Free Hunger and Thirst by Wayne Wightman Page B

note.
    “Artie!” he called again from the step. “Artie! If you're out there, we're moving on.”  
    He pulled his ragged knit cap down over his ears. Except for being shaved, he now looked like the old Jack. Just before he rounded the hill he stopped and took a long last look at the house where he had been brought back to life. Now it was goodbye.
    “Artie!” He listened carefully. Nothing.
    Then he moved on into the gathering dark, toward the highway, then toward the west, to the fading horizon of the Sierra Nevada. After ten minutes, he slowed to catch his breath — and then he stopped. He cocked his head and listened.
    “Artie?” He walked across the ruined highway and back. “Artie?” And then he heard what he'd only thought he'd heard.
    “Meah.” That was Artie. He never put much effort behind his meows.
    Jack sat down on the ground the instant he saw Artie, not much more than a shadow, coming up the highway behind him. First thing, Jack put his face next to his, asked him where he'd been and raked trash out of his fur.
    “You were there all the time, hiding out from us and the dogs. I can see how you might have been nervous around the queen predator.”
    Artie managed a slight purr.
    Jack lit a small candle between his knees to check him over better. Fur was rough. No scabs, no lumps. Most of his front left paw was gone. The biggest pad was there, but the toes were gone and the wound was healed.
    “Snagging food out of her god damned traps cost you, didn't it.”
    Jack took a towel out of his pack and knotted it in a loop. “Here's the deal, pal. We’re going to California, to the ocean, and you’re not going to have to walk one foot of the way unless you want to... the least I can do.”
    Artie understood the drill and let himself be placed in the sling. Then Jack was off at the fastest pace he thought he could maintain for the next ten hours.
    The moon rose behind him and gave him good light. The conditions were better than he'd expected.
    “Palm trees, Artie. Beaches. You're going to love the size of the sandbox. Babes in bikinis. Lady cats in skimpy fur coats. Just over the next couple of mountain ranges.”
    Jack realized he had slackened his pace and picked it up again. Distance. He pumped on. He needed distance.
    “Jack.”
    He screamed, spun, and leaped backward.
    Natalie stood quietly beside the highway, as she had stood beside the highway when he opened his crusty eyes so many months ago. In that liquid green silk sheath, the impossible high heels, her hair its perfect absorbing black... right out here in the middle of the night. The moon was behind her — she should have been silhouetted, but she stood there as though in early twilight with her mona lisa smile, holding some shapeless thing in one of her hands.
    “I didn't mean to frighten you.”
    Jack staggered back. This couldn't be... again.
    Artie hissed viciously from the sling.
    “I'm not here to stop you. I knew it was time, and the night would be fair. I didn't want to make it hard for you. Here. This is the coat I've kept for you, and the extra canteen, filled. Think of me when you're thirsty. When the coat keeps you warm, think of me.”
    His heart ached.
    Jack hesitantly stepped close enough to take the things. He wanted to say Thank you but he couldn't get his air and voice to work together.
     The instant he had the two things, Artie launched himself at Natalie and seized her hand, gutturally yowling and with claws and teeth ripped and chewed at her hand. Natalie appeared undisturbed. She held her arm unnaturally straight out in front of her, with the ten-pound animal savaging her. She observed it with unexcited interest.
    Jack recoiled, unsure what to do — to grab at Artie? But Natalie stood there without particular expression.
    After a quarter of a minute, Artie dropped to the ground and Natalie moved her bloody hand behind her back.
    “Goodbye, Jack. I've done my best to never let bad things overwhelm you. In my own