Morning Blue

''A fanfic by Rainy. Rated moderate for violence & mature content. ''



 For most of her life, quiet little Blue has been a kittypet with Twolegs to take care of her.

 ''But one early winter day, everything changes. She's thrown out.''

 Faced with impossible odds, Blue must learn to survive, or else.

 ''Nature's rules are harsh and unforgiving. She stands little chance...''

 Unless , through love & hope, she manages to make it.

 ''It will be tough. It will be hard. It will take a true miracle.''



Chapter One
I press my face against the windowpane, watching my breath stain the glass with warm vapor. Below me, the heating vent keeps me toasty and cozy, curled up on my windowsill rug. Outside, the wind is whipping deadened leaves across our lawn, making them rustle and scratch over the pavement till they disappear in the tangle of bushes framing the front yard.

Lisa, my human, still isn't home. I'm not sure why. Normally Lisa's never out for more then a couple of hours. She's elderly, and so she gets tired with long outings. The longest she's ever been away is when she goes to visit her grandkids, Laurie & Luke. And she wouldn't be going there; they came over just yesterday to see her.

Something isn't right here. I can't put my paw on it, but I can feel it in my gut.

Restlessly, I get to my paws and leap off the windowsill, making my way to the front foyer. I hope onto the front parlor window and peer out. Nothing. No sign of Lisa's battered old blue pickup, nor her snowy white curls blowing in the wind.

Giving a small whimper, I instantly feel ashamed of myself. Lisa wouldn't want me crying like a little kit.

No, I tell myself. She'd want me to wait like a good kitty, and be ready to curl around her and warm her feet when she did get home.

Probably she was just running late. I pad back to the living room and curl up on an armchair.

Everything would be just fine.

Outside, it's night. Pitch-black, with stars sprinkled across a crisp late autumn sky. It won't be long till the first snow.

Thinking about the first snow is obviously a distraction. I'm worried sick about Lisa. She shouldn't be gone this long. Over and over again, I rack my brains to remember why she'd left. She had been cooking, when she said she felt dizzy and had to sit down. Then she made a phone call, got a scared look on her face, and began to whisk about. She put out my food and changed my litter, all the while looking ill. Then she drove away.

Was Lisa sick? If so, where had she gone? Why would she leave the house when she wasn't feeling well?

That's when I hear the roar of a motor. At first, I'm ecstatic. Lisa's back!

But upon closer inspection, I know it can't be Lisa. Her old truck's hoarse roar is nothing like the sleek purring of the car now parked in our driveway. As I look out the window, a slim lady gets out of the new car, gives her blond coiffe a pat, and begins making her way up the drive.

Oh no. It's Shannon.

She can't get in, can she? She can't have the keys. Or did Lisa give her a pair? I can't remember; Shannon and Lisa are always fighting, then making up.

Shannon is Lisa's only daughter, and just about the only human I've met that I don't like. Her two kids, Laurie & Luke, are perfect angels, but their mother is... from the other side- at least that's what I've heard Lisa say when she and Shannon fight. I'm sure Shannon has some good in her, but from what I've seen, she's a conceited, self-absorbed person. And she doesn't like cats. She's divorced, which in human terms means she doesn't live with her mate anymore. I can't really blame the poor fellow.

Unfortunately, Shannon and Lisa apparently made up from their last fight, because I hear the lock twisting, and the door slides open. I hope down from my windowsill perch, hoping maybe Lisa's with Shannon. No such luck.

Today though, Shannon doesn't look as put together as normal. There are circles under her eyes, which are red. She carries a tissue in one hand and a suitcase in the other. As I watch silently from the corner, she begins hurrying around the house and throwing things into the bag. She talks to herself as she does it.

"They'll want her favorite lace cap... and her stockings too. Oh, and that silk flower Father bought for her on her wedding day. And her wedding ring! And all those pictures... Oh!" To my surprise, Shannon collapses on the ground, buries her face in her hands, and begins sobbing.

If it was any other human, I'd have rushed over immediately to comfort them. As it's Shannon, I approach more cautiously.

Before I can reach her, she stands up, wiping her tears away. "Mother wouldn't want you to cry, Shannon."

''Now she's talking to herself? ''Something's definitely wrong here.

"I'll just finish up and get out of here." She throws a few more things into the bag, shoulders it, and begins walking towards the door.

Seeing that I'm about to be left behind, I act quickly. Maybe Shannon knows where Lisa is. Either way, I'm not letting her walk away with Lisa's possessions without a fight.

I spring into her path, mewing for all I'm worth.

At first, she doesn't notice me. Then her eyes travel downwards and she gives a snort of disgust. "Ugh. You. What are we going to do with you?"

Taken aback - as even her usual unfriendliness isn't this bad - I tilt my head to the side.

Shannon bites her lip, appearing to be lost in thought. Then she abruptly puts the bag down and smiles sweetly down at me. "Hey Blue! Who wants food? You hungry?"

I'm not really hungry, but my eyes follow her with interest as she rummages in the cupboards. She comes out with a bag of FishStix, my favorite type of treat. Lisa rarely gives them to me, since they're "not good for me". Hey, if Shannon wants to make peace, she's chosen the right way to do it.

Tentatively, I take a step towards her.

"Oh, but I can't feed you in here," she coos, sliding open the door. She places the treat outside. "You need to eat out here, so you don't make a mess."

Puzzled, I pause on the doorstep. Lisa never has me eat outside. What is Shannon thinking? And I won't make a mess. I always clean up after myself.

"Go on, Blue. It'll be fine, little kitty." Shannon nudges me out the door with her boot, then follows and shuts it behind us. As I'm eating, I hear her walk over to her care. Wait. She's getting in. The engine's starting. That's not right. Who will let me back into the house?

I race towards the car, but it's too late.

"See ya kitty!" she yells, and then she's gone.

Cold has frozen every one of my limbs by morning. I'm shaking as I struggle to a standing position. My fur is hard and spiked every which way, and I have to shake frost off my whiskers in order to get a clear reading of the air.

And there's another problem. It snowed during the night.

Shivering, I scratch feebly at the house door. Maybe Lisa came in during the night?

But I know that's not the case. There's no way Lisa would've entered the house without seeing me sprawled on the doorstep and letting me in. Even if she went in the back door, which is very unlikely, she would've noticed me missing and come to find me.

A ball of dread has formed in my stomach. What is going on here? Why did Shannon lock me out of my own house? Where has she gone? And where is Lisa?

Slowly, painfully, an hour passes. A numbness is beginning to settle into my bones. Instinctively, I realize I'm freezing to death.

The realization brings on a flurry of movement. I spring to my feet and walk a few steps, leaving a bare patch of concrete on the snow-covered doorstep. I pace back and forth across the little gravel path that runs to the driveway.

Somehow, I know Shannon won't be coming back. And Lisa won't be either. At least, not any time soon. And  I can't stay here. If I ever want to see Lisa again, I've got to keep myself alive.

Finally, I force myself to head down the gravel drive. At the end of the driveway, I stop and turn, looking up at the quaint old house where I'd lived with Lisa since I was a kitten. My heart aches. Why did this have to happen? My one consolation is that, though I'm losing my home, I still have hope that I'll see Lisa again. Wherever she is, I'll find her.

Comforting myself with this thought, I turn my back on my home and walk away. Forever.

My plan would probably work better if I had an inkling of where I was going.

By late morning, I'm standing at a random crossroads in God-knows-where, staring aimlessly at the occasional car that zips past. My paws ache, my teeth chatter with cold, and my ears are pounding with a headache. All I want is my soft, fluffy blue catbed, and the feel of Lisa's wrinkled old hand on my head, petting me as I fall asleep. Instead, I'm stuck dodging slush that sprays up from under cars' tires, wondering if I can gather up the courage to cross the road.

Luckily, the traffic is sparse, and during a long lull I'm able to sprint across.

On the other side of the road, I find myself in a park. A park I've heard of actually. I'd never actually been to Liberty Park before, but I'd driven past it with Lisa many times. On the car rides, it looked like a nice place, full of people playing and laughing. Now, barren and desolate and covered with snow, it looks much more imposing.

Gulping, I take my first step onto the snow-crusted ground. Yikes. Much too cold.

The sidewalk is much nicer; most of its been shoveled, and all I have to deal with is the cold pavement beneath.

I pad along the sidewalk for a bit, not really knowing what I'm doing. I do know one thing: I'm hungry.

And that brings on a new concern. How am I going to feed myself? I know other cats hunt or find food themselves, but I have no idea how to do so. All my life, Lisa has cared for my needs. Now... I have no idea how to fend for myself out here. Could I actualy starve to death?

Suddenly, I hear a croaking sound. It sounds... awful, like something's dying. Of course, I wouldn't know how a dying creature would sound, but if I had to guess-

Ending my nonsense rambling, I hurry toward the place where I heard the sound. My eyes make out a large, furry shape huddled in the snow. It's a dog, a mutt by the looks of it.

I know most cats are afraid of dogs, but I never have been. Lisa's next door neighbors, the Smiths, have a huge Rottweiler named Stan, and we got along just fine. Dogs are just different animals; though they're bigger, most of them actually aren't that scary unless you go at them hissing and squalling like a maniac.

Anyway, even if I was scared of dogs, I wouldn't be scared of this one. It's sick. Really sick.

It's head is half buried in the snow, but it makes no move to get out. Runny discharge is smeared around its eyes and nose, and its breathing is shallow and rapid. "Are you okay?" I mew.

Though I know he doesn't exactly understand me, the dog's eyelids flutter open. It rolls over slightly, revealing a nasty-looking wound on its leg. The sight makes me sick. It's obviously infected, and even the crispness of the snow can't disguise the putrid scent it emanates. Pus mingles with the blood, looking excedingly painful. I don't know much about medicine and healing, but I'm guessing the wound is the reason for his apparent fever and other ailments.

"Hello?" I try again.

The dog opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. He seems to have gotten even weaker, if that's possible.

Then, without warning, a violent convulsion wraps around the dog. His body thrashes wildly, scattering snow everywhere. I leap back out of range and watch till he's still again. This time, no breath stirs his flanks.

Warily, I touch him with one paw. I don't want to believe he's dead. Just imagining such a long, painful period of suffering that only ends in death... it makes me want to scream.

"Don't waste your time. He's dead."

I freeze.

Chapter Two
It's a tom who's spoken. A gray tabby with a scar across one of his green eyes. His frame is lank and lean, the body of a stray or feral cat; someone who is used to living on the streets.

"I know he's dead. I just..." I trail off.

Cockily, he struts towards me. I can't help notice how soundlessly he moves. The snow doesn't even crunch under his paws. "Why do you care about a dog anyway?"

I bite my lip. "Why can't I? I suppose out here it's everyone for themselves, but that's not how I was raised. I think that if I see an injured creature, the least I can do is walk over and try to help, even if they're already dying. I guess I do things differently. I'm not from the streets." I shut my mouth, aware that I'm babbling.

"That last part is obvious." He jerks his head towards my baby-blue collar, a gift from Lisa on my birthday a few months back.

Blushing, I shrug. It was nothing to be ashamed of, was it? I was proud of my collar. Lisa had given it to me. So why did I feel suddenly self-conscious, as if perhaps parading around with it on my neck wasn't such a good idea after all?

The tom tilts his head to the side, studying me. "So what's a kittypet like you doing out here?"

"A what?"

He gives an exasperated sigh. "Where's your human?"

That's the last question I want to hear right now. I turn away so he can't see how those words impact me. "I... I don't know."

Only the sound of his paws hitting the sidewalk indicates he's moved. He's closer to me now. Part of the cockiness on his face has softened a bit. "Oh. That's rough." I nod, not replying. He shuffles his feet awkwardly. "I'm Rambo. What's your name?"

"Blue."

"Blue?"

Feeling a slight return of my spirit, I raise my eyebrow. "You have a problem with it?"

Subtly, his green eyes whisk over me in a way that makes me even more self-conscious. "Nah. I like it. It suits you. Blue," he repeats, as if testing it out on his tongue.

Not sure how to return the partial compliment, I shrug. "So are you a stray?"

"I guess. I'm a loner, if that's what you mean. I answer to no one. Don't depend on anyone for my food, shelther, anything. I fend for myself."

There's something both lonely and prideful in his voice. I long to understand it, but I know I can't possibly, not with the sheltered life I've lived. Still... "You might be able to help me then. I have no idea how to survive on the streets, and I'm going to need to if I want to find my human again."

Rambo watches me carefully. "Your human? I hate to break it to you, but-"

Just then, we both turn at the screech of tires. A large green truck has parked itself behind us. I struggle to make out the words on the side. "Animal... Control?"

A man gets out of the truck and slams the door. He's holding a long pole with a loop on the end of it, and a net is thrown over his shoulder. For some reason, he strikes me as foreboding. "Rambo? Who is that?" I glance around me. "Rambo?"

I feel his breath hot on my neck, and the next thing I know I'm being shoved backwards. "Run!"

"What's going on?" I yelp, racing after Rambo.

Behind us, I hear the man shout something that sounds like, "Get back here, cats!"

Inclined more to follow Rambo's lead now and ask questions later, I don't look back as we speed across the field. I'm about to go leaping into the middle of the field when Rambo grabs me by the neck-scruff and hauls me back. "Are you nuts? That's thin ice!"

How am I supposed to know that?

"Thanks," I pant, not wanting to seem as ungrateful as I am.

Without replying, he changes course, heading out of Liberty Park and towards the street. I charge after him headlong, my legs throwing up snow in my wake. Not for the first time, I wish I wasn't so short and small. It takes me twice as much effort to plow through the snow as it does Rambo.

By the time I make it to the street, Rambo is already halfway down the sidewalk, heading for a dark, scary-looking alley. "Hurry!"

When I chance a glance over my shoulder, I see the man with the net charging towards me. I waste no time in getting out of there.

The alley is awful. As soon as I take my first step into it, my foot lands in a disgusting puddle of slush, and a rancid odor annhilates my nostrils. "Ugh," I snort, pressing closer to Rambo as we advance into the gloominess.

Detaching himself from me carefully, he turns to face me, scenting the air. "I think we're good," he reports. "The old codger lost us. Humans are so stupid."

"Lisa isn't," I say automatically.

For a second, he looks like he's going to reply. Then he shakes his head.

Not liking being treated like that, I frown and mew, "She isn't. She's kind. She took care of me my entire life, ever since she got me when I was a kit. I... I don't think I gave her enough back, after all she did. Taking care of me was no easy task, you know. I was the runt of my litter."

Again, his eyes flick over me in that peculiar way they tend to, almost like a reflex. "That's not hard to believe."

Obligingly, I consent a small smile. "Yeah."

Rambo stretches, his gray coat rippling over his leanly-muscled body. I politely avert my eyes, not feeling right to oggle him- which is, admittedly, what I was on the verge of doing. When I turn back to him, he's watching me with those green eyes - in the short time I've known him, I can't help noticing his eyes change color. When he saw the man with the net, the dogcather, I presume he's called, they turned a dark olive. Now they're clearer, more of a spring-green.

"Hey, you hungry?" Rambo asks.

"A little," I admit. "But... how are we supposed to hunt here?" I shudder to think of what kind of "prey" lurks in the muck of this alley.

Casually, he saunters up to a garbage barrel and reaches up as high as he can, which is quite high, as he's long-legged. "Don't need to. Watch and learn."

I watch, but the only thing I learn is that Rambo likes to tip over garbage cans.

Clang! The sound of the metal tub hitting the ground makes me jump. "Oops," Rambo says sheepishly. "It's usually quieter. Oh well. Hopefully there aren't any humans around."

"What do you mean?"

He's already rummaging through the garbage, so his voice comes back to me in strange sounding echos. "I don't think they'd like us going through here. Even though they don't even need this stuff. Why they feel the need to protect it I don't know. Selfish pigs."

I flinch at hearing him talk against humans like that, but put away my personal offense for Lisa. "Um... why are you going through it?"

"Ouch," Rambo mews, apparently having just banged his head on the garbage can. He emerges from within it, scraps of paper and rubbish still clinging to his pelt. "What do you mean 'why am I going through it'? How do you think we eat?"

My stomach twists. "You're not saying what I think you're saying?"

He grins rougishly. "Yep. Miss Priss will have to eat garbage."

"Don't call me that," I say hotly. Half-curious, half-repulsed, I inch over to him. "What is that?"

"They call it a hamburger. I call it delicious."

''Hamburger... ''I mull over the word. "Lisa had those sometimes."

Around a big bite of meat, he mumbles, "That so?" Then, more shyly, "You want some."

Not wanting to appear ungrateful, I only hesitate briefly. "I- Sure. Thanks." He nudges over a small portion of the meat. I sniff it. It's stale and cold, but suddenly my belly rumbles, and I realize I'm ravenous. I swallow it in one gulp. It sticks a little going down, but I get it done. And it doesn't kill me, surprise surprise. Maybe I can handle street living after all... kind of.

Actually, I'm feeling really discouraged about this. I have no idea how long it'll take me to find Lisa again, and living like this is not exactly appealing.

Still, I owe it to Lisa to try.

"Thanks for your help, Rambo," I say, smiling at the gray tom. "It was really nice of you, and I appreciate it. I'd probably be captured by the dogcatcher if it wasn't for you. And then I wouldn't be able to find Lisa."

"No problem- Hey, where are you going?"

"To find Lisa, of course," I say slowly. Did I make this unclear?

Rambo bites his lip. "Listen, Blue... I don't know how to tell you this, but your human probably ditched you. Abandoned you. She's never coming back. She's left you alone, on purpose."

My jaw drops. The notion he's just presented is absolutely ridiculous. "What? Lisa would never do that!"

Regretfully, he shakes his head. "That's what they all think. That's what they all tell themselves. But it's not true."

Throwing back my head, I glare him down. "You don't know her, not like I do. She loves me, and I love her. If there was any way she could find me, she would've done it by now. Obviously, she can't, so I have to find her." I try to push past him.

Gently, he blocks me. "You're so small-minded, Blue. The world is a huge place. She could be anywhere. And you have to face the fact that... maybe she doesn't want you."

Now that hit a mark. I can feel my face crumple, and even Rambo seems to regret his words. "I'm sorry, Blue. It's just, I've seen it happen so many times, and I don't want you to hurt yourself for a human who's not worth it."

"I... appreciate it. It's nice that you care so much, but I have to do this. Weren't you listening? I love Lisa. You don't just give up on people you love."

A long-suffering sigh. "Look, I'm not a genius on love. And I don't know much about the bond between kittypets and their owners. But you've got to trust me on this. Stick with me, at least. There's no way you'll make it on your own on the streets."

Something protective in his tone makes me feel rebellious. I mean seriously, there's only so much coddling I can withstand. "I'm not your young charge!" I snap. "You don't have to take care of me, or act like I can't care for myself. How helpless do you think I am?"

Slightly taken aback, he mews, "Not helpless, just... I'd like to help you. You know, if that's okay with you."

A more tactful approach to me and my tantrums, I guess. I deflate, feeling like a real kit now. "Sorry. I'm just not having a good day."

"I can see that. It's fine."

His calm reply only makes me feel more atrocious. "Listen... I'll... how about I stay with you for now? It's just, I'm going to be looking for Lisa, and I don't want that to affect your life."

Rambo's eyes flutter shut, as if he's debating something. Then he reopens them. "I'll help you look."

"Really?" I ask, incredulous.

He nods, going back to rummaging in the garbage. "Got nothing better to do. You like chicken wings?"

"Won't know until I try." I pad over to him, letting my flank brush his.

It's going to be hard to find Lisa out here, in this crazily big world. But I think that in Rambo, I've found a true friend.

Chapter Three
Chicken wings turn out to be delicious. After I polish off my sixth, I think I'm finally full. Rambo makes it to ten, emptying the entire basket we found. I eye him amusedly. "You sure can put it away."

He grins at me. "You can too, for your size. Though I don't know where it goes to. For a kittypet, you're skinny as a rail."

I shrug. "I guess I'm naturally small."

Getting up, he licks his short fur quickly. "Now that we're done eating, do you want to go sightseeing?"

"Sightseeing? I don't think there's anything interesting in the city. It all looks like buildings and dirt and alleys to me," I profess.

Tsking, he grins and breaks into a trot. "Oh, ye of little faith. Trust me. Rambo knows the city. And what you're about to see will take your breath away. At least... that's if you have any breath left after seeing my handsome face. It's known to stop hearts from beating."

Admittedly, I'm surprised at his forwardness, but I recover quickly. "Oh please." I headbutt him gently. "Lead the way."

"Oh, I always do."

In spite of myself, I'm grinning as we exit the alley. Rambo's a clown, but he's a happy, joyful cat to be around. He makes me feel good. Someday, I hope I'll be able to repay him for his kindness.

"Almost there," Rambo promises, after I ask a childish, "Are we there yet?" for the umpeenth time.

Ahead of us, a long wooden boardwalk stretches out, flanked on either side by miles of water. I gasp as we step out onto it, looking about myself in wide-eyed wonder. "What is this place?"

Rambo looks pleased with my reaction. "The pier. And that's the sea."

Overcast by a cottony gray winter sky, the sea looks wild and almost frightening, with a cold, sheer beauty that enthralls and captivates me. It also scares me a little, I have to admit. I huddle a little closer to Rambo as we near the edge of the dock.

"It's beautiful," I whisper. Turning to him, I beam. "Thank you so much for taking me here."

Similarly to a fish's, his mouth opens and closes, but no sound comes out. He turns so we're fully facing each other. "I... You're welcome. It was no big deal." Then, "You know... your eyes look exactly like the color of the sea from here. Which is weird, because I could've sworn they were more blue, but now they're like gray-blue. Stormy. Like winter. It's pretty."

Freezing at the unexpected compliment, I laugh, trying to be casual. Inside though, my heart is racing. So I'm not the only one who's noticed the other's eyes.

"Thank you," I say. "Your eyes, um, change color too. It's cool." Inwardly, I slap myself. And kick myself. And beat myself up. Can I get any lamer?

Thankfully, Rambo sees how awkward this is and breaks our eye contact, laying down at the edge of the dock. I follow suit, even daring to dangle my paws off the edge. Below, the waves crash against the pier's posts like angry sharks, circling and waiting for one of us to fall in. I pull my paws back from the edge with a shudder.

Glancing over at me, Rambo asks, "You cold?"

I shake my head.

"Liar."

Sticking out my tongue, I shrug. "It's winter. I'll get over it."

He shuffles his paws, and for a second looks like he's about to offer something, then seems to think the better of it. I can't help feeling disappointed. And okay, maybe wondering. Would he have wrapped his tail around me? Would I have let him?

"Listen, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to, and I know I'm being a pry, but what exactly is it that's so special about your Lisa?"

Startled by the question, I blink at him. "What do you mean?" Inside I think, ''Where do I start? ''

Embarrassed, he says, "Well, I've never really had a bond with a Twoleg- or anyone really. What makes it so special?"

My heart gives a little twinge. Hasn't he ever had someone he truly loves? Someone who'll stick by him no matter what, unless they're torn away? I can't even begin to imagine my life without Lisa. "It's so hard to explain... there's a thousand little things that add up, and inside, you just know." I place my small paw on my heart. "Right here. That's where you feel it."

"Right here," he echos. I nod, and delicately pick up one of his paws. It feels big and warm in mine. As he watches, his eyes never leaving my face, I place his paw on his heart. With my paw on top of his, I can feel his heartbeat, strong and steady. My eyelashes flutter up to his face, and suddenly I find my gaze locked with his. What's going on?

A rock lands between us. Sheesh. If fate didn't want us to be together, couldn't they have thrown a leaf or something?

We spring apart, and both our heads swivel at the same time to the thrower of the rock. A man is walking towards us, his face scrunched in anger. Instantly, I tense to run. My encounter with the dogcatcher has taught me that I can't trust all humans. No matter how much their blue eyes and white hair remind me of Lisa.

The man picks up another rock. "We'd better get going," Rambo says through clenched teeth. I nod, and we make a run for it. Skirting the man, who shakes his fist and yells, but doesn't throw another rock, we bolt across the street and into another alley.

"Great. An alley. Again."

Rambo's panting a little, his breath coming out as puffs of vapor. "Beats a rock in the head."

"Barely."

"You don't like dark places, do you?"

I shake my head. "They give me the creeps. You never know what's hiding out there, in the dark."

Thoughtfully, Rambo ponders this. "I think what's worse is something that comes to you in the light, but is hiding darkness inside. That's what I really can't stand."

He's got a point there, I have to admit. "Hypocrites suck."

Letting out a chuckle, Rambo grins at me. "That's one way to put it, I guess."

To change the subject, I stretch and say, "What do we do now chief?"

There's a twinkle in his eyes. "Whoever said that our sightseeing tour was over?"

"No one, but I assumed as much when someone tried to stone us."

"Silly, silly you. Nothing stops Rambo the Great. Nothing at all," he says dramatically, tossing his head in the air. Despite the cold, a warm feeling shoots through me, down to my toes. "Come on. It's time for you to see the wilder side of the city."

I open my mouth to tell him that that doesn't make sense, but he's already trotting away. "Wait up!" I splash through a puddle of melted snow and reach his side, each of his long strides taking two of mine. "What are you talking about? Where are we going?"

Reassuringly, he brushes his shoulder against mine. "We're going to The Pits."

Gulping, I say, "Is it as dangerous as it sounds?"

Self-confidently, he tilts his head to a jaunty angle and winks at me. "That depends what you call dangerous, little lady."

I bristle at the nickname, but let it slip this once. "Will we get killed?"

"Possibly."

"Oh great. And me with my fur like this."

Chapter Four
"Rambo, why are we in the alleyways again? The idea of a place called 'The Pits' in an alley does not appeal to me."

My companion pads on, oblivious to my terror. "Relax, Blue. I wouldn't take you anywhere where you'd really get hurt. The Pits can be rough, but it's the place where all the stray cats go. You'll make some friends there."

I perk up. "Do you think someone might know about Lisa?"

Nervously, he glances at the ground. "I hate to tell you, but I doubt we'll meet someone who can help us with that. Most of these cats do everything they can to stay away from humans."

Defeated, I slump my shoulders. Oh well. At least I'd get a glimpse of Rambo's world. Despite the fact that I'm still convinced Lisa and I will find each other, I can't help being curious about how these street cats lived. Now I have a chance to find out.

Still, as we grow closer, the sound of barbaric laughter and hollering makes my hackles rise. This doesn't sound like a place Lisa would ever take me. And yet Rambo seems perfectly confident, quickening his pace, with a little smile dancing on his lips. I decide I have no choice but to trust him on this. He hasn't steered me wrong before, and I have no better ideas.

Finally, we emerge into a sort of circular area, where four alleys intersect. Dirty snow is piled up along the walls, mixed with gravel and grit into a choppy gray combination. The center of The Pit is full of cats.

All of them have that street-life look that Rambo has. Thin, some of them with their ribs visible, but with a unique glint in their eyes. The qualities that can only be bred by independence and true survival. I feel distinctly out of place.

Then again, there are those who don't have the survival quality. I can see them at the far back reaches of the crowd, hollow-faced, with haunted, weary eyes. A chill runs through me as I realize I could've ended up like that, if Rambo hadn't taken me in.

One group of cats in particular catches my attention. They look just as thin as the others, but as I walk past them, I catch the smells of pine and fresh snow, a brief respite from the stench of garbage and gasoline that clings to the other strays. These cats also look more... together. None of them can be over a year old, but huddled next to each other, they have this unique team-like stance that intrigues me. "Hey, Rambo," I say, nudging my partner. "Who are they?"

"Oh them? They're from a Clan, DewClan I believe. They're apprentices. I don't think they're supposed to come here, but times are tough, and everyone's gotta survive."

Understanding only about one percent of that, I mew, "What's a Clan?"

"It's hard to explain. It's a group of cats, working together, that take care of each other. They have a whole system and code worked out. The nearest Clan, DewClan, lives in the forest. Usually, they despise us city-cats, and anything having to do with humans. But I guess starvation and hunger drove these guys here." He motions to a small white cat, with round green eyes. "That one's Snowpaw. The larger black one's name is Nightpaw, and the ginger is Flamepaw. They're nice enough. I get along with them fine. Some of the other cats don't though. They think Clan cats and city strays shouldn't mix."

All this is new to me. I never knew there were so many divisions, so many kinds of life in this world. It's an eye-opener, and one I guess I desperately needed.

Well, I might as well make the most of this experience. "Would you like to introduce me to some of your friends?"

Rambo's eyebrows go up. "What? Uh... I'm not really sure if that's the best idea. They're kinda rough-'n-tumble. Not exactly the type of cats you'd like."

Too late. "Rambo!" a loud voice booms, and a massive tom thunders towards us. He has beady, shifty little amber eyes that look out of place in his broad, square-shaped head, and instantly puts me on my guard. "Who's your little friend, eh?"

I draw myself to my full height. Forget meeting and making friends. I am not little. Okay... to rephrase, he can't call me little. Big oaf.

Looking extremely uncomfortable, Rambo says, "This is Blue. Blue, meet Sam, my idiot... acquaintance."

"Now, is that any way to introduce your old pal Sam?" bellows the tom. Up close, I can see the fleas crawling over him. It makes me want to vomit. "Listen, little Blue-gal, me 'n your pal Rambo are besties. We done raids together, and got into tons of mischief. Ain't nobody on them streets that can match up to Rambo & Sam's raiding parade."

While I struggle to make sense of his slang, Rambo wraps his tail around me lightly and starts to pull me away. "Well, it was nice seeing you, Sam, but-"

"Aw, now what's the hurry, old bud? You scared your fancy little girlfriend won't like the way you live?"

Going red, Rambo flattens his ears. "She's not my girlfriend, and-"

Sam rambles on, "Because that ain't no way to treat your girl. You should tell her. Tell her 'bout the time we upturned all the garbage cans in that one alley and then squalled all night till the dogcather came to get us. Go on, tell her."

With Rambo refusing to meet my gaze and Sam's gaze completely unnerving, I take things into my own paws. "Look, it was a pleasure to meet you, Sam, but we do have to get going." I give him my most polite smile.

"A pleasure to meet me? Hon, it ain't no pleasure to meet me. Trust me." Sam grins widely, revealing a row of yellowed, chipped teeth.

"You're right there," mutters Rambo.

Without warning, Sam suddenly goes off like a siren. "Well, what have we here? We done got us a kittypet! You didn't mention that, did ya, Rambo old boy? Lemme see that collar of yours, Blue." He reaches for my collar before I have a chance to move out of the way.

Rambo moves like a flash of lightning, pinning Sam's paw to the ground. Through clenched teeth, he growls, "She said we have to go, Sam."

Tension curls in the air, making my fur rise again. A few of the other cats have looked over, including the Clan apprentices. Smiles appear, and they whisper into each other's ears, sensing a fight. Repulsed at their lust for blood, I move to calm Rambo down, but he doesn't seem to hear me. His eyes are locked with Sam.

"You care to explain why you're cavortin' about with a kittypet?" Sam leers, his face twisted in a crazy mask of menace.

Equally menacing, Rambo snarls back, "I don't have to explain anything to you."

Appealing to the crowd of dirty strays, Sam flings his paws in the air. "Then perhaps you'd like to explain to this fine crowd. What were you thinking, bringing a well-groomed, high-faulting kittypet to The Pit? You trying to get a bunch of angry humans coming down on our heads, trying to find their precious kitty?"

Is that what he thinks would happen? ''Would Lisa really do that to get me? Ruin all these other cats' lives?''

"He's just trying to get the crowd against us, Blue," Rambo whispers to me, seeming to read my mind. "He's a coward. Won't face me alone."

"You don't have to face him at all," I beg. "Let's just get out of here."

Unfortunately, there's no getting in the way of these two fighting.

"Got something against me coming here, Sam, say it to my face," Rambo growls.

His opponent gives him a sneer. "All I'm saying, Rambo, is that Blue's a really pretty, delicate cat. I'd hate for her to-"

Rambo's on him in a heartbeat, just a blur of gray in his attack. And the wreck is on.

Both of them are moving so fast, I can't tell what's happening. And I can barely hear over the crowd's deafening roar of, "Fight, fight, fight!" What is wrong with these cats? What's so entertaining about two of your friends tearing each other up? Well, Sam isn't my friend. But I'm sure he has some friends. How can they just stand by and...?

Enough is enough. I burst through the crowd and latch onto Rambo's fur, yanking him backwards. "What the heck?" he splutters, his words melding into a cough halfway through.

He looks awful, but a giant "Boo!" from the crowd redirects my attention.

Sizing them up, I yell, "Hey! What are you yelling at me for? You guys should be ashamed of yourselves, letting this get so far. A fight isn't entertainment, for crying out loud. Letting two cats tear each other apart isn't something you should be proud of. Violence is never the answer, no matter how bad things get. Okay?" I think I did a good job with that. My voice only cracked twice.

Silence for about three seconds. Then someone yells, "Nice collar!"

As the crowd erupts into jeers and catcalls, I turn to Rambo. He shakes his head helplessly. Sam rolls his eyes at me and mouths the word "Kittypet". By now I've figured out what that is, and according to the street cats, it isn't a compliment.

Tears sting the back of my eyes. I feel completely and utterly humiliated. Did I really think I could play the hero to these strays? I should've known they wouldn't have listened to me.

My one consolation is that I broke up Rambo and Sam's fight.

Remembering Rambo's wounds, I turn to him. "Let's get you out of here."

"Blue-" he begins.

The pity in his eyes is more then I can bear. I break our eye contact and start trotting out of the alley. "I said come on."

He sighs and whispers a few words after me, just an exhale of breath, but I hear them.

"I'm sorry Blue."

So am I. 

Chapter Five
By the time we're a safe distance from The Pits, I feel like a selfish hog for even beginning to feel sorry for myself.

Rambo's steadily getting worse. His limp has become more pronounced then ever, and I can see how much it costs him to take each step, though he doesn't complain even once. His cuts have stopped bleeding, but they haven't begun the clotting process yet, which worries me; according to all the times I've watched medical shows with Lisa, the wound will get infected unless it heals over quickly. And there's an ugly looking bruise forming just under his right ear.

Unable to bear the thought of him suffering in silence, I gently lick one of the nastier cuts he has. "You holding up okay?" I ask softly.

He gives a grim smile. "At least I don't have to beat myself up; Sam did it for me."

When I tilt my head to the side, confused, he explains, "For taking you to The Pits."

Vehemently, I shake my head. "It's not your fault, okay? All I'm concerned about is getting you to a vet."

Abruptly, he stops and whirls to me. "What?"

"A vet. You're really hurt, and those wounds will get infected without proper treatment. We can't have you sick, especially not in winter."

Instantly, I detect Rambo's Oh-great-I'll-have-to-explain-something-to-little-Blue look. Although, with him all banged up, I consent to listen. "It doesn't work that way out here, Blue. Us street strays don't go to vets. If we did, we'd just end up in cages, locked up somewhere. No, we have to take care of ourselves."

Doubtfully, I say, "But your wounds..."

"I'll be fine."

Unsatisfied with his short answer, I grumble, "Fine. But you don't know what's good for you." After a pause, I add, "We should probably find some shelter." The clouds overhead are gathering in masses of gray, and I don't like the ominous taste of fresh snow on the air.

Rambo takes a brief second to think, then quickens his pace, evidently ignoring the pain. "I know a place. But we have to hurry."

Quickening my pace to match his, I alternate my worried glances between Rambo's wounds and the snow-filled clouds above. It'll be a race against time to get to shelter before the snowstorm hits.

Eventually, I notice that the tall city buildings are growing farther and farther apart, with more snow-covered grass between them. It's a more rural, neighborhood-type part of the city; sure enough, we soon come upon a grouping of houses. I'm sorely reminded of my old home, and can't help glancing about for any familiar markers of where I used to live. This is obviously another neighborhood though, and I soon give up.

"We're almost there," Rambo mews. His voice is stiff and full of barely-concealed pain. I imagine the cold has done nothing for his wounds, and neither has the walking around. A cut on his shoulder has started bleeding again, and refuses to stop, no matter how much I lick it. The gray fur around it is sodden with blood and appears to be permanently dyed red. All I'm hoping is that I'll be able to better care for him when we have a warm place to stay, which is a far-fetched hope at the best. I know next to nothing about healing. The most I can do is try to lick away the blood and keep it clean. There aren't even any leaves or pieces of scrap cloth I could use to bind him up.

What feels like a small eternity passes before Rambo jerks his nose forward. "That little shed," he mews. "It's sturdy enough to weather out the snow."

It certainly looks like it. It's a small wooden structure, sitting off in a secluded corner. Too far away to belong to a house, but close enough to the neighborhood that we don't have to worry about wild animals or anything. Also, I can't help feeling relieved at the prospect of being in a human-made structure once again. The alleys are not the place for me.

We reach the shed just in time. As I put my paw tentatively over the threshhold, the wind picks up, and the first flurries begin to drift down from the sky.

Both Rambo and I are too busy stamping our paws and trying to get warm to notice the others at first. When I do see two pairs of glowing eyes in the dimness, I freeze.

"Who's there?" I ask, moving closer to Rambo.

A tom steps out of the shadows, followed by a smaller she-cat. They look related, with the same light brown coats and olive-green eyes. The only difference is the way their expressions are constructed. The she-cat looks timid and sweet, while the tom has a colder look to his handsome features.

Taking no chances with Rambo injured, I peel my lips back slightly. The tom looks rather amused at this display, making me angrier. "Who are you?"

"I think we have the right to ask that question. We were here first," he says dryly. He has a rich, bass voice that carries around the little shed.

Realizing he's right, I let my defenses down. "I guess so," I admit. "But my friend is really hurt, and we need a place to stay."

"Of course you guys can stay here," the she-cat says, piping up for the first time. Like her brother, she has a pretty voice, only hers is high and lilting, more like a song then a deep rumble. "I'm Olivia, by the way. This is my brother Jackson."

Determined to keep ahold of my manners, though all I reallly want to do is shut them out and tend to Rambo, I reply, "Thanks. We'll just be over here."

Pointedly ignoring them, I march past and lead Rambo to a cozy pile of hay. "Lie down with your cut shoulder facing upwards," I instruct. Wearing an unholy grin, Rambo flops down into the makeshift bed, though I don't miss his grimace as his battered body hits the hay.

"Do your worst," he invites.

The small joke helps prevent me from having a nervous breakdown. Busily, I putter about, pretending to be absorbed in the task of clearing hay from all open wounds. In reality, I'm wondering what on earth I should do. What would the vet do? He'd bring out all his medicines and bandages and get right to work. But he was a human, with "training in animal science", as Lisa always told me when I fussed on my way to get shots. I was just an ignorant little housecat. I could very well kill Rambo with my inexperience and bumbling.

After I had picked every single piece of straw from the cuts, I began to lick the large gash on Rambo's shoulder. His eyes flutter shut, and his face relaxes slightly as I bend over him, working methodically, trying to be soothing.

"Excuse me?" a soft voice asks. It's Olivia, with a bashful expression on her face. "I'm sorry- but I think I can help you."

Relief floods through me, and I step back. "Do you know how to heal him?"

When she gives a nod, I let her take over. Rambo glares at me accusingly, as if I've just given him over to a complete stranger - which I kind of have - but I figure any cat could do better then the job I've been doing. Nearby, Jackson watches Olivia work. Upon catching my gaze, he flashes me a cute smile. "Don't worry about your friend. Olivia's the best at what she does. Hey, I didn't catch your name."

"I'm Blue," I say, relieved that he seems to be more friendly than the strays I met at The Pits. "And he's Rambo."

He nods, walking over to me so we're face-to-face. "What happened? Fight?"

"Yeah. But it wasn't his fault. He was just defending me."

Something odd flickers in his eyes, but it passes so quickly I'm sure I imagined it. He glances over at Olivia and Rambo. "Hey, sis, how much longer will it be?"

Without bothering to look up, she calls back, "It'll take a little bit. I want to stop any infection."

Jackson seems satisfied. He gets up and motions towards the door. "Blue and I'll go hunting in the meantime, okay?"

I balk. "In the snow?"

"Sure. Don't worry, it won't be that bad. We'll hurry it up. Plus, the storm's let up for a little bit. We might as well make the most of it. Soon it'll get so bad we won't even be able to leave."

My tail droops. "I can't hunt at all."

Almost imperceptibly, his eyes flicker to my collar. Danged thing. But he doesn't say anything, which I'm grateful for. "I'll teach you."

"While your out, toss in some snow!" yells Olivia. "It'll help wash out the wound."

"Will do," Jackson says, though there's an edge to his voice. Does he not want her to help Rambo? I shake off the ridiculous notion.

Reluctantly, I tag along as Jackson steps out of the shed. Since he seems to have forgotten Olivia's request, setting off immediately, I shovel up as much snow as I can and hurl it back into the shed. "That enough?"

"That's good!"

Confident that I've left Rambo in good paws, I race to catch up with Jackson. He barely responds as I reach his side, too busy sniffing the air. I remain silent, aware that I'm watching a master at work, and not wanting to ruin his hunt. After a little bit, he flicks his tail. "This way. I smell mice."

"Mice? Out here?"

Irritated by my talking, he glares at me. I shut up quickly.

We creep towards a sheltered patch of ground at the base of a tree, bare of snow for now. Around us, white flakes fall like tiny fairies, clinging to our coats and whiskers. Jackson was right; it isn't too bad for now, but it does seem to be thickening and getting worse. We'll probably be glad we hunted now.

Oh, look at me, passing these judgements like a seasoned survivor. I've never tasted raw meat in my life. The closest I've come to it is the canned tuna Lisa let me lick off her fingers. The very thought of eating a mouse makes the bile rise in my throat, and all sorts of concerns about hygiene and disease come to mind. I don't have the constitution of these cats. What if I get sick?

Nevertheless, I follow faithfully as Jackson circles the tree trunk, trying to pinpoint the exact location of the mouse nest. "Do you smell that?" he whispers into my ears, his words so soft I have to strain my hearing just to be sure he actually spoke.

At first, I don't. But then I listen closer. And I smell them. Hear them too. The pulse of tiny hearts beneath the ground. The warm smell of living creatures. The scurry of little feet. I almost chicken out and turn around, not wanting to kill them. Yeah, I know. I'm a pathetic excuse for a cat.

Jackson obviously has no such qualms. His eyes are alive with the vigor of the hunt. "Watch and learn," he breathes. And then he pounces.

It's like watching artwork come to life. I was awestruck by Rambo's reflexes, but Jackson is every bit as swift and precise. His lean body forms a graceful arc in the air for a millisecond, and then he comes down hard, his head in the ground, a panicked squealing coming from inside the mouse burrow as he does his work.

"Wow," I say as he pulls back, a wriggling bundle in his mouth.

"Thanks," he meows flippantly. "There's two more, half-grown." With his paws, he drags out two other still bodies.

Looking down on them, I convince myself that they're prey. That's all there is to it. Prey to be eaten. But oh, how I wish I could've stuck to foraging for garbage in the alleys.

Apparently sensing my hesitation, Jackson says, "Don't worry. Once you taste them, you'll wonder how you've lived all this time on that rabbit-dung humans try to feed us.

"Lisa didn't feed me rabbit-dung," I say indignantly. "She fed me high-quality food. The vet said it was good for-"

"Yeah yeah, they've got a heap of excuses for stifling our natural diets," Jackson interrupts. "The real reason? They don't want 'disgusting' things like dead mice inside their houses. They'd rather have dry pellets that practically sap the life out of you. Trust me. I was raised with humans."

I blink at him. "Really? Why'd you leave?"

He rolls his eyes, bending down to pick up one of the mice. "I ran away. Idiots. They didn't know how to treat a cat, believe me."

Something about his tone warns me not to ask anymore questions. Instead, I pick up the other two mice. Their bodies are still warm in my mouth as we head back to the shed.

Chapter Six
On getting back in, my attention immediately returns to Rambo. He's lying still in his nest. Olivia sits nearby, washing her paws daintily with her little pink tongue. Dropping the mice, I hurry over. "Will he be okay?"

Rambo opens his eyes and smiles up at me. "I think I'll live," he says, which is good to know.

More relieved than I can put into words, I beam at Olivia. "Thank you so much for everything."

"No problem," she says, getting up and padding over. We survey the catch of prey, and it strikes me that there are only three mice. And four cats.

Already having realized this problem, Jackson picks up one mouse, and nudges the other one over to Olivia. "And this one's for you, Blue. For being a great hunting protege. You have a lot of potential."

The compliment washes over my head in the wake of a greater wrong. "What about Rambo?"

Ice forms around Jackson's friendly expression instantaneously. What is it with him and Rambo? I can tell the feeling's mutual from the way my friend is glaring back at Jackson. "Olivia helped heal him. You helped me hunt. Those who work, eat."

No way am I going to let this fly. "He was sick."

But Jackson's every bit as stubborn as I am. "Then he can work and eat when he's better, okay Blue? Look, I'm sorry, but there really isn't enough to go around as it is. Two of these mice are just half-grown."

I note that he's taken the full-grown one, plump and fat at his paws. I'm about to suggest that Rambo and I split the biggest one, but then remember that Jackson was the one who caught all the prey anyway. I guess he has a point.

Still, I turn my back on him pointedly, and wait till he and Olivia have retreated to the other side of the shed before I join Rambo by his nest. The gray tom is seething. "Little weasel," he mutters, glaring daggers towards Jackson.

"Let it go," I say. "No harm, no foul."

Comically, he makes a face up at me. "I never got that saying."

Aware that he'll protest this, I nudge the mouse towards him. "Here you go."

"I am not eating that Blue."

Giving a long sigh, I say, "Why do you have to act like a kitten about this, Rambo? You need to eat to get better."

"Two reasons. One, I refuse to touch anything that Jackson the Weasel has touched. Two, he's right about one thing. You should eat. You helped."

"Please. All I did was observe. I did nothing at all to help him; he blew that out of proportion. Besides, you're the one who's sick. I need you to get better. What will I do without you?"

Rambo freezes. I blush, realizing that comment sounded a lot sappier then it needed to be.

Quietly, he mews, "You'll be fine without me. You're strong enough to make it on your own."

Now I'm growing impatient. "Will you just eat the darned mouse?"

Snapping out of his reverie, Rambo sighs. "No."

"Then we'll split it."

"Blue, that'll barely be a morsel each."

"Well, we've wasted enough time arguing, and we've gotten nowhere," I point out. Laying the tiny mouse in the middle, I hold my breath, still my queasy stomach, and take my first bite.

It's not great, but it's not bad. It has a more distinct flavor then the food I'm used to, and it doesn't taste like the hamburger or chicken that Rambo and I ate before either. I'm not quite sure if I like the change or not. But I'm hungry enough to finish my half of the mouse. Rambo eats much quicker then me, and by the time I'm done he's finished grooming himself, and is gazing at me with a content expression.

Feeling my face go warm under his watch, I mew, "What?"

He jerks a little bit, startled, like he hadn't even realized he was staring at me. "Sorry. So, uh... how was it? Your first taste of raw meat, I'm guessing?"

"Yeah. It was... okay, I guess," I respond.

For some reason, this answer seems to satisfy him. "I'll bet you're glad I taught you how to forage in the alleys. Better then Jackson's method, right?"

"Um, sure," I say, raising my eyebrows. "You really don't like him, do you?"

"Nope. He tried to starve me."

"You tried to starve yourself."

He catches my eyes and holds them fast. "For you."

Paralyzed, my throat goes dry. I want to say something, anything to break the moment, but on the other hand I don't want it to end. It's a strange feeling, one I've never experienced before. Before I can do anything stupid, Jackson gallops over.

Both me and Rambo reel backwards, annoyed, but I instantly forget that once I see the look of fear in Jackson's eyes. "Guys," he says. "I don't want to alarm you... but there are dogs heading this way."

Just as the words leave his mouth, we hear faraway barking- but it's getting closer.

"I think they're regulars at this neighborhood, and now that it's snowing, they're on the hunt," Jackson reports. Olivia is standing by the shed door, her face filled with terror.

Already, I've guessed that these dogs are nothing like Stan the Rottweiler, or the dying mutt I met at the park. They're dangerous. And headed our way.

Rambo struggles to his feet. "There's no way we can stay here."

Thankfully, Jackson doesn't let whatever silly, unnecessary rivalry there is between them get in the way of the group's safety. "We've got to make a run for it. I've seen these dogs before. They're starving. The dogcatchers chase them because they cause so much trouble, and all humans refuse to feed them because they're scary. They'll do anything for a meal. We're in danger guys."

That's enough for me. I bolt out the door. "What are we waiting for, then?"

Once we're out though, all of us skid to a stop. The dogs are out on the field, headed straight towards us. There's no way we can outrun them, and the inside of the shed holds no safety.

"Quick! To the roof!" Rambo yells, springing up onto the shed wall.

Realizing it's our only option, I follow suit. Though I'm no award-winning climber, the wood is soft and half-rotted from the damp snow, and I manage to scramble up fast enough so that the dog's don't bite off my tail. At the top, Rambo grabs me by my scruff and hauls me up to stand beside him. Olivia and Jackson are already there, panting.

Below, the dogs form a group around the shed, barking and braying. It takes them about five minutes to fall silent, but they don't show any inclination to leave. Instead, they settle down in the snow, eyes bright with malice, watching us like Jackson watched the mice this morning.

Running my eyes over them, I can see protruding ribs and drool hanging off long pink tongues. Jackson was right. They're starving. And with us the only prey in sight, the chances of them leaving any time soon are slim to none.

But none of us want to think of what we'll do then. None of us want to consider that possibility. So we shut it out. Olivia begins to groom her fur. Jackson sheathes and unsheathes his claws. Rambo does nothing, staring off into space. Wanting to be near him, as he's my rock in this situation, I inch over and lean my head against his shoulder.

Instantly, Jackson's head jerks up. He lets his gaze drift over to the dogs, but I know he was staring at me for that second.

Rambo's voice distracts me from my suspicions. "You're shaking."

"I'm scared," I whisper honestly.

He wraps his tail around me, which helps ease my shivering, both from his warmth and from the security his presence gives me. "I know. I am too."

"Do you think we'll get out of here alive?"

A pained look crosses his face. "Don't ask me questions I can't answer."

My jaw tightens. "Can't or won't?"

"Don't want to." He forces himself to meet my eyes. "I don't want to imagine that happening to you, Blue." My name is barely a breath at the end of his sentence. A fragile puff of air, like he's afraid speaking it too loudly will make it vanish forever.

I sigh and give my coat a quick shake, trying to stop the incessantly-falling snow from clumping around my fur. Jackson and Olivia meet our gazes. Jackson gives a quick shake of his head and lays his head on his paws.

Down beneath, the dogs wait. We do too.