Oliver Twisted

The Battle of Vaudeville

The sun poured itself up over the horizon around 5 AM.

It didn't find a single Vaudevillian sleeping, for they were hard at work. Reggie had surveyed the treeline, scoping for the most discreet hiding places. He then took the best shots among the prisoners and stationed them.

Twenty were held aloft, in the armlike branches. Masked by the ripening mid-spring foliage, they seated themselves where the wood was firmest. If any were unsure, Reggie would take the liberty to check—drawing upon months of accident-free branchwalking.

Afterward, he tended those on the ground. If any were exposed, he would drag buckets filled with brush over, and heap it on them until they were so far buried the enemy scouters wouldn't stand a chance. He tried to sift the ivy, oak, and sumac leaves from the rest. But at the end of the day, most fighting men couldn't have been in more miserable shape if they tried. A little itch would be the least of their worries.

Next came the Ferris Wheel. 

"Once the bottom pods are filled, I'll turn them to the top," Reggie instructed. "That'll put some distance between you and the bluecoats. And it'll give you an unbeatable vantage point. Wheel's the tallest thing fer miles. After that, I'll lock it in place. Now, there's seventeen of you, so I expect guarding the control booth won't be a problem. Shoot anyone who even thinks about charging it..."

In Alvany, Chane Miglin woke to the sound of her daughter's voice.

"Ma!" she cried. "There's something on the doorstep..."

The front door of the Miglin home swung open, and a robed woman could be seen, poking her head out and looking both ways. Confirming that all was clear, she lowered her eyes to the object at her feet.

A basket.

It was filled with what appeared to be bread, oranges, money, and apples.

So many apples.

The forceful winds turned her face east, and she cast a wan glance. She didn't see the cobbled streets or the dying streetlights. She saw only the voice, who had come to her on that night, stood on her floors, and laid in her bed.

In her mind, the voice almost had a face. 

She assigned it many attributes, and the result was strikingly close.

Celine and Trixie were the last in a pod.

Reggie had decided shooting from up high would be the safest option. Celine had begrudgingly ceded. Had it only been her, she would've demanded he station her at the gate itself. But her eyes didn't have to travel very far to realize—she had more than just her own hide to worry about.

As for Mindy...

The woman was a devout pacifist, and Reggie didn't feel like asking her to fight anyway. So along with Mouse, he herded her into a lightless storage shed at the very back of the park.

"Just keep your heads low," he advised. "No telling what'll be flying through the air. But unless they pick off every last one of us, ain't no bluecoat finding his way back here."

Mouse lowered himself to a crouch, parking the wooden crutch at his side. Through his weedy blond fringe, two clear-emerald eyes peeked out, severe with nervous excitement. They caught the odd scraps of sun coming in. They glowed in the dark.

Mindy sat to the other side of the crutch, disappointed and resigned. Stacked boxes and stray tools towered around.

"And there's no other way?" her whisper stopped Reggie before he could turn.