Que Sarah, Sarah

    She hurried her footsteps down the alley. This was not part of the plan. Something grabbed her foot. A bottle, a branch, or a hand -- either way she found herself flat on the pavement, cheek to the ground, face to foot with a very large, very black, boot.  Dammit!  There was no way her pursuer could have gotten in front of her.  But the big black boot was undeniable evidence to the contrary.
    She raised her head and looked upwards beginning at the top of the boot.  Her eyes followed the jet black leather encased telephone pole to a height of approximately five foot two inches, without reaching the belt line.   Although a small part of her wondered just how much further the leg extended, her attention focused instead on the twelve inch ebony leather buckler that enclosed a small sapling that ended in a hand so large that it could not only palm a basketball, but rather could conceal it in its entirety.   Unfortunately, the hand was not holding a basketball.  The gargantuan hand was busy worrying the filigreed haft of a shiny silver rune inscribed war axe back and forth, trying to work the eighteen inch blade out of its brand new ten inch sheath of brick and mortar.  She was fairly good with numbers.  At five feet eight, it only took her a moment to figure out what would have happened if she had not tripped.
    As she rolled to her left, she caught the briefest glimpse of the screeching black cannonball flying eight feet over her head.  There was a tremendous crash as the big black boot and buckler went hurtling fifty feet backwards punching a gaping hole in the side of a twenty yard steel dumpster.  She scrambled to her feet, took one look at the great silver war axe, and immediately dismissed the idea since she forgot her block-and-tackle at home.  She turned to run back the way she had come, but stopped short.  There were four black boots at the mouth of the alleyway.  She took no solace in the fact that she was right a moment earlier when she thought that her furtive pursuer (or pursuers actually) could not have gotten in front of her.  She did not even bother trying to make a break for the next corner.  Four more boots were already advancing in her direction.
    The black cannonball flew back up out of the dumpster and landed three feet in front of her.  She stared down at biggest, blackest cat that she had ever seen.  It stared back up at her, its long black tail whipping back and forth.
    “Well?  What are you waiting for?”
    She did not think she had hit her head when she fell.  The pain from several cuts and scrapes suggested that she was not dreaming. But she had never before spoken with an exasperated cat.
    “You’re not having a psychotic episode.  I’m a talking cat.  Now you have about thirty seconds, Soldier, to decide whether you want to be all that you can be, or a headless corpse. Twenty-five seconds.”
    “What am I supposed to do?”
    “Get us out of here!”  
    The alley filled with the shriek of rending metal as Boot-and-Buckler ripped apart the solid steel construction as easily as she could tear off a sheet of aluminum foil.  Boot-and-Buckler pulled himself out of the dumpster and stood up, and up.  She noted that he was wearing four feet of sleeveless leather vest that matched his sleek black pants and boots.  A three foot wedge of sheet metal stuck out of his left shoulder.  He reached up, pulled it out and tossed it aside without so much as a grimace.  He took a step in her direction, and picked up two yards on the play.
    “Twenty seconds.  Now would be a good time to act.”
    “I-I don’t know what to do!”
    “I don’t believe this.  I warned them.  Amateurs!  This is why I work alone. Think!”
    Think about what?  Flying?  She had no idea what the cat expected her to do. She was a simple office manager.  Did the cat want her to requisition some copier toner?  She looked up from the cat and found that Boot-and-Buckler had closed to twenty-five feet.
Boot-and-Buckler laughed.
    “Give it up, Cat.  This one isn’t worth the effort.  By the way, you ruined my vest. So if you want to stick around, after I take her head, I think I’ll make a new one out of tanned cat’s hide.”
    The cat hissed, then turned to face Boot-and-Buckler.  The fur on the cat’s back was raised, and its tail was straight and rigid.  Its unusually long sharp claws were fully extended.
    “First of all, they are all worth the effort.  Second, how are you going to find me after I scratch your eyes out?”  The cat looked back over its right shoulder, and hissed, “ten seconds!”
    “What do I do?”
    “Just follow me!”
    The cat turned and leapt to his left, landing six inches from the wall.  The cat lifted its left paw, and quickly scratched three small sigils in the brick.  Then the cat took a step forward, and passed through the wall, leaving only the tip of his tail visible. “Come on!”  The tip of the cat’s tail disappeared into the wall.  Boot-and-Buckler bellowed, “Nooooo!”
    Sarah watched the cat pass through the wall.  If she was crazy or dreaming, then it really did not matter whether she followed the cat or not.  If this was real, then what was the worst that could happen if she followed the cat?  If she brained herself and knocked herself out, then she would not have watch when Boot-and-Buckler pulled his axe out of the wall to take her head.  Whatever will be, will be.  She took three quick steps, then dove head first after the cat.  The soles of her feet disappeared just as Boot-and-Buckler’s fist smashed a four foot hole in the wall.
    Que Sarah, Sarah.

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