Riddle of the Sands
© 2023 by Walter Reimer

Thumbnail art by Stock Footage



They started calling it the Day of Fire about six months after it happened.

All I know is it was bloody annoying.

Ever try to get out of the world’s tallest building by taking the stairs, while there’s no air conditioning and no lights? While a whole mess of panicky furs are headed downstairs with you?

Yeah. I refer to my earlier statement about “bloody annoying.”

Anyway, I’d gotten away from the people leaving the building, and barely managed to avoid the police and the army rounding everyone up in the name of enforcing public order. Not surprisingly, few people were listening to them, but while they were occupied, I decided to gather a few things.

Rumors sprang up everywhere, but I didn’t care. I had a few ideas about where to go and what to do, hence my gathering. Simple things, really: A weapon, ammunition, a knife, first aid kit, military rations, and lots of water.

Yeah, well, so what? I’m a camel, but let’s not get into stereotyping. Life’s too short nowadays for that crap. I need water as much as the next person, so I made sure I had water. I stole an old clunker of a car and made sure it had gas in the tank, and headed south.

Why south?

Why not? One direction’s as good as another when you’re in the desert, and even though the city hadn’t gotten the business, there was always the possibility someone had a spare warhead and a grudge.

That was about a year or so ago, and things fell apart a lot faster than I thought they would. I traded the car in for a feral camel to carry my stuff, and picked up robes and a keffiyeh from a fellow who wouldn’t need it anymore. I’d trade water for food or more ammunition. You do what you have to do when everything falls apart, you know?

Well, anyway, here I am, moving along through some hills and a bullet caroms off a rock. I just stop and hold my paws up. My feral camel (I named him Skippy) just stopped where he was. “I don’t want any trouble,” I said.

Pairs of big-eared, lean femmes started poking up from the rocks. Red foxes, golden eyes practically glowing. They were all a bit thin for my taste, but then I’m a camel. I like a bit of flesh, I do.

The group was all red vixens, some wearing bits of castoff uniforms or robes, and some wearing less. A lot less in a few cases. All carried firearms, and they all looked dusty and mean.

One of them steps forward, holding her weapon casually. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

“Just wandering around,” I said. There was a military patch on the shoulder of her shirt. Sure, okay, I knew there’d been a few all-femme units here and there before everything went poof. “You the leader?” I asked. “Maybe we could make a deal.”

The vixen smirked. “We don’t bargain with mels.” She nodded.

My ears dipped and I whirled as a shot rang out, and Skippy fell over.

When I turned back around, the vixen had a knife out and she was walking toward me.

I sighed.

Bloody annoying.



end