Queen of the Cats 16: Black on Black

As Nessa slept, curled in on herself, Nix was wrapped protectively around her and thoughtfully contemplated the color black. In the darkness of the night-time barn, although guards walked sentry, she had set up a second shift of watchers that she trusted more. In the far rafters and loft supports she caught the occasional eye shine from a shifting shadow as it slid along the wide beams of ancient timber. Near to a dozen cats roamed the structure and Nix could tell each by shape, by gait and by their unique shade of black.

The beauty of a group of black cats was that most people would find each indistinguishable from the next, never understanding the number of cats that moved through an area. The average person was unable to discern the subtle stripe of tabby in an undercoat, the difference in the shape of a face, the rainbow of gem-like eye colors, and the absolute unlikeness of the color black in one from the next. Much like a row of black socks of different ages, none were actually the same shade when viewed together. When it came to animals and the natural world, Nix was not an average person, as she possessed a rare talent for seeing details that others could not discern. 

Nessa could look at soil and the light of a place, the moisture of the ground and immediately provide an extensive list of the edible and useful plants, herbs and cover crops which could be grown in that location. She knew when to sow them, when to harvest them and how to best feed the soil between crops so that it would yield again the next season. It was remarkable to watch land bring forth any bounty that Nessa requested of it. 

Next to her, Nix's talents for a dab of everything, the keeping of cats and being able to identify things she found in the forest felt very small, but Nessa never made her feel that way. Nessa saw the best in people and the best in Nix. She felt like warm, clean sunshine to everyone she met, and yet, someone had put their hands upon her and hurt her in a startling number of ways. Thus, as Nessa slept, Nix counted cats like other people counted sheep, she compared their shades of black fur and contemplated murder. Rather a lot of murder.

Unable to rest any longer, Nix slipped out of the wagon bed and filled in the void she had left with warm feline bodies to keep Nessa comfortable. In a pair of old black sweatpants, an ancient band t-shirt, a slightly gnawed hoodie and her loosely tied boots, Nix ghosted her way out of her canvas draped space and through the wide lanes of the barn between the other tent-like temporary homes of the people of the territory.

As she strolled, an inky bit of shadow broke off from a larger patch and fell in beside her. The massive tomcat rammed his head into the side of Nix's calf and then sat down patiently in the middle of the roped-off lane. Coming to a complete stop, Nix nodded to the amber-eyed shadow and followed silently behind him as he led her to the far side of the reserved Council area. As the cat fell into a stalking crouch, Nix also dropped and studied the deeper shadows where no residents had set up to bunk yet. 

It was the smallest reflection of eye-shine and then, just like the black velvet on night sky of her cats, she caught the outline of the woman leaning against a pillar of the barn. Her stillness was near complete and she stared at the glow of light and silhouettes of the tented council area. Leaned slightly forward, she tried to hear snatches of conversation without stepping into the illumination cast through the canvas which separated the leadership from the empty and uninhabited space beyond. 

Nix slowly reached out and patted the cat twice on the right shoulder with two fingers. As he shot into the darkness, she withdrew her flashlight from the pocket of her hoodie, eased to her feet and waited for her cue. In just a moment, it arrived in the form of shrieking from the darkness as claws and teeth went to work. Nix idly bit at a broken fingernail as the shriek became a terrible screeching and she waited for the rush of other humans from among the council group to push into the wide lane. Silently, she applauded Lovecraft for his dedication to this attack and made a note to devise a proper reward.

As several people came puffing up beside Nix, she flipped on the beam of her flashlight already pointed directly at the barn pillar and the woman attempting to climb it. A streak of jet skittered away into the darkness, leaving the bleeding and screaming woman clutching the timber and trapped in the spotlight like a soloist on a stage. The General marched up to her, demanding to know what she was doing in this part of the barn which was nowhere near her reserved space but was concerningly near the reserved Council area. 

Stammering and wiping at the blood streaming down her face, the woman who had arrived on the wagon from the Day farm said she had gotten turned around when she had suddenly been attacked by a wild animal of some kind. Nix remained silent, just holding the flashlight on the woman as she attempted to argue with The General. Lovecraft returned, twined once between her feet and then sprang up to land on Nix's shoulder. The small panther quickly arranged himself around her neck and across both shoulders like a very plush and purring stole.

"Who's mama's favorite murder kitten?" Nix whispered as she slipped Lovecraft a bit of fish jerky from her pocket. He purred fiercely in response, making aggressive biscuits into the thick fabric of her hoodie and gnawed delightedly at the piece of dried fish. Several quiet snickers came from the members of Council who stood in audience beside Nix. The group remained until The General handed off the bleeding and blubbering woman to a sentry who ungently frog marched her back outside to the Day wagon and camp. 

The Council, most now roused from sleep by the ruckus, adjourned to their cordon and table for tea and contemplation. As Nix sat, Lovecraft slid from her shoulders to stalk down the long table and accept his due in scratches, words of praise and treats before deciding he was done with people and disappearing back into the rafters of the barn to continue his roaming. The General watched the feline depart, slowly shaking his head.

"I would believe that cat is possessed of a demon." he muttered with grudging appreciation.

"Nah, it's more likely he signed a contract at a crossroads and sold his kitty soul. He's not actually evil, just thoughtfully mean as hell when he cares to be." Nix mused, sipping her tea with a slight smile. 

"It was a rather remarkable amount of damage for a housecat... looked like a damn badger got her." Groused a leathery old hunter and trapper just known as 'Uncle Ed'.

Laughing like a brightly chiming string of bells, the lovely blacksmith opined "Those are not housecats Ed, they are apocalypse-cats. Pretty sure natural selection and Nix have given us a whole new species." As she laughed, her blonde curls danced in the lamp light while she poured her cup of tea and whiskey
. After a few moments her face changed to deadly serious and she asked in a flat voice "Now, are we all ready to plan some violence?"

Around the table, heads nodded and Council members both young and old leaned in to the whispered conversation and the task at hand. It was time to get serious.

Queen of the Cats 15. Love and Poppets

[Trigger warning- references to physical violence against women]

Nix's eyes snapped open as a dark form stepped into her canvas partitioned space in the barn. It was full dark and she did not allow her body to twitch, but her hand wrapped around the hilt of a knife under her pillow as she waited, tensing. 

"Phoenix, stand down." the General called in his low hoarse whisper. Nix sighed out a particularly colorful string of swear words, and saw the General's brows raise in surprise as her vision adjusted to the low light. "Follow me, sailor mouth. Leave the knife." The old man turned perfectly on heel, his posture still so upright that it made Nix stand a bit straighter as she slipped out of her wagon bed and into his wake. Over the swept dirt floor, the pair moved without light or noise, heading straight for the roped and draped off area reserved for the territory council. Dim lights shone behind the canvas walls, and the low drone of muttering voices told Nix that she was one of few that had gotten any sleep so far.

Nix slipped in behind the general, blinking at the sudden light and batting at a moth that bounced off of her hair. After a moment she took a visual survey, eyes sweeping left to right, making it two thirds of the way around the group and then swinging back to lock on one face, colored with purple and greening bruises and marked with the scabs of healing cuts. Everything stopped, and she could not keep herself from a sharp inhalation of breath.

The battered young woman stood, and began moving around the table as she smiled, winced, smiled again and twined herself around the still frozen Nix. Finally, Nix exhaled one word and it was like a prayer of thanks, a question and a declaration all in one breath. "Nessa."

Nix wrapped herself around the other woman, running fingers gently over her face and many hurts with her expression changing from anger, to fear, to surprise, to devotion, to love and then to ferocious. Nessa raised a tender hand and rested it on Nix's cheek and quietly shushed her before she could speak.

"It's ok my love. I'm ok. Daniel and Jason stopped by to do a lot of violence. We helped... enthusiastically. Mama and everyone else... who is left... went to the General's place...but I couldn't go and not..." she trailed off, running out of words but having found her tears. She dropped her face gently onto Nix's shoulder and wept silently, the only hint of her tears were the occasional hitch of Nessa's shoulders and the tears soaking Nix's shirt. 

Nix could find no words and just held her Nessa, and swept her eyes over the rest of the council, stopping on Daniel. "I had to bring her to you. Otherwise she was going to steal my truck or take one of the horses and I thought it best she arrive unseen." The tall man raked his hand over the stubble of his head, for once unable to make any jokes. "It's not good. Only a few dead, but there are a lot of injuries... mostly dislocations, some bone breaks, beatings, a few concussions but also some of the kinds... that we hoped we would not find. I'm gonna take Doc and both of the midwives back to the compound to look after everyone tonight and see if we can't give some kind of... help. I'm... uh... gonna go now."

Nix shut her eyes, very, very tightly for a moment, took a few breaths and spoke in her voice of rage, which was exceedingly quite and exceptionally articulate. "Dan... I owe you and Jason... everything Can I ask you just one more favor?"

"Yeah Nix, what do you need?"

"Would you kindly bring back a number of grenades or the makings of pipe bombs, some boxes of nails or a good quantity of small metal pieces and a sack of rock salt? I could also use a few lengths of sturdy fabric, good twine or cord, and do let Doc know I will require a few pints of human blood if anyone cares to donate... if not, I will and so can my cow. I'll make it work." With each word Nix spoke, the eyebrows of the assembled council members climbed higher on their foreheads.

The blonde blacksmith was the only one who looked unperturbed and simply nodded as Nix made her request. "Arts and crafts." she said, a sly smile creeping onto her face. "Why, I do love arts and crafts. Reckon I could give you a hand with that little project."

A wood turner from up the valley just bounced his gaze back and forth between the two women, Daniel, and then a few other women who had begun to slowly nod along. "What in the hell are you going to make with that stuff?"

In a soft whisper, a quilt maker named Peggy answered, "Poppets, I think we can just call them poppets." 

Shaking his head and turning to exit, Daniel muttered "Well, that's charming... I'm out and I will see you tomorrow." More quietly he continued, "Never piss off the women who survive the apocalypse. You are all terrifying" as he slipped out into the darkness. Off to the side, the General held his unlit pipe between his teeth but slowly nodded to his son's most sage advice. 

In the ensuing and uncomfortable quiet, the General softly suggested that since the "newcomers" were being entertained and closely watched at the fire pit outside, Nix should take Nessa and get some rest. 

Nix fussed at Nessa but was overruled. Her darling had already gotten catharsis, fresh clothes and a shower back home after she had killed two of the intruders with a recently liberated pistol and then re-deaded a corpse with a hay rake. She had been fed, seen by the Doc, medicated, and offered all manner of comforts but what Nessa most wanted was sleep, some cat time and Nix. 

It was a request she was happy to deliver upon. Nix nodded and led Nessa through the darkened barn, into her almost-tent, lifted her to the wagon bed and curled around her love as both were swarmed with cats. 

Part 16: Black on Black

The Time of Crocodiles

Illustration by J. M. Barrie.

The Time of Crocodiles


Crocodiles
are not gregarious creatures by habit.


Sun warmed and lazing
or wallowed in a shifty slumber
their armor promises
no harm, no harm
will come unto them
and the world passes by
as a bright carousel.
Time is not their enemy
and the slow hours roll
with a soft fog blurring the delineation
of past, present, future
for that which has evolved so little,
as it had no need.


As with many of us,
they just wish
to be left
alone
and will thus
return the favor
unto those bestowing it.


However, if one is unwise,
provocative,
and makes their existence
more interesting
than the comfort
of a good and lengthy float
or muddy snooze,
it should be known:


Crocodiles
are not discerning creatures by habit.


As with many of us,
they just wish
for annoyances
to end
rapidly and with
as little effort as possible.


If they must eat a pirate's hand,
a whole python,
an irritant man,
a pesky pixie,
or a clicking clock,
they shall do so without concern
for any consequence.


For under their rough husks
there will be no harm, no harm
and they will return to a sunlit bank
for victorious basking.
With a sweep of a great
and terrible tail
they wend their languorous way
through the waters of this land,
of Neverlands,
tick tocking the seconds by
but never attentive
to their passage.


Crocodiles
are not thoughtful creatures by habit.


It is following,
ever trailing.
Fearless within armor where
no harm, no harm
nor time shall
clamp sharp teeth
into untender flesh.


In the depths,
upon the lands,
slow stalking through the brush,
that uncaring leviathan
will consume your moments
scattered behind
while you flee:
lost breadcrumbs,
pocket change,
fear,
memories of joy and despair
that slip through pockets
marking out your trail.
The fiend gaining as you tire,
as you hear
the ticks grow closer
and the tocks grow more distinct.


In your wake
you will leave footprints,
tatters of yourself
and snags of that
which was held dear...
but also the track of your stalking beast.


Time,
the crocodile that chases us all.



8/15/21
Kristen Gilpin


*Notes from the wasteland: Time seems such a passive thing, idle and benign until we bestir it to be otherwise, and then it plays tricks upon us all. Lagging here to drag out something awful, spinning past there so the best days seem but a flash and in the end, it is a scythe through a field of a crop that is never ready to be harvested.

Queen of the Cats 14: The Ballad of Ed and Alice

It was never that Nix disliked Ed or Alice. Most of the time she thought that they were pretty nice, if somewhat bizarre people, and figured they had probably had some seriously jacked up lives to turn out the way they did. She mostly didn't understand them and wasn't sure how to best get along with them. 

When she was young, Nix felt that Ed was clearly a farmer of some kind as he could coax anything to grow. Each strain of marijuana that he planted grew to magnificent, rich, tall plants that were fat with buds. Nix actually found Ed's plants to be beautiful as each one seemed to be the perfect textbook example to represent a species or cultivar. Over the years she discovered that her encyclopedia and botanical books showed specimens that looked so anemic, they hardly looked like the same plants that Ed grew.  

Neither Alice nor Ed liked to talk about their years before coming to the compound. They didn't speak much about families, friends, jobs or anything save each other. Over time Nix got the distinct impression that Alice's pregnancy was part of the reason they dropped out of the 'shitty world' and came to live on the commune. One thing was very clear though, no matter how high they were or how just plain odd they were- Ed and Alice were intelligent. They were smart in the way that comes naturally to people, but they had honed their intelligence with education. Rather a lot of education, if Nix put the pieces together correctly.

Old magazines in the attic had her parents names in them, as authors. Those magazines were not the types that were at Nix height when she was allowed to go along to town to the bookstore or the library. She would have to step back and crane her head up to see the titles of the journals that were like the ones gathering so much dust in the attic. Her father wrote about improving crops through continuous genetic selection of the best possible specimens and cultivars from a wide range of plant communities, soil amendment, micro-irrigation and fertilization delivery, and companion planting with border deterrent plants and sacrificial crops which were more attractive to the usual crop pests rather than using traditional pesticides.

Well, looks like he had been on to something there. As she grew older, Nix found out that Ed had designed the crop planting schedule for the whole commune. He had picked the crops, the best areas for each crop to be hosted, tested the soil and brought in what was needed to make it perfect for the plants it would host. He taught a community of non-farmers how to farm, build and repair irrigation lines, make fertilizers, and test for chemical imbalances at all steps so they could be fixed as little problems, long before they became giant problems. Companion planting, cover crops, crop rotation. Keeping the land healthy so you could grow healthy plants.

Not all of Ed's ideas had been well received in the academic community or mass farming industry, but they hit home with some niche markets. NASA was very interested for some obvious reasons involving long term space flight and colonization on Mars. There were a handful of government and foreign government agencies who needed to create better self sustaining operations in remote locations where they preferred to not have people travelling on and off site so often. Ed got used to being driven to sites while wearing a blindfold and mastered napping during such trips. He was contacted by some incredibly rich South Americans who wanted to grow many plants, and he designed terraced plans for them for which he was handsomely paid. Additionally several ultra wealthy people who wanted to fade from life in the public eye and a number of private communal groups offered sometimes remarkable and sometimes just regular sums of money for his designs. He drew them all up, collected all of his pay and while visiting, Ed found a commune he really liked. He brought Alice back to check it out. It turned out that she liked it too.  

So, Ed may not have found acceptance in academia or industry, but he found fans in government agencies with trillion dollar budgets and people who didn't care how much they were paying someone for a job, so long as the job did what it said it would do- deliver higher crop yields, take the farms off the grid, create healthier plants and allow the farming to be managed by fewer but more skilled people. It turned out that this method paid very well and that Ed was wise enough to pick a good financial advisor as he knew that was not his strongpoint. He was also able to discern the growing intellect in his daughter as she aged, and he taught her everything he knew along with how to hack the things that were no longer available.

If asked, Alice would simply say that she liked stargazing and being made of star stuff. This was mostly because terms like astrophysics, extragalactic astronomy, gravitational lensing, and space telescope deep field studies seemed to make most people uncomfortable as they did not have a point of reference to continue the conversation. About the closest Alice could ever get was to mention one of the observational or radio telescopes she had used and their locations so people could tell her how much they enjoyed visiting Hawaii or Puerto Rico while she made her face look like a smile. Except in very small circles, cosmology and astronomy just were not vogue conversation topics that could stir up a dull gathering. 

When Ed brought Alice to look at a 'bullshit hippie commune' while she was three months pregnant and had to pee all the time, she had stared daggers at him for the entire drive. Once they arrived and Alice began meeting the couples and families starting this new community, she fell in love. Everywhere she looked, everyone she met... it was wall to wall brilliance, stacks of diplomas and hat racks festively hung with doctoral hoods and caps in every color. Scientists, philosophers, engineers, master class musicians, artists, writers and some of the greatest thinkers of their generation had come together not only to create a haven where they might apply their skills and knowledge, but also keep producing their work for publication, performance, and development without the rest of the world in the way and with other great minds to inspire them.

Small problem. It turns out that most great minds like being the big fish in the medium sized pond. However, at the Haven, everyone was the same sized fish in one small pond. Even if they looked different and had neat fins or colors, they were still just as cool as all of the other fish and none of them would swim in a school, because no one knew how. These brilliant creatures were all used to forging their own paths which is fantastic as individuals, but not a effective when it comes to communal living. Some left. Some new people came. Some ordinary folks arrived and that helped a great deal because they showed that work just needed to get done and then you could be whatever remarkable thing you wished to be once the chores were finished. After a few years, things settled out for the most part and people contributed and worked hard for their community.

However, it was the damnedest thing. World class minds are terrible at taking direction, even from their own family. On the day when the sick apprentice blacksmith staggered out of the infirmary as the now undead apprentice blacksmith, no one listened very well as Nix tried her hardest to sound the alarm. Maybe it was because most of the commune had never seen a walking corpse before and did not believe that Kevin was no longer Kevin- instead Kevin was very much dead and very much interested in sampling all the commune had to offer in human blood types and flesh tones. 

Kevin had bitten a bunch of people before Nix dropped him with a shovel to the head. She made her pleas to Ed and Alice, to the other longest term settlers to not let his victims die, rise and keep spreading this terrible death. Nix was told that she was 18 and needed to leave this issue to the adults. To Nix, this meant fixing a crew cab pickup truck with a topper on the back, hiding it in a barn with supplies, gas, rations, some guns and go bags, and then teaching all the tame cats how to get into the truck with a whistle. That turned out to be the best of plans. 

When the day came that the second wave of sick people shambled out as bitey undead people, Nix was the only one prepared. She scooped up Nocta, grabbed Ed and Alice and told them to follow her and that she had a way out. With one look, she knew they were not coming. The pair handed Nix a bag with water and soil test kits, carefully wrapped and labeled seeds, a spyglass, a compass, a set of star charts and maps, a bag of celestial navigation tools, a solar powered GPS and so many other things she did not have time to consider. 

"No. Ed, Alice... I have things packed in the truck for you, come on." Nix tried to explain but Ed just shook his head with a smile. "We'll slow you down. Fly, Phoenix. We put some other things in the truck for you. We love you." 

Alice smiled gently and echoed "We love you, now fly, darling. Be free and whole and safe." With that, Alice kissed Nix's forehead and turned her toward the front door. Nix turned her head and sobbed once. "Dad. Mom. Come with me. I need you."

Ed bent and kissed the top of Nix's head and whispered "No Phoenix, you never have. Now run. We love you." And thus her parents pushed her out the front door of their home and closed and locked it behind her. She stood very still, holding her black cat and a bag of God-knew-what and surveyed the wild chaos taking place ahead of her in the commune. Running humans screaming. Dead humans snapping their jaws and giving chase. Things on fire. Shapes on the ground in clothing that Nix decided to consider mannequins at present, for the sake of her sanity.

She considered the layout of the commune, the shape of the land, the routes to the barn and closed her eyes for a moment to let all of that information come together and gel. Still standing as a statue to not draw notice, Nix heard music start inside the house: Fleetwood Mac's Landside began to play, and not quietly. The noise would get attention soon. Ok, she thought, go.

From that first step until her last, Phoenix flew and nothing touched her, nothing even came near her. She did not turn. She did not look back at the house, the buildings, the commune because that was just the past. The only thing to be gotten from that glance would be nightmares or a pillar of salt. Resolutely, she went and watched forward and continued to do so every day since. As she sat in the wagon with Sampson and Garibaldi inside the great old barn on the eve of Market Day, Nix remembered what it looked like to run through your entire world as it caught fire and crumbled around you. 

She had no intentions of making that run again or of letting that happen a second time.

Nix curled up in the wagon for a nap and slipped in one ear bud from the iPod she had somehow kept working for years. She pressed play and closed her eyes to the opening notes of Landslide and slipped an arm around Sampson.

Queen of the Cats 13. Of Observation and Arrivals

By the end of the night, Danny and Jason had found seven herds of the dead and twenty two men and women equipped as a rag tag militia. Well, not so rag-tag considering the number of guns and amount of ammunition they were toting along.

Only Daniel had a near run-in as a loose rock dropped out from under his foot and threatened to tumble him into a pit full of the dead. When the guards came to check out the noise, he had somehow managed to spider climb inside the overhanging roots of an ancient oak and hang there, silent and motionless. For half an hour, with gunmen above and hungry corpses below, he mentally recited his favorite speeches and monologues from Shakespeare to Dune, trying not to think of the pain gathering in his back and shoulder. By the time the militia boys had wandered back to their beers, Danny had silently slipped out of his hiding place and slithered back up to the leafy forest floor. He memorized all of their faces so he could be sure to personally terminate them in repayment for his pain and suffering. He was too old for this tree-dangling superhero crap.

He took counts on the herd then swiped a can of gas and box of ammo from the militia truck. He applied the contents of both quite liberally to the milling dead in the hollow, watching the gas soak into their clothing and the dry leaves below them. He really did admire how well their shuffling steps camouflaged the dumped rounds of ammo under the leaf litter. That, Danny thought with a grin, would be super fun for those assholes in camo to find.

Danny transmitted his intel by radio and made it back to the barn just behind Jason. Yep, he'd hear about that for at least a day. Back at the big table, everyone had gone quiet waiting for them.

     "So, seven herds?" Nix asked.
     "And 22 bad guys. Plus whoever shows up pretending to be selling produce for the Day family." Jason finished.
     "Well, shit." Nix groaned.
     "Yeah. Pretty much. But I have some really hilarious ideas" Danny tried to grin but grimaced while rolling his shoulder.
     "Oh? Enlighten me, brother" Jason smirked at his brother and slipped him a pill and glass of water.
     "Well, how many pressure plates do you think we can make in a day, rig to explosives and then bury under the cover of darkness right in front of militia idiots and hungry, hungry corpses?" Danny asked, swallowing back the pill and some additional offered naproxen.
     "Hmmm, at least seven. Eight or nine if we play some Norwegian death metal while we work." Jason nodded sagely.
     "Danny, can you do this with a reasonable chance of not killing you and your brother? I really don't want to have to keep up the house by myself." the General asked in a firm but not unkind voice. It was clear that he was a bit concerned.
     "Solid 70/30 odds, sir. Are you good without either of us being here? We are going to need to work at the house and well... deliver the pizzas directly door to door" Danny answered, motioning his chin in the direction of the forest.
     "Hey Nix, save us some Applejack. We're going to earn it" Jason grinned.
     "Try not to die. Again." The General shook the hand of each son and exchanged some quiet words.
     "Just a head's up, we're going to take a roll by the Day farm on the way home. If it looks like any of the ladies are being held as captives we'll be doing a bit of captor extermination and hostage extraction." Jason's arms were folded across his chest. He was no longer smiling.
     "We have a bigger problem here, son..."
     "Dad, this isn't a negotiation." Danny cut in. "We'll take the ladies back to the compound and set them up in the bunk house and infirmary. We're not leaving them there a minute longer than necessary. They are good women, good girls, good neighbors and we aren't monsters." Danny finished and nodded to his brother then slid his eyes to Nix and held her gaze for a moment. The General nodded to both. Nix nodded almost imperceptibly to Danny. The guys headed for the truck then the General turned back to the gathered group.

"Time to get back to work."

Once the good times special forces lads were gone, the setup for market day began in earnest. Outside, stalls were being staked out and canvas hung while trucks and carts were backed into place. Inside the barn, a 15 foot walkway had been marked out with rope, keeping a clear lane around the interior perimeter of the barn. Family and single sized sleep spaces were marked out and some were claimed by the early and vigilant arrivals. Members of the council were carefully spaced around the barn so that there weren't any dark corners left un-watched.

Stalls for horses and livestock were setup beneath the great hayloft and some solar powered lights were hung from the underside of the loft to illuminate this darkest area of the barn. A few stalls were taken up by teen boys who would make a little money by turning the stalls and doing feed and water runs. The barn had been set up so no one had direct access to the walls where they could be unobserved and the darkest sections of the space had been reworked with lights and young eyes to keep watch. It was the best they would be able to do on the short notice of 24 hours.

With that setup complete they didn't have to wait long for more excitement. Within a few hours two interesting things occurred. First, a small army of tired cats arrived, many carrying small bags and packets in their mouths. The odd parade of black and calico and tabby was led by Sampson and they ignored all manner of beasts and people, instead they just walked inside the barn, found Nix and followed her to her family size reserved space. The four walls had been hung with canvas from the partition rope above and James had helped her find some extra lumber to construct cat benches along the sides of the allotted area. The wagon had been cleared out for Nix to sleep in, her sale goods were stacked underneath and low, wide benches were covered in fresh straw onto which the cats hopped and settled down. Nix collected all of their small packages, kissed Sampson all over his face, and placed him in her own bed to sleep. Garibaldi climbed into the wagon and laid down in a guard position in front of his best friend. Sampson's sleep would not be disturbed.

About two hours later, the huge produce wagon from the Day farm came rolling up the track with a team of four massive warm blood horses pulling the heavy load where usually six horses were used. The harness and traces were jumbled and poorly strapped in places and the horses were sweat soaked and foaming, clearly having done more work than was meant for them. The members of the council looked askance at each other, each hating to see their awful predictions coming true. Nix felt like a stone had been placed in her heart so that it stuttered in its beating. James and other young men ran up to unhitch the horse team quickly. The horses badly needed water and to be cooled down and calmed down. Their wide rolling eyes began to settle under the hands of people familiar with horses and they allowed themselves to be lead away into the barn. As he passed, James gave Nix a long, meaningful look. He did not suffer well the abuse of animals.

Three people sat on the front bench of the wagon and had not helped a bit with unhitching. Now, with the work done, they began to gather their belongings and descend from the wagon. One man and two women stepped down and beamed their smiles at the gathered crowd. Not a single one of them was a member of the Day family.

14. The Ballad of Ed and Alice

Queen of the Cats 12. Party Planners

As she pulled up to the group of young people splitting wood and digging the fire pit, Nix halted her wagon. As a fellow lead homesteader, even just in his mid-20's also, James Early set down his ax and came forward to greet Nix as another member of the council. He looked a touch perplexed at the broad smile from the usually wry and sarcastic young woman, but as he started to open his mouth to ask if she had taken a fall and somehow become nicer, Nix rushed him with a boisterous greeting "James! I am so happy to see you! Come here! I have a present for you!". She hugged the young man fiercely as if reunited with a paramour and whispered in his ear "We have big trouble James, I need you to roll with my lead. Treat me like any other girl."

James pulled back enough so she could watch his face re-shape into a giant grin as he picked her up under the arms and swung her in a circle. As he placed her back on the ground he returned her greeting with "Oh, I bet you do Miss Alexandria" and planted a huge smack of a kiss right on her lips as Nix kept herself from biting him and only snarled a bit at the use of her middle name. She never should have drank that bottle of applejack with him, but that was a couple years and a lot of cares ago. "Follow me!" she winked and nodded for James to follow.

Rather than unhitching her wagon outside, Nix drove Cow and her wagon directly into the barn with James walking just behind, scratching Garibaldi who was a whore for his belly rubs. It was plausible that her wares were delicate and couldn't stay outside or could be ruined by the moisture of dew or a light rain. Nix drove straight to the far wall where the big council table was set up for any meetings or decisions that needed to be made.

"James, we have a big damned problem. Who else from the council is here, because we need all of them and every map we have... but we also need to look calm and normal because we are very much being watched. Within 48 hours they will have slipped spies in among us, and no, I am not being a paranoid nut." Nix dropped Cow's rope and sank into a chair, finally realizing the toll that even a few hours had taken on her. In them, she had relived the deaths of everyone from her childhood and imagined the deaths of everyone she knew as an adult dozens of times while trying to act like a regular person, a task at which she was already no good.

"Nix, what the hell? Who is watching us? Spies? What is this?" James looked confused but not panicked as he asked. He was not a young man given to sudden and thoughtless responses.

Nix rasped, "Well, someone has collected a bunch of dead folks in small paddocks spaced around this farm and those dead include the freshly killed Day men. I'm betting they are going to drop those dead herds on us during the harvest bonfire and win themselves a bunch of valleys and homesteads and goods all in one night."

"Yeah. Shit. That's a big damned problem. I'll get everyone. You have a sit and a drink." James squeezed Nix's shoulder and slipped a flask into her hand. With a final ruffle at Garibaldi he took off with hands in his pockets, looking to not have a care in the world. He was a good man, even if Nix wasn't sure if she wanted to punch him or hug him from minute to minute.

In under an hour, James had passed the word around and all of the homestead representatives present had casually made their way into the barn, just happening to carry their bedrolls or other items from their wagons that served as excellent disguises for map rolls. After ditching their unneeded goods, they came to the large table and placed their maps into the patchwork so the whole system of mountains and valleys became visible.

Using stones, pipes, flasks, and other goods from pouches and pockets, the group marked out every homestead and important landmark. A box of colored chalk allowed them to sketch in paths, creeks, old roads and derelict buildings. Nix chalked in the herd of dead and four likely positions for the others as she explained what she had found and who she could confirm among the dead. She talked out the routes, locations, and tactical plans she had considered for both sides, including the spies posing as  farm workers and even the upsetting possibility of them creating a back door into the barn itself.

Just one question was asked. A middle aged woman with tight blonde curls and the strong body of a blacksmith queried "Are you certain it was the Day family and that they had just recently been killed? Sometimes we see the faces of those we lost or know in the dead and it sets our minds to terrible worrying." Nix turned to her respectfully and nodded her head. "Yes ma'am. I saw Richard Day bumping through that crowd of dead and his own dibble was sticking out of his chest right where his heart should have been. His face was clean and he was wearing that awful Grateful Dead shirt with all the holes that Karen keeps threatening to burn."

Off to the side, someone whispered "What's a dibble?" The piercing blue eyes of the blacksmith flicked in the direction of the question as she answered "A dibble is a farm tool. It's a graduated metal spike on what looks like a pistol handle. It's used for planting bulbs and transplanting small plants to the field. Imagine a vampire stake made of metal that you hold like a handgun and you are about there. I made that dibble for him." The blacksmith frowned deeply. Several people flinched or recoiled as one.

The group at the table became very quite. No one laughed at Nix. No one dismissed her. Anyone who had survived on their own for this long after Revenant Day had good instincts and was probably not a hysteric. An older and soft-spoken man known simply as "The General" (because he had been) leaned forward and perused the map. Two of his sons moved forward with him and others stepped aside so they could get in closer. The General picked up the blue chalk which marked possible locations for dead herds and placed two more small X marks on the maps and then tossed the stick of chalk to one of his sons who snatched it out of the air, seeming not to have looked up. He added one more X and similarly his brother added two more. One known location and nine possible locations.

One of the sons, Daniel, nodded to his brother Jason and began "We both ran a couple of tours of special ops in the military." At this understatement, Jason smirked. "We'll go run recon tonight after dark. These sites are all close enough that if we split them up between us, I'm pretty sure we can put eyes on all of them. We have scopes and rifles in the truck. We'll get a look at their arms, placements, numbers and any other intel we can gather"

Jason continued "Let's number these sites one through nine." He turned to the General, "Dad, at 0300 I'll broadcast on CB channel 1. Two short, and then one long..." what followed was a complicated system of CB channel changes indicated by counted seconds of broadcast dead air and then counts of dead and living at each site given by a system of clicks, not unlike Morse code. However, as Jason and Danny were making up the code and channel hops right here, not using a set system, no one else would be able to follow them on the dial or understand what information was being transmitted. It was low tech, but so was everything these days.

James asked the General why Dan and Jason wouldn't just come back and give them the info, rather than all of this complicated radio play. The General let out a long breath, watching his remaining sons plan a dangerous strategic mission in just 15 minutes, knowing they were the most likely to make it succeed.

"Well," the General said softly, "it is very possible they can be followed, spotted, shot or captured. They are walking into a lot of area with almost no intel. Those boys have seen and done some crazy things, so even if they are chased or shot- they know they can keep moving and hiding for at least a few hours, long enough to transmit the information they have before they are killed. They know these woods and this valley better than whoever is out there and are likely better trained. Even if someone gets the drop on them, they will find a way to get us the information. Even if it kills them."

James looked at the men, impressed and suddenly understanding them so much better. Nix just nodded sadly to the General. She laid her hand on his arm, stood up on her toes and kissed his perfectly, regulation shaved cheek. "They are damned good boys, General, but you already know that." The General nodded once and turned to look at Nix. "And you, Miss Kobesky, you are a damned tough young woman and we are lucky to have you. That was a hell of a catch today. How did you find that herd all tucked up in a hollow like that?"

"Cats found them and led me over for a look." Nix nodded toward Garibaldi, now sprawled across the council table being absently scratched by Jason and Daniel as they planned their final details. Shaking her head slightly, Nix continued "They aren't always that... brazenly indolent." 

The General chuckled. "All those years we used dogs in the military. Maybe we should have had a few cats too."

Nix grinned "General, I just don't know how you would have gotten military cat ladies. We are terrible at rules."

Wrapping his arm around her shoulder and leading her back to the table, the silver haired man smiled and quietly promised "There is always a place for you in this old man's army." Jason and Daniel were standing up from the table and gave their father identical claps on his arms. He nodded and they walked off to go toss their truck for supplies. The General headed off to meet with other family heads to start setting up some signals and creating security measures that had never been used before. As Nix began to follow and took a slightly staggering step, the General pointed her toward a bench. "Sit. Rest. Drink. Food. Work more later."

Nix nodded and sat on an old bench. James brought her a sandwich and mug of coffee with something very alcoholic mixed in. She asked no questions, closed her eyes and leaned back to sip the potent brew, only half listening to the planning around her. James sat beside her in silence and Garibaldi hopped up between them on the bench. It was going to be a very, very long day.

"You... you're worried about the Day farm... and..." James trailed off, not finishing his sentence.

Without opening her eyes, Nix whispered, "My friend, that might be the understatement of this apocalypse."  She did not smile. There was no joke.

13. Of Observation and Arrivals

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

Queen of the Cats 8. The Things We Learn

8. The Things We Learn

The commune life had not taught Nix how to be a free-thinker as much as it gave her mind space to roam and come at problems from different and unusual directions. Ed and Alice practiced a loveing and benign neglect that allowed their daughter to come and and go. Thus, on any day, Nix could be anywhere on the self-sufficient compound.

Even as a child, she had a quiet way about her and seemed to be able to read the attitudes of adults, knowing which ones would put up with children, when they were in bad moods, and when they just seemed a bit lonely. Asking an adult if you could watch them at their trade was an art. First, you had to observe and study them so you could determine which angle of approach would be best to gain their approval.

If they were gruff but affable, wait for them to take a break, walk up and shake their hand with determination, look them right in the eye and ask if you could observe their work because you wanted to know more about it. Most of the durable goods tradesman and craftsman were of this ilk. Blacksmith, carpenters, fence builders, construction and brewers nearly all had this way about them. Nix felt it had something to do with hard work, fresh air, and having the need to pass their craft on and teach another generation. A few hand delivered glasses of ice cold lemonade, some wet and cool cloths dipped in mint water, the occasional hand pie of a snack and face that looked to be yearning for their teaching and she was in.

Over the years, Nix befriended them all. She learned their tools, their processes, and even the sucky parts of their work and helped take care of each without complaint. In her small notebook, Nix recorded the names of the families of her various masters. If she learned a birthday or something their child liked, she would take time to produce a small gift for her master to take home. With each tradesperson she earned her way up the ladder from adorable pet, to helper, to moderately skilled apprentice and, in, most skills, to someone that could be trusted to run that trade or craft for a few days should the master craftsperson be ill or have to leave the commune for a few days.

Nix had nothing but time.

She moved her way through the skills of the commune, each year focusing on a new collection of related skills. Farming, animal husbandry, food production from the commune animals, animal care; well, that year had been pretty easy for her as Nix had a way with live things. She learned cooking, sewing, tanning, brewing, foraging, hunting, herb craft, building and even distillation for essential oils and spirits. Although she did not know it at the time, Nix keeping herself from boredom would eventually be using those same skills to keep herself alive.

Of all the useful skills she learned that kept her and the pride safe, comfortable and healthy, she never would have guessed that distilling would be one of the most important skill later in the Deadlands. Small pockets of survivors and the other loaners needed alcohol. Equally useful for medical needs and lonesome nights, a bottle of spirits was a powerful item for trade. Thankfully, Nix had learned distillation and infusion, so the alcohol that she made actually tasted pretty good. She could also grow some wicked good cannabis and kept a crop outside with her others

Nix had learned about people wanting to be 'off the grid' at the commune, but in the time after Revenant Day, they wanted to be off the map. The locations of camps, homes and even crops were carefully guarded secrets. People had been stripped down to their base and raw requirements of physical needs and security. The rest of the Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs could suck it. No one was being self-actualized these days. Most were dug in like squirrels and hiding their nuts for marauding bands of assholes who did not care to put in the time and effort to secure the needs and safety for their own people.

However, not everyone was in possession of the same set of skills, but they had requirements for the same set of needs. Without the knowledge of how to produce those items that had disappeared from circulation, there were really only two ways to obtain them. Theft or trade.

Only a few of the pre-Revenant Day festivities were still held to, but Thanksgiving was one that was rigidly and stubbornly entrenched. Even among people who had so little, they were thankful for all of the things they had. Perhaps, more so than ever before in their lives. So, when it was time for quarterly market days to occur in this region, Autumn Faire was held the week before Thanksgiving.

As the time of year was approaching, Nix had been preparing her goods for market and making sure to be outside each night at dusk. The wagon was loaded with strong beer, distilled spirits, small but useful blacksmithed items, cannabis in small jars. wooden spoons, wooden shoes, wool roving, various vegetables (especially pumpkins) and her signature item- bottles of applejack. It was one of the strongest alcohols Nix produced and came from the fruit of a dozen orchards. It was potent, delicious, and got her anything she wanted in trade.

The day floated each year, because having set patterns was dangerous and stupid. So, at dusk, two nights before Autumn Faire, a volley of flares would be fired into the darkening sky. The first three were fired over ten minutes, just to get everyone looking in the right direction. The second volley of shots would be rapid and number between 1 and 10 flares.

Just one flare meant that something was wrong and that all sites had been compromised. As soon as a site had been cleared, they would try again. Two through ten flares provided a location for the Faire. Handed out at Summer Faire, each known attendee would receive a list of locations numbered two through ten and would keep that list safe until the next season.

Sitting in her rocking chair on the porch, surrounded by her piles of cats, Nix watched the first three flares, unbelievably bright, light the darkling sky.  After a few moments, the second volley came with seven flares, which meant the Autumn Faire site would be at the great barn at what remained of Tupelo Farms. The location was home to an early 19th century house and soaring barn that sat at the edge of what had been an 18th century turnpike. The house was fairly tumble down, but the barn remained straight and true.

Nix was pleased and would leave the day after next for her brisk 10 hour walk with a wagon, a cow, and two cats.

Continue- 9. To Market Day

Queen of the Cats 7. Piñatas

7. Piñatas

Nix laid her head upon the soft coat of Tonkinese fur and let herself be lulled by the quiet motor of the cat's purr. She reached up and scritched at his belly and the cat stretched luxuriously and promptly fell off the bed. "Oh, buddy, you ok?" Nix asked, peering over the edge of the bed. The cat blinked vacantly up at her with eyes like the ocean, so clear and blue that Nix seemed sure she could see straight through to the back of Chaucer's skull. He proceeded to hop up onto the bed and repeat the process thrice more. It was a good thing he was soft, sweet, and behind stone walls because Nix was fairly certain if she put her ear to his fuzzy head triangle, she would probably hear the ocean.

While this feat of remarkable, but hilarious, antics were repeated, the other cats in the room just stared at Chaucer in a way that seemed to intone "Have you no dignity, man?". Chaucer merrily ignored or did not notice the feline disdain being side-eyed in his direction, he just kept having fun and demanding occasional cuddles. On any average shitty post-apocalypse day, this cat could always make Nix reshape her face into something like a smile and maybe even cough out a dry laugh. Comedy in the dead lands was scarce, but Nix had all she could ever need.

It turned out that, after the apocalypse, Nix got to see more cats than she had ever hoped to and she had learned a single, startling fact: some of them just sucked at being cats. The stunning Tonkinese cat with the tiny peanut brain was gentle and loving which were great qualities before Revenant Day, but were not in a cat's favor in this not-so-brave new world. The one thing they had going for them was that they were good jumpers, insanely fast and they could climb better than any of the dead.

As a somewhat ironic aside, sometimes the dead would try to climb trees, posts, or fences after a feline. Around ten feet or so above ground, most climbs got harder and required a bit of thought. That was not a thing the dead had in spades. Sometimes it was just amazing that they could shamble down a road in their leprous horror, enough parts missing that it made many of them hard to look at. 

Once the dead reached the point of the climb where planning and care was needed, they generally peeled off like pasta and fell to the ground. Then, there was the splash. Now that most of the dead were several years post shuffling off their mortal coils, they were no longer in prime condition. In fact, it was becoming obvious that they were coming apart at the seams and losing their stuffing. The earliest of the Revenants could step in a pothole, pitch forward on the macadam and then perform their own impressions of a water balloon fight, but just once.

About a year earlier, a clump of stumbling corpses had peeled off from a road and somehow ended up outside of the Murder House and Cattery. Nix had picked up some bronchial infection and was fevered and wheezing, but something still needed to be done. When the dead congregated, they made a not-so-joyous noise somewhere between moaning and hissing. This always drew more corpses and the problem just got larger. While attempting to get herself into some protective gear, Nix had laid down for a moment and shut her eyes just for a second. When she popped awake and tried to scramble upright, she was thwarted by a coughing fit. 

Before her breathing had evened out, she caught a sudden flash of black as Nocta landed on her chest, flinging her backward onto the bed. Nix attempted to argue with the cat, then realized she was arguing with a cat and thus, probably needed a longer nap. With Nocta like a purring hot water bottle on her chest, the cat meticulously cleaned her paws, claws extended as a reminder. Nix just stopped fighting and went back to sleep. 

The next morning, Sampson woke Nix and was excited, signaling for her to follow. "Timmy better be at the bottom of a well, Lassie." Nix grumped as she followed. Sampson was leading her out to the second floor porch. Still terribly ill, Nix took a moment to gather herself, hoping that the dead had not doubled overnight while she had slept.

Nix found a sight she had not expected. It looked like a party had been held at the base of the trees lining the clearing around the block house. At the bottom of each tree, Nix spotted what looked like a bunch of thoroughly battered yet colorful pinatas. After a moment of sickness addled brain coming online, Nix realized why this was the worst party ever. To keep her from getting herself murdered while sick, the cats had taken care of the dead by running about, treeing themselves and just waiting for the dead to follow, fall, and splatter.

Turning slowly, Nix saw that most of her cats had followed her and Sampson outside. They all looked quite pleased with themselves, although some were still grooming bits of corpse from their fur. As she continued to stare, they became more pleased, accepting her silence as appreciation. Garibaldi threaded through the porch of rolling felines and dropped a hand at Nix's feet.

"Jesus." Nix croaked. Staring at the hand, Garibaldi, the pleased cats, and the festively decorative yet festering dead, Nix decided she was still far too sick to deal with the stomach-churning mess below. In a moment of pure despair, knowing how much more these corpses would decay and stink, Nix tried to calculate how many holes she would have to dig and how much dragging of the dead she would need to clean up this awful party.

As she leaned on the railing and considered, two vultures circles in and came to rest in the clearing below. They merrily hopped from corpse to corpse, picking the very best of the morsels. Nix glances up and saw the tightening circles being flown by so many buzzards that she did not try to count them. Nix kicked the hand off the porch for the arriving clean-up crew to enjoy.

Heading back inside, she refilled water dishes and refilled food bowls. She ate a can of soup, swallowed some more cold tablets and just went back to bed. A quick shower, clean pajamas and then a dive back under the covers. The cats came in as they finished their own meals and everyone settled down for an Autumn afternoon nap.

Sometimes, you just had to roll with the punches and the dead man's hands. Nature had this one and Nix let it ride.


Continue- 8. The Things We Learn