Beep! Beep! Beep!

Andrew hit the snooze button and rolled over. For a long time he considered just staying in bed. No Andrew, he told himself, giving himself the same mental pep talk he gave every morning, if you stay in bed and don't work you'll get fired. If you get fired you don't get paid. If you don't get paid you can't pay rent, and if you can't pay rent you'll have to live on the street, and if you live on the street you'll be completely miserable and then you'll get eaten by something. Get up.

He groaned and rolled out of bed. Some days it was tempting to just give up and stay in anyway. Maybe the predators would find him quickly and he wouldn't have to be a homeless bum for very long...

He dressed and ate a bowl of cold cereal for breakfast. He left the bowl in the sink, piled atop the others. I'll do the dishes later...

Outside it was past noon, and for once the sun was shining, though there were still clouds gathered in the sky. Out in the sunlight, Andrew actually felt a little better. He picked up his pace and walked briskly to the somewhat run-down office building where he worked. On stepping inside, however, what little good mood he had quickly faded. The pile of documents he needed to process looked larger than ever as he sat in front of his computer in his tiny little cubicle and set to work. He had neighbors, of course. But though he knew them vaguely none of them were anything like friends, and he seldom spoke to them as he worked.

The day seemed to drag on forever, and before he was half way done what little sunlight came in through the dirty windows and broken blinds had faded, and rain was pouring down again.

It was well past dark when he finished scanning and entering the day's paperwork. A robot could do this job. A robot could do this job better than I do. He rose slowly and stretched. He put on his coat and went out the door along with several of his fellow workers. The rain had lightened to a thin mist, thankfully, so although he was a little damp, he wasn't soaked. He hurried, wanting to get off the streets and into the safety of his apartment as soon as possible.

He passed a few people, but the further he went the more deserted the streets were.

And then, when he was still nearly a quarter mile from home, he noticed somebody following him. At first it seemed only coincidence, the dark form simply happened to be going the same direction, a block or so behind. But when he turned off a main street onto a smaller one that led towards his home the figure followed. Andrew swallowed. Was it a hunter? One of the carnivores gone primitive, or one of the worse creatures that haunted the city night? Surely it was just coincidence again! He turned down another street, doubling back in the direction he'd come. He looked behind fearfully and his heart rose in his throat when the stranger behind him followed. It was a hunter.

He ran then, not even thinking about it, just sprinting down the street, heart pounding, choosing turns at random. His legs were long and at first he gained on his pursuer, but the other ran behind, seemingly tireless, and soon Andrew was panting and stumbling, while his pursuer ran as easily as ever.

And then Andrew tripped. In a panic he scrambled to rise but he was still on one knee when the hunter caught up with him. He squealed in terror as the pursuing carnivore grabbed at his shoulder from behind, but flight was not the only instinctive cue he had. When escape was no longer possible, to fight back was the only option. He twisted in his attacker's grip, lowering his head as he turned and then tossing it up in a sharp, violent motion. He felt his antler connect with his assailant, the solid shock conveyed through the bone, and he would no doubt have a headache from it later, but now the fight to free himself was all that mattered. He twisted further, catching a glimpse of a broad-muzzled, canine face that seemed to be all teeth. Well, he had teeth of his own, and with frantic determination he bit his attacker, sinking his inch-long fangs into the other's shoulder. He tasted blood, hot and coppery, and felt a surge of hopeful triumph as his attacker let out a yelp of surprise, but then the hunter backhanded him with its free hand and he was momentarily stunned by the blow. And that was all the advantage the carnivore needed, for before Andrew could recover it had sunk its teeth into his throat and bitten in deeply.

He screamed. It hurt like nothing he had ever felt before. Strength seemed to flow out of him like water and he sagged limply to the cold pavement beneath his attacker. The other kept its fangs buried in his throat and Andrew heard horrible sucking sounds, as through it were drinking from the awful wound there. Not just a carnivore gone bad then, he thought weakly. The night seemed to be getting darker, and then there was blackness all around.

I'm dead, he thought. But then... How can I think if I'm still dead? Am I a ghost? Everything was black, but he was still dimly aware of sounds and sensation, mercifully faint and somehow unreal, but there, from his body. His attacker was still feeding. He wanted to shrink away in horror from it, but he couldn't move. After what seemed like an eternity his attacker withdrew. He heard footsteps walking away and then they stopped and he heard a faint retching sound. He tried again to move, but nothing happened, he just lay still on the rough surface of the street. He wasn't sure how much time passed before he heard voices.

“I smell blood. Caught something finally?”

“Yeah. But the damned thing bit me.”

“What!?” There was a sound of impact, as of a fist hitting flesh, and a yelp. “You failure! You were bit by prey? Tell me it's at least a carnivore?”

“I'm not sure what it is, but it's got fangs longer than mine.”

Footsteps approached where Andrew lay helpless and then stopped. “It's a muntjak. Or something a lot like one. The fangs aren't for catching meat, they're for like... stripping bark and that kind of crap. It's an herbivore. Damn you! What kind of idiot are you, to get bitten by an herbivore!”

“I didn't do it on purpose!” The voice was whining, cowed even in its defiance.

“No, you did it because you're an idiot and a failure. And you're stuck with it now. It's yours. Take care of it.”

“What?”

“You heard me. It is your thrall now. But I am not going to welcome a damned cringing salad-eater into the pack, having you in it is bad enough, so it is your responsibility and yours alone.”

“Can't I just kill it then?”

“That's a laugh. How are you going to do that? Can you just cut his head off in cold blood, hmm?” Andrew felt something nudge him. “Have a look there at all that blood. Think about how he has to be still alive, still able to feel it. Pleasant thought, no? Go ahead, kill him. I'd like to see you kill somebody when you're not starving for once! You'll have to saw a bit to get his head off, and he'll probably be able to feel it until you're done, but then it will be over with and you won't have to take care of him.”

Andrew heard a few hurried footsteps, and then the retching sound again, and the first voice laughed sadistically.

“That's what I thought. He's yours now. You've got a little pet deer.”

One set of footsteps retreated. There was silence for a long moment, then the other set of footsteps approached and Andrew felt himself being picked up. He wanted to moan, the jostling made the pain is his neck more immediate, less distant and numbed, but he couldn't make a sound. He was slung over the other's shoulder and bounced around as his former attacker carried him through the streets.

Eventually he was set down again. There rustling sounds he couldn't quite make out, then running water, and then the person who'd attacked him was by his side and he felt a touch against his neck. He wanted to flinch away from it, to cry out at it, and to his surprise he managed a tiny whisper of a sound. The touch at his neck stopped.

“Damn. You are still alive. Damn it! Why did you have to fight back?” There was a long silence, then a sigh. “I'm just cleaning you up a little here. You'll probably heal pretty soon. I'm sorry. Maybe I should get the guts to kill you, I don't know if you'll thank me for letting you live but... ah, what does it matter? I can't do it.” Andrew felt the touch at his neck again and realized that it was a washrag. “Ugh. Why does there have to be so much blood?” The unknown voice sounded nauseated. After a while the touch withdrew again. There was more running water, and then the other person returned and picked him up. He managed a tiny whimper at that.

“Here. Now that you won't get blood all over it you can sleep in my bed. Least I can do, I guess. Although I remember my first night. You probably won't be getting much rest. I'm sorry.”

Andrew lay there, unable to move. He didn't know what to think. He'd thought he was dead. Now it seemed he would live. But he knew what sort of creature his attacker was. He hoped he was wrong, but he couldn't help but think that the truth was not so much that he would live, as it was that he wouldn't die. Undead. There maybe be worse things, but I can't think of any just now...

The night seemed to take an eternity to pass. He could hear the constant restless movement of the one who had brought him here, who alternated pacing the room with sitting still and silent. He could hear other faint sounds in the distance. But mostly all there was to hear was the distant sound of rain. Finally the morning came, and with it came welcome oblivion.