Chapter 2 Lissa
Six years earlier…
Lissa woke to the morning rustlings of the small, furry buddies curled next to her, letting her body absorb more of their warmth before getting up in the chill.
She stroked one cat then the other as her eyes adjusted to the dim light entering the dingy apartment.
In the back bedroom, someone coughed. She fumbled for her pack near her head.
Heaving a sigh of relief that her only possessions, other than what she wore, were safe, she glanced at her cats.
One was black and one tabby, both staring back, one set of amber eyes, the other almost copper.
She reached under her lumpy pillow for her sturdy shoes and swung her stockinged feet to the floor.
She jiggled the largest holes away from her big toes, positioning them for maximum coverage.
Her thermal socks wouldn’t last the coming winter.
Maybe she should scrounge for another pair or two of Icebreakers today.
The surrounding neighborhood was picked clean, so she’d have to range farther afield, which meant sneaking past the soldiers beyond the refugee center, the ones stationed around the perimeter to discourage looting in the abandoned city.
Taking her pack, Lissa used the toilet, splashed with cold water from the sink, and washed essential areas, missing the days when she could linger under a hot shower.
Afterward, she combed her dark blonde hair and braided it with deft fingers.
She brushed her teeth and tiptoed back to her cot.
Old sheets strung on taut wire separated one bed from another, making narrow walkways between rows of army cots.
From her pack, she removed the cat harnesses and readied their leashes.
Her stomach growled. The refugee center no longer provided much in the way of meals, though there might be oatmeal at midday.
One steady meal she didn’t have to supply and the comfort and safety in numbers kept her living there despite the overcrowding.
She slung her canteen across her body, tied her shoes, and took stock. Pack, cats, jacket. Nothing else to take. The saggy cot and scratchy wool blanket belonged to the army.
Lissa tugged on her warm jacket and whisper-whistled for Mira and Luna.
“Out,” she said, her voice quiet but firm.
Both stood, stretched, and jumped off the bed.
Mira twined around Lissa’s feet, her black body round and sleek.
Luna rubbed against Lissa’s hiking shoes, butting her striped head along the laces.
Whoever thought pets would have it rough at the end of the world hadn’t counted on the survival skills of felines. They’d become half feral, allowing only Lissa to touch them. Perhaps they sensed the growing, desperate hunger in the others.
She whistled again, and both cats sat on the dirt-encrusted laminate flooring by her feet, staring at her without blinking.
Beyond the curtain, her nearest neighbor groaned and flipped over on his cot and let out a loud fart.
On the other side, Mr. Singh’s snoring stopped.
Shit. She needed to get out before someone complained about her noise.
With a glance toward the nearest sleeping compartments, she fastened her cats’ harnesses.
There’d been attempts to steal the hunting cats more than once, but they’d eluded all attempts at capture. Still, best to keep them close inside.
She inhaled, the ripe body odor pervading the crowded apartment, which was potent this morning.
With the cooler fall weather creeping in, she’d hoped it would reek less than it had in the sweltering summer.
No such luck. She probably smelled just as awful as the others living in the apartment complex, each unit now home to several dozen individuals.
In the far corner, beyond the flimsy curtain and two beds over, the Anderson baby started to cry.
Lissa heaved a sigh as the Yu baby across the room joined in, then another further away in the back bedroom—thin, hungry cries in morning concert.
A mom murmured in a low voice, and someone else swung their feet to the floor.
Time to go before 6B became a cacophony of tears and frustrated voices laced with desperation.
She couldn’t concentrate when everyone was awake. How much more of this could she take?
She’d been at the Denver Refugee Center since the second week after the asteroid strike.
In the beginning, she’d hoped her husband might show, but after sixteen months with no news, hope had dwindled.
While she at least had a roof over her head, the constant presence of people was often too much. It might be better to be alone.
Daypack on, leashes in hand, she hurried down six flights of gloomy concrete, the only light entering from the hallways at each level, the heavy doors propped open.
At the bottom, Lissa crossed the shabby lobby now devoid of decoration.
Everything had been stripped and repurposed—another sign of the current society, where art and luxury were outdated.
A tall shadow lurched off the wall, followed by three others near the column by the front entrance. Mr. Blackburn and his sons. Shit. The opportunistic jerks were early today, perhaps waiting for her.
“If it isn’t the rat girl. Where you going, Rat Girl? Don’t you need to pack?”
She ignored her former hospital supervisor and kept walking toward the exit.
What was he blathering about? His claw-like fingers grabbed her arm, and she ground to a halt.
She wrenched her arm free and glared. His sweaty face was gaunt, his cheeks sunken and filthy.
Was he sick? His graying hair was disheveled, and he needed a haircut.
An apocalypse was no reason to be unkempt.
One of his scruffy sons grabbed for Mira. She arched her back and hissed, her sharp white teeth on display. A low growl emanated from both cats.
“Don’t touch my cats,” Lissa said. They’d only get one warning.
One of the other boys snatched Luna’s leash from Lissa’s hand. He bent down to grab the tabby. Luna exploded in a hissing rage of teeth and claws. He screamed in high-pitched agony that stabbed Lissa’s brain like a knife. Drops of crimson blood fell to the floor, and he cradled his hand.
“Fuck me,” he said. “That creature mangled me. You’ll pay for that.”
She stooped for the leash, keeping one eye on the Blackburns. It wasn’t the first time the discerning sharp teeth had injured someone. “You’ll want to clean that, so it doesn’t get infected.” She reined in a smile.
“Your cats are dangerous,” said Mr. Blackburn, his eyes now gleaming slits. “And your days with the group are numbered.” He gripped her arm once more.
Lissa didn’t break eye contact. “My cats keep me fed and the apartment vermin-free. If the authorities kick me out, I’ll be fine. It’s you who will be affected the most. You’ll have to bully someone else and steal their take.”
“That’s rich. You’re a dirty thief who hunts rats,” said his oldest. He didn’t complain when he was eating rat meat. Hypocrite.
“Let go of me,” she said, her voice tight and full of anger. “We’re headed out.”
Mr. Blackburn released her arm and barred his yellowed teeth. “We’ll see you when you get home, Rat Girl. Make sure you bring us our share, or Bruce will take your tithe another way. We need travel supplies.” He glanced toward his oldest son. “Isn’t that right?”
The Blackburns had been talking about leaving for months. She wished they would.
“I’ll be waiting.” Bruce puckered his lips and made moist kissy noises.
Her stomach churned. Lissa shrugged, maintaining her outward mask of indifference.
The youngest, still clutching his bleeding wrist, glared, his gaze filled with malice as she pushed open the door to the outside world. Shit. She’d have to watch her back. Why was she still here?
A fantastic start to the day. They’d have to get several rats today to pay off the Blackburns, or she’d have trouble getting upstairs.
She sighed. Socks or food? The best hunting was near the occupied buildings—the rats were plentiful where there were people.
She hadn’t been on the second floor lately.
They’d welcome her presence with the cats.
Still, with winter coming, her feet would stay cold without decent socks.
The Blackburns and their demands could wait. Errands first.
Wind whipped the branches of the boulevard trees, tossing discarded yellow leaves into the air.
Clumps of the ever-present pale gray volcanic ash sprinkled with tiny black cinders lay in drifts across the cracked pavement.
A gust kicked up the fine dust, spraying it into the air like mist. She pulled down her ski goggles and rounded the corner of the building.
Lissa frowned. Massive military transport trucks were parked in a row down one side of the street—dozens down this block and the next.
She swallowed. Usually, there were only three.
What was happening? She angled past the front of the line, headed toward the suburbs where she might scrounge new socks.
They’d relaxed the guards in some of the distant neighborhoods over the summer.
Should be a piece of cake to get in and out today, especially if most of the soldiers were busy here.
Several infantrymen in khaki walked past, loading crates of supplies onto the front trucks. A feeling of disquiet ran up her spine. Was the military pulling out? With them gone, the place would be anarchy.
Despite her desire to remain unseen, she stopped across the street—a respectful distance from the hive of activity. “What’s going on?” she blurted.
A man in uniform paused. “We’re packing everyone up tomorrow and heading east. They’ve built some new camps for the displaced.”
“Everyone? Even civilians?” She couldn’t keep the dismay from her voice. She didn’t want to journey to another refugee camp across the country. Plus, a camp sounded temporary, not at all like a home.