The Snow Smoothes Over
It was an icy morning in the wasteland. Jeremy opened his eyes, finding himself laying in an abandoned house. He shivered, as it seemed his candle had burnt out hours ago, the cold of the frigid winter biting through his desert fatigues. Not seeing any point in laying there and continuing to freeze, he stood up and grabbed his rifle with a stretch, throwing the sling around his body. He took a good look around the house, making absolutely sure he didn’t leave any leftover supplies behind. He’d never forgive himself for missing something obvious. Looking at the wall, he noticed a calendar. The days were marked off, ending on November 12th, 1946. Seemed they stopped recording when the attacks happened. “Strange to think that was four months ago...” He said to nobody in particular. Gathering his things, he threw his pack over his shoulders and headed out in search of supplies. He was getting low on food and water, and wouldn’t survive the trip for much longer going without. Looking at his compass, Jeremy headed northward. Always northward. “Have to get to Moscow,” he thought to himself while trudging through the deep snow, his pant legs slowly becoming wet as it melted.
Eventually, the soldier met with some signage next to the road as the sun began to set. Something unreadable to him in Russian. He sighed as he continued past the sign, wondering how far he’d strayed from his path at this point. He stopped a few dozen feet ahead at a hill, grabbing his binoculars to take a look around. It wasn’t particularly feasible for him to stay hidden in the white expanse, so he didn’t mind cresting it, but he still wasn’t entirely sure that the fascists hadn’t captured whatever was left of Russia. Everything had been a blur since that time a few months back. He thought back, remembering the reports from stateside as the situation devolved. He shuddered as he felt the snow start to soak through his pants. The village was abandoned anyways. They always had been since he crossed the caucasus. Jeremy continued onwards, walking just further than he was comfortable with to get to the nearest house. “Here comes the scary part,” he muttered under his breath, jamming his rifle under his armpit to be ready for anything as he approached the door, which was ajar. Nudging it open with the barrel of his gun, he headed inside, his senses sharp as he felt that familiar anxiety of going into an unknown home. It was necessary to survive now though, so he steeled himself.
Walking through the halls of the house, he found it to be completely empty, as was usual. Slinging his rifle over his shoulder, Jeremy headed to the kitchen, hoping to find something, anything that could help him. His stomach growled and began to ache. He was hungrier than he thought. He threw open the cupboards. Mostly empty, save for some rotten produce. He threw open the last one, immediately smiling as he saw what was inside for him. “Jackpot.” He said, taking off his helmet in celebration, wiping the sweat from his brow. There were a few cans of produce and what he assumed to be stew in there. It’d be enough to sustain him for a few days. He threw most of the cans into his pack, opting to consume one for now. He sat down right then and there on the tile floor, drawing his knife to open it. He was halfway through with getting the thing open before he realized there was a key on the bottom. Opening it the rest of the way, he was about to pour some down his throat when he felt the distinctive, cold feeling of a gun barrel pressed against the back of his head. He gulped as the stranger behind him said something mean-sounding in Russian, their voice husky and rough, almost sounding like an animal trying to growl the words out.
“Делиться - это хорошо, товарищ.” they said, giving him some relief as they seemed to back off, though Jeremy still felt in his gut that that gun remained pointed at him. Slowly, he turned around, his tired eyes widening as he saw one of the strangest things he’d seen since the world fell apart. Some kind of human-fox hybrid stared back at him, the Russian revolver still aimed at him. Judging from her lithe build, this fox was likely a woman. She dressed incredibly lightly for the weather, wearing just a striped tank top and a Soviet uniform bottom. A rifle hung from a sling on her back. She stood on two legs, but had everything you might expect from a fox. She was covered in matted, messy fur, and she had a deep scar running across her long, pointed snout. A long, very fluffy tail hung from her back, drooping between her legs. Two perky, expressive ears sprouted from the top of her head. Her eyes were an incredibly bright green, shining even with the dim indoors light. She raised her chops in a kind of smile as he turned around, her eyes immediately darting to the stars and stripes adorning his right shoulder. “Americanskiy?” She asked, seemingly in shock. This word Jeremy understood. He replied simply by nodding, turning around fully to face the fox-woman. “English?” Jeremy asked, holding out hope that this stranger might speak some english. The fox chuckled, a strange sort of sound like a barrage of hiccups as she replied. “No, silly, I’m from Ukraine.” Jeremy breathed out a sigh of relief. At least he wouldn’t struggle so much to communicate.
Noticing her eying his can of stew, the American held it out to the fox, offering her some. “There’s enough for both of us, ‘comrade’” Jeremy said, giving the fox a small smile.
“A capitalist, sharing of his own volition? Hell must have frozen over.” The fox replied, snickering as she took it from him. She leaned against the wall nearby, holstering her gun before tipping the can over her snout, catching a bite of assorted meats and vegetables. Hesitating, she handed it back to Jeremy. “Thank you.” She said, licking her chops as her tail swayed behind her. “Generosity is a rare quality since the attacks.”
Jeremy turned around fully to face the fox girl. “So is mercy. I’m glad you didn’t just shoot me.” He said, also taking a swig of the stew. “I’m Jeremy. And you are?” “Call me Dina.” The fox replied, shifting her weight before sinking down to sit across from Jeremy, pulling her knees to her chest.
The two sat there in silence for a while, passing the can of soup between each other a few times, taking small mouthfuls of food before trading it back. Dina’s eyes fell to the floor, seemingly lost in thought. “... You’re a long way from home, yankee. How did you get here?” She asked, lifting her gaze back to meet Jeremy’s. The soldier frowned as he responded, his grip on his rifle sling subtly tightening. “I was deployed to Egypt. When the attacks happened, my unit was too far to be hit. We got a telegram that we wouldn’t be able to take a ship home. We decided to head north, try to get to Russia. The rest of my unit…” Jeremy’s gaze drifted off to the side as he recalled, his eyes suddenly glazing over, almost being deadened. The look of a man that’d seen far, far too much. “... I don’t like to talk about it.”
Dina let out a low, sympathetic whine. The noise seemed to snap Jeremy back to reality as he suddenly perked up. “What about you, huh? How’d you end up as… Well,” He motioned to Dina, referring to her strange looks. The fox looked down at her clawed hands, turning them over. “I was in Tula when the chemical attacks happened,” Jeremy raised an eyebrow. He hadn’t heard of the Germans using such. “I was wearing a fox pelt coat. It started so small I didn’t even realize I’d been hit. At first, I just noticed a few more hairs here and there. I didn’t mind, even as it started to grow all over. It kept me warm in the winter.” Dina’s ears flattened as she squeezed her eyes shut, showing her fangs in an almost frustrated manner. “Then came the growing pains. The worst of it is over by now, but you would’ve thought I was a demon a month ago.”
As Jeremy took the last bite of stew from the can, he tossed it aside, the can clinking to the floor. He stood up with a grunt, grabbing his helmet and gripping the straps of his rifle to stop it from drooping. Putting it on, he started for the kitchen door. “Guess it’s time we go our separate ways.” Suddenly, he felt a claw grip his ankle. He turned around to see Dina holding him there, with a desperate look in her eye. “Wait-” Jeremy cuts her off as she starts. “I’m sorry, this was nice. But I have to get to Moscow.” Dina’s chops lift into a kind of hopeless smile at that. “Moscow? Moscow is…” Dina pauses, trying to find the right words. The American's heart sinks, knowing what comes next. “Moscow is gone, Jeremy.”