What you don't have hope for ... you lose.

And crammed inside Devil's Hollow, hope was hard to hold to. The air was stuffy (and too warm), and there was limited space. Fur and form were squashed into the darkened, metal elevator. The only light being a dim one. A dim, reddish light on the ceiling. Which cast them all in an eerie glow.

C worked the controls. Prepping them to go.

"You sure this is safe?" Field whispered. Uncertain.

"Safe as a roller coaster," was C's caustic response. Tap-tapping at controls. Squinting at read-outs.

A pause. Before the mouse replied, "I don't ride roller coasters."

"You'll live," was C's assurance. "Just hold on a minute ... it's almost ready. I've gotta make sure we aren't leaving an energy trail. And I have to wait for one of the gaps in the surveillance system." She sighed and leaned against the sealed door. Waiting, waiting ...

Oh, it was stuffy. Oh, it was ...

" ... claustrophobic," whispered Field. "I'm claustrophobic."

"What AREN'T you, mouse? Mm?"

"Stop teasing him," Adelaide said.

"He deserves it."

"He's scared. It's his way of venting ... it's his way of coping. He rambles ... "

"Well, maybe he should ... "

"Hey, I'm standing right here!" Field reminded. Flushing beneath the fur. Frowning. Feeling awkward ... being talked about as if he weren't hearing. Which he WAS. It was hard for a mouse NOT to hear things. They had good ears.

"Quiet," Ma chided, as if she were the parent. "All of you." She frowned, furrowing her brow. And growled a bit from the throat.

"That's right, furs. Let's all behave. Or Ma will lock us in our rooms."

"Too late. We're locked in a tomb," Adelaide commented.

And silence came ...

Field breaking it, trying to breathe at a steady, normal rate. Trying. Oh, trying. Oh, asking, "Who built this thing ... I mean, who designed it? Was it you, C?"

C didn't exactly answer that. Only saying, "I had a paw in its ... conception." She wore her usual gruff look. "I don't wish to discuss it. I have discussed," she claimed, "enough with the three of you. More so than I felt safe doing. If any one of you betrays me ... " She let the sentence hang.

"I've got a question," Adelaide said, trying to calm everyone down. Trying to distract their antsy minds ... during the wait. "As long as we're asking questions ... how did we all get our names? I mean, we all have distinct names, don't we? I say Ma goes first. Come on, Ma ... "

Ma shrugged. As if it were no big deal. Saying, "It was given to me."

"Well, we KNOW that," Adelaide said softly. "But ... by who?"

"The students." A sigh. "Free potatoes? Remember? My first day assigned to the cafeteria ... I gave all the potatoes away. For free." She smiled slightly. "Wasn't supposed to do that, but ... I knew how tight Dee-Dee was with ‘food management.' I don't even know why I did it, but ... I just removed the potato pan from the food line, walked out into the cafeteria and yelled, ‘Free potatoes!' And ... you know, I started ... I became like a surrogate mother to the students," she said. Her voice got soft. "You know, none of the students knew ... I mean, a few of them did. But most of them didn't know the depths of the conspiracy. I mean, this was back before it got too hard-core. But ... I did my best to protect them. From behind the scenes. To put smiles on their faces. I'm a robot," she said, with a bit of sadness, but mostly with acceptance. "I can't reproduce. I have no blood. So ... I can't have children. I can't have a family. But I viewed the students as my children. I don't know. They sort of understood ... they started calling me Ma, and the name stuck. Sparta ... was a Greek city, as you know. A warrior city. I was built to be a warrior in the conspiracy. To be a new breed of robotic soldier. So, I merged the two names. Ma Sparta. The mother of war."

The others were quiet.

The elevator quietly thrummed ... and hummed. Waiting for motion. But not yet. Not yet. The window wasn't open yet.

"Well ... wow, Ma," said Adelaide, trailing.

Ma shrugged again. Trying to brush it off. Brush the emotions off. And nodded at C. "She's next."

"This is a waste of time," C insisted.

"Nothing's a waste of time," Ma responded, "unless you let it be. Play the game."

"What are you, now? A philosopher?"

"Your turn," Ma insisted, crossing her arms. Back to the wall.

C sighed, shook her head. Wearing her gruff frown (her usual expression). "Well, I don't know ... mine's not that impressive. There's no emotion behind it. Simply, I had clout. I had more clout that anyone around. It got to the point where ... it wasn't ‘clout,' it was ‘Clout' ... you know? I was super. Everyone thought I was super. Everyone liked me. I was going places. I had ... you know, life was super. So, with the C for ‘clout,' and the C for my real first name ... which I'm not telling any of you ... " A breath. "The C, and the super. Super C. Caring, concerned crusader. I was on a crusade. But ... well, things went wrong. Things got bad." She trailed. And there was a haunted look in her eyes. "Everything went bad."

Field bit his tongue to keep from saying, "I'm sorry." He was. Sorry for her. But no use saying it. She would only frown and say something caustic. She would only get defensive. No use trying to show empathy with Super C.

Adelaide tried to open her wings ... but there wasn't enough room. She just shuffled, letting out a breath. "Well, my turn ... I guess." She licked her teeth. And let out a breath. "Well, I don't know. All female bats are given ‘A' names at birth. There are no exceptions. I have a sister ... Akira. My mother is Aria. I mean, names like ... Annika, Audrey ... and so on. ‘A' names. So, that's part of it. Another part ... " She looked to the floor, smiling a bit ... biting her lip. And then looking back up. "My parents were missionaries. In Australia."

"Australia?" Ma asked.

"It's one of the most secular countries in the entire world. Very little ... if any ... Christian presence. Most furs don't realize that, but ... you know, I guess it's so. Anyway, our church sent missionaries there. To start a church in ... Adelaide, Australia. And I was conceived there," she whispered. "In that city. I wasn't born there. I've never laid eyes on it, but I was ... sparked into life, as it were, while they were in Adelaide."

That left only Field.

The mouse, shy and ... nose sniffing, twitching. Whiskers twitching. The mouse ... explained that, "I was named for the fields. My birthrights. My home." A pause. "I mean ... but mice aren't named when they're born. We're not named when we're born," he whispered, "because ... " He trailed. "Back when we were hunted to near-extinction," he whispered, "by the predators ... " He avoided looking at either C or Ma ... instead, looking to his own foot-paws. Looking to Adelaide's pink, bubble-gum fur. " ... we never lived to ... know what a name was, or ... " He cleared his throat. Drew a breath. "We were hunted," he said simply. "From the moment of birth. Mother mice wouldn't name their children until they could talk, or ... because they didn't wish to get attached." He spoke with a chill. Eyes watering. "So, when the predators came and took the child ... and killed it ... you know, if it never had a name, maybe it would be easier to lose. Easier to forget." He swallowed. Whispered, "Well, that's ... I mean, that was the rationale. And after the predators and prey came to a truce, and ... you know, when society started to ‘stabilize'," he said, almost biting the word. "Well, the tradition stuck. So, we're not named until we can talk."

They listened.

And he continued, "I'm a farm mouse. The fields were my first sights. My first loves. I would look out at them. They were my oceans. The fields were my beautiful seas, and ... so, the first word I ever spoke was ... field." He giggled so airily, eyes lost in something. Innocent. "Field," he whispered.

Silence.

The sensor system beeped. Beeped. Beeped ...

"It's ready," C said. And she blinked, blinked ... and turned her attention back to the controls. "Um ... anyway, this thing doesn't have seatbelts, so ... or seats. So ... you'll just have to brace yourselves."

Adelaide nodded.

Field stared blankly at the floor.

Ma closed her eyes.

And C pulled the lever.

A horrible, mechanical grating. A rusty screech. A sound that the Devil would make. A sound he would make while outside your window ... while waiting at your gate. A sound he would make while throwing rocks against the side of your house. Begging you come down and play with him.

Devil's Hollow, the elevator, the lift, the transport ...

... went. Went. Went!

What did it run on? Coal? Electricity? The vestige of discarded faith? Of lives lost? Whatever its power source, it ran ...

... and ran, and ran, and ... hummed, hummed.

Thrummed!

Going down.

Field quivered. Feeling his stomach move. He whimper-squeaked at the sensation of falling. Which slowed, slowed ... before slamming to a halt.

And, suddenly, they were going sideways.

C cursed quietly.

Adelaide latched a paw to Field's ...

... while Ma, eyes still closed, seemed to be the only one not experiencing the negative effects of this ‘joy-ride' ...

One question Field had been meaning to ask ... but hadn't: how did this contraption get its name? Why was it called Devil's Hollow?

Now, he knew. He needn't ask. Now, he felt it. Felt the hardened metal quiver and quake. Felt his bones shake. Felt his courage and confidence waver. Being in this thing, in such a tight, airless space, with the red lights and the horrible, technological sounds ... it was almost enough to convince him to sit down. To fall to the floor and cower. Almost enough to convince him to sit down ... after making a vow to sit down for nothing. To not move. To not bend. To not fail.

Almost.

Almost enough ...

But Field had endured far more evil things, and things of much deeper sadness ... than Devil's Hollow. Compared to the things he'd felt, this elevator was a carnival ride. And, perhaps, when he got off, he'd win a prize. Wouldn't that be nice?

Perhaps, when they stepped out of this thing ... and into the basement of the Quaker church, there would be Coke bottles lined up on the floor. With rings to toss. And maybe he'd toss them all. And ring them round the bottles. And win a big plush thing. Win a trophy for his dues. Win a trophy for his hardships. Which he would proudly give to Adelaide.

Perhaps ...

... not.

The lift SLAMMED to a halt.

And they all careened and bumped off one another.

A squeak, a chitter, a bark, and a hiss. Each of them sounding their sound ... as they went to a pile on the ground.

"Well, I think we're there," C said, sighing and huffing as she got back up. To her foot-paws. Wanting to strangle these walls. "I don't care who's out there, I'm opening the damn door."

No one argued as she yanked the door release (which needed to be greased).

And, door opened, their eyes were forced to adjust. Squinting, blinking, they stumbled out. The four of them. Stumbled out onto the concrete floor of the church's basement. The basement was a TRUE basement. Not very well furnished. Full of odds and ends. A plastic Christmas tree with the decorations still on it. Bicycles. An old air conditioner. Chairs.

And, there, in the midst of it all, seven feet tall ... was the stasis tube. With computer consoles horizontally running out of each side of it. Computer screens on the farthest wall. But it wasn't the computers that drew the eye. Wasn't the tube itself. It was the occupant. Pale and frozen in deep, deep sleep was ... the mastermind of this. The germination force behind this conspiracy. Behind the guard trolleys. Behind this whole darkness.

General Sheridan.

Ma, steely-eyed, walking with slow, calculated purpose, approached the tube. The front was frosted from cold. Frosted with a thin layer of ice crystals. And Ma's black, padded paw ... swiped over the bitter glass. Swipe. Wipe ... clearing the view.

General Sheridan. A raccoon. More portly than not. And dressed in Union blue. A Civil War relic. An unknowable figure. But radiating of such menace ...

Adelaide crept forward. Field behind her.

C lingered behind them ... sniffing the scent of the room. Dust and cobwebs. Mold. She, being a bulldog, had the best nose. And she sniffed about.

"We meet," Ma whispered, face right against the glass. Her breath fogged it up. "At last, General. We meet at last." She wiped the fog away.

"We have to get rid of him," was all Field said. Whispering it. Afraid, maybe, they would be overhead. "Just ... get rid of him, Ma. Pull the plug."

Ma swallowed. And reached for the plug, as if not giving it a thought, but ... stopped. Thinking. Stopped. Hesitating.

"Ma ... " Adelaide now. "Ma, you said you could do it."

"I can," she whispered. Unblinking. Paw just a few inches from the plug. Just a few inches. "I can."

"Then do it!" C growled. "Do it ... the faster we get out of here, the better." Her nose told her that other furs had been in this room not thirty minutes before. And they might come back. If they did ... if they were discovered ... if they were stopped from completing this mission.

Ma swallowed again. What was happening ... what was ... she felt a sudden resistance inside of her. And she knew. Oh, she knew. She was a PART of this conspiracy. Had been built for it. Programmed into the darkest corners of her mind, into her recesses ... was an instinctual subroutine: protect General Sheridan at all costs. Her own programming wouldn't allow her to do it. Her mind, her heart ... oh, she KNEW what had to be done, but her mechanics ... were fighting her. Were bringing her down.

Adelaide could see it. Started to fathom what was going on, and ... fearing that Ma would turn on them (though after getting to know the alley-cat, she didn't want to believe she would). Fearing this indecision, Adelaide went for Ma. Pulled her away.

"Let me go," Ma whispered. Lacking any sort of energy or hope. Not struggling.

"No," Adelaide whispered into her ear. Wrapping her winged arms around her. From behind. Backing her away. Keeping her restrained. Knowing that, should Ma choose to, she could overpower the bat's grip at any time ... but Ma was engaged in a sudden war inside. The war inside was rendering her helpless. "No ... "

"Somebody do something ... we can't lolly-gag here."

"Look," Adelaide said, breathing out. Breathing in. All muzzle and fangs and fur and wings. A beating, vibrant thing, the bat. Field fixated on her. She ... a warm thing to carry him. She ... radiant, restraining a haunted, torn Ma Sparta. She, saying, "Look ... look, someone has to do this. Field ... C ... look, someone ... "

"Why not you?" C demanded.

"If Ma turns on us ... we're dead. All of us. I have to restrain her while someone pulls the plug. It has to be one of you." And, Lord, she didn't want it to be Field. He was too innocent. He was too faithful. Was this ... murder? Was it? Did this even count? Look what General Sheridan had done, and ... what he had caused, and he was basically dead, anyway, wasn't he? The mouse would be committing no cardinal sin ... but that was just an excuse, wasn't it? And even if they didn't do the deed themselves, Adelaide and Field, being the furs of the faith in this room ... if they didn't try and stop it ... they would be accomplices.

They had come here to end this. And ending it ... required ending the General's mortal coil.

Adelaide, voice barely audible, whispered, "Somebody pull that plug ... "

C, deep down ... was a coward. Used her gruffness to put on a show. Put on an act. But ...

... it was Field, eyes darting, who said, "I'll do it ... "

Adelaide meet his eyes. Her eyes pained, and his ... too moist. Too moist for their own good. Only tears could come from such moistness. But the mouse held them back. He wouldn't cry unless he was alone with her. And only her. He would hold those tears for later ...

The mouse approached the General's tube. He eyed the computer consoles on either side of it. Read the telemetry coming from the town's two water towers. Read the telemetry from the satellites in orbit. The Sheridan Network. General Sheridan's handiwork. And, finally, he eyed the General.

The mouse never trusted raccoons. They were too enigmatic. Too fake. Their ring tails were nothing more than ... bull's-eyes for trouble. And as the mouse squinted through the frozen glass, he wondered of the past. What had caused this. What had prolonged it. And whether or not he would be remembered for ending it.

Too much thinking.

Don't think, don't think ...

... do.

Do.

Reaching for the plug, the mouse's paw clamped around it. Around the wire. Oh, the wire. And he paused for a moment. Shivering. As if feeling all the darker thoughts running in and out of him. Every inch of doubt, every bit of fear ... it enveloped him here. At this point. As he remembered every memory of his past. Every loss. Every pain. And all his fears of what would happen to him ... the illnesses and accidents that had taken so many around him. And the darker paths that seemed to shroud him. So many were drowning. So many had traded their souls. So many.

General Sheridan being one of them.

This had to be stopped. HE had to be stopped. This conspiracy couldn't be allowed to contaminate more souls than it already had. It couldn't be allowed to turn every bit of joy into something vile and bad.

It could not ...

... endure. Of that, the mouse was sure.

And he started to pull the plug ...

... only to be slammed in the side. Hard. With an "oomph" ... he skidded across the hard floor. Sliding into some empty cardboard boxes, which toppled all around.

He had been pounced. By ...

... "Mandy," was Ma's haunted voice. Mandy. Mandy was the line of robot created before Ma's line. Ma's line had been designed to replace Mandy. In a way, Mandy and Ma were sisters. In a way, they were family.

In a way.

Field wriggled and writhed away, and felt the claws dig into his fur. He squeaked. Squeaked! And tried to get to his back, but she kept him pinned to his belly. A cheetah, she kept him pinned. Dug her paws and claws in. And bit his neck.

The mouse whimper-squeaked. Pained. This was not the kind of bite that Adelaide gave him. The loving, numbing bite ... this was not that kind of nip. This was violent. This was an unnatural rip into his fur and flesh. Drawing blood.

Field, frantic, filled with prey-like reaction, began operating on adrenaline. Get, get, get away ... and he managed to get to his side, where he could use his legs and foot-paws. Where he drew his legs in ... and kicked them out.

Mandy hissed, and Field crawled away.

She yanked his ropy tail. Yanked! Used it to reel him in ... and was about to sink her teeth in again. About to draw more blood ...

... when Adelaide came in like a pink, furious bullet. Diving into the cheetah's side. Sending them both sprawling. Away from the boxes ... and back to the shadow of the stasis tube.

Field, dazed, blood staining the honey-tan fur of his neck, twitched and sniffed ... sitting up. Dazed and squeaking. Head pounding. Heart fearing. He started to move toward his mate ...

... who threw a flaring punch at the cheetah.

Who blocked it. Who twisted the bat's wrist.

Adelaide chittered weakly, kneeing the cheetah ... and trying to pin her arms to the floor. The cheetah hissed and growled, pushing her off, and crawling for the stairs (which Field suddenly realized they had ... foolishly not monitored), she reached for a weapon there. And, heaving, fur matted with sweat, the cheetah aimed the weapon right at the bat's head.

The bat froze. Folding her delicate wings against her sides. A submissive gesture ... knowing she was at a disadvantage.

"Just ... just try it," Mandy dared. Breasts heaving beneath her attire. "Just ... try," she panted. Swallowing. And she got to her knees. Her tail swaying dangerously behind her. Her claws out of their paw-pads. And her ears flattened to her skull. "All of you," she hissed. "To the floor. NOW!"

Weakly, the four of them complied. Field and Adelaide injured form the battle. Ma still in a state of shock. And Super C ... her usual self. Gruff and squinting.

Mandy nodded, wiping her lip. The blood from her lip. Field's blood. She wished for more of it, but ... that would be for later. Right now, she went to the tube. Punched in the correct coding sequence. And a de-pressurization sound was heard.

Adelaide's eyes widened. Her pink, sunset-colored eyes ... as she knew what Mandy was doing.

"It'll take five minutes for him to thaw, but when he does," she vowed, trailing. Leaving the words in the air. For there was nothing she could say that could compare to the imagined horrors the General would inflict on the rebels.

Ma finally spoke to her "sister" ... saying, "You truly have no soul. How could you ... do this?"

"Sister, how could YOU?" she demanded. Taking an angry step forward. Yellow fur an angry sort of yellow. Spots seeming to stand out. She was lithe. She was fast. And strong. And she was a robot, too. Like Ma. It was no wonder she had so easily bested Field and Adelaide ... the only one in this room who could physically take Mandy down was Ma.

"You're perpetuating this darkness."

"You are opposing ORDER," Mandy shouted. Obviously mad. She was mad with rage. From the times she'd been locked in Mrs. Mauve's closet ... from all the menial jobs she'd been forced to do. Just to make ends meet. Just to please those around her. Oh, Mandy resented most everyone. Ma, especially. "You are your ... band of misfits," Mandy hissed. "I KNEW ... I knew, Ma, when the trolleys were derailed. I KNEW you were involved. And I knew it would only be a matter of time before you went for the General."

It was Adelaide who answered for Ma. The bat's fangs showing, glistening, dripping ... not with the telepathic linking chemical (that she used to join her mind with Field's ... that she would inject in his blood), but with ... the blood from her own lip. Dripping down her lip, down her fangs. And staining spots of her fur from pink to red. Adelaide, in animal-like defensive mode, said for Ma, "Cut off the head, and the snake dies."

"What?" Mandy asked. Frowning.

"The head is that tube. The snake ... is the legacy he's wrought. Cut off the head," the bat whispered.

"I won't give you the chance," Mandy assured. "You've come here for nothing. Well, nothing ... aside from a front-row seat to history. Today, I am making history. I am waking the General."

"Then you have my pity. So consumed are you," the bat breathed. "So lost are you."

"You know NOTHING," Mandy assured, "about me, bat. About me and Ma. You don't know ... anything," she said.

"I don't need to. I don't need to KNOW," she bit back, "anything ... to know self-destruction. I know it when I see it. I know hopelessness ... what are you hoping to do here? You think if you wake the General ... what will he bring to you? Will you be happier? Will his return fulfill you? Does this conspiracy ... sustain you?" Adelaide demanded. "Why do you apologize for it? What is your justification?" she demanded.

"Order," was Mandy's response. "The order of things ... the ... "

"You're ... INSANE," Adelaide growled. "All of this is INSANE. Why doesn't anybody SEE that? Why doesn't anybody care?!"

Mandy fired a warning shot ... at the ceiling. The sound was horribly loud, and plaster rained down.

Field's ears were ringing.

Ma seemed to be in a state of depression.

C just listened with a grimace.

And the General, in his tube, began to stir. His heartbeat went to normal speeds. And his eyes opened, and ...

Mandy chuckled and nodded, and went to the tube. And opened it. Releasing a chill into the room. Causing all the furs to shiver.

Time seemed to stop.

And the General stepped out. Stepped out, and ... took a deep, shaky breath. Steadily trying to breathe, and then ... he locked eyes with Mandy.

Mandy nodded sincerely. "Sir," she whispered. "Welcome back, sir." Her voice held revelry. Held honor.

The General squinted. Not knowing who Mandy was, but sensing ... she was loyal to him. He nodded at her, and turned to look at the four on the floor.
"Traitors, sir," added Mandy. "I thought you would wish to dispose of them ... while I fill you in on all that's happened."

The General nodded. Saying, in his husky tone, "I need nourishment. Get me something to eat. I'll kill them ... for dessert."

Mandy chuckled obediently. "Good one, sir."

"Food."

Mandy's smile faded as she realized ... there was no food in the church. The only thing in the refrigerator was a bottle of dill pickle slices. And they had expired seven months ago. But she wasn't about to offer this as an excuse to the General.

There was silence. There was tension.

And it was Field ... who's eyes brightened. And he looked to C and whispered, opening a paw, "Chicle. Give me your chicle." His nose twitched and sniffed incessantly. She had chicle in her pocket.

"What? No!" she whispered back.

"C, come on ... I need it."

"Field," whispered Ma (with unmistakable sullenness). "I told you ... C's chicle is bait. It's poisonous. You can't have it."

"It's not," the mouse whispered, "for me."

"Stop talking in the presence of the General!" Mandy demanded, ears swiveling. Trying to overhear them. "What are you saying?"

"C, come on ... "

General Sheridan blinked and looked around, still thawing out, still confused. Still coming to his senses. This was by no means ... General Sheridan at full strength. Give him half an hour, though ...

"Sir, we mustn't wait. We must kill them now. They're traitors."

Field suddenly started making obvious chewing and chomping sounds. Moving his jaw. "Mm ... mm ... "

Adelaide did the same. Chew-chewing.

As did Ma. And, eventually ... C. All of them chew-chewing and going "mm" ...

General Sheridan sniffed the air. "What," he demanded groggily, "are you eating?"

"Chicle," said Field, holding out a paw. And though the mouse was normally shy, though he normally didn't make eye contact ... he met the General's gaze with a burning ferocity. Paw held out. A packet of chicle lying there. "Want some?" he whispered.

"It's good," Adelaide added. For effect.

"Give it to me!" Sheridan growled. Sold on the powers of this so-called "chicle." Snatching it ... sniffing it. "What is this?" he asked again.

"It's gum, sir. You chew it," Mandy explained.

"Like pine sap?" The General sniffed it. Unwrapped a piece from its foil.

"Something like that," Field said quietly. With knowing tone.

And Sheridan put a piece of gum on his tongue, and let the taste seep in. Before chewing. Chew-chewing. "Mm ... mm," he went.

Mandy, suspicious of this WHOLE thing, noticed, suddenly ... none of the others were chewing anymore. And they hadn't swallowed their gum (for who swallows gum). No, they'd ... never been chewing it in the first place. They'd been faking it. Her eyes widened. She glared at Field.

"Forbidden tastes ... what tolls they take," the mouse whispered, head at a tilt. "I pray that you come to grace."

"You damn nut!" Mandy shrieked. Oh, she wanted to throttle that mouse. Wanted to bloody him to a pulp. But she hadn't time. She turned to her leader. "General, spit it out! They've given you poisoned chicle!"

The room seemed to spin.

It was too late. The raccoon gasped and sputtered ... feel to his knees, and ... foaming from the mouth, he started to spasm.

Field, flinching, looked away. As did Adelaide. They were prey. Death, to them, was always wrenching.

But Ma and C ... they watched. With a sort of satisfaction. Knowing this was it. This was IT. The end of all seductive things. And the birth of all that sings.
General Sheridan had finally been done in. By C's chicle and Field's guile. In the basement of the Quaker church.

And Mandy was in disbelief. Reeling, she shook her head. "No ... no," she whispered. And, while whispering, was pounced by Ma. Ma, suddenly back in shape, with her energy back ... smacked Mandy to the floor. Her weapon skittering to Adelaide.

The bat picked up the weapon. Aimed it at the computers. The motherboards for the Sheridan Network. And she unloaded the weapon. Every discharge ... sparking. Every shot ... hearkening another death-knell for the conspiracy.

Mandy, in a final act of fury, wrestled away from Ma and went for the stairs. Pausing halfway up, panting, ragged, saying, "This isn't OVER, furs! I'll go to Sheridan, Wyoming ... they're still loyal there. This will come around," she promised, "again. No matter how long it takes. Just you wait ... " And she left ... vowing, "The Sheridan Conspiracy is forever! There will ALWAYS," she said, "be a Sheridan town ... be it here or there."

And ...

... in the quiet aftermath, in the silence ... they breathed.

And Field looked to Adelaide. And breathed.

Ma stood up and cleared her throat. Breathed.

And C suggested they "get some fresh air."

So, they all went up the stairs. No longer needing to use Devil's Hollow. Granted, there were parts of this conspiracy ... still remaining. But the head had been chopped off, the body of it all ... would soon cease to function. The roots pulled, the branches would wither.

The Sheridan Conspiracy had truly been struck a fatal blow.

Though with Mandy fleeing to Sheridan, Wyoming, who was to say ... that it wouldn't resurrect itself some day? In some other way? With another cast of furs? And a more devious plot? Who was to say ...

But, for the moment, this Sheridan ... Sheridan, Indiana ... had been liberated.

And Ma, C, Adelaide, and Field left the church. Went to the front steps. And breathed of the winter chill. Of the flurries and the flakes. Of the grey. Of the long and winding day.

"I guess it's time," Ma said, "to choose a direction." She eyed the clouds. Eyed the bare trees. She breathed.

"Haven't we already?" Adelaide posed.

"We chose one, but ... where do we go from here? I see many roads," Ma said, closing her eyes and breathing deep. Feeling almost real. Almost ... real.
"I have my clout back," C piped in. In case anybody cared.

But Ma was too busy reflecting. Reacting. Reaching to the future.

And Field was too busy with Adelaide. Having pressed her to the swinging screen door. Head tilted, kissing her lips ... and more. To her cheeks. To her neck. And, stopping, hugging, panting, parting. Saying, "We look a fright, don't we?"

She smiled wearily. "A bit ... "

The mouse and bat ... their fur matted with sweat and blood. Both of them tired and bruised. The mouse and bat, despite all that, had found a buoyant, brightened mood. Feeling suddenly free. To love and to be. Weightless. Debts paid. And all they found: their youth, and God-given time.

They found preciousness.

"Darling," Field breathed. Right onto her cheek.

"Yes?" she whispered back.

"I ... thank you. For everything. For all of it. For ... I've never known you," he admitted, "from the sun. That's how much a light," he confessed, "you are to me. And I won't have it put out. Not by the town. The conspiracy. Not by trial or circumstance. I ... love you," he breathed, "so much."

Her eyes, shut, watered ... even at a close. As she stood on the tips of her toes ... with her winged arms around his neck. And as the mouse, quietly crying, kissed her shoulder.

Alive. They were alive!

The world was waiting. Hibernating ... waiting for the spring. For daffodil-scented things. For the yellows and the blues. For the tones and the hues. The world was at rest. Finally, finally ... at inherited rest.

With the darkness gone, this winter would spawn ...

... a new day. A day they hadn't seen before.

And, while able, they would plan for it. So they could throw it a party when it came. So they could live it.

They were, seemingly, standing in tomorrow ... on the runway. And all their dreams were landing. Landing, this time. Finally landing. Not taking off. And not flying away.

And no storms (or trolleys) come.