[GK]Kittenclashes
Ogata gripped the sled handle tightly, losing track of time.
The landscape blurred past, shifting dramatically as the finish line drew near. Ice shards scattered beneath the runners, torn from the snowfield with each swift glide. His trapper hat shielded his ears from the biting cold, but the rushing wind still lashed at his face like a razor.
Then he heard a strange sound, and for a while he mistook it for his own chattering teeth. But soon he found it came from the sled pullers, that their heavy panting made their tusks clack together. Ogata swallowed hard and braced himself, planting his feet more firmly on the sled.
This is so messed up, he thought. Next time they'll need to clarify what to expect when they extend the invitation. Or this's just entirely his own fault, believing he could actually enjoy a well-earned vacation with people like them.
When they came to this ski resort, Ogata had imagined cozy fireplaces, a relaxing sauna, maybe a stroll across the snowfield that ended up watching sports with a beer in whatever bar he happened to wander into.
He hadn't been informed he'd end up as dead weight on a dogsled, while Sugimoto and Asirpa shifted into their canine forms and cheerfully let themselves be harnessed. Normally, they'd have much more pride than pulling someone around like that, but apparently, none of that matters when it's part of fun and game. And judging by the way they nearly yanked him off the sled with every powerful lunge, they were dead set on winning.
Ogata gritted his teeth and held on until the very end, hearing the crowd's cheers greeting them at the finish line. He winced to free his stiffened legs from the sled.
"Why are you so tired, Ogata-chan?" an annoying voice called from behind. He turned to find Shiraishi shoving a hot paper cup into his hand. "You're not the one doing the running!"
Ogata would’ve rolled his eyes, if they weren’t already feeling glued to the sockets. He took a gulp and nearly spat the scalding tea back out.
Shiraishi watched him with minimum sympathy, arms piled high with ski suits. The racers had already changed back and claimed their clothes. Sugimoto snickered as he rolled down his fleece. "And I could swear he was screaming back there!"
Asirpa grinned while drying her sweaty hair with a towel. "Ah, I heard that too! I thought there was a bear chasing us, and it made me run even faster!" Her hand stilled in the middle of motion, as her voice shifted, "Where are you off to, Ogata? We’re just about to have lunch!"
Without looking back, Ogata waved dismissively behind him, despite Shiraishi grumbling, "We've already paid the reservation fee for four people, you know..."
Argh, so infuriating. Ogata walked out into the snowy expanse, pulling off his gloves and rubbing his hands together, breathing warmth into them while thinking about the loan application.
If it went through, he could finally reopen the clinic he had put on hold. With regular earnings, he wouldn’t be eligible for public housing anymore, which is perfect. He wouldn’t have to deal with these people anymore.
Still, his stomach gave a small rumble.
Ogata stuffed his hands into the pockets of his down jacket and set off in a random direction.
The ski resort spanned a vast area, but beyond the groomed slopes and lodges, patches of wilderness remained untouched. From the cable car, he had looked down and spotted a few small buildings below, possibly recreational hubs or staff housing. Beyond them stretched endless forests, dark and bare, rolling into miles so far that they're suffocating just to look at.
Though he'd lived in Hokkaido for several years, it still felt much like the rest of Japan, aside from the lack of Shinkansen lines and the different brands of convenience stores. Sakhalin, though, was different. Colder. Barren in a way Hokkaido never was. And this resort, however carefully managed, carried a quiet dread in its stillness. Without the occasional Siberian road sign, he might have lost himself completely in the boundless white.
Finally, just before he swallowed his pride and made a call for help, Ogata caught the distant chatter and the smell of burnt food.
Feeling a surge of hope, he continued walking and soon came upon a cabin-style eatery. Several people were seated near the entrance, roasting sweet potatoes over small fires while chatting among themselves, until they heard the steps and all turned to look at him.
Ogata looked away, brushed off the snow from his down jacket, and hurried inside.
After spending so long in the freezing cold, the room's sudden warmth was a relief, maybe a little bit intense. The air was thick with the rich smell of food, and the white noise of a hockey game on TV filled the space, making him feel both sleepy and incredibly hungry.
Ogata approached the counter and squinted at the worn wooden board. "Smoked... fish pie, with white sauce? Roasted potatoes as sides?" He fumbled through the few words he knew.
But the bartender just tapped the self-order QR code on the countertop. Feeling embarrassed, Ogata retreated to a corner.
Regardless, he had managed to do what he had planned at the start of the holiday, sort of. Ogata watched the players swing their sticks, hitting either the ball or each other, as he washed down a dry piece of potato with the blandest beer he’d ever tasted.
A sudden wave of loss washed over him. Then he remembered why.
Before the trip, he'd promised himself this would be a reward for finally passing the qualification. He'd worked so hard for it. But so far, the reward felt utterly disappointing.
Haha, isn't that just how life goes? When he was still paying off student loans, he thought he'd reach the end of his suffering once it was cleared. But if the reward from here on out was going to be another boring holiday like this, he really didn’t know what he was hustling for anymore.
But then again, weren't most people just fumbling through life? Did they all have specific goals? His gaze shifted to a family nearby. A young daughter was wrestling a chicken leg from her father, and the mother scolded them while spoon-feeding mashed food to other cubs. Did anyone really ask for this kind of life?
As he started to feel full, Ogata felt his eyes growing heavy, but the kid's shouts made it impossible for him to simply nod off right there.
"Do you need anything else?" someone suddenly asked.
Ogata looked up, rubbing his eyes, and saw the waiter standing there. Glancing around, he noticed that most of the lunch crowd had left, with only a few people in uniforms sitting by the door and sipping tea, probably still on their lunch break. Ah, so rather than an inquiry, it was more likely a polite way to ask him to leave.
"No, I'm good," Ogata said as he stood up, pulling out his phone to check the time. He felt a bit unsteady on his feet. Even the thought of walking back to the lodge now seemed unimaginable. He made his way to the door, waiting for the group of workers to finally notice him and move aside, allowing him to squeeze through.
The cold air outside brought him back to his senses. It was still quite early. He remembered seeing on the map that snowmobiles were available for rent in these hubs, so he could explore the area a bit more and then rent one to return.
There was apparently a hunting forest nearby, though it might have been past the season. The birch trees could offer some shelter from the bone-chilling wind that whipped across the open snowfields, but when the wind whistled through the branches, it sounded eerily like ghostly wails. The snow wasn’t as deep in the woods, and the ground was a mess of tracks—claws, paws, and boots, all churned up with mud.
It seemed the unassuming little woods had its fair share of residents and visitors. He heard a cooing sound and looked up to see a large bird perched on a high branch, tilting its head to observe him. Was it just an ordinary bird, or someone? The question remained unanswered as it quickly took flight and disappeared.
He saw deer tracks, but no sign of the deer themselves. Perhaps they had become extinct, or maybe they were just good at hiding. Ogata slowly made his way through the birch trees, feeling as though the creatures who left these prints were evading him, yet quietly observing him from the depths of the woods. Maybe it was only the eyes in the trees that watched him, as he was a trespasser in their domain, wearing human skin.
What if he shifted into a cat? The thought unsettled him. He rarely took that form, except when resting alone. Maybe then the wild animals would come to meet him. But perhaps it was a dangerous choice. Too many hikers had been reported missing, and when remains were found, authorities needed DNA tests on these animal bones to confirm identities. Only few could have a match, and the rest were simply…gone.
Ogata looked around—he just didn't like the idea of leaving his clothes lying around here.
He had walked enough to feel warm and took off his hat, absently running his hand over his head as his mind wandered.
Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad to stay as an animal forever?
Sure, their lives were shorter, but if one stayed in animal form long enough, their long-term memory would fade eventually. They wouldn't recall past human experiences and therefore wouldn't miss the longer lifespan. They would be busy. In the wild, securing food was a challenge, but as long as they could catch anything, there was fulfillment. No distant futures, no medical qualifications to pass, no loans to repay, no clinics to run.
Perhaps many people don't want to leave simply because they have attachments. Ogata hadn't yet figured out his own reason.
The tracks on the road had gradually become scarce, and the snow grew deeper. A few snowflakes fell from above, and he couldn't tell whether they were stirred up from the branches or freshly from the sky. Ogata yawned. He wanted to return to the lodge.
But as he turned, a strange sensation hit him—it seemed like a shadow had just darted by.
Ogata blinked, but there was nothing there. Everything seemed normal again. He quietly took a couple of steps back, concealing himself behind a tree, then pushed aside his hair to expose the ears he normally kept hidden, listening closely and cautiously sniffing the air.
There was definitely something lurking nearby.
For a moment, he could hear his own heart pounding against his ribs. He dropped to the ground, trying to make himself as small as possible, silently cursing the reflective strips on his down jacket that were meant to make him easier to spot in the snow.
Whatever was out there must have noticed him.
A rare sensation suddenly spread through his body. He recognized it as the effect of adrenaline, a natural stimulant in the face of fear and death. In a way, it's addictive. Some extreme sports enthusiasts could always claim they loved the sports, but they were simply chasing this feeling.
He knew what was happening inside him: adrenaline binding to receptors, causing his heart to beat faster as blood vessels dilated. His saliva thickened, his pupils constricted, his hearing dulled, and his field of vision narrowed to a tiny tunnel. Even time seemed to slow down, as his presence had synced to each and every movement around him.
Then, he felt a vibration in the air, as if some object moving through it was pushing the air aside, shoving it directly into his face.
Ogata shuddered, and his vision went black. It wasn’t that he had passed out. Rather, his instincts kicked in.
His body rapidly shrank, muscles warping, fluids being squeezed, bones cracking and reforming at the same alarming rate. This entire process was what he loathed and always found revolting. Now, he was trapped inside the oversized human garments, gasping for air.
He thought he heard the sound of claws crunching in the snow, so different from the sound of human footsteps, so light, but clearly belonging to something large.
In an instant, Ogata slipped out of the collar of his jacket, extending his hand—no, claws—and gripped the tree bark. With a few quick, powerful leaps, he hoisted himself up and hid among the branches.
He hoped the creature wouldn't climb trees, he thought, or at least, couldn't fly.
Then, he waited.
He knew his current form wouldn't draw attention, a barely noticeable dark spot on the tree. Besides, the light was fading.
He could see everything clearly in the dark, but no one would see him. Once the predator moved on, he could relax. Or perhaps, the game had changed. He would assess whether the other party was indeed the prey.
He should have sharpened his claws more. Now they looked too long and not nearly sharp enough. He licked his fangs, imagining the sight of blood flowing from a torn throat between them.
(In retrospect, he forgot about his current size, assuming it was the same as when he was in human form, and the scenario would only be feasible if the opponent was a small bird or rodent.)
Under the faint light of the night, the shadow began to crawl nearer. The shape was peculiar, at least from a cat’s point of view.
Humans stood upright, and this thing moved close to the ground, but its head was round like a person's. A bear was massive and lumbering, and this one was slender and swift, though its body was slick and shiny, unlike any mammal. And the strangest thing was the long, sharp horn that jutted out from one side of its head.
Ogata never screamed, not even in human form. But now, he wished there were a way to release the horror pressing down inside him.
The creature approached and then detected Ogata's discarded clothes under the tree. It extended—whether it was a hand or a paw covered in leather—and laid it on the clothing. Had Ogata still been in the clothes, he was sure his spine would have been broken by the sheer force of that contact.
Noticing the clothes were empty, the thing looked around, raising its body slightly. The forward-facing eyes and the way its hind limbs supported its weight, a carnivore for sure. Then Ogata saw the figure rise and lift the discarded garments.
It was then that Ogata realized—this was unmistakably, unfortunately, a person. The person had a ski mask covering their face, a waterproof coat over their body, and moved with the fluidity of an animal.
Feeling a blend of disappointment and relief, Ogata was about to climb down from the tree, when he suddenly spotted the rifle on the person's back.
This was a bit strange. The Siberian Republic had strict gun control laws, so perhaps this rifle was a relic from the Union era, though that would explain its outdated appearance.
It could be for the ranger's self-defense, or maybe something more complicated. Sakhalin was peaceful, but the Ural Neutral Zone had seen its share of conflict. News reports often mentioned countries accepting or deporting deserters. Ogata tried to recall the latest updates, but his cat brain nearly short-circuited from the effort.
Apart from revealing their human nature, the stranger remained completely impeccable, not exposing even a sliver of skin. They wrinkled their nose, but their human nose picked up nothing. With that, they turned and left.
But—Ogata's pupils rounded—why take the clothes as well!
He landed silently on the ground.
Fresh snow began to fall, quickly erasing any previous tracks. Ogata followed the stranger, stealthing himself behind trees. However, the stranger seemed oblivious, not even once turning their head, striding forward with the pile of clothes.
The black cat trailing behind vaguely remembered the clothes were from a pricey brand, and the scavenger would certainly be thrilled, as their pace was brisk and cheerful. They might be planning to sell the clothes in a second-hand market. He should have been angry, but his attention was onto something else. The stranger wasn’t heading towards the settlement, but deeper into the forest.
Curiosity may kill the cat, but so could the cold. Even with his fur, Ogata felt the biting chill, and the temperature after nightfall was unthinkable. This stranger at least had a destination in mind, or maybe there was a chance Ogata could recover his clothes.
He soon found the bipedal could cover ground much faster than his cat legs could manage. With his small body sinking into the snow, moving forward was a struggle. The falling snow began to cover his vision, tracks, and scent. Before he knew it, the large figure that had been so close just moments ago had vanished.
The black cat stood still in the snow, feeling his blood turn cold.
The night had descended, and even with his keen vision, it made no difference. To his sides, an endless expanse of white snow stretched out. Above and forward, the oppressive darkness of the forest pressed in. He was—in the middle of nowhere.
He was going to die here today, wasn't he?
Suddenly, a light flickered on. Then, as if to make sure he couldn’t miss it, two sharp honks rang out.
There's no time to overthink. Ogata shivered as he followed the signal, mind still buzzing with how suspiciously like a trap this all seemed. Finally, he arrived at a RV.
The door and the windows were tightly locked, but there was a cat flap. With no other choice, Ogata pushed through the small door.
His body was tensed up, ready to dodge any sudden ambush. But strangely, there was no one in sight. He only heard the fridge opening and the clear clinking of metal cans.
"Human food, or cat food?" the person asked smugly as they approached, holding a tuna can in one hand and a beer in the other. The stranger still had a black ski mask on their head, looking like a thug. They even clinked the two metal cans together.
Ogata took a step back and hissed, his fur standing on end.
"Fine, whatever." The guy put the cans down and turned away, then remembered something and opened the cat food can. He then leisurely wandered off. Soon, the aroma of a hot meal wafted from the kitchen, accompanied by the sound of whistling.
When he returned, a naked black-haired man was sitting at the table, morosely fiddling with the beer can as the pull tab had unceremoniously broken off.
"Don’t worry," the host retrieved a Swiss Army knife from his belt, with its opener completely removing the top of the can, and handing it back.
Ogata eyed the sharp edge. If he dared drink from it now, he'd get a cut.
Finally, he asked, "Where are my clothes?"
The stranger responded, "In the washing machine. The ground was muddy." He even explained it helpfully.
Ogata blinked, "Washing machine? These probably need dry cleaning."
The stranger shrugged, sat down, took off the ski mask, unfolded a compact fork, and began eating his noodles.
And then Ogata heard the despairing sound of his sneakers tumbling around inside the washing machine.
"Washing them like this will ruin their value, you know," Ogata finally said, his mouth tasting of beer and blood.
The stranger merely looked up, giving him a curious, innocent glance, still slurping on his noodles. "Hmm?"
Ogata patiently continued in a dry tone, "Didn't you steal my clothes to sell them?"
The stranger mumbled something unintelligible as his mouth was still full of noodles. But at least he sped up slurping, and his ears began to twitch around. Ogata realized they were cat ears, but the man's large, muscular build was hardly like any cat he had ever seen.
Once finished his meal, the stranger said, "The clothes were on the ground, so I just picked them up."
He spoke gently and innocently, so Ogata couldn't really utter any colorful words that came to his mind, especially after the man adopted a serious expression and said, "You shouldn't be there. There's fine if you get caught hunting."
Oh, was that a threat? Ogata straightened up, though being unclothed significantly reduced his intimidating presence.
"I'm not the one wandering around with a rifle," he retorted. "Something that doesn't look like standard for ski patrols."
Perhaps this guy really had something to hide, as he mumbled and got up to do the dishes, clearly trying to avoid it. Ogata followed him into the kitchen, leaning against the cool surface of the fridge, continuing his interrogation.
"I heard that one of the lumberyards wasn't closed. If you’re careful to avoid the cameras, you can slip right in." Then he lowered his voice, "And just a few miles from here is the border…"
The washing-up hand abruptly paused, but Ogata didn't. "Forgive my memory, but what's Japan's policy on stowaways again?" He pretended to think for a moment. "Ah yes. Though they aren't strict, if someone reports it, they can't just ignore it, can they?"
The stranger muttered something, apparently trying to justify himself, though it didn't sound like in Siberian—Russian, maybe? Ogata couldn't help but find it amusing. "But anyone could make a mistake and drive across the border, purely accidental."
"Exactly." The guy finally said. But his eyes still kept nervously darting over Ogata. After a long while, just when Ogata was starting to think there was something wrong with himself, the stranger asked abruptly, "Aren't you cold?"
"Heh, could've been warmer." Ogata unfolded his arms and began to leisurely wander around the RV, searching for something to cover himself with, and also investigating the space.
He hadn't really stayed in such a place before. And even for a man living alone, the place was quite disorganized, mainly due to the numerous small items scattered about, suggesting the occupant had been living in the vehicle for a long time. There was a suspicious smell in the air—not unpleasant, just suspicious. The lower level was used for cooking and washing utensils, with a tiny sitting room that now clearly served as storage. The upper level was for sleeping.
He climbed the ladder and peeked over, noticing the ceiling over bed was covered in drawings. Just then, he heard a throat clearing behind him and found the stranger had silently moved very close, almost face-to-face with his crotch.
Ogata pulled a blanket from the bed and tied it around his waist, blocking the stranger's gaze.
"What is it?" He sauntered into the sitting room, kicking aside a huge plush bird with little courtesy, and intended to sit down. However, the fabric of the sofa looked stained, as if coffee had been spilled and never properly cleaned. He frowned, then turned around.
The stranger was standing there awkwardly, hunched over due to his height. This made Ogata, who stood comfortably, feel a bit annoyed.
"I can take you to where you live, but," the man started, "since I accidentally ended up on this side of the border…"
Ogata huffed. "It's simple. Drop me off at the edge of the forest, and I'll walk back from there."
"What will you wear?" the man kept asking sincerely, his eyes wide, blinking rapidly. The way his lower lashes fluttered made Ogata want to punch him.
"Give me your coat," Ogata said, pointing to the smooth, waterproof jacket that looked like it was made from a garbage bag. But the man continued to reject firmly. "I only have this one."
Ogata compromised, "You can hold onto my jacket then."
The man remained insistent, "I can't fit into it."
The fact that this man had either already made himself comfortable in Ogata's clothes or didn't even blink before reached the conclusion that he was more solidly built, almost felt like a rage bait to Ogata. He puffed out his chest and looked at the stranger closely. Dressed in a beige flannel shirt, his medium-length light-brown hair hanging loosely, and with that look of a startled animal, it was baffling where his confidence come from.
Ogata stepped closer, placing one hand on his hip and the other finger just under the man's nose. "Get driving. Even if I have to wear nothing but this sheet, I'm going back."
The man squinted at Ogata, gave a noncommittal hum, and turned away. Soon after, the RV's engine roared to life.
Then came the sound of classic rock music that would only be found in an old dad's collection. Ogata bent down and climbed into the passenger seat.
"This music is too loud," he said, tossing the box of tissues from the passenger seat aside. "Aren’t you afraid of attracting unwanted attention?"
The man remained relaxed, "This car has soundproofing and bulletproofing."
Ogata pondered the effectiveness of the soundproofing and the necessity of bulletproofing, falling silent as the noisy music got louder. Then he couldn't help himself but asked, "This song has such a long intro. When's vocal?"
The man shrugged, "No vocal. Just drums and guitar."
Ogata opened his mouth but didn't say anything. He was often told he was strange, but he hadn't expected to meet a competitor. But perhaps this was just normal white people behavior, and Russians were the strangest of them all.
He asked again, "So you're from a far away place, right?" The man gave a soft hum in affirmation.
"The east or the west side of the mountains?" Ogata pressed.
The man whispered, "Just on the east side, at the foot of the mountain."
At that moment, it was Ogata's turn to let out a soft "Oh." That place had long been leveled to the ground.
An awkward silence fell over the RV, an unease that Ogata hadn't felt earlier when walking around completely naked.
He cleared his throat. "So… where were you when the warhead fell?"
The man sounded rather calm, "In St. Petersburg, studying art." Then, with a softer tone, he added, "But my family was back home."
"So, you got no one?"
"No one but me." The stranger's fingers started to tab listlessly on the steering wheel. "Well, it wasn't that bad, actually," he said, as if trying to comfort Ogata. "Since I got this RV, driving here has been quite an adventure."
"How so?" Ogata leaned to his side, not bothering with the seatbelt since it had already mysteriously vanished from the passenger seat.
"Well, it's just endless forests. Back at the academy, I could only draw plaster casts, lifeless—well, would you say bananas and apples have life? I don't know, man." He pointed to a drawing pinned up in front of the passenger seat. "What do you think of this one?"
In the dim light, Ogata leaned in to look and saw a painting of a deer surrounded by white mist with an almost ethereal beauty.
"That was because it was so cold, and those were its hot breath," the man smiled. "I lay in the grass waiting for sunrise, and it took forever to capture this moment."
"Hmm…" Ogata pondered, "should I know you from somewhere?"
But the man shook his head. "I only spent half a year at the academy, nothing special. But it doesn’t matter anyway. No one really likes it. Kind of crude, don't you think?"
If Ogata were being honest, he wouldn’t hang such rustic artwork in his future clinic or mansion, but now didn’t seem like the time to discourage him. "It's very distinctive," he poked the edge of the paper, "full of life."
However, his finger accidentally opened a small cabinet in front of him. He found himself staring a small handgun.
"Uh," the driver seemed to notice too, "it's for close-combat."
"Isn't your rifle enough?" Ogata asked.
"The rifle is for animals," the man explained earnestly, as if explaining basics to a child, "the handgun is for human. There are wild beasts on the road, but there are also...worse things."
Ogata played with the gun for a while, noticing the man watching him out of the corner of his eye, perhaps worried about an accidental discharge. To ease the tension, he removed the bullets, but then reloaded them and clicked the gun into place. The man became visibly agitated.
"Be careful," he warned.
"Who do you think you're talking to?" Ogata raised an eyebrow but still disengaged the chamber and put the gun back. In the small cabinet, he found a large jar that had once contained probably coffee beans and was now repurposed. Opening the jar, he saw it was filled with tiny bagels.
"Help yourself," his host said cheerfully. "I made them myself."
Ogata grabbed one and started eating, but the dough was terribly dry, without the crisp texture that might have made it anywhere near tasty. He nearly choked, wondering if this was something that should go done with tea. He glanced at his driver, who looked back and said, "You're eating it wrong. You need to wear them on your fingers."
The guy reached into the jar, pulling out his hand with a bagel hanging from each finger. He grinned and raised his fingers to his mouth, starting to munch on the bagels. Then he too began to choke.
Ogata smirked, "You made these yourself, you were saying?"
The man finally recovered, but seemed oblivious to Ogata’s sarcasm. "Yeah. It was so cold in the RV that I had to hold the dough to make it rise."
Ogata's chewing came to an abrupt stop. "No wonder I tasted something different. Fur-filling? Very creative."
But the guy continued explaining, "Not in cat form, in human form…" As if human hair wouldn't make it any worse.
The man's flustered explanation was honestly quite amusing, especially when Ogata slowly pulled out an orange hair from his mouth. "And the sweat has added a salty flavor…umm…surprisingly tasty…" He deliberately put on a delighted expression, closing his eyes and leaning back. "Really… really good."
The driver, clearly taken in by the ruse, curiously turned to look.
Years later, when Ogata reflected on where things went wrong, he always traced it back to this exact moment. If only he had been honest and said, "Just kidding, it's fucking disgusting," instead of what he actually did, many troubles could have been avoided. They could have driven in silence to their parting point, and Ogata could have spent his boring holiday in peace and returned to his respectable clinic without any of the following disasters.
He could have had an easy life, but no, he kept up the act, even letting out a groan of delight as if he were eating something exquisite. "Mmm, absolutely delicious…"
The moment the words left his mouth, the RV jolted violently. The front of the vehicle seemed to have hit something, and Ogata, who wasn't wearing a seatbelt, was thrown forward by the momentum. He heard the sound of his body hitting the windshield—at least, before he blacked out, he thought he heard the screech of skin against glass rather than the shattering of it.
So, it really is bulletproof, he thought hazily.
When someone loses consciousness, especially after a heavy blow to the head, the pain is secondary. What's truly nauseating is the involuntary replay of one's entire life, including events that haven't really happened yet. It feels like your brain is on a high-speed train, rushing through memories at an unbearable pace.
After this mental speedrun through his life, Ogata opened his eyes, seeming to want to say something. But in the next moment, he forgot everything he had just seen.
He silently locked eyes with a blue-eyed orange thing for what felt like forever, until it let out a soft meow. Then it jumped off the couch.
A voice came from the darkness. "Sorry, the car hit the tree." Followed by an awkward cough, "And we've lost power."
Ogata abruptly sat up, his skin exposed to the cold air. He quickly wrapped himself in the nearest piece of fabric and realized it was the trash-bag look-alike coat, along with most of the other man's clothing. The man had apparently turned to a cat for warmth and was now sitting naked on the floor, trembling. Ogata's wet down jacket was pulled out and tossed aside, proved useless.
"What the fuck, man…" Ogata touched his forehead. There was no wound, but it was swollen, and someone had already applied ointment skillfully.
He glanced at the trembling man on the floor. "Do you want to come over here?" He lifted a corner of the coat, letting in a cold gust of air that made him immediately regret his decision. But he didn't put it back yet.
The man shook his head firmly, his teeth chattering. "Not enough room."
Somehow Ogata recalled a piece of driftwood floating in the Atlantic, wondering if it really couldn't hold two people. He reached down and pulled the man up.
The chivalry crumbled the moment it felt the warmth of the other body. Cold arms immediately wrapped around Ogata, causing him to let out a deflating sound, as he never ever screamed.
"You… you smell really nice…" the man's teeth chattered as he spoke.
There were times when Ogata would admire the raw, instinctual drive of men, especially in life-or-death situations where they still clung to what mattered most. He turned his head away and shot the stranger a fierce look. The man had his eyes squeezed tightly, apparently focused on soaking up the warmth. True, his previously cold and stiff body was not that cold anymore, but the rest was pretty much unchanged.
"Sorry," he heard a barely audible voice.
"Heh," Ogata chuckled humorlessly, "It's perfectly natural for the body to want to pass on its genes when facing death."
"But I never wanted any cubs," the other man said, almost sounding sad, "I have no money. Would I drag them around in this old RV?"
Perhaps to avoid facing a sobbing, pitiful sod, Ogata clicked his tongue and said, "You know, I'm a doctor. Soon to be, at least." He jokingly ruffled the man's messy hair. "And if you don't mind humbling yourself…" He deliberately used the formal "you", but for some reason, it sounded even more salacious than ever. "Then that's the last thing you'll need to worry about."
He didn't mention the 20,000,000 yen loan from Hijikata Industries or the various public service projects required to lower interest. But then again, this man had no way of knowing any of that. Ogata hoped the loan had already come through so he could flash his phone screen and make those eyes that seemingly made for shock widen even further.
Suddenly, a thought struck him.
"Where’s my phone?" he asked. "It was in my jacket, right?"
The man just shook his head, dazed and confused like the song he had been playing. Ogata held his head, suddenly remembering he had put the phone in a hidden pocket for safety. "Did you check the pockets before putting the down jacket in the washing machine?" He asked, still clinging to a shred of hope as he cast a glance at the wet mess on the floor.
Seeming to realize his mistake, the man stammered, "I tried to contact, but the signal in the mountains is terrible." He pointed at some object in the darkness. "I also tried the radio, but now there's no power… my generator is too low and unstable."
Ogata frowned. "Unstable? Oh, right, one's AC and the other's DC…" He looked up at the other man. "You said the RV has no power. How exactly did it lose power?"
A sigh. "The hood was damaged, and the fluid inside froze, so it can't generate any electricity."
Ogata nodded. "But the battery itself is still good, right?"
The car owner, completely clueless and innocent, stared back. "Yeah, I guess so…?"
"I've never done it, so I don't know if it'll work," Ogata said slowly, "but if we use the generator to charge the battery, even though it's not enough to start the vehicle or provide heat, it might be sufficient and stable enough for the radio transmission."
He spoke with confidence, but the actual work was a different story altogether. The other man—Va-what?—had put on the ugly coat, as it was the only thing that fit him. Ogata wore all the remaining clothes, including a thick cotton pants printed with cartoon cats. Together, under the dim light of a flashlight, they pried open the RV's undercarriage with stiff fingers and a crowbar, unscrew and lift out the heavy battery.
Ogata's hands were trembling, but he still leaned in closely to study the wiring.
"Red goes here, black goes there," he directed the steadier-hand to handle the connections.
"That’s it?" Though following the instructions, the man sounded unconvinced.
There's only one way to find out. Ogata ignored the warning voice at the back of his mind, that even if a wrong move could cause the battery to explode. He grabbed the handle of the generator and started cranking vigorously.
"Fuck, man." His fingers touched the battery, and a thrilling tingling sensation spread through them. "This might just actually work."
He turned his head and saw the other man's frozen face break into a strained smile as he stood there, holding the radio upright. "Okay, let's do this," Ogata instructed him to connect the radio to the battery. "Do we have a signal?"
They held their breath, slowly adjusting the receiver, listening intently for the static to stabilize.
Ogata sat on the ground, turning the small dial carefully, while the other man squatted steadily beside him, his arm draped over Ogata's back to offer a bit of warmth. Neither dared to speak, fearing they might miss the subtle changes in the signal. Two thin streams came from their breath, creating a tiny cloud.
He thought he was hallucinating when he heard barking. He looked up at the other man, whose furrowed brow indicated he wasn't the only one hearing it. Ogata leaned in closer, and suddenly, a loud voice cracked from afar, "Ogata, you bastard! Where are you?!"
This was followed by a long wolf howl. Ogata looked up, meeting the blue eyes, and gave an awkward smile. "Looks like I need to introduce you to an acquaintance of mine—"
Clearly, the other man was also overjoyed and let his excitement get the better of him. He grabbed Ogata's head and planted kisses all over his face and lips. Europeans. Ogata shook his head, pushing the man away, and cleared his throat before speaking into the radio, "I'm here."
He waited, expecting either a surprised cheer or a string of curses from the other end. But—
Even the other guy turned to him and asked cautiously, "Should we try switching to another channel?" But Ogata insisted, "We had connected just fine."
They waited for a long time, but the ground was freezing cold. So they moved to the second floor. They had pulled up the mattress and wrapped themselves in the stiff foam padding as best they could.
Ogata sat cross-legged on the bed, still fumbling with the radio. "What if they’ve already given up?" he mused aloud. "After all, by any reason, if I were out there alone, I'd surely have been dead by now.”