Alex Reynard
presents

~~P~H~O~B~I~O~P~O~L~I~S~~

Dream III: Long Dark Road

	They say the greatest coward can hurt the most ferociously
			-Eurythmics, "Miracle Of Love"

-***-

PART FIFTY

They began walking.

The base of Ectopia Cordis is wide enough that any attempt to circumnavigate it on foot will likely take the better part of a day. Thankfully, they had George. Even better, soon after heading off, they came across another parking attendant who was a tremendous help. He not only gave them directions to RB&WB's garage (on the opposite side of the citybase, unfortunately), but also rented them a four-seat wagon that George could pull.

Considering there might still be Ectopians around with vendettas against them, the quintet camouflaged themselves as best they could. Toby suggested George could grow a coat of flesh. George was not keen on the idea, and neither were the others once they saw the results. He looked like a walking catalog of skin diseases. Still, he no longer resembled a bonecuddy. The others shaded themselves beneath the biggest beach umbrella they could buy. Then they set off through the crowd, attracting no more attention than any of the other hundreds of pedestrians.

Toby had forgotten how expansive the parking lot was. It was a grey desert stretching out to the horizon. From this close to the city, he literally couldn't see the edge of it. As George walked on and he gradually let the tension leave his shoulders, Toby realized this was just what he needed. He'd said in the lounge how he was wishing for some cooldown time. This was it. He sat beside Junella while Piffle leaned contentedly on Zinc. None of them talked much. It would have been hard to anyway, over the omnipresent murmur of the crowd. The five friends recognized that this was an opportunity. A last calm moment before heading out on the road again.

Toby was content to just people-watch and let his mind wander. He saw families with kids. His heart nagged him some more. 'It's not too late. You could go back now, find that adoption center. Go back to a life of safe, consistent, boring normalcy!'

He rested his head in his hands and drew his tail around himself. The thought was agonizingly seductive. Worse, it was followed by his inner voice asking, 'What does it matter? If you reach Anasarca, you'd just be headed back to your old life anyway. You could save so much time and effort...'

He couldn't say why he needed to keep going. Not logically, anyway. Maybe he just felt swept along by the current. Events had been set in motion and now he had to ride them out. But what he'd said earlier was true too. He didn't want to leave his friends. Even if the rest of the trip threw constant misery and horror at him, could it be worse than the slow death of loneliness?

He thought back to his days in the cave. Nothing had actually attacked him there. Aside from jumping at shadows and thunder, not much of anything had happened, really. He had been safe. And it had been a living hell. There were parts of this trip he never wanted to relive, but each time he'd mulled them over, he found that the first example his memory supplied was always the cave.

For all the stress and chaos he'd been through on his journey, there was something inexpressibly enriching about it. Just having someone nearby to talk to, to touch, was wonderful in a way his earlier self had wholly forgotten. And there was the sheer exhilaration of uncertainty too. To not know what tomorrow would be. To taste foods his tongue had never known. To sleep in different beds. To dazzle his eyes with sights beyond his imagination.

He loved his books, but there was a limit to the pleasures he could experience through them. There was something unique about being there.

He dwelt on that pleasant thought for a moment.

But then thought of a qualifier. 'Not just that,' he realized, 'being there together.'

He took a moment just to look at each of his friends' faces.

Then he looked off to the horizon. The tip of Aldridge's mountain was just barely visible beyond the clouds.

***

They could tell it was coming before it came into view, just from the crowd's rising volume.

Up ahead, the milieu was different than the usual background chatter. Buzzing voices from walkie-talkies. The gush of firehoses. Sounds of heavy machinery carving into mortar and metal. And an undulating chorus of weeping.

None of them wanted to see this, but it seemed they were fated to.

Soon enough, as George kept on, Gyre 2 came into view.

Toby had forgotten its scale. The sheer enormity. Every spoke on that wheel had once held twelve apartments, and Gyre 2 had forty spokes. He tried to do the math in his head. How many tenants did that add up to? He couldn't handle the number.

Now the wheel was nothing but a smoldering bent corpse. EC work crews swarmed the site like ants. Spinning orange lights formed a perimeter. Rubble was strewn for miles. Hundreds of people were here. Some were gawking or taking photos, some were waiting for loved ones to be rescued. Workers were jackhammering away to free those still trapped inside. Sometimes they'd pull a battered, blood-soaked furson out and walk them shakily down to the ground. Toby saw a few reunions. But it would take time to carve all the way down to those in the lowest apartments. And how many people had been sitting here in the parking lot when the sky fell down upon them?

There was a desk with a long line of people behind it and a sign above: 'CAR CLAIM'. Toby thought about the Fearsleigher, how much work Zinc and Junella had put into it. Everyone in that line had likely built their own vehicles from scratch, or worked hard to fill a willwell to pay for one. How many cars had been destroyed when the wheel was dropped? Toby looked down the line, seeing people's rage, frustration, and helplessness.

At first he tried not to let guilt stab too deeply into his heart. He reminded himself of what he and his friends had said at the trial. All this loss was squarely on the shoulders of... whatever-his-name-was. Cleanup Crew. The muskrat had set events in motion. He chose to involve Toby and his friends, not the other way around. And their solution to stopping Gyre 2 might not have been the best, but it was the best they could have accomplished in what little time they had.

Still, their choice had been to involve themselves. There were people trapped beneath that wheel right now, and it had been his little groups' actions that put them there.

'My choice, really. Junella wanted us to just leave.'

So Toby took a long, deep breath and let the guilt come. For a while at least. It wanted in anyway. Why hold it back? All the rational counterarguments in the world couldn't shoo it off anyway. The emotion was insistent. It wanted into his heart so it could gnaw and tear. 'Just feel it, and let it pass,' Toby told himself.

All five of them were silent. They kept their eyes on the Gyre as George walked them past it. They had done a good thing, they had received praise, and now witnessing the aftermath was the accompanying penance.

'That's something else they don't show in superhero stories,' Toby thought. 'The good guys and bad guys fight, tear up half the city, and they usually don't show the day after. The rescue workers and construction crews. They'll show the really cool part with the parked cars exploding, but they don't show the furson who owned one, and how now they can't get to work.'

Toby's mouth tasted bitter.

And then, near the edge of the crowd, someone shouted, "Is that them?"

Toby sprang to alertness. Were they going to get chased again!?

He looked around and saw who'd spoken. Someone was pointing, then three furs got up from the car hood they'd been sitting on and ran over. It was a couple of male mice (from their body language it was clear that 'couple' was the right word) and a lady reindeer. The mice both had extensive facial piercings, and each one's placement mirrored the other's. The reindeer had bright green plastic suspenders. All three furs were streaked with soot and sweat, and looked tired.

"You're them, aren't you? We saw you on TV," one of the mice called out as he got close.

"Your horse looks different. That a disguise?" the other asked.

Toby and the others looked at each other warily, not sure if they should admit anything or not. This trio didn't seem angry, but it was clear from their appearance that Gyre 2 had affected them.

The mice and doe looked expectantly at the fivesome.

Junella elected to speak, "If you're asking if we're the ones responsible for that-" she pointed to the wheel, "-there's no use denying it."

The trio smiled in relief. One mouse, a piebald, took his partner's hand and made introductions. "This is Turo, I'm Lock. That's our roommate, Gingerale."

"Hi," the reindeer said. She looked too dazed to add much else.

"We were in Gyre 2 when it fell," Lock continued.

Toby and his friends all flinched.

Piffle was the first to respond. "We're so sorry!"

"Don't be," Turo said immediately. "Tumbling around in there, smashing into our furniture, dying endlessly... I can't remember anything worse we've ever been through."

Lock patted his partner's cheek and finished the thought. "...But we would've been in there longer if it hadn't been for you. Thank you."

"Thank you," Gingerale repeated.

Turo actually bowed.

The quintet were all a bit stunned.

Lock went on. "We got out a few hours ago, but we've been here in the parking lot since. Just... wandering and watching. I guess we're shellshocked." The other two nodded. "We're trying to help however we can. There's not much we can do, but, speaking for myself, I'm not ready to go back up and see how bad everything's messed up. Seeing our building like this is already too much to process."

Piffle kneaded her paws. "I understand."

Gingerale chewed her lip. "So... did you come by to see the wreckage?"

"No, uh... Actually we were skippin' town," Zinc admitted, ears drooping.

"That's probably smart," Lock reassured. "We've heard other people talking. Not everyone feels like us. Some of them would happily skin you for trophies right now."

Toby blanched.

"You guys go on. We just wanted to say thanks."

"And, like, is there anything we could do to show some gratitude?" Turo offered.

Zinc's eyebrows went so far up they nearly fell off. "Geez, kid! You don't owe us anything! Hell, you lost your home. Thanks a million, but it's allright."

Lock chuckled. "Thought so. And don't worry about us. We made it to Fifty-Two in the first place, right? Finding a new place isn't gonna be difficult. We'll imaginite up all our old stuff. Probly donate a good chunk to fix up the neighborhood nice again too."

"Good luck then, all of you," Piffle said warmly. She reached out her arms for a hug, and Gingerale happily accepted.

The mice came forward too and handshakes were exchanged all around. Gingerale even bumped hooves with George.

The moment had felt unreal to Toby until then, but he was powerfully moved at feeling warm paws holding his own. Looking into their eyes. These were real people. People who were thanking him for what he and his friends had done.

"You guys get going," Lock urged. "Before someone else sees you and starts throwing bricks."

"Good suggestion." Junella said. She patted George's neck. "Come on."

Lock, Turo, and Gingerale waved goodbye as the five travelers departed.

Toby looked back and forth between them and the Gyre, and felt some of his inner conflict unclench.

***

They continued on in silence. Gyre 2 was behind them. The city's background noise faded into a hypnotic hum. Piffle managed to fall asleep back-to-back with Zinc.

Then he jolted her awake as he suddenly sproinged up. His wrenchhands gripped the sides of the cart in anticipation. His tail began to wag.

He had seen the word 'garage' up ahead.

Piffle rubbed her eyes and antennae. "...Whuzzit?"

"I know we had kind of a solemn moment back there," Zinc said to everyone, "so I hope I'm not painting myself as an insensitive clod to point out that..." He became too verklempt to say anything more than, "...TH' CAR!!!"

Junella looked over and chuckled. "No one's gonna bitch about you getting excited, partner. Look at you. You're like a puppy waiting on his kibble."

The mutt bounced up and down in his seat. "Sounds about right. I can't wait for you guys to see it! I told the mechanic he could put some of his own flair on it and surprise me." He bit his lip. "My baby's gonna be all grown up now!!"

Piffle giggled and turned herself around to squeeze him. "Thanks for being a good pillow."

"Pleasure's all mine, toots." He was a bit too excited about the car to notice, but something in her gaze had changed since the day before.

The outside wall of Ectopia Cordis is set up very much like a strip mall. Wherever there aren't entrances, there are stores. Food carts, souvenir stands, phone booths, armories, imaginite-to-luxybux exchange stations, arcades, even pet shops. To accommodate as many as possible, most of these establishments are tiny, all crammed in beside each other like cereal boxes. But standing apart from the rest was the towering marble columns and gold-plated ivy of Rippingbean & Woofingbutter's Autoparadise. A vast, open showroom where curvy hot rods and bristling safari trucks rotated on raised platforms like gladiators before battle.

Zinc whined with lustful desire when he caught his first glimpse of the new and improved Fearsleigher. He vaulted out of the cart, elbowing a few customers by accident, and ran over to start drooling.

The canine stood, panting hard, enraptured to the point of paralysis.

"Oh, baby. They treated you good..."

Another parking attendant was on hand to take the cart. George unhitched himself and joined the others beside Zinc. Toby stopped dead in his tracks when he finally saw their new beast. 'Holy heck! Maybe I'm actually gonna be safe on this trip after all!'

When he'd left the Fearsleigher three days ago, it had been mostly-silver and mostly-rumpled. Now it looked like a towering fusion of style and threat. The hood had been extended several feet by welding on the front end from a mid-fifties cruiser. The headlights looked like gleaming, sightless frog's eyes. The grille was an endless expanse of chrome fangs. Below it hung two overpowered-looking machine guns, the kind with the polka-dot perforated barrels. And below them were two bayonets as big as elephant tusks. This new face had been seamlessly integrated into the original military-transport shell. Two killer fins jutted out from the back as well, with taillights like red lipstick tips.

All over it was black. Flowing, shimmering obsidian. With guest appearances by mouthwatering chrome, milky white pinstriping, and halloween-orange flames airbrushed so vividly they almost seemed to radiate heat. And the name on the side was spelled correctly!

The armaments were upgraded as well. The spikes along the sides were bigger, and curved in various directions. At the heart of each was an impaled plushie. Toby remembered Junella saying how their love energy warded off nightmares. But for uglies that didn't get the message, there were the aforementioned twin ratatats and pig-stickers, plus a painful-looking nail-studded snowplow which currently adorned the roof, creating a V-shaped shield for the other new addition: that gorgeous brass gatling gun. To make room for it up top, the harpoon turret was now mounted on a triangular platform jutting out from the back bumper. Toby noticed the brass gun had been further customized with the addition of about four extra handles. He couldn't fathom why.

The giant-size ice skates were attached differently as well. No longer was the chassis welded directly onto them. The body of the car now sat on a rotating mount with the skates emerging from a separate section below. The advantage in steering seemed immediately obvious.

Zinc finally snapped out of his trance and ran over to throw his arms around the right skate, smearing sloppy kisses all over the metal. "She's BEAUTIFUL! She's STUPENDOUS! Somebody stop my heart from goin' Nagasaki!" Just as abruptly, he spun away and piledrived Piffle in an equally passionate embrace. "Oh THANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOU for bankrollin' her!!"

The hamsterfly cooed happily and kissed his cheek. "Making you this happy was worth every nickel!"

"Oh I am, babycakes! I am! You can't even believe!" He swept his arms towards the car (nearly knocking over Toby) "This is my best Christmas morning ever!"

Because the temptation was impossible to resist, Zinc started babbling about all the modifications. "We got all-new, all-hog leather interior. Stuff'll damn near stop a bullet. We got new shocks, new windows, new cup holders. We got state-of-the-art Himmelman 500 headlamps on this bad mama. So-named because that's the degrees Fahrenheit they can output on anything stupid enough to stand in our way. I talked with Andy a long time about maybe slappin' an engine up inside to take the workload off George." The stallion looked noticeably crestfallen at the idea. "We shot the shit back and forth over whether we oughtta go with internal combustion or a Cyrus Tear, and we did 'ventually use a small Tear for something else, but it was Junella who had the idea on how to keep our beast running on good ol' American horsepower."

"I don't believe I qualify as American," George pointed out.

"Don't spoil his rhythm," Junella whispered. "There's nothing little pups love more than showing off their toys."

This was true. "Now up top you'll see that sexy, deadly, honey-colored six-shooter we bought..."
Zinc went on like this for quite a while. Until something peeked out from the backseat window. Something small and brown.

Junella drew her cutlass. "Zinc, there's a varmint in the car!"

"What!?"

But Piffle knew exactly what it was. She spread her wings and zoomed up to the door.

"Hello?"

A little burlap head popped up.

Piffle flung open the door and divebombed in. "Oh, DOLL! It is you!!" She hugged and squoze the little plastic toy until they both nearly burst. "I'm so sorry we left you in here all this time! And look at you! Look how smart you are! Let's go show everyone your new trick!"

The overjoyed hamsterfly jumped out from the backseat and held up what looked like a baggy brown ghost. "Looky, guys! Doll figgered out how to move!"

An arm-shaped lump waved to them.

Junella remembered the parameters of Doll's curse: motionless while being observed. But now that she'd found a bulky bag to slip into, no part of her anatomy was visible. "I gotta admit, that's clever. And I think she might actually be less creepy this way. She jus' looks like a wobbly potato."

Toby had a moment of confusion, until it was swallowed by overwhelming embarrassment as he realized he'd forgotten all about their plastic companion. She'd been waiting in the car this whole time! It'd been days!! The poor girl! And he was supposed to be responsible for taking care of her! Toby's cheeks burned. He felt like a heel.

Zinc had a spark of recognition when he saw the burlap. "Oh, hey! I dunno how it ended up in the Fearsleigher, but remember it, Juney? That's the sack we kept Sulilong's big stupid head in!"

"Oh, right!!" She cackled. "I got a kick out of listenin' to him in the back of the Killcanoe, rolling around and swearing the whole fuckin' time!"

Toby gave them a quizzical look.

"Old bounty of ours."

Piffle hopped down daintily, bringing Doll over to Toby. They cuddled her between them. "I'm really sorry we made you wait on us so long," Toby said. "At least we can tell you a good story about why."

Piffle nodded. "Yup! We got nicked by the pigs for disturbin' the peace! But it was all for a good cause though, don't you worry!"

Doll's head turned back and forth as she listened, still silent as ever. But then from under the sack came a scribbling sound.

"Oh right, you gave her a notepad," Toby remembered.

They were patient as Doll wrote. In the background, Toby could see another of those cat guys: the miniature clones that had been running the automotive department upstairs. There were plenty of him running around the garage too. This one seemed to be the original, since he was twice as tall as the rest. His nametag marked him as Andy. He and Zinc started talking about the car, with the canine making lots of exuberant gestures to express his satisfaction. Several customers had to duck out of the way of his wrenches, lest they get uppercutted into next week.

Finally, a slip of paper appeared from the bottom of Doll's bag. Piffle plucked it and read aloud. The handwriting wasn't the best (as Doll had been writing in the dark), but it was legible.

"I hAD A GooD rest. I hoPe no1 MInDs Me usInG the BAG. I Cant see WeLL but I Can MoVe soMe noW. GooD 2 Be toGether."

"And it's wonderful to see you too," Piffle said.

Toby patted Doll's head. "We won't leave you alone again."

She reached out, indicating she wanted to hug them both. They held her between them.

Doll had been polite and casual about her isolation, but Toby thought he felt her true feelings emerge in that hug. Enormous relief.

***

The new seats of the Fearsleigher took some getting used to. The leather had come from the hog-like nightmares that patrolled the city's garbage, so it was stiff and thick. Almost like sitting on steak.

The car was still in park. Toby sat sideways in the front passenger seat with the door open, legs dangling off the side. Junella and Piffle were side-by-side, lounging on the hood, waiting for Zinc and Andy to finish talking shop. Doll was currently cuddled up in Piffle's cozy lap. And Junella must have been in a good mood since she hadn't said a word so far about Doll's proximity.

Zinc shook Andy's hand (carefully). "I can't thank you enough. She's so souped up, we might reach the mountain by tomorrow."

The mechanic chuckled. "I should be thanking you for letting me work on her! These scratchbuilt jobs're usually a pain in the tail, but you put her together simple and solid. Cooperative as can be. I hate to say it, but I almost hope you get banged up on the way back so you'll have reason to bring her here again!"

The canine and feline laughed. "You have my word," Zinc assured. "Though if my aim is true, I won't let her get so much as a ding."

"Awww," Andy mock-pouted. Toby had noticed that whenever the cat talked, all the other miniatures nearby would move their lips in unison with him. It was kind of spooky.

The cat and mutt parted ways and Zinc clapped his wrenches together. "Allright, go-cats! Deal's done and we're almost ready to vamoose. I didn't forget about grabbing us a last hot lunch. How 'bout that taco place we passed? The one with the guy in the jalapeno costume?"

Junella wrinkled her nose. "I remember saying 'not too spicy'."

"Chill, Lucille. I'll bring back somethin' nice for ya."

"I don't know what I want," Toby spoke up.

"I'll just get a bit of this'n'that." Zinc held up the roll of Luxybux. "Gonna be a long time before we have another opportunity to spend these."

After he exited, Junella bunched up her scarf behind her head and leaned back against the windshield, savoring these last few moments of calm before they'd head out into the suck.

"What's our plan once we get the ol' jalopy rollin'?" Piffle asked.

Junella cocked an eyebrow. "Weren't you paying attention when I showed Toby the map? No, wait. You weren't there. Forgot." She grumbled a bit, but rolled over on her side so she could gesture with her finger along an imaginary route. "Just don't laugh at me if I can't pronounce half these damn complicated names."

"I'd never," Piffle assured.

George leaned in to listen, wanting to make sure he correctly recalled everything she'd said back in Scrofula. Toby listened too, since he'd forgotten every word of it.

"We're here," Junella started, pointing at the wiper fluid nozzle. "The quickest shot to the mountain's not exactly the safest, so we'll be going long for Toby's sake. And honestly, mine too. After all the bullshit we waded through here, the more road stress I can avoid, the better.

"Directly from the parking lot we'll be on the main highway. The whole thing's one giant nightmare. Alive, but barely mobile."

"Like a coral reef?" Toby asked.

"That's just about dead on," she said, nodding to the mouse. He felt pleased. "Doesn't mean it's harmless though. It doesn't like people driving on it, so it reacts like anyone else when they feel a bug on their skin. It'll send out bucketloads of minor constructs to swat us. But the car'll handle 'em. The highway's a breeze if you keep up your defenses and keep moving. Should almost be fun, if you like roller coasters."

Toby winced. "What if I don't?"

"Then try not to ralph on the seats," she said with a blithe smile.

Toby made a note to keep several baggies on hand.

"What next?" Piffle asked. She'd gotten herself rotated so she was lying on her tummy with her legs kicking back and forth. Doll was seated between her wings.

"From the highway, we end up at the river bridge. It's the simplest part of the journey: stay in the car and wait. The bridge'll take us to Lumbago. It's a hole. Literally. Big damn canyon with rope bridges all across. The vertigo'd be bad enough without all the biteranodons."

"I ate some of those!" Piffle remembered.

"And now they'll wanna eat you," Junella replied, pointing a finger. Then she motioned with it along the hood: the car traveling an invisible route. "Assuming we get across, we've gotta zip through a blast furnace called Fistula. After, if we're lucky, we'll run across Gilla-Gilla somewhere in the flesh forest."

"What happens if we're not lucky?" Piffle asked.

"Then we get to sleep outside and be woken up every five seconds by constructs," she replied matter-of-factly. "Gilla's an old colleague and he's got his own place. Plus he's got paranoia down to an art. His shack's the safest place in the world next to Coryza.

"We'll mooch some rest and breakfast off him, then it's on to..." She stuttered a bit, having to piece together syllables to make a word that was definitely nowhere in her lyrics, "...Drapetomania. The humidity there's bad enough to make you wish for death. Also, cacti that grow like tentacles. And they'll lunge at you. Though when you crack 'em open they make a damn fine soup."

Piffle licked her lips.

"Oh and don't forget the huge invisible bees! Bet you can't guess how fun they are! Next up..." Another difficult word. "...Borborygmus. More desert, but drier. Almost smooth sailing if it wasn't for the Okononos."

"The Okononos?"

"Six-foot-tall, pink-as-hell bunnyrabbits."

Piffle grinned at the thought. "That doesn't sound so bad!"

Junella sneered in revulsion. "They're the biggest bunch of disgusting rapists imaginable. You do NOT want to get caught by them."

Piffle looked quite startled. Then she blushed. "I'm sure that would be just terrible," she said unconvincingly.

Junella narrowed her eyes. "Suit yourself. You are dressed for bait after all. If we can toss you to 'em like meat to wild dogs, and it gets 'em to stay as far the fuck as possible away from me, I'm good with that."

"Then we agree!" Piffle said with a sunny smile.

Junella needed a moment to not say all the things it occurred to her to say then.

"So after the valley of the naughty rabbits, what then?"

Junella tried to remember that far out. It'd been a while. "Then there's a vomit swamp. We'll want the windows rolled up tight. Might run into cops, might not. That leads to Rhinolith, where we might be able to snag a bedtime before the maze." She sighed, all humor leaving her face. "I'm sure with George we'll sail right through, but it's one of the places easiest to get lost in. The walls are covered in writing, and if you read one word, you'll have to read another. And another. Forever."

Piffle shuddered. She certainly didn't mind new experiences, but her zeal for them was within reason.

Junella gestured with her hand, indicating a great big empty area. "Then... Dysphoria. Ain't nothing I can say will prepare you for it. It's not a place you ever want to go back to. It gets in your head. You can't trust your perceptions. It's..." She threw up her hands. "It's every nightmare you've ever had. All at once. No better way to put it than that."

Piffle tried to stay hopeful. "But after that's the mountain, right?"

Junella nodded. "Yeah. Supposedly it's an easy climb. They say."

Piffle rolled over onto her back, scooping Doll into her arms as she did so. She needed something to hug. "And then we'll meet Aldridge and Toby can go home," she said resolutely.

Toby sighed. "It still kinda weighs on my conscience that you guys are doing all this for me."

"Well it ain't 'cause of my naturally altruistic demeanor," Junella reminded him. She reached out to pat George's muzzle. "You promised me a hell of a payment."

He whinnied, proud of his value.

"Plus..." She debated for a moment telling them this. "...supposedly, if Aldridge is in a good mood, he's been known to hand out favors."

Piffle sat up. "Could he fix Doll?" she asked immediately.

"Maybe," the skunk acknowledged. Piffle started to bounce with glee and Junella restrained her shoulder. "Calm down, Little Miss Lollipop. I don't wanna get your hopes up. There is not a lot of recent intel on the man. We're going off what we know from events that happened before any of us were born. Fairy tales. For all anyone knows he could be dead up there. Or maybe he went back to his home."

Toby felt his heart drop through his stomach. "So it's possible that we could do all that work, go through all that awfulness... for nothing?"

She leaned over on her elbow, making direct eye contact. "Yes. It's possible," she said in her most sincere, 'no bullshit' tone.

He looked out across empty space. "I hadn't realized that. I thought Aldridge was a certainty."

"He probably is," Junella replied. "We're not talkin' 50/50 here. This was a guy with the powers of God, who stuck around through all the worst eras this world ever saw. I can't think of anything that'd kill him or make him give up. But nothing's ever certain, mouse. Swallow that pill now and get it over with."

Toby gulped.

Piffle tossed a smile his way. "If nuttin' else, if we get to the top and see a 'gone fishing' sign, I'm sure the view from up there'll be spectacular!"

The mouse couldn't help but smile. "Piffle, you are just optimism incarnate."

She was quite pleased at that.

Junella had a thought. "I know one thing I'm gonna ask him for."

"Whazzat?" Piffle asked.

"If he can flick his magic wand and teleport our asses back to my sweet Jennie-Mae. I am NOT looking forward to repeating this whole odyssey in reverse~"

Piffle nodded agreement. "Especially without Toby."

"Aww," he said.

"Well of course I'll miss you when you're gone, you silly goose!"

A sombrero sailed through the air like a UFO and landed on Junella's head.

"Bullseye!" Zinc shouted.

She turned slowly towards her partner, grumpy as a fat cat. "Te voy a apuñalar repetidamente."

"And I love you too, Junebug." He tossed two bulging sacks up onto the hood which rapidly filled the air with amazing smells. Piffle and Toby were drawn in like magnets.

Zinc ascended George's back to join them. "I basically pointed to the menu and said 'All of it'. They whipped it up quick. Service was friendly. But holy shit, someone did a crime in that bathroom!" He pinched his nose. "Call the FBI!"

"We did not need to know that particular information, Zinc," Junella informed him.

He took no notice. "How 'bout we take our seats, get buckled in, and we'll eat once we get movin'?"

Toby cocked his head. "Isn't eating while driving dangerous?"

Zinc blinked, and then he grinned. He looked at Junella and grinned harder. He looked at George and grinned even harder. "Shall we show him our little idea?"

"I would be quite pleased to!" the horse enthused.

"Ditto for me." Junella gave Toby a look like she had a delicious secret, then took hold of the windshield frame and gracefully swung herself into the driver's seat. She disposed of her sombrero onto a passing Andy.

Piffle handed the chow sacks to Toby, then flitted to the back seat. He climbed past the shift lever to join her.

Zinc poked his head through Junella's window. "Uh-uh. I get to drive first."

She fixed him with a look. "You stuck me with the car while you went out callin' on Miz Millie. I know it ain't strictly your fault, but that action set into motion the whole carnival-ass rigmarole we been through the last two days."

"You're gonna blame me for that? Really!?" he huffed. "I just went and bought you dinner!"

Junella's scowl intensified.

Zinc clacked his wrenchtips menacingly.

She rolled her eyes. "Look at it this way: you get first dibs to hop up on the roof and use the gun."

This changed his mood immediately. He leaned in and kissed her nose. "Peachy-keen, babe."

Toby asked out his window, "So what's the surprise?"

Zinc paused and thought. "Actually, you're gonna want to see this firsthand. My mistake. Hop back out."

Toby grumbled. He'd just figured out where the seatbelt was.

Everyone piled out of the car and stood in front of it. Zinc slid down from George's back and gave his ribs a pat. "You ready for this?"

"Without hesitation, Sir Zinc! The mechanic named Andy, by which I mean the instance of him capable of speech, allowed me to practice several times. It is actually quite invigorating."

Toby listened to this, quite puzzled.

Junella chuckled at him. "Remember that thing I did with the parrot potion?"

From beneath the Fearsleigher, in between the skate blades, Zinc unfolded a harness rig that snapped tidily into place. George backed up into it. A snug fit. He allowed his fatty outer shell to dissolve back into his bones as the canine dashed around him, getting all the straps secured.

Toby noticed that the harness had several glass spheres attached. He thought at first they were lightbulbs.

"All tucked in cozy?" Zinc asked George once he'd double-checked the buckles.

"Quite so!"

"Then the stage is yours, my friend. You're on."

"I believe I need someone to break a bottle first."

"Oh, right," Zinc turned to Junella. "Wanna do the honors?"

"Sure." In one smooth motion, she dumbfounded her revolver into her hand, aimed, and shot through one of the glass balls.

The gunshot drew the attention of the garage's other customers, and what they saw next dropped their jaws.

Transformation potion spilled from the shattered glass all over George's flank. His bones stiffened as he felt the liquid seep in. He calmed his mind, giving no resistance, even visualizing his new shape to help it take him over.

George's rainbow lights changed hue. Small flickers of violet lightning traveled up and down his body like veins. They sizzled along the harness as well, up into the Fearsleigher, until both horse and cart were pulsing with a purple glow.

Instead of changing shape, George was slowly pulled into the underside of the car.

The Fearsleigher seemed to suck him in and gobble him up. Toby had noticed earlier there was a hole above the front grille. He now knew what it was for, as George's skull emerged. A hood ornament. But the transformation wasn't over.

Purple lightning cracked and popped like firecrackers. The potion began to swell George's legs. They bulged into oval shapes. George groaned low in his throat at the unnatural stretching sensation. Then, with a snap like a falling tree branch, each one of them split down the middle into a hoop shape.

Toby understood now. The car was turning George into a set of wheels!

The spectral stallion crowed with pleasure. The transformation felt like a good, deep back massage. The potion's energy tugged and molded his legs, stretching them into circles as tall as the ice skate blades. It thickened them into dense bone tires, all while lowering his hips and shoulders into axles.

Now it was time for the car to transform as well. As soon as the Fearsleigher's weight was off the skates, the skates themselves began to raise. Customers on either side backed out of the way. The massive metal blades rose until they were perfectly horizontal. Then, with a 'KERCHUK', they retracted in to lock in place: from frictionless runners to deadly-sharp defensive weapons.

On the roof, the nail-studded snowplow began to lower on hydraulic armatures. It passed George's face, the bayonets retracted momentarily to give it some room, and with a 'KHUNK' it settled into place below. The car now had a face. Headlights for eyes, a skull for a nose, two steel elephant tusks, and a bristly beard.

George let out a bellow of raw triumph, sending jets of flame from his nostrils and exhausts. He was now the car. The car was now him. Chariot and horse had fused into an unstoppable juggernaut of bone, fire, and steel. George could feel every part of the car like his own marrow. The spikes and guns were now his flesh. It felt powerful.

"I ENJOY THIS IMMENSELY!!!" he roared at the top of his lungs. The walls and floor shook, displays trembled, and screaming customers scattered like rats.

Zinc giggled in total joy.

George popped his four doors open. "Come, my friends! Step inside me! We have many miles to travel, and I cannot wait to start! Oh, I cannot convey to you the sheer dynamic exhilaration of this new form! I feel ten times my normal strength! Swift as the wind! More mighty than God himself!!!"

Junella's eyes got wide. "Might wanna ease back a bit there, George."

He looked around and noticed he'd scared away everyone else in the store. Even Piffle and Toby were clinging warily to each other. "Oh. Oh my! I'm terribly sorry about that, dear companions! I assure you, I'm fine now."

Toby hesitated just a moment before stepping forward. "You sure? You seemed to be going a bit 'mad scientist' there."

"Indeed, Sire," he said with a nod. "It would have been hard not to. This configuration does things to me. But I assure you, I am one hundred per cent in control of myself now. And considerably embarrassed!"

Zinc chortled. "No need to be! I envy you! I wouldn't mind merging with this hot piece o' steel myself." He leapt up into the driver's seat and slammed the door.

"HEY!" Junella ran over and pounded it. "I thought we agreed I was driving!?"

Zinc leaned over the side, smiling like the world champion of smug bastards. "Yes, partner, but you forgot that I'm an asshole."

And Zinc had forgotten that Junella was still holding a revolver. She shot him in the neck and kicked his body over to the passenger side.

Piffle and Toby both shrieked.

"Quitcher bitchin'! Like you've never seen a little bit of blood before!"

***

Zinc recovered quickly as usual, and if anything, had an even bigger smirk on at having teased his partner to the point of homicide. He popped the glove compartment and a swarm of gold ladybugs emerged to clean up his previous remains. Thanks to Piffle, they'd finally been able to afford the kind that returned to their box once they were done (and not eat the seats).

Junella was pleased with the Fearsleigher's new layout. She finally had a steering wheel in her hands, which just felt natural. No more shouting out the window for course corrections. And if she still needed to, with George's head on the hood they could hear each other more clearly.

Many pedestrians hollered, gawked, or took photos as the first-of-its-kind car/construct fusion rolled out of Rippingbean & Woofingbutter's. The crowd, for the most part, was good about getting out of the way to let George pass. Though the stallion's heart yearned for speed, he adopted a turtle's pace, as there were gobs of people and kiosks he had to avoid trampling.

The Taco Shack sacks were opened and the food divvied up. Junella gave Zinc a genuine smile at having brought her an amazing-looking avocado salad. The rest was a smorgasbord of quesadillas, tacos, empanadas, burritos, carnitas, dip, chips and cervezas. Zinc had even considered that Toby and Piffle might not want to get shitfaced and passed them some horchata. Toby drank a bottle halfway in one gulp and licked his lips. If this stuff had come from imaginite, then the chef had a really good imagination! Piffle decided to be bold and try a beer, while Junella went straight for the tequila. Piffle again expressed how sorry she was that Doll couldn't share in their feast, but a note from under the burlap assured her that she was more than happy to luxuriate in the smells. The hamsterfly called out to ask if George wanted any vittles. He said that all he hungered for at the moment was speed.

Soon enough he'd nudged his way past the ring of warm bodies encircling the city into the parking lot proper. There were fewer things to dodge in the lanes, but also the occasional loose pig-thing to consider. He asked Junella which direction the highway was, and for a second she was stumped.

Zinc remembered the trick though. "Look way up until you can spot Luxyland. One of the rides juts out, like a finger pointing the way." It was one of the few static patches of EC, and its placement on the beam was for the specific reason of directing traffic.

She smiled at him. "You're bein' all kinds of helpful today, partner. I'm almost sorry I shot you."

"No you're not," he needled. They shared a grin and he went back to trying to hold nachos in his wrenches without snapping them.

As has been mentioned before, Ectopia Cordis' parking lot is a wonder to behold. Fifteen hundred square miles of grey pavement stretched out to the horizon. It is said that you can only see the edge from Bigwheel Fifty-Two. This gave George lots and lots of practice room. As enthusiastic as he was about his new form, he had to admit that enthusiasm is not the same as experience. He was so used to hooves! Having his tires in constant contact with the road was an entirely different sensation. And while driving was far easier than galloping, that also meant it would be equally easy to slip up and skid out. So once he was past the majority of pedestrians, he played a bit, taking a winding route through the parked cars, occasionally seeing how tight of a turn he could make. He hoped instinct would help him hold the road when he got fully up to speed later. And the question burned brightly in his mind: just how fast could he go now?

The food had seemed endless at first, but then dwindled so quickly that they all blinked in bafflement when it ran out, as if a magician had whisked it away. Bits of lettuce and chopped tomatoes sprinkled the seats. Everyone's bellies bulged pleasantly, their fingers dripped with oil and cheese, and their tongues dozed peacefully in heaven. Junella had blazed through the tequila like a champion and swallowed the worm without even realizing it. There were quite a few empties below Zinc's seat as well. This was yet another George-advantage: he made a perfect designated driver.

Toby wiped himself clean with five or so wet-naps, then balled all the wrappers and containers into a tidy lump. He wasn't sure what to do with it though.

"Over here," Zinc indicated. He flipped a switch on the dash and a hatch opened in the ceiling. The trash was stuffed inside while the canine explained that this was another purchase: a dandy solution to the problem of the many, many bullet casings the brass gun was gonna spit out. Any kind of waste could go in the collection hatch and get compressed into caltrops. Whenever they needed to take out some tires, they could just reach up into the ceiling for a handful. "Works with anything! Casings, garbage, I could even stuff you in there!" he kidded.

"I don't think I'd make very good caltrops," Toby replied. "Someone'd step on me and they'd just hear muffled whining."

Zinc cracked up.

Toby was happy with himself for that bit of self-deprecating humor. It had come naturally. Maybe he was finally loosening up a little.

He looked out the window to notice they were about halfway through the lot. Long-term parking. Getting close to permanent-term. Plenty of the cars out here looked broken into. Some were up on blocks. Toby imagined thieves working the acres of cars like a coal mine, moving inward as each layer was stripped down to nothing but chassis.

Behind him the city was still bright as ever. A colossal heaven-reaching tube of sprockets and shine. Toby didn't quite know how to feel about the place. Or did he feel everything at once? Relief that he was being allowed to leave instead of sentenced to The Pipe. Regret at not having been able to see some of the sights Zinc had mentioned, like Luxyland. Unease at how different the city's principles had been from his own. Lingering dizziness from the sheer visual overload. He thought about the masked kid whose jaw he'd broken. About the pink hotel room. The spatula elevators. The loud restaurant. Mr. Roosman. Millie. Kay and Kaye. The muskrat with the screwy eyes. The fox with the messed-up face and his invisible gorilla partner. And looming over all of it, that raccoon with the smile like a mouthful of blades.

Toby felt a rumbling in his gut that he first ascribed to being overemotional. Nope: overfull. The payload of spicy food in his guts began to fire off, resulting in some world-class burps.

Zinc guffawed from the front seat. "Ten points!"

Piffle hid her giggle and patted the mouse's arm. "Dinner not agreeing with ya?"

"I've probably never had a meal that heavy before. I guess even here, I can't suspend disbelief enough to think my stomach would be okay with it." He urped again. "Worth it though."

Zinc got an idea, inspired by the trio they'd met beside Gyre 2. He dug out the cornucopia he'd bought and produced a bottle of ginger ale for himself. "Want one? This stuff's always good for settling stomachs and preventing chowder showers."

Toby grimaced at that colorful term, but he knew from years of experience that ginger ale was good stuff for an upset tummy. "Sure."

Zinc held it up. "Just reach in and take one."

Toby squinted at the thing. It looked exactly like the big wicker cones you'd sometimes see as Thanksgiving decorations. He reached into the open end and suddenly felt cold glass fill his palm. A bottle of his favorite brand was there when he took his hand out. He narrowed his eyes. "Wait, how's this work? Is there super-concentrated imaginite in there or something?"

Zinc was impressed he'd think of that. "Nah. Totally different principle. Take a sip."

Toby was wary of the canine's grin, but unscrewed the top from his bottle and was about to drink.

Zinc suddenly brought his wrenches together with a 'CLANGG'.

"Yaaah!" Toby jumped at the noise. Then he fumbled his hands around, trying to catch the bottle before it fell and spilled and... Wait, where was it?

Piffle could not resist a giggle at the pure bafflement on her mouse friend's face.

Zinc guffawed too. "Cornucopias only make illusions," he explained. "Imaginite's got substance to it. It'll fill you up. This won't. But it's great if you wanna just snack on something or get a bad taste out of your mouth."

"Pretty neat," Toby said. He reached in for another bottle, then a small box of saltines. He was mindful to keep his attention on them this time.

Piffle reached past and pulled out a dish of buttermints. Junella managed to arch her arm all the way back to steal a few. She was just about to pop them in her mouth when she found herself airborne.

Everyone shrieked.

The Fearsleigher landed with a hard thump on the pavement. George had been getting so confident in his new driving skills that, upon seeing a few station wagons heaped together in a ramp-like configuration, he'd decided to jump them.

Everyone's food had vanished. Junella sighed in mild irk. "Are you having fun, George?"

He was chortling with glee until he heard her voice. "To be perfectly honest, yes. I apologize, but I found myself in high spirits."

How could she stay mad at that naughty schoolboy tone? It reminded her of Zinc. "Fine, fine. But save the stuntwork till after our snack. Better still, save it for the highway."

"Absolutely!" he pledged. "I cannot wait to get there!"

Junella found a line from a sea shanty on her flank. "Steady as she goes, then. Forward to the storm."

Zinc passed around the cornucopia again.

-***-

CHAPTER FIFTY

It had been night for so long, Toby had nearly forgotten real sunshine. If asked, he probably wouldn't have remembered where he'd seen it last. It had been dark throughout his time in Coryza, in Amaurosis Fugax, in Polycoria, and in EC as well. At least then it had been easy to not notice due to the city's constant artificial brightness.

Toby was in the back seat, finishing his soda and looking out the window at the Veil Of Tears. The constellations roamed to and fro as they had for centuries. Beings of starlight, decorating the blackness around them. Toby wondered how sentient they were. Were they merely animate and reactive like nightmare constructs? Or did they have thoughts and dreams of their own? Were they souls like him, who had ended up in Phobiopolis and were changed?

These dreamy thoughts distracted him from noticing that they were nearing the edge of the parking lot.

As soon as they passed over, the sun sucker-punched Toby in the eyeballs.

"AAAIIIIGH!!"

It was a good thing George didn't need to blink, because everyone else in the car was sure doing a lot of it. At the exact edge of the lot, they passed through the region of eternal night into a section of Phobiopolis that kept more or less regular hours. Meaning the merciless afternoon sun was directly overhead. Whether the architects of Ectopia Cordis had built the parking lot right up to an already-existing terminator, or if Phobiopolis conformed itself to a man-made boundary, no one knew. Either way, the effect was like stepping out of a darkroom into a spotlight.

It was also a good thing they had set up some automatic defenses for the car. The sextet couldn't see the nightmares that had been waiting at the edge of the daylight to ambush blinded tourists, but they all heard the squeals as the scavenging beasts leapt at the sides of the vehicle and were deterred by spikes, skates, or stuffed animals.

When the travelers' eyes adjusted, they could see that George was ferrying them along a dirt path in the corpse of a coniferous forest. The land was scorched yellow. Trees like blackened popsicle sticks leaned alarmingly. Chunks of charred branches were all over the road. Nothing grew here but scribbled bushes, barely hanging on.

They didn't spend long in this place. Less than a mile away, the highway and the cliff came into view.

Toby had to shield his eyes again. He thought at first that Hypovolemia was a long bridge over an ocean. But that reflection wasn't water. As they neared, Toby leaned out the window and realized with terror that they'd be driving over an ocean of broken glass. He zipped back into his seat and rechecked that he was all belted in.

The sound beneath George's wheels changed as they left the dirt and rumbled onto a ten-lane ribbon of concrete. The dead forest ended as abruptly as the parking lot had, this time falling away into a thirty foot cliff. Below was a vast basin of shards. Windowpanes, liquor bottles, syringes, television screens. Anything broken that came to a jagged point. The glass stretched out endlessly in all directions, reflecting sunlight in daggers. It would've taken a fleet of trash trucks decades to haul it all, but Phobiopolis had brought it into existence on nothing weightier than the fears of its dreamers.

Junella and Zinc tossed their empties out the window. Because, why not?

Junella had said the freeway was a gargantuan living nightmare, and while it didn't twitch or growl as they drove onto its flesh, there were still signs. Its white and yellow lines were oddly organic, like stripes. It was supported off the ground by asymmetric concrete beams that looked more like tree trunks or elephant legs. And where the road connected to the forest path, there were sun-shriveled fleshroots anchoring it in the dirt. The highway was like an insect: an exoskeleton of concrete with all its squishy innards sandwiched in between. This was visible at the edges of the outer lanes. Rebar stuck out like curly hairs, and scabs dripped oil wherever the creature's flesh was exposed.

'Of course there's no guardrails!' Toby thought. If they fell off this road, it would be one of the worst fates in all Phobiopolis. There would be nothing else to do but crawl towards land, bleeding to death repeatedly along the way. And what if you sank? What if you fell beneath the surface of that glass ocean, shredded to pieces again and again as you resurrected eternally?

Toby did not have to be told how sharp the stuff was. There were crashed vehicles all around with crimson trails leading away from them. Nightmares patrolled on bloodied feet, searching for skeletons they could tear a last few morsels from.

Up ahead on the road, there were more of the hog-like things that circled EC's garbage piles. Toby also saw furry things slithering up the leg supports, and faraway, circling specks in the sky. He was struck with a memory of a science documentary about the many mites and bacteria which live on people's skin. 'Holy crap, this thing isn't just a big nightmare, it's got its own ecosystem!'

And farther to the horizon, he could see that this ride would not remain smooth for long. This was the first time he could remember Phobiopolis throwing something at him he'd actually dreamt about before. At nighttime back home, memories of curling up in the backseat on long car trips had become bad dreams of impossibly-twisted roads with humongous bumps and loop-de-loops. Far in the distance, he could see the highway curling around like a snake, rising high up in the sky, chunks flaking down from the undersides as the creature they fell from slowly writhed like a great dormant god.

The sight alone was making Toby's saltines want to come back up, even though he knew he hadn't actually eaten them.

In contrast to Toby's increasing dread, Zinc was bouncing in his seat, giddy and eager. "Man alive, Juney! Here come the constructs! We spent plenty on all these new toys, let's play with 'em!"

They were closing in on a pack of pigs. Some unlucky motorist had crashed their car and now half a dozen snorting swine were crawling all over the wreckage, eating literally every piece of it. Seats, doors, windows, bodies, everything. Toby couldn't help but wonder where the folks inside had gone to.

The pigbeasts all looked up at the sound of new meat approaching on four bone wheels.

George called out, "I would rather we didn't allow them to dine upon us."

Junella figured Piffle had spent enough will on their ride, she deserved a chance to have fun with it. "See this, Piff?" she pointed out a switch on the dash. "Headlights. Give 'em a try."

"But it's daytime!"

Zinc chuckled; she hadn't been listening to him earlier at the shop.

They were getting closer and closer to the hogs. "Just hit the switch."

The hamsterfly shrugged. She strained a bit to squeeze her chubby tummy between the seats, but gave it a flip as directed.

Instantly: the sound of scorching meat and squeals of pain.

The Fearsleigher's headlights came on with a brightness that made the sun look like a dead bulb, focused intensely into two tight beams. Toby didn't know if they were more like lasers or lightsabers, but they speared out ahead of the car for about half a mile. And whatever they touched started burning. Hogs became kindling as George jiggled the car back and forth to target them. Some of them ran and jumped off the edge to get away.

Zinc's tail wagged in sadistic glee. "Ha! Barbecued pork!"

"Jeepers!" Piffle said. She knew they were nightmare constructs, but she almost felt bad for them.

He noticed her concern. "Our first car broke down out here years ago. Imagine trying to rebuild an engine from mindfucked parts while an army of nightmares is all trying to sink their teeth into you. Ain't no picnic. So every time we come back, we like to savor our revenge."

The headlights were effective, but only worked in a straight line. Some of the pigs, along with a few puma-sized ratbeasts with six hips, figured out how to dodge around the beams and come charging at the car.

Junella grinned. "Persistent. Shall I light 'em up, partner?"

"Please do, m'dear!"

She extended her pinkies as she flipped the covers off two square sections of steering wheel, revealing big shiny buttons. When she jammed her thumbs down on them, everyone's ears rang with the ACKACKACKACKACKACK of gunfire.

The pigs and rats spun and danced as the machine gun's bullets tore into them like paper dolls. The nailplow handily knocked the corpses out of the way. Nightmare blood flooded the lanes and made red smeary tracks for George to drive through. "Such an interesting sensation. Like prancing in warm mud!"

Toby was very glad that his friends all seemed to have everything under control and he didn't need to do more than keep still. He held Doll, pretending to comfort her, when it was really the other way around. He tried to tell himself it wasn't his cowardice acting up, just a distaste for adrenaline after the overdose he'd endured in EC. Sitting this out sounded fine to him.

He watched from the sidelines until a smear of peripheral movement jerked his head to the window. Just in time to see another rat creature leap at the car and split itself in half along a skate blade. Black blood splattered the glass. Toby saw the rat's body go tumbling and somersaulting away behind them.

Ah, but he'd brought friends. Rats and pigs and other things were scrambling up the legs of the bridge and onto the road. Coarse fur, black eyes, long claws, and yellow teeth. A squirming mass of ugliness. Toby poked the two front seats. "Um, guys? There's a whole bunch of creepy crawlies back there chasing us."

Zinc shrugged. "Why fret about what you can outrun?" He patted the dash. "You can outrun them, can't you, George?" he asked teasingly.

The skull on the hood guffawed. "What a preposterous question!"

George slowed just a little to give the creatures behind him false hope. He heard their squeals of triumph as they surged forward. But then he put the pedal to the metal and tore off at double speed, leaving them screaming and howling as they watched their dinner escape.

George roared, "I can't say it enough: I am entirely enraptured with this new body!!"

Ahead was the first of many hills. From the window it looked as steep as a mountain, but that was mostly a perspective illusion. Once they were on it, it wasn't much worse than a normal highway bump. Toby didn't think they'd all be that easy.

Zinc had been sporadically poking his head out the window for a while. At first Toby thought he was just acting like a nonev dog, enjoying the wind on his fur, but Zinc was looking for something. A sudden burst of enthusiasm signaled he'd found it. "Right on time! Bats ahoy! I knew they'd spot us eventually!" He leaned across the center to smooch Junella's cheek. "You were right."

"About what?"

"You drive, me gun." With that, he vaulted out the side window.

Toby felt a reflexive lurch of worry, imagining his friend splattering all over the pavement. But of course Zinc was fine. In fact, the Fearsleigher now had a new roof rack specifically made to facilitate someone with hands of unusual size swinging up from his seat onto the top of the car.

Toby looked out the side window, and in the overcast sky above he could see something circling. Jagged, dark, swooping shapes. They were turning, heading towards the car. Toby heard Zinc's feet clomping around, making his way over to the big brass gun. And then...

BBBRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRTTT!!!!!

Toby clamped his hands over his ears. It sounded like the devil was tapdancing!

In between bursts of the mighty gun, Toby could hear Zinc's rapturous laughter. BRRRRTT! BRRRRTT! BRRRRTT! The canine howled with joy at the sheer phallic power in his hands. Toby started seeing black bleeding shapes falling out of the sky to land in the glass below.

One of them even hit the road. It was gone in a flash, but the batcreature's wings looked more like trash bag plastic than flesh, dripping with greenish blood. Toby thought he'd seen these before in the swamp around Sander's shop. Back then they were far enough away to give no sense of scale. But the one that had just smacked into the cement had a wingspan of at least seven feet.

Junella got a faceful of pink ruffles as Piffle squeezed by into the passenger seat. "Well, Zinc's not using it right now."

The skunk snorted, not sure if the hamsterfly was gonna be a nuisance.

Piffle eyed the buttons on the steering wheel. "Mind if I give it a try? I wanna eighty-six some piggies!"

Junella arched an eyebrow. "You can be deceptively bloodthirsty sometimes."

Piffle did a tiny curtsey. "Why thank you!"

That got a legit chuckle out of the skunk. She took her hands off the wheel. "Go wild, sister."

"Hot dog!" Piffle leaned way over, nearly smothering the skunk with her ponytailed pith helmet, and fired the machine guns at the latest wave of snarling nightmares. "Sooooeeey! Here pig, pig, pig!" She giggled as the machine guns made mince meat of them.

"Enough, enough!" Junella growled, shoving the hamsterfly off her. "I don't wanna die drowning in pink sequins!"

Piffle patted her paw. "Thanks, though. You're rilly sweet!"

"Rrrrr..."

Meanwhile, Toby was looking out the back window at something he did not want to see. A tentacle had flopped up onto the road from beneath. Then another. 'Please don't let there be eight,' he whined internally. But there was.

Hauling its blubbery bulk up onto the highway was an arachnopus, and it was even uglier than Toby remembered. A wet sack of blubbery flesh covered in tarantula bristles, with eight protruding eyes. It moved faster on land than one would think, using its own gooeyness to slide along the road like an air hockey puck. And of course it was heading straight for the Fearsleigher.

For a heartbeat, Toby was 100% sure this was the same one whose web he'd fallen into back in the Blackdamp. It had followed him all this way. To finish the job. Or maybe it had just taken a liking to his flavor.

Those hairy, suckered legs scooted it along at a monstrous speed. Its eyes jiggled. Its mandibles opened and its beak snapped. It wanted fresh, tender mouse meat. It was gaining on George. It would be close enough to grab onto the back bumper in seconds.

BBBRRRRRRRRRRTTTTTTT!!!

Then it exploded like a wet pinata full of cottage cheese. The gatling gun's bullets damn near inverted its center mass. Tentacles flailed in reflexive agony. Eyeballs flew in every direction. Zinc gave it another few shots to make sure it wouldn't get up again for a while. Then it was just another sack of unmoving meat on the highway.

Zinc pumped his arms in the air. "I FUCKING LOVE THIS GUN!!! I WANNA MARRY IT AND HAVE LITTLE GUN BABIES!!!"

In the front seat, Piffle sniggered. "With talk like that, a girl could get jealous."

Toby stared in awe as the smoking corpse of the octospider receded to vanishing in the rear window. A monster he'd feared so much upon his first encounter, and now he'd watched one die in seconds. Like swatting a fly.

"Toby, climb on up here! You gotta see this baby in action!!" Zinc howled.

After a show like that, the mouse was almost tempted. But his brain reminded him of how much he did not want to topple off a moving car onto a hard concrete surface.

As if reading his mind, Zinc added, "Your belt's on a winch! It'll reel you back in if you fall!"

The mouse looked outside at the pavement blurring past, imagining how it'd become a cheese grater to any bodily parts that made contact. But he was impressed that Zinc had foreseen his objection before he'd even made it. He gave Doll a squeeze. "What do you think? Should I go?"

She didn't bother with the pad and went back to her original method of communication. Toby felt 'S-U-R-E-!' spelled out on his chest.

"Allright. Thanks for the vote of confidence. But what'll you do?" As soon as the question left his lips, his brain answered it. "Would you mind being our chief supply officer?"

From beneath the burlap she gave a thumbs-up.

"Great!" Toby remembered their fight with the Hell's Bozos and how helpful she'd been there. He unbelted and stood up, folding down the backseat to reveal a treasure trove of newly-bought weaponry. "Here. I get the feeling we're gonna need this stuff." He patted Doll on the shoulder, wishing her good luck. "And don't anyone look in the backseat while she's working!" he reminded Piffle and Junella.

The skunk glanced up at the rear view mirror, seeing that Doll was uncovered again. "Eeeeguh. Don't want to."

Piffle swatted the skunk's arm. "Now don't you go back to being mean to Doll again!"

"So long as she stays back there, I won't have to. Also, Toby, if you're about to go visit Zinc, you might wanna hold off for a sec."

He was about to ask why. Then a glance out the windshield showed him.

In seconds, his ass was back in the seat and Doll was cradled protectively in his arms.

"Wheee!" shouted Piffle.

This was the first of the monster hills. That earlier bump had been nothing but a baby. George whinnied as the road shot up at a sudden forty degree angle, and the incline got worse the farther up it went. Six feet, twelve feet, twenty feet high... Toby's eyes were shut tight and his claws were digging into the upholstery. George could feel the little pinpricks but said nothing. The bulk of his concentration was on getting up over the rise and not skidding backwards.

Forty feet above where it had started, the hill tapered off. Toby dared to open his eyes.

The freeway dropped almost straight down.

Toby braced his feet against the floorboards and bit back screams as George went over. There it was, the nut-punch feeling. He remembered it from long car trips through hilly areas. He moaned in pain as gravity socked him below the belt. For a moment, everything in the car that wasn't strapped down was weightless. Time stretched agonizingly.

George had a rare moment of panic as he fought to keep his wheels in contact with the concrete. A drop this steep would have normally sent his hooved self sprawled and crashing. But friction kept his tires kissing the road. They went down like a rocket until the pavement curled up into a short dip and leveled out. "Thank goodness!" he exclaimed in relief.

After Toby was horizontal again, all he wanted was for the car to just pull over and stop. But they'd be gobbled in seconds if they did that. And he'd already told Zinc he'd be joining him on the roof.

With a queasy heart, he resigned himself to his choice. He set Doll on the seat and rolled his window down. Wind slapped him across the cheeks like it was challenging him to a duel. He looked down to see white lines zipping blurrily beneath him. He had to be insane to even consider this!

'Y-O-U-C-A-N-D-O-I-T' was spelled out on his thigh.

Toby turned and Doll froze again. He took a deep breath. "Thank you," he told her.

He checked that his belt was securely anchored. When he stood up, a sturdy cable extended from the seat. 'I'll be okay. I jumped off Bigwheel 48, didn't I? And again into the garbage. A fall won't kill me. Or rather... Ach. Never mind.' Toby got a firm grip on the window's edge and carefully eased a foot out.

BBBRRRRRRRTTT!!!

Another perforated trash-bat fell out of the sky and went 'THUNK' against the skate blade. It missed Toby by mere feet. He clung to the car like his fingers were fused to the metal.

"Sorry!" Zinc called down. "Aiming with this thing ain't an exact science!"

Toby opened his eyes and uncurled himself from the fetal position. The wind was plowing through his fur and his ears were flapping like windsocks, but he'd done it. He was outside the car. He was standing on two of the big spikes, holding onto the window frame, and the waist belt was holding him snugly. 'I'm outside,' he told himself, his brain refusing to believe it for a few seconds.

"Howdy, neighbor!"

Toby looked up and instantly understood what those four newly-added handles on the brass gun were for.

As purchased, it wasn't really meant to be operated by someone with gigantic threaded metal hands. Zinc at first felt like it would be sacrilege to have someone take a welding torch to this masterpiece, but practicality won out in the end. He'd bought it. It was his now. He had all the right in the world to customize it. And what good was a toy you could only look at? So he'd asked Andy to add some sturdy grips towards the front, tailor-made to fit his wrench-jaws. As for the crank, another handle had been added on the opposite side. Affixed to both were pedals.

Toby couldn't believe what he was seeing. Zinc was riding the gun like a bicycle!

The canine's fur fluttered in the breeze. His tail was straight back like a rudder. It would have been impossible for him to get any happier. The gun was on a gyro mount: Zinc could point and shoot by swinging and see-sawing his body around. Constant pedaling kept the barrel spinning, and the bullets came out whenever he clamped down on his hand-holds.

"Bandit at four o' clock!" Zinc cried. He leaned his whole body to the side to aim towards another trashbat that was zooming in for a kamikaze dive. Its lamprey-like mouth was wide open, showing a snaggletoothed circle of fangs. No eyes, no nose, no ears. Nothing but a hole to shove food into.

BBRRRRRRRRRRRTTT!!!!!

Sunlight shone through the forty holes Zinc had punched through the ghastly thing. Green, toxic blood spilled in all directions as its corpse plummeted to the glass sea below.

Zinc laughed like a maniac.

Toby felt slightly ill, as if it were wrong somehow for anyone to be taking this much enjoyment out of violence.

Zinc noticed the quease. "You gonna be a wet rag, Toby? After everything we've been through?" he ribbed.

The mouse looped his arm through the roof rack to secure himself. "I wasn't gonna say anything. I'm just... not a gun guy, I suppose."

Zinc winked and stuck his tongue out. "Good. Means I don't have to offer you a turn." He scanned the skies again. It seemed like the airborne beasties were getting the message. So he swung the gun around 180 (making Toby duck) to check his six. "Now isn't that neighborly. Look whose chums dropped by!"

The squishing, sliding, lurching sounds gave Toby a clue before his head turned. Behind them he counted five more arachnopuses drawing near. And three of their cousins: equally-immense spiders with eight great snakes for legs. Scales covered each of these entirely. Their fangs dripped yellow poison. Each foot hissed and snapped with every step. Toby's brain immediately started imagining what that venom might do to him if it got into his blood. And which of those mouths might start taking bites out of him first.

But he looked up and Zinc was calm as an evening pond. The wind rustled the mutt's cheekfur and flapped his jacket, but the sight of an approaching horde didn't dim his grin a bit.

"There's so many of them! How can you be so relaxed about this!?" Toby yelled.

"Would it help me any if I wasn't?" he lobbed back.

"That's not quite..." Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the eight-legged horrors gaining. Like birds in a swarm, they managed to move en masse without tripping one another up. Their speed was double that of the hogs or rats. "I meant, are you really not afraid of them?"

A tiny shrug. "If I didn't have this, I might be." His tail caressed the gun like a hand on a señorita's hip. "But I do. So I'm not."

"It's that simple?"

"Sure," he replied, with an unsaid, 'Why not?'

Uncountable alien eyes were fixed on them. Tentacles and reptiles reached out for them. Inches away from the back platform now. Each nightmare was vying to be the first to climb aboard and cram one of the meat-beings into its craw.

"Zinc! Aren't you going to do something about them!?"

"No need to rush," he replied coolly.

In reality, he only appeared unconcerned. His eyes said boredom, but his body was keenly alert. The tendons in his legs were tight as steel cables. Waiting patiently. Purely for the sake of showing off, but what harm was there in that?

The spiderbeasts were within seconds of overtaking them. A single sucker from a single tentacle touched the car.

BBBBBBBRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRTTTTTTTT!!!!!

They'd never had a chance.

It was over in seconds. Eyes blazing with bloodlust, Zinc swept the gun back and forth over the slimy squad and tore them to ribbons like ripping open birthday presents. Spider gore showered the harpoon turret, back window, and Toby's feet. Zinc's laughter was bestial. Rapid flashes from the six gun muzzles shone in his eyes. He bared his gleaming teeth, hoping that in their last few instants of vision before the bullets carved them up, the nightmares would see and recognize: there was only one predator here. They were never anything but prey.

Toby was out of breath just from watching it. Also completely deafened, hearing nothing but the piercing high-pitched tone that accompanies a sound too loud to handle. And his nose hurt from the stink of gunpowder. A gagging chemical aroma. The closest he could compare it to was tossing an armful of pencils in a furnace.

He looked up and saw Zinc's smile of perfect satisfaction.

Some part of Toby envied it.

That smile didn't even budge when dozens more tentacles appeared from the edges of the road, and dozens more octospiders and snakespiders came crawling into view.

Zinc knew it'd take the creeps a while to catch up, so he turned his back on them, looking skywards again. The bats' circular flight patterns were starting to break up. Their tiny minds were already forgetting what had happened to their comrades.

Toby's attention was still fixed on the bulbous uglies behind them. Could he count on Zinc being so quick on the draw twice? "They just keep coming!" he wailed.

One nice thing about a land where all physics is illusory: it's easy to will your ears to stop ringing. "Yeah. And?" Zinc called back.

The mouse couldn't take his eyes off the nightmares, or the streaks of offal their dead kin had left behind on the highway. He stuttered, trying to find words that didn't make him sound like a complete wuss. "How do you deal with it!? How are you not as scared as I am? I understand you're more used to it, but I think I'd crack up if I had to put up with life throwing monsters at me for the rest of eternity!"

Zinc could understand Toby feeling like that. As he thought about what to reply, he swung the gun around to decimate the latest wave of crawling nightmares. Both for his mouse pal's peace of mind, and to demonstrate that his aim was good at a distance as well as point blank.

When their ears had stopped ringing, Zinc said, "That's what life is, Toby."

"Endless giant spiders?" he snarked.

Zinc chuckled. "Nah! I mean the part you said about how it just keeps coming. I'm not one of these piss-pants pessimists who think life is all suffering and misery and then you punch your ticket to the grave. But it ain't easy either. Shit keeps rolling downhill at you. You're right, it never stops. Though once you accept that, you can roll too. Stay in one place? Of course it's gonna pile up. The only place you should ever sit down is the driver's seat."

It was not what Toby wanted to hear, but it was hard to argue with. And strangely hopeful.

Zinc smirked at how seriously the mouse was contemplating those words. He glanced up and noticed that one of the bats had caught stupidity. It had just begun to dive towards them. "Hey, Toby, heads up."

The mouse noticed it right away. Wings folded back and mouth gaping. "Great. More of 'em." He noticed Zinc had taken his wrenches off the gun grips and folded them across the barrel. "Um, are you gonna drive me crazy and wait till the last second again to do something about it?"

"Nope," he said, laying down and closing his eyes. "You are."

"WHAT!?"

Zinc faked a yawn. "I repeat: you are. That is, unless you feel like letting that thing chew your whiskers off."

Toby started hyperventilating. "Zinc, that's not funny!!"

"Not joking."

Trashbats hunt silently. There was no screech as it drew closer, just the wind and the rumble of George's tires on the highway. The bat's teeth curved inward like the mouth of a leech. Green drool slithered from its wide-open, hungry hole.

"I'm the client!" Toby said desperately. "You're supposed to do what I tell you! Didn't you say something about how it was unprofessional to let me die!?"

Zinc's tin eyelids were still shut. "You gonna yap like a poodle or do somethin' about that bat?" he drawled.

Toby started climbing the car, reaching up with both hands to yank on the canine's jacket. "ZINC, DAMMIT!!!"

The canine yawned again.

Toby looked up and the bat was mere feet away.

Something in his mind switched gears. He realized that Zinc was not just teasing him. This was no joke. Zinc would not spring to action at the last second and save them. Toby could either keep trying to make Zinc do something, or he could do it himself.

He barely got his hammer in hand in time. The bat shot towards him like a bullet and Toby swung on pure instinct. A glancing blow. He felt the hammer hit flesh, but barely. The bat fell against the roof in a hissing tangle of wings and squirmed to right itself. Toby felt panic rising in his heart, trying to freeze his muscles, and realized he simply did not have time for that bullshit. He willed himself to move. Keeping one foot latched under the roof rack, he darted in as close as he dared and kicked. The trashbat's greasy plastic flesh brushed his ankle as it shuddered back, sending nausea through Toby's nerves. The bat got itself back on its scrawny legs and emitted a high-pitched squealing gasp that sounded extremely offended. Toby screamed right back and swung several times in its general direction. The bat made a lunge and caught a steel punch right in its ear. Gut-wrenching shrieks of pain came out of the thing as it fell sideways off the roof, where it suffered immediate death by road rash.

Toby's eyes bulged as he stared at the smear of green and black on the pavement. He was gripping the hammer hard enough to turn his knuckles white.

Zinc lazily opened one eye. "What happened? I wasn't paying attention."

Red-hot steam nearly poured out of the mouse's ears as he swiveled around and brandished his hammer right at Zinc's face.

Zinc raised an eyebrow. "Damn, champ. I did rattle your cage, didn't I?"

Toby looked up at the raised weapon. He vanished it immediately. "Oh god, I'm so sorry!!"

The canine let out a cackle. "What for!? I did a rotten thing to you and you have every right to smash my bastard head in for it!"

Toby deflated. What could he possibly respond to that with? He glanced down and realized how incredibly precarious his position was. Standing on the roof of a speeding vehicle, holding onto nothing, held in place by only one foot. He yelped and clutched Zinc's leather again.

More chuckling. Zinc put a congratulatory arm around the mouse. "You were keeping your balance just fine when you didn't realize it."

Toby opened his mouth, then fumed for a second, then huffed in defeat. "Stop being right so I can argue with you properly."

That shit-eating grin never quit. "Sorry to toss your ass in the deep end, my friend, but the point was illustrated, was it not? I forced you into a corner where you either had to fight or flight. You chose well. You impress me."

Toby wasn't sure if that was sarcasm. "For real?"

"Absolutely." The reply was without hesitation. He patted the mouse's shoulder. "I tell you this as a pal, Toby. You bitch and moan a hell of a lot-"

"Gee, thanks."

"Ah. But that's just talk. I've seen you whine and whine and whine, but then you do the right thing when it's time to. You did a sweet job helping us smash the Cold Coven after Fugax. You even held your own against a pack of mall cops. When you're on the spot, you pull through."

Toby blushed.

Zinc's expression softened into a genuine smile. "Like I said, life never stops throwin' stuff at you. But there's a certain degree of pleasure to be found in whacking it back. Y'follow me?"

"I suppose, for some people," Toby mumbled. "I wasn't exactly ecstatic about what I did to that bat."

Zinc shrugged. "Understandable. But if you got some practice in, and built up your confidence to the point where you could, f'rinstance, look at a dozen charging spiders and not break a sweat because you know you can wipe ass with 'em easily..."

Toby's mind flashed back to Trapforest Path. To how much his mood had improved when he'd made the choice to pick up his hammer. "It's about being in control, isn't it?"

He shook his head. "Nah. That's Juney's style. And lookit how stressed she is all the time! For me it's more like..." He thought a moment, then happened to notice another bat diving down. In a single motion, he swung the gun up, clenched onto Toby's vest to keep him from falling, and squeezed the left trigger. The bat was obliterated in an instant. It hadn't even gotten close. It hit the freeway and George's wheels turned it to road paint.

Zinc looked from where it had splatted, to his wrench-hand clutching Toby's vest. "Like that, actually! I keep relaxed until I ain't." He narrowed his eyes, trying to put into words something that was so much a part of him he never really thought about it. "I guess... I guess I don't care about being in control, because whatever's gonna happen is whatever's gonna happen. And I know I can deal with it. So... ehh." He shrugged again.

Toby admired Zinc's attitude. "I think I'd have to deal with a lot more bats before I could be like you."

Zinc clapped him on the back. "Hey, if we manage to get you home, you won't need to be."

Toby nodded.

Zinc's smile lit up crazily again. "Until then, d'you wanna switch places and take a ride on this bitchin' bangcycle?"

"Hell no!" Toby said immediately. "It looks really cool, yeah, but I haven't ridden a bike since I was six! And especially not one with no seat that spits bullets!"

Zinc threw back his head in a laugh.

WHAMMM

The gun threw Zinc off the roof.

Toby's scream didn't even make it out of his throat as time stopped and Zinc went airborne. Something had smashed into the Fearsleigher hard enough to tip it forty-five degrees. Toby felt Zinc's jacket slip out of his grip. He reached out and felt his fingers clutch nothing but wind.

The look in Zinc's eyes was one of, 'Didn't expect THAT to happen!'

Just when Toby was sure he'd have to call out a stop so they could retrieve Zinc's body before the spiders ate it, a steel wrench clamped down hard on the car's left-side skate blade.

Zinc's instincts had saved his pelt again. He dangled behind the car like a sports pennant. "Whew! Cuttin' it close there!"

Toby gasped out a relieved laugh.

Zinc reached out his other wrench. "Mind giving me a hand up?"

Toby looked at the wrench jaws, then his delicate little furless paw. "Try not to amputate."

The canine snickered and tried his best not to as he hauled himself to safety.

Meanwhile, as soon as she'd felt something slam into the car, Junella's eyes had darted to the rear view mirror.

She didn't even waste time cursing. Her right arm shot out past Piffle, banging on the ceiling for Zinc's custom shotgun to fall out. It wasn't the easiest thing in the world to fire, but it was the closest weapon in range. Every second counted. Junella swung the gun over the dash and out the window, aiming with the mirror.

The nightmare was big, boxy and white. It didn't give a single damn about the skate blades, and had kamikaze'd itself right onto them. From where the metal had sheared through its side, its white paint began to dribble down like sentient slime. It was starting to merge with the car.

Junella emptied both barrels. BLAM! BLAM!

The nightmare broke off, shards of its flesh flying in all directions. Some of the paint was still boiling and bubbling its way into the skate, trying to take over. Junella hadn't completely stopped its attempt at infection, but she was sure George's presence could drive it out.

She tossed the shotgun into Piffle's lap and yelled out the window, "ZINC! WE GOT AMBULANCES!"

"Gee, Juney, I couldn't tell!" he hollered back.

Piffle looked at the side mirror and her jaw dropped. It was like something straight out of a cartoon.

From seemingly out of nowhere, a pack of ambulances had appeared behind them. Their proportions were completely ridiculous. Tiny, beady wheels. Spinning dome lights. Bulbous windshields. Trapezoidal sides with big red crosses on them. And with every bump on the road, they squashed and stretched like animation. That was surreal enough already, but then there were the grilles. The ambulance's bumpers were beestung silver lips, pulled back to reveal humongous chrome chompers. Motor oil drool splashed from those mouths and was licked away by obscene silver tongues.

"Those are some mean lookin' meat wagons!" said Piffle.

The skunk nodded. "They're far off their usual turf. They come from this hospital in Teratoma. Seek out healthy people and drag 'em back. You get taken to surgery and, if all you lose is your limbs, count yourself lucky. You might end up stitched to whoever you came in with. Then nightmare nurses stick you in a bed and 'take care of you' forever."

Piffle opened her mouth...

Junella put her hand over it. "I can already hear what you're thinking, you masochist! And the answer is, Some Other Time!!"

The hamsterfly blushed a bit. "Golly, we must really be becoming good friends if you can read me that easy."

The skunk's scowl could've soured milk. "You wanna maybe make yourself useful instead of widening my ulcers?"

Piffle perked up. "Oh, sure! Just tell me what to do!"

Junella could not believe she was about to say this, but, "Can I trust you with explosives?"

Not a speck of fear or hesitance. Piffle simply asked, "What kind?"

Junella jerked her head towards the back. "Hey! Creepy plastic doll! Where are you?"

Two fist-thumps on the back of her seat.

She kept her gaze on the side mirror. "I heard Toby deputize you, so see if you can find me a box of eight or nine round, striped things. They look like bumblebees. Should be a detonator in with 'em." The grinning ambulances were revving up to ram them again. She listened to hear sounds of little plastic hands searching around in the backseat, then went deaf for a second as Zinc filled the closest ambulance full of lead.

BBBBRRRRRRRRRRRRRTTTT!!!!!

"Suck my undies, fuckface!!" the canine shouted. His last blast from the gatling gun had nearly pummeled the wheeled nightmare off the road. It had flipped and landed sideways with a shower of sparks, but he knew these damn things were tough. It'd be up and after them again soon enough.

A box full of round, striped things was pushed between the front seats. Doll looked up at Junella with her head tilted, as if to say, 'Did I get the right ones?'

Junella grunted and grabbed the box.

Piffle put her hands on her hips. "Say 'thank you'!" she scolded.

"I am not gonna...!" Junella started to protest, but figured it was a losing battle. Her needles carved out curls of vinyl as she snarled, "Thank you, Doll."

"There, see? Was that so hard? Isn't it nicer when we're all nice to each other?" Piffle beamed, batting her eyelashes.

Junella grit her teeth. "Do you have an 'off' switch!?"

Piffle tittered. "Now you oughtta've figgered out by now that I'm just teasing you 'cuz you make it so easy."

Junella banged her head on the steering wheel a few times. Then she sighed. The munchkin princess was right. She'd been letting herself get far too irritated by the cutesy-wootsey schtick. This time she spoke to the hamsterfly as a fellow furson. "These are sound-activated grenades. I call 'em percussives. If you can keep up with the car, it would be a big help if you could fly out and slap one on each ambulance. Peel off the yellow strip and it's sticky. Just don't, for God's sake, get your hand stuck to one."

Piffle saluted. "I'll do my best!" She took the box onto her lap and started filling her many pockets. "I assume you wanna keep this?" she asked as she handed Junella the detonator. It looked like a walkie-talkie.

"Exactly. Just holler when you're done and we'll blow 'em sky high. And be quick! They'll try to smash into us again so they can merge with the car and turn it into one of them."

George overheard. "Is that what it was doing!? I felt the most hideous itch on my left side where it impacted. I can assure you both, I will not allow myself to be osmosed! I shall take evasive maneuvers!"

"Good! The less we make contact the better." Junella reached out the window and thumped the roof. "And Zinc, hold off on that gun! Piffle's 'bout to prove she's more than just a big pink zit ridin' my ass."

The hamsterfly 'hmmph'ed at that.

Junella stuck her black vinyl tongue out at her. "I can tease you too. Get out there."

"Oh all right, you big bullyskunk!" she said as she popped the passenger door and readied her wings. Though she was smiling as she said it, and noticed Junella had been too.

Toby jolted back as a fur tornado shot out of the car past him.

Piffle let herself fall horizontally, just far enough to be clear of the car so she could unfold her wings to full span. They caught her like a parachute. Then she flapped hard and felt the weight of the air support her. The rumble of the road filled her ears. She pirouetted to survey the battlefield.

There were five ambulances in total, all bouncing along and jockeying for position to nip at the Fearsleigher's heels. The disturbingly-organic details of their construction, and the impossible way they moved, created a wave of surreality. Their wheels seemed to have hair. Their red crosses seemed to be scabs. And of course, there was no one driving them. The wheeled monstrosities all noticed Piffle at once. Five windshields turned towards her like clear, shiny eyes. Five wet tongues licked metal lips.

Piffle gulped, but reminded herself that she was dressed for bait after all. 'And I can lick these overgrown tin toys!' she reminded herself. She dug the first bomb out of her jacket pocket and peeled it mid-dive.

George was glad that Madam McPerricone had diverted the ambulances' attention from himself. (He shuddered at the idea of being absorbed by one of them. 'What might I then be forced to do to my passengers!?') But still, he was worried the horrid vehicles might gang up and overpower her. That's when he noticed a little curly-haired plastic head pop out a side window. He quickly looked away, wondering what Doll had planned, and smiled when he heard the tinkling chime of caltrops hitting concrete. "Good thinking, Madam Doll!"

Doll couldn't take credit for the idea though. A moment ago a green light had told Zinc the hopper was full. He'd kicked a lever on the roof to drop down a basketful of freshly-baked foot-piercers. Doll jumped to action, whipped off her burlap dress to gain greater mobility, and heaved the bulky basket onto the seat. She waited for just the right moment, then dumped it in the path of three of the ambulances.

The resulting pileup was spectacular. The one in front blew its tires with a splash of construct blood. No sound came from its mouth, but the silver lips stretched back in a yodel of pain. It reared up on its hind wheels, then kept on somersaulting upside down when the one in back rear-ended it. They ended up locked together, hood-to-hood. The second ambulance's windshield was smashed to shards. It swerved blindly and clipped a third. Ambulance number three skidded hard to the left, but its proportions were too top-heavy and it crashed on its side, sliding out of control. It tried in vain to chomp the edge of the road and stop its fall, but it only got a mouthful of rebar and plummeted out of sight. Then came the crash of metal on glass.

One down, four to go.

"Three cheers for Doll!" Piffle cheered. She deviated from her mission just long enough to fly to the car and give her friend a quick hug. Then it was back to business.

With the upside-down ambulance wedged on top of the blinded one, both were ripe targets. Piffle found the bombs as easy to peel as tangerines. She dropped three of them on the struggling one's undercarriage just to be sure. For the other vehicle, she got a great shot and rolled a bomb right through its broken windshield. "Bullseye!"

Zinc was enjoying the show and Toby was enjoying a breather. The mouse didn't understand much about construct behavior, but he got a sense that there was a hierarchy among them. These ambulances were rough customers. Any time another nightmare got near, they bulldozed it right out of the way. It wasn't even malice. More like the ambulances didn't even register their presence. Toby had noticed that the arachnopuses and snakespiders seemed almost cooperative, and the pigs and rats didn't get in each other's way either. Maybe different 'breeds' had trouble sensing each other?

'Or maybe the highway itself is controlling them!' he thought. 'Like smaller minds orbiting a larger one.' He wasn't sure why the ambulances seemed immune, but if he'd correctly overheard that they were from a different region, that might fill in the missing piece.

With Piffle's bombs planted on the two wounded specimens, that left another duo to chase down. She'd hoped to sneak up on them from behind, but they were already focusing on her and turning to attack. One surged forward and she had to do a barrel roll to keep her feet out of its chomping jaws. "Bad puppy!" she admonished. At least it had volunteered for the next target. She got two more percussives ready and swooped low over the ambulance's roof. Both bombs plopped into place right behind its spinning dome light. It gnashed its teeth and jumped straight up. Piffle had to brace herself on its roof to leap away. Just from that brief contact, she could feel its venomous paint starting to eat her paws. She winced and tried to flick the awful stuff away.

"My friends, you might want to hold on to something!" George suddenly called out.

Toby looked ahead and the question 'why' was answered before he could ask it. The freeway was about to curve sideways in an insanely tight hairpin turn. He threw his arms around Zinc and squeezed.

He looked amused. "If you wanted a dance partner you coulda asked first."

George did not have extensive experience with tires, but he'd mastered flying easily enough and still had his uncanny spacial awareness. His piercing eyes took in the curve ahead and calculated just how much to slow his speed to make it through.

To his intense embarrassment, he was wrong.

For a moment, everyone's heart skipped a beat as George's tires screeched, skidded, and the Fearsleigher tipped. Its right skate blade hit the pavement and showered sparks. George fought for friction but couldn't overcome momentum. Their arc would take them over the edge and into the glass. "Ten thousand hells!!" he swore.

Time slowed for all of them. Junella realized she was stuck behind the wheel, completely powerless. Toby's brain told him his only hope was to jump, but his muscles were frozen. Thoughts of failure and overwhelming shame filled George's mind.

Something pink shot past like a bullet. Piffle swung herself around in a hard arc. Just before the car would have toppled off the road, she elbowed the car back on track with every ounce of her considerable willpower.

Her push was just enough. The skate blade skimmed open air and gravel skittered over the edge, but the Fearsleigher stayed on solid ground. It was close though. The rims of George's tires had traced the road's edge.

Junella stared out the window in astonishment. She couldn't say a word. Her hands had a death grip on the steering wheel.

Piffle gave her a triumphant smile, a salute, and zipped out of sight.

Both Zinc and Toby were hooting and hollering for her. Piffle allowed a moment of internal rejoicing at having saved the day, but remembered there was still one ambulance left to play tag with.

It had not forgotten them. Being much more used to wheels than George, it took the hairpin easily and leapt towards the Fearsleigher's back platform. Its metal teeth clacked together, missing, but not by much. Piffle strafed past and Toby shouted encouragement to her.

The ambulance ignored the pink insect. It understood now that there were several meat-things inside the strange vehicle. Even a nightmare's mind can understand that 'several' is better than 'one'. So while saliva splashed as it made many attempts to chew the Fearsleigher, it never felt the bombs Piffle skillfully placed on both its back doors.

Like a fighter jet with bows and antennae, Piffle zoomed away from the last ambulance. Her compound eyes were perfect for keeping tabs on all her targets simultaneously,  so she knew right away when the remaining three had gotten back on their wheels. They were driving in formation, catching up, and would be within gnashing range soon. Piffle buzzed close to the car, just outside Junella's window. "All devices planted, Sergeant J.!"

Junella was so startled her head bumped the ceiling. "Don't sneak up on me like that! And if you got all four percussives in place, then getcher booty back inside!"

Piffle sheepishly nibbled her index finger. "Ummm, four?"

A growl. "Did you miss one?"

"No, the opposite actually! I wanted to do a really good job, so I tried to use at least two for each."

Junella's eyes got very wide. Her hand hovered over her grooves, ready to go off on a volcanic tirade. But those big, innocent ruby eyes made her hold back. 'Que sera sera,' she decided. "Fine, but you'd really better get inside, because the freeway is NOT gonna like this."

"I did an oopsie, didn't I?"

Junella simply nodded.

Piffle figured that one way she could make up for it would be passing the news on to the boys. She flew up beside them. "Junella says we better take our seats. I think I used about triple the amount of bombs I shoulda."

Zinc's eyes got as big as Junella's had.

Anything bad enough to make Zinc look worried was not something Toby was gonna stand around asking questions about. He held the rack to steady himself as he stepped down from the roof. However, his foot slipped and the wind nearly knocked him sideways. The waistbelt reacted to the sudden slack exactly as it was designed to and yanked him through the window. He ended up curled in a dizzy ball on the seat, wincing in pain and wondering how he'd managed to whack all of his knees and elbows simultaneously. 'Still in one piece though!' he consoled himself.

Piffle reached out to help Zinc down from the gatling gun, and he was puzzled for a second by something about the gesture. It took him a moment to realize that her other arm was hanging limp as a sock.

She noticed his concern. "Oh, this? I, um, I think I broke my shoulder when I pushed the car."

Now that he was looking closely, he could tell she'd flat-out pulverized it. "Geez-o-petes, kitten! Don't it hurt?"

"Not yet," she said, looking on the bright side. "But it'll probably sting like a doozy once the shock wears off!"

She had guts. He admired that. "Hey, I can't let a swell chicky like you suffer. Why wait to heal? Want me to kill it all better?"

"Oh, sure! Thanks for offering!" Piffle bowed her head to him.

"Won't take a sec." Zinc took aim at the top of her skull and swung his right wrench around to bash it inside out.

A moment later she popped back to normal. "Gee, thanks! Didn't hurt a bit! Although, my goodness the stars are out early today!"

He chuckled and scooped her up in his wrenches, then deftly hopped down to land on a skate blade. He popped the door and Toby had just gotten situated enough to help Piffle in to sit beside him. She was still a bit dizzy from the bludgeoning, but her shoulder felt right as rain.

"You were incredible out there!" Toby complimented.

"Aw, it was easy. I just hope I didn't mess up too bad with the bombs."

Zinc vaulted towards the passenger side and plopped into his seat. "All systems go for kaboom-time, Juney?"

"Hell no! Not until we've got as much distance between us and them as possible." The skunk checked the backseat just to make sure everyone was accounted for, then returned her attention to the road. She soothingly patted the dashboard. "Don't beat yourself up over your little slip back there, George. You're new to driving. Mistakes happen. How 'bout you relax and let me take control?"

"Yes, I would much prefer that. And you have my thanks for trying to help console me." Without knowing exactly how, he relaxed his mind's hold on his body and allowed the steering wheel to guide him. Junella flexed her fingers and tested George's responsiveness. For him the sensation was curious indeed, yet felt somehow 'right'. It was like puppet strings running through his body to Madam Brox's hands.

Junella purred. She liked the feeling of handling so much horsepower. She kept her eyes focused ahead. More curves and hills were coming up. The freeway was normally smooth and straight until something bothered it. They were giving it an itch now, and it was responding. 'It's about to respond a hell of a lot more,' she thought.

When Junella pumped the gas pedal, George let out a small shriek. It felt exactly like being goosed!

The ambulances were in hot pursuit, red lights circling. No sirens, just the wet, gnashing sounds of their metal mouths. If any of them had felt the bombs stuck to their aluminum skin, they might have tried to assimilate them before it was too late. But road debris stuck to them all the time. And the scent of flesh was diverting their attention. They could not wait to chew the strange vehicle into bits and slurp down the wriggling treats inside. Keep them safe in their metal bellies. Transport them home to the hospital so they could be cured of all their ills, permanently.

Toby squeezed Doll as the road threw a quarter mile of speedbumps at them. Everything in the car was jiggled higgledy-piggledy. Toby and Piffle dodged their feet away from two stray caltrops, and her ponytail ended up whapping him in the nose, making him sneeze. Junella's hands were busy on the wheel and she couldn't shout a warning when the detonator fell out of her lap. Thankfully, Zinc was quick and caught it on its second bounce. "H-how 'b-b-bout I ho-o-old ont-t-to this-s-s?" he said.

George rather liked the speedbumps. They vibrated his chassis in an amusing fashion.

Junella's hands were rocksteady on the wheel. The bumps ended just as another hill began, but she was ready for it. She'd guided the late Killcanoe down this road before. Twice, even. She knew speed was less important than control. Especially when they'd come to the loops.

Toby peeked out the side window. "Ambulances approaching!"

Junella goosed George again to gain speed on the downhill descent. She wanted to tell Toby she was waiting for a smooth patch to put more distance between them and the nightmares, but her hands were busy at ten and two.

Toby had all four limbs braced against the seat. Doll was immobile at the moment, but had managed to clutch his vest tight. Piffle was turned around in her seat, watching the ambulances through the back window. "We're outrunning them!" she was happy to report.

Junella checked her mirrors. There was half a dozen car lengths between them and the nightmares, but she wanted more. She mentally kicked herself for not telling Piffle exactly how powerful each one of those sticky bombs was. Just one could easily turn an ambulance into a charred, smoking wreck. If Piffle had used the whole box, there was no telling how big the explosion would be.

Up ahead in an S curve, an arachnopus was waiting for them. It scuttled out into the middle of the lane and raised its hairy tentacles threateningly.

"I believe I can take care of this slimy troublemaker," George said confidently.

Junella tapped the wheel: 'Go for it.'

George remembered a little trick from his days tormenting the innocent. Sometimes he'd snort flame from his nostrils up onto his face, turning his skull into a fireball. Now he did the same trick, but with the nailplow. It was a glorious sight. Fire gushed from his inner furnace and coated the spiked wedge like a deadly carpet.

Arachnopuses are relatively intelligent by construct standards. This one wasn't. As the Fearsleigher bore down upon it, it reared up on its tentacles and bared its beak as if to swallow them up.

When the flaming nailplow hit, the octospider burst like a water balloon. Chunks of charred calamari pelted the car and the road. Junella turned on the windshield wipers.

George belted out a basso laugh. There would always be a part of him that delighted in carnage, and that was fine so long as he kept it well-fed.

The road ahead was straight and clear, at least for the next hundred feet or so. They couldn't hope for a better chance. Junella slammed the gas pedal to the floor. George whinnied in alarm and doubled his speed.

Piffle bounced on the backseat as the Ambulances were left in the dust. "Hot diggity! They look like ants now! And they're all clustered together too. Go for it, Juney!"

She swiveled around. "Hey. Only Zinc gets to call me that."

Piffle pouted. "No offense."

Junella turned to her partner. "Wanna do the honors? You remember how to work that thing, right?"

He looked positively insulted. "Like I'd forget a weapon." Then he turned to the backseat passengers. "This is your captain speaking. Please buckle all safety belts and prepare for some serious goddamn turbulence."

Toby rechecked both his waist and shoulder belts, then felt around to see if he could find any more.

"Want me to dumbfound you up a crash helmet?" Piffle asked.

He wasn't sure if she was teasing. "No. But thanks!"

Zinc was not going to miss this show, even if the shrapnel blew his face clean off. He stood up and poked his upper half through the passenger window, looking back at the snarling, salivating ambulances. They were not happy to see their prey getting away. Zinc grinned at how much worse their day was about to get.

He gripped the detonator carefully. It would not do to accidentally drop it. Raising it to his lips, he cleared his throat. The device registered the sound, but was waiting for the magic words.

"Now, please."

He could swear he saw their metal mouths start to scream just as the blast ripped them apart.

The light was like the birth of a second sun. The explosion was a sphere of fire a hundred feet across. The boom blotted out every other sound for miles around. And the shockwave was a juggernaut.

Toby's teeth rattled as a giant invisible hand punched the car from behind. The heat was like the world's largest oven flinging open its door. The shockwave shoved the Fearsleigher up off its back wheels entirely. The sides of the skate blades caught the hot air and for a brief, incredible moment, the car was windsurfing.

Everyone inside was screaming. Obviously.

Not only had the ambulances not survived, they were damn near disintegrated. The largest chunk of one flew straight up in the air and didn't come back down for forty seconds.

The freeway roared in pain as a massive chunk of itself ceased to exist. The explosion performed a complete amputation, blasting away concrete, liquefying the underlying flesh, and bending the rebar inside like pipe cleaners. Blood cascaded from the open wounds. Concrete slabs cracked and slid off into the glass sea like falling dominoes. The road's legs started buckling.

Toby thought nothing could have felt worse than that explosion. He was wrong. The sensation of the car tilting diagonally backwards was worse.

The freeway was rapidly collapsing. Any remaining creatures opted to leap off the edges into the glass below, rather than ending up trapped beneath the wounded concrete beast's falling body. A haunting moan came from within the freeway as it felt its exoskeleton crumbling and its raw tissues exposed to air and flame.

Junella's hands were too tight on the wheel to say a word, but she put her faith in George and eased off the gas. Speed would make them lose control. What was important right now was precision. She tried to keep her heart from beating right out of her chest as she watched the road ahead rise up and start to curl. Cracks streaked like lightning through the concrete. The freeway was gearing up for one unholy hell of a tantrum.

From the backseat, Piffle could be heard saying over and over, "I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry..."

The heat had melted the fur right off Zinc's head and turned his metal dome into a tangled, bloody mess. But it still couldn't stop his grin. "Hot damn, that looked cool!"

Not taking her eyes off the road, Junella reached out a hand to yank her partner inside, then filled her palm with pistol and blew away the remaining half of his fool head.

Once he was reconstituted, he shook his new noggin to make sure everything was in order. "Thanks again, partner."

She jabbed a finger towards the headlight control, then pointed out the window.

"Yeah, yeah. Blood tentacles, I'm on it."

If the freeway couldn't buck them off, it'd strangle them to death. While behind them mammoth chunks of concrete snapped and folded as they smashed to the glass sea below, up ahead, boiling crimson oil came bubbling up from cracks in the monster's grey skin. Tendrils of ichor began to rise like hellish saplings.

The only good thing about this was that the freeway was too big to be fast. The travelers would have precious seconds before each tentacle grew to full height, and it was Zinc's job to prevent that. He flicked on the high beams and five hundred degrees of heat surged out. Any tentacle it touched was burnt blacker than an over-grilled hotdog.

From all around them came that terrifying bass moan again, like an orchestra of cellos playing underwater. The freeway was in excruciating pain. Every tentacle they destroyed felt like ripping out its nerve endings.

The road ahead suddenly folded up at a nearly ninety-degree angle. Junella kept her head cool and knew exactly when to pour on the power. They shot up the incline like a rocket and were momentarily airborne. The car tilted towards the pavement as it fell. 'Sorry about your tires, George!' Junella thought.

The stallion winced, braced himself, and cursed fire when he hit. His wheels felt like they'd shattered. "May we not do that again!?" he whined.

"Gonna be the first of many 'til we're off this road," she replied.

George flexed his axles and kept going. If there was nothing to be done about it, then he would do his best to remain stoic.

Junella let everything else go. Her mind was a rat's nest of shrieking fear at seeing the coiling twists of the road ahead, but worry never helped anyone become a better driver. She did her best to blank herself. She kept her eyes peeled. She thought of a powerful song. If George could merge with the Fearsleigher, then she could too. She tried to feel the steering wheel as part of herself. The seats were her own flesh. His wheels were hers.

Cement chunks rained down from the freeway's supports as it writhed back and forth, trying in vain to flick away its tormentors. It stretched and heaved, throwing dips and hills and 90 degree turns at them. It cracked its own concrete in its haste to throw more tentacles at them. The wheels of the Fearsleigher felt like claws sinking into its skin.

Junella had no sympathy. If they were causing it pain, tough titty. This was the only path to get where they were going, so the road was shit out of luck if it didn't like that. She kept her heart a block of ice. She took her time with each turn. Her instincts screamed to rush, but she didn't listen. Smooth. That was the key. Keep all four wheels on the road and they'd make it to the end.

Zinc left the headlights on and hopped out to get back on the roof. It was not an easy journey. The car bobbed and tilted like a ship in a storm. If the roof rack hadn't been bolted in place as securely as it was, he never would have made it. But finally, his wrenches clamped down on the gun grips, his feet slid onto the pedals, and he felt the gun humming to life as he kicked off and started the barrel turning. He looked ahead to the red fingers of roadblood poking up through the freeway cracks, squirming like worms and seeking blindly to curl around living things and crush them flat. "Ah, ah, ah! Papa spank."

BBBBRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRTTTTTTT!!!!

The sky rained blood as hundreds of bullets scorched through the air and pierced the road's pseudopods. The stumps flailed wildly and melted back into red inanimate sludge. Zinc felt the gun rumble beneath him like a well-tuned Harley. That was exactly what it felt like. Riding a motorcycle on top of a tank. Could anything top that?

Toby was pretty much paralyzed. He knew he was 100% at the mercy of Junella's driving skills and Zinc's aim. Whether or not he'd end up squished into spam by one of those tentacles, or sent hurtling down to the sea of shards, was completely out of his control. All he could do was hold Doll tight and wait it out. He did everything he could think of to take his mind away. He tried to remember his room, to envision his bookshelf and count the titles.

Piffle leaned forward as far as her seatbelt allowed. "Junella? Is there anything at all I can do to help?"

The skunk spared only half a second to look up in the rear view mirror and give her a dragon's glare that said, 'SIT DOWN AND KEEP QUIET.'

"Loud and clear!" she said, shaken by the fury in those orange eyes.

Junella was quite pleased to see that the puffball could handle directions. And Toby wasn't screaming constantly. Also good. In fact, another glance at the mirror showed her the mouse had gone all glassy-eyed. Even better! A catatonic passenger is a quiet passenger.

Curve after curve. Junella was starting to really feel the Fearsleigher as her own body. She leaned side to side as she turned, pouring her will into it, not knowing if it was helping but figuring it couldn't hurt.

Zinc swept bullets back and forth like a broom of death. He swore there were fewer tentacles now, like the freeway was finally getting the message. But maybe it was just gearing up for something different.

Up ahead, he saw the first loop. He wished he'd thought to put some kind of seatbelt on the gun. "Ah shit. Hindsight's 20/20."

Black sweat dripped down Junella's forehead, but her face stayed calm. The loops had terrified her the first time through, but she'd learned quickly that they were easy enough if you could keep steady and not panic. She eased off the throttle. Getting all the way up and over required a counterintuitive speed.

'Easy does it...'

The road rose above them into a curving wall. Gravel and dust skittered down from the cracking concrete. Toby felt his guts churn harder the more the road tilted. He could see out the windows, he knew what was happening, but he couldn't allow himself to accept it or he'd lose his marbles. Even as terrified as he was, he was still aware enough to realize that the last thing Junella needed was a screaming lunatic in the backseat. He forced his brain to see only bookshelves. The cover art, the thickness of the pages, the smell...

Zinc's jaw dropped. One never got used to this. Not even in a city like EC where life was always spinning. He felt gravity reverse as the Fearsleigher went up, up, up...

"It's just like flying," George marveled.

Junella felt her heart stop and her nerves freeze when they reached the apex. It was all about keeping a steady momentum to get them past the point of no return. She exhaled hard when she felt them start to head downwards again, but she couldn't relax entirely. There was nothing but friction and inertia keeping them magnetized to the road right now. Gravity could still decide to pluck them off and flatten them.

Zinc had been clutching the gun's grips so hard he was blasting bullets all over the road without realizing it. As they finally came out of the loop, the green light came on and, without thinking, he kicked the lever.

'Oh shit,' he thought, as he realized what he'd just done.

Toby and Piffle's eyes went wide as they watched the ceiling hatch come open and a basket full of caltrops start to drop down. They'd spill all over. Spiked comets. And both rodents were belted in and unable to prevent it from happening.

In an instant, Doll realized that no one was looking at her.

She tensed her stubby plastic legs and leapt. She jumped past Piffle and Toby and felt their heads start to turn towards her. Their peripheral vision began to petrify her. But she'd calculated for that. Momentum kept her rigid body sailing towards the hatch, then she bumped it closed again. Her reward for her quick-thinking heroism was to clatter undignified onto the car's floor.

But as soon as she was able, Piffle unbelted herself and scooped Doll into her arms, hugging her with all her heart. "Oh thank you, Doll! Thank you so incredibly much! You saved us!" Toby reached over to give Doll even more grateful hugs.

From the roof, Zinc called down, "Forgive me, fellas! I wasn't thinking!"

"I'm gonna use Doll like a nightstick and beat you in the head, Mr. Zinc!" Piffle fumed at him. Then she petted Doll's plastic curls. "You'd like that, wouldn't you? Yes you would."

Junella took several slow, deep breaths as they came safely out of the loop. She didn't know what had almost happened in the backseat, but she knew she didn't want to know either. They were not home free yet. There were still dozens more twists ahead, plus a second loop-de-loop before the big one.

Something enormous dropped down behind them with a bone-jarring thud.

It had been perched outside the loop, gazing down like a vulture. Just waiting for tender prey to come rolling along. It hadn't managed to squash the Fearsleigher, but that was no matter. It had plenty of time to catch up and steamroll them into a delicious meat and metal sandwich.

Zinc swung his gun around and pissed his pants. They'd been down this road before, but they'd never encountered a twenty-foot-tall rolling ball of cat skulls.

The freeway shook from its weight. Hundreds upon hundreds upon hundreds of fleshless feline heads. Blank, empty eye sockets. Piranha-like snapping jaws. Gleaming teeth. The heads moved and turned in unison, all focused on the Fearsleigher. It looked like they were smiling.

Zinc was an icicle for a moment, a helpless little pup with his tail tucked in. Until he remembered the solid brass cylinder jutting between his legs.

BBBBBRRRRRRRRRTTTTTT!!!

Cat heads shattered into powder as the bullets tore through. Zinc felt savage triumph for a moment, until he realized he wasn't actually accomplishing anything. The skull-ball kept on rolling. It wasn't breaking up. No matter how many heads he blasted away, more were birthed from within to take their place. "Well that just sucks!"

Piffle looked behind her at his exclamation, then shrieked.

Junella fishtailed the car for a few seconds. She gritted her teeth and tried to regain concentration for the twelve-foot dip in the road ahead.

"Whatever's behind us, I don't wanna know," Toby said absently.

"It's a humongous ball of cat heads!!" Piffle yelped.

"See, I did not need that information. At all."

Fretting that she was starting to make everything worse, Piffle looked around for something to do. She spotted the ceiling hatch. Perfect! She waited for Junella to get them out of the dip before unbelting and standing up. Bracing herself against the ceiling with one hand, she unlatched the flap and took out the basket of new caltrops. The windows were already open, so she looked, aimed, and tossed the whole thing.

Zinc could have told her. If bullets didn't faze this thing, caltrops wouldn't either. In fact, the ball didn't even shudder as it rolled over them. The skulls on the bottom were already being crushed continuously, so a few more didn't matter. The ball's method of locomotion was to regenerate more skulls as fast as the ones meeting the road shattered. The countless jabbering jaws seemed to be laughing.

Piffle was crestfallen. "Oh shoot! Oh darn! Oh pootertoots!"

Junella steered through a curve one-handed so she could yell with the other. "Sit your spangly ass down and gitcher belt on! I'm about to do something insane and I don't need you bouncin' around like a pinball back there!"

"Sorry, Junella," Piffle said.

Junella had too many things to concentrate on already. At least the freeway was no longer falling apart beneath their wheels. Zinc was doing a fine job getting rid of the occasional tentacles that still tried to lash out at them. And Toby might as well have been a statue. But the driving wasn't getting any easier and now she had a boulder fulla bones to deal with. She patted the dash. "George?"

"Yes, Madam Brox?"

"I'm gonna try to euthanize those kitties behind us. It's a real dumb idea, but trust me. Don't fight it."

"I have seen no reason so far to doubt your skill. You are doing an excellent job of driving me."

She smiled. It was nice to hear a compliment every once in a while. "Awright then. Hold on to your panties everyone!"

Junella launched the car into a hard turn and slammed down the handbrake.

It was like bald tires on an icy road. The Fearsleigher went into a pirouette spin and everyone inside was slammed sideways. Zinc's feet slipped off the gun's pedals and for a moment he was doing an involuntarily handstand. The car lost speed, top half whizzling around like a UFO, and the ball of skulls surged forward to pounce.

Exactly as planned. Because it wasn't just the car that was spinning, it was the skate blades.

Junella had turned the Fearsleigher into a makeshift chakram.

Skulls went fucking everywhere. The spinning skate blades buzzsawed through the side of the cat-ball and carved out a nice fat chunk. For a moment it looked like a huge screaming head, spitting hundreds of broken teeth from its wide open mouth.

Junella waited for just the right moment, then jerked the wheel hard, canceling the spin. Everyone's heads got knocked around, but Junella was prepared enough to goose the gas pedal and get the hell out of Dodge.

The ball had split into two hemispheres. They crashed onto the road in a tidal wave of skulls. Teeth and eye sockets littered the freeway like a carpet. Zinc could not resist adding insult to injury by blasting the pile with a few bursts from the gatling gun.

Junella looked in the rear view mirror and her smile sizzled. "YES! That oughtta buy us some time!"

Piffle clapped with joy, until she looked over and saw Toby's face. He looked like he'd turned into green cheese. "Toby! Are you okay? Are you even conscious?"

His eyes did not blink, but his lips slowly moved. "I'm overloaded. I can't take this. It's too much to deal with. I'm gonna lose my mind."

"Poor mousie!" She reached over to hug him, then had an idea. "Hey, remember what I said about your bellybutton?"

It took a while for that to penetrate. Then he remembered the trick she'd shown him in the hotel room. "That's an option?"

"Sure! I won't be offended. You can just curl up like a little pillbug and I'll keep you from rolling around too much, okay?"

The very idea that he could escape from this situation seemed too good to be true. He couldn't believe he'd forgotten the navel-gazing trick. "Allright," he told Piffle. "Wake me when it's over."

"You can count on me."

Toby's muscles felt like rotted, cracking timbers as he slowly and carefully got his seatbelt off. He opened his vest and looked down at his tummy. How had he done this before? Just fall forward and...

Back home.

The shelves he'd tried a moment ago to recreate in his imagination were suddenly standing tall in front of him. All his beloved books. The washable vinyl pages with their colorful covers. He reached out, then stopped himself.

How had he forgotten all the stains?

He looked down. The floor was littered with tissues. Wadded up and covered in his own snot and blood. He saw streaks on the walls and... the ceiling too? How in the...?

He looked all around, suddenly dizzy. Not just from the stench of his sickroom, but from how alien this place felt. It was impossible. He'd been in this memory just a day ago. Admittedly, not for long, but... He'd lived all his life in this room. How could it feel so wrong?

Toby looked around at the deflated Get Well balloons. The stuffed animals with dried bile stuck in their crevices. Sunlight struggled to make it through the room's thick curtains, oily with biological residue.

He had been avoiding turning all the way around. He did not know what he would see there. In the bed. His bed. His sickbed his

deathbed

"NO, I DON'T WANT TO," he shouted, and his voice sounded petulant and babyish. A little kid throwing a tantrum. The reek of disinfectants, medicine, and urine made his eyes sting, blurring his vision as he forced himself to turn around. No part of him wanted this, but he had to face it. He didn't even know why, but he had to.

The bed came into view. Cavernous. Sunken. An ocean of white sheets, turned yellow from years of piss and pus. An endtable filled to overflowing with emptied pill bottles, their tops encrusted with dust. Small snowdrifts of them had fallen to the floor. Somewhere lost in the center of the bed, like lying prone on quicksand, was a boy. A little mouse. Glued in place by his own secretions. His popped sores. His incontinence. He was barely visible: a skeleton with a pelt. Two long pink rodent feet jutted up like fence posts. The skin was cracked and dry, the uncut toenails long as pencils.

From within that bed, Toby heard a slow, wet sucking sound. His own breathing.

He sat straight up, suddenly back in the car. The Fearsleigher was swerving back and forth along an impossible series of rippling curves, and the sphere of skulls was back in action right behind them. The sound of a thousand biting jaws was like bacon frying through a megaphone.

But the smell was gone. And he could no longer see that sick, dying thing that had once been himself. Toby felt himself all over. No sores. His fur was soft and clean.

Of all the expressions Piffle had thought he might show upon returning, relief was not among them. "Toby!? I don't have a clue why that keeps happening! Whenever I go in my bellybutton I end up in a candy village or a nice meadow or something. Where did you go that could possibly be worse than here?"

He ran his hands through his hair. His mouth felt dry. "My past," he said simply.

Piffle scooted over to administer a first aid hug. She put Doll between them for extra comfort. "I don't know what you saw, but I'm sorry you did. If it makes you feel better, at least you missed another big rollercoaster loop. And Junella says we're almost at the offramp!"

"That's assuming I can shake these goddamn skulls!!" she yowled from the front seat.

Toby could see at a glance she was on her last nerve. Her scowl seemed to swallow her face. She was driving more erratically, showing signs of mental exhaustion. Her inner tank was nearly empty.

'How long was I in my memory?' he asked himself.

He hesitated, not wanting to make things worse. But then he said softly to her, "You can do it. You can get us out of here. You're Junella Fucking Brox, right?"

She was on a hair-trigger anyway, ready to tell him to shove his positive affirmations up his ass. But hearing him swear in that delicate little voice of his actually made her snicker. And she had to admit, the mouse had a point. She was Junella Fucking Brox. She'd been through worse than this. Just reminding herself of her true name gave her a second wind. She was not helpless. Junella Fucking Brox never was.

She needed both hands to pull them through another hairpin, but she glanced at the rear view mirror and threw Toby a 'Thank you'.

He rubbed his shoulder from where the inertia had slammed him into the armrest. "You're welcome."

Piffle gave Toby another squeeze. "Oh, and you might wanna get your belt back on."

"Why-" His question turned to a gurgle when he saw through the front window what was looming ahead.

Oh, it was simply not fair. His only two choices of where to be right now were the inner hell of his fetid bedroom, or in a car that was about to enter the biggest damn loop-de-loop his mind could comprehend.

Taller than Gyre 2. Easily. Maybe even the circumference of Coryza. The immense concrete circle stretched up into the sky so high it was impossible to see its top. Fist-sized crumbs of concrete littered down like dandruff with every shudder of the still-infuriated freeway. This was worse than Toby's worst driving nightmares. This was giving him heart palpitations just looking at it.

"Toby."

He shook his head. "What!?"

Junella had locked her right hand on the wheel so she could talk with her left. She had to make this part very, very clear. "You've been a perfect passenger back there so far, and I'm grateful, but I need you to promise me that'll continue. Because I have really got to concentrate now."

He nodded. "If I have to I'll shove myself in the storage space and just cry the whole time. But I promise, I will not freak out and be distracting."

She smiled, recognizing just how much bravery it took to think of someone else at a moment when you're pushed to your limits.

The wind whistled past. The road rumbled. George's tires thrummed. Junella looked ahead. She could just barely feel the tilt starting. She brought herself back to the times before. No matter what, the big loop was always here at the end.

With the Killcanoe, they'd been able to hop the gap. Jump from the start of the loop to its end, avoiding the middle. The Fearsleigher would not hop. And that posed a problem because they'd just barely skated through that last loop. It was going to take more than just steady speed and perfect control to get through this. The big one was so damn huge, gravity would rip them off before they got to the apex. They needed something more. But no new ideas were forthcoming. Whatever they did, their ride would have to remain smooth as silk from start to finish. If that cat-thing bumped them even once, they would fall and smash and die.

"Piffle, do you have any percussives left?"

"Well, sure! I didn't use the whole box!" She patted her pockets. "Looks like there's five here."

"Three will be plenty," Junella replied. She locked eyes with Piffle in the rear view mirror. "I know we're not always on the best terms, but right now I need to drive, so that means I need to trust you to do something very important and very precise."

Junella's solemn tone snapped Piffle to attention. She sat up straight with her hands in her lap. "I'm listening."

"You remember the harpoon turret? It's on the back of the car. I need you to fly out and get to it. If it's loaded, unload it. The last thing we need is to end up grappled to that thing. There will be regular spears with no ropes attached. Load one. Stick all three bombs to the tip. When we get to the apex, fire."

The hamsterfly's heart beat faster. That was a lot to remember. "Doesn't Zinc normally do this kind of thing?"

"Yes. But if he falls off, he can't fly back."

"That is a good point," she had to admit.

Toby reached out to take her paw in his. "You can do it. You've got a stronger will than any of us."

She smiled brightly at him for his kindness, then gave his cheek a smooch. "Allright, Junella. I'll do it. If I follow your tune, the cat heads'll blow up and gravity will scatter 'em all over the place, right?"

"Exactly right," Junella sang. Plus the explosion might give them an extra push through the loop. It wasn't certain enough to count on though. She had to look away to the road then. The tilt was increasing. The real fun was about to start. But she spared a second more with her hand off the wheel to give the hamsterfly a thumbs up.

Piffle took just enough time for quick Toby and Doll hugs. Then a deep breath. Then she opened the door.

They were driving at a thirty degree angle now, still at freeway speed. She needed a moment to orient herself before spreading her wings. The drag nearly yanked her into the wind, but she held on tight to the door frame. She was glad for her compound eyes. Back when she'd had eyelids, they certainly would've been watering from all the wind and road dust. From her position now she could see the harpoon turret clearly.

She let go.

It was over before she realized it. Instinct had taken over. She'd let the forward momentum of the car pull it out from beneath her, then she reached out and grabbed the turret as it passed by. Piece of cake.

"Hey, nice move!" Zinc called down.

"Oh hi!" she replied, waving. "Almost forgot you were up there!"

She had to yell a bit over the pounding drone of George's wheels and the incessant snapping smiles of the cat skulls. Thankfully, the ball had reached its top speed and couldn't do much more than keep up with them. But it was following damn close. It was trying to conserve energy for a lunge. If it could just get in a single bite, the rest of itself could swarm all over the car and devour it.

Piffle ignored the construct, as she tried to do with most bullies. "I'm glad you're here!" she shouted to Zinc. "Junella wants me to shoot the catball with a spear, and I don't have a gosh-darned idea where those are!"

Zinc smiled back. Piffle'd been asked to fire heavy weaponry at a twenty-foot-tall monster, and was remaining chipper as ever. What a gal! He pointed to her left. "See that tube with the hinge like a toolbox? There ya are."

"Thanks!" The road was getting steeper by the second. Piffle was starting to slip, so she positioned herself behind the turret, leaning forward onto it. She opened the spear box very slowly, careful not to spill any. "How do I unload the harpoon and swap this one out?"

"The big red button fires it. DON'T push that! Flick the square switch to the right of it."

Piffle looked around on the control panel and found it. This released the turret's hold on the harpoon and, due to their forty-degree angle, it slid out to clang against the road.

"Oh poop!" she exclaimed.

Zinc laughed. The harpoon was dancing around behind them, still attached by its rope. "Not a problem! Just reel it in!"

Piffle did so, then tucked it away in the spear box. Now came the problem of getting a new spear into the turret. She figured it'd be easier to ready the explosives first. She carefully pulled a percussive from her pocket and started peeling. "Gosh I hope this thing doesn't go off early!"

"It won't," Zinc assured. "I've used 'em before. They don't pop until they hear the go phrase: 'Now-"

Piffle looked up and shook her head violently. "No!"

He chuckled and grinned at her. "I wasn't really gonna say it, c'mon!"

"Ooooh, you're naughty!" she said, laughing too. The bit of humor actually helped to steady her nerves. She peeled the grenades as easy as pulling off candy wrappers, then arranged them nicely on the spear tip.

Under normal conditions, loading the turret would have meant taking a few steps along the platform and sliding the ammunition down the barrel. But considering how close to vertical they were by now, Piffle didn't want to chance falling off. That meant flying. She took another deep breath and spread her wings.

When the ball of skulls saw her jump from the car, it reacted like any predator to the movement of its prey. It pounced. The toothy mass moved like a swarm of birds, stretching forwards to snare her.

Zinc was not about to let that happen. He'd already been pedaling the cranks, and the instant he saw movement from the catball, he pounded it with a hailstorm of hot lead. BRRRRRTTT!

The whole ball shuddered and shed skulls like dandruff. Zinc dared to hope he might have unbalanced it enough to send it rolling back down the loop, but things were never that easy.

Piffle buzzed along behind the car with the spear out ahead of her like she was a pole vaulter. It took several tries to thread the end into that itty-bitty barrel hole, but finally the shaft sunk in with a satisfying clamping sound. She happily returned to her perch behind the turret and held on tight. "Whew! Mission accomplished!"

"Not yet, pet. You still gotta fire it!"

"That's right!"

Meanwhile, Junella had been calmly explaining their gravity predicament to George.

"Yes, Madam Brox, I did feel my wheels sliding precariously through that last loop. I had hoped you would have some idea on how to increase the down force upon the road."

"I'm thinkin', I'm thinkin'."

"We do not have much time before we'll need to act."

She banged her fists on the steering wheel. "I KNOW!"

George had another thought. "I could retake driving duties if you need your hands free. All it would require is to keep a consistent speed, correct?"

She reigned in her temper. George was just trying to be helpful. "Thanks, but I'm in the zone here. I've got the feel. I'd worry about any slip-ups if we switched gears."

"I trust your expertise."

"No worries, hoss. You've been golden this whole time. You're getting' a big fat kiss on the lips when we can finally stop."

"I have no lips, but that would be very pleasant nonetheless."

Junella chuckled. George's smooth voice helped ease her stress. "Toby? You still sane?"

"Barely." He looked out the window at the horizon slowly turning over. He felt gravity sucking him back into his seat, pooling his blood away from his face and fingertips. His brain was slowly filling up with static. "I think I might be going into shock again. Feels nice." 

"Try not to. Do you think you can handle a small job?"

He blinked in surprise. What could she possibly need him for? "I... Maybe?"

Junella knew that the feeling of helplessness increased the chances of a freakout. Having something to do helped a furson keep their head. She reached over to Zinc's seat for the detonator, then tossed it in Toby's lap.

He caught it clumsily, then stared at it. "You want me to...? I don't know, Junella! I'm a wreck right now! What if I stutter!?"

She locked eyes with him in the rear view mirror. "You won't. Just two little words. You remember them, right?"

He stopped himself in time from saying them aloud. That would have been a Very Large Oopsie.

"I'd do it myself, but I want both hands on this wheel, understand?"

Toby nodded.

And as Junella turned her focus back to the road, a humdinger of an idea popped into her brain. Letting the problem simmer had produced a solution. "George!! The car's your body, right? How much can you customize it?"

He wasn't sure how to answer that. "I am uncertain. I cannot alter my shape or mass, but-"

There was no time for idle words. They'd have to implement this idea before they hit the rapidly-approaching ninety degree mark. "The plow goes up and down. Can you get it up and over the gun turret!?"

The request seemed insane, until he envisioned exactly what he'd be reshaping it into. "A spoiler! Madam Brox, you are a genius!"

"Can You DO It!?" she exploded.

"I see no reason why not!" he shouted back with optimism.

Junella reached out the window to thump the roof and get Zinc and Piffle's attention. "Allright! This is the plan! We're gonna be upside down soon. If we get past the apex, that bunch of skulls could pounce right on us. That'd be undesirable. So when we're close, Zinc: you count down from ten. Piffle: when he gets to zero, you fire right into the heart of those bony fuckos. Toby: when you hear the turret fire, you count to one and say the words. George: you keep us on the road. I'll keep us steady. All clear!?"

"Roger that, Cap'n!" Zinc shouted.

"Roger!" Piffle followed.

"I'll do my best!" Toby said.

Junella glanced back and flashed him a teasing grin. "You'll do perfect or I'll feed you to that thing back there with barbecue sauce."

"Thank you for that pleasant thought," he gurgled.

George didn't have many seconds to spare, so he did some body calculations. The nailplow was raised and lowered by a pair of hydraulic arms. They could get the plow to the back of the car, but there wouldn't be enough clearance to pass it over the gun turret. He'd end up shearing it right off the back, and with Sir Zinc currently astride it, that would not do.

Closer and closer towards the ninety degree mark.

A Gordian Knot solution occurred. George grunted heartily as he ripped the plow in half down the middle. The whole chassis shook. Sprinkles of wood and metal clattered all along the bottom of the car between the wheels. It was his own flesh; he felt no pain.

George swung the lifting arms up and back, rotating the plow-halves on their mounts. "DUCK, Sir Zinc!!!" he called out.

Zinc sure as hell did. Two jumbo slices of nail-studded pizza whizzed past his head as he skroonched himself down tight against the gatling gun.

George locked the now-flat-side-up plow sections into place. Instantly he felt a strong gusty hand shove his backside against the road. The skate-blades had already given them some downward push, but the spoiler was the extra added 'oomph' they needed. He cackled in triumph, leaned his weight forward for balance, and sped forward.

Junella held her breath as he approached the ninety line

...and zoomed right past, slick as butter.

"YEAH!!!" she hollered. "Dynamite job, Georgie!"

Getting all the way through the loop would still require incredible skill, but this was a very good start. "Your idea was brilliant, Madam Brox! I feel like I'm glued to the road!"

She lovingly thumped the glovebox. "Then go, go, go! Pour on that speed nice and slow and thick, like maple syrup!"

George snorted agreement. He chained his focus to the road then, letting it whisper in his ear exactly how much more force and velocity he needed to keep racing onward.

They passed one hundred degrees. Then one hundred and thirty. The blood was rushing to their heads now. Nothing but friction and momentum were holding them to the road. They were a fly walking across a ceiling. The sea of glass had become the sky. If George's wheels lost their grip for an instant, there would be a gut-churning instant of weightlessness, followed by the fall.

The catskulls were keeping pace effortlessly. Grinding their ivories. Clinging to the pavement like velcro. Getting hungrier and hungrier by the mile. Zeroing in on dinner.

Zinc had his feet hooked around the crank pedals, acutely aware of how much gravity wanted to snatch him off. He looked below at the seeming miles of empty air between him and the bottom of the loop. Inverted like this, it was hard to swing the gun around to look forward, but he managed. They were not far from zenith point. Now or never. "Ten!" he shouted.

Toby heard the countdown begin and felt his throat close up. His mouth upholstered itself in sandpaper. It seemed impossible he could speak one word into the detonator, much less two. Impossible!

"Nine!"

Junella could feel sweat beading on her skin and sliding towards the ceiling. Her hands had an iron grip on the wheel. She could feel every tiny crack and bump in the road's surface, as if her feet and George's wheels were one and the same.

"Eight!"

Piffle steeled herself, finger over the big red button. She had the turret pointed just right. Into the heart of the thousand-jawed nightmare. Their empty eyeholes were all pointed directly at her. 'Criminy, something about that makes my skin crawl!'

"Seven!"

Toby envisioned himself choking at the final moment, unable to speak, unable to set off the bombs, dooming himself and everyone else. But he couldn't let that happen, no matter how much his cowardly core seemed to crave it. He searched his brain for a way to cancel his stage fright.

"Six!"

Doll was not having a good time. The belts were holding Toby in place, but she was loose and once again immobilized. She slid up the seats and onto the back window. There was nothing keeping her from the cat skulls but a thin pane of glass. She could see her burlap sack a foot away. So close, and yet infinitely out of reach due to her curse.

"Five!"

George reassured himself that even if they failed they were not necessarily doomed. He knew about the other addition to his chassis that Zinc had insisted upon. Junella did not trust the mechanism, else she would have engaged it earlier when she'd had a perfect chance. He guessed she felt better entrusting herself to her skills, rather than a machine. But it might save them if they fell. The only worry then would be the many-skulled nightmare falling upon them from above and devouring them in midair.

"Four!"

Practice. That was what Toby needed. Do it by reflex. He parted his lips and started mouthing the words, over and over and over, trying to keep his mind blank. If he could set his mouth to automatic, then all he'd have to do was breathe. 'Now please now please now please now please now please...'

"Three!"

Zinc kept his eyes latched to the road ahead, to the apex. But he could hear the deafening chatter of teeth behind him, clawing for his attention, daring him to look back. Were the skulls laughing at him?

"T-two!"

Piffle buzzed her wings to keep herself in place. She was hovering upside down with her hand above the button. Tense as a racehorse waiting for the starting gun.

"One!"

'nowpleasenowpleasenowpleasenowpleasenowpleasenow'

"ZERO!!!"

Piffle slammed her palm down. The turret let out a hiss of compressed air that shoved the spear out nearly as fast as a bullet. The deadly length sailed across the gap between the car and the cats. Their dead eyes turned towards the tiny toothpick, then their mass swallowed it whole. The skullball laughed unmistakably. Thousands of juddering jaws, teeth clacking together at the utter hilarity of these meat-beings. Thinking something so tiny could possibly pose a threat!

Toby's ears perked at the sound of the spear being launched. He counted 'now please now please now please.' His lips moved automatically. He breathed.

He spoke, clear as a bell: "Now please."

The skullsphere transformed into a thousand flaming calcium missiles.

The percussives' shockwave rippled the air and tore through bone as easily as newspaper. The nightmare legion's jaws were wrenched open in howls of surprise as the explosion shattered the collective. Their hivemind broke into a billion feral fragments, none able to register anything more than primal pain and fury.

Piffle was the only one looking backwards and thus the only one to take in the awesome sight: a fiery mass of bone falling from the road and plummeting towards, to her, the sky. It lost its shape as it fell, crumbling into smaller and smaller chunks. The spear had gutted it internally. The center could not hold.

Junella felt the blast reach out and shove the car. She felt the wheels slip. With no conscious thought, moving like flowing water, she eased the wheel and the gas pedal to compensate. She felt the Fearsleigher correct its speed, stabilize, and coast through the apex.

All of them felt it internally: the moment when their guts became weightless. They hung there an eternity, waiting to fall or sail through.

Junella held her breath. It took all the effort in the world not to reflexively hit the gas.

Toby felt a shudder of relief bolt through him when he felt the familiar tug of friction's reassertion. Junella had pulled them through. Blood was pooling in his head, and the seatbelts were digging into his skin, but all he could feel was amazement that they'd made it.

Then he felt small plastic fingers touch his shoulder. Y-O-U-D-I-D-I-T.

A smile broke over the mouse's face.

This second explosion had reawoken the freeway's rage. The loop began to tremble now. George felt it in his tires. The road was going to crack again. He looked all around, scanning for falling chunks of concrete, and wondered if it was even possible to dodge them while keeping their steady speed.

Zinc saw what was happening too. He started pumping his pedals. Readying the gun. If he saw even the tip of a tentacle, he'd blast it to kingdom come.

Junella watched the road preparing for a tantrum. The freeway's last ditch effort to punish those who caused it pain. She willed herself not to blink, not to think. She foresaw a coming crack and dared to ease the car gently to the left. 'Steady speed, steady speed... Past it. Good.' Now all she had to do was pull off that same impossible trick twenty more times until the road was finally flat again.

White lines shattered. Hunks of cement shook loose. Patches of red flesh and rebar started to burst through. Freeway blood began to slide and pool and drip through the cracks.

Zinc's eyes were built to stay open. He kept a hawk's watch on the blood. Waiting for movement. His wrenches trembled as they held the gun grips, ready at a millisecond's notice to squeeze.

'Ease left, ease left, ease left,' Junella told herself. 'Nice and slick. Wall off your fear. Yes, the road ahead is falling apart and you are on that road, but you are also Junella Fucking Brox, and you are going to get through this because, goddammit, you say so.'

Sometimes the most powerful thing in the world is remembering who you are.

The car slid like butter in a skillet along the road, past all its hurdles. Junella had chosen the loop's tippy-top to fire the spear for another reason: the scattering remains of the cat sphere would fall straight down, while the Fearsleigher's path was curved. It was simple math to see which one would reach the bottom first. Junella had foreseen this. She knew the skulls might still be dangerous if they landed en masse on top of the car, but maybe not if the skulls hit first and the Fearsleigher slammed right through. 'That'd be a fine time for George to get the nailplow back down,' she thought to herself.

The Fearsleigher was now almost perfectly horizontal. George looked up to see hundreds upon hundreds of cat heads raining down upon the freeway below. Most turned to powder upon impact, though plenty landed with inaudible crunches in the glass sea below. There was still going to be a snowdrift of shattered fragments for them to plow through at the bottom. Snow drift. Plow through. Oh, that gave him an idea! He waited to coast past the danger zone. Then as soon as he felt the car settle back into gravity's grip, he retracted the two halves of the nailplow, jammed them back together as best he could, and belched up a fireball to light them aflame.

A grin stretched across Junella's muzzle. 'I think I love you, Georgie.'

She was finally able to give the car some gas. They were past the worst three quarters of the loop and her guts were settling back into normal positions. Now that constant velocity was no longer a need, she could dodge the heaving chunks of road no sweat. She felt the heat from George's flames and they suited her mood nice and sweet.

Zinc was almost disappointed. The road ahead was churning itself into casserole, but wasn't spewing up any more tentacles for him to shoot at. Awww. Maybe the freeway was tired. Well, at least there was that minor mountain of wriggling skull chunks up ahead. Couldn't hurt to put some bullets into it.

George could see the pile of bone too. Moving. It was beginning to heal itself. "Madam Brox, do you think it would be advisable to go 'full steam ahead'?"

"Eat your heart out," she crooned. "Hell, I'll even let you take the wheel. You've earned it."

George felt control come back to his wheels and he skidded, but only for an instant. Then he was back in command. He flexed his steel and bone, reaffirming his love for this body. "Smashing!" he bellowed. Then chuckled at the inadvertent pun.

Zinc shouted down, "Go, George, go! I'll tenderize, you pulverize!"

"That sounds most agreeable, Sir Zinc!"

BBBBBRRRRRRRTTTTT!!!!

If the cat skulls thought their bad day was about to turn around, a blistering metal slap knocked that notion right out of their heads. Newly regrown skulls that had just pushed their way to the front of the pile were churned to splinters by Zinc's bullets.

And then here came a great big flaming nailplow.

To the sound of George's overjoyed cackles, the Fearsleigher bulldozed through. And for the second time that day, the sky rained skulls.

Barbecued bits of bone flew in every direction. The car juddered at the sheer heft of heads it had to punch out of its way, but they made it through easily. The Fearsleigher had become an unstoppable force, powered by the unbreakable will of its passengers.

All of them cheered their throats raw as they sailed through. Back on solid road again. With the offramp finally in sight.

Hundreds of skulls clattered onto the glass ocean below, sprinkling the landscape white. Some of the minor nightmares, the ones with a taste for marrow, descended and began a crunchy feast.

-***-

CHAPTER FIFTYSEVEN

The offramp.

Picture a whale's tail rising up out of the ocean after a dive.

Hypovolemia's freeway did not end with a sensible exit onto solid ground. Instead it curved upwards. Not into a new loop, but into a multi-headed ski jump. The ten lanes split like a bouquet in ten different directions. Beyond the ramps was nothing but sky above and endless shattered glass below.

Somehow, this didn't surprise Toby. He was starting to get the picture by now that Phobiopolis had its own version of Murphy's Law. Anything that could be made as terrifying as possible, would be.

Concrete shook and crumbled. The freeway was throwing a hissy fit at realizing the pain-insects on its skin were about to escape scot-free. There were less than two miles between the carload of irritants and open air. The freeway surged flesh out from within its cement skin to grasp and clutch and squeeze.

"Now that's what I've been waitin' for!" Zinc cheered.

BBBRRRRRRRRTTTTTTTTT!!!

A low, agonized groan came from beneath them. The road had sent out its bloody tentacles to capture the insects, and now their metal-spitting scorpion tail was chewing through them like a lead lawnmower.

Zinc watched blood fly like confetti as he razed the tentacles on every side of the car. "GIVE UP YET!?" he hollered.

Junella could not wait to be off this road, even if all she had to look forward to was the acrophobia of Lumbago. There were no more 'good' places left on the path; just trading one rotten situation for another. Looking ahead, she nudged George into the right lane and goosed him for more speed.

"Hey, Toby!" she called out. "George too! This is important! Once we go off that ramp, you gotta close your eyes and keep 'em closed."

"That probably won't be hard," said Toby, rather relieved at being given permission to cower.

A note of worry was in George's voice. "Madam Brox, I have neither eyes nor eyelids. I'm not sure I would be capable of 'closing my eyes'."

She gritted her teeth. This could be a deadly problem. "You'd better think of a way real quick. Because each lane on that ramp points towards a different place. You only get there if you don't see the crossover. If even one of us peeks, the magic doesn't happen and we plunge straight down. It's like how Santy Claus won't come down the chimney 'till you're asleep."

"Oh dear heavens," said George. He envisioned himself and his friends smashing to bits in the shattered ocean, no choice but to crawl the agonizing miles back to Ectopia Cordis on bloody hands and knees. And all because his species couldn't blink! He felt a thunderbolt of rage and frustration rip through him at the unfairness of it all. Then suddenly a perfectly simple solution kicked him in the head. "This should work!"

Junella saw through the windshield as George pulled his skull back through the hole in the hood like a turtle.

"It should!" she agreed. And that reminded her, "Doll? Burlap time."

Toby leaned over to grab the bag and scoop Doll inside. No time to waste looking away and letting her do it on her own. Safely covered, she gave him a thumbs-up.

Meanwhile, Zinc was still trying to educate the freeway. His lessons consisted entirely of bullets. Tentacles were shooting up like weeds now. They'd become a forest if he didn't keep sweeping the gun back and forth to prune them. The tentacles speared towards them, seeking. They quivered and burst into frothy dreck as the bullets ripped through. The Fearsleigher was splashed with so much red it looked like it'd rear-ended a tomato truck.

Zinc happened to glance up ahead. There was only one thing that could have made him leave his perch on the gun. He saw it.

"Piff, take over for me!" he yelped as he clambered off the pedals.

"What!?" she squeaked. She'd been catching her breath since firing the spear and thought her part in all this was over. But the hamsterfly was loyal above all else, and in the blink of an eye she was fluttering roofward.

Zinc was poised at the edge, ready to jump down to the skate blade. He could see the tentacles rising up as soon as the bullets stopped. "Just point, pedal, and squeeze! Nothin's easier!" They were half a mile from where the offramp began to curve towards the sky. "I gotta go chat with Junebug right this second."

Piffle hefted her plump rump onto the gun. "Ooof!" She started pedaling as soon as her feet were in place, just as she was told.

"Thanks loads, kitten!" Zinc leapt and landed on the skate blade with an impact that sent them swerving. "Oh, and as soon as we're off the ramp, shut yer eyes and keep 'em shut if you like your ass uncontaminated by glass!"

Piffle rolled her eyes at him. "Obviously!" As if she'd never been on a perception-bent road before. "Waddaya think I am, a tourist?"

That got a grin out of him. Which grew even bigger when Piffle practically strangled the handgrips and sent a firehose spray of hot lead into the creeping batch of tentacles reaching out for them. 'My gun's in good hands,' Zinc thought to himself as he darted for the passenger door.

Junella was less than happy to see him. "What the fuck you doin' not on the roof!?"

He held up his wrenchhands. "Chillsville! Piffle's got it covered. I just came down because you're in the wrong lane."

The road was starting to tilt upwards again. In less than a minute they'd be flying.

Junella made a face like sucking lemons. "I am not."

Zinc reached for the wheel. "Hate to break it to ya. Fifth lane from the left is where we wanna be!"

She gnashed her teeth and slapped away his wrenches. "Fifth from the right! I remember from last time!"

"That's what you said last time!!"

Toby had one hand over his eyes and the other holding onto Doll. The argument from the front seat was sending his confidence plunging.

"Which lane should I be in!?" George wailed, starting to panic.

"Keep it steady!" Junella commanded.

"Not if you don't want us ending up in the middle of nowhere! Or worse!" Zinc shouted.

Junella snarled, clutching the wheel like a mother lion protecting her cub. "I know this road! I've driven on it since before we even met!"

Piffle was whizzing around like a helicopter blade and the tentacles still kept coming!

Zinc's heart was a jackhammer. "Juney, I love you, but you're misremembering. We've only got seconds left to change course!"

Toby stared in horror out the window, at the thumping, curling, dripping red arms converging all around them.

"I REMEMBER JUST FINE!!" Junella screamed.

Zinc reached across to the dashboard. "Really? Because you forgot to turn the headlights on."

Piffle gushed a sigh of relief as the freeway shrieked in agony. The Himmelman 500 headlights blazed to life, burning through the tentacles in front of them like twin scalpels of fire.

Clearing away the creepers had also cleared the way to see how much of the ramp was left.

About twenty feet.

Zinc's eyes widened and his ears flattened. "Well this argument just became academic."

Seconds later, George's wheels left the road and they shot towards the clouds like a bladed cannonball.

Toby's brain could not resist the morbid impulse to swivel his head towards the back window and watch solid ground recede away. He saw the blood tentacles writhing petulantly, cheated of their prey. But phasing through them fast came something else. Something that made his already-overworked heart thud faster.

A shimmering ghost of the Fearsleigher. Following them.

He shut his eyes, for several reasons.

***

Nothing below them but acres of air and an ocean of deadly, lacerating shards.

Toby heard the wind whistling outside the car. Felt the emptiness beneath their feet. Felt the cold chill of knowing that, in any world that actually paid attention to physics, the only place they were headed was straight down into glass. He had to trust faith that they'd end up somewhere less immediately fatal. Though, depending on whether Zinc or Junella was right about the lanes, that could be anywhere.

"EYES SHUT!!!" Junella screamed.

Everyone obeyed. Even Doll, inside her burlap, put her hands over her face.

Suddenly there came a loud thump at the side. Toby thought at first they were being attacked in mid-air. A last grasp of the freeway tentacles? Instead, the wind howled when the door popped open and Piffle tumbled through. Toby could not stop himself from a split-second peek: one arm was over her eyes while she fumbled with the other to get the door re-latched.

"Did you actually just get back here from the roof, blindfolded!?"

"Sure did!" she said, panting a bit. She wiggled her antennae at him. "Having an extra sense helps a bunch!" The hamsterfly skootched in beside him, Doll between, and took Toby's paw in hers. "One hand for my eyes, one hand for you. So we won't be scared."

There was no way a single touch was going to erase the tonnage of terror weighing down on his heart. But it did help a little. There was always the comfort of knowing he wouldn't die alone.

Something that also helped was the realization that they hadn't yet started to fall. Ever since they'd left the ramp, they'd been arcing up, up, and away. In fact, not only could Toby tell that they were still rising, their speed was increasing. As if they'd passed close enough to a comet to hitch a ride in its orbit.

Zinc was not calm. He had no idea where they were heading, and to avoid the compulsion to look ahead and find out, he popped his eyes out and dropped them in his jacket pocket. His leg jittered, fidgeting. "Christ, Juney, I hope I'm wrong and not you. I sure as shit don't want us ploppin' down in some place like Teratoma or Polydactyl."

"We will be fine," she replied. Her tone was fierce, but there was a quaver in it. Her fingers had trembled over her grooves.

"Sounds t'me like you're not fully confident on that point."

She was glad he couldn't see, because she'd reflexively raised her hand to give him a needle-filled slap. But she stopped herself, singing, "You'll see. Any moment now we'll end up on the river bridge. Smooth as silk. Just like normal."

"For what it's worth," came George's muffled voice from inside the hood, "if I was at fault in any way, I hereby apologize."

"No, no," Junella reassured. "You were solid, slick, and superfine." She realized he'd been trying to take the heat off her and felt cruddy about that.

Piffle spoke up. "How much longer are we gonna be in the air?"

Junella bit her lip, feeling even worse now about acting like a brat to Zinc when they had an audience in the back. "Shouldn't be long."

"Does it..." Toby started, not sure if it was worth mentioning or not, "Does it mean anything that I saw, like, another us just after we went off the ramp?"

"YOU WHAT!?" Zinc and Junella sputtered simultaneously.

Toby immediately regretted opening his mouth. Even with his eyes covered he could sense their incredulous looks. "Maybe it was nothing! Maybe I was just hallucinating!"

"Let's say you weren't. What exactly did you see?" Junella demanded.

Toby could feel the car continue to accelerate towards wherever or whatever was pulling them in. "It was like a mirage. The car, with us inside. Shimmery like a ghost."

Zinc sighed in relief. "Allright. I thought for a sec the bastard ambulance that got a taste of us figured out how to copy the car."

"Same here," Junella sang.

"So then what was it?" Toby asked.

Piffle squeezed his hand a little harder as a sudden memory poked her. "Oh cripes, I might have an idea..."

Junella did not like the worried shiver in the hamsterfly's voice. "If you can contribute to this discussion, then please-"

WHAMMM

***

Everyone's bones rattled. Their guts jumped. Their teeth clacked. Doll smacked into the ceiling and everyone's seatbelts nearly sliced them in half.

For a few moments they were all disoriented from the sudden resurgence of gravity. They had landed, but it hadn't felt like they'd smashed into the ground. More like something enormous had spontaneously appeared beneath them.

"Oh my tires! Oh my skull!" George moaned.

"Is it safe to open my eyes now?" Toby whimpered.

"Should be," Piffle said warily.

Everyone checked themselves out, searching for broken bones or, in George's case, busted shocks. Everyone ached, but didn't seem to be grievously damaged.

Toby risked a peek out the window.

Well, this was a pleasant change. Outside was the most refreshingly normal setting he'd seen in Phobiopolis so far.

They were in a wide field of healthy green grass, punctuated by perfectly average-looking trees, all spaced evenly apart. 'Must be an orchard,' he thought. The sky above was blue and bright, not abnormally overcast like everywhere else. About the only odd thing to note in this pastoral place; there sure were a whole lot of airplanes up there. Flying so high among the clouds they looked like specks. Like dust among cotton.

The air was quiet. Not even the sound of wind.

Toby felt his relief sour.

No, no, he couldn't be this lucky. This was just a mask, waiting to rip away and reveal this place's true, nasty nature. Just like everywhere else in this nightmare world.

George's skull cautiously emerged from the hood. His perceptions were keener than Toby's and he noticed right away there was something decidedly unusual going on here. The leaves of grass were all exactly the same shade. Not just mostly: exactly. They all pointed in the same direction too. And there were really only two trees, one a bit shorter than the other. Both were copied over and over again endlessly, laid out in a grid stretching to the horizon. There was something wrong with the horizon as well.

Junella leaned forward, scanning the sky. "See, Zinc? I told you I knew what lane we were in. I dunno how, but we must've skipped over the bridge and gone straight to Lumbago." 

Zinc reinserted his eyeballs, took a look around, and cringed. "You think this is Lumbago?"

"Sure, sure." Her song was not confident. She sounded like she was trying to convince mostly herself. "It's a part we haven't been to before, that's all. See? Look up. Sky's full of biteranodons, just like always."

Piffle had been so busy tending to Doll, making sure her plastic companion hadn't gotten squashed on re-entry, that she hadn't looked outside yet. At the mention of biteranodons, she did. Her expression curdled into outright terror. "I was right!!"

Zinc turned around in his seat. "Yeah, you were gonna say something 'bout that. Just before the ground interrupted us." His jocular smile died out in an instant as he saw Piffle's face.

She grabbed at his shoulder. "This is a really bad place! We hafta get out of here right now!!"

Junella looked skeptical. "Doesn't seem all that bad."

Piffle didn't even glance at her. She poked her head out the side window, staring up at the sky at the slowly swimming shapes in the clouds. "Trust me. I found this place by accident one afternoon when I was trying to see how far up I could fly."

The wind arose, running its airy fingers through her hair.

Piffle pointed skyward. "LOOK!!"

They all craned their necks. For a moment, none of them had any idea what had gotten Piffle into such a commotion. There was nothing alarming above them except the endless blue and the clusters of airplanes.

Though, wait... Were the airplanes turning?

Slowly?

All of them?

ALL of them!?

In an instant everyone understood Piffle's panic, as an uncountable number of nosecones turned to point towards the Fearsleigher. Zeroing in like a platoon of hunting dogs.

And then they began to descend.

A trapdoor opened under Toby's heart, plunging it down into cold blackness. Time slowed to a stop. He was frozen. Eyes wide, mouth gaping open. All those silent shapes up in the sky. Hundreds. Like a flock of birds communicating soundlessly mid-flight. They had all received some secret signal. Down below was their target. Hundreds of noses dipped. Hundreds of dark, birdlike shapes began to grow larger. They were no longer flying. There was no sound of engines. They were falling. Like leaves. Like javelins. They only seemed slow because of how far they had to fall.

"GEORGE, DRIVE!!" Piffle screamed.

He did not waste a second hesitating. Tires growled on grass and flung dirt behind them as he dug in and peeled out.

Toby and Piffle nearly lost their heads as their necks slammed into the window frames.

Piffle yanked her mouse friend back inside."Are you okay?"

The mouse's vision swirled, but he managed to squeeze a sound out. "...ai-airplanes."

Piffle nodded. "Yup. They've smelled us. It didn't take long, did it?"

Toby looked again, hoping his eyes had lied the first time. No such luck. The sky was starting to dim with the presence of even more flying in from all corners of the sky.

George shouted, "Madam McPerricone! Please let me know exactly where it is I'm trying to get to!"

"Just drive straight!" she yelled back. "See how curved the horizon is? It's like a tiny little planet! The only way out is to circle all the way 'round and look for a shiny spot where we first showed up!"

"Can't we just turn back now and try to find it?" Junella protested.

Piffle shook her head. "No dice. I tried that the first time. It's all-the-way or nothin'."

The vinyl skunk looked up through the windshield, seeing the swooping flock of white vultures getting closer by the heartbeat. Her face melted into utter regret and self-hatred. This was 100% her fault. Her stupid stubbornness. "George," she sang softly, "would you like to see just how fast you can pull this car? Because I think we'd all really appreciate that right about now."

The stallion had been feeling despair himself, but the request ignited a spark in him. On the freeway, he'd spent most of his time regulating his speed. Going fast, but not too fast. It had been a torturous denial of his real desire: to go all out and really see what this new body could do.

"Madam Brox, I believe I would enjoy that very much."

"Brace yourselves!" Zinc shouted.

George whinnied, blasted fire from his nostrils, and prepared to chase his limits.

When he took off, the five passengers were all punched back in their seats so hard they saw stars.

Past the Fearsleigher's windows, the trees became blurs. Brown and green smears. George's tires shredded the immaculate grass in his attempt to put as much distance between himself and the falling nightmares as possible. He knew from the curve of the horizon he could not circumnavigate this place quickly enough to evade the crashes entirely. They would come. At best he could get a head start.

Above, the planes fell without a sound. They were shaped like passenger jets, but their windows were merely spots on their hides and their turbines never spun. They were nightmare constructs in the skin of airliners. They would never carry customers or cargo. They did not even have mouths to devour their prey. Their single instinct was to spot a living soul and smash into it. Their minds were simple, even by nightmare standards: Seek. Drop. Embrace in fire.

Toby stared at the rain of aircraft. It brought him back to memories of sitting at his bedroom window, seeing helicopters and passenger planes skimming by through the clouds. Watching a faraway, toylike flying machine and having that awful thought of, 'What if it suddenly... fell?' To have that fear magnified a hundredfold right in front of his eyes was almost too surreal to deal with. From this distance, he had no sense of scale. But he knew how big an airplane was. He'd seen them on TV. A direct hit would obliterate the Fearsleigher and all its contents. There would be fire, smoke, and then a million bits of wreckage no bigger than a tinfoil ball.

Junella stared straight ahead, hands at her sides, face slack. One hand weakly scratched her leg, "You can go ahead and say it, partner. 'I told you so'."

Zinc looked away from the approaching hellstorm, almost offended. "You think I'm gonna gloat at a time like this? People make fuckin' mistakes, Juney. Boo hoo! George'll pull us through, we'll get back on the road, and that'll be the end of it."

George spoke up from the hood, "I am glad to hear you have such confidence in me, Sir Zinc."

Zinc tickled the glove compartment handle. "Shouldn't I?"

That got a throaty chuckle from George. He appreciated Zinc's words, but couldn't spare any more attention on a reply. His focus was on the grid of trees. There was ample space between them for three Fearsleighers to pass side-by-side. But he knew this would not be a simple straight shot. There were ever more aircraft crawling in from every corner of the sky. All falling. He knew he would need to dodge impacts eventually. So he timed the trees. He would have to be very, very precise to thread himself through them. A crash at this speed would turn his passengers into paste.

Toby was terrified, as always, but showed no outward sign except for his stricken posture. His fate was entirely out of his hands. He was stuck in a metal box traveling at 200 miles per hour, targeted by a swarm of kamikaze nightmares, and he wasn't screaming. He felt like he couldn't scream. Maybe he'd already reached the limit of what his mind could stand in Hypovolemia. Maybe he was just numb. 'Or maybe you're adapting,' a part of him whispered.

He did not see the first crash, but he felt it. A second later he heard it.

A violent vibration shook the car, followed by a faraway boom.

Then came a second. And three more, one right after another.

Then more, and more. They were getting louder. They were getting closer.

Toby and Piffle could see, in the tiny reflection of the front seat's rear view mirror, that the trees behind them were turning into blossoms of flame.

George readied his shocks for a pounding.

SSSSSSHHHHHHTHAMMMM

The next plane hit closer than any of them were prepared for. Toby felt the Fearsleigher's back wheels lift off the ground. A shockwave grabbed him by the shoulders and shook. The window filled with searing orange. The sound nearly burst his eardrums.

In slow motion, in excruciating detail, Toby watched a turbine engine the size of a refrigerator sail past his window like a car in the passing lane. He could see the inner blades, the shredded skin, the mechanical guts, the tendrils of trailing smoke. Almost beautiful, like a painting.

George fought weightlessness, slamming his back end down on the ground where it belonged. He pumped more power into his all-wheel drive and kept on, steady as an arrow.

And now the air rippled with the painful pulses of aircraft crashes all around them. Like a giant's footsteps. An apocalyptic drunkard wobbling around, stomping the forest flat with every burning footstep. Chunks of wing sliced across the sky. The colors of fire were everywhere.

Antennae clutched in her fists, Piffle blocked her ears and tried to hide her eyes under her hat, shivering in her seat as one of her worst memories replayed itself.

Toby eventually noticed she wasn't holding his hand anymore. He was able to rip his eyes away from the ragnarok outside to see her curled up beside him, shellshocked. He wrapped himself around her in a hug.

Junella had not said so earlier, but she could empathize deeply with Toby's frustration at the lack of control in a bad situation. She could only stare at the steering wheel in front of her. George was fully in the driver's seat here. She knew the highway, but she wouldn't have dared to try navigating through the trees like he was doing. Whenever debris landed in front of them like a blazing meteor, George would adjust course quicker than she could blink, zipping through the forest like a champion slalom skier. It was breathtaking. And his moves were not jerky either. She didn't go ricocheting around in her seat with every sharp correction. George wasn't just driving, he was flowing.

The nightmare stallion's skull was empty. There was no room for thought. All energy was directed to pure automatic instinct. George was as mindless as his days before his burial. Only now, his purpose was to protect instead of pursue. All around him, explosions shoved at his sides and white-hot metal stung his skin. But he felt no pain. Pain was for later. Right now, all that existed was his vision and his wheels. He diverted course before he was consciously aware of doing so. His perceptions were a hundred feet ahead, trying to predict the debris before it fell. Playing chess with it. He had never felt more at one with the car. It was as if he'd been born in this body. Like his calcium had always been merged with steel.

Junella and Zinc both jumped in their seats when the headlights came on by themselves and blasted a clump of fallen branches into charred twigs.

The mutt and skunk looked at each other. George was a quick learner.

Zinc looked towards the roof. "I wonder if he can... No way, it's not-"

BBBRRRRRRRRTTTTT!!!!!

The canine's jaw dropped as he watched a falling chunk of fuselage get swatted out of their way. Shoved by a pummeling blast of bullets from the gatling gun.

Zinc stared, gobsmacked. "I've been replaced by automation."

Meanwhile, small burlap-covered hands were massaging Piffle's shoulders. The hamsterfly reached up to pat Doll's head, then thanked her with a kiss, though her gaze seemed glued to the floor. "I was trapped here for hours. Felt like days. Months," she said in a husk of a whisper.

"We'll make it out," Toby assured her.

W-E-W-I-L-L, Doll concurred.

"I know," she said, a tear falling from her ruby eye. "I know we will now. We've got George. But back then it was just me by myself. The planes were falling all around me. I was so scared. I died so many times. It burned. Hellfire. I couldn't find my way out."

Toby squeezed tighter. He'd never seen Piffle this way. Even when Amaurosis Fugax had fucked with all their heads and hearts, this was different. 'There must be a limit to everyone,' he thought.

The hamsterfly stared hollowly at the car's floor for a long time, trying to block out the flashes and bangs from outside. But then out of the blue, a small smile broke through her clouds. "Actually... I'm glad."

Toby was taken aback. "How!? About what?"

Piffle sat up a little straighter. "I'm glad I got snagged here before. I'm glad. Because, even though it was so awful and frightening, it taught me. I told George to drive. I gave us a head start." Sunlight broke over her face as she spoke, and she visibly returned to her normal self. "Because of the first time, I knew how to get us out this time!"

Toby was somewhat awed. Piffle's power to see the best in all things had been tested, and emerged victorious yet again. "That's right," was all he could say.

"I dunno if everything happens for a reason," she said, "but maybe there's always a way to take some good outta the bad if you can find it."

"Piffle, you are amazing." Toby leaned on her shoulder and held her tighter. Doll did too.

A burning hot rivet crashed through the window like a bullet.

Piffle shrieked, then realized she was unharmed. The rivet sizzled on the carpet and glass littered their backs, but it hadn't hurt anyone. She chuckled. "Gee whiz, that was close!"

'And there she is, back 100%,' Toby marveled.

Meanwhile, the driving was getting a bit more difficult for George. The crashes were coming closer, and quicker. He was having to dodge bigger and bigger chunks of wreckage. A swift diagonal turn kept a wing from clipping the gun turret off. Landing gear, seats, and other smaller detritus were knocked away by the nailplow. He was, at least, having success blowing up larger bits with the heated headlights and gatling gun, but it was a lot to juggle. Without fully realizing it, he'd been seeing 360 degrees by unconsciously appropriating the side mirrors as a second pair of eyes.

When it rains, it pours. More and more planes fell from the sky. Arrows of steel and glass and fuel, turning the ground to craters and the sky to smoke. George’s only advantage was that, once the planes picked their target and started to fall, they couldn't change course. They kept hitting where the Fearsleigher had already been. It was child's play to predict where they'd hit. The problem was their sheer damned numbers.

Every window was shattered by now. Piffle, Doll and Toby were huddled densely on the floor while Junella and Zinc tried to shield themselves behind the dashboard. Occasionally they'd risk a peek outside. Every glance showed a worse hell than the last. George was doing the impossible, guiding them through an unfathomable inferno.

Shattered shards littered their backs with tiny cuts. Flaming hot debris hit the floor faster than they could chuck it back out. The forest fires' heat was making blobs of black vinyl drip down Junella's legs to pool on the floor mat. Zinc hissed in pain when an icicle of bent aluminum sailed through the empty window and into his shoulder.

Junella reached out a comforting hand to him. Her voice was slurred due to melting. "How 'bout I buy dinner next time to make up for this?"

Through his pain, he managed to grin. "Sounds fair, babe. But this time I'm gettin' steak."

The endless green of this unknown planetoid had turned into volcanic reds. The trees were torches. More and more airliners seemed to spawn in the skies, relentlessly hammering down all around them.

George was running out of room to maneuver. The more crashes that came, the fewer options he had to avoid them. A scythe of fuselage tore a gash along his hood. Letting it wound him was safer than getting too close to the impact blasts on the opposite side. Pain was easy to ignore. He could be repaired. His priority was his passengers. And though he knew they could resurrect, there was a principle involved.

What drove him more than necessity was guilt. His memories replayed at the back of his thoughts: the long nights when he and his old herd would stalk, trample and devour unwary souls. How he relished the sensation of a mighty hoof crushing a spinal column. But he was something new now. To banish his old self, he had to drown it in fire. Every slash and dent in this beloved metal form was penance. As if he were reaching back into the past to take the suffering from his long-ago victims and place it upon himself where it belonged.

His pinprick eyes blazed brighter and hotter than the headlights. His body was illuminated with purpose. Trees and wreckage scattered away from the force of his bullets and plow. His wheels were like water. Shifting fluidly, drifting, skating frictionlessly between the trees. He had attained the same state of perfect purpose as Zinc slipped into when he'd been chopping down the mall.

And then something ahead grabbed his attention. "Madam McPerricone!!" he bellowed.

Piffle's head popped up. A smoldering piece of wood grazed her pith helmet. "Need some help, George?"

"You said you saw a shimmer where the exit was?"

Hope rose in her heart. "Yes! Like a wobbly place in the air! Like a funhouse mirror! I could see back home through it!"

Far ahead, hundreds of feet away, something glimmered like a ripple in a pond. George corrected course and made a beeline for it."It lies ahead!!" he shouted triumphantly.

"YES!!" Piffle exploded.

Zinc and Junella dared to look. They could see it too, the shimmer.

"Go for it, George!"  Zinc cheered. "You're faster than the Daytona 500! Faster than a space rocket! Faster than the motherfuckin' speed of light!!"

George had a straight shot. Plenty of splintered tree trunks and twisted, flaming airliner corpses along the way, but nothing he couldn't handle. He aimed for the shimmer and focused his attention in all directions around it, making sure the path was clear.

"Damnation," he snarled.

One last jet. Maybe smarter than the rest, maybe just lucky. But it was on target to impact the ground mere feet in front of the shimmer. It would hit before they could get through. George saw the wind tearing chunks away from its aluminum hide as it plummeted. Saw its expressionless black windows. It would eviscerate them.

"My companions," George spoke, "any spare willpower you could lend me right now..."

He didn't even need to finish his sentence. Junella gripped the steering wheel in her melting hands, pushing her soul into it as hard as she could.

The others saw and followed. Zinc clamped his wrenches on the dash and doorframe. Toby wasn't sure where or how to help, but he scooped up Doll in the crook of his arm and they both touched the side door.

Piffle laid hands upon the front seat headrests. She had her eyes closed, ignoring the battlefield outside and the shaking of the car. All her thoughts were on George.

Did he feel more power surge into his wheels? Did he just imagine it? Did their confidence and support help him find hidden reserves?

George did not know. He only knew that somehow, his wheels seemed to glide easier. The air resistance lessened. His speed crept past what he thought had been his maximum.

He became a bullet.

Reality seemed to warp around him. The trees were not just blurs, but swirls. All sound vanished. George's sense of touch melted away. Nothing mattered except racing that plane to be first through the shimmer. He was literally trying to outrun gravity.

Gravity was a hard opponent. The feral airplane began to slowly spin, then pick up speed, turning itself into a gigantic drill bit.

Through the shimmer, George could see vague  images of concrete and white stripes.

Zinc's wrenches dented the doorframe.

Piffle kept her eyes shut even when her hat caught fire.

Toby looked out through watery eyes. They were flying through a furnace.

The shimmer was a hole through reality. A wobbly-edged funnel through which light and matter melted and curled inward.

Two hundred feet away... one-seventy... one-thirty... eighty...

The airliner was close enough for George to see the seams in its metal nose. Its hollow black eyes seemed to grin at him. It was a shark. They were its minnows.

George felt the limits of physics holding him back by the shoulders. He snorted fire in defiance and shook them away.

The shimmer was so close he could smell it.

The airliner loomed.

Just before he shot through, George could swear he felt something scrape across his roof.

Then he was surrounded by some uncanny ether, like reality made liquid. He and his passengers stared in astonishment as time slowed to a stagger.

Behind them, the airliner dove nose-first into the dirt, its seams splitting, its panels shearing away, vomiting fire from its metal intestines. The sound was slowed and muffled. Impotent. The shockwave of the crash did little more than nudge them.

Their attention was elsewhere anyway. They saw, through the flickering, flowing walls of the shimmer, themselves. Up ahead on the offramp. About to go flying off into the sky to land on an unknown sphere where airplanes fell.

"Is that what you saw, Toby!?" Zinc breathed.

The mouse was pretty sure his heart had stopped, but tried not to let it bother him. He could see through the shimmer, across the concrete, through the back window of the Fearsleigher, into his own wide eyes. "Sort of," he croaked out.

The slo-mo ended just as suddenly as it began. They were shooting up the offramp at several hundred MPH. George's tires caught fire from the friction of the concrete.

No time to celebrate. Junella and Zinc both broke free of their awestruck paralysis to slam their hands down on the steering wheel and shove the car into the correct lane. No disagreement this time.

The blood tentacles were so flabbergasted they didn't even try to stop them.

For the second time that day, the Fearsleigher zoomed off the edge of the offramp like a shuttle to the moon.

They were all too dumbstruck by their escape to do much more than stare out the broken windshields as they sailed weightless through the air.

Doll suddenly covered her face with her hands.

"Oh crap, that's right!" Toby shouted, nearly dropping her in his haste to get a paw over his eyes.

That reminded everyone, and in an eyeblink Junella had ducked her head under the dash, George retreated into the hood, Piffle hid behind the front seats, and Zinc threw his eyeballs into the glove compartment.

Toby could still envision the expression on his face, staring out from the back seat at himself staring back at himself. "So... time travel. Does that happen often in Phobiopolis?"

"Two words," Junella replied, "FUCK and NO! Whatever the hell that was, Zinc and I've never seen it before, and that's saying something!"

A voice from under the hood: "To be perfectly honest, Sire Toby, neither have I."

Toby didn't know how to feel about the fact that there were things in this land that went beyond the knowledge of even his fearless companions.

thump

There was a minor jolt, no worse than a speed bump, and suddenly they were perfectly stationary. Before he opened his eyes, Toby could smell salt and feel moisture in the air.

He raised his head. Outside was a shimmering blue blanket that stretched as far as the eye could see.

"The river bridge," Zinc introduced.

-***-

Part Fifty-Three

Toby guessed that "the river bridge" was a name chosen out of ironic inappropriateness, or simply because it sounded good. It was certainly a lot better than, "the bridge hanging out by itself smack dab in a kazillion miles of open water".

It was conspicuous in its normalcy. Six lanes, surrounded by crisscrossing diagonal support beams and gleaming white guardrails. Many structures in Phobiopolis appeared ancient or timeless, but the river bridge looked like someone had reached down to Earth, picked up a modern-day highway bridge by its trapezoidal handle, then plopped it down in a giant bathtub. 

On all sides was a proper ocean. Water, not glass. The surface was a rich, intense blue, like lapis lazuli. The water rolled and sloshed. Its waves were content and lethargic. The air was invigorating, full of salty smells and soothing sounds. Toby knew in his gut that there were probably all sorts of untold horrors lurking just below the surface in the unseen deep, but for now, the water was calm and pretty, and that was just what his nerves needed.

Piffle pulled her arms away from her face like a self-unwrapping Christmas present. She poked her head up, periscoping around. "We made it!!" she shouted joyfully. "We're all still here!" She swept Doll into her arms for an extra-big hug, then pounced on Toby and peppered his cheek with kisses.

Junella flicked a short smile in the direction of the rear view mirror.

George took in a deep sniff of sea air and sighed deeply. He was banged up, pockmarked, overheated, and his wheels ached like hell, but he was happy. He'd fulfilled his mission. He'd raced against impossibility and won. He'd pulled off a genuine miracle. No need to brag about it to the others, but he did cheerfully dwell on the pleasant feeling for a while. "I hope everyone inside me is relatively unscathed?" he asked.

"Near 'nuff," Zinc said, pulling out the shard of fuselage. "You did a fuckuva job back there, George. You beat the devil."

The car rocked side to side a bit as the praise made him wiggle in happiness.

Piffle's smile was gargantuan as ever, but Toby could feel her muscles fluttering. She'd really been shaken by the experience, and her relief eclipsed even his. He gave her another big squeeze, then reached for the door handle.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Junella barked.

Toby looked up, a little shocked. "What did I do? I was just gonna go thank George."

"Nothin' wrong," she reassured. "And I think that's something we all ought to do. Just not yet. Wait for the spinning to stop."

Well that was a nice little chunk of dread to fling at him. "What spinning?"

Zinc checked his seatbelt again, just to be sure. "Oh, you'll see in a moment."

George snorted. "Botheration. More perils?"

"Naw. This is the easiest part of the trip. Just keep still. You'll know exactly when it's safe to move around," Junella replied.

"All bridges take you somewhere. This one just does it more literally," Zinc quipped.

The bridge was not free-floating. It did not shift with the waves. It was anchored to something deep below. Soon they felt a shudder come from beneath. Some great mechanism struggling to life. The water began to bubble at the sides of the bridge.

The juddering increased until everyone in the Fearsleigher was holding onto their seats and trying not to bite their tongues. Then some unfathomably huge cog below them managed to finally overcome inertia and engage. Waves crashed and water splashed up onto the road surface. As if attached to some gargantuan drive shaft, the bridge began to rotate. Slowly at first, like a ferry pulling out of the harbor, but then it began to gain speed.

Toby held Doll tight in his lap, ashamed that he'd let her go bumping around the interior before. He could feel the rotation of the bridge starting to churn his stomach acid. He had a feeling that if he ever went to a carnival, he would not enjoy the rides.

George could feel increasing G-forces tugging at him. "I'll slide right off!"

"No you won't!" Zinc reassured. "Just keep cool and ride it out!"

Faster and faster they spun. The water turned to sprays of white foam all around. The bridge's unseen mechanism made deep, rumbling roars beneath the water. Sounds that vibrated through the asphalt and up their spines. Everyone in the car was leaning hard to the side as the velocity of the spin kept rising and rising.

Rising and rising... literally!

Toby felt the difference when the harsh shaking of colossal machinery smoothed away into a stable spin. He could see the horizon drop outside and feel the change in weight beneath his feet. The bridge was flying! The machine below had spun it up to speed like a gyroscopic top, and now they were whirring in place, hovering above the surface of the water!

The river bridge continued to ascend. Floating on thin air, held aloft by momentum alone, it climbed to twenty feet above the water, then began to slide sideways. Without any landmarks around, their direction was unknown. But the bridge seemed to have one in mind.

Just when the spinning was starting to become unbearable and Toby was worrying he'd need to whip off Doll's bag to be sick in, he felt it start to ease.

"R-r-right on t-time," Zinc stuttered.

As slowly as the spin had begun, it reversed. But only for the car and its passengers. The bridge itself was still impersonating a berserk merry-go-round. Yet through some inexplicable means, the Fearsleigher's rotation steadily decreased until it finally eased down to a perfectly smooth stop, leaving all of them frazzled but unharmed.

It didn't help Toby to look out the window and see the bridge still buzzing in circles around them like they were its axis. Had a section detached to stop them spinning? He hadn't felt anything like that. It seemed like they were gliding in place on a cushion of frictionlessness.

"This is more like it," Zinc said. He popped his door open. "Now we can get out and stretch our legs."

Toby was about to cry out, worried the centrifugal force would fling Zinc away like a tornado.

Instead, the canine calmly stepped out onto the skate blade. He gave it a stomp. "Rock solid. Anyone wanna join me out here? Great weather for a beach party."

Junella slid out to join him. She stood up and cricked her back. "Uhhhgh. Fuckin' seat..."

Piffle perked up. "Let's go give George a hug!" She opened her door and, with a mischievous grin, grabbed Toby by the shoulders to yank him and Doll out with her. A short squeaking flight later, they were plopping down on the hood. Piffle crawled on all fours over to the stallion's skull and threw her arms around it, bombarding George with love. "You're the tops, Georgie! I love ya to the moon and back! Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

The construct was delighted. "Goodness, Madam McPerricone! You will make me blush!"

"Then we'll both be pink," she said with a giggle.

Toby looked over the hood to see the white lines on the asphalt whizzing around underneath them. They really were keeping still in one spot while the entire bridge rotated around them. "How...?" he muttered to himself.

"C'mon, Toby! Get over here and hug this horsie hero too!"

He chuckled. "Just a moment, Piffle." He was still holding Doll and tried to keep her safe while scooting himself in tiny, careful steps across the hood.

I-C-A-N-D-O-I-T, Doll spelled out.

"Well... okay." He didn't want her to go skidding off and get flung across the ocean, but he also didn't want to overprotect her. He set her down on her little plastic feet and, without an ounce of fear, she toddled over to join Piffle's hug. 'I have literally less courage than a baby doll,' Toby thought, feeling his cheeks flush. He awkwardly shuffled over to give the skull a pat as well. "You're really something special, George."

"Thank you very much for saying so, Sire Toby. I was just as surprised as you at how far I was able to exceed my own capabilities. I am glad we all made it through safely."

At that, Toby looked down to the gash in the metal his hand was resting upon. He sat up, finally taking in the damage the airline nightmares had wreaked.

It was bad, but not as bad as he'd imagined. Every single window was completely gone. The paintjob was scratched all to hell. Uncountable divots, shrapnel holes and slashes. But the Fearsleigher, and George, remained structurally intact. They'd lost every one of the nightmare-repelling plushies though. (Toby thought that must have happened a lot earlier, considering how up close and chummy the ambulances were acting back on the highway. Or maybe they were just too mean to be affected.)

Zinc balancing himself with his wrenches at the far edge of the skate blade, leaning far back to survey the aftermath. He whistled. "Luck? Skill? I dunno what you've got George, but I'm impressed as hell by it!"

"That goes double for me," Junella sang sincerely. "Thank you for pulling us out of my stupid mistake."

Any remaining pain from his battle scars faded to null. George was awestruck at this outpouring of gratitude. He didn't think his species could cry, but he wouldn't have minded if he did. This was such a new feeling from anything in his old life. He felt overwhelmed, unprepared, and deeply appreciative. "You are all welcome. I did my best for you, and am glad it was enough. We are all together, safe and sound. I could not be more pleased."

Zinc nodded. "Now, while we've got time, let's see if we can't get a few repairs in before land ho."

Piffle kissed George's temple. "Absotivey posilutely! We'll give you the royal spa treatment!"

"That would be simply stupendous, Madam McPerricone."

Zinc popped into the back seat to root around for supplies. Amazingly, the cornucopia had survived. Splintered and stepped on, but still intact. "Eyyy! Anyone else for a snack? Stress makes me ravenous." He reached inside and the first thing that touched his hand was a pack of Red Apple cigarettes. He looked surprised, but not too surprised. He stared at the pack for a moment with wistful nostalgia, then turned and chucked them far into the ocean. He went back to the cornucopia and this time found a wrenchful of red licorice. "That's more like it."

The dented cornucopia was passed around. Toby calmed his nerves with a can of cool rainwater.

George turned his head. "I do not require food or drink, Sire Toby, but I think I would find it rather refreshing to have some of that poured on top of me."

"No problem."

Toby upended the rest of the can over George's skull and the bonecuddy sighed blissfully. "Mmmm. More please?" he gently requested. Toby and Piffle both pulled out cans and started giving their nightmare friend an invigorating shower.

Soon Zinc whistled for them. "Time to punch the clock, comrades."

Piffle jumped off the hood and flitted right over, eager as could be. "Whaddaya need me to do?" Zinc said her wings would be perfect for the job and presented her with what looked like a toothpaste tube. She knew just what it was for and buzzed on over to the back window frame, starting to squeeze out liquid glass. Junella selected a soldering torch from the mat, grabbed Toby's seatbelt, secured herself, and hopped off the blade to dangle below.

Zinc noticed Toby was standing on the edge of the hood and staring down, trying to build up the courage to jump to the skate blade. "Lemme assure you that your worst fears are completely founded."

His head jerked up. The whirling pavement was mesmerizing. "Um, don't you mean 'unfounded'?"

That grin again. "Nope!"

"I thought not."

"Our first time through here, I got some real bad stupid in me and thought I'd hop outta the Killcanoe and check out the scenery." He made a gesture with his wrenches like flicking a marble: "P'chooo! Straight off the side! I managed to grab onto a chain and was dangling at the end of it for dear life! The spinning nearly knocked my whole face off!"

Toby's eyes were wide. "Geez, how'd you get back on?"

"I didn't! I fell off and died," he said nonchalantly.

From below came Junella's voice. "You cannot believe the pain in my ass trying to rescue him. I had to drive the car off the bridge, splash down, hunt around with the metal detector, throw out some rope, then wait for his dumb dead ass to reanimate so he could clamp hold of it."

Zinc busted a gut laughing. "Neither of us can swim worth shit! I sink like a rock and Juney's too buoyant. All she can do is float like a rubber duck. I hadda lock my wrenches on the rope and get towed to shore, drowning to death every coupla minutes!"

Junella could not help a snigger.

Toby was once again discombobulated that they could be so jolly about something that would have been a psyche-destroying nightmare for him.

"By the way," Zinc added, "you don't have to jump here from the hood. Try sliding down through the busted windshield."

Toby looked to his right and, indeed, there was a perfect pathway there. 'Great, now I feel cowardly AND unobservant!' The little cubes of spilled safety glass made him nervous, but he'd rather deal with them than jumping.

"In fact..." Zinc had an idea. He dug into the storage space and brought out a shopping bag. "Here ya go, boss. You and Doll can fill this up with all the glass bits and other crap. That way you can help out without having to watch the bridge do the twist."

Toby took the bag. "That's very considerate of you."

Zinc punched the mouse's shoulder. He smiled, and this time it was completely genuine. Like how a big brother might smile. "I tease ya, but it does take some time buildin' up an immunity to this place. The constant horrorshow. You're coming along a lot better than you probly realize, Toby. You're a different mouse already from when we first met."

Toby felt warm. Part of him wouldn't believe Zinc's kind words, but the rest of him was simply grateful. "...Thank you."

The canine grinned. "Besides, this leaves all the fun jobs for me!" He lightly tugged on the mouse's tail, then snatched up an imaginite welding cannon and gave it a few loud revs.

Toby chuckled and went to work.

***

Unsurprisingly, Doll was very good at hunting down all the little bits of debris that were hidden beneath the seats. Toby did his best as well. If he couldn't be brave or skilled, he could at least be meticulous. No cube of glass or scrap of metal escaped his sight.

They all chatted as they worked. Though Junella not so much, as she tended to have her hands full most of the time. They could all hear her climbing around below the blades, her torch going 'fwoosh' and sending bits of slag dripping down. George cooed and squirmed the whole time. The heat eased his tension marvelously.

In between zaps from his cannon, Zinc gobbled more illusory snacks and rambled on about whatever topic came to mind. He talked about some of the nightmare beasts they might face ahead, about his favorite music, about past jobs, and about how he could see up Piffle's skirt whenever she flew by. She made sure to wiggle her fanny at him a few times. She also helped Toby by flicking loose bits of the old windows into his bag as she filled in new ones.

"It gets off to a rough start, but man does this bridge save time," Zinc said. "I'll take a short whirly flight over hours of boating any day. No clue why this's here or how it works though. Some say all of Phobiopolis was a blank sheet until people started exploring it. That whatever they expected to find out here was what they found, and it stays like that because everyone else who comes by expects it to too. I can't cogitate on eggheady stuff like that for very long. Like, if we'd all concentrated real hard on landing on a giant rib roast instead of a bridge when we left the offramp, would it change?"

Toby chuckled at the image. "Don't ask me. I'm just vacationing here."

Thinking about geography reminded Zinc of something else. "Say, that place with all the airplanes... That's not on any map I ever seen."

"I bumped into it near Stoma. Maybe it moves around," Piffle said.

"Like a moon," Zinc considered.

That was a bizarre idea, Toby thought. A moon that orbited within the atmosphere. But it certainly wasn't too impossible a concept compared to everything else in the realm. "Do you think we're the first to discover it?"

"By the law of probability, nah," Zinc said. "Although..." A lightbulb went off above his head. "...we might be the first to claim credit! Hot damn! We could get our names in the hist'ry books!"

"That'd be swell!" Piffle said.

He bowed to her. "And you're the one who found it first, so the honor of naming it would go to you."

"Me?" Piffle fidgeted bashfully. "Golly, I wouldn't be able to decide on a name for a whole big moon. Toby? How 'bout you?"

He set down his bag (which had gotten pretty full, he was proud to say). "Me?"

"Sure! You told me about how you used to get the sniffles all the time. I'm sure you'd know lots more medical words than I would."

"Yeah," Zinc added, "you could uphold the Phobiopolan naming tradition better'n any of us."

Both the canine and hamsterfly were surprised when this suggestion sent Toby rigid with shock. The mouse froze with a rictus stare, like he'd just had cold water splashed over him. 

Piffle fluttered down to touch his shoulder. "Toby? Did I bring up bad memories or somethin'?"

He was still staring off into space. "No, no... It's not your fault, it's just..." The mouse seemed to be coming awake after a sudden, intense hallucination. "It's just that I'd been noticing it all along. The names. Everywhere we've been to, it's all been old, obscure names for diseases and injuries and things like that. Even the words I'd never heard of, I could guess they followed the same pattern. I'd actually been keeping my mouth shut about it this whole time."

Piffle cocked her head. "Why?"

Toby looked embarrassed, uncomfortable, and strangely guilty. "I thought... It's crazy, I know, but I thought that it was just too perfect a coincidence. Someone like me, who's had every illness under the sun, somehow ends up in a place where everything's named after illnesses? I thought maybe it was a sign this was all a dream. Maybe this was all here for me. Like, I'm in a coma somewhere and making it all up as I go along." He shook his head. "I don't know why it seemed to make sense, but on some level I was convinced that, so long as no one ever brought it up, I could keep holding onto it as 'proof' none of this was real."

Piffle's antennae drooped. "Sorry to pop your bubble." She leaned in for a hug.

He patted her back. "No, it's okay. I kinda already knew I was lying to myself. No dream I've ever had has lasted this long or felt so real. And honestly, I'm glad in a way. I'm glad you're all real."

Zinc and Piffle smiled at him. George craned his neck to do the same. Doll lightly touched Toby's arm. And beneath the car, Junella chuckled silently.

Toby went on. "I'll even admit, there's some parts of Phobiopolis that aren't so bad. Like all the food I've never tried before, and all the amazing things to see in Coryza and EC. But... can you blame me for holding out hope that maybe I'd just wake up one day? That I wouldn't have to keep on trudging to Anasarca, chased by monsters and ambulances and airplanes and things?"

"Yeah, I copy," Zinc said softly. For just a moment, he looked out past the clouds. "Though I dunno how it got in your head that us not talking about the names proved you were havin' naptime."

Toby sighed. "Dream logic, I guess? It was like I knew a secret everyone else didn't, and they should have been, and that didn't fit, so..." The theory seemed to make less sense the more he tried to explain it. "...So it really is just a coincidence."

"They happen," Zinc said with a shrug.

Something else occurred to him. "Actually, now that I think of it, the only place I've been to that I know breaks the pattern is Phlogiston. I saw that in a book. It's a nonexistent substance people used to think made things catch fire."

Zinc suddenly looked sheepish. "Yeah... heh heh. Juney and I chose that when we moved in. We were kinda cocky and wanted to claim the place for the queen of Spain, get me? But we, ah, misremembered what the word meant and by then it was too late. We'd already painted the sign."

"And misspelled it," Toby remembered. "'Baware' of Tinder Fingers?"

"Hey, I was still teaching myself to write with these things!" Zinc clanked his wrenches. "I was paying more attention to penmanship than spelling. Heck, for how clumsy I was back then, that sign's a flippin' masterpiece."

Piffle giggled behind her paws.

Shifting the focus, Zinc pointed out, "You never did give us an answer, Toby. Naming rights to a moon. Anything that strikes your fancy. What'll it be?"

"Uh..." The mouse sputtered for a second. He put his trash bag aside and cleared his mind, trying to remember a lifetime's worth of doctor's appointments. All the long, complicated names of conditions he'd once had. He'd neglected to mention what was truly the best about Phobiopolis. He was healthy here. He'd been symptom-free for so many days now, he was beginning to forget what sickness had felt like.

"Kartagener," he said absently. It came to him without thought as he rustled through his big box of diseases. "From my Kartagener's Syndrome. It sounds as much like a place as anywhere else, I guess."

"I think it's a very nice name," Piffle said. "Prolly too nice for a place like that to deserve," she added.

"Kartagener it is then." Zinc leaned over to pluck an ice cream cone for Toby from the cornucopia. "Mazel tov."

Toby took a lick and Piffle darted in to steal one too. They both giggled.

Then they were interrupted by George clearing his throat. "Excuse me, but I have been waiting for a natural break in the conversation to point out that I believe I can see our destination."

Everyone craned their necks.

"And congratulations, Sire Toby. It is a fine name."

Toby gave the window frame a 'thank you' pat.

Phobiopolis was back to doing its unseen scene transitions. Toby wondered if the scenery waited for everyone to be distracted before it changed, or if there was a fuzzy place in the middle where one place blurred into another. Either way, the bridge had carried them very high up into the sky amongst endless foamy clouds of fog. Many yards ahead, just barely visible, was a dull orange rock formation. A lone pillar amongst cotton candy.

"Looks like we got just enough time to pack up the tools 'fore we dock," Zinc said.

"I'm almost done with the windows!" Piffle said, dashing back to work.

Below, they could hear Junella's torch roar its raspy hiss. "Just a few more spots, Georgie-sugar. I'll get you all patched up 'n shipshape."

"I appreciate everyone's attention very, very much," he told her.

"Least we can do for my favorite tank," she replied.

Toby handed his bulging trashbag to Zinc. "Here. I think Doll and I got everything."

"Good job, both a ya." He gave Toby his equivalent of a thumbs-up (extending the screw on his wrench), then patted Doll on the head.

She seemed a bit stunned at the friendly touch.

Once Zinc had clambered up onto the roof to feed the garbage into the casing chute, Toby bent down and whispered to her, "I think you're starting to fit in."

She looked up to him. It was hard to read her expression from the tiny eyeholes in the bag, so she bent over and scribbled on her pad for a moment. She handed Toby the paper:

"I'm HAppy. ALL I've wANTed THIs wHoLe TIme Is To NoT maKe peopLe scareD."

Toby gave her a warm smile.

She put her writing pad away and opened her arms.

Toby picked her up and sat her on his shoulder so she could see across the rolling white mists. "We'll get you all fixed up when we reach Anasarca. I'm sure Aldridge will be able to help."

Doll nodded. B-O-T-H-O-F-U-S, she spelled.

"You can be who you used to be, or choose a whole new look. But you'll have a face again. And a voice. I don't know if I can promise it, but I'll do everything I can for you to make it come true."

A tiny finger wrote on his shoulder, T-H-A-N-K-Y-O-U-T-H-A-N-K-Y-O-U-T-H-A...

***

Piffle, Doll, and Toby were all buckled in for docking. They could see the rock plateau much clearer now. It was the color of pumpkin pie and, though there was no telling how tall the pillar was, the space on top was roughly equal to a parking lot. (Though not EC's.) Junella and Zinc weren't in their seats. They stood on either side of the front doors, gazing ahead through the fog and hoping to spot any danger signs before they became actual danger.

George was feeling rather well, all things considered. A nice clean interior, new windows, and most of his scars sealed over. He was slightly embarrassed to be seen in public with a ruined paint job and flecks of silver sealant along his hide, but he reasoned to himself that performance was more important than looks.

The river bridge's spinning slowed steadily. It eased up to the rock plateau and finally bumped against it with barely a jolt. Like it'd done this a thousand times before.

Junella thumped the roof. "Roll out, George! Before it decides we want to head back for a swim!"

"Straight away!" Though when he rolled forward he winced, as his tires were still a bit sore from the rough ride Kartagener had given him. Thankfully the flat, sandy rock was not too coarse beneath his tender treads.

Once they were off, the river bridge waited around a few moments more, as if checking whether anything else wanted to debark from it. Then it gave a shrug as if to say, 'Not my problem', and began again to rotate. The six travelers watched it spin back up to its previous velocity and vanish away into the clouds. Piffle waved out the window and thanked it.

Junella hopped down from the skate to scout around, making sure everything was as she remembered it from last time. No more unexpected unpleasantries. She drew in a deep breath through her nose, then coughed. "Yep. Same stink."

That left Zinc to resume his role as tour guide. "Welcome, welcome, welcome, ladies and gentleman, to the charming vacation paradise of Lumbago! ...And yes, it actually is Lumbago this time."

"I heard that!" Junella barked.

Zinc 'tee-hee'ed. "Scenic land of ten-thousand birdshit-splattered rocks, with creaky rope bridges as far as the eye can see. If you're afraid of heights, well then, tough titty said the kitty."

Toby made a face. "I think I'll be staying in the car."

"Y'sure? This next part's kinda fun." Zinc got a manic gleam in his eye. "Watch this!" He jumped down from the blade with a dusty thump and ran off across the plateau.

Toby leaned out the window and held Doll where she could see too. Outside, a half-acre of rock was the only visible land. There could have been innumerable pillars like this all around, but if so, the mist was hiding them like a miser. Toby wanted to believe it was just a whole lot of ground fog, but from the harshness of the wind he felt sure they were literally walking among the clouds.

A thought struck him out of the blue: how were they going to get the Fearsleigher down from here? Unless another bridge was due to show up soon, they'd been marooned on a towering stone finger hundreds of miles in the air. Maybe Zinc had an idea. And maybe-

Wait.

Was Zinc running straight towards the edge of the plateau!?

Zinc's tongue was hanging out the side of his mouth, flapping in the breeze. His feet pounded rhythmically against rock. He kept his gaze locked ahead, not paying attention to the fact that there was nothing visible ahead but clouds.

He ran at full speed onto nothingness.

"Zinc!!" Piffle shouted.

Toby clutched the windshield.

Zinc kept running.

"He's doing that thing again," Junella commented with mild irritation.

The ground left him behind. The wind whipped through his cheekfur. It made his ears and jacket flutter. His heart was beating hammerstrikes against his ribs. Zinc blocked out everything else but momentum. He kept straight for a few yards, then dared to curve his path a little, back towards the rock. It'd been a while since he'd done this.

Toby's jaw was hanging open. The world had turned into a cartoon on him. Zinc was acting out the scene where a villain would run off a cliff, then remain in the air for as long as they didn't look down.

Though looking closer, that wasn't the case. Toby could see blurs of motion below his canine compadre. As Zinc made a looping turn back towards the car, thin pillars would shoot up to meet every footstep. Like he was running across a path of stepping stones, but they only existed for the exact split-second they were needed.

Piffle cheered wildly as Zinc zoomed in for a landing. He was panting hard, gaze frenzied. The moment he was back on terra firma, he slid to a stop and bent double, wrench-hands on his knees, sucking in huge lungfuls of oxygen.

"Holy... moley... macaroni!" he moaned, "I forgot... how fuckin' THIN... the AIR is... up here!"

He looked for a moment like he might pass out, then he gulped down one more gasp and stood up in a 'tada!' pose, a goofy grin on his muzzle.

Piffle clapped her paws pink. "Woo hoo! That's stupendous! How in the world didja do it?"

"No trick, really," he rasped as he started dragging his tired pelt back to the car. "The rocks pop up automatic-like. All you gotta do is keep running. But that's also the tricky part, 'cause you don't dare stop. One hesitation and down you go."

Toby was speechless for a moment at Zinc's stunt. Then an absolutely awful thought occurred to him. "Waitaminnit! We're not all gonna have to run across to get where we're going, are we!?"

Zinc chuckled at how the mouse's panic had made his voice rise an octave. "Naw, naw." He was starting to get his breath back to a normal rate. "Vehicles work fine. You can stay in the car."

All of a sudden, Toby felt sheepish about that. "I mean... maybe I could do it. If I really tried."

Zinc waved away his worry. "I have a policy against wasting my time on false bravado. I suggest you adopt the same. Fact is, what I just did is as difficult as it is stupid. I'm a professional moron, remember? Try it sometime: do one thing, continuous-like, without the slightest skip. It's hard. And it's harder the more you try and concentrate on it."

"I can imagine," Toby said. "Like dumbfounding."

George nodded towards the group. "I should think I will be able to accomplish such a task with relative ease," he said. Then quickly added, "Not to brag! I am merely acknowledging that nightmare constructs are naturally skilled at being... single-minded."

"Good to hear," Zinc said. He ducked under the car, then popped up on Junella's side, hoisting himself up on his elbows. "You were always good at it too, partner. Whattaya think? A race? Me and you?"

"Across the canyon!?" she sputtered. She flicked her scarf over her shoulder in annoyance. "Zinc, after all that hardship on the highway, I don't want to do anything but sit. Take it easy for a while."

He shrugged. "Perfectly reasonable, perfectly reasonable. I understand if you're too weakened from all the excitement..."

"Now you wait just a minute!"

Zinc tried to keep a straight face. "No, no, Juney! It's all copacetic! You have yourself a little relax. After all, fursons your age do need to rest more frequently."

Junella very nearly blew flames out of her ears.

***

It was breathtaking to watch them run.

Toby was spectating out the side window while George powered across the canyon. Junella and Zinc were bounding ahead of them at a steady pace. The carrot-colored pillars sprang up perfectly beneath their feet, fast as bullets. Toby had no idea how they worked or why. He wondered who had discovered them, and was able to guess how that first encounter had gone. Piffle was zipping along behind the racing pair, humming an energetic melody to spur them on.

Zinc's strategy seemed to center on distraction while Junella was pure focus. The canine joked with Piffle along the way, laughing, singing; whatever he could to keep his mind too busy to think about what he was doing. He wanted his feet on autopilot and his brain engaged elsewhere. Whereas Junella kept her movements robot-rigid and her gaze locked on-target. Her eyes looked like painted marbles. While Zinc was trying to win through a separation of mind and body, Junella's mind was a taskmaster with a whip, forcing her vinyl to perform to perfection.

Toby found himself wondering what was happening beneath the Fearsleigher. When one is thousands of miles high, one takes an interest in what is holding themselves up. He leaned out of his seat as far as he dared, but the skate blade was blocking his view. Finally, he asked George what he could see up front.

"Nerve-wracking, Sire Toby!" the stallion replied. "Two lanes of stone appear beneath my tires and vanish the instant I'm off them. They blur, but I believe the pillars are laid out very closely together in a hexagonal pattern. For efficiency, no doubt. I much prefer driving on a surface that I am certain exists before I set hoof upon it."

Toby gazed ahead. With the wind whipping at his nose, it was more noticeable how much the air up here really did stink. Like a spice rack overrun with rot. Maybe the clouds were made of something other than water vapor. 'There's a thought that'll do nothing but give me stress.'

Meanwhile, Zinc could feel his lungs starting to burn. He was drinking down air in open-mouthed chugs, but his lungs were still hungry. He looked ahead through the clouds. He thought he could see a darker place, but whether it was land or an illusion was unknown.

"Hey Juney, how you holdin' up?" he asked. He tried to sound casual, but there was a wheeze to his voice.

She did not waste momentum on speaking. She merely turned her head and gave him a small, sharp nod. Her movements were still those of a tireless machine. Inside her mind though, she felt like she was barely holding herself together by strings and rubber bands. This race was a dumbass idea. It was not the breezy blow-off activity she'd expected when they'd started. Her only strength right now was that she had a better poker face than Zinc. She told her legs that they'd damn well better keep going unless they wanted to be ferried to shore by Piffle, who'd be singing the entire time. That thought coaxed a bit more cooperation out of them.

Zinc had been sure it was just his mind giving him false hope, but no. That dark patch ahead wasn't disappearing. Hard rock at last! He cautioned himself about getting too happy. It wouldn't matter how close the finish line was if he got overeager and missed a step.

But then he saw movement within the dark patch.

He blinked, trying to make it be a trick of the eye.

No. Something was definitely walking back and forth in there. Something tall and stoop-shouldered.

"Junella..." He was too winded for more than a hoarse whisper.

This new development complicated things. Although really, there was only one thing to do. Zinc knew his partner would call him a cheater for this, but oh well.

Junella noticed Zinc swinging his wrenches back and forth now. Big, apelike lunges to hurl his weight forward faster. 'Trying that trick on me? Oh you mutt...'

Zinc could see the shape in growing clarity as he drew closer. Junella hadn't noticed it, her focus was still on winning. Zinc shoved his strength into his arms. Back... and FORTH, back... and FORTH. When he thought his rhythm was dead-on, he kicked forward in a long jump and swung his wrenches in a circle, pounding himself forward through the air.

Piffle gasped and zoomed after him.

For just a moment, Zinc was flying. He looked below, saw nothing to catch him, and found the strength to cycle his wrenches around one more time. It was just enough of a kick. His feet skidded onto sand at an awkward, painful angle, but his toeclaws held.

The shape's head jerked towards the sound.

Zinc rolled with his momentum. As soon as his stance was solid, he held his wrenches out to the sides, signaling danger to everyone behind him.

A second later, Piffle bumped into his steel barrier. "What's..."

"Shhhhh," Zinc said immediately.

The clouds stopped right at the edge of the rock like a misty wall. Breaking through, the thing that had caused the urgency in Zinc's voice was now revealed. Once Piffle saw it, she had no problem obeying his order.

Pissed as a polecat could be, Junella arrived in second place. She was just about to start cussin', but her anger was immediately jettisoned by the sight of the creature before her. 'Twelve hopping fucks,' she thought. Her hand sought her cutlass reflexively.

Zinc shook his head at her, expression saying, 'Not yet.'

The situation had suddenly turned very bad for George. He could see three of his passengers standing still just ahead, and he was barreling towards them, nailplow-first. Something very messy was about to happen unless he took drastic action.

"Hold tight!" he called to his passengers, and took a big risk.

Hoping the pillars would remain in place beneath him, he hurled his entire weight sideways. His wheels slid like ice, but retained momentum, and whatever force guided the rock pillars seemed to count this as fair. So instead of falling, he drifted. And instead of crashing into ZP&J with a wedge of spiky death, he skidded in flank-first. The skate-blade swooped inches above the trio's heads and swatted off Piffle's hat.

George could barely believe he'd done that. Two of his tires were on solid ground. The others jutted halfway past the cliff's sheer edge, dirt trickling out from beneath. And no one had died! He allowed himself a moment of pride.

Toby went from amazed to terror-stricken in exactly as long as it took for his eyes to travel from the skate blade to the unspeakably ugly beast standing mere feet away from it.

It seemed stunned, confused. That was very good because it bought Zinc precious time. Normally these things pounced at the first sound of footsteps. But there had been three sets, and it was not sure which to devour first, and then a very loud thing happened that scrambled its primitive mind completely.

It was a biteranodon. Their first encounter with one had been as an entree on Piffle's plate. Now they were seeing one in the flesh.

Six feet tall at the shoulder. Eight, if you counted the head. It covered itself in a trenchcoat of its own folded wings. Battered, matted, flaking things that looked like shedding leather dipped in crude oil. Its feet were enormous Xs, covered in hard scales and curled talons. Its head was the crescendo of its horror, for its name was a descriptive double pun.

Picture the distinctly elongated, triangular head of a prehistoric pterosaur: the scissor-like beak with its tiny, hooked teeth. Now imagine a mirror placed across this image horizontally, creating a center jaw with teeth above and below. Three pieces in total. Like the bowl, seat, and lid of a toilet. Two tongues, two throats, uncountable teeth.

Such a configuration left no room for anything but mouth. The thing had no eyes, just two round dents in its bald, buzzardish head where they might have been on a saner creature. It swung its head back and forth on its desk-lamp neck, listening at the place where it had moments ago heard prey.

It stank. This was where the smell was coming from. Toby had smelt this hideous bird from all the way over on the plateau. Like hot garbage left at the curb for a week. Like a dumpsterload of expired meat. Toby did not need to be told to keep still, or recognize the way the blind beast searched for them with its ears. Its stench alone was enough to gag him silent.

Junella, Zinc and Piffle had all gotten the wind knocked out of them by George, but had suffered nothing worse than bruises and dirt smears. They watched the nightmare bird. It shuffled from foot to foot, its mouths opening and closing, exhaling hot gas so vile it was visible.

The biteranodon made a series of 'cuk cuk cuk' sounds, like radar pings.

Barely a whisper, Zinc said to Piffle, "In hindsight, I probly shoulda warned you about the local wildlife."

Gaze fixed ahead, she nodded. And then the hamsterfly remembered the clothes she was wearing. What her role in this expedition was. Moving as silently as she could, she stood up.

Zinc reached out to stop her, but she was already padding towards the thing. Nothing he could do now but follow her lead.

Junella mouthed the words, 'What the fuck is she doing? Trying to make it her pet!?'

Keeping her eyes on the beast, Piffle picked up her left foot with utmost care, placed it without a sound, then picked up the other one. Her breathing sounded as loud as an accordion to her, with her heart an accompanying tympani.

"Hey there, Mr. Parakeet," she said shakily.

Its double-jaws snapped at the sound. It took a step forward. It swiveled its skull back and forth, waiting for her to speak again so it could triangulate her.

Sweat was swimming down Piffle's forehead. The biteranodon loomed, much taller than her. She could only imagine what it concealed beneath those wings. She wondered which mouth would start eating her first if she messed this up.

She looked in all directions, thanking luck for her multifaceted eyes.

When the others were ready, she spoke again. "I'm right here."

Her first sound had sent the creature into high alert. Its nerves were taut as violin strings. At this second sound, it lunged forward like a cobra, both mouths open.

Piffle saw three silver flashes in her peripheral vision. Then blood was pouring down onto the rock at her feet.

Zinc and Junella had positioned themselves just behind Piffle's shoulders. When the biteranodon's head shot forward to clamp down on its prey, Zinc had swung both of his wrenches in a double arc to pulp its skull between them. In almost the same instant, Junella's cutlass had opened its throat, just to be sure. Congealed blood, thick with tumorous chunks, spilled out like a toxic faucet.

Piffle backed up, Zinc let go, and the dead thing fell forwards to smack wetly against the rock.

Zinc took in a very long, deep breath. "That... was not a parakeet."

"You said it, brother!" Piffle agreed, trembling. She wiped her feet on the dirt, backing away from the blood.

Junella watched the creature for a moment more. It spasmed once, but that was just a death twitch. When she was sure it was fully dealt with, she turned around towards the Fearsleigher, beckoning everyone closer.

George was more than happy to scoot away from the precipice's edge. He opened his door for Toby to emerge.

The mouse hopped down carrying Doll. His eyes were still glued to the dead dinosaur-thing. He was stunned by the speed Zinc and Junella had shown, and ashamed he'd done nothing to help. Though, was there anything he could have done besides keep quiet?

Junella waited for their attention. "Biteranodon," she sang in a teacher's voice. "Smelly. Ugly. Hungry. If you look up you will see lots of them. They're blind as baseball bats and just as stupid, but as you can guess, they hunt by sound. They don't usually enter the clouds because it's like acid on their skin. From here until we get to Fistula, we will stay in the car, and we will keep our voices down. We had to kill this one quick because even a single squawk will bring the rest of them down in the nastiest family reunion picnic you've ever seen. Comprendo, muchachos?"

Toby nodded forcefully.

"Not to scare you too much," she added as she sheathed her sword. "They're easier to kill than pickin' dandelions. But there's a lot of them. I don't exactly relish the thought of having their stink on me all afternoon."

Just to keep the dead one from regenerating, Zinc scooped his wrenches underneath and bulldozed it over the edge of the rock pillar. They heard it clunk against the side a few times as it fell, but the dull sound was no louder than Junella's song.

Toby looked up at the sky. He understood Junella mistaking Kartagener for this place. As thick as the sky had been with airliners there, here there were just as many biteranodons. They made lazy circles in the cloudless air, ears pointed towards the ground, listening.

Zinc gave Piffle a boost onto the skate blade. She pulled him up afterwards. "You make great bait, Kate," he whispered.

"And you're pretty quick on the draw... I-Can't-Think-Of-A-Rhyme-For-That." She giggled and gave him a peck on the cheek.

He paused. For the first time he began to realize that maybe this had gone beyond play-flirting.

'Would I mind that?'

Junella jumped up and collapsed in the driver's seat. She could feel her calves pulsing angrily. First the race had drained her, then that bird had put her on nerve's edge. She felt like an empty gas can.

Zinc leaned in through the window. "Y'know, I did win the race."

"By cheating," she pointed out.

"That's a matter of opinion. But even though the bet's off, could we possibly say that winners get to drive for the next little while?" he pleaded sweetly.

Her stare could have been packaged as pesticide.

"C'mon, Junebug! I knocked over a mall for us!"

She stonewalled a moment, then considered that a passenger seat was a place she could relax. "Awright."

'Tee-hee'-ing, Zinc took her place. He tried to conceal how tired he was too.

"You're gonna bring up that mall thing in every argument we have now for the rest of our lives, aren't you?"

"You betcher fur."

Once all his doors were shut and he could feel his passengers safely accounted for, George whispered, "Do we have a direction from here?"

"Pick one," the canine replied. "No matter where you go it's like a funnel. It all ends up in one place..." He grimaced just thinking about it. "We've got a nickname for it: Hell's Arse."

"Oh, it ain't that bad," Junella groused. "Least it's quick."

"My arms melt every time we go in there!!"

"So do I, but you don't hear me bellyachin'!"

"You're not made of metal! Stuff is painful!"

"And wax ain't!?"

Toby got the impression he might want to put on some sunscreen before they arrived.

-***-

Chapter Fifty-Seven

Windows up. Doors locked. Everyone quiet.

Now that the clouds were behind them, everyone could see they way forward. It was not a pretty sight. Drifting mist still clung to the air, but through it could be glimpsed dozens more skyscraping rock towers, all interconnected via a spider's web of rope bridges. Each bridge looked ratty, narrow, and fully exposed to attacks from above. George made careful calculations before tiptoeing onto the first one, making absolutely certain the skate blades would have clearance and not shear the linchposts off.

Toby watched the bridge sway with the wind. It was so very easy to imagine it snapping under George's weight. And how much did George weigh? With five passengers inside him?

As if that wasn't enough of a worry, Toby became aware of something else. Bird droppings. Decades' worth. Greenish splats covered every inch of the pillars and bridges. Toby had never been more glad to be sealed behind glass. He could practically see the germs swimming around out there, just itching to crawl up the tires and march right into his mouth.

George's keen eyes scanned the horizon. He began to understand what Zinc had told him about how their choice of route didn't matter. From his current position there were several branching paths, but further away there were fewer and fewer. All routes converged to one point beyond his sight. A place Zinc had implied would be overbearing in temperature.

No one inside spoke a word. They were glued to the windows, unable to stop themselves from staring down. Even though Junella and Zinc had been through here before, it was impossible not to worry if today would be the day these old ropes finally gave up.

George was cautious in testing each bridge before setting tread upon them. He'd give the first few rungs a violent bounce with a front tire, feeling for any strain or looseness. Most seemed decently sturdy. He wouldn't have been confident tearing across them at top speed, but at a moderate pace he felt reassured enough. Though one time his test made the whole thing unravel in an instant. George watched the remains of the bridge swing down and away into the mist. Gone. 'Thank goodness there are four more to choose from.'

This was a shorter bridge, currently. Only twenty-three feet. Some of the ones he'd seen ahead connected far more impressive spans. The wind at this height was not inconsiderable, so he took his time crossing. He was very glad for his skate blades: they functioned like a tightrope walker's pole, keeping his center of gravity where it belonged. Relieved sighs came from his passengers whenever they felt solid rock beneath them.

Not for long though. This plateau was puny. Only two bridges led away from it. George picked the left one, tested it, then headed across.

Toby didn't want to stare outside and think about plummeting, but his brain was being morbidly curious. Dread turned to disgust when he got a closer look at what the bridge's ropes were made of.

He remembered his bathroom at home. The shower. The monstrous tangles of fur that his mother would pull from the drains when they clogged. And it didn't matter what color fur went in: the clogs always came out the same sludgy black.

That kind of brackish, begrimed hair was exactly what the ropes were woven from. Grimy, tainted hair, accessorized with wads of crud. Oh lord, he could feel that hair just by looking at it. His sadistic imagination pictured him being forced to walk across it in bare feet. Squishing with every step.

Toby physically grabbed his head and turned it away from the window. The revulsion had been hypnotic. He needed something to knock the imagined texture out of his mind. "Someone give me something else to think about so I don't get sick!"

Junella made a 'keep it down' gesture.

"Sorry!" he squeaked. "I just saw all that hair and..." He gagged.

Junella was sympathetic, but snickered anyway. She ran her hands along her smooth curves. "Thankfully, hair clogs are not something I have to worry about." She turned her head to Zinc. "...Unless HE gets in the shower before me," she said pointedly.

"Poor baby. Gotta deal with my shedding? Try the circus act of having to lather up using only your feet," he shot back.

Toby wondered about that for a second, then pictured the utter catastrophe of Zinc trying to maneuver his wrenches around inside a shower. There'd be broken tile and shampoo everywhere. That image distracted him from his disgust enough for a laugh to pop out.

Zinc was glad to see he'd lifted the mouse's mood. He reached below his seat and found a lever. The whole thing rotated ninety degrees so he could address the back seat more easily.

Junella blinked. "They can do that?" She started fiddling around under her seat and was rather delighted when she found the lever. She only wished Zinc had told her about this earlier. No more stiff neck!

Toby liked the swivel-seat idea too. If they'd had a little table, they could have set up a card game between them. 

"We're not gonna make the ropes any stronger by worryin' at 'em, so let's pass the time with some shit-shooting. For starters..." he rubbed his neck, "sorry about my unprofessional conduct back there. I should've warned you two about the birds before I went runnin' off."

Piffle whisked her paw. "Water under the bridge. I forget stuff all the time." She remembered wanting to play with Doll's hair and now was a perfect time for it. She asked her plastic pal if it was allright and received an enthusiastic nod. Soon Doll was unbagged and immobile, but enjoying the feel of Piffle's fingers on her scalp.

Toby nodded. "I'm not mad either, Zinc. You've forgiven a lot of my screwups, and honestly, we just went through a horror highway and an airplane barrage. I can understand why you and Junella wanted to blow off steam. If this place didn't smell so bad, I'd be tempted to get out and stretch my legs too."

Zinc nodded appreciatively. "Allright, I just hadda get it off my chest. It was unbecoming of a bodyguard-slash-tour-guide-slash-mayhem-artisté such as myself."

Toby laughed. He was glad they all were talking now. It was a heck of a lot better than just staring out the windows and fending off acrophobia. Another topic came to mind. "Hey. Um. I was curious. When I go home, what do you guys think you'll do afterwards?"

Piffle's antennae poked up. "I hadn't thought of that."

"I have," said Zinc. He reached in his jacket pocket for a blackened rag and started buffing his wrenches with it. "The way I see it, assuming we get back down the mountain in one piece, we're gonna be hot shit supreme for having been there. Might even get on TV. It'll be good for business, that's for sure. I'm hopin' we can get enough imaginite pouring in, I can finally start work on my dream car."

"You've been talking about it long enough," Junella needled.

He laughed because she was right. "Everything I've built so far's been all about function. I wanna do something with form." He gestured like a woman's curves. "I want red paint, and so much chrome you could die. I want lines like ocean waves. Two big round 'hello sailor' headlights. Six axles! An engine that purrs like a cheetah! Huge fuckin'-"

A playful kick from Junella cut him off.

"Heh. Started workin' myself up a bit there."

"You don't dream big enough, partner." Junella leaned back in her seat, crossing her arms behind her head. She looked past the ceiling to imaginary clouds. "We've done a lot together, and we've built a lot. But you've never made me something that flies."

"I didn't know you wanted one," he said, sounding interested in the prospect.

"I dunno where the idea came from. It's recent. Maybe I dreamed it, but... I got this image in my head of the Jennie-Mae, remastered. What if we fixed her up new? Gave her some lift?"

Visions of a flying pirate ship floated through everyone's minds. They all had to admit it was a pretty damn cool idea.

"Spose it's possible..." Zinc muttered, already considering propulsion, aerodynamics and armaments. Once upon a time, their ship had sailed. Just a few feet of hover, but it was enough to get them place to place. Then an encounter with a wormhole and a raincloud had ended all that. He'd been meaning for the longest time to fix her back up, but there was always something else that needed his attention.

"Possible or not, it's fun to think about," Junella sang languidly. "Maybe we could get George to power it somehow."

From up front, George's trying-not-to-sound-too-excited voice responded, "You know I enjoy flying."

She liked that he was on board with the idea so quickly. It was pure fantasy, she knew. But if they were just throwing out wishes, why not? She glanced over at Piffle. "So then, shortcake, what about you?"

The hamsterfly replied straightaway, not even looking up from Doll's hair. "I'm gonna marry Zinc and settle down in a little cottage by the lake."

Zinc did not have any liquid in his mouth with which to do a spit-take, but he improvised.

Piffle put her paws over her mouth to keep her laugh quiet. "I'm just teasin'!"

"Whew! Nearly had a heart attack there. No offense intended, but I don't see myself as the ball-and-chain type." He blinked. "Plus, yeesh! Would our kids ever be ugleee!"

Piffle giggled again. "Actually, I was-"

The car came to a sudden stop.

Everyone looked up and around for danger. But George wasn't sounding an alarm, so they eased back into their seats and relaxed.

Piffle's gaze was still fixed out the window, just in case. "I forgot what I was gonna say..." She noticed her hand was still resting atop Doll's curly locks. "What about you then? Do you have any plans after we reach the mountain?"

Doll couldn't answer, since she was currently being seen. So Piffle placed the little writing pad in her hands and covered her up with the bag again. The car was quiet enough to hear the scratch of pencil on paper.

Finally, Doll poked Piffle and she felt a folded sheet pass into her palm.

"Izzit okay if I read it out loud?" Piffle asked.

Doll nodded.

"Okeydoke." Piffle inhaled and began to read with a smile, but that quickly evaporated as she heard what she was saying.

"I wAnT To Be A womAn AGAIn. I wANT To Be seeN. I wAnT To wALK oN NoRmAL LegS uP To THe man wHo LocKeD ME IN THIs BoDY & SpIT IN HIs fAcE. I wAnT To Be ALIve."

There were tears at the edges of Piffle's eyes when she finished. She leaned over Doll and cradled her gently, kissing the top of her head, unable to say another word.

Everyone felt a shift in their attitude towards their plastic companion.

It was easy to think of her as a prop, a toy, a mascot. But there was a truer word for what she was: handicapped. Though her current form was a miniature mix of cute and grotesque, none of them really had any idea what she was inside. She was like a quadriplegic. Unable to move without special equipment. Unable to speak. Her silence made her seem less real than everyone else.

Piffle felt sudden, intense guilt over treating Doll like a baby. Speaking to her in a cutesy tone, playing with her hair. As respectfully as she could, she lifted Doll from her lap and placed her at her side as an equal.

The burlap bag rustled. Soon another reply was pushed out.

"YOu meAnT nO DISReSPecT."

"I do care about you very much," Piffle said, nodding. "I'm sorry if I forget sometimes you're not really a doll. Maternal instincts, I guess. I can't wait until you're whole and real again and we can talk together and I can hear your voice. I'm sure it's pretty."

Doll reached out a burlap-covered hand to gently touch Piffle's thigh.

The hamsterfly smiled warmly and put her furred paw atop it. Then something moved in her peripheral vision.

She turned her head and froze.

Her voice was hoarse and quiet. "Oh Toby... you really don't wanna look out your window right now."

Zinc's attention had been on Doll. Now he looked to Piffle, then at the side window. He found it difficult to believe he hadn't seen the shadow crawling across the interior.

It was standing on the skate blade, listening to them.

The biteranodon had been hanging asleep below the rope bridge. Hours ago it had dived beneath the mist for a chance at consuming one of the rabbitlike constructs that roosted in the rocks. Now, with a full belly and too much cowardice to fly back up through the stinging fog, it had been waiting for more food to come along. Lo and behold, it had.

Everyone in the car did their best impressions of mannequins.

George was in a panic. Shame and dread overwhelmed him. He had stopped cold when he'd heard the rustle of greasy feathers beneath his wheels, then felt the odious thing's touch upon him as it walked up from underneath the bridge. There wasn't a single thing he could do to stop it. And how could he give any warning to his passengers? He contemplated taking over the gatling gun again to blast it to shreds, but a noise like that would bring down all the others. He was between the devil and the deep blue sea.

The only motion inside the Fearsleigher was four pairs of eyes looking back and forth amongst themselves.

Barely moving her mouth, Piffle said, very quietly, "Maybe it will go away."

But that was unlikely. It had heard their voices already. That meant the big wheely box had food in it. The sounds had stopped, but biteranodons are not quite so stupid as to think that an absence of sound means prey has vanished. The construct's head swung back and forth like a pendulum. It lifted one foot and scraped the talons across the window, listening for meatsounds of panic.

Toby did not make any, but holy hell did he want to. The nightmare's face was less than a foot away from his. The sunken, eyeless pits. Those tiny, yellowed teeth in agonizing detail. The biteranodon's rank breath began to fog the window. Toby watched its upper and lower mouths opening and closing like a double metronome.

Junella looked tired already. Her needles skimmed delicately across her grooves. "I actually thought we were gonna get all the way across this time without having to go through the goddam duck hunt routine."

"We've never made it this far," Zinc said through gritted teeth.

Junella exploded as quietly as possible, "IT'D BE NICE FOR ONCE."

Slowly, slowly, slowly, Toby was extending his hand. He was opening his palm. He was feeling his hammer inside, nestled between his radius and ulna, readying it to come out.

The bird's head passed back and forth with an unreadable expression. It tried to bite through the glass but gained no mouthful of meat. It took a step back, looking vexed.

Everyone hoped with all their heart this meant it was about to give up and fly away.

Actually, it had run out of patience.

"REEEEEAAAAAWWUUUK!!!"

It reared back and slammed its head through the window, scattering sparkling shards like raindrops.

Everyone screamed.

It was over so fast that, afterwards, Toby couldn't even describe what he'd done.

When the glass exploded, he was already itching to deploy his hammer. When the ghastly bird came ramming through like a linebacker, Toby's hand shot forward to block. Pure reflex. His palm touched its dome. There was a sound like a gunshot.

The biteranodon's head ceased to exist.

Toby shrieked and bounded over Piffle. Aerosolized bird meat now painted the car's interior. The nightmare's body went limp and physics took over. Without a brain to hold it up, gravity took hold of the stinking corpse and yanked it right out the window, past the blade, then down, down, down over the side of the bridge.

For a moment, everyone was dead quiet except for the piston-thumping of their hearts.

Junella's jaw was in her lap. "WHAT THE PISSING SHIT DID YOU JUST DO, TOBY!?"

Toby was unaware he was still crab-walking over Doll and Piffle's laps. He just wanted as much distance between himself and that gore-soaked broken window as possible. "I HAVE NO IDEA!!!"

With Toby's hand squashing her face, Piffle hiccuped and blurted rapidly, "After Anasarca I was gonna move my mom and me into a nice house in Coryza and maybe get a job as a nurse!!!"

Everyone looked at her.

Zinc blinked. "Well that's very nice but..." He looked up through the window and saw exactly what he expected to see. "...we got incoming."

The biteranodons above had definitely heard the hullabaloo below. The flock was coalescing into a swarm. Their circling sped up, tighter and tighter. They began to descend from the top of the sky like the emerging tail of a tornado.

Toby became aware he was squashing his two friends. He jumped off, looking frenzied and helpless. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! Oh my God, I alerted the birds, didn't I!? I made them come! I'm so sor-"

Junella slapped him, lightly. She grabbed his chin with one hand and sang at him double-speed with the other. "Not your fault. Shit happens. Cry later, action now."

He sucked in a deep breath. "Thank you."

A curt nod. Then Junella swung her chair back into position so the others wouldn't see the micro-burst of frustrated rage that passed over her features. Sometimes you just wanna relax and drive, and fate sends nightmare birds up your ass. She strategized for a second, then whipped back around towards Zinc.

Before her needle could touch a groove, he anticipated her orders.  "Me. Roof. Gun."

"Exactly," she sang with relief, glad he was so dependable.

Just as Zinc was stepping outside, Piffle sat straight up, electrified with purpose. "I'll help too!" she shouted, then whooshed out the door.

Junella had been about to hand her a weapon, and instead gawked after her in disbelief.

Zinc watched her zoom through the air towards the swarm. "Where the flyin' fuck are you flyin' to!?"

Piffle didn't hear him. The wind was already drumming in her ears and slicking her antennae back. Her wings blasted her towards the top of the sky, one fist held out in front of her, feeling an imaginary red cape flapping at her back. Her muzzle was set in a grim little smile. She was gonna teach these overgrown budgies it was impolite to scare her friends.

The swarm could not believe their luck. The smell of fresh meat was climbing right up to meet them! Beaks popped open, releasing screams of hunger. Biteranodons by nature are terrible hunters. On Earth their stupidity would have doomed them to extinction in a few generations, but Phobiopolis cultivated their desperation, keeping them on the brink of starvation to ensure berserker feeding frenzies.

Piffle knew none of this. She powered towards her enemy, fueled by the boundless will that had seen her through countless other perils. A sky full of gaping, serrated mouths bore down upon her, and she was unafraid.

When one bird was finally close enough, Piffle spun like a drill and punched it sideways, grunting with the impact. Then she turned to knock another out of the air. But more came. And the biting started. Piffle screamed.

Biteranodons can clamp down with one mouth and start chewing with the other. Piffle struggled, twisted, punched and kicked, but her overconfidence had sent her into a whirlpool of teeth as surely as flying headlong into a garbage disposal. She watched her beautiful jacket getting shredded to ribbons. She watched her blood trail through the air.

"Thiswasamistake, thiswasamistake, thiswasamistake!" she yelped. "I'm sorry I ate one of you! Leave me alone!!"

Two steel hands clamped down on two brass gun grips.

"Allright pidgies..." Zinc breathed, "...come and get your birdseed."

BBBBBRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRTTTTTT!!!!!

Bullets rained upwards into the swarm. The shadowed sky spat back clotted blood as a dozen birds burst. Earsplitting screeches of agony ripped out of the biteranodons as they fell. Piffle felt hope as she watched feathers fill the air. Not all let go of her, but at least one's head was bisected completely from its body.

Two steel balls shot out of Zinc's back, followed by several feet of heavy chain. Engines on his shoulders grunted to life. Before the doorknockers had time to fall, Zinc was whipping them around into a whirl. Twin cyclones on his arms.

He sure as shit wished Piffle had given him some advance warning, but at least she'd bought him a few seconds to get to the roof, get on the gun, and get into a killin' mood. His bared teeth flashed white lightning.

BBBBBRRRRRRRTTTTT!!!

Meanwhile, Toby had been stuck motionless, trying to decide if he should hide or help. He noticed Junella was just about to join Zinc in some target shooting. He lunged for her, grabbing her arm. "What can I do!?"

He'd asked instead of darting off like Piffle. She liked that. Junella looked the mouse up and down, cross-referencing him with the supplies behind the backseat. She briefly pictured him trying to wield one of the army surplus rifles she'd bought, and that beggared belief. She spotted his hip pouch. "Had any practice with those yet?"

Toby patted the pouch, thinking about how dinky the knives and shurikens inside were. "Will they do anything against biteranodons?"

She clapped his shoulder. "They've got hollow bones and big ol' wings. How well can a kite fly with a rip in it?"

Good point. Toby nodded acceptance of his mission.

She nodded back, then leapt out onto the skate blade. Her white scarf fluttered behind her like a contrail. "Any of you beaked bastards shits on my head, I will personally return the favor!!" Her willpower filled both hands with revolvers. Fire and lead leapt from their mouths.

Gunfire deafened him. Toby turned and looked through the broken window, seeing the sky darken with even more incoming biteranodons. How many of them were there!? He flipped open his pouch and dug inside, trying not to prick his fingers.

A tug on his leg. He looked down to see Doll, re-bagged, asking wordlessly how she could help.

Toby tipped his muzzle towards the backseat. "Same as before I guess!" he shouted above the sound of screeches and shots. "Find me anything I can throw!"

She saluted and began searching.

Meanwhile, George realized that no one was listening to his apologies for letting that rotten bird get so close in the first place. They were all booming away like crazy. Which, he considered, was good. Better to take action than dwell on the past. That went for him too, so he fixed his sights forward, daring to increase their speed across the bridge as much as the swaying would allow.

He estimated they were halfway to their destination. The pyramid-shaped layout of bridges and pillars was narrowing towards its apex. Looking ahead, he could see that soon enough all routes would converge onto one last choice. From there the rock towers aligned in a row like stepping stones, leading to a place where the last bridge stretched across empty air into a flaming zero. A tear in the sky that spat bright sparks into this half of reality. George's nerves were on edge as he came to another bridge and tested its strength, trying to balance haste with thoroughness.

'I am officially insane,' Toby thought. The wind pelted his face and sucked the breath from his lungs. He stood in the doorway, trying to force himself to step out and join the battle.

'Stop being such a fraidy cat! You already did this before on the highway!'

'Yes, but now I'm miles off the ground, held up by nothing but old hair!'

'And before you were going at freeway speeds across concrete.'

Fine. He couldn't argue with that. He felt slippery metal beneath his sandals as he stepped onto the skate blade. He kept one hand glued to the door frame while re-thanking Zinc for the seatbelt winch. He looked up. Dread punched him in the stomach. There had to be millions of biteranodons up there. A tidal wave of oily flapping wings and trap jaws. All the bullets in the world couldn't hope to make a dent in their numbers!

'NO,' he thought, physically pinching himself. He looked again. Between Zinc and Junella's guns, a heck of a lot of them were already plunging limply towards the ground. Piffle was circling like a ceiling fan, keeping them distracted. 'This is not hopeless, and you are going to help your friends right now.'

Keeping his eyes skyward, his hand went to his pouch and he threw the first thing he touched. A miss. 'Doesn't matter. Try again.' He did. He plucked a silver star and let his arm uncurl towards the closest nightmare. He held his breath.

A miracle happened. The shuriken ripped right through its wing like cutting paper, and the biteranodon screamed. It tumbled and flapped desperately, but all it accomplished was smashing into another of its kind. Both fell out of the sky.

Toby's eyes were wide as headlights. 'I just did that. I actually just...'

A disbelieving grin came to his face and he started flinging metal as fast as he could fill his hand.

Piffle was a pink comet. She'd learned her lesson trying to take them on directly. Now she was doing her best to out-fly the stinky chickens, leading them on a back-and-forth figure eight around the car. Anything to keep their attention on her and away from the others. She winced at the pain from all of the bites, but kept on flying. Zinc's hail of bullets followed her like a horse and cart.

The canine followed her flightpath, amazed by her determination and her trust in his aim. He moved his bullets smoothly like a finger through the sky. Tracing after her, hoping a sudden turn wouldn't put her in his line of fire.

George thought about diesel trains and tanks. He kept the Fearsleigher inching forward, but having to hold back his speed was driving him insane. He was keenly aware of every last knot and fray in the ropes beneath his wheels, always searching for instability. A lone biteranodon got past the barrage and dove straight towards him. He welcomed the chance to vent his frustrations. Opening his mouth, he unleashed a furnace-blast at the unfortunate construct. It screamed from both mouths as it fell towards the canyon, wrapped in hellfire.

Junella did a beautiful little tuck-and-roll as the last bird she'd blasted was inconsiderate enough to fall straight down and smack into the spot she'd been standing in. She hit the side of the car, shoved off, and got back into position. She threw her guns away and was pulling the triggers on two new ones, all in one breath.

Toby watched with envy. He'd nicked a few so far, but nowhere near as many as Zinc and Junella. 'It's not a contest,' he reminded himself. 'Start feeling sorry for yourself and your aim'll screw up. Think of it this way: every one you kill is one less your friends have to deal with.' That did help. He didn't have to be the ultimate hero. This was a team effort. He reached back and felt something new slap into his hand. He glanced back. Doll had found some bigger knives for him. "Thanks!" He swung the blade to test the weight, then sent it sailing towards another bird. The biteranodon's chest opened up like unzipping a coat. Toby yelped in celebration, but then had to duck falling giblets.

All six of them were doing their part, but Zinc was racking up the most kills. Between his bullets and his shoulder-balls, he'd performed radical surgery on nearly sixty birds so far. He was absolutely drenched in gore. It tasted like engine lubricant and raw turkey. Not bad.

One particularly skilled biteranodon was able to accomplish a sideways swoop that carried it low across the battlefield, straight at the meat creature covered in metal. Its back was turned. Perfect target.

Zinc brayed in shock as its talons tore through his jacket and into his shoulders.

The pain made him see stars, but in a heartbeat his madman's grin returned. "Congratulations, shitbird. You win the idiot award."

Zinc retracted his doorknockers.

They were engineered by Dorster & Son to melt harmlessly through fur, flesh, and clothing. This did not include whatever happened to be in the way when this feature was triggered. So the biteranodon let out a very surprised shriek when Zinc became an egg slicer. Two heavy chains slashed laterally through its body, shearing its wings and spilling its guts.

Zinc cackled sadistically as the nightmare's screaming remains sloughed off like wet bags of tripe and toppled into the chasm below.

"THE GRIM REAPER BEGS FOR MY AUTOGRAPH!!!"

George could feel Zinc's latest kill add its blood to the veritable topcoat of birdsludge he was now wearing. 'I fear I will never be clean again,' he thought with disgust.

When her eyes weren't on the sky, Junella spared some glances towards Toby and realized the mouse actually had a decent arm on him. She decided to reward him. Ducking back through the door, she called out, "Doll! In the glovebox there's some round, white, egg-lookin' things! Get two and give 'em to Toby!"

Doll was surprised to be addressed like a normal furson. She saluted and skittered across the car.

Toby had overheard. "What are they?" he shouted.

"You'll see! Just give one a squeeze and throw it towards the biggest cluster of birds! And..." Her sentence was cut off when another biteranodon dived towards her. A bullet through its ribs made it reconsider. "...And be careful! They're expensive!!" She'd really wanted to save the little whizzers for a special occasion, but right now, getting their asses to safety was good enough.

Soon Doll had slipped two intricate ivory ovals into Toby's hand. 'Huh. Fancy.' They looked more like jewelry than weaponry, but he knew appearances were not to be trusted in Phobiopolis. He looked up towards the swarm, scanning. He squeezed one egg and pitched it high.

Then his heart caught in his throat as he realized Piffle was zipping right towards it. He tried to scream to warn her.

As it turned out, he didn't have to. She saw something that looked like a ping pong ball coming up to say howdy, and then she was blinded by fireworks.

Toby leapt back by reflex when the little ball unleashed a lightning storm. Sizzling blue arcs of electricity hit every biteranodon close by, then jumped from one to the next in a chain. The energy sought out nightmare flesh like a magnet. Toby saw the constructs' chests swell up like microwaved hot dogs. They screamed shrilly as smoke poured out of their burning bodies. Then they all started exploding. Also like microwaved hot dogs.

Piffle was right in the middle of the lightshow and felt the energy touch her, but it produced no more than a pleasant tickle. Whatever had just happened, souls were immune to its effects.

Toby clutched the Fearsleigher's frame in disbelief as he watched twenty-eight charred corpses come tumbling out of the sky like a hail of chicken nuggets. He reached down to tuck the remaining egg safely in his vest pocket. If these things could do that, he would not let his next throw go to waste!

"Fun toy, huh!?" Junella called out to him.

The mouse watched dead birds smack with splattering crunches into all the surrounding pillars. "Don't know if I'd call it fun. But effective? Holy shit, yes!"

It was a valiant fight from everyone. Piffle was rattled by the lightning but kept on directing the swarm's attention in her back-and-forth loop. Doll dashed back and forth like a short order cook, finding new things to fling. Toby continued riding his adrenaline, hurling sharp things skyward as soon as his pouch reloaded or Doll restocked him. Junella's guns were small but her nerves were ice and her aim was godly. George was the envy of any dragon with his flamethrower nose. And Zinc was simply a merciless natural disaster wrapped in fur and streaked with blood.

It was a valiant fight, but a doomed one.

No matter how many geese they cooked, reinforcements were always inbound. They dived without heed towards the blazing guns, driven mad by the possibility of fresh meat sliding down their throats. Death was merely a speed bump to them. The canyon floor was so far below, a few birds resurrected mid-fall. Some were so disoriented they met a second death on the hard ground below. Others managed to get their wings outstretched to shoot back upwards and rejoin the chaos.

The travelers' goal was not to depopulate the area, only to get away. The flaming portal was within George's sight, but he couldn't move any faster towards it. The bridge beneath him was already swaying too much for comfort.

"OUCH!" he roared.

Furiously offended, George looked below to see beaks and talons holding onto the underside of the bridge he was currently on. One individual had sunk its fangs into his right rear tire. He snarled the ugliest curse he could think of and blasted a flood of fire beneath him. "They are below us as well!!" he shouted to his comrades.

A second later, as the bridge caught fire, George was filled with regret.

They all smelled it. Few things in any universe smell worse than burning hair.

George watched the fire dance along the guideropes, spreading like luminous paint. He could feel the unraveling begin. He looked ahead to the next rock plateau. A perfectly timed surge from his wheels might just get them there before the bridge collapsed.

It was a microscopic fraction of a chance, but there was no reason not to try for it.

"HOLD ON!!!" George shouted.

He clamped his brakes down, then flooded energy into the drive shafts. Release. Friction. Speed.

George dared to laugh as he rocketed across the rope inferno.

SNAP SNAP

'Well, that's the end of that,' he thought with a resigned sigh.

***

The strain from George's peelout had eradicated whatever structural strength the poor bridge had left. The Fearsleigher and all its passengers seemed to float in the burning air for a few moments before gravity's hand closed around them, pulling them straight down at a speed so fierce it nearly knocked them all unconscious.

Toby's stomach smashed against the top of his ribcage. He watched the second egg slip out of his pocket and hover before his eyes, weightless. All he could think was, 'Junella's gonna be mad if I lose that.' He reached out to snatch it and felt a wonderful moment of pride before the reality sank in that he was falling.

Piffle and Junella reacted quickest. Piffle because she was the most used to falling, Junella because she, in her infinite pessimism, had been expecting this all along. The skunk let her current pair of revolvers fall upwards (there were about sixteen of them scattered around her feet that were now dancing through the air like confetti) and used her tail as leverage to lunge towards the open passenger door. She grabbed for the doorframe and sunk her needles in. 'Sorry, George.'

Zinc screamed down, "Juney!! The blue button!!"

She wanted very much to scream back, 'I'm TRYING!', but her hands were occupied with keeping herself from sliding upwards out of the car into empty air.

Just as Toby was beginning to piece together the mystery of why his feet were starting to float away from the car, a bunch of funny black dots popped up all over his vision. Then his brain rolled over and tried to switch off.

Piffle saw Toby's eyes. Zero expression. She changed trajectory in less time than it takes to say so. She swung herself around in a curve to build momentum and tackled the drifting mouse. She did not know his seatbelt would have saved him anyway, she only knew her friend was in trouble.

They somersaulted together into the car. The jolt of hitting his head on the backseat clicked Toby's brain back on. Without conscious thought, he grabbed the fluffy cheeks of his rescuer and crashed his lips into hers.

Piffle sputtered for a few moments, then laughed out loud. "Gee whiz, Toby! That's gratitude!"

He laughed nervously. "I c-can't believe I did that..."

"But ya did," she said, and nuzzled noses with him. Piffle checked around the car for Doll. From inside the storage area, she got a burlap thumbs-up.

Meanwhile, Junella's mouth was forming all sorts of fiery swears her hands couldn't articulate. She clawed and kicked like a wildcat, trying to swim towards the dashboard, casting her eyes back and forth for that goddamn button. She hadn't wanted Zinc to install it. She'd ignored a perfect time to use it on the highway. But now she had no choice. 'Of course fate wouldn't cut me some slack on this.'

Amongst all the other dials and switches, she finally saw the little sapphire circle. She got a death grip on the steering wheel and used her other hand to call out to the others, "HOLD ON TIGHT TO WHATEVER YOU CAN!!! 3...2...1!!!"

Her finger flew like a javelin towards the blue button.

Piffle and Toby felt a double ker-chunk below them.

Toby remembered that sound. It was from when George and the Fearsleigher had merged. Specifically, from when the skate blades had raised up and locked into place. Toby looked past the door and saw that they had extended outwards a few feet and clicked into a mirrored diagonal alignment.

'Like helicopter blades,' he had just enough time to observe.

Then eight Gs picked him up and bashed him against the front seat hard enough to break his nose.

Piffle's wings folded like origami. The gear in the back flattened Doll. Junella watched as the steering wheel caught underneath her arm and bent it in about seven different ways it shouldn't have. Zinc's scream sounded like an unbroken forty-second yodel as the Fearsleigher turned into a buzzsaw below him.

This was the emergency failsafe he'd asked Andy to install. Zinc had purchased a Cyrus Tear especially for it: a substance so volatile you had to be either real smart or real stupid to work with. Zinc's plan was to make use of the flat, wide surface of the extended skates. If the car fell from a great height, it might be possible to spin them, generating enough lift to slow the descent and leave the car in a salvageable state when it touched down.

Of course, there is a reason why helicopters have tail rotors. The Fearsleigher had no tail rotor.

So for the next one hundred and thirteen seconds, the occupants of the Fearsleigher got to experience what it would feel like to be a wadded-up sock in a washing machine powered by jet fuel.

Piffle was only just starting to feel the stinging ache from her mangled wings when the sheer force of the spin pinned her to the ceiling, where her lungs collapsed and she blacked out.

Junella managed to drag herself into the cubbyhole beneath the driver's seat. The gas and brake pedals dug into her like blunt garden spades, but she could handle that. She watched her broken arm flop around like a sweater sleeve. 'If we get through this alive,' she thought, 'I might just walk back to EC, find Andy, and flay him.'

The gatling turret was positioned close to the center of the car, so Zinc was not whipped around so much as upwards. He felt his pants shoot down his legs and fly away. He shut his tin lids tight, trying to hold onto his eyeballs. His ears were long gone. At least his grip on the gun was secure. He'd screwed his wrenches down tight and locked them in place. Now all he had to worry about was whether he was going to be ripped straight off of his own arms.

Poor Toby. He wasn't getting the worst of it, but this sure wasn't Disneyland either. The G-forces felt like he was being squeezed through a printing press. And what could be worse? Seeing that both back doors were still hanging open. Only friction was keeping Piffle from falling out.

She'd saved him, so it was time to repay the favor.

He did not allow himself time to think. Adrenaline was for decision-making now, not reason. The centrifugal force was so intense, pulling himself away from the front seat felt like tearing off his skin with velcro. He realized his arm had been crushed beneath him and he'd broken three fingers. But he still managed to flop towards the unconscious hamsterfly and snare her ankles.

As he pulled her down towards the back storage compartment, two more hands aided him. He did not look back, just in case Doll was unbagged. They struggled Piffle into the little cubbyhole together and squeezed in beside her. Pain still danced along Toby's nerves like thorny lightning, but at least the gravity pressure was slightly less here.

He tilted his head. His neck sounded like Rice Krispies. He saw Doll: dress torn, head half-flattened. He weakly gave her a thumbs-up. Her bag had been swept away so she couldn't reply, but he held her close and waited out the spinning.

George had not regretted merging with the Fearsleigher until now. The world whirled around him, blurring into oranges and blues and greys. He barely knew up from down. But the spin was literally tearing him to pieces. He could feel parts loosening, rivets coming undone, seats shaking, axles shuddering. It was a completely new kind of unpleasantness. As if all his bones were being slowly carved apart in different directions.

But the worst part was that he could feel what was happening to his passengers. Their bodies slammed back and forth inside him. His body was harming them instead of protecting them. It was one thing to know they had been suffering in Amaurosis Fugax, but now he was experiencing it internally. Feeling the consequences of his failure.

George could feel his grille bayonets bending, a sensation like having his teeth pushed down his throat. He could not endure this much longer. He could feel the fluids slapping around inside of him that had once belonged to his poor passengers. This was intolerable. They did not deserve this. George could feel his door hinges tearing. He could not endure this much longer. It was not fair. They should not have to suffer this much. George's hood popped open and was bent immediately in half. He could not endure this much longer. This was not fair. George's skull shattered and bits of his eye sockets sprinkled across the frothing sky. THIS WAS NOT FAIR. HE COULD NOT ENDURE THIS.

THUD

***

The landing was a mercy. Not just because the terrible spinning finally stopped, but because it killed every one of them instantly. Their pain blessedly ceased, replaced by perfect numbness.

The impact sprinkled chunks of car and bits of bodies in a twenty foot radius. Toby, Doll and Piffle were accordioned into one another. Junella looked like a smashed inkpot. There was nothing left of Zinc atop the car but two wrenches with a ribcage dangling between them.

George was now bone again.

His death had reverted the transformation potion. The crash spat out his remaining fragments like watermelon seeds.

Dim flashes of awareness began twinkling through everyone's brains. Sensation returned to limbs. Hearts began to beat again. Lungs took in air.

Zinc's torso was somewhere half a mile down the road, but he resurrected around his wrenches nonetheless, laid out across his loyal, lovely gun. His hands were clamped down so hard, the gun grips looked like bubblegum. "Sorry girl," he coughed out. He looked down and was grateful to see that his pants had reappeared.

Toby heard groaning. He smelled blood. He felt tingling in his extremities. He put all of his functioning neurons to work trying to figure out how to open his eyes. Mission accomplished: a square hole was looking back at him. He and Doll had their arms wrapped protectively around one another.

"Thank you," he was able to say properly this time.

Doll could not respond yet, so he closed his eyes. Then he felt a gentle plastic hand touch his forehead. He nodded.

From beside them came Piffle's muffled voice, "That was the worst merry-go-round I've ever been on."

Junella peeled herself off the floor. She was lying in a slippery pool of her former self's inky innards. She reached up to pull herself loose, then slumped against the front seat and began chuckling soundlessly. Soon she was shaking with helpless sobs of laughter. After living through a hell like that, what else could one possibly do?

Beneath them, the Fearsleigher rumbled. Now that George had been ejected, it followed its programming and began lowering the skate blades to their normal position. Or at least it tried to. The car rose and fell like a fat man trying to stand up from a low seat. It tried to raise the nailplow too, but that had been sheared clean off its mounts.

Toby stretched. On all fours, he slowly eased himself backwards out of the crawlspace. Daylight trickled in through the open, leaning doors.

Junella reached up and dug her claws into the upholstery. Grunting from the strain, she hauled herself to her feet. She bonked her head against the ceiling and hissed. Then, just as she was about to ask how everyone was doing, a voice interrupted her.

It was like an earthquake creating words. Cannonade becoming language.

"I AM NEVER GOING TO GO THROUGH THAT AGAIN, DO YOU HEAR ME!? ANYONE! ANYWHERE! I REFUSE!!! YOU CANNOT MAKE ME! NEVER! I WANT TO MAKE THAT ABSOLUTELY CLEAR! NEVER! THAT WAS THE MOST INTOLERABLE, THE MOST UNDESERVED... NEVER!! NEVER, DO YOU HEAR ME!? NEVER! NEVER! NEVER!!!"

The ground actually shook from the sheer volume of George's protestation. Leaves rattled on the scrubby bushes around them. The sky echoed with his words long after he had stopped erupting them.

His throat hurt.

He stood there, once again a charred but illuminated skeleton, devoid of metal. And he smoldered with rage. He did not care who had heard him. It was his ultimatum to the universe in general.

All of Zinc's fur had been blown back. He pried his eyelids open just so he could stare properly. "Jesus wept, Georgie!"

The sound of another voice startled the stallion so much he nearly tripped over his hooves. "Sir Zinc! I... I apologize. I let my emotions overtake me."

The others were cautiously peeking out from inside the Fearsleigher, like soldiers unsure if the grenade lying in front of them was live or not.

George hung his head and nervously fidgeted. He was babbling now, in a much smaller voice, "That was undignified of me. I am sorry you had to hear that. It was a tantrum, plain and simple. When the spinning began, I could feel your bones break and your blood spill. Unspeakable heartache. Failure! Absolute failure! My reason is to protect you and I failed!"

'Good god, he's gonna have a nervous breakdown,' Junella thought as she sprang from the car and ran towards him. She hugged his leg. Holy shit, he was actually trembling!

Toby tucked Doll under his arm and jumped down too. Piffle joined him. Zinc tried his best, but couldn't get his wrench jaws unstuck from the semi-melted grips.

Junella squeezed. "Shut your sweet mouth, George," she lullabyed. "We all screw up sometimes. Don't let it tear you up."

"I... I..." George could not speak. For a moment there, he had felt his old self pounding with all four hooves against the inside of his brain, trying to come back. All the unthinking brutality and rage. It was the most awful feeling. Though still not as bad as feeling his friends suffering inside him. Nothing could be worse than that. George knew he must remember it forever. It would sting him like wasp's venom, but it would be a remembering pain. A pain he would do anything to never repeat.

And then he felt Sire Toby and Madam McPerricone hugging him as well. Even Madam Doll.

"I am grateful to all of you," he whispered.

A faraway sound tickled Zinc's newly-regrown ear. He looked around. His face fell. "Sorry to break up the party, guys... but we're standin' in a minefield."

Everyone had been so focused on George, they hadn't thought to check their surroundings.

The area they'd fallen into was typical of the canyon floor in Lumbago. The land was curved between the rock pillars, sloping up and down like a snowboarding half-pipe. Orange rock and orange sand, punctuated by sickly, tangled bushes. And the corpses of biteranodons were littered absolutely everywhere. Their flattened bodies were like a feathered carpet. The stink was incredible. Smaller nightmares were emerging from their dens, shaped like rabbits but with teeth and claws three times normal size. They stared in disbelief at this bounty from heaven, then began to feast lustfully on their former predators.

Retaining a wounded dignity, there stood the Fearsleigher. She'd gotten considerably uglier, but was still in one piece. The emergency failsafe had landed it without major structural damage (and had flung away most of the bird blood). The doors were lopsided, every last bit of glass was gone (again), some of the armor plating was curled, the paintjob was now more scratches than paint, George's harness was a crumpled squiggle, and the bayonets were bent nearly sideways. But it still stood. And the skate blades looked invulnerable as ever. Just not lowered. And without them in place, there was no way George could reintegrate with the car or hitch himself to it.

Nightmares resurrect slower than souls. Typically, the stupider they are, the slower it takes. And biteranodons are quite stupid. But now there were corpses littered all around the Fearsleigher, any one of which might spring back to life at any second.

They all realized their dilemma. Junella took charge as usual. "Allright! I gotta get these blades working or we're a buffet. The rest of you, grab whatever weaponry ain't broken and start bustin' skulls!" She swept her arm towards the car for Toby and Piffle to follow her.

George was still standing in the same spot. His pinprick eyes blazed like two microscopic suns. Low and cold, he said, '"You may not need any weapons at all, Madam Brox."

For a second she wasn't sure what he meant. Then she turned and saw him scraping the ground repeatedly with his foot. His whole body vibrated. He was coiling himself like a clockspring.

"New plan! Everyone still gets guns, but mostly we just stay the fuck outta George's way!"

"I like this new plan," George said. His voice sounded like a thundercloud trapped in his throat.

Junella climbed up the side of the car to bang on the roof. "Zinc, I want you to check the hood real quick; see how much of our supplies survived."

He grinned sheepishly. "No can do, Sarge." He tugged on his wrenches. "Stuck."

Her eyes bugged a bit at seeing the metal grips warped around her partner's hands. "Can it still fire?"

"The trigger's permanently pulled. So I think maybe as soon as I start pedaling..." He let her finish that thought.

"Well, shit, then just point it birdwards and keep doin' what you're doin'."

"Yes, ma'am!"

Piffle's cutely round rump filled the backseat as she and Doll poked around inside the storage space. Toby waited at the door to get a weapon, then realized, 'I'm already holding one.' He looked down at his palm. That faint glow was still emanating from it.

'What did I do to that biteranodon's head?' he finally asked himself.

He was still reeling a bit from everything that had happened in the last few minutes, but this was the clearest his mind had been since it started. Might as well make use of it.

He took himself back to the moment when the bird had broken in through the window. He let his muscle memory tell him the story.

And then suddenly it was obvious. Simply a matter of cause and effect.

He didn't stop to think. Otherwise his cowardice would have grabbed him by the shoulders and slammed him back against the car. Toby hopped down and went running out into the open.

Junella had just mindfucked up a new pair of revolvers, then dropped them in disbelief when she saw her client seemingly going AWOL. "Get your ass back here! You crazy!?"

"I'm not running away!" he shouted over his shoulder. The dead birds were spread out across a wide area. He found one relatively isolated and stood facing its motionless double-beaked head.

"Sire Toby! Let me assist you!" George cried in alarm. "You will be injured!"

Toby gulped. Sweat ran down his ears and forehead. He felt his leg muscles twitching, felt the sand beneath his soles. "Only if I fail."

George cocked his head in disbelief. Then he realized that his master had not gone mad after all. He gave a whicker of encouragement and resumed his stance.

The six of them were sweaty, bloody, tired and quaking with anticipation. Junella wriggled herself beneath the car, toolbox in hand. Piffle found an army surplus rifle. Doll was stacking up boxes of bullets. Zinc's legs were tensed to begin pumping. George was doing small stretching exercises, feeling out his old body again and remembering why he liked it so much.

Toby was rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. The air down here felt oversaturated with oxygen now, like he was getting drunk on the stuff. He glanced above. The swarm was still there, circling. Either afraid of the mist or confused at where their meal had gone. 'Good. At least we'll only have to worry about the ones on the ground.' Toby looked back down at the dead nightmare. It was sure taking its sweet time to resurrect.

Zinc spotted movement. A beaked head raised from the dust, casting about in confusion. Zinc soundlessly rotated his gun towards it. "Get ready, cats and kittens..."

A scaly leg twitched here. A wing fluttered there. One by one, the birds began to stir.

The travelers kept silent.

The biteranodons did not classify George as food. Like many constructs, they paid almost no attention to their peers of different breeds. But the scent of meat was on the air. Coming from a certain direction. Beaks began to swivel towards the blood-soaked car.

The nightmare at Toby's feet started uncurling. Toby felt his heartbeat slow to a pounding thrum in his ears. His skin felt like ice. Inside him was the same overwhelming fear as ever, but there was a core of energy keeping it at bay. He felt the hammer in his arm. Felt its weight. Felt his blood pulsing around it. Silently he knelt, spreading his fingers, reaching out his hand towards the beast.

Its mouths snapped open in a hiss. Its wing lashed out and knocked Toby backwards. He pinwheeled his arms to keep from falling on his ass. The biteranodon squawked and thrashed, trying to stand. Its head zeroed in on the tasty slender mouse standing in front of it. The bird could not fly yet, but it could leap.

Toby's mind snapped into slow motion hyper-awareness as the biteranodon lunged at him feet-first. He saw its broad, tattered wings dimming the sun. Its boil-covered chest. Its glistening double tongues. The steely black talons stretching towards his flesh...

Toby's arm came up, stiff as a beam. He did not try to duplicate his feat from before, he simply let it happen.

The nightmare's scales touched his palm.

POW

That was the sound of the biteranodon's leg being launched straight through its body like a fucking harpoon.

Toby allowed himself the luxury of shrieking like a little girl as he leapt out of the way of the falling corpse.

What he had done was simple. Cause and effect. When the window had broken before, Toby had tried to launch his hammer into his waiting grip. But the biteranodon's skull had been in the way. So the hammer bounced off the skull, back towards his arm. But his arm was solely concerned with forcing it out. Alfonzo's design did not like that, so it pushed harder. The effect upon the nightmare's bone had been like an overclocked jackhammer.

Same with this one's leg. Its corpse hit the dirt with a wet crunch.

Hyperventilating and dizzy, Toby stared at the lumpy black pile of dead meat. His breathing turned into a gasp of high-pitched laughter. He'd actually done it! He'd discovered a new use for his hammer! A completely unexpected side effect! Wait till he told Dorster and Alfonzo about this! Could he do it again? Why not! He had a lethal piston inside of his arm now! He-

BBBBBRRRRRRRTTTTTTTTT!!!

Toby was so startled he leapt about three feet straight up.

The bird that had been just about to make a meal out of Zinc was shredded straight down the middle by a machete of bullets. It fell in two loud splats on either side of the gun. Zinc's fangs gleamed. "Yup! She still works!" he crowed.

Toby scrambled to his feet and dusted off his shorts. "Stop being cooler than me! It's not fair!"

Zinc laughed his ass off. "You'll catch up!"

A twitch of movement caught George's eye. He interpreted Zinc's barrage as the signal to begin the festivities.

The reborn biteranodon never saw it coming. It had been dead, then it was alive again, waking up slowly, confused. It raised its head and spoke a questioning, 'cuk?' Then two hundred pounds of solid bone came crashing down, grinding its brains to powder, leaving no time for a single squawk.

"YOU DISGUST ME!" George bellowed. "NO THOUGHT, NO LOYALTY, NO HYGIENE!" He spotted another one just waking up, trying to prop itself up on its wings. "STAY ASLEEP, YOU CRAVEN GERM!" George introduced his hoof to the top of its head, which soon made acquaintance with its fifth and sixth spinal vertebrae.

The sounds of gunshots and hoofbeats turned the silent afternoon into a rainless thunderstorm. Zinc pummeled the sandy ground with bullets. Piffle fumbled with her rifle until she was hitting her targets more by intention than luck. Junella tinkered as fast as she could.

George's head was whipping back and forth like an electric mixer, hunting for more targets. He snorted, snarled and roared. The glow from his bones was brighter than a kerosene lamp. Flames from his mouth and nose crawled up along his skull and down the length of his spine, giving him a burning mane.

'I'm SO glad he's on our side!' Toby thought, heart racing with terror and awe. "George! I'll check over here!" he called out, waving his hammer.

The nightmare stallion twitched, startled. "Hmm? Oh! Yes! Fantastic idea! We shall work as a team!" He snorted in ardent approval. "Comrades! Brothers in arms!" He laughed heartily as he turned another stirring bird's cranium from convex to concave.

Toby grinned lopsidedly. George's enthusiasm was infectious. He actually felt sort of hopeful about his chances. He heard an 'Aaawk!' over his shoulder and whipped around. Here was a chance right now. This biteranodon had landed in a backbreaking slump with its legs curled up over its head. Now those legs began twitching. Its wings flapped and it struggled to right itself.

"No you don't!" Toby yelled. He held up his bracer to protect himself from the talons and rushed in to apply his new technique to its head.

The biteranodon kicked hard and sent Toby sprawling.

His vision spun for a second, but his bracer had kept the claw from plunging though his face, so that was something. Toby jumped to his feet. "Oh yeah!?" he spat, trying to sound tough. He aimed his arm and shot his hammer out with as much willpower as he could generate.

The hammer sailed like an arrow towards the birdthing's eyeless head and clanged against the bone. Instant broken neck. Then the hammer went flying off sideways about twelve feet.

"Oh shit!" Toby squealed and ran off after it. He made a mental note to not use his hammer as a projectile weapon again.

Thankfully it landed in the open dirt. A terrorbunny was nearby. It looked at the hammer, looked at Toby, then puffed up to quadruple its size, shrieking like a teakettle.

"I'm having a bad day!!!" Toby roared at it.

The little nightmare turned tail and ran off as fast as its claw-burdened feet could manage. As if to say, 'Okay! Sheesh! Sorry!'

Toby snatched up his hammer and reloaded it.

Meanwhile, black sweat was rolling down Junella's face as she fought to unjam the blade-lowering mechanism. The fact that it wouldn't stop juddering up and down was not helping her. She kept having to dart her fingers away lest they get pinched flat. Suddenly, two big ruby eyes slid in beside her. She was so startled she nearly hit herself in the face with her wrench. "WHAT!?" she snarled at Piffle.

The hamsterfly cringed. Shouting a bit over the gatling gun's eructations, she explained, "I shot a few, but I think the boys got the birds covered. I was wondering if I could be of assistance down here?"

Junella bared her fangs. "No, I do not need a co-mechanic! I-" Her sentence stopped as she thought about the bigger picture. They needed to get out of here. Piffle could fly. "Wait! No! Sorry! Look, we need to get back up to the bridges, right? There's a coil of As-Much-Rope-As-You-Need in the front. Get it, fly up, then loop it around the biggest, thickest bridge pole you can spot so we can pulley the car up."

The hamsterfly blanched. "I can't lift a whole big car by myself!"

"We'll help you. Now just-"

Piffle snapped her fingers. "Wait! I could do it myself if I was big! Do you still have the resizing thingamabob?"

Junella's eyes widened. A flash of her hand and she was holding it.

"Aces! Why didn't we think of this before!? Remember how it shrunk those people when we were trying to make the apartment building little? That oughtta work in reverse, right? So I'll fly off as far away as I can, then you look at me through the window and make me grow!"

Junella mirrored her grin. "I have no idea if that'll work, but hot damn it'd be cool if it does! Get going!"

"Right!" She turned to shuffle out from beneath the car, then turned back.

"What now?"

She smooched Junella on the cheek, then buzzed away.

The skunk rubbed her cheek and laughed. "Nutcase..."

Meanwhile, Zinc was still ejaculating hot lead into the anatomy of many, many nightmare birds. He was really in need of a shower. Sweat and giblets stained him head to toe. Aiming with the triggers stuck on auto-fire was tricky but not impossible. He soon got into a rhythm of pedaling fast for a wide spread and slow for more precise peppering. And he called out his thanks when he saw a pair of burlap-clad hands dutifully emptying out another basket of caltrops.

George was busy laughing maniacally, pouncing like a pogo stick, ensuring that any downed biteranodons stayed down. There was such savage pleasure to be had in an unfair fight. The little birdies woke up without a clue that a hurricane of bone was bearing down upon them. The crunch of skulls beneath George's hooves was like the touch of velvet. The sound of their startled shrieks, a harp solo.

Toby was glad that George was having so much fun. The stallion was taking care of 90% of the battlefield, leaving Toby the other 10. Of which he was doing a decent job keeping under control, he thought. He'd practiced his new hammer technique on five birds so far, and it was as effective as a shotgun blast each time. Well, almost. One time his hand slipped and he'd sheared a beak off when he'd been aiming for the brain. There was a brief panicked flurry, then a second shot sent it to sleep. But after that hiccup, he was staring to get the feel of it.

Another one! Toby's head turned towards where he'd seen movement, hammer at the ready. But this time it was only Piffle soaring past.

"Off on an errand! Be back soon!" She gave him a jaunty wave.

He smiled back at her, until serrated pain rocketed up his left ankle. Tiny little teeth were digging into him. Teeth that were made for gripping and restraining struggling prey.

Toby whirled around. Embarrassment overshadowed his hurt ankle. He'd been standing right in front of one of the dead ones. It had woken up when his back was turned and did what came naturally. Toby yelled angrily at it. The bird bit down harder. Toby twisted his waist around to get his hand in position.

POW

His hammer shot out like a marble from a Gauss gun, resulting in one spectacularly exploded skull.

He looked down. After prying the bits of beak away, his leg looked like a scratching post. He took a careful step with it and the pain made his teeth clench. This was not good. He wasn't going to make any progress limping from bird to bird like this.

"Yo, Toby!"

He looked up. A small dark hornet was coming to say hello to him.

The bullet passed clean through his corpus callosum, like parting his hair.

A moment later his heart was racing and he was scrambling to his feet in a new body. He looked down: clean clothes and intact ankle. And another dead Toby a few feet away. "Eeugh."

"You're welcome!" Junella shouted.

Well, at least it had been painless. He waved back, then spotted another twitching biteranodon and scurried towards it.

Junella took a moment to marvel. This was actually the same mouse that, just a few days ago, had nearly had a coronary seeing Sander take Zinc's breath. Now she'd put a bullet through his dome and he'd gotten back up like it was no big whoop.

And it was lucky for him she'd noticed the bird's ambush. The skunk's gaze had been fixed on Piffle, and she'd only glanced his way by chance. She looked back to the diminishing pink dot in the distance, resizer in hand.

Piffle was streaking through the air like a fighter jet. Her safari outfit was not exactly aerodynamic, but her strong wings and stronger heart more than compensated. She headed towards the highest hill, a few hundred feet from the car. She wanted to be as visible as possible for Junella.

The skunk squinted. 'Thank goodness for that silly-ass getup,' she thought. Piffle's clothes were bright as a lighthouse bulb. Finally the hamsterfly settled down and saluted, ready to be enlarged.

Junella took a deep breath as she closed the resizing window as small as it could go. She poured her willpower into it. 'I'm sure you weren't designed for this, but do me this favor, would you please?' She held it up to her eye. Piffle's tiny bouncing image was right in the center.

Junella pulled the corners apart.

Piffle's image grew to fit the new dimensions of the little plastic window.

The skunk's face sprang into a grin.

Then, just as quickly, she was frowning again as she watched Piffle suddenly shoot up into the sky. Where the heck was she going? Sightseeing? Junella put a hand above her eyes to follow the hamsterfly's course towards the top of the stone pillars. It was hard to make out what happened next, but it looked like Piffle was cheerleading. Waving her arms around and dancing in midair.

"Your six!" Zinc shouted.

Junella turned. She'd had to stand in the open to see Piffle, and she hadn't been watching her back. The biteranodon had taken a few bullets but could still glide. It had slipped past Zinc and was soaring straight towards her. She put her arms up to block beaks and it knocked her to the dirt. They tumbled together into a clot of bushes.

The nightmare bird's wings were wrapped tight around the strange-smelling meat. The prey struggled hard, but it pinned the squirming thing in place with its feet and prepared to fill its belly.

Junella forced her forearm deeper into the bird's lower maw to keep it busy while her head dodged the upper one. If she could just get her hand to her hip...

The bird let out a strangled 'Aaaawk?' as it suddenly grew a unicorn horn.

Junella's cutlass was hilted in it. Straight through the chest, up the throat, and out the top of its head. Like threading a needle.

She wriggled her legs between herself and the corpse and kicked it off of her. Her sword slipped out of its head with a fantastically gory noise.

She got to her feet and kicked it in the face. "Rude piece of shit," she spat.

Toby ran up to her. "Nicely done."

She sneered down at the thing, offended that it had touched her. "I shoulda been paying attention."

He shrugged. "Hey, your arm's leaking pretty bad. Want me to, uh, do what you did for me a moment ago?" He felt weird about the offer even as he held up his palm.

His politeness got a laugh out of her. "Nah, it'll melt over soon. Thanks though." Then her ear twitched as she caught a high-droning buzz coming closer. Almost like a single-engine aircraft.

The skunk and mouse both looked up to see a gigantic shape soaring in from overhead, making a beeline for the largest group of biteranodons. A flash of gold made them shield their eyes.

When they looked again, their jaws dropped.

Piffle's fork had gotten enlarged as well.

The biteranodons scattered into the air as the loudest buzzing of wings they'd ever heard scrambled their radar. Something unfathomably huge was descending upon them.

"CHOO CHOO!!!" said Pifflezilla.

The resizing window had done its job splendidly. Piffle was nearly forty feet tall, not counting her antennae. Her golden fork now weighed at least a ton, and she herself was about the same mass as a two-bedroom tract home. A fluffy pink airborne juggernaut.

She had her fork held out in front of her lengthwise, like a battering ram. Uncountable greasy black wings snapped as she tore through.

Zinc stopped pedaling and his gun went silent. "Someone make me some popcorn, 'cause this is gonna be a helluva show..."

The swarm scattered. Those that hadn't been demolished by Piffle's extraordinary entrance were blown away by the tornado-force wind from her wings. They cawed in panic. Not once had they ever faced anything like this. Piffle's grin was enormous. The deluxe-sized hamsterfly angled her wings and did a sudden flip around the axis of her fork, like a gymnast swinging around the parallel bars. She plummeted towards the ground feet-first, landing like an atom bomb and crushing several constructs to jelly.

Junella had the forethought to grab Toby and duck him under the car beside her. Piffle's boots sent a shockwave of sand racing across the canyon. Junella felt it rattle shards from her tail as it passed. Zinc was blown horizontal like a windsock.

While half their number had fled, several of the remaining biteranodons regrouped for another assault. Even with their nostrils perpetually clogged with their own filth, they could certainly smell thousands of pounds of hamster meat. A feast to feed the entire colony!

Piffle shot back into the air like a V2 rocket. "You guys'd better clear outta here if you know what's good for you!" she growled. But biteranodons have very little sense of self-preservation, so one of them dived straight for her face. A colossus punch sent it whizzing across the canyon to crunch against a rock pillar. The others seemed to take this as a signal to attack. Dozens swarmed at once.

Piffle knew, there was a time to keep up a sunny disposition and a time to get mad. These overgrown mosquitoes had put her and her friends through an afternoon of misery and had utterly routed her before. But that was when she was little. Now she outnumbered them all by herself. Tiny beaks bit her everywhere, but barely hurt. Their talons only felt like thumbtacks. She reached behind to one on her shoulder and pinched it flat between her fingers."Bad bird!"

Toby winced hard. "Oh yuck!"

Piffle swung, punched, kicked, and karate chopped. Turning on every axis in midair. Her wings spun her around like a whizzing top while she sang the Popeye theme. The tiny, fragile bodies barely registered as she pulverized them.

George had stars in his eyes. "I dearly wish I had wings again. How I'd love to join her!"

Corpse after corpse smashed against the ground. The terrorbunnies were having a carnival amongst the remains.

The nightmare birds attacked with all their ferocity but were hopelessly outclassed. Those that flew too close to her fists and boots got a free chiropractic rearrangement. Those that flew too close to her wings got blasted out of the sky by the downdrafts. Only one of them managed to make Piffle cry out in pain: it landed on her head and chomped down on her left antenna.

"NOW YOU'VE DONE IT!!" she boomed. She reached up and grabbed the little pest in both hands. It squawked and thrashed helplessly. The soft cushiony paws that had once brushed Doll's hair were now pneumatic compactors made of iron. As the others watched from below, she pulled in opposite directions and ripped the ugly little nuisance clean in half.

Junella, Toby and George were all hiding under the car at this point, since outside it was raining dead birds like the world's ugliest hailstorm. When the top and bottom chunks of that last unfortunate individual splatted against the dirt, they all flinched.

Toby could not tear his eyes away, but his shoulder nudged Junella's. "Aren't you glad she tagged along with us?"

The skunk mutely nodded.

"Give 'em hell, Piff!!" Zinc cheered. He jumped up and down, stomping the roof and whistling. "Go, cat, go!"

The canyon towers were speckled up and down with bird blood. Piffle's safari outfit was riddled with tiny teethmarks and sticky black feathers. And still the biteranodons would not retreat. Piffle snatched two of them out of the air and rammed their heads together with a sickening sploosh.

Piffle was a little bit frightened of herself at the moment. She was being awfully cruel to these little things. After all, they couldn't help being what they were. But then she thought of them attacking Toby, swooping at Zinc, getting poor George so mad he burned up the bridge by accident. Sympathy went out the window. "You shoulda left my friends alone!" she bellowed. She reached out to swat one of the buggers, then managed to catch another on her backswing, crumpling it like a candy wrapper. A backflip sent a well-timed karate kick at yet another, pinning it to one of the rock towers in a crimson stain.

Her love for her friends poured fuel onto her fire. Piffle geared herself up for a final blitz to wipe out the last of the nasties. But then, her antennae twitched at a distant sound.

The others heard it too. Or rather, they felt it.

thoom... thoom... thoom...

The vibration rattled up through the sandy ground. Something was coming. Something humongous.

Toby looked up to see chunks of rock raining down from the spires. He pressed his palms to the ground and could feel the rhythmic thumps travel up his arms. His heart turned to ice. There was something horribly familiar about this.

thoom... thoom... thoom...

Zinc looked all around. The echoes were ricocheting off the pillars, making it difficult to pinpoint their source. He swiveled the gatling gun back and forth, wondering if this was something he'd have to shoot. Wondering if shooting would make any difference.

The terrorbunnies all wisely darted for the safety of their burrows.

Thoom... Thoom... Thoom...

The biteranodons were in a tizzy. Those that had survived the onslaught of the titanic furry conqueror were flapping around in flustered circles. Their ears told them just how big and heavy this advancing unknown was. Two enormous beings in one day was simply too much to cope with. Two of them bashed into each other by accident and were soon joining the piles of Piffle's body count below.

THOOM... THOOM... THOOM...

Toby's heart quickened. The footsteps now shook the ground hard enough to rattle his teeth. Whatever impending nightmare was drawing near, it would dwarf Piffle.

Then he saw it. A foot emerged from behind a far pillar. Red as blood.

Toby felt ice crystals encrusting his whole body. His breath caught in his throat.

THOOM... THOOM... THOOM...

Had it followed him?

It turned the corner and squeezed itself through the gaps between the rock towers, its blocky shoulders scraping rubble away wherever it couldn't quite fit. One of the towers began to lean. Then came an ear-puncturing thundercrack as the mile-high pillar snapped at its base. It shattered from the strain of falling. Thousands of tons of rock spilled down from the sky. Then the whole world shuddered as the mountainous chunks impacted. A tsunami of dust raced across the canyon, sandblasting everything in its way. Boulders spun through the air like water drops. The shockwave sent the Fearsleigher hopping several feet straight up, and when it came down it bisected Junella neatly. She was barely aware of it as she reformed, still gawking agog at the mind-scrambling sight before her.

The creature emerged from the dust cloud without any indication that it noticed or cared about what it had just caused. Its pace never changed. Where before it sounded like it was charging, it was actually just taking its time. Strolling. Perfectly unconcerned with the cataclysms that followed wherever it walked.

The rustbeast.

-***-

Chapter Fifty-Four

Toby miraculously managed not to wet his pants.

Memories flooded back to him: his first frenzied moments in Phobiopolis, cowering among the trees as an unspeakably huge creature came stomping right past him. Impossible. Unstoppable. It had found him again. Toby watched those massive crimson legs leave square footprints big as swimming pools. He was going to end up in one of those footprints. Squashed like a grape. Flattened into a tiny smear.

The rustbeast was constructed entirely of rectangles, like a small child's drawing of a bug. If Piffle was as big as a house, then this was easily the size of a mall. And shaped like one too. The body was a gargantuan box, with six stiffly bending legs and a relatively small square head. No facial features. No eyes, ears, mouth, wings, or antennae. Every surface was the exact same color: oxidized coppery red. Rust incarnate.

At first, Toby was too stricken with brain-destroying dread to notice how much it had changed since their first encounter. But gradually it dawned on him that before, its appearance had been almost skeletal. Its limbs were like the Eiffel Tower: crisscrossing gaps all throughout its infrastructure. But now they were filled in smooth. And hadn't it had a tail before? Was this not the same beast? Another of its 'species'? Or had fear tangled up his perceptions the first time?

Whilst everyone else was staring at the immense oncoming abomination with a knowledge deep in their souls that this was the end, Piffle's reaction was quite different.

She twirled in mid-air, then flung her arms outward and shrieked in total joy, "It's RED!!!"

She zoomed like a cruise missile across the canyon right up to the rustbeast, immediately flinging her arms around its neck in a jubilant hug. "Oh it's SO good to see you again!!" she squealed. "And I can finally give you proper cuddles at this size!" She planted a series of rapid-fire kisses on the side of its face, staining her lips orange.

Doll leaned out of the side door and just gawked. She couldn't think of any gesture that could convey her feelings at seeing what she was seeing.

"Oh, of course," Junella muttered weakly, her brain blowing gaskets right and left. "Of course Piffle knows the monster at the end of the world. God put her here to fill my life with chaos."

George didn't hear a word she'd said. He was slowly getting to his feet again, trembling as he stared. His eyes shone with awe. "It's a nightmare construct," he breathed. "Like me."

Junella was about to say, 'Well yeah, there are lots of nightmares all over,' but then the deeper meaning struck her. "Like you? You mean... smart?"

George's voice was far away. He could barely believe his senses. The very idea that he was not alone in this realm had been unthinkable just a moment ago. "It does not seem to possess the same level of intelligence as I do, but look! It is not attacking her. It is docile. It is... tame!"

Indeed, the rustbeast was rubbing its cheek against Piffle's. Swaying side to side as she squeezed and smooched and babytalked to it.

She sighed in bliss. "You couldn't have come at a better time, ya big sweetiepie. We were in a heckuva fix, but you wouldn't mind doin' us a favor and letting us hitchhike, wouldja old pal? Nah! 'Course not! Because you're wonderful all over, aren't you? And looking so well-fed! Hardly any holes today!"

It nodded slowly. Its head was roughly half her current size. Flakes of rust like crimson dandruff sloughed off whenever it moved. Its shape was like a beetle, but its movements recalled a very large, old tortoise.

Piffle gave the rustbeast one last firecracker of a kiss, then buzzed her wings and rocketed back towards her friends. She was so overwhelmed with happiness, she did three barrel rolls and landed on her tummy like a runner sliding into home plate. "Hiya, guys! Isn't this great!?" she boomed.

The resulting minor earthquake knocked everyone off their feet. She giggled sheepishly as her friends picked themselves up.

Toby pointed past her and stated the obvious. "...That's the rustbeast!!"

"It's Red!" she repeated. "He's an old pal. I met him years ago. He walks through the Blackdamp every now 'n again, then vanishes for a while and comes back. Actually, that might explain why he's hereabouts. Maybe he just walks from one end of the world to the other. For exercise."

George looked up into her shining eyes, desperate for answers. "Madam McPerricone! Why did you never tell me you knew of another ascended construct? I've felt achingly alone all this time! Thinking I was nothing but a fluke, an aberration!"

She blinked. "Gosh, it never crossed my mind!" She looked back and forth between George and Red. "I never thought of him as a nightmare! I mean, he's never acted like one. Normally you guys are all 'rawr rawr'. But I watched him go by a few times and he just seemed like he was passin' on though without a care. I flew up to talk to him one day and he didn't seem to mind me. After a few times, he'd even wait for me to show up."

"Incredible," George husked. His mind whirred with curiosity. Had this beast lost its normal nightmarish temperament through the years, like he himself had? Or had it come into existence like this? Was it really even a nightmare? It smelled like one and gave off all the right signals. But it might also be something new. Or something ancient, predating himself and all other constructs. Was it someone's imaginary friend come to life?

"I think he'll like you guys," Piffle said with assurance. "Anywizzle, didja see the way I KO'd those nasty crows?" She grinned proudly and took a swing at imaginary villains.

Seeing her so gigantic made Zinc's heart beat in a rather unexpected way. He was the size of a sparkplug compared to her. "You're the most, babe! Our very own Pauline Bunyan!"

"Why thank you," she said sweetly. She looked down at all her tiny friends, greatly amused at their bug-eyed expressions and how they were barely taller than the toes of her boots now.

That gave her a wicked idea. "I just can't resist!" She crouched down and made a grab for George.

"ExCUSE me, I..." He neighed in protest as she bounced him up and down.

"Trot trot trot! My little horsie went to the races!" She paraded George around in a circle like a plastic toy.

"This is an assault on my dignity!" he snorted.

Junella was laughing so hard she was crying. That is, until a humongous hamster paw picked her up and lifted her into the air. She opened her mouth to scream but all she could manage was a record scratch.

Toby did not panic too much when Piffle did the same to him. He knew she wouldn't do anything terrible to him, right? And her paw was really soft. Like having a bunch of couch cushions abduct him.

Piffle's grin was spectacularly mischievous. "And here we have the lovely bride and groom on their wedding day! Aren't they a sight! I'm the preacher and I say that now you may kiss the bride!"

Junella's expression turned to boundless horror.

Toby screamed as Piffle suddenly thrust him headfirst towards Junella.

Piffle was careful not to crack her little playthings' skulls, but she did kind of bonk Toby's face against Junella's cheek while making smooching noises. "Oh, oh, my precious darling! You are the cream in my coffee! The only one for me!"

Junella wiggled a hand loose enough to scream, "ZINC, FOR GOD'S SAKE, SHOOT HER!!!"

But he was laughing way too hard to aim straight.

From behind them came a quiet, questioning grunt. Although "quiet" hardly applied to a rustbeast. Its mutter sounded like iron beams bending.

Piffle remembered she'd left him standing there. He was probably wondering why his friend had run off so suddenly. She was about to tuck her friends in her pocket, but then remembered poor stuck Zinc. Instead, she lifted Toby, Junella and George up onto the Fearsleigher's roof. Then she gripped it under the chassis, lifted with her knees, and picked the whole darn thing up. "Whoof! It's heavier than it looks! How do you do it, George?"

He was too busy trying to not fall off to answer. Hooves and metal do not make for secure standing. Plus, the others were all wobbling around trying to deal with the shaking too and he didn't want to step on them by accident.

Piffle skipped merrily across the canyon with her playset and action figures. Each footstep sounded like a dumpster dropped from a helicopter. Toby flattened himself to the roof on his tummy. Junella wobbled around like a rolling die, barely avoiding the gatling gun barrel (it was still so hot it would have melted her smooth). Piffle skidded to a stop in front of Red and held up the car. "Looky! These are my friends!"

Toby's brain could barely deal with being so close to the thing that had first introduced him to the terrors of Phobiopolis. Back then it had nearly scared him into a coma. He expected a gush of hot breath to blast him off the roof as the thing sniffed him, but of course it didn't have a nose. Its face was nothing more than a featureless red wall.

"Oh, and we can't forget Doll." Piffle snugged the Fearsleigher under her arm so she could poke her finger through the side door. Doll felt as tiny as a ladybug as she crawled up onto it. Piffle placed her on the roof along with the others.

Doll craned her neck up, trying to deal with the enormity of this thing. She gave an uncertain wave to it.

Red's head moved back a fraction, surprised by the near-microscopic furson dressed in burlap. Then it leaned in a little closer.

"I think you're interesting to him," Piffle said.

Then she farted.

POOOT. The flabby, rumbling noise was almost exactly the same as air escaping from a balloon. And just as it happened, Piffle shrank a few inches.

Her cheeks reddened. "Oh gee!"

Zinc piped up, "I don't think that resizer's supposed to work like this! I think the effect's wearing off!"

Junella had a horrible thought of Piffle suddenly reverting to normal all at once, and what would that do to the car and everyone on it? "Put us down while you still can!!"

"Better idea!" Piffle sing-songed. She reached out to gently pet Red's big square noggin. "Is it okay? I just wanna be sure first." She tooted again, hiccuped, and lost another bit of height.

"Hurry!!"

"There's always time for politeness," Piffle admonished the skunk.

It took a few moments for Red to acknowledge Piffle's question, but then his head slowly raised and slowly lowered: a nod.

"Great! Thank you so much!" She kissed his forehead, then got a better grip on the car and took off with her wings. She grunted. It was even harder trying to carry the big armored thing while flying.

Another poot. Everyone on the roof nearly lost their balance.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry!" Piffle said. Straining and puffing, she managed to get enough height to bring the Fearsleigher's roof level with Red's back. Then her friends could hop to safety while she dealt with getting the car parked.

"Go, go go!" Junella yelped. By reflex she snatched up Doll's arm as she dashed past, and tossed her like a bowling ball onto the relatively stable ground of Red's back.

"Need assistance, Sire Toby?" George asked.

Toby did indeed. His bravery tank had reached empty and he was having a lot of trouble convincing his limbs to let go of the roof.

George bent down and picked him up by his vest collar like a mother cat carrying a kitten. He trotted onto Red and set his master down.

The rust felt uncomfortably scrapey under Toby's moccasins.

Still shrinking by inches every few seconds, Piffle struggled to haul the Fearsleigher up higher. At first she was just going to plop it straight down, but then she realized that the unexpected solution to one problem had created another. The Fearsleigher had not been able to push itself up on its blades, but with Piffle holding it, gravity had bent them down anyway. And locked them there. This was good for the car but might be painful for Red's back. Piffle fretted for a second, then decided the best solution would be to tip the car over on its side.

Zinc hollered as his feet slipped out from beneath him and he dangled by his hands. "Still stuck here, remember!?"

"Yikes! Forgive me!" Piffle exclaimed. "How do I set it down without hurting him!?"

Junella got an idea. She ran back towards the car and timed a perfect leap onto the grille. Then she clambered up the fender and dropped down into the front seat. She called out to Piffle, "Rotate it back to normal if you don't wanna get sepukku'd!"

The hamsterfly obeyed. Zinc was glad to have something to stand on again. Junella pressed a button and the car started vibrating. Piffle yelped and tightened her grip. The skate blades began to move.

What Junella had done was to engage the manual merging sequence. Even without George there, the Fearsleigher could be tricked into thinking he was. Its gears click-click-clicked, extending the mangled remains of his harness while raising the skate blades to their horizontal position.

"Good job, Junella!" Piffle said as she sat the car down flat. Good timing too, as her arms had started shaking from the strain. Now that all her friends and all their stuff was safe, she switched to the next highest priority.

She flicked her wings and swooped back around to Red's head to glom it in one last mega-hug. Now it was almost larger than she was, but still the mammoth hamsterfly squeezed with all her heart. "Thank you soooo much, Red! You're a swell fella! A really big help! I dunno what I can ever do to repay you, but I hope my hug's a good start."

His head slowly raised, then slowly lowered.

Piffle rubbed her cheek against him, getting it all rusty. "I'm glad."

Piffle continued to poot until she was back to normal size. By then she had crawled up on top of Red's head, lying spread-eagle across it, trying to ensure that her hug would continue to cover as much surface area as Pifflely possible.

Toby peeked over the edge of Red's back. It was like a sheer cliff. Ten feet down to where his head was, but sixty more to the ground. He was still nervous about Red, but anyone Piffle could love so wholeheartedly couldn't be all bad.

Doll toddled over to hold onto the hem of his shorts for stability. Toby looked down at her, then at Piffle and Red, and found the parallels interesting.

Piffle gave her big buddy one last squeeze, then sat up. "I guess I'd better tell you where we're going, huh? Hopefully it won't be an inconvenience. We're trying to get to a place called... I'm not sure, actually. Zinc called it Hell's Arse and Junella called it Fistula."

Junella overheard this and ran over at top speed to correct her. "No, no, no, NO! Don't give him that idea!!"

Piffle nibbled her finger in confusion. "But you said..."

"That was when we were up on the ropes! Did you see that flaming hole in the sky? Normally it's the quickest route. But if your big pal doesn't mind, I'd MUCH rather take our time and walk to Marasmus. Skip the hot place entirely."

"...Amen!!" Zinc shouted. "Ever had your eyelids pan-sear your peepers? Ain't fun, lemme fuckin' tellya!"

Piffle grimaced. "I can imagine!" She reached down to stroke Red like a puppy. "So how's that? Do you know where Marasmus is?"

It nodded a little faster this time, as if she'd asked a really easy one.

She clapped her paws. "That's super!"

From deep within the beast came a low bass groan. Like the creak of long-dormant machinery struggling back to life after centuries of decay. Resonant enough to vibrate up through everyone's feet. For Red, it was a whisper.

Piffle gave him a pat. "Mm-hmm, we're ready. We can go anytime."

It nodded. Then it looked side to side at the nearby rock pillars. Red had no reason to care about environmental destruction when he was all by his lonesome. Everywhere in Phobiopolis, the land perpetually healed itself behind the scenes (and where it didn't, Red did not go). But now he had smallones as passengers. Heavy rocks could kill them. That would make them unhappy. Red knew that sometimes he would step on smallones by accident, but tried whenever possible not to.

Toby dropped down to all fours as soon as he felt the rusty bulk shift below him. He could perfectly picture this thing rocking back and forth like a humongous camel, sending him sliding off the side to fall and go splat. But to his amazement, once those big legs started moving, Red's stride was as smooth as if he were gliding on rollers. Toby cautiously stood up, laughing in amazement.

Piffle could see the overwhelming breathless relief in her mouse friend's expression. He actually put his arms out to the side and let the wind rustle over him.

She smiled warmly. Was there a better feeling in all the world than introducing old friends to new, and having them all get along?

***

'The view from up here is impressive,' Toby had to admit.

Now that he had a moment to appreciate them, the rock pillars were actually rather beautiful. They were not a solid orange, but striped with many different hues. And the way the land curved between them reminded Toby of ocean waves. Best of all? No more biteranodons. Any of them foolish enough to hang around after Piffle's pummeling had skedaddled the instant they laid eyes on Red. Well, except for the ones that were currently beset by packs of gnawing terrorbunnies.

Toby's nerves were calming down. Red had shown not a speck of aggression so far. If the big beast knocked over trees and rock pillars when it walked, that was only due to clumsiness, not malice. Toby told himself that if he could accept George as a friend despite his fearsome appearance, there was no reason he couldn't accept Red too.

The mouse knelt down to reluctantly pat the rustbeast. "Uhh... Hi."

It raised its head in Toby's direction.

"Pleased to meet you," Toby semi-lied.

A slight head tilt. Possibly a shrug?

'Not the world's greatest conversationalist,' Toby thought.

Meanwhile, Junella was trying to get Zinc down off the roof. Some people vented their frustrations though sports or debate. Right now she was using a crowbar. It had come from the storage space under the hood, where she'd been glad to see (thanks to the inner carpeting and some tight packing) almost nothing had been broken. Right now she had the crowbar's forked end jammed between her partner's right wrenchpaw and the gun grip, sweating and straining and actually rather glad for having a practical problem in front of her she could solve with brute force.

Zinc had his tail between his legs. "I appreciate this, partner. I was starting to think I'd spend the rest of the trip as an object d'art." (Of course, he pronounced it as 'ob-ject da art'.) He had his feet folded up behind him as far away from the pedals as possible. Still, Junella gave the gun threatening looks as she worked. 'Just you TRY and shoot me...'

Finally there came a CRACK and both the skunk and mutt fell backwards. Junella tipped herself back on her feet with her tail. She hefted the crowbar over her shoulder. "One down, one to go."

"Nah, you go unwind. I got this one," Zinc grabbed hold and grunted. Finally having some leverage, the second wrench came free in half the time. Even better, the grips' inner mechanisms still had some spring in them. With a bit of repair work, he was certain the gun would be good as new again.

Seeing as Zinc now had that 'Oh boy I get to fix something' gleam in his eyes, Junella decided to take his advice and go chill while she had the chance. She handed him the crowbar and hopped down from the car. She found she kind of liked the feel of Red's scaly 'skin' on her feet. Good for scratching itches. She laid herself down and stretched out every bit of herself, releasing a sigh.

"Might I offer my ribcage as a pillow for your head, Madam Brox?" George asked as he trotted over.

The skunk shrugged. "Don't hafta."

He was already kneeling down to curl his legs below him. "Actually, I was hoping we could have a bit of a conversation."

Junella got her tail out of his way and scooted back so she could fold her arms behind her head. She eased down onto him. For charred old bone, he was fairly comfortable. "'What's shakin'?"

George looked out across the landscape. The rock pillars were becoming scarcer in this direction. There were more numerous bushes and other native flora. Packs of terrorbunnies followed behind Red like groupies, all leaping up to nibble scraps of biteranodon flesh from his feet. Great numbers of them were gooshed beneath those gargantuan square soles, but Red took no notice.

Finally George laid his skull down against the rust. "I just... It seems as though you are the de facto leader of our expedition, and given that position of authority, I feel I must make a formal apology for my actions earlier."

Junella arched an eyebrow. She said nothing, coaxing him to continue.

He was surprised she didn't immediately know what he was talking about. "I let the biteranodons rile me into burning down the bridge! Then, after we fell, I let loose that dreadful outburst!" He shook his skull from side to side in shame.

Junella snorted and closed her eyes again. "Forgiven."

Her curtness wounded him. "Madam Brox, I am serious in wanting to make amends. I don't-"

She shot a hand out to lightly smack him upside the head. "And I was serious about forgiving you. George, did you happen to notice I drove us off the wrong ramp and landed us in Kar... Kart..." It was always hard finding the syllables to stitch together a new place. "...the land of 1000 airplanes!? That was stupid as hell of me and it nearly got us all royally fucked. And you know what? OH WELL!"

She shouted that last part so loudly it startled him.

"Point is, no one's the hero every time. I get that you're on this noble quest of penance for your evil past. I can relate to that more than most people..." The hand that had smacked him reached out to gently caress his cheekbone. "But you're gonna fuck up along the way. And you've gotta forgive yourself, 'cause you'll curl into nothin' if you don't. Remember that you fucked up, but don't get all crazy over it either. The more you concentrate on a mistake, the more likely you are to do the same damn thing over again."

George took a moment to silently ruminate on this. Then he spoke softly, "That is very wise, Madam Brox."

"Experience," she sang back. "You either get smart or get dead."

He nodded. Then nudged her cheek gently. "Thank you. That was, I think, the most helpful thing you could have said to me."

She grinned a little. "I'm a people-pleaser." Then she tilted her head back to stare up through the lazily swirling sky. She'd just let George see a part of herself she usually kept hidden. There was a thoughtful place inside her she'd long ago sealed behind walls of outer armor. It was a place she could see firsthand on the rare occasions when she curled up into her own bellybutton. She only did this when Zinc was nowhere around, and only for as long as it took to remember. It was easy to forget her own advice. She often did.

Meanwhile, Piffle was sitting on top of Red's head, just enjoying the view and daydreaming. The weather was nice and warm. She could see dust trails pluming up from the various nightmare critters that patrolled this place. But they didn't worry her. Up here on Red, they might as well have been doodlebugs.

She leaned over to give him one more kiss and a pat, then stood up to stretch. She was curious what the rest of her friends were up to. She jumped, and hoisted herself up the ridge onto Red's back.

Toby was sitting cross-legged nearby. Doll was propped up beside him, back-to-back. The mouse's eyes were blank and faraway. He looked deep in thought, so she decided to slip past without disturbing him.

In actuality, Toby's mind was as vacant as his expression. Now that he had this moment to cool down, he'd taken full advantage of it and fallen into a kind of waking sleep. He let all conscious thought slip away as his brain's sub-basement tried to process through everything that had happened recently.

Piffle gave Doll a wave, and a wave was returned. Doll seemed to be keeping watch over Toby while the mouse spaced out, so Piffle left her alone too.

Then, up on the rooftop, click click click. Zinc was giving the gatling turret a thorough inspection, squeezing it and fondling it from every angle with his wrenches.

Piffle fluttered up to peek over his shoulder.

He took no notice at first. His gaze was locked on the big brass gun, checking her all over for injuries. He realized now that her out-of-this-world price tag wasn't just for her looks, but her craftsmanship. Solid as a battleship.

"What's the prognosis, doc? Will she ever play the piano again?"

He swiveled around to find Piffle loitering behind him. He chuckled. "Once I fix the grips she'll be right as rain. Wouldja mind grabbing my tools from inside? I'm pretty sure I remembered to stash 'em back in the glovebox before we..." he gestured like a spinning top.

"Right on it," she said and vanished. A moment later she plopped his tool bag beside him, along with an unexpected surprise. "Voila!"

"Jesus, this thing's got a good luck charm on it!" Zinc took the rumpled cornucopia from her paws and marveled at it.

"I thought we'd lost it too! But nope, it got wedged under your seat."

Zinc uncrimped the edges and held it above his head. A fountain of cool water spilled out. "Ahhhhh! That hit the spot!" He shook himself top-to-bottom, drying off as canines do. Piffle laughed and shielded herself from the spray. Then Zinc conjured up a peeled hard boiled egg from the cornucopia and handed it back. "Thanks, toots," he said with his mouth full.

"You're welcome. I always like helping." She pulled out a plate of cake and sat down to watch him work.

Seeing that he had her attention, he decided to give her something worth looking at. First he spread out his tools on the roof. Then he detached his Doorknockers and let his wrenches pop off their mounts. He shucked his shirt and jacket to keep them from getting grease-stained. He reattached his arms and arched his back in a long, deep stretch. The afternoon sun ran its warm fingers through his chestfur. Felt good.

Piffle felt her heart flutter. Zinc's body shape was a bit like an alley stray: thin and patchy. But his muscles were like bundles of copper wire underneath his taut skin. And then she realized that he had a circle of curious fur over his left pectoral, right where his heart would be. "Say, what's that big polka dot you got?"

"Oh this?" He was mildly startled. He'd put a lot of work into matching the color. Not many people noticed it. "Come on over and take a closer look. It's real interestin'."

Piffle let her cake stop existing and stood up. He'd sounded almost shy just then. Her antennae twitched as she leaned in closer. She put out a paw to touch the spot. "It feels counterfiet. Like a stuffed animal."

He nodded. "Lift the flap. See what's underneath."

She crouched a little lower to do so. When she did, she gasped.

The round patch came off in her hand like velcro. Underneath was a hard plastic circle: the end of a clear tube that passed entirely through the left side of Zinc's chest. She reached around to feel his back. As expected, she found a second patch.

When she slid it away, the sun shone fully through him.

Inside the transparent tunnel was a tiny masterpiece of gears. Bronze-colored and sparkling. They made up a rough sphere that whizzed around inside the tube: back and forth, back and forth, like a trapped bee behind a closed window. Piffle could not get a good look at the speedy little thing, but she could tell it was as delicate as it was complex, and that constant miniature lightning strikes were going off around it.

She was speechless.

Zinc grinned at her expression. "Nifty, huh? I got a tin man's heart."

Reverently, Piffle put her hand against the plastic window. It felt incredibly durable. Bulletproof. She could feel an intense tingling vibration travel up her fingertips from the tiny dynamo inside. "It's beautiful..."

He acted nonchalant, but his cheeks were turning pink. He liked seeing her amazed expression. The way her mouth hung open past her cute buck teeth.

Then she furrowed her brow. "But... I saw Miss Xenoiko eat yours. And Luxy scooped it out 'long with mine."

He chuckled and patted the other side of his chest. "Real one's still in there too."

She leaned even closer to press her ear to Zinc's right side and could hear the th-thump, th-thump of his organic beat.

"A normal heart can't generate the force for bloodpower. Not for long at least." He flexed his wrenches in a bicep curl. "So ol' Doc Coddington shoved it aside and plugged this spankin' new one in for hi-octane backup. It's a bitsy little power plant. Perpetual motion. If that tube ever broke, all hell'd break loose. The little wind-up toy inside'd probably go whizzing around and shred right through the world and out the other side."

"Gosh..." Piffle breathed. The longer she held her hand in place, the more the buzzing from the tube traveled slowly up her arm, creating a tickly numb sensation. When she let go, she could still feel it strumming her nerves. "That's a doozy of a ticker you got there. Or tickerS!"

"I'm glad you like 'em, baby." He took the patches back and reapplied them. "Too much sun can make it overheat," he explained. "I wouldn't want to end up with a broken heart."

"You and me both." As soon as Piffle said this, she blushed as pink as her jacket and covered her mouth with a paw. But the other, giving away her true feelings, reached out to trace along the edge of Zinc's right wrench.

He shivered as those gentle furred fingers traveled slowly up and down his rough metal. Ooooh... "Hee hee! If I could get 'em, you'd be givin' me goosebumps!"

Piffle's touch inspected every little nick and dent. "They've been through a lot, haven't they? You're gonna have to set me down one of these days and tell me all about where you got 'em."

A lightbulb went off. "How 'bout now? The repairs on the gun are dead simple. I just need to bend metal till it gets back to normal. You could sit and listen to me talk."

She 'boop'ed his nose. "Even better, I can be your eager young assistant. You can ask me for tools and I'll go fetchem. Just like in a surgery where the doctor asks the nurse, 'Scalpel... forceps... washcloth...'."

They both chuckled. "That'll be good practice for when you get back to Coryza," he said.

She liked that he remembered her ambition. "Whatcha need first?"

Zinc leaned over the bent grip. "Uhhh... Let's see. I think, first..." He cast a sly eye towards her. "...a smooch?"

She felt like sunny yellow dandelions were raining down around her. With a bounce of her ruffles, she giggled, squeezed closer, and placed a feather-light kiss to his cheek. The fur smelled like gunpowder and sweat. A very exciting odor. "Silly pup," she whispered.

Zinc turned beet red.

***

Toby remained an inanimate object for the better part of an hour. Despite the clanging and sizzling from Zinc and Piffle's repairs. Despite Doll getting restless and going off to make use of Red's wide back by running around and exercising her limbs. Despite Junella exhibiting her equivalent of snoring (her paw was on her chest, and as she breathed it scratched out the same syllable repeatedly). Despite George and Red sharing a long, rumbling conversation in which George received as many new questions as answers, and discovered that Red's mind was molasses-slow not from lack of intelligence, but from a state of such perfect calm that reacting to anything took as long as getting up from bed in the morning.

Also despite the change in the landscape. They'd left the rock columns far behind, entering Lumbago's wide open spaces. The rocks out here were piled up in grotesque aerobic contortions, looking like a stiff breeze might topple them. Amongst the formations scampered a variety of nightmare beasts. Cactusyotes and terrorbunnies, but also bristle-furred creatures resembling hyper-muscled hyenas. These stocky constructs moved as if in a state of constant paranoia.

The nightmares out here shared no professional courtesy. In the absence of souls to torment, they chased one another in frenzied circles, tearing chunks of living flesh away whenever one was caught. It was a möbius strip of maddened predation. Those among the rat race too slow or too stupid to get out of Red's way were liquefied beneath his tread, simple as that.

There was a greater variety of plantlife out here too. It looked like someone had sprinkled around a giant's packet of garden seeds. Overgrown pumpkins and potatoes curled into tangling mazes, often tripping up the constructs as they rushed to catch their fellows.

And the sun was going down. For now it was dangling midway through the sky, indecisive as a cat on a doorstep. Its lazy light reflected through the thick clouds surrounding it, changing them to strange and monstrous colors not seen on Earth. Ominous or beautiful, it depended on the viewer.

Toby's eyes saw very little of it.

Or rather, they saw, but they did not judge or react. He was on standby. 

And when he eventually came back to his senses, he felt as refreshed as if he'd just woken up from a ten hour sleep in a voluminous bed. His neck and elbows were stiff like uncooked pasta, but otherwise he actually felt- dare he think it- peaceful.

He had gone from feeling overwhelming terror towards Red to a genuine gratefulness. He placed his palm against the rustbeast's hide and moved it in slow, gentle circles. His fingers left trails behind in the red dust.

How long ago had their trial in EC been? A month maybe? Losing track of time in Phobiopolis was as easy as letting water run through his fingers. His mind now turned backwards, replaying all his adventures in reverse, making sure he remembered the cause and effect of everything. From the highway to Kartagener and back. From EC to the highway. There was Gyre 2, and then the mall. Before that, Coryza. No, wait, there was Fugax, Rither, and the Bozos in between. Going back even further, there was the campfire where they'd all come together. Before that was the waterfall, before that was Sander's shop, before that was building the Fearsleigher in the Jennie-Mae's magic backyard.

His mind paused on that detail for some reason. Hovering around it. The big square doorway with the carpet cover. One one side was Phlogiston, on the other, Scrofula. A portal. A wormhole. Why was his mind fixating on this?

'Well, for starters, having doorways like that everywhere would have made this trip a whole lot easier,' he thought with a weary chuckle.

Wait.

Wait...

That was a legitimate point. Why weren't there portals all over the place?

Why couldn't Phlogiston connect to somewhere else instead? Or many different places? Why did traveling between Phobiopolis' two biggest cities mean passing through a land of unconstrained mental torture? Why was traveling across Hypovolemia necessary? Or this place? And what about this Dysphoria thing that was was supposed to be so terrible? Why hadn't someone plopped a couple of doorways down to completely bypass the place? Why couldn't he have walked from Stoma to Anasarca in one step?

Oh, this was gonna bug him until he got some answers.

He stood up a little too quick and his head felt dizzy for a moment. He looked around.

Doll was off doing actual cartwheels. He was impressed she could maneuver so well in her burlap burqa, and figured she'd been practicing for as long as he'd been vegetating.

Junella and George both seemed to be asleep. She was using his ribcage for a pillow, and he was resting his head on her tail. Toby smiled. That was awful cute.

On top of the car, Zinc had produced a radio from somewhere which was spitting out a steel guitar tune. He and Piffle were tinkering with the gatling gun, laughing together and chatting up a storm. They were shoulder-to-shoulder, looking into each other's eyes and just... glowing.

Plus, Zinc had his shirt off. Toby felt a brief pang of jealousy.

But he stopped and shook the emotion away like picking up garbage and depositing it in the wastebasket. Yeah, he felt envious of Zinc's tight stomach and chest muscles. Yeah, he wished that it was him up there being cuddly with Piffle. But those were just automatic feelings. He knew, rationally, he would be going home someday. Hopefully soon. If that left P&Z together, that was fine. In fact, he realized that he actually felt pretty good about having introduced the two. They both looked really happy.

Toby knew his crush on Piffle had really only been reflexive anyway. She was sweet and soft and female, and he was male and starved for affection. The outcome seemed obvious. Except that reality wasn't turning out to be as simple as his books. The hero didn't always have to "get the girl". And he didn't really feel a need to either. Maybe someday he'd be ready for love, but right now his biggest priority was Toby deLeon. Nothing selfish about that; a simple truth. He was a pinging pinball, bouncing between terrors both external and internal, still unsure over his ultimate destination. In this state, he couldn't hope to focus on someone else more than himself. And that was okay. There would be time later, someday.

Piffle happened to glance down and notice the mouse standing there. She read his expression easily. She was glad to see approval in his eyes and not hurt. She waved him over.

Toby trotted across Red's back towards the car. (Though he didn't know it, Red absolutely loved the sensation of smallones' feet scampering across him. It was delightfully tickly.) Toby stepped up carefully onto the skate blade. From here he could see the pair had gotten the gatling gun half-dismantled. Brass parts were scattered all over the roof and hood. How was there any place left to walk around?

Zinc finally noticed Toby and the mouse's bewilderment. "I, uh, get a little carried away sometimes when I'm working, y'know? Fixing one thing turns into, 'Say, I'll bet I could make a few improvements here!' Next thing I know, I got a jigsaw puzzle in front of me."

Piffle gave him a squeeze. "Don't worry, I'm keeping track of all the pieces."

Zinc smiled at the squeeze, then his expression turned to alarm as he realized Toby was standing right in front of them. His affections had clouded him from realizing it before, but he had no idea if he was stepping on the mouse's heart by getting close to her. He held up his hands in a peacemaking gesture. "Whoa! Toby! I didn't mean any-"

The mouse smiled lopsidedly. There was still a small pinch of jealousy in his heart he couldn't get rid of, but it was manageable. "It's allright. Piffle and I talked about it when we went to the movies."

"Huh," he said, surprised, but glad, at the mouse's unruffled reply. "So wait... you knew before I did?" He ruffled the back of his neck bashfully. "Heh. Guess this is my week for bein' unobservant. Still, I don't want there to be any bad blood between us. I know she was your friend first."

Toby nodded. "It really is okay. Piffle and I are friends. You two can be more if you like."

Zinc nodded at the maturity of that and shook the mouse's hand.

Piffle was glad to see that everything was working out well. She gave both boys a snuggle for being gentlemen. Then an extremely naughty smile came to her face. She swirled a finger beneath Zinc's chin. "Oh Zinc... did I forget to tell you about that powerhouse smooch Toby gave me after we fell off the bridge?"

Zinc's tin eyebrow went up.

Toby's fur stood on end. He sputtered, "I...! Why would you tell him that!? It was a reflex!" 

She giggled evilly.

Zinc caught on to her little game. He cast a mock-stern expression at Toby and mimed rolling up his sleeves. "This smirch upon mine honor must not go unaddressed! You and I shall duel at dawn, yon varlet! Fencing swords or pistols?"

Toby laughed at the melodrama in Zinc's voice. "How about feather dusters? I have sensitive skin."

Zinc bent in half guffawing.

If they could joke about it, then things really were okay. "Actually, if you don't mind me interrupting whatever you guys are doing, I came over 'cause I had a thought about the doorway in your ship. The portal one. Like, why and how?"

Zinc scratched the back of his neck. "Man, I dunno. Ask Junella. She'd know more than me. I just live there."

"Allright." Something else popped into Toby's head. "...I can't remember if you ever told me how you guys ended up with a pirate ship in the first place."

Zinc chuckled sheepishly. "'Stealing' is such an ugly word," he said, smiling fondly at the memory. "More like, after we turned in a particular bounty and Luxy thought it might be a good idea for him to spend the next twenty years in the Pipe, Junella and I decided to take stewardship of some of his more fascinating possessions."

"I see," said Toby. "Presumably without his knowledge or permission?"

"You presume correct," Zinc said with a smirk.

Piffle pretended to be morally offended. "Gasp! My mother warned me about getting involved with hooligans like you!"

"I guess we're more fun than she could handle," he quipped back.

This led to more giggling. Their gazes magnetized to one another.

"I'll, uh... go ask Junella about the thing," Toby said with a blush and a smile, leaving them to their continued canoodling.

Tiny flames flickered at the edges of George's nostrils with each one of his snores. The normal pinprick lights in his eye sockets were dimmed.

Toby crept around him silently. Moccasins were good for that. He couldn't help noticing that George had his head laid down on Junella's tail, right in the midst of the record shard part. Could that possibly be comfortable? Maybe George was such a heavy sleeper it didn't matter.

The skunk had her hands folded over her belly, chest rising and falling in silence now. Toby's eyes were drawn to her sheathed cutlass. He wondered if he dared to wake her. After all, he could ask his question some other time.

She didn't open her eyes, but her hand reached down to pat the empty space beside her.

He knelt down and swiveled himself to sit. "I should've figured you were a light sleeper," he whispered.

She shook her head. "Just dozing. Keeping an ear on things. You seem to have been occupied with your own head for a while. What's new?"

He'd never heard her sing so softly before. Somewhere between a lullaby and a nightclub chanteuse’s coo. It was soothing. "What can you tell me about the portal doorway in the Jennie-Mae? Like, who made it and how does it work?"

She was surprised enough by this line of inquiry to actually open an eye. "Why's that caught your interest?"

He made an 'idunno' grunt. "I was just thinking about all the awful places people have to go through to get to the good ones here. Why aren't there portals everywhere? Travel would be so much easier."

She nodded. "I agree. And you're not the first furson to ask that. Fact is, I don't know why my Jennie's got a magic door. I'm just glad she does, since our Scrofula place is like a bigass walk-in closet. I don't know its origins tho'. It just came with the ship, that's all. I asked around once and the best answer I got was, this is just a thing that happens when goods get made and moved around. Some specks of Scrofula got mixed in with her timbers, and now wherever she goes she 'remembers' her birthplace."

Toby 'hmmm'ed. He also looked down at his palm and wondered if Alfonzo's sheath might've tapped the same principle.

Junella yawned and went on. "Even though worldwide doorways would cut my business in half, I'd welcome them. If I never had to pass through Fugax again... But things like that can't be made. You can't just take a bit of one place, sprinkle it on some wood, and 'tada'. Scrofula's a special case anyway, it's more unstable than it looks. The buildings were there, people moved in, then all of them went insane. All of 'em."

Toby suddenly got very worried, and a little upset. "...You let me walk right into it."

She rolled her eyes beneath their lids. "Namby-pamby mouse. A little dose ain't gonna hurt ya. We have barbecues back there all the time. An afternoon is fine. A campout. But spend four weeks? Then you'll start painting the walls with your dead relatives."

"So it's like radiation poisoning. I saw a show about that once. There's places on Earth where you can take a tour through, but if you actually lived there, all your fur'd fall out and your balls would turn into raisins."

She chortled pretty hard at that. George snurfled in his sleep.

Junella tried to keep it down. If any of them deserved a good rest, it was George. "But back to your question. Don't feel bad about asking it. People have tried to do exactly that. Best we've got so far are the tub stations."

Toby vaguely remembered hearing that term before.

"Bathtub in the middle of the street. Step in, think your destination," she made a furson-being-sucked-up-by-a-drain noise, "you're there. But they're one-seaters, and not too reliable. Most people make their own cars, or there's people like me 'n Zinc who get you from here to there with a bit more insurance. There's also a coupla big blue buses with tank treads, run between Coryza and EC every few weeks. That's the extent of Phobiopolis' mass transit."

Toby felt a bit disappointed. "It's a shame. I just thought, souls have been ending up here for years and years. Surely in all that time, someone must've tried connecting the towns and cities."

"Oh sure they've tried," Junella replied. "I remember Luxy bankrolled a railroad once. Bad investment. They'd lay down tracks, and by the time they came back through there'd be snarled-up chunks of metal all over. Fugax and the forest, like most locations, go loco when no one's nailing them down with observation. There is a reason, Toby, why people only live in certain places here."

He folded his arms across his knees and rested his chin on them. "I understand. I don't like it, but I understand. It's not fair."

"Most things aren't," she replied simply.

He sighed, imagining how much more bearable this world might be if every trip to another town didn't have to be an expedition. "Still, I'm glad there's people like you and Zinc who are brave enough to get out in the bad places, doing good things for people like me who'd never make it on our own."

She raised her paw to answer.

"...Even if you are about to tell me you're only doing it to get paid."

A great big grin slid across her face. "Mouse, I think you and I are actually starting to understand one another."

***

Red continued walking. It was no burden to him. It was what he'd be doing this time of day anyway. As Piffle had guessed, his life was spent moseying from one end of Phobiopolis to the other. Again and again. His routes varied, and he guessed by now he'd seen every inch of the world there was to see. Walking helped to keep him in his state of calm. The motion of his own legs hypnotized him. He had achieved something most souls in Phobiopolis would do anything for: he was perfectly safe, and perfectly calm. It turned out the secret formula was to be big enough that nothing could harm you, and so bored from your own invulnerability that you transcended into nirvana.

Around him the land grew dark. The sun was now a fat orange tomcat, sitting on the black-painted fence of the horizon. The sky was smoky grey, bruised purple, and infected red. The nightmare constructs continued their eternal ouroboros around Red's feet. Literally beneath his notice.

Toby had slid down to lie beside Junella and watch the sky darken. He noticed something green ahead. Something he'd dimly assumed must've been a giant celery stalk. But then it moved. Toby felt his nerves clench. Through the shadows, the towering figure slowly revealed itself:

A thirty-story praying mantis, crying red tears shaped like people.

As tiny as Toby was compared to Red, that's how small Red was compared to this unbelievable monstrosity. It held out its arms in the position its species was named for. Its exoskeleton seemed like the epicenter of green in the universe. On either side of its triangular head, tiny pupils, almost comically small, floated around in eyes as smooth as porcelain. From these eyes poured many gallons of garishly bright red liquid. Artificially red, like cherry soda. As these teardrops fell, they twisted and writhed themselves into rough doodles of bipedal life. Arms. Legs. Round, featureless heads. They seemed to come alive in midair, born into the terror of falling.

The mantis was so large, whenever its antennae twitched it sounded like the cable of a suspension bridge snapping.

Toby felt his face freeze and go numb as every drop of blood drained from it.

But when he looked at Junella, she hadn't moved a muscle.

He could barely force himself to speak. He was certain that it's enormous UFO-shaped head would turn in his direction at the slightest sound passing from his lips. But he leaned close to Junella's ear and asked if she was seeing the same thing he was seeing.

Sure, she replied.

Her very nonchalance calmed him. If there was any reason to fear this thing, Junella Brox would have been on her feet with her hands full of sword and gun.

Instead, she offered explanation. As far as anyone knew, this thing had always been here. It was actually a good sign, since it meant the border between Lumbago and Marasmus was close. Whenever she and Zinc had passed through Hell's Arse, the back portal spat them out in its general vicinity. She admitted to Toby that upon her first encounter with the giant mantis, she had not been able to keep all her bodily fluids inside. If riding slowly on the back of a humongous protector bug towards this thing was scary, she said, imagine being in a car suddenly transported to a hundred feet away and speeding straight towards it.

The mantis was not the problem, she said. It just stood there. Period. No one who had ever passed through described seeing it take a single step, or so much as move its arms. It was as motionless as the rock towers. The monster's tears were the real hassle. The red beings spawned from it were like feral infants. Confused, hungry, and needy. They could rush at a car in such overwhelming numbers as to haul it away like a tidal wave. The only good thing about them was that a single bullet would burst one like a water balloon. Junella summarized them as the world's most murderous gummi bears.

Red passed within a few hundred feet of the mantis. They briefly nodded to one another.

The rustbeast continued on without incident, enjoying the feeling of the mantis' newborns dying in massive numbers beneath his feet. Smearing like lotion.

-***-

PART 55

He must have dozed, or otherwise lost track of his surroundings, because soon enough Toby blinked away his inner thoughts to realize they were in a very different place. A lighter place. Either the sun had rolled back in or things just seemed brighter because of the snow.

Toby got to his feet. There was only the lightest dusting of white across Red's red back. Ahead though, the snowstorm blurred everything to the horizon. The ground looked like a brier patch. Leafless trees with black bark grew up from the snowy forest floor like zombie hands rising from graves.

Yet with all this snow, Toby realized he didn't feel cold. 'Polycoria was like that,' he reminded himself. He tipped back his head and stuck out his tongue to catch a snowflake.

Junella was just about to stop him, but figured he'd learn on his own.

A second later, he did. Toby winced and spat out the acrid, charcoal taste. He looked all around him, unease rising.

This wasn't snow at all.

It was ash.

He thought back to programs he'd seen about volcanoes. The fallout that covered nearby villages, entombing them in a burnt blanket that rained down from the eruption cloud. Toby imagined himself frozen in place like a Pompeii statue. He had a feeling he was going to want to stay in the car until they got to their next location.

Since his mind was so preoccupied with doom, he nearly fell over on his nose when Red came to an abrupt stop.

Junella stretched and stood. "Looks like disembarking time."

George stirred. The lights in his sockets came on. He lifted his head: several dozen record shards were lodged in his face like porcupine quills. "Hm? Have we arrived in Anasarca?"

Junella knelt down to pat his cranium, sweeping bits of herself away tenderly. "Nope. Just a cheap ripoff of a winter wonderland."

He grunted. "That's a pity. It would have been nice. Although I believe I may have dreamed. I am not certain though." He staggered to his feet and all four of his knees made skin-crawling popping sounds.

By now Zinc and Piffle had long since gotten the gatling back together and had been passing the time polishing it. When Red halted, Zinc lurched sideways. "Marasmus already? Geez. Time flies. Not to be a freeloader or anything, but I kinda wouldn't mind if he took us all the way to Phlegmasia."

Piffle nodded. "I can ask him." She patted the canine's arm softly, then spread her wings and disappeared.

Junella, Toby, and George all watched from the edge of Red's back as Piffle hugged the rustbeast's head and asked him questions. He turned and stretched this way and that, sometimes nodding, sometimes shaking his head back-and-forth. He also let out several more of those vibratingly-low whalesong sounds from within his core. Piffle nodded a lot and stroked his noggin understandingly.

Finally, she gave him a last pat and buzzed up to rejoin the others.

Everyone gathered in a semicircle around her. The ash was starting to accumulate in their fur. "What's the story?" Zinc asked.

"Normally he'd be fine with it," she replied, "but he was thinkin' on scootin' in another direction, towards a place he doesn't think we'd like." She indicated the direction with her finger.

Zinc knew the place. "Xerostomia."

Junella nodded. "Poison. Sharks. Landslides. Fuck that entirely."

"Not a good place for a flat tire," he agreed.

Piffle continued. "He doesn't want to be selfish about it, but he likes the place and we did tell him we planned to get off here."

"Fair enough," Toby said.

Junella sighed. "I guess all good things come to an end. Anyway, it's been a while since we've dropped in on the masked man."

Zinc made a concurring sound. "If we wereta show up on Red, you know he'll try to kill him on sight."

Junella nodded to that in hearty agreement.

"Red wouldn't do that!" Piffle said protectively.

Zinc chuckled with an uneasy grin. "No no. Gilla-Gilla would try to kill Red."

Piffle was taken aback, trying to imagine the sort of furson who'd see a moving mountain and try to take it on.

Toby asked. "So... we are getting off? Just making sure."

Junella looked to Zinc. "How's the car?"

"Uglier, but her guts are in good order."

"That'll do." She swept her arm towards the Fearsleigher. "Saddle up, mofos."

Toby was fine with this. The ash was already starting to paint everything a dusty new color, and being an albino made him alabaster enough. Plus it smelled like burnt paper. He scooped up Doll, headed for the car, and shook himself as clean as he could before getting in. "Looks like we've both got terminal dandruff, huh?" he joked.

After being set down, she gestured for him to turn his head. Toby did, and heard a floomph. When he turned back, Doll was spotless. She'd taken off her bag, given it a good shake, and reapplied it.

"Too bad I can't do that with my fur," he remarked.

A moment later Piffle was bouncing into the seat beside them, followed by Junella in the front. Zinc circled the car one last time to make sure everything was shipshape, then entered too.

George tapped the driver's side window with his nose. "What am I to do now, Madam Brox?"

She turned to Zinc. "We got a plan for getting down?"

Before he could answer, Piffle's grin popped between them."Doncha fret about that! Red said he'd take care of it!"

Junella looked fretful anyway, but nodded: 'proceed'.

Piffle leaned out the window. "OKAY! WE'RE READY, REDDY!!"

A rumbling groan of acknowledgment.

Then everyone on the car grabbed on tight and screamed as Red knelt and sent the Fearsleigher sliding forward.

It was like the world's shortest rollercoaster. The Fearsleigher skidded down Red's now-diagonal back, scraping up sparks and rusty dust clouds. They all saw the ground shooting up to meet them. Then Red tipped his head up and deftly caught the car on the edge of his forehead. With another graceful gesture, he controlled its descent and landed it on the ground with a thump no worse than a speedbump.

The passengers were all a bit astonished.

George slid down and made a four-point landing in the ankle-deep 'snow' beside the car. He looked up to Red and gave a high, barking whinny in nightmare-speak. Red nodded back in a 'you're welcome' sort of way.

Then the passengers all got out again to say goodbye to their crimson pal. Red stretched down as far as he could so their tiny hands could reach him. To his ears, their voices were like the tweets of baby birds. But their thanks still warmed him. It was a good feeling to be big and powerful and to use those strengths to be helpful.

Toby held Doll up so she could give him a pat as well. Then he looked down at the rusty stains on his palm and reflected on just how much one's perceptions of another could change from a first impression.

Piffle flew up to Red's head and gave him about twenty farewell kisses. She told him she hoped to see him again in the spring when he passed through the Blackdamp. He assured her he'd be there. And if by chance they missed each other, he would always be somewhere.

Red turned and began slowly plodding away, to resume his eternal walkabout.

Piffle hovered in place and waved until her arm was sore.

***

Marasmus was not the best place to hang around in one place. Everyone hustled to get the Fearsleigher moving. Junella crossed her fingers and pushed the dash button to deploy the skates. To her great relief, success. The Fearsleigher's chassis started elevating back to normal height.

Piffle remembered the As-Much-Rope-As-You-Need and was soon circling George, hitching him up like decorating a Christmas tree. George stood patient and proud. One benefit of his body was that they could loop the ropes in and out of his ribcage to anchor them. George gave some test tugs and said everything felt quite comfortable.

Meanwhile, Zinc rooted around inside the hood for items they might need on the trail ahead, while Toby leaned out from the back seats to receive them. This would have been easier if Zinc hadn't been lobbing the supplies like footballs. Toby reached high and low, doing his best to catch the thrown objects and not fumble them. He began to suspect Zinc was testing his reflexes for the canine's own amusement. Zinc's grin confirmed this.

Piffle watched them work for a while, then said, "Oh look! Refreshments!" and wandered off.

Toby leapt up to snag the bundle of anti-transformation potions. He set them down as gently as he could, not wanting to break one and become something else (just in case they happened to work in reverse). Then another section of his brain thought to ask what in the world had Piffle just said? He looked up, blinking against the ash, and scanned the forest around them. He spotted her right away and pointed. "Zinc, what is that?"

The canine's head turned just in time to see Piffle bending over to push the buttons on a big chrome vending machine.

"DON'T-!!" he hollered, already tensing to run like lightning and stop her.

But it was too late. There was a blur of motion. Piffle's eyes went wide. She shrieked.

Then no more Piffle.

The ash puffed up into clouds where Zinc jumped down from the car. "Aw for cryin' out loud! FUCK!!!"

The vending machine turned towards the sound, its body bending like a cartoon character. It registered surprise, then grew four stumpy legs and tried to run away.

George snorted. "Foolish action!" Even with a several-ton sleigh strapped to him, he still took off like an arrow and galloped towards the fleeing construct.

Junella was thrown back in her seat so hard, the drink she'd just cornucopia'd up vanished.

It was a short chase. The Pifflenapping construct did not get far. Its legs were tiny, the ash piles were deep, and George was pissed. The machine made a despairing rattle as strong black teeth sank into its top and held it in place.

"Couff up Ma'am Mc'erricone imme'iately!" George commanded with his mouth full.

Toby had been flung backwards off the car when George took off, but was soon enough trudging alongside Zinc to catch up.

Zinc held up a wrench in front of Toby like a railroad crossing. "Don't touch it!" he barked.

"You don't have to tell me that. I'm guessing it eats anyone who tries to get a snack from it?" Zinc nodded, but Toby could already see through the construct's glass front.

Just like any normal vending machine, it was filled with several rows of candy bars and bags of chips, all held in place on spiral springs. Except, when one looked a little closer, there were pictures of people on the wrappers. People whose expressions were frozen in the last shocked instant before the machine had sucked them in.

Right there in C7 was Piffle, staring blankly out from the wrapper of a peanut butter chocolate bar.

The people's names were even printed on the labels. Toby had no idea why that detail infuriated him even more. "Smash this rotten thing!" he snarled at Zinc.

"I can't! Even though my wrenches are metal, they still count as a part of me!"

Toby popped out his hammer. "What about this?"

"I don't know!" The canine sounded a bit frantic. Worry for Piffle was painted plainly across his face. "It might count as a body part and it might not."

George bit down harder and the vending machine squealed. "I 'ould be 'erfectwy 'appy to kick the shtuffing ou' of it."

Zinc nodded. "That's good. Guess its juju doesn't work construct-to-constr-"

Toby, Zinc and George all heard a small, polite 'thup' as a lit stick of dynamite landed at their feet.

"Fire in the hole!" Junella sang brightly.

The trio all screamed and scampered away in different directions.

Though before doing so, George had the forethought to give the vending machine a good hard shove, knocking it facefirst into the ash. As he and the others escaped from the hissing stick, all the machine could do was stare and writhe in panic. Its pathetic legs swam uselessly through the air.

BARRRROOOM!!!

Shreds of metal, glass, and wiring went everywhere. At the exact same instant, about forty people all sprung into existence like a video game spawning glitch.

The vending machine's former victims stretched, crawled, flopped, and cried out in a writhing mass of utterly befuddled flesh. Some of them had been immobile for so long they'd forgotten how to move. One woman peed all over herself. Another man was rocking on his back like a turned-over turtle.

Piffle had only been inanimatized for a minute, so she suffered the least amount of disorientation. She got to her feet, dizzy, but also sensing that moments ago she had been really delicious. "Hot socks! That was almost fun!"

Junella swung herself down from the car, juggling another dynamite stick just to show off. She popped it in her mouth like a cigar and sauntered over to Zinc to clap his shoulder.

He'd been panting and staring dumbly in relief at seeing that Piffle was okay, then twitched towards the appearing hand.

"Partner, I'm fine with you liking the puffball, but don't let it cloud your thinking. I'm not gonna bail you lovebirds out every time."

He snorted, offended. "It wasn't like that! Shit just went down fast, that's all. We woulda got her out in a sec, no sweat."

"Surrrre," she purred with a wickedly teasing grin. "Like you weren't just standing there, bugeyed and helpless."

Piffle wobbled over, brushing the ash and chocolate off her skirt. "Sorry about that, fellas! I knew something like that would prolly happen, but I just couldn't resist! Either I'd get a nice snack or a new and exciting experience. And I figgered you guys were right there to rescue me if I got into trouble."

Junella's expression darkened like a rolling thundercloud. She plucked the dynamite from her mouth and popped it into Piffle's. "Hold still while I light this."

Toby's attention had been diverted by the huge pileup of moaning, lurching, perplexed people the vending machine had disgorged. All ages, all different eras of clothing. The machine had been eating people for quite some time. Toby's heart went out to them. Miles from any kind of safe city, lost in the wilderness, no idea where (or possibly who) they were.

He couldn't invite them all into the Fearsleigher. There wasn't enough room. Not even if they used the resizing window on everyone. If only there was a taxi service out here. Or...

Toby's eyes sparkled as he was struck with a really, really good idea.

He spun around and started running as hard as he could.

"RED!! WAIT UP!!"

-***-

PART 5 5

George was carrying everyone along at a lively clop. While having wheels delighted him, their speed and novelty couldn't top two pairs of fine, strong legs. The terrain was enjoyable too. The powder beneath his hooves felt like walking on a soft mattress.

Ash covered everything out here. Deep drifts blanketed every bush and hill in sight. A forest's cloak of cinders. From ground level, Toby could see that the dead trees increased in number further ahead. And something was wrong with them too. Though nothing he could puzzle out without getting a closer look. Hopefully he wouldn't have to. Ugly grey bushes also appeared here and there. Pointy little things. And amongst them darted tiny brown squishy creatures that left stains wherever their tails dragged. They looked more disgusting than dangerous.

The reason Toby could see anything at all was due to Junella's forethought. She'd bought four pairs of anti-ash eyewear in Rippingbean & Woofingbutter's, designed specifically for conditions in Marasmus. They looked exactly like high school shop goggles, and oddly enough, smelt vaguely of peach soda. Toby watched the unsettling scenery pass by with cheek propped on open palm and arm resting on doorframe. Despite everyone's best efforts, the ash was doing its best to coat everything in the interior as thoroughly as the exterior. They'd be sweeping and vacuuming for hours once they were past this place.

Junella swiveled her seat sideways. "Gotta admit Toby, that was some quick thinking."

His mind had been wandering. "Huh? Which part?"

"Going back for Red."

"Oh right! Yes, thank you."

"You saved a lot of people from a lot of misery. Me and Zinc, we probably would've left them," she admitted quietly. "Rescue just wouldn't have occurred to us."

"Might've to me," Zinc grunted.

The rustbeast was not exactly a sprinter, so catching up had been the easy part. Getting his attention without getting flattened had been a little harder. Thankfully, Piffle had spotted Toby's exit and followed. Between the two of them they managed to get Red to halt and listen. The scarlet leviathan was completely fine with the idea of delivering live cargo, hoping that maybe this would spread word among smallones that he was no monster. He agreed to visit Xerostomia another day, and instead take the rescuees onward to the city of Rhinolith. Happily satisfied, Toby and Piffle returned to find the others trying to calm the uncalmable. Many of the vending machine victims had been gone from civilization so long, spoken language was not getting through to them. And when a gargantuan red behemoth appeared, George had to literally corral them like cattle. Gradually though, enough of the erstwhile-snackfoods got the message that Red was here to carry them someplace safe. Plenty of them were still catatonic, but a few returned to reality just enough to help drag others along. Red offered his leg for them to walk up onto, then in batches, transferred them to his back. Piffle was flitting around his head, hugging and kissing him the entire time for his generosity. When all were aboard, the fellowship of the Fearsleigher said a second goodbye and watched their rusty friend gallumph off into the trees.

Toby had surprised himself with how much he'd pitched in. He'd counted heads, spoke persuasively to the befuddled, and even led them up Red's leg-ramp. The feeling of having something to do buoyed his mood to a surprising degree.

The land outside was mostly flat, but with occasional rocky hills that looked like stacks of giant books. Shale, maybe. These mini-mountains were like a giant toddler's attempts at building pyramids. The travelers encountered more and more of them as they drove deeper into the woods.

The trees were growing more densely together too. Bloated trunks with wrinkled obsidian skin, black as night and puffy like bathtub-soaked fingerprints. Their branches rose heavenward, cross-hatching the sky. Toby had noticed sap leaking from cracks in the bark. A dark color, like red wine.

The mood in the car was a soporific fog. Zinc hated that. From the pile he'd retrieved from the hood, he snatched up the bag of snacks. He popped a whole stick of bloodbacon in his mouth and chewed noisily. "Any of us gonna break this bleak routine? Ain't no one's funeral, for chrissakes."

"I just can't think of anything to say," Toby said. "Um... how big is Marasmus? And what are we in for?"

Good, a chance to play tour guide again. Zinc gulped down the salty lump and licked his lips. "Same size as anyplace else around here. And by that I mean, it's as big as you think it's gonna be. Places like this, with no one around to keep 'em under observation, they're like lungs. Expand and contract, expand and contract..." He illustrated by moving his wrenchhands. "At least it's solid ground instead of freeway 'n rope bridges. Numero uno problemo though, it's one of the highest concentrations of nightmares anywhere. Any creeps you saw runnin' around Red's tootsies? Those. Lots of 'em. Though, s'long as we stay in the car, we oughtta be be fine." He mimed a rifle. "Some people come out here to hunt. Over in Rhinolith, they catch critters and drag 'em off for pit battles."

"Like dog fighting?" Toby said, unable to hide a bit of sympathy.

"More like gladiators. Guys hop in the ring against some big ugliness with a thousand teeth. Armed only with bare hands and raw nerve. It's quite a sight to see. And if you've got good betting instincts, you can make a fuckin' fortune."

That sounded a bit too he-man chest-thumping for Piffle.

Zinc tried to list all the local wildlife. "There's cactusyotes 'n terrorbunnies like back in Lumbago. Thankfully nix on biteranodons: no place to roost and the ash makes 'em choke. Hypenas though. Strong as an ox, crazy as a shithouse rat, but real easy to distract. And you've probably seen plenty of poopsquirrels already. Not bitey, but watch your step and check your shoes. I've also come across occasional bonecuddies like George, plus there's ones that are kinda the same but like with elk horns. Those can run you off the road. Umm... am I forgetting any? Oh, right! Snakes! Lotsa those. And them godawful scorpions with the little poison feet and-"

At that exact moment, the world turned violently upside down.

None of them had seen or heard it coming, but as soon as they passed beneath one of the larger rock formations, something very large had pounced on them. It slammed into the Fearsleigher with the force of a freight train, crashing the vehicle end over end. George and his passengers tumbled like sheets in a dryer. Bones snapped. Noses bled. Equipment scattered everywhere.

It all happened too quickly for any of them to process. Prevention had definitely been impossible. But they'd caught a lucky break nonetheless. Before the spinning stopped, the travelers' ears were assaulted with a scream of outraged pain so loud it nearly burst their tympanic membranes. Whatever had tacked the car, it hadn't factored in the skate blades. As the beast rolled with its prey, the curved metal had torn its stomach open in two long red smiles.

The Fearsleigher came to a shuddering crash that sent up a tidal wave of cinders. The car was flat on its lefthand side with all the thrice-repaired windows shattered yet again.

The crash's echo ricocheted through the trees until dissolving. The entire forest was stunned silent, as if every inhabitant were holding their breath.

In the car, there was movement. Followed by gasps and grunts of inarticulate agony.

Toby felt like his insides were drowning. His mouth gulped air like a drunkard gulps booze, but it didn't seem to do him any good. His eyes were shocked wide open. His face was wet with hot, sticky liquid. Something was squirming beneath him. He stared at the door that had magically become the ceiling. Moving so much as an eyelid hurt.

His brain was like a tiny little man running around in a room on fire. He tried to piece together what had happened. Something had flipped the car. He had been in a car accident. That was why everything hurt. The reason he was gasping like a fish was most likely a collapsed lung. He found himself wishing Junella would put a bullet through him as soon as possible.

Junella was currently incapacitated. One of Zinc's wrenches had gone through her sternum. Zinc fared no better: his neck was as bent as an elbow.

Something squirmed again, Toby noticed. Rotating his eyes to see what might be causing it, there was something pink and red and shapeless underneath him. He did not want his head to make sense of what it was seeing.

George had a shattered pelvis, but that hardly merited attention. He was diverted by the sight of the squirming, mewling construct lying where it had landed after its pyrrhic victory. It was gigantic. Nowhere near as large as Red, but still sizable enough to make George recoil. Its momentum had sent it crashing through four or five trees; their exposed roots wiggled and dripped jellylike blood. The creature was curled up on its side like a pillbug, nursing its tummywounds and screaming.

"Please wake up soon, my dear friends. We may have only a short time before it attacks again," George whispered.

Junella snapped to awareness just long enough to realize she was still impaled. A few fading seconds let her process the fact that, until Zinc moved his goddamn carcass off of her, she was doomed to keep dying  repeatedly. That kind of thing pissed her off.

Zinc's eyes finally did pop open after his neck uncricked. He took a gasp of air. Saw his partner smeared all over his appendage. Her irritated glare met his own just as she died again. He yanked his wrench out with a sound like a boot coming unstuck from mud. "Sorry, partner!" he yelped when she resurrected again.

"No time for that. Kill those two quick," she hissed, jerking a thumb to the backseat. Not wasting a second more, she contorted herself around to look through the remains of the front windshield.

A red veil was pulling itself over Toby's right eye, dimming the vision like putting it to bed. The pain was icicle fingers digging into his marrow. But then above him an angel with metal arms appeared.

"Icksville. You need this bad, kemosabe."

Zinc clamped his wrench down on Toby's head, squashing it like a grape.

Blackness, then resetting.

Toby came awake. Pain gone, but still haunting him in echoes. Zinc was now busy bashing in Piffle's skull too. Toby looked away, grimacing, and tried to find Doll. He spotted her squashed but whole on the door/floor nearby, and swept her into a desperate hug, more for his own sake than hers. "What the hell hit us!?" he gasped.

"It's big and it's still out there," Junella husked from the front. Aside from her speaking-hand, her muscles were motionless, as if observation alone could pin the beast in place. "Zinc, when you were listing off critters, you forgot to mention convorines."

At the sound of that word, his head snapped around. "You're kidding," he said with deadpan dread.

"Nothing else looks like what I'm looking at right now."

Zinc looked utterly deflated. "Fffffffuck. They usually don't hunt through here. Maybe Gilla's been antagonizing 'em lately."

"All I know is, that thing's delirious with pain right now, focused on its stomach and not us. We got lucky. How're we gonna take advantage of that luck?"

"I am biting through my ropes right now, Madam Brox," came George's hushed voice. "Though I am injured and will require a coup de grâce before I am back in action."

Junella's mind whizzed. A strategy map unfurled before her and she felt a dozen copies of herself swarm around it, tracing every possible path. First priority was the car. They could die a million times and be fine, but if that thing out there pawed the car to pieces trying to get at them, they'd have no ride home. Ergo, get outside and draw it away. Secondly, this thing could resurrect, same as them. Lesser nightmares could be outrun when they did that. She did not want to take chances with this chunky cocksucker. Ergo, aim to wound, not kill. Thirdly, convorines were just about the worst motherfuckers to get in your way. Like a tank with a cobra's reflexes. This would take skill. Ergo, she and Zinc and George should deal damage, Miss Pink should get out there and work her magic annoying it to insanity, and the client should stay with the ship along with that creepy-ass toy.

She relayed these orders briskly. "Piffle, you're on bait duty again. Zinc, George, and I will circle around and hit it with anything we can. We go for the legs. Our goal is crippling it. And Toby?"

His ears perked up.

"Kill George. Then stay here with your head down."

While half of him was relieved, another part felt somehow insulted. "Oh."

She could hear that little whinge of disappointment. "Protect Doll," she ad-libbed.

"Okay," he nodded. At least that felt slightly more useful. He looked at Doll. Her posture gave off an 'I can take care of myself' vibe.

Still keeping her eyes glued on the wounded beast ahead, Junella reached back to wrap her hand around her cutlass. It felt familiar, reliable. The grip was worn down over years of use to fit snugly into her grooves like a zipper. The weight and balance of the curved, hungry blade was soothing. She began crawling slowly forward, out into the drifts of ash and loose soil beside the car. If she was quick, she could get in some tendon slashes before it even knew she was there. And she was always quick.

But then she stopped, and she froze.

The trees were rattling nearby. This close to the ground, she could feel the weight of new footsteps.

A second nightmare emerged from the trees.

This is what Junella Brox saw:

Start with a semi truck. An eighteen-wheeler. From the top half, there is not much difference from any other you'd spot trundling along your local highways. Same snubnose cab with wind scoop and twin shining smokestacks. Same boxy white trailer in back, high and long, sprinkled with rivets and reflectors. From the windshield down is where things get interesting. For every axle, substitute a pair of densely-muscled mustelid legs. Each one bristled with brown fur coarse as wire; the front legs having the longest reach and claws. Finally we come to the face. Four amber eyes in place of headlights. A wide, mottled nose where the hood ornament might be. Just above the bumper stretched a mouth nearly the entire circumference of the cab, filled to capacity with drool-slickened aluminum teeth. The tongue inside was silver, like the animated ambulances. The two breeds were distant kin in fact, but nowhere comparable in terms of size or strength. The approaching convorine was indistinguishable from the one on the ground, but for the painted stripes that ran along their trailers and down each pair of legs: one in silver, one in gold.

She'd hoped that, this far from its usual territory, their attacker was a lost stray. But no. Whether mates, siblings, best buddies, or whatever, these particular monsters were almost always encountered two-by-two. This crucial information had been hovering at the back of her mind, held back by a desperate hope the pattern wouldn't hold true here. Despair clutched Junella's heart like a skeletal fist.

She mentally slapped herself. 'No. Two just means more blood to spill.' This thought warmed her core.

Still, there was no preparing for what the second convorine did then.

It walked over to its wounded twin, sniffing and rumbling with its chrome lips pulled back, gleaming teeth exposed. Then it raised its front paw as high as it could: a wide, flat foot like a polar bear's, with treaded soles and claws of dirty iron. With no hesitation or cry, it brought the paw down upon the other's head, cleaving it into crumpled, bloody shreds.

Junella was dumbstruck. Was this some kind of territorial thing? Had she just witnessed the passing of the torch from one alpha to the next?

Or... no. No. That was not POSSIBLE.

The standing convorine looked down impatiently at the remains of its twin. Then the metal and meat began to stir. The standing one grunted approvingly. Healed of its injuries, the dead one now returned to life and rose.

Transfixed, her open jaw trembled. 'I cannot be seeing this. Holy Fucking Jiminy Cricket Christ, how could any construct know to do that? How could any of them get that smart!?'

Now back to full vigor, the renewed convorine stood up on all its many legs. It faced nose to nose with its ally. They barked guttural sounds at one another, then in unison, tipped their heads to the sky and roared.

Junella watched these two unholy fusions of beast and transportation rear up on their endless legs to howl in each other's faces. Oily spittle flecked their chins. Their trailers creaked as the metal bent like skin. This was a sight that would have rendered most people helpless with babbling terror. But a switch in Junella's brain flipped. She felt her limiters shut down, her common sense and reason flicker out. She was tired of shit like this. Dead tired. All she wanted was to get herself and her client from point A to point B, and this shithole of a world kept throwing things like this at her.

Without a glance back to her companions, she leapt to her feet and ran headlong at the beasts. Both hands on her sword hilt. Her mouth twisted wide in a soundless screech.

The convorines whipped their heads around at the sound of footsteps. Their growling mouths seemed to fill half their heads. The golden one, which had arrived secondly to resurrect its fallen twin, shoved the silver one aside in its zeal to meet this bite-sized running meat soonest.

Junella's orange eyes focused like lasers. She felt every tissue and sinew in her body pulse with heat. Fury. These fucking things had the gall to stand in her way. There would be punishment for that.

The gap between the skunk and truck closed until they were mere feet apart. The gold convorine lifted itself up on its back legs, front paws raised to swat and crush, teeth bared to rip and chew.

Junella had no thoughts in her mind. She was an engine of instinct. Her legs pushed her forward until her blood told them exactly when to stop and plant herself. She raised her cutlass to shoulder height, blade inverted and outward, and braced for impact.

The convorines may have been smart enough to figure out kill-to-revive, but their movements were still as predictable as any other construct. So even as she felt the monster's upper teeth spear into her abdomen and cleave through, Junella felt no pain. Only satisfaction at the fact that the beast's own momentum had driven her sword straight through its nose.

The beast chomped down, bisecting the skunk, then snapped its head back as searing agony pierced its face. Twisting like a centipede, it thrashed sideways and slapped at the place where the stinger was lodged in its nose. This only succeeded in knocking the cutlass sideways through its sensitive mucus membranes, making it howl even louder.

Junella backed away on her hands, ichor gushing from her lower half like cream from a candy egg. Her eyes and her grin were blazing. "You don't know who you're foolin' with! I am not your average prey! I am Junella Fucking Brox!! AND I! AM! A FURNACE!!!"

She put her fist to the side of her head and mindfucked a new cutlass into it. Her mad laugh cut off as a blade sprung into existence through the middle of her brain.

A second later, Junella appeared on her feet standing over the frozen rictus smile of her former body. She wrenched her cutlass out of its head and licked the blade from hilt to tip.

"COME ON!!!"

***

Rewinding the action back a few seconds, everyone in and around the Fearsleigher nearly lost their marbles when Junella ran out into the open. If the plan she'd laid out was still the same, they were implementing it a lot more suddenly than expected.

Zinc stood up inside the front compartment and glanced to Piffle, indicating the sideways door above her: 'pop the hatch'. Piff gestured for Toby to jump into her arms, and the mouse stood in her paws to open the door. Succeeding, he hopped back down to let her pass. She thanked him with a quick cheek-nuzzle, then used her wings to propel her up and out, wincing as the sensitive tips scraped the inside of the car.

Zinc squeezed past into the backseat area. He clapped Toby on the arm. "Sorry if it feels like we're dumping you here, but..." He hesitated to admit it. "I don't even know if I can handle this mess."

Toby appreciated that Zinc had taken the time to make him feel better, even if they were seconds he probably shouldn't have spared. Still, Toby could not stop the flush of hot embarrassment in his cheeks. "I understand," he replied simply.

Wincing, Zinc nodded. "Keep the car safe, eh?" He jumped towards the open door and hauled himself out like doing the iron cross. He looked to Piffle, then jerked his head towards the convorines. He clanked his wrenches twice, then vaulted off the car. Piffle buzzed after him.

As soon as they were out of the way, Toby turned around to check that Doll was allright. She pointed to the backseat, made a gesture like opening it and going inside. "Good idea." Either she'd hunker down in the storage space or fetch weapons for them. Both were good ideas. While Doll did that, Toby crawled over the driver's seat to slither out the front window. Cubes of shattered glass nipped at his palms.

Toby took one look at George and whimpered in sympathy. The stallion had done an amazing job of curving his top half around to chew through his ropes. His bottom half had been no help, since his pelvis was cracked straight down the middle. George's hind legs hung uselessly like two broken broomsticks.

He growled and gnashed through another rope around his ribs. "Assistance please," he asked politely of his master.

"Absolutely." Toby knelt in the ash and placed his palm on George's forehead. "Hope this doesn't hurt."

POW

The skull caved in like a hollow gourd, scattering shrapnel fragments in all directions. For a fleeting instant, Toby saw inside George's cranium. There was something shining there, multicolored and convulsing like a separate living thing. It flashed out of existence like a soap bubble the instant it touched air, but Toby was sure this was the source of George's inner light.

Moments later, the remaining bones shot up as if pulled by a junkyard crane's magnet, reforming into a whole and ready nightmare stallion.

"Many thanks, Sire Toby!" he crowed. With a mighty yank, he broke the last ropes restraining him, then ran off to join the others in teaching manners to the savages.

Toby rolled out of the way as George's hooves thundered past. He spun around to watch him go. By now the battle was really raging.

Toby looked down at the hammer in his hand. Strong, but small. What could he hope to do with it against two gargantuan nightmares? He wanted to help his friends, but a coldly sensible voice told him that they were pros, while he didn't even qualify as a rookie. Any help he tried to offer would most likely hinder. Better to stay with the car as he was told. He should have been overwhelmed with relief to be given an assignment like that.

Instead... why did it feel so awful?

***

Junella was not so foolhardy as to think she could defeat these monsters with one jab. It was only to set the tone. To give them a taste. She stood in the cinders up to her ankles, dripping with her own blood, clutching sword and gun. Staring down the onrushing silver convorine.

Maddened, howling. It was outraged that this tiny thing had hurt its twin. It stampeded towards her.

'Did I offend you?' she thought with glee.

It leapt. The same clumsy pounce the first one had tried. Instead of going for the nose this time, Junella dropped down, rolling sideways, making sure her blade was face up like a shark's fin. A massive foot crashed down upon her. She felt her vinyl crack in a few places, but the convorine came off worse. It yanked its paw away in a gush of motor oil blood, its palm deeply slashed.

'I know all your soft spots, tubby.' Junella grinned a second longer, until she realized it wasn't about to run off squealing. It gave her a glare of rage, then swung its other forepaw around to swat her. She cringed in anticipation of the blow.

Then her face lit up like Christmas when a flash of steel streaked across the sky and two heavy wrenches sunk into the convorine's raised arm.

Zinc didn't have time for witticisms. "YAAAAGH!!!"

The beast screamed even louder.

Meanwhile, the golden one had finally succeeded in dislodging the cutlass from its snout. It was furious. It tried to scent its prey, but the stink of its own blood overlaid everything. And now there were new smells. Metal and bone and... what?

Piffle fell out of the air, rolling into an elbow drop, and landed on its windshield. Or rather, through.

Both of them shrieked. The glass shattered and the hamsterfly landed ungracefully inside the beast's cab. She thrashed around in confusion and disgust. She'd thought that breaking its windshield might blind or confuse it. What she hadn't counted on was what she'd find inside. It was everything you'd normally see inside a truck's interior, but all sculpted out of bare, throbbing flesh. Seats, sun shades, even the steering wheel and shift levers. Everything pulsed with the beast's heartbeat, slick with secretions. Piffle yowled in revulsion and kicked her feet, reaching out for anything to hold onto, but it was like trying to get a solid grip on a plateful of gravy.

The golden convorine bellowed and blew its air horns. Feeling Piffle inside its cab was like having a roach fly up your ear hole. The nightmare flung itself sideways in a roll, pawing at its head, frantically trying to get the invading insect out.

Piffle screamed and choked on a mouthful of cranium fluids. She went spinning upside down, banging hard onto the dash and then the ceiling. Suddenly the cabspace was full of flying claws, tearing at her outfit, ripping her skin. She was blind with panic. Then she felt herself flying. The convorine had hooked a claw into her blouse and flung her out of its cab like a booger. Piffle sailed thirty feet and smashed stomach-first against a tree trunk.

The golden convorine had only a few seconds to scratch around inside its head, trying to expunge the feeling of the tiny creature wallowing around in there. Then an even worse sensation struck its fifth right leg like a lightning bolt.

Gripping his wrenches like giving himself a handshake, Zinc had jumped high and swung down, bashing the bastard's hip in a hammer strike. His doorknockers were twin chopper rotors, slicing through flesh and metal.

The convorine whipped around, lithe as a rattlesnake. Something had given it a hairline fracture and dug two deep clawmarks through its flank. A massive paw swung around to swat the interfering vermin away.

Zinc was launched airborne like Piffle had been. The wind was knocked out of him, but not much worse. He felt the impact, rolled with it, then got his feet under him and stood up. But when he tried to open his eyes, he couldn't. He reached up to feel his face. Neither the ash-goggles or his eyeballs were there. This was bad.

Meanwhile, Junella was running laps around the silver convorine. It tried to follow her, back arched, jaws snapping, saliva splashing, but it was having about as much success as a puppy chasing its tail. The skunk was high as a kite on her own lust for bloodshed. Whenever she could, she aimed her revolver behind her and fired off a few shots. She knew they couldn't cause much damage, but the same held true for constructs as anyone else: get your enemy mad enough and they'll start making stupid mistakes.

Junella was immune to this tendency. Some people conquered it by calming all inner emotion, remaining tranquil as a frozen pond during battle. That was not her style. Hers was to go all the way past anger to an even purer form of fury. A steady, focused core with a searing temper coiled around it. Not simply running amok like a berserker, but grabbing hold of that uncontrollable rage and controlling it anyway through sheer strength of mind. It was the power of determination. Of believing with unshakable faith that you are the center point on which the universe turns, and your will alone decides all outcomes in the cosmos.

Junella ran in circles, ignoring her eyes, putting all her attention behind her. Timing her foe's rhythm. Sensing when it was closest. And then, giving it what it wanted.

The convorine whirled around to make yet another attempt at chomping the skunk, and was startled when the tiny creature suddenly stopped and leapt backwards right into its waiting mouth.

Junella lashed out with her tail, filling the beast's gums with razor-sharp record shards. And at the same time, pumping out a toxic cocktail from her scent glands.

Skunk spray is far from just foul-smelling. It burns. It irritates soft tissues. And not only did the convorine have a mouthful of the stuff, but the fumes were already sinking their putrid fingers into its nose and eyes. Nausea hit instantly. The beast reared back, slapping at its face, gagging out strangled cries. It spat and spat and couldn't make the taste go away. It shuffled backwards, knocking trees out of the ground, trying to escape the musk.

Junella was back on her feet. Her tail had been bitten off entirely, along with a sizable chunk of her rump, but her giddy joy blocked all pain. "Yum yum yum!" she mocked. But she didn't rest on victory. A blinded opponent is an easy target. Limping forward as fast as she could bear, she ran alongside the convorine, slashing repeatedly with her sword. Some hits were tendon-severing gashes, others just skin-deep, but all her swings connected. And she was smart enough to get her ass (what was left of it), out of the way as the enraged monster slapped at the place it thought she was, trying to crush her.

Meanwhile, Piffle was just coming to her senses. She was completely out of breath and wondering who'd come off worse in her tangle with the convorine's cab. Her whole tummy felt like one big bruise. Though thankfully, nothing was broken. She got her hands underneath her to push up and go help Zinc.

"AIIGH!!" Something struck her from behind. A pack of daggers in her back.

She rolled, trying to get away, but the horrible things stayed lodged where they were. To her horror, she realized it was the tree she had fallen against. The branches were closing in on her. Creaking, lurching. Piffle felt a horrible slurping sensation and realized the tips were actually syringes. The tree was drinking her like a mosquito!

Piffle squealed and did her best to roll back and forth. She realized now that the bark did not just look like skin, it was skin. Calloused flesh as black as engine grease. Where the vampiric tree held her down, she could feel her blood pumping in its veins. Piffle beat her wings. She kicked her legs. She punched and pulled.

Then a pair of power tools joined her fight.

Zinc was blind but he could still hear just fine. Piffle's cries were easy to follow. He stumbled across the ashy ground towards her, and the instant he felt something that he knew wasn't her, he flung his wrenches around in a frenzy. He clamped his jaws on anything solid and yanked as hard as he could. Soon hot blood was gushing across his face and chest, and he took that as a good sign. "Fuckin' trees!!" he snarled.

The tree was an especially simpleminded construct, and when it sensed fresh blood, it jumped at the chance to slurp it up, not realizing it was splashing out of its own branches.

A wrenchhand reached down to help Piffle up and she grasped it gratefully. They both skedaddled away from the bleeding tree. "Just in the nick of time, Zinky!"

"Just doin' my job, ma'am," he drawled. "By the by, seen my eyes anywhere?"

"I haven't, but I'll look!" She worried it'd be like spotting a needle in a haystack, but as she gave the battlefield a once-over, she gasped at her good luck. A few yards to her left was an ash pile with three holes, perfectly corresponding to two small spheres and a pair of goggles. She slid for home plate.

"Piffle! Where'd you go!?"

She dug through the ashes till her fingers met two little round squishy things. "Found 'em!" She spat on them to clean them off, then shined them on her sleeve. A moment later she was popping them back into place.

Zinc blinked tin eyelids. "Sweet job, sister! 'Cept you got the left one in the right socket and vice versa."

"Nobody's perfect," she said, juggling them back around. She handed him the goggles too. Then her antennae twitched and her head turned. She drew in breath to scream a warning, but it turned out she didn't need to.

George intercepted the pouncing golden convorine mid-leap.

The truck-construct had heard the chatter of the two prey nearby. For a moment it thought the trees had robbed it of its meal, but then it spotted them standing out in the open. Easy meat! It tensed its back legs, then broke into a sprint.

At the apex of its jump, two charred hooves slammed into it with the force of a tornado. Its driver's side door crumpled inward like a paper cup.

"They are under MY protection!" George scolded.

The convorine swung around and snarled at him, dizzy from pain and confusion. It had no reference for what its senses were telling it. It knew bonecuddies, yes. It killed them sometimes, on instinct, when souls were not around. But none were this color. None made the same chatter as the prey. And none of them ever, ever stood guard over prey.

George bravely placed himself between the semi-beast and his companions. He glared a warning at it, stamping the ground with his hoof.

The convorine's mind was dim. Sharper than many other constructs, but still running on nothing more than essential programming. And within that programming, it could feel a primal loathing towards this subversion of the natural order standing before it. It leapt at George, tooth and claw bared.

The stallion plunged forward, head down, and spewed forth a churning plume of flame.

There was no time to stop its attack. The convorine fell upon the fireball and screamed so loud the trees shook.

George reacted purely on instinct. The humongous beast was upon him, biting down. His flames scorched its tongue and palate, but those terrible teeth pierced his chest and tore away a half-dozen ribs. The convorine slapped and swatted with as many legs as it could, trying to put the fire out. George made jackhammers of his legs, kicking out at anything solid. He heard and felt bonebreaks, but plenty of them were his own.

"Let go of him!!" Zinc yelled. "He's under our protection too!" He swung hard at the convorine, splintering one of its femurs, then bringing around the other wrench to clamp down on its flesh in a tight vice grip.

The beast howled and flung Zinc away with all its strength. Bad move, as a ragged chunk of its own hide went with him.

Zinc flew backwards an impressive distance and shattered his tail when he landed. It hurt like a motherfucker, but through the pain he saw a patch of fur in his clutch. "Hey hey! A coonskin cap for Christmas!"

Piffle was so upset at what this big meanie had done to George and Zinc that she zipped into the air and did a loop-de-loop, concluding with a two-hand punch into its front shoulder.

This merely annoyed the convorine.

"Oh shoot!" she cried out.

It flung George's crumpled remains away and hurled itself directly towards Piffle. No finesse, no claws, it meant to simply squash the pest by slamming its full weight down on top of her.

Piffle scrambled backwards as she watched a tidal wave of flesh and metal crashing towards her. The thing's underside was that of any normal semi-truck, but with a carpet of tawny fur overlaid. She flashed upon a memory. These things had sensitive stomachs.

The golden convorine fell like a collapsing building. And it felt triumph for a moment as it belly-flopped down in the ashy dirt and felt an exoskeleton crunch beneath it.

But a split-second later it felt something far different from triumph.

POW

Its headlight eyes shot wide. Blood gurgled from its throat and sprayed onto the ground. It rolled over in breathtaking excruciation. A giant golden fork had speared right through its driveshaft.

Piffle gasped, astounded she was still alive. Her exoskeleton probably looked like Humpty Dumpty, but it hadn't failed to protect her vitals. And she'd have to remember to thank Toby later. His jackhammer trick had given her the idea. She thought she might call it the Forkaboom.

The golden convorine arched its back, yowling and spitting up blood, desperate to dislodge the horrible shiny thing skewering its underbelly. Sixteen pairs of legs tried to smack the fork away, but a pair of metal hands got to it first.

Zinc ran straight up the thing's crotch and clamped down on the fork's handle. "Excalibur!!" he shouted as he kicked out with his legs. His grip held and the fork came loose. Motor oil plumed from four round fountains in the convorine's chest.

Zinc rolled with his landing, then bounced to his feet, reflexively swinging the fork all around in case the convorine tried to retaliate. Nope. It was squirming sideways, screeching like hell and trying to get as far away as possible.

Dripping head to toe in black blood, Zinc turned to Piffle. "Think ya dropped this."

She slammed into him in a hug. "Thanks for getting it back! We make such a swell team, don't we?"

"You betcher fur."

From over their shoulders came a plaintive shout. "Assistance, please!"

They turned and saw George looking like a tangled-up extension cord.

"Oh Georgie, I'm comin'!" Piffle called out as she ran over with her fork to compassionately decapitate him.

Meanwhile, the silver convorine was squealing with rage and agony as it tried to get to its feet. Its right side was fine, but that horrible black stinkthing had carved up its left legs pretty badly. Some were nicked, some were sliced, some were rendered utterly useless. It bared every last one of its teeth in a scream as it stood up fully. It could no longer run, but it could still go after the rotten little insect that had done this. It could still strike and swat and chew.

Junella was disappointed it wouldn't stay down, but not surprised. This chromed-out cocksucker was proving to be even more durable than she'd feared. Backing up, eyes frozen to the beast, she watched it take a wincing step forward, then draw strength enough from its pain to charge at her.

Junella turned and ran, limping too. They had both hobbled each other. Junella swung in circles, knocking away branches that tried to take a taste of her. She needed enough distance between her and the creature to plan.

If she could get to its back end, she could finish it off. But it would do everything possible to prevent that. It was agile. It moved like a snake. No matter what direction she came at it from, it would lash itself around like a whip to block her path with a wall of silver teeth.

Okay, if around was out, then how about over?

She grinned. Worth a try.

Her ears twitched, keeping track of its location. Looking ahead, she searched for a large enough ash pile. To her left. That one was good.

The silver convorine gurgled in delight when its prey tripped and went sprawling facefirst in ash. It didn't even care that this insect tasted terrible. It would eat it anyway for the pure satisfaction of feeling it struggle and die slowly in its fuel-injected stomach acids.

The fall was intentional, to give the enemy false confidence. The ash was plenty soft enough for her pratfall and her goggles kept her eyes clear. Junella spun herself around, then sprang into a runner's crouch. Adrenaline was numbing the pain all these acrobatics were causing her injured flank, but she knew that couldn't last forever. And she had precious seconds anyway before the convorine's front paws would snatch her up and mash her into its dripping jaws.

Reflections danced in the gleam of the convorine's aluminum teeth. Was the prey frozen in fear? All the better!

'I can fly if I want to,' Junella told herself. Her legs were the tensed timbers of a catapult.

The silver convorine pounced. Pain ripped along its left side, but it would all be worth it once the prey was dead.

Junella kept her eyes open, willing the world to slow down for her. She saw every detail. The swirling ash. The dirt stuck in its paw treads. The chromed throat waiting to welcome her in.

She jumped.

For the flash of an instant, she was weightless. There was no beast below her, just a step ladder. As its nose passed below, her foot came down and touched it. Kicked off. Her other leg swam forward. Touched windshield glass. Kicked off. Her breath was frozen in her throat and her nerves sparkled with electricity.

The convorine's jaws slammed shut like a steel gate, closing on nothing but cinders. Its whole cab shuddered as the beast crashed into the ground, paws flailing, chin scraping dirt. And worst of all, it could feel the prey's footsteps running straight up its face. It tried to buck the awful little insect off, toss it in the air to be caught in its mouth.

But this only helped Junella. Instead of being launched upwards, she shot forwards.

The length of the trailer seemed to stretch out in front of her. A mile. A hundred miles. Sure, she was suspended in thin air above a few thousand pounds of pure hatred, but that was nothing to get all worked up about. She was Junella Fucking Brox. She hit the beast's back running.

As a last ditch effort, the silver convorine tensed its right legs and kicked out hard. Twisting its body. Trying to shake her off sideways.

Junella kept running. When the terrain beneath her changed, she shifted her weight and followed. The convorine's trailer flipped, its side becoming its top, and Junella kept right on like a championship log roller.

Before she knew it, she was at the edge. She hopped gracefully off, spinning her torso mid-fall, filling her hand with the weight of her revolver.

As soon as her eyes saw the latch on the trailer doors, she sent six bullets at it.

The beast bellowed. Its back arched in submissive agony as its doors fell open.

Junella did not waste an instant. Another catlike leap and she was inside.

Its trailer was hollow, like all convorines, but lined with veins and fat. It was as hot as a sauna in here. Her feet sank into the repulsive, moist meat. At the front of the trailer were the vital organs. Caul white. Bile yellow. Blood red.

Jackpot.

She slogged as fast as she could over the slippery, oozing terrain, sparing just a moment to give her enemy some words of wisdom. "You don't know what pain is yet."

The silver convorine stiffened in outright horror. Every one of its kind knew instinctively to keep their back doors guarded. There was no questioning why, so there was no imagining of the consequences. But now it knew. Those hateful footsteps that had been on the outside were now inside! It was in there! And not in the stomach where it belonged, but amongst its living organs! The insect was inside its body with that horrible stinger!

Junella surveyed the pulsing wall of lumpy flesh and grinned like they were bags of gold. Time to open her presents.

Her cutlass soared.

The convorine let out a choked, piercing shriek. Its lips peeled back and its teeth splayed out. There was nothing but blind, dumb panic in its eyes.

Junella remembered her own advice. She was not trying to kill the thing. That would give it a chance to revive. And if it revived with her inside, that would be bad. She might never get out. It was why being caught and eaten by these things was an unacceptable outcome. Because she'd keep coming back to life again and again and again as it tried to digest her. It might never end. But it was not thoughts like that that kept her swinging and slashing at the ripe, plump intestines. It was her own savage, childlike cruelty, harnessed and aimed like a laser. This thing had to pay the price for stepping to Junella Brox.

When she found herself suddenly and violently rotated ninety degrees, that was no impediment. Plenty more squishy things to stab from every angle.

The silver convorine constricted, kicking out with its legs, arching its back. Anything to stop the violation of its body by the hideous stinging insect. Its eyes saw nothing, blanked white by the pain that kept escalating forever.

Junella was nearly drowning. Liquid gizzards sloshed around her feet, ankle deep. She'd done enough irritation now. She felt around with her feet to locate the central cylinder of bone. Time to get to the real work.

The convorine thought it impossible to feel more pain. Then suddenly a burning, stinging mouth was taking dozens of tiny hot bites from its legs. The nerves would light aflame for a few seconds, then die. The beast could feel itself becoming paralyzed, back to front. In desperation it tried to claw forward to escape whatever was eating it. But there was no escape from Junella.

She was standing on its spine. The vertebrae followed along the floor of the trailer, as the ceiling was more akin to a turtle's shell. Her cutlass was back in her hip for now. She was filling both hands with revolvers as fast as she could create them. Thinking nothing, only focusing on the bone beneath as she walked backwards along it like a balance beam, with methodical precision she pumped bullet after bullet into the monster's spine, killing off each calcium axle in turn. The legs slumped uselessly as the nerves were severed.

The nightmare screamed and screamed. Its panic was near-total, but it managed to coax one last bit of strategy out of its brain: cry for help. It tipped back its head and, at maximum volume, wailed.

Across the flattened battlefield where trees were swept aside like loose silverware, the golden convorine heard. But in order to respond, it would have to get rid of the nuisances surrounding it. And they were persistent.

George, Piffle and Zinc circled the creature. Mostly they dodged its chomps and swings, but whenever possible they got in a blow of their own, either from fire, fork, or wrench. It had become a stalemate. Everyone was whiffing more than they hit. A circular dance.

But when the monster heard its twin call for aid, it broke the pattern. Convorines are always born from the soil of Phobiopolis in pairs. Two-by-two. While some constructs did hunt in packs, none were as closely tied. Convorines were like one individual in two bodies. And of course the right hand responds when the left feels pain.

The golden convorine bucked abruptly and, instead of attacking George, simply bulldozed him out of the way. George tried to dodge, but a stocky paw slammed down on his foreleg and shattered it. He tripped and could not stop his foe from stampeding past.

Zinc was caught flat-footed when the beast turned and fled. Then puzzlement changed to ire. "No running in the hallways, mister!" he yelled out, and chased after.

To his side he heard Piffle's buzz. Attagirl. She was soaring ahead, her wings faster than his legs. Her gleaming golden fork was still ready for action. "Javelin, javelin!" he hollered up at her.

"Roger that!" She felt her fork's heft. Too heavy to throw, but maybe she could turn it into a backscratcher instead. Zooming forward like a pink torpedo, she turned her fork tines down, then strafed in low over the convorine's back. It was almost like keying a car.

The beast let out a shriek of outrage at the gouging pain. It had almost reached its needful twin, but programmed loyalties were forgotten in favor of an even simpler, more primitive drive. It swung around in a U-turn, snarling at the pink insect as it dashed away across the sky. It meant to swat her down and chew those wings right off.

Piffle circled back to land with Zinc. He instinctively moved in front to protect her. But she sidestepped, and held her fork out beside his wrenches. Together as one. They spared a single instant to meet each other's glance and understand this.

But despite its boiling rage, the silver convorine had learned. These little bugs liked to go for the soft spots: the stomach, the legs, the face. It was not going to give them another chance to sting. So while it drilled its four eyes into theirs, it made them believe it was locked on a straight line course.

Piffle and Zinc were prepared for a frontal assault, aiming their weapons for the nose and eyes. They were not prepared for the silver convorine to suddenly dig its front claws into the soil and fling the rest of its body around sideways in a whipcrack. There was no time to dodge. The metal ridge of the trailer's top cast a shadow over them.

The convorine crashed down in a sideways tackle and slid fifty feet. The friction gooshed the insects' legs into nothing more than smears.

Zinc and Piffle's hands found each other and held on for the ride.

When the skidding was over, the convorine grunted in satisfaction and rolled back onto its many legs. It could feel warm, sticky blood painting its side. Good. Time enough later to come back and finish. Now it could gallop off and tend to its twin.

The mutt and hamsterfly stared up at the clouds, their expressions slack-jawed and blank. Their top halves had survived unscathed. Their bottom halves on the other hand...

Zinc coughed, tasting copper in his throat. "I can't feel my legs," he gurgled.

Piffle let her head flop towards his. "I don't think we have any."

"Seems 'bout right. Wanna kill each other?"

"Sure. Who's first?"

The silver convorine charged towards its shrieking, panicked double. Only its front six legs still moved. The rest lay flat and dead like empty pelts. The silver construct had no idea what bizarre affliction this was, until it heard the muffled string of firecracker pops coming from inside the other's flank. It growled in disgust at these repulsive insects, and in passing, raked its claws across the other convorines' face for being weak enough to be laid low like this.

The golden convorine whimpered and flinched at the blow. But it would endure anything if its double could just pluck the black stinger from inside.

Junella was making steady progress but was trying not to think about it. Trying not to count the number of vertebrae she'd smashed, nor the ones remaining. A blank mind dumbfounds best. And she had to keep the guns coming. Fifty or so pistols, their barrels hot and smoking, lay in twin lines along her path. It was easier now to let more fall into her hands and pull the triggers once than to waste time firing all six shots. She could stop walking backwards when her feet touched intestine. Until then, she was a bullet dispensing machine. Nothing could break her concentration.

Except for a snarling, chomping muzzle suddenly shoving its way into the back of the truck. It blacked out the sun. Those headlight eyes were turned to high beams, nearly blinding her.

The silver convorine squealed. Nothing could have prepared it for the unspeakable wrongness of its own twin trying to cram itself face-first through its own back doors.

The golden one realized its cab would not fit. But its front legs were longer.

Junella leapt backwards as a hairy battering ram came surging through the exit. 'Jesus, that almost got me!' Her cutlass jumped into her palm, slicing sideways, but the paw was already retracted. She backed up quickly, panic starting to dance inside her mind. She had not counted on this. Constructs did not normally cooperate.

'Yeah, but you've never seen 'em coup de grâce each other either,' she reminded herself.

She raced back through her memories and realized that she'd never actually fought a convorine before. Not directly. She'd seen them. Heard plenty about them. She'd shot at them from the Killcanoe. Hand-to-hand fought constructs of the same size and ferocity. Doubt seized her stomach as she realized she might have jumped headlong into a fight against an opponent she was lacking vital information on. Unswerving certainty in one's victory was only an effective strategy when one was in possession of all necessary facts.

The silver trailer rattled as the golden convorine hauled it up diagonally to get a better angle for its arm. The one who was being hauled squealed miserably.

Junella backed into a corner and readied her sword. She wished she still had her tail; she could've put it out in front of her and filled that bastard's paw with shards. But she didn't dare kill herself to grow it back. In the time it'd take her to regenerate, that paw might reach inside and pluck her out for snacktime.

The golden convorine held its twin's trailer up to peer inside. For a moment, its eyes met those of the cowering insect. Then it reached inside again.

Junella swung blindly. The flashes of sun that slipped past the heavy limb were like a strobe light. More distracting than helpful. She considered whipping up another revolver and pumping lead, but that'd be telling it exactly where she was. Right now the paw was banging back and forth blindly, trying to find its prey by touch alone.

The silver convorine's throat collapsed from all its screams. Its twin's claws were doing more damage to its internal organs than the insect's stinger had. With every ounce of will, it regretted calling for help.

The golden convorine gnashed its teeth, impatience growing. It knew the insect was in there. It had seen the nasty little thing. But the bug kept moving, evading. Golden roared in frustration and began tearing Silver's trailer to shreds to get at the vexing bit of food.

In darkness. Flashes of light. Swipes of heavy iron claws. Junella swung, landing a hit hard enough to split the creature's palm open. But at the cost of her own hand. She screamed, for once glad she was mute. Her sword fell somewhere in the bloody mess below her.

Sunlight flooded in as the golden convorine pulled back its arm, a tiny scrap of grooved flesh snagged on a claw.

Junella did not know if it was chance or if the beast intended her to see, but she had a clear view as it licked up her hand and swallowed it. Maybe it was sending her a message: 'You cut my nose, I eat your fingers.'

The paw suddenly filled the trailer space again, blocking the light. Junella ducked randomly. A claw gouged her back. Pain tried to steal her focus, but she kept her priorities straight. Her sword. She hunkered down in the gushing pillows of flesh and rooted for it, otherwise she'd be defenseless. She felt fluid pouring from her broken wrist like water from a tap. If she didn't end this soon, blood loss would end it for her. Maybe her best chance was to lop off her own head and try to time her resurrection so she came alive just as the convorine was bringing her to its mouth. Maybe she could hack away like a whirlwind at its gums and palate. Maybe she could slice open its throat. Maybe she could try carving through however many layers of flesh and metal surrounded its stomach, trying to beat the clock before she suffocated. Or maybe she was just colossally fucked.

BBBBBBRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRTTTT!!!!!

The paw withdrew and a scream split the forest. The golden convorine lurched sideways to see what had happened to its flank.

Tiny wasps, loud as hell, had stung a hole the size of a trash can lid straight through its trailer.

A few hundred feet away, Toby deLeon, eyes wide and sweat pouring through his hair, hung by the gun grips and gawked in disbelief at what he'd just done.

***

The fight had been going so well.

Shielded by the Fearsleigher, Toby had been lying on his stomach, keeping low, watching it all unfold. His head poked out from the windshield hole. He hoped his white fur would be invisible among the ash. The monsters weren't coming anywhere near the car. Doll was safely tucked away behind the back seat. All he had to do was wait this out.

Except... a worm was turning around inside his guts. His eyes beheld his friends clashing with these titanic monsters, and while silently he cheered for them, it felt like something inside kept shoving his shoulders. Telling him he had to get out there and help.

That voice was insistent. No matter how many times he explained things, it kept demanding. 'We've been over this,' Toby said to himself. 'They are handling this. They are professionals. There is no good reason for me to butt in and screw everything up trying to play hero.'

This was a perfectly rational line of thought, but his gut was not listening. It tugged at him like a toddler in a grocery store begging for candy. It started asking him if maybe he didn't feel a bit of resentment at his comrades for leaving him behind.

'Why!?' he exploded at it. 'Wouldn't you in their place? I know we've been through a lot together, and I've been getting better at helping them, but this is different! We've fought hordes of little things before; those things out there are enormous!!'

Why wasn't he convincing himself?

As he stared out the window, the agony in his gut grew. Like a spinning ball of jagged rock. Something corrosive and icy. He came to realize that the nagging voice in his head kept changing tactics, and as it did, it came closer and closer towards what it really represented. Toby was able to pinpoint it when he saw one of the monsters catch poor George and mangle him into a bow tie.

It hurt to see your friends hurt. Simple as that.

They were in pain, and Toby's ache resonated in sympathy. Despite his lack of experience, he had shown his friends before that he was willing to stand beside them when they fought. He still feared pain and death, but he was willing to take that risk if they were by his side. And even though they were objectively right in telling him to stay with the car, his heart burned with humiliation at the implied assumption he could do nothing to help them.

It came down to a matter of percentage. 'I may not be their equal, but I'm not completely useless either. I'm somewhere in between. And that's more than nothing,' he told himself resolutely.

'Okay. So what are you going to do then?'

He blanked. Realization hit that it was one thing to have the will, another thing to have ideas. He was fresh out of those.

Toby hated himself in multiple ways at that moment.

So he kept still and he kept watching, thinking at a furious pace. For a while, his friends looked like they were holding their own against the multi-legged truckbeasts and he wouldn't need to do anything at all. (Oh, that was a seductive thought. Just forget all your noble soul-searching and sit on your thumbs.) Then suddenly the tide turned. George was knocked aside, struggling to get up. Piffle and Zinc were body-slammed into red smears. Junella was still inside that creature's trailer, and the other one was trying its hardest to dig her out. It looked like a bear with its paw down deep in a hollow tree, questing for honeycombs.

For a minor eternity, Toby struggled to force himself to move. Cowardice and selfishness dragged down his shoulders, but finally the words fell ungracefully from his lips. "Doll, we've got to do something."

His plan had come to him the instant he stopped trying so hard to create one. Toby relayed it to Doll in seconds. She nodded comprehension and he handed her something from his vest. Then he forced himself to not think about what he was doing as he stood up and stepped through the windshield. His single footstep onto the ash sounded loud as a cannon shot. But no one was paying attention to him besides himself.

Apprehension froze him for a moment. Then he saw the monster's arm dip back in again for another sample of his friend.

Toby ran for the gatling gun. The Fearsleigher was tipped on its side, so it would not be easy to use. But Toby had two advantages: he was limber and he didn't weigh much. He jumped up to grab the gun grips and swung the rest of himself up onto the pedals. His first attempt was clumsy, sending his feet kicking at empty air and his chin cracking against the handlebars. But adrenaline can make a furson do incredible things. As if pulling himself up by the seat of his pants, Toby vaulted his keister into place and started pedaling.

'It's just like a bike. You've seen Zinc do this. It's not hard. You can do this.'

He struggled to shift his weight enough to point the gun where he wanted. It kept trying to dip. But Junella needed him to do this, so he did it. When the gun was pointed true, and his feet were mashing the pedals as fast as they could, he fixed his sweaty, skinny little hands on the gun grips and squeezed as hard as he could.

The shudder of the gun coming to life felt like being torn in half.

BBBBBBRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRTTTT!!!!!

He watched hot bolts of fire launch from the barrel. Watched them punch through the side of the beast. And then, best of all, he watched the monster roar in pain and take its attention away from Junella.

Eyes wide, sweat pouring through his hair, Toby hung by the gun grips and gawked in disbelief at what he'd just done.

Of course, he hadn't let himself think too hard about the moment after. Every action has an equal and opposite reaction.

The convorine's head turned towards where the pain had come from. Its eyes met Toby's.

The mouse's heart was a tiny sparrow trying to crash its way through his ribcage.

The golden convorine roared. A long, guttural bellow that Toby took to mean, 'Now you're gonna get it.'

It charged.

Toby's muscles calcified. His body was as immobile as marble. His eyes would not even blink. The monster grew bigger and bigger and bigger.

Its claws gouged ruts in the forest soil as it barreled towards the tiny white insect that had dared to harm it. The ground shook with each footfall. It trampled everything in its path. It was a diesel train, a rocket sled. It lowered its head to ram this little irritant into nothing but a red stain.

The sheer weight of fear was making Toby's vision falter at the edges. His lungs would not work. His brain was trying to force a shutdown. But Toby kept his manual override button mashed down. He willed his eyes to stay open. He kept his limbs rigid, not allowing himself to slump unconscious to the ground, even though it would be so much easier.

Then he had a very bad thought. Why had Junella run out into the open? To take the fight away from the car. Because they were replaceable. The car was not. And Toby had just told this stampeding thing (no, begged it) to come straight over to the car and pound it flat. So if his idea failed, then he would have not only gotten himself killed, he would have also succeeded in stranding his friends in the wilderness.

'Nice going, Toby.'

'All this means is that I can't screw up.'

The convorine was closing in. Its mouth opened impossibly wide. An endless carnival of gleaming teeth.

"DOLL, NOW!!!" Toby screeched.

She had followed his plan. She was directly beneath him, unseen. In her hands was a round white object. Intricately carved. Like an egg.

Hard as she could, she rolled it towards the Convorine.

It saw the tiny movement but paid no attention. It could not cause any harm.

Its mouth was so wide open, Toby saw all the way to the back of its throbbing black throat. He saw the claws reaching out to grab hold of him, saw the tongue that yearned to push him in chunks down that wet hole.

When the ivory bomb was directly beneath the nightmare's underside, it went off.

Blue and silver lightning erupted from the tiny dot. Thunder loud as gunshots. The Convorine's face turned to dismay, then unfathomable agony as a million electric knives leaped up to carve through its body. The bomb sizzled and screamed, burning fur black. The convorine tried to reach underneath to make the horrible thing stop, but lightning seared its palms and turned its muscles to stripped wires.

The lightning flashed in Toby's wide, pink eyes. It was a terrifying sight. Yet a much better one than just a second before.

The convorine constricted. Electric surges yanked on its nerves like a violent puppeteer. Unnatural light danced upon its flesh and feasted on its body. Its eyes were blank, lips pulled back in a rictus, jaws clenched on the verge of shattering.

Toby carefully aimed his gun.

In movies, the hero delivers his witty one-liner with defiance and verve. Toby's was a weak whisper, completely inaudible. But as he stared into the massive nightmare's grimacing face, he was proud of himself that the words came out at all.

"Time for your dental appointment."

BBBBBBBRRRRRRRRRRRTTT!!!

It wasn't enough to hope the bomb had incapacitated it. Toby was less than nine feet away from a monster that loomed over him even in cowering. He was not going to leave any chance for a counterattack. The gatling gun was aimed squarely at its grille of silver teeth, and at this close range, the bullets punched through like a hurricane destroys a house.

The golden convorine was beyond pain. Its mind was an ocean of black blankness. It felt, but did not register, its teeth being blasted to splinters by a bombardment of flying metal. Motor oil blood erupted in a tidal wave from its mouth. Chunks of tongue went flying.

Toby pummeled the thing's mouth until there wasn't a single intact tooth. Its lower jaw hung in tatters.

Only when he was 100% sure he'd finished the job did he let go of the gun grips. He was panting, greased with sweat, hair hanging in his eyes, and his limbs thrummed painfully from the oscillation of the gun. His ears rang loud as car alarms.

But the forest was silent now, and the monster was still.

Lying on its side, its whole mass quivered as the last flashes of the electrical bomb fired off. Its fur was raised in spikes. From its mouth gushed a flood of black oil. Chrome tooth fragments were swept away on a river of the thing's own blood.

Toby fought to slow his breathing. His arms and legs felt seconds away from crumbling. He still did not move. He had to be sure this thing was finally docile.

Its headlights turned on.

The beams circled drunkenly, searching. Finally, they tilted up towards the small white insect that had done this.

A limitless rage filled them.

The beast roared again. Its voice was drowned in the gurgles of its bloody maw, but still loud enough to shake the branches of the surrounding trees.

Oily saliva splattered Toby head to toe. Panic held him in place a second longer, but he found himself moving pretty damned quick when the back legs of the convorine came to life and tried to shove the rest of the body forward.

It could no longer claw or bite, but it could ram. It turned itself into a sideways bulldozer.

Toby had a microscopic fraction of time in which to drop down from the gun, get his feet beneath him, then scramble out of the way. Instinct grabbed his limbs and forced them to move. He saw Doll. Saw it would take too long to reach down and snatch her up. So he simply kicked her out of harm's way like making a field goal.

He dove for an ash pile as the golden convorine crashed facefirst into the Fearsleigher like a train off its tracks.

The taste of ash was on his tongue. Also blood. He'd landed in the cinders facefirst and split his bottom lip. No time to worry about that. He pushed himself up and to his feet, spitting out the awful taste as he started running.

Running. Where? All around him was open forest. Even with half its legs shocked to uselessness, Toby still did not trust that he was faster than this thing. 'So don't run. Find cover.' The only cover around was the car. Or the rocks.

A natural staircase of slate-grey stone, maybe thirty feet tall. That must have been where the first convorine had pounced from. Toby considered his options. Hide or climb?

He didn't have long to choose. Toby pumped his legs, propelling him away as the convorine hurled its toothless head towards him like a club.

Toby reached the edge of the rocks and braced himself there. The Fearsleigher would have been better cover, but he wasn't about to let their only transportation get destroyed to save his skin. 'No matter how much that sounds like a better choice right now!' He met the convorine's drunken eyes for an instant, then started scrambling upwards.

The convorine grunted, flopped over on its blackened stomach, and tried to drag itself along the ground towards the prey. All its pain had blurred to one singular throb, like the weight of a planet pushing down on its brain. It did not even know why it was continuing to fight. It sought revenge by reflex. It lunged clumsily and its forehead connected with the base of the rockpile, shattering its own windshield.

The impact sent Toby off-balance. He fell, twisted his ankle, and landed in one of those ugly grey bushes he'd seen earlier. Instantly he hissed in pain and flung himself away. Thin, stinging cuts covered his face and arms. Awful thing! Its leaves were like razor blades! And he thought he felt a bubbling, acidic burning beginning within each cut as well.

Thankfully the monster didn't seem to notice where he'd fallen. Double-thankfully, the ash-covered hill looked easy to scale. Just like hauling himself up a gigantic staircase. Toby hopped up and tested his ankle. Angry but not sprained. Good. He braced his stinging arms against the rock and pushed himself upwards again. He risked a glance behind. The monster's wide nose was twitching, searching by smell.

He looked past it and noticed two things that made all his pain and exhaustion lessen. For one, the convorine was ignoring the Fearsleigher completely. Secondly, it was ignoring Doll too. She was lying in an ashpile several feet away. Safe. She looked up and gave a wave to Toby.

He waved back with a little salute.

'There, see? You're not doing so bad.' He kept climbing. He was still overwhelmingly terrified of the beast below, but a momentary flicker of pride made it through.

The cuts from the bush's leaves were starting to feel like tiny linear fires. He didn't even want to know what his face must look like now. He was four steps up from the ground, lifting his leg for number five.

Below him, the monster howled. There was no doubt it had spotted him.

Frantically, it kicked the dirt with its back legs. The bomb had shocked its front half useless, but it tried to steer by biting the ground and pivoting. It was completely maddened now. Berserk. Amok. All it cared about was the little white speck trying to get away up the hill. The convorine kicked and kicked with its back legs, plowing itself facefirst into the rock. No matter. Push harder. Get higher. Get that little insect and make it die.

Toby felt his strength fading. His arms were criss-crossed with hissing pains that felt like an electrified net. Every time he pulled himself up a step, more ash got into the cuts, irritating them further. He looked below. The monster was directly beneath him. Its lower jaw had fallen off its hinges, cast aside in the dirt. More oil and teeth were smeared behind it as the thing relentlessly shoved itself against the rock.

If he fell now, Toby knew that big square head would raise up and simply bash him to smithereens. Like mooshing a bug with a brick.

He turned around, holding tight to the side of the hill. At least there was distance between them. At least he had plenty of space to plant his feet. At least he had time to think. He felt his hammer's weight inside his arm. Was he brave enough to use it? Climb back down, put his paw against that big, soft bullseye of a nose, and jackhammer it right up into the thing's ugly skull?

He shook his head. No. There was a point where bravery became stupidity, and that was it. It did not make him a coward to refuse the idea of getting within arms length of a pain-crazy leviathan. His safest bet was to keep climbing until he was certain he was out of its range.

Then what?

'Wait until your friends come to your rescue, obviously.'

Okay, that made sense. He looked out across the forest and wasn't sure where they were, but surely they'd spot him eventually. Piffle'd probably fly in like a medevac helicopter.

But just in case, he popped his hammer out. Just to feel it in his fist. His fingers slid into the tonguerubber grip oh so comfortably. He did not realize he was cradling it like a teddy bear.

Above him there was a sound. A droning growl.

"More nightmares!?" he wailed. "Dammit, why doesn't it ever END!?" Toby swiveled around, looking up, trying to spot the source of the steadily-increasing whine. It didn't sound organic. He'd thought at first it might be a stray biteranodon. But no, this was an engine's roar.

Stark terror flooded through him like icewater at the thought that maybe the semi truck monsters had pups.

But then, silhouetted against the dimming sun, the sound's source came into view. A great silver circle with fat wheels underneath. An all-terrain UFO.

Its motor squalled as it sailed off the top of the mountain and arced downwards. The bloated black tires clenched at the rock, demanding torque, spitting out chunks of gravel behind them. Toby saw that the silver circle was a ring around the strange vehicle's diameter. Defense on all sides. Fourteen stainless steel guillotine blades.

It was descending upon the convorine like an angel of death.

Toby gaped a moment longer before finding the sense to step aside lest it run him over.

He saw it clearly as it shot past. An ATV. Blue-on-white paintjob, with two towers behind the driver's seat that looked like weapon racks. It bounced hard across the rock staircase, but the rider of this armored steed never flinched a muscle. He was one with his vehicle. Two hands in fingerless gloves were fused to the handlebars. The rider himself looked like a black haystack full of sewing needles.

The convorine looked up and bellowed sheer hatred. The ATV's motor roared right back.

Toby watched as the rider bounced off the rock, sailed through the air, then hit the ground on an intercept course for the convorine's left legs. The fourteen blades glistened in the fading sunlight and oil blood streaked across them. They were mythically sharp, parting the convorine's flesh as easily as they cut through air.

The beast's scream changed in pitch. A louder, pealing cry whose meaning was crystal clear: defeat.

The rider banked the ATV in a tight turn, then came around again to incapacitate the beast's other side. The motor dragged the blades through tendon and muscle, slashing to the bone. Now the creature was as harmless as a cloud.

The golden convorine gave a last gurgling gasp of helpless suffering, then slumped against the rock. It could not move. The insects had won. Its brain swirled with shame and frustration. It wanted to die. If it died it could rise again. It had taken many years to understand this pattern, but now this knowledge could not help. The insects had taken it right to the edge of death and chained it there.

The rider braked his vehicle. He stood up as the engine idled, staring towards the convorine until he was sure it had given up the fight. Then he looked around, quickly, in all directions. He had the jerky movements of a bird or reptile. But with those quills on his head, there was nothing else he could be but a porcupine.

He looked up at Toby, just for a moment. That face was unreadable: two black dots above a white square. The eyes were hidden behind dark goggles. Over the muzzle was a paper surgical mask. Toby was familiar with those. Sometimes his mother had insisted he wear them when they went outside. Toby's stare was as blank as the rider's, not from calmness, but exhaustion.

The rider spared no more time for the mouse. In one smooth motion, he sat back down, gunned the engine, and made a U-turn straight for where the other convorine lay.

His vehicle buzzed past Junella, Zinc, and Piffle, but made a slight detour for George. Before the stallion could introduce himself, the guillotine blades sheared clean through his right legs. George was disconcerted for a moment, then fell over sideways with a thud. The rider barely glanced at what he'd done.

The silver convorine was still paralyzed from Junella's bullets, though also from the sheer violation of what had happened afterwards. There was nothing but fear in its glassy gaze as the rider drove towards it. For a moment, a crash seemed inevitable. Then the rider cut the brakes hard and surfed the momentum, flying off the front of the vehicle and landing with a cat's grace mere feet in front of the convorine's nose.

From a metal sheath on his back, the rider drew his signature weapon: a pair of guillotine blades with handgrips in between, like a double-headed, double-handled axe. In storage, it was folded in half. The rider snapped it open into a rhombus as he swung it around. Looking down into the shivering convorine's eyes, he held the blade out in front of him at arm's length. Pointing with it like the Reaper's cold finger.

Wordlessly he asked, 'Do you want this?'

The convorine shook its metal head, 'No'.

-***-

PART 57

Toby felt like an engine that had run so long without oil that now it was nothing but a useless, fused wreck. He wondered if there was actually smoke billowing out of his joints or if that was just his imagination.

Braced against the rock, he watched the scene below. From this height, all his friends looked like action figures. He saw a little toy Junella snarl something at the big bad truck that made it cringe away from her. He saw a little toy Zinc bend over to pick up an even littler toy Doll. Then a little toy Piffle was hopping up the rocks towards him.

Soon she was a life-sized Piffle. Her safari outfit was stained red, white, and brown from blood, ash, and dirt. But her smile remained pristine. "We won, Toby! We won!" She saw his dazed expression. "...Toby? You okay?" She waved a hand in front of his eyes. "Anyone home in there?"

He turned his head slightly towards her. His voice felt like spitting out sand. "I think I'm done for today."

She nodded understandingly. "Let's get you on solid ground, maybe that'll help. Maybe the atmosphere up here's too thin," she kidded. She gave her friend a hug, wrapping her arms around tight. Soon her wings were carrying them both down the side of the hill. Toby felt like a sack of loose sticks in her arms.

She landed with a 'poof' of ash. "Can you walk, do you think?"

"Oh sure," he assured. He didn't want her to think he was completely infirm. "I'm just... done. I can't handle any more adventures today. I'd like to lie down as soon as possible."

"You've earned it!" she said sincerely. "I looked up when I heard the gunfire. That was spiffy timing!"

He was about to refuse the praise when Zinc walked over with Doll riding his shoulder. The mutt looked utterly out of breath, but pleased with how events had turned out.

He (gently) clapped the mouse on the shoulder. "Eyy, Toby! Nice work there with the gatling! You're a bonafide hero!"

Toby gave him a very queasy smile. "Please, don't. I'm not a hero. I did less than any of you. If you wanna say something nice, keep it in perspective."

The canine nodded. Meeting the mouse's eyes, he corrected, "You did more than I ever thought I'd see from you."

Toby rather liked the sound of that. His smile became genuine and grateful. "Thank you."

Doll gave Toby a double thumbs-up, then quickly grabbed back onto Zinc's doorknocker so she wouldn't fall off.

"Sorry we didn't get here fast enough to help. That was my fault," Piffle admitted, her cheeks burning. "After we got truck-flattened, Zinc bumped me off quick to get me back on my feet. But I..."

Zinc laughed. "She couldn't do it! There she is, standing over my neck with that fork of hers, I'm telling her to go ahead and 86 me, and she's all worried it'll hurt! It was freakin' adorable!"

She crossed her arms huffily. "It's one thing to poke a nightmare with it, but you're someone I care about!"

Junella ambled up then, trying to keep a triumphant posture. Everyone could see it was a front. Her grin said, 'We kicked some ass', but her eyes were silent and drained of spark. She walked past Piffle and Zinc like she didn't even see them, then grabbed Toby's hand and pressed it to her temple. "I'm kinda banged up, kid. Wanna give me some relief?"

Toby flinched at being touched. He could feel his hammer in his arm and considered the idea. It was hard to say no to Junella. But he wriggled for her to let go, and was relieved when she did. "I'm sorry. I just... No more violence today, please. Not if we can help it."

She could respect that. "Allright."

Zinc clanked his wrenches. "I’m always willing to lend a hand, partner."

Junella nodded blissfully, like he was offering to tuck her into bed.

He swung overhand and compacted her brains into mush.

Toby swiveled away from the sight, tasting bile at the back of his throat. He was not kidding about having had his fill. The throb from his ankle and cuts weren't bad enough to make him ask the others for a similar reboot. Pain-wise, it was nothing he hadn't endured before.

Moments later, a brand-new Junella was picking herself up and stretching her restored limbs. She ran her regrown hand along her tail, back where it should be. She poofed up her scarf and pointed for her troops to head towards Gilla-Gilla. "I know we're all dog tired after that shitshow, but it ain't polite to keep a pal waiting. Let's go."

Across the flattened battlefield, the rider was standing up on his ATV seat, waiting for them.

The forest was stunned silent by what had transpired. The fight had left a clearing that looked like God had reached down and scooped away everything alive. Junella led the way across scattered shrapnel, oil, blood, tree limbs, actual limbs, and ash.

Halfway there, a resonant voice came from the ground beside her. "Excuse me, Madam Brox...?"

"I see you, baby," she replied, as she drew a new revolver and aimed it right between his eyes.

***

Gilla-Gilla was posed like a statue atop his custom vehicle, eyes and muzzle still hidden. His posture radiated an aura of alertness. His only movement was the twitch of his ears. Falling ash collected on his quills and shoulders. His hands were empty, but open. Ready to make a grab for any of the melee or projectile weapons hanging from the twin racks at the back of his ATV.

His outfit balanced protection with mobility. Cargo shorts. A bulletproof vest over a goalie's compression shirt. Shoulder, knee, and elbow pads. No shoes. Almost everything he wore was moss green or bark brown. Even his fur was streaked with smears of camouflage paint. He looked like a paintballer gone postal.

The band of six approached him. His gaze seemed somewhere beyond them. But with those blacked-out goggles it was impossible to tell.

Junella was in the lead, followed by Zinc, Doll, Piffle and Toby. George slinked along at the rear, trying to hide himself. He did not need a second lesson that this furson was not fond of him.

Zinc waved. "Gilla-Gilla! It's us! Thanks for dropping in on the fun!"

The porcupine was stone until they crossed some imaginary line. Then he sprang into motion like a snare trap. His arm reached behind him and whipped out a bulky gun with an attachment on the front like a kitchen whisk. His other hand darted to the trigger and the gun hummed to life. Red light crawled along the tip like neon worms.

Toby did not want to know or find out what that thing did. He put his hands up.

"Hey, hey, hey!! Cool your jets, man!" Zinc barked, offended.

Gilla-Gilla took his finger off the trigger long enough to hook his mask down. "Who these tossers?" he demanded. His London accent was thick as treacle.

Junella was not surprised by this. 'Jumpy' was a word without enough syllables to adequately describe Gilla-Gilla. "I'll make introductions if you put down the painlauncher. Are we both okay with that?"

He licked his teeth in consideration. Then the gun dipped, but the red glow remained.

"That's our client, Toby deLeon," Junella began. "He hired us to take him up the mountain."

Gilla's eyebrow raised at this. Nothing else moved.

"Piffle tagged along with him and now she's funding the expedition, as well as making Zinc twitterpated."

Piffle illustrated by leaning on the canine's arm and beaming.

"Doll is..." Junella faltered a bit, regarding the burlap lump on Zinc's other arm. "I guess at this point she's yet another client. A non-paying one," she groused.

Gilla-Gilla made a gesture with the gun for Doll's bag to come off so he could see beneath it. Junella walked over and did so. The porcupine grimaced at the sight of the pudgy plastic baby with the gaping square void for a face.

"That brings us to George." Junella made a point of walking right up to the blackened bonecuddy to pat his flank, keeping her gaze locked with Gilla's. Without hesitation she turned her back to the nightmare stallion. "He's Toby's payment, as well as our chauffeur, bodyguard, and friend."

George bashfully raised his head to the porcupine. "Your reaction a moment ago was understandable. You are forgiven. And I assure you, I intend no harm."

Gilla was silent, but they all saw his mouth perfectly form the words, 'What the fuck?'

"He's an ascended construct," Toby piped up.

The porcupine did not look convinced. Yet.

"We, ah..." Zinc started, putting on his best snake charmer's smile, "we were hoping to crash at your pad for the night, seeing as our machine's a bit sideways at the moment. I know it ain't good manners for company to invite themselves, but who the hell else is out here for us to ask, right? Right?"

Gilla sneered.

"Aw, c'mon! Doncha get lonely out here without me?" Zinc teased, batting his eyelashes.

Gilla was immobile a few moments more, then barked a single syllable laugh. "HA! You silver-tongued wanka! Fine. One night. And I'll tow your car. Nice one it is, bruv."

"Thanks. Homemade."

Gilla looked across the group, gesturing with the glowing gun. "You lot follow behind. I'll park." He didn't wait for questions or discussion, just dropped down into the ATV seat, gunned the motor, and blew past them towards the Fearsleigher. Everyone swatted away the clouds of ash he'd kicked up.

"He's talkative today," Zinc remarked to Junella.

"Probably in a good mood. I dunno what convorine meat and metal sells for in the market, but he's got a motherlode of it now."

"Oh, hey, yeah! Hadn't even thought of that. At least he gets something back for doin' us a sleepover. I feel less like a mooch now."

Toby came closer to them with a questioning look. "Um... I couldn't help but notice those dark glasses he had. Is he... blind?"

Zinc laughed. "Not hardly!"

"Gilla sees everything," Junella added, her tone making it clear this was no exaggeration.

***

The porcupine retrieved the Fearsleigher in less time than Toby would have thought possible. The still-moaning silver convorine's bulk blocked the view, but from across the clearing he heard the stubborn squeal of a winch motor, then the clangrumble of the Fearsleigher tipping back onto its blades.

Junella and Zinc took a moment to fill the others in on Gilla-Gilla etiquette.

"It's debatable whether he's anyone's 'friend'," Junella began. "He's always alert for an ambush and never trusts anyone completely. But we're colleagues in the same business. We've worked well together. He's a survivalist at heart. No one in Phobiopolis is better at staying alive. So long as you accept that his number one priority's always gonna be number one, you can get along with him."

"He ain't all armor with nothing inside though," Zinc defended. "He can be surprisingly generous. Once you get past a certain point, that is. Where that line is? Nobody knows. So don't even try to get past it. Whatever his crazy rules are, just follow 'em and don't argue. It's all a test at first."

Piffle looked like she wasn't exactly happy about that, but nodded anyway.

Toby was so wrung-out that following directions unthinkingly sounded just fine to him.

Soon enough the buzzsaw-shaped ATV was growling its way back towards them, dragging the Fearsleigher with ease. Gilla had his mask back up but yelled through it, "Keep up!" He blew right past, laughing that singular 'ha' again.

Toby blinked. "Is he stealing our car?"

Zinc was already jogging after it. "Naw, he's just fuckin' around! And also showing the way to his shack. C'mon!" He waved a wrench for the others to follow. "Hold tight, Doll!" Her little hands gripped his collar.

"Maybe I should take her," Piffle came puffing over. Doll hopped down into the hamsterfly's arms and was held snug.

"Dammit, I'm already tired! I was hoping we could ride there!" Junella complained as she trotted along.

"Same here," Toby said. His muscles grumbled in exasperation as he forced them to run after the Fearsleigher. At least Gilla-Gilla wasn't going top speed, and at least the skate blades left an easy trail to follow.

From behind he heard hoofbeats. "Did someone call for a ride?" George asked brightly.

"Yes, please!" the mouse shouted back.

George laughed merrily as he grasped Toby's collar in his teeth and tossed his master onto his back.

Toby only yelped a little at the surprise flight. "Thanks, George," he wheezed.

"Got room for another?" Junella called out.

"Certainly," George replied. "Although, may I recommend taking the back seat, so as not to impale Sire Toby upon your tail?"

"That'd be sensible, yeah." She surprised George by ducking behind him, then grabbing his hips and vaulting up and over. Toby made a good landing pillow.

"Oof!"

She smiled an apology and settled in.

Up ahead, Zinc and Piffle were walking side by side. They balanced their pace to keep track of the ATV while not exhausting themselves. Piffle cradled Doll under one arm and held Zinc's hand with the other. They didn't say anything. Didn't need to. After a workout like that, it was nice to just drift quietly beside one another.

Toby watched them with a sleepy, wistful smile. He felt good again about not standing in their way. He also felt good about seeing Doll, thinking back to how he'd kept her away from the convorine. He winced though, remembering that he'd done it via punting. 'I'll apologize for that when I get a moment,' he vowed.

From behind, he felt a chin slip in to rest against his shoulder. At first he thought Junella had fallen asleep against his back, but then she spoke. So softly he had to lean closer to hear her. "Can I say something? I'd rather not be overheard."

"Sure," he whispered back.

She hesitated for a moment. There was weariness in her voice, but also a gentle, firm sincerity. "Thank you, Toby."

"You're welcome. But I don't think you've gotta hide saying that. We all-"

"No, I mean..." She shut her eyes tight. "I messed up. Bad. I got myself backed into a corner. Literally. And you got me out. While I dearly appreciate that, Toby, I do not like to put anyone in that position. I'm supposed to be self-sufficient."

He recognized the sour taste of loathing in her words. "It was an accident," he said comfortingly.

She flinched. "It was lack of planning," she insisted. "Don't sugarcoat it. But you... You drew its attention away. Even got yourself cut up a bit doin' it." A grooved finger gently traced along his cheek. "You look like a teacher with a red pen tried to correct you."

Toby couldn't help a small chortle at that. "I'll bet. I just hope that bush wasn't poisonous."

She shook her head. "Nah. Nothin' worse'n papercuts. But still..." She sighed and patted his cheek again. "...you got these because of me. You drew its attention away. A goddam convorine. That took guts, Toby. I don't think it's enough to just say I underestimated you."

Toby reached back to pat her paw. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." She squoze his hand too.

Then a wry little smile returned. "Just don't be too surprised if I revert to my usual salty self once we're back in earshot. And don't spread this around either! It'd be bad for business if word got out that I ever needed a client to scoop my sorry ass outta trouble."

Toby hid a snort behind his paw.

George's sharp spectral ears had heard every bit of this, but as a loyal friend, he would of course keep it under lock and key.

***

Blessedly, Gilla-Gilla's shack was only a mile down the road. George grew a flesh saddle for his passengers, and Toby could tell he'd been practicing to make it more comfortable. After a while, he also noticed Junella was getting heavier on his back. From her breathing, he realized she really had fallen asleep. 'Can't blame her.'

Toby remembered what Zinc had said about this region. That it was crawling with constructs, all of them nasty. He did not like being out in the open like this, even if it was on top of George. Yet nothing was attacking. No beasties leapt out to chew them. Toby had a strong sense that it was due to Gilla-Gilla being near.

Soon enough they spotted the edge of the porcupine's territory. It was not marked with signs or paint, but was regardless impossible to miss. A perfect circle was carved out of the forest. Three hundred feet in diameter. Every single tree, bush and blade of grass had been exterminated. Only ash touched the ground.

In the exact center was a falling-down cabin that looked like the setting for a thousand teenage horror flicks. Low, caving roof. Wide porch with warped timbers. Mangy paint. Lots of windows, all shuttered. Supply crates and storage lockers were lined up near the back.

It did not look the slightest bit secure. As if a strong kick might put a hole right through the wall. But Toby had a feeling there was more here than met the eye. Gilla's over-preparedness had already been impressed upon him. He felt sure the derelict shack would turn out to be a hollow front with an underground fortress below it.

Gilla blazed across the line between the forest and his property. The instant he did, the clearing lit up with a multitude of green fireflies. Sensors, from hundreds of hidden traps the porcupine had set, all registering their master's presence.

Zinc knew from experience that setting one toe in that clearing without Gilla by your side was even stupider than suicide. He skidded to a stop and held his wrenches out to warn the others.

Piffle tried to put on her brakes in time, but the tip of one antennae passed over the line. There was a flash and a zap. "Yikes!" She ducked down to cradle her burnt appendage. It felt like she'd touched it to a candle flame.

Zinc put his arms around her. "Aw shit, kitten, I'm sorry! I shoulda warned you sooner!"

"I'm allright," she insisted. "It scared me more than anything! He really means business, doesn't he?"

"Bank on it."

Gilla-Gilla parked both vehicles at the far side of the house, then came briskly trotting back to where the others stood. "Jolly bit a' exa'cise?" he asked.

"Loads of fun. Ha ha," Zinc replied.

Gilla's grin was feral. He liked living alone but also enjoyed having people around to tease. He turned backwards to Zinc, then stood stiffly at the edge of the clearing like a tin soldier.

"Yeah yeah, I remember the conga line routine," Zinc said. He called back to the others, "Hands on shoulders, everybody! We gotta make an unbroken chain when we pass through, or else the traps'll make us crispy critters!" He clamped his wrench on the back of Gilla's vest, then felt a vinyl paw on his jacket.

They all linked up. Piffle reached on tippy-toes to put Doll on George's back. Then she held hands with Junella and Toby, and Toby held George's ribcage.

Just then, the stallion's head popped up. "I believe I hear something behind me. Approaching fast, and presumably with malicious intent."

"Quick," Gilla-Gilla said simply. He took off towards his house, tugging everyone behind him like a kite string. There occurred much bumping into one another.

Toby flinched as he set foot on the blackened soil, but nothing happened apart from the green sensors following his every movement. Behind them he could hear a stampeding sound rising in volume. For a heartbeat he thought the convorines were back. But these were smaller steps from fewer feet. That was a relief.

Though when the source of the noise came into view around the bend, relief evaporated.

It was one of those hyena-things. The ones with the muscles so obscenely developed they looked like overinflated basketballs ready to pop. The beast's veins pulsed as it charged. Twin waterfalls of foam fell from its mouth. Its eyes were yellow as egg yolks.

Zinc looked back and was glad to see the whole group was past the property line. "Might wanna tuck your tail in, George!" he warned.

Gilla-Gilla's ear twitched in the construct's direction, but he did not speed up his pace. Nothing to be concerned about.

The nightmare hyena let out a delirious cackle as it leapt through the air towards fresh meat.

It sailed past Gilla's perimeter.

A hundred green eyes turned red.

In the flash of an instant, the hypena became a pincushion. Serrated metal spears plunged into it from below, pinning it in place like a museum specimen. The construct had just enough time to whine in pained confusion before the real punishment began. Rows upon rows of flamethrower nozzles popped up from the soil like groundhogs. As one, they belched napalm at the hapless beast. Its death-cry was mercifully short, as the burning liquid cooked it to cinders in less than twenty seconds.

Then its remains drifted away. Nothing but more ash to litter the forest floor with.

George felt decidedly uncomfortable. He might have reflexively fled if not for Toby's strong grip on his ribs.

Toby had a horrific thought that maybe this was where all the forest's ash had come from. 'No... That would be impossible, right?'

Zinc couldn't help but be impressed. "Shit fire and save matches! You upgraded since last time!"

Gilla-Gilla nodded proudly. "They waz wakin' up too quick, eh? More pieces; longer naptime."

Piffle piped up, "Can we go a little faster? I think George has some bad memories about being all burnt up."

He whinnied in complete agreement.

Gilla didn't turn his head, but he did speed up his pace. Slightly.

Everyone made sure to hold whoever they were holding a little tighter as they crossed the fiery courtyard. Gilla's porch seemed miles away, but eventually they were all stepping up onto the weather-worn boards and exhaling nervously.

Closer up, the ramshackle house looked like it had been built entirely out of driftwood. The planks sagged and warped. Blobs of tar patched the gaps between them. On the porch were two splintery wicker loveseats and a row of gas cans.

Instead of a doorknob, the front door had a round, padded divot in the middle. Gilla-Gilla stepped up and stuck his hand in up to the elbow. There was a click and he winced by reflex. He wiped off his arm on his shorts as he removed it.

Given the porcupine's already-extensive precautions, Toby made a deduction. Some buildings had voiceprint locks, others had retinal scanners. This one actually required a blood test.

With a pneumatic puff, the door popped open. On its inside was three inches of tempered steel. Gilla was about to usher everyone in, then stopped and considered something.

He turned suddenly and addressed the group. "You two, I don't like." He pointed at George and Doll. "Keep it on the porch."

Toby was shocked. "What!? All night long!?"

"That's just cruel!" Piffle huffed.

Gilla tilted his head at them, expression unchanging.

Junella tried to play peacemaker. "I get the trepidation, jack, but I can vouch for them personally. We've all been on the road together for a week now. George is one hundred percent pussycat. And I may not like looking at the little one, but she's been nothing but quiet the whole trip."

Doll's body language asked if that was supposed to be a joke.

Gilla-Gilla held his hand up, palm out. "You, I trust. Thems, I don't. And it's my house, cousin." He pointed at the horse and toy. "Porch," he repeated.

Zinc took a step back towards the others. He whispered out of the side of his mouth, "Just go with it for now. He won't make you stay out here all night, I promise. It's a test."

Toby scowled but didn't say anything. He hated to admit, he could understand the precaution. If Gilla-Gilla spent all his time fighting nightmares, he might be reluctant to believe in one's better nature. The mouse patted his equine friend's rough bones. "Do you want to go along with this? I'll stick up for you if you say no."

Piffle nodded. "If he won't let you and Doll in, then we won't go in either! Will we, Toby?"

He wasn't delighted about being volunteered like that, but it would be the loyal thing to do. He nodded.

But George held his head high. "No need for that, Sire and Madam. While your steadfastness warms me, I will bear this trial of indignity with composure, as I always strive to. Madam Doll? Your feelings on the matter?"

A bit of paper fluttered at the edge of Doll's bag. Toby took it and read aloud:

'It,s OK. I'LL resT here Till he'S reADy'

"That's very mature of you," Toby commended. "...And before I forget, I'm sorry about kicking you into that ashpile earlier."

She made a gesture like 'Are you kidding? You saved me!'

George held up a hoof to give Madam Doll an elevator to his ribcage. He even upholstered his sternum with soft flesh. "I'm sure we will have a grand time together, enjoying one another's company," he said, aiming a helluva dirty look straight at Gilla-Gilla.

The porcupine's request had been an intentional provocation, and he was quite satisfied with the results. Instant agreement would have indicated the group was glad to be rid of the two oddballs, betraying their assurances of trustworthiness. Complete refusal would have been a sign of disrespect to his home. Their reaction was halfway between. A good sign (despite the scowls he was getting). He held the entrance open for four of the six.

Piffle's mouth was clenched in a hard line and her fists were balled up. She glared daggers at the porcupine as she passed.

He merely grinned.

Through the doorway was absolute blackness. Toby waved a last adieu to George and Doll, then stepped into shadows. He had no idea what the hell he was getting himself into.

The door creaked, rising in pitch as it shut, until the sunlight was strangled out.

Pitch dark.

No one said a word or moved a muscle.

Toby could feel drops of sweat running down his forehead. He held up a hand in front of his eyes and saw nothing. This room was not only lightless, it was sweltering. And, he felt sure, only about the size of a meat locker.

From out of the abyss came Gilla-Gilla's cheerful voice. "Nervous, lads?"

A moment later, glaring fluorescents turned the room bright yellow with a harsh electric buzz. Everyone flinched.

A moment after that, they were in a hurricane. Toby didn't care what anyone else thought of him for screaming.

Then the lights and the wind cut out abruptly and the inner door swung open.

Everyone stepped out with the wobbly gait of exiting a rollercoaster. After Toby rubbed away the ghostly blue afterimages from his eyes, he looked down and realized his clothes were clean as a whistle. "Oh! It was a blower to get rid of the ash!"

Gilla-Gilla walked past with an expression like, 'Wasn't it obvious'? He tossed off his vest and guillotine weapon onto a hook beside the airlock.

Then he stood at parade rest, watching the others blink. Waiting for their attention. He did not say 'Welcome' or 'Sorry about that'. He merely pointed at a poster beside him and said, "Observe the rules."

The poster was three feet tall with thick black letters. It read:

	FOR VISITORS –> HOUSE RULES
	1. DON'T TOUCH ANYTHING
	2. DON'T TOUCH ANYTHING
	3. DON'T TOUCH ANYTHING
	4. DON'T TOUCH ANYTHING
	5. DON'T TOUCH ANYTHING

This last word was so big it actually went off the edges of the poster.

Piffle rolled her eyes. "We get the message, Mr. Fussbudget."

He took two steps towards her, nearly nose-to-nose. "I jus want to make sure we will all be... safe."

His smile unnerved her. As did the way he always seemed to be looking somewhere past whoever he was speaking to. She hesitated, but then the words came out anyway. "W-what's under those goggles?"

His sharkish grin spread. So wide that she finally noticed just how sharkish it was. Aside from his two front bucks, the rest of his yellowed choppers were all filed down to triangles. And when he lifted away his eyewear, she gasped. From the inner lenses of the goggles came a radioactive pink light that hurt to be near. When Gilla-Gilla opened his eyes, she saw that the pupils were dilated so wide the irises were stretched into warped rubber bands. The surrounding whites had gone magenta with bloodshot veins.

Gilla let her get a good look. "All the better to see you wif."

Piffle kept her mouth shut and nervously tidied her dress ruffles. She wondered why anyone would do that to themselves. And then wondered if she was anyone to judge.

Those blasted-out craters looked her up and down a second more, not leering, but assessing her body language. Gauging her character. The white mouse was an open book, but this one was a little more complex than her surface.

Then Gilla sharply turned and swept his arms towards the house's interior. "We're all mates now. Have a seat. I'll get bevvies."

Toby was considerably surprised that the shack wasn't really a false front. Gilla-Gilla actually did live in it. Although the interior was considerably nicer than its exterior. The ceiling was low, the lights were dim, and the rooms were wide and open. No real walls to speak of, only support beams and a small booth in the far back that must have been a bathroom. The living room bled into the dining room and kitchen, and all of it was storage space for the uncountable cardboard boxes, ammo crates, canned goods, pallets of fresh water, and anything else the porcupine could stack to the ceiling. It reminded Toby of shows about people who anticipated the apocalypse. Preppers. Gilla-Gilla's house looked like it was stocked with enough supplies to ride out anything Phobiopolis could throw at him. And fastidiously clean. No ash anywhere.

Gilla strolled to the kitchen, pretending like he wasn't still keeping an eye and an ear on his guests. The others wound their way around the towers of boxes towards an area with three big squishy couches, plus a radio, a mandala rug, and the body parts of several hundred nightmare constructs nailed up on the wall.

Toby quailed. It was a tidal wave of pelts, skulls, teeth, stingers, legs, eyes, claws and antlers. Each harvested item was neatly mounted on a plaque of wood with a date written underneath in black marker.

Piffle said nothing, trying to remind herself that these were constructs. Not only capable of regenerating after the trophies had been taken, but also programmed to cause maximum pain and terror in whatever living thing they came across. But then she imagined George's head up on the wall and got flustered again. She plopped down on one of the couches with a foomp and folded her paws in her lap. Toby sat next to her, seeing her tension.

Zinc was trying with all his might to smile ingratiatingly. "He's a good guy! Really! Dependable, earthbound. He just gets squirrely around new people, that's all. Things'll smooth out, you watch." He and Junella took their seats opposite the mouse and hamster.

Seeing that Piffle was biting her tongue, Toby said what was on both their minds. "He seems like a mad hermit who's probably gonna kill us and eat us."

"...And taxidermy us!" Piffle added, unable to contain herself any longer.

"No, no, really! Everything's fine!" Zinc said through clenched teeth, wringing his tail in his hands.

Junella was mildly amused by her partner's squirming.

"You gotta admit," Toby said, "this is a classic slasher movie setup. He lures us to his house and we find out too late it's all fulla secret hatches and trap doors, then he waits until dark to murder every one of us with a chainsaw."

Gilla-Gilla popped up behind the sofa. "Nah. Y' don't run a chainsaw indoors. Gas-powered. Carbon monoxide, innit?"

Toby jumped in his seat. Of course Gilla'd be listening to every word out of their mouths. But the porcupine didn't seem insulted. Hell, he looked absolutely tickled.

Gilla raised a tray. "Drinkies? Liquor? Lemonade?"

"Beer here," Zinc said immediately. Junella made an 'I'll pass' gesture. Piffle hesitated, then could not resist a lemonade. Toby opened his mouth and a yawn shoved its way out.

Gilla passed around the tray. He could switch from rude to polite so easily it was unnerving. Piffle was glad to see that the lemonade came in a can: no way to slip in a mickey. Zinc drained half his booze at a gulp, despairing of a long, tense evening where nobody trusted each other. Gilla popped the top off something that looked like liquid emerald and sat himself delicately beside Junella. With his foot, he nudged a bottled water over to Toby. "Proper knackered, that one."

Toby wasn't sure what that word meant. Possibly an insult, but not worth asking. "Thanks." He took a sip.

Any other day, the mouse might have been much more jittery in this situation. Despite what he'd said about Gilla-Gilla turning out to be a homicidal maniac, Junella and Zinc had vouched for his character, as they'd vouched for George and Doll. Toby trusted their judgment. The porcupine was still coarse and weird though. And despite a bit of crawling nervousness as being a guest in a complete enigma's house, what Toby felt more than anything else was fatigue. The physical exertion of the convorine fight, not to mention the prolonged mental stress, was pushing him to sink lower... and lower... into the couch cushions.

Zinc tried to liven the atmosphere by recounting the travelers' adventures so far. Piffle still sent silent ice beams at Gilla, but Junella jumped into the story occasionally to add important details. Gilla sat and slurped and listened.

Toby wasn't really paying attention to Zinc's story (he'd lived it, after all). And despite the fact that his drowsiness was making him more horizontal by the minute, he kept his eyes on Gilla-Gilla. Toby couldn't help but notice that the porcupine never made eye contact for more than a second. His attention was always somewhere else, head twitching to and fro like an owl's. And when the porcupine spoke, it was always as rapid as possible. Get the words out of the way so he could go back to concentrating on... what?

Normally Toby's curiosity would have made him hyper-alert. Instead, the mouse's brain was trying to shove his consciousness out of the driver's seat for a while so it could do some internal housekeeping. And the sofa cushions were sooooo soft. Like sitting on big fat marshmallows. Just falling backwards into big, plump, comfy marshmallows...

His vision blurred. The voices blurred. Everything got out of focus and soft.

-***-

PART 57

"Oogly woogly."

Toby made a noise with a lot of 'n' sounds, then rolled over and found himself face-to-face with a very large scorpion.

Its head was as big as a cow's. Dozens of glistening black eyes. Pincers like onyx arrowheads.

Toby's eyes got very big but he kept himself from screaming. It didn't take long to realize that the scorpion was not moving. Because it was only a severed head, held at eye level by Gilla-Gilla. Toby gave the porcupine a severely unamused look.

Gilla-Gilla smiled with approval that Toby hadn't caterwauled and leapt for the ceiling. He dropped the bug head with a wumph and jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Chow's on, Van Winkle." Then he disappeared into the kitchen.

Toby rubbed gunk from his eyes. What time was it? He tried to focus on the windows. There were almost no lights in the house aside from the bare bulb above the dining room. Lively conversation and good smells came from that direction. Outside there was no more sun, but floodlights in the yard kept the whole perimeter starkly visible. Toby could see falling ash dancing in the light beams.

He sat up. His fur stuck to his clothes. He'd been snoozing with his face buried in the corner of the sofa, which left lines on his cheek.

It wasn't exactly a good sleep. He felt more wobbly than rested, but otherwise close to normal. And when he ran his fingers through his fur, all the cuts from that damn spiky bush had vanished. 'That's good.' Standing up with a yawn and a stretch, he headed for the source of the dinnersmells, careful not to touch anything along the way.

He stopped when he saw the table. 'What the heck happened while I was in dreamland?'

The primary cause of this reaction was seeing Piffle at the table, laughing and smiling and looking completely at ease. Gilla-Gilla had won her over somehow. Zinc was ferrying dishes to the table, Junella was sampling wine, and Doll was seated beside Piffle. Plus the nearest window was open with George's head poking through. Toby wondered if Zinc had forced Gilla to let them in, or if the porcupine had decided on his own. If he had, that might explain Piffle's turnaround.

Gilla-Gilla shoveled up a heaping plate of food and carried it over to the window. He was cautious about setting it down within range of George's teeth, but nodded when he saw that the equine backed up nonthreateningly. "Eat up," Gilla said, and went back to the table. He tossed a glance Toby's way and kicked a chair out for him.

Another surprise for Toby was the sheer amount of food on the table. Either Gilla-Gilla had a lot of leftovers laying around, or he'd whipped up a Thanksgiving-sized feast in just a few hours.

Gilla noticed the mouse's goggle-eyed stare at the spread. "Boring out 'ere. Not much to do but clean and cook."

"You sure do, Mr. Gilla! This is a swell spread!" Piffle licked her lips and tucked a napkin into her collar.

He smiled hugely at that. Once Toby was seated, Gilla darted around the table, insisting on serving everyone. He measured out perfect portions of this and that. All of it steaming hot, bursting with color, and radiating tantalizing aromas.

Toby re-noticed Gilla's habit of always looking past whatever was in front of him. The way his head twitched towards sounds none of the others could hear. Toby's more-awake mind realized this might not be a sign of distraction, but the opposite. Maybe the porcupine was a living radar dish, never ceasing to check his perimeter for trouble.

Toby scooted his chair up beside Junella. She asked, "How was your nap?" 

He liked that she wasn't teasing, merely asking. "Good. I think I needed it."

"Adrenaline's like borrowing energy from your future," she quoted from somewhere. Then turned her attention to her plate and nudged some things around with her fork. "Allright, GG, I gotta know. What is this you're feeding us?"

He looked like he'd been dying for someone to ask. He glanced quickly at all exits and windows, then pointed to each dish in turn. "Spinach salad. Bacon biscuits. Rattlesnake curry. Scalloped potatoes. Hypena kidney sausages. Cactusyote slices. Raisin buns. Cheesy mac. And our centerpiece: butter-baked scorpion tail."

As he said that last item, he leered directly at Toby, anticipating the newbie mouse's response.

Admittedly, some of that sounded delicious and some of it sounded nauseating. But Toby's nose and stomach cast the deciding vote in favor of being bold. There was a little of everything on his plate anyway, so he speared a forkful of scorpion. "At least this explains where the head came from." He put it in his mouth, trying not to show his hesitation. Gilla-Gilla surely would have gotten all the venom out of it first, right?

Buttered fireworks melted in Toby's mouth.

Gilla-Gilla grinned at seeing the mouse's eyebrows shoot up. "Like lobster, innit?"

Toby swallowed, then couldn't speak for a few seconds. "If that's what lobster tastes like, I'm sorry I've never had it before! That was incredible!!"

Gilla's expression was that of a champion golfer after sinking a hole in one. He finally let himself sit and begin his own meal, and that signaled the others to do the same.

No one could deny that it was the best meal they'd had since the start of their journey. This was why Phobiopolans still cultivated ingredients. With imaginite, the food was only ever as good as the imaginer's memory. As delicious as that might be, it was never unexpected. Gilla's food was unexpected. The recipes were simple, nothing unnecessary in any of them, but also nothing overcooked or underdone. These were straightforward dishes, made by someone with enough practice to no longer need measuring cups. Gilla simply knew how each one was supposed to taste, and made it taste that way.

Doll could not eat, but was happy enough savoring the smells. Piffle was ravenous and did her best to keep her food in her mouth and off her clothes. Zinc didn't care. He ignored his silverware, ate with his wrenches, and talked constantly. Junella's table manners were no better. Soon enough they were both reminiscing with Gilla over past jobs, cackling. At one point Gilla-Gilla used his fingers to mime a furson marching along stiffly, then seeing a second finger-furson, throwing something at them with his thumb-arm, and the second one kicking it back, causing it to explode with a "bwooosh!". This was somehow so hilarious that Zinc and Junella were both pounding the table with tears in their eyes.

Toby had very little idea what they were talking about, but the food made him not care. He found he couldn't help feeling sorry for his former self, the one who'd been living off thin soup and applesauce. That wasn't living. Not without food like this. He did his best to be brave and try everything. Most of it was excellent, though the kidney sausages took him a few swallows to appreciate. The cactusyote was crispy on the outside and had the cool crunch of cucumber in the middle. Lovely and refreshing. The biscuits were fluffy as pillows. The macaroni and cheese was gooey, warm, and comforting. The scorpion tail was cooked so soft it almost slid down his throat without chewing. The salad and potatoes brought up dim memories of long-ago dinners with extended family. About the only thing he didn't care for was the rattlesnake curry, and only because it was too hot for his tongue.

Gilla-Gilla paused in guffawing at Junella's retelling of the sad fate of the EC safe deposit box bandit, noticing how Toby was off in a world of his own. The mouse was silently evaluating everything on his plate and looking at a loss for words to describe them. To Zinc, Gilla asked, loud enough to be overheard, "So, you a fibber? You said this one's scared of his own shadow. Thought I'd have a picky eater, 'fraid to eat nightmares."

Toby did overhear. "They're a lot less scary when they're cooked," he quipped, and took a bite.

This brought a chuckle to the table and Gilla raised his coffee to the mouse.

Toby had never been toasted before, so it took him a second to realize it. He clinked his milk against Gilla's mug.

Zinc spied the mouse's nearly-untouched curry. "You, uh, gonna finish that?" he asked eagerly.

"No, go right ahead! It's good but I can't handle it."

"Muchas gracias, señor!" Zinc said and bulldozed it onto his plate. He wolfed the spicy stuff down like it was oatmeal.

More talk, more eating. All of them had seconds of something or other. Eventually there came a polite throat-clearing from behind them. "Might I request a few more of those magnificent sausages?" George asked.

Gilla hardly glanced up. "Come and get 'em yourself."

George thought that was a bit brusque, then realized what had actually been said. He had been invited in. In disbelief, he cocked his head. "You aren't worried I'll disrupt your possessions?"

Still chewing, Gilla shook his head: 'naw'.

George carefully held his empty plate between his teeth and eased a foreleg through. He was pleasantly stunned for a second time. Hours earlier, Gilla had abruptly, mid-sentence, loped over to slide up the window. Without knowing how, he and Doll had passed the test.

It is not an easy thing for a horse to fit through a window. But not having a lot of flesh to get in the way helps. Gilla nodded to see that George was extremely mindful of his size as he maneuvered around the piles of boxes.

Piffle waved him over and was happy to refill his plate with whatever he pointed out. "Oh! I forgot to ask before, George. What were you 'n Doll getting up to on the porch all that time?"

"We had a long and rewarding chat about our respective pasts, before we ended up in our current forms. I feel I understand Madam Doll far better now. Her life has not been an easy one."

Piffle looked to the little faceless toy sitting beside her. She reached out to pat her shoulder. "I hope you'll tell me too someday."

A nod. Piffle felt writing in her palm: W-H-E-N-T-H-E-R-E-S-T-I-M-E

The seven of them continued to work away at the massive mountains of food still on the table. The bacon biscuits went extinct first, followed soon by the sausages. George ate twenty. He apologized the whole time and said he just couldn't help himself. Gilla said he'd rather have appreciation than leftovers.

As the evening wore on and the food dwindled down to just a few blobs in serving dishes that everyone was too full to touch, the topic of conversation turned to Phobiopolan current events. Zinc and Junella asked Gilla-Gilla everything about his half of the world, while he asked everything about theirs. Piffle and George supplied anecdotes as well. Toby had nothing to add to the discussion so he politely listened while drawing designs with his fork in his gravy. He tried his best to keep up, but a lot of the people, places and words just sounded like gibberish to him.

Still, it was nice to rub his hands up and down his taut, round belly and think fond thoughts about all the amazing food inside. He couldn't help but wonder what Gilla-Gilla would whip up from all that convorine meat laying outside.

Hours passed. The pace of conversation slowed, punctuated by burps. Everyone was feeling warmly dozy from the giant meal, and everyone had also noticed the clock on the wall. No one wanted to be the first to bring up bedtime, but eventually Gilla-Gilla accepted his duties as host and mentioned he had a bunch of surplus sleeping bags in the corner they could use for the night.

There was a bare space in the middle of the house. While everyone else got up to stretch, Gilla padded back and forth between his storage crates. He laid out the six bags in a circle on the floor. They didn't look like the most comfortable things in the world, but they did look clean and durable.

Piffle counted them and furrowed her brow. "Aren't you sleeping too?" she asked Gilla-Gilla.

He scooted forward a folding chair. "More used to kippin' in one of these."

"If you say so. Doesn't look too comfy to me," she said with concern.

He shrugged. "Dishes first anyway. Tire me out some."

Toby settled into his bag and really wished he'd been awake to see whatever had changed the frosty atmosphere between Piffle and Gilla earlier.

George said he was perfectly fine lying on the floor, and worried he'd annihilate any sleeping bag he tried to get himself into. Doll let Piffle know she was fine with them doubling up. This left two extra bags. Zinc remembered from last time that the zippers on the bags went all the way around. He unzipped both, like sliding apart sandwiches, and now everyone had something to roll up for a pillow. Piffle gave him a kiss for his cleverness.

Soon everyone was settling in, getting as comfortable as the hard floor would allow. The already-dim house went even darker as Gilla-Gilla turned off the bulb above the dinner table, leaving himself only a small candle to wash dishes by. He shouted over his shoulder that he'd join them in a tic.

Toby listened to the shuffling, whooshy sounds of everyone's sleeping bags rustling. It was a puffy, waterproof fabric that felt a bit like being inside a bouncy castle. He didn't really think he could get to sleep again after his crash on the couch earlier. But in the soft dark, listening to the breathing of his friends with a stuffed tight tummy, his body slowed and his mind drifted into relaxation.

***

The dream was vague but feral. Menacing. The kind of slow horror that never shows its face, but stalks at the edges of one's vision until the heart can't stand to beat any faster.

Something wrong was following him. He had no idea where he was or why he was alone. He seemed to be in a doctor's waiting room as large as a gymnasium. Something hideous plodded slowly in the unseen, never nearer than behind the last closed door, but always there. Always. Toby did not think it was merely hungry. He thought it pursued him for the sport of cruelty.

He tripped. His palms skidded on the slick tile floor. He heard footsteps break into a run just behind him.

Then he was awake.

Unlike the movies, he did not spasm upright while clutching at his bedsheets and screaming. Reality simply slapped him across the muzzle and brought him back to awareness. He could feel sweat in his fur and tension in his muscles. The dream was already erasing itself from his memory, but feelings of unfairness and helplessness lingered.

He opened his eyes and couldn't see anything. It was as dark as when he'd been in the ash-blower airlock. Gilla-Gilla must have shut off all the lights when he went to bed.

No. He would have at least seen moonlight.

Toby could hear his own breathing. He suddenly knew with absolute certainty that he was in a small, narrow, enclosed space. Almost exactly the length and width of his own body.

'I'm in a coffin.'

Suddenly all his half-kidding thoughts about Gilla-Gilla being a serial killer roared back into focus. That nutcase porcupine had trapped him in a coffin! Everyone else too, probably. The crazy bastard had stuffed them full of food and then trapped them so he could roast them alive. Just like Hansel and Gretel. Toby thought he was probably on a conveyor belt headed for a wide-mouthed oven right now.

'Stop panicking,' he ordered himself. 'That'll just use up all your oxygen. You don't know what's outside this box. But you do know that, whatever it is, it's better than staying in here. Besides, you have a hammer. He doesn't know that. At least, I don't think he knows. Unless Zinc told him. Dammit. Either way, you can still feel it right there in your arm like always, so if you want out, all you have to do is jackhammer the lid up. Simple. Easy. Nothing to worry about.'

Except there was plenty to worry about. Like what awaited him outside. Gilla-Gilla might have been right there waiting for him. With cooking utensils.

Toby forced himself to take long, slow, deep breaths. Freaking out wasn't going to help him escape. Silently, just in case anyone outside was listening, he withdrew his right arm from the sleeping bag and touched his palm to the coffin lid, getting ready to-

'This is cardboard.'

His fear fell over sideways with a fart sound. The texture was unmistakable: plain corrugated cardboard. Toby pushed lightly and light crept in beside him. There wasn't even any bottom on this box! It was just placed over top of him like a butter dish.

For a moment Toby was overwhelmed by confusion. Then irritation struck him. 'If this is another one of Gilla's 'tests', I'll...'

He tilted the box up just enough to see outside. There were three other boxes surrounding him, all covering up his snoring companions. And there in the center was Gilla-Gilla, slumped in his folding chair. Amazingly, his goggles were off. And the floodlights from outside made it immediately and unmistakably clear that the poor bastard had suffered a stroke.

Panic punched Toby in the chest again. He had no idea how to handle a situation like this. Sure, he knew all the signs of a stroke, but not what to do if you're staying in someone's house and they have one out of nowhere. He doubted very much that Phobiopolis had 911. His brain shuffled through all his stored medical trivia, trying to recall what to do in this situation. 'I should check if he's responsive first. Or even breathing. And I'll definitely wake the others.' Then what?

"Can't sleep?"

The question was a whisper, but Toby was so tightly wound it sounded like a gunshot. The mouse squeaked and the edge of the box fell on his forehead. He scuttled out from beneath it and looked at Gilla-Gilla.

The porcupine’s entire left side was drooping limp: arm, leg, facial skin. But the other half of him seemed as alert as ever. "Gave you a fright?"

Toby kept his voice down, not wanting to wake anyone else. "Yes!!" he hissed. "I thought you'd had a stroke! What the hell happened to half of you!?"

He chortled silently. "Flamingos sleep like this, one side at a time. Keep the other eye open all night."

Toby did not have to ask for explanation. Gilla really didn't ever relax. "Okay, so what are the boxes for? That scared the hell out of me too!" It was hard to keep his voice at a whisper when he wanted to shout in exasperation.

Gilla-Gilla actually looked puzzled. "You ain't been anyplace wi' footbugs yet?"

"Oh." Toby remembered back to the Tatterdemalion and the Sleepateria. The little slippers to keep out the insects with the corkscrew noses.

Gilla-Gilla put a hand on his hip. "All my 'ospitality, and this is the thanks I get?"

Toby laughed weakly. The whole bizarre situation was starting to get funny.

Gilla yawned. He stretched both arms out wide, then the right one went slack, along with the corresponding leg and eye. At the same time, his left side woke up, fresh and chipper.

"That's kinda creeping me out," Toby admitted.

Gilla checked every window in his field of vision. He cocked his ear for a moment before answering, "There's a reason, yah. Can you keep secrets?"

Toby sat up cross-legged. He was intrigued. "Certainly."

Gilla seemed to get even jumpier than normal. He licked his lips. "Z and J know. Not many else. See... I've never died 'ere."

Toby was shocked. "Never? Really? Heck, even I have! Several times. It's not even all that scary anymore."

Gilla shook his head (or tried to with his neck partly inert). "S'not fear."

The mouse's expression asked for an explanation.

Gilla-Gilla sighed and woke the other half of himself up. Might as well at this point. He scanned the windows again. "You noticed. I don't make eye contact and I talk fast. Hard to talk and listen at the same time. Same for focus." He spread his arms, indicating the surrounding forest. "Anyfing could kill me. Right now, might. 'Cept I stay rabbit and they don't get the chance."

It seemed crazy to Toby. "But dying isn't permanent here. You wouldn't be losing anything. And it seems like you put unimaginable effort into something you don't need to worry about. I mean, if a fraidy cat like me can-"

Gilla-Gilla shook his head in exasperation. "Could, sure. But I 'aven't." He said this last word with great emphasis.

And all of a sudden, Toby got it. "...It's just to see how long you can keep the streak going, isn't it? It's the challenge."

The porcupine grinned, and pointed like Toby had gotten a charades clue right on the nose.

Toby pondered this. He remembered his own time in the cave, trying to keep himself out of danger for so long. But that was pure survival instinct. Gilla-Gilla knew better. He was driven by competition with himself. "So why out here? Marasmus? If the challenge is to keep alive as long as possible, wouldn't it be easier in one of the cities?"

"Too easy," Gilla said straightaway.

"Ah. Like playing basketball with a ten-foot net."

Gilla nodded his head like it might fall off, clearly delighted that someone was actually comprehending.

"So then..." Toby thought maybe he shouldn't ask, but he couldn't resist. "What happens if you slip up? Or just get unlucky? What happens if the streak ends?"

"Not 'if'. When." Gilla-Gilla corrected.

Toby was surprised to see him acknowledge the inevitable futility of his little game.

He shrugged. "Guess I'll just set up somewhere else. Start ova." He looked off into the far distance. "Polycoria's nice, sposto be."

"If I remember the name, that place is crawling with Bozos on motorcycles."

A grin. "Sounds fun to kill."

Toby felt like he suddenly understood exactly why Zinc liked this guy so much.

An amusing whim came over Gilla-Gilla. He patted his thighs and stood up. Angling a bizarre little smile at Toby, he jerked his head to indicate that the mouse should follow along as he stepped past the snoozing cardboard boxes and headed for the airlock.

Toby stood up, unsure. Go out into the open? In the middle of the night? With a guy he'd barely even met? 'Well, everyone else is sleeping right here if I need them,' he reasoned.

Plus, he was wide awake now. He doubted if his brain would let him go back to sleep even if he tried.

Grimacing a little, he crossed the room and steeled himself to step out into the chilly Marasmus night.

***

Gilla-Gilla geared up. He slipped on his bulletproof vest and settled his folded guillotine weapon into its sheath. (Toby did have to admit, he was curious about how the porcupine used that thing). Gilla put his goggles back on, added a fresh respiratory mask, then offered one to Toby. Despite bringing back unpleasant memories, Toby decided they were better than getting ash up his nose.

Through the airlock and into the night. It had been 'snowing' the entire time they'd been inside, so the drifts on the porch were deep enough to cover the tops of Toby's sandals. The clearing around the house was a solid grey blanket, and more ash kept coming down. Toby was glad for his mask. "That stuff's not... poisonous, is it?"

Gilla-Gilla was staring off into the forest. He replied without looking. "Nah. Just sicka tastin' it."

Toby watched the stuff flutter down through the floodlights. "Where does it all come from?"

A shrug and an 'I dunno' grunt.

Toby looked across the 'lawn'. He could see occasional footprints and scorch marks from where the automatic defenses had crisped curious critters. The floodlights were strong enough to pierce several feet through the trees at the edge of the forest. "So what'd you wanna show me out here?"

"Show you? Ha! Thought we'd get some early morning training for you, bruv." He rustled the mouse's shoulder encouragingly.

"What?"

Gilla walked forward, then cupped his hands to his mouth and ululated a short series of tones.

At this command, all the little green lights in the clearing turned dark.

Toby jumped back against the door. "No way! Not okay! Turn them back on! I can't fight off a whole forest full of monsters!"

Gilla-Gilla's smirk extended past the corners of his mask. "Easy now! I'm not 'tirely mental, innit?" He gestured for his guest to look a little closer.

Toby'd only thought all the lights had gone out. Actually, most of them were still on. But there was a cone-shaped section leading right up to the porch that was now unguarded. Not quite as impossible to deal with as nightmares charging in from all sides. Toby still radiated unease. "I wish you'd asked me first."

"How often do they?" Gilla replied, pointing towards the forest.

And yes, Toby could already see flashing yellow eyes out there, sliding back and forth between the trees. He opened his palm up. He wished he had his bracers on. Only now that it was too late did he remember slipping them off before his couch nap earlier.

Gilla-Gilla saw the cactusyote prowling closer. He saw Toby's body language screaming, 'I DO NOT LIKE THIS SITUATION'. And yet, he also saw that the mouse had his weapon hand ready.

Toby drew in quick, sharp breaths though his paper mask as he watched a green, scraggly beast approaching. It was covered in spines and larger than a police dog. Its eyes were locked onto Toby's. Its steps were slow, one paw in front of the other, as it assessed the situation.

"I'm right 'ere if things go berserko," Gilla-Gilla said, emphasizing the point by swinging his weapon off his back and into his hand. It went K-KLAK as it unfolded. He patted Toby's shoulder and gave him a nudge forward. "G'wan. Take 'im out."

Toby stumbled down the porch steps, wincing all the way. He felt the ash crush and crackle under his soles. The cactusyote was getting closer and its stride was getting bolder. Toby held out his hammer arm like a cannon and cupped his wrist to steady it. His teeth were rattling.

'It's just a big dog. With spikes. You've dealt with convorines and biteranodons and security guards by now. I can handle this, right? Maybe Gilla knew what he was doing, bringing me out here.'

Just behind him, the porcupine watched.

Ahead, banana-yellow eyes swirled in deep green sockets. The cactusyote had a lot more confidence than the trembling mouse it was stalking. A tongue like a sweat sock dangled from its dripping jaws.

The creature broke into a run. Toby fought the urge to flee. Everything in his body was telling him to turn and bolt for the door, run in and slam it behind him. 'No,' he told himself firmly. 'Hold your position.' That was what soldiers said on TV. Hold your position in the face of the enemy. He could see his arm quaking as he pointed it towards the charging beast.

It growled, lips drawn back in a sneer of hunger. Its body was mostly plant, but its shining teeth were ivory.

Toby ordered his arm to stay still. The thing was getting closer and closer. Just feet away now. He aimed straight for the head.

He did not expect it to jump.

In a green flash, the cactusyote was airborne, lunging at Toby's face.

Toby yanked his arm up in an arc. The instant he felt something touch his palm, he let his hammer go.

Gilla-Gilla's jaw dropped as he watched the cactusyote's skull tear straight through its face and go sailing towards the moon.

The lifeless green body collapsed in the ash at Toby's feet. The mouse was stricken, wide-eyed, frozen. But still clutching his arm.

Gilla-Gilla hopped down from the porch and ran over to him. "That was brilliant! Your arm's a bloody shotgun, fam!"

"Ow," Toby whimpered. He lowered his arm, revealing a cactusyote spine piercing straight through the palm and out the other side.

Gilla yanked it out.

Toby yodeled.

"Not a bad outcome, eh?"

His hand did sting quite intensely. He guessed there was something on the creature's spines similar to capsaicin. Gilla would have mentioned if it was poisonous, surely. Though, all things considered, the cactusyote was incredibly dead and his hand merely hurt a bit. Not hard to see who the victor was here.

Gilla looked down at the corpse and grimace-grinned. Its face was split like a ripped Halloween mask. He punted the carcass over to where the active sensors would fry its ass if it tried to revive.

Toby looked around for any more threats. He saw a squad of terrorbunnies racing towards him. "Gilla..."

He nodded in an 'I see them' way. "Scavengers. Not a bovver 'less you step on one, so don't." His head swiveled at an angle. "That's a bovver."

The snarling bunnies ran right past Toby, headed for the cactusyote. Their intent was to rip it up like a car in a chop shop. Instead they all went poof, one by one. Toby looked around for whatever had alerted Gilla.

Then he saw it. Shoving trees out of the way as it lumbered out of the forest was a humongous scorpion. It scuttled towards the house on eight segmented legs. Nothing otherworldly about its appearance besides the fact that it was the size of a camper van.

It had Gilla-Gilla's full attention. "Same one we ate," he remarked. "Doesn't learn well."

"I can't possibly kill that thing!" Toby shrieked.

"Tha's right," Gilla said simply, and ran off towards it.

There was incredible confidence in the porcupine's pace. Zero fear. He had his double-bladed rhombus out and ready.

The gleaming black beast raised its pincers and readied its tail. Creamy yellow venom dripped from the hooked tip. Its mandibles released a hiss like a truck's air brakes.

Gilla-Gilla's speed remained steady. He saw everything. The tail, the mouth, the pincers. Black chitin reflected bright streaks from the floodlights.

The poison tail shot forward, quick as an arrow.

Gilla-Gilla was faster.

He kicked off from the ground and spun his weapon as hard as he could, performing a midair diagonal pirouette. The tailtip was sliced clean in half. Venom splashed from the flying chunks and sizzled against the ash.

A screech of unearthly pitch keened out of the creature. It swung its claw at Gilla-Gilla, but the porcupine danced away. Circled around. Made it work to keep up with him. He took another swing at its legs. The creature screeched again and stabbed its claw at the bouncing prey.

Gilla jumped and somersaulted. He swung the guillotine blade in an arc with himself as the fulcrum. The scorpion's claw cracked in half. Exoskeletal shards scattered.

Toby watched it all, stunned. Gilla-Gilla moved like a fish through water. Like a ribbon dancer, or a Wu Shu master. All of Gilla's attacks were based on circles. He compensated for his short size by putting as much momentum into his blades as possible, doubling or tripling the striking power. Whenever he hit, his feet were off the ground. His whole weight pushed strength through the weapon's handgrips, abetted by gravity.

The scorpion was pissed off now. It lashed its remaining claw back and forth, striking wildly. Gilla looked for an opening to break that off too.

Toby saw peripheral movement. Four or five new nightmares were wobbling onto the battlefield. He'd never seen this kind before. They were thumb-shaped heads with ridiculously huge mouths. Scampering around on tiny legs like an old-timey clawfoot bathtub. No eyes, no noses. Whatever the hell they were, Toby knew Gilla-Gilla did not need the distraction.

Incredibly, Gilla piped up with his back turned, "See 'em!?"

'How the hell could he hear them from thirty feet away while fighting a giant bug!?' Toby thought. "Yeah!"

Gilla slid sideways underneath another pincer swing. "Handle 'em?"

Toby set his jaw. The head-things didn't look so tough. "Yeah." Shoving down doubt, he ran forward.

The head things' attention had been on the porcupine, but when fresh meat made itself available...

Toby's breathing sped up when he saw all those gleaming chompers turn his way. He readied his hammer. Steadying it with his other hand had been a good idea, so he tried it again. He had only seconds to strategize, but he figured these things would definitely try to bite, so he should aim slightly higher than where their stubby, eyeless foreheads currently were.

His reasoning was good. When he got close enough for one of them to snap at him, he unleashed his steel with a POP! This sent his target flying backwards to crash into its kin. Toby was gobsmacked at his luck. The two heads landed in the ash piles upside down, their helpless little legs wiggling through the air.

Three more left. Toby didn't dare try for another perfect shot like that, so he popped his hammer out into his hand, got a solid grip, and swung away.

His teeth were gritted and his arm was stretched out as far as possible. He didn't want these little hopping horrors anywhere near his vital areas. The hammer felt like a natural part of his arm as he arced it around sideways at the closest head. A miss. The head hopped forward like an upsized wind-up chattery teeth. Toby retreated and swung at another one that was getting even closer. A hit! He heard and felt bone break. He didn't want to get too fancy, but he tried to emulate Gilla-Gilla's graceful circular motion as he turned with his last swing, creating momentum for another strike at another head. Bullseye! Right in the teeth! The impact jarred his arm as he felt the enamel smash. The head-thing tipped over, bleeding into the ash. Toby cracked the back of its skull open just to be sure.

The one he'd hit before now dove at his ankle. He pulled his foot away in time. It tried again to bite. Toby swung and bashed it down into the ground like a whack-a-mole game. One left. It charged at Toby, frothing at the mouth. Toby stood firm and brought his hammer straight down on its forehead, giving it a sudden, painful underbite.

Not leaving anything to chance, Toby doubled back to where the first two were still struggling in the ash. He thought they were perfect practice for his hammer cannon technique. Reaching carefully between those wriggling little vermin feet, he tensed his arm, released, and burst the first one like a watermelon.

He turned to do the same to the second, then an explosion of blood startled the hell out of him.

Like a spiked bomb going off, Gilla-Gilla had dispatched the remaining thumbhead with a flying quill-first headbutt.

Behind them the scorpion squirmed and squealed. Its legs and claws were lying in the ash, squirting out blueish blood. Even the tail had been surgically removed. The porcupine certainly had a thing for rendering his enemies crippled.

Gilla-Gilla uncurled and casually shook the blood and guts out of his hair, like a surfer flicking sea foam. "Eraserheads! Annoying, wot? Thanks for doin' 'em in."

The mouse flinched away from Gilla's gore shower. "You're welcome, and thanks for taking care of the scorpion." 

He gave a 'that was nothing' shrug. "Sorry t'steal your last kill. Couldn't resist."

"I honestly do not mind," Toby replied. He looked around to the four messes he'd made. "I can hardly believe I did all this."

Gilla-Gilla pulled down his mask so Toby could see his smile. "You did tho'. Why d'you doubt yourself?"

His cheeks reddened. "I... I dunno. I don't have much practice at this. You're way better than me. I was just... reacting on instinct."

"Yeh. I saw." Gilla smiled more. "You're quick. You want the fight over ASAP. No little weak baby swings. You strike to kill. Headshots. No mercy. Good stuff."

"I... but..." Toby couldn't believe words like that ever describing him. Those were he-man, tough-guy type words. And he was just a little mouse, a tourist, a sickly...

'Wait a minute. I just killed four nightmares. Five, actually.' He remembered the cactusyote. 'And it wasn't even all that difficult. When he said I was good, why did my gut immediately start telling me the opposite?'

The evidence was bleeding right in front of him. He'd been making progress at construct-stompin' all this time. So why did he still doubt his skill? Why did he still think of himself primarily as helpless? He'd reflexively refused praise after the convorine battle as well. It was as if some whisper in the back of his mind wasn't allowing him to feel confidence. Had it been there all along?

He was onto something here.

Gilla-Gilla could see the kid was dealing with some real mental knots. He stepped over a dead head and cupped the mouse's shoulder. "Practice? Could use some. But there's talent there, swear."

The compliment made his stomach tense up. "I don't want to be talented at killing things."

Gilla-Gilla was unfazed. "That'll keep you from going too far."

Toby considered that.

The porcupine's head snapped towards the woods. "More."

Specifically, more cactusyotes. A pack of seven. They poured out of the woods like a single many-legged creature, drawn by the scent of meat. The first one had been a scout. 

"Wanna go again?" Gilla asked with a smirk.

Toby was out of breath and his skin felt burning hot. "Hell no!"

Gilla read his body language up and down. "Yeah, you do."

***

Piffle was the first to rise the next morning. She was momentarily puzzled when her antennae encountered cardboard, but she was familiar enough with footbug protocol not to be alarmed. She sat up and yawned cutely. Doll was still asleep with her head resting on her folded hands, so Piffle was very careful as she slid herself out of the sleeping bag.

The hamsterfly stood and stretched and counted the other boxes. One of them was already tipped over and Gilla-Gilla's chair was empty. She looked around for him. Bathroom, maybe? She walked over to the window. The sun was up and she shielded her eyes from the brightness.

Blinking, she looked again.

She squeaked in alarm and ran at full speed towards the airlock.

As soon as it cycled her through, she dashed out onto the porch, shouting Toby's name.

The clearing in front of the cabin looked like a tomato sauce tsunami. Almost every inch of the ground was streaked red. Limbs and bones and other assorted nightmare bits were littered all around. Terrorbunnies were having a breakfast buffet. Off near the treeline, Gilla-Gilla was hacking away at another of those bulging hyena-ish animals.

Toby was closer to the porch, hammer clutched in his hand like it had fused with the bone. Blood covered him from toes to eartips. His eyes looked like they'd been nailed open. Red-ringed. He was panting, twitching, bouncing from foot to foot like a metronome.

When he heard her he whirled around faster than she would've thought possible, raising his hammer to attack.

She gasped and brought her paws up to her mouth.

Gore streaked his face. He recognized her and smiled obscenely. Like he'd ingested the world's entire supply of caffeine.

"HOW ARE YOU I'M FINE!!!"

***

Piffle was back to being miffed at Gilla-Gilla again for what he'd done to poor Toby's mind. But all throughout breakfast, the porcupine grinned and grinned, and kept glancing at the mouse like a proud stepdad.

Still twitching and fidgeting even after the others had led him inside and sat him down, Toby was literally tripping on adrenaline. The nightmares had just kept coming all night long. It was impossible to count the number of times he'd swung his hammer.

And yet, as wired and jittery as he still felt, he didn't feel traumatized. Gilla-Gilla had stayed close by all night. Toby remembered him calling out, "Your left!" or "Nice one!" or feeding him strategies for various construct breeds. The porcupine had not kicked him to the deep end to sink or swim.  He'd kept his ear up for any of Toby's questions, until gradually, Toby stopped needing to ask them.

'I actually killed a hypena,' Toby remembered, still awestruck by that fact. Zinc had been right, they were easy as hell to distract. A simple feint with a shuriken, then pow! Right in the nose!

When Gilla set down breakfast, Toby tore into it like a chainsaw. Rashers of bacon, scrambled biteranodon eggs, hot biscuits, and wildberry jam. If anything could have brought him back down to earth, it was the comfort and pleasure of good food.

Gilla-Gilla was chattier than the others had seen him before. He eagerly described his and Toby's nighttime batting practice, relishing the details of their most spectacular moments. "And," he said with a bow towards the mouse, "your boy only died once." The others couldn't believe it for a moment, but then applauded the mouse vigorously. He blushed and smiled.

Toby hadn't even remembered that part until Gilla mentioned it. For almost all of the fight, Toby was either hitting with all he had or strategically retreating to a better position. That is, until a bonecuddy had backed him onto the porch and trampled his ribcage to splinters. Gilla-Gilla had rushed over to decapitate the bastard, then did the same for Toby to help get him back in the game.

George congratulated Toby too, but also pressed for details about the other nightmare horse.

"Nothing like you," Toby said without hesitation. He added that it had gotten the better of him for two reasons. One, because he was startled that its bones were pure white (forgetting that George had looked the same before his arcane incineration). And two, because he hesitated in hitting it. He did not need to say why. George looked at him with a mixture of apology and fidelity.

By now Gilla-Gilla didn't even twitch to look across his table and see a construct eating from his dinnerware. George had thoroughly convinced him of his good manners. Though Gilla did sometimes stare at the stallion, then look out the window to the forest, clearly wondering how the hell George could have gone from that to this.

Once the manic shine had gone from Toby's eyes, Piffle asked him how he was feeling. "Full," he said, and burped. This was very true, as he'd eaten twice as much breakfast as anyone else. The minor food-coma helped a lot to ease him back down. About the night's spectacular massacre, Toby told her it was already a blur. It had been a blur while it was happening too. He was running on reflexes almost the entire time. One monster became the same as any other. And somewhere along the way he lost his fear. There was only a feral awareness. Bad things were trying to hurt him and he had to stop them before they could. Looking back, he realized how awful it had felt. Like being a computer stripped down to its most basic programming, cut off from higher functions. But it had also been exhilarating. Intoxicating. He had never felt more fully connected with his body before. It was a feeling he understood how people could become addicted to. Because there had come a point during the night where everything had gotten... easy. He hadn't even noticed the change. Whatever had been holding him back before had somehow melted away. Toby was simply hitting without hesitation or doubt. Like dumbfounding. He didn't worry about whether his swings would connect, because they did. He was trusting in his natural skill. It was stunning to look back and realize that such actions had been buried inside him all this time.

The power was a feeling that, in the moment, had made him feel electric and alive. And now, part of him was excited by it and another was repulsed.

Eventually, with many questions, Piffle helped him figure out why.

His aversion was not to the power itself, but his awakening to the ease of causing injury and death. This became clear when he connected his feelings back to a memory from EC. A single swing had shattered the terrier's jaw. Barely an effort. The horror he'd felt in that instant was still creating echoes.

Toby thought of Rither. One bang on a sonic weapon and someone's life ended in a fall. Toby thought of how much damage one muskrat had done to a city with a single explosion. Causing pain was easy.

Piffle reminded him that he hadn't hurt anyone real last night. They were only monsters.

He asked, "What if someday I stop seeing a difference?"

She pulled him into a hug, wrapping her arms around his head. "The Toby I know is kind and gentle and thoughtful, and he'd always know better. No matter what."

Hearing that soothed him.

***

Eventually the talk around the table turned towards the topic of travel. Junella and Zinc both acknowledged that their upcoming destinations, Drapetomania and Borborygmus, were not the most dangerous places in Phobiopolis, but were still extremely irritating. Like Lumbago, both had the kind of endless nightmares and inhospitable terrain that made any journey a slog.

Gilla-Gilla asked why they didn't just skip them entirely. They glared at him for such an unhelpful suggestion. But he was serious. And then he realized he'd forgotten to tell them about the tub station.

He'd found it one morning while he was out gathering ingredients. He had a strict routine for this, in a very precise area that he tended not to venture beyond. But that morning he'd spotted some berry bushes (which produced the very jam they'd just eaten), and harvesting them had led him to a rusting bathtub in the middle of the forest. It was absolutely choked with weeds, barely recognizable at first. Ancient compared to most tub stations. Gilla hesitated for three days before daring to try it out. When he did, he found that it only went one place: straight to Lalochezia.

Zinc and Junella were mightily intrigued by this. Junella did some quick calculations with her finger-needle on the tablecloth. The market town would normally have been many miles out of their way, but if travel there was instantaneous, that was perfect. And it was close to Phlegmasia, which they needed to get to anyway. (Junella also noted that this way they could bypass "those goddamned Okononos.") They asked Gilla-Gilla where the tub was and he said he'd already set up a shrieker next to it. Better and better. He agreed to loan them the remote if they promised to bring it back on their return trip, and to pick up some groceries for him at the market. He and Zinc shook hands on this.

Gilla-Gilla demonstrated the remote for them. Pushing its single button resulted in a high-pitched squeal from somewhere far away in the forest, plainly audible right there at the table. It startled the hell out of a flock of trashbats. George said he'd have absolutely no trouble tracking it. Gilla also demonstrated that the dial on the side controlled the volume, so they wouldn't be repeatedly rupturing their eardrums as they got closer to the source.

When the decision was made that it was time to leave, Zinc and Gilla-Gilla exchanged manly hugs. Junella and Piffle both got a kiss on the cheek from the porcupine, although Piffle huffed a bit since she was still a teensy bit mad at him. George bowed, and the porcupine bowed back.

Toby shook Gilla's paw and admitted, "I don't know whether I wanna hug you or slug you." Gilla laughed that singular laugh of his and said that sounded fair. Toby told him that, even though the whole bloody experience was terrifying and had dredged up a lot of unsettling emotions, he didn't regret it. It had unlocked a part of himself he'd only been catching glimpses of throughout his trip. A part he'd been trying to pretend wasn't there. Now that he had looked it in the face, he had to decide what to do with it, and discover why it had kept itself hidden all this time.

As the travelers re-checked their gear (Toby remembered his bracers), Gilla-Gilla remembered something else. He rushed to one of his storage bins and came back with a bulging sack of meaty snacks. He presented it to them as a gift. Zinc took a bite and asked what it was from. The trees, Gilla explained. This was their bark, and it was so tough already that he didn't have to do much to make it into jerky. Junella guessed correctly that Gilla had mounds of the stuff and had gotten sick of it. So it wasn't so much a gift as they were doing him a favor by hauling it away. This, he admitted with a smirk, was 100% accurate.

Of course Gilla-Gilla had remembered to re-arm the outside security system, so once again they had to play follow the leader to avoid barbecuement. Around the back, the Fearsleigher was still parked and waiting. Zinc winced with his entire body as he realized they'd completely forgotten about her repairs.

Still, the old tank didn't need as much TLC as he'd expected. The convorines had scraped and dented it in places, but structurally it was sound as ever. Zinc even had to admit he was starting to dig the scratched-to-shit paintjob. Made it look tougher.

Gilla-Gilla disabled the flamethrowers for the backyard area and volunteered to pitch in with the repairs. He said Toby had earned a rest, but the mouse declined and helped out as much as anyone. Together they crawled around the car like worker ants, hammering and soldering, all to the lovely sounds of idiotic constructs getting themselves fricasseed.

George wondered aloud whether they could fix his harness, curious whether his days as a set of wheels were at an end. It took about an hour's worth of straightening, but eventually they had a presumably functional setup (that looked a lot uglier than it had in RB&WB's garage). Junella had stashed a few more transformation bottles in the hood, packed carefully in styrofoam, just in case. She smashed one on George's head and they all crossed their fingers. A few moments later, Gilla-Gilla was just about crapping his pants from the sight of a nightmare-powered Fearsleigher with a horse head hood ornament. George spun his wheels, enjoying the feel of their traction. He whickered happily.

Everyone said their last farewells and strapped themselves into their seats. Gilla-Gilla jumped up onto the hood like a ship's figurehead as the mighty machine rumbled fully to life and rolled towards the forest. Junella beeped the remote and the shrieker shrieked, letting George know where to go.

Gilla-Gilla ran across the length of the car and somersaulted off. As he waved goodbye, another cactusyote eyed him from the foliage.

It pounced.

Gilla barely turned his head as he pulled the hunting knife from his belt.

The cactusyote's lunge did all the work in gutting the beast from throat to crotch. Gilla-Gilla picked up a chunk and took a bite as his friends trundled off into the forest.

"Ears up, eyes open! Good luck!" he called out with his mouth full.

-***-

Chapter Fifty-Eight

For the next half hour, going was slow but uneventful. This was a more dense section of forest. So while the skate blades came in handy as makeshift machetes, George rather wished the nailplow hadn't been destroyed in the fall from the bridge. It was a bumpy ride for his passengers as he carefully eased them over rocks and fallen logs. He considered brush-clearing via flamethrower, but couldn't be certain that he wouldn't ignite the whole forest.

About the only trouble they had from other constructs was when George accidentally roadkilled a terrorbunny. A whole herd of them popped instantly out of the woodwork. They puffed up, yelled a lot, and followed along nipping tenaciously at his wheels. He became very irritated and even swore a few times.

Zinc climbed up onto the roof to spend some quality time with the gatling gun, but there turned out to be no need for her firepower. The few constructs that charged out of the woods all dispatched themselves on the skate blades or were trampled by George. The bulk of their numbers seemed to have vanished. Toby had to wonder if they'd all been burned up back at Gilla's place.

The mouse leaned against the windowpane, staring out and seeing nothing. He thought about what he'd done last night. His insides constricted with conflict. The rush of power versus not wanting to be the kind of person who got off on the rush of power. And despite knowing that things inside him were changing, a part of him still wanted nothing more than for his story to end at Anasarca and for life to go back to simplicity.

He looked down at his hands. They still had a jitter.

'You're already not the same mouse you were when you arrived here.'

It was sort of spooky to come face to face with that. Had he replaced an earlier version of himself? And where had that previous-Toby gone to?

While Toby spaced out and brooded, George felt quite contented. He'd finally squashed the last of the bunnies and was free to enjoy the sensation of being half-vehicle again. He honestly couldn't tell now if he preferred his body being metal or bone. Both had their positives. He even liked Marasmus' endless ash. He tried to catch flakes on his tongue and enjoyed the taste when he did. Sort of peppery.

Piffle had been fidgeting for the past fifteen minutes. Crossing her legs, looking out the window, smoothing her dress. Finally she couldn't take it anymore and poked the back of Junella's seat. "Can we stop for a moment? I gotta go powder my nose."

The skunk looked at her like she was insane. "You gotta whizz? Seriously? Can't you just convince it away?"

"Whaddaya think I've been trying to do the last fifteen minutes?" she whimpered, squeezing her thighs together. "I think it's 'cause that was real milk we had at breakfast, not just imaginite."

Beside her, Toby arched an eyebrow. He'd drank some too. Now he wondered what it had come from. He tried to picture Gilla-Gilla milking a convorine.

Junella rolled her eyes and snarled. "We're finally on our way again and you wanna stop... Fine!" She tapped the brakes and George complied.

Piffle opened her door and hopped down. "Back in a jiff!"

Zinc spotted her from the roof. "Stay away from vending machines!" he teased.

"I will!" she promised, and ducked behind a bush.

Toby heard Junella mumbling about delays.

Zinc noticed an eraserhead getting a little too close to the car. He decided to test his precision. He lined up his shot, spun up the barrel, and BRT! One single bullet. It knocked the little vermin ass-over-teakettle. "Look ma! Hole in one!"

Suddenly there was a scream even louder than the shrieker beacon.

Zinc whirled the gun around to where the noise had come from. Dread filled his veins. It was Piffle's voice. He'd only taken his eyes off her for a second. She was only a few feet away! He scanned the whole area. Where was she!?

Then there was a roar like a train whistle, and a blood-red goatmonster came crashing out of the trees towards the car.

***

Zinc was stunned for only a heartbeat. The thing was over six feet tall, covered in shaggy, filthy red fur. The build of a gorilla but the head of a goat, complete with sideways pupils and curving horns. The most freakish part was the arms. Hideously huge. The hands alone were so enormous that each finger was an entire goat's leg, hoof and all.

The roaring red monster leapt to the side just as Zinc clamped down on the gun grips and annihilated the bushes behind it.

It rolled as it fell. Its movements were clumsy, disoriented. Zinc swung the barrel around for another shot. The beast held up its hands. "WAIT!!!"

Enraged, Zinc screamed at it, "Whadja do with my girl, ya freak!?"

Its body was demonic, but its expression was confused and terrified. "IT'S ME!!" it pleaded. Its voice was pure masculinity, deep and smoky like an iron forge. "I'M PIFFLE!!"

"Horseshit!!" Zinc shouted back. "Prove-"

"SHIMMER-THISTLE WHISPER-KIMMY VIVILANDRIA LAVENDER DORABELLE LORIBELLE TRIXI FIZZY PIFFLE MC PERRICONE!!!" the goatmonster rattled off.

That gave Zinc pause. He took his wrenches off the gun grips. "Even I can't remember all that."

The goatmonster started listing things off on its hoofed fingers. "WE ATE SCORPION TAIL LAST NIGHT! YOU LOVE BLOODBACON! YOU 'N JUNEY HAVE A SHIP CALLED THE JENNIE-MAE. THE FIRST TIME WE MET I OFFERED TO BE YOUR CAMPFIRE DINNER. AND YOU GOT A TIN MAN'S HEART!"

Well that did it. The other stuff, someone could have found that out through spying with a telescope and tape recorder. But few people knew about his inner mechanism, and no one else knew what he privately called it. "...Piffle? For real?"

"YES!" She got up and dusted off her fanny. That's when she noticed that this new form was extraordinarily male. And unclothed. She bent over quick and was glad her hands were wide.

Zinc couldn't stop gawping. "Jeezum crow! What happened to you!?"

"I'M AS BAFFLED AS YOU!" she said with a shrug. "ONE MOMENT I'M TINKLING, THEN SOMETHIN' STICKY HITS ME AND I'M GETTING PULLED INSIDE OUT!"

George had been hearing this conversation going on, but from his position on the hood couldn't quite see what Madam McPerricone had gotten herself into. Finally he scooted around sideways to peek. "Good heavens!" he exclaimed.

Toby hadn't been paying attention to the voices. He was lost in his own thoughts. But hearing George yelp like that snapped him out of it. He slid across the backseat and, when he saw the bulging red horror standing there, his reaction was a lot like George's.

Junella was merely leaning with her elbow on the open window, watching all this happen in the side view mirror. Not surprised in the least. She let the confusion continue for a little while longer, then reached over to the glove compartment for something she was glad she'd bought in advance.

Zinc dropped down from the gatling gun. He walked cautiously closer, still not believing his eyes. Piffle was nearly twice his height now! He'd kinda liked it before when she was jumbo-sized, but that was different. She still looked like herself then. This red abomination was positively hideous. He couldn't keep the wince off his muzzle.

Piffle didn't notice it. She was too busy turning this way and that, looking at her new self all over. This was certainly an irritation, but she couldn't deny it felt fascinating.

Zinc bit his lip. He reached out to give her a comforting hug, but then couldn't go through with it. That greasy fur looked like a dirty red mop. And it stunk. Getting too close made his nostrils protest. Instead, he reached a wrench out to hold her hand.

She took it with a smile, looking down at her new slab-like arm. "GOSH, LOOKIT HOW SMALL YOU ARE NOW! OH, BUT DON'T WORRY, ZINC, I'LL BE FINE. I'VE BEEN THROUGH WORSE. SOME HOODLUM MUST'VE LEFT A TRANSFORMATION TRAP LYING AROUND AS A PRANK. AND NOW, HERE I AM LIKE THIS!" She shrugged.

"Catch."

A blue glass bottle flew towards them. Piffle fumbled it with her unfamiliar fingers, but Zinc nabbed it before it hit the ground.

Junella was standing a few feet away, looking smug. "Anti-transformation potion. Knew you'd need it 'ventually, Pinky."

By this time Toby had gotten out too. With Doll in the crook of his arm, he went over to hug Piffle. Her new shape was gut-clenchingly ugly, but he tried to focus on the spark of her personality buried under that coarse, growling voice.

She softly cupped her hand around him. "THANKS, TOBY."

He nodded to her, trying to look sympathetic. But holy hell, those hooved fingers made his skin crawl!

Zinc popped the stopper on the potion bottle. He held it out to her a little too urgently. "Drink up, chicky. Should be back to normal in a flash. Let's hope."

Piffle took the tiny bottle with great care. Of all the things she'd been turned into, she didn't think she'd ever had to deal with hooves before. "I DUNNO... I MEAN, I AIN'T HURTIN' ANY. MAYBE I COULD JUST, MAYBE, STAY LIKE THIS A WHILE 'N GIVE IT A SPIN."

Junella forced herself to say nothing, though her mouth puckered into a tense little line.

Zinc smirked weakly. "I'd really rather if you didn't, babe." He chewed his lip. "I mean, um... What if there's not enough room in the backseat for you?"

"THAT'S A GOOD POINT," she conceded.  She tipped the bottle back and chugged the whole thing.

Junella ran forward. "Stop!! It only takes a few sips!"

Piffle belched. The force of it rustled Toby's hair. "OOPS! WELP, IT REALLY OUGHTTA WORK THEN!"

"Or it might turn you into something even uglier!" the skunk rumbled, exasperated.

She bit her lip. "I'M SORRY! I'VE JUST NEVER USED A CHANGE-ME-BACK POTION BEFORE. USUALLY WHEN SOMETHING TURNS ME TOPSY-TURVY, I JUST WAIT IT OUT!" She shifted nervously from foot to foot, waiting for the potion to start working. Her tummy rumbled a bit.

Zinc scratched his chin. "It should've done something by now."

Junella went from annoyed to concerned. "Yes, it should."

"MAYBE I'M TOO NERVOUS?" Piffle guessed. She looked down at herself. Way down. Her head was much higher off the ground than normal. Her new muscles felt amazingly strong, but she became aware of just how much her ratty, matted fur needed grooming. Her tummy rumbled again.

She hiccuped.

Then her entire form shifted for a second, like an image on an old VHS tape.

...And nothing. Same six-and-a-half foot tall gorillagoat.

"WHY DIDN'T IT WORK!?" she bellowed, then immediately slapped a hand over her mouth. Her larynx was a hell of a lot more powerful now!

Junella's snark was erased. She looked genuinely perplexed. "I have no idea..." She took the bottle from Piffle "Lemme make sure this stuff's not cough syrup." It smelled normal. Even tasted normal when she flicked her tongue over the neck.

Piffle was upset, but not actually worried. If she was stuck like this for a while, she knew he could handle it. She'd been everything under the sun by now. Each time, she'd either willed herself back or simply kept whatever she liked. She was certain this experience would be no different.

A tiny plastic finger was drawing on her arm. She looked down to Doll, who spelled out just one word.

E-M-P-A-T-H-Y

Piffle reached over and, gently as she could with her gangly new fingers, patted Doll on the head. "THAT MEANS A LOT."

George coughed politely. "Madam McPerricone, let me be the first to say that whoever is responsible for this insult to your lovely figure, I shall take great joy in tracking them down and trampling them flat as a necktie."

She giggled. "'PRECIATE THAT, GEORGIE. BUT THAT'S ONLY IF I DON'T TRAMPLE 'EM FIRST!" She punched her palm. It sounded like a shotgun blast.

"So what's the plan?" Toby asked everyone. "Accidental transformations usually mean a hospital trip, right? I'm guessing there aren't any around here."

Zinc looked back towards the crime scene. His revulsion was now channeling itself into anger. "First things first, I'll sniff around for clues. If this was a prank, I'll bet the snake who pulled it was hiding around to watch it go off. So they can't be far. I'll cut down the whole fuckin' forest till we spot 'em."

"Or, we could go about our day as normal," Junella interjected.

Everyone turned to look at her, their faces saying 'huh?'

They could tell from the tension in her posture that she was irritated to hell and back by this disruption in their schedule, but she was bearing it quietly. Her tone remained smooth as she explained, "Where are we headed right now? The market town. And why? Because there's a tub station, goes straight to it. So what's the likelihood that it's exactly where our jackass came from, and probly just ran back to?"

Piffle's eyebrows went up. "GOOD THINKIN'."

"Plus, the market's like the yard sale version of EC. If we can't buy it there, it doesn't exist. Even if we don't find our guy, odds are we'll find something that can reverse whatever whammy he put on you."

Zinc nodded. Lalochezia even had a few homebrewed things that Ectopians wouldn't have dirtied their fingers with.

Toby had noticed by now that while the skunk was singing calmly, she would not look directly at Piffle.

"Or," Junella continued, "what if she wasn't transformed at all? That'd explain why the potion didn't work. And what is it that changes a furson's appearance and ain't a transformation?"

Piffle got it a second before Zinc did. "A BODY SWAP!"

"A body swap," Junella nodded.

Piffle explained to Toby, "YOU CAN PROBLY GUESS BY THE NAME, BUT THAT'S WHEN SOMEONE YANKS OUT YOUR 'YOU' AND CRAMS THEIRS IN INSTEAD." She turned to Junella, confused. "I THOUGHT IT TOOK A BIG MACHINE THOUGH! AND IT COULD ONLY HAPPEN IF BOTH SIDES OKAYED IT!"

Zinc had realized much quicker that his partner was no longer on speaking terms with Piffle, so he answered for her. "Not always. Juney and I've seen uglier places and people than you. On the black market, you can buy a gadget that'll do it from a distance. On anyone." Piffle grimaced at knowing such a cruel machine existed. "In any decent city they're illegal, but we're out in the boonies, so anything goes."

She 'hmmm'ed at that. "WOULD KILLING ME BACK TO NORMAL WORK?"

Junella answered, drawing her sword. "We can goddamn well find out."

Piffle brushed it off as teasing, but when she saw the look in Junella's eyes, wasn't so sure.

Toby had a thought then. He stepped between the skunk and hamsterfly, trying to defuse the tension he could feel emerging. "'Freeze Yourself New'! That brochure. There's spa places that'll change how you look. So if nothing else, we could take her there and have them re-sculpt the old Piffle. That'd work, right?"

"IT SHOULD!" Piffle said. She patted him on the head for good thinking, careful not to squash him.

Junella put away her sword before she did something Zinc wouldn't forgive her for. She tapped on her teeth as she thought. "Not a bad idea, Toby. But none of 'ems close by. Might be a cut-rate one at the market, but I wouldn't trust them to wash my scarf, let alone rearrange my bod."

Piffle shrugged. "I MIGHT TAKE THAT CHANCE. ROLL THE DICE. HECK, I MIGHT EVEN LIKE WHATEVER THEY COME UP WITH!"

Zinc shook his head. "Not likely, trust me. I know you like experimentin' with yer looks and all, but... How do I put this... Y'ever seen an infected tattoo?"

She stuck her newly-forked tongue out at that.

EEEEEE

Everyone jumped.

Junella had already turned back towards the car and had the shrieker remote in her hand. "We can decide on the way. Daylight's wastin'." She shoved herself inside, slammed the door behind her, and glared pure fire through the windshield.

Piffle cringed at the slam. She knew Junella was seriously upset now, and she hoped the skunk wouldn't stay mad at her for long. It was just an accident after all. "BEFORE WE GO, COULD I, UM, FRESHEN UP? THIS NEW FUR'S A BIT PEE-YEW."

Toby was glad she'd acknowledged it first, because he didn't want to be the first one to say that she reminded his nose of a summertime dumpster.

Zinc looked towards the vinyl elbow resting on the driver's side door. He sighed pensively, torn between understanding Junella's frustration and wanting to be there for Piffle. "Yeah, um, there's somethin' we bought earlier for just such an occasion. Lemme hunt around for it."

He headed towards the front of the car and Piffle gave him a literal hand up. Her massive hooved fingers scooped underneath him and held him level with the hood.

It gave him the creeps. "Thanks, toots," he said through gritted teeth. He rooted around a bit, then tossed a flat plastic package over to her.

"'MINI-SHOWER'," she read. The illustration showed a small personal raincloud pouring flower-scented water on a happy housewife. "GOLLY, THANKS! THIS IS PERFECT!"

"Glad to be of service!" he replied. 'And I'll be even gladder when you set me down!' he thought. Thankfully she did, and ran off towards the back of the car.

"I WON'T BE A MINUTE! NO PEEKING!"

Junella muttered to herself, "I swear, if you go and get yourself turned into something worse..."

There was nothing else to do but wait in the car until Piffle finished. Everyone else piled back in. Junella's mood brought the temperature down to freezing. Zinc fidgeted in the passenger seat and hung his head. Doll and Toby sat in the back, not saying anything. From behind them came a tiny thunderclap and the sound of pouring rain. Then the sound of a hellish, deep-throated voice warbling out 'LA-DEE-DAH's and 'TUM-TE-TUM's.

After a few minutes, Piffle called out, "ALL DONE!" The Fearsleigher groaned and leaned considerably as she hoisted herself up onto the skate blade and squashed her way through the passenger door.

Toby put Doll on his lap and skootched over as far as he could. A wall of wet hair pressed into him. Politeness kept him from complaining.

Zinc turned in his seat and gave a sniff. Piffle was now as clean and inoffensive-smelling as she was likely to get. "Not bad. Just need a bow in your hair and you'll be ready for the Easter parade."

Piffle snickered at the joke but no one else did.

Zinc turned back around and put his head in his wrenches. He hoped like heck they'd find a fix at the market. "You wanna put the pedal to the medal?" he asked Junella.

Her foot mashed it to the floor without a word.

They jerked forward. Zinc noticed that not only was Junella refusing to look at Piffle, she was refusing to look at him too. He muttered under his breath, "Drive fast, George, and let's get this the fuck over with..."

In the back, Piffle nervously hummed to herself. With her new voice, it sounded like a handsaw cutting wood.

***

EEEEE

The woods were so thick that George was barely able to keep them at a crawling pace. The skate blades helped to cut through the grasping, bloodthirsty trees, but they also tended to snag on them as well. George felt like he was trying to drive through tar. He ground his teeth and forced more power into his wheels. They tore at the rocky ground, ripping up bushes and tree roots. He'd made sure to tell Junella to keep making the shrieker call out. It gave him motivation. With every yelp of the device, he knew he was that much closer.

EEEEE

Meanwhile, Toby had drifted back into innerspace again. He couldn't do anything about the friction Piffle's transformation had caused, but at least he could get lost in his thoughts enough to distract from the feeling of being seated next to a wet haystack.

He thought about sense memory. Specifically, the sense of touch. Before all this, his fingers recalled the texture of bedsheets, his vinyl books, his pillow, his toys, his pajamas. Now there were new memories. The way the grip of his hammer eased around his fingers. The jolt up his arm as it connected with bone. The temperature of fresh blood splattering his face.

Despite being glad that he was steadily getting better at defending himself, part of him rebelled at having these new memories exist alongside the old. It felt wrong, like something intrusive. Once upon a time his memories were innocent. Now there were these nasty, bloody things trying to share space on the same shelf.

Toby frowned. Hadn't he been feeling proud about this just a little while ago? Had that been just the lingering mania of battle? Or was the sour mood among his friends bringing him down and letting his doubts back in?

He searched his feelings and got no easy answers. Either voice inside him might be deluded, and both were making persuasive arguments against the other.

'Well of course you want to rationalize the fact that you've been having fun knocking the stuffing out of nightmares. Normal people don't do that. You're trying to make yourself feel okay with relishing something reprehensible.'

'Or maybe all I was doing was self-defense. Maybe I was learning how to take care of myself in a bad situation, and not rely so much on other people to save me.'

He found himself remembering his internal war over Rither in this very backseat. His own romanticized, storyfied ideas of good and bad. Junella's acceptance of messy reality. Was this the same kind of thing?

Maybe. And what conclusions had he drawn then? That neither he or the skunk were wholly wrong or right. Both viewpoints had validity. So maybe that was the reason his thoughts were giving him such a headache now: his insistence that only one side of the issue was his true feelings and the other was some self-destructive phantom. Maybe both were equally real.

But it didn't feel that simple. That felt like a cop out. Hadn't he felt it, back in Gilla-Gilla's yard with the cactusyote at his feet? Like something inside was deliberately holding him back from accepting the changes he'd gone through?

Was it just his conscience scolding him for engaging in violence? For coming so close to enjoying it?

Or, deeper below, was there the horror of having to be completely responsible for himself?

That thought stung. But he didn't shy away from it. It was true in the sense that, so long as he was a weak little coward with no idea how to fight, he could expect others to fight for him.

His cheeks burned. He didn't think he was quite that selfish. He was aware of the childish desire within himself to return to his old life of unending sameness and zero responsibility. But that was it; he was aware of that desire. And in control of it. He knew it was childish and wasn't about to cater to it anymore. No, something deeper was at the heart of this. Something he hadn't yet faced. Some unseen passenger that had been riding his shoulders this whole time, trying to drag him back the further forward he moved.

Because, dammit, his conscience was being a jerk about this. He knew he wasn't just making excuses to engage in violence for the fun of it. Phobiopolis had been throwing monsters at him right and left since he got here and it wasn't fair of him to keep on expecting someone else to shoo them away. Yes, he had hired Junella and Zinc as bodyguards. No, there was nothing actually stopping him from cowering in the backseat and letting them do all the work. Nothing except his principles. It wouldn't just be cowardly, it would be lazy. And they weren't just hired help anymore. They were friends.

'I'm doing this for them as well as me.'

He liked how that conclusion felt, but it still didn't untie his guts. All his soul searching had made him tense and a little carsick. He looked down at his hand and saw the faint glow coming from the slit in his palm. A wild urge struck him to roll down the window, shoot his hammer out into the wilderness, and forget he'd ever had it.

Of course, he resisted. His hand remained on his lap. 'Nice try,' he thought towards whatever part of him had sent that whim.

He thought, in a way, his hammer was a metaphor for himself. It was sheathed inside his arm, hidden. Just like his apparent talent for smacking down nightmares. And when it came right down to it, his hammer was an inanimate object. A tool. It swung only at what he chose to swing it at. Same as his ability to fight. It was simply a part of himself, neither evil or innocent.

That word brought another thought swimming into his mind. A while ago he'd thought of his old life's memories as being innocent.

'Where in the heck did I get that idea?'

EEEEE

Toby winced. That stupid high-pitched beacon! It was really getting on his nerves.

A hand touched his shoulder. He turned around to see a slit-eyed crimson demon looking at him. "Aaigh!!"

"LEAPIN' LIZARDS! SORRY, TOBY!" Piffle said, drawing back from him as much as the cramped car allowed.

The mouse took a deep breath. "Piffle! Jeeze... No, I'm sorry. I forgot you'd... changed."

She chuckled gently. "WOWIE, YOU MUST'VE REALLY BEEN DEEP IN THOUGHT TO FORGET A THING LIKE THAT!"

"Actually, yeah..."

"BETCHA ALSO DIDN'T NOTICE THE CAR STOPPED MOVING, HUH?"

He looked outside. "I had not," he admitted.

Piffle popped her door and started wriggling through. "GEORGE SAID HE SAW THE TUB! SHAKE A LEG!"

Toby was not looking forward to the idea of traveling by bathtub. He wasn't sure why, given all the other awful things he'd dealt with on this trip so far, but something about that idea in particular rose an unease in the bottom of his stomach.

He looked down to Doll and asked with a glance if she wanted a lift. She shook her head politely and crawled past him to unlatch the door. As he watched her drop down to the skate blade, he realized she was probably savoring every chance the bag gave her to move on her own. Still, he followed behind protectively, watching out for anything that might tangle or trip her.

Toby happened to glance up past the trees and, through the clouds, he spotted a jagged peak in the distance. Anasarca. Barely visible, but much closer now than when he'd first seen it back in the Blackdamp. Reconfirming its presence eased his mind.

They walked in a line. George was first, his keen eyes scanning the brush ahead. Junella was behind him with her sword and pistol drawn. He was sure they were right on top of the tub by now. "Madam Brox, would you be so kind as to give the shrieker another try?"

She held up her full hands.

"I got it." Zinc fiddled carefully with the dial, momentarily horrified at the thought of accidentally setting it to maximum. He pushed the button.

eeee

A weak little squeak, about five feet behind them and to the left.

"My apologies," said George bashfully.

"We're here, ain't we?" Zinc reassured.

Once the station was found, they realized why it had been so easy to miss. Gilla-Gilla said the forest had reclaimed it when he'd found it. However long ago that had been, the weeds were back already. Junella's cutlass swung back and forth to get rid of the stinging sharp leaves growing all over the porcelain. She paused once, briefly, to shoo away a cactusyote with a few bullets to the face.

Once the tub was clear, it still didn't look like something a furson would willingly step into. It was tilted on a slight diagonal. Its once-white surface was streaked with dirt, ash, and mold. An antique design; squat and fat, with a shower pipe running up and above, the head rusted to oblivion.

"I can understand why Sir Gilla-Gilla was reluctant to climb inside this grungy mess," George said.

"That reminds me," Junella sheathed her sword and mindfucked up the resizing window. "We gotta get you small again."

He nodded. "Sensible. I would never fit beneath that shower head otherwise."

"Plus, I don't want the market folk freakin' out when they get a load of you."

"Also sensible," he concurred.

Piffle watched eagerly as Junella made George and the Fearsleigher bite-size. She thought he looked adorable as a little toy car. And since the resizer had worked just fine at making her big a little while ago, "HEY, ME NEXT! JUST A SKOSH, SO I'LL FIT IN TOO!"

Junella had been nonchalant up till that point, but at the sound of Piffle's voice she turned her everything off. She regarded the gorillamonster icily. Saying absolutely nothing, she framed Piffle in the window, then shaved off a few feet.

Piffle tried to make herself even smaller. She looked down at the ground, shuffling her feet. Her body language was that of a shamed puppy. "THANK YOU, JUNELLA," she said as quietly as she was able. She walked past her to the tub and carefully stepped inside. "C'MON, DOLL."

Running on her stumpy legs, Doll joined her, vaulting up over the lip and taking the erstwhile hamsterfly's hand.

Zinc started up in his tour guide tones, "Now, with a tub station..."

Piffle actually snapped at him. "I'VE USED THESE BEFORE! I'M NOT A COMPLETE RUBE!"

"Just... tryin' to lend a hand."

Piffle immediately regretted her sharp words, and opened her mouth to apologize. But then she closed her eyes, shook her head, and concentrated on the tub instead. The quicker she got to Lalochezia the quicker she could get rid of this body that was causing so many problems. She thought as hard as she could about her destination. Then she heard a gurgle from beneath her feet. Water struggled up through the pipe to splash her all over.

Toby had been watching with concern for the group's morale, but then jumped back and turned away in utter repulsion as the liquid flowing out of the shower started melting Piffle's flesh off. He fled several feet away and threw up violently. There was no way to hold it back. The quease had hit him like a lightning bolt.

Zinc was stunned as Toby had actually shoved him out of the way when he ran past. He waited until the mouse stopped retching, then gently patted his back. "Hey, comrade, que pasa? Bit of an overreaction, doncha think?"

The mouse coughed and sputtered. "I'm sorry! I don't know what came over me!" Tears were in his eyes. His nose dripped and his mouth tasted vile. He blindly reached out his hand and dumbfounded a can of Anisocoria Rain. He popped the top and chugged it down to get the taste out of his mouth. He could not turn around to look back at the tub.

Junella looked with a mixture of concern and irritation at Toby. Her nerves were fraying thinner by the moment. First Piffle, now him too? She shared a glance with Zinc, asking if there was anything she could do to fix the mouse.

Zinc shook his head at her. "No, go on. Make sure Piff went through okay. I'll handle things here."

"Allright." Junella flashed her partner a salute and walked over to the tub. She was carrying the Fearsleigher in her other hand, and now reached up to tuck it securely into the folds of her scarf.

"I feel I should be doing something to aid Sire Toby," George said.

"You're kinda shrimpy at the moment," she ribbed gently, showing that she admired his compassion. "And don't worry. Zinc can handle most things." She checked the tub before setting foot inside. Every last drop of hamsterfly had already gone down the drain. Junella positioned herself beneath the shower head, cupped a hand protectively around George, and thought about the market town. Within seconds she felt herself loosen and change, and then was zooming through the pipes like normal.

Zinc was giving Toby a back rub. "Don't sweat it. I'm not gonna bust your balls or call you a pansy. Nothin' like that. Different fears hit some people harder'n others, I know. Phobiopolis is good at finding whatever rattles your cage."
 
Toby was still bent over, bracing himself with his hands on his knees. "Thank you. But it's not that, oddly enough," he said hoarsely.

Zinc raised a tin eyebrow.

"It... it reminded me of a memory, that's all."

Zinc was not comfortable playing head-shrinker, but felt obliged to ask, "Do you... wanna talk about it?"

"I can't," Toby said automatically. Then stood up and changed it to, "I'd rather not."

Zinc shrugged. "Okay, tiger. Offer'll still be open later if you change your mind." He started heading towards the tub. "Look, I'll go through, then come right back. Ten seconds, tops. You can see for yourself it ain't woundin' me any. Heck, I don't even hardly feel it most times."

Toby nodded. He took a few deep breaths, trying to clear his head. "Allright. Maybe if I'm prepared for it, it won't be such a shock."

Moving slowly for his mouse friend's sake, Zinc stepped one paw into the bathtub, then the other. "Tub stations pick up on mental vibrations. Think where you wanna go: that's where you go. When it's your turn, just tell it, 'I wanna go to the market town' or 'I wanna follow my friends'. You'll be fine." He smiled encouragingly. "Ready for that demonstration?"

Toby swallowed. His throat still burned. Just seeing Zinc standing there in that ugly thing was making his stomach roll. "I think so." He glanced around the woods. Even if Zinc was only gone for a second, that might be the perfect time for some nightmare to pounce. Toby popped his hammer out and squeezed it. All his hand-wringing from before vanished in an instant. He was totally a-OK with committing brutal violence right now if it kept teeth and claws out of his hide. 

"Prepped for takeoff." Zinc looked up at the shower head. "3, 2, 1, go!"

The water came down and Zinc's features started to slide off his skull. The metal of his wrenches dribbled away like mud in the rain. His jacket ran like wet paint. His bones sagged, his muscles liquefied, his bones collapsed inward.

It only lasted three seconds. Still, that was hours in Toby's mind. The details seared his eyes like a cattle brand. He clamped a hand over his mouth to hold back any more puke, but it tried to come up anyway. Angry at his body's cowardice now, Toby willed his stomach contents to stay in their proper place. This was ridiculous. He'd watched Zinc pull his own eyeballs out several times. He'd watched all his friends die gruesome deaths, himself included. There was no reason for him to be acting like a frightened little toddler just because this bathtub thing reminded him of...

Of... Well, of that thing that had happened. By accident. Just once. That one time. And she didn't mean it, so it was an accident, so there was no reason to think about it any further. Case closed.

The shower head rattled. Then, with a gurgling goosh not unlike Toby's a moment ago, it regurgitated Zinc. Multicolored goop splattered from tiny rusted holes, building themselves back into the shape of a half-metal mutt. It was like watching a candle melt in reverse.

"Abracadabra!" he shouted when he was all back together. "See? Nothing to..." He trailed off as he noticed how unearthly pale and anxious his companion appeared. The mouse was standing there with his arms and tail wrapped around himself like a twist of barbed wire. "Toby...?"

"I'm fine."

"You don't look fine."

"I'M FINE!!" Toby screamed. His face constricted in a ratlike snarl, spittle flying from his lips.

Zinc stumbled and nearly fell backwards out of the tub. "Holy Jesus! What was that!?"

Toby's eyes bulged. "I don't know!! I'm sorry! Look, just go back with the others. Did they get through okay?"

The mouse's posture was guarded like a fort. Zinc got the feeling that every word out of his mouth was somehow a lie. "Yeah, yeah. We wound up in the market just like we were sposta. Toby... are you sure you're allright? You don't look so good."

The mouse nibbled his fingertips. "I'm sorry," he said again, more sincerely. "But I feel like a coiled spring right now. Personal business. I'll be okay. Just go. I'll be right behind you. I promise."

Zinc noticed how hard the mouse grimaced when he said 'promise'. Like it was a way to force himself to do something he'd rather die than do. "Allright, Toby," Zinc said softly. "I'll be waiting for you. We all will." He glanced down at the drain. "Might help to not watch me go this time."

"Okay." Toby kept his head down, staring at the ash around his shoes.

It didn't stop him from hearing the sounds though.

Water hitting the porcelain sides of the tub. Water gurgling down the drain. Water in a bathtub. Absolutely nothing odd or strange or painful about that. Right?

"RRRAGH!!" the scream ripped out of Toby's throat uncontrollably. He lashed out with his hammer, swinging wildly. He didn't hit anything, but if he had, he would have obliterated it.

He stopped as suddenly as he'd started. Stone still in the silent forest with his head down. He felt sweat running down his scalp.

He mentally grabbed his own shoulders, turned them towards the tub, and made himself march. 'I'm acting like a fool.' A temper-tantrum-throwing baby. This was stupid. There was no reason he shouldn't just walk right over there and get into that bathtub.

Except your skin will come off.

Toby came within a hair of smashing his own head off with his hammer.

There was the tub. He was breathing like a man being squeezed in a trash compactor as he approached it. He was inwardly screaming as he raised his leg over the edge. He felt like he was ripping himself in half, slowly. But somehow, even though he'd started out forcing himself to get in the tub, now it seemed like he couldn't stop himself even if he wanted to. This thing was a vortex. A whirlpool. A black hole.

His soles echoed when they hit the bottom. He saw rust flakes trickling down from the shower pipe. He felt like someone was grinding a cheese grater across his brain.

'Stop it! Just stop it! This is completely irrational! There's no reason you should be afraid of a stupid fucking bathtub!!'

Boy, was that ever a lie.

Because this wasn't anything so melodramatic as a repressed memory. This wasn't a soap opera where the protagonist suddenly recalled their horrid past like a bolt from a blue. This memory had always been there. Lying right out in the open like a bowl of rotting fruit. It had always been there, he had just chosen never to look at it.

'Because it's not important. It was an accident. It only happened once.'

'What only happened once?' an alien voice seemed to ask.

'She... she didn't mean it,' Toby insisted. That was true. That was a lie. That was the truth. He had been in the bathtub. Just a completely ordinary bathtime. His mother was scrubbing him in the tub like always. Ever since he'd been a little boy, she'd washed him in the bathtub. With his favorite bubble bath with the bright pink bubbles he'd sculpt into a silly wig. A perfectly normal bathtime. Except, his mother had been cleaning the house rather a lot lately. This was in the days just before Daddy (was disposed of) chose to leave them. Toby was happy in the bathtub. Just playing with the bubbles and relaxing as Mommy washed him all over with the soft washcloth. Cleaning all the pus from his sores. Getting all the sticky gunk out of his fur. It felt nice. Those bedsores itched so much, and the soap made them itch worse for just a second, but then the warm water rinsed all that ache away, leaving just a throbbing warmth that felt so good. He'd often fall asleep after a bath. But today he was extra dirty, Mommy said. Mommy said she could see dirt all over his fur. Had he gone outside? Had he been playing in the mud? No, Mommy. I promise I haven't. I promise. But I think you have. I can see dirt all over you. Mommy, you're scrubbing me too hard. The soft washcloth now felt like steel wool. His sores were starting to leak. Mommy was pushing down harder, putting more force into her scrubbing. Because she could see dirt everywhere. Everywhere. Dirty, ugly boy. The mud was encrusted right into his fur and she had to get it out. The bathwater was sloshing back and forth, spilling over the sides of the tub. Mommy, stop. Toby was reaching out, trying to climb up out of the tub, but Mommy held him down. Not until you're clean, she said. And she said it so reasonably. Of course. That's what bathtime was for, right? Except why did his skin hurt so much? Why was the soap stinging? Why was the water turning pink? His sores ached. The washcloth was tearing them wider. The water wasn't just pink now, it was scarlet. Toby was frozen, whimpering like a sick dog. Mommy said nothing as she held him down and scrubbed harder and harder and harder. He couldn't see her eyes, but he knew somehow if he turned around they'd have that look in them again. That look that made him hide under his covers. The look that meant Mommy Mad Time. The water was red as wine. Toby could feel his skin coming off. Scrubbed off. Grated off. His mind clicked blank and his instincts took over. He thrashed in the tub, sending water flying everywhere. He swung and kicked. When Mommy tried to shove his head back down, he bit. It was an accident. I didn't mean it. I'm sorry. And then she was hauling him up like he weighed no more than the washcloth. She sat on the toilet and spanked him, squalling and naked, her hand coming down and down again with the force of a knockout punch. Spanking him so hard the raw skin of his ass split in crimson lines.

MOMMY, STOP!

Toby's eyes opened and he was falling from a hundred feet up into an infinity of blue.

-***-

Chapter Sixty-One

There was no up or down. No reality to make sense of. He was falling with blue sky above, below, and on all sides of him. He was screaming, but nothing else existed to hear him.

The memory pounded inside his head like a wrecking crew tearing down the walls of his skull. Those hands that had tucked him into bed at night. Grinding his skin to ribbons. Red bathwater. The slippery squirming of his helpless, frail body. Mommy spanking him with all her strength like she was trying to break him in half.

How had he ever convinced himself it didn't matter? How the fuck had he convinced himself it was only an accident!?

Well, wasn't it obvious? When your life is entirely dependent on someone else, and you have no choice but to live in a house with them, it is much easier to rationalize away their insane behavior. To preserve the status quo. To keep everything nice and normal.

That revelation came out of him like popping a zit. Like it had been straining at his skin for years and had finally burst free. The shock of falling had allowed it entry into his conscious mind. He would have fought it otherwise, but when someone is hurtling towards oblivion, energies normally reserved for mental defenses have a way of getting diverted.

'Okay. Shit. Psychoanalysis for later. Right now I'm falling and I have no idea where I am or why-'

'Stop being so dense! You were standing in a transporter that gets its directions from whatever you're thinking. And it took your horrible memory and interpreted that as... wherever you are now.'

'Allright. That makes sense.' Toby briefly flashed on an image of his friends standing around on the other side, waiting for him and wondering where he was. Great. Now he had guilt to add to all the other emotions crashing around inside him and tearing him up.

The wind whipped at his fur and stung his eyes. He could smell soap. The aftershocks of his memory. The bathtub. The blood. The spanking.

'Stop thinking about that!!' he screamed at himself. There would be time to fix his broken brain later. Right now he was falling and probably seconds away from death. Or worse. What if there was no ground to splatter against? What if this was an endless realm of sky, where he'd fall and fall forever until he went insane?

'No, no. Shut up, brain.' If he squinted against the sharp, slicing air, he could see a difference between the shades of blue. Not a huge difference, but they were definitely separate. 'Allright, so maybe I'm falling towards water.' At least, he hoped it was water and not some kind of acidic chemical dye.

Was he falling slower?

He thought at first his brain was just speeding up due to panic. But no; that had already happened. The air did feel thicker. The water (or whatever it was) was miles below him, yet he felt like he was already in it. The quasi-weightlessness of a swimming pool. He was still breathing, though that was getting more difficult. The air was thick and syrupy now. He could feel the thickness in his sinuses when he inhaled. Was he drowning? Drowning in mid air?

It seemed to take ages. The farther Toby fell, the thicker the air around him became until he was gulping it through his mouth like a fish. Every inhale felt like suffocation. Every exhale felt like vomiting. He was terrified and revolted. The smell of soap was getting stronger.

He fought to keep himself from blacking out. He fought to regain control of his body. When he did he realized that his flailing limbs felt like they were swimming. So, he tried swimming. Aha. There were no bubbles surrounding him, but as soon as he swept his arms and legs like he was diving, he gained control over his descent.

Control felt good. Even if he was lost a billion miles away from his friends, having some tiny bit of control over his situation helped to keep panic away. It meant he was not completely helpless. Ninety-nine percent helpless maybe, but if he could swim through this air-water, he could choose his direction. Everything seemed the same at the moment, but at least he could discern 'above' and 'below', and he was curious if that stuff below was solid. The closer he got, the more sure he was it wasn't water.

Something else he was certain of now, the smell of soap wasn't just his imagination.

Moments before his feet touched its surface, Toby figured out the nature of this place. It was a desert. Endless, featureless. But without a single grain of sand. On television, the Sahara, Gobi, and Mojave were all a blistering, bleached yellow. This place he'd been accidentally whisked to, whatever its name, was the sparkling blue-green of artificial cleansers. Soap powder. Unimaginable tons of it. Chemical blue grains stretching on beyond the horizon in every direction. Enough for a trillion lifetimes' worth of dirty dishes or loads of laundry.

Nothing but soap. Everywhere.

It crunched under his paws. He slid down the dune and toppled forward. His hands sunk into it. His nose almost smashed into it. The smell. The odor of soap was paralyzing, so strong it overwhelmed his nervous system. He was choking on the smell, gagging for clean air. But of course, the air here was clean. Sparkling, sudsy clean forever.

On hands and knees, with no one around for a million miles to hear him, alone in the endless sickening blue, Toby screamed.

***

He was walking now, but for the longest time all he'd been able to do was scream. The horror of his situation and the horror of his past combined to drive all rational thought from his mind. He screamed. Breathing in the cloying stink of soap powder while remembering over and over his mother's gentle hands turning psychotically violent, he screamed. He screamed. Under the strain of an unbearable memory and an intolerable present, Toby simply broke. His mind shattered like an eggshell. He screamed until his voicebox bled.

It was unfair. All of it. The memory of being scrubbed to shreds was unfair. Being lost was unfair. Being away from his only friends was unfair. The soap was unfair. Phobiopolis tearing him away from everything he had ever called normal was unfair. All of this injustice had been boiling slowly inside of him for weeks, held back by politeness and denial. But the soap was the last straw. Its gritty texture beneath his hands was like a cat's litter box. The artificial smell burrowed deep into his sinuses. His head felt like a swelled cyst that grew until it burst.

But he was walking now. Sometime, maybe hours ago, he had simply gotten up and started walking. Robotically. There was no thought behind it. He was an empty skin that somehow moved. Pulled along by puppet strings.

When consciousness finally returned, he stopped. He looked back over his shoulder. There were miles of footprints behind him.

When he looked ahead, he realized what his unconscious self had been sleepwalking towards. With no input from the brain, his body had shrugged and reset itself to default programming. His original goal.

Out beyond the cloudless sky, barely visible except as a darker blue shadow, was Anasarca.

'Thanks, body.'

The air here still had the properties of water and every breath took effort. He was amazed he hadn't drowned or passed out or suffocated or whatever the hell happened when you lost your mind in a place where the air was liquid. He looked back again to all those perfectly outlined footprints. There was no wind here to disturb them. And bizarrely enough, no sun either. He turned all around, looking for it. This was insane. The day was as bright as a summer morning, yet the light did not come from anywhere. And he didn't feel hot. Or cold for that matter. He wasn't aware of any temperature at all.

'This is all real fascinating, but it's not helping me any,' he thought. And he was glad to find a bit of irritation in his inner voice. He did not remember much of his recent mental breakdown, but the overwhelming emotions were definitely anguish and helplessness. He'd felt like there was not only no hope, but there had also never been any and there never could be any. Irritation was a much better emotion. At least it focused him on the present.

Now that Toby was back in a functioning brain, he decided to stop for a moment and think. Heading towards Anasarca had been a decent idea for an unconscious body, but maybe he could come up with something better if he tried to relax and think intelligently. He knew that might be difficult. He still felt lightheaded and blurry. Like maybe he was still insane and this was all just the illusion of normal functioning.

For starters, his body. His feet hurt. That was the most immediately noticeable sensation. He looked himself over. He still had all his clothes. Good. He still had his bracers and pouch of throwing weapons. Better. He rubbed his arm and could feel his hammer still nestled slumbering inside. Super-duper. Nothing on him seemed injured, per se. Well, his throat did feel scratchy. He tried to say 'hello' and the pain that lanced into him felt like someone had driven a railroad spike through his neck. 'Ow ow ow ow ow!' He remembered all the screaming he'd done. He put a paw to his mouth and felt dried trickles of blood there. 'Yep, that was a lot of screaming allright.'

He could wait for his vocal chords to heal on their own. Or he could take the easy fix. He looked down at his glowing wrist.

Could he, actually...?

'Why not? I've been through enough awful crap today. Killing myself's not gonna traumatize me any worse, I don't think.'

Cringing only a little, Toby brought his palm up to his temple. He tensed the flesh inside his arm-sheath. Then he released.

The next instant he was pinwheeling his arms to keep from falling backwards. His feet slid across the gritty soap-sand. He sucked in breaths as fast as the chunky-style air allowed. Gravity was yanking on his shoulders, but thanks to his swishing tail, he managed not to topple over. He stood in the soap, feeling the grains trickling around his toes, smelling that hideous omnipresent scent, and stared at his own dead body.

There didn't seem to be any rhyme or reason to it. Sometimes when his friends died, their bodies would spontaneously heal. Other times a new self would pop into being a few feet from their previous shell. Toby was looking down at a little dead mouse kid with white fur and a blue vest and a caved-in skull with gallons of blood rushing down the sand like a red river.

"Blechhh," Toby said. "At least my voice works now."

He turned away from his corpse, hunting for Anasarca on the horizon. There. He was glad he'd spotted it, having felt a moment's fear that he'd been following a mirage all this time. And upon reflection, heading there probably was the best idea. His friends would assume, wouldn't they, that if any of them got separated they'd all try to converge on the most obvious landmark? The place they were all heading anyway?

He glanced back and his body had vanished.

Of course. In with the new, out with the old. He wished he'd thought to check if he could steal the hammer off his old self. Two was better than one. Though most likely it would've also vanished as soon as his attention drifted away.

'You're dwelling on random trivial unimportant stuff to distract you from how absolutely screwed you are. You realize that, don't you?'

'Sure. Yeah. But if it keeps me from having another screaming fit...'

'Allright, that's fair.'

Toby stared at the mountain for a while with his face gone slack. Thinking nothing. Not moving. He realized dimly that his mind was very, very fragile at the moment. Thoughts were like slippery handfuls of ice cream that he was trying to snatch out of the sky.

He wasn't even sure if any of this was actually happening.

'Let's assume it is. Because if it isn't, then I can't do anything about that.' Putting a voice to his thoughts helped, gave them some stability. He continued on carefully, checking each thread of logic to make sure they were all sewn properly together. "If this is real, and I am here, then I'm alone. Which means I've gotta assume that only I can get myself out of this. My friends are probably looking for me right now and maybe they'll even find me. But I can't count on that. Scary as it is, I have to assume I'm on my own for now."

He remembered some safety program that had said if you were ever lost, you should sit right down and wait to be rescued. That was probably really good advice that he was doing the exact opposite of. But on the other hand, anyone who was looking for him could just follow the trail of footprints he'd left in this windless, moonlike dreamland. 'And also, whoever said you should stay put didn't have to breathe in the smell of soap the whole freakin' time.'

He was still smelling it now, of course. That immaculate stink, that noxious artificial tang that felt like long, thin, blue arms reaching high up into his sinuses to scratch and tear. Remaining in one place guaranteed he'd keep smelling it. Whereas moving forward increased his chances to approximately 0.000001% that he might find a way out of here.

'Like Trapforest Path,' he remembered.

What if this place existed, yet also didn't? What if the soap his feet was standing in was real, but the infinite expanse of this place was an illusion?

It was possible. And he could test it out the same as he had back in the forest with Doll.

Toby took a deep breath. It was like dragging an aquarium brush through his nostrils. He was beginning to consider caving in his own septum to get away from the soapstink. The smell of blood would be preferable. 'One experiment at a time,' he thought.

He looked ahead to Anasarca. It was the only landmark, so maybe it was the target he had to hit to ring the bell and win a prize. He held up his arm, palm open, towards the mountain. "Fire!"

He watched his hammer launch out and go sailing towards the sky.

Everything tensed. He prayed for a repeat of hitting the moon.

He kept on hoping, long past the point where he knew damn well his hammer wasn't hitting anything but air molecules.

Then he saw it plop down far away in the soap powder, puffing up a little blue cloud.

"Fffffffffuck," he said limply.

The only good thing about this place was that none of the dunes rose or dipped more than a foot. He could see the spot where his hammer had landed, plain as day. Wouldn't be hard to retrieve it, he just had to get there.

But as he started to run after it, he realized something wonderful.

The air here was like water. A furson could swim through water.

Toby's steps had felt heavy and slow before. But as soon as he started running, he realized his strides were carrying him a lot farther than expected. For a second he was puzzled, then he actually managed a disbelieving smile. Keeping an eye on his hammer, he took a running jump and sailed ahead like an astronaut on the moon.

Hopping like a kangaroo in slow motion, it wasn't long before Toby was choking out peals of delirious laughter. He needed it. After all the hell his mind had been through already, he needed a release. These helpless cackles made him sound like a madman, but he didn't care. His laughter made the loneliness, the fatigue, and the stench of soap all a little more bearable. Toby bounded across the desert like a superhero, leaving a trail of gasping whoops behind him.

It really was just like swimming. Toby would land, shove off, flap his arms like a seal, and go shooting ahead like a star. Just like his old memories of visiting the pool. Just like...

'Just like a bathtub filled with red water,' he whispered internally.

"Now don't you start that shit up again!!" he shouted.

But he already knew better. The memory wasn't going to leave him alone until he dealt with it.

'But you've been doing such a good job of that so far!' the inner voice wheedled. And wasn't that the truth? He had countless examples. Throwing a temper tantrum to avoid Junella telling him what Munchausen Syndrome Byproxy really was. Waking up from that nightmare in the pink hotel room and realizing he'd come this far not missing his mother. Still didn't. Toby looked inside his heart and found no yearning for her there. Sure, there was an itch to return to a life that was safe and simple. But when he pictured this ideal life, she was not a part of it. And he knew why. He just hadn't had the courage to acknowledge it so far.

'Come on, just say it. You can feel it bubbling down there in your brain's basement. Unbolt the door and let it out.'

He jumped again, soaring on nothingness towards the little crater his hammer had made. 'Fine, I'll try.'

'Don't TRY, you wuss! Just SAY it!'

'Can't you do it for me? You're better at this than I am.'

'Allright, fine. But don't blame me if you get all upset and start boo-hooing.'

He could feel his inner self take a breath.

Then it screamed at him, top volume, 'YOU'RE SCARED SHITLESS OF HER!!!'

He nearly fell ass-first in the soap. That statement had been like a grenade going off in his brain. But like all important truths, it was something he'd already known for a long, long time. Yet it hadn't surfaced until now. He hadn't been able to see it and feel it clearly enough to articulate it.

'I am.'

'Go on, you big baby. Say it out loud.'

Toby tensed his leg muscles and pushed off as hard as he could against the soap. "My mother scares me."

'Again!!! Say what you really feel, dammit!!'

"I'm scared shitless of her!" Toby yelped. "Because... because she's crazy!!"

This time he did skid to a stop. He landed on his tush and his heels. His hands flew up to clamp over his muzzle.

He had just spoken the ultimate blasphemy. The thought which he sometimes toyed with just a little, but in a jokey, harmless way. 'Ha ha ha, Mom sure does clean the floors a lot! Are they clean enough yet, ma?' But that was nothing more than a tiny steam pressure release to keep the big truth from metastasizing and destroying his reality. His mom was not just a little bit wacky. Or 'eccentric', as some people called it. She was not merely 'under a bit of stress' from having to take care of an ill child all on her own.

She was deeply, deeply mentally ill. She was at least as sick as Toby, if not more.

Once the thought was spoken, it was like air rushing out of a balloon. All the things he'd denied or rationalized away were suddenly flooding out and could no longer be held back. 'What kind of a sicko keeps their kid locked up in the house for months and years on end? Even if I really was that sick, why didn't she get me a hazmat suit, or one of those plastic bubbles like in that movie? Was it really so dangerous to let me go downstairs, or heaven forbid, outside to the front lawn? What was the real reason she took me out of school? Why did she keep taking me to new doctors every damn week? What if...'

Toby began to crawl towards his hammer, then to stumble to his feet and run. For some reason, he just needed to touch something tangible right this second, to keep him from floating away into outer space.

He could feel it straining inside him, another pimple about to burst. He tried to hold it back. He felt like he would lose his mind and end up a gibbering pants-wetting mess if he allowed himself to think such a ghastly, impossible lie.

But it had already sneaked out anyway. Like a whisper in an airless room.

'What if I was never as sick as she told me I was?'

Toby fell to his hands and knees in the soap-sand. Tears leaked from his eyes and saliva leaked from his mouth. The droplets hit the ground and made suds.

This was something else he'd known all along without ever daring to look at directly. Another truth that he'd toyed with the edges of, to keep it from ever fully rising to the surface. What if she hadn't just been exaggerating his illness sometimes? Overprotecting him a little, the way normal mothers did? What if he had had never really been sick in the first place?

'What if all my sores and aches and pains and migraines and scabs and all the nights I pissed in the sheets and puked on the floor and couldn't sleep because my nerves were on fire, what if it was all because of the medicines she gave me? Didn't I always know? That the symptoms always got worse after the medication? Never before? What if she caused it all?'

"All of it..." Toby gasped.

A feeling unlike any he had ever felt before began to pulse through Toby's veins. It rumbled through his hands and knees like a vibration from deep below. Drool sloshed from his lips. In a blink, he'd scrambled to his feet and was running as fast as the heavy air would allow towards his hammer. He was nearly blind. There was nothing in front of his eyes but a vast blue blur and a tiny silver speck dead center. Grunts slipped from his mouth. Mindless animal noises. His feet pounded at the soap, driving him further, faster, towards the hammer.

He leapt like a tiger and skidded face first into the soap flakes. He barely noticed. He spat out blue powder and bubbles but didn't taste a thing. His hand was around the handle. That was all that mattered.

And then he was swinging. Pounding. Smashing. Whipping his hammer through the air. Sending skittering waves of soap powder flying. Trying to murder it. All of it. Crush it. Smash it. Break it. All of it.

All of it.

All of it.

***

He pounded away at the rotten world until he had depleted every last drop of fuel in his tanks. Then he was left lying on his back, panting painfully hard, staring up at the absence of clouds.

There was one other good thing about this realm besides the moon-hops. He was alone out here. His own sense of embarrassment would have never allowed him to explode like that if there was anyone within a thousand miles who could have seen him. Thankfully, there wasn't.

He had been smashing sand in a howling frenzy. Lost in frustration, loss, grief, and anger. Then after collapsing in exhaustion, he'd got up, spat the taste of soap out of his mouth, and started walking again. Once more, madness had spilled out of him like fire until the fire burned itself dead and clarity reasserted itself. It seemed Toby wasn't very good at staying batshit. His resiliency surprised him. Or maybe he'd been near-insane all along, and was developing an immunity to it.

'This was what was holding me back. The thing I saw a shadow of in Gilla's front yard. I kept making excuses for her after she scrubbed my skin to shreds. But the memory didn't go away. It sat in me like cancer. That was why I kept thinking of myself as helpless. Because I was. Even without her around, I kept that memory of being little and defenseless in a world where something huge could turn on me at any time and cause me pain.'

He could hardly believe he was facing it so easily now. After all, this was a giftwrapped box he'd been carrying for years, never brave enough to pull the ribbon and look inside. But maybe its power had come from not looking at it. Like the monster in a scary movie that stays in the shadows. When you don't see it, your imagination makes it so much bigger. His denial had been covering up his monster, like throwing a tarp on it. And underneath was something hideous, sure. But it was a lot smaller than Toby had always made himself believe it was. In fact, it was so small, once it was out in the open, it wasn't all that difficult to raise up his metaphorical foot and smash it into the pavement.

The truth in a nutshell was this: he had not had a normal childhood or a loving home. His mother had purposely kept him sick for her own insane reasons, for years, and had almost certainly used him to get rid of his father. There. That was his reality. It was literally sickening, but it was also pathetic. And facing it had not destroyed him.

Maybe it was because some part of him had been preparing for this moment all along. Down in his deepest heart, he had always known he was being slowly poisoned by a madwoman. But he'd denied it for years. And why? Partly because it was easier. Partly because of his bottomless cowardice. Partly because facing it would have meant a responsibility to escape and turn her in. He'd been too scared of giving up a life where everything was taken care of for him.

The understanding came to him as blunt as a blackjack and sharp as a scalpel. He was not responsible for his mother's abuse of him. But he was responsible for his denial of it.

His arms ached. The tendons vibrated like cello strings. He still clutched his hammer, bits of gritty soap between his fingers. The powder was everywhere. His fur from head to toe was sprinkled like blue dandruff. The smell still made him want to barf, but he was acclimating to it.

After all, he'd had a lot of practice getting used to things that made him ill.

Toby walked onward, keeping Anasarca fixed in his vision. He was surprised how clear his head was after all that chaos a moment ago. He guessed it was as simple as, the pimple had popped. Now all that was left was a slowly-healing hole. The truth he'd spent years burying had risen to the surface. It was out now, undeniable. He felt sick and humiliated and shameful and betrayed and all sorts of other unpleasant emotions. But also relieved. At least the strain in his gut was gone. Finally telling the truth felt like unzipping too-tight pants. And he reflected that he had not actually been sparing himself any pain by lying. He'd just spread it thinner so it seemed like less. A constant background migraine instead of the eruption he'd just gone through.

'This changes things,' he realized. What would happen now if he made it up the mountain and Aldridge had a way for him to get back home? He sure as hell wouldn't stay in his room another day. If he could manage it, he'd get downstairs and out the door and beg the first furson he saw for a ride to the hospital. This was assuming he could get downstairs at all, even by crawling. This was also assuming his immune system hadn't already been so compromised that a breath of outside air wouldn't kill him. 'Bravo, mom. All the things you feared would happen to me? You made them true. You brought your nightmares to life in me.'

He shut his eyes. He had faced his truth, but it was still hard to think about her. The sense of betrayal was too overwhelming. And the dichotomy hurt too much, to realize that the woman who'd kept him a prisoner in his own body was also the same woman who'd sung Happy Birthday to him and taught him how to count and hugged him when he had a bad dream. The impossibility of those two people being one and the same was a feeling even worse than the smell of soap. It was a poisonous snake living in his stomach that would not stop biting him.

He thought about his father too. He felt relatively certain his father's love had been real. Maybe Dad was still alive somewhere. Maybe some chance of finding him still existed.

But would his father even want him anymore? The lies that had come from Toby's own mouth had sent him away, possibly to prison. Could a son be forgiven for that? And did he deserve to be? Did some part of him realize what was happening when his mother coached him to lie, and had he gone along with it simply because ignorance was easier?

It was because of thoughts like this that Toby spent four minutes seeing the moving speck in his peripheral vision without really seeing it.

It was a thousand yards out to his right, coming towards him at a diagonal.

A mirage? A dust devil?

No, it was another furson. Another living soul was crossing the desert.

Toby broke into a run, his introspective thoughts forgotten.

Great big kangaroo leaps. The 'someone else' on the horizon was so far away they could barely be discerned. But they were moving. Movement meant life. Life meant help. Possibly. Maybe whoever this was might know a way out of the blue abyss. If they'd entered this desert, it stood to reason that they had to have come in from somewhere else. If nothing else, Toby could follow their footprints backwards to wherever that was. It had to be better than here.

With every lunging step, the figure in the distance became a little clearer. Toby began to wonder if it was actually some kind of strange vehicle. It seemed to be in two parts, like a tiny wind-up train. Toby stopped in his tracks for a moment to focus on getting a better look.

Squinting. 'What the heck IS that? It doesn't seem to have legs. Or does it?'

Suddenly Toby remembered that this was Phobiopolis, the land of nightmares.

The figure on the horizon was not shaped like any furson he'd ever met before. In fact, it was shaped exactly like some kind of construct.

Toby squeezed his hammer.

He stood frozen with indecision for a moment. Should he keep running towards it? Or away? The figure looked bigger than he was. Was it out here searching for prey? Would it snatch him up and swallow him whole, leaving him to suffocate/die/repeat on an endless cycle in its airless, acidic gullet? Maybe. Or maybe it was someone who'd been transformed. Like Piffle. The other half of it looked inorganic. Like a... Like a cart, maybe?

Toby licked his lips, regretted it because of the soap, then started running again.

His breath was heavy. Not just because of the thick air, but because he was readying himself for a fight. Part of him dreaded it. Part of him kept automatically envisioning himself as a defenseless weakling. Though now he had some powerful counter-evidence to that idea. Toby knew he was small, yes. But his hammer was powerful. And he remembered something else from when he'd been in the thick of eraserheads and cactusyotes: confidence was as much a weapon as anything. When he'd drifted into the fight enough to lose his neurosis, confidence had taken over and everything became easier. So part of him dreaded the prospect of having to defend himself against an unknown threat all by himself and miles from nowhere. But another small part was eagerly hopeful. 'Bring it on,' that voice whispered, trembling in thrill.

Plus, even more simply, he supposed that if he was in the kind of mental state to mindlessly pound sand while making caveman noises, it might be even more satisfying to wail on something that 1) had more solidity and 2) deserved it.

'That's assuming it's an enemy. You don't know that yet.'

Except it looked an awful lot like one. The closer he got, the more he observed. This was one ugly sonovabitch. It was definitely carrying a cart, a big obelisk-shaped thing on two wheels. And while Toby couldn't make out any details of the creature’s body, he could tell that the top half was skinny, the bottom half was fat, and there were a hell of a lot of pointy bits in between.

Toby ran straight at it, bouncing from dune to dune like a slow-motion sand flea. Maybe if he showed no fear in his movements, that might intimidate the creature.

'Yes, you go right ahead and intimidate the thing which is clearly twice your size. Maybe three times. That will work.'

'Shut up, brain!'

When they were only a few hundred feet apart, Toby skidded to a stop on the side of a soap dune. He posed with one foot forward, the other behind. His eyes were fixed on the nightmare construct. His hammer was held out in front of him, hungry for battle. He breathed hard and steady.

The thing approached him at exactly the same pace it had kept the entire time. It gazed nonjudgmentally from behind yellow discs.

It was certainly colorful, whatever it was. Most of its scales and exoskeletal panels were a glossy black, but there was a wide yellow stripe running up its center, along with highlights of violet and crimson. Its lower half was as bulbous as its top half was slender. The insectoid abdomen looked like a giant black yam. It was held up by a few dozen stubby centipede legs, all moving in chaotic harmony like the guts of a typewriter. Higher up, five implausibly long arms sprouted from its shoulders like tree branches. Three on the left, two on the right. Each forearm ended in a tri-fingered hand resembling the types of metal claws that descend towards cheap stuffed animals. Atop the neck curled a head that was a cross between a caiman and a question mark. At the end of its long snout were two round nostrils joined by a golden ring.

Twenty feet away from Toby, it stopped.

Toby looked at the thing.

Two spherical silver eyes with buckshot clusters of multiple pupils looked back at him.

Toby took long, slow breaths. He made his body as stiff as the steel in his hammer. Like he'd melded with it. Even though this creature was twice his height, many times his weight, and those spindly arms looked like they'd have no difficulty snatching him up and plunging him straight down into that crocodilian maw, he would not show fear.

"Hi," he said simply.

The thing took in Toby's body language. Its eyes traced along the mouse's arm to his weapon. "That is a fine hammer. Is it for sale?"

Toby blinked. It could speak. Well, that reduced the likelihood it was a construct. More than that, the being had spoken with a cultured tongue. The voice itself was a boom of a timpani, but with a pixyish edge.

Toby lowered the hammer. Slightly. "Sorry, but I'm kind of attached to it."

The thing shook its curvy head. "Excuse me?" It reached up to remove its ear buds. "My apologies, I didn't catch that over my music."

Toby had been focusing so much on the being's anatomy that he hadn't noticed it was wearing headphones. Nor had he noticed the cords that ran from bumpy craters on the sides of its head, down to the pocket of a blazing yellow button-down shirt festooned with images of red and green peppers. The being was also wearing several watches, a casino dealer's visor, and a pair of round, yellow-tinted sunglasses. Looking at the outfit, Toby might have guessed this was somebody's grandpa on vacation.

"I said," he repeated, "my hammer isn't for sale." Toby decided to be bold and give this odd fellow the benefit of the doubt. He popped his hammer back into its sheath and took a few steps forward for a handshake.

Its already-wide eyes went wider at the sight of Toby's weapon tucking itself away. "Now you're just teasing me! A hammer with a built-in holster? Delightful!" It clapped several hands eagerly. "Are you absolutely certain you would not consider selling it to me?"

Toby couldn't help but be puzzled and amused by its childlike fascination. The creature was staring at his arm like it was made out of gold. "I'm sorry, but by now it's pretty much a part of my body." Inspiration struck. "...Although if you can help me out, I could let you know where I got it from."

It smiled at Toby, showing great appreciation that he was willing to deal. Two of its hands shot out and clasped onto the mouse's right paw, pumping up and down with gusto. It then said, with practiced panache, "I am L'roon. It almost rhymes with 'maroon', but then doesn't. I am a peddler by trade. I buy and I sell. How may I be of help to you, small sir?"

The relief Toby felt almost knocked him off his feet. After all this day's misery, to come across someone friendly and polite out here in the middle of nowhere was more than he could have wished for.

'Might wanna keep your guard up anyway,' his inner voice said. 'He is a salesman.' Toby had never personally encountered any smiling men trying to sell him used cars at bargain prices, but he'd seen enough of them in movies. 'Then again, I don't have much he could fleece me out of even if he tried,' he thought. 'Or do I?'

L'roon reached into one of his shirt pockets to switch his music player off, and into another to pull out a wad of gummi worms, which he crammed into his mouth. He seemed to be waiting for something.

Toby remembered he hadn't introduced himself yet. "Toby deLeon!" he blurted. "And as for help, just for starters do you have any noseplugs?"

L'roon dragged a twiglike finger across his chin. Then he held out two worms. "Would these do?"

A bizarre solution, but Toby was willing to try anything to be free of the desert's oppressively fresh scent. He plugged the little wriggly candies into his nostrils. Sugary citrusness exploded his nose, but it was a change from soap, and that was fuckin' dandy. "Thank you!" he said, sounding a little more nasal now.

L'roon grinned mightily to see his improvised solution doing the job. "Good! I expect though, you require more assistance than just the blocking of unwanted smells?"

The way this guy talked reminded him a little of George. "Yes, actually." He held his arms out to the sides, indicating the vastness of the desert around them. "...I'm lost."

A chuckle. "It is hard to be lost in Dysania. Any straight line will take you from one edge to the other eventually, assuming you don't get turned around in a circle."

'It's got a name,' Toby noted. Which meant it was on the map. A known quantity. "Well, I mean, I was traveling with friends. We were on our way to the market town when we got separated. Lalo-something-ia." L'roon nodded, well-familiar with the place. Toby grimaced at the memory. "They got in a tub station. I did too, but I... didn't concentrate on the right thing. Now I'm here."

"Ah." More gummi worms. He made sure to chew thoroughly and swallow before continuing. "That can happen easily. It is why I prefer to walk. Among other reasons. But to ease your mind somewhat, any tub station has a finite range. Rest assured, you have not been transported to the opposite edge of the realm. Lalochezia is not especially far from here."

"Great! Now I just gotta find a way to hook back up with everyone." Toby nibbled his index finger. He arched an eyebrow at L'roon. "You wouldn't have anything in your cart that could help me out with that?"

L'roon looked like he could not possibly have been more pleased to have been asked. His cart was yoked to his body by a belt around his waist, so he reached behind to unclasp it. At the same time, he kicked down a stabilizing post to keep it from rolling away. Placing a hand lightly on the small mouse's shoulder, he bade him walk around to the side.

Toby was a little nervous about that clawlike hand being there, but said nothing. It was hard not to imagine how easily those needle-like digits could spear him like a shish kebab.

The cart was a wide, tall trapezoid. White-painted metal with a red stripe, shot through with rust spots. It looked a lot like a derelict space capsule, actually. There were already numerous knickknacks hanging off the sides on belts and chains, so Toby had a feeling the inside was gonna be packed with even more. L'roon reached up to fiddle with a fiendish-looking lock. Then, with a showman's flourish and the push of a button, the whole thing split down the middle like a wardrobe.

Inside was an entire junkyard's worth of treasure.

Toby couldn't help but gawk for a few minutes. L'roon stood by silently, just enjoying the moment of seeing yet another new customer entranced.

The cart seemed to defy physics with how much it held. There were shelves, racks, hooks; some items were even nailed in place. Gems. Weaponry. Potions. Musical instruments. Toys. Necklaces. Coins. Electronics. Idols. Photos. Books. Even foodstuffs. Anything and everything a person might sell their soul for. It all looked a bit in need of polishing, but none of it was dull. Everything looked like it came with a story. Toby would have bet L'roon knew every single one of them.

Toby reached out a paw towards an intricate-looking wind-up frog, but then thought better of it. Who knew how expensive this stuff was? The last thing he wanted was to break something worth a fortune.

"Now..." L'roon purred, "I might have an item in here that could aid you, or I might be able to offer information. Tell me more about your friends." He saw the cautious 'Why?' appear on the mouse's face and cut it off before it could be spoken. "I only ask because I am often many places. I travel on a loop amongst the habitable areas of the badlands: Rhinolith, Papiloma, Lalochezia, Scarlatina, and all points in between. I particularly enjoy shortcutting through Dysania because the peculiar gravity eases my feet. I say this because, in all that time, I might have met your friends before. I might know where they might go."

Toby considered that. Something inside him was telling him not to reveal too much personal info to this colorful pushcart vendor. At least not yet. So he kept his answers short. "If you know any of them, it'd most likely be Junella Brox and Zinc."

L'roon's pupils scattered back and forth as he scanned his memory. "...A vinyl-coated stinker and a mutt with hardware arms?"

Toby chuckled at how blunt that was. "That's them."

L'roon looked happy his memory hadn't failed him. "We did dealings a few times, but I didn't get to know them. Just routine transactions. They stick out in my mind only because of the pair's almost-mythic levels of swagger."

That got a full-on snort out of Toby. "That's definitely them!"

"Who else?"

"Um, there's also Doll. She's under a curse right now, so..." Toby held his hands to indicate her tiny height. "Plus Piffle, and who knows what she might have looked like if you'd ever met her."

L'roon blinked, then shrugged. "They ring no bells."

"And George. But he's been buried in the ground for the past few centuries, so you probably never ran into him before."

L'roon smiled strangely and cocked his head back and forth. "I have been in business for quite some time."

Something about that answer struck Toby oddly. He suddenly felt like he was on the cusp of a realization. He stepped back a little to look L'roon up and down again. The peddler was a bit surprised by this, but let the mouse observe.

Toby watched L'roon's centipede-like legs twitch. Like cards being shuffled. Something about that stirred memories of a half-remembered nature show. His mouth opened. But he hesitated several seconds before sounds followed. "Sir... I promise you I don't mean any offense when I ask this, but... are you an ascended construct?"

L'roon actually staggered back against his cart, making everything in it shudder and jangle.

Toby hadn't expected that reaction.

The peddler stared as if shot. Then his head whipped forward without warning, inches away from Toby's. "Where did you hear that term!?" he demanded. No, it was more like begging.

Toby gulped. Those clustered pupils were reading every atom of his face for signs of lies. "I- I'm not a hundred percent sure! George said it once while we were talking, maybe. But I've met two of them so far."

This produced an even more extreme reaction. L'roon whisked off his visor and nearly crushed it between his hands. "TWO!?" he exploded. He suddenly began pacing in circles. Just as abruptly, he stopped and shoved his face back into Toby's again. "You must mean Red, you must! But who is the other one!? Who!? Please, tell me!"

Toby's throat slammed shut from fear. He'd thought L'roon might have gotten huffy at being asked if he was actually a nightmare, but he'd never predicted this level of harried desperation. The poor guy looked like he'd just been told his whole life was a lie.

Toby struggled to speak. It was nearly impossible. He could feel the snorts of L'roon's hot breath blasting against his chin. "I- I- I-"

Realizing that he was terrifying the lad, L'roon stepped back a few paces. He folded his hands over one another. "Please," he said in a much softer tone.

"George," Toby was finally able to say. "The one who I said was underground. He's a bonecuddy. Or, he was. Now he's trying not to be. He's my friend."

At that last word, L'roon pretty much collapsed. All twenty-eight of his legs gave out and he collapsed to the ground in a puff of powder. His face went slack and his glasses slid down his muzzle into the soap. His eyes were wide as Christmas ornaments.

Toby didn't know what to think. A moment before, this being had displayed all the confident showmanship of a lion tamer. Now he looked a moment away from crying. "Sir? What is it? I..."

L'roon spoke in a very, very small voice. "You said 'friend'." 

"Yes," Toby affirmed without hesitation.

L'roon shook his head, then reached up to hold it in his hands as if it might fall off. Slowly, his short legs hefted his bulk back to standing. He retrieved his glasses and brushed them clean. "You must forgive me. I have been around for quite some while. There are very few things that surprise me. Fewer still are things I find impossible. What you just said... was one of them."

Toby didn't quite know what to do. His words had obviously had a tremendous effect. "Heck, you already mentioned Red. Piffle's crazy about him. He lets her ride on his head. Me too, actually."

L'roon's eyeballs almost fell out. He turned and braced himself against the side of his cart. It sagged. "First the hammer and now this! Small sir, I am beginning to think that I am hallucinating you!"

That got a chuckle out of Toby. He walked over to pat L'roon on the arm. "Sorry if I overwhelmed you."

An immediate handwave. "Never apologize for bringing good news! It was merely a shock. My reaction was that of a merchant who has finally received inventory he ordered years ago, and had long since given up on."

L'roon sat back down in the soap-sand, deliberately this time. He replaced his crinkled visor and reached into his cart for an ivory fan. He flickered it to give himself a breeze. "How did you know? About myself, I mean. I could tell by the way you asked it wasn't a mere guess based on my pretty face. You knew somehow."

Toby nodded. "For one, you remind me of George in funny ways. For two, it was your legs."

A questioning eyebrow.

"So my friend Piffle's got eyes almost like yours so I know a furson can get used to that. But I saw something on TV once, I forget where, that said a furson's brain couldn't keep up with having more limbs than we already have. Like, the mental strain would be too much. Definitely not as many as yours."

The merchant huffed. "Curses. Exposed by trivia."

Toby laughed.

L'roon leaned back against the cart, sighing in resignation. He shut his eyes with a sound like two plastic cups clinking together. "I am going to tell you something now. First though, I would like your word of honor: this is not to be shared amongst any other living soul. It would destroy my business, and my business is my life."

Toby nodded solemnly. "I understand. And I promise. I've always been good at keeping my mouth shut." He felt a painful twinge from his past at that.

L'roon nodded, as if he knew it already just from Toby's face. He reached up to the cart again for a medium-size wooden box covered in bear fur. He tossed it in the sand at the mouse's feet and bade him sit.

Toby sat.

L'roon leaned in close, as if gossipy ears might be listening (even though they were sitting by themselves a hundred miles from the nearest life form). "I am, as you say, an ascended parasomnic construct. I have gone to tremendous lengths to conceal this fact from others. I have told them, 'Do not fear! I am under the spell of a wizard's transformation!' There was a lot of that going around in those days, so people believed me. Over time I have established myself as a harmless old nomad. 'Oh, there is L'roon!' they say. 'Hello, L'roon!' Their belief that I am the same as them is important. Without it, would they ever trust me to honor a sale?"

Toby nodded. "People sure flipped their lids wherever we went with George."

L'roon looked flabbergasted by this, particularly at the idea that an ascended nightmare had actually walked amongst living souls and had not been destroyed. "You must tell me all you can about your friend George. I must know. But later." He willed his impatience to ease. "As for myself, I came into existence like any other construct; nought but the desire to spread tremors and suffering. I have never encountered another with my face. Some constructs are numerous enough to be given 'species', but I seem to be the only one of me."

Toby looked a bit sad at that.

L'roon laughed bitterly. "Don't pity me. It has been a blessing! If I looked like a common cactusyote, could I ever get away with my masquerade?"

"Good point," Toby said.

L'roon continued. "Even as a mindless nightmare, I was smart. While others of my kind relied on strength and teeth and venom, I relied on craft. I sent innumerable icicles up spines. I fed triumphantly on many victims who I had driven to madness before pouncing upon." L'roon cocked his head at Toby's lack of reaction. "You are not frightened by this? By me?"

Toby shook his head. "Nope. Sounds pretty much like the kinda stuff George told me he used to do."

L'roon put his many hands on his hips and just marveled at the mouse. While he had taken a risk that this stranger would not flee in fear at the truth of his hidden nature, even then he had not expected a response of simple acceptance. As if his centuries-old charade was no big whoop.

Toby waited for him to continue the story.

L'roon fumbled for a second, trying to remember where he'd been. "As time passed, I became cleverer. My tricks became art. I felt the first pricklings of pride in my own cunning. I began to enjoy the tricks themselves more than the fear and pain they caused. For a nightmare, this ought to have been impossible. Any behavior that contravenes our instincts ought to be impossible." He held up a finger. "Red is an exception. He is so large that, I suppose, he has simply become bored. Trampling victims was too easy. His mind wandered. I have had long talks with him, as he is the only other creature I can be honest with. But he is too simple to understand most of what I say. Not stupid, just... basic. Are you beginning to understand my interest in your George?"

A nod. "Absolutely. You could have a real conversation with him. Just being alone in this desert for a few hours was driving me nuts. I can't imagine how lonely it must feel to spend your whole life hiding who you are."

A sigh. "That is... very true. I am already beginning to be glad I have chosen to tell you. An untold secret is a wiggly thing, after all. I am grateful to you for your understanding," he said softly. 

Toby felt good about that.

"Anyway, one cannot feel pride in one's self without some dawning awareness of 'self'. I do not know when, but I began to realize what I was, what living souls were, and how we diverged. My true life began the day my rudimentary mind thought to ask: 'Why am I bothering with this bullshit anyway?'"

Toby hid a guffaw behind his hand.

L'roon smiled too. "Why was I scaring people? Eating them at least made some sense. But I didn't feel any genuine hunger. What I felt was an instinct to cause misery. I did not understand it though. But by then my tricks had grown so elaborate, I had begun to experiment with them. To see if they could cause other reactions. To see if I could feed myself on something other than suffering. I spent many years observing. Starving myself. Just watching these souls do the things they did. Learning from them. I became particularly interested in their transactions. The exchange of money. I realized, it was possible to trick a man in more ways than just popping out of a bush with a 'boo' and gobbling him up."

L'roon stood up and placed a hand over his heart. "I became..." he announced, "a devout capitalist."

Toby hid another chuckle. He'd said it in exactly the way some people declared their religion. Though when he thought about it, it certainly had changed L'roon's life like one. Saved him, even.

The fat abdomen plopped back down and L'roon grinned widely. "I watched. I practiced. Finally, I attempted. It did not go well. I practiced more. I failed more. Eventually it broke through my stupid head that I needed to learn their language. I watched them speak. I practiced that too. I tried again. This time, success. I will not ever forget it. I traded a lost traveler his pistol for six worthless glass gems. Then I shot him in the back with it and reacquired the gems."

Toby looked a tad horrified.

"Well, it took some time for me to develop any kind of a conscience," L'roon admitted.

"I'm glad you eventually did," Toby said uneasily.

L'roon reminisced fondly on his first sale for another moment. "And so I began to hunt new prey. Objects of value. Anything and everything, so long as someone, somewhere, wanted it. I even became a specialist in transformation potions, to sell the lie that I was the victim of one and trying to find a cure. The more I bartered, the more skill I attained.

"What I discovered first was that I gained the same degree of satisfaction from fooling souls with trade as I did from pouncing and preying. It was the thrill of proving my own cleverness. It didn't matter what form it took. Avarice was just as delicious as viciousness." He smirked proudly at the rhyme.

"What I discovered secondly was that, if word of mouth gets around that you are a rotten, backstabbing cheat, no one will trade with you. So you see, my conscience grew out of necessity. My reputation was giving away the game. I needed to change my reputation. So, I became legitimate. By now, I have learned the true secret of commerce." Dramatic pause.

Toby leaned forward a little. "...Which is?"

L'roon extended a finger. "Any fool can make a small profit off of dirty deals. But if you are smarter, you will deal cleanly, build trust, and leave your customers itching to return. The best deal is the one where the buyer believes they have gotten the better bargain, yet the seller knows the opposite is true." He crossed his arms over his chest and smiled widely.

"So... you're basically admitting that, any deal I make with you, you're gonna pull one over on me," Toby replied, smiling as well.

"Oh, not at all, my friend." That last part was said with such transparently false pleasantness that they both knew it was a tease. "Any deal we make, you will gain. But I will gain more. Either now or in the long run. My existence, after all, is profit. I have traded a life of ruthless brutality for one of ruthless shrewdness. One where my victims line up before me and don't even believe they are victims, because they aren't." His grin was immense. "It is a far better outcome for all, don't you agree?"

"Sounds like it," Toby said. He stood up and cricked his back. The little box was soft, but had put him at a weird sitting angle. "I'm glad for you, honestly. It sounds like you put a lot of work into changing yourself. That's admirable."

L'roon turned his face away. "If my scales could blush, that's what they would be doing."

Toby wiped the soap powder from his leg fur. "Allright. So. I get the feeling you might like to sell me something now."

L'roon's eyes sparkled. "Oh, very much so! I am glad to see you're getting right down to it. Let us lay our cards upon the table then." He made a gesture miming exactly that. "You desire to reunite with your friends. I have an item which may prove useful to that end. So then, what I desire is threefold. If I cannot have your hammer, I would like to know where to acquire my own. And I would like to speak at length with your friend George. And I would like one other thing. A very minor tidbit. Easily replaceable, I'm sure you'll agree."

Toby felt like L'roon was sugarcoating something rather nasty. Cringing, he asked, "...What is it?"

The peddler steepled his fingertips. "You see, over the years, I have developed quite the taste for... living eyes."

"Ewww!" Toby yelped. "No way!"

"I'm only asking for one!" L'roon said sweetly, as if that made the request perfectly harmless. "You'll still be able to see. And regaining it will only be a death away. Perhaps not even that if you concentrate. And I am offering something worth far more to you."

Toby narrowed his eyes. "What, exactly?"

"You've been sitting on it."

Toby turned around. He picked up the furry box. It was incredibly heavy and sounded like it was full of jewelry. "The whole thing?"

"No, no, no!" L'roon said quickly. "That would be a lopsided deal indeed," he muttered to himself. He snatched the box away from the mouse and, with a nervous laugh, sat it back inside his cart. He lifted the lid.

Inside, Toby saw a king's ransom of bracelets, rings, pendants and other glimmering baubles.

L'roon sifted through the contents until locating a particular item. He lifted it up on a single hooked finger.

It was a necklace. A simple metal chain with a tarnished silver emblem dangling from its center. The symbol had once been painted green, but now only a few traces of its color remained. It was in the shape of a circular spiral, with two waves extending from the center like bird's wings.

Toby gazed at it. It seemed somehow to be more real than everything else around it. As if it were the only three-dimensional object in a 2D world.

"What is it?" he asked reverently.

L'roon smiled, but it was a solemn, cautious smile. He licked his lips. "I cannot give you any details until after you have used it. And when I say 'cannot', I mean it. You will understand soon. But this talisman will grant its bearer exactly two wishes. They can be anything."

Toby raised an eyebrow. "Two? Why two?"

L'roon shrugged. "Why not?"

"Huh. In fairy tales it's always three."

A sigh. "Well, if you're not interested..." He began to put the necklace away.

"I'm interested!" Toby yelped. He stared at the faded silver enigma. "I gotta ask though, how do I know it'll work? How do I know you haven't been buttering me up with a sob story just to sell me something you got out of some old lady's junk drawer?"

L'roon brayed with laughter. "You're a lot more brazen than you look, small sir!"

"Thanks?" said Toby.

L'roon wiped a tear from his eye, still jiggling with mirth. "You have every right to be wary. But as I said, my deals are on the level. You can use the talisman first. If it works to your satisfaction, then you deliver your half of the bargain."

Toby bit his lip. "How exactly were you planning on taking my eyeball out?" He could not believe those words had just left his mouth.

L'roon smiled. Seven inches of batlike tongue flicked out of the end of his muzzle. "I am very quick. You'll hardly feel it."

A low groan came out of Toby. He thought about his friends. He fixed them all in his mind. He asked himself, was it worth giving up an eye for them?

The answer was obvious.

"Gimme the necklace-thingy." He held out his hand.

L'roon licked his lips. "Sterling!" He cheerfully draped the chain over Toby's palm and settled the talisman in the center of it. "Just place it around your throat, put your hand upon it if you so choose, and say your wish aloud." He backed up a bit, then glanced for just an instant at the trinket as if it were a bomb about to go off.

Toby looked down at the heavy little lump of metal in his hand. 'I have no idea if I'm making the biggest mistake of my life,' he thought. He gulped. Then he reached behind his head to brush his fur away and clasp it on. The weight against his breastbone felt like a pointing finger.

He looked at L'roon. The peddler's expression told him to go right ahead.

Toby turned around, sighing. He gazed out across the vast, empty desert. He scanned the sky. He reached up to wrap his paw around the silver charm and thought about what words to choose.

"I wish my friends would appear in front of me right now."

There was a thundercrack, high up in the clouds.

Toby looked up to see a comet streak across the sky. It left a smoky white trail. He backed up by pure reflex when he realized it was heading straight at him.

SSSSSSSSSKKKRRRTHCHOOOM!!!

The impact bowled Toby over. He instinctively covered his face with his bracers and landed on his tush. L'roon had reacted quickly enough to get his cart closed up. He and the cart and Toby were all practically entombed in a tidal wave of soap.

When Toby sat up, spitting powder out of his mouth, a horrific sight met his eyes.

His friends were all dead. The ground was blackened in a crater around where they had crashed. Chunks of flesh smoldered everywhere. Zinc's face was gone. One of his wrenches stuck up out of the charred ground with Piffle hanging in halves by her intestines from it. A femur from George was rammed deep into Doll's head. The rest of him lay in shrapnel all around. Junella was a smear of ink, her blank eyes staring up at the cloudless sky.

Toby screamed.

He scrambled to his feet. He grabbed at the pendant, thought at lightning speed, and shouted, "I wish all my friends, and all their gear, and the car, were all right in front of me again, but this time completely physically unharmed, and that there were no bad consequences to this wish!!!"

L'roon made a face: 'That's cheating'.

But the talisman listened. There was another clap of thunder, smaller this time, and in a flash, all of Toby's wishes came true. His companions were whole. They were spread around in essentially the same positions they'd been in after the firefall, but the streaks of burnt soap vanished and so did their injuries. The Fearsleigher, scuffed but whole, rose up out of the soap behind them like a shaftless elevator.

Zinc blinked his tin eyelids. Piffle's antennae told her she was lying flat on the roof of the car. George looked around to realize that he'd somehow been kicked free from the Fearsleigher again, that he was back to normal size, and that he was also stepping on Doll's face. "Oh good heavens, my sincerest apologies!"

Junella had been lying on her back. She suddenly sat up with a jolt. "GRAN'MA'S ASS!!" she swore.

Toby cried out in exuberant joy.

Zinc was the closest, so he was quite suddenly surprised to find Toby actually hoisting him to his feet and crushing his ribs in a humongous hug.

"I'm so glad to see you!!" the mouse exploded.

"Hey!! What!? Toby!?" The poor canine had no idea where he was, how he'd gotten here, why it was so hard to breathe, or why everything smelled so obnoxiously clean.

Toby left all the canine's questions unanswered and went to go divebomb George.

"Sire Toby! I'm-OOF!"

The mouse nearly knocked him off his feet. When George was sufficiently squeezed, Toby picked up Doll, rearranged her slightly-flattened head, then planted a massive kiss on it. He plopped her down on George's neck then ran full-tilt at Junella.

"Toby, where in God's nutsack-!?" This question was cut short with a record scratch as Toby tackled her to the ground with an abundance of love.

"There'll be no hugging around here without me!" Piffle proclaimed, and leaped in to add her own cuddles to the pile.

"Aaarrrgh!" Junella screamed.

Piffle rolled back and forth, squeezing the breath out of skunk and mouse both. "Gee whiz, Toby! Wheredja go? We waited hours for you!"

"I..." He tried to speak, but was too overjoyed for words. He didn't even register that she was once again a hamsterfly. Instead he squeezed harder, barely able to believe he was really holding his beloved friends in his arms. He peppered them both with kisses.

"Zinc! Help! Murder!"

The canine wandered over, flexed his wrenches, and lifted all three of them to their feet. He looked straight in Toby's eyes. "The way I see it, I owe you a debt, pardner."

Toby was perplexed.

Then Zinc hugged the living daylights out of him.

Piffle swept her arms around the pair of them, and made sure Junella couldn't escape either. George came over to nuzzle the bunch, while Doll leaned in to hug whoever's legs she could reach.

Junella tried to scream again but her arms were trapped at her sides.

Tears poured like rain down Toby's cheeks. "I was all alone! It felt like forever! I think I went crazy out here! Oh WOW, I can't tell you how happy I am to see all of you!! I was terrified! I was worried it might take days or weeks to find you! I was even-" He stopped abruptly and stared down at his chest.

Everyone let go of him and stared too.

The talisman. Without any glow or fanfare, it was simply sinking into Toby's fur like quicksand. Absorbing itself into the flesh of his chest, then vanishing away.

"Is that what brought us here?" Zinc asked.

"Does it hurt?" Piffle asked.

"Yes, and no," Toby answered in order. He looked over to L'roon, his expression asking, 'Is this normal?'

Before the peddler could answer, everyone else took note of the bizarrely-shaped reptile/insect in their midst.

Junella leapt towards him and drew her sword, fast as lightning. She positioned herself protectively in front of Toby and the others, a sneer on her lips.

Then abruptly it softened. "...Weren't you that guy we bought some produce from once?"

"That was it!" L'roon exclaimed. "I'd been trying to remember the specifics since your friend Toby mentioned you. Fresh dundles and strawberries, was it not?"

"Yeah." A bit befuddled, Junella sheathed her blade. "What're you doing all the way out here with our mouse?"

He put a hand to his chest. "I was on my way from Rhinolith to Drapetomania. I had been told that a frequent client would like to sell me some very old wine. I met your friend while he was wandering aimlessly and losing his mind."

Toby nodded. "That's accurate."

L'roon continued. "We agreed on a transaction. In exchange for information and one body part, I delivered him a wishing talisman, equal in power to twenty Zulamang Drops."

Zinc's eyeballs damn near shot out of his head at that.

"By the time I came into possession of it, it had already been used by someone else," L'roon went on. "So it was entirely possible that in another's hands, it would be no more than a hunk of ugly metal."

"ExCUSE me!?" Toby bellowed.

L'roon was amused by the mouse's outrage. He held up a hand, asking him to calm down just long enough to hear him out. "That, my friend, is why I couldn't tell you anything about it. I had a hunch, based on your appearance, that if you had absolutely no idea it was useless, it would no longer be useless. And I was right."

Toby was gobsmacked. He wanted to explode in anger, but couldn't. Everything had worked out just as promised (although, with a bit of a fiery, deathy hiccup in the middle there). Toby suddenly thought back to throwing his hammer at the moon back in Trapforest Path. Did he simply have the kind of face that said, 'this mouse is really good at making things happen because he's completely ignorant that they can't'?

"You are the talisman's owner now," L'roon said to Toby. He walked over on his many shuffling legs and put his hands on the mouse's shoulders. "You are reunited with your companions. A happy ending for all. Now, if your word is honorable..."

"Oh, right." Toby winced with his entire body. He looked up towards the peddler's hungry mouth.

The gold nose ring bobbed up and down as L'roon licked his lips.

Toby squared his shoulders and prepared to take it like a man. He shut one eye and held the other open. "Go on and do it," he whimpered.

"Yum yum in my tum tum," said L'roon. His tongue darted out in a red flash, cupping the succulent little bonbon. The forked tip snipped through the optic nerve like a pair of sewing scissors. He'd had a lot of practice at this.

"EWWWW!!!" screamed everyone else.

L'roon chewed and slurped happily with a great big smile on his toothy face.

Toby blinked. That actually hadn't hurt. He reached up and felt his empty socket. Definitely gross, but the anticipation had been far worse than the event.

He turned around to see his friends all looking different shades of revolted. A wry grin appeared on his face. "Hey, you guys all got your hearts taken out by Lady Xenoiko. What's the big deal?"

George guffawed at that.

"Toby, why do you have gummi worms stuffed in your nose?" Piffle asked.

-***-

Chapter Sixty-One

Everyone noticed a change in the mouse, though it was nothing they could put their finger on. A straightening of the posture? A new clarity in his eyes? Zinc began to ask about it and Toby cut him off, promising to explain later. For now, he had introductions to make. He gave L'roon everyone's names and many hands were shook all around.

After greetings and short summary of how they'd met, Toby noticed L'roon couldn't take his eyes off George. The two began to size each other up. George seemed highly puzzled at first, like he was smelling an odor he couldn't quantify. It was both heartwarming and hilarious when an expression of 'Can it possibly be!?' spread across the stallion's bony face. L'roon's smile ballooned at the recognition. They both began to chat intensely in low tones of nightmare-ese.

Since he knew the two constructs might be at it for hours, Toby filled in the others a bit more on what had happened after The Tub Station Vomit Incident. Though he was very selective in what he shared. For one, he had promised L'roon he wouldn't spill the merchant's secret origins, and Toby deLeon kept his word. Secondly, he wasn't quite ready to tell them everything he'd unearthed about his past. The wound was too raw. He wanted to ruminate a while to be sure of all the conclusions he'd come to. Maybe even a few days. When his friends asked exactly what had set him off in such an extreme reaction to the tub station, he said simply "A bad memory". This resulted in puzzled looks, but he stuck to his silence.

Though he also apologized several times for his vanishing act. "I know you must've been waiting on me all that time to follow you."

"All's forgiven," Zinc said easily. "I saw how many chunks you blew. Whatever it was that happened, it was serious business."

Junella nodded. "Ditto. Though, I do gotta ask. You brought us here via some wishing doohickey, right? Why the hell didn't you just wish yourself closer to us?"

"Oh, I thought of that!" Toby said brightly. "I knew I wanted to wish us back together, but I also saw the sky. I noticed Anasarca looks a lot closer here than it did from Marasmus. I thought I could knock a few miles off our trip."

"The market's even closer," she informed him flatly.

Toby blanched. "I hadn't considered that possibility."

"Or you coulda wished the whole bunch of us straight to Aldridge's driveway."

Toby looked crestfallen. He squeaked and started babbling more apologies.

A broad smile rolled across Junella's face and she punched Toby on the arm. "Aw, shuddup. It doesn't matter. I'm just glad to see your buckteeth again, shortcake." She spun the mouse into a rough but heartfelt hug.

The others joined her, and she didn't even complain this time.

***

It was inevitable the travelers would get around to doing a bit of business with L'roon. He was getting on with George like a long-lost brother, admiring the car and listening with fascination to the stallion's tale of ascension. But when he overheard Toby mentioning all the neat stuff he'd seen in the cart, L'roon put the conversation on hold and told George they'd continue soon. The whiff of commerce was in the air.

The first order of business was nose plugs for all. Everyone else had laughed when Toby told them his reason for the gummi worms, but after a mere five minutes of being surrounded by the pernicious odor of soap, they understood completely. L'roon passed out little balls of clay, "On the house."

Everyone ended up buying something, unsurprisingly. When L'roon's silver tongue got going, he could have sold space heaters to snowmen. Doll found a pair of silk gloves in emerald green that fit her perfectly. Zinc got an all-purpose screwdriver. Piffle noticed a scuffed tin ladybug: when its key was wound, its wings opened to display dazzling colors. Junella scrounged around in the cassette tapes and found a few that made her heart leap. She couldn't wait to get home to play them in the Jennie-Mae's hi fi. George's nose was drawn to some preserved organ meats under glass. They tasted scrumptious. L'roon kept mum about them actually being laboratory specimens.

Junella offered to trade for everyone's bounty with a hefty sack of Gilla-Gilla's handmade tree jerky (there was still plenty left) and all their EC supplies that were now past the point of usefulness. She grinned to herself, pleased at having unloaded a bunch of dead weight in exchange for treasure. On the other hand, L'roon was grinning harder at getting his hands on some genuine, brand new, unused RB&WB merchandise. Plus some delightful traveling snacks. Both had given up useless things in exchange for valuable ones. Just how L'roon liked it.

Even though their destinations lay in opposite directions, George and L'roon had so much more to discuss that neither of them wanted to part ways. L'roon weighed the cost of a potential lost sale against the gain of George's company. Finally he decided to follow them to the edge of Dysania, then double back. And if his wine seller in Drapetomania wanted to pitch a fit, the old poop could go screw himself with a rake.

George got hitched back up to the car, opting to pull rather than drive for a while. L'roon got his cart squared away, then hooked it back onto his belt. He asked if George was ready to go. The stallion said he would graciously allow his fellow construct to set the pace.

With a twinkle in his eye, L'roon took off at a thoroughbred's gallop.

"Oho! So it is a race you want?" George neighed loudly and knocked everyone else back in their seats.

Soon enough he and L'roon were both vaulting over soap dunes at top speed screaming, "Wheeeeee!"

***

With the windows up and the AC on, the smell of soap was finally out of Toby's life. He snuggled into the Fearsleigher's cozy backseat with an immense smile on his muzzle. Sitting down in a moving car was a hell of a lot nicer than dragging himself along the sand. Doll was at his side, with Piffle nearby. Zinc and Junella had their chairs swiveled to face the back. It felt like being home again.

He was still missing an eye though, and wasn't in the mood to die again to get it back. Piffle fussed over him and made a sporty little eyepatch from imaginite, the same blue as his outfit.

That's when the blatantly obvious finally caught up to Toby's brain. He looked at Piffle's fuzzy, cheerful smile and bobbing antennae. "Piffle! You're supposed to be a big red goatmonster!" he burst. Then sputtered, "I mean, not supposed to be! But the last time I saw you, you were!"

The hamsterfly giggled. Zinc and Junella both sighed, having thought that particular circumbendibus was done with. Now they had to dredge it up again to get Toby back in the loop.

The mouse had a sudden thought. "Did my wish revert you? That'd be neat."

"No, silly!" Piffle said, swatting him.

"Yeah, I guess that'd be too much to hope for. So then, you got lucky at the market town?"

"We did!" she said jubilantly. "Though at first we were all standin' around waiting on you. Twiddling our thumbs like you do in a waiting room, thinking, 'Gosh, he can't possibly be much longer, can he?'"

Toby blushed. "Sorry again."

"Pish tosh, You already said that enough! Plus tub stations are just plain unreliable, period. One time I climbed in one with a song stuck in my head and ended up under a lake. Anywizzle, after a while Zinc went back to Marasmus to look for you."

The canine nodded. "Hacked around the forest, calling your name. Had to bash a coupla heads in while I was at it. But of course, you was occupied elsewheres."

"So when he got back, we all took shifts waiting on you," Piffle continued. "I offered first so the others could have some time to shop around."

Junella had to concede a small nod for that thoughtfulness. "I bought us a few things that slipped my mind in EC."

"Plus these!" Zinc remembered. He rustled in a bag and tossed Toby a small paper-wrapped pastry. The mouse took a bite and toffee-colored goo squoze out. His tongue rejoiced.

Piffle had already eaten one and fully understood Toby's bliss. "I waited on a bench just outside the Arrival Station, humming to myself and saying hi to people. They weren't exactly friendsy. Not that I could blame 'em. Then Zinc came running back and told me he'd spotted my body! So Doll and Junella took up the watch while me'n Zinc hot-footed it."

Toby looked between the skunk and toy. That must have been a frictionful encounter.

Doll scribbled quickly, then held up:

We TalKeD

Toby was pleasantly surprised. "Really?"

Junella shrugged. "Eh. Figured we'd been this far together. Was time for me to stop bein' a pissy-cat towards her. I told her some pirate ship stories. She told me some of who she used to be. I kept the notes and she said you could read 'em later if you want."

"I'd be very interested," Toby said. Junella handed him a stack of notepad sheets and he tucked them in his inner vest pocket.

Piffle was interested too, but for now she was in the middle of a story. "Zinc led me to a spot where we could spy on this couple on a date. Except one of them was me! Zinc said the other's outfit meant he was a Rhinolith guard. Toilet helmet 'n everything."

"A toilet helmet..." Toby boggled.

Piffle wiggled bashfully. "I hated to break it up. They was pretty stuck on one another. Though jeezum crow, did they ever swear a lot! I've never heard so many sweet nothings come out of such pottymouths!" Toby chuckled. "Finally Zinc and I came at 'em from either side, expecting a real doozy of a dust-up. But when the guy in my body saw me in his, he broke down crying! It was heartbreakin'!"

Zinc laughed. "Yeah. Guy was a mentalcase allright. Them two were door guards who'd worked side-by-side for years, except the one didn't know the other had a little secret crush on him. Not my thing, but I ain't one to rain on anyone's parade. Anyway, he's beggin' and pleadin' in Piffle's voice for us to forgive him. Said he thought that, maybe if he was pretty, his co-worker would finally like him."

"Oh, but it all worked out in the end!" Piffle continued. "The other fella said Carl- that was his name- didn't have to turn himself into a girl for him to like him. He said he'd been havin' romantical thoughts too. He wasn't mad at Carl for keeping it secret, but he was disappointed he'd stolen someone else's body to do it, and demanded he change us back right away! To his credit, Carl did. And he even said it was nothing personal; that he'd been coming back from his secret peein' place, spotted me and thought I looked nice enough to nab. Kinda flattering, actually. And he'd taken good care of my safari outfit too. So I forgave him. Then he pointed a thingy at us and we both kind of upchucked our normal bodies. When Carl was back to being a red gorillathing again, he asked if Dunny would go on a real date with him sometime, in his real body. Dunny said sure he would, and they hugged, and it was real sweet!"

"If I remember correctly, the exact words were, 'Fuckin' oath, ya fruity bastid'," Zinc cooed.

Toby cracked up.

Even Junella sniggered a little.

Piffle took a deep breath and hugged herself. "I'm just glad I'm back in myself again! This body's much comfier. Though with the other one I felt like I could lift up cars and knock buildings down 'n stuff. It woulda been fun to experiment with more. But things worked out for the best and now it's all over. Plus I got a scrumptious funnel cake afterwards!"

Junella's face turned back into a frown, though she kept her fingers off her grooves for now.

Zinc kneaded his wrenches together and looked down at the floor, tail tucked between his legs. He spoke with considerable reluctance. "Actually, kitten, it's not quite over. I... I hate to, but I really gotta bring this up."

Piffle tilted her head. "Hmm? Oh, right! You helped me get my body back and I know I thanked you-" Zinc smiled, remembering her firecracker of a kiss. "-but I forgot to apologize for all the trouble I put you through! And the rest of you! I am sorry, really!"

He nodded. "Thank you. And that's a good start, but it's not what I meant."

"Oh?" Piffle looked back at him blankly, antennae raised.

"You've..." Zinc reached up to scratch the back of his head, stalling for time. "You've gotta stop doin' this kinda thing, kiddo."

Piffle shrank back in her seat, folding her paws in her lap. "Everything came out allright in the end," she said in a small voice.

"Yes, but..." Zinc growled. He hated when things weren't going smoothly in whatever group he was in, and it was sheer torture having to deliberately disrupt that smoothness. But it needed to be said. "That's beside the point. We got lucky this time. What if we hadn't though? What if those two'd gotten all the way back to Rhinolith before we found 'em? What if they'd come from someplace further? Or somewhere we'd have to backtrack to and lose time! Piff, we coulda had to travel the whole damn world searchin' down your body!"

Her mouth was set in a tiny pout. "It's not like I planned for it to happen. It was an accident."

"I get that," he said, trying to sound understanding and not exasperated. "That's why it was so hard for me to even bring it up. And yeah, if it was just the one time, then shit, accidents happen. Except you went off on your own into the woods when it did. And, well, that's been kind of a pattern with you."

She looked like she didn't quite follow.

Junella, on the other hand, lit up like neon. "I AM SO GLAD YOU BROUGHT THAT UP, ZINC!" she blared with cobralike eagerness. "Because I've been sittin' here biting my tongue in half, not sayin' a goddamn word about it on account of she's our bankroller. Plus, I wanted to be polite for once." She turned to Piffle. "I was trying to be extra-forgiving, since I'd let my irritation at your sunny disposition rile me up so much before. I was rude to you. For that I apologize. But I think I went overboard in being accommodating afterwards."

Piffle's legs were shut tight and her arms were pulled close, like she was trying to shrink away into her shell. "What do you mean?"

The skunk took that as permission to open the floodgates. "Right from the start, you have been goin' off doing crazy shit without considering how it'll affect the rest of us! We're heading into the badlands of Phobiopolis, so you buy yourself clothes so pink the space shuttle could see 'em! I told you to get weapons and you bought a fucking fork! When we were on the bridge, you flew off at those birds without giving us a word of what you were planning! And yes, I know getting bodyswapped wasn't really your fault, but you did know better than touching that goddam vending machine! And you did it anyway! Because you knew we'd haul your ass outta trouble. Just like after you turned into a blood-colored, hoof-fingered goat-for-a-head thing. 'Oh lah-dee-dah! What a lovely adventure this will be!' Piff, were you fucking BLIND to how wrecked-up Zinc was over that!? He loves you! Empty head and all! And seeing you in a frightsuit like that, not knowing when you'd turn back, if ever, was tearing him inside out!!!"

Tears were pouring down the hamsterfly's cheeks. Junella's tidal wave of words had left her shaking. But she did not argue or disagree. Instead she turned slowly to Zinc and asked him, "What she said... Is it true?"

The canine sighed and leaned over, ears drooping. "Some of that was too harsh. But that's my partner's specialty, so it's to be expected." He and the skunk exchanged glances. Hers said, 'I am not going to apologize'. His said, 'You don't need to.'

Zinc turned his eyes back to Piffle. He held her paw gently between his wrenches. "Though I'm guessing you mean that last part. About me. And yes, every word of that was on the money. 'Cept I don't think your head's empty. I think you're just... too optimistic for your own good. Sure, you're sure everything's gonna turn up roses. But there I was, seeing you all red and hairy and gangly. And like Juney said, how was I sposta know how long it'd last? Aside from worrying how much it'd detour our trip, I was split in two. I was trying to tell myself, 'Looks don't matter!' and 'Don't be shallow!', but I gotta be honest. I couldn't bring myself to hug you when you were... that thing. It wasn't a choice; I couldn't. And that ripped my heart out, really, because what if this meant the two of us were over?"

Her eyes shone with tears. She had no idea she'd put him through all that.

"Plus..." He couldn't look at her as he said it. "...what if the next one's irreversible? How can we be together if I have to worry about that all the time?"

Piffle bit her lip as she listened. Then she sniffed back a sob and turned her head away. "So. I guess I'm too much trouble. You all don't like me now."

Zinc snarled. "Don't DO that!! You know damn well we do! Juney just said she knows I love you, and did you hear me argue? I do. We all do."

Doll reached over to pat Piffle's leg, letting her know she agreed.

"We just..." Zinc trailed off, not knowing how to word it.

Toby cleared his throat.

The others looked at him.

He spoke in as calm and neutral a tone as he could. "I wanted to keep out of this until I'd heard both sides. Now that I have, I think what Zinc's trying to say, Piffle, is that we all still like you, and that's why we're saying this."

The hamsterfly looked confused, but eager for him to continue.

"I agree with Junella. She said a lot of hard things to me too when I screwed up. Not because she wanted me to leave, but because she wanted me to get better. The things she said hurt at first. It took me a while to accept some of them. Days, actually. But eventually I did and I'm glad."

Junella nodded. "Piff," she said gently, "I know I'm a bitter pill to swallow. But Toby's right. I don't want you to stop being you. Please understand, it's not enough for you to know everything'll work out for you in the end. Because what happens to you, happens to all of us. You, Piffle, are now part of an 'us'."

The others saw Piffle's whole mood change. She'd been about to nosedive into a crying fit, but hearing Junella of all people say that she was really and truly a part of their group brought happy tears to her compound eyes. She sniffled and wiped her face on a hanky. "I didn't think of it that way. I guess... I guess it's because I've been lonely for so long! It was always just me 'n mom. Or one friend at a time. I don't rilly remember my life before here, but I think maybe it was always like that. I guess that means I need practice being an 'us', huh?" She turned to the mouse next to her. "Toby, you were stuck in a bedroom all your life, yet you seem to fit in okay. How do you do it?"

He shrugged. "That's a good question. Now that you bring it up, I'm kinda surprised I haven't been even more of a dork this whole time." He thought for a moment. "Maybe it's because I started out accepting that. I knew I'd be clueless in basically every situation here, so I asked a lot of questions and made sure I listened to the answers."

"You have been a quick study," Zinc acknowledged, nodding. Then a lightbulb went off. He took Piffle's hand in his. "I think I just hit on what it is I'm hoping you can work on."

She leaned towards him, ears open. "Please, tell me! I really, really want to make sure I'm not a nuisance! I care about all of you! What can I do better?"

He brought her paw to his chest. "Just, let us in on things more. Ask first if somethin's a good idea. Like with the damn birds. You went whooshing away like a bullet, and for a moment there I didn't know what the hell you were thinking! If you'd've said, 'I'll go distract 'em while you pick 'em off', that woulda been perfect."

She nodded like an attentive pupil. "I'll keep that in mind. And I do apologize. I assumed I was just always gonna be bait, automatic-like."

"Not always," he assured.

Toby reached over to pat Piffle's shoulder. "You've done a lot of good stuff for us too. Remember when we were about to go off the road in Hypovolemia and you slammed us back to safety? That was amazing!"

Zinc nodded. "Busted your shoulder up too."

"That's right, I did!" Piffle remembered, and gave it a rub.

Toby was glad to see her cheerfulness returning. For a moment there she'd been a lot more fragile than he'd ever seen before. "Plus you escaped from Dr. Dacryphilia all by yourself. You forked the hell out of that convorine. And when Zinc was tipping the mall, you helped me keep away the security guards."

Junella leaned back, relaxing finally. "And of course, you've got a bit of skill with a willwell."

Piffle nodded to that, modestly. Then she stood and hugged Junella. "Thanks for bein' frank with me."

"Thanks for being willing to listen," the skunk replied.

When Piffle sat back down, a note was waiting from Doll:

YOU'Ve AlwAYS BeeN There fOr Me

New tears came to Piffle's eyes.

The mood in the car had been fully repaired. They were back to being a team. Toby was a little disappointed George couldn't be here sharing the moment with them, but knew the stallion was doubtlessly having his own life-changing conversation with L'roon. Toby certainly wouldn't want to pull him away from that. 'I'll fill him in later.' And... there was something else he supposed he'd be telling George later too.

Zinc and Junella hashed a few more things out with Piffle, ending with the canine receiving another whopper of a smooch. He asked Toby if they could swap seats. Zinc eased in beside Piffle with his wrench around her, while Toby noticed just how wide and dented the co-pilot's chair was (especially the armrests).

The mouse leaned forward after he sensed everyone was settled comfortably. "Guys, I told you earlier I wanted to wait to talk about this, but..." He shrugged. "With all the honesty floating around now, I think maybe it's time already. Something important happened to me in Dysania."

Zinc chuckled. "Yeah, man. I noticed a change in you right after we showed up. Were you out in the desert having a vision quest, like the Indians?"

He shook his head. "No. More like, I finally let myself see something that had been there all along."

And so, as George trundled them along across the seemingly-endless dunes, Toby told his friends everything. Starting with the bathtub, he went on to spill the real truth about his mother, her madness, his pills, his 'illnesses', and his father. He received comforting touches throughout his story, from fur, steel, vinyl, and plastic. But he barely felt them. He was concentrating on the memories, making sure he was relaying them accurately. No longer from the view of a trapped and helpless prisoner, but from a bird's eye outsider, looking down at the situation and seeing all its ugliness objectively. Toby told his friends why he'd been refusing his own confidence all this time. He told them about his dream in the Sleepeteria. He looked Junella dead in the eye and told her she'd been 100% right about Munchausen Syndrome Byproxy.

"Fuckin' told you," she snorted.

Toby was startled by her bluntness, then noticed she'd only been teasing, and her eyes shone a gentle understanding to him.

"I may have jammed that particular truth into you with too much blunt force. I'm glad it eventually did you some good though," she sang.

"It did," he assured. He took a long, deep breath, feeling winded. Spotting the cornucopia, he wished himself a glass of milk to soothe his dry throat. But he wasn't yet finished. "And because I'm being honest, and because I don't have any excuse for holding it in anymore, I have to tell you guys... I have no idea why I'm going to Anasarca anymore."

Several startled reactions.

No one looked furious at him though, so that had gone better than expected. "I know I already brought this up just before we left Ectopia Cordis. But at the time, I thought for sure if I agreed to go on, I'd start feeling some faith in the decision eventually. I haven't. After all that's happened, all I'm absolutely certain of is that I cannot choose between staying and leaving. Phobiopolis is terrifying, but I feel like I've lived more in my few weeks here than I ever did on Earth. Yet maybe if I went home, I could finally escape and do something with my life. Assuming I still have one left to go to! That's another thing; if a coma sent me here, who knows if I'm still in it? My body could be dead and buried for all I know. I'd come back to nothing but suffocation in a casket. Then right back here again. Or maybe somewhere else. Away from you. I'd have thrown everything away for nothing."

Noticing the mouse's hands quivering, Junella put a steadying paw on his knee. "Most people who end up here try for a while to find a way home. They all think they're gonna be the one Jack special enough to discover the big secret. There's a reason they all stop tryin' eventually."

"That's real cheery, Junebug," Zinc huffed. "Have you noticed we're well over halfway to the mountain by now? We've gotten farther than almost anyone. Give us some credit."

Toby nodded. "Yes. And that's why I want us to still keep going."

Several 'huh?'s.

Piffle kneaded her paws. "But you said your heart didn't know if it wants to go or stay."

Toby looked up at her, and the quivering left every part of him. His eyes were calmer and clearer than she'd ever seen them before. "It doesn't. But I do know, I want this trip to have meant something. If not for me, then for you guys, or maybe to inspire someone else. I don't want us to just say 'oh well' and turn around. If we can get to the mountain, then let's try. If nothing else, we'll have a story that'll last the rest of our lives. Something we can tell the whole world when we return. And maybe... Maybe I won't know my decision until I'm standing in front of Aldridge and the words come out of my mouth."

Doll nodded, then clapped her small gloved hands.

He smirked bashfully and did a little bow.

Junella sighed though. "I hate to always be the dark cloud over your silver lining, but are you sure you know what you're choosing, Toby? We're about to hit Dysphoria. Everything we've already been through'll be a candy shop compared to it."

He nodded solemnly. "I was willing to go through it before," he said solemnly. "I'm scared, yeah. But I guess if I don't go in, I'll know forever I chickened out."

"There is no shame in that," she countered firmly. "Is it 'chickening out' to not stick your tongue in a light socket? Or slam it in a car door?"

"Fair point," he conceded.

Meanwhile, Zinc was fidgeting. He had been honest with Piffle, Junella too, and then Toby had spilled his guts. It seemed now was a time for letting go of secrets. And there was still one floating around. "Partner, maybe it's time for some full disclosure about that, huh?"

She arched an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"Don't you think it's time we told the kid why we agreed to this job in the first place?"

Toby swiveled towards Junella. "Excuse me? Weren't you the one who told me at the start 'no secrets'?"

Junella ignored him and glared daggers at Zinc for bringing it up. "That's not relevant information."

Zinc stomped the floor. "If it's not important then why not let him hear it!? He deserves to!"

Piffle shrank back. She'd never heard Zinc talk to Junella like that before.

The skunk narrowed her eyes at her partner. "Howzabout you stop givin' me static and you tell him if you're so damn eager?"

"Thank you. I will." Zinc angled towards Toby. He took a moment to steady himself. Reaching into the cornucopia, he brought out a beer. "The truth is," he said, pooping the tab, "we know this road so well because we've been down it already. We got close to the mountain once. A taste of Dysphoria. And that was all we came back with."

Toby nodded. "I think I already figured that out."

The canine chuckled a little. Toby was no fool. "Didn't tell you why though." He reached for a bit of tree jerky to cram in his mouth to make the telling easier. "A long time back, we got hired by this rich family whose boy went in there, trying to make a name for himself. Instead he got AWOL. They were willing to pay us more imaginite than we thought existed if we could get him back. So we went. We thought a real smart pair like us, we could handle it. But we were ants chasing a tank. Amoebas. We failed our mission one-hundred-percent. We didn't prepare nearly enough. And what's worse, we even saw him for just a second. A glimpse of a shit-smeared, gibbering lunatic. Then one of Dysphoria's rooms took him away and left us dangling. We were ragdolls when we came out. Spent a few days crapping our pants, rolling on the floor outside the maze. True crazy. Then we had to crawl all the way back home and tell the kid's parents we failed. We paid back their advance in return for them keeping shut about it. If anyone asked, we acted like it never happened." The canine hung his head, his tone growing even more bitter. "But we've always been pissed at the place. Toby, you gave us an excuse to go back and settle a grudge. A grudge against a fucking place! That's like a pitcher getting pissed at gravity 'cause of a bad call!"

Toby was silent. He sat stiffly in the passenger seat, not knowing if this changed things or not. Finally he asked Junella, "Is it true?"

She looked past him out the window. Her body language was silent. Her eyes showed that she was traveling back in time, to a place that had broken her. The memory hurt. "Don't make me say it," she whispered.

He nodded, and didn't push further.

Piffle ran her paw along Zinc's wrench. "I'm sorry you didn't find him."

He shook his head. "We were stupid to think we could. Dysphoria keeps what it eats."

No one said a word for a while. The only sound in the car was the sound of skates over soap, and the indistinct mumble of George and L'roon continuing to converse.

Then Zinc looked up from the carpet. "Still wanna try it, Toby?"

The mouse looked into his friend's haunted eyes. Suddenly he felt a strange anger overcome him. He nodded. "I think I do."

"Why?" Junella asked.

He didn't know. Yet he was certain. It was something his deepest heart insisted he had to trust. "Not to settle your score. Not to get famous when we get back. Not even for me. But just because..." He blanked. His jaw trembled. Then he thought maybe he knew, even if he couldn't think of a nicer way to word it. "...because fuck that place for making everyone so scared!"

Zinc sat up, his ears peaking. He couldn't hold back a guffaw at Toby's unexpected profanity. "Well, yeah, I suppose that's a decent enough reason."

Junella smiled at Toby too. "You know what you're risking?"

He shrugged. "I probably can't know. Not really. Maybe if I did, I wouldn't be saying this. But then again, I haven't known the risks for a lot of stuff I've already done here, and I've turned out okay so far."

"It will change you," she warned.

"All the changes I've been through so far hurt at first, and then I got better from them."

Piffle could empathize with that completely. Though a wry smile came to her face. "Hey, weren't you guys just callin' me on the carpet a few minutes ago for doin' crazy dangerous stuff?"

"Yes, but we're discussing it first!" Toby pointed out.

Zinc snerked. Piffle giggled. Even Junella grinned. Soon everyone in the car was sharing a laugh.

Toby looked around and realized that, even without a secret handshake or a solemn vow, they had just made a pact with one another. They were in this together.

All the way to the end, whatever that might be.

***

Outside in the soapy air, George overheard their laughter and smiled.

"What do you think they're talking about in there?" L'roon mused.

"Oh, likely something lighthearted. Something to pass the time. Now, can you tell me more about the potions?"

"Absolutely." It was lovely having someone to show off to. "The core of each comes from the same will that a soul may direct at a piece of imaginite. Except you have to intercept it before it gets there, and put it in a jar like a butterfly. Then it must be fed to make it grow."

George tilted his head. "I never would have guessed!"

-***-

62

Toby opened his eyes and saw a dead man's face staring back at him.

"Eek!"

He tilted his gaze around and realized he was lying with his head in the lap of a smiling, ruby-eyed furball. "Okay, that's a nicer view."

Piffle giggled. "I should certainly hope so!"

Toby blinked a hell of a lot. He was horizontal in the backseat of the Fearsleigher, but he didn't remember how he'd ended up there. Apparently he'd dozed off and Piffle had opted to volunteer as a bed.

Doll was seated on the floor. She'd been experimenting, and had discovered that her new gloves counted as cover just as well as her bag. She'd torn one hand-hole in the burlap and was working on the second. This would mean no more trying to write with her pad hidden. She hoped her handwriting would improve.

The zombie was still leering, mashing its face flat, fogging the glass with acrid breath. It was lumpy all over, looking like someone had diced it with a chainsaw only to drunkenly slap it back together again with duct tape. Hunks of fur stuck out from the silver bandages. The thing moaned in hunger, and Toby had a feeling it would not take what it wanted with any of the consideration L'roon had showed.

'Speaking of that...' He patted his face. Yep. Patch still there, eyeball still gone. Although his lack of depth perception should have clued him into that already. He was a bit surprised it hadn't regrown in his sleep.

The zombie continued to moan and mess up the window until a large set of wrench jaws entered from stage right and clamped onto its head. A moment later the rotting thing became airborne. It landed with a clattering splash in the festering swamp.

Zinc shook bits of face off his wrenchjaws before pulling his arm back in and re-rolling the window. He swiveled his seat. "Say hey! Looks like someone finally decided to sail back from dreamland!"

Toby blushed and sat up. "Hey."

Zinc gave him a mock-threatening squint. "You been makin' eyes at my girl back there?"

Toby smirked, then pointed at his patch. "Can't. 'Eye', singular."

Zinc guffawed. Piffle too.

Junella was concentrating on driving, but looked back long enough to give Toby a nod.

"I don't even remember falling asleep. How long was I out?"

"A while," Junella said. "We figured we'd let you rest after so much soap and soul searching."

"L'roon left an hour ago," Zinc added.

That sparked a memory. "L'roon!" Toby squawked. "I forgot to tell him where I got my hammer!!"

Zinc held up his wrenches. "Chill pill! I told him for you. When we reached the edge of the desert, we got out and him 'n George were still talkin' that crazy moon man language of theirs, giggling like kids. We practically had to pry 'em apart with a crowbar. L'roon didn't forget about Bonky though, so I gave him the score."

"Please stop calling my hammer that."

Zinc continued without batting an eye. "I told him all about Dorster 'n Alfonzo. He was intrigued. Said he might swing by Coryza one of these days. Said he usually keeps to the sticks since city folk are harder to bamboozle."

"And I told him all about my fork!" Piffle said proudly. "Couldn't show it off though. You were already using me for a pillow by then, so I might've poked right through you!"

"Thank you for not shish-kebabing my head," Toby told her.

"You're welcome. And I hope I was comfy."

A confirming nod.

"By the way, we got a new name to add to our map," Zinc told the mouse. "Toby, you're the first one of us to ever set paw in Dysania."

"I wouldn't have minded skipping that honor," he said dryly.

"Juney 'n I never knew it existed. 'Pparently it's one of those places you can shoot right by on the outside, but once you're in, it's a hell of a lot bigger. L'roon said it's about the only spot around here you can take a long walk and not worry about gettin' mugged."

A memory flashed in Toby's mind, of asking Piffle whether there was anyplace safe in Phobiopolis. 'Turns out there is, just not for your nose.' "Okay. So where are we now?" He sniffed, hoping they were far away from soap. They were, but, "What stinks so bad?"

"Heh." Zinc turned back around to make sure he'd rolled the window up completely. "That would be the vomit swamp. Runs all around Rhinolith like a moat. Chock fulla zombies, like rat turds in your morning oatmeal. They ain't been too much trouble yet, but sometimes they climb up on the skate blades where George can't aim the gatling at 'em." He clinked his wrench-jaws together. "Then we gotta get manual. Junella even shot a few. You must'a been really sleepy."

Toby blinked in bewilderment. "I don't remember any of it. I didn't even dream.  I guess that desert took a lot more out of me than I realized." Something else occurred. "Although I also didn't get much sleep last night. Monster-killing practice is hardly relaxing." Something else occurred. "...Where did my makeshift noseplugs go?"

Piffle 'eep'ed. Her face turned into a perfect portrait of shame. In solemn tones she said, "Toby, I hope very much you can forgive me, but I ate the gummi worms."

He blinked a lot. "Of all the oddball things I've seen you do, Piffle, that might be the oddest."

She hid her face behind her paws. "I hadn't had any in ages! They looked delicious!"

A loud shout came from the front of the Fearsleigher. "Is Sire Toby awake!?"

"Yes he is, George," Junella replied.

The noble construct had to raise his voice above the violent sloshing of his tires through the odious swamp, but was glad to do so. "Let him know that I owe him a thousand thanks for introducing me to Sir L'roon! We had a marvelous talk together! Absolutely marvelous! And also, tell him to be grateful that he's not up here with me at the moment!"

Toby cringed at the thought of what George was driving them through. The sour odor of spoiled milk and parmesan cheese had wafted in despite the windows being shut tight. He poked his head between the front seats to be more audible. "You're welcome, George! And I'm sorry you're in a vomit swamp!"

The stallion laughed in a 'C'est la vie' kind of way. "I have been through worse! Though I think I'd greatly enjoy being sandblasted top to bottom after we exit." He paused to flamethrower another duct tape zombie. "...I think I'd also enjoy if these damnable undead were extinct!"

Junella patted the dash. "Not much farther if I remember right. Twenty minutes, tops."

George snorted acknowledgment.

Toby admired his steadfastness. "I hope you and L'roon learned a lot from each other. And I hope you feel less alone now. I've got more stuff to tell you too. Personal stuff. Or did you already get filled in?"

"I was given a summary of events. But as to personal matters, Madam Brox thought it best for you to inform me directly."

"I will soon, I promise." Toby nodded thanks to the skunk. "I appreciate that."

"Thought you would. Can you imagine half the stuff you said comin' outta my mouth?" She chuckled.

He did too and sat back down.

George firesnorted another zombie. "Begone foul nuisance!"

"Toby..." Piffle spoke softly.

He looked over. "Yes?"

"I was thinkin'. About the amulet you had. About your wishes." She spoke her words carefully, like arranging blocks in a row. "You could have asked for anything. Anything. All the imaginite in the world. Being rich as Rockefeller, or strong as Hercules." She leaned closer. "Instead, you wished for us."

He blinked. "I hadn't really thought about it."

"I think it says something important about you that you did."

He hadn't considered it that way. "Thank you for saying so. It wasn't even a choice really. It was automatic."

Piffle nodded as if that didn't surprise her. "You might have been able to wish yourself home right then and there. But being with us meant more to you."

Toby went silent. It was a bit stunning to realize that possibility had been on the table, yet he hadn't even thought to reach for it.

"I woulda done the same," Zinc said. "Given the choice myself, I woulda wished for Juney in a heartbeat." He grinned. "Then probably a few new cars."

Toby chuckled, smiling at the friendly mutt. "Hey, Piffle, if you had two wishes, and one of them was to be back with friends- and they didn't explode the first time- what would you use the other one on?"

She put a finger to her lips. "Jeepers, that's a toughie. Maybe a big candy palace for all my friends to live in?"

"But what would you do about ants?" Zinc kidded.

Junella piped up from the front seat, "If I had a wish, I'd wanna be eight hundred feet tall. I could go anydamnwhere I wanted, and if any nightmares got in my way I could flatten 'em to gunk under my boots!"

George boomed a laugh. "I fully understand the desire!"

Piffle reached down to pat Doll's head. "I think we can all guess what you'd wish for."

She looked up at Piffle and nodded. Then she showed off her hands. She was able to wiggle her green-gloved fingers with everyone looking right at her.

Piffle applauded. "Congratulations! Even if Aldridge doesn't have a sure-fire fix, we'll beat that nasty curse piece by piece anyhow!"

Doll gave that a thumbs-up.

"What about you, Toby? What if you'd had an extra wish?" Piffle asked.

The mouse went blank for a moment. "I dunno. I've already made mine, and I don't regret them. So I'm out of ideas." He sat back up and kneaded his hands together. "Though, I'll admit, I am starting to feel a flutter in my stomach when I think about what I'm gonna be sending us into. Could, maybe, one of you give me a pep talk? Like, reinforce that I'm not just insane?"

Zinc sniggered, "Oh, you are. We all are. But maybe Aldridge'll make it worth it."

"Yes, tell me about him! What are all these legends I keep hearing about?" Toby asked.

The canine crossed his wrenches behind his head and got comfortable. "Awright. But keep in mind, all the stuff I'm gonna tell you happened centuries ago, at a time when people were more worried about keeping themselves ungobbled than keeping accurate records, dig?" He considered how to begin. "Essentially... Aldridge was a builder. A lot of people helped turn this craphole afterlife into something halfway livable. He did a lot more than most. Coryza's walls? He helped with those. The market town? He helped gather all the scattered cats in the badlands so they could keep each other goin'. He invented a bunch of stuff too. Though lots more's attributed to him just 'cause he's Aldridge and no one really knows for sure. 'Eh, probably him'. But he did come up with the eye-cages some towns use to look out for nightmares. And he started the vermillion."

"Right, the mouse mail." Toby remembered Junella picking up letters at the Tatterdemalion. "How do they know where to take everything?"

Zinc smiled a 'let me demonstrate' smile. He leaned down to Doll and asked to borrow her notepad. It was a challenge to scribble on the tiny paper in an enclosed space like this, but Zinc was skillful in manipulating his wrenches. "Simple, really. I know who I'm writing to, right? So then the paper knows who it's supposed to go to. All I gotta do is say, 'I have some mail I'd like to send!' And..." The nearest hole was his own mouth, and a little white mouse leapt out of it to perch expectantly on his knee. Zinc folded the note and placed it between the tiny paws. The mouse turned, leapt, and vanished into the cornucopia. "Simple, huh?" He gave Doll back her writing supplies.

A second later, Piffle felt something wriggling in her jacket pocket. The mouse popped out, presented her with Zinc's note, and ran for Toby.

Toby had a brief alarming mental image and covered up his crotch and backside. The nonev dove into his ear nonetheless and he squirmed all over. "That felt weird!!"

Piffle unfolded the note, blushed crimson, and quickly stuffed it out of sight.

Zinc shot a wink at her.

She pretended to be scandalized, but couldn't hold back a grin.

"Anyway, you don't get famous just for doin' good deeds. Not unless there's lots of good fights and explosions goin' on," Zinc continued. "What Aldridge is most known for, is the war."

"I'd heard people mention it," Toby recalled.

"It ended up kinda like a bracket challenge," Zinc described. Then, realizing the term might not be in Toby's wheelhouse, cocked his head at him. "Know what that is?"

"I was never much into sports, but you watch enough TV, you pick things up by osmosis."

The canine nodded. "Right. So, back in them granddaddy days, most people were just wandering around trying not to go insane or die too much. But some of 'em started figuring out the rules of this place. How to bend them. They were wizards and sorceresses back then, even though lots of their tricks are standard practice now." He clicked his wrenchtips and produced an ace of spades. "You think mindfuckin' just comes naturally?"

Toby was a bit flabbergasted. He'd taken the idea for granted, but it made perfect sense that there must have been a time before Phobiopolans discovered it. It'd seem like random chance at first. Once a few people could master it intentionally, they probably would look like wizards.

"The war was like..." Zinc hunched over and gestured like he was moving armies around an invisible map. "Sometimes the wizards battled one-on-one, sometimes they hypnotized other people to do it. But like I said about the brackets, what eventually started happening was that the powerful people got SO powerful, there was nothin' left to do but start bumpin' each other off." He mimed a shady character's paranoia."'Maybe he's planning to X me out, so I'd better X him first', y'know? Some got vanished for good. Some got depowered. Or mindwiped. Others got smart and hid till it blew over, pretending to be average joes. Only a few big names are still remembered. Aldridge, obviously. Scaphis Tarrare, Porterhouse Antonio, Ike Fanshaw, Janie Jing... Luxy, obviously, though he was more like an anti-wizard. The others'd use tricks, Luxy stuck to good ol' fashioned knives. There was even this guy called Burl Blacker who, no one remembers exactly what he did, but his name gets tossed around like he's the monster under everyone's bed."

Toby was enthralled. There was so much more to Phobiopolis he'd never even glimpsed. "Are there books about this anywhere? Museums?"

"Some. Problem is, a lot of 'em were made after the fact. So the information contained's about as reliable as fairy tales."

Toby nodded. Chunks of any place's history seemed to be like that.

Zinc used his wrenches to indicate large camps slowly dwindling down to two remaining contenders. "It all came down to Aldy and Scaphis. She's the one who used to call EC home before Luxy gave her the boot. By all accounts, she was the real deal tell-your-kids-stories-about-her-to-make-'em-behave kinda thing. She and Aldridge were in an arms race to have more power than anyone else. They were getting so they could mindfuck whole buildings into existence. Will people to do anything. Wave wands and change the weather. Some people say their fighting created Dysphoria, others claim it was always there. No way to be sure."

Toby was on the edge of his seat, imagining epic battles of cosmic proportions. The stuff of myth, or religions. "I guess I don't have to ask who won."

"You don't see Scaphis doin' shows no more, if that's what you mean. No one knows how or exactly when, but one day it was all over. Aldridge came out on top, and then he left."

"Left?"

The Fearsleigher stopped abruptly.

"ZINC!" came from the driver's seat.

"Hold that thought," he said to Toby. Junella did not sound pleased. The mutt swiveled his seat around, about to ask what was up, and had that question answered immediately.

From Toby's angle, the mouse couldn't see anything but sky. "Do I even wanna know?"

Piffle peeked out the side. "Looks like eighty kazillion zombie coppers."

A convention of them. About a hundred yards dead ahead there stood an uncountable number of zombies, all posed like motionless mannequins in the hip-deep vomit of the swamp. They made no ripples in the yellowish "water" surrounding them. The swamp's only vegetation was the thick clusters of grey dead trees. The zombies were just as still.

They showed no indication of having sensed the Fearsleigher. That was good news, as every last one of them was dressed in tattered black uniforms with white crash helmets. Some had golden badges dangling from their jackets, or their flesh. Almost all of them were wearing the wide, mirrored sunglasses of a highway patrol officer (which should have been impossible considering how few of them still had noses or ears). Most of them looked like the bugs had picked them pretty clean. Skeletal arms or faces. Jaws hanging down like door knockers.

Toby was standing up now, looking past the front seats. "Why are they all here?"

Junella shrugged. "Maybe we've got a broken taillight." She asked Zinc, "Looks like, what, a few hundred?"

He shook his head. "Too many trees in the way. Can't really tell. But probly."

"I could try to go around them," George suggested.

"Yes, George. Definitely. And quietly." Zombies did not normally worry Junella Brox, especially ones so moth-eaten. But the problem with zombies was always their numbers. A half-dozen were no problem. The few they'd encountered so far were spaced enough apart that picking them off was leisurely entertainment. But a swarm of them was no longer fun. And she was not keen on finding out what so many pigsticks could do to the car.

George looked left and right as far as his piercing eyes could see. Not far, admittedly. The dead trees were thick as bramble bushes out here. He did not like this smelly place and was not happy about having to prolong his time here tiptoeing. He was very tempted to simply light himself on fire and go charging straight through. But he had passengers to consider. He did not want the necrotic officers busting out his windows and climbing in to eat the occupants. There was no dry land in sight, and no path looked better than any other. He chose left randomly and began cautiously circling around the gathering of upright corpses.

Either he was not stealthy enough, or it was simple bad luck, but he hadn't gotten fifteen feet before they noticed him.

Try to imagine the sound of two hundred heads all swiveling sharply on dry necks. Like all the gears of the world's largest paper clock.

In a unity that synchronized swimmers would have killed for, the zombie cops all raised their truncheons. A few that still had lips blew whistles, and then the whole black and white mass of them came surging through the swamp towards the Fearsleigher, screaming as loud as they could.

"OH FOR FUCKING OUT LOUD!!" Junella hollered in exasperation.

George didn't even wait for her command. He fled as fast as the vomit around his ankles would let him.

These were not like the duct-taped variety they'd already met. The cop zombies were as fast as the living. And while a man on foot cannot hope to beat a horsedrawn carriage in a race, a stampede of several hundred were a different story. The undead army sloshed relentlessly through the thick bile around them, swinging their sticks and groaning out a rasping, slurred chant of, "Pull ov-er! Pull ov-er!" The smoggy sunlight glinted off their sunglasses.

Zinc clanked his wrenches against the sides of his head. "Ya know, just a second ago I was thinking, 'Maybe they're not even zombies. Maybe they're just, like, scarecrows. Yeah. Wouldn't that be lucky?' But noooo! Couldn't be that damn simple!"

Junella kept her eyes glued to the side mirror. She watched the horde of undead pigs churning the puke to froth as they scrambled after the car. At least some of them were stumbling in the deep sludge and getting trampled by the others. But of course, just like the Hell's Bozo's, they wouldn't stay down forever. She caressed George's door panel in appreciation. He was doing a damn good job of keeping a steady pace through the thick muck. "Folks, we might outrun them or we might not. There's a hell of a lot, and this is not the best terrain for speed. I say we expect the worst and start getting ready now."

Zinc nodded. "I'm with you. Got any ideas?"

She fixed him a withering look. "Ideas? Gee, I don't know. Maybe the great big 'fuck you' gatling gun we've got on our roof? Plus a hybrid nightmare vehicle who knows how to use it?"

George perked up. "That is a wonderful suggestion, Madam Brox! I shall implement it with extreme pleasure!" He couldn't see behind him, but that didn't matter. He simply swung the barrel around to the back and let it rip.

BBBRRRRRRRRTTTT!!!

The zombies' front lines turned into an explosion of black and red confetti. Helmets went flying like graduation caps. Piffle shouted encouragement. "Way to go!"

Junella swiveled around. "Did we get them all!?" she dared to hope.

"No, but George took out a whole bunch! And-" Her tone flattened. "Oh dear. They're splitting up."

The skunk checked her mirrors. The zombies were parting like the red sea, tromping off to the right and left, trying to box in the Fearsleigher. This would not be like the Bozo battle where the road kept their enemies in a straight line behind them. "Fucksicles!" Junella punched her thigh. "I can't stand smart zombies!!"

"I shall try again!" George called out.

BRRRT! BRRRRTT! BBRRRRTT! He spun the gun around like a ballerina, alternating short bursts of fire on the right and left. He could see a little through his side mirrors, but most of the zombies were in his blind spot.

Piffle had her face shoved against the back window. "You got some, George! But they're still a-comin'!"

Toby was right behind Junella's seat. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

She considered, but came up dry. "For now just siddown till I can think up something. Thanks for askin' though."

He saluted, sat, and kept alert to instructions.

Junella looked past the passenger window and could see there was a whole new batch of fuzz up ahead, eager to join the swarm. "Just peaches and cream all over... Zinc! You think those shoulder-blenders you got would help?"

"Sure, but I can only protect one side of us. There ain't a good angle to get both knockers in action without crushing the car between 'em."

The skunk thought a bit. She licked her lips. "Hand one over."

His eyebrows shot up. "Juney!! That's gonna hurt like the devil's prick in yer eye!"

She didn't flinch. "They oughtta work just as well with my blood as yours, right? This way we'll cover both our flanks." She smirked. "And 'sides, I've been a little jealous of 'em this whole time."

He whistled, like 'you don't know what you're getting into.' But he knew his partner's stubborn will. So he popped his left doorknocker out and extracted its long, sharp needle from his shoulder.

Junella's eyes got a little bigger. She hadn't known exactly how those things stayed on until now. She gulped, but wasn't about to show fear. She took the surprisingly-heavy lump of metal into her hands while Zinc extracted the chain and ball from his backflesh. She was beginning to regret asking for this. She belatedly remembered that Zinc had an almost-supernatural pain threshold, whereas she usually preferred pain-avoidance by killing whatever was about to inflict it.

In between gatling blasts, Junella shouted to the backseat. "Piffle! Reach around the seat and hold this in place for me! And Toby, check the ceiling hatch. We oughtta have some fresh-baked caltrops by now."

"Aye-aye!" both said in harmony.

When Toby opened the hatch, a bulging basket came down, nearly spilling all over the carpet. If they'd waited any longer to jettison them, the overflow might have jammed the mechanism. Toby rolled down the car window and immediately cringed as a faceful of vomit-stink hit him. "Gack!!" He tossed handfuls of caltrops at the zombies till the basket was empty, then sealed the window back up as quickly as he could. The smell of this place was unspeakable. Almost as maddening as Dysania.

Piffle had her shoulder to the front seat, keeping the doorknocker steady for Junella. The skunk eyed the six-inch syringe extending from its center. She knew her blood had to get inside it somehow, but still...

"You don't have to," Zinc said with concern.

She smiled like she was trying to convince mostly herself. "Anticipation's always worse, right?"  She sucked in a deep breath, lined up her shoulder, then threw herself onto the doorknocker with all her strength.

One of the benefits of speaking via record grooves is that, so long as you keep your hands occupied, your shrieks of excruciating pain come out perfectly silent. Junella had tears in her eyes. The pain was considerably worse than her anticipation of it. She'd managed to bend the steering wheel into a slight oval.

Zinc cringed with his whole body. "Stings, don't it?"

She was cross-eyed in agony. Her head slowly rotated towards him and her tooth-grinding grin was horrifying. She merely nodded at his understatement.

"Think it'll work though?"

She would have to find out very soon, because just then they heard the first WHOK! of a billy club smacking their right skate.

George twitched sideways and the skate-blade split the zombie nicely in half. But more would come soon. The officers had spread out in their pursuit. No more clumping together where he could gun down a dozen at a time. They were darting behind trees, making use of the environment. He had to give them some degree of respect for that. His opponents were at least marginally unstupid.

Toby had an idea. Maybe they could spin the skate blades around and dice the cops like a buzzsaw. 'Though, wait...' As badass as that sounded, he remembered what had happened when they'd done that to slow their fall in Lumbago. He shook his head. Not worth it.

Junella turned back around to unroll her window. "You ready, Zinc?"

"Born ready," he rogered. He reached out his window as well, bracing his wrench against the side door. "They're easy to use. Will-powered. Just get the engine up to speed, hold on tight, then engage the chain when the pigs close in."

She nodded to him, then drew in a deep breath. Inside she was terrified she'd screw this up and tear the car to shreds, but she didn't let it show. "George, hold up a bit. Let some of 'em catch up."

"I hope that is wise," he said warily, but obeyed.

Junella tried to feel the doorknocker as part of her own body. She jumped at the suddenness of the motor coming to life.

The zombies seemed to rally at the sight of their prey slowing. They waved their truncheons even harder, their gurgling voices rising.

In just a few seconds, Piffle, Doll and Toby were all flinching at the impacts of dozens of batons bashing the Fearsleigher's back and sides. WHOK! WHOK! WHOK! They could feel the car rock back and forth as the undead began to climb on.

The cops clustered around, climbing over one another, shearing some of their own kind into pieces against the sharpened skate blades. The Fearsleigher's windows grew dark. The zombies were like a living carpet of dead flesh.

Sweat ran down Zinc's neck. "Now, Junebug!?"

Junella saw a fleshless face float towards the window. A ragged hand raised its weapon. Teeth fell out of its jawbone as the zombie officer gasped, "Yuh arr un-dar arrr-rest!"

"Like hell I am," she said, and engaged the flails.

Except they didn't.

The doorknocker puked out a sticky gurgle of her vinyl blood and did nothing but click.

Junella's eyes shrunk to pinpricks.

Three things happened in quick sequence.

1: The zombie trooper lunged at Junella.

2: Zinc yanked her out of its way.

3: Toby leapt forward on sheer instinct and his hammer cleaved the cop's face in twain.

Panic and rage made a tornado inside Junella's mind. She landed in a heap between the front seats. "Why didn't it work!?" she gouged out.

"Hell if I know!!" Zinc wailed. "Your blood's too thick maybe?"

Another cop started pulling its faceless comrade out of the side window so it could have a try. Several more were reaching in for Zinc.

For a moment the canine felt helpless confusion. He saw the windows growing dark as cops surrounded them. Saw Piffle and Toby looking horrified. Saw his partner enraged and in pain. Then a spark lit off inside him. His heart growled like an engine. He reached over to yank his doorknocker out of Junella and shove it into his own meat.

"I'll be right back," he said in a low grunt, and stepped out of the car.

Toby shouted. "ZINC!!"

Hands swarmed him. Rotting fingers tried fruitlessly to snap handcuffs on his wrenches. Zinc bared his teeth in a feral growl as he raised his arms and bowled a dozen of them off of him. They went flailing into the swamp, sending others tumbling down like dominoes. Thinking nothing but rage and seeing nothing but red, Zinc turned and hoisted himself up onto the roof. His hackles were raised, fur bristling. Foam flecked at the corners of his mouth.

Inside the car, Piffle yelped and jumped back as a baton came smashing through the window. Then she scowled and tried to be as brave as Zinc. She reached out and snapped the cop's arm clean off. It wriggled on the floor and Doll stomped it as hard as she could. Junella was on her feet and dumbfounding revolvers despite the painstorm in her shoulder. She shoved two of them into Toby's hands, kept two for herself, and started shooting. Toby stared at the shiny silver for a moment. He'd never fired a handgun before. Now was as good a time as any to start. And the zombies were crawling right through the open window so it wasn't hard to aim. BLAM! "Oww!" The recoil nearly took his hand off.

Zombies swarmed around the car like a plague of wasps. Truncheons rained down blows. The Fearsleigher shook back and forth from all the boots climbing up onto its skate blades. Dry, dead throats groaned warnings for the suspects to stop resisting.

Zinc was on the roof. He planted his feet in an A-stance. Saliva glinting on his fangs, panting in anticipation, he reached up, ripped the doorknockers from his shoulders, and clamped down hard on the mounts.

These were zombies. Meat piñatas. He did not need the same horsepower as he did for knocking down a mall.

Just steady rotation.

Zinc's jaw fell open and an unholy thunder came forth from his lungs. As the zombies climbed the car towards him, tearing at his legs, he tensed his shoulder muscles and began windmilling his arms as hard as he could.

Toby's jaw dropped as he watched zombies go flying through the air like a squadron of Supermen. The doorknockers' flails weren't density-shifted, but they still had spikes for hooking onto flesh. And when they did, the zombies became Zinc's wrecking balls. He swung them into their fellows, churning through them like a lawnmower, sweeping dozens aside with each swing.

George began pushing forward again. He could barely get any speed due to the crowd pounding his hood, and for fear of destabilizing Sir Zinc, but crawling ahead was better than staying put. The stallioncar spun the gatling gun back up and let the zombies in the back sample her bullets. It was debatable whether it or Zinc roared louder.

For the next three and a half minutes, the Fearsleigher was a rolling zombie slaughterhouse. The officers still rushing towards the vehicle bellowed in outrage and waved their billy clubs so violently that a few ended up decapitated by friendly fire. They shoved their way up onto the skate blades, trying to overwhelm the occupants' attack by sheer force. But no amount of flesh and bone was going to stop Zinc's steel. His wrenches spun like berserk ferris wheels, creating a double fireworks display of flying limbs and heads.

Junella allowed herself only a brief flash of humiliation over her failed plan, then her mind was focused solely on carnage. Her revolvers sang their percussive song. Heads exploded into clouds of red butterflies. She cackled noiselessly. Zinc may have been tackling the lion's share, but there were plenty left for her to play with.

Toby's wrists throbbed, but he was starting to get into the swing of blowing cops' brains out. When the chambers clicked empty, he threw the guns at a zombie's face and popped out his hammer. Unfortunately, Zinc's spinning circles of death were keeping the horde well away from bonking range. Toby noticed the glove compartment. He opened it and found five little eggs.

Junella felt a tap on her shoulder. She looked around to see Toby holding up an egg-bomb, asking with his expression if he should use it. She hesitated. If biteranodons were beneath them, zombies were doubly so. But... this was what they were made for. She patted Toby's shoulder, then pointed out the front window, mouthing, 'Clear a path for George!!'

Piffle was in the back holding two machine guns in either hand, firing blindly out both side windows simultaneously. Doll was in the storage space, finding ammo clips. Both gals were getting slathered head to toe in zombie guts. Piffle hollered over the chaos, "It'd be real nice if the doors had some kinda keyhole to stick a gun through!!!"

Junella perked up. Her hands were too full to speak, but she nodded approvingly at Piffle's suggestion. Something to write down for later.

Toby knew his throw had to be perfect. Right in the midst of the zombie clog, but not so close George would get caught in the lightning too. Toby eyeballed it, then realized he could not hope to do this without depth perception. There was no quicker way to get his other eye back, so he tossed the egg back in the glovebox, put his palm to his temple, POW, and he was back in action. He leaned out the side of the car, heart thudding as Zinc's flails came within inches of his ears.

Zinc was a gore-soaked powerhouse, fueled by screams. His wrenches circled tirelessly. His chest muscles strained against his shirt. The zombies kept coming. He kept knocking them out of the park. His face was tensed in a snarl of infinite I-have-had-enough-of-this-shit.

George was braying in bloodlust as well. Any officers that managed to get around the front of the Fearsleigher were baked alive by his fire, chewed to bits by his teeth, or shish-kebabed on the bayonets.

Then, a tiny motion coming from the passenger side caught his eye.

A moment later the zombies ahead exploded in a blitzkrieg of lightning. George's eyes filled with joy and terror, because he knew the blue arcs of searing electricity targeted nightmare flesh. But Sire Toby's aim had been true, and George felt nothing worse than pops of static. George was pleasantly relieved. Then outright overjoyed, once the sizzling stopped, to barge right through the charred corpses and trample them to sludge.

"Yes!!" Toby shouted.

"PIG ROAST!!!" Zinc bellowed.

Rhinolith was not far now. The few residents lucky enough to have their telescopes pointed swampward that afternoon got a heck of a lightshow.

***

Eventually the zombies just plain gave up. They seemed to share a collective mind, coordinating like a flock of birds. One moment dozens of officers were charging forward as viciously as ever, then suddenly they all just... stopped. Maybe they realized that 'full steam ahead' wasn't getting them anywhere. Or maybe the Fearsleigher had crossed some kind of borderline, like a sonic dog fence. Either way, something happened to make the pursuers stop dead in their tracks and stand still with blank expressions on their rotting faces. The ones surrounding the car went limp as ragdolls and slid burbling into the puke.

Everyone was glad to finally roll the windows up.

Zinc came lurching into the car a moment later, a panting wreck. He nearly flattened Toby when he fell in through the side door, but the mouse managed to hold him up.

Toby winced: his friend's wrenches were hot as stove burners. And for a moment he thought Zinc was having death throes. Then he realized it was actually giggling. "You allright?"

A hoarse, rattling laugh wheezed out of his overworked lungs. "That... was... fun..."

Piffle squeezed past to squeeze her beau. "Oh Zinc! You were magnificent! How did you do it!? You said you couldn't handle both sides of the car at once!"

"He took off his doorknockers and swung them," Toby explained. "Cutting their damage but doubling their reach. Brilliant strategy," he congratulated Zinc.

"Wasn't no thinking involved," Zinc gurgled, coughing up a blood clot. "I was just... sick of assholes gettin' in our way."

Toby let Piffle take over propping Zinc up. He fished out the re-flattened cornucopia and got some water to cool down their conquering hero. When he poured it on, it turned to steam. "Ahhhhhhh..." the canine sighed happily.

Everyone was covered in blood and gunpowder, and the whole car stank of barf. Junella rustled around the glove compartment. Soon the interior was swarming with golden ladybugs, all of them happily cleaning up offensive organic matter. Toby still had powder burns on his hands afterward, but that was a far, far preferable smell.

Minutes later, with a long groan of relief, George crawled out of the swamp onto dry land. Everyone was jostled about as he shook the mess from his wheels.

This was Rhinolith proper.

Toby suspected that, like Coryza, it was the name of the region as well as the city on the hill. Also like Coryza, it was circular. It looked like an immense stubby tooth growing out of the ground.

Under a sky like boiling egg yolk, the surrounding land was green. Not a healthy, natural green, but a color that brought to mind toxicity and rot. Every surface was strangled with creeping fingers of plantlife. And like a rug woven of worms, it never stopped moving. Toby was reminded of the veinlike vines in Quinsy, or Lady Xenoiko's wood paneling. He mused that the vomit swamp was a result of people staring at the landscape for too long.

Toby began to hear the city as George drove them closer to it. Above the constant crunch of wheels on plants, there was a solid wall of music. Drums and brass. And a roar of united voices. Laughing, bellowing, cheering.

Zinc rotated his seat, going back to his tour guide voice. "It's a party all the time in there. They have to. This far in the badlands? You kiddin'? You've gotta keep your spirits up or you'll crack. With the long nights and the ugly-ass critters skulkin' around, they sing and dance and drink full-time, so the isolation don't drive 'em bonkers."

Remembering the quote from someplace, Junella sang, "'They revel to beat back the darkness'."

"Sounds like fun!" Piffle said, eager to join in.

"Ehhh," Zinc grimaced. "If you're tough enough, maybe. These folks is on edge. They call themselves the Bargeld. Always got their ears pricked for a fight. Adrenaline insteadda blood. I'd tread cautiously, all of us."

Toby shrank back a bit. He looked out the window again and could now see the city's outer wall in better detail. His jaw dropped. "Are those all skulls!?"

Zinc's tail wagged. "Bingo! Y'see, the city's built like a castle. Big high wall to keep out unwanted visitors. But their first wall wasn't quite big enough, so they built a second one around it. They say this second wall is made outta all the bones of all the citizens what died puttin' up the previous wall. Supposedly."

Toby's imagination could not handle it. Skulls of man and animal, piled up to the heavens. Nearly thirty feet of ivory and eye sockets. And while he could already tell Rhinolith's diameter wasn't as wide as Coryza's, it still beggared belief that this much death could exist.

Toby also didn't see any entrance. "Where do we get in?"

"I have already spotted a door and am heading towards it, Sire Toby," George spoke up.

"Good ol' George!" Piffle said.

The stallion swished his head back and forth bashfully.

Zinc patted the ceiling. "Um, I'm not sure they'll react kindly to a pet nightmare. Most likely they'll try to kill you. A lot. I don't think a transformation potion will make any difference this time."

He 'hrmm'ed in annoyance. "I then predict I will have to spend the night shrunken in Madam McPerricone's gullet?"

"We'll work something out," Zinc assured.

Piffle asked a bit more about the city as they continued to approach. George could feel himself being watched from the windows in the wall. He parked a safe distance away, hoping the people inside would see only a custom vehicle with a fanciful hood ornament.

Junella got out first, hopping down to the carpet of tendrils and stretching her shoulder.

Toby looked out. "Is that stuff safe to walk on?"

"Oh sure," Zinc said blithely. "Just keep moving or you'll end up cocooned and juiced."

The idea seemed to intrigue Piffle.

Toby looked down warily.

"...Now, what you really gotta watch out for are those living Halloween masks," Zinc went on with ghoulish glee. He indicated the toothful creatures hopping around in the grass downhill. "Those things'll jump on your face and start chewing. Next thing you know, they're a permanent addition. Takes an acid bath to get 'em off."

Toby reflexively covered his mouth. "Let's get inside quickly."

When everyone was out, George could not resist cleansing himself more thoroughly of the encrusted puke and zombie giblets that lingered on him after the swamp. If the Bargeld took this as a sign of aggression, then oh well. He was damned if he did, disgusted if he didn't. George sucked in a deep, deep breath, then blew a hurricane-sneeze of fire all over his undercarriage. The offending matter was charred to dust in seconds. He whickered in relief. The Bargeld made no counter-moves, though George thought for sure he saw some rifle barrels peeking out over the ramparts.

The others started trudging up the hill. The tendrils under their feet writhed and made for slippery going. The door was an eight-by-eight slab of metal with decorative sculpted skulls and a sliding panel at eye-height. 

A few feet from it, Zinc glanced back, grimacing. "No guarantee they'll let us in," he admitted.

"What?" Toby and Piffle yelped.

He shrugged. "Ain't like they're contractually obligated, now is they? Plus it's tournament season. They might be booked up."

"Lemme try to sweet-talk the doorman," Piffle offered. "Maybe I can put my powers of cuteness to use." Set in the metal was a sliding panel. Piffle knocked three times with her dainty fist.

It opened with a startling sssshhhHHUNK.

Everyone jumped back a little.

A pointy, fanged face leaned out, topped by a porcelain helmet with eyeholes drilled in the rim.

Piffle curtseyed. "'Scuse me, sir, but we're weary travelers coming from-"

The guard cut her off. "Feck off, we're full."

sssshhhHHUNK.

Everyone stared for a moment.

Toby gawked longer than the others. "He really did have a toilet on his head!"

Piffle stamped her foot. "And he was awfully rude!"

Junella was steaming. She whipped out her sword and started banging on the door with the hilt. "You no-good, inhospitable, dumpsterfuckin', monkey-eatin' shitfaces!!!"

The panel remained closed.

The skunk turned around and clenched her teeth. "FFFFFFFFFFUCK!!!"

Zinc sighed and started rubbing her shoulders. "I told you! The city's like a concert hall. You can't always expect to get tickets at the door."

She fumed a bit and stomped the tendrils under her feet. "Yeah, yeah. I was looking forward to getting' some drink in me and stretchin' out in a nice bed though."

He shrugged. "Ehhh. Shit happens."

As they turned back towards the car, Toby's eyes got wide. "Actually... I think I'm the reason we didn't get in."

Junella turned to him, trying to look reassuring. "Hey, no. They're just a-holes. Don't go assuming you're a jinx or something."

"No, I mean literally! Remember when I got the idea for Red to be a taxi for the vending machine people? Where do you think he brought them to?"

The skunk's eyes also got wide. She resisted a sudden urge to strangle him for depriving her of a drunk night's sleep.

Zinc started laughing at the irony. "No good deed goes unpunished, huh?" He clapped Toby on the back. "Fuggit, it was the right thing to do anyway."

Toby smiled lop-sidedly.

A cheek-smooch snuck up on him from Piffle. "You helped a lot of people, and if that means sleepin' in the car tonight, I don't mind."

He gave her paw a squeeze for being a cheerer-upper. Then asked Zinc, "How much farther do we have, actually?"

"Not much. It's a hop, skip, and a jump to the wall."

"Could we camp out there?" Toby asked.

Junella butted in immediately: "No."

He was a little started. "I'm guessing from an answer like that, there's a damn good reason?"

A nod, and an expression hinting he wouldn't have to ask it once they got there.

Toby considered other options for the night's lodgings. Then realized it hadn't been that many hours since they'd gotten up at Gilla's. It just felt like more. Why quit with so much of the day left? He 'hmm'ed. "Maybe we don't have to find a place to rest at all. I think I'm allright to keep going."

"Are you sure?" Junella asked.

He wasn't, but it seemed like the best idea. "I guess so."

She arched a disbelieving eyebrow. "Oh really? On through the maze and the rats' nest?"

He hesitated a moment, but managed a shaky nod. "I'm feeling pretty rested after my car nap. And if these places are gonna be terrible, why prolong the wait? There were plenty of times with my pills that I'd just gulp 'em all to get it over with."

She took a moment to marvel at the fact that this was Toby making this decision, of all people. Then she smiled approvingly. "Ballsy way of thinking about it. I guess I can skip a beer and a bed."

Toby asked quickly, "We do have to go through, right? There's absolutely no way we could possibly go around? Or over?" He'd inferred as much, from multiple sources, but it couldn't hurt to be absolutely, explicitly certain.

She reached the car and hopped up towards the driver's side. Hanging off, she looked back at him. "Sorry, mouse. I wish. If there was a way, that'd already be the plan. I may be the pettiest grudgeholder in the afterlife, but I'm no glutton for punishment." She disappeared into the driver's seat.

Toby nodded, sighing. It was easy to make brave pronouncements in the moment. Much harder to keep yourself steadily on the path towards them. He heaved himself onto the skate blade. 'We'll do this the same way we've done everything else so far. Full on ahead.'

George was a little puzzled at seeing his passengers returning. "I assume we will not be enjoying their hospitality?"

"They didn't have any," Piffle huffed.

He nodded. "Removing ourselves suits me fine. As while the plantlife here is not actively trying to consume me, they are exploring in some verrRRYYYEEEHEEHHEE ticklish places!!"

Piffle noticed he had vines all up and down his tires. She patted a bayonet. "Don't worry, we'll be outta here soon."

"In fact, lemme help you out with that," Zinc said to George. He gave Piffle a nuzzle and a 'hop on in' swat, then went to work ripping away huge wrenchfuls of tendrils.

"Oh yes!" he moaned. "Thank you extensively, Sir Zinc!!"

***

There was not much to say about Phlegmasia.

Zinc explained on the way that it was only dangerous if you didn't follow the rules. But the maze did not forgive mistakes. As Junella had described before, this place had writing on the walls. To read a single word was to become ensnared. Never able to look away. For the rest of eternity (or until you were rescued) you would scan the walls, pulling yourself deeper and deeper into the maze, lost eternally in fascination.

Toby had a thought. He remembered the candy bars in Sanders' shop. His Phobiopolis-induced dyslexia. If that happened to every newcomer, then how could a reading-trap work?

Junella asked if he'd ever had a dream where he thought up a really clever joke that, on waking, was really just nonsense. Toby nodded. Phlegmasia's writing was the same principle, she said. The maze infected its prey with the artificial feeling of reading something so good you couldn't stop. Photos had been taken of the maze's walls and looked at under laboratory conditions miles away. It was all nothing but gibberish.

George did not have far to drive. Only a handful of miles. The farther they drove from Rhinolith, the more the green tendrils turned to brown. Drying and dying. Soon there was nothing but parched, baked soil.

And the wall.

It was a soiled, dusty white. Absolutely featureless, not even lines of mortar. It stretched across the desert as far as the eye could see. As if a giant eraser had swiped the landscape and removed a perfect line.

The wall itself was not high, only six or seven feet. But there was nothing past it. Toby could feel a headache starting when he looked in that direction. The sky stopped. There was something else beyond, but it was indescribable. Or rather, his mind was not allowed to perceive it. It was a blur with teeth, viciously driving his senses away. Toby kept his head down.

Looking back at the wall, it seemed impregnably solid. Toby had no idea how they were going to get past it.

Zinc sensed the question before it was asked. "There's only ever one entrance," he said. "Just one. And it's always right in front of you. It wants you to come in."

Toby shuddered. And as the group drew nearer, there it was. A single dull eye in the infinite smooth. Staring at them. Inviting them. Dead ahead.

Of course, it was shaped exactly wide and tall enough to let the Fearsleigher pass through.

Junella glared back, not allowing it to intimidate her. "George. Pull up and let us out for a sec."

"As you wish, Madam Brox."

His wheels kicked up clouds of dust that rolled along the barren ground like tumbleweeds. There was nothing else alive out here except his passengers. He noticed how odd that was, for any region in Phobiopolis to be absolutely devoid of constructs.

When the travelers stepped out of the Fearsleigher, they heard the sounds. Murmurs on the wind. Echoes from inside the walls. The indistinct jabbering of a million people who had gone mad.

Plus it seemed impossible that so many one-sided conversations and wild laughs could carry naturally through the wall's thickness. More likely, Phlegmasia was amplifying them. Maybe as a warning. Maybe just to be cruel.

At least the ground didn't move when he jumped down onto it from the skate blade. Toby did not have to ask why Junella hadn't wanted to camp here. Nothing with ears could spent an entire night listening to this. It was already churning his guts.  He wondered, if they parked here with the windows rolled tight and everyone put earplugs in, would he start hearing the voices soon enough anyway? The answer felt like yes.

Doll had her hands over her ears and was turning in circles. Toby picked her up and held her comfortingly. Soon Piffle appeared beside them and added herself to their hug.

Junella popped the hood and rummaged around. Zinc stood nearby, kicking the dirt, trying not to show his unease. Junella hopped down with an armful of headgear and asked George to disengage himself. He was a little sad to give up his wheels, but soon the sensation of stretching his legs improved his mood. Junella told everyone to gather round.

The only 100% guaranteed way to prevent getting trapped in Phlegmasia was to cut out your eyes. Though that left the problem of navigating the maze. This would be Zinc's job. Junella passed out thick blindfolds to everyone else. They had zip ties in the back: no accidental slips. Rippingbean & Woofingbutter's hadn't sold any that could fit George, so she'd bought some heavy-duty construction putty instead. With George's permission, she began to pack his sockets full.

"I'll be your eyes," Zinc reassured George. He reminded everyone of exactly why he'd been given a hollow metal head in the first place. The idea was that, if his eyes were always open, he'd be immune to places that changed their architecture when unobserved. The maze would absolutely try that. Zinc pocketed his tin lids and let his ocular orbs spin freely.

Toby asked how they were going to keep Zinc from reading the walls and getting trapped. Would they glue him to his seat? Like lashing Odysseus to the mast?

"No, but that's not a bad idea."

Junella held up what she'd bought for him: clear plastic safety goggles. When she turned the lenses around, everything through them was blurred. Zinc would have an extreme case of far-sightedness. Able to make out the place's layout and not much else. The canine was patient as his partner superglued them in place.

Soon Zinc was astride George's back. Toby's question gave them both an idea at the same time. The stallion made a saddle, as well as reins of tendon. But in addition, he grew ropy lashes of flesh around Zinc's thighs like a pair of meat manacles. Now, even if the goggles came off, or the maze tried any dirty tricks like words as big as a barn, he would be safely incapable of jumping off and reading himself into insanity.

George and Zinc were hitched up to the car and the others climbed back inside. As Toby and Piffle put on their blindfolds, Junella realized she'd completely forgotten to get one for Doll. She felt a little bad about that, now that she'd actually gotten used to the little creep. Doll solved the problem by simply turning her bag around so the eyeholes were in back. "Smart," Junella said approvingly. Doll could still see a tiny bit through the burlap fibers, so she helped Piffle and Toby with their zip-ties. Then the trio settled into the backseat and held hands.

Zinc ripped his ears off and gave them to Junella. This way she could relay him information, and he'd be spared the sounds of the babbling damned. She handed him a long, thin pole, like a car antenna.

Junella took the front passenger seat, out of deference. She cupped one of Zinc's fuzzy triangles to her mouth. "Breaker breaker 1 9. You read me, good buddy?"

Zinc could see only three things. A smear of white wall, the charcoal smudge of George's head, and the doorway that had created itself for them. "Loud and clear, tower. And while I ain't too thrilled about it, yeah, I'm ready."

"Then good luck, partner."

Zinc held tight to the thin pole. On its end, like the tip of a spear, was an uncapped Neverdry marker. He swiped it across the wall and a red line followed.

Anyone who's been in a hedge maze learns a basic strategy: keep a hand on one wall and start walking. Not the most efficient path, but a certain one.

Zinc flicked the reigns and George took them in. The entrance vanished behind them. Sunlight gone, replaced by a throbbing, artificial glow from the walls themselves.

If the sounds outside had been unsettling, inside they were torture.

Hundreds of voices echoed off the walls. Toby did not need sight to guess that there were many, many victims trapped in this place. Their voices were hoarse, crackling, dry. These were people who had not had any food or sleep in years. They exclaimed in delusional joy at whatever clever bit of prose they thought they'd just read. They asked questions to no one. They laughed. They raged. None of it was actual language. The surface of the collective murmur was a boundless, eager enthrallment. Simmering beneath was anguish. Inarticulate misery. The moans of animals in captivity that have never known the sun.

There also came the sounds of metal carving meat. The Fearsleigher's skates cut through anyone in their path. None of the victims moved to get out of the way. They couldn't. George did his best to steer around them.

Junella could hear it in his zig-zagging steps. "Don't bother," she sang solemnly. "Killing them is kindness. For every hundred or so, there'll be a few who'll have the reflexes to cover their eyes when they wake up. Of those, a handful might make it back to the entrance. This place plays fair in one regard: it leaves the door open if you can get there."

"I understand, Madam Brox."

To the chaotic moans of the maze's prisoners, and the scrape of blade on bone, was added the crunch of ribcages beneath black hooves.

Toby held Doll's hand tighter.

The car moved onward, turning this way and that. Toby lost all sense of direction. From the sound of the bodies breaking, Toby could imagine them thin as dried sardines. Brittle bone and papery skin. All muscle and fat long depleted. Toby's mind saw bony fingers tracing along the walls to underline every magical word.

The deranged exclamations and laughter never stopped. The cries, the shrieks, the mumbling. The travelers could not bring themselves to drown it out with small talk. The sounds dug sonic fingers into their ears. Deeper and deeper and tighter. A drone like a drill. Piercing their brains. Growing louder and louder and louder, or was that their imaginations?

Junella felt around in a small compartment below the driver's seat. There would be no radio signals out here, but she'd bought some tapes from L'roon. No sense waiting to get home to listen to them. She felt around for the raised 'A' side of one, then slid it in.

Beautiful, lonesome, melting tones began to fill the car. Junella turned the volume knob all the way up and settled herself in.

Toby relaxed. Slightly. The music helped. It was a kind he'd never heard before and it was hypnotically sad. Though if he listened too carefully, sometimes he could still hear cries and giggles reaching through. And he could still feel the car bump softly as it slid over things that hadn't been alive for a long, long time.

-***-

PART SIXTY-EIGHT

They stood on the precipice overlooking Dysphoria. The literal edge of the world.

"Now do you see why we couldn't go around?" Junella sang to Toby.

The small albino mouse stood on crumbling white tile, staring in chest-tightening horror across the limitless void of space. Not ten feet in front of him, the ground simply stopped. Beyond was an asteroid field. Great chunks of rock went tumbling slowly by in the vast, cold blackness. This was the manifest fear dreamt of by many ancient explorers, the idea that if one went too far across the world, one might eventually fall off. In Phobiopolis it was possible. Toby didn't even know how in the hell he could hear, or breathe.

Phlegmasia had been an endurance test, but Toby had been able to hold onto the knowledge that he was safe the whole time. The moans made his skin crawl, but the moaners were not going to batter down the Fearsleigher's doors and drag him out. The maze made no move to stop their progress. It took hours of right turns left turns, left turns right turns, seemingly without end, but then it was over. Suddenly the sounds were quieter. Toby could feel the claustrophobic space open up into emptiness. Then George was letting Zinc down to bang on the doors and tell them they'd made it.

Junella took care of their blindfolds with a swipe of her cutlass. Toby's first sight was Zinc ripping off his blur goggles and visibly resisting the urge to crush them in his metal claws. The others gathered around to soothe him and thank him for getting them all through. Piffle held onto him without a word, just warming him with her care. Junella then released George's eyesight via bullet. He was treated to the same gratitude from the others. He said the hardest part for him was the monotony. Violence, he was used to. But the maze itself was like being buried again.

The backside of the wall was here, looking exactly the same as the front.  Though it was streaked in many places from tiny meteor impacts. Behind them was the door. It stayed open, maybe to tease them. 'Wouldn't you like to come back inside and stay a while? It's a lot nicer than where you're going.'

Jutting out from the wall was about forty square feet of flooring before the big drop into the void. The tile felt solid enough beneath Toby's moccasins, but he swore the Fearsleigher's weight was making it sag. Like there might be very little beneath to keep them propped up. The mouse imagined rotting timbers and stringy, dangling insulation.

Looking back above the wall, the nothingness was here too. Toby had thought he'd been getting a preview of Dysphoria, but instead it was simply a barrier that squatted above the maze like a fog. He felt cut off from the rest of Phobiopolis now. Alone on this tiny plank with the maze at his back, and miles of black emptiness looming in front of him. The stars were brighter and more bloated than he'd ever seen before. Comets blazed and pulsars danced. He knew he couldn't really trust his perceptions out here, yet he felt like this made sense. He really was standing on the edge of outer space. Phobiopolis was a flat ribbon floating through the cosmos. Toby, and all the other souls in this place, were adrift and alone with only the uncaring chill of the universe to watch over them.

Toby wanted suddenly, more than ever, to be home again. Even if it meant his damaged mother and his sick-smelling bedroom. At least it was something solid.

Junella could see the dread rising in his big pink eyes and grabbed his shoulders to shake them.

Toby snapped out of it, looking away from infinity.

She told him wordlessly to stop dwelling and deal with it.

It was good advice. He took a deep breath. "...How am I breathing?" he couldn't help but ask.

"You aren't," she replied bluntly. "You're only dreaming that you are. Remember, you're already dead."

Toby shut his eyes tight. "I keep forgetting."

She patted his shoulder. "Come on. We can't stand here forever."

He nodded. For a moment he wondered, if the mere sight of this place was making him lose it, how could he have ever thought he was prepared for what might lay inside? Shaking slightly, he followed behind Junella as she walked to the car's hood and gathered the others around her.

She was scared too. It was plain from the tremble in her muscles. She needed a moment to psyche herself up. No part of her wanted to go back in there, but right now she needed to become Junella Fucking Brox again. She needed to lie to herself so convincingly it became true. The team needed something stable to reassure them.

She stood on the front bumper and looked down at her companions with the commanding glare of a general. She waited, demanding their full attention. George, Zinc, Doll, Piffle, and Toby all looked to her and waited for instructions.

She scraped her needles together, cleaning them. Then began.

"Never give your enemies what they want!!" she started suddenly, and was pleased to see everyone jump.

"In battle, find out what your opponent's goal is. Make sure they never get it. Learn what kind of a fight they want. Give 'em the opposite. Keep them uncomfortable. Give yourself every advantage. Seek their terms, smash them, then write your own. Make it your fight, not theirs."

Toby had no idea what this had to do with Dysphoria but it was already starting to pump him up.

Junella pointed behind her at the abyss of tumbling asteroids. Anasarca was visible beyond it like a broken chunk of chocolate. "Dysphoria wants our minds. It wants to break us. I say fuck that. I say we don't give it the satisfaction."

Piffle nodded vigorously.

"We are going to be walking into the mouth of hell, ladies and gentlemen. This is where the nightmares run loose. This is where the world starts losing all stability, and it can do to you whatever it goddamn feels like. You will know torment like you've never fucking dreamt of before.

"From this point on, you cannot trust your senses." She ticked them off on her fingers. "Sight, sound, touch, taste, smell. Temperature, hunger, time passing. Even emotion. You'll be walking into the Guinness World Record all-star hallucination."

Toby quailed. How could they possibly navigate in a place where nothing could be trusted?

"But we can still slant the odds in our favor. We can cheat. Because our opponent is a soulless, toxic bastard, so I say fuck fairness. We give ourselves every advantage." She pounded the car's hood, twice. "In Ectopia Cordis, I bought us our victory."

Zinc was about to pipe up that he'd helped with that, but didn't want to stop her momentum.

Junella pointed again, this time lifting her arm so her finger seemed to touch the shining top of the mountain. "The only way to Anasarca is straight through. Keep walking forward. I cannot emphasize that enough: keep walking forward. Dysphoria will try to shift you. Turn you back around. You cannot let it. And I won't allow it."

Toby remembered dreams he'd had before, at home in his own bed. There had been times when he'd find himself in a store and he'd see something wonderful. He'd look for Mommy to buy it for him, but Mommy would be nowhere around. So he'd wander, looking for her. And when he tried to make it back to the wonderful toy, the store would change. Everything would be different. The dream would not let him return. And he'd be left stranded and alone among strangers until he woke up.

"George, I have something for you."

The stallion raised his head to the skunk.

She reached into the hood's storage space. Back in EC, she had bundled all the Dysphoria supplies into two distinct bags. George's device was easy to find. "I am going to take a gamble on you. I know you're a nightmare, but you've also shown yourself the most level-headed of all of us."

He scuffed a forehoof along the ground modestly. "My thanks."

"I have no fucking idea what affect Dysphoria will have on a construct. Maybe you'll waltz in there and see nothing. I'm not gonna hope for luck like that, but I'm still going to ask if you'll volunteer to be our front, leading us."

"I would be honored!" he said without the slightest hesitation.

She nodded, expecting that reaction. She held up a small round object, like a compass or a gas gauge. She pointed it directly at Anasarca and pushed a button. Then she peeled a sticker off the back and pressed it firmly to George's forehead.

Just as he was about to ask what it was for... "Ouch!" He reflexively turned his head in the direction of the mountain.

Junella grinned. "Groovy. Works like a charm."

George felt another thump from the tiny metal box. It had not been truly painful the first time, just unexpected. To test it's pull, he looked in the opposite direction. The next pulse felt like strong hands jerking his skull back around. When he kept his gaze pointed towards Anasarca, the thump felt like a reward. "I believe I understand its purpose. It will keep me focused on the direction we need to go."

"A+," Junella replied.

"And will I be towing the Fearsleigher as usual, or shall I merge with it?"

"Neither," she said, then addressed the others. "In fact, that's the next thing. I need you to hand over all your weapons, or anything you could possibly imagine might be used as one."

Zinc whined anxiously.

She nodded in understanding. "Yes, partner. You remember last time."

He grimaced and growled. Then there were four loud clatters as his wrenches and doorknockers dropped off, leaving bare bleeding shoulder meat. He sighed, feeling defenseless, awkward, and naked already. It was one thing to take them off for bed, knowing he'd put them back on in the morning. It was another thing entirely to be ordered to lose them. "Somebody's gonna hafta kill me. I ain't waitin' around to grow new ones." he said bitterly.

Toby was closest. "I'll make it quick."

Zinc felt the mouse's palm touch the base of his neck. "Go on, amigo."

POW

Toby's hammer powdered the vertebrae. Zinc fell, and then he was pushing himself back to his feet on scrawny, feeble organic arms. He sneered at them.

"I'll be needing that," Junella said to Toby about his hammer. "And your fork, Piffle. Toss everything in the backseat."

Toby nodded to her and complied. It felt weird to remove his hammer completely. When he had it in his hand, it still felt connected. After he laid it on the seat, his arm felt like there was a big hollow gap inside. Like pulling a tooth. From the way Piffle was rubbing her tummy, he could tell she felt the same. Toby also unbelted his pouch of pointy things and tossed it in, along with his bracers. They were shields, yes, but they could also be used for bashing and whacking. He watched as Piffle and Zinc both rummaged through their pockets, coming up with all sorts of interesting lethal junk. Doll didn't have anything to turn in.

Finally, Junella pulled her beloved cutlass from its hip-sheath and kissed the blade apologetically before handing it to George. He placed it reverently on top of everything else.

But she knew she had another weapon. Her revolver. It was so fixed in her muscle memory, she knew damn well she could dumbfound it subconsciously. She'd even found a few of them lying beside her bed some mornings. So, holding her hand up where everyone could see, she winced and pressed a thumbtack into her palm.

"Ooch!" Piffle said in sympathy.

"You'll all be getting these," Junella told them, and handed a box of the little silver stingers to Piffle.

She looked with horror at it. "We have to poke ourselves too? Why!?"

"Because it's a pain that's real," the skunk replied in a tone that allowed no argument. "Dysphoria will make you believe you've been stabbed, shot, burned, got broken bones, whatever. Anything to make you break down. But it'll all be illusion. This will be real."

"Something for us to keep our focus on, like George," Toby said, understanding.

She nodded, glad he was such a quick study. "Precisely."

Toby watched Piffle whimper as she pressed the tack into her own palm. "Wouldn't it be easier if we were just knocked out for the whole trip?" he asked Junella.

"NO," Zinc said immediately, looking terrified. "Didn't I say the same about Fugax!? If you're asleep, it'll have total control! It'll make you see anything, and you'll be completely defenseless! If you're awake, at least you'll have some will to sort truth from pigshit."

"Jesus..." Toby felt the blood drain from his face. Partly from the idea of what Dysphoria might do to him a scenario, partly from the sheer frenzied tone of Zinc's voice. Toby reminded himself that the canine had been in there. He knew what it could do to a furson. "If..." He hesitated to ask. "If you can only go forward, how did you and Junella ever get back?"

Zinc was not keen to return to the memory, but he knew Toby meant no malice. He snatched the box of tacks from Piffle's hands. "We had a winch on the Killcanoe," he said. "Harpooned ourselves. It was set with a timer. Dysphoria can't mess with something that has no brain. When the clock ran out, it yanked us back."

Toby's mind went to work exploring the idea. "Why not have, like, a remote-control vehicle that we strap ourselves to and it takes us across?"

"Does the trunk look like it has room for one?" he barked roughly. "Besides, it's been tried. The pilots lost their minds and sabotaged the sled. They never came back. But there were people waiting on this side for them listening to them on radio. The things they heard..."

Toby's mouth went dry. He had never seen Zinc glare like this before. Not even at the screwy-eyed muskrat. But Toby understood why. Zinc was fatigued from Phlegmasia AND the vomit swamp, and was now facing a return to his worst nightmare instead of a well-deserved rest. He cupped the canine's bare shoulder consolingly.

Zinc nodded. "I don't mean to take it out on you. And, also, I'm sorry for this-" He spun Toby around and shoved a tack dead center between the mouse's shoulder blades.

"YAGH!!" Toby squawked.

"That'll keep you from reachin' back and pulling it out," Zinc said with an apologetic half-smile. It was all the good cheer he could manage at the moment. He turned away, closed his eyes, and sighed. Then he placed a tack on the ground, hesitated, and stepped on it. He showed no reaction. "That's so I won't."

Piffle didn't say anything to Zinc, but she put her hands on his tail and combed her fingers softly through. His hunched muscles relaxed slightly, and that made her happy.

Junella showed Toby a roll of medical tape, made to bond permanently with skin and fur. He didn't have to be told it was to keep his tack in place. He held still while she applied a criss-cross to his back. Then she taped up her hand. Then she tossed the roll to Piffle. The hamsterfly marveled at how it felt like it was becoming a second skin. She looked down to Doll and held the thumbtacks out. "Where do you want yours?"

Doll hesitated, clearly not wanting it anywhere. Finally her shoulders slumped and she held out her hand.

As gently as a nurse, Piffle pressed the tack into her small friend's palm, then taped it up nice and snug. "Sorry if it hurt."

Doll shrugged as if to say, 'It's supposed to.'

Piffle bound Zinc's foot too, gaining a tiny laugh when she tickled the sole. She then turned to George. She held the box of thumbtacks and looked him up and down. "Hmmm. Do bones feel pain?"

"Sometimes," he replied, "But I believe the thingamajig on my forehead will suffice." His head jerked back towards the mountain.

Junella could feel the piercing metal in her palm throb in time with her heartbeat. Piffle passed her the tape. She wrapped her hand. Then without a word, she simply held up the next item.

"Holy hell!!" Toby sputtered. "What is THAT for?"

"That's to make sure Dysphoria can't make any of us run off," she sang. It looked like a medieval torture device. Two metal bands, one smaller than the other, connected vertically by a soldered bar. Both were gaping open like the rings in a looseleaf binder. "We'll put these on and chain ourselves together. Link up like boxcars. The big ring goes 'round your neck, and the little one goes through your skull."

All of Toby's muscles flinched. "I've seen guys with pierced noses, but this seems a bit much! Wouldn't a collar work fine by itself?"

Junella shook her head. "If you get decapitated somehow, then-" she snapped her fingers, "-just like that, we lose both halves of you. Naw. Our leashes gotta be anchored to bone. These are made special. We can't be separated even if we die."

Toby could see the logic, but the idea still turned his stomach.

Junella had one for each of them, all except Doll. She figured they could put the last link of chain straight through her head, front to back. Her missing face was useful for once. Everyone else ended up with one of the horrifying metal devices in their hands.

Zinc went first. He slipped the larger ring around his neck. When it snapped shut, so did the smaller ring, embedding itself in the back of his skull. He swore and growled a lot. Piffle and Toby both helped each other with theirs. Toby was surprised how light the things were. Must have been the same metal as his bracers. He wondered how much these had cost, and if Piffle had known what she was paying for. Her cries of pain when he pulled her shut were heartbreaking. When she returned the favor, Toby saw stars. It felt like being punched in the head by a championship boxer holding a barbecue fork.

Junella did nothing but blink hard when hers went on. It hurt like hell, but she needed to keep up her rocksteady appearance. She hopped down from the bumper and had George turn around to apply his. Instead of his neck, she fastened it around his pelvis and tailbase. Not only wouldn't it have fit the normal way, but she didn't think any of them could rip George's skull off even if they did go berserk from insanity.

Then she passed around chains. Each section was three feet long, with carabiners at each end. The travelers did not link themselves together yet, but let each chain chunk dangle down their front: a metal necktie. Doll's flesh turned out to be unpierceable, no matter how many times Junella tried and Doll winced. The best they could do was put the loop around her midsection and hope for the best.

The skunk got back up on the car. "The collars are for climbers, meant to be worn for long periods of time. So the pain will eventually subside. That's why we need the thumbtacks too. And now we've got one more item. It'll seem goofy at first, but it'll help keep you awake." From the hood she pulled a small desk fan, seemingly ordinary. There were raised eyebrows. But when she turned it on, everyone felt an arctic chill. Junella set it a bit lower, then turned it off. "You're more alert when you're cold. It's also got a spritzer on a timer. Hard to fall asleep with rain in your face. George, can you grow some of that nasty-ass backfat to mount it on?"

"That shouldn't be difficult," he said. Junella placed the fan on his pelvis and he concentrated on growing flesh around its base. Like before with Zinc's legs, the fan was soon held firmly in place. He even angled it slightly downwards, anticipating the relative height of his companions' faces lined up behind him.

Junella nodded. "Looks like we're just about ready."

Except Toby didn't think so. He raised his hand.

Junella snorted. "This ain't a classroom, mouse."

"Heh. Sorry. I just..." He kneaded his tail nervously. "I just, I had an idea too. I'm kinda surprised you and Zinc didn't already think of it, actually."

That made a pinched little frown appear on her face. "No offense, client, but we were pretty thorough."

"I'm not saying you weren't! It's just, this is kind of my area of expertise. You said Dysphoria's going to attack our minds, but all your ideas center around our bodies. Why don't we fortify the place we know it'll attack?"

Her interest was piqued. "Spill it."

"Well," he shrugged bashfully, "who here knows more about prescription drugs than I do?"

Zinc made a sour face, clearly not comfortable with the suggestion.

Toby told him, with a firmness that surprised himself, "If I can put up with a tack in my back and a ring through my skull, I think you can deal with a pill."

The mutt's eyebrows went up. Reflexive anger flashed across his face, but faded as he realized the mouse had a point. "You're... probably right about that."

They looked at each other a moment longer. Toby's eyes asked if Zinc was on board with this.

Zinc shook his head, then slapped his own cheeks like a boxer before a bout. "I'm okay, I'm okay. Just a bit on edge, that's all. So whadja you have in mind? I'm not too keen on head-shrinker cocktails, but I'll trust you on this."

Toby blanched for a moment. He'd had the idea, but hadn't thought of a way to implement it. "Okay, lemme think. It's gonna try to scare our pants off to keep us from getting to Anasarca, right?"

"I don't even think it cares about that." Junella sat down on the hood. "I think it does it for kicks. Pure sadism."

"Allright, then we'll need some kind of anti-anxiety medication, or an antidepressant." He thought hard, flipping through his inner pharmacopeia, trying to remember all the gazillions of pills he'd swallowed throughout his life. "The problem with almost all of them is, the most common side effect is drowsiness. And like you said, that's the last thing we want."

Agreement all around.

"So... I'm looking for something that fights anxiety but doesn't make you sleepy..." So many pills in his past. Tiny multicolored ovals and squares and gelcaps and tabs and meltaways, even suppositories. "No stress, but no sleep," he muttered. There had to be something that fit both criteria. He remembered all the after-pills: the drugs his mother would give him to counteract the worst ones. The drugs to make him not care. But they were always at bedtime, and he'd zonk out the whole night long. But wait. He was thinking of a dreamy, mellow calm. Wasn't there something that produced a serene but alert kind of buzz?

Toby snapped his fingers. "Adderall!"

"Never heard of it," Zinc said.

"It's an ADHD drug," Toby explained. "A lot of kids are on it to stop them being hyperactive, so they can concentrate on schoolwork and stuff."

"A lot of 'em?" The canine looked absolutely repulsed by the idea. "For chrissakes, when I was a pup my mom would just send me outside for a while."

Toby was reminded that, despite he and the others looking like they were only a few years apart, there were actually decades between them. "Well, we only have to take it once," Toby consoled.

"What's it do?" Zinc asked.

"It's a type of amphetamine-"

"You mean speed!?" he shrieked. "They give speed to kids!? What the FUCK!?"

Toby held up his hands. "It's a controlled dosage! And whether or not it's fucked up, it's what we need right now if Dysphoria's as bad as you guys are saying!"

That shut Zinc up. All protest left him. Personal ethics aside, he would do anything short of war crimes to reduce Dysphoria's effects. "Fine, fine..."

Junella hopped down from the car, over to Toby. "You're sure no drowsiness?"

The mouse nodded like there was zero doubt. "Believe me. This stuff's used to treat narcolepsy."

That was exactly the kind of thing she wanted to hear to convince her.

"Mom gave it to me every afternoon for about two years before she switched me to Klonopin. I felt super-awake. And really positive! Sometimes I'd feel like alphabetizing my bookshelves for fun."

"That sounds like a pretty damn good state of mind to deal with this place. But where do we get some of this miracle elixir?"

Toby smirked. He whipped his hand out into the open air. Then he looked at his empty palm. "Darn. I thought maybe I remembered the bottle enough to dumbfound us some." He tried a few more times but couldn't manage. "Got any spare imaginite?"

"Always," Zinc answered, and headed for the car. They all gathered around the hood, chains clanging. Zinc plopped a pound of the iridescent rock down in front of Toby, certain they wouldn't need more than that.

"Good," Toby said. He did some math in his head, then put his hands on the imaginite and willed it to change. Lo and behold, there appeared an orange-tinted plastic prescription bottle with twelve pills inside. "Get the cornucopia so we'll have something to swallow these with."

Zinc got out the battered wicker cone and took two pills from Toby. He had to admit, fur-and-bone hands did make handling tiny items easier. Each Adderall was a speckly sky-blue color and had a 10 printed on it. They didn't seem very substantial. "Is this gonna be enough?"

"Twenty milligrams will be plenty!" Toby said. "Two pills is already an overdose. I was hopped up enough on just one."

Everyone else looked warily at their medicine. Then they looked at the void ahead. They reached inside the cornucopia one by one, got cups of water, and swallowed. Piffle helped Doll, needing to poke the pills down her plastic throat so they wouldn't come back up. Toby watched George swallow his and wondered where it disappeared to, considering his friend's lack of organs.

Piffle asked, "When do they start working, Toby?"

"Pretty soon. We shouldn't waste time."

Junella nodded agreement. "Then let's line up, people."

George took the lead. Doll would have to be last, since she'd be dangling off the last length of chain on its clasp. Piffle wanted to be next to her, and Zinc wanted to be next to Piffle. So that left Toby sandwiched between Zinc and Junella.

While the others fiddled with their clasps, Junella checked the bags from Rippingbean & Woofingbutter's one last time, making sure there was nothing left but spares. Then she shut the hood and went around to the back. She'd found something new in the market town. Initially she bought it with murder in mind, but now realized it could have a non-lethal use too. Toby watched her strap into a green canvas backpack with a long hose emerging, attached to a welding torch.

 Junella rejoined the group and affixed her chain to George's. There was plenty of room for everyone to walk and not bump into one another. She started up the flame and began to weld their chains together. "We have already been through a lot. And despite all our toughness and preparations, I am warning you, Dysphoria is still gonna be grueling."

Junella turned and bade Toby hold up his chain. The torch hissed and glowed as it melted the clasp. Toby was massively uncomfortable having that bright tip so close to his throat, but Junella handled the tool like she'd owned it all her life. When his was done, she continued down the line until the whole group was essentially sharing a single body. As she worked, she made her final speech. 

"No matter how much we rig the game, one fact remains: we can suffer and it can't. It has a massive advantage, but we are not helpless. Zinc and I brainstormed for days to dream up anything that could give us an edge in there. Eventually we realized something important. If you don't have a single perfect idea, but you've got a lot of little good ones, there's no reason not to use 'em all at once. Works just as well. So if we can't bust the odds, we'll whittle 'em down. I'm telling you this to let you know, this place has no kiddie lane. People have tried for centuries. People have failed for centuries. But right now, right here, no one has ever been in a better position to get through. It's not just my opinion: it's fact. We have history to learn from. We have the best gear money can buy. And we have each other. It is guaranteed to be the worst experience of our lives, but goddammit, we will get through."

The six of them looked back and forth, sharing glances, confirming that there was no backing down now. Junella was glad to see the cautious confidence shining in their eyes. She hoped hers reflected the same.

One task left. Junella tugged the others with her as she walked back to the car and tossed the welding pack back in the trunk. She slammed the lid with one hand and dumbfounded up the resizing window with the other. Soon the car was the size of a jellybean and it was traveling down her esophagus. The skunk patted her belly. Long term parking.

"I have been afraid to ask, Madam Brox, for fear of looking foolish, but..." George paused. "what exactly am I supposed to walk upon?" With a hoof, he indicated the dropoff and the open space beyond.

"It's another illusion," she sang. "Falling into the stars would be too simple. It wants us to come in, just like the maze."

He was reassured, but only a little.

Junella turned to the others. "Are we ready?"

In their hearts, none of them truly felt that they were, but they nodded anyway.

"Sheer willpower will beat this thing," she told her troops. "I know all of you have it. Even though I'm more used to being part of a two than a six, I do trust all of you. ...Maybe not Doll."

A general chuckle. From Piffle's shoulder, a green-gloved fist shook at the skunk.

Junella tossed a 'just teasing' smile down the line, but in her eyes her expression was muddy. Apprehension. Doubt. Fear. Faith. "Any last-minute preparations I forgot?" she asked Zinc.

He blanked for a bit, then remembered. "Talking."

"That's right!" She pinched herself for forgetting. "It can imitate voices. It will imitate ours, and it will say the awfullest things, believe me. So until we're on the other side, keep your pieholes closed as much as possible. If you've gotta convey, do it non-verbal. Grunt. Make sounds. That way we'll know, if anything's speaking in words, it ain't us."

Toby 'mm-hmm'ed.

"Good." She turned back around and patted George's flank. Then she turned on the fan and the cold air swept over her body. "Set the pace, hoss."

He grunted.

"One last thing," Junella said as she followed George towards the edge. "Don't bother asking if we're seeing what you're seeing in there. It'll make a special dream for all of us, trust me."

And with that, one by one, she began to pry her finger-needles off with her teeth. No weapons allowed. No exceptions.

-***-

CHAPTER 00000

George touched one hoof to oblivion.

Toby watched with worry, afraid he was about to see his friend go toppling over the edge. Maybe the tile would crumble beneath him, tumbling everyone down into emptiness. But Toby got a hold of himself. For starters they were on the edge of space; George would more likely just float gently away. Secondly, nothing bad actually happened.

The stallion could see nothing supporting him, but he felt it, and heard it, when he stamped his hoof on the void. It sounded like thick glass. A low, wobbling echo accompanied his stomp, despite there being nothing to echo off of. George shook his head in uncertainty, then stepped fully onto the nothing. As Junella had said, it held him. Almost invitingly.

He began a slow march. No need to rush. No need to get their adrenaline up early. Just a steady, relaxed pace.

Toby listened to the hoofbeats. Like heartbeats. Piffle's boots were clompy. The 'ting' of Zinc's thumbtack could be heard in each of his steps. Toby's own were muffled wisps. The invisible glass was a little slippery for his sandals, but felt sturdy beneath him. That was a relief.

Junella had finished with her nails. The open holes in her fingertips throbbed, but she still reached back to begin cracking off the shards from her tail. Otherwise, any sudden stop would leave Toby with a faceful of razor sharp LPs. She heard the vinyl icicles fall and smash against the nothingness, trodden on by other paws.

Toby was trying his hardest to ignore the information received by his eyes. There was nothing below him but billions of miles of blackness and starlight. Up ahead were huge cosmic rocks, bumbling to and fro like herds of buffalo. They moved in real-time slomo. He wondered if any of them might float close enough to touch.

His breathing was a little fast. He tried slowing it down. 'This is only the beginning. Keep in mind, it wants you scared. Don't give it any help.'

As if it heard his mind, Toby blinked and Junella was a mile away.

Space stretched. The chains between them strained like a strand of pulled gum. Junella was a little black dot on the horizon. George was gone entirely. Toby whipped his head around and Zinc was barely visible. His heartrate sped up.

The mouse looked all around. Infinite stars surrounding. A second ago he'd felt safe, latched in between two of the bravest fursons he'd ever known. Now he was alone and exposed. The chain looked thin as a guitar string. Anything could break it. Toby envisioned a biteranodon swooping in to catch him in its claws.

'That's ridiculous!' Toby told himself firmly. He felt a little flame of anger. Good. Anger was better than fear. This place was trying to trick him already. But if he calmed down and listened carefully, he could still hear hooves and boots. Impossible if what his eyes were telling him was true.

He looked straight up towards the dizzying blanket of stars. His mind suddenly clicked on exactly why he thought this place might truly exist beyond Phobiopolis. There were no more frolicking constellations up there. This was the same night sky he'd seen from his own bedroom window back home.

Toby remembered the grooved black bulb bobbing back and forth in front of him after Junella finished picking her tail clean. He kept his eyes high and stretched his arm out, letting his hand seek back and forth. He felt it brush over vinyl.

There was a grunting exhale like, 'Yes? Excuse me?'

He made a sound of 'Just keep walking; situation normal'.

Junella shrugged.

When he looked back, the others still seemed miles distant. Toby was a little disappointed that the illusion hadn't been dispelled. At least it had been disproven. He felt pretty good about that. This was only Dysphoria's first strike, certainly the first of many. But Toby had shown himself that it was possible to outsmart its tricks. 'If I can do it once, I can keep on doing it.'

The sextet continued in silence. The only sound was the marching beat of their paws, echoing like they were crossing a vast Victorian ballroom. At one point Zinc made a sound of mild revulsion. Toby looked in every direction, but couldn't see anything icky. Piffle 'eep'ed. He wondered what sights Dysphoria was showing them.

From below came a high pitched crack.

George stumbled for a second, then stopped to listen. Junella gave him a poke and a growl to keep moving.

But Toby had heard it too. And he'd felt the chains go slack for a moment as George and Junella reacted. That was not good. That meant something real might be happening.

Everyone walked a little more softly, ears up.

The sound again. Now it was unmistakable. The heart-stopping crackle of ice beginning to splinter.

Toby could hear Zinc's breathing get louder. Far ahead, he saw a tiny black speck make a move for everyone to keep calm. Toby tried to, but that was not easy. The invisible glass had held them fine so far. He hadn't even considered it might be temporary.

Boots shuffled gingerly rather than stomping. George moved with the delicacy of a ballerina. Doll clung tighter to Piffle's shoulders. Everyone listened.

Icy mutters. The crystalline crunch of more glass failing.

It was hard to tell where the sounds were coming from. Toby looked all around his feet, still seeing nothing but stars. That wasn't fair. If the road really was breaking, they wouldn't be able to avoid the weak spots. He dared to hope that this was just an illusion too. Maybe Dysphoria could choose at will whether it showed something to one or all of them.

He looked ahead. Here came an asteroid the size of a sofa. For a moment his heart stopped as he realized it was on an intercept course with the swaying chain between himself and Junella. But then he blinked hard and forcibly reminded himself he was only seeing a mirage. A moment later he felt relief when he saw the sofaroid sail closer to the chain and pass right through like a hologram. Naturally. Knowing George's real position, the big rock probably hadn't been closer than a hundred feet.

Toby was startled by another new fracture, this time as loud as a windshield bursting.

It didn't seem to matter how carefully they stepped. There were more guncracks to the right, then the left. They were coming quicker now. Each one was louder than the last.

"RUN!!!" screamed Junella.

And Toby was about to. But then he remembered what the real Junella had said before they started. He froze in pre-panic, then put his foot down and forced himself to continue walking.

From the slack and jerk of the chains behind him, Toby could tell Zinc and Piffle had realized it too. They'd had their first voice impersonation.

Just ahead he heard a murmur of appreciation. Junella was proud they hadn't fallen for it.

And it would have been stupid to run anyway. Pounding footfalls would have made the glass fail even more quickly. Toby noticed the breaking sounds had stopped too. Like they were waiting in anticipation for the travelers to bolt like frightened rodents, and when they didn't, Toby could almost feel the 'aw shucks' of a prankster denied his punchline.

Toby lifted his foot and it came down on something that squished.

Several little wet somethings. He looked down and everything had changed.

In a flash so quick it made him dizzy, he and the others were suddenly inside. The stars and asteroids ceased to be. The travelers were now in a pale, dimly-lit room that was carpeted with eyeballs. Toby stumbled and felt Zinc bump into him. The mouse turned and there was that familiar scruffy muzzle. At least the distance illusion had quit.

Everyone else was looking around the room while the room looked back. Toby wondered if his friends were seeing eyeballs too or something else. It wasn't just a bunch of them scattered on the floor like marbles. No, that would be too simple. Floor, walls, ceiling: everything was eyelid skin. A thousand or more rolling eyes poked out, every color of the rainbow. All of them stared at the six travelers. And where anyone stepped, clusters of them would goosh open and squirt clear fluid.

The sensation was absolutely nauseating. Like stepping on rotten cherries. Toby kept marching because he knew he had to, but he could feel the intraocular fluid accumulating on his buckskin.

'Probably retinas and eyelashes too,' he thought.

'Not helpful, brain,' he replied.

Toby had no idea where the asteroid field had gone to. Maybe they were actually still walking through it? That seemed likely. This room full of sight was probably the first of many fake locations Dysphoria would set up in front of them. Funhouse displays. The cracking sounds had probably been fake too. Toby thought back to their starting point. How far away had Anasarca looked? Four miles? Six? A decent walk, but nothing impossible.

Toby absent-mindedly pushed the door aside and walked out into hazy sunshine. He blinked and glanced back. How the heck had he just opened a door when Junella and George were in front of him? And where was he now? This seemed like the back corner of a dust-shrouded farmer's garage. They were walking past a rusted tractor's skeleton towards the open garage door, out into a muggy spring morning. The grass looked dead. Tree seeds floated in the air like fairy snow.

Outside in the sunlight it was quiet, but not peaceful. It was disconcerting to be exiting a building they'd never actually entered, but there was also a clinging aura of abandonment to this place. The farmhouse they'd emerged from had timber rot and peeling paint. Ahead was the looming black shadow of a dead tree, with a tire swing swaying from its branches like a hanged child.

Toby wrinkled his nose at the smell of rotting apples. They peppered the grass around his feet, looking up like the eyeballs had. Flies swarmed around.

A tall shape. Toby jerked his head around and caught a glimpse of something slender made of seaweed ducking out of sight behind the house. Its antlers had been level with the roof. Toby could still see its deep green fingers.

'Maybe it won't come over here.'

They walked on past the tree and time began to melt. Every step they took made the sun rise and set. The grass decomposed beneath their steps. The empty fields became a bleak grey fog that turned to swirling snow. When Toby squinted to see where they were going, there was a long, wide rectangular building ahead. He couldn't read the sign above, but the place was shaped like a supermarket. Toby could see glass doors shutting and opening automatically, like a mouth with the hiccups.

Snowdrifts butted up against the faded yellow sides of the market. The lines of the parking lot were buried. Toby noticed there was no longer any glass in the automatic doors, but plenty on the ground.

When George approached, the skeletal rectangles tried to close on him. George smacked them aside with a toss of his head, denting them permanently open. No patience for such foolishness.

Toby stepped cautiously past the straining, juddering doorframes and into the building. It was dark in here. Not quite pitch black. Scant light snuck in through the snowed-over windows. There'd obviously been a power failure.

The grocery store was snowbound, internally and entirely. Powder had completely conquered the place. There were ankle-deep drifts on the floor and inch-thick blankets covering everything else. It was like the storm clouds had come inside to pick up a few things for dinner. Icicles hung off grocery carts. Still lifes of snowy food sat on the checkout conveyors, suggesting the building had been abandoned quickly. And recently: the cash registers weren't looted. As the travelers progressed into the store itself, Toby could also see that none of the produce had started to rot yet.

Where they walked, the snow beneath their feet made that squidgy compacting sound. Toby's sandals had straps up his calves, but his feet were exposed on the sides, and furless too. The chill subtly began to hurt. Like red and silver lines crawling up his legs.

A thought occurred. He blurted, "Maybe it wanted us in here. Maybe we should have gone around."

Junella spun around with a finger to her lips. "Shh!"

Oh right. No talking. He made an apologetic face to her. 'Geez, that just slipped out. I'm gonna have to be more careful with that.' He felt doubly embarrassed since he'd remembered the rule a moment ago when he'd heard the phony command to run.

The ceilings were low in here. It made him feel claustrophobic. He could see okay about six feet in front of him, but beyond that everything blurred to shadowy greys. The far shelves were barely distinct. They reminded him of the derelict vehicles surrounding Ectopia Cordis.

George led them forward past the peppers and lettuce until he came to a corner. He tried to walk straight on, but the wall was actually solid. He bucked, confused. He did not like having to turn away from the direction his head-thumper was pointing him in, but he had no choice. He turned down the main aisle. More snow. A display of batteries had toppled over and the scattered black packages made holes in the drifts.

Just as they left the produce section, Toby felt a bolt of curiosity. He reached out to snag an orange, then shook the snow off. He definitely wasn't dumb enough to eat it, but he was curious how deep this illusion went. If he unpeeled it, would it still be an orange? He recognized the buzzy, impatient inquisitiveness he was suddenly feeling: the Adderall had finally shown up. He looked around the racks of frozen foods. They were more interesting than frightening now, even in the dark. Yes, if some big snarling animal came rumbling out from one of the aisles, that would be scary. But for now he thought Dysphoria was just trying to creep them out. Get them unsettled. Toby looked down at his orange. It was gone.

He grunted in frustration. He had felt it in his shivering paws, then it had ceased to exist. He leaned over and snatched a cereal box off the nearest shelf and tore it open. He struggled with the bag and it burst. Bran flakes exploded outward. Zinc shook some out of his fur. Toby was surprised by that. He thought it might be a very good idea to keep tabs on his friends' reactions, as a way to tell if any given mirage was shared or personal.

The darkness of a doorway slipped over him. He swiveled. This didn't make sense. They'd been halfway down the main aisle, so they shouldn't have been entering anything. But it didn't matter, because here they were. It was still dark, but a warmer, flickering darkness. An orange darkness. The cold remained, but Toby sensed heat within it.

George adjusted his path according to the tiny headache he was following.

From out of nowhere Zinc shouted, "Drop dead twice, you fat ugly fucker!!!"

It was top-of-the-lungs loud and right in Toby's ears. They rang with pain and he spun around. Surprisingly, Zinc's expression showed he actually had just said that. The canine looked chagrined. He wouldn't meet Toby's gaze. More frightened by the shout than anything else so far, Toby turned back around and wondered what the heck Dysphoria had shown to Zinc to deserve such a reaction.

They were beneath the supermarket now. Toby didn't know how he knew that, but self-supplying information was a hallmark of dreams. They were inside an industrial laundry. It was partly on fire.

The low ceilings had been replaced by a high one. Melting snow dripped from the pipes and rafters above. The sextet walked past hulking, rusted machinery. The doors of side-loading washers hung open like fat, flapping lips. Toby could feel a chill on his left side, licking heat on his right from where an enormous heap of old clothes was burning. It smelled terrible.

One of the washers gurgled to life. Just one. Soapy froth spilled out of its mouth like slow vomit.

A CAW startled him. There was a flutter of heavy wings above. Toby jerked up his arms to protect his face. Greasy feathers glanced them. The crow disappeared back into the ceiling shadows and screamed hatefully at the intruders. Other screeches echoed from around the room.

Another crow swooped, then two more. Piffle shrieked as a beak tore at her antennae. Junella felt something peck her, then just as quickly vanish. Something bit Toby's shoulder. He covered his mouth to keep from yelling at it.

George picked up the pace. The laundry room was long, but not infinite. Maybe the crows would desist if they vacated. He snapped his blackened teeth at the pests as they zoomed back and forth. The others took up a counterattack. Junella managed to smack a wing, getting an outraged squawk in reply. Toby flailed wildly, then suddenly felt a thud and blood running down his hand. A flapping body fell at his feet, looking up at him with the mouse's own pink eyes. They scorched with outrage.

Toby looked at his hand. A long cut ran down his ring finger. Blood was gushing out hot and wet. In the light of the fire it looked like dirty black gasoline.

Toby remembered the tack in his back. It still stung. He looked away from his hand and concentrated on the sting. There was something else too. Something wet. The blood? No. Drips from the ceiling? The fan! The one Junella put on George's back. Toby had forgotten all about it. That was why he felt cold. It kept spraying drops of water in his face to keep him awake. He looked back at his hand. The blood and cut were still there, but now they looked like tattoos hovering just above the skin. 'HA!' he cheered. 'You got me for a second, but not for long!'

He made the choice to ignore the birds entirely and keep his eyes focused ahead. There was another doorway that George was leading them to. The crows circled around, pissed as hell. Screaming and jeering and dropping feathers. A crownado. They pecked and bit at Toby's hair and ears, but the mouse only flinched and kept moving. He ignored the fire and the increasing number of washing machines that were getting sick all over themselves. 'This is all fake. Every last bit of it.'

He stepped through the doorway behind Junella. Green and black checkered tile.

For no good reason, the laundry room had become a school. It was vaguely familiar to Toby. Irritatingly so. It definitely wasn't the one he'd gone to as a cub. Maybe he'd toured the nearby high school once. Didn't he go to a play or something there? A field trip for a choir performance? Was that it?

The travelers kept walking along a decrepit, throatlike hallway. Same air of abandonment as the other mirages they'd walked through, but unlike the tidy frozen market, this place looked like hooligans had made it their personal carnival. Every door was broken open. Every pane of glass was smashed. Graffiti smeared the walls, unreadable but foreboding. Someone had pulled the fire alarm in here as well. The warped wood and rusted door hinges attested to the sprinklers having gone off long ago.

There was nothing outside but an intense yellow light, seen through the bars over the vandalized windows. Toby looked away, into the classrooms on the other side. Desks had been overturned. A chalkboard showed impacts from a hurled fire extinguisher. Plus, someone had been relieving themselves in here. The scent of piss was strong and getting stronger. Feral cats, maybe? 'No, wait.' Toby saw a teacher's desk with a fat, decomposing turd lying across it like parsley on a plate. He recoiled. He hoped whoever had done that wasn't still here.

'Here does not exist,' he reminded himself. And then he wondered if thinking about someone being here might make them exist. He remembered worrying about Biteranodons not too long before the crows showed up. Could Dysphoria read minds?

He stepped on a loose tile and tripped. The floor shattered like cheap shingles and he fell straight through into nothing.

Wind beat at his face and at his ears. He was plummeting down a dark, metal shaft. An air vent. Toby's flailing hand hit thunder-rumbling metal. He opened his mouth to scream in terror. He was falling and falling and there was nothing at the bottom and he was going to fall forever-

'NO I'M NOT!!!'

Just like that, he was back in the school again. His heart rattled against his ribcage. Toby looked around at the others. None of them had seen what just happened to him.

Toby rubbed his hand across his face. He could feel the moisture from the fan. 'That's real. Everything else isn't.'

He scowled. 'You dirty jerk,' he thought towards Dysphoria. His head pulsed and tingled from the drugs. 'Is that how it's going to be? You keep throwing crap like that at us? It's not going to work. We're not dumb enough to believe it. At most, you can scare us. Boo! Make us jump like a cheap horror picture. But we're going to keep walking. I am going to keep walking!' he thought resolutely.

If Dysphoria heard him, there was no response. Just the sounds of window shards being trod upon.

Toby looked down a side hallway and saw a drinking fountain turn on by itself. It overflowed with orange rustwater, making a floor river.

'Not impressed,' Toby thought.

And then he wondered if this was a bad idea, his defiance. Would Dysphoria take it as a challenge? 'I guess it's not like it wasn't going to do its worst anyway.'

The hallway continued, and so did Toby. It seemed infinite. Whenever they passed an intersection, Toby looked down it and couldn't see where it ended. He imagined this wrecked-out dungeon the size of an entire city. How strange would that be, to grow up in a building so big you'd never leave? 'No stranger than growing up in a bedroom you never left,' his brain snarked. This place stank of mildew. The wet wood was slowly falling apart and being consumed by insects. A cockroach buzzed past Toby's ear. He swatted at the whine. Also, were the hallways starting to narrow? Maybe it was his imagination. But it seemed at the start there'd been more room between the classrooms and the window wall.

The graffiti had been illegible. Until this one. Tiles had been ripped clean off an entire section of wall. On the bare wood beneath, someone had spraypainted in humongous letters: "I CAME FROM SPACE TO RAPE AND RAPE."

The instant Toby read the words, he heard them in his mind.

Or was he hearing it somewhere else? Somewhere in the endless hallways? He listened more carefully. The path ahead was getting darker. The ceiling tiles had been torn down. Wires and ductwork hung from square cavities; the defacers had been swinging from them. The odor of mildew was so thick it was like walking through cobwebs.

"I came from space to rape and rape."

Toby turned around. He looked to Piffle and Zinc. They nodded: 'We heard it too.'

The sentence was far away, and spoken like a simple declaration of fact. But the voice itself was as disturbing as the words. It had come out of something without a brain. Something that could not understand language, only sounds. Toby's mouth was full of saliva.

George butted a tilted door out of his way, so dilapidated it crumbled from the impact. Toby could see mold growing over the graffiti now. Or was the graffiti growing underneath the mold? 'Why am I thinking things like that?'

"I came from space to rape and rape."

Definitely closer now. Maybe that sentence was just the monster's mating cry, and only sounded like language to normal ears.

Toby looked ahead to see if there was any end to this hallway. To his surprise, there was. Past another intersection and a few more ruined classrooms was a set of double doors. Not barred or locked either. He stepped over another shitlog some mischief-maker had left as a present. Roaches were gathered around, eating it.

When they reached the intersection, Toby looked down it by reflex. Far at the end was a large hairy being, obscured by yellow light. It had tusks. Toby saw them move when it spoke.

"I came from space to rape and rape."

The being broke into a frenzied scamper. Its flat feet crushed tiles and its gangly arms dragged along behind it like ship anchors.

Toby started running and shoved Junella when she didn't move fast enough.

"I came from space to rape and rape," it said again, just in case they had forgotten. Same monotone. Like a kid at a spelling bee.

George took the cue and bolted for the doors at the end of the hallway. Fast, but not so fast he'd choke his chained friends. They could all hear the rape-thing crashing along the hallway behind them. The top of its head scraped the ceiling. It bashed water fountains and fire extinguishers out of the way in its eagerness to do what it had come from space to do and do.

As Toby ran past the classrooms, he happened to glance into one. A gang of four teenage punks had an overweight teacher tied up naked, his face a purple balloon of bruises. They were piling up chunks of broken desks to burn him alive. The four looked into the mouse's eyes like, 'Wanna join? It's fun.'

George lowered his head as he ran towards the double doors, making himself a battering ram. No time to bother with handles. Piffle urged him on with intermittent squeals. The hairy thing was getting closer. It was much, much faster than them.

George suddenly realized that Dysphoria might be trying to trick him into destroying his head-thumper. So instead of a headbutt, he changed tactics, reared up, and foreleg-kicked the doors with all his might.

"I came from space to rape and rape."

They all heard it turn the corner. Light from the windows flickered as it passed. Toby screamed.

The door popped open with no resistance, just a creak that sounded like a laugh. Junella nearly shoved George out of the way to get through faster. Toby ran after her. Now they were in a gymnasium. Every noise they made reverberated off the reflective lacquered floor. The bleachers had been smashed to firewood. The lines and circles on the floor corresponded to no game Toby had ever seen. Dead students hung from the ceiling on jumprope nooses. At the far end of the room, an EXIT sign glowed.

Piffle kicked the door closed behind her and seconds later a thick leathery hand tore it open again.

"I came from space to rape and rape."

Junella slapped at George's thigh, telling him to get them the hell out of here even if he wrung all their necks doing it. He took the hint and accelerated towards the exit. He could hear the floorboards splintering under the weight of the their pursuer. Having no flesh, George did not have much need to fear rape, yet he somehow knew this thing would find a way.

Toby's vision started dimming. The room seemed to stretch. The exit seemed to shrink.

"I came from sp

No transition whatsoever: they were somewhere else.

Toby was so startled he tripped on the green felt and fell over onto his palms and knees. Immediate pain from his collar. Grunted gasps from Zinc and Junella as his weight pulled on theirs too.

Zinc gave a hard tug and yanked the mouse back to his feet. His sneer said, 'Don't you dare do that again.'

Toby apologized wordlessly. The canine looked stressed enough to take a bite out of him.

They all looked around. The gym was gone. The thing from space was gone. They were standing on a whopping great pool table.

Scattered around were colored balls ten feet across. The travelers were now bug-sized. Or this was billiards for giants. There was a bright bulb overhead, though the rest of the room was shadow-hid. Toby heard sounds of sloshing liquid, the drone of a TV, and the shuffling of dirty clothes. The smell of cigarettes and alcoholism was thick as a fog.

George looked back to make sure everyone was still attached and undamaged. They looked worn out already, but all accounted for. Junella gave him an apologetic pat for being so rough a moment ago, then bade him continue with a nod. His head knew where to go.

Dysphoria was not done playing games though. The group hadn't taken four steps before there came a roar behind them. It was not from the lungs of the rape-thing, but a gang of gasoline engines.

Toby looked back. Four dented, rusted lawnmowers were there. Red toothy discs on wheels with bushy-browed cartoon eyeballs. Long handles protruding. Revving, revving. Toby wondered if they were the delinquents from before.

They waited to be noticed first, then they charged.

From all around came a hearty cheer from the towering phantom drunks in the darkness. This was tonight’s entertainment. Place your bets.

The travelers picked up their feet and ran again. The lawnmowers popped wheelies in unison, showing off nicked and bloodstained blades spinning at full RPMs. Their engines sounded like cackling laughter as they chased their meat and shredded up the table's felt.

Junella tapped George. "Pocket!" He looked back to make sure she'd actually said that, and she mouthed the word to confirm. He nodded and headed for the closest divot in the table.

Toby crammed his hands over his ears. The mowers' motors were supernaturally loud, not to mention the braying laughter from the unspoken crowd. Drops of beer rained down around him in slow motion, hitting hard as water balloons. The stink was making his throat knot up. Toby looked ahead, seeing the hole George was heading for. It looked like a black oversized toilet. Toby did not want to jump down there, but neither did he want to be digested by psychopathic lawn equipment.

Piffle was not a strong runner. Her legs were short and chubby. She could hear the mowers howling behind her, then a shriek escaped her throat as one of them leaped up and chewed a chunk out of her elbow. Blood cascaded down. Doll swung herself around to Piffle's other arm, trying to get out of attack range.

The lawnmowers seemed to cheer. They bucked and hopped, doing acrobatic, teasing leaps.

Zinc was on a hair-trigger anyway. Piffle's pain was his breaking point. He turned his head and shouted, "Come on, you shitbirds!! COME ON!!!"

One of them took the bait and lunged straight at him, metal teeth whirling.

Zinc lost two fingertips but managed to grab hold and swing the goddamn thing up and over his head. It slammed into the felt with a crunch and a shower of sparks. The unseen crowd booed in disgust. Zinc snarled wildly, spittle flying from his jaws. At least he'd killed the rotten motherfuck.

He looked back at Piffle. He met her eyes, then showed her his gushing hand. 'Not real,' he said silently.

She nodded, holding her elbow. 'I know.'

The other mowers were outraged. Their pal was a bent heap with its wheels still spinning. Down to three, they redoubled their effort to shred their prey, revving as loud as they could. Toby felt a trickle of blood run down his earlobe.

George knew he couldn't outrun them at his current speed. He knew all wounds were illusions here, but he could not stand to hear his friends suffer. The pocket was close. He whinnied in apology and took off at a hot gallop.

Immediately, Toby's feet left the ground and the pressure on his neck quadrupled. Sounds around him slurred and green felt flew beneath him. He gagged, felt himself blacking out, and grabbed frantically for the chain, trying to relieve some pressure so his neck wouldn't snap. Junella's tail smacked him in the face like a blackjack. His nose became a bright red umbrella of pain.

The lawnmowers' engines screamed. They chased harder, surging across the table like a pouncing pack of tigers.

Ahead was the pocket. Not far now. George pounded his hooves against the table, shredding felt.

The mowers' whirling blades laughed harder and harder.

Then there was just a quick swerve around the 7 ball and George was diving into darkness.

Toby felt himself being jerked in a new direction. Straight down. His hands squeezed the chain. He couldn't breathe!

The hole swallowed the sounds of the mowers and the disappointed crowd. The six were weightless for a moment, then came a bonecrack as George landed on hard plastic and everyone else followed. Four cries of pain. They landed on their backs and shoulders, then started sliding down the pitch black cylindrical tunnel. A waterslide with no water.

It was pure chaos. Toby was in pain and screaming and he thought his shoulder was dislocated. He couldn't see anything. They were sliding so fast he had no clue what was up or down.

The tunnel seemed neverending. Everyone bumped into each other. Rushing onwards down the tunnel. Onwards. Tunnel. Darkness.

A flash.

Darkness.

A flash.

Darkness.

A strobe light effect, then a loud clanging and the lights came on.

Confused and terrified, everyone looked around.

They were still moving forward just as fast as before, but now they were enclosed within a rattling tin can. Metal floor. Silver seats. Straps above their heads were shaking like reeds in the wind from the rumbling of the wheels below.

Most of the subway car's lights were smashed in. Only one still worked. Toby looked up. There were grasshoppers crawling around on the ceiling.

With the roar of the tracks surrounding them and the windows spitting flecks of light in their eyes, they all grabbed onto whatever they could and struggled to their feet with many moans. Toby pulled himself up with a pole and his shoulder made him wince. He'd landed hard on it, then kept hitting it over and over again as they fell. He tried to focus on the thumbtack to make the pain go away, but it remained. He really had busted it up.

This was a lesson. Dysphoria could not hurt them directly, but it could maneuver them into hurting themselves.

George was whimpering. Junella held him in a gentle hug. Toby turned and saw that both the horse's forelegs had shattered. Piffle pulled Zinc with her so she could hug George as well.

Junella made sure the stallion was paying attention as she carefully unwrapped the tape from around her tack. It didn't stick as well to vinyl. She flexed her freed hand and, with a flick of the wrist, dumbfounded her revolver.

George understood. He couldn't think of a non-verbal way to voice his concern so he risked asking, "Are you sure my death won't untether me from the chain?"

Junella shook her head and replied, "You're a parasite. The harpies squeal to drink your marrow."

George looked horrified.

Junella stamped her foot in frustration. She gestured wildly, trying to convey, 'See!? This is exactly why I said not to talk!'

Toby was horrified. He'd been looking right at her and the voice had seemingly been hers. He knew better, but couldn't resist an experiment. He opened his mouth to say, 'My name is Toby.' "I'm a filthy baby bedwetter."

Everyone stared at him.

His cheeks turned red. He would not be doing that again.

Junella looked back at George and patted the metal rings encircling his pelvis: 'Don't worry'. She held the gun to his head and asked with her expression if he was ready.

He nodded.

BANG

Toby watched it happen. For a moment, George fell limp against the floor. Then a second skeletal horse tried to come into existence in the same space as his corpse. For a terrifying moment there were eight legs and two heads spasming around. The bones were held together by the collar, but they fought it, trying to separate into two. It looked obscenely painful.

Finally, the dead George seemed to absorb into the live one. Shaken, the construct stood up. He conveyed with his expression that, yes, he had felt every second of that. Toby reached out to pat him comfortingly.

Junella was glad to see him on his feet again. She turned and waved the gun: 'anyone else?'

Piffle looked down at her elbow. The blood had vanished, so she shook her head. Zinc rubbed his ribs but declined the offer too. Toby seriously considered it. He thought his shoulder might be fractured. His nose was bleeding for real too.

Suddenly he was horrified to see Junella duck into a defensive stance and aim her gun with both hands directly at Doll's face. The skunk's eyes were wide with fear. Piffle protectively pulled Doll to her chest.

Junella blinked. She looked past both of them, then growled.

Piffle looked back too. Nothing there. She mouthed, 'Did it make you see something?'

An irritated nod. And an apologetic look to Doll. Junella was just about to throw the revolver far away, lest she accidentally fire at someone for real next time. Then Toby grabbed her wrist.

Looking absolutely miserable about it, he pulled the barrel towards his forehead.

She searched his eyes for any sense he was spellbound, but they looked clear. And in pain. She nodded, acknowledging the guts it took to ask for this.

George cringed in empathy.

BANG

Then Toby was mindlessly screaming as his body was filled with more bones and organs than it had ever been designed to contain. For a moment he had two faces, two hearts, two throats, two everythings. His flailing limbs crashed into each other. His skeleton ate itself.

Then it was over and he was clutching himself to the metal pole, shuddering all over. Drool and blood made red and silver lines down his chin. He looked to Junella and his eyes said clearly, 'Never again. Not for anything.'

Her expression was genuinely sorry. She turned and, with a snarl, threw the gun so hard it shattered a window. It went clattering off into the dark of the subway tunnel. She looked away from the others, furious at herself and this living hell. She put the thumbtack back in her hand, making a fresh hole, and secured it with the tape.

Then she swept her arm towards the front of the train. Her face was hard again. They could stay here, or they could keep moving.

George cleared his throat. He reached up to point at his head-thumper. Then he started towards the opposite door.

She smiled sheepishly, thanked him with a nod, and followed.

The next car was on a different train entirely. The light was so low it took their eyes a moment to adjust, but it was clear they'd moved from a subway car to a sleeping car on a passenger train. The motion of the floor beneath them was a different rhythm. Tiny triangular ceiling lamps were the only illumination. The walls were upholstered in a rich red color and felt like corduroy.

George had barely any room to move. The space between the windows and the sleeping compartments was hardly more than the width of his ribcage. He had to take tiny steps. If anything chased them in here, they would have no choice but to stand and fight.

Despite the seeming calm of their surroundings, Toby couldn't help but notice the air in here felt greasy. So did everything he touched. Like it was all covered in a thin mist of wax.

Wind howled outside. A ghost mouse's eyes looked back into Toby's from the window reflection. He leaned in closer to see outside. It was after midnight, definitely. Raining. He could faintly make out a flat, featureless landscape that stretched on towards mountains. They passed a long line of tilting telephone poles.

Beneath them the train swayed back and forth, back and forth. The rivets in the walls rattled.

George reached the far door and was puzzled for a moment as to how it opened. The mechanism looked like a circle and a triangle at the same time. And there was no room for Junella to squeeze past and give him a hint. He tentatively attempted to spin the dial, and his hoof sank right through the metal. The whole door parted like ripples in a pond. Unsettled, but glad it had been that easy, he moved on.

In the next car, in compartment number 03, someone was yelling at the top of their lungs. "I LOVE YOU! I LOVE YOU!" The same words, over and over.

There was no tenderness in the voice. It was a hoarse screech of livid madness. And there was a pause between each repetition, punctuated by a sound of harm. "I LOVE YOU!!!" thump "I LOVE YOU!!" whack "I LOVE YOU!!!" snap "I LOVE YOU!!!"

Somehow they all knew that whoever was on the receiving end of this love had long since stopped fighting back. Maybe stopped being alive.

They crept by as silently as possible, none of them wanting to disturb the occupant in 03. More declarations of love. More sounds of knuckles scaping bone. Toby jumped every time. Piffle was in tears. The shade was drawn over 03's window, but a shadow was moving inside. Piffle held her mouth shut to guarantee silence as she passed it.

George made it to the far end of the car. This time the door was different: an enormous rusted lever. Gritting his teeth, he pushed his hoof against it. It barely moved. He tried again with his teeth. No better. Back to the hoof. By keeping a steady pressure, he could coax the stubborn thing to just barely crawl towards its cradle. In the meantime, they had to keep listening to, "I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU!!!"

Piffle held herself tight to Zinc. All of them were bunched up behind George as much as the tight confines allowed. None of them wanted to be close to that screaming.

George was working as fast as he could. The lever was digging its heels in. It was taking all the stallion's strength to keep it moving.

And then suddenly all resistance vanished. The lever fell towards its latch with a clang like a dropped toolbox.

The shouting from the third door stopped.

Piffle saw the shadow turn around. She shoved Zinc and he passed it down the line.

George did not bother with silence any more. He butted the door open with the side of his face and squeezed himself through. Everyone else squashed themselves into the next car as fast as they could.

Compartment 03 slowly opened.

Piffle had never been more happy to slam a door shut in her entire life.

She watched through the window into the previous car. Nothing stirred in there. 'Good.' She would be very happy to live the rest of her life never knowing what had been in that room.

They continued on through a dozen more identical cars. Same red walls, same dim lights. Thankfully, no more screaming. Though once, one of the compartment doors was open. Toby peeked into the small room, wincing in anticipation of a murder scene. It was totally empty except for some baby clothes left on the floor.

The rumble of the train became a pounding headache. Toby had to keep re-focusing on the droplets or the thumbtack to get any relief. But the throb kept returning. A migraine like a cigarette burn. He looked out the window again. Shapes. He cupped his hands against the glass and saw huge, angled beasts out there. Enough to fill the fields. They were either eating or fucking each other, or both. Toby looked up at the ceiling instead. Nothing up there but more red corduroy. That was fine.

George puzzled through yet another door and they all shuffled through. He began to wonder how many more hours of this they'd have to endure.

Dysphoria overheard his unhappiness and was eager to accede.

They all braced themselves as the train gave a sudden violent shudder. Brakes screeched.

Toby looked outside again. The farming fields were gone. Now they were on a bridge with no guardwalls, high above a river. He could see reflections of the rain on the water below.

Everyone shifted their weight as the train lurched to the left. Then an even sharper lean to the right. One of the sleeping compartments came open and luggage tumbled out to bang against Zinc's face.

The lights went out.

Total darkness. Toby's pupils dilated. The brakescreech rose in volume and pitch until it was tearing their heads apart with both hands.

Toby saw the moon in the sky. He saw it roll out of sight as the train fell sideways off its tracks.

The rumble vanished. Everything was silent as they fell.

Toby's heart seemed to pull itself up into his throat. His claws dug into the carpeted walls as everything turned upside down. He saw the loose suitcases swimming. He was frozen, so scared he couldn't even emote. Like he had gone beyond fear to a place of manic acceptance.

'We are falling. If we don't die in the crash, we will drown. There is absolutely nothing I can do to stop this.'

Gravity pulled him into Junella as the train car tilted and dove facefirst for the river.

The shock of impact traveled through Toby's body, clacking his bones together. The lights flickered. He felt the air pressure in his ears change. Someone was screaming. The windows bulged. Through them, Toby could see water rising. They were sinking. Down to the bottom. The first trickles appeared at the edges of the windows. Soon the glass would burst, showering everyone with tiny clear blades and ice cold water.

The train car was at a fifty degree downward angle. Piffle crawled frantically back towards the last closed door. She unfurled her wings and buzzed them. Her chain tugged Zinc's. His hand clamped her ankle. She looked back, antennae thrashing directionlessly. He fixed his eyes on hers and slowly shook his head. He waited for her to calm and understand.

'No backtracking,' he carefully enunciated. He pointed below them, towards the water.

She was a trembling statue for a moment, not wanting to believe it. But there was no choice. She eased her claws out of the floor and took his hand.

Zinc turned and offered his palm to Toby. The mouse was staring out the window, almost paralyzed. Zinc whapped his shoulder. Toby looked around, saw the open hand, and accepted it. Zinc pointed with his muzzle towards Junella and George. Toby swallowed hard, but turned to the skunk and relayed the message.

She had already made George understand what he had to do, but took Toby's hand in hers nonetheless. Anything that helped ground her was good. She caressed George's ribs. He nodded gratitude, then took on the last puzzle.

This one was simple. There was a wheel in the door with an impression exactly sized to his hoofprint. He fit two and two together. Then he looked back at the others.

Everyone gulped the deepest breath they could before George turned the wheel.

The river ripped the door open and swallowed them all.

Their ears filled with the roar. The chill stabbed through their bodies. 'Up' and 'down' lost meaning. Toby saw bubbles dancing all around his eyes.

George pushed himself through the doorway and dragged the others behind him. The train car was still sinking, and fast. He did not like the idea of having it crush him against the river bottom, so he swam for all he was worth. He started heading upwards until the thump in his skull told him the right path was to swim further down. That seemed insane, but he obeyed.

Toby's neck and skull throbbed from being dragged along by a bone torpedo. His lungs burned. He had never felt so cold. The water tore the warmth from his blood. He felt like he was buried miles beneath snow. He clamped his mouth and nose shut, squeezing till capillaries burst. He tried to tell himself that none of this was really happening, he was in no true danger. But his senses refused to believe. Right now they were convinced beyond reason that they were cold and drowning and within oblivion's clutch.

George could see a mossy, drunk light somewhere ahead. Impossible. But he swam towards it even harder.

When Toby realized George was pulling them down deeper, he lost it. He screamed, releasing his remaining air in a chandelier of bubbles. He tore at his collar and his nails left ruts in his skin.

Above them, train cars fell slowly. Massive, tumbling dominoes. They would crush the tiny souls and trap them forever, entombed beneath tons of steel and glass and red corduroy.

The light was the moon, George realized.

His nose broke the surface. He splashed into the light and kicked to find anything solid. To his amazement, his hooves dug into sand. He anchored himself as well as he could and pulled. Grunting with strain, he dragged five chained bodies up onto the shore beside him. Three were still moving.

Junella collapsed in the wet sand and vomited water. Toby was prone, twitching. Zinc had managed to hold both his breath and Piffle the whole way through. She was cold in his arms though. He kissed her forehead, then held her tight as she convulsed into her new living body. No stranger to transformations, it disturbed her less than George or Toby, but the pain was still godawful. Thankfully, seeing Zinc's caring gaze at the end made it recede. She threw her arms around him and nuzzled into his shoulder. He was glad to reciprocate.

Junella helped Toby up. Once she'd gotten through to him that he was out of the water, he looked alright. Queasy, but alright. She was worried for a second he'd gone catatonic. That could happen in here. Sure it could. The mouse swirled back to sentience, then hugged George in thanks for getting everyone out of there. Junella did too.

After Zinc helped her to her feet, Piffle noticed something. She couldn't feel little hands gripping her shoulders anymore. She turned around and found Doll hanging stiffly from the end of the chain, arms splayed. Motionless without her bag. For a moment Piffle's heart broke. But then she remembered how this place played tricks. The chain had been fastened around the burlap, so it couldn't have gotten lost no matter what her eyes were telling her. She took her small friend in her arms and, on the side of her head, spelled out I-T-S-S-T-I-L-L-T-H-E-R-E. Doll was not able to respond.

George looked up at the sky. Rain poured down. They were already soaked, so what did it matter? The moon was so full he could see its oozing craters. They had come ashore out of a pond no more than twelve feet across. Dysphoria was surely having a chuckle at that.

Ahead and all around was nothing but grass and weeds. Emptiness for miles. But the pulse in George's head told them where to go. He looked back to check on his companions. They looked miserable and wet, but stable. George began again to walk.

Toby felt the tug on his chain and followed. A large part of him wanted to just sit down and rest. Take a time-out to mentally deal with everything that had happened so far. But he couldn't. So he followed.

The wind around them moaned like someone lost and searching for home. The rain was picking up. Each fat droplet stung Toby's fur. It flicked his ears and nose. He looked up into the rain, baring his teeth, wanting to scream for it to stop. Instead he dropped his muzzle to his chest and wrapped his arms around himself. He kept walking. The grass tickled his ankles unpleasantly, like bugs' legs.

Piffle tried everything she could to get the burlap bag back. She tried holding Doll outside her field of vision, then having Zinc startle her to make the illusion break. No dice. Then she reckoned that her sense of touch might be unaffected. She felt Doll all over. Nothing but smooth plastic. But then when she felt along the chain, jackpot. The bag had slid up and over somehow. And Dysphoria was nasty enough to exploit that and turn it invisible.

Doll felt the familiar scratchy fabric being pulled into place. She looked up into Piffle's ruby globes, still inanimate since the bag remained invisible, but at least she had the peace of mind it wasn't lost. All she could move was one hand, as the river had claimed half of her new emerald gloves. She pulled Piffle's paw closer and squeezed it. The hamsterfly smiled brightly. Then, with a determined smirk, she reached in her dress pocket and dumbfounded something green. Doll was overjoyed. Zinc looked like he'd truly needed a bright spot in the depths of this ordeal.

Nothing much happened for a very long time. At one point Junella clapped four times, then shook her head angrily, but that was it. They kept walking. It felt like miles had passed.

Then something landed on Toby's shoulder. He saw it in his peripheral vision. A long-legged beetle. He slapped at it angrily.

The sound of the wind changed.

The rain changed.

Every drop became a beetle, and they blotted out the moon.

Within seconds the air was thick with tiny black bodies. The sound of a million buzzing wings. Those who shrieked soon found their mouths full. The air had turned into bugs. A rain of bugs. A snowstorm of bugs.

Toby curled up as tight as he could while still walking. He shoved his nose into the edge of his vest. The insects pelted him like plastic bullets. Their awful legs scrambled through his fur. He felt them trying to crawl into his ears. Their pincers were digging in all over. Slick little bodies were mummifying him through sheer numbers. 

Soon enough everyone was wading through inches of twitching insects. Exoskeletons crunched beneath their feet like peanut shells. The buzzing was ceaseless and deafening. Zinc slipped on the carpet of vermin and would have smashed skulls with Toby if Piffle hadn't caught him. Doll was holding herself close to Piffle's jacket, trying not to fall off, keeping her head down so the bugs wouldn't fill up her hollow face.

George knew what Junella had said about weapons, but there were beetles crawling inside every part of his body. They were in his eye sockets. He raised his head and exhaled an orange blossom of flame. Pests were baked to ashes. It gave himself and his companions a few seconds' respite, but he could blow from now until eternity and the beetles would never stop falling. He wanted to hunker down and shield his friends with his body, but that was what this realm wanted. Even if the rain never stopped, he couldn't either. He had to make sure nothing was ever stronger than the steady thump at the front of his skull.

There was a lightning flash and the beetles ceased to exist.

The six of them were left shuddering, covered in bites, all by themselves in a moonlit field without even a breeze of wind.

They should have been happy. The damned bugs were gone. Instead they all felt used. Dysphoria was playing with them. Letting them know it could flick its cruelty on or off whenever it felt like.

Zinc sucked in breath, then screamed for as long and as loud as his lungs would let him. A volcanic eruption of sound. It accomplished absolutely nothing.

Still sopping wet, the six continued walking.

They slogged through the field for another half hour.

At first they were all on edge. They waited for the next dirty prank. They waited for more rain, more bugs, more rapemonsters, or more of that horrible voice screaming "I LOVE YOU". They tried to make themselves ready for anything. Little clenched fists, all in a row.

Zinc kicked at weeds. It was all he could do to vent his increasing rage. There was a limit to what he could take, and beyond what the others could see, there were whispers. Reminders of his first visit to this carnival hell. No one else seemed to hear them and he didn't know why. Wouldn't Dysphoria want to humiliate him even more? He had snapped at the voice earlier, but it did no good. The voice followed everywhere. Buzzing in his ear like an immortal mosquito.

Toby felt his waterlogged shoes squish with every step. He knew all this cold water had been Dysphoria's attempt to make them forget about the spraying fan, but Toby kept it in mind nonetheless. He knew he had to keep his mind active. As fatigued as he was already, he kept on reminding himself that his mind was his only weapon in here. He could not let himself be fooled. There would be time enough to relax once he was out. If they made it to Anasarca, Toby thought he might just lie down and sleep for a weeks.

No one can keep up alertness forever. For a while the sextet watched the horizon and the grass, senses piqued to any new threat. But the unending sameness of the landscape lulled them.

Fear became boredom. Pain became numbness.

And a wall slammed down behind them.

The field was gone. They blinked at the harsh light. They were inside, in dry air.

It was a perfectly square room. Blank walls the color of a fish's belly. Empty except for the six chained companions. They weren't even wet anymore. And Doll's bag had regained visibility so she could move again. This good fortune was surprising.

"Welcome!"

The cheerful voice came from the middle of the room. Now there was a square pedestal all of a sudden. And on it was a perch with a colorful parrot.

'What now?' Toby thought.

The bird's voice had the crackle of an old wax recording. "Riddles for you! Riddles for you! In this room there are two doors, but only one leads to truth! The other leads back here, I fear! Choose true, please do!" It was full of shit though, as all four walls were all completely blank.

Or at least, that had been the case a moment ago. In the instant when everyone was distracted, the room had changed again. To their right was now an intricate wooden door, gleaming with varnish, covered in carvings of scampering squirrels and other forest animals. To their left was a simple aluminum screen door. Dented, and with a few dead flies stuck to it.

The parrot extended its rainbow-hued wings. "I'm high as a kite when my mood is bright, but turn me on my head and I'll dance till I'm dead. What am I? Give it a try!"

None of them were in the mood for this, but it seemed like the only way on to the next irritation. Toby rolled the riddle over in his mind. He tried to remember all the words correctly, as puzzles like these often employed double meanings. At first he thought of an hourglass. That didn't fit the first part though. Maybe an airplane? Falling out of the sky after a tailspin?

The parrot's black pebble eyes focused on Junella as she walked towards it. "Ah, sweet miss! Come to give me a kiss? Whisper in my ear, my dear. Have you solved this?"

She motioned for George to step out of the way and let her get closer. To the parrot she nodded with a satisfied smile.

Then she dug both hands into its feathery neck and clenched. With a savage yank, she pulled apart bone and sinew and ripped its head clean off. Blood sprayed across her face and she didn't even flinch.

Toby jumped back but his chains kept him from getting too far away. Junella's pumpkin-colored eyes smoldered with unfathomable hate. Her fists trembled around the two chunks of dead bird they clutched. Toby realized the skunk had been mostly quiet all this time, but it was just a valiant mask. Her composure was fraying, held together by thinning threads.

Junella threw the head and body against the wall, leaving two red paintbrush smears. She rubbed her face and hands on her scarf, then took a deep breath. 'That felt good,' she mouthed.

Zinc wished he'd been the one close enough to the pedestal to do that. But how were they going to choose a door now?

Junella had known the answer all along. Pure intuition. The minds of devious, cheating bastards think alike. She motioned for George to keep walking towards the far wall, ignoring the two doors completely. When he got there, he gave her a puzzled look.

She rammed her fist right through.

It had never been anything but wallpaper.

Toby felt a moment of insane rage overcome him. He had no good outlet for it, so he gave the middle finger to the parrot's lifeless head as he passed by.

Then the six of them walked through the hole, into coal blackness.

Unsurprisingly, the wallpaper repaired itself the instant they stepped through. Now there was no light at all. It was an enclosed space. The stuffy air told Toby that much. Their feet clanked where they stepped. Maybe an old boxcar? He'd definitely had enough of trains for a while.

Junella trusted George to know the way. And he did. Toby followed the sound of hooves scraping metal.

He stumbled on something. A plastic tube. Then his foot encountered another. And another. The floor was littered with these things.

Toby had a sudden awareness of what they might be. Even as his feet kicked away dozens of the things, he tried to shove the answer away. Maybe if he could keep the image out of his mind, these things wouldn't be what he knew they were.

But George just had to be helpful. He boosted his inner glow so the others could see. In the candlelight, they realized they had been walking over huge piles of used syringes.

The walls were covered in them too. Meticulously glued in place, stingers out.

Toby swore he could hear a long, crackling laugh somewhere off in the distance.

The six clustered closer and took tiny steps. They shuffled along, kicking away the snowdrifts of needles. Piffle, with her heavy boots, did not worry much. Toby was scared shitless. Needles. He'd taken them like a champ plenty of times. But those were sterilized, brand new, administered by a doctor. These ones were encrusted with all kinds of residue. He flashed back to being younger, staring at that little red garbage can in the doctor's office. The one with the biohazard sign. Where the medical waste was supposed to go. He'd had nightmares sometimes, of the doctor coming back into the room and lifting him up, and dropping him into that little red can.

The walls shook. Toby heard Piffle yelp and clutch herself to Zinc. Beneath his sandals, he felt the floor tilt.

'You rotten cheating jerk. You monster. Don't do this.'

And then the metal box was shaking like some gleeful toddler had picked it up for a plaything. 

Toby had a fraction of an instant to cover his face. Then he landed with all his weight in a garden of thorns. The pain was enough to shatter his mind. Needles hit bone. Tubes shattered and fragments drove deep. He had no air to scream with.

Gravity grabbed hold of the chain and yanked everyone straight down. They tumbled end over end, living pincushions, and George slammed hard into the doors, which were covered in needles too. He got a nice faceful of quills before everyone fell out onto concrete.

Screams.

The needles were in their arms, their legs, the soles of their feet, their hands, their hair, their cheeks. Toby was blind with panic, flailing his arms in every direction, trying to scrape away all the pain. Some of the shattered bits had gouged deep into his flesh, stuck beneath the skin. He'd need surgery to get them all out. The cuts were starting to burn from all the terrible chemicals that had been injected into his body.

Somewhere, miles away, someone was screaming, "Attack! Attack!"

What now? What was attacking them now!?

'NO!' Toby's brain screamed, and he wrestled control of his panic. The voice had screamed, 'the tack'.

It took a monumental effort, but he forced himself to shut his eyes and lie still. Only one of these pains was real. Only one. He had to find it. Oh what a dirty, rotten trick. He mentally felt all up and down his back, searching for that one single...

All the other pains faded to static when he found the thumbtack. The needles had never been real. He had only made them real by letting himself be fooled.

And then Junella was hauling him up to his feet. Toby expected her expression to be disgust at his humiliating flopping around.

Instead, her face was an empty room. She looked at him blankly, assessed his condition, and turned to the others.

He looked behind. Everyone else seemed to be in varying states of shock, but had also figured out how to vanish the syringes. Zinc was stomping his foot and Piffle was rubbing her palm. Toby ran a paw across his own face just to make sure it was really unpunctured. It hardly felt like his own skin.

A tug on his chain. They had to keep moving.

Now they were in some kind of colossal concrete aqueduct. Or maybe the guts beneath a stadium. The walls were forty feet of solid grey. Toby felt like an ant. High above were water pipes and swatches of old posters. There were no more syringes, but plenty of garbage and birdshit and sagging cardboard boxes. The sextet's footsteps echoed.

This place was circular. If they stayed here they'd keep going round and round. Could Dysphoria just box them in like that? Trap them with no exit and leave them to starve? 'No, if it could it would've done that already, right?' This place had to be playing by some kind of rules. Toby had to remind himself that they were-

In a flash, he was walking across the asteroid field again. Stars all around, invisible glass beneath. Another flash. He was walking alone through Phlegmasia. He quickly shoved his hands over his eyes. Another flash. He was in Ectopia Cordis' holding cell. Another flash. He was in the Jennie-Mae. He rubbed his eyes till blue sparkles danced, and when he looked again the elephantine concrete colosseum was back.

Toby's muscles tensed. He rubbed his muzzle and directed hateful thoughts towards Dysphoria. Oh, so it could pull THAT at any time, could it? The disorientation had almost been bad enough to make him puke.

Actually, he hadn't been sick in here once so far. Toby latched onto that bit of pride. Something positive to hold.

'It's throwing everything it can think of at you, but you're still moving forward. Remember that. It can't stop you. It can only trick you into choosing to stop.'

From behind him he heard Piffle speak up, sounding broken and tired. "Toby?"

He looked over his shoulder.

"I know the real reason you won't fuck me. Too much medicine made your dick limp. But give it a try anyway. I'm real horny. Zinc can watch you plug it in. He's too much of a puss to stop you."

The words were obviously not hers, and she clapped both hands over her mouth, shaking her head in obvious mortification.

Toby let her know he didn't believe the ugly words, and sneered in contempt all around at Dysphoria's pettiness. 'That was just sick!'

Zinc kept his head down, pretending he hadn't heard a thing. But he reached back his paw, and when Piffle took it, his fingers caressed hers softly.

Junella turned her head and spat at the wall. George nodded his agreement with the gesture.

They continued on. The tunnel seemed to have no end and there were no landmarks to tell if they'd made any progress. Toby could hear PA announcements, rendered almost incomprehensible by distance and echo. After a while, he was sure they weren't language.

Up ahead the way was blocked. At the edge of the curve, some huge mound of garbage was barricading the immense tunnel. As they drew closer, details emerged. It was a mountain of old, discarded phone books. Water pipes had leaked onto them from above, producing the odor of rot. The smell was almost enough to make Toby lose his bit of pride.

There were so many books, going around was not an option.  'Up and over it is then.'

Toby watched George place a hesitant hoof down to test for stability. The water-warped book slid out from beneath him. He snarled and tried again. And again.

It was not easy going for any of them. Every step had to be taken with extreme care lest it set off a yellow avalanche. The books were slippery and apt to crumble apart with little pressure. And sometimes the travelers' feet would sink deep in the pile, feeling the wiggly things that lived down there. Toby kept his gaze focused ahead. This, like everything else, would be over soon. Once they got to the top they could slide down and see what new, fresh outrage lurked for them on the other side.

crunch

Toby looked down at the dry, papery sound. His foot was not stuck in another rotted phone book. 
It was stuck in a tan, papery wasp's nest.

The entire pile had turned to wasps' nests beneath their feet. Hundreds. Just like that.

They all froze. Balancing like dancers. Little yellow bodies emerged from beige domes and began scurrying around their feet.

Everyone held their breath. They felt like they were held up by nothing more than their motionlessness. Another step would bring the swarm's rage. And these nests were not known for durability. Any motion might send the group crashing down deep into the pile. All the way to the bottom, buried in paper and insects.

Toby felt the wasps begin to inspect his ankles. They were trooping in straight lines up the insides of his legs. He was suddenly certain they'd sting his cock first. Crawl right up into his shorts around his balls. He'd feel their tickling wings and prickling legs. And then they'd all start digging in.

But he had to keep moving forward. That was the joke. They had to, and they had to choose to. Dysphoria knew it. Toby could feel its laughter like faraway thunderclaps.

Everyone looked into one another's eyes and the horrible truth was confirmed. Finally they looked to George. He was the leader. He'd have to take that first step.

He raised his trembling hoof.

Then came a minor eternity of blinding pain and running. It was exactly as bad as they all knew it would be. They sank into the hives like quicksand and the occupants mercilessly defended their territory. Trillions of little yellow spears. Toby held onto the thumbtack with his mind's eye. It was his only anchor. As he ran, his pumping arms made the tack scrape against his meat and nerves, and he was so grateful for it he wept. It was real pain, and while he could feel every sting amid the hurricane of stings, they were kept behind a forcefield so long as he could hold onto the thumbtack.

Then scorching pain in his feet broke that forcefield. They were in a bubbling cavern miles below the surface of the world. They were running over fresh mounds of lava. The air in here was thick as jam and hot enough to boil their sweat. The sounds of churning earth deafened them. Fire sprouted from their footwear. The charred corpses of sharks swam through the air, looking at them with high-beam eyes.

Toby ran as much from pain as panic. There was little of his mind still functioning. Everything in front of him was just a redorange blur. He went in whatever direction the chain told him to. His feet were being eaten by the lava. Consumed down to the bone. In another few seconds he'd look just like George. He could feel the air cooking the insides of his lungs with every breath.

Then they were running across a ladder a thousand feet long, balanced over an unfathomable canyon, nearly eye-level with the clouds. Toby almost went into shock when the cold, thin atmosphere hit him. His skin crackled and peeled. The ladder jang-jang-jangled with their steps, wobbling back and forth. If he fell, he knew he'd have a very long time to scream before he hit bottom. Any stumble would send them over! They were chained together! If anyone fell, he'd fall too! Toby reached up and yanked on his collar. He had to get it off! These people were going to get him killed!!

'NO! SHUT UP!!'

He was still running, but now it was somewhere else. Because it was always somewhere else.

There were no walls, there was no sky, only floor. And the floor was a million, billion meat grinders all arranged in tidy rows. Their funnels were just big enough to allow a foot to fall in. The handles all rotated in industrious unison. Toby heard a snap and a shriek behind him. Piffle had broken her ankle and one of the grinders was gobbling her up. Toby could do nothing, only hope Zinc would pull her free. The mouse was too busy looking down and watching his own steps. Watching the grinding screws inside each funnel churn and churn and churn. Hungry. What if one got ahold of him and pulled him all the way inside?

Before Toby knew it he was elsewhere. It was dark, but he could see green plastic walls and the smell was unmistakable. Dysphoria knew they had to keep walking forward, so it had tipped an amphitheater-sized porta-potty in their path. How sweet. Unnaturally blue water leaked out of the gaping tunnel ahead. The stench held Toby's nostrils open with clawed hands and screwed itself inside. A stew of strangers' shit and urine, with sickly-sweet cleaning chemicals on top like a sauce.

'The germs...' Toby hyperventilated and bit his lips shut. He was trudging through used toilet paper and it was sticking to his ankles.

He entered the darkness. Something wet dripped into his hair. Then it became a constant rain. A brown blue rain. His muscles were rigid as bone. Both hands covered his nose and mouth. Waste dripped down like clammy candle wax, covering him head to toe. Not to mention the river of sludge he was slogging his shoes through. The smell was obscenity beyond imagination. Toby's eyes watered and stung. Chemical water dribbled into his ears like they were urinals.

For a long time, there was no light. That somehow made it more bearable, as the remaining scraps of Toby's consciousness were hard at work pretending this was only mud he was tromping through. Only mud. It clung to his shins and weighed down his clothes, but it was only mud.

Then fluorescent light stung his eyes. The first thing he saw was his own face, reflected in a mirror on a crumbling tile wall. He was in a bathroom shaped like a boa constrictor. Like a hundred of the dingiest, most dilapidated public restrooms of all time had mated and fused in a giant chain. The toilet beside him was covered in fungus. The floor was made mostly of cobwebs and TP. The sound of scraping tile fragments accompanied their every step.

The sextet looked like a pack of drowned sasquatches. Toby grabbed at whatever towels he saw, not caring how flyspecked and stained they were. Still cleaner than he was. He tried to sop off the layers of doughy waste, but it was a futile effort. As he continued to trudge along, left, right, left, right, all he accomplished was smearing it around. His fur stuck up like it was gooped with styling gel. Every mirror seemed to loom and leer at him. The shit had gotten into his eyes, turning his pinks red. The shit had gotten into his mouth. He was becoming too numb to feel any further disgust.

On and on the bathroom wound. Zigzagging. Toby gave up trying to get clean. He felt like the pisswater had drained into his pores by now. It was on his insides. He was filth. He almost wished he was running through the lava again. It could burn him to a nice, clean skeleton and he could rest.

They passed bathtubs. Hideously rust-stained bulbous things with broken legs and water-bleeding cracks. The shower curtains were drawn. Shadows lurked behind. Toby saw, and knew at any moment that things might pull away the curtains and come out. They would be worse than the house-sized seaweed whateveritwas. Worse than the 'I love you' monster. And they'd eat him. They wouldn't care he was covered in excrement. It would be like seasoning to them.

His tongue probed around his mouth. Something was wrong there. A tooth. He reached in to wiggle it with his finger and could taste the burning antiseptic chemicals under his nail. His tooth was loose. He barely cared, and pulled it out. There was a string attached. Toby pulled, wincing, his eyes starting to water. plink Another tooth was coming loose, attached to the first one by a long nerve. Toby had no idea why, but he kept on pulling. It was maddening not to. plink plink plink A long necklace of teeth, each one popping out of its socket with a dribble of red, fresh, salty blood.

Toby could hear deep echoes, like the sounds of tireless machines scraping themselves over bare rock. He felt like he was being pulled tight, stretched farther and farther and farther. There was a limit, wasn't there? A point where he'd break?

His mouth was like an empty swimming pool. He tossed the rope of teeth aside and his tongue reflexively probed the gumholes.

At some unremembered point, he made it beyond the bathrooms. Now there was just a silent darkness and bit of flickering light. As he drew closer, Toby saw it was a projection screen. Like the one above the chalkboard in class. The film hadn't started yet, but he walked towards it anyway because Toby's legs had forgotten how to stop moving.

The screen came to life! Brightly colored animated images. Toby was enthralled. It was a cartoon. An old-timey Technicolor story about a happy little family of mice. Here was Our Hero: brown fur, plump, with a mischievous smile. It was his little brother's birthday and he'd bought him a nice big peppermint candy stick. He was holding it up close, trying to get his brother to lick it. "Go on, just like that!"

Except it wasn't candy. It was the barrel of a shotgun, barber-pole painted to look like candy.

Toby's mind recoiled. No, this wasn't right! This was horrible! Stop it right now!

But it was too late. He'd gotten too close to the screen and was now inside. It was a television show. An early morning kiddie program. The host was a great big smiling chipmunk with lime-green fur and great big eyes and a great big smile that NEVER ENDED. He waved everyone over with a "How do you do!?" And he wasn't a cartoon at all. Those grotesque animated proportions belonged to a living being. Toby could hear the squelch of those giant eyes rolling around in their sockets. He could see the pimples and warts poking through the patchy green fur. He could even smell its rotten-meat breath. "Hi, kids! Hi! Come on in! We can't start the show without you! Don't you want to sing along with our friend Music Maggot?"

No, Toby did not. He wanted to get out of here. He looked all around for an exit but he was trapped in an empty soundstage with the doors all boarded up. The cameras were smashed and broken. There was a drain in the floor with something clogging it. Fur and skin. The seats in the stands were all vacant. He was the only audience.  

The chipmunk-thing laboriously waddled towards him on its sloshing, obese legs. Its thighs were like sacks of milk. "Come on! You all know the words! Singing makes everything better!"

Music started echoing out of speakers in the ceiling: a cloyingly happy ditty about the titular Music Maggot and how he was the spirit of music who lives inside all of us. Toby realized, to his bottomless horror, that he did know the words. He had always known them. And his lips were moving. He was singing along just like a good little boy.

He felt something tickle his arm and looked down. Many dozen raw, red holes. Out of each one poked a thick, fat maggot. White and greasy. All of them were swaying in time with the happy, happy music.

A primitive groan of revulsion came out of Toby and he slapped at his arm in a frenzy. But it didn't matter. The spirit of music lived inside of him. More and more holes appeared in his body, drilled from within. His inner thighs, his cheeks, his feet. Puffy white grubs poked their smiling faces through. Fat and happy from eating him.

Toby knocked over a camera in his blind panic. He tried to run and crashed into a bank of monitors. All of them showed the chipmunk's bulging face. "Ah, ah, ah! Naughty boys need to sit still! If they don't, then I guess I'll have to get the Marring Bar!"

Another cartoon came to life on an adjacent TV. A football hero with a chiseled jaw was running down the field for a touchdown. The other team tried to rush him, but from his pocket he pulled something shaped like a gold brick, but twelve inches long and black as night. Then he savagely smashed it over the head of the nearest opponent. It turned his face into a sagging, bloodshot, drooling horror. The football hero smiled brightly as he used the Marring Bar on all the other players, turning their faces into dripping clumps of cysts and polyps.

It was an unspeakable concept. Toby could not force his eyes away from the awful cartoon until the screen fell away and there was the green chipmunk standing behind. He was waving the Marring Bar. That sleek black slice of night that would melt Toby's face into an unrecognizable junkheap. The chipmunk started hopping after Toby. "Come back here! Tee hee hee!"

Toby screamed like a frightened toddler. The green chipmunk chased after him, taking big bunny leaps. His bulk shook the studio whenever he landed. His fat face jiggled like a rubber turd. Toby scrambled up the empty studio bleachers, clambering over chairs, knocking aside the bones of long-dead former audience members. There was a light in the control room at the top of the stairs. If he could just manage to reach it...

He heard the cacophony of something hurling itself up into the stands in pursuit, slamming chairs out of the way with ease. The green chipmunk's flabbiness belied a monster's strength. He was waving the Marring Bar, the magic tool that would make bad little boys ugly forever.

Just behind his shoulder, Toby heard a thunk of a blunt object hitting a skull. Then the chipmunk's wet laughter. Then another impact. And another.

Toby froze. His vision darkened at the edges to a buzzing circle. He could not help but turn.

He had to see.

His chain jangled. He saw Zinc's arm. It seemed normal enough. Toby's eyes traveled upwards. He could hear Zinc's ragged exhales. He could hear the fat chipmunk's breathy giggles. He could hear his own heart's fracturing beat.

His eyes moved slow as a glacier towards Zinc's face. He had to see it. He didn't want to. He'd rather die than see it. But he had to.

A lip hung down to the canine's chest, bloated like a drowning victim's. A tongue lolled out. Bumpy. Hair-covered.

The breathing was louder. Chunks of mucous rattled around.

Toby saw teeth.

He knew without understanding how that when he saw the eyes, he would be torn to shreds. By a thing that was no longer anyone he knew.

And he couldn't stop himself from looking.

***

Toby woke up screaming, clutching his vinyl blankets tight in his sweating fists.

Mid-afternoon sun swam through his bedroom windows. His normal, orderly bedroom. Just the way he'd always woken up in it.

His eyes darted around the room. The bookshelves were tidy and free of dust. His medicine bottles were all lined up like tin soldiers on his dresser. The 'get well' balloons in the corner tried their best to stay afloat. Nothing was wrong. It was all just a bad dream. A horrible, ugly dream.

He sat up holding his head, worried it might crack open. His sheets were a little sticky, but that was also normal. A few of his bedsores had popped. Nothing out of the ordinary. His mouth was gummy and dry. His heart was still racing from those godawful monstrous images.

But they were gone now. They were just dreams and he was here and this was real and he was HERE now.

Everything was alright.

Toby pulled the covers away, wincing when they stuck to him. He had slept naked. Maybe that was it: he didn't normally, so that must have caused the bad dreams. He glanced at the clock. Blank. He made a puzzled sound. Now that his head was clearing a bit, he looked around the room and none of the electronics were lit up.

"Must've been a blackout."

Maybe that was why it felt so late in the day. Toby couldn't tell through the drawn blinds, but the glow from outside was warm enough to suggest it was definitely past breakfast. His chest tightened a little. He'd missed his pills! The blackout must've knocked out Mommy's alarm clock and she'd overslept!

Well, okay, he was a big boy. He could take pills by himself. He brushed his vinyl plushies aside and leaned over his table full of medications. He was having a hard time reading the labels though. His eyes were still fogged and heavy from sleep. The bad dreams kept buzzing around his head like ghosts. Such horrible images. But they were fading now, and that was okay.

He couldn't make out any of the names on the bottles, and taking the wrong pills would be worse than skipping a dose. He looked towards the bedroom door. The shiny gold knob. He was not supposed to, but he didn't have a choice. He'd have to leave the room. He had to go get Mommy. She could give him his morning pills. It wasn't too late, but he had to go get Mommy.

On shaking limbs, he hoisted himself down from the bed. Just that small effort left him feeling lightheaded. He felt like he hadn't been out of his bed in days. Winded and wobbly, he crossed the hardwood floor to the shiny gold knob.

He turned it.

He smelled oranges. No reason why. Why would there be?

The hall carpet looked normal. Red and soft on his bare feet. He held onto the doorknob as he closed it behind him, oddly afraid to let go of it. But, bravely, he did, and toddled down the hallway towards the stairs.

The stairs. Mommy's room was down there. He'd have to climb all the way down the staircase by himself. His legs felt like toothpicks already. He didn't know if he could handle this.

Suddenly the whole house seemed larger. The ceilings more cavernous. Was the railing really taller than he was? Toby's pink eyes shone with fear. He crept closer to the top of the staircase and something was there at the bottom. Something was underneath that fake-orangey smell. He knew the scent. Floor polish. But another smell was underneath.

He crept to the edge of the steps and peeked. Way, way down at the bottom, he saw a foot.

Paws never leaving the railing, he oozed himself down onto the first step. His heart was thudding. First that bad dream and now this. He thought he knew what had happened but he wouldn't let such a terrible idea be true until he was sure.

The staircase curved. As Toby descended, more of the ground floor came into view. And so did the thing at the bottom of the stairs.

It was his mother. Her bucket of floor polish had spilled when she'd fallen. The orange liquid was soaking into the carpeted steps. Mommy was sprawled out across the oak floor, elbows and knees in impossible positions. Her neck had an angled lump sticking out. Her eyes were open. Her mouth was open too, and a pool of saliva had gathered around her unmoving face.

Toby froze in horror. It couldn't be true.

But it was true, you selfish little thing. While you were off having sleepytime adventures, being a lazy, mooching shit in your bed all day long, your mother fell down the stairs and broke her fucking neck. You didn't even hear it you were so dead asleep. Now she's dead. And it's all your fault. If you had just woken up from that stupid dream earlier, you could have helped her or called the paramedics. But no! Lazy little babyshit Toby wants to lounge around all day like a fucking tumor! He can't be bothered to save his mother's life! After all she's done for you!? Worthless little piglet!!

Tears streaming down his face, Toby turned and ran up the stairs as fast as he could. He tripped, and for one languorous instant he was absolutely certain he was going to tumble backwards and end up a broken carcass on the floor right next to his dead mother. How fitting an ending. But his claws dug into the wooden railing and he stopped himself. Then he ran and didn't keep running until he was safely back in his bedroom with the door slammed shut behind him. A trail of yellow had leaked down his leg to the floor, where a puddle was now spreading.

He was gasping for air but none seemed to reach his lungs. He held onto the doorknob for dear life, then all of a sudden his strength left him and he collapsed to the floor, landing hard on his tail. Seated in his own warm piss. Crying his eyes raw.

He sat curled up like that for an indeterminate time. What was he going to do? Call the police? Yes, inevitably, he'd have to. But there was no phone in here. No phone except the one downstairs. He could not conceive of making it all the way down that staircase and past his mother's body. Not possible in any theoretical universe. So what then? Stay up here forever and starve? Wait for the perfume of decomposition to come wafting up under the door!?

Didn't... No.

Didn't he have some friends he could call on for help?

A headache struck him as soon as that idea did.

'No, no. There was something...'

Toby shook his head. His vision blurred. The wood and the wallpaper seemed to run like watercolors.

He could have sworn he had some friends. Close friends. A migraine spike of pain shot through his forehead. But this was important, so he tried to ignore the powerful hurt. He wished he could read the labels on his medicine and give himself some Tramodols. Those things were great. 'No, no, no. Don't get distracted.' He was onto something here. Friends. He could see the hazy silhouettes of people, but they were fading rapidly, like in a bad dream. Had they been a part of his bad dream? Maybe. Then how could they be real? Yet... something deep in his heart told him they were real. And he had to get back to them somehow.

Toby tried to stand up. When he did, all the blood rushed out of his head and he vomited. He started to pass out but the impact of smashing nosefirst into the hardwood woke him right back up again. Lightning bolts of pain screeched through his muzzle. Puke was smeared up the side of his face and down his tummy, staining his white fur the pinkish-yellow of bile. Wasn't like he'd never experienced that before. He tried to push himself up again, failed. Yet he managed to roll away and avoid a second encounter with his sickpuddle. He took a few moments to get his breath back. Then he crawled on his hands and knees over to the bed.

Grabbing onto the post, he hauled himself to his feet again. It took all the effort in his body. He was so exhausted when he finished, he thought he might never move again. He felt like a burnt candle wick.

'I have to get back to them,' he thought.

How, smarty?

Still clutching the post lest he fall over again onto his broken nose (it was definitely broken: he could feel the throb starting already), Toby looked at his bed. The soft mattress. The thick, comforting vinyl blankets. If his friends were a dream, then logically, going back to sleep would bring them back to him. That made sense. He turned to lower himself down onto his soft, warm, inviting bed.

'No. Something is wrong here.'

Something in his memory warned him he did not want to fall asleep. Falling asleep was bad. He didn't know why, but it was. So what other options did he have?

He looked around the room. No other exit but the same door he'd come in through. Well... except for the closet. But that wasn't...

Toby let go of the bedpost and lurched towards the other end of the room. He didn't care how irrational it was. The closet felt right. Something inside it would make everything okay again.

The pain in his head flared bright, trying to drive him back. He nearly stumbled. He held his arms out like wings to stabilize himself. Walking was difficult, but it felt right too. Necessary.

The bedroom seemed as endless as a desert. His bookshelves might as well have been in another country. But Toby blanked his mind, let his eyes unfocus, and concentrated everything on putting one foot in front of the other. The wetness on his leg didn't matter. The upchuck makeover he'd given himself didn't matter either. Getting to that closet door was somehow the single most important thing in his life.

And the farther he walked, the easier it was to take each successive step. He might have been wobbling side to side like a swamp zombie, but he was moving. He was gaining speed.

His migraine drilled into him; a big oppressive jackhammer pounding his skull to pieces. But Toby didn't stop. It was only pain after all. He'd been through plenty of that by now.

He reached out his hand towards the shiny golden knob.

He turned it.

Toby walked through the doorway into his bedroom. The bed was still unmade. His puke was still on the floor. He definitely didn't want to be here anymore. So he crossed the room to his closet, towards the shiny gold knob. He turned it.

Toby walked through the doorway into his bedroom. The bed was still unmade. His puke was still on the floor. He definitely didn't want to be here anymore. So he crossed the room to his closet, towards the shiny gold knob. He turned it.

Toby walked through the doorway into his bedroom. The bed was still unmade. His puke was still on the floor. He definitely didn't want to be here anymore. So he crossed the room to his closet, towards the shiny gold knob. He turned it.

Toby walked through the doorway into his bedroom. The bed was still on the floor. His puke was still unmade. He definitely didn't want to be here anymore. So he crossed the room to his closet, towards the shiny gold knob. He turned it.

Toby walked through the doorway into his bedroom. His mother was sitting on the bed, naked, fucking herself savagely with a shiny metal hammer. She was hunched over, rocking back and forth and grunting like an animal. Blood drenched the bedsheets. Her eyes were as feral as her uncombed hair. Toby definitely didn't want to be here anymore. So he crossed the room to his closet, towards the shiny gold knob. He turned it.

Toby walked through the doorway into his bedroom. He definitely didn't want to be here anymore, so he crossed the room to his closet.

Toby walked through the doorway into his bedroom. He definitely didn't want to be here anymore, so he crossed the room to his closet.

Toby walked through the doorway into his bedroom. He definitely didn't want to be here anymore, so he crossed the room to his closet. Toby walked through the doorway into his bedroom. He definitely didn't want to be here anymore, so he crossed the room to his closet. Toby walked through the doorway into his bedroom. He definitely didn't want to be here anymore, so he crossed the room to his closet. Toby walked through the doorway into Hell. He definitely didn't want to be here anymore, so he crossed the room to his closet. Toby walked through the doorway into his bedroom. He definitely didn't want to be here anymore, so he crossed the room to his closet. Toby walked through the doorway into his bedroom. He definitely didn't want to be here anymore, so he crossed the room to his closet.

It became a rhythm. Open the door, walk across the room, open the door, walk across the room, open the door, walk across the room. And despite the fact he was making no visible progress, Toby felt like maybe he was. Maybe the pulsating crash of his migraine was an indication that something was trying to hold him back, and he was pissing it off by not complying. Of course, he had no good reason for thinking these things. Some part of him cautioned that maybe the sight of his mother lying dead at the bottom of the stairs had driven him insane. It was highly likely he was doing nothing now but traveling deeper into layers of hallucinations. 'Oh well. I'm no worse off,' he reasoned. 'Besides, I have to find my friends.'

Another migraine spike. Whatever was causing it did not seem to like that word. 'Friends,' he thought again, and this time the pain scoured through him all the way to his gut. He retched and wet his chin with a surprise encore of puke. But he was grinning. The headache's anger meant he was on the right track.

Toby walked through the doorway into his bedroom. His books had all been knocked off the shelves onto the floor. He definitely didn't want to be here anymore, so he crossed the room to his closet.

Toby walked through the doorway into his bedroom. This time his books were on fire. The melting plastic pages smelled appalling. He definitely didn't want to be here anymore, so he crossed the room to his closet.

Toby walked through the doorway into his bedroom. It was hip-deep in colorful balloons, all inflated with antiseptic spray. Whenever he popped one, the smell made him dizzier. He definitely didn't want to be here anymore, so he pushed through the room to his closet.

Toby walked through the doorway into his bedroom. He definitely didn't want to be here anymore, so he crossed the room, past the piano stitched together from living skin and tissue.

Toby walked through the doorway into his bedroom. The pattern was starting to break down. He kept noticing differences each time he entered. Mutations. Like the time when the windowshade was up and someone had glued a dead squirrel to the outside glass with its own blood. Or this time, when his stuffed animals all had teeth. Or this time, when the shadows on the floor tried to swallow him up whenever he walked over them. Or this time, when every surface was a mirror and his reflections were trying to swallow him up whenever he walked over them. It was always his bedroom, but it had never been his bedroom. Toby had no idea what this place really was, but he knew if he could just keep opening that closet door, eventually it would lead somewhere else.

'This is the literal definition of madness, you realize that, right?"

'Right. Sure. Whatever.'

Toby walked through the doorway into his bedroom. This time he had to step over the corpses of several mutilated children. They were all around his age: a skunk, a hamster, and some kind of dog. There was also a burned dead horse and a melted doll. He definitely didn't want to be here anymore, so he crossed the room to his closet.

Toby walked through the doorway into his bedroom. He paused. Something about that last room was important. He filed it away for later and crossed the room to his closet.

Toby walked through the doorway into his bedroom. Toby walked through the doorway into his bedroom. Toby walked through the doorway into his bedroom. Toby walked through the doorway into his bedroom. Suddenly he remembered everything.

Junella! Zinc! George! Doll! Piffle! He even remembered Luxy and Dorster and the mushroom woman and the parking lot attendant with the funny mouth! He was outraged. "That's what you were trying to hide from me, you bastard!"

"THAT'S WHAT YOU WERE TRYING TO HIDE FROM ME, YOU BASTARD!!!!!"

The words came out of the walls so loud his ears nearly bled. His own voice was reflected back to him at hurricane volume. Toby knelt and took a moment to recover. His heart was ramming against his ribs from the shock.

'Okay then. I keep my mouth shut from now on.'

Toby walked through the doorway into his bedroom. The floor was tilted diagonally and he had to pull his way along the wall to get to his closet.

Toby walked through the doorway into his bedroom. Why the hell would you even want to get back to those malformed dicksniffers anyway?

'Shut up. I care about them.'

WHY!? What brand of stupid are you infected with? Do you think they feel the same? That their big ol' hearts are full of love for a skinny piss-soaked weakling like yourself? You're a means to an end for them, I whispered.

'I'm not listening.'

As Toby crossed to the room to his closet, trying to keep his balance as the helicopters made the whole house shake, he did his best to keep his focus straight ahead and not listen to my voice following behind him.

Zinc was in a gang before he died! He and his buddies murdered six people. Beat them and stabbed them to death! For fun!

'No he did not,' Toby insisted.

Piffle's mother is the mushroom woman, but Piffle ain't got no mushrooms on her. Why is that, Toby? Did she perhaps cause her mother's unfortunate condition? On purpose? To slow the old bitch down so she could get out of the house sometimes?

'I am not listening to you.'

Doll is a demon. She's using you for transportation. Like a lamprey sucking away on a shark's belly. Gosh, just what has she been planning behind that unreadable face?

'Total BS,' Toby said firmly.

Junella Brox is the most selfish thing on the planet. She will abandon anyone to save her own skin. What makes you think you're special?

'Don't talk like that about her.' Toby crossed the room to his closet and opened the door.

And George? Little Georgie? He tries so hard, doesn't he? But he's programmed to be what he is. Hardwired. There's a clock ticking down until he reaches his limits and turns on you like any other dumb animal, and you won't hear it because you're too fucking stupid to learn. He's as soulless as anything else you've killed.

"No he's not!"

"NO HE'S NOT!!!!!"

The sound kicked Toby back against the bedroom door, splintering it. He needed several seconds to get his breath back, but then he snarled in bitter hatred and ran at the closet door.

The ceiling started to melt.

Toby screeched as red hot candle wax dripped down onto his arm. He looked up. The ceiling was bulging inwards. The walls too. The window blinds were turning to mush and dribbling down onto the floor. His bed was sagging. The plushies were puddles already. Everything was melting into burning hot wax. More stinging droplets landed in his hair. One ran all the way down into his ear. The pain was so intense his vision turned to silver icicles. He clawed at his ear, trying to get the wax out, only succeeding in burning his fingers. He squeaked like the frightened rodent he was as the floor began to soften as well. His bare feet sank into the warping wood. He looked ahead. The closet door. He had to get out of here. He pulled one foot up out of the slurping mess and leaned over as far as he possibly could. One step. The dripping ceiling was landing in spatters all over his back. Fine; better than his face. He winced and pulled his other foot out. Each step sunk him deeper into the burning quicksand. The ceiling was drooping inwards, bare inches above his head. The walls were buckling. This room was moments from collapse. Toby stopped trying to pull his feet out and just waded forward, pretending he was fighting a deep snowdrift. He could see the shiny gold knob. A pancake-sized chunk of ceiling fell on his bare back. He heard the sizzle. His bedroom was cooking him to death, piece by piece. The pain was excruciating. Stars were dancing in his vision. He stretched his arm as far as he could. He screamed when the ceiling finally buckled and landed entirely on top of him. Blinding him. Burying him. He forced himself forward. The pain was electricity. He reached out as far as he could, feeling the tendons in his arm start to rip. The quicksand was up to his chest. He screamed and the hot wax plunged down his throat. Cooking his tongue, making his mouth an oven. He could feel the doorknob. 

He turned it.

Instantly, he dropped.

Surrounded by clear blue sky, he hung with one hand from the shiny gold doorknob, hundreds of feet in the air above a howling city. The door was on the top floor of a supercolossal skyscraper. It opened onto nothing. The wind sucked the breath from his lungs. Toby looked down at the stripes of tiny black windows all along the building's side. From this height, the city below was nothing but a buzzing blur.

But Toby laughed. With his body still aching, pain not yet faded, he laughed until he gagged on saliva.

Because this wasn't his bedroom.

He sputtered until he could draw a breath. Then he said, "I win," and let go.

Toby plunged into terminal velocity. The wind slashed at his eyes. The building behind him rushed past faster than a bullet train. The sidewalks and cars were leaping up to meet him. And still he laughed. A madman's laugh.

He saw Piffle flying by. She gave him a jaunty wave. Then two giant white-gloved hands plucked her out of the air with dispassionate calm. One of them revealed a corkscrew with a grip like a fisherman's hook. The gloved hand drove the screw into Piffle's squirming belly and began to unravel her.

Toby saw a grinning carnival face in the sky, all shiny and orange and plastic. It smiled lecherously. And it kept getting bigger and bigger and BIGGER.

A hypodermic the size of a mailbox shot towards him like a fighter jet and plunged straight through his midsection. The flesh started to turn brown and rot away.

Toby laughed.

Then Toby and his little friends were trapped in Dysphoria forever. No one ever came to their rescue and they languished in misery for all of fucking eternity. How's that for an ending, you faggot?

'You're an absolute jerk.'

Toby was running through tall grass. Great thunderclaps of pounding feet rumbled behind him. He was being chased by something ungodly huge, something the color of rust. He was in an open field. Completely unprotected. There were trees ahead. If he

'Oh hi, Red!'

Toby was in the bathtub, naked and helpless, squirming to get away as his mother scr

'I know already!'

Toby was boiling cold. Toby was freezing hot. Toby was watching himself sitting on a department store floor, babbling in maniac laughter, unraveling his intestines through a hole in his autopsy scar like a baby playing with a wind-up toy. And the best part was

'I DON'T CARE!'

Toby was running in a circle through the rooms of an enormous spinning mansion, all overgrown with poison ivy. The huge house floated on the ocean. It had no walls or ceilings, but was perfectly round like a cake server. He ran through the dining room, the dressing room, the ballroom, the freezer, the lake, the slaughterhouse, the breeding pit. Toby looked down at his hand and saw an impish little stick figure tattooed there. It met his gaze and took off running along his arm, hiding beneath his fur. He felt legions of these prickly gremlins climbing up his feet, all over his body like being covered in ants. The ink was spreading in his skin and remaking him from the inside out. Toby cowered behind his desk at school, listening to the terrified crying of his classmates. Shots echoed down the hallway. Then the door burst open and the gunman walked in with an erection and a smile. The gun was pointed right at Toby's teacher, and soon her face was painting the blackboard. Toby was lying at the bottom of a pile of corpses. His air was running out. One of the bodies started to move. Toby watched a man strapped to a table get tickled with a feather. He laughed and laughed and laughed, until his face tore apart from the inside out. Toby was walking at night through a prison. In every cell was his father. The endless man clutched the bars in his scarred fists and glared down at his son. "You put me here," he all droned on and on. Toby was stranded in an infinite black room, watching vast geometric shapes drift past. Unfathomably huge, bending time itself around them. To look upon them was to feel one's mind break beneath their weight. Toby watched a doctor's hand holding a flathead screwdriver. It started knocking all his teeth out. Blood spurted hot over his face. His teeth slid one by one down his throat, the shattered edges tearing the lining of his esophagus. Toby was trapped in a room four feet by four feet by four feet forever. Toby watched racks of crying infants expelling their lifeblood as brown-helmeted soldiers bayoneted them one by one. Toby watched Junella turn around to look at him. Her eyes slid around her face like a dancer on a skating rink. Her nostrils opened like assholes. Her features distorted into a hideous, swirling pool. Toby watched a grotesquely pregnant rat lying on her side, dropping litters and feces with equal apathy. Toby was using his hammer to drive nails into the soft undermeat of his armpits. Four, five, six nails now.CAN YOU SEE ME? Toby watched himself rape his mother. Then he watched himself suck her eyes right out of her dead skull for nourishment. Toby shat his pants.Only it wasn't shit, it was a big thick log of coiled tapeworms, writhing for freedom as they slid out of his guts where they'd been living all this time.Toby watched angels with tinfoil wings andtinfoil skin standing around him in a circle as he lay upon the altar. One of them lifted his penis like it was something unclean, and with its other hand began to cut.LISTENToby was fathoms deep beneath the sea, the pressure crushing his skull and driving his intestines up out of his mouth. Luminous fishes nibbledhis numb extremities. Toby watched the drill come closer as the operator made a hole to attach the fishing line. He  anchored it through bone and gum, then tugged the line tight along the mouse's abdomen, down beneath the genitals. When the string was tight enough, the operator began to pluck a tune. YOU RUIN EVERYTHING Toby saw a hooded man with feathers around his neck, standing on the highway,holding a shotgun. Toby was the last survivor of a genocide that had taken everyone he'd ever loved. Toby tripped over a starved dog's carcassNO ONE HAS EVER LOVED YOU Toby's eye was itching so bad it was driving him insane. He scratched and scratched but it did no good. Then he felt something moving deep inside, and a four-inch millipede crawled out of his tearduct.Toby was being chased by something he couldnot see, but it had been chasing him for along time now and his legs were starting to gYOU WILL DIE ALONEToby was riding in a car when the driver disappeared, and hehad to leap into the driver's seat and take conrol. But he'd neverdriven before and trafffic was oncoming and he was heading for a bridge andRUN FROM EVERYTHING YOU COWARDLY LITTLE RATToby had only a bread knife and the devil was coming for hissoul. He tried to stabthedevil and the devil just laughed and laugheToby was drinking his ownToby was in an airpline. He could see the enjines on fire. A stewardess hadher hand deepinside her skirtand thebloodwasToby was pullingtheflesh off his lips and teeth shreddingthemshreddingthem shred dingthem theblood thefire the intestinesWORTHLESS FOREVERToby was lateforschool andhehadabigtest Toby was in the elctric chair butithad legsandwasrunning away TobywasI CAN SEE YOUToby was inside hismomma clawing togetouTobyhadtheknife and hewas tryingToby
watchedtheskyturn reddd TobycantswimbutTobyhastotakehispills
Tobystood overhis fathersbodywiththe shovelTobbycouldn'trun
fasttenuff  toTobyheldthekitten'sbrains Tobyhad germs all
over Toby was Toby was TobywasTobywassstoby
TobyyyyTOBywaswaswas
TOBY WAS

***

He was out. Gliding along the starlight, his head clearer than ever before. He had no more sense of self than a dream ought to. No feeling in his limbs because they were no longer there. Bodiless. But he'd never needed one anyway. His mind could see and think all on its own. Pure. He knew he'd come all the way through to the other side of that hateful realm and whatever this place was now, it was real. He was floating effortlessly through outer space. When he looked as far and deep as he pleased, he could see the stars in all their colors. Nothing was hidden. He was a soul alone among the cosmos and unafraid. Free. Able to move in any direction as fast or slow as his will commanded. Untethered from all reality except that which he chose to become. Unhooked. Space was fathomless and ripe. Anything that could be imagined existed out here. It was all he could do to not be overwhelmed by the enormity, its unsympathetic magnificence. Toby was a microbe out of his dish. This was why, he thought, people stared at the sea. Transfixed. But he had a purpose and he could not let himself be swayed from it. Not for melting rooms or blood-soaked images, not even for the whole of the universe. Amongst all the infinite debris surrounding him, he found the mountain and willed himself towards it. The only mountain that mattered. Anasarca was an upturned ice cream cone dancing in fog. A stalagmite without a cave. But something was in the way. Something large. Something curled up onto itself. Toby thought it was another asteroid at first, until its slow rotation made him realize the truth. It was a corpse. Hanging suspended in space like a grisly Christmas ornament, it was a man, dead for centuries, skin baked brownblack by the sun's unshielded rays. Except... No, all of that was wrong. Toby had no innards but he still felt unease in them. Unease grew to dread as he drifted towards the dead thing. It was not a man. That was merely its shape. A hairless, unfinished, dirt-covered scarecrow with its arms and legs twisted around like a newborn. No, no, still wrong. Toby stared. This unknown object repulsed him yet commanded his attention. He did not realize yet that he was already unable to look away. He could not yet see its face. Just a profile hinting at a dumb, hung-open mouth. The fingers were crooked. The spine bulged. The skin was wrinkled, pockmarked, scabrous. Repellant. Diseased. This thing was not burned. It was not dirt. It was feces. This thing was a man-shaped hunk of excrement, rotating in space. In another time and place that might have been funny. But not here and now, because Toby could smell it. It didn't matter that the vacuum allowed no such possibility, he smelled it. This was the accumulation of all the universe's rancid, lethal waste. What was shit, really? It was food that had been passed through a living organism until everything good was removed. This left only the poison, the indigestible remnants, the toxic muck a body could not use. Every ounce of this behemoth was a vast graveyard of bacteria, some of them still possessed of the most basic desire to eat and eat and eat the filth around them. That was this manshaped thing's true nature. Rotting shit, forever. The smell churned Toby's soul. He wanted to die to get away from it. He wanted his soul to be erased completely to free him from this all-pervading fog of putrid, stinking, virulent decay. This was the zenith of all filth in the cosmos. A black hole core of fecal putrefaction. It existed to soil all things. To ruin all that was alive and had hope. An infinite blight. The dumbest, cruelest, vilest thing that could ever come to being. It had existed since the birth of life itself and it would survive the extinction of everything that had ever been. Toby wished he had hands to gouge his eyes out. He was staring, helpless, at the reason Phobiopolis existed. The magnet that had snared uncountable souls out of the sky on their way to their rightful afterlife. This greedy, omnimalevolent golem had sucked all of the living world's nightmares into itself, and unwittingly wove a web-world to catch the dreamers too. There could be no horror greater than this. The empty expanse of the universe, as infinite and cold as it was, at least held no overt malice. Toby had felt awe as he'd looked across it. But here and now, he felt a revulsion that eclipsed all else he had ever felt in his lifetime. This embodiment of allfilth was much larger than he'd first thought. An optical illusion misled that it was the size of a normal man. But the closer Toby was drawn towards it, the more fully he realized that this was the corpse of a giant. More massive than a hundredstrong army. At full height, it would have been able to reach up and break off the peak of Anasarca like a twig from a tree. If it ever awoke, it could walk across Phobiopolis in an hour, wiping out every screaming soul under its cataclysmic footsteps. Easily. Unthinkingly. In every wrinkle of its hideous, withered skin, massive colonies of microorganisms waited to feed. Yet they would not be microscopic. They would scale to the monster itself. This being was host to the bringers of the end of all life. It was plague incarnate. The omega of omegas. It had never been alive, it had no thought, it had no gender. It only had a name. Toby fought to not know that name. But so close to its dreaming? With its stench ensnaring every fiber of his soul? He had no chance. The word was inside him already, an infection, and he knew the instant he let his mind perceive it, those unholy eyes would open and see him and end him.

			LOGDORBHOK

Toby had doomed himself. Eternally. He had called its name. He had drawn its sleeping focus. Made himself its plaything. He could not stop himself moving closer, and the smell tore edges off his sanity. He could never escape. Nothing he could do now could ever change his fate. Already he could see the giant's leathery fecal skin begin to ripple. Microbes squirming free of its wrinkles and pores: the heralds of their master. Toby saw a cloud of gnats swarming through space towards him. He had never known fear like this, and he had no body to grant him release from it. He could not lapse into shock, he could not black out, he could not even wet his pants. They were coming. He could hear their teeth. Rotund blobs of filth, born from filth, embodiments of filth. Piggy eyes. Sunken noses. Limbs like tree branches. Their rattish teeth spun. The mouths moved and whirled like a garbage disposal in the center of their globulent faces. The microbes were joyful at the prospect of fresh meat after so many centuries. Toby realized he had no mouth of his own. But he had a body now. Because these things willed it. How else could they eat? Toby screamed with all his might but no sound made it through his melted-shut lips. The cherubs of malice and rot sped closer. Toby thrashed in the void, trying to swim away. They laughed and the noise was like sandpaper against his neurons. The most mercilessly sadistic sound in all existence. They lived to cause anguish. Misery drew them like sharks to blood. Toby could hear their squeals of glee as they surrounded him and began to feast. His back arched. His lungs drove more and more power into his screams and there was no result but silence. The beings' arms sank into his helpless flesh, burning like branding prods. Dozens of those stabbing claws, all over every inch of his skin. Then came the teeth. Jagged slashes that drilled down into his soft living tissue. Into his arms, into his eyes. Toby had one last hope, and that was the realization that there was no reason for the allfilth to have blocked his screams unless it was his only salvation. Driven by a desperation he had never dreamt in his waking life, Toby rammed his hands towards his muzzle and started digging. The microbes laughed and lapped at his tears and their slimy bellies shook with mirth. Toby cried and clawed, and the pain he caused himself was bliss compared to their merest touch upon his flesh. He scraped layers of meat away, chewing with his teeth as well, until he had made a hole. He sunk a finger in, then two. He pulled with a demon’s strength. His ears were plugged with the scavenging claws of the avatars of loathing, but nevertheless he could hear his cheeks rip open. And finally his scream was free. It shattered the universe's eternal silence. It rippled the cosmic tides. Toby felt the horrible creatures' taunting stop, and for a moment he thought he'd solved their weakness. But then came their laughter again. Higher and richer to see his hope rise and die. Their laughter was a keening pandemonium that boiled the marrow in Toby's bones. And then they began their meal in earnest, now that the food was properly seasoned with despair. Toby shrieked mindlessly as those teeth went to work. All their gnawing before was mere teasing. Now their fangs scraped his skeleton and carried away juicy mouthfuls of Tobyflesh. Each bite regrew in an instant so it could be eaten again, eternally. The wounds festered, hissing, corroding. The sound of chewing obliterated all else. The parasites began to crawl inside the holes they had made, to warm themselves among the boy's intestines. With his last ounce of awareness, the meat that had been called Toby saw the allfilth's head begin to turn. Sinkhole cheeks. Runny skin. A horizontal, quivering gouge of a mouth like a horse's cunt. And there were its eyes. Eyes as round and lifeless as mother-of-pearl beads. The infinite blackness of those dead, dried pupils bore into Toby's elements.

Oh god, there were things worse than death! There WERE!

-***-

Chapter Seventy

ZORCH

A pain so profound it was not even pain lanced through Toby deLeon's spirit.

But it was real. Real, Earthly pain. And it felt like Christmas morning compared to the moment before.

They were leaned over his inert, staring form, jabbing the coil into his thrice-singed chest. This time they got a response. The mouse convulsed, every muscle in his body pulling taut. Then he flipped himself over  so forcefully his arm blindly backslapped Junella. On hands and knees, his eyes peeled wide, bulging from their sockets. Unspeakable sounds came from his throat. The others watched as his back bowed in and out, in and out, like an oil derrick or a hairballing cat.

The mouse's shriveled body shoved reflexively. His flesh scraped and bled against the metal collar still clasped around his neck. Bile and saliva poured from his mouth like a faucet. Then his throat bulged, and it came out.

Junella stared in terrified revulsion as Toby's esophageal muscles shoved out something thick, jiggling, and unnaturally green. Day-glo green. Shrouded in mucous, it dangled from Toby's throat, wide enough to stretch the corners of his lips. Then it fell out onto the bare brown dirt with a smacking splat. It started wriggling, thrashing around. Junella could see red beady eyes in a wizened, grinning face.

Her automatic impulse was to kill it. No, that wasn't strong enough. Cleanse the world of it.

But it was merely the first one. Toby kept retching. Worm after worm tumbled out of him, accumulating below in a writhing pile. They all had the same same face: a pinched, leering, lecherous expression twinkling in demonic eyes.

When the mouse's stomach was finally empty, the demonworms' squirming mass seemed half his body weight. Toby held himself up on shaking arms, gasping for breath, eyes frozen open. Then one last thing spilled out of him. A scream. A wail of helpless, inarticulate horror.

Junella could not stand to watch any more. She slung off her green backpack onto the pile of clipped-through chains behind her. She limped over to the mouse and nudged him away from the horrible worms. He howled and flailed away from her touch, leaving her standing there not knowing what to do to help him.

One thing she did know though. She looked down at the slimy hill of nuke-green worms and brought her foot down into the pile like the fist of God. Their flesh was acid. Junella jumped back, enraged, and turned her head to George. "Burn them!!"

The stallion was standing a few feet away, legs and neck sagging down. Without a word of reply, he took small, hesitant steps towards the worms. He did not so much breathe fire upon them as let it fall out of his mouth. But it sufficed.

Junella watched them coil and twist and shriek. They were not dying easily. She did not take her gaze away until nothing of them remained but cinders.

Zinc was seated cross-legged several feet away, not facing the others. "What happened?"

Junella's vinyl now resembled pruny fingertips after a long bath. So her voice warped and wavered as she replied. "Toby just threw up a whole bunch of worms. George got rid of them."

Zinc's expression showed no change. "Better out than in," he said, punctuated by a hollow laugh.

Junella wobbled back over to George and gave his forehead a pat in thanks. He said nothing.

Toby was silent now. Still on all fours, he stared across the starfield like he was searching for something. He had bags under his eyes and his mouth was drooped. His whole frame trembled like a blade of grass in the wind. His eyes...

Junella knew shell shock when she saw it. She approached him. "Toby...? Any part of you still in there...?" She reached out her hand to him, nice and slow. No sudden movements.

His eyes did not even twitch to her direction. But the instant her finger brushed his shoulder, he recoiled violently. "DON'T!!!" he exploded. He scooted backwards several feet, curling his arms and legs in front of him protectively.

Junella's tired eyes showed dismay, but her heart felt a tiny fleck of hope. He'd reacted like she was a stranger, but he'd spoken a word. Not a nonev's grunt. Not a mindless shriek. Maybe he wasn't too far gone to come back.

From over her shoulder came Zinc's voice, still pointed away from them. "It broke him," he said flatly. "I knew it would. He'll be a screaming, bed-shitting wreck forever. We're gonna have to cart him around in a baby buggy."

Junella turned and drilled a hole through the back of Zinc's head with her glare. She seriously considered pitching a rock at him.

He could feel her anger from six feet away. "I'm only facing facts, sister."

Junella ignored her partner. She cast a glance at George, who hadn't moved an iota since she'd called him over. He still stared dourly at the blackened crater he'd made. His head and tail hung low.  His inner lights were a dying grey.

Toby continued piercing the stars with his gaze, eyes pinned open like he was seeing in x-ray vision. He shook like a Parkinson's patient.

Junella decided to try again with him. She dragged her feeble limbs towards the mouse, then let herself collapse in the dirt beside him. Careful not to touch him this time, she looked into the bottomless wells of his eyes. "What are you seeing?"

There was a pause. Then his jaw jittered. And then, "I... SAW!"

She was startled. It was a sentence. Short, but complete. She hadn't dared to hope for so much. Hell, from the state he was in right now she might've guessed a conversation would be a month's recuperation away. "You saw. Okay, that's something. Can you tell me what it was that you saw, Toby?" She didn't realize it, but her wrinkles began to lose a bit of their sag.

Toby could not tear his stare away from the stars. His corneas burned from dryness, but it was like someone had poured superglue under his lids. He could not close his eyes. Could not. A string of drool leaked from the side of his mouth.

Junella leaned forward and waited. For a moment, she began to lose hope, thinking that his outburst had been a random fluke. But then she watched Toby's bony arm twitch, raise, and curl its skeleton fingers to point towards space.

'Maybe something showed him the curvature of the universe and his mind blew out,' she guessed.

George slowly angled his head towards where the mouse had indicated.

"I don't see anything but stardust 'n asteroids, Toby. You're gonna have to do better than that."

Still pointing, his arm quivering like a thin branch, the mouse sputtered several gasping nonwords. Language struggled out of him on crutches. "I... it... he... they chewed... filth... all filth..."

That was a lot more words than she'd expected. She nudged him further. "Sounds pretty bad. Dysphoria showed me nasty things too. We all saw them."

An immediate shake of the head: 'NO, NO, NO.'

"I know it seemed real. But it was like the pied piper with his flute. Just ugly, bad dreams, made to hurt us."

He seemed to be struggling hard. Those eyes still shone like glass headlights. "No... This was, further... beyond... It was real."

Hope stirred in her. Maybe at least one of their ill-fated party was salvageable. "Fine, okay. Whatever it was, it was real. Tell me all about it. Or don't. Just keep talking. Talk to me, Toby." She risked a touch, reaching up to turn his head away from the milky way, matching his eyes to hers. She was glad to see he didn't flinch this time.

He stayed a blank wall for a moment, gazing straight through her, then Junella watched his pupils slowly constrict to focus. 

Her words trembled with urgency. "Toby, don't put my heart through this again. Are you actually seeing me now? Say my name. Or yours. Come on."

He needed a moment to bring all his parts into alignment, but then, still looking into her pale, sea-green eyes, he licked his lips and said. "Junella Brox. Toby deLeon. And what WAS that thing?"

She knocked him on his back hugging him.

He could not breathe. There was a shaking, crying skunk on top of him, crushing his ribcage. "Ju... gasp ...nella! Stop, stop!!"

She jerked herself up off of him and wiped her face on her scarf. "I'm sorry! I just... You scared the SHIT out of me, you little asshole!!" she blurted, laughing.

His expression was uncomprehending. Laughter seemed a foreign concept now.

"I didn't mean that, I'm sorry. I'm just... relieved. I thought-"

George had walked over with such light steps that neither of them had heard him. He inclined his neck slightly. "Sire Toby."

Toby flinched slightly away from this dark being that was so much bigger than he was. But then his head tilted and his posture relaxed slightly. "George. You're George," he said back.

The smallest of nods. "Good."

Junella needed a moment to breathe deep and collect herself. She looked over at Zinc. The cross-legged canine had still not moved so much as a hair. Suddenly she felt a fountain of anger burst forth. "You were WRONG!!!" she screeched at him, gouging out curled strings of her vinyl.

His head did not turn. "Hooray."

This time her hand actually sought out a rock. She barely kept herself from hurling it.

She turned back and, incredibly, Toby was trying to stand up. He had his hands around George's vertebrae and was slowly pulling himself to his feet. George stood motionless and allowed it. Junella considered helping the mouse but wasn't sure if he was still over his aversion to touch. Instead she got up beside him. "Hey, you're doin' allright."

When he'd struggled himself up far enough to lean limply against George's ribs, he turned and looked at her.

'No, he isn't,' she realized. That was too much too soon to hope for.

Dysphoria had changed them all. Piffle comparatively least, but Junella looked like she'd spent a week at the bottom of a lake. Zinc was a blind sarcastic statue. George had retreated into monosyllables. And Toby was a living skeleton.

His white fur hung off his frame like rumpled sheets on a coat hanger. His arms and legs were twigs. His eye sockets were pits nearly as deep as George's. The mouse looked like something had eaten away everything alive inside of him.

And he never stopped staring. Even though he was looking at her now instead of the stars, he never seemed to blink. Slowly he asked, "Did you see him too?"

Her tones were those of a nursery school lullaby. "Toby, I don't know what you saw, but I'm sure it was bad and I don't disbelieve you. I saw my own parents standing over me in my crib, reaching in to clip my toes off one by one with the pliers. That's the kind of rotten bullshit it pulls, Toby. But it's no more real than seeing pictures in clouds, I promise."

His face knotted up. She saw him wanting to argue.

"You don't have to convince me, okay? Whatever you saw, I don't know what it was, so I can't give you answers. But what matters is that we're through. We might all be broke like china teacups, but we're here."

Now that Toby was regaining some function and coherence, he looked around to see where 'here' actually was. He looked back over his shoulder and could see rocks dancing across the nothingness. The asteroid field. Beyond it was a thin white line, a blur above and a shadow below. The wall of the maze. The nothingness. Phobiopolis.

They were on the other side.

He displayed exactly zero reaction to this. The mouse stood wordlessly for a few moments after she'd finished, then asked, "Where is everyone?"

She pointed a few feet away to her petrified partner. "There's Zinc. Piffle and Doll are over there by the rocks. Doll's... not doing so well. Piffle's helping her. And Zinc's just being a sourpuss."

"Fuck off," the canine spat back immediately.

She looked over to him with no anger now, just aching sadness.

Toby looked to where she'd pointed. He saw Zinc with his back turned, and something was missing from his head. The Fearsleigher, resized, was nearby. Toby looked further across the clearing to see a small hunched figure with wings seated on a flat rock, holding a smaller figure in her arms.

The travelers were scattered across a wide, flat clearing at the base of Anasarca. The dirt, the rock spires, and the mountain itself were all the same shade of milk chocolate brown. A pleasing, creamy color. The clearing was about sixty feet across. Like before, the edge of the land simply fell away into empty space. Caveless stalagmites grew all around, encircling the clearing, making this a relatively cozy landing spot for those lucky enough to survive Dysphoria.

The mountain itself towered high above them, rising up, up, up past the limits of their vision. It was thinner than Ectopia Cordis. A spiraling brown icicle. Further up from the base, snow decorated its craggy features like icing on a gingerbread house.

Toby's mind felt like a ball of water he was trying to hold between his hands. The smallest jolt could make it burst and wash away. Junella was so wrinkled she looked like she'd aged fifty years. Her orange eyes had faded to green like a photo left in a store window under years of sunshine. Zinc seemed to have lost his give-a-shit. George too. Which Toby could empathize with. In addition to his anorexic appearance, he felt like something vital inside him had been taken away. Scooped out. Nothing but a hole left behind. He ran a paw down the xylophone of his ribs. He poked his stomach and his paw went in all the way to his spine. He was literally skin and bone.

It didn't really worry him though. He'd gone somewhere beyond worry. He supposed that made sense. After you've been through the worst moment that could ever exist, everything else seemed harmless in comparison.

Still, he understood why. "I did this to us."

She resisted slapping him. "No you did not!" she pleaded. "Toby, you are the only reason we got through! It's why we're able to have this little chat right now instead of babbling like babies! Yes we're all sublimely messed-up, but nowhere near as bad as when Zinc and I went in before. Toby, your idea about the Adder-whatever pills saved our sanity!"

"Did it?" he asked absently.

She scowled in frustration. "Yes. Please don't do the self pity routine. I just want one of us here I can talk to. Please. Your idea delayed the poison long enough that we didn't get a full dose. We'll recover."

He said nothing.

She lightly shook his shoulders, trying to get him to cough up a response. But she might as well have been shaking a broomstick.

She watched his focus slide away from her, and for a moment felt panic. But it wasn't back towards the stars. It was across the clearing. Toby began walking past Junella like she wasn't even there.

"Where are you going?"

"I just... I guess I'll go see how Piffle is," he said impassively.

For a moment she considered hooking his shoulder and keeping him in place. What if his real intention was to go running off the edge and drift away into space? But no, he did seem to be pointed towards Piffle. 'And maybe she'll have a better shot at putting some life back in him than I did. She's shipwrecked too, but maybe they'll do each other some good. It's not like I know what I'm doing pepping people up. I'm no cheerleader,' she thought. "Well, allright then. I'll be right here if you need me."

Toby walked like a mummy, dragging his feet through the sand and drifting side to side with each step. "Okay."

The skunk stood watching him for a moment, then remembered something. "Oh, wait!" The mouse stopped obediently, not looking back, and Junella chased after him. "This thing's still on your neck. Here, lemme get that for you..."

Toby was motionless as she reached up to fiddle with the metal collar still piercing the back of his skull. There was a pop and a clink, then it fell off into the dirt at his feet.

"There. Bet that feels better, huh?" she said with a feigned smile.

"Thank you," he replied. No emotion. Like a computer had spoken.

The mouse began walking again, not even looking down at the device that had left behind two bleeding holes in his scalp. Junella watched him walk, then scrunched up her face and balled her fists into her eyes to keep from weeping.

She stormed away from him. George followed wordlessly behind her like a docile old hound.

Toby kept walking.

Zinc had not moved from his position. He sat with legs crossed, hands resting on knees. His tail was flattened out behind him like a coffee stain. There was no expression on his muzzle, no wind to stir the fur there. His ears remained, but his tin eyelids had been bent and hung limply from their stalks. Nothing but empty air where his eyes had been.

Junella limped over to him, having to hold back sobs. She plopped her tired hands on the canine's shoulders. He didn't react. She sighed, exhausted. "What am I going to do, partner?"

He snorted. "Don't ask me. I ain't got shit for answers."

She huffed. "I can't even get a word of comfort out of you? Fuck this world. What's got you so damn cranky?"

"You know goddamn well what. You walked through it too," he said matter-of-factly.

She shook her head. "That's not what I meant. Whoever the hell you are, you're not Zinc." She leaned over to rest her muzzle in the empty space between his ears. "I want my Zinc back."

For nearly a minute, he remained silent. His face might as well have been carved from concrete. But then there was a small twitch of the cheek. A tremble of the jaw muscle. And Junella barely heard the whisper, "Me too."

***

Toby took another wobbly step and his ramshackle body didn't fall over. He repeated the feat. Again, again, again. On towards the pair of shiny wings in the shadows at the edge of the flattened land.

Toby looked up at the blazingly bright stars. He had never seen them so big before. Like he could sweep his hand across the sky and it'd come down covered in glitter. But he knew now they hid a secret. As beautiful as they were, they were nothing but a curtain hiding the toxic truth of the world.

As he got closer, he heard sniffling. The last stages of crying after a long, loud, heartbreaking gush.

Piffle was sitting on a rock with her back to him. Her wonderful silly safari outfit was gone, reduced to tatters. Little ragged pennants of pink remained stuck to her in places. The starlight glinted off her green carapace. Her antennae drooped down the back of her head like wilted flowers.

She turned at the sound of his footsteps.

Her scarlet eyes were soaked with tears, her cheeks were sopping wet, but when she saw him her face lit up with hope. "Oh, TOBY!" Her whole body twitched, wanting to jump up and run to him, but she glanced down at the bundle in her arms and didn't dare. Instead she began to sob again, finding new tears after she thought she'd bled herself dry of them.

The mouse did not smile at her recognition, but managed to pick up his pace a little.

She craned her neck back, then shuffled herself around on her rock seat. Her words were difficult to make out through her crying. "When we came out, I- I saw you and- Didn't move- I thought- I thought- But you're okay! Please, please come closer, Toby!!"

He had never heard such desperation from her before. When he was close enough, he knelt. A soft paw immediately cupped his cheek.

"Toby... You're all skin and bone."

"Yes, I am."

Her head turned this way and that to regard him. When he spoke there seemed to be no life inside him. "Toby, what happened?"

"I saw something," he replied simply.

"But... but..." Her chest heaved with more sobs. "I can't- Not both of you..."

And that's when Toby noticed what she was holding.

The burlap bag was on the ground. Cradled in Piffle's other arm was Doll, one hand still covered in emerald green silk. She had lost the other again. Piffle squeezed the little plastic palm tight.

Toby looked and looked. Something was wrong. Very wrong. So wrong. But he couldn't understand it. Doll looked normal. Same pinkish plastic, sculpted in places to resemble fur. Same vague lack of definitive species. Same blond curls. She looked perfectly normal for a toy baby doll, even her rose-painted cheeks and glass green eyes.

"No."

Her face. Oh, her face. Her face. That was what was wrong. Doll didn't have one.

The thoughts struggled to plow their way past the soporific sludge caking the insides of Toby's brain. Piffle was crying too hard to give answers, so he'd have to puzzle this one out for himself. His mind traced images from all along their trip. Doll in Trapforest Path with that jagged gouge where a face should have been. Piffle in the Tatterdemalion fixing her up. Doll coming back from the hospital in Coryza, her edges smoothed down to a clean rectangle. Piffle telling them all the things the doctors and nurses had tried to-

To give her back her face. But the curse had resisted them.

Now Toby was looking at tiny sculpted lips, a triangular nose, dots on the cheeks for whiskers. And two cold glass orbs shoved into the plastic, seeing nothing and reflecting only starlight.

He reached out a hand to touch her.

Nothing but hollow plastic. Inanimate. The fingers in her silk glove didn't move.

Piffle sniffed. "I tried... I tried everything." She wiped her tears on her arm and brushed her fingers over Doll's forehead. "I found her bag and put it on her. I turned my back and called to her. I put her hand in the sand and told her to write somethin', anything at all."

Toby's vision blurred. His chest hitched. But his slack expression didn't change.

Piffle's fingers explored Doll's face. Stiff nylon eyebrows. Pouting lips, open just enough to accept a toy baby bottle.

"I thought..." she started. "I thought if... if I could just love her enough, she'd wake up, y'know? But she hasn't. She won't move. I've tried everything. I can't make her better. What am I doing wrong, Toby?"

She was looking down at Doll, not at him, so she didn't see the utter lack of emotion in the mouse's frozen eyes. "I don't know. I'm sure you did all that you could."

"It... It wasn't enough then. I'll just try harder. Yes, that's what I'll do. We'll both try. Right, Toby?" She reached over to take his wrist, guiding it to Doll's stomach and placing it gently there. She patted Toby's hand, then went back to stroking Doll's curly hair. "Shhh, Doll. I'm here. I'm here. Toby is too. We both want you to wake up and come back to us. Can you hear my voice?"

Toby could hear a despairing quiver in Piffle's voice. Like her heart was trying with all its strength to resist a truth that was plain to see.

From the way Piffle was holding his hand, it unbalanced Toby slightly. He fell sideways, leaning against her soft arm.

She managed a smile, taking it as a sign that he was trying to comfort her.

But it was simple physics. And as Toby leaned against her shoulder, his saucer eyes still stared out across the rock columns and the base of Anasarca. Not seeing anything. Or showing anything either.

He knew enough to know there was something wrong inside him. He could feel the ghosts of emotions in there. Fragments. Like crusts of bread but not the slice itself. He knew he should have been feeling a lot of things right now. Horror. Sadness. Grief. Regret. Loss. But those were just words. He understood their meaning but could not connect to them. It was like he had gone colorblind. Emotionblind. He knew intellectually the facts from A to Z. He had wanted to go home. He had hired protectors to guide him through this madhouse land, and immediately began to throw tantrums and disobey them. They'd had a fight. He had stomped off into the woods alone, shunning their greater wisdom and experience, because the truths they told him hurt too much. Amongst the trash he'd found a doll (and something else). A broken, dirty toy that had called out to him for help. And when he'd gone back to pick her up, was it really to help her? Or to use her as a shield? Wasn't he always putting other people between him and his fear? Tricking them if he had to? Hadn't he begged to go on the scary carnival ride called Dysphoria, even after admitting he no longer had any good reason to? He wanted to make the journey "mean" something. But what did that, itself, mean? Nothing. Nothing except that he wanted. And he was going to get it no matter who else suffered. And now his selfishness had shot holes through all his friends' hearts. That was their reward for showing him kindness.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

But he didn't really feel it. That was simply what a furson said in a situation like this.

Piffle smiled and nodded, pausing in her obsessive patting of Doll's hair to pat Toby's. "I don't blame you."

It seemed Toby's empty shell could still feel pain. A venomlike sting traced the edges of where his heart had been before the microbes ate it. Of course she would say that. Of course she would. Because she was Piffle. The angel of sweetness. And he had broken her heart by killing her best friend.

Toby's hand crept forward and across Doll's face. He did not want to see those lifeless eyes anymore. He closed the lids, but like many other dolls they were weighted to open when the toy was held up. Toby turned his head away.

Piffle looked up at the mountain.

Neither of them were looking at Doll now, but still she didn't move.

Toby knew she'd never move again, and he still felt nothing. Just the breeze of the wind blowing through an empty window in an abandoned house.

His staring eyes did not release a single tear.

'I killed her. My selfishness killed my friend and I can't feel a thing.'

***

For seemingly ages the trio sat frozen in time together. Doll in Piffle's arms, inanimate, while Piffle's hand rocked back and forth across the artificial curls. Toby rested on her other arm, also inanimate. A trio of statues.

Solemn silence had fallen over them, thick as cement.

Piffle continued to believe that if she could just hold onto hope long enough, her faith would bring Doll back to life. But the minutes ticked by mercilessly. She started to wonder if maybe they'd have to go back in... that place. Maybe Doll's lifespark was still lost there. But that idea was a dead end. More likely, Doll was deep in hibernation within herself. Or gone far past Dysphoria to a land none of them knew. Perhaps to the place all their souls should have gone to originally. But Piffle also realized an awful truth about herself. After what Dysphoria had shown her, she knew she could never, ever bring herself to set foot back there again. Not even to save Doll. All she wanted in the world was to save her friend, but her cowardice would not take that step. Though... no. Cowardice was not it. She was simply too delicate to survive a second exposure. It would break her no matter her determination. This realization brought new tears gliding down her cheeks. She didn't know if the rain would ever stop falling.

Eventually Zinc came over, navigating by the sound of their sobs. Junella wouldn't stop pestering him till he relented and followed her order. His bones croaked in protest at standing up and moving, but he forced them. Better that than listen to her nagging.

Though when he heard Piffle's slow unbroken stream of whispered pleas and sobs, the calcified shell around his heart cracked a little. He came closer and asked what was wrong. Piffle leaned back so Zinc could see what had happened to Doll, and when he didn't react, she realized he was blind. She couldn't bear to describe it again, so she reached out to guide Zinc's hand to Doll's face.

He caught on quicker than Toby had.

Finally, sorrow penetrated through to his hardened heart. Apologetically, he nudged Toby to squeeze in beside him. Zinc put his thin, frail arms around Piffle. One advantage they had over his wrenches, they were soft.

Toby didn't mind being shunted aside. In fact, he was relieved. His muscles had been cramping up from kneeling so long. Plus he'd increasingly worried that eventually Piffle would notice he was not mourning with her. But she hadn't. Maybe she didn’t want to acknowledge his stiff posture and lack of speech. Maybe she couldn't.

Toby watched Zinc hugging her. He wished he could have done that.

They seemed like a better fit together, so he turned away and left them alone.

At the sound of the mouse's footsteps, Piffle spoke up, "Toby?"

He stopped.

"Thanks for sittin' with me. It meant a lot."

He didn't look back. "You're welcome."

Zinc blocked her line of sight so she could not see Toby, but she was sure he was listening intently, his cheeks just as soaked as hers. "It's not nobody's fault what happened to her. I'm gonna keep sayin' it till you believe me."

Toby was quiet for a moment. Then he turned away without responding and began walking back across the clearing.

Far away, he could see two dark shapes huddled around a box on shiny legs. The dirt scuff-scuffled beneath his feet. He felt his skin sway back and forth across his bones, like shirts on a clothesline. He realized he didn't feel particularly tired, or hungry, or like he needed to use the bathroom, or anything else.

Junella was with George beside the Fearsleigher, packing some things away and unpacking others. Nearby was the pile of chains and collars that George had bitten off of them in the first few moments of their arrival. Junella was hefting a box into the trunk while George looked on. Her ears swiveled. "Toby? Sounds like you. Would you like to give me a hand with this?"

He didn't say anything. He acted because he'd been asked to, that was all.

She watched a ghost's arm appear beside her and give the box a boost. She flinched, forgetting for a moment what Dysphoria had turned him into. The box slid in with a wumph.

Painting on a fake smile, she gave the wispy hand a shake. "Thanks. I did some walking and found there's an escalator just over there. An escalator! Can you believe it! Just like at Macy's. All this climbing gear we bought-"

"Doll's dead."

Junella was sure she hadn't heard that right. "She what?"

"She's gone," Toby said flatly. "Her face filled in. There's nothing there but a toy now."

George looked up. The lights in his eyes grew a little brighter in concern.

Junella stared for a moment longer, immobilized by the abruptness of the bombshell. She stared at him, unable to believe Toby's words or the blankness of his face. Her lips moved like a fish gulping air. Then she lost her balance and had to brace herself against the front bumper to keep from falling over.

"This is terrible news," George said slowly. His voice sounded like it was covered in dust and cobwebs.

Toby nodded in agreement.

Junella looked over to the rocks where Zinc and Piffle were sitting. She'd sent her partner over there to get him movin' around and hopefully bring the others back to discuss things. She hadn't expected Toby to come back alone, bringing yet another anguish into her already-overloaded life. "I didn't know... I mean, I thought she was just frozen again, like usual. I didn't think anything of it. I was busy focusing on you, Toby. I didn't know..."

George lifted his head to ask, "How is Madam McPerricone holding up?" It was the most words he'd spoken since they'd reached the mountain.

Toby thought about how to phrase it. "She's hurt. She thinks she can bring Doll back, but I don't think she can."

George shook his head, lowering it again.

Junella still felt like the was wind knocked out of her sails. Toby hadn't asked if she was okay, but she responded anyway. "I'm thinkin' about Doll. I was such a bitch to her. I mean, she knew I was just teasing, right? Maybe I meant it at first, after you brought her out of the bush and she scared the pants off me, but... She knew, right? That I was just messin' around?"

Toby shrugged.

Junella shut her eyes tight. "Now I'm thinkin' back and I can't remember what the last thing I said to her was. Probably something nasty. Probably something I'd regret even more if I remembered what it was."

Toby walked over and robotically extended his hand to pat her shoulder. "She probably knew. I guess. She never said much, but I think she realized that was just how you are."

The skunk laughed bitterly. "'What's that say about what I am?"

Toby didn't know how to reply, so he patted her arm again.

Junella tried to get the tremble out of her hands and return to work. "There's... There's imaginite all up the mountain. We looked. Just growing like weeds. I guess we don't need the extra food I packed either. Boy, I'm real good at this." She slammed the hood and braced her arms against it. Toby and George looked at her.

She could feel them staring at her back. Like a pair of vampires behind her. She fought down the impulse to just pick them both up, one in each hand, and hurl them out into the asteroids. She wanted to punch them till her knuckles burst, screaming in their faces, 'SAY SOMETHING!!!' Like with Zinc, she wanted to tear these mopey costumes off of them so she could have her friends again. Yes, Dysphoria had reached inside her and shoved her guts full of icicles. Yes, she felt like she could barely trust herself to stay on her feet, much less take care of five screwballs- 'Four,' her mind spoke up. 'Doll's dead, remember? One less responsibility for you to take care of.' She hung her head and clenched her muscles, hoping Toby and George couldn't see the unbearable strain on her face.

Ignoring the two skeletons for now, she turned and limped past them, snatching up the backpack welder. She kicked the pile of chains, hurting her foot but also scattering them with a nice loud clatter. She rumbled back to the car, threw the pack in the trunk, and slammed the lid on it seven times in a row. If her hands hadn't been full, she would have been screaming hard enough to shred her grooves.

Stomping back, she checked inside the car one last time. They could hook it up to George, and if he didn't wanna pull it up the mountain, she'd drag the droopy motherfucker all the way on piggyback. She spotted the cornucopia, willed herself some tequila and slugged it down. Then she noticed something else, all piled up on the backseat. She paused. She quieted.

Two wrenches, two silver fezzes with spiked balls attached, one hammer, one fork, and a cutlass.

She reached out towards her blade, then drew her hand back. She wasn't ready.

But maybe she would be later. They would be. She went back to the hood and rustled around for the canvas bag she'd seen, not even caring that Toby and George hadn't shifted position an inch all this time. She came back and placed the weapons with reverence one-by-one inside the bag. Then, for now, she leaned them against the skate blade.

That reminded her for no good reason of something else. She walked over to Toby and yanked the back of his vest up. He offered no resistance.

The thumbtack was still there. Angrily, she ripped the tape off and dug it out. "Didn't you even feel this!? Why didn't you say anything!?"

He turned towards her. "It didn't hurt anymore. I guess I forgot it."

She slapped him.

Immediately she regretted it. She was about to apologize when she realized he hadn't so much as blinked. No change in his expression.

"I'm sorry," he said reflexively.

She sucked in a deep breath, then drew the mouse into a gentle embrace. She reached around him to speak, "No, Toby, I am. That was awful of me. It's the stress. I shouldn't have let it get to me. It's not your fault."

"Okay," he said.

Absolutely no emotion. She almost wanted to slap him again, but mentally scourged herself for the idea. Just because it was easy taking her anger out on this ventriloquist dummy that had once been her client and friend, that didn't make it right.

Thank luck she could hear Zinc and Piffle's footsteps. The hug was getting awkward.

She let go of Toby to look around. Zinc was still eyeless, but he at least seemed to be displaying some capacity for reaction now. Poor Piffle was a wreck. Still naked. She hadn't even bothered to pick away the scraps of her outfit. Junella wondered what Dysphoria had shown her to make her tear it to shreds like that. The hamsterfly's face was a mess too. The fur stuck out all pointy from repeated drenchings of tears. Zinc was holding her hand.

And practically glued in Piffle's arm, there was Doll. Junella immediately understood what Toby meant. The face would have been perfectly normal on any toy shop dolly, but not this one. There was supposed to be a little square hole there. That was what made their Doll different from all the others. Because she was alive inside there. Or had been. 'And I never got to know her, not really.'

She and Doll had talked on the bench together in the market town, but that had just been a glimpse at the mystery inside the plastic shell. A lost girl, barely beginning to understand what this new place Phobiopolis was. Then a man with a beard and purple eyes had picked her up and taken her away to his toy shop. It was almost a rerun of what had happened to Junella in the record store. Except Doll hadn't had the willpower to grow into her new form and make it work for her. She had been the toymaker's practice, nothing more. No purpose for her silent suffering. Just a man with a grudge practicing his technique for an unknown vendetta. Then carving away Doll's face so she could never, ever tell.

Junella had asked why Doll hadn't told them all of this sooner. "Shit, I'd be happy to help you find the bastard and rip his googlies off for you."

Doll replied that she'd already waited a long, long time already. A little more didn't matter. It had taken her years to end up in Trapforest Path, and just as long to get out. Toby had done that for her. In gratitude, she had decided to prolong her quest until after his had concluded. That was her gift to him.

Junella couldn't take her eyes off Doll. 'I can't believe I ever hated her so much.'

Piffle tugged Zinc's arm to halt him. "Junella's here," said the hamsterfly, "and Toby and George and the car."

Zinc nodded. He looked to the direction he guessed Junella might be. "Toby clued you in what happened to Doll?"

"Yes. He did. Not much else though. And George still ain't much of a chatterbox either."

As if to contradict her, the stallion spoke. "You have my condolences, Madam McPerricone. I liked Madam Doll very much."

A smile struggled onto Piffle's face and she walked over to wrap a hug around George's neck. "Thanks for saying so, Georgie. You're a big sweetheart. And don't get too down. We're off to see the wizard, right? I'll keep trying to get Doll to wake up, and if that's not enough on my own, I'm sure Aldridge'll pitch in."

George nodded and leaned his head against hers.

Junella could hear the tremble in Piffle's voice. She was as fragile and see-through as Toby in her own way. Yet that damned optimism of hers still wouldn't let up. Junella didn't know whether it was tenacity or denial.

Wiping away more tears, Piffle skipped back to Zinc and took his hand. She tried to smile like she knew everything would be okay.

Junella passed Toby (who was still standing in the exact same position) and put a hand on top of Doll's. "Piffle, I'm sorry I didn't do more for her. I-"

"You didn't know," Piffle said immediately. "It's okay. I took care of Doll and you took care of everyone else, I understand."

The withered skunk was actually able to find a smile of her own. Good God, just one comforting word felt amazing to hear. "Thank you. And, Doll, if you can hear me in there somehow, please forgive me. Or... no. You don't even have to. I treated you like trash, and I'm sorry. I'd take it all back if I could." She squoze the stiff little fingers and, for the first time, it occurred to her that the two of them were both made of vinyl. Like sisters, in a way.

Piffle nodded serenely. "That was very nice of you. And I'm sure she'd say she forgives you. After all, you did tease her a lot, but you also let her come along with us even when you were ascairt of her. Actions speak louder'n words."

A thin little laugh made it out of the skunk. She leaned over to hug Piffle, then whispered as quietly as she could, "You don't know how much it means to me to finally have one of you around who can still feel something."

Another nod. "I'm working on Zinc," Piffle whispered back. Then she squeezed her skunk friend and turned back to the canine beside her. "You doin' allright?"

His lips pulled back in a snarl for a moment, like he was holding back his first impulse. "I... Geez, shouldn't I be asking you that?"

"I'll be okay," she replied. Although there was an unspoken acknowledgment of not knowing when that would be.

Junella looked up as high as she could, trying to see the top of the mountain. "So, should we get going again? I can hitch up George to the car, or... No, better if I resize it again."

Zinc bristled. "Jesus, Juney! What's the fucking rush!?"

She whirled around, raising her finger to start telling him off... then abruptly froze. Her expression changed from outrage to epiphany. "Zinc, that is a perfect idea."

"What!?"

Without another word, Junella dashed back to the car, dragging her wrinkles along as fast as she could. She popped the trunk and climbed inside. George craned his neck to see what she was doing. Toby didn't move. A moment later, Junella started throwing puffy purple sacks on the ground. Four in total. She hopped down into them like fall leaves. "George, would you help me slide these over?"

He snorted assent and began to assist her. As she unzipped the parcels, he realized they were sleeping bags. George helped unroll them with his hoof and together they lined them up in the shadow of the skate blades.

That small bit of energy-expenditure made Junella feel good. That, and here was an idea she could actually have a bit of confidence in. She walked back to the others and clapped her hands loud enough to startle them. Even Toby.

"Allright! We're all kinds of fucked-up, let's just admit that. Dysphoria did a number on us. So let's not even try to move on until we're better. Zinc, you were absolutely right, there's no reason to hurry. We're already at the mountain. We're past the pit of shit. Hard part's over. But we're all still sick with side effects, so what's the best cure for that?"

"A good, long rest," Piffle said.

"Zactly. We are going to crawl into those bags and sleep for as long as we possibly can. If we can't sleep, then we'll just lie here doin' jack shit and resting. Maybe tomorrow we might feel closer to okay. It's not the Sleepeteria but it'll do."

Piffle liked the idea very much. Even though her heart still felt like a fresh wound over Doll, she knew most everything seemed a better in the morning. "This way, Zinc." She started leading him towards the bags.

He resisted purely for contrariness sake, but only for a moment before giving in and being led.

George just let himself flop over onto his side with a thud. Maybe he fell asleep immediately, it was impossible to tell.

Junella put her hands on Toby's shoulders and bulldozed him towards the bags. "I'm not sleepy," the mouse said.

"Yes you are. In fact, since you had that great idea about head-medicine before, can you think of any good sleeping pills? I could use a few."

He tried to think. Things like pills seemed too small to matter to him. He couldn't even focus enough to remember what he'd taken before Dysphoria. "I'm sorry, I can't think of anything."

She hid her frustration from him. Getting zonked out of her mind would have been nice. "Oh well. We'll make do." She shoved him down towards his bag, then went to slip inside her own.

The mouse remained in the same position, half-kneeling, half-crouching.

"Get in it!" Junella barked.

"Really, I'm not tired," Toby insisted. "You guys can sleep. I'll just... stay awake a while and think."

That same monotone. Junella's irritation turned to genuine concern. "Allright. But promise me you'll get some sleep eventually, okay? You need it. We all do. Promise me."

"I will," Toby lied.

She cautiously nodded, then wriggled herself down into the cushiony material. It felt good to be surrounded in it. Thick and comforting, just the thing to soothe her pain. She thought about maybe having a cup of warm milk first, but the car door was all the way up there and she was already down here.

Piffle still held onto Doll, not letting her go as she guided Zinc into his bag. "There we go, ace. Do you want me to take your, um, head cap off for you?"

"Yes. Thanks." he muttered. It was alien to him to be sliding into bed with arms.

Piffle removed the metal disk that held his ears and eyelids, setting it carefully aside. Then she wiggled into her own bag and settled Doll in beside her. She whispered, "I'll hold on all night long, just in case you wake up early. Okay?"

The starlight remained constant, as it would remain for millennia on, so there was no bedside lamp to click off. Junella sat up for a moment  to survey her troops. George was flat on his side with his legs out straight, looking like a toppled sculpture. Piffle was still holding out her tragic hope for Doll. Zinc looked restless and uncomfortable. Toby hadn't moved.

'Please, please, please, let them be themselves soon,' Junella thought to herself.

"Allright. Well... Goodnight everyone."

"Goodnight Junella," Piffle said. No one else spoke.

"We've, uh, got a busy day ahead of us tomorrow," Junella said, wincing at the cliché. "I know we've all had it hard. I know. Dysphoria reached inside us and rearranged our clockwork. I know we lost Doll, our friend." She gulped. "But at least we're here now. At least it's almost over. We came here to get Toby home, and we're finally going to do it." She looked to the mouse with a smile, but his gaze was elsewhere.

Zinc was on the road back to his old self, but some of the acid remained. "No, partner. Toby came here to find home. We came for glory," he reminded her. "Was it worth it?"

Junella's eyes blazed orange at him, hurt. All she'd been trying to do was give them a pleasant note to end the night on. She thought of a million vicious things to spit back, but rejected them all. She didn't have the energy for meanness now.

She stared longingly at her partner for a few moments more. "It will be, someday," she said. Then she rolled over and pulled the bag close around her. "Goodnight."

***

While the others slept, Toby sat awake all night long.

He'd scooted back until he was resting against the skate blade. The chilly metal propped him up while he sat limp as a toy, just staring endlessly out into the cosmos.

More of his mind remained than Junella suspected. He appeared barely on the right side of catatonic, but part of that was an act. Part of him was still quite active, thinking constantly. But he had to keep that part walled off and say as little as possible. They could not be allowed to know what he was dwelling on.

In his body and in his bones, that baneful touch still lingered. The face he'd seen. The chewing teeth.

The Allfilth.

How could he possibly tell them? It had almost spilled out of him at first when Junella had shocked him back, but then reason intervened and told him to keep his stupid mouth shut. If she'd already known, he might have told the truth. If she had said something like, 'Who? You mean the big dead shitcorpse in the sky? Everyone just thinks he's a myth like the Easter Bunny,' then maybe Toby would have explained how real he was. Drifting invisible among the asteroids, always there. It might have been dead but that didn't mean it wasn't still sleeping. And its dreams poisoned everything they touched. It was why Phobiopolis existed, Toby was certain. When someone on Earth fell too deeply into a dream, they slipped through the dimensions to here. The Allfilth's vile brain had unknowingly built itself an ant farm. A little diorama of trapped souls suffering for its bedtime pleasure. The enormity of the obscenity was too great. Toby felt like his head was a pressurized steam pipe.

And the nightmares. The constructs. Were they just costumes worn by the Allfilth's microbes? No, no... Not quite. Even the convorines were never as vicious or horrifying as those fat little grubs with their trash compactor teeth. So maybe the constructs were the microbes' dreams? The Allfilth had dreamed a world, perhaps his bacteria had added residents.

What did that make George?

Toby knew he would have to avoid George from now on. It would not be out of malice or hate. But how could he continue to sit beside him, or on top of him, knowing the reality of his birth? Because, of course, Toby couldn't tell him. Not any of them. He knew intimately the consequences of that knowledge. His own body and mind were Exhibit A. He couldn't do that to them. Even though they, and everyone else caged in Phobiopolis, were just bugs scurrying in the garden of the most malevolent being to ever exist, would telling them change a thing? Right now they still had some hope that things could be better. The people in Coryza had their wall. The Ectopians had their chutzpah. Gilla-Gilla had his myriad defenses. But none of them were ever safe, and none of them knew it. They went about their lives under the bulbous, alien eyes of a monster that might wake up any day and destroy them. There was literally nothing that could stop it. If it ever stirred from its nap, it could crush everything in Phobiopolis to bloody dust with the barest effort. Just for fun. Because it could. The end could come at any time.

Toby thought about his friends. Their smiles. Their hopes. He could not tell them the truth or else their happiness would die forever. Like his had. They'd looked at him questioningly, wondering why he acted so numb and apathetic. It'd be so easy to just say, 'Well gee, it's because I've looked into the face of God and there is nothing but hate and evil there. In light of that, nothing else seems to matter much anymore! Who cares if I ever get home? Who cares if Gyre 2 falls? Who cares about anything that happens in this whole infected world? It could all end tomorrow! And it'd be worse than any of us are capable of imagining! We're like fetuses in the womb, happily floating along while the doctor discusses our impending abortion. It's all meaningless now. It always was. Everything we've done, I've done, it's all... nothing.' 

He couldn't tell them. But they'd ask. So he'd have to lie. For the sake of their sanity, he'd have to pretend that everything was okay and that he was fine and let's go on as if everything's normal, guys. If he was careful, he thought he could pull it off.

He wondered if maybe Doll had seen the Allfilth too. That would explain things. She had seen those soulless eyes and that puckering slash of a mouth, and had found the only possible escape there was. She had drilled down into herself deep enough to hide. If she could bury herself completely, think no more, feel no more, see no more, then she could pretend it wasn't there. Toby envied her.

And then he realized something else. The knowledge brought no heartbreak, since it had been obvious from the start: Aldridge could not send him home. No one and nothing ever could. Because the Allfilth would not allow its prisoners to leave. Once it had them, they were its playthings eternally.

Toby stared at the stars. Knowing it was out there. Unable to see, yet knowing. Even though Junella had torn him free from the microbes' feast, their ghosts hovered right there beside him. Along with the memory of that shriveled, hideous face. The name he dared not think. Mere knowledge of its existence was enough to taint him for all time.

He could not let his friends become what he was now. At all costs, he had to lie to them. Lie, then get as far away from them as possible at the first opportunity. To spare them. It was the kindest thing he could hope to do.

Toby sat for hours with his back against the blade. He did not have to debate his decision, it was simple logic.

And it would not be difficult. He no longer felt loss anyway.

-***-

CHAPTER

It was unfortunate Toby chose not to sleep, or else his mind might have found some measure of quiet.

Anasarca was watching them. From its calming chocolate color, to its escalator for weary feet, to the flowers of imaginite that bloomed on its slopes, the mountain was cultivated to comfort those who had made it through Dysphoria's torturous gauntlet. That included a certain soothing atmosphere. Maybe a smell, or maybe a sound. But it slipped into the others' sleeping bags and brushed gentle fingers over their dreaming minds. It ensured they would face no nightmares as they slept. The mountain could not unravel the damage that Dysphoria had done, but it could help to put the travelers in a state of mind where they would be better equipped to heal themselves. Toby, keeping awake and focusing only on bitter destiny, absorbed none of it.

***

Zinc rolled over, muttering to his dreams. Purely on muscle memory, he reached out for his head-plate. His fingers felt wrong, tiny, but he still flopped his arm around until they encountered tin. He screwed the disc in place, first backwards, then getting it right on the second try. Then he reached back for the glass of water he kept his eyes in, also by reflex, and accidentally dumbfounded it into his hand. He didn't realize what he'd done until after he'd popped the little wet orbs into their sockets. "Aw, dammit." He'd wanted to keep his bad mood going longer.

That small sound was enough to wake Piffle. Her antennae twitched and she stretched, yawning sweetly. In her arm she still held Doll. The plastic had been pressed into her cheek all night long, leaving an itchy imprint of Doll's lips and nose. Piffle sat up and noticed Zinc. "Hey there, tiger. How was your snooze?"

Zinc scratched himself all over. His mouth tasted like dirt. He was about to reply with something automatically snarky, but nothing came to mind. "Actually, I... I slept pretty good." Aside from the normal morning blahs, he could tell right away things were different inside him. His head felt clearer. Less stuffed with cacti and spiders.

He turned around to look at Piffle and instead recoiled, startled. "Holy hellcats, Toby! Have you been sittin' there like that all night!? And what the fuck happened to you? You look like beef jerky!"

The others had slept for twelve whole hours, while Toby had sat motionless for just as long. He had not blinked in all that time. (Because of course, if he blinked, that's when it would appear in front of him. He knew.) The mouse's neck felt like shattering porcelain as he turned it towards the canine. "Hey. Yeah, I only meant to sit like this a few minutes. Guess I fell asleep with my eyes open. Ha ha."

Zinc's nose wrinkled. The mouse's voice sounded normal but... grotesquely not normal. Every word was inflected okay, but the voice itself was as hollow as his ribcage now looked. "That doesn't explain your, ehh, current weight. Or lack of it. Did the bedbugs actually bite?"

Toby stiffened for a second. 'How did he know!?' No, wait. That had been a joke. Just a joke. "Oh! What? No. Ha ha!"

That laugh creeped Zinc the hell out.

Piffle patted her canine's paw. "He was like that yesterday too. Dysphoria did it to him. Like with Junella's wrinkles and my dress and how you lost your eyes."

"Okay. Yeah." He called to Toby, "You feelin' any better today then?"

"Yeah, lots!" Toby lied. He stood up, noticing how his pelt was kind of sticky now. Like a leather seat cover. "I guess this isn't going away though," he added, swinging a skin flap back and forth. "It doesn't bother me though. It doesn't hurt. I'm gonna go wake up George now." He turned and left them, passing a noiselessly snoring skunk.

Zinc bit his lip as he watched the bony mouse depart. "He's full of shit," he said with worry.

Piffle thought that was a little blunt. "He said he was doin' okay."

"Yeah, but he doesn't mean it."

She knew Zinc was right but wanted to hope otherwise. "I guess we can leave him alone for a while until he's ready to talk. Maybe he'll open up soon." This topic hurt so she changed it. "By the way, d'you mind if I ask why you didn't have your eyeballs yesterday?"

He growled. He turned slightly away from her and clenched the edge of the sleeping bag in his weak paws. "It got in my thoughts as we were walkin' along. Convinced me it was a perfectly rational idea to pluck my two marbles out and throw 'em as far as I could. I was on board with the idea because I thought, 'Hey, then I'll stop seeing all the non-stop nightmares it keeps projectin'.' But I could still see. Do you get how rotten of a cheat that is, Piff? I could still see!"

She nodded solemnly. "I unnerstand perfectly. It showed me the awfullest things too. Everything it could think of to hurt me. I saw my stepmom at home, starving herself because she missed me so much. And it hurt because I didn't know if it was true or not. It showed me your face, and Toby's and Doll's and Junella's and even George, all puffed up like big Mardi Gras masks, all telling me how worthless and dippy and stupid I am." She balled her fists and tried to force her tears not to come again.

Zinc stared at his palms. "It made me think I had my wrenches again. But I wasn't in control of 'em this time. I watched myself do things to you. To everyone. Slowly. I had to feel the blood..." He shut his eyes tight, glad now that all he saw was dark. "After that, well, what did I care if I couldn't see anything nomore? Seemed A-OK to me."

"It made my dress itch like bugs until I had to tear it off. It made me ruin my nice pink outfit that Kay 'n Kaye worked so hard on." That did bring the raindrops, no matter how hard she tried to stop them from falling.

Zinc reached out a hand to rub softly up and down her arm. "We're out now."

She sniffled, then nodded. "Yes. And all those ugly pictures were just lies anyway. They weren't real. We could keep on swappin' stories all day, but there's no point dwelling on lies, now is there?"

"That's right." He turned slowly to her, brushed her antennae aside and placed a small kiss upon her forehead. "You make me glad I can see now, Piff."

She shuddered happily. "Thank you."

He held himself there a moment longer, then realized time would not obligingly freeze for him. The world continued to spin and was tugging him to be a part of it. "Allright. So what's on the flight plan today?"

Piffle pointed skyward. "We're goin' up, remember?"

He blinked. He'd completely forgotten where they were. "Oh shit, yeah!" He looked past the car, up the spiraling peak of Anasarca. "Maybe Aldridge'll have some wizard-strength aspirin for this headache I got."

She reached over to rub his metal disc. "How 'bout you go poke Junella and I'll fix breakfast. You said there's imaginite over there? And an escalator?"

"Yeah, Junebug was scoutin' around and found a bunch of stuff." Zinc noticed Piffle was still holding onto Doll like they were riveted together. "Y'want me to take care of her so you can carry stuff?"

Piffle's smile cracked for a second. "N-no, I can do it like this." She wasn't sure how, until she realized she was sitting in the answer. She backed out of her sleeping bag, snatched up a corner, then buzzed off towards the mountain.

Zinc watched after her. He hoped she'd set Doll down sometime and that this wouldn't become some kinda neurotic fixation. 'Then again, if anyone's got the willpower to drag someone back from the dead, it's Piff.'

Anyway, he had business to attend to. He yawned, stood up, walked over to the edge of the land, and peed into space. Just for the invigoration of the daily oil change.

Sighing, and feeling a little closer to normal again, he zipped up and walked back towards the bags. He noticed Toby didn't seem to be trying to wake George up so much as he was examining the sleeping stallion all over. Like George was his science project. Weird. He'd need to have a talk with Toby soon, but that could wait till food.

Zinc knelt down beside his snoozing partner. Most mornings she was up before him, but he couldn't blame her for sleeping late today. She'd earned it. Yesterday, one of them had held onto responsibility while the other sat like a pile of dog turds and felt sorry for himself. Zinc jogged Junella's shoulder. "Hey... Hey, partner. The rest of us are up. Come join us."

She squirmed and mouthed some swear words, turning away from him.

He chuckled. "I know, I know. But fresh imaginite's inbound. Wouldn't you like a nice hot cuppa joe?"

She turned ever so slightly towards him. "Make it whiskey and you've got a deal."

"You can make it panther piss if you like, just get up."

Grunting with the effort, and lamenting being brought out of her dreamless ocean of warmth and bliss, Junella forced herself to sit. She rubbed loose crumbs of vinyl from her eyes and opened them.

Zinc was glad to see they were back to their normal color. He smiled for her.

That was a sight worth returning to the world for. "Hi, Zinc."

"Hi, Junebug."

"You're really back? I ain't still dreaming?"

He patted his chest. "A few parts still loose and rattlin' around, but yeah. I think most of me's here." He lowered his muzzle. "Can we... Can we forget about all the shitty stuff I said to you yesterday and let's just be partners again?"

A sense of boundless relief enfolded her, warm as the sleep she'd just left. She reached up to skritch his cheekfur like a pet. "That'd be allright."

He wagged his tail.

***

Piffle soon returned with a bulging sack of handpicked imaginite and tumbled the little blossoms out in a pile. Normally the mercurial mineral was mined out of the ground in big rocky chunks. These specimens were free-growing, plantlike. They resembled a pile of white iridescent porcupines. She'd needed to be careful touching them.

They were also not will-treated, as one would receive in a thoughtstaurant. Piffle made herself a muffin, then started in energizing the pile to prime them for the others.

Junella thanked Piffle for gathering their meal, but also noticed how she was doing everything one-handed now. It worried her a little, but she figured people were allowed a bit of odd behavior so soon after a loss.

Seeing that Piffle was back, Toby stopped pretending to wake George and finally did it. He'd been studying the sleeping nightmare, hunting for scents or traces of microbe lineage. He found nothing, but was still unconvinced. He grabbed a foreleg and shook.

George's eyelights grew brighter. So did his other illuminations. He said hello to Sire Toby, then thrashed around till he could get his hooves back beneath him. He stood and stretched, feeling considerably different than the day before. His color was nearly back to full hue.

The others were all glad to see it. Piffle gave the big black pony a hug. To everyone, he apologized for his dour, taciturn behavior the day before.

Then he shifted foot to foot, uncomfortable bringing the subject up. "When we were inside, it tempted me to do things. To all of you. Things that were so unspeakable, I think even my earliest self would have refused them on moral grounds." George looked like he was about to say more, then clamped his jaws shut. "That is... as much as I feel I am able to divulge, I'm sorry."

They didn't push for more. Quite the opposite, to his relief. They all agreed that Dysphoria had shown them unspeakable atrocities, taking sandpaper to their heartstrings in any way it could. George was glad to be forgiven so easily.

The others gathered in a circle and began their meal. It was refreshing having something pleasant to focus their minds on, trying to turn bristly crystals into omelets, coffee, bacon, and such. George nudged a single lump of imaginite towards himself, saying it was high time he experimented to see if he could make something of it. He stared forcefully. Piffle encouraged him with a mouthful of danish.

Junella had been right: the rest had done them good. It was easy to see they were still wounded, but at least on the mend.

All except Toby.

It was left unspoken for the moment, but all of them could feel it like a drafty cold breeze. Where their mouse friend sat, it seemed instead like a patch of glaring emptiness. Sure, Toby talked like normal, smiled, and acted friendly. But his eyes were as lifeless as Doll's. Like two glass beads plugged into his face, concealing hollow holes.

Plus, there was an even more obvious clue. Toby remained unchanged. Junella's wrinkles were almost gone. Zinc had his eyes back. George was talking again. And Piffle had blinked back into her sailor suit. But they all watched Toby's skeletal hands rolling an imaginite crystal back and forth. His gaunt, wispy face looked down at it, but were his eyes even seeing it?

Zinc suspected the worst: not only was Toby still deeply under Dysphoria's corrosive spell, he was also deliberately keeping them from helping him. 'Or maybe...' No. He did not want to imagine that something from Dysphoria had entered his friend and was piloting him like a puppetmaster. Even though the idea felt creepily plausible, given the evidence.

He watched Toby bat the crystal to and fro like a cat with a ball of yarn. Not even trying to change it. "Hey, how 'bout I help you with that? I'll make you some nice toast. That won't upset your stomach." He watched the mouse's expression carefully. 'Here it comes: 'I'm not hungry' in 3... 2...'

"Oh, I'm not really hungry, Zinc. That's okay. Thanks though."

"I insist," Zinc said with slightly gritted teeth. He leaned over and concentrated on the crystal till it became four buttered slices. He tried to keep the distrust out of his expression, but what did it matter? The mouse wasn't paying attention anyway. "Eat."

Toby lifted up the plate like it was covered in bugs. "Thank you. I was... having trouble remembering how to make it change."

'More like you couldn't get up the willpower to care enough,' Zinc thought, while outwardly saying, "My pleasure." He whipped up a cup of coffee with cream and nudged it towards the mouse as well. "Makes me feel better in the morning. Try it."

"I will."

Zinc of course saw the lie as if it was lit up in neon. His heart stung. He didn't know what was causing this in his friend or how to fix it. He looked around at the others and, while they were all nibbling away at their various morsels, they all had the same worry in their eyes.

"Behold, an apple!" George suddenly said.

Toby should have been gawking like the others at the utterly impossible sight of a nightmare having successfully altered imaginite to his will. Instead, he stared at his three remaining toast slices as he forced the fourth into his mouth. It tasted like the floor in a sawmill. It was almost impossible to chew, and he tossed the drippy wad behind his back when the others weren't looking.

***

Concealed behind parapets of rock not thirty feet away was a completely modern escalator just waiting to be ridden. Rubber handrails and all.

It snaked up the mountain from base to summit, winding around like a candy cane's stripe. Each metal step was immaculately clean, textured for traction, and easily wide enough for all six of them to fit on at once. The neverending staircase rose slow and mellow. "Finally something easy," Junella said as they gathered around. "Aldridge must've known, anyone who got through that would be damn sick of walking."

The uncomfortable falseness of Toby's behavior lingered long after they'd gotten through congratulating George for his red delicious miracle. The stallion was pleased enough with himself to enjoy his treat, while the others ate quickly and kept stealing glances at Toby's toast, which remained on his plate growing colder. They didn't know what to do with him. Whenever they hinted they'd be happy to listen if he was still having problems, he brushed them off and kept insisting he was fine, fine, fine. He smiled big and bright. But not with his eyes.

There was no longer a reason to stay put, so Junella supervised the reloading of the sleeping bags, then shrunk the car and swallowed it down. She'd set aside the canvas bag and told George to take special care with it. He accepted the duty proudly and slung it onto his back.

After surveying the escalator, George stepped aboard first. He tramped up and down with his hooves, eliminating the possibility it might have been another nasty trap. But they all felt it wouldn't be. Something in the air comforted them that they were safe now. Beyond the reach of Dysphoria's bad dreams. The others hustled to catch up to George's step, and pulled themselves on via ribcage-handles.

To their right was the sheer face of Anasarca. To the left was a concealing wall that came up to shoulder height for most of them. The travelers gathered around the handrail to look out across Phobiopolis below and the milky way above. The metal panel hummed beneath their feet. The escalator seemed to sense it had passengers and sped up a little. Not too much. Just enough to get them to the top in a matter of hours. It felt like coasting on a silver magic carpet.

Zinc was glad he'd snagged some tree jerky before Junella gulped the car. It wasn't cornucopia food or imaginite. It was real. It gave his teeth a challenge chewing it. And it helped focus his concentration on Toby. The threadbare mouse was sitting by himself one step below everyone else. Just sitting and smiling and acting pleasant, and goddamn nothing about him was right.

Piffle was picking imaginite again. The little hedgehog-shaped tufts grew all along the concealing wall. Zinc tugged at her hem. "Hey, um, toots? You mind maybe doin' me a favor?"

"Why sure! Just ask!"

He could tell the idea of feeling useful helped her mood. "Yeah, I was wondering if you could go and talk to Toby for a while. He's actin' funny. I'm sure you've noticed too."

She didn't say anything, but nodded.

A sigh. "I don't know why. Maybe 'cause you and me've been here longer, we've got, like, more of an immunity than him? Whatever it is, I'm damn worried. But I think I'm maybe still too abrasive to get through. If anyone can cheer him up, it's you."

She liked that he had such confidence in her, even if inside she knew her smile was held together with pins and strings. Her grief over Doll was like a river held back by a flimsy dam. "I'll do my best," she promised.

Zinc kept an eye on Toby as Piffle sat down beside the mouse and scooted in. A momentary wince crossed Toby's face, like he'd be so much happier if left alone. Zinc sighed. He had no idea what the mouse was hiding, but for now he'd have to let Piffle do her thing and put his faith in her.

"Hiya, Toby."

"Oh, hi. Piffle. How was breakfast?"

"I liked my omelet very much. Did you enjoy your toast?"

He clasped his fingers together and looked down at them. "Actually, my stomach hurts. I guess I'll eat more later."

"Sorry to hear about your tum-tum," she replied, reaching over to pat it. Of course, it wasn't there anymore and her fingers just sunk into the gap between his ribs and pelvis. She grimaced. "Toby, can't you do something about that? It's kinda spooky."

"I've been trying," he lied with a shrug. "I guess it's a little more permanent than what happened to everyone else."

"But... Junella said Dysphoria couldn't really hurt us."

Another shrug.

Piffle waited for him to say more, but he didn't. She fidgeted a bit, then began on her project. She arranged imaginite blossoms on the escalator floor, then began to will them into purple fabric. Toby didn't even ask what she was doing. "I'm making a new dress for Doll," she said anyway.

"A funeral dress."

A plume of anger scorched through her. "It is NOT!!" she shouted. "It's just...! It's just something nicer than this silly old doll dress she's got, that's all." She patted Doll's front, rubbing the material between thumb and forefinger. "This shabby ol' thing's only fit for a toy. Mine will be for a real lady. I'll even make her a new glove. She'll look beautiful. Maybe it'll make her feel better. Coax her out, see?"

"Okay. Yeah, that might work."

It crushed her that there was no confidence at all in his words. He didn't even seem to care whether she succeeded or not. Piffle huffed and puffed, but focused her annoyance into the imaginite. The stuff was abundant enough that she could sketch out several designs before making a final choice. Eventually she settled on a velvet blouse and skirt in somber plum purple. It went beautifully with the green silk glove. She slipped off Doll's old dress and pocketed it. Doll did like it, but hopefully she'd like the new outfit even better.

Meanwhile, Junella and George convened with Zinc around the handrail. The canine filled them in on the mission he'd tasked Piffle with and they both agreed it was a good idea. George admitted he was still a bit befuddled and preoccupied from Dysphoria's aftereffects, so it had taken him a while to notice the oddities in Sire Toby's behavior. Though now the changes were glaring, especially to his nightmare senses. George was skilled at smelling anxiety (originally to aid in creating it), and despite the mouse's fake pleasantries, he reeked of the aroma. Whatever had a hold on him, its claws sunk deep.

Junella agreed. She'd been all over Phobiopolis and seen firsthand the effects of profound trauma. Yesterday she'd been desperate enough for companionship to try jostling him out of it. But today, with a calmer head, she realized that his healing might take a long, long time. And there might not be anything they could do but stay by his side and wait.

The ride to the top of Anasarca should have been a pleasant one. The mountain tried its best to be accommodating, providing all the imaginite a furson could ask for and lowering its concealing walls in places to offer spectacular, sparkling views of the galaxy around them. But no matter where you are, it is impossible to have a good time when someone you love is suffering. The others watched Toby and Piffle talk about all sorts of subjects, sometimes even laughing together, but still what they saw was a hamsterfly and a moderately-convincing animatronic.

George at one point tiptoed over to add his own help. Toby's head spun around at the construct's approach, and for an instant before the mask returned, George saw blind terror in his master's eyes. The stallion made up a phony question on the spot and returned to Junella with Toby's half-hearted answer. The construct was incapable of tears, and had no face to show emotions with, yet Junella knew exactly how he felt. She pulled him close and rested her cheek against his forehead, stroking his old bones silently.

Soon Doll was all kitted out in her new duds with her hair styled up in wavy curls. Piffle asked Toby, "Doesn't she look pretty now?"

"Yes, she does," Toby said, and it was nice not having to lie for once. Piffle may have chosen a clownish safari getup for herself, but the clothes she'd made for Doll were properly elegant. 'She really does care about Doll,' he thought. 'More than I ever did. When I noticed Piffle gravitating more towards her, I was glad to be rid of the responsibility.'

Piffle was proud of her work, but struggled to keep the smile on her face. She'd felt hopeful for a fraction of a second at hearing Toby's genuine response, but that changed when she noticed the pain and tension in his eyes.

'I'll make that pain go away. Even if it takes all day. Even if it takes a week! If I can bring back Doll, I can bring back Toby. I'm not gonna let anything take my friends away from me, goshdarnit!'

***

Up ahead they could finally see where the escalator ended. It was a circular nook of rock, formed by several spires clustered together like birthday candles. Almost like a little lobby. The walls were too high to see past, but there might have been turrets poking up somewhere beyond.

Piffle got up and rejoined the others. She told them she'd tried everything in her arsenal of cheer, but Toby was behind a brick wall. No matter what she did to ease him into opening up, he deflected. His replies were all small talk and insistence that he was already in tip-top shape so there was nothing to discuss. It frightened her that his will was stronger than hers on this. The only thing that made her feel better was the others complimenting her work on Doll's dress. She was grateful for that.

As the escalator ended and each step vanished into the magic slot at the top, George was a little vexed as to how to get off of it. The others stepped off with no problems, but George stood there looking puzzled, bringing his hooves closer and closer together as they neared the edge, until the arrival platform essentially spatula'd him off. A mild grin made it onto Zinc's muzzle at the sight of a stallion who'd mastered flight and a gatling gun, mystified by an escalator.

Toby stepped off lightly and stood beside the others without a word.

There was an exit to the side of the circular stone room. It led to a well-kept green lawn. But before anyone could leave, Junella placed herself between them and the exit. She stood like a crossing guard and directed George to pass her the canvas bag.

Even though Zinc had imaginited up a six-pack of tickle-juice on the way up, he'd have to be blind not to know what was in it. His wrenches were the biggest, bulgiest items inside. "Hey, Juney... maybe it ain't the best idea to give Aldridge the impression we're about to let slip the dogs of war on his humble abode."

She rolled her eyes. "I know that. I ain't brainless." She bent over to slide out the bag's contents on the chocolatey dirt in front of her. "I'm not suggesting we barge in wavin' this stuff all around. I just thought... I dunno. Maybe it'd make us feel a little more like ourselves again."

George nodded his approval. "That seems a solid conclusion, Madam Brox. From what I have observed, a personal weapon may act as a sort of talisman."

"Exactly..." she cooed softly as she picked up her cutlass. She held it across her palms and watched the starlight glint off of its surface. She thought about how loyal this little sliver of metal had been to her over the years. When she slid it back into her hip, she shivered. That felt like home. And with this blade at her side, she thought that maybe she might actually be Junella Fucking Brox again.

Piffle stepped forward with an unsure expression. "I don't really need this silly fork anymore, but it does seem a shame to leave it." She bent over to pick it up with her right hand, her left still clutching Doll. Junella tried to help her get the oversized silverware back in her bellybutton, but Piffle shooed her hand away. The skunk watched her struggle and felt concern again that Piffle did not show any thought towards setting Doll down to make the job easier.

Eventually though, she got it in position and the sheath did the rest of the work sucking it up. Zinc leaned over to pat her tummy. "Y'know, it just now hit me that it's kinda weird you've got a bug shell and also a bellybutton."

She chuckled. "I'm a mishmash."

He squoze her paw to show that was fine by him, then stepped towards Junella. They shared a smile, partner to partner. Zinc stretched his arms out wide, enjoying their last few moments of flesh and fingernails. "Dysphoria tried to sour me on the ol' clankers, but I guess I got enough good memories packed away in 'em to outweigh that."

"Good to hear," Junella said, unsheathing her sword. "Hold 'em out steady."

"Yeah yeah. Like we ain't done this before."

Piffle hopped back to avoid the twin flying splashes of blood.

A moment later, Zinc was flexing his creaking hinged elbows, threading his clamps up and down, and picking up two useless furry twigs to toss them over the side of the mountain. Piffle came closer again to run her fingers along the strong, pitted metal.

"How they feel?" Junella asked.

Zinc arched his back and swung them back and forth. "Normal," he replied after consideration.

Junella grinned. She tossed him his doorknockers, then walked over to Toby.

He had been standing at the back the whole time like a plaster sculpture, but for just a moment he showed emotion when he saw what she was bringing him.

Fear.

She didn't understand why he shied away from the gleaming hammer, nor did she care. With a firm, motherly smile on her face, she stepped forward, snatched his wrist, and forcibly slotted his fingers into the hammer's tonguerubber grip.

Toby trembled. He looked into her eyes, silently asking, 'Why are you doing this?'

She spoke low so the others did not overhear. And though her tone was soft and tender, the words were hot coals. "Toby, I'm only going to tell you this once. If you don't take this hammer right now, I am going to cleave your fucking skull in with it. You are going to get better if I have to kill you one thousand times. Because I'm violent and psychotic and I care about you that much, do you understand?"

He shook his head.

She held his sweating, bony fingers in place around the handle. "Just take it. Please. You can throw it off the mountain later if you want to, but right now I'm passing out Christmas presents to the whole family and this one's yours, okay? I've seen what you can do with that, and I've seen it change you for the better. Now you slip that up your wrist or I will cut you from crotch to throat, client." Her smile was unbroken, but a tear nearly came to her eye. She reached up to softly pat Toby's cheek.

He did not want it. He did not know why he didn't, but he didn't. The thought of putting it back in its sheath conjured images of a giant leech invading his flesh. But he did it anyway. Junella's threat had successfully scared him worse.

She nodded. "Good boy." She turned and walked back towards the rock spike exit, feeling both victorious and ashamed. By God, she'd gotten him to care about something, if only for a second. She only wished it hadn't taken violence.

Toby felt the hammer in his arm like a heavy nesting parasite. It felt cold inside of him. He understood everything else, but not why it was causing such a strong revulsion in him.

Junella said nothing more as she picked up the canvas bag and draped it over George like a Mexican blanket. Surveying her unit, she decided they looked presentable enough. She whistled for their attention. "We've got an appointment to keep."

She let Zinc take point, hoping to boost his confidence more. He sauntered past her and turned at the edge of the stone entranceway.

...Then immediately ducked back behind it.

"There's someone else over there!" he hissed.

From his tone Junella gathered it wasn't the wizard himself. Her hand drifted towards her sword by reflex. "Who? What'd they look like?"

A shrug. "I only saw 'em for a blink. Then they vanished quick as I did."

"Mother of fucks," she snarled. "If this is one more hoop to jump through, I swear..." Keeping her hand on the hilt but not drawing it yet, she slithered past Zinc to take a peek for herself.

At herself.

"See 'em?" Zinc asked.

Junella stared, not quite believing what she was seeing. "Yeah..." she sang, and heard her voice echo.

She rolled back around with the oddest expression on her face. Zinc asked with a grunt, 'Well?'

She hesitated, not sure if he'd believe her. "This is gonna sound weird as all hell, but I'm dead sure that was me."

George nosed forward. "Some kind of security system? Are we to conquer our malevolent twins?"

Junella snorted at the idea. "Not likely. Lemme try something." She pulled her sword and wiggled it around the corner. She saw exactly what she expected on the other side. Ditto when she stepped out into the open. "It's a mirror..."

Zinc followed behind. Then George, then Piffle and Doll, then Toby. They all expected to be met with a sheet of glass. But it was nothing quite so simple.

As the travelers stepped out from behind the rock wall, they watched another set of themselves emerge from an identical wall thirty feet away. Everyone, originals and doppelgangers alike, displayed expressions of utter bafflement. Even Toby managed to find some mild curiosity.

Between the two sets of fursons was an immaculately-kept rectangle of pianograss. There was a set of patio furniture (two chairs and a table with a sun umbrella) positioned precisely in the middle of the lawn. Along the edge of the rock wall were several mirrored rose bushes, two mirrored lawnmowers, and two mirrored croquet sets. The yard was cheerfully lit by four mirrored tiki torches. No bug zappers to be seen; they were unnecessary at this altitude.

The patio chairs were positioned to look out past the end of the lawn, where there was a sheer cliff face and a breathtaking view of Phobiopolis below. From here the travelers could see that the world really was flat after all. They had suspected it at the edge of Dysphoria, and here it was proven positive. Phobiopolis was an unimaginably huge ribbon, curling in a circle towards the mountain, where the tail broke off into floating rubble. They could see the Veil Of Tears wrapping around it like a water coat. They could see the wall of Phlegmasia cap it all off. They could see swirls of green and brown and yellow and red, and it was amazing to think those were places they had been just days ago.

Behind them was the castle and the house. Only one of each, thankfully.

The castle resembled a medieval fantasy merged with a painted canyon. Hewn from the mountain's top, it looked as ancient as the pyramids or the city of Petra. The stone was banded like a snake: beige, brown, ocher, and maroon. The towers stretched up forty feet, riddled with tiny windows. But the structure was clearly a ruin now. The front of the castle was nothing more than a cavernous gash. Some great force had cleaved it down the middle, as if been struck by Thor's greatest lightning bolt. One could see directly inside to the empty stone rooms, long devoid of furniture or occupants. At the base of the castle were two massive piles into which the debris had been swept. Imaginite grew over the giant chunks of rock, twinkling.

The house was smack dab in the center of the castle's remains, in the cleft where the main hall had once been. It was startling how something so ordinary could look so completely out of place. Just a normal one-story suburban domicile. Like the model houses that surrounded the Jennie-Mae in Phlogiston. But someone had been taking much better care of this one. It was painted in pastel red, yellow, and green. The window blinds were drawn, but lights were on inside. The gutters were clean. The flowers along the foundation were in magnificent health. This was clearly not just a house, but a home.

Too much to look at. Piffle's head swiveled around and around till she was worried it might unscrew. From the starlight view of the world below, to the devastated hull of the rock castle, to the peculiar little house at its core, though finally her eyes settled on her own. Or rather, on the ruby disco balls of the mirror-Piffle standing in front of her.

She waved, it waved. She blinked, it blinked. It was definitely a mirror image, yet the other hamsterfly looked completely solid. As real as her companions standing beside her. Piffle saw the doll in her opposite's arms, wearing the exact same dress, with the exact same lifeless eyes. It unnerved her, and she turned her Doll's face away.

George on the other hand was quite pleased. Besides the reflection in ponds, he'd never seen himself fully before. He turned side to side, admiring his strong flanks. He blew a circle of flame from his nostrils and watched his double do the same.

Toby understood now why the others weren't falling for his act. He stared into the mirror Toby's staring eyes and saw nothing but trainwreck horror there. And tiredness. Living death. He was also finally coming face to face with his new fleshless body and felt repulsed by it. His fur was draped over bone like a plastic bag caught on a chain link fence.

Junella was simply sizing up her other self with calculating determination, not sure if this was yet another puzzle they'd have to solve before moving forward.

Zinc nudged George and indicated the canvas bag. Not knowing what would happen, Zinc pulled it down, wadded it into a ball, and threw it towards the line of copies. The other Zinc did exactly the same. There was a blur in the middle where the two objects passed, but then both Zincs caught the bag the other had thrown. In amazement, they patted it all over. It seemed perfectly solid. Zinc even checked the brand on the side: the name was readable as ever, not backwards.

"Now if that ain't just the kookiest," both of him said.

He jumped. That was a disquieting effect. It was like an echo, but simultaneous. He was hearing his voice as it sounded inside his own skull, but also as it sounded to other people. He walked closer to the other Zinc, the pianograss making pleasant notes beneath his boots. "Say something else," they said. "Holy moly! What kinda space warp bullshit we got goin' on here?"

Piffle approached her twin and sang a note. The harmony was quite nice.

They all came closer to the center of the lawn and watched their doubles approach as well. None of them wanted to get too close though. Even though they'd seen the outcome of Zinc's bag experiment, thoughts of paradoxes and antimatter loomed in their heads.

Junella stretched her sword out until it was an inch away from the other's tip. "What happens when they meet?" she asked, and watched herself scratch out the words too.

"No way to tell until you try," said the Zincs.

Gulping, the Junellas each took a step forward and touched their swords together. Everyone expected sparks or maybe an explosion, but instead the two blades seemed to shimmer through one another with a strange, faint glow. And Junella felt a tug on her wrist. "They're magnetic," she both sang. She jerked her cutlass away, afraid for a moment that she might not be able to. But no, it came back with only the slightest wiggle of resistance. Then she and herself both gawked at each other.

It was no surprise that Piffle was the first to try making friends with her other self.

Zinc yelped a warning as the hamsterfly extended a paw towards the other hamsterfly, but this time something wholly unexpected happened. There was the same gleam of purple light, and instead of the two Piffles shaking hands or passing right through, they merged.

The singular Piffle now looked in all directions for the other one. "Where did I go?"

"This is giving me headaches," Zincs said.

Wanting to explore this strange phenomenon as much as possible, Piffle shrugged and headed towards the far side of the yard. As she did, the other Piffle separated from her and walked in the opposite direction.

Zinc's eyes almost popped out. He called across the lawn, "Get back here, Piff! Your copy's givin' me the creeps!"

"But I'm the real Piffle!" both of them said.

The canine made kind of a 'yeeerkgh!' noise.

The Piffles put their hands on their hips. "You're just being silly! Look, I'm as real as you." She reached out and grabbed his wrench. He was astonished. He expected it to pass through like a ghost, but instead it felt like her normal, fuzzy hand.

"There can't actually be two of us," George reasoned. "One must be an illusion."

"But which one?" the Junellas wondered in unison. They pointed their swords at each other.

Zinc ran a wrench along the copy-Piffle's curves, making her wiggle. He had to admit, she did feel real. And then he got a nifty idea. He stepped towards his double until there was only one of him. Then he beckoned with both hands for the Piffles to come closer. For one blissful moment, he had a gal on each arm. Two sweet smiles surrounding him.

Junella rolled her eyes and moved to merge with her other self. She winced a bit beforehand, but was glad to discover no unpleasant side effects. She much preferred being the one and only.

Toby didn't partake in the merging experiments. He wasn't really in the mood. But he did try to stay out of the way and let the others enjoy the moment. They certainly deserved a bit of lightheartedness after everything else they'd gone through. Toby simply looked into his mirror image's eyes and wondered who he was.

"Are you nice people gonna keep trampling my grass or are you gonna come inside one of these days?"

All heads turned. The door was still closed, the windows were still drawn. They seemed to be the only living things on the mountain.

Yet the voice had definitely come from the house. A female voice.

"Well? Ya mute?"

George spoke up, not exactly sure where he should direct his reply. "Our apologies, Madam! We intended no harm. In our fascination, we momentarily forgot that we are technically trespassing."

The voice laughed at George's over-politeness. It was sunny and brash. Diminutive and feminine, yet with a smoky, powerhouse edge to it. This was the voice of someone who'd had a lot of practice ignoring fear. "I've been keeping an eye on you guys the whole time. No harm done. So unless you're here to rob the place, why don't you get yourselves singular and head on over?"

Glances were exchanged. None of them had any idea who was speaking to them, unless Aldridge had at some point decided to switch genders (which might be something wizards did). Junella was already merged, so she led the way towards the house. As George walked into his opposite, he was momentarily a horse with two back ends. Zinc walked along with a Piffle on either side. They resisted coming together for as long as possible, enjoying being sisters.

Toby followed the others at the rear. He put out his hand towards the other Toby. For an instant he was terrified it might feel like in Dysphoria, when he'd died and resurrected with the skull collar on. That was such a grisly feeling he never, ever wanted to go through it again. But thankfully, merging with his twin was an anticlimax. There was a seam of warmth at the joining, like a sunbeam, then a bit of pressure and that was it.

Junella did glance back at him. She felt a small ray of hope at seeing something other than gloom and doom in his expression. She hoped meeting Aldridge would finally have some effect on the mouse. Maybe the wizard even had some kind of anti-Dysphoria potion.

They gathered at the front step. There was a marble semicircle just before the green door with a wicker welcome mat upon it. No mailbox or house numbers, though that was hardly surprising. The porch light turned everyone yellow.

The voice spoke again, still without a visible source. "What a fascinating patch of oddballs we got here today. Sorry if I'm uncouth, but it's been a while since we've had visitors."

George noticed the 'we'. "Just to be certain, Madam, we are at the residence of the wizard Aldridge?"

A mock-exasperated sigh. "Of course it's for him! It's always for him, Mister Big Shot! Yeah, lemme rustle him up." They heard the voice directed inside now, at window-rattling volume. "Hey Poopsiecakes!! The peasantry seeks an audience with Yer Royal Distractedness!"

Zinc and Piffle looked at each other. They'd shared some sappy nicknames at times, but nothing as bad as 'poopsiecakes'.

No footsteps were heard from inside, but they all heard the mutterings and bangings-about of someone ungluing themselves from their work and fumbling towards the door.

Toby peeked out from behind the others. He felt a strange, queasy casserole of emotions. Overriding all was the dread he couldn't let go of. But struggling up from its inhospitable soil was a bit of genuine curiosity. Maybe even hope. If the Allfilth was the dark, maybe Aldridge was the light. Maybe there were answers here. Maybe even healing. Or maybe Aldridge would turn out to be a powerless old hermit. Still, the fact that Toby was actually here in this moment was startling and surreal. He remembered the wizard's name coming out of the mushroom woman's mouth on the day he'd first arrived. That was weeks ago. Or had it been a whole month? Multiple months? It felt longer, yet also like no time at all. He had struggled and begged and bargained and even killed to get to this moment. Yet he'd never fully believed it would actually arrive.

The doorknob rattled and turned.

Light from the livingroom crept across the welcome mat.

Toby's eyes bulged.

Of all the ways he had envisioned Aldridge, he never could have dreamt up a bewildered big-mouthed catfish standing primly in a blue bathrobe.

"Is this about the sprinklers?" the wizard asked sweetly. "Sorry, but we already took care of them last month."

-***-

Part Seventy-One

His accent was buttery soft, with a small, precise voice ill-fitting for a mouth that enormous. The catfish's head spilled out of his robe like a great speckled brown tongue. Small eyes scrutinized the travelers. Whiskers twitched.

"Uh..." said Zinc.

Aldridge smacked his forehead. "Oh no, forgive me, I'm misremembering from years ago! Good gosh! You  came here to talk, didn't you? You actually made it past Dysphoria and everything!?"

Junella took the lead. She stepped forward, stood up straight, and put on her 'diplomacy' tone. "Good morning, sir. I hope we're not interrupting anything. We have traveled vast distances, across monstrous terrain, all to meet with you. We came for a variety of reasons, mostly on behalf of my client here." She put her arm out, expecting the mouse to be there. "...Toby?"

Toby had melted back behind George, suddenly feeling like he had no right to be here. After getting over the surprise of finding out the guy was a fish, Toby could see that there was just something about Aldridge. He didn't need a starry cloak and pointed cap to have a certain aura. Or maybe it was mere anticipation, wanting him to be more grand than he was. It was also possible this was just John Q. Average standing here in his bathrobe. Maybe all the stories were just myths, or maybe his magic had been used up over the years. Doubts of all kinds swirled around the mouse's head.

Junella grabbed him by the collar and pulled him into Aldridge's view. "Grrk!"

"Like I said, my client." Junella displayed him like a home appliance. "My partner and I, our bankroller, and our transportation, have all come a long way to ask for your help."

George piped up, "Again, we apologize if this is an imposition."

Aldridge handwaved that, absently. "Nothing to apologize for." He didn't look George's way because he was staring down at Toby. Through him.

The mouse froze like a deer in the headlights. Aldridge's beady eyes swam over him like they were taking inventory of his every thought and memory. "Hello, sir," he squeaked out. He extended his paw.

It was gently accepted. "You're in conflict," Aldridge said softly, to Toby alone.

Well, he couldn't deny that. "Yes, sir."

The catfish gave the mouse a subtle nod to convey that any reluctance was forgiven. Then the private moment was broken and Aldridge looked back to the group. He clasped his hands together in a firm rub. "Now then! It's been a while, but I think I still remember my manners. You've come to me for favors and granting them is usually quite fun. Let me just wand you over. Then you can come inside, have a sit on the sofa, and Becca will make tea."

Toby looked down at his paw. Aldridge had actually touched him. And a fish's hand wasn't anywhere near as slimy as he would have expected.

From deeper inside the house, kitchen sounds were heard. Aldridge reached to the side of the doorway and brought out an honest-to-gosh magic wand. The shaft was simple wood, but the tip featured a tangerine-sized gem as blue as the ocean.

Zinc was transfixed. The gem sparkled in his eyes. He felt himself salivating. "I've never seen one that big," he husked.

"That's because there aren't any others this big," Aldridge replied. He made passes over the canine, saw nothing unusual, then moved on to the others.

Toby was momentarily sure the wand would call him a liar and zap him to cinders, but instead nothing happened as it hovered over his head. Junella also raised no alarm.

Piffle's antennae perked in resonance with the wand as it passed them over. Aldridge was confused by the 'readings' for a moment, and grimaced a little at Doll. But then he shrugged and moved onto George. Now he really got perplexed. His initial assumption had been transformation accident, then his senses said parasomnic construct, and now the wand was telling him even more conflicting information.

George fidgeted. "Shall I stay in the yard, Sir Aldridge?"

The wizard squinted at him. "That's quite allright. So long as you wipe your feet I'd be-" Suddenly a lightbulb clicked on. "Oh, wait! You're ascended, aren't you? Goodness me, your kind only turn up once in a generation! Congrats, dear fellow!"

George was overjoyed to be so warmly accepted. "Thank you very much for saying so, Sir Aldridge!"

Aldridge hung the wand back in its nook beside various housekeys. "Righto, that's it, that's all. Let's sit by the fire and discuss."

They all moved a little closer but couldn't go farther. Junella dared to state the obvious. "Um, sir, you're blocking the door."

He blinked. "Sorry. Forgot." And then he disappeared.

The wizard seemed to turn himself off like a light switch. They were all startled, but another glance showed that he was still present, just extremely transparent. Perhaps five or ten percent opacity. His face was still frozen in the last expression he'd shown. Junella stepped up onto the welcome mat and waved her hand through the space he'd been occupying. Nothing. It felt like regular old air.

"I guess wizards do this kind of thing." She wiped her feet and stepped inside.

Everyone else passed through Aldridge's afterimage as well. Piffle was barefoot again, so she could appreciate the luxuriantly soft carpet. She cooed and rubbed her toes back and forth in it. George ducked his head through the doorway and was exceedingly careful not to bump into anything. Already he could tell this would be a challenge. The house was nearly as full of Delicate Things On Shelves as the Jennie-Mae.

Toby nervously stepped past the threshold, still somewhat worried that the house would recognize something unclean in him and exorcise him off the property. Nothing like that happened though. In fact, he felt somewhat lighter when he entered. Like stepping out of pollution into cleaner air.

The look of the livingroom was fairly predictable from the house's outside aesthetic. More yellow, green and red, but with touches of blue and purple. Tasteful and comfortable. To one side was a fireplace with a crackling blaze already lit. Close by was a recessed conversation pit with a horseshoe-shaped sofa nestled inside. There were artworks displayed in every space that wasn't already taken up by shelves. Books and trinkets abounded. There was even a surprisingly up-to-date television entertainment system above the fireplace.

Zinc was staring with naked lust at Aldridge's wand, clearly fighting the urge to snatch it up and run away.

"What IS it?" Piffle asked him.

"It's a Zulamang Drop..." he husked reverently. "I've only had my hands on fake ones before. You know how a megaphone amplifies yer voice?" She nodded. "A pea-sized pebble of this stuff can amplify willpower. Focus it into a scalpel."

She gawked. "Oooh!"

Zinc scratched his cheek. "I can't believe he just keeps it hanging there. Not locked up in a vault or nothin'."

A reply came from across the room. "No need for locks or guard dogs! There's no better home security than my Rebecca!"

A pleased giggle from the kitchen.

Zinc looked around for the source of the voice and saw an ibex in a blue bathrobe standing by the fireplace. He didn't even have to ask if it was Aldridge. Same voice, same bearing. But how? And why?

Aldridge answered Zinc's questioning expression with a demonstration. The ibex vanished just like the catfish had, while at the same time, a lop-eared rabbit popped into visibility closer to the door. Same bathrobe.

All around the room were extra Aldridges. They were hard to spot at first, until Zinc adjusted his eyes to the slight distortion. Each unused body was clear as ice until he inhabited it.

The rabbit shrugged. "For convenience."

Rebecca's voice called out, "Don't just stand there showing off, honeycomb. Introductions!"

"Yes, right. Um. I presume you all know who I am." He put a hand to his chest. "Albion nomiddlename Aldridge, pleased to meet you. You can carry on addressing me as Aldridge, though I like Brian just fine too."

"Hi, Bri," said Zinc.

A bow towards the metallic canine, then a sweep of the hand towards the kitchen. "Mastering the teapot this evening is my beloved wife, Rebecca Polidori Aldridge."

"Almost done!" she hollered.

The wizard looked to his assembled guests. "And you?"

One by one they gave their names. Junella did a low, regal bow. Piffle pulled off a curtsey as best she could while holding Doll. Zinc shook hands vigorously. George extended his hoof as well. Toby just waved a little from the back of the pack.

"Excellent,"  Aldridge said, clapping his hands. "I'm exceptionally pleased to meet you all. And not just because it's been the two of us alone up here for... well... Let's just say a long time. Quiet togetherness is nice, but interruptions in routine can be much-welcomed too." He indicated the sofa. "Shall we?" The rabbit vanished and the ibex reappeared.

The travelers walked towards the fireplace and were a bit startled to see furniture and shelves adjusting themselves out of everyone's way. And when they stepped down into the conversation pit to choose seats on the couch, the cushions seemed to fluff themselves and curl around whomever sat upon them. George remained standing, but felt envious of how cozy it looked.

Aldridge pointed to Junella. "Could you scoot over one seat more, my dear?"

She belatedly realized she'd sat down right in the middle of one of his spare bodies. "Whoops. Didn't see you there."

As soon as she moved, a slender red panda in a blue bathrobe popped into existence beside her. Legs crossed, hands on knee. "There we are. Everyone sitting comfortably?"

Agreement from the others. Piffle bounced a bit on the cushions. They were as beautifully blue as Aldridge's wand.

"Good good good. Now, I'm sure you're all eager to ask me for whatever it is you came all this way to ask me for, but if you'll indulge me, I always like to get to know people first. I'm sure you have questions about me, and I have some for you as well."

Toby was seated furthest from Aldridge. He turned his attention away, looking around the room. So many little treasures on shelves. He wondered about their stories. He realized that he was really just letting himself be distracted away from his own embarrassment to be here. Sooner or later it would come up. Junella or Zinc would mention his quest to return home. And he'd have to find some way to pretend he didn't already know the answer Aldridge would give. He found himself staring at a strange object on the far side of the room. Some kind of large sculpture on a rotating base.

Everyone else looked at each other, not sure who should speak first.

Finally Junella was bold enough. "Are the stories true? I mean, I've heard them everywhere. Zinc was telling some in the car earlier. About how you built so much and fought the nightmares and ended the war and then... you just kinda bugged out."

Aldridge smiled with a long-ago look. For the first time the others noticed that, despite his cheerful first impression, there was a deep and silent sadness written on his face. A weary melancholy always present in his eyes. He suddenly seemed very small and fragile to them. "I suppose most of them are true," he said, and licked his lips. "I admit I used to be much more active. I was like a 'super hero' to some people. But it wasn't a job I set out wanting. I've merely been here long enough to... Well, have you ever played a video game long enough to see the cracks in the simulacrum? You begin to understand the real rules of the game, not just as presented but programmed. Same for me. I'm no great magician. I'm just this realm's oldest resident, and I've had a lot of time to learn how to cheat."

Piffle wasn't sure what a video game was, but could follow the context well enough.

Junella was stunned. This was nothing like what she expected. Certainly it didn't resemble the confident, crusading Aldridge his legends portrayed. "How long have you been here?"

A shrug. "I can't remember. Though long enough to know how Phobiopolis formed and why we're all here."

A rattling cart approached from the hallway. "Sorry to butt in. Tea's ready."

The travelers all looked up, expecting to finally see the elusive Rebecca Polidori Aldridge. Instead, they saw a lone tea service rolling by itself towards them. It slalomed around the bookshelves, down the ramp, and into the conversation pit where it came to a graceful stop.

Piffle thought of Mr. Woofingbutter. "Did you get invisible'd?" she asked Rebecca.

A chuckle. "Nope! I'm the house!"

"What?" Junella sputtered. That was a bit unusual, even for Phobiopolis.

They could practically hear Rebecca smile. "Yup, and everything in it! I'm the roof, the walls, the carpet, the works. The only thing I'm not is the lawn and the only thing I'm missing is a bathroom. For obvious, smelly reasons. You're sitting on me, you're watching me burn in the fireplace, you even wiped your feet on me before you came in."

"I had no idea, Madam!" George yelped. "I am genuinely sorry!"

She cackled. "Don't be! Felt like a backscratch. I have Aldy scuff his feet across me all the time when I get an itch."

Piffle was thrilled by the idea. Of all the things she'd been before, she'd never been a whole house! "That's amazing! So you were just making tea with yourself, out of yourself!?"

More laughter. Rebecca clearly enjoyed their reactions. "You're getting' it, kid!"

It was a bit hard to envision, but Piffle had enjoyed being a meal on several occasions, so she could at least understand that part. In fact, the more she thought about it, the more the idea appealed to her. She imagined all her friends living inside her. She could always keep them cozy and happy.

Zinc looked at the ceiling, as if in search of a mouth somewhere. "Not to be rude but, uh, were you born a house or did you convert?"

A little bit of levity left her voice. "Nah, I started out as a plain ol' coyote. That's what I was with Brian back in them old castle days."

Zinc nodded. "We noticed it outside. Nice digs, or useta be."

"They were," Rebecca agreed with a bit of yearning. "Ah, but don't weep for me now. I've been like this for ages. Aldy busted his brain trying to change me back, and after a while I told him I wanted to just try it out for a little while. As you can see, that little while lasted. I like being a house. Only real drawback is, everything on TV looks backwards. But, oh man, there's nothing more close than sharing a book with someone when you're the book!"

Piffle cooed. That sounded very romantic.

"And if I ever really wanted to turn back, I know I could. Pretty sure. Heck, I can change my appearance whenever I like." She demonstrated by briefly sending everything in the room through every color in the spectrum: wallpaper, ceiling, even the sofa they were sitting on. It was a bit startling. When things went back to normal, it felt like the end of a carnival ride.

The teapot started floating around, filling cups. Then a sofa pillow nuzzled Aldridge's ear. "Plus I get to entertain guests, and always keep track of my absent-minded fuzzy sweetcheeks."

The wizard smiled broadly.

Literal flying saucers brought steaming cups to everyone. The aroma was delectable. As Zinc very, very carefully clamped onto the delicate china handle of his cup, he thought about the mechanics of Brian and Rebecca's relationship. "So, how's all this work in the bedroom?" he blurted, then immediately winced, realizing the inappropriateness of the question only after it was already out.

Aldridge grinned wickedly. "A gentleman never tells. But I will say that we've had lots of time to get creative."

A pillow bopped him playfully on the head.

Junella tested her tea's temperature, not wanting it to melt her mouth. It was actually just about perfect. And the taste was indescribable. It made her think of autumn and faraway villages and calligraphy.

Rebecca recognized that dreamy smile. "Like it? It's something I used to pick up in Scarlatina."

Junella gazed into her cup. "I might have to visit."

Toby enjoyed the smell but couldn't bring himself to do much more than tip the cup towards his mouth and pretend to sip. He still kept glancing back at that thing in the corner. Until finally it clicked. "...It's a globe!"

They all looked up from their tea. Toby had been so quiet they'd almost forgotten he was there.

"Clever to have figured that out,"  Aldridge said approvingly. "Rebecca, would you bring it closer?"

"Sure, pops." It came gliding across the floor towards the pit so everyone could get a better look.

Upon a wooden base was mounted a large rectangular mirror. Glued to the reflective surface was what looked like a giant's fungus-covered toenail. It curved out and back towards the mirror in an arch. The mirror let everyone see both sides of the sculpting. The outward face was lumpy and multicolored, the underside was craggy and coal-black. At the top was a spray of pebbles, then a central spike that extended just beyond the glass.

"We're right there at the tip, aren't we? That's why we merged?" Toby asked.

"Two for two!"  Aldridge complimented. "I admit, even I don't know where the bizarre reflective property comes from, but you are sitting in the only spot in all of Phobiopolis that's immune. Right now, the people in this room are the only people in this room, and that's unique for all the world."

Junella's mind boggled. "Hot Jesus! I thought it was just something weird about your front lawn!"

He leaned forward, grinning at getting to explain it. "Not so; it's the whole kit and kaboodle. Every single place in Phobiopolis you've ever been to has an exact duplicate on the other side of the world. While you were trekking up here, your mirror images were taking the very same journey. Saying the same words, eating the same food, breathing the same breaths. There is not a single thing that happens on one side that is not replicated, down to the atom, on the other. And why not? Cause and effect apply the same everywhere in the universe. If the real you bumps an object off a shelf, and your image, mirroring you, does the same, then both items will fall."

Zinc looked pained. "This is setting my brain on fire."

Aldridge giggled, slightly crazily. "The knowledge does have that effect on most people. Even worse? Ponder this: If someone first arrives in Phobiopolis at the exact bottom, as most people do, then there is an equal chance they will run to the left or to the right. Depending on which way they run, they are either going to wind up in the real Phobiopolis, or its reflection. The people they meet may be real or reflections. There is no way of knowing which. Just as you and yours had no idea which was which when you met one another. And since there is absolutely no way to distinguish between the two, the question arises, does it even matter?"

Zinc screamed.

Aldridge tittered madly.

"He'll spill his tea, darling," Rebecca cautioned.

Aldridge could not resist his enjoyment at the looks of dismay on all his guests' faces. "It drives some people insane. That's one reason I chose to live here. Not only does it cut down on door-to-door salesman, but I can be secure in the knowledge that I'm the only me."

"And the same goes for all of you now," Rebecca said soothingly to the others. "You all merged before you came in, so you don't have to worry about it anymore. And when you leave, the reflections will go in one direction, all of you in another. So that works out too."

Aldridge sipped his tea. "Ah, but which direction will you go? Back the way you came, or down the other side? Did you come from the real world, or from an illusion?"

"Honey, you're just being sadistic now."

"I can't help it! Confusion is fun!" He took another sip. "Plus, it's good for the brain. Rattles it around to keep the dust from settling on it."

"You've certainly given me plenty of sleepless nights for the next few weeks," Junella warbled.

"You're welcome," he replied mischievously.

The travelers all puzzled over this revelation for a while. They thought about people they knew and wondered whether they'd been interacting with a real furson or their puppet. It was the sort of thing that their emotions demanded an answer to, but their reason couldn't help concluding that it really was irrelevant. If two things are exactly identical, why does it matter which one is 'real'? Or are they both, somehow?

Rebecca brought out some tiny cakes on napkins and began passing them around, hoping the sugar would settle the travelers' nerves.

"Would it help if I told you how all this came to be?"  Aldridge asked. "I know you must have urgent reasons for being here, but I've got a bit of professor's blood in me. It's been ages since I've gotten to explain anything to anyone else!" He wiggled on the couch like a boy about to open Christmas presents.

"Believe him," Rebecca said. "One of the perks of being a room is that, when he slips into 'Ohhh lookit this dear!' mode about something he's already told me for the millionth time, I can totally tune out and he won't notice a thing. Just keeps on rhapsodizing."

Piffle chortled.

"Well," Aldridge said, cheeks slightly pink. "That's not inaccurate. Do any of YOU mind though?"

"My tank's full, teach," Zinc said. The revelation about the shape of the world was enough for one day.

"Well I'm interested," Piffle said. The others nodded.

"Fantastic." Aldridge leaned back and settled comfortably. He cleared his throat, letting the old stage patter rhythms return to him. He pointed to the globe. "What you are looking at is a representation of a cosmic accident. More years ago than your minds can handle, God created the heavens and the Earth."

Junella choked on her cake. Up until that moment she'd been a passive atheist.  Always assuming that the universe was a random swirl of stars and dust, with Phobiopolis as its only afterlife.

Aldridge sipped his tea. "He created angels to love him. And when those angels started displaying free will and disagreement, he created Hell for their punishment." A frustrated sigh. "He was never very patient. Always the type to barge ahead in stubbornness when someone pointed out he'd been wrong. So he found a creature floating in space. A single being comprised of the souls of untold worlds, all bound together into a semi-corporeal whole. It had the ability to become whatever it dreamed, and could grant this ability to any of its passenger souls. God reached out to this celestial being, and killed it."

Piffle's antennae shot up in horror.

"He emptied it out like a jack-o-lantern,"  Aldridge continued, "and he used its corpse to build the realm we know as Hell. He has sent innumerable souls, mortals and angels both, to this haunted house world. And in its sloppy, enraged construction, he left behind chunks of waste material."

Toby saw where this was headed.

Aldridge gazed out the window to the stars. "Even in death, the celestial being's tissue reflexively sought new souls to join it. For you see, it gained nutrition from contact, and conversation, and learning. And so, the largest cast-off chunklet found itself reflexively drawn to the nearest source of soul energy. It journeyed blind across the cosmos to meet this new friend. Unfortunately, this source was the dreaming fiend we call The Cruelest One."

Toby felt ice blocks collide in his guts. His eyes widened. His breath halted. He'd never expected Aldridge to just come right out and mention the Allfilth directly. Toby's lips moved before he could stop himself. "I've seen him."

Aldridge's head whipped around towards the mouse. "You can't have."

"No, really!" Toby did not dare say its true name, but he drew in the air with his fingertip: the round eyes and slitted mouth.

Junella looked at Toby, jaw in her lap. "That was why-!? Why didn't you tell us!?"

The mouse felt drenched in nervous sweat as he scrambled to rebuild his mask. "I... I didn't think it was important, really. I saw a big ugly head as I was leaving Dysphoria. And sure, it was scary. But I assumed you were right when you said it was just another trick it was playing on me."

She scowled. She didn't believe a word of his carefully-chosen response. But she did believe the raw horror that had been in his voice a second ago. And she got the sense Toby had gotten a lot closer than just seeing it. 'This explains so much. Goddammit Toby, why didn't you trust us to help you?'

Aldridge was pale. He completely missed the reactions of the others, his attention focused wholly on Toby. "How in the name of God did you ever get away?" he breathed.

A shrug. "I don't know. My friends saved me somehow."

"Junella juiced his chest with a live wire until he snapped out of it," Zinc said.

Aldridge looked like he could not believe what he was hearing. He shook his head. "All I can say, young mouse, is that I hope you never know just how grateful to your friends you should truly be."

Toby nodded. "I am." He looked to all of his companions. "Thank you," he felt compelled to say.

The others didn't know what to feel. The revelation of The Cruelest One was comparatively easier to deal with, since it wasn't a stretch to guess that Phobiopolis might be watched over by some megalithic horror in the darkness. But overriding that was their worry for Toby, and a feeling of betrayal that he'd kept his encounter to himself. Did he not think they could help, or understand?

Piffle, George, Zinc, and Junella shared a flurry of glances between them, vowing without words to confront Toby about this as soon as tea was over.

The mouse sat with his lips shut tight, hoping his lie had worked. He intertwined his fingers in his lap.

Aldridge shook his head in astonishment and tried to remember where he'd been in his story. He babbled until he got back to it, like an unsteady takeoff. "As I was saying... What was I saying? Phobiopolis. Him. Right. The Cruelest One, also known as the Allfilth."

Toby's whole body clenched at hearing that word spoken aloud.

"By a monstrous accident of fate, it was its will that shaped the beginnings of this realm. A flying blood clot turned into an afterlife. Even though the celestial being lived to provide comfort and happiness to all its passengers, the Cruelest One's tainted soul corrupted it. That conflict between their natures is likely why the whole of this realm is not like Dysphoria. There exists both suffering and solace here. I've held out hope that maybe the spirit in our soil is not dead, but only hibernating."

He pointed to the globe again. "It used to be omega-shaped. Can you see it? The way the land curves around in a broken ring? Technically it's upside down, but everyone perceives Anasarca as being the highest point in the land, so there you go. Anyway, long ago, caused possibly by the abrupt ending of its journey, the bottom lines of the omega broke off and fused together. That simultaneously created the mountain you are sitting on, and the debris field surrounding it. But the rest was a boundless psycho-reactive void. Even in dormancy, it pulled souls toward it like a magnet. Why this place seems to attract sleeping souls more than dead ones, I haven't a clue. Possibly due to the dreams of The Cruelest One? I can guess right now that a majority of you here, possibly all except George, went to sleep one night and found yourselves here. Or were rendered unconscious by accident or anesthesia."

Even without replying, everyone confirmed this through their pensive expressions. Some had no concrete memory of it happening, but felt sure nonetheless.

Toby realized now, he couldn't remember if he'd ever actually asked his friends how they'd come here. Maybe because he wasn't yet sure of how he had. He knew he didn't want to talk about it. Although he couldn't shake the tense, sick, familiar feeling that maybe he already knew. Maybe, even after all his introspection in Dysania, there was something still left undiscovered.

Aldridge continued. "This world works on principles which we perceive to make sense, and they make sense only because we perceive that they will. Any baseline physics are simply what the majority of souls expect to happen, based on experiences from Earth. The entire population is in a constant state of dumbfounding. Otherwise, Phobiopolis would be in complete chaos. There is only any stability here because the first inhabitants assumed it must exist somewhere, so they set out and found it."

The idea went against everything Junella thought she knew. "So are you telling me that... everything's like the sunny sky up on Bigwheel 52? Ectopia Cordis is on stable ground not because the ground's stable, but because enough people all thought, 'Yeah, I guess it is'?"

"That's about the gist of it," Rebecca answered.

Junella massaged her temples. The idea seemed too big to fit in her brain. "I'd heard the theory before, but it was just people spitballin'. Kicking the possibility around. I never believed it because... it can't be true. It turns cause and effect backwards, doesn't it?"

"Not really," Rebecca said. "Think of it this way. Y'ever been in a situation where something important popped up and you HAD to do it, but you weren't sure if you could, so you pulled an all-nighter anyway and went into kind of a daze? Then in the morning, you can't even remember how in the frig you pulled it off, but there it is, done! Sometimes you can accomplish things precisely because you just DO them without knowing how. Especially here."

Junella immediately thought of Toby's paint can trick. "Does this mean," she reasoned, "that if someone could just get, I dunno, 'zen' enough, they could change anything?"

Aldridge smirked. "Not only could they, but you are sitting beside the all-time grandmaster."

Junella gaped.

"You're soooo humble, honeycakes," Rebecca playfully poked.

"Just being accurate," he defended. "But yes. I have amassed all sorts of tricks and techniques over the years to boost my unconscious power and control it consciously. It used to be there were many more 'sorcerers' like me. By now, either their talents have been lost to obscurity, or discovered again in random accidents. Or the tricks have become so commonplace that no one anymore stops to think about them."

Zinc nodded. "Right, right. Like I was tellin' 'em about how people didn't useta know how to mindf- er, dumbfound. And now they can. Because they already know other people can."

"Absolutely correct," Aldridge said.

The canine was glad he was keeping up with all this.

Aldridge leaned over, resting his face in his paws and letting out a nostalgic sigh. "I miss those days, and yet I don't. There were only ever a handful of us. The magicians, I mean. But for a time, we were this world's biggest celebrities. I commanded standing-room-only audiences. 'Aldridge The Impeccable.' Oh, it was grand. But it was taxing too. It required me to put on a persona of someone I wasn't. Someone with much more assuredness and optimism.

"The problem is, as it always is, power seeks to grow. We all wanted more of it. Some just because we were rivals. Greater abilities meant greater ticket sales. For me, I wanted more because I saw so damned many things in the world that needed fixing, and I was in a position to fix them." He closed his eyes, and his voice lowered. "Others, on the other hand... One in particular, who I will not name, wanted more power in order to punish the world."

Zinc had heard all the stories, and knew exactly who Aldridge was remembering. "She was why the war started, wasn't she?"

Aldridge looked uncomfortable with that phrasing. "Was she? Or was I, for waiting too long to contain her?"

Rebecca comfortingly patted his shoulder with a pillow. They'd been over this many times.

"I tended to act only when I realized no one else could, or when no one else was stepping forward. So while this little contest of sorcery was escalating, I watched a certain furson gathering power and I kept telling myself that her seething spite would burn to the wick eventually. I talked with her so many times. In those days she made no bones about her amorality, but she was still approachable. She could speak so reasonably, so convincingly." Regret was plain in his voice. "I gave her the benefit of the doubt too many times. And then, it was too late."

He reached up to caress the pillow. "Rebecca was my Pearl Harbor, I suppose. When my rival saw that Becca made me happy, she changed her into her current form. A cruel joke. That was what finally convinced me her behavior was not just harmless pranks. Her venom would never run dry. She meant to strike at whatever caused the most pain, in anyone she deemed deserving."

Sensing the ache in her lover's voice, Rebecca asked, "You mind if I butt in to tell my part in this? How I found you?"

He looked intensely relieved, like she'd thrown him a lifeline. "Oh, yes. Please. It's a much better story."

They could practically feel her glow. "I first saw Aldy at one of his shows. Man, he was the greatest! He did stuff the other guys couldn't touch. Made it look so easy too. And... I fell in love. I knew it started out as just a schoolgirl crush. I mean, what would a big famous magician want with little old boring me? But I snuck myself backstage to meet him this one time. Then again. And after a while, he started expecting me."

Down from one of the shelves came a framed photograph of a young and happy pair. As a coyote, Rebecca had looked plain yet radiant. Her smile and sheer will shone from the photo. And Aldridge...

Toby was incredibly surprised to see that the wizard's earlier self had been a mouse. Just like him.

Rebecca sat the portrait on the tea tray. "No one called it a war until it had already been one for a good long time. The magicians were consolidating power. Entertainers into politicians. And a lot of people started getting worried about that. The main opposition was Luxy Bleeder, that crazy bastard." She spoke his name with begrudging respect. "He wasn't the first to say it was a bad thing for certain folks to slowly build themselves into Gods, but he said it loud, and he said it well. By then, some wizards and witches were actually drawing borders. It was getting uglier. Aldy couldn't stand it. He built his castle up here just to get away from the noise. He started doing fewer shows and spending more and more time away from everyone else."

A cup of tea poured itself, and then drank itself. "After his last show, he told me he couldn't see me anymore. He said he loved me, but the world was nothing but a big migraine and I was safer without him. He was the only one who could fly over Dysphoria where it couldn't reach up and catch him. It became his barrier against everyone else."

Aldridge said softly, "I still can't believe I was stupid enough to think you wouldn't follow."

Junella put two and two together. "You made it through Dysphoria too?" she asked in amazement.

They couldn't see her proud smile, but felt it anyway. "Sure did!"

"All by yourself!?"

"Well, I had some help. My idea was, I spent all my savings and had some friends build me this harpoon setup. I stood on the edge and fired it at the mountain for a guideline. Then it was just hand-over-hand the whole way."

Junella's jaw dropped, outraged that such a simple solution was possible. "You're shitting me!! After all the crazy crap we hadda do to ourselves to get through, and you just walked across!?"

Rebecca laughed in a melancholy way. "You make it sound so simple. Lemme put it this way. You got through that hellhole yesterday, right? And you're speaking complete sentences to me now? That's the difference."

Junella quieted.

"I only made it because I was so full of myself and I had no idea what I was getting into," Rebecca admitted. "Love makes people stubborn. I just kept pulling on that rope thinking, 'It has to end sometime'. Yet it didn't. Even when Aldy realized what was happening and helped pull me out, my mind was still trapped in there for a long, long time. I was crippled in every way someone can be. Took almost a year for Brian to nurse me back to health. I nearly lost everything I was."

The skunk looked around at her companions. They had all taken a hit from Dysphoria's relentless punches, and some fared worse than others. She looked at Doll, still hibernating within herself, and at Toby, cut down to a fraction of what he'd been before. Yet she also looked at George's colored lights, Zinc quietly holding hands with Piffle, and her own cutlass. Their outcome could have been so much worse.

"She is why I made the escalator," Aldridge added. "Sometimes, when a loved one is in pain, you wind up with a powerful store of nervous energy that you feel must be channeled into something that makes a difference. Even if it's relatively minor. I reasoned, anyone else brave enough to make it across the reach deserved an easy path the rest of the way."

'Thought so,' Junella said to herself.

"Why didn't we do the harpoon-guideline thing?" Piffle asked Zinc. "I mean, plus all our other ideas."

"Too damn dangerous! No guarantee the spike'd hit the mountain instead of one of the asteroids," he replied.

The hamsterfly nodded, then looked at the tea tray. "You must've gotten super lucky, Rebecca."

A soft chuckle. "Brian's told me that lotsa times."

"And in a way, that's where the story ends," Aldridge added. "I joined the war. It came down to myself and my rival. Terrible things happened. I won, and I..." He cleared his throat. "I dealt with her in a manner suitable."

That could indicate a great many things. Zinc's brain started imagining them.

"I didn't have the heart to end her permanently, and sometimes I wonder if that was the right decision. But during that awful period, a common way of disposing of one's enemies was to toss them in Dysphoria. To end this atrocity, and to safeguard myself and my love against my rival's possible return- or revenge by her thralls- I set out on my last great project. I had reached a point where I felt I had done all I could for Phobiopolis. The rest, people would have to muddle through on their own. But I could do one more thing. I could starve that contemptible abyss of future prey. And so I built the great white wall."

Zinc jumped off the couch. "YOU BUILT THE MAZE!?"

No change in expression. "I did."

The canine barely restrained himself from throwing his teacup in Aldridge's face. "WHY!? For fuck's sakes, have you SEEN the people trapped in there!? I sure as hell had to!!"

Aldridge's mouth became a stone slit. "Can you tell me, in all honesty, that it is worse for them in there than it would be in Dysphoria?"

Zinc's planned reply caught in his throat. His mouth froze mid-roar. He tried to think of a counterargument to that and couldn't. Even with the blurred goggles, he had seen those wretched things in Phlegmasia that had used to be people, crawling around in blind delirium. And yet... Given the choice between spending the rest of eternity in either place, he knew what he'd choose without hesitation.

Piffle saw the snarl on Zinc's lips change from anger to frustration. She tugged on his wrench, easing him back down to his seat. She asked Aldridge, "Couldn't you have, I dunno, maybe tried something a little less..." She couldn't think of a word that didn't sound rude.

"I considered many ideas," Aldridge said without emotion. "I decided I cared more about effectiveness than compassion. Anything was better than the valley of The Cruelest One. I thought to myself, if I had to be trapped in only one emotion for a very long time, what would be the most merciful? The enjoyment of a good story seemed a fair choice. You can see my books. This isn't even all of them. I made an entrance to tempt the arrogant to try; to think they had a chance. I designed the maze to always steer its captives back towards this entrance, away from Dysphoria. It holds no one forever. But it is designed such that, once you are free, you will not want to return."

It was all very reasonable, but also very cold. The travelers felt their image of Aldridge shift with this new information.

The wizard finished his tea. "I haven't the foggiest how you six got here, but I'm sure you'll tell me soon. I'm sure you have a grand tale of all your travels. But I'm glad I got this opportunity to let you see the real me. To let you know that I try to be kind, but I can also be ruthlessly practical when necessary. I don't want you to think of me as your magic fairy godfather that can make all your wishes come true. My power has limits. And if my guesses are correct, I'm going to be disappointing at least one of you when you start making requests."

"Mind if I ask one more question before we get to that part?" Junella asked in a deceptively disinterested tone.

"Certainly." He set his saucer down. "If there's one thing I try to be, to make up for all my other failings, it's honest."

She leaned back against the sofa and looked him in the eye. "A while ago, you spoke about God like you knew him personally. You're not just the oldest resident here, are you?"

He froze. Oh this one was very clever. "What exactly are you implying?"

Junella's tone was perfectly calm as she called out the most powerful being in the world. "I'm not implyin' shit, mister. You're this place's guardian angel, ain'cha? You're here to keep us all in line."

The others gawked.

Aldridge actually laughed. "Yes, and no. Correct assumption but incorrect conclusion. Still, that's definitely worth my respect. Bravo." He clapped for Junella.

She was not charmed.

Rebecca chuckled too, in a 'jig's up' kind of way. "May as well show 'em, honey."

He was startled. "But only you've seen...!"

"What can it hurt?" she replied.

Aldridge sat up straight, considering it. "Fair point." With that, he stood and let his bathrobe fall to the floor. Underneath he was wearing blue satin boxer shorts. Piffle was just about to giggle, but then his wings came out.

The room filled with light.

Aldridge bowed his head and solemnly extended them to their full span. The tips on either side scraped the walls. The glow emanating from the shining white feathers outshone every lamp in the room. Immaculate. Aldridge's face was taut. Closed off. Almost ashamed.

His guests were literally unable to do anything else but stare dumbstruck in awe.

Then he folded away his wings and sat back down. He shuffled his robe back on and reached for a tiny cake.

The room was dead quiet.

"You're a real angel!!" Piffle finally sputtered.

He shrugged, as if that wasn't so out of the ordinary. "Yes."

Junella was goosebumpy as anyone else, but hadn't forgotten her question. "But you say you're not the world's warden?"

He shook his head and snorted at the absurdity. "If you're asking if I was sent here with a purpose, absolutely no. God tossed me out like all the rest of His trash. By purest accident, His aim must have been off and I shot past Hell and landed here. I found a violent and ugly pioneer world where nothing stayed the same when you turned your back. At first I was too anguished to do anything about it. But when other souls began to arrive, I had to."

He smiled bittersweetly. "I already told you, I never wanted this job."

No one knew what to say then. They just stared at him, remembering the sight of those wings. How they blazed, like sunfire.

Aldridge looked directly at Toby. "Unless I'm mistaken, you came to ask if I could send you home."

The small mouse's throat turned to sand. The question had come before he'd had time to prepare his lies. He opened his mouth but nothing would come out. Finally, all he could do was nod. It was true that home had been his original goal, after all.

"I can't," Aldridge said flatly.

Toby showed no reaction. Because of course he wasn't surprised.

Zinc however, bared his fangs and snarled. "WHY YOU-!!!"

The wizard held up a finger, refusing the outburst before it could start. "When you started on this jaunt, did you know for a fact that I could send people back to Earth? Hm? Or did you hear stories and assume them true?"

Zinc deflated.

Aldridge opened his hands, palms out, to all of them. "You think you're the first to make it here?"

Junella was heartbroken. Yes, she'd told Toby to be cautious, that there were no guarantees. But her own hope had never wavered. Of course Aldridge could. Because... Because he was Aldridge. Aldridge could do anything. "But..."

"The legends had to have come from somewhere, didn't they?" he asked somberly, to no one in particular. "Some, when they heard the choice I actually have to offer, decided they didn't really want to leave here all that badly after all. So I flew them back across the divide. They returned to their villages and either told the truth, which no one wanted to hear, or spun fantastic tales of the wizard Aldridge's great power. Which do you think survived? Which was passed on?"

Junella felt like he'd carved a hole right through her. She looked over to Toby and mistook his stone face for crushing numbness. She was almost there herself. If there was any silver lining, at least he'd confirmed that he took people home. Junella had been dreading the possibility of having to backtrack through Dysphoria.

Toby was very still and very quiet. He didn't dare let it show, but he was feeling one emotion quite strongly. Relief. With those simple words from Aldridge, 'I can't', Toby's problems had been solved. He didn't have to make any excuses or choices. He'd never have to say a word to any of his friends to justify turning back. Aldridge had given him freedom. When later they went home with an 'oh well' and a 'so long', Toby was free to disappear at the first chance he got, taking his head full of toxic truths far, far away from the others. Sparing them from the slow poison inside him. It was the best thing for everyone, really.

He almost felt happy.

Piffle reached past Zinc to put a comforting paw on her mouse friend's shoulder.

Toby reflexively flinched from it, then accepted it to preserve the act.

She was glad he let her paw stay, but something in his eyes made her shudder. A glint of something so completely un-Toby-like, she must have hallucinated it.

Junella was trying to untangle these last remaining knots. "So, the people who never got home... were they just the ones who got lost in the maze and Dysphoria?"

"Not all," Aldridge said very quietly, in a voice on the edge of tears.

She felt like maybe she shouldn't ask. Like maybe she didn't want to know the answer. "...Where?"

Aldridge's head had gradually sunk lower and lower towards his folded hands. At Junella's question, he straightened up and put on a face of calm practicality. He spoke in a clipped tone without any trace of feeling. "It is another of my self-imposed duties in this world, to look after a certain object. One, I believe, that followed me here from Heaven. When I first saw what it could do, I knew I had to lock it away forever. But some have asked about it. And I could not in good conscience refuse this request, even knowing the consequences."

The skunk could hardly breathe the words. "You're talking about the Oblivion Door."

Aldridge was slightly stunned that word of it had survived. "I am. Its proper name is the Neculaunis. I touched it once and knew."

Piffle ran her hand nervously along her carapace's ridges. "It's bad, isn't it?"

Junella nodded slowly. "You listen long enough, you hear all kinds of stories. This was something I heard bad people threaten other bad people with. And only when they were so pissfire-angry they didn't know what they were sayin' anymore." She paused, some angel on her shoulder shouting a warning she didn’t understand. "S'posedly, it's a door that if you walk through it... you stop being there. You just... stop. Alltogether."

Piffle put her paws over her mouth.

Zinc looked to Aldridge for confirmation or denial.

"For once, the legends are entirely accurate," he replied.

"But that's horrible!!" Piffle protested. "Who would make something like that!? How could you ever let anyone use it!?"

Aldridge's face was cold marble as he looked to her apologetically. "Because it is not my right to decide life and death. Who am I? To tell someone, 'Your suffering must continue because I can't bear the thought of your choice'!?" His volume began to slowly rise. "To some poor souls, the thought of a final, permanent escape from this unceasing nightmare is the greatest solace I can give them!!"

"Calm down, love," Rebecca said gently.

There was a murmur from the opposite end of the sofa.

They all looked at Toby, not sure if he'd spoken or coughed.

"Did you say something, Sire Toby?" George piped up. He had remained quiet for some time now, simply because the stories were engrossing and he had nothing to add to them.

Toby's eyes were glassy and wide. His posture was rigid, face slack. But the others could practically see the thoughts whizzing around in his head like carnival fireworks. "I asked," he repeated quite clearly, "if we could see it."

Disbelieving stares.

"Please," he added.

***

Oh, there was a big kerfuffle as they all chimed in to talk him out of it. But Toby stuck to his guns. He didn't even hear their words. He just held up his hands and kept insisting: "I only want to see it. I only want to see it."

Piffle was torrenting tears again. Zinc shot fury at Toby from his incinerating gaze. Junella was so bitterly disappointed she looked like she wanted to die. And George's voice was quavering with a depth of emotion the others had rarely heard from him.

Still, Toby insisted.

He wasn't even sure why. He had no plan in mind. Yet an electric wire inside him had surged at Aldridge's mention of the artifact. Like this was the missing piece of a puzzle he'd been working on blindly all this time.

Of course, he wasn't going to walk through.

Yes, he acknowledged that all his internal doubts were whooping in celebration. 'Here's your chance, crybaby! Here's your chance to end it all and do something useful for once!' But he knew he wasn't going to listen to those voices. If nothing else, just to deprive them the satisfaction.

Maybe it was that he felt he had to confront this 'oblivion door' face to face. He had never truly decided whether his heart wanted to leave or stay. This was a third option. To leave everything, permanently. All the pain, but also all the joy and memory and future chances. He was sure he didn't want that.

But still... he had to see it. Just once.

Aldridge became very serious and asked him several times if he was certain. The wizard's mesmerizing eyes drilled deep.

Toby barely heard the words. He was sitting up straight with his hands on his knees, ready to go the second the word was given. "One hundred percent, sir," he replied.

Aldridge closed his eyes and sighed. The mouse was one of the worst liars he'd ever seen. Toby's inner thoughts were so transparently manifest, he might as well have been writing them out on a chalkboard. And Aldridge knew his expression. He recognized the insistent denial. He'd seen it all before. Nevertheless, it was his duty.

He stood and said, "If you must, then Rebecca will show the way. I'll be there waiting." And he vanished.

Toby stood up too. His skinny body didn't feel so weak anymore. In fact, he almost felt like he was floating.

There was an acid edge to her tone when Rebecca spoke. "If you're planning what I think you are, it'll sink him like a stone! I'll be consoling him for months! And have you even thought about what it'll do to your friends!?"

Toby did not flinch. He simply repeated, calmly, "I'm not planning anything. I only want to look."

There was a harsh hiss of contempt, then the tea cart raced off across the floor. Fast and clattering, like the furson pushing it was steaming with anger.

Toby watched the cart and remembered its path. He started after it.

The others were all staring at him in total shock. Zinc reached out to tug the mouse's arm. "Hey, chief, c'mon. Be serious here. You're jokin' with us, right? The mouse I know would crap his pants runnin' away from a thing like that." As the words left his mouth, Zinc realized that in his desperation, he'd said the absolute worst words possible.

Toby turned to him and said stiffly, "Yeah? Well, I've grown up some. Chief."

Piffle was crying now. She stood up and spread her arms like a crossing guard, blocking Toby's path. Her mouth was set in a firm line.

Toby hated to make her feel this way, but if she wouldn't take him at his word then he wasn't going to waste time convincing her. He turned and walked around her, marching up and over the back of the couch.

Junella had not moved an atom. She was still sitting in her same position, arm draped over the back of the sofa. Eyes narrowed. Looking exhausted in every way a furson could be. She remarked flatly, "Gee, mouse, I never thought you'd be this much of a coward."

Toby's blank expression broke and he whirled around in her face, scarlet with anger. "If none of you are going to do anything but insult me and try to hold me back then you can all just go to Hell!!"

Junella remained motionless. But the bitter scowl on her lips deepened.

Toby turned to walk away, but a wrench knocked him to the floor.

He picked himself up, seeing stars and feeling an orange-sized welt emerge on his cheek. "This is how you treat your friends?" he hissed.

Zinc stood over him, his face a concrete slab. "When they're actin' like assholes, yeah."

Piffle jumped up and clutched tight to Zinc, looking back and forth between him and Toby. "Stop it! Stop it right now!"

Neither heard her.

Toby grabbed the edge of the couch and pulled himself to his feet. His eyes met Zinc's. He tried to shove all his willpower into his gaze like a bulldozer. "I'll do what I decide to do. If you're really my friend you'll respect that. If not, then hit me again when my back is turned. Like I care." And he made good on his word, swiveling away from Zinc towards the hallway. He steeled himself for a killing blow.

Instead, Zinc stood silently and stared through the back of Toby's vest, knowing he couldn't solve this with brute force.

Toby followed the tracks the tea cart had left on the carpet. The rest of the house displayed the same comfortable aesthetic as the living room. Everything neatly in its place. Not a speck of dust to be seen. Toby passed a wall full of portraits. He didn't bother looking at them. Down the hall he could see half a dozen closed doors and a single one open. He headed straight for it.

Hoofbeats on the carpet behind him. "Are you going to try to convince me out of it next?" he spat.

There was clear hurt in the quiet reply, but also steadfast loyalty. "Sire Toby, until it is your choice to let me go, I will be at your side wherever you are and whatever you decide."

Toby stopped. He turned around. George was standing a few feet behind him in the hallway, looking like a faithful dog who'd attend his master anywhere. Toby felt some of his anger subside. "Thank you, George," he said softly. Toby turned back and kept walking towards the open door. But he listened, and was glad to hear those big, clunking hooves follow.

Piffle, Zinc, and Junella were a still life for a moment. Then Zinc growled, resisted the urge to smash something expensive, and followed after Toby. Junella swung herself up and away from the couch, following her partner.

Piffle fretted for a few moments more. She looked down at Doll in the crook of her arm. Looked up to the open door Toby had vanished through. Then, trembling, she turned and laid Doll down upon the cushions. "You might not want to see this," she said quickly, then gave her silent friend's forehead a kiss and scampered off after the others.

***

The door at the end of the hall was a couple of inches ajar. Toby could only see light from inside.

He definitely didn't want to be here anymore, so he crossed the room to his closet, towards that shiny brass knob. He turned it.

The Neculaunis room was like nothing else in the house. It was unthinkably big, impossibly big. Toby should have seen this barn-sized bulge from outside. Or maybe the room actually was normal sized. Maybe it only appeared so large because it was stretching itself away in fear from the silver masterpiece at its center.

An unshielded bulb dangled from the ceiling, spilling a yellow glare across the room. No wallpaper, no carpet. Just unvarnished boards and a single window. And one door.

It seemed more real than anything else in the room. Or the world. It seemed more there. It seemed to exist in a dimension beyond, and this was merely the representation that souls like him were allowed to see.

No ornamentation. Flat. Just silvery-white metal, or metallic paint over wood. Smooth enough to reflect. Toby could see a distorted, wrung-out mouse with wide eyes walking slowly towards himself. The angles of the frame were uncannily precise. The knob was as perfectly round as a crystal ball. No keyhole. The Neculaunis stood waiting, suspended above the hardwood on nothing but its own aura. As Toby came closer, it looked down at him with aloof grandeur. It did not have to care whether or not he stepped through. It would remain in place eternally, ready to open, or not, at anyone's choice. Even Aldridge's.

The wizard's body in this room was his original one, a sandy-furred mouse. Again in blue. He stood with his arms folded in the small of his back, leaning against the wall to Toby's left.

"There it is," he said with slight reproach. "You've seen it now."

But Toby shook his head. This was only the outer vessel. This was the candy box, not its contents. He had to lift the lid.

Toby heard the others enter the room and stand near Aldridge. They did not come any closer, and the mouse was glad for that. Maybe they feared the Neculaunis more than he did, or maybe they were finally acting like friends and listening to what he'd told them. There was nothing wrong with wanting a look.

The Neculaunis held his gaze as if soft silver hands had extended to cup his face. Its presence was overwhelming. Toby could hardly look away. He felt drawn into its pristine silver surface, wanting to dive in and make ripples like a summer pool.

Maybe this was what had been calling him all this time. Across the whole vast distance of Phobiopolis. What if it had been whispering to him inaudibly through all his days and nights here? What if it was lonely?

With an extreme effort, Toby turned his head away slightly, towards Aldridge. He had a sensible question. Practical considerations came first, after all. "Is it safe to open? Like, will I be sucked inside as soon as I touch it?"

Aldridge was steeling himself for what he knew now was inevitable. He forced calmness onto his face and did nothing but watch and answer. "It has no hunger. It will not take you unless you walk through on your own, uncoerced, volition."

Toby nodded. There was wanting to face the unknown, and then there was taking unnecessary risks. Ha ha! He wanted to see it, but he didn't want his friends to all go spiraling into a black hole along with him.

He stepped towards the Neculaunis door and extended his hand. His every movement felt calm and confident. As if he'd practiced this moment over and over. What an odd moment of deja vu... He reached towards that shiny silver knob, knowing in his heart that this was the right decision.

Piffle gasped. She started to run towards Toby and beg him to stop.

Junella put an arm across her chest.

Piffle looked at her, shocked, unable to find the breath to ask, 'Why!?'

The skunk's face was utterly inanimate, but her eyes were red at the edges. She stroked her finger-needles gently across her grooves."The client decides where to go. Even when we may not like that."

Piffle's lip trembled. She wanted to smack Junella, but instead grabbed the skunk's scarf and crushed her tear-stained face into it. "I can't lose him too. I can't, I can't. I'll break."

A gentle wrench reached across her shoulders to tug her away.

George leaned in closer to his companions. "I understand everything you are feeling, Madam McPerricone. But I believe it best to trust in Sire Toby to be wise in this decision."

Piffle looked at George, then back to Toby. Her mouse friend stood at the door as if entranced. She didn't know if she could trust him. She didn't know if he was really the one in control, or if something else had its fingers in him.

Junella watched every move Toby made with silent, hawklike patience. She understood having faith in the people you cared about, but there was an unspoken line. If that mouse crossed it, she'd be across the room like lightning, chopping off his ankles to keep him from taking another step. Let Aldridge try to stop her. Fuck choices. She wasn't about to let Zinc, Piffle, and George go through that misery.

Aldridge watched as well. He saw things no one else in the room did, and kept his thoughts private.

Toby felt an energy shooting through his skin as he drew closer. Like fingers of wind brushing through his essence, making his fur stand on end. The silver doorknob was cool to the touch. Frictionless at first. But when Toby wrapped his hand around tightly and squeezed, it began to turn with almost no effort.

There was a gap in his memory then, because suddenly he was standing in front of the open door with no recall of having actually opened it. What was inside tore his eyelids open and vivisected his mind.

Nothing.

It was horrifying. It was haunting. It was tantalizing.

Toby felt madness enter him. This was a more creeping, sinister strain than Dysphoria, because there was no malice here. This was closer to the moment when he had floated alone in the presence of the infinitely indifferent cosmos. But even the universe, in all its breadth and majesty, was at least comprehensible. The Neculaunis' heart held nothing inside. There was neither light or darkness, shade or color. No smell. No sound. It was nothing. And Toby's brain screamed in atavistic rebellion at the idea. It could not abide such a concept. There had to be some way to describe the impossibility before his eyes. Yet every effort failed. This was as far beyond him as astrophysics was to an ant. This was an aspect of reality he was utterly incapable of conceiving. And yet he was seeing it.

He had to touch it. He had to. The thought transformed instantly to a solid truth in his mind: The moon is in the sky, water is wet, I must know this unknowable thing in front of me.

Toby tried to raise his hand, but his body fought him. It knew better. Toby's waking mind might have been ensnared, but his brainstem and nervous system recognized this as some hellaciously bad shit they wanted exactly no part of.

Aldridge had seen the look in the mouse's eyes more times than he could count. Though that was a lie. One hundred seventeen. How could he possibly forget even one? He clenched his teeth and locked his muscles down tight no matter how loud his conscience screamed. His every molecule called him coward, but he knew he had no right to interfere. His duty was to provide the choice and bear witness.

Toby forced his arm to raise, ignoring all warnings. Thoughts of Aldridge vanished, as did awareness of his friends. He was alone in this room. He was alone in the world. With the door.

His eyes burned. He took a hesitant step forward, somehow still aware that he did not want to trip and fall in. Oh no, he still had at least that little bit of automatic self-preservation. But his arm extended, and his fingers reached out. The nothingness was unspeakably repulsive, agonizingly beautiful. Just one touch, he promised, and then he'd be satisfied.

Junella and Zinc were both restraining Piffle with difficulty. Tears flowed like rain and she covered her mouth to keep in her screams.

In his peripheral vision, Toby saw the reflection of his own twig-thin arm reaching for the surface of that inexpressible other world.

Not a world though. Not a pool or a wall or a cloud. Nothing.

Nothing was impossible. Nothing was all anything ever really was.

The pad of a single digit of a single finger touched the barrier between existence and nonexistence.

To call it indescribable would have been inadequate. Toby could have filled books trying to recapture that sensation. If there was any one adjective that stuck out and held true, it was "overwhelming".

Toby was instantly addicted. He had never felt anything like this before, or dreamed such a feeling could exist. Chills ran up his bones and raised goosebumps on his skin. The touch froze him to the marrow. It sent nails through his flesh. It caressed him. It flayed him alive.

He was in control, he thought. A little more couldn't hurt?

A voice far away was screaming that he was trapped now. He could never pull away. Any motion forward would doom him irrevocably.

Toby didn't listen. He was sure he knew better.

He sunk his fingers deeper.

He gaped, beginning to drool, enraptured at how unbelievable the feeling was. How wonderful. His fingers just... ceased. They stopped being there. Like he'd always lived without them. Like they'd never been there at all. They felt no more pain. How thrilling! Numb to all hurt! He'd never have to worry again about pinching m in a drawer, or banging them with a hammer, or getting stung by an insect He would feel nothing from them ever again. Nothing was fine. Nothing was just fine, wasn't it? Toby lifted his hand away to see better. His hand now ended in four little stubs. They wiggled like pink tater tots. He laughed. Saliva spilled from the corners of his mouth.

'Wait. This is not normal.'

It was a tiny squeak, but he'd heard it. And it had come from inside. He continued to stare at his nubby hand. He felt a sudden twinge of confusion. It had felt so good, why wouldn't he continue? There was no reason not to, right? He watched the four little piggies dance. No cut, no blood, no skin, no scar. Just... gone. Good. Gone was good. Gone was...

No.

Toby realized he was looking at something else without seeing it. Something else about his hand...

A line. On his palm.

How was he going to hold his hammer without any fingers?

That simple, practical objection made it all the way across the cloying layers of miasma the Neculaunis and the Allfilth had fogged across his brain. Toby felt himself snap back to awareness. He looked down at his feet and realized he was much closer to the open door than his senses had relayed. He hadn't just taken one step forward, his knees were practically scraping the border. He stumbled back and tried to grab the door handle. His fingerless hand slipped and he almost spiraled backwards. Though that would have been a hell of a lot better than the alternative.

He looked back at his freakish, malformed fingers, wriggling like the heads of caterpillars. He looked over to Aldridge, desperate to ask whether this was permanent. To ask if he'd just crippled his hand forever.

But Aldridge wasn't looking at him.

Aldridge was turned around to face the room's entrance. His attention drawn completely away from Toby and the Oblivion Door.

Toby turned. His friends were still staring at him, so they didn't see. But someone else was there. Someone else had joined them.

Standing by the doorway was a pinkish-beige baby doll with no face. She leaned on the frame, casually, just waiting for someone to notice she was there.

The other four followed Toby's dumbstruck gaze and turned around as well. Piffle's heart practically crashed straight through her carapace. She sucked in a huge breath to scream at the top of her lungs in joy.

But then Aldridge said two little words that changed everything.

"Hello, Scaphis."

The world and everything in it froze.

Doll wasn't leaning on the doorframe. She was infecting it. Melted plastic from her hand had crept like wet paint all up and down its surface. It crept towards the floor, then spread out in a small puddle. Liquid plastic. A little pool, growing. Her green glass eyes were gone. Her face was back to the roughly-cut gap it had been throughout their whole journey together.

Her arm was behind her back. Casually, she showed them all what she was holding.

Aldridge's wand.

The wizard was stiff as steel. His face was composed and nonchalant, but his eyes were shifting back and forth rapidly, thinking at a rocket's pace. "Did you really think you'd fooled me? You confused my wand, I'll have to give you points for that. And I don't know how in the world you changed your shape. Sheer tenacity? Congratulations are in order. But, don't you think I've perhaps spent a few sleepless nights worrying about the day you'd make it back here? Did you think I wouldn't be ready? Did you think you got in for any reason other than I let you?"

Scaphis began to swing the wand back and forth. Tick-tock. Like a metronome.

Aldridge did not move from his spot. His showman's smile did not falter. But his eyes began to water. "Come to finish me off? I always knew it'd be on your mind. I could never stop giving you the benefit of the doubt, could I? I just... I guess I just didn't want to believe you had involved other people this time. These nice people. You used them like stepping stones to get to me. You made them care about you. That's shameful. You're sick, Scaphis. You're in pain and you need help."

She looked directly at him and smoothly shoved the entire wand straight down her throat. Then she showed her hands empty. Tada. A magic trick.

Two tears made tracks down Aldridge's cheeks. There was a tremor in his voice. "We don't have to do this. Why do you think I told them about the wizard's war? I wanted one last time to try to reach you."

Scaphis began to walk towards him. In the space of seven steps, she grew from an infant into an adult. Blooming into womanhood right before their eyes. The plastic encasing her squeaked and crackled as it struggled to hold her emerging body. Soon it was stretched thin as latex.

"I never learn, do I?" Aldridge said sadly.

Her legs elongated. Her pudgy, comical torso became mature and confident curves. Her new velvet dress turned to ribbons from the inside out. Her hands burst through her gloves. Her artificial hair fell away, leaving a bald, smooth scalp. And the hole in her face changed too. The edges boiled and churned. Flanges, like rows of tiny fingers, emerged and wriggled in some strange unison. As if she was speaking through them.

Scaphis parted the four gawking travelers as easily as walking through water. She was focused on only one man in the room. Aldridge. Her keeper. The others were secondary. And, since none of them had paid any attention to the pool of plastic rolling across the floor towards them, they didn't resist when a single touch paralyzed them into statues. Now they could have a turn being dolls.

Aldridge stood his ground. He gazed into the black void he'd sat across from so many times and tried to reason with. He knew her power. He knew her Bakhtak training. Sleep paralysis. It was her specialty. "I assume you've already dealt with Rebecca. I thought she'd gotten quiet."

That bald, expressionless dome nodded slowly, lingering with satisfaction. She walked up close enough to place one hand on Aldridge's chin. With the other, she reached out for Toby.

He had watched it all happen. And his mind was clearer than it had been in days. He saw everything and did nothing about it. But Scaphis' magic hadn't gotten him. He was simply scared stiff. Though as soon as he saw her hand move towards him, he started to run.

Scaphis' arm lengthened like the swing of a whip and wrapped around the mouse's waist before he'd gotten two steps. He squirmed, hyperventilating, eyes bulging as she squeezed. But she lifted him up with effortless strength and dangled him towards the open Neculaunis.

Aldridge spoke very carefully. "I know you would. But please, don't."

The squiggles of flesh around Scaphis' void quivered with laughter.

She shoved Toby towards the nothingness with all her might.

He did not have time, nor air, to scream.

WHACK

Pain spread through him like a lightning strike, and when he had a second to think, he realized that pain was much, much better than what he'd expected.

Aldridge's brief expression of horrified panic changed to amusement. He actually laughed. "Ha! Forgot, did you, that no one can pass through except by their own will?"

She shook with rage. She planted her feet and they twined together into a single, plantlike stalk. She reared back like a cobra and rammed Toby into the open door again and again and again.

WHACK WHACK WHACK

Toby barely had time to get his arm up in front of his face to shield it. He felt every bone inside shatter, but not a hair of him passed through the door. He felt his humerus split through the skin. He felt his ulna and radius explode around his hammer. He felt his wrist dislocate. He felt blood splash out from his split forehead. But he didn't feel the nothingness take him.

Disgusted, Scaphis whipped her arm back and pitched Toby into a corner of the room like a sack of trash.

Aldridge spoke again, and this time it was in tones of genuine compassion. "You're ill, Scaphis, and you need care. Stop this. You can see it's not gotten you anywhere. You can see for yourself that no matter how much you burn for your revenge, your addiction to your anger will always keep satisfaction from you."

She turned towards him, her body bending like a tree in the wind. Her facefingers rattling with fury. She drew closer, reaching out both arms. She touched her fingernails to the top of his skull.

He kept his expression stoic, even knowing he was moments from destiny. "Don't mistake my tears, Scaphis," he said, and this time he sounded simply tired. "It's not fear. It's sadness. We're really going to go through this worn-out routine one more time, aren't we?"

She nodded.

He sighed. "If you insist."

Her plastic fingernails dug ruts into the flesh of his scalp.

"But keep one thing in mind, poor maddened child."

Against her better judgment, she hesitated.

"You'll never have my hatred. Only pity."

Her restraint broke. She could not stand another second of his sanctimony. She dug her fingers straight down through his face and pulled him entirely in half. She parted him like the red sea. Blood oceaned out onto the clean hardwood floor. Then she began to ravenously shovel chunks of him down into her throat.

No one else in the room could do anything but watch and listen to the sounds of sloppy eating, like pigs at a trough. Scaphis consumed huge, bloody handfuls of Aldridge until there was nothing left of him but a blue bathrobe and a massive spray of crimson all over the walls and floor.

Toby was crumpled in the corner. He'd landed on his shoulders and something had definitely snapped inside him. He couldn't move. But he could see everything she was doing. And now it wasn't fear preventing him from stopping it. Simple mechanical failure.

Scaphis turned towards her captive audience. Red rivers poured from her quivering mouth, trickling down the front of her shining plastic torso to the floor. She looked carefully into the eyes of the horse, the skunk, the hamsterfly, and the canine. They were afraid. Good.

She focused on George. From within the black hole of her face, words appeared. White, neatly-printed letters. The words arrived one by one like a slide show.

	YOU'RE
	OF
	NO
	USE
	TO
	ME

A glance sent the stallion sliding sideways across the room, separating him from the others. Two enormous hands formed out of the plastic-coated walls and slammed into him like a car crusher. The sound was like cracking a redwood in half. George was broken and squeezed, the bones fused into a ball. Then Scaphis hurled him through the room's only window hard enough to blow the whole wall outwards, sending George's remains skyrocketing hundreds of miles away.

	ONE
	DOWN
	WHO'S
	NEXT?

She swayed back and forth in front of the remaining three, savoring their heartbreak. She extended one icicle finger and played eenie-meenie-miney-moe. Their bulging eyes followed the fingertip. Nothing else could move. They could not even scream.

The finger landed on the skunk, but that was no good.

	I
	WANT
	YOU
	TO
	SEE
	FIRST

she told Junella. Then she reached past her and picked Zinc.

He was scared like never before. He tried his hardest to squirm free. He made himself remember all the will he'd put into taking down the mall. Why couldn't he do anything now!? His body was locked up in an invisible straitjacket. His eyes darted to his partner, and then to sweet Piffle, as he was dragged past them to face the horror Doll had become. The horror of her new form wasn't nearly as crushing as the realization that this was what she'd been all along. Waiting and hiding herself for this moment. He had ridden beside her while this thing lurked inside. He had laughed and joked with her.

From out of her void grew a long black tongue, capped by an emerald stinger. It moved like a separate creature. A sentient slug. Scaphis brought Zinc close, drinking up the panic in his eyes. She swirled her tongue around his face. Spiraling. Circling in. Until the tip touched the spot right between his eyes.

With a sickening crunch, it sunk in.

Piffle screamed so loud she thought her head would burst, but not a single sound came out.

Junella shoved aside all the pain and terror and loss, because all that shit was for later. Right now, there had to be a way out of this if she could only keep her cool and THINK.

When the green needle drilled into Zinc's face, his eyes froze too. Straight up at the ceiling. They began to lose their color. A green mist started trickling up from his nostrils and the corners of his mouth, filling in the empty gaps of his head. A seam appeared around his features.

Scaphis smiled pleasantly as she watched the process play out. It had been so long since she'd gotten to enjoy this.

All color drained from Zinc's face. The seam completed and became a deep-set groove. The canine's eyes, nose, lips, and teeth were now a single piece. A porcelain mask. More mist seeped from the edges. Scaphis jerked the needle out. She reached up and delicately lifted off Zinc's face like the lid of a cookie jar. There was a puff of dissipating green mist, then she held the canine's limp body up so the others could see. Zinc had a void where his face had been. Just like hers.

Piffle wished and wished and wished with all her heart to wake up from this bad dream.

Scaphis set the harmless toy down on his feet, then callously dropped the face. It shattered on the floor like ceramic.

She reached for Junella.

The skunk refused to believe what had just happened to her partner and deepest friend. It was bullshit. Once she got herself out of this cunt's clutches, Junella Fucking Brox was going to slice her up right. Keep her alive and torture her for a long, long time. For daring to think that ANYone could EVER do that to someone she loved.

Scaphis giggled at the pointless fury in her victim's eyes, then sunk the needle in again.

	2ND
	VERSE
	SAME
	AS
	THE
	FIRST

She watched the fight in those orange eyes die, transfixed by the syrup she was injecting. It hollowed the skunk out, eradicating everything. Making it all nice and clean and empty inside. Like a brand new trashcan. Junella's eyes turned chalky and so did her surrounding features. The seam appeared. The green mist rose. And then another mask was smashing to smithereens against the floorboards.

Piffle watched Scaphis set Junella's carved-out body down next to Zinc's. The two of them just stood there, lifeless. The poor hamsterfly's mind was a whirlwind. On no level could she deal with what was happening. The horror. The sadism. And above all, the betrayal. Pushing as hard as her heart could stand, her indomitable will managed to coax a single sentence from her lips. "But... I... love... you..."

Scaphis answered Piffle with the single cruelest word she could have possibly said.

	LIAR

She drove the needle in hard, cracking Piffle's skull.

Her face, when it was finished, did not so much come off as crumble inward. Scaphis turned her over and shook the crumbs out onto the floor.

Toby was paralyzed. Not from Scaphis, not even from his injuries, but by sheer emotional fatigue. He had reached the limit of what he could take. He had come through miles of Phobiopolis, hordes of nightmare constructs. He'd survived the arachnopus, Doctor Dacryphilia, Rither, Gyre 2, the catskulls, the crashing planes, the soap, the maze, Dysphoria, Logdorbhok, the lure of the Neculaunis, even his own toxic memories. And all it had come to was this. Losing everything to a monster. A monster he had trusted and loved. A monster he had grieved for when he'd thought she died. That grief had compounded his depression. He had been within inches of committing suicide over her. Doll. Scaphis. This thing that had just destroyed the best friends he'd ever known.

Toby rolled over onto his legs, ignoring the pain. He flattened his left palm to the wall and frictioned himself up to stand.

Scaphis had known all along he was still conscious and uncontrolled. She had wanted him to see. To damn him for not cooperating and going through the door like she'd asked. He was so close anyway! Why had he resisted? Rotten cheater. So she'd let him watch his friends fall like dominoes, and did not interfere as he struggled to his feet. She wanted to dangle hope in front of his coral eyes and watch it turn to ash. He deserved no less.

Toby's whole body throbbed. He could feel the blood pulse up and down in his muscles. He could feel the bone splinters moving around in his arm. Blood ran down from his forehead and caked into his fur. He was awfully tired.

He turned to face Scaphis. The room was almost fully coated in her flesh by now. It oozed along the walls and floor. It dripped from the ceiling. He was painted into a corner, literally. Scaphis was everywhere. Like someone had tried to sculpt a nightmare out of Silly Putty.

That idea struck Toby so funny he hiccuped a laugh.

She didn't expect that. Unless the little pig had gone totally into shock.

Toby felt lightheaded, yet clear. He knew where he remembered her from now. "It was you," he said. It came out slurred, so he spat some blood out of his mouth. A pseudopod of Scaphis-carpet jumped out to lap it up.

A question mark appeared in her void.

"It was always you," Toby said. He had never been drunk before, so he didn't realize how close it felt to hypoxia. "You were the sorceress that made the deal with Lady Xenoiko. You messed Mr. Rippingbean's face all up. And you were the one who used to own Ectopia. That's why you didn't want to go inside. Was it 'cause you were afraid Luxy would spot you, or did you just not wanna see what he'd done with the place?"

Scaphis was honestly puzzled. The mouse seemed lucid. Everything he'd said was on the nose. But where was his fear? His heartbreak? What the hell was going on inside that bleeding skull?

Toby held his shattered arm at his side as he walked across the room towards her. He showed no fear. And not in the 'stiff upper lip' way that Aldridge had. He simply had none left. His needle was at E. She'd hollowed him out. Or rather, this world of rot and garbage had already done it, and she'd just scraped off the last few smears. "You lied to us the whole time. You faked dying. You made Piffle cry. All the times you pretended to be nice and helpful, it was all just acting."

He walked right up to her and shrugged. "I don't even give a shit, honestly."

Her arm flashed out, becoming a rope. It wound around him from neck to ankles. She pulled him closer till their faces were inches apart. He could smell the bile and meat on her breath that moments ago had been Aldridge.

Toby did not react. His eyelids were heavy. He was tired. Not sleepy, but weary.

Scaphis shook him violently. Apathy? That was all? No!! He didn't deserve that refuge! Not after everything he'd done to her! Not after all his broken promises, always with his own selfishness truly at heart. Just like all the others. ALL of them. Scabs. Dirt. Liars. She shook Toby until his eyes rolled back in his skull. Then she held him up good and close and pinned his eyelids open to make goddamn sure he got the message.

	YOU
	HAVE
	NO
	IDEA
	HOW
	MUCH
	YOU'VE
	HURT
	ME

Toby read the words and felt nothing but a mild discomfort in his neck. "So? Are we even now?"

Scaphis slapped him. She punched his face until she felt his nose invert. She grabbed hold of an ear and tore. Her hand was stained red up to the elbow.

Still the mouse didn't react.

	I
	TOOK
	YOUR
	FRIENDS
	DON'T
	YOU
	EVEN
	CARE

she screamed.

Toby coughed. A few teeth fell on the floor. "I guess."

She squeezed his ribs and felt them snap one by one. Her black tongue lashed out. The green needle glinted in the room's yellow light and plunged towards Toby's face.

Toby did react then, but it was barely a conscious choice. He had felt it start to happen anyway as she crushed his guts to goo, then thought, 'Why not?'

He had felt her paralysis seeping into most of his body, leaving only his face so she could watch him react. But this was a feeling he was well acquainted with. She didn't know that. He'd woken up plenty of times from dreams of mindless terror, feeling like some invisible creature was sitting on his lungs. It was awful, sure, but it was just something that happened with nightmares. Fighting to move only made it worse. Toby had learned over the years that if he could relax enough to calm down, he could get up, turn on the light, and read until he felt better.

So he relaxed. Everything.

Scaphis felt a warmth growing in her hand where she held him. The odor of wet shit hit her nose.

There was no scream of disgust except in her mind. On pure reflex, she hurled the disgusting mess away, through the hole in the wall where the window had been. Toby went with it.

He felt cold night air rustling across his fur. His body was so broken he couldn't possibly move, and so he didn't. Drops of urine scattered behind him like a crop duster. The load in his pants sloshed. He was flying.

Toby felt drops of Scaphis' venom slithering around in his brain as he soared through the empty sky like a shit-covered bullet. The needle hadn't had time to do much, so only a little bit of mist got in. Not enough to carve away his face, but enough to go to work with a vengeance on his memories.

He didn't care. At all. Nothing mattered. It was all down the toilet anyway, so why bother? All this world ever did was take and take, ripping apart everything good. Fine then. Let Logdorbhok smash it all. What difference would it make?

He felt the mist prowling his mental corridors, corroding everything it touched. Toby could feel his memories dying one by one, like photographs burned in a fire.

He was flying. He didn't care. The stars were all around him.

He lost the first book he'd ever read. He lost his father. He lost the names of countless medicines. He lost Piffle.

Nothing mattered. He closed his eyes.

He had faced the Neculaunis. Oblivion didn't scare him. And not having to remember? Cherry on top.

He lost his mother. He lost George. He lost his name.

It felt nice.

The mist destroyed him piece by piece, unraveling the jigsaw puzzle of his life, and Toby just sailed past the nebulae and galaxies and didn't resist.

He was done.

It was over.

He could rest.

He had lost everything.

He couldn't...

have cared...

less.

~~~*~~~*~~~
END OF BOOK THREE
~~~*~~~*~~~