Two-Step Revival
It was twilight now. And snowing now. And, now, Adelaide and Field were walking the sidewalks (and side streets) of Sheridan. Lit by weak lampposts. Lit by the headlights of trolleys ... and they chug-a-lugged around corners. Here and there. But always missing them.
The mouse, nose cold, ears cold ... feeling no more bold than he had the night before (during his last trolley scare), stood behind the bat. For protection. For warmth.
Adelaide, with her telepathic prowess, had the ability to throw the trolleys off their scent. She also used her echolocation abilities, her echo-bursts ... to draw them away. To send them off on wild goose chases.
They scurried across a street. From cracked sidewalk to cracked sidewalk. Nobody else in view. And they went down a gravel back-way ... on their way, ultimately, to the Dairy Queen. You could do most anything at the Dairy Queen. Go in. Get a Coke. You wanted a Coke? Get a Coke. Get a dipped cone. Fries, even. Dilly bars. The DQ was a Sheridan cornerstone.
"Why'd she wanna meet at the DQ ... "
"Presumably," answered Adelaide, her white fangs, her white teeth ... visible as she spoke. "Presumably, because ... it's on neutral ground." The bat looked like a refuge from heaven. Her wings. Her color. Her breath. That steely look in her eyes. And the way she said "presumably" ... oh, it made Field swoon ... internally, anyway. He was in no situation to externally swoon.
Field wore ear-muffs. Feeling a fool for it. Mouse ears were large and dishy. Constantly at a swivel. They weren't built for ear-muffs, but they were too thin and delicate ... to not wear them in such a cold. Such a cold as they now felt. The snow that fell in puffy, fluffy flakes. On and off. One moment, it would whirl in the eddies of the air. And the next moment: it simply wouldn't be there.
"I dread to think of the trolleys," Adelaide mentioned, "equipped with snow plows on the front ... you know?"
Field just nodded. Walking behind her. He always walked behind her. So he could keep her in view. Make sure she was there. Followed her ... submissively. Always letting her take the lead. It was a pattern that permeated most aspects of their relationship. She would initiate the kisses. She would start the conversations. She was happy to lead, and he was happy to follow. It suited their natures. Though it bent their expected gender roles. That the mouse would be the shy, wispy one, and she ... the strong-willed.
A wonder ... how that worked. Oh, how science could hurt.
They were heading to the Dairy Queen to meet with Ma Sparta.
Ma was a renegade. Ma was a loose canon. Ma was a robot.
"How did she get your phone number?" Field asked.
Adelaide opened her wings. Closed them. Her version of a shrug. "I don't know ... seems trivial now. Regardless, she knows we have the venom. She knows what we're wanting to do with it. You know? I mean, she could expose us to 'The Board' ... if she so wanted. We have no choice but to meet with her. She's got us cornered."
"Maybe it's a trap, then," Field speculated. And not for the first time.
"Maybe," was Adelaide's distant whisper. The pink of her fur, the carnation color ... it seemed softer, paler ... in this light. Always more delicate by night.
Ma used to be on the inside. A high-riser. Built by the school counselor ... to be a mole within the conspiracy. But Ma had turned against her builder. Had gone renegade. Joined the cafeteria staff. Dishing out free mashed potatoes. And drawing the ire of those around her, who ... attempted to silence her. Ma had been locked away. Down below, in the caverns beneath the school.
Only to be replaced by another. The counselor (Mrs. Mauve) built another.
And another.
Today's Ma was version three. Ma 3.0.
Ma, regardless, worked for no one ... no one but herself. If something was in her best interests, she would pursue it. And she held a deep resentment for the teachers at the school. And for "The Board," and ... for the trolleys. Oh, her animosity for the guard trolleys, it knew no bounds. And she had ears, did Ma. She had connections. It was why the major players in the Sheridan Conspiracy were afraid of her. It "justified" the constant attempts on her life. Ma's biggest rival was Mandy, a fellow robot ...
Adelaide, upon each exhale, created a cloud of breath. An icy fog of vapor. And she breathed deeply in. Closing her eyes.
"Feel that chill," she whispered.
Field's nose was frozen. His ears, despite the muffs, were rosy pink. And his tail ... enveloped in a long, thin tail sock (which made him feel completely conspicuous) ... and, nodding softly, he whispered, "Yeah, I feel it ... "
"No, but ... FEEL it," she whispered, stopping, spreading her wings. Looking like an angel in the midst of the soft, soft snow. Her angular, pointed ears, the veils of her wings ... those pink, pastel things. "Breathe it," she whispered. "It's so tangible. I mean ... "
The mouse obliged. He knew. He knew ... and he breathed out. Breathed in. Felt the chill spread within. And he exhaled once more, and opened his eyes ... looking to the overcast, darkened sky. He wanted to yawn and curl away. Pull her with him. Deal with this another day. But ... no, it had to be now. This had to be now.
To the stars!
So, they walked. So, they went. And he watched her all the while.
And how she walked. And how she looked at him over her shoulder, with a "what are you waiting for" glint. With a "come and get me" hint.
"If we ... is this were packing snow," said the mouse, catching up to her, but still staying behind her ... " ... I bet I could win in a snowball fight."
She giggled. The giggle visible in the air. "Yeah?"
"Uh-huh." He nodded.
She tilted her head. Smiled at him. "You're so ... sweet," was her whisper. And she drew in a breath. Released it.
The mouse swallowed, blushed. "We should keep moving ... even with your ... methods of distraction," he said, of the bat's trolley-evading tactics. "We shouldn't slow down."
"Why?" she asked. Stopping. Standing in front of him.
"Darling ... " Field's eyes darted around.
"It's just ... mousey, we're ... here, and we're now, and ... we're not defined by, you know, these ... this conspiracy," she whispered. "I don't want THIS," she said, of their sneaking around at night, of their dangerous ventures into the school. Midnight meetings with Ma at the DQ. "I don't want this ... to be a pattern. You know? I don't want us to be so addicted to this that, when it's gone, we've nothing left to do."
"I know ... I mean, I ... "
"I just don't want us to become so accustomed to being on the run. To rushing ourselves. I want us to be able to ... breathe. Just breathe." She did so. And spread her wings. "To reflect. Not lament."
"I don't lament," the mouse whispered, in defense.
"I just ... " She nodded. Not entirely sure what it was that she was wanting to say. Their conversations often worked that way.
... ding-ding-ding!
If one didn't know any better, if one were an outside observer ... one would've mistaken the sound for a church bell.
But there was nothing spiritual in that sound. That sound was every mechanical notion. Was every justification for straying. It was ...
" ... coming closer." Adelaide looked between houses and trees. Putting her nose to the below-freezing breeze. She sniffed the air. "They're coming back. I'll have to throw off a few more echo-bursts ... "
"What if they adapt?" Field whispered. Whiskers twitching. Tail doing little jerky-jerks.
"They won't," Adelaide said simply.
Field didn't question her. Her confidence ... was so pure.
She chitter-squeaked ... and fired off high-pitched waves. In every which way. Causing the trolleys to fall for it. Leading them to give chase.
"We should have another five minutes, I think," she wagered, and she started moving again.
The mouse scurried after her, panting a bit in the cold. Saying, "Do you ever feel old?" He exhaled. "I mean, all this tension, all this ... all these things ... do you think we're going to be old before our time?"
"I don't know what that means, necessarily," she replied softly. "I feel ... I feel like I ... I don't know."
"I feel young and old," Field told her, "at the same time. And I don't think ... I don't think that makes much sense."
"Then don't try and make sense of it."
"It's my nature. I'm a mouse. I'm inquisitive."
"I wouldn't say you're inquisitive," she told him. "More like: you yearn. Not for knowledge. But you yearn ... you know?"
The mouse didn't respond. Just breathed. He wanted to talk of so many things. He wished to talk of everything. Only, he felt that, in this silence, in this snow, in the twilight ... any words on his part would've been forced. This mood, this scene, this ... didn't require words. Just soft, silent ... motion. Motion. And emotion.
That's all that was required of him.
So, he went quiet. Before he risked explaining it all away. Before he risked thinking himself into the coldness of the air.
They continued toward the DQ.
Adelaide in the lead. And he ... following her there.
And, during the journey, Field thought of peppermint. Suddenly, thought of peppermint. The chill in the air. The elegant, crystalline grace of his mate. It made him think of the red and white of peppermint. The blood and the purity.
There was, indeed, something more discernibly "real" about the cold. The heat was hazy, dreamy ... the pinnacle of things. In the warmth, everything reached fruition. But, in the cold, in the hibernation ... you were bare. Humbled. Winter was for wondering.
And the mouse wondered of countless things. Thoughts that went in loops and rings round and round in his mousey mind. Leaving memories and mental evidence ... all these things to find.
Sheridan town, rural and poor, was quiet from door-to-door.
Field wondered how this town would be ... without the iron paw of the trolleys. And General Sheridan.
Was this a ghost town? Was any of this real?
Was this a sleepy hamlet? Could it remain as such?
Or would it be swallowed up by "progress?"
The easy answer to those things would be, "it is too early to say."
But, to Field, it was never too early. There were dreams. Dreams were nearer than one imagined them to be. It wasn't too early to say. Things could happen. Maybe today. Oh, what the mouse lacked in pure guts and blood, he made up for in dreams.
The mouse and bat walked, side by side, bundled up, evading the trolleys, remaining quiet ... the bat brushing the mouse's mind (with her own). Wishing (again) to link them with a bite. To exchange every thought and feeling. To have nothing held back. To have no awkwardness. No fear. Just ...
... poetry! This! Poetry ... that no one else could decipher. That no one else could know. What this a one-way communique? What kind of beauty was this? Oh, words were made to fly! There was so much to say. So much to write. So much more ...
But they remained quiet. But they held back. But they issued restraint.
They had this mission.
They had to meet Ma.
The venom vials were in Field's coat pocket. Zipped up safe.
They would meet Ma, and ... hopefully, she could get them to the fuel supply. Hopefully, they could poison the guard trolleys.
Hope was driving them ... to the Dairy Queen. To the junction of state roads 47 and 38. And maybe further.
Ma sipped some soda. Sighed. Pulling her straw in and out of the lid of her cup ... the plastic-on-plastic make a "squeaky-squeak" sound.
The three of them were in a booth. Adelaide and Field on one side, sitting next to each other. And Ma on the opposite.
"I didn't know DQ was open this late," said Field ... who, for the most part, had been quiet. He normally was, in public. Normally let Adelaide do the talking. And she knew him well enough that ... she would speak for him. While he would listen. And store everything in memory. For later.
Ma said nothing. Kept messing with her straw. And she looked at the mouse. With a certain aloofness. Ma was feline. A robot, but ... a feline. With black fur and a white patch over one eye. Her fur white on part of her face ... and the tip of her tail was white, too.
"Ma," said Adelaide.
Ma sipped (again) at her soda. And she swallowed, cleared her throat, and said, "Hot eats, cool treats." She chuckled and shook her head (eyes distant). "Someone struck gold on that one."
"Ma, what is it you want, exactly?" Adelaide asked.
The DQ was sparse ... at this time of night.
Field had a Coke (which he was splitting with Adelaide). And a butterscotch dipped cone. He'd eaten away all the butterscotch shell, and had licked the ice cream down to the top of the cone. Was beginning to nibble on the cone itself. In groups, when eating, he did that ... nibbled, sipped ... busied himself with his food. So as not to think about the anxiety. So as not to ...
" ... wonder. I have to wonder," Adelaide continued, "what makes you tick, Ma. What drives you. Revenge? You want to prove yourself? What do you want? What are you living for?" She squinted her eyes. Glaring.
Ma glared back. With a demeanor best described as: two parts brilliant, one part fade. And she leaned back. And purred. And responded to the words with, "I don't like being underestimated. I don't like being brushed off. I don't like," she said, "being tossed aside." She swallowed. Eyes darting. "I want them to realize what I am. What they missed. I want," she said, "many things, and ... so do you. I know you're not fond of the way things are going. How things are being run. I know this conspiracy is like a cloud over you. But most furs are content to ... lament. Despair. It's easier that way. Much harder," said Ma, "to look inside, confront yourself, and then ... heal, and when healed, you hunt down the disease that made you sick, and you eradicate it. The disease that is making us sick ... you all know the strains of this virus." She took a breath. Took another sip of her soda. "I'll be damned if Diet Cherry/Vanilla Doctor Pepper isn't ... " A giggle. "Reminds me of ... 'gin was like mother's milk to her' ... you know that line?"
Adelaide maintained a neutral face ... while Ma giggled at her own eccentricity.
"Oh, you're ... a cool one, bat." Ma tilted her head. Squinted. Her eyes golden and slitted. And she purred. Her tail lazily going this way and that (behind her), and her claws extending from their paw pads, and inching across the table top. "I can hear," she whispered, "the mouse's heart. It's racing out of control. Patter-pat ... patter-pat," Ma whispered, and her eyes slowly went to Field.
The mouse swallowed, trying to match the stare, but he couldn't. He averted his gaze ... whiskers twitch-twitching. Nose sniff-sniffing. Honey-tan fur ... bristling.
"He wants to run," said Ma. "His instinct is telling him ... not to trust me. Not to trust anyone. The only fur he trusts," she said, "is you. He's fragile. I could break him," she promised. And her eyes glowed with a visible danger.
"You don't know him. And you don't know me. And you're not going to lay a paw on him, or you'll regret it."
"Oh, will I? A challenge?" A smirk. "And I don't know you, huh? Maybe not. But I know his TYPE. As I know your TYPE. So ... "
"Enlighten me," Adelaide challenged.
"I don't think I will. I don't entertain," Ma said, "for free."
"Just tell us what you want," Adelaide said tersely.
"I want to HELP," Ma stressed. "I thought I made that obvious."
Field quietly nibbled on his cone.
Ma cast him a look ... before looking back at Adelaide, and adding, "I know you have the venom. Obviously. And I know what you're wanting to do with it."
"You never said how you knew," Adelaide said, "all this."
"I'm Ma Sparta," said Ma. "I'm responsible for free potatoes. Do NOT," she stressed, voice betraying a hint of anger, "underestimate me. I know the way I know, and that," she spat, "will have to suffice."
Adelaide sighed and nodded quietly. There was no use arguing with Ma. One would never win. Her stubbornness was so much a part of her. It was one of her biggest flaws. How she masked her feelings of inadequacy, of rejection ... with anger and biting wit. With argument.
"I used to work inside the school, as you know," she told them, "before Mandy ... ratted me out. Before Dee-Dee and those cafeteria workers ... sentenced me to dirty dish. Damn them," Ma cursed. And she quavered. "I know that place inside and out. Better than you do. Better than anyone else. I have codes. I know how it works. I've seen where the trolleys go to sleep," she said, whispering.
Field listened quietly.
Adelaide licked her lips. Nodded.
"I can get you in. All we gotta do," she whispered, "is put the venom in the fuel supply. You know that. And then ... they drink, and they're done."
"Are you sure?" Field asked.
She looked to the mouse. Showed her teeth. "Sure enough. Anyway, this was your plan, your doing ... not mine. You stole the venom."
"Why didn't you steal it? Why haven't you tried to stop this thing ... on your own? If you're so eager? I think you're just trying to use us ... to accredit yourself. If this works, you can say you had a paw in it, and the town will glorify you. You'll have your clout back. This is all a power play on your part. You're using us."
"You NEED me," Ma hissed, ears flattening against her head. Her claws dug into the table-top. "Without me, there's NO infiltration. NO contamination. And the guard trolleys will get you. You're mated. I can smell it. That's illegal, bat. Do you wanna die for that? Cause the trolleys will make it happen. What I want out of this ... is my business. Suffice it to say, our lives will be better off ... without 'The Board' in the way. Without the trolleys. Without ... the whole deal."
"How can we trust you?" Adelaide asked. "What have you said or done ... that would allow us to trust you? Maybe you'll deliver us to 'The Board,' and ... get something in return. Maybe you're using us to get rid of everything ... leaving only YOU, Ma. You're using us to help rid the competition, and when it's gone, YOU'LL take over. Maybe that's your plan. The Sheridan Conspiracy is a drug, Ma. I've seen what it does to furs. Sin, lust ... it's so easy to justify. So easy to swallow. Once you're in, it's hard to get out, and ... maybe you can rid the conspiracy of the Ma, but can you rid the Ma," she posed, "of the conspiracy."
"Power," Ma countered, "is not one of my ambitions."
"I'm just speculating," Adelaide said.
Ma squinted her eyes. Knowing better ... knowing the bat didn't trust her. And knowing the mouse didn't, either. Damn mouse. He was still nibbling on that cone. Still listening with precision, but saying nothing. Quiet as a ... mouse.
Adelaide leaned back. Sighed.
Ma looked from one to the other. And her eyes ... stopped. Suddenly sad. "I bet he calls you 'darling'."
"What?"
"Mousey boy ... there. I bet he calls you 'darling'."
"What are you getting at?" Adelaide asked slowly, with squinted eyes.
"Not getting at anything," Ma whispered. Suddenly sincere. For the first time in this meeting, she was sincere. The sarcastic, biting wall ... that black sheep wall ... gone. Or masked. Or pushed aside. Ma, for some reason, suddenly opened up. And said, "He's the type," she said, of Field, "who dances around with an umbrella. Who pulls you into the rain, all wide-eyed ... because he's never danced in the rain with someone he loves." She went quiet. "You don't know precious that is," Ma said. "To have someone ... like that."
Field, self-conscious, felt his ears flush. Felt Ma boring holes into him with her eyes.
"His faith was like a ticket-half. Bought with a price, his life ... and the ticket-half was for a long journey. Along the way, he lost it ... but he found it again. Do you know how many furs have lost their ticket-half? And have never found it again? Do you know ... that you are set apart?" Ma closed her eyes. Oh, her eyes hurt. Oh, her head hurt. As her heart did. She was so tired of playing up to everyone's expectations. Everyone had their own idea of who Ma Sparta was ... and should be. She was a victim of her own legend. "You may have telepathic abilities, bat ... yes, I know that bats have ... abilities," Ma breathed, voice fading out and in. "You may have them, but I'm a robot. I'm not fur-and-blood. I have abilities, too. I can analyze things. Analyze individuals. I can tell you ... "
Adelaide saw the lonely look in Ma's eyes. The haunted look. The look of a fur who was on the run. Who was being chased by yellow Volkswagon beetles. Who was being spied on by cows. Whose life was a daily journey of bizarre turns.
"Your mouse," Ma continued, "is one of those wispy sorts ... he doesn't hide his emotions. Nor does he flaunt them. But he bleeds of them. Daily. His yearning, his knowing ... his fate ... is so much more than he can contain. He knows he's different. He knows he's special. He knows he's set apart. He knows he strayed, but ... oh, amazing grace ... what began the world is beginning him. What sustains it all ... is sustaining him. He's filled with such purpose. Yet wracked with such demons. Such horrible demons," Ma whispered. "Of his past and of his present. It's a wonder he's not dead," Ma voiced.
Adelaide was quiet ... as Ma's gaze turned toward her.
"As for you," Ma said, of the bat. "You've never had to struggle like Field has. You've never known the trauma ... that he has. You see the damage done in him, and you long to fix it. Even at the expense of your own energy and sanity, you long to fix him. Because you are selfless. You have the capacity to fly, and yet your mind is grounded. Humble. You ... and him, you and the mouse," she said. "You are the type of furs I wish I could be. But I'm too bitter," she said. "I'm not even real. I'm ... I'm a machine," Ma said. "I ... am I using you? Perhaps. But that's only because you're willing to be used ... as instruments for greater good." Ma trailed ...
Field blinked. Wondering what any of this meant. What Ma's words were ... why she was saying them ...
Adelaide just whispered, "You're just as real as the rest of us, Ma. Just as worthwhile. You're not lost. Not yet."
"You don't know me," Ma said enigmatically. "You don't know what I'm capable of. You don't know what I've done."
"And you don't know me," Field injected, speaking for the first time in ... a while. Voice quiet, airy. "You profess to have us figured out, but ... I don't think you know us. I mean, how can we ... how can we truly know how the minds of others," he posed, "perceive us? How can we know anything," said Field, "about anything? This conspiracy ... is it even real? Are we real? Are we being dreamt? This situation, it's not about the why's," he whispered, "or the what-for's. It's about our birthright. About our souls. This is about a fight for our very selves. This conspiracy," he said, "is a darkness. Swallowing us. Spreading. You were right, Ma. It is a disease. And the only reason it hasn't been eradicated is because ... we've convinced ourselves there is no cure. Or that we deserve to suffer. There is a way, though. A cure. And ... there is, and it'll take ... time, and ... trust, and ... I don't know. There is so much I don't know. But I do know we're, the three of us, in a booth at the DQ ... in Sheridan, Indiana. We've found each other. We were LED to this. We're the only ones willing to sacrifice ... maybe our lives. Maybe that's what it'll cost. But we have to do this. I'm afraid. I'm terrified. But we have to grow. We have to mature. We can't do that ... at a standstill."
Ma nodded quietly.
And the three of them ... went into silence.
Until Ma broke it with, "I'll lead you there."
"When?" Adelaide whispered.
"Now."
They were on the grounds. And, to Ma, it was as if ... she had never left.
"This place," she whispered, as they walked behind the school. "It haunts my dreams. Just like this town, it's ... been around too long. It knows too much. Oh ... it's ... " She went quiet, as if her words were losing cohesion. As if their meanings were muddled. "There's so much," Ma whispered. Her eyes watered as she went.
It was still dark. And it was still snowing. Eddying. Blowing.
"Those are nifty abilities you have, bat," Ma said to Adelaide, changing the subject. "We weren't followed by a single trolley." She gave Adelaide a nighttime look. The look of a huntress. "If I were to swear by things, I would swear that ... you don't conform to the elements."
The bat was mysteriously quiet at that.
As for Field ... he knew that his mate wasn't normal. Wasn't ordinary. But, then, neither was he. Misfits, the both of them. But, then, wasn't every-fur in Sheridan town ... a misfit? But, oh, what misfits could do! What things in them ... did stew!
These rural, forgotten ambassadors ... downtrodden and so familiar with death ... delicately, they bore their Hoosier sensibilities. Elegant and simple. Sentimental. Special. They would be the ones to restore Sheridan. To retake their home.
They were the ones who would be (and who were, even now) so in love with it.
Up when the decent furs danced that two-step revival ... when this conspiracy was defeated, and when they danced. On that day, they would sing of the falling that had taken place. Would sing of redemption. Would dance a dance of denial, deviation, temptation, and trial.
And the trial ...
Survival.
Teach us not to stray. The mouse, in his mind, was seeing it play out that way. He spoke of it when he prayed.
The three of them walked over gravel. And reached a chain-link fence. There was a padlock there, and Ma picked it. Easily. And they strolled in.
"I've never thought anyone could succeed at this. The chances," said Ma, "of restoring this town to what it was. To defeating a centuries-old conspiracy. Can anyone possibly truly succeed in ridding the world of the Sheridan Conspiracy?"
"I don't know," was Adelaide's honest response. "But anyone can try. And, being that no one has the willpower to do so ... it might as well be us."
"Us," Ma echoed. "I doubt it ... not unless one of us sleeps with success. Not Field, though. I rather expect ... that success bears masculine traits. Success must be male." The cat gave a bit of a chuckle. Seemingly looking into the mouse's eyes. Seeing something that the made the mouse squirm. "Then, again ... alright, Field could sleep with success, too, then. Any one of us could. But at what price?" asked Ma, getting serious again. "We are doing this, but at what price? What is it ... we will sacrifice?"
"It's never known," said Adelaide, "until afterward."
"Whatever the case," Ma said, trailing, and they reached the fuel pumps. They reached the access panels to the underground tanks. "Here," she whispered. "Here we are."
"Aren't they watching us on surveillance?" Field asked. "How can we just stroll in here?"
"You were in the school the other day, were you not?" Ma asked. "Did you see anyone there ... aside from Jay T?"
"No," the mouse admitted.
"Exactly."
Field frowned. Wondering what that was supposed to mean. If anything.
None of this made sense! The pattern here ... was that there WAS no pattern.
"They're arrogant. They don't watch this place at night, cause no one has the nerve to come here ... not usually. Anyway, what could one do? It's been so long since they've felt threatened." She started fiddling with the fuel controls. Starting to use her robotic programming to hack into the system. To get the codes to open the tank. And when she did so, she held out a paw. "The vials."
Field hesitated. Was he just to hand over vials of spider venom to Ma Sparta?
Adelaide, too, had her worries, but ... just nodded to Field.
"Such a touching tandem," Ma teased dryly, and she grabbed the vials Field held out, and she put them above the opening to the tank. And she opened one vial. And opened another. And hesitated.
"Ma ... "
Ma took a breath. She was a part of this. This conspiracy. She was BUILT ... for this. Her entire existence, her entire reason for being ... was to BE a part of the Sheridan Conspiracy. And here she was, on the verge ... poised to throw the whole beast into chaos. And what if it backfired? What if the beast was immune? What if it lost a limb, only ... it grew back? What consequences would this action result in? What would happen to her?
What would become of them? What would become of Sheridan town?
She didn't know, but ... the vials went down. And the poison with them. And the fuel supply was now contaminated.
Ma, taking a shaky breath, turned and looked at them, and opened her mouth to speak when ...
... ding-ding-ding!
"Dammit!" Ma cursed, and she ran. IMMEDIATELY, she ran, leaving Adelaide and Field to whirl around ... and see a guard trolley coming straight at them. They'd been so focused on doing the deed that ... they'd let down their defenses. Had failed to observe that a guard trolley had drawn near, and ...
... Field squeaked in fear, and grabbed his mate's paw, and he hauled her out of there ...
But the trolley didn't follow them. Didn't go for them.
It went for Ma. It KNEW Ma. It went for Ma ...
Field didn't stop moving, and ... running, almost stumbling over the gravel. In the opposite direction. In the snow. Not knowing which way to go.
And Ma, within earshot, yelled, "I'm never broken by ordinary things! I'll ... make it ... "
The trolley, like a drone, like a wasp, continued its pursuit of her, and they both disappeared into the darkness.
Field wondered if they would ever see Ma again. And he wondered at how close a call this just had been.
Adelaide, shaking, didn't need to wonder. She knew. They'd been caught standing still. Ma was never more dangerous to know, and they knew her, and ... they had Jay T as a personal enemy. They had the trolleys hot on their scent. They had Ma conceivably ... being out of the picture. They had successfully poisoned the fuel supply. But would it work? Would it have an effect?
They would know tomorrow.
In the meanwhile, it was a stealthy, silent trip back to her house ... locking the doors, hiding away from the hungry trolleys. And time for another night's sleep. For that long-denied rest. Where, free from jest, each maelstrom became a meadow.
And while they snuggled and huddled, the water towers of Sheridan, standing on their stilts above the darkened, flurried town, kept a jealous, watchful eye ... kept unknowing control. Kept guard ...
... awaiting their General's reawakening.