Tales from the Rim: Muffalo Madness

This was a short story that I originally published on Tumblr in the '10s, based on a Rimworld colony.

Marc here. Long, vicious day today.

I was taking a breather after bagging another half-dozen of those damned alphabeavers when Nabs came rushing back to base. As usual, she wasn’t hauling back any kills -- she thinks she’s too good for that -- but she did have news about the local muffalo.

We’ve known about two or three herds of them since we crashed. They’re huge, shaggy critters. Probably be good for food, but their hides look tough. Figured they’d just shrug off the bullets from these crappy survival guns we have, so we’ve never risked pissing them off.

But like I was saying, Nabs comes running back. One of the muffalo is on a violent rampage. It took out one of the young-ins, and when it so Nabs, it bellowed and charged right for her.

She got out okay, but after discussing things with Aaron and Mason, we don’t think it’s safe to have this thing wandering around rabid or insane (or whatever) -- could hurt somebody out minding their own business.

Nabs and I grabbed some spare ammo from the store room and rolled out. We found its tracks pretty quick, and tracked it down. It had wandered out to the east, near the pond by our shitty little power station. It didn’t notice us until we started taking shots at it.

Turns out that what I said earlier about our puny guns not bothering muffalo too much was true. We hit it six or seven times, but that just got it angry. The fucker roared and came at us like a freight train.

We bolted. We’re good hunters, not suicidal heroes. But the mad muffalo was already charging. Inertia was on its side. It knocked me aside like I rag doll, and I passed out. Got some bruises and a hell of a headache.

Nabs wasn’t as lucky. Later, Aaron told me what happened: at the last second, she turned and let loose at point-blank with that little pistol she has. The muffalo smashed into her, and she went down with a crushed foot and a lot of blood everywhere. Some of it was the muffalo’s, but most of it was hers.

Aaron was keeping an eye on us while he was logging. He was us both go down, and let out a shout. I guess the muffalo got spooked and left us both where we had fallen -- Nabs must have hurt it. The two of them dragged the two of us back and stitched us up.

Then, they did something risky. They went out to recover the guns. By then, the muffalo had come back and was wondering where its kills went. They tell me it was a bit touch-and-go for a few minutes, but they managed to recover our stuff and get out without injury. The muffalo had their scent, though, and followed.

Aaron took it down in the garden, about twenty feet from the front door. I would have thought he was lying if I hadn’t heard the gunshots and personally hauled the fucker inside to cut into steaks the next day. He says it fell asleep out there in a pool of its own blood. Just finished it off, he says. Pah.

We’re planning to turn the hides into a duster. Nabs lost a toe, but otherwise is making a good recovery. We’ll be back out shooting beavers in no time.