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Well, I'm runnin’ down the road tryin’ to loosen my load
I got seven men on my mind

There's nothing wrong with a little improvisation. Not to Grace, anyway, since the radio in the police cruiser she'd taken seems to be on the fritz. She's already destroyed ‘Hard to Handle.’ Flicking cigarette ash out her window, she smirks at the long stretch of open road and kicks it up to 95. The engine hums along.

Four that want to own me
Two that want to save me
One says he's a friend of mine.

She's driving south on Interstate 35, toward Kansas City and Wichita. She hasn't run across anyone since Charlie, back in that weird town. There have, however, been some interesting craters in the road that she felt compelled to check out. Grace doesn't know what's going on, but she’s certain of two things: it makes sense to head for Oklahoma City, and this is somehow all Earl’s fault.

Take it eaaaaaaaaaaasy...

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"Grace!"

The verbal reaction actually comes after the physical one starts. Dinah lifts a leg and kicks past Grace straight into the rodent's underside, sending it flying.

It's certainly the biggest rodent she's ever seen.

Huge.

What the hell.

In a manner reminiscent of a beached whale, it lands on its side and seems to have trouble righting itself.

Spitting mad, Grace rolls into a crouch, grabs a stapler and sends it hurling after the Thing; it smacks right between the rodent's beady eyes.

"Asshole," she mutters. To Dinah: "Thanks. The damn thing bit me!"

She examines her torn sleeve and bloody upper arm.

Dinah returns to a ready stance, watching the rodent carefully for a second, before dropping to crouch beside Grace and have a look at her arm.

"Does it feel OK?"

"Feels groovy," Grace answers, blowing out a frustrated breath. She hates being hurt; the wound is shallow, but it's the principle of the thing. "Any of your friends in Kansas have rabies shots?"

Using the desk behind them, she pushes herself to her feet. The rodent whines, eyeing them, and manages to pinwheel itself out of sight.

Grace snorts and begins rifling through desks.

"Last I knew, one of the 'porters had carried in a whole hospital."

Dinah shrugs. She's glancing around the office for signs of further animals, maybe weapons. Something useful.

"You don't have metas on your world, right?"

"No. Check the chief's office," she suggests, gesturing that way.

If she sounds distracted, it's because she just found the desk of her partner, one of the men she's currently sleeping with. Except-

There's a framed picture of Ham and Darlene, both of them smiling, front and center on his workspace. A man keeps a picture like that, it says I love my wife.

Not I'm doing my partner.

Grace frowns and turns the picture over, then searches the next desk; her desk, but there's no sign of any of her possessions or paperwork, not even that little foam Longhorns football Butch likes to leave there.

"I'm gonna grab some weapons."

Edited 2008-05-08 19:27 (UTC)

Dinah heads towards the chief's office, but her head turns towards Grace. Yes, she picked up on that distraction. No, she doesn't automatically know what it means.

"I know it's what you'd expect a cape to say," she says, "but go easy on the things that need disposable ammunition. There aren't any factories anymore."

That's okay. Grace doesn't really know what it means, either.

"Well, we have to have a flamethrower around this place somewhere."

It just keeps getting weirder. She's not entirely serious about the flamethrower, and it's hard to imagine permanently running out of ammunition. What happens then? Something tells her she won't be able to pick up Dinah's sonics on a whim.

"And maybe a crossbow."

Damn Earl.

Still muttering, Grace goes to search the locked file cabinet in the booth behind the one-way mirror of interrogation room three. It's an unofficial supply. If they had to file an official request every time they needed new ammunition, they'd never get a conviction. The Chief pretends she doesn't know about it, and everybody's happy.

Of course, they don't need an official request now, and there's probably more stuff downstairs. They'll hit it on the way out.

As she looks up from punching in the code, Grace nearly jumps out of her skin. The entire window is covered in blood.

"Jesus Christ!"

There's not a lot in the chief's office. Dinah, as so often happens, got a bit distracted in searching it by looking through his things and trying to imagine what kind of man he was.

But when Grace cries out, she jerks back into action immediately, vaulting the desk and sprinting towards the sound.

When Dinah arrives, Grace has her hands on the glass, fingers feeling along like she can trace patterns in the bloodstains on the other side.

"Something got torn up in there," she announces calmly. "What a mess."

All that's visible is the mangy fur of one of those abnormally large rodents.

Dinah slows and draws next to Grace, peering in at the big, strange rat remains.

"See any movement?"

"Nope. It's like Lord of the Flies in there."

Except, you know, with gigantic rats.

Grace frowns. "They must've herded them in and locked the door. Looks like some of these things are more aggressive than others. What do ya say to stopping by the supply room downstairs and getting the hell out of Dodge?"

She might swing by her house. She might not. This is all more disturbing than she expected it to be.

"I say 'sign me up'," Dinah replies, stepping back from the glass. "I'll show you the farm, but you don't have to stay there."

"Well, I don't want to stay here," she says.

Shoving ammunition into her back jean pocket, she leads the way downstairs. They don't encounter any more beasts, which Grace thinks is a mixed blessing. She feels... watched.

"Here we go. Ought to be something useful."

The little window and sign out book look forlorn in their emptiness, but inside is a veritable stash of police weaponry. No metas, however.

Dinah fingers a couple of night sticks - they may well come in handy.

"You want to keep the car or shall I call in an airlift?"

Grace considers. Earl would expect her to keep the car, so she says, "Airlift. I don't feel like finding more gas."

Why not? Besides, these people in Kansas might have answers. The sooner she gets there, the better.

She helps herself to several more guns, ammunition shortage be damned, as well as a nightstick, rifle, a few smoke bombs and some Kevlar. All this is shoved in an oversized police duffel bag.

"I'll get the beer and smokes," she grins, walking toward the closest door to the parking lot. Once there, she calls back down the hallway: "Shit, man. I hope your airlift can land on the roof!"

Every Rodent of Unusual Size in the city -- and there's a lot, apparently -- has converged on the police station.

"Holy shit."

- is Dinah's complete response, closely followed by turning her head slightly away.

"Hey girls. Can we get the Aerie One to Ok. City police station? About thirty seconds ago would be perfect."

To Grace, "roof."

Curiously, Grace looks unwilling to move.

"Do your girls have smokes?"

She seems to be eyeing the path to the car. Or what would be the path, if there weren't rodents in the way.

Dinah pauses on her way up long enough to look at Grace with worried apprehension.

"You are kidding, right?"

"Maybe."

Only if she can't find any in forensics.

"I'll meet you on the roof."

With that, she grabs the duffel bag and the glock, then heads down the stairwell, straight for Rhetta's desk. Sweeping her hand along it, she finds the pack of cigarettes taped up underneath the surface. Good old Rhetta. She always keeps a pack there for Grace, for emergencies. She thinks it's well hidden.

Grace doesn't pause to consider the implications of this.

Henry, the coroner, has a bottle of champagne; that will have to do. Grace tosses it in the bag and turns to leave, just as a loud moaning noise sounds from the freezer. It's utterly inhuman and followed by scratching. She doesn't wait around to find out what it is.

Dinah doesn't have much truck with this roof-meeting idea. She's following Grace at a respectable distance, ready to turn and run upwards when necessary - like now.

There's a helicopter pad on the roof, but it doesn't look like it's going to be big enough for the Aerie One. Fortunately, Zinda seems to have noticed that, because as the fighter plane approaches, Dinah can make out a drop line from underneath.

"I hope you've got strong arms."

Grace lets out a low whistle.

"I work out."

She jumps rope at 3 a.m. when she can't sleep. Truthfully, she's quite small. But scrappy!

Returning the gun to its former location, she loops the bag's strap over her shoulder and tightens it. Heavy, but there's no way she's letting go.

"Who goes first?"

"You go."

Dinah's got half an eye on the rodents.

"I'll be right behind."

And there's no question, at least, of her having trouble.

Jumping up, Grace grabs the line. This isn't going to be easy, but falling into a mad pack of rabid, oversized rodents is powerful motivation.

She starts climbing, eyes fixed firmly on her goal.

Wow. Dinah wasn't kidding about catching an airlift.

She really wasn't.

Dinah leaps up quickly after Grace, and wraps the cable around her wrist, forming a weight underneath to keep it taut, and in case of having to perform a drop and rescue.

She hopes she doesn't - she doesn't have a chute.

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headed4hell - 2008-05-12 13:43 (UTC) - Expand

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