Dulcie stood looking in at her. The dark little striped being was hardly visible in the night, but for her lighter nose and ears and the gleam of her green eyes. Crouching, she sprang at Wilma, landing on her shoulder, clinging to her, licking and nuzzling her face. Laughing, Wilma cuddled and hugged Dulcie, kissing her ears. “You’re all right! You don’t know how I missed you, how I worried, how bad I felt for you…”
Dulcie couldn’t talk in front of Violet. She couldn’t have talked anyway, she was too choked up, all she could do was mewl. But then, getting hold of herself, she whispered faintly against Wilma’s ear, her words so soft that Wilma could hardly make out what she was saying.
“They’re back. They know about this place! Get away. Cage knows where she hides. Run! Run now!”
Wilma rose fast, holding Dulcie tight. “I hear them, Violet! The Jeep, they’re coming, headed straight here, I hear them talking…Run!” And she was out the door, clutching Dulcie, and away, letting Violet decide her own fate. In the dark behind her, the crickets had stopped. The noise of the Jeep was like thunder. Wilma ran, dodging fallen rubble, her every painful step jolting her. She could hear someone running behind her.
Violet caught up with her, they fled together as headlights veered at them, then vanished. Had they been seen? The engine roared as if goosed, roared again and died.
Silence. Wilma watched Violet warily as they crouched behind a fallen wall maybe thirty feet from the trailer, half that from the Jeep. Dulcie clung tightly to Wilma, her heart pounding against Wilma’s chest. They heard the men step out, their shoes crunching on broken stone. Wilma prayed Violet wouldn’t move-wouldn’t intentionally give them away. The girl started to rise. Wilma shoved her down and twisted her arm behind her. “Be still. Not a sound.”
Violet moaned at the pain of her twisted arm. “Let off a little! I won’t do anything! There’s someone in the back of the Jeep, they’re forcing someone out…”
Dulcie breathed one word in Wilma’s ear, turning her cold. “Charlie. They have Charlie.”
There was commotion around the Jeep, the prisoner was fighting them. Cage yelled, “Bitch! Damned bitch. Hold her, for Chrissake!” Then a dull thud and a woman’s muffled moan. But then Charlie snapped, “Go to hell!” That brought Wilma up, rigid.
Both men were facing them, they could see the pale smear of Cage’s face and shirt, his heavy shoulders against a stone wall as they dragged Charlie away from the Jeep. “Untie her feet,” Eddie grumbled. “I’m not carrying her, she’s too damn heavy.”
“Shut up and take her shoulders, I’m not untying her. Hurry the hell up!”
Wilma hugged Dulcie close and then jerked Violet up. “Come on. Now.” Pulling Violet, she slipped away fast among the broken walls. They moved as silently as they could through the scattered rubble. Wilma didn’t dare run and risk stumbling noisily over the rocks. But suddenly she was aware of small shadows running with them. Kit? Yes. And she could see Cotton, white in the blackness. No time to think what other cats there were. Intent on getting away, she forced Violet ahead, brutally prodding her, hoping the sounds of their running were drowned by Cage and Eddie’s arguing as they dragged Charlie into the trailer.
Hauled roughly out of the Jeep and across ragged stone into what appeared to be a cave, Charlie saw, high among the fallen walls, a hint of swift movement, something small and quick. And despite the men’s arguing, she caught the faint whisper of voices, distorted by Cage’s swearing and Eddie’s whining replies-but now, all was still. Could that band of feral cats still be here, in the ruins? For a moment, hope filled her.
But those shy little cats; even if they were here, how could they help? They were so wild, and so fearful of humans. They wanted nothing to do with humans except to steal food, to scavenge from the alleys and escape. They would be escaping now, running from invading humans, would have been alerted by the first sounds of the Jeep, terrified by the men’s angry voices.
She had spoken to them once, spoken as a friend to three of them. But still, she thought they were too shy and far too fearful ever to help her.
Dragging her across a hard floor, Cage dumped her on what seemed to be a dirty, rumpled cot. He flicked on a small, weak flashlight. They were in some kind of little shack, or maybe a trailer.
Yes, it was a trailer, a small old camping trailer, every surface rimed with mold and dust. She tried to picture where she was in the ruins, could only be sure it was somewhere behind the main house she had seen looming against the sky when Cage dragged her out of the Jeep. She had walked these ruins, she and Max, and they had ridden up here to picnic, as had she and Ryan, leaving their horses tied while they explored the broken rooms and cellars-but they had never discovered this trailer.
The first time she’d ever seen the ruins, she and Max and Dillon Thurwell had hidden here from another killer, hidden in one of the cellars just under or just behind the main house, a cellar with broken concrete stairs leading down to it. If she could free herself, could she find it again and hide there? She didn’t like the fact that it would be a dead end, only one way out, but it would be better than nothing. Strange that she was a prisoner here a second time. That first had been enough.
When Cage tried to tie her bound legs to the bed, she twisted and kicked him hard, her feet striking him in the chest. He grunted, sucked air, and hit her, knocking her against the wall so violently that her vision swam-hit her again and she went dizzy; fighting to stay awake, she could feel herself reeling and falling as if into a black pit.
From her hiding place, Wilma watched the two men drag Charlie into the trailer, swearing and arguing; she burned to get her hands on Cage. Kneeling, she felt among the rubble of fallen stones until she found a long, well-balanced rock. And she headed for the trailer.
“Wait,” Violet hissed, grabbing her arm. “They’re leaving. Look, they’re coming out. They…they’ve left her there.” She looked at Wilma. “Who is that woman?”
Wilma didn’t answer. She watched the men moving away, glimpses of their dark figures shifting against the broken stone walls; she expected that any minute they would turn back, to further hurt Charlie. But they hurried on, to the Jeep. She heard the engine start, listened to it pull away without lights, heard it head uphill, its engine whining-she felt Dulcie jump down, the little tabby gone before Wilma could grab her. “Dulcie…” She could see nothing in the blackness. Dulcie had vanished.
“The house…,” Violet said. “They’re going back to the house, and they’ll see we’re gone. They’ll be back and they’ll find us.” She rose to sprint away, but Wilma grabbed her. Violet hit her hand with a painful chop and jerked free, and ran; Wilma could hear her stumbling through the dark, toward the mansion. She stared after the girl, half hating her for not wanting to help Charlie, half glad to be rid of her. She rose and, carrying the rock, headed for the trailer and Charlie.
She daren’t switch on the flashlight. As she hurried, stumbling through the rubble, listening to the Jeep’s roar grow fainter, she felt Dulcie brush her ankle, warm and furry.
“Good riddance,” Dulcie said softly.
Wilma picked her up, glad to hold her close again. “Where did you go?” But Dulcie said nothing. Pushing in through the curtain of ivy and stepping up into the dark trailer, Wilma, meaning to rush to Charlie, switched on the flashlight.