It was bright outside.
This surprised Miss Pauling in many ways. She was indoors, inside of some kind of infirmary. That was not a room the manor had. It felt like years since she had seen the sunshine, even restricted through curtains and blinds. No storm, no night. Most strangely, and perhaps the first thing she should have pondered, she was alive. Weirder yet, her injuries were gone. Her left arm was without pain, bones solid, fingers wiggling easily. Breathing was normal, unrestricted, clear. It was impossible as a fairy godmother.
She studied her hand, murmuring. "How am I—"
There was an awkward snort next to her. Miss Pauling jumped, startled by the sound. The Medic was sleeping next to her bed, lying on another gurney. He flung his feet over the left side, taking a moment to stretch and grab his glasses. He greeted her with a warm smile. "Guten morgen."
"Good morning." A part of Miss Pauling couldn't believe she was still alive. "Where are the others?"
The Medic made a low chuckle. "In zheir rooms, I would suppose. I locked zhem out of zhis krankenhaus. Zhey would not leave you alone."
Miss Pauling smiled, shaking her head. "I guess I'm flattered. You didn't have to do that."
"Are you kidding me? Zhey were a pain in the ass!" The Medic picked up a tongue depressor. He tapped on her chin, and she dropped her jaw. He gave her throat a quick glance, then went on to check her vision and ear canals with different tools. "Good, good."
"Where are we, anyway? This doesn't look like the main fort," Miss Pauling asked as the Medic continued studying her.
He flipped her left arm back and forth, testing to see if it was patched up. "Zhe Badlands. Turns out, it was about half an hour north of the manor. Good zhing, too. Probably couldn't have kept you alive much longer."
Miss Pauling's eyes widened. "Wait. Are you saying that I—"
"Died? Ja. But just for fifteen seconds." The Medic continued rambling on, like it was no big deal. "Found a vorking medi-gun. Gave you a quick zap. Zhen you were fine. You vant to zhink about somezhing amazing? Zhink about how fast zhis repaired your ribcage!"
Death wasn't a big deal to the team anymore. She shouldn't have been surprised with how unimpressed the Medic was to have revived her. Still, it left her a little in shock. It wasn't often that she was faced with her own mortality. Not that it scared Miss Pauling, by any means. It left her confused, wondering about what would have happened if she hadn't lived. She didn't know if the Administrator would have missed her or not. This team might have. Probably the other team as well. She knew she was replaceable, as far as her occupation went. That was what left her uneasy. The Administrator—Helen—would have just hired someone new. Probably the rest of the team as well, if Miss Pauling hadn't freed them.
"Has anyone called the Administrator to tell her where we are?" Miss Pauling pondered.
The Medic made a flustered sputter. His glasses nearly fell off his nose. He tried regaining his composure, but it was clear that he was thrown off by the question. "Vell, no. Ve vere planning on crossing zhe border, if you died. You know vhat zhe Administrator would have done to us if she found out you died while ve vere incapacitated?" He made a slicing sound as he drew a finger across his neck.
Miss Pauling laughed. "Guess I'll have to do it, then."
"If you vant to. Zhere is a phone in mein office." The Medic offered her a hand, helping her off the cot. "Come vizh me, zhen."
The Medic's office in the Badlands was not decorated well, but it was functional enough. It contained mostly cheap particle board furniture and a beaten couch. On his desk was a shiny rotary phone, black and smooth. The Medic stepped outside as she dialed the Administrator, fearful of the voice on the other end of the line.
It always took three rings before the Administrator would pick up. This call was no different. A dark voice grumbled into the phone. "The Badlands? You bastards blew off my Halloween event to go to the Badlands?"
"It's me, Helen," Miss Pauling said. The words came out softly. While she was used to the Administrator talking to the men like this, it was unusual to have such terms directed at her.
The Administrator's tone changed as soon as she realized who was on the line. "Miss Pauling? Where have you been? Where are those turncoats?"
"They're with me. We—well, we—it's hard to explain." Miss Pauling fumbled with her words. "We were at Redmond's manor last night. I—I burned it down."
There was a pause, and then a scratchy reply. "No, you didn't."
Miss Pauling raised an eyebrow. "I did."
"You couldn't have. That old son of a bitch was in his manor last night. He claims he wanted to talk with his uncle." The Administrator stopped for a moment, most likely to take a drag. She had a nasty chain-smoking habit, after all. "If you would have burned it down, then he would have known. Probably would have killed him, too. I got chewed out by him this morning. His call came from his residence."
Now Miss Pauling was confused. She collected her thoughts, then continued. "All right. I'll get the men and return to the main base as soon as—"
"What happened to you, Miss Pauling?" The question threw the assistant off her guard. It came out of nowhere, hungry and desperate.
Miss Pauling shook her head. "I'm afraid I don't understand."
"I haven't heard from you since noon yesterday." The Administrator paused, puffing again. Some of her breath caught in the receiver, rattling across the line. "You left for lunch and did not come back."
"I'm certain that I—wait." Miss Pauling stopped for a moment, doing calculations in her head. It took three hours to drive from the main base to Redmond's—whoever's manor that had been. She had spoken with the Administrator there. Hadn't she? Or was there another monster in the study yesterday?
Miss Pauling had been quiet on the line too long. The Administrator interrupted her muddled thoughts. "Stay where you are. I believe I need to investigate this personally."
It was going to take the Administrator most of the morning to drive up to the Badlands. Why would she want to waste time on that when she could force them to come back? Still, Miss Pauling was not about to start arguing with the Administrator. "Alright. I'll let the boys know."
The other end of the line clicked. It was rare that the Administrator ever said farewell to people on the phone. Still, the abrupt end to the conversation left Miss Pauling feeling nervous. Helen had been flustered. It was rare to see her hackles get raised by anything other than anger. Miss Pauling sat at the desk for a few moments, wondering what that had been about. She smirked, shaking her head again. Maybe there was a part of the Administrator that didn't live on nicotine and vitriol. Then again, she just may wish to kill her personally for this insubordination. It was hard to tell.
Miss Pauling raised her eyes to the office door.
Eight and a half pairs stared back at her.
Apparently, the Medic had woken everybody up while Miss Pauling was on the phone. They shied away from the door, embarrassed about being caught spying on her. She shook her head, smiling. Were they that worried about her? Perhaps she might have been a little deadish last night, but she was okay now. She stood up, pushed the Medic's chair back to his desk, and opened the office door.
There was a moment's hesitation, and then she was swarmed.
The Heavy beat the rush, swooping Miss Pauling off the ground in a huge bear hug. "Little woman is okay!"
"Heavy! Nein! Down!" The Medic tried coercing the burly Russian into putting Miss Pauling on the floor again.
"It's okay. He's not hurting me," Miss Pauling grunted. Sure, he was almost squeezing the air right out of her lungs, but he wasn't harming her.
Never-the-less, the Heavy complied with the Medic's wishes. He plopped Miss Pauling onto the ground once more. "You did well! So brave! So much fire!" He bopped her nose with the tip of his index finger, which was wider than most of her thumb's length. "You would be good with Molotov cocktails, I think!"
"Cocktails? That reminds me!" The Soldier clapped a hand on Miss Pauling's shoulder. "Now, I offered the other men alcohol and easy ladies, but if my understanding of the fairer sex is correct, then that will not be an appropriate reward for you. Name your drink and the man you want, and I will deliver both to your house in a burlap sack."
Miss Pauling blushed. She patted the Soldier's other hand. "That's—that's okay. Just a cup of coffee some time will be good enough."
The Soldier lifted an eyebrow. "I see." He leaned in closer, whispering in her ear. "It's one of the boys here, right? We'll talk later."
She stammered in response, simply shaking her head.
"What would a nice lassie like her want with smelly old men, anyway?" The Demoman pushed the Soldier aside, hugging Miss Pauling in one swift move. "I'm royalty, I'll have ya know. A proper prince! Got tons a' gold and jewelry. Tell me watch ya'd like, and it's yours!"
"You are?" That seemed like a strange lie, but Miss Pauling was going to run with it.
The Demoman scratched his chin. "Yes! Well, maybe. Got a few crowns, anyway. Got to be worth somethin', right?"
"Geez, what are ya? Sober?" The Scout barged into the conversation next. "Now, listen here. I got something worth way more dhan whatever crap dhe Demoman's got. Baseball cards. Give 'em twenty, thirty years, and dhey'll be worth more than stocks. Ya know what I'm sayin'? Collector's items! Dhey're dhe next Fabergé eggs."
The Heavy shook his head. "Is stupid. Card cannot possibly be worth more than Fabergé. I should know. Got latest mansion by selling one." That comment drew a lot of strange looks, but nobody asked the Heavy to clarify that statement. No matter how that event happened, there had to be some serious criminal activity associated with it.
"Well, if anyone's owin' her anythin', it's me." The Sniper stuck out his hand, head lowered in shame. "Sorry 'bout my van doin' ya in."
Miss Pauling bypassed his handshake, throwing a hug around his ribs. He hesitated for a moment, then bent down and reciprocated the gesture. She laughed at his awkwardness. "It's okay. I'm fine. Besides, I kind of wrecked your shield."
The Sniper chuckled as well. "It's replaceable. Would've been impossible to get another one of you."
Both the Scout and the Spy made faces. The younger of the two stuck his finger in his mouth and pretended to gag. The elder rested his face in his palm. "Merde. If zhat was any more saccharine, I would have contracted diabetes."
"Now, Spy. Is this the best time to be pickin' fights?" The Engineer offered his mechanical hand. She took it, reaching around his shoulders and giving him a quick squeeze as well. He laughed but tried not to make a big fuss about it. "I'm gonna make sure you're in the respawn system, all right? I know I've got a copy of ya lyin' around somewhere. Hell, might as well make a new one of ya while we're here, right?"
Miss Pauling nodded. She tilted her head to the side. "So, do you think I wasn't in there before?"
The Engineer shrugged. "Well, if ya are, I can't see ya. It's possible that I'm not allowed to take a look at yer profile, though. The Administrator tends to be mighty secretive. She could have ya as an ace up her sleeve. Need to play around with the system's permissions."
The Spy interrupted the Engineer's ramblings. "Speaking of which, you were on the phone with zhe Administrator, were you not?"
"Yeah." Miss Pauling put a hand on her hip. "She said she's coming here to see us."
The air pressure in the hospital room changed as the men collectively gasped. There was a confused muttering as they wondered aloud about what to do. Miss Pauling sighed. Were they really all that worried? Sure, she didn't fear the Administrator all that much, but she didn't know why nine tough, hard-boiled men would be that scared of her. Helen did have a way of dealing with people who failed her, but none of these men had done that. Heck, if it wasn't for their quick thinking, Miss Pauling would be dead.
"I see only one reasonable solution." The Spy crossed his arms. "We tell zhe Administrator zhe truth."
The Medic frowned, unsure of what the Spy's offering meant. "And zhat is—"
The Spy smiled. "It's zhe Sniper's fault."
That sent the Australian sputtering. "N-now, wait just a tic."
"I'm sorry, but it is zhe truth. Your van hit zhe poor, unfortunate lady, so you must suffer zhe consequences." The Spy gave a feigned sigh of sympathy, wrapping an arm around the Sniper's shoulders. "I would not fret, zhough. From what I understand, the Administrator has a zhing for Australians. You know, in zhe boudoir. Probably one round wizh her, and you will be back doing rounds wizh us. So to speak."
Miss Pauling blushed. She knew a little bit too much about what the Spy was talking about. There had been a rather embarrassing event where she'd walked in on Saxton Hale and the Administrator—well, that wasn't important. She winced, "That's probably a little extreme, Spy. I think she'll be understanding about the situation, once I talk with her."
"You're ruining my fun," the Spy huffed.
The Medic shook his head. "Now, zhat is enough. Ve should all get prepared for zhe Administrator's arrival, ya? Besides, ve are all hungry. Might as vell continue zhis over breakfast." He turned his attention to the Engineer, trying to guilt him into cooking. "You know, eggs. Hash browns. Waffles."
"I can take a hint, Doc." The Engineer looked at the rest of the crew. "Goes faster when I have help, though."
Everyone agreed to chip in on at least one item. They exited the infirmary, ready to start the breakfast routine. The Pyro hung back for a moment. That struck Miss Pauling as odd. She stopped, curious about what he was doing. "Everything okay, Pyro?"
He gave her a thumbs up. "Brpt brs br kewrest arfen Ai'f effer pfeen."
She didn't know quite what he meant by that, but Miss Pauling took it as a compliment. "Thank you." She fumbled in her pockets. "Did you want your matchbox back? Sorry I had to steal it from you."
"Phenk pfu!" The Pyro took the matches from her. She gave him a warm smile, then went to join the others in the kitchen. As she left, he gave the matchbox a quick hug, then tucked it away, like a child protecting his good luck charm.
That tinderbox meant the world to him now.
When the Administrator had arrived in the Badlands, she wasted no time with chit-chat. The entire group had been ordered to return to the manor where they had spent their evening, regardless of personal feelings about the location. Their vehicles weren't in the best of shape for the travel, but they ran well enough. The Administrator drove between them, the Sniper's van taking point and the Medic's Kombi at the rear. It was like escorting a high-profile government official or a celebrity. Well, perhaps if the VIP was strapped for cash and hired cronies with beat-up vehicles.
Upon arriving at the manor, nobody could believe what they saw. Sure, they expected to see quite a bit of burned buildings, but the state of the manor's disrepair went far beyond arson. It was like driving into a ghost town. Wooden support beams were gray in the sunlight, charred black from the fresh fire. Siding and walls were gone. Mud had oozed down the rolling lane, wiping away any signs of tire tracks. The clock tower's face was gone, the hands snapped off. The manor itself was nothing more than timbers and ash. No grand windows. No stained glass. Not even any signs of wallpaper or furniture. Its grandeur could not have been destroyed by one day's worth of damage. A century had scavenged the manor, leaving its carcass bared for all eternity.
"What in the name a—" The Demoman began to ask, but his question died before anybody could answer him.
The Administrator was uncharacteristically quiet as she stepped out of the car. She studied the wreckage, a thin frown keeping her cigarette in place. Whatever she thought behind that visage, it was hard to say. She studied it for a long time, long enough for the men to get bored and start their own investigations. There was nothing of interest for them to find. The robot left in the conservatory was rusted to bits. The ladder to the passageway underneath the church was corroded and gone. The kitchen had no sandwich making materials. It was a complete and total wreck, one that had stolen their time and their possessions.
"How did you come to this place?" The Administrator asked Miss Pauling.
"You—well, I thought it was you—called me here." Miss Pauling scratched my head. "I'm not sure where I left my car, though. I had to have parked it around here somewhere."
The Administrator closed her eyes, taking a quick smoke. "If I were you, I'd check that lake south of here. It's where I would dispose of a car, anyway."
Miss Pauling raised an eyebrow but didn't ask. She took her leave of the Administrator, quick to find if that was the case. More importantly, if her keys were still with the vehicle. It wouldn't be a complete tragedy if she lost the car. It was a bit of a wreck, and frankly, the Engineer spent more time getting it up and running than any other car in their fleet. Still, it was her first and only car. It would be hard to replace it.
The Administrator continued smoking, her thoughts hidden in a haze. She flicked her cigarette to the side, preparing to light a new one. As she stepped on the butt, something on the ground caught her attention. She narrowed her eyes. Kneeling down as to not wrinkle her suit, she picked the item up. It was made of ivory, slender and intricately carved. It was either chopsticks or a woman's hair decorations. Most likely to pull hair back into a bun. Something was familiar about it. Had she seen Miss Pauling use these before? No. They seemed too expensive for her. Perhaps it had been someone else, like an aunt. A grandmother. Or—
No.
The Administrator snarled, the objects now familiar. She dropped them, their weight now unbearable. To think that she'd see those again. That bitch! This was her place, wasn't it? What a clever little trap, building a replicate manor! The teams would have never known the difference. No wonder they hadn't come back after all those years. Even after she was gone, dead and buried, that greedy little—It was enough to make the Administrator seethe. She stomped on the hair decorations, cracking them in two.
She would have spent an eternity fuming if Miss Pauling wouldn't have come back. Her assistant was distressed, half-soaked. "You're right. It's in the lake. I—I don't know how it could have—"
"Get the men to fish it out. Then we leave." The Administrator stepped back into her car. She wasn't going to stay her a moment longer than necessary.
Miss Pauling knew better than to ask the Administrator questions about her emotional state. Rather, she asked the question she used more often than any other line of dialogue with her boss. "Is there anything else I can do?"
The Administrator nodded, the action slow and uneasy. "Salt the earth."
Author's Note
There! I did it! Hooray! And I finished it before—before Thanksgiving? Oh, what the hell!
It was good to write something like long again. I have a bad habit of not finishing longer tales. This was particularly difficult to do, since I was juggling so many characters and personalities. I tend to work better in situations that have only two people interacting at a time. (Then again, who doesn't?)
I think I lost some of my readers towards the end, though. Oh well.
I hope you enjoyed! I'm going to take a break this week, do a little research, then start writing again next week. I've got three subjects in mind. One is a story about a big blue box, the second a knife, and the third a semi-kinda-sorta Wonambi sequel. Let me know what you'd be interested in reading.
Have a good…whatever holiday you want, I suppose.