The silence was heavy, except for the faint hum of the Mowtivator. It gave me too much time to think—not something I’d been looking forward to. Everything that had gone down with the cats replayed in my head like a bad action movie on loop. Over-the-top chaos, ridiculous weapons, and an enemy that shouldn’t exist but somehow did.

I broke the silence first. “Elmo, what do you think those cats were doing here?”

Elmo’s voice crackled to life with all the subtlety of a brick through a window. “Oh, I don’t know, Blakey-boy. Maybe they were holding a block party. Cats-only. Sorry you didn’t get the invite.”

Rachel groaned from her seat. “Do you ever take a break, Elmo? Like, ever?”

“From being awesome? No, ma’am,” Elmo shot back. “If you’re looking for silence, may I suggest noise-canceling headphones or a new roommate?”

I rolled my eyes and kept my focus on the road. “They had to be here for a reason. Something kept them close.”

“Sure,” Elmo said. “They were probably drawn to your sparkling personality.”

Rachel jumped in, her tone more serious. “Food, maybe? Or something worse.”

“Does it matter?” I asked, shrugging. My hands tightened on the steering wheel. “They’re gone now.”

“Are they?” Elmo said, his voice dripping with mock concern. “Because if I know anything about glowing mutant cats, it’s that they always come back for round two. I’d keep that Boomstick ready if I were you. Just saying.”

Rachel rolled her eyes, sliding off the fender and landing on her feet. “You’re really helpful, Elmo. Really.”

We reached the spot where we’d run into the pack of Purrrsians. The scene wasn’t pretty—shredded fur, gouges in the pavement, and stains I didn’t want to think too hard about. I slowed the Mowtivator to a crawl and scanned the area. Nothing moved, but my gut told me we weren’t done here.

“This is the place,” I said.

Rachel nodded. “Looks deserted.”

I wasn’t so sure. “They’re not around now, but there was something here earlier. Something shiny in the house.” I gestured toward the dark windows of the crumbling structure.

Rachel frowned. “Shiny? That’s what we came back for?”

Elmo butted in, full of mockery as usual. “Oh, absolutely. Ancient treasures, no doubt. Maybe a legendary can opener or the lost holy grail of tuna cans!”

“Shut it, Elmo,” I muttered, killing the Mowtivator’s engine. “Rachel, you check the yard. I’ll look closer at the house.”

She nodded and started forward cautiously, Boomstick in hand. I stayed back by the Mowtivator, keeping my eyes on the house. Whatever had been glinting in there earlier, I’d find it. Assuming the cats didn’t decide to come back for another ambush.

I watched Rachel move through the overgrown yard, carefully sweeping her Boomstick Deluxe from side to side like she expected something to pounce from behind a bush at any second. The yard was empty, just a mess of weeds, busted lawn ornaments, and a rusting birdbath. She glanced back at me, shaking her head. "Nothing out here."

"Figures," I said under my breath. My eyes shifted back to the house. Its windows stared blankly at me, dark and ominous, like it was waiting. Whatever had drawn the Purrrsians here, it was inside. I knew it.

I crept toward the door, stepping over broken steps and loose boards. The place reeked of mildew and something sharper, something animal. The air was heavy, thick enough to make me gag. I hesitated at the threshold, every instinct screaming to back off, but I had to know what was in there.

Pushing the door open with the toe of my boot, I stepped inside. The floor creaked under my weight, the sound unnervingly loud in the stillness. The living room was trashed—cushions shredded, claw marks gouged into the walls, and tufts of matted fur everywhere. But it wasn’t the mess that caught my attention.

It was the eyes.

Dozens of glowing green eyes, staring at me from the shadows, the corners, and the edges of furniture. I froze, the weight of their collective gaze pinning me in place. The Purrrsians weren’t gone—they were here, all of them, packed into the room like a furry army. The low growling started, a rumbling symphony of menace.

“Uh, Rachel?” I called over my shoulder, my voice tight. “We’ve got a problem.”

The growling turned to yowls, and then they moved as one, surging toward me in a blur of claws and teeth. I didn’t stick around. Spinning on my heel, I bolted out the door, slamming it behind me. “Rachel! Start the Mowtivator!”

She looked up from the yard, confused. “What’s—”

“No time! Move!” I didn’t wait for her to ask more questions. I jumped into the driver’s seat, fumbling to get the Mowtivator started. The horde of cats smashed through the door behind me, spilling out onto the porch like a furry tidal wave.

Rachel scrambled onto the fender, firing a quick shot into the mass. “Holy—what the hell is this? Did you find the whole damn pride?”

“Found something, all right!” I growled, yanking the throttle forward. The Mowtivator roared to life, and I spun the steering wheel hard, aiming the giant claw toward the oncoming horde. “Hang on!”

The first few Purrrsians leapt at us, only to meet the spinning blades of the Mowtivator’s claw. Fur and sparks flew as the weapon ripped through the attackers. Rachel fired another energy bolt, taking out a cluster of them in one shot. But for every one we hit, two more seemed to take its place.

“Elmo!” I shouted over the chaos. “Any bright ideas?”

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

“Oh sure,” Elmo snarked, his voice crackling through the speakers. “Why don’t you try asking them politely to stop? Or maybe wave a white flag? I’m sure that’ll work.”

“Not helpful!” I snarled, twisting the wheel again to mow through another group.

Rachel was firing steadily now, her shots lighting up the dark yard. “We’re getting swarmed! Blake, do something!”

“I am doing something!” I shouted back. The claw swung again, cutting a wide arc through the horde, but the cats kept coming. “These things don’t quit!”

“Elmo,” I growled, “shut up and give me something useful before we’re cat chow!”

There was a pause, then Elmo chimed back in. “Fine. Here’s some advice, Blakey-boy: keep swinging and pray they run out of nine lives before you do.”

I could feel the tension in my grip as I slammed the Mowtivator into overdrive, the claw spinning like a blender on a warpath. The Purrrsians came at us in waves, their fur matted with dirt and blood, their eyes glowing like radioactive coals. Every swipe of the claw sent a few of them flying, but for every one I hit, two more seemed to rush in to take its place.

Rachel was firing at a steady pace, her shots zipping through the air like streaks of light, but the cats kept coming. One managed to dart between the blasts, its claws raking across her leg. She cried out, stumbling back, but she didn't stop. She fired again, and another cat dropped with a puff of fur.

"Rachel!" I shouted, trying to maneuver the Mowtivator around to give her some cover. But before I could do anything, one of the cats leapt onto the hood, its claws sinking into the metal with a screech. I whipped the wheel to the left, trying to knock it off, but it dug in harder, screeching at us like a possessed, furry nightmare.

"Get off!" I yelled, my fist connecting with the steering wheel in frustration. The cat dug deeper, its claws scraping against the metal, rattling the whole Mowtivator.

Rachel didn't hesitate. She swung her Boomstick Deluxe around and fired point-blank into the cat’s chest. It yowled, a horrible screeching sound, before it flew off the hood, landing in the yard with a sickening thud.

But we weren’t out of the woods yet.

Another cat lunged, this time aiming for me. I didn’t even have time to react before it slashed across my arm, the claws tearing through my sleeve and biting into my skin. The pain shot up my arm like fire, and I gritted my teeth, pulling the Mowtivator into a sharp right turn to shake the thing off. I threw a quick glance at Rachel, who had her hand on her side, and noticed the red stain blooming on her shirt. She was bleeding too.

“Damn it,” I muttered, trying to keep my focus as the claw swiped through the air, cutting another group of cats down in a blur of fur and sparks. But the more I swiped, the more they came. The blood from my arm was starting to drip onto the controls, the pain getting worse with every moment.

"Blake!" Rachel shouted, her voice strained. "We’re not gonna last at this rate! We need a plan!"

I didn't have one. Not really. But there was something we could try. I yanked the Mowtivator into another wide arc, grinding the wheels into the grass as I took a chance to glance at the area around us. A few more of the cats were circling, but most of them were too busy trying to claw their way to us.

Then I saw it. The barn at the far end of the yard. There were only a few scattered cats near it, and it was wide open.

"Rachel, get ready to move!" I shouted. "We’re going for the barn!"

She gave me a confused look, but nodded, gripping her boomstick tighter. She wasn’t in any better shape than I was, but she was still able to fight. She had to be.

With the motor roaring beneath me, I aimed straight for the barn, plowing through the remaining cats in our way. The claw sliced through the air, catching one last group of feral furballs as I hit the gas.

But just as we were about to break through, a massive Perrrsian—a giant, ugly thing with matted fur and glowing eyes—lunged at the side of the mower. I barely had time to jerk the wheel before it slashed across my leg, leaving deep gashes in my pants. I howled in pain, but I didn’t slow down.

Rachel fired again, taking out the cat in a single shot. The body hit the ground with a thud, but there was no time to celebrate.

We reached the barn, and I slammed the Mowtivator into a stop. The cats were still coming, but we had one advantage: they weren’t able to reach us as quickly.

I threw open the door to the barn, dragging myself and Rachel inside. Her breath was labored, her face pale from the blood loss, but she was still standing, still fighting.

I leaned against the barn wall, sweat running down my face as I tried to catch my breath. “We need to rest here,” I said, voice hoarse from the pain.

Rachel nodded weakly. “Agreed.”

Before I could respond, I heard a faint mewling from outside. I stepped toward the door, peeking through the crack. The pack was still there, waiting, pacing like a group of predators who had tasted blood and wanted more.

I looked around the barn, the place a strange mix of old farming tools, junk, and dust. It was a mess, but there had to be something useful. I wasn’t planning on sitting here nursing our wounds for long. I needed something—anything—that would help us get out of this situation.

Rachel muttered something about needing rest, so I let her be for a moment. The barn had a strange, musty smell, but I ignored it, my eyes scanning the room. There were shelves filled with old tools, a couple of rusty gas cans, and piles of wood. In the corner, I spotted a few things that could work.

My gaze locked onto a heavy-duty chainsaw, half buried under a tarp. Next to it was a box of nails, a set of power tools, and a few lengths of PVC pipe. Yeah, I could work with this.

I grabbed the chainsaw and yanked it free from the tarp. The damn thing was old, but I could make it work. I wasn’t about to let a couple of cut-up limbs stop me from surviving. I began tearing into the chainsaw, twisting the blade and making quick adjustments with the tools I had on hand. I wasn't an expert mechanic, but I knew enough to turn this thing into something a little more... Florida man.

After some trial and error, I fashioned a ridiculous-looking monstrosity. The chainsaw blade was attached to a length of PVC pipe, the handle wrapped in some old duct tape. I couldn’t help but chuckle to myself. It looked like a redneck nightmare, but it was mine, and it would get the job done. I even found a long extension cord to hook it up to a generator I spotted in the corner of the barn. Now I had a chainsaw-powered spear.

I wiped the sweat from my brow, my muscles sore but satisfied. This might not have been the cleanest, most professional weapon I’d ever built, but I was pretty sure it would scare the hell out of anything that came at us.

[Redneck Ripper

Improvised Polearm

Damage: Moderate-to-High Slashing

Range: Mid (Reach Weapon)

Durability: Questionable (Repairs may require duct tape and prayers)

Special Ability: Whirling Mayhem – Activate the motorized blade for increased damage and intimidation. Costs 10 MP per activation.

A weapon that screams "trailer park ingenuity," this duct-taped monstrosity combines the reach of a spear with the sheer overkill of a chainsaw. Perfect for cutting through feral mutant cats, fences, or whatever else crosses your path. Just don’t ask about safety regulations—there aren’t any. Crafted with the innovation of Florida man and the subtlety of a monster truck rally. You're one trucker hat away from total domination. Yeehaw!]

Turning back to Rachel, who had propped herself up on the hay bales and was trying to clean her wound with a rag, I flashed a grin. "Looks like I'm ready for round two."

She raised an eyebrow, clearly not impressed, but gave a nod of approval. "You’re insane."

"Yeah, well, I’m also prepared. This place isn't gonna be our grave," I said, holding up my new creation, the makeshift chainsaw spear. "I think we’ll be fine. You good to go?"

Rachel slowly stood, favoring her side. "Fine," she muttered, though it was clear she was running on fumes. "Just don't get us killed, okay?"

I chuckled, tightening my grip on the weapon. "I’ll try not to. But if we do go down, at least we’ll go down like heroes... or Florida men."

She rolled her eyes, but there was a hint of a smile there. We weren’t out of the woods yet, but at least we had a fighting chance.