Siddeley was bored. And scared. And exhausted. And in pain. And hungry. And bored.

He focused on this boredom because all the other emotions made him want to cry. And crying would be very un-British, and un-planely, and overall pitiful. So he stared at the treetops, watching the sky gradually change from dark blue to eye-burning orange. Patches of warm sunlight landed along his fuselage.

It was almost peaceful. Enemy agents, wolves, and ax-wielding clowns were less likely to attack him in broad daylight.

Even though he understood why Finn and Holley had abandoned him— the firefighters wouldn't have left until they did— it still felt miserable. Memories resurfaced of a game of tag gone awry, where all his "friends" stepped aside and let him take the scolding from that stupid teacher—

No! Stop that, I'm just bored!

So he decided to replay the entirety of Top-Off Gun in his head. He loved that movie, had it completely memorized— and yet, he still managed to doze off. Only the beating drone of a helicopter woke him up, and panic pounced on his mind. What if the Apache had come back to finish the job? Was it the firefighters? They'd mentioned a fire, was it close by? Or was it a tourist group, uploading pictures of him to Pacebook? What if—

His radio crackled, yanking him from his thoughts. He had no idea how the radio was still functional, but it was. "Oh, that looks really bad! Siddeley, I told you that you'd be the first of us to crash, but I didn't expect you to go above and beyond like this!"

Sid groaned. "I read you, Mandi. Glad you're enjoying the view."

"It's not enjoyable! What were you thinking? No one's supposed to be flying in this area. I got interrogated by the fire chief just for coming here— Hold on. What? Oh. Smith wants to know how much pain you're in."

"Uh… A little uncomfortable, with all the pine needles and… I can't feel my left wing, but Holley said I'm losing fluids on that side."

"Is that all she said?"

"Yes."

Sid felt her shadow pass over him. She was probably circling, scoping out the scene. Landing wouldn't be a problem; there was certainly some newly-flat earth behind him. "Well, that checks out… How did you crash?"

"I was hit by a missile. A Stinger."

"Ouch."

He had trained with Mandi in C.H.R.O.M.E.'s flight academy, and she wasn't often at a loss for words. But now, she seemed hesitant. Did he really look that bad? "How hard would it be to lift me out of here?"

"Well… Difficult, I suppose, but since you're already in… smaller pieces… that might help."

Sid felt something in him skip a rotation. "What pieces?"

"There were some shards scattered over the trees a while back. Same color as your wing. The left one, you said? Yep, there's nothing there anymore on you. Must have been blown to bits."

"W-what?!" Sid tried to roll onto his left side. The wing should have been attached, acting like a doorstop. Although he couldn't free himself from the trees, he rolled enough to prove that something was amiss. He began to hyperventilate. "Oh, no. Nononono. No. No… B-B-But they told me everything was fine!"

"Well, it's not."

"They told me it just needed patching up! They— They lied to me!"

"Yes, that's unfortunate. Now that we've discussed the hardest part, about your tail…."

Nobody asked Holley why her tire was flat or why she was covered in mud. (For the latter issue, she had fallen into a river. And now the mud was beginning to dry, which was somehow more uncomfortable than when it was wet.) In contrast to the party last night (was it really just last night?), it seemed the staff was more concerned with the upcoming plaque unveiling than with the cleanliness of their guests. The concierge, for his part, sent some tiny vacuum cleaners in her wake. The floor was back to being tidy before anyone else, especially Cad, could make a fuss. Holley nodded a silent thanks to the forklift before rushing to the ramps.

When she finally found the room, the door opened in the slowest possible manner, as if mocking her agony. She had brought spare tires, but couldn't easily replace the dented wheel. The bullet was probably still lodged in it, too.

Mater had always believed dents and other injuries were symbols of friendship. Holley supposed this particular dent would represent her partnership with Finn; it only grew more painful as time went on.

He's not bad to you. And you've certainly gained more respect in the agency…But he's still got a death wish like day one.

With an irritated sigh, she slipped into the wash. It was one of those decisions that Finn would normally tease her about ("At least fix the wheel first, a little mud won't kill you!"), but he wasn't there to say anything. And once the itchy mud was off, she could better focus on the repair.

Ten minutes later, she was feeling much better (physically, at least), and got back to business. Her computer was in working order, and she felt Sid deserved an explanation. So she propped a pillow under her wheel and, bottling up her nerves, dialed the jet.

He picked up on the first ring. She hadn't seen his face before they left him, but he looked worse off than she had imagined. "You betrayed my trust!" he sobbed before she could even ask how he was doing.

"I'm so sorry, Sid. But we didn't want you panicking until our backup arrived. Are they there yet?"

"Yeah, they arrived a few minutes ago." He sniffled, then looked off to the side. "It's Holley. Do you…?"

"Of course I do." Agent Smith moved into view. "Shiftwell, why didn't you tell Sid that his wing was ripped off?"

"Finn and I didn't want him to worry too much while he waited for you two. It was bad enough that we had to leave him alone. Some firefighters found us and pressured us to head back with them."

"Why didn't they send the park's emergency response team?"

"They mentioned a serious fire, so they might be distracted." She decided to not mention that their espionage activity had contributed to the urgency of the fire. But she didn't see any smoke yet, so maybe it wasn't as bad as they feared….

Agent Smith nodded thoughtfully. "So my area of expertise might not be so practical. Pity. Where's Finn?"

"He should be heading to the site of interest. Would you believe the Lemon gang is behind this?"

"Possibly. We should put them in stronger cells."

"They must have been monitoring the area, because they came after us soon after we left Sid. I was injured— don't worry, I'm fine now— but Finn continued on. I'm sending you the coordinates now. You might be able to catch up with him."

"Understood. Should we be expecting you to join us?"

"Not unless you run into trouble. This whole plot is being enabled by Superintendent Spinner, so I might poke around the Lodge a bit more. There might be some more specific information about that weather machine."

"Weather machine?" Agent Smith repeated. "You're joking."

"I would not joke about such a scientific innovation." She sent him the coordinates, then ended the transmission. They couldn't afford to be intercepted and tracked, especially when she was confined to the lodge.

Mission control.

"He went that way!"

"No, he went this way!"

"Make up your minds, idiots!"

Finn was actually above their oblivious heads. He had disguised himself in the leaves of a tall tree. The Lemons had given him a good chase, and he'd just gotten an opportunity to hide without being spotted. He pressed himself against a single large branch, peering down at his pursuers.

Drop a bomb on them, his more violent impulses whispered.

Are you insane? There's a fire somewhere around here! No point in killing these blokes only to get burned up.

But you'd be taking them with you….

Meanwhile, a glider bird stared at him with one eye, perched on another branch. He briefly considered shooting it. What if it was an enemy drone, disguised as a simple bird? Then again, if it was a drone, he would have been found by now. So he left it alone. It chirped, as if in gratitude, then flew away.

After a minute of tense arguing, the Lemons dashed off. Finn waited a while longer, just to make sure they had left for good— and so he could strategize.

What would they do with the weather machine once he recovered it? Should it be destroyed, or handed over to the Americans? (No, certainly not. C.H.R.O.M.E. would want it for their own archives.) How much would it sell for? (Not that he would sell it. Finn McMissile didn't use Cherokeebay, no sir.) Could its effects on the weather be reversed?

"No, no," he muttered aloud, because saying it helped him commit to it in his mind, "don't get ahead of yourself. Find the machine first. Where did Holley say to look…?"

"...in the mountains close to Anchor Lake, directly across from Piston Peak itself."

Well, he could see Piston Peak from his perch in the tree, a few kilometers southeast. He shifted slightly to see the other side of the valley. Opposite Piston Peak was a very tall, very steep chunk of earth. If he wanted to reach it before the hottest part of the day, he'd have to hurry.

Satisfied, he grapple-hooked to the ground. A single Deere glanced his way, grazing on a nearby patch of dry, brown grass. Unfortunately, Finn didn't have time to enjoy the natural beauty. He needed to find the weather machine before the enemy cars found him.

"Absolutely not!"

"Blade insists. To be safe, you've gotta get everyone out."

"I've been working on this lodge for five years! I'm not gonna evacuate now just to be safe!"

"You've got less than four hours—"

"Ah-ba-ba-ba-ba-ba! Why am I talking to you? Where's Blade?"

"Oh, he's out back, sipping a motorjito. WHERE DO YA THINK HE IS?! He's out FIGHTING THE FIRE!"

Honestly, Cad didn't understand why people had to yell so much. Especially this mechanic, who acted like he knew so much more about fires than Cad. And maybe he did, but he didn't have to be so arrogant about it.

"Well, I don't see a fire now," Cad said, looking out the window. He failed to notice the wide-eyed guests a few feet away, staring at him and eavesdropping. "And you forest people always have it under control, don't you? Why not now?"

"Because YOUR party planes were flying recklessly over the burn area before dawn this morning!"

"I don't know anything about that. If those ingrates didn't want to stick around and celebrate the Lodge, that's their fault. You know, maybe I just need to spend more. Yeah, I can already see things about this renovation that need to be upgraded."

"Who cares about that?! What about the guests' safety?"

Cad thought about it. "Well, no refunds. Call me when there's a real problem. Seriously, you aren't supposed to make prank calls to 911."

"We didn't call 911, we called YOU! Explains why you're being such a pompous—"

Like he always did when people annoyed him, Cad hung up. Haters were gonna hate. He made a note in the back of his mind to call Blade and tell him to fire that mechanic for his insubordination. As Cad wheeled away from the phone, he glanced at the guests. He flashed them a commercial-quality smile, and they uneasily returned it.

The forklift at the call center looked curious about what exactly had been said over the phone. But, within five seconds, it was ringing again. She picked it up. "Piston Peak Fusel Lodge, how may I help you? Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Oh, dear. Mr. Spinner!"

Cad sighed, turning back to her. "What now?"

"We have reports of shooting in the forest! We're a no-hunting zone!"

"Hmmm… Well, there can't be that many guests out there, right? I mean, the plaque unveiling will begin shortly, we can't just shut down the park! Tell all the visitors to gather out front for the ceremony. Discourage camping or hiking until then."

The forklift sighed, but she began to issue the procedures.

I might write a bonus chapter where the agents go the wrong way, so Holley ends up lost in the forest and Finn ends up at the Lodge (with all the Lemons on his tail). I wish I thought of it earlier 😭