Out of My Paws

This story contains mentions or themes of physical violence, gore, or abuse, and suicide or self harm.

No matter how many times I’d promised, I’d never really thought that I would have to shoot Ris. Especially not today. It was supposed to be a reconnaissance mission. The kind we’d done over and over again. In. Out. Undetected. Barely detected at most.

As always, it started with Castor flying over the top of The Wall. It started with me and Ris alone. Together.

We didn’t say anything, of course. Her ears were pulled back, whiskers bunched–which wasn’t out of character, I supposed. But she really didn’t have to worry so much anymore. Her worrying almost made me worry about her health. Hadn’t Mama Les had a cousin who’d died from fussing over stew?

We heard the soldiers before we saw them.

“–mam is just the load of foxglove to do something like tha–”

“Shut up.”

Ris shoved me further into the shadows between the stalk and the wall. Her body pressed against mine, and I could feel her heartbeat. It was quite fast. Have I mentioned that she worried too much?

“You shut up,” the first soldier countered.

Neither I nor Ris peeked out from behind the stalk. We didn’t have to. The unseen strangers spoke in the deep timbre of possums. They would pass soon, after a cursory look at The Wall. As far as they knew, The Wall was unbreachable, at least from The Inside. And nobody wanted to come inside. Of course, if they had taken even a step closer, we’d have been shot.

But they didn’t step closer. They never did.

After they passed, Ris’ heartbeat slowed slightly. She was so warm. It was times like these when I remembered she was taller than me.

Then, she pushed away from me. Gentle, but quick. Something hit me in the snout. It stung like the time I told my mam I was gonna dig a hole in The Wall. I took a step, positioning my back against the stone. I drew my pistol, pointing it upward.

You wanna know the thing that hit me? It was a rope. Specifically, the rope Castor had hidden on the other side of The Wall. Longer than we were allowed to have. Just another reason we should have been shot. And weren’t. I called it luck. Castor called it destiny. Ris believed him. Or tried to. Like always.

I holstered my pistol, feeling ridiculous.

Ris’ nose pulled upward in a smile. My tail swished as I grabbed the rope, pulling myself up. And up, and up. Ris followed me. It was no struggle for either of us, having made the trip so many times.

We made it to the top, and Castor greeted us. Ris scurried to him, touching the side of her snout to his. Her ears were more relaxed now. His nose lifted in a smile as they pulled apart.

He offered Ris a revolver.

She took it, and her ears twitched slightly as she holstered it. We never hid more than my pistol in the Dens, so the revolver stayed with the rope. It was illegal, after all. Besides, Ris always said she hated the feeling of death in her paws.

Yet she never hesitated. Not like Castor. Maybe because he carried a longsword. Maybe because when we shot at someone, the bullet was immediately out of our paws. But a sword carried more weight. More chances to back away. That was what she’d said, anyway.

We repositioned the rope, making it to the other side of the wall. Castor wrapped up the rope, hiding it in a tall, unwieldy bush. We and this bush were not and never would be friends.

Allies though, that was more plausible. It had served us well so far.

“So, what’s the plan?” I asked.

Castor spoke, “Check out the soldier quarters. See if Paul has any information on the new guard rotations.”

Ris lifted her nose, and I found myself mirroring her, “So nothing has changed?”

“Other than the captain’s patrol routes? Nothing yet.”

Ris watched him for a moment, “The skirmish in the markets?”

“Just that, a skirmish.”

This was the first time I’d heard of this particular skirmish, but I wasn’t surprised. There were always skirmishes, brawls, arguments. As long as it wasn’t against the possums, nobody really cared. Unless they were your mam.

“I wish we’d all stop fighting each other,” Ris sighed, “It feels counterproductive.”

I shrugged, “Mice get angry. C’est la vie.”

Ris’ whiskers fanned out, “What does that mean?”

“Like I’d tell you.”

“Fine. Keep secrets from me.”

“I could tell you. It’s something the squirrels say,” Castor revealed.

“If you tell her, I will shoot you,” I countered.

We walked a little ways from the wall, into the underbrush.

Ris snorted.

He stepped over a twig, “Eh, I’d probably be fine.”

“Sure. Tell yourself that,” Ris’ nose rose.

He rubbed his nose, “I don’t think prophetic heroes die.”

“Maybe I’d just take your place,” I teased.

“Would you grow wings too?”

“Obviously.”

“And the great Hana would drive out Madame Krutia,” she ducked under a leaf.

“I’d probably do it faster, too,” I added, ducking under the same leaf.

Castor nodded, “And you’d bring the world down on top of us.”

“Not on top of you, you’d be dead.”

We continued as normal, following the wall to the soldier’s quarters. We went in, stole some documents from Paul’s desk, and got out. We knew the patrols. We knew where to be. We knew each other.

But the soldiers didn’t. That’s what I chalk this up to. Not destiny. Idiocy.

The soldiers hadn’t yet gotten the hang of their new patrol routes. So, a couple of them moved too quickly. Rushing, just a bit. We heard their voices first, relaxed and a bit too loud.

“–the soup. It’s delicious. How ‘bout you?”

I dove into the nearby flower bushes. Castor and Ris did the same.

“I’m more of a fruit salad person myself.”

“I respect that. Classy choice.”

There was a pause, “Did you hear something?”

“Like what?”

The second guard tilted his head towards the bushes, “The leaves are rustling.”

I felt Ris tense beside me.

The first guard shrugged, “It was probably the wind.”

“I don’t think it was.”

“We’re already late, Jev, it’s probably nothing.”

Ris relaxed slightly, but her ears were still pulled back. I couldn’t read Castor from behind. Stupid prophecy features.

The second guard stepped closer, still staring at the bush. Ris was leaning into me again. I could feel her heartbeat. Fast and pounding. I reached for my pistol.

The soldier stuck his snout in the bush. Our eyes met. I shot him.

And we bolted. Through the bushes, away from the soldier’s quarters. In the opposite direction of The Wall. We needed them to assume that we were just rogue mice of the Outside. That we didn’t have families Inside, who could have been shot, hanged, or mutilated.

The possums followed.

The bushes ended. A wide path, then the forest. I looked to Castor. He nodded. I sprinted across the path, pistol in paw, and made it to cover. Castor came next, and I stood ready to shoot at any pursuers. None were close enough to threaten him. Ris was last. She ran, faster than either of us, but the possums were closer. I had only shot two before one grabbed her shirt, pulling her backwards. I shot him too. But they had her.

There would be no escape for her.

I aimed my pistol. I knew that if she’d been turned to face me, I would have seen it in her eyes. The plea she’d spoken so many missions ago. I pulled the trigger.

The bullet took her in the back of the head.

She fell to the ground.

I dropped my pistol.

No.

I didn’t know if it misfired when it hit the ground. I didn’t care.

I had just shot my best friend.

The bullet was out of my paws.

I couldn't take it back.

Castor grabbed me, pulling me away, and making me face him, “C’mon.”

I don’t know how I found the strength to run. But I ran. Castor ran with me.

We lost the possums in the forest.

After more running than I’d done since the empty bucket incident, we stopped. I collapsed, curling into a heap beneath a bend in a fallen branch. I wanted to hide from myself, and the world, and from Castor.

He grabbed me by the paw, dragging me out and to standing, “Why did you do it?”

I didn’t answer. Didn’t look him in his eyes. I didn’t need to see his anger to feel it. I knew it. It was my own.

“Why?”

I closed my eyes. He would kill me now. I deserved it.

His grip tightened, and a bolt of pain shot through my paw, “Tell me you aren’t working with them. Better yet, tell me you didn’t just murder Ris.”

His voice broke as he spoke her name. I glanced up at him, and then away.

“I’m not working with them.”

“Then why?”

Was that not what we always asked? Why this? Why that? Why did good mice die and I still live?

“I don’t know, Castor.”

He let go of my paw, “That’s not good enough.”

I took a breath, “She made me promise.”

I felt him step away from me, “What do you mean?”

“Ris chose death before capture.”

“You shouldn’t have–”

I stared at the dirt, “She made me promise.”

“I don’t care.”

“I guess that’s why she asked me.”

I wished she had asked Castor instead. He wouldn’t have gone through with it. She’d still be alive.

But she’d asked me. And I’d pulled the trigger.

The bullet was out of my paws.