I open the top again. He winces when the light hits him. “Ahmed,” I whisper, looking towards the forest to see if anyone is heading this way. “It’s me, Teagan.”
He stirs and sits up, grasping the back of his head painfully. When he pulls his hand away, we both gasp at the blood covering it. “What—what happened?” he asks.
“Umm, I’m not sure. I was hiding in the lighthouse until about half an hour ago.” The lie slips off my tongue easier than I’d like to admit. I can’t tell him that Quinn most likely hurt him to save me, especially when I’m not sure what angle Quinn is playing,yet. “Will you promise not to hurt me if I help you out of there? I mean it, Ahmed. I will shut this damn dumpster lid on you and leave you here to figure it out yourself.”
Ahmed hesitantly meets my eyes and nods. “I promise. Besides, I don’t think I can get out of here on my own.” He shifts his position and winces. “If you really do leave me here, I think I might just lie back down and die.” He lets out a strangled laugh, which makes me trust him a bit more than I probably should.
“Okay, let me see what I can find to use as a step stool,” I tell him. “I promise I’ll be right back.”
“Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere,” Ahmed sasses back.
I stifle a laugh and turn to leave him when my eyes catch more blood drips. No, not drips. They are tiny little paw prints. It looks like they’re going under the dumpster. My heart pounds with irrational fear as I kneel to take a closer look. What if it’s a raccoon that wants to tear my face off? It would make Pierce’s day knowing I failed his game by being eaten alive by some rabies-infected, dumpster-diving rodent.
There is a flash of movement, and I hear the tiniest little meow before my eyes land on a grey tabby-striped kitten cowering in the corner near one of the rusted wheels. The poor thing is shaking fiercely and cannot be older than a couple of months. She’s just a baby.
I drum my fingers on the ground, trying to entice the kitten to come to me. “Come here, you sweet thing. Where’s your mama?” It lets out another tiny meow and takes a hesitant step toward me as I continue to coo softly. It sniffs my outstretched hand, and its tail vibrates as it starts purring against my palm.
After a few preciously wasted minutes, the kitten follows my dancing fingers as I coax her out from under the trash can. I pick her up gently and bring her to my face, cuddling and soothing her as she meows again.
“Is that a cat?” Ahmed’s voice startles both my new tiny friend and me. I jump to my feet with the kitten held safely to my chest.
I look into the dumpster at Ahmed. He’s sitting up and has some color back in his cheeks, which seems like a good sign.
“Sorry, I got distracted.” I carefully lift the kitten to show him. “Do you think you can take her while I find a crate or something to help get you out of there?”
Ahmed’s eager smile and joyful brown eyes are answer enough. I pass the kitten to him. Then I toss him a pack of trail mix, a box of water, and a pack of tuna before I go hunt down something to help Ahmed. He isn’t a large man, but there’s no way I can help him get out if I can’t even get myself into the disgusting dumpster.
I circle the lighthouse again and start to wonder how heavy the chest of supplies is when I see a rusted metal ladder under the set of stairs that lead into the lighthouse. Grabbing it, I lean it against the wall and add some weight by carefully stepping on the rings. It’s creaky and loud under my weight, but it’ll work.
When I get back to the dumpster, Ahmed is sweet-talking the kitten. “Do you think you can stand and get onto the ladder?” I ask him as I hop from the ladder into the dumpster with him.
Ahmed hands the kitten to me, and I gently tuck her into my duffel bag before helping him to his feet. He’s unsteady, but he’s also on a mountain of uneven trash that has been here for lord knows how long. “Yeah,” he says after a beat. “I think I can get out.” He lifts himself over the lip of the can, using the ladder for balance, and lowers himself out. Then, he reaches a hand back in to help me out. “Thank you, Teagan. I know this must have been difficult for you, considering our circumstances.”
It really wasn’t, though. I never could have left Ahmed knowing he needed my help. I could never regret coming to the aid of someone in need, even if that kind gesture comes back to bite me in the ass.
“Don’t worry about it,” I tell him. “Let’s just take a moment to breathe some fresh air—no offense, but you smell like death—then we can decide if killing each other is ournext step or not.”
He gives me a reassuring, lopsided grin before we both slide to the ground in front of the dumpster. We enjoy a quick meal as the kitten finishes the tuna.
“What did you name her?” Ahmed asks while tipping the remainder of the trail mix into his mouth.
“I haven’t gotten that far yet, but Dumpster Kitty sort of has a fun ring to it,” I answer, petting my new little friend softly on the head, earning contented purrs in return.
Ahmed chuckles and tosses the empty trail mix to the side. Usually, I’d lecture him on that, but right now, littering is the least of my problems.
“Well, how did you find her? You can’t name her Dumpster Kitty, that’s just rude. Plus, she’s too cute to get saddled down with a name like that.”
I look over at him, then down to the kitten before I point to the little bloody paw prints on the side of the dumpster. “I followed the trail of paw prints.”
“Hmm,” Ahmed contemplates as he looks from the paw prints to the kitten. “What about Paw Prints? It seems fitting enough.”
“I sort of love that,” I agree, laughing with him. I pick up Paw Prints and nuzzle her. “We can call you Paws for short.” I turn to Ahmed. “What do you think about that?”
His whole face lights up with mirth as he smiles at me. “I think that’s perfect.”
“So, what did you do to get yourself invited to Windermere and this game of Hell?” I ask him, popping some of my own trail mix into my mouth.
He reaches out to pet Paws and opens his mouth to respond when an arrow pierces through his throat, showering Paws and me in a hot mist of red.
