A.N.

A year and a half ago, when I was encouraged by several authors here to try writing a Fanfiction of my own, I never imagined I'd arrive at this point. With chapter 16, I've reached the milestone of 100,000+ words. (A lot for me, as my writing speed has progressed from geological to merely glacial) Far more remarkable has been the response to this story. I never expected to garner this much interest in it, and thank all those who felt this worthy of review, faves, and follows. I also appreciate all of those readers who simply took the time to try out Sandcastles.

I'd like to thank the academy, ZNN, my m… actually GhostWolf88, and Sapperjoe85 for their reviews of chapter 15 (and earlier ones).

Finally, I'd like to show my appreciation for the wonderful world and characters given us to enjoy by the Walt Disney Co. Disclaimer time: I use their creations in my fiction with full acknowledgement of their origins and ownership, and hope that my additions to them meet with their approval. (Or don't arouse their ire) As for me, I hope to see more of their efforts to expand this world of Zootopia and humbly suggest they Get on with it!

Tinbuzzard11

Chapter Sixteen:

Into the Fire

"Why aren't you on the train!" the pronghorn stationmaster said in surprise as he walked back into the building from the platform. "I made three announcements."

Nick turned away from the Junction City information placard inside the front entrance. "It's ok, I just had enough of the train last night and today; guess I don't travel as well as I used to. I'll pick it up tomorrow afternoo…"

"Not ok. You'll be back on the next train out, let me see your ticket." The antelope stayed on the far side of the room and waved him closer. "Away from the window fox!"

"What's the problem?" Nick picked up his dad's old suitcase and walked over—mom had brought it in her new minivan, since his was still back at the apartment. He pulled out his ZooRailPass, which was taken from his paw with barely a glance.

"In my office, though someone likely saw you in here already," the antelope said as he jerked a hoof towards the window that faced the town, then led the way to the room at one end of the modest structure. "I'll also need an ID to scan so we know you disembarked here." He seemed annoyed, but not belligerent, so Nick passed his card over. Both it and the pass were scanned and returned as the stationmaster sighed.

"This isn't Zootopia or Concordia fox. Life's a lot more…insular out here. This is a sheep town; tourists don't stop here, a stranger like you couldn't walk three blocks before the sheriff showed up. You thought you'd find accommodations? You'll find what little they got closed to your sort. Then you'll be a vagrant accommodated in a jail cell—like it or not. Later the judge fines you for whatever you got and then puts you on the next train leaving. I can do that without all that extra bother; just stay low here."

Nick knew better than to argue about rights or points of law. Out here, well away from higher authority, the locals could easily justify whatever they wanted to pin on the wayward pred. This was no different than the mob, play it their way if you want to survive.

"When's the next?" he asked the stationmaster, his resignation apparent to the hooves on hips bovid.

"Six trains a day stop here. Be less without required crew rotations. Next one's a westbound at nine-fifteen tonight, if you're smart, you'll be on it! My day's over when it leaves. You're scanned in, so board as soon as it arrives."

"When's the next eastbound, I'd really rather go on to Concordia," Nick asked. He felt humiliated at how unprepared he'd been for an eventuality like this, and the idea of having to backtrack really wanted to raise his hackles—although he suppressed the urge.

"Five forty in the morning. I wouldn't recommend that—you'd have to stay out of sight in here overnight. The Western and Great Basin can't guarantee your safety—or bail you out—once outside this station!"

"I'll chance it, didn't sleep very well on the train. At least that bench has a cushion and won't move under me. I do want to get something to eat over at the store, can I bring you anything?" He'd waited while many of the other passengers had used their relatively short late-afternoon stop to stock up en mass across the street, and this gave him an opportunity to thank the stationmaster for his concern. He got laughter back from him.

"You still don't get it city fox," the pronghorn said in a lighter tone. He flicked his ears a couple of times. "Nobody dares bother passengers when we make a stop here, that would interfere with the store's business! Besides, through passengers are basically the railroad's responsibility 'til their destination. Locals know better than to mess with the railroad, lest they find out what living on the moon is like! Train's gone now, so you're out of place and vulnerable. I just hope the wrong mammals don't find out you're in here after I'm gone."

Nick finished his second sandwich while the stationmaster tapped the remnants of his box of browse into his raised muzzle. He'd gone and taken care of the actual purchases after Nick had given him some cash. As he'd waited, he noticed the station lacked even a vending machine—which possibly highlighted a weak local economy supported by strong local ordinances. Either way, this stop wasn't much of a break for the passengers—or a home for many of them, since less than a pawful had disembarked to stay along with him.

There were a few hours before the next express, they were alone, and the pronghorn seemed grateful for even his company. Having tripped over his ignorance—yeah slick, that's what it is out here in the big wide world—he had an opportunity to dispel some of it. He opened his backpack to get his notebook out, and to pass over one of the author's copies.

"I'm a writer, mostly about the loss of the simpler lives we once had—just from a vulpine viewpoint I'm afraid! My publisher thinks I'm popular enough now to expand beyond that; he wants me to try more diverse stories. I now realize those need to include species and locales that don't seem too involved with my own. This is a part of the country that I'm obviously not familiar with, so I'd appreciate it if you could provide some perspective about this region's history." Smooth, candid, now you're settled back in the groove slick!

"You can see that history here if you just look around for awhile—though of course I wouldn't advise that for you." The stationmaster returned the irrelevant to him book, which had served its introductory purpose. "I don't think the character of this place has changed much since the range wars." He noticed Nick's quizzical look. "Those mostly ended about two hundred years ago I think, and were pretty violent affairs over grazing land."

"Mostly? Weren't most herbivorous species integrated and cooperating much earlier than that? Although you said this town is mostly sheep," Nick prompted.

"Pretty much all sheep, and they cooperate to keep it that way. I work here as a reminder they don't have sway over the railroad. My little herd, a few jackrabbit families and some beaver and deer—we all live a little east of here, closer to the hills. In town, you'd better be a loyal follower of Ovis. Always been that way. Never been any goats, rodents, or predators allowed in 'n around Junction City!"

"Goats?" That was a surprise exclusion of fellow prey. "I'm used to seeing them openly associate with each other." Back in Zootopia, Nick knew that badger professor, with his comments about species segregation, had to be unexpectedly smiling now.

"Not here. Even you wouldn't upset them as much as a goat—they were old rivals over pasturage! Same with horses. Cropland around here is barely adequate for self-sufficiency, with almost nothing left to sell to other places. Richer land and more water east of the continental divide—if you paid attention coming in, you'da seen it's pretty barren on this side except near the rivers."

A few more questions before the stationmaster returned to his office sufficed to give Nick the essential character of life in the isolated interior. Even here, in the largest town for a couple of hundred miles around due to the river and railroad, federal oversight was minimal. There wasn't enough population or economic activity to make any more of it worthwhile.

This was one of Dr. Barret's monocultures, Nick's memory finally supplied. Remote and reinforced by their history and beliefs, this place and others like it would be resistant to outside influences. Mostly ignored by greater society—who would have little incentive to come here anyway—they'd grown into the polar opposite of the Zootopian ideal. And he'd naively stepped off the train right into this previously abstract example of interspecies enmity. He really wanted to hear what Carrots would have to say about this.

Based on her descriptions, even Bunnyburrow was far more open and tolerant of other species. However, it was much larger, more productive, and had good connections to many surrounding communities. Small provincial towns like this were common, and cities like Zootopia those rare exceptions. Nick's alias touched on these issues with his writings, but not in any depth. He had to go beyond that naïve idealism and recognize that there was fertile ground here for prejudice and specieism. Had the conspiracy started to explore places like this as a source for potential recruits? Or would the apparently clear-cut divisions between some rural prey species cause problems with that?

That might be another exploit we could take advantage of! Nick permitted himself a confox grin, which vanished again quickly. He was right to consider this a tough hustle.

Wider public disclosure of historic divisions among prey could weaken the conspiracy's attempts to smear various preds and their businesses as unscrupulous. Or, he realized it could backfire and unite a majority of the population against the slander and scurrilous lies. We already know about the meat farm found in a prey community, that would spread the blame for exploiting mammals for food. But that would never absolve preds of the past—or possibly ongoing—crime of consuming them.

Unfortunately all preds, in ancient times or modern, were forever guilty in the eyes of their once natural prey. Yet prey species had supported certain predators for centuries rather than driving them away or allowing them to starve. What did they get in return for that long-term commitment? Service would be the most valuable—as labor, or maybe as mercenaries to fight off rivals for their own food supply.

Nick suddenly felt uneasy, had it really escalated into predators fighting proxy wars? Possibly even against their own kind on behalf of adverse factions of what should be their rightful prey? And did we in turn… Nick abruptly stood, tail thrashing, and grabbed his muzzle roughly with both paws.

"You are an officer of the ZPD, a civilized mammal, don't ever think of anyone that way," he growled out through clenched teeth. The thought had slipped right out. Was it that easy to revert to what everyone saw us as? Nighthowlers irresistibly overwhelmed your higher functions, but some always feared we actually only needed a little emotional nudge to release those long repressed primitive urges. The mere idea of what might have been done to use predators was so toxic that he'd allowed it to easily get to him! He paced around inside the station worried about society's true fragility—damn you Dr. Barret—and that his prideful ability to adapt to its changed circumstances wasn't as good as he'd thought.

Nick acknowledged the bottom line. It all came down to which side could obtain evidence to support their narrative and release it first! The conspiracy has ninety percent of the public predisposed to accept any reasonably adequate disclosure of theirs—ours has to be not only unequivocal, but we have to catch them with it to overcome that built-in bias! His pace increased; Jack was right, everything's stacked against us.

He was brought out of it by his phone—the text from Estelle confirmed their arctic vixen remained free, but aware she was now under surveillance. Her previous two updates hadn't had that last bit, so it gave him something else to worry about. At least it reminded him to alert Kristen that their rendezvous was postponed until she arrived in Concordia.

The golden sun had slowly improved the appearance of the landscape beyond the tracks as it settled towards the horizon. It was almost gone when one of Nick's habitual sweeps caught the flock of four rough looking sheep as they sauntered up the other side of the street. They weren't close enough to look his way yet, so he took the opportunity to grab his case and slip into the stationmaster's office. He silently pointed him over to the window.

"That's why I wanted you in here," the railroad mammal said after a casual glance. "Normally the W&GB don't have problems with the locals; but this is kinda early for them, word must have spread. Thing is, boredom's always an issue here for the farmhooves, little opportunity for anything else. So they hang around the bar on the weekend, and make trouble once they get tanked up. If they find you here after I'm gone, being in the station might not matter." He gave Nick a card. "Send me a note when you've left."

In legal terms, I'm an attractive nuisance—got it, Nick thought. This card meant he's seriously concerned about my safety, or his own accountability—he took out his phone and put the stationmaster's number in his contacts.

He was reduced to reading more of Holcroft's book until well after dark, when the sound of the door out in the waiting area startled both of them. The stationmaster motioned for his silence as they heard the clack of multiple hooves on the floor, and went out to meet them. Nick pushed his case more out of sight and stood in the corner near the office entrance.

"If you boys are really waiting for the train you got four minutes." There was the sound of a different door. "Get back here! Nobody on the platform after dark until the train stops!"

"There's lights out here…just looking around," said a deep voice. He heard a few steps and the same one came more quietly from closer to the office, "He's right, nobody."

"You all got tickets, or are you waiting for someone? That's your only reasons to be here! I gotta prepare for arrival right now, and either I see someone get off or you gone!" Once back in the office, he pointed to Nick, then his case, and unlocked his own door out to the platform. The message was clear, be on that train!

Nick stepped out just as the train stopped, and the door was quietly closed behind him. He was loath to retreat, but otherwise risked a night outside if the sheep waited for the pronghorn to lock up and leave. So be it. The end of the platform to his right extended beyond the station, and wasn't as brightly lit as the part in front of it. Unfortunately, before he could jog over there and conceal himself, two rams forced the issue when they came outside and spotted him. One reached behind his shoulder as the train doors hissed open.

Nick decided that his next ursine traffic stop would get off with a warning. He walked over to the train under the bear conductor's protective gaze and paused to show his receipt. A nod allowed him to board, and he walked forward through the car without immediately glancing back. After a few seconds he did; the conductor was out on the platform herding the sullen rams back inside with her irresistible paws spread.

He had enough time while everybody was busy by the station to hurry through two more cars, and head for an exit near the end of the station platform. "Couldn't find my bag," Nick said for the benefit of any curious passengers as he left in haste. On the platform, he stayed low and close by the train until he could drop first his suitcase off the end, then himself. A cautious look back found no witnesses as he crouched in a conveniently deep shadow.

It wasn't lost on him that this was the second time in as many days that he'd abandoned a train to hide in the dark by its tracks. At least he hadn't been seen leaving it, and the present light wind should carry his scent away from the station. He curled up to muffle, then turn off his phone. He felt secure for the moment as the westbound express slowly accelerated past his weedy shelter, then quickly faded into the night. The red light on the rear car was intermittently visible for another minute before it rounded a gentle curve and was gone.

Hushed voices argued briefly before the sound of a door came. Shortly after, the outside platform lights went off, and a few clicks and thumps were followed by the departure of the stationmaster's car. Nick cautiously looked over the lip of the platform to find it empty and dimly lit by a couple of lights from inside the station. All remained quiet, but his sense of self-preservation didn't expect that to last. Ok, step one—assess your situation.

You are totally on your own, way outside the only environment you've ever known, and haven't exactly acquitted yourself very well, he realized. All of your professional resources are unavailable, and any trusted allies are hundreds of miles away. You must catch the next train or you likely blow your assignment before it even starts. He cringed internally at the thought of how the Chief or Major Friedkin would evaluate his performance today. Let alone Judy or Jack. If he couldn't deal with a small sheep town in the middle of nowhere…

Annoyed by his lapse of self-confidence, Nick considered his options and waited for his night vision to adapt. His safest course would be to stay away from the station until shortly before the scheduled early morning arrival time. He also preferred to remain unencumbered, so first he set his case on the edge of the platform, then removed and put on the one coat mom had brought with Rafe's stuff. It was usefully darker in color and its warmth would augment his shorn pride—the temperature had dropped significantly since sunset.

Next, he took a minute to restore the weeds he'd flattened to approximately their original state and scuff away his footprints before he pulled himself back up onto the platform. A little exploration of its edge found a spot near the corner that had been erosionally undercut enough to hold his backpack and case. The weeds were taller and thicker there which made it ideal—he brushed them carefully aside and lowered his luggage into concealment.

Once he was off the platform and across the tracks, he relaxed a little more. Although weakly illuminated and backed by darkness, he'd been in view from the store across the street for several minutes. No one had been outside—until now. Two more purposeful looking sheep came up the street and collected two from the first flock that were inside the store. They walked straight towards the station, and Nick retreated further into the night as soon as the building blocked their view, since sheep were very good at motion detection.

Caution said keep moving away, but he'd become interested in their excessive response to his earlier presence. An opportunity for some local thugs to harass a smaller incautious predator should have ended when they saw him board the train. The flicker of flashlights through the station windows showed that they'd felt a need to make sure he'd left. They appeared to move inside; then all the exterior platform lights were turned on.

The sudden pool of light around the station forced Nick to flop down behind a barely adequate clump of sagebrush. One sheep came around each side, and three more exited onto the platform. There was still movement inside, so there had to be at least six of them looking for him. That meant a couple of them had to have remained in front of the station while he was right around the side stashing his luggage in the weeds!

There was nothing quite like having your paranoia justified. Were they armed? He recalled the one ram that had reached for something. Flashlights were shown along the tracks, then swept around past his location a couple of times—he averted his eyes from their beams to avoid exposure due to their retroreflectivity. After a minute of unintelligible conversation, the sheep turned off the lights and closed everything up. The four local toughs went back down the street into town; the other two continued up in the direction the train had departed.

They had all acted like he was a legitimate security concern, so he decided it was time to become one. Nick followed the pair from a hundred yards or so back and to the side downwind—sheep had only fair night vision, but a good sense of smell. His own nose was already busy cataloguing the several new scents of this unfamiliar landscape. Each was a reminder that he was a long way from home.

After a mile or two they came to a modest warehouse faintly revealed by the scattered lights of the town behind them. The two sheep briefly used their flashlight on a door, and went inside.

Nick cautiously closed the distance—there didn't appear to be any windows in the structure, but he would be a wary fox from now on. He stepped across the two mainline tracks and found a third curving away from them a little beyond. It was a spur line that went past one side of the warehouse, with the dim shapes of low railcars further on.

He gave the structure a wide berth, whatever the sheep might have in there wasn't worth the risk to find out. Maybe those railcars could tell him something—worth a look, he had six hours to fill. Nick kept the warehouse behind the cars for cover as he approached. There were four flatcars on a short siding, the first two unladen. The third and fourth were stacked with prefabricated panels, crates, bundled poles, and rolls of fencing and wire.

This was the local freight depot. However, it was associated with the suspiciously watchful sheep. The stationmaster hadn't seemed well disposed toward some of them, and Nick was fairly sure he didn't know they had keys to his station. The pronghorn had also mentioned the lack of any local industry other than agricultural. Were they worried that strangers were going to steal their farm equipment? He saw nothing unusual here, but something still didn't feel right about it. Enough so that he wanted to find out what it was.

Nick jogged further down the spur line on the smoother ground alongside the track. The town's few lights were off to his right; everything ahead appeared to be only scrubland, no agricultural fields at all. His intuition impelled him to keep on in the absence of anything suspicious, as did the fairly new 'No Trespassing Government Property' sign. Another two miles, and more shapes stood on the track—two more flatcars loaded with rails and concrete crossties. Coupled in front was a complex self-propelled open car with hydraulic equipment and a crane at the far end. It was obvious the spur line was being extended, but to where?

One way to find out—Nick broke into an easy run further along the leveled right of way. The rails ended just beyond the track laying machine; the crossties on their layer of ballast shortly after that. The night had transitioned from cool to cold, and a good run would help mitigate it. The prepared roadbed facilitated his faster pace—it was distinctly visible in starlight alone. He continued to pound along it for another mile or so, until shortness of breath slowed, then halted him.

Panting, with his paws on his knees, Nick wondered how he'd gotten out of shape so quickly. His legs were only mildly fatigued, but it was difficult to catch his wind. He really thought he'd built up more endurance than… It's the altitude, he suddenly realized, I'm almost a mile up. It was another reminder that he wasn't in Zootopia anymore.

He continued to walk, and a half-hour later came to a slight rise ahead that was limned in faint light. The prepared roadbed ended there and became a somewhat rougher dirt road. The light behind it grew slowly brighter as he walked up the gentle slope. A sudden foreboding made him leave the road and move well away from it. At the top of the rise he lowered onto all fours and crept forward until he could see into the shallow valley beyond.

There was a very large partially walled compound two or three miles away in the center of the valley. It was probably less than two hundred feet lower than his present position, so appeared quite foreshortened. Lights around the apparently square perimeter and within it were all shielded to illuminate only the ground; he couldn't see any direct radiance from where he watched. That, and its location behind this rise, effectively hid it from the town, or more likely the main rail line. There were several evenly spaced identical buildings, along with more bare foundations that seemed to show…that's a watchtower on the far side.

It was a prison under construction—an enormous one. Here's your Federal oversight slick; this effort is well beyond any local needs or resources. But why build it here? You already answered that, Nick realized. They want to keep it hidden.

The slight chill he felt lying on the ground abruptly rose to freeze his whole being. This wasn't for regular convicts; it must have been intended for a large population of segregated predators—savage or otherwise—since nothing else reasonably explained its size or location. This could be their first direct evidence that the conspiracy had initially planned a far more sweeping version of Bellwether's Zootopia plot. He wondered how much nighthowler-induced hysteria elsewhere had been thwarted by her overeager play for power? That psychopath's premature efforts may have averted a far wider catastrophe last year.

That was then, this is now. Nick realized the prison's present state of completion, plus the partially finished spur line, meant the start of this project had to date back to or even before that odious time. Construction had likely proceeded slowly to spread out costs and hide the activity, then stopped after he and Carrots had exposed Bellwether's part of the scheme. But it seemed to have resumed. Had they repurposed it for housing or raising captured feral animals? It would be most inconvenient to have all this discovered in their xenophobic prey community—say by some wandering fox.

There was movement below, vehicles exited the compound and came towards him on the road. His present spot was secure; their lights wouldn't be able to reach him here. Even so, he still felt his heart pounding faster than normal after twenty minutes of rest. He watched two sheep-sized multi passenger vans come over the rise and pass by—their tires firmly crunched the gravel along the road, so they seemed fully loaded. That confirmed a good portion of the town had to be in on this, they'd welcome any good employment here and the conspiracy would value an insular and cooperative workforce.

There were so many possibilities and questions to uncover here due to his serendipitous discovery—certainly bad for the conspiracy if he could get away with some hard evidence. Nick turned on his cellphone to take photos; unfortunately, the cheap burner proved to have an inferior camera as well. It did record the light around the buildings, but the image was badly motion blurred. He finally had to scoop together and build a small mound of dirt, then embed the bottom of the phone in it, before he got a couple of decent shots to save.

Nick could see little activity down there due to the distance and angle. It was too risky to go any closer, as he'd be fully exposed to their view from here on. There was a waning crescent moon due to rise soon if he wanted to get a better photo of the site, but it would make him more visible too. Better to get away with what he had—their first big break.

A glance skyward showed the great bear head down somewhat to his left, and the pole star in front of him—that put the prison around six miles north of the rail junction. Nick carefully withdrew and jogged back down the road—careful to pace himself to save some time—it was already well past two in the morning. He made it to the track-laying rig just after the moon showed, and took a few more photos to add to his meager evidence.

He pocketed the phone and turned to resume his jog; the distant warehouse down the line was now lit by some fairly bright lights. Lights meant activity, and that he'd lost the cover of darkness unless he took a wide detour around it. He ran faster to utilize as much of the right of way as possible before he was forced into the brush, with frequent glances behind him to avoid any vehicular surprises. This was now a situation and his anxiety had noticed.

The unexpected text notification blip almost caused him to stumble. It was about time to quit the road anyway, so he walked off to the side and crouched to see what he'd received. It was from 'Rocky' and said 'on track 4 am arriv'. It had been sent almost six hours ago, so he'd likely just walked in range of the local cell tower. He wasn't going to reply and make this number more worthy of notice out here in the boonies, so off it went and out came the battery. Yeah, he'd just seen a perfect justification for his awakened paranoia.

Assuming Kristen was already on the train to Concordia when she'd sent this craftily ambiguous text, she'd be on the one he needed to catch! That would restore their original planned rendezvous. He didn't feel his earlier message to postpone had been telling enough to make her leave a day early. Maybe that ZBI llama had pushed a bit to get rid of her.

Nick pushed well out into the sparse brush, nearly a mile away from the warehouse and further from the station. It couldn't be helped, he had to remain unseen and going the other way around would put him nearly in town. No choice, he had to do this on all fours.

He stayed low, as his softer forepaws protested every hidden pebble and sticker they encountered. He needed to watch the sheep under the freightyard lightpoles, not his footing. One shoulder also gave him a 'this again?' twinge. There was still enough light cast out where he was to make him uncomfortable, and his heart was hammering again—loudly enough to make him feel the traitorous organ was saying 'over here!' He kept at it, and moved as silently and carefully as he could from one inadequate bit of cover to the next, until he finally reached and crossed the mainline tracks over an hour later. Thankfully, the railcars had helped block the view of the sheep busy transferring part of their load into a truck behind them.

Unfortunately, they wouldn't shield him anymore; the workers would have a clear view of him down the spur line as soon as he moved towards the station. The moon was also higher now, and dawn had started. Any delay would quickly make conditions worse, and going further away past the tracks wouldn't improve his chances much on the open level ground. He got to his feet and watched. The moment their attention all seemed to be away from him, he took off running. After a few hundred feet he stopped, crouched and watched. No reaction from them so far, and he'd drawn even with where the spur joined the main line. Maybe all the lights had suppressed their night vision! He did it twice more over a greater distance each time and remained unobserved.

Nick allowed some of his anxiety to dissipate as he rested for a few minutes. He was now well past the warehouse in the direction of the station instead of beyond it the other way. If spotted now, there should be no reason for them to suspect that he'd been any further, or had ever seen the prison complex. He'd just lurked around the station and waited for the train. Yeah, keep up that wishful thinking slick, you really should have just gotten the photos and come back as soon as possible!

He was about to make another dash when he spotted two sheep walking down the road from the warehouse. They weren't close yet, so he slowly settled onto his side with his back to the road, curled up tight, tucked his muzzle, and flattened his ears. Inspiration raised his tail to disguise his shape, and he stabilized it with a paw near its base, squeezing some of the fur down around it. The sky now showed some color overhead and to the east, but objects on the ground were still fairly indistinct—particularly for sheep eyes. Nick held his tail stem with its tip growth as still as he could and thought plant thoughts.

He couldn't see the sheep for a couple of agonizing minutes as they ambled past his backside a couple hundred feet away on the other side of the tracks. They finally came into view, although it took another ten minutes while the sky brightened considerably for them to get safely ahead of him. Sheep had excellent peripheral vision with enough light, and he dare not follow as closely as he had last night when it had been fully dark. He finally rose, stretched out the kinks, and resumed his walk towards the now easily visible station less than a mile away. His anxiety had returned with a vengeance and wanted him to go faster since he didn't know how much time he had left before the train arrived.

Unfortunately, the sheep had stopped outside the store and he was spotted while still over a quarter mile from the station. A low, faint rumble that slowly grew from behind also told him his time was up. With no choices left, Nick bolted for the platform and the two rams moved casually across the street to intercept him before he could get there.

Nick slowed to a trot after he turned his head, the train would cut him off before he could reach and cross to the station side of the tracks. This was it; he'd blown his chance. Even without those rams by the station, he'd never make the platform before the train concluded its brief stop and left. The express was close, and had already started to slow. His desperate fantasy of running to catch and ride it to the station was immediately quashed by the modern streamlined railcars—there was nothing to leap for and grab onto.

Carrots wouldn't hesitate! Keep trying for her! Nick ran flat out again for the train—the engine was already ahead of him, and he could use it for several seconds of cover from those sheep. He saw them much closer once the last car had passed between them. They had moved out from the station to make sure he wouldn't get near it. He swerved to run straight at them so he could get across the tracks and to better ground before they met. They slowed and produced makeshift weapons—a crowbar, and a pipe with a beveled tip.

Everything was perfectly clear now, if he lost, he was dead and disappeared. A delayed victory would be no better. If he won through quickly, he'd try his utmost to make that train with his evidence. They chose a fight to his death, but he was the ZPD trained predator.

They're a lot bigger so don't wrestle; use your agility. Nick angled his approach to keep one behind the other. Crowbar in back lifted a cellphone in his hoof! Fool's not set! I can take them in turn! He growled and accelerated, went in low on four to pipe ram and leapt as soon as the sheep had committed to his swing—the sheared tip of the tube made an almost musical hum as it swept under him. Nick slammed into the ram's shoulder hard enough to lose some air, but got a grip on his thick wool ruff front and back. Nick pulled himself in and levered the ram's nose up with his elbow in one fluid motion, twisted his head, plunged his gaped muzzle deep into the wool for the throat, and bit as hard as he possibly could.

His fangs barely penetrated the skin beneath as he compressed the disgusting mouthful of wool, but it was enough. The ram aborted his backswing with a strangled bleat, dropped the pipe, and used both hooves to try to punch the smaller fox off him. Nick jerked his jaws free and pushed back right as one wool softened blow clipped his muzzle.

He landed on his feet, with arms and tail out for balance, and took in the immediate scene. Crowbar was a step closer; weapon raised in one hoof with his other reaching up to join it. The cellphone was drifting towards the ground behind him. His immediate adversary had his mouth open and both hooves still at his neck—the pipe slowly rolled in front of his legs. Nick dove for it, grabbed, rolled, and was able to land a solid blow to the side of the ram's knee before he could fully recover. His adversary toppled with a satisfying thud.

Nick danced away as crowbar came around his compatriot, ready to pound him into the ground. The moaning obstacle between allowed him to circle behind the second ram—instead of attacking him; Nick went for the cellphone. He was about to spear it with the pipe to deny them its use, but realized its worth just in time. He scooped it up and backed away from the enraged ram, then cocked his arm with the pipe as if he was going to dart it into the sheep's belly. The ram flinched back and Nick took off around him for the station.

The train was still there! The fight had taken seconds; he might have a chance! Nick ran hard and flung the pipe off to the side. But he couldn't outrun the pain that began to claw and squeeze at his lungs. No good—his strength gave way and he dropped into a stagger fifty feet short of the platform—there were mammals on it; the train hadn't moved. Gasping for air, head down and tongue out, he lurched forward and pawed for the edge of the concrete as heavier footfalls pounded closer.

His breath was stilled as strong arms clamped around him to lift him onto the platform. The cougar in the conductor's uniform released him to greedily suck in more air. Nick looked up at him and tried to get a 'thanks' out. It was more of a pathetic wheeze before he went back to panting with paws braced on his trembling knees.

"No! You can't do that! Don't take him! We need to arrest him for…" The ram drew up short of the platform, still holding the crowbar, suddenly unable to find more words. He lost a staredown with the resolute feline conductor, and stood in disbelief at his failure and its likely consequences.

"The only one that's going to be arrested is you for committing an assault while on railroad property, fuzzball." The conductor placed a possessive paw on Nick—which also helped the fox remain upright. "This might require a full investigation."

"No! No investigation. I can't…" the ram looked behind him toward his invisible crony out in the brush before he ran away in panic around the side of the station. The cougar allowed himself a satisfied smile. "Let's get you onboard, I want to hear about this."

"My bags," Nick said more steadily as he pointed. The conductor waited for him to retrieve them from the weeds; then escorted him down the length of the platform to the first passenger car of the train. Two mammals in Western and Great Basin uniforms, a deer and a pig, nodded heads to them and walked past towards the station, while a similarly outfitted coyote headed forward to the engine cab. So close, he'd been saved by a crew change!

"We were told to keep an eye out for you," the conductor said. "There's something going on around here and you seem involved enough to tell me what it is. You a reporter?"

Nick made a snap judgement to trust his cougar rescuer. He hadn't been alone—he would have failed in his mission almost immediately if not for the timely backup provided by three separate railroad employees. They were obviously aware of some unusual activity, but not about the conspiracy itself. He needed more information, and would pay for it with his own.

"No, I'm undercover. Remember the drugged preds going savage last year in Zootopia? We now know it didn't start or end there. We need to talk in private and this must be kept absolutely secret." Once on board, he fumbled out his receipt, which was waved away. The train started to move as the conductor led him to a cubbyhole of an office.

"Sit tight and rest up here. I'll be back after I drop this in baggage and make my rounds." The cougar flipped down a simple seat and took Nick's case forward.

Seconds after, Nick heard a nearby door open quietly before Kristen slipped around the corner, bumped against him and looked up. She reached up over his shoulders and around his neck and pulled him down to her level, muzzle to muzzle. For a shocked instant, Nick thought he'd be fending off an over-amorous skunk, but she whispered urgently instead, careful to tuck her tail into the cubicle with them.

"Glad you made it Wilde; saw you get picked up out on the platform! Tell me later, need to make this quick." Kristen disengaged an arm, retrieved and pressed a scrap of paper into his paw. "My sleeper berth—four cars back, up top, get there as soon as you can. You were right; I'm being watched. It's a vicuna who's still asleep right now I think. Don't let her see you, she's a suspicious one."

"Vicuna? Sounds Amazonian."

"Really Wilde? Yes. They're like a small skinny llama. Stick legs, barely deer size. She dresses baggy to hide it. Has medium brown fur all over, a long slender neck, big dark eyes. Soon as you can." A quick glance out along the passageway and she was gone.

The conductor was sufficiently impressed with Nick's careful narrative to offer him the access info and password for the railroad's freight shipment database. The cougar's familiarity with some of the conspiracy's recent anti-predator propaganda had made it easier to work his curiosity and fill in just the right details to ensure his cooperation. It felt good to use some of the conspiracy's efforts against them after he'd worried earlier about the double-edged risk of using their own knowledge anytime soon.

Even better was the railroad mammal's opinion that it was unlikely the rams would report his possible intrusion to their unknown superiors. They didn't know that he'd been anywhere near the prison complex, and would want to avoid having to explain their negligence. He'd taken a big risk revealing that to the conductor, but felt it necessary to curb his curiosity and impress on him their need for secrecy.

The sun was up and there was more activity on board as he left the pensive cougar to walk back to Kristen's sleeper car. A bathroom adjacent to the cubby showed where she'd hidden and listened for him. The compartments on her car's lower level were for medium sized mammals—up to a wolf, pig, or even a non-Clawhauser cheetah. If this train was like the one he'd arrived on, the largest mammals would have their own more open plan cars coupled at the rear since they couldn't physically fit inside the others.

Nick took the narrow stairs at the near end of the car two steps at a time and stepped into the equally tight upper passageway after he checked for any vicunas. Just three possums to squeeze past and a bobcat that barely glanced at him. His timing was good, as there was nothing strange about a fox off to bed at daybreak. Compartment doors were larger near the ends and smaller in between. Kristen had one of those—he tapped gently and it immediately slid open. Paws grabbed and swung him past her as soon as he leaned in—she was kneeled on the bed—before she closed it behind him.

"What took you so long! Decide to stop for some breakfast?" Kristen shifted to give him room to sit beside her. He struggled to remove his backpack; there was barely room to stand alongside the bunk style bed in here even with flattened ears and a tucked tail. Seated with it beside him, he was pressed hip to hip with the skunk and could feel her shudder against him.

The snug compartment was comfortably cool, but certainly wouldn't stay that way for long with the two of them in it. Nick placed his arm firmly around Kristen to try to soothe her and damp out the shakes. That wouldn't help the temperature either he thought as she responded to lean in tighter against him. He gave her a couple of minutes to calm down before he spoke.

"Do we have to watch what we say?" he asked softly. She shook her head no. Tucked under his arm as she was, he was reminded that she was only a few inches taller than his mate and felt comfortingly similar nestled there. Although her body was stockier than his bunny's, she had much longer and glossier fur, and that majestic tail; this skunk was a fine looking young mammal. It seemed he needed the contact right now as much as she did.

"What's got you so spooked, Kristen? Whatever it is, mine's certainly worse." He felt her paw slide around his back to hold him as well—and their tails were bunched together behind them. This was a more intimate scenario than he'd envisioned happening with her!

"You hit the news yesterday morning Wilde. Wide coverage and they've offered a substantial reward for you." She gripped him a little tighter and looked up at him. "They've also announced—because of you and for the safety of the citizenry—an initiative to review the backgrounds of several other predatory law enforcement officers; some by name!"

"They're making unfounded public accusations! What was Bogo's reaction?" This was directly against the legal presumption of innocence—there has to be department push back against this!

"I don't know. I was on the next train out, Jack messaged it was too risky to wait any longer. I'm sorry, I don't have the temperament or reflexes for all this undercover agent stuff and now I don't know when it'll ever stop!"

"It's not all bad Kristen," Nick soothed as he carefully disengaged from their perilous mutual hug. "I found something big out here that is bad," he said more conspiratorially, "but it might be the break we needed." Kristen's face acknowledged his relief as he took out his phone, found and reinstalled its battery, then successfully retrieved the image to show her.

"They're building a prison out here, a huge one!" He used a claw tip to point out features on the inadequate cellphone screen. "I don't know if these are barracks or cellblocks, but here's a guard tower and a partially complete wall. The yard's at least a mile square!"

Kristen leaned over to look, took the cellphone from his paw, and slowly tipped it as if that would improve the resolution of the image. "Are you sure about this?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. Watched for half an hour, saw work crews—all sheep from the town. Its six miles or so to the north and they're laying a set of tracks out there. I had to sneak in and out—almost got caught. I'm sure you know who it was meant for!"

"How did you know it was even there? We picked this town almost at random!" Kristen's voice was steady and her trembling had stopped. It seemed to Nick that her scientific curiosity had come to the rescue.

"Only good stop in the area to pick. Station manager told me it was an all-sheep town; they were still far too xenophobic and security conscious about anyone getting off there—especially me. I wanted to know why, had hours to kill, and just couldn't resist my sneaky fox nature!" Nick shut off and put away the phone, then put a paw on the skunk's arm.

"We have to get this to Jack and Chief Bogo as soon as we get to Concordia—don't want to send anything out from near here. That will give you and I plenty of time to compose this text right. I also have a task for Skye but I don't think we should send her the picture for now. We'd better use yours for the texts, not sure about sending much more from this one." He'd decided that transmitting the images would be the last thing this phone did.

"You sure? Look at what happened the last time we collaborated. We got this whole mess rolling!" Kristen said with more confidence.

"Kristen, who else deserves to be stuck with it this time?"

Notes:

Yes, loyal readers, I did consider leaving you with a horrible cliffhanger a few pages earlier. But there is much more to come than crude literary devices!

Our next exciting installment will be— Chapter Seventeen: Vixen Vigilantes