It wasn’t a nightmare that brought him back, but a cold trickle that lapped against his legs. Then a bird tweeted, making his ear twitch. Moments later, came the warmth of the sun and more annoyingly, a dull, prickly sensation that ran through his face, finally stirring Ian back into consciousness. An eye flickered open to find his face pressed into a surface of hard, smooth gravel. He was lying prone on his front, and seeing his hand, Ian gently brushed it across the surface.

  I… I made it…

  Groaning, Ian began to pick himself up.

  Heat speared through his gut. He gasped, pressing a hand against it to find warmth seeping its way into his fingers. As he peeled it away, the formerly pristine brown fur was now soaked in a splattering of crimson. He let out a frustrated hiss. Not again…

  Looking up, he found the gravel running into a thick layer of grass. Beyond that, rising above shrubs, herbs and himself were gigantic conifers, so many that it was nearly impossible to see through. Peeking just above those, snowy mountain tops beckoned like stone giants. Behind him, the twinkling river lazily drifted round a bend, whilst the far bank was under the shelter of its own mix of trees and a set of magnificent mountains.

  This definitely wasn’t home.

  His throat throbbed. He swallowed, and the ache intensified as his vision blurred, the trees doubling in number before his eyes.

  Ian dragged himself back towards the river, and stared at his reflection in the water for just a second, seeing the distorted, golden form of the Nyúlfur staring back at him.

  Then unceremoniously, he dropped face-first into the river.

  His abdomen pulsed in protest, but he didn’t care. He let the cool water flow down his throat and slowly, he relaxed with relief. He could lie there, lose himself in the soothing flow. Hell, he could just throw himself in altogether. Forget about everything, get carried away elsewhere without a damn in the world. But as he lifted himself back onto his knees, he knew that could be just as good as signing his death warrant.

  Right now, he needed to stay alive. Even if he…

  He glanced down at his reflection again, that wolfish head blurred and flickered too much to offer a clear picture. But it was still enough to remind him that he wasn’t living some nightmare. What was happening was real, and he doubted even a badly injured Nyúlfur could last long with no supplies…

  He took a moment to check his clothing, or more accurately, what was left of it. The grey t-shirt was covered in gaping holes, including a huge one torn around his abdomen area, seeing a deep, pulsing wound underneath it. His trousers-turned-shorts weren’t much better, with more rips in the fabric, it was nearly as holey as the t-shirt was. They were dry at least; the sun must have dried them out-

  His heart panged for a second as he realised what he was missing. The tartan jacket! Had it been on the plane? Had it been left behind by the train? Deflated, the former human rubbed the spot between his eyes. Bridge? He didn’t know anymore. All he did know was the last reminder of his past life was gone, like a leaf on the wind.

  A lump formed in his abdomen as he snipped up some more water, surprised at how easily he could get it into his canine jaws. The next step was dealing with his wounds. There were other bleeding cuts and new scabs across his body where his fur was stained red, but the abdomen wound was far more critical. Wincing as his head and ribs ached, Ian pulled the t-shirt off, soaked it into the river water and pressed it against the wound. The ache intensified into something sharper, enough for make his spine shiver. It’s not perfect, but I can keep the wound clean at least.

  He got lucky with the river. But how much more can I take?

  Pressing the t-shirt against his gut, Ian took another swig of the water and slowly rose to his feet. His muscles quivered in protest, but it was a sudden stabbing feeling in his ribs that made him yelp. He took a few breaths, feeling the sensation fade. Just need to find a way out of here.

  The river was out and the far bank was out, and the gravel beach was only about ten metres long, not before either retreating back into the water, or melding in with the grass and trees. Only one way to go then…

  Shakingly, Ian hobbled his way into the trees.

  Progress was slow through the forest, especially without a trail or significant landmark to get his bearings. Following the river had worked at first, his hope being that he would eventually reach some form of civilization. But soon the river began to flow into deeper gullies and through rougher, rockier terrain, transforming into frothing whitewater. Uninjured, it wouldn’t be too difficult to navigate, but in his current state? Not a chance.

  And so, he was forced to peel away from the river and head deeper into the woodland. At least it was well lit, with the pristine green leaves above him both sheltering him from the harshest rays of the sun and allowing him to see what obstacles were in his way without trouble.

  He hissed as his ribs stung, pushing a tall fern out of the way. Another reminder that something was wrong with his body. Bruising? Broken bones? He was no doctor, but all it did was spur him onwards. He couldn’t try and treat it out here.

  The bleeding was something he could solve, temporarily at least, as he pulled what was left of his t-shirt away from the abdomen wound. Ian felt sick to his stomach at the sight of the still raw, inflamed laceration, but the t-shirt, ruined as it was, had done the job of stemming what bleeding was there.

  Ian straightened, feeling one problem roll off his shoulders. At least whatever healing abilities a Nyúlfur had seem to be carried over to him. If they had something like that at least, he doubted they had the same kind of insane healing factor that the Alpha Ferals had.

  Only a few dozen more to sort out, he supposed. All of which tied to a single problem. Even if he got lucky and stumbled upon a supply cache… he was going to need help.

  But who could I turn to? He questioned, grunting as he stepped over a hidden rock in the undergrowth. I’m a Nyúlfur now, any sane human would just shoot me on sight… maybe if I could talk to them… maybe I could-

  His foot slammed into another rock, and he couldn’t stop an animalistic whine from cutting through the air. No. He cursed, glancing at his throbbing wolf toes, I’ll just get shot, even if I could get the first word in. After the Nyúlfur attacks on humanity, there was more than enough anger from the population to kill the wolves without second thought. And that was before the bounties and ominous posters that were placed through towns and cities warning humans how dangerous they were, or how they had to be exterminated.

  Who else? He wasn’t going back to those murderers who were under Hagen’s payroll. Either they'd shoot him, or drag him off to some new laboratory, never to see the light of day again. A shiver ran down his spine; the memory of the warehouse still burned into his psyche even after… how many days had it been? He didn’t even know what the date was, that was certain fantastic for sure…

  Ferals?

  He resisted the urge to slap himself.

  Okay, now that is pretty stupid.

  That left…

  He rested a hand against a tree along his path and gently thumped his head into it. He groaned, less from his head throbbing, but from the inconvenient truth.

  The Nyúlfur.

  Ian closed his eyes, letting his breathing slow. There was no getting around the inconvenient truth. He was a Nyúlfur now, in theory any he met would assume that he was just one too.

  But I’m not! He could feel himself protest, I know barely a thing about them! No one does apart from butchering humans!

  This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  His hands curled into fists. He could get roped into some wicked scheme. He could get sniffed out as an ex-human. Those damned freaks, he had seen what they were capable of. Travis most of all.

  Probably just avoid them. They’ve already tried to kill me, why…

  Shoving his head forward, he felt the tree bark scratch at his skin through the fur. To hell with it. I’ll cross that bridge when… if I come to it. Guess I’ll find out how long I’ll last in the meantime…

  He pushed himself away from the tree, sending another wave of pain running up his side. Another protest from his ribs. He strolled forward; he just needed to keep moving. There had to be a road somew-

  ‘…keep low…’

  He slowed, ear twitching as the words slithered in.

  ‘Easy now… damn mutt is still dangerous.’

  His fur rose along his neck, time seeming to slow around him. Humans… are they…

  He widened his stride, already sensing his digitigrade legs had gone as tense as springs. Ready to propel him forward. Hunters. Ian realised with an encroaching dread, one which made his hands tremble. Maybe I coul-no, Hunters are only out for the bounty! Even anyone in the Badlands would be willing to try that! He stamped his feet softly into the ground, I’ve seen how strong Nyúlfur are… I didn’t think I would have to see how fast they could be too…

  Even as he walked, Ian braced himself to-

  ‘Steady… go for the head…’

  God damn it!

  He leapt forward.

  The shotgun boomed.

  Shot whistled past the back of his head. And as he landed, he dug his paws in and started running.

  “D-Just shoot the bastard!”

  Weapons boomed and cracked behind him, humanoid figures springing out of the foliage at the edge of his eye. Another shot whizzed by his ear as he ploughed on, gut burning and ribs screaming. His foot slipped into something, sending him stumbling forward. His arms snapped out, but he steadied himself and sprinted on. He dove to the right and a tree detonated as from a blast of buckshot. He instinctively squeezed his eyes shut, crying out as splinters bounced off his face. He blinked and ran onwards, Come on! I’ve got a Nyúlfur body! I should be-

  “He’s too fast!” someone shouted over his shoulder.

  Not fast enough! I can’t dodge bullets!

  Teeth grinding as injuries throbbed, Ian sprinted on, ducking down and weaving over to the right again. He had to open the gap. Keep the trees…

  Ian roared as something tore into his shoulder. Shoved forward, his leg crashed into wood and before he knew it, he barrelled forward into the ground. He yelped, glancing over to find his shoulder ripped with half a dozen bullet holes and drenched in blood. Cheers erupted behind him, foliage rustling excitedly as the hunters closed. Ian clamped his jaws shut, arm spasming as he pushed himself back up. Come on you idiot! Run!

  “He’s not down yet!”

  He charged forward, leaping over logs as the gunfire roared again. Wood ripped open and Ian ducked from the splinters. A shot whizzed across his leg, making him stumble with a pained hiss, but he lengthened his stride. He had to keep going. I didn’t get off that plane to get filled with buckshot!

  A fallen tree lay across his path, everything screaming in protest, he vaulted over, throwing his legs up and over…

  He cried out as his feet slipped and gave way, sending him tumbling down the now-revealed slope. His vision blurred green. His arm twisted back, a stab running through the shoulder as the world spun.

  Seconds later and with a sickening crunch, Ian crashed into a mass of mud with a muted thud. His shoulder flared as shoved himself back up with a groan. He stepped forward, pain shooting up his leg when his foot hit the ground.

  Ian cursed, the leg stiffening as he forced himself away from the slope, deeper into the trees. I’ll never get away like this!

  In reply, a single gunshot rang out.

  “I think he went this way!”

  He pushed on, his heart pumping uncontrollably now. Part of Ian was waiting for the inevitable jerk of a bullet striking his back.

  Seconds rolled by and now, the trees had engulfed him. The shouts still pounded his ears. He had no idea if trees would even offer enough cover.

  “I think he went this way! I saw something move!”

  “After him!”

  Ian braced for his immediate demise.

  But then, slowly, the voices started to fade, blending into the rustle of leaves. He didn’t dare slow, it could have been a trick, his eardrums failing… but the voices ceased, and the birds began to chirp once more.

  Only then did he slow to a stop, arm still shaking as he looked down on his stiff leg. A deep gash ran down his thigh and across his knee.

  At the knee itself, a thick nail was wedged into the joint.

  Rolling his eyes, he cast a glance over his shoulder, foliage already settling back into his place. His shoulder had thin streaks of blood that he failed to wipe away.

  Ian tried to perk his ears once more, trying to drown out the returning birdsong and the rustle of the forest. But no voices filtered through.

  How did I lose them? If they kept going, they would have had me there and then.

  He turned back to the new injury, Here we go again…

  He wrapped his hand around the nail, gritted his teeth, and yanked it free.

  Pain flared at the joint, a low growl rose as he tossed the bloodied metal aside. But as he stretched the leg, warmth ran down his gut. He looked down, seeing the abdominal wound wet with blood once more. He started to reach for the t-shi-

  He froze, quickly scanning his hands and his person. But the t-shirt was gone.

  Deflated, and pressing a hand against the reopened wound, he crept on.

  The forest lay in shadow, now eerily quiet. What was once tranquil at the surface was now cold, and foreboding.

  Ian chuckled to himself weakly. Funny. I get ravaged by a virus, got a healthy body after that, and end up getting broken again anyway.

  He coughed; another ache throbbed across his body. He was pressed against an uneven boulder that lay abandoned in the clearing he was in. The bleeding had slowed with little effort on his part, but it was too little, too late. His vision swam, every tree or little remaining bush fluttered in and out of focus. A slow beat pounded through his skull. And his injured arm lay limp by his side, numb and unresponsive. He had already lost too much blood.

  I’m dying. He admitted, letting his head slump against the rock. He took his chances when he jumped out of that plane, a roll of the dice. He got lucky to survive when no one else did with the warehouse, the train….

  He couldn’t even muster up any hate towards Travis or Hagen. They were beyond his reach.

  He let his eyes roll back towards the treetops. At least I’ll go gentle. Weak as he was, the pain was still fading away. His eyes started to flutter shut; Maybe I should close my eyes… just for a second…

  Something blurred through the leaves. A ghost? With a shake of his head, Ian opened his eyes fully. No, ghosts aren’t real. He wasn’t that out of it yet.

  At first, his vision refused to cooperate as he stared upwards, finding darkness had engulfed the tops of the trees. His eyelids would droop, only for him to force them back open. What is it? I can stay alive for a moment longer.

  They began to focus. The dark fog seemed to withdraw, creeping up the trees and past their highest branches. Tiny specks began to swim into view, insects? He cursed himself, no, stars.

  Then the ghostly shape came into focus, a bright white orb that shone down with them. The Moon. He looked up at the heavenly object and found a newfound faint warmth simmering in his chest. So distant, and yet so close to home.

  Home.

  It dawned on him that he hadn’t seen the night sky for… he didn’t know how long… In Manchester, if the smoke and smog hadn’t formed that impenetrable blanket, the dark rainclouds almost certainly were. A dark, toxic or cold shield that kept the starlight away, smothering the ground below.

  But here, the air was clean. Untainted and untouched. There was no man-made barrier to choke out the sky. Just nature, untamed and unclaimed.

  Were there even any Ferals here? Did he end up in one of these untouched paradises? Or did he end up in the Badlands, long abandoned regions of Earth where nature reclaimed the remains of civilization?

  Still got shot. Ian chuckled.

  He shivered, but he kept staring up at the heavens, about to melt into the rock, to lose himself to the starry sky…

  Something new flickered in his vision… and a dull crackle dripped through his ears. Another speck of light formed not in the sky, but on the ground. A gentle, warm glow from the shadow of the forest. That crackle…

  As he turned his head towards the orange light, he could hear voices, muddled and distant, crept forth from it.

  A campfire?

  Was it even close? His vision was fading and blurring again, becoming dark once more.

  Would they accept him? Why should he even bother?

  ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ the memory questioned.

  A chill crept down the back of his neck. Liana… she was stopping me from getting off the train…

  He stared at the flames, those words bouncing around inside his skull. One memory was doing everything it could to stop him from throwing his life away. His throat scratched, and he released a wooden breath. She was gone. And yet…

  …to hell with it. What else have I got to lose?

  Ian propped his good arm onto the rock, his body stiff and beginning to throb anew as he pushed himself to his feet.

  He inhaled a deep, uncomfortable breath as his legs quivered. Here goes…

  He released his grip, and started to moved forward. Every step a battle, another weight trying to shove him back down to earth. His legs were stiff and cold, little more than metal as he pushed on towards the glow of the flames. Every step sent a quiver up those weak legs, threatening to have them crumple into dust. The trees seemed to multiply; the warm glow more distant… isolated…

  His injured leg buckled, sending him slumping to the ground.

  He couldn’t even cry out, even as his muscles pounded in protest. But he fought through the pain, rose to his feet again and stumbled on. I don’t care anymore… Ian grunted to himself, taking another sloppy step forward, If I get killed. So be it. If not… we’ll see.

  An eternity seemed to roll by, before finally, he emerged from the trees.

  His vision, in that moment, cleared.

  A small campfire sat before him; it’s flame tips hungrily clawing at the sky and its warmth now ebbing into Ian’s fur.

  And around the fire, sat atop trunks and smoothed rocks… was a cluster of six Nyúlfur.

  One stiffened, staring at him with wide, stunned eyes. The others turned, each face twisting into confusion. Surprise. Shock.

  Ian let his gaze drift across them, his vision already starting to fade. In that moment, he threw the dice once more. A final choice.

  “Help…” he croaked.

  As darkness took him and he began to fall, one of the wolves leapt over their trunk and ran straight towards him...