Chapter Eleven
Late at night or early in the morning, by now working in squint-inspiring, flickering candlelight, Gadget declared the system operational, in theory at least. She and Devin were grimed from the tips of their noses to the tips of their tails from hours of cutting, soldering, bending, and otherwise making pieces of metal and plastic do things they were never designed to do. Devin had actually gotten in more construction work than he expected—his surgical skill turned around to shaping several pieces per Gadget's specifications. At the heart of the system was a microphone salvaged from a wrecked VR headset, as well as an old black and white picture tube the creeps in question hadn't got around to smashing. It was tiny compared to the old vid-screen, but Gadget had mounted the camera on a swivel made from an old rollerskate wheel. She'd chipped the camera out of the wall, a fortunate remnant of the otherwise defunct security system. Gadget would have given almost anything for that missing videotape—but, she reflected, her most valued possessions had already been ripped from her.
That thought, coupled with her exhaustion, brought the last day crushing down on her. It nearly sent her spiraling into a total physical and mental crash. She could feel herself sagging, giving into her despair, blown into dark like the fluttering flame of a candle, snuffed. A random and forgotten tool slid from her paw; she rocked unsteadily on her hind paws and thought to herself, I'm drowning in this. I'm going out for good.
Artwork by Keith Elder
As if in reply, solid arms as grimy as her own took her shoulders, and a voice whispered in her ear. "That's exactly what they want, Gadget. They are here in this room again, right now, only this time in your head and heart because you are letting them back in. Don't let them do it. You're too good for that, too strong. If ever you stood up against evil, stand now. Stand and pray with me."
It was the last thing she'd expected from a trained medical professional, but it made her break out into open tears. She nodded through them, still not facing Devin, but just letting him hold her against the darkness. She knew what she wanted to say, if Someone was listening, but it had been forever since she'd prayed out loud. "God," she trembled, "h-hold my friends tight. I miss them so much! I...God, it's been so long, help—show me how to honor their memory--where to look, and how to live with this." She tried to go on, but was too choked.
Devin squeezed his eyes shut. She had so far to go, and there was so much guilt in her voice, so much rage and shame in her shaking body. "Lord," he pleaded, his heart going out to her and up in supplication, "we're in over our heads. Guide us both through this dark time, and let this good woman find peace."
At this, Gadget turned to face him, head lowered, gripping his arms as he gave her just enough space and just enough support. Her tears fell onto the tips of his black patent-leather doctor shoes. They stood there like that for a good while, tired to the bone and tired to the soul. It was good to be quiet. The candles were mere tongues of flame hanging on to the last drops of unmelted wax, their light failing as sun began to slip into the empty doorframe. "Somebody's supposed to say 'Amen,' right?" Gadget joshed, a flicker of strength sounding in her uncertain words. Devin patted her shoulders, making sure she could stand on her own when he let her go.
"See?" asked Devin, sunlight beginning to trace his whiskers in the near-dawn. "You do remember how to pray."
Gadget smiled tiredly. "Amen," she agreed, and they turned to the doubtful-looking device they'd spent the night scraping together. In the light of the new day, it looked like a third-grade science fair project, but Devin suspected it didn't have a single crossed wire. He tacked on a quick, silent prayer that Gadget could uncross her own wires—maybe with the help of the Almighty and a young veterinarian.
It came as a surprise when Gadget asked Devin for one more of the latex gloves from his medical bag. "No sense risking a nasty shock the first time we turn this thing on," Gadget explained, and Devin gladly dug into his supplies.
Gloved and ready, Gadget turned a dial deep in the guts of the machine and flipped a switch. It sparked at her once but she pulled back quickly. "Temperamental contraption, innit?" she frowned as she flapped her slightly scorched paw. The glow from the picture tube—just showing static at the moment—was a welcome spot of technology in the midst of the burned-out candles and other chaos. Devin was reminded again of the odd hatred the vandals had shown toward electric light, leaving the hideout without a lamp or lighting fixture in operation. There were spots Gadget had pointed out where the intruders would have literally climbed the walls to get at the lightbulbs—that's what one of the Rangers had done every time a bulb burned out.
Right now, the hiss of white noise was a welcome sound to Devin and Gadget's ears, a pulse of civilization in this otherwise lifeless shell of a place. Rescue Aid was in for a shock, he grimly thought. Strike that—several shocks. Devin chuckled at one consideration he hadn't—considered. "How do we plug this thing in, Gadget? Getting power to it was one minor miracle—"
Gadget smiled tiredly at him. "So far that's one of the best things I've found out about you. You believe in miracles, even if they are small ones. Well, the lines for the old video connection are shot, so I figure our best bet is the phone line."
Devin looked around the mess, twisting and turning. "I haven't seen a phone since I was here," he puzzled.
"See the headset over there? It's only wired for one number, but that's all we need." Gadget sighed. With the new communication system obviously a little dangerous to operate, would he even touch the phone?
Devin fingered a floppy collection of half-bare wires that looked like it belonged in the cockpit of a World War Two bomber. It did have earpieces—well, one and a half anyway. "This is the phone?" Devin handled it as if it were a porcupine.
"Just twist those two wires together, and don't mind the buzzing sensation. Once you let go, it goes away." If you let go, she almost added, but decided against it. Devin slapped on the makeshift headset, found the loose ends she was talking about, and gingerly crimped them together between his paws. He let out a 'yipe!' of surprise before he heard the dial tone.
Buzzing sensation? Yeah, right.
Button images by Keith Elder