Graph 1-C may as well have been a Calculus problem. Bars, figures, and equations leapt from the page, daunting the Wigglytuff into academic submission. His eyes glazed over, hoping to grasp a modicum of sense from this jumble.
“May I draw your attention here,” Rutger tapped a diagram in the upper-left corner; the president obediently looking. “You’re right in pointing out that fatalities are too high; you and I dream of zero, but more work is to be done. However, note the downward trajectory of cases over the previous three days.” His finger shifted to the graph on the right. “The downward rate of mortality…” Then the graph in the middle-left. “And this is the downward rate of other diseases connected to pneumonavirus. Thanks to ongoing research, we’ve discovered that Feloxoquin modified with an approximate four-one ratio of this list of chemicals,” Rutger tapped on Diagram 1-B, a list containing eighty-nine elements, compounds, and various manufactured bacteria strains. “is effective in eliminating about, oh…” he paused to give the impression he hadn’t rehearsed this. “Ninety to ninety-five percent of the virus in a normal, healthy immune system. Of course, the number is lower for those with comorbidities; the more adverse, the worse-”
Rutger went on and on. Banks did his best to pay attention, but the jargon brute-forced him into a cul-de-sac of uselessness. He didn’t know a fraction of these eighty-nine names, much less how to pronounce them. The doctor’s incessant exposition made it even harder to find anything to understand; like falling behind in a lecture because you got stuck on an earlier detail. He tried to ignore the list and pay attention to the expert. More words danced over his head. Bronchodilater? Interlober? Subpleural plexus? Banks merely nodded along.
Rutger masked an inward smirk with professional poise. Words rarely skipped a beat; a performance worthy of admiration. Most of what he said was relevant; some of his prattling about random aspects of anatomy served only to intimidate the president. Nothing hindered the Wigglytuff from stopping the impassioned oration and asking questions except his own insecurity. He expounded on the sea of other charts populating the table. More virus numbers. More case-by-state numbers. More numbers proving his extra-medical policy decisions have helped lower death rates. Keeping portals closed, borders between provinces closed, most businesses closed or hours restricted. Numbers showing money printed and sent to struggling Revarians so the dearth of employment wouldn’t destroy them. Inflation was on the upswing, but was a problem that could be addressed once the pandemic was abated.
“So…” Rutger paused for water as his throat was getting sore. “to sum up my answer to your first concern, fewer people are dying by the day. We’re working to bring that to zero, but there is progress. But, on to your next concern, hunting Ohara is justified. Everyone knows he did this.”
Banks instinctively shook his head. “He’s a good man-”
“He’s a FRAUD.” Rutger tightened his fists and raised his voice with a touch of anger; just enough to make Banks jump. “He’s a traitorous mastermind who unleashed hell on innocent Revarians. No, if we don’t act, he’ll strike again. We HAVE to catch him and make him pay.”
The force of his charisma made Banks’s heart race. He felt shame for insinuating Rutger was mistaken about Ohara.
“I’m sorry.” Rutger sat down and rubbed his temples. “I don’t blame you for not seeing it. He was accomplished and everything but, he is guilty.” His eyes narrowed and met the president’s. “Goes to show there are people you can’t trust.”
Banks looked down. He recalled nothing about Dr. Ohara suggesting he was malicious. If so, he would have eagerly accepted Banks’s offer of executive power. What easier way to crank out his new medicine than with unimpeded executive power? Then again, Rutger worked with him directly; he could’ve noticed red flags Banks would’ve never perceived.
Rutger watched the gears gyrate in the president’s mind. “I can’t believe it either, but Revaria’s safety comes first. Dr. Ohara’s extremely knowledgeable and, like I said, has accomplished a lot, but he stabbed all of us in the back. He stabbed his entire country in the back... If there’s going to be any justice… any closure for those poor families who lost their children… I will see that justice is done. You can remove me from power if you want… but that would be a mistake. You can disapprove the hunt and silencing people defending him, but we need unity. Imagine you lost one of your dear grandchildren to the virus, and you see some thoughtless person on Chitter rambling about how great Ohara is.” Rutger shook his head, sympathizing with Banks’s hypothetical scenario. “It’d hurt. You’d wonder how they could be so callous and you’d want them gone. Look…” Rutger leaned closer, holding the president in his gaze. “I care deeply about our morale… people’re hurting and hoping for normal days again. People look at… that monster, wishing and praying justice would be answered. That… evil would be punished and their children avenged. If you want to do the right thing, you’ll keep me in power until we’ve won. We’ve come this far…”
Rutger held Banks in his stare until the Wigglytuff answered. The frail old man shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
-
Malcolm’s knee felt like new as the medication kicked in. The Weavile ran as fast as his legs could carry him and the foxes. Though the farmer never saw them, time was not on their side. Every second counted. Every step needed to take them forward. He wasn’t optimistic Banks was going to grow a spine, but still clung to the sliver of hope he would. The president trusted him and was smarter than he gave himself credit for. He had to know Rutger was lying about everything; if only he had the gumption to act on it.
Miles of grass, ferns, and flowers blanketed the landscape. Pumpkin fields turned into cornfields. Stretching into a starlit horizon, stalks provided a bulwark for the trio from probing eyes. Missing too were the screech and whir of aerial hunters. Malcolm was okay with Terrence and Nikki poking their heads out and taking in much-needed air.
“Uh, Malcolm?” Terrence tentatively tapped him on the shoulder.
“Talk... later… running...” The Weavile panted; his voice shook with each stride.
“So uh, why were you in the cave, you know, earlier? I mean, like, how come you were there with no seeds?”
Malcolm winced and hesitated. “… I was there and… I lost them.”
Terrence cocked his head. “What?”
“I had them and was so close… then I was attacked by a horde of Ariados and lost them as I fended them off.”
The fox shook his head, skeptical. “But weren’t they in the bag?”
“They were out because I was about to plant one… When I did, I got attacked. I made it out okay because bugs’re weak against ice, but the seeds were knocked into a crevasse. I couldn’t save even a single one.”
Terrence’s ears drooped. To think Malcolm was that close to safety, only to slip into the most wretched luck. “I-I can help if they attack again; they’re weak to fire too.” He puffed his chest out slightly.
Malcolm would rather him not; Ariados were strong and Terrence was inexperienced. But if they got attacked, Terrence and Nikki may need to fight.
“Also, uh, if you couldn’t grow the portal… how come Nikki and I got sucked through one?”
“Probably…” Malcolm hesitated, “one of those seeds fell into water deep under the ground and helped it grow… I’ll admit I’m not entirely sure. It was extremely bad luck you happened to be where it appeared, but it was going to appear somewhere. But… what’s done is done. I’ll still get you and Nikki home and won’t let anything ruin it this time.”
Terrence slunk back into the bag. He hoped the same mishaps wouldn’t happen again, but still wanted to play a part in his own escape. Maybe not a cluster of arachnids, but one or two might be fun. Malcolm could take one out while Terrence routed the other in a blaze of triumph. For an adventure with an impervious final boss, how gratifying would it be to have just one battle? One climactic showdown before the victorious escape? Small yellow fox takes down behemoth spider in a bout of bravery and underestimated strength. Nikki will be wowed and Malcolm will wish he hadn’t kept Terrence cooped up this whole time.
While Terrence fantasized about saving the day, Malcolm noticed the end of the cornfield and stopped just before leaving its confines. He crouched and turned his head to scan the horizon.
Nothing to the left.
Nothing straight ahead.
Nothing to the-
Malcolm quickly moved back a few steps.
Massive, concrete edifice to the right. Distant, but the silhouette was dark enough to stand out against the night. Small yellow lights and windows lined the perimeter. There were glass double-doors, and single-doors the same hue as the wall were interspersed in erratic intervals. A warehouse of some kind, so it was certain to have security cameras. Malcolm’s heart raced. He could find a way around and avoid exposure, but that would cost more distance and time. Time the collapsed bridge already consumed.
He uttered a silent prayer, trembling as this further development ate at his diminishing hope.
He would have to run for it.
-
A glassy-eyed Pyroar named Fred sat hunched over his desk, head rested against his hand. Focus shifted to the time in the corner of the screen. 9:38pm. Six and-a-half hours until he could go home and put his shift out of its misery. He yawned, rubbed his eyes, and stared at the screen some more. Five minutes ago, the warehouse’s security signal was tripped, forcing the fire feline to sigh and set his comic book down. Some stupid animal must’ve alerted the sensor; likely a foraging opossum or raccoon. He’d told his boss for weeks to fix the sensors so the false alarms would stop, but he insisted, “It’s better safe than sorry,” so now Fred got to spend his shift warned of every harmless critter.
Nothing came into view after five minutes. Fred mumbled something under his breath and returned to his illustrated adventure.
A rustle on the screen. Eyes flicked upward.
Nothing.
Waiting… waiting…
He shrugged and picked up his book when a clump of pixels darted across the screen. Startled, he tossed the book aside and zoomed in to the image. The pixels were blurry, but its movements were deliberate. Was it on its way to steal from the warehouse? Even if not, no one ran that quickly through the night unless he was up to no good. He radioed his supervisor, who promptly dispatched four guards to inspect it.
One of them was a Servine named Bob. He couldn’t believe it was his first night on the job and there was already action. An eager grin formed on his face as he mounted his motorcycle, hyped to catch this nameless intruder and impress his boss. A successful capture would certainly mean promotion. The aspiring hunter stepped on the gas, accolades in sight, and propelled his motorcycle into the vast field.
-
Ahead was another cornfield, but about ten minutes away. Terrence and Nikki were jostled about as Malcolm darted across the expanse. Nikki clung to her brother for stability. The sudden pick-up in speed last time meant Malcolm was in trouble; they must’ve been in trouble again. Terrence wouldn’t have been able to peek outside if he wanted, but was curious. Was someone chasing them? There were no shouts or copters, but that didn’t stop him from stoking a flame in his lungs. He had to be ready.
The running continued.
And continued.
“I-I’m s-scawed.” Nikki whimpered and squeezed Terrence’s hand harder.
“Ow!” He withdrew his paw. “Y-your claws!” Her claws were tiny, but sharp enough to prick his skin. He grasped her hand instead; the pain ebbed quickly thanks to his adrenaline. “W-we’ll be okay. D-don’t wor-”
The monotone hum of a distant motor froze Terrence’s blood.
Second by second, it grew louder.
Malcolm’s expirations intensified. Don’t look back. Don’t slow down. The cornfield was near…
He squinted, focusing his vision… This wasn’t an ordinary cornfield. A solid hedge formed an impenetrable wall, save for a gap leading inward. It only became visible when he noticed the patch of inconsistent lighting in the wall. White placards with bold red font flanked the entrance; his instinct to hide overcame his instinct to stop and read them. All he caught was ‘DO NOT ENTER,’ and ‘maze’. Malcolm raised his hopes. If he could outsmart the military in a labyrinth cave system, he could do the same here. The downside was this maze would be considerably smaller and more claustrophobic. One turn down the wrong path could bring him face-to-face with his pursuer… or pursuers.
This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.
The Weavile disappeared among the maize corridors.
-
Bob squinted, narrowing a focused gaze through his binoculars as he powered along. The figure vanished into the corn; he couldn’t tell who or what it was, but that didn’t erase his confident smirk. Seeking shelter in that maze was a sure way to get trapped. The Pinta Valley Maize Maze posed an annual challenge where participants plumbed its disorienting paths to reach the center. The three Golden Kernels were to be found there. Those cunning and determined enough to wrest one from the maze’s grasp had to make it back to the entrance to win. Tickets for free rides and food at the Pinta Valley Fair were on the line. Bob dominated the maze three years in a row as a kid, only for his streak to be snuffed out by a stealthy Rattata. Embarrassing, but it did not erode his aplomb in sleuthing the maze’s depths and trapping the trespasser.
“Anyone got a twenty on the guy?” A voice shot from Bob’s radio.
Bob picked it up to reply... but hesitated. Finger poised over the talk button, but not pressing it. A fantasy paraded through his mind; one involving his boss showering him with exultation. Raises, paid vacation, promotion...
The newest guard making a catch… his first night? He chuckled, turned his radio off, and set it down.
This was HIS catch.
-
The further into the maze Malcolm went, the fainter the motor’s clamor became. That, or the pursuant dismounted his or her vehicle and was proceeding by foot. The corn edifices muffled noise from inside and out; something the Weavile could use to his advantage. He made as many turns as possible to increase his evasiveness and, by luck, find the exit.
Left.
Right.
Left.
Diagonal right.
This went on for several minutes. Muted, faraway calls for him to stop punctuated the air. The distance was a decent buffer, but he had to keep moving.
Right again.
Another right.
A sharp left.
The hunter’s voice was no longer audible and the towering stalks grew closer together. Maybe the exit was near? He turned down another path…
Dead end.
He backed out and traversed another path-
Also dead end.
Terrence poked his head out and spoke quietly. “Where are we?” His eyes darted about, baffled by the staggering maize stalks.
“A maze…” Malcolm contemplated turning around and finding another path until the determined fox chimed in.
“Hey, what about that hole?” He clambered out and reached over Malcolm’s shoulder so the Weavile could make out where he was pointing. A narrow gap in the wall showed this may not have been a true impasse.
“Too small.” Malcolm said.
Terrence shook his head. “No, I mean, I can go in there and see if I can find a way out? You know, for us? If the exit’s there, I can tell you, or something.”
The hunter’s call was still imperceptible. Did it mean he’d lost them? Or given up? Or trying to be stealthy? Impossible to tell. Malcolm didn’t want Terrence out, but being backed into a corner forced him to consider the child’s proposition.
“… Be quick.” Malcolm stooped to let Terrence leap safely to the soil. “Come back the moment there’s trouble and, whatever you do, do not use a fire attack.”
The Fennekin slipped through the hole with ease. Leaf tips tickled his face and ears as he slunk across the dirt. His slender form allowed him the cloaked stealth of a ninja warrior. His paws scraped across the ground gracefully, making negligible imprints. This was his time to shine.
The fox stopped shy of exposing himself to open air. Tall grass obscured his vision, so he crept out and stood on his hind legs to get a better view. A vast meadow stretched into the horizon. A swath of stars and nebulae adorned a spacious firmament above.
“Malcolm! It’s open over here!” He scrambled back to Malcolm, tail wagging. “We’re almost there!” He squealed, attempting to keep his voice down but unable to restrain his glee.
“Good work.” Malcolm stooped to let Terrence back into the bag.
A Servine came into view. His and Terrence’s eyes met for a split second before the fox yelled. Panic took over. A ball of flame rocketed towards the grass snake, felling him in one blow. Extant sparks scattered onto the stalks, starting a small blaze.
And Bob’s body cam caught the interaction.
-
Fred’s supervisor and Pinta Valley Police had access to live footage from the guards’ body cameras. Being an isolated little town meant action was scarce, so this was thrilling for law enforcement. Worries arose when Bob failed to answer radio calls. Was his radio broken? Thankfully, his path appeared deliberate, like he knew exactly where the fiend fled. That quickly quelled their concerns. When Bob rounded a corner, the camera showed someone they were not expecting.
A young Fennekin? There was also a stooped figure with his or her back facing the camera; whoever it was blended into the dark. It didn’t help that the Fennekin launched a ball of fire at Bob, taking him and his camera out.
The image was replaced with static.
Calls immediately went out to the other guards, ordering them to go to the maze and search for a Fennekin and another unidentified person. A technician rewound the footage and froze the screen on the Fennekin’s bug-eyed expression.
“Who’s this kid? Recognize him?” The Zangoose gestured at the screen while facing a uniformed Thievul.
The fox shook his head.
“Alright.” The Zangoose ran a program attempting to match the Fennekin’s face to one of the locals. The search lasted only thirty seconds; Pinta Valley had few citizens to comb through. Four Fennekins lived there and none were the attacker. The Zangoose grunted lightly; probably some uncouth out-of-towner trying to cheat the maze before it opened to the public. The stooped figure? No one knew; maybe a complicit relative? The reason was irrelevant, they had to be apprehended. Even if the Fennekin was a kid, he still attacked an officer. The law cared not for age.
He had to be caught.
Two squad cars were dispatched.
-
Using ‘Slash,’ Malcolm rapidly tore through the stalks and created an exit. Then he used Ice Beam to put out the incipient embers. The fire melted the ice on contact, allowing water to form and quench it. He promptly checked on the Servine, making sure to stay out of the camera’s view (it was turned to the side, as that’s how Bob was positioned). Mostly first- and second-degree burns concentrated on his face. Not the worst that could happen, but the Servine’s physiology amplified the damage. His protective vest saved his torso, but was not enough to prevent him from losing consciousness. Malcolm would’ve treated him if he had the materials and wasn’t fleeing for his life. Otherwise, all the snake could do was lie there and wake up later. With taciturn agitation, he fled.
Despite his concerted effort to stay out of view, he didn’t know if the Servine’s camera caught him before Terrence attacked.
-
Malcolm was forced to stop and catch his breath in the cover of a cornfield three miles from the maze. He knelt beside a tree, set his pack down, and panted as though he’d just finished a marathon. Nikki clambered out and put a concerned paw on his knee.
“Do you haf an ouchie?” She looked up at him for an answer.
Malcolm’s gaze shifted to her briefly before returning to the ground. He didn’t answer; labored exhalations consumed his energy. Nikki repeated her question and Malcolm shook his head.
“I’m fine… We’ll… leave soon…” He rasped. His knee was okay but his heart was pounding. He rose to stand after another minute, then his ears perked up when crying started coming from the bag. Nikki found her brother inside; lying down and back facing her.
“Tewwy?” Nikki tried to turn him over with her paws so they’d face each other, but he didn’t budge. She settled for a comforting paw on his shoulder. “Don’t cwy, we’ll be okay!”
No reply, but Nikki didn’t demand one. Neither did Malcolm, who knelt beside the pack. “Terrence… it’s fine.” He slowly hefted the pack over his shoulders. “… Let’s go.”
Off they went. Nikki softly sang a happy song from her Riley show about rainbows decorating the sky after a storm. The bubbly raccoon sang about bands of color dancing above like giant party streamers amidst a festive gale. Terrence’s thoughts shut out the optimism, leaving him in darkness.
If he hadn’t pointed out that gap in the stalks and Malcolm continued searching for the actual exit, they might’ve evaded the Servine. If none of them ever made it home, it’d be thanks to Terrence’s bumbling stupidity.
-
Headlights off and thermal imaging cameras engaged, police made their way to the maze. A search around the perimeter took them to a gaping hole and burnt stalks. Leaves, stems, and corn lay strewn in haphazard array; the direction of the vegetative confetti showed the culprit did this from the inside.
“That scrawny punk fox couldn’ta did this.” A Sandslash shook his head. “That feller with him though.”
“Mmhmm…” His Boltund partner grunted as he reviewed the footage on his phone. The crouched figure was likely the slasher, but the dark skin and back turned to the screen made him or her hard to identify. The canine shrugged; they’d figure it out when they found the Fennekin.
“I reckon they’re prolly hiding out in a grove or field out there.” The Sandslash gestured. “Won’t do much; they’re ain’t much of ‘em. Only one other cornfield out there.”
“Mhm.” The Boltund grunted as he sniffed the chilled air for an unusual scent. A pause... another inhale… he cocked his head to the side.
Something wasn’t right.
“What’s a matter?” The Sandslash asked, staying put so he wouldn’t interfere.
“Doesn’t smell like fox… or any canine…” He inhaled once more to process the unexpected odor. “It’s… mustelid?”
“’Zit mixed with fox?”
The yellow dog shook his head. “It’s like he wasn’t even here…”
“Coulda kept him hidden.” The clawed shrew posited. “Backpack or some such?”
The Boltund nodded… The scenario was strange, but that mystery could be solved later. They went back to their cars and headed out.
-
Later, Malcolm stopped in a small orange grove. The eastern sky was slowly lighting up and it was time to rest. He set his pack down and both foxes crawled out.
“We’re almost there.” The Weavile informed them and scanned for a hole they could sleep in. An empty burrow nestled into the vertex of two tree roots looked perfect. “You can sleep in there. After this, we’ll get to the seeds in one more trip and go back to the caves.” His eyes shifted to his medication.
About forty-percent left, with the harrowing journey not quite half over.
He winced for an instant and looked at the siblings again. “And,” he cleared his throat, “there’s oranges everywhere if you’re hungry; just be quick.”
Malcolm was not hungry despite having an empty stomach. He planned to bring a few oranges before leaving the following night. For now, just sleep and contemplate how the next few days were going to unfold. He climbed up onto the leaf-concealed bough of a nearby tree and, before settling down to sleep, pulled out the picture of his family. Wrinkled and slightly torn from days of sharing space with two foxes, but that was to be expected. Winifred and the kids looked back at him, as if knowing they would see him soon. He gazed at his family longer than normal, not wanting to let go. Sleep soon wrested the image away and it floated to the ground.
-
Rutger bid Banks farewell with a wide grin and salute. The Typhlosion will stay in power another three month and afterwards, be appointed as the new head of the DVDC. He swore Ohara and the pneumonavirus would be eliminated before then.
-
Late afternoon
Terrence and Nikki too fell asleep without eating; Terrence already having been eaten by self-loathing. He woke up while the others slept; the third time within the past five hours. May as well stay up and get ready to leave when it’s dark.
And hopefully not do something really stupid this time.
His stomach grumbled rancorously, reminding him he still needed to sustain himself despite his folly.
“Guess I’ll eat…” Maybe the healthy food will help him think more clearly from now on? He drowsily ambled along, planning to roll two oranges back to the burrow. One for him and another for Nikki. Still in the process of waking up, his senses were dulled.
He looked up and noticed the Sandslash too late.
Malcolm was jolted awake by a scream. He leapt to the ground. The young fox was struck by a red trapping device. A bright, white beam short forth in a stark zigzag pattern. It enveloped the child.
And absorbed him.
Malcolm launched Blizzard at the Sandslash before he could react, striking him with ruthless force and slamming him into a tree. He was immediately knocked out and largely encased in frigid ice. The Weavile dove onto the wriggling ball and fought to pry it open. There was no button on these trapping devices; they could be opened from inside or out, but only with brute power.
“Fight, Terrence! Fight!” Sweat dripped from his brow. Terrence had about thirty seconds to break free. After that, the ball would permanently lock and lie inert. The miniature portal inside would whisk Terrence away if either failed to open it soon.
Precious time trickled away.
