The Hipster Who Leapt Through Time (The Hipster Trilogy Book 2) by Luke Kondor Page A

beneath and the hallway filled with light with a click . No demons. Phew.
    She found the stairs and the wooden handrail leading upwards. She pulled herself up, still trying to be as quiet as she could be. Each step more difficult than the last. Her legs ached like it was the very end of the marathon. The finish line just ahead.
    When she reached the top of the stairs she didn’t scream. She made no noise whatsoever. Even her coat was silenced. Fear ran down her neck, her spine and her feet, and back up again. She tried to breath, in through the nose, out through the mouth, but couldn’t find the energy.
    She’d never seen anything like it. The blond-haired child, maybe ten years old. His face as smooth as she imagined the small of his back would be. This little kid wearing Spider-Man pyjamas. Asleep on the stair landing. Asleep for good. She didn’t know if she could do this. His eyes had sealed shut and his nostrils and mouth — the lips had gone, the eyebrows disappeared. The only imperfection was the ridge where the bone of the nose stuck out.
    She fell to her knee and ran her hand across his face. It was cold. If he had breath and a mouth to breathe from, she imagined it would be a wisp of condensation as his warm child’s breath touched the cold air, but there was nothing. He was gone. She wiped the tear from her eye and turned to look over her shoulder.  
    A bedroom door was open. It was the master bedroom. She could see Gary standing on the bed of white linen and what looked like the mother’s body, and down on the floor the feet of the father. Still. Motionless.
    Luna thought about what she was seeing. She felt numb. She remained motionless on the floor next to the child.
    Gary began to inspect the bodies, sniffing at their faces. He told her he’d never seen anything like it. He threw out some potentials. Some alien names. Species. Assassins. Parasites. Abductors. Greys. All things that Luna didn’t even want to think about. No, Luna didn’t want to think about this anymore. She was done with all this now. She was done.

Moomamu The Thinker

    “These are the Scrapping Grounds,” shouted one of the cats from high above.  
    Moomamu was standing, with the other prisoners, on a giant square of dirt and sand. All around them were rows layered upwards and outwards. Sitting places, occupied by the hissing and meowing cats. Some of them screaming vulgarities in human English and others spitting in languages Moomamu had never heard before.
    “You worthless runts have been bestowed a great honour, to fight, scrap, bite, claw and bleed for your royalty.” The shouting big fluffy thing had an unreasonably loud voice. It echoed throughout the Scrapping Grounds, dwarfing the din of the crowd. He’d been introduced as Payton — the Prince’s Voice.
    Moomamu looked around himself. He was surrounded by his fellow prisoners from the night before. His sleeping buddies — terrible snorers most of them. And a few of the guards too. Keeping everyone in line with their thump-sticks. The other human stood tall. No sign of fear on him. From the weaponry below he’d picked a curved blade. Now in the daylight, Moomamu got a better look at him. Golden brown skin. The hair tumbling out from his head-scarf was just as deep and dark as his eyes — which were far too wide for a normal human. It looked like he’d painted out the sides of his eyes to extend them, to make them appear longer. He was a strange human indeed.
    And the others, a sorry bunch of street cats, moggies, strays. Matted fur caked in dirt and piss. They maybe had enough clean fur between them to sew a scarf, some socks, and one of those things that Carol put on her teapot.
    Anyway.
    These strays that were around him were talking to each other. They were making plans. Moomamu heard the odd word about teaming up and killing the humans off first. They had claws and teeth and had been armed further with weaponry, and there was one … one of the strays with three