The wind whipped Marcello's damp mowhawk when her car's door lifted open, sending her illicium likewise bobbing and flicking about as she stepped out onto the side of the roadway into the muck that a cold, rainy autumn would make. The door closed behind her, and with a breath she lifted her hand to brush her agitating, swaying, glowing orb away from her face before shoving her hand into the leather jacket she wore. She took her first step off the side of the road and into the beautifully coloured forest, layered with red, gold, and brown leaves that hung from the trees and covered the ground. The dreary winds and dark clouds overhead promised that the out-of-dome weather would match the rainy days of Harbington's controlled weather systems fairly soon.
Marcello hurried if only because the weather made her shiver a little bit. The threadlink in the clothing she wore was quick to warm her, adjusting some sort of inlayed energy in the fabric that she didn't fully understand to hold temperature and keep things comfortable. Her exposed purple skin, however, was not to receive such a comfort, and the smooth surface of her fishy skin broke out in a wave of goose bumps as she felt caught between being outside on a rainy day and stepping into a well-heated home to get out of it. It was enough to make her sniff, and so she didn't want to spend more time than she had to out there. She was intent to go and poke around her crime scene and then go back to Harbington where she might find somewhere to warm up for a while.
The scene was nestled far into the forest, making the trip out there something of a hike. The incident, as Marcello heard, had taken place at one of the various mini-domes set up far outside the city to dot the landscape over some of the more popular camping and hiking trails that rested between Harbington and Locksmouth, who Harbington served as more of a satellite city to. Many people from both cities would pack up their families, their tents and their equipment and go on camping vacations during the warm summers or scenic autumns. The mini-domes were called "Rest Stations," where campers or hikers could spend time should they run low on supplies or get lost, or suffer some other sort of misfortune. They were well-stocked, well-regulated, and had clean beds to suit an average-sized family of four.
It was little wonder that Quincey would make her way there. It made sense, if one really thought about it, that Rest Stations would be the best places to stop if someone was making a trip between cities on foot. But what made it more impressive was that Quincey Abram was running. She was evading the police and forest rangers who were out searching for her under the fear that she was some sort of alien contaminant that could put innocent people at risk. Usually when people ran, they didn't think as clearly as they would normally, wrought with worry over being found and caught. So, it served to reason that someone in the group of wayward kids, or even the entire group as a whole, were good at forward-thinking.
Kids these days sure were impressive.
Rest Stations were a bit risky since they logged visitors by way of a passive tagging system that the stations and people's Personal Electronic Taskmasters had. Almost everyone carried a PET, and those who didn't often sorely regretted it because they didn't have access to many services and conveniences that a PET could offer. Rest Stations weren't closed to people who weren't carrying their PET, but it still had that small functionality with those who did by recording their identification into a system that would tell the rangers that someone was using it and therefore informing them to send assistance. That meant once Quincey and her friends stepped inside, their names showed up on someone's screen, making the site of their supposed assault easy to find.
It had been a day since then, but as Marcello stepped into the clearing where the Rest Station stood there were still officers around. Most of the questions had already been answered and the initial investigation had already ended, so the number of officers was markedly fewer than what it would have been during that time. There were only maybe a handful left over to keep bystanders from getting into the perimeter of the scene before the police were through with it. The officers regarded Marcello with the sort of suspicion she'd come to expect from them - she didn't wear a uniform, so she could have passed off pretty easy as just some random passer-by if she really wanted. It made yet another ID check a pain in the butt, but flashing her badge to one of the officers on duty was enough to get her past the projected laser field that acted as caution tape.
It was a pointless gesture really, since passing through the blue particle beam fence would have triggered a horribly loud alarm if she hadn't had her badge stuck to the inside of her jacket. The colour of the beams flashed green for a moment as she passed through, flickering back to blue after maybe a second.
"So this is it," Marcello spoke to herself. A police officer approached as she took her cursory glance around the scene. She heard his movements before she saw anyone, and turned to see a woman, a black-furred feline, standing there dressed in blue.
"Detective," She nodded.
Marcello returned the gesture, "Lieutenant. Care to show me around?"
The officer's yellow eyes seemed to sparkle as she smiled. "Sure," She said, "Follow me, Paris."
Marcello knew that woman - her name was Terry Blackwell. A lieutenant on the Harbington police force, about five feet, seven inches tall, approximately in the 145 pound range, or around 65 kilograms if someone wanted to go all metric. She had a broad frame for her height that presented itself in a muscular structure and heavy-set curves that sized her uniform in a way that Marcello very much appreciated. She had long hair, often wearing it in a low ponytail that she kept coloured a snow white. The colour wasn't exactly consistent, but the way in which the natural black beneath presented itself in wisps and streaks was nothing short of artistic. She had strong and broad features, but feminine ones. Stood side by side, Marcello and Blackwell were rather stark contrasts in everything except for colours: deep, dark hues with brightly-coloured mops.
Terry, or Lieutenant Blackwell as she often had to be addressed, had worked with Marcello plenty of times. They developed a working relationship quickly as soon as Marcello had been picked up by the force to assist in the odd investigation. They had also developed a personal relationship outside of work that brought a smile to the corner of Marcello's lips when she thought about some of the times they'd had together. There was that and, well, Marcello also couldn't ignore the way the lieutenant's rear rolled in a slow, attractive fashion with her steps.
She had a great ass.
Marcello reached into her jacket and produced a pair of shades and a glove from the inside pocket. She flicked out the arms of the glasses with one hand and pushed them onto her face. The arms fit snug against her temples, the glasses looking like a visor across her eyes, the flexible, quasi-plastic surface tinted in such a way that they shined a myriad of colours when the light bounced off them, a rainbow of purples, greens, and lighter blues as was typical of athletic sports shades. The glove was a solid black number and fit over Marcello's already gloved hand like a sheath. The black was separated by seams of gray, each fingertip having a pad enlaced into it, the pattern resembling the jagged circuitry of an old-fashioned motherboard. With both articles put on, images appeared before Marcello's eyes. Lit-up displays flickered to life, and her view of the world gained an overlay, a HUD, with text scrolling along her peripheral vision detailing a boot-up process of a system known as ARID - an Augmented Reality Investigations Device.
ARID made notes of particular, unusual divots in the ground, and Marcello stopped to kneel down and investigate one. She ran her fingers along the dirt exposed by an impact that had expelled a chunk of grass. She made a note of the dimensions. It couldn't have been much more than a few inches in width, maybe nine or so inches in circumference, but whatever had created it had dug into the earth a good few inches and had to be traveling at a fast speed. A person couldn't have done that with a steel-toed boot and a hard kick, so Marcello figured that one of the blasts from the C-field weapon had created it. There were several more dotting the dirt off towards the forest. ARID made a note of the location of each one.
Blackwell stepped past an officer who was standing watch at the Rest Station's entrance. Marcello followed in behind after rising from her distraction. Ignoring the targeting reticle her display presented around Blackwell's rear end, the Lophiiformes detective took in other sights. There wasn't much to see, and even ARID was having a difficult time discovering things - it pointed out a few errant crumbs of food that had been eaten, made note of the containment field system that was typical of all Rest Stations, and made a particular, attention-drawing reticle around the open and burgled food storage unit.
"I heard that the gun-guys were supposedly pursuing the alien," Blackwell said, "And it makes sense, since the kid was tagged as coming in here a little bit before the containment field registered an influx of energy - an impact from one of their weapons - from the outside."
"I saw the marks left behind from the shots," Marcello said, "They aimed low, I guess. Either they're a bad shot or they were trying to take out the kids' legs. They ran into the forest, right?"
Blackwell nodded, "That's right."
Marcello wasn't going to find anything of any use inside the station. She stepped outside with Blackwell at her heels and made her way to the tree line, straight across from the station where she theorized the attackers must have come from. She stood right at the very edge and peered into the shade of several trees. There were a few patches of bush that had been pressed down, probably by the weight of sneaking assailants. They definitely came from that direction, and there couldn't have been any fewer than four by Marcello's count.
This many people to take out one kid? They must not have been taking chances.
"The weapons weren't lethal," Marcello mentioned, "We had the eggheads take a look at it. I guess we can call them ballistics for this."
"Yeah, so I gathered," Blackwell said, "But that doesn't explain how, just why. Heck, it doesn't even explain that very well."
"What happened next, do you figure?" Marcello shot the question over her shoulder.
Blackwell took a few steps towards the other side of the clearing where the kids had run to. "They chased the kids out this way where they seemed to have disappeared into a cave. Turns out there's an old museum down here," Blackwell said, "There's more blast marks in there and some busted up exhibits, but it's hard to tell just what's recent and what's due to the fact that it was just an old-ass museum."
"I'll have to take a look around inside," Marcello nodded.
"Do whatever you want, Robo-cop, just don't trip on anything," Blackwell flicked a wrist dismissively, "I better go do a check-in back home."
"Ooookay," Marcello pursed her lips, "Go on then."
There was a sort of stand-off between them, neither woman turning to leave.
"Can't you be the first to leave for a change?" Blackwell planted a hand on her hip which she'd jut out to one side, "You're always checking me out, but I never get to gawk at your butt."
"Oh," Marcello's features sunk into a considerate look, "Oh I'm terribly sorry. Allow me to fix that."
Marcello turned and stepped off towards the direction of the museum. All she had to do was follow the line of cops that were standing around and she'd eventually find where she was looking. She'd be lying to herself if she claimed not to give her hips a sway when she walked, but it really didn't do much for her tight and nimble body.
"Can't you wear some other kind of pants?" Blackwell called from behind. Marcello ignored her, but smirked all the same as she disappeared into the bush to go on her way. She liked her loose, baggy pants. They were comfortable, had plenty of pockets and belt space, and were easy to take off and put back on. Plus they gave her a good reason to wear suspenders, which she thought were cool for no particular or rational reason.
Marcello ventured in stages. She stepped past a pair of officers and a number of historian officials waiting outside the perimeter like a pack of buzzards ready to pick that museum apart. She descended into the darkness of the old caverns, past the crusted, cracked, old pillars that were once the museum's entrance. She stepped cautiously down the stairs, and then stepped over some fallen debris to find herself amongst the old ruins and time-worn exhibits. Her light, attached to the dangling illicium upon her forehead, lit every step of the way. The old tile floors were lit by cyan, almost white light, casting shadows sharp over the walls around her, dancing off the exhibits that surrounded her.
Every step she took in the dark was nothing if not natural. Her boots kicked up dust with each footfall, but each one was with purpose. She was no stranger to the dark. The deep blackness did not startle her, rather it simply shrouded what lie past it in a veil of mystery ready to be peeled back with every step forwards. The surroundings were fascinating in their own right. Old frames that once held some form of photographs or tapestry hung with mold and dust on the walls, the paper documents they held long haven deteriorated away. Stands that had once held who knew what on proud display were worn, the plaques upon them unreadable past all the tarnish. Some things stood the test of time, like an old steam car, rusted beyond any possible use, appearing as a dead, empty, and somehow majestic husk of its former self. Marcello was no history buff - heck she hardly even paid attention to it in school - but the place was one of mystery, of secrets, whispers, and echoes of the past. She loved it; every step taken was exhilarating as more and more was revealed to her.
ARID was picking up on plenty of things, though nothing specific. It did, however, bring her attention to something that was wafting through the air. Particles floated past her vision, like pollen blown by the wind in some visible stream. It was identified as chemical fumes, specifically gasoline. The display broke down the compounds of petroleum as if she may care for them, but she ignored the flickering text to follow the trail all the way around a corner to a little room. Visible to ARID and brought to her attention was gasoline that had stained the floor, leaving a trace of it behind… and footprints created from the same foul-smelling stain.
Hello-hello, she thought to herself, her lips barely making the shapes of the words. She turned and followed the footprints some feet away. There were several of varying shapes and sizes. She knelt down and took stock of one of them, then another and another. She did this for as many as she could spot that looked notably different. ARID noted the size of the print and the patterns left behind by the footwear of each, listing the makes and models in front of her. LaVenti Mary-Janes, Speedster runners; the makes were pretty common and the sizes weren't too big. Old West cowboy boots were the strangest, but what caught her attention were some of the larger footprints. One of them looked big enough to step over most of her head, and those were Forrester combat boots.
Combat boots. Not just big, clunky things, but boots like hers; ones that were made to march, made to trek over loose surfaces with some grip, steel-toed probably and stomped with a commanding presence.
"Bingo," Marcello finally muttered. Her men were definitely there, and they definitely were in pursuit of those kids, there was no doubt about it.
"Isolate prints made only by this type," Marcello spoke, her attention focused on the large track. She lifted her index finger sheathed in the black glove and drew a square in the air in front of her. It showed up on her glasses' display, commanding it to take only what was inside the shape and process it. Her display scanned the print and then proceeded to remove all the other prints that didn't match. She was left with just one trail and she followed it briskly.
It only lead her so far before the trail became a little scrambled, running over itself as the march through the museum obviously took a turn for something unexpected. Marcello took a look around the area where the boots' wearer seemed to get confused and noted the presence of more blast-marks in the stone around the area. Waving a hand in front of her face, the detective did away with the footprints exposed to her by ARID when the trail abruptly stopped after the stains left behind by the footgear began to fade. She took the glasses off of her face to get a better, unobstructed view of the scene around her, taking slow and careful steps to avoid making a large impact on the area.
There was a strap on the ground, tucked under a piece of debris so snuggly that it only became visible when Marcello's light chased away the shadows. Picking it up and studying it revealed that the strap had been cut. The fray at one of the edges suggested that something physical did the deed, like a knife or something to that effect. She took the strap and placed it in an airtight evidence bag she kept in her jacket pocket.
That was a decent clue, but nothing she could use. It was unlikely that something such as a belt strap would have much in the lines of DNA on it. If she was lucky she'd get some skin flakes or fur dander, but she needed something a little more concrete; something a little more certain. Putting her glasses back on, Marcello continued her trek into the dark and let her advanced technology do the searching. ARID had trouble even though its eyes didn't suffer the impediment of darkness. It wasn't picking anything up while Marcello searched around, leaving her to idly admire the museum's age-old wonders as she scoured them for prints.
One opened case came up as a positive ID for Kenny Baxter based on some smears of sweat and bodily oils on the glass. Kenny's picture was displayed out of the corner of Marcello's vision, a face-shot of a rather peeved-looking rodent boy. She mentally filed away his profile: gray fur, dark markings, blue eyes, barely 5'1 when rounding up, seventeen years old as of last spring, son of Gerald Baxter, attended Harbington High, moved to Harbington from Anchorsway, and... Was incarcerated into SensRep Therapy at age 8 - extensive SensRep Therapy for the recovery from a traumatic event.
Was that one of Quincey Abram's friends?
It was best to save that for later, so Marcello filed that away and carried on her search. It was a good thing she did, too, as her idle strolling around the old caverns almost had her step on something incredibly important.
ARID flashed a circular reticle over a smear on the floor as Marcello's vision swept past it. She would have missed it if not for that fact, and the sudden appearance and disappearance of the bright symbol made her take a step back and study the ground more intently. There was a smear there of what had to be one of the smallest dollops of blood she'd ever seen. It couldn't have come from more than just a small cut or a scrape, but it had somehow dripped onto the floor and had clearly been walked over at least once. The detective held her breath as she knelt down and ran a gloved digit over the smear very gently, as if touching it too firmly may have made it crumble. The threadlink systems in the glove took in the sample and the HUD in Marcello's vision displayed a notification.
"Searching…" The systems embedded within her glasses quickly cross-referenced the blood sample with hundreds of other samples stored away in the collective databases of both law enforcement and medical systems. Almost every resident of every dome had a blood sample somewhere with their blood type filed away - it made things especially easy for medical treatment. Blood could reveal many things, but the most important to Marcello was that blood was utterly filled with human DNA that could be traced to any one individual. All she needed was a hit in the system…
"Hoopah~" Marcello grinned as an image displayed. She was staring at the headshot of a young man, reptilian, looking like a gecko if the detective was to venture a guess before skimming through the specifics.
"Kris Procsman," Marcello said the man's name aloud, "And he's 28? Well, you're definitely no friend to a bunch of teenagers…"
"Yosh!" Marcello pumped her fist triumphantly. Finally, this investigation was getting somewhere!
It didn't seem as if she were going to find any more. Whoever these people were, this group Kris Procsman must have belonged to, had to be careful not to leave any traces of themselves. Kris must have just been one unlucky man! Marcello could look him up later in more comfortable accommodations, and so she lifted from her squat to head out straightaway. After the long trek outside, she was greeted by one heavy raindrop landing right between her eyes. She blinked a few times and shook her head before wiping the droplet away, only to have more resume falling upon her. She disengaged ARID before stuffing the glasses and glove into her pocket and made a march for her car before she got caught in another rainstorm.
Her boots mucked in the mud with every step, and she made it just to the laser-guarded perimeter when her eyes befell Blackwell speaking with one of the officers. Rainwater started to drip off the brim of the feline lieutenant's hat and her fur was starting to look a little frayed. She didn't like being cold or wet. She just so happened to turn her head to catch the detective's gaze, and just the smallest hint of a smile crossed her features before melting into a professional line. "Did you find anything?" She asked as Marcello made her way over.
"This," The detective produced the evidence bad containing the cut leather strap from her pocket. Blackwell took it and handed it off to the officer to her side. "I also found a blood sample belonging to a Kris Procsman," Marcello continued, "Ever hear of him?"
"Never," Blackwell shrugged, "But you ought to…"
Marcello rested a finger on Blackwell's lips to silence her and stepped in close with a devilish smile. "Go and dig him up, I know," She said as she let her finger drop, "This ain't my first walk in the park, see?"
Blackwell huffed a chuckle, "Whatever you goof, get outta here."
With a nod, Marcello turned and stepped past the laser perimeter, the beams flashing green before returning to their regular blue glow.
"Hey. Detective."
Marcello stopped and turned her head, her glowing bauble bobbing with the movement as she looked back at the Lieutenant.
"Call me," Blackwell held her pinky and thumb up next to her head, "I haven't seen you in a month. Let's get dinner."
"I'm working!" Marcello grinned.
Blackwell rolled her eyes. "You're always working," She said, "If I have to throw you into a squad car, I will!"
Marcello purred and reached into her open jacket to rub at her chest, "Your abuse of authority gets me going."
The Lieutenant blushed, "Whatever, just go."
With a bow, Marcello turned on her heels and left, leaving Blackwell to simply shake her head. "Yeah, well, it's your first time going after a bunch of armed thugs," She muttered, "Hope you know what you're getting into, Paris."
-
--
-
Three days of searching had turned up nothing. Officers had been all up and down the main route between Locksmouth and Harbington a few times over and the kids hadn't turned up. People in the dome were uneasy and rightfully so, but as time went on it seemed like the danger of an alien invasion had fled with Quincey. Everything was quiet, but things just didn't feel the same. People were now waking up and going to bed with thoughts of their safety and the safety of their loved ones - not the least of which were the parents of the kids who had run off. Even if it seemed like things were getting under some semblance of control in the dome, there was always that looming uncertainty that everything would be okay.
Eddie sighed and threw his PET down onto his desk with a careless wave of his hand. He let his back hit his chair and ran his fingers through his unkempt hair. Keeping things under control now was hard on him. Harbington had questions and he had to provide answers. His days were spent compiling everything they knew about Inklings and organizing it into educational tools for the people. He had information on the sorts of things Inklings were capable of, and some profiles on notable… well he could only call them Generals of Echelon's resistance force against Osoth's invasion of Earth. Thinking of them that way, as just part of some foreign army he couldn't quite get a handle on, was enough to make him worry. He couldn't quite find the way to spin the words into something more positive, either.
But that was because of every other waking moment of his life. Eddie couldn't do his job because he spend his evenings at home with his husband, sitting in the living room with his son nowhere to be found, and worrying. That was all he did was worry; it was all he could do. Every day that went by made it harder and harder to tell everyone that everything would be all right because every second Daxton was out there on his own made Eddie more uncertain.
What kind of monsters would even be able to do something like that? Who was this Duplex and why did it seem so comfortable thrusting a group of sixteen year old kids into a situation that could very well kill them? But the most pressing question was why it had to be that way. Why did the Inklings have to even come to Earth in the first place? If they hadn't, there'd be no reason to worry when travelling to Locksmouth. If they hadn't shown up at all, Eddie's son wouldn't be missing. If the Inklings hadn't come, there wouldn't be men with guns running around trying to take out a bunch of kids.
If they hadn't come, life would just be better. It would be normal.
"Mr. Kemberge?"
Eddie hauled his head forwards to look at his assistant who stood in the doorway to his office. The young blue jay looked far too natural in the blazer and skirt he wore. He was clutching his PET to his chest, and only lacked some form of eyewear to make the stereotype complete. The earrings that dangled off either side of his seemingly earless head and the bangs swept in front of one eye, however, served to add to feminine appearance that the jay felt most comfortable in. Apparently he just didn't like wearing suits and pants; said they made him feel stuffy and nervous.
"Mr. Kemberge, are you all right?"
"I can't stay here, Darling," Eddie conceded. The buck stood from his chair and pushed it back so he could step out from behind his desk. Darling, Eddie's receptionist (and honestly one of a few receptionists for everyone in the political office), kept his eyes on him the whole time.
"Is there anything I can do Mr. Kemberge?" Darling asked.
Eddie shook his head as he made a beeline for his coat that he'd hung over the back of a chair at the side of the room. "Just hold all my calls for a while," He said as he picked up and dawned his heavy brown duster, "I'm going to be out of the office for a while. I might be back tomorrow."
Darling swallowed. "Are you going to the police station again, Mr. Kemberge?" He asked.
Eddie made some kind of grunting sound. It was an acknowledgement. He made his way to the door, but Darling didn't move right away. The blue jay simply stood staring at Eddie's chest for a moment, pretty much eye-level with it.
"… I'm sorry, Mr. Kemberge," The receptionist worked out.
Eddie rested his hands on Darling's shoulders. "It's going to be fine," He said. He didn't wholly believe it himself, but he flashed the receptionist something of a smile.
Darling stepped out of the way and let Eddie walk past. For a man riddled with uncertainty, Eddie still walked with a purpose, a stride that Darling had gotten used to seeing from the man. It was a relief to see that something inside of Eddie refused to refuse, but whatever that was remained a mystery. Darling would hold his calls and set aside his work knowing that one day Eddie would be right back in that chair and working hard for Harbington. The people would just have to wait for a little while.
Eddie was a father first and foremost. He'd taken Daxton in as a puppy and raised the boy through blood, sweat and tears in order to provide the most for him. He'd fought far too hard to ensure Daxton was safe and happy, and he wasn't about to stop that fight. Quincey, too, was kind of like a daughter to him. The poor girl, Eddie couldn't imagine what she was going through and how she must have felt. Whatever it was, it was strong enough to make a… sensitive girl like her remove herself from everything she found comfortable. Maybe that was just what it was like to be faced with death. It was a chilling thought that made Eddie shiver before he even stepped out into the rain.
The water ran off the waterproof coating of his duster. He was kept dry and warm by the old-looking coat that covered almost all of his body, and the water almost seemed to be repelled from his body by the threadlinks in the fabric so that even his face and hair didn't get too wet. The air was nippy and the streets of the downtown area were cast over by dark clouds. Vehicles passed by, some midway-level, others passing overhead. There was no threat of splashing the puddles on the street, but the skiffs beneath each passing vehicle caused an angular ripple through the rain-pelted ground like an arrow. Eddie envied them for a moment as he walked, a little jealous that they had such an easy mode of transport compared to him. But it was only days like that which made him feel that way - the Trans suited him just fine otherwise.
When Eddie passed by others walking on the street, they nodded a glum greeting. The people in their raincoats seemed to drag themselves from place to place with no one stopping to talk. It wasn't unusual for weather like that, but there was an absence of the warm atmosphere that Harbington… well, harbored, most regularly. Store windows seemed a bit drearier, and warm, homely restaurants were missing their glow. It was enough to make Eddie sigh. Everyone knew when Echelon announced her departure from Locksmouth that things were going to be different, but Eddie had never realized just how different things would be until then.
One could suppose that would happen when an alien kidnaps your kid.
Before, Eddie believed that Daxton had left of his own volition to take Quincey to Locksmouth. But the longer he thought about it, the more it seemed like Duplex was the blame. If only they hadn't come to Earth at all…
Eddie paid no mind to the black vehicle that parked up next to him until the walkside door opened upwards. The metal door nearly clipped him, but he was quick to step out of the way with a little spin. He eyed the driver as she stepped out, his swift appraisal of the woman immediately captured by the glowing blue orb that dangled from her forehead from some kind of appendage. It really stood out in the rain, the glow around it shining out like some radial ring that surrounded the bauble. The purple-skinned woman looked aside for just a moment, golden eyes meeting Eddie's gaze. All at once, her features seemed to perk up.
"Arbitrator Kemberge!" She said, "Can you hold on just a second? I was thinking of talking to you."
Eddie stopped in the rain and cocked a brow. "What, now?" He asked.
The woman stepped up to him and held out a hand. It was covered by a gray glove, and when Eddie took it he could feel her hands were a little cold anyway. That was probably less because of the weather and more because she was a fish. The glove warmed quickly to Eddie's hand, making the handshake more pleasant.
"I'm detective Paris Marcello," She introduced herself.
Eddie squinted to think, but her name did click a few things into place. "You're the one investigating the… weapons," He almost didn't want to finish the sentence when it reminded him that his son was wrapped up in the whole thing, "It's nice to meet you."
"We went to the same college," Marcello sort of grinned knowingly, "But it's nice to see you again too. Can I ask you a few questions?"
"… Can I ask you a few as well?" Eddie returned.
Marcello blinked. "… Sure, okay," She said. She canted her head aside in a firm gesture to a store across the road. Café in the Sticks, it was called. Eddie eyed the building for a moment and nodded. They both took off across the midway to the store, with Eddie following Marcello with big strides of his long legs.
They stepped into a cozy little café upon the chime of a bell. It was a modern-looking establishment with polished wooden floors and overhead lights with angled shades. A display showcased all kinds of baked goods, the scents of which mingled beautifully in the air with the smell of freshly ground coffee beans. Alcohol may have been a thing of the past, but no one had really escaped the vice of a good, hearty coffee - least of all an officer or a political figurehead who had spent too many days in the rain. They were approached by a gentle-looking waitress who showed them to a seat along the coffee bar, which was exactly what it sounded like; stools and everything. Marcello took her jacket off upon sitting down, but Eddie kept his coat on. The long back of his coat hung down around his seat.
Marcello fancied a caramel-tinted brew with a couple of milks and a few sugars. Eddie's drink was black, but more sugary. They ordered and settled in to wait.
"So, Arbitrator," Marcello began, "Do you prefer Arbitrator? Or should it be Mr. Kemberge?"
"Eddie suits me just fine," The arbitrator said as he rubbed his jaw, "I already told the police about the call. That's all I know about what happened, so what could you possibly have to ask me?"
Marcello laced her fingers together to form a bridge for her chin to rest on. She stared straight ahead, elbows propped. "There's a few things maybe," She said, "Do you know a Kris Procsman?"
Eddie scrunched his brow. "Do they have anything to do with the men hunting down my son?" He asked.
There was a pause as Marcello considered sharing that sort of information… but she determined that only an idiot wouldn't make the connection, so she let him have it. "I believe so," She said, "And you, well… you know just about everyone, don't you? So Procsman wouldn't happen to be someone in town, would it?"
Eddie took a deep breath through his nose and sat up straight. "I know of a Debbie Procsman," He said, "An elder woman, a little sickly. She's rather… involved in how the dome handles things like healthcare… mostly because she's a recipient. Poor woman's got the shakes, she can't work. I've never heard of Kris, though."
Even if it wasn't a definitive lead, Marcello still put it to memory. It could have just saved her a step, really. "Worth looking into," She said, "Sounds like she's at least related to the guy. Next question: what do you know about Curon?"
"Cure-wha?" Eddie repeated.
"Nothing then," Marcello tsk'd, "Alright."
The drinks arrived, and they both picked up what they ordered when it was set in front of them. "Alright, now for my question…" Eddie spoke, "Where's my son?"
"Out in the wilderness somewhere," Marcello answered with no sense of tact or grace, "He did, however, pass through an area we've closed off for investigation. If I had to guess, he hasn't made it more than… Hm… how many miles…"
"Miles?" Eddie stared at Marcello.
Marcello counted on her fingers. "Miles," She said, "Your son has a destination and a purpose. He's not walking slowly, odds are he's trying to cover as much ground as possible. If the average person can walk maybe… 3.1 miles per hour, then he could have made it anywhere between… forty or forty-five miles a day, not counting rugged terrain or his run-in with any… obstacles."
"So you're saying he could be eighty miles away from me right now?" Eddie asked. The thought of it filled him with a special, parental sort of separation anxiety. It sounded so far, even if the average vehicle or Trans could travel that distance in rather short time. Eddie let out a breath and hunched over the mug he'd been given.
"… Why are these men chasing my son?" Eddie continued.
Marcello took a long sip from her drink, using both hands to hold the mug. She sighed as she brought it away from her lips. "… My theory? It's the alien," She said, "They just want to catch the alien."
It only took a moment's thought to determine that Marcello was right. Daxton may have gotten into trouble sometimes, but never so much as that. It had to be the one outside variable that had turned their lives upside down. "Well," He said, "… Daxton wouldn't let that happen. That means he's in trouble."
"Oh?" Marcello regarded him curiously.
"Quincey… is Daxton's best friend, his sister, and his high school crush all wrapped up into one," Eddie explained, "They were always together when they were kids… kind of my fault, really. I looked after her when she was just little. Walter and Paula got lucky, considering the way things go now-a-days… they had her by accident. So she lived with me and Edward for a few years while her parents completed their schooling."
"When we first got Daxton, he didn't like… well, anything," Eddie went on as he stared into his mug, "It was hard to blame him, really. We had a bit of a radical doctor suggest to us that we try and get him used to living without his STOP as much as possible… so that if anything happened, he wouldn't just immediately fall into a panic. We were strangers to him normally, and it didn't get any better when he wasn't able to see us."
"He couldn't see you?" Marcello asked.
Eddie nodded. He'd lived so long with Daxton that he forgot that some people just didn't understand the boy's blindness. "Yeah, he's got Anopthalmia. He never grew eyes," Eddie explained, "So you can't really do any corrective surgery on that sort of thing, and his eye sockets are sunken and deformed, so you can't just put eyes in. So, he uses a Sensory Transliteratory Operations Plastic, or STOP for short."
"Ah-huh," Marcello breathed.
"But there was something about Quincey that changed him," Eddie shrugged, "Maybe he was attracted to her, or maybe it was something else, but until we brought her in Daxton had been distant. Next thing we know, she's going everywhere with him like some little life coach, helping him just… I don't know, be… better? And that went for three years, and then Quincey had to go home. You should have seen that little guy throw such a temper tantrum. He yelled and he cried… it lasted for days, even though she was practically only going next door."
Marcello nodded along with Eddie's talking. She was honestly bored with the details, but it was better to keep him going. "So he feels pretty strongly about her," She concluded.
Eddie laughed. "Are you kidding? The guy is madly in love with her. He's been in love with her the whole time," He said, "If anyone's going to hunt Quincey down, they're going to have to go through him. He probably wouldn't back down unless… they literally did go through him."
That brought a silence to Eddie. Remembering all that was a little painful when his mind trudged into the present circumstance. The buck ran his thumbs along either side of his mug before taking a big gulp from the rich coffee housed within. "Yep," he smacked his lips when he pulled the mug away, "Daxton… is literally going to get himself killed for that girl."
"Now that's not true," Marcello raised a finger, "The weapons used aren't for lethal force. They're disabling weapons, firing blasts of pure kinetic energy. The worst your kid might get is a broken bone or two."
Eddie shot the woman a look. "Oh, that makes me feel so much better," He sneered.
They seemed to run out of things to say at that point and just went quiet, drinking their drinks and breathing out little sighs of dismay. There was nothing good about the situation, be it the weapons or the missing teenagers.
Marcello reached into her pocket after a while and produced a pair of shades. Eddie watched as she put the glasses on and pulled a black glove over her already gloved hand. That was enough to make him raise a brow, not knowing about the detective's Augmented Reality Investigations Device. "So who are Daxton's friends?" She asked.
"Laila and Kenny," Eddie answered promptly. Marcello just looked at him and made a gesture to prompt his elaboration, and he did so after he caught on, "Oh, uh, Kenny Baxter, Laila Lavinia. Quincey Abram, too, if it helps.
"It does," She said. She raised a finger and began to move it in the air as if she were flicking through pages and pushing buttons. To Eddie, it looked completely ridiculous, but to Marcello she was going through files brought up by ARID's catching Eddie's audio cues. Every name brought up a profile, each one organized into file folders on a virtual desktop that only she could see. "Then we have Kris Procsman and Debbie Procsman," She continued. More folders with appropriate names labelled on them appeared.
She brought up each one and scanned through them. Quincey Abram had no history of behavior that might cause her to run away from home as far as Marcello could tell. Kenny Baxter, well, Marcello wanted to nickname him "Baxter Case" because of his lengthy history or recurring night terrors and four years of SensRep Therapy. Laila Lavinia had a few misdemeanors under her belt, charges of mischief, and public indecency often exclusively due to engaging in OC in public venues. Daxton Kemberge...
"Yeugh," Marcello would have wrinkled her nose if she had a proper one. She wasn't prepared for the image that appeared before her eyes of a corgi boy whose eyelids were obviously deformed and his sockets were caved in and... Well it was just plain ugly. He must have been a real hit on Hallowed Halls Eve.
"What are you doing?" Eddie asked.
Marcello almost ignored him as she moved on. "Profiling," She explained, "Do you think there'd be any reason for Daxton to run off?"
Eddie shook his head. "Just to protect Quincey," He answered.
The detective turned her head to look at him. "Would you blame her for it? Or just the alien?" She asked.
Eddie looked surprised, "What? No! Oh god, no. If anything, I'd blame him. It's just how he is."
Evidence suggested that Daxton wasn't afraid to get into a mess. He had at least six separate dings on his record for getting into fights at school. Whether these were actively instigated by Daxton or just in defense of himself was unclear. Of course, he also had a fresh new charge of assault against a police officer, too, as well as aiding a wanted person, and theft of police property, and breaking curfew, and breaking through dome security.
"He sure has a knack for getting in trouble," She said.
"Always for a good reason," Eddie was quick to defend his son, "Every fight at school was always to help someone who couldn't defend themselves. I've never tried to steer him away from that. I know what he's doing is to help Quincey. He wants to save her from this thing if he can."
"Like some kind of hero," Marcello concluded, "Heh. A Harbington Hero."
Eddie grinned a little, remembering that moniker as being the name of the high school's tackle toss team way back when. "And he's not the type to give up, either," He said.
"Fortunately, neither am I," Marcello said, flicking her hand in the air a few more times, "Debbie Procsman has a downtown address here in Harbington... and a son named Kris. So it's time to go to grandma's house."
Hearing this, Eddie sat up a bit straighter. "Hold on now," He said, "If you're going to do that, maybe I should come with you."
"Why?" Came the obvious question.
"Mrs. Procsman is... a wary old bird," Eddie had sought and found a way to put his thoughts towards her politely, "She doesn't do well with strangers. She only really ever talks to me over PET. But she does talk to me, and often, so maybe I'll... help?"
That was a bit of a break. Marcello could have done way worse than having an Arbitrator on her side during an investigation. If anyone was going to try and be uncooperative for her, Eddie could have been just the sort of ‘official' muscle she needed to pry into things. Plus, he was familiar with many, if not all of the dome's residents. It didn't take her long to nod affirmatively. "I suppose it couldn't hurt," She said, "You going to give me the Arbitrator stamp of approval?"
Eddie scoffed. "I don't know how much good it'd do you, but I could do that," He said, "People… well, they like me. If that can be useful to you in protecting my son, I'll do whatever I can."
"I can find a use for it," Marcello sort of grinned, "Well, get your gumshoes on, Arbitrator."
-
--
-
"Mm, rain," Kenny sighed, holding out his hand to catch a few droplets of water that fell from the dark clouds overhead. What was a normally breezy autumn got even colder when the sun was blockaded by rolling, dark clouds that promised heavy precipitation. It made the normally lovely colours of the season take on a different tone altogether, too. Vibrant gold and deep reds were bathed in a rigor mortis-inspired gray. Every leaf that fell from the trees overhead gave the lemming a feeling that things were dying, not that the seasons were simply changing. It was an unnerving way to perceive things, but he couldn't shake it. He'd been walking for days.
Laila sauntered up behind the small, tense boy and placed her hands upon his shoulders. They were warm, but the way she squeezed and kneaded them was all too insistent rather than comfortable. "Looks bad," She said, "Reckon we gotta stop. Better find some place cozy."
Her fingers slipped from Kenny's shoulders to press into his collar and chest. That was about all Kenny was going to allow, so he shrugged off her grasp before casting his eyes forward with no small glare towards the two that lead the march. Daxton and Quincey were attached at the hip. While Kenny had trudged along with Laila awkwardly limping along with him, the corgi and piggy couple up ahead remained side by side with one arm wrapped around each other's waists and Quincey's head resting upon Daxton's shoulder.
The fact that they were just strolling along was… annoying. To say nothing of the fact that they also seemed oblivious to the rainfall and the need for shelter, Kenny was getting irked by their constant mutterings of sweet nothings and cuddly goo-goo attitude.
"Hey, stupid!" He shouted up ahead. When both Quincey and Daxton looked back over their shoulders at him in surprised confusion, Kenny clenched a fist. "Yeah I'm talking to both of you! You wanna listen up or something, Romeo and Juliet? It's gonna rain. We should find somewhere to hole up!"
"Whoa," Daxton more mouthed before speaking, "We know that!"
Kenny marched towards the two, the handcuff half applied to him dangling off his one wrist. The sword he'd swiped from the old museum was clenched tightly in his other hand, and the grumpy expression that was common about his features made him look all the more intimidating. He had a bit of an awkward stride as well as certain movements of his back or shoulder blades reignited a throbbing pain up the higher half of his spine. "Well do you wanna slow down or what? Laila can't keep up," He chastised the two love-birds.
"Hey I'm all fine and dandy," Laila insisted as she followed along, "Besides we gotta be quick like bunnies if we're gonna make it to Locksmouth before the cows come home. That's what you were sayin' before, wasn't it?"
"We ain't got time to rest, this ain't a field trip!" Laila puffed out her chest as she did the worst impression of Kenny imaginable with a dumb voice and far too much twang. This did nothing for the boy's temper, and he turned his ire onto her with a well-timed roll of thunder sounding in the distance.
"Shut up!" Kenny squeaked, "This is different!"
"A-Alright, I'm sorry," Quincey spoke up as she turned to Kenny, "I just…"
Daxton gave the pig girl a look. "You don't have to keep apologizing for everything," He said, "This isn't your fault."
Kenny took a deep breath, but it did nothing to calm him. "You're a friggin' moron if you're saying I'm wrong," He said, "Besides, it IS your fault that you're not taking this seriously. So you're boyfriend and girlfriend now, so what? You wanna go back to Harbington and make out in front of your lockers now?"
"Kenny!" Daxton barked as a blush spread across his cheeks.
"Quit. Being. Stupid," Kenny returned.
Quincey gave an awkward glare of her own, torn between being embarrassed, being angry, and feeling her legs shaking. "I'm not being stupid!" She squealed, "I know we've got to get there, we're just going and…! Ugh! What do you know anyway?! You're not the one with an alien inside him!"
"Are you gonna pull that every time I say anything?" Kenny huffed, "That's not an excuse to be all lovey-dovey!"
"W-What am I not allowed to be even a little bit happy for just a little while? What is your problem?!" Quincey shouted, "I think I deserve to do whatever I want, it said it could…!"
*THWACK*
Kenny cringed as a hard hand smacked against the back of his head. With speeds that probably shouldn't have been possible considering the circumstances, Daxton got one upside his head as well. Lastly, Quincey found one of her ears pinched between the fingers of a rather annoyed, and rather tall giraffe who gave a harsh tug to make the pudgy porcine sound out a pitiful, high-pitched whimper.
"Ya'll shut your traps before I wipe them off your faces," Laila put on a stern and authoritative tone. She then pulled on Quincey's ear a little harder, making the girl take a few steps with her. "And you don't even dare finish that sentence, not ever again," Laila turned Quincey's head to look her in the eye, "You never say what you're about to say because it ain't a lick of truth, you hear me?"
"Ow…! Ouch!" Quincey's eyes watered, "Laila stop!"
"Quincey, baby," Laila sighed as she released the piggy from her torment, "Just… don't say it, okay? We know, and… it ain't easy on the ears."
Quincey looked up at Laila, whose furious expression had melted into one of a pitiful sadness. The giraffe pressed her lips together and her brows knit into an upturned angle as she silently pled to her friend not to remind them about what was at stake. Quincey looked to Kenny, who shared a similar look wrought with worry for the girl, but he turned his head quickly as to avoid her eyes. Lastly she looked to her boyfriend, and the corgi simply took a deep breath. His normally broad shoulders sort of wilted under the weight of the truth that hung in Laila's words.
She swallowed a lump in her throat and cast her gaze to the ground. Rain began to pelt the leaves in the trees harder and more frequent, the resulting sound beginning to pick up in volume as the rain started to come down.
"Okay," Laila whispered, "Now let's get moving."
The group shuffled into movement, beginning their trek anew in hushed silence.
The trip to Locksmouth was taking its toll on the pack of teenagers. Rainy weather had forced them to spend entire mornings in shelter or made the ground too soggy to sleep on at night. Their clothes had begun to show the wear and tear of a rough journey across unfamiliar terrain. Pants were torn, skirts ripped, and shirts were stained with grass and mud. Their shoes felt too constrictive on their feet and were caked in more dirt than they would ever have allowed to build up before. The threadlink ability to warm their bodies could only work so well as the rain pelted down on them from the heavy clouds above; they started to feel cold and wet sensations breaking through the thermo-regulation of their clothing. Every step became an uncomfortable slog.
Empty stomachs lent themselves to the hike. The food they had taken from the Rest Station had only lasted them a day and a half. Rationing food between four seemingly bottomless bellies of growing adolescents was difficult - it didn't help that Quincey had a habit of eating more than a fair share. Daxton had no problem sharing his portions with the girl, but it left him a little hungry and his muscles a little weary when the group was literally getting by on scraps. They could chew some dried jerky, but there wasn't anything in the way of sandwiches or nature bars any more.
The need for sustenance made their destination all the more important: another rest station just a few miles up the river. It was supposedly nestled in the center mass of land on the inside of a U-turn the water would make to twist and turn before continuing straight towards the ocean. From the top-down perspective of a map on a PET, it seemed like it would be an easy trip to the ocean. They might have even made it to Locksmouth in around a day.
That was assuming, however, that the weather was fair and nothing got in their way.
As they neared the area where the rest station was, they almost didn't see the police officers standing watch through their wet bangs. It was Daxton and subsequently Kenny who noticed them, thankfully before the officers caught sight of them. The rain helped dampen visibility, and them being on the far side of the river helped too. The teens stopped upon Daxton's order and backed off so they rounded the trees on the other side of the river. The bush wasn't thick enough to be totally invisible to the officers, so they had to hope it provided just enough to keep them from being found as they stood in otherwise plain sight.
"Dang nabbit," Laila huffed, "Guess it was wishful thinkin' that they wouldn't catch on."
"What do we do?" Quincey wrapped her arms around herself and rubbed her shivering body. She was really looking forward to getting inside that station.
"I dunno," Daxton grumbled. He looked to Kenny.
"Rrrgrgr..." Kenny made a frustrated sound, "They should really be looking for those other guys, not us!"
"We believe a distraction would be your best course of action, Quincey Abram."
Quincey's ears lifted and she looked around at the sound of Duplex's voice. She happened across the Inkling taking the place of her faint reflection in the rushing river water near her. The rainy weather had caused the water levels to raise, making the normally calm river move a little more hazardously. Duplex's blue eyes stared back at her from the darkened water, barely visible in the lack of sunlight. "A distraction...?" Quincey repeated.
Not knowing of the exchange between the girl and her Inkling, Kenny cocked a brow. "How do we do that?" He asked.
"Hold on," Quincey said. She went quiet, but stared into the water as if she were listening. The answer to Kenny's inquiry would become obvious when, with a metallic shimmer, Quincey was beside herself. The act caused the others to give a startled jump.
"Duplex thinks it can lure the officers away," The Quincey on the right said.
"It can only get so far away from me before it loses its shape," The one on the left continued, "And it doesn't respond to those neurods like we would." Both Quinceys pointed to the rod Laila kept attached to her belt for emphasis.
The others stared at one Quincey or the other like she had two heads. She technically did, if one were counting. "This is never going to be not weird," Kenny said.
"Okie-dokie Ms. Oakly, but then how do we high-tail it across the river?" Laila presented yet another problem. They all tried to gauge the river by looking at its rushing surface. They weren't sure how deep it was and had no way of finding out without attempting to submerge into it. At the rate the overfull river was running, however, that could have been dangerous.
"How deep do you think that is?" Daxton posed the obvious question.
"I can't swim!" Both Quinceys perked up at once. It was a little unnerving to see - normally the Quincey clone didn't mimic the girl so successfully. It admittedly spoke a little out of time, or moved just a little bit too late, and its tone wasn't always the appropriate pitch. It marked the one on the left as the copy.
"Reckon there's one better way to find out than standin' here swayin' in the breeze," Laila said. She didn't much hesitate when it came to reaching up and unclasping the button that held her top crossed over her chest. She peeled the already wet fabric away from her sliding her arms through the small sleeves and then pulled the shit off over her head. By the time she had herself half-shimmied out of her wet jeans it became obvious what her plan was. She stripped herself down to the stickers and thrust her clothes into a Quincey's arms. Kenny was given the carrying case for the food, and then Laila carefully put one foot in front of the other to settle riverside and carefully lower herself into the water. Her sheriff star stickers protruded as chills ran through her body and her teeth chattered as she dipped her feet into the drink.
She lowered herself steadily. Her feet descended some ways, and she scooted off her butt at the edge to submerge herself. Her feet touched ground with water reaching above her midriff. "S'about this deep," She shuddered as she turned back to her friends.
"You're over six feet tall!" Kenny said, "No way. Not happening."
"I'm with Kenny!" Quincey said. One of her pushed against either side of the lemming boy, making him put on a wary and uncomfortable face.
"J-Just get on my shoulders!" Laila spat.
"The water's rushing too fast," One Quincey said. "We'll get washed away," The other droned.
Laila raised her hands out of the water and held her arms out to either side. "I don't see any b-bridges jumpin' out to help us!" She said, "Sss-stop bein' yellow!"
"You're crazy," Kenny sighed.
"N'gettin' hypothermia so shut up and park your keister!" Laila yelled as she turned her back and gestured firmly with a thumb towards her shoulders.
Daxton watched the officers as his friends bickered. They didn't seem to notice the commotion, probably because of all the rain coming down and drowning out their voices. There were only three of them by his count, and he could see them quite clearly thanks to one of the various sight settings of his STOP. In Daxton's eyes, each officer appeared as a person-shaped mass of orange and green heat signatures. Most of the surrounding area appeared as a subtly blue green, cooled by the rainwater. Looking back at his friends, Laila looked far from vibrant as well. "Just do it," He said, "I'll help with Quincey."
Kenny climbed up upon Laila's shoulders nervously. He was clumsy and he wobbled, but his mount was no more graceful. Laila struggled to saddle him up with his legs over her shoulders and his belly against the back of her head. He was warm to the touch, as he so often was, serving as some mild relief as icy cold nipped at her lower extremities. She didn't waste time setting out, and with slow, careful steps she began to cross the river.
It was as difficult as could be expected. The current pushed at Laila's body and made her steps difficult, threatening to cause a misstep that would result in her falling. The giraffe steeled her long limbs and trekked on in sheer defiance of the water's flow. She was no dainty flower, not by a long shot. A girl didn't wake up at six every morning and work on a farm since the day she was big enough to lug a container of water across the plantations and not get a little payback in the form of steely muscle. She wasn’t a rippling, statuesque sort – she didn’t even have much along the lines of abs – but her body was country tough!
Laila made it to the other side of the river where she deposited Kenny before turning to wade back over.
“T-There’s… ahaha! There’re… t-there’re fish in here!” Laila snorted, “Nghtk… Snrk! T-They tickle!”
“I’m not sure about this…” Quincey said, squeaking as Daxton pushed his clothes into her arms. She was loaded with wet laundry.
Daxton shook out his hands and jumped up and down in place. Down to his sticker, the rain matted down his fur. He kept his hat on in order to see, but wore nothing more. His clothes could dry off a lot easier if he didn’t wear them into the river, which was probably why Laila stripped hers off as well… then again, Laila was Laila. She was probably looking for an excuse to shed some layers.
“Don’t worry, we’ll carry you across,” Daxton said. He took a deep breath and shook off a feeling of hesitation he had as he watched the water rush by. Laila had a little trouble wading back, but the giraffe was waiting now for Quincey to climb aboard. With Daxton’s help, she did, albeit hesitantly. Together the three of them started to cross, with Laila carrying most of Quincey’s weight while Daxton stood just behind them and pushed his hands up against Quincey’s rotund rear to create some additional support.
It was harder for the corgi to cross since he was shorter than Laila by a good foot. What came up to her middle had Daxton in up to just beneath his shoulders. The current was strong and the water bearing down on him made it hard to breathe. Still, he pressed on as Quincey hung on as best she could with Daxton and Laila’s clothes resting upon the head of her giraffe ferry. Laila was weighted down considerably by her thick passenger and was considerably slowed… but even slowly, they marched across the rushing water.
Quincey’s double and Kenny could only watch from opposite ends of the river as they went.
“Just a little more sweetie!” Laila said. She could feel Quincey’s legs shaking and should the pig have clenched her thighs around Laila’s neck any tighter, the giraffe was afraid her head might simply pop off. She winced through the pain and carried on, breathing almost hoarsely as she went.
Things turned bad when Laila’s injured foot caught a rock the wrong way. When her foot twisted and pain shot up her leg, she suddenly stumbled and fell towards the water. Quincey screamed as she neared the water, wrapping her legs tightly around Laila’s neck in a desperate bid to avoid plunging beneath the water’s surface. Laila and Daxton’s clothes fell into the water all at once in Quincey’s fright to be washed downstream and the girl’s arms whipped around Laila’s head to hold on tight instead. Laila shouted as well, her one eye covered by Quincey’s hand. The pig still held tightly to Laila’s neurod.
Daxton was the one who tried to act by simply thrusting his shoulder into Laila’s failing side. Putting all his weight into his shove, he managed to keep Laila standing, nearly slipping on the mud below but somehow managing to stay aloft. Quincey’s rear mashed down on his head and Laila’s tall body pushed hard against him as the girl desperately righted her footing. It all happened in a moment, and they’d gotten so frightened that their hearts pounded in their chests. Even Kenny stared in abject horror as the scene unfolded. His whole body was clenched up so tight he could have pulled a muscle just standing there.
Daxton pushed, and in a slow, arduous movement Laila was righted and the march continued to the other end of the river. Upon reaching the other side, they haphazardly worked Quincey off of her perch and onto solid ground before Laila crawled out onto the other side of the river herself. Her legs shook and felt like wet spaghetti as she flopped onto the ground like a fish. Daxton planted his hands on the river’s edge and hauled himself up where he flopped onto Laila’s back and wheezed as he panted for breath.
“Ohhh… Oh no, your clothes…!” Quincey squealed as she balled her fists up against her mouth, “I dropped them!”
Laila and Daxton were too winded to respond, but it was just as well. That meant Laila’s PET had been washed away as well, and both she and Daxton had nothing to wear but their understickers. The stickers provided little along the lines of warmth. Their wet fur felt the cold sting of the air everywhere but where their bodies touched.
“Shit!” Kenny cussed and then just made some kind of strained, angry groaning sound as he turned away and dragged his fingers through the wet fur on his head.
“It’ll…” Daxton swallowed, feeling like he drank a bit of the river water, “It’ll be fine…! Just do the… distraction already!”
Quincey blinked a few times and looked across the river at her double. It stared back at her for a moment before giving a nod and darting off. The Quincey-clone sprinted about as gracefully as her cumbersome body would allow, resulting in a terrible trotting across the river’s edge. She ran right into view of the police officers and stopped. The officers certainly seemed to notice her, and they shouted across the river for her to stop. The pig-clone looked panicked and then turned tail to flee further down the river’s edge, causing two of the three officers to take off along their side of the river to follow her and keep her in sight.
The original Quincey watched the whole thing. In her mind, she could hear Duplex’s strange voice telling her to move quickly and that she didn’t have much time before the copy would collapse. Quincey knew that, of course, but her legs refused to move. They felt cold and shaky all of a sudden; her stomach was turning into knots and her breathing became heavy and quick. What should have been a short trip across the river turned into a disaster and she could find no fault in anything except for her. She was the one that panicked, she was the one that dropped the clothes, and now she was going to mess everything else up, she was sure of it.
Kenny seemed to bounce anxiously, and all at once he whipped around to take the neurod from Quincey. His handcuff clipped her wrist as he did, making her squeak in pain as he snatched the stick away. He then took off in a run, screaming as he broke through the trees and leapt on the one remaining officer. The rod connected with the man’s neck as Kenny straddled the St. Bernard and took him rolling to the ground. The officer flopped down like a bag of bricks. Kenny scrambled to his feet and kicked the man as hard as he could a few times to make sure he was unconscious… but then Kenny wasn’t some warrior. He accomplished some hard marks and bruises on the officer’s face, and only really dazed him.
“COME ON!” He yelled back to his friends.
“F-F-Fudgin’ c-cold…” Laila shivered, “B-But at least I c-can’t feel my leg n’ymore…!”
Daxton forced himself to his feet, grabbing Laila around her waist and pulling her middle up so that she could tuck her knees under herself. Quincey quickly helped by taking Laila’s hand and pulling her to her feet. The giraffe flopped upon the girl, but with Daxton at Laila’s other side they dragged her as she hobbled along with them towards the rest station. They were met with such a comforting blast of warm air upon collapsing into the rest station that finally reaching it didn’t seem so bad, considering the circumstances.
Quincey got up on her hands and knees and panted.
“I can’t believe you did that!” Kenny shouted, pacing around the small interior of the station, “Omigawd what is wrong with you?!”
“I’m sorry!” Quincey squealed, finally breaking into tears, “I didn’t mean to! I was scared! I didn’t even want to do that!”
Daxton grit his teeth and lifted Laila as best he could, practically throwing the tall girl half onto one of the beds in the station. He clenched his teeth so hard he thought he might bury them into his gums. So much about the situation had him at wit’s end, but he focused on Laila for the moment, who he got situated on the bed so she could lay out. Her feet dangled over the side somewhat, more limp than they ought to be.
“We’re going to die out here!” Kenny squeaked, yanking the carrying case off his shoulder to let it fall to the floor in front of Quincey. The distraught pig just tried to curl up into as small a ball as possible as Kenny furiously paced around and shouted doom say throughout the small space. Daxton, meanwhile, busied himself by rubbing Laila’s legs, squeezing and kneading them to try and keep her blood flowing. He could see quite clearly from the heat-vision of his STOP that she was far too cold.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to!” Quincey continued to bawl.
Kenny turned to her with clenched fists. “You’re not as sorry as you’re gonna be when--…!”
Daxton practically leapt over Quincey, stumbling into Kenny and grabbing the smaller boy by his shirt. In a fury, Daxton lifted Kenny up off the floor with ease, slamming the lemming boy back over the small food storage unit, nearly tipping the thing. Kenny’s back slammed painfully against the heavy containment field that made up the station’s walls, the bruising on the boy’s back shooting pain through him that made him yelp. Daxton’s fists clutched Kenny’s undershirt too tightly for Kenny to free himself as Daxton lurched in towards the boy with a growl.
“Shut your goddamn mouth.”
Kenny blinked, befuddled and shocked, his heart pounding in his chest. He tried to say something, but simply sputtered syllables.
“Quit your yelling and do something useful,” Daxton hissed through grit teeth, “Get the food. Now.”
“D-Daxton! Stop!” Quincey gasped.
Daxton pushed Kenny against the wall and turned to Quincey. “Give me your sweater,” He said.
“My sweater?” Quincey blinked.
“Your sweater. Give it to me,” Daxton demanded again.
Quincey was just scared enough of Daxton’s tone to do as he asked. She pulled off her sweater in a hurry, leaving her in the white, short-sleeved button-up and red necktie she wore beneath. She handed the sweater to Daxton, who carried it back to Laila and helped her put it on. Laila may have been a lot taller than Quincey, but the sweater was loose even for a girl of Quincey’s width. It fit fine over Laila’s body, if only being a bit short on the arms. The wooly, creamy-yellow fabric was warm to the touch, it having been rapidly drying since they entered the station. Laila laid back upon getting the shirt on and wrapped her arms around herself.
Quincey and Kenny watched this with gaped mouths. Daxton flopped onto the floor, his back pressed against the bed Laila rested upon, and ran his hand over his head to yank off his hat and slam it to the floor. The corgi seemed to deflate then, panting a little as his anger left him in a tired heap. Exchanging a look, Kenny and Quincey moved. Kenny slid off the food storage unit and sat on his knees on the floor to hurriedly open it and start piling the sandwiches, trail mixes, and nature bars into the carrying case. Quincey cautiously crawled over to Laila’s bed. She was afraid to even say anything with how Daxton had lashed out at them, but she sheepishly got out some simple instructions to get Laila to sit up.
Everyone got awful quiet as Laila sat up and threw her legs over the side of the bed. Quincey placed the giraffe’s feet in her lap, her soft thighs acting as a warm cushion as she began to rub and massage, urging the blood flow to Laila’s extremities. The giraffe sighed, barely holding herself upright.
“Daxton,” She said, shivering still.
“Sorry,” Daxton mumbled through his hands as he rubbed his face.
“D-Don’t worry,” Quincey swallowed, “Don’t worry, you’ll be okay… Here, you can take these too.”
Quincey sat back on her butt and quickly took her shoes off. She peeled her knee-high white socks down her chubby legs to remove them and begin putting them on Laila’s feet. The giraffe gave a weak smile. “Piggy, sweetie…” She started to protest.
“N-No, I lost your clothes, it’s my fault… f-for real this time, it’s my fault,” Quincey insisted shakily, “I can live without my socks.”
Kenny had closed the carrying case and looked at the group as they fussed. He took a deep breath and let it out through his nose before making his way over. He practically dragged himself to sit next to Daxton. Quietly, he removed the black and red over-shirt he wore and he moved to place it around Daxton’s shoulders. He still wore a white, sleeveless shirt with a high collar. The over shirt was barely a shirt – it fit Kenny only to cover the boy’s chest and stopped short at his midriff. Around Daxton’s shoulders, the small garment was comically useless. Daxton could feel it resting too tightly around him, but he reached up slowly to pull it around himself anyway.
“Thanks,” He said simply.
“… Sorry,” Kenny said, “I’m sorry, I just… This is all freaking me out, okay?”
Daxton nodded. “Yeah,” He said, “Me too.”
Kenny looked up to see Quincey staring at him. The look in her eye made him wrinkle his nose. “I’m scared, okay? And now I’m really scared,” He admitted, “I just… I just don’t want anything bad to happen.”
“To any of you,” He mumbled. He laid out flat on the floor and folded his forearm over his eyes. His hand clutched the sword he’d taken, holding it white-knuckle tight. He sniffled, but not from being cold.
Quincey took a breath and rubbed her eyes dry, swallowing back whatever crying she had left to do. “Well…” She said, grasping Laila’s feet again and continuing to rub them, “Duplex fell apart, so… we can’t stay here.”
Laila let her head fall back. “Great,” She said.
Daxton pushed up from where he sat and very deliberately had his toe brush against Kenny’s leg. He stepped over the boy then and towards the second bed in the station to pull the blanket off and dawn it like a sort of cloak. He wrapped himself up in the clean white comforter after putting his hat back on. He’d been listening to the rain’s applause against the station, pattering against the small dome’s containment field; seeing it was a different thing altogether. It was utterly pouring from the dark storm clouds, with thunder sounding off and lightning dancing between the fluffy masses in the sky before dropping the occasional bolt. The boy’s ears drooped at the prospect of braving the storm.
“Maybe… I should go…” Quincey hung her head, “… By myself. I shouldn’t have talked you all into coming.”
“If we didn’t come you woulda tripped and fell and broke your neck as soon as you stepped outside,” Kenny huffed, “Well, you probably wouldn’t have even made it that far.”
“But…” Quincey let her hands drop and released Laila’s foot, “It’s because of me that you…”
“It’s because of you that we’re out here at all,” Laila coughed softly, “You got that right.”
“We’re out here because we need to be,” Daxton said, “We have to be. We can’t just let you shoulder this all by yourself. We owe you that much.”
Quincey looked up from her spot at the floor, staring up at Laila. “Owe me?” She asked, “But… why? All I ever do is make things harder for you. I mess things up and always make you come to my rescue. You don’t owe me anything.”
Kenny sighed in frustration and pushed himself to sit up. “You really are an idiot sometimes, you know that?” He asked, “Yeah, sure, you mess things up and can never really keep up with any of us… And you’re always crying and whining, and being annoying.”
Quincey hung her head again and tightened her jaw.
“Why do you think we put up with all that?” Kenny asked, “Why would any of us even bother if you didn’t give anything back?”
The girl looked around at each of her friends, and finally shuffled away from Laila’s feet to turn herself facing Kenny, the middle of the three-point friendship circle. “W… What are you talking about?” She asked.
Kenny palmed his face. “Oh come on…” He grumbled.
“Quincey, you taught me things,” Daxton said as he approached her. He stood over her, looking down at her as she stared up at him, and he shook his head. “I… guess you taught me how important it was to help other people. When we were kids it was always you who was telling me we had to stick up for someone getting bullied, or to help someone who was in trouble because you felt bad for them. If I never met you, I probably wouldn’t even have thought about it.”
“You’re always helpin’ us with our homework, invitin’ us over to eat or tryin’ to get us to go out places with ya,” Laila crookedly smiled, “You’re always doin’ everything to keep this pack together. You’re always the one that’s upset when someone’s gotta miss out…”
“And you’re always hugging us and… you’re always happy to see us,” Kenny’s voice kind of cracked as he spoke, “Even me, you’re just… you’re always waving and smiling and… and jumping us and hugging us in that stupid way you do.”
The boy sniffled again and rubbed his eyes with one of his arms. He sounded like he was crying. “I wish none of this was happening to you,” He said, “I just want everything to be okay.”
Laila slapped a hand down on one of her thighs, giving a quick turn of her head as she wiped away her own tears. “You’re our porky lil’ glue,” She said.
Quincey couldn’t have gripped her skirt any tighter. Teardrops fell into her lap, streaming down from her cheeks as she stared almost blankly straight ahead. “B… But…” She choked.
Daxton squat down and rested a hand on her shoulder. “No more buts,” He said softly.
Quincey made a squealing, sobbing sound as she hunched forwards, her shoulders shaking as she cried. She found herself embraced, by her boyfriend at her side, his strong arms around her middle. She was embraced by Kenny, who’d set down his sword and pushed forwards to throw his arms around her neck and rest his chin on her shoulder. She was embraced by Laila, who had slipped off the bed to hold her from behind, resting her own chin against Quincey’s hair.
“We love you, you fat doofus,” Kenny sniffled, “So quit saying stuff like that.”
They had to hold her for a while, the girl overcome with too many emotions to make any moves. She just had to cry it out, and cry she did. Rather than be annoyed with her, or angry at her, her pack held her tightly and warmly from all sides and were there for her. Their words filled her with even more warmth, something inside that had always been there, released by the utter relief that they would refuse to abandon her. She knew they loved her, even if they got mad at her from time to time. It was fine, because she loved them too. She never hurt them on purpose, and she hated to see them sad. It was that love for them that made her do the things she did, and take leaps and bounds she otherwise wouldn’t feel strong enough to do.
She did it for them more than for herself.
Feelings like that, they were what made the trip so important. She didn’t want to lose her pack, not for anything. Inklings, Canvas, men with guns… none of it seemed so bad knowing that they were there. If she lost it… if she lost them…
Quincey sat up straight and took a deep breath. She dried her eyes with her tie and finally opened them again to look at her friends. “Locksmouth isn’t that far away… are you ready to go?” She spoke.
“Pneumonia wouldn’t keep me from it,” Laila nodded.
“Yeah,” Kenny said as he grasped the sheath of his sword.
“I’d go anywhere for you,” Daxton said, his hand taking hers and giving it a squeeze, “You know that.”
Quincey stood up, and the others rose with her. Without any more talking, she turned to the station’s door and let her feet carry her outside. With her pack following behind, she stepped out into the storm where the rain showered down. Her top soaked through to see-through and stuck to her body, her hair matted down and her bangs slopped down against her forehead. Her glasses were covered in water droplets that made it hard to see, but when she looked behind her at her no-less-miserable and no-less-soaked friends, they looked at her with firm determination. Quincey couldn’t help her small smile as she looked forwards again before she took off in a run through the storm.
They hopped over the limp and nearly unconscious officer. They took off down the riverbank as quickly as their legs could take them, stumbling and splashing all the way. There was little ahead but trees and dark clouds, but the ocean wasn’t far, and on its shores Locksmouth waited for them. The end of that crazy journey was in sight.
“We don’t believe we have had friends,” Duplex spoke to no one other than its host, “Your friends are stronger than we thought.”
Yeah. Quincey grinned. Her friends were amazing.
“You are lucky to have such allies, Quincey Abram.”
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