Soulmaker

  *

  The air was dense with soot and the multitude of paws stirred up grit that settled into their coats and worked its ways into their eyes and ears causing much shaking of heads and pawing at faces. No one wanted to risk licking, however. They had seen too many tongues rotting from the effect.

  Tearclaw held her posture erect. She showed no sign of discomfort. They hated her and she knew it, and the only way of maintaining any respect was to be brutal.

  “Hold still,” she snarled from her cardboard perch outside the cavern. Nine snouts turned to her, dry as dust.

  “We need water,” one dog whined and Tearclaw jumped down, pinning him to the ground.

  “I can solve that for you right now,” she growled into his face. “If any one of you makes another complaint about water then I will personally rip out your throat. That should cure your thirst.”

  There was a disgruntled silence and Tearclaw took her place at the head of the pack. She knew they expected her to make them search the room, but she detected a smell from within that made her hesitate. The smell of life and synthetic.

  “We will take these skins back to the barricade then join the workers. Once you are back on duty you will get your precious water. Pick up your pelts and let’s go.”

  It was distasteful enough carrying around material skins but it was better than carrying live bodies, she thought. She gestured with her snout for them to move on, when one of the cats, a Siamese, dropped to a stalking position, flicking its tail back in the direction of the room.

  “Replicas,” the cat warbled in its predatory trance.

  With an inward sigh, Tearclaw signaled her team to seek and savage the two cloth animals she could sense were inside.

  “Wait,” she growled. “Don’t savage. Let’s return these two alive.”