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“MEEEEOOOOOOWW!”
You groan, throwing your hands over your ears.
“MROWW!”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake!”
You sit up, and glance over to where Cleo is somehow still sleeping soundly. You envy her ability to pass out anywhere, any time. The gas station tile is cool beneath you, but unfortunately it’s not comfortable. If it wasn’t high noon, you would have preferred to nap in the truck, but you don’t like cooking alive.
“AWROOOM!”
You also would have probably slept better if there wasn’t a cat yowling for its life outside.
You grumble to yourself and walk over to the door, staring at the little thing as its claws scrape along the glass, leaving lines in its wake and creating a noise that almost rivals the damn things’ incessant crying. The cat’s mostly black, with white on its chest and toes, and a torn red bandana tied around its neck.
The moment it sees you, it unhinges its jaw and lets loose the most painful wail yet.
“I get it, I see you, stop yowling,” you snap.
You barely open the door, and the cat immediately bolts in and butts its head into your legs, its tune changing from the cries of the damned to the loudest purr you’ve ever heard.
“Oh. Hi little guy.”
It mewls and nips at your boot laces.
“Do you, uh, need something?”
It meows and walks back towards the door, scratching up the door frame.
“But—but I just let you in?”
It walks back to you, little green eyes staring up at you and into your soul, and yowls again.
“Hey, Cleo?” you call back.
She groans. “What on earth are you doing, Bdubs?”
“I found a cat.”
The store is silent. Then, Cleo’s footsteps drag across the tile as she makes her way over to you.
“A cat?” she asks.
It meows.
“Yeah.”
She stops beside you, staring down at it. “...And? Does it want something?”
It meows again, much louder, and turns to scratch at the door again.
“I, uh, I think it wants me to follow it.”
She snorts. “Really?”
It wails, giving the door one long scrape with its claws that hurts your ears. You don’t consider yourself an expert on cats, but that seems pretty damning evidence that the cat has somewhere to be. You walk over and push the door back open, and the cat struts out a few paces, before turning back to look at you.
“Mrow?”
Cleo sighs. “Can’t it wait? It’s too hot out right now.”
“WAAAOOW!”
“Jesus! Okay, I guess it can’t.”
The cat lifts its head with a satisfied little mrrp as you both step out of the store, following it as it struts across the sand towards a smudge in the distance. It keeps glancing back at you with its startlingly green eyes, as if checking that you’re still following.
Cleo groans. “Why are we doing this?”
You shrug. “It wouldn’t let me sleep.”
She sighs. “Oh of course that’s why!”
The cat suddenly bolts forward towards a scraggly, knotty tree, and yowls something that could pass for a human crying in pain.
Wait.
“Holy shit,” you blurt, bolting after the cat. “Cleo, get over here, there’s a guy here!”
The cat yowls again, pawing at the shoulder of a scrawny, sickly pale person half-slumped over and leaning against the tree. They’ve got short, stark white hair that’s half held back by a red bandana tied around their forehead. You could swear you’ve seen this person before.
You kneel in front of them and press two fingers to their neck.
“They’re alive!” you yell back, and you glance behind you to see Cleo has barely moved an inch.
“Bdubs,” she starts, cold and sharp, “I think that’s one of King Dog’s guys.”
Your heart sinks. Oh. “B-But… Cleo, we can’t just leave someone to die because they might—”
Cleo stomps over and drags you back by your collar. “Nope. We don’t fuck with the Dog or his goons. We don’t even chance it.”
Your eyes are stuck on the cat. It’s propped itself up on the stranger’s lap with its front paws on their chest, and is repeatedly bumping its head into their face, quietly mewling. You don’t believe much in the Witch, but this cat has got to be one of Her messengers.
“It’s not the guy’s time,” you blurt. “Please, Cleo, just—we can’t just let ‘em die in the sun.”
“And when the Dog’s army comes to beat us and steal everything we own?” she snaps, “What then, Bdubs?”
The cat yowls, and you glance down to see it bumping its head into Cleo’s legs.
She looks down. “Hi kitty,” she sighs, kneeling down. She offers it her hand to sniff, only for it to bolt back to the person it lead you to. “No, we can’t—”
“WAAAAAWR!”
You blink down at it, and it yowls again. You walk back over to the person, kneeling in front of them again.
“Dog goon or not, they’re just somebody out here tryna survive like the rest of us,” you say, “The least we can do is get ‘em some water.”
Cleo sighs. “If this bites us in the ass, I’ll kill you both,” she blurts.
Cleo walks over and easily scoops the person into her arms. “Jesus, this fucker’s lanky,” she mumbles, readjusting her grip. “Alright, let’s go.”
The cat jumps up onto your shoulders, and the entire walk back, it doesn’t stop purring.
You wish you could give the person a bed or something to lay on, but the truck’s still too hot, so the gas station floor it is. As soon as Cleo laid them down, the cat jumped down to curl up by their face.
You both have no choice but to sit and keep watch. You alternate between scanning the shelves for anything you missed on your first assessment of this place and watching over the stranger. You’re trying desperately to remember where you saw them—obviously, they’re one of the Dog’s guys, but the Dog’s had a lot of guys and done a lot of things. You don’t think this is his Ripper, he doesn’t leave the Dog’s side. But then… who would the Dog just dump on the side of the road?
The person suddenly coughs, startling you out of your thoughts.
“H—” They start, only to break down into more coughing. They sit up and spit yellowish bile onto the tile.
“Hey! Hey, no doin’ that!” you blurt, leaning down and grabbing their shoulders to help them sit up. “Don’t you go vomitting up blood or whatever all over yourself, ‘cause we ain’t got spare clothes for you.”
The stranger blinks, trying to scramble away from you but butting up against the wall. Their cat mewls and crawls into their lap, and they look down at it. Their brows draw together, and they cautiously scratch its head, before looking back up at you.
“Who… are… you…?” they rasp, slow and crackly and broken.
You beam. “B-Double-O, your savior. You got a name, sunshine?”
They tilt their head. “E—” They lean away to cough. “Etho.”