An invisible force yanked Terrence backwards through blue-tinted darkness. The same stretching sensation from the portal days ago returned. His claws dug into a dirt-like surface with as much fortitude and desperation as he could muster. A shrill, metallic whir assailed his ears as the radiance vied to steal him away.
“Malcolm!” His claws strained to keep him anchored. Malcolm yelled something, but his voice seemed distant. Every inch he was tugged towards doom made the Weavile’s call fainter and fainter. Terrence’s claws grew more numb as the unseen force pulled and pulled. His heart pounded away. Sweat drops from his face were quickly flung backwards as though absorbed by a black hole.
“Fight!” Malcolm’s voice rang through the chamber. A horizontal sliver of white light appeared some unknown distance ahead.
Terrence chomped into the ground, relying on his jaws to stabilize him if his claws became too weak. Searing pain surged through his teeth and claws. The endless pulling threatened to rip them out if he held on much longer.
The sliver widened, revealing part of Malcolm’s face and hands. Despite Terrence’s eyes facing downward, the Weavile was in his periphery. It was then he realized how much the device shrunk him; he was no larger than a beetle. Malcolm couldn’t see Terrence due to the azure glow, but knew he was there. As long as the ball didn’t snap shut, Terrence had a chance. The young fox needed to hold on only another few seconds…
-
The Thievul from Pinta Valley PD waited by cell 34-F. The Fennekin should be dropping in soon, as per the Sandslash’s radio call. The Hawkson Juvenile Detention Center ten miles from town was where the little punk would stay the night. He would be identified and his parents notified. Nothing harsh, but he couldn’t avoid the consequences of his actions. The older fox’s eyes were glued to the narrow portal on the opposite wall, anticipating the uncouth ragamuffin to plop onto the waiting cot.
Waiting…
Waiting…
The Thievul drummed impatient fingers against the bars and raised an eyebrow. The portal appeared because the trapping device caught its target. The only thing that would cause this delay would be a resilient captive fighting the pull. It was also possible someone was trying to force the device open to free him. The Thievul’s ears perked up and he scowled.
That accomplice!
It may not have helped that the red device was used. Weakest of all traps, the Sandslash used it because the Fennekin was just a kid. Why waste a more expensive and powerful one on him?
He held down the button on his radio to talk to the Sandslash when a ruckus broke out down the hall. Excited clamor made the Thievul turn his head, but was not enough to draw him towards it. He walked to a quieter part of the hall.
“Sanchez, copy?”
Seconds elapsed, no answer. He tried again… and again… and-
“WE FOUND ‘IM!” A hoarse shout from behind made him drop his radio.
“Wha-?” The fox pivoted, startled by the grinning, bulky Ursaring bounding towards him. He stepped back. “Who?”
“’o else, genius?!” The bear grabbed the fox by the arm and led him back to the others. “Never ‘xpected it either! ‘e’s right there on the body cam!”
The fox lost all feeling in his body. There was only one ‘him’ in all Revaria who didn’t need to be named. He was thrust before a screen crowded by nine others. His mouth went agape.
So that’s who was helping the Fennekin.
Dr. Ohara.
Calls were rapidly placed. Fingers flew across keyboards and emails were jettisoned to higher-ups. For the first time since Shebaton Caverns, Malcolm’s location was known. Helicopters and local forces would be after him within the hour. That slithering weasel could no longer hide amidst dark shadows and hostile beasts; there was little to ensconce himself with out there. Ohara would be lucky to survive another week.
During the frenzy, the Thievul slipped away to the bathroom and into a stall. He vomited into one of the receptacles. Limbs shook as he mentally cursed himself, though he knew he couldn’t have done anything. He was the silent minority among the whooping and hollering.
If it wasn’t for Dr. Ohara, his son would’ve never been able to see.
-
Blinding sunlight flooded Terrence’s vision as he was catapulted from claustrophobic confinement. Malcolm caught him, almost knocked down by the fox’s velocity. The skin around his little claws was bleeding, but Malcolm had no time or resources to stem the trickle. Terrence’s respirations were labored; his eyes glazed over as he clung to consciousness.
Wanting to make sure Terrence didn’t pass out, Malcolm clasped Terrence’s paws above his pounding heart. “Keep them raised until the bleeding stops.” He dryly instructed, fumbling around in his bag for the medication. “I’ll get Nikki and we’ll leave.”
The taciturn fox obeyed. The ice-choked Sandslash lay slumped against the tree in his periphery. Unconscious. Muffled chatter sputtered from his radio. Terrence turned his head so he couldn’t see him. He shuddered, moisture leaking from his eyes as his spirit buckled under the trauma.
Malcolm’s trembling fingers unscrewed the cap; one pill tumbled to the ground as he removed two. He put the one back with an exasperated sigh and imbibed the other two. Those should last the time it took for them to get to the seeds. He corralled a sleeping Nikki from the hole and gently stowed her into the bag without waking her. At least she didn’t have to see what happened to her brother. Terrence limped in after, wincing as he trod upon sore paws. The bag was zipped up and the trio vanished from the scene as a wisp of smoke.
It’d matter little though. Malcolm was aware the Sandslash’s body camera spotted him. The moment he acted to save Terrence, all Revaria once again knew where he was.
-
A completely shaved John Finley was unceremoniously dragged along a cold, marble floor. He was the Leafeon from BioComp whom Rutger extorted. Blindfolded. Muzzled. He tried to break free from the cuffs binding his back legs, resulting in metal indents in his skin. Gloved hands accompanied by silence guided him. Clopping boots echoed weakly against the dry wall. John’s mouth was dry and his stomach ached. All he could enjoy the past twenty-four hours was the taste of his own saliva. Before that, bread and tap water sufficed as his only rations.
The steel click of an opening door perked his ears. A dull murmur of muffled voices and gasps followed.
“John!” A lady’s wail punctuated the monotony. The Leafeon turned his head sharply.
His wife.
Her protests made his heart sink. Of all the ways their time together would end, neither thought it would be like this. The hands leading him didn’t stop. Onward he trudged, Bernice’s voice fading into the somber din. One agonizing minute later, he was hoisted up and plopped into a wooden chair; his head striking the back hard enough to elicit a pained whimper. His wife’s distant sobs cut through him. He tried to keep a stiff upper lip, but couldn’t still his shaking limbs.
“mmpfmf!” An anemic, incomprehensible growl permeated the cloth binding his muzzle. At best, he could barely display clenched teeth. Two guards held him still while another strapped him to the chair. Electrodes were applied to his head and limbs, followed by a sponge dampened with salt water. The saline mix trickled down the right side of his face in cold drips. He instinctively tried to raise an arm to brush them away, but was immobile.
Footsteps echoed through the chamber and stopped near Finley. A male voice addressed the observers. His tone was matter-of-fact and procedural; this was just another paycheck. “The termination of the convicted, John Finley’s, life will take place in five minutes. If you have any last words for him, speak now.”
Rutger watched the scene unfold from an adjacent room. The tinted window prevented others from seeing him. Hands folded under his chin as his fingers made a steeple formation; he beheld his former friend with frigid contempt.
“… You could’ve avoided this.”
As the one who commanded the sentence, he had to watch and make sure it was carried out humanely. No need to prolong his suffering; it only mattered that his voice would be silenced for good. The best part of his new position was he could expedite federal sentences. John’s trial lasted about two hours before he was condemned. Scripted witnesses, hand-picked jury, lawyer who couldn’t do anything except plea for a commuted sentence. The Leafeon accused Rutger of extortion and pressuring Gutierrez to release the virus to the public through lab animals, but the destruction of BioComp removed all evidence. He was quickly derided and judged. Protesters outside the execution facility demanded a fair trial; even those who believed Finley was guilty thought his trial was a sham. If Rutger could do this to him, he could do it to anyone.
Rutger shrugged it off. Finley had to die, along with everyone else who knew the truth. Gutierrez and Ohara remained, and he needed to be rid of them soon. They may have been powerless now, but that would change once Banks removed him from power in three months. He would likely call off the hunt once back in office.
This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.
Then the Umbreon and Weavile might get the chance to speak…
A searing flash and a SNAP wrested Rutger from his thoughts. Bernice screamed as John’s lifeless body slumped forward. Black smoke rose from the burnt flesh around the electrodes as the guards waited for his body to cool.
Rutger inexplicably looked down. A twinge of unease surged through his heart.
“… Y-you could’ve avoided this…”
Unease morphed into remorse before Rutger promptly beat it down with his false justifications. “Revaria dies without me. I’m sorry, John… but you were in the way.”
Then his phone rang.
-
Most of the Pinta Valley police force was at the scene Ohara and the Fennekin were spotted. A couple fire types melted the ice pinning the unconscious Sanchez to the tree and whisked him away to a hospital. Others stayed to investigate. The grass and dry ground didn’t allow for tracks, but that didn’t stop officers with keen sense of smell from locating clues.
They just needed a direction.
It didn’t take long for their noses to sleuth the scent of mustelid and vulpine. The culprits fled north-east. Puzzling, as there was little to hide in out there; just an endless swathe of fields and streams. The mountains and hills to the west would’ve made more sense, but it wasn’t law enforcement’s job to mull over that. Perhaps Ohara didn’t know the landscape; all the better for the hunt.
“Hey, what’s this?” A Wartortle picked up a wrinkled and torn sheet of paper. The blank side faced up while colors of an image bled through with muted visibility. Others looked as he flipped it over… then looked at each other, baffled. Did Ohara want to get caught?
It was Malcolm and his family.
Just more conclusive proof that evil scientist had really been here. Police from other towns eventually populated the scene and Pinta Valley PD pointed them the direction Ohara likely absconded. Most of Pinta Valley PD joined the search while others stayed to brief military personnel once they arrived less than an hour later.
The Thievul was supposed to be there, but wasn’t. Sudden family emergency.
-
It was the longest night of Malcolm’s life. Eyes fixed forward, but his other senses alert. Any moment, a cavalcade of spotlights, heat sensors, and night-vision lenses would flood the heavens. The tranquility of night dashed to pieces. The outcast doctor’s mind darkened with each step. Nothing but open vastness ahead. Everywhere to run, but nowhere to hide.
Meanwhile, Nikki’s queries glanced unanswered off her brother; her words met only with a stare from dead eyes. He rarely looked at her; gaze transfixed to a distant, imaginary object. Was he okay? Was he hurt? Was he even alive? Her ears drooped; she couldn’t understand why he was acting like this. Even when he was mad at her, she could always talk to him. He was simultaneously there, and not there.
As he turned to lie down, obscured moonlight exposed his bloodied claws.
“You haf an ouchie!” Nikki gasped, reaching for his left paw. He promptly withdrew it without word or sigh. Confused and concerned, Nikki quietly curled up next to him. “Sowwy…”
The rest of the night passed in silence.
-
Pale yellow light began filling the eastern sky as a sea of blue flowers washed in over the horizon. Malcolm’s legs were rubber and pain slowly ebbed back into his left knee, but he forced himself to move faster.
“Field’s ahead.” He stated audibly enough for Terrence and Nikki to hear. No reply; perhaps they were sleeping. Understandable, especially for Terrence. Malcolm hoped he was getting good rest; his past few days had been pure misery and stress.
And Malcolm wasn’t optimistic about the next few days.
When Malcolm reached the field, he nearly keeled over. He winced and his eyes moistened as he tried to stoop and collect the seeds. The pain was a searing hot knife slicing a plumb line through his leg.
“,,, Malcolm?” Terrence asked, his voice hardly above a mutter as he peeked through the opening. “Uh… can I help?”
Malcolm gently set the bag down and zipped it open. “Please… Get one of the bags out first.” He panted.
Bags? What ba-? Oh right, the ones Terrence and Nikki have ridden with the entire time. Small plastic things he was used to seeing snacks kept in back at home. His distracted mind took a few seconds to register them. He stuck his head in the backpack and grabbed one. Wrinkled and creased, but would work.
“Now uproot a few of those flowers and put them in.”
The flowers were small; nine inches from soil to stigma. All of them blue, ranging from a deep midnight hue to that of a bright noon sky. The petals formed tight bulbs when closed, resembling blueberry lollipops. The edges of the petals spiraled upward in miniature serpentine lines. Terrence sniffed the air.
That smell… He remembered it from the cavern. The blue soil. The blue light. The blue walls…
He clamped his teeth around the stems of three flowers and yanked. They came out with ease, nearly making him stumble backwards from the excess force. He regained his composure and looked up at Malcolm, hoping his stumble didn’t ruin the seeds.
“Careful.” Malcolm warned. “No need to be gentle with them; just put them in.”
Terrence did so, zipped the bag, and put it in the backpack.
“Thanks… My pills, please.”
While Terrence nodded and looked for them, Malcolm’s attention was fixed in the general direction they came from, but slightly north. A slight bump dotted an otherwise even horizon.
“Here.” Terrence held the pills up to him. Malcolm accepted it and unscrewed the cap.
Two more pills imbibed.
A little more than a third of his supply remained. He screwed the cap back on and told Terrence to put them back.
“We’ll leave for that hill as soon as my knee’s better... about twenty minutes. We’ll hide there for the day.”
Terrence nodded. A sudden pang in his stomach made him groan. The adrenaline from yesterday abated, surrendering to stinging hunger. His eyes fell on the ocean of flowers and he salivated. The scent was mildly inviting.
“Uh… can I eat these?” He peered up at Malcolm.
“Yes.” Malcolm nodded. “Eat your fill, but take extras before we leave so Nikki’ll have something when she’s up. There may be nothing at the hill.”
Terrence plucked another few flowers and placed them in the backpack before chomping on his own. As soon as his teeth sank into the bulb, his taste buds were saturated with a savory tang. It was like biting into a raw bell pepper; reminded him of his mom’s piping hot vegetable soup she made in the winter. He would’ve recoiled at this a week ago with watery eyes. Pizza was better in every way.
He no longer lived in that time, stuffing his starved little vulpine face with blue bulbs. Satisfying. Tasty.
Homey.
He closed his eyes.
Mom set a festive, ceramic bowl before him. Roasted carrots, tomatoes, chunks of beef, potatoes, onions, and celery swam in dense, bright red broth. An array of herbs and spices coated the dish in a sumptuous aroma. Nikki sat to his left, Dad to his right, and Mom across from him. In the family room, a fire crackled in the stone hearth. There were intermittent pops as the errant spark leapt into the air. In the corner, the Christmas tree shone with a glittering, gold luster. Shimmering drapery and ornaments adorned the branches. A strung spectacle of emerald, vermilion, violet, and sapphire lights added to the glorious ensemble. In two days, he and Nikki would tear into their gifts. Grandma and Grandpa would be there to shower them with more generosity, as well as those butter cookies Grandma baked every year and the ham Grandpa always baked. Aunts and uncles would come over. More presents. More family. More mirth. Nikki would get on his nerves as she belted out tunes from A Very Merry Riley Christmas!, and he’d get on her nerves by replacing the lyrics with jokes about what a dork Nikki was. They always made up by playing one of his racing video games (he usually let her win once or twice). Fun, innocent times.
When Terrence opened his eyes, the warmth dissipated. Half-chewed petals in his mouth. Yellow further brightening the sky. The unforgiving chill of early dawn. Isolated from nearly everyone and everything he loved.
Billions of miles from home and no guarantee of making it back.
He swallowed what was in his mouth without further chewing and cried.
-
Not minutes after Malcolm scurried into one of the grooves in the hill did his worst nightmare come true.
The distant din of helicopters.
He nestled himself as deeply as possible into the rocky recess. An outcrop overhead eclipsed mid-morning sunlight as well as direct exposure to the rest of Revaria. Military wanting to catch him would have to weave through this narrow forge, and the knoll itself would block out heat detection. Negligible comfort for the beleaguered fugitive; he couldn’t stay forever. Even if the helicopters went elsewhere, others would come. He’d have to step out eventually and make a run for Shebaton Caverns. It was still the closest place the seeds could grow into an interstellar portal.
He sat curled up against the smoothest wall he could find and opened his pack to look at the picture again.
His eyes widened.
Terrence, Nikki, flowers, spare bags, the pain medication, the vial...
No picture. No family to look upon…
Slipped away through misfortune.
-
A stiff-limbed Terrence stirred awake. A shiver was brought on by the dead, frosted air. He sleepily clambered from the bag and stretched his legs to get the blood moving.
Malcolm was awake. He sat on a narrow slab of granite jutting from the wall, faced away from the drowsy fox. A mild, orange glow filled most of the ravine, leaving the trio a meager shadow. The sun would be down soon. It would be time to run once more.
“Terrence,” Malcolm intoned, his voice weak.
“Yeah?” The fox’s ears perked up.
“… sit here, please.” He set his hand on a spot to his right. The bag of flowers and empty vial were on his left side.
Terrence hesitantly stepped forward; should he be scared? Malcolm didn’t turn to face him; his gaze was steady and tone anemic.
No anger. No sadness. No confidence. Nothing.
Terrence sat beside him and turned a sheepish look up at his face. Slowly, Malcolm lowered his head to look back at him. His eyes were dry and red.
“I need to talk to you.”
