Something Fire-Like
"I look ... awkward," said Field. "Black looks ... "
" ... sleek."
" ... morbid."
She, standing behind him, replied, "Well, isn't that the point?" She blinked.
He nodded uncertainly. It was.
The dreams Field had been having ... they'd contained one recurring element. One constant theme: the venom. The venom from the tropical spiders being raised beneath the town. In the mouse's nightmare, the venom was used to control the citizens ... but in this new dream: a new revelation.
Use the venom on the trolleys. Oh, use the venom on the trolleys. Not that incapacitating the trolleys would END the conspiracy, but ... the trolleys, the shock troops ... their removal would be a portent. It would be the first domino.
The trolleys needed to be refueled once a day ... normally during daylight. When they slept. Before they slept. They would get their fuel. At the bus depot behind the high school, near the ramp that went ... underground. Went below.
If one could acquire spider venom ... if one could acquire venom and contaminate the fuel supply, all of the trolleys would ingest the poison. And perhaps their mechanical immune systems wouldn't be sufficient to fight it. Perhaps their systems would fuse. Perhaps.
The whole scheme had come to him (the mouse) in a dream.
And he'd spilled it to Adelaide, who had listened (quietly), had nodded, and had paced, and the look on her face ... indicated (before she even spoke) that she wanted to do this. That she felt they had to do this. She, unlike the mouse, never second-guessed herself.
"So, what?" the mouse had whispered, in the light of the kitchen. Leaning against the sink ... feeling thirsty. Wanting some water. Some ice water. "So, what ... you think it was a premonition? You think ... "
"I think it's a great idea," the bat had replied. Letting out a breath. "In theory. In practice?" And she had trailed. Her voice was so gentle. The mouse swore he would swoon ... if her voice ever received musical accompaniment.
Now, they were in front of the bathroom mirror. Now, they had both brushed their teeth. And were both wearing black.
"Where'd you get these clothes ... ?"
"I have lots of clothes ... "
"Yeah, but attire that's all-black?" The mouse turned around. He was wearing a short-sleeve, button-up shirt. All black. Was wearing jeans. Black.
"I don't have the gloves, though. I think that might be a problem." She, herself, wore an elegant black dress. With straps. She was standing behind him ... and she put her paws on his shoulders. Her pink-furred arms ... and wings ... bare and exposed. The dress covering the rest of her. And she enveloped him in an unannounced hug (the best kind).
"You think so?" The mouse was worried. All nerves.
"Well, they wear gloves, right?" she asked, biting her lip. Breathing in. Out. Referring to the venom dealers. The black market buyers. The ones who visited the town and requested "an audience" with Jay T. Science. Field and Adelaide were going to boldly masquerade as an out-of-town couple. In search of poison. Or something. They hadn't entirely worked out their story. They would make it up as they went. It was the only thing for it.
"Yeah ... " The mouse's voice was soft. Wispy. Almost effeminate. And he turned around, shaking his head. "I look bad in black."
"Bad ... good bad or ... "
"Bad-bad," he said, whiskers twitching. Tail doing jerky little movements.
"Don't know," was her response. Head tilting. Squinting at him. And then smiling. Her eyes shining. It was sometime after 9 AM, and they'd already had breakfast: Grape-Nuts and scrambled eggs. And some orange juice.
"Don't know?"
"You look ... bold in black. Like you're trying to make a statement."
"I don't want to make a statement," insisted Field. There was nothing humble about making statements. The best statements were made unintentionally. Through action. Now show. There was a pause. And, "They're gonna find my car outside of town, and ... you know, tow it. Or destroy it."
"Don't worry about it."
"I'm skipping work today," he said. Breathing. He was going to skip work to go on this mission. To infiltrate the Sheridan Conspiracy. To help bring it down. To rid the town ... of the iron paw of the guard trolleys (or iron fender; whichever fit). "Young Mr. Grace is gonna fire me ... "
"Don't worry about that, either." She caressed his arms.
"I'm not supposed to worry?" He met her eyes. Sighing. Soothed, but ... the anxiety was so fierce. He should me medicated. But he hadn't felt ... it to be right. So, he'd used his faith ... as medicine. And her. She was his medicine. She was so patient ...
"No," was her calm reply. How could she be that calm? That certain? How could she be so elegant? Radiate such grace? Why was there a smile ... melting on her face?
The mouse opened his muzzle to protest ... to counter this, but ... shut it. And just nodded quietly. Knowing she was right.
"Anyway, I don't think Grace Brothers is the right place," she said, "to exercise your ... " She toyed with his short, honey-tan fur. "Your revolutionary," she whispered, "mind."
He blushed. When he blushed, his ears filled with blood, and they got pinker.
She smiled at this. When it came to Field ... she often smiled.
"Anyway, we'll ... we should get going, I think." She let go of him (not wanting to; and knowing he didn't want her to, either). But ...
"Doesn't he have class?" Field asked, of Jay T.
"He spends half his classes ... in the connecting room, anyway." The connecting room was the "closet" between the chemistry and biology rooms. Where Jay T kept his "soda drinks," and where one of the five spiral stairways could be found. Five stairways. All going down. Found in five different spots in the school. And all of them led to the underground caverns. All of them led ... below.
It was where no one could go.
Without an invite. Without being tight ... with the high-ups in the conspiracy.
"What if he remembers us?" Field asked. For they had both gone to school here. In Sheridan town. Had both taken Jay T's classes. "How are we gonna get away with this?"
"Field ... " She sighed ... backed him to the sink. Leaning against him. "This was your idea. This was your dream."
"My dream. Your idea."
"Our idea," she corrected. "We're in this together. I know you're scared, but ... you've been through worse. Alright? There are scarier things in life than Jay T ... and scarier things than spiders."
The mouse said nothing to this.
"Besides, when was the last time Jay T remembered ANYTHING, much less ... students he hasn't seen in four years? Hmm?"
The mouse nodded quietly. "Probably ... "
"Field ... " She met his eyes.
He met hers.
"I know you have some ... anxiety issues, but ... you need to act the part. Don't wilt ... when we're confronted, okay? We're gonna have to stroll into that school and do what we need to do. And I don't know what it'll involve. It might get messy, but ... " She trailed.
The mouse leaned forward. And kissed her cheek. Blushing, pulling back, and looking at himself in the mirror. Again. He looked unnatural in black. But, then, he was going to role-play as an unnatural fur. And this was an unnatural situation.
Nothing about the Sheridan Conspiracy was natural.
The mouse sighed, leaving the bathroom, and she padded after him. Both of them in their bare foot-paws. The mouse's ears swiveling at the noisy calls ... of the house sparrows on the gutters outside. The only birds around, seemingly. What with the snow-specked ground. And the cool-grey sky. February was where memories came to die.
January was too close to the year before it. February, though ... was far enough away, that the things that you wished to drive away ... would go.
And when March came, and the warmer winds ...
The mouse closed his eyes. And could almost smell the spring. Daffodils and things. And, opening his eyes, he saw her watching him.
"You look fine," she repeated slowly. "You just gotta carry yourself with more confidence. Just ... " She took a step toward him and smoothed his shirt. It was wrinkled. But she didn't have an iron. "Just relax."
"I'm a mouse," he whispered. "I don't know ... that it's in my capacity."
"I believe far more is in your capacity ... than you're willing to admit. Or that you even know. But ... " She put her nose to his shoulder. Closing her eyes.
"But what?"
"I don't know," she whispered coyly, taking a step back. Taking a deep breath. "I hope gloves aren't ... needed. I mean, I ... I don't have black gloves. I don't fancy buying any."
"There's nowhere in town to buy them."
"True."
A pause.
"Feel like a snail," she said, "in a shell. Sometimes."
He looked to her.
"We're in this little house, and ... it's like a shell. We leave it, and we're vulnerable to the world. We stay, and ... we're safe, but ... we're deprived."
"It's why we need a place in the country. Our own ... country home," the mouse said, trailing. "When this is over ... when the summer comes, we'll have a summer of solitude. And I'll teach you what the sound of the blue-lark is. And ... the world will dazzle in its growth. Life at fruition. And ... " He lost his train of thought. Adding, before going quiet again, "I've been waiting so long ... " His voice nearly caught.
"For what?" she whispered. Voice so brittle ... as liable to break.
"For ... " He took a shaky breath. Wanted to cry. He cleared his throat and nuzzled his nose to hers. Not finishing his words.
She nuzzled back, and smiled at him. Sweetly. And squeezed his paw.
He blushed and looked to her wings. She could fly with those things. Actually fly. But ... he'd never seen her do it. Flying, for bats, was very private. It was between them and God, and ... she told him that maybe (one day) she would fly for him. And he could see. But not yet. Anyway, their lives were too dangerous ... to risk drawing any undue attention. A bat in the air, a flying bat ... was a dead bat. Would be spotted by predators. Would be spied on by the guard trolleys.
He eyed her. His mate. Seven months ... together. A lifetime to the mouse (who had a perfect memory; who remembered every little thing; all the times and places, the joys and disgraces). And yet there was so much more to know. Where they would go ...
Their lives were as restless as a Canadian noon. They had so much to do, and much more ... to feel.
Their future, in all regards, was tied to the outcome of the Sheridan Conspiracy. They lived in its shadow. As did every fur in this town. Everyone around. It was why the mouse felt such a wistfulness. It was why ... he felt, sometimes, he was being held back. Because neither of them was truly free. They were in the shadow of Sheridan.
They had to wriggle free.
They had to go on ... a liberation spree. To end this.
Today, they would start.
Driven by the heart ... they would go into Sheridan High. Masquerading as "buyers" ... approach Jay T, acquire (though they had no money, had no leverage) ... no, steal. They would have to steal the venom.
Steal it.
And this was what ... scared the mouse the most. He knew the venom must be heavily guarded. He knew the wrath of Jay T. Of the trolleys. He knew the risks.
They would steal the venom, and ... retreat. Come back here, to Adelaide's house. And then go from there.
Obviously, once they had the venom in their paws ... they would need to think of a way to reach the trolleys' fuel supply.
But one step at a time.
One terror at a time.
The mouse and bat finished readying themselves, and they walked out the door. Into the crisp half-light of the mid-winter morn. Praying this didn't go wrong.
Their foot-paws padded on the tiles of the hallway. Sea-green tiles.
As they walked. As they went. The mouse's tail trailing behind them ... buoyant in the air. Like a live wire. Snaking everywhere. The mouse looking more equipped to be leaning against a golden fence in some field somewhere. In this school, in academic confines, he looked trapped. Out of place. But far smarter than any initial estimate could measure.
Both of them dressed in black. Both of them wearing a blank demeanor. Both of them buried in a fever. Perhaps they were mad for doing this. Perhaps they should try and run ... try and flee.
The intercom. It was playing music.
The mouse noticed. His ears swivelled to the words, to the tunes ... brainwashing. This was brainwashing music, and it was playing throughout the school.
"We got married in a fever, hotter than a pepper sprout ... "
"There's no one in these halls," Adelaide observed.
"We've been talkin' 'bout Sheridan ... ever since the fire went out."
"I know."
"Sheridan. Better mess around. We're going to Sheridan. Look out Sheridan town."
"Are you hearing these words?" Adelaide tilted her head. "They sound ... it sounds almost ... rebellious." She listened as they walked. As they rounded a corner. "Makes no sense ...
"Come on down to Sheridan. Come on and wreck your hell. Play your paw you big talkin' fur ... make a big fool of yourself. And Sheridan ... see if I care. We're goin' to Sheridan. Go on, comb your fur ... "
"Does anything about this place make any sense?" Field responded. In whisper. At a whisper. Looking past her ... and down the long hallway. This wasn't how he remembered it. Not exactly. "There used to be four hallways, right? I mean, the building's the same from the outside, right?"
"I think so ... " She was walking a slight step ahead of him. And she stopped in front of the library. Looked inside, through the big windows. No one. Not a single fur. Not a single soul. There was no one there. "Where are the students? Why are they playing music on the intercom?"
"Maybe it's lunch-time ... I mean ... maybe ... "
"It's too early for lunch. It's way too early," whispered Adelaide, craning her neck, looking around. Firing off little echo-bursts (which made not a sound). Which bounced back to her ears. High-pitched chitters. She was like sonar. Like radar. She would have fair warning if anything (or anyone) came for them.
The song on the intercom changed. To another song. New lyrics. New music. But still of the country variety.
"Traded my last favor for a map to Sheridan ... all these ghosts and angels, friends and strangers ... ask me where I've been ... "
Field's ears swivelled. His nose and whiskers twitched.
"The engine seemed to tremble as I drove through this great town ... and I found the house where we used to live. When I tried my key, I don't know what I thought I'd find ... "
"These songs all ... romanticize Sheridan," Adelaide whispered. "I just ... they seem so benign, but ... " She trailed, starting to walk beyond the library windows. Field still looking inside. As if afraid they would get picked off by a sniper. By the librarian. By Spitznagle. Spitznagle ... the librarian.
Once, during homecoming, she had unexpectedly run onto the football field ... intercepted a pass by the opposing team. Had run it back eighty-eight yards for the touchdown. The announcer screaming, "And there goes Spitznagle! Up the middle ... Spitznagle!" She'd been doused with cider afterwards. Launched a legend (and several failed attempts to take over the town).
They were in the west wing of the building. The school had four wings. This was the west. And they were nearing the mid-section. Nearing Jay T's room. And it was Adelaide who went to the door. Field holding back. In silence. In doubt. In fear ... wanting to pull her near, take her away from here. But how could the mouse protect when he was the one that needed protecting?
And these haunted halls seemed to whisper poetry to the back of the mind. Things liks ...
Oh, mouse, oh mouse ... blow hard, and let the water burn! Just like you, I've been around too long ... the town and its dismal history ... owes you reparations. It's understood.
In Sheridan, tension was a career. Was a song. Was a series of passing notes.
The bat knocked on the wooden door. The wooden, hollow door. And the echo reverberated down the hall. This place was so quiet and empty. Like a tomb. Or so the mouse imagined. He sidled up behind his mate.
And the door opened. Revealing the mad genius. The (conceivable) head of the Sheridan Conspiracy. The interim leader, perhaps? Or scheming to be as much?
"Que? Que?"
Adelaide, unfazed by the teacher's feeble use of Spanish, replied (cooly), "We wish to make a deal."
Jay T blinked. Jay T ... tilted his head and squinted one eye. Jay T was a tiger. A rather worn tiger, but ... looks were deceiving. His whiskers were gray and sagging. His fur had lost its luster. And his eyes were of that crazed variety.
"Are you looking for business?" Adelaide continued, crossing her arms (and, therefore, her wings).
The tiger teacher squinted. Giving Adelaide a look-over.
Field tensed. Almost disturbed.
Adelaide raised a brow, asking Jay T, "I am not here to offer services. I am here to attain them. Are you looking for business? Because I wish to make a deal."
Jay T grimaced at her words. And then ... chuckled. And waved a paw. "Come on in ... "
Field's whole body was screaming, "no, no, no" ... his prey instinct, his anxiety ... it was telling him to scurry. To burrow. Don't trust him. Don't do this. And ... and he wondered ... could Jay T smell his fear? Tigers, felines, predators ... they could smell emotion. They could sense things. What if he knew? What if he figured them out? Adelaide was a bat. She, often, was beyond reading (if she so chose to be), but the mouse was more vulnerable to being figured out. Or, at least, he felt as much. His anxiety told him so.
Adelaide followed the teacher into the chemistry room. And Field followed Adelaide, and the door shut behind them. On its own. As if it were equipped with hidden sensors. The mouse almost jumped. Almost squeaked. But black market buyers didn't scare easily. He couldn't show his emotion. He had to bury it ... not easy for him to do. For he'd found ... buried things only took root. Or chewed their way to the surface. Or ...
" ... soda? Soda?"
"No. I don't ingest caffeine," Adelaide said crisply, speaking like an ice queen. Sensing that ... Jay T was intrigued by the ice queen type.
"You?" Jay T asked of Field.
"No ... no," he said, almost adding "thank you," but ... again, he was portraying a black market buyer. Black market buyers didn't say thank you. And they never said you're welcome.
Jay T went behind his desk. Sat. Squinted. Purred. "What do you want?" he asked. "More to the point: what have you heard?"
Field froze. Whiskers twitching ... fearing they'd been figured out.
"We've heard," Adelaide said, not missing a beat (oh, but she was good at this), "of your prowess. Of your meteoric rise to the fore. This town, without you? It would be so much worse ... than before. We've heard of your genius. We've heard," she said, lowering her voice to a whisper, slinking forward to the front of his desk (knowing he liked to take a good look at the femmes). "We've heard of your spiders. We'd like to ... acquire their venom."
"Who says," Jay T said, swallowing, staring at the bat's ... well, at the bat. "Who says I have venom?"
"Everyone knows it. Your venom is the best around. No ones beats Jay T's venom."
He chuckled. That was true. And he shrugged. And nodded. "So, what if I do have venom? Why do you want it? What are you willing to pay?"
"We come from Sheridan, Colorado. The furs there ... are inciting rebellion. They are becoming unruly," Adelaide said, still using no tone in her voice. "We need to quell them. Using the Sheridan Network, we found your profile, and we were granted leave by our 'Board'," she said, "to come here. To get the necessary amount of vials. To return with them. And to use the poison as we see fit."
The tiger squinted his eyes. Breathing.
Field fidgeted.
"And what's with him?" Jay T asked, nodding at the mouse. "What's his deal?"
"He's my partner."
"Partner?"
"He's accompanying me for this mission."
"Why didn't you come alone?"
"Now, Jay T ... would a femme fur travel alone ... to another Sheridan town? I'm smarter than to take that risk. After all, we live in volatile times." She leaned over his desk. Showing a bit ... and he took the bait. "What we're trying to do for the world. What we're trying to do ... they'll try and stop us. One of the first rules you learn on your way to the top," she said, leaning back, standing up straight, absently smoothing the silky fabric of her black dress, "is that you never," she said, looking Jay T right in the eyes. "Never travel alone."
The tiger swallowed. "That has a truth to it."
"Indeed."
"Does he talk?" the tiger asked, squinting at Field. Again. Nose flaring.
Field tensed. Instincts telling him to run, and knowing the tiger's instincts ... were urging him to attack. To kill. To toy. And the mouse was certain that, were Adelaide not in the room, the teacher would claw him. Would hurt him. Would drag him underground and lock him away with the others. Predators resented prey in such a way.
Cats hated mice.
And Field didn't want to say he hated anyone or anything. Hate was such a strong word. But ... his animosity toward Jay T (and the other furs lurking in this building) was so great ... it almost made him ill. It made him so upset.
"He talks," Adelaide responded, "when I tell him to."
Jay T laughed aloud at this. Clearly amused. "Ah ... so, he's ... okay." A chuckle. "Mm ... you must be a very powerful fur," he said, "to hold him on such a leash."
"He knows his place," said Adelaide, simply.
It was hard for Field to hear them talk. It was hard for him to hear the coolness in his mate's voice. Knowing that she was acting, but ... the way she acted, and the way she was conversing with Jay T. Both of them acting like the mouse was some kind of slave. Some kind of toy. Some kind of object to ...
"So, again, my fair bat ... what is your name?"
"Aria," lied Adelaide.
"Aria ... I've never heard of you."
"As I said, I'm from Sheridan, Colorado."
"Bats are rare, though," he pointed out. "Even in Colorado."
"Have you been to Colorado?"
"No."
"Then who are you to say?"
"I am a teacher ... I am a collector of knowledge. I know things," he said, trailing.
Perhaps he was figuring it out. Perhaps he was remembering their faces from school. When they had sat in his classes (sitting, but not paying attention, doodling, drawing ... clawing to get out). Perhaps he would insist on going to his computer and using the Sheridan Network to run background checks on the both of them. To validate their stories. Perhaps.
But he didn't. Instead, said, "How many vials? And with what payment?"
"How many vials will be sufficient to affect a population?"
"Like ... how?"
"Via water supply."
The tiger considered. "Ten. I mean, this venom ... it's POTENT stuff. Don't mess with it. I normally sell it by the drop. Use eye-droppers ... to measure it out."
Adelaide nodded.
"And payment?"
"We have information," she said, keeping her voice low. Conspiratorial. "Information on Super C. As well as information on a rebellion forming within this very town."
"Information?" Eyes went to a squint.
"You wish to run this town, no?"
"I already run it."
"Do you?" Adelaide pressed.
"Yes."
"That's not what I hear."
Jay T leaned forward. "What have you ... heard?"
"I've heard that General Sheridan is soon set to wake from stasis."
Jay T said nothing to this ... it had been a rumor Adelaide had heard, and she'd hoped that, by mentioning it as a lying truth, she could wager its validity ... and his quiet reaction gave her scores of information. It was true, then. The General was near to being released from his freeze. But why? Why now? By whom? When?
Questions upon questions. Upon ...
"I've heard," Adelaide continued, messing with his mind (and having certain telepathic abilities, it wasn't hard for her to do), "that the other teachers are gorging themselves on clout. They're coming after you. In the interim, the citizens of this town are launching a secretive strike ... you'll be taken down by both sides. And Sheridan, Indiana, will descend into chaos. It'll become the weak link in the Sheridan Conspiracy, and I believe you know General Sheridan's mantra: the weak will perish." Adelaide paused to let that sink in. "If Sheridan, Indiana, becomes unstable, and if it threatens the integrity of the other Sheridan towns ... if it becomes a threat in our quest for takeover ... then the other Sheridan towns will come here. And eliminate it."
"What are you saying?" Jay T demanded.
"I'm saying ... it is in your best interests," Adelaide whispered, "to give us the venom we need. In return, we'll give you the information you need. It's a two-way transaction. And we each get something that ensures our survival."
Jay T squinted. "Where," he asked, "is this information?"
"On a disk." Adelaide pulled out a floppy disc. Which was, in actuality, blank, but ... the plan was ... they were hoping, anyway ... that Jay T wouldn't check the disc until they had left the school's grounds. Faded away into the residential parts of town. "I will give you the disc once I have the venom."
There was a pause. And Jay T ... agreed.
And rose, paused, glared at Field.
The mouse panicked inside.
And Jay T, growling, turned for the connector room. The closet. And said, "Follow me."
They did so.
Into the connector room.
Where the tiger knelt down ... pressed a paw-pad to a tile on the floor. Which glowed and ... slid aside. Seemingly into another tile. Revealing a black space. With a lever. And Jay T pulled the lever. A beeping started. And he stood and backed a few steps away ... as the floor shivered. And a door opened in the floor.
Door in the floor.
A stairwell going down.
And Jay T took it, and ... Adelaide, after exchanging a look with Field, followed Jay T. And Field, finally, followed her.
The three of them going down the winding, swirling stairs, the steps made of metal. The rungs made of metal. Making a ping-ping-ping sound with each step down. And, under here, under the school, it was cavern-like. Caves. Rocky ways.
And torches were on the wall. Burning with a never-ending fuel source. Creating heat and warmth.
At the bottom of the stairs, Jay T took a right, and they followed him. The ground was dusty. Rocky.
Field stuck close behind Adelaide. Feeling the urge to clutch to her fur. Instead, he held his own tail. Ropy, silky tail. Held it ... and stayed at the rear of this. Radiating a fear of this. And he was SURE that Jay T knew it. And hoped the tiger wrote it off to simple "prey incompetence" ...
They reached another door. A wooden door. And Jay T swung it open, and stepped through, and they followed suit. Into a room ... into ...
... doom. Is what the spiders inspired.
They were in cages. And they were HUGE. They were, some of them, a full three feet in width. In size. And those eyes! Eight of them. Compound and fractured. And there were dozens of spiders, and they clenched their mandibles as they saw their master coming. And their spindly legs stuck through the bars of their "habitats" ... and they sounded off.
"Scree! Scree, scree ... scree!"
"They're just hungry," Jay T explained. With MORE than a hint of menace in his voice. Oh, he was insane. He was truly insane.
The spiders were night-black with neon-blue marks ... Venezuelan Blues.
Jay T went to (what looked to be) a workbench, and he paused, his back to Adelaide and Field. And he said, in a low voice, "Do you know what venom can do?"
"Would I be coming to you, otherwise?" Adelaide countered.
Jay T turned ... with a tranquilizer gun in his hand. Only ... the gun wasn't armed with tranquilizer darts. It was armed with venom darts. And he shrugged. He was that callous. He was that callous ... as to shrug. And to aim (with one paw, one arm ... the other arm hanging lazily) ... to aim the barrel right at the bat's heart.
Adelaide swallowed.
Field was internally freaking.
"You're not wearing the gloves," Jay T whispered, tilting his head. "They ALWAYS," he hissed, "wear the gloves."
Adelaide glared at him.
"I can't confess to remembering you," Jay T said of the bat. But, looking to Field, he nodded. "But I remember him. That dizzy-eyed dreamer look. It's been replaced by a haunted look, a tired look, but ... I see it well enough." The tiger turned his attention back to Adelaide. Finger on the trigger.
The spiders, sensing the tension in the air, were scrabbling about their cages ...
"Scree ... scree ... tick-a-tick-tick!"
"Tat-a-tat-tat ... scree!"
"They do love a good show," said Jay T. "They're immune to their own poison. Did you know that?"
"No," Adelaide whispered. She was so beautiful ...
"Well, they are. So, when I kill you ... the both of you," he said. "They can eat you. They're just," he repeated, "hungry."
Field's eyes watered.
Jay T's finger pulled.
And Adelaide ducked.
The venom dart sailed past her, over her ... clinking the rocky wall.
Jay T reloaded and ...
... "oomph!"
Hit the ground!
Field battering him, tearing the weapon away ... squeaking, "she's my mate ... " And delivering a paw-punch to the tiger's face.
"Scree ... scree!"
Jay T's claws raked viciously at the mouse, who whimper-squeaked and fell to the side, and the tiger froze ...
... as the bat dove, grabbed the venom gun, and (from the dirt, on her belly) aimed it up at him. Panting, heaving, saying, "We should be leaving." She licked her dry lips and got to her knees. "Field ... "
The mouse, twitching and obsessively trying to groom his wounds, tears matting his cheek-fur ... looked to her. She was okay, she was okay, she was ...
"Field, get the venom." She swallowed. Cleared her throat.
The mouse did so. Collecting as many vials as he could put in his pockets. And even after all he took, there were countless vials remaining. And he dreaded to think of their destinations. Dreaded to think of this deadly stockpile.
And when Field had gotten what they came for, Adelaide crept up to the tiger ... and whacked him upside the head (with the gun). Jay T growled, and she whacked him again, and battered, he fell unconscious.
"We have to go," Adelaide panted. "He won't find us once we leave the grounds. He can't risk searching for us, anyway ... if anyone found out he'd been infiltrated. If anyone found out his stockpile had been compromised ... he would risk losing his clout. No, he'll keep quiet. But ... he'll keep his eyes open, too. We've just made a major enemy. It's going to make what we're going to do ... much harder."
Field could only swallow and nod. NEEDING to get out of this room. This cavern. Out, out, out ...
... and out into the near-noon sun. Where they ran. Where the two of them, they ran, they sprinted through the streets of Sheridan. Under the water tower. Past the grain bins ... back to her place. Where they barricaded themselves inside.
And where, she, standing to his left, withdrew her shoulders from the straps of her dress (though the dress still clung to her form).
And she looked to him. With her pink hue. And smiled.
And he smiled back. Marveling at how, she, the bat, the femme on his left ... how she could do anything. Say anything. Talk about rain, porches, car trips to the sea.
Oh, he felt right when she was around. Felt loved when she was around.
"We did it," she whispered. "We started something, Field ... and ... I'm ... "
"Scared?" he whispered.
She nodded.
"You don't look it."
"I am. All the same." She cleared her throat and started for the kitchen. Needing a glass of ice water. "But ... I feel a thrill, too. I feel," she said, exhaling, "good." And she swallowed, pausing, and whispered, "I didn't ... you know, thank you," she said, "for ... "
" ... for beating up on Jay T?" he said lightly. Making (what sounded like) a rare joke.
She giggled. "Mm ... something like that. No, but ... that was very brave. It just humbled me to see," she said, "your desire to ... protect me," she whispered. She blushed a bit. Hard to discern (what with her pink fur), but the mouse knew her well enough to tell (and his nose could detect the flush of heat).
She was all the way in the kitchen now.
He followed, biting his lip. "Adelaide," he said.
She paused, turned her neck. Eyes meeting his. "Yes?" she whispered.
He opened his muzzle. Shut it. Opened it again ... wondering what it was he wanted to say. She wasn't the type to blow his words right back at him. She wasn't the type to leave her shutters open and leave him on the other side of the chain-link fence. Why, then, did he feel so desperate when he was with her? Like he wanted to constantly prove his worth to her, despite the fact that she had never demanded it. Had accepted him as he was.
This was not a desperation ... bred of fear. Rather, a desperation bred of NEED. Of WANT. Why did he desperately wish to cling to her and not let go? Why did he desperately wish to ... do everything with her? For her? Because of her?
Why was he so afraid she would fly away?
Even after the intimacy of the night before, and even after ... all the trust ... he figured he must be insane. That he must be dreaming. That she would, like everyone else, give him the shove.
He was desperate for her. And, not knowing how to say such a thing in spoken words, he kept his stupid muzzle shut. Turning blue (so he imagined).
Her pure-pink eyes met his grey-blues. Dust motes filtered through the light streaming into the yellow-walled kitchen.
Their eyes met.
And she nodded warmly. She knew. Her mind brushed his, and ... she knew. And smiled.
As he did, too.
In this hush.
Until she broke it with, "We should take a nap ... then have lunch, and ... make a plan to spike the trolleys' fuel supply," she said, voice trailing. "With the ... venom ... " She, so feminine, so soft.
He, so timid, so unsure ... needing his confidence to be built by her.
And she willing to build it.
Love made as much sense as the Sheridan Conspiracy did. That was to say ... often, none at all.
But this was the start of something epic. Something fire-like. And they both knew it.