Sebastian told Culdesac about Janet whispering to no one.
“They believe that there is another world waiting for them when they die,” Culdesac said. “Of course, not all of them think this way. And even among those who do, there are many who do not take it seriously. But the belief has corrupted all of them. I’ve seen this evil up close. I’ve seen what a human can do when he is cornered and praying to his god for deliverance. There is nothing more dangerous. Nothing more cruel. More animal.”
Culdesac allowed this to settle. In the distance, there was muffled laughter from the Red Sphinx as the human carcass turned on a spit over the fire.
“That is why we fight,” Culdesac whispered. “To reclaim a land overcome with evil. The evil of men who believe that they are our rulers, men who cannot be reasoned with. Who are insane enough to spread a disease so dangerous that it could wipe out everything, including themselves, all to please a father in the clouds who doesn’t exist. We don’t need a god because we have the Queen. And she doesn’t make promises that she cannot keep. She doesn’t ask us to worship her. She merely asks for us to live in peace, to live for today and for one another.”
Culdesac asked Sebastian if he knew what cats had been like thousands of years earlier. Sebastian said that he knew enough about evolution to understand that felines had once been much larger, and that they had lived in the wild.
“Before the humans seduced and kidnapped us,” Culdesac explained, “we were hunters. We saw the world as predators. It is our way. The humans wanted to turn us into their little slave dolls. But the ants — they are hunters like us. I’ve seen them stalking the plains, an army acting as one. They see freedom in the hunt, the way our people once did. They are our liberators and our natural allies. That is why we fight. We fight for our future and for the generations that were lost.”
“I cannot join you,” Sebastian said. “I have to find my friend.”
“Nothing could survive out here for long,” Culdesac said. “I’ve been at this for longer than you know. I’m sorry, but your friend is almost certainly dead.”
“I have to find out.”
“But you’re both different now. You don’t have to hold on to these things anymore.”
“I am not that different,” Sebastian said. “This is what I want. It is what I promised.”
“What if I were to tell you that the reason why we waited to see if you had EMSAH was because the Queen herself told us to do so?”
Sebastian tilted his head, incredulous.
“The Queen sees everything,” Culdesac said. “Even a lost house cat. She knows who you are. She knows that you were meant to fight. With us.”
“How do you know this?”
“I speak to the Colony,” Culdesac said. “Which means I speak to the Queen.”
“But how?”
“They gave me a special device, actually,” Culdesac said. “It allows me to interpret their chemical signal. And it converts my voice into their language. Perfect communication, if you can master it. I’ll show it to you one day.”
“You’ve seen her, then?”
“Not exactly,” Culdesac said. “The collective knowledge of the Colony flows through their chemical signals. If you communicate with one ant, you communicate with them all. It’s a giant loop of information, constantly updated, constantly corrected. And they know about you. As they know about me. And Luna. And Socks.”
“I am no good to you as a soldier,” Sebastian said.
“Listen,” Culdesac said. “I’m sorry about your friend. But there is more to your life than your little patch of sunlight.”
Sebastian could not hide his emotions upon hearing this. Culdesac, meanwhile, nodded in approval. Somehow this bobcat and his insect friends had intercepted this dream, hijacked it. That was the moment Sebastian died. There had been a time when he understood that people would go away. Now the person he was had gone away. He was trapped in this present with these strangers who already seemed to know who he was, and who he was going to be.
Culdesac continued to speak about the Red Sphinx, about the difficult days ahead. Perhaps, Culdesac said, once the war was over, Sebastian could continue his search. Or maybe in their travels they would come across a lonely dog also searching for a lost friend. There was still plenty of living to do, regardless of what had happened to Sheba, or how far away she was. Sebastian would have to keep going, no matter how tired he was, or how hurt, or sad, or alone.
“You have a choice,” Culdesac said, “but you don’t really have a choice. Whatever you want to do, you can’t do it alone. We can be your family.”
Another warm breeze laced with the charred odor of the dead man filled Sebastian’s nostrils.
He told Culdesac that he would join him.
“Excellent,” Culdesac said. “Now what shall we call you?
Chapter Four: The Lost Years
Sebastian chose to be called Mort(e). Names were such an important thing. For some of these cats, choosing a new identity was the first act of independence. It was not long before Mort(e) learned the significance behind every one in the Red Sphinx: Cromwell, Dutch, Bentley, Gai Den, Dane, Rookie, Anansi, Seljuk, Stitch, Rao, Biko, Dread, Texan, Riker, Striker, Sugar, Logan, Bin Lydon, Foxtrot, Folsom, Hanh, Jomo, Uzi, Le Guin, Brutal, Bailarina, Hennessey, Juke, Bicker, Packer, Ironhawk. Only Red Sphinx members knew the origins of one another’s names. No one else could be told.
Sebastian based his name on a word he had come across in one of the old libraries. A word meaning death. He had died. He had killed. And he would kill again. So the name fit. But it could also be a normal name, the name of a regular guy named Mort who was meant for a life surrounded by loved ones. That life was still out there, but it would have to wait. Hence the need to keep the letter e in parentheses. Things could go either way. They could always go either way.
Culdesac soon chose Mort(e) as his Number One, the executive officer who carried out his commands. Luna was not happy about it, but she knew she was not cut out to be a leader. Before Mort(e) joined the Red Sphinx, she had had to euthanize many EMSAH-infected animals and was never the same. Thus, when she turned out to be wrong about Mort(e) having the virus, she second-guessed her actions. Her mind became distracted by memories of dead comrades, along with living ones who would soon be dead. It was not long after Mort(e) joined the band that she was unceremoniously killed during a seven-minute firefight with army deserters who had sought refuge in a fire station.
The battles continued. Sieges of small towns that had somehow held out, where old men and twelve-year-old boys fired rusty shotguns from freshly dug trenches. Raids of bunkers in which starving humans appeared ready to beg for death. Weeklong chases through forests, through city streets, through the bowels of abandoned factories and warehouses, hunting prey in the dark where only the felines could see. Burning entire villages to the ground to make the humans scurry out like vermin, and then cutting them down, or pouncing on the slow ones to save for later. Enormous pitched battles fought on plains with the Alphas as cannon fodder. Culdesac was right — their species was meant to do this. Although Mort(e) was sad to find he was so good at something so ghastly, he learned to extract some pleasure from it. Each murder was revenge for his loss. Every human who pleaded for mercy, every man or woman who whispered a prayer to the old man in the sky, had to pay for Sheba. Any one of them could have tried to kill her. Or infect her with EMSAH. Or enslave her again. Every human was his enemy. And for years, he never came across a single one who acted otherwise.