Chapter 33: Sleeping Dogs Lie

“Here! It’s here! Johnny, please! Please!”

K screamed bloody murder when the Society came for him. The Seasonal Hunt’s debriefing was delayed three hours. Cracked fingernails and puffy eyes signed a confidentiality statement in bloody tears. Nefaria neglected asking for permission; “girls aren’t worth the trouble it takes to find them,” Minseok said. 

“Hunter,” a despondent K was labeled. Metal clunked to the floor; a tossed camouflage bag slipped through his fingers. Nefaria at sugar cubes, raiding her messenger pack. Fellow “Gatherer” Minseok doodled lopsided circles in his journal. Overall enthusiasm left much to be desired.

“Attention, Black Coats,” the whitest of coats cleared his throat. “Atten—Cassiel. Registered number: 14.” K raised his head. “Look around: this might be your last glimpse of Haven.” Luck, amongst other things, kept danger and K at a safe distance of six floors away. 

Fall’s itinerary spanned three weeks; the expedition’s turnabout point was placed far north of the Giant’s Playground. Bundled up for the days-off winter, 20 Black Coats filed into the Hortum. A blast of hot air took Nefaria’s breath away. Minseok spent hours prying K from the dome’s cool, flat surface.

INVALID ENTRY flashed in bold red. “Where’d it go?” Nefaria asked, and K stopped clinging to nothing. It: pronoun; often used; all-inclusive.

K trades secrets for sweets. Trusting Nefaria’s judgment was easier said than done. Surrounded by 16 wary hounds, Jongdae could hardly get a word out; Michael the mass murderer had a ring to it. “Majority rules,” a cavalier Cavall announced—democracy was thrown to the dogs. 

“Lead poisoning is hardly a concern,” Nefaria argued for the nays. Her first sentence in days was followed by a second: “Take his socks while you’re at it.” 

They did. Panicky paws quickly redistributed Minseok’s belongings. Pencil, journal, sugar cubes, tube socks and all. Even stray lint posed a choking hazard to the paranoid. 

“You never went to see her,” Jongdae badgered, campfire roaring meters off. Smoke gathered at the moss-covered ceiling. Black plumes struggled to escape the dilapidated building turned green by time and neglect. “Care to share your twisted thought process?”

Shielding his eyes from the sunset’s glare, Minseok confessed, “Fay’s scary; the very fibers of her soul echo ‘let’s run away together.’” The city skyline leaned down to kiss the ground, giving into inevitable ruin. “Business before pleasure,” he mocked.

“Speaking of which,” Jongdae hummed. Gun grip to ground, he traced the known Hortum. Minseok filled in the unknown. They traded candy beneath Emerald City’s shrouded stars. 

Sticky fingers strangled Jongdae’s pack straps. Bolting past clattering gates, he dragged K from one enclosure to the next. A heavy trot followed closely behind. 41.7254° N, 86.9010° W: past Seasonal Hunts reported non-hostile wildlife roamed the Ozma Strip, but Cerberus was looking for trouble.

Ozcats have no patience for impudent tourists. Subpar persuasion skills ered K into throwing the first rock. Bear-sized body capable of pouncing four times its length, the Ozcat caught up within seconds. Blunt teeth caught K’s scrambling sole; expedient retribution exacted an achilles’ tendon. 

“You have two legs,” Jongdae consoled a hyperventilating K. 

Red gushed over black boots, scree collar blistering exposed bone. “This way, John!” K choked out. He twisted his body between bent bars. Leather squelched. Jongdae squeezed into the giant cage. Stampeding over the bones of an animal that failed to adapt to calamity—if it couldn’t escape, how could they?

Simple; homo homo sapiens inherited thumbs from their ancestors. 

Four gunshots to the backdoor’s hinges freed up room for Jongdae’s hands to grip down. Steel crashed, Ozcat a blur of orange stripes as it rammed away bars one by one. Shredded metal separated finger and print. K missed their feline friend round after round. 

Either his aim needed work or he aimed to make their plan work.

Peeling back the backdoor, Jongdae yanked the hobbling K out of the Ozcat’s charging range. They retreated down a dark hallway. Fluffy front paws swiped at their hidey-hole; six feet of fat stored for the winter is too wide to fit. Mewling, the largest and most powerful of its kind begged for the other leg.

“What if she doesn’t follow us?” K asked, limping.

“Ever tasted dog?” Jongdae answered, laughing, “Seems like she likes it.”

The two ex-neighbors hitchhike to Emerald City’s banquet. Stopping to smell the nonexistent roses here and there. Dropping hints this way and that. Her howls were never far off. 

Utter chaos: 16 rudely awakened Black Coats scrambling to fight off an ambush of Ozcats. “I’m sorry,” K spewed lies with ease. Deliberating who to blame would come later. Running for the hills came first. 

“ it up,” Nefaria ordered the assorted strips of cloth she packed round K’s infected ankle. Yellow caked over regenerated muscle fibers. Pus blackened where skin dangled unhinged. “Sugar, sugar, sugar,” she remembered, fishing through her messenger pack. 

“I feel good,” K insisted, sweating bullets. Hunched against a shattered store window. Bleeding buckets; medium rare dog meat. Easier prey than the myths who fled into the concrete jungle.

“Keep spouting what we want to hear,” she said, “and you’ll bite your tongue off,” pouring a mixture of “sugar” water over K’s gaping wound. Bacteria shrieked on contact. Fizzing white. K’s roar was muffled by a patch of dirt and shamrock. 

4-inch claws clacked to a stop at the sound. Low breathing sent dust flying. Beady, black eyes stared outside cracked panes. Growls echoed, “Run away”—Ozcats love the chase. 

Lady Luck had conspired with coincidence’s flighty mistress, Fate; Cassiel’s grace period was over.