Strays

by Matthew Krause

  The monsters from the north, a most incompatible duo, meandering about the highways in an effort to reach her.

  And her so-called champion from the east, having cleared some final obstacle and now drawing closer, ever closer, to be with her.

  Sarah wondered about things.

  She wondered about the monsters, wondered if they were very near, if they knew how to find her, and how long it would take if they did.

  She wondered about the boy, her destined defender and advocate, and if he would arrive before the monsters.

  Most of all, she wondered if he would be enough for the monsters, who had proven themselves to be formidable when they needed to be.

  To Sarah, it was like sitting on top of a stick of dynamite but not knowing if it was lit. Should she leap from the porch, run into the darkness, and continue her flight from the nightmares that pursued her? Or was she in fact safe? Would this place, would Trudy, would the cats, the inscrutable Glaring, and the ungainly boy making his way from the east … would even their combined efforts be enough?

  Through the mists that formed behind her closed eyes, she could see Big Buddy, large and foul and stinking of nicotine and whiskey sweat. She could hear the deafening thunder of boots the size as four-door sedans, and the air about him was misted with something gray and the texture of porridge. Larger and larger he grew, his cloud rising about him, choking out all life, leaving vegetation blackened and dead. The most awful thing in Sarah’s world, and now he was reanimated by something worse, some evil presence that hovered in the shadows, marking the days with slippery shark’s eyes and moving his followers about like chess pieces.

  Sarah’s eyes flickered open to thorough darkness. The overcast from earlier had passed, and the lights from distant Pendleton no longer glanced off the belly of the clouds. Even the stars seemed to have retracted, withholding their distant light lest it be burnt out completely.

  The monster was coming. The worst monster in the world.

  And even with the support of new friends, Sarah feared she would not have the strength to face him again.

  * * * *

  The sun framed the rolling hills to the east, casting the sky from black to a deep navy, and the spring on the screen door offered its rising guitar twang. Tom stepped out into the dawn. Now in his human form, he wore jeans and a gray t-shirt. His bare feet made light slapping sound on the wood floor as he came and sat down beside Sarah, dangling his legs next to hers off the porch. He was silent, and Sarah was glad of that.

  “What are you?” Sarah asked after letting the hush hang in the air for a full minute.

  She did not look at him but knew he was grinning. “I’m just Tom,” he said.

  “Not just you,” she replied, turning to look at him. “All of you. What are you? Where did you come from?”

  Tom gazed into the yard, where the host of cats was becoming more visible in the early light. He offered a slight shrug. “Where do any of us come from?”

  “You’re not from another planet or something?”

  Tom chuckled. “Not as far as I know.”

  “So what are you?” Sarah asked. “And why did you bring me here?”

  Tom folded his hands in front of his face as if praying, and after a moment he looked at her without smiling. “For as long as anyone can remember, we’ve been here,” he said. “We’re not cats, we’re not people, but at the same time we’re both.”

  “I get that much,” Sarah said.

  “In human form, we move pretty much among all of you,” Tom continued. “Some of us have jobs and families, and you might say hi to us every day on the street. But when we’re cats, Sarah … that’s when the real work begins.”

  “What work?”

  “Looking after you.”

  Sarah shook her head and smiled. “Me?”

  “You and others like you,” said Tom. “Humans. Strays. The ones that can’t change.”

  “I see,” Sarah said. “So how do you go about looking after us?”

  Tom reached out and took her hand, moving closer so she could see him better in the trifling light of dawn. “There are 500 million cats in the world,” he said. “The Glaring makes up a very tiny fraction of them. But when we are in our feline form, we are connected to all of them.”

  “Connected.”

  “Cats sense things,” Tom said. “Things about the world, about people, about life. And those senses flow from one cat to another, all over the world. It’s the most amazing network of communication you’ve ever seen. And my kind, The Glaring … we’re the ones who know what to do with that information.”

  Sarah nodded and squeezed his hand. It was warm and perfect, neither dry and scaly nor moist and slick like the hands of most humans tended to be. She wished she could stay there forever, just holding his hand and listening to him talk.

  “Where do I fit in all this?” she finally asked.

  “We were told that we needed to find you, to bring you to a safe place.” He squeezed her hand back and then released it, turning back to the yard. “I personally volunteered for the mission.”

  “Told by who?” Sarah asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Tom admitted. “It was just a message we received. It rippled through The Glaring and strays alike. We knew who you were, and we knew where you were. As to the why of it …” He shrugged and chuckled lightly in the bluing darkness.

  Sarah settled and watched the yard as the morning grew and spread. There was light in the east sky as the sun, which had no doubt found the horizon, was still hiding behind the surrounding hills, but with each passing minute the rich color of navy became brighter and brighter, and at last the first glimpses of light could be seen at the crest of the closest prominence. The light flowed into the valley, glancing the shadows of trees across the yard, and the congregation of cats, some “strays,” some of them The Glaring, could be seen at strategic points, filling the yard and waiting for orders.

  “Tell me about the boy,” Sarah said.

  “Which?”

  “The one I dream about. The one who’s coming here.”

  Tom sighed and crossed his arms. “He was chosen.”

  “By who?”

  “Again, I couldn’t say.”

  “What was he chosen for?”

  At this, Tom chuckled and shook his head. “You got me there.”

  “Seriously, Tom,” Sarah said. “You know. I’m sure you know.”

  Tom hunched his shoulders and crossed his arms in front of him. He dipped his chin to his chest, eyes closed in painful thought, and then at last he nodded and looked at her. “There is only so much my kind can do,” he said. “To look after you, I mean.”

  “You’re confusing me.”

  “At some point, I won’t be able to do it anymore.”

  “What are you talking about?” Sarah asked. “You’ve been great, Tom. Without you—”

  “I know,” he interrupted. “I get that. But you …” He shook his head as if not believing it himself. “You need someone from your own kind to look after you.”

  Sarah could feel her forehead tighten, and she knew her eyebrows were arching in alarm, the kind of affected expression one picks up from watching too many movies, she guessed.

  “Him?” she asked.

  “Him.”

  “That’s crazy,” she said. “I’ve seen him. He can’t ...”

  “You won’t get any argument here,” said Tom.

  “You’ve seen him too?”

  “No.”

  “You know him then?”

  “Not really. But I get waves, senses … coming from the other cats.”

  “So they see the same thing,” Sarah said. “They know he’s useless.”

  “They do,” said Tom. “All but one. The one who is with him. She sees something else.” He paused and cocked his head skyward, searching for the words, but the sky was blue and empty. “I don’t know what she sees. It’s something I’ve never …” His words ran out and he had to regroup. “I don’t k
now what she sees.”

  Sarah reached for his hand again, but his arms were tightly crossed, so she lightly touched his arm. “You won’t leave me, Tom,” she said. “Will you?”

  “Not if I can help it,” Tom replied. “As long as it’s my choice.”

  * * * *

  When the sun was in full bloom, someone could be heard in the kitchen, firing up the gas stove to cook breakfast. Tom and Sarah went into the kitchen, and Trudy was there, her back to them as she placed three skillets on the fire. She wore a new skirt, this one with a slightly brighter print, but she still had on the same oversized sweater.

  Strawberry was seated at the table, dressed in looser jeans and a gray denim work shirt that was too big for her. She had rolled up the sleeves to accommodate her arms, and the folds of the shirt hid her elegant curves, something for which Sarah was secretly grateful. Strawberry may have been at odds with Tom the day before, but that meant nothing in the longterm. The longer Tom was put off by her, the better, and Sarah liked the fact that Strawberry’s vivacious frame, which would be appealing to just about any man, was hidden by that flag of a shirt.

  “Good morning,” Sarah said and sat down beside her.

  “Like my new shirt?” Strawberry said. “Trudy loaned it to me. It’s soft. Feel that.”

  Sarah reached over and touched the fabric, and all at once her fingers stung. It was that same rush of energy she had felt when stroking the Siberian, but this time it was more intense, like placing her hand in a fire. Something told her to close her eyes, and the moment she did, the world behind her eyelids came into focus. She was in the woods again, and she could see something moving toward her. This time, she was not afraid, and when the shape came into focus, she saw a familiar face, a man with silver hair, a welcoming smile, and that very same gray denim shirt on his back.

  Sarah pulled her hand away and opened her eyes. “Your father,” she said.

  Trudy’s back was to the table as she worked the pans on the stove, but when Sarah spoke, she let the spatula drop in the nearest skillet. She turned and looked at her.

  “What did you say?”

  “That shirt,” said Sarah. “It belonged to your father.”

  “Yes,” Trudy whispered. “He wore it all the time, whenever he was working the farm. It was his favorite.” She smiled with her lips closed and blinked to keep the tears at bay. “He wanted to be buried in it, but I couldn’t part with it.”

  “That sweater too,” Sarah said. “It was his.”

  “Yes,” said Trudy. “How much else do you know?”

  Sarah closed her eyes. “I know he’s here. He likes to watch you.”

  Everyone was silent, and in her darkness, Sarah felt Tom’s hand on her shoulder. Sarah let her eyes reopen.

  “I don’t know how I know that,” she said. “But I do.”

  “It’s your gift,” said Trudy. “One of them anyway.”

  “Have I always had it?” Sarah asked.

  “Sarah, you’re born with something like that.” Trudy shook her head, smiling. “You see things. Well, more like feel them. And you fix things too, like what you did for Strawberry.”

  Sarah looked at Strawberry, who smiled back and winked.

  “If I’m born with this,” Sarah asked, “why didn’t I know about it before?”

  “Oh, Sarah, that’s not hard to understand.” Trudy came around the table and kneeled in front of Sarah’s chair. She reached up and enfolded both of Sarah’s hands in her own. “There are things in the world,” she said, “things that like to beat the special out of us. You’ve been surrounded by a lot of those things. Haven’t you?”

  Sarah looked into Trudy’s eyes and nodded.

  “Once you get away from those things,” Trudy continued, “it’s like a bird coming out of a cage. You’re free to fly. That’s what this place is, Sarah. A place where you can learn to fly. Do you understand?”

  Sarah thought about it a moment. “I think so,” she said. “It’s just that—”

  The earth shook then, and Sarah was the only one who could feel it. It started in her chest, the kind of sweetly sucking sensation one felt when falling, as if the chest was imploding upon itself, sinking in like a crater. Sarah huffed and pulled in as much air as she could, and the sensation wriggled up the back of her neck and into her brain, making her face tingle and her head seem to bob and weave as if floating on a choppy current.

  “Sarah?” Tom said, and his hand on her shoulder tightened. “You okay?”

  “He’s coming,” Sarah said. “We have to go outside.”

  Trudy stood and Strawberry rose from her chair, and together they surrounded Sarah, offering hands and arms to help her up. Sarah waved them all away, staring at them with annoyance.

  “I’m not an invalid. I can walk on my own.”

  Moments later, the four of them moved out onto the porch. In the distance, off to the south, a puff of dust was moving down the dirt road toward the farm. It was large and it hovered in the air, a miniature jet stream tearing out of the hills. When the dust cloud was close enough that the grill of a vehicle could be made out in its billows, it was obvious that the car was moving very fast.

  It did not slow when it reached Trudy’s turn, but the driver tapped the brakes hard enough to make the rear-end of the car fishtail across the road, spinning and kicking up more clouds of dirt until the tires found purchase and thrust the vehicle into the narrow drive across the culvert by the road. The dust followed the vehicle all the way into the yard. The cats had already scattered, clearing a straight path for their new arrival.

  At last the car was still, and the dust was softening in the wind. Sarah saw a long car, older, maybe 1970s model with a Chevrolet logo on the grill. Not Big Buddy’s truck, thank God. This was someone else.

  She knew who it was.

  The driver’s door opened, and out he stepped, looking more gangling and odd than he had in her dreams. He wore jeans that didn’t fit quite right and white t-shirt with a Henley collar and forest green jersey sleeves that came just below his elbows. The words K-SOUTH were printed on the chest. His hair was longish but not trimmed, and the bangs hung in his eyes.

  “Am I in the right place?” he said, looking toward Trudy, who remained on the porch.

  Sarah took the three stone steps down to the lawn, and Tom followed. She stopped, turned to Tom, and shook her head. He understood.

  She walked across the yard, moving with slow steps toward the long car. As she approached the driver, the passenger side door opened, and out stepped a short, dark-haired beauty even more stunning that Strawberry. Sarah gave the girl a quick glance and then focused all of her attention on the boy, this tall, hunched, and not terribly attractive boy. He was turning away, looking across the top of the car at his passenger.

  “You sure this is the place, Molly?” he asked. “Everyone’s acting weird.”

  He turned back then and looked at Sarah. He was silent, marking her cautious approach with a pair of sleepy dark eyes. He waited, and at last when she was less then two feet in front of him, she lifted her hand.

  “What?” the boy asked. “Can I help you?”

  Sarah waited a moment, then placed her hand on the boy’s chest, right on the O of K-SOUTH. She waited for it to come, whatever it was she was supposed to feel, but there was nothing, no rush of static coursing through her arm, no flooding of thoughts and memories. The only thing she grasped was that K-SOUTH was shorthand for a school of some sort and that the boy’s father taught at that school, but other than that, there was nothing, no connection, no … no anything.

  She looked up into the boy’s eyes, almost pleading for him to explain, but this time the boy’s face had changed. His eyes, previously hanging at half-mast from a long night’s journey, were now large and brilliant, and his mouth stretched into a vivid smile. It was a good smile, warm and assuring, and Sarah sensed then that the boy had inherited it from his father, who offered this quiet expression of joy when he was particularly proud
of his sons.

  “There,” the boy said, looking at her and nodding. “There you are.”

  The Ogre and the Rhino

  Big Buddy claimed to be a prideful man, but he did not often act the part. If his pride had truly been wounded, his troublesome stepdaughter Sarah (my girl, he sometimes called her) would not have eluded him for so long. A thorough search would have been prompted the moment he stumbled into her empty bedroom room a week earlier, and he may have even involved the local authorities. Sarah’s face would be displayed during the 6:00 p.m. news on KIRO and perhaps even on the front page of the Tacoma News Tribune, not to mention the back a few milk cartons, and in a matter of hours the brat would have been in custody.

  But none of the above had happened, for haste and diligence were not exactly Big Buddy’s strong suit.

  In the first few days, Big Buddy dismissed Sarah’s disappearance as little more than a childhood phase. Since her mother was working odd hours and never got to see the brat anyway, Buddy was able to keep the absence of his girl a secret. But as time passed and he grew tired of fetching his own beer, he decided something needed to be done. The photocopy fliers he made were a good start, and about a week after Sarah had left, said fliers had produced a phone call from some guy named Rhino who had information as to her whereabouts. This Rhino had claimed that Sarah was hiding out in the restroom of a convenience store somewhere on the Sea-Tac Strip, but when that lead turned into a dead end, new arrangements had to be made. Of course, Big Buddy did not like the arrangements. Taking a couple of days off of work (unpaid, of course) to drive down to Oregon and fetch his girl was the last thing he needed, but to make matters worse, he had take along this Rhino character, some tattooed punk with a goobered up face.

  On the morning Big Buddy and Rhino departed Tacoma to embark on their journey, Sarah and Tom were arriving in Pendleton and being met at the bus stop by Trudy. Had haste and diligence indeed been Big Buddy’s strong suit, he might have rolled into Pendleton around 5:00 p.m. that afternoon (provided that punk with the tattoos could show them the way, of course) and had Sarah by late evening. But once they got past Olympia and tumbled down that section of I-5 south of Olympia, the thirst came at Big Buddy something fierce.