Assault On Savanna Central Plaza, the cyberattack, the riot, and Erin's odyssey.
Disclaimer: Zootopia stories, characters, settings, and properties belong to the Walt Disney Co. This story is written under Fair Use Copyright laws.
---------------------------------------------------------------
The Fire Triangle
---------------------------------------------------------------
Part Two:
Oxidizer
---------------------------------------------------------------
Chapter 6—The Children's Crusade
(Continued...Part 4)
"It is as though the land of Canaan into which we were led was too divine, and until we have done it every violence, until we have despoiled and murdered and dirtied every blessing, until we have erased every reminder of our original rape, until we have washed our hands of the bloods of every other, we shall be unappeased."
Glendon Swarthout - Bless the Beasts and Children
---------------------------------------------------------------
Monday—02:17 Hours, ZPD Precinct-1, Savanna Central Plaza. Savanna Central, Zootopia
Outside the precinct, the battle lines had been drawn up in layers.
In the center of the ring were the officers of Precinct-1, at last reinforced by more mammals from inside the building; they had been given permission to stand down and let their relief take over—and to a mammal, they had refused the offer. They had even given the rioters a taste of their own medicine, regaling them with a lusty take on the Tom Catty tune, 'I Won't Back Down.'
Facing them—and also facing outwards—was the army of young discontents. Drawn up in a ragtag semicircle, they looked disorganized but at the same time formidable...which they were. Perhaps fifty yards in front of them was the main police line—made up of reinforcements from the other precincts together with the Precinct-1 officers on the graveyard shift. All of them were armed, armored, and highly motivated; in no mood to play games. Twice already they had ordered the rioters to disperse. The first time they had gotten no response; the second time they were answered by yet another impromptu performance of, "I Fought the Law."
Last but not least was the outermost rim, the kids who had arrived in the wake of the police reinforcements, and who were even now continuing to trickle into Savanna Central. The ZPD had wisely set up roadblocks on all the major arteries leading into the district—but they couldn't cover everything and the rioters knew it. Unlike their comrades out on the Plaza, these kids had not formed into battle lines. Rather instead, they were staying hidden in the streets and alleyways out beyond the second police line—waiting for their moment. Nobody could see them, but everyone knew they were there.
For many long, tense moments, nobody on either side moved. It was the classic Mexican standoff. While the ZPD had the rioters outgunned, the rioters had them outnumbered—and nobody on either side knew by exactly how much.
And so, for the moment, the crowd of angry young mammals was willing to limit their activity to showering their opponents with catcalls and hoots of derision—together with the occasional musical number. All the while, the officers opposing them from the outside remained silent; refusing to give them the satisfaction.
When at last the cacophony seemed to be subsiding, an amplified voice from the outer line of police spoke up.
"Attention...attention everyone, this is Chief Bogo of the ZPD..." He had to pause here, waiting until the chorus of mockery from the other side dampened down, "You are in violation of section 221-C of the Zootopia Municipal Code, unlawful assembly plus numerous acts of vandalism. You are therefore ordered to disperse at once...." Again he had to stop and weather a cascade of ridicule. He let it pass, but when he spoke again, it was in his stiffest 'no-nonsense' voice. "You have five minutes to comply, starting from...now! If you choose to do so, you will be allowed safe passage through the ZPD lines. Should you not choose to comply within that time period, make no mistake...we WILL move in to retake our precinct, and you will be subject to arrest. This is your final warning."
For perhaps thirty seconds there was no reply. And then another musical number rose up from the rioters' lines.
"Weapons not food, not homes, not shoes
Not need, just feed the war cannibal animal"
There was no mistaking the tune for anything other than what it was, a taunt, aimed directly at the Chief of the ZPD.
The title of the song was Bulls on Parade.
What happened next was even easier to interpret. A young pronghorn buck stepped forth from the crowd of malcontents with a white flag held high above his head. None of the officers facing him lowered their weapons as he came forward, prompting another round of jeering from his comrades.
"Hey cowards, where's your guts?"
"Whoa, look at the big, tough macho-cops!"
"Oooo, a scaaaaaary kid with a WHITE flag!"
"Ain't that tuff enuuuuff?"
Still the young pronghorn came on, and still the officers kept him in their sights. He was perhaps fifteen feet away, when a young Brazilian free-tailed bat crawled up on top of his head and raised a wing, flicking a lighter. When the flame touched the truce flag it caught almost instantaneously...and now the officers could see that it was attached not to a pole but to a bottle.
A voice—several voices—shouted, "Incoming!" as the antelope heaved the Moletov Cocktail and turned to run for the sanctuary of his own lines. The missile bounced off a riot shield and then exploded when it hit the ground, luckily injuring no one. Several officers tried to get a bead on the fleeing pair of young fire-bugs, but it was a useless gesture. After cheetahs, pronghorn antelope are the most fleet-footed mammals on earth—and free-tailed bats are the fastest flyers. Even in daylight, they would have made for difficult targets. In a night obscured by smoke and fire, they were all but impossible to hit. When they crossed back into their own territory, they were greeted by cheers, whoops, and slaps on the back.
Bogo let them enjoy their moment of victory, and then lifted the mike once more.
"Right then; you've had your chance. All units...move in!"
At once, the line of police parted and a vehicle passed through, a big-wheeled armored car, sporting a water-cannon, mounted above the cab. In the space of an eyeblink the blaze created by the makeshift fire-bomb was blasted to extinction. And then the phalanx of riot-police began their advance, shields and batons at the ready. Behind them came more police, outfitted with an assortment of gas and rubber projectile weapons.
In front of them, the rioters hunkered down, and began making their preps.
Monday—02:20 Hours, Undisclosed Location, Zootopia
Once again, a shrieking alarm roused Conor from his slumber; only this time he hadn't been fully asleep, merely dozing in the zero-grav task-chair. What he saw when he opened his eyes however, would have brought him fully awake if he'd just come out of a coma.
There, on the left-side screen was a flashing message, SYSTEM OFFLINE—and no views from any of the jam-cams. Now, he was blind on all fronts.
He could have screamed his head off. Ahhh, what the heck, he was alone in here; he did scream his head off. And why not, this time it wasn't the hackers' doing. He had seen this kind of message before and knew exactly what had happened. So many animals had been trying to access the surveillance cams that they'd ended up crashing the network.
"STUPID, IDIOT, CHUCKLEWEED GAWKERS! WHAT THE FOX DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING, TRYING TO ACCESS THE CITY-CAMS NOW? HAVEN'T YOU GOT ANYTHING BETTER TO DO AT TWO O'-STINKING-CLOCK IN THE MORNING? MORON MUTANTS FROM THE PLANET DIMBULB...!" He went on in this vein for nearly a minute before he finally calmed down.
All right, he was cool...he was centered; but now what the heck was he supposed to do? It was a question that quickly answered itself, but the solution was one that the fugitive young silver fox most definitely did not want to hear. There was still a way for him to get eyes on Savanna Central Plaza, BUT...
A. It might not work.
B. Even if it did work, it wouldn't be nearly as effective as the traffic-cams, and...
C. This was the big one: It would require him to leave the sanctuary of his loft.
He didn't even think about not going with it.
Five minutes later, Conor hobbled out of the elevator, pushing the Furzarelli moto-bike ahead of him. It struck him then that while he'd remembered to keep it hooked to the charger, he had forgotten to check the battery level. Yep, the indicator was showing 100%, he was good to go.
Only...where was he going? Hopefully, he wouldn't need the Furz...or the items in the backpack slung over his shoulder. But as the old saw went, 'Chance favors the prepared mind,' and he was taking a lot of chances by doing this.
He reached down to pat his injured leg, now supported by a jury-rigged brace of ace-bandages, duct-tape, and heavy-duty cardboard. It was as ugly as a cuckoo-clock, but he wasn't wearing it as a fashion statement. And besides that, it was getting the job done; his stumbling gait had been downgraded to a minor limp and his knee was no longer threatening to give out at every third step.
So far, so good; but now, before he left the garage, he needed to perform a final check of his gear. He totally hated having to do this; every second was precious...assuming Erin had made it safely out of jail; had she? He didn't have a clue but he felt it to the core of his bones. And Craig Guilford: what about that guy? Conor wasn't so sure about him—but there was something else that he couldn't afford to chance; if that punk managed to get his paws on Erin... Don't think about that; get your gear checked.
Okay, backpack straps, good and tight, URSA pistol, locked, loaded, and snug in its holster. Ditto for the dart-gun—the longer-barreled brother of the one he'd lost at the auditions—cell-phone, charged and secure, tactical pen secure, tactical whip secure, GPS jammer, armed and ready; okay, time to roll.
Climbing tentatively aboard his bike, Conor twisted the throttle by only a hair, easing forward for just a few short yards before stopping again.
All right, he could handle this...so now it was time to get his tail outside and try to figure out where the heck that bunny had gotten to...if she had also made it outside.
The door to the garage seemed to move at a sloth's pace, actually taking no longer than usual to open, but in the eyes of this young silver fox, it seemed that by the time it was all the way up, interstellar travel would be a thing. Oh, he could hit the emergency switch and get it open NOW...but if he did that, it would need to be closed manually, something for which you better believe he didn't have the strength at the moment.
Moving out into the darkness of the underpass, Conor punched the button to close the door and removed his red-tinted glasses. Somewhere in the distance he could hear the sounds of a pitched battle, muffled briefly by the rumble of a ZTA Metro Train passing overhead.
Now he pulled out his cell phone and called up the Flippar app. Okay, that was working, and now he switched over to a new screen, the control function for the drone he'd left marooned on that construction site. Okay...not fully charged, only 85%, but it was enough; it would work, it would have to work. Only...could he get the camera-feed to interface with Flippar? He had never tried it before, but it should be possible...YES! Yes, it was.
"Okay-y-y, here goes nothing...but I hope not."
Perched atop a concrete slab a half-mile distant, a pint-sized helicopter whirred suddenly into life and shot up into the sky, scanning the earth below with its onboard camera as it banked in the direction of Savanna Central plaza.
What Conor saw down there made him glad he'd skipped dinner; it would have ended up all over the alleyway floor. What was happening below in Savanna Central Plaza was worse than he could ever have imagined. In front of Precinct One dark line of ZPD riot police was advancing like a juggernaut towards a crazy quilt of rioters—marching right through the fountain in the center of the green-space! Meanwhile another line of cops was harassing the insurgents from behind. He saw the serpentine swipe of a water-cannon, the kicks of smoke as the cops fired pepper-gas and rubber bullets into the mob of angry young mammals opposing them. He saw kids falling back as they were hit, or trying desperately to shield their eyes. But they weren't giving up, hurling whatever they could lay their paws on at the oncoming line of riot-police...including several more Moletov cocktails.
Dangit, why didn't those idiots throw in the towel? Even with their greater numbers, they didn't stand a chance against that kind of firepower. This was a hundred times worse than the ZAPA riot. It was more like...like...
"Myeeep, nooooo!"
Conor whimpered and pulled himself halfway into a ball, unable to stave off the oncoming flashback. There he was, outside of Finagles again, frantically trying to get away before the cops moved in...backed up by another, much nastier, pack of animals. He remembered exiting the tunnel, being grabbed by a cop—and being ushered back towards the line of spectators when the elk-in-blue mistook him for a thrill-seeker.
He remembered watching the nightclub burn...snuffing out the life of every remaining member of The Company that wasn't already dead—except for two that might just as well have been killed.
It was then that his phone began to ping, breaking the spell at last. Conor snatched it up and looked. There she was, she'd made it out okay...and there was no sign of Craig Guilford...yay! Way to go, Erin!
But now, wait a second; where the heck was she...going?
"Nooo, not in THERE, dumb bunny; what do you think you're gonna do, hop a train back home or something?"
Conor didn't know whether to laugh, give himself a face pawlm, or head back inside the loft and return to his bed.
Monday—02:28 Hours, Savanna Central Plaza. Savanna Central, Zootopia
Once again, Erin had no idea where she was going. When she'd exited the alleyway and onto a side street, she had turned right and just kept moving. In another time, it might have interested her to know that this was the same street through which her sister Judy had once pursued a fleeing weasel.
The avenue ended in an elbow bend that widened out onto a flagstone piazza, with a row of benches lining one wall— several of which, she noted, had been torn out by the roots.
But then the instant she made the final turn, the young doe bunny halted in her tracks with her paws flying up to her face.
Stretched out before her, in all its hideous glory, was a raging battle; cops against rioters; rioters against them and against more cops on the opposite side of their lines. She saw a flaming object go hurtling through the air, saw the police retaliate with a salvo of rubber bullets.
And then her heart froze, and she felt ears go up and turn backwards. Someone big was coming up fast behind her; no, several somebodies, animals large enough to create a low-grade earth tremor as they came. Erin had no idea who they were but knew she didn't want to be around when they got here. She needed a place to hide, but...? Wait, what about under there?
She scrambled beneath one of the benches. Ewwww, there was gum under here, and...stuff! If she ever made it back home again, she was going to stay in the shower for a week.
Now the ground began to quiver in earnest; the pounding thunder of big feet was heading her way fast. A split second later a mini-horde of young mammals went rushing past her and into the chaos beyond; all of them members of various large-size species. Erin still had no idea who they were—except that they hadn't been cops. Since when did the ZPD storm into battle singing the, 'We're Not Gonna Take It'?
She waited until she was sure they had gone, and then scooted out from under the bench.
...and saw, just off to her left...oh, blessed be; Savanna Central Station! She took a quick look around and then hurried off in that direction.
No...she wasn't planning to snag a ride back to Bunnyburrow...only to the Palm Hotel where her mother and sister Violet were staying. Had she known of Conor Lewis' thoughts right then, she would have felt incredibly smug...for about three seconds, until she noticed the wreck that had once been the coffee-kiosk, laying in a crumpled heap out in front of the train station. Maybe this wasn't such a great idea after all.
When she entered the building a moment later, there was no longer any 'maybe' about it. Kids were thronging everywhere, and there was no sign of the ZPD...but there were plenty of signs of vandalism, broken lights, pulled up plants, and graffiti all over the place. The tubes that had once made up the rodent carriers lay smashed in a scatter of multi-colored remnants.
It was then that Erin finally realized something. D'ohhh, dumb bunny...how the heck was she supposed to get to the Palm Hotel when she didn't have her wallet or ID...or any money?
The idea became even less of an option when a train pulled into the red-line platform...and was instantly swarmed by a mob of young mammals, trying to clamber aboard all at once. None of them seemed intent on causing mayhem; they just wanted to get away from here right now.
So, apparently, did the train operator, who pulled away from the platform without ever opening the doors. Okay, she could scratch that exit-plan, but now...?
All at once, Erin became aware of a dark presence, somewhere close by. She couldn't hear, see, or smell it...but it was there, she could feel it.
She looked around; nothing. And then she looked up...and...
"Oh sweet cheez n'....Nooooo!"
It was impossible, it couldn't be...but there on the balcony above her was Craig Guilford.
And he was looking right at her...with that same demonic expression he'd worn the last time she'd seen him. She watched him raise his muzzle and sniff the air. And when he looked at her again, he was wearing just the merest hint of a smirk...a smirk that spoke volumes. 'You can run...but you can't hide, bunny; I've got your scent imprinted. Wherever you go, I'll find you.'
She turned and began to move towards the exit, slowly at first, trying to keep her ears cocked backwards. How...how had this happened?
She began to pick up the pace just a smidge.
There was only one possibility she could think of...
She started walking with a brisker stride.
Somehow—in the panic that had swept through the corridor when the freight door started to close—somehow Craig had made it outside ahead of her.
Faster, still faster; Erin was moving as quickly as she could now without breaking into a run.
But why hadn't he gone after her as soon as she'd exited out of the freight door? Hanging in the air like that, she would have been a sitting duck. Maybe, in all the confusion he hadn't noticed her. Maybe his first priority had been to get as far away from the precinct as possible. Or...maybe he HAD seen her, but hadn't been willing to tangle with a Tasmanian tiger. Or perhaps... Never mind, there's the entrance—move your tail, bunny-girl!
Erin dropped to all fours and bolted for all she was worth, unaware that Craig Guilford wasn't the only one tracking her.
Outside the station, she was spotted at once by the drone hovering overhead.
"Ohhh thank goodness." Conor breathed a sigh of relief. "She's OUT of there...wait, what? What the heck is she running for? Whoa, no! Ohhhh, no!"
Another bracketed figure has just exited out of a service door, on an end-run course to intercept the fleeing young bunny.
Conor knew without guessing what Craig was up to. Had he followed Erin out of the station's front entrance, he'd be on her upwind side right now. This way, he was downwind of his quarry...able to track her without having to see her.
"Well I can play that shtick too, punk." the young fox snarled beneath his breath, "and I got a ride—and weapons!"
Without another thought Conor killed the drone's drive motor, caring not at all where it fell.
And then, mentally crossing his fingers, he lowered his helmet visor and thumbed the Furzarelli's power switch. "Hang on Erin, I'm coming," he growled—and then shot off down the alleyway at full throttle.
Monday—02:40 Hours, Savanna Central Plaza. Savanna Central, Zootopia
By now the rioters were in full retreat, though in a way, it was actually a sort of triumph for them. Only a few minutes previously, they'd been caught between two lines of riot-police—and the squeeze was on.
But then the kids who'd come late to the party—for example the ones Erin had seen go flying past her hiding place—had come rushing to the aid of their trapped comrades. They'd been unable to break the police line, but they had managed to open a gap in it...and the kids trapped inside had come pouring out in a flood tide of young bodies. Many of the animals Erin had seen trying to board that Red-Line train had been members of this group.
Around the backside of Precinct-1, the retreat was much more orderly. The kids here had begun to pull back as soon as the last detainee was safely over the wall. With their primary mission accomplished, they'd had no reason to hang around any longer.
About a third of the kids up front managed to get through the police lines before they closed it again. But the rioters weren't done yet; they still had one more card to play.
Nobody ever found out where they got the thermite...but everyone knew what they did with it, sending an RC dump-truck loaded with the incendiary powder scurrying beneath the water-cannon truck. Almost incredibly, no one on the ZPD side noticed—not until it detonated.
Monday—02:47 Hours. Savanna Central, Zootopia
Erin was leaning against a parking meter, doubled halfway over and breathing hard. It was no use; she just had to stop and catch her breath. After the day she'd had so far, it was a miracle she had anything left in the tank at all.
Perhaps 25 yards from the train station, she had wisely decided to get off the thoroughfare, ducking quickly into a side-street and then the first alleyway she'd come to. After that, she'd been moving entirely random, making turns on a whim, exiting one alley and then bolting into another, taking every shortcut she came to until ultimately, she had no idea where she was.
But if she didn't know that, maybe Craig wouldn't either...or that was the idea anyway. Like her, the young coyote hailed from Bunnyburrow...which meant he wouldn't know his way around Zootopia any better than she did. All in all, it wasn't a very good plan; even she didn't think so. But for the moment, it was all she had.
Several times already Erin had come across groups of other kids...mostly trying to get away from Savanna Central Plaza as fast as possible. That told the young doe-bunny that the police were winning...and that was why she had declined to accompany any of the groups she ran into, even after being invited to tag along. They were trying to get away from the cops and she was hoping to run into them. In the arms of the ZPD, she'd be safe from Craig Guilford once and for all.
But where the heck WERE they? Over by Precinct-1...DUH, but how was she supposed to get there?
"DUMB bunny! You should have given yourself up to the police when you had the chance," meaning when the ZPD had intercepted that microbus. Ohhhh, sweet cheez n' crackers...if she'd known then what she knew now, she would have begged those officers to take her into custody.
All at once she felt her ears go up again; someone was coming and, thank goodness, it wasn't Craig Guilford—not unless he'd figured out a way to shrink himself down to rodent-size in the past few minutes.
Yes, yes...here they came, a total of five; two ground-squirrels, a gopher, a chipmunk and a degu, all of them looking scared and bedraggled.
"Excuse me," Erin raised a finger and moved towards them.
In response, they all froze...and for a second she thought they were going to scatter. But then she stepped into the moonlight and they were able to see it was only a bunny-girl
"Yes, what?" the degu asked her, half anxious and half annoyed.
"I'm sorry," she told them, trying to sound as contrite as possible, "But can any of you tell me how to get to the Plaza from here?"
"Savanna Central...Plaza?" One of the ground-squirrels was staring in disbelief, "Whoa, you don't want to go there, bunny. The cops are busting everybody they can lay their paws on."
Erin thought fast for a second.
"I know...but I-I have to; my sister's back there somewhere and she's got her phone turned off...and she won't leave until she knows I'm okay."
Okay, that did the trick, the rodent gang's faces went from cross to sympathetic in the blink of an eye.
"Go that way," the gopher said, pointing back in the direction from which he and the others had come, "take the first left and then the second right...that'll take you right to it."
"First left, next right...got it," The young doe bunny nodded, "and thanks so much."
"Welcome," the degu replied, "and good luck."
"You too," Erin answered, and hurried on her way.
Finding the first street was easy; the next one was a bit trickier. About 20 yards along she came across a gap between two buildings, a touch too narrow for a street, but a pinch too wide for an alleyway. Was this street number one, or was it just another alley? Well either way, she wasn't supposed to turn here.
At the next street, she held up for a second, deciding that she needed to check things out before proceeding any further. That action was probably what saved her; when she peered around the corner, Craig Guilford was there. He had his back turned, so he couldn't see her...but he also had his nose in the air.
Erin hastily ducked back the way she had come, lifting an anxious ear. Was she upwind or downwind of that psycho-coyote? Neither one; there was no movement in the air whatsoever. Never mind, she needed to get away from here, and do it like five minutes ago.
Two steps backwards, and another three, and then she turned and ran. Ohhh, carrot sticks...the way before her was wide open. If Craig came out of that street behind her, he wouldn't need to catch her scent to know she was there; she'd be about as difficult to spot as mayonnaise on blacktop. Ohhhh, why, Why, WHY did she have to have white fur?
Wait a minute...here was the street she'd passed earlier. Yes, yes...go that way, hurry. Erin swerved to the left and into the maw of the alleyway/street/whatever-it-was. It narrowed quickly but then seemed to open out again, perhaps a dozen yards ahead. She put into high-gear and bounded for the exit.
...And skidded to a screaming halt.
"Noooo-no-no-no-no-nonononono, NOOOOOO!"
She was inside a mews, a courtyard with no exit, a dead-end. Locked doors, dark windows and dumpsters all around her—and in front of her, a wall topped with razor-ribbon...way too high for a bunny to jump.
But with a revenge-crazed coyote likely to show up at any second, Erin knew she had to try it.
Sinking into a tight crouch, she gulped down a breath of air and steeled herself. Even on a good day, a leap like this would be almost impossible. In the wee hours of the morning, running for her life, and having eaten nothing since dinner—she might as well flap her arms and try to fly over that wall.
"Okay...Okay...4-3-2-1-GO!"
She bounded forward, not far enough, she would have to jump further than that; another leap...yes, that was better...and another and another, and...Whoa, wait, stopppppp!
Only now did she see the traffic cones and the yellow 'Caution' tape.
...and the sign, reading, DANGER: BEWARE OF SINKHOLE.
No time to stop, she could only go with it, jumping up and over the tape and flying through the air, and...oh no, she wasn't going to clear the wall, not even close, only halfway up. Turn sideways, quick, and try to land feet-first...it's your only chance.
Erin barely managed it, hitting the wall and bouncing off, back the way she'd come. But her angle was all wrong, she was flailing through the air and she couldn't tell where the hole was...and now she was coming down fast.
She hit the pavement on her left shoulder and went tumbling in a liquid roll. Well at least it was the pavement, and not the sinkhole. But when she got up again...a shaft of dry ice seemed to shoot through the spot where she'd smacked into the asphalt. Stifling a cry, Erin got up slowly on her other shoulder...and in that instant, she knew.
He had caught her scent...and he was coming.
She looked frantically around, searching desperately for a bolt-hole; no...no good, no basement windows, no storm-drains, no nothing...not even an air-vent. Wait, that stack of plywood propped against that wall there; maybe there was an opening behind it.
Erin knew there wouldn't be...but she went over and looked just the same. Nope...nothing back here but spiders. Spiders? Ewwww! Brushing anxiously at herself, she laid a heap of curses on whoever had put that plywood here; cheap wood anyway, too thin to be useful in any construction—even if it wasn't half-rotten.
Wait a second...hold that thought.
The bud of an idea began to bloom in the young doe-bunny's mind. Would it work? Could she pull it off with her shoulder hurting?
She had no idea; she knew only that she had to move and move now.
Monday—02:47 Hours, Near Savanna Central Train Station. Savanna Central, Zootopia
Conor had expected that it wouldn't be easy. Here he was, a kid, on an electric motorbike with no plates, obviously way too young for an operator's license and riding into the heart of a riot—with the officers of four other precincts besides Savanna Central crowding the field.
And yet somehow he had made it to the place where he'd last seen Erin—so, after all that good effort, shouldn't he have been able to at least get a whiff of her scent?
You would think so...but nope, nix, nein, nada, nothing.
Oh he could smell plenty of other stuff; tear-gas, pepper-gas, smoke, gasoline and diesel fumes—and the legacy of a thousand-and-one cans of spray paint.
But no Erin; not even a hint of her scent was lingering in the air.
Well, she had to be around here somewhere; even hightailing it at full speed she couldn't have gone very far.
But which way had she gone? "C'mon fox—think! If you were Erin, where would YOU have gone? Hmmm...that way, maybe? No, she doesn't know Zootopia like I do. So maybe she..."
A police cruiser shot across the intersection in front of him. The lights were out, but there was no mistaking that emblem on the side. Had they seen him?
The answer came swiftly from around the corner; a screech of brakes and a squeal of tires. They had seen him.
Conor spun the bike in a doughnut and dug out fast. A half second later he heard the whoop of a siren and saw red-and-blue lights flashing in his mirror.
He swerved quickly into the next alleyway. Dangit, too wide, they'd be able to follow him here. Sure enough in the space of a mouse's heartbeat, they were right behind him. Think, fox, think...try to remember. There's gotta be someplace around here...wait yes. Sugarbush Lane! That's it, that's the place.
Out of the alley and into a fast turn; Conor's bike messenger skills were swiftly coming back to him. This wasn't the first time he'd had a police cruiser on his tail, and his ride for tonight was a wee bit faster than the stripped down, single-speed bicycles he'd ridden back in the day.
Fast...but not fast enough; The Furz had a top end of maybe 60 mph, not even close to what a ZPD cruiser could do. On a straightaway course, he didn't stand a chance against that thing.
But if could get where he was going before they caught up to him, then maybe—just maybe—he could stack the odds in his favor a little. And there it was, up ahead, on the left; Sugarbush Lane.
Behind him, the police car came flying out of the alleyway, swerving into a drift before righting itself. And then it was coming straight at him, locked on like a homing missile—a lot closer than he'd hoped. Could he make it?
Conor pushed it to the max, watching in the mirror as the cruiser continued to gain on him. It was close enough now that he could see faces behind the windshield, a caribou and a polar bear, meaning they were probably out of the Tundratown Precinct. Well, wherever they came from, they looked about ready to boil him in oil when they nabbed him.
"Not tonight guys," the young fox growled under his breath. Because here was Sugarbush; and now he made use of a favorite old trick from his Zoo York City days. Pretending to turn right, he kicked the rear tire around and spun into a left-paw speedway-turn...straight into Sugarbush, past the sign reading 'No Motorized Vehicles.'
His ploy worked; the police car went shooting past the street entrance, unable to correct in time, and had to circle around for another try. By the time it completed the maneuver, Conor had regained every inch of ground he'd lost earlier.
But there had been a price to pay; the Furz was a heavier machine than any of his bicycles...and now bolts of red-hot pain were shooting upwards from his ankle to his knee.
Conor bit them back and kept going; in here, it was advantage, silver-fox. Sugarbush lane was both narrow and winding, with front stoops and big potted plants every few yards. His bike might not be faster than that cop-car, but it was quicker and way more maneuverable—to say nothing of being small enough to not need to bend it through every turn.
His pursuers, on the other paw, didn't have that luxury...as evidenced by the occasional crunch of smashed terra-cotta coming from somewhere to his rear.
And yet...and yet...
The noises didn't seem to be getting any further away; that cruiser was still on him. Dangit, these guys were good...and Sugarbush Lane had only about hundred more feet to go before it emptied out onto Acacia Street, a wide boulevard, where they could easily run him to ground.
All right...okay...no choice; he would have to go to the nuclear option.
And here was just the place; a turn to the right, sharp enough to be a blind curve. Conor whipped it around the bend and then turned into a slide-out, coming up on his good leg. He allowed himself to skid for perhaps ten or fifteen feet, and then pulled up sideways, reaching for the holster at his belt and drawing out an almost comical looking weapon, a pawgun resembling a scaled-down, sawed-off, four barreled flare-gun, a Russian-made URSA pistol.
He snapped it open, checked the load, and snapped it shut again.
Then he aimed it into the turn he'd just made...and waited.
He did NOT have long to wait. In mere seconds he heard the whoop of a siren, saw the space in front him flickering in red and blue, while the headlight beams against the right-side wall grew brighter...and tighter...and...
The cruiser slewed around the corner... directly into his sights. He set his jaw, steadied himself...and pulled the trigger.
The URSA kicked and popped as if fired. And then a splatter of black the size of a pizza-box burst across the cruiser's windshield on the driver's side. Conor watched as the wipers went on, and couldn't resist a smirk. They weren't getting rid of THAT stuff so easily; it was a mixture of quick-drying ink and etching fluid.
But then heard the shriek of the tires; smelled the bitter sting of burning rubber...and saw that the police car wasn't stopping. Caught by surprise, the driver was jamming on the brake and the accelerator pedals at the same time.
The cruiser was coming straight at him; he had to move, he had to get out of the way...but his bike was turned sideways, and with his bad leg, he couldn't move fast enough; they were going to...
At that instant, the police car slipped sideways and the right front wheel dropped into a basement stairwell. That did it; the cruiser banged to a shuddering halt with its rear-wheels spinning helplessly in the air.
"Sorry!" Conor called to them, meaning it....and then got the heck out of there, fast. Turning onto Acacia street he blinked twice and then eased the Furz to a stop.
And then he lifted his nose, sniffing the air. There she was at last.
Monday—02:47 Hours. Unknown Location, Savanna Central, Zootopia
Erin winced as she tugged on the sheet of plywood; only a few minutes ago, this would have been an easy task. Now, with a shoulder halfway out of commission, it was a labor of Harecules.
She tried a different method, pushing instead of pulling. That seemed to turn the trick; the plywood sheet finally cleaved away from the others in the stack. For a second or two it stood in a vertical wobble, wavering back and forth as if trying to make up its mind. And then, with a rush of musty air and a dry, slapping noise, it toppled to the ground.
But it hadn't fallen straight, would it work? Yes, the hole was covered, but she had missed one of the traffic cones. She scrambled around the edge of the sheet, and kicked it away into the shadows.
For a long moment she remained where she was, letting her breathing return to normal—and then straightened up suddenly with her nose twitching and her right foot trying to thump.
Someone was behind her.
With the slow, clockwork movements of a wind-up ballerina, Erin turned to see who was there. The only thing visible was a slash of orange, deep within the entrance to the courtyard.
But that was all she needed to see to know who was there
Forcing herself to move, Erin took several steps towards him, peering closely with a twitching nose, as if unsure of what her eyes were telling her. Anyone watching would have thought it was exactly the wrong move.
And maybe it was—but she needed him close behind her if this was going to work.
"Nowhere to run, Hopps," Craig Guilford's snarl was a mixture of gravel and acid as he strolled into the moonlight.
Erin gasped and took a step backwards. Her voice trembled as she spoke, and it wasn't an act. "Craig...please...I didn't do anything. You know I never snitched on you. Please...let me..."
He didn't seem to hear her.
"Bunnies," he growled, taking another step in her direction "Always stupid bunnies." His eyes were crazed, and his mouth was feral, twitching over exposed fangs, "You're all alike...ALL of you!"
Another step for him...and two more steps for Erin; more than anything she wanted to turn and run for her life—but not yet, not yet.
"Wait'll he's down on all fours."
"No," she whimpered, raising her paws, "stay away from me, leave me alone." Once again, she wasn't playacting. It occurred to her then that this was the same gambit she'd pulled on him back in the youth jail. Could it possibly work again?
Craig's lips pulled all the way open and into a sick, fiery grin.
"Yeah...I'll leave you alone," he snarled, and then dropped to all fours and charged.
Erin spun on her heel and ran. She too began to drop to all fours, but then remembered she couldn't...not with a bad shoulder. Ohhh, why hadn't she...? Run, rabbit, RUN!
She ran for all she was worth, felt the edge of the plywood beneath her feet, felt the wood starting to bounce as she sprinted across it. Oh no...Craig would feel it too; he wouldn't be....
Yes he was, he was right behind her...but much too close; he was almost on top of her. A paw grabbed at her arm, missed and fell away, but he wouldn't miss a second time. He...
That was when she finally heard it, the plywood starting to crack and splinter, thick enough to withstand the weight of a bunny, but not a coyote—much less a bunny and a coyote.
Erin crouched and leaped with everything she had left, landing easily on the other side of the plywood...just in time to hear a yelp of fury, coming from behind her. "YOU DURTY, BACKSTABBIN' LIL...!"
That was as far as Craig got before the plywood gave way completely. With a noise like an elephant stepping on a ginormous bag of potato chips, he was dropped head-over heels into the sinkhole.
Erin stood there for a moment, breathing hard and clasping her injured shoulder.
Then she moved, cautiously, to the edge of the pit. She knew she shouldn't but...
Two paws snatched hard at the lip of the hole and fell away with a growl.
Erin stumbled backwards and almost tripped. She saw Craig try to climb out again, a better grip, but still not enough, and he slipped away once more.
But that was still a lot further than he should have been able to get. The hole wasn't that deep after all...and fueled by his rage, the vengeful young coyote wasn't giving up. On his next attempt, he almost got an elbow on the rim. She had to do something...but what? If he managed to get out of there, she'd never be able to... Wait, that dumpster over there; it looked like it was on rollers...was it?
She hurried over; yes it was. But was it chained up or anything? No, it wasn't. Okay, how full was it? About a third...
"Shut up and get shoving, you dumb bunny!"
Erin braced her good shoulder against the dumpster and pushed. It refused to budge, and she tried again. It rocked on its wheels a little, but that was all. She dug in with her feet and gave it a third shot. She got maybe an inch of movement this time, but that was all. Ohhhh, if only her shoulder wasn't hurting; if only she wasn't so tired.
"Come on!" she cried and tried again; still nothing. "COME ONNNNN!" she screamed...and the dumpster began to move—at a snail's pace, but rapidly picking up speed as it rolled in the direction of the pit.
But, what about Craig; was he still...? Erin chanced a look around the edge of the dumpster.
He was halfway out of the sinkhole.
"Oh no, you don't!" She pushed harder... saw his eyes widen, watched him drop back into the pit—YES—just as the front wheels of the dumpster went over the lip. And then it tilted and began to slide downwards.
...TOO far downwards. Noooo, wait, it wasn't supposed to go all the way into the hole. She didn't want to hurt Craig, only to...
Her thoughts end in a whoosh of relief as the dumpster caught against the far side of the sinkhole, coming to rest in the upward tilt of a sinking ship. But it had still gone in much further than she'd planned. Was Craig all right in there?
The answer came in a torrent of abuse.
"YOU STINKING LITTLE CARROT-HEAD, I'M GONNA KILL YOU, Y' HEAR ME? YOU'RE DEAD MEAT, BUNNY...YOU TOO, FOX!"
Erin stepped back in surprise, ears up and nose twitching. Fox...what fox? Who the heck was he...talking...to...?
She turned and looked left...and there was Conor. So that was how she'd been able to move the dump...ster...
With a wrenching cry, Erin launched herself at the surprised young silver-fox, clawing and kicking and wanting him to go away forever. At first he was able to fend her off easily, but then she caught him by surprise, throwing her good arm around him and burying her face in his chest...sobbing and shivering and completely unable to stop.
"Ssss, take it easy bunny-girl; it's okay," Conor's voice was soothing as he held her, "Don't hold it back, just let go. It's only gonna hurt a whole bunch more if you try to keep it inside. Yeah, that's it." She felt his paw begin to stroke the back of her neck, and heard his voice soften to a whisper. "Hey-y-y, what're all the tears for anyway, huh? You GOT him, Erin. You did good, you did real good."
She only pulled herself closer and cried harder.
Until somewhere in the distance, a roar like the crack of doom rent the air.
Erin turned to look and so did Conor. Away, out over the rooftops, a colossal fireball was billowing up into the sky, orange on black, the color of Halloween.
The two of them watched for a second with trembling ears and a trembling tail. Erin knew how Conor felt because she felt the same way; this poor, battered city...and why, WHY?
But then the fireball was gone and the spell was broken. She saw the young fox move away from her and now, for the first time, she saw the moto-bike propped against the wall behind him.
And then he held out a paw in her direction.
"C'mon, we need to get off the street. I know a place."