Queen of the Cats 11. How to Plan a Market Day Party

As she walked the final distance down the forest path, Nix considered whistling a merry tune so she would look normal and perhaps even merry about the market day to come. No one whistled anymore though. She settled on quiet and calm humming of an old melody remembered from a childhood with Alice, knowing it was probably some hippy dirge about overcoming something or loving everyone.

It was important to look nice and normal, because there were likely spotters in the trees. Whoever had killed the Day men and their farm help and then rounded up a shamble of corpses would likely put down a single settler who looked like they were about to spoil the big surprise. These party planners wanted everyone in one place so that with one festive day of blood spatter and arterial spray, they would own this valley and whoever they left alive or kidnapped.

If you wanted to entirely depopulate a region while causing little damage to usable resources, this was the plan to use. Market day events were important to exchange goods, but also information, plans for spring planting so that crops would not be duplicated, requests for those going out on scavenging missions, ordering clothing to be made, seeing the doctor, visiting the dentist and sometimes finding the closest thing to true love left in this rural corner of mountains. Unless you were on your death bed, market day was to be attended. If you were on your death bed, it was still an option and the doctor would at least be there.

Market day was actually three days and would see nearly all the settlers of the region arriving and setting up their wagons, tents and stalls for trading goods. This first day and night would just be the arrival of the planners, most able and closest resident settlers. They would undertake extra work, helping older settlers and farmers set up their wares as they arrived the following day. Also, the early arrivals would dig a massive fire pit with high banked sides, drag in the dead logs that had been pulled from the woods weeks ago, then chop and stack the wood. Lastly, the posts and barbed wire hung with tiny bells would be set fully around the encampment and wagons in case the fire or the noise brought any stray corpse shuffling in their direction.

All humans and animals would be bedded down in the barn each night of the market, because it was still the safer option. A cot and pillow inside with three shifts of a watch set sure beat sleeping in your wagon and wondering if the bells on the fence would wake you if there was trouble. This site was a great location for Autumn Faire as the temperatures could drop a bit and the barn helped retain some heat. The great hay loft above would be filled with the night long giggles of the younger children, bedded down in straw and in about the safest place they could be. The giggles were nice to hear.

As she reached the wide open stretch of ground around the barn and began leading Cow across the two acres of cleared land, Nix paused to look at the vista of the property as if she was savoring the view. She let the darkest part of her mind unfurl, a black lotus on still water. If she was going to murder everyone she knew using the shambling dead, how and when would she best accomplish the deed. She considered the lessons of every hunter, trapper, builder, thief and the most horrific things she had seen in her life.

Tomorrow would be the larger setup, installation of more fence and then the opening social at dusk. A bonfire, roasting meat, dancing, attempts at music, over-sugared children, story-swapping, gazes meeting, plans made, alcohol consumed, drunken settlers and a rollicking good time had by all. But still, not quite yet. Everyone would be excited, happy, up late talking and have trouble getting to sleep after months apart.

The following day would be full with trade, games, food, races, day-drinking and then the harvest bonfire. A huge stack of wood (and event trash) that would burn to the heavens. No one, except the youngest children and dimmest teenagers would still be entirely sober. Everyone would be tired, at least buzzed, sore from sleeping in the barn, and forcing themselves to stay awake longer than they intended, trying to make this good time last.

That, Nix imagined, was precisely when the party would turn ugly as the bitey herds of corpses were maneuvered through the dark. She imagined from the group she had seen that they could be gathered up with the wire like a lasso and would follow along behind any living person, hoping for a taste. At the market day site, some bells would be silenced, fences cut, tied packs of dead brought inside the perimeter and then released into the crowd. In the half-light of the bonfire flicker, they wouldn't be seen, except as tripping drunks, until it was far too late. Chaos. Blood. Screaming. Death. Fire.

Nix figured on at least three to four groups of the dead, brought in from different directions for appropriate redundancy. Maybe a set left on the perimeter for anyone who ran. That kind of herd would need eight to ten people, minimum, to direct the dead. Nix figured that size gang would place at least two men or women on the inside as new settlers. They would probably come in to introduce themselves as new hands hired on at the Day farm. They would arrive on horseback and probably be charming, maybe even attractive. Everyone trusts a bright smile and firm handshake. Nix imagined they would explain that the family had the flu, and that they had brought the wagon of produce for trade.

During the opening evening social, they would probably pick a far and dark corner of the barn for a "good cuddle", produce some noises that no one would disturb, and work loose a few boards from the ancient barn. A final herd of the dead could be set loose inside the barn where everyone would run for shelter. All of the dead would follow from the broad carriage doors to the makeshift opening where the corpses would keep filing in.

Shut the doors. Light the barn.  Old wood and hay on fire. Now, the gang would own a region and all of the trade goods from the market day. They would probably kidnap some more young women. Nix shook off the terrible daydream and wished she couldn't imagine things so awful, but this was so close to her own past.

Well, that shit wasn't happening on Nix's watch. She'd seen hundreds of  humans go down that way once before and she was not going to watch it again. With a bright, feigned smile she waved at the boys chopping the wood and digging the fire pit and she, Cow, Garibaldi and the wagon headed for the "safety" of the market day enclosure. She kept her eye out for good sniper perches in the hillsides, strange flashes of light and how she was going to explain this to the council without them flailing in fear, grabbing up their families and running for the hills. It was far too late for that.

12. Party Planners

Queen of the Cats, 10. Sampson

10. Sampson

A flash through the forest. Monochrome, brown on brown through autumn brush and over deep leaf litter, damp and rich with the smell of the endless cycle of decay, enrich, rebirth.

Eyes flashing in the half light. legs churning on silent paws. Feet that barely touch the ground. Up the steep hills. Pause, mark the path again. Across the water on old tree and rocks. No stopping. No rest. Rub against the oak. Smell a dead one. Redirect. Race the falling sun. Chase the rising moon. Dapple light, pale through bare trees.

Exhaustion creeping in from every limb, the tired ache of every joint run ragged. Hunger. Thirst. His belly clenching, throat raw, foot pads that seems to be splitting with pain. A wild leap across a ravine, just catching the far side and scrambling to the top. The mossy rock. A tree that smells like Garibaldi. Pride land. Just a little more. Familiar ground for his stumbling, automatic feet. There, the tall house.
Up the beam, through the fireplace, into the kitchen where he crashed bodily into the call bells, ringing every one in a discordant clang that meant one thing. Danger- come now to help and know.

Sampson stopped running and collapsed beside a water dish. He picked his head up a few scant inches and rested it on the side of the bowl, beginning to lap furiously at the cold, clear water, stopping only to let air gasp into his heaving chest. Nocta walked up to him and canted her head to one side. When Sampson seemed about to stand she stepped on his rear foot and he yowled in sudden agony, his eyes going wide as he looked at Nocta as if betrayed.

The ancient queen bent her head to his paw, and with her delicate teeth she extracted a long thorn and dropped it on the floor where Sampson could see it. He heaved a sigh and pillowed his head against the bowl again as he realized she was going back for more and some of the other old queens were coming toward him to help. Sudden memories of being a kitten, held down and cleaned by countless raspy tongues made him twitch.

When they finished, most of the Pride had arrived and Sampson just stared at the pile of forest bits that the old queens had pulled off or out of him. He had felt none of it while he ran. He felt every bit of it now. After a few tries, Sampson heaved himself up to sitting, surveying the cats around him. His eyes blinked slowly.

The conversation that followed can not be spoken of, for the language of the Pride is arcane, a mystery that is not for humans to know unless, like Nix, they are of the Pride. A head rubbed against some symbols drawn low on the wall were involved and then the matter seemed settled. As one, the Pride turned and scattered, each to its own chores. There was work to do and it must be done quickly and done correctly the first time.

Sampson stood and stretched, then began to take a step toward... nothing. He was laying on the floor again and Nocta stood above him with her paw raised, daring him to try it. He growled low. Nocta looked unimpressed and groomed her paw. He began to rise again and this time the blow came from behind. The queens stood around him, one having just finished nosing a bowl of food to the space in front of Sampson's face. He growled. Nocta growled right back. Sampson's stomach growled. He stopped fighting and ate his fill.

When he finished, they brought him more water and this time he did not fight them. He drank quietly. Looking Nocta in the eye, he slowly attempted to rise. This time the cuff came at the side of his head and he slowly laid back down on the floor. Sampson drew in his legs, wrapped his tail and tucked his nose into a compact ball of cat. Nocta climbed atop him and curled into the same shape and began to purr contentedly. Sampson's eyes flashed for a moment and then the feeling of being warm, and full and watered and not running washed over him. The other old queens curled up around him, their bodies warming his aches, their old feet kneading his exhausted body and their purring waking the purr within Sampson.

Within a moment, he slept.

The old queens looked to each other and wondered how many others of the kittens they had nursed and raised and taught would need such care after this night. They watched the cats running about their chores, remembering each as the tumbling kitten that they had loved.

The old queens let no one wake Sampson just yet. It would be at least an hour yet before the leaving would begin and their darling but monstrous big tabby son of the whole Pride would rest until then. They each loved him as a kitten of their own body and thus, were always doubly hard on him. Cats, as humans, do have some things in common

11. How to Plan a Market Day Party

Queen of the Cats 9.5: Run

After just a few moments Nix got her head together and a thought occurred to her that brought her to a sharp halt. She dropped to one knee and exhaled a sharp hiss. Once on the ground she pulled off her shoe as if a rock had fouled her step and she rubbed at her foot, allowing Sampson and Garibaldi time to come to her hissed call. Their training worked and she slipped them some bits of dried chicken from her pocket. They wove around her legs, letting her scratch at them as they waited for instructions.

There were benefits of years working alone with a group of animals and people always underestimated the intellect of domesticated animals. Those facts combined to create a powerful secret weapon- you could train animals beyond the limits of what most humans imagined. A good horse would return home when told to do so. A herd of cattle or goats could be directed to a certain pasture with a few commands or the guidance of a dog. People thought cats were indolent and lazy, mostly because they had never bothered to understand them and how they, in kind, understood the world. In truth, cats were sharp at all ends and crafty in the middle. They could learn remarkable things when they saw a benefit from the knowledge.

"You are the very best boys" Nix crooned to them both, lavishing them with affection and likely boring any scouts watching this arrival trail. Both Garibaldi and Sampson sat, their attention riveted on the leader of their Pride. Nix said Garibaldi's name and his eyes snapped to her face, she pointed him to the wagon, signaling him to remain with her. They both slow blinked their eyes and the red cat hopped onto the wagon and stretched lavishly.

Clearing a bit of ground to bare dirt she drew two simple images. The first was a straight line with a circle on top, the most basic pictogram of a tree that could be drawn. The second was two curving lines that sketched out a claw. Sampson watched her draw each image. Pointing at the tree, Nix scratched the picture away with all of her fingers, using both hands. She repeated the gesture after pointing to the claw. Sampson stepped closer to the tree image and ran his right paw through it, claws out, multiple times and did the same thing with the scratched image of the claw and turned his solemn eyes up to hers.

Master, mother, friend, queen, protector, teacher, healer- Nix had been his world since she saved his tiny life. She offered the cat her fist and he rammed it with his massive head. Sampson, she hoped beyond hoping, understood the message that she had taken years teaching in case of a moment just like this. She grabbed both sides of his giant face, kissed the topped of his tabby head and whispered "Sampson, run and run back. Bring them. I love you."

She finished fixing her shoe and stood, taking hold of Cow and continuing her ridiculous wagon train down the path with Garibaldi laying atop her tarp covered goods, sprawled and rolling like a boneless sloth. As Nix looked back she watched Sampson finish taking a nice, steaming pee atop where the pictograms had been, kicking dirt over the top and heading off into the woods.

Their walking path had taken most of ten hours at the speed of a cow and wagon. They had used the paths that worked for moving goods, not the shortcuts. That cat would not take the long way. Sampson was smart. Not smart for a cat, but probably smarter than some people Nix had met. He was fast, and in a forest, he blended into the browns and seemed to disappear, just a motion at the corner of an eye.

When she found him, he was all of three weeks old and fit in her pocket. His survival had hinged upon being the biggest in a litter, yet not making a sound when his barn was found by the dead. Nix couldn't save his mom, but she saved him and since then, she had been his world. Now, she hoped, Sampson was going to be able to save her and everyone else she knew who was still alive.

Run, buddy. Run like the damned wind.

10. Sampson

Queen of the Cats 9: To Market Day

9. To Market Day

Eight hours of walking with a furry cow, a well oiled trailer wagon and two stalking, woods-trained cats was a remarkably silent affair. Their path was surprisingly even, and the new leaf springs on the trailer were making just the right difference. Every few hours, Nix would pull the tiny caravan over in tidy, well used clearings for water and snacks. She only had to re-dead three corpses on this leg of the journey, and luckily she did not recognize any of them for locals.

Like the other well settled members of this community of mountains and valleys, Nix did her part to keep thoroughfares and known rest and camp sites clear, ready and stocked. The roads used now had no asphalt or even ruts. Mapped roads were how strangers traveled and ruts just showed them the way to homesteads. Careful hard-packed soil, slabs of rock, and leafy forest floors with narrow paths free of underbrush were now the way to travel across the old roads. Leaving no trail of settler passages was one of the most important parts of safety in this dead world. When roads were found they were followed. No matter if by bandits or corpses, that always ended in a bad day.

When a good site was found for a resting place or a night camp and after it was checked several times for previously unseen dangers, it would be marked by planting a few shrubs just outside the area. This was an idea that Nix had created and cultivated, even bringing seedling plants to market days so that settlers would mark their sites in the same way. Over a few years, the practice had taken hold and stuck. Now, you could roam the mountains and hollows and receive warnings of dangers ahead, requests to not approach closer to a homestead, invitations of welcome, and safe camps if you were caught out in the weather. It was useful and complex enough that those passing through likely would not catch on.

With a quick brush to flatten the leaves in the clearing, Nix and her strange party continued on. She planned her trip for a day of long travel, an overnight near the old farm, a short walk in the morning for market day and then the repeat on the way home. Sampson and Garibaldi patrolled the path, weaving in and out of view.

It was funny how things had changed. In a world of walking corpses, so many things had become more frightening than the dead. Somehow, it turned out that the living ended up to be the real problem, because they possessed guile and hidden motivations. Zombies just wanted to eat your face and then the rest of you in rapid succession. At least Nix understood that singular drive and knew how to deal with it. On the commune, she had learned so many things, but she hadn't had enough lessons in selfishness and terror. Of those topics, she was merely a student.

After another hour and a half of travel, Garibaldi trotted back into the path, proudly carrying a recently detached but fairly putrid hand. That was concerning. Nix had nearly reached her night shelter, which meant she was less than 45 minutes easy walk to the market day barn site. This whole area should already have been cleared for a week. Tying Cow off to a small tree, Nix followed Garibaldi who was anxiously pacing for her to follow him quickly. Something was very wrong.

Nix quietly slipped in behind the red cat and followed without concern that he would mislead her. When the one-eyed cat slowed his pace and began to slink forward, she slipped to her hands and knees and followed him to the edge of a rise. There Nix found Sampson crouched low, tail twitching with obvious upset and as she crept to the edge and peered over, she knew why. The gully below them was a shallow creek bed that ran fast in the spring and only meandered as the year turned old.

Shuffling in the churned mud where clear water usually ran, corpses. Hemmed in with post and wire fencing, some fifty or more of the dead listlessly paced and bumped into each other and the high sides of the dry creek bed wall. Among them, Nix saw some fresh dead and with a squint and imagined face repair, she identified them as the male members of the Day family. The family was large, well liked, trusting and worked a productive farm a valley south.

Nix shuffled back from the edge, got back to her feet and ran quiet as small forest creature. She untethered Cow and continued her party on toward the barn. Knowing there might be scouts watching, she had to keep it together and act like she was just trying to get to the barn before dark rather than camp on her own.

Here was her lesson in horror and humanity. As they moved quickly and efficiently, but without obvious panic, Nix suddenly knew several things to be absolutely true.
1. The Day family and the market site had been compromised.
2. The women of the Day family were, quite possibly and likely unfortunately, still alive.
3. One pack of zombies placed to swarm into Autumn Faire tomorrow probably meant more packs.
4. A lot of people she knew and even liked were going to die
5. Nix was sure AF not going to let that happen without a big damned fight.
6.The booze on board the wagon was going to make a lot of Molotov cocktails.


Continue- 9.5: Run