Chapter Text
“... Melody?” Soos’s voice is a whimper of growing fear amidst the darkened skies. Her eyes are no longer watching him. Or anyone else. No more will her gentle touch ease his soul and no longer will he hear that wonderful nasily laugh. He clings to her body, feeling her fleeting warmth against his own as the man who took his light away is slain in turn. Soos’s friend, Wendy, avenges the loss of his one true love. But it doesn’t matter. None of it matters anymore. “Melody!”
“Soos… she’s gone.” The harsh, but gentle words from Stanley’s mouth do nothing to ease his pain. It only worsens it. She’s gone and it’s Soos’s fault for wasting time. They should have run the moment they were presented with the means of escape by tamed zoo animals. He wanted to, but instead Soos dallied, lifting Melody up and savoring her last gentle kiss. He should have run, he thought before she was stricken by a laser blast. And he will never forgive himself for ignoring his gut. From the darkness at the end of the street, Quentin returns, whose eyes are filled with worry.
“We must hurry!” he shouts. “They are cordoning off the entrances to the underground as we speak!” The goat he rides runs in circles around the group, dazzling the other animals and leading them onward. Soos keeps hold of Melody, sobbing weakly as the elephant beneath him charges through the streets. And upon the horse near him, Wendy and Pacifica sit in thought, both sharing the guilt and grief for the loss of their dear friend.
“I screwed up,” Pacifica wails. “I let him live. That piece of shit. I let him live and he repays me by killing her.”
“It’s not your fault, Pacifica. I saw him but I was too damn slow to react. None of us could have predicted this.” Wendy’s words offer little comfort to Pacifica and Soos. Pacifica shares the greater part of the blame for Melody’s death. Even as Wendy tells her that it was the enemy soldier with his sterilizer, she can’t help shake the guilt, knowing that it was her decision to spare him that led to Melody’s passing. She should have known. After all, it was Mason who told her what needed to be done. He whispered darkness and cruelty, yet she found that now he had also whispered the truth. But now that voice is gone and she fears that it is already too late to save the twins. As they approach the entrance to the sewers, Quentin orders the great elephant Soos rides to remove the manhole. The two hundred pound piece of metal is swiftly cast aside, giving them their means of escape. Quentin quickly swishes the animals back into the otherworldly gate he keeps on hand before descending into the sewers. And with no other choice, Stanley and Wendy follow him. But Pacifica stays with Soos outside. There’s no way to justify her actions, no possible way he doesn’t share the guilt for what they’ve done.
But the distant voices of Consortium soldiers shows that it’s time to go. Pacifica hardens her heart, dragging Soos away even as he fights to remain at Melody’s side. “We have to go, Soos. There’s nothing we can do.”
“No. I’m not leaving her!”
“You’ll die too.”
“I… I need to stay. Just go.”
“We still need you, Soos. We can bring her with us. Make sure she gets a proper funeral when we get out of here.” Soos shakes his head, clinging on even as the Consortium moves closer to their position. And from out of the darkness, a bullet wizes past. A regular bullet, not from any of the Consortium weapons. From across the street, Pacifica can see the army marching closer, weapons trained on them. And with no other option, Pacifica uses all her might to drag Soos away from Melody’s body, falling down through the sewer opening and into the sludge while a hundred more bullets fly past overhead. They just barely survived. And Soos couldn’t be more furious. He desperately struggles to go back to Melody, wishing to spend his last moments with her before Wendy and Pacifica drag him back into the waist high sewer water. It’s only when the desperate Stanley attempts to shake some sense into him that Soos relents.
“We’re dragging behind, Soos! Now if you really want to leave me as the only responsible adult that’s fine. But damn it, think! Would Melody really want you to die too?! No! She’d want you to survive! So let’s survive, damn it!”
“Fine! But I’m going back for her when you guys are safe! I’m not leaving her lying on the side of the road, okay?! I’m not letting those creeps get their hands on her!” Soos stubbornly sloshes forward, following Quentin as Stanley trails behind. Pacifica stumbles to her feet, helped by Wendy as they escape into the sewers. The pain in her leg has doubled since she fell, no doubt breaking it further when Soos tumbled upon her. And the rushing waters of the sewer system threaten her with serious infection if her wound is not treated soon. But she’s alive and that’s what counts. Quentin leads them right and left then down another long path. The stench of rot and shit is nearly overwhelming. Roaches and rats scatter everywhere before them while the distant voices of their oppressors echo down the endless passages. Quentin makes a sharp right turn, only to double back to the left as the flashlights of the army are seen in the distance. If not for the dim lantern that Quentin carries, they would be trapped in the darkness. But that sliver of light gives them away, resulting in another close encounter with death that leaves Pacifica’s hair sizzling. Little by little, the army and Consortium alliance stomp through the tide of murky, foul sewage, right on the tail of the survivors. With little warning, another bullet smashes into the wall next to them. And another, barely missing them as they turn the corner again. The enemy is closing in on them and they have nothing left that can stop them. And without warning another bullet zooms past. It smacks head on into a lead pipe before ricocheting right into Stanley’s left eye. And Pacifica will never forget the sound of his scream. It’s enough for Trembley to double back and Soos to forget his rage.
“Mr. Pines!” Soos cries out. He halts, grabbing Stanley in an embrace as he nearly falls. As blood streams down the old man’s face, the Consortium continue their approach, firing bullets and sterilizers in a deafening cacophony of laser streams and ricocheting bullets. Stanley takes another hit to the leg, slowing him down considerably. They have only seconds before the Consortium slaughters them all. Quentin sends forth several animals from the narnia dimension to no avail. They are slaughtered in seconds, giving Pacifica and the others only a moment longer before they too are killed.
“We can’t stop this,” Pacifica shouts, feeling every ache in her leg as if she had just broken it. “Please, go on without me. I’m just slowing you down!”
“We’re not leaving you!” Wendy shouts. “No one else is dying today!”
Her words do little to help, for the fact of the matter is they’re all being slowed down by Stanley and Pacifica. Even as they approach the exit to the sewer it won’t matter. They’ll be gunned down before they reach it. And so with a heavy heart, Pacifica readies herself to be left behind to face certain death. She lets go of Wendy.
Only for another to take her place. ‘... Soos?’ She wants to cry out and stop him. With all her heart, she wants to tell him to continue. But her voice dies in her throat. With a sudden swiftness greater than the wind, Soos charges forward with a speed never seen before and will never be seen again. With one last attempt at saving them, the man who has lost almost everything he holds dear rushes headlong into the jaws of death and ruin. He risks even his very soul to halt the rush of troops, giving one last triumphant cry before meeting his fate head on.
“Beware of the SOOS CABOOSE!” He crashes into the horde of soldiers, bashing them with a flurry of fists that sends scores of soldiers to the ground. The Consortium fires aimlessly, killing most of their own in an attempt to take down Soos. He throws an army man into another before he is shot again and again. But Soos’s fury is unlike any other. More and more he takes and the greater his madness grows. His arms and legs bulge with supernatural strength and his arm hair begins to grow into a wild, thick mat of black fur. Soos fully unleashes the might of his Bigfoot power, unlocked by the sheer rage flowing through him. But it is not enough. He is broken and beaten down moment by moment, with every stab and shot soon slowing him to a crawl. Stanley nearly begins to run back for him. But with his final breath, Soos pounds his fist into the ceiling. And the city thunders with the anger and sorrow pouring out of him before the roof rumbles and falls upon the pursuing forces, crushing them all with a deafening blast beneath rock and stone.
And all is suddenly silent. Soos’s sacrifice gives them the time they need to slip away. Rushing out of the tunnels into the tumultuous river, Quentin guides their way towards a tiny dinghy. The boat is just barely enough to hold all four of them, with most of the space occupied by a rather large donkey whose hooves have punched through the wood. Somehow the craft still floats, driven by the paddling donkey, allowing the broken survivors to finally escape the city of Washington. It’s done. It’s finally done. And at a cost too terrible to even consider at the moment. Stanley’s eye is lost and it is doubtful his leg will ever fully heal. Pacifica’s leg has broken thrice, and with her travels through the sewers she will undoubtedly suffer a horrible infection.
But none of it matters compared to the loss of Soos and Melody. Both of them, gone… simply gone. There are no pursuers to give them thought, no treacherous waves or sudden lights to bring them fear. There is only the silence of the wandering river as it moves to meet the mouth of the sea. Until at last Pacifica breaks, shedding tears and using all her willpower not to rage and wail into the darkened night. Wendy quietly sobs as she holds herself tight for warmth against the chill breeze. And Stanley, the hardened con who has no doubt seen many men die before, is left weeping in the wake of the disaster. As a cold and misty fog moves in from the ocean and covers their escape, the befuddled Quentin Trembley attempts to bring what little comfort he is able to. He offers conversation and sympathies, except he is also a madman who has no idea how humans process emotions.
“Uh, you know… the reason boats should have donkeys stuck in them is so they stop holes. After all, a boat can only get up to four holes so you might as well fill them in first. And the donkey is nature’s best land swimmer, so you don’t even need one of those loud modern motors.”
“Stop. Just stop.” Pacifica chastises the president. He becomes quiet again, realizing they need time to grieve. It’s unbelievable. Up until this point they were invincible. All of them. Not even the god of chaos could keep them down. And all too suddenly two of their closest friends were cut down. Melody and Soos were family , even if they didn’t share blood. And they were slaughtered so suddenly. It was too easy. No effort, no fuss. Gone. Just gone.
“We fucked up.” Wendy’s sudden words can’t do justice to how colossally they screwed up. Everything has fallen apart. And none of them are in any shape to go rescue Mason and Mabel. Except somewhere deep in Pacifica’s mind, she can’t help but wonder if this hasn’t gone exactly as Mason had wanted. She realizes that he had called their enemy. Attempted to set Penny up to take the fall. But he must have known that wouldn’t be enough to appease the Consortium. Some part of her realizes exactly what he meant when his voice told her that freedom and damnation were often the same. For he may have damned himself with this insane scheme of his, as well as the people he cares for. To what end she doesn’t know. He always did have his head in the clouds, facing onward towards a future she couldn’t see.
Maybe that’s why he stopped caring for the present moment. Why he became hollowed out and treated his companions as pawns instead of loved ones. But Pacifica realizes it would be foolish to lay all the blame at his feet. Even if he caused this, it was a choice for the Consortium’s agent to blindly follow their masters. As it was the man Pacifica spared in turn. Pacifica’s realization does little to ease her pain. She can only wonder what Stanley and Wendy are going through.
Stanley tries to retrieve his wallet, fumbling slightly from his lack of eyesight. But he manages to find it, retrieving a photo that is dear to his heart. The Pines family photograph, taken ten years ago, featuring all of them posing together. Back then they were happy, even in the face of death and the near apocalypse. Wendy was there, as well as Pacifica. They didn’t know each other too well back then. And there were Soos and Melody. And Waddles, the twin Stans. And Mabel and Mason. Stanley holds the photo close to his heart, choking back tears as he shudders in the cold wind.
Soon they are taken to a wide gap in the river. And far above the fog, the periodic light of the gold blue brick lighthouse shines, guiding their way as Trembley’s donkey pushes the boat towards land. But they do not come ashore. Instead Trembley takes them over to the jagged rocks upon which the lighthouse sits, moving into the shadows of the cliff face. Trembley whispers some ancient magic, removing the glamour that hides a passage inside. The donkey continues kicking as their small group is brought within the jaws of the rocky cavern. The jagged stone creaks and shifts as the passage closes behind them.
And after so long with tearful silence, Pacifica feels the weight of loss lifted, at least for a little while. And with her tears dried, she now has questions. Namely, how Quentin found them in time. She was certain her message failed to reach them. But somehow McGucket and the underground found a way. “I don’t get it, how did you know where to find us, and how did you reach us so easily?”
Trembley turns around, with his crossed eyes staring directly at her nose before he shakes his head, returning his eyesight to normal. “Sorry about that. Crossing your eyes can help you make out shapes in dark places, but it is rather unsettling I have found. As to how I was able to discover you. Well it’s quite easy. You see, I helped design a secret tunnel system below Washington. I was afraid it had been found out, for the secret society of the yellow helmets were marching about, but then I realized people were only using it to dump their waste. Such a shame.”
“You designed the sewer system?” Pacifica asks.
“What’s a sewer?”
“I… never mind.” Trembley shrugs, returning to his duty as the boatman, ferrying them along the underground passage. As they reach closer to the secret resistance base, signs of activity can be seen. Lights hang from the ceiling and distant voices can be heard echoing down the narrow passages. That’s when Stanley pipes up, wondering aloud how Trembley ended up so… odd.
“So,” Stanley huffs. “What’s the deal with you, Quentin?”
“What do you mean?”
“How’d you go cuckoo for coco puffs?”
“I’m not a breakfast cereal!” Quentin shouts, taking great offense at the questions.
“I mean, how did you end up with your… particular set of quirks and beliefs?”
“I’m afraid I still don’t get what you want-”
“He’s asking why you’re crazy,” Wendy blurts out, without any hesitation whatsoever. Pacifica is surprised to find that even now, with two of their closest companions dead, Stanley can still find ways to embarrass himself and others. And even more surprising is that Wendy is willing to go along with it. Maybe neither of them care anymore. Pacifica has certainly come close to that point, if not crossed it unknowingly. She’s waiting for Quentin to protest and grow angry at their questioning, if not throw them out of the boat and let them swim the rest of the way. A task that Pacifica is in no shape to do.
So it comes as some surprise when Quentin smiles, looking back fondly on his now centuries old life. “Oh, that. Well, it all started when I became interested in occult folklore. I was a normal child growing up. I ate my spinach and lobster, I had my fangs removed to prevent me turning into a vampire, as was the custom at the time. And as I furthered my knowledge into the otherworldly arts, I made contact with a giant Dorito dude who said the path to ultimate knowledge was to ring up the big burnt pizza down the block. Lousy pizza fried my mind with his endless screeching and gooey cheesy goodness. Big jerk thinks he owns the place.”
“Uh, what?” Stanley says.
“I think he’s referring to Bill Cipher. And if I’m not mistaken, Smoking Mirror,” Pacifica ponders.
“No,” Quentin replies, taking great offense at their guesses. “This had nothing to do with the guy who looks like a Dorito and the guy who looks like a big burnt, pitch black pizza. I contacted the Dorito and the pizza man. There’s a difference. I mean, you are all scholars of the dark arts, right? I would think you’d know the difference between Smoking Mirror and Bill and the Dorito man in the sky.”
“Um, well. That’s news to me.” Stanley’s awkward reply brings an end to their questions. For many minutes the boat continues down the strange passage, slowly kicked forward by the gentle paddling of the donkey whose legs are stuck in the boat. Pacifica groans at how long it’s taking, desperate to reach shore and to fix her busted leg as quickly as she can.
“Can this dinghy move any faster?” she hisses.
“Oh, I thought we were enjoying the scenery.”
“NO!” Pacifica yells.
Trembley winces at the sudden booming of her voice before turning and grumbling under his breath about how ungrateful she is for not wanting to enjoy the quiet calm of the underground river. “Well fine, you- you big jerks. Rush through life, never enjoy the sights and sounds of the world, always sticking your faces in those dumb tiny rectangles and those big dumb squares or rectangles and sometimes they’re a circle if you’re feeling brave! But it’s so boring… grumble grumble grumble.”
He urges the donkey on, who kicks it into high gear when Trembley gives him some sugar cubes. Now the boat is quickly moving along, heading deeper into the cavern. They must be far away from the lighthouse by now. Pacifica wonders just how deep the tunnel system is and how deep below the earth it spreads. Trembley gives another cube of sugar to the donkey, giving it even more energy to continue. “There we go, nice and fast.”
“Good. Although I’m worried about how much sugar you’re giving him,” Pacifica replies.
“Oh no worries, no sugar here.”
“Well that’s good… oh god it’s-”
“It’s cocaine!” Quentin Trembley shouts suddenly, confirming Pacifica’s worst fears. “Why, back in the days, me and the boys used to do so much cocaine. Adams would snort it off Andrew Jackson's crack while me and Thomas would take turns having sexual intercourse with young black servants and sniffing cocaine off each other’s chests. The golden age of America. But definitely no sugar. That stuff’s addicting and really not good for your heart.”
“... I’m really tempted to go back and die right now.” Wendy suddenly speaks. “Anyone? Let’s put it up to a vote… okay I lost. But I’m just about to jump out and go drown as an alternative to this racist and sexist bullshit.”
“Racist? Sexist? How dare you. Contrary to what those Consortium propagandists said, Jefferson didn’t own slaves. He had indentured servants. Totally different thing… but now that you said it, he was kind of a racist. Couldn’t stand Eskimos.”
Wendy decides that this is the moment to dive in and end it all. Pacifica just manages to stop her, dragging Wendy back into the boat while Stanley tries to stop the ship from turning over during the struggle. And then suddenly it flips. The poor donkey is left flailing wildly in the upturned boat as Wendy and Pacifica emerge from the water. Thankfully, Quentin and Stanley are able to flip the boat back upright, allowing the poor cocaine-addled donkey to get in some well needed breaths. And to also give everyone a well needed rinse after trudging through sewage. Wendy doesn’t get to quit now. Not after everything they’ve been through together. And so Pacifica drags the reluctant redhead back inside the dinghy. Soon enough they are offered safe harbor away from the deranged ex president. Pacifica is beginning to see why he was forgotten, for the man is utterly insane as well as dangerous. But that very same madness has allowed him to counteract the Consortium forces. And as the path opens up wide into a cavern, Pacifica realizes that while he might be crazy, he isn’t entirely stupid.
The underground resistance base is huge. Far above, the lights hanging from the top of the cavern flicker in dazzling shapes from the swarm of bats flying underneath. Beneath the deep pool there are large domed bulbs lighting up the underground lake in a blue glow. Fish of all shapes and sizes swim beneath and Pacifica tries to see what else lies below to take her mind off what has happened, but is quickly distracted by the noise ahead. Sparks fly in the distance amidst the screeching sounds of a saw cutting through metal, along with bellowing laughter and rambling, redneck madness. A telltale sign that they have discovered McGucket’s resistance base.
“Welcome to the Bats Cave,” Trembley announces. “We call it that because there’s a lot of freaking bats in it.” Quentin’s madness does little to deter Pacifica from coming ashore. As the dinghy is pushed towards a wooden dock, Wendy all but jumps out of the boat, trying to get as far away from the crazed president as she can. She stretches her legs, creaking her back as she wipes the tears from her eyes. And then, offering a hand to Pacifica, the Northwest is brought onto the dry, concrete docks. And she collapses from the pain. In an instant, Quentin is at her side as well, helping lift her up as she limps over to McGucket. The mad inventor is focused on welding steel tubes into a mechanical device on wheels for an unknown purpose before he notices that they’ve returned.
“You made it, Trembley! I didn’t think you had it in ya. You’re one rootin’, tootin’ son of a gun.”
“As always, you southerners underestimate the northern spirit. Now, this fine lady needs your magic doctor power. Her leg is busted and I’m pretty sure human wounds aren’t supposed to have poop water getting in them.” Pacifica howls in pain as Fiddleford realizes what’s happened. With a gasp, he drops his tools and skedaddles over to help her. McGucket helps carry her towards his work bench, knocking off all his tools and setting her down. And then Stanley stumbles out of the boat, limping forward as he winces from the damage taken to his eye and his leg.
“No… nobody mind me, I guess. I’m sure this missing eye isn’t anything too bad.”
“Oh dang nammit! I dun’ missed you, son! Sorry about that. Ol’ Six fiddling fingers here is mighty nervous on account of all the government activity. We were plugged into their system and everything suddenly went wild. Sounds like they’re about to resurrect the devil himself!” Wendy and McGucket bring Stanley over to the table near Pacifica, helping him sit down while McGucket begins looking over his wounds. As Wendy retrieves a fold up chair and sets it down for Stanley, Fiddleford asks in his unique vernacular on how long it’s been since the old man was wounded.
And truth be told, he wouldn’t know. No one does. It could have been hours or fifteen minutes. The madness they experienced along with the thundering storm felt as if it were an eternity of suffering and guilt and constant brushes with death. All they know is that Pacifica was hurt earlier. And that her wounds were poorly treated. Stanley orders Fiddleford to help Pacifica first. So it is with a heavy heart that he lets Stanley’s wounds go untreated. He delicately unwraps Pacifica’s bandages, and he nearly turns grey at the sight. Dried blood and sewer muck have sucked into her wrappings.
“I, uh, that doesn’t look too good.”
“I know. Just tell me what we need to do.”
“Well, I’ll do my best to clean the tissue… but the fact of the matter is, you’ve not just lost a lot of blood. You’ve likely been infected. And at this point, it might be better to… well, to take the leg.” McGucket twiddles his thumbs, nervous and terrified at the prospect. But Pacifica knows the dangers of letting it sit. She’s snapped it in at least three places, the worst of which wasn’t even from Ol’ Bessie crashing. It was when she fell into the sewers and Soos collapsed on top of her.
“Just do it,” she sighs.
“Well, now hold your horses. Still need to get you cleaned up. Lucky for you I just finished my portable shower hose. Comes in handy in a tight spot. I’ll get you all set up.” McGucket hurries over to the open pool, giving the boat donkey a pet before fixing up a hose and taking it back to his new bizarre contraption. With the simple press of a button, the flat, circular device extends upwards. The bundled up curtains drop down automatically, giving Pacifica the privacy needed to clean herself off. Over the next few minutes, she does her best to rinse the filth of the sewers from her body. It’s in her hair, all over and under her arms, and stuck in places where the sun don’t shine. Little by little she is able to remove the grime and gunk, washing herself with a wonderful lemon scented soap bar. The smell is welcomed relief compared to the violating stench of the sewers. She wonders just how the hell they managed to make it through without vomiting or fainting. But the threat of death and a good adrenaline rush would be a good incentive, she figures. After she’s cleaned herself as best she can, and with McGucket offering to clean her broken leg after she’s covered up, she returns to the lab table, feeling all the more like a test experiment. Or worse, someone about to be dissected by a mad scientist. Quentin returns with Stanley, who much to Pacifica’s surprise, already has bandages wrapped around his head, along with an eye patch. He limps over to McGucket, sitting down and waiting while the old hillbilly/mad scientist checks Pacifica’s blood and wounds for bacteria. He quickly analyzes the blood work, leading Pacifica to wonder why the hell actual hospitals take so long. Then she remembers the long, unpredictable hours, the absurd schooling time and costs, and the understaffed workers at nearly every hospital she’s ever been to.
And then she worries, seeing the grim look on McGucket’s face as he lifts a strange laser device over her leg, scanning it and printing on an x-ray from a printer under the table. “I’m sorry, Pacifica. But it doesn’t look good. You’ve broken your right leg in four places. And because you were traveling through Trembley’s ol’ escape tunnel, you will likely have severe infections all over your body if we don’t get rid of the source of the infection… manly, your right leg. But I can whip you up a nice, new robot limb in a giffy!”
Pacifica nods, pushing down the bile at realizing that she’s going to be mutilated. Her leg is going to be completely removed, replaced with some cybernetic machine that cannot feel touch, or the wind, or the grass underfoot. Instead all she will feel from there is numb. But if she doesn’t take this drastic measure, she will in all likelihood die. And so with a heavy heart, she allows Fiddleford to continue. Trembley takes the others away while McGucket retrieves a canister of anesthetic. And only a few seconds later, Pacifica is well on her way into the realm of dreams. A place where she can rest after running for so long.