Chapter 3

The bright sun's rays peeked through the treetops of the dense forest like beams of light from heaven itself. Another day had begun, and they young kit opened his tired eyes, got up, and stretched his small body. As he searched for any more peculiar sounds or images, he noticed that nothing appeared out of place. The birds sang their usual songs to welcome the new day. A bluebird fluttered by and perched next to him. She continued to sing her song, and the gentle tones of her voice soothed the kit. Fox watched her with intent, though his attention soon swayed to himself. Checking over his body, he saw a few new scrapes across his vest and kilt and, as he looked at the ground, he saw all types of insects dancing across the forest floor as he looked down at his tired boots.

Finding nothing unusual, Fox got up, grabbed his stick, and walked around the forest. He realized that his father had not come for him yet, which made him feel uneasy.

"What should I do?" he asked himself. If I go, he might scold me for leaving. But if I stay here, father could be in trouble and might need my help.

After he debated on what to do for a while, he decided that he had waited long enough for his father to return. He jogged at first, and then gradually began to sprint through the forest to reach the field where his father usually tended to his cattle. Fox remembered how his father always boasted about him being an excellent runner. He secretly told Fox that one day he would need to use it to save his life. Maybe that's what he meant when he would say "you will become strong one day my son, and then you must lead our people from the enemies."

But Fox couldn't concentrate anymore. Thoughts and terrors jumbled together and formed twisted ideas and horrible fears that did not ease his worries. Could the village have been attacked by the Mafia? Or was there a fire in the town? He ran to the field and saw nothing when he got there. There were no cattle, no cattle or ranchers anywhere to be exact. Fox tried to ignore that fact. Maybe they are at Selena. So, he continued and dashed across the lush green sea, trying to escape his fears and doubts.

Even as he sped back toward the town, he saw no one. Now Fox began to panic. In his entire life, he couldn't remember ever seeing no ranchers out before. Nothing could hold him back from the town now, not even his sore legs that cried out for rest or his heart that beat against the wall of his chest like an irate drummer. He began to count the landmarks as he careened over fields. Mr. McUske's hill, the rotting cart, the large jaku tree that is all alone. Soon he could see the village in the distance, but still no one was around. It was as if they all left. With his ears bent down, Fox became scared. What if they left and forgot me? Where did they go? What happened to them?

It seemed like an eternity, but Fox reached the outskirts of the village and realized that his darkest fears had become a nightmarish reality. He stepped near some homes, but they were all charred. The dwellings nearby had all been torched, burned by a flame that showed no mercy. Some of the houses were still smoking, as most of the dwellings were built out of wood, and wood can burn for a long time, he remembered. Fox cringed as he turned his head. The house closest to where he stood belonged to a family he knew very well. The McFaskoto family was a very kind and respected family in Selena. Fox loved play near their house since they were so generous. Reynard, their son, played with him in the woods on occasion and share his toys with him. No other child did that to Fox, since they wanted nothing to do with his different eyes, so he spent a lot of time with him.

The young fox peered into the house, which was easy since the walls had been burned down, and he saw the charred remains of the McFaskoto family laid in a heap in the kitchen. The way they were positioned looked as if they had been tied down and bound in chains while the house burned. Mr. McFaskoto, Fox could tell it was him since he was taller than his wife, had the remains of his jaw hung wide open, almost as if he was screaming for mercy just before he burned to death. His fingers were dug into the dirt, burying them in the fresh soil and ash. The chains attached to him were liquefied to his hands and wrists - what was left of his hand and wrists. His torso was still smoking from the heat of the flames, looking like overdone steak in a heap of black bones. His wife was at his side and was also chained onto the floor, but there was not much left of her to really observe anything else. Fox began to breathe hard as he stepped back. He discerned that Reynard was also burned alive by the flames, clutching his mother as if he was trying to protect her from the hellish heat. The remainder of the brick house cooked them inside like an oven.

Fox had to step back. He turned around, afraid of the carcasses of people he knew, but everywhere he turned was more burned houses. It was a nightmare. The entire area around the village smelled of burnt flesh and fur, which made Fox's stomach turn. Every house the awe-stricken fox came to was in the same fashion: their burned faces peered back at him with eerie expressions that horrified the young kit. Fox was terrified by the painful positions their bodies were in just before they died, all contorted and mangled.

Fox reached the village center after stumbling down the main dirt road with fear and panic in his heart. On the market building, he noticed some villagers who were chained to the wall. Their limbs, which were scattered near them, were hacked off in a crude fashion with axes a few paces from the kit's feet. Their bloody torsos were too smeared in rich dark blood to tell who they were, who they used to be. Fox thought one of them looked like Mr. McHendeski, who used to hand him an apple to take to his family every day when Fox walked by his store to help his mother buy food. He told Fox that he too grew up poor, so Fox felt attached to the goodhearted man. Mr. McHendeski was a very munificent man, and knew what it was like to go without food for a while. Now he was nothing.

The stores in the village were looted, and some of them were torched. The streets were covered with blood and spoiled produce, among other items. Dead bodies lay motionless on the ground in pieces thrown in every direction, the crude layout made Fox gasp in shock. Turning his attention elsewhere, he saw that one unfortunate fox was impaled on the short market sign, his chest stabbed by the iron point that jutted outward. He lay there with the front of his body up, his head bent back towards the sun. Crimson blood still trickled off his dead hands like rivers through a small world. His open mouth was full of blood that glistened in the morning sunlight. Fox tried to avoid stepping on the dead as he moved through the center, dodging the bloody limbs and tissues that littered on the ground. It was truly a grotesque sight. The sights of the deceased corpses were almost too much for Fox. He knew all of these people too well, and now they were gone. All gone.

Has my family survived the massacre? he thought. Fox raced to his family's side of town by darting further down the dirt road. More torched houses and more burned bodies littered the path. Some were still giving off small clouds of smoke, but Fox tried hard to ignore it.

Fox could now see his house from the distance. He ran to it as fast as he could, and noticed it was not burned, not torched at all! Could these cowards spared his family? He walked up the back way and headed towards the front of the house near the front door – the only door from the outside. Fox quickly turned the corner and saw that the door was swung wide open. I knew it! I knew it! They were waiting for me all along! Fox thought. A glint of hope sparked in his heart. After seeing so much death and despair, he felt he finally returned a place of security! He had so much he wanted to tell his father and mother and a lot he wanted to ask them. He knew they would answer each question. Maybe his mother was already making another meal waiting for her brave son to return.

Fox turned toward the entrance and stepped cautiously inside, listening to the creaking sounds his boots made with each step. The doorway provided little light into the house, but he could see something was hanging from the inside. It dangled, almost floating in midair, but he couldn't determine what it actually was. He searched for the light switch and toggled the light.

Fox gasped. He saw that the floating object was his mother, Vikki, but she wasn't floating at all. She was hanging there, motionless from a rope tied onto a wood beam from the ceiling. Her eyes were stuck wide open, like she was staring back at her son, who stood only a few feet in front of her. Her delicate hands were in front of her body, and the ribbon that she used to wear tied around her neck now tied them together. Dry blood was at one of the corners of her mouth; her once brilliant white fur was now smeared and stained in that very blood. It was a horrible sight for him to bear. She… wasn't moving. She was just… there.

Fox suddenly broke down and cried, not exactly sure if he was dreaming. Tears rolled down his soft cheeks as he stumbled to his mother and buried his head in her flowing pink dress. Bawling in the soft cloth, he tugged at her dress, trying desperately to make her move.

"Wake up, mother! Please, wake up!"

He looked up at her, almost waiting for her to come back to life, maybe. However, she remained motionless. The only sound heard was the sound of the thick rope rocking on the beam. Fox threw his head back into his mother's dress, and sobbed uncontrollably as he shook her. The pain of seeing his mother like this was too much for him to take. He wanted her back with him.

After a few moments, he softly dried his tears and stinging cheeks on her dress and glanced around the dark room. Pots and plates were smashed all over. The parts of the cow that they had for breakfast the other day was gruesomely thrown to the other corner of the room, with its blood and innards spewed from the bloody carcass. The table was destroyed – all the chairs were too – and the walls were covered in stains of blood and dirt. Fox got up and stumbled aimlessly around the house.

With tears still down his cheeks, he went into his parents' room, but hesitated because he feared what he might see. But, as he peered in with his ears bent back and his heart pounding, he saw nothing, literally, nothing. Everything in their room was missing, everything from his father's locker to his mother's jewelry from "every corner of Uno." Only a few bits of paper lay on the floor, but it wasn't of much significance. For the first time, it looked empty.

After he checked his parents' room and found everything gone, Fox stepped back into the kitchen and tried hard not to stare at his mother. Wiping his stinging cheeks, the young kit kept his eyes open just a crack so that everything looked like a blur. With trembling hands, he found the door to his room over a pile of broken furniture and bloody remains of the cow. He tried to open it, but it was jammed. Shoving harder, Fox grunted as he pushed against the door and lost his footing. Frustrated, he stood back up and vigorously pushed the door out of the way, finally knocking it ajar. As he moved the door back and forth on its hinges, he noticed that a board was nailed onto the bottom of the door. The room reeked a little, and was very humid. But Fox stood perfectly still, afraid of what was in the room. His mind told him to turn around and leave. Even his legs, which begged for rest, agreed. But his heart waylaid those forces with curiosity. He fearfully switched on the dim light to his room.

Fox slowly opened his eyes and gasped. No more than two feet in front of him was his father, lying collapsed on his stomach in the middle of the room. A giant iron bolt was attached to his leg, and a chain connected him to the middle of the floor. Frantically, the kit stumbled forward and tried to move him, but his father was too limp and heavy, impossible to budge. He could tell he was dead. With tears welling in his eyes, he began to pull at the bolt, trying to free him from the floor. Then, as Fox paused to catch his breath, he realized why his father died in his room. He was gassed. He remembered hearing stories from the villagers about gassings, and about how terrible they were. His room was the only one that had no windows and was small enough that it would ensure quick, painful death. The board was placed onto the door to prevent air from entering the room. His father suffocated, and died a horrifying death. He lay near Fox stretched out to reach the door he would never grasp.

"Oh, father!" Fox sobbed. Memories of playing with his father and wrestling with him painfully seeped into his mind.

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"Rrrgh! You'll never get me now! I've got you in a McVanke armlock!" Grabbing his father back, Fox pulled him to the ground with a hard yank. His father crashed next to him, rolled over, and lightly punched Fox a few times in the stomach. Fox laughed from the ticklish punches his father threw.

"You learned that from me, didn't you?" He laughed, and soon Fox tackled his father in the chest.

Picking him up by the shoulders before he attacked, his father set him down next to him. Fox stopped the assault, realizing the game was over.

"Oh, Fox! You're going to be great someday, my boy!"

He reached over and hugged his son, and Fox graciously hugged him back. A smile quickly grew on the kit's face. He loved to play with his father, because he always made it hard to win. Under a bright sun, amidst a sea of green dotted by cows and trees, Fox scooted closer to his father and watched as the animals grazed. Feeling a hand on his shoulder, Fox didn't even look up to see its owner. He knew it was his father. He was never afraid to show how he felt.

"We've been at this for a while now, and your mother is probably worried about where you are. Go back to the house, okay. I'll be home soon." His father stood and turned his attention to his work. "Bye Fox!"

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Fox got down to lie by his father's side, trying to be as loyal as possible to the now deceased fox. With tears resting heavy in his eyes, the kit lowered his head, and put his father's hand on his shoulder.