When we were younger, Guy was the one who got all the girls. Even though he was so serious all the time, he was still a ladies man. Aside from November, I wasn’t very popular with the girls because I didn’t have enough meat on my bones. Guy, although not as fat as the average McDonaldlandian, was always really big and beefy. He was the captain of the foosball team, just like dad. Grandpa was a high school sports hero as well, but back then they played a game called football instead of foosball.
Football was a game where you actually used your entire body to play instead of just your hands. It was like you actually were one of the pieces on the board, and the board was the size of a city block, and you had to take the ball all the way down the block to score a goal. That is the kind of game I would have wanted to play. A game where you actually moved around. But after my grandfather’s time, people were just too fat for sports that required much physical activity, so foosball took over.
If you’re the captain of the foosball team you can have any girl you want. Well, unless it was somebody like Nova, who wouldn’t have liked my brother at all. But being so desired was almost a curse as well as a blessing, because he couldn’t have sex with any of them. That kind of attention was probably torture on his hyperactive teenage sex drive. Of course, if anybody was able to control his sex drive it was my brother.
It seems things have not changed much for him. Seeing all of the giant wolf women fighting over his body down on the street, it appears that Guy is still popular with the ladies. Hopefully none of these women are as determined as Molly was back in high school. Once she set her eyes on Guy, she didn’t rest until she had gotten what she wanted.
The black wolf bites into a tree on the perimeter, trying to gnaw through it. The bark peels off of its sides, but it is not chewed through so easily.
“Let’s go,” says the man in the white suit. “We need to get deeper into the woods.”
Pete doesn’t take his eyes off of the black wolf. “Can it get through?”
“If we stay here it will keep trying until it does,” he says. “But it’s not getting through any time soon.”
The two of them move on, but I stay standing where I am, watching the crumpled up van down in the road.
“We can’t do anything for him,” says the man in the white suit. “We need to move. There could be smaller ones in the area who won’t have problems getting through the trees.”
I give it one last look, squinting my eyes to see if he’s still alive in there. I swear I can see a little blue dot in the window of the vehicle, but I can’t tell if it’s alive or dead.
About a quarter of a mile through the forest, the trees become sparser. It feels less safe to go through this terrain, but the man in the white suit continues ahead.
We hear snarling and howling coming from the south, back in the direction of the road. It is another giant wolf, but it’s alone. Instead of going in the opposite direction, the man in the white suit goes toward the snarls.
“Where are you going?” Pete cries.
The man in the white suit hushes him.
We sneak through bushes toward the noise, keeping a safe distance. The snarling becomes louder the closer we get. I can see hair and movement through the leaves. We get so close that I can almost feel the body heat of the enormous beast.
The man in the white suit motions for us to get down once we are close enough to see. We lie on our bellies and peek out of the bushes at the creature in front of us. The beast is not just snarling, it also appears to be moaning and breathing heavily. We also hear a man’s muffled cries.
Lying in a meadow, we find the blonde wolf who had attacked us on the road. She is on the ground, on her side, with her paws in her crotch. She is wiggling and thrashing her hips. Then we see the man. The yellow Fry Guy who the blonde wolf had carried into the woods. We only see his yellow legs, but we can tell it is him.
The wolf is shoving the man into her furry crotch with the pads of her paws. Most of his upper body is inside of her, inside of the wolf’s vagina. The creature is fucking his entire body.
The man in the white suit speaks quietly over my shoulder, “The more they grow, the bigger their sex drive.”
The blonde wolf seems to orgasm with the man inside of her. As she orgasms, her body grows. There is a stretching and popping sound coming from her muscles as her flesh expands.
“And the more they have sex, the bigger they grow.”
The man shrieks inside of her, as if he can feel her growing bigger around him.
“With that kind of sex drive, she might continue raping him over and over, and she’ll just get bigger and bigger.”
Then the blonde wolf digs her muzzle into her crotch and sucks the yellow man out of her vagina. We listen to his muffled cries as she chews and swallows him.
“Or maybe she’s more hungry than horny,” adds the white suited man.
The blonde wolf curls into a ball and closes her eyes, relaxing after sex, lunch, and a growth spurt. Women are always drained after they go through a transformation like that. They almost always go into a deep sleep after sex.
We don’t have any problems sneaking away, even with Pete stumbling over his third leg.
“We need to get to the facility,” says the man in the white suit, leading us west through the woods.
“What’s the facility?” Pete asks.
“It’s where they were taking us before we were attacked,” he says.
“Shouldn’t we go back to the city?” Pete asks.
“We won’t be able to get in there,” he says. “They’ll just let us rot outside the walls until we get eaten by the wolves. Our only chance is to make it to the others like us.”
“What others?” Pete asks.
“The other men who are carrying the advanced parasite,” he says. “All the men with extra limbs are taken out of the city and brought to the facility. In the beginning, men with deformities were just thrown out of town and left for the wolves. But the strong ones survived, banded together, and formed an army to fight the wolves. They turned an old military facility into a fortress. Now the Fry Guys always bring people like us to join them in their war against the wolf women.”
“What do you mean people like us?” Pete says. “I don’t see any extra limbs on you.”
“That’s because I’ve been good at keeping them hidden,” he says. “Until yesterday, when they popped a surprise physical on me and my staff.”
We stop walking. The man in the white suit takes off one of his black gloves and shows us hands. He has two hands, one on top of the other, that fit into the same glove. He pulls up his sleeves and pants. He has an extra pair of arms and an extra pair of legs, but he has them strapped so tightly together he appears to only have two legs and two arms. He has two feet in each shoe, two hands in each glove.
“It took a lot of practice to get the new limbs to move in sync with the originals,” he says. “The hardest part was getting two feet to fit into each shoe, but with my small feet and these large shoes I was able to make it work.”
I stare at his feet. He has them curled around each other, with one foot taking up most of the toe area of the shoe and the other near the heel of the shoe. They only overlap in the center.
“Who are you, anyway?” I ask him, staring him in the face.
He originally looked my age, somebody I might have gone to high school with, but now I can tell that he is actually much younger.
“I’m Ronald Krall,” he says. “I worked in Research and Development. I was one of the people trying to find a cure for the parasites that are infecting more and more of the male McDonaldland citizens.”
Then he goes on to tell me all about the parasites:
They are a hyper-evolved species of flatworm similar to the species Riberoria trematode, which most commonly infects frogs. Riberoria is a flatworm that infects frogs while they are still tadpoles. As the tadpoles become frogs, the parasite causes them to grow extra limbs, as many as forty. It does this in order
to make the frogs easier to catch by predators. After the frogs are eaten by large mammals or birds, the parasite is able to grow into adulthood in the new host’s stomach as the frog is being digested.
This new parasite, that we call the Oryculous trematode, does basically the same thing, but it infects humans instead of frogs.
“So that we can be easier prey?” I ask him.
“Yes,” he says. “For the giant wolves.”
He says that, before he was taken away, he was trying to prove a theory that this parasite also has something to do with the lycanthrope virus that turns women into wolves. Recently, they discovered that it wasn’t a virus but a parasite that causes lycanthropy. It only affects women. Oryculous only affects men. Krall believes that the two parasites have a sort of symbiosis. He thinks perhaps they are male and female of the same species, and use this process for mating.
So the female parasite infects a woman, turning her into an enormous predator. The male parasite infects a man, turning him into easy prey. The woman eats the man, and as she digests him, the parasites are able grow into adulthood and mate within the woman’s stomach.
I ask Krall, “If that were the case then how come women have been turning into wolves for a hundred years and men have been growing extra limbs only recently?”
“It’s not as recent as you might think,” Krall says. “The real question is why the parasite infects all women of McDonaldland but not all males are infected. The number of males infected has increased dramatically in the past couple of years but only two decades ago it was incredibly rare.”
“No,” I tell him. “I think the real question is how the heck are all these parasites getting into the food?”
It makes Krall laugh, as if he thought my question was meant to be a joke.
We hear engines roaring in the distance, although they don’t sound anything like the electric engines of the McDonaldland vehicles.
“That’s them,” Krall tells us.
We run out of the woods toward the sound, hoping to get to the army before we run into more wolves. On a dirt trail, heading away from the main road, we see a caravan of cars and motorcycles. The cars are similar to the ones that escorted us into the wasteland, but these are uglier, more battle-damaged, and have old fuel-powered engines in them.
I wave all four of my arms at them to get their attention as we run out of the woods, down a hill toward them. The caravan stops. Two of the soldiers on motorcycles leave the motorcade and ride through the clearing toward us. Each motorcycle rider has two legs and two arms, and each of them holds a machinegun with their extra hands.
They stop about twenty yards away. As they get off of their bikes, I realize that they are not two people with extra limbs, they are four people with the natural number of limbs. Each motorcycle had a passenger on the back.
And when they speak, I realize they are not men, but women.
“Don’t move, fat boy,” says one of the women, as Pete tries to scurry back into the woods.
They keep their guns pointed at us as they approach. We hold up our hands. When they get closer, their wolf features become clear. They are female McDonaldlandians who were outcast for having illegal sex.
Two of them stay with the motorcycles. One of the women has bright red hair, yellow eyes, furry red wolf ears, whiskers and a long red wolf tail. The rest of her is pretty much human. Her legs sticking out of her plaid skirt are not furry, her arms sticking out of a ripped up tank top are normal except for patches of red fur on her shoulders. She’s actually pretty cute for a wolf girl, apart from the gun she is sticking in my face.
The second one, on the other hand, is not so cute. She is wearing leather pants and a spiked leather jacket zipped all the way up to her neck. Chains and bullet belts are wrapped around her torso. The only parts of her that are not covered with leather are her hands and face, which are both covered with thick black hair. She looks even more transformed than Molly, but she has yet to develop a muzzle.
“You escaped our big sisters?” the black one asks, her voice hisses through her teeth.
“You mean those giant wolves?” Krall asks. “We hid from them in the woods.”
When he turns to point at the woods, the black-haired girl pokes him in the side with the barrel of her gun. He hunches over for a second but tries not to show pain in front of them.
“You ruined their meal,” says the red-haired wolf girl, pouting at him.
Although she looks like she’s in her mid-twenties, her voice sounds like a six-year-old’s. She also has an awkward little girl’s posture.
“I’m sorry to have inconvenienced them,” Krall says.
She looks at the black-haired one and gives her a sad face, “Poor Tessa is probably so hungry now. She didn’t get to eat any of them.”
Black Hair exposes her teeth in a grin at Pete and says, “Maybe we should feed her this fat one. He’d fill her up nicely.”
Pete backs away.
“Yeah,” says Red Hair, giggling, “I’d want to eat him too if I were Tessa.”
One of the women with the motorcycles yells at them.
“Pippi, Slayer, stop teasing them,” she says.
Red Hair, who I would guess is the one named Pippi, turns around and says, “Aww, but that’s the funnest part.”
“Let’s go,” the woman says.
The wolf girls put their guns to our backs and push us in the direction of the motorcycles. The woman waiting for them seems to be the oldest of the four and seems to outrank them. She’s wearing spiked plates of armor made of boiled leather and old rusty pieces of metal buckled to her breasts and shoulders. She doesn’t carry any guns, but has two axes strapped to her back. Her wolf features are very prominent, yet she is not very hairy. She has a fully extended muzzle, but her face is still mostly bald. Thick brown fur grows down the sides of her neck and face like fuzzy sideburns. Her human hair is braided into multiple thick long locks, giving her a medusa-like quality.
The woman says, “They call me Talon. I’m second in command of this tribe. You are now prisoners of our clan. Our law states that anything a woman captures becomes her personal property. These two captured you, so you now belong to them. It is up to them whether they use you for food, labor, or entertainment purposes.”
Pippi shakes my shoulders excitedly and cheers into my ear.
It seems that I have become Pippi’s property. Pete and Krall have become Slayer’s property. Why Slayer gets two and Pippi only gets one is probably because Slayer is the alpha of the two females.
I am put on the back of Pippi’s bike and ordered to hold onto her with all four arms. Slayer gets on the bike behind me, squishing me into Pippi as hard as she can. Krall doesn’t get to ride on a bike and has to run alongside Slayer with a chain around his neck.
On the other motorcycle, Talon and another wolf girl have Pete on a chain and he also must run alongside the bike. He’ll never be able to keep up.
As we take the short ride back to the caravan, Slayer laughs at Krall as he tries to keep up with the motorcycle. Pippi looks back and giggles. She slows down and then speeds up really fast and slows down and speeds up, to make him stumble. Every time he stumbles, Slayer chuckles and yanks the chain to make him stumble even more. Pete seems to be doing surprisingly better than Krall. Although he is huffing and puffing, Talon does not drag him faster than he can keep up.
Being squished between the two wolf women is overwhelming my sense of smell. Slayer, encased in her leather outfit, completely reeks of skunky animal sweat. And Pippi, although much more human-smelling, has probably not worn deodorant in years. As my four arms are wrapped around her, she squeezes the upper pair with her wet armpits to keep me in place.
When we get to the caravan, we see that each car has been patchworked together from several different cars. Much of the metal used is either rusted or filled with bullet holes. There are several different layers of plating around the exterior of the vehicles, reinforcing them so that even a giant wolf wou
ld have difficulty biting through. A variety of weapons have been attached to each of the cars, many seem to have been scavenged from the black armed vehicles that the Fry Guys drive.
The wolf women in the vehicles are in all different stages of their transformations. Some look mostly human, others hardly resemble humans at all. One of them, standing at a machine gun turret in the roof of a van, looks to be eight feet and 350 pounds of pure muscle and hair.
The motorcycles pull up next to a truck with a metal cage in the back. Slayer gets off the bike and pulls the chain around Krall’s neck until he follows her toward the truck. Talon brings Pete to the truck as well. When they open the cage, I see that there is already a man in there. A man in a blue suit.
Guy? I try to get off the bike to see if it is really my brother, but Pippi grabs me by the wrist.
“Where do you think you’re going?” she says.
Her grip is really tight on my arm. Although she’s pretty small, she seems twice as strong as I am. I knew wolf women became stronger as they transformed but I didn’t know they were this strong this soon in their development. Also, I just noticed that, although her arms are completely human, she has long wolf-like claws growing from her fingers, digging into my skin.
Slayer backtracks and handcuffs me to Pippi. She handcuffs my original arms to my new arms around Pippi’s waist and over her shoulders in a criss-cross fashion, so that it feels as if she’s wearing me like a backpack.
I stretch my neck up as much as I can and squint my eyes at the cage. It is definitely my brother in there. However, it doesn’t look like he’s moving.
After they get Krall and Pete into the cage, the caravan starts to move. Slayer doesn’t get back on the bike. She rides on top of the truck with her new captives, poking them in the cage with a stick.
The dirt road leads to an old highway and we take that east. The highway is littered with long abandoned cars. Most of them seem to have crashed into each other, as if there had been some kind of demolition derby here a hundred years ago. Or some kind of war.
Warrior Wolf Women of the Wasteland Page 5