The cradles were empty now, however--except for something that looked like one that had crashed down and was lying on its sides, the big tubes ripped away, and the ground scorched around it. And as he looked, the distant form of the rat appeared from below it and leaped upwards through a door there. King edged toward it, following the trail that led there, uncertain. It looked dead, but the other that had roared away on its lightning and thunder had also seemed dead. Then lightning and thunder boomed behind him, and he forced himself to a faster trot. The hulk seemed harmless. There were none of the chemical smells now, and the fumes of the ancient blast that had fizzled were gone. He moved gingerly toward the door, his nose twitching at the odors that came from it, just as the rat appeared. It saw him and squeaked sharply, dashing back inside. King abandoned his caution. With a low growl, he leaped through the doorway above the ground. The edge of the metal tore at him, thin projections sticking out where it had been crudely hacked away. He snapped at it, then turned to find the rat. There was enough light inside to see dimly. The rat had retreated into a narrow pipe that ran back. King tried to poke his nose into it, then fished with his paw. The rat drew back and snapped at him. Its teeth missed, but it was enough to teach him caution. He drew back, crunching across a litter of dried papers, foil and junk he could not recognize. A thicker bundle twisted under his feet, and the thick, heavy smell of meat--red meat, not the weak flesh of fish--filled his nostrils. Without thinking, he snapped down. The stuff was dry and hard, disappointing at first. But as he chewed, over the salt and the odd flavorings, the almost forgotten flavor came through, sending saliva dripping from his mouth. From the odors here, he knew the rat had been eating it before he came, but it didn’t matter. He finished the package, spitting out the wax, metal, paper and plastics that surrounded it as best he could. Then his nose led him along the trail of the rat’s gnawing, back to the few tons of concentrate that were left. There was no smell to guide him from the outside of the packages, but he had learned to find food where it could be discovered. He tore into a package, gasping as a thick, fruity stuff seared at his tongue. He tried again, further away. It was food, this time. He ripped away the covering first, and settled down with the brick between his paws, working on it until it was gone. Outside, the rain had increased to a torrent. He studied the rat and the view outside, and finally curled up against the door, blocking the rat’s egress. Some rain came through, making a small puddle on the floor and wetting his coat, but he disregarded it at first, until the thirst began to grow in him. He lapped at the puddle, finding some relief.