Zig Zag is Copyright © Max Black Rabbit. Sabrina, Darke Katt and R.C. are Copyright © Eric W. Schwartz. James Sheppard, Marvin Badger, Rhonda Badger, Yohni, Alexi, Michael, Esteban, Mia, Wanda Vixen and Tamara Rabbit are Copyright © James Bruner. Jean LeBrun, Francois LeBrun, Marie LeBrun, Gabrielle Ryder, Theodore Bigglesworth-Farthington von Salzburg the Third, Roxanne Bigglesworth-Farthington von Salzburg, Timothy Bigglesworth-Farthington von Salzburg, Malcolm Grazer, Doctor Lupin, Doctor Fox Jones, William Pongo, Captain Archibald, Peter Spermophilus, Miranda Spermophilus, Leo Leon, Vincent Leon, Abu-Yusuf, Sergeant Otetiani, Lieutenant Black, Julie Black, Miriam Redtail, Lizzy Doe, Emma Grey, Rowena Spyke, Jeremy Mustela, William White, Hannah Vulpes, Professor Nutkin, Professor Moose Nicholson, Professor Verner Schnauzer, Professor Erica Belge, Charles 'Mouse' Mombay, Ulf Søndergård, Paul Donkey, Harley Davidson (Not the motorcycle manufacturer, obviously) and Pethouse Magazine is © Joan Jacobsen, 2005. 

Legal Notice: This story is Copyright © 2005 by Joan Jacobsen. This story may not be sold or used for commercial profit in any form or fashion. This story may not be modified in any way. This story may not be posted on a mirror site or any other Internet site without the written permission of the author. This story may not be distributed on print, magnetic, electrical or optical mediums.  

Permission to use characters that are Copyright other individuals was obtained prior to the appearance of said characters.  

The author, Joan Jacobsen, hereby asserts moral right to be identified as the author of this work. 

This is an independent work of fiction with no connection whatsoever to Max Black Rabbit, Eric W. Schwartz, E.S. Productions or James Bruner and is in no way meant to imply any connection with Max Black Rabbit, Eric W. Schwartz, E.S. Productions, or James Bruner. This story contains characters created by Max Black Rabbit, Eric W. Schwartz, James Bruner, Tigermark and Silver Coyote. Events and characters occurring in this story should not be considered part of the storylines for either 'Zig Zag', 'Sabrina Online' or 'Sabrina Online - The Story'.  

In fact, as far as 'Zig Zag', 'Sabrina Online', 'Sabrina Online - The Story' and 'Zig Zag the Story' are concerned, this story does not exist. The artists disavow any knowledge of and do not officially sanction the events in this story. 

'Infamy', part 1. 

Lizzy wrapped a towel around herself. She had short enough hair that it wasn't necessary to wrap one around her head. It was Tuesday morning and she was looking very much forward to the rest of the day. She was going to spend most of it with Emma, shopping for a good dinner and preparing it. 

It was Leo's idea. The lion had argued it'd be a good idea to get to know Jeremy, Emma's new boyfriend, a bit better.  

Lizzy, by nature, didn't argue with that kind of logic. Besides, she wanted to make sure Emma was doing okay. She'd been pretty badly shook up at the party a few days earlier, on account of her accident.  

"Are you done in the bathroom?" Leo called out from the kitchen. He sounded annoyed. Even irritated.  

The doe blinked. That wasn't like the lion. Normally, Leo was all smiles and sunshine in the morning. She closed the door behind her and nodded, even though Leo wasn't there to see it. "Yeah, I'm out. What's wrong? Have I taken up too much time in there or something?" 

"Oh...sorry, it's not you. It's just that Jeremy just called and cancelled..." Leo said and sighed. 

"I didn't hear the phone..." Lizzy said, confusion coming onto her face. "Well, I guess that I wouldn't with the water running and me humming and all. Did he give a reason at least?" 

"Yeah...he did. Emma's got an appointment at the hospital later today, it seems. She's been having trouble with her balance and nausea since the accident. He said they're going to get her checked again for a concussion. Possibly even X-rays. He sounded terribly worried, so I guess she really must be feeling bad," the lion explained and sat down at the table. He looked sad.  

"I'm sorry...we'll get them over another evening instead. When Emma really is feeling okay again. I know you'd like to get to know Jeremy a bit better and frankly, I'd like to see what kind of fur can run off with my Emma like that," Lizzy grinned, ruffling Leo's mane. 

"I don't know, Lizzy...something's rubbing me the wrong way..."  

"What do you mean?"  

Leo shrugged. "I don't know. It's just a gut feeling that something's not quite right," he said and poured himself a cup of coffee. "I guess that means we have an extra half hour together this morning, hm? I don't have classes until later." 

Lizzy nodded. She headed to the TV-set in the living room and turned it on. "We've got more than that. Probably an hour. We can catch the morning news nice and quietly this time, without sprinting around like furs possessed. Anyway, what class do you have today?" 

"Composition and Aesthetics, believe it or not. Isn't it amazing? They're trying to teach us 'this looks good because it follows certain rules'. I'm studying art for crying out loud. Whatever happened to spontaneity...to the unexpected?" Leo burst out, his arms going out to his side.

Lizzy didn't answer. 

Leo sipped his coffee and waited. Perhaps something on the screen had caught the doe's attention. He certainly appreciated her spirit when it came to following world events. More local news too, for that matter. There were times where he wondered why the doe had studied history instead of becoming a journalist, but somehow...he couldn't see Lizzy interviewing a Republican without it getting out of paw. He grinned widely at the thought. It was probably better that she dealt with the 'news of yesteryear' as he'd come to think of it, rather than the news of today. Of course, she was unemployed presently, but somehow, he felt that wouldn't last. He knew she had two job interviews lined up, down the line. He also knew she really hoped to land the first one. Teaching history to High School students, which was the second job-option, wasn't really Lizzy's style.  

The first one was as a bit more uncertain, though. If she got it, she'd probably be fantastic at it too. A 25 hours a week job at the German Consulate, working with the staff there to help overcome the cultural gaps between Europe and the Midwest. Somehow...that struck Leo as being exactly Lizzy's kind of job. Although she'd probably have preferred it if there was a Russian consulate around in Columbus.

Lizzy still hadn't answered. 

Leo got to his feet and brought his coffee mug. "Lizzy? What's on the television that's so overwhelmingly interesting?" he asked, grinning as he headed into the living room, sipping from his mug. 

He looked at the screen. 

The sound of the coffee mug breaking on the floor was the only noise in the living room for a long time after that. 

### 

Malcolm jumped onto the bus. He was in a terrible hurry, too...yesterday's rehearsals had gone by perfectly. Everyone was ready for the big night that Thursday, with the critics-premiere, but he was late nonetheless. He had totally forgotten that he had to meet with his boss and two ballet-critics who were going to interview him. It was one of those things, he knew would haunt him for years to come. If he'd had a baseball bat at paw, he'd have smacked himself with it. At least he'd managed to bluff his way through it. Calling his boss and telling her he had been stuck in traffic, but that he was on the bus now, and that it was moving. 

It had been a little white lie but it had done the job. He wasn't in trouble now, at least. Besides, as his boss had said, 'artistes always arrive fashionably late, Malcolm...as long as you're on your way'. 

Well, he was. He'd arrived at the bus stop in time, and the bus itself hadn't quite arrived yet. He'd looked stressed out as Abu-Yusuf had reminded him of the cherries but he'd gratefully bought the bag the oryx had set aside for him. For one thing, he really loved cherries...moreover, it was something to help him stress down a little. Something normal. Buying fruit from Abu-Yusuf in the morning was a regular event and right now, he needed regular events. 

He was nervous. Extremely so. Timothy had done his best, bless the bronco and his gigantic heart, to calm him down after they realized they'd gotten out of bed 20 minutes too late. But despite the shorter stallion's best efforts, Malcolm felt like his heart was about to work it's way out his nostrils from sheer, utter nervousness. Never in his life had he been expected for such an important interview, career-wise...and he'd gotten out of bed too late. What really worried him was that while he knew his boss wouldn't be angry with him, he did not expect the Ballet-critic from the New York Times to be very happy about this unexpected delay. 

He needed a good review. Positive words in print, read by tens of thousands...hundreds of thousands of New Yorkers. He needed it...not for his ego's sake, but for the sake of his career. It wasn't as if there wouldn't be other chances but there was absolutely no point in starting his relationship with the press off with being 'the lead dancer who arrives 20 minutes late'.

A headache was coming on, rapidly. His temples were pounding and his blood-pressure was no doubt circulating somewhere above the skyline.  

He rubbed his face and tried to calm down a bit, badly needing something to take his mind off what was going to happen.  

An elderly gopher femme supporting herself on a cane came up next to his seat as the queue of standing furs slowly filed past him as some left the bus at a stop. Malcolm eagerly grabbed the chance to think of something else.  

"Ma'am...wouldn't you prefer to sit?" he asked and got up, offering his seat to the gopher. 

"Oh, how terribly kind of you, sir," she said and sat down where Malcolm had been sitting until a few seconds earlier. "It's so rare to see a proper gentlefur these days. New York has grown so large it's lost it's soul, I think. It's good to see there are still kind young furs around who think about others than themselves." 

Malcolm smiled warmly. "Oh, we're out there...but I guess I can see what you mean, Ma'am." 

The bus turned off Albany onto West Street, at the corner of the Dow Jones building.  

Suddenly, there was a scream from the front end of the bus. The vehicle swerved. Malcolm dimly realized that a thunderous, deafening roar of sound had knocked him senseless. Everything was chaos. Something was raining down outside the bus. Something...strange. It wasn't actually rain. The stallion couldn't make sense of what was going on. Everything was confusion. His head was spinning and he felt physically ill. Like someone had taken an invisible iron bar to his head, repeatedly. Without him noticing until after the blows had fallen. From somewhere above, there was an ominous, overwhelmingly loud rumble.  

He couldn't see straight. Furs were trying to get out of the bus. Screaming, panicking. Malcolm still had no idea what was going on. He was aching, though...from being buffetted around, elbows to his sides from completely panicked furs. He got knocked over and fell to his face. Someone stepped on his back and he groaned as his stomach got mashed against something on the ground. Something terrible had happened, but he had no way of figuring out what it was. He turned around to get up, looking down himself. His stomach was turning red.  

Something very large hit the ground just outside. 

Malcolm's world vanished. 

### 

Jean opened the door to the lecture hall. She straightened her back and smoothed down her suit to take out any crinkles. Second day of teaching. Yesterday had been a warm-up with a few furs, but today was the real deal. She picked up her briefcase and entered the lecture hall. The faces of maybe 80 different furs looked back at her. She brushed a lock of hair behind her ear and nodded to them all.  

"Confidence, Jean," she told herself. "Remember, it went very well yesterday, and these students won't bite you either." 

Somewhere in the back of her mind, a tiny little voice piped up that she had absolutely no way of knowing if one of them would. It just made her smile. A smile that helped calm her down a little. 

"Good morning, everyone," she told the students. "Hrm...how many are you anyway? Seventy? Eighty? You're not all historians that's for sure. We'd be drowning Ohio in historians in three years time if you are all here for that." 

A young, male mink on the front row raised a paw. 

Jean nodded at him to let him know he could speak up. "What's your name?" she asked. 

"William White, Miss," the mink answered, quite respectfully. "There's a good few of us who study other courses...but who minor in history. This is a required course then. You'll probably have more new faces in other classes too. History isn't a popular course as first choice but there's a lot who minor in it." 

Jean nodded. She remembered that bit, clearly enough. There were always furs in class from other majors like sociology or political science. There had been just about as many in each class, but never as many different classes. She had three scheduled lectures to teach every week. That made for a lot of students, all in all. Those the day before, this lot and who knew how many two days later?  

"Thank you, Mr. White. As opposed to the general rumors about history-lecturers, I'm not so antiquated I can't remember my own hours on those benches," Jean chuckled. "Until last year, I sat two rows behind where you're sitting now after all." 

"Oy!" a male voice peeped up from somewhere in the back of the room. "Dunno if that goes for everyone, but Professor Nutkin belongs in a museum at least. His brain if nothing else. Story goes, Miss, that you're one of those who really spoke up against him." 

Jean cleared her throat and looked in the direction of the voice. "Let's make a new rule here until I know who you all are. Introduce yourselves when you say something the first time. But to whomever said that, Professor Nutkin is a much respected lecturer and needless to say I can't officially agree with that statement," she said and smiled crookedly. "Unofficially, strictly off the record and on the Q-T, I used to spike his drinks with salted icecubes at the parties, and tell him his curriculum stank. However, before anyone gets any good ideas about salting my drinks...well, let's just say I hope you keep it at the thought level unless you want to sit up for weeks, doing extra homework."

That got a hearty laugh from the students and Jean felt the ice break further. She put her briefcase on the table and opened it, smiling. Things were going really well. 

"Miss?" another voice, this time female, called out. "Oh...sorry...Hannah Vulpes..." 

Jean nodded and looked in that direction. A young female wolf had raised a paw. She had a worried expression on her face. 

"Go on, Miss Vulpes," the vixen said and took out some papers, placing them on the table. 

"Is...is it true what is being said around the hallways about you? I mean...you know...about what you did...and..." the wolf tried. Clearly, her tongue wouldn't obey her brain. 

Jean sighed. Same deal as the day before, only this time there were a lot more students. She decided to go with the same decision as the day before. There was no way of putting the kaht back into the bag after all. She closed her briefcase and snapped the locks shut. "About my...what?" she asked. 

"You know...that you used to be..." Hannah tried again. She shook her head and clearly found it uncomfortable to go on. 

"About my having been male? I hear those rumors too you know. Heard them yesterday, in fact," Jean said, shrugging. "Normally, I'd hear those rumors in rather circumspect ways, but I do hear them. Let's just say the rumors have the whole thing rather twisted around but that there's an element of truth in it. If anyone has a problem with it, the door's over there. Anyone's free to use it. I fail to see how it will have any bearing on my teaching. My private life is my business. Agreed?" 

"Yes, Miss..." the wolf said and slumped in her seat. She looked like someone had just had a wet towel thrown in her face. The expression on her features was one of realizing she'd stuck her foot in her mouth. "I'm sorry," she mumbled. 

"Well, let that be lesson one of what 'Critical Thinking' is all about then, shall we?" Jean asked and smiled crookedly, deciding to try to turn it into something useful instead. For Hannah Vulpes' sake as well. 

There was a general murmur of confusion around the class. 

Jean chuckled. At least she'd caught the students unprepared. The mumblings continued through the ranks for a few moments, until William White stuck up his paw again. 

"Mind if I ask...what you mean, Miss? I don't think most of us really got that." 

"Easy," Jean countered. "How many in here have heard various rumors about me and a certain...confusion of genders?" she asked. "Don't be shy, come on, let's see some paws. You won't be in trouble for this. It's just an experiment, so be honest. How many have heard the stories?" 

A number of paws went up. Mostly haltingly. More and more followed until Jean realized that probably ninety-five percent of the students held up their paws. 

"All right," she said, matter-of-factly. "That's a lot. Now...how many of you believed those rumors when you heard it? Again, none of you will be in trouble. Trust me on this, I'm simply trying to illustrate a point and all things considered, you're here to learn these things. So everyone who believed it, keep your paws up, and the rest take them down. Be honest, now..."

Somewhere between ten and twenty paws went back down. Still, well over half the class had their paws up. Quite a few very worried faces looked back at Jean.  

She smiled to herself. So that's how active the rumor mill still was. At least it gave her a more concrete picture of it than she had been able to piece together the day before. Not that she had really expected anything else. Students were no different than any other furs out there. They'd talk to each other and they'd trust each other. 

"Good. Well, those of you who still have your paws up just made the most elementary mistake of this class," she said with a chuckle. "And those who just took your paws down, made another mistake." 

Again, confusion ran through the ranks and Jean held up a paw to quiet everyone down. 

"I'll explain," she said and sat on the edge of the table. "Those who believed that rumor did not check it's source. Me. Not one fur has approached me since I started here...though I admit I haven't been teaching here more than a few days. But not one fur came up to me yesterday, asking me if this was true, and I was here for about nine hours. Yet, you still believed the rumor. You had only the say-so of someone you consider trustworthy to some extent...but to you, that was enough."

William put up a paw again and Jean nodded to him, to let him know he could speak. 

"So you're saying...it's about source investigation, Miss? I admit I heard the rumors and I believed them, but I guess I can see what you mean. I just took what was said at face value. I didn't double-check." 

Jean nodded and smiled. "That's precisely what it's about. And don't worry about believing it. We all do it. Even me and I'm damned good at this course or I wouldn't be teaching it to you lot. We sometimes read something in the paper...or hear a newsflash on TV...and we believe it. Because we live in a culture that constantly teaches us that mass media tells the truth, even though we know for a fact...that this isn't the case. Most of the time we can take things with a grain of salt but just...sometimes...we happen to believe what we're told. It's too fantastic, we say, to be made up. It's too radical or extreme..."

William nodded and jotted down some notes on his paper. Jean smiled. She took note of the mink's face. He had an inquisitive mind. Not unlike another mink she knew. Or herself for that matter. That one was off to a good start, at least. 

"The second group, however, made a different mistake," she said. "You chose to disbelieve a rumor, without checking the source. 'Critical Thinking' is not about being miracle-murderers. Our goal is not 'disproving' things in this class. We're here to ascertain validity, and we're here to make sure we have as complete a picture of any issue as is possible to achieve. Okay, let me see the paws of those of you studying political science, please," she asked and looked at the class.

Fifteen or sixteen paws came up. Jean nodded to herself. That was about the amount she had expected.  

"If you get out of University with a passing grade, I'm willing to bet at least a few of you have careers as spin-doctors for various politicians or organizations in mind. Some of you may even have deals with such organizations that if you pass your exams, you'll be hired on probation. Correct?" she asked and let her eyes slowly travel over the group in front of her. 

A few murmurs of acknowledgement went up. Again. Jean nodded. 

"Then I ask you to consider what 'Spin' is. Anyone? Well, then let me tell you what it is. It's a post-modern expression for rumor, furs. Spin-doctors are professional rumormongers. They use modern techniques to get their ideas across, but all political ideas start off as rumors. Those of you who study history will certainly be familiar with the Congress of Vienna. The political science-furs too, I'm sure. I'm going to name one name, and leave it to you to judge if the idea of 'Spin' is a new one. Clemens von Metternich, everyone. If you don't know the name, you're studying sociology," she said and smiled crookedly, folding her arms across her chest.

There was another round of hearty laughter. As well as a sound of general consensus. Jean chuckled to herself again. This really was going very well. She had a good rapport with the students already. They were listening, and she was getting some basic messages across. More than one fur was already taking down notes by the page.  

She waited for the assembly to quiet down. The door opened and Mrs. Belge entered. 

"J...Jean...I..." she began. There was a look of absolute horror and shock on the elderly rabbit's face. She looked like she'd been crying, as well. "I need to...to talk to you. It's very urgent. Please, could...you come with me?" 

Jean felt a sinking sensation in her stomach. Something was clearly wrong. Terribly, terribly wrong. She nodded and hurried over to the faculty-head, all sorts of ill premonitions going through her head. Her first thought was that something had happened to Esteban. The thought alone made black spots dance in front of her eyes. 

The students couldn't hear what was being said. They saw the two femmes talking, lowly, between themselves. Jean shook her head virulently a few times. Her eyes were as wide as saucers. Mrs. Belge was crying. Her shoulders were shaking and something was obviously amiss. Quiet and worried looks were exchanged between the students in the lecture-hall. 

Finally, Mrs. Belge left again. She hurried out when she did leave, like she was heading somewhere. Since her arrival, only a couple of minutes had passed, but clearly, something monumental had changed. Jean stood like someone had driven spikes through her feet. Her knees were shaking. The students could see her paws shake as she ran one of them through her hair. She forced her feet to move, and headed back to the desk. Very slowly. She looked like she was physically ill, taking a moment to lean against the table, composing herself. It was a hopeless task. When she finally looked up, her eyes were glassy, tears building rapidly and her whole being radiated shock. 

"L...Ladies and gentlefurs..." she began, her voice trembling and barely loud enough to be heard. Again, she shook her head and her voice faltered. It was so difficult to concentrate. What she had just been told...defied reason. Logic. Any kind of sense. It was...too fantastic not to be believed. She would have found it laughable that she had just mentioned such situations to her students, if the whole situation hadn't been so utterly, incomprehensible horrible. Clearing her throat again, she tried to continue. She tried to relate to something she knew. What she had just been told was something so incredible she had no parameter of reference to it. All she could do was try to think of something she did know about. But coherent thinking was next to impossible. Tragedies lined up in her head, for comparison, but it was difficult to make sense of her own thoughts.

"Ladies and gentlefurs...in 1941...the United States came under attack by a foreign power. Without warning...without a declaration of war...the Empire of Japan bombed Pearl Harbor, costing the lives of two thousand three hundred and ninety five furs. It's a number drilled into the heads of most Americans in school. It was the worst attack by a foreign power on America since the war of 1812. Not even the sinking of the 'USS Maine' in the port of Havana on February 15th, 1898 came close to this tragedy, nor did the sinking of the 'Lusitania', and that...particular event managed to draw the United States into the first world war," she began. Her words came haltingly and with great difficulty. She looked back down at the table for a moment. Again, trying to compose herself. She was rattling off tragedies...historical tragedies. Trying to find something that would work as a reference point. She wanted to kick herself. There could be none, and she knew it. 

When the vixen looked up, the students could see tears rolling down her cheeks. She didn't even try to conceal them. A couple of the history students exchanged glances. They knew the incidents their teacher was mentioning, but they totally failed to see the context. The remaining students at least knew about the bombing of Pearl Harbor but none of them seemed to grasp what was going on either. 

"On December 8th, 1941, President Franklin Delano Roosevelt went up before Congress and held a famous speech. You have all heard it," Jean went on. She no longer heard her own words. Her mind was reeling and her tongue was working on automatic. "Many times, no doubt. He said that December 7th would be 'a day that will live in infamy'. Ever since then, Americans have remembered the attack on Pearl, on that day every year. It was...the worst attack on the United States...by a foreign power since 1812. It was..." 

A few confused whispers went up around the class. William White cleared his throat. He didn't want to ask the obvious question but somehow, he knew he had to. 

"Miss LeBrun...w...why are you using past tense? I mean...it's in the past but it's still the worst attack on the United States since 1812..." he finally said, dreading the response. Something he didn't understand was happening. Something dreadful. 

Jean swallowed and shook her head. There was no reference she could use. The attack on Pearl didn't even work. It was a military attack on a military installation. What had just happened wasn't. There was nothing she could compare this to...to understand. She wasn't meant to understand. It was simply...incomprehensible.  

"Mrs. Belge has just informed me," she said, looking up and trying to make her voice sound firm enough to carry the dreadful message it had to, "...that at 8:45 this morning...a few minutes before this class started...a commercial airliner crashed into the World Trade Center in New York. Mrs. Belge told me that the reason no one had told us this immediately was that...everyone in the teachers room had been riveted to the floor, watching the live broadcast. Every TV-station is broadcasting live from New York. At first, reports were uncertain and most believed it was a terrible accident. But a few minutes ago...at three minutes past nine, a second airliner hit the other tower. The casualty list...is catastrophic already. Both the towers are aflame. Furs are apparently flinging themselves out the windows...from hundreds of yards into the air, to escape the flames. No one knows...how many have already died...how many are going to die. The United States is under attack..." 

If someone had dropped a pin in the lecture hall, it would've been heard. The looks on everyone's faces was one of abject disbelief. More than one fur started searching for his or her cell phone. They were all turned off while at a lecture. Such were the rules. Angry voices were heard around the room. 

Jean sat down behind the desk. She couldn't remain standing. Her legs would not support her. Furs started leaving the lecture hall, some at a run. She did nothing to stop them. All she could do was to cover her face with her paws and cry, bitterly. 

### 

It was mid Tuesday afternoon, and Gabrielle was still enjoying Copenhagen immensely. In some ways it saddened her that they only had one more whole day in the city. She felt like she was missing out on a lot of things. That there was still a lot left to see that she simply didn't have time for. On the other paw, she was looking forward to seeing Berlin as well. Berlin, Paris and Milan were the three really major stops that she and Yohni had planned. Copenhagen was simply meant to be the place to start off. 

"You know...when I get really old and gray and wrinkled, Yohni...I'm going to move here," the bronco said and sat down on the seat next to her girlfriend. 

"Oh yeah? Without asking me if I want to come along?" the mongoose answered, grinning crookedly. 

"Who said you're going to have a choice? I'll pack you up in a suitcase and bring you along if you protest," Gabrielle giggled and leaned her head back. "I love this place. Even when they're stressing out they seem relaxed..." 

Yohni nodded. She had to admit the bronco was right, but it was the kind of long-term planning she had trouble dealing with. "Well, we'll see. We've got plenty of years to decide on that, y'know. We don't know how it'd be to live here, after all. We're here for five days, on vacation."

The bus started to move. Gabrielle chuckled and kissed Yohni's cheek. "I'm just kidding around." 

The mongoose smiled and snuggled up against the equine. "You know what I like about that dream, though?" she asked. 

"Do tell." 

"That we're still together, when you're old and gray and wrinkled." 

Gabrielle smiled and slipped an arm around Yohni, holding her close. "When I am old and gray and wrinkled? What about you?"

"Hey, don't look at me, Baby...I intend to stay young and beautiful forever," Yohni giggled and closed her eyes, resting against the larger femme.  

"You know...I believe you," Gabrielle murmured. She was about to say something else...when the bus swerved. 

The entire street became a cacophony of tooting horns and screeching tires. Then...silence. 

A few car doors open. Confused...bewildered furs got out. Everything seemed surreal. Yohni blinked and looked at the rest of the furs in the bus. There was a certain amount of confusion spreading. The driver cranked up the radio-volume. Gabrielle sat up straight, trying to figure out what was going on. No one seemed to really understand. Outside, furs were shaking their heads. The traffic had stopped, dead in it's tracks. The looks of shock on the faces of those outside were unmistakable though. Something was wrong. Very wrong. The radio scratched a little, and a female voice came out through the loudspeakers. The quality wasn't good. Like the line was being disturbed. 

"Ingen fatter hvad der er sket. Ingen forstår hvordan noget sådant har kunnet ske. Ingen ved hvor mange der endnu var mødt på arbejde. Myndighederne har endnu ikke sagt et ord. Det ene tårn står i lys lue. Mange kaster sig ud af vinduerne. Du godeste Gud...det er forfærdeligt, forfærdeligt...hvordan kan sådan en ulykke dog..." 

The voice shut up, momentarily. A dull rumbling in the background sounded almost like an explosion. Gabrielle shook her head and looked at Yohni, as if to ask what was going on, but clearly the mongoose had no more idea. 

"...NEJ...NEJ...DET KAN IKKE PASSE!!" the voice shouted. Almost screamed. "Det...det kan ikke være en ulykke...endnu et fly...et andet fly...har lige ramt det andet tårn. Nej...nej, de arme stakler derinde. Det er grufuldt...hvem kan dog finde på sådan noget? Hvem...hvem kan gøre noget så ondt? World Trade Center brænder...står i lys lue. Jeg...jeg aner ikke hvad der foregår...det kan ikke være sandt, det kan ikke være rigtigt…" 

By the end of it, the voice was all but sobbing.  

Gabrielle got up. She'd only understood three words out of that entire speech. But the tone of voice had her worried sick. Something had happened in New York. Something involving the World Trade Center. She looked around. Furs were clearly confused. A few femmes were crying...so were a couple of males. Most simply had a look of complete incomprehension on their faces.  

She turned and looked at the nearest fur. A male...some kind of rodent of a species she didn't recognize. He was wearing a strange, long tunic. Gabrielle realized he must be middle eastern. He was shaking, all over, eyes wide and looking utterly terrified. 

"Excuse me...sir, do you speak English?" she asked, swallowing, trying to stay calm. 

The rodent turned and looked at her, eyes wide. He nodded, rapidly. "Y...yes...a little," he said, swallowing. "You...American?" 

Gabrielle nodded, crouching, trying to seem inoffensive. "I am. I don't understand the voice on the radio. But I heard 'World Trade Center' and everyone seems to be in shock. What has happened?" 

"Some...someone fly two airplane into towers, Miss. Someone...very evil. So many furs who do nothing wrong die. Terrible, Miss...so terrible," the rodent said, and swallowed hard. "They going to blame us, Miss. They going to blame all of us. Allah have mercy on all those poor furs...please...I know nothing more." 

Gabrielle felt her head spin. She couldn't even answer as she got back upright, supporting herself on one of the backrests. Yohni got up and helped keep the bronco upright. 

"You look like you've just seen a ghost, Gabrielle. What's going on? What did he tell you?" she asked. 

"W...we have to get to a phone, Yohni. Someone's flown two airplanes into the World Trade Center. We have to find out what's going on," Gabrielle whispered. 

Yohni blinked. This wasn't a joke. She wasn't going to even ask. She shook her head, trying to cope with that kind of news. "Why?" she asked. The only question she could think of. 

"I don't know...I don't know anything, Yoh..." Gabrielle began, then all blood left her face and she stared at Yohni. "Timothy...Malcolm..." she wheezed. 

Yohni nodded, slowly. "My God...you're right..." 

"We have to get to a phone. We have to find out..." Gabrielle said, hoarsely. Her paws were shaking. 

Yohni gripped her girlfriend's shoulders and held on, tightly, looking straight into the bronco's eyes. When she spoke, her voice was forcibly calm and even. "Love, listen to me...calm down. You need to keep a clear head. Neither of them work in the Towers...you won't help them by panicking. Please, Gabby...please...calm down and be strong. We'll get a hold of Ulf. He'll know where we can find more information, better than any of us. For Timothy's sake, Gabby...stay calm." 

Gabrielle nodded, trying to clear her head a little. "You're right. We have to get a hold of Ulf..." she whispered.  

"Come on. We'll have to find a taxi..." the mongoose whispered and guided her girlfriend out of the bus. "Please...we have to stay calm. We don't know anything yet. We can't panic..." 

Much as she wanted to, Gabrielle couldn't make sense of anything Yohni said after that. Walking down the street, searching for a cab, she saw shocked faces. It was as if the world had stopped working... 

Her world at least.  

She had to get to a telephone. 

### 

Miriam burst open the door to hers and Fox's apartment. She'd heard the news...she'd even seen the live footage on television passing by a store, running home. But she couldn't believe it. It was Tuesday. Fox would still be at the clinic but she had to get a hold of him. She stumbled through the hallway, kicking off her shoes on the way, nearly falling on her face. She lost her balance, tossing her purse aside, trying to regain her footing. The purse tumbled through the air, hitting a lamp, toppling it. 

It burst. 

There were shards of pottery everywhere. Miriam didn't even notice. The pictures that she'd seen on the television screen kept flashing before her eyes. It was all she could think of.  

Burning towers. Furs...throwing themselves out of windows from hundreds and hundreds of feet in the air, to escape the inferno behind them. Falling to their death. Perhaps hoping for a miracle. Perhaps hoping for a swifter, less painful death than burning alive. 

Her cheeks were wet from crying. 

Reaching for the phone, she tried to make her paws stop shaking. It was possible to lift the receiver, but dialing the number for Fox's clinic turned out to be more than she could manage. She tried again and again, and every time, she managed to hit the wrong keys. 

"Come on...come on," she whimpered, her voice tightening.

Her fingers refused to cooperate.  

She slammed the receiver down and put her face in her paws, sobbing. She couldn't believe what was going on.  

A tiny, scared voice spoke up behind her. 

"Miriam?" 

The vixen spun around...