I smiled wryly as I recalled Rivers’ prediction that eventually I would be glad to eat rat and realized that day had come. If I could catch that rat, I would happily roast it for my dinner. I moved my hand very, very slowly across the ground where I sat until my fingers encountered a palm-sized rock. I carefully closed my hand around the stone, my muscles tensed in anticipation as I watched the rat’s every move. Finally, it moved into plain sight as it scurried across the bare ground only a few feet away from me. In one smooth move I lifted the stone and hurled it at the rat.
I was astonished when I actually hit the little animal and knocked it to the ground. I leapt to my feet and raced over to grab the rat before it recovered from the stun. My time living rough had forced away any squeamishness I’d had initially, and I very efficiently broke the rat’s neck then skinned and gutted it in preparation for cooking. I wrapped it in leaves as best I could. Though most of the leaves were too dry and brittle to be of use, I managed to scrounge enough bits of greenery to package the meat. Elated by my success, I headed back to the clinic to share the bounty with Roomie.
Roomie was still sleeping in the backpack when I returned. I’d made a quick detour to the stream on my way back to the clinic, so I had a fresh bowl of water for the cat. I sat the water on the exam table next to the backpack and took the food with me into the room directly across the hallway. This exam room had three walls. The fourth wall and the ceiling were just tumbled piles of drywall and concrete. Happily, there were also splintered remains of the wood braces that had originally formed the walls. These would make excellent kindling and fuel for the little cooking fire I needed, and the open wall and ceiling meant the smoke could easily escape.
I gathered the smallest bits of wood and carefully stacked them in an open spot on the floor then pulled out my handy folding knife with its firestarting attachment. I used the firestarter to generate sparks until the kindling began to smolder. I carefully blew on the tiny flickers of flame until they caught hold and began burning merrily. The heat from this minuscule fire was already warming me nicely; it felt even better as I added larger pieces of wood to create my cooking fire.
I warmed my cold hands for a few minutes before returning to the pile of debris to find materials to make a spit for cooking the rat. I was able to find a couple of pieces of concrete that I set on either side of my fire. I found a section of metal tubing to use as my spit. After threading the meat onto the tubing, I set the ends of the metal on the concrete blocks so the rat was suspended just above the flames. It didn’t take long at all before the delicious smell of the cooking meat overcame any reservations I was still holding over eating rat meat. As soon as the meat was done, I pulled it from the spit and devoured it along with the withered dandelion greens and berries I’d found this morning. I actually had to force myself to stop when I’d finished about half of the rat. Hunger really did make anything more palatable.
I pulled off enough shreds of meat to make a decent meal for Roomie and re-wrapped the rest of the meat in the leaves I’d used before. Earlier on in my time here I’d have been more picky about finding clean leaves, but now I just shrugged and accepted the fact that I didn’t have any clean leaves so these would have to do. Mostly I was just happy that the rat had been big enough that I could make two meals of it.
As much as I was loving the warmth of the fire, I didn’t dare leave it burning any longer. The light would be a beacon to anyone who happened to look in this direction, and I didn’t want anyone to come investigating and find me here. Regretfully, I scattered the coals and stomped out the burning embers. I scraped dirt over the remains of the fire to be sure it was completely out before I went back across the hall.
I tucked the leftover meat into an outside pocket of the backpack and securely fastened the flap before I laid Roomie’s shredded meat on the exam table next to the water bowl. The cat poked his head out of the backpack, nose and whiskers twitching madly at the scent of roasted meat. The aroma was tempting enough that Roomie eased his way out of the bag and pounced on the food. He ate as quickly and hungrily as I had and then lapped up about half the water. When he had finished, he settled himself on the table for a long, leisurely wash. He moved a little stiffly, but I was happy to see him feeling well enough to attend to his grooming.
When he had finished washing, I assumed he probably needed to relieve himself. I moved carefully to avoid startling the cat and slid my hands under his haunches to pick him up. A low, growling rumble informed me that he wasn’t entirely happy with this handling, but he didn’t bite or claw me. I carried him outside and set him down on a grassy patch. I left him there for a few minutes as I took care of my own need to pee. When we were both done, I cautiously picked him up again. He didn’t protest this time and calmly let me carry him inside and set him on the exam table. He immediately climbed back inside the backpack and curled up to go back to sleep.
A few minutes later, I had wrapped myself in both of the cloaks and climbed onto the table. I curled myself around the backpack again and did my best to sleep in spite of the cold.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
I woke stiff and cold again in the morning. The snow flurries had ended, though the morning light was still gray and muted by the continuing cloud cover. I gave up on trying to sleep and slid off the uncomfortable exam table.
Deciding the best remedy was to get moving, I left Roomie sleeping in the tiny exam room and found my way to the old parking lot for the clinic. It was strewn with debris, as most places in the city were, but there was a patch along the west side that was mostly empty. I picked up a few rocks, bits of trash, and chunks of concrete and tossed them aside to clear out the space. I needed some room to complete the exercises that would help reduce some of the achy stiffness and practice my fighting skills.
I began with a slow series of yoga poses. As my sore muscles stretched and loosened, I moved to more complicated poses in preparation for the next phase of my workout routine, martial arts exercises called katas. The katas were detailed patterns of choreographed movements used to practice combat skills. I’d learned them from my father and we had run through them together every morning, usually a quick breakfast afterward before one or both of us was dragged away by scheduling assistants intent on lists of meetings and responsibilities for the day. The morning katas were sometimes the only time we got to spend together.
I had to fight back tears at the memories of my father; though it had been months since his death, sometimes the memories still threatened to overwhelm me. Unwilling to deal with my feelings right now, I shoved the memories away and channeled my sadness into fierce attention to my form.
Finishing my yoga poses with a final standing side stretch, I used the momentum of releasing the pose to turn ninety degrees into cat stance – meaning I shifted my weight to my back leg which was bent at the knee while the toes of my front foot touched the ground a few inches in front of my back foot. I held my front knee, shin, and foot in a straight line, allowing me to snap off a series of sharp front kicks at various heights. I blocked an invisible opponent’s punch with an upthrust right palm block followed by a left palm block, then shifted my weight and spun to the left to assume a cat stance in the opposite direction. Then came another set of forward kicks, followed by a reverse backfist to the nose of my imaginary enemy.
I stepped forward with my left foot and threw a double scissor block with my left arm holding an outside block while sweeping a low block with my right hand at same time. Moments later, I reversed the scissor block using opposite arms. I turned again, bringing both arms in and then up in front of my face before jerking them widely apart as if breaking a grip on my neck or shoulders. Then I reached up and grabbed the head of my illusory opponent with both hands. I brought my hands down as I brought my knee up, miming a knee strike to my opponent's head.
I hopped forward, landing on my right foot with my left foot crossed behind and threw a palm-up double uppercut to my opponent's ribs. I turned left by ninety degrees and s
hot my left fist up and back over my right shoulder for a backfist to the enemy’s temple.
Next came a one-footed pivot to the right and a quick body leg drop, followed by a series of blocks, kicks, and punches at rapidly varying heights. I raised my right foot to touch the back of my thigh and raised the leg until my thigh was horizontal. That allowed me to kick straight back in a blow that would strike an opponent’s kneecap or shin with my heel.
I continued the kata: whirling, leaping, kicking and punching. I moved faster and faster as I neared the end of the drill, then more slowly again as I brought the exercise to a close. I finished the routine with a series of three backward hops and a bow, then remained bent at the waist with my hands on my knees for a moment as I caught my breath.
Straightening, I saw Roomie sitting at the edge of the square, watching me as he did most mornings. He seemed to find my daily exercise routine fascinating and rarely missed the chance to stare unblinkingly at me while I practiced. Sometimes I found his intently focused gaze a little unnerving. As I’d noticed even on the day we first met, there was more intelligence behind those eyes than I’d ever seen in a cat before. Given the existence of the bizarrely changed lizard-dogs called Shadows, I supposed it wouldn’t be too unlikely that other animals had been changed as well.
Perhaps Roomie was some sort of mutant cat with human-level intelligence but no way to communicate with people. Or perhaps I was letting my long, mostly-sleepless night get to me and reading far more into his actions than was sensible.
Right this moment though, I wasn’t analyzing his mood or actions. I was just thrilled to see him up and moving around. He was moving slowly and stiffly, but at least he had felt well enough to climb out of my backpack and go looking for company – or more likely, looking for food.
I walked over and crouched in front of him, tentatively reaching out to rub the top of his head. He stoically accepted my petting, not ducking away or growling at me as he had often done before.
“Cha, are we actually friends now, then?” I murmured, keeping my voice quiet and soothing so I wouldn’t startle the skittish cat. “I’m a pretty nice person, you know. You could do worse.”
I gave one last scratch beneath his chin before standing again. I needed to keep moving or my muscles would grow stiff. Roomie continued to watch me intently as I walked around the parking lot a few times to cool down. He followed me when I walked back to the exam room and hopped up onto the table when he saw me rummaging through the backpack. I opened the side pocket and pulled out a small chunk of meat for each of us to eat. I fastened the pocket securely again and told Roomie, “This has to last us for another meal, so don’t go helping yourself to the leftovers.” He stared back at me, then gave a long, slow blink. I chose to take this as understanding that he should leave the food alone.
We each ate our breakfast of cold rat, and then Roomie crawled back into the backpack. I reminded him again not to eat the rest of the food and, trusting in my belief that Roomie was smart enough to understand and listen to my instructions, left him curled up in the backpack while I took the bowl and my damp tank top from yesterday and headed for the stream for water. I drank my fill and drenched the tank again. I carried the bowl and the dripping cloth back to the clinic where I had a quick sponge-bath while Roomie drank his water.
Roomie seemed well on his way to recovery, and I didn’t want to spend any more nights in this frigid shelter; so I decided it was time to head out and look for Sharra. I tucked the wet tank into another of the outside pockets on the backpack before I gathered the rest of my belongings and either packed them into the backpack or tied them to the back of the bike. I coaxed Roomie back into the backpack and gently shrugged it onto my shoulders, then laboriously maneuvered the bike out of the little room, through the remaining bits of hallway, and across the parking lot.
I clicked back on to the mag-lev rail I’d come in on and headed for the downtown area where I hoped to track down Sharra. My route took me very close to the circle on Kalamath where Rivers, Mateo, and I liked to meet up. I impulsively turned the bike that way, just hoping that Rivers might be there looking for me. I hated to leave things between us with a fight; no matter how much I disagreed with him, he had been a good friend. I wanted a chance to make up and say goodbye.
The path to Kalamath was slow going. Several times I had to get off the bike to clear the road enough to let me through. Even where there was a path through the tumbled debris it was narrow and harder to navigate on the bike that on foot. I slowly worked my way through the streets until I emerged into the mostly empty area that was the former traffic circle on Kalamath Street. And sitting on the blocks of tumbled concrete where we usually ate our lunch, Rivers was waiting for me.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
I followed the rail around the edge of the traffic circle until I reached Rivers. He got to his feet as I got close, and I realized that with the helmet hiding my face, he didn’t know it was me. I stopped the bike and removed the helmet as I slid off the seat. I left the helmet hanging from the handlebars and walked over to Rivers.
He had visibly relaxed once he recognized me, and now he walked up to me and inspected the bike.
“I’d almost forgotten you had this,” he commented. “I haven’t seen you ride it since the night we met.”
“Mostly I just walk. The roads are pretty hard to drive around here.”
He nodded. I nodded. We both just stood there in awkward silence, staring at the bike and refusing to meet each other’s eyes. I cleared my throat a little just as Rivers gave a throat-clearing cough of his own. I laughed a little.
“Cha, this is ridiculous. I’m sorry, okay? I don’t want to fight with you.”
The relief on his face was clear. “I don’t want to fight with you either,” he assured me. “I just got carried away. I’m really not some kind of a hardcore rebel, ready to burn down the city and everyone in it. I came over to the circle first thing this morning, hoping you would come looking for me so I could apologize. I don’t want to lose you.”
“I’m not lost,” I told him with a smile. I took a step forward and wrapped my arms around his waist in a hug. His arms closed around my back and he hugged me back fiercely. I rested my cheek against his chest; the thumping of his heart beneath my ear was comforting. I realized that it had been months since I touched another person like this, since Mateo’s forced embraces certainly didn’t count.
I relaxed into his hold. His arms tightened, holding me close. He spoke, and I felt the rumble of his voice as much as I heard it.
“Poppy,” he said softly. I pulled back just enough to look up and meet his eyes. His face was so close to mine that I feel the soft puff of his breath against my face. His lips parted slightly, and he leaned down toward me. My heart was pounding; I was sure he could feel it thumping against his chest. His lips were moments away from brushing mine.
Roomie chose that moment to pop his head out of the backpack. Rivers was startled by the sudden appearance of this furry face, complete with sharp teeth bared in an annoyed growl, so close to his own. I could tell that he was surprised by the way he yelped and let go of me as he stumbled back a few steps.
“Cha!” he shouted. “What the hell?” His eyes were comically wide as he tried to make sense of what had just happened. I couldn’t help myself and started laughing.
“I’m sorry!” I managed between fits of giggles. “Really, I am. I forgot he was there. You … your face …” I could barely form a complete sentence. I was laughing so hard that my legs were weak. I sat down right there on the ground, still cackling. I only laughed harder when I saw the combination of shock and confusion on Rivers’ face.
As I finally managed to get my snickers under control, Rivers dropped down to sit on the cracked concrete beside me.
“So who’s your friend?” he asked with a smile.
“This is the roommate that I mentioned to you,” I explained. “Appropriately enough, I call him Roomie.” Rivers cautiously held out
a hand for Roomie to sniff. Still poking his head out of the backpack, Roomie gave Rivers a dismissive glance and settled in for a wash instead. Rejected by the cat, Rivers dropped his hand with a small smile. Since that hand landed on my knee with a warm squeeze, I saw no reason to complain.
“This is the roommate, huh? I had hoped it was someone a little larger and more intimidating. I pictured you having somebody around to watch your back.”
“Roomie does his best,” I told Rivers defensively. “Actually, that’s why he’s in my backpack. He was hurt trying to defend me, so now I’m trying to take care of him and be sure he’s okay.”
The hand on my knee tightened briefly. I could tell that Rivers was forcing his voice to stay casual as he asked, “What was he defending you from?”
“Mateo,” I told him bluntly. “I wasn’t as careful as I usually am when I went home the other night, and Mateo followed me back. Mateo thought I should give him a kiss; Roomie and I disagreed.”
I twisted one hand back over my shoulder and stroked Roomie’s broad head. He tolerated it but didn’t interrupt his grooming.
“Roomie jumped onto Mateo’s back, and Mat grabbed him and threw him through a big window. I thought he was dead for a minute, but he pulled through. He seems to be doing a lot better today.”
“How’s Mateo?” Rivers asked grimly. “Did you throw him through a window of his own?” He hesitated a moment before asking, “Did he…? Are you…?”
“I’m fine,” I assured him. “Roomie interrupted before things went very far. Mateo was not entirely conscious when Roomie and I left him, but I imagine he survived and slinked home to pretend he didn’t lose a fight to a girl and her cat.”
Rivers blew out a relieved breath. “Good. Good.” His hands were fisted on his thighs and his jaw was so tightly clenched that I could see a muscle twitching in his cheek. “When I see him…”
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