Текст книги "The Dragon's Favorite Strays"
Автор книги: Ruby Dixon
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Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 26 страниц)
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CHAPTER 16
DAKOTA
The next day, Murr brings a dead deer, with small three-pronged antlers. The meat is delicious and we season our portion and roast the larger amount into shreds to feed the cats. Murr doesn’t eat with us, but he never does. He probably eats deer when he’s out hunting.
He hangs around, too. He’s there when I wake up, and while he doesn’t follow us into the bookstore when we head to bed, he’s usually out in the parking lot when we do. It’s like he’s waiting for us to go to sleep before he feels he can.
“He definitely thinks of us as a couple of strays he has to feed,” Rabbit announces to me after a week of this.
I nod agreement, because what else can it be? I’ve never heard of dragons adopting humans as pets, but I’ve also gone out of my way to avoid forts—the human settlements—as much as possible. No one wants a young mother with a daughter unless one of us is willing to open her legs. I’d rather take my chances out in the wild on my own. I just worry it’s not the right choice for Rabbit as a young girl, but leaving her behind in a fort isn’t the answer, either.
Today, when Murr drops a deer for us, I realize immediately that it’s diseased. There’s something wrong with it, the hide mottled and strange. When I cut it open, the organs are discolored and off, and I pull away a kitten that’s trying to climb the hide. “This is bad, Rabbit. We can’t eat this one. It’s sick. I don’t know if the meat is any good or not.”
We examine it together, and Murr arrives while we poke at the deer corpse. I hate to turn down a gift, but I show him the innards of the deer and shake my head. “Meat’s bad.”
“Bad?” he echoes. It’s a word he’s picked up recently. “Meat no good? No cats? No Dakota?”
I’m impressed at his grasp of our language after only a few days. I shake my head. “No, it’s no good for them or for us.”
One of the cats rubs against his leg and meows plaintively. Murr scoops it up and strokes the cat’s head, thinking. He sets the cat down again and gestures at the dead buck. “Meat…” He pauses, trying to find the right words. Through a variety of hand-signals and the few words he does have, he tells us his plan—he’s going to get rid of the bad meat and find something new.
“Murr yes meat Dakotah Ribbit cats,” he declares. Then he gestures at the ground again. “Stay.”
With that, he springs into the air, changing into his dragon form right over our heads and nearly scaring the shit out of me. I bite back a whimper of terror because it’s just Murr, and watch as he scoops up the dead deer and heads off. The cats screech a protest, meowing wildly and circling around us.
“You guys are spoiled,” Rabbit says to them. “He’ll be back.”
I look around the parking lot, and more cats are flooding over, tails up with excitement. “I’m sure he’ll be back soon enough. He knows they’re hungry. We can go ahead and start a fire for now.”
While I pull firewood from our small stack and add it to our designated “firepit” (basically just a pothole in the parking lot), Rabbit plays with the cats. She’s crafted a feather toy on a shoelace, and the cats go wild for it. Each time they lunge, my daughter laughs with delight, and it’s the best sound in the world. I grew up with pets, and it’s so hard to tell her we can’t take care of one. I know she’s an animal lover and she’s lonely, but we can’t feed a cat. They’re meat eaters. Maybe a dog would be different, but we haven’t had the opportunity to find one to adopt.
I feed tinder to the fire, watching as Rabbit runs circles around the parking lot, chased by a pair of big gray tabbies. I know this is Murr’s home, but he seems to like us, and I love the bookstore we’ve settled in. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to share space for a while…
“Hello, ladies.”
The stranger’s voice calls out across the parking lot, and I jerk to my feet, turning. Rabbit stops in her tracks, looking at me.
A strange man with a battered ten-speed bicycle wheels it toward us. He’s got long, unkempt hair and a scraggly graying beard. His clothes are weatherbeaten, and he has an oversized pack on his shoulders, a bedroll perched atop it.
A fucking nomad. Someone who doesn’t like the rules that the forts lay out, and so they decide to take on the apocalypse solo. Which wouldn’t be such a bad thing in theory, but nomads have gotten a bad reputation for a reason. They’re rapists and murderers, thieves and dealers, and generally the worst people around. Most didn’t leave a fort of their own volition, like we did.
And as a woman alone with a child? I know you don’t trust any man who approaches you with a friendly smile on his face.
I pick up one of the heaviest sticks in the firewood pile and heft it like a weapon. I’ve gotten lazy with Murr around– my spiked bat is inside next to my bed, along with my crossbow. I’ll beat a motherfucker to death with firewood if I need to, though. I gesture at Rabbit and she races to my side, huddling behind me. She’s got her utility knife, but I don’t want her to fight if she doesn’t have to. With my daughter safe at my side, I lift my chin and point the stick at the stranger. “Don’t come any closer.”
He stops his bike and puts up the kickstand. “That’s not very friendly of you.”
As if he deserves friendliness simply because he’s shown up? “What do you want?”
“Thought I’d come say hi. Been smelling smoke on the breeze and figured there was either a resident dragon or company nearby. Glad it’s not a dragon.” He smiles, showing a missing tooth underneath that bushy beard. It doesn’t mean anything– dental work is hard to come by in the After– but the sight of him still strikes me as vaguely menacing. Maybe it’s his too-friendly expression. No one’s friendly in the After. Everyone’s on alert at all times.
The fact that he’s trying to be chummy makes me distrust him.
Even though he’s mentioned dragons, I don’t bring up Murr. People have been kicked out of forts for being sympathetic to dragons, and I don’t want him getting curious and sticking around. “We don’t need help,” I say. “And we don’t have anything to share, so you can just keep on going.”
He ignores the warning in my voice, bending down to offer his hand to one of the calico cats. “Looks like you’ve been sharing with these little guys, or else they wouldn’t be so friendly.”
“They don’t have any food to share, either.”
The man straightens, and the smile remains on his face, but his eyes are cold. “Not very friendly of you.”
“No, it’s not, is it?” I keep my voice flat, dispassionate, even though my heart is racing wildly.
He glances over at the bookstore, at the tarps we’ve hung over the broken window up front, and then at our firepit. “This your squat?”
It feels like a loaded question. If I say no, what’s to stop him from deciding to move in? If I say yes, he knows exactly where we live and where to find us from now on…and that we’re two females alone. Women don’t travel alone unless they’ve got a protector or they’re desperate, so I decide to lie. “My husband is going to be back in a minute.”
The nomad grins, flashing that gap in his smile at me again. “Sure he is, darlin’.”
“I’m not your fucking darling.”
He tilts his head. “You’re kind of a bitch, actually. All I wanted was a little conversation.”
I will not show fear. I will not show fear. That’s what he wants. He’s testing us to see if we’re going to panic. “You’ve had it. You can go now.”
“Shame.” He scratches at his beard. “I wouldn’t mind a little feminine company. I can provide for you two if you need a man.”
“Like I said, my husband will be back at any minute.”
He blinks, unfazed. “Be a shame if I had to fight him for you.”
Instead of scaring me, his words piss me off. I’m so sick of men thinking that women are just things to be fought over. This is why we’re out here alone instead of in a fort. “Just fucking try it and I’ll cut your throat from ear to ear if you even get within six inches of me or my daughter.”
As if he can read my thoughts, he smiles again and gazes at the horizon, not moving an inch. “They sure are friendlier in forts. Don’t suppose you know where the closest one is?”
“Head east. Away from here.”
“That where you’re from?”
I don’t answer.
“Strange to me that a man would leave his woman and his daughter alone out here if there’s a perfectly safe fort nearby.”
I don’t reply. I can feel Rabbit’s trembling fingers lacing into the back of my worn leather belt, as if she can somehow get reassurance from touching me. I grip the stick tighter, reminding myself how I handle a fight with a larger opponent. Try to get a good strike or two. If that doesn’t work, pretend to faint and sag in his grip. It’ll allow me to get the advantage again. Go for the balls or the back of the knee. Above all else, try to do damage. Mark him up so others will see the proof.
The silence continues between us. One of the cats in the parking lot throws itself down and starts washing itself in front of us, the most absurd moment to choose, really. The nomad heaves a sigh and puts his hands up in the air. “All right, all right. I can take a hint. Nice meeting you two ladies. May we meet up again sometime.”
Over my dead body.
I know he’ll be back. He’s going to wonder about us and see us as easy pickings. He won’t be able to resist. We both know he’s not going anywhere near the fort. He was just testing me to see how I’d reply when he brought it up.
Both Rabbit and I stand in place, watching as he gets back on his bike and slowly pedals off into the distance. My hand hurts from gripping the rough branch so hard. I want to race in and get my crossbow, but I also know that if he sees me running, it’ll be construed as weakness, and then we’ll never get him to leave us alone.
It feels like an eternity before I take a deep breath and acknowledge that he’s not coming back, at least not right away. I turn to my daughter. “You okay?”
Her lower lip trembles, and for a moment she looks much, much younger than her fourteen years. “What do we do, Mom? Do we have to leave?”
For a moment, I wish I was Rabbit’s real mom. Maybe I’d know how to comfort her better in this moment. As it is, I pull her close, wrapping her in my arms even as I keep an eye on the horizon. Just in case. “It’s going to be all right.”
“But a nomad knows where we live now,” she says, voice shaky.
“Yes, and Murr will be back at any moment. He won’t let that guy try anything. Remember how protective he was of his kittens? He just thinks of us as more kittens. It’ll be fine.”
She brightens, and then her smile of relief fades just as quickly. “Unless he thinks of that guy as a kitten, too.”
I snort, brushing her hair back from her face. “Did he strike you as even vaguely kitten-like?”
“No.”
“Exactly.”
She manages a small smile. “He’d probably take one look at Murr’s dick and freak out.”
“Very true,” I agree, and manage to laugh without it sounding too horribly forced. It takes everything I have not to scan the horizon, looking for a pair of wings.
Where the hell is the damn dragon when you need him?
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CHAPTER 17
MURR
I take my time choosing a fat animal for my humans to eat. I don’t want to give them another sick one, because I don’t want to make them ill. I’m a bad provider if I can’t give them good meat, so I find a herd of bucks and settle atop a tall building nearby, watching them graze. When I’m satisfied that two or three look healthy and fast, I get to work. I scatter them and chase after one in particular, downing him quickly.
With my kill in my claws, I fly back to my family of cast-offs, imagining the happy noises that Dakotah will make when I feed her. I enjoy the company of Ribbit as much as any of my cats, but Dakotah is the one that fascinates me and makes me linger. She is the one I want to make word sounds at so I can understand her.
As I land, I can tell immediately that something is wrong. Dakotah has her weapon out, and there is a fear-smell all over her. Ribbit’s scent is nearby, but she is hiding. The breeze shifts, and then I smell it.
Someone else has been here. Another human. A male human.
And my females are frightened.
I growl low in my throat, rage blistering through my thoughts. This is my territory. My females. My family. This other male is trespassing.
I can feel my eyes growing dark, the rage too close to the surface. It threatens to blot out my thoughts entirely, and I can sense that I’m slipping back into the madness that took over my mind for so long. I fight against it, but every time I get a whiff of Dakotah’s fear-scent, it unleashes something feral in my mind.
She looks up at me as I land with the buck, and her scent instantly changes to one of relief. “Murr!”
Her joy at my return soothes some of the madness away. I want to chase down the male and rip him limb from limb simply for encroaching on what is mine, but Dakotah and Ribbit need me here to protect them and make them feel safe. I stay in my battle-form, nosing Dakotah with my muzzle and trying to reassure her. I cannot make the human mouth sounds with my dragon snout, but her scent remains one of relief, and when she calls Ribbit out of hiding, I can sense them both relaxing.
They remain uneasy for a while, watching the horizon. I’m tempted again and again to hunt down the male that decided he could come onto my territory, but I do not want to leave Dakotah and her daughter for even a moment. Not when they are so skittish.
So I stay right where I am. I curl up and let the cats nestle against my scales, enjoying my warmth. I keep a watchful eye as the two human females butcher the meat I brought and roast it over their tiny fire. They chop it up and feed the cats, and save some for themselves for tomorrow. Once they go inside their dwelling, I decide I will hunt down the interloper.
But it begins to rain before I can leave, and I know the scent trail will disappear. Frustrating, but I have made my choice. Dakotah needs me and my presence more than I need to exact vengeance on this unknown male.
They clean up the fire and the cats scatter, some of them going inside Dakotah’s dwelling with the humans. Cats do not like the rain, but it does not bother me. I remain where I am, lounging directly in front of their home, and I extend a wing out to shield the cats that choose to remain at my side.
I will protect my new family, no matter what it takes.
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CHAPTER 18
DAKOTA
I don’t sleep at all that night. I keep having nightmares that the nomad is going to return and he’s going to hurt Rabbit. My crossbow remains clenched in one hand, a knife in the other, and I stare up at the ceiling. There’s a cat on my feet on the blankets, and Rabbit has a few more with her in her bed that she’s made next to mine. She wants to sleep with me instead of on her own, the only admission that she’s more rattled than she lets on.
The sun rises, and I get up from bed to start the day. I feel like death warmed over, but survival doesn’t care if you had a good night’s sleep or not. With my crossbow at the ready, I peer out the window of the bookstore and see nothing but a mountain of golden scales.
Murr slept just outside the door all night, as a dragon. No one would even come near us at the sight of something like that, and his protectiveness eases a lot of my fear. We have the biggest, most badass protector around in him. I don’t care that he thinks of us as stray cats. I’ll draw on some whiskers and put on a tail if it means we’re safe. Right now, I fear humans way more than I fear a dragon who has a love of cats.
I head outside, the dawn misty and muggy from yesterday’s brief rain shower. Murr’s golden skin gleams like a treasure pile of coins, startlingly beautiful, and I resist the urge to reach out and stroke him to see what it feels like. He’s got a dozen cats curled around him asleep, one draped over his thick tail.
The sight of the huge dragon should make me nervous, but the tabby stretched over his tail is the picture of contentment, and it’s hard to be anxious about a creature covered in cats. Murr opens one eye and looks at me, then yawns and carefully stretches one leg out, mindful of the cats.
“Thank you,” I tell him. “I know you’re guarding us. I appreciate it more than you realize.”
He just blinks at me, and I wonder if he caught any of that. Is his understanding of our language any different in this form compared to his human one? I don’t know, and I don’t have a way to ask.
But I do know he wants more of our language, and that’s one thing I can do for him. So while Rabbit is sleeping late, I start building a fire in our firepit. I head inside the store, to the children’s section, and find a picture book. One is just zoo animals, which doesn’t suit my needs, but another has pictures of common things like cars and trees, and I bring that one with me.
I poke at the fire, checking on it, and then put some of the long strips of venison on the spit. To think I spent so much time searching for smoking supplies when a quick read of a book told me that I could smoke the meat by cutting it into strips and roasting it over the fire. Figures. I season the meat and add some crunchy leaves to the coals to make things good and smoky, and then head back to Murr’s side. I sit down in front of him, and open the book.
The first few pages of “A” words aren’t all that useful. I don’t know that Murr’s going to care about apples or ants or angels. I flip ahead and pause when I see something useful. Showing him the book, I tap the picture of the cartoonish car. “Car.”
A moment later, I’m no longer talking to a massive dragon, but a golden man. He scoops up the tabby that was unceremoniously dumped on the ground and carries it with him to my side. Murr sits across from me, folding his legs in the criss-cross-applesauce way I was taught in grade school, and puts the cat in his lap. He strokes its ears as he studies the picture, then my face. “Cah?”
“Close. Carrrr.” I roll the R and then point at a broken-down SUV a short distance away. “Car.”
He blinks, and I can tell he’s not grasping it. I flip to the next page and show him the cartoon printed there. “Cat.” I tap the leg of the cat settling into his lap. “Cat.”
Murr frowns and takes the book from my hands. He brings it to his face and squints at the picture hard, then the cat in his lap. I can practically see the lightbulb go off over his head. He points at the picture. “Cat?”
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CHAPTER 19
MURR
It is a book of glyphs. How fascinating. My clever Dakotah is trying to teach me more of her words by showing me some of the stylized glyphs of her people. I have vague memories of something like that from my home, but not nearly as colorful or foolish-looking as these. She seems happy with them, and points things out and pronounces the sounds so I can learn them, too.
The little creatures that I have adopted are cats. The sound is a small, hard one. Another similar sound are the cars, which are the strange metal squares I have found littered everywhere in this world. I’m not sure what they do, but she finds it important I learn this word.
She flips through the leaves of the book as I watch, frowning when she comes across certain things. After she frowns at another page, I lean over to see it for myself. It is a round object with white and black coloring.
“Izza sokkerball,” she says in that strange, babbling way of hers. “Prolly dunneeddat.”
“Dat?” I repeat, not sure what she is showing me.
Dakotah shakes her head again, flipping through more of the rustling leaves that are bound together. She keeps passing the glyphs and deciding against them, which frustrates me. I want to learn all of her words. Why are we not teaching them? She pauses on another, putting a hand over her chest. “Hart.”
The glyph this time is a human with their insides flayed open, displaying the tasty organs inside. “Meat.”
“Hart,” she says again, and thump-thumps on her chest to emphasize the motion. Ah. The name of a specific meat, then.
I repeat it and wait for the next word. When she flips the picture-glyphs again, though, she makes a strangled sound and flicks past the next page. That makes me curious, and I grab her hand, stopping her before she can move past. I take the pages and turn them back to the one she skipped past.
It is a glyph of two humans with their lips pressed together.
She pushed her lips on Ribbit once. This is something humans do regularly, then? I point at the picture, asking for the word. “Dakotah?”
Her scent changes to one with a tinge of nervousness. “Issakiss,” she says. “Kiss.”
“Kith,” I repeat. “Kith…bad?”
She’s startled by my question and babbles off a bunch of sounds, too quick for me to follow. Normally she makes her mouth sounds slower but she’s clearly nervous. Why are mouths pressing bad? She did it with her daughter. The humans in the glyph look quite happy.
“Kiss good,” she says finally, then shakes her head as if denying this.
I am even more confused.
She notices my confusion and puts her hand in a fist, then presses her lips to the back of her hand. She makes a loud smacking sound. “Kiss.”
But… I hold the picture up, pointing at the other person. It is people putting lips on people, not people mouthing their hands. “No?”
Her face gets red and she seems flustered. “No.”
I eye the picture again, wondering if I am misunderstanding it. Perhaps the humans are feeding one another, like a mother bird does to a baby bird.
Dakotah takes the pictures from me and flips through the pages. She finds one that makes her happy and shoves it under my nose, her tone bright. “Sun!”
I am rather suspicious of this mood, but if she will not tell me, how can I ask? I don’t have the words for it. “Sun,” I say grudgingly, and try to determine what the spiky yellow ball on paper is.
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