Chapter 2

“Get up,” the man in front of her demanded. Right as she tried to, a distinct pain in the back of her head panged, the attempt halted. Reaching to it, she felt what seemed like a bandage adhered there with a wet spot in its center ... Her fingers had blood on them.

“You remember getting hit?” the same man inquired.

“ ... Kind of.”

“Well,” he started, “your skull cracked. It’s small, so don’t touch it and you’ll probably be fine.”

The man ordered her again to get up. She struggled to, her muscles all tense and lethargic while she fought against a throbbing headache – her first seen or had, and the word was apt.

Successfully wobbling upwards after a while with the help of the TV stand, she finally brought herself to look at them properly, in part because there wasn’t any good way to avoid it.

... Navy shrunk back.

The visceral feeling she got from them hadn’t faded much as the fuzziness in her mind did. Instead, seeing these three men – at her standing, full height – staring her down with stern gazes only cemented how they appeared to her.

The man who’d been talking to her was ... tall; he was very tall. The man dwarfed everyone there both in height, by at least several inches, and in build, the practical muscles in his crossed arms seeming able to snap any joint of hers with no effort – if not that, the handgun kept on his hip could obliterate them all the same. Putting aside his ... stance, though, the man was an all-black German Shepherd with expectedly near-pointy, proudly standing ears and a moderately long muzzle. No graying of his snout or other areas suggested it, but the man was definitely in the latter-half of his middle-ages. His clothes, much like the others’, were militaristic and functional, every piece either dark green, brown, black, or similarly patterned camouflage. Despite Navy’s attention flitting between the three men like a prey animal, his authoritative demeanor kept her paralyzed for the longest.

The man who’d spoken second-most caught her eye next. A rifle was slung over his shoulder with another, notably longer one lying on the couch beside. Similar to the first, the man was likely in his fifties, but everything else about him was different. He was lithe – like a runner – and, being a Crab-Eating fox, had fur which almost resembled static, but with three colors instead of just black and white; the tip of his rounded muzzle started out completely black, then white grayed in almost fifty-fifty up through most of his face and down his throat area, light brown naturally coming in past his forehead’s upper corners, up his ears, and back down his neck in a sort-of parted, somewhat even pattern. The man’s sly, hazel eyes, which were more traditionally animalistic so had no visible sclera, bore into her as part of an expression she didn’t really understand ... but surely wasn’t kind. Navy avoided looking at him straight-on.

Furthest to the left was a dark gray wolf close to her age – so about twenty, though probably a little older. The shortest of them by a very slight margin, standing a few inches taller than her five-foot-seven, his proximity, armedness, well-honed stature, and stone blue glare someplace between piercing and indifferent still made her feel multitudes smaller in comparison.

Knives the length of calves they were sheathed on, bulletproof vests and pouches at front, boots multiple sizes above her own, a metal device tied with rope on their thigh ... No less than two firearms each; three handguns, four rifles.

In a moment, they could kill her. Riddled with holes, or cut somewhere vital, or overpowered ... then dead.

“Anything feel like it’s about to break?” the first man asked suddenly, sounding like he was obligated to.

“I’m...” Navy took a second to assess how she felt. “ ... I’m fine.”

He continued with little pause, “You’ll need a backpack, sleeping bag, proper outdoor shoes, ballistic vest, two metal drinking flasks, two belts, and as many changes of dark clothes as you can carry, especially underwear. You know where those are?”

“ ... They’re in my room. But we don’t have any sleeping bags.” Navy winced at telling him no.

The man cut off his own response before it started, saying, “Hane, Red, Case,” while pointing at himself, the fox, then the wolf. He continued, “Grab the dark blanket in your room, fold it, roll it up, and bring everything to the front door; Case will go with you and make sure you pack right.”

Hane signed something to the other men, thereafter gesturing towards Navy’s room and telling her, “Move,” before heading to the storage area with Red.

She did as instructed, surprisingly able to walk mostly normal the whole way there, if only because all the strange men in her home being out of sight was ripping Navy out of her mentally smothered condition.

When they entered her shared bedroom, Navy said, quite nervously, “M–Mum set aside everything she thought I’d need. Most of it’s in the closet there.” Case, who’d posted himself by the door, rested one arm on his handgun’s grip and undid the strap keeping it in place; Navy, after staring at it for a few seconds, went about her business making no sudden movements.

The backpack (large for her, not torso-sized like theirs), bulletproof vest, two flasks, pairs of shoes, and belts, and six pairs of shirts and pants she’d never worn were all placed on the floor. In a cheap dresser between their beds, Navy sifted through her personals for a greater than equal number of sets to wear, most appropriately dull while some were brighter.

Case asked, “That it?” in reference to her clothes.

Glancing now and again to the gun at his hip, she responded, “Everything else is, uh ... is the wrong color or doesn’t fit, yeah.”

Navy finished collecting her undergarments and had just started to pack when Case interrupted, “You’re not wearing that.” She was, indeed, still wearing white and pink, so gathered something else, including the armor to go over it, and turned to him.

He didn’t move.

Perhaps not having made it clear enough, she asked, “Do you ... Do you mind turning around for just a second?”

“So you can shoot me?” he returned.

Navy couldn’t tell what sort of answer would sound like she was going to shoot him. “ ... No?”

He didn’t move for a while longer, the two of them left staring at each other with little recourse for her to take. Eventually, Case sighed in irritation and angled towards the doorway. She was obviously still within full view, but Navy didn’t expect to get anything better so changed as quick as possible, her bed’s wire frame creaking loudly as she sat to avoid falling over.