Page 17 of Serpent & Saviors

“Where on earth did you come from?” Spring’s small voice rang out.

I blinked, unsure of what I was seeing. There was a tuft of orange hair and a loud meow. The scrawniest tabby cat I’d ever seen had climbed into Spring’s lap. She touched noses with it, and my heart caught in my chest as she, once more, giggled like the little girl she was.

Winter was the first one over, followed by me, then Autumn. X stood nearby, looking nervously between us girls and the hatch door we used to go outside. Our instructor was due back any second. By this point, X was allowed to accompany us outside alone. I picked up on her anxiety. It rose in waves, and dread filled me. But Spring spoke again.

“What’s your name? Oh my, look at you! I once had a cat just like you. It was a stuffed animal, but still,” she said, lost in the moment. “Look, it’s a pet,” she said proudly.

X came rushing over, pulling her to her tiny feet. She shook her head violently and pointed to the door.

“But it chose us,” Spring whined, as the cat weaved in and out between all our legs.

X clamped her hand over Spring’s mouth and again shook her head.

The little girl shrugged free. “And I’ll bet it’s hungry!” Spring exclaimed, not letting it go.

X reached out and slapped Spring across the face, hard enough to startle her, but not enough to leave a lingering mark. We stared at them, shocked, the understanding virtually lost to Spring, who clutched her cheek with hurt filling her eyes.

The message was clear, at least to me and Winter. Autumn once more looked at the ground. We couldn’t keep the cat. Tears sprang to Spring’s eyes and fell down her cheeks.

X grabbed her by the hand and dragged her over to the hatch door. She ripped it open and pointed down the steps. The crushed look on Spring’s face haunted me that night, so I’d decided at that moment that I would save a little bit of my lunch each day and bring it to the cat.

For a solid two months, we had a pet, and as stupid as it was, we even gave it a name. Autumn one day surprised us all by printing two names in the dirt with the end of one of her paintbrushes. Hercules or Tiger.

She gave each of us a smooth stone, and we voted by placing it beside the name we liked best. Unanimously, we all chose Hercules; even X had relented. If our instructor or the two men had noticed, they hadn’t said anything. Each day I continued to bring Hercules food.

One particularly hot summer day, we headed outside like normal, unless we got to the top of the hatch and X opened the door, rough hands immediately yanked her out.

A low growl and hissing sound could be heard, and once all of us were standing outside, the Collector stepped forward. He was holding a bag that was moving, and we could hear our beloved Hercules hissing in fear from inside. The Mask dragged X over to the lake, and the Collector indicated we were to follow.

“I want to know whose cat this is. You’re supposed to be watching them, following the rules. How many others have you broken, bitch? I want to know specifically who has been feeding it,” the Mask screamed at X, slapping her to the ground. “Answer me now!” he roared in her ear.

Flinching away from the sound, she bowed her head. “It was me, Sir.”

Every instinct inside warned me to let her take my punishment. It would be easier. She was more accustomed to them than me. I’d only ever had the shower encounter with him and didn’t want a repeat. In the seconds it took for him to reach down and grab the buckle on his belt to use it against X, I pushed forward.

“It wa-wa-wasn’t her, i-it-w-wa-was m-m-me,” I choked, feeling the nausea rise.

I dug into my pocket and brought out the wrapped chicken from lunch. He shoved X away from him and motioned for the bag from the Collector.

“Then step right up because you brought this on yourself. Did I tell you that you could get a pet? That you could feed it scraps from my table? That is your food that I ensure you have on your plate, and you repay me by feeding a mangy, flea-ridden cat? Answer me,” he seethed, spit flying in my face from the holes in his mask.

“I’m sorry,” I cried, feeling his other hand, not holding the bag, dig into my arm.

“With this being only your second infraction, I think I’ll go easy on you.” He shook the bag, making Hercules even angrier. “Dogs or water.”

“Please don’t hurt him,” I begged, horrified by both options. The back of his hand cracked sharply across my face.

“Autumn, please grab a stick. Go on now, don’t be shy, dolly.”

She visibly shuddered at the nickname, but did as he asked.

“Now write in the sand for me like you did before. Don’t worry, I’m not angry with you.”

He caressed her face, and I thought she might pass out. Her breathing hitched, and as her chest heaved, she knelt down in the dirt.

“Write ‘dogs or water’. Do it now,” he commanded, and she sobbed as she scratched the words into the ground. “You know what to do next,” he said, touching her shoulder.

His hands lingered along her neck, caressing it almost. Sobs now wracked her small body, and she gathered four stones. Her hands shook as she passed one to Winter and Spring.