Meanwhile, by the coal mine serving as Jamilla's lair, a horrified Christianna had just finished hauling the charred partial remains of a cow a reasonable distance down the road to throw into a ditch. A cow, she knew from Jamilla's insistence on showing off 'his display of power' had previously been one of her neighbors. Out of breath, exhausted, her hands covered in a mix of blood and soot, she collapsed by the side of the road in a fit of tears.
This was all her fault. People turning into mindless animals, being eaten, a terrifying dragon rampaging through the town... all because of her selfish plan to turn some teenage girl into her personal love slave.
Nearly vomiting from the guilt and the gore, she curled herself into a ball, crying into her knees. Eventually she realized she couldn't just sit there like this. She was a mess, the mine was still full of soot. Who knows what the dragon would demand of her next. If she stayed, she'd need fresh supplies to properly do her duties. If she ran, there'd be too many questions to answer looking like this. At the very least, she needed a shower, and some money. The thought briefly crossed her mind to pawn the 'treasure hoard,' but she knew her knew draconic master would kill her in a fit of rage if she were to touch it. That left only one answer.
As the newly made maid walked towards her former home, she heard helicopters approaching in the distance. That, of course, and all the mooing. There had to be a hundred cows at least, each of them formerly human, as were the dozen or so bulls still making their way around the herd. There was no real way to tell who any of them had been in life. Well, almost no way. The bull by the news van was probably Stacy Allbright, now mounting a cow with a police officer's hat hanging from her horn. If she were really curious, Jamilla could likely have found the matching badge lying somewhere on the ground, or look for the license of one of the cows who seemed to have something of a limp, having apparently had to extract themselves from the nearby cars and trucks with their doors broken open. Without the Chronivac though, what would be the point?
Realizing her own former home would likely be swarmed by investigators once anyone else arrived at the scene, and the whole neighborhood would now have to be abandoned, Christianna simply looked for the first house she saw with an open door. She tried to think whose it was? The Smiths? No, the Robinsons. There was a family photo right on the fireplace. She sighed again, finding her way to the bathroom, and stopping in shock as she saw herself in the mirror. She was gorgeous, of course. She'd have to be, but she looked like she'd walked out of a war zone, and her nice white apron was covered in terrible stains.
Stripping everything off, she found the Robinson's washing machine, throwing in her uniform before heading to the shower, letting the hot steamy water wash away some of her pain and grief. It wasn't long of course before her hands found their way to her pendulous breasts, and from there for her fingers to slide between her legs. Horrible as the day had been, her new body came with irresistible new cravings. She found herself fantasizing about some big strong man slaying that horrible dragon, finding her alone and trembling, sweeping her into his arms and just ravishing her all night long. The image was so powerful she soon found herself lying on the floor of the shower, one foot pressed against the wall as pleasured herself, moaning needfully... until she heard something much louder from outside.