***

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.

***