‘No!’ I hear her voice, loud and clear, followed by a grunt. Shock or – no – pain, and I leap the last few feet to find a door closed against me. I remember the room inside. A showroom of dead pelts. A couch.
‘Bitch!’ AD, angry now. The sound of a slap clear even through the barrier, as is the thud of something heavy falling to the floor. A body, I think, as I throw myself at the door. It does not budge. I howl. I am howling. My heart is breaking. Behind me I hear the humorless laughter of evil men.
And then, suddenly, a different sound. Different footsteps, fast and light, from the far dark recesses of the hallway. Tick, breathless, looks at me. Looks at the door.
‘AD, you in there?’ he calls. His voice is reedy and he reeks. Scat. Too much. More than any one boy could smoke and still live. ‘AD?’ He bangs on the door and calls again, his voice breathy and nervous. But not, I think, high. ‘You there? We have a problem.’
‘What?’ The door opens and AD leans out. His cheek is bleeding, and I recognize scratch marks. The hand on the door frame is bleeding too, the mark of teeth clear along the inside of his thumb.
‘One of the pallets broke and we’re not sure what to do.’ The boy shifts from one foot to another, uncomfortable with bearing bad news. ‘I mean, nobody wants the product to get wet and the ground out there, well, you know …’
As he speaks, my ears pick up movement. Behind AD, the girl is stirring. She is standing.
‘Hell.’ AD runs his bloody hand over his face, leaving a trail like warpaint on his filthy cheek. Tick sees it and stares. Even for this world, the look is dramatic. ‘AD …’ he starts to ask, then stops. I hear more movement. A step. She is up. She is approaching, but slowly. I hear hesitation – perhaps a limp.
She needs my help.
I look up at the boy. He is staring nervously at AD, trying to see beyond him. He has picked up something – a shift in the light, a shadow, a sound – and in a moment he will alert the gang leader.
I consider my options. Time is short, but … I think of the girl. Of what she has done. Of who her allies are. My allies. I throw myself at the boy, rubbing my body against his thin legs. It works. He looks at me in surprise and makes a sound of pleasure. A hand reaches toward me. A boy’s hand, looking to pet the kitty.
‘For pity’s sake.’ AD glances down, distracted. And in that moment, stumbles forward into the hall, Care’s small knife in his back.
‘Tick.’ She’s blinking, tears on her face. She reaches for the boy but AD grabs him first, pulling him backward like a ragdoll. With his other hand he pulls the small knife from his flesh, barely wounded by the makeshift weapon. It clatters to the floor as he lunges for the girl.
He hasn’t figured on me. I leap and bite, latching onto that outstretched hand with my fangs and two front claws, an unholy growl whining from my throat.
‘Blackie?’ Care steps back then stops as AD shakes his arm – shakes me – loose. I hit the floor awkwardly. My left hind leg is numb and I scramble to position myself, to attack again.
‘You need some help?’ The men on guard seem amused by the proceedings. A girl, a child and a cat. They are reluctant to leave their post. One of them, laughing, tosses AD his pistol.
‘Nah, I’ve got this.’ AD catches it and scowls, his face dark. He holds Tick close with one wiry arm as he tucks the gun back into his pants and eyes the girl. ‘You really want to do this the hard way, Care? After all we’ve meant to each other?’
‘Let Tick go, AD.’ Her voice cracks. She steels herself, says it again. ‘Let him go.’
‘And?’ That greasy smile. He thinks he’s tamed her. He’s got the boy. He’s got the gun. I see it, and my fur stands on end.
‘Let him go.’ She steps forward.
The boy is staring at her, shaking his head. ‘I belong here, Care. I stole the marker. It’s my fault Fat Peter was offed.’
‘Your fault?’ She pauses, confused.
‘I was supposed to bring it here. It was the signal.’ Tick is pleading. Willing her to understand. ‘I knew they’d blame him – blame Fat Peter. I knew when the old man showed up. But he was awful. He was …’ He hangs his head.
She mouths the words. ‘Oh, Tick,’ she says. ‘No.’
And AD makes his move. He grabs for her, one hand still on the boy. It’s an awkward lunge and he misses. Care seizes the boy’s hand and pulls him free.
‘Run, Tick!’ She sets off, still holding his hand. ‘Run!’