Driftingmoon felt his lungs burn as he raced through the flaming underbrush. Just mere moments before, the world had been peaceful, and he had been hunting a large pheasant. But then, an explosion had rocked the ground, and sulfur filled the once-blue sky. For a moment, the horrible memory of the Shaking filled Driftingmoon’s mind, and he felt dread fill his body. However, there was no time to relive those dark days – burning chunks of rock had burst from the volcano’s core and were now raining down on the island, lighting the plants ablaze and filling the air with smoke.
In the prairie, a fire wasn’t so unusual. Driftingmoon was adept at skirting through the blaze, aiming for the reddish, cooler flames and doing his best to leap and twist around the worst of it. However, just as he crested a hill and spotted the safe haven of the river, he heard the shrieks and cries of cats in pain. Panting and shaking, Driftingmoon cursed his heart. He didn’t hesitate to turn around and plunge back into the fire.
“Come toward my voice!” Driftingmoon shouted into the dark clouds of smoke. “The river is this way!”
Heart pounding in his chest, Driftingmoon desperately searched the smoke to find the sources of the cries while calling to them. Before long, the flash of cat eyes appeared, and one, two, three, six, then seven total cats appeared. Driftingmoon lifted his tail, letting the tufts along the odd split in it wave. “Follow me!”
The group moved on in a panicked silence, following Driftingmoon as he weaved through the fire, trying to find the safest path. Soon, they returned to the hill above the river. To Driftingmoon’s horror, however, the peaceful water had been replaced by flowing volcanic lava. They grouped together near the bank, away from the raging flames but far enough from the blistering lava.
“What do we do now?” One of the cats demanded. The she-cat limped over, her face half-burned away from the flames. “The river…”
“We’ll have to keep moving,” another cat said gently. He nodded once at Driftingmoon before flicking his tail to gather the cats around him. “We need to make it to the ocean. We’ll be safe there.”
“Wouldn’t the mountains be safer?” A burly tom with bleeding gashes in his side demanded.
“Fires are more dangerous in the mountains,” Driftingmoon spoke up. “It’ll trap you.”
The cats muttered among themselves before the cat who suggested going to the ocean spoke again. “My name is Hornet. This is a dangerous situation, but you can trust me. We’ll have to work together.”
Driftingmoon glanced around at the group of seven cats. Most were severely burned or otherwise injured. Hornet had burnt ears and paws, and only one cat aside from Driftingmoon seemed mostly unscathed.
“My name is Blitz,” the uninjured tom prompted, then glanced around. The others introduced themselves as Fern, Hopper, Kestrel, Tree, and Patches. They all turned to Driftingmoon expectantly.
“… Moon,” Driftingmoon murmured quietly. He knew Clan cats weren’t well-liked by rogues.
“Let’s get going,” Hornet said, nodding at the lava. It was slowly gurgling and tearing at the bank, getting closer to the cats’ paws. “We should follow the… where the river was until we can no longer. Then we’ll have to brave the fires.”
The youngest of them all, Patches, said quietly, “I was with my mom… can’t we wait for her?” Driftingmoon’s heart twisted at the young she-cat’s quivering voice. If she were in a Clan, she would’ve still been in the nursery. It was unlikely that her mother made it.
The other cats glanced around awkwardly before Kestrel, the she-cat with the burned face, replied, “I’m sure she’ll be making her way to the beach to find you. We should go meet her there.”
Patches nodded mutely, and Tree, the burly tom, came over to pick the young cat up. The group moved in somber silence, watching the periodically approaching lava. Driftingmoon fell in step with Blitz near the middle of the group, watching as the three-legged cat Hopper struggled. It was a miracle that he made it out of the fire, and Driftingmoon wanted to make sure he made it.
As the day turned to night, the cats were forced to stop due to exhaustion. The fires still blazed to the right, and the ever-flowing lava was getting closer. Driftingmoon could barely keep his eyes open, but he still poked his nose into whatever tunnels he could find along the riverbank. All were abandoned, but he did find the burnt corpse of a hawk. It’ll have to do, he thought as he returned to the group.
Hornet had better hunting luck and returned with a few charred fish that had futilely swam to the river’s edge to try and escape the lava. It was barely enough for the group, so Driftingmoon set his burnt hawk next to Tree and curled up, miserably watching the lava flow. He wondered about the rest of his Clan. Did they all escape the flames? Had the lava reached them?
Would Driftingmoon return home just to find their camp tunnels filled with lava? A tomb for his beloved Clanmates? Shuddering at the thought, Driftingmoon closed his eyes and forced himself to sleep.
The fires had died down by the time Driftingmoon awoke. The other cats were chattering happily about it, saying it would be easier to make it to the beach now. Patches was excitedly telling Tree about her mother and how they would have to live at the beach for a while, and the grizzled old tom was carefully grooming the kit.
Driftingmoon noticed Hornet watching the still-smoldering ashes with concern and approached, asking, “… what’s wrong?”
“I think the volcano is going to explode again,” Hornet said quietly, glancing at the towering center of the island.
Driftingmoon’s heart stopped for a second. “L:ike… aftershocks?”
“Exactly so.” Hornet hesitated and met Driftingmoon’s gaze. He knew instantly that the old tom was thinking of the Shaking, too. How much did he lose to have such a look in his eyes? They shared a moment of agonizing pain before Hopper shrieked.
Driftingmoon’s head snapped around and saw the tom was hunched over Kestrel. The heavily-burned she-cat wasn’t moving, and her eyes were glazed over. Even with just a look, Driftingmoon knew she was dead.
“Her wounds were too much,” Blitz said quietly, pressed against Hopper’s side. Fern put her nose on the dead she-cat’s forehead and whispered funeral rites as the other cats watched in silence.
“… we should bury her,” Blitz said. Hornet tried to object, but Blitz shook his head. “There are so many cats lost to the fire already. We should at least lay her body to rest.”
Driftingmoon nodded and glanced at Hornet, who sighed in defeat. “Very well. But we should… hurry.”
Patches was peppering Tree with questions as Driftingmoon, Fern, and Blitz dug a shallow grave for Kestrel. The old tom answered the best he could, and Driftingmoon could hear the way his voice cracked as he explained that Kestrel wouldn’t be continuing their journey.
Paws aching, Driftingmoon stepped back from the grave and noted the location. He promised to return with flowers when he could, then joined Hornet at the edges of the newly-created ashland. They stared across the burnt prairie, smoke still obscuring the air, for a long while before the group started moving.
The first problem the cats encountered was the live coals still hidden among the ash. Patches stepped on one and screamed as her delicate kit paws were immediately scorched. Tree immediately hoisted the kit onto his back, and Fern moved forward, sniffing out the still-burning coals so they could avoid them. Their speed was agonizingly slow, but Driftingmoon knew it was necessary.