Chapter Nine

Coincidentally enough, Devin was dealing with woodwork of his own. He had walked down the silent hall to the kitchen, after a simple drink of water for himself and Gadget, and had opened the door on yet another mess. There were shattered dishes littered all over the tiled floor of the room; the usually bright stainless steel and glass of the counters were obscured with layers of soot and grime. More candles here. Devin didn't even want to think about what they'd been eating in there.

The sink was mostly empty, and Devin found a couple of untouched cups at the back of a smashed cabinet. He rinsed them well just to be sure, a little surprised that the taps still worked, and was about to head back for the main room when the pantry caught his eye.

It was intact—maybe the first unbroken door he'd seen in the hideout. It was jammed shut, and someone had carefully crammed a wedge of wood under the thin folding door in a cunning fashion, so that Devin had to reluctantly kick the door apart to get in. It fell into the small closet with a crash, and Devin heard Gadget call out from down the hall. "You okay, Dev?" she boomed.

"Fine!" Devin cupped his hands and yelled back. "Just checking something out!"

Devin saw the flashlight first—another small mystery, as nearly every other electrical light source had suffered destruction at the paws of the invaders. He flicked it on and shone it around the dark recess. His mouth fell open, at first in surprise, then twitching into a stunned smile. Medical supplies! Syringes, bandages, even—gods, antibiotics! Blessed little foil packages and bottles, a treasure trove. Why hadn't Gadget told him? There were ointments for her and Runner's scrapes, painkillers—

Devin's smile fell. "That had to be a trick of the light." For a split second, the flashlight had lit up a name on one of the pill bottles—a name that had no place among these other drugs and supplies meant for healing. Devin slumped to the floor, staring at the lower shelf. He reached into his medical bag and snapped a pair of gloves on again, then gingerly turned one of the bottles around to look at the front of the label. He checked it twice and winced once, picked the bottle up and shook it—nearly empty. Damn. He felt sick. Only a few places on earth made small-animal-sized tablets like these, none of them run by humans, and they all had "Hospital" or "Institute" in their names. He had almost gone to work for one.

Wanting to wipe his paws clean on his jacket instead, and to never touch the cursed stuff again, he bit his lip and pulled back out of the pantry, carrying the bottle with him. It felt much heavier than it was. "This is bad. Very bad. I wonder who they used it on—" A sudden thought sent Devin fumbling through his medical bag. He pulled out the shredded piece of brown cloth, shining the flashlight through the plastic bag. Those scratches—"Oh no..." Devin couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. All he could do was run back down the hall, medical bag forgotten, clutching a bag and a bottle full of evil news.

Devin burst into the wide main lounge, nearly tripping on Gadget's careful gridwork of string. Devin's eyes were wide and haunted—Gadget set aside her measuring tape and rushed to his side, careful not to disturb the piles of debris she'd so carefully mapped out.

"Gadget, this is awful!!! Things—I found these—" he babbled. Get your head on straight, he told himself. At least one of you needs to stay sane.

"What are those?" Gadget eyed the tablets with a cold dread, something picking at the furthest edges of her memory –more a hint of a feeling than a real recollection.

Devin gulped. If he was right, it would bring what little was left of her world crashing down. "Show me your arm again, Gadge." Gadget obligingly rolled up her sleeve, baring the angry red clawmarks on her shoulder. Devin, tears welling, held out the small plastic Zip-loc bag with the piece of cloth in it.

"Hey, that's a piece of my old work-shirt," Gadget started, but Devin went on with his awful task.

Artwork by Keith Elder

"—I found it in one of the piles on the floor." He held it gently against her wound—the rips in the bloodstained fabric matched the deep scratches perfectly. Devin looked down, unable to meet Gadget's eyes. "This isn't good at all, Gadge."

"You think--" Gadget breathed. "You think I was here?"

"I don't think, I know. These tablets are a knockout drug called Rufinol. You were here when the place got smashed up by—whoever. They gave you the drug, and I doubt you took it on your own. I bet you fought back at first, from those scratches." Devin shut up. He'd just dropped a bombshell; all he could do was wait.

Gadget sank, trembling, to the floor. Devin crouched beside her, holding her arm to at least give her a little physical stability. "Fought back against what?" she managed, huddling in on herself.

Devin closed his eyes and forced the words out. She needed to hear it; all this beating-around-the-bush crap was going to screw her up worse. "Oh, Gadge, I hate to say it, but anything at all could have happened..." Devin shakily wiped at his eyes as Gadget started to sob silently against him. He had to finish. "Anything could have happened, and probably did—"

Gadget choked out hoarse sobs. The tears went on and on, Devin feeling inadequate to the task. She needed a pillar of strength; he felt like Jello. When she could take a full breath, she cut right to the heart of it. "I've been—I've been raped?" All Devin could do was nod silently and hold her.

Button images by Keith Elder