Eevee TF Series Part 4-I

Eevee TF Series
Part 4
Chapter I

"Dad, what is taking so long?" Victoria whined from the worn carpet floor of the family RV. The progress of the wheeled cage she was slowly baking in was very limited, as the frequency for traffic stops increased steadily as the trek progressed. Her arms stretched as she sat upright to look at the view surrounding her- nothing much had changed in the past ten minutes spent half-asleep on the decade-old carpet. Both of the seats beside her had been made open for her to sit before leaving home, but neither of them allowed any comfortable position. "When am I going to see some mountains?" she moaned with quiet irritability.
"I can't just make these cars disappear, dear. Looks like an accident, so we may be stuck here a while." As the tail lights on the small blue car in front of them flashed, her dad grumbled a defeated sigh and braked, preparing for another five-minute stop. "I just hope we can get to the hotel before it gets dark out."
"Before morning," his wife added with an equally dull tone.
"What hotel?" their daughter asked, her attention somewhat piqued.
"Well, we can't possibly get to the campground before morning, so we're staying at this small place in the city." Her father's tired face looked back from the stagnant sea of cars glimmering with sunlight along the highway's few hills before them. "You might like it, they allow animals."
The news lit up her face as a single candle in the desert. She retorted back with an exasperated groan.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing..." she replied simply, hoping to end the conversation before it began. Conversations with her parents brought time to a halt, and more than anything she wanted to get out of the motionless cage. Every so often a mild breeze came in from the cracked window near her original perch. She would sigh silently, wishing for it to stay with no luck. She felt like a toad wishing to jump out of boiling water, with nowhere to go but back into the pot.
She stared wanly from the window at the cars that were slowly passing by. Of course the collision had to be on the city-bound road; it only existed for her misery. She silently cursed at whatever drunk idiot was sitting lamely in his scratched-up car a mile or so in front of her. His car probably at least had a working fan. That's all that you really needed to survive, she mused, in the magnifying-glass of a crater she called home- a fan that works. Just a little shot of cool air to help you hang on in the hard, rocky, lifeless void castaway from anything. In the inescapable heat of the summer it was almost impossible to comprehend that there was anything enjoyable beyond the walls of her home. A bead of sweat rolled down her cheek.
As another breeze blew through the oven, she pounded her head against a nearby suitcase and cursed herself for her unchecked angst. On any normal day she was generally bright and enthusiastic. However, at any position in the car she found comfortable, she noted the sun was constantly irradiating her with severe doses of irritability in the unmoving air. She rolled over and sat upright once again and flew over to the cracked window, hoping for another breeze. Relief tightened her dead lips into an almost-grin. She felt the skin on her face lighten up with the coolness of the air that graced it. Her stubbornness was quickly blown out like a match falling into water.
Through the silvery cracks on her aged window she could almost make out the distant stout cone of the clouded, purple-blue mountain that loomed over the surrounding hills and valleys. Eyes shining with newfound excitement, she dived for the backpack she had used as a pillow and whipped out a sketch pad as worn as the discolored carpet. Immediately she had the impressive landscape in proportion and the motionlessness of the RV became her sweet lemonade. She translated every observable detail into graphite-laden lines and curves with careful, graceful sweeps of her wrist.
Soon the line of traffic began to move again, though at a snail's pace. The accordion of traffic in front of them moved mere yards before resuming the standstill. Everyone including the vehicle heaved a groan.
Victoria was glad she hadn't wasted her morning moping, although the air was still roasting her skin. The incompleteness of her drawing was unsettling, however she decided she could add more detail later. Flipping through her pages, she lost herself in her past sketches, musing at each of them with an unusual alien fondness. Very few showcased anything other than animals or desert landscapes. In their dull lines and lazy curves she felt the same boredom of her home where they were drawn. A wave of pride in her newest sketch brightened her face as she closed the book and tossed it aside.
Her father muttered something before he reached forward and fiddled with the vehicle's old radio. A minute of tuning finally yielded a deep confident voice which boomed with static like ocean waves from every direction. The voice was that of a local traffic newscaster who patrolled the roads frequently, and sometimes gave friendly stories when traffic was bad, believing himself to be a comedian. He was just finishing up a conversation with one of his callers, whose telephonic voice had a distinctly shallower and more distorted sound.
"No, no; you'll want to take the 48 over to 126, and go around. It's crazy on that Northbound."
Suddenly the announcer got another call. The new dilute voice belonged to, as he announced, one of his traveling reporters. "Hey, Carl?"
"Folks, that would be Steve, our on-site reporter- what do you got for us?"
"I finally got over here to that Northbound. It's crazy; backed up at least a mile or two, maybe more."
"Oh, wow! Any movement up there?"
"Standstill, from what I can see. We're headed to the accident scene now to get more."
"Thanks, Steve, keep us informed. Hear that, folks? Might want to avoid that northbound today; expect plenty of delays. We've got our reporter live up there checking it out. You still with us, Steve?"
There was a pause in the broadcast before Steve's faint voice came back on. "Y-yeah, I'm here. I've been told- from what I'm hearing there's an overturned vehicle, at least- no, at least 10 feet off the road... We're approaching the scene now, there's dozens and dozens of cars just sitting in this heat." Victoria rushed back to the window to see the shining patrol car whiz offroad past the traffic on its way to the accident scene ahead. A short, casually-dressed man was seated on the right, talking on an unseen phone. Squinting through the RV's cracked window, Victoria looked ahead to watch, but nothing could be seen through the reddish fog of dust the car had picked up. The radio went to a break as the traffic began moving once again.
The broadcast resumed after several minutes with the sound of a car door closing, which blew static from the radio speakers. Victoria could hear a reporter panting as he spoke. "Carl, I'm approaching the vehicle now. The owner is sitting here with me, and it appears as if rescue crews haven't arrived yet. Sir, are you alright?"
A dazed voice issued a response. "Yeah, I-I'm fine, how 'bout you?" The owner was drunk, and he spoke with a careless, tipsy tone.
"I'm fine," spoke Steve confidently, asserting himself over the drunk. "Can you tell me exactly what happened?"
"Uh, y-yeah, this morning, uh. I was, uh, uh-driving, and ah this... this cat, he jus comes out nowheres like a shadow 'e walks him out up , and this cat- ah-I-I try to stop, but ah just, and now I'm right 'ere." He started whimpering through his slurred words.
The reporter paused a moment. "That's what happened? You saw a cat and swerved to avoid it?"
He sniffled, trying to comprehend the question. "Dat's what happens. Was a cat... Ah'm not drunk, I just..." He banged the dislocated tire he was using as a stool. He took out a handkerchief and wearily whined, "It's sure as hot out here..."
Victoria looked out her window and saw the whole scene she was hearing on the radio. A green, rusty car was half-overturned near the road, and a large, unhappy man in sagging overalls was sitting next to it, wiping the sweat from his bald head and looking around at the scene like a spooked deer. A small man in casual shorts and a baseball cap was heading towards his own car, talking on his phone while fanning himself with a free hand.
"Well, Carl, there you have it. He was driving drunk this morning, when he swerved to avoid hitting an animal."
"Was a black cat I saw it!" a distant voice chimed in.
"A black cat, he says."
"Thank you, Steve. That's your traffic alert for the morning. In other news, a doctor at the Coledge Regional Medical Center is receiving treatment after what appears to be severe electrocution from an equipment malfunction, more on that after the break."

---

Shadows and figures filled Cathy's head as her body wiggled through residual twitches and shivers. On her stretcher her eyes squinted and her hoarse, weakening voice shouted at the people who stared as they passed. Embarrassment mixed with a salty rage made her growl at everything that moved, herself included. The dark emptiness she felt was a complete mystery to her. Her memories eluded her like warm, dry sand in her fingers, and every time she clenched a handful of it, it only trickled out in faint clouds of dusty air. All she could remember was Ron's shouting, a jolting pain, colors which made no sense, and sudden blackness. Was it a stroke? she wondered. Her mind hissed at the thought, not being nearly old enough for those. Her eyes squinted open again to find herself in the back of a medical truck, on her way home. She rolled onto the side of her body which hurt less and grumbled as she imagined scenarios which involved removing Ron's head from his shoulders.
Her students, watching their instructor's truck veer off, walked home steadily with a mixed sense of gloom. A mutual silence distanced them, causing some to shuffle uneasily. Everyone looked to Ron, who was avoiding eye contact. With as much distaste each had developed for their grouchy instructor, nevertheless they all were equally worried about her, as well as dreading her recovery. The distant sound of birds and cars filled the dense silence until Valencia awkwardly broke it.
"Oh, Ron," she paused, hoping he would say something before continuing. No luck. "Am I still going to see you this afternoon?"
Ron looked at Valencia, who looked back with an entreating stare. "Yeah, I suppose so, in a few hours," he half-shrugged, half-nodded.
She gave a half-smile and returned the half-gesture. Not waiting for anyone else to make the first move, she turned and walked up the street, waving back as she lifted her beach-themed bag with gear onto her shoulder. She'd been waiting to check out the lake all day, especially after seeing its cresting waves from atop the hospital, and she wanted to get in a couple hours of swimming before heading home. Crystal walked with her, since they both were staying in the same hotel. That left the boys standing around the ornate lawn fountain that sparkled crisply in the afternoon sun.
Corbyn looked over at Eric, who was carefully watching the trickle of water between the fountain's tiers. "So, Eric, where are you headed? Going home?"
Eric shook himself from the trance he fell into and looked up at his new friend, a little startled. "No, no, not yet. I was going to head over to that park up there." He pointed a thumb over his shoulder towards Corwood Forest. "It... really caught my eye while we were up there, and I'd like to take some nice pictures for my blog..." He took out a small black camera and displayed it for the other two.
"Nice," Corbyn admitted with raised eyebrows, scratching his chin at the young photographer. "Well, Ron and I will be heading back to the hotel, I suppose, right?"
"Right," said Ron. "See ya, Eric." He waved an arm and headed down the street, away from the lake.
"See ya," Eric cried out over the traffic. He smiled proudly as he stored his camera away in his pocket. He hailed a cab and headed towards the park. He had an undeveloped passion for photography. Ever since he received his little camera as a birthday gift, he took every opportunity he could to get a good shot, even if it meant ducking and sneaking and putting his nose in places where he shouldn't. He got a kick out of it, as somewhat of a secret double life. After all, he kept telling himself, most things only existed to be enjoyed and photographed.

---

"Did you say something?"
"No, I don't believe so. Did you hear something I might have said?"
Corbyn gave Ron a masked look. "Nah, nothing you'd say."
"What did it sound like?"
"Like that thing you got in your pocket." Corbyn poked Ron's flat belly near the lump in his coat pocket.
"No, no, you're not gonna get me to take him out that easy-"
Corbyn looked away from Ron and gave him a commanding shh. He then started looking around for the source of the sound. A faint, barely audible vowel was carried across the city, well-mixed into the sounds of nearby traffic. Corbyn spun on his heels in the direction of the sound and, grabbing Ron's arm, started to bolt. "That way!"
Ron had no choice but to follow, almost being dragged to the ground. In a minute they had passed the faded wood exterior of their hotel and were running up another street in a frantic, blind search. They dodged and dived their way through crowds and traffic, following the source of the soft shrieking sound up and down so many streets that Ron swore they were going in circles.
Corbyn slowed to a halt and twitched his ears, wasting little time. "Over here," he waved for Ron to hurry up. Eventually, his friend reached Corbyn who stood flat against a wall near a street corner.
"Dude, where are you going?" Ron bent over and tried to catch his breath, amid a few coughs. He knew it was a bad day to be wearing his coat, and he was not nearly as fit as Corbyn was.
Corbyn ignored the question and carefully poked his head around the corner to look at some hidden scene. His jaw dropped and he stepped away from the wall, at a strange loss for words. "Holy crap!" he yelped in a panic. Ron got back up and joined his friend, giving a similar reaction. Neither of them had a clue how they didn't see it earlier; a block down the street in front of them a plume of thick black, curling smoke was rising from the top of a small, two-floor building. Hoards of spectators crowded the sidewalks and streets, looking up in horror as the building accumulated more and more damage from the flames that poked out of the windows menacingly.
Without another word Corbyn dashed for the scene, with Ron following in a shocked pursuit. He reached out and tightly grabbed Corbyn's arm to hold him back, stupefied.
"What are you doing?!" He yelled above the howl of the billowing smoke and the wailing of the spectators. Even from this distance he could feel the fire's heat. He'd never been so close to a fire before, and the reality of the situation made his stomach churn uneasily. Knowing Corbyn's reckless and hard-headed nature didn't relieve his trembling, either.
Corbyn stopped reluctantly in his determination and turned around. His wits were definitely about him, but seeing the panic in his friend's eyes softened his firm resolution. "I'm pretty sure- no, I'm positive that I heard someone up there..." He pointed toward the smoldering top floor. He spoke with slow and careful urgency, hoping to help his friend understand.
Ron looked between the intense flames and the convictions in his friend's eyes. Conflict lit up his face as his grip on Corbyn's arm tightened. "Well, you can let the firemen take care of it," he pled.
"They aren't doing anything about it! They don't even know it's up there!"
Ron couldn't believe he was having this conversation. He fought back as hard as he could, refusing to let his friend go. "How do you know something is up there? What are you hearing?"
"Crying!," he implored to Ron. He held out his arms in exasperation, almost crying himself. "A cry for help! Can't you hear it? Someone's in there and nobody can hear them!"
Ron perked his ears and tried to calm down. Corbyn sounded ridiculous, as if acting out a dream. Ron began to wonder if he himself was dreaming, but the fire's intense heat made him doubt that theory. He took a deep breath and focused on the sounds around them, and sure enough he was able to make out the faintest squeal he had ever heard, in the direction of the building. He sighed in defeat, "I, yeah I think I hear it. But what are you going to-"
Corbyn, with a flicker of reluctance in his blazing eyes, had taken advantage of Ron's distraction and broke free of his friend's unsuspecting grip. With quick, wild motions he bolted for the building and disappeared into the crowd before Ron could finish.
Ron choked, his words trailing off helplessly. The bright, energetic blond hair was soon absorbed into the crowd which circled around the two-story bonfire. "Dammit, Corb," he grunted as he made his way toward the scene, pushing his way gingerly through the dense awestruck crowd.
After scanning every person in the crowd without reuniting with Corbyn's face, Ron grimaced as he slowly assumed the worst. He turned and looked to the towering inferno behind him and charged at it. He broke free of the crowd, and jumped onto the sidewalk, only to be stopped by a weary-looking man in a sweat-matted suit.
"Sorry, son, nobody's going in there. It's not safe."
Ron wrestled with the crude arm that locked his shoulder before giving in to fatigue. The fireman's dark authoritative eyes held him with no forgiveness. "A guy tried to run in there, did you see him?"
The man grumbled, "Blond hair?"
Ron nodded with desperate, unsteady breaths.
The stern man pointed a condemning thumb towards the building. "That crazy kid managed to squirrel around my whole squad. I caught him by the arm and he just ripped right through like a bat outta hell." He put his hand to his forehead, walking Ron slowly away from the building's entrance. "Your friend darted right in, shouting like a maniac about someone still being inside."
"Is there?" Ron resisted half-heartedly, still trying to wrap his mind around everything that was going on. One second his friend was walking home with him, the next he was running into burning buildings.
"No, we cleared the whole building long before flames popped up. An AC unit was smoking and we responded immediately- evacuated everyone." As if in response a flare soared up with a whooshing sound and disappeared like a brightly-glowing whip. There was an explosion of sparks as the roof of the top floor caught fire. The crowd started screaming in fear of getting a sprinkle of sparks, and the front lines crawled back into the street. The explosive charge was followed by a larger puff of smoke and flames that filled the sky, unhindered. Ron stood in shock, trying to imagine what Corbyn was doing, assuming he was still alive.
A slow, creaking moan from inside the building sounded without shaking Ron from his shock until another explosion caught him. The sound of glass breaking drew everyone's attention to the top floor. A figure cloaked in smoke, ash, and charred clothing had flung himself from the of the window and landed in a limp, smoldering heap on the grassy lawn. A swarm of heavily suited men immediately ran up to him and turned him over onto his back. His grimy hair was brushed away and the sight of Corbyn's face broke Ron from his frozen stupor. Overwhelmed with relief, Ron ran over to his side and knelt down, forcing the firemen out of his way. Corbyn, a slightly-bloodied, slightly-bruised mess, managed to cough away some of the grease and grime that blackened his face to give Ron a reassuring, classically cheeky smile. Shooing away the other firemen, the smug hero sat upright.
Ron smirked, "Come on, smartass, let's get you cleaned up." He took Corbyn's arm around his neck, and together they slowly walked away from the howling scene.
A few blocks finally removed from the distant sirens and smoke, Ron stopped to let his friend catch his breath. "Corb, what the hell happened in there?"
"I don't know," he shouted back, as if still in the action. "But, I could have sworn I saw Eevee in there, on the stairs," he admitted, almost not believing himself. "It was crazy, but I followed him up there... and the flames, they surrounded him and he was scared, and..." he paused catching his breath. "He jumped out the window before I could get to him." Corbyn stopped walking and leaned against a wall, hiding his face.
Ron's fist clenched, but he stopped himself from overreacting. He was seeing a rare side of Corbyn; a sensitivity that frequently got him bullied in high school. Instead, his understanding palm gently came to rest on Corbyn's shoulder. "So, you followed him then?"
Corbyn took a slower breath and looked back up. He smiled as he forced his broken spirit back underwater in a way which Ron detested. "Yeah, didn't you see him? Where is he anyway?"
Ron's conflicted face turned to concern, feeling the firm orb in his pocket. "Corbyn, the only thing that came out of that window was you."
He looked distraught and disappointed. "What do you mean? I know I saw him in there- he was sitting right... and he was looking... I know I saw him, and I followed him out of there..." His face turned downwards again,
"Yeah, and a good thing, too. There was an explosion. You might not have made it if you didn't come out sooner."
"But I know I saw him! He jumped in my arms!" He started groaning again, and held out his arms as if to demonstrate.
Ron bit his lip and grimaced at the damage left by his friend's glass window stunt. It was strange, he remarked, how far a little bit of blood could be smeared. Corbyn was lucky to not have to be taken back to the hospital. "Hey, hey, if you say you saw it I believe you, but you need your rest. We can let him out of the ball once we get to the hotel, alright?" He carefully took Corbyn's wrist and gave it a friendly tug, urging him to keep walking back for the hotel. He earnestly hoped it was close by, as he had little clue where they were.
"I'm not crazy, Ron. You heard it too." Corbyn sulked tiredly as they walked. He tried to wipe away some of the blood on his arm with a wetted finger after getting concerned looks from other pedestrians.
"Well, perhaps we're both crazy. Maybe everyone else is crazy."
Corbyn nodded in agreement, a little dazed as he walked in slow uneven steps. Ron walked alongside, still holding his shoulder, taking affectionate pride in his friend's brave stupidity. His head turned back around for a moment and saw the smoke billowing over the tall buildings behind him.