No Forest for the Wicked - Chapters 16 - 20

Chapter 16

“No,” Ardo cried out, what he was hoping was that his words would be carried over the crowd. “We cannot go to war. There is a bigger picture. Listen to me.”

“Ardo?” Chief Bushy Tail looked down from the podium at the small gray figure making its way through the mass by the part it was forcing. “My condolences for your father.”

“Chief, please hear me out,” Ardo shouted panting. “The birds could not possibly be responsible. They do not have the intelligence, nor do they have the drive to follow through. They are a species of hunting, eating, and mating. They care nothing of making a statement, and what happened with my father was a statement of grandeur.”

“Ardo,” Chief Bushy Tail shook his head slowly from side to side, his hears twitching slightly with each pass. “We all understand the hardships that are before you, and none of us can truly feel what you are feeling, but we need to strike back to show we are not merely a low link of the food chain. If we look weak in front of the forest, than we are in for a world of hurt. We cannot let them all walk, or rather soar all over us.”

“Listen to reason,’ Ardo screamed at the top of his rodent lungs. “This is irrational and hasty. Please.” Ardo knew that part of this war was personal for the Chief, but he did not dare bring it up at this juncture. Ardo knew that the Chief’s father lost his tail while narrowly escaping the talons of a sky hunter, but to declare war on all of the birds in the forest was just insane, not to mention suicide for all those involved. Ardo wanted to choose his next words very carefully, but what happened next drew all the words from his mouth leaving him speechless. Horror pumped through his veins at the source of his continually breaking heart as he knew what was going to happen and all he could do was watch it in what felt like an eternity; the Big Oak was starting to sway at the trunk. 

Chapter 17

Scribbles stood on the outskirts of the crowd, first hearing the loud chatter of panic, and then seeing hundreds of fleeing squirrels bounding his way. At first he could not tell what was the cause of the commotion; had someone attacked the Chief? An assassination attempt in such an open forum was never attempted before? Who would have the gall? Was there a threat of some kind? Some new news of Hem, some horrific news capable of disbanding a crowd?

The reporter and writer in Scribbles pushed him to step forward rather than turn tail and flee like the rest, but what he witnessed, he wished he had not chosen to be brave for the first time in his life. 

Chapter 18

Toby was still pushing around others when it began, and once he realized exactly what was happening he had one thought and one thought only; where was his family?

Were they to meet in the field for the picnic, or at his office? Remember you fool, Toby scolded himself. Field or office. Park or tree? Remember, you damn fool, remember.

Deep down in his heart he knew where they were, but he did not want to accept the truth. No, they must have come to hear the speech. Tress was very patriotic and would not miss the speech for anything. Come on Tress, please have come out for the speech. 

Chapter 19

Chief Bushy Tail turned his attention from the grief stricken recently fatherless squirrel and faced the Big Oak. A beacon of hope, a staple of home, and the center of their economic prosperity, even if the stock of acorns had been suffering unbeknownst to most. They needed this tree, but it was obvious to all what was conspiring. The Chief watched in horror as the tree began to teeter at its base and after a number of sways countable on one paw, the pivot point gave way and the massive and impressive natural column rapidly traversed from vertical to horizontal with decreasingly fast angles. 

Chapter 20

Chief Bushy Tail dove from his branch and was immediately caught mid air by those squirrels who have sworn to protect him through thick and thin; this event falling under the classification of thick, whereas a struggle keeping afloat in a pool might be lumped into thin. Ardo watched through panicked eyes as the commanding unit of the Dreys was pulled to safety while he himself was anywhere but. He tried to turn and start a retreat after he factored that the falling tree would demolish everything hundreds of feet from the crash zone, and this crash zone happened to be right where he was standing. Ardo’s attempt at finding an egress was foiled by the wall of gray backs he now faced, who were too confused and frightened to do anything in an orderly manner. The rear line made effortless attempts to climb over those in front of them, every squirrel for themselves, in what looked like rolling waves of fur amid a dreary hurricane. 

Ardo did not want to resort to pushing and shoving, but as the tree wobbled and finally snapped from its base, there was no other option than to join the masses. Ardo jumped up onto the heads of his tribe, knowing that most of the faces he now saw would not wake to feel the rays of the sun tomorrow, but he himself did not want to be lumped into the masses; in general he usually strived to go against the grain.

No Forest for the Wicked - Chapters 11 - 15

Chapter 11

 

Ardo’s athletic build, tight and strenuous, allowed him to cruise many strides ahead of the rest of the pack. The rest of the pack which followed was bumbling and running towards their commune, or the Dreys as it was commonly and properly named. The wind rushed by the thick of his ears, which he held back to improve his aerodynamic shape. His jacket flopped open as he moved, which increased drag, but he did not have the time to zip it up, and although he could have easily discarded it in a second, his mind was elsewhere, thus the garment remained clutching to him for dear life like a fly catching a ride on a trotting mare. He took each bound intently; time being of the utmost importance so that he could warn his tribe, but when he reached the outskirts of the Dreys, it appeared like news had traveled faster than he was able to run.

The Sciurini village was an explosion of chaos and nonstop motion as gray fur blurred in every direction. Chattering, chittering, and commotion reigned; any elderly squirrel assisted by a hearing aid could have switched them off to conserve battery life and not had to worry about missing a thing. Ardo skidded to a stop and his eyes darted back and forth, at first trying to identify if evidence of an attack on his tribe was present and once he concluded that all was safe, he tried to spot the best individual to clue him in.

“Rose,” Ardo screamed over the deafening babble, but his words went unnoticed before he turned it up a notch. “Rose, Rose.”

“Ardo,” Rose turned, her eyes waterfalls, as she frantically dodged the heavy foot traffic to join her lifelong friend. “We heard. Ardo, I am so sorry.”

“Thanks,” Ardo was pushed back into the reality of loosing his father, which he temporarily and unfairly forced to the recesses of his mind. “Did whoever deliver the news explain that this was an attack on our tribe?”

“Yes,” Rose nodded. “The Chief called a tribe meeting by the Big Oak. Do you think he is going to declare war on the birds?”

“He can’t declare war,” Ardo shook his head in the disappointment that he had not previously considered that war was an option. “The birds aren’t smart enough to pull this off by themselves. They are always pawns, we can’t attack them unjustly.”

“But, Hemlock,’ Rose cried, obviously seeing more violence as proper retribution.

“Rose,” Ardo cooed so that he could keep the situation calm. “The birds are hired guns, they always have been. Name a swan you know that would not peck his own mother for a nibble of bread? This whole thing is a lark, and we are falling right into place. There has to be a bigger picture somewhere and let’s just hope that Bushy Tail knows this. Rose, let’s quit jumping to conclusion and make our way to the Big Oak.” 

Chapter 12

Toby finished up using the fur dyer, unplugged it, and placed it back into its drawer. He pulled on his green plaid shirt, and decided that for this picnic he would put on a tie; you can never look too good when you are with your family.

Toby Furrows grabbed his keys, pulled his front door open and looked back into his home; a loving family was all he ever wanted and his life was perfect by all measures of squirrel scales. He flicked the lights off, pulled the door closed and locked up; remembering vaguely of a time when using a deadbolt on a nest was just unheard of, but now the threat of chipmunks and shrews was always at the back of everyone’s mind.

Toby scurried down the trunk of the tree neighborhood he was part of; it was not the biggest tree in the forest, nor was it the most laden with leaves, but it was perfect for his family, and the girls had plenty of friends to frolic with. Once he had touched down on the leaves that acted as the vestibule to the shared living space, he took off running. As he ran and breathed the sweet forest air through his nose he let his mind wander to work related issues. Thirty percent less acorns this year than the previous year, and that year was twenty percent less than the year before that. Toby did a quick computation in his head, factoring in the exponential growth of the tribe population as of late and he knew that their time of prosperity was quickly coming to an end unless they found more plentiful trees. Toby was always a planner and he was trying to figure the best way to hedge his resources so that his family would not fall on hard times, but the future held too many uncertainties.

Toby continued running, trying to come up with the best way to care for his family while the leaves of low bushes caressed his face, and then in a clearing the Big Oak sprung up like the mightiest tree in a forest, which is just happened to be. The Big Oak was the cornerstone of the Sciurini Tribe, acting not only as its village square, but the headquarters for the governing bodies, and the storehouse for all the acorns that were harvested. The Sciurini Tribe was set up around the notion that if each family donated certain portions of their harvest supply to be used in times of emergency, or to otherwise enhance the tribe that they would all be better off, and for the past few years that had been the case. The stockpile was nested deep in the recesses of the Big Oak, and there were very few squirrels that knew of the dwindling supply, and those few were sworn to secrecy until a solution was worked out; unfortunately Toby was one of these few.

Toby slowed his shuffling when he noticed the large crowd gathered around the large tree almost as if eagerly awaiting something of great importance. Each eye in the crowd was fixed, and the tension in the air was thicker than the produce of a maple.

“What’s going on,” Toby called back to a vaguely familiar face as he continued to try to push through to avoid being late reuniting with his family.

“Hem Rudolph was run flat,” the crowd member shouted after Toby with concern in her voice.

Hem finally met his maker; Toby shook his head in severe sorrow. Although Toby and Hem rarely had the chance to sit down and talk, Toby was quite aware of the great things Hemlock brought to the tribe, and he was grateful of the inspiration that he blessed the others with. I will send a fruit basket to his two sons, Toby nodded to himself and then stopped in his tracks as Chief Bushy Tail stepped out onto the pedestal branch of the Big Oak and a hushed silence fell over the tribe. 

Chapter 13

“My fellow squirrels,’ Chief Bushy Tail called out to his public before turning to his assistant and motioning for him to turn up the volume on the speakers. “It is with great sorrow that I deliver the news of Hemlock Rudolph.”

The Chief held for a moment to allow a moment to mourn, and to allow for those in the crowd who were not informed yet to be filled in by their neighbors. When the murmuring died down, the Chief continued.

“Some of you may think that Hemlock lived a life of adventure with no regard for safety and that his death was nothing short of expected,” the Chief looked over from above and studied the faces and expression of those receiving his message. “While this may be partially true, we must not discount the fact that what he did was for the benefit of the tribe, and that his life was nothing less than a gift to those who knew him. It is also with the heaviest heart that I inform you that his death was in no way an accident.”

The shocking breaths inhaled about the furry mob, the cries of pain exploded amongst the scruffy sorrowed, and the befuddled looks throughout the crowd let Bushy Tail know that to many this information was not properly relayed and that he should appropriately explain. All the greats know how to feed the public, and this particular Chief was nothing short of one to be considered up there with them.

“Just as my father before me, who served the Sciurini Tribe as Chief with all his heart, and I like him, give the tribe nothing but all my love and dedication, and not just to the tribe, but to each of its individual squirrels. I loved Hemlock, not just as the symbol he stood for, but for the loving father of two, Boro and Ardo, that he was, and for the plentiful acorns he contributed for the stock over his cherished lifespan, but most of all, because he was part of our family. Just as each of you hear me now, know that I love each of you, and when I learned that a winged beast of terror soared down and interfered with Hem’s greatest day, it tore me apart. My family, there was interference and this was undoubtedly premeditated.”

The Chief paused his speach temporarily again, not to study his delivery this time, but because of a peculiar sound that he heard grinding away subtly. Were others hearing this as well? Was it just feedback from the speakers? Perhaps he should have the tribe invest in a better announcement system. Their last systems upgrade was two, maybe three years ago, what was the functional life of a sound system?

“We all know the times we live in are, for lack of a better word, troubled, and we also know that the birds are not to be trusted. Always hunting us from above. They prey of us, as we pray to remain unseen, but to take it to this new and unthinkable level and to strike not for food related reasons, but just to kill for killings sake; I don’t even think I have the appropriate words to relay what we are all feeling. Now I know we are all woodland creatures and are quite familiar with the bushes, so I will stop beating around it. The birds have gone too far this time, and I am officially declaring that we will not stand for it. If we do nothing then the savage assaults will continue and our numbers will dwindle down to extinction. I will not allow that, for my love for each of you is far too strong. We will use of bravest warriors and hunt out these cowardly birds and put an end to their tyranny once and for all. If they cannot coexist in these woods, then there is no place for them in it. There is no forest for the wicked.” 

Chapter 14

Tress looked out of the window of Toby’s office and tears welled in her eyes and she listened to Chief Bushy Tail deliver his speech. “How could he?” Tress said to herself, but as most parents learn early on, nothing said in the earshot of a child ever goes unheard, especially when it was intended to be kept to oneself.

“Mommy, how could he what?” Sam looked up, and her two sisters, Sally and Ren, reformed the trio at her side. Six wide eyes focused; all intently devoted to knowing how it was that he could. 

“Well um,” Tress stammered, but then decided that the original intentions of parenting that her and Toby wanted to raise the girls with was that truth was always the best. “The Chief has declared war on the birds.”

“Why?”  Ren asked with a shrug, not grasping the implications in her innocence.

“Because one of them killed Hemlock Rudolph,” Tress answered.

“But birds eat us all the time,” Sally chimed in. “That’s just the way things are, aren’t they?” Simple, factual, and hard to argue against.

Tress had to fight back gasping out in a cry; her girls seemed so grown up all of a sudden. “Yes, but this was different. Hemlock was killed not for food, but for something else.”

“Like homicide?” Sam’s eyes filled with the wonder of a child.

“Yes homicide,” Tress nodded. “And no more crime dramas for you; you should not know of such words at your age. You should be thinking of leaves and jumping, and playing, and tag.”

“But if one bird killed one of us, why would we attack all the birds?” Ren looked confused. “Aren’t most of them innocent?”

“I,” Tress stopped. There it was again; the Big Oak appeared to be rumbling. Toby’s stapler tumbled to the floor and little tiny C’s sprinkled everywhere as it sprung open. Were the heating ducts in need of repair? What was going on? 

Chapter 15

“Everything went according to plan.”

“Excellent.”

“The athlete will be the first of many. They have had their time in the woodlands, now it is our time to put things back to the way they were intended.”

“Indeed. What of the bird?”

“He went up in a fiery inferno.”

“Good, he is looking down upon us from paradise now. What of phase two?”

“Phase two is in motion. They immediately called their meeting, wasted no time as expected, so it is only a matter of minutes now.”

“Excellent, those damn squirrels need to learn to keep their twitching noses in their own damn affairs, and if all goes well, this forest will be rid of the furry gray nuisances once and for all.”

No Forest for the Wicked - Chapters 6 - 10

Chapter 6

Eagle eyed, he saw the racing red car and this roadside watcher make their move. Also a strong believer in perfection through timing and counting, the numbers rolled through his head in rapid succession and sequence. One, two three, one. One, two, three, two. How great this was that it was him who was chosen for such an honor. One, two, three, three. How great that he would achieve the ultimate gift. One, two, three, go.

He spread his wide wings and stepped off of the branch causing a swift and well telegraphed descent. Soaring down at incredible speeds towards the two primate kids behind the wheel, he kept his keen eyes on his target scurrying about. He admired the spirit that the little guy possessed, but he loathed everything that same spirit stood for. It was not only an honor to be part of this cause; it was an honor to oppose such a worthy adversary.

Squawking as he adjusted his wings to slow his flight, and extended his talons in front of him, more for intimidation and show rather than functionality at this point. He could read the fear in each of the humans faces; mission accomplished. He watched with pleasure as neither one in the vehicle knew what to do, the male wobbled the steering wheel and then slammed on the break causing the car to skid and hiss, but it was all too fast. The massive bird collided with the windshield resulting in a glass shattering cave in and a feathery explosion like a raspberry pillow fight gone awry. The car spun out of control and careened off of the road and into a tree, but not before successfully smearing the target across the black top with brilliant contrast, like a painter’s first gleaming stroke on a fresh and pure canvas. 

Chapter 7

There are few moments in a forest, with all of the busy woodland inhabitants, where silence reigns; this was one of those times. The rustling of wind through leaves on the tree halted and breaths staled with it. Chirping and chatter seized, and scurrying and scampering stopped. What had just happened? Could it be as it seemed? Premeditated, no, right? The same thoughts raced through all the minds who witnessed, and confusion and horror ranked highest amongst what was being felt, then one voice rang out amid the still.

“No,” Boro screamed as he processed that his father had become permanently bonded with the road. His face twinged and his stomach hurdled this way and that; he was going to be sick and he knew it. He could feel the tears immediately welling in his eyes and he made no attempt to hold them back. The fur of his face was soon matted and messed as his brother embraced him and held him tightly almost as if to prevent him from running out into the open.

“Boro,” his brother whimpered, and from the strain in his voice in was apparent that his insides were also performing some acrobatics.  Ardo was feeling the pain himself, but he knew better than to act rash, and he knew they could not run to their father’s sides. “It is not safe, you know that.”

“But, father,” Boro turned with the look of his brother’s betrayal smeared all over his face. “He might still be,” Boro started but was unable to put the words at the end of his sentence, but his brother knew what he was unable to say.

“It is impossible,” Ardo spoke softly, turning his head away at the disgust of the sight before him. “He is nothing more than a streak.”

“Was that, a bird?” Boro asked with his blank expression remaining.

“I think it may have been,” Ardo answered and then turned to the rest of the stunned audience who moments before were excited about seeing history made before their eyes. “Was that a bird who interfered?”

For a short while the crowd remained silent and solemn and scared, but finally a young squirrel, who was the local librarian and a well respected citizen, which shocked some given her age, voiced her words confidently and courageously. 

“There was a bird. This was no accident; Hemlock Rudolph was murdered.” 

Chapter 8

Toby Furrows leaned his head out of the window of his modest nest and perked his ears to enhance his listening potential. He was quite certain that he had heard something resembling an explosion or a crash, but now all that was audible after a brief nothing was the normal sounds of the woodlands. He was almost certain, but then again his week at the office had been very stressful and his mind needed a break.

Toby returned into his den and sunk back into his couch to continue watching his mind numbing television in spite of what he really wanted to do which was sink into a crime novel, but his eyes were not up to it. Toby was not usually one to pass the time with reruns, but his work as an acorntant at the Big Oak during the fall’s fall was always stressful and would have surely turned him prematurely gray had he not been a squirrel. He would have loved to be employed as any of the more relaxing professions such as forager, or crossing guard, but Toby was a gifted mind amongst the Sciurini Tribe and they relied heavily on him to keep proper counts of the acorns to ensure that all mouths were fed during the winter months. At least he had solace in knowing he could always rely on his family to help him escape to peace when reruns where not up to task.

Toby let out a sigh and closed his eyes for some relaxation, but his peace was short lived as his three vivacious daughters bounded into the room and hopped on their pop; so much for the peace they brought, but he would not change them for the world. Toby let out a howl of laughter as his girls relentlessly tickled him from every angle, and his wife, Tress trotted in smiling fondly.

“Three daddy’s girls, we have,” Tress Furrows shook her head. “I wish we had a litter of boys so that you could know how it feels to be left out for a change.”

“Perhaps next spring we could give it a shot,” Toby smiled up from the nonstop barrage of tiny claws. “And it was not me who forces their paws, they just like to tickle and I am much more ticklish than you. Blame nature, who made me this way, and made you a rock under the tender touch.”

“Mommy we love you too,” Sally turned and with wide loving eyes assured her mother that she and her sisters, Ren and Sam, loved their parents equally as much.

“Sorry to interrupt your shows,” Tress went on. “I know you need your rest, so I was going to take the girls out for a picnic so that you can rest in peace, wait, I don’t like the sound of that.”

“How about just rest in quiet?” Toby said. 

“But you know what; I think I have had enough of the old boob tube, why don’t I join you?”

“Really?” Shouted the three excitedly shrill voices in unison.

“Yes, I just want to take a quick shower so why don’t you go to the Big Oak and pick up some food and I will meet you there,” Toby said.

“Sure thing love,” Tress leaned in to huddle up the girls and once she had a full load of three, she leaned in and placed a kiss on the gray forehead of her husband. 

Chapter 9

Ardo looked around back at the faces, all of which still bore expressions of shock, including his brother. “We should get back to the Dreys and tell the Chief that father was attacked.” Ardo spoke to Boro, but he chose to speak loud enough as to grab everyone’s attention. Ardo never considered himself a leader, in fact he never considered himself much of anything, but he always knew what to do when a situation arose, and he always wanted what was best for everyone; especially Boro.

“We can’t just leave him there,” Boro whined and made another attempt at crossing into the road; his brain unable to process logic and danger, which was a terrible state to live amid the wild.

“No,” Ardo screamed as he gripped his brother by the shoulders and shook him violently. “He will be picked up by the scavengers. That is the way of life. It is how it is supposed to be. He would have wanted it that way, and anyway we need to get back to our village in case there is another attack. Everyone, it is not safe out here, we must return.”

“We live in troubled times,” came the hysteric cry from amidst the crowd.

“Hem was a hero,” shouted another, which was met with murmurs of agreement.

“My fellow squirrels,” Ardo let go of Boro and stood taller to address the portion of his tribe. “We must make haste and retreat back to the Dreys. We must inform Chief Bushy Tail of what has ensued at what was intended to be a joyous occasion. As you know, Hemlock was my father, and if anyone has the right to take the time to grieve it is Boro and myself, but I implore you to turn tail. This should show the grave severity of the words I speak. We could be in danger. Our tribe could be in danger. Too much innocent blood has spilt already. Please, do not let the Sciurini Tribe be caught off guard.”

With will eyes on him, Ardo’s fellow squirrels nodded and those with children scooped them up and held them tight. Quickly and haphazardly all the little gray creatures were pulling on their cloths and dressing their young and a moment later, they were all scurrying as fast as their paws could carry them; presumably to safety. 

Chapter 10

“Did you hear?” Franklin casually walked up to Scribbles, who was perched on a maple jotting down the latest thoughts of his mind.

“I hear many things,” Scribbles said without tearing his eyes away from his pad. “I am not deaf yet, but when I am, I assure you my answer may change.”

“No, about Hem Rudolph,” Franklin stepped closer, his breath now making an attack on the nape of Scribbles who shuddered ever so slightly at the proximity of the squirrel whose best talent was pushing the limits of the poets nerves.

“He was to set the tribes challenge record in the Games for passing completely through the tires of a vehicle traveling over one hundred miles per hour,” Scribbles said wryly. “I can read the headlines. I was going to interview Hem once he got back and slept off his partying so that I could record the events for the tribe log.”

“You better change your take on the story,” Franklin said, toying with the details of the story just to irk the scrawny squirrel.

“Did he chicken out?” Scribbles looked up, finally finding some interest in the tale, perhaps he could write a prose on how even the bravest know when they are in over their head. Brave Hem dared, brave Hem darted, brave Hem deserted; or something along those lines. He would need silence for this article, silence which did not involve Franklin.

“No,” Franklin said with a smug, self pleasing smile. “He ran.”

“And?” Scribbles put down his pen and looked up with eyes wide.

“He was hit,” Franklin delivered in a hush of a whisper.

“Is he alright?” Scribbles stood briskly, his pad and pen scattering to the leafy ground below the branches.

“He is dead,” Franklin spoke softer, barely audible.

“Then why the hell were you smiling just before,” Scribbles exploded into anger and fear. Hemlock Rudolph was an icon amongst the tribe as the best to ever play the Games. He was a personal hero to Scribbles, because Hemlock symbolized everything Scribbles wanted to be but knew he could never achieve. Hemlock was powerful and brave, while Scribbles was the runt of his tribe and never participated in the Games, let alone anything remotely athletic in nature. Hemlock was loved by all, and Scribbles was an outcast, knowing that the majority of his tribe did not even know that his name was not Scribbles, but Leroy John. Hemlock had charisma, and all Scribbles could do was insight sorrow in others through his self loathing deprecation. The one thing however that Scribbles did do well, and better than his hero, was write. As someone who was left alone most of his life, even if involuntary, Scribbles learned and perfected the craft of wordplay and tale telling. Scribbles quickly became the scribe of the tribe, as well as the tale teller, history recorder, newspaper editor, and post master. In the self proclaimed saddest existence in the woodlands, Scribbles often told himself that words were his only true friends because they did not judge.

“Sorry,” Franklin backed away at the fuming Scribbles and scurried off onto another tree, calling behind, “I just thought I would let you know.”

“Thought he would let me know”, Scribbles gritted his teeth. The only reason why he ran to tell him was because he wanted to see the pain that took his face when the news was delivered, Scribbles knew. That Franklin was a true work of art, and an even truer piece of trash.

No Forest for the Wicked - Chapters 1 - 5

Introduction

Did you know that there are places in Washington DC that have more squirrels per square mile than any other place on the earth? It has to be true, I read it in a book (as you can now pass this off as truth having just read it), and it is for this reason that I can officially declare that the squirrel is the true Americanimal.

Chapter 1

Brad was feeling the itch; the need for speed. The fingers connected to the white knuckles tingled. Adrenaline pumping, Brad extended his leg and slammed his foot all the way to down while flashing Jenny a devilish grin. She was digging him, how could she not? As the red Corvette neared triple digits Brad had one thought on his mind, and it appeared from the lustful look in Jenny’s eyes that the feeling was being reciprocated. Some people just really like speed and when those people connect magic happens.

Brad took one hand off of the wheel and placed it on Jenny’s leg, which was barely covered by her tight yellow mini-skirt and at that moment fixing his eyes on hers took priority over the approaching bend.

“Keep your eyes on the road,” Jenny laughed playfully, making no attempt to remove his caressing hand.

“Why?” Brad toyed. “Isn’t the danger the best part?”

Brad’s eyes returned to the road, but his eyes were not the only ones watching.

Chapter 2

He took in a deep and calming breath, as he always did before action. His lungs filled and he held it a moment. Let the oxygen disperse and let the nerves settle. Exhale and prepare. This was it; this was big time. With this one final act he could be forever immortalized and this dark and crisp night could, no would, go down in infamy. Was he nervous? No, why would he be, other than the mere fact that this final act of his would be more challenging than anything he had attempted prior; but as they say, the show must go on. Right?

Sure he was the best at what he did, he reassured himself, but was that enough? He extended his limbs and arched his back, he needed to stay alert. He closed his eyes slowly and opened them to study his surroundings once more. He had one shot, and timing made all the difference. In a few minutes he would meet his destiny.

Chapter 3

Another set of eyes peered down from above, the beady eyes fixed on the one that crouched along the roadside. “Soon you will meet your maker,” hissed a raspy voice. “Soon I shall too, but I know my fate.”

He continued to watch and his hatred intensified. He knew that the time was coming close and although he could not see the vehicle in his line of sight, the loud roar of its engine acted as a count down.

“I have dedicated my life and I am about to receive my reward. I am forever grateful.”

Chapter 4

“Come on, I can drive at the same time,” Brad insisted.

“So you have experience?” Jenny shot back.

“Uh,” Brad stammered for the right words. “No. I just figure that I can remain focused; that’s all.” Brad then pushed his foot even harder into the pedal, half out of the embarrassment over the question and half out of a need to change the topic.

“What are we at now?” Jenny leaned over to check the speedometer.

“About a buck fifteen,” Brad answered, becoming intoxicated off of the sweet smell of Jenny’s hair. Perhaps he should pull over, he thought, but at the same time did not want to let Jenny down when she was so clearly getting turned on.

“Hot,” Jenny whimpered. “How fast can you go?”

That is a question that Brad was willing to find the answer to, but unfortunately fate had other plans for him, as well as all that watched.

Chapter 5

He saw the headlights fast approaching and shuffled his bare feet in the dried leaves beneath. The gentle cracking from autumns offering was soothing to him as it reminded him of home. He welcomed the reminder of why he did what he did, but he also needed to get himself back in the moment. Now or never, he told himself; the same thing he would always tell himself before anything remotely important. A moment more passed and his thoughts along with the sounds of the leaves were drowned out by the deafening blare of the engine; which was enough to make even the bravest of hearts achieve a rapid rhythm.

Standing there studying, with palpitating heart, he tapped his foot and mouthed a few numbers in sequence; all part of the routine. After the technically precise counting in his head reached ten, he set off. He darted out onto the pavement with lightening stealth, holding his breath in anticipation. Maneuvering as only he could, he darted behind the front tire and narrowly escaped it claiming him.

He was halfway there and everything was going as planned. All he needed to do was clear the car before the rear tire passed and he was in the clear and forever immortalized; he would finally make his sons proud. Although he would never admit it, everything he had done in life had been to gain the approval of his two sons, which he knew was opposite of the normal family dynamic, but he also knew that what he had was not the normal family.

He was nearly there, and everything was appearing to be happening in slow motion. He watched as each of his feet greeted the asphalt and lunged off with such skill and the grace of a gazelle. He watched as little pebbles skittered up into the air, firing passed his head like the projectiles of a rifle. He also smelled the smell of burning rubber as he closed in on the goal line of the black wheel; close enough to make out the uneven wearing of the intricate treads and able to tell they were due for a rotation. Then the horrid and acrid stench that filled his nostrils, compounded with the shrill screech of breaks was enough to warn him that things were no longer going as planned, and unfortunately he also knew that it was too late. He was never going to have that opportunity to make his only surviving family proud.