A Reason to Live part 1
*Disclaimer*
The following (part 1 of the series 'A Reason to Live') contains both mystical/metaphysical and Judeo-Christian Religious aspects. If you are offended by this subject matter, you are strongly encouraged to avoid reading this or any subsequent works with the title of 'A Reason to Live' that are written by me. Thank you for your compliance.
A Reason to Live
The Fur fled across the desert, and the man in black followed. The Fur was prepared for his trek across the dry unforgiving alkali wastes. A wide brimmed hat, patterned with military desert camouflage, shaded his deep blue eyes from the harsh glare of an unrelenting sun. His jacket and pants were too bedecked in the digital pattern the human military favored. A dark green canteen was slung from its strap over his left shoulder. Light tan combat boots protected his paws from the occasional sharp rock or scorpion, but the heat rising up from the sand soaked through them like they were not there at all. The figure, a wolverine, and just over six feet in height, wore a sun bleached brown pack. The weight of the items inside were causing the straps to dig into his shoulders and chest. His hands, though covered in a mottled grey light brown fur, resembled human hands except for the claws which grew from his fingers.
The Fur sighed; he had been on the run for years now, giving up a chance for a normal life when he first agreed to work for the man he know knew as his pursuer. He reached for his canteen. It seemed much lighter than it had before. He screwed the top off the worn metal jug and brought it to his lips. He tried to ration the water, but his parched throat screamed at him to drink deeply. He drained what was left in the canteen in one gulp. He put the top back on the empty container and returned it to his pack. He trudged on through the scorching sand, the heat deforming the rubber and plastic of his boots.
Minutes passed under the hot midday sun, though to him they felt like hours. A muffled voice called out through a crackling communicator.
"Raymond, are you there? Come in Raymond." The Fur was startled until he realized where the voice was coming from. He threw his pack off his shoulders and fumbled inside it until he found his communication device.
"Yeah I'm here. What'd ya find, Roxie?" He hoped it was good news; he needed some good news to boost his spirit.
"Good to hear your voice again, babe. I've got some good news, and some bad news. The good news is, I found an abandoned house out, it's got a working well. The bad news is, if I'm reading your location correctly, it's about two miles south-east of where you are now."
"Two miles isn't that bad, I should be there in about an hour. By the way, hon, what's for lunch?" He'd been walking for hours, and the Fur's stomach had begun to grumble.
"You'll find out when you get here, Ray. See you in a bit."
He was about to respond when the communicator's battery went dead. 'Oh well,' he thought, 'better it than me'. He thought of his wife, and the thoughts fueled his tired muscles. As he set out towards the south-east, a smile was on his face.
Miles away, in a small town bordering on the edge of the vast desert, a human was losing his patience.
"Tell me where they went, now, before I get really angry." The man was an imposing figure; seven feet tall, and encased from head to toe in matte black suit of powered armor. He held a mouse by the neck. The Fur's eyes bulged slightly from his head as he struggled to breathe, let alone answer. In a wheezing voice, the mouse managed to reply.
"Last...night we...we heard...noises...by t-the...well." Hearing the truth, the man opened his armored fist, and the mouse fell to the floor and started to cough.
"Now, what's this about a well? And if you lie to me, I'll know, and there will be no mercy." The voice was not at all natural, the human's voice altered by the devices inside his helmet.
The mouse had caught his breath and was able to speak normally. "Last night, around ten o'clock, I was outside making sure the latch on the chicken coop was locked. I noticed that the chickens, they were making an awful racket, like they had saw someone who they weren't used to seeing. I looked over to the well behind the house and I saw some footprints that didn't look like mine or my family's. One was wearing a boot that left an "A" in the dirt, and the other one looked like a chicken's foot, but a lot bigger. The tracks led off into the desert. That's all I know, I swear! Please don't hurt my family or me." The man broke down and began to sob.
His wife, smaller, but also a mouse, got up from her seat and spoke.
"Sir, please, my husband told you everything he knew, and my kids and I, we stay inside at night; we didn't see anything. Please just leave us alone now. Please."
The man laughed. "I'm leaving, but not of your accord. For what it's worth though, you remind me of someone I once knew. Tend to your offspring." He turned around and opened the door, the hydraulic system in his armor not making a sound. He strolled out, and shut the door behind him. Faintly, through the din caused by the weeping man, came a higher pitched, weaker cry.
Raymond had reached the house his wife described. It surely looked abandoned. Ceramic roof shingles lay cracked and broken on the ground below the eaves. Cracks ran through the adobe walls. A wooden door, aged and damaged by the sun and wind, was the only entry into the house, save for a crooked chimney rising from the northern edge of the shack. Miniature sand dunes had formed around the base of the shack, obscuring view of the foundation. A pitted and faded sloped wooden roof stood over the crumbling bricks of the well, supported only by two scoured upright beams.
He knocked on the door, noting the thin horizontal slits in it. The door opened and swung inward. Standing just beyond the door jamb was his eagle wife Roxanne. She was wearing khaki shorts, a white t-shirt, and boots similar to those her husband wore.
His wife was almost the picture image of a bald eagle; brown wings and body, a white head and neck, and a yellow beak. But instead of being sky blue, his wife's eyes were green.
"See baby, I knew you could make it here. Well don't just stand there, come inside."
Evolution had taken its toll on the physiology of the Furs. The bones in his wife's wings had thickened slightly, and were jointed, allowing movement of the wings in directions previously unknown. Small bones had formed at the tips of the wings, that, with the muscle and sinew that grew over them, allowed her to grab and hold items in a way similar to that of any creature with arms and hands.
She held a jug of water out to him. "Thirsty?" she asked. He nodded and grabbed the jug and proceeded to chug the water, spilling a portion down the front of his shirt.
"Careful, careful, you drank too much, you might get sick."
"I'm glad you care as much as you do babe, but I'll be fine. What do we got to eat around here?"
He pushed the door shut with his hand and slid the board down into the brackets, locking the door. He let his pack slid off his shoulders and settle on the floor. The wolverine looked around. On the north side of the house, a small pit had been dug that was filled with ashes. No cobwebs hung from anywhere in the house. A bed, supported by four carved cactus skeleton pillars, stood to the left of the door. The mattress, though ratty looking and used, was still in usable condition. No springs poked out from it, no stains marred its surface. He looked down at his feet and noticed that there was very little sand, and in fact the floor was a compacted gravel layer. The hut was small, and he could see two other doors leading to separate rooms.
"Really, is food all you think about?" she jokingly asked him.
"Well," came the reply "I think about you a lot too. Seriously though, I'm starving. I haven't eaten anything since dinner yesterday."
"I guess we have to feed you then, don't we? There's some beans left in that can over there on the table, and some unopened ones on the shelf. I already ate, so help yourself to whatever, just remember we need to take some with us when we leave."
He looked around. There was very little dust on anything, contrary to what the state of the house suggested. He walked over the table and grabbed the can. It was about half-full. He spoke aloud while he ate.
"It's still about 20 miles to the mountains, but I think we can make it if we leave early enough. Roxie, could you fill the canteen in my bag?"
"I already filled it, ya big lug. And there were two full one and half gallon bottles in there, and a half gallon bottle still full."
Raymond grinned sheepishly. "I forgot about those... Ya know, it's been a while since we've had time on our hands like this, and I thought..."
She interrupted him. "I know what you're thinking, big boy, and I'd love to."
She walked across the small room to him kissed him. Though it might seem awkward to have a wolverine's snout and an eagle's beak meeting, the two were a passionate couple and had had a lot of practice. He put his arms around her, drawing her closer to him. She broke the kiss and whispered in his ear. "You are one hot wolverine, Ray."
He whispered right back "I know I am, and you, Roxie, are the most gorgeous bird I have ever seen." They kissed again. Suddenly, there came the sound of someone pounding on the door. They both froze where they were. A voice called out, breaking the silence.
"Hey! You two are here already? Damn, I thought I had more time."
Raymond scrambled to his feet and grabbed his pack. He reached into it and removed an Abrams .47 caliber 7 shot revolver. He cocked the hammer, and pointed the barrel towards the door.
"If one of you won't open the door, I'll have to open it myself, and if I do that, you two won't be feel safe staying here." The voice died down, waiting to see if one of the two would open the door. After a few minutes, the voice called out again. "Okay, I warned ya."
A thin blade slid through a crack in the door, just below the locking board. The blade turned up, and began to lift the bar from the brackets. As soon as the bar was no longer obstructing the door, the door swung open. Standing in the doorway was a canine figure. He wore a tan, knee length, loose fitting, hooded cloak, and leather sandals. Emblazoned on the front of his cloak was a faded crimson crucifix. In his hand he held a simple billhook, the tool he had used to open the door.
"So you gonna' shoot me, or what?" he calmly asked. "And if yer not gonna shoot me, then why don't ya stow yer piece there?" he said in reference to the gun aimed at his heart. The grey canine, a jackal, tossed his bladed instrument down and walked inside the house. He closed the door behind him, and reset the locking mechanism. Still Raymond had the gun trained on the Fur. He pulled his cloak up over his head and tossed it on to the bed, revealing only the jackal's bare, furred, chest and a leather water skin. He had on a pair of tan linen shorts underneath the cloak.
"I'd offer you two some food, but it looks like ya already found it," He said while pointing towards the empty can lying on the table. "Help yer selves to whatever else you can find. And if ya decide ya need me, I'll be in the cellar. And if in case ya hadn't noticed, this is my house." With that comment, he walked over to one of the two closed interior doors, opened it, and walked down a flight of stairs that creaked and moaned to show their protest. The door, perhaps at a slight angle, fell closed of its own accord. Gradually, voices began to drift up the stairs.
To be continued...