The Last Free Cat

by Blake Jon

  “You’re a bloody maniac,” he said.

  “I’ll take that as a compliment,” I replied.

  “It wasn’t meant as one,” said Kris.

  “Leave off,” I replied. “We’re alive.”

  “Just about,” said Kris.

  I looked around. “I don’t know where the hell we are,” I said.

  “It’s OK,” said Kris. “We’re heading in the right direction.”

  “How do you know?” I asked.

  “Last time we saw the sun,” replied Kris, “we were heading towards it. That means we were going west. We never changed direction till we came off the road. That was a right turn. Next one was left. Then right. Then left again. So we’re still heading west.”

  “Are you sure?” I asked.

  “I’ve got a very good sense of direction,” replied Kris.

  The reality of what had just happened to us began to sink in. “They fired at us,” I said.

  “I noticed,” replied Kris.

  “Do you think it was real bullets?” I asked.

  Kris gave a look of disbelief. “What do you think?” he scoffed.

  “I don’t know!” I snapped. “It might have been that stuff they use on demos!”

  “Jade,” said Kris. “We’re terrorists. They don’t use dumshot on terrorists.”

  “I’m not a terrorist!” I cried.

  “Try telling them that,” replied Kris.

  “You shouldn’t have used that gun,” I said.

  “For Christ’s sake!” cried Kris. “I saved us!”

  “You’ve upped the stakes,” I replied.

  “Jade,” said Kris, “there’s a red alert. You can’t up the stakes from a red alert. The only reason they issue a red alert is to give them the right to shoot on sight.”

  Shoot on sight. The words themselves hit me like bullets. No questions. No doubts. We were no better than animals now.

  “I need to rest,” I said.

  “No time to rest,” replied Kris.

  “Kris, I’m exhausted!” I cried.

  “They’re not resting!” snapped Kris. “They’re cutting off the exits as we speak.”

  “But this place is massive,” I protested.

  Kris looked around. The dark shadow of a hill rose doomily ahead of us. “Let’s climb that,” he said. “Then we’ll see the lay of the land.”

  “And they’ll see us,” I replied.

  “We’ve got to take that risk,” said Kris.

  “What about Feela?” I asked.

  “We’ll have to leave her here,” replied Kris.

  “I’m not leaving her!” I cried.

  “It’ll take twice as long with her,” said Kris. “And if we do get spotted, we’ll have to move fast.”

  “Why don’t you just go up?” I asked.

  “We can’t risk getting split,” replied Kris. As he said this, his eyes gave a side-to-side flicker, and I guessed there was another reason. Whether it was through fear, common sense, or some secret affection, he didn’t want to be apart from me. “We can be up and back in fifteen minutes,” he added.

  I opened Feela’s box. She crouched nervously in the corner, looking up at me with those timeless eyes, irresistible. I stroked her head, flattening her ears and covering her eyes as her mother’s tongue must have done once. As always, she accepted my service with patience, but she stayed rigid and produced no purr. I put a little food in with her, closed the box, and reluctantly pushed the skoot under the cover of some trees.

  “Let’s be quick then,” I said.

  Worn footsteps on the hill showed that we weren’t the first to climb it. We were glad of those footsteps because the hill was steep, very steep. I kept my eyes fixed on the crest, but the crest seemed to keep receding, maybe because the angle of the hill was changing. The higher we got, the more scenery we could see—dramatic wooded hills and secret glades, here and there an outcrop of rock, all sheltered beneath a sky which seemed to have a thousand more stars than we saw in town.

  Finally, however, we reached a kind of pinnacle, from which there was a short, jagged walk to another slightly higher peak, this one surrounded by what looked like ancient earthworks—a moat, maybe, now swallowed by grass. We made our way over to this final peak, and as we reached its summit, a fantastic vista opened up before us. To my amazement, we were overlooking a huge river delta, sweeping down to the open sea. The harbor, the lights, the ferries, and the big hotels indicated it could only be one place: Bluehaven.

  “We’re there!” I gasped.

  “It’s farther than it looks,” said Kris.

  We sat on two rocks and considered the options. “We’re going to need help,” I said.

  “What kind of help?” asked Kris.

  “Help getting a boat, for a start,” I said.

  “How are we going to get that?” asked Kris.

  “Amelie?” I suggested.

  “We can’t risk texting her,” said Kris. “They’ll get a fix on us.”

  “But Comprot know we’re here anyway,” I pointed out. “And by the time they home in on us, we’ll have moved.”

  Kris wasn’t convinced. “We don’t want to give them anything,” he said. “It’s going to be hard enough as it is.”

  I pondered. “We should have brought Feela up here,” I said. “Then we could just carry on on foot.”

  “You’ve changed your tune,” said Kris.

  “I didn’t realize it was so close,” I replied.

  “Let’s go back and get her now,” said Kris. “While we’ve still got the cover of darkness.”

  Kris had spoken too soon. At that very moment, a pair of spotlights appeared over the horizon, beaming down on the hills to our left.

  “Chopper!” cried Kris.

  There was no time to get back down the hill. We dashed for the grassy moat around the hilltop and tucked ourselves under some overhanging boulders. Without pause for thought, Kris pulled me tight beside him. I could smell the musty scent of his hair and feel the warmth of his breath on my hand. Kris’s breath was coming short and fast, and so was mine. That wasn’t surprising—considering the danger we were in.

  Suddenly the area around us was lit by a brilliant light. Every blade of grass and tuft of heather was picked out in glorious color. Kris gave a sudden tug on my arm to pull my elbow closer. Then, thankfully, the light passed and we breathed again.

  “Let’s move,” said Kris.

  We scrambled out of our hidey-hole and raced down the mountain, the sharp angle making downward flight dangerous and difficult. Short fast skidding steps, heels digging in as a brake murdered my calf muscles and made my lungs as sore. Only when I reached the bottom did I dare to look back to see those sinister lights still scanning the hills.

  It was as well we’d hidden the skoot. The woods gave us good cover. My first thought, as ever, was for Feela, and when I’d checked she was still there and still alive we planned our next move.

  “We’d better get deeper into this wood,” I said.

  Kris was reluctant. “Let’s see if they go away,” he said.

  “I’m not going on now,” I said.

  “So where are you going?” asked Kris.

  “Just somewhere sheltered,” I replied. “Somewhere we can lie down for a while.”

  Kris studied me. He could see my tiredness, and also my determination. In him, I could see the usual animal intelligence at work, but also something new—something like consideration. “OK,” he said. “Let’s gather our strength. We’ll need it tomorrow.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Not far into the wood we began to hear running water. Instinctively we moved towards it. Our supplies were low and running water was safer to drink than still water. That was the reason Feela had her curious habit of licking at the cold tap until I turned it on, then lapping the thin stream of water, sometimes for minutes, rather than drinking from a bowl or a puddle.

  The path was getting more difficult. We made the decision to dump th
e skoot. There was no way we could ride it over the rough terrain between the mountain and Bluehaven anyway. Kris took Feela’s box and we made our way down a winding path to where the sound of water was very loud indeed.

  We soon found out why. It was more than a stream that awaited us. We emerged into a dell beside a wide pool, into which poured a high, narrow waterfall. Above that, more pools and waterfalls, scattered randomly among the rocks. Above that, yet more pools, and a great fall high above us, like the lip of a giant cup emptying its contents in a smooth milky film, glimmering in the moonlight.

  “Let’s stop here,” I said.

  Kris’s calculating eyes ran all over the area. Only one way in and one way out. A flat bed of rock to lie on, and if we got tight to the edge nearest the trees, complete cover.

  “OK,” he replied.

  It almost seemed as if nature had found us a home. Kris took out the sleepbag he kept in his backpack and laid it on the ground, while I sorted out the small amount of food we had left and filled a plastic bottle from the pool. Once we were settled, I opened Feela’s box and began the slow, difficult task of coaxing her out. Her beautiful, profound eyes peered out at the strange surroundings and her ears flattened back at the sound of the water. Eventually, however, I persuaded her to climb tentatively out of her prison and crouch warily beside me. Low to the ground, eyes and ears flickering to every new sight and sound, she crept about a meter one way, then the other, always checking back to where she started and the perilous safety it afforded.

  How alike we were now.

  “It’s OK, beautiful,” I said. “You’re OK.”

  I ran the back of my finger along her head and down between her tiny shoulder blades. She gave out a little purr, which was so reassuring it could have been a choir of heavenly angels singing the “Hallelujah Chorus.”

  “She’s where she should be now,” I said. “In nature.”

  “Give over,” said Kris. “Cats have lived in houses since the Egyptians.”

  “How come you know so much about cats?” I asked.

  “You asked me that before,” replied Kris.

  “And what did you say?” I asked.

  “Research,” replied Kris.

  “Research,” I repeated.

  “If I like something,” added Kris, “I find out about it.”

  I studied Kris’s eyes. “Why have you got yourself in this situation?” I asked.

  “Don’t start that again,” replied Kris.

  “I’m not being suspicious,” I said. “I just want to know.”

  “Why?” said Kris.

  I put a hand to my head. “Kris, don’t mess with my head!” I cried. “They could kill us tomorrow! I just want to understand you!”

  Kris said nothing.

  “I had to save Feela,” I said. “You had a choice.”

  “Not really,” said Kris.

  “What do you mean, not really?” I asked.

  Kris picked up a stone and lazily lobbed it into the pool. I kept my eyes fixed on the side of his face, until suddenly he turned, fixed his steel-blue eyes on mine, and said, “Jade. There’s something you ought to know.”

  “What?” I asked, fearfully.

  “Feela’s my cat,” replied Kris.

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “I mean,” said Kris, “I liberated her.”

  “Liberated her?” I repeated. “What from?”

  “The breeding center,” replied Kris.

  I gazed at Kris’s impassive eyes in disbelief. Suddenly everything made sense: the power he had over Feela, the details he knew about her, the readiness with which he’d thrown in his lot with me. “And you put her in my garden?” I said.

  “She went missing when I lived on Chapel Street,” said Kris. “You found her.”

  “Then … why didn’t you tell me she was yours?” I asked.

  “I didn’t want her back,” said Kris. “She was safer with you.”

  “You could have told me!” I cried.

  “You wouldn’t have kept her!” cried Kris. “And besides …”

  “What?”

  The trace of a smile came on to Kris’s lips. “I wanted the scales to fall off your eyes,” he said.

  “What does that mean?” I asked.

  “Face it, Jade,” said Kris. “You were a sucker.”

  “I was not!” I protested.

  “You believed everything you were told,” said Kris. “You trusted everyone but me.”

  “That’s not true,” I said.

  “But now,” continued Kris, “you understand me.” As if to prove his ownership of Feela, he clucked, she went over to him, and he softly rubbed the base of her spine. She lowered her front end to the ground and put her tail to one side.

  “So you’re happy now, are you?” I said.

  “In a way,” he replied.

  “Now my mum’s dead,” I continued.

  “I never knew that would happen,” he replied.

  “No,” I said. “But when it did, you might have put an arm around me.”

  The thought of these events broke down the wall I’d determinedly built around myself, and I began to cry again. Almost immediately, completely to my surprise, I felt Kris’s arm around my shoulder. Instinctively I leaned my head against his chest, and a few moments later he began to stroke my hair—tentatively at first, then with the same sure touch he showed with Feela. I raised my arm, grasped his shoulder, and let the sobs overtake me. When they finally subsided, we just stayed as we were. Feela nudged at my leg, anxious to get in on the act. It was as if she sensed we were a pride now, a family, and our place was all together.

  That was exactly how it felt to me. All the talk and the game-playing meant nothing once we were in contact. Quite simply, it was right.

  Neither of us wanted to speak. We sat in silence for an age, Kris gently whisking a tuft of my hair, me tickling Feela’s chin. A fantastic feeling of strength had come over me, like the two of us together were this massive force for good, a force that could change the world.

  “Supposed to be good to cry,” said Kris finally.

  “Haven’t you ever cried?” I asked.

  “Course I have,” he replied.

  “When was the last time?” I asked.

  “Not sure,” replied Kris. “I think it was when they took away my pacifier.”

  I laughed. “You’ll get cancer if you block up your feelings,” I said.

  “Oh yeah?” said Kris. “Sure it ain’t cat flu?”

  “It’s true!” I said. Kris didn’t bother to argue, which troubled me slightly, because I was only repeating something I’d heard.

  “So do you feel better now?” asked Kris.

  I craned my neck upwards and looked at him. “What, from crying?” I asked.

  Kris nodded. He looked so different now. Open. Curious.

  “Actually,” I said, “I feel sick.”

  “That’s a shame,” said Kris.

  I gave him a playful slap. “Yeah,” I said. “’Specially if I’m sick over you.”

  Our eyes were locked together, challenging each other—to what, I didn’t know. But Kris seemed to. He brought his mouth to mine to kiss me. I didn’t respond.

  “What’s the problem?” he said.

  “I’m too tired to get involved in something I don’t understand,” I replied.

  Kris laughed. “You’re funny,” he said.

  “I must be,” I said, “to like you.”

  “Oh, you do like me then,” said Kris.

  “Course I do,” I replied.

  “Always thought so,” said Kris, grinning.

  “Typical egotistical boy,” I replied.

  “I don’t think you could ever call me typical,” said Kris.

  This time I didn’t argue. I rested my head right up against his chest, feeling his skinny ribs rise and fall. No matter how forceful his personality, his body was as fragile as Feela’s. The thought of those armed men, and the bullets they wanted to put i
nto him, made me both terrified and raging angry. I thought again of the phrase that had come to me as I’d remembered Mum: let your escape be my memorial. And I knew that whatever the next day would bring, my resolve would be total, because now I was fighting to save two beings I loved.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  I slept lightly, in fits and starts, but even in my dreamworld monsters surrounded us, and Feela was in constant danger of being snatched, or shot, or crushed beneath the pitiless wheels of a Comprot truck. Each time I woke I reached straight out for her, feeling such immense relief as my hand hit on her warm fur—except just after dawn had broken, when I felt nothing but cold rock, then saw to my relief that she’d moved to take advantage of Kris’s cozy back.

  Kris, miraculously, was sound asleep. I ran my hand over the top of his shorn head, flattening the soft bristles one way, then the other. For once he was helpless. I had total power over him, and I had to admit I liked the feeling. I stayed there, unmoving, for an age, my eyes roving around the stones that littered the area. Most were large, pale pebbles, but here and there one was broken, revealing a dark inner with razor-sharp edges. Dimly I remembered our history lessons at school, and how fascinated I’d been by the Stone Age and the flint tools people once fashioned. If this was flint, I thought, maybe I could make an axe with it, and it would have some mystic power, and …

  Yeah, right.

  Anyway, nature was calling. I slipped off through the wet, dewy bracken to find a private space to do a wee. To my amazement, Feela came after me, hoping, maybe, I might lead her to a place of greater safety. If only.

  As I squatted there, Feela arched herself against my knee, just as she’d always done in the toilet at home: head-flank-tail, head-flank-tail in little circuits of delight. To her it was just another day. Just then, however, a wood pigeon flew up from the tree in an almighty clatter, and Feela dropped instantly into a crouch, ears pricked, eyes scanning manically. Then the fear passed, and she went back on another circuit.

  How I envied her. Fear was a momentary thing for her. She couldn’t imagine the day ahead or ponder the day before. She couldn’t spend weeks on end panicking about an exam, or endlessly reliving the moment she saw her mother dead. She didn’t hear the distant noise of a chopper and imagine the compers in full armor, training the sights of their guns on us. Then again, she couldn’t plan for the danger ahead, or work out a way—any way—past it.