Pickles vs. the Zombies

by Angela Misri

  “Once that door closed, I was sure I was zombie food,” Trip said, shaking his head as he dragged over a pile of snacks. He ripped open a small bag of cat food and pushed it my way. Since leaving the safety of my house, I’d discovered it was hard work finding something to eat that wasn’t pre-packaged in a bag. Humans obviously stored food here for the cats, dogs, and hamsters in their lives, and as I looked around, I saw more variety and bounty than I had ever seen in the world outside. Animals like this raccoon had no such luxuries. No wonder Trip and his ilk picked through the rubbish bins behind human houses. And no wonder so many of them lived in the human-dense cities. What were we going to do once the humans didn’t have time to make us these precious bags of kibble? I took a grateful mouthful of cat food, chewing over the problem, and I made Ginger take a bite as well.

  “Did you jump down after it closed?” I asked, wishing for a drink of water. Trip seemed to anticipate my needs because he pointed to a bowl on the floor behind the counter. I smelled dog around the bowl, but ignored it; beggars can’t be choosers, after all. This store really was convenient; the humans named it well.

  “I did jump down, but as soon as I put my paws on the handle, two zombies came around the corner.”

  I shook my head. “And?”

  “I guess I panicked,” Trip admitted, his mouth full of jerky and chips. “I lapped the floor four times dodging zombies and calling for help.”

  “We couldn’t get back through the door,” I said apologetically, feeling the guilt swirl back up. “I swear we tried.”

  “I was in such a frenzy, I don’t know if I would have noticed if you were my den mother holding a turkey dinner,” Trip said, swallowing an enormous bite and looking at the bottom of the chip bag as if surprised he had reached the end. I snagged another from the shelf and brought it down to him.

  “And then I tripped over something as I was trying to get away from a zombie and slid into the open elevator shaft,” he explained in a voice that said this kind of thing had happened before.

  “Holy cats!”

  “Yeah, it was not the best route down to the sewers, but it was direct!” he said as he ripped open the new bag of chips.

  “How did you survive the fall?” Ginger asked.

  Trip shrugged. “I grabbed at these ropes hanging in the center, and the zombies didn’t follow. Then I climbed down, all the way to the bottom floor. The elevator was there so I couldn’t actually get out on the floor, but the pipes in the ceiling were open, so I took them instead, thinking they might lead out to the street.”

  I licked crumbs off my face, glad Ginger was speaking again. “And you found this store?”

  “After hours and hours of wandering, I smelled it, yes. Made it all the way under the drain we just came through when I heard your voice, Pickles.”

  “And you came back for us?” Ginger asked, regarding the raccoon with a new respect.

  “Of course I did. I gave you my oath,” Trip said. “Followed your voice down to where I found you. Saw the cages and how they were tied to the ceiling and started pulling you up.”

  “Trip, you saved our lives,” I said, standing up and scenting the raccoon. “Thank you.”

  Trip actually looked a little embarrassed at the praise, pulling at his black whiskers.

  “That opossum said the humans took the last train south,” I said. “What did he mean? What is a train?”

  Ginger’s ears came up. “What do you mean? You can’t mean to go on!”

  “There are train tracks behind this building,” Trip answered, earning a glare from Ginger and a grin from me. “You could follow them south. A train is something I usually avoid because it’s huge, fast, and carries a lot of humans and not much food, though I guess those days are gone. The humans are in hiding, but their tunnels remain. Weird. Anyways, Pickles, trains are basically like a really long car that can’t turn except on the tracks.”

  “There you have it,” I said, trying to imagine this vehicle and failing. “Connor and his parents took that … train. I will find them and bring them home.

  “Trip, this is the safest you’ve been since meeting us. I can’t ask you to keep risking your life,” I said, pacing around in front of them. “And Ginger, you have suffered a terrible blow. No one would blame you for going home and regrouping.”

  Ginger shook his whiskers. “Pickles, it’s time to go home. We’ve done everything we can.”

  “That’s not true. I haven’t found Connor. But if you could report back to Wally on my progress,” I said, giving him a new mission, “that would be a great help to me.”

  SAYING GOODBYE TO MY friends was incredibly hard, but I knew Ginger’s heart was broken, and I worried that his distraction could get him killed. He promised to report everything back to Wally and do his best to help him.

  Trip drew a map in the dirt to show me how to keep heading south, but as Ginger and I explained, cats always know which way to go. It’s like landing on our feet even when we jump from a very high spot. Cats have perfect directional sense. But I did take a moment to ask Trip to watch out for Ginger until I got back.

  We set out at the same time, me towards the railway tracks and them back towards home, above ground along the streets as long as they could.

  I watched them until they were out of sight, skirting between vehicles. I wished them the very best. I also sent up a silent prayer to the Saber that Trip would not get them killed. Really, with those two, it could go either way.

  Part of me wanted to follow them so badly that I had to sit down to stop my knees from shaking. I had never been on my own before. Not completely alone. Not like this. I’d lost Connor’s scent from the horse stuffy, the plunge into the sewer waters denying me even that. But if I concentrated, I could see his broad smile, feel his pudgy fingers, hear the sound of his heartbeat as he slept beside me.

  In front of me was a long road of tracks, but at least I would be able to see aggressors from far away. I set out, walking between the tracks. Trip said that if that really was the last train, I would be safe, but if I felt any vibration along the metal I was to get off the tracks like a coyote was chasing me. The midday sun had risen over my left shoulder, so I knew I was traveling south, hopefully to find Connor and the rest of the humans who had escaped the zombies.

  I spent my first night alone in pouring rain, shivering under a bridge. Rain is horrible, and much worse than the warm baths Wally’s pets sometimes subjected us to. I don’t think I slept more than a half hour for worry I would wake to the growling sounds of a zombie pack. I argued with myself all night about giving up and going home or continuing on this mission to find Connor. Somehow, the mission won out. But only by a little, and probably because I dreamed of Connor’s smiling face.

  The second day I witnessed a Shih-Tzu being chased by some slow-moving zombies. I tipped over a metal garbage can to distract the pack of zombies, and then ungracefully scrambled up on top of a car, dropping low so no one (alive or dead) could see me. I was too scared to move for an hour, but I was glad to see the dog escape.

  But it was on the fifth day of my lonely trek that my life changed forever.

  “NOW, WHAT DO WE have here?”

  A silken voice woke me from a nightmare of teeth and water.

  “No more riddles,” I mumbled as I staggered to my feet. I had finally allowed myself to fall asleep in an abandoned car beside the tracks. The back window had been rolled down far enough for me to squeeze through, and I had gorged myself on the cold fries in the backseat before passing out. Other than garbage, what did animals outside the house eat on a daily basis?

  I turned around in a circle on the backseat, not seeing the source of the voice, and suddenly terrified it was that evil white opossum again, haunting my every step.

  “Up here,” called the voice, and my eyes swung up to the sun roof, where the most beautiful creature I had ever seen sa
t licking her paws. She was an Abyssinian, a breed I had read about in One Hundred and One Dalmatians. I knew her coat was ticked with shades of gold and that her eyes were like burnished copper. I tried to speak, and found I had to swallow to make my voice engage.

  “I … How … Hello,” I finally managed, wondering if the sun followed her around to make sure she glowed everywhere she went.

  “Hello,” she replied with a toothy grin. “You on your own, little lady?”

  The question flipped my paranoid switch and I jumped onto the back window well to take a better look around us. “I might be, I might not. How about you … little lady?”

  If possible, her grin got even wider at my throwing the term back at her. She was not little, she was long and lithe in a way my breed would never be.

  “I tend to rub other mammals the wrong way,” she replied, not really answering the question. “You done with those fries?”

  I looked down at the leftovers and decided they were fair game. “All yours.”

  She slid down the side of the car and through the same open window I had used. I gave her space, staying on higher ground just in case, like Wally had always told me, but she moved without fear, eating the fries slowly, obviously not as ravenous as I had been the night before.

  “There’s more than enough to share,” she said, looking up at me with those liquid eyes.

  I considered denying my hunger, but my stomach growled loudly in direct opposition. She laughed, a deep sound that was both unsettling and enticing at the same time. I was becoming as stupid as a mouse in her presence. Defiantly, I jumped down to her side and took a bite of cold fries.

  “My name is Hannah,” she said, pausing between bites.

  “Pickles,” I answered.

  “The salty lumps sealed in jars of vinegar?” she asked with another deep laugh. I stuck my head back into the fries so she wouldn’t see my embarrassment.

  “Your pet must have been in an ironic mood to name such a beautiful cat after such an odd thing.”

  I would have smiled at the compliment if not for the reminder of my pet, and how this graceful distraction had made me forget him for a moment.

  “I should probably go,” I said, cleaning the salt from my whiskers.

  I jumped up to the armrest, looking over my shoulder, sure I would never see such a glorious feline ever again. “Good luck, Hannah.”

  “Wait, where are you going?” she called.

  “I’m on a mission to find my pet,” I explained, and pushed myself through the window. I landed on the ground and started walking towards the tracks to resume my journey. I had only gone about ten yards when she caught up to me.

  “Surely all missions were canceled when the zombies appeared? The circle of life is in flux. We must adapt,” she said, falling into step beside me.

  “My pet is only two in human years,” I said, “and I’ve received no word of his safety or the end of the mission.”

  She absorbed that, and then said, “How can you even be sure he’s alive if he is a youngling?”

  I explained finding Connor’s stuffed horse at the hospital as we reached the tracks. I made sure the sun was in the east, and that I was still headed south, and kept walking. Train cars littered our path for several miles, some on the tracks, some tipped on their sides. I checked each one for humans, but they all seemed to be empty.

  When she made no move to withdraw or turn away, I had to ask, “Where are your pets?”

  “I told you,” she answered, shaking her head. “I don’t get along with other mammals.”

  “You were never assigned a pet?” I asked, finding that hard to believe. Surely a cat that looked like her would be coveted among humans. They were notoriously shallow and picked their cats based on looks rather than skills. Though I supposed that when I was a kitten my best skill was my focused concentration on a moving piece of yarn. Really not much of a resume.

  She didn’t answer, stopping suddenly, her large pointed ears cocking to the side. I mimicked her and heard the light footsteps of other cats.

  “Hide,” she hissed and then she was gone, a flash of gold under the nearest train car. I had dropped low to follow her when two short-haired cats leapt into my path.

  “We found you just in time. Didn’t we, Liona?” said one to the other.

  “Oh, indubitably, Jaguar, we did.”

  I stopped in my tracks, my heart hammering, trying not to look like I was looking for an escape route, but really, really looking for an escape route. “Your names are Jaguar and Liona?” I asked.

  “Our slave names were moronic, so we adopted new ones when our pets turned,” said Jaguar, sliding up close to me. “And what’s your moniker my fine feline friend?”

  I decided on the truth. “Pickles. Though I still have a pet, so I think I’ll keep it.”

  Liona wrinkled her nose at the name. “Bast, we have to give this poor girl a new name.”

  A huge white cat waddled into our midst. “Agreed; we can’t travel with a condiment.”

  All three cats laughed uproariously at that joke, and I tried to demonstrate my lack of concern by licking at my whiskers. Really, I had no idea how to get out of this situation, and Hannah seemed freaked out, so I was officially on high alert. Then again, I’d faced zombies, eagles, and an army of rats led by a mad opossum. I was having a bit of a weird week.

  Bast squinted her eyes at me. “Oh, this is a cool customer here.”

  “Look, I don’t want any trouble,” I admitted, amazed my fake relaxation technique was working and wondering if Hannah was still in earshot. “I really need to get going. And it’s not safe to just be talking out here in the middle of nowhere.”

  “Ain’t that the truth,” Liona said, “which is why we’re traveling as a pack.”

  I nodded: that made sense. “Where are you headed?”

  “The highlands, where humans are rare and fowl and rodent are plentiful,” Bast said, nodding her head westwards. I guess that answered my question as to what cats ate when they were outside the house. Gross.

  “Bast had a vision, she did,” Liona explained reverently, “the first night the dead humans rose. She was touched by the Saber.”

  I suspected that all three of these cats were touched by something. And it rhymed with crazy.

  “You can come with us,” Jaguar said. “Every claw is a help.”

  “Well, almost every claw,” Bast interjected, throwing a meaningful glance at her followers.

  “Thanks for the offer, but the thing is, I’m following the trail of my pet. He’s a youngling and he needs my help.” I rose, starting to walk away, and hoping for the best. The “best” being that they walk in the opposite direction.

  The cats looked at each other. “A noble quest,” said Bast, licking her lips nervously, “but I must insist.”

  I felt my heart rate accelerate again, and a bit of that anger rose in my throat. “Insist all you want, but unless you have proof that Connor is in these highlands you speak of, I’m heading south.”

  “If you’re not with us,” Bast said, arching her back, “you’re against us.”

  I hissed in response, all my anger at zombies and missing pets exploding to the surface. “This is ridiculous! You can’t force every cat you come across to follow you!”

  “You will respect Bast’s vision!” screeched Liona, and she vaulted at me. I leapt straight up, swiping with my left paw in mid-air and landing on the other side of the tracks. I think I was more surprised than she was when I actually connected with her leg. She yowled in pain, but I took too long staring at my success because by the time I turned to run, Jaguar threw himself at me. I was sure I was a goner, but a blur of gold came flying at him from under a train car. I used his confusion to scoop dust into the black cat’s eyes with my paw before rolling underneath him and swiping at his tender belly. He collapsed into a d
efensive ball at my paws.

  Bast was no fighter, she fled screaming, calling for Liona and Jaguar to save her.

  I huffed, hissing and twice my usual size as the other two cats dragged themselves after their pathetic prophet. Only when they were small dots on the landscape did I lower my arch.

  “You’re hurt!” exclaimed Hannah from somewhere out of my sight.

  That’s when the pain overtook my adrenaline rush and I fell to my side, unconscious.

  “STAY STILL!” HANNAH SAID, her face blurry in front of my eyes.

  I groaned, the pain flooding over me anew, I would have thrown up if I could muster the energy. I hated throwing up.

  “Stop moving!”

  “I can’t help it,” I mumbled. “What happened?”

  “That alley cat, Liona, tried to gut you, that’s what,” Hannah spat out, pressing something cold against my belly. I managed to stifle a cry, taking short breaths until I felt like I might not die of pain.

  “Where are we?” I asked finally.

  “Inside one of the train cars,” Hannah replied, sitting back on her haunches.

  My eyes were starting to unblur, and I could see huge shapes moving in the darkness.

  “Hannah,” I cried out, alarmed.

  She glanced over her shoulder. “Horses. They’re harmless.”

  “Harmless?” I repeated doubtfully, running my eyes over the animals, their eyes were those of prey, but their sheer size made it hard to see them that way. Also, you may not know this, but large prey animals produce very large piles of litter. Like, cat-sized piles. Wally-sized-cat piles. We were surrounded by these piles.

  “I figured Bast would be too scared to come after us in here,” Hannah answered, as I tried very hard not to inhale, “and the horses haven’t eaten their way through their food supply yet, so they seem docile … for now.”