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 7—The Cascade Effect
(Concluded...Part 7)
Conor couldn't bear to look; neither could Erin. Both of them turned away, eyes shut tight as the drone came hurtling down on the superboat, traveling at what seemed like terminal velocity.
But when it hit, there was no explosion, only the sharp crack of rendering plastic.
The fox was the first to open his eyes...and he hardly dared believe what he was seeing; was his vision that far out of whack? Of all the drones sent to intercept them, this was the one that had turned out to be a dud!
His relief was destined to be seriously premature; even with impaired sight, it was impossible to miss. What was left of the drone was sitting practically right in front of him. Or, to put it a bit more accurately, it was sticking in his face like a sore thumb...wedged in between the alternator and the intake manifold.
...And when the engine-heat reached whatever charge that thing was carrying...
Unbuckling his harness, Conor scrambled—actually kind of slithered—into the engine compartment, propelled by nothing more than sheer adrenaline. Something burned his elbow, he ignored it. He had to get that drone out of here before...
There...he had his paws around it. He pulled, but it refused to budge. He tried again, harder; still nothing. Holy foxtrot, what the heck was this thing MADE of? Something burned his cheek; he ignored that too. The drone was getting warmer, getting hot, he could feel it. He had to do something, but what? Wait...he knew! He pulled back and began searching the floor of the passenger compartment. Ohhh, foxin'-A... his vision was going again. He began to feel for the object; dangit! It was here, it had to be...there; he had it.
He clambered back the way he had come, jamming the Prowler-Fouler against the drone at low angle.
No point in shouting, "Fire in the hole!" No one would have heard him anyway; he simply pressed the firing button.
The weapon kicked as it discharged, nearly breaking his wrist...and sending a lead-filled bean-bag smashing into the drone, tearing it from its rotor mount and sending it flying over the stern in a rainbow arc.
It was six feet behind them when the flash-powder charge exploded with a deafening bang.
Everyone tensed, waiting...but no more drones were coming. In the distance, the lights of the mysterious interlopers' boats were beginning to wink away into the distance.
But now here came the Chaungs and Deguellos again. For the past few minutes they'd been holding back, most likely planning to rush in and steal the prize if one of those mini-Kamikazes managed to cripple the superboat.
Cue the chase music:
Taking the lead was a Chaung panga boat that looked as long as a football field. In second place was the Deguello gunboat—but at least, thank God, they weren't reloading the harpoon gun; they must have used up the last of them taking out the other superboat.
But hey...they weren't trading volleys with the panga boat either. In fact none of the vessels chasing them were exchanging fire. They had wised up apparently, and were shelving their differences until after their quarry was taken.
And they were gaining.
Billy turned to duck down another side channel, swerving away at the last second. Conor thought it was a feint to confuse their pursuers...until the Tasmanian tiger shrugged. "Oops, wrong one."
Something arced over the superboat, leaving a trail of smoke. It was perhaps thirty feet ahead of them when it exploded; bursting just above the water in a white-hot, green dandelion.
Somebody was shooting fireworks at them...the same kind of rocket-shells Nick had used to put down the crop-duster attack on the Carrot Days festival.
Another mortar-shell 'thoomed' into the air, fired from the deck of the panga-boat. It struck the water perhaps ten feet behind the superboat, skimming along the surface of the canal like a 'dam-buster' bomb. Bouncing off the stern, it sank like rock, and for a second, it seemed they were clear of any danger.
...Until a bright-red flash detonated beneath them, heaving their boat an inch or two upwards and then dropping it down again
It was nothing that they hadn't experienced before, but this time the results were vastly different—and vastly more distressing. When they hit the water, their boat was moving at an erratic stutter. A bubble of air had gotten into the jet intake—and until was it cleared they were crippled.
That was something their pursuers could hardly fail to notice. Every single one of them hit the throttles, bearing down fast on their hapless quarry.
But then the gunboat began to edge out the lead panga-boat. In response, the Chaungs let loose another rocket-shell—not at Conor and his friends but at the Deguello flagship. Depending upon which gang you were in, was either the luckiest or the unluckiest shot in the history of mammalkind.. The shell flew straight through a porthole and went bouncing around the gunboat's bridge-compartment like a golf-ball in a tiled bathroom, exploding in a shower of whistling stars.
At once the gunboat began to fall back...and at once the privateers ditched their makeshift truce, opening up on each other with everything they had.
Billy, meanwhile, was desperately trying to get moving...gunning the engine again and again in a frantic attempt to clear the intake.
The superboat lurched, hiccupped, stopped—bucked forward in a slow stammer, making a noise like gargling.
"Come onnnnn." Billy's voice was like a mosquito's whine.
The boat jerked, belched, jerked again...and then with a thundering roar it shot out across the water, gaining speed at a rapid pace..
But the privateers saw it, and immediately put their feud on hold again.
Up ahead, Billy slewed hard into a side channel. Conor thought it was a Hail-Mary move—until he saw the thylacine raising a fist in triumph; he knew where he was...
A rocket shell bounced off the wall behind them and went screaming over their heads, exploding when it was almost directly over the superboat—showering the three young occupants with hail of blue sparks that singed their fur and burned their skin.
Conor realized then that he couldn't hear the engine; he couldn't hear anything. The explosion had left him temporarily deafened.
Or...HAD that been the explosion and was it only temp...? The engine!
"Ohhh foxtrot, PLEASE tell me it's still okay."
He turned to look; he tried to turn, but his neck refused to pivot; it felt like it had been stuck in place with Krazy Glue. He couldn't hear, he couldn't see, he could only feel. The engine felt like it was running smoothly but...
Another rocket shell came screaming in after them at a high angle...too high; it struck an overhead cable on the way down, fell straight into the water, and then sank without exploding—for once.
Up ahead, the canal split into an abrupt Y-fork...but what was that laying across the left-side channel? Oh foxtrot, a boom...a boom tipped with spikes!
Conor opened his mouth to shout a warning but all that came out was dry air. At that instant, Billy also saw the hazard, and veered sharply to the right—and this time, he didn't get away with it. The superboat flipped over twice, rolling across the water in a double sideways cartwheel.
She came to rest in an upright position, still headed down the channel with the engine running smoothly. When Billy hit the throttle again, they streaked onward as if nothing had happened at all.
But Erin...Erin, was she all right? The injured young silver fox couldn't look to see; he could only hope.
The superboat was swaddled in darkness as it plunged down the right side channel. Billy hit the running lights and a split second later, their pursuers did the same.
If Conor had been able to hear, he would have heard the young thylacine letting out a pained growl, followed by a high-pitched groan from Erin. Had he been able to see more than ten feet in front him, he would have understood the reason for their distress.
The detour had taken them into a lagoon, a lagoon with only one other exit...an impossible exit, a railroad trestle spanning a slender channel, a channel rendered even narrower by a forest of pilings and supports.
With no other option Billy gunned it in that direction. Or...wait, did he actually seem to be relishing the idea? There was no way for Conor to know—and also no way for him to hear the exchange between him and Erin.
"Please, Billy...tell me you know what you're doing!"
"Not t' worry, bunny-Sheila," he called out over his shoulder, "I've done this plenty of times before," And then under his breath, he added, "...just not in 'ere and not at night."
Another rocket shell came streaking out of the darkness behind them; but either the gunner had aimed too high or the charge detonated prematurely. For the breadth of a second, the lagoon was drenched in a brilliant, milk-white light.
At that moment, a ring of boats became visible, backed up against the sea-wall, facing inwards towards the center of the lagoon. As the starshell faded, they all came to life, throwing a long, harsh web of spotlight beams across the water.
And then there were more lights—mounted atop cabins or affixed to roll bars—lights in bright red and blue; flashing red and blue.
A siren whooped and faded, and then an amplified voice called out, "Attention all boats, this is the ZPD. Cut your engines and stand down NOW!"
Conor didn't need to hear the order to be aware of it—and he had no idea which of their pursuers would choose to obey and which would try to run; maybe even fight it out. He could only hope that Billy wouldn't be one of the quitters.
He wasn't; pushing the throttle even further forward he took no notice of the order bellowing in his wake.
"You there; stop where you are!"
As IF—it was too late to stop; the trestle was already there in front of them—and the way through looked about as roomy as a credit-card reader.
Billy shot between the pilings...pulled right, pulled left; no, no further left, and back to the right again. No, not that way... too low for the roll bar. He pulled hard in the opposite direction; sending the superboat sideways into a bracing member. Conor thought he heard a crack, but then they raced on, apparently undamaged. But the way ahead was still too low—and there was no time to stop, only to slow down.
The roll-bar hit the beam with a dull clang, maybe two inches down from the top. But then, because of its rearward-slope, the momentum drove the superboat downwards, sinking it almost to the gunwales. Billy was sure they were going to swamp, but then they popped back up again...on the other side of the overhead.
No time for any sighs of relief; he had to keep moving. Look out, a floating log, chop the throttles and just slide over it. That's it, now jink left, jink right...look out for that piling, just under the surface. Look out! Left...left again, now right again, now serpentine!
It was then that Conor's hearing began to return, although he might have wished otherwise. A shrill, whooping noise was coming from behind them. And if he couldn't see what was making the racket, he could sure as heck see the flashes of red-and-blue, dancing against the timbers all around them.
Billy dodged right, dodged left. A triple piling as thick as a water main was right in front of them, and the thylacine made right for it. But then, at the last second, he pulled left towards a sliver of open space. The superboat waggled as it slithered through the opening—and then shot out into the open water like a spat-out watermelon seed.
But the three young fugitives hadn't made it out alone. On either side of them and right behind, a pair of siren-blaring Waverunners burst out from beneath the trestle in hot pursuit. At the same time, a four-engine RIB boat peeled away from the canal bank, lighting up like a red and blue Christmas tree.
Ohhh, foxtrot...now they were really in it. Conor couldn't see any of the ZPD boats clearly—but he knew they had a whole truckload of advantages over the animals that had been chasing them earlier.
For one thing, standard police procedure was not to run their quarry down, but to run them out; they would stay with the superboat until it made landfall and then apprehend the occupants when they exited. And as for any outside interference, forget it. No privateer was going to stick his nose into this pursuit; John Law would have that superboat all to his lonesome.
And that wasn't the all...
"Ohhhh, CRIKE!"
Conor would have echoed Billy's sentiment if he could. He didn't need clear vision to see that the canal banks up ahead were lit up as bright as a Hollywool premiere, with more lights strung out over the water.
They were about to take leave of the Canal District's industrial zone...and cross over into the Entertainment Quarter.
In this part of town, they'd be as easy to spot as crows against a snowbank. And here, they would absolutely not have the waterway to themselves; pleasure boaters galore.
The effect was like walking into another room. One moment everything was dark, and in the next, they almost needed sunglasses.
For the first few minutes, everything was hunky dory. There were no other boats on the water that they could see. And the umbrella-topped tables and gawking tourists were all perched safely above them—atop steep, masonry banks, at least ten feet off the water.
But then something hit the channel in front of them, and then something else hit the water beside them—and then something hit the hood of the superboat, shattering as it struck and spewing ratatouille all over the place.
And then a hail of crockery and cuisine began pouring down on the three young mammals. The animals on the banks up above had seen the lights and heard the sirens...and had decided to play Good Citizen.
What happened next was like a cross between dodgeball and a food-fight. In mere minutes, Billy's boat was a sticky mess. The only consolation was that one of the diners miscalculated; hitting one of the Waverunner cops full in the face with what looked like a pot-pie. He slewed instantly to a stop... down, but not out.
Ahead of them the channel was widening, and Billy took advantage of the situation to pull away from the bank, away from the deluge of foodstuffs.
That was good for a sigh of relief from everyone—until they came fast around a bend and found themselves on a collision course with a flower-bedecked barge, occupied by a brass band.
"What the HECK are they playing?" Conor wondered in his encroaching delirium. It sounded like The William Tell Overture—except some idiot with a flute seemed to think that Turkey in the Straw would be a more appropriate selection.
Billy didn't notice; he was too busy trying to decide...which way, which way? There was room to pass on only one side of the barge, on the right. But it was drifting to the right. Which way? Never mind, no time! Billy spun the wheel hard, aiming for the left-paw side of the floating bandstand. But the gap wasn't widening quickly enough. "Come on, come on, y'lazy bludger," the thylacine snarled under his breath—and the barge actually seemed to hear him...increasing its drift just enough for him to make it through.
As the superboat went flashing through the opening, the band concert came to a sudden, cacophonous end, with the mouse who'd been conducting shaking his baton at the departing trio of fugitives. He hardly had time to finish before the police boats followed, Waverunners on the right, RIB-boat on the left.
The instant they were clear of the barge, they kicked it up into full throttle.
Meanwhile, up ahead, Erin Hopps was wiping frantically at herself and wishing that rabbits could vomit. Ewwww, just ewww—this muck! She felt as if her fur would never be clean again.
From behind, an amplified voice called out after them.
"Stop your boat; stop right NOW!"
She instinctively ducked down; the right move, for the wrong reason. It kept the young doe bunny from seeing what was waiting up ahead.
From one side to the other, the canal was choked with pleasure craft of all kinds, not a square inch of space between them...or the bank. They were gathered in rough, concentric rings around a short pier—where a water-opossum in a long black robe was reciting a litany to a pair of muskrats, clad respectively in a tuxedo and white lace.
Billy Mackenna was beside himself. "You blitherin' idiots! Don'tcher know it's illegal to block the whole bloomin' waterway?"
If Conor could have heard it, he would have laughed himself sick at the irony.
Billy was sick too...sick at heart. They were trapped, there was no way through...wait! The dock behind the pier, it was almost flush with the water.
Out on the makeshift altar, the minister was raising his voice.
"If there be any mammal here who can show just cause as to why these two should not be joined in holy matrimony...let him speak now, or forever hold his..."
That was as far as he got before the superboat leaped up onto the dock behind him, skidding like a hockey puck to the other side and roaring away in a plume of exhaust fumes. A second later, it was followed by a siren blaring Waverunner, and then another one after that.
Everyone ducked...and then off to the left, another siren whooped, and an amplified voice spoke. "Clear the way! Clear the way or you will be cited."
Rising up on his feet again, the groom turned and spoke to the minister, pretending to look and sound huffy.
"Wedding-crasher votes don't count!"
The opossum didn't answer; he was too busy laughing his tail off. So was the bride, who then threw her arms around the groom and kissed him like there was no tomorrow.
The minister's face turned playfully stern.
"Not yet!"
Thirty yards ahead, the pair of ZPD Waverunners had once again joined up with each other, spreading out on either side of the superboat and keeping pace with their quarry. They wouldn't try to overtake it—Billy knew that as well as Conor—they'd simply sit back and wait for an opening.
The only good thing was that there was no sign of the RIB boat...but like cockroaches and The Terminator, it would be back; that one was a given.
A hump appeared in the water ahead on the right. The officer on that side saw it and quickly dodged it, bringing himself in close so that Billy could see the mottled tail, trailing behind his jet-ski; a jaguar.
He reached over, tapped Conor and pointed. The silver fox rose up, bleary eyed. All he could see was flashing red-and-blue, but that was enough.
Snatching his URSA pistol, he began to raise it...
...and then lowered it again.
Billy rapped him on the side of the head.
"Mate, come on, 'e's right THERE!"
"No," Conor mumbled, not caring that the thylacine couldn't hear him. "Won 't hurt a cop...not again."
Billy rapped him again, harder. "Lissen y' little wan...ohh, CRIKE!"
Ahead of them, the channel was narrowing rapidly...and heading straight into another blind curve. The officers trailing them saw it too and fell back to a safe distance.
Or that is, one of them did. The jaguar hit the throttle, possibly hoping to catch the superboat when it came out of the turn.
With his attention focused so sharply on the speedboat up ahead, there were several things he failed to notice; the smoke beginning to trail from under the hood of his Waverunner and the dull, orange glow flickering beneath.
Nor did he seem to realize that a red light was winking on his instrument panel.
Up ahead, Billy had no inkling of what was waiting around the bend; all he could do was cross his fingers and keep on trucking.
As the superboat went roaring around the turn, he realized too late that he had again misjudged the angle.
"'Ang on!" he cried as the boat turned up on its side—but this time, luckily not so much that there was any danger of flipping over.
Around the other side of the curve, they came upon a waterfront café. Situated much closer to the channel than its predecessors, this particular eatery was decked out in bright, pastel colors. Multicolored lights and a mariachi quintet completed the picture.
As Billy came swooping by, the music and meals came to a sudden jumbled halt, courtesy of the wake he sent rolling across the stone-tiled floor. When the Waverunner followed, a couple of seconds later, it went sideways into the bank...not hard enough to injure the rider, or cause any significant damage, only just enough to crack the hood open.
But that was all it took. Fed by the sudden inrush of oxygen, the Waverunner's engine burst into flame, pitching it into a sudden, nose–down halt and throwing the rider over the top of the bars.
He came bobbing to the surface in the strip of water separating his watercraft from the sea-wall...
...Just as flames reached the fuel-tank.
The jet-ski exploded in a ball of black smoke, and pale yellow fire, showering the canal with burning gasoline.
The jaguar ducked hurriedly under the water, trying frenziedly to swim away from the blaze. Something tugged at his tail; he was caught, he couldn't escape.
In the superboat up ahead, Conor was aware of only a faint, flickering glow behind them. He tried to turn his head again; it refused to rotate for more than half an inch, but then the glow brightened noticeably. And what was that noise; was that Erin...screaming?
A choir of a thousand alarm bells began to ring in the young fox's head. Without thinking, he thrust his paw into his backpack, finding at once the object he'd located by accident earlier. He'd been hoping to save it for later, but...
It consisted of a metal cylinder the size of a mini-thermos, with a mask attached. And now, with shaky paws, he slipped it over his muzzle, pressed the button and inhaled.
The effect was both instantaneous and amazing. His vision cleared, his hearing returned, and he could actually breathe again.
He turned and rapped Billy on the shoulder; it needed only a small effort.
When the thylacine turned to look, his jaw fell halfway to the deck—until he noticed the oxygen-bottle clasped in his passenger's paw.
And the way he was frantically pointing behind them.
"We've gotta go back!"
Billy didn't try to argue; he didn't want to argue. He swung the boat in a fast loop, making a beeline for the burning jet-ski.
Conor rapped him on the shoulder again.
"Fire extinguisher; you got one?" His voice was already retreating back the way it had come.
"I've got better'n that, mate," The young thylacine growled, and then proved it by whipping the superboat around in a furious donut, setting off a wave that drenched the Waverunner and extinguished the fire.
No time for rejoicing he kicked it around and took them roaring down the canal once more.
In the rear of the boat, Erin Hopps did have time to celebrate, throwing up a pair of fists and whooping, "Whoo-hoooo!"
After all, her sister Judy was a ZPD de...
Something whizzed past her ear; huh, what? And then something 'thwanged' off the roll-bar—and then something flashed in their wake. It was the second Waverunner, coming on fast. Another flash, a shard of light, streaking past the superboat; and that was when the young doe-bunny finally made the connection, "What, you're SHOOTING at us? You can't shoot us, what's WRONG with you?"
As if in response, a fourth shot clipped one of the fins. Whoever was on that jet-ski, they no longer cared about police procedure; as of now, they were a mammal on a mission.
But...WHY?
Another shot went streaking between the young doe bunny's ears; she screamed and ducked down. At once, she felt her paws close around the dart gun...and immediately let go of it. Like the silver fox upfront, she could never bring herself to shoot a police officer, not even with a tranquilizer pellet.
...Not even if he was trying to kill her.
Billy was aware of none of this. He heard the impact with the roll-bar but had no idea what it was or where it had come from. He knew only that he had to get away from all these bright lights and pronto. Wait...up ahead, where the canal turned right; there was another smaller channel straight ahead. It was narrower than this one...and also much more dimly lit.
He hit throttles and made for it...unwittingly spoiling the aim of the rogue cop trailing in their wake.
As the superboat went tearing through the canal, the environment began to undergo a sea-change; brick, stone, and mortar gave way to wood, tar, and creosote. With every passing minute the construction on either side became more and more rickety; the lighting dimmer and dimmer.
They had left the Entertainment Quarter for the Muddy Swamp; no high-class eateries or fancy nightspots in this neck of the woods. Not to put too fine a point on it, this place was Happytown-On-The-Water.
Something fast and bright drilled through Conor's headrest, missing the fox by centimeters. That was when Billy finally realized—someone was shooting at them. He began to zig-zag as best he could...but the space in here was so tight!
A bullet pinged off an overhanging lamp-post. Another one barely missed the engine.
That was when Erin finally realized something; maybe she couldn't shoot a cop, but there was no rule that said she couldn't...
She snatched up the dart gun making sure the safety was on, and then let her finger touch ever-so-lightly on the trigger.
A pencil-thin beam of bright red light shot out from beneath the dart-gun's barrel, alighting just below the knee of their pursuer. It wasn't perfect, but it worked. The cop swerved frantically away from the beam and she saw something go tumbling from his paw and into the water. Erin had no idea what it was, but the shooting ceased immediately.
Meanwhile up in front of them, barely visible in the running lights, Billy could see the crumbling outline of a stone bridge. Oh no, was it high enough for them to get under? Yes...yes it was, but as the Tasmanian tiger got closer he noted that the span was packed from one end to the other with what looked like dozens of young mammals.
"Ohhhh, crikey! 'Ere comes another tucker-bag monsoon."
He gunned the motor; his only option. But when the superboat reached the bridge—nothing happened. It shot straight beneath the span without incident.
The officer chasing them wasn't so lucky. As he came upon the bridge, an old cargo net was flung over the side, landing right on top of him. Blinded, unable to steer, he hit the central support at a sideswipe, killing the engine and bruising his knee.
In this part of town the citizens weren't on the ZPD's side—at least not the younger ones.
And now they began to whoop and chant, "Weeee're not gonna TAKE it!"
No one on the superboat heard them; none of them had seen what happened, but none of them would have cared in any case. They weren't being chased, and that was the only thing that ma...
Without warning, the RIB boat shot out of nowhere in front of them, turned broadside in the canal and completely blocking their path.
No, wait, not completely; a side-channel entrance was just up ahead, nearly invisible in the darkness, but there it was.
Billy didn't think, he just moved, swinging around and into the waterway.
...right between a pair of yellow signs; inverted triangles emblazoned with exclamation marks.
There was writing underneath, but the young Tasmanian tiger had time to make out only a single word; 'DANGER..."
Too late, nothing to do now, but ride with it; the ZPD boat was right behind them and closing fast.
Billy kicked it into high gear. The superboat shot through the canal like a bullet through a gun barrel.
And there, up ahead, was the exit...flanked by another pair of yellow triangles, but this time without any text. So here was the 'danger' at last, but what was it? Well, they'd find out in another 3...2...1...
As his boat went flashing between the signs, Billy's jaws fell open and so did Erin's.
They were passing across a vast expanse of wide-open water; nothing at all around them. The lights ahead appeared to be miles in the distance.
They had made it out of the Canal District, and into Zootopia Sound!
But a fat lot of good that would do them with a police boat hard on their tail—and it was closing in fast once again.
"Attention on board, this is the ZPD; cut your engines and heave to. This is your last..."
That was as far as the speaker got before the RIB boat kicked sideways and went into a flat, pinwheel spin, coming to rest facing back, the way it had come, one side tilted higher than the other.
Billy began to laugh; he couldn't help it, cathartic almost hysterical laughter. His brain had just clicked on those signs again—and the full text had read 'DANGER SHALLOW WATER AHEAD.'
Too shallow for a police-boat, but not for him; V8 superboats were built for racing in the shallows.
And when the thylacine looked up ahead, his laughs promptly morphed into whoops.
"Woo-hoooooo! Eeeee-yes! Who's yer Daddy!"
"Wha...what the HECK are you cheering about?"
He had finally gotten loud enough for Erin to hear—and he was only too happy to give her the lowdown.
"We're out on the flats, Sheila-bunny...Ain't nuffin' can catch us here! An' look there," he pointed up ahead to where a wall of dark gray cotton-wool was stretching across Zootopia Sound. "Once we hit that fog, we're 'ome free!" The white-furred young bunny immediately let loose a whoop of her own.
Still smiling, Billy reached over to pat Conor on the shoulder. "We made it, mate! We..."
He stopped and drew his paw back as if it had been scalded. The young silver fox was curled up into a fetal position with his eyes half open, sitting still, very still... too still.
But then his eyes blinked and he nodded feebly, trying to manage a smile.
That was enough to instantly wipe away Billy's smile, replacing it with a look of grim determination.
He reached into his vest, removing what looked like a scaled down computer tablet and clipping it into a holder attached to the console.
But when he tried to power up...
"Gahhhhr, NO!"
"What's wrong?" Erin called from the back, frightened.
Billy waved at the screen with a frustrated paw...where nothing was visible but an empty field of blue "I've got no GPS...an' we can't through that fog without it!"
Someone tapped him on the ankle; no, kicked him in the ankle. It was Conor...and then the thylacine looked, he saw the fox was pointing at a walkie-talkie, lying on the deck. Wha...What was that supposed to...?
"Oi, wait a minute; since when's a walkie-talkie have FIVE bloomin' antennas? Cor, right...them drones! He must have f'gotten to switch off."
Snatching up the Jammer like a hundred dollar bill, Billy found the power knob and shut it down.
At once the GPS screen changed—to a display showing their location.
"NOW we're home free!" the Tasmanian tiger crowed, raising triumphant fist.
He had no way of knowing that 200 yards away, a monster was awakening with an angry roar.
It did not come charging after them. No lights blazed, no siren wailed. The only light showing was a dull, red glow inside the cabin.
And now, slowly, inexorably, it began to close the distance upon them.
Erin was the first to become aware of it...when, without warning, a tracer round drilled a hole through Billy's helmet. She screamed, expecting to see him fall over sideways, never to rise again. But the Tasmanian tiger only fingered the side of his helmet, none the worse for wear; the bullet had penetrated his head-covering, but had missed the skull underneath.
But when he found the hole, he knew immediately what had happened, and began frantically weaving back and forth—just as another round went whistling past the roll-bar.
That was when the monster finally revealed itself; bright lights blazing all around; an incandescent spotlight trying to pin the superboat like a butterfly. Painted on the front of their pursuer was a wide, leering shark-toothed grin.
And seated in a gunners chair below the control cabin, a wolverine was drawing a bead with a telescopic sight.
Billy had forgotten something; there was one kind of vessel that could beat a superboat on the flats. And it was the monster chasing them now—an XG-8 hovercraft.
Desperately racking his brain, the young thylacine tried to remember what he knew about those things; he had seen one at a boat show some years ago. All right, there'd be no such thing as trying to outrun it; the XG-8 was supposed to be the cutting edge of hovercraft technology. These machines also tended to function better in wet weather than dry—blast all that stupid rain from earlier today!
But wait...now he remembered! Hovercraft might be fast, but they were hellishly hard to maneuver. There...that was their way out of this.
He swung the superboat in a tight U-turn, just as another shot nicked a fin.
As the pair of watercraft came broadside of one another Erin saw that the hovercraft was actually smaller than it had first appeared, only about the size of a mid-range cabin cruiser. Even so, it was an evil looking thing, done up in dark, gray-green camouflage-paint.
...Except for one thing, a stark-white logo on the side...a sort of monogram made up of four different letters; what were they? They looked like...an 'A'...a 'K'...'E'...
Another spotlight flared on the hovercraft, dousing the young doe-bunny in bleach-white illumination. She shielded her eyes and ducked, just as Billy went into another turn, converting the 'U' into a latch-hook.
"Let's see y' follow us NOW, mates," the thylacine sneered under his breath.
As if in response to the challenge, the XG-8 simply swung on its axis like a compass needle; it really was the ne-plus-ultra of hovercraft technology.
And then it was after him once again.
He turned and made for the deeper water, knowing hovercraft don't play well with rough seas.
No such luck; The Sound was like a billiard table on this fine Zootopian evening.
And now the wolverine-gunner let loose a burst of automatic fire, missing the superboat by a good six feet—on purpose. Even Erin could tell that much; it was all a colossal bluff.
But why...why was he holding off when he could have reduced the superboat to shreds any time he wanted?
The answer to the young doe-bunny's question was sitting huddled in the passenger-seat, wanted alive...or alive; no substitutions accepted.
But who the heck was chasing them? That hovercraft looked way too sophisticated—and way, way too spendy to belong to a privateer gang—and it sure as heck wasn't the ZPD back there.
So who was driving that beast?
Billy MacKenna had no time for such musings; he couldn't outrun that hovercraft and he couldn't outmaneuver it...and there was no way that he could make the fog bank before he was taken out. He looked left, looked right...and then his head snapped back to the left again. They were coming up on a cargo terminal...and there, butted up against a loading dock was the long, blocky form of a container ship.
He turned towards it at the same time muttering a prayer, "Hail Mary, full o' grace...please don't let me lose this race."
If he could just get close enough. Whoever was on that hovercraft, they wouldn't dare to shoot at him in front of a shipload of witnesses.
...he hoped!
Behind him, the wolverine fired another shot...or tried to; his clip was empty. It was just the break Billy needed. By the time his attacker managed to jack in another one, the superboat was within visual range of the cargo ship. No doubt about it; they could see him all right. Look at the animal up on the bow frantically waving a flag...and the smaller boat nestled up against the container vessel, flashing its lights at him.
And ohhhh, thank you, Mother of Mercy; in between the ship and the dock, he could see a long, corridor of empty water...wide enough for his boat, but not for the hovercraft.
...he hoped again.
He spun the wheel and ran fast for the opening. If he could just make it inside before their pursuers could get off another round...
Ignoring the flag-waving sailor on the bow, and the blare of the cargo ship's horn, Billy shot beneath the vessel's bow and into the safety of its lee.
He raised another fist, but then something at last began to register.
Waving flag...horn blowing...flashing lights...and that other boat pressed up against the container ship's hull—had that been a...a TUGboat?
Ohhhh,no...the container ship was in the middle of docking—and HE was right in the middle of...
Billy gunned the motor; the superboat leapt forward, nearly leaving the water as it raced down the ever-narrowing channel.
Erin screamed as the walls came closing in...and then she screamed even louder when the hovercraft swept into the passage, still hot on their heels. Sweet cheez n' crackers; were those idiots crazy, or...? Oh, no...the gunner was taking aim again...painting the back of Billy's head with a laser sight.
She tried to shout a warning, but it was no use. Even if the Tasmanian tiger could have heard her there was no room to dodge in here. She could only watch helplessly as the wolverine pulled the trigger.
His shot this time hit dead-center in the back of Billy's helmet...leaving behind only a messy green splotch. They had switched to a tranq-gun; no live ammo in here, not where there might be witnesses.
But the container ship was still closing in on them...the impossibly tall hull getting closer and closer and closer...until nothing was visible on their port-side, but the blackness of her bulkhead. Behind them, their pursuers seemed to have realized what was happening as well, holding their fire and hitting the afterburners.
Soon the hovercraft was nearly on top of the superboat...close enough so that the next shot couldn't possibly miss—except if they took out Billy now, they'd be trapped in here and crushed along with their prey.
Something brushed against the side of the superboat...brushed again, and then scraped against it with a banshee screech. Noooo, not NOW when they had almost made it, not...
Erin hunched over, throwing her arms around her head...just as the hull of the ship began to curve away. They had made it to the stern section.
Behind her she heard a sound like a car-crash. When she turned to look, there was the hovercraft—lying tilted in the water, folded down the middle like a half-open book, while the crew hurriedly abandoned her. Their pursuers had also made it through, but not without suffering significant damage.
"Let's get out of here." She groaned to Billy—knowing full well that he couldn't hear her but also knowing that he didn't need to be told...and they had almost reached the fog-bank anyway.
That should have been reassuring to the young doe-bunny. In fact, she was halfway certain that something else was going to happen before they made it. After all those other mishaps tonight—why wouldn't it?
Not this time, they slipped easily into the cloak of gray without a hitch.
Billy immediately powered down to cruising-speed, letting out another whoop.
Erin really wished he'd stop doing that; every time he did...
The superboat's engine began to sputter...and then it began to cough.
...And then it grumbled away into silence, leaving them to slither to a stop, dead in the water.
"Oh nooooo!" Just when the young doe-bunny thought she had run out of screams... "They got the engine!"
Billy turned in his seat, tapping fingers against the knuckles of his other paw. His voice was like a vinyl record being played at an erratic speed.
"Uhmmm, no actually, uhhhh...weeeee're, um...out of petrol."
For a long moment, Erin just looked at him—not knowing whether to scream again, or give herself a face pawlm.
She never got the chance to make up her mind. At that moment, Billy's cell-phone went off; the opening lyrics to the old Alice Raccooper tune, 'Under My Wheels.'
"Telephone is ringin'
You got me on the runnn..."
Erin had never wanted to laugh so badly. Sweet cheez n' crackers, could there possibly be ANYTHING more appropriate.
But when Billy pulled out the phone and looked at it, he next looked like he was going to have a heart-attack. He worked hurriedly to shut it off, all the while muttering under his breath, so rapidly that the young doe-bunny couldn't make out a word he was saying.
And then, stripping off his helmet, he cocked an ear and listened.
That was when Erin became aware of something...the sound of a motor; somewhere out in the fog, not the roar of a boat moving at full throttle, but the laid-back rumble of a vessel traveling at cruising speed.
And it was definitely coming straight at them.
Billy shrank into his seat, slapping the sides of his head and almost whimpering
"Nooo! No-no-no-no-no-no-no-NOOOOOOOOO!"
"Billy!" Erin cried, "Billy, what's wrong?" She would have jumped over the engine and shaken him if she could.
"Dead...that's it, dead!" The young Tasmanian tiger's paws were covering his face—and Erin could swear she saw tears trickling. Who the heck was out there?
She found out quickly, when it swung out of the fog like a gray-metal ghost—a big, steel-hulled cruiser with a forward-sloping cabin—topped by not one, but two radar-arrays. So that was how they'd been able to find the superboat in all this fog.
The cruiser eased up to them with an almost loving touch—and then vanished behind the glare of yet another spotlight. It swept over the smaller boat for a second and then went out...revealing another Tasmanian tiger, much older than Billy Mackenna, and also much burlier.
...And also VERY angry.
Billy hurriedly raised his paws.
"N-Now Da...don't go flyin' off the handle. Lemme expla..."
"SHADDUP!"
The younger thylacine wisely did just that.
But then the elder Tasmanian tiger reached up and took something from his shoulder. When he lowered his paw again, Erin saw a grey rat, dressed in denim and khaki, seated on the flat of his pawlm. On the top of his head...was that a skullcap?
Leaping onto the superboat, the rodent leaned in over the gunwale, peering down at the still, silent figure in the passenger seat.
"That 'im?" Colin Mackenna queried.
"Y-Yeah," Vernon J. Rodenberg, Attorney at Law answered in a shaky voice, "but...he doesn't look too good." He jumped down onto the silent young silver fox, landing on his chest in a four-point crouch.
"Conor...Conor, it's Mr. Rodenberg. Conor, can you hear me?"
Nothing; just an airy silence; one eye was closed, the other was open, but it appeared to have lost all its color.
In the back of the boat, Erin was silently weeping...and this time, there was no mistaking the tears in Billy's eyes.
"You fancy-pants little shmendrik," the grey rat shrieked, "don't you even go down on me NOW!"
Again...there was no response.
Rodenberg clicked his teeth and then turned and scampered downwards. Finding Conor's forearm, he opened his mouth and sank his incisors into it.
The effect was like a shock treatment. The young fox shuddered spasmodically and let out a barely audible whine. For just a hint of a second, his eyes flew open and then lazily fell shut again, both of them closed this time..
Rodenberg wiped his mouth with the back of his paw. "Sorry, kid...had to do it,"
"Right, let's get him over 'ere, then." Colin Mackenna was all business. "Bones," he turned and called into the cabin. "Bones, come and give us a paw out here, would yer?"
"I'm coming with you," Erin declared, starting to climb over the tail fin...only to be halted by a freezing stare from the Tasmanian tiger.
"Not in that state, yer not," he turned and called into the cabin again, "Bones, bring up that extra blanket while yer there."
Colin's brother was smaller than him, but other than that, they might have been twins. Exiting the cabin, he tossed a field-gray blanket to the thylacine, who in turn pitched it to Erin. "I'm not having you makin' a mess over here; wrap y'self up and then yer can come...Oi, Oi, Oi, not you, boy; YOU stay put!"
"I was only gonna help!" Billy instead, spreading his arms as if to embrace the older thylacine...who was having exactly none of it, jabbing at his son with a Final Judgment finger.
"When I want your help right now, I'll ask t' be talked out of it; now siddown...an' SHADDUP!"
Billy retreated into his seat without another word.
With the help of his brother, Colin was able to get Conor transferred with minimum of difficulty.
"Oi, look here, Colin...an oxygen bottle; should we give 'im some?"
"After we get 'im inside, Bones..." and then they disappeared through the cabin doorway.
When Billy's father returned a moment later, his expression had softened a bit—but only a bit.
"What's wrong with it, then Billy?"
He was pointing at the superboat's engine.
"Nothing serious, Da," his son answered hastily, "Just ran out of petrol's all."
Colin's paw slapped into his face. "Oi, f' the love o'...one minute, yer makin' me proud, and then the next...'annnng on."
He disappeared for a moment, returning with a red-painted jerry-can which he passed over the gunwale to his son.
"Right...now after y'get refueled," he raised an arm and pointed, "there's a canal viaduct over there, right by where the fish-plant's being built...."
In the cruiser's cabin, Erin didn't know whether to laugh or bang her head against the bulkhead. Without even knowing it, they had come full circle.
Meanwhile, Colin was telling his son, "Get inside there, s'far as you can, and wait for my call...oh, and now we're on the subject, William! Kingsfur! Mackenna!" He leaned forward, letting his jaw fall open, "Don't you EVER turn y' phone off when I try t' ring you! M' I clear on that?"
"Yes, Da." The younger thylacine answered with a helpless gulp.
"Good," his father nodded, satisfied and then pointed towards what was presumably the shoreline. "Get in there, get out of sight, and then get that boat cleaned up."
"Cleaned...UP?" Billy's eyes were wide and he was waving his paws as if attempting to dry them. "Wi' what, Da? I 'aven't got anything..."
"That's your problem, boy!" Colin cut him off with a snap of his jaws, "An' she better be spic an' span, next time I see 'er. Or else guess who's gonna be scrubbing bilges an' cleanin' up waste oil f' the next ten bloomin' YEARS?"
And on that note, the cruiser's engines rumbled to life and she eased away from the superboat.
A moment later, she was lost in the fog once more.
Author's note:
A lot of work went into this and the previous chapter. I re-watched a whole stack of chase scenes from a whole bunch of movies before I started work on them. These included, several James Bond films, Mad Max - Fury Road, the original Italian Job, Baby Driver, Bullitt, The French Connection, and, of course, The Bad Guys. I more or less didn't bother with the Fast and Furious films—and least not the later ones—since they mostly stepped outside the realm of reality.
The two standouts however were a couple of movies you probably never heard of. The first was Dutch film called Amsterdamned, about the hunt for serial killer stalking the canals of the movie's namesake city.
The second was a Spaghetti Western sendup from South Korea—yes, you read that right—called, The Good, The Bad, the Weird.
If you haven't seen the Good/Bad/Weird flick in its entirety, you should. Click the 'CC' button for the subtitles. The chase scene starts at 1:33: 39.
And that's all I've got for today; go away now.