"Yes."

He hits it with a lightning bolt and it drops, stunned but not down.

Sir Meowalot was having a nice catnap. What's going on now.

The skull of the bone monster is falling apart in neat eighths.

And the rest of the bones clatter to the ground, recompliant with the laws of physics, and do not get up again.

The bones are still in the middle of the road, mind you, but easy enough to drive around. Unless they want to be a good citizen and clear the way for the next poor soul to pass through, when if ever that will be.

Okay HOW did he DO that. He didn't even make anything or shoot anything!

It is not really obvious. Cam hops out to rake the bones off the road and then hops back in to resume driving.

A three days' desert hike for cats is not all that far a drive, in the end, and at some point they'll find themselves on asphalt and passing by an abandoned gas station, and the lights of the city slowly come in sight. There's another bone shambler they have to take out, and some sort of strange toothy snake-worm that tries to get a drop on them from a broken highway light but which Sir Meowalot points out first, but nothing they can't handle. Cam might be able to spy some moonlit silhouettes darting through the vegetation, but the night is too dark for a good look, and whatever those are keep their distance from the vehicle speeding down the road.

Is the gas station a recognizable brand?

Shell.

Yup he knows what that is. "Where to from here?"

Directions can be had into the city. They highway lights are working once they get on a more major road. Not much traffic, but they do pass one car speeding the other direction. Possibly they will wish to switch to a more conventional model of passenger vehicle before this point.

Soon they pass a graffiti-defaced sign announcing WELCOME TO INDIO CITY, and Solaire is is leaning on Sir Meowalot more for the navigation now. The streets are grimy and strewn with trash, potholes are everywhere and lots of heavily damaged pavement hasn't seen any repair, and in some parts more storefronts look broken into and looted than not, but the evidence of an operational power grid and the occasional open 24-hour store suffices to assure that this is, indeed, civilization, and not the anarchic ruins of the catpocalypse and so forth.

Speaking of the catpocalypse—there are so many stray cats. You can see one lurking around every corner, running along rooftops and fire escapes, skulking in shadows with something suspicious clutched in their jaws... the city also boasts a deeply concerning rat problem, possibly due to the city's New Yorkian forgoance of waste containerization in favor of dumping trash bags right on the sidewalk.

(Though, based on the number of accumulated trash bags in some alleys, collection services may also be, if not suspended, at least unreliable.)

Wow. Cam opts to keep the dune buggy, reloading the zombies would be a pain. He follows directions.

The cats and their mom live on a modest house on a hill. The building looks like it's been expanded by a sloppy contractor since its original construction. The lights are on, and the shadows of restless cats running about can be seen through the curtains.

"I don't know where Dr. Beanies lives," Solaire informs Cam on the approach. "Mom can tell you where to find him."

The door opens as they roll up. A large woman with spindly arms stands in the doorway. Her hair is thin and tangled, her face is gaunt, and her skin is crisscrossed by surgical scars. Two cats scamper past her ankles and immediately start meowing too fast for Cam to catch at Solaire and Sir Meowalot.

Wave wave?

"Hi Mom! Cam got me this and I can speak now!"

"...My goodness." Her voice sounds like gravel. "Hello, Cam. Thank you for seeing Sir Meowalot and Solaire home. You can consider me in your debt. I'm Maggie."

"Hi, Maggie. The cats" mostly Solaire "have been really helpful with figuring out where I am and what's going on. I can make arbitrary material objects, can I get you anything?"

"Arbitrary? We're always low on wet food... I don't suppose it's gauche to say another TV for the attic or a new car? My old girl barely starts anymore."

PETS PLEASE

She scoops up Sir Meowalot and rubs his head.

"Solaire, do you want anything?"

"Churus. Nintendo Switch."

"Well, we came in on this dune buggy and I probably don't need it if you want it but it's a little weird on town streets. Where do you want this stuff?"

"I wouldn't mind having it if you don't need it. Do you want to come in or are you going to be on your way, because it's a bit of a mess in here but if you're coming in anyway I can show you to the storage... or you can just leave it out here in a cardboard box?"

Well, he'd been downgrading the "hoarder" impression because the cats are people and this might be more like an overstretched orphanage than like a crazy cat lady house but it's climbing back up. "How about I look around and see where I can help."

"Alright then." She turns. "Kitties! We've got a visitor! Be good and... Babylon! Stop chewing on that!"

She waves Cam in.

Maggie is absolutely not beating the hoarder allegations. The house is filled to the ceiling in random junk. And cats, don't forget the cats. There must be over a dozen of them in the front room alone, lurking behind vases, peeking out from under couches, one hanging by their tail from the ceiling fan. In her defense, most of the junk is furniture or other functional or decorative objects—clocks, radios, lamps, dressers—and not a million bottle caps and folded plastic bags.

For what it's worth, it's not particularly dirty. Shed fur everywhere, but not more than a couple of days' worth. The couch stains are old and bleached, the carpet is due a cleaning but not to the point of declaring filthy.

One large ratty armchair sits in the middle of the room across a flat screen television. It's cat-free.

Maggie will lead the way up the stairs to a storage closet locked with a heavy padlock and start working it open.