Sleep

Chapter 6

Dew hung onto the sinking petal above the dead oak tree. The droplet hung on to the petal until it grew too weak to support it. A few of the desperate beads of dew clung to the leaf, while the rest descended onto Tom's neck, who awoke with a start. He stretched and walked over to the flower bed. Most of the flowers were gone from the day before, but he took a leaf hidden in the bush and tasted it. Horrible. Tom sauntered his way down to the lake, where he drank a few big handfuls of water, and then he made his way past the lake onto the path past the flowers. The dirt caked his shoes as he stomped through, and it eventually widened into a four-way street.

The only visible building was an old American-style restaurant that stood tall next to a small gas station. Debris littered the entrance, but Tom pushed his way through and found himself in a big open space with peeling walls and battered wooden tables. He spotted tablecloths strewn across the floor and a large circular chandelier that sprinkled glass onto the tile. It was big enough for shelter; Tom thought that the tables could form a sort of enclosed space to protect against the gaping hole in the ceiling. He started by moving the two most heavy tables in front and he used the smaller boards on the side. Tom picked up one of the tablecloths on the floor. It was tattered but still usable. He draped it over the tables and fastened in between the gaps using other items. It formed a small hut. He went between some of the table legs. While some of the light escaped through the cloth, it made a safe place to sleep. Tom dragged the remaining tablecloths into the hut and folded them on the floor.

"Good..." Tom sighed.

He cleared some of the broken glass using a table leg that he found leaning against the corner of the double doors, and Tom was about to slip into the hut again when he heard a noise.

The noise was not soft and delicate, it was a sharp whine that echoed off of the tile in the hallway behind the hut. Tom followed the sound, pieces of glass crunching under his boots. The corridor led to another set of double doors, so he pushed them open, and he was in the kitchen. It was small compared to other restaurant kitchens, and big chunks of metal lay in pieces on the floor. The noise was deafening now; it had raised to a piercing yelp. He lifted one of the large pieces of metal and almost screamed.

There was a ginger cat, its fur messy and wet, that had managed to squeeze itself into the corner where the steel oven met the wall. The cat looked curiously at Tom, and it made to run away when its instincts took over, and the animal slowly sat back down.

"Hey, buddy..." Tom whispered. He was in awe.

"It's okay," he muttered. "I'm here now."

The cat looked up with big, pleading eyes. Tom slowly extended his hand. His hand met the soft, ruffled fur of the cat's belly, and it purred.

"Guess it's just you and me, huh?" Tom asked.

The cat chirped in response.