As a cat, it makes sense that I prefer to be alone. We are not pack animals, despite sharing the same needs as any other mammal. We hunt and thrive on our own. This partly explains why I am glad to be quit of Care’s crew: the derelict building and its rag-tag inhabitants serve no purpose in my life, whatever they may have in hers. And while I would not have minded a brief hunt – the morning’s chicken is a dim memory – I am content to have moved on. There will be prey aplenty down by the water.
It is all I can do to ignore the stirrings around us as I follow the girl down the road. She, too, is happy to be gone. She’s breathing more easily out here, despite the cold and the damp. Her stride has lengthened, even as the broken asphalt gives way to cobblestone. Whatever succor the group gave her has long since expired, and while I can see that she’s concerned about Tick – she’s glanced back twice – she is fine without the company of her own kind.
Fast, too. A loud rumble as a vehicle comes by, and she’s flattened against a wall almost as quickly as I am. Not ducking, not trying to run – her invisibility comes from her stillness, and the machine passes without a pause. Somebody has taught her this much. When we reach the docks, I’ll be ready for a break. I hear scrambling in the rubbish we pass, and I’m too hungry to be fussy. But she keeps on walking and I feel obliged to follow. When she stops at the tracks, I want to warn her. The smell of the metal is bad enough. There are vibrations here. Something is coming. Something huge.
I throw myself against her, anxious to push her away. The air is moving, full of steam and grit. Surely she must hear it now. I look up, searching her face, but she is staring down the track. She cannot hear, that much is clear. But she must see the approaching monster. We must retreat. We must …
I cannot help it. I howl as she pulls off her jacket and grabs me, lifting me into the air, binding me. I twist, wishing once again for the flexibility of youth. She is moving – heading toward the noise, the approaching beast so loud I cannot hear my own cries. She holds me firmly, wrapped in darkness, and I flash back to the day before. To the dream. Could I have been that wrong about her?
With a desperate effort I arch back, my teeth finding purchase in the threadbare cloth of her blouse. It is not enough – she jumps, holding me against my will. Even as I writhe, we are rising. We are inside the monster – a word comes to me: boxcar – and as the realization of her purpose hits, she lets me go and stumbles backward, laughing, as I spit and edge away.
‘Sorry, Blackie.’ She looks at the rip in her sleeve and pushes it up, exposing her wiry arm. ‘I’m used to hitching, but I couldn’t risk you bolting and getting hurt.’
I am glaring. I know it, but my fur has begun to settle along my spine. My ears perk up again, even as the floor beneath us continues to rumble and growl. To regain my composure, I groom.
‘I meant what I said to Tick, Blackie.’ In imitation of my own efforts, she pulls a comb from the denim bag and slicks her hair back. Her bare forearm, I am relieved to see, shows no blood. ‘You’re my good luck charm, and I’m going to need as much of that as I can get.’
I am, I confess, abashed. Carefully – the train has gained speed again and its rocking motion is unsettling – I approach her. She seems to bear me no ill will for my thwarted attack, and I once again decide that my instincts were correct. This girl is safe for me to trust. Leaning against her, I fall asleep.
Maybe we both do. She grabs me with a start, her jacket still on, and jumps again before I can adjust myself in her arms. The train has left the water’s side and landed us somewhere more dry. I don’t believe this is the south of which she spoke. Her voice was too high when she was talking to Tick. She cares for him, but she was lying. No, this is another errand, a journey I do not yet understand. Then I see her take the trinket from her jacket pocket, and I suddenly do.