All in a Day's Work

1

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times… Or at least that's the only way how Flint Lockwood could describe what happened over the previous 6 months. Sparkswood Labs was flourishing, and Flint's favorite part of the day was watching the sun set behind the gray tower. As spring approached and the clock struck 8, all the lights that Sparkswood Labs had to offer would blanket the building. After all, there was beauty in science, no matter how boringly mathematical, dull and dreary it may appear to ignorant students, or better yet to people in general. While they sat together hand in hand, Flint and Sam would discuss the future for their creation before the dusk. They contemplated and pondered what would bring in the new, and when the stars finally came out to play, they would settle their thoughts with a tender kiss. Flint, during those overwhelming, impeccable, charming and everything wonderful moments, decided that spring was now the first of his favorite seasons.

Yet beyond this little island out on the west coast, there was great distress. The fall of Live Corp occurred rapidly in 2 weeks' time; employment rate dropped significantly in the city of San Franjose. Walls and barriers were torn down without hesitation, and due to only a restricted amount of jobs available in the town, many fled to different states. A few fled to Arizona – a few to Washington, a few to New York. A few here, a few there, and some workers of the fallen company even attempted to apply for positions at Flint's new laboratory. Whilst this resulted in long and stressful interviews (with the support of Barb) because of the distrust the gang had in former Live Corp employees, a handful of them were accepted to start anew. Of course, security was stricter around them while they were completing their work. Earl had to accept double time every now and then to maintain order, but no problems have yet been created with the new staff.

Watching the deconstruction of Live Corp was unfortunately a guilty pleasure for the Sparkswood Lab's cofounders. The unemployment rate was sad, but the demolition had to be carried out. Flint had always wanted to be a part of such a team for years, but it was obvious that some dreams of his were never meant to be. The anger they each held onto tempted them into smirking, the team turning away when the news announced that Live Corp was a company that chances are could never be revived. Tables were swiftly turned. The success of Sparkswood Labs outshined any accomplishments the other company managed to achieve. But the fate of the new laboratory, the foodimals and his friends rested in Flint's hands. There was no time for sulking, brooding, weeping, or questioning what could've been. At their rate, it wasn't something that could be afforded. Now was the time to inspire, design, create and spread the numerous ideas that Sparkswood's minds produced to all across the globe.

The team was on guard. Around every corner they took, each of them expected something bad to happen. Nevertheless, despite the high vigilance, routine began to return. Life returned.

"Flint, you've got to come look at this!" Sam exclaimed, her palms pressed against the circular glass of the incubator. It had been months before she could witness what the globe contained. She could hardly believe what was being displayed before her, even with her safety glasses on. Unique noises from other experiments sputtered in the background, along with the quick pitter patter of her partner's footsteps.

"Yeah? What is it?"

"The flamangos are hatching!" The meteorologist gazed in awe as tiny chirps started out soft, then began to grow. Beady eyes, little feet and a flurry of orange, red and green wobbled out of the pale shells. A couple of the dozen stumbled once or twice, but the warm nest equipped with straw softened their fall. The blue hues of Flint's eyes expanded.

"Aww, they're so cute!" he cooed.

"Open it up; hurry!"

Flint pressed the seal button. A silent hiss escaped as the glass slid back into its socket. Holding out their hands, the two watched as the hatchlings cooed and churred against their fingertips. The lab was warmed with little giggles while the newborn flamangos happily nuzzled their caretakers' hands. Sam always cherished moments like this and as for Flint, whenever he saw the wonder in her eyes when she interacted with the foodimals, he felt like he really could freeze time, even if just for a few seconds.

"They'll fit right in with the other families," he stated contently. "Once the mother's wing heals, we'll release them back to their natural habitat."

The adult flamango rested in a cage nearby, comforted with blankets and a small harness around her tattered limb. Due to dryness of the climate, a small fire was formed in the Veggie Forest just southeast of the laboratory. Sam was lucky enough to come across the birdlike family during a patrol almost 5 weeks ago. With the help of their experienced ornithologists, they managed to restore her wing into a process where healing could occur. Rescuing injured foodimals was just another one of the hundreds of responsibilities Sparkswood took on. The paternal, satisfying feeling was a reward to the team, especially to Sam.

"When does Brent finish his shift on the chicken farm?" she asked. "Maybe we can assign him to the next patrol. I'm sure he'd be happy to return these little ones home."

Brent had been in charge of the section of the lab that contained all foodimals that were birdlike. He had expressed most of his excitement toward that particular branch of all the species that resided there, so Flint carried out his request to care for them. Since then, Brent had taken on chicken farms, incubator shifts in the nursery and weekly checkups on multiple habitats. Of course, a team would be sent with him to ensure that his work was in line, and he um...stayed on task. After all, Brent was prone to silly distractions and wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed.

"That's a great idea! I'm not sure when he gets off, but I'll let him know straight away. Maybe we can – "

"Sh-sh-shhh. Wait," she interrupted. "Listen."

Flint stood still. All he could hear were dials from the computers in. the background.

"I don't hear anythi..."

And then he felt it. It started out as a small shake, then a hurried, patterned rumble. Thump-thump thump-thump thump-thump thump.

"Saaaaam! Fliiiiiint!"

"Earl?" they both questioned, looking at one another and back to the nursery entrance. The door slammed open, almost falling off its shaking hinges.

"Sam! Flint! Come quick; we've got a Code 9!"

Sparkswood Labs had constructed an emergency coded system designed for any kind of foodimal problem its members were to come across. The system consisted of codes 1-12, 1 ranked as the lowest and least worrisome discord, while 12 ranked the highest and most dangerous. It took a month to establish a good start on the training program that was paired with it, but even codes 8-12 have unfinished training portions that are still in the works.

"Sam! Slow down, please!" Flint swung, pushed and shoved through multiple branches that blocked his vision. Sam moved like lightning, sprinting through the vines followed by Earl. Panting and heaving, Flint did his best to keep up. Brent followed behind him along with Manny. An abrupt stop occurred. The man in the chicken suit cowered behind Flint as the scientist stepped forward. Their voices were taken away.

The riverbank was empty. Not a nest, egg or flamango was in sight.

"I thought it was nothing, at first," Earl murmured when he stepped forward. Distraught, he reached into his side and pulled out a wooden clipboard. "It started out so little, like 1 or 2. I thought maybe they had run off and would be back." He flipped the page, scrolling through the numbers. "I took count of how many there were each day. But then I looked at the charts."

While it was correct that the population decreased only by a few each day in the beginning of the month, it was approaching the end of May and now there were only 43 of the birds left. Displayed before them in the moment, however, were none.

"This does not make any sense. There were 43 left. How could they have just disappeared all in one night?" Manny questioned.

"And on their own," Flint added. Brent took a look around, puzzled.

"Hey, where did all the foodies go?"

"Wherever they went or whoever may have taken them, we have to get them back." Sam looked away from the charts, turning her attention to the policeman. "If it's happened to these guys, who's to say the other foodimals won't be targeted? Our security needs to be doubled. What's the status on our perimeter checks?"

"We have cameras, but not all habitats have been covered just yet, so I've been patrolling the surrounding fences of the forest for nights on end. Not once have I seen broken entrances or heard crazy things. The birds should have been fine! I don't know how I could've missed this."

They began to look around for any sign of tracks, whether it was the prints of flamangos or of people. Every tree base, every curve of the riverbank, and even every bush was checked. There was nothing to be found. The sun began its descent into the west, twilight quickly creeping upon the forest. The shades of the tree bark all around grew dim. Life within Swallow Falls was always beautiful at this hour, but now wasn't the time for marveling.

"We need to get this part of the forest cleared out before any other foodimals go missing," Flint declared. "I'm sure we'll get to the bottom of this. Until then, we can assign bigger patrol groups. We'll need more than 1 person in 1 area if we're going to solve this."

Sam nodded, silent and thinking. The winds of spring weaved through the trees. A gentle night chill was on its way, serving as a reminder for them to turn back.

"I will warn Barb. It's time to go home."