When Bret got back from the butcher, he had the back of his Toyota Tacoma, full of meat scraps that had been destined for the dump. The meat scraps had come free with a horde of flies, but he had lost most of them on the drive back. He figured it wouldn’t be too long before they caught up. Unfortunately, he hadn’t picked up any cans of tuna and had just doubled down on the meat scraps since they were free. He hoped the cats would forgive him. He jumped out of his truck and slammed the door before striding over to the bomb where animals were already gathering.

El Capitan looked at his watch. “Glad you could make it I was starting to think that I was going to have to cover for your incompetence.”

“Sorry, I had to pick up a few things for the animals.” Bret tried to explain, but no one was listening. El Capitan had already gone back to talking to the blonde reporter. Bret leaned into one of the police officers, who was standing guard. “How much time do we have?”

In response, a police officer cocked his head to the side and pointed to the giant LED display on the bomb. It read 14:52 then 14:51. Bret nodded in understanding. He turned his attention to Poopybum circling overhead. He held out his arm and cried out, “Falcore!” to the bird.

Poopybum descended and landed on Bret’s arm, giving him a screech that looked awesome to onlookers, but in bird speak it said, “Hey jerk face, how many times do I have to tell you the name is Poopybum?”

Bret screeched back. “I told you I’m never calling you that. It doesn’t translate well.”

“Do you know what outdoorsman means in my language?”

“No.” Bret answered.

“It means man who defecates outside, but I still call you the outdoorsman.”

“No, you don’t. You call me jerk face.”

“I most certainly do not.”

“You just did.”

“When?”

“On my arm.”

“Well I assure you when I’m talking to my friends I refer to you as the outdoorsman.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“I most certainly do.”

“Do what? Refer to me as the Outdoorsman or have friends because I don’t believe either one.”

“You know what I’m done. I don’t need this.”

“Really? You leave and who’s going to buy you all those Fritos?”

“You better of frickin gotten them,” Poopybum said.

Stolen novel; please report.

“Oh I did. Now was going on here?”

“Well, the gulls are good to go and there’s even more rats and cats making their way here as we speak.”

“Ok. Tell them to start trying to find a place to rest on this thing. Tell them to really pack in there. Even on top of one another if they can. This is to save the city. When this is over they are going to be heroes. I’ll tell the others the same thing.”

Poopybum nodded.

Bret stood there with his arm out, waiting. Poopybum didn’t move.

“Well, what are you waiting for?”

Poopybum continued to stand there, shifting his weight from claw to claw.

Bret let out a sigh. “You’ll get your dang Fritos and were done here.”

“Fine, but I’m taking one of the rats,” Poopybum screeched, swooping down and picking up a rat in its talons.

“We don’t eat the rats they’re here to help,” Bret shouted as the other rats looked on in horror.

“Oh he’s going to help my hunger immensely.”

“Where is he taking my sister?” cried one of the rats.

“Uh, just up to get a better view so she can tell you how awesome this looks when it’s all over.”

That seemed to satisfy the rat. He wasn’t sure he believed The Outdoorsman, but there wasn’t much he could do about it, so he chose to believe him, anyway.

“Now rats and cats and all the rest. I need you to start piling on the device. Remember, play nice. This isn’t the time for snacks.”

The rat from before looked back at him. Bret waved him on. “Your sister is fine.”

Bret changed his attention to a cat that had its paw on a rat’s tail. “I’m talking to you, tabby. Don’t think I don’t see what you’re doing.”

The tabby put on a shocked expression.

“I’m keeping an eye on you. One little slip up and you’re not getting any meet.”

“Tuna,” another cat corrected him.

“Tuna is meat,” Bret said.

“Tuna is fish,” another cat said.

“True, but tuna is also meat.”

“Are we getting tuna or not?” asked a calico cat.

“Well no.”

All the cats stopped.

“I wasn’t able to get tuna, but I did get lots and lots of liver.”

The cats bobbed their heads from side to side in acceptance before carrying on and climbing up the uneven surfaces of the EMP, making sure to be extra careful to not damage any of the mice or rats. Although more than a few were licked and mentally filed away for later. In the next fifteen minutes every pigeon, rat, mouse, cat, even a guinea pig had piled onto the EMP, turning it into one of the creepiest hair balls that anyone had ever seen.

Bret made his way over to El Capitan. “Any idea how much longer we have? They covered up the timer,” Bret asked.

El Capitan shot a glance over at the mayor who looked at his watch and replied, “just under a minute.”

There was a round of silence as they stood around the device, not sure what to do with the time they had left. Then the atmosphere changed as the mayor said ten seconds. Someone followed with nine. Others joined with eight. The next thing everyone knew, they were counting down the fur ball like it was New Year’s Eve. Seven. Six. Five. People were cheering. Four. Three. Two. The excitement was contagious and unable to restrain itself. One. It wasn’t a boom, per se. The bomb didn’t explode. But it was definitely a thud or a whump. It was something between the two. It was like the world’s largest base speaker had just sung its last. The pulse almost knocked Bret and everyone else off their feet. It even set off car alarms for a two-block radius. What it didn’t do was shutdown a single electronic device. The plan had worked. The animal’s bodies had absorbed the harmful EMP blast. Unfortunately it decimated the animal to the point that it looked like everyone in the vicinity had been shot by meat cannon. As Bret wiped cat/bird/rat from his eyes, he could hear the torrential downpour of innards still falling around them. He looked over at the mayor and El Capitan. The mayor’s mouth hung open in an expression of disbelief and horror. Had his mouth been opened before the event? The blonde reporter started vomiting behind them. Others followed suit as retching became the new fashion trend. El Capitan picked a severed pigeon wing from his head. Bret could see it in the man’s glare that he wasn’t going to be getting into the Guild of Superheroes anytime soon.