Historia, Part XIX

The first band of soldiers that they encountered were taken apart so quickly by the cats that Clifford just stared in dull amazement. Schrodinger maintained his perch on Slagthor’s head, commanding the cat army, which numbered over two hundred. Somewhere along the way Schrodinger and Slagthor had rallied more support than Clifford could’ve imagined. There were, after all, only eighteen cats at the Farm of Pepperidge.

They group suffered their first loss at the next intersection, when they were ambushed by three Historian soldiers wielding axes. One cat was cut cleanly in half, which enraged the other cats so that there was hardly anything left of the three Historians.

They had moved nineteen blocks closer to the pyramid. The genius of Historia was dawning on Clifford with each block they gained. The pyramid was nigh impossible to reach. They had just passed in front of another cut-off sky-scratcher with a placard out front reading Sears Tower, and just beyond it was an old stone archway.

“This is the old Ishtar Gate,” Schrodinger yelled back, “By passing this marker we’re entering old Historia. The pyramid draws closer, Clifford Jenkins!”

Clifford, still carrying the handgun and now carrying what Schrodinger called an M-1 Grand... or was it Gar-rand, Clifford really didn’t care, that he’d taken from one of the disemboweled troops a few streets back. He also wore the uniform of a slain soldier. He’d covered the bullet-hole in the right-breast with a patch off another uniform. Best to fit in, Schrodinger had argued. He instinctively ducked his head as he ran through the gate.

Schrodinger and Slagthor were now so far ahead that Clifford was struggling to keep up. Suddenly, the cat parade came to a halt. The stop was so sudden that Clifford kept going for a moment before realizing the stillness around him.

Schrodinger did a little mouse-run to get back to Clifford, “Up ahead is a sentry station. It’s staffed by probably fifty men. I’m sorry to do this, Clifford, but you’re our only hope in this situation.”

Clifford frowned, “What do you mean? I don’t even know...”

“I need you to walk up to them and act like you belong. If they ask you where you’ve been, or even who you are, just say that you know Father Time, and that you have to pass.”

Clifford raised a hand, “Won’t they just shoot me on sight? It’s fairly obvious I’m not from around here.”

Schrodinger drew in a deep breath, “You have to trust me, Clifford. I know that what I’ve done recently doesn’t exactly cast me as trustworthy in your mind, but I really need you to trust me right now.”

Clifford stood up, shouldered the M-1 Grand, and started walking toward the sentry station. He kept his eyes on the ground, knowing that the bullet that would end his life was coming at any moment, just like it had for Jaime Conner. The sentry station was quiet.

As Clifford reached the outer perimeter of the lights they had up, the first voice sounded through the night, “Who goes there?”

Clifford kept walking forward, his thumb lightly rubbing the handgun he now wore holstered on his right hip, “I know Father Time.”

From within the sentry station came the sound of multiple guns cocking. Clifford paused for a moment, and then continued forward. The same bitter nausea he’d felt entering the City of Lithe returned.

“How do you know Father Time, soldier?”

Clifford had no idea how to respond. He just kept walking forward. The small doors of the sentry station opened and Clifford surmised that the entire garrison of troops was coming out to greet him. He stood, still thumbing the holstered handgun. The soldiers formed a rugged circle around him.

“I said, how do you know Father Time, maggot?”

Clifford heard a small noise on the wind, and, for reasons he never understood, he dropped flat to the ground. At that precise moment the cat army, led by General Schrodinger tore through the soldiers. Blood and guts flew. Gunshots echoed. Clifford felt a sharp pain in his left leg, but his attention was on the fight going on above him.

The final soldier to fall took three cats with him, stabbing with a dagger. Schrodinger walked up to Clifford, who was still lying prone on the ground, “You can get up, Clifford. We’ve taken the station. You did well.”

Clifford went to get up, and realized he couldn’t. He rolled over and looked down, to find that his leg was bleeding badly. During the battle he’d been shot.