Parks Fic: Rescue Mission
Title: Rescue Mission
Pairings/Characters: (Hints of) Ben/Leslie, April/Andy, Ann, Chris, appearances by the rest of the dept.
Rating: PG
Timeline: Between Camping and Fancy Party in season 3 (with the assumption that the Harvest Festival occurs in the fall like it should, logically)
Summary: Ghost town, raccoons, missing people--it's up to Leslie to organize a rescue mission.
Author's Notes: I wasn't intending to do something for this, but work was canceled for today, and I'm sick, so I needed something to pass the time. I took the prompt "Ghost Town" and rolled with it. This turned out quite a bit longer than I expected.
“Bad news! No-horrific! Horrifically awful, bad news!”
Leslie looks around the room, waiting for someone to react. Or, more accurately, waiting for someone to react appropriately. April is curled on Andy’s lap, blowing on her freshly painted fingernails while Andy plays with her hair; Tom continues to focus on his cell phone; Donna stares disinterestedly; and Ron simply gets up and slams the door to his office shut. Only Jerry looks up and asks, “Is something wrong, Leslie?”
As if she’s going to go to Jerry during a crisis of this magnitude. “Understatement of the millennium, Jerry!” she shouts, and that, at least, earns her a groan from April.
“What?” she asks disinterestedly. “Did they cancel your subscription to the syrup of the month club?”
“They would never-” Leslie shakes her head; stay on topic, Knope. “No, no, no. It’s worse. Chris and Ben-”
“Are secret lovers!” interrupts April. “I wouldn’t call that horrific Leslie. I wouldn’t even call that surprising.”
“No.” Leslie scowls at April, whose uncanny ability to be unhelpful peaks at the worst moments. “They decided to go check out the town north of Pine Ridge Road.”
That, finally, provokes reaction, beginning with Jerry spilling his coffee all over himself and his keyboard, and ending with Donna gasping, “Damn! This just got good.”
“Not good, Donna! The opposite of good!”
“Didn’t anyone warn them not to go there?” asks Jerry, helplessly trying to sop up the coffee with a handkerchief. Ugh-only Jerry. “I mean, they know that’s where the raccoons live, right?”
Leslie knows she mentioned that once-or more accurately, a thousand times-since Ben and Chris arrived last spring, only to be met with patronizing looks of disbelief (from Ben) or absurd, laughing dismissals (from Chris). But she assumed it would have sunk in at some point. The raccoons have their side of town for a reason, after all.
“Apparently Chris-” Leslie can’t help but bite down on his name rather viciously, but honestly, what was he thinking? “-thought it would be a good idea to go check out that part of the town. He seems to think we can reclaim it. And he dragged poor Ben over there with him.”
“So they’ll be eaten by raccoons. Who cares?”
“I care! We have to go rescue them!”
An apathetic grumble goes through the room, and Leslie frowns disapprovingly. “Your choices are rescue team or staying here to run the Halloween Fun Fair Pumpkin Carving/Halloween Costume Contest.”
The groans get louder, but she ignores them and storms into her office. They can argue amongst themselves; she has to prepare for battle.
*****
Night has fallen by the time Leslie parks her car a couple of blocks from Pine Ridge Road. After what turned out to be a catastrophically loud argument, she’d only wound up with Andy and April as part of her rescue squad, and, after quite a bit of cajoling, beautiful friend Ann. They’re each armed with spray and a flashlight, and Andy wields a baseball bat, but none of it is going to be truly effective. No one has been to this part of town in years; at this point, Leslie wouldn’t be surprised to find out that the raccoons have mutated from absurdly capable to unbeatable.
“Okay,” she says, turning onto Pine Ridge Road and doing a quick scan of the area with her flashlight. “This is a rescue mission. We get in, find Ben and Chris, and get out. Don’t try to be a hero. There’s no reasoning with a raccoon.”
“Leslie, this is dangerous.”
“Oh Ann, you beautiful, frightened hamster, I know you’re scared. But we can’t just leave them out there.”
“No.” Ann reaches over and plucks the black knit cap from Leslie’s head. “I mean skulking around the streets at night in all black. You’re going to get hit by a car.”
“We have to be sneaky!” Leslie snatches the cap back. “Frankly, I’m disappointed none of you dressed more covertly!”
They head up the street, Ann and Leslie in front, and Andy and April lagging behind. The neighborhood is quiet and sleepy: homes lit with soft lights; Halloween decorations swinging from trees. They pass a man and his son out walking their dog. It’s mundane, normal, even, and it isn’t until they turn the corner three blocks later that the eeriness of the situation settles over them.
First and foremost, it’s dark. Not like nighttime dark. Dark like light has ceased to exist, even in the sky above them. The flashlights provide thin beams to guide their path, but they still have to slow down. There are too many potholes and uneven surfaces in the street to continue at a brisk pace. It’s the silence, though, that creeps up Leslie’s spine and makes her hair rise. All ambient sound has gone, and the only noises are the crunch of their feet on the leaves and Andy’s heavy breathing.
For the first time, Leslie honestly wonders how she’s going to pull off this rescue mission.
One of their lights disappears from the road, and Leslie turns her head to see April holding the flashlight under her chin. “You know they say this part of town is haunted,” she says, her voice lower and oddly creaky. Leslie rolls her eyes and turns back to face the road.
“No, it’s not.”
“The tortured spirits of those who lost their lives to the raccoons still linger here.”
“Only one person died, April, because he didn’t evacuate when instructed. And, actually, we don’t even know that he died from raccoon-related injury.”
“Because no one ever found his body!”
“Awesome,” says Andy under his breath.
“No, not awesome,” corrects Leslie. “Not even true. The only thing we need to worry about here is raccoons. There are no ghosts.”
“Raccoons-yes! Leslie, I am on the lookout. But can we still visit the saloon? It’d be the perfect chance to try out my cowboy walk.”
“No, Andy, there’s no saloon. This isn’t a ghost town.”
Further debate is interrupted by Ann suddenly, painfully clamping down on Leslie’s forearm. “Les, look,” she says, gesturing with the flashlight. “Isn’t that Chris’ car.”
Three lights join Ann’s, illuminating a tire, part of an Indiana license plate and a bumper sticker with a smiling heart flexing an arm. “That is Chris’ car,” Leslie breathes. She takes two steps toward it when the air cackles with a high, spine-tingling hiss. It’s the sound that haunts Leslie’s worst nightmares. Slowly, she draws her light across Chris’ car. A swipe of a striped tail flashes, Leslie jumps and Ann screams, but before Leslie can even reach for her spray, Andy lets out a roar and runs toward the car, waving his bat in the air.
“Andy!”
Leslie catches April’s elbow as she starts to follow, but stopping her proves unnecessary. Out of nowhere, every window in Chris’ car explodes. Somehow, the force sends Andy flying-he lands out of sight with a loud groan-and glass sprays the street. April and Ann both go running in Andy’s direction, but Leslie stands, staring at the car and listening to the sounds of the raccoons scuttling away.
Have they mutated beyond her wildest expectation? They couldn’t have. This isn’t the X-Men. Raccoons, even ones that are obviously mutated spawns of Satan, don’t have the power to break glass and send a grown man flying.
But what…
“Leslie,” Ann calls, a note of worry in her voice. Leslie turns toward the sound and makes her way over to her friends. Andy lies on the ground, a couple of cuts on his cheek, looking dazed but otherwise unharmed.
“Is he okay?”
“He’s fine. The cuts aren’t deep.”
“My bat is broken, though.” Andy holds up the remains of the splintered wood, and then tosses it into the grass and reaches for his flashlight. Before he grasps it, though, his eyes turn as big as saucers and he points out at the street. “Leslie,” he says, “I think you’re wrong about this being a ghost town.”
“What? No, Andy, April was just making all of that up.”
April, who kneels on the grass at Andy’s side, doesn’t confirm this. Instead, she follows Andy’s finger with her flashlight, and Leslie and Ann turn to see what has both of them riled up. Making its way across the street is-
“A tumbleweed,” breathes Andy excitedly. “Dude, it’s just like the movies!”
Maybe. Except this particular tumbleweed appears to be made up of old Sweetums candy wrappers and leaves.
“That’s not-” Leslie begins, but this time she’s cut short by a blood-curdling scream from across the street. Her stomach drops to her feet, and this time, even April looks freaked out.
“Maybe you should stop saying nothing is going on,” she snaps.
Ann reaches out for Leslie’s hand. “Do you think that’s where Chris and Ben are?”
Leslie shrugs, even though she has a sudden, worried feeling that that’s exactly where Ben and Chris are. “I guess we should go check.”
The four of them continue to stare at the black nothing across the street for several minutes, though, before Leslie plucks up the courage to start walking. She doesn’t look back to see if the others are following; she knows that they are. Together, they cross the street, shoes crunching in the broken glass, and head through an old, grassy yard until they come to some wooden steps. Leslie tests her weight on the first one; despite its groan, it doesn’t break, and she cautiously makes her way up the stairs.
“No way!” says Andy when Leslie’s light flashes over a pair of wooden slatted, swinging doors; whatever fear he might have been feeling before is replaced by typical Andy enthusiasm. He waves his light above the door. “Ye Olde Pawnee Saloon! Leslie! It is real!”
Before anyone can stop him, Andy runs giggling into the saloon. Immediately, an out of tune piano begins to play, the sound oddly jaunty in the creepy atmosphere, and Leslie looks at Ann and April with skeptical hope. “Does Andy know how to play piano?”
Her only response is two identical, shaking heads. Sighing, Leslie turns back to the doors. “That’s what I thought,” she says, entering the saloon.
The second they enter the room, gas lights swell to life, illuminating the bar in more shadows than light. It’s enough to make out that the room might as well be straight out of a western: wooden floors; wooden tables and chairs; a long, dusty bar with uncomfortable stools lining the way; too many old bottles of alcohol lining a shelf under a mirror. The piano music is louder in here, but Leslie doesn’t even see a piano.
Andy pops up from behind the bar, wearing a cowboy hat and brandishing a bottle of whiskey. “This is so cool. You guys want a drink?”
“No-Andy. Don’t touch that.”
Unsurprisingly, Andy doesn’t listen, just produces a shot glass from somewhere and pours a drink. April saunters up to the bar, leaning against the counter and speaking with a bad western drawl. “I’ll take that drink, barkeep.”
“Whatever you say, li’l lady.”
“Leslie,” whispers Ann, tugging on her sleeve and pointing across the room at a staircase. “Maybe Chris and Ben are upstairs.”
It’s a good bet, and certainly better than staying here to watch Andy and April role-playing and giggling at each other. Andy’s put the cowboy hat on April’s head now, and she downs the shot of whiskey. “We’re going upstairs,” Leslie announces loudly, but they ignore her.
Despite being cramped, she and Ann walk up the stairs shoulder-to-shoulder, arms linked. April and Andy might not be freaked out, but Leslie isn’t exactly feeling calm at the moment. Not only is this part of town infested by raccoons, but it’s also haunted, apparently, and Ben and Chris are still lost here somewhere, probably eaten by raccoons or murdered by ghosts or something. Just the thought of that is enough to make Leslie’s heart hurt.
“They’re not dead,” she says, more to reassure herself than anything, but Ann gives her a weird look.
“Of course they’re not dead, Leslie. They’re probably just freaked out and hiding.”
Right. Of course.
Except that when they get to the large room at the top of the stairs, the first thing Leslie sees is Ben lying on the floor, bleeding, and a large raccoon making off with his shoe. Without thinking, Leslie drops Ann’s arm and charges into the room, spraying her homemade mix of ammonia, cinnamon and pepper in the raccoon’s direction and then dropping to the floor by Ben’s head. The raccoon, hissing loudly, escapes through a window, taking Ben’s shoe with it, but Leslie doesn’t care. She cradles Ben’s head, lying it carefully in her lap and running her hand over his forehead.
“He’s dead, Ann!” she shouts. Poor, brave, valiant Ben, following Chris to certain death and then perishing at the hand of a raccoon (or possibly a murderous ghost). “Oh, Ben, you stubborn kangaroo, why didn’t you listen to me?”
She drops her forehead to Ben’s, stroking his cheek with her fingertips, when she hears a quiet moan from somewhere underneath her hair. “Leslie?”
Abruptly, she sits up. Ben’s brown eyes blink at her, somewhat disoriented, and her heart does a cartwheel in her chest. “Oh Ben, you’re alive!” In her excitement, she leans down and peppers his face with kisses: his forehead, the bridge of his nose, his cheeks.
“Am I dreaming?”
Ann comes over, Chris trailing behind her with an almost regretful look on his face, and kneels down to check Ben’s wounds. Like Andy, they’re mostly surface cuts, but Ann insists that Ben might need a series of rabies shots since there are distinct raccoon bite marks on his ankles.
“We were literally attacked by raccoons!” says Chris as Leslie wraps an arm around Ben and helps him down the stairs. “I’m not sure that it would be a successful endeavor to try to drive them out of this part of the town.”
“I told you,” mutters Ben. His head is kind of leaning against Leslie’s and she can feel his words reverberating through her skull. “Leslie told us that a thousand times this summer.”
Leslie glows warmly. And it’s only partly from the satisfaction of being right.
“Yes, well. I do apologize. To everyone.”
At the bottom of the stairs, they’re accosted by Andy, who looks nervous again and keeps glancing back at April and the bar. “Oh good,” he says. “You found them. I think we need to get out of here.”
“Not more raccoons!” Chris whimpers.
“No. Uh, April insulted that ghost man’s whiskey, and I’m pretty sure he’s pissed now. And we don’t want a pissed ghost on our hands.”
“Andy,” Ann says with a long-suffering sigh, “there’s no such thing-”
The lights go out, the piano music crescendos in a much gloomier melody, and across the room the mirror shatters.
No one else protests as they make a beeline toward the exit, Andy dragging April away as she continues to shout insults at the ghost.