Chapter 33

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AN: Apologies for the delay in posting this weeks chapter. I have a simple and highly reasonable excuse: I completely and utterly forgot. Anyway, on with the show:

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"-And we must remember one simple fact about these so-called prophets, crowing from their high places that THIS was 'the end of history' as they so deigned it. They would only call it that if they, themselves, were the ones who it was most advantageous for…"

With a tap on the space bar, Judy froze the video where it stood, the scene frozen in time. The feed was shaky, the camera quality old and a little worn, but it clearly showed the large pig, 'Napoleon' as he called himself, at the front of his… congregation? The word sounded fitting, given that he sounded far more like a preacher, whipping up an excited cheering righteous crowd, rather than a dry rhetoric bound activist. Filling out a large barn, stacks of cut hay and vegetables either side, followers in home-woven clothing were watching as he spoke triumphantly and bombastically to all of them.

"Anything the matter, Fluff?" Nick asked, nudging up over and looking down.

"I…" Judy began, tapping her fingers on her thigh. "-I mean, if you don't get it I won't."

At which point Carmelita, ears rising, looked over. "What is this?"

Nick looked up and shrugged. "The long documentary on this failed commune we're watching on our train ride out to visit the ruins of said commune."

The Spanish-French police inspector narrowed her eyes. "Some levity, por favor."

Instead Nick got a slight bunny elbow in his side, something Carmelita viewed as a perfectly fine substitute, as Judy, ignoring complaints of fox abuse, explained. "He's the one who can recognise faces," she said, jerking a thumb at him.

"Guilty as charged."

"And so if I'm getting deja-vu from one of the faces on here, naimly this mammal," she pointed at the pig in question. "Then if he doesn't recognise him then I certainly won't. It probably is just a coincidence."

Carmelita shrugged. "Or just that pigs can be very hard to tell apart."

Judy's eyes widened up like dinner plates, her ears falling back as she turned to look at the police inspector. "Uhhhhh…."

"¿Qué?"

"Ahem, Carmelita," Nick began. "I'm not sure about where you're from, but from here…"

"That's a faux-pas?" she asked.

Judy cleared her throat. "Yes, among a lot of pigs it's considered very insensitive."

Carmelita looked around the cabin of the train. Though close to half full, slowly filling up before the big surge for the rush hour, none of the other mammals seemed to be paying any attention. And none, at that time, appeared to be of the porcine nature. "It's not as if I didn't work with a whole lot of conchons in my time in the forces. And I mean they kind of acknowledged that in large groups, when you're not moving into boars and such, they can be hard to tell apart. Especially for someone who's just met them."

"Hey," Nick said, paw up. "I know too. It's the nose being on its own muzzle almost that throws the brain off, etcetera. Just…" He rolled his paws, Carmelita rolling her eyes.

"In that case I'll refrain from verbalising well known facts in the future."

Nick smiled, patting her one the back. "There you go! That's the PC spirit! We'll have you sticking X's on the ends of your nouns to make them gender neutral in no time!"

Carmelita's response was a swift and proportionate act of fox-on-fox abuse that garnered the concerned looks of a number of mammals on the train. Regardless, things soon died down and Judy, deciding the whole sidetrack had gone on long enough, pressed play once more. "At this rate, we won't have finished it by the time we get there," she muttered.

"Well," Nick said, rubbing his side. "Might as well milk every minute of this train ride. -Just don't tell Bogo."

"Why?" Judy asked, looking up.

"So when he gets here and asks whether we got here as fast as possible as he wanted, I can ask him why he didn't use the helicopter."

…

"Hey," he shrugged, smiling. "It's my new life goal! Bug the Chief enough to eventually get onto the helicopter."

Judy rolled her eyes, looking back at the documentary as it carried on playing. Switching to a new camera angle, the back of the barn could be seen, a list of bold commandments written on it. Chief among them, 'all animals are equal'. Below that, 'Those who do not remember the past are condemned to repeat it.' Judy felt a slight queasiness in her gut there, along with a stroke of curiosity. Reading down the list, she used the place bar to jump backwards ten minutes, to a far older version of the list. The first two commandments were still the same. But below, time had allowed many changes to enter in.

Which wouldn't have at all been insidious, were it not for the many times that the pig in charge had stated that the rules were eternal, never changed or to be changed, and that anyone claiming otherwise was an outside sabourtour, aiming to sow division and steal the people's wealth and labour for themselves.

Shaking her head, finding her place once again, she carried on watching his speech. "-Indeed, this end of history, the end of any organised opposition to their system of wealth extraction, however brutally flawed and terminally misguided, is an ideal time for them to lock in the status quo. Forever. And I tell you now, a truth as immutable as the eternal and unchangeable promises behind me, that this status quo will slowly coil! And crush! Mammals under its own weight. Milking them drier and drier and drier, draining them to husks, to create the cream for that ever shrinking elite. And forever, any opposition will be met with the same old response. What's the alternative? What is the alternative, my dear mammals? Our system may be bad, but no system has proved itself better!"

There was a long pause by the pig, for effect, before he carried on. "And that is our duty! To prove a system better!" He threw his arms at the commandments behind him. "I say it again! To stay true to these words of truth and dignity, eternal and unchangeable as they are! To show that with property and the means of production, when owned and shared by the people themselves, can produce a society more equal, more enlightened, more sustainable and prosperous than any! ANY! Great pyramid those elites set up! To show the world that their wealth does not need be measured by useless trinkets and wasteful materialism, but by the wealth of the spirit, the brotherhood, the commonality of mammal and non-mammal kind. We are here, to be this beacon, this light that mammals find when they dare to imagine the great shibaloth so omnipotent, it is said to be harder to imagine than even the end of the world. We are those people can look to and see, so they don't have to merely imagine the end of capitalism! Amen brothers and sisters! AMEN!"

And at that point, he was met by a thundering round of applause, the shaky camera panning out to show the various mammals exalting themselves, cheering and clapping on and on at the speech. All while a new narrator spoke, just as the camera flickered to a young and heavy-built horse in one corner. "When he gave those speeches," a new voice spoke, "I believed them. Entirely." There was a tinge of nostalgia to the heavy regret. "Being a mono-hooved mammal, here in the information age. I think I speak for all of us, it's a struggle. It's limiting. My father always harkened back to the great dock gangs, where despite our lack of dexterity we could use our strength where it counted. The wealth of the world, offloading and unloading onto ships. Bags and crates and bushels, hauled by the sweat of our backs, and we knew it. We held our heads high, and demanded our rightful wage for it. If the dockers of the world, horses like us, went on strike, the world stopped working, we knew our worth. We could make the world know it too. And then all that went when the containers came in."

The still clapping crowd switched to the horse, being interviewed years later. One of the survivors, who'd got away. The one 'Snowball' said was called 'Boxxer', who now worked as a Zuber driver of all things. "I think the loss of that dignity broke my father," he said. "I don't know, I didn't know him before. I just knew him at the bottle, or angrily quoting old texts. Bitter… And I mean I learnt about them, if I wanted to try and understand him and weasel out of a beating or two I kind of had to read Barx and all that. I knew concepts like the theft of surplus value, and alienation of labour…" He gave a dark chuckle. "Two months acting at as a greeter at the front of a big box store is enough to teach anyone of the latter. But… All that never clicked for me." He leant forward. A slight fire growing in his eyes. "I saw poverty, and distress, and poor mammals. Things that needed fixing. My father would always yell that you couldn't fix them without taking down the powerful first, that they were linked, that you had to destroy one to raise the other. But… Well, forgive me if I took those rants about distraction and revenge from my father no differently to any of the others. So, I was jaded, I was lost… Until I first heard Napoleon preach, talking about a new alternative he planned to set up. A chance not to destroy. But to create!"

The screen switched once more to the pig, the crowd still clapping. "And at first," Boxxer's voice over continued. "It felt like the truth. That he was right. I ploughed the earth and I built things, useful things, with my strength. I saw my labour in front of me, and what it brought, and remembering back to all those things I learnt I smiled knowing that not one bead of sweat of it was being taken by one person or the other. They were all there, for everyone. I believed in it. I worked harder. Harder and harder, on and on. All for the cause. All for it all as they'd give everything back. And when I broke myself for them, I…" He trailed off, looking down. "I…I believed they'd…" He sniffed. "He'd give their all back to me. Back even… Back even as I got onto that rusting old van to the hospital, I…"

And the video feed cut off him, back onto the pig, still basking in his applause until, eventually, pressing a small button below his podium. A shrill little bell rang. The applause died down. Ebbed. Retreated. Slow and unsteady, the mammals in the video seeming to look at each other, not quite sure.

Before they all played it safe and let the applause rise up again once more. On and on, like a ragged runner out of breath and only kept going by its own momentum.

The documentary kept going on, about some of the events going on while 'Boxxer', instead of receiving medical treatment, was put to work in fields by gangmasters his so called faithful leader had sold him to. Of the increasing tension as food supplies began to ebb and decline, of the working hours getting longer and longer as more 'critical people's infrastructure' was built. A huge windmill, finally able to spin and produce the same energy as a couple of cheap diesel generators. A glassworks that struggled and strained to produce the panes for a new set of greenhouses, that would bring promised bounties of food. Defensive earthenworks on the newly cleared woods, and tall wooden fences, lined with barbed wire. To keep those who feared their success and wished to crush it out.

There was one moment where some mammals, a small clique that had been mentioned a few times, went on strike. This was not what they had been promised. This was not their dream. This was not the world of post-industrialisation freedom they had signed up for, been promised, where their escape from rent allowed them to reclaim so much of their lives to themselves. The fight back was swift as Napoleon's 'soldiers', a dozen or so wolf pups who'd been born on site and, separated from their parents, been given special tutoring by their leader, charged in and let rip with the unhindered brutality that many a mid-teen would merely boast, joke and fantasise at being able to do, but here were praised for.

The battered mammals were dragged to stocks and kept there, one of them years later describing how over several days they were just left to wear out. Constant heckling, mud being thrown, their protests that the promises were being broken and the signs were different now mocked like they were claims the world was flat. "You punks!" Napoleon yelled. "You punks. Punks. God-damn punks!" the call was immediately taken up by the wolf cubs like a venomous tease. Eventually they were brought into the main hall, asked how dare they break the laws they'd agreed on when starting, the laws forever written up, unchangeable and eternal, on the wall. And when one of them loudly said the truth, that the rules had been rewritten, and he begged those around him to protest the obvious…

'Napoleon' laughed. Long, forced, distinct Ha-Ha-Ha's… But even now, even after Judy had had experience with another mammal with such a distinct laugh… That vixen's laugh sounded like the most natural thing in the world compared to this. His wolves though, prodding and teasing and yelling and mocking, was pure distilled natural. Practically taken from any high school yard or canteen where those kids should have really been. And the rest of the crowd, they booed and jeered and yelled at the betrayal.

The betrayal of those who denied the truth of the writing on the wall.

In the end the betrayers were given their shots at redemption. One by one, taken out, given the chance to atone for their sins. Fingers pointed at them, every time they'd slacked off or not believed enough, rubbed in their faces. They apologised for it and explained how lazy they'd been, how they hadn't believed enough or had doubted too much. How they were caught by the poison pills of the outside world, still remembering their gilded cage and trying to drag everyone back in. How they were betraying the memory of Boxxer, and vowed to work harder.

And on and on they went. The last clip of that moment showing one of the mammals, supposedly kept locked and mocked for weeks, bawling her eyes out and listing all the evil things she'd done. Going over and over, making them up as they ever increased in their absurdity. But the crowd demanded more. She gave more. Until there was no more to give.

And Napoleon came up and hugged her tight. Asking how much better it now felt, and how lucky she was to get a second chance at being a good mammal.

Back in the future, the member of that group who'd made it out said he and three others fled that night. Partway out, two turned back, too fearful of the evil in the outside world and hoping to slip back into their beds, as if it had never happened, and avoid punishment. He and his friend carried on, eventually splitting. He'd thought everything he'd been warned about was true when the sheriff caught them and took him back to the station, locking him up as a crazy homeless person off his meds or something. He'd used his time to phone his mother, gone to sleep expecting to be sent to prison in the morning, instead to be picked up and sent home in a tearful reunion. Another step on his long road to recovery.

And yet it wasn't this moment that led to the fall of the 'Animal Farm' commune.

It was its hardest working son.

The horse, 'Boxxer', rescued in an anti-slavery police sting on a farm in Deerbrooke. They'd expected homeless mammals and runaways, picked from the big city. Migrants smuggled in too. He'd stood out like a sore thumb, and in the interviews they quickly picked up on the fact that a certain eccentric over in Bunnyburrow might be far, far more sinister than imagined. Investigations up into the selling path of Boxxer eventually led to one who talked about how 'Napoleon' had sold him the horse… For fine cigars and liquor, creature comforts his people had supposedly left behind.

The hypocrisy didn't matter though, what mattered was the charge of modern day slavery, a court summons filed and a group of officers sent to bring him in for questioning.

They weren't sure if it was his orders or their own initiative that led to the stoning and the fight back to kick off. Either way, what mattered was three injured cops, two put into hospital, and the big guns getting called. TUSK teams from the city, a sign off for lethal rounds to be ready in case of an emergency, helicopters in the air and battle lines being drawn.

Whoever started the fightback, the pig ordered his mammals to hold the defences they had made. Two days they held the siege, until an attempt at the gate broke through. The mammals, following orders, retreated to their barn, their last line of defence.

The officers stood around, blasting calls for them to surrender. They even brought Boxxer and some other survivors out, to try and tell them it was okay, it was safe, they could leave. The reaction to hearing and seeing the horse, believed to be dead, alive, was unknown.

No-one knew how it happened, but late that night a fire took hold of the barn. It must have started low and slow, choking the mammals inside with carbon monoxide, because one minute everything seemed normal and the next it was an inferno.

No-one made it out alive.

Including Napoleon, presumed dead along with all his followers.

The documentary carried on, looking back, giving interviews. Judy closed it off though, she got the gist. All with a roiling pit in her stomach too. The police report had mentioned lots about the bones of various mammals being found, including pigs. But the mysterious leader… Well, he was fairly off grid before turning up here. Dental records proved nothing, and though body counting seemed to suggest that all pigs were accounted for…

Could he have slipped away?

The question hung in the air. If this wasn't a coincidence, if this was another wild thread connected in, if this long lost pig was another mammal working with Rattigan, then why? Along with that fox, three criminals joining up for whatever grand ulterior motive they were chasing after. "What could they want?" Judy whispered, drumming her foot.

Nick shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe some mammals just want to see the world burn?"

Judy looked at him, her eyes half lidded.

"Cliche aside," Carmelita said, tapping her muzzle. "It's greed. Or pride. It is always those two. Maybe seeing the world burn is just a means for an end to them."

"I don't know," Nick huffed. "I mean, maybe it's just simple anti-pred stuff. If our pig guy left and then came back to create Kazar's cult… I mean, that kind of connection isn't the most outlandish. At which point he's setting up a bunch of mammals to hate preds. While the Anonymous Vulpine case wasn't started by them, they certainly tried to keep it going and use it for the same reason… Turning mammals against preds. Then there was the case on Outback Island, which was anti-dingo or anti-pred or whatever they hoped it to be, not that we let it. Maybe the simplest answer is the best."

"Then what about the fox I fought with. Why would he be in with them?" Carm asked.

Nick just blew some air. "Means to an end for greed or pride or something."

Whatever the case was, it would have to wait as the announcement for Bunnyburrow Station had come in. Everything had been very short notice, so much so that even asking Judy's family to pick her up was off the table. Thankfully, the local Sheriff's department had said a vehicle would be waiting for them at the station. They could drive it around for the day, before staying at the Hopps place overnight for the three to rest, getting the early train in the morning after.

They were met out the gate by a tough looking goat deputy chewing a long blade of grass. A mammal who Judy ran up to, smiling and fist ready to bump. He let out a small smile, before rolling his eyes and throwing her the keys. "You do your thing, Hopps."

And with that he wandered off, leaving them to it.

Judy, blipping open the vehicle, turned back to the two foxes and smiled. "Ah, good to see some familiar faces."

The drive over began with her explaining how Gerald Gruffson Junior was one of the familiar faces on the Bunnyburrow force, the one she'd planned to join as a 'species relations support officer' before the door opened up to take the official ZPD Academy induction and for her to become a fully blown official law officer. "I mean, it's not like there weren't bunnies working for the cops in Bunnyburrow," she explained off. "Just, most weren't 'real' cops so to speak. Not that some mammals like Gruffson weren't open to promoting up from there to do official police work. Having bunnies willing to go into burrows to help break up fights was something that they'd actually want here and there, and after talking to them deputising a support officer who'd been trained up and could hold their own was a perfectly workable solution. It's just the kind of bunnies who joined the support roles usually joined them for the support roles. Not as some backdoor in before the front door was officially opened, unlike the odd weasel or ferret who did end up handling the majority of the in burrow…"

She was broken off by a slight snickering from Nick.

"Yes," she said. "I see the multi-layered irony there too."

"Just making sure," Nick said. He relaxed back, silent. A silence that only grew as they drove further off the beaten track, following signs and then a map, up to a set of woods looming in the distance. Moving around the border, the mood in the car had chilled to a solemn silence as they looked out for…

"There," Carmelita said, as they pulled up along the fringe of the tree line. Stepping out onto the soft grass, they both looked up to see an almost vanished gravel path leading off into the woods. A silent look shared between them, they locked the car and began walking along it. Soon, the tall trees either side rose up and reached out above them, creating a chilled tunnel, shielded from the warmth of the afternoon sun. The gravel under their paws and boots didn't crunch or shift, too glued together by newly formed mud and sprouting plants. Instead, the only sound was the soft rustling of the leaves in the wind as on they walked, through the dappling sunlight and around the corners, not sure what to expect.

"There," Carm whispered, pointing out to a large mound on the inside of one of the bends in the road. Nick and Judy didn't think much of it at first but, looking on as the vixen walked over to examine it, their eyes widened.

"That's a bunker!?"

"Sí," she said, walking up and using her shock pistol to brush away some of the shrubs and ivy on the front. Looking on, the fox and bunny pair's eyes widened as a small peep hole exposed itself and, looking in, they saw a small space inside. "For a paranoid mammal, this was a defensible position, obviously one you'd want to hold. Any heavy equipment would have to come up this road."

Nick, nodding, walked past some of the newly sprouting plants in the middle of it and then pushed through the undergrowth, circling around and then leaning down, digging slightly. A few pushes and Judy, looking back inside, saw him enter through a splintered wooden door, its rotten timbers disintegrating with the force of his push. He looked around it before leaning down, pulling something up. "Tear gas, I think. This place is good for holding people off on the road, but I guess they flanked them."

"Not that they'd be able to damage something like a TUSK van anyway," Judy said confidently… "Would they?"

"I don't know," Carm said. "I have known a lot of crazy mammals in my time. And you don't have to be crazy to know how to make something like gunpowder."

"Or just mix farm diesel with ammonia nitrate fertiliser," Judy said. "Biggest grounding in the Hopps family history came about from that."

"Trying to make a new irrigation pond on the quick?" Nick asked, slipping back out only to pause and growl, his fur suddenly awash with burrs.

"Blowing up old trees for funsies," she shrugged. "Stuff it into a hole, light a fuse, and then run."

"And mammals say graffiti artists are a public menace," Nick said, trying to brush himself down only to grumble.

"Leave it," Judy said, as they carried on. "When we're over in the burrow, my family will have you cleaned up in a minute. We have a lot of paws, and a lot of tweezers."

After a few more failed brushing down attempts, Nick swallowed his pride and carried on. The woods seemed to get denser, and the road harder to walk up, more and thicker trees sprouting out along with an ever thicker underbrush. Soon the todd wasn't the only one to be covered, with both Judy and Carm sporting a covering of burrs and stickyweed.

And then, turning a corner, they froze.

"This must be it," Judy said solemnly. "Animal Farm."

Up ahead and either side of them, the thick woods just ended, instead replaced with a lighter, sparser, copse. If anything though, it made looking through it even harder, the leaves and branches far more at head height than lifted up over them. Searching through was going to be difficult, only for one remaining land feature to present a solution.

Pulled back from the end of the old woods and rising up were a pair of hills, rising up to about elephant height and stretching off into the distance. Rocky, relatively uncolonised, the only break in them was the hole the road ran through between them. And, entering it, the trio looked at each steep slope on either side, trying to see if there was a way through the brambles or not. Thankfully there was and, making her way up the loose rocks and broken stones of its surface, Judy hopped to its summit, then climbed up an askew post of some kind, clearing all the undergrowth and getting a large view of the land ahead of them.

The sight took her breath away and made her eyes fall, a sudden sombre chill coming over her. The hill she was on stretched off, long and narrow, turning around and coming back to its partner just across the road. Either side, she could see a wet muddy trench, dug down, and looking closer she saw scraps of barbed wire rusting and waving in place. "It's not a hill, it's the wall," she said.

Or what was left of it, anyway. And, looking into the enclosed motte, she saw a large break in the centre, the regrowing undergrowth falling away into a light, emptier, covering. Stone, tarmac, and other hard cover stood out in it.

Sliding back down the hill, Judy set out as best she could, the trio weaving their way through the undergrowth until they finally broke through, hard stones under their paws and a clear view in front of them, only the odd bush or tree sprouting out defiantly.

Not that they hid much. "I heard that they levelled what was left," Judy whispered.

The rest remained unsaid as they walked around. In many cases, there was just the raised brick outlines to show where a building once was. In other cases mounds of rubble, or the odd heap of trash.

"Levelled or picked clean, you take your pick," Nick said, looking over to what must have been a set of water tanks or something. Those made of plastic still remained, their beige translucent exterior now shaded sickly greens from algae and moss covering the insides. Those made of metal were gone, beaten and grinded out of place to be shipped away for scrap years ago.

"Still," Carm said. "If he was back here recently, we should see some evidence if we keep our eyes open.

"Not that it's likely," Nick said, rubbing his chin. "If there was anything of value, I think he'd have grabbed it years ago."

"There was a lot more heat years ago," Judy pointed out.

"There was a long time before now when there wasn't any," Nick countered, only to freeze as he saw what appeared to be a large raised mound. Up to his chest, stretching out and back, his head tilted. He'd seen the pictures of this place before, there'd been nothing like this. In fact, if one of the big piles they'd passed was the old main building, and the water tanks which he remembered were… Then this would be about where the…

He froze, stepping back, a sudden dryness in his throat. One that only increased as he leant down and scraped away some of the dirt on the edge, fragments of buried ash and charcoal starting to come through.

Closing his eyes, standing up straight, he took a pawful of dirt and covered it up. Walking away, to be with Judy, as she walked over to one of the few remaining buildings that still stood. They appeared to be large pens for ostrich or emu or other ratites, that or just general storage. The corrugated pitched roofs were rusting in, the windows had long been removed, the thick heavy wooden stable doors were rusted up and falling apart. But they still stood, and in Nick walked, hoping to be close to Judy to catch his breath and gather his thoughts.

Thoughts thrown askew as he stepped in and froze, jerking slightly as he felt Judy grab his paw.

Bunk beds.

Collapsed in on themselves, falling over and rotten, the mattresses that remained rotted out to just a frame of rusted springs. But a dozen, two dozen, mammals must have once lived here.

Nothing was said as they looked around, looking into broken paw lockers where the lids were open but not touching those that were closed. Ruined clothes were in each, like the ruined paintwork on the wall, only occasionally giving glimpse to the slogans that were once written there.

Or, in one case, a cluster of pawpads, ranging slightly in size and painted on in purple paint. Below them, stroked out, were two words. 'Loyal. Forever'.

"Nick…" Judy whispered, a sudden ice chill in her voice as she stepped towards it, a glance of her eyes spotting another old painted token. Lines on a wall, with dates and names, climbing up.

Nick almost stood with her, only for an odd scent to draw him over to one of the lockers, half smashed by a recently fallen beam.

As he slowly, carefully, dug into the rubble, Judy, ears back, raised her paw to those on the wall to judge their size. A quick look and she pulled it back, eyes closed as she turned away, sniffing.

Nick paused at what he was doing, looking over. "Judy?"

"They're wolf paws…"

He glanced up at them, then back down. "I guess…"

"Look at the size!" she yelled, beginning to break down. Nick, seeing it, raced over and held her, pausing to put his paw up to them… Almost covering the smallest.

He felt the realisation claw up and rake down his throat. "I'm…"

"They were just pups…" she whispered.

Nick turned his head, casting his gaze to a piece of desk just lying there, trying to get his eyes off of the image. Instead, looking closer at the carved up and pock-marked surface, he made out scratched in graffiti. Tons of it. Names, jokes, crude cartoon figures of mammals, numerous highly knotted and in one case quite detailedly veined male wolf parts, noughts and crosses squares, that 'Secret-S' thing, a cartoon of a wolf with a cape and the words 'Punk-buster' underneath it. And, in one corner, a whole line of rough, crudely carved, wolf figures in a line. From smallest to largest.

A family.

A pack.

"He…" Judy sniffed. "He turned them into soldiers. He stole their lives, he…" She bit her lip, and Nick let her cry into him.

"-Anything the matter?" The fox turned up to see Carmelita walking in.

He shook his head. "Just… I'll explain later. -But, can you dig into that locker down there. I smelt something, and if I'm right…"

An eye on the pair, Carm walked over and dug through, pausing as she pulled something out. "It's… It's a drink, or…" She paused as she looked at the glass mason jar, covered in grime on the outside but filled with a purple tinged gunge on the inside.

"A drink I think you'll find in all of these," Nick said, letting go of Judy now that she seemed okay and walking over. Opening up a well preserved locker, he saw a well sealed jar inside, wiping off the grime to reveal the purple liquid stored within. A swill showed fragments of flowers, stems and cut up bulbs…

"Corms…" Judy said, looking at it. A new look was overtaking her, a bubbling anger. "Midnicampum Holicithias…"

"Night howler," Nick hissed.

Carm looked at it, her eyes widening. "This… This was where they first learnt how to…"

"No," Judy said. "This was where the cult's child soldiers lived, were indoctrinated. And this… This must have been their liquid courage here. A drink to give them bravery and passion before each mission or attack."

"Rage serum," Nick said, placing the drink down. "This… This wasn't in the report."

"None of the wolf pups survived," Judy hissed. "They all died, probably high on this."

"But, wouldn't the cops have found these?" Carmelita asked.

"Making flavoured drinks like this isn't too uncommon," Judy said, shaking her head. "Out here, it'd be expected. They probably saw these and didn't think anything of it, probably thinking it was blueberry."

"Only instead it was nighthowler," Carm said, "meaning our mammal knew its effects. Or at least enough to make use of it."

Judy looked up, eyes widening. "I mean, my family knew what it could do, they just never put it to use… like this, at least. It doesn't mean he's super smart or anything. He just put two and two together…"

"I…" Nick began, only to pause, clicking his fingers. "This place probably didn't use pesticides, did it?"

Judy looked up to him. "No, they'd have used…"

They both shared a look, before making their way out, Carmelita following behind. "What is it?"

"This place probably used a lot of nighthowlers to help keeps its fields pest free right?"

"Right…?"

"So they should still be here," Judy said, "and if they're not…"

Carm's eyes widened. "If we can see evidence of recent digging…"

"It's a needle in a haystack, but it'll tell us a lot!" Nick said, as they made their way over towards what looked to be a bunch of foundations. Getting closer though, they revealed themselves as something all too expected in a farm like this. Greenhouses. Or at least, the beds of them. The metal work had long since been stolen or rusted, the wood long since rotted away, the glass…

"I'll go on, boot time!" Carm said, marching into them, the sound of glass crunching underfoot ringing out.

Nick and Judy looked at each other, before reaching into their pockets and bringing out pairs of protective anti-cut socks, pulling them over their feet. In they followed, a little more carefully, looking around.

Most of the special plants in the beds had died, most had been replaced by colonising species from the wilds, but a few still remained. Including…

"Here," Judy said, bringing their attention to a small nighthowler, peeking out all alone. Reaching in, working her paws, she cradled the corm. Or, what was left of it. Most had been sliced off, leaving only the left over peel which had, over time, done its best to recover. Taking a picture, Judy buried it down again before pausing, looking at the other beds. "The ground is more disturbed here, here, here…" she began counting it off. "All in a regular row, like you'd plant the howlers. Only now, they've been unplanted… I'd bet the farm that someone came here not too long ago and recovered a large bunch."

"How long ago?" Nick asked.

"I… Months," she said, looking up.

"It's not the only thing that's been disturbed," Carm said, pausing at the end of the greenhouses. The duo came up beside her, looking on at a seemingly out of place tree. It had obviously been at the centre of some kind of glass house, the regular soil replaced with something far sandier to give it purchase. And though long shed of its warm and protective house, it had been surviving, growing up with its pale grey barked limbs branching out into a low wide canopy. It had even produced a few small apple-like fruits. What most caught their eye though was a large limb, cut off, the wood starting to heal but the layers of dried white sap still being present on the flat end.

Judy's nose twitched as she looked at it. "Why would he want that…"

"And why?" Carmelita asked, head tilting. "Am I getting a very bad feeling in my stomach?"

Pausing, Nick brought out an evidence bag and grabbed one of the fruits, slipping it in. He picked a leaf and bit of branch too, wiping off a tiny spec of sap from his pad before closing it shut. "I don't know, but we can ask the lab techs to have a look at…"

He paused, ears flicking back a grimace growing

"Nick?" Judy asked, as he leant down and grabbed some antiseptic wipes from his small medical packet.

"I think… I'm very lucky I only got a tiny bit on me," he grimaced, wiping the pad hard. He hissed a little, before grabbing some of the strongest you could get off the shelf painkillers he had and swallowing them down. "Gah… We'd better go. This stuff is nasty. And if I've done a dumb fox and need to go to hospital, I'd rather get there sooner rather than later."