AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Yeah. Maybe enough clothes and provisions for a day or two?” When I’m ten miles away in the southeast quadrant, I’ll probably stay naked, but Lopez doesn’t need to know that. That way, when the urge to smell like pee overwhelms me, at least I won’t soil my clothes.
“I haven’t seen the place, but yesterday’s memo said the brand-new Quonset hut is ready for habitation. It’s fully furnished with food staples, a generator, and a water tank. All the comforts of home. You can get some ‘me time’.” He chuckles.
Living in self-imposed isolation may not be my idea of a good time, but it’s better than the first three decades of my life when I was confined to a cell.
“Yeah. Like a spa, Lopez. Pack me a seaweed facial mask and some hot pink toenail polish.” At least I haven’t lost my sense of humor.
“Did you forget you don’t have toenails? I’ll see if hoof polish comes in hot pink.”
Lopez is a good man, trying to normalize my rut. Although the guys gave me shit, I know they don’t mean anything by it. We all have our quirks. I shake my head, almost cracking my antlers against the tile. Quirks. That’s an understatement.
“I’ll pack you some fresh meat and veg.”
“Don’t bother with meat,” I tell him. “Never could tolerate it.”
“Right. I’ll be back in a flash with a backpack full of clothes and produce. Need anything else?”
“Yeah. If there’s any space left, throw in some of the books from my bedside table.” When I’m not out of my mind with mating madness or succumbing to the need to soil myself or jack off, I’ll read.
Within ten minutes, I’m doing the walk of shame through the lounge, once again hearing catcalls. Since I’m only wearing khaki shorts, this time they’re ridiculing my lack of clothing. They may not say it, but I imagine I’m not the only one who resents the need to wear clothes—it’s a throwback to our animal DNA.
“First the smell, now we have to look at your shaggy legs and tail?” Of course, it’s Grizz. He has to give me shit coming and going.
“You only wish your ass looked this good in a pair of khakis,” I snipe, still not exactly sure why the brass wants us to wear Hawaiian shirts and khakis. I guess it’s better than the black jumpsuits the mad scientists made us wear.
I stride out of the barracks, pull the backpack on, and inhale deeply. Over the tantalizing scent of the twenty women almost ten miles away, I can enjoy the smell of pines in our little slice of heaven here in the middle of nowhere, Texas.
When I take off running toward the Quonset the Colonel set up in the remote southeast corner of this enormous acreage, all my cares dissolve. I love to run. It’s something that was often denied me in my captivity.
My animal DNA allows me to outpace any of the soldiers I’ve raced against when we’ve been having fun. It’s autumn, but the chill in the air doesn’t bother me. Although my top half is hairless, my bottom half is covered in a fine tan coat of fur.
This will be good, I tell myself. I’ll be alone for the first time in my life.
Chapter Three
Cally
“Tater! Shit! Come back here!”
Crap. Just my luck that the best-behaved dog in the world decides this is the moment to get a wild hair up his ass and take off on me. I’m so far off the beaten path, I couldn’t even find my location on my GPS. I guess my dog decided it was a great time to explore the area.
“Tater! Tater Tot! We need to get on the road!”
Grabbing my keys, I slide the lanyard over my head, lock the trailer and car doors—although I doubt there’s anyone within a ten-mile radius of this place, much less someone who might want to steal my stuff—and walk in the direction where I last glimpsed my Australian cattle dog.
“That asshole at the café back in Thompson Junction must have been pulling my leg when he told me there was something I should check out down this road,” I quietly grumble to myself as I tramp through crunchy fallen leaves in search of my wayward companion.
I should have listened to my intuition. That bushy-bearded, oversized guy did not give me a warm, fuzzy feeling. His size XXXL, filthy military uniform had to have been purchased from an Army-Navy store. I’d bet my life savings he never spent a day in any branch of the military.
“I love my job. I love my job,” I mutter, scanning the brush lining the dirt road for any sign of Tater. All it took was one squirrel dashing by for him to race off to parts unknown the moment he finished peeing.
It’s fine, I tell myself. This certainly isn’t the first wild goose chase I’ve been on, and royalty checks don’t last forever. My readers are clamoring for the next Calliope Quinn glimpse into the unusual and bizarre. Even if this dirt road dead-ends, it’s sure to spark inspiration.
But first, I need to find my four-legged muse.
“Tater!” I call, eager to hear the sound of scampering paws and panting breath emerge from the brush. Wherever he’s run off to, I know the perfect title for this misadventure: Hot on the Trail with Tater, Formerly Known as America’s Goodest Dog.
When Tater barks, I break into a jog despite the uneven, leaf-strewn terrain. What’s up with him today? He seldom leaves my side and almost never refuses to return when I call him with this amount of urgency. What the heck is he barking at?
