FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Moss pulled onto the exit listed as 37B, or Seashell Pass, as the grinding of her car's engine only seemed to get worse. Already having been on the road for two hours, the smell of fresh sea water and the sound of distant pier music told her this accident--if it was one--was meant to be, though her mind wracked through the not-yet-existent pricing of some future mechanic's dreams. Sure, she could enjoy the last vestiges of dusk, the sky a milky pink and purple with soft, cotton-like clouds moving in, but doing so wouldn't make the truth of the matter any easier. Firstly, she'd need to get her phone out and call someone, probably getting a mechanic to look at the used sedan tomorrow morning, if she was lucky. Then she could look at the sky and smile, if that's what she really wanted. Go ahead and suck it in. It's all for you, tonight.

The gas station was one of those newer brands that'd started popping up in and around the city, a model mix of electric charging stations at traditional gas ready for whatever one needed. Despite the glistening, futuristic look of what surely was just paint and plastic, the station still smelled like any other service stop, and the stained, sand coated windows of the quick-stop shop told Moss that she shouldn't expect much more than overpriced diesel. To be fair, she thought, she didn't even need anything fancy. A hot dog and fresh-brewed (stale) station coffee would be enough of a dinner for her, she imagined, pulling her car up the station's driveway just as the light turned red for those leaving the beach. Driving her car to one of the empty stalls nearest a trash bin, the coyote gritted her already worn-enamel teeth as she wondered how her night could get any worse.

Still, it's beautiful out here. Never one to travel further than what was necessary, Moss parked while still eyeballing the sunset glistening at its last on the horizon. Having grown up in the lower east side of her city's "natural beauty," she'd never been one to look at the sunset, since most of it if not all was covered by towering skyscrapers, power-lines, apartment complexes, and smog. Leaving her old, dismal apartment was enough of an excuse to get moving to sunnier places, so she took this sight as a nice addition to the already fruitful evening. If only you could see me now, Dad.

The shop attendant opened his door just as the coyote began to get out from her seat, smoke already slipping out from around her front hood's curving shape. "Need some help?" A Dalmatian, his floppy-ears bounced from under his worn blue hat. Moss really broke into a smile, though her tail kept its place low and still behind her.

"Need a mechanic's number, if you have one." She wasn't ready to open the hood. Better paws would be more suited to it than she would. "Know of a tow company, too?"

"Too many," the attendant said. "Let me get their cards." He left her mulling while the store's doorbell jingled with unneeded glee.

First night on my own, she thought. I can't even get out of the city without Rick. Moss chewed on her tongue, though she imagined that she had some gum in the car, she coming to rest against her now closed door and its open window.

Close by, a rattle sounded out from the trashcan clearly overstuffed from a day of business. Had anyone any intelligence, they would've imagined it to be a snake, maybe some large scorpion nesting itself pretty well between one piece of garbage and another's silver packaging. The sound barely traveled beneath the station's jazzy yet modern music, but Moss's ears flicked in the direction all the same. She growled, doing her best impression of someone ready to bite if needed.

She watched, however, as climbing out from the bin's lower corner was a small, clearly-disheveled calico cat the size of an action-figure. Although Moss had seen her fair share of micros in the world, her own apartment complex riddled with the small beings that tore through walls and ate anything not put or locked away safely, she watched this one with a curiosity best matched by a predator sizing up a possible meal, sensing the feline had no clue he was being watched. Or, if he did, he simply acted as though he didn't care. Unlike insects, micros themselves were just as intelligent as anyone else. Many argued they were citizens, which Moss tended to agree with despite how much of her own groceries would be raided on if she pay attention. They didn't show themselves openly, however, assuming that larger folk would take to them like vultures swinging down for a fresh, breathing meal.

This cat, however, looked to be starving himself. With a stomach showing better days, chin clearly sculpted with the horror that was undernourishment, the calico might as well be preparing what might've been its last days. Its whiskers were bent in all sorts of directions, its ears had small cuts, and peering closer, Moss could even see bits of red from blood. At least this micro didn't seem to be sick or carrying parasites, at first glance. "Seems you're having my kind of night," Moss said.

The feline leapt into the air with the same sort of energy one would expect from a creature his size. He scattered, probably expecting Moss to be on his heels like prior threats (How many animals treated micros like vermin? Did micros have to worry about things like scorpions or wasps out here?). Instead, she stayed where she was, waiting to see if he'd scurry back from the hole he clearly came out of. When he peeked out, eyes almost a feral red from exhaustion, she waved at him in her best attempt to show kindness, knowing full well how large her paw must have been to the four-inch tall mammal. "I'm not going to hurt you, if that's what you're thinking."

She could see the feline's mouth open as though he was trying to suck down air. It took her a moment to realize that he must be dehydrated, too, the gas station appearing as dry as a desert to this cat. Although she wouldn't be able to hear him in the first place, the station's music loud enough to cover even her voice, Moss held up a paw, left, and began to pull her wallet out just as the Dalmatian returned to the door, cards in hand.

"I got their cards, both the mechanic and tow company, but neither of them are open. We can move your car into our mechanic's garage, but he won't be in until seven at the earliest," he said. The dog stopped and stared at Moss, who, holding her wallet and several bills out to the canine, must have seemed pretty driven to do something he didn't understand.

"I need water, and whatever you have in there that I can feed to your micro," she said. It was only after she'd said this that she realized how foolish she was, trating this attendant as though she herself couldn't go in and do the work on her own.

"We have plenty, but I'd watch for him," the dog said. He looked back at Moss's car, probably not even noticing the calico surely still in his hiding place. "He's bitten a few others who tried to grab him."

"That's fine." Moss took the cards being offered to her, and stepped inside once the attendant moved so she could come in and wait for whatever else he needed to do regarding her car. "I've dealt with biters before."

#

The mask clearly wasn't small enough for the calico, who held the thing as though it'd came from Moss's underwear drawer. "And I have to wear this because?"

"Folks are getting sick right now, and last I checked, your immune system worked just the same as ours," she said. Try all she could, Moss couldn't hold herself from falling into the country dialect she'd earned her last few months in Stanton. Oliver was the only one who knew her before and after she'd taken to her new place, job, and farm life, and while he didn't seem to mind it at all, a part of Moss always cringed at how different she sounded from her older, more city-based self she'd originally hoped to leave behind. "If you're going to start going out with me to stores and such, I can't risk getting you sick."

"Yes, but the news said that the virus didn't effect micros," he said. His voice was a heavier baritone than the coyote's before him, but at his size, he might as well be squeaking, inflection causing Moss to twitch and lean herself down to hear him. "Does everyone have to wear these?"

"And I thought you paid attention to the news." She didn't have time for this. Scooping Oliver up, she opened her purse and slid him down between her wallet and a few tissues, hoping he'd be comfortable with whatever space was left in there for him. "I can't trust to leave you alone anymore, and I can't risk your health as much as I risk mine, so just...try to wear it? Maybe wrap it around your head a bit, if that helps." The coyote blocked whatever mental picture she created. The store was going to open in ten minutes, and she needed to get there before anyone else did. "It'll be a quick trip."

A muffled "fine" escaped the bag, as Moss locked the door behind her and headed to her car down the complex's worn-down stairs. She had traded her sedan in for a truck not too long after getting to Stanton, Oliver all clean for travel. While not the newest vehicle, it held up well. She even started taking automotive seminars at the community center, now understanding what parts of the engine did what and why, her micro-feline helping explain some things as she worked on some parts or the undercarriage. Now, fully aware that she about fit in with the locals and had dropped every piece of her past life behind her, Moss saw the trunk, like Oliver, as family, the keys swiftly in her paw every morning.

"You said you wanted to start going shopping with me more, and after that last incident, I don't think I can keep you at the window anymore." The coyote did her best to gentle set him and the purse down, but she knew she was rushing. "I don't trust those kids next door."

Oliver audibly climbed out of the bag, hanging his arms free so that he could peak about the cabin, ears and whiskers bouncing. "Yeah, well, I didn't ask to be small, either."

A finger graced his head, blunted claw coming to rest beneath his short feline muzzle like a rest. "Settle down, scamp. And hold on." Moss was already buckled in, as she turned the radio on high and heard that another four-hundred thousand were left sitting somewhere trying to breathe.