Garage

The sun was hot and the air was hotter. “Spring” seemed like a cruel joke in the April heat. A dust cloud followed two animals, reptilian in nature, kicking up dust on their way home. One of them was a beige color, painted so by the grime from the surrounding landscape. The other one was a tawny yellow with darker stripes down his side. Both of them were galloping at full tilt. 

It’s a Saturday, the lighter one thought to himself. I could be home right now. In air conditioning. 

“What was the point of that?” Boxfish, the other jag, croaked out. To outsiders, the question would have sounded like a click and a squeal. “They’re jags, just like us. Spying on them isn’t the best way to show them that we’re friendly.” He came across a petrified tree and jumped off of it, giving him a short-lived speed boost. 

Reese reminded himself to slow down for the smaller jag. His strides were a lot bigger than most. “You remember what happened with Oscar, right? We don’t know if they’re Siren moles or not.” We can’t afford to be nice anymore. 

Boxfish hissed. “I get that. But there were kids in that pack. Jag kids. They didn’t look too good, either.” His spines clacked together as he shook his head.

Reese had seen the kids too, and it didn’t make sitting and watching any easier. They didn’t know what lengths Siren was willing to go to get back at the communes. And as much as it hurt to leave someone behind—even if it was for a few days until they could determine the safety of the situation—it was necessary. “Let’s bring it up when we get back. I saw the same things you saw.” 

Their target was a sad excuse for a tree leaning against a chain-link fence. Past the fence, greenery and water was waiting for them. The smell of moisture made the two speed up to meet their mark. 

Reese dug into the dirt below the tree’s roots, which gradually got softer the deeper he went. Two pairs of basketball shorts were waiting in the carved out hollow beneath the trunk. He shoved his muzzle in and grabbed them with his teeth. 

Boxfish left small marks in the dust as he trotted in a circle. “Don’t drool too much on my shorts. They’re not the best but it’s all I have.” 

With a heavy thunk, Reese sat down and dropped the shorts onto the ground. He tried to curl his tail in so they could share the meager shade the tree provided. He used his back foot to scratch his side, and started licking his forearms to cool off. Boxfish sat down to do the same. 

“Hey, you’re on the jagball team, right?” Boxfish looked up for a moment before going back to licking the underside of his arm. 

Reese spat out a glob of dirt. “Yeah. You talk a lot.” He fell back onto his belly and rested his head on his claws. 

Boxfish shook his head with another clatter and scratched where his ear would have been. “There’s a lot of interesting people around. I wasn’t in a gang or the military beforehand, I just got unlucky. I’ve never been around people like you before.” 

“Which one do you think I am?” 

“Soldier,” Boxfish answered instantaneously. “No doubt about it. You don’t have the built in swagger that a lot of the gangsters have.” 

What the hell does that mean? Reese huffed and stood up. “Well, you’re right about the soldier thing. We should head back now.” He grabbed his shorts in his mouth and went to the fence with Boxfish on his tail. 

Using his nose to pick up a scent, Reese found the weak spot in the fence that signified the entrance to the commune territory. It was around three-hundred feet from the tree they had stopped by, and the ground was a lot more green. Small blades of grass poked through the dark soil, and green trees and shrubbery were on the other side of the fence waiting to greet them. 

“Your move,” Reese chirped, jerking his head toward the fence. 

Boxfish stepped forward and started digging, kicking earth into Reese’s face on accident. When he was done, a hole just big enough for Reese to squeeze through had been dug into the dirt. Boxfish slid through it with ease, and Reese almost took the fence with him on his way in. 

As soon as he popped free, Reese shook himself off hard enough to bring back the shine of his scales. The cloud of dust made Boxfish sneeze. 

“Good?” Boxfish asked. 

“Good.” 

The two were off again, jumping over live plants and darting around tree trunks. The promise of fresh water and real shade made them even faster than before. 

The further they went, the denser the trees got. Thick mud coated their arms and legs. They passed several streams and shook off more insects than they could count. 

I always mess this part up. Reese slowed down to a trot, and then to a brisk walk. The forest smelled alive and vivid, which was a nice refresher from the barren landscape from before, but a bad environment to try and find the scent of the commune in. You’d think three-thousand jags would be easy to smell. 

A clatter of spines startled Reese, but it was only Boxfish lashing his tail. He looked just as lost as Reese did. 

The bushes ahead began to shudder, and the two jags positioned themselves for a fight. 

A dark purple jag pulled himself out of the bush and reached his front claws out to stretch. Soon after, another jag darted out and thwacked Reese on the snout with her tail. She was built sturdier than the purple one and a rich green that matched the scenery. 

Reese barked in surprise. “Don’t do that! We thought you were strangers or something.” 

Marnie, the jag who had domed Reese, made a cackling sound in the back of her throat. “Aren’t you supposed to be the one with a good nose? You should’ve smelled us from a mile away.” 

“You must’ve taken a shower, because usually I can. I don’t need superhuman smell to do that,” Reese growled. 

“We have somewhere to be,” the purple jag, or Razorback said. He was the oldest out of all of them, and acted like it. “Did you find anything we should know about on patrol?” 

Boxfish stood straighter. “There’s a caravan of jags southeast of here. They have kids, but they don’t seem hostile. They don’t have a commune scent that we know of.” 

Reese internally rolled his eyes at Boxfish’s attempts to impress Razor. Being older didn’t give the guy royal status, as much as Reese respected Razor. 

“We’re also lost,” Boxfish added after a few moments of silence. 

“I was hoping Eagle Eyes over here would admit it,” Marnie said. “I love his face when he’s wrong. Anyway, it’s in the direction we came from. Follow our scent trail and you’ll run right into it.” 

With a quick “thank you” from the returning jags and a loud “ooh-rah” from Marnie, Reese and Boxfish were back on their way. At last they found the rusted garage they had converted into a landing paddock, and the two shook off as much mud as they could before shifting back to true form. Reese slipped his shorts on before ripping open the fridge and grabbing an armful of various protein and weight-gaining drinks. 

The paddock had a dirty but smooth concrete floor, with a few matts thrown around for jags to clean their feet or claws on. A giant trough of water was on one side, and on the other was the fridge Reese had raided. Next to the fridge was a counter, and on top of the counter was a defunct stove. Chairs and small desks were pile on the inner corner of the garage. Posters of random celebrities and a few pro athletes decorated the walls at off angles, and papers with reminders for incoming jags were taped to the walls: 

DRINK WATER! 

REMEMBER: REFILL THE FRIDGE IF IT’S EMPTY. EXTRA PACKS LOCATED BELOW COUNTER. (A smiley face had been drawn after the message in red sharpie). 

WHOEVER IS STEALING FROM MY GATORADE STASH: COUNT YOUR DAYS. I CAN SMELL YOU.

The last one made Reese laugh, and he cracked open a few of the drinks and started chugging. He hadn’t eaten in a few hours, and his gigantism in beast form made it twenty times worse. 

Boxfish cracked his back, which made Reese turn around to look at him. “Can you hand me one of those? I’m starving.” 

Reese looked down at the last shake in his hand. The fridge was empty now that he had been through it. He threw it at Boxfish anyway. He was fine with unrefrigerated protein shakes; wouldn’t be the worst thing he had eaten. 

It turns out he couldn’t drink unrefrigerated shakes even if he wanted to. The sign lied. There weren’t any extra packs below the counter. He briefly considered taking a bite out of Boxfish, but the other guy was a fraction of his size and wouldn’t be worth the trouble. 

“Ah, shit. I forgot to take a drink before I shifted back.” Boxfish looked longingly at the water trough. “Fuck it.” He walked over to the trough, got on his knees, and plunged his head in. 

The door to the garage opened, and from it emerged Marisol and Lucas, who was carrying a box. Boxfish looked up for a short second to give Marisol a floppy wave and then returned to drinking. 

“Paddock’s out of food,” Reese said. 

“Hello to you too,” Marisol replied. She was wearing a white tank top and black shorts to try and combat the heat. “We know. The last few raids weren’t as successful as they usually are. The whole commune is starving.” She took a notepad out of her pocket. “Did you two see anything worthwhile?” 

“The caravan had kids with ‘em,” Reese said. “They didn’t smell like any of the neighboring communes. Ten, maybe twelve total. Seemed a bit older than us.” 

Marisol furrowed her brow at the last statement. “Older tends to be bad news. Any tattoos?” 

Reese thought for a moment. “No. No gang affiliation that I saw.” His stomach growled.

Marisol made an amused expression before brushing a stray curl of hair back. “Alright, well I won’t keep you here any longer. How’s the water, Box?” 

Boxfish gave her a thumbs up without looking up. 

Marisol waved her hand. “I’ll leave you to it.” She walked back out of the garage. Boxfish said his farewells and followed her. 

Lucas slammed the box he was holding onto the counter next to the fridge. Inside were bags of chips and granola bars. 

“Eat up,” Lucas said. He took the water bottle that was clipped to his belt and unscrewed it. “I mixed gatorade and sparkling water in here. You look dried out.” 

Reese was tempted to kiss the ground Lucas had walked on. He went in for a hug instead. 

Lucas put a hand on his chest to stop him. “I appreciate it, but you smell like a corn snake and you’re covered in dirt. You’re cute, but you’re not that cute. If you’re not gonna eat, then you should shower.” 

Reese rolled his eyes and pulled Lucas’s hand up to kiss it. “I was trying to say thank you.” 

The edges of Lucas’s eyes crinkled when he laughed. “You’re welcome. I knew you’d be hungry since you ate a normal sized breakfast this morning.” He pulled his hand back and ran it through his hair. “It’s hot as balls out here. Let’s go back inside, you can tell me all about your fun excursion when we’re laying on a matt on the floor.” He turned to walk away, then spun around and jabbed a finger at Reese’s chest. “After you shower. I like this tank top and I don’t want to get it dirty.” 

Reese snorted and followed Lucas into the air-conditioned building. “I thought that was your last tank top.” 

“That’s why it’s my favorite,” Lucas said. “God, I really need to go to shopping. These are my last pants too.” 

“I told you to wear something less tight when you know you’re gonna shift,” Reese said. The hallway lights were off to try and keep the heat out. Most jags were either out on patrol or in their personal rooms, so the main lobby was empty. “Jeans are not flexible.”

Lucas turned to look at Reese and shrugged. “I look sexier in jeans. How am I supposed to keep the sex appeal if I only wear shorts?” 

“I don’t think that’s an issue,” Reese said. “Also, I’m wearing basketball shorts right now. I’d argue that shorts don’t decrease anything.”

Lucas gave him a one over and narrowed his eyes. “Fine. But you still need to shower.” He grabbed him by the shoulders and steered him toward the community bathrooms. “Go. Be free. Come talk to me when you don’t smell like an old barn.” 

“Yes, sir.” Reese gave a mock salute and ducked into the showers.