Chapter Five

Artwork by Keith Elder

Devin gulped and groaned. Feathers lashed around him as the pilot-bird hummed tunelessly, dodging between trees and hulking skyscrapers, their reflections flashing by on one-way windows. "Don't worry," the bird cackled. "This is my regular route!" Devin wondered how often the humans inside these towers of glass and steel saw the inexplicable figure of Wilbur the albatross and one of his passengers. Devin also wondered how many of them told their therapists about it.

Lastly, he wondered why they weren't flying over Africa. "Why are we in the city? I mean, the trees and parks and museums and all are great, but shouldn't I be on a more rugged and challenging kinda assignment?"

"Domestic work first, kid," Wilbur shot back over his shoulder, flapping with great deliberation and a touch of sadness in his voice. "Besides, if you want a challenge, there's nothing tougher than shutting a Rescue Ranger team down."

"Whoa, wait a minute—" started Devin, and Wilbur took him literally, stopping on a dime.

"I'm gonna stall now, thank you," sniffed Wilbur, and made an earth-scraping dive before pulling back to cruising altitude. "Only say whoa if you gotta."

Devin turned an unhealthy shade of green for a moment. "Sure, sure. But – shutting down? I thought I was just supposed to drop in and give 'em a little first aid."

Wilbur clicked a troubled tongue. "Too late for that, Doc. You're going in to fix up the sole survivor of Rescue Ranger squad Number One, and shut the operation down."

Devin felt worse. "Th-the Rescue Ranger squad? Chip, Dale, Gadget Hackwrench? Monterey Jack and the Housefly Hero? They're gone?"

Wilbur grimaced. There was no nice way to say it. "Hackwrench made it, but she's physically unbalanced. Maybe mentally. She watched at least one of them die, and found the rest of them…after. It's in your folder. You did read it, didn't you?"

"I was too busy learning how to jump off an albatross."

"Read it. And a piece of advice—get the job done and pull out. Ten to one there's a long sad story behind this mess, but let Special Teams fix it."

Devin nodded, but in his heart he knew he'd probably get into as much trouble as possible. There was, after all, a woman involved, even if everything he'd ever heard about her made her sound like a cross between Linda Hamilton, Martha Stuart, and MacGuyver. "Women," he thought to himself, "are trouble but worth it. That's my weak spot."

Gadget would not have felt up to Devin's comparisons. She wobbled on the deck entrance to what had been the Rescue Rangers' headquarters, shading her eyes against the afternoon sun. Her shoulders, paws, and back sang a nagging tune—she'd slapped fresh bandages on the scrapes, but the blood still flowed. The cuts on her right shoulder worried her most, not only because they were deeper and obviously claw-marks, but because she had no idea who'd put them there.

The white bird in the distance had to be the Rescue Aid Society flight—albatrosses usually meant that. Besides RAS service, they were infrequent visitors to the Rangers' city—"Or," mused Gadget, thinking on local villains, "Fat Cat's city, or Dr. Nimnul's city. If they're up to anything, I'm in no shape to stand in their way. Not alone. C'mon, Doc, we've got work to do."

A figure on the back of the approaching bird stood up in his sardine-tin seat and mouthed a few unintelligible words at his bird-pilot. Then as they climbed higher, the passenger rocketed out of the seat, pulling the ripcord on his miniature parachute. Gadget breathed a sigh of relief when she saw the albatross wasn't going to attempt a landing—Wilbur, she saw it was. He glided away as Devin confidently pulled his adjusting lines and floated down toward her like a descending angel with his medical bag. "Strike that," thought Gadget. "It's more like watching Mary Poppins sailing in on that cheesy umbrella." She looked up—up—and over. "Get down here, you're gonna—"

CRASH!!! Gadget couldn't bring herself to look up at him. She bet the doctor wasn't happy, either. He dangled above her, branches poking through the white fabric of his 'chute, complete with RAS emblem. "They just gave us one practice jump," grumbled Devin, as he tugged at his harness.

"Well, I can't climb up and cut you down—I can barely stand up myself." Gadget sat down.

"S'okay," grunted Devin as he undid a strap. He peeled out of the harness like a banana, slamming into the warped wooden platform below. He lay there very still, breathing heavily, then pushed himself up. Gadget nearly giggled at the sight, but couldn't. Here he was, come to help, and she wasn't about to make him feel unwelcome if she could help it. She extended a bandaged paw and he pulled himself up to sit beside her. "You do that bandage?" He prodded gently at the strips of cloth. "I haven't seen that weave in years. It's good but we need to change it again." He pulled a roll of gauze out of his medical bag and began unwrapping her paw.

"Nice to meet you, too—ouch!" Well, at least he took his job seriously.

"Sorry about that. Well, Miss Hackwrench," he said stiffly, getting a pair of impatient eyes rolled at him for his trouble, "officially reporting for duty, Rescue Ranger squad One—"

"—oh, cut that out," growled Gadget. "There's no real chain of command in a Ranger squad, and I don't think I even count any more. Right? They sent you here to calm me down, shut me up, and get me to leave town—"

"I don't know about any of that yet, Miss Hackwrench—"

Gadget cut him off—"Gadget, Gadge, Hackwrench, anything but 'Miss'."

Devin nodded. "Okay, Gadge. My name's Devin Packard, DVM—"

A sudden change came over Gadget and she pulled away from Devin's bandaging. "DVM? You have to be kidding me. After all this, my friends dead, my home trashed, my everything hurts, and they send a veterinarian?" Her voice trembled at the indignity, but Devin just sat there and watched. He'd seen this before.

"Oh," said Gadget, tilting her head as if suddenly picking up a radio transmission. Devin sidled closer to her, expecting her to keel over the rest of the way. She was obviously dehydrated, and had probably lost more blood than she gave herself credit for. She definitely wasn't thinking clearly. "Of course, you're a veterinarian, " she managed, "y-you're an animal."

Devin chuckled disarmingly, patting Gadget on what he hoped was an unbruised section of her back. "You say that now? Wait until you know me better." Gadget half-smiled, and got ill all over his black patent leather doctor shoes. So much for introductions.

Button images by Keith Elder