Len Gilbert - The Furred Reich

“Good morning my love,” Sarah cooed up at him and groggily rubbed her head against his chest. They both closed their eyes again and laid there together until Hans wasn’t sure how long they’d been there.

“Baby?”

“Mmmhm?”

“Is this tree your home?”

Sarah blinked and stretched.

“Yes. I was born here. Some other animals try to take it from me but I defended it.”

Underneath his winter blanket he rubbed his foot against her hind paw, and she responded by doing the same.

“But you know us humans like to live in houses, right?”

“Hmm? What’s a house? Oh, that reminds me: I have to go out hunting today, right?”

Hans smiled at that news. “If you could, that would be great. I’ll go back to the forest while you do that. I saw some things worth harvesting on the way here.”

“Alright my love be safe.”

She climbed out of their sleeping bag and kissed him softly on the lips. He watched Sarah as she padded off into the snow. Hans lay back and stared up into the piney ceiling of their home.

Hans realized one thing: Slowly but surely, he was being pulled back to the life of a normal person. Since Belgorod, or maybe before then, terror overturned all his preconceptions and separated him from the normal human condition. Sarah was blotting those things out, and those things really needed to be blotted out. Maybe, by some way of providence, that was what these last few months’ journey was: A sieve, a filter between the life that was, and the normal life he had now. If so, maybe his journey had come to an end.

He stretched and slowly made his way up to face the bleak morning air. After months of trekking through the ‘North Continent,’ he’d gotten accustomed to foraging in the woods. That was what he intended on doing today. He dressed, strapped on his rifle, and made his way along a frozen river that meandered toward several patches of forest, fresh snow crunching beneath his boots.

“EYAAAAAAAAAH!”

It was Sarah. Something was attacking her. She didn’t seem too far away. Another feminine scream echoed through the snow. There was a small gray figure at a distance. While running, Hans loaded his weapon and fired a shot in its direction, which caused the animal, which now looked like some type of canine, to jump back.

As he sprinted ahead he saw that it was a wolf, and that it was standing over his mate. The wolf thrust himself to the ground, probably to avoid Hans’ gunfire. What the wolf didn’t know, was that Hans had no bullets left.

Once Hans got close, the wolf charged. This attacker was unarmed. It lunged at Hans with an animal strength and knocked Hans into the snow. But before the wolf could pin him, Hans clubbed the canine’s head with the rifle butt and sent him tumbling off. The wolf beat Hans to his feet and jumped on him, claw tearing into his bare shoulder, but Hans pointed the bayonet at the wolf’s belly and shoved it right in, getting a yelp from the attacker as he fell. Hans raised his rifle up and bashed the wolf’s head in with the butt, hitting him two, three, four times before turning to Sarah.

“Hans! Are you o-okay? I knew you’d come.”

Hans ran to her and she reached up, hugging him with one arm and covering her bleeding neck with another.

He took one look at her and knew it was bad.

“Hold on. Don’t move. I can fix this!”

He laid the Mauser across Sarah’s chest and sprinted back to the tree to dig through one of his packs. He took the medical pack and sprinted back to Sarah. The paw over her neck was soaked in blood, and it looked like she was trying to say something but couldn’t. Hans got out the gauze and circled it around Sarah’s neck. Despite not being designed for fur, the synthetic gauze worked surprisingly well on Sarah’s fur.

“Come on Honey, don’t talk. It will be OK now.” He placed gauze over his own shoulder wound, strapped the Mauser over his bare back and reached down to carry Sarah. He brought her back to the tree. All the while she reached up and clung to him as tight as she could.

“Don’t worry sweet heart. I’ll go out. Are there still fish in the river this time of year?” Hans was already strapping the gauze to his own wounded shoulder, wincing as he did.

Sarah nodded to him, still breathing heavily but in less pain. It seemed she would be alright for now, but he couldn’t know for sure.

“OK baby. Just stay right here. I’ll bring something home, soon. Don’t cry.”

Sarah watched him as he put down the gauze. He picked up a few things and Sarah’s eyes followed him as he walked toward the river. Hans had his work cut out for him. He sighed and went to work, tearing a stick off the icy branch of a snow-covered tree. He then unhooked his spade and dug into the hardened ground.

“Come on,” he grunted, clawing frantically into the soil.

Any effort to save his new mate wouldn’t amount to much if Hans couldn’t at least fish the frozen river. He’d have to get a lengthy stick, bait, and then cut through the ice to even begin fishing. As he dug into frozen chunks of earth he heard another series of growls behind him. Two wolves cornered him against the frozen river and barked aloud. Hans backed onto the ice and drew the bayonet yet again. Yet more of these wolves? Grandma told him there wouldn’t be any this far west!

The wolves both leaped at him and he felt their claws tear into his tattered uniform, the gauze, and then his flesh. In a second he was on his back. Hans pulled out his grenade. He was ready to die here. In fact, he should have died at Belgorod. This journey was, in many ways, as much as he could ask for. He’d pull the pin and kill both wolves so at least they couldn’t get to Sarah.

“Get back. Come on. His friends are coming I can smell them.”

The blows stopped and Hans felt their weight leave his body. He found it difficult to get up, and looked down to see that the wolves had re-opened his wound from before. Hot blood was seeping down his arm. Once again this desolate place was silent. The fishing hole was there, waiting to be used, but Hans would be unable to provide for Sarah today. Then his vision started getting darker.

“…Hey. Hey look! I found another!”

Hans heard someone shout in German, but it was a very strange accent.

“Hey! Hey Siptrott! Help me out I got a wounded one.”

More boots came crunching up to him. He felt someone put another patch on his shoulder and flank, then two people lifted him. They were moving.

“Can you believe it? This guy’s from the Grossdeutschland!”

The door kicked open and Hans heard a series of crashes. Then it got dark.

“Get the surgeon and clear a spot in the bunker!”

Above him he saw three people gathered in a semicircle. They were human, and German too. He felt his torn uniform being stripped off. Then the dressing on his shoulder was ripped at. Hans howled and cursed, but they paid no attention. He felt the sting of ether on the opened flesh of his shoulder. Then a new set of dressing was applied.

“Just avoid infection,” one of the men above said.

“You hear that, young man?”

Hans blinked and looked up at the man wearing a white jacket and black, army-issued surgeon gloves.

“Where are we? The North Continent? Or Deltia?”

The surgeon stared blankly at him.

“We’re not exactly sure, young man. Somewhere in Bavaria.”

Bavaria! Everything he’d swore was real must have vanished! Now he was back in his world. His new existence, his new life. Sarah. It was all just a dream. That’s all anyone would think if he ever spoke about it. But it was real, he was sure of that, even if he didn’t know exactly what it was.

“How is he managing?”