FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

As the sun began to set, Sadie and Dr. Wright flitted about my room, making various preparations for the night's events - my meeting with Field Marshal Irving, commander of the Army on the Altama. Or was he the commander of the entire army? I don't remember.

Sadie gave me a coy look every now and then as she came into my room to do this or that; Sweep the floor, set up a chair or two, et cetera. I didn't really say anything to her, but tried to return her glances with a smile.

I wasn't allowed to leave the room though. I didn't see why, now that I was able to walk again, albeit in oversized shoes lined with gauze. When I asked Dr. Wright, the Collie said there were people who "thought it would be better if I had a quiet recovery."

Whatever that was supposed to mean. I thought. At the time I suspected some sort of scandal.

Around 6 o'clock, Kent, Scott and Oquendo returned to the room, overjoyed that I could walk easily again. After exchanging some small talk, the conversation took a dark turn.

It all started when Oquendo grinned and asked nonchalantly: "So, why did they keep you up in this closet?" He jerked his head behind him, indicating my room.

Scott and Kent both gave him a malicious look. The kind of look that said "If we were sitting around a table, I'd kick you in the shin right about now."

"The doctor said it would be better if I had a 'quiet recovery'." I said, repeating Dr. Wright's words.

"And you know what that means?" Oquendo asked. Sergeant Kent did a facepalm, and Corporal Scott looked at Oquendo like he was crazy.

Truth be told, Oquendo probably was crazy. He was a real bastard, in every possible meaning of the word. In his own words, his "Momma was a whore who forgot her birth-control pills" and his dad was "a guy stupid enough to fuck 'er." Oquendo is deathly afraid of purebred wolves, because they hate him. Okie's father was a Mexican wolf, and his mother was a Husky. My guess is that she took him and raised him up north, where he had to grow up among "real" Wolves. If being brought up like that can't make a person crazy, I don't know what would.

Most Wolves get sent to the infantry, because the commanders like to segregate the infantry companies by breed and species, and there's a lot of Wolves in the Balfor Confederacy. I think he was going to get put into the infantry when he was first drafted, but after a few days in boot camp, the instructors probably thought he was better off away from his "kin."

However it happened, he had ended up as a tank loader. And at that moment, he seemed very intent on getting Me, Scott, and Kent to think about the speciesism of the Army. We were all thinking about it, but none of us wanted to bring it up, for fear of making the others uncomfortable. I didn't want to demonize Kent and Scott, and they didn't want to put me on the spot.

Ever since I joined the tank company, it was a sort of taboo to talk about my differences from the Canines. I got along with them, and I could do almost everything they could - I could even do a half-decent howl if I tried. I'm no expert in biology, but it sure seems like Canines and Humans aren't that different. To them, I was one of the pack, and that was all that mattered. Our taboo was only broken a few times, by people like Lieutenant Colonel Ostin. And now, Oquendo.

When none of us told Oquendo what it meant, he said it for us. "They don't want you down in the main room 'cause you're a Human." He paused to let that sink in.

Sergeant Kent sighed. "Thanks for that, Okie." He said sarcastically.

But Oquendo wasn't finished. "Why do you think the Marshal wants to see you in person?" He hissed. "It's cause he's gonna' tell you to get lost, cause you ain't one of us!"

I grimaced. The theory made sense, I supposed, but what was the point? I'd done "exemplary service," why would Irving tell me to leave? But now that I thought about it, what was so exemplary? Was getting shot at while carrying a body really so brave?

Maybe Irving just wanted to meet the only non-canid in his army.

"We'll just have to see." I finally muttered. I was glad when Dr. Wright popped into the room to relieve the tension. He had a small fold-up table with him, and set it down on the floor.

"Something wrong here?" Asked the Collie, noticing our expressions.

"Nossir."

I doubt Wright was convinced, as he left the room with one eye over his shoulder. We sat and stood in silence, looking at the floor, mostly. Oquendo was looking at me though, or maybe he was looking right through me. He seemed deep in thought. Scott paced the room anxiously, his big ears flipping around whenever he turned. Suddenly he stopped, and sniffed the air a few times with his Bloodhound's nose. "Marshal's here." He said. We all stood up quickly, anxiously.

Sadie popped into the room a few seconds later. "Marshal Irving has arrived." She said softly, before Dr. Wright entered as well, and the two stood opposite us.

The room went quiet, and we could hear the thudding of footsteps outside the door. The door opened, and in walked two gaunt White sherperds, in MP uniform. They stood on both sides of the doorway, and the one at the left sounded off "Atten-tion!"

Scott, Oquendo, Kent and I stiffened and stood at attention. Eyes fixed forward, I couldn't really see the Field Marshal until he was directly in front of me.

He was pretty much how I pictured him; A squat, pale grey Bulldog with piercing yellow eyes that examined me and the crew. His uniform had tassels on the shoulders, and the shoulder patch had six golden stars, indicating his lofty rank. There were identical stars on his peaked cap. The breast of his jacket had all sorts of medals and ribbon bars on it.

He had a walking stick as well, though it appeared that he didn't need it.

When he spoke, however, his voice surprised me. "Which one of you is Corporal Walker?" His voice was raspy and low, making him sound like a tired old man, though his brisk step and a glance at him told me he couldn't be that old.

"I am, sir." I said, stepping forward.

He looked me up and down, before producing a simple bronze medal on a red ribbon, and pinning it to my breast. "At ease." He said in his old man's voice. I loosened a bit, but still stood straight. "I'd like to ask you something, corporal." He said, looking up at me.

Here it comes. I thought, remembering Oquendo's prediction.

"I'd like to spare you the formalities and point one obvious thing out. You are not a Canine, Corporal." He said, pointing the Walking stick at me. "So, with all due respect, how did you come to be in my army?"

I sucked in my breath, and wondered how best to put it. "Sir, I lived on the Altama plain before the annexation, and I was pressed into involuntary service as a non-citizen laborer." I explained, stopping when Irving turned to the side to cough into his sleeve.

"Go on." Irving said, once he had recovered.

"The troops assigned to my work party discovered that I had skills in mechanics, and I was asked to assist with maintenance work on vehicles of the 3rd Heavy tank Battalion, 21st Armored." I continued, knowing full well that Sadie and Dr. Wright were listening. "Then, under article seven of the Non-Canid Labor (NCL) act, passed last year, I was provided with a work card, and the choice to join the armed forces. I did so."

Irving listened to my explanation quietly, nodding every now and then. "Why didn't you return to your home country - Karlov, Correct? - when your contract with the labor pool was over?" He inquired. I caught an ever-so-slight hint of suspicion in his voice.

"Yes sir, I lived in Karlov. The reason I stayed was because the Commander of the battalion personally asked that I stay on, and I got along with him." Irving squinted at me, as if he was going to ask Is that all?

"I also cannot return to the Karlov Republic, I was exiled." I conceded.

"Exiled for what?" He growled, taking a step closer to me.

"Drunk driving." I found myself saying, for some reason. Technically, it was true.

Irving backed up, and just looked oddly at me for a second. Then, his hard-jawed face seemed to melt, and he began laughing, a noise that sounded somewhat more like a cough. "Drunk driving, Ha! That's a good one!" He said, his stubby muzzle contorted in a grin.

"It's the truth, sir." I said, keeping a straight face.

Irving ignored me, though, and looked to one of the MPs. "That reminds me, can we get some of that vodka in here?" His voice sounded much more jovial now. Dr. Wright and one of the MPs left the room.

He continued to chuckle sporadically for a few minutes, leaving me and the others standing awkwardly. After what seemed like an hour, Wright and the MP returned. Dr. Wright had a platter, on it were a some glasses, and a tall bottle of clear vodka.

"Come, have a drink." He said, beckoning to me, Scott, Kent and Oquendo. Wright set the platter on a table and poured out shots of the clear, strong-smelling liquid to all of us.

Marshal Irving raised his glass. "Here's to your service!" He exclaimed.

We raised our glasses and drank, but didn't repeat the words.

I nearly coughed the vodka up, as it was the first time in quite a while that I had taken even a sip of good liquor. And let me tell you, the Marshal's vodka was some good liquor.

"How is it, boys?" Irving said expectantly.

"Some fine liquor there, Marshal." Corporal Scott said.

"It's Stockton Distillery." He said proudly. I didn't know what he was referencing, but he made it sound very prestigious.

Irving poured himself another shot, and drank it, before returning to me. He asked me a question I hadn't been expecting. "How familiar are you with the politics of the Confederacy, Corporal?"

"Well... um, not familiar with them at all, I suppose, sir." I said. Oquendo looked at me suddenly, over his second shot of the vodka.

"That act you mentioned, the Law I mean-" Irving was interrupted by a hiccup. "-There's been talk of repealing that law."

Oquendo, Scott and Kent all glanced at each other, then at me. Irving had his back to them, so he didn't notice.

"You see Corporal..." He paused and set his glass down. "The elections are coming up in January. Our President, Julius Priam, is getting old. Some say he's not going to seek re-election. He's been president for 20 years-" Irving hiccuped again. "And he's mid-right-wing."

Irving paused, and looked to me. I nodded to confirm that I followed him. Behind his back, Kent began to pace anxiously.

"So there's a lot of political parties vying for power right now." He looked down at the floor gravely for a second. "What I'm trying to say is, there's a lot of ideas flying around, and do you know how those might affect you?"

"Not really, sir." I lied.

"There's a Canine supremacist party, the Confederate Front, they're called." He said. Behind him, Kent exhaled loudly. Oquendo nodded to me.

"Some of those crazy folks want to take over the world, and have a bigass race riot." The Marshal continued. "And that wouldn't vote well for you, obviously."

Then, Sgt. Kent piped up. "With all due respect, Marshal, I could've told him about that." He said. I shot Kent a mean look. If the Marshal wasn't there, I probably would've said something along the lines of Yeah, but you didn't. This stuff was news to me. I hadn't even known that the Balfor Confederacy had a president, a democratically elected one, anyways.

"Indeed you could've, Sergeant." Irving replied, before turning back to me. "Now that I've told all that, Corporal, you may be wondering why I came to you in person, aren't you?"

"Yes sir, we were wondering about that, to be honest." I answered calmly.

"Who's 'we?'" Irving asked.

"The Private." I said, pointing to Oquendo. Oquendo froze under the Marshal's gaze, but Irving seemed to pay him little mind.

"So, the reason I've come here, really, is to offer you an honorable discharge." Irving finally explained. In my peripheral vision, I saw Oquendo's triangular ears prick up.

"Is this mandatory, sir? I don't really understand." I asked, voice cracking out of anxiety.

"Hell no, son." Irving snorted. "We'd be glad to have you for another tour of duty, but that ends next spring. By that time, there's gonna be a new government. And if you're around, and the Confederate Front comes to power, I can't say for sure what would become of you."

"Will anything else happen if I stay?" I asked. At the time, I didn't take the Confederate Front seriously. Their name sounded silly, for one thing.

Irving thought for a moment.

"You're a good tanker, so if you want to stay, how about you get promoted to, uh... how's Specialist?" He clapped me on the back, as if congratulating me before I even consented to the promotion.

"I would be honored, sir." I exclaimed.

"Spc. it is!" He said, laughing. "Now, I assume you boys have heard about the new war plan?"

"Well, yes." Sergeant Kent said. "We don't know what it is, yet, though."

"You aren't supposed to, but-" Just then, a dispatch runner, a thin greyhound, burst into the room and saluted.

"At ease." Irving said to him. The runner handed him a leather case, which the Marshal opened and took a paper from. He read the message, pacing the room and moving a few feet away from us.

He folded the paper and stuffed it into his jacket. "Sorry, I'm afraid I'm going to have to leave, right now. Good luck." He walked out the door, just like that, the two MPs and the runner following.

Oquendo eyed the half-empty vodka bottle that the Field Marshal had left behind. "You think anyone will mind if I take that?"

Kent rolled his eyes and sighed. Then he looked to me. "Hey, I'm sorry that-"

"Forget about it." I put a hand out, waving the apology off. "I know how it was, you didn't tell me because... it wouldn't have been the same if you had."

"No, nobody told you about the front because we didn't want you to think that we had anything to do with it, and we don't." Kent proclaimed.

I bowed my head a bit, thinking it over. "Well, you still could've just told me that." I muttered.

"They say ignorance is bliss." Kent shrugged, looking at me apoligetically.

"No." Dr. Wright piped up, I had forgotten he was in the room. "Ignorance is ignorance.

Not knowing about something isn't going to help you when it finally comes and smacks you in the face."

Everyone in the room turned to look at the doctor. I half expected Kent or Scott to tell him that nobody had asked his opinion. But instead, Oquendo walked over to the doctor and clasped his shoulder. "Wise words, doc."

"Well, the visitor hours are going to be over soon." Kent said, after a glance at his watch. "I think we'd better get going."

As my fellow tankers filed out the door, Dr. Wright and Sadie Hutchings watched them. Sadie looked very bewildered, probably not knowing what to think. Doctor Wright was giving Sergeant Kent the evil eye.

***

Darren awoke to a steady humming noise and a terrible pain in his head. When he opened his eyes, he found himself sitting in the front of a truck. It was night now, he reasoned, seeing only black shapes rush past the window. The only lights in the cab were the softly glowing faces of the gauges on the dashboard. The truck was driven by Lars, to his left. Oddly, for the first time in what seemed like a week, Darren was wearing a shirt. He could also taste blood in his mouth.

"Welcome back, Darry." Lars said, keeping his eyes forward. "We're heading to a rendezvous with the other cells. We're going to join up with them and make plans for the winter. Any questions?"

Darren blinked. "Did we get all the guns?" He asked.

"Hell yeah, everything, the trucks, the ammo, we even kept that A-P-C. The whole haul." Lars patted the seat. "Found that too." He pointed to a long, slender box lying on the seat between the two Badgers. Darren could see it only now that his eyes were adjusted.

Darren opened it out of curiosity. He was most surprised to find a sword. It was old, obviously, with a relatively short, slightly curved blade. Darren didn't know much about swords, but he could imagine it as a naval officer's sabre. He felt the blade; it was plenty sharp even with its apparent age. Somebody had been taking good care of it, he thought.

"Guns, and now a sword. What in hell are we gonna go after next?" Darren asked sarcastically.

Lars laughed. "You make it sound like I went after a bruiser to take it out of his paw. I actually just found it under the seat here a few minutes ago."

Darren held the sword up, trying to read an inscription that was on the blade near the hilt.

"Don't get your hands all over that." Lars said, cocking an eye to Darren. "'Cause I'll be the one wearing it, I found it."

Darren scowled and placed it back in the box. It was a nice-looking weapon, and he thought that if Lars wore it to the meeting, the other cells might think he was trying to show off. That wasn't to say some of the others, namely the Bass peak Black Hammer Cell, didn't appreciate showing off.

In fact, the leader of that cell, a Panther named Saloman Bonnot, was famous for showing off. He had orchestrated a number of high-profile actions against Balfor units in his sector, usually ending with a humilating defeat for the commander of the Confederate units involved.

Darren was not looking forward to meeting Bonnot. He had heard that Bonnot was a former member of the the military of Mancitoma, before the dissolution of that country. Not surprisingly, the Panther was known to wear a military uniform.

Given Bonnot's wild reputation, Darren was afraid that Bonnot would become hostile, probably because of something Lars would do. He imagined the best scenario would be Bonnot beginning an inconvenient rivalry, and the worst-case scenario would be Bonnot and his gang killing them right then and there.

Coincidentally, Lars was thinking about more or less the same thing. "Hey, Darry, you know about that Bonnot guy?"

"Yeah..."

"I tell ya, I don't feel like dealing with that old cat." Lars Muttered, shaking his head. "He's wound up pretty tight, and to tell the truth, he's done a hell of a lot more than we have."

Darren cocked one eyebrow. "All this stuff - it doesn't count then?" He said, tapping the big truck's dashboard.

"For fuck's-" Lars began, before breaking off with an angry sigh. "We were going to jack this stuff at the Fairview junction. If this were Bonnot's turf, he would've jumped 'em the minute they crossed the border. We need something bigger that we can wave in his face, you know?"

"So where are we headed, anyways?" Darren asked, looking out the window at the land, covered in the black of the moonless night. He couldn't see much, because the truck was driving with its headlights on a low beam setting. He could, however, make out that there were other vehicles following closely behind, presumably the rest of the Anarchists and their loot.

"Well, they'll figure out soon that we got hold of these semis, so we won't be able to drive 'em around forever." Lars explained. "So we're just heading to an old logging camp. I radioed for the other cells to come to us, given that we have special cargo."

Darren was about to ask whether Lars really thought it was a good idea to send out a radio message, when he remembered his original reason for moving the ambush to Pilaco; Where was Bryan?

"What about Bryan?" Darren asked.

Lars was silent for a few seconds, and didn't turn to look at his companion. "Jas asked around town, and they didn't see anything of him." He said finally.

MIA. Darren thought, looking at the floor sullenly. "What about Tomo?" He asked suddenly, remembering the other casualty.

"Damn." Lars muttered under his breath. "I think they put his body in one of the trucks."

Darren sighed, turning to look back out the window. Soon Darren noticed the truck slowing, and Lars steered the vehicle onto a service road, leading into the dark woodland. Slowly and carefully, the commandeered vehicles bumped their way down the unpaved surface until they reached a clearing. In the clearing stood a few small wooden houses, smaller than the trucks which now parked beside them. Darren could see that a road on the far side lead further into the woods. The other trucks pulled up, one by one, and parked in a disorderly arrangement.

Darren and Lars hopped out of their vehicle, and a split second later were nearly blinded by bright lights that opened up on them from somewhere in the trees.

"Freeze, all of you!" An accented voice yelled, through a loudspeaker. Darren and Lars both stopped in their tracks, and the Coyotes in the trucks looked at each other uncertainly, wondering whether they were exposed, and yearning for a chance to size up the unseen enemy.

Jasper, driving the captured M90 APC at the rear of the convoy, had not heard the order, nor did he understand the meaning of the bright lights which he could only barely see. He plowed straight into the lit clearing, and the lights died down instantly.

Darren seized the opportunity and ran back behind the closest truck. Lars followed him promptly.

"Shit!" Lars hissed. "Somebody must've sold us out!"

"Don't jump to conclusions, my friend!" The accented voice of the loudspeaker replied.

"What?" Whispered Darren.

"Son of a bitch!" Lars breathed, before standing up and heading back into the open.

Darren stared after him, seeing that one of the lights now came back on, illuminating the clearing. Darren shielded his eyes for a moment, and when he looked back at the lit area, a tall silhouette had appeared there. Once his eyes had adjusted, he was able to distinguish the figure was a feline - Bonnot.

"I sure hope you've been fighting better than you've been learning to pull off cheap tricks." Lars yelled to the Panther.

Bonnot chuckled, and stepped towards Lars. "Please, we've been here waiting for almost an hour." He said coyly.

"Well we've got an oversize load here, in case you didn't notice." Lars replied, gesturing at the formation of trucks.

Jas stuck his head out of the APCs hatch, switching his gaze uncertainly between Lars, Darren, and Bonnot, who, like Darren, he had never met.

Darren, meanwhile, came forward from behind the trailer, and stood behind Lars.

"Darry, introduce yourself to Saloman Bonnot." Ordered Lars, who had heard his fellow Badger approach, and didn't like talking to Bonnot.

Darren stepped forward, and extended his paw to the Panther. The mysterious feline looked at him for a moment, before shaking paws heartily.

"Have I met you before?" Bonnot asked quietly. He squinted, studying Darren's striped face.

"I don't believe so. Darren's my name." Darren said, trying to decipher the look on the other's face.

"Darren is going to be my liaison, and he'll be the one co-ordinating our actions here." Lars said. Lars thought it was better to have someone Bonnot didn't know negotiate, even though Darren didn't volunteer for the job.

Darren figured that this was why Lars had brought Bonnot up during the truck ride. He felt as if Lars had just stabbed him in the back, and had an inkling of anger, but quickly decided it would suit him better to play along. Besides, he could get back at Lars later.

"So, where are the other cells?" Darren asked, masking his anger with a calm, almost casual voice.

"Leroy Blake's cell should be here any minute now. As for the others, I don't know." Bonnot shrugged, as if the whereabouts of the other Black Hammer cells were of no more concern than a game of blackjack. The Black Hammer Gang divided the Altama Plain into 5 sectors, and each sector had its own cell of the anarchists. Lars and his company were in charge of harassing the Balfor Confederate Army in the "North Canyon" sector. It was so named because the northern portion of the fast-flowing Fairfax river, and the canyon it carved, fell within its boundaries. The others were the Bass peak, Pietro Gap, South Canyon, and Zapalca River sectors.

The individual cells themselves varied as well. All of them had a member base of Coyotes, given that they were the predominant species on the Altama. Some contained only Coyotes, like Leroy Blake's cell (Zapalca River), while the South Canyon cell's membership comprised a dozen different species. Each of the cells had a rivalry with each other, a rivalry both friendly and dubious.

At the rare intervals where the cells met with each other, there was much bragging and arguing over who "jacked more stuff," who "busted more tanks" and, most importantly of all, who "wasted more bruisers."

"Bruiser" was an old name used by Altamans for Confederate soldiers. Any amateur etymologist who gave it some thought would probably conclude that the term originated because Balfor Confederate soldiers were most often Wolves, and any Coyote who got into an unarmed fight with one would probably come back covered in bruises, if he came back at all.

"So, I assume you've heard what's in these trucks?" Darren asked Bonnot, after a silence.

"Oh, certainly. And they will be use to us this winter, there's no doubt there." Bonnot came a bit closer to Darren, making the latter feel a bit uncomfortable.

"What do you mean by 'us'?" Darren asked, squinting at the Feline.

"Me and my Cell, of course." Bonnot said, raising an eyebrow that indicated only barely hidden surprise. "And the other cells too." He added.

"Where is the rest of your cell, anyways?" Lars asked, grinning. He had stepped back, and was sitting on their truck's bumper.

Bonnot snapped his fingers, the sound echoing briefly. The bright light from the trees went out suddenly, and what looked like a lantern flared up in the woods, followed by a few more. Soon enough, a mixed group of Coyotes, Felines, and a single large Canine emerged from the trees. They were dimly illuminated by the lanterns and flashlights they carried, but Darren and Lars couldn't see, because their eyes were still adjusting to the sudden dark. When the Badgers' eyes had finally caught up to the situation, the members of Bass Peak Cell were already standing in their midst, giving the impression that they had materialized instantly.

"Come on out, I think you'll be safe." Darren hollered to his own cell. The Coyotes of the North Canyon cell, still a bit nervous, stepped out of their vehicles gingerly.

"So, what should our first order of business be?" Bonnot asked, to both Darren and Lars, seemingly unsure as to which he should defer to.

It was Darren, apparently. "Well, I'd say we need to get these trucks under some sort of cover, won't be long before they'll have planes up lookin' for us."

"Right, there's a garage on the left side, you can park the smaller vehicles there, and the big trucks can park in the woods." Bonnot said, pointing to the road leading further into the trees. "And I think we have some camo nets we could throw on them."

"Big rigs, prepare to move!" Darren barked to the drivers. 10 of the Coyotes (the Anarchists had pumped all the fuel they needed from the Tanker trucks, then set them ablaze) returned to their vehicles, and restarted the engines.

"This way!" One of Bonnot's henchmen yelled, holding up his lantern for the trucks to follow. The driver of the lead truck looked at Darren uncertainly. Darren nodded consent, and the ten semi-trucks were soon camoflauged, just off the road.

Darren and Lars studied the operation through the trees, and when the last pair of taillights went out, Darren returned to the business of treating with his recently-acquainted ally.

"We'll stay at this camp until morning, and if the other cells aren't here by then, we'll just have to get by without them." Darren said. Bonnot nodded.

"Is this place safe?" Asked Bonnot, after thinking for a moment.

"It's owned by a friend of mine, and he's not that keen on using it." Lars said, winking.

"I see." Bonnot smiled. "I think everyone I brought can fit into those three cabins." He pointed to the right side of the clearing. The logging camp consisted of about a dozen small bunkhouses, complimented by a few dilapidated garages and wokshops.

"You'll find the doors unlocked." Lars said. "And we'll take the ones on this side."

"I'll post a lookout, in case the other cells come during the night." Darren said, and he lead Lars and the Coyotes of their cell to their accommdations. Lars chose a cabin, and pushed the door open; they were indeed, unlocked.

Once the vehicles were concealed, and everyone had settled down, Lars shared the Cabin with not only Darren, but Jas, Garth, and a few of the other sharpshooters, including Annie Paulsen, the only female of the group. Annie had been the only female in the cell for quite some time, and had long ago given up any pretense of decency. But she could shoot and fight like the rest, so her gender was never given a second thought (even by herself) - except during heat cycles.

The cabin had only one window, with no glass, not even a sill. The only defence against the elements was a tough canvas, which was nailed into the wood on one side. It didn't matter though, it was September, and the nights were still fairly warm. There were bunk frames, but there were no cushions or mattresses. Lars opened up a chest in the corner, and pulled out a few ragged sleeping bags.

It was around this point that Darren's exhaustion caught up to him. It seemed like ages had gone by since he had sprinted to escape Jeff Paulsen's gunshots, but it had only been that morning. Darren took one of the stained, matted sleeping bags and spread it out onto the floor. He took off his shirt, and balled it up to use it as a pillow. Had he not been determined to stay awake, he would've been in a deep slumber almost instantly. Darren's body ached, begging him to close his eyes and rest, but he had other plans. Snoring noises soon drifted to his ears, but he took no heed and focused on keeping his eyes open.

After waiting in the dark for almost an hour, Darren heard loud, heavy footsteps on the wooden floor. He soon saw a hulking silhouette open the cabin door and exit - Lars. Not wasting a second, Darren hopped up quietly, and followed a few seconds later, to allow Lars to get a bit of distance. Darren tiptoed around the Cabin, and peered around the corner. He was just able to make out Lars's figure heading for an outhouse.

After a few minute's wait, Darren's ears picked up his fellow Badger's footsteps returning to the cabin. He pressed himself against the wall, waiting for just the right moment. When Lars turned the corner of the Cabin, two paws gripped his chest and flung him sideways into the cabin wall.

"What's the big idea makin' me deal with that crazy cat?" Darren snarled viciously, before Lars could attempt to free himself.

Lars was about to express his indignation and surprise, but he stopped as Darren's question registered in his mind.

The two Badgers stared into each others' eyes in the dark for about half a minute, before Lars spoke.

"You don't get it, do you, Darry?" Lars whispered.

"Cut the shit!" Darren hissed, pulling Lars toward him, only to fling him back against the wall.

Lars reared up and countered with a punch to Darren's gut, sending the latter staggering back.

"Darry, this ain't about you, or me." Lars paused, to catch his breath. "It's about a dusty, shit-ridden place called the Altama." Upon finishing his sentence, he sent his fist into Darren's face again. Darren crashed to the ground with a painful grunt.

"Very poetic." Darren commented once he had propped himself back to a sitting position. "Since when did you care about this Coyote clambake?"

Lars bent down to Darren and stared maliciously into his eyes. "Look at me Darren, and tell me what you see." He growled.

"You're joking, right?"

"You see a Badger, one going on his 48th year." Darren hadn't ever put much thought into his comrade's age - if he'd ever bothered, he probably would've estimated Lars to be in his late 30s; Lars certainly didn't look 47.

"What?" Darren hissed. "You're...?"

"I haven't got much left in me, Darren." Lars postulated.

Darren was silent for a moment.

"Where'm I going to be buried when I die?" Lars raved, turning away from Darren. "We've got nowhere to go!"

Darren sighed, and let his head fall back. He wasn't sure whether he should admonish or comfort Lars, or resign himself to his own thoughts.

Lars shook his head and spit. He was silent for a time, but eventually returned his attention to Darren. "Shit, you're from Mancitoma anyways." He said.

Darren jumped up. "How the fuck do you know that?"

"Get real Darry, where else would you be from? Your momma popped up here just the year after the Bruisers took that hole over."

"Shut up, You don't know shit about me!" Darren yelled.

Lars scoffed, giving up on his impudent junior. He turned and returned to the cabin. His movements were followed by the ears of a dozen anarchists awakened by the altercation.

After standing outside for a moment, cursing under his breath and kicking at the ground, Darren went back inside and found his place on the floor. He soon fell into a deep sleep, swimming with lurid dreams.