Chapter 10: The Wild Goose Chase
That night the Peapod sat parked in the grass, next to the barbed-wire gate of a large game farm. We were finishing up a supper of chicken fajitas that Dingo had made. That was when the captain suddenly thrust his face out fiercely over the railing of the boat, squinting at something in the distance. Ahole dug around his coat until he found his telescope, and peered out between the wires of the fence in front of our vehicle. After giving the captain a moment's glance, the rest of us tucked back into our fajitas. The captain's behavior was nothing new; he thought he spotted the White Cock about three times a day on average. No doubt he'd have us on the chase in a few minutes, and we'd spend the next hour tracking down the white blotch he'd spotted in the distance only to find out it was some farmer's runaway sheep, or a plastic bag.
"Thar she blows!" the Captain exclaimed.
The rest of the crew groaned.
"Man the mast heads!" Ahole hollered. "All hands on deck!"
"We are all on deck," Toledo said.
Unenthused, we began to rise from the little folding table. And that was when Starbuck froze, halfway up from his chair, his hand on his coffee mug.
"Starbuck?" Stud frowned at his friend through his usually glazed eyes. "What's up dude?"
Starbuck was staring at the contents of his mug. Queerqueg leaned over the table, squinting at it. The rest of us all leaned forward to have a look. The black, steaming coffee was still as can be, for a few seconds.
Then it vibrated.
Our eyes stayed glued to the coffee. A second later, it did it again. After the third or fourth ripple, we began to hear the footsteps, echoing faintly, getting rapidly louder. Chip clasped his hands over his mouth, staring up at the fence. The rest of us turned to see. It was so dark that I at first couldn't make much out—just the prickly fence, with a sign dangling from it reading WARNING: HIGH VOLTAGE ELECTRIC FENCE. But I guess the farm's power was down, because a moment later I spotted something white and feathery gripping the wire, just above the sign. It was there just long enough to register in my mind as a massive wing, before it pulled away from the fence.
There came several loud snaps, as if a giant were ripping through the wire fence. The monster stomped out into view. No previous description I'd heard had come close, and none I might write here could possibly do it justice (but I'll provide one anyway). Radioactive mutant or feathery dinosaur, it looked like the demon love child of both. Its plumage billowed in the wind, such a brilliant white that it seemed to glow, like a pair of brand new sneakers in a dark room. The beast grinned down at us, with a razor-filled beak. Its eyes, each the size of a football, glowed yellow with black slits for pupils. It ceased its stomping to arch its white head back, and let rip and ear-splitting, screeching, Cock-a-doodle-dooo!
"Grab yer harpoons!" The captain screamed.
"Harpoons my ass!" Flask reached for his rifle.
"No!" Queerqueg grabbed Flask's arm. "You shoot Big White, you just make 'im mad."
Every man in the company was issued a harpoon.
"Take aim men!" Ahole hollered.
We all raised our harpoons (save Chip, who wisely ran below deck to take shelter under a beanbag chair). And just like that, in a flash of lightning, the chicken was gone.
"Oh, go figure," Toledo held out his hand, as the rain began to pour down.
"Well," Flask chuckled, "At least we now know for a fact that things can't possibly get—"
Sirens blared in the distance. I suddenly noticed that the wind had picked up, while the sky had gone from a dusk purple to a lovely spinach green.
"There!" Ahole pointed with his harpoon. The chicken was a few yards away, its long talons tearing through the grass like it was some monstrous ostrich.
"Are you high?!" Starbuck screamed at the captain. "Don't you hear those sirens? We have to get to a shelter!"
"The chicken's probably headed for shelter," Toledo pointed out. "Following him might be our best bet either way."
We could think of nothing else to do but obey the captain's orders. Queerqueg and I folded up the dinner table, while Flask started up the Duck's engine. We took off down the prairie in the rain, the lightning flashing in a terrifying and very cool strobe-light effect that I thought would look smashing in the climax of an adventure novel. Too bad I was working on a philosophical piece. Or could this tale be both?
"Remember," Ahole shouted over the howling wind, "Whoever catches that bird for me gets that chest full of chocolate money!"
"Oh that's real swell Captain Ahole!" Flask shouted back. "A road trip and candy! You're a real pal!"
We were all one man, united in a single goal. Albeit, a very confused man, who was indecisive as to whether he wanted to kill the chicken for revenge, or for chocolate, or just so he could get his paycheck and go home already, but still, we were one man. We followed the chicken's white form through the grass, entire bushes and all sorts of wildlife crunching beneath our tires. But after another flash of lightning, the bird had vanished once again. The Peapod screeched to a halt at the edge of the river. For a few moments there was no sound but the wind and the tornado sirens, and the water slapping one side of the boat. We stood silently, searching the horizon for the rooster.
"Do you feel brave, men?" Ahole asked, raising his telescope once more.
"I wet myself." Stud replied.
"He must be somewhere," Ahole scanned the dark prairie.
The rain mixed with the howling wind and the sirens.
"Thar—!" Toledo pointed to something large and white, but as it soared over our heads we saw it was just a sheep.
There was a low rumbling that seemed to come from all around the ship. Water shot up from the river like a fountain, followed by a beak. The chicken was playing water games. How's he do that without lips? I wondered. Moby Cock rose from the shallows and shook his dripping feathers out, showing everyone onboard with muddy water and small fish. We hit the rooster with everything we had—harpoons, knives, Starbuck's coffee pot, etc. We might as well have been tossing pins at a rhinoceros. The bird stretched its neck out over the deck and snapped at us, like a robin digging for morning worms. We darted across the deck, dodging its beak and its swishing talons. As the winds picked up, we also found ourselves dodging twigs, bushes, and various prairie animals and fish from the river.
"Captain!" Starbuck called, his voice muffled by the otter that had just smacked into his face. He yanked the rodent off and tossed it over his shoulder. "Captain, turn this Duck around!"
Ahole wasn't listening. The bird was in front of him now. They faced each other across the deck, as if each was waiting for the other to draw a pistol. There was even a tumbleweed bouncing between them (courtesy of the twister). Ahole grinned maliciously, and raised his weapon.
"At long last! The world shall be rid of you, foul…fowl!"
The rooster cocked its head, as if pondering the captain's motives.
"From Hell's heart," Ahole cried, "I stab at thee!"
The captain made his move, but froze in mid-thrust. Clutched in his hand was not his harpoon, but a big-mouthed bass from the river. The captain looked back and forth in horror, from the fish in his hand to the angry chicken.
With a final Cockadoodle-doo! Moby Cock lunged forward, just as the winds began to raise the Peapod off of the ground.