The she-wolf manning the bar didn't look up as Nick stood up and made his way back towards her, slithering his way unobtrusively between occupied tables. He could feel the eyes of others on him, though-the fox and his partner were strangers in a den of thieves, not going to pass unnoticed. But there was no sense breaking cover; Officer Wolford may have raised suspicions, but with any luck Nick's superior thespianism could allay them.
Nick sidled up to the bar and leaned a puff-jacketed elbow on it, trying out another roguish smile on the bartender. She gazed at him flatly.
"Gimme a White Fang."
A nod. She turned to pour it, and Nick fingered the cash-wrapped note in his jacket pocket. She didn't much like him, that much was clear. Natural charm and a big smile rarely failed the fox, but money was the great equalizer. Usually.
A thick, old-fashioned glass mug banged down on the bar in front of him, sloshing foam carelessly onto his paw. Shaking off the foam conspicuously, he withdrew the money with his other and set it just between him and the bartender, hopefully out of sight of the patrons.
"You closing your friend's tab?" she asked suspiciously, palming the money.
"Nah," Nick said with a conspiratorial wink, before taking a big swig of the drink she'd given him.
The wolf rolled her eyes and looked down, counting out the tip under the bar. Nick caught her eyebrows raise fractionally as she found his note, and arranged his face into something sly and unworried as she looked back at him coldly.
"I just serve drinks here," she said. "The kind of business you're looking for is across the street. Or are you worried your mother might be working tonight?"
Only twenty-five years of enduring foxist remarks kept his smile from slipping. It was only the ones about his mother that still stung him. He raised his paws slightly, pads-out.
"Nothing so untoward," he assured the wolf. "I was just hoping to talk." He lowered his voice. "Have some questions that need answering."
She blinked and cocked her head in an expression of confirmed suspicions. Shit.
"This ain't that type of town," she said evenly, eyes hard. "Try coming with warrants next time." Then, in a dry mockery of his hushed tones: "...or a less obvious partner."
A dozen quips jumped to the tip of Nick's tongue in quick succession, but he swallowed them down. She was almost certainly sure they were cops, but she might still be fishing. He was still undercover, and it was better not to give her anything for free. He let her sit for a moment while he finished the last third of his beer in one long sip, before setting it back down and pushing away from the bar.
"Thanks for the drink."
Her mouth twitched in a microscopic smile. A grudging respect, perhaps, that the fox cop wasn't stupid enough to let her bait him.
Wolford was still sullenly nursing his Cloven as Nick returned to their table.
"How we doing, Casanova?"
Nick shook his head and leaned in, careful to keep his voice down. "She's as good as made us. Probably not the only one in here who has."
Wolford bit his lip, eyeing his partner. Something on his face suggested he held Nick responsible, but he mercifully decided not to press it. "Probably should get moving, then."
Nick nodded. "Before word gets back to our tiger."
Wolford's beer unfinished, the two canids made their way to the door as quickly as they could without appearing to beat a hasty retreat. Too many eyes were on them.
The cold was a hard slap in the face as they emerged from The Bear's Cave. A sharp wind had joined the snowfall, and little gusts sent the snow whirling one way and another. Nick shook flakes off his whiskers. A vague sense of anxiety was beginning to thrum in the pit of his stomach. They might not have room for another mistake here.
"Let's check out the inn across the street," Wolford decided. "Looks like a brothel, so we can probably use that as leverage if they don't wanna talk."
"Subtle," Nick muttered.
"What was that?"
"Nothing."
They started across the street-jay-walking, maybe, but there was little evidence of crosswalks on the snow-covered road. Another gust of wind battered from the front, and Nick turned his head to keep snow out of his face. By chance, his gaze fell on the general store further up the street.
Maybe it was an animal. Maybe it was the snow whipping across his vision just so-the daytime eyesight of a fox was nothing to brag about. But something, something triggered a response in his hindbrain before vanishing.
"Fenrir," he said, still searching the store windows. "I saw something."
Wolford stopped. "Saw what?"
"In the general store."
"Saw what?"
"Don't know. Maybe nothing."
Wolford looked at him. "Fine. Let's go."
The radio clicked on. "Nice and easy, Zebra-Three."
"Thanks, mom," Wolford bit back.
They crossed all the way to the inn and spent a moment perusing the posted rates before continuing casually up the street towards the general store.
"We going inside?" Nick questioned.
"Let's see what we see."
They drew nearer to the store and Nick felt the thrum of anxiety coalescing into a sharp thudding in his chest. Basu had nearly killed Judy, and he, Nick Wilde, wasn't much bigger-not to mention older, his body less durable. He wondered if, had he been in Judy's place, she would have been able to visit him in the hospital at all.
As they arrived in front of the storefront, Nick scanned the interior. There was no one inside that he could see, save for a small arctic rabbit at the register. He wondered, with an unusual flicker of embarrassment, if that was all that had caught his eye. But they were here now, and there wasn't anything further up the street but an empty lot, a private residence, and the snowmobile rental shack.
"Should we take a look?" Nick asked again.
The wolf hissed through his teeth. "You did want those salted crickets earlier."
There was a jangle of bells as they pushed the glass door open, and the rabbit cashier jumped nearly out of her skin.
"Sorry about that," said Nick, giving her his warmest con-man smile. "Should have knocked."
"We don't bite," leered Wolford, to Nick's quiet distaste.
The rabbit just stared at them, wide-eyed, her nose twitching uncontrollably. She looked ready to bolt. Nick's stomach turned-the sight conjured memories of his ugliest moments with Judy, coupled with shades of guilt for holding on to those memories to begin with.
But-as with the bartender, feelings and hurt were a luxury he couldn't afford at the moment. This bunny wasn't his bunny, and her apparent terror seemed inapropros, given the town's overwhelming predator majority.
"You okay?" asked Wolford, apparently thinking along the same lines. "He can't be the first fox you've seen."
It seemed like a good opportunity to amble around the store. He hit the selection of snacks first, and found it picked clean-no salted crickets here, either. There was a pair of coffee machines and paper cups, though. Nick considered-he was about as on-edge as he needed to be. On the other paw, it was freezing. He compromised and poured himself a decaf. The half-and-half carton next to the brewer was empty, so he rounded the corner to the dairy freezer.
Nick paused. It was cleared out. Frozen entrees and alcohol in the neighboring cabinets were well-stocked, but milk, cream and eggs were completely gone. He squinted at the odd bit of happenstance.
"Hey," he called back to the register. "You got any milk? Cream? For coffee? Your freezer's emptied out."
There was no answer, so he made his way back to the front, coffee in paw. The bunny watched him come up, her nose still twitching, breathing visibly.
Nick pointed to his cup. "Milk? For this?"
"W-we-" she started to stammer in a small voice. "No-no delivery. Didn't get milk." Her eyes darted briefly to the door to the back room behind her. With languid obviousness, Nick followed her gaze to the door.
For all his unsubtlety, Wolford could spot an angle. "My buddy here really likes milk in his coffee," he wheedled. "Are you sure you haven't got any somewhere?
Maybe in the back?"
She opened her mouth, drawing a few ragged breaths before speaking.
"I'm sorry but-"
There was a clatter of metal from the back room.
She rabbit froze, going-somehow-even whiter.
Nick and Wolford looked at each other. The wolf inclined his head in the direction of the sound.
The two officers started forward, rounding the corner toward the back door. The white rabbit moved to intercept them, voice breaking in stammered arguments.
"Look, you can't-you can't-"
Nick reached into his jacket and flashed a badge as they brushed past, but it seemed to be no reassurance. Her words choked into a series of panicked squeaks.
"No, no, no..."
The door was a free-swinging kitchen type that gave easily, slamming back on its hinges as Wolford banged it open.
They rounded the corner and the Sada Basu was there, standing frozen in the shadows. The white tiger looked twice as large in the cramped confines of the back room as he had on the streets of Savannah Central. Up close, he looked bad-thin, for his size, sick or malnourished. His fur was patchy and matted. His right claw clutched a large canvas carry bag.
In the tiger's right claw, held around the body, was an elderly white rabbit.
Shit.
"Shit," Nick said.
Wolford was hauling his gun out when Basu moved, electing to hurl the old rabbit at the two cops. The bunny careened off Wolford's gun arm with a scream, sending his aim wide before knocking Nick to the floor. Taking the opportunity, Basu smashed through a side door with his shoulder, fleeing down the hallway.
The wolf recovered fast, giving pursuit and shouting a location into his microphone. Nick scrambled up shortly after, but paused to check on the old rabbit-quivering, terrorized, but seemingly unhurt.
"You all right?"
The rabbit's head jerked in an approximate nod. Satisfied, Nick dove headlong through the shattered doorway, paws skidding on the linoleum floor. The hallway was nearly pitch black, but he caught a glimpse of a gray tail vanishing around a corner and followed.
It was a side exit, and Nick burst back out into the frigid light of the street just as Air One roared directly overhead in a low pass, rotor wash sending snowflakes into a tornado. Wolford was already making tracks up the street after Basu, who was heading uphill, away from the access road. Frowning, Nick gave chase. There was nothing in that direction except for the barbed wire fence, and the treeline, and-God, shit-the snowmobile.
The fox cursed himself for missing such an obvious clue when they'd had the luxury to look for them. Wolford was yelling for Basu to stop, but the tiger kept running. Angling slightly left, he ran straight up the front of a parked pickup and, from there, onto the porch roof of the house beside it. Sprinting along the overhang, Basu took a stunning leap-far beyond Nick or Wolford's capabilities-and cleared the barbed wire atop the fence, landing hard on all fours in the snow beyond.
Basu was kickstarting the snowmobile as Nick and Wolford reached the fence. Someone was shouting electronically in their ears, the radio cutting in and out intermittently.
"-bra-Three, Air One has to pull out, no visibility-repeat, unsafe conditi-"
Wolford swore viciously and clicked his mic off. Nick began to ask why, but he saw the wolf raising his gun.
Of all things, Nick Wilde could not be called a simple fox. At any given moment, his head might have half a dozen thoughts crashing through-some the purview of his better angels, others the demons of fear, avarice, and carnality. Lately there had been more than a few thoughts of revenge. But at this moment, one voice-perhaps not even his own-rose loud and clear above the others.
No.
Nick was almost too late, shoving Wolford's gun arm down and away from the fleeing bengal. The gun went off anyway, nearly drowned in the roar of Basu's snowmobile as he kicked up a plume of snow and sped toward the treeline.
Wolford snarled, yanking uselessly at the fence gate. Padlocked. Shooting the lock off only worked in movies. They were stuck.
The wolf rounded on Nick, lifting the smaller fox bodily by the collar of his parka and slamming him against the fence. Nick allowed it, light as paper in Wolford's grip-
"Stupid fucking fox,"
Light as-
"Wolford."
"You coward fucking-"
"Wolford!"
"What?"
"Throw me over."
"You're kidding me-"
"Throw me over."
Wolford, to his credit, didn't ask twice. He released Nick, let him turn around, grabbed his jacket and belt in each paw. Nick felt his feet leave the ground, heard the wolf cursing again under his breath as he swung back for the windup-
And then Nick was airborne. It was an impressive throw, all things considered-far outside the realm of Wolford's police training, with no preparation or forethought.
It was probably the best Nick should have hoped for. It was not, however, what anyone would call an unqualified success.
Nick sailed nearly over the barbed wire before his foot-just a hair too low in his tumbling arc-snagged in one of the loops. He felt a searing pain as the wire ensnared him, sending him flipping over the fence to slam against the metal links. More pain and he was suddenly falling again.
There was a new type of pain as he thudded into the permafrost on his left side. He shrugged it off, staggering to his feet. He looked down. Blood was staining the snow around his right hindpaw.
"Wilde! You good?"
Fine, no thanks to you, he thought at Wolford, who probably didn't deserve it.
Basu's snowmobile track led off into the treeline. Nick started to limp after it, offering his partner a thumbs-up over the shoulder.
The snow had become a full-on blizzard by now, and it wasn't long before Wolford's shrinking form-yelling into his lavalier and searching for a way around the fence-was lost in the white haze. Nick pressed forward into the trees, leaving a one-sided trail of bloody footprints as he went. Basu couldn't keep heading this direction, even on a vehicle-there was nothing further except frozen snowbanks and, eventually, the impassable climate wall.
The trail left by the bike was rapidly refilling with snow, but Nick kept pushing, determined to figure out which way Basu was headed, if nothing else. The tiger was flushed out of hiding, but if they lost him now they might never find him again. He was alive, and angry, and going to prove...something, probably. A dark, low shape began to coalesce in front of him. Nick frowned as he approached it-the snowmobile?
It was. The vehicle was abandoned, crashed into a snow-masked ravine and seemingly too damaged or stuck to continue. A pile of disturbed snow suggested the bengal had scrambled up the other side of the ravine, and Nick followed. But on flat ground, Basu's prints were too shallow to see, already filled in by the whirling snow.
Which meant Basu was out here. Somewhere.
Fuck.
He pulled his lavalier mic free of his parka, vaguely aware he hadn't heard anything over his radio.
"Mobile One, this is Zebra-Three, Wilde-lost contact with suspect, headed South toward climate wall. Suspect crashed snowmobile and abandoned. Unsure of location. South of Glacier Heights, over."
There was no answer. Nick tripped on an unseen tree root and stumbled forward onto his front paws, catching sight of the blood-spattered snow around his feet.
"Fuck," he whimpered aloud. Trying to stand on numb feet, he stumbled again. Heart racing. Pushing himself to a half-standing position, he glanced around the trees, vision blurry.
Nick had always hated forests. Everything out here looked the same. He had no idea where he was. Basu's trail was long gone. But the bloody trail of an injured police fox wasn't going away any time soon. Swearing and blinking back tears, he reached for his jacket zipper with shaking paws, unzipped it to clumsily draw his gun. If Basu wanted to take him, he wasn't going to make it any easier.
He clutched the weapon desperately for what felt like hours, slowly turning in place and trying to keep his eyes on every direction at once. He wondered if he should have let Wolford shoot Basu down. If that would even have worked. If they should have aimed for the snowmobile, or if it was worth letting him go. He wondered if his mother would be all right-she wouldn't, of course. But Judy would take care of her, once she was better.
He wondered if Judy would be all right without him. This was all her fault, of course, for leading him down this path of idiot bravery and idealism. That much he didn't regret. The fox smiled to himself, looking down his muzzle at the snow collecting on it.
Beyond his nose, there was a huge, dark figure moving toward him.
Nick felt a twinge of fear, but it was distant and irrelevant. He'd felt everything there was to feel by now. He raised his gun, calmly-
"WILDE," came a booming, authoritative voice. "Put the gun down."
He knew that voice. He obeyed. Tigers didn't have horns, anyway.
More shapes materialized behind the chief-Lieutenant Azzaby, a trim gazelle in a police foul weather jacket, Wolford, and the handful of armed T.U.S.K. officers light enough to navigate the heavy snowfall. One of them was muttering into a radio pawset-one of the heavy, obvious, vintage models that actually worked-as the others fanned out to surround the fallen officer.
Someone plucked the gun from his paw. Despite the noise, he was beginning to drift off.
"Psst."
Nick awoke in an unfamiliar room. Mostly dark, with a few gentle indirect lights around the edges of the ceiling. A warm, itchy blanket over him. Lots of beige contraptions. A needle in his arm. One of those places with doctors, then. Had he hurt his footpaw that badly?
He twitched it, and his whole leg screamed with pain. Probably a yes.
"Psst," came the voice again, insistently.
He shifted, half-rolling his aching body across the crackling paper sheets to look around. There was a clock on the wall reading 12:48 AM. Nick wondered what day it was.
"Psst," repeated the voice. "Down here, stupid."
It was a nice voice. Blinking blearily, he looked down.
Judy Hopps was standing there, big feet poking out from beneath an oversized hospital gown, one arm in a sling. Grinning mischievously up at him.
"Hey, idiot," she said.