Surviving the Hurricane

Rob, an anthropomorphic tiger and retired fisherman, concentrated on cleaning mashed fish from his father’s whiskers. He never seemed able to get all of it out no matter how hard he tried. His father didn’t seem to mind though. He passively sat, slouched in his chair, one side of his face drooping from a stroke last year. Giving up, Rob tossed the cloth into the sink and wheeled his father to sit in front of the television. He turned it on, hoping to get an update on the weather now that the hurricane had passed. As the generator roared to life he flipped through the channels finding nothing but static, “Here Pop, hold the ‘mote.”

The tiger placed the control on his father's knee and wrestled with the rabbit ears on top of the television when the screen suddenly went black, the generator running down. Rob cursed; He had forgotten to top off the fuel. He ran to the storage closet and checking each jerrycan, began to curse loudly, “Crackerjack! You no good crab eater! Pop, I need t’ make a fuel run, turns out you were right in tellin’ me t’ never trust a fox.”

His father hiccupped in response.

“I’ll be back as quick as I can. Pepper, c’mon girl!” Rob called to his little white dog. The westie jumped from the couch and dashed outside. She had a slender pink collar on with a heart shaped locket. Letting the screen door slam shut, Rob climbed into the small motorboat, lifting Pepper with one hand and untying the boat with the other. The little engine roared to life as Pepper stood on the bow pulpit, barking excitedly.

Even though the hurricane had passed, the storm surge remained. Rob had been very lucky. His house had remained intact and was raised on stilts high enough that only the bottom floor had flooded. The second story balcony was currently equipped with a makeshift doc. His whiskers twitched as the smell of a rotting corpse reached him, the bloated body of a capybara drifting in the muddy water. That wasn’t the only body he saw as he carefully maneuvered past destroyed houses and remnants of what had once been a flourishing coastal town.

Making it to Crackerjack’s home he was dismayed to find the front door open, mangled pieces of the deck floating in the water. Tying off his boat he climbed onto the ruined deck, inspecting the house with a growing unease. Some of the roof had caved in. The heavy metallic scent of blood permeated the air. Following his nose, he found his friend Crackerjack on the floor of his bedroom, flies buzzing around the crab-eating fox. He had survived the hurricane only to be murdered shortly after.

The old tiger knelt to examine the remains more closely when Peppers barking pulled him away. A boat approached; Rob recognized the sole passenger—Lance. The jaguar called out to him, “That’s a tasty little morsel.”

Rob flattened his ears against his skull, snarling at the spotted jaguar. Lance’s tail twitched as he gunned the engine, roaring away. Rob emptied Crackerjack’s chest freezer, leaving the spoiled food on the ground as he wrapped the fox in plastic and placed him in the freezer. That way other animals wouldn’t get after the corpse—hopefully anthromorphs wouldn’t either. Rob held the freezer door open, pausing for a moment. Then with a twitch of his tail he closed it, grabbed the jerrycans he could find and returned to his little boat. Pepper sniffed him but returned to her spot on the bow as he revved the engine up again. He threaded his way to where the police station should have been. Fallen trees had smashed the entryway. He didn’t see any cops. Whiskers twitching, Rob spun his little boat around and returned home.

“Hangin’ in Pop?” He asked as he let Pepper back inside, “I’ll get the generator runnin’ and then you’ll be right as rain.”

Rob started up the generator and filled the bathtub with cold water. He grabbed his father under the armpits and lugged the old cat into the tub. Wringing out a dishcloth he placed the cold compress against his father's forehead. His father's hands shook, a strange sound coming from his throat.

“Just need t’ cool off,” Rob said, dripping cool water over himself as well. His father began to pant, eyes slipping closed. Rob grew worried when his father’s condition did not improve. He pulled him back into his wheelchair, “It’ll be okay Pop. Let’s go t’ the hospital just t’ be sure though.”

Robert took his boat as close to the hospital as he could get it, making the rest of the journey on foot. He struggled to push the wheelchair over and around debris while Pepper zigzagged back and forth, sniffing and barking.

The hospital itself was located atop of a hill and completely overrun by desperate anthropomorphs and humans seeking medical care or just a safe place. Desperate patients crowded the hallways, some with injuries—broken limbs and lacerations. Others appeared shell shocked. The smell of the place was overwhelming. Rob maneuvered past a family of bush dogs crowded around a hospital bed in the hallway. All of them were sobbing over a relative that must have recently passed away.

Rob struggled to get the attention of a doctor or nurse who were all rushing about. Having lost patience Robert snarled at the next doctor he saw—a tapir in a stained button up shirt and wrinkled jeans. The doctor, terrified, directed him to an empty bed and assured him someone would be with him shortly. Pepper laid on the bed next to Pop.

“You’re goin’ t’ be okay,” Rob repeated more to himself than to his father. Finally, a nurse appeared to take his vitals.

The doctor called him into the hallway, “Mr.Sumatran, it appears your father has suffered a minor heart attack. With us running on reserve power there is only so much we can do for now. Because of his age we will keep him overnight for observation. You should go home and get some rest. You can come back and see him tomorrow morning.”

“Thank you, Doctor. And I’m sorry, about earlier… I didn’t mean t’…”

“It’s okay. I understand. Ever since this hurricane, it has been a desperate time for everyone. You do have a home to go back to?”

Robert nodded, rubbing at his whiskers. He said goodbye to his father, squeezing his hand then, picking up Pepper, made his way back home. A category 3 hurricane had hit the coast a few years ago. Robert recalled the body count going into the hundreds. This time it could be in the thousands. Robert had no doubt about that. Pepper was the only one that slept soundly that night, curled up at the foot of his bed. When the sun rose, Robert did too, leaving the little dog to sleep. He could probably collect his father before she even woke.

“How are you—” Robert started to say as he pulled back the curtain to find a trio of tamarins in the bed he had left his father in. His father’s wheelchair was still there. Robert stood for a moment, whiskers twitching before coming to his senses and drawing the curtain back in place. Ears backed he weaved through the crowd until he found a nurse, “Excuse me, my father… I left him here last night.”

The nurse was checking a bandage on a young lemur’s leg. She waved a hand dismissively towards the reception desk but when Robert didn’t move, she looked up at the big cat, “Ah… the tiger. Rather an uncommon sight. Um…”

She excused herself from her patient and led Robert to a room. She closed the door, “I’m sorry, we could not call you with the phone lines being down. Your father passed in the night. There was nothing we could do. When things settle down you can return to complete the paperwork and make the funeral arrangements.”

She slipped out the door before Robert could even get out one of the hundreds of questions pulsing through his brain. He slammed a fist against the closest wall but then his tail went limp. First Crackerjack, now his father. At least he still had Pepper. Sucking in a breath, Robert returned home once more.

“Pepper, I’m home girl.”

Thinking she must be still asleep he went to his room to check, his heart seizing in his chest as the scent of blood hit him again. His dogs pink collar with the heart shaped locket lay on the floor, near a spurt of blood. Grabbing it, his vision turned red. He thought back to what Lance had said to him the other day. That’s a tasty little morsel.

He rushed to Lance’s house, breaking in the door, and grabbing the spotted jaguar by the throat. It was the first time Robert had ever seen a glimmer of fear in the big cat’s eyes, “What have you done t’ Pepper?”

“W-who is Pepper?”

“My dog!” He held up the pink collar.

“I never touched your pet,” Lance snarled. Robert punched him in the stomach, leaving the other cat winded as he searched his house. He slammed open a door but instead of finding his dog he found a human woman, unconscious. Robert, enraged and disgusted by what the jaguar might plan to do to her, beat Lance senseless. With his fur still bloody he carried the woman onto his boat. Instead of going back home he took her to the nearest veterinary clinic he could think of. The same one he used to take Pepper to.

It wasn’t until he had removed the splinters of glass from an already shattered window and laid the woman out on an operating table that he realized she had been given first aid. It was sloppy, but she had bandages wrapped around her head, low enough to cover one eye as well as her neck. Rummaging through the clinic he grabbed fresh bandages and began uncovering her wounds. Her good eye opened, focusing on him but she said nothing.

Roberts ears tilted forward, the guilt seeping in as he cleaned her wounds. He explained who he was and soon found he was telling her everything about him. First, he told her about what had happened to him this week, then he was telling her about his childhood. How his mother had left with a colony of tigers when he was young. How he had quit the army to care for his ailing father. He wasn’t sure how lucid she was. He found some cookies and bottled water for her. When she continued to say nothing, Robert handed her a pen and paper.

She wrote, Sheila.

“Hi Sheila. I’m going t’ get you home safe. I swear.”

Watch for the feral ones.

“Feral ones? Anthropomorphs?”

Yes. Robert’s whiskers twitched. He had seen anthropomorphs turn feral in the army. Like something snapped in their brains. Any sign of rational intelligence vanished from them. That must have been what had killed Pepper and Crackerjack. He again swore he would protect Sheila. They had survived the hurricane; they would survive this too. No matter what.

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Written by Kelsey Reich on June 18/2021 in Ontario, Canada.