Fredrick Carr's Arc

Chapter 2 of 11

The road ended at a stone hut with a green tile roof. A sign called it the Dancing Dead Coffee Hut. Desior had turned back at the fork, sent to run supplies. So Fredrick walked in alone. The place buzzed with the low talk of tired workers. Mugs clinked. Steam rose off a battered counter. These were the hands Brad needed. Fredrick bought a coffee and started listening for who might sign on. Before he found his angle, a sharp tuxedo cat dropped onto the stool beside him. She wore desert fatigues and a tan safari hat, a radio pack strapped to her back. Sergeant Greymire. Fredrick knew the name from Brad's roster. She was the fast hand the Rangers called when trouble moved. "Carr," she said. She did not offer her paw. "Brad said you'd be recruiting. I'm here to make sure you don't hire a knife for your own back." She sipped, watching the door. "Two hours. A team's coming to meet us. I vouch for them, or you don't take them." Fredrick liked her straight talk. He nodded and waited. The coffee cooled. Workers came and went. Greymire said little, but her eyes never rested. Two hours later the door swung open. An orange and white tabby stepped in, green beret on his head, grey pack on his shoulder. Behind him came four more, dusty and armed. The room quieted a half-beat, the way rooms do when soldiers enter. "Captain Hills," Greymire said. She pulled her radio around and keyed it. "Brad, this is Greymire. Hills is here with four. You copy?" The speaker crackled. Donovan's voice came fast and dry. "Oh man, Greymire, you found Hills? Good. Hold one." A pause, papers shuffling. "Yeah, I've got his file right here. Ranger ID, clean record, security clearance checks out. Send me the ID number and I'll confirm it." Greymire read the number off the tabby's laminated card. Donovan hummed. "Zero-four-seven-two. That's him. He's solid, Carr. Hire the whole crew if you want the bodies." Fredrick was reaching for the card when a grey and black cat pushed through the crowd. Donovan himself, headphones around his neck, grinning. He clapped Hills on the shoulder like an old friend. "Knew this cat back in the day," Donovan told Fredrick. "Ran comms for him once outside Calico. He's good. No games." He looked at the four behind Hills. "Five hands. That's not thirty, but it's a start." Hills held out his paw. "We need work. I heard you're building something worth guarding." Fredrick shook it. Five, plus Greymire's blessing. Not thirty. But real. "We're building a center," he said. "Come see it." They finished their coffee and stepped into the dust. Fredrick led them toward the base with six new bodies at his back and the same hard problem waiting there. He had hands now. He needed twenty-four more.