Nick checks his watch, concerned. They've been on the street for nearly fifteen minutes, and not a single soul has passed them by, or even bothered to look out their window to see what's going on. If there's one thing that he's learned about being a member of the ZPD, it's that officers tend to attract attention. A lot of attention. People are always curious to see Zootopia's finest in action whether it's a simple pull-over or a drug raid. But tonight, the streets are gutted. The asphalt is quite, absent of scraping claws and thumping footsteps and rude, honking cars. Nothing disturbs the streets except for the two vehicles and their flashing lights. He tries to take his mind off it by watching the young otter work on the rabbit.
Richard runs through a series of tests on the woman. He checks her pulse, blood pressure—anything that doesn't require a response. Nick watches the otter's face twist with concern and disgust as he shines a flashlight over the rabbit's spotted pupils. The black dots break out like pimples over the iris. Margret, his senior advisor, watches over the old sheep in the back of the ambulance while he works with the young woman. Surprisingly, he finds his mind wandering as he presses a finger over her wrist, taking her pulse again. He thinks about his sister, who, against the wishes of their parents, decided to attend college outside of the River Complex. His father hates the fact that Jess isn't going to Oxbow University, a mere fifteen minute swim away from their house. Instead, she pushed for Underbrush in Savannah Central. He remembers his father's plain refusal when he first heard Jess's decision. "Savanah's no place for a river otter," he had said, and then went outside for a smoke. Richard shakes his head at his dad's stubbornness. The rabbit begins to hum again, startling Richard out of his memories. He asks her to respond, and again she keeps up her tune. Nick looks on, his tail swishing nervously as he leans against the side of the ambulance. He tries to make conversation, asking him about his family. Richard snorts from behind the rabbit.
"That's funny. I was just thinking about my dad," he says.
"What about him?" asks Nick, and Richard grins.
"Old man's making my sister's life hell. He's not happy that she's attending college outside of the River Complex. She wants to double major in entomology and nutritional science, and Underbrush has better programs for those two than Oxbow. My dad kinda treats the other districts like they're alien planets—spent his whole life in the Complex with my mom. They're a little on the conservative side," he says, then asks, "What about you?"
Nick fastens his gaze on The Spire down the street and thinks about his mother. She had a gray streak of fur running from snout to tail the last time he saw her. And a slight cough. And favored her left leg. And the top shelf of her bookcase hadn't been dusted—something she's always kept clean. The otter shies away from the question.
"I shouldn't of asked," he mumbles, and Nick shakes his head.
"Sorry, just lost in thought," says the Nick, but he still doesn't continue.
An awkward silence is shared between the two until Richard decides to share what he's learned about the rabbit, which is almost nothing.
"Besides the rambling and the eyes, everything is in working order. I don't know if she's on any medication, so I can't rule out some freakish side effect, and she isn't showing signs that she's on hard drugs. It seems more like a mental condition than anything else.
"And what's weirder is that she refuses to move. I can bend her arms, turn her head, but as far as her legs go, it's like she rooted to the cement. It's the only kind of reaction I can get from her."
The fox takes in the information, adding it to his mental bank. Pondering the rabbit, Nick's eyes catch a small light that blinks from her left paw. He reaches toward her arm to find an old-school flip phone curled in a loose fist. It doesn't take much force to pry it out of her paw, and Nick quickly flips the phone open, navigating to the messages. Richard raises a questioning eyebrow, to which challenges with an eyebrow of his own.
"I won't tell if you don't," Nick says in a half joking tone, and the otter quietly returns to his work. The rabbit's phone has only a few messages, none of which are labeled, but Nick can guess who they're from—friends and family mostly.
577-239-8887: Miss you lots Samantha! Haven't talked in a while :P :P. We should catch up sometime!
577-543-1656: Tommy fell down the stairs AGAIN lol what an idiot right? smh.
413-008-0712: Call us as soon as you're done with finals! Good luck, and we love you!
Nick moves on to missed calls, where he finds that the rabbit is surprisingly inattentive. Twenty-eight missed calls in the past week. Flicking his thumb over the circular pad, he checks through the list to find that they are all separate numbers, and decides to save it for later. Clicking the pad once more, he changes the screen to "outgoing calls." There is only one call that the woman's made in the past three week. He narrows his eyes at the number. Nick turns to the rabbit. "Ma'am, we received a call about twenty minutes ago to report a disturbance on this street. That wouldn't happen to have been you, would it?" he asks, and Richard looks up. Nick flips the screen around to show it to the otter, and he takes a step towards him, bending slightly.
Recent Calls
911: 22 minutes ago-call duration 3:42
Nick's line of questioning is cut short when the rabbit doubles over, clutching her stomach. Both mammals grab an arm as she collapses, gasping in pain. Both are pulled down by her weight— she is surprisingly heavy. Her humming tune is replaced by a horrible coughing fit. Richard yells for Margaret, and the old ram hobbles down from the back of the ambulance, leaving Leonard in charge of the sheep. She clops over, hurrying her pace when she sees the rabbit curled on the ground. She bleats an order for Nick to grab a stretcher out of the back. But before he can turn towards the ambulance, the rabbit grunts, pointing down the street. Margaret kneels down, holding the rabbit's arm.
"Sweetie, look at me, hey, hey, look at me. Can you tell me your name?" she asks, and the rabbit only grunts again. Words hiss out from clenched teeth, as if it takes an immense amount of effort to talk. For the first time that night, she speaks her own words. Her voice rasps tightly, as if she were trying to keep bile down.
"There—over there. Look."
Margaret and Richard keep their eyes on the rabbit, but Nick feels an awful weight grip his stomach, twisting and pulling at his innards—the same feeling he had when he talked with the old sheep. Anxiety oozes over his insides like tar as he looks down the street towards The Spire, hurriedly scanning over the ugly, domed structure. He doesn't understand why his chest is tightening, or why his breaths are becoming shallow. Every instinct tells him that he needs to run, hide, get in his cruiser and drive as fast as he can away from this place. Margaret pauses to repeat her instructions, only to be interrupted by a thunderous cracking that splits down the street. Nick watches, horrified as The Spire begins to bloat. The glass puffs out from the metal webbing, white lines spreading like lightning over the fragile surface as it bends and warps under strange and immense forces. It almost looks as if something is trying to force itself out of The Spire, cracking the dome like the shell of an egg. Waterfalls of glass cascade from the dome, shattering over the cement into millions of pieces. The trio of animals watch in disbelief as sections pinche together, folding and unfolding, crinkling like paper. The rabbit coughs, gasping as she draws a shaky breath.
"She's here."