Prisoner of the Molepeople

Chapter 39 - Deep Sleep

“Grandma,” I whispered, tapping the old molewoman’s arm. She was snoring with an open snout, her thick headphones buzzing terrible techno. The only light in the dark, empty room came from the stacks of monitors around the hospital bed. As I got a better look at the screens, I realized I was looking at views of Molemania. There was the dirty market … the graveyard … my bedroom … and somewhere I didn't recognize: a rocky tunnel where a moleman in white clothes was painting a human skeleton.

As a shiver came over me, I removed Grandma's headphones and gently shook her shoulders. “Grandma.” But nothing woke her.

How many lonely days had she passed on this bed, fighting to keep her sanity? No wonder she'd transformed her prison into a command center. It was the only way she could reach out to her people. Seeing her there, meek and defenseless, I hated Duthbert more than ever. What disturbed me most was the possibility that I was looking at my future self.

I glanced into the shadows around us, certain that at any moment, someone was going to jump out and shout, “What are you doing here?”

“I bought us two-and-a-half minutes,” whispered Gunhilda, “not an hour.”

“Do you think Willie called the police on us?” I whispered back.

“It’s Brunhilda who scares me.”

At the mere mention of the name Brunhilda, I had a vision of the frightening woman materializing before us through her demonic powers. “All right, let's pick her up.”

Gunhilda raised her arms in exasperation. “What are we doing?”

“Can’t you see she needs help? We gotta get her away from Duthbert.”

“We can’t just walk off with the queen! We're in enough trouble already.”

“I also happen to be a queen, and I order you to grab her wrists.”

“How are we going to escape with an ninety-year-old molewoman?”

“I have no idea. But I came to Molemania to help an old lady, and by golly, I'm going to do it with or without your help.”

“You couldn't have gotten in here without my security badge, and you'll never make it out of the palace without it.”

“I know. I'm illogical. Everything is illogical in Molemania. Maybe logic is a poor basis for decisions. Maybe it's time to follow our hearts.”

“That's not a very compelling argument.”

“Look,” I said, starting to pull Grandma off the bed, “if you want to hide in shadows while the rest of the world passes you by –”

“If I grab her wrists, will you stop with the speeches?”

“Yes.”

* * *

Pushing Grandma's wheelchair through a dark hallway, my breath shortened as a security guard turned the corner. The fat moleman was cheerfully waving his pistol as if it were a baton. He gave us a friendly nod and passed us by. I guess for all he knew, Gunhilda still worked for Duthbert, and we were just taking Grandma for a stroll.

In no time we were waiting for Barry in the parking garage. I couldn't believe how easily we'd gotten this far. Though as we waited in suspense, my imagination equated the sound of every motor and screeching tire with a police car.

“Let me get this straight,” said Gunhilda. “We're rescuing Grandma only to get her locked up again?”

“Yes,” I replied.