The world had ended It was as simple as that. No elaborate story or neat little bow to tie it all together. At least that was how Cat liked to look at the situation. Her name was like the world, simple and definite. She was never gifted with a last name since her mother couldn’t see the point. But it worked, a little too well.
Hunger was Cat’s calling card. It was what drove her to keep moving. If one place ran dry then there had to be another. But, since the world had ended, those others were becoming harder to find. Who would have guessed the end of the world would be like this?
Cat was on another day. Food had stopped coming at their last home so they just left. No blame on the owners. They needed to take care of themselves first. It was a comfortable home. Well kept even with the world ending and the owners had been so kind, opening doors wide and letting all of them in. Cat had hated to leave. She could see the signs. The couple were sleeping more and forgetting simple items. Cat and everyone else could move more easily, 80 year-olds not so much.
The sun was setting. The cold felt colder since they had been inside for the change of seasons. Most of the houses they had passed had been dark, lonely and abandoned, all the scraps removed or eaten by other wondering parties. Cat pushed everyone on quickly from those spots. There was no point wallowing and getting discouraged.
One advantage of the dark was you could spot occupied houses much easier. And that was exactly what Cat saw a hundred yards ahead, a brightly lit bungalow. Food.Cat signaled to the others. A quiet nod of her head was all that was needed. A dozen pair of eyes trained on their new destination. Moments later they had arrived.
The smell of food was apparent. It seemed to cover every surface. Cat felt the group ready to pounce, but they needed to play their cards right. One wrong step and they would get nothing. First, a volunteer would need to go to the door and get the owner's attention, explain the situation. Then one by one, with no signs of aggression, they would walk up.
A quick vote. Cat was picked. Each of them was supposed to take a turn but Cat felt her always came a little too quickly. It was probably because she was the cutest, the one least likely to get shooed away. One of the last few girls in the group too, yet the bravest.
With caution, she moved stealthily. No point in drawing attention till she was sure these people were checked out. There was no crazy blood on the ground or screams. Not like the house before they found their last place. Sam hadn’t survived. By the time they realized the owners were maniac killers, Sam had been snatched. Cat hated to leave him behind but they needed to look out for themselves.
Cat felt safe. Maybe she wasn’t, but the food was getting overwhelming. She made a commotion, soft scratches at the door. It was dead silent. Was there really anyone in the house? Were they too scared to even check the door? Then they were very stupid to set the house ablaze with all the light.
It felt like forever but soon footsteps echoed off the floor. Young feet with a sure step. This was good, Cat thought. Competent hunters to feed them. The door squeaked open. Cat saw the well-oiled leather of upkept boots.
“Well, what have we here?” The voice was husky from years of smoking. “Becka, I think we have a guest for dinner.”
A young woman poked her head into view. She seemed kind. At the sight of Cat her face distorted into a fully defined smile.
“Oh goodness. Exactly what we need to brighten up this place. Bring it in and let me see if Luke is up.”
Cat felt the floor give way to air. She wasn't sure if she was upset from being called it or being picked up.
“What shall we call…” there was a pause as the man carefully inspected Cat’s underside, “her?” He followed Becka into an old farmhouse style kitchen. Becka was reaching into a large box, pulling out a sleepy-eyed boy of about one year old. Cat squirmed, digging nails into flesh. She hoped her friends would her her cries and leave. This was not a home. It was a nightmare.