The Furred Reich

by Len Gilbert

  The crowd groaned and sighed when they saw their new home; and open-air camp that was already filled. The newcomers huddled into the pen’s boarded, wooden confines. Almost immediately Asril sensed danger.

  Paws occasionally shoved at vulnerable cat as she walked through. Out of instinct she did her best to pad over toward one of the fenced edges, clinging to her suitcase as she did. After a few moments, the pushing hands turned into gropes, something the young cat had never been subjected to.

  Asril hissed angrily as a hand squeezed over her breast through the fabric of her riding shirt. Soon she felt an adjacent furre rub against her flank. Embarrassment rushed to Asril’s cheeks. She tried her best to slink away, but there were people everywhere. In her vulnerability another male grasped the nape of her neck and that finally made her cry out. The housecat lowered her head and treaded her way to the edge of the camp, keeping her eyes closed as the mass of hands pawed and squeezed at her, unwilling to look at her own molestation.

  Once she reached a wall, Asril was no longer able to fight back the tears. She set down her briefcase and hid her head, knees clutched to her body. Why were the furres in this pen doing this?

  “Hey, um. Are you from Miamar?”

  A boyish voice called out from above her. Asril looked up and saw a fellow housecat. His coloring was similar to her own.

  Ausbruch

  “Yeah I’m from Miamar,” Asril looked up at the male, wiping away a stray tear.

  “Cool! Um, me and a few others from home are huddled together over there,” he said, pointing to a group of cats circled around a fire contained in a trashcan. Asril picked herself up and walked over to them.

  “My name’s Tanjung… So how’d you get to this terrible place?” He inquired, although he could have guessed the answer. He was probably just making small talk.

  “Oh, my um. My mother died.”

  That was a fine lie.

  When she arrived at the little group, everyone looked and felt a little familiar, like home. Asril was used to being on her own, but at least felt a bit safer within this group. Looking around the fire, she saw friendly faces. Stocky mothers with babies in tow, young boys, a few men, and five other young girls. Altogether there were fourteen of them including Asril. After trading stories, in her case fake stories, Asril felt comfortable enough to curl up upon the bare ground. The dirt and grass felt cold on her back, but at least she was safe now.

  That morning she awoke to a clang of armor and the sound of men running and yelling.

  “What’s going on?” Asril stirred from her spot and looked over to one of the cats.

  “I don’t know,” a girl about Asril’s age replied. “They’re running off, the guards are.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know, either. Nobody knows.”

  Asril watched nervously over the next half hour as the line of soldiers guarding the perimeter thinned quickly. One of the wardens threw berries, nuts and even live chickens into the prison confines as ‘inmates’ scuffled over the limited food.

  The housecats from Miamar got little more than nuts and berries, but Asril’s eyes were fixed on the soldiers who were being called to something more urgent.

  She walked over to the barbed walls. Soldiers talked of distant fighting, of needing as many men as possible, of a crisis. Their talk became whispers that rippled through the camp, and within minutes the refugees all knew what was going on.

  Would Miao just leave these fleeing furres behind boards, helpless to do all but wait for the lusty monsters? That wasn’t fair! They didn’t deserve this! A quiet sense of urgency descended onto the crowd.

  “Let us out!” One of the bolder prisoners, a slightly larger type of feline, called out at the guards. He got no response.

  By the afternoon only a small handful of soldiers were still guarding that hastily-made camp. Every now and then she’d see one of the more daring scale the fence and scurry off, the guards unwilling to chase them and leave their post unmanned. But soon, large groups were climbing over and escaping, en masse, into the city, and even still the few soldiers left guarding the pen were being called elsewhere.

  “Hey, follow me, Clara wants to talk to everyone.”

  Asril joined the other dozen or so cats in a corner of the encampment. In the huddle was Clara, one of the two mothers and apparent leader of the group.

  “We’re going to go. And we’ve decided to escape and try to board a westward caravan. Those who want to may join us, those who want to stay here can do so.”

  Tanjung raised his hand and interrupted. “Wait. Isn’t the land west of here nothing but jungle?”

  He had a point. The jungles were no place for their short-clawed race.

  “We won’t go there. Much further west, and north, there’s a kingdom behind high mountains. It’s the only place I know that might still be safe… Asril—”

  “You and Martaka will climb the fence first, and when you’re over, find an alley and then signal over the rest of us.”

  Asril shifted in place. Well, this job wouldn’t really be too tough. It only took a few moments for the few guards remaining to be distracted by a rather large group of escapees elsewhere.

  “Come on, now!” Asril pulled Martaka by the arm and lead him up the fence. She avoided the barbs atop the barrier and hopped down to wait for him.

  The two crossed a narrow canal and hid behind one of the tile-topped adobes. Even still no guard even paid attention to them. Asril peeked out from the corner and gave the signal. One-by-one others scaled the fence, some taking much longer than others. Tanjung was the last to arrive, as he helped the children and mothers scale the formidable walls.

  Chaos had not yet set into Miao as it had in Aolom. In fact, most outside were just going about daily business, and so the cats from Miamar had a few moments to talk everything over. All of them had been on the run for the last two weeks. All of them were hungry, but understood the need to get out, so there really was no time to stop.

  Caravans periodically took off from downtown. Asking around, the group soon found a convoy to the border of this mountain kingdom to the far west. Asril heard the convoy’s final destination, ‘Preena Pass.’

  “Is that the one?” Asril asked Clara.

  “Yes, dear. That’s the one we’re going to take.”

  After a quick discussion the group made the choice to take the Preena Pass caravan.

  Asril had more than enough money to pay for her fare, but some didn’t have enough. She had a choice: Pool her money or leave the group. There was only one good choice in this situation. Being with a group would still take some getting used to, but it was the only way to go. The thief had traveled alone since well before anyone had even heard of the ravenous green beasts. Still, without second thought, Asril opted to join the others. Tanjung came along, too.

  “All aboard! Clear!”

  The caravan was a number of large carts, each pulled by multiple horses and guarded by strong, striped cats which had to be mercenaries of some kind. The fourteen of them hearded into the back of one of the crowded cars with an occasional mewling. Tanjung found a spot lined with hay along the back wall, and sat down, dropping his bags with a sigh of relief. Asril dropped her stuff and sat down next to him.

  Green Tide

  “Look! Up there!”

  Kasha felt a paw tap on his shoulder. His friend Reince pointed to the sky. A hawk was sweeping down into the white-golden stalks of waist-high grass, looking for its prey. Kasha and the other wolves of the Goldgrass tribe were out in the late summer heat to throw a new enemy out of their land. The invading ‘Grimeskins’ had already taken pockets of human towns and villages to the east, and had cut off the wolves’ path to the Cottonwine Lands, which was unfortunate. Kasha and Reince had wanted to make a pilgrimage to that place. A pilgrimage, of sorts. But instead they were out here, part of a train of gray fur wading through the sea of golden wheat all around them. Out here all was silent except the endless hum of cicadas.
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br />   “Break off! Packs of five, one-by-one,” their alpha ahead yelled out. “The Sircassian Humans are just ahead. We’ll show those Grimeskins they don’t get to lord over humans. That’s our job.”

  A few laughs arose from the crowd. Kasha and Reince’s pack separated from the group and went south to help surround the human village.

  “Hey, what are those?” Reince pointed to the sky once again, directing Kasha’s attention to what looked like several rocks hurtling toward the ground a good distance away from them.

  “Is that… Could that be from the Grimeskins?”

  That was when Kasha’s long misadventure began. It was too late to stop or even react. The five of them looked up and a huge boulder came hurtling right in their direction as well. They scattered and Kasha dove out of the rock’s way. The rock landed with a thud and hissed at them through the high grass.

  “Something’s stra…”

  It exploded like a giant clap of thunder. Kasha felt his feet leave the ground and was then thrown clear in the air. He landed on his side and skidded in the grass. The young wolf searched around for his spear and opened his eyes. A thick white dust permeated the air. People were yelling and shouting in the distance.

  “Reince?”

  Nobody answered his call. And it was too late. Another rock came flying toward them. He got up and sprinted in the other direction. The dust blinded his eyes. Kasha ran through a cloud of smoke, following his ears while his eyes searched for his pack. Any pack.

  The young warrior bound his way out of the smoke and confusion. That was when he saw something he’d never forget: Large, green beasts mounted atop even larger, feral canines that were clawing and ripping apart his tribe wherever he looked.

  Fresh death greeted his nostrils and filled him with fear. Kasha’s legs took off and carried him through the grass. He danced past dead wolven bodies around him, but couldn’t look down. He might have actually recognized them. Maybe the ones left could defend the village. He would be home soon. Just a few more minutes.

  Huffing, Kasha collapsed onto the ground to catch his breath. The air was dead silent now, even the cicadas didn’t dare make a noise. Kasha sighed, dropped his weapon and looked down. His fur was peppered with soot and white powder. A wave of shame overtook him. Why was he hiding in the grass? There was not time to even breathe.

  Kasha grabbed his spear and got up. On the horizon was his home; a few wooden-brick houses, and many smaller huts. He ran once again but saw black dots ahead of him circling around his home town. The young wolf crouched in the golden stalks. One of the circling ‘Wolftaurs’ passed by, with a Grimeskin mounted atop and looking out for enemies. Kasha darted past the vegetable fields and hid behind one of the homes, evading the patrol. Had the Grimeskins already arrived?

  Peeking out, he finally saw one of his adversaries up close: A hulking green warrior with rough skin and ornaments of bones and teeth clanging from his wrists and neck. The green beast stared on, shrugged and then turned back to the center of town. Kasha slinked from one alley to another until he saw the town center, a humble conjunction of two dirt roads. When he came out onto a path he was treated to a whole other sight.

  “Enngh!”

  He couldn’t look, because he knew what was happening. On every corner and every hideaway, a Grimeskin had one wolven girl bent down, or against a wall, casually ravaging each one in their tight grasp. Kasha’s heart pounded in his throat. Some of the girls screamed, some cried, and a few tried to suffer in silence as a wall of green worked and ground over their young bodies.

  He shook inside. Someone was going to die for this. Kasha’s rising sense of morbid curiosity brought him to his family’s home. He was sure that his father hadn’t made it, and his mother already passed on seasons ago. But he had a younger sister, and sure enough there she was, her claws sunk into the bark of a tree as she was being mounted by what had to be one of the alphas.

  The male had her golden locks tangled between his fingers. He leisurely tugged on a fistful of her hair, causing Kasha’s sister to wince. Each stab was slow and casual, and elicited a messy squelch from between them. The scent made Kasha blush. He knew he shouldn’t be watching this, but he had to do something. Trembling, he clutched his spear just as the Grimeskin let go of his sister’s scalp, only to hook his burly green arm around her neck and force her to look up. She did, and even Kasha noticed the confused, hazy look in his sister’s eyes.

  The Grimeskin resumed his invasion of Camellia, who rocked and scraped against the tree trunk. Her mouth opened, as if she were about to yell or were in pain. The hulking male took full grasp of its prize and covered her breasts. Her head fell forward, and eyes pinched shut while he plundered. Kasha saw him speak some broken words to her, and she found herself pressing back against the invader. Camellia cringed, then smiled ever so lightly. With that, Kasha’s sister finally screamed for the male, not of wrath or indignation or pain, but of pleasure.

  Kasha’s spear quaked in his paw. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He looked over to see his younger sister a quivering mess in the invader’s clutches. She reached down and massaged her battered muscles, even with the grimeskin chief still deep inside.

  Kasha closed his eyes and sat down for a moment. He had a choice to make, his little sister had already made hers. No. There was no way to stay here. Kasha peeled himself away from the spectacle and ran for the vegetable gardens, ducking away from sight. The Wolftaurs still had a loose ring around town, but Kasha sprinted out into the wild wheat fields, away from the home he would never return to.

  Head Hunters

  Hoo-hoo! Hoo-hoo!

  Kasha stopped to rest. He’d been running past dusk, and now the owls had come out to play. The young wolf sprawled out on the ground. Goldgrass plains were typically silent, and Kasha’s ears would definitely alert him if trouble was ahead. Kasha had been on the run for hours, and in that time saw none of his own tribe.

  “What if I’m the only one left,” Kasha whispered to himself.

  That thought turned the pit of his stomach. He’d never thought about living entirely on his own. He couldn’t stay here, because even now the head-hunters were roaming through the wheat fields.

  Then a small bonfire rose up over the moonlit grass stalks, a lone sign of life in these newly-emptied lands. Could it be his friends? A remnant of his tribe rallying in the night? He sure hoped so. Kasha crawled silently toward that red light. The party there wouldn’t likely notice Kasha even if they were on the lookout. He crawled forward until he felt the fire’s warmth on the tips of his ears, and stopped crawling once he heard a high-pitched, mischievous voice rise above the fire.

  “This deal is so raw! We gotta clean the lands and watch the outskirts so the big boys get to enjoy the booty!”

  “Yea, yeah,” another voice joined in. “This ain’t what I rode out here for. If I don’t get a piece of action soon I’m gonna, gonna, maybe let the mounters die next time they need me at their back!”

  Kasha looked up and saw silhouettes of green huddled around the fire. It was the head hunters. He dug his hind paws into the ground and lunged right toward the fire. On the first flash of green he saw, Kasha shoved the spear tip forward and into the enemy. A bone crunched upon his thrust.

  “Oww! Mother-fluffer!”

  The high-pitched curse would have sounded almost comical on another day. Kasha ripped out the spear and spit up soil under his paws as he sprinted off into the night.

  “Get him! Get him! Call the wolftaurs I don’t care! I’m tired of this!”

  The fields were Kasha’s home, and on foot he easily outran the ‘head-hunters’ and their hand axes. Kasha smiled quietly to himself, hearing the two voices cursing behind him as he widened the distance. Kasha didn’t know where to go, but at least he’d gotten a little revenge.

  “Ungh!”

  Then he felt an impact on his side.

  “Shh! Get down!”

  Something had knocked him over. Kasha went tumbling to th
e ground. He opened his eyes. It was a fellow wolven who had pulled him into the grass.

  “Shut up! We’ve been stalking these guys four hours! Stay down!”

  The two head-hunting Grimeskins ran up following in search of Kasha, and the two hidden wolves sprang out, surprised the smaller beasts, and bit their necks clear through. The ax throwers died quickly.

  “Time to go,” one of them said. His voice sounded familiar.

  “Reince?” Kasha asked.

  “That you Kasha?”

  It was Reince! He was alive!

  “Come on, Wolftaurs coming. Going to be here soon.”

  Reince reached down to collect the hand ax from the green corpses then he leads the three of them away.

  Kasha stared idly out into the late night. His nose already told him that no one had followed them.

  “Hey. Your turn,” Reince tapped Kasha’s shoulder, “get some rest.”

  Kasha staggered back to their impromptu hiding spot, and curled up into the grass to stare up at the twinkling sky. He let his eyes rest until the muggy sunrise got him up. That morning, Reince was staring off to the east, past a huddle of sunflowers.

  “Morning…”

  “Where are we?” Kasha asked.

  “A ways away,” the third wolf said. Kasha didn’t know the fellow’s name, but his body paint signified they were both in the same tribe.

  “My name’s Kasha.”

  “I’m Meiss.”

  “We’re getting our revenge today,” Reince called out.

  The headhunters are good at hunting. But so are we. With three of us we’ll be able to kill them all. One by one.”

  Kasha got up and looked over the precipice of endless grass.

  “You think anyone else is out there?”

  “Don’t know,” Reince said, picking up his spear.

  “We may have some more friends. Important thing is to hit the Grimeskins back.”