Winter of the Bear, Chapter 8.2 – The Long Road Home

August 29th, Sunday – Happytown

"It's your turn, Nick," Skye announced, as she came up the stairs from the makeshift operatory Milo had been manning almost nonstop since they had snuck back into the city late the night before. Her right paw was wrapped in a soft cast to keep her from bumping the many stitches the lemur had just finished putting in. One look at her face let Nick know she was not only in pain, but still very light-headed from so much blood loss. "He says everyone who was bleeding is patched up, now. We're down to dealing with your scars before Bogo catches wind of your return."

Nick remained in the large comfy chair in what he had taken to calling the "lobby" of the shabby old building they were using as a hideout. In his lap, the five bunny kits were curled into tiny balls of fluff, snoring softly, as though they did not have a care in the world. Given their lives in the south, he had to assume that being in a strange predator's lap was about as relaxing as anything.

"Any information on Judy and Harry?" Nick asked, hopefully.

Skye frowned and shook her head. "No. Same as the last twenty times you asked. The sat phone is still turned off. Milo has an alarm set up for the moment it reports in, even if they don't call. I won't keep that from you."

"And if they didn't make it?"

The frown faded into worry. "There's no way to know. I have to believe they're fine. I refuse to accept that either of them is gone. Now, do I need to drag you into the operatory, or are you going to get this dealt with?"

Nick smiled without feeling any emotion behind it. Shrugging, he turned his attention to the kits in his lap. "What happens to them now?"

"You had it about right on the plane," Skye admitted, sitting down on the floor and sweeping her tail into her lap, to use as a pillow for her paw. Doing so allowed Nick to see the long patches of dried blood stuck in her tail fur. "We report their recovery to Cub Protective Services, and they begin looking for someone to adopt them. That will take a few months, during which time they will stay with a foster family and CPS will file any number of complaints with the ZBI about the scars on their arms and stomachs."

"Would they already have had both surgeries?" he asked. The kits seemed far too young for more than the markings on their arms, which he could see clearly. "What age do they normally sterilize them…rather…all of you?"

Skye crinkled her brow a moment, then shook her head. "No, you're right. I must be more tired than I thought. Age ten is when they sterilize prey, or whenever one has their first incident with the law, if you're a fox or similar. None of them are that old. Five to seven, I would guess."

"Can we get their arm scars removed?"

"We can. They'll be confused when they wake with their arms stinging, but it is a good idea. It would give them a better chance at a new life here, and less ostracizing from locals. Milo's helped children before. He's remarkably good at dealing with them, even if he's less so with us."

"They go before I do," Nick told Skye. "Mine don't matter too much. Theirs do. When they get home, I don't want anything else awful waiting for them, like a surgery. The collars, too. I'm not taking them outside this building with collars on them. I want the last of their old lives to go away now."

"There isn't a home waiting for them, Nick. They're probably going to stay in this building until Cub Services is ready for them. It's still better than anything they've ever known. It's not like the ZBI can set up foster families right now."

"They have a home. Mine. It'll be good for them and for me, until they're adopted, or Judy makes it home. They need someone to care for them, and I need someone to love on, so I don't think about where she's at."

Skye watched him, evaluating everything. "You're a better animal than you let on, Nick. I know I couldn't do it."

"You've got your own adoption problems. How's Pearl?"

That make Skye flinch, and she remained silent a while. When she did finally talk, she was quiet and sounded distant. "He's awake and very angry. Thinks he failed his warlord by letting me live. I tried to talk with him, but he threw himself at the cell bars until I left. Milo believes with the right treatment, he will overcome the brainwashing, but it won't be quick. I'm more or less committed to spending the next few years rehabilitating him."

Gently, Nick lifted the kits in his arms and stood. Once he was upright, he realized how exhausted he was after not having slept the night before. Emotional and physical exertion was rapidly reaching his absolute limits. Staying still for a few seconds to steady himself, he then took the kits down to Milo's lab.

Nick carried the kits to Milo's table, and as he entered the room, the lemur hurriedly spread a thick blanket over the metal surface. Putting the kits down was a struggle, both to keep from waking them, and also because Nick really did not want to let go. In a strange way, they were all he had left of Judy, until she came back.

"So you did have a blanket?" Nick asked, once the last kit was settled on the table. "That table's really cold."

"I know it is," Milo replied, giving a half-hearted smirk. "I'm a jerk, but only to those I know can take it. Let me guess—we're doing a collar removal on five kits?"

"Yeah. I want their slave markings removed, too. Can you do it without them feeling anything?"

"I can and will. You mind if we hold off on yours until tomorrow? It's been a long day, and after five of these, I won't be in any shape to keep working. You really don't want me handling surgical instruments when I'm woozy."

"I'm fine with that. You safe working on them?"

Milo chuckled and nodded vigorously. "I've got a few hours of work left in me, before it's even in doubt. They'll be fine. I don't make promises often, but I can and will on this."

"Not that I don't believe you, but I'm not leaving," Nick assured Milo, and slid over a chair. "I've lost too many mammals today. I'm paranoid now."

Milo did not reply, and instead turned to check each of the bunny kits. One by one, he lifted a small metal tube in front of their face and sprayed something near their noses. A second later, Nick could pick up the faint scent of the same anesthetic the ZPD used in their tranquiller darts.

"I do ask that you find something else to look at," warned Milo, as he slid a cart closer to the table. "I'll be gentle and they'll be fine when they wake, but no surgical procedure is easy to watch. There are magazines in the cabinet."

Nick tried to keep watching Milo, but the lemur looked up at him with such a worried stare that he could not convince himself it was a good idea. Closing his eyes, Nick tried to relax, in the vague hope he might be able to pass some of the time, until he was able to take the kits back to the rooms at the back end of the building to sleep.

It only took seconds and Nick was asleep, the long period without actually sleeping catching up with him abruptly. Dark, violent dreams assaulted him immediately, filling his head with thoughts of what might happen to Judy wherever she was, ranging from Rolen finding and killing her to…somewhat more creative and somehow more hurtful ideas involving Harry. At least once, he saw Otto throwing a car at her. Each was a horror in its own way, tormenting his slumber, until at last he snapped awake.

Gasping, Nick looked around the room, trying to make sense of the rush of fear, anger, and confusion that nearly overwhelmed him. He had barely opened his eyes before he realized he was still in the operating room's chair, but now held all five bunny kits, wrapped in a heavy blanket. The kits were still asleep, noses—the only part of them that poked completely out of the blanket—twitching as they dreamed. A quick check let him see that their forearms were bandaged and he could see the thin fur on their necks where their collars had been.

Nick looked up at a faint sound, and found Milo nearby, carrying a second blanket. The lemur waddled over alongside Nick's chair and tossed the blanket over his shoulder on the second try.

"Don't tell anyone I was nice," the doctor whispered, grinning as he went around to Nick's far side and flicked the blanket over his other shoulder. "A mad scientist's only as good as the stories about him."

"It's the same for hustlers," Nick told him, as he pulled the kits closer.

"Nah," Milo replied, once the blanket was covering Nick. "Better education in the mad sciences. Hustlers are more like lunatic dropouts. We're professionals."

Nick checked on each of the kits, then returned his attention to Milo. "Are they all okay?"

"As much as anyone is, coming out of those lands. They'll probably sleep ten or twelve hours. When they wake, they're going to be sore and cranky. They'll feel a little off-balance and anxious until they get used to not having collars. The fur on their arms should start filling in right away. Give them a week, and there'll be very little left to show. Your markings will take weeks to fully vanish, once we do the surgery."

"I'm glad they'll be okay." Nick relaxed into the chair, ready to sleep for as long as he could manage. "Wake me when—"

A distant boom shook the building. Tilting his ears, Nick could faintly hear heavy pawsteps on the top floor, followed by several shouts that were too muffled to make out. By the sound of it, a half dozen mammals had forced their way into the building.

"Whatever's happening, we'll handle it," Milo insisted, motioning for Nick to stay where he was. "Snow and the others are always ready for anything. I'll go make sure it's under control, then come right back."

Milo did not wait for Nick to reply, hurrying out of the room as quickly as he could. Faintly, Nick heard the door lock, followed by the soft pattering of Milo running upstairs.

Another boom almost directly over Nick drew his attention to the ceiling. Thin lines of dust fell from overhead, as something stomped around.

Maybe it's more surviving ZBI agents checking in, Nick tried to assure himself. Despite his thoughts, he slid his arms more securely around the kits, in case he had to run. No gunfire, so it can't be

A series of sharp pops overhead were unmistakably the sounds of tranquillizer guns. After every few shots, he heard a mammal hit the floor. Soon, the building went silent, making him wonder if anyone was still standing.

"Okay, let's slip out the back," he said softly to the kits, as he got his paws under himself. "Sort it out later."

Nick had only taken a few steps, when he heard thumping on the stairs Milo had used to leave. Hurrying, Nick went to the far door of the room, but with the kits in his arms, he struggled with the door handle. He managed to click it open, only to have the far door bang and rattle as something heavy hit it hard.

Looking back, Nick saw that the door was already splintered. Whatever was on the far side would be through in one or two more solid strikes. There was simply no way he was going to get much of a head start, especially dizzy. What he could hope for was that whoever was coming in did not have an amazing sense of smell.

Nick kicked the door the rest of the way open, hoping whoever came in would think he had gotten away. Turning with the kits, he ran back to the row of cabinets on one wall. He ducked behind the last one, where the scent of alcohol and disinfectants would be more likely to hide him. Slowing his breathing, he was dearly thankful that the kits were still asleep, ensuring they would not cry out.

Only seconds after he got into cover, the door buckled as it was struck a second time, and even huddled in the shadows he could see pieces of the door scatter across much of the room. One final booming crash sent the majority of the door crashing against the table in the middle of the room. In his mind's eye, he pictured Rolen or Otto standing at the doorway, given the amount of damage done with so little effort.

From where he hid, Nick could hear huffing breaths as someone remained in the doorway. He inched down toward the floor, hoping to sink further into the shadows. No sooner had his tail come down on the cold floor, than hooves clattered against the cement floor. Whoever was at the door was moving tentatively into the room.

Nick inhaled slowly, holding his breath once he was certain that the intruder was moving across to the far door. The seconds ticked by, the hooves coming down almost in time with his pounding heart. A shadow soon crossed the line of Nick's view, letting him know that he would see the intruder in another few steps, but then they stopped moving.

"Sir!" called out someone back near the stairs. "We've got them all secured. Do you want us to take them—? Uh…sir, is that…Wilde's scent?"

Nick blinked and let out his breath. Sniffing as quietly as he could, he picked up two familiar scents: Chief Bogo and Officer Oats. Unable to come up with any reason they might be in the building, he leaned forward until he could peek around the cabinets. There, standing alongside the surgery table was Chief Bogo, with Oats near the broken door.

"Get back upstairs, officer," Bogo snapped, pointing toward the stairs. "I said no one comes down here, didn't I?"

"You…you did, sir," replied the horse, nervously glancing around the room, even as he backed away. "But sir, if Wilde…"

"You saw the report and stood there at the funeral yourself, officer. Wilde is dead. Whatever you think you smell, you're probably wrong until I tell you otherwise. Now get back to the others."

The harsh clacks of Officer Oats' hooves let Nick gauge when he was likely out of earshot. Soon, the only sounds were Nick's pounding heart, the kits' soft breathing, and Bogo's occasional huffs.

"I assume you're still here," Bogo said loudly, still without moving from his spot. "Nick, we've got the building secured. I don't know what's going on, but I couldn't wait any longer for Snow to fill me in. I won't hunt you down. Some anonymous caller watched Mister Big's plane land, and we knew it was time to bring this to an end. I would have waited until you came back on your own, but your mother needs you."

Sliding into the light, Nick met Bogo's stare. "My mother? Chief, what's going on?"

"Welcome home, Wilde," Bogo told him, smiling sadly. The larger mammal looked down at the kits in Nick's arms, then back to his face. "We'll take you to her, and cover for why you were gone. There's no more time for hiding from the world. Whether the mission was a success or failure, we need to go."

"Where's my mother?"

Bogo sighed and holstered his tranquillizer pistol, which Nick had not even realized was previously drawn. "She's in the hospital. The breathing problems came back right after you left. You need to decide if you are a ZBI agent or a ZPD officer right now. I won't make that choice for you."

One more step and Nick was fully in the light. "What do you mean? I'm helping the ZBI…"

"This is no time to argue, Nick. If you're with the ZBI, you need to stay dead, even if that means you don't see your mother again. Protect the city, or be with your family. I'll do whatever I can to help you, no matter what you choose. Pick the ZBI, and I leave now. The ZPD will hear that I never found any sign you'd been here. Pick the ZPD, and we'll do what we can to pick up after the mess Snow left."

Nick held his ground, searching the smooth floor for answers it could not give him. Slowly, his attention went back to the bunny kits, who had begun to stir.

"I know what I have to do, sir," he told Bogo, as he straightened his shoulders.