An Empty Frame

The mewling had gone on for days at this point. No words, just a pitiful whimper, three hundred feet below her. She should have put it out of its misery. Shoot on sight was the policy, and it had kept her safe for years now. But when she’d lined up her scope and saw the pitiful thing, she knew it wasn’t capable of hurting her in that state.

Still, she knew better than to take a weak thing in. You heal something up, and suddenly it wasn’t so harmless anymore. Before you know it, they’re threatening what little you’ve got.

It wasn’t much, but what she had was hard won. She had her home, the curious tower she called Bug. She called the tower Bug, because its long spindly legs and bulbous top always made her think of some strange insect. She had a rifle and some bullets. She had a bed. She had a three month supply of food and water. She had a heart-shaped locket, but it was empty inside, just a hollow metal frame. Still she kept it, and maybe it was just as well—it served as a reminder of lessons hard learned. Love and trust were luxuries that could not be salvaged in these times. Not that it was helping one lick right now.

Today the whimper was getting to her. She was used to lonely. She’d sat long dark nights with lonely. Listening to the suffering of another creature, though… made her feel like something might be wrong with her for not doing something. Lonely perked up and started prodding at her. Something twisting and aching woke inside her.

That was how she ended up climbing down the three hundred foot metal ladder to the ground, each step clanging with all the reasons this was a bad idea. Disease. Murder. Resource shortage. As she drew near the ground, she realized the little tragedy had gone still and silent. She rushed to its side, and found it still warm and breathing. It shivered in pain or fear, but made no move to lash out. She scooped the creature up and strapped it to her back. The way back up was long and arduous, but she’d made the trek with heavier loads than this. Why, this little thing was practically weightless. She brought it inside and laid it down in her blankets.

The inside of Bug didn’t have a flat floor, and rainwater collected in round belly bottom of her home, so she constructed a sort of shelf around the walls, hanging over the collected rainwater like some kind of dock. She was proud of her indoor pond. It kept the place cool, and it was a good water source once it was filtered and boiled.

There was a bed, a cupboard, and a table, all built by her. She had a few candles, but she tried to reserve them for special occasions. In her cupboard she had jars of homemade broth. She took one of these out, opened it, and slowly fed it to the little foundling.

She had to pour it in its mouth slowly, as it was making no moves to eat on its own. As she did this, the silence between them stretched a little too much, and She thought she ought to tell it a story.

Her story, that is. She didn’t know another.

Her name was Kooka. Well, at least, that was the only name that stuck.

Her parents had died in the initial onslaught. She had been only eleven, and she didn’t remember much about the Before. She couldn’t remember a lot of things, actually. When she was younger, she believed she had survived by her wits. Wiry and wily, she’d called herself. She knew better than that now. She’d barely made it. “Lucky” wasn’t exactly accurate either, because it had been hell to get this far.

“We won’t talk about any of that though,” she murmured, wiping a soothing hand across the animal’s brow, “not when you’re already so low.”

How did she get the name Kooka?

Someone used to call her “La Cucaracha,” because, “don’t know how you survived so far, but now you’re skittering around on scraps.”

“He had a point,” she mused. “I was a skittering little thing.” Maybe that was why she had named her tower Bug. A home, a sanctuary to survival, or something familial, even. A little cockroach in her bug.

She pet the little bundle of bones, checked its paws, teeth, and ears. It would be right as rain with regular slow feeding.

“I guess it’s your bug now too.” She murmured, patting its slender head.

The creature grew into quite the beast. It was fierce and loyal, and fiercely loyal. It earned its keep by watching through the night. It howled and growled at anything human or otherwise that approached. It must have seemed a fearsome thing, because they all ran away without a word. She hadn’t had to use her rifle in months.

One day though, she came outside to find the creature wagging it's tail and gazing down at a human woman far below.

"What the hell is that?" the woman asked.

She tilted her head to the side and looked at it for a moment. "It's a three eyed deer wolf. It's very fast."

"That's cool. Can I pet it?"

Kooka considered for a moment. "Yes, I think you ought to come on up."