I was back in the part of the town that Cob controlled. I could almost smell the fire that had burned down Kanti's house, or maybe it was from the fire that Kalki had caused last night?

I maneuvered down the empty road and after turning left twice, found myself at the place where it had all started: at Cob’s graveyard.

The place that the crows talked about was on the other side of the park. It had been a few days since I was last there, and Cob’s remains, the aftermath of his collision with the truck, had disappeared into a layer of black hair and dried sludge. It no longer birthed sadness inside me, only repulsion. I was sorry, but after everything that had happened, yeah, I didn’t regret it one bit.

I was vigilant as I rushed into the thicket of grass, and weed that had grown in the span of days since I had last been there. The cacophony of insects was the only thing that hadn’t been affected by the adamant of the craziness. Still, nature was starting to claim what hu-mans had taken.

The other side of the park, the western area, was Bread’s territory, and we respected boundaries during normal times.  He was not there, but that was not my destination. My destination was the houses bordering the southern side of the park. As for why hu-mans kept pigeons in pens: Maybe they ate them? It was possible. Anything was possible when considering everything I had seen in the last couple of days.

I could see the crown of the enormous tree where the crows nested right behind the houses. The park was empty, but I could hear a commotion on the road. I stopped behind the only house on my side of the road, a naked brick structure that strongly smelled of paint, and peaked out.

I could smell the cat. He had been there as I learned from the ball of fur I found on the ground. But how could things be so easy?

I could also smell a faint signature of the screamers. Peeking from the corner I saw four dogs: one lean and small, two that looked like Cob before his death, while the fourth one was big and well-fed, twice my size and twice as angrier. He made me vigilant. The scent he was giving was stronger than that of his friends combined.  

They were house dogs; meaning they were stronger though tamer compared to free dogs, yet even Cob had changed into a beast after death. I didn’t want to take the risk.

As for the cat, I couldn’t see or smell him anywhere. He liked grooming and had no noticeable scent. So when Rusty was able to tell whenever he was near, that alone explained how exceptional his sense of smell was.

However, I only need to watch the dogs to find him. They were standing around an abandoned cement pipe, in front of the house with the pigeon pen. It was almost ten feet long, but not wide enough for the dogs to enter. I was sure the cat was hiding inside it and was waiting for a chance to escape. 

They had him boxed. The cat was like the pigeons in the coop. Cats need meat, but maybe he should have gone after something else, and smaller. There were far too many pigeons. I could smell them, even from the other side of the road. Their large numbers were bound to draw attention.

But I needed to save him. He was my only chance to find my pack. Even if they were dead I needed to know.

However, the situation on my end wasn’t any better. I charged at the dogs, changing slightly with every stride, but the warmth inside my heart was not enough. I knew I would not be able to kill them, but I could draw their attention away from the cat and then… I hadn’t figured out the rest of the plan yet.  

I charged into the top dog, the largest among them, and pushed him onto the one standing beside him. The two growled as they stood up, but it was enough time for the cat to make a move.

Run! I barked. Tiger, as I imagined, jumped out of the pipe and rushed into the shrubs and itching greenery that grew in the empty lots bordering the park. The screamers howled; their attention completely fixated upon me.

I rushed right after him.

He was fast. Cats are inherently nimbler than dogs, but I followed him as closely as I could. I couldn’t let him go! I knew he would not be going toward danger, but the ones following us were a problem.

Stop. I barked. He didn’t and kept going, straight, toward the northern end of the abandoned park. There was no exit there, only a ten feet tall wall!
Was there no other way?
I looked to my right: what about the grave and the streets past it? I could make a dash for it, but then I would lose the cat. And I didn’t believe I would be able to find him again. Stupid as it may sound, I followed the cat to a place with no exits, with four screaming dogs charging behind me, rasping in a devilish tone, dangerous from their nails to the teeth.

The cat careened through the four feet tall like a gust of wind. He was unstoppable. I only heard the sound of the plants fluttering as I followed him in absolute silence. I had to follow. He was scared. He was just like me when I was running from the old man. But I couldn’t let him getaway.

Just a little faster. A trickle of strength flowed from my heart and I sped up. The dogs were right behind us. They were screaming. They were running. They were going crazy. I didn’t believe they were even breathing
It was a chase.
My eyes started turning watery from the exertion. I was leaking stamina as if I had grown a hole.
Not right now.
The demons chasing me would have torn me to pieces had I stopped.
Just a little bit more.
If only I could hold on for a bit longer. However, my chest was burning and my legs were starting to seize. My muscles were at their limit. Another injection of heat allowed me to keep following, keep exerting, but I was running out of the warmth. I had barely enough for one more charge.

Then I saw the wall. It was tall, taller than anything I had ever scaled. I knew I was not going to make it, but I saw Tiger rush out from the weed and push up the landfill at the bottom of the wall. He jumped at the wall, climbing vertically, and made it atop the wall. He made it look so effortless, so easy.

Don’t go! I barked.
I was also getting closer.

Climb! He meowed.
How? I let out another bark —just a couple of strides and it was judgment time. I would never make it up if I didn’t start preparing for the climb. It was outrageous.

Get over the wall, kid. Rusty taught you how. Just get over!

I was right! They knew each other!
That was it. I had to get over the wall no matter the cost. I let the last motes of the warmth trickle down my veins. It changed my muscles as it flowed into my legs, enriching them, strengthening them. I could feel the change. The sharp increase in the length of my strides gave me confidence. I could do it. I could. I knew how to climb a vertical wall.

When the time came to choose between turning around or leaping at the wall, I leaped. I leaped for the life of me and pulled my rear legs forward as I inched toward the wall. The enhanced, long, and sharp nails of my forelegs dug into the structure, almost mounting my whole weight upon it. At the same time, my rear legs touched the wall. I pulled my up with my forelegs and pushed myself forward with my rear, and soared up.

The momentum carried me higher but ran out a tad shy of brining me over the wall. No. I didn’t fall back. I slung my forelegs over the wall just in time and hung from its side like bird poop. My heart thundered in my chest. The cat licked its belly without a care in the world, as I peddled my rear legs and pulled myself up —just in time as the screaming dogs smacked into the wall below me like four rotten tomatoes.

They stink worse than my shit! The cat commented.

They growled as the wall shook three times. One of them had his head exploded open, while the others fared relatively well. The rasping dogs didn’t waste time, however, and turned upon the dead one. Driven into hunger by the sweet and savoring scent that came from its head, they could not control themselves, and neither could I.
 
My tail swayed from the sweet aroma that was rising from below. I wanted to get some of what they were eating. They didn’t stop at the head, however. They went down on the corpse, tearing mouthfuls of its flesh and wolfing it down their throats without chewing.

Are you that hungry? Tiger slapped my face. What has that rust bucket been feeding you that your mouth is watering over that piece of junk?
It’s meat. I whined, causing him to stop whatever he was doing and slapped me again.  
You call that rotting, maggot eaten, flea scaring, fungus driven pile of gutter goo, meat?  
The cat scrunched his face and brought out his claws when the slap didn’t work. Honestly, I knew what he meant. But—

Can’t you smell it? I moaned. It’s so, so good? How can you behave as if there’s nothing down there?

The cat scoffed at me; literally, it did that. I smell shit. He shook his head at me like a hu-man. And that’s shit which has fermented over the course of a year. That’s exactly what I smell from the corpse.

We both watched the dogs rip apart the one of their own like he was their greatest enemy of all time. While the cat complained about everything from missing the opportunity of getting the pigeon, to being born, I regretted not getting a taste of that seducing meat.

I understood that I had changed I had eaten that thing inside Cob, but it was also the only thing that had kept me alive ever since. So I could not begin to hate it, even if it meant growing passionate about rotten meat. 

I was too engrossed and the weakness from using the warmth was coming over me. I swayed forward as it hit me all of a sudden, but the cat bit my tail and saved me. The dogs were starting to realize what they had missed and were coming around.

Come with me. Let me get you some real food. The cat jumped down from the wall, but I couldn’t. It was too high. I didn’t want to get my head smashed in again. Thankfully, there was a stack of bricks leaning against the wall that was just high enough for me to get down. I managed somehow. It took a lot of patience, though, and courage.

The cat waited for me on the grey-smooth paved ground, cleaning his belly. Cats love grooming; I was finally learning why Cob used to mention it over and over again.  

The cat stood up. Before we go, he stared at me. Tell me what you want in return for saving my life.
I only distracted the scream—
He interrupted me and jumped up on me. Take the compliment I have given. Take it like a dog. He brought his face right in front of mine. We were so close our whiskers were touching.

He took a step back and sat in attention with his back straight, and I for some reason was infected by his seriousness and copied him.
I want to find Rusty and Ginger and Dimple. We were separated from each other after this thing started. I checked one of Rusty’s hiding spots, but he wasn’t there. You have known Rusty for a long time; I was hoping you’d know where he’d have taken the others.

 I asked with anticipation. In my head, I believed he would have the answer to my question, but my hopes were crushed, shredded, and maimed when he shook his head.

I don’t know where they are. He told me before getting back to grooming.  Anything else you want: Food, shelter, a scrub, slap on the face?

I was… hopeless.
SO? He asked again when I didn’t respond.
I want to find my pack. I raised my head and howled, which was cut short by another slap from him and he kept hitting me until I lay on the ground.

There is enough trouble going around with those imbeciles two-leggers suddenly going crazy. I don’t what another problem on my hands. He started walking. Now, come with me.
You know—
Are you dumb? Don’t make me repeat myself. I don’t know where your pack is, but I know someone who might.