by Kelli Kimble
“But, I’m nothing like Tabby,” I said. “I’ve got more than them, not less.”
“Precisely. They’d want what you have, and they’d stop at nothing to get it from you.”
I still didn’t understand. I knew if there were others left, and they came after me, I’d spend the rest of my life running from them — and killing those unlucky enough to find me. I also knew if they did manage to confine me, I’d be stripped of my humanity. But Tabby had lost things. I’d found them. We were different. Weren’t we?
“So, that’s why I hate the city. I hate how they treated Tabby. I hate how they stifled her and twisted her and how, when she was no longer the ideal specimen, she simply didn’t matter. You experienced that firsthand, and it breaks my heart to think that’s the norm. It’s not your fault, and yet, you would’ve spent your life scratching and clawing out a joyless existence.”
She continued, “I know if I can find Tabby and Silver, I’ll find the people I belong with. The people who have true hearts, and compassion for others.”
“I hope we find them, then,” I said.
“Thanks.”
We snuggled together on the cot, with her sitting up, and me curled up across her lap, almost like a baby. She ran her fingers through my hair, gently pulling it free of snarls. “I bet you miss your mom,” she said after a while.
A tear trickled down my cheek and into my hairline, just above my ear.
“Yeah,” I said. It was all I could trust myself to say.
In the morning, we packed our things and, after scavenging as many of the spyro packets as we could carry, we left the mountain. Outside, the air smelled sharp — unlike the soft, mellow scent of mildew inside. I faced west. The sun was rising behind me, and my shadow was long over the grass.
“How long you think this is going to take?” Gayle asked.
“Weeks, I think. From the city to here, it was almost 200 miles. This is about three times that.”
“We’d better get started, then.” She took out the tablet with the map and oriented it so that it showed a close-up view of our current location. “That way,” she said, pointing west.
I nodded, and we moved away from the mountain.
◆◆◆
The days felt the same. One after another consisted of getting up, eating a rushed breakfast, packing our things, and moving on. We rarely stopped to eat or rest during the day. It was hard-going for me, and I knew Gayle ached every step of the way. But she didn’t complain.
Unlike the trip from the city to the mountain, our camps were quiet at night, and after a few nights of only insect sounds, Gayle was able to sleep peacefully. I was grateful for that — though I’d bet she was far more grateful than I was. She seemed almost to bloom with confidence and good spirits. I thought it may have reflected how she’d been before her sister had gotten sick.
On the eighth night, things changed.
I woke to the sound. Gayle was snoring, and I’d put my pack over my head to try and muffle that. But, this sound – it was different. It pierced through the bag, and I sat bolt-upright as soon as I heard it. I stretched out, feeling for the source. I could sense something alive nearby, only a few feet from the shelter. I propelled my mind from my body and looked, washing the ground outside with my mental light.
It was a cat. A big one. Bigger than the ones we’d encountered before.
It let out another piercing call, and the shock of it snapped me back into my body with a jolt. I took a deep breath and clamped down on my fear. That stupid cat couldn’t hurt me. I had only to wave my hand, and it would be dead. But I was angry it was there, confronting me.
I shed my sleeping bag, the way a snake might slough off its skin, and I unzipped the shelter door.
Behind me, Gayle smacked her lips and turned over, before resuming her snores.
I pushed outside.
The cat pounced at me and I deflected it, pushing it to the side in mid-air with my mind. It let out a surprised yelp, but it managed to right itself and land on all four feet.
It faced me, peeling back its lips to show me a mouthful of incredibly sharp teeth. Its eyes glowed yellow in the faint moonlight. It jumped again.
This time, I jumped aside, and then floated up, out of reach. Go away, I projected to it. We aren’t a threat to you, and we have nothing you want.
The cat’s lips curled up in a slight grin. You have plenty of what I want. What I want in my belly.
I pulsed a burst of air at it.
It blinked and pulled away, then began prowling back and forth in a semi-circle around me.
I don’t want to hurt you, I said. Just leave us alone.
Us? I didn’t realize it was going to be a double-sized snack. I would’ve brought a friend.
I mentally broke a branch down from a tree above the cat, and the branch crashed through the remaining canopy to fall over the cat’s back.
It made a horrible cracking sound as the branch broke in half, but the cat walked away, unscathed. You’re not going to scare me off with your little tricks. I’ve heard of you. I know what you can do, and I’m not afraid.
You should be. I pushed again at it, harder than the last time. I didn’t relent, pushing the cat continuously away from me. Its claws dug into the dirt and rocks; I could hear the scratching. But it couldn’t compete with the force I was exerting. I zeroed in on the cat’s face and imagined slapping it.
The big cat’s head snapped to the side. Now, you’re just making me angry, it said.
You don’t want to see what happens when I get angry, I said.
I pummeled it in the side with imaginary fists. It jumped, but it couldn’t get away. It slunk further into the shadows, and I stopped hitting it, but I could still see its yellow eyes reflecting at me. I know you’re still there.
Do you? Its voice took on a slippery quality, like someone making an unfair trade at the market.
Its eyes blinked out.
I reached out with my senses, looking for it. I gasped.
There were dozens of them. All around us. It’d only been distracting me, while the rest of the cats came forward.
I see you understand now, it said.
I see you still don’t want to make me angry. If you know of me, you know what I did east of here. Where the trees all lay flat for miles. I did that, and I did it when I was angry. Is that what you want?
A rumbling sound began to rise around me. Were they purring?
It’s too late, it said. We’ve already got what we wanted.
Gayle.
I turned my senses to the shelter. Gayle, wake up! Can you hear me?
She didn’t answer.
I flung back the shelter flap. Suddenly, I didn’t trust my ability. I had to see with my own eyes if Gayle was still in the shelter. A gaping hole was in the back of the shelter, and her bedroll was gone. Gayle! I shouted. Gayle!
I’m here. Her voice sounded weak inside my head.
I jumped through the hole and came face-to-face with a big cat. I didn’t hesitate. I pulsed it away from me so hard that it cracked against a tree trunk and fell limply to the ground. Where? Where are you? I frantically felt with my senses, looking for the familiar sensation of Gayle’s presence. She was there, but there were many around me besides her. I mentally began pulling them away, like the layers of an onion.
Cats were flung through the air; my control was shed by the desperation I felt. They hissed and spit. Some of them growled. But their number was thinning. I’d killed a few, but most feared the invisible force assailing them, and they ran off into the woods.
Something rustled on the ground in front of me. Gayle. She was cowering inside her shredded sleeping bag — which was not exactly an unreasonable response. I rushed to the blob of her bedroll and pulled it away. She was curled in a ball with her hands protecting her neck.
“It’s okay,” I said. “You can come out.”
“Are they gone?”
“Most of them.” I redoubled my effort to check for t
heir presence; I’d been distracted by finding her on the ground. Only a few remained, but they were a good 20 or 30 feet away.
“What did they want?”
“To eat us, I suppose.” I helped her up, and she stepped out of the bedroll. Her hair looked like she’d been electrocuted.
“I – people wanted to eat us? Why would they do that?”
“There weren’t any people,” I said. “They were cats. Big ones.”
She let out a terrified squeak. I felt one of the cats moving closer.
“I thought you were talking to a person,” she said.
“Time to get up high,” I said. “Grab on.”
She obediently put her arms over my shoulders, and I lifted off the ground, floating above the reach of the cat — at least, I hoped. You can’t beat me. I don’t want to kill you. Please, just go, I said to it. It was the same cat that had confronted me in front of the shelter.
You might as well come down. We’ll get you. Both of you.
Exhaustion started to creep in around the edges. The adrenaline jolt from the rude awakening was beginning to fade. It made me angry. We were only trying to get the most basic of necessities — sleep — and these stupid cats wouldn’t leave us alone. It was more than I could stand. My fists clenched, and I imagined stomping on the cat, stepping on it so hard that nothing but a bag of fur would be left when I lifted my foot.
It made a quick sound in protest, like I’d accidentally stepped on its tail. Then, it suddenly went still.
I felt around for the others. Without their leader, they were fading back into the trees, and then they were gone.
I sighed and dropped to the ground, pausing to let Gayle get her footing before I set my own feet on the dirt.
Gayle ducked away from me. “What’re we going to do?” she asked in a whisper.
“What can we do? There’s nothing to do but go forward. We’ll be out of their territory soon enough.”
“We should have been out of their territory days ago,” she said. “The ones you killed, that was miles back. These cats can’t be . . .” She twirled her hands around, searching for the correct term. She turned her face slightly, and I could see tears running down her cheeks. “. . . related. They have to be a totally separate group.”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. But they aren’t shy about approaching us. They knew what I did to those other cats, and they weren’t afraid.”
She kicked at her bedroll. “We can’t go back to sleep now. We have to start moving.”
I studied the cotton innards coming out of her damaged bedroll. It was likely the claws that damaged it had only missed Gayle by a small amount. “Are you all right? You’re not hurt?”
“I’m not hurt. Only scared out of my mind.”
“You’ve got good reason to be. Pack up. We’re moving on.” I turned back to the shelter and took it down. I couldn’t believe how secure it’d made us feel, when clearly, anything with claws or teeth could’ve gotten inside the moment it wanted to. I avoided looking at the rip in the fabric. I’d have to fix it later, maybe when we stopped for lunch.
“What time is it, do you think?” Gayle asked. She was packing up my bedroll.
I finished the shelter and kicked some dirt onto the fire. “I don’t know. Midnight? One?”
“We didn’t get nearly enough sleep to keep us going,” she said.
“I know. But we can’t stay here. What if they come back?”
“Aren’t you watching for them?” Her voice was shaking.
I had a sudden insight into how frustrating it must be for her to depend on my abilities to survive. She must have felt totally powerless. “Of course,” I said — though it wasn’t true. I’d stopped tracking them when they’d gone beyond my ability to see.
I did a quick scan. Nothing big. “We’re good.”
Everything was packed. Gayle took out the tablet, did a quick check of our orientation, and pointed in the direction we needed to go. “You were right. It’s a quarter to one. On our way, then.”
I followed behind her. I found myself lost in thought. What she’d said about the cats had made sense. We were easily a hundred miles away from where we’d encountered the other group, and I’d killed them all. How could these cats know of me? Were they getting information from other animals, like the mother bear had? Or, had I let a cat slip out of my grasp? I’d been so angry; maybe I’d let it cloud my focus. Anyway, I’d let some of these cats go. Were they afraid enough to leave us alone?
We moved at a much slower pace in the dark. It was hard to pick our way forward with limited visibility, and Gayle seized up at even the slightest rustle of the breeze. She asked me to check for animals on a minute-by-minute basis. It was starting to grind on my nerves, and it was wearing down my energy; my abilities weren’t free of cost.
Gayle stopped to check the tablet.
“How long have we been walking?” I asked.
“It’s almost 3:30,” she said. “We’ve only covered four miles.”
I held in a groan. “How is that possible? We’ve got to be going faster than two miles an hour.”
“We are. We just weren’t always walking in a straight line.”
“Okay. Okay. We need to keep moving, though. You want me to take the lead?”
“All right.” She handed me the tablet, and after taking a deep drink from her canteen, she moved behind me.
I oriented our position and started trudging forward. My mind immediately fell into a tangle, wondering how we were going to safely stop again. Cats could climb, so we couldn’t hide in a tree. The shelter wouldn’t work. What else was there? A building? But we wouldn’t just come across a building out there.
I tripped over a tree root and steadied myself before I could fall. I had to start concentrating more on our current situation and leave the shelter question until daylight.
We came to a steep, downhill ridge — almost a cliff but not quite. I paused at the top. Gale bumped into me before she realized I’d stopped.
I illuminated the terrain in my mind and traced a path down to the more even ground below. “There’s a steep, downward path in front of us,” I said. “I can see a way down I think we can manage. Hold my hand, so we can stick close together.” Before I could even reach out my hand, she was clamping down on mine with her own. I could feel the zing of strained tension in her body. It was unpleasant, but I didn’t let go. “Ready?” I asked.
“Let’s get it over with,” she said.
I took a step over the edge and immediately regretted it. Being bodily on the steep surface was different than looking at it. Before I could step back and say I’d changed my mind, Gayle stepped beside me. Her foot lost traction on the loose surface, and her right foot slid out from under her. She leaned back to catch herself with her free hand but, it was too late. Her grip on my hand tightened as her body lurched forward, pulling me down the hill after her.
My feet were still on the ground, and I was taking fast, tiny steps, trying to keep up, but her momentum was increasing, and she was still holding onto me. She was screaming and lying completely on the ground now, her legs and free arm flailing around, but she was like a turtle, trapped in that position. The speed pulled my own feet out from under me, and I fell forward onto my belly, still attached to her.
It happened so fast. One moment, we were at the top, and the next, we were sliding down with no control. Grit and dirt scratched at my exposed skin and tore at my clothes. A big rock loamed out of the darkness, and my face headed straight for it.
Do something, I managed to think. I levitated, floating above the surface of the ground — but I didn’t have enough of a grip on Gayle to lift her free, as well. I had to lift her separate from myself. It took just a fraction of a second longer — but it was enough for things to get bad.
There was a startling, cracking sound, and Gayle wailed out an even higher-pitched scream, and then she lifted free from the ground, and we floated down to the mostly-even ground below.
I m
entally scanned her body; I could sense the trauma she’d experienced. Her exposed skin was scraped away on her left hand and arm — but worse, I could feel something wrong with her right leg.
When I released her hand, both of her hands shot right to the spot I was thinking about. She moaned and rolled from side to side, trying to negotiate the pain.
“Gayle, are you hurt? Are you okay?”
“No,” she grunted out between labored breaths. “I think . . . no, I know. My leg is broken.”
I slumped down beside her. I didn’t know what to do. “No, it can’t be. You just tweaked it. In a few minutes, you’ll be fine.”
She made a sound that seemed like sobbing at first. But then, I realized she was laughing.
“What’s so funny?” I asked.
“I know you can tell something is really wrong with me. You’re going to have to leave me. I can’t go on with a broken leg.”
“Don’t be stupid,” I said. “You’d never survive out here, not with a broken leg. I’m not going to leave you.” I didn’t want to admit it out loud, but what she was saying made sense. She wasn’t going to be able to walk, and we had hundreds of miles to go. I also had no idea how to tend to a broken bone.
“Set up the shelter,” she said.
“Okay.” I did as she asked and returned to her. Even in the darkness, I could see she was pale and weirdly sweaty.
“Get me inside and into your bedroll. I’m going into shock. You’re going to have to keep my legs lifted above my heart. Prop them up on a pack or something. Then, check the tablet — the one with all the data about physical fitness. I bet it has some first-aid information on it.”
I gave her a sip of water from my canteen, and then I levitated her, removed her pack, and moved her into the shelter. I wrapped my bedroll around her like a shawl before setting her on the ground, with my pack under her feet.
She moaned, and then hissed an intake of breath through her teeth. “We’re vulnerable here,” she said. “You’ll have to keep watch, too. What does the tablet say?”
