Even with two and a half sets of eyes, enough caffeine to revive the dead, and bladders of steel, there was only so much ground that the two ladies and the Demoman could cover. What had started as an exhilarating rush out of California and quick dash through Nevada became a slog across the country. Utah stretched out for so long that the Scout's mother felt her hair turn gray. Colorado had been refreshing, if only for the cooler winds off mountain ranges. If the temperature drop hadn't woken them up, then the fear of traveling through a state that skirted New Mexico did.
"I can't tell you how happy I am to have you with us," Miss Pauling said.
The Demoman smiled, then waved a hand. "I haven't even started workin' for you again! Hell, I've been more trouble than good."
"Eh, it's all perspective," the Scout's mother interrupted. "Frankly, honey, you haven't been an ounce of trouble to me. Delivering twins without an aspirin? Now, that's painful! Let's not even get started on what I had to do to get my last son onto this goddamn green Earth!"
Both the Demoman and Miss Pauling curled up. The latter seemed especially uncomfortable. "I'll take your word on it."
It was hard to find new topics to discuss. Between the Scout's mother's sordid love affairs and children, Miss Pauling's frustrations with running a pack of perfect idiots, and the Demoman's experiences with hunting cryptic beasts, they had maybe a day's worth of conversations stored up. Beyond that, they could hardly tolerate the chatter. They let the conversation drop for a while, letting the wind outside swoop around the car. Fresh air cleared their sinuses.
Slowly, the Demoman's headache subsided. At least it wasn't the one he had yesterday. He reached for his packed bag, then unzipped it. He fished a small, silvery ball out of a pocket. Flipping it around in his hand, he put the serial number up.
He tapped on Miss Pauling's shoulder, then passed the device. "Here. I forgot to show you this."
Miss Pauling brought the ball away from her face. She squinted, then read the numbers across its face. "Gray's? Where did you find this?"
"In me," the Demoman replied. "I…err, passed it the other day."
Miss Pauling's face pinched. "Do I want to know what end?"
"Topside," the Demoman clarified. He then pulled a face. "I washed it off!"
"I wonder what this is. A tracking device, perhaps?" Miss Pauling wondered out loud.
"All I know is that when you guys started talkin' to me, I didn't know it was you. Got this irritatin' headache. You left, 'n it didn't go away. Went to the restroom, hocked it up, 'n then I remembered you," the Demoman said.
"I wonder—" Miss Pauling started.
The Scout's mother was quick to join in. "So, this weird doohickey was screwin' with your brain?"
The Demoman nodded. "I think so. Couldn't remember you guys, then I could. 'n I'm remembering all kinds of things now! Sometimes, I'm not sure if I want to recall them at all."
Miss Pauling bobbed her head at that statement. The life of a mercenary for the Mann family was painful. The deaths and revivals would be enough to make anyone mad. The treachery and backstabbing between the two teams was almost as hazardous as the weapons themselves. There were things she had done to instigate these fights that, to be honest, were less than honorable. Things all of the teammates had reasons to hate her for.
And yet, Tavish had come back, when she had asked for his help. Even after he first refused her.
There was an awkward, half-hearted chuckle from the Scout's mother. "You don't think my baby's forgotten about me, do you?"
The Demoman pursed his lips. "It's not like…" He straightened his thoughts, trying to think of the best way to say his piece. "You know you have a mama. She exists. It's just…if you think too much about her, your head starts ta hurt. 'N then you wonder why, but it just hurts more. Sometimes, in your heart."
The older woman nodded. Her hair was stiff, moving in short, rocking motions. If she was going to cry, she wasn't going to do so in front of her passengers. A painful feeling sunk into Miss Pauling's stomach. She could guess what such loneliness felt like, but in the end, it was just guessing. She leaned back in the seat and watched mountains roll by. It was easier than meeting the gaze of a lonesome mother.
"It's not his fault," the Scout's mother finally sighed. "It ain't easy, you know? Goin' from eight to none."
Miss Pauling tried to cheer her up. "For what it's worth—I'm certain that Gray was censoring our mail and phone lines. Your other sons might have tried contacting you. They probably couldn't get through."
The Scout's mother nodded. A dry snicker escaped her. "Suppose they couldn't plow through the robots, even if they knew I was in trouble."
"A robot's a mean bastard ta fight," the Demoman cussed. "Bloody things need empathy chips, is what they need. Or some way ta sense pain. Don't learn ta stay off my hide, otherwise."
Miss Pauling chuckled. "That's why people like using robots to fight, Tavish."
The Demoman shrugged his shoulders. He punched a fist into his open hand. "Don't care much 'boot that. Just want 'em dead!"
As his fist touched his palm, a sharp pop came from beneath the car. The Scout's mother yelped. The car dipped to its left side and began to drag. She hit the brakes, then slowly moved onto the shoulder of the road. Metal squealed as a bare rim scraped across the road. Rubber flew away in thick, black chunks. It didn't take long for the exploded tire to be stripped away.
The driver collected herself, then brushed her hair back. "Not a problem. I've got a spare."
She reached for the driver's side mirror, then turned it to her. There was a large vehicle coming towards them a little ways back. She sighed, then straightened her hair. Hopefully, they wouldn't stumble across the shredded rubber. As she groomed herself, both Miss Pauling and the Demoman caught onto a strange light in the reflection. It only took have a second before they both knew what that light was. Miss Pauling grabbed the Scout's mother, then shoved her towards the floor.
"What in the—" the Scout's mother started.
The burst of a rifle round answered her question. Silvery chunks of mirror rained down Miss Pauling's back. For being the only non-contracted killer in the car, the Scout's mother kept from shrieking too much. The little assistant slunk to the bottom of her seat, keeping her head low as she dug through their supplies. It didn't take her long to fish out the Spy's hoarded gun, knife, and watches.
"Tavish? What's out there?" Miss Pauling asked.
The Demoman growled. "Oh, sure! Make the half-blind man do a stake-out!" He lifted his head, then immediately ducked back down. His skin blanched from dark brown to ash gray. "Cripes! Not here!"
"Please, please tell me you packed a weapon," Miss Pauling hissed.
"No! It was not in my plans to go straight into killin' mode with just my toothbrush!" the Demoman grumbled. "Bloody hell, what do we have? Just the Frenchie's party favors?"
"Would you two get it together?" The Scout's mother grabbed the revolver, then loaded it. "Chrissakes, how hard is it to kill a bunch of damned toasters?"
The roaring vehicle that passed them answered her question. She couldn't believe such a machine—a friggin' tank—was street legal. Hanging out of its shotgun seat was a lanky machine with a rifle. It took a shot at the vehicle as it passed by, sniping the hood ornament clean off. The little mother growled, but stayed down. If there was anything she had learned from her paramour, it was when not to aggravate a sniper.
She was much less aggressive with her next question. "So, how many are we talkin'? Two?"
Two would have been child's play compared to what came spilling out of the tank. The Demoman grumbled to himself as he counted heads. Not as much as what he faced in an average battle against Gray's army. Not even as much as a single wave. Still, with only two weapons at hand, there were only so many they could kill. Six rounds in the gun, a single sneak attack. Seven would be all they could do before a discovery or a retaliation strike.
To be more honest—before the weapon wielders were killed.
Clanking came closer to the car. The Demoman slid down, throwing his luggage on top of himself. The Scout's mother nudged the invisible watch towards Miss Pauling. The latter took it, begrudgingly. It was about all they could do not to arouse suspicion. They didn't know of the little mother's importance to the group, and any disguise the Spy's old kit could offer would be immediately suspicious. Their defenses were little better than that of kindergartners running away from schoolyard bullies.
The Scout's mother held it together as the machines approached the vehicle. They had a motley of weapons drawn. Shotguns, rifles, even a minigun. They moved with a cold, steady gate, eyes frozen on the vehicle. She held her cool, then slipped the safety on her gun and into her torn hosiery. All she needed was one second to get an upper hand. She just had to play nice for a little while.
She slid her window down, then put on her best smile as the robots approached her.
"Open your door," a robot buzzed at her. She stared at its face, wondering who it was supposed to emulate.
Breathing through her nose, the Scout's mother remained calm. At least it wasn't shooting at her this time. She reached for the door, then propped it open. The lanky robot stepped back as it allowed her out of the vehicle. She kept the door opened, wedging her hip behind it and wrapping her arm through the opened window. It didn't take long for an invisible breeze to pass by her. She smiled again. At least Miss Pauling was on the loose.
"What's the problem?" the Scout's mother asked.
The robot didn't exactly answer her. "Come with me."
"Why?" she persisted.
It repeated its instructions. "On command of the Maker, we are to return all citizens of Teufort to Teufort. Your license plate belongs to a resident of Teufort. Therefore, you will come with us."
"All hail the Maker!" went up through the robots.
The Scout's mother squinted her eyes. Damned, if that wasn't obnoxious. She pulled her arm away from the door, then reached for the backseat. "Fine. Let me get my luggage."
She managed to open the door just a sliver when cold hands grabbed onto her wrist. The machine wrenched her away from the vehicle, twisting her around. "No additional items are necessary. The contents of your vehicle will be reviewed by our maker. He will return them to you upon processing. All hail the Maker's logic and his wisdom!"
Another sea of electronic chants ebbed through the fleet. The Scout's mother snarled. What were her two travelers doing? There wasn't much Tavish could do, hidden beneath her dresses and undergarments, but she thought Miss Pauling would have at least gotten the drop on one of them by now. She pulled against the wrist around her arm, but it stayed firm. It forced her away from the vehicle. The soles of her shoes dragged against the pavement, leaving a smear of blue paint on the black roads.
The little mother was not a tactician. She had been in some scrapes in her life, but she usually had overwhelming back-up to support her. If she couldn't charm her way out of this, and she couldn't physically overpower her opponents, then that left only two options. Either she was going to be dragged away in the back of some creepy weirdo's tank, or she was going to fight back here. She could survive both cases. She could die in either.
There was only one scenario where she was guaranteed to see her son again—and that was if she fought and lived.
The Scout's mother gave no warning. She reached down, then pulled the revolver out. Her hose and dress tore as the muzzle cut through delicate material. An orange flash blew up inside the head of her captor. It dropped to the ground, pulling the little woman down with it. She landed on her rear end, turning around to see over two dozen robots glare at her with piercing, electric eyes.
"D'aw, crap," she groaned, and opened fire again.
For being the most domestic participant in the firefight, she was a good shot. She sent two rounds up the cranium of an approaching robot. The last three splattered across the body of the minigun wielder as she dove behind her car's cover. It didn't take her too long to realize that she had emptied the revolver's clip. She rushed towards the back, robot carcass still clamped around her wrist as a torrent of bullets streamed down the highway. The damn thing finally let go after she stomped it in its wrist.
There was a knocking inside of the vehicle. Someone was in her trunk! She fumbled for her keys, then flipped it open. Tavish scrambled out of the back. He hunkered down next to her, brushing at a sore arm.
The Scout's mother gasped for air. "I left the door open for you, ya goof!"
"There's no way I'm walkin' out in that mess!" he huffed. Noticing the robot at the little woman's side, he picked at its carcass. The machine was carrying a sawed-off double-barrel shotgun. Not much for range, but it could at least pack a punch. "Mind if I take this?"
She smiled. "Go for it. I've gotta get ammo!"
As she squirmed through the car, he took an offensive position. An Engineer bot exploded as a round blasted through its power core. Tavish nailed a second target—a Soldier—as it came to recover its comrades. A third pop went through the head of a Medic robot. Both Tavish and the Scout's mother were caught off-guard. They caught the glimpse of a woman in purple in the top of the tank, a pilfered sniper rifle in hand.
There was a click from the front of the car. The Scout's mother crawled back to Tavish's position with a bright smile on her face. "Reloaded!"
"Great!" he yelled. "Get back ta killin'!"
Metal cracked in front of the powder-blue sedan. The minigun-wielding robot was chewing through the car's grill. It ripped through the engine, then the front seats. The Demoman knew the rest of their cover wasn't long to last. He grabbed the Scout's mother by the waist, slammed the trunk shut, then dropped into the ditch. Shots crossed their backs as the last of the minigun's rounds blasted through the trunk door. He didn't dare to slow down as they escaped into the ditch.
"So, how do ya feel about mountain climbin'?" the Demoman asked.
The Scout's mother shook her head. "Not in these shoes!"
Another crack finally took out the massive Heavy robot. A hot round ejected from the stolen rifle as Miss Pauling slammed another bullet inside. She could sure make the shot, but reloading was terrible. She didn't know how the Sniper could be as quick as he was with a gun like this. Half a dozen rounds scattered across the tank's top. She dove inside, just barely missing having the buns blown off the back of her head.
"Ah, cripes! She's pinned down!" the Demoman yelped.
"Yeah," the Scout's mother nodded. "In a giant friggen' tank!"
The Demoman's mind snapped to. Oh, yes. She had a point. If anyone was in trouble, it was the two in the ditch. There was a whine and a groan as the tank activated. Miss Pauling was thinking as fast as the little mother. Robots rushed every which way as tank treads backed over their bodies. Some of them were able to clear the area between the sedan and the tank. More still popped as she slowly crushed them.
"Well, blow me to hell," the Demoman murmured.
There was a small crunch as the tank caught onto the front of the sedan. The Scout's mother winced. "Crap! That's not going to buff out!"
The Demoman shook his head. "Lassie, I don't know how ta tell you this, but I think your car died two hundred shots ago."
"Doesn't mean she has ta go bustin' it up even more!" the little lady whined.
Bullets rushed past their position. The few machines that remained were still hell-bent on capturing their prey—or ending their lives. There was only so much they could do. The Demoman's stolen shotgun was next to worthless without shoving it straight up the robots' noses, and the Spy's dinky little revolver could only take one or two robots down before a reload. Even the blasted tank couldn't completely maneuver around to charge the remaining members. Miss Pauling had to settle for shooting out the top once more, putting herself more or less smack-dab in the middle of a squad of kill-crazed robots.
It was only by a routine miracle that the three found a reprieve.
Not once had any of the three of them pondered why the roads were so empty. It was merely a path taken out of habit—a road only those skulking around Colorado would have taken so they wouldn't be seen by most people. A highway for rural folk and sneaky mercenaries. There hadn't been traffic going the other direction for miles. No wonder the robots had had such an easy time swarming them—there had been no one for them to dodge.
That was, of course, until a white truck slammed through the remaining fleet.
For a civilian vehicle, it took the blow well. Its driver kept the wheels on the road as the truck spun around. Robots caught under its tires, ripped to limbs and torsos. All three remaining combatants froze as the vehicle came to a halt. A mechanical arm was sticking out of the front of the truck. A thick arm from inside the truck reached around, then threw it aside.
Everyone froze as they saw the freshly shaved, goggle-less visage of the Engineer peer from the driver's seat.
"Son of a Selkie!" the Demoman cheered.
/***/
Author's Note
Man, this NaNoWriMo writing event is brutal. It takes hours a night to get to my daily limit. I feel like my brain is burned.
At least it's forcing me to get this out.
Also-I posted some cut content to my Tumblr account. I'd link it, but it doesn't seem like this website supports links in stories. To find it, look for "Save State - Chapter Ten - Cut Material". My username will be the same name as this account.