He snapped out of it when the whistling of the rocket became a scream. With a mere blink, Culdesac stood on the rooftop again. The missile streaked overhead in a great roar that knocked him over. The jet trail hung over the police station. As he tried to follow the missile’s path, he saw the exhaust port glowing yellow before burning out. Seconds later, the drone passed overhead, so low he thought he could touch one of its fins. A great wind followed it as the machine pitched hard to the left. With its rear propeller switched off, the drone sank and sank until it disappeared into the valley. In the scant moonlight, Culdesac saw several trees snap at their base as the machine collided with them. Wood cracked and splintered before going silent. The forest swallowed the bird of prey.
Culdesac knelt there, propping himself on the jamming device as he gathered his thoughts. The tiny green light flickered and then faded out.
Chapter Six
The Shell Gives Way
The acrid smell of smoke lingered over the town, resisting the pull of the wind. It was better than the smell of death, but both odors had a habit of sticking to the fur, between the toes, warning of things to come.
Amidst the shouting outside the police station, Culdesac returned the ray gun to its crate and closed the lid. With the battery dead, the device was useless. Culdesac assured himself that a second drone strike was unlikely. Then again, so was the first.
In the lobby, the wounded lined up for treatment from Tiberius. He told the civilians that those willing to endure a stitching without a painkiller would move to the front of the line. Taking him up on the offer, a badger nonetheless cursed Tiberius’s mother each time the cat fastened a stitch on his leg. “Go ahead,” Tiberius told him. “Never met her.”
Outside, Mort(e) gave Culdesac a quick summary. One casualty: Seljuk. The fire burned too hot to retrieve the body, a fact that angered Culdesac even more than the cat’s death. Nearly a year earlier, he broke Seljuk’s nose while training him for hand-to-hand combat. The cat bounced right up, snorted the blood and snot out of his nostrils, and kept fighting. The other soldiers cheered for their wounded comrade. None of that toughness did him any good against a human death machine launched from afar by cowards.
“That’s not all,” Mort(e) said. “We’re missing one civilian.”
It was Maynard, the obnoxious Chihuahua. Culdesac asked if the dog was inside the Royal Inn, but Mort(e) said no. He slipped away in the confusion.
“Maybe his sister knows why,” Culdesac said.
“She has already been detained.” They kept her in the kitchen of the Mexican restaurant on Booth Street, away from the others.
Culdesac ordered Mort(e) to take two soldiers, find the drone, and rip out its computer brain before the humans salvaged it. Maybe they could use the computer to find a more reliable way to disable the drones. Though the missile might prove useful as well, it flew too far away for them to find before daybreak. Let the humans take the risk of trying to retrieve it. With any luck, they would blow themselves up in the process.
After Mort(e) left, Culdesac went to the restaurant. The glass door was open, and a few candles flickered inside. In the main dining area, several of the tables and chairs had tumbled to the floor. The cash register rested on its side, its drawer hanging out like a tongue. Behind it, Rookie, one of his foot soldiers, stood in the doorway to the kitchen. Rookie had mostly white fur, with a patch of brown and black running from his forehead to his tail. A claw mark on his shoulder left a hairless strip of flesh, a sure sign that he was a stray before the Change. He chose his name because, in his words, he liked it when people underestimated him, treated him like he didn’t know what he was doing. He knew all right.
“She’s in here, sir,” Rookie said. Culdesac stepped into the kitchen, where Nox sat on a milk crate beside the walk-in refrigerator. She wore a black leather vest, fashioned from a jacket with the sleeves cut off. Nox seemed neither surprised nor relieved to see him.
“Wait outside,” Culdesac said.
After Rookie closed the door, Culdesac waited in silence for Nox to speak. But she would not budge. She licked her lips once, and her ears twitched at the sounds coming from the street.
“I’m sorry about the Royal Inn,” he said at last.
“I’m sorry about your soldier. I asked him if he needed company for the evening, but he said he was on duty. Thought you should know.”
“I appreciate that.”
Another awkward pause. She must have known why he was there.
“Are you going to bribe me, or threaten me?” she asked.
“I’m happy to start with bribery.”
“I told the others, Captain. I don’t know where my brother went. I’m sorry.”
Culdesac paced the floor. He absently wandered to an oven with a glass window, where skinned chickens had once roasted on metal spits.
“Do you remember when I said that I speak to the Queen?” he asked, gripping the plastic handle of the spit.
“Yes.”
“Do you know what that means?”
“I’ve heard of it. You use a device to communicate with the ants.”
“That’s right. And that means that I know some things that most people don’t.”
Her eyes widened and her whiskers slanted downward.
“I know that there is a human offensive on its way here. General Fitzpatrick is on the move again. I also know that there is an elite unit of Alpha soldiers lurking in the forest. If your brother is out there, he’s going to get caught in the middle. The Alphas will make no distinction between human and animal. Every living thing in their path will be destroyed. Even if your brother is captured by the humans, the ants will wipe them all out. Just to be sure.”
Nox looked at the floor.
“Have you ever seen Alphas on the hunt before?” Culdesac asked. “They surround their prey. They don’t make a sound. They don’t waste any time. They don’t fight over scraps. And they leave nothing behind, not even a drop of blood. It’s beautiful.”
Nox swallowed. Nervously, she licked her paw and ran it over her face like a pet. “He’s at his master’s old place,” she said.
“Why?”
“He thought he’d be safe there. When you showed up, he wanted to hide in his old dog house because he knew there’d be trouble.”
“Where is this place?”
“I’ll show you.”
“Tell me.”
“I’ll show you.”
Culdesac sighed. “He’s going to die out there. You’re not in a position to negotiate.”
“I don’t want you sending your meathead soldiers. They’ll shoot him.”
“So will I if he doesn’t cooperate.”
“No. He respects you. He’ll listen.”
“He called me a choke-dick earlier today,” Culdesac said, realizing he sounded like a child tattling on someone.
Nox folded her hands, pleading like a human penitent. “Please, try to understand, he’s been through a lot. I know you’re strong. He isn’t. And he acts the way he does so he can fake it.”
Culdesac watched her, this former house pet that tempted him in what he thought would be the final moments in his life. The Queen did not prepare him for this. Maybe she didn’t know. No, that wasn’t right. The Queen saw everything. She wanted him to make a choice without her. She tested him.
“How far is it?” he asked.
“Not far.”
The noise in the town square receded into the distance as Culdesac and Nox made their way into the deserted part of Milton. There, the grass on the lawns grew waist-high, and the light barely penetrated the trees. With each block they passed, the houses grew smaller, more jammed together until they formed neat brick rows, nearly identical. These gave way to abandoned lots squared off by rusty chain link fences. Beyond that, the factory, its painted logo washed away by the wind and the sun.
At the edge of the forest lay the junkyard, where the abandoned vehicles of Milton rusted and melted into the earth. Stale rainwater formed puddles in the tire tracks. Under the sliver of moon, the cars and trucks resembled eerie mountain ranges, an alien landscape from some science fiction comic book. Culdesac did not belong here, out in the wilderness with some stranger. The Queen let him go off on his own. As soon as he let go of the tether that connected them, the predictable life he led since the Change blurred into this dream world.
Part of him liked it—the part of him that the Change was supposed to destroy.
“This is it,” Nox whispered.
She pointed to a wooden sign fastened to the gate.
Paulie’s Salvage, Storage & Rental
“No Questions Asked!”
“Have you been here before?” he asked.
“Only once. After we chased the humans away. I’ve never been inside.”
In the center of the lot, a garage stood among the rows of cars, like a castle surrounded by trenches and battlements. Culdesac and Nox looked at each other once more before entering. The gates clicked shut behind them. The two cats slinked along the car bumpers and open trunks. As they drew closer, Nox explained that when Paulie went into the nursing home, his son took over the family business. Culdesac shushed her when he noticed a light emanating from above the vehicles. He crouched behind an old taxicab and peered around the side. Near the front of the parking lot, an orange Volkswagen sat on a flatbed truck, its headlights switched on and pointing directly into the forest. Culdesac drew his gun.
The Volkswagen and the flatbed cabin appeared to be empty. Someone switched on the lights and then walked away. He supposed that he could smash them out, but they had already made enough noise.
The garage was constructed of cinder blocks coated with chipped powder-blue paint. The main doors were closed, but the side entrance opened with a simple turn of the knob. Culdesac glanced at Nox, who waved him on. He put his hand up to indicate that he wanted her to wait outside. No point in both of them getting trapped. Leading with the barrel of his gun, Culdesac stepped inside and swept the room. When his eyes readjusted to the darkness, he saw nothing out of the ordinary. A metal desk stood in the corner, covered in invoices and other paperwork. On a nearby table, the mechanics left behind wrenches, hammers, drills. A Milton Police paddy wagon was parked near the main doors.
Culdesac slid along the wall to see what lurked behind the truck. There, in the corner, Maynard the pain-in-the-ass Chihuahua sat in a round dog bed, with his wheelchair beside him. On the seat of the chair, an ashtray held a freshly stubbed cigarette. Next to that: a bottle of bourbon, nearly empty.
Though made for a pet, the bed barely contained Maynard’s girth. While his paralyzed legs hung over the sides, Maynard’s decidedly useful hands held a revolver, shakily pointed at Culdesac. Clearly nervous, the dog panted, his bulging eyes glistening in the scant light.
“If that was loaded, you would have shot me by now,” Culdesac said.
Maynard set the gun on the ground and belched. “Maybe you should shoot me.”
“I’ve considered it.”
“Might as well,” Maynard slurred. “You take us away from our home, leave us for dead.”
Having heard the voices, Nox stepped inside the garage and raced to her brother, nearly knocking Culdesac over. She wrapped her arms around the dog’s skinny neck, but then recoiled at the smell of liquor.
“I told you not to come here,” she said. When his head rolled a bit on his shoulders, she shook him awake again. “Do you hear me? What’s wrong with you?”
“Needed to see it again.”
“We talked about this. You told me—”
“I found Greta,” Maynard said. “She’s still here.”
Maynard nodded toward the manager’s office. Nox let go of him and walked over to the door.
“Who’s Greta?” Culdesac asked.
“Paulie’s son Frank had a . . . cock-a,” Maynard said, hiccupping.
“A what?”
Behind him, Nox turned the doorknob and creaked open the door.
“A fucking . . . cock-a,” Maynard stammered. “A bird. A cock-a-something.”
“Cockatoo?”
“Yeah. I used to bark at her all day. I wanted to know why she wouldn’t come out of her cage and play with me.”
Nox screamed.
“I think she was laughing at me,” Maynard said, ignoring the interruption.
Culdesac followed the noise. A putrid smell leaked from the room. Inside, bird feathers covered the floor, the computer monitor, the desk, the shelves, the filing cabinets. A few even drifted onto the motionless blades of the ceiling fan.
In the corner, a birdcage lay on the floor, tipped over, its metal bars twisted and bent. Inside, the remains of Greta hardened and calcified. Frank abandoned the garage without her. As a final punishment for her terrible luck in life, Greta grew in size while still in her prison. She was not stuck inside the cage so much as wrapped in it, the bars cutting into her flesh. Judging from her broken wings, she tried to smash her way out, probably after going insane shouting for help. In a rage, she ripped out most of her feathers, leaving the scaly, pink skin exposed. Dried blood stained her chipped beak. Her left claw had been gnawed to a stump, the half-chewed bones and nails nearly indistinguishable from the feces scattered about. Culdesac noticed the newspaper lining the floor of the cage. The top story mentioned the wall of fire that the humans used to hold off the ant infestation in Central America, meaning that the paper came out mere days before the first confirmed Alpha attack.
Nox tried to squelch her sobbing, but it did no good. Culdesac placed his hand on the back of her neck and felt the choking sound in her throat. She turned and rested her furry face on his shoulder.
“Maynard blames himself,” she said. “We should have checked on her. Made sure she got out.”
“It’s nobody’s fault.”
“Isn’t it?” she asked, stepping away from him. “How many people died like this? How many people did the Queen leave behind?”
“The humans put her in a cage. Not the Queen.”
“The humans at least fed her!”
Culdesac could not think of anything to say. Nox had a point: How many people perished in their cages, finally cognizant of their slavish existence and yet powerless to do a thing about it? This bird never gave herself a proper name, never saw others like her rise up and fight. The Queen saw everything, including this, and she decided to move forward anyway.
“When I came up with the idea for the coffee shop,” Nox said, “I thought I was doing my part to fix all of this.”
It was a stupid thing to say. A coffee shop, making things better. But Culdesac knew enough about people to keep this thought to himself. He could not hide his feelings from Hymenoptera Unus, who hovered over him day and night, despite the distance between them. But he could conceal things from this cat who stood right in front of him, who spoke to him face to face.
“You joined the army to help people, right?” she asked.
“Yes.” He lied, but it felt true because it was what she needed to hear.
“I mean, that’s what we’re supposed to do now,” she said. “We have to reach out to everyone. Save as many as we can.”
Outside, someone opened the gate to the junkyard. The grinding metal echoed among the dead cars. Nox heard it, too. They hurried into the garage, where Maynard nervously peered out the window from his wheelchair.
The side door was cracked open. Culdesac crept to it and peeked outside.
Six humans entered the property, heading down the main driveway, about one hundred fifty meters away. Each wore night-vision goggles and camouflage gear—as if that made a difference with felines. Culdesac spotted grenades dangling from their front pockets. These were no farmers. Most likely, they operated the drone
from earlier that evening.
Instinctively, Culdesac patted his sidearm.
“How many bullets do you have?” Nox whispered.
“Doesn’t matter. These noisemakers will get you killed in a situation like this.”
“We should surrender,” Maynard said, more alert now. “There are six of them.”
“Better than seven.”
“Should we wait here?” Nox asked.
“We’ll be surrounded. Then six turns into twelve.”
“So what then?” Maynard said.
“We go hunting.”
Oh, Culdesac missed the hunt.
“I can’t hunt,” Maynard said.
“You’re bait,” Culdesac said. “That’s all I need from you.”
“Am I bait?” Nox asked.
Culdesac smiled. “You’re a decoy.”
“What’s the difference?”
“A decoy is actually useful.”
Nox giggled, then seemed embarrassed for doing so.
“Fuck you, bobcat,” Maynard said.
“Fuck you. It’s your fault we’re in this mess.”
“I didn’t ask you to come looking for me.”
“Stay there and keep quiet,” Culdesac said. “And if I hear you talk about surrender one more time, I’ll twist your head off your shoulders. Boil the flesh, wear the skull like a necklace.”
The dog turned to his sister for support, but she gave him a look that Culdesac recognized. It said shut up.
Outside, the humans drew closer. Culdesac could not smell them yet, but the clumsy noise of their boots and their breath gave them away, as always, as if they wanted him to find them and kill them.
If time allowed, Culdesac would have tried to explain to Nox and Maynard the art of war. After all, even the dimmest among the animals—the livestock and beasts of burden—could figure it out, so long as they stopped being afraid, and accepted that all living things, animal and human, were subject to the laws of physics, natural selection, and their own narrow view of the world.
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