in a dark, abandoned basement was something that would be there for him on some other day, surely. On another day without the gloom, with another light source and maybe a helping hand from Sage.


    There was a conveniently framed poster on the wall of the stairwell with a rather blocky diagram printed on it. At a closer look, it seemed to be the floor plan for the whole building. Each floor was given it¡¯s own space, each room given a number and even the doors and windows were detailed. His eyes darted down towards the two basement levels, which surprised him a bit, but, he soon understood what this building was like. On the first ¡®basement¡¯ level there was what looked like a loading dock to bring in deliveries; the rear of the building, surely, having the floor exposed to the outside world. Beneath that was what he was curious about: janitorial rooms, laundry, garbage and the all important electrical room.


    ¡°I hope there are wiring schematics down there.¡± He quietly prayed.


    The Chemist lifted the poster off the wall and popped the back of the frame out before fishing out the laminated plan. There was a self reflective, comedic moment sometime later as he was looking over the plans and leaning into every classroom he came across. For a moment he was transported back to the adventure series that he watched as a kid whilst fighting off fevers and chills. There were so many episodes that revolved around plans, maps and cyphers written on gargantuan parchments. For just a moment he relived one of his childish daydreams of being an adventurer exploring a ruin. He¡¯d somewhat forgotten till now.


    As much as he enjoyed the brief, fanciful perspective at his situation, his mind quickly switched back to the practical aspect of his task. It was less inspiring to merely be poking around a university rather than uncovering some long lost treasure. This isn¡¯t to say that there wasn¡¯t some value to each little glimpse into the discipline each class was centered around.


    There were the regular lecture halls and the standard classrooms with student seating and professor¡¯s desks. Then there were the odder themed ones. Of course there was the seamstress/fashion room that Sage was fond off. In the broad spectrum of professions there were ones that resembled kitchens, clean rooms for what seemed to be electronics, rooms populated by drafting tables, even one with medical and biological equipment. There was a startling amount of trades and skill building environments, the most sentimental of which was his own trade.


    The Chemistry Lab.


    He was incredibly relieved his first hope was well founded but there was several dozen more blessing on top of it. It was no where near a comprehensive and complete set - quite a bit of it was clearly missing - but the various windowed cabinets had a lovely amount of glassware left in it. There were pipes and gas lines that had valves at each and every station: natural gas to fuel Bunsen Burners and heating mantles as well three others. An Argon line with a bright green stripe on it, a line with a double red stripe, possibly hydrogen, and one with two different blue shades on it, seeming to be nitrous oxide.


    Fritz couldn¡¯t help but be impressed at the setup and equipment, even in it¡¯s partially looted state. Days and weeks he had to bitch and moan at his supervisors to even get half of the equipment the lucky students here got to learn with. Such is the way in those days of setting up a new energetics plant for novel explosive compounds. Not the minister or his bastard jackals understood a lick of chemistry or logistics, preferring to go off of unverified, secondhand lists of materials that some auditor claimed to be all that was needed for such a complex. Everything was behind the time-table, lying that it was all being set up on time and with shoddy equipment creating an accident just waiting to happen. But, there were no shortages of unlucky men to take the just consequences from the ignorant and ego-inflated powerful. Everything that had happened to his life and the causes of his death was just some circumstance that could be quickly covered up and forgotten about if the bureaucracy of the state had their way.


    Frankly, much of his old life was like that of a ghost that Death had yet to lay a finger upon.


    It would take a lot of effort and hopefully some acceptable trial and error, but, he was sure he could get the classroom in a form of working order. This would have to happen after he managed to secure himself a good amount of food, water and tools. Anything to keep his mind busy and sane was how he would survive in the long run.


    Finally - having explored the last that the top floor had to offer - Fritz came across another janitor¡¯s closet. It was much like the others with a few cleaning supplies and equipment, but this one had a steel ladder that lead on up to the roof. He had seen it on the plans and decided this would be the finale to tie up another rather exhausting day. The rooftop, like many large building, was cluttered with air conditioning units with their ventilation systems and the drizzling rain was gurgling off into its gutter system.


    From here he could see across the large village, the forest peaking out from the wet gloom and - if he could trust the visage well off in the distance - he could make out the towering buildings disappearing in the low flying clouds. Another pang of sorrow hit him as he saw the slowly decaying state of the world around him. Part of him could have given anything to just see this place living and breathing as it once had not terribly long ago. It was an even more morose and tragic setting than the victims of any natural or man-made disaster that he had seen. The whole world seemed to be dead and he was the only one that even slightly appreciated all that had been lost.


    He took another moment and a deep breath of the soaking atmosphere. Maybe tomorrow he would take another look at Sage¡¯s kith and kin. There was some chance that there were more like Sage and maybe a chance to have a wider circle of people to talk to. He was a guest in their land, he thought as he ducked back inside and climbed back into the institute interior.  Though, they didn¡¯t seem to care for the town that Fritz had claimed for himself. If there was no need for diplomacy or no chance at more friendship, he could at least see what kind of food was around for him to take advantage of.


    Even though it was a productive day he still didn¡¯t have a great grasp of what he should expect from this world. There wasn¡¯t enough to answer to all the questions yet.

 VIII - Neglected Bounty

    Waking up early wasn¡¯t a common event for Fritz¡¯ adult life. It was more of a habit that he had as a child, but not from the normal exuberances of youth. Far too many mornings, just as the sun was lacing up his boots for the daily shift, Young Fritz awoke feeling ill and drained from a feverish sleep. Barring the rare few weeks he felt well he spent most days reading or dozing off to the television when a book became too exhausting.


    Every time he was overwhelmed by influenza or even the most mild of pestilence it would happen in the same way. He would awake - much like he did today - at an early hour with a terrible scratchy sensation at the very back of his throat. Just like every time he would wake up and try to fool himself that he perhaps slept with his mouth open the night previous and that a gulp of water would make him feel more regular. Invariably, a few mouthfuls of water would complete the illusion he was succeeding in selling himself and the feeling would go away¡­ but only just


    After he finished off the last of the water he collected then stowed the wine bottles back in his satchel. Before he had descended back to his room he found a rather clean red bucket in that utility closet which he left on the roof to collect a bit of water the night previous. It wasn¡¯t enough to be confident in, but it was more than he had before. Fritz, however, had a growing feeling of foolishness eating at him. He was still obsessing over water, which was a given in his situation, but it rained nearly every day. Did he really need to worry about purifying and hording?


    In the end he decided it couldn¡¯t hurt. It was something to keep his mind on and with plenty of water he thought he could probably heat himself a bath or a shower at some point, somehow. That would be luxurious, indeed.


    It seemed that Fritz had woken up at dawn, the sunlight just starting to increase in intensity. The Chemist took the opportunity to sit on the front steps, appreciating the cool air and listening to the morning fowl whistle and call. He wondered a bit where Sage went off to, somewhat surprised when he couldn¡¯t find her in the building when he checked. Another bizarre behavior he would have to figure out, no doubt. Yesterday, there wasn¡¯t an apparent problem that she had with sleeping in a building. Maybe that was just stress? She was rather engrossed in her writing; practicing and such after the fact.


    In the end, there wasn¡¯t too much time for him to ponder; a figure appeared a little ways down the road that Fritz recognized as Sage. When she noticed him her relaxed walk turned into a light jog, the her bare feet hardly making a sound on the cobblestone road. He couldn¡¯t help but wince slightly when he noticed. It was fortunate it wasn¡¯t pavement like in the city and the road on the way to this town, but, he couldn¡¯t imagine the damage to his feet if he were to go barefoot.


    He took a look at his foot-ware and realized that while his shoe was fine, the rubber of the sandal was starting to come away in small chunks. It wasn¡¯t lasting as long as he would have thought; perhaps that was too much faith to put in a slab of rubber. He would have to make time to find or potentially make for himself a better pair of shoes, preferably the former.


    As Sage slowed down and gave a joyful wave Fritz stood and greeted her as well: ¡°Good Morning, Sage.¡±


    ¡°Mor-nin¡¯ Fitz.¡±


    ¡°Yes, a rather early one. Do you usually wake up around this time?¡±


    She nodded and pointed at one of the decorative trees across the road, a pair of birds bounding and hopping amongst the branches. ¡°They let me know. Wake up with them. Why¡¯s Fitz voice so¡­ odd?¡±


    ¡°Ohh, I just woke up with a sore-throat today. It will go away in a bit.¡± He said, pensively massaging his neck before shifting the conversation to something else: ¡°Do you mind showing me where your people were gathering fruit in the forest? I¡¯d like to pick more fruits and look around the area.¡±


    She was quiet for a moment, apparently deep in thought and Fritz thought that perhaps he had offended her or asked something that was taboo. Then she nodded and showed off her warm smile, disarming his worries: ¡°I show Fitz!¡±


    In her typical fashion, she skipped away towards the forest by a couple of paces before turning to watch him follow. The Chemist couldn¡¯t help but smile to himself, remembering this odd kind of dance from a couple days prior. Surely the novelty of his appearance would wear off on her soon, but, he wasn¡¯t quite confident that it would.


    During his casual tour of the country side he took the time to appreciate the views, compared to his exhausted entrance to the dense hamlet. The rolling hills and neglected farmland was almost breathtaking in the dawning light. There was a cool thickness in the air and the tall grasses had fat dew-drops weighing them down before the sun had time to dry the earth. It was a peaceful and pleasant start to the day, a blessed sensation of content drawing a tuneless whistle from his lips. He couldn¡¯t recall the last time he whistled.


    Sage took almost immediate notice of this, pausing for a couple of moments whilst her ears flicked a couple of times in his direction. As she came trotting up to him, a puzzled expression on her face, she asked: ¡°Whats Fitz doing? Making¡­ that sound.¡±


    ¡°Oh? I was just whistling. Do the other people you live with not whistle?¡±


    She shook her head a couple of times: ¡°No¡­ wistel¡­ like the¡­ the¡­ Keh-tall?¡±


    ¡°Well¡­ kind of.¡± He said, feeling a bit dazzled by this Fox Woman¡¯s curiosity. It was such a simple question, but it had a difficult answer. He wasn¡¯t a physicist, being able to explain exactly how a kettle whistle would require too much speculation than he was comfortable with. Perhaps he could accept the speculation for himself, but, he couldn¡¯t do that for a student. She deserves a more thorough answer than he could give; currently, at least.


    ¡°You remember how the kettle whistled when the water in it started to boil? Well, steam caused that. I whistle by just blowing air.¡±


    ¡°Ooohh.¡± Sage interjected: ¡°Steam? Air?¡±


    Fritz nodded to himself; impressed that she was asking about the states of matter, even if she didn¡¯t realize it. He remembered his own introduction to physics which, quite as a matter of course, lead to his introduction to his chemistry career. So, he launched into a light lecture, essentially an introduction to physics and the mechanics of the natural world. She seemed to understand the words that he was telling her, but, he wasn¡¯t sure that she had practical knowledge she could link it too. As they were walking, Fritz pulled out and started jotting down a few notes, answering questions as they came.


    <i>¡°Day Five/Friday: I told Sage about the states of matter today. She seems pretty interested, but, with all the questions she¡¯s been asking it doesn¡¯t seem like she knows the implications of what I¡¯ve been telling her. I had the thought that I should come up with some simple physics experiments to help her with that. Perhaps after she has a better grasp of reading and writing. I could also fold that in with basic arithmetic by using measurement units. Sage asked me about density in so many words, so, I¡¯ll use that as well.</i>


    <i>I wonder if this is how teachers would come up with lessons to teach?</i>


    <i>At any rate, the forest seems to be a group of orchards that have become overgrown. There is a sharp division in the trees with each type of fruit. I¡¯ve seen oranges, which explains where Sage got them from. There seems to be different patches of trees every so often, mostly citrus fruits. Between each orchard there¡¯s regular forest or what was once a field. Maybe crops, maybe just grass - it¡¯s indistinguishable at this point - another couple decades it¡¯ll be more forest.</i>Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.


    <i>I don¡¯t think I¡¯ll tire of fruit. If I find some jars, I should be able to make preserves. Sugar might be an issue for those, maybe I can extract it from some other fruits. With all the agriculture perhaps there¡¯s some sugar beets around; I will have to ask Sage if she¡¯s seen any sometime. I should also look for salt, most of what I¡¯ll find should be iodized. That will be important for my diet, I need to stock up on a lot of necessities like that. Might need to make my own supplements if I don¡¯t find something vital. I should, theoretically, be able to cook up something.</i>


    <i>I wish I had Mom¡¯s foraging guides and apothecary books; there has to be plenty of wild plants I could use in this overgrown world. They may not know the names of fruits and vegetables, but, I¡¯m sure if I describe something to Sage or her people at least one of them will know what I¡¯m talking about. That is if they are as friendly as Sage is.</i>


    <i>So far it¡¯s been a cool morning, lots of dew, very humid in spite of the lower temperatures.¡±</i>


    The writing about produce and food had actually started to make him feel a bit peckish; not to mention the succulent smell of fruit in the air. Fritz stuffed stylus and paper back into his bag, but, before he saddled over the low stone wall he noticed an odd patch in the trees. It was a part of the orchard but¡­ all the trees looked stunted and there was a thicker amount of underbrush. Some of the trees were dead but still standing, the odd clump of sickly leaves clinging to the ashy branches. Arboriculture wasn¡¯t a skill he had under his proverbial hat. To him, anything could have ruined such a crop.


    ¡°Sage, could you tell me what kind of fruit those trees had?¡±


    ¡°Ahhh¡­¡± She sighed out, looking at the blighted trees and recalling that sweet fruit that had stop falling long ago: ¡°Small, deep red¡­ round, sweet fruit. Tough skin, soft inside.¡±


    Fritz nodded to himself, before simply saying: ¡°Ah, Plum trees, maybe.¡± Sage did have a language for the physical world, which was an interesting trait that she had. It was a basic language, based purely on attributes of an object rather than it¡¯s name, which didn¡¯t seem to exist in any measure. It was a theory of some sort.


    ¡°Why no more plums? Tree¡­ went yellow, then; no more plums.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not exactly sure. The trees got sick, but, I don¡¯t know why they got sick. Maybe they weren¡¯t getting enough nutrition or a disease killed them.¡±


    ¡°Sick? Nu-ition? Disease?¡±


    ¡°Sick happens from a disease. Disease will¡­ make you feel like you don¡¯t want to move or that you are weak. It will also make you cough or sneeze. If you get really sick you feel¡­ heavy, like the air itself is crushing you and it¡¯s hard to have the energy to eat. All you can do is sleep until you feel better, at times.¡±


    He wasn¡¯t a nutritionist either, but, he did understand how the body processes food. He immediately thought of cellular respiration and the metabolic process, but he paused for a long while before he thought up a way to explain it: ¡°Nutrition is the stuff your body needs from food. Trees live just like we do, but in a different way; their food comes from the ground and the air. They turn this food into fruits and seeds so more trees can grow elsewhere.¡±


    Sage kept walking in pace with Fritz, but she slowed down before pointing at the trees: ¡°They are¡­ like me? How?¡±


    The Chemist grimaced and had to pull an excuse: ¡°Well¡­ you¡¯ll understand it eventually. Once I¡¯m able to teach you more, it will make more sense.¡±


    The Fox Woman grew quiet and didn¡¯t seem to want to ask any more questions, instead she looked out into the undergrowth and walked along at their relaxed pace. The morning melodies of the countryside were calming and Fritz felt a relaxing nostalgia once again bolster his spirits. The sound of dew dropping from the vegetation was in a low rumble while the morning birds were chattering and singing with the occasional coo from the somber doves; it was something he often enjoyed from the open window by his bed on his better, formative days.


    Unfortunately the moment was shattered when Sage stopped mid-stride, eyes locked onto something in the distance before she took off in a flash. Compared to her meandering from before this was an explosion of movement as she jumped, vaulted over the wall and sprinted off into the underbrush. He went to call after her, but stopped when he saw a small brown shape kicking up dirt and litter as it escaped.


    There wasn¡¯t much he could do, he realized as he looked over the wall. She was swift in this terrain, ducking and weaving around trees and branches while crashing through or vaulting over patches of brush. Whether she caught the animal or if it got away she would have to come back to where he was, after all. So, Fritz crawled over the wall and went to the closest fruit tree he could see. This one was a rather nice, red apple tree, the fruits just recently starting to fall to the ground. It was kind of odd to him, however; he¡¯d always taken apples for a fruit that preferred the more mild climates. Much more mild than the subtropical climate where it rained all the time that these seemed to cope just fine in.


    By the time Sage had returned, the satchel bag was half full of the plump, round fruits and he was biting chunks out of one that turned out to be particularly crisp and delicious. The huntresses¡¯ chase had been equally fruitful, as she had brought back a rather large rodent-like animal; the throat of the creature torn out and it¡¯s eyes locked in terror as it was dispatched by a feared predator. Sage¡¯s face was once again painted with blood and Fritz felt another shock of unease at the sight.


    ¡°What kind of animal is that?¡± Was all he could think to say.


    ¡°Ground Digger. Fitz¡­ doesn¡¯t know name?¡± Sage said, tilting her head in mild confusion.


    ¡°Hmm, well, no. Where I came from was a much colder place for much of the year. Some animals that you have here might not of liked where I live¡­ used to live.¡± Fritz explained.


    Sage wiped a hand across her mouth, smearing the blood on her wrist and face. She looked down in a bit of annoyance at the smear and then looked to Fritz in request. Digging through the apples he produced a rag for her to use, before she asked in a somewhat sorrowful tone: ¡°Will¡­ Fitz be going away? Sage¡­ wonders why you¡­ here.¡±


    It was a complicated cocktail of emotions that ruptured from the compartment Fritz maintained in his mind and it took a few moments to sort himself out before he answered: ¡°No. Where I¡¯m from is far away¡­ and¡­ dangerous. There was¡­ is a lot of bad things that happened to my people. I have noth-¡±


    There was so much pain to remember those years, so visceral was every moment he had to suffer at the hands of those jackals that his chest felt as if a Atlas-ian burden had been suddenly and cursedly placed upon it. Every word was listened in on, every mistake or missed quota was turned into espionage. There were no innocents, only those that had yet to admit to something. With a long sigh and a shake of his head, he did his best to push all that he had suffered and lost out of his mind. Back into the box, back into composure.


    ¡°Listen, Sage. I do not want to talk about where I came from, but, don¡¯t worry. I¡¯ll be around here for quite a while.¡± He said, as both a boundary and an assurance before changing the subject: ¡°So, is that animal good to eat?¡±


    After she wiped off her face she held the large rodent aloft: ¡°Yes! Good meat. Da ¡®n mam ¡®n them eat with Sage.¡±


    Fritz shouldn¡¯t have been surprised that Sage had a family, but now his curiosity was spurred at the mention of it. It would be very curious to see how similar this primitive family would be to the modern version. Perhaps he would be an ultimately lucky individual to see the first steps of a fledgling culture: ¡°Oh? Do they? Do you hunt for them often?¡±


    She nodded before hopping over the wall in a single, graceful motion: ¡°Da ¡®n mam hunt too. Mmmm¡­ she and him do not¡­ know how to.¡±


    Fritz hopped along after her, the stone boundary taking some effort to haul himself over. The second half of her answer confused him, but, there wasn¡¯t a pressing need to decipher it. He¡¯d be able to see this family shortly, he assumed, as he followed The Fox Woman. During their trip his mind wandered to considering this woman¡¯s odd features. Why exactly were they here? They certainly weren¡¯t the architects of the decaying husk that was once an advanced society. Where did they come from? How did they get those animal features? With all the different animal types, how did the genes for those get passed down? Moreover, where did their language come from and why was it so patchy? Did they lose concepts or did they never develop them?


    For perhaps the first time in life there was a mild throe in the back of his mind at not researching anything to do with culture or genetics. As they ambled along the orchards turned temperate forest, a wide and well-worn trail started to wind through the contours of the land and the obstacles of tree and foliage. It was a rather short cut of wood, apparently some kind of buffer strip before alternating fields of tall grasses. Beyond that field - which had once grown rye and alfalfa - there was a rather tall and wide hill that rose subtly from the countryside. The mists of early morning were fading as the sun ascended in the sky, finally kicking away from the horizon it had been slumbering under.

 IX - The Mammalids

    After all the mild regrets and questions he couldn¡¯t fathom the answers to; The Chemist went back to his appreciation of the countryside. For the most part he was thankful that none of the plants were flowering and letting their pollen get taken on the breeze. Fritz couldn¡¯t imagine how unbearably uncomfortable this whole walk would have been or how often he would get sick from it. That was another thing to add to the list: antihistamines, if there were any to find in this world. Surely there ought to be a few medications knocking around the odd medicine cabinet or in the back of some pharmacy.


    He was about to pull out his book to add this new thought when Sage gave a unintelligible shout and pointed into the grass. An animal had already risen up from where it had been laying and let out a distressed bleat before it took off towards the rising sun. It was a goat, it¡¯s kin also leaping up out of their recumbence and prancing away in their caprine ways. It was probably the closest he had been to a goat, save for the stories that his sister had told him while she was studying.


    Recovering from his initial jolt of surprise, he let out a chuckle and pointed to the small herd bounding into the distance: ¡°Those are goats.¡± Fritz said, presaging his companion''s question: ¡°Do you hunt those as well?¡±


    Sage shook her head: ¡°Mam ¡®n Da. Too many¡­ ¡®n jumps a lot.¡±


    She paused in the track that cut through the field and pointed to a spot on her shin. The Chemist¡¯s attention was brought to a pale scar that stood out from her tanned skin; two small semi-circles that were once cuts on the side of her leg: ¡°Kicks too.¡±


    ¡°Ahh, I see. Must have hurt.¡±


    Finally the pair arrived at their destination. At the base of the eastern side of the hill there was a stone overhang; wide and so deep into earth that the dawn sun was unable to pierce the depths. Downhill from the subterranean maw there was a rather wide creek-bed, but, the water was either standing in small depressions in the ground or slowly trickling down from them. It was more of a wash rather than a permanent watercourse, but - with how much it rained - that was a moot distinction.


    Any other puddle of water wouldn¡¯t have been of much interest to Fritz beyond filling a bottle. However, the scene at the edge of the miniature pond dissuaded him - and only him - from drinking of it. A couple dozen of the odd and naked people were clustered in the natural pond, either with cupped hands to drink or wading in and bathing their bodies. Fritz recoiled at the malodorous smell of sweat and wet fur, wondering if he had actually smelled that rank just the other day. The moment Fritz and Sage emerged from the thin copse that grew on their side of the creek every pair of eyes locked onto them and, save for the birds and the water, everything was quiet.


    Fritz mirrored their statuesque reaction while Sage coolly strode through the water into the den of her people. As she was halfway across the water, the tribe-folk started chattering too each other, making glances at Fritz and gesturing to their returning member. It was a very different reaction compared to their unassuming and rather apathetic attitude from a couple days ago. They were¡­ agitated, clearly, at such a foreign individual being so close to their most protected territory. The Chemist was quite apprehensive about stepping any further than the tree-line, yet Sage still turned and waved him forwards.


    ¡°Ah, Sage. I don¡¯t think that is much of a good idea.¡±


    ¡°Heh?¡± She murmured, apparently not understanding his concerns.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think your¡­ people would like me being in their space.¡± He tried to explain.


    ¡°Ohhh,¡± Sage vocalized before assuring him: ¡°Fitz okay. Sage tell about Fitz.¡± She then finished her fording of the puddle and hastily spoke to the small crowd: ¡°Odd-Ear is Fitz. Fitz know great and many things. Fitz knows all odd things and is good.¡±


    The reaction, however, was mostly disbelief and confusion at what Sage was saying and Fritz could hear a few common phrases being muttered. As the group began to disperse, there were hushed barbs being grumbled: ¡°Odd-Her. Odd-She. Odd-Skins.¡± It was all rather perplexing to Fritz; he didn¡¯t quite understand how her explanation would protect him or how the group had interpreted it. Though, Sage didn¡¯t seem too worried about the attitude that her own people had with her; turning back to smile and wave to her companion to follow her once more.


    Without the group acting as a deterrent The Chemist crossed the wash, joining his companion at her assurance. He had thought that Sage would be heading towards the cavern-mouth, but, she passed it by and was heading towards another patch of woods; noble and fat trunked oak trees shading the far-most corner of the opening. At the base of each tree there were two or three families sitting and chattering in their own queer manner, both vocally and with exaggerated body language. As he followed his guide and passed by each group, the children would stare in a dumbfounded way at Fritz and the parents would quickly go quiet and regard his presence with obvious suspicion.


    Every step was reinforcing the notion that he had to be as non-aggressive as possible or risk something quite unfortunate and untimely. Sage, on the other hand, didn¡¯t seem to notice this air of mortal tension. She kept her casual and whimsical demeanour, turning every so often to look at Fritz before bounding a few steps forward and looking back again. Perhaps, he had thought, this was the regular response to a stranger. Of course they would be suspicious, but he was brought in by a member of their tribe and there hadn¡¯t been anything obviously hostile towards him.


    Then they came to a small oak towards the edge of what seemed to be a kind of folkmoot. Each family unit had one or two members leave and talk with other members and there was seemed to be a sort of unspoken agreement that each of them did this at the start of the day. At this particular tree were four people: Sage¡¯s ¡°da,¡± ¡°mam¡± and the ¡°her and him,¡± Fritz realizing that she had meant her younger siblings. Oddly enough, Sage¡¯s parents seemed to be one of the few that shared all of their animal features with their children. There was a very strange amount of variety with the many different ears and tail combinations the tribe-members had. It was rather common to see parents with their children having different ears to them and each other. He wasn¡¯t sure of how this was significant, but, it was an interesting detail to him.


    While he was doing his best to look around without appearing to be a snoop, Sage was filling her family in on who he was. Most of her reasoning was missed by Fritz but his focus was quickly stolen from his pseudo-anthropology when he heard the mention of ¡®fire.¡¯ Whipping around, he saw Sage grinning with excitement while there were exchanged glances of shock between her parents; her siblings looking to their parents to make any sense of what their elder sister had said.


    ¡°Sage? What have you been telling them?¡±


    After a prance over to him, she waved at her parents who gave each other a last look before they stood up and approached, stopping just short of Sage. Her father was a tall, sinewy man with a great, bushy beard and a matching mane of russet coloured hair. His face was stony and creased with suspicion at Fritz, but, it wasn¡¯t altogether unkind. Meanwhile, her mother was rather graceful and slight, her hair colour a close match to Sage¡¯s own vibrant orange hair; perhaps a shade or two darker and twice as long as her daughter¡¯s.


    Sage¡¯s ears flicked once and she explained: ¡°Told them other¡­ day, about Fitz¡¯ fire. Da and Mam don¡¯t¡­ understand. Sage wants Da and Mam to.¡±


    Fritz let out a sigh that nearly came out as a grumble over inconvenience. One of his concerns was looming and he would have the uncomfortable task of potentially letting his companion down: ¡°What do you want them to understand?¡± He couldn¡¯t handle teaching another person, much less a whole tribe of roughly two hundred people once word spread around. They seemed pretty incurious, lacking all ambition or desire above their foundational needs. However, if a good portion of their own developed a curious eye, it could spread from one to another till everyone had to know about it.


    Sage started to speak, but was interrupted by her father, who had taken a further step forward. The phantom of kindness in his face had vanished, replaced by a scowl for The Chemist while he boomed out a torrent of questions: ¡°Whas Sage? Why odd-ear here? You show her odd-thing? Who¡¯r you!?¡±


    In the next moment he lunged forward, his muscled hands seizing upon Fritz¡¯s shirt and yanking him forward. In the quick grapple, several of the shirt buttons popped free and a small shout of surprise escaped from him. Sage¡¯s Father leaned forward to glare into The Chemist¡¯s eyes; yellowed and befanged teeth bared in Fritz¡¯ face, to which he flinched away, hands coming up in reflexive guard.


    ¡°Da! Fitz is kind. He knows things!¡± Sage said in shock, the commotion starting to draw attention from those sitting at the base of the other trees. The men-folk were starting to hush their own families as they stood in case a fight broke out.


    Fritz¡¯ fright was forming into something deeper and he had to do something to get out of here, his arms sinking down slowly till his right hand wrapped around the grip of his gun. He didn¡¯t want to use it and he prayed that he wouldn¡¯t have to harm these people to save his own skin.Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.


    Thankfully, an opportunity of a bloodless escape presented itself as Sage grabbed onto her father¡¯s arm. He could feel the banded-iron grip start to loosen as the man turned in a bit of confusion at his daughter''s small rebellion. As Fritz tried to wiggle free, The Fox Man turned sharply to regard his captive before a thunderous frown creased his face, realizing what the odd-eared man was trying to do.


    There was a minute pause and Fritz thought he would be released by the man at his daughter¡¯s insistence. Then everything went black for a moment and he felt like the very earth itself was boiling up to swallow him. He awoke the moment before he hit the ground, dirt mixing in with the saliva and fresh blood that was suddenly in his mouth. A throbbing pain from his jaw arrived a moment after and he let out a guttural groan as he tried to pick himself up off the ground. It was something of an undertaking; vision blurrier than usual, stars popping and fizzing across the ground in a kaleidoscope dance.


    Over the light whining in his ears he could hear Sage screaming among of chorus of disquieted muttering from the growing crowd. His companion was shouting and smacking at her father¡¯s shoulder, demanding to know why he struck Fritz. The whole tribe was well and truly riled up. Rumour had spread quickly in the moments after his arrival and this sudden disturbance was reason enough confront the outsider.


    Fritz did his best to shake the daze from his head and he knew that there wouldn¡¯t be a chance to reason his way out of this situation. He would have bolted away if he wasn¡¯t so sure that he would meet with the ground again. As the odd-ear approached the glade he could see the cave mouth and the stream again, but, several of the men-folk were shadowing his shuffling retreat, with Sage¡¯s father at the head of the pack. Every few paces The Chemist shot a glance back over his shoulder and was dismayed to see the group was inching closer to him. Most of them were still jabbering in confusion, but there were a few faces creased in anger and were making frequent, threatening salutes.


    The worry that had developed inside him steadily morphed into a great shadow of fear that gripped at his heart. It was like some kind of cosmic trap; this was the most dim-witted move he could have made. At this point, it didn¡¯t matter if he was a friend of Sage, he¡¯d followed her into the most mortal danger possible. This would not be a swift death by some reptilian creature or a mercifully quick execution; perhaps something more like a bear attack if there was any relation to their animal features and sensibilities. He over-trusted the confidence of another and his good-sense relaxed far too much in the presence of a friend.


    Taking a deep breath and gathering himself, Fritz picked up his pace and waded through the washing pond. The majority of the mob matched his speed, but, a few were starting to peel away from the pack; throwing a last glance over-shoulder before reconvening with their families. By the time his muck-caked feet reached the opposite shore, nearly half of them had given up the chase for something better to do. Leave the conflict to those with the most to prove.


    He couldn¡¯t stand it any longer, the tree-line was only a few great strides away. It was the edge of their home, maybe the mob would stop if he crossed that threshold? Now that his balance was able to take the risk, Fritz broke into a mad sprint; an applause of splashing water behind him as his chasers kept pace with him. His heart nearly stopped when he couldn¡¯t see the trail that Sage had lead him down, but, there was no other direction he could go.


    Before he formed a second thought he tore through the brush, battering away the branches and saplings with his forearms. Thankfully, just a couple more strides through the undergrowth there was a freshly wind-thrown tree and just beyond that he could just barely see the farm fields.


    How he managed to stay upright as he sprinted across the fallen trunk Fritz didn¡¯t know, but, he burst through the shattered branches and into a small clearing. Already his regrettably poor stamina was fading away and he couldn¡¯t help but throw a worried glance over his shoulder. The sounds of shouting and dozens of strides turning into a sprinting stampede were echoing through the forest. His heart was clattering loud in his chest amidst the din of the mob; realizing that perhaps he made a mistake trying to dart out of their sight.


    He trundled along for a few more paces, seeing the pack emerge from the brush as he faltered in his flight. There was a moment of clarity as he stumbled to a stop: for all his shortcomings in this world even an athletic man would be run down and mauled by such fit predators. It was a particularly primal flavour of fear, later becoming the subject of his nightmares much of the time.


    There was one last option. Fritz turned around and propped himself up against a small tree, presenting the weapon towards the chasing pack. As he tried to focus he realized the dot sight was more fuzzy than normal. Significantly so.


    His glasses¡­ they had flown from his face when he was punched.


    He had no other option than to commit to squeezing the trigger, a flash blooming from the muzzle. Sage¡¯s father was still at the tip of the pack, the projectile smacking into one of the undulations in the ground just to the left of him. The report echoed through the woods and the sound of it worked just as Fritz had hoped, stopping the hunters in their tracks as if it were a spell. Every person flinched mightily and the more faint of heart stumbled to the ground in their shock.


    ¡°Away! Or Die!¡± Fritz shouted, doing his best to communicate that the firearm was just as lethal as it sounded.


    Through squinted eye he saw that they were certainly hesitating, but his nerves were taunt to breaking and The Chemist wasn¡¯t willing to take another chance. Two more bullets smacked into the forest floor, kicking up small sprays of soil into the air.


    ¡°Let me leave!¡± He shouted, lowering the handgun as he backed up a pace.


    Thankfully, most of the crowd had been convinced to back off, save for the handful of the most hearty hunters in the tribe. The small group regarded Fritz for a moment, Sage¡¯s father at the head of them. It was a terrible second of tension; he could hardly fathom the consequence of this whole event. It was best that he didn¡¯t linger any longer and he continued to back away, clearly showing off his weapon until he lost sight of them.


    As he backed a decent way into the fields the hunters, too, vanished back into their lair. During the solitary walk back into the village, Fritz despaired that he would be hunted from now on in this area, that he would have to vacate his newfound semblance of a home. What¡¯s more: What would happen to Sage because of all of this? She was his only ally in the whole world, save for any grace from God or fate.


    ¡°Sage¡­ I hope you are alright.¡± He fretted as the comforting sight of the town, at last, came into view. The spirit of adventure was slaked and the thought of leaving again brought a raw tremble of anxiety.


    Once inside his faculty room turned hideout, he quietly unloaded the bounty from the forest. To add insult to his injury a good third of them had been fallen on, leaving sticky juice and pulp on the rest of them. Around this time he noticed the buttons missing from his shirt, exposing his thin and rather pale torso. Fritz swore, frustrated at how everything was apparently falling apart. For a moment he sat down and attempted to relax, realizing that there was probably a sewing kit in Sage¡¯s room and that he could reasonably figure out how to use a needle and thread. Otherwise he may have to say goodbye to being modestly clothed.


    Despite the soreness he couldn¡¯t sit still for long, buzzing as he was from the stress and and adrenaline of escaping death once again. The rest of the day was spent in a sorrowful wander. Fritz surely affected all of those people greatly by his actions, along with Sage. Pushing into the houses that he searched yesterday The Chemist ransacked the rooms for some more supplies that he realized would be useful. It was the kitchens, bedrooms and bathrooms that he picked apart, dispassionately transporting dusty pots, pans and utensils. Just about everything he touched needed a thorough washing, the weather creating a perfect culture for the patches of mold he was noticing.


    The silver lining to the depressing state of this civilization was that it all but confirmed that Sage¡¯s people didn¡¯t have a habit of entering towns. Why that was turned into another question on top of the countless others on his mind. He had to take advantage of whatever resources he had, even if it was the least musty sheets pulled from dressers and linen closets. There was even a few bits of clothing that he found that fit for the most part; sadly, no shoes that were practical nor of a comfortable size. Even an actual sandal would be better than the cobbled abomination on his foot that required constant refitting.


    His tattered button-up was replaced with a simple shirt, there was a small stock of kitchenware waiting for a kitchen to be used in and - though they smelt of damp and slightly of mildew - he now had the comfort of sheets and a pillow. At the very least the day would end with an easy success. Unfortunately, however, the most the bathrooms turned up was the rare bit of dental equipment instead of the drugs he was looking out for. The best he managed was a bottle of anti-inflammation pills that were made ineffective by age, most likely.


    Graciously, the evening started with at least two of his worries soothed over. The sky was painted with orange, yellow and the eventual purple as the sun perched upon the horizon when Fritz found himself in front of the institute. As he had been hoping, Sage eventually appeared in the distance, the shallow azimuth of the sun projecting a long shadow down the street behind her.


    There was an unusual look of both defeat and weariness on Sage¡¯s face, once Fritz squinted her expression into focus. Although she looked the same as ever, the tone of her voice was dull as she asked: ¡°Fitz¡­ is okay?¡±


    ¡°Yes, thankfully. How¡­¡± He paused for a moment, wondering how delicately he now had to tread: ¡°Are you okay?¡±


    She nodded once, despondently looking back the way she had came before she elaborated: ¡°Da yelled¡­ a lot. Want me to not see Fitz again. Sage has to go¡­ but, want to give Fitz his glass.¡±


    In outstretched hand, Fritz found a small blessing: She had found and picked up his glasses. Apart from one of the arms having a slight bend in them, they were no worse-for-ware by being ejected from his face. They felt a bit loose, but, he felt quite a bit better with the scenery being back in focus. With his sight restored he noted with a small bit of sorrow at how red and puffy Sage¡¯s eyes were. He gave her a soft touch to the shoulder, kindly saying: ¡°Thank you, Sage. We can talk more tomorrow, go and get some rest. We both need some rest.¡±


    The Fox Woman nodded again and rubbed her eyes before turning to walk back into the wilderness. He couldn¡¯t be sure, but, she seemed to be in slightly better spirits as she left. Tomorrow he¡¯d know more about the situation, if things settled down enough for her to return to the academy.


    Settling into the couch and pulling the sheets over his chest, Fritz let out a tired sigh. The past few days have been far more troublesome than he had the will or resources to continue to deal with it. He needed to stop spreading himself so thin and getting distracted by the wonders and jeopardies of this new world. Focusing on resources and tools would be the smart thing to do. The proper path of survival.


    Before he nodded off, he rose and sat before his journal at the table to make himself a small list.


    -Medication


    -Clothes


    -Tools


    He pursed his lips and jotted down one more bullet point, hoping that when it became light that he would still be able to read it.


    -Ammunition (In case the worst should happen)