Welcome back! I'm grateful to see so many enjoying chapter one of my QuaranTeam side story. This story is authorized by the original creator of the QuaranTeam universe, CorruptingPower. A lot of you have checked out my other works, so thank you for that as well.
Those of us writing side stories in the QT universe have had a discussion regarding the name of our fan base. Star Trek fans are Trekkies, Firefly fans are Browncoats, Babylon 5 fans are lurkers. One author suggested QTs or QT Pies - the rest of us gave that a hard no. So any suggestions? Think about it. Leave a comment after this chapter.
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Ch 2 - Janice's Day
September 19, 2020
Dave fought the urge to go straight to his computer and watch more videos on this vaccine. He'd anticipated the chanting of 'imprinting' but he'd skipped over the parts of the videos on sexual effects, thinking it would wait, or not even matter. That reaction was not natural. Okay, he's somewhat decent in bed, but that shit was next level, pornstar stuff. No way a woman got that excited over
his
crank.
Before he could go video surfing, he needed to get over and feed Lupe's chickens. No telling when they'd be back, probably tomorrow, and the chickens had to get fed. At least he wouldn't need to truss up. He wasn't running into anyone else. Dave slipped through the fence gate separating Lupe's front yard from her backyard. She left it unlocked all the time. Dave only mentioned it once, and then remained low-level worried for her when she never locked it.
Dave was pulled out of his musing by a low growl. In the backyard, glaring at him, was a large dog, a mutt with a lineage that ran thick and muscular. The eyes looked somewhat red, but the muzzle showed clear evidence of dried blood. Most likely a neighbor had died, thus cutting of the dog's food supply. It broke out of it's own backyard and had been killing other dogs, cats or squirrels thus far. Now it was thinking squab for breakfast and Dave had just interrupted.
Well, first good news, no foaming at the mouth so it's probably not rabid. Still a good idea to not get bit though. Holding stock still, Dave scanned the area, moving his eyes only, searching for anything that could be helpful. Ironically, Dave had a number of weapons at home that would have solved this little problem for the neighborhood. Not that they were doing him any good right now.
A shop broom. Lupe kept a shop broom on the back porch, and it was just a few feet away. Well that's something. Dave took a small step side ways and the growling turned to a couple of loud barks. The dog leaned to one side, as if anticipating the need to intercept Dave running sideways. Dave's hand reached out slowly, causing the dog to bark harshly and take two steps closer. Dave's hand connected with the broom. When he began pulling the broom to him, the dog charged, open mouth, teeth bared. Feeling a little ridiculous, Dave snapped into ready position, the brush part of the broom held low. He thrust the broom under the dog's muzzle, the bristles splaying out absurdly.
The dog reared back, possibly about to leap over the broom, so Dave adjusted his motion upward, catching the dog's chin and flipping it up and back. The dog kept his back feet planted and swiveled its head to take the broom head in its mouth. It swung its head back and forth, attempting to pull the broom from Dave's hands. Dave took a firm grip and unscrewed the handle from the broom, with a few added jabs to keep the dog off balance as he did so.
The dog noticed the moment the head come loose from the handle. It threw down the head and came charging again. Dave of course was ready for this, swinging the metal threads on the head end of the handle in an arc that delivered an upper cut to the dog's jaw.
With an angry yip, the dog pulled back, barked, and circled. Dave turned with the dog, waiting for the next charge. When it came, Dave snapped the end of the handle on the dog's head in a downward strike that connected, but did not stop the dog. Dave slipped sideways as he brought the other end of the handle around, catching the dog in the shoulder. At this point, Dave realized scaring the dog off might not work at all, and if it did, the dog would be back in an hour or so. He was going to have to kill the dog to keep the chickens safe.
Dave had already maneuvered to the concrete porch in Lupe's backyard. He slammed the end of the broom handle in a downward strike on the porch, snapping the end off and leaving a splintered point on the end. He now had a spear. The dog charged again. This time, Dave waited until the dog reared up to leap before plunging the sharpened end of the handle into the dog's torso.
A sickening yelp issued from the dog as the makeshift spear drove into its chest cavity. The dog fell, pulling Dave's weapon from his hands, and lay growling, panting and whimpering on the porch. Mortally wounded, the dog was still dangerous. It was also in pain. Dave needed to dispatch it quickly. Every moment it wasted away would wear on his soul. He spotted Lupe's garden trowel. Moving swiftly, he grabbed it, slipped behind the dog, and drove the trowel into the base of the skull, ending the animal's pain.
Once he was sure the animal was neither a danger nor in pain, Dave sat back on his haunches and wept bitter tears. Hell, he'd kill deer and turkey before, but that was hunting. What meat he didn't eat or give to Lupe was donated to a local charity to feed the poor or homeless. The butcher he used sold the deerskin and turkey feathers to local crafters for their works. This animal was dead because it was hungry and targeted the wrong prey.
Feeling like an utter wimp, Dave wiped his eyes and face dry. He went back to his own garage, pulled out a tarp, and headed back to Lupe's yard. Dave wrapped the dog in the tarp, then carried it through the back gate, and tossed the carcass in the rolling garbage bin. More waste. More death.
By the time Dave got back, the chickens had largely settled down. He scattered some seed into their enclosure and filled the water tank from the backyard hose. Dave left the backyard, pulling Lupe's gate closed tightly behind him and returned to his own home. He went upstairs to the master suite bathroom and scrubbed his arms thoroughly. Partly to remove any fluids that might have gotten on him. Mostly as a psychological exercise, trying to wash away what happened.
Emerging from the bathroom, Dave was captured by Janice's sleeping face. He climbed into bed and lay beside her, watching her gently breathe. Drinking in the feeling of another life nearby.
But he had work to do. And some research on what happened this morning. Maybe watching the videos first would help get his head settled again so he could focus on his project. Rewatching the video he'd skipped parts of, he hit the part explaining the bonding effect of the serum on women with a male partner. Did that work in reverse? Is that why he found Janice's muttering of 'imprinting' slightly sexy, but not the lady in the video? His thoughts were interrupted by his text warning bing.
-- Can you look a few things up for me?
-- There's a lot of terms here I don't know and I can't ask Lupe face to face.
-- And I can't look it up without leaving the survey.
Sure, what do you need defined?
If I don't know, I'll search it up for you.
-- Ok, the first one is fictophilia.
That one I'll need to look up.
Oh, okay, that's having an attraction to a fictional character.
Not sure if that's the same as cosplay or not.
-- So if I had that, would you dress up as Malcom Reynolds for me?
Sure.
But I might want reciprocation.
-- Zoey, Kaylee, or Inara Sera?
Yes.
-- huge crying laughing emoji
-- ok, how about lactophilia?
I mean, it's tasty, but I'm not fixated on it.