Page 10 of Katya and the Young God

MIRI (11:44 AM): That requires human sacrifice? He says ‘not many’.

Katya places the burner phone next to the counter as she fries herself up a quick egg for breakfast, because now that Feketer is gone, she’s intimately aware that she hasn’t eaten anything since the anemic meal on the plane.

K (11:48 AM): That’s unfortunate.

Sliding her egg onto a paper plate she finds, she takes it and her coffee outside, nudging open the door with her hip.

There, across the sun-filled porch, lays the giant wolf-dog. Just...splayed out, white and gray fur catching the light.

It twists its head back, looking at her with ice blue eyes. It blinks, slowly, as if it’s entirely not impressed by her, but doesn’t move.

“Hello?” Katya says, mostly out of surprise, not like the dog could respond back. “I hope you’re friendly.”

It thumps its tail, once, but doesn’t get up, so she skirts around it and sits on the giant swing chair on the porch, resting her cup of coffee on the small table and opening her laptop.

After clearing her email—all her stuff is due to be delivered the next day, thank whatever god is still out there—she pauses for only a few seconds, before clicking over to a search bar.

Her first Google search is for cave systems in this part of Colorado, of which there are many, and any gear she might be needing. Because beyond the cave climbing equipment they claim to be providing, she’s pretty sure she has no clothing that would even be remotely appropriate for it. Maybe some of her old BDUs, but she tries to not wear those anywhere she might be seen. Too many stares that range from judgmental to admiring, and she’s not sure which one she’s more uncomfortable with.

She takes a sip of her no-longer steaming coffee, pleased to see that Colorado has no shortage of shops where she can get outdoor activity wear. Because her entire wardrobe of suits is quickly going to be out of place out here, she can feel it in her bones. Especially if she’s going into a fucking cave.

She hesitates, her cup halfway back down to the table, at the thought. If the Organization sent her out here, if they expect her to die, to go quietly, there’s...there’s not much stopping her from...just not.

Not going. Disobeying orders. Disappearing out here and never reporting back ever again.

Before her hands start to shake, she delicately sets down the mug, returning her hands to her keyboard, but not seeing any of the Google results.

She could refuse.

She’s always known that’s a choice, ever since she got back from the military, ever since she signed on to this crazy life and crazy job, but to actively contemplate it is...something else. She’s been following orders since she was seventeen and fibbed on her enlistment papers—to think about not following this strikes a chord in her that she doesn’t want struck.

But then again, she actively aided Miri in a massive rebellion just a few weeks ago. And she did so happily, knowing that her friend was doing the right thing, working for the right idea, even if it was inherently disruptive.

And she had shot a fellow officer, and her fingers twitch against the keyboard in remembrance. Even though it was justified. Even though, if she is somehow in the same position in the future, she would absolutely pull the trigger again. Would absolutely see the blood spread in a hideous injury across his shirt again, would absolutely see how his legs crumpled and how he fell against the tile.

With a huff, the dog stands, props two paws on the swing, then heaves itself onto the swing next to her, plopping its head right on her laptop keyboard and startling the heck out of Katya.

When she doesn’t react, it huffs at her again, and she slowly, ever so slowly, lets her hands drop onto its thick fur.

“Oh, hey dog,” she whispers, even though there’s no one who could overhear, no one within screaming distance, no one except her and the birds.

Its fur is soft, with a thick under-layer that she digs her fingers into, and gets rewarded by the dog closing its eyes in contentment. It thumps its tail against the swing, as if this is exactly what it wants at the moment.

Her fingers hit a collar, and she twists it. No address, no phone number, just, in large block letters, “STEPAN” in bright red against a pitch-black strap.

“Okay, Stepan,” she starts, and gets another happy thump of the tail. “You’re a friendly boy, aren’t you.” It huffs at her, but it’s not an inherently upset huff, so she takes it as contentment.

She shifts her laptop so the dog’s head isn’t on the keyboard, then fishes her phone out of her pocket, snapping a selfie with the dog and sending it to Miri and Aimes. Because they would find it amusing if nothing else.

K (10:28 AM): New neighbor.

MIRI (10:29 AM): Is that a wolf or someone’s pet?

K (10:29 AM): It has a collar so I say pet. Climbed right up here with me.

MIRI (10:31 AM): That thing probably weighs more than you.

Katya smiles at the phone, and the dog thumps his tail.

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