Fast Food Furries Book 1

Chapter 12a: The Resistance

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Combine

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A trickle of blood ran down from my hairline. A lightning bolt of pain shot up my leg. They seemed to meet right at my heart in a pulsing assault of agony rapidly approaching the point of numbness. I could only hope you were feeling marginally better as I heaved you into an alleyway. You seemed conscious but unwilling to move your muscles. Sirrat lay writhing on the street, his blood was a shimmering golden substance indistinguishable from the blood of Harambe—a realization I pushed from my head to consider later. Dorothy followed close behind us into the alley, assault rifle drawn and pointed at an approaching cohort of vehicles and soldiers.

Once we had momentarily reliable cover, she took stock of our surroundings and grimaced. Sirrat, still lying in the street, groaned loudly and looked over at us. His mystical hair glimmered as it had before, but it was matted and tarnished with soot, dust, and the beast's own blood.

"Go," he commanded. "I will lead them away. My injuries are not as severe as they appear—we dragons heal rapidly." There was a reassuring calmness in his voice—a matter-of-factness that gave us the strength of will to push on—sneaking into an apartment building and leaving him behind.

We weaved through several buildings before finding an entrance to a basement that was, as I like to say, home to the Cure brothers (first names Obs and Se.) All to say, it was a decent hiding spot for us to take refuge temporarily. The room was dingy and full of old equipment of questionable operational capacity. Light streamed in from narrow windows close to the ceiling. You slumped to the ground next to some sort of nondescript HVAC unit, your expression hollow. I leaned on a pipe running up the wall, the pain in my leg only worsening.

"Hopefully the heat will clear soon," Dorothy commented, checking the door to make sure it was locked. I went to wander the room, but immediately collapsed upon putting pressure on my hurt leg. "Can you walk?" asked Dorothy, rushing to my aid.

"Experiments seem to suggest 'no,' " I said. "Great Mike, what do we do?" I was beginning to panic.

"Seems like every attempt to fix things spirals into something worse," Dorothy muttered, catching my eye.

"Yeah," I said slowly, gleaming her drift that she knew what transpired before the storm. "Okay, let's just put this all out there—Mach, with the help of Candy and myself, killed Harambe."

Dorothy nodded grimly. "And caused the storm," she added.

"What?" I asked.

"Sirrat—the dragon—told me," she explained. "He thinks Harambe was part dragon."

"The blood," I said in realization. Dorothy nodded.

"This sounds like something to process later," I said.

"Agreed, that's not even the half of it."

I tried to think. "I guess now we... Oh sh—what time is it?"

Dorothy checked her watch. "Just after two."

"Holy Margot Mother of Mike," I groaned, "we're not going to make it to Harambe High."

"Sure we will," Dorothy attempted to reassure me, "we'll just wait until—"

"We can't wait," I said. "Big City Mouse is launching an assault on them this afternoon."

"Great Mike," Dorothy exclaimed.

"I..." I sank to the ground, tears running from my eyes. "I could've stopped it."