by Huskyteer
“Come on, girl. Let’s see what’s over that ridge.” The boy trots up the steep slope, dust puffing from his footsteps.
Silly human offspring. Always running away from the pack. I stop at the crest of the ridge, posing to show my magnificent coat and perfect form. The wind ripples my fur. My nostrils expand, sniffing the bone dry air.
Why can’t my pack live where the air is moist and the ground green? The harsh desert sands wear my paws to nothing. I almost envy the boy his shoes as I bound after him.
I bark. He’s straying too far.
“What is it, girl? Do you see a rabbit?” The boy barely slows. “I think I see the spring I told you about yesterday. Down there by that abandoned mine. Betcha there’s gold in that mine, big nuggets just waiting for me to pick them up and take them home. Won’t that make mom smile. We could buy her that washing machine she always wanted. And a big refrigerator. And an air conditioner. Then we could build the town dad always wanted, you know, the tourist center and everything. Boy, I can’t wait to bring home all that gold.” His yellow hair disappears into the darkness of the abandoned mine.
I bark. It does no good. I sigh. My keen nose informs me the mine shaft is an evil place. The air from the cave smells wrong. My skin twitches.
“Lassie, come on, girl. Help me find a lantern or something.”
I do not want to enter the cave, but the boy might be in danger and he is my responsibility. My foot scratches my ear as I hesitate at the opening.
“Wait, there’s something glowing down here. It’s sticky. There’s a bucket. I’ll scoop some up.”
My ears perk forward. Growls emerge from deep in my chest.
Green light oozes from the cave, reeking of malevolence.
“Ah! It’s got me!”
I bound up and down, unable to force myself to enter the darkness. The boy’s screams rip the air. I run in tight circles, barking frantically. My ears prick as I detect the sound of rustling branches. I freeze, assessing the new threat.
Balls of greenish-gray tumbleweeds roll over the ridgetop. They stop just above the entrance to the mine. Their branches wave though the air is still. Traces of greenish light define the thicker centers, flickering like beating hearts. My hair rises along my neck. Pure evil watches me without eyes. The tumbleweeds roll closer, branches tracing lace in the dry dust. I crouch, whining, torn between protecting the human boy and retreating from the danger encroaching on the mine.
A small weed, barely larger than a rabbit, bounces from a ledge and lands just beyond the mine entrance. The thorns lining the branches drip green ichor.
I bark, once, then bound away. The boy needs help, more than I can offer. I dash bravely around the hill to the small house where my pack resides.
I paw the screen door, whining low in my throat. The woman sings as she prepares the evening meal. I thump the door with my paw. She continues to sing. I bark once. Her voice shrieks off key as she hits a high note in her song. I cover my ears with my paws.
“Here, girl, whatever is the matter?” The man, alpha of my pack, leans his shovel against the porch.
I bounce on my paws. “Bark! Barkbark bark bark barkbarkbark. Bark!”
“Beautiful day, girl. I’ll second that.”
What is the problem with these humans? “Bark bark barkbark bark!”
“Did you see a rabbit?” The man sits on the porch, scratching behind my ear.
My tail thumps in pleasure. But the boy is in peril, I must bring help. I back away, front paws low. “Bark! Bark! Barkbark!”
The man frowns, scratching under his cap. “What is it, girl?”
The woman screeches the chorus to her favorite song.
“Bark barkbark bark.” Can’t they understand a simple statement? The boy is in grave danger and the man sits and scratches!
“Barkbarkbarkbark bark barkbark!”
The man jumps to his feet. “Little Timmy is in the well again?”
I whine, pawing my face.”Bark barkbarkbark bark!” I waggle my tail, circling to the trail and back.
“Martha! Little Timmy fell into the well again!” The man grabs his shovel.
The woman’s singing stops abruptly. Blessed silence falls in the little valley.
No, not silence. Rustling edges over the ridge, like an army of shrubbery creeping towards us. My hair rises. I growl deep in my throat.
The man rushes forward, heedlessly running for the well. Tumbleweeds pour from the ridge. Green light traces their descent. The man screams as they envelop him. His body disappears in the mass of mutant vegetation.
The screen door slams. The woman emerges, damp dishcloth dangling from her limp hand. The wave of tumbleweeds crests, surging along the path to the farmhouse. I rush in circles, barking a warning. The woman flaps her dishtowel.
“You say Little Timmy fell into the well again? He’ll be all right. He always is.” She hums as she clips her cloth to the clothesline.
The green-gray plants advance, swallowing the shed. The woman pays no attention to the threat now creeping into her yard.
“Bark bark!”
“Hush, girl.”
The tumbleweeds creep around the woman, encircling her with their glowing fronds of thorns. The branches tremble as the tumbleweeds prepare to pounce.
I cannot stand helpless while my pack is devoured, but I cannot stop them by myself. I dash away, paws flying as I rush to the town. The man with the shiny badge and the man with the great, red, water-breathing monster will help.
I bound across the park. Delicious smells waft through the summer air, but I am determined to ignore them. I must save my pack. I leap over a small child playing in the sand. Nothing will deter me, not today.
The man stands near his water-breathing monster, bathing it while it sleeps.
I bark.
He pauses, water pooling around his feet. “What’s that, Lassie? Trouble at the farm?”
Finally! A human who can think! “Bark, barkbark yip!”
“Little Timmy has fallen in the well again?” The man drops the hose.
I wrap my paw over my eyes.
The man dashes into his den, leaving me alone with the great red beast. I whine, impatient to save my pack.
The fat orange tabby leaps from her perch on the windowsill. She flicks her tail. “Mrow.”
“Barkbarkbark!”
“Mrow?” Eye-blink conveys her assurance that no plant would dare invade her home.
These are not normal plants. They are monsters, fed on the toxic waste stored in the old mine. These tumbleweeds eat humans. I scratch my ear as I share with the tabby.
Her fur bushes. She hisses.
“Bark.” I thump my tail once.
She leaps the fence to the alley. She will bring help to my pack.
The man who tends the beast hurries from the den, followed by its other servants. They climb onto the thing.
“Lassie, come on, girl! We have to save Timmy!” The man pats the seat in the monster’s head.
I jump. I have never been allowed inside before. I sit tall, tongue hanging loose as I taste the new smells.
The man wakes the beast. It roars and squeals as it charges through the town. I brace myself as it rushes around corners. Within moments, we have reached my pack’s residence.
Masses of glowing tumbleweeds cover the house and yard. The great red beast drives into the pile, crushing them beneath its round black feet. I bark, rejoicing in our triumph.
The tumbleweeds hunch together, retreating up the slope behind the house. Green light sparkles along each narrow thorn. They tangle branches, rolling atop one another to form a lumpy humanoid figure.
“Well I’ll be tarred and dipped in mustard.” The man scratches his head. “Your little Timmy is quite the genius, to build a statue from tumbleweeds.”
The other men who ride the beast gather to stare at the monstrosity.
I growl and snap my teeth but they do not listen. The tumbleweeds engulf the men in oozing green ichor. I lea
p on top of the red beast, barking warnings. The tumbleweed giant stumps forward, humans wrapped in its thorny embrace. I stand my ground. They will not devour the water-breathing beast, not while I breathe.
The mutant creature stumbles closer. A mouth forms in its featureless face, a hole lined with thorns. Flashing lights rotate beneath my paws, streaking the abomination with red.
A sound emerges, a rushing roar. My fur rises. Little Timmy’s head appears in the thing’s eye socket. His eyes glow with green light. I bare my teeth. I must save Little Timmy. I leap to the nose of the great red beast.
The tabby cat appears, landing lightly beside me. Her tail bristles at the sight of the thing. She flicks one ear. Help is on the way.
I rush forward, confidence renewed. The female of my pack dangles within the branches of tumbleweeds as it swipes one arm towards me. I snarl. How dare these plants perpetrate such horror on my humans!
Rabbits pour from the hillsides. I leap to the safety of the red beast’s head. Their eyes flicker red as the rabbits fling themselves upon the mutant plants.
The giant form sways, howling like wind trapped in the chimney. The suicidal rabbits leap up its torso, biting and kicking. Their eyes glow madly, insanity incarnate. One arm drops from the tumbleweed creature. The humans trapped inside writhe with mouths open in soundless screams. But even the rabbit horde is too small, their numbers too few. The monstrosity howls as it swings its remaining arm at the square, red beast. Rabbits tumble within it.
I bark, thumping the monster with my paws. Why will it not wake and breathe water upon the tumbleweed monster? Why will it not slaughter the thing with its powerful spray?
The cat hisses, swatting her paw across my nose. She deliberately glances over her shoulder, pausing to lick a spot on one paw.
Deer pour into the tiny valley, eyes rolling white in panic. Cats from the town drive them into the weedy monster’s embrace. The deer kick and buck, knocking tumbleweeds loose to scatter across the remains of my female’s garden. The rabbits rise from the ground, devouring the loose tumbleweeds.
The creature howls, Little Timmy rolling in the eye socket as the beast falls. The rabbits swarm its carcass. The deer trample the vegetation. In moments, the thing lies in pieces too small for even rabbits to devour. Human bodies lie crumpled among the thorny branches.
I perch on the head of the water-breathing beast. My pack lies dead on the churned ground, among the servants of the slumbering beast. The deer flee into the hills. The rabbits fade into the brush. The cat flicks her tail as she saunters back to town and her sunny windowsill. I contemplate my failure to protect my family from this horror.
I raise my muzzle and howl my grief to the uncaring afternoon. I shall stand vigil at the site of their destruction until my beautiful coat is dusty and faded and my ribs show from starvation.
The man stirs, groaning. The woman sits, pushing strands of hair from her face. Little Timmy sprawls in the road, snoring. The servants of the beast stumble to their feet.
I bark in sheer joy. My pack lives! I have saved them from the abomination of tumbleweeds.
“Bark! Bark!”
“Lassie! Go home, girl! And stop that infernal barking.” My alpha male wipes his face, blood seeping from multiple scratches.
I bound from the beast to lick his face. He shoves me away.
All is right and proper. I have saved my people from danger. It is only my job.
REATTACHMENT, by Kevin Frane
Jared would have recognized Mischa’s laugh anywhere. It had been so long since he’d heard that sound (and towards the end, Jared had scarcely gotten to hear it at all), but he’d always held out hope that the coyote’s laughter would ring in his ears again. The wolf knew it so well, in fact, that he picked it out from amidst the sounds of the busy city street at midday.
He just never thought he’d find it in a vixen.
Jared wasn’t too dismayed that his lover had come back as a female; after a series of lifetimes and the loves that went with them, few people retained hangups about something as inconsequential as gender. By all rights, though, for Mischa to turn up as a fox—the species that came immediately before coyote in the cycle—should have been impossible, and that was enough to make Jared pause and consider whether he’d not just imagined that delightful chuckle that he hadn’t heard in nearly five years.
But no. It was Mischa’s laugh, all right. The wolf really would have recognized it anywhere, and that was it. It had to be. Wasn’t flaunting the rules of the universe in order to do the impossible such a coyote thing to do? And didn’t the wolf have faith enough in Mischa to give him credit for sneaking through a cosmic loophole?
Not wanting to waste another moment wondering, Jared bolted out into the street, ignoring the honking of horns, the screeching of brakes, and the shouting of enraged drivers. That vixen was Mischa, all right, and Jared needed to get him—well, her.
She was standing outside of a café at the corner of one of the town center shopping blocks. Accompanying her (and presumably the cause of her laughter) were a snow leopard and a badger. All three were dressed in business wear; colleagues, evidently. For the time being, they seemed to be enjoying a chat as they sipped their coffee in the outside air, but it looked as though they’d be moving along soon.
Before Jared even got to her, the vixen turned around to see what all the commotion out in the street was about, and the wolf slowed his steps as he looked into her face. She was probably in her mid-twenties—another big strike against the possibility of her being Mischa—but she had a familiar look in her eyes. Those eyes registered surprise when she saw Jared trotting purposefully up to her. The wolf hoped that the shock came from the deep-seated memory of her previous life.
“Hello there,” Jared said with a cheerful wave of his paw. He was panting after having darted across the street, and the vixen’s attention kept flicking back and forth between the wolf and the brief traffic pileup he’d created. That just made Jared’s smile widen, because another of Mischa’s more endearing traits had been his short attention span.
The vixen folded her paws together in front of her business skirt and straightened up politely. “Hello,” she replied with a slight dip of her muzzle. “Can I help you with something?”
“I’m Jared, who used to be Lianne,” the wolf said. “I think we may have known one another.”
“As Jared, or as Lianne?” the fox asked. Her eyes held no recognition, but processing through the memories of an old life often took time, and sometimes, help.
“As Jared,” the wolf replied. “You were Mischa back then.”
The vixen furrowed her brow. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m Rachel, who used to be Victoria. I’ve never been anyone named Mischa.” Her coworkers exchanged a look with each other, but neither was so rude as to chime in.
Jared shook his head. “No, I’m quite sure of it,” he said, attempting to convince himself as much as convince the fox. “You definitely used to be Mischa.”
With a sigh, the fox turned to her two companions and gave them an apologetic smile. “Look, you guys go on ahead,” she said. “I’ll see you back at the office.” The badger and snow leopard mumbled quick, awkward farewells and began to walk off, looking back over their shoulders more than once before ultimately rounding the next corner.
“So,” the vixen said, pausing to take a sip of her coffee as she regarded Jared. “How did you know this ‘Mischa’ fellow?”
It hurt Jared to hear this fox talk about Mischa as if she hadn’t been him. It was like a denial of everything they’d had together, when what they’d had had been so cruelly short. “He was this coyote I used to know,” he said. The past tense felt wrong coming out of Jared’s mouth, especially since he wanted to think that he was talking to Mischa in the present. “He was my boyfriend,” the wolf added in correction, impressed with his ability to keep his own voice from cracking. ‘Boyfriend’ wasn’t really a strong enough word for it, but that’s what Mischa had always us
ed to refer to themselves.
“But I’m a fox,” Rachel said. The muscles in her face twitched, like she found the prospect humorous but wasn’t sure if she was supposed to laugh at some joke that she’d missed. “How was I supposed to have been a coyote?” She left Jared with a few seconds to chime in and spring the punchline that wasn’t going to come, her look of cheerful expectation wilting rapidly. “Even if I had been him,” she said, her smile turned sad, “you know that we wouldn’t be able to reattach, right?”
That, more so than any of Rachel’s other denials, cut deep. Mischa never would have said that, societal taboos be damned, and if Rachel had been Mischa before, then Rachel shouldn’t have said it, either. Jared wanted to grab the fox by the shoulders and shake her, to yell or to cry until something he did brought that part of her that used to be his lover to the surface, but instead he just swallowed and dipped his head. “No. Of course,” he said. “I know that. I’m…sorry to have bothered you, miss.”
Rachel’s eyes were full of honest sorrow and pity. “I’m very sorry that I’m not him,” she said, but Jared could no longer look at her. He turned around, walked back the way he came, and made only a token attempt to keep from thinking about Mischa.
* * * *
For the last few months, even though Mischa had been getting weaker and weaker, his eyes had retained their adorable brightness, their spark of life. Now, though, even the young coyote’s eyes were beginning to dim. It tore Jared up inside to look at him in his current state, but since the wolf and coyote could count their remaining time together in weeks, now, he didn’t dare give up a single moment.
“You’re thinking about it again,” Mischa said, brushing his paw atop Jared’s. Though his words were weak because of his body, his voice hadn’t lost any of its spirit, and just hearing that brought the wolf out of his miserable reverie.
“I can’t help it,” Jared apologized. “It just…it doesn’t seem right.”
Mischa closed his fingers around Jared’s paw and squeezed. Such a simple act must have been more exertion than Jared could know, and the gesture made the wolf’s throat tighten. “We’ve both died before,” Mischa said, eyes twitching with the same glimmer of coyote mischief that had so drawn Jared to him in the first place. “We both know it’s nothing to be scared of.”
