Mabel
spun on a heel towards the cloaked Vixen. "What?"
Iona
glanced back at the way they came from. "Curtains"- she pointed
at the other set of stairs -"curtains at the exit. To keep air
in."
"Poison
gas!?" Mabel gasped.
George
immediately checked that the breathing gear in his mask was working.
Iona
smiled and pointed a furry finger at the Vixen. "You got it!"
she approved. She looked to George who was still adjusting his mask.
"That won't help. It gets in through your skin. You need full
protection." She jerked a thumb at Tricia.
Tricia
gave them the thumb up. But that was not the time to wonder how she
made such a gesture with an armored claw.
"Oh
no! I'm dead!" George wailed hysterically in a high-pitch voice.
"Squirt!"
Iona shook his hand hard. "It's okay. It's just itching gas.
Won't kill you!"
"You
seem very cheerful about it," George noted.
"That's
because she's immune," Mabel mumbled.
"Immune?"
"Io's
immune to many types of drugs and poison, certainly something as mild
as this." Mabel started rubbing an armor plate on her arm. She
looked into Iona's green eyes. "I hate you."
Iona
grinned happily.
"Maybe
there's an antidote in this room!" George suggested hopefully as
he scratched his neck. He pulled open the nearest drawer, combed
through the oily rags within with his itching fingers, then tried the
next drawer.
"Just
be sure to watch for traps," Tricia cautioned him as she went to
the nearest cabinet.
George
gave her a withering now-you-tell-me look. He was already at his
fourth drawer.
The boy
dropped his toolbag so he could concentrate on searching. He could
retrieve the bag later. The itching was starting to become
unbearable. All over his body, his skin itched. Most of it was
unreachable under his coat and all the armor that Mabel had slapped
onto him. It was burning agony not to be able to scratch effectively
while searching for the antidote.
Mabel
was also having as much trouble as he was, having to endure the itch
while searching. She was rubbing armor plates furiously with one
hand. With her other hand, she opened drawers and cabinets and tossed
out the junk within. Drawers and junk, along with the occasional
unhinged door, flew over her shoulder as she went from furniture to
furniture.
The
Vixen must have left her backpack and one of her rifles somewhere,
though she kept her other weapon slung over a shoulder.
"Hey,
Mab," Tricia called, "You may break the antidote if you
keep throwing stuff out!"
"Shut
up!" Mabel snapped back. However, there was a reduction in the
rate of things flying over her shoulder.
Tricia
had a lot of trouble searching with her big armored claws. So her
progress was understandably slow. However, since she was protected
against the gas, she was in no hurry.
George
had thought that Iona would have the same problem with her furry
paws. However, as she worked nearby, George saw that her furry gloves
had slipped up her arm, revealing a pair of delicate hands with which
she opened drawers.
Wait. He
should not be surprised about that. Iona had revealed those hands
earlier when she had tied on the bracelet to his wrist.
His
itching skin reminded him to continue looking.
After
what seemed like an eternity, just as his mind, mad from the itching,
was about to slip into a happier place, George found what he was
looking for in the bottom of a cabinet. Placed on a worn red pillow
was a small bottle, clearly labeled 'Antidote'. "Found it!"
he announced as he took the bottle.
Iona
pounced on him and snatched the bottle from his hand. She held George
to the ground with her weight. She was not very heavy, but the boy
was not very strong either.
"Hey,
I need that," George protested from beneath the girl.
"Let
me check first," Iona said as she sat on him. She looked at the
liquid within the green glass. Then she opened the bottle and looked
for vapors before she sniffed it. Finally, she poured a little onto
her little finger and tasted the liquid.
"Well?"
George was seriously irritated. The itch was way beyond unbearable
and he could not scratch himself freely with Iona sitting on him.
"Thought
so," Iona said, "This is the real danger." She dangled
the bottle in front of George's face. "Squirt, this isn't
antidote. It's poison. It'll put you to sleep for two days."
George's
heart sank. "So there's no cure for this blasted itchiness!?"
"Oh,
all you need to do is leave the room," Iona informed him.
"What!?"
Mabel cried from the other side of the room.
"Leave
the room, out of the poison and the itching should stop," Iona
clarified, "eventually."
"Argh!"
Mabel snarled her frustration as she ran to the exit and slipped
through the plastic curtains. "Trish, grab my pack and rifle for
me!" she called over the comm.
"This
is a real treasure," Iona said as she slipped the bottle into a
pouch on her belt.
George
wanted to cry. He had just been told how to stop the itchiness. But
he could not do anything about it, not while Iona was still sitting
happily on him.
Argh,
the agony!
***
No comments:
Post a Comment