Scott’s entire body ached. The bison panted through his open mouth as he staggered away from the burning wreckage of the plane. He could still smell the smoke in his nostrils, still see the bodies scattered on the ground. The bison was banged up pretty badly, but by some chance had managed to escape with his life where seemingly no one else had. 

	The big bovine pushed his way through the undergrowth of the forest, trying to find his way to help. He had no idea where he was, but he couldn’t stay near the plane wreckage, the smoke was far too thick and dangerous. He could feel his lungs burning from inhaling it, even as blood still trickled from his nose. The bison’s shirt and jeans were ripped and torn, bloody cuts showing through the holes in his clothing. His sides and back ached and he was sure he had either sprained or broken his left wrist. 

	Scott prayed for the trees to give way soon, for someone to appear to help him. Every tree he pushed past was a disappointment, every bush that entangled his thick legs and tore at his clothing was a taunting foe that drove the bison’s anxiety higher and higher. There had to be someone around somewhere! 

	“Hello?” Scott called out at last, desperate for some kind of sign of life after the trauma that he had endured through the crashing of the plane. “Is there anybody there? Please, there was a plane crash! I’m hurt, I need help!” He bellowed, receiving nothing but the oppressive silence of the forest in return as the echoes of his call faded away to nothing. The bison shuddered as the sense of isolation grew ever stronger. 
	
	Scott pushed on, cursing the day that he had won that radio contest and gotten those tickets to the bahamas. It had seemed like a dream come true at the time and he had been so excited to visit the exotic locale. Now he was stuck in the woods, had no idea where in the world that he was, and he was alone. Entirely, completely alone. 

	The bison had hardly ever been alone in his life. Gregarious and fun loving, the bison was a personal trainer with a large clientele. He spent his days at work talking to others, helping them shape their bodies into the image of health, just like his own. His off-time was spent with his large group of friends doing some kind of outdoor activity. He rock climbed, he kayaked, he took tae-kwon-do classes. Anything that he could do to keep his massive form in shape and get to spend time with his friends. 

	If the bison hadn’t just been in the plane crash, he would have found his surroundings beautiful and exciting, a new trail to hike. He was alone, and scared, and hurt and instead of being fun, the forest around him was devastatingly frightening. Every tree was an enemy, every animal noise a cry of violence to his ears. 

	Panting with anxiety, the bison scrambled his way up a short embankment, his rock climbing experience serving him well as he made it over the hillock and slid down the other side. He splashed through a small creek that ran between the embankment and another small earthy outcrop on the other side of it. He climbed the outcrop just as easily and stood atop it, trying to get his bearings. He couldn’t see anything at all around him except for trees and foliage. With the canopy of leaves it was hard to tell what time it was. All he could tell was that it was still daylight. He had to try and find some kind of shelter before nightfall came. If he could find that, or a clear enough place to make a shelter, he could spend the night safely. 

	Scott, being as active as he was, knew some survival techniques for emergencies. Being stranded in the wilderness was a possibility when one spent his time hiking, kayaking and rock climbing. When he went out he always brought a backpack of supplies with him just in case, and carried a bag of emergency items in a water proof kit inside his kayak. He had none of those things now, just a bracelet of braided paracord that he wore around his right wrist. If he could find a clear spot, he’d be able to rig up a lean-to or some kind of simple shelter with tree branches, leaves and the cord. 

	The bison followed the creek once he climbed down from the outcrop, hoping to find shelter near it so that he’d have a source of water to boil over his fire. If he could even make a fire. He knew how to do it, but he’d never had an occasion to try it out himself. He still hoped that he wasn’t as deeply lost as he thought he was, and was still just on the outskirts of civilization. He prayed that it only seemed like he had been dropped into the middle of nowhere... 

	Scott followed the creek for hours before the trees thinned out a little. The area around him became rockier, large boulders making themselves apparent among the trees. It got harder to follow the creek as it made its way through the rocks and down the generally sloping landscape. Scott realized he was at the foot of a mountain, the trees thinning out to give way to the rocky feet of the peak. At last, he gave a whoop of joy as he spotted a series of boulders and fallen tree trunks that had collapsed together to form a small sheltered alcove in the distance. The creek was still near it and it would be the perfect spot to weather the night in relative comfort. 

	Relieved to have found some semblance of shelter, the bison stopped his advance toward it long enough to catch his breath. He had been forcing himself to travel non-stop for a few hours now and even his fit body was aching for a chance to rest. The bison groaned, rubbing at his sore wrist. It had made scrambling over the rocks and hilly earth more difficult, but he had managed it. He was sweaty and sore, sweat stinging the open cuts on his back, sides and legs. He’d have to try and examine them when he got a fire going, possibly try and find something to bind them with as several of them were deep enough to still be oozing blood. He didn’t want to get an infection. 

	As Scott caught his breath, the large bovine felt the need to urinate. At this point, he was far enough away from the creek to not worry about contaminating it with his waste, so the bison started to unbuckle his belt and unzip his pants. The large, buff bovine was wearing briefs under his jeans, his large bison tackle kept in place by tight white cotton. Out of habit he massaged himself, an action that he had been repeating since he was a teenager and began to grow into his full adult size. Feeling the heft of his bullhood against his fingers, even through the sweat-damp cotton, was somehow comforting in a primal way. 

	Scott pulled the front of his briefs down under his bullhood, watching his large, thick cock swing out of its place tucked toward his hip and his massive bovine balls flop down to thud against his jeans. He could smell his sweat, sharper in scent than usual as it was tinged with the hormones of anxiety, adrenaline and fear. Scott lightly gripped his cock and relaxed his bladder, realizing with a deep-throated groan just how long he had been holding his piss. His bladder was full, and the stream of bull piss that rushed out of him splattered the rock he was standing against with enough force to spatter back onto his torn jeans. He grunted, lowering his stream toward the ground to end the blow-back and spent over two minutes soaking the leaves and dirt at his feet with his piss. 

	Suddenly, as Scott was ending his stream, there was a massive roaring bellow from somewhere nearby. The bison froze as a chill ran up his spine. He’d never heard such a roar in his life. Was it a bear? The bison looked around, so surprised by the sudden roar that he didn’t take the time to tuck his bullhood back into his pants. The bison looked up just in time to see what looked like an enormous silverback gorilla charge out of the small cave he was planning to use as shelter and charge toward him. 

	The huge beast was on Scott before the bison could blink. It was larger than him, larger than any silverback he had ever seen in his life. It’s huge fist crashed down on Scott with the force of a car-crash, spinning the bison entirely around and slamming him into the rock he had just pissed on. The world spun as pain poured anew through his already battered body. He could do nothing as the huge, angry beast’s other hand clamped down on him and yanked him away from the rock. He gasped at the tightness of its grip, his ribs creaking as the huge beast slammed him against the rock a second time, throwing him like a ragdoll. 

	Scott groaned as his head smacked against the large stone, blood running down his face as his skin tore against the rough rock-face. He started to slide down but the huge gorilla began to pummel him with its huge fists. Scott gurgled as the huge beast’s massive hands slammed into him again and again, pounding his stomach, his chest, his face, even his cock and balls were punched mercilessly. His already bruised and battered body was afire with pain from the brutal beating. His muzzle shattered like glass as the beast’s fist crashed into it again, twisting his nose to a bizarre angle as blood, teeth and slobber flew from the blow. The beast backhanded him, crushing his broken muzzle back toward the other side with the strike. His face was pouring blood, hardly recognizable anymore from all the broken bones and twisted flesh. He could hardly see, his eye sockets broken and already blackening. 

	Scott suddenly screamed as the huge gorilla grabbed his left arm and tore it from its socket with a twisting wrench! Blood gushed from the torn flesh as the gorilla threw his arm aside and continued beating him. The bovine was near death at this point, his entire body shattered and broken. He felt the beast pin him up against the rock and he was too weak and beaten to even raise his hands to defend himself at all. He hung there limply as the huge gorilla grabbed his exposed, defenseless cock and balls. The force of the grip was so strong that both of Scott’s large bull testicles ruptured from it, bursting in his sac into so much mush. The gorilla twisted its arm and with a wet rending tear, yanked the bison’s cock and ruined balls off with a powerful jerk. 

	Scott couldn’t scream anymore. He couldn’t breathe. His lungs were riddled with the shrapnel of his ribs, his jaw hanging open and shattered into pieces. He was dying and he welcomed the embrace of death after so much pain. The huge gorilla’s hands wrapped around his head and neck, covering him in rough, calloused darkness. 

	It squeezed. Scott knew a long heartbeat of agony as his skull struggled to withstand the pressure, but it was over swiftly. His skull cracked like a hard-boiled egg in a vice. Scott’s brains gushed from between the gorilla’s fingers, his entire head smashed to pulp between the gorilla’s hands like a grape. His body writhed, flexing, kicking as the nerves fired off without their connection to Scott’s brain. 

	The gorilla dropped the spasming corpse to the ground, his territory protected from the interloper that had dared to try and mark it as his own. The beast urinated over the place where Scott had before, reaffirming its dominance and control over its territory. It swung itself over the rock and lumbered back to its den, leaving the smeared remains of what used to be Scott all over the dirt and leaves between there and the bison’s mutilated corpse. 

In the end two men had survived a plane crash. One, a bear, who had ended up nourishment for a massive and undiscovered snake. The other, the bison, left nothing but a pile of shattered bones against a piss soaked rocks in the woods, beaten to death by a territorial bigfoot. In the end, both wished they had died in the crash, for that would have been mercy compared to the fates that they both suffered. 

End.