A burial ground. Anyone born in that city had heard the legend. Perhaps it was lies spread by the native Americans to guilt more money out of the city council. Maybe it was true, and yet the city had already been built, and no one wanted to unbuild it. 

But the legend goes, that before the brick buildings scraped the clouds. When explorers long dead and forgotten had first stepped on those swampy grounds. As they pulled their sabatons through the muck and splashed their way out of holes, they uncovered flesh-stripped bones and green copper trinkets.

And instead of reburying the shallow graves, they pocketed the jewelry to sell to museums. 

In doing so, they unleashed a curse. So dooming the descendants of the men who would build that city on the curve of the river.

A river that now filled every street in the city. From the cobblestones of the historic district to the gravel of the industrial park, water flowed. Silt gathered against apartment complexes like breakwaters. Underground garages became tombs for fleets of SUVs and trucks.

Civilian trucks, nothing like what ripped down Mainstreet the size of a mammoth. 

If one couldn't tell based on the camouflage, the roof-mounted machinegun gave it away.  It was a military truck, the same boxy outdated model in use by the state national guard. Moving at a breakneck pace, awake following its track, slapping every wall and window with immense fury.

Specialist Mac's knuckles were white as he clutched the wheel. His heartbeat matched the pace of the windshield wipers, thumping between regular squeaks as the blade's rubber edge flopped off its metal arm. 

It wasn't his fault. At the last drill, his truck had the same issue. He successfully recorded it on the Preventative checks and maintenance sheet, AKA PMCS, and then replaced the blade himself with an extra.

 But this wasn't the truck he last used. Someone else had this, and they didn't even bother to put away the machine gun. And that's because they didn't bother to properly install it in the first place, using brute force to attach it and now leaving it stuck.

But never mind the unprofessional look of his truck. Other issues concerned Mac. At the back of his mind, he knew that his vehicle lacked oil. He knew that a week ago when he first got assigned the truck and filled out its PMCS. And now it was probably on the verge of dying due to that fact. 

In a normal military situation, this would suck. But Mac was currently driving in waters a foot higher than the truck was built for. If he stopped for any reason, water would fill the engine, and then he would need rescuing. And he was already on a rescue mission for another truck. 

Mac's specialty wasn't even in truck driving. He was a bridge-builder in a company that specialized in supply and inventory for the broader state. Like a fish in a bicycle shop, he often found himself with nothing to do. Driving trucks in mock ambushes were the most he ever did in an entire year.

And because of that, he had the most experience driving trucks. And so, instead of staying at the lovely, dry stadium distributing space blankets, he was here. Hitting the gas as he took a right up onto a slightly less water-logged street. Hydroplaning a foot to the right and almost hitting a visible fire hydrant before regaining control and swerving past it. 

Mac was more glad than a dog to witness a fire hydrant. It meant the water was only a couple inches deep here. He brought the 5-ton truck to a halt and then sighed.

In a normal convoy operation, he would report arriving at his destination. Or the guy that rode shotgun, also known as the truck commander or TC, would. But Mac wasn't assigned a TC. Too many hands needed to pass out blankets. And it was too wet for paperwork, so no officers were on duty to correct the misconduct. And there were no extra radios to be assigned. So he would have to rely on his phone, and there was no service for that. 

And while all these bad things happened and were happening in front of him, Mac shoved it all to the back of his head. He was breathing. He was moving. And there were people to save. 

Outside, the rain came harder. Time was of the essence. Within the hour, this road would be flooded, and the 5-ton would be out of commission. 

The other truck was about a couple blocks to the north. To Mac, that meant going through the minimall to the right of where he parked. Ignoring how his boots and pants got soaked, he entered the mall through a shoe store's broken window. He decided if he saw any rubber boots, he would nab them. But the store, like all of them he would find, was barren. Maybe due to looting, maybe because the owners were given fair warning of the flooding. Mac didn't care about the strange state of the mall. Every other window and door was shattered. While his boots meant glass wasn't a problem, there was no protection from the elements. Fallen palm trees and lamps blocked his every path, causing him to cross two catwalks to avoid the possible electrical current. Then he reached the chipped metal paint of the exit door. Taking the stairs, he enjoyed a brief respite from the elements within its concrete walls. Again he was outside, up to his chest. The other truck in view.

"HEY BUDDY! GLAD YOU COULD MAKE IT!" Yelled one of two privates, standing atop their truck overlooking Mac. Both of them had their hoods on, waddling like penguins on the hardtop of their truck. A modern model of his, which made the fact they got it into this situation disappointing, to say the least.

Mac pulled himself up and against the spare tire rack before speaking to the privates. "Otherside of the Minimall. Go."

The privates saluted with their teeth chattering, causing Mac to cringe. He watched them get down into the water, then waddle their way to the mall door he came from. 

Then the specialist climbed back into the water and moved to the truck's rear. 

He undid the chords keeping the truck's bed cover and peered through the canvas. "IS ANYONE IN THERE?"

Light from behind him reflected off space blankets which covered about five shivering human figures.

"We're here!" Came a shrill voice.

"HOW MANY?"

"Six!" replied the same voice. 

Mac climbed into the back of the truck, his eyes adjusting to the darkness. They were all female, all shivering, and what clothes he could see were like track outfits. But he counted only five.

"Can you walk?"

He got several hoarse "yeahs" and nods. 

"Get out of the truck, link your arms, and move in a line to the minimall."

As the women rose, Mac made out the silhouette of the sixth body.

Her skin was almost dark enough to not be seen, the whites of her teeth the only visible part of her.

"Is something wrong with this one?"

There was no response from the females. 

Without a second thought, Mac knelt and hoisted her in a fireman's carry over his shoulders.

That's when he felt her tail thwap his side. And felt how her skin was actually scaled. And, much to his relief, the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. 

"A tiger trooper." Mac thought. With the dragon lady secured, the soldier jumped out of the truck and landed on his two feet, splashing the other females. 

"Head for the sign that says 'EXIT.'" yelled Mac over the splashes of him and the females moving. "Let's move people."

Her scales were against the back of his neck, and he could feel how cold she was. "She'll be with me in the cabin." He decided ahead of time. While navigating the females through the well-lit minimall, he noticed how much hair was on her head. 

The two privates were standing beside his truck, hands in their armpits. "Hey, can both of us ride in the cabin?"

The specialist marched past them and flung open the passenger side door. "Why don't you have the back of the truck open?"

The privates looked at each other, then back at him, before slogging to the back of the truck. They helped the females get on board as Mac secured the Lizardwoman and shut off the ac. There was a feeling of second-hand embarrassment for Mac. He'd never touched a woman before, never mind a tiger trooper. And he'd never even seen one like her. He hoped she wasn't dying from hypothermia, but part of him was ready to accept the worse.

The specialist's train of thought was interrupted by a husky voice. "All bodies present and accounted for, guy." 

The tallest of the two privates, who Mac could now see, was actually a monkey rather than a human. 

"Alright." Mac then moved to the driver's side and started the vehicle. But then he saw the private in the right-most mirror.

"Move, guy! Get in the fucking back!" Then, to emphasize his point, he blew the horn. The ape was startled by Mac's aggression and scrambled to the back. Then a couple of knocks came through the cabin's rear wall, and the specialist knew to be underway. 

Again the 5 ton was traversing the worst of the flooded city. But Mac's mind was elsewhere, even less focused on the sorry state of affairs in front of him. Instead, he was more worried about the unsound female to his right. 

"Any other lizard would be dead. Their bodies need an outside source of heat. And what kind of lizard grows hair? And hell, lizards don't have ears either. The whole point of tigertroopers was that they were anthro versions of the animals in this dimension. What reptile on god's green earth has fur on its tail? Nothing adds up."

The five-ton hit a bump in a road, and the lizard seemed to snort. And then she started to snore, and Mac was struck with an urge to laugh. 

Outside, the weather calmed. The thudding of rain against the roof was drowned out by the vents pumping heat into the cabin. Soon there was no rain. Just an occasional splash as the 5-ton moved from flooded road to dry road and then back Mac had reached the higher and more solid outer city, where the stadium was in clear view.

It was in this relaxing time that Mac came to notice his passengers' more humane aspects. Her small, lithe figure, no taller than five feet at most. Her long, rough head of hair which Mac realized was actually a mane of feathers. Her nicely sized breasts, defined against her tracksuit. 

And then the checkpoint came into view, and reality was in focus.

Mac honked the horn and lowered his window. "I got six females, all showing signs of hypothermia."

"Head for bay two." Ordered a military police Sgt, waving him in before chirping into a police radio.

Bay two insight, the specialist, realized this was probably the last time he would ever see this female. He would alley dock the truck, park it, get her out, and get her to a doctor. They would probably have a helicopter take her to a hospital not underwater, where she would have no means to talk to him.

And as he did alley dock, he thought there was no reason for her too. He was doing his job, getting people out of the flood zone. She was doing her job, staying alive. 

Again the lizard lady snorted as Mac undid her seatbelt and picked her up. 

He gave a chuckle as he approached the medics. Overhead, the clouds had parted. The warmth of the sun beamed against his skin. 

For a moment, he forgot where he was and could only think of this beautiful lizard woman in his arms.

And then the medics plucked her out of his hands, and she was loaded onto a stretcher, and she disappeared between double doors.

 Mac turned to focus on the other females, only to have his squad leader slap his shoulder. 

"Good job, hotshot!"