Frightened Boy

Chapter Two, part two - White Cat

Another howl cracked the silence, this one much closer. I became very aware that Erika and I were alone in an abandoned part of the city. Two hunched canine figures materialized out of their shadowy surroundings: a lean brown dog with a long torso and a muscular blonde dog with shaggy hair. Each were indecipherable mutt mixes that were a standing testament to the Darwinian triumph of their ancestors. They were about thirty feet away, down the street.

The canines trotted down the street toward us. Erika and I froze. Many citizens had been mauled by the animals, who along with the cats and rats overtook abandoned portions of the city.

“Get out of here!” I shouted shakily.

The dogs didn’t understand, or else didn't care.

Erika moved to pick up a rock from the curb and threw it. It clattered harmlessly on the ground in front of the dogs, who sniffed it idly and kept moving toward us.

“Don’t run,” she said.

I wanted to run. As the dogs approached a low vibration shook the air; a deep growl. The two animals separated, so that we were flanked by the two as they closed the gap between us.

“We need to run.”

“They’ll just chase you, don’t run,” Erika hissed.

A dog turned its attention toward me. It was snarling now, the hair on the back of its mangy neck making an effort to rise from the matted, greasy hide.

It paused a few feet away. We made eye contact. I could see its simple mind coming to a deadly decision. It crouched down on its haunches, preparing to leap at me. The muscles wound tightly, became dense with tension.

“Clark!” Erika cried.

The dog hunched, snapping its jaws.

“It’s okay, Erika.”

It was not okay. I was twelve years old again, hiding in a closet while drifters ripped the walls apart to pilfer copper wiring.

“It’s okay, Erika,” I repeated.

If dogs could really sense anxiety, I must have looked like a wounded rabbit to them. There were fifty flavors of fear peaking through my pores.

I blinked. The dog leapt. I ran.

As I took off down the street, I could sense the dogs shadowing me. This only fueled the cycle, and my legs struck the ground with frenzied renewal.

Again, I heard that soft baying moan, the guttural growl. I pushed even harder until the only feeling in my body was the dull pain of my feet pounding the concrete. I didn’t have to look backto know they were keeping pace; their hungry, rhythmic panting was a sick chorus in my ears. I flitted in and out of alleyways, looking for anything to dart up or into.

At last I spotted a fire escape ladder hanging from one of the buildings and I clambered up it, weightless in my fear. All I could think about was the approaching onslaught of fang and claw; of the dull pressure of a dog bite jerking my body; the sensation of being torn apart drowned out by the shock of losing limbs.

I only got a few feet off the ground by the time the dogs turned the corner into the alleyway. Two more canines had joined in the hunt. I watched them slink slyly up to where I hid, and in a moment I was surrounded.

All four resumed barking in unison. I was possessed by the bulging eyes and wet fangs of the grotesque quartet.

Erika turned the corner and shouted my name. I watched fright wash over her as she spotted the dogs that kept me trapped up on the ladder.

One by one, the dogs’ eyes turned from me to her.

A shrill whistle shattered the tension and left all parties looking about nervously.

The dogs, myself, and Erika all stared down the alleyway at an approaching figure. A woman with thick, dark hair and olive skin, wrapped in a flowing trench coat and charcoal-colored scarf, and crowned by a towering gray hat—cone-shaped with a wide brim. She walked regally down the opposite end of the alley, toward us.

The newcomer was trailed by a cavalry of cats. They slithered like sea snakes through the trashcans and boxes that littered the alley. Dozens of pairs of glowing yellow eyes would appear from under some refuse in the alley and then dip into the veil of darkness, only to reappear alongside her a few feet ahead. It was impossible to gauge how many animals followed her. Their eyes twinkled like a swarm of fireflies, giving her all the impression of some luminous faerie creature.

She was undoubtedly and very obviously a Stranger—the most dangerous entity to run across outside, particularly at night. They walked the untamed darkness with no regard for their own safety, a part of some deeper plot that should not involve average citizens. It seemed to me that they were somehow in cahoots with the dangers of the night; they were on the same team as the beasts and poisons.

The woman walked into the alleyway corner where our drama was unfolding. One of her pure, white cats leapt up to me, rubbing against me affectionately. I was too afraid to push it away.

Beneath her bundled cloak was a tight black dress that clung to her. It was visible only for a moment through the many veils of thick fabric; I was half-afraid to admire her, because she seemed so confident and dangerous. The Grapes of Wrath pressed into a shapely wineglass.

The woman whistled again, this burst even louder and more shrill than the first. All attention was directed at her long coat sleeve, which was slowly rising. Cats, dogs, and the frightened children that we were all trained our vision to it.

A long, delicate finger extended from the depths of her sleeve and pointed away from the alley.

The dogs followed the path of her finger, retreating and disbanding into the darkness.

“It’s okay,” the woman said, her voice smooth and even. “You can come down. Are you alright?”

I was still paralyzed.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” she reassured me. “Those dogs looked mean. You shouldn’t be afraid of them though. They act however the people around them act.”

“Thank you,” Erika stuttered. “Thanks for saving us.”

The Stranger laughed a tinkling laugh.

“It was nothing,” she said. “I always appreciate a little excitement at night, don’t you?”

I tittered nervously as I climbed down the fire escape, feeling exposed as my legs dangled, seeking purchase on anything below me. At last, I let myself fall to the cement.

“What’s your name?” she asked. “You don’t have to be afraid anymore. The dogs are gone. And you, girl—what’s your name?”

“Erika Bronton. Pleased to meet you,” she said, breathless.

“I’m…I’m Clark,” I said as the Stranger flitted her eyes toward me. “We have to go. Thank you for saving us.”

“I’m Whisper,” the Stranger said. “It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“I’m not going to hurt you,” the cloaked figure called again. She extended her hand as though in a peace offering; Erika took it nervously, and they shared a long handshake in which Whisper brought her other hand over Erika’s and held it there, holding the moment hostage. I was afraid the Stranger would never let go.

But then she did, and she took a step toward me.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but we have to go,” I said, feet moving without my consent once more.

As our feet struck the pavement in unison, I turned to look at Erika. She was the first woman in my life since the Collapse, and I’d just ousted myself as a total weakling in front of her.

“You can stay, but you probably want to go pick another God,” I said to her between desperate gulps of air. “I already almost got you killed.”

“My God is no average god,” she said, smiling.