Furzombie - a gay furry zombie apocalypse

To the Farm - Joshua

My gosh, he is gay. The realization hit me like a brick wall—or in this case, almost a literal wall, as I narrowly avoided walking into a lamp post while stealing glances at him. Sam was talking about something—his farm, I think—but I couldn't focus.

Did he notice? Please tell me he didn't notice.

"Is this your farm, then?" I asked, gesturing to the sprawling countryside as we walked past a stone wall and turned onto a winding dirt track.

"No," Sam replied, his ears flicking slightly. "Ours is further up the road. I... I haven't been back since I first left. My, erm... my father..."

His voice trailed off, and I glanced over to see him swipe a paw across his face.

"I had to kill them, Josh."

The weight of his words stopped me in my tracks. "Oh, Sam, I'm so sorry."

Without thinking, I reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. He paused, his body tense, before leaning into me slightly. I pulled him into a hug. He didn't resist, his frame trembling as he cried against me.

"I didn't think I could do it," he choked out. "I nearly didn't, you know, I haven't even told anyone and saying it aloud... it's just..."

He broke the hug abruptly, wiping his tears with the back of his paw. "We should keep moving."

I nodded, not wanting to press him for more. Whatever "nearly didn't" meant, it wasn't something I felt ready to unpack yet.

"We're nearly there," he said, his voice still thick with emotion.

A modest farmhouse came into view, flanked by a smouldering barn and a red pickup truck parked in the yard. It wasn't much, but it looked sturdy—and safe.

"We should stay here tonight," Sam suggested as we approached. "Then tomorrow, we'll head out. See if we can maybe find this sanctuary place."

"Yeah," I agreed, though my eyes couldn't help but wander back to the truck.

Sam must've noticed because he stiffened slightly. "Just... don't screw me over, Josh. Please. That's my last chance to get out of here."

"I won't," I said, trying to sound as sincere as possible. I wasn't sure if he believed me, but I couldn't blame him. He'd clearly been burned before.

Sam led me around the farm, showing off his survival setup. The traps he'd set upstairs, the meticulously boarded-up windows, and the sofa he'd turned into a makeshift guard post in the living room—all of it was clever, resourceful, and honestly, a little intimidating.

"You've really thought of everything," I said, genuinely impressed.

He shrugged. "You kind of have to, it's the only way I slept, and even then it wasn't great sleep."

Later, Sam got a fire going in the small hearth, tossing a few logs onto the flames. "Gets cold at night," he said. "There are extra blankets in the cupboard there if you need them. I usually sleep on this sofa by the door, but... it's your choice."

"Thanks," I said, opening the cupboard to scavenge for blankets. The farmhouse was cozy but eerily quiet, the darkness from the boarded windows making it feel like stepping into another world. It felt safe, though—a feeling I hadn't had in a while.

When I turned around with an armful of blankets, Sam was holding up a bottle of whiskey.

"I've been saving this for a while," he said, his tail swishing slightly. "And apart from meeting you, today's been a pretty shitty day."