"The Coyote mythlore is one of the most popular among the Native American. Coyote is a ubiquitous being and can be categorized in many types. In creation myths, Coyote appears as the Creator himself; but he may at the same time be the messenger, the culture hero, the trickster, the fool. He has also the ability of the transformer: in some stories he is a handsome young man; in others he is an animal; yet others present him as just a power, a sacred one."

-- Tamara Kazakova, Coyote

And somewhere in the woods the trees parted briefly, leaving a line of bare ground and some rocky land. A stream, thin, clear and cold, burbled through it over the bed of rough shale and stones, coasting past tussocks of new, green grass and over silty mud.

Shaggy brown paws dipped into the icy water, followed by a pink tongue. Hot breath huffed and misted briefly in the early chill as the tongue lapped at the icy water, wetting a hairy chin. With a faint jingle of metal on metal, like carkeys on a chain, the chin rose to sniff the air, yellow eyes like gimlets glinting in the bright spring sunlight.

Then with a final shake and wild jangle of dogtags, the animal crossed the stream and loped forward into the shady woods.

The red Porsche 928 was compact and conventional, small and peppy for a sports car with Datsun-esque pit-holed headlights, tail lights flush upon the rounded back and just the slightest jut of a spoiler at the edge of the back windshield, like the short, pert brim of a dutycap worn backwards. A short yellow stripe and a particularly spiky-looking purple signet decorated its curved hood between the wide-eyed headlights.

The car in the lead was considerably larger and low-slung, coloured a brisk, chunky white with a wide, flat body and a slightly raised V-shaped spoiler. This car was the eagle to the Porsche's more demure duck; built for speed with its nose low to the road and edged lines swept back to trace its dramatic "wedge" body profile. A red stripe and a matching purple signet were branded on its sloped hood.

Rare as it was to see a Porsche and a Lamborghini Countach LP500 together on the same road at the same time, there was no one else around to see it. And none would be able to overhear the conversation between them.

A somewhat gritty Rolling Stones tape was playing in the tape deck.

"You're the kind of person you meet at certain dismal dull affairs," the first voice sang with a twangy, exaggerated lilt, "Center of a crowd, talkin' much too loud, runnin' up and down the stairs..." The singer wasn't even going along with the singer on tape, perferring to spout out the lyrics so long as the same song was playing. "Well, it seems to me that you have seen-too-much-in-too-few-years. And though you've tried you just can't hide--"

A second voice cut in over the communications channel. "If you're going to keep singing, Deadend, keep it to yourself," it growled.

"You better stop! *dootdoodoo! doot-dootdoodoo!* A'look around... Here it co-omes... here it co-omes... here it comes...! Here it CO-OMES...!"

"Deadend..."

"Here comes your nine-teenth nervous breakdooown--!"

The second voice waited. Then: "I'm going to have my nineteenth breakdown if you don't --"

"When you were a child--"

The white car ahead flashed its tail lights. "You've been singing for HOURS," the second voice grunted, voice flat with annoyance, "And it's not even the same song. You're not even on key. Could you give it a rest? Please?"

The other voice, named Deadend, laughed. "C'mon, Breakdown! It's a song about you!"

"Okay, it was funny the first two times, but the tune's stuck in my head now--"

"Well you just gotta sing it out then! C'mon, shout 'em out!" Deadend encouraged, sounding like some sort of camp counsellor at a kid's camp. "Sing out those song demons, Breakdown!"

"I'll sing out -your- song demons if you don't--"

And Deadend was off again. "Here it co-omes! Here it co-omes! HERE IT CO-OMES...!"

"DEADEND!!" Breakdown barked over comm.

"Yes?" Deadend sounded all too cheerful.

"You wanna play a game?"

"What game?"

"You know. The game."

"Huh?"

"It's called 'SHUT UP.'"

"....."

The song continued playing the background, still over open comm. Breakdown's temper simmered. Deadend was sort of like one of those bobbing punch clowns, Breakdown mused; you'd bat and hit him as many times as you wanted and he'd always rebound right back, still grinning like an idiot and none the wiser. It wasn't that the poor guy was stupid, he was just so genuinely -happy- to be happy that nothing ever got him down. And if he thought that being punched in the face was supposed to make him happy, he would sure as hell try make you happy too, much to Breakdown's chagrin.

There was barely a moment of hesitation as the Stunticon scout heard Deadend's voice over comm, and he groaned inwardly even as Mr.Sunshine chirped jovially into his audios.

"Aw hey, I know you didn't mean that, buddy," the merry Decepticon bubbled cheerfully. "That was pretty funny, th--"

A shadow streaked across the pavement, silhouetted by the bright morning sunlight -- and right across Breakdown's path. Instantly he clamped down on his brakes, pads clutching the 130 kph spin of his tires as he coasted forward, weightless across the pavement, tail lights flashing an angry red through the billowing white smoke churned up from his burning tires. The shadow flashed past his right headlight as he yanked hard on his E-brake, inducing a high-angle drift that caused him to pivot around the target while still being carried forward. The landscape spun wildly in a blur of trees, sky and sunlight, and for a moment Breakdown was floating. The white car rotated just over a 360 angle; his frame shuddered and bounced from the sudden change of throttle as he maintained a controlled powerslide in an effort to stay in his own lane.

There was a strangled squawk over comm as Deadend slammed on the brakes just short of 50 meters further down the road, his somewhat distant form growing in size alarmingly as he approached at fatal speed. In a split second, just as Breakdown's white hind end swung right into a neat fishtail, the hurtling red car rocketed past the cloud of white smoke with a squeal of tires, already beginning his lean into a wide feint drift that would carry him way off into the incoming lane. Each vehicle narrowly missed the other by milliseconds, skimming through the rising white smoke like passing ghosts.

Breakdown jostled to a sudden, gripping halt, his heavy frame rocking violently on his smoking tires. Distantly he could hear the dismal crunch of Deadend sliding backwards into the opposing ditch.

In a daze, the Lamborghini scout could see only white smoke at first; then the smoke cleared, and he could make out the sharp grey peaks of the Rockies fading into a patch of blue sky. Over the communications channel, the faint strains of the Rolling Stones tape could still be heard, playing obliviously in the background.

"I see a line of cars, and they're all pain-ted bla-ack..."

"Deadend! Deadend, are you alright?!" he shouted.

"HOLY SLAG OF PRIMUS, did you see that?!" Deadend's voice echoed as he called back immediately; apparently his long slide drift had carried him forward at least 15 meters before petering out into the ditch. "I almost kissed you bumper to bumper, WEEHAA~!"

"I think I hit something!" Breakdown snarled, too alarmed to boast about his own trick drift. With a snap he transformed to his full 20-foot height, heavy metal feet scraping over the knobbly pavement as he stalked forward through the dissappating smoke. His brow knotted into a grim, apprehensive frown as he approached the edge of the ditch, half-expecting to see a lame deer struggling in the tall grass. The sight and smell of burning rubber was thick in the cool air.

There was a jingle, and the sound of claws clicking on the blacktop. Out of the gloom of the woods, padding through the grass was something thin with skinny brown legs, a long wagging tail and a black back...

The dog sneezed, snorting as the smoke cleared. Breakdown stared down at it. The dog stared back up at him, mouth open, tongue lolling out of one side, panting. Its tail wagged.

Stunned, Breakdown continue to stare back at the dog even as Deadend ran up, his footsteps thumping against the stony blacktop. "Hey! Didja find something? Is it hurt? Breakdown?" The red carmech stopped to peer over Breakdown's shoulder.

Breakdown sighed, shoulders slumping slightly in relief as the dog lowered its head to sniff the giant metallic feet set before it. "It's just a dog," he muttered, shaking his head.

"Yeah, but what's a dog doing way out here? You think the little fella belongs to someone?" Deadend moved to the side a bit, bending down slightly to examine the scruffy brown animal on the road.

Breakdown paused for a moment to look around; no campers, no other vehicles... "I dunno. I suppose we can drop him off at the next gas station."

The white scout crouched down carefully, and the scruffy animal backed off, tail wagging and tongue lolling out. Breakdown frowned a little, unsure of what to make of it. The dog looked rather thin, its reddish-brown and black coat slightly shaggy and matted. It had mud on its paws, but didn't look too recently starved. Nonetheless, the mongrel seemed happy to see another living thing, or at least, something that smelled of civilization. Tentatively, Breakdown held his hand out, palm up and fingers outstretched. Deadend watched intently as the dog, dancing back and forth skittishly on skinny legs, seemed equally tentative and wary. Its mouth was still open, eyes bright and tail wagging furiously, so it was excited at least. It had the strangest yellow eyes...

"...c'mere," Breakdown coaxed, speaking in a low voice. He twitched his fingers slightly, trying to beckon the animal forward. "Atta boy, that's it..."

"Hey, try whistling! I think whistling works!" Deadend whispered, somehow sensing the need to speak quietly so as not to frighten the thing off.

"Hey, I know dogs, I can handle it," Breakdown muttered. He'd seen dogs and humans on TV plenty of times; humans taught their pets tricks, like sit up, roll over, play dead, fetch, heel, attack, sic 'em, he knew them all. But he hadn't thought to try whistling for the dog to come. It took him a moment to figure out how to do it, but he couldn't seem to quite get a proper sound.

Deadend watched his scouting partner spit and splutter for a while.

"No no," he said calmly, after he got tired of waiting for Breakdown to get it right. "You stick your fingers in your mouth like this --" -he demonstrated- "--and blow," he suggested eventually.

Breakdown eyed him skeptically, his hand still held out towards the dog.

"C'mon, buddy! You can do it, I know you can!" Deadend beamed.

It took him a few times, but Breakdown eventually managed a good, sharp horse whistle. WHEET! "Here boy!"

And it worked. The dog's floppy, triangular ears perked up at the sound and it trotted forward obediently, tail wagging so hard that its hind end could barely keep up. Breakdown held his hand out again and the dog, instead of sniffing it, hopped right up onto his fingers and padded forward to sit on his palm. Tail still wagging, it looked up expectantly at Breakdown's face, its thin ribs puffing like bellows as it panted.

"Oh hey, ain't he a keen fellow? Look, he really does have a collar! I bet he belongs to someone," Deadend nodded, leaning back slightly to plant his fists upon his hips.

Without a word, Breakdown lifted his hand slightly to get a better look at the small, fearless creature. Funny, the dog was unusually friendly; considering the reputation of Autobots, most creatures, humans especially, had learned to stay away from strange mechanicals in general. Maybe this one was just stupid. Gingerly, with his free hand, he used his large thumb and forefinger to gently nudge the dog's collar around so he could examine the dull metal tags dangling off the metal loop. He squinted.

"Jinx," he read.

"But I didn't say anything."

"No stupid, the dog's name is Jinx."

"Oh! Okay. Anything else?"

"Uhh... 458 Hen... ness... y. Drive. Sp... this print is tiny... Spo...cane. Washington."

The ever-cheerful Deadend's expression didn't change one bit. "Oh. Where's that?"

Breakdown grimaced slightly, releasing his hold on the tiny dog collar. "It's about eight, five hours' drive east from here. This mutt's gone a long away."

"Oh, I'll say! Poor little guy's lost, huh. It'd be a shame to just leave him here, y'know?"

Breakdown lowered his hand again, tilting his palm slightly so as to encourage the dog to step off. The dog, named Jinx, slid off his flat, metal palm looking faintly puzzled, but nonetheless did not run off. "He looks pretty tame. He might even belong to some humans living around here."

"That's what I was thinking, buddy! There might be some refugees from Spo-cane campin' out around here. We should come back here and get a better look!"

"Let's get Wildrider first," the white scout raised a hand to rub the back of his head. He turned away for a moment to squint at the early sun, listening quietly for traffic; but there was only silence out in the long, cold wilderness.

"Sure! And if we find anyone out here to help, we can give Jinx back to 'em!"

"Thank you, Mr. Obvious," Breakdown said blandly, taking a few steps back. "C'mon, you take the dog."

With a fluid motion, Breakdown folded back up into his car mode, settling back down onto his tires with a soft, springy thud. He heard the jingle of dogtags.

"Hehe, check it out, he knows he's goin' for a ride, Breakdown! You should take him, I think he likes ya."

The dog had automatically wandered up to the white car's passenger side, tail wagging and breath huffing in the cool mountain air.

"What? You've gotta be kidding me. Who knows where that thing's been?" Breakdown grunted, revving his engine. At that moment, Jinx rose up and placed his paws upon Breakdown's sleek white doorside, claws clinking faintly on the enamelled metal siding and leaving behind muddy prints. Breakdown cringed inwardly.

Deadend chuckled, dropping down to his tires in carmode with a heavy thwack, bouncing slightly on his shocks. "Just take 'im, Breakdown! C'mon, you're the one who said we're in a hurry here!"

Breakdown relented. "Okay mutt, shoo, get away or the door'll smack ya," he muttered, popping his passenger side door open slightly. The mutt backpedalled, claws clicking on pavement, leaving room for the door to swing open before gathering himself up to leap up onto the polished leather seats. Just as Jinx swept its tail in after itself, Breakdown swung his side door shut again, now conscious of the wriggling, warm creature sitting inside his cab.

"And if you've gotta, uh, 'go'.... uh, bark, or something," he mumbled as Deadend pulled away and started to lead the trip back to base camp.

Up the along road was a turnoff into the woods. Years ago, before the Autobots came, the path had originally been used as a logging road, cleared to make way for logging trucks and equipment; several rectangular patches of young trees were growing quietly a few miles north of it now, but otherwise, the road had since been closed until further notice. A pair of short, rusting poles with an equally rusty chain suspended between them was all that was left to bar passage to the old entrance, and beyond it was just a pitted and tire-rutted old dirt path, overgrown with grass and vegetation and covered with several seasons' worth of leaf litter.

Several meters back, tucked away safely behind thick, green, leafy cover, was another oddly-placed sports car.

It was a compact and rather solid-looking Ferrari 308 GTB. This one was a flat, smoky, charcoal-grey; technically it was considered a 'dark metallic blue', but there was no DuPont Registry on Earth that would ever feature this particular model. Its headlights were laid flat and flush along a smooth, sloped hood, rippled only by a dual pair of intake vents like the gills of a shark, set on either side of a glossy purple signet decal. Sixteen-inch split rim wheels and the deep front spoiler were coated with off-white dry mud, and despite the gleam and polish of red-tinted windows, its dusty chassis had seen better days.

It had been there since early morning, dozing quietly as the sun rose and mounted high in the deep blue sky, warming the dew off its hood and the frost off its windows. Even now in the early noon it remained there, unmoving, waiting.

By the time 2 pm rolled around, there was a sense of impatience. Gravel had built up on either side of each front tire, as if the axles had shifted left and right in indecision; it had managed to rock up forward, inching closer and closer to the edge of the logging path as the minutes ticked past.

By 2:30, it was time for action.

The Ferrari revved its engine, purring smoothly in the chirpy quiet of the Okanagan woods, and pulled up with cautious, creaky slowness onto the dirt path. It moved on, turning towards the main highway. As it ambled along, its heavy body bouncing unsteadily as each tire dipped and sloped up out of each deep rut, the car became aware of other cars, fast approaching on the highway, heading from the east.

It stopped short of the chained post, parking there briefly and remaining relatively innocent-looking. Chikadees in the high firs trilled in the mountain silence; chika-dee-dee-dee. The car waited, listening; the unmistakeable roar of a turbo-charged sports car, maybe more than one, thundered down the road, echoing between the mountainous hills.

The grey car watched from the edge of a thick and sappy fir tree as a single red car slowed down and pulled over onto the shoulder of the road. Impassively, it said and did nothing as the red Porsche pulled up close to the barred logging road and parked. It was laughing.

"Deadend," the grey car muttered as the arrival let its engine wind down. "Where's Breakdown? And what's so funny? You're two hours late!"

Deadend couldn't stop laughing; his frame rattled, bouncing slightly on his shocks upon the gravel spit.

"Where's Breakdown?" the grey car raised a single headlight.

"Oh, Wildrider-! Ahahaha... he, uh. He's coming. He uh... haha..."

In the distance, the flat, white shape of Breakdown's Lamborghini mode could be seen approaching fast. Like Deadend, he too pulled up along the shoulder of the highway to park slightly behind Deadend. Even as Breakdown pulled over, Deadend broke out into a fresh gruffaw. Breakdown said nothing, remaining firmly silent.

Wildrider's other headlight flipped up now. "What's that on your front plate..."

Deadend couldn't contain himself anymore. Cackles of laughter exploded from his carform, his hoots of glee echoing off the mountainsides and sending clouds of sparrows rising up from the firs.

"We--we're coming up over the crest, right," Deadend gasped, axles creaking, "And we're talking about the difference between--between bees and wasps, right, trying to see which ones make a bigger mess when they hit your windshield, right... I go, 'hey Breakdown, bees are messier because they're bigger,' and he goes, 'nah, bees just -look- puffy but they're not actually any bigger', and then Breakdown behind me swerves and accidentally hits a low-flying BIRD--"

Breakdown maintained a rather sullen air as Deadend trailed off into incoherence. Wildrider said nothing, though now his frame was starting to shudder with suppressed mirth.

"Oh! Oh, and get this...!" Deadend wheezed, barely able to speak, "He screams, and goes --" he paused for a breath, "--'AAAHH, I HIT A BEE!"

Both Wildrider and Deadend both burst out into loud, whooping gales of laughter. Breakdown snarled at them. "I almost hit tree, you morons. Can one of you slagholes get a stick and scrape this crud off me?"

With a subtle shift, a smooth sound and a final clunk, Wildrider transformed to his full height. Deadend followed suit, panels folding and unfolding until he too stood upright. Both mechs towered at 20 feet, casting shadows upon Breakdown.

Wildrider raised a foot, and in one slow, casual motion, used his toe to scrape the remains of the pigeon off Breakdown's front spoiler, However, Wildrider exerted a little more force than necessary and there was a screech of metal on metal as his foot clawed down upon the dusty white Lamborghini's front end, causing the vehicle to rock forward and then recoil back roughly. White enamel paint flaked off.

"HEY!!" Breakdown yowled, and immediately there was an explosion of muffled barking noises within his cab. "That's it, I'm gonna kick your skid--"

Wildrider gruffawed, grinning widely as he took a step back to wipe the sad grey wad of feathers off his foot onto the gravel. "What've you got in there, Breakdown?"

With a click, the white car popped open a side door. Immediately, a jingle of tags preceded the scruffy brown mutt that leapt out, landing with a scrabble of claws on the gravel spit, cantering about with its head down, sniffing.

The tall grey carmech regarded the animal with a slightly more sober, curious expression, red optics glinting in the noonday sun as he turned his head to stare at it. "Oh, a dog--"

Breakdown suddenly unfolded into his robotmode, knees bent and fists balled -- and with a grunt he lunged forward to grab his team mate, one arm bent back to throw a punch. Wildrider laughed, tossing his head back in an attempt to dodge the strike, but made little effort to stop the angry scout from trying to hit him.

"Car!" Deadend suddenly called out.

Thonk--

Wildrider staggered back, one arm flung up to protect his head while the other hand flew up to his face.

"Outta my way," Breakdown spat, his shoulders hunched and fists still clenched as he stiffly marched off down the narrow logging road, stepping over the chained post first. With a jingle of tags, the roan-coloured dog followed.

Deadend turned to step into the woods for cover, pausing for a moment to see Wildrider rubbing the side of his face. The red carmech grinned, yellow visor glinting as he stepped past him onto the logging road.

And once the giant robots had shuffled off into the woods, a lone driver passed by.

Crouched in the woods, Breakdown shifted his shoulders uncomfortably. Wildrider and Deadend had both taken up hiding places next to him, partially shielded by trees and thick fern and brush; but there's only so much space you can cram a trio of 20-foot tall giant robots, and thus they were packed in close like legos lost in the woods.

"Okay, now stop touching me," Breakdown muttered, shoving Wildrider off to the side. He stood back up, stooping slightly beneath the lower boughs of firs and pine overhead, and stepped back out onto the rocky path.

"That was one puffy bee, wasn't it Breakdown?" the grey carmech remarked, grinning widely as he covered the ditch onto the road in one stride.

Breakdown turned around and shoved him again.

Deadend came crashing through the low branches to dart in between them as Wildrider stumbled back, his grin full of malicious mirth. The red carmech gave each of his gestalt brothers a bright, cheery smile while holding them back with a hand each. "Now now, I'm sure we can wait until we get back to Dragstrip in the city, I bet he'd feel pretty left out --"

Wildrider calmly stepped aside, ignoring Deadend. Circling about his heels was the tell-tale jingle of dogtags. "What's a driver doing all the way out here? I thought you two would have found something more than just a dog out there..."

The white scout scowled, backing off. "The humans are still fleeing Seattle and Sedro Woolley," he grumbled, keeping his gaze fixed firmly on Deadend. "I haven't seen anyone else out here for days. But this dog's from Spo-cane--"

"Spokane," Wildrider corrected him.

"-- whatever, Spokane, and I suspect some people have fled west because the eastern routes are blocked, somehow."

Wildrider squinted slightly, a sign that he was thinking. Deadend meanwhile continued to smile blithely, if not obliviously.

Eventually, Breakdown shrugged. The jangle of dogtags and presence of snuffling and panting was now near his feet. "We found the dog about 10 miles west, give or take. It's got tags, so we assume it must've gotten lost around a human camp somewhere up there, or got chased off somehow. I suggest we go investigate while we're still here, and radio Dragstrip and Motormaster to let them know we'll be late."

"No can do, sport," Wildrider shook his head. "I told 'em we'd come back to be relieved by the jets. They can do a sweep to cover what we've missed, and we're not outfitted to properly comb the place, y'know."

Meanwhile, Deadend had crouched down to pet and play with the dog, who despite its scruff and skinniness, still had the energy to wag its tail and cavort about, ears and tongue flopping. The red mech smiled brightly, trying to beckon the animal closer with one large finger. He called it, and whistled faintly. "Jinx!"

"But I didn't say anything." Wildrider raised a steely brow.

Breakdown resisted another impulse to hit him. "It's the -dog's- name," he muttered irritably.

"Oh there's a good boy!" Deadend grinned as the road-red mutt trotted forward, nose thrust forward as it waved its brushy tail. "I think there might be a better chance of us finding any sort of settlements or camps here with this lil' fella, guys. I mean, dogs can smell things pretty good, right? We can get Jinxy's help here to track 'em down, won't we, boy?"

Wildrider and Breakdown watched Deadend gently nudge and rub the dog's side with a finger. Jinx responded by circling the red mech's finger, tail wagging furiously as it sniffed the giant metal digit.

Breakdown shook his head. "We didn't see smoke, nor any signs of other vehicles for miles. Not even animals. But this mutt just came outta nowhere, I nearly hit it after it dashed out across the highway."

"Seems awfully friendly," the grey carmech mused as he eyeballed the shaggy dog, raising a hand to rub his chin thoughtfully.

"That's what I said."

"You don't find it a bit weird?"

Breakdown shrugged. "What do I know about dogs? Anyway, it's tame, and it seems well-trained. I doubt any human who'd take the time to train their animal would abandon it willingly, and there's a chance that it got left behind by accident after the initial rush of refugees from Spokane. The Autobots have most likely scattered the humans everywhere, and maybe not all of them know about Seattle yet. Maybe they ran wherever they could, and as far as I know, most roads up into Canada are far too open."

"So you think they ran into the woods to hide?"

"Your average Autobot car can't navigate too well through trees," Breakdown pointed out.

"They seem to do better in the off-roading department than we do."

"Like what, two of them?"

"Whatever, Breakdown. Look, I'd like to get to at least Darrington before sundown, and it's past noon already. Are we taking the dog with us or not?"

The white scout cast a glance down at Deadend and the roan mutt. Sensing that someone was paying attention to it, the rough-looking red dog stopped for a moment to settle back down, turning to face Breakdown. Jinx stared up at the white scout with its tongue lolling out and brushtail sweeping behind it. Its eyes were honeycomb yellow and shiny, like marbles.

And oh, how they stared.