White Horse by Alex Adams

Author:Alex Adams
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Emily Bestler Books/Atria Books
Published: 2012-04-19T04:35:59+00:00

Slightly south of nowhere it’s raining cats. They fall from the trees like ripe apples. While people put recreation on hold, the forests filled with all the felines who heard the call of the wild and answered.

It’s a couple who’ve “gone bush” in Australia that solve the mystery of the missing cats. They tell it to a reporter over fish and chips and Carlton Draught.

“We got tired of the government telling us to stay home. Home’s where everyone’s dying. So we packed up all our gear and went into the rain forest. Nobody’s sick out there, aye? Anyway, we get to the middle of the fuckin’ bush and what do we see?”

There’s a pause while the reporter coughs.

“Go on, guess. Bet you can’t. It’s all those cats. Thousands of the buggers. Must have been imitating koalas, aye?”

“Were they all dead?”

“Yep. The lot of ’em.”

“Why’d you come back?”

“We figured if the disease went that far, we’d rather die holding a cold beer.”

Reports of the same soon trickle in from the Americas and Europe: dead cats perched in trees until storms shake them from the branches, until gravity pulls them back to the earth. They’ve died from starvation—waiting and watching for reasons unknown.

I think they were hiding from us.

I’m on the train again when Jesse marches up to me, a marionette man in a puffy coat.

“I’m not going to ask if I can sit down because we already know each other and if we were friends you’d ask first. Friends ask friends to sit down. That’s good manners.”

“Have a seat.”

He sits. Same as before. Hands splayed on his thighs, eyes ahead.

“I know you can’t talk to me. My mother explained that to me when I called her. She said you could get into very big trouble and maybe lose your job. ‘Don’t mess with someone’s livelihood’ is what she said, ‘because maybe that woman’s got mouths to feed.’ So I want to give you my business card. Would that be okay?”

“Sure.”

He exhales sharply like he was worried about my answer.

“Okay. I’m going to have to write it out because I haven’t got any printed yet.” His coat whispers and squeaks as he shoves a hand into his pocket and pulls out a sparkly purple pen and note card cut into four equal pieces. On the top piece he writes his name, address, phone number, and e-mail address. “That’s just in case the Internet starts working again. ‘Be hopeful,’ my mom says.” He gives me the card, stashes the rest back in his pocket.

He waits until I’ve slipped the makeshift business card into my purse.

“Do you like cooking?”

“Sure.”

“I like to cook. Last night I made mini pizzas on muffins. I hardly burned them at all.” For the rest of the ride he talks food. I listen and make all the right noises. Because I know what he doesn’t: I’m going to tell him everything. But not here. And when the train ride ends, I tell him so.

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