In Dominica, Skinner hadn’t waited long after sunrise to dispatch his crew and begin the search for survivors. Not an hour after the sun peeked above the horizon, one of Fugro’s lifeboats was already nearing the shoreline. A pair of sailors hopped off in ankle-deep water and dragged the small craft the rest of the way over the pebbles that covered the beach just before the seawall.

Lacking any quay to moor alongside of, sending lifeboats ashore was the best they could manage. Such was the extent of the damage in Roseau.

Skinner surveyed their surroundings. From up-close, the carnage was even worse. Torrential rains must have caused mudflows at one point or another, and now mixed with the mud and dirt were debris and pieces of vegetation dragged there from much further inland. On the beach, you could hardly walk more than a few steps in one direction without stumbling on one piece of detritus the waves were pushing back ashore. A few ways away, swarms of flies clustered around a dead dog, its rotting paws trapped in chicken wire.

The seafront looked bad… or its ruins rather. At one point, colorful shops and businesses meant to accommodate the tourists that streamed in from the cruise terminal, now it was a coin toss whether they were completely destroyed, or just had their lower floors filled with mud and debris. One storefront, likely a car rental at some point, was now garnished with the backside of a sedan protruding out of the facade, with the rest of its products irrevocably destroyed: a pile of wrecked cars on the seawall, some of which had fallen on the cruise terminal and cut off the pier from the shore.

Fugro would have to stay anchored then.

“Captain, orders?” An ice blue reindeer asked behind him.

Mia. His Second Officer, a Norwegian. She… didn’t look like she was enjoying the tropical heat. Not much of a surprise there with the fur.

“Just keep to the plan.” Skinner turned around to face her, reaching for his cargo pocket from which he pulled out a chart of the island.

More of a satellite picture with highlights added on top, but it wasn’t like the roads were usable anymore. And GPS would still work fine for a couple years more.

Idly, he wondered if the HPI might send up more satellites to compensate for those that fell out of orbit. They were a space program offshoot, weren’t they?

“I’ll be taking my team into the mountains to try and find survivors. You and your guys, you’re on salvage duty.” He paused, tapping a digit against several red dots that had been drawn on the map. “Locate the ruins of the port authority and get us any intel you can on the area. Charts, manifests of what passed through the area, and if we’re lucky whether or not there were shore tanks we can get recyclable fuel from. Then… there should be… havebeen a hospital about three kilometers north-east of here. Medical supplies are always good, so you get us anything you find that’s still usable, OK?”

“Is there even a chance there’s anything left there?” She questioned.

“We won’t know until we check.” Another feminine – if a bit raspy- voice belonging to one pink teenage (read: human-sized) dragon with a red cross armband joined in.

Lilian. Their shipboard doctor.

“Look, we have no idea how many survivors we’ll find or how many may need medical assistance...” Lilian continued. “… but we’ll have other ports scheduled up after Dominica, and our medical stores were only ever designed for the crew. Can’t afford to run out, can we?”

“I’ll check then.” Mia nodded firmly.

“Good. Remember to keep an eye out for monsters, the guns aren’t just for show.” Skinner reminded, folding up his map. “Stay safe.”

Sorting through all that rubble and salvaging what she could ought to take Mia the whole day. By Skinner’s reckoning, that was about how long it would take him and his team to make the trek uphill and… find survivors. Hopefully. Dominica wasn’t exactly raising his hopes very high, and initial HPI scans evaluated the population at below 30. Before the floods.

With him he took Lilian and a pair of sailors as escorts, all of them armed and equipped to deal with what they may encounter… though Lilian insisted that as a medic she should only carry a pistol for self-defense and all.

Skinner was half-tempted to remind the dragoness she was a walking flamethrower.

Dominica wasn’t a big island. It wasn’t more than a few kilometers from the shore to the middle of the island… but that didn’t make it a cakewalk by any stretch of imagination. Getting out of Roseau’s ruins was a challenge in its own right, with not a single road left intact, fallen buildings, mud and debris blocking the way every other block, and the swarms of mosquitoes and other insects that had made a home of the puddles of stagnant water left behind by the floods. It was slow, it was annoying, and Fugro’s Captain caught himself swearing under his breath more than a few times when he stumbled on unearthed power lines or whatnot.

He wasn’t surprised the locals had made for the hills given the state of the island’s capital. Some had been there, he could see the signs, but they were long gone. The destroyed football stadium was filled with the remains of a makeshift supply depot and shanty town, some buildings bore loot markers in spray paint, and there were some odd… effigies built in certain spots or atop what few telephone poles remained.

Not a single survivor though, not even a body.

Dogs though? Plenty of them, and aggressive. Rabid half-starved mutts that tried to take a bite out of them before Skinner showed them how dangerous a hedgefog’s lightning attacks could be. His G36 helped, too. Feral packs were only ever dangerous to unarmed groups, they were cowardly. Kill a few and the rest will scamper away.

Following their map, Skinner led the little team through the mud and along the banks of the little river that snaked its way through town, following its rushing brown waters uphill and into a narrow valley past the outskirts of Roseau.

Skinner’s assumption was that, seeking refuge, survivors would have fled the damaged lowlands and taken residence way up in the mountains around the water reservoirs, just short of the caldera of Dominica’s volcanic peaks.

Reaching them however…

Beyond Roseau, dense jungle occupied the island’s steep slopes as they edges upwards towards the summits. Swarms of insects buzzed around them as a sailor took the lead and started hacking away at the vines that hung in the way while they did their best to follow the general path of what used to be a road, now just a few pieces of asphalt and concrete hidden beneath vines and shrubbery along the banks of the river.

There were ruined buildings too, but the damage was lesser, moreso if the buildings were far enough from the river’s rushing waters. Most of that damage wasn’t so much the mudflows’ fault, as it was that of sheer overgrowth and humidity. The air was thick, a damp, heavy blanket that fell on your shoulders and made it harder to breathe.

“Sheesh, this island really got hit rough didn’t it?” Lilian commented as they passed by a pickup truck that had fallen in the river when the banks collapsed. Only its bed remained visible now, with a few plastic drums desperately hanging by a cargo strap in the current.

“No surprise here.” Skinner paused, one ear flicking as he caught the sound of a twig cracking over the rushing waters of the river. “Hurricane, magic storm, nobody to fix it… The local geography doesn’t help either.”

“Captain?” One of his sailors – a female Abyssinian-spoke up. “I don’t mean to sound paranoid but… those effigies...” She gestured towards the opposite bank of the river where one of those odd totem-esque carvings was hung from the roofless rafters of a ruined house.

“I see these Praveen.”

“Shouldn’t we be worried?” She insisted, worriedly running her paws over her rifle. “I… I get a bad feeling from these.” Praveen added, tail lashing behind her.

“We should and I am.” Skinner slowly said.

He wasn’t one to ignore such worries. While he could somewhat get behind the surge of popularity Celtic faith had experienced across the fleet since Cuba, not all ancient divinities were as benevolent. That and Abyssinians were empaths or prescients.

Disregarding one’s worries would be ill-advised.

“Doesn’t change our goal however.” The Captain said. “We still need to find survivors. Come on… but keep an eye out. I got a feeling we’re not alone here.”

Onward they pushed into the jungle, following the course of the river as the flanks of the valley closed in around them the further uphill they went. Ruins became increasingly rarer, as the center of the island was only sparsely populated prior to the Event.

The effigies began appearing more frequently then, wood carvings held together with twine depicting three different creatures, along with odd symbols none in the team of four could decipher, covering any ruin they passed along the way.

“You think it’s something demonic?” Lilian asked the Captain as they passed by a ruined toolshed, its thin metallic walls covered in the white symbols.

How did they even make it? It wasn’t paint for sure, nor rubber. Ground rocks and sap maybe? She couldn’t tell.

“Doesn’t feel like it is. I’ve looked at pictures of demonic summoning circles. The symbols don’t match.” Skinner grunted, batting at a swarm of mosquitoes with his hand, tail lashing behind him in a similar motion.

Eh, at least with all the quills and fur he had as an hedgefog it wasn’t as bad as if he had human skin. Electric bursts worked well enough to zap mosquitoes.

They continued their uphill journey, passing by several narrow valleys and gorges that connected to the bigger one they were following, each with little waterfalls and ponds that at one point might have attracted tourists.

Not any longer. Several had become inaccessible, blocked off by rubble and debris. Loose soil tinted the water, turning it brown. It clarified a thing: the only potable water you’d find there, was up in the hills.

Shortly before noon, they finally reached the first notable landmark since they’d left Roseau behind. Not quite near the top of the island, still a fair walk below the altitude where you’d find the reservoirs.

A small hydroelectric dam. Not a big one, it wouldn’t have accounted for more than a fraction of the island’s electricity production prior to the Event, but it was nevertheless a reliable power source survivors would likely have tapped into.

Except they didn’t.

When Skinner pushed past a large fern and finally came into sight of the large gray concrete structure with the odd orange spot of rusted metal… there was no sound of a running turbine layered over the rushing of the water. The electric poles were all but collapsed into the river bed, the windows of the control station were hollow, shattered. Nearby, a cable car station that would have taken people to the caldera of the nearest volcano was naught but a ruin, its cables snapped and the cars lying on their side inside the building or forgotten in the depths of the jungle.

Slowly, the four sailors crept up towards the structure, finding it covered in fallen leaves and soil. A flock of parrots scattered when they neared it. Their irate caws reverberated around the canopy. At one point it may have been decently maintained, but now the cracks in the building were showing. Already the concrete was showing signs of being gnawed at by the sheer humidity of the jungle that surrounded them. Roots and vines dug into the masonry, and the branches overhead looked as though they were reaching for the dam, eager to reclaim nature’s domain. It wouldn’t be too long before the dam breached, further dooming anything downstream of it (as if that wasn’t bad enough already).

And like much of the ruins they had found along the way, symbols and effigies had been raised around the structure, still with the same three figures. This time though, Skinner found the dam’s door barred and held shut with twine and palm leaves.

“So much for finding survivors, uh?” Lilian deplored. “I guess they went elsewhere. Wasn’t there an old British fort north of the island? They could have gone there.” The dragoness mentioned, moving over to one of the effigies. Flicking a claw, she cut the piece of twine that kept it hanging from a nearby branch and picked it up.

It was exactly what you’d expect from pre-Columbian civilizations in the Antilles. A rough carving made from a single piece of wood on which you could see each singular incision. The effigy was painted in places, with that same white gunky pigment used to paint those symbols all over the place. It depicted a female figure with generous forms, exaggerated facial features and an appearance that was… sort of at the halfway point between a frog and a human?

The feeling of magic was also pretty hard to miss. Lilian ran a claw over its surface in curiosity. Behind her, Skinner and the two sailors gathered around the map to figure out where to go next.

Skinner was just about to order that they keep going uphill when he spotted Praveen going still. The Abyssinian’s fur stood on its end, tail fluffing up, perfectly rigid.

“Is-” He began, but didn’t get to finish his sentence.

Praveen sprang up and tackled him, right in time to avoid the flurry of darts that whizzed at them from the treetops. Three of them embedded themselves in his map with sharp ‘thwacks’. Their companion wasn’t so lucky. The parrot looked down at the small dart protruding from his arm before his eyes glazed over and drowsiness overtook him. Marcos was down for the count.

Maybe taking the Chief Cook on an expedition wasn’t the brightest of ideas. Skinner would have to apologize.

“Contact!” He yelled out loud, struggling with the strap that held his G36 across his chest.

All around, the jungle burst to life. Foliage rustled in the canopy, yells rang out, and darts descended upon the three sailors still standing.

“The dam! Get inside!” He ordered, running for the unconscious form of his Chief Cook and grabbing the burly parrot by the back strap of his combat vest.

Several darts flew his way, but he was a hedgefog. Still running, he shifted to fog form and the projectiles phased through his form harmlessly before he shifted to material form again. Behind him, Praveen stood next to the dam’s door, the feline’s claws were out and she was hacking at the twine keeping the door shut.

As for Lilian...

‘Tink!’

Half a dozen darts pinged harmlessly off her scales, and the dragoness scrambled for the nearest piece of cover. She dropped the tribal effigy she’d been holding and fumbled for her pistol, swearing in Irish Gaelic all the way through.

Inside. Gotta get inside. The thoughts raced through Skinner’s mind as he did his best alternating between pulling the burly Chief Cook towards the dam and turning into fog to avoid the darts.

He looked back towards the building. Praveen was by the door. Unconscious with a trio of darts in her arm. There was only so much an Abyssinian’s prescience could do it seemed...

“Damnitdamnitdarnit!” He yelled, his Scottish accent coming through thicker on the last one. “Lilian! Tae door!” He ordered the medic.

Not much good. The pink dragoness had taken cover behind a chest-high railing and wasn’t showing any sign of poking her head out as darts bounced off the metal. Skinner looked back towards the jungle surrounding them. He could see flashes of color here and there. Feathers. But no actual shape to aim for. With one hand, he tried to reach for his radio as he kept pulling the unconscious Marcos towards the building.

And then it came into view with an ear-shattering roar.

Out of the jungle, it sprang. A body of wood and leaves, with ferns sprouting out of its neck much like a mane and white warpaint adorning its bark body, the timberwolf glared at Skinner through amber-colored eyes that clashed with any picture the Scot had seen of the species. He was pretty sure they should be green.

The fact it had an Ornithian as its rider was also a surprise, and the parrot’s glare was pretty much a match for that of his mount. He was a macaw, with the fiery red feathers of scarlet macaws, wearing almost nothing save for warpaint, necklaces, bracelets and a small satchel. In his claws was an obsidian club, and across his back, an ornate blowpipe.

The rest happened in but a few seconds. The timberwolf rider charged him, he turned to fog and let him sail right through him…

Except the rider wasn’t aiming for him and went for Lilian. The dragoness found herself pinned against the nearest wall by a hulking mass of vegetation, not even getting enough time to release a gout of fire before the rider swung his club and sent her into the realm of dreams.

And in the time it took for that to happen, a squawk resounded above Skinner. He swung around, still in fog form, seeing a hippogriff dive for him from the treetops.

Well... shit. A cloudwalker.

Fog form or not, he sure felt the pair of hooves hitting him in the gut so hard he flew across the dam, walkie-talkie slipping from his paws.

“Sunuva...” He half-growled, cradling his stomach.

The walkie-talkie was just in reach. If he could just contact the ship, then maybe… He began crawling forward, one paw extended forward. Before he could reach it however, the timberwolf rider picked it up and tossed it to the same hippogriff that had knocked him to the ground.

Skinner craned his neck to look him in the eye. The warrior shook his head disdainfully. He said something, but Skinner didn’t understand. Was that Creole? Pidgin English? He couldn’t tell.

“What did we even do to you?” Skinner mumbled. “We were here to help...”

He didn’t get a reply. The warrior swung his club, and the world went dark.

Amandine and Rhine Forest’s venture in Mexico was going a bit better than what Fugro was experiencing. Early in the morning, a team composed of Dilip, Alejandro, and Amandine’s recce team was lowered in the water in the MOB boat before the little craft left the larger ship’s side in the middle of the cove to approach the quays.

The rain had let up by them, allowing for a clearer look at their surroundings. Forestry that was quite jungle was visible in the distance, sharing the area with marshlands and small meadows along the banks of the river. Most of the terrain around the outer edge of the refinery was kept clear. A means to make sure if anything sprang out of the trees, they’d have the time to see it coming.

But the installation was quiet. Disturbingly so. As the little orange craft crept closer, the gantries and walkways above them remained bereft of guards. A few curious Diamond-Dogs and Abyssinians, even the odd parrot, came to look at the new arrivals over the edge of the tall quays, but they’d twist their heads back and hurry away, as though someone had ordered them to step away.

Thankfully, most of them were wearing coveralls. Dilip would have been more worried if the attire was casual, or worse, military fatigues. He was aware of the grapevine. The tourists they were repatriating were worried, wondering what cartel might want a refinery for themselves. Los Zetas and Jalisco Nueva Generacion were thrown around a lot, as known to operate in the area, though presence in Coatzacoalcos was supposed to be limited. Most cartels focused on the American border.

Then again, borders weren’t worth much anymore, but fuel was, and the Bay of Campeche had plenty to spare.

“Sir?” Aleksei spoke up from behind the helm of the boat. “We’re approaching the quay. Any second thoughts?”

“So long that you’re up with your magic? None.” The sea dog replied, idly brushing the shoulder of his uniform. He didn’t carry more than the Congo sword and his revolver on his person, having made sure the white pilot shirt and his ranks would highlight his status. “Alej’? Any doubts?”

The hyacinth macaw was sitting in the front of the boat, carefully surveying the refinery’s gantries. The sentinels were hard to spot, but he’d seen a few well-hidden ones. Cats and dogs eyeing them vigilantly, with their guns casually hanging off their straps. Yes, they had as much of a backup at the ready as the sailors had.

Not that you could blame anyone for being armed in a world where monsters were out to eat your face.

“No, let’s carry on. Hands off the guns though, if that wasn’t obvious.” He said, already preparing himself for the frustrating experience that was the difference between European and Latin American Spanish. He sighed.

As if Cuban accents hadn’t been bad enough.

They tied up the boat alongside the quay, one meant to fit vessels the size of Amandine instead of a mere boat, meaning the lot of them had to fly or climb up a barnacle-covered ladder just to reach the shore where they came face to face with the welcoming party.

In their direct vicinity were the tall humongous cylinders of the shore tanks and their white painted flanks that practically shone in the morning’s sunlight, a maze of gantries and pipelines connecting them to each other and offering excellent mobility for the overwatch teams keeping an eye on the visitors. Between the tanks were small sheds and pumping stations.

And as though there to greet them, was the PEMEX logo plastered as a giant stylized orange eagle head over one of the shore tanks.

Alejandro’s focus soon switched to the small crowd standing about a dozen meters in front of them. Various members of the three species they had already spotted around the place, all standing in front of a cluster of trucks that likely brought them there. Three figures stood out among them, leading the group.

One was a German shepherd of a Diamond Dog clad in coveralls. Short (shorter than Dilip at least), broad-shouldered and with a stern look on his muzzle. He had a plastic helmet pushing his ears to the sides, one with a mark that denoted his status as a foreman.

Not a fighter then, but important enough, and not the kind of person you’d want to piss off. He may only have a pistol, but that large wrench on his other hip? Not the kind of stuff you’d want to be on the receiving end of, much less given how much strength D-dogs had in their arms.

Number two was an Abyssinian. Much taller than the foreman (not really surprising given the species, the cats never were on the short side), he was covered in short, mottled black and orange fur with the one odd white blotch around his left eye that made their sharp hazel color stand out all the more. Thin of build, he cradled a heavily customized assault rifle between his paws as he observed them, rounded ears flicking slightly under the morning breeze.

He was also the only one wearing military fatigues in the group. On his assault vest were the letters ‘MARINA’ proudly displayed in white across his chest, with the name tag ‘Morterero’ slightly below.

The last of the three ‘leaders’ stood slightly behind the two, though she had no trouble looking over their heads. She was a Diamond-Dog, a border collie, and she had the large size that came with females of her species, standing a good head and a half taller than Dilip and with a lot more bulk to throw around.

Not ‘minotaur’ bulky, but nothing to scoff at still.

She stood with her arms crossed over her chest and a machine gun slung across her back, one belt draped over her shoulder, looking at them curiously. She wasn’t wearing coveralls, unlike most folks around the area. Instead, she sported a pair of heavy duty work pants, steel-toed shoes, and a tank top under the yellow vest that came with her hardhat.

Dilip squinted his eyes. There were already some conclusions from that.

The female D-Dog was a genderswap, that much was obvious. Those work pants showed old oil stains and hints of having been patched up several times over. She wasn’t new here, and he doubted you’d find many female blue collars in an oil refinery. Prior to the Event at least.

Judging by the way the others carried themselves around her, she was also above the foreman. An engineer then?

There was also the fact of their clothes. Usually there was a difference between when folks converted their clothes to their new forms, and when they had a professional do it for them. This was no exception, so either they were lucky and really talented, or the colony was big enough for a dedicated person to handle the sewing.

Still as far as clothing went… the locals’ coveralls were a mix of old and new. Supplementing trained personnel with post-Event hires then? Risky gamble in an oil refinery, unless they were confident in their ability to teach the recruits.

Silently, Dilip nodded towards Alejandro.

Go ahead. Make first contact.

The hyacinth macaw cleared his throat.

“Greetings.” He began in Spanish as he took a step forward. “My name is Alejandro Mendoza. Chief Officer. We’re the World Seafarer Union. Estamos aquí para comerciar... y prestar ayuda también.”

“Xolotl.” The cat in the military fatigues said.

“I’m sorry what?” Alejandro’s head tilted to the side in genuine confusion.

“Just checking. We’ve had our issues.” The cat said, the look on his eyes suspicious. “You wouldn’t happen to venerate any kind of death or blood god, do you?”

“Oh shit...” His eyes widened. “It’s really a thing around here? Cultists, ancient gods, they’re real?”

“I’m afraid so. Trouble’s found a way to combine our worst ills… and you haven’t answered my question. Death god, yes or no?”

“No!” Alej’ quickly replied in a squawk. “We’re not cultists! Closest we got is Aleksei back here, and she’s just a priestess for a goddess of fertility and equines. No blood sacrifices I promise!” He raised his claws to placate them. “Worst thing she can do is some healing and midwifery… and I guess the contraception cantrips are neat too.”

The whole group of locals turned their gazes to look at the shapely hippogriff hen in the back of the group. Aleksei noticed, and she shifted a bit awkwardly on her hooves, giving them a wave.

“No dark rituals?”

“None whatsoever.” Alejandro reassured. “It’s Celtic, we picked it up when we stopped in Northern Ireland. Haven’t had any problem with it so far.”

There was a short pause. The border collie bitch pulled her two fellow leaders in a huddle and they chatted quietly for a few seconds before all three nodded. They separated. The military cat took a step back, while the border collie advanced.

“Very well then.” She spoke up in heavily accented English. “We’ll believe you’re not bloodthirsty cultists. You’re from Spain right? The accent doesn’t lie.”

“W-wait, you speak English? And yes. I’m from Galicia.”

“I was sent to get my degree in America before I came back to work here. Helps with the language.” She explained, casually putting one paw on her hip. “You can call me Carmelita. Kitty-cat with the gun back there goes by Samuel, security chief if you hadn’t guessed. And our forepup here is Enrique.” She nodded towards the German shepherd by her side. “He manages the work crews.”

“Well met.” Dilip took a step forward and extended a paw for Carmelita to shake. “I’m Captain Prateek of M/V Amandine. The grey Ro-Ro.” He added, jabbing a thumb towards his own vessel.

“Encantada.” She shook his paw firmly. “You people can’t be sicarios, yet I’m seeing a lot of guns in your group, and I’d wager your backup is on your ship, no?”

Dilip faltered. She smirked.

“Gotcha. What gives?”

“I… ahem, I apologize for the extent of the measures we’re taking, but concerns rose across the fleet due to past experiences with monsters and bandits. We have Mexicans on board we’re supposed to repatriate and some of the things they said...” He trailed off with a grimace, feeling a bit intimidated by the taller dog in front of him.

“Cartels. I get it.” Carmelita sighed. “It is what it is… and not completely unfounded if I’m being honest.” She shook her head ruefully, dropping her arm to her side. “You said you were there to trade and help?”

Dilip nodded.

“We’ve been doing this in a couple colonies already. Last one was Havana. We can provide technical assistance you may need to better set up your colony, fix up some stuff, and what we ask in return is a trade agreement to commerce with other colonies. Here...” He waved an arm at their surroundings. “Should be obvious. Plenty of colonies relying on oil for electricity, and an oil recycler can only take you so far.”

Carmelita raised her head at that.

“I’m sorry. ‘Oil recycler’ you said?”

“It’s a device we made to combat fuel spoilage. It’s… well, it works.” He grimaced. “But the amount of polluted water it generates to clean up old fuel is less than ideal I’ll admit.”

In front of him, he saw her work her muzzle a few times before she looked up at the sky. It was clear, with just a few passing clouds. Without lowering her gaze, she spoke up in Spanish.

“Sam, Enrique, you can go back to your own business. I’ll handle it from here.”

“You sure?” Samuel asked, still eyeing the sailors with a bit of suspicion. “We barely know them.”

“I said you could go, not to drop the whole security detail.” She rolled her eyes. “No estoy loca. Just keep it subtle.”

“Fine.” He relented. “I’ll be at the barracks training the militia.”

“Spanish-speaker here. Just heard that.” Alejandro raised his claw sarcastically.

“Wasn’t trying to hide it.” She smirked again. “Besides if you’re going to keep your armed backup on hand, I don’t see why I should dismiss mine. Now, why don’t you folks call up the sailors from the other ship that’s anchored over yonder? I figure they got some stuff to tell as well. Gotta figure out what can provide each other, no?”

Which was how Captain Lorelei got introduced to Carmelita, with a fair hint of disbelief on the latter’s part when she discovered the great black hulled ship was commended by such a small pink unicorn filly. The local leader, who further presented herself as a petroleum engineer, had some of her subordinates bring a couple chairs and a folding table around which they gathered to discuss. At one point during the gathering, a message was sent to finally allow the two vessels to moor alongside one of the several piers that ran perpendicular to the shore, the vague T shape for once allowing Amandine to use her stern ramp to discharge cargo.

And under the increasingly warmer Mexican sun as it rose up in the sky, nearing noon, they talked. Carmelita had a long list of questions regarding the WSU and their goals to ensure her colony wouldn’t be misplacing their trust. She was a bit suspicious about how they located the colony in the first place, but the Bay of Campeche was a petroleum hotspot, and she seemed satisfied with their saying they had access to satellite data.

Technically, not a lie, even though it was the HPI that had sold them the intel on their existence.

“So you claim you help colonies wherever you find them and...”

“Our main goal is to revive industries and ensure civilization doesn’t slide right back in the middle ages.” Lorelei explained.

“Through trading?” Carmelita quirked an eyebrow.

“Trade has long been a source of advancement throughout human history. Isolated civilizations never truly prosper, quite the contrary.” Dilip asserted confidently. “And with how few people are left? Our tech is too complicated to be handled by a single colony. You want to keep your refinery working...” He waved a paw at their surroundings. “I can point you to Belfast where they can machine the parts you need. I can point you to a lab we helped set up in Havana, and where they also have a farming commune in need of fertilizer. I can point towards Georgia, where they’re making ammunition to fight back against monsters, and generators.” He leaned forward over the table. “Do you genuinely think that everything your refinery here needs, you can handle on your own? It was never meant to operate like that.”

For a few moments, Carmelita remained silent. Then she burst out laughing, a loud half-barking half-chuffing sound that lasted a few seconds before she got it under control.

“You’re good, I’ll give you that.” She chuckled, wiping a tear of laughter from her eye with her paw. “You almost managed to make it sound like we’re the ones in need. Didn’t know Captains could handle PR like that, bravo. Truth is… you are the ones in need of oil.” She stated with a cheeky grin.

“Maybe we are.” Dilip’s stone was calm. He threw Lorelei a look. “Or maybe we’re also aware most ports kept thousands of tons of assorted oils in shore tanks and we also happen to have developed a way to recycle spoiled oil. Really just a matter of convenience and how many oil filters we’re willing to clean, no?”

Carmelita leaned back in her chair, she and Dilip looked at each other impassibly. From the Indian’s viewpoint… she was a bit of an oddity. Her posture clearly showed she was genderswapped from the way she sat with her legs slightly spread and a bit of a slouch, yet every so often the border collie would try to show off some cleavage or act coy.

Aware enough of her femininity, willing to use it, yet not experienced enough to do it subtly or skillfully. She crossed her arms under her breasts and looked at the sky, showing off the bright white spot of fur on her throat.

“From a purely academic standpoint you tickle my curiosity with that thing. I can think of a few ways you could make stuff like that off the top of my head, I just never really saw the stuff in practice.”

“No peeking until we have an agreement on paper I’m afraid.” Lorelei quipped, feeling obligated to speak up lest she be forgotten as the two canines stared at each other like…

~Oh Dilip you sly dog~

“So be it.” Carmelita grumbled before she stood up, pocketing a small notebook in which she’d written down some of the sailor’s points. “You make a compelling argument, but I’ll need to discuss the terms and conditions with my fellow colonists before we can actually come back to you with our first offer. The folks you’re repatriating will have to wait too, but we’ll take them off your hands and sort it our ourselves, that much you can be certain of.”

They needed to know how much they could produce and at what value… and how these sailors could possibly help them. If they were claiming they had already helped others set up, then there were a few things they might need help with, depending on how they could pull off negotiations.

“Come, at least for now I can give you a tour of the facility.”

And the refinery was even larger than what they’d first assumed looking at it from the sea. Not only was their array of storage tanks extensive, further distillation columns and fracking units had been raised further inland away from sight, with anything ranging from intermediary pump rooms, heating units and warehouses stuck in between as far as the eye could see with the odd flare stack and vent mast breaking up the horizon.

Though, Carmelita explained, their group may be numerous but they definitely weren’t the several hundreds required to run the whole refinery at peak efficiency. Or restore most of the piping in running conditions. Left abandoned for an extended period of time, pressure had fallen down across the board when the automated systems vented more gas than necessary.

Add to that the fact that the heating coils had failed in places when the current ran out, and you also had to deal with polymerized compounds blocking important lines and whole tanks where the crude had solidified into tar.

But those were capabilities that could be reactivated in the long run with sufficient effort. In the short run, they still were able to process fuel of all grades in small batches (and by extension run their generators), and most of their efforts went towards salvage and fortifying the refinery, as she showed the group of sailors when they finally reached the outer edge of the refinery and Carmelita took them on a loop around the compound.

It was clear they were still securing the area, but they were making clear progress with that. Teams of cats and dogs could be seen working on the outer perimeter, raising a secondary fence next to the primary one with a patrol route between the two, along with watchtowers at regular intervals, plus enough razor wire to cut yourself just looking at it. Carmelita greeted the work crew with a wave and a few words in Spanish before they continued.

One of the good things with a refinery of such size and strategic importance, was the many auxiliary services it came with as she showed them. The main reason they had an ex-military as their Security Chief was due to the existence of the barracks at one end of the refinery, overlooking the port’s entrance. Prior to the Event, a military presence had been kept with a fleet of speedboats and some coastal artillery.

Now? The barracks served to house those returnees that volunteered for the militia, a dedicated force no bigger than a platoon, though everyone was armed.

Along with the barracks, they had a small clinic to which they were bringing any salvaged medical equipment from town. No doc on hand however. Medics were hard to come by, and the best they had was some vague first-aid training.

But the gear was there.

Discreetly, Dilip spied Roberto in the back of the group taking notes. Figures. Maybe they could train some medical personnel. Or worst case scenario sell them some seeds and teach them how to make health potions.

Further on, Carmelita showed them the many warehouses they were using to process and sort salvage gathered from all around the region, saying they sent expedition teams out on the daily, if only to recover spare parts for the refinery from all the other petrochemical complexes found around the region.

And then was their HQ, near the heavily guarded checkpoint they kept as the sole access into the refinery. Probably an office building at some point with all the modern accents and extensive use of glass that came with it, making a sharp contrast with the more utilitarian buildings found elsewhere around the area. Surrounded with rows of palm trees, only one facade lacked windows, and that was to make room for the large PEMEX logo on the wall’s earthy surface. At some point however, a disgruntled worker had come by and defaced the eagle head with spray paint.

“Union issues. Not the worst company to work for, but certainly far from the best.” Carmelita explained after receiving a few inquisitive glances. “We’re still deciding what to replace it with. Bit of an issue since all the coveralls we got are company stuff. Anyway… that building here is where we lodge most of the personnel running shifts at the refinery. We got it first when we set up here, just the first batch of me, Enrique, and the rest of the guys that were commuting for the night shift by bus. Was a bitch to convert, but we got about thirty apartments in there.”

Dilip looked at the building, then towards a group of D-Dogs standing watch at the checkpoint.

“I’m not exactly seeing enough room to house all your folks here.” She did imply they had started off with thirty souls, but the levels of activity he was seeing were more in line with the hundred-to-two-hundred range.

Which was pretty impressive all things accounted for. That was probably three times more returnees than Belfast.

“That would be because we don’t all live here.” She explained matter-of-factly. “Not everyone wants to live on an oil refinery. We got the militia in the barracks, then we have the hacienda.”

“Hacienda?”

“It’s a few kilometers inland. Think... small commune atop a hill, it’s decently cozy I guess? I don’t usually hang around there, but we have some folks who take the commute convoy every morning. I suppose avoiding the fumes is worth a few minutes in the back of a truck.” She shrugged. “I’m not one to complain. I commandeered the exec’s penthouse. Plenty comfy for my tastes, and it’s payback against that jackass in its own right.”

“I get he wasn’t a good manager.” Lorelei grimaced.

“Damn union-busting weasel he was.” Carmelita sniffed. “Either way… you lot can tell me if you ever wanna visit the hacienda. I can arrange something. I’m sure the folks there would appreciate the novelty, and it’s… less blue collar than here. They even have a bar they called La Madriguera.And...” She paused, tapping a digit against the side of her muzzle. “The big trade agreement, I still need to talk about with the others. But if you’re up for bartering and exchanging stuff, you’re free to visit the warehouses. We’re always bringing in some neat stuff and spare parts.”

“Thank you. We just left Cuba, and I’m sure some of our subordinates have some rum and cigars to trade. Right Dilip?” Lorelei smiled politely.

“Uh uh...” He nodded distractedly, still looking around the area, watching a pair of trucks drive past the checkpoint and towards the warehouses. “Miss Carmelita, I’m curious, you mentioned monsters and implied cartels… may I know more about that?”

“Unfortunately it is something I’d rather discuss behind closed doors...” She said, lowered her tone before she slowly walked over to him.

Dilip raised an eyebrow at the display, a bit puzzled as the taller dog closed in, putting a paw on his shoulder, a soft smile on her muzzle.

“I’d be happy to go into details about it in a more...” She whispered to him, digits gently rubbing in a circle on his shoulder. “Private setting. I’ll be busy for now, but if you’d come visit me in my quarters this evening, I’d be happy to make it worth your time around dinner.” She told him before squeezing his shoulder slightly.

Attempted to rather, it felt more like a vice grip. Female D-Dogs were quite a bit stronger than their male counterparts. Her words said, she left the group of sailors, making her way towards her HQ with her tail wagging and an exaggerated motion in her hips. She stumbled a few times.

Dilip blinked.

“Did...” Lorelei stammered. “That wasn’t an hallucination? Did you just get a date?”

The dog was silent. Rolling her eyes, she ignited her horn and zapped him in the thigh.

“Owch!” He let out a curse word in Marathi. “I heard you just fine!”

“Then a reply would do.”

“You don’t think that was awkward enough?” He was incredulous, waving his paw at the building Carmelita had just disappeared into.

He briefly threw a look at the group of sailors that had been trailing behind them and… yep, they had all just seen that. The grapevine was going to be horrendous with that one.

“Someone’s gonna have a funny evening.” Lorelei quipped cheekily.

Dilip just threw the little pink filly a mild glare.

Author's Notes:

I checked. In 2015 (when the Event happens), the population for the state of Vera Cruz is listed as just over eight millions. Cut that by ten thousand since it's only one year after the Event, and then... giving the refinery 100-200 folks seems reasonable. Coatzacoalcos alone couldn't provide more than a bus of refinery commuters, but given the importance of the area, people would flock there, if only to get gas for their vehicles.

'bout all I have to comment on this week. Hope you peeps like it, the comments are among those things that keep me going past writing blocks. Buffer chapters are reaching to chapter 100 now, so safe to say the weekly chapters will keep up for a good while.