She is nervous. I should have noticed. The way she has explained herself to me alone may not say much, but now I see how she has bitten her lip raw. Her tongue darts out to wet it, and I do not think it is hunger that makes her salivate, makes her swallow. She may in truth be looking out for me, but she is concerned about her own safety as well.
Would those three men …? No. Whatever their cruel reasons, they were focused on me. She did not figure in that scene, in my dream. Someone else is hunting her. Someone or something has threatened this odd-looking girl who dragged me from the flood and shared her paltry meal. I lack the means to inquire, but one thing I know: I will protect this girl, if I can. With tooth and claw and whatever instincts I possess.
With this resolve, I find myself tensing as she stands to peek over the ledge. She grips the asphalt, pulling herself up just so, her worn sneakers finding purchase in the dirt. She may think her actions are covert, but that shocking pink crop gives her away. It has dried while I – while we? – slept, to be lighter, brighter and more elevated than before. If anyone is waiting, it announces her before she would choose to make herself known. I am struck by her lack of awareness. Did nobody ever school this child in self-protection? She has courage, of a sort, but if I were training her …
‘All clear.’ She jumps down and turns toward me, reaching out, and I skitter back. She’s hurt; her emotions clear on her pale, young face, and for a moment I am concerned that those big eyes, as green as I sense mine to be, will fill once more with tears. But I am no pet to be hauled about by a human. Not even one that I – yes, I realize it’s true – trust. She stands, letting her hands fall to her side, as if to deny her original intentions. I know somehow that she sees me as cool, my gaze judgmental. I know, just as surely, that I cannot be influenced by her emotions. What matters is that she learns to mask these lapses. That she learns to survive. Turning from her, I leap up to the ledge and wait while she scrambles up beside me.
‘OK, then.’ She’s licking her lips again. Anxious, now, rather than sad, and from the way her eyes are darting, not entirely sure of her surroundings. Despite the dirt, the water, the cave that sheltered us overnight, we are in the city. Down by the docks, my nose tells me. The smell of fish and rot would be overpowering if I weren’t used to it. I know this place, though I do not trust it. There will be prey here, and food to scavenge. But I am not the only predator in this stone and asphalt wasteland. Not the only one to haunt the piers.
We set out, walking along an overpass, a stretch of pitted pavement that bridges the marshy land below. The culvert beside us is now a trickle that runs into a drainage pipe, but the sides of the ditch are steep and worn. Even if I had survived my dunking, I now see I would have been swept out to the harbor. It bothers me that I do not remember how I became immersed, though that memory suggests something other than a hard rain and poor footing.
No matter. I am not one to dwell on what could have happened but did not. I store away my impressions of the culvert – the pipe, the water. The way erosion has recreated something almost natural here in this urban setting. I look around. A cluster of buildings lie ahead, but I can sense which one the girl is leading me to. It looks empty, its windows dark where the glass has shattered. Somehow, I know it isn’t.
A car whizzes by, as large as a tank. The spray of gravel it kicks up catches my hindquarters. I’m stiff, despite that jump. Of course. In retrospect, it seems obvious. I am older. If I were in my prime I would not have been caught last night. Trapped and nearly drowned in the storm drain.
The girl’s pace has accelerated, and I trot to catch up in a fashion I realize must seem a tad dog-like. Well, so it is. Despite a certain feline pride, I am not vain. I need to keep an eye on her, my erstwhile savior. There’s an edge to her that I do not understand, and I fear for her until it is resolved.
She heads toward the building, clambering over a pile of rubble in her way. I leap to its summit to appraise the situation before following. There’s more in the dark than the simple vermin of the waterside locale. Stirring bodies of various sizes announce themselves, to my ears at least. Even in the dim light I see several, the sounds of perhaps a dozen more in rooms beyond. Her entrance as much as the dim sunlight has woken them. With her human senses, she cannot make out all that I do, but she proceeds without fear.