The wave inside chapter 1
Chapter 1: "We gotta get out of this place."
**
What I had to do was take a piss.
What I _wanted _to do was go back to sleep.
You see, there was a good chance the day ahead was going to be both strange and stressful.
Well, now, wait, that doesn't sound . . . strong enough. If things went the way I thought they were going to go . . . if we actually went to Detroit, well, the trip would be more than strange and stressful, right? It'd be dangerous, too, and foolish as well. The world had fallen apart. Local travel was kind of safe - supposedly. There were still plenty of survivors who planned to leave Atlanta, to go off and find the friends and family they'd lost touch with. There were still those who came into Atlanta, too - bringing with them tales of soldiers on the road (who provided some measure of safety for travelers) and wandering groups of merchants and doctors.
But travel all the way north to Detroit? All that way? No one I could find had been that far north. No one knew what things were like up there. According to what folks were saying, the roads around the city were safe, and travel in this part of the south was mostly safe. Whether all that was true or not, that's what everyone was saying. But no one had been to Florida yet, for example, and no one had traveled to either the east or west coast.
In other words, no one really knew what the rest of the country was like.
The telephones were still down, and radio was still knocked out. Hell, we didn't even have telegraphs anymore - or television, either, for that matter. Without all that, no one anywhere had any way to get in touch with the rest of the world. No one anywhere had any way of finding out just how many survivors there were, or where those survivors were living, or what conditions were like in the rest of the country.
So, going back to bed wasn't the only thing I wanted. No, I also wanted to hide - from the world, from everything. Or deny, maybe - deny or delay the day ahead. I wanted to put my head back on the pillow, get myself back under those thick, warm blankets, go back to sleep, and just frickin' hide.
That's how all this started. The only reason I got out of bed - the only reason I got up to face what I figured might be a weird, trying day . . . was because . . . I had to piss.
I should also mention this: there was a chance that the trip to Detroit wouldn't happen at all. Danny's friend Luke had seemed pretty intent on going, but who knew? Maybe he'd changed his mind, or maybe he'd realized just how foolish an idea it was. Who knew? Maybe he'd show up, as planned, but instead of confirming the trip was on, he would tell us it was off.
Anyway, I got out of bed. I was groggy, sleepy, dehydrated. Drank too much last night. Fucking dehydration. I was so dehydrated, feeling like my body was so completely dry, and yet I also felt like I could piss out an entire river. Typical, right?
Swaying like a ship in a storm, I made my way to the bathroom. It took a minute. I didn't - I couldn't say I got lost or anything - but I wasn't familiar with this apartment. Well, I was familiar with it - I'd been living there more than a month - but, it seems, waking up sleepy and hungover made me forget for a moment where things where.
I rapped on the door twice, then let myself in. Danny was in the shower. Danny, by the way, is a Rottweiler. We're good friends, and we'd also been co-workers at Outta Site Shoes (until Outta Site Shoes got blown up, along with a good chunk of the city). Danny's a great guy, and he was cool enough to take me in, let me crash at his place until we figured out what to do with ourselves.
The water was going full blast, and clouds of warm steam had filled the small bathroom.
"Just taking a piss," I called out, voice hoarse from dehydration.
"Cool," he responded.
I pulled my dick out of my shorts, and started what turned out to be a very long piss.
"So, hey," Danny suddenly said, his head poking out from behind the shower curtain.
"Hey," I responded.
"Guess Luke'll be here in a couple of hours."
"Okay," I didn't know what else to say.
"I couldn't sleep last night." he ducked back under the spray of the shower. "Kept thinking about it. You know, I'm still leaning towards going with him."
"I know."
"And I still hope you'll come with us," he said, trying to sound casual about it. "If we go. I haven't talked to Luke in a few days, so I honestly don't know if he's still going."
I gave my dick a good shake, getting the last drops out. Before I could warn Danny I was going to flush the toilet, the shower stopped. Danny pulled back the curtain a bit, reached out a paw to grab his towel.
"It's such a crazy-ass thing, isn't it?" He shook his head, sending drops of water flying. "This guy that Luke knows, he thinks he can fix the world."
"Yeah, fix it by bringing something back." I went to the sink, to wash my paws and brush my teeth. "Something that's been gone for two hundred years. It's not so crazy. Lots of folks have been trying to do the very same thing - folks have been trying to bring the magic back ever since it went away."
"Yeah. True," Danny nodded in agreement. "Okay, so that's not the crazy part, then. What is the crazy part, I guess, is this - we know someone who thinks he can do it. Well, my friend Luke knows someone. That's pretty wild."
As he spoke, Danny covered his face with the towel, began to vigorously dry the fur on his head, as well as his floppy, triangular ears. After pulling open the shower curtain more than halfway, he ran the towel along the fur on his arms, his legs. Most of his fur was black, of course, as he was a typical Rottweiler. He had those tan markings on his chest, the tan muzzle, tan paws and feet. His penis was the same black color as his fur. It wasn't the longest dick, sure - not that it had to be. It was, however, thick. The shaft was nicely thick, and the head was meaty. His plump balls were covered in black fur.
He was handsome, I'll admit. Both males and females were always falling in either love or lust with him. There was something masculine about him, something male. I couldn't then - and can't now - define exactly, specifically, what it was. It wasn't the way he walked or talked, or the way he acted. He was just such a dude. Ah. That doesn't really make sense. Well, too late, I wrote it down, in ink, and I already decided that whatever I write in this journal I'm keeping in this journal. I wonder if I'll stick with that, or if these pages will be full of crossed-out things, and scribbled out stuff.
**
By the way, if you are curious, dear reader - I'm a Boxer. I have the broad, blunt muzzle, the stub tail. My fur is short, bristly, brown - except for my chest and most of my stomach, which are white. I also have white markings on my face and neck. What can I say about myself? Not much, I guess. I went to college for two years, then bounced around a bit, ended up in a shoe store. I'm kind of a nerd - played some D&D in my time, and I enjoy science fiction. Really, I'm just a guy trying to get by.
(Also, by the way, dear reader - do you even exist? Will you find this journal - and actually read it before burning it for fuel? I guess it doesn't matter. I have to write this all down, I feel compelled to. It's probably an ego thing - I probably just want to tell my story. Well, now, let's be honest. It's not really my story, is it? I was there, from the beginning, and I saw all the important stuff happen, but really I was just a witness. This is, mostly, Pascal's story. Or rather, it's the story of what Pascal did.)
**
One more thing I should mention. Something I was curious about. Why did Luke's friend think he'd be the one? What if he wasn't? What would happen if he and Luke - and Danny - got all the way to Detroit only to find out he wasn't the one?
**
Danny's friend Luke was a Ram. He was about the same height as Danny, but he seemed taller. For one thing, Danny had a tendency to slouch, while Luke stood as straight as was possible. For another, Luke had that magnificent, spiraling set of horns.
Luke wore ornate glasses. He was dressed in a pair of jeans and hiking boots, as well as (of all things) a dress shirt under a thin sweater. He looked like a young college professor on his way to a lecture, which makes sense - he was, after all, a grad student in college. Of course, there were no more lectures, no more classes, and there was no more school. School had gone away, along with nearly everything else. Maybe they'd all return someday? I was one of those - back then - who said, "Maybe everything will come back, and the world will be as it once was." Danny - back then - had been among those who said, "_Probably _everything will come back."
Anyway, looking at Luke, one would never know the Pulse had happened - one wouldn't know that society had collapsed (in what many folks were calling an apocalypse). Luke, calm and cool in his jazzy sweater, clearly had something important to tell us. He also, I noticed, didn't have that hunted, haunted look some folks had in their eyes - that look that says, _I've seen some _ shit.
Introductions were made, and I passed around mugs of hot coffee.
Luke's friend was a young Lion named Pascal. He didn't say much, not at first. He'd just turned nineteen. His mane was very long, and tied back in a tail. His baggy jeans were fairly beaten up, and his Converse sneakers were dark blue and scuffed. He wore a black tee and a bluish flannel shirt, unbuttoned.
There was a brief bit of small talk, as we'd all apparently decided to delay the conversation Luke (and Pascal) were there specifically for. We talked about the truckloads of bread and vegetables the army had brought in (they were giving it all away, but there were rations - folks could only take so much).
"So," Luke said, clearing his throat. The rest of us turned to him, suddenly silent and listening, like students who ceased their antics when the teacher walked in.
"I know you have questions," Luke continued, looking at Danny and myself. "It's really simple, this - what we have to tell you - it's really simple and short."
He looked at Pascal, who suddenly seemed uncomfortable in the spotlight.
"Um," the young Lion spoke up. "Well, here's the thing. I've been studying magic - the history, the theory, you know - since junior high. Guess you could say I'm a theoretical magician - that's the term, that's what folks used to call someone like me."
"Were you studying - majoring in - the history of magic, in college?" I asked. I knew that a few - a very few - students did that.
"No, I studied literature," Pascal looked down at his shoes, then back up. "I didn't want to major in magic history, or theory, 'cause I'd already read most of the books about that stuff - well - the good ones, anyway. I know, that sounds . . . really horrible and egotistical. See, where I went to high school, they didn't have any classes at all on magic, so, I had to find the books - and read them - on my own. So, when I got to college, I just wanted to study lit, and composition."
"Pascal was one of my students, in the intro course I taught last semester," Luke said.
"Thing is," Pascal seemed nervous, and suddenly even more shy. "I'm not just a theoretical magician. I can, well, um, I can do a small bit of magic, too."
The young lion had all my attention at that moment, as well as a good chunk of my skepticism.
"Show them," Luke grinned.
Shaking off his nervousness, Pascal looked around the room. He found, and held up, a pencil. He carefully placed it on the coffee table, and then he stepped back a few paces. He drew in and let out a long breath, and closed his eyes . . . when he opened them again, he stared at the pencil on the table. For a moment or four, nothing happened. And then - incredibly, impossibly - the pencil . . . rose up into the air. The trajectory was steady, and straight up. The pencil did not waver, or shake. It hovered for a bit, and then slowly flew across the room. Eventually, it collided with the wall, and fell down to the floor.
I'd been holding my breath, though I didn't realize it. My heart was racing, and my fur stood on end. I felt like a switch had been flipped in my brain. Once again, I felt like my definition of reality had turned out to be false, or wrong - I felt like reality had revealed itself to be something entirely different.
I had felt like that when the Pulse had hit. I'd never imagined that something like the Pulse could exist outside of science fiction - and I certainly never imagined that something like it could actually knock down society (or that society wouldn't get back up).
"Wow," I drew in a shaky breath.
"Yeah." Luke nodded his head, a gleam in his eye.
"I - I guess I shouldn't be surprised, right?" I tried to find the words. "I mean, magicians walked the earth for centuries, before magic suddenly vanished two hundred years ago. We all know that, even folks who paid no attention whatsoever in school - everyone knows that magic was a real thing practiced by real folks. But - this - seeing it - gods, it's just so . . . " My voice trailed off.
"Yes! Exactly," Luke said. The gleam in his eye got even more, well, gleamy. Gleamier? Whatever. "That's it, exactly. Magic used to be taken for granted, before it went away. It was something you saw every day, everywhere. So we shouldn't be surprised to see someone do it. But - but - we should be surprised, or shocked. It's been gone so long - I think everyone just kind of assumed it was gone forever."
"Yep," Pascal spoke up. "Right. I think we all assumed we'd never see anyone actually perform magic anymore. Gods know, I was kind of shocked when I found out _I _could do stuff like that."
"I was shocked," Luke smiled. "The first time Pascal showed me the floating pencil, I was so shocked. I wish my reaction had been different. I wish my reaction had been - Awesome_, folks can do magic again, it came back, cool! _Instead, I was so stunned, my stomach flipped over and I nearly threw up. Even knowing exactly what you just said, Jack," he looked at me, "Even knowing that, I still felt like I was seeing something impossible."
"Is the magic back?" Danny asked. "Is that what this means?"
"I don't know," Pascal reached for his coffee. "I don't think so? Not yet? Maybe it's just started to come back? I mean, I can't be the only one, right? Even though we lost . . . " he looked down at the floor. "Even though we lost a lot of folks - a lot of folks died in the Pulse, or in the riots and stuff that happened right after - even so, I can't possibly be the only one who can do this. Can I? Some magicians - theoretical magicians - thought that someone, or something, had taken magic away, which means - supposedly - that it can be brought back again. Maybe this is how it starts?"
Danny, I noticed, was looking at Pascal, his eyes bright. Months later, I would find out that Danny's reaction to the floating pencil had been pure joy. He'd felt a giddy wave of happiness, of pleasure. His reaction had been purely emotional, and purely good.
"What else can you do?" Danny asked.
"Not much," Pascal shook his head, briefly, causing his tailed mane to swish back and forth. "Some minor transmutation. I can generate a small amount of energy, or heat or cold."
"I have a question," I said. "Why Detroit?"
**
{to be continued}