//------------------------------// // Chapter Nine: Simple Plan // Story: Pyrophobia // by VilkaTheWolf //------------------------------// I stagger back to the group, knowing I have to convince the other two to join me on my trip south, and I’ll have to apologise first, which is something I hate doing. As a bit of prep, I take a short detour on the way back. Operation Wait and Intimidate is a go.  When I get back, I see Triple to the side of the campsite with a worried expression on her face. I reassure her with a hushed smile. Mic and Crack are still asleep, lazy bastards. I squat down—the classic Slav squat—and take a loud gulp from a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels I’d brought with me. They must have been sleeping rather lightly because they begin to stir. Perhaps they were already awake. Seeing me loom over them give appears to give them quite a shock but they hold steady, as do I. I down the remainder of whiskey and, while making direct eye contact, proceed to chow down on the bottle, their eyes widening as I do. I make a show of it, highlighting that it could just as easily be their necks instead of a bottle. Of them, only Triple is safe. I would never hurt my property. Wait...what? I brush the thought aside for later. Thinking about people as property is too much to contemplate right now.  I shift my weight to balance better on my feet and subconsciously flare my wings to help stabilize myself. “Y-y-you have wings?” Crack Pipe fumbles. Seriously? How clueless is this motherfucker? I clear my throat and sit up properly to deliver my practiced speech. “My dear companions, it is with great virtue to inform that we are leaving to head south and you are free to join us or stay here.” My great speech is met with silence. I sigh and try another approach, a more honest one. “Look, I'm sorry about my recent behaviour and lashing out and all that. This has been a very disorientating experience so far...and the only way I know how to deal with things is through anger and alcohol...so...forgive me?” I hold up my hands in a mock-pleading manner. Due to my sudden change in demeanor, Crack and Mic look to each other and then to Triple behind me who nods. Would they really trust me so easily now? Mic, the apparent leader of the pack speaks up, "We'll give you a chance." A horrible decision, but we'll see. Our group plan our south-bound journey for the next couple of hours, working in as many stops as possible. Mic has a bunch of places that he wants to stop at and although I’m tempted to deny him, I ultimately choose not to—I need them. We also find a heavy-duty box trailer on the base and hook it up to my Ute to increase our capacity. Without Google Maps, trying to work out how long our trip would take with all the detours thrown in is harder than I thought. If only I had kept my phone, I could have used it in offline mode. I silently curse my stupidity and excuse myself from the group to have a smoke and see if I can find a map or atlas on the base. I pull out a cigarette once I’m far enough away from the others and after lighting it away from my face, I took a big drag and exhaled a smoke ring. Still got skills. With a final look behind me to my new traveling companions I enter what I assume is the Command Centre. Inside is a large sign with “BATTALION HEADQUARTERS” plastered on it. So that's what it's called, I muse, taking another drag of my cigarette. The building is extremely clean, despite having been abandoned for a year. It’s a little eerie, like an old horror movie with all the clean walls ready to be splashed in blood. I shake the ridiculous thought from my head and continue through the building looking up and down at the walls at the various notices and signs. Something touches my wing and I almost let loose a very unmanly 'eep', but I bite my tongue. Turning around I see that my wing has just bumped into an open door frame. I release a breath I didn't know I held, crisis averted. I’m going to have to get used to having my wings out now, but I have to admit it felt good to have them out unrestricted. I feel the muscles running to them and give them an experimental wiggle. Unsurprisingly they respond. I unfurl and tuck them back in a few times before settling on a comfortable position to keep them out of harm's way. I continue to do this as I’m walking down the very clean hallways of the headquarters building. At the end of the hallway I come across a locked door reading: Operations Room Warning: No entry to unauthorized personnel – By order, LT. COL  Thomas Sure that “Operations” means Maps, I give the door a shove. It moves, but not enough, so I aim a kick near the door handle. The door falls off its hinges. Serves the door right. On the tables at the rear of the room are several piles of A3 papers. I make a beeline for them and pick up the nearest one and am met with complete confusion. This just looks like a bunch of squiggly lines and grids. Suddenly it dawns on me, these are topographical maps. I survey them for a bit as I finish my smoke, but eventually I realise that I don’t understand them at all. Regardless, I gather as much as I can and head back to the others, as I may be able to figure them out later. *** Luckily the others were still around when I return. Triple looked mildly worried. “You were gone for over an hour,” she starts. I give her a subtle look of disbelief. I didn't realise I'd been gone that long. “I—,” she pauses, correcting herself, “—we were starting to get worried.” I raise an eyebrow at her statement but don’t respond.   “I found some maps,” I explain, showing them what I am holding. “Problem is...I can't read them, they're topographical maps. I don't understand what all the lines mean.” Upon hearing me mention topographical maps, Mic's ears prick up. He’s clearly interested but trying not to show it. "Sure would be good if someone could read it." I suggest to no one in particular. He groans at my goading, “I can read them.” He stumbles over to me. Oh yeah, I shot him.  Snatching some maps away from me with his mouth (gross), he lays them out on the ground and looks at them intently. I wonder why he isn't using his unicorn powers to just magically hold the maps, but I figure it’s probably for the same reason I can't breathe fire: he doesn't know how. Mic then goes on to explain how to read the maps, not really to me but to everyone in general. “These squiggly lines are called contours, these points on each line mean that the ground there is all the same height. This side of the line here—,” he says pointing to one side of the contour, “—means uphill, and this side is downhill.” He looks around for understanding but is met with only blank stares, rolling his eyes he continues, “These small circles here indicate a high point like large hill or mountain, and when they're close together that’s a steep slope.” I don’t really understand any of that, but I pretend I do. “So...where are we on it then?” I ask. “I couldn’t make heads or tails of where we were on it.” Mic then looks up to me with indignation on his smug face, “These maps aren't even of here, they're all of Afghanistan.” He then points to the corners of the maps, “See ‘Operation Slipper’? That was the codename for our involvement there.” I feel the heat rise in my cheeks as I puff them out. “I-I knew that.” I mumble unconfidently. I feel myself pouting like a spoilt brat. “Oh yeah?” a sense of bravado raises in his voice, “ ‘Cos it sure sounded like you didn't. You probably couldn't even read a normal map!” Mic sneers. Triple looks on helpless as Mic continues to provoke me, complaining about my attitude and getting shot and everything else that’s happened to them since I showed up...I think that’s what he’s going on about at least. I start to tune it out when it looks like he isn’t going to stop anytime soon when suddenly something catches my ear….  “—ya dumb bitch,” I hear him finish. Well...that’s something I never thought I would be called... Something flips inside me and I have to hold back my growing anger from lashing out so I don’t scare Triple off or inadvertently kill Mic. Instead, I gather myself, kneel in front of him, and settle for flicking him on the ear. Unfortunately, I’m still not aware of my full strength and, the top of his ear splits in two.  Mic screams in pain, Triple screams in horror, and I scream in surprise. My new girly scream. “Oh God, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I didn't know I could do that you gotta believe me.” I start apologising profusely, which eventually turns into mumbled gibberish. I feel a comforting hoof on my arm, expecting Triple I’m surprised to see Mic. “Yeah, kinda my bad too. I was being a dick. Guess I didn't learn my lesson not to mess with you.” I giggle at that—a girly, annoying giggle. “Yeah, you think?” Then, with much less force, I carefully boop him on the nose which makes him go cross-eyed. Crack suddenly appears at my side with the medkit. “Let me fix it.” I say with determination. I spend an hour carefully treating and bandaging Mic's ear and leg with gauze, apologizing the entire time. Thankfully I still have hands. I don’t know how I would have treated the wound if I had been stuck with hooves like the rest of them. Maybe you couldn’t have shot him, either. We then pack some more supplies I had found across the base, including some more guns and ammunition, and then sit down for lunch. I give the others a few tins of food that I had stored, and wait until they're done eating, or at least, after I realized they couldn't open the tins with their hooves. When they're finished I munch on the tins themselves, finding them strangely tastier than the food inside...then again, given what they had in them, maybe that’s not so surprising. Alcohol is still more satisfying though. We give up the idea of looking for maps and all climb into the Ute. Triple calls shotgun and the other two settle comfortably in the back, while I ratchet strap my stuff down to stop it from falling out again. I get in the driver's seat and turn to Triple who’s absentmindedly searching behind the passenger seat with a hoof. “What are you d—,” I’m cut off as Triple pulls out a book. Not just any book, a Brisbane Refidex from 2004. “Fuck!”