“Cases and deaths from the virus are decreasing. More are receiving up-to-date care… Ohara…” Booing and jeers ensued, to which Rutger gestured to silence. The noise subsided. “… will pay for this mess. He is slippery and sly, but he cannot run forever.” Applause, then another quieting gesture. “Neither can his cohorts at BioComp. They’re just as guilty. Just as vile. Hands as blood-soaked as his. We’ve arrested most of them. Others are still at large, but we are trapping them one by one. They’ll learn there is no profit margin worth the lives of our own children…”
Rutger’s speech, livestreamed on Chitter and numerous other platforms, captivated most of online Revaria. The impeccable blue suit and red tie, eyes glinted with commanding persuasion, voice resonated with a low, confident tenor. Behind him, a radiant sky-blue backdrop. A picture of burning determination and unwavering zeal.
Despite this, there were detractors. Bebe Jimenez, a Sylveon in her mid-thirties, watched the Typhlosion orate and pound his marble lectern for an hour. With half a mind to say something, she created a Chitter account.
“Mama?” A little Eevee attempted to clamber onto her desk. Bebe helped her up. “Is daddy home soon?”
“Yes, he’ll be home soon.” Bebe stroked her daughter’s headfur. “Go play with your dollies in the meantime and I’ll start dinner soon.”
She kissed her on the forehead and set her down. The Eevee ran off before Bebe turned back to the screen. She scrolled through the replies, all of which alarmed her.
Why was nobody defending Malcolm? She frowned and clicked the window to comment.
“What the hell? Malcolm’s not a villain. I don’t know where you get the idea he created the virus just to make a medicine and profit from it. You’re full of it. You haven’t shown any proof for this. If anything, he should be lauded. Did we all just forget about Optizene, or are we now going to say he created blindness just to profit from it too? Stop the hunt and tell the truth, Rutger.”
She clicked SUBMIT, then got up to start dinner for her daughter and husband. She shook her head as she stirred the soup, telling herself to stay calm so she wouldn’t splash hot broth around. Malcolm didn’t deserve to be hunted like some animal; he should be awarded a medal of honor instead. Her daughter was born blind three years ago, but after her parents administered two milliliters of Optizene once a day for two weeks, her vision was healed. It worked only for genetic blindness, but was still the biggest medical advancement in decades. Most cases of blindness were now curable, and meant that, perhaps, it could someday be eradicated completely.
It was all thanks to the years Dr. Ohara poured into research and testing the drug. He wanted all to have a product that worked. Allow those born blind the chance to use the eyes God gave them. Optizene was made available to the public only four years ago...
Yet, everyone somehow forgot? The flood of scouring invective in the comment section indicated so.
Later, Bebe and family enjoyed a hearty chicken soup. The food and the company of her husband and daughter soothed the anger from having read those comments. She hoped her input would change at least a few minds.
… If only it wasn’t taken down less than two minutes after posting and her account indefinitely suspended. A rude awakening awaited her next visit to Chitter. CommScan was tracking her phone before her family finished eating.
-
Malcolm trod upon damp, hardened soil through another cloudless night. He was thankful for the dearth of military presence, but aware he needed to pick up his pace. His bottle of painkillers was down to a little over half. At his current rate, he would make it back to the caverns just in time. The intermittent lumps and swaths of damp mud at the base of the hill slowed him a little, but he knew it wouldn’t last.
“Shouldn’t be much further…” Malcolm assured himself, keeping his eyes peeled for the bridge. A chasm was situated to the right, across from the hill. He estimated the bridge to be nearby. He used it to reach the caverns days ago because it was a shortcut and isolated from civilization. Nobody supervised it.
Inside the bag, Nikki softly hummed a Riley song while her brother stewed in a swarm of perplexing thoughts.
“Earth… why’s his family there? They escape too? And who’s chasing him? Or them? A gang? Cops? … Army? Wait…” Terrence hearkened back to those helicopters. He didn’t think of it then due to the sudden panic they caused, but now with everything calmer, the situation sunk in deeper.
“Were those copters really looking for him? And… there were so many… Why? What’s so dangerous about him?”
Malcolm’s family picture arose to the forefront of his mind. Simple portrait of people content with each other; mom, dad, their kids. They looked happy. Life was good and they loved each other. Malcolm wanted to escape not just for himself, but for his family. His family missed him. Terrence’s ears drooped.
He loved his family too. Two families needed to be reunited.
Malcolm toiled night after night through rain, while avoiding surveillance, to make sure this could happen. Terrence was the passive passenger. Aside from alerting Malcolm to the helicopters, what sort of hero was he? His mind went to video games. Who won by sitting on their hands? Since when was the damsel in distress succored by a bold knight riding in a backpack? Terrence scowled and shook his head.
“That’s it… I’m not sitting in here anymore. I gotta help… somehow!” Terrence rose to his hind legs and poked his head out. Chilled air stung his face, making him flinch, but failing to make him retreat to the warmth of the bag. He tried to foist himself up to jump out, though his little feet kept slipping against the sides.
“What’re you doing?” Malcolm asked without looking back. “Get back in.”
“Uh, Malcolm? I-”
A sudden gasp. Malcolm halted on a dime, causing Terrence to lose his grip and fall back in. “What is it?” Terrence asked, staying still. Was there unwanted company?
Malcolm said nothing; he just stood there in abject disbelief. Thanks to last night’s rainstorm and massive torrent of loose hillside it unleashed...
The bridge was gone.
-
A weary-eyed Wigglytuff in his early seventies stared quietly at passing buildings and crowds from behind a tinted window. Stridently-colored signs accompanied with jeers and cheers greeted him. Most of the signs condemned Malcolm through words and crude drawings. Fewer, but still plenty, demanded Rutger step down and tell the truth about Malcolm and the pneumonavirus. Errant, interspersed signs simply condemned the Typhlosion as a tyrant.
The Wigglytuff, Phinehas Banks, was on his way to see Rutger about these very matters. Things needed to change. Revaria was nowhere near defeating the virus and Phinehas was concerned Rutger was not taking his job seriously.
“I will let Rutger know we will be there in twenty minutes.” The Sandslash guard beside him said.
“Thank you.” Phinehas’ feeble reply was hardly audible over the protesting shouts. He closed his eyes and tried to meditate. Silence the clamor and think about his words. “Rutger… how could you… No, uh… Rutger, why is that… No, not that either…”
Not only was the ruckus overpowering, Phinehas’ own thoughts combated him. Rutger knew viruses and Phinehas did not. Rutger went to medical school and Phinhas did not. Rutger had commanding presence and Phinehas did not. Rutger was less than half his age and had a sharper mind… who was this old, elongated pink fluffball to question him? Maybe he should order the driver to turn around and postpone this meeting.
The guard finished his call and turned to Phinehas. “He says everything is ready for your arrival… Are you well, sir?”
Phinehas’ brow was sweating, prompting the Sandslash to hand him a small towel. “Oh, uh… I’m fine; just a little hot...” He wiped away the sweat. The driver turned up the air conditioning.
It made him feel no better. He shouldn’t have been scared of Rutger; Phinehas was the last person who should’ve been scared.
Yet, he was.
-
Malcolm stood idle in hopeless consternation. Terrence and Nikki clambered out of the bag after a minute. He didn’t try to stop them. The young foxes stared out over the abyss. Aside from the embossed swath of dry mud leading into the gorge, they couldn’t perceive what was amiss.
“What’s wrong?” Terrence asked again, ready to think up a solution. Malcolm hesitated; the horror of the situation rattling his spirit.
“… The bridge. It- it’s gone…”
Terrence’s eyes widened, taking a step towards the gorge as though making sure Malcolm wasn’t mistaken. “Bridge?”
Malcolm nodded with a grieved sigh. “Yes… all this mud must’ve washed it away… It was supposed to be a shortcut...” He put his hands to his face as though wanting to stifle a yell. Terrence scampered to the ledge to get a better look. Maybe the situation could be fixed?
“Careful!” Malcolm picked him up and set him down by the backpack. Before Terrence was pulled away, he caught a glimpse of the splintered planks scattered on the rocks below. His ears and limbs went limp with despair. Like the bridge dashed to pieces, so was his optimism in making it home.
Nikki piped up, looking up at Malcolm. His hands were over his face again. Though there was a hint of worry in Nikki’s eyes, her tail wagged with expectation. “What do we do, Mr. Malcolm?”
Malcolm lowered his hands and met her inquisitive stare. “We’ll… we’ll have to go around. It’s going to take longer...”
Terrence stood dead silent. Malcolm was a determined, stalwart figure who didn’t surrender to his emotions. This made his excessive pausing and fearful visage all the more worrying.
“… and we’ll have to pass near a town… Someone might see us.” He informed, averting his gaze. The last thing these children needed was another thing to worry about.
“Well, uh…” Terrence started, knowing a hero was supposed to urge the crestfallen to action. Can’t waste another second moping. “Guess we should just… go then? Maybe we can, like, move faster, or, something?” Terrence winced. Was that his best motivational talk?
Malcolm nodded and stood. “You’re right. Let’s go.” He lowered his bag and Nikki scampered inside. Terrence had a different idea. He looked up at him, knowing the Weavile would approve. “I-I… I think I should, uh… walk with you. If there’s bad guys, I can use my fire-”
Malcolm furrowed his brow and shook his head. “No. Get in.”
“But I wanna help-”
“You’re bright yellow. If someone sees you, they’ll see me. Now, get in.” Malcolm’s voice became gruffer, like a grandfather losing patience with an insolent grandson. Terrence furrowed his brow too. Malcolm may have been older, but he was not his grandpa.
“But it’s night!”
“Terrence.” Malcolm intoned forcefully enough to silence him. No yelling, but his cold stare spoke volumes. “People want me dead and I’m not going to let that happen because you didn’t listen. Get. In.”
The fox quietly did as told, looking down as his eyes moistened. Malcolm slung the bag onto his back and resumed the journey; route deviated and pace quickened.
-
Rutger made sure his office was spotless and polished for Phinehas’ visit. He even had to raise his voice at some of the servants to make them work faster. This rendezvous had to go exactly according to plan; he needed to be perfect, look perfect, sound perfect. Phinehas had the power to take away everything he accomplished the past few weeks. He had a lot to prove. He triple-checked assorted items on his desk.
“The graphs… Item a, b, c… e? Where’s d… ah, here. Numbers perfectly legible… the quotes are… here-” He muttered under his breath until a buzzing phone made him jump. A glance at the screen told him it was one of Phinehas’ guards. He cursed inwardly and answered with a smile. “Hello; Rutger speaking, sir.”
“Hello. We will be reaching the gate in five minutes.”
“Right. Uh, let him know everything’s ready for his arrival. Thank you.”
“Of course.”
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The conversation ended and Rutger gave a frustrated grunt. Good thing no cameras or crowds were here to witness that clumsy exchange. Seconds later, Dennis marched into the room to give Rutger one last pep talk. He wasn’t going to be at the meeting, so he had to preemptively ensure a flawless performance.
“Hey, you alright?” The Grumpig strode over to him in few steps.
“Yeah, just need to work off a few nerves.”
Dennis reached up to straighten his dashing red tie and brush off an extraneous fleck of lint. “Nerves? What do you have to be nervous about?”
Rutger scowled, unsure if he was being sarcastic.
“Okay okay, yeah, he’s powerful, but YOU’RE the expert. Can he solve the virus?”
“No, but if he’s not happy with me, it’s all over.”
Dennis shook his head as though this was impossible. “Hey, the progress’ll speak for itself and, even if he’s not happy, what’s he going to do about it? Who would he replace you with?”
Rutger emitted a light chuckle. No one, obviously. His eyes drifted to his three framed medical degrees on the wall behind his desk.
“See? No need to worry. You got this, Dr. Rutger.” Dennis drew out ‘doctor’ and gave him an encouraging pat on his forearm. Rutger smirked, confident Phinehas would be pleased with everything. He left and marched down the carpeted hall with a commanding gait. He would greet Phinehas with a dignified salute and prove he was more than worthy.
-
Malcolm toiled through the thick of night along the precipice. As he did, the mud-addled hill deviated further left. Swaths of dried mud gave way to tall grass and scattered fruit trees. Like the grapes in the baobab forest, these fruits were bigger than what Terrence and Nikki were used to. Apples the size of basketballs dangled from sturdy branches. Vegetable beds sprouted as well; Malcolm taking advantage of their large sizes by stealing through dense pumpkin patches. The orange gourds stood nearly a foot taller than him. Streams became more numerous the deeper into agrarian terrain they ventured. The trickling, undulating monotony indicated the proximity of other life forms.
As the day’s inchoate light seeped through the sky, Malcolm surveyed his surroundings for shelter. Farmers always woke up early, so he needed to hide soon. The pain ebbing back into his knee worried him, but perhaps he could ride it out until he found somewhere to hide.
A mahogany, wooden barn stood some 500 feet ahead. It was the nearest structure and the only viable place to conceal himself. Further out was the farmhouse. A modest, single-story abode of birch painted white, a porch, and a couple of rocking chairs. No lights were on inside and the porch light cast a pale yellow aura in its vicinity. There was still time.
Malcolm scurried toward the barn. 400 feet… 300 feet… 200-
A jolt in his left knee stopped him and nearly made him keel over. He gritted his teeth, grunting but holding back a yell. A pill now wouldn’t act quickly enough and walking was not an option. This left one choice. He stooped to his knees, extended his arms downward, and started crawling. The foxes yelped at the drastic change of orientation.
“What’s happening?” Terrence started, voice subdued as though afraid of rebuke. It was the first he’d spoken since Malcolm ordered him to climb into the bag. Malcolm couldn’t answer; it sapped energy to fight searing pain and trek across the ground like an animal. Terrence picked up on his labored breathing and didn’t ask again.
150… 100… Fifty…
The porch light flicked off.
Malcolm’s heart skipped a beat.
Forty… Thirty…
A man’s voice from inside the house.
Twenty.
The door creaked open.
Ten.
Door closed. An indiscernible yell.
Malcolm stumbled into the barn and forced himself up. He quickly, yet quietly, shut the door. Heart pounded rapidly. Blood surged through his head. His limbs shook and he had to support himself against the wall. Did that person see him?
All he could do was wait.
-
Reuben’s heart sank when droves of helicopters flew away from the cavern. Each one whirring overhead the opposite direction showed he traversed all this way for nothing. Was Malcolm really not there anymore? Or was he still here, but the military was just giving up or mistaken? Their incompetence supported the latter, but the mass migration above moved him to turn and hunt elsewhere.
The Incineroar sleuthed for hints of the villain. The baobab forest outside the cavern had to have something. Unmeasured hours spent searching; footprints… handprints… a scrap of food… a marking of any kind…
Nothing. That monster covered his tracks too well. He would’ve caught a common criminal by now, but Ohara was slippery. Fists clenched, legs becoming rubber, he shook his head in frustration. He wasn’t going to give up though. Not after what Ohara did. Not after watching Lily breathe her last. Not after trekking this far…
Night enshrouded the landscape as a weary Reuben finally sought rest. He loathed the thought of sacrificing precious hours Malcolm would use to slip further away, but his body needed to recover. At the edge of the forest was a dilapidated cabin surrounded by weeds and damp mud. Its two front windows were caked with dust and grime; not even the light from the gibbous moon could reveal what was beyond them. A door frayed with splinters and rusty nails hung ajar from the top hinge; an intermittent breeze causing it to clap every so often against the frame.
This would do.
Reuben trudged toward the door and nudged it open; the gesture almost removing the feeble door from its frame. He tried holding it shut to keep the cold out, but there was no bolt to keep it in place. He shrugged and looked for a nook to sleep in. The rotted floor creaked under his calloused feet. Each cautious step was greeted with light skittering; resident mice not relishing the new company.
A pile of hay in the corner of one room looked inviting enough. Time to sleep. Reuben walked towards it when he suddenly stopped.
Light snoring came from behind the stack.
Silent, Reuben crouched and extended his claws. This was it; time for Malcolm to die.
Closer he crept. The snores went uninterrupted. On the count of one… two… three…
POUNCE!
-
Malcolm welded the door shut by filling the sides with ice. He expended the little energy he had left to make it as cold as possible. The farmer could still get in, but would have to break through the wall. Malcolm gambled on the fact he wouldn’t try that. If the farmer broke in and caught him, Malcolm would knock him out and flee.
Then his location would be discovered again.
And he wouldn’t have the hostile Shebaton Caverns to hide in. This was wide open farmland. He could kill the farmer instead and eliminate that chance, but why treat an innocent that way? Probably had a family to provide for. Malcolm couldn’t bring himself to do that.
Terrence and Nikki stumbled from the bag with stiff limbs, rattled and disoriented. What threw Malcolm into that panic? The siblings ran to the Weavile, whose exhaustion forced him to the ground. His hands and knees shook as they propped up his battered, beleaguered frame. He put a quieting finger to his mouth before either could ask anything.
“There’s…” Malcolm rasped. “someone… Hide.”
The foxes obeyed without a word. They vanished into the loft. Terrence let Nikki take the deepest space in the corner while he stood in front of her. If an enemy charged through, he would attack and keep her safe.
… Except the thought of enemies barging in sent shivers down his spine. The gryphon showed him he wasn’t very strong; why would he think he could protect Nikki? Best not admit the thought and just play the hero. At least make her feel safe.
Meanwhile, Malcolm waited to strike. Was the farmer approaching? There were no calls or shouts, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t there. Minutes ticked by… eyelids grew heavy… the distant sputtering of a car… driving away… silence… adrenaline ebbing… eyelids closing…
He slumped to the ground.
Eyes closed…
-
Winifred hugged Malcolm before he had to leave and deal with the incipient virus. “Don’t be long...”
He returned her hug with a knowing smile and assurance he would return, as though he was running a menial errand. They parted with a kiss and he walked out the door. She stood in their doorway, arms crossed over her chest as he backed out of the driveway.
Her gentle wave was his last mental image before he drifted to sleep.
-
Banks’ motorcade formed a procession up the quarter-mile driveway to Rutger’s office. The forty-story edifice cast a shadow over the black limousines as they approached. The temperature in the car dropped, but the Wigglytuff continued to sweat.
Rutger waited on the lawn. Suited up, groomed, poised with convincing words. He would make sure Banks’ misgivings were assuaged. At his side were suited security personnel; not that Banks was going to do anything, but it looked more professional than having none. The lawn was immaculate; trimmed yesterday for this very moment. Banks needed to see that Rutger took his job seriously, and who would argue against the importance of a perfect outward appearance?
The train of limousines rounded the corner and Rutger straightened his posture, standing a little taller than before. A confident, authoritative smile formed on his face by instinct. He always did that before an oration that would draw in the trust of his listeners. He knew Banks not to be a confident man, but so long as the Wigglytuff had confidence in him, it was all that mattered.
The limos parked one by one. Banks was escorted out by his own guards. The Wigglytuff’s demeanor made an effort to appear stern and somber, but was negated by the cane in his hand and limping gait. It also didn’t help that when their eyes met, Banks’ shifted away as though embarrassed. Rutger fought a smirk.
Banks was going to be humiliated.
-
Terrence spied outside through a sliver between the loft floor and the wall. No one was there, but maybe the car driving away was the person Malcolm heard? Still, his nerves propped him awake. Malcolm and Nikki were asleep, so it was up to him to man the fort.
Finally, he was important. Not a hero yet, but being sidekick wasn’t bad. His chest puffed out a little with bravado. He strained his eyes for activity; attention glued to the house. The car would have to come back sometime and he would have to be ready to sound the alarm.
Five minutes passed… ten… twenty… His eyelids struggled to stay open. No car. Morning sky brightening. Chirping birds heralding another day. Thankfully, no copters.
At least not nearby.
His mind conjured that panicked moment once more. The terror. The cacophony. The swarm of black in the distance. He didn’t remember what derailed his train of thought last time he thought about that, so he focused harder. The want of sleep made it more trying.
“They think he’s bad AND a big threat? I’ve never seen so many helicopters go after someone… and the cave too; those people looking for him… who’re they? The army? Has to be someone… or something really powerful…” He shuddered at the thought but continued trying to piece their situation together. He knew Malcolm didn’t want to divulge certain things so he wouldn’t garner needless fears, but the information gaps poked at his curiosity. If being a kid taught him anything, it was that no matter how much you tried to hide something, someone would find it out. It was like the time his friend told him he couldn’t come to his birthday party because he had ‘homework.’ Basic sleuthing revealed the truth. His friend was at a StereoHowl concert; the blasting music and cheering in the background gave it away. His friend wouldn’t have answered had Terrence used his own phone, which was why he called using his dad’s phone. Malcolm’s situation was weightier, but the principle was the same. Terrence would leave no stone unturned, no matter how much Malcolm resisted.
“They think he did something bad, but what? And is that why his family’s not here? Do they think they did something terrible too? And… wait, something else doesn’t make sense…” He squinted as though that’d focus his thoughts better. “Why’s Malcolm not with them? How’d they escape to Earth, but he didn’t? Also… he said that cavern was good for making portals… He said there’s a place to get seeds that grow portals and then we have to go all the way back… but wasn’t he already there? Did he go into the cave and forget the seeds?” Terrence shook his head; Malcolm would never commit such a blunder. His disbelief was quickly replaced with a moment of alarm. His eyes widened at this new thought.
“But then… what was that portal WE fell through?!”
More questions whirred as a torrent through his weary mind. Was there a connection between that portal and Malcolm, or was that an extreme coincidence? Why did the portal disappear afterward? Why did the portal take them there? If Malcolm was connected, why was he not in the chamber Terrence and Nikki woke up in? If it was unrelated, perhaps someone chasing Malcolm knew the science behind the portals and created it, thinking he was already on Earth?
The more Terrence thought, the faster and more chaotically his neurons fired away. Sleep deprivation added to the fragmented disorder. Dizzying queries danced around him in circles, going everywhere and nowhere all at once. Nothing made sense.
Except one harrowing thought.
Malcolm claimed the science behind flower portals was obscure, and he had to do it this way because the other portals were closed. If he got caught then… where would that leave Terrence and his sister?
… And what if the portals never opened again?
A scratching at the door made him jump. Searing dread choked him. He leapt to the floor in one bound and frantically shook Malcolm awake.
“Wha-!” Malcolm bolted up.
More scratching.
Terrence’s pulse was a jackhammer rattling violently through his body.
Someone found them.
It was over.
Malcolm stood, wincing through the knee pain. He signaled Terrence to stay back while he readied an attack.
The scratching was followed by a bark. Malcolm waited… no human or Pokemon accompanied the noise. More scratches, more barks… After two endless minutes, the dog left.
Dead quiet.
Terrence’s mind went blank. He keeled over on his side and hyperventilated. Malcolm stooping to help him was the last thing he saw before passing out.
-
Rutger and Banks approached each other; the Wigglytuff strained at a soup?on of confidence and accomplished eye contact. He had to remind himself it was Rutger who should be submissive. He saluted the Typhlosion with a shaky right hand and feeble voice.
“Doctor Rutger.”
Rutger returned the salute with polished poise and sober demeanor.
“I’m honored you could come… Mr. President.”
