Something in the calico’s stomach knotted and rolled. “Know what?”
“As you ran across the highway . . .” Jett paused, voice sad and low. “How can I put this? Well, the boys that were chasing us? I’m afraid they caught him.”
“Caught . . . him?” The words strangled in her throat.
“Yes, put him in a bag or something and took off. So sorry. I know this is upsetting, but you’re in the Outs now, my dear. Friends don’t last very long here, and you know how humans are.” He peered beneath his brow. “Or do you?”
“But he was right behind me!” she sobbed. “I mean . . . wasn’t he?”
The tom strolled a few paces and sprayed a pile of leaves. “Apparently not. If you still want to go back, that’s fine, but you’ll be going alone. I’ll continue on as planned.”
Zekki . . . gone? Was it really possible? Pris thought of his bright blue eyes and soft white fur and longed to drop into a warm cocoon of darkness and stay there. Though the loss was too great to imagine, the end result was clear. Before this, she’d never gone as far as the kitchen alone, and Zekki had always been there to protect and guide her. Now, if she wanted to go home, she’d have to do it alone. “I appreciate everything you’ve tried to do for us, but I—I think I’ll just go on.” Her words sounded foreign, and for a moment, she wondered who’d said them.
“Alone?”
“Yes, but—but, I’m sure Buddy is looking for us. He’ll find me.”
Jett’s head snapped toward her. “Buddy?”
Pris blinked in confusion, one front paw tucked under her body. “I only meant—”
“I know what you meant.” Jett’s eye narrowed to a deadly slit. “You’re waiting for Saint Buddy to save the day, aren’t you? You’ve been counting on him the whole time.” He crept toward her. “What’s he ever done for you?”
The calico’s mind blurred with terror, then jolted into perfect clarity. Jett was crazy.
Somehow, she’d always known it; a troubled feeling she couldn’t articulate. But now, as he crouched before her, it was impossible to ignore.
“You know what you were before I found you?” Jett asked. “A fat, miserable blob staring out a window. Now look at you! Out! Free! Alive!”
“Thank you,” Pris whimpered, desperate to run.
“Well, I’ve got big news, my dear.” Slowly he circled her body, ears flattened to his huge head. “Buddy isn’t going to save you. You know why?”
“Why?” she asked, voice quavering.
“Because he’s dead, too.”
“He isn’t!”
“Of course he is! He’s dead because he was soft like you and your insipid friend!” Jett hissed and lowered his haunches, ready to attack.
“Now isn’t this a pretty picture?” a voice interrupted.
Jett froze, squinting upward.
A slender limb dipped and swayed above them, and two mockingbirds peered from the branches, eyes arrogant and bright.
The tom’s demeanor changed, and he backed away from Pris. “Sorry. Domestic quarrel. Hope we didn’t disturb you.”
“Well, you are disturbing me.” One of the birds sneered, flapping his wings. “Get out of here. This isn’t your territory.”
Jett crept toward a bush. “My mistake.”
“Hey, he’s only got one eye!” the male cawed derisively. “How many points for the other one?” He swooped from his perch, diving toward the tom.
“No!” Jett flattened in the grass, head tucked beneath his paw.
Pris tried to run for cover, but this time the mockingbird’s mate fluttered above her, then delivered a ringing blow to the top of her head.
“That drew blood!” the bird screamed triumphantly. “Nice work!”
Fluttering to a branch, the two stared with impudence at the cats below.
“How did you like that?” the male cackled, jumping from one foot to the other.
Pris scurried beneath a bush. A driblet of blood rolled down her face, and she smeared it with her paw.
“Hey, look at this.” The bird landed on the ground in front of Jett. He did a cocky little hop toward the cat’s head, then fluttered to the pecan tree. “What’s the matter, freak face? You don’t seem to be having fun.”
Pris watched the big tom with amazement. Squirming against the ground, eye tightly shut, Jett groveled and mewled, making several attempts to run. Each time, the birds blocked his escape, swooping toward his head, pecking his ears, and coming closer and closer to his eye.
“I said we’d leave! I promise we’ll leave!” he pleaded.
The female plummeted downward and hammered Jett’s back. “Bingo! A direct hit!” she trilled.
“How many points for a blind cat?” her companion called. “Hey, kitty kitty, look at this!” With a whoop, he dove from the uppermost branch, zooming directly for the cowering tom.
Pris watched transfixed.
The bird gained speed, wings drawn close to his body, a gray and white projectile hurtling through space.
Suddenly Jett raised his head, pushed from his crouched position, and leaped upward.
The calico had never seen such speed and power. For one surreal moment, both animals seemed to be flying, the mockingbird desperately trying to alter his course, the cat arcing upward in an effortless interception.
With deadly precision Jett snaked out a paw, slamming the bird to the ground. It flopped in the grass, a bent wing dragging behind it. His mate screeched hysterically from the pecan tree. Diving toward the cat, she veered wildly to the left, finally fluttering to a branch where she perched in helpless anguish, beak open, panting with fear.
“Get out of here! I don’t want you to see this!” the male called to her.
“No!” she quavered from her perch. “I won’t leave you.”
Tilting his tail up and down for balance, the wounded bird stared with open hatred at the tom. “You don’t scare me.”
“Your first mistake.” Jett snarled, batting it with his paw.
The mockingbird fell backward, pivoting unsteadily to the left until he could see Pris. His bright black eyes locked with hers, straightforward and unafraid. “He lied about your friend,” he said in a clear voice. “He’s alive. They’re all alive. We saw them.”
“Buddy, too?” Pris started forward.
“If he’s a yellow tom, yeah.”
“Shut up!” Jett hissed. He swiped at the creature, nails extended, and sent it tumbling in the leaves.
A drop of blood rolled from the bird’s eye and onto its beak. “Believe me. They’re just across the highway.” Turning his head toward the advancing tom, he spat on the grass. “Give it your best shot, freak.”
Jett snapped its neck in one smooth motion, savagely shaking the body until gray and white feathers swirled in the hot air. The bird swayed limply in his jaws. Tossing it on the ground, Jett stared up at the creature’s stricken mate. “Bingo,” he said. “I believe that was a direct hit.”
With a tortured squawk, the female swooped into the hot blue sky. Behind her, a lone feather drifted from the pecan tree, settling quietly beside her fallen companion.
“Could he be telling the truth?” Pris asked, creeping forward. “Maybe they really are still alive!”
The tom rolled his eye in disgust. “Just how naive are you? Listen carefully.” He spoke slowly, words brittle with sarcasm. “Birds are not our friends. Birds are dinner. Perhaps you’ve forgotten that hole she put in your head?”
“I know,” the calico insisted. “But he said—”
Jett scratched a flea, broad face inscrutable. “I’d hate to think you believed one of them over your own kind.”
“No!” Pris squeaked. “That’s not true! It’s just that . . . that . . .” She broke down, shoulders heaving, round belly jiggling with sobs.
Moving to her side, Jett rubbed his head against her shoulder. “There, there, my dear. What you need is nourishment. You’re tired and hungry. Yes?”
Though repulsed by hi
s touch, Pris stood in meek silence and nodded. Her mind whirled. If Zekki and Buddy were truly dead, then Jett was all she had, her only hope of getting home. He was dangerous, but so far, she hadn’t been hurt. Maybe in some small way, he liked her and would spare her if she flattered his ego; stayed helpless and dependent.
He wrenched the bird’s head from its body, licking the exposed flesh. “Ah, simple yet hearty.” Pulling feathers from the chest, he ripped it open. “Would you care to join me or will you decline in deference to the great friendship the two of you shared?”
Pris wanted to run to the highway, shut her eyes, and race across it as fast as she could. But she was starving, and, painful as it was, maybe Jett was telling the truth: Zekki and Buddy might be dead; the bird lying to cause trouble. For the first time in her life, there was no one to depend on, and survival rested on her and her alone. An idea skittered through her mind. “Jett?”
He looked up, whiskers dripping with blood.
“Do you think The Cat Master might help me?” She moved closer. “As a favor to you?”
“I don’t know,” he murmured, voice vaguely amused. “Won’t it be interesting to see?”
• • •
Sunset rouged the horizon, and glimmering shafts of light pierced the lush foliage of the pecan trees. Walking single file, the two cats passed through the grove and onto a gravel road. Moving to the side, they picked their way through ruts and ditches, staying close to the thick weeds that formed a fringelike protection around them.
Pris watched Jett’s powerful body as they walked. “I was confused back there with the bird and all,” she called, voice breaking with emotion. “I don’t know why I said those things.”
Jett stopped and turned, face dark with suspicion.
Dejected, Pris stared at the ground. “Buddy and Zekki are . . . gone, and as much as it hurts, I have to accept that.” She gazed up, her eyes wide and sincere. “I mean it, I’d be lost without you, and I appreciate your helping me.”
“That’s what I’m here for, my dear,” Jett said, his voice pleased and relaxed. “You can always count on me.” He paused. “And only me.”
A gentle breeze ruffled the calico’s fur, and a distant memory jostled for attention. What had Buddy said about The Wind if Pris was ever in trouble?
“Let’s go.” Jett turned briskly into a field.
Shifting from one paw to the other, she stalled. “Could you wait a minute? We haven’t stopped in a long time, and I’ve got to . . .” she lowered her eyes “you know.”
Without turning, Jett sat down, thick tail twitching in agitation. “Hurry up.”
Moving out of his line of vision, she relieved herself on a clump of weeds. “I’m here, Mother,” she prayed. “Show them.” And for the first time in her careful little life, she didn’t cover the scent behind her.
E I G H T E E N
Orie scowled and tilted his head. Something was wrong with the dog’s breathing. It sounded wet and strained. At first he tried to ignore it. When this didn’t work, he sang all his favorite lizard songs as loudly as possible, but even that didn’t blot out the gargled rumbling beneath him. Not only was the sound unnerving and irritating, but it also left him with a sensation that felt alarmingly like . . . what? He moved down the dog’s neck, spit fur from his mouth, and wrinkled his brow in concentration. What was this thing he was experiencing? Was it friendship? No, that was way too simple. Could it be concern? Definitely not; concern was a prissy little word he had never related to.
Tenba stumbled, and the lizard felt a blast of emotion he could no longer deny. The feeling was sympathy. It was disgusting. Why should he care about the dog? He was saved for great things, not her. He made a mental note to stop feeling sympathy right away.
Tenba coughed, stumbling again.
“Stop!” Orie blurted.
“We’re making good time,” the dog gasped, continuing to trot. “Why?”
“Why? You’re asking . . . why?” He felt suddenly ridiculous and groped for the right words. “Because . . . I’m feeling nauseous.”
Tenba actually broke into a lurching cantor.
“Hey, it’s up to you, but I had a fly before we left that looked a little iffy!” Orie moved closer to her ear and belched loudly. “Whoa, I can still sort of taste it.”
The shepherd stopped. “Get off if you’re going to be sick.”
Orie made an ugly face behind Tenba’s head and scuttled down her leg onto the ground. “I’m not sick.”
Tenba was panting hard. Her sides heaved, and her long pink tongue hung from her mouth dripping saliva onto the pavement. “Then what’s the problem?”
“I don’t have a problem,” Orie said, sidestepping a splattering droplet. “How about you? Do you have a problem?”
“Like what?”
The lizard glared. “Oh, the usual stuff. Fleas, ticks . . . bloody consumption.”
“There’s nothing wrong with me.” With an annoyed grimace, Tenba looked away. “I’m just out of shape.”
Orie squinted up at her from the sidewalk. He didn’t know much about dogs, but this one looked more than out of shape. Her muzzle was gray, and her brown eyes had a milky film he hadn’t noticed before. “I’m not stupid. What’s the matter with you?”
She sat with a grunt of impatience. “Nothing. It’s hot. I’ve been running. Do you want to do this or not?”
The reptile spread his legs. He was about to reply that no, he didn’t want to do this, and that if she wanted to kill herself, it was up to her, when the voice-feeling unapologetically butted in.
Say yes.
It was the first time it had spoken since early that morning, and Orie scowled, resigned to his lack of control. “Yes, yes!” he said, his voice slowly rising in volume. “I want to do this, but how about slowing down, for crying out loud?” He thought of his cozy crawl space and glowered with resentment. “You’re shaking my guts out up there.”
Tenba heaved to all fours. “I have to get as far as I can before dark. If I didn’t have my collar on, I wouldn’t have come with you at all. Too dangerous.”
Orie stared at the worn leather collar with the dirty silver tag. “So what’s the big deal with that?”
“If I get picked up with it on, someone might take me home. Without it”—she gave a strained and bubbly cough—“well, you don’t want to know.”
“Sorry,” the lizard said and was appalled to find he actually meant it. “By the way, I can climb forty-foot trees, so you don’t need to get on your knees.” He scrambled up her leg back to the longer fur around her neck and made a clicking sound. “Giddy up, or whatever the heck they say.”
“I’m sorry I was a little short with you,” Tenba said. “Thanks for the concern.”
“I’m not concerned,” the lizard answered defensively. “I just wanted to make sure you weren’t contagious.” They moved in silence, and Orie listened carefully to Tenba’s breathing. It sounded slightly better, and he felt an unwanted tickle of relief.
Traversing lawns, streets, and alleyways, the shepherd continued on, nose to the ground, snuffling for a scent that was fading quickly since the downpour of the day before. Finally, she stopped by a bed of sagging caladiums, eyes wide, tail high. “I’ve got it, and it’s not far from here.” She snorted. “Wait a minute; I’m picking up something else.” Ears pulled back, she whirled so quickly that Orie was almost thrown from his perch.
A stray chow mix stood silhouetted against a boxwood hedge. It sniffed the air, then moved closer, its posture aggressive, its growl low and menacing.
The shepherd froze.
“What are you doing?” Orie screeched. “Get out of here!”
Tenba turned, tripping and stumbling up the sidewalk.
The chow cut across the street, his gate easy and unhurried. Orie could hear the rhythmic click of its nails on the pavement over the strained breathing of the shepherd. “Go faster!” he yelled. “He’s gaining, he’s—”
“Can’t.” Her f
ront legs trembled with fatigue, and she staggered to a swaying stop. “Too tired.”
“Not to worry, Fräulein,” a cheery voice said from be-hind them. “I’m all over this.”
A miniature Dachshund burst through the foliage, and the stray stopped in surprise.
“Get out of here!” The little dog’s stubby legs churned through the grass. “This is my city, my street, my yard, and most importantly,” he boomed, “that big fine bitch over there is my woman!” Sliding to a halt in front of the intruder, he snarled a quivering, white-fanged grin. “Now, beat it.”
Shambling to the Dachshund’s side, Tenba snapped and growled in an impressive sign of unity.
The chow eyed both animals, seemed to reassess the situation, and with a rumbling bark, galloped up the street and disappeared into a vacant lot.
Tenba sank to her haunches with exhaustion. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
“Oh, I’ll bet we can think of something.” The little dog strutted closer, eyeing her from head to toe. His lascivious sneer faded to surprise. “Don’t be alarmed” his voice was low and conspiratorial “but there’s a lizard on your head. Why don’t I kill him for you?”
“No!” Tenba shouted, lurching back.
The Dachshund looked confused. “No?”
“No, he’s a friend.”
“A friend?”
“Yes, a friend!Friend! What are you, deaf?” Orie screeched from his perch above Tenba’s left eye.
“Whatever.” The Dachshund moved boldly to her rump, snuffling at her tail. “I’m Frank, and you are . . . ?” “Looking for some cats,” Tenba finished pointedly, moving away.
“Who isn’t?” With a saucy wink, Frank continued his pursuit.
Orie’s face contorted in disgust. “Geez, do I have to see this?” Slithering to the old dog’s collar, he jangled the tags with impatience. “Could we please ditch Romeo and get moving?”
Tenba sat, her voice firm. “We’re looking for some special cats. A yellow tom, a white longhair, and a calico.”
“Oh, yeah, I’ve seen the yellow one,” Frank said, pointed nose prodding her flank.
“You have?” Tenba fluttered her lip in subtle warning, and he stepped back.
The Cat Master Page 10