Jett vaulted straight across the first lane. Dodging an oncoming car, he sprinted to the island, where he turned and looked back at Soot and Pris standing on the curb. “Come on!” he bellowed.
Soot pushed Pris from behind. “Go on! Go!”
A wall of traffic appeared in the dusk. Pris took a few tentative steps, then stared at the headlights, paralyzed with fear. In a last burst of energy, Soot jumped into the street, landing hard on the calico’s hindquarters. With a squeak she lurched across both lanes and scrambled onto the curb behind Jett.
“I’ve got him! I’ve got him!” one of the boys yelled. Skidding to a stop, he hopped from his bike and made a swipe at Soot, who retreated further into the street, hissing with panic.
A horn blared, and the sound of squealing brakes ripped the air.
The boy jumped back, and the cat twisted into the oncoming car.
There was a soft thump as Soot’s body bounced off a tire. The impact was painless, and he felt strangely liberated until gravity intervened, slamming him into a crumpled heap against the curb.
The boys clustered in a semicircle, staring with morbid fascination. “Man, did you see that?” one said, slapping the rope against his thigh. “Boom! They popped him good.” Squatting for a better look, he prodded the still form with his finger, shrugged, and stood up. “Let’s get out of here. I’m hungry.” Laughing and swearing, they peddled into the night, raucous voices fading behind them.
Soot lay on the warm pavement, his head twisted to the side, his hind leg turned at an unnatural angle. He could hear the hum of traffic, but it seemed dreamlike and far away.
Someone opened a car door and footsteps crunched in the gravel. “Oh Lord, I hit it! Mother, come over here. I can’t look. Is it dead?”
Soot heard another door open and slow, shuffling footsteps approached. There was a sharp intake of breath, then wrinkled hands scooped him from the pavement, cradling him in gentle arms. “Don’t you worry, little crooked tail,” a familiar voice crooned. “Granny’s got you now.”
T H I R T E E N
The shotgun boomed, and the raccoon jerked off the tree as though yanked by an invisible cord. With a thud, it hit the ground, convulsed, and finally lay quiet, eyes open, still bright with surprise.
Snapping with the release of the animal’s weight, the chinaberry gracefully sprang upright, and the cats scrambled to keep their footing.
Swinging the gun higher, the man aimed, pulling the trigger again.
“Jump!” Buddy screamed, as the shot echoed around them. With a grunt he leaped from the tree, arced in midair, and landed on the raccoon’s body.
With a squeal the Siamese tumbled behind, twisting through the branches, finally hitting the ground firmly and miraculously on all fours.
With a flurry of mud and leaves, the animals streaked up the alley and over a fence just as a third shot was fired.
“Darn it!” the man roared. “I can’t believe it! I can’t believe I missed them!”
The boy ran to the raccoon, squatting beside it. “Daddy, it’s got some kind of white stuff all over its face. It’s yucky.”
Shining the flashlight on the animal, the man yanked the boy back by his collar. “Don’t touch it, Jamie! Did you touch it?”
The child shook his head, eyes wide with fear.
A screen door creaked open, and a woman’s voice called from the house next door. “Hey, Les, what’s going on back there?”
“You’re not gonna believe this!” the man shouted back. “But I just shot me a rabid coon over here, and I guarantee there’re two cats runnin’ around that have it, too. I’m callin’ Animal Control first thing in the morning!”
“Mercy!” the woman yelled, shutting the screen with a bang. “That kinda stuff just scares me to death.”
The man turned to the boy who had inched his way back to the raccoon’s body and was timidly poking it with a stick. “Hey, did you hear what I said?” With a ringing slap to the head, he pulled the child to his feet. “I said for you not to be touchin’ it. Let’s bag this thing up and put it in the garage.”
The boy rubbed his stinging temple and nodded. He liked the garage idea, deciding he’d take a really good look at the coon when his dad was at work. “Okay,” he said, following his father into the backyard. “I won’t touch it.”
The door slammed shut, and the porch light blinked to darkness.
• • •
Shan Dara crouched beneath a tangle of trumpet vine. There was a jagged red welt where the pellet had grazed her, and she trembled, eyes dilated and black.
Buddy stood a few feet away, staring into the darkness. “I think we’re okay now,” he panted. “They don’t seem to be coming after us.”
“I’m—I’m bleeding.” Her voice was weak. “Will I die?”
Trotting to her side, Buddy carefully inspected the wound. “No, it’s just a nick. You’re going to be fine.” He raised his head and warily sniffed the air. “I don’t feel safe here, though. We need to keep going and then rest. Can you do that?”
“But I’ve—I’ve been hurt!” she cried. “I can’t believe something like this could happen! How did this happen?”
Buddy gazed first at her elegant gold collar, now smeared with mud, and then at her bleeding flank. “You’re in the Outs now,” he said, gently licking the cut. “You may be something else when you’re home with your people, but for now . . .” his eyes met hers “you’re just another Feral: mean, dirty, diseased . . .”
She winced.
“ . . . and brave. You did great back there. I was proud of you.”
“You were?” “Very.”
She ducked her head. “I wasn’t brave; I was scared out of my mind.”
“Courage has nothing to do with bravery. I was scared, too. No one wants to die.” He blinked into the darkness. “Not even a raccoon.”
Shan Dara moved to his side. “I’m sorry for what I said. Whoever you are, wherever you’re from, I’m proud just to be here.” She glanced up, and a silvery shaft of moonlight lit her chiseled face. “Do you forgive me?”
“Yes,” he said, knowing in that instance he could never begrudge her anything. “I do.”
They walked for hours in companionable silence. Bright summer stars illuminated their path as they drifted through shrubbery, nibbling at grasses and drinking from puddles. Occasionally something scuffled in the bushes, and once they saw a Feral scramble beneath a fence, but for the most part, their journey was quiet and uneventful.
Softened by the gentle light of morning, the alley lost much of its dark foreboding. Instead, it stretched for blocks, reduced to weeds and garbage, but still refuge for the many creatures calling it home.
A radio warbled in the distance, and both cats stopped, heads up.
“Wait!” Buddy said, a tickle of excitement bristling the fur along his back. “They’ve been here!” He sniffed the air. “And not long ago, either. Hide in those weeds and don’t move until I get back, okay?”
Shan Dara nodded, sinking smoothly into the foliage.
Jumping a cyclone fence, Buddy crept to the front of a dilapidated shed. The scent was strong, fresh, almost overpowering. Peering inside, he saw a tuft of long white fur beneath a wheelbarrow. Zekki! They couldn’t have been gone longer than a couple of hours.
The radio’s music seemed louder, and he realized it came from the old house next door. Quickly, Buddy trotted to where Shan Dara waited. “I think we’ll be safe in there,” he said, indicating the shed. “But be careful, it’s getting light, and someone might come out.”
Shan Dara scaled the fence, creeping quickly toward the building, then stopped. “You’re coming too, right?”
Buddy’s eyes locked on hers, calm and unblinking. “I’m not going to leave you.”
“I know.” She smiled. “I just wanted to hear you say it.”
Buddy stood in the pastel morning, relief turning to guilt. The others weren’t dead. Mother had preserved their scents, pure and unmi
stakable. He thought of the young cats, so lost and vulnerable. Why hadn’t he foreseen this? They weren’t colonized Ferals, hard-wired for survival and possessing innate understanding of their environment. They were Indoors, separated too early from their mothers, put in shelters or pet stores, isolated and ill-prepared for adversity. He remembered their unanswered questions about the Outs; why hadn’t he told them more?
Depressed and worried, he walked back to the shed. Shan Dara was already asleep, and he quietly curled up next to her warm body. His muscles throbbed from exhaustion as he drifted into a half state of wakefulness and dream.
Buddy saw himself sitting by a pond, its clear water cool and inviting.
“It’s time,” a familiar voice whispered from the wetness.
Crouching low, he strained toward the pool. “Ahn-ya! Is that you?”
Her sweet face shimmered up at him from beneath the water, distorting his reflection into a thousand tiny ripples. “Everyone is waiting.”
“Waiting for what?” Buddy asked, longing to touch her.
“You know.” She stretched her paw toward him, then slipped beneath the foaming waves that suddenly crashed and roiled onto the bank.
Confused, Buddy turned to run, but a dark form loomed behind him, its dripping maw stretched with malevolence, its eye glittering with rage.
Buddy jerked awake, his pulse racing. He suddenly understood! The Cat Master was dead, and Jett was headed to The Gathering.
F O U R T E E N
Dawn spilled into the parking lot, casting dull light over the few cars still remaining.
Zekki peered from beneath the dumpster. He had spent the night crouched in darkness, terrified to leave its protection and equally afraid of being separated from Pris. With ragged breaths he squirmed into the open. The last thing he remembered before hiding was the boys and Jett’s voice telling the cats to run. Now, standing in the friendlier light of day, the night’s events held a dreamlike quality that frightened him even more. He had no idea what to do next. His first thought had been to wait here until they all came back for him. But it had been hours now. What if something had happened? The boys sounded mean, and one of them had carried a rope. Zekki blocked the thought from his mind. Jett was too smart to have been caught, but Soot was weak and Pris was . . . his heart wrenched at the thought of her alone with Jett. Pris needed him! He had to find her no matter how afraid he was! But how? Meat and bread were still scattered on the ground, but the thought of food turned his stomach, and he looked away.
“You gonna eat that?” a voice asked.
Terrified, Zekki streaked back under the dumpster.
“Are you?” it persisted. A large gray head thrust its way beneath the metal container, its beady eyes staring with unguarded curiosity.
Zekki shrank as far from the long pointed snout as possible. “What—what are you?”
“Possum,” the animal answered amiably. Backing into the open, he shambled to the remains of the hamburger and looked up. “So, are you gonna eat that?”
“What? No.” Zekki said.
Gobbling the meat, the creature focused on the bread. “How about this? You gonna eat this?”
“No.”
The possum nudged a pickle. “How about this?” “No! No! Eat the whole thing!” Zekki shouted, scrunching further into the shadows.
The visitor happily obliged, scarfing french fries, lettuce, and finally a portion of the paper bag. Belching with satisfaction, he squatted by the dumpster, waiting.
Moments passed. The sun climbed higher in the sky, beating down on the metal container.
“Are you gonna stay under there long?” the possum finally shouted. “I’ve been up all night, and that’s normally where I sleep!”
Zekki shifted uncomfortably. He was hot and cramped and more than a little tired of his surroundings. Warily, he made his way into the open, crept a safe distance from the animal, and sat down. He wanted to speak, but his throat was dry, and it took several tries. “I’m sort of lost, and maybe you can help me out,” he squeaked.
The possum looked blank. “Help you with what?”
“Well,” Zekki continued, moving a little closer, “I was here with my friends last night. Some boys came, my friends ran, and . . .” he stopped, not sure what to say next. “And I don’t know where they went.”
A car swung through the lot, and both animals scurried for cover. Waiting calmly until it was gone, the possum spotted a dead roach and waddled into the sun. He looked up. “Are you gonna—?”
Zekki shook his head.
Slurping it with vigor, the possum coughed and cleared his throat. “Okay, kids come through here all the time. I figure your friends probably headed that way.” He nodded toward the alley.
“Yes!” Zekki said, flicking his tail with excitement. “They did!”
“Then they probably ran to the highway and crossed it. That’s what I’d do.”
“I’ve heard of highways . . .”
The possum glanced around the parking lot. “They look a lot like this, only thinner. But be careful. Lots of cars and—” He stopped, mesmerized by an ant-covered blob of bubble gum on the pavement, and looked questioningly at the cat.
“No, no, it’s yours,” Zekki said quickly, fighting a wave of nausea. “And thanks for the information.”
“Okey dokey,” the creature muttered, carefully pulling at the pink substance which stretched and finally popped from the asphalt. Sucking it into his mouth, he swallowed. “Good luck.”
Zekki ran across the parking lot, turned into the alley, and stopped. The smell of the animals was strong. He knew they had headed west, probably toward the highway as the possum had said, but he was afraid to continue. A dog barked from an adjoining yard. Startled, the young cat charged forward, twisting and turning through the debris until he heard the thunder of engines and wheels.
Creeping toward the curb, he stared at the grimy asphalt. Cars swirled past, the force of their motion whipping the long fur back from his head and chest. Taking a deep breath, he sniffed the air, and Mother rewarded him with a mélange of information. Pris and Soot had been here, but there was another smell: metallic, sweet, and much closer. Looking down, he shrank back in horror. Blood! There was blood on the curb!
A car horn blared, and he turned in panic. Dashing toward the alley, he bolted over a cyclone fence, ran blindly through two yards, and finally darted beneath a rusted car, where he crouched, heart thumping with terror. Raising his head, Zekki uttered a high, keening yowl of desperation. There had been blood, and it was fresh. But whose blood was it and where were the others now?
F I F T E E N
Orie awoke with a yelp, sounds of the cat’s desolate cry reverberating in his head. Scanning the crawl space, he blinked in bewilderment.
Upstairs, the house was eerily quiet. No thumps, laughter, or cat games disturbed the silence. Even The Boy, whose pacing had finally stopped, seemed nonexistent.
“Bad dream,” he said. Or was it? He had definitely been asleep, but the sound wasn’t really dreamlike. This was more like telepathic conversation, something he found so boring, he rarely paid attention to it. Could it be he’d tapped into some faraway creatures he’d never heard before? Cows, maybe, or fish? The lizard remembered the screams and shivered. No, it had definitely been a feline cry; loud, desperate, and impossible to ignore. But whose screams were they, and how and why had the cat contacted him? A tickly sensation glided up his spine. “I’m special,” he reminded himself quickly. “I was saved for great things.”
Orie’s voice echoed in the crawl space.
Dust floated in the air.
The feeling remained.
“Something’s weird,” he said to no one in particular. Slithering through the vent, he pulled himself into the backyard and noted the German shepherd was out and dozing next door.
An ant crawled over the lizard’s toe. Tongue flicking, he slurped it with gusto. “Good-bye,” he said cheerily, preparing to finish off its friends and f
amily now plodding in dogged determination over his right foot.
Tell the dog, the voice-like feeling pushed.
“What?” Orie spun in panic. This time it wasn’t a sound; this time it was totally different. He stopped, cocked his head, and listened.
Foliage rustled in the breeze and a squirrel chattered from the roof.
“I’m just hungry.” The thought was comforting, and with renewed interest he focused on the ant procession winding through the grass.
Tell the dog!
Darting beneath a marigold, Orie squinted with fury through the petals. “Leave me alone! I’m not telling the dog! Get some other moron to tell the dog!”
Tell the dog,now! it boomed.
The ants disappeared under some rotting leaves, and Orie raised and lowered his body in a repetitive, hydraulic motion, heart thundering with fear. The voice was gone, but the feeling remained.
Thatfeeling.
From next door, the shepherd groaned, flopping onto her side.
The lizard narrowed his eyes. She would go in soon. Perhaps the best thing would be to return to the crawl space, sleep things off, get back to his old self. “I’m special, you know,” he snarled defensively.
Hurry, before she goes in!
The directive was so intense that Orie flinched. This was real. This was bad. This wasn’t negotiable. “Okay, okay,” he grumbled, creeping into the open. “But when she eats me, remember it was your idea, and I hope you’ll feel lousy about it.” Slinking closer to the fence, he assessed the sleeping animal. She was big . . . mammoth, with a glossy black coat marked with tan. If there was anything he hated, it was waking things up, especially big things with teeth.
“Excuse me,” Orie said, slithering through the fence and praying his luck would hold out.
Tenba flicked her ear but didn’t respond.
The place where his tail had been itched, and Orie turned his head for a moment, gnawing furiously at the stump. “This better be good,” the shepherd mumbled, eyes now open, puffy from sleep.
Orie jumped with surprise and tried to speak. “I’m the liz—I’m the liz—”
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