Giant Solidarity G/T

Chapter XII. Harley's House

My brief, yet urgent phone call with Harley ended positively. Unaware of the whole story, my coworker gleefully told me "Sure thing, you, Rey, and the humans can crash here a bit. What exactly is wrong with your place?"

         "Tell you when we see you man, long story." I promptly thanked Harley for his generosity at least four times before hanging up.

         Crystal was thrilled, hearing we were going to Harley's. We just wished it wasn't under such desperate circumstances. Securing our apartment before evacuating took some time. Although he loved Alma, Larry despised the car with an unbridled passion. Coaxing him into his carrier to go to the vet was always an ordeal. We resolved to have him stay with Bonnie, the older giantess two floors up. She cat-sit Larry when we were on vacation before, and was happy to take him in for a few days. Her twin toddlers loved Larry. Taking the girls' house from the Teeny Suite wasn't necessary. Since Harley's wealthy parents fostered so many humans, his family house had been tiny-friendly for three decades. Giants like Harley's mom and dad came to humans' aide when certain districts on the continent became pro-Tiny. Although his parents still owned the five-bedroom house, they no longer lived there. Only Harley did, alone, paying rent to them. Stocks of human provisions and supplies remained there though.   

         As we entered the car, Crystal and Alma safely in the human Ride-along, I was paraphrasing the horrifying news Troy hit me with by his truck. Understandably, due to her passion for volunteering and helping at the shelter, Reagan was irate. "Vic, if there are cops in the GRUDAT, how in the name Gaia can we stop this?"

         "I'm coming up with a plan." After five-point turn I took a rather careless beeline through the parking lot. "Talk it out on the way to Harley's... Whoa!!"

         Halfway through the lot, something very small lumbered out from the lawn on the woodsy side of the lot. Without a glance, the tiny biped wandered in front of my car. I barely had time to screech the brakes to a halt. I heard no impact, but the little figure disappeared, obscured by the bumper. My jaw hurt from clenching, as Reagan stung my eardrum with "That was a human you almost hit! A feral human." I wanted to sob and punch the dashboard, angry at myself as Reagan ran to the wild man's aid. Already, I could envision Crystal scathing me too.

         Both hands cupped, Rey returned to the passenger seat, a limp, scraggily human in her palms. Alma and Crystal had poked their jellybean-sized heads out of the Ride-along, concernedly. From the dried yellow frosting crusted in the stranger's hair, I deduced this was the feral I gave that lemon cake from Javelin to over a week ago. In the daylight up close, I could see a beard and mustache, and a dirty piece of fabric, like a loincloth. "Aw Hera, did I hit him?!" I yelled, ripping at my bangs.

         "No, the car didn't touch him," Rey assured me. "He was already hurt. Just drive. I'll check him out."

         The first couple miles of the trip, Rey and the girls looked after the injured feral. After asking numerous times, Alma reported it sounded like he said his name was Todd. Reagan examined Todd's black and blue torso. In my peripheral I was pretty sure I saw some dried blood. This was confirmed when Reagan gasped and wept "There's a BB lodged in his side!"

         "Son of a bitch," I shouted, pulling off the highway. "Evan was patrolling the grounds with a BB gun on his cart yesterday. I saw it." We passed the human shelter, Rey's second home, on the left. Harley's property was just up the hill from there. "Not safe to take him to the shelter clinic, but Harley's prepped." 

         Rey and I helped Harley move to his folks' old house, so we were familiar with it. The three-story hillside mansion left Alma and Crystal aghast, however. I don't think Todd comprehended, quite yet. Everyone was ecstatic when I announced, parking the car, that the house even had state-of-the-art tiny-sized elevators and toilets. Indoors, Harley's home was a human paradise. Such a large house, and it would appear a Giant model hobbyist lived there, or some Giant children with dozens of playsets. But Harley had no kids. Guitars on wall racks, the piano and the bedroom with a drum set, marked Harley's space.