1A Game of Cat and Fennec
A "Fanny Fennec" short story by Montana "Ookamithewolf1" Yergeau
Deep in the farthest recesses of the cascades you might come across a road, a road unlike any other. It was known by many names; The Callahan Connection road, Jefferson route 17C, and 'That' road. However most locals simply called it 'The Old Northern Trail.' It was a trail that zig-zagged its way up and down through the thick forest of the Callahan Valley. It was a road once famous for the hundreds of wagon trains that used to traverse it, filled with settlers looking to make a new start in the wilds of the pacific northwest.
Of course, those days had long since come and gone, and the once well-trodden trail had been reduced to a rutted overgrown path. Oh it still saw its fair share of traffic to be sure, as while the railroad had made it obsolete, it still acted as a nice secluded shortcut, especially for those who prefered their privacy for one reason or another. Of course even then it was nothing like it was in its hayday. What few towns there were along the trail had long since gone bust and dissapeared to the ravages of time, leaving only a few empty farmhouses and some crumbling stone foundations.
However one place managed to survive. Perhaps because it was the perfect rest stop, located smack dab in the middle of the hundred mile trail, or maybe it was just through the stubborness of the old geezer that ran the place. Either way, Burt's Bar and Inn continued to thrive. The small shack, with it's rusty tin roof and faded whitewashed walls, always looked as if it was about to fall down but it never did. Inside the tavern you had the amazing choice of beer or whisky, both made locally by Burt himself in his shed. It was about as cheap as it comes but for a traveller on the rough northern trail it might as well of been fine wine. Everyone, and I do mean everyone, stopped in on their way through, either for the beer or the overpriced gasoline sold from a spigot on the side of the building. That included a certain Fennec that went by the name of Fran.
Fran Fennec was no stranger to the trail, nor to Burts. She had ridden through many a time atop her trusty iron steed. Sure she could have taken the state road, which was freshly graded gravel, but she prefered the ruggedness of the trail. It was just remote enough to feel like the ends of the earth but just traveled enough where she didn't feel like she was the last fennec on the planet. It also helped that the cops never ventured down the trail, and as an outlaw this made her choice of roads all the more appealing. She sat now at the bar, sipping down some of Burts best watered down beer. She still had some 50 miles before she reached a real road, and another ten before she got back to Pack HQ, so she was savoring every drop. She was a young thing, in her early twenties, with flowing hair as black as the moonless night and a tail to match. The wide-eyed girl wore her usual embroidered mint green cowgirl shirt and brown pants, but had on a buckskin coat covered in tassles, a gift from fellow Pack member Faith.
The young outlaw looked about. The tavern was sparsly populated, which was good cause it wasn't that big. Apart from Fran and Burt Beaver was his daughter Bea, who was waiting tables, a fox couple seated at a table deep in conversation over some sandwiches, and a trio of ferrets in the corner booth. The ferrets were an interesting bunch. They sat there speaking in hushed tones, nursing their beers. All wore wide brimmed Stetsons and were dressed in dusters and tan chaps.
Fran checked her Felix the Cat novelty wrist watch. Ten-to-one. Traveling the trail was an all-day affair and it was time she got going. She motioned to Bea.
"Thank ya fer tha service Bea. Here's a quarter just for you."
"Thank you kindly girlfriend. Oh, and I thought you might like to know..." she said, leaning in closer and quieting her tone,"y'know those three men in the booth? Well, they been watching you the whole time you been here. I think I heard them talkin' boutch ya."
"Oh yeah?" Said Fran, intrigued.
"Yeah. Not sure what they was saying, but I think they fancy ya'll."
"Well, thats good to know." Said Fran "Thanks doll, here's another quarter."
"Oh thank ye kindly!"
Fran turned and made her way to the door. As she passed the three men in the booth she glanced at them. They were looking at her all right, but there wasn't any love in their eyes. Their stares were sharp and steely, and almost seemed to be filled with malice. Whether they truly did fancy her or not Fran wanted nothing to do with them.
She stepped out into the dirt yard and across to where she had parked before straddling her muddied Indian motorcycle. Despite it's rough appearance it started on the first kick. As she placed her goggles on she glanced back at the tavern. The three men were there now, standing next to their own bikes, watching her. She noticed that the bikes were each equipped with a holster and rifle. Not completely uncommon out here but slightly unnerving none-the-less. Fran did have her revolver on her but she wasn't as confident with it as she was her beloved Bonnibell, a thompson submachine gun that she had left at home as she only brought it out when on a job lest she raise suspisions. Fran shrugged off her uneasiness and drove off down the path.
The trail was slow-going. Recent rain had made the unkept trail rougher than usual. Her top speed seemed to cap out at about 15. It didn't spoil her sunny disposition thought as she enjoyed nature. However after riding for a few miles she glanced behind her and saw something that turned her smile upside-down. There, sure enough, were the three rough riders from the bar. Perhaps it was a coincidence. After all, there were only two directions they could have gone from the tavern, and this was one of them. Fran still didn't like it though.
She kept on motoring, trying not to think about the trio but the farther she went the more her nervs got to her. Perhaps it was just her nature, after all in her profession it was common to always be looking over your shoulder and to be suspisious of everything. She finally decided that it wouldn't hurt to put a little distance between them and her. She kept going until she got to a blind curve in the path. Once she turned the corner she figured she had about two minutes before the trio took it as well. She floored it, going as fast as she dared along the rough ground. Fran straddled the edge of the trail where there were no ruts, kicking up rocks and dirt as she went. The worried fennec kept an eye on her watch and after a minute she started glancing behind her shoulder as much as she could. Finally she got what she wanted; an answer.
The attitude of the bikers seemed to change as they rounded the bend. They were farther back now but seemed to act more erratic than before, and the dust clouds around them semed to double in size almost instantly. They were trying to catch up to her.
Fran tuned her eyes back to the road and kept on the throttle, her mind and heart racing. What could these men want. If they wanted something begnine they could have approached her at Burt's. No, if they were following her they wanted something nefarious. Fran went through every scenario. Did they want to rob her? Fran had done highwayman work before, but it was always with an ambush or a roadblock. Getting into a chase over a purse or wallet was never worth the effort, and nothing about her gave off the air that she had money. Maybe they were incompetent highwaymen? Fran had seen her share of those as well. If not her money than maybe her body? Fran was, to put it mildly, a hot catch; a statement her friend Faith would vehemently agree with. But they never even tried to hit on her at the bar or even get her attention. So perhaps they didn't want her body.
Or maybe...they did.
There was a third option, one that Fran hadn't though of until now. One that might cause men to chase after her, to want her body... dead or alive.
Fran was confident this was it. These men, these desperados, were either lawmen or bounty hunters. Fran herself wasn't worth anything. Sure there were a few pictures of her circulating about but the law didn't know her name, they only knew her as an accomplice to the notorious Fanny Fennec. Fanny herself was worth some $10,000, enough to by a mansion and a car to boot. It was possible that they had recognized her and maybe, just maybe, thought she could lead them to her boss.
It was possible that they were G-men too, which would mean they would want the same thing, save for the reward. Either way, they were bad news for Fran. She kept on the gas, thankful she had filled up at Burts, but the road was rough and not well suited for a motorcycle chase. The rain the night before had turned some parts into a real slog, and there were other stretches that were washed out completely. Eventually the mud would pack around her fenders enough that she would have to stop and clean it off, and stopping was not something she wanted to do. She had to shake them, but how do you do that on a single road.
Then she saw something. It was almost nonexistent and she would have missed it if it were not for the old faded sign leaning up against a tree. It simply said 'Clark' and had an arrow pointing down what was once a trail but now was little more than a foot path. She pulled a hard right onto the side path. The going here was a bit better as unlike the main trail no one came down here, and thus there were no ruts. she ducked and dodged around the trees for a few minutes until she came to Clark, or what was left of it.
Yes, it. Clark was one of the old towns along the trail. After a flood in 1902 destroyed the local mine it was abandoned. All that stood now were a pair of houses and an old church. The rest of the town was nothing but some overgrown foundations and a few piles of timber that used to be structures. She roared into town and swung her bike around to the back of one of the remaining houses. She dropped it, not even bothering to stand it upright, and rushed the back door. Her heart was racing as she crashed through it at full speed and slammed into an opposite wall. This however was not to be the location of her last stand. she rushed back out and sprinted through the grass. With her bike laying silent she could now hear the trio's motorcycles as they roared closer.
Her breath quickened. Fran was not one that scared easily but she was all alone and heavilly outnumbered. She had a minute, tops. She hopped on an old barrel and climbed through a broken window into the old wooden church. Inside she found a mess. Pews were strewn about and the lecturn was upturned. The roof had heavilly leaked and fallen plaster lay everywhere. Fran glanced about and spotted what she had hoped to find. The small church had a balcony at the front that contained an organ. Fran rushed towards the stairs but found the door to be locked. She then heard the motorcycles roar into town. Using the pews and hoping the molding she was holding onto wouldn't give way, Fran hoisted herself up and into the little loft. She was safe... for now.
There was a small stained glass window here that looked out over the center of the little town. A broken pane allowed Fran a good view of the road below. Sure enough her three ferret friends pulled up right into the center of town. They stopped and killed their engines, and just like that the little town grew deadly silent. The three peered about slowly, listening for any movement, but there was none to hear. Fran held her breath even though she knew it didn't matter. Slowly the three dismounted, and as they did so they pulled their rifles from their holsters. Fran drew her revolver. When traveling, Fanny and Fawn prefered that Pack members stay discreet, so Fran wasn't allowed to wear a full gun belt, instead opting to use a shoulder holser. That also meant that she didn't have nearly as much ammo as she would have otherwise. Six shots in the gun, and another twelve in her pocket. That and a knife was all she had. Fran Fennec, the right hand gunman of the notorious Fanny Fennec...was outgunned.
One ferret, the tallest and brawniest of the three, motioned to the other two. They then all split up. One went towards each house, while the boss walked right towards Fran and the church. He had just reached the steps when she heard someone call out.
"Forrester! Flecher, I found something!"
The call out had come from the one that went behind the house where Fran had ditched her bike. The two, who she now knew as Forrester and Flecher, met up with the third. Luckily the wind was in Fran's favor and she could just make out what they were saying.
"The babe ditched her bike here, and it looks like this door's been recently smashed. I think she's hiding in there."
"Alright, you two cover the front and back."Said Forrester. "I'll go in and take a look about."
Fran was estatic. Her little distraction had worked. It was a trick she learned from Fawn about misdirection. Unfortunatly her grin dissapeared from her mouth as Forrester stepped out almost as quickly as he had entered.
"It was a trick. Apart from around the door, most of the floor is covered in a thick layer of dust. No one's hiding in there."
Fran's mood went from dissapointed to alarmed as she heard the next words come out of Forrester's mouth;
"Lets take a peak in the other house. If there's as much dust in there as this one then that means there's only one place she could be hiding."
Fran had to think fast. They would be on her soon. She watched as they peered into the only other house. They only needed a moment.
"Hey boss, looks like the floor in this one's fallen into the basement. Ain't no one hiding in there." Said Flecher.
"Ok then." Said Forrester, turning towards the church. The three slowly approached the building before stoping.
"ALRIGHT FENNEC!" Yelled Forrester, who Fran now knew was their leader. "We know you're in there. We don't want to hurt you, we just want to know where your boss is. Tell you what, you lead us to her and we'll even give you a cut of the reward!"
Bounty hunters. Fran had hit the nail on the head.
"Not coming out? Fine, then we'll come in."
The three rushed up to the front doors. Luckilly for Fran those doors were heavy oak and barred from the inside. The ferrets, like herself, would need to find another way in. They circled the building like vultures, hungry for their prey. Eventually they came around back and found that, while the front door was impenetrable, the small rear door was not. In fact it had long ago given up being attached to its hinges and was now more of a doormat than a door. The small room behind had two exits into the main church, one on each side of the altar. Two of the ferrets peaked out from one side while Forrester took the other. As one stepped out Fran knew it was only a matter of time before they found her so she acted while she still had the element of surprise.
She popped out from behind the half wall along the balcony and fired two shots at the two ferrets on her left. Both hit their mark, taking down the first ferret. She always fired twice as she never trusted just one bullet to incapacitate a foe. Just as quickly as she had popped out she hit the deck, and not a moment too soon as a flurry of bullets came her way from the repeater rifles carried by her bounty hunting buddies.
"Boss, Fabian's down! I think he's dead!"
"Damn it! just keep firing. Change of plans little girl," called Forrester up to Fran, "you gonna die now!"
Fran waited untill she figured they were out of shells before she popped up and fired off another four shots. she didn't hit anything but she could now see that they had advanced from the doorway down to hiding behind the pews. They had her pinned down and good. If they pushed up to her location it might not end well. She reloaded. twelve shots remained. Fran knew she would have to get fancy with her shots if she hopped to get out of this alive.
So she did just that.
Fran crawled over to the little window. She still had cover here from the gunmen, allowing her to smash out the remaining glass and peer down. It was about twelve feet to the ground, she could survive it but if she broke or twisted something it was all over. No, instead she peered out a little farther, over to the trio-turned-duo's motorcycles. She took aim with both hands and fired off four shots.
"Where you aimin' little girl!" Growled Forrester. We're down here. Or is it you're just a terrible shot!"
"Oh no, I'm a great shot, in fact I'm Fanny's best shot. That's how I was able to hit your motorcycles from here."
"What!?"
"Yup. You see, there are three of you, well two now I guess. And we're pretty far off from anything. And now two of your single seat motorcycles have holes in their gas tanks. As we speak you bike's life blood is spilling into the soil below."
"Ha, you dumb bitch. We still got your motorcycle now, haven't we."
Fran hadn't thought of that. Luckilly there was a solution.
"You right!" she called out. "Let me fix that." She repositioned and fired another two shots. "There, now all three of your bikes are toast. All that's left is mine. Only one of us is leaving town tonight.
"Yeah, and you're not one of them, that's for sure!" Yelled an increasingly irate Forrester. However Fran now realized from the sound of his voice that while she was shooting outside the pair had rushed up to the front of the church and were now in the vestibule beneath her. She heard banging as the pair tried to kick down the door leading up to her.
Fran knew the door would not hold. As a last case senario she could jump out the window, but that was absolutly for last. She looked about in a panick. All she had up there was the organ by the stairs, some folding chairs, and the bell rope hanging from the ceiling.
Fran closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Fawn had always taught Fran and the other girls to use her environment to its full advantage. Fran didn't have much so she decided to try everything. She pushed her shoulder against the small organ and gave it a hard shove. The stairs came up behind it and had no railing, so it went right over. The weight of it came down on the stairs hard, hard enough to send it right through the rotting steps, bringin the whole staircase down and making the loft inaccessable. However this wasn't her only play.
The steeple of this church was all twisted, most likely damaged from a wind storm. And in this rickety old steeple sat a five hunderd pound brass bell. Fran jumped up and pulled on the rope as far as it would go. The bell sang out it's off-pitch dull thud of a ring throughout the whole building. Chunks of plaster fell as the incessant ringing clammered and echoed throughout the building. Finally Fran got the bell going enough so that it was spinning all the way around. The old brackets holding it could not take the strain anymore and on the third full rotation gravity took hold and brough the bell crashing down!
Fran dove out of the way as it made a beeline for the floor. It went right through the balcony like it was made of paper before clamoring down into the floor below. Fran peered down the hole she had just created. Below she could see Flecher, crushed to death beneath wood, plaster, and a giant bell. Forrester stood there eyes wide, a look of horror on his face. He slowly glanced up at her and locked eyes with her for a pregnant moment, his breath quickening and his pupils dilating, before rushing towards the large oak doors of the church. He was running scared and Fran knew it. He fumbled with the bolts on the door for a moment before he was able to open it. Forrester stumbled as he rushed through the doors and out into the town. Fran hopped down off the balcony, not far behind her predator-turned-prey. She was in no rush as she knew where he was headed. She took her time as she reload, her last reload as it was. Out, behind the first house, she found the bounty hunter Forrester Ferret trying to kick-start her motorcycle.
"Having a little trouble there, Forrester?" She said. He looked up, startled, and tried to raise his rifle, but fumbled and lost his balance, falling off the bike. It wouldn't have mattered anyways as Fran already had her relover leveled on him. She fired a single shot as he fell over. He clutched at the wound in his torso as he instinctivly tried to drag himself away, however he only made it a few feet before realising the futility of it all. He rolled over to face his assailant as his wound oozed away what remained of his life.
"Y'know, when we first pegged you in the bar," said Forrester between coughs," we took you for a ditzy bimbo, didn't think you'd give us any trouble, thought it'd be a walk in the park."
"Well, that's the thing about the old Northern trail." Said Fran. " It's wild, untamed, lawless country, and on it you're likely to find wild, lawless folks. Folks like you. Folks... like me. Course it's dangerous to tangle with the wild. Might even get you killed."
"Yeah," replied Forrester "but the exhilaration of the hunt of the wild is like a drug, an adrenalin that, when it kicks in means you can't think of anything else than chasing your prey, right up until it wears off and you realise that what you thought was prey was predator all along."
"What was your plan anyways? Hope I would stupidly lead you back to my boss so you could take her on. Even then, there's only, well, was, three of you. The Pack is twelve strong. You must have known you would be outnumbered."
"Heh, guess we didn't figure that far ahead."
You know, you brought this on yourself" Fran said, motioning to his wound. "I had no beef with you. You could have given up this chase and gone home at any time."
"Sorry babe but I always finish what I start, and you should too."
I couldn't agree with you more." Said Fran Fennec as she fired twice more into the chest of Forrester Ferret. As the echos died down she reveled in the deafening silence that had returned to what remained of the ruins of Clark.