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"My lady?” Chong bent his knees to the floor and bowed.
Benny slid off his shoulder to roll on the floor. The ancient wood was polished,
gleaming in the soft light of electric lamps.
She was small, petite, her hands lined and cracked from scrubbing
office floors under the Pentagon.
Her head tipped in acknowledgment of the bow. As a cousin of the
emperor of all Asia, it was only her due.
“This is the boy?" When Chong whispered a quiet, “Yes,”
she pulled a fan and tapped the ivory blades on her knee. Her dress was plain
sacking, as befitted one who wore a welfare client’s collar.
“He could pass for one of us.”
“His people are related, Gracious One. Native American and
Eastern European.”
The fan slid open with a tiny click.
“Perhaps. No, no. I understand that was the history, once. They
came from Asia, these American Indians, and should live under the sweet joy of
our emperor. It is our right to rule here, not the Europeans.”
“Yes, my lady.”
When he finished, the shon:gili
turned to the wall. Ten feet above, the heads of men showed, staring down.
He gathered himself and leaped, scattering them.
They didn’t shoot, only dodged from him. He trotted away with
the bulk of the liver and the heart dragging on his belly. In his mind, Carl was
shouting with the glee of victory. The shon:gili
lifted his head. He glanced back at the men, a look of cool pride on the
blood-soaked head.
Behind him, the men watched as he disappeared into the gloom of
abandoned warehouses, then jumped down to claim the shark.
The shon:gili moved
through a strange jungle of abandoned equipment and ruined buildings. The pop of
gunfire was a distant ghost here. He caught the scent of smoke, often from
something Carl referred to as the weed, but there were fumes from fuel, as well.
Only rarely did he catch a hint of something that might be considered food.
To Carl’s puzzlement, rats were rare, and there were no stray
dogs or cats. The buildings were silent, and even the manure of pigeons and other
birds had been scraped clean.
Sniffing the air in quiet, nervous ‘woofs’ of noise, the shon:gili
slowed to edge into the shadows and wait. Nothing stirred.
A tremor brought a scowl to the cold eyes. He stared out through
the dark.
Sensing the place was dead, empty of life, he started trotting
with his head low and eyes seeking any hint of heat.
Dead zone, Carl
whispered.
The shon:gili
acknowledged that with a grunt.
Lights splayed over the wall. An aircar hovered above the strand.
From the car blared a voice, “This
is Animal Control. Do not move. Do not try to escape. You are under arrest for
killing an innocent animal; may the Party Masters have mercy on you.”
A net dropped over the men. Feet pounded away, but weapons roared,
and the aircar began to fire in return. Bolts of electric fire sizzled into the
water and the men screamed.
He loped through the buildings deeper into the city. The demon was
silent but amused.
They seek to protect thee,
beast?
Carl snapped at it, and the demon hissed. A faint pain lanced
through the shon:gili. He ignored it.
The scent of humans came to him again, and he slowed. Heat showed
as a faint reddish glare from a crack around a plank. He nosed under the wall,
one paw scratching at it. To the demon’s frustration the bricks were solid
under a crumbling layer of dust.
The demon made a nervous spasm race through the shon:gili.
The animal swung his head to look for the moon. Hidden behind the gaping shells
of yet more buildings, it was closing in on the horizon. He glanced to the east.
The sky was still dark, but the lines of demarcation were plain enough, marking
the time till dawn.
Go thee to the courthouse.
Obeying the demon, the shon:gili
raced in the direction of the courthouse. He came against a high wall built of
rubble and skidded on the wet trash of a compost pit, then leaped it. He sailed
over the wall and landed in a courtyard. A cow bellowed, lowering a set of horns
at him.
Trotting to the far wall, he jumped again. His belly brushed the
top. Broken glass set in the wall scratched him. He yelped and landed on all
fours with a jolt that shook his body.
The tongue rasped over the wounds.
He raced now, following the roads through war-blasted buildings
and stumbled as a scent came to him.
Before Carl could stop it, a picture flashed in his mind.
The demon smiled and in the distance, an owl called a laugh.
Benny Wya Grey. The Wolf’s brat was near, somewhere in the midst
of a pack of humanity.
©2004 StoriesByEmail.com
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