Chapter 9: Survival

The tomcat, his face a battered mess of scratches and old scars, howled his displeasure. He launched toward me from where he perched on the edge of the pile. My claws came out in answer, adding to his collection of cuts, my own body saved from too much damage thanks to the thickness of my fur and my well-honed battle instincts. But I was already weak, my stomach aching from hunger. This body was unaccustomed to physical danger where only magical attack had ever been my worry. The tiny morsel of magic I had left wouldn't save me.

Time to run.

Or fall, slide, roll over into a fresh puddle of run-off from the refuse before scrambling to my feet. The tom still in pursuit, I ran just in time to feel his claws hook my flank before I dove out of reach and raced for the end of the alley. It was daylight at least, more people about.

What was I thinking? They wouldn't save me. Not another pest in a city infested. I was on my own.

My adversary wasn't willing to give up the chase. His angular tabby body launched toward me as I spun to look back. Lucky, I had time to dig in my paws just as he flew over my head and came to a hissing halt in the street. A quick dodge to the right and I was out of his reach. Swerving sent me across the cobbled road and toward the next alley, in the hope I would find a place to hide.

Large wheels rattled past me, giant hooves clattering their metallic song. Near to weeping from the strain, I threw myself between the spokes of the carriage. I narrowly avoided the metal rim of the next as I scurried past, losing yet more hair as my tail was pinched between the wheel and the road.

A hoof cuffed me sideways, my senses so shattered I failed to notice the hansom approaching from the opposite direction. The force of the blow sent me spinning toward the gutter. I landed with a splash, leaping out though my ribs groaned from the strike, and dashed toward an open door, the need to escape ruling me, driving out all thought.

Feet, skirts, heavy boots, shouting. I streaked my way between the gathered people. A gap sliced open the crowd and I looked up to the furious face of a large, mustachioed man holding a shining silver cleaver.

"Out!" He swung it at me, chasing me through the shop while the sudden aroma of fresh meat was almost my undoing. My starving body paused, nose turned up as I spotted the chunks of raw flesh the butcher left to chase me off.

Air swished over my head, the hum of the blade cleaving the spot just above me as he swung and missed. No time to ponder my empty stomach. I leaped over a half-door and into the back of the shop, ducking under a heavy wooden table as the butcher chased me. He paused, looking about, bloody apron giving me equal parts shivers and hunger pangs, knowing my blood could grace his wide belly just as easily as any food animal.

Footsteps drew near as I backed into the darkness under the table, looking around for an exit. From the faces peering in the back from the shop, there was no way I'd escape the way I came. Whiskers quivered as his boot-falls drew near, the sound of him slapping the cleaver against his hand driving me to panic.

I had to get out, escape. He would kill me, I was going to die. My body gathered itself to bolt, with nowhere to go.

Feet stopped next to me. One leg bent. I watched as though the world had slowed down as he fell to his knee and ducked his head, huge mustache vibrating as much as my whiskers.

"Got you," he rumbled, smiling, revealing cracked and yellowed teeth. The cleaver swung forward.

Nowhere to go.

Sudden light flooded the room, my pupils contracting, vision focusing in on an open door at the back of the storage room. The butcher grunted, turned, distracted as another man entered, a large bag of something over one shoulder.

I didn't think, but let my body take over. The butcher cried out as I lunged forward past him, his heavy hand stroking over the fur of my back, just missing my tail as I flicked it aside, dodged between the legs of the stranger at the door and outside into freedom.

I kept running, sliding into the shadows of the alley behind the shop without looking back.

This time I was more careful, while my heart rate struggled to return to normal. Slinking to the end of the alley and down the sidewalk, staying clear of feet and keeping myself low and small, I slipped into yet another side way, this one full of shadows. The moment the cooler darkness of the overhanging buildings engulfed me, I slumped, panting, shaking all over, my poor tortured body drenched in fresh filth. Breathing hurt, and I feared a puncture from a broken rib thanks to the hoof's glancing blow. I only had a moment to catch my breath, nostrils flaring at a scent I recognized.

Fur trying to rise against the crusted filth, I hunkered down and hummed a growl at the approaching tomcat. But this time he wasn't alone.

More running, back into the street. I ran while little girls squealed at me in disgust, men swatted at me with brooms and kicked out with their heavy boots. I refused to risk crossing the road again for fear of being crushed, finally collapsing blocks from where I'd started at the top of a set of rough stone stairs. It took some time to descend them, and I tumbled down the last one with a meep of pain, my ribs protesting the fall. The rain had begun again, light but very cold, and I collapsed into shivering, light headed.

Shelter beckoned, a tarp of rotting canvas. Knowing now there was nothing I could trust about this wretched place I'd found myself, I crept inside the meager protection, only then realizing I wasn't the only one using its pathetic shade.

A man this time, snoring, a bottle of what must have passed for nectar in one hand, empty. He stank of the alcohol, mouth wide open as he drew gasping breaths, the handful of teeth remaining to him brown and snaggled. But despite his aroma, his body created a certain amount of heat, trapped by the tarp. And the covering itself might have seen better days, but it kept out the rain.

I dug out a little divot for myself, keeping my distance from the drunkard, but close enough I could take advantage of his body heat, finally able to rest my chin on my paws and let my body recover what little amount it could.

This wasn't working. I was starving, thirsty, hurt. I needed a plan or I was going to die, that much was certain. But what? Where could I go? I'd met with only hostility in this terrible plane so far, and had no reason to expect anything but. Tears leaked from my eyes, wetting my already soaking fur, but I didn't care. I couldn't hold them back any longer. It just wasn't fair.

What was that? My head snapped up, instincts honed now by the constant threat of death, to see a fat, brown-coated rat with gleaming black eyes and a pink whip of a tail perched on the bottle in the man's hand.

Irrational hatred flooded my heart as the rat stood up and looked at me with his beady eyes. His fat tummy was an open insult to my own churning hunger. Without thought, I lunged at the disgusting creature, claws extended, fangs bared.

It snarled back, but turned and tried to run. Too late, too slow, rat. I caught it in my paws, digging in the razor sharpness of my talons, my teeth closing over the back of its neck. Blood burst in my mouth, filling me with lust like I'd never felt, even more powerful than taking Raneen's essence, just as the squealing rat turned its head and bit my left paw.

Excruciating pain forced my jaws open as I screamed. The rat released me and ran off as I huddled next to the man, holding my damaged paw in the air, unable to put pressure on it as blood dripped from the wound.

The man groaned and opened his eyes, whites yellowed, gaze bleary. He lifted one hand, swatted at me. "G'won, cat."

I didn't need encouragement, backing away as best I could with my blood oozing out, leaving heavy droplets on the dirty ground . But I wasn't fast enough for him, it seemed. The bottle hurtled toward me and only missed me because I fell to my side to avoid it, the glass shattering on the stones, a chip slicing past me and across the tip of my ear.

More pain, more blood. The man muttered to himself, rolled over. Went back to his stupor.

I couldn't bring myself to share his space any longer.

Instead, I burrowed under a pile of burlap sacks left to decay on the other side of the alley, finding a small hole in which I could hide. Sleep took me, drove me into horrible dreams of rats and cats and snarling dogs while Ahbi cut off my tail with a butcher knife.

I woke once, to a horrible sound, chittering, squeeing, squealing and poked my head out, mouth dry and pasty, heart beating a little too fast though I didn't have the strength to muster fear. A dead cat lay sprawled in the alley while a pile of rats swarmed the carcass and devoured it, tearing long, thin strings of meat from the crushed remains.

I couldn't stay here, not so low to the ground. The mere thought the rats could get me made me climb, slinking up the pile of bags, out of the reach of the rats. Eyes glowed in the alley, the man long gone, his place taken by a pack of cats who watched as the rats ate one of their fellows.

Waiting their turn to attack. How horrid. How utterly horrid.

The end of the alley beckoned and I limped to it, checking over my shoulder. But not one soul followed, too engrossed in their show. I for one had enough of it.

Of all of it.

A small pool of fresh water at the bottom of a drain pipe satisfied my thirst, but I couldn't bring myself to eat any of the offal I came across. Didn't matter anyway. I wasn't hungry anymore. I took that as a blessing and went looking for a good place to die.

I couldn't live like this. My body shook, freezing, though my nose felt hot to my tongue as it swept out, tight and very dry. A fever, then. The injured paw had swollen to almost twice its normal size, a low, deep thudding pain pulsing from the wound. Infected. Likely, considering the source and the fact I'd been walking through dirt and decay.

Death would be welcome. But on one condition. The rats couldn't find me. I had to hide somewhere I could die in peace and remain until my bones turned to dust.

But where? There was nowhere. Except... a ledge, high above me, the out hang of a building's first floor. Impossible to reach, and yet.

And yet.

A little magic was all I needed to lift the discarded sheet of cracked wood to the side of the building. It was a slow climb, a nervous one. Something could attack me at any moment. And the condition of my body made climbing so painful I was forced to take several breaks to pant and rest.

The ledge was wider than it looked from below, cold, wet stone, but plenty big for me. My last bit of energy went into magic, shoving my makeshift ladder aside to clatter to the ground.

Sleep. The last sleep. Death called and I was ready to answer as I wept for all I'd lost.

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