SNAFU: Survival of the Fittest

The Black Prince coiled, ready to spring. The soldier was certain to land a few blows before he succumbed, but the brief glimpses of fleeting pain would remind the Black Prince that it was alive. Free. And would be feared once again! The beast flexed its taloned fingers. Long, yellowed nails tapered into savage points. The knuckles were pronounced and gnarled, like the knots in a tree trunk. Sinews like cords snaked across the back of its hands and up his arms. It spread its arms, threw back its head and roared — a scream of defiance at those who would incarcerate and starve it for all these years. They were gone. Mere dust and ashes. Corpses for the worms. But Vlad? Ah, Vlad. He was here. He had survived! And now he could feed once more on the blood of a soldier. He lumbered towards his opponent, a low snarl grumbling in the back of his throat cut short when another sound intruded — a soft mewing. The creature stopped in its tracks. Its bloodshot eyes widened in horror and it screeched — a sound so piercing it made his human opponent recoil and cover his ears. The screech went on and on, reverberating around the corridors and echoing through the citadel, folding and doubling back on itself.

A small, calico cat sat serenely in the middle of the corridor, casually studying him. The skinny creature was one of the hundreds of feral cats that inhabited the citadel. For as long as the stone walls had stood, the cats had been there. They served a practical purpose in that they kept rats and mice under control. But the villagers seemed to have a special reverence for the mangy creatures, leaving out food and milk for them and chastising anyone who might feel the temptation to kick one of the creatures in passing. Cats, in this part of Turkey, were almost sacred.

Vlad hated them. They represented its madness, its incarceration, its humiliation. Every time it had fed on one of the screeching beasts, the creature’s insides felt as if it had swallowed acid. For days afterwards Vlad would writhe and scream in agony as the cat’s blood burned through its body. For Vlad, this tiny, mewing calico cat represented all the torment, the agony and the rage that had turned a man into a monster. What once had been a brilliant young mind had degenerated into that which terrifies mankind the most — a physical manifestation of the darkest evil that we are all capable of becoming…

Vlad recoiled in horror, inching backwards away from the calm little cat. Paying the vampire scant attention, the cat cleaned its paw, a tiny pink tongue darting out as it licked the fur smooth. It stood, stretched its back and legs, yawned and sat back down again, curling its tail neatly around its feet.

* * *

Flynn watched as the little cat studied Vlad with that casual interest felines have when they’re mildly distracted. Then, it got up, waved its tail in the air and walked towards the creature, purring happily and blissfully unaware that its misplaced show of affection was tormenting the beast.

Vlad screamed again and vanished down the corridor. The cat, baffled by the reaction, stopped and sat down.

Flynn looked at the cat in disbelief, amazed that such a tiny little thing could do what he couldn’t — repel a monster. “Well, fuck me.”

“He hates cats.” The archaeologist had uncurled from the foetal position and stood, supporting his shaking body by pressing his palm against the slick stones that lined the corridor. “Hates them.”

“You don’t say.” Flynn scowled, and put the knife away and pulled out his gun. He stepped forward and rescued his dropped clip, deftly flicking the clip into the butt of the gun before scooping up the cat. “Okay, kitty, you’re coming with us.” He turned to the archaeologist, Glock 17 in one hand and scrawny cat in the other. “Wanna get out of here before that bastard decides he’s more hungry than he is scared of a little pussy?” He nodded towards the darkened end of the corridor. “Straight ahead. Follow the cables. Don’t worry. Me and puss here are right behind ya.”

The archaeologist stared open-mouthed at the cat for a second, turned, and trotted away down the corridor, slightly crouched and ready to backpedal furiously if Vlad did his ‘surprise!’ tactic again around the next corner.

Flynn scratched the little cat’s head affectionately, and let the agile little critter clamber up onto his shoulder. The deep, rumbling purr felt like a massage cushion on his shoulders. He gave the cat one last affectionate pat and ran after the disappearing academic.

The cat turned and looked back, narrowing its emerald green eyes at something in the shadows. Its ears flattened against its skull and it hissed…

* * *