Catalyst

by Sarah Beth Durst

  The toddler clapped his hands as the gray cat brushed against his legs. He reached out a pudgy hand and ran it over the cat’s back. The cat flicked its tail and sauntered off.

  “He doesn’t even know how lucky he is,” Pipsqueak said.

  “You’re not terrifying,” Zoe said. Yes, Pipsqueak was as large as a horse, but they were going to fix that.

  “The mouse was terrified of me. You said so. I just want to be your cat, Zoe. I want a home and my own patch of sunlight. But I’ve grown scarily huge.”

  “You aren’t scary,” Zoe said. “I mean, yes, you scared the mouse, but it would’ve been scared of any size cat. That doesn’t mean you’ve turned into a terrifying monster. Please come back inside before—”

  The toddler saw them.

  “Giant kitty!” the toddler screeched, making grabby hands.

  “Run!” Zoe said. And she bolted through the bushes toward the gym doors while Harrison frantically beckoned them. Bounding, Pipsqueak followed after as the mother looked over from her phone. The toddler shrieked in glee.

  They dove through the gym doors. Hiding in the shadows with Harrison, they waited to hear the mother chasing after them. Or more shouts. But there was only the pitiful wailing of the child, calling for the giant kitty to come back.

  We made it, Zoe thought. She didn’t see us.

  Zoe peeked out and saw the mother had scooped the child up and was hurrying toward the parking lot, her phone pressed to her ear.

  Or maybe she did?

  “She definitely saw us!” Harrison said.

  “We have to get out of here,” Zoe said, climbing onto Pipsqueak’s back. Handing Zoe the shoebox, Harrison scrambled on behind her. She wondered if this was a mistake, taking the mouse with them, especially if they were about to be caught. But there wasn’t time to make another choice.

  “I’m sorry,” Pipsqueak said miserably. “I didn’t mean to be seen. I thought if I hid . . . But I’ve gotten too big to even hide well.”

  “All the more reason to go quickly!” Zoe said.

  In the distance, sirens wailed.

   Chapter 11

  THE SIRENS DREW CLOSER.

  “Go, go, go!” Zoe hissed to Pipsqueak.

  They darted out of the school and across the soccer field. On the opposite side of the field were woods. If they could reach them before the police got there and saw the giant cat . . . “Faster!” she urged.

  As the sirens wailed, Pipsqueak jumped over the fence that surrounded the school yard and plunged into the woods. She plowed between the trees, trampling the underbrush. Branches smacked into Zoe’s arms, and she ducked low, clutching the shoebox to her chest, protecting it as best she could.

  Behind them, the sirens stopped.

  Pipsqueak finally slowed.

  “Did we lose them?” Harrison asked.

  “I think they reached the school,” Zoe said. “They probably got out to talk to the woman who called them.” Her heart was pounding so hard it nearly hurt. “With luck, they won’t believe what she saw.”

  “She was afraid of me,” Pipsqueak said. “Because I’m scarily huge.”

  “Because she didn’t know how sweet and adorable you are under all the fuzz,” Zoe said. “And you were near her kid. She wants to protect him like I want to protect you. Even if he doesn’t really need protecting. He was excited when he saw you.”

  Pipsqueak’s ears perked forward. “You’re right. He wasn’t scared of me.”

  “I swear he cheered when you ran,” Harrison said. “It was pretty awesome how you were able to run us out of there so fast. You couldn’t have done that if you were your old size.”

  “That’s true too,” Pipsqueak said.

  The woods weren’t very deep. Already Zoe could see the outline of houses through the trees. Maybe it was shadowy enough in between the trees to hide them.

  Still no more sirens. We did it! We escaped!

  Zoe felt jittery, as if butterflies were dancing on her skin. She’d never felt so nervous and excited, tingling inside and out. “This is it! We’re going north, to Aunt Alecia’s!”

  “Actually . . .” Harrison pointed toward the dark pink and blue-gray clouds that framed the setting sun. “We’re going south.”

  “Hmm, oh, sorry.” Sounding embarrassed, Pipsqueak switched directions, knocking over bushes as she turned one hundred and eighty degrees. “There was a bird . . . Never mind. Now we’re going north.”

  And we’re off, Zoe thought.

  A few cars were on the street, and there weren’t as many places to hide as there had been between her house and the school. “Keep to the backyards,” Zoe suggested.

  It was inching closer to evening. More people were home, watching TV or starting to prepare dinner—Zoe could see them through their windows. She hoped no one looked out into their yard to see the shadow of a giant cat being ridden by two kids, or if they did, she hoped they convinced themselves that their eyes were playing tricks on them. Pipsqueak traveled quickly from yard to yard, stepping over fences and trampling flower gardens.

  A dog barked, then whimpered.

  “We’re going to be seen,” Harrison said. “We should have waited longer.”

  Zoe refrained from pointing out that they hadn’t had much choice.

  Pipsqueak slowed. They heard the buzz of a TV inside the nearest house, and laughter above the buzz. Zoe eyed the house’s roof, an idea forming. The day they’d introduced Surita to Pipsqueak, the cat had been on the roof, not visible, the slant hiding her from the street. “Can you get to the top of the house?”

  “Sure,” Pipsqueak said as Harrison cried, “What are you—”

  Pipsqueak crouched, then launched herself onto the roof, landing lightly.

  In a shrill voice Harrison asked, “Why did we do that?”

  Zoe looked at the roof of the next house. According to the Guinness World Records, a cat named Alley had the longest jump: six feet. But the average cat was just a foot or two long. Pipsqueak was about twelve feet long. So her jump should be . . . six times twelve . . . seventy-two feet. “How far can you jump?”

  “Oh no,” Harrison said. “Tell me you aren’t thinking what I think you’re thinking. Because if you are, it’s a terrible idea.”

  It was a great idea! How often did people look at their roofs? Rarely if ever. Plus it would be faster. If it works and we don’t splatter on anyone’s yard. She tucked the shoebox with the mouse into her backpack to keep it safe.

  Crouching, Pipsqueak wiggled her hind legs, as if revving up. Leaning forward against Pipsqueak’s neck, Zoe held on to clumps of fur. Harrison hung on to Zoe.

  Pipsqueak launched herself.

  Zoe felt as if she were flying. Her bones felt light, though her stomach felt as if it had been left behind. She laughed out loud.

  They landed softly and cleanly on the next roof.

  “That was amazing!” Zoe said.

  Harrison let out a small moan.

  “You can’t tell me that wasn’t amazing,” Zoe said to him.

  “Kind of ? I don’t—”

  Pipsqueak ran across the roof and leaped to the next one. Zoe loved the way it felt when they lifted off, as if they were aiming for the moon. She loved how it felt when they soared through the air, as if they’d never land. And she loved how it felt when they landed, her face flying forward into soft fur, flush with success.

  They leaped across the town until the houses were too far apart, the way they’d been near Zoe’s neighborhood, and then they reverted to running through backyards. But in the spots where the houses were far apart, the yards were also bigger and deeper. So it worked.

  I never knew I’d love this, Zoe thought.

  “This is fun!” Pipsqueak said.

  “Most fun ever,” Zoe agreed.

  “If I hadn’t grown huge, we couldn’t have done this,” Pipsqueak said. “I still want to be small again, though. I want to be able to go home.”

  “That’s why we’re going north
.”

  They ran on and on, sometimes leaping over roofs, sometimes through yards. Every now and then they’d have to cross a street. They did it fast, and Zoe hoped they looked like a blur to anyone who happened to see.

  Soon they were beyond Eastbury. Harrison consulted the map on his phone, calling out directions to Pipsqueak until the only instruction left to give her was “keep going.” They ran parallel to the roads, keeping far enough away to stay out of reach of the car headlights, but close enough to not get lost.

  Zoe checked on the mouse in the shoebox. It was cowering in a corner, its wings wrapped tightly around its body. She wondered if they’d made the right choice to bring the mouse. After all, it had been safe in its cage, even if it hadn’t looked happy. But it was too late now for second thoughts. And besides, as soon as anyone spotted a winged mouse, all the tourists and reporters and everyone would have descended upon it! They’d spared the mouse that, at least.

  An hour and a half after they fled the school, their phones binged with a text from Surita saying she’d made it to Vermont. They each sent texts to their parents, saying they’d arrived at camp and everything was great.

  And they kept riding.

  After a couple more hours, Zoe began to nod off. Harrison was already leaning against her back, snoring lightly in her ear. She elbowed him. “We can’t sleep. Not unless we want to fall off.”

  “Mmm. Right. Sorry.”

  She nestled her cheek into Pipsqueak’s fur and spread her arms around as much of the cat’s neck as she could reach. “Keep talking so we don’t fall asleep.”

  “Okay. Do you think Superman accidentally breaks toilets when he pees?”

  “We’re not talking about that.”

  Harrison laughed. “Fine. How do you think your aunt knows about giant cats?”

  “As far as I know, she’s always believed in impossible stuff.”

  “Do you think she’s met one? Or maybe she is one. She was born a cat, grew larger, crawled into a cocoon, and burst out as a human.”

  “That makes even less sense than your other ideas.”

  “Just trying to think outside the box. Or the cocoon. What if Pipsqueak isn’t really a cat but is actually a robot?”

  Pipsqueak let out an offended meow before saying, “I’m not a robot!”

  “You’re right,” Harrison said. “Robots don’t grow. But what if her growth were triggered by a robot? Nanotechnology!”

  “You just wanted to say nanotechnology.”

  “Yeah, I did,” Harrison admitted.

  She laughed. “Any other new ideas?”

  “Pipsqueak could have come from outer space. Or another dimension. Parallel dimension? Pocket dimension? Mirror dimension?”

  “Or the future,” Zoe suggested. “A far future where giant cats rule the world.”

  “I like that one,” Pipsqueak said.

  They kept batting ideas back and forth until at last Pipsqueak stopped.

  Checking her phone, Zoe saw it was near midnight. “Where are we?”

  “North?” Pipsqueak guessed.

  Harrison yawned behind her, got out his phone, and said, “Okay, let me just see where . . . Yeah, there’s a green patch. That means a national forest. We can camp there, off the road. Catch some sleep. Continue on tomorrow.” He gave directions.

  Soon they were deep among pine trees, with Pipsqueak squeezing between the trunks. Pine needles brushed against Zoe’s legs. She squinted into the darkness, trying to differentiate between the layers of shadows.

  Getting out her flashlight, she clicked it on and saw branches, trunks, and bushes. “Think we’re far enough from the road?”

  “Probably?” Harrison guessed. “I don’t hear cars.”

  Pipsqueak flopped down, sandwiched between several tree trunks, and Zoe and Harrison slid off her back. As Harrison retrieved his flashlight, Zoe shone hers on the trees around them and tried not to feel nervous about being alone in the woods at night. Harrison’s here, she reminded herself. He’s camped plenty of times before. And Pipsqueak—I’m not alone.

  She heard a skittering noise from the shoebox in her backpack.

  Definitely not alone.

  Sitting on the mossy ground, Zoe opened the top of the shoebox and aimed the flashlight inside. The mouse with the blue butterfly wings froze. It twitched its nose. “Hey, hi there,” Zoe said softly. “You’re okay. Want some dinner?”

  “What’s in the box?” Pipsqueak asked.

  The mouse let out a shrill Squeak!

  “Remember the mouse from the school?” Zoe said to Pipsqueak. “It grew wings, so . . . we brought it with us.” Cupping her free hand under the mouse, Zoe lifted it up. “Shh, don’t be scared. We’re all friends here. Right, Pipsqueak?”

  “Of course,” Pipsqueak said. “I’m friendly, not scary.” She curled her tail around herself, the picture of harmless innocence if she’d been several times smaller.

  The mouse whimpered. “Don’t eat me.”

  Harrison darted over to them with his flashlight. “It’s talking. Awesome!”

  Zoe was so surprised she almost dropped the mouse. Another talking animal? “No one is going to eat you. I promise. We’re friends.”

  It fluttered its wings. “You can understand me?” Rising up an inch and then plopping back down into Zoe’s hands, the mouse marveled, “I can fly?”

  “I’m Zoe, this is Harrison, and that’s Pipsqueak. What’s your name?”

  The mouse flapped its wings, rising up and then doing a loop in the air. Harrison tracked it with his flashlight. “Wow! I really can fly!” it squeaked. “I’m a flying mouse!”

  Zoe laughed as it landed on the mossy ground. “Yes, you are.”

  “Sorry, Pipsqueak,” Harrison said to the cat. “You were a super-cute kitten, but this is now literally the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”

  Pipsqueak peered over their shoulders down at the tiny winged mouse. “I can’t even be offended. It’s ridiculously cute.”

  Twisting around in a circle, the mouse admired its wings. “I am magnificent.”

  “Are you a boy mouse or a girl mouse?” Pipsqueak asked.

  “Boy mouse,” the mouse said.

  “Are you even still a mouse?” Harrison asked.

  The mouse seemed flummoxed by that question. “Um . . .”

  “Are you hungry?” Zoe asked him. Tucking her flashlight under her arm, she scooped out a handful of the mouse food and used the top of Harrison’s canteen to pour some water. She laid it next to the mouse on a patch of moss.

  “First wings, then dinner! This is the best day ever.” The mouse began to munch.

  “So, um, we’re a long way from your school.”

  “Good,” the mouse said around a mouthful of food. “It’s not nice there. Especially for a mouse. Even a flying mouse.” He fluttered his wings. “They’re so beautiful! I’m beautiful!”

  At least the mouse seemed to be taking this well. It made Zoe feel a little better about bringing him with them. “We’re going to my Aunt Alecia’s. She knows about extraordinary creatures like you and Pipsqueak. I know you didn’t choose to come with us, but you’re welcome to stay with us. She might be able to help you.”

  “Why do I need help? I’m free and have wings! And dinner!” The mouse stuck his face back into the food and continued gobbling.

  “She might be able to tell us why you can talk and why you have wings,” Harrison said.

  “I’d like to know that,” the mouse said, his cheeks stuffed.

  “We should be there tomorrow,” Zoe told the mouse. “Or the day after.” According to the GPS in their phones, they’d covered a lot of miles, but they still weren’t even in New Hampshire yet. “Probably the day after.”

  “Hope your aunt is okay with another guest,” Harrison said.

  After kneading a patch of dried pine needles with her claws, Pipsqueak curled up on top of a bush, flattening it. Wrapping her tail around herself, she closed her eyes.

  Fi
nishing his dinner, the mouse half fluttered, half hopped around the clearing. Harrison followed him with his flashlight beam for a while, but then trained the light on his backpack.

  “It’s not supposed to rain, so I didn’t bring the tent,” he said to Zoe. “Just find a spot without rocks or too many sticks, and lay out your sleeping bag.” He sounded more excited than nervous, which made Zoe feel better. “It’s not cold, so we won’t need a fire. We can curl up in Pipsqueak’s fur if the temperature drops.”

  Following Harrison’s lead, Zoe unrolled her sleeping bag. She opened her backpack, shone her flashlight in, and dug into the food she’d brought. Harrison unwrapped a square of aluminum foil from his pack. In it was a cold and limp grilled cheese sandwich. When he noticed Zoe looking at it, he said, “What? It’s my favorite.”

  She knew that. It was virtually the only thing he’d eat. “How many did you bring?” She directed her flashlight at his backpack.

  “A few,” he said defensively.

  She raised both her eyebrows.

  “A lot?”

  While the mouse flew in wobbly circles above them, Zoe and Harrison ate their dinner. Zoe ate her banana first—it was only a little brown from being jostled in her backpack—then a bag of Cheerios. She had a bagel she planned to eat for breakfast, or whatever meal they ate next. She wished there had been a way to bring cream cheese. Or pizza. Or a hamburger.

  Finishing his grilled cheese, Harrison crawled into his sleeping bag. In the dark somewhere above them, the mouse chirped, “Good night, my rescuers!”

  “Good night, flying mouse,” Pipsqueak said.

  “Good night,” Zoe and Harrison echoed.

  Zoe unzipped her sleeping bag. But she didn’t climb in. She aimed her flashlight at the trees. “Um, Harrison . . . So what do you do about bathrooms when you’re camping?”

  “Don’t pee in camp,” Harrison said properly. “And dig a hole if you have to go number two. I brought a trowel. It was my grandmother’s.”

  “You brought your grandma’s . . . what?”

  “Poop shovel. I brought her poop shovel.”

  “Ah.” Luckily, Zoe didn’t need that right now. “That’s nice? I’m sure your grandma would be proud that you brought, ah, a family heirloom.”