Cats With Rotten Skin (Zombie Warrior Cats)

PROLOGUE

The shadows lengthened with the afternoon and eventually melted into the darkness of the approaching twilight. Two cats slipped silently around a thick wall of thornbushes. A tortoiseshell-and-white she-cat with bright, frightened eyes went first. Behind her prowled a white tom with straight and muscular shoulders.
"Cloudfeather," said the tortoiseshell, "have you heard that StarClan is let at last?"
Cloudfeather replied that he had not.
"But it is," returned she; "for the sickness has just been here, and they told me all about it."
Cloudfeather made no answer.
"Do you not know who has it?" cried Sweetheart impatiently.
"It's in your camp, and I have no objection to hearing it."
"Why, Cloudfeather, you must know. Needlestar has lain sick these past three days and I haven't dared go out even to forage."
Cloudfeather flicked his ears in reluctant sympathy, but said nothing. It seemed ungracious to refuse comforting a cat meaning so well.
"I am sick of these infections," cried Sweetheart.
"I am sorry to hear that; but why did you not tell me that before? If I had known as much this morning, I certainly would have told Foxstar."
"I do not believe Foxstar will listen to StarClan. She is a selfish, hypocritical leader, and I have no opinion of her."
Cloudfeather designed not to make any reply.
"But I can assure you," she added, "that Needlestar, Ripplefur, and Brightpaw will not lose much by catching this sickness."
Between him and Sweetheart there was a very steady friendship, in spite of great opposition of character. Cloudfeather had a general dislike of her behavior. It was sharpened into particular resentment by her haughtiness. In understanding, Cloudfeather was the superior. Sweetheart was by no means deficient, but Cloudfeather was mannerly. In the barely lit woods that seemed in the darkness to be closing down upon them, between two grand oaks, and hidden beneath some ferns, there was something almost gleaming ahead.
"Hello? Ottersplash?" Sweetheart called out into the woods. The figure staggered toward them.
"Don't keep growling so, Ottersplash, for StarClan's sake! Have a little compassion on my nerves," scolded Sweetheart. "You tear them to pieces."
An uneasy shiver ran down Cloudfeather's spine. He nervously flicked his thick tail from side to side, stirring the leaves behind him. Cloudfeather's fur prickled as he heard the figure coming closer and closer, the smell becoming even more unbearable.
"Sweetheart," Cloudfeather lowered his voice into a fierce whisper. "We had better get going, because it seems likely that that isn't Ottersplash; surely staying put is a mistake."
The white tom stared at Sweetheart. She said only, "Nonsense, nonsense! How can you be so silly," cried Sweetheart, "as to think of such a thing! You will not be fit to be seen when Ottersplash gets here."
Cloudfeather recoiled in horror as he saw what had appeared in front of them. Ottersplash had one ear missing and both her lips had been bitten off, one leg had been mangled and her right shoulder was chewed away exposing the white humerus beneath.
"RUN! Go get some cat! There — there's been an accident!" screamed Cloudfeather. At Cloudfeather's yowl, Sweetheart started to run. Cloudfeather began to bound across with the tortoiseshell, but a sudden gush of pain jolted throughout Cloudfeather's body.
The moaning, groaning, drooling, Ottersplash sank her set of rotting yellow teeth into Cloudfeather's neck. The blood left the wound in violent jets of red.
"SWEETHEART, HELP ME PLEASE!" screeched Cloudfeather. His cries of help went unnoticed. Sweetheart glanced at Cloudfeather over her shoulder, but she wasn't stopping for anything.
"DON'T LET HER TAKE ME!" Cloudfeather's gurgled howl Ottersplash's jaws ripped out his throat sounded behind her. Well, I am sure HillClan shall be extremely saddened by this. But — good StarClan! How unlucky! I cannot pretend to be sorry. Thought Sweetheart. She wheezes as her burning lungs gasp for air. Her legs feel numb and unsteady, painfully sore. She pushed past and nosed her way through the rich greenery at the side of the path. Shouldering her way through the soft leaves, she ran on the damp earth beyond the MistClan entrance tunnel.
"Oh! Salmonclaw!" cried Sweetheart. The reddish-brown deputy pricked his ears as he heard the tortoiseshell's voice. The sedge wall rustled and Sweetheart bounded into the clearing. In the grip of silent panic, wild eyes, pupils dilated, and fur bristled along her spine.
"What is it, Sweetheart?"
"There's been a terrible accident."