Claw

by Skye MacKinnon

  I step back until my back hits the cold wall behind me. It helps with making it appear as if I'm strong enough to stand up straight. Which I'm not. My legs are threatening to give way beneath me. The starvation has got me almost exactly where they want me to be. Crawling on the floor. I'm not going to give them that satisfaction. I'd rather die trying to escape. No more torture. No more.

  "No more."

  I say it out loud. My voice is hoarse from misuse, but I say it again and again until the words are audible.

  "No more."

  The footsteps stop outside and the door opens in slow motion. Hurry up. My vision is turning black at the edges. I won't be able to stay upright for much longer.

  A woman steps into the room. Not someone I've seen before. She's nothing special, absolutely ordinary. Her face would be pretty if her eyes weren't as far apart. Her clothes are good quality but wouldn't make her stand out in a crowd. She smells faintly of siren. It’s either in her heritage or she’s been close to one recently. I guess the latter, if this is my kidnapper’s wife.

  Behind her are two large men. I sniff the air. They're mutants, the creatures I've fought before. My mouth waters. I remember how good their blood tasted. How it made me feel stronger. If I get to drink their blood, I might regain enough strength to get out of here. The woman must think they're her protection. In fact, they could be my salvation.

  "You look pathetic," she says coldly as if we already know each other.

  "So do you. Scared to be on your own with me?"

  Her expression doesn't change at all. "Not scared. Wise. I know what you are and what you can do. I'm not a foolish woman, no matter what my husband may think."

  I wonder if her husband is the man who kidnapped me.

  "You look remarkably similar," she says, studying me from top to toe. "I guess I know now what my baby will look like when she's all grown up."

  Her baby? K7, maybe? Or another, younger clone? I surely hope not. Once I've rescued K7 - and I will rescue her, no doubt about that - all of us are accounted for. No more searching for my lost sisters. I'll be able to settle down and go back to killing people for money. The simple life. Oh, how I miss it.

  "My daughter has been looking forward to meeting you," the woman continued. "She got so excited when my husband finally captured you. It's been hard keeping her from visiting you, but she understands that you're not quite ready to see her yet."

  "Not ready?" I ask. I'm so confused. My brain feels too weak to think.

  "You're not ready to listen. If I told you why you're here just now, you'd not accept the truth. You're not ready."

  I grin at her. I bet I look completely crazed. "Go ahead, tell me all your evil plans. I'll listen."

  Her expression doesn't change. "As I said. You're not ready. Maybe in a couple of weeks. Until then, I'll have to find ways to keep my baby busy, to distract her from wanting to see you. She's desperate for a playmate, especially one who looks like her."

  "Feel free to let her visit me. I'd love to get to know my sister."

  The woman laughs coldly. "She's not your sister. She's so much better than you will ever be."

  And with that, she leaves, taking her goons with her. I stay standing for a few more seconds, just in case she returns, before letting myself drop to the floor. My muscles ache from standing for so long. I'm not used to it anymore. Urgh. I hate the state I'm in. I can't even stand for longer than a few minutes. What kind of wreck have I become?

  The days pass slowly. They give me barely any food. I get even weaker. And the torture continues. The floor grows so hot I have burns all over my body. They heal almost as slow as if I were human. And all the while, I wonder if K7 is watching me. It could have been a dream, but after meeting that woman, I'm pretty sure it was real. Something strange is going on here, with her and my sister, and I need to find out what it is so I can escape and take K7 with me. I want her to be safe, even now, even after seeing her smiling at me being tortured. She can't help how she was raised. Who knows what they did to her.

  I spend my time counting how often the light flickers. I count my own heartbeat. I picture my men and try to remember what they smelled like. It's getting harder to hold on to those memories. Sometimes, just when I think I can see them in front of my inner eye, they dissolve and the memory slips from my grasp. I'm not a crier, but I can't help the tears in those moments. I'm losing my hold on the people that keep me going and that scares me shitless. If I can't picture them anymore, what will I have left to fight for?

  Loneliness plays tricks with my mind. From time to time, I hear meows, so clear as if a cat is inside my cell but, of course, there isn't. I think it's just an auditory hallucination.

  I curl up and cover my eyes with my hands to keep the flashing light from irritating me. It's driving me crazy. Everything is. I'm slipping into madness and nothing is stopping me from losing my grasp on reality.

  Chapter Three

  I wake up in an unfamiliar room. It's not my cell. I blink to clear my vision, unable to believe what I'm seeing. The four-poster bed, the plush carpets, the heavy curtains, the heavy walnut furniture. I'm in a giant room that looks like it could be in a palace or manor house. Everything is luxurious and expensive.

  Funnily enough, I feel more uncomfortable here than I did in my cell.

  I sit up. Darkness creeps around the edges of my vision, but I manage not to faint. The mattress beneath me is soft, softer than anything I've touched in weeks. Or months; I wouldn't know. Time has become meaningless.

  I’m wearing a sleeveless dress; simple linen but clean. I sniff myself. No, I’m not clean. They only changed my clothes.

  I run my hands over the blanket covering me. Fluffy. Like fur. I close my eyes and imagine that this is Ryker's fur. His head on my lap, his tail tapping the floor like it always does when he's happy. His contented purr filling the room.

  Slowly, I slide out of bed and extend my senses. Unlike back in the cell, I can hear noises from all around me. People talking, moving around, animals in the distance. My senses are weakened, but probably still better than those humans are cursed with. I walk over to the door and close my eyes, focusing on the closest voices. A male and a female, whispering. I wonder if they're talking quietly because they're worried I may hear them, or if they don't want to be overheard by other people.

  "It's a travesty," the woman whispers. "They didn't let me wash her. The sheets will be ruined."

  "Who is she?" the man asks.

  "She looks like the Little Mistress, just older. I wonder if they're related."

  The man huffs. "Let's hope not. One brat is enough for me."

  "Shush, someone might hear. You don't want to end up like Jack."

  "I've applied for a job at Lord Lear's household. If I get it, I'll finally be away from all this craziness. I've had enough."

  "Let me know if they have any other jobs going," the woman whispers. "The Little Mistress bit me again yesterday. Just look at the wound, it's like a wild animal ripped into my skin."

  Silence, followed by the man gasping. "You shouldn't let her do that. What if the wound gets infected? It's bad enough that Jenny lost her hand. You don't want that to happen to you."

  The woman huffs. "It's not as if I have a choice. That girl does what she wants and nobody dares to stop her. The lady even encourages her. She didn't blink an eyelid when I told her I'd been bitten. She didn't even give me time to clean the wound."

  "I'll be sure to ask if Lord Lear has any other vacancies," the man promises.

  A shattering sound makes them both shut up; I think they broke a plate or something like that. I've heard enough though to build a picture. The staff here are unhappy. K7 bites people. And the lady of the house is just as cold as I judged her when she'd stepped into my cell. For now, none of that helps me escape, but it gives me hope. If the staff aren't loyal to their employers, I may be able to bribe them into helping me.

  First though, I have to figure out why I'm in this room and no longer
trapped. I walk over to the window and open the ruby red curtains. I almost laugh in disappointment. I expected there to be a window that may be my way out of here. But no. From the stone arch, it's clear that there used to be a window here, but it's been bricked up many years ago. The curtains are just for show. I glare at the stone wall and let the curtains fall back into their original place, hiding the traitorous non-window that gave me hope.

  The only way out of the room seems to be the door, but I'm somewhat reluctant to try that. In the past, I would have simply unlocked the door - using lock picks if necessary - and ran out of here, killing anyone who stood in my way. Now, I can barely walk, let alone fight or run. And I bet my captors are very aware of that. They've waited for this moment where I'm no longer a physical threat to them. A kitten is more dangerous than me right now. I think of Pumpkin, Ryker's little son. I miss him. He'd scratch me for calling him little, but that only makes him cuter.

  With a sigh, I put my hand on the round doorknob and twist. The door opens with a click. By the great cat gods. They're really making it too easy. Or they're playing a game with me. Much more likely. I can't resist the temptation though.

  I walk out of my room, using the walls to steady me. My vision keeps getting dark around the edges, but I ignore it. I'm not going to faint; I won't allow it. I walk past several closed doors before I reach the kitchen. There's no sign of the two people who were talking earlier, but a few porcelain shards on the floor lie witness to them having been here. I should find the exit, but my stomach growls at the smell of food. When did I last eat? It must be days. And I need water. I won't get far if I'm as weak as I am now.

  I find a plate of made up sandwich fingers in the fridge and hungrily devour half of them, before stuffing the rest in a plastic bag I find in a drawer. The only bottle I find is a glass milk bottle, but that suits me fine. I drink with pure joy, savouring the taste of the cool milk. After so long of subsisting on nothing but water, dry bread and occasional porridge, this is like a bowl of catnip in heaven. In the beginning, they gave me good, proper food, but that changed pretty quickly. It's been long enough for something as simple as milk to cause an explosion of taste on my tongue.

  Before I leave the kitchen, a knife block on the counter catches my eyes. Come to mummy, pretty babies. I wish my dress had pockets or a belt to stuff some knives in. Instead, I add two small knives to my plastic bag and hold the biggest one in my hand. Even with me being weak, I think I could still do some serious harm with a blade.

  I've only just eaten, but I'm already feeling a little steadier on my feet. Maybe I'm imagining it, but it's not like it matters. Only results count. Never let your own feelings deceive you. Everybody lies, including your senses. The Pack teachings have never rung more true.

  I leave the kitchen and sniff the air, looking for the smell of fresh air, maybe grass. The outside world. The scent is faint, as if I'm either far above or far below ground. That makes me realise that I've not seen a single window so far. All the light has been artificial. I try and remember the dream I had about K7. Yes, I think her small room had a window. That gives me hope. I'm sure she was in the same building. Light, here I come.

  I round a corner. Two mutants are waiting for me. Before I can even throw my knife, something pricks my neck and I collapse, my body refusing to move. How didn't I hear them? Just before darkness takes me, I realise the cause. They have no heartbeats.

  I wake in the same soft bed in the same empty room. I almost wish I was back in my cell. The routine of eat, sleep, torture, repeat has become familiar. This is new and I don't like it. My stomach aches with hunger. I must have been out cold for a while. I sit up and wait for the room to stop spinning.

  This time, I don't check the window and go straight to the door. It's unlocked. They're toying with me. Still, I can't get myself to stay in this room. Just like before - yesterday? - I walk down the corridor, but this time I pass the kitchen, unwilling to waste any time. At the corner of the hallway where I was confronted by the two mutants, I stop and extend my senses. Nothing. No smells, no sounds. That alarms me in itself. A house should never be this quiet. I don't believe that nobody else is here. They'd not leave me on my own. No, this is their game that I'm playing without actually knowing the rules.

  I somehow need to turn the tables. Do something they don't expect. There have to be more options than trying to escape and staying in that room. Right? They might also expect me to try and rescue K7, but there's no way I'd manage that in my current condition. No, I need to get out of here, recuperate, and then return with back up. It's not like she's in immediate danger. I shudder as the image of her smiling flashes through my mind. No, concentrate.

  I could hide somewhere in the house and then try and sneak out later. But if K7 has anything like my own senses, she'd find me immediately. Not a risk I'm willing to take. If I were stronger, I might confront the lady of the house and the man who kidnapped me. Well, forced me to self-kidnap. Same thing. But that wouldn't end well. So what else can I do? I can't run, I can't stay, I can't fight. That doesn't leave a whole lot of options. The only thing left is getting help. How I hate it. I don't like depending on other people. Even if those people are cats.

  I slip into a room to my left and lock the door. It's a bedroom that looks like it hasn't been used in months. A fine layer of dust coats the shaggy carpet. Perfect, nobody is going to come in here by accident. Again, there's nothing but a brick wall behind the curtains, but I have to hope that I'm not too far away from the outside world.

  I take a deep breath, then whistle on the exhale. It's so high-pitched that humans won't be able to hear it, and unless K7 regularly communicates with cats, she wouldn't recognise it as the cry for help that it is. I'm calling for assistance. Let's hope the local cats use the same signal as the cats in Attenburgh and back home. I'm pretty sure they do; cat language is universal, except for some dialects. And for all I know, I could still be in Attenburgh. it's unlikely, but I can't discount the possibility.

  Now all I can do is wait and hope that somecat heard my call. What I need next is food and weapons. Same as yesterday, really, but I don't want to go to that kitchen again. I can't do the same things as before, or they'll catch me even quicker. I ball my hands into fists. I can't give up. I need to fight the hopelessness that's threatening to take hold of me. If I give up hope, I'm as good as dead. You've got this, Kat. Think.

  I turn and look around the room, desperate for inspiration. My eyes fall on the curtains. The fake window. If it was bricked up long ago, the mortar gluing the bricks together might have become brittle. It's a fool's hope, but I don't have any better ideas. I pull open the curtains and inspect the wall. With a fingernail, I scratch at the mortar. It dissolves into sand. That's a good sign.

  After some rummaging in cupboards, I clutch my prize. A pair of knitting needles, discarded along with a ball of wool. Back before I was captured, I would have had to fight my inner cat at the sight of wool, but now, my cat is buried so deep that I couldn't care less. I doubt even catnip would do much for me now. Because I was worried I'd go feral, I pushed my cat away, locking it behind a thick barrier. It's hurting both the cat and my human side, but it can't be helped.

  The sound of the needle scraping against brick is terribly loud to my ears, but I can't help it. I work as quietly as I can, pushing it in further and further. Sweat leaks from my pores. This isn't hard work, but my body isn't used to moving anymore. By the time the end of the needle breaks through the last bits of mortar, I'm ready to faint.

  I pull it back and stare through the tiny hole. I'd hoped for sunlight, but there's none of that. No light at all. Frowning, I push the needle in again and probe for whatever may be behind the wall. With a clonk, it hits something metal. Curious. I move the needle from left to right as much as I can, but there's nothing but metal. It sounds thick, like it's more than just a thin sheet. I wonder what this means. A secondary wall? If so, just on this side or surrounding the entire house?

  It w
ould explain the lack of noise and smells from the outside. It will also make escaping a whole lot harder.

  I press my mouth against the hole and repeat my shrill cat call. Please, feline gods amongst the stars, let this work.

  There's nothing left for me to do here. I hold the needles like knives and leave the room. This time, I'm even more alert, knowing that I can't trust my hearing. I still can't quite believe that those two grunts didn't have a heartbeat, but I'm clever enough to learn from the experience.

  Before I round the corner where they caught me, I grab my needles even tighter and prepare to dive out of the way should they throw a poison dart at me again. But nobody is waiting for me. Either by luck or by design of their game; I don't know, I don't care. The corridor is short and leads to two doors. One of them must open to either an exit or yet another hallway, unless this house is a labyrinth. I wouldn't put it past them. I press an ear against both of them, but no suspicious sounds reach me. Alright, I chose a door to my left earlier, this time I'll go right.

  It's another bedroom. How many people are they housing here? Again, it's been unused for a while though. I quickly check behind the curtains - yes, another fake window - and then try the second door. A staircase leading up. As good as anything, I suppose.

  I tiptoe up the steps until I'm in front of yet another door. This one is locked, but I now have my handy knitting needles. They're nowhere near as good as lock picks, but after several attempts, the lock clicks open. As quietly as I can, I pull open the door - and stare in the yellow eyes of a mutant. He grins wickedly and presses one hand against my chest. I stab him with one of my needles, but it's too late, I'm falling backwards, falling, crashing, tumbling.