The Death Chickens made a clear path for her to follow, but they made a clear path for Bauer as well. She ran Mongoose hard, stopping only once for four new tires and a tract bar adjustment and once for gas-n-goes. The tracks had long dried and were covered with pollen; she had a lot of ground to cover before she caught up with them.
Plan after plan fell flat as she sped north by northwest. Her army was far behind; she'd let her emotion get the better of her again. If she hadn't broken the unspoken rule among D.C.D.A.'s - don't get jiggy a a brat-fest with your partner- she might have thought through her actions.
She turned Mongoose's tracking chip back on. Even if Bauer's chest-hair grew up past his eyes and obscurd his vision, which would be possible with extra Rogaine, he would be able to follow her. The fast flight had obliterated the possibility of stealth.
Thirty seconds passed before Crispy's hologram popped up. It kept pace with her.
"Ah, ducklin'. Whatcher doin'?" he sighed.
"I don't know," she answered while steering over rough terrain. "I lost it again."
"Why're you headin' to the Dakotas?"
So that's where they were going. She'd read about the Dakotas as a school girl. There was one north, and one south. Their capitals were... they were..."
"Grimironie!" Crispy yelled.
"Uh! Umm. I'm following a stampede."
"Fer what good reason?"
"Poultreus. He's leading them. Taking Frank out of Bauer's reach."
"Tha's not likely, girl. Whacha think's goin' to happen when he catches up an' you're without backup? You plan to take on the Porks on your own? You think I could have made it on my own without apostrophes? We all need help sometimes. Ask fer help."
"Help!" Grimironie yelled.
"Done." Crispy smiled. His hologram vanished.
She felt like the field grew smoother and her breathing came easier. "Bismark!" she blurted triumphantly.
* * * * * * *
"Sweet ranch!" Maestro said to Chief Kalel, "where are the chicks?"
"You have a one-track mind. I've transported them to another farm for their safety." Even the egg incubators were empty.
Crispy limped over and whispered something in the Chief's ear.
"Time to move out! Kalel screamed. The troops roared in approval.
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Friday, May 16, 2008
XXIII. 5/15/08
It was near noon. Grimironie sped north past the last Death Chicken sighting. Bauer's cries of agony still echoed in her mind; they spurred her on.
She saw movement on the horizon. She was near. As she closed the gap, she saw Death Chickens milling through the fields. She'd only encountered them when they were on the rampage, but there they were, as placid as sitting ducks, except that they weren't ducks. They were Death Chickens.
She slowed. They could be an easy kill, but they weren't her mission. A dark figure moved among them. She was down-wind; they wouldn't smell her. The figure became clearer. It raised a hand, and a Death Chicken lowered its beak to his hand. It had to be Poultreus. His laced feed: here was the result.
He sensed her approach before the Chickens did, and he walked towards her. She stepped off Mongoose, overcome by curiousity.
"Here they are, in their natural state," he said. "We can mainstream them, as long as they get their meds. In time, conditioning will take over. The meds won't be necessary."
Grimironie was entranced but skeptical. "You can't be sure of that," she whispered.
"Oh, I can," Poultreus said. "It worked on Frank."
"No!"
"Yes!"
"No!"
"Yes."
"No!"
"Snap out of it." Grimironie bit her lip. This development could open up a whole new market: Death Chicken farming. She'd be out of a job. There was always fishing for Alaskan King Crab, but she didn't like the cold or the high seas. He mind was swimming.
"Bauer's behind me," she said. "I breaded his troops. He's not happy."
Poultreus's patently calm demeanor faltered, and then re-emerged. "I've got to get Frank to a safe haven." He turned and ran towards the Death Chickens. Then Grimironie saw a sight she'd remember for the rest of her life. Poultreus pulled a saddle out of nowhere, mounted a Death Chicken and ran the flock northwest in a stampede.
She walked back to Mongoose at a loss. She'd have to revise her plan. It had been simple, but life was never simple.
* * * * * * * *
She calculated that she'd have five hours before Bauer's army closed the gap. It would be close, but it could be done. She remembered the children of the corn and their corn husk arches. "Use what you've got," she grumbled as she started weaving husks into facsimilies of D.C.D.A.'s.
She'd have carpal tunnel for sure, but she worked quickly. The finishing touch was harder. If only she hadn't dropped AP Origami in high school! It was sketchy, but from a distance the figure resembled her atop Mongoose, waving a .50 gauge baster. Then she laced the field with garlic bombs. If they didn't slow Bauer, then at least she'd be able to smell his approach. She looked at her radar; they were twenty minutes away. The sun was nearing the horizon. She left Mongoose's lights off as she drove after Poultreus.
She saw movement on the horizon. She was near. As she closed the gap, she saw Death Chickens milling through the fields. She'd only encountered them when they were on the rampage, but there they were, as placid as sitting ducks, except that they weren't ducks. They were Death Chickens.
She slowed. They could be an easy kill, but they weren't her mission. A dark figure moved among them. She was down-wind; they wouldn't smell her. The figure became clearer. It raised a hand, and a Death Chicken lowered its beak to his hand. It had to be Poultreus. His laced feed: here was the result.
He sensed her approach before the Chickens did, and he walked towards her. She stepped off Mongoose, overcome by curiousity.
"Here they are, in their natural state," he said. "We can mainstream them, as long as they get their meds. In time, conditioning will take over. The meds won't be necessary."
Grimironie was entranced but skeptical. "You can't be sure of that," she whispered.
"Oh, I can," Poultreus said. "It worked on Frank."
"No!"
"Yes!"
"No!"
"Yes."
"No!"
"Snap out of it." Grimironie bit her lip. This development could open up a whole new market: Death Chicken farming. She'd be out of a job. There was always fishing for Alaskan King Crab, but she didn't like the cold or the high seas. He mind was swimming.
"Bauer's behind me," she said. "I breaded his troops. He's not happy."
Poultreus's patently calm demeanor faltered, and then re-emerged. "I've got to get Frank to a safe haven." He turned and ran towards the Death Chickens. Then Grimironie saw a sight she'd remember for the rest of her life. Poultreus pulled a saddle out of nowhere, mounted a Death Chicken and ran the flock northwest in a stampede.
She walked back to Mongoose at a loss. She'd have to revise her plan. It had been simple, but life was never simple.
* * * * * * * *
She calculated that she'd have five hours before Bauer's army closed the gap. It would be close, but it could be done. She remembered the children of the corn and their corn husk arches. "Use what you've got," she grumbled as she started weaving husks into facsimilies of D.C.D.A.'s.
She'd have carpal tunnel for sure, but she worked quickly. The finishing touch was harder. If only she hadn't dropped AP Origami in high school! It was sketchy, but from a distance the figure resembled her atop Mongoose, waving a .50 gauge baster. Then she laced the field with garlic bombs. If they didn't slow Bauer, then at least she'd be able to smell his approach. She looked at her radar; they were twenty minutes away. The sun was nearing the horizon. She left Mongoose's lights off as she drove after Poultreus.
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
XXII. 5/14/08
She sat under the flourescent lights for hours. Three slept; he was not conscious when they brought him out of recovery. It was unbearable. She wouldn't be able to assess the damage until he woke. She sat by his side, jumping at every hitch in his breath.
Twice.
She was the bad partner. She'd put so much energy into scrutinizing his weaknesses that she hadn't paid any attention to her own. First, she cost Crispy his leg, and now, and now...
The doctor said he's have a fair recovery. Fair? She'd left him behind in her ardor. No partner was safe with her.
He stirred; she bristled. He started mumbling, "Grrrrm ... trans-fat! ... chest hair..." It was torture. She put on the T.V. to distract herself.
A jingly jingle brightened the commercial break. A small boy, cherubic, graced the screen. "I'm hungry!" he gasped.
A fluffy pig puppet waddled next to him and smiled, "I'm Pigsy Porkster! I want to be your bacon!" The adorable boy hugged the puppet. Overhead, an angle swiped a tear.
Grimironie's teeth clenched. She stood in reaction. I'll make some bacon! she muttered while grabbing her jacket.
Three stirred again. He grunted, "No! ...pork rinds. Don't eat them, fool!" She leaned over and caressed his hair.
"It's okay, Billy-Ray MacHaggis III. You're safe."
He rubbed his hospital gown and muttered, "Stubble! I have stubble!"
He eyes teared. It must have been from the dryness of the radiator. "Get well," she choked, "You're better off here. I'm getting Frank, and Bauer. He'll hang from his sideburns before the next sunset."
* * * * * * * *
She sped maniacally up the Wisconsin Trail, bump-drafting deer and squashing gophers. In her mind, she saw Three over and over. The surgeon said, "He may be left with only a five-pack of abs. We won't know until the swelling goes down." She bit her lip. The worst-case scenario was abominable.
* * * * * * * * *
The sun rose over Bauer's camp. His victory looked inevitable, but his Porks hadn't risen. "Lazy slobs!" he bellowed.
They crunched; they slowly rose to their feet amidst Italian herbs. They had been egged and breaded! He howled insanely.
Twice.
She was the bad partner. She'd put so much energy into scrutinizing his weaknesses that she hadn't paid any attention to her own. First, she cost Crispy his leg, and now, and now...
The doctor said he's have a fair recovery. Fair? She'd left him behind in her ardor. No partner was safe with her.
He stirred; she bristled. He started mumbling, "Grrrrm ... trans-fat! ... chest hair..." It was torture. She put on the T.V. to distract herself.
A jingly jingle brightened the commercial break. A small boy, cherubic, graced the screen. "I'm hungry!" he gasped.
A fluffy pig puppet waddled next to him and smiled, "I'm Pigsy Porkster! I want to be your bacon!" The adorable boy hugged the puppet. Overhead, an angle swiped a tear.
Grimironie's teeth clenched. She stood in reaction. I'll make some bacon! she muttered while grabbing her jacket.
Three stirred again. He grunted, "No! ...pork rinds. Don't eat them, fool!" She leaned over and caressed his hair.
"It's okay, Billy-Ray MacHaggis III. You're safe."
He rubbed his hospital gown and muttered, "Stubble! I have stubble!"
He eyes teared. It must have been from the dryness of the radiator. "Get well," she choked, "You're better off here. I'm getting Frank, and Bauer. He'll hang from his sideburns before the next sunset."
* * * * * * * *
She sped maniacally up the Wisconsin Trail, bump-drafting deer and squashing gophers. In her mind, she saw Three over and over. The surgeon said, "He may be left with only a five-pack of abs. We won't know until the swelling goes down." She bit her lip. The worst-case scenario was abominable.
* * * * * * * * *
The sun rose over Bauer's camp. His victory looked inevitable, but his Porks hadn't risen. "Lazy slobs!" he bellowed.
They crunched; they slowly rose to their feet amidst Italian herbs. They had been egged and breaded! He howled insanely.
Friday, May 2, 2008
XXI. 5/2/08
The carnage was legendary. The Porks' archers attacked first, and launched ten thousand pork rinds at the D.C.D.A. army. Grimironie's men could barely move without crunching.
"Don't eat them!" Three screamed above the din,"They're full of trans-fat!"
The Pork foot-soldiers ran forward and met them mid-field. Basters shot in rapid fire; the air was rife with savory herbs. Porks battered D.C.D.A.'s with slabs of bacon. The ground was slick with congealed fat.
Grimironie fought through the onslaught, determined to reach Bauer, who hid behind his minions. She had to forego her baster, best only for long-range combat, and wield her meat tenderizer. She struck Pork after Pork, leaving a trail of pounded filets in her wake. Her Pork-lust was blinding. She saw only manly chest hair taunting her from the horizon, and every Pork in her way way a chop ready for harvest.
The Porks were too dense and Mongoose could go no farther. She leapt over the handlebars and somersaulted before landing amidst the enemy. She batted them quickly. They broke with dull thuds and dropped to her sides. She fought on despite the sharp pain in her arms. Left, right, duck! Duck! Duck! Goose! She blocked with her spatula and hit with her tenderizer until a clearing formed around her. The Porks began to retreat.
She spun and scanned her perimeter. Porks rushed back, away from her reach. She charged forward, but they were too fast. Grimironie, runner of the twelve-minute mile, could not keep up. Mongoose was far behind. Bauer was gone. Cowards.
She turned back on aching limbs. Her men had not fared as well. Many were on the ground, pulling bacon bits from their eyes. She counted those from her precinct: Ben Bradley had torn his best spandex, Maestro ran down-field sporting a newly fashioned Pork ear necklace and yelling "Who's your daddy! Who's your daddy!" Robie Ae stood firm, Kate rolled in with scores of Pork scalps dragging behind her ATV. Ewww. She didn't see Three. She didn't see Three!
"Grim!" Crispy yelled. She bolted in his direction instantly. Crispy looked okay. Her heart slowed. She breathed in. Then she saw the hand he held, and the tuft of blonde hair he exposed as he pulled away short ribs and a large pork tenderloin. She knelt beside him. He still had a pulse. Three was unconscious.
She scooped him up and carried him to high ground. She could not speak or think. She didn't even want tea. The choppers landed, and the E.M.T.'s took over.
"Don't eat them!" Three screamed above the din,"They're full of trans-fat!"
The Pork foot-soldiers ran forward and met them mid-field. Basters shot in rapid fire; the air was rife with savory herbs. Porks battered D.C.D.A.'s with slabs of bacon. The ground was slick with congealed fat.
Grimironie fought through the onslaught, determined to reach Bauer, who hid behind his minions. She had to forego her baster, best only for long-range combat, and wield her meat tenderizer. She struck Pork after Pork, leaving a trail of pounded filets in her wake. Her Pork-lust was blinding. She saw only manly chest hair taunting her from the horizon, and every Pork in her way way a chop ready for harvest.
The Porks were too dense and Mongoose could go no farther. She leapt over the handlebars and somersaulted before landing amidst the enemy. She batted them quickly. They broke with dull thuds and dropped to her sides. She fought on despite the sharp pain in her arms. Left, right, duck! Duck! Duck! Goose! She blocked with her spatula and hit with her tenderizer until a clearing formed around her. The Porks began to retreat.
She spun and scanned her perimeter. Porks rushed back, away from her reach. She charged forward, but they were too fast. Grimironie, runner of the twelve-minute mile, could not keep up. Mongoose was far behind. Bauer was gone. Cowards.
She turned back on aching limbs. Her men had not fared as well. Many were on the ground, pulling bacon bits from their eyes. She counted those from her precinct: Ben Bradley had torn his best spandex, Maestro ran down-field sporting a newly fashioned Pork ear necklace and yelling "Who's your daddy! Who's your daddy!" Robie Ae stood firm, Kate rolled in with scores of Pork scalps dragging behind her ATV. Ewww. She didn't see Three. She didn't see Three!
"Grim!" Crispy yelled. She bolted in his direction instantly. Crispy looked okay. Her heart slowed. She breathed in. Then she saw the hand he held, and the tuft of blonde hair he exposed as he pulled away short ribs and a large pork tenderloin. She knelt beside him. He still had a pulse. Three was unconscious.
She scooped him up and carried him to high ground. She could not speak or think. She didn't even want tea. The choppers landed, and the E.M.T.'s took over.
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