Rain drizzles down over a dark cold city. It used to be joyous, loud and bustling at one time; cars used to pack these streets until not even a bike messenger could ride through them. All the buildings used to be lit up at night and you could almost hear the people exhale simultaneously at the end of each workday. Now the only cars you see on the streets have been stripped empty and are slowly decaying from the forces of nature. All the buildings are starting to crumble as the seasons take their toll; the only inhabitants are crows whose droppings are just further degrading the steel supports. Rats have chewed through the wiring making it so not even the lights flicker on in the evening anymore. But in this cold rainy city, a flicker of light shows, a small flashlight mounted on the vest of a lone visitor to the city.
Running alleyway to alleyway in the rain trying to get back to his hole in ruins of a old moving van that is pinned between two buildings; a timber wolf, no older than twenty, weighed down by a old military vest loaded with ammunition for a rifle and shotgun. Using a duster jacket to keep the rain off his back it also keeps his gear hidden. Eventually the wolf arrives at the van, once inside he set to the task of trying to warm up and dry off. First he removed his duster, a long black coat, setting it up to dry near the cab of the van being careful not to let it drip on the vest. Then he took off the vest and placed it next to his rifle; an 1946 mosin nagant, a relic in it’s own time but a blessing in a time like this; and his shotgun; a 12-gauge pump Remington 870, to protect himself from any “strays” that wander too close to his van. Next thing he took off was his boots and set them next to the coat, soaked from running through pools of water they leaked water onto the floor. Before he took of his last bits of clothing he closed and locked the doors to his van giving him at least a faint bit of security; after doing so he took off his shirt and fatigue jeans leaving him in a pair of loosely fitting boxers. Before everything went to shit he used to be pretty chubby but after being just barely able to survive and being lucky enough to find this van; he lost a good amount of weight. Even one of his silly ideas before SHTF is still fairly pretty; before this all happened he dyed his tail rainbow colors to go well with his black fur, but in a attempt to dull the colors he coated it in black charcoal dust but during the rain it was washed off. Shivering from the cold draft blowing through the van the young wolf pulled up around him some blankets that he scavenged from one of the old buildings linen closets. Loudly his stomach grumbled, he hadn’t eaten in a few days. “Tomorrow,” he thought out loud while rubbing his belly, “tomorrow I’ll go hunting and get some food.” He has said this many times to himself only to come up empty handed the next day. Slowly his eyelids drooped and he dozed off listening to the pitter-patter of raindrops on the roof of his makeshift home.
Morning comes quicker then expected for the wolf and he can hear the crows cacophony of cawing as he awakens. Slowly, almost reluctantly, he gets dressed then puts on his gear; first the vest, then the jacket. With a quiet clack he unlocks and opens the doors allowing sunlight to flood the interior. Before stepping out of the van he grabbed both the rifle and shotgun so he could try and assure that he’d have food to get through the week. As stealthily as possible the wolf makes his way to the city limits, the parts of the tail showing outside the jacket almost glowing in the sunlight. At the city limits there is a small forest, he knew there were deer and birds there, he’d seen them before when chopping wood for a fire to boil water for tea and to clean his clothes somewhat. He considered himself to be very fortunate that the woods were teeming with a variety of vegetation ranging from berries to wild onions and lettuce, he’d been able to survive for a while but he was starting to get weaker a sign of protein or iron deficiency; he needed red meat otherwise he’d be too weak to survive. Once he’d made it to the limits the wolf slipped into the woods and ascended a tree that overlooked a clearing with a small stream running through. Using a crotch between two branches to steady his rifle, he took position in case any meaty wildlife came through. Then the wolf heard a subdued splash come from the river and couldn’t believe his eyes.
To be continued…. Maybe…
