WE RAN ALL THE way to the stream on the east side of the camp. Wally wanted to cross it, to put the water between us and these humans, but Ginger pointed out that humans were better at crossing water than cats were, and we were more likely to lose someone to the current than deter our enemies.

Pal did another aerial pass while we found a small cave to hunker down in.

“No one is following,” Pal said mid-air, coming in for a landing. He circled and tried to land at the mouth of the cave, but somehow miscalculated his speed and ended up rolling head over drumstick right into Trip.

Trip grabbed him in a hug in response. “Now, someone needs to introduce us to our high flier here.”

So, Emmy and I did just that, leaving out the abandonment story and cruel name, emphasizing his helpful nature and bravery. Pal glowed with our praise, but I could see his nocturnal schedule meant that he was starting to fade. We put together a simple nest for him in the back of the cave, and he fell asleep in minutes, snoring lightly with a hoot and a purr and a hoot and a purr.

“We’ll turn him into a cat soon,” Hannah said with a smile as we retreated to the front of the cave.

“Or a hamster,” Emmy said, raising her chin in a challenge. Her whiskers were gone, burned away by her latest arsonist distraction, but she didn’t look upset by it.

That made me laugh, something I hadn’t done in a while. Probably not since the train had run through our group like a razor. Of course, that sobered me up. Thinking about the train brought Connor front of mind again.

Wally had gone out for a quick hunt and was now carefully washing his paws in the stream, so Hannah and I walked out to him.

“Wally, did you see your pets or Connor at the camp?” I asked, voicing my worst fears and best hope at the same time. If Connor was there, then our quest was over, but it looked unlikely I could rejoin his family, since cats were now on the menu. I guess I couldn’t hold that against them; a zombie apocalypse limited your options, and at the end of the day, cat meat was probably not that different from sheep meat, a staple of human diets. Plus, bags of cat food were scarce in an apocalypse, and I might have to start finding my meat sources in equally depressing ways. Or develop a taste for eating garbage like a raccoon.

Wally shook off the droplets of water. “No, they’re not there, Pickles. I counted all twelve of the humans at that camp twice. I know I didn’t miss them. There were no children at all, and my pets were not among the adults.”

Emmy zoomed by, doing a wide circle pass on sentry duty.

“Slow it down, Emmy,” Ginger advised as he and Trip emerged from the brush. They stuck their paws in the stream as well, washing off their meals. Trip waded into the water and gave himself a full body wash.

“Then we move on,” I said, looking around at my fellowship. “I’m not sure how we pick up the trail again. Maybe we need to retrace our steps to before the net caught us.”

“What?” I said as Wally and Hannah exchanged a similar wave of their tails that got my fur up.

It was Ginger who spoke, though. “Actually, we think we’re still on the right trail, Pickles. These humans at the camp, they were talking about a safe house, and the people hiding out there.”

“Well, that’s … wonderful, isn’t it?” I asked, glancing around at the faces of my friends, none of whom looked like this was the good news it sounded like.

“No, it’s really not,” said Trip, emerging from the stream like a furry well-rounded Aphrodite and moving to a considerate distance before shaking himself off.

“Why?” I pressed.

“Because they’re planning to attack them, Pickles,” Wally said, putting a paw on my shoulder. “If Connor and our pets are at the safe house, they are in grave danger.”

Hannah curled around me for comfort. “These were the rejects, Pickles. The humans in the camp were banished by the humans at the safe house. Or at least some of them were. It wasn’t entirely clear to me.”

“Some of them were thrown out for being too violent, yes,” Ginger agreed, “but some of them have never been in the safe house. I overheard one describing the layout of the house and its defenses to a new recruit last night.”

“They plan to retake the safe house,” Wally said, “and they have no qualms about killing everyone within to do it. This is a war, Pickles.”

I wished he didn’t seem so damn excited by it.

“Supposedly, it’s a prime spot, with storehouses of food, and something called a greenhouse and a water supply of its own,” Trip said, walking back towards us, his hair sticking up like a hedgehog.

“When is this attack supposed to happen?” I asked, my heart thudding dully.

“Tomorrow at dawn,” said Emmy as she slowed down to join the discussion. “Fire won’t stop them. They are ready. They are angry.”

“So, what do we do?” I asked finally.

Everyone looked to Wally, his thick tail weaving and dancing as he thought.

“We could forge ahead, join our humans at the safe house and stand with them when the camp humans attack,” Wally said, tracing a number “1” in the sand of the stream.

“We would have trouble warning them of the coming attack,” Ginger said, “but at least we could rouse them before twilight. Cause a disturbance that gets them up.”

Wally nodded as he traced a number “2.” “Or we could attack these humans at the camp tonight, before sunrise. Reduce their numbers.”

“I’ve never killed a human before,” Trip said, raising his hand shakily. “Is it easy? It doesn’t look easy.”

We all shook our heads at him, except Emmy, who bared her teeth as if she could take them all herself.

“I don’t think another fire is an option,” Hannah said. “They will have taken measures after last night. And the hours before a battle would mean heightened security, would it not, Wally?”

I smiled. Wally was rubbing off on more than just me.

Wally nodded, slowly tracing a circle around the 1 and the 2 in the sand. “We could do some combination. Half of us warn the safe house humans, and half of us slow the efforts of these camp humans.”

I nodded. This seemed like the best idea, and I watched the rest of the group slowly nod as well.

“Wally, you should lead the group to the safe house,” I said, even though everything in me wanted to take the straightest, quickest path to lay eyes on Connor. “Your pets will recognize you and protect you, and you can help them prepare for the attack.”

Wally agreed. “And you will lead the attack on the camp, Pickles?”

I looked to Emmy, who growled deep in her throat. “Emmy and I will attack the human camp at midnight. We will do our best to slow or stop the threat.”

We spent the rest of the daylight alternating in shifts between eating and sleeping, though the nervous energy made it hard to do the latter.

I curled up with Hannah on a raised rock over the stream, the sunlight covering us in its warmth.

“Do you think Emmy will ever take a break?” she asked, her golden eyes half closed, her long lashes fluttering in the breeze.

I shook my head. That hamster never seemed to tire of her self-assigned guard duty. “Not unless we sit on her, which I’m seriously considering asking Trip to do.”

Hannah snickered lightly, and my heart swelled. I was so lucky to be with her. So lucky to have found her.

“Have you thought about what we will do once you’re with Connor again?” she asked.

“Sure, I think about it all the time,” I answered, licking at her ears gently. “His family will take you in as well, I’m sure of it.”

“You know I have bad luck with mammals.”

“I know that you have good luck with these mammals,” I replied.

She didn’t argue the point, though I knew it was still an insecurity for her. “And you think Ginger and Emmy will find new pets among the safe house humans?”

“Surely,” I said.

“And what about Trip and Pal?” she asked.

I looked down at Trip, who was arguing with Wally about something, waving his nimble black fingers to make a point. I think that annoyed Wally more. He hated not being the best at everything, and we heard his huffs of annoyance all the way up here on our rock.

“I don’t see the humans taking a raccoon in, do you?” she asked.

“Maybe not,” I admitted, “but he can still live with us at the safe house. Like he did in the city, before all this happened.”

“He lived with a family,” she corrected. “A gaze of other raccoons. Now he would be alone. Like Pallas. Neither of them is an indoor animal. They won’t like to be kept indoors,” she said, yawning before closing her eyes and falling asleep in my arms.

“That doesn’t seem right, does it?” I whispered, mostly to myself, thinking about my fellowship, and my responsibility for bringing them all together like this. Could I really abandon Pallas and Trip to a lonely and perhaps dangerous life outside the safe house?

I was still mulling this over as the sun reached its zenith in the sky.

Wally and Ginger jumped up on to the rock, the older cat speaking in low tones. “Pickles, it’s time for my team to head out. We want to give ourselves enough time to access the safe house and assess its inner workings.”

I nodded as Hannah stirred. We had discussed her part in the action, and though she didn’t like it, she was going with Wally and Ginger. Three cats were more likely to be welcomed into the safe house than a raccoon, a hamster, and an owl.

“If no attack comes before daybreak,” Ginger said, “we will assume you were successful, and expect your arrival at the safe house.”

“But if you don’t show up …,” Hannah said, her worry written in the movement of her whiskers.

“Then I’ll expect you to come find us,” I said with a smile.

Ginger walked up and scented me. “Be careful, but be ferocious. I want a tale I can tell my grand-kittens. And keep that mad hamster out of trouble.”

I grinned. “And you try and watch over these two.”

Wally nodded. “I’ll give you a moment to say your goodbyes then, Pickles. Good luck.”

He jumped down from the rock, closely followed by Ginger.

“You’ll be careful?” I asked Hannah, nose to nose with her.

“I will if you will,” she replied. “No undue heroics. Okay?”

“Agreed,” I said.

We climbed down together, and she followed Wally and Ginger out of the camp, glancing back at me until they were in the trees.

Trip came up and slung an arm around me. “Emmy finally went down for a nap, but I had to promise we’d cover her sentry duty together.”

I sighed, and we started a small circle around the cave area.

“Trip, Hannah said something that got me thinking,” I said as Trip dug a worm out of the ground and sucked it back with a satisfied slurp. “You’re not really an indoor animal.”

“Nope, not my bag,” Trip replied. “Dammit, my bag. Those humans made me drop it. I’d forgotten about that till now.”

“And Pallas, well, he’s an owl. He would not deal well with being locked inside a safe house,” I continued as we rounded the circuit, heading back towards the stream.

“Ha! No, he would not,” Trip agreed, then he stopped suddenly. “Wait. Are you talking about … you’re going to live with Connor in the safe house?”

I stopped too, kicking at a root. “Well, yeah, that was always the plan. To rejoin my … family.”

“Oh,” Trip said, starting to walk again, his tail dragging along the ground uncharacteristically.

“I’m not saying it’s the way it has to be — a lot has changed,” I said, following him. “I’m starting to realize that your family can be more than one thing. You and Pal are family. I can love more than one mammal. I do love more than one mammal. But we need to ….”

Trip stopped again, suddenly.

“Trip?”

He pointed a black paw towards the stream where a single zombie was struggling through the current towards us.

“Trees,” I said, pushing Trip towards the nearest one. We climbed quickly, but the zombie continued its march, rising out of the stream on all fours, mouth gnashing.

“He’s headed for the cave!” Trip said, scampering from tree to tree. “What do we do, Pickles?”

I had no idea, but he wasn’t going to hurt my sleeping friends within. We landed on the tree branch closest to the cave as the zombie crawled towards it, and I looked around desperately for something to stop his forward movement.

“Hey! Dead guy!” Trip yelled at the zombie. “Up here brainless!”

The zombie’s head swung up our way, and I thought maybe Trip had done it, but then we heard a terrified hoot from within the cave. The zombie refocused on the prey he could reach, his head disappearing into the mouth of the cave.

“NO!” I yelled, launching myself into the air and landing on the zombie’s back.

The zombie lurched up at the sound and suddenly I was claw deep in this monster’s back, holding on for dear life, my front paws digging into his shoulders. He turned left and right, looking for me, seemingly not understanding that I was attached to him. What had I done?

“Pickles!” Trip called from the tree above.

“Get them out, Trip!” I yelled back, causing the zombie to start twisting again, looking for the source of the meows. He stumbled towards the stream and, instinctively, I pulled with my left paw. To my surprise, he turned, my claws in his shoulders directing him left. A plan started to form in my head, and I pulled left again. The zombie turned left again, groaning but still moving forward at my direction. He built up speed, moving into the trees.

Above me, a familiar figure swooped.

“Pal!” I yelled, causing the zombie to stop and look around again. “I have an idea!”

“THIS IS THE MADDEST plan you’ve ever hatched,” Trip said from the shadows where we were observing the camp. He was pulling at his whiskers so hard I was worried he’d be left with none by the end of the night.

“Brilliant, not mad,” corrected our equally mad hamster, who was sharpening her claws on a rock nearby.

“I think it’s a little of both,” I admitted, nervously looking at the three zombies impaled in front of us. They still seemed to have energy, which was key to this plan.

Above us, a hoot signaled Pal’s landing and Trip extended his paws to slow the owl’s descent. Pallas tumbled to a stop right in front of us, and Emmy picked him up and dusted him off.

“They’re awake, and ready. I think they’re minutes away from making their move,” Pallas said, out of breath from his mission. “They’re taking down part of the fence on the other side.”

“Then that’s where we need to get to,” I said, moving forward, feeling my legs shaking and reminding myself that this was MY harebrained idea. “The one on the left looks like she needs the least effort. Emmy, you should take her.”

Emmy nodded, glaring at her target.

“Trip, are you sure you can do this?” I repeated, looking at his paws as they pulled at his whiskers.

“I don’t like it, but yes, I can do it,” he said, dropping his whiskers self-consciously.

“Stealth is going to be key, but so is ruthlessness,” I said, grabbing Emmy by the scruff. I climbed the tree we had picked and walked out onto the branch with her in my mouth. I put her down cautiously on the stem in front of me, and she silently bared her sparkling teeth in anticipation.

With the silence of a ninja, she dropped onto the back of the zombie, claws extended. The zombie didn’t even notice, proving once and for all that it wasn’t smell or touch that they used to track their prey. It was some combination of sight and sound. I took a deep breath and leapt onto the next zombie, fixing my claws into its large shoulders, and then nodded up at Trip. He jumped … and slid right down the back of the zombie to land with a thud on the ground.

All three zombies noticed and turned to look down at the confused raccoon with groans of displeasure. I used my left claw to turn my zombie back, hissing at Trip. “Try again!”

Meanwhile, Emmy was slowly working her zombie off its skewer. Left claw, right claw, left claw, right claw. Pal zoomed around behind the zombies, hooting softly so that they focused on him and moved backwards off the logs.

Emmy freed her zombie first and gave a hoot of her own, then charged off into the woods. I would have called her back, but Pallas suddenly shot off into the camp.

“Pallas!” I called instead.

“Ooof!” said Trip, landing on the ground behind his zombie again.

“Trip, Pal just flew off. What’s going on?” I asked, still working my zombie off its log, starting to sweat at the effort.

Trip climbed the tree for the third time, squinting into the camp. “They’re leaving! Pickles, the humans are leaving!”

Desperation made us work faster. I got my zombie free just as Emmy rode her zombie back to us, its arms extended like the Frankenstein’s monster I’d seen in a TV movie. “Come on!” she yelled.

“Trip, follow us on foot!” I said, turning my zombie to follow Emmy’s, skirting the edge of the camp and following the humans. Pallas flew back our way, hooting in alarm.

“They’re running towards the safe house, Pickles. You have to hurry.”

My paws strained against my zombie, pulling his muscles so that we followed the owl through the twilight, ignoring the hamster who was squealing her delight at her ride, making her zombie turn spasmodically to locate the source of the sound.

I was tempted to chastise her, but the sound of my voice would only make my zombie look for me as well, so I only gritted my teeth instead.

Ahead, I could see the group of humans running towards the safe house, which I could also see in the distance. It too was ringed with sharpened logs, but the lights seemed dim. Had Wally succeeded in rousing the humans within?

I turned my zombie left so that I could come at the humans from that side, hoping Emmy would understand she should attack from the other side.

We were close enough to the safe house that I could see the structure inside: a large cement building with floodlights on the roof and barbed wire around the edges. The attacking humans were moving slower now, edging their way to an unguarded part of the fence that seemed to be under repair.

No matter what I did, I couldn’t get my zombie to move faster, and he didn’t seem to have sighted the humans at all, so I was constantly directing him back towards the safe house. My arms were so tired I considered leaping off my ride and attacking the humans directly, especially when one of them lit a branch and tossed it over the fence. I wouldn’t have lasted a minute, though, even with all of Wally’s training.

That’s when the floodlights came on, all focused on the humans of the camp.

There were yells from within the safe house compound. Wally had done it!

I was close enough to see the faces of the camp humans now, confused and livid that their attack had gone awry. More importantly, my zombie was charging towards them without any prompting from me.

The humans finally saw us and screamed in terror as my zombie and I attacked. It must have been a sight: a dead human barreling towards them, steered by a cat on its back. Whatever I looked like, the hamster version must have looked even crazier. I heard Emmy before I saw her, coming in from my right as the humans hacked at my zombie. They were trying to defend themselves, but were now being struck by our zombies from both sides. I retracted my claws and leapt off my zombie ride, streaking towards Emmy and climbing up her dead human like a ladder.

“Can’t get … free!” she hissed, and I grabbed her paw and pulled at it. She was well stuck.

“Duck!” she yelled and thankfully, I listened, ducking as a human decapitated her zombie with a sword. The zombie fell backwards, and I wrapped myself around Emmy’s struggling body as we hit the ground, trapping us under its body.

“Mmmph,” I said, squished under the two-hundred-pound zombie, unable to move. “Emmy?”

Emmy was free from her zombie, but she was unconscious in my paws.

Somewhere above us I could hear a loud hooting sound. Pallas had joined the fray.

“Hold on, Emmy,” I said, twisting and turning, trying to work my way free of the lifeless body on top of us. My right paw dug in the dirt, my left paw was firmly wrapped around Emmy, and then I felt something grab my right paw.

“Ack!” I screamed, sure we were done for this time.

“Pickles,” said a voice I recognized, and I stopped fighting against the paw, allowing Trip to drag us out from under our dead weight.

“Get her to safety!” I said to Pallas, holding Emmy up to the skies. Pal scooped the hamster up and flew towards the boundary of the safe house, rising up and down as he flew because he was having so much trouble with the weight.

Trip and I dodged falling body parts and screaming humans as they poured out of the compound, closely followed by cats I knew and loved.

“Pickles,” called Wally. “This way.”

I sprinted towards Hannah and Ginger, Trip close at my tail.

“Get inside! The humans can handle this,” Wally said, directing the attack from a raised platform of boxes. We leapt up beside him, pulling Trip up as well when he struggled to climb the side. First chance I got I planned to properly sharpen the claws of my raccoon friend.

“Pallas!” he called, waving at the owl who looked done in at the effort of carrying a senseless hamster.

I didn’t think they would make it, but somehow, Pal did it, dropping like a stone onto the raised platform. Trip cradled Emmy in his arms, I tucked Pal between Hannah and me, and we all stared down at the human battle below.

It wasn’t pretty. The zombies we had rode into the skirmish had done their damage, several of the camp humans wailing at bites to their necks or arms that meant their lives were over. Wally continued to yell encouragement at the humans, looking more proud than a mother corgi in the British Royal Family. The safe house humans surrounded their peers, in numbers that tripled their enemies, but still more than a few refused to surrender and needed to be put down. I turned my face away from the carnage, squeezing Pal harder at my side, and met the eyes of the one mammal I had fought so hard to find.

“Pickles?” asked the sweet voice of my pet. My Connor. His eyes the warm brown I saw in my dreams, his cheeks less full than last time I saw him.

He was pointing at me from his mother’s arms, reaching for me with his little hands, when I nodded at him and he realized he was right. I was his Pickles. His mother did a double-take, running her eyes over the motley crew of animals sitting on a platform above the mayhem below. And then I was in my Connor’s arms, squeezed so tight I could barely breathe and loving every wonderful second of it.