Even So/S1

Set One

1. Introduction

It’s… hard. Living in a place like this, y’know? Where chaos runs rampant, and no one really knows what to do. Though… honestly, the storms are the worst part of it all.

My name is Lash. I’ve lived here almost my whole life, and never once have I ever understood why the cats around me are all the way they are. It’s like, why would you force a group of cats to try to survive in a world like this? It’s probably the worst possible idea; no cat I know even wants to be alive. Not with everything that’s been going on lately.

There’s not much to be done about it, though. We wake up, we do whatever chores are assigned to us for the day, we eat, and then we sleep. If we’re lucky, we might be able to sleep from midnight to dawn. Sleeping any longer than that is considered quite the luxury around here.

I seriously don’t get it. Why do there have to be such structured rules? It’s… infuriating.

My position here is high-hunter. I’m actually pretty high up in the hierarchy here, though of course I’m nowhere close to the highest position – overseer. No, that position belongs to one cat and one cat only, and it’s been the same cat ever since I’ve been here. They say he wasn’t the founder, but I hate him anyways. Regardless, my job is to lead the other hunters in tracking and catching food for everyone.

Even in eating, there’s a social hierarchy. The overseer gets to eat first, however much he likes. Normally that means that all of our best prey goes to him, while the rest of us get whatever’s left. After the overseer come all of the other fully-grown cats; there are four of them, I think, and at least two of them are related to the overseer. After that, cats like me who have higher positions get to eat, and then finally all of the low-workers get to scrape up whatever they can find from the remains.

I try to leave as much as I can for the low-workers so that they don’t starve. A lot of them work for me on a daily basis, after all. But if I were ever caught… well, there would be a pretty harsh punishment for taking pity on the cats who aren’t as “valuable” as I am.

I’m only seven moons old, but already I’ve been forced into such a life as this. My workers and I are physically fit, as far as things go here; hunting takes a lot of effort, and even though we might not always get the most or best of our catches to eat, we make it work. If one of my cats wants to eat something they catch while out on the hunt, I turn a blind eye and let them. No one has to know, and besides, everyone else relies on us. Where would they be if we were starving to death on their outskirts?

A lot of the hunters are actually kits. Barely three moons old, Faith is the newest cat in my group, and probably the youngest; the oldest, Slate, is only about a half-moon younger than I am. I hate having to work them like this, especially the youngest ones; they’re so enthusiastic about life, barely noticing how harsh the world really is. Since the overseer scooped them up out of ditches and storms, they’re fiercely loyal to him and would do anything in the world to please him.

I guess I should be the same. I remember when I was found. I was one of the stormborn cats; it was a fierce blizzard in the middle of leaf-bare, when the prey was all hiding in burrows and warmth was hard to come by. I had been wandering in circles for days before I finally collapsed in a snowdrift, fully expecting my life to end then and there. I was delirious for quite a while, but then I felt paws grasping me, lifting me out of the snow. I had been found.

I should be grateful. I know that. But my two-moon-old mind had already come to terms with the fact that I was going to die, and so being snatched away from that was one of the worst experiences I’d ever had. It was like I was being saved from something that wasn’t a threat, something that I had expected to be my savior.

I know that doesn’t make a whole lot of sense, but I don’t really care. That’s just how it is.

2. Complicated

The tiny gray kit bounces around me, meowing and squealing with joy. “Lash, Lash!” she squeaks, kneading her tiny paws against the warm earth. “Where are we going to go hunt today? Will we go back to the old willow by the river?”

I sigh, wishing I still had that kind of youthful vigor and excitement for life. I use my tongue to smooth down the rebellious fur on the little kit’s head, regretting that I ever had to teach her how to kill anything. “If that’s where you want to go, then we can stop by there for a little bit, okay? I was thinking that we’d actually try to search for prey a little bit beyond that.”

Her blue eyes widen. “Beyond the old willow?” she breathes. “I’ve never been that far!”

“Neither have I,” I admit. I never tell her that I’m actually scared to find out what was out there; I never tell her that, really, I just want to get as far away from the overseer and his elevated pack as possible. “But it might be interesting to see what’s out there, don’t you think, Faith?”

“Of course I do!” She raises up on her back paws, setting her forepaws firmly into the side of my own foreleg. “Anything Lash thinks is interesting is interesting to me, too!” She licks my cheek gratefully before bounding away to go tell the other hunters.

I watch her go. I love this little kit, with all of her energy and enthusiasm for every little task set out before her. Faith has learned quickly; though she’s only been with the hunters for a moon, she’s already caught at least three mice that I remember. She was even part of an ambush that drove a skittish rabbit straight into my claws on her very first day. I remember her reaction – even though she hadn’t done much, much less made the kill, she was still so excited that she was being useful to the group.

Her words still echo in my mind. Lash, you did it! she squealed, her voice as high-pitched as ever. I love hunting!

Those words hurt my heart. They still do. No kit should be forced to live like this.

“Lash.”

I turn as someone calls my name. When I see the rumpled ginger tom walking towards me, every instinct screams at me to run. I force my paws to stay put, telling myself that I cannot show any signs of rebelliousness in front of this cat. “Yes, overseer?” I say, bowing my head in a sign of respect. It’s tradition; I don’t think it even really means anything. But I have to do it.

“What are your plans for today?” He sits not two tail-lengths away from me, his actual tail lashing with curiosity, or maybe boredom. He has to ask every high-worker this kind of question every so often, to ensure that the group is still running the way it’s supposed to be.

“We’re going to stop by the old willow at the river,” I report, knowing that my voice sounds flat and unenthusiastic. I can’t sound too bored with my life, or he’ll hurt me; at the same time, I can’t sound too eager in case he demotes me to prove some sort of twisted point. “Then I want to go out a little past that, to see if we can find any good hunting spots somewhere farther out.”

He nods at me, which strikes me as unusual. “Think you’ll find anything out there?” he asks.

It’s almost too casual to be just a general, meaningless question. “I certainly hope so,” I answer, trying to keep my answer sounding vague. I don’t mean for it to sound sarcastic, but as soon as it’s out of my mouth, I regret saying it. It does sound a little bit cheeky.

He noticed it, too. His claws sink into the ground, and he bares his teeth at me. “How dare you?” he hisses. “After all I’ve done for you! What sort of insubordination is this?” He’s almost howling now, as though he needs to make sure that everyone around us is hearing what he’s saying, too. “If you hadn’t produced such good results with the hunters, I would have you killed!” he screeches, and inwardly I sigh with relief that I’ve done such a good job staying under his radar until now.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, crouching down in the ultimate gesture of submission. It’s a mistake. As soon as I bow my head, his claws lash out and connect with my ear. I grit my teeth together, trying not to cry out. I know that would only make my punishment all the worse, in the end.

“I’ll teach you to disobey me!” The overseer is screeching loudly at an impossible pitch now, and I know that everyone in camp can hear him, no matter how far away they are. The camp is huge, but the rocks surrounding it carry his voice far and wide. Not that it needs much help; he’s making such a racket that even in a less confined space, his voice would be audible from quite a distance. “Lash!”

And now everyone knows exactly who he’s yelling at, too, even if they can’t see us. That’s just great. Even though for now they’ll all keep their heads down and keep going about their business, the rumors will start soon enough. She was caught sneaking prey, they might say, or maybe, She was trying to kill the overseer and start a rebellion.

Almost every cat here has secretly had thoughts about rebelling against the overseer and his elevated pack, I’m sure, but no one ever dares to openly admit it. It’s all very hush-hush, kept quiet in the darkness and the spaces between mouth and ear, even though every cat knows that even a whispered comment will be heard by anyone sleeping nearby. I’m not afraid to admit that I’ve thought the same way my fair share of times. Life here is just too complicated for us to be content for long.

3. Making History

“Hunters, to me!” I yowl, and immediately the sleek, muscular young cats who work for me swarm out of their dens and watching spots, flocking to my side to hear me out. I feel a rush of both pride and fierce love. I want to protect these cats; many of them, though not quite as young as Faith, barely stand as high as my shoulders. They’re far too young to be working so hard every day, and I know that, but the overseer insists on it, and so we obey.

In all, there are probably at least a hundred hunters in my group. The only other high-hunter is a cat named Bear, a fuzzy-furred brown tom who’s a good four moons older than me and probably almost twice my size. I don’t like talking to him; his views on how we should treat the hunters vary vastly from mine, and every conversation tends to turn into a competition, it seems. He likely has about a hundred cats as well, but none of his cats are nearly as well-fed or fast as mine are. I like to take care of my own.

The first cat to reach me presses up against my side. It’s Gingersnap, an outgoing six-moons tomcat with fur like the sun and an ever-optimistic presence. “Good sun, Lash!” he says by way of greeting, using an odd expression for good morning that’s the only remnant of whatever place he came from before he came here. “It looks like it’ll be a great day for hunting!”

“It does,” I murmur in reply as more and more cats reach us. I look out over all of them: brown fur, fur the color of snow and clouds and sky, ginger fur like Gingersnap’s; blue and green and amber eyes all watching me, expecting me to tell them what to do. It’s always this way; they rely on me far too much, but that’s far better than relying solely on the broken-minded overseer.

“Alright!” I yowl, which brings all of the chatter to a halt. “Today’s plan is going to be a little different than anything we’ve done before.” Cats shuffle their paws in excitement, but no one dares to speak, lest they miss anything I have to say. “We’ll be going out towards the old willow; we might stop there to hunt on the way. It depends on what we can scent there.”

“Yes!” someone squeals from the middle of the group, and my whiskers twitch as, amused, I imagine Faith bouncing up and down on her little padded paws. Someone hushes her, though, and I can go on.

“After that,” I continue, “we will venture beyond the willow. Our goal first and foremost is to scout out potential new hunting areas, but if your group can’t find any worthwhile prey spots, you can also look for other things: sources of water, for one, or good places to put a den or a cache.” It’s a huge undertaking, and I know what I’m asking from them. We don’t know what’s out there; there could be anything, even another huge camp of cats like our own, hostile to us and everything that we supposedly stand for. Still, the excitement in the air is infectious.

Gingersnap climbs up the rock I stand on to whisper in my ear. I don’t mind; he’s the cat I’ve chosen to take over my position should anything happen to me. I’ve been teaching him how to lead them, just in case, and every hunter knows this. “Should I lead my usual group?” he asks. “I could also tag along with someone else, if you want, to get some practice managing other cats.”

I close my eyes for a brief moment, and then I shake my head decisively. “No,” I say. “I want you with your normal group for today. Any other day, I’d be glad to let you follow another group, but if anything happens out there, I want every cat with the leader they’ll be most loyal to.” Gingersnap nods at me with understanding and climbs back down the rock to sit with the other cats again.

“Everyone will be going out with their usual groups,” I call, echoing what I said to Gingersnap. “This means that all of the hunting squad divisions will remain as they were first decided. No swapping, no tagging along, and definitely no leaving anyone behind. All divisions will follow me to the old willow, and then your leaders will decide from there where to go. The leaders are, naturally, myself, Gingersnap, Nightmoon, Sand, Whiskers, Mist, Mothy, Lakerfly, Brightsky, and Fish. You all know whose group you’re in. We’ll head out soon; make sure you can locate your leader and squadmates at a moment’s notice, and then we’ll be off.”

I nod sharply; every single cat in my audience nods back. It’s a gesture of complete understanding, one that I created to ensure that I always knew when cats were paying attention to me. It’s not something that any of the other groups in camp would ever do or fully understand. I jump down from the rock; the cats mill around me, locating the cats they’re supposed to hunt with.

Before long, the twelve cats in my group have successfully figured out where I was. I’m probably the easiest leader to find, since I always end up somewhere near the front of the group after making my announcements. Despite the logical idea that the high-hunter might take only the best and most experienced cats in her group, I actually prefer to run with some of the less-experienced cats, so that I can make sure that they get the attention they deserve to turn them into the best hunters they can possibly be.

I allow the groups to shift a little bit about once a moon. Most cats stay where they are, but sometimes two cats might need to be split up for the good of the group if they’re arguing. I also end up cycling cats through my group a lot, both when cats become skilled enough to move into a more advanced group and when someone needs to take a step down and review the basics before moving up again. Of course, there are also all of the new additions we get every so often, when new kits come of age. Unfortunately, the overseer’s accepted age for new hunters is about three moons old. I hate it.

The cats in my squad are all some of the less-experienced hunters in my group. Millie and Buzz, brother and sister, are sweet little four-moon-old kits with soft gray fur that never stays groomed. Blaze and Blackflight came into camp at the same time, and they’ve been an inseparable team, despite the fact that Blaze is a tough six-moons red-furred tom, while Blackflight is a tiny three-moons-old she-cat with a thin black coat. Silver, Dash, and Blakely are all five moons old, sporting identical silver tabby coats and blue eyes, even though they swear they’re not related. Brown-furred Twig, gray-furred Snap, and white-furred Salt are three three-moons toms, the best of friends, who were too young to really fit into the more advanced squads. The last two cats, Patch and Embers, are both sulky six-moons black toms who antagonized their previous squads with their pessimistic griping.

Even though they’re all so different, the cats in my squad understand that my rule is absolute, and that insubordination to me could mean a switch to another working position. The news would reach the overseer through whispers eventually, even if I decided not to tell him. So my cats are malleable, fairly agreeable as far as things go. They work well as a team.

“I don’t want any messing around today,” I begin, “since we have no idea what’s out there. Do you all understand?” I look around at them, meeting their eyes one by one until they nod. I stare especially hard at my four-moons kits, who often end up in trouble despite their good intentions, and Patch and Embers, who often still decide to cause trouble for me even after all this time. “Good,” I say, nodding back.

“We’re ready!” comes the cry I was anticipating. The first to yowl is Gingersnap, followed by Mothy, Lakerfly, and all the others. It’s their way of telling me that all questions have been answered, and that everyone understands what it is we’re trying to do today.

“Alright! Let’s head out!” I yowl back, waving my tail to my squad, telling them to follow me. All of the other squads will follow us all the way to the old willow, where we’ll then part ways.

We’re making history today, I realize as I run. No one has ever been as far as my hunters have, and even we’ve never been much farther than the old willow.

It’s both nerve-wracking and exciting. I have no idea what we’ll find, but I’m hoping it will be something really, really good.

4. Rivalry

When we reach the old willow, my heart sinks. There, waiting for us, is Bear and all of his cats. They’re very spread out – the woods around the willow are thick and deep and big enough to fit at least four of our hunting groups – but it’s obvious that all of his cats are present. They’ve beaten us to our spot of choice.

I wave my tail to my own group of hunters, warning them to stop running. We had been going at a fairly good pace, but my cats are all well-enough conditioned and trained that none of them should be winded, even by the distance. Still, it takes a moment before I finally hear all of the shufflings behind me slow to a halt.

“What are you doing here?” I call, a direct challenge to Bear.

He swings his head my way, but it’s a lazy motion, as though he can’t be bothered to invest more energy into looking at me. “The overseer said it was okay for us to hunt by the old willow,” he explained, speaking as he might to a two-moons kit.

I bristle. “He talked to me, too,” I spit at Bear. “I told him that my plan was to hunt beyond the willow.” I stop myself before I can say more; I did make the overseer angry, after all. Perhaps he decided to punish me by telling Bear that he could hunt where I had planned to lead my cats. It’s a low blow, but not one that I’d put past the overseer. His punishments are either physically taxing or otherwise very creative and unexpected.

“Will you let us pass?” I say, rather than try to further explain myself.

Bear snorts. “No one ever said we couldn’t hunt nearby. Do whatever you like.” He then turns his attention back to one of his younger cats, who looks as though he wants to jump into the nearest tree and scour for prey in the sky. It’s a clear dismissal of me and my cats.

“We’re going around,” I call to my group. Rather than get frustrated with Bear or, worse, the overseer, I allow my fur to fall flat again and lead my squad and, by extension, all of my cats in a wide arc around Bear’s chosen hunting grounds and into the land beyond.

It’s actually kind of exciting. There’s a light breeze that picks up and plays with my fur, and all of the green around us makes me wonder why I never decided to try exploring before. It makes me feel like a two-moons kit again, and I feel a bit giddy, as though I might decide to chase a fluttering leaf at any second. But I shake my head, trying to bring myself back to my senses, and continue moving.

Finally, once we’re a good distance away from Bear and his cats, I give the signal for everyone to slow to a halt. Glancing around, I spot a fallen log that’s been propped up against a tree at the perfect angle for me to climb up it with ease. I do just that, sitting at the top and facing my cats, who gather around me just as they did before.

“Remember to watch out for anything dangerous.” I know they’re smart enough not to need a reminder, but I feel personally responsible for all of my cats’ personal well-being. It can’t hurt to remind them, at least. “Leaders, you can spread out as much as you’d like, but make sure that you always find some way of knowing where you are. Try to meet back here before midday. Bury all of your prey somewhere safe; collect it on your way back so that you don’t have to worry about it later on.” I jump down from the log, signaling the end of my announcement.

Immediately the leaders round up their cats, ensuring that they have everyone they’re supposed to have, with no one missing and no extras tagging along. I look on with pride as Gingersnap chooses to follow a trickling stream, thinking that prey will abound along its shores, or perhaps that it will open into a wider source of fresh water that we can use later. Nightmoon, Fish, and Mothy head out deeper into the forest, while Lakerfly immediately heads towards what looks like it might open into a clearing farther out. The others choose their directions and lead their squads confidently onwards.

I look over my squad. “Well,” I say. “Where should we start?”

5. Unbreakable

In the end, my squad decides to go towards the hill that we can see in the direction Lakerfly’s squad went. Embers in particular seems interested in seeing what’s out there. It makes me happy seeing him make an effort, as he so rarely does. My squadmates follow me as I lead them up to the top of the hill, through taller grasses and over a few fallen branches and protruding roots.

When we reach the top, what we see on the other side is incredible. There’s a river, flowing faster and stronger than any other water source we’ve ever found before. There’s no way to tell if we’ll ever be able to cross it, but on the far bank I can see wildflowers growing, rocks scattered along the earth, and, in the far distance, a jagged range of mountains pricking at the sky.

“It’s beautiful,” Blakely breathes, and the rest of us all nod our agreement.

What else is there for us to say? After a long moment, I shake out my fur and point out that we still have a job to be doing, no matter how beautiful the scenery may be while we do it. Blaze and Blackflight, ever the best of friends, head down closer to the river to see what they can find; Blakely and her two friends go back down the way we came, saying something about having scented a good mouse den farther back. Patch wanders off by himself, while the remaining three toms decide to stay on the hilltop to hunt. I watch them all go, wearing my pride in my eyes.

I turn to the three cats who have stayed behind, uncertain of where to go. I’m left with Millie and Buzz, the two tiny kits, and Embers, who seems to be growing more and more anxious with every passing heartbeat. “Well?” I ask them. “Shall we see if we can find some fish?”

“Yes!” Millie squeals, jumping up and down. Even Buzz is rocking on his paws, anticipation shining in his eyes. Embers alone seems reluctant.

“I don’t know,” he whispers. “I don’t like the look of that river…”

“It’ll be okay,” I assure him, going over to stand at his side. “I’ll be here to help you if anything happens, okay? I’ll make sure that everyone comes back safe.”

He shakes his head, looking frustrated. “But you can’t guarantee that, can you?” His eyes stray down to the water, and I can see the fear lacing them. “Anything could happen down there. Some cat could drown; it’s possible that we won’t even find anything. It’s moving so much faster than any water I’ve ever seen.” Curiosity is trying to shine through, but his fear-scent is so overwhelming that any interest he might have in exploring the area is drowned out by the crashing waves in his own mind.

I hesitate, not wanting to push him or give him the wrong idea. “I understand where you’re coming from,” I begin, speaking slowly as I collect my thoughts. “But if we never faced our fears, where would we be?” I turn my head to meet his gaze. I’m sure my eyes are shining as they meet his, which are wide and blue, just like the water that he so terribly fears. “You don’t have to come with us, if you don’t want to,” I add kindly. “There are plenty of other places to hunt. We can go wherever you want.” I wait for his answer.

A pause. Then he shakes his head again, but this time his eyes are alight with anticipation. “No. No, you’re right,” he says quietly, as though speaking to himself. “If I don’t face this river, I’ll never be able to cross it and see what’s beyond.” He nods his understanding. “Alright! We’ll go to the river!”

“Great!” Without waiting for my cues, Millie and Buzz charge down the slope, almost stumbling over their own clumsy paws.

“No!” I yell, charging after them. I can feel Embers pressing at my paws, relief that he’s willing to come along mixed with fear for the kits. If their momentum builds and they can’t stop themselves at the bottom of the hill, they’ll…!

“Come back!” someone yowls, and it takes me a minute to realize what’s happening. Millie and Buzz have both tripped over the undergrowth on the side of the hill and are tumbling down towards the river at an impossible pace.

My heart stops. They’ll drown!

But Embers keeps charging after them, outpacing even me in his desperate attempt to save the kits. One by one they plunge into the river: Millie falls first, followed by her brother. Finally, Embers doesn’t fall in so much as he jumps; it’s a conscious decision to follow the kits into the river in the hopes of saving them.

My breath catches. ''What if I lose Embers, too? I can’t let this happen!''

I realize that I’ve stopped running. I start moving again, careful not to fall or go too fast, even though all of my instincts are screaming at me that I have to go faster, or I’ll be too late. I reach the bank of the river safely, but I don’t see any signs that any of the three cats are still alive. I bow my head with shame and sadness, grieving for their losses and wishing that I could have done something more.

Then someone gasps. I gasp, too, watching in disbelief as, farther down the river, Embers’ black head pokes out of the river, grasping two sodden gray clumps of fur between his teeth. His front paws lash out strongly, refusing to let the water carry him away. But I can tell just by looking at him that he’s tiring out. He’ll never reach the shore if he runs out of energy.

I charge down the rocky riverbank, towards where he’s struggling. “Can you toss them to me?” I yowl, trying to make my words audible over the roaring of the water. I see him shake his head; he probably feels that he’s still too far from shore to risk it. They could just as easily fall back into the water. All the same, he’s going to drown soon if someone doesn’t do something.

Then I see another body jump into the river. My heart skips a beat again; I didn’t see who it was. How many of my cats will I be losing today?

The strange cat – silver-furred like Silver, Dash and Blakely, but bigger and more muscular than any of them – swims to Embers’ side. The new cat’s strokes are far more powerful than Embers’ were, even when he wasn’t quite so tired. The kits are passed from Embers to the silver cat, and then the silver cat helps to guide Embers against the river’s current and back to shore.

Embers collapses immediately, panting hard and gasping for breath, clearly in no condition to be hunting any time soon. The silver cat trots easily onto dry land, setting the kits down gently and raising his eyes to look at me. His eyes, which are a clear blue, brighter than the sky, glitter with a rush of excitement. He’s definitely not a member of my squad, I think, before I recognize him. This cat is Stormcloud, the strong, mute cat in Lakerfly’s squad.

“Thank you so much for rescuing my kits,” I whisper before I can even think about what I’m saying. My kits – I’m certainly not their mother, but they’re my kin all the same. Everyone in my squad, my group of hunters, every cat I know is like kin to me. That includes Stormcloud, even though he’s never had to cycle through my squad, so I don’t know him as well as I’d like.

He swings his head to one side. Unable to speak, he uses this gesture as a way of saying that it’s not a big deal, and that he was glad to help. I feel pride rush through my veins as I watch him turn to leave, surely heading back to find the other members of his squad. This is the kind of cat I want all of my hunters to be: cats who aren’t afraid to risk their own lives for others, cats who are so brave that they don’t even think twice before doing something brave. It makes me feel so proud to know that I have cats like this already. They’re the lifeblood, the strength of the hunters. They make us an unbreakable force to be reckoned with.

I almost hate myself for thinking it, but if we ever had to rebel against the overseer, they’re the kind of cats I would love to have at my side. They’re the kind of cats that would definitely be able to win.

6. Obsession

After scouting out a wide area beyond the old willow and getting everyone to meet back next to the willow, I send all of the squad members back to our camp with whatever prey they may have found and keep the leaders back to talk to me about what they think we should do with the new area. I’m curious as to what they’ll have to say about it, since my own experience with my squad here was so terrifying.

“I loved it,” Gingersnap replies immediately. “My squad found a placid little lake, where we were able to catch a bunch of fish and even some other prey that came up to get a drink.” He beams with pride as he talks about his squadmates’ achievements.

Fish and Mothy nod their agreement, but Nightmoon shakes his head. “We all went into the forest,” he begins, using his tail to gesture to the two leaders who sit beside him. “And if they had a good time, that’s fine. But my squad found a huge ravine. Two of my cats almost fell in because they weren’t looking where they were going. There were sharp rocks at the bottom. If we’re going to use this area to hunt on a regular basis, we’ll have to make sure every single cat knows about it.”

I dip my head respectfully to Nightmoon. “I almost lost three of my cats to a raging river,” I report, trying to keep my still-haywire emotions out of my voice. “It looks like there are a lot of unforeseen dangers out here, and I don’t like that. Although…” I turn to look at Lakerfly. “Stormcloud, a respected member of Lakerfly’s squad, rushed to our aid and saved all of my cats. Thank you for training him so well.” The dark gray-and-white tom blinks with surprise and happiness at the compliment, and that one of his squadmates performed so well under pressure.

Gingersnap looks like he’s thinking hard about something, and just when I’m about to ask him what that might be, he looks up at me and nods definitively. “If you think it’s too dangerous, Lash, then let’s not risk it out here. There are plenty of other places we can hunt without risking our cats’ lives every single time.”

“Let’s head back, then,” Whiskers suggests. “We’ll have to sort out the prey. I know the members of my and Sand’s squads caught quite a bit.”

I nod to the gray-and-white tom, and with one last glance at the area around us, we start running back in the direction that the others went.

We pass the old willow without any more problems from Bear’s hunters; most likely, they’ve also started heading back with their prey. We run all the way back to camp without even slowing down, and once we stop, none of us are breathing much heavier than usual. It’s amazing how much training we hunters have done in just four moons. We’re strong, and quick, and able to strategize well to catch up with our prey. Hunting has become our lives.

Back in camp, our hunters, many of whom are still milling around in the common area, have put all of their prey into a sizeable pile in the same place we always leave it. The other leaders and I start digging through the pile, separating all the prey by size and type. Voles and mice go in one area, with the plumpest pieces in one pile and the smaller ones in another; squirrels and rabbits each get their own piles, which are both divided by size as well. We leave the fish all together, since there are so many different types that size would be too hard to differentiate.

We’re about halfway through the pile when the overseer walks up behind us. “I suppose you’re pretty proud of your hunters, hmm, Lash?” he asks, startling me a little bit.

“Yes, I am,” I reply, trying to keep my voice even and respectful. “They have hunted very well.”

Something flashes in the overseer’s eyes, but it’s gone before I can really see what it was. “I see. And what did you think of your prospective new hunting grounds, hmm?”

“We encountered a few dangers, so most likely we’ll be leaving that area alone,” I report, paws itching to get back to work. Even though I don’t like the overseer, I’m so used to doing my job that it’s second nature, and slacking while the other leaders are still working just doesn’t feel right at all.

“Dangers?” The overseer’s gaze intensifies. “Well, I suppose we’ll have to take care of those at some point, now, won’t we?” He looks me up and down, the beginnings of a smirk curling at one side of his mouth. “You’re going back out there, Lash. I want to know what’s out there.”

“Are you crazy?” Gingersnap jumps up to stand beside me, fur on end and tail lashing. “We almost lost at least five cats back there! And you want us to go back?” His voice is incredulous.

“Gingersnap, don’t –” I start, but it’s too late. The overseer’s claws have already curled out of their resting places, making shallow grooves in the soft earth below us.

“How dare you?” the overseer yowls. He stabs one of his paws straight at Gingersnap’s throat, but the young fiery tom moves just in time so that he only gets a graze on the side of his neck. It’s in this moment that I realize just how similar Gingersnap in the overseer actually look: they’re two toms with ginger pelts and intelligent amber. On the surface, it would seem that size is the only major difference – the overseer, though small for a fully-grown cat, is full grown, while Gingersnap still has some growing to do.

But I know that the real difference is how they think, how they act. Gingersnap is fiercely loyal to his squadmates and to me. He’s even loyal to the overseer, even after the bad things he’s done to everyone through all this time. The overseer, however, is power-hungry, crazy, and narcissistic; he’d rather stay behind in the safety of the camp while everyone else goes out to face potential dangers every single day. That’s the difference: Gingersnap is brave and enthusiastic, while the overseer is really just a coward.

“You’re going back because I said you would,” the overseer hisses, having pinned Gingersnap to the ground with the claws of one forepaw. “Would you like to see what I do with traitors?” His other forepaw slams down onto Gingersnap’s head. My best friend groans, but he can’t retaliate. Fighting back would only make it worse, in the end.

I have to bite my lip to keep from crying out. I dig my fangs in so hard that I can taste the blood.

“You will come with me,” the overseer hisses, speaking to Gingersnap but looking calmly at me, daring me to disagree. “You will see what it is that I do to cats who can’t obey.”

I feel cold as the overseer grabs Gingersnap by the scruff, as one might do to a kit, and hauls him to his paws. There’s nothing gentle about the usually tender gesture, and Gingersnap sways as though he might not be able to stand. But the overseer clamps his teeth in Gingersnap’s ear, and he has no choice but to follow.

It hurts my heart. Why is it that the overseer is so adamant about us finding out what’s beyond the old willow? What is it about that area that seems to be so important to him? Why is it Gingersnap who has to be punished for my idea?

7. Eternity

After what seems like forever, Gingersnap is released from the overseer’s den. He stumbles out of the bramble wall, looking dazed and blank. To my dismay, his ear is still bleeding, and I feel a rush of rage. Who would do this to him? He’s only six moons old! To hurt such a young cat in such a terrible way… I have to shake off my thoughts and run over him, to make sure that he’s really okay.

“Are you okay?” I ask him as soon as I reach his side. I cover his ears with frantic licks as though he were a kit and I his queen. It’s only after he doesn’t respond for a long moment that I realize that something besides his bleeding ear has gone very, very wrong.

His beautiful amber eyes, which seemed so beautiful to me before, are now wide, empty, and vague. “I’m fine,” he replies, but his voice is monotonous. “Has all of the prey been sorted into the proper piles? We cannot disappoint the overseer when he goes to eat.”

I can barely breathe. “Gingersnap, what’s wrong with you?” I plead. “Did the overseer do something to you? Answer me!”

He swings his head from side to side. No. “The overseer has showed me my place in this camp,” Gingersnap answers, his voice still monotone. “Nothing can be done about it. I am where I belong. I will be in my den, if you need me.” He turns and walks away.

I can’t believe it. Gingersnap has never – never – walked away from me like that.

Suddenly, all of my horrible suspicions about the overseer come flooding back to me. What if he wants cats to rebel, so that he can turn them into mindless clones like Gingersnap is now? I’d never paid much attention to it before, but now I can recall seeing countless cats with other low-working positions wandering around the camp in a daze. Maybe they, too, received this same type of bizarre punishment from the overseer. I can’t believe it. How many spirited cats has he turned into obedient servants? How many lives has he ruined like this?

Someone comes up to my side. I turn to see who it is; it turns out to be Embers. His fur is still slightly damp, as though even the sunlight streaming down into camp couldn’t dry him out all the way. He looks exhausted; since the hunters only go out in the mornings, they’re assigned other jobs throughout the rest of the day. It will be a long time before he’s able to eat anything; eating time begins at sundown. I feel a rush of pity for him, knowing that the few menial tasks I’m assigned to are nothing compared to what he must go through every day.

“Hey,” he says, sitting down next to me. “Can I sit with you for a while?”

“Sure,” I reply, shifting a little bit. I’m not used to Embers being this near to me; I’d like to take the opportunity to get to know this cat a little bit more. He’s always either reserved or angry at something when I’m with him in the mornings. Today, however, he has showed me a different side of himself. I have to wonder what this other version of him is like.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” he tries to say.

I shake my head, interrupting him. “No. You did the right thing, Embers, and I’m proud of you.”

His blue eyes widen, shocked. “Really?”

“Yes, really.” I snort. “What, do you think I would tell you that if I didn’t mean it?” I continue speaking before he can answer me. Despite all my hopes for him, I don’t want to know what he would say to that. “What you did this morning was very brave. I may not have gotten there in time to save them had I been alone; there was no sign that Stormcloud was nearby to rescue you. You braved the river, something you feared, to save two of our precious kits. Of course I’m proud of you.”

He turns away from me; I can’t tell if he’s pleased or embarrassed. “Well… thanks,” he meows awkwardly. “But that’s not everything I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Oh?” I say quietly, my interests piqued.

“I, um…” He shuffles his paws, as though he’s searching for the right words. I don’t say anything; I want to give him enough time to collect his thoughts and tell me whatever it is that he wants to tell me. “I’ve been watching you for quite a while,” he starts. “Managing the hunters, keeping on the overseer’s good side so that we hunters don’t have to leave you… you do so much for us every single day, and I don’t think I’ve ever really appreciated that before.”

He falls silent. But I can tell that he’s not done, so I wait.

“How do you do it?” Embers blurts suddenly. “How do you stay so cheerful every day, doing the same things over and over, never stopping even though you, as a high-hunter, could request more leisure time? And why?” He bows his head as though ashamed. “I’m sorry. That was out of line. Please forgive me; you don’t have to answer that.” He stands up to walk away.

“You could ask the same of any cat,” I call, after he’s gone a few steps. He halts, glancing back over his shoulder at me. “So why me?”

“I don’t know.” He looks away. “I guess because you’ve been so nice to me all this time, so you’re the easiest cat to approach to ask.”

There’s more than he’s saying, I can tell, but I decide not to press him. “I don’t know,” I tell him simply, echoing his own words. “I guess I just know that I shouldn’t slack off when all of you work so hard every day, too. I want to be useful; I want to do things. If I were to just sit and watch, my mind might wander away from me, and there’s no telling what kinds of crazy ideas I’d come up with if that were to happen.” I toss him a lopsided grin. “Does that answer your question, Embers?”

He doesn’t say anything for another long moment. Then, “Yes. It does. But I don’t want to be stuck here, doing the same things forever. I want something to change.” And he walks behind a row of bushes, out of my line of sight, before I can tell him what I think.

Actually, I don’t even know what I think.

8. Gateway

It’s evening now, the late and sleepy time of day. No one has to be told what that means; everyone knows exactly what to do. We all pull out of our dens or work areas or wherever we may be and head towards the huge prey-piles in the middle of camp.

I can see that the piles have grown since we’ve been there; Bear’s cats must have continued hunting even after they left the old willow, to have added so much since my hunters returned home. I feel a sense of pride even just looking at the piles, knowing that my cats contributed so much today, and that there should be plenty of food even for all of the low-workers to get enough to eat.

The overseer approaches the piles first. He scans the prey, eventually picking out the best portions for himself: the two fattest rabbits, the plumpest mice, the shiniest fish. He pulls them all aside and tucks into them. Even though it’s been a whole day since our last meal, no one complains. I’m hungry, and I can feel my stomach begging for food, but my mouth does not complain. I refuse to let it.

When the overseer has finished most of his prey, the four cats from his own elevated pack step forward to pick out their share. It’s interesting to me how diverse they are: one more tom, three she-cats. I’ve heard whispers of their names: they say that the brown tom is Solar, the white she-cat Breeze, the gray-and-black furred she-cat Ashes, and the gray she-cat Sedge. They, too, look over the piles, select the best and tastiest pieces of prey, and lie beside the overseer to eat.

After an agonizingly long time, it is time for the high-workers to take their share. I step forward with the rest; there are about forty of us in all, by my estimation. Bear and I are the only high-hunters, but there are other positions. I recognize one spiky-furred blue she-cat; I don’t know her name, but she’s one of the high-workers in the rebuilding class. Her job is to watch over the cats who help build and rebuild sections of camp, making them stronger and warmer. Her sharp silver eyes look hungry as she scans the piles; the rebuilders might have the most physically taxing, repetitive job of all.

Turning my attention back to the prey, not wanting to miss my chance to eat for today, I select some of the medium-sized pieces of prey. They will be enough to sustain me, and they’re big enough that I shouldn’t be questioned for choosing them. I ignore a tempting, plump rabbit in one pile and instead pick a few small, plump mice from another. I also make sure to grab a lean squirrel, so that it looks like I’m actually trying to take my share.

I take my choices off to one side, where many of the other high-workers have already begun eating. The greedy cats around me have taken some of the best morsels the hunters found; it’s to be expected, but I still have to hold back my anger and force my fur to stay flat. The low-workers make up the bulk of this huge camp, and they do the majority of the work; why do so many of the high-workers seem to scorn their own cats?

Finally, it’s time for all of the low-workers to scrabble into the piles, taking whatever they can find that’s been left over. I swallow the last bite of my squirrel and watch out of the corner of my eye. The low-workers are swarming all over the prey; though there’s still plenty left, it’s mostly the smaller pieces, and there’s still not enough for everyone to eat enough to be full. If there are at least one hundred cats under every high-worker, as is the case with the hunters, then there must be at least four thousand cats here in total. There’s no way that two hundred hunters could ever catch enough to fill that many hungry workers, especially when the overseer’s elevated pack and the high-workers take most of the best pieces of prey.

Even through the rabble, I hear a familiar squeak, and my ears prick. “It was mine!” a shrill voice cries out. Another voice grunts a command to be silent. It’s only when I see a white forepaw and a small gray bundle tumble to the bottom of the piles that I realize what’s happened. Someone has taken a piece of prey from Faith.

My hackles rise, and I can barely suppress the growl that I can feel rumbling between my teeth. How dare that cat take advantage of such a small kit? We’re all supposed to be equals here. We’re all young cats – none but those in the elevated pack are older than twelve moons – and we all work so hard all day, every day. Why can’t they be content to share what meager portions they have? Why do the low-workers, too, have to be so greedy?

Not for the first time, I wish there were some way for me to take all of my beloved cats out of here. I would claw open a secret hole in the camp’s vast bramble barrier and usher every one of my hunters out into the open areas that they know so well. I would create a passage for them to escape this place and to live – really live. We go out there every single day, but we’re still bound to this cursed camp by the knowledge that there’s no one else out there, no place to be safe, nowhere to hide that the overseer couldn’t find us eventually.

But I don’t care. In this moment, all I wish is that I could be that escape for my cats. That I could give them a reason to really, truly trust me with their very lives, and that they would let me take them far, far away from this place to give them a chance at life. Someday, I will get them all out of here. I swear it.

9. Death

It’s cold the next morning, and I awaken after a very troubled sleep. I didn’t dream; I didn’t have any nightmares, as I sometimes do. It was just… empty. My mind is a void, and even though I wake up this way every morning, it feels as though some piece of me has died overnight.

Another thought hits me: Gingersnap. I haven’t seen him since after the overseer took him into his den, when he came out dazed and completely unlike his normal self. I’ll see him this morning, though, when I summon the hunters. Will anything have changed, or will he still be that blank shell of the cat he used to be?

I suddenly want to let the hunters sleep a little while longer.

Careful not to wake anyone up, I raise my head a little bit and look around the den in the dim morning light that peers blearily through the small gaps between the leaves and brambles that make up the high-workers’ den. The den itself is a series of bushes, all growing in one big clump. They never produce berries or anything, but they offer us protection from rain and snow and wind. It doesn’t look like any of the other high-workers have awoken yet. I’m about to settle back in again and pretend to be asleep when someone’s eye catches mine.

There is, in fact, one brilliant blue eye staring at me from nearby. Only one cat has an eye like that. It has to be Harvey, the one and only high-rivers. His cats’ job is to make sure that there are ample water sources everywhere in and around the camp, which seems a simple enough task until you consider that it often involves digging trenches in order to bring water that’s far away closer or into the camp. His ginger pelt is vibrant even at night, and I can make out the white patches on his muzzle and chest.

One of his ears twitches, and he blinks his eye at me. I flatten my ears against my head and mime slowing down my breath and laying down my head. He nods once, twice, sharply, and blinks again. I nod back and do exactly what I said I would: curl up again and pretend to sleep.

The only reason I know Harvey at all is because I often choose to work with him and his rivers after the hunting is done each morning. A lot of the time I’m do go to another work detail, but on the days when I want to work with a familiar cat, he’s my first choice. We’ve developed a crude way of communicating through gestures, and sometimes I have to remember what a nod means when I’m talking to my hunters, but that’s okay. He’s a nice cat, and his work ethic is a lot like mine: we don’t work our cats harder than we work ourselves, and we allow them to rest and refresh themselves on the job. Harvey and I see eye-to-eye. I guess you could even consider us friends, even though we rarely get a chance to really talk.

Far too soon, the sun rises fully, streaming brightly into even the high-workers’ fortified den. I imagine my hunters outside, already up and about, used to the early morning hours, wondering where I am. Buzz and Millie are probably bouncing around, eager to find out where we’ll be hunting this time; I can envision Rabbit, the brown and white five-moons tom I cycled out of my squad a few moons ago, sitting next to them, keeping the remaining stump of what was once a fluffy tail tucked safely out of the rambunctious kits’ reach.

Inevitably, my thoughts return to Gingersnap, to whose squad Rabbit now belongs. I don’t want to lose him; even if his body is still here wandering around and hunting, I feel like he himself is no longer here. Will he even remember how to lead his squad, or will the eleven cats that he’s supposed to lead be lost and confused?

I make my way past the grumbling bodies in the high-workers’ den and push my way out the entrance and into the main camp area. I’m expecting to see all of the cats getting ready for their day, as they often do even if the high-workers are still asleep. Instead, I see no one. No one at all.

Confused and perhaps a bit disoriented, I walk around a little bit, trying to figure out where everyone went. There are plenty of low-workers’ dens, made of bushes and logs and rocks, all around the high-workers’ den, but there’s not a single cat in any of them. They’re even starting to smell stale. Then I want to claw myself for being an idiot and decide to put my tracking skills to good use.

It doesn’t take me long to pick up the scents of all of the hundreds and thousands of cats who live here. There are underlying scents that crisscross endlessly from cats walking around all day, but the freshest scents by far – the scents that can only belong to today – are all pointed in the same direction: towards the overseer’s den.

What under the sky is going on?

I follow the scents towards the overseer’s den, my thoughts racing along the way. Perhaps the weirdest part of all of this is that no one bothered to wake up any of the high-workers; I’m certain that everyone was still in there when I left. So what could possibly be going on?

Rather than getting caught up in the huge crowd of low-workers swarming around the clearing around the den, I take the back way, as it were, that I discovered some time ago. Usually I only use it if I have spare time on my paws and want to see what the elevated pack are doing, but in this case, I want to know what everyone else is doing.

Careful not to slip or let myself be seen, I find my starting point, a tall aspen tree, and start climbing up it. Since its branches are few and far between at the bottom, it’s not something that anyone besides me would ever attempt on purpose. I make my way along the series of high-up branches and tall rocks until I emerge onto the top of the huge rock behind the elevated pack’s den area. I crouch in the shadows that the overhanging tree branches make and watch.

To my surprise, I was wrong. One high-worker – Bear – wasn’t in the den when I left. How under the sky did they get him out without anyone else noticing? He sleeps in the middle of the high-workers’ den. It doesn’t make sense… unless he never went into the den last night at all. The more I think about it, the less certain I am that I saw him last night. I was tired, and I don’t go out of my way to notice him, but… I don’t remember seeing him, either.

Then I remember something. When cats reach their twelfth moons, they’re promoted to some higher position in a better place, or so I’ve heard. This helps calm my heart; maybe they’re promoting him now? That would make enough sense, right? But still… why wouldn’t they allow the high-workers to be present?

As I watch, some of the low-workers surrounding Bear – some of his hunters, perhaps? – step forward. There are ten of them total, and so if I’m right and they’re hunters, they’re probably some of his best cats. I know that Bear doesn’t have squads like I do, but maybe he has some sort of other system that involves a few select cats leading all of the others in groups.

But then they unsheathe their claws.

I have to bite back a gasp as these ten cats form a tight circle around Bear, their tails lashing, claws gripping the earth, fangs exposed. I can smell their delight from here, which doesn’t make any sense. Why are they so excited? And what under the sky are they doing?

The biggest cat, a burly brown tom about Bear’s size, lashes out a forepaw at the high-hunter. Bear grunts but doesn’t say anything or retaliate at all. He’s facing away from me, so I can’t see his eyes, but I can’t help but wonder if they aren’t as glossed over as Gingersnap’s are now. Either that, or the overseer spent all night telling Bear what to expect today. The closer I look, the more little wounds I notice all over Bear’s body; they’re not bleeding anymore, but there are dozens of places where his fur is parted enough that I can see raised lines on the skin beneath.

One by one, the ten cats surrounding Bear hit him once with their claws. Most of them hit him straight across the face. Every single time, he refuses to cry out. After each cat has had a turn, however, the crowd grows eager. I can hear cries of “Hit him! Bite him! Kill him!” rising up from the watching low-workers, almost like a rehearsed chant.

How many times have they taken twelve-moons to die like this?

The thought makes me cold, and I have to force myself not to jump off the rock on the slim chance that I might be able to save him. There’s nothing I can do. I’d probably break my own bones from the fall anyways, and get in trouble with the overseer, to boot.

The overseer. True to form, he’s sitting right outside his den, watching calmly as the mob of low-workers does whatever it wants to Bear. I expected nothing else from him.

The ten cats closest to Bear are still taking turns, going one hit at a time, as though it’s a polite hunting party that allows everyone to make a catch. One by one, their paws slam into Bear’s face, ripping at his muzzle and ears. Some sink their fangs into his haunches or his legs. One of the cats even takes the time to close his jaws around one of Bear’s forepaws until the claws come loose by reflex, giving the low-worker the opportunity to rip the claw out with his teeth.

There’s so much blood. It covers the low-workers who are assaulting Bear. It pools on the ground beneath the once-revered high-hunter. Most of all, it’s spattered all over Bear himself.

No matter where else they hit him, no one dares touch his throat. It’s like they’re saving that honor for something special.

After an agonizingly long time, the overseer stands, and the entire crowd falls silent. A huge portion of the cats who are too far back to really see much detach themselves from the group and wander off in the direction of the dens, probably so that the waking high-workers don’t suspect anything. The ten cats around Bear step back reverently, allowing the overseer to approach the disgraced high-hunter.

The overseer fastens his claws into Bear’s shoulder in such a way that Bear is forced to turn and face him. The overseer’s mannerisms have always implied to me that he’s the kind of cats who enjoys hurting other cats, but allowing this kind of thing to happen combined with the lunacy lighting his eyes proves to me that I’ve been right all along.

“Bear,” the overseer says, spitting the name out like a bad piece of meat. “A high-hunter. A twelve-moons, as of today. I’ve heard from many of your cats that you work them harder than they can stand, that you don’t care about them, that you wish they would die. What do you have to say for yourself?” There’s such a hush around the area. Even though only a couple hundred cats remain, the overseer has them all fascinated. I can almost hear individual cats breathing. “I was only doing what you told me to,” Bear replies after a long, tense moment, his voice so low that everyone strains to hear him.

“Lies!” the overseer shrieks. He slams his own claws into the side of Bear’s face, forcing the huge brown tom to finally give in and let out a grunt. The remaining low-workers inch closer, desperate to hear and see what will happen next.

“You’ve lived long enough,” the overseer spits. “I will not allow you to belittle my cats any longer!” He lifts a menacing forepaw and jumps, suddenly, quickly, towards Bear’s throat. I turn away before I can see the high-hunter collapse to the ground, dead. I never liked Bear, but I didn’t want him to die, either. Especially not like this.

The overseer is a coward. Gathering a brave cat into a place where he can’t retaliate, can’t fight back, can’t fight his way out, just to kill him? It’s a coward’s move. I hate it. I hate the overseer even more now than ever before.

But I have to pretend I didn’t see anything. I hurry back along my hidden path to where my traitorous hunters are waiting for me.

10. Opportunities

“Lash!”

Someone calls my name as I get closer to the high-worker’s den. My ears prick, and I see a ginger and white she-cat running over to me. It’s Brightsky, one of my squad leaders. I can feel my lip curling, and I shake out my fur so that she doesn’t suspect anything. I trusted her.

“Lash, where have you been?” she greets me, turning when she reaches me so that she’s walking by my side. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

No, you haven’t, I think. Not long, anyways. But I can’t say this out loud, so instead I turn to her and reply, “I was just sitting at the camp entrance, thinking about what I want us to do today.” Luckily, the camp entrance is between the high-workers’ den and the overseer’s den, so no one should suspect anything about my explanation. It sounds innocent enough.

“Oh, good.” Brightsky visibly reacts, confirming my suspicions that she, like everyone else, was watching Bear’s murder. I can’t think of it any other way. “Well, I think almost everyone is awake and ready. As soon as we round up all of the cats who are still sleeping, we’ll be good to go for this morning.”

Of course, I think. ''Of course I’ll give you time to mill around, allowing any cats who stayed behind to slip into your ranks while I’m not looking. Of course I believe you. Of course they’re still sleeping if you say they are.''

It shocks me how sarcastic I am. I guess I’m still a little numb. How many cats have been executed there in my lifetime? How many murders have my own cats watched? Even the den that Faith sleeps in was empty. Everyone was there. The bitter thought sickens me.

I can’t let Brightsky – or anyone else, for that matter – catch on that something’s wrong with me, so I nod to the squad leader. “Yes, that sounds good. Make sure they’re all up and about soon, okay?” She nods back and hurries away.

It actually doesn’t take long before everyone weaves their way back into the thronging mob of hunters. I jump up on my announcements rock, and everyone quiets down. Just like they did when the overseer stood up to kill Bear. Am I really comparing myself to the overseer? I can’t think about it. I open my mouth and let aimless words flow out of it.

“Today we’ll be staying close to camp,” I announce. “Today, squads may feel free to mingle with each other. Leaders may tag along with other squads. Cats who do not want to hunt today may stay back and perform other tasks in camp. Your permitted area for today is the forested area outside the camp’s entrance, all the way out to the clearing with the saplings.” I nod. They nod back. I jump down off of the rock and wait for my squad members to find me.

Once I have twelve pairs of eyes staring at me, I begin to speak again. “I want to tag along with Sand’s squad today,” I tell them. “You all can tag along with any squads you want to visit for today. Just make sure that a leader knows where you are at all times.” They nod at me and break up into their chosen squads for the day. I don’t stay to watch them go.

It doesn’t take me long to find Sand, the powerful six-moons tom with the pale golden fur. “Can I tag along with your squad today?” I ask him. He looks surprised but pleased as he agrees.

Sand leads his squad out of camp with the others. He tells them that they can hunt anywhere to the sunup-side of the trail out to one of the ponds, which allows them a wide area to hunt in. He also tells them to stick in groups of at least two cats, which makes me happy as well. He wants to protect his – my – our – hunters. Sand himself pairs up with Wing, a small, quiet white she-cat.

Sure enough, as soon as everyone else has left, Faith hurls herself at my side, battering me with her kit-soft paws. “Lash!” she squeals. “I knew you would come tag along with us someday!” She looks so happy that I almost forget what it is that I want to do.

“I’m happy to see you, too,” I whisper, smoothing down the unruly fur on her head yet again. “I have something special for us to do today, okay?”

She’s about to open her mouth and speak, but I hush her by brushing my tailtip in front of her muzzle – the hunters’ signal for quiet. “But you have to be absolutely quiet!” I whisper. “Otherwise it won’t work.” She nods again.

I lead her along the camp’s long, thick bramble wall until I reach the point I’ve been looking for. When we were still waiting for all of the leftover cats to come back from Bear’s murder, I took a fallen branch from the ground and forced it through the bramble wall so that it would stick out just a little bit on the other side without being noticed by cats on the inside. The spot I chose is right behind the high-workers’ den, where no one ever goes because it’s such a tight fit between the bushes and the brambles. It’s the perfect spot for what I have planned “I need you to help me dig a hole in the wall,” I tell Faith, keeping my voice as quiet as it can possibly get.

She looks up at me, confused. “But why?” she whispers loudly.

I glance around, making sure that no one’s looking. “So cats can come out of camp and look at the stars at night,” I whisper back. It’s true; that will be one thing that happens when I start sneaking cats out of camp. But it’s not the whole truth. “It’s hard to explain ourselves to the guards at the main entrance every night, so I thought we’d make another way out. But you can’t tell anyone, okay? And be careful. I don’t want you to get any thorns in your paws.”

She nods, keeping absolutely quiet. My heart goes out to her yet again. She’s following my commands without question, as she always has. Together, we begin to gently tug some of the bramble stems out of the wall. We’ll make a small hole, just big enough for even the biggest of my hunters to squeeze out. Later, my plan will begin.

11. 33%

We’ve just finished sorting out all of today’s prey – we caught even more than yesterday – when the overseer sends one of his messengers to talk to me.

“All of the hunters have to gather next to the overseer’s den,” the messenger says, sounding a little breathless. He’s a little black cat with white paws who can’t be more than four moons old.

“Did he say why?” I ask, a little worried. I haven’t seen Gingersnap at all today; I had to tell his squadmates to tag along with other squads for this morning’s hunting.

The black tom shakes his head. “Sorry, no. He just told me to tell you to gather everyone.” He spins on his snow-colored paws and dashes off.

“That’s odd,” Mist comments after a heartbeat of silence. She flicks one of her pale gray ears as she always does when she’s thinking about something. “What do you think it’s about, Lash?” She turns to look at me, her blue eyes wide and curious, even as she pushes another mouse into its proper pile.

“I don’t know,” I respond vaguely. And it’s true; I don’t know for sure. But I have a sinking suspicion that it’ll have something to do with either Gingersnap’s vanishing act or Bear’s death from yesterday. Either way, I don’t really want to be there, and I don’t want any of my cats there, either. Even so, I can’t refuse; it’s a direct summoning from the overseer, after all.

It’s infuriating how much control the overseer has over us, really.

“Well, shall we head out?” Lakerfly suggests, ever the sensible one. “We don’t want to have Bear and all of his cats there before us.” His whiskers twitch, but I and all the other leaders know that he’s trying to act like everything’s fine. As though Bear isn’t dead.

I nod to show my agreement, and mumble something about would all of the leaders please gather up their squadmates and head over there together? As I wander off towards the dens to collect my own squad members – as well as Gingersnap’s – my mind is racing. What’s going to happen?

Somehow or another I track everyone down, and before long all of my hunters, as well as Bear’s, are gathered in front of the overseer’s den. It’s the last place I want to be after what happened yesterday, but it’s not like I have much of a choice. All the same, all of my instincts are telling me to flee. I promise myself bitterly that I’ll leave as quickly as possible once all of this is over.

“Hunters!” the overseer calls, standing on the twisted tree stump next to his den. It makes me uncomfortable to realize just how close he’s standing to the rock I was standing on to watch Bear’s murder yesterday. “I have an announcement to make regarding one of your high-hunters!”

My heart seizes a little. In all likelihood he’s talking about Bear, but the way he phrases it makes it sound like he could just as easily be talking about me.

“Yesterday, the high-hunter known as Bear reached his twelfth moon,” the overseer continues. Known as Bear – as though it’s not really his name, just something that cats call him instead of Hey, you. I barely even knew Bear, and already I feel as though the overseer is mocking the dead tom’s life and memory. “As is the custom, he was promoted to a higher work position in another area.” Some cats cheer. I now know it’s fake.

After a moment, the overseer waves his tail for silence and the hunters fall silent again. “About half of you here served under Bear.” Many cats standing around me nod in agreement. “Naturally, you will need a new cat to be your high-hunter until his twelfth moon.” More nods. “I have selected this cat for you. I have him here with me.”

Murmurings break out all over the area as cats speculate about who it could be. Some cats count their friends around them, as though trying to find out if it’s someone that they know. But I know who it is. There’s no one else it could be.

“The cat I have chosen,” the overseer announces, breaking into my thoughts, “was a hunter under the other high-hunter, Lash.” More murmurings as Bear’s hunters grow unsettled by the thought of being led by a cat they don’t really know.

There’s only one of my cats who hasn’t been accounted for recently. It has to be…

“Gingersnap.”

My cats all cheer, thinking that this is a great opportunity for their friend. The young ginger tom pushes his way out of the overseer’s den – What under the sky was he doing in there? – and makes his way up to stand next to the overseer himself. Standing near the front of the crowd, I can see that Gingersnap’s amber eyes still don’t have anything back that made him Gingersnap. He’s gone, and in more ways than one.

“Also!” the overseer yowls over the clamor. “I have something to tell the hunters’ community as a whole. I am certain that this is an offer that will be of great interest to all of you.”

Nothing he says will ever be able to interest me anymore, but I shove my ears forward along with everyone else, just to make it look like I don’t suspect a thing about where Bear went.

“I’ll be taking a third of you,” he says, “in order to create a new work detail. Those who volunteer will be given better benefits; if not enough of you volunteer, I’ll have to force cats to abandon their current post and join the new group.” He lets that sink in for a heartbeat that’s far too long. “I need volunteers to train and become my personal guards.”

I’m stunned.

Every cat around me is cheering once again, throwing their full support behind the overseer. They all know what’s going on, after all, and what he does with the high-workers who overstay their welcome. They all know what kind of cat the overseer really is, and yet they still support him whole-heartedly. I don’t understand it at all.

''Where did I go wrong with them? Why does the overseer need so many of us to protect him – just one cat among many? How are the remaining hunters going to provide for every cat when we’re struggling to feed all of the low-workers as it is?''

As if he sees a need to make everything worse, the overseer isn’t finished. “All of the cats who volunteer will receive eating privileges that come before the privileges of the high-workers. Those who have to be forcefully instated will retain their low-workers’ eating privileges.”

It’s impossible! My entire life is shattering before my eyes, and there’s nothing that I can do to stop it. It’s simply impossible! What’s the overseer trying to do? Cats throng around me, clamoring to be the first to volunteer. I try to reassure myself by thinking, over and over, that at least my squad leaders will not abandon me. Faith and Embers will not abandon me. Not all of my cats will abandon me. They will never abandon me.

It doesn’t help. Everyone else still will.

12. Dead Wrong

“Those who wish to volunteer must make it to the prey-piles today before it is time to eat, but only after any and all chores for the day have been completed. That’s everything I have for you. Enjoy the rest of your day.” The overseer jumps down from his stump and vanishes into his den.

How could a cat who looks so much like Gingersnap be taking so much away from me?

“I want my leaders to report to me immediately!” I yowl, trying to make my voice reach as far as possible over the clamoring crowd. “All of Lash’s squad leaders, meet me outside of the high-hunters’ den as soon as you can!”

I can only hope all of them heard me.

I wait next to the high-hunters’ den as the hunters mill all around me, not even caring that this is the worst possible thing that could happen to me. It’s the best thing for them, and that’s all they care about in this moment.

But, after I’ve waited long enough, all of my squad leaders show up. One by one, they all make their way over to me.

Everyone except Gingersnap.

“Obviously some changes are going to have to happen,” I begin, trying to avoid asking them directly if they’re going to leave me or not. “We’ll have to rearrange all the squads. Some of you may be put into joint leadership positions; others might…” I trail off as I realize that Nightmoon is shaking his head at me.

“I’m sorry, Lash,” the midnight-black tom says, speaking for the group as a whole. “We’ve all decided to volunteer for the overseer’s new work position.”

I can’t breathe. I am physically unable to breathe. I can’t breathe. “Wh-what?” I stammer out. “But you all – all of you are –” I don’t know what to say. “Why are you –?”

“It’s not that we don’t want to be with you anymore,” Sand meows, stepping forward a little bit. “Honestly, Lash, we’ve all enjoyed working with you. A lot. Really, we have.” They’re all nodding, but I can barely see them anymore. Silver and ginger and black fur blur into one big patch of color. My eyes are filling with water, and I know I should be embarrassed by it, but I can’t bring myself to be ashamed. All I feel is confusion and anger.

“I trusted you!” I say incredulously. “I thought you, of all cats, would stay with me! Haven’t I treated you well?” ''I can’t breathe. I can’t see.''

“Well, yes, you have,” Fish begins, the silver fur that earned him his name well-groomed and not ruffled at all by anything that’s happened over the past few days. “But we honestly think that being a part of the overseer’s guard will be better for us. For all of us,” he says, gesturing to the others, who nod.

I shake my head, unable to come up with the words to tell them what I think. The overseer is taking everything – absolutely everything – from me, and there’s not a thing under the sky that I can do about it. I can’t even get my own squad leaders to change their minds about leaving me!

Mothy, all ginger fur and honey-covered personality, is a little bit more sympathetic to me. “Honestly, Lash, I’m going to miss you,” the quiet five-moons she-cat says quietly, coming up to lean against my side. It’s supposed to be reassuring, and I appreciate the gesture. I know she means well. “But I think the others are right. I think we’ll stand a better chance here if we’re promoted. You understand, don’t you?” Her amber eyes are worried, as though she’s afraid I’m going to force her to stay.

“Yes,” I tell her wearily. “Yes, I understand.” ''I understand that I’m not good enough for you anymore. Yes, I understand.''

“I’m sorry,” Lakerfly tells me. “But we have to do this.” And then all eight of them turn and walk away from me for the very last time.

I was so wrong about all of you…

13. Running Away

I show up at the prey-piles just before it’s time to eat. Cats are already swarming all over the area. None of these cats would be here this early if it weren’t for the overseer’s little bribe.

When it’s actually time to eat and all of the other high- and low-workers have arrived as well, the overseer crawls out of his den and comes over to where we wait. He immediately climbs up to the top of the tallest prey-pile, but he’s not trying to find food yet. He wants to make an announcement. I can tell.

Sure enough, he opens his cowardly jaws and yowls for silence. Everyone falls quiet. The hunters are all shifting their paws in excitement; the other workers seem a little bit confused, which isn’t that much of a surprise. Some of them, though, look vaguely interested, as though they’ve heard what’s going to happen from hunters who coupled up on their work details after we finished hunting this morning.

“I have decided which hunters I want to take for my private guard,” the overseer calls out. Immediately, all of the hunters who volunteered start whispering among themselves, speculating whose names will be called.

The overseer starts calling the names. I have no idea how he can remember so many names; taking a third of the cats in a group of two hundred is a pretty big deal. Still, he seems confident in his choices, calling out the names one by one. I only pay attention to the names that I know, the ones that I’ve been dreading hearing since my ex-squad leaders told me what they were planning on doing.

“Mothy.” Of course.

“Nightmoon.” I’m not surprised.

“Sand. Whiskers. Mist.” Traitors.

“Lakerfly. Fish.” I don’t want to talk to them again.

“Brightsky.” They’re all cowards.

“Blackflight.” ''No! Not without Blaze! He can’t…''

“Blakely. Dash.” ''But not Silver? They’re inseparable…''

“Patch.” ''I didn’t get enough time with him! You can’t take him!'''

“Rabbit.” I’ll miss him.

“Faith.”

No.

Even though the overseer isn’t looking my way, I glare at him, projecting all of the fury and rage I feel about this new work detail straight at his hardened, blackened soul. I don’t care if he never notices me. I don’t care if he doesn’t care that I exist. I care. I don’t need him. I don’t need anyone. I can leave at any time, and no one would ever notice, right?

My thoughts are racing as he calls more and more names. I know everything I’m thinking is irrational, but I can’t quite bring myself to care. The overseer is ruining everything that I and Bear ever tried to do, ever stood for. There’s no way the leftover hunters will ever be able to provide enough food for this many greedy cats!

I’m trembling as I realize that this might be the overseer’s intention. If the hunters can’t provide enough food, he can rip cats out of the other details to help us; if the other details fall apart, he can shove other cats back in their place. The delicate systems that the high-workers have come up with mean nothing to him; all he cares about is his own personal well-being. He doesn’t care what he has to ruin to get there. None of this matters to him. None of us matter at all.

I’m cold. But then, I never feel warm anymore. It’s like the overseer has sucked all of the warmth out of me. And then a warm presence comes up beside me.

It’s Faith.

“I didn’t volunteer,” she says, her eyes watering. “I wanted to stay with you, Lash!”

This kit is one of the cats who have permanently claimed a piece of my heart. I draw her closer to me with my tail, needing her warmth to melt me, wishing I could save her from this fate. My own eyes are filling now, too, and tears my heart to shreds to know that she’s been taken against her will. I know she would never leave me; I know that. But here she is, leaving me.

“I know,” I whisper. “I know. It’s okay, Faith, I swear it will be okay.”

I’d have no business under the sky making a promise like that if I didn’t know for certain that I could keep it. And I can.

I set Faith down again. Motioning for her to keep quiet, I gently push my way through the crowd, out to the edges. Once we’re on the edge, I run. She follows obediently. ''She’s always followed me. She will always obey me.''

I lead her towards the high-workers’ den. “Where are we going?” she calls, not even winded by the run. There’s no need for us to be quiet anymore; no one is here to hear us now.

“Listen to me.” I look down at Faith, this precious little kit whom I have protected as much as possible from all of the bad things that can happen in this camp. “You remember the hole that we dug in the camp’s boundary wall earlier today?”

She nods. Of course she remembers.

“We’re going to go back to the prey-piles after this,” I tell her. “You need to get as much prey as you possibly can, as much as you need to be full, okay? And then I need you to find Millie and Buzz. I need the three of you to escape through our hole by the end of tonight. Do you understand?” I know my voice and my eyes must seem so intense, so frantic, but it doesn’t matter. I need to make her understand that she needs to get out of here. Tonight.

She nods again, and just the sight of it breaks my heart all over again. I pull her to me again, pressing her warm body against mine. I lick down the fur on her head for what I hope will be the last time. “I’m going to miss you so much,” I whisper. “My brave little kit.”

We stay there for as long as I dare, and then I know we really have to be getting back. Cats might not notice if she’s not there, but there are only a few high-workers, compared to the rest. It’ll be far more noticeable that I’m not eating than it will be that she’s not. Besides, I don’t know how long it will take for the overseer to announce all of the names.

So we make our way back there, past all of the dens, over the log that forms a bridge over the stream that Harvey’s rivers dug through camp, and back towards the prey-piles and the cat who’s taken everything from me and more.

We’re just in time. The members of the elevated pack are eating. The high-workers will be called up soon. I breathe a sigh of relief.

But before any of the high-workers can go forward to collect their share of the prey, the overseer stands up again and looks out over the crowd.

“All of the cats I called to be on my personal guard,” he says, “may now come forward to eat.”

What?

I shake my head in disbelief, but I push Faith forward. “Go,” I whisper to her. “Eat your share. Get your fill. You’ll need all of your strength for tonight.” And like that, she’s gone.

Even though I know where she is, her being out of my sight terrifies me. What’s it going to be like when she’s actually gone? I know that she and the other two kits can take care of themselves well enough; they know how to hunt, and I’ve taught all of my hunters how to find good shelter in case it rains or snows on us while we’re out on a hunt. But… I don’t want to think about them, three tiny little gray-furred kits, out on their own in a huge world that might be hostile.

I can’t think about it.

For all the ways that I hate the overseer, hate this camp, hate everything we have to do every single day just to survive, I know that there is truth in what the overseer told me when I was first found. “There is safety in this camp,” he said, “and we will protect you if you choose to stay.”

The overseer himself may not have protected me, but everyone else around me has. Gingersnap, whose optimism and cheerful personality have encouraged me ever since I first met him. Stormcloud, whose quiet determination saved three of my cats from that river. All of my squad leaders, whose loyalty warmed me up until their decision yesterday. Faith, whose very presence has been the one thing keeping me alive all this time.

What is it, exactly, that I want these kits to run from?

14. Judgment

After everyone has eaten, we have to divide back up into our various work details until everything’s finished for the day. Or, as it were, for the night. It’s already getting late. The sun has already gone down. Really, we should all be sleeping, but we can’t.

Obviously there isn’t any need for me to go hunting again today, so I rack my mind, trying to think of a good work detail that I can tag along with for now. I can’t remember the last time I’ve worked with any of the rebuilders, so I decide to see if I can find any of them.

True to form, one group of the rebuilders is hanging out around the pond that Harvey and his rivers created inside the camp for cats who don’t have enough time to go searching for water outside of camp. The high-worker for this group appears to be the muscular white tom who’s issuing orders to the cats as they fortify the camp wall near the pond.

He spots me coming. “Blanca, take over for me for a second,” he tells the small white she-cat sitting next to him. “I’ll be right back.” She nods to him and looks back out over the group.

“Here to work for us for now?” the white tom asks me by way of greeting. I nod, slightly intrigued by how similar that she-cat’s signal to him was to the way the hunters signal things. “Great. We could use the help. My name is Blizzard, and I’m the high-worker here. No matter what kind of authority you may have in your own group, here you answer to me. Understand?”

I nod again. I’ve heard this all before; high-workers always think they have to assert their authority before I try to take over their group or something. To be fair, though, I’m sure I’d do the same if cats came traipsing in and out of my hunting group every day. But I’ve never had to; the hunters are the only group who splits into other groups for most of the day, so we never receive any tagalongs ourselves.

For the most part, the work the rebuilders do is hard but rewarding; it’s fun, if a bit repetitive. They have to check the camp’s outer boundary for any gaps or potential weak spots, which they promptly fill in with brambles. Even if there’s nothing to really repair, they weave more brambles in anyways, just for the sake of making it stronger and maybe a bit warmer inside camp. It’s not the rebuilders’ only job, but it is the one that they invest most of their time on. It’s important, after all, when most cats inside don’t really know for sure what all is out there.

I could tell them that. Trees. Prey. More trees. Some grass. No other cats that we’ve ever found. The only cats who get brought into camp are selected personally by the overseer, and rumor has it that he goes far, far away from here in his journeys to find new cats to join our camp. So, really, there’s nothing here that we’d need protection from. I guess it just makes cats feel safer.

I find myself working alongside a long-legged, dark gray-furred she-cat who works diligently to weave brambles into the higher places that other cats have trouble reaching. “How old are you?” I ask her after watching her work for a while.

“Old enough,” she replies, not looking down from her work.

“Yeah, but… how long have you been here?” I’m just curious; I’m sure a lot of cats have asked her this before. She’s so tall, she can’t have long before she reaches twelve moons. Before she… I can’t think about it. Actually, I don’t even know what they do about low-workers who reach their twelfth moons, now that I think about it. Only high-workers. Only Bear.

“I’ve been here most of my life,” the dark gray cat replies, continuing to provide vague but certainly accurate answers. “Please, get back to your work before someone notices.”

I do as she asks and work in silence for a while. At least, it’s silent until a messenger comes running over, desperately gasping for air. The messenger is a young ginger she-cat who definitely isn’t used to covering the long distance between the overseer’s den and the pool.

“What’s happened?” the white high-worker – Blizzard – demands roughly. “Tell me!”

“There’s been an escape,” the messenger pants, in no condition to be talking to anyone. “Three cats were… caught… trying to sneak out of camp. They went through… a hole behind the high-workers’ den. Three… gray kits.”

My heart clenches. No! They’ve found Faith, Millie, and Buzz. There’s simply no one else it could be. Not in this timing. Not there. Not them.

“What?” Blizzard sounds outraged. “We fortified that area a quarter moon ago! How many cats have left this camp without anyone noticing?” Of course he’d be angry. We destroyed his work.

No one, I think bitterly. ''Those three were the only cats who tried. See where that got them.''

“They ran out into the forest,” the messenger pants, clearly not done with her message. “The overseer sent cats out after them, but they all came back without the kits! Somehow, they managed to escape.” Despite it all, the messenger’s blue eyes are bright. Excited, even.

I can’t believe my ears. They escaped?

“The overseer wanted me to tell all of the rebuilders to gather outside of his den,” the little cat wheezes, “to see if anyone steps forward admitting to breaking the hole in the wall.” She sprints away, probably to deliver the message to the next group of cats. She’ll be exhausted before the night is done; will she even be able to wake up in time for her work detail tomorrow?

I shake my head. I can’t think about that now. I can’t imagine that the overseer will react well when no one comes forward to admit breaking the wall, because none of the rebuilders did it. Will he lash out at someone? Will he kill someone, all because of me?

The weight of this is on my shoulders, I realize. If someone dies tonight, it’ll be my fault.

15. Seeking Solace

I can’t sleep.

I keep tossing and turning over and over again, rolling into several different positions in the den before I realize that there’s really nothing I can do. I can’t save my kits from being captured and killed. I can’t even fall asleep.

It’s going to be a long night.

I managed to get a spot near the edge of the high-workers’ den tonight. Most cats prefer to sleep near the middle of the den, where its generally warmer since the bushes are more crowded there and there are more cats to press against each other. But tonight, I’m grateful. The chill of the wind reminds me that I have to stay strong.

And in this moment, I know what I have to do.

I stand up, stretching my tired legs. I slowly make my way through the fewer sleeping bodies around me, careful not to step on any stray, flicking tails. I push my way out through the area in the bushes that serves as the den’s entrance because the branches aren’t as heavily concentrated there and step out into the moonlight.

I make my way around the den towards the camp’s wall. Sure enough, the hole Faith and I made is still there, but the scents of many unfamiliar cats around it tells me that the overseer sent a lot of his messengers, or maybe his new personal guard, after the three little kits. It wrenches at my chest, knowing that even now there are probably a lot of cats out and about, after them.

And if that’s true, then there’s no way for me to go outside tonight. But someone else could.

I slink through the shadows over to one of the low-workers’ dens. Sure enough, I can scent the cat I need somewhere inside. But where? That’s the problem. Fortunately, the cats in this den are only sleeping under a few large, slanted rocks with lichens draped across the entrance. If I move the lichens, there might be enough light to find the cat I need. The moon is almost full, after all.

Cautiously, silently, I push some of the lichens aside. The moonlight streams down just enough that I can make out the individual colors of the pelts of the cats who are sleeping inside. And only one of them – a cat conveniently near the opening - is bright ginger.

I tap his back, and instantly his head flies up, searching for any source of danger, mouth open to yowl a warning to the others. When his deep amber eyes meet mine, I stare at him, begging for silence, and gesture with my tail towards the area outside the den. After a pause, he nods and stands up, creeping around the other low-workers in the den to meet me.

“Did you hear about the three kits who escaped?” I ask as quietly as possible as we move a little farther away from any of the other low-workers’ dens so that we can talk a bit more freely.

“Yes,” he responds, following obediently, staying low and quiet. “Lash, what’s going on? Where are we going?”

I don’t answer him. I just quicken my pace a little more, and I can sense him doing the same.

Finally, we reach the den I’ve been looking for: the new area that’s been assigned to the overseer’s chosen personal guard. The red-furred tom behind me grunts out a question, sounding confused. I don’t blame him; I haven’t exactly given him a lot of warning on this.

I’m counting on the younger cats being pushed farther toward the edges in this den made of bushes. If it works anything like the high-workers’ bush den, that should be the case.

And it is. I find the little black kit I need almost immediately.

“Blackflight,” I murmur quietly, rocking her gently awake with a paw on her back. “Blackflight, wake up. We need you, little kit.”

She blinks awake slowly, stretching, not making a sound, her bright silver eyes curious and brighter in the moonlight. When she sees the cat I’ve brought with me, her eyes widen even more, and she jumps up to come greet him. I purr quietly at such an innocent display of such obvious affection between the two cats.

Blaze rubs his nose with the little kit’s. “I’ve missed you,” he murmurs.

“I missed you, too!” the little black she-cat insists, looking as though she wants to burrow into his fur, vanish, and stay there forever.

That’s kind of what I want them to do.

I use my tail to beckon to the two of them to come away from the den so that we don’t alert any of the other cats. Especially not these cats, who would be far more likely to report any suspicious activity in order to gain the overseer’s personal approval. I – we – can’t risk that tonight. I lead them back towards the high-workers’ den, knowing that Blaze and Blackflight have every right to refuse what I’m going to ask them to do. But I have to try.

I lead them straight to the hole in the wall behind the den.

Blaze’s ear flicks lazily. “What’s the big deal? It’s the hole that those three cats escaped from yesterday, right? Lash, why are we here?” Even though he’s only a six-moons, he’s a lot bigger than me, and I realize that if he wanted to, he could easily overpower me in a fight. But I’m counting on him to not display any kind of violence in front of Blackflight.

“The big deal is that the kits who escaped were Millie, Buzz, and Faith,” I reply quietly. “And I want the two of you to follow them. Tonight.”

“Blaze, do we really have to go?” Blackflight pleads, looking up at her friend and guardian. “I don’t think it’s safe out there.”

“It’s not safe,” Blaze agrees, challenging only me. “It’s also impossible. There are so many cats following those three cats that we’d be caught in an instant! Lash, what under the sky are you trying to pull?” Just like his name, his amber eyes are blazing.

“You can be together!” I insist. “Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted? And now Blackflight’s been taken away from you, and you don’t even question it? I want you to find those three kits and take them someplace safe. Blaze, I trust you on this.” I meet his gaze evenly.

Finally, after a small eternity, he nods. I want to crumple with relief. He’s going to do it. “I don’t like it,” he growls, “but I’ll do it. For you, Lash. And for Blackflight.” His eyes are firm, steady, resolute. I know he’ll be the perfect leader for this idea.

“Make small cairns of rocks along the path you take,” I tell him. “That way, if I send more cats after you, they’ll know exactly where to go. But most importantly, you need to find those kits before the overseer’s cats do.”

He nods to me once again, for the last time, beckoning to Blackflight with his tail. They squeeze through the hole and are gone.

I know they’ll find a safe place to live from now on. I trust Blaze. I trust all of my cats.

16. Excuses

The sunlight streaming into the den the next morning forces me awake. I blink at it, bleary-eyed. I did, finally, fall asleep last night, but it took so long that I didn’t really get enough to make that much of a difference. I’m exhausted.

But I have to keep asking like I don’t suspect a thing. For my sake, and for everyone’s. So I push my way out of the den yet again.

There are already a few low-workers up and about, milling around. I locate Embers immediately, and before I really know what I’m doing, my paws have propelled me in his direction. He looks up as I approach him, and warmth grows in his eyes when he recognizes me.

“Good sun,” he says. It’s like a claw to my heart. Gingersnap always used the same greeting.

“Good morning,” I respond, yawning and stretching a little as I speak. “Looks like it’ll be a warm day, at least,” I mutter.

Embers peers at me curiously. “Lash, are you okay?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” I confess, deciding to go for some rendition of the truth. “I kept hearing cats moving around, so I got up to stretch. After that, I got a little bit of sleep, but it wasn’t enough.”

Embers nods sympathetically, looking as though he wants to wrap his tail around me to comfort me, but looking wholly uncomfortable with the idea at the same time. I don’t mind. He’ll grow comfortable around me in his own time.

“I’m going to announce my decision for how I’m going to rearrange our hunting group today,” I murmur to him. “I still want to use squads, but things will have to be a lot different now, obviously.”

Embers’ blue eyes sparkle with anticipation. “I can’t wait. Will I still be in your squad, Lash?”

“Actually, I have something else in mind for you,” I reply, trying not to notice when his expression falls. I want him to be one of my new squad leaders. All the same, I’m glad that I could make him want to be in a group with me, but that’s simply not going to work anymore.

Once the sun has risen a little farther, I ask my remaining hunters to gather around my announcement rock. I don’t ask them to break up into their squads, or to try to account for every cat. It’s both a way of acknowledging that I still haven’t figured out exactly which cats have left me for the overseer’s personal guard and a way to ensure that Blaze’s absence isn’t noticed.

“Today, I’m going to start rearranging the squads,” I announce. “Since every one of our squad leaders besides myself have been taken into the overseer’s personal guard or, in Gingersnap’s case, promoted to lead another group, clearly some rearranging must be done.”

There’s a little bit of excited shuffling below me, but not much. I think every one of my hunters has realized the magnitude of what we’re now being asked to do.

“Rather than having ten squad leaders, this time we will have eight, with about eight cats in each squad. I’m going to call up the cats I’ve chosen as leaders first, and then I will assign the rest of you to your respective leaders.” I pause and swallow. ''Please. I hope I’ve made the right choices.''

“I will remain a squad leader,” I continue. “Alongside me, I have decided to ask Stormcloud, Embers, Blade, Fire, Brightwater, Red, and Snowy to lead squads as well.” The cats I’ve chosen are all six-moons who have been with me for a little bit longer than any of the other cats. All of them except for Stormcloud and Brightwater have cycled through my previous squad at some time or another, so I know those five cats pretty well. I know now that I can trust Stormcloud with my cats’ lives, and I’ve seen Brightwater perform well under pressure, so I trust her as well.

Last time, six of my ten squad leaders were toms. This time, all but three – Stormcloud, Red, and Embers – are she-cats. It shouldn’t matter, though; I firmly believe that these cats, this time, will serve me well as squad leaders. They certainly can’t do much worse than the last ones.

The other hunters – our ranks are so greatly diminished now – cheer and swarm around the cats whose names I’ve called. A few cats even go over to congratulate Embers, which warms my heart. I think I can be fairly certain now that the hunters I have left will be more loyal to me than the cats who left to follow the overseer’s summons. They didn’t leave, after all; but that doesn’t mean they didn’t try to get in, too…

I shake my head. I can’t think about that now. “The squads will be divided as follows. I want Salt, Snap and Twig to stay in my squad. Silver, I’m moving you to Brightwater’s squad. The other cats in my squad will be Cararoc, Zulle, Tascha, Blitz, and Fin. I want the following cats to be in Embers’ squad: Slate, Wing, Kaline…”

I continue to rattle of the names that I so meticulously decided all last night, during the times that I still could not fall asleep. Things might have to change; I don’t know. I’ll just have to wait and see, but I’m fairly certain that the arrangement I’ve come up with will suffice until I can figure something else out. Not another arrangement – another camp.

See, I hope to someday smuggle all of my hunters out of the hole in the camp wall. Each and every single last one of them.

Someday.

17. Vengeance

Once I’ve finished assigning every cat a squad, I tell the cats to find their squad leaders and jump down off of the rock so that my new cats can come talk to me. I watch as the cats form a living river, swaying and flowing and dropping cats off at their new destinations. I notice a brown she-cat – Blade – already engaging in an energetic conversation with one of her new squadmates, and ruddy-furred Red trying to learn the names of all of his new cats.

It makes me proud.

Twig, Snap, and Salt, who never go anywhere without each other, come up to me all at once. No introductions are needed since they’ve been with me before, so I let them play about while I wait for the other members of my new squad to make their way to me. It’s not that I’m particularly hard to find; rather, there are so many cats here that finding anyone is a bit of a challenge. I’m not worried; they’ll get here soon enough, and I’m willing to wait for them.

The first cat – five-moons Blitz – sees me and starts to walk my way, his marbled gray fur well-groomed. He looks calm and collected, and I’ve heard that he’s a very loyal hunter. However, he was in Fish’s squad before, and the silver-furred leader was always complaining about how quick Blitz was to argue over petty details. I was planning on bringing Blitz into my squad soon anyways; the overseer’s announcement just sped up the process.

Perhaps this new arrangement is good for something after all.

I’m about to stand up and greet Blitz when a tiny blue kit pops up out of nowhere. It appears that she wormed her way through the crowd until she found me. “Are you Lash? I’m Blue!” she announces, her voice a loud and high-pitched squeal.

“Um, yes, I’m Lash,” I reply, wincing. It feels like her voice pierced a hole in my ear.

“Haza – I mean, the overseer sent me! He wants everyone to gather outside his den, ’cos he has a huuuge and important announcement to make. I’m supposed to round you all up and make you follow me there!” The little kit bounces on his paws, bursting with earnest energy.

It’d almost be cute if I hadn’t noticed how close she’d come to revealing the overseer’s real name. I hadn’t even realized that he had another name. He’s always just been the overseer.

Well, of course he has a name, I ration. He can’t have been the overseer forever. Still, it’s strange to know that not only does he have a name that I’ve never heard, but that this tiny kit – a simple low-worker, a messenger – seems to know what it is. It’s just weird all the way around.

“Sure,” I say, realizing that the kit is waiting for a reply. “Just a second.” I jump back onto my rock and call out for silence. “We have to meet outside the overseer’s den before we can hunt,” I announce. “This little messenger, Blue, has been instructed to lead us there.” A lot of the older cats purr when Blue tries to scramble up the rock to my side. Some cat scoops her down again before she can fall. I jump down the same way I came up and stand next to Blue.

“Well,” I tell her, “lead the way.”

Before long, we’re standing in such a familiar, infuriating place, wasting precious time that could otherwise be spent hunting. I’m honestly not sure why the overseer keeps pulling the hunters away from our hunting time for these announcements; it’s like he wants us to not have time to find enough food for everyone. And, actually, that’s a chillingly plausible thought.

The overseer emerges from his den, looking as regal and proud as ever. “You may have heard the rumors that three gray kits escaped our camp yesterday.” Cats around the huge clearing nod with general agreement. “Well, I’m here to tell you that the rumors are false.”

I’m confused. I know that Buzz, Millie, and Faith left the camp. Unless…

The overseer’s face twists into a savage smirk. “They left camp, yes, but they did not escape. Just this morning, two members of my personal guard located the three kits and brought them straight back to me.”

Next to him stand Fish and Whiskers, looking so proud of their traitorous selves. I can’t believe them! They know who the kits are, and what they mean to me. Have they no loyalty to me at all?

No. Of course they don’t. They never really did.

“Now,” the overseer continues, “these kits will be punished.” Whiskers steps inside the overseer’s den – something I have never seen any cat but the overseer do freely – and shoves the three kits roughly out of the den. Standing somewhat close to the front of the crowd, I can see the terror in their matching blue eyes, and the blood caked along their fur. I dig my claws into the shallow earth. ''How dare they? They’re just kits!''

The overseer steps back, and the toms who used to be two of my trusted squad leaders take their places on either side of the trembling kits. “Kill them,” he hisses.

I gasp, not caring who hears me. He can’t! He just can’t! He can’t kill my precious kits. They’re innocent! I want to scream to the sky, scream for him to take me instead, that everything is my fault. But I can’t do it. I’m frozen.

Gray paws – the toms’ coloration is so close to the kits’ own – flash in the sky. I close my eyes, my teeth clenching and my ears flattened against my head. I can’t watch. I simply can’t watch these tiny, innocent kits be murdered in front of my very eyes.

I was wrong. The overseer can kill them, and now he has.

18. Love

I’m numb as I gather my hunters back together again. I can barely believe that we still have to go out hunting after those three precious kits were killed before my very eyes. It’s all I can do to just keep moving, but I know I have to. I have to be strong.

Embers comes up by my side, rubbing his fur reassuringly against mine. “Are you okay?” he asks me quietly, looking me in the eye, even as the tone of his voice tells me he knows I’m not.

“No,” I whisper. “No, I’m really not.”

“I know you loved those kits.” He looks away, staring down at the ground as we run. “I think everyone here loved them a little bit, just because they were so enthusiastic about life. They were always… there, always cheerful.” He swallows. “I’ll miss them, too.”

I blink rapidly, trying not to let my tears spill over. “I know,” I choke out. “Thank you.” So many memories come flooding back to me; even though they’d only been a part of my life for a couple short moons, I loved them even then. “After all you did, jumping into the river to rescue them… was that really just a few days ago?” I shake my head. So much has happened since then.

“We have to move on,” Embers blurts after a long pause. I almost trip over my own paws. I stare at him in disbelief, and he ducks his head apologetically. “I mean… obviously you’ll never stop loving them. I’m not asking you for that. But there’s nothing more that you can do for them now. You have to focus on the cats who are still here, still alive. Lash, we still need you.” His blue gaze is even as he meets my eyes. “I still need you.”

I stare at him a moment longer. “You’re right,” I agree reluctantly. “I wish you weren’t, but you are. So let’s do our best to catch a lot of prey today, okay?” His words – his saying that he still needs me – have put a little bit of energy back in my exhausted paws. He nods with a small smile, and then he pulls away from me to run with his new squadmates.

It doesn’t take long until we’ve arrived at the place I’ve chosen for us to hunt today: the dead forest. No one I’ve talked to knows when or why all of the trees in this area of the woods died and turned black, but there’s so little undergrowth there that it’s easy to see prey scurry across the ground. Though it might not be as rich a source of prey as other areas, its geography makes it easier to hunt, and I’m counting on allowing the squads to bond today so that we can move into more challenging areas tomorrow.

One we’ve stopped moving, the squads all spread out, covering every possible area in the vast expanse that is the dead forest. I send Twig, Snap, and Salt out together, asking them to stick together but allowing them to go off alone, knowing that they’ll work best together, with just the three of them. Meanwhile, I want to get the other cats in my new squad as comfortable as the little three-moons toms are.

“We’re going to pair off,” I tell the remaining five cats. “Each pair will choose a different direction to hunt in, and I expect most of your catches to be team efforts.”

Fin, the inquisitive five-moons tom with gray and golden fur, frowns. “But there are only five of us. We can’t make even pairs out of five cats.”

“You’re forgetting me,” I reply with a faint smile. “I’ll be hunting today, too.”

After a brief pause, Fin nods. “Fair enough.”

“Now, then.” I look around at all five cats, trying to determine how I want to break them down. “Fin and Tascha, you’ll be a pair; I’ll also pair up Blitz and Cararoc. Zulle, you’ll be with me for today.” They all nod, and the two pairs I’ve named speed away in opposite directions after a moment’s discussion.

“Well.” I turn to Zulle, the six-moons she-cat with bold ginger fur. “Where do you want to go?”

While she contemplates her answer, I realize with satisfaction that this is what it means to love someone. The squads in my hunting group have to learn to trust each other with their lives; they become very tight-knit over time, and it’s always hard when I have to rearrange for any reason.

But if the overseer were to run his camp anything like the way I run my hunters, I’m sure everyone would be far, far happier.

19. Tears

I sound the call – a high-pitched yowl that sounds like a bird’s cry – to let the other leaders know that it’s time to start heading back, and with some hesitation they try to imitate my call as it echoes through the dead forest. It doesn’t matter that they’re not very confident just yet; it’s a hard sound to imitate perfectly, and it’ll come with time. Zulle and I start heading back, gathering up all of the prey we’ve buried along the way as we hunted.

We end up with a pretty good set of catches: three good mice that we caught together, a rabbit that Zulle accidentally drove straight into my paws, and a nice, lean squirrel that she caught all on her own by sprinting after it when it came out of nowhere. We divide the load between us and start back to the point where we agreed to meet back up with everyone else.

I carefully set the mouse and rabbit I’m carrying down on the ground once everyone has gathered up again. “Everyone needs to help carry prey back to camp,” I call out. “You all know how this works. Squad leaders, stay at the prey-piles after everyone’s deposited their catches, and I’ll show you how to divide it up.” I nod; they nod; and we’re off.

As we run, I can’t help but remember Faith and her first “catch” that so resembled what Zulle and I did with the rabbit today. My eyes fill up again, and I have to put all of my concentration into not stumbling over my paws, the ground, or the dragging prey I carry. But the tears spill over anyways, and I don’t have the energy to try to stop them.

Snowy, the blue and white she-cat who’s actually the youngest of the new squad leaders, notices that something’s wrong and races to catch up with me.

“Are you okay?” she mumbles. It’s hard to talk around prey, but we’ve kind of become used to it since any conversations on the run home have to take place through mouthfuls of food that we’re not allowed to eat yet.

“Yeah,” I mumble back, shaking my head furiously. ''What am I thinking? How could I let my own cats see me cry?'' “I’m just tired. Tired of staying awake for so long, and tired of the way the overseer treats everyone.” I’m tired of being alive.

“Oh.” Snowy falls silent as we continue to run. Then, “Are you happy here?”

I meet her blue eyes, which are so earnest and open. “Which here? Here as in with the hunters, or here as in inside the overseer’s camp?”

She kind of shrugs, which is hard to do while running. “Anywhere.”

I pause to consider my answer. “Well,” I start hesitantly. “I love being with the hunters. It just makes me feel so happy to be free and surrounded by the cats I love, you know? But we always have to go back to the overseer’s camp, and that’s the place that makes me miserable.”

“But isn’t it lonely to be free?”

I choke out a laugh before I realize that she’s serious.

“Being free,” I respond, “is all I ever dream of.”

20. My Inspiration

I settle down with the other squad leaders and show them how to sort the prey. “It doesn’t look like we caught any fish today, but when we have some, there’s always one separate pile for fish.” I use a forepaw to pat the ground where the fish pile usually stands. “Mice and voles go together, arranged in at least wo separate piles based on size. For instance, this one,” I say, picking up a small water vole, “would go in one pile, and that one,” I continue, gesturing to a plump mouse, “would go in a different pile.” I set each piece I’ve named down on separate piles.

“What about the medium-sized ones?” Fire asks, her bright reddish fur bushed out against a breeze. “Do those go with the bigger pieces of prey?”

I pause. It’s a good question, actually. “It depends. On days when we have fewer large catches, most of the medium-sized prey are sorted into the large prey-pile; if we have a lot of bigger sized prey, mediums can go in the smaller pile. It just depends on what we happen to find and, quite honestly, where you want to sort it. Really, it’s up to you.” She nods.

“Squirrels have their own pile,” I continue, “and rabbits have another. Since they’re generally a bit harder to catch, I like to keep them all in one place, though if we have a really good day for catching them, we might divide them by size the same way as with the mice and voles.” I consider what else I may have missed. “Birds are pretty hard to find, so we normally don’t get any, but if someone catches one, we’ll add another pile for birds. I… I think that’s all.”

I gesture for the squad leaders to come up beside me, and they start sorting dutifully. As I work beside them, I feel another flash of admiration for how willing they are to obey me… but it’s almost overshadowed by the realization that this is the way they feel about the overseer, too. He rescued them, after all, from who knows what kind of predicament; all I’ve done is prove that I might deserve some of their trust.

So what is it that I’m really fighting for? Buzz, Millie, and Faith were too young to really understand what I was asking of them when I told them to leave; more and more I’ve been regretting that I didn’t think to send an older cat with them, too. I don’t know where Blaze and Blackflight ended up, if they survived at all. Blackflight probably didn’t understand, either, and it almost seemed like Blaze didn’t really want to go.

So what is it that I’m fighting for?

I… don’t know.

The overseer, this place, the hierarchy, anything – I can’t force the way I feel about them onto any other cat. Those thoughts and feelings belong to me and me alone. I happen to know that even the hunters tend to be more comfortable when they’re within the camp’s heavily fortified, guarded wall. I can only imagine that it’s the same way and much more so for all the others here.

Maybe I’m the only one who really wants to leave. I wouldn’t be surprised; everyone else seems so content to live out their days doing the same thing over and over again.

Am I trying to get cats out of this camp because I’m jealous of how they revere the overseer?

I guess that might be the case. Every now and then I feel a twinge of jealousy when I see the way that these cats praise the overseer, even though they barely ever see him and he’s really not worth their time and words. But I hate him, too, so it could just be that I don’t understand why the others are so impossibly loyal to him.

No, the only plausible reason for my actions is that I’m scared.

It’s true. I’m scared of this place, and even as I set another mouse into its place, I know I’ll never really feel safe here. I’ve seen the way the overseer deals with the twelve-moons cats. So has everyone else, but they never bothered to tell me, or warn me, and they seemed to enjoy it. What under the sky is keeping them here? What is it that the overseer has that I don’t over these cats?

Is he threatening them? I guess that’s possible. I really don’t know because, as I’ve learned the hard way, the low-workers don’t tell me everything that goes on in their lives. And I guess it’s only fair; I don’t really talk to them about what I do after the hunting is over, either. But still.

All I know, for now, is that I have to figure out what it is that I’m trying to accomplish before I can bring myself to send any more cats out of camp. I have to figure this out, and I have to figure it out for myself. It has to be me.

I’m the only one who can.

21. Never Again

I know I really should be working, but I don’t know which group I want to work with. I’ve learned my lesson about working with the rebuilders; I don’t ever want to be with them again. If they figured out that I’ve been maintaining my hole in the wall, I don’t know how they’d react, especially with me standing right there with them.

I could always go work with Harvey and his rivers. They always need a bit of help, and I know personally that Harvey enjoys it when I work with him, because I’m strong enough to both help dig the trenches and to not complain about the hard work.

Yes, that’s what I’ll do, for now. Today I will be a low-river.

It takes a little bit of time wandering around the camp before I can actually find Harvey, and once I do his orange and white fur is so brilliantly colored in the sun that it’s hard to believe that he was ever hard to find. I trot over to where he’s standing.

He doesn’t acknowledge me at first, and I’m about to greet him when I realize that he’s standing still for a reason. He’s staring straight at one of the trenches that he and his workers have dug into the camp, the biggest one that I know he was most proud of.

The water is red. Red as blood.

“What happened here?” Harvey whispers.

I can’t tell if he’s talking to me or not, so I don’t answer; I only stand beside him, pressing into his side to tell him that I’m here for him if he needs me.

Harvey turns to look at me, and I realize that I came up on his blind side, which is why he didn’t notice me until now. His single blue eye is wide, and he looks both devastated and uncertain. “Lash,” he says, his voice hoarse. “Who did this to me? What happened here?”

“I don’t know,” I reply. But unlike Harvey, I know what we need to do. “Come on. Let’s figure this out. We need to find the source of the red so that we can deal with it.” I stroke Harvey’s tail with my back, knowing that from an outsider’s perspective, it might look as though he were sincerely upset and in need of sympathy.

However, this whole time, we’ve also been communicating in signs.

I know you saw what happened to Bear, he tells me in a series of intricate ear-flicks and tail sweeps. I was also hiding.

My tail lashes, too, and I circle my forepaw to ask, How did you see me?

Harvey blinks his single eye twice. I notice everything. His whiskers twitch with slight amusement. And it’s true; he notices more on his own than any other cat I know. The overseer doesn’t count because he only knows what goes on in the camp when other cats tell him.

After a pause, I flex my spine and stretch as though I’m tired, flicking my own ears in their own complicated pattern. ''I’m afraid that this blood is coming from Bear, or another murdered high-worker. What do you think?''

His voice is grim as he finally responds to the last thing I had told him aloud. “I agree,” he meows, keeping his voice appropriately blank, as though he’s still in shock and we haven’t actually been discussing the problem silently at all. “We have to do something about this, Lash. We have to stop it.”

And I know that he’s talking not only about saving his stream, but also about putting a halt to the overseer’s reign of terror that so oppresses us.

It’s the first sign of rebellion that I’ve seen so far coming from another cat.

Neither Harvey nor I will ever trust the overseer again.

We set out to find the source of the blood.

22. Once More

Harvey points out that the source is likely upstream from where we’re standing, so we start heading in that direction. Before long we’ve found the huge, tattered mass of brown fur clogged up with blood and water that’s blocking part of the stream. I feel sick, and though I desperately want to look away, I can’t take my eyes off of the bleeding mass that used to be Bear.

“This is despicable,” Harvey growls, abandoning all sense of devastation over his stream and any pretense of speaking silently. “It’s one thing for Bear to be dead, but I can’t believe that the overseer would ever just dump him into a stream like this! It’s disrespectful, and besides, it’s unlikely that I would never have noticed.” He digs his claws into the moist earth, frustrated.

I nod in agreement, careful to keep my voice down. We’re still in camp, after all, even though it’s a long distance from where I found Harvey and where Bear is lying. It’s a huge camp, and I find it extremely interesting that the overseer would risk dumping Bear inside camp, where any high-worker could easily find his body and figure out what had really happened.

We stand there for a long moment in silence, and then Harvey moves towards the stream. “What are you doing?” I ask him, confused and a little concerned. What if the overseer comes back and finds that Bear’s body is gone?

“He deserves a proper burial,” Harvey grunts, taking the carcass by the scruff and dragging him towards me. “Besides, we certainly can’t leave him here. Someone could find him, and even if no one ever does, which is unlikely, the blood would still be contaminating a valuable source of in-camp fresh water.”

I hesitate, and then I jump in after him, helping him drag the body towards the shore. He’s right, on all counts. We’d be risking too much by leaving Bear’s body here.

“Hey,” I blurt suddenly as we start to drag Bear’s body towards the most secluded part of camp, where we should be able to bury him without being noticed or disturbed. “What are your workers doing right now? Won’t they notice that their leader isn’t with them?”

Harvey dismisses my thought with a definitive shake of his head. “I told them I was going out of camp to look for other, newer water sources and left Brisse in charge.”

Brisse – that’s the small brown six-moons she-cat who’s being trained to take Harvey’s place someday. Harvey is a ten-moons, so it won’t be long before he’s “promoted”… or killed. I force myself not to get sick over the image of Harvey’s body lying cold in one of his own streams.

“Good,” I murmur. “She’s a good cat.”

“Yeah, she…” Suddenly Harvey breaks off, waving his head in the motion that we decided should mean stay quiet. I obey, standing perfectly still as his ears swivel around, trying to pinpoint the source of some sound I didn’t hear.

Finally, he relaxes a little bit. ''I thought I heard someone walking. I must have been wrong.''

You’re never wrong, I tease half-heartedly. You can predict anything.

He snorts. Don’t be ridiculous.

And then we’re surrounded.

Cats jump out at us from the shadows under the nearby rocks and within the tall grasses at the stream’s edge. There have to be at least twenty of them, all bent on keeping us trapped for some reason. My heart sinks as I recognize Dash and Mothy in the group, especially when they show no sign of friendly recognition as I make eye contact with them.

This is the overseer’s personal guard.

Just as I’m trying to think of some – any – crazy way for us to escape this predicament without killing anyone, just as I’m thinking that there’s no way for this to get any worse, the overseer himself emerges, followed by all four of the other full-grown cats in this camp.

Things can always get worse.

“Well, well.” The overseer’s bright orange tail is lashing back and forth as though he’s angry or disappointed at us, but his face is twisted into that usual cruel smirk of his. “What have we here? Have these cats murdered Bear? Perhaps they’re trying to find a place to hide the body.” None of the other cats say anything. They all just stand still, so still, watching, listening.

Harvey squares his shoulders, not cringing away from the overseer as I’ve seen so many other cats do before. Even I have flinched in the presence of this terrible, intimidating, ruined cat. “With all due respect, overseer, you know who killed this cat.”

The overseer’s ears perk up. “Oh, do I really?” he says, almost purring with delight as he plays us straight into his trap. “Tell me, then. Tell me and everyone else here who it was that murdered this cat.” His bright amber eyes are alight with amusement.

I step forward, prepared to say something – anything – that will shift the blame away from Harvey, even if it means condemning myself in the process. I’m ready to face death; I have been for quite some time, so even if the overseer kills me –

“You did, overseer.” Harvey’s voice is deathly calm, deathly quiet. “We both saw you.”

I tense up, ready to run, even if there’s nowhere to run. Why under the sky would Harvey admit that to the overseer’s face? Why is he bringing me down with him? Why?

As though on cue, all of the cats except the five fully-grown cats standing in front of us turn around and walk away. The silver-and-black she-cat – Ashes, if the rumor hold true – steps forward. “You don’t have to do this,” she meows, addressing not the overseer’s murderous intents but rather me and Harvey. “If you confess to killing this cat, we will allow you to leave with only a minor punishment.” She places one paw on top of the overseer’s, as though warning him to stay quiet. He only bows his head, saying nothing, not arguing with her.

What kind of relationship do these cats have that a she-cat such as this one would have such definite control over a cat like the overseer?

The white she-cat also steps forward, placing her own paw on top of the overseer’s other forepaw. “Surely you cannot understand his guilt,” she says softly. “Please, forgive him and move on in silence. We can bury this cat’s body if it means so much to you.”

I don’t get it. In this moment, the overseer is meek and submissive, acting like a subservient low-worker or perhaps a timid kit. It almost makes me want to trust him again… almost. But I know I can’t. I can’t risk myself like that; I can’t risk everything I’ve done up to this point.

“No.” Harvey stands firm, dooming us both. “We both saw the overseer murder Bear. Right, Lash?” He glances back at me.

I’m terrified. I can’t move. What is he trying to do?

The overseer’s face twists with fury. “How dare you?” he screeches. “After all I’ve done for you! How dare you?” He darts forward, landing a blunt blow on Harvey’s face before I can even blink. He’s moving at such an impossible speed that even I, with my well-trained hunter’s eyes, barely saw what happened.

Harvey’s face contorts, too, almost perfectly mirroring the overseer’s expression. “I dare because I don’t want to die the same way!” he spits, striking the overseer across the cheek. “I don’t want to be publicly humiliated, shamed in my last moments before death! If you want to kill me, then go ahead!” He glares down at the overseer, who in this moment has never seemed more weak.

“You want to die?” the overseer hisses, his entire body alight with sadism. “Then I’ll kill you here and now!” He unsheathes his claws, about to deal out death to a cat who doesn’t deserve to die in such a brutal and horrible manner. None of us deserve to die by the overseer’s claws.

The overseer sprints forward, hell-bent on destroying Harvey. The high-river continues to stand firm, digging his paws into the ground in preparation for the overseer’s blow. What happens next seems to me to be a dream, moving slowly, moving conclusively . The overseer still rushes forward, his countenance completely outraged.

Harvey stares back, his single blue eye solemn.

“Hazard, no!” someone screeches.

The two she-cats who had come forward to stand next to the overseer dart forward in impossible synchrony, their motions well-coordinated as if rehearsed.

They catch up with the overseer quickly, jumping onto his shoulders.

He crashes to the ground, and the two she-cats hold him there.

I blink, and suddenly everything is happening in normal time again. The black-and-silver she-cat plants a paw firmly in the overseer’s – Hazard’s – back, pinning him to the ground. She nods to the white she-cat, who turns and walks over to me and Harvey.

“Please,” she whispers. “Please, forgive him. He acts impulsively at times, and I know his methods can be cruel, but you have to forgive him. He’s only trying to keep you all safe!” Her clear blue eyes are pleading me to comply.

I shake my head. “N-no. No. The things he’s done… they’re unforgivable. I can’t forgive him. I won’t forgive him.” I know I’m trembling, but I can’t quite bring myself to care. “He took me out of death’s grasp and placed me into a world that’s more horrible than any afterlife I could ever face. I can’t forgive him for forcing me to live.”

The white she-cat’s eyes soften, but at their core is pity. I don’t want your pity. “I’m so sorry,” she murmurs. “Lash, was it? My name is Breeze. If there’s anything I or any other cat here can do for you, please tell us. It’s okay. You don’t have to be scared all the time.” Her warm gaze is inviting, and I hate it.

I shake my head, slowly at first and then passionately. “No! I will never – never – forgive that monster calling himself a cat! What I want is either freedom or death, and those things will happen on my terms, not yours!” I whirl around and stalk away. Let Harvey do what he likes with these cats; I will never trust them. Never!

I will never again make the mistake of trusting anyone other than myself!

23. Failure

I’m on my way over to eat today when the overseer approaches me. Most everything about him still looks hostile – the way he stands, his expression – but his eyes are different. He looks… almost broken. Defeated. Because now I know what he really is.

“I need to talk to you,” he says harshly. “The food can wait. It has to be now.”

I nod, keeping up the appearance of an obedient subordinate in my own turn. Inwardly, though, my thoughts are racing. ''What could he possibly want with me? Is he going to threaten me?'' I growl to myself, frustrated. I’m not going to tell anyone.

He pulls me aside to a remote shadow of the camp, a completely unnecessary gesture seeing as that most every cat is already waiting for food at the prey-piles. “I assume you already know what I want,” he begins gruffly.

“You don’t want me spilling your secret, right?” I respond, not bothering to keep the sarcasm out of my voice now. Finally, there’s something that I can hold over the overseer! “Don’t worry, it’s safe with me. No one has to know that you’re a cowardly little freak.”

He bristles dangerously, and I can tell that he probably wants to sink his claws into my face right now. But I also know that he can’t. Anything he tries to do to me now, short of killing me, could easily lead to a few precise words slipping out of my mouth when no one can tell that it’s me.

I’m thrilled… and a bit scared.

“I could kill you here and now,” the overseer hisses. “You know that, right? No one would care.”

“Wouldn’t they?” I retort hotly, not even bothering to keep my voice low now. “My hunters would notice. Embers, Snowy… they all care about me.” I grimace. “Did you think no one cared about Bear? About Faith, Buzz, and Millie? I know what you did to all of them, Hazard.” I spit his name like a curse.

His eyes narrow. “So you did have something to do with those kits’ little escapade. I figured as much.” That trademark smirk comes back – I guess some things don’t change.

“And what if I did?” I whisper. “You can’t do a single thing to me now.”

I turn and walk away, feeling so much younger now that the overseer can’t hurt me anymore. What would it have been like, I wonder, to have grown up somewhere far, far away from here? Even though I still regret living, I guess one good thing has come out of my being here: all of the cats I’ve met, the friends I’ve made, even knowing cats like Bear who didn’t like me much – all of it has made me the cat I am today.

Without the overseer and his infuriating plan to rescue me from the snow, I would never have experienced such a fulfilled life. Actually, I would never have lived at all. So even when bad things happen, there is always some good in it. I’m alive.

The overseer can’t control me anymore. I’ll stay here because of all the cats who depend on me, and because, despite all the hard work we have to do every day, I know that this is a much easier life than I would face anywhere else. So I will stay and humor the overseer for a while longer.

But as I approach the prey-piles, I feel a little twinge of joy.

I’m free.

24. Rebirth

As I wait for everyone to gather around the prey-piles, it’s like I’m seeing the camp with new eyes. All of the cats around me – they’re not here because they want to be; they’re here because the overseer decided that they should be. They’re only here because they’ve been raised since they were young kits to trust him; and why shouldn’t he? He saved their lives.

I might well be the only cat left here who wishes that I had died, so long ago. But I’m here now, and I believe that someone higher let me remain alive so that I might save all of the other cats here.

It really is incredible, in the end, how well-organized this camp is; filled with thousands of cats, you’d expect it to be flawed and full of chaos, but it’s not. Somehow, it all works, and to me, that’s the most amazing part of all of this. It actually works.

The prey-piles, full and inviting, sit approximately in the middle of camp; that way, it’s easily accessible from any other area cats may be coming from after their chores. The camp entrance, huge and looming, is the only major breach in the massive wall surrounding the camp; the only exception to this rule is the small hole that I made with Faith yesterday.

On one side of the entrance sit all of the dens, excluding the overseer’s den, his guard’s den, and the messengers’. Hazard’s den lies in the farthest place from the camp entrance, and the messengers’ and guards’ dens are located nearby. Should any nonexistent threat break into our camp, they’ll be the safest of all of us. Regardless, though, our dens are tucked into a bulge in the camp wall a short distance away from the entrance; there are paths leading between all of the dens, and an area devoid of dens near the middle of the group so that high-workers can find all of their low-workers in the morning and give them instructions. The high-workers’ den is one of the farthest back in the large niche of dens; the others are just scattered throughout, with no particular order to who sleeps where.

Everywhere else in the camp is where most of the work takes place; Harvey’s rivers wind throughout, providing water and pools all over the camp. The rebuilders spend most of their time along the camp walls, but the other high-workers spend much of their time spread throughout the entire camp. The sweepers, for instance, clear stray branches and weeds from around the entire camp; the gatherers have a similar job, collecting branches and long grasses for the rebuilders to use in the camp wall; the trimmers’ job is to maintain all of the plants around the camp, keeping it beautiful and clean.

Every cat has a job; and every job has its place. However, the hunters are the only cats who are fortunate enough to have ever stepped paw outside of camp. No cat outside of our ranks, excepting the overseer’s personal guard, who were all originally hunters anyways, have ever left the camp since they were brought here.

We really are fortunate…

Finally, the overseer summons everyone forward to begin the eating process. I sit next to some of the other high-workers: the lean brown she-cat, Gracie, who’s in charge of all of the trimmers in camp; Cloudy, the young white tom with too-wide blue eyes and deaf ears, who watches over the quietest group of them all, the encouragers, who quietly boost the morale of any cats who seem to be getting depressed over their work; and a feisty ginger she-cat whose name and position I can’t remember. None of them seem to have any problem being here, existing under Hazard’s oppressive reign. But then again, none of them know what I know.

We wait as all of the other cats gather around the prey-piles; when, finally, they do, the overseer emerges from among the piles and just stands there. We wait.

And wait.

Finally, he lifts his head and glares out across all of the gathered cats. It’s a long, tense glare, and I can hear cats whispering: the younger voices discuss their day with eager enthusiasm; the older cats anxiously ask each other what’s happening, their voices hushed and hurried. But I wait.

Then, after the longest wait of my life, the overseer finally speaks.

“I’m going to change it up for today,” he announces gruffly, still glaring at everyone as though daring us to disagree. “Today, everyone will get to eat at the same time.” He closes his mouth and steps back, clearly inviting us all to come forward and eat. But no one moves.

Then, out of nowhere, a very familiar voice shouts out, “But that isn’t fair! You told us that the cats who joined your personal guard could eat first!” It’s Fish. Why am I not surprised…?

Other voices rise to meet Fish’s, guard members and high-workers alike. “Yeah!” one voice screeches above the rest. “Why did you lie to us?”

But even amid the chaos, I can tell that many of the low-workers are slowly edging forward to take their prey, uncertainly, as though they’re not quite sure that the overseer isn’t lying to them now. But the overseer – no, Hazard –merely stands back and watches, only scooping two mice and a small squirrel into his own paws once a number of the low-workers have taken their shares.

I hang back for a while, watching as cats who were once my loyal hunters try to steal prey from the circumspect, hard-working low-workers. I also work as two members of the elevated pack – Ashes and Breeze, the two she-cats who begged me to forgive Hazard earlier today – push back every cat they see who tries to take more than their share. Even though Hazard hangs back, refusing toe part while watching everything take place with a hard amber gaze, he does nothing to stop his siblings, either.

This is incredible.

My heart surges to see this change in the camp. Even if it’s small, even if the guards and high-workers don’t like it, it is still a change for the better. I’m still reluctant to trust the overseer – he’s done far too much to me for that – and I still want to help my cats escape. But if things change for the better while we’re all still here, then why shouldn’t we enjoy it while it lasts?

Finally, once most of the cats have cleared out, I step forward. Aside from scraps of fur and feather and the occasional prey skeleton that wasn’t swept aside for the sweepers to take and dispose of, the only things that are left for me to eat are a scrawny rabbit and a vole. I take them, sit down, and tuck in.

After I’ve been eating for a short time, I hear someone approach. I swallow and look up – straight into the golden eyes of Hazard.

“Are you happy with me, Lash?” he demands roughly. “I’ve done this to help your cats. I did this to help you!”

I’m stunned.

I had never imagined that the overseer would ever – ever – say those words, and least of all to me. “Yes,” I admit finally. “But you’ll have to do more than that to keep me here.” I kick the rest of the rabbit over to him; it rolls through the dust and comes to a halt at his paws. “Here. Enjoy it.”

I turn and walk away. I’m turning my back to the overseer for the first time in my life. And it feels good.

I sparked this change. I am the reason that all of my workers can finally eat their rightful share.

And I will be the one to end this camp, I think grimly as I set off across the camp to find more work to do.

25. Breaking Away

As I walk across the camp, I realize that Hazard can’t even tell me what to do anymore. I’ll still lead the hunters every morning because even we need food, but why should I have to work the rest of the day when Hazard can’t tell me that I should?

So I don’t work. I turn my paws towards the camp entrance.

There are two cats – low-workers, and watchers at that – standing just outside the camp entrance. Concocting a story quickly, I take a deep breath and move towards them.

“Stop!” one of them, the burly black tom on the left, calls out. “No one is allowed to exit the camp after prey-time! Are you trying to escape?”

I want to purr at his voice; even though he’s a big, thickly built cat, his voice tells me that he’s really no more than six moons old. “Woah, calm down, there,” I reply, trotting closer to them so that the dying sunlight illuminates my white and golden fur. “My name is Lash; maybe you know who I am? I’m one of the high-hunters in camp.”

The black tom relaxes, and his small gray companion follows suit. “Yeah, we know you,” the tom replies, sounding more friendly now that he knows my name – or perhaps now that he knows that I’m a high-worker. “Is there a reason that you’re out here… Lash? Even high-workers aren’t allowed out of camp at night; surely you know that…?”

“Yes, and I apologize,” I reply, walking a little closer. “But there was a place that I wanted to scope out as a special new hunting ground. I have special permission from Ha – the overseer to go and explore it, to make sure that it’s safe for my cats before we go out there in the morning.”

“That makes sense,” the gray she-cat admits. “If the overseer approved it, then we can’t hold you back any longer than we already have!” The two cats step back to let me through.

I walk past them, dipping my head to them in a basic gesture of respect – these cats stay awake to guard the camp all night, after all. As I go farther into the woods, I realize that I now know why that little messenger cat, Blue, had such a hard time remembering not to call Hazard by name in front of the other cats. It is hard to remember once you know what his name is, after all.

I also know now that the messengers must see a lot of the chaotic relationships within the elevated pack. I wonder how many times other little kits like Blue have seen the brutal, violent treatment that Breeze and Ashes seem to frequently have to use so that Hazard will behave. Really, it doesn’t seem quite fair. But we’re not allowed to work with the messengers, so I wouldn’t really know.

Though, now, if I wanted to…

I shake my head. Little happens in the work day of a messenger, and what does happen can’t be that exciting. So I merely walk onwards.

It really is beautiful out here; has no one else ever seen this, I wonder…? The way the moonlight slants through the treetops, illuminating the trees, with their ruddy leaves now poised to fall, is beautiful. And where the light can’t reach, silver shadows are cast over the trees’ roots, over the undergrowth, over me.

I am now the light; the other cats in the overseer’s camp are all cringing in the shadows, waiting for some unseen threat to strike them, unaware of this soft, silver glory that exists just beyond their limits.

Even the scuttling and scuffling of the nocturnal prey in the fallen leaves around me is soothing somehow, now that they aren’t the sounds of frantic daylight prey only trying to escape my claws. The wind rustles the grass, rattles the branches – and I realize that even this place, so close to the overseer’s camp, could be a beautiful place to live, if the society within it changed.

Then a twig snaps behind me.

I whirl around, on edge; that sounded really close. I flatten my ears and narrow my eyes, but I can’t see any signs of movement anywhere.

Until a sleek ginger tom steps out from behind a bush and moves towards me. I relax, thinking it’s the overseer.

“Hazard,” I call out by way of greeting, expecting him to flinch. He doesn’t. “What are you doing here?”

The tom doesn’t say a word. He just keeps advancing, and I brace myself – until I realize who it is. The white tufts at the end of his tail, on his chest. The nicks on his ears that are the tell-tale signs of a long-ago fight. The way his amber eyes no longer gleam brightly, but dully reflect the silver light. This isn’t the overseer, after all.

No, this cat is Gingersnap.

“Gingersnap?” I gasp, recognizing the cat who was once my most loyal hunter. Even though he didn’t betray me like the other squad leaders did, I still felt so alone after Hazard promoted him to high-hunter. “Gingersnap, what are you doing out here…?”

I followed you,” he replies dully, finally stopping in a patch of light a couple tail-lengths away. “Or maybe I should say I’ve been following you for the past two days. I know all about your little hole in the wall, Lash. I also know all about your little adventure with Harvey. I’ve gotten quite good at pretending to be the overseer.” He lashes his tail and waits for me to reply.

I don’t know what to say.

“I-it’s been a while,” I stammer, trying to find some way to get the Gingersnap I used to know back. “How are you adjusting to life as a high-hunter?”

He doesn’t even blink. “You shouldn’t be out here, Lash. I’m taking you back to the overseer’s den. You’ll go back through the camp entrance. I’ll go back through your hole.”

“Gingersnap, this is crazy,” I protest. “We used to be such close friends; what happened to you?”

“I saw the world for the way it really is,” Gingersnap replies bluntly. Then his claws slide out, a glint in the darkness. “Come back to camp, Lash. You have no other choice.”

I’m scared. I’m scared. Never in my life did I think I would be scared of Gingersnap. But I am. I’m terrified. “Okay,” I whisper.

“Now go.” He jerks his head towards the camp entrance. “I’ll meet you in front of the overseer’s den.” For a second, he almost softens. “I trust you to wait there, Lash.” And he’s gone, slipping back into the night.

I want to stand here and watch him go, but I force my paws to move. I have to move, or something bad will happen to me. I just know it.

So I make my way back to the camp entrance, sliding back past the two watchers, who haven’t moved. I dip my head to them, but this time, no one says a word.

I cross the camp, walking past where the prey-piles would be and towards the overseer’s den. I have to force myself not to flinch every time I see another cat; the sweepers are especially active tonight, but for the most part, they ignore me. Their work is more important to them than confronting one lone cat who they probably think has another job to do somewhere else.

Finally I reach the overseer’s den; it might actually be pretty if such a threatening cat didn’t live inside of it. It’s a bush circle just like the high-workers’ den, but it’s smaller and more well-kept; I guess the sweepers would spend more time here than anywhere else, just to make Hazard happy. It would make sense, I guess. But I can’t imagine ever letting anyone else into his den without a specific reason. Like when Gingersnap fought back to him, or when Fish went a few steps inside to get Buzz, Faith, and Millie so that he and Whiskers could kill them.

The thoughts make me want to be sick, so I sit down and wait for Gingersnap, focusing my thoughts on other things.

Finally, he emerges from the grasses – one of the only plants that the sweepers and gatherers allow to stay in camp because it reminds everyone of their ideal outside world. Under the light of the moon, Gingersnap’s pelt looks like a dull fire, which is an unnerving thought. He comes straight for me. I don’t bother to ask him where he’s been; I don’t think he would answer me.

“Are you ready?” he asks, a shadow of his former self. I don’t have the right words to answer him, so I just nod. He turns towards the overseer’s den. “Hazard,” he calls. “She’s here.”

I barely have a heartbeat to register the fact that Gingersnap knows Hazard’s name before Hazard emerges from his den, his small ginger frame matching Gingersnap’s almost perfectly. In the correct low light, they could almost pass for the same cat. The thought terrifies me; how could two cats who once had such starkly contrasting personalities now appear to be so alike?

“Lash,” Hazard growls. “You’ve made me give up so much for you. Are you happy with yourself?” He doesn’t give me the chance to answer. “Thanks to you, I have given up my identity, my name, my deepest secrets. And for what? To find out more about a cat who wants to live in her imaginary perfect outside world.” He lets out a low rattling sound that could be a purr. “That’s right, Lash. can see your thoughts in your eyes. You want to ask how I know that, right? Hmm… How about I just show you?”

I blink, and he knocks me to the ground, a claw on my throat. “I know everything about the outside world, Lash.” He spits my name like it’s a curse. “And it is nothing – nothing – like what you make it out to be.”

I try to choke out words, but he only presses harder. I can barely breathe. “No, no, Lash. I can’t let you go; I can’t let you speak. No; I need you to hear what I have to say.” He beckons to Gingersnap with a wave of his tail. “Come help me move her into my den.”

Hazard watches with an insane kind of calm as Gingersnap grabs my scruff with his teeth. He drags me into the circle of bushes, where the thick branches block out the sky. I want to panic, fight back, suffocate, something – but I can’t. He would kill me. I know it. And besides, despite myself, I actually want to hear what Hazard has to say. If he knows something about the world beyond our borders, then I want to know, too.

Hazard finally releases the pressure from my neck, and I gasp for breath. “Remember, don’t talk,” he purrs; the sound of his voice would almost be soothing if his words weren’t so threatening. “I am going to show you exactly what happens when you try to break away from me, Lash. I will show you the world as it really is.”

Gingersnap jabs a paw into my back, causing me to gasp again. But I can’t move, because Hazard leans down next to me, his sinister amber eyes glaring straight into mine.

“Now, Lash,” he says, his voice a low, rumbling whisper, “listen well, for you will never disobey me again.”

 -End One-