The Last Free Cat by Blake Jon

Author:Blake Jon
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Albert Whitman & Company
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-One

We made good progress down those back lanes. No cameras, not a lot of traffic, good weather, and no problems with the skoot. I was starting to feel confident, in control of my own destiny, a daughter Mum could be proud of. If it were possible, I’d have just kept riding, nonstop, all the way to Bluehaven. But we had to eat, check on Feela, and answer the calls of nature. Kris in particular needed to answer those calls. He’d drunk about a liter of orange juice before we left and his bladder was in danger of exploding.

Eventually we came across a picnic site which looked as if it could meet our needs. It was one of those sites which were off the road, down a lane—the kind of place which was often deserted. Often the automatic food-points were vandalized, and there was always the fear a gang of muggers might be waiting there. Somehow, though, I just didn’t worry about those kind of things anymore.

It looked like we’d chosen the perfect place to stop. At the end of the lane was a wooded clearing without a soul in sight. The foodpoint had been demolished, but there were still a few picnic tables on the grass in front of a shallow artificial lake. Bushes and small trees were scattered around the area—apart from that, nothing but butterflies and dragonflies.

Kris pulled off his helmet and disappeared into the trees at the far side of the clearing. My first thought, however, was for Feela. As I opened her box, the poor thing refused to move a muscle. Despite the fact that she always struggled against going into her little jail, once she was used to it, she felt safer in than out. With some encouragement she did venture a quick glance over the top, but one crow’s caw sent her cowering back down.

“Wish I could explain to you, Feela,” I said, but all I could actually do was try to put an end to this journey as quickly as possible.

I closed Feela’s lid, just to be on the safe side, and looked around for a suitable ladies’ convenience. There was a row of thorn bushes, just head high, back to the left of the lane where we’d come in. I sauntered over to check it out, but as I did so, became aware of something black and metallic glinting behind it. At first I thought it might be some kind of litter skip—but the way it shone suggested it was too new for that.

I rounded the bushes and, to my horror, saw a giant motorbike. It was fitted with every gadget and gizmo you could imagine, and along the fuel tank was emblazoned the word COMPROT.

“Nice machine, eh?”

The voice seemed to come from nowhere. My heart leaped into my mouth as I turned to see a fully uniformed comper—black boots, black gauntlets, stunstem, billy club, spray, and gun. Fortunately, however, none of the weapons were in his hand, and on his face was a smile.

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