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Chapter 5: Massacre

Riverstripe heard the Generals call, "Run, escape! Get out of here!", before the wolves leapt out of the trees. Huge and hairy with eyes full of hate and hunger and bloodlust they lunged forward.
With fire.
Burning branches were clasped in some mouths, swiped back and forth. Riverstripe froze on the spot, watching numbly as a blazing cat ran by, yowling.

"Riverstripe! Help!" She whipped around at her friends voice. Brook was pinned to the ground, a long gash up her side. Rage replaced fear. How dare these intruders threaten the Clans and her friends! She launched herself at the wolf, despite odds, and clamped herself to his head.

Yowling, he backed away and Brook struggled to her paws, and bolted… right into the jaws of a waiting wolf. Riverstripe released her foe as her friends blood sprayed the ground, grief for her companion knocking the wind from her lungs. She stood there, unable to move, watching the cats around her. Slaughter. "Riverstripe! There's nothing you can do! She wouldn't have wanted you to die as well! Run!" She saw Wren racing foward, eyes, despite all that was happening, worried for her. She ran to meet him and the two Elites hurried for an exit.

Thunderfoot leapt off of the rocks, running for all he was worth. Not looking where he was going he tripped over one of the many bodies, stumbled, and fell. Expecting to feel a wolves fangs sink into him at any moment he scrambled to his paws and looked around. His eyes widened. Mace. Mace. Those cursed wolves had killed his best friend. He looked around, no longer afraid. Only hateful. Cats were being brought down everywhere, whether by fire or fang. There was no hope for him to stay and fight. He would only die. What good would he be to anyone then?

For a moment, though, he almost ignored this sensible part of his mind, but he forced himself to move. Without looking down or around he ran straight ahead, toward the eastern exit. And a wolf. He only just managed to gather his wits and leap over its head. Even so, he could feel its breath and hear the click of its teeth as they closed in empty air.

He scrambled up the slope, pebbles falling, and looked back only once, when he had reached the top. Cats were flooding out of the clearing. His eyes scanned the ridge, coming to rest on the strange silver tabby. She was helping an injured black tom, the messenger Wren, he recalled, hobble up the ridge. Their eyes met for a brief moment and Thunderfoot saw his own grief and horror reflected. When Wren stumbled and fell the tabby broke her gaze away and turned toward him. Thunderfoot moved away, racing up the slope and away from the screams of dying cats.

Windheart yowled in fear and pain as one of the huge hairy brutes pinned her to the ground. She saw his fangs coming down for the death bite, felt his warm, rancid breath. Snarling, she would not go down without a fight, she swiped at his muzzle. The wolf snarled and yanked his head away, sporting several deep gashes.

Windheart wiggled out from under him and bolted for one of the many holes in the brush. She scrambled out and away, running for all she was worth toward the southern ridge. Without noticing she was also heading for one of the many small pools. With a splash she fell in. Long fur weighing her down, she was pulled along. Panic bubbled in her chest as she struggled desperately to resurface. It was no use. She was not a swimmer. The gash in her side stung dimly as water filled her lungs and everything went black.

She opened her eyes and felt rain pouring on her back, drenching her fur and sinking down to her skin. She shivered, then jumped with a start as she realized she was the size of a kit. A shadow loomed over her and she looked around to see a small tabby she-cat stumbling along behind her. At her side was the oddly striped silver tabby, as a kit, that she'd seen at the Gathering. The big gray Elite too, and the shadowy black. All were kits. Behind her she felt the wind increase as the she-cat stumbled and fell. About to turn around she felt sudden strong jaws clamp around her neck and gently pick her up. Again, everything went black.

She couldn't breathe. She was traveling through an airless black tunnel and words were echoing all around her. "Cats of the prophecy.." "Screave will never let them live…" "One kit will be taken back to each Clan…" Windheart thought she was going to explode from lack of oxygen. Just as suddenly as she had fallen, air, good life bestowing air, filled her lungs once more. Her eyes snapped open.

Shadowpelt ran forward, Sheba at his side. Pandemonium and chaos reigned. Cats yowled, in fear, pain, grief. A wolf leapt in front of them. Shadowpelt wasn't surprised. "Sheba, run!" he cried. The she-cat shook her head and stood firm. "If we die, we die together." Brave despite her shaking limbs, Shadowpelt thought dryly.

He glared at her. "That is an order Soldier. Leave." Sheba stared at him. She knew he met well, but she obviously didn't want to leave. Only years of following orders moved her paws away. Shadowpelt turned to look at the oncoming wolf and almost lost his face for it, as the beast had approached swiftly. He barely managed to hurl himself it the side. The wolf turned for another charge.

This time Shadowpelt was ready. As the wolf ran at him, he stepped aside again, swiping at the monsters eyes. The animal let out a yelp of pain, then turned around for another charge, good eye gleaming, blind eye dripping blood. Stupid, Shadowpelt thought coolly. This time he slid under the dog, biting at the back of his leg and breaking the tendon. The wolf went down and Shadowpelt bolted for the exit.

He was running for the north cliff, shocked at what he had done, when he heard a splash. Thinking he was being trailed, he chanced a glance over his shoulder and groaned. Some idiot cat had fallen into a pool. He hesitated. He had to protect and help his clan, but if he died for a cat of a different Clan… Shaking his head he hurried forward.

The long fur of the she-cat was weighing her down fast. He glanced around for wolves, then ducked his head into the water. Almost rump deep he barely managed to stay balanced on the edge. His teeth sank into the cats scruff, sure and strong, and pulled her up. Her weight almost pulled him in too, but he managed. At last he dumped her body on the ground and stared.

It was the Clan of the Running Cat female Elite. He had almost died for her? He hesitated. He couldn't just leave her. He sighed as she began to cough up water and her eyes flickered open.

Thunderfoot sprinted down the slope, sides heaving. He had to warn his Clan! Then a terribly familiar smell hit his scent glands and sent him tumbling back. Blood. And wolves. They had already been here.
Of course! he thought angrily. They would attack the camps first. They were easier than the Gathering and it meant less cats would escape!

"Thunderfoot!" The tom turned and saw Mouse scrambling down the ridge. Her eyes were wide with fear and horror. She stopped suddenly. "They've been here already, haven't they?" she whispered. Thunderfoot nodded silently. Mouse's mother had stayed behind.

"Come. There might be some survivors." Mouse didn't seem to believe him, but followed anyway. As they squeezed through the entrance the rancid smell of blood and fear became overwhelming and Thunderfoot had to sit down, close his eyes, and breath for a moment. When he opened them he only wanted to snap them shut and wake up to find this was all a nightmare. A terrible nightmare.

A cry from his side jerked him out of his thoughts. Mouse broke away and ran to a still body. Her mother. Or half of her. Thunderfoot looked away from his weeping apprentice and started around the clearing.

As he moved from mangled body to mangled body he realized nothing could surprise him anymore. Nothing. These brutes had spared no one. Kits and elders, soldiers and queens. None had been left alive.

Thunderfoot pulled his head out of a hole in a wall after inspecting a body. A piece of fur tickled his nose making him sneeze. He blinked. Hard to believe something as simple as sneezing still existed. He looked down. Cat fur. He started away when he realized something. Whipping around he carefully sniffed the fur again. It smelled of no Clan. None. He ran to the body and flipped it over so its neck was showing. Just as he'd thought. The tom, although contorted by a wolf, had been killed by a cats bite. He ran to other bodies. Many had been killed by wolves. Just as many had been killed by cats.

What kind of sick cat would team up with their greatest enemy? Revenge? Suddenly the words from his vision returned. "Screave! He's coming! He says that these are the cats of the prophecy! He wont listen to reason! You have to run!"

Where had that come from? Wait. Screave. Whoever he was. Had he done this? Before he had time to think the bushes rustled as cats entered. He turned. Bristle came limping in, about six cats following. She stared at him with the same haunted look all the cats he had seen so far had. "They're dead," she croaked. "All the Generals are dead. Almost all the cats, too. We have to leave."

Riverstripe and Wren thundered across the marshland. They needed the get back to camp. They both had a nasty idea of what they'd find. Riverstripe couldn't believe this was happening. She wanted to bury her face in her mothers fur and cry like a kit. But she couldn't. She was an Elite and the Clan was her responsibility. The cats hurried in through the tunnel, side by side since it had been widened by wolves. They emerged in the camp, and were not surprised by what they saw.

Blood pooled on the ground, on the walls. It spattered over everything. Fur was stuck to the brambles or drifted around the clearing. Cats mangled and, in some cases, half eaten bodies littered the ground. And the trees. And the walls. Corpses had been tossed everywhere. She looked up into the trees over head and saw bodies dangling from the branches. They had to get out of here.

Shadowpelt groaned as the weak she-cat slowed him down. His camp was close. He would take her there. He had no idea how it would offer any protection, but he was going anyway.

She scrambled along behind him, rising slowly every time she fell. He growled impatiently. At least they were almost there. "What's your name?" the she-cat asked suddenly. Shadowpelt blinked in surprise, then grunted, "Shadowpelt." The tabby nodded. "I'm Windheart."

Windheart struggled behind the black tom. She wished he would talk. All he's said was that they were going to his camp. And his name, when she asked. She felt weak, like a kit, but the gash in her side was deep and she was losing blood every second. Just as she was about to collapse the camp came into view. She recognized it dimly from when she had played messenger.

For the third time in only a few days she crawled through the entrance. As soon as she was free, she collapsed. Relief seeped through her momentarily. Then she saw the camp. A few cats had made it back. They were weeping over the dead, or simply sitting, staring hollow eyed into space. Bodies littered the clearing. Blood drenched the ground and the walls. Torn fur blew around the Base Camp. Windheart shivered. This was worse than murder or slaughter.

It was a massacre.

Shadowpelt stared around at his beloved home. Or what had been his home. He couldn't stay here now. None of them could. Not any cat from any Clan. It was over. They had to leave, find a new place far from here. Leave their old memories behind, the good and the bad. There was no choice.
First of all I know wolves are not evil bloodthirsty brutes. I actually like wolves. I just needed something big, that seemed savage. And I know that this chapter was violent (and short) but it had to be done… Anywho, read and review. PLEASE! It feels like nobody is reading by story… -sniffs- Something will happen in the next chapters…