Published at the Treasures of Thundera Group October 31, 2003
:taken from my original author's notes:
Well it took me a bit longer than I had expected but at last I was able to finish this fic this afternoon. Although I spent a lot of long, agonizing hours combing it top to bottom, I know there'll be some typos lingering. I blame Gates myself. I know I have other commitments, I've still not finished the Xanadu rewrite and there's another surprise up my sleeve, but I just had to finish this one. It's based on an idea that came to me one night. I tried to keep it very Poesque despite the third-person perspective.
"And the Thunder Tank Tumbled After" by RD Rivero (2003-01-08)
From one end of the garage to the other, the air of the vast workroom was cooled by the currents of winter, tempered by the stillness of night – the clear, unobstructed moonlight seeped through the wide, narrow slits of the open, hangar doors. The garage, like many of the Tower's features, was exceptionally large inside though deceptively small outside. It was Tygra's genius – the master illusionist at his finest.
"Are you sure this is safe?" Pumyra asked as she and the Thunder Kittens loaded surplus gear and equipment into the Thunder Tank.
"Of course," Panthro answered as he approached the vehicle with two lanterns. "I've taken this trip from the Tower to the Northern Shore too many times to count."
"It's a long scary ride," WileyKat interjected, speaking through a loud, stretched yawn. Teasing his sister, he added: "It's full of shadows and darkness – and monsters!"
"ARGH!" WileyKit growled, rolling her eyes. Elbowing her brother, she mocked: "You haven't frightened me in years and you'll need to do better than that to impress me!"
The puma shook her head and sighed, turning from the mischievous twins to the heavy sacks – cargo that had to be fitted into already crowded storage bins one way or another.
"I'll take those," the panther said, lifting the sacks – one on each arm. "I'll stow them in the cabin."
She slammed the compartments shut – the packages rumbled and vibrated.
The Thunder Tank, for all of its size, was running out of room. Their duties and obligations were multiplying: outposts always needed refueling, allies always needed rearming. Day trips, night trips, emergencies – the problem was so overwhelming, so overbearing that plans had been drawn to construct two new vehicles just to deliver supplies.
Panthro nodded, Pumyra thanked the kittens and with that they retired to their bedroom. Soon, very soon, they would be old enough to carry their share of the burden. Indeed, it would be the adults helping them to pack for the somber secret midnight ventures.
"It's just that" – she paused, scratching her cheek – "just that –"
He smiled, loading the cabin with sundry items.
"I mean it's just that –"
She had the ideas in her head, just not the words in her mouth.
"Relax, relax – haven't you made the trip at night?"
The puma nodded, more embarrassed than anything.
"It can be dangerous – I won't mislead you – the terrain is notorious for ditches and ravines that appear out of nowhere. Liono almost drove off a cliff – if it hadn't been for Cheetara's sharp eyes." He laughed to break the tension – worried that his matter-of-fact tone was not smoothing but heightening her fears. He grasped her shoulders: "Nothing will happen, you'll see. Sit up front with me, take a nap: by the time you wake up, we'll be at the Tuskan camp. It'll be like, like nothing had happened. You'll see."
"Sometimes I swear you men will be the death of me." She smiled assured and content – and safe. She always felt safe and at ease around him, even more so than when she was with Bengali.
"Did you take everything?" the panther asked but the puma did not answer. "Pumyra?"
"Panthro?"
"Your stuff? Is it all here?"
"Oh, that." She spun and scanned the garage. She searched for her green satchel, her single piece of luggage – over time and experience she had learned to pack lightly, just enough and no more. Finding it resting limp and lifeless near stacks of empty crates and up-turned boxes, she seized it and hurried back to the vehicle. "I guess that's it. We've got everything we'll need on board."
"You know, you look exhausted. Would you like to get some rest?" Panthro asked, getting into the cabin.
"I haven't been sleeping well lately," Pumyra answered, following.
"Bad dreams?"
He pressed a dashboard button – a 'roof' extended over their heads, conforming to the very shape and contour of the windshield, sealing them off from their environment. He pressed another button – heat generated by the engines vented into the Thunder Tank.
"Bad nights. I keep remembering Thundera; I keep reliving its last moments. I do nothing but agonize and second-guess myself. Had I acted faster, had I kept my wits about me, I just know Lynxo might have kept his sight."
She sighed and folded her hands over her lap.
"But – how could you have foreseen anything like that happening? How could you be faulted for something you had no control over? You shouldn't be that had on yourself."
"I know, I know," she said, patting his knee and letting her warm touch linger. "My mind doesn't work that way. I go through it, over and over again. Sometimes I worry that I add events or embellish details, either of which I know hadn't happened. Sometimes – oh, but it doesn't matter now, not now, I guess."
"Sleep will do you good," he said, latching onto her withdrawing fingers for a moment longer. "You'll see. Sleep. I'm telling you, this trip is at most six hours. The trail is snowy and bumpy until we pass the Treetop Kingdom – it's smooth from there to the Northern Shore. I made a point of clearing as much of it as I could the last time I drove this trip. There's nothing to worry about. It's perfectly safe."
Nothing to worry about, she thought to herself. Perfectly safe. Perfectly. Safe.
He started the engines and the vehicle roared to life with a jumble of howls and wails – the cargo in its trunk and the items on its backseat reacted with a mishmash of snarls and grumbles of their own. He dimmed the lights of the garage and through the wane of their ambiance the astral glow of the nightly heavens that oozed into the workroom eked dull but perceptible silhouettes across the concrete and mortar floor of the underground hangar.
"This is Panthro, copy. I'm waiting to get clearance."
"This is Bengali, over," a husky, feral voice responded from the intercom to their ears – oddly, Pumyra did not react. Her mind was elsewhere; her eyes were directed to the wide, narrow doors and their scant glimpses of the world outside. "You have clearance to leave. Good luck on your trip."
He laughed as he replied: "There's no such thing as luck. Tell the Tuskans to be ready to meet us in the morning. We'll have their supplies in and out before even they know it."
"Will do."
"Over and out."
He set the intercom to standby and released the brakes. She did not turn her head or blink – she was aware of the garage doors growing larger and larger until they consumed her field of view and vanished. With that they were engulfed completely by the night. She was awake but not alert, conscious only about changes – sudden shifts of the environment. The air turning from mildly cold to bitter cold, the lights going from muffled shadow to downright darkness – but she could not recall with exactitude the nature and order of the changes.
He drove through the main trail – dead and brittle leaves, bare shrubs and naked bushes were crushed under the weight of the vehicles treads. Little by little, the Tower of Omens receded deeper and deeper into the background – he could see it with the rear-view monitor – until he had fully penetrated into the body of the forests and its visage disintegrated amid the entangled branches of the colossal trees. The roadway was a mixture of banked turns and cobblestone bridges but for the most part it remained largely free of obstacles. The snow and slush had not reached into that territory – or if it had, the power of the sun, weak as it was, had been enough to melt the offending substances away.
He passed into a clearing between two rugged, tree-faced hills. Ahead was a mass of trees, a formless mass with a square-shaped opening where the trail continued. To the left and right were fields of snow virgin snow so flat and featureless it amplified the dim light of the stars and the moon so brightly it hurt his eyes.
She shook out of her trance and shivered although the clime in that covered part of the cabin had warmed. The scene was utterly beautiful, but its stark loneliness, its bleak landscape filled her with dreadful melancholy and foreboding. Yet before she could dwell upon the creepy vision – the skeletal trees, the withered plants – the vehicle entered into that opening she had only partially noticed earlier and once again she was locked between the tight vistas of ancient wilderness.
The bright white snow persisted, however, for it continued to cover the ground between the trees – but its extent was dampened and unnoticeable. The trail, sprinkled here and there with ice that had not thawed, was smooth and interrupted only by fallen branches, stones and boulders. But, as always, the tank was well-equipped to handle it and under the panther's expert mechanics and guidance, the puma could not feel a bump only the shifting pull of gravity as they moved up or down hillsides.
The Tower of Omens was a lifetime away – despite the fact that the changes took place over the course of an hour. Her fears, too, diminished and in hindsight seemed to have been premature. Perhaps it was just that she hated night-time travel. Perhaps it was just that her lack of sleep – her abundance of nightmares – were clouding her better judgment. Irregardless, he was right, they were well on their way and nothing but a sudden ambush by Mutants or Lunatacs – if that – could stop them.
"When we get back," Panthro said, as if to say something, anything. "I'm going to try a new trail. It'll be during the day, so we'll have nothing to worry about."
"Another trail? Has it been cleared?"
"Partially – by the Warrior Maidens last fall. It's a very old roadway, but one that can be readily found – if you know where to look. The Amazonians think it's haunted; they tell tales of demons and the like who stalk the woods and molest the travelers. Charming. But I figure it's the best thing to do, safety-wise, to rotate the routes, to keep – undesirables – from interfering."
"Slythe's crew and Luna's posse," Pumyra elaborated, "the modern demons and the like." She scratched her cheek and busied herself with her mind's work. Indeed she was safe, safe enough to venture a dream or two.
It was Thundera's last day. The sky was blood-red; the clouds were dark-orange and permeated the heavens from one side of the horizon to the other. Smoldering rocks from erupting volcanoes streaked through the air above – bombarding tall towers and buildings, shattering glass and sending sharp debris like rains of death upon crowds of hopeless – lost – denizens below.
"No! Not under that!" Pumyra pled as she and Bengali carried the older Lynxo through the streets.
"It's the only cover we've got," the white tiger shouted.
"No, Bengali!" she yelled but her voice could scarcely be heard over the frantic cries of the riotous mob. "No, Bengali!" Why can't I scream louder? She tugged his arm but he would not respond and, worse, the debilitated lynx fell from their grasp to the burnt and littered street.
"Wait, Bengali!"
A building nearby exploded and as it collapsed top to bottom, fireballs plumed from the wreck. She heard the men cry through the smoke and ash and she rushed to their side. Bengali was unconscious on his back, Lynxo was burned all over his body – his face, his eyes, were on fire.
"Lynxo!"
She screamed and awoke suddenly – cold and shivering in her chair, her seat. She was back in the Thunder Tank, she was safe again – but her breath was apace and her pulse was rampant. Ironic that her gasps were more audible than her nocturnal screams had been. Calming and coming to, she saw that the trees and shrubs to the sides remained static, the vehicle had stopped.
"This is Bengali, copy!" a harsh and quick tone broke through the intercom.
Shaking blue hands touched the transmission button.
"I'm sorry, Tower, this is Panthro, over."
"What is it?" Pumyra asked, rubbing her eyes and adjusting her clothes – only then noticing that the inside of the Thunder Tank was dreadfully cold and tainted with a peculiar, woodsy odor.
"She was just having a nightmare," the panther continued – the tiger on the other end of the connection sighed. "She's better now. Over and out."
He switched the intercom from standby to off.
"Are you all right?" he asked her as he adjusted his posture and brushed off of his arms something that first seemed like nothing –
"Yes, quite, she answered – almost that sort of nothing that would have been unnoticed except that as he ran his hands through his short, trim body fur, she heard a most distinctive sort of crackle – one that she had heard all throughout the trip. And she noticed tiny dust-size particles –
"You were convulsing."
She raised an eyebrow: "It wasn't anything."
Panthro restarted the engines but waited a few moments to set the vehicle into motion. Pumyra scratched her cheek and pondered a while over the content of the dream. He drove silently – too silently. She was distracted – for she knew perfectly well that not a single iota of the nightmare had happened. It was already the tenth version of the events of that horrible day that her mind had conjured.
"No! Not under that!"
The panther seemed worried – or at least that was what the puma read into his behavior: his edgy jittering, his nervous tapping of dials and readouts.
"No, Bengali! Wait, Bengali!"
"I hope I didn't disturb you," she said at length, trying to break the ice.
"It was –"
"It's just –"
"Got me worried, that's all," he said, running his syllables into hers.
The two stopped and smiled, giggling tensely.
"Perhaps you should talk to Cheetara about it, it's obviously got you all worked up."
She sighed: "Perhaps." Or perhaps I can do without sleep. After all, one day she would be asleep forever – what a perfect opportunity to make up for all of those lost hours of slumber. But she restrained her enthusiasm for that most permanent and impractical solution. "One way or another, until we get there, I'm doing everything I can to stay awake."
He nodded a quick grunt.
There was no where to run, no where to hide from the torture of her mind – she simply could not get the dream out of her head. She recalled it – involuntarily. Recounting its exact details, so vivid, so fresh, replaying its events again and again. It was as if she were asleep with her eyes wide open. The exploding cities, the screeching projectiles, earthquakes, eruptions: the deafening shouts of the planet dying. It was real, all so real, but not Lynxo's burnt eyes, Bengali's limp body. It just did not happen that way. It was a picture of a disturbed imagination, a glimpse of a world that could have been but never was.
Yet Lynxo's eyes lingered and how she obsessed over that one, singular feature.
The Thunder Tank sped through the trail with its lights exceedingly dim – bright enough to cast silhouettes of nearby objects, but not enough to discern texture, substance. It was not safe, not by any means – it was as if Panthro were fleeing, as though he were being chased. Had Pumyra not been as confined between the dream and the real-world, she would have picked up on the peculiarity of the situation but reliving the horror as she was, she was oblivious.
The eyes burned and the body melted as if the flames were the wick and Lynxo was the wax.
She gasped – he turned to her. She could see it, the bright eyes burning, basking amid the darkness, the shadow. It, whatever it was, was now no longer just trapped in her head – it had escaped – it had leaked out and hovered so close she could have reached over and touched it had it not been for the glass of the windshield barring her grasp.
"AHHH!" she screamed for in that brief moment when nothing remained of Lynxo but his eyes, when the dream and the real-world blurred into a mess of convoluted hallucinations, she could have sworn that it was no more than inches from her face.
Panthro let out a slur of his own as he gunned the engines – the vehicle shook violently as it careened across what seemed to be an unexpected bump on the road.
"Did we hit something?" Pumyra asked. She turned to him – she could see the sweat in his brow coursing along its knotted folds. He did not answer, he continued to speed. "Panthro, I think we hit something."
"Just your imagination," he said gruffly, "you've been catatonic for hours – night dreaming if there's such a word."
"Hours?"
Hours, minutes, seconds – the stubbornly persistent illusion of time.
"It's the three in the morning; we left the Tower at midnight."
She had been night dreaming indeed.
He was probably right; it could not have been anything – anything real. Whatever she thought she had seen, it could only have been in her mind. She would have to get help. A catnap when they did reach the Northern Shore. A respite during their journey back. Cheetara – maybe she could help. Anything to get out of the rut. Everyone around her suffered: Bengali and poor Lynxo hearing her every scream and knowing they could not relieve her nocturnal terrors. Her duties, too, suffered. She was so desperate to convince herself that everything was alright that she had to neglect to notice that nothing was right, nothing was as it seemed.
Yet she could not deny the possibility – slim and irrational – that the thing she had seen, even for those passing, fleeting moments, was real. It was, it had to be, for the Thunder Tank's shudder could not have been imagined. And Panthro – he did not stop, he did not swerve, he sped. Did he not see it, or did he see it?
"You think there'll be more bumps?"
He rubbed his chin and answered: "I'm sure – fallen trees, rocks – sink holes – I'm sure there'll be more. But you don't have to worry. Don't worry at all."
Bright eyes burning.
Demons had glowing eyes. Demons – had that word passed her lips years ago she would have scorned at the idea that such beasts existed. How her tenure at Third Earth corrected her ignorance. Demons were as real as anything. They could hide among the denizens of the wilderness and linger about the company of the Thundercats. Their illusions could persist days, weeks undetected: objects vanishing and appearing, extra items of sets of known numbers spontaneously materializing. Strange animals of exotic varieties – or birds. Birds that perched upon the windows of the Towers, birds that peered into their lives, their eyes ablaze –
"The headlights, why don't you turn them up to full power?"
"It would attract attention – it would blow our cover. I prefer driving with the blasted things off."
"But if we hit something, I mean, something that's not –"
"My baby can take it."
Tap, tap!
She sighed – he would not recklessly lead his prized invention into unnecessary danger – so she accepted his curt replies. They were making excellent time, they were nearing the destination. There was no need to prolong the matter or press it any further.
Tap, tap!
The puma turned to the panther – had he tapped the dashboard again? But no: his focus was transfixed on the road and his hands were gripped on the steering.
Tap, tap!
Was she dreaming or was she experiencing it?
TAP, TAP!
Louder and louder still – it was coming from the vehicle –
TAP, TAP!
– the base of the vehicle –
TAP, TAP!
He could hear it, couldn't he? Why can't he hear it?
Tap, tap!
"Can you hear that?"
"What? What?"
Tap, tap!
"That tapping, you can hear it, can't you?"
"What tapping?"
Tap, tap!
Thump, THUMP!
Loud, forceful and unmistakable – he stopped but the pounding continued.
"Stay in, I'll check it out," he said, exiting with a handheld lantern.
She followed him with her eyes as he walked across the front of the Thunder Tank. He paused, visibly interested in a feature on the hood. He wandered around the vehicle, returning to the side and crouching for a few moments. She saw and heard him crawl under the cabin – the violent pounding had ceased only to be replaced with the Thundercat's vehement cursing.
Fluttering branches along the roadway seized her attention and as she fixed her gaze upon the withered, snake-like appendages she could have sworn that for but an instant two bright glowing eyes stared back from the wilderness.
Panthro returned – Pumyra immediately noticed his shaken and disturbed demeanor.
"What was it?" she asked.
"Branches and underbrush were caught in the main axle," he answered. "We've been dragging the remains of a tree for miles. We'll have to be more alert next time."
"Maybe I should drive?"
"No, no – in your state that might not be a good idea."
"Maybe we should stay here and rest?"
"We can't, we have responsibilities." He shook his head and restarted the engines, revving away at once at top speed. "We have duties and besides, it was only a tree – what are the chances it'll happen again? Relax, you're with me," he added, jokingly, laughingly.
She scratched her cheek and laughed, too.
Eyes. Eyes looking, eyes staring here, there and everywhere. Eyes that were masked amid wavering bushes and crackling underbrush. Eyes that were perched over hanging branches and sagging tree limbs. Bright burning eyes that followed her unrelentingly.
"No! Not under that! No, Bengali! Wait, Bengali!"
The city exploding, the people fleeing – she rushed through the smoke and as it dissipated she stumbled upon the unconscious Bengali and the burnt Lynxo.
The old cat's eyes were red, flaming red.
She screamed, her back arched. She gasped, her body paralyzed by terror. Down the trail, transfixed and immovable, were the very same – the exact same – red orbs of the dream. No body, no form, only eyes that stabbed purposefully and directly into hers.
"Panthro stop! Stop! Stop!" she yelled at the top of her lungs.
"That's nothing, Pumyra," he shouted more agitated than he had let on. "That's just your own reflection off of the glass, that's all it is! That's all it can be!"
"You can see it too?"
"It's not real, Pumyra, it's not real!"
He accelerated, she screamed. The Thunder Tank plowed into the space where the body – if the eyes had had a body – would have been. The eyes – the only parts of the specter that remained – crashed into the windshield and cracked its glass. The vehicle hit something and as it skidded through the dense forestry it came to rest as something tore and clogged the machinery of its underside.
She was knocked against the dashboard; he was thrown against the hatch.
The tapping, pounding returned.
Getting up, Panthro sighed as the thumping persisted, growing louder and louder, shaking and jostling the vehicle. He knew what he had to do and that he had to do it. He had no choice: it was his duty, his responsibility. Silently, quietly resigned, he exited with a lantern, mulling over how a trip that was supposed to be so safe and simple had degenerated into so desperate and dire a struggle.
Pumyra took the other lantern and seated herself at his station. She turned its light on and eased its beam in the direction of night. Crawling ever closer to the doorway, inching nearer and nearer to the outside, she saw his legs – he was under the Thunder Tank and she could not see the rest of him.
"Another tree?" she asked – but he did not answer.
The thumping continued accompanied by the action of the Thundercat's fists. He was fighting and struggling.
"Panthro? What's wrong?" She was about to step out of the vehicle when something fell onto the cabin's makeshift roof and scurried across the shattered windshield – whose mangled glass obscured its visage – it jumped off the hood and vanished into the forests.
With a hot and steaming metal thermos she beat away what was left of the broken glass of the windshield – meanwhile the tapping, pounding and Panthro's frenzied cursing continued unabated. Clearing the view, she directed the lantern's light onto the surroundings. The vehicle was facing the trail, the trees were to her sides and behind her, the underbrush – dusted with snow and shimmered with ice – was before her. The remainder of the scene was flat and featureless.
The eyes burned through the bushes and blinked.
She shrieked and ducked, brushing against the gearshift and setting the Thunder Tank into motion. It rolled forward – thumping and screaming and all – its treads overrunning dead and decayed vegetations, it returned to the roadway and cut to the other side of the forest. Struggling to regain control, she grabbed the gearshift and tried something, anything to make it stop. The drive train and axles screeched – high-pitched screams erupted but were stopped silent – and with bright sparks it magically, mysteriously came to rest although its engines remained up and running. Whatever was beneath the cabin, it must have entangled itself so much so that the vehicle could not move any longer.
"Panthro!" she gasped as the smell of burning fur and charring flesh came to her senses.
Pumyra hurried out of the cabin into the field of unstable snow and ice. A trail of blood – fresh for its undiffused wet droplets glittered by the moonlight – led from the side where she had last seen his legs, around the back where the compartments doors were open and empty, to the front where she stepped aback at the sight that greeted her. She saw at last what had attracted his attention: the hood was scared with a dent deep enough to expose portions of the engine and decorated with icicles of blood that clung to the mangled shard of twisted metal. The trail of red splatter itself continued up the hood, across what was left of the windshield, onto the cabin's crumpled 'roof.' She tried to reach for the lantern but realized only too late that she had dropped in the Thunder Tank.
Blood red, burning red, like embers of coal in the pitch of night.
"Panthro!" she crouched to look under the vehicle. "Fool! What did you run over that you were too afraid to tell me?"
The ambient light that shone across the vast field glowed bright enough through the snow and ice that when she peered into the abyss of the Thunder Tank she discerned the silhouettes of forms, no more and no less, shadows and darkness. For the most part the view was clear – no obvious trees, limbs or branches – only one object was out of place: a mass of torn flesh and crushed bone about the size of a Thundercat intertwined and intermingled with the axles and gears.
Blood trickled from the extruded body to the ground where it collected in a pool that echoed the coldest, sharpest drip.
"Panthro!"
Something scurried across the hood – she arose at once at the same moment the Thunder Tank roared back to life.
"AHHH!"
She ran through the field that was neither as flat nor as featureless as it had appeared. The snow might have been a fine blanket, a puffy cover, but a few inches beneath its surface the land was rocky and uneven. She lost her step, she slipped: she fled, she struggled to keep the vehicle – whose heat she could feel steam the back of her neck – away, far away.
Pumyra reached a thicket and grabbed a tree, swinging to one side, thinking she could dodge the oncoming vehicle in the forest. But it was not a forest; it was a row of trees that lined the edge of a cliff. The puma's feet dangled below her, a hundred feet above the ground. She held on with her every last bit of strength determined not to fall – but the vehicle crashed into the tree, knocking it loose and launching it through the air. She slipped down the cliff and the Thunder Tank tumbled after.