Author's Note: I won't say anything deliberate about the story in these author's notes, only hinting at stuff like in the notes of the previous chapter. Yes, this is a thrilling piece of OvEr ThE hEdGe fanfiction. No, that doesn't mean that's all there has to be to it. In fact, just take any standards you have and CHUCK 'em out the window if you please. You gotta go into these kinds of things without any real expectations, because you never know what kind of story you're gonna get.
And so for this story specifically, I'll leave you with 1 good rule of thumb: If you think something you notice could be intentional, it probably is. I could name one important detail in chapter 2 that fits this bill very well...
Prologue, Chapter 4: What Memories Keep (~11k words)
"Daddy…"
"What is it, sweetheart?"
"What if there really is a predator? What if it… eats… us…"
"No no no, there's no need to worry about that. Because we know how to handle it. When danger comes to us, we pretend we've been hit by the worst. Remember the steps?"
"Stop... drop... and die."
"Stop... drop... and die."
"Exactly, Heather… Exactly…"
...
Heather escapes out of the brush, softly reminding herself, "It wasn't all for nothin'."
She immediately makes out RJ sighing in a special spot on the other side of the pond, seated in the grass under the pond's willow tree to busy himself in his journal. Scribble scribble scribble. His blue crayon crosses every inch of lined paper, mind absorbed in some intense calculations. In his own work he keeps his focus, sweeping away even the most minor disturbances.
Heather takes a deep breath in the cover of a thin tree just behind the water, the image of an occupied RJ blurred by the sagging branches of the hut. "Okay. He's so free now."
She rounds the pond, coming under the shade of the bushy willow spreading its life at the edge of the shore. Pulling back the dangling curtain of leaves fully reveals RJ's confinement against the trunk, writing away with sharp concentration. One particularly forceful press of the crayon's battered tip snaps it in half, one piece flying out on his right. An abrupt snarl leaves his lips.
Strictly tracking the crayon's flight has it strike into a fuzzy patch of gray fur making up the right leg of one standing before him. His sights draw themselves up into Heather's own, standing a couple feet away just at the wall of the hut.
Arms linked behind her and body arched backward, she simply asks, "Got room for one more?"
RJ looks back at the page. "Heather, I've come to a conclusion…" He flips the journal to have it face her, placing a drawing of a mountain of rubber ducks (with a mediocre thumbs-up beside it) on the exhibit for her to view. The solution they all knew was in order. "We're gonna need more duckies."
Outside, RJ mines through his bag, releasing a spray of shreddings out the rear in the form of some random items just so happening to be occupying the endless space. Out in the fray comes a magazine titled 'What's MANLY Today'. "Ignore that one," RJ insists.
But Heather leans over to peek at the cover, countenance filled with unease yet strangely drawn to it nonetheless.
Finally, the new, familiar phone is pulled out. "Ah." RJ holds it out with a bent hand. "Care to do the honors?"
Heather takes it with glee. Against the tree, several board game boxes were neatly stacked up like plates. To an outside source, the only assumed occupying objects were those to be expected. But for two foragers, it took some thinking outside the Jenga box. Bring down that sound structure and replace it with Twister.
She places a hand against the stack. "Which one's it again?"
"Mmm, try Monopoly up top."
Heather deftly jumps up onto the Monopoly box and slides it out from under her to land in the grass. She returns and removes the lid, revealing a long black piece of plastic left on one half with several dividers. What had once held fake dollars had been replaced by a row of inactive phones varying in their designs, each possessing one specific feature barely differentiating them from those developed prior. The last slot was vacant. Heather carefully sets the phone down in the special spot, making a remarkably delicate movement to keep the artifact perfectly unscathed.
Leaning down opposite her is RJ, both now overlooking the proud collection. "Ahh, ain't that a sight."
A slim black laptop was taking up the bottom underneath it all, Heather pointing it out. "We'll cop those ducks on the Grim Retina later."
They exchange nods of agreement above.
Yet this leisure was one not to last, as RJ's ears perk up instantly at a noisy buzz from afar. Following the unmistakable sound of his questionable deeds are Hammy's goofy scream and consecutive laughs from the kids. "Oop! Forgot I pulled that one… gotta go!"
He runs off, leaving Heather in an awkward place from his unplanned business to attend to. "Okay, uh, see ya later…! Alligator… hmm."
She peeks at the stack of boxes once again.
Inside the hut moments later, out she heaves a pale green device from a stockier box. Ah, there it was. The keeper of memories. Ol' Reliable, if you will. Somewhat circular in its shape though pointed farther on one side, the portable CD player's red light remains off. She holds it up to her face and glances all around it. Each individual button waves to her warm-heartedly, even the headphone jack on the rim never ceasing to make her grin. That hole was the gateway to a realm capable of realizing imagination itself. Whatever sounds could be perceived in one's mind, this magical wonder could stimulate the senses into making it a reality.
With haste toward her new activity, she peeks through the curtains to determine a fitting location.
Meanwhile, Stella continues rejecting a proposition from Ozzie. "Hey, not my kid! Bett'uh go water that flow'uh yuhself!"
Arms anxiously out in front, Ozzie flips to face her with a large breath. "I must refuse! Not after… THAT endeavour!"
"C'mon dude, wuz it that bad?"
His volume lowers. "Has it ever felt like you've sent someone running for the hills?"
No words. A cricket from some far distance chirps to give the moment any kind of atmosphere. It was an attempt at least, if not awkward. Visibly sour at his question, her lips clench while she intricately scans the guy up and down. "Sucks they don't sell glasses in Oz' size."
In a low exhale into the heavy air, he plants his hands onto her shoulders in a plea. "Stella?"
A harsh stare is thrown his way. Stella gives a surly expression, nudging her shoulder twice as an indicator.
Ozzie removes them, the rest of his body still leaning forward in place. "Stella?"
"Wut?" she finally answers without emotion.
"I NEED someone… to talk to her." He makes a shy promise: "Just this once?"
The breeze blowing across her face fails to move her in the slightest. Stella's response comes firmer than before. "Oz'... you're lookin' at da wrong should'uh to put dis on." Coming into command, her fists thump onto her hips, suddenly seeming tall in posture. "Do I look like a 'possum?"
So obvious was the answer, enough so to loop around and make Ozzie hesitant about his guess. "No?"
"Do I look like a 'possum?!" she repeats with serious intensity.
"No!" Fingers retreat to his chest to slowly fiddle together.
The hint of vulnerability, commonly detected by Stella in all those insecure enough to expose it, would never cease to scrape the skin and make way into the deepest depths of her subject. "Yuh damn right! She's in your blood. Now you take your kind. I got mine."
Ozzie rubs an arm in defeated ponderment. Point made. She herself turns away from him, only to stop and think over said point. She wasn't a cat. Duh. And judging by the aroma, Tiger definitely wasn't a skunk. Double duh. A powerful urge grips onto the front of her brain, broadcasting its message loud and clear. It sends but two words: the girl.
At last, a sigh makes her decision. "Y'know wut?!" She begins to stomp off. "I'm gonna talk tuh Heath'uh! Doin' your damn job!"
Her odd action contradicting her prior words was confusing, but the elated undertone inside Ozzie's mind was not willing to argue over it. Still, his mouth speaks: "Didn't you just say-"
In the distance, the messy stripes of her oversized tail jerk up to aim the rear at him as a warning. "Chit-chat's ov'uh, Oz'!"
Heather was passionately humming an upbeat tune with a slight bit of edge. Upon the immediate sight of her, Stella warmly grins.
She eyes the girl in her content seat back against the thick base of an elderly tree, earbuds weaving from the jack of the green CD player straight to her enjoyment. The music escapes the encapsulation of her ears just enough to make out the sharp melody. A foot makes regular taps on the damp dirt, so engaged as to match the style's emphasis on every other beat. Her muse remains reserved to the dreamy sky, even the sun shining some of the atmosphere's radiance into her eye.
Something about a hand lightly resting out to the side couldn't make her lack of company any clearer. It was far too extended to be purely subconscious.
Some voice, unheard of in its tame kindliness, softly enters the scene. Oh wait, just Stella's. She moseys into view, lacking all signs of a dominant approach. Each mind rests on a near-equal level, only growing further entwined with every bit closer. "What'cha doin', girl?"
Springy at her arrival, Heather immediately yanks out the buds. "Yo Aunt Stella, these old tunes aren't as lame as I thought! Like really, dad's days had some frickin' bangers, y'know!? Ever hear Aerosmith?"
"Ye-ah, heh heh-" Stella slightly shakes her head. "I dunno who dat is."
"So like, how's it goin' with Tiger or whatever?"
She answers in a routine fashion: "Just bringin' out the bacon tonight. Feelin' 'bout dat time again."
A new consideration emerges in Heather's face. With no cat accompanying the skunk, the anomalous occurrence brings her to look every which way. "Wait, where's that guy even at?"
"Eh, beats me. Guy's been takin' sum little strolls down yonder lately." Using air quotes, Stella shakes her head and jokingly rolls her eyes. "Says he's tryin' tuh 'keep fit' or somethin'." A huff comes out of her in amusement. "Not like he don't get dat every day with wut da 'coon puts us through."
Heather goes a bit blank with thought. Stella paces right up to her.
A rough noogie from her knuckles squishes the child down in discomfort, but lacking the will needed to lash back. "So, how'd yuh get so tall, Heath'uh?" Stella smiles. "C'mon, on yuh feet!"
The flush felt in her cheeks does all the groaning and instinctive eye-rolling for her. "Stooop, now you're soundin' like a real aunt."
She makes an apathetic effort to get up nonetheless. Even with a slouch, Heather was still considerably taller than her now. It forces her to look up to one she could easily keep eye contact with prior. Even just a small bit of growth was enough to morph her into a whole new being.
"Pretty much wut I am," prideful Stella affirms. "You're lucky, y'know."
Lucky? How could they not be? It was an obvious fact to point out. "Well duhhh, we've got RJ," she chuckles before ejecting the CD from the device and snatching it up. "That guy knows how to score some SICK tracks. Check this out!"
She spins the CD on her finger before pinching it to show. With no label of its own, handwriting in pink marker on the blank gray side reads:
'Love in an Elevator
:)'
The smiley face stares her down just as much as she was staring back. "Sounds upliftin' 'n all, but I ain't talkin 'bout da 'coon."
"Oh." She shrugs, "I am."
"Girl, wut I'm sayin' is… yuh got a whooole life 'head o' yuh. And ain't NOBODY gonna give yuh an aunt like me to follow along. Not everyone gets more than a couple o' parents."
A cloud obscures the sunlight overhead, dimming the world down to merge all shadows into one large mesh. Heather's tilted head has one half squint up tightly, though not showing any sign of discomfort.
But the innocent opposition of her look still retracts Stella's words, tone falling back to one of more sympathy. "Guess not all folks get more than 1, huh?"
Brushing off the nonchalant topic, she takes a casual examination of herself, back leant on the bark of the tree. "Could be worse. RJ's got 0."
RJ. RJ, RJ, RJ. RJ this; RJ that. Speaking the guy's name so much it might as well be part of some chanted ritual. She smirks at it. "So wut's RJ doin'?"
Heather plops back down to slump back in her judgement, her body insisting on remaining secluded with no motivation to bounce up at the rays brought by the shining atmosphere. "Eh, guess he's too 'busy'."
RJ was far off, speaking some peppy words of reassurance to a somewhat-peeved Lou and Penny. As he spins the joybuzzer on the tip of finger without any concern for the matter, one kid comes hurling down on the nose of a paper airplane in the background, the impact sending him flying away to the heavens.
"And the squirrel?" Stella now interrogates.
"Eh, even 'busier'."
"Your turn, Verne!" Hammy announces from afar.
Hammy and Verne were playing Candyland next to the Log. Verne draws a card with a single green square perfectly matching his skin and moves his assigned gingerbread piece.
Hammy points a little finger at another player piece unused off to the side. "Are you gonna eat that?"
One painful space at a time, Verne's tiny gingerbread man was still stomping down on each tile of the colorful candy path. "Go nuts."
Hammy gasps. "That's a great idea, Verne! We should play Go Fish!"
Well that was an entire day made. Heather's prolonged idleness now makes Stella even somewhat acerbic about it. "So, whatcha got on the schedule tomorrow?"
Welcome back, Cricket.
The wheels zoom and rumble over each crevice in the sidewalk. An engine buzzes from within the red hot Lamborghini, lush and ferocious with its flaming decals. It races down the track at blazing speed, the back exhaust roaring every second!
RJ and Heather were both crammed into the seats of the open-top remote-control car. Its oversized design was just tolerable enough to squeeze their legs uncomfortably into place with bent knees. Hammy was settled buoyantly on the back, facing the artificial scenery trudging by while kicking his legs.
Keeping a stern, hunched stance, RJ guides the car with a black, 2-levered remote, the forward/backward lever thrusted all the way up in his grip. Another bump on the concrete is trodden over at a lumbering pace. The wimpy, constant hum of the inner mechanisms starts to die out.
Stop. Heather thrusts a foot up into the front window to motivate the depressed battery back into motion.
As a vivid house is passed under the clear sky, Hammy gets a glimpse of the Hedge behind the backyards of the other homes on the street. Something was signaling his immediate attention from beyond, causing him to quietly gasp at the opportunity. Quick thinking for the perfect solution lights up his countenance. He timidly bends to face those in the front seats, barely able to contain the clever look Hammy Jr. in his brain was showing him.
"I thiiink I'm hearing the wee-wee call…" Hammy announces with uncertainty.
RJ slams on the brakes at once by thrusting the stick downward. It was honestly a shock that the lever didn't snap off right then and there. So like the parents lucky enough to be the escorts of a road trip, he huffs with Heather in unison. Heather smashes her forehead against the rim of the front window as RJ throws his head up.
"Oh my god, this is why I asked before we LEFT!" RJ fumes.
"The wee-wee wasn't answering the phone!"
Heather sees the Hedge just on the side behind the 2 houses they had stopped between. Glancing between the Hedge, Hammy, and RJ brings out traces of a plan on her face just the same. She nudges RJ to insist, "Yo dude, let's just drop 'em off, y'know? The Hedge's RIGHT there."
RJ stares at the Hedge himself and ponders. Hammy presents him with an urgent grin. Heather's reaction is just the same, to his confusion. Both intriguingly supportive of the idea with motives beyond his understanding.
"I don't see why not."
Hammy was already far gone from the car by the end of his sentence. Frisking away to the Hedge and entirely unrushed in his stroll, he sings, "Okay, here I go! La-de-da-de-doooo!"
RJ glances at Heather and shrugs at the newfound lonesome, continuing to cruise along. At their exit, Hammy is instantly through the portal.
From the flipside, Hammy snickers with pride in himself as he looks back at the Hedge. Just a few feet away, an Innuendo DS was sitting idle just where he had left it. He beams with giddy joy, running straight for it. "Those bees won't touch me this time," he speaks to himself with the itty console switching on in his hands, stealthy in his tone.
Heather leans her entire body up to rest her head on her crossed arms atop the window, embracing the brilliant backdrop as the paradise of a daydream. The vibrant glow of the sun's rays on the corners of a house's simple white gutter gleam back into her wholesome pupils.
RJ kicks both legs up onto the window. Just next to him, he now finds Heather's tail erected and curved up high above her back like a dog's to wave to the pleasant clouds smiling her way. It sways left and right from base to tip in a constant beat, limpid and carefree as the calmest sea. Hip bumping against him in regular intervals, it conquers his face to obligate a smile.
Heather's head bobs along to the catchy rhythm of the dynamic setting, elbows squishing her cheeks with every bounce. Each nostalgic flower in a yard morphed into a modern marvel with just a glance farther. Simple to simply breathtaking. The life-giving melody embedded in the spinning Earth, its notes forever on-key, was playing another track on the eternal radio - she alone could adore its gift so blissfully with a sweet, toothy smile.
A preset, childish ringtone on the walkie-talkie in his bag forces RJ's attention onto the thing. "Yeah?" The loud voice of RJ into it halts Heather's tail to lock her in place.
Verne speaks some unclear mumbling, distorted by the bumps of the path interrupting the speaker. Meanwhile, Heather maintains a strict focus on him out of the corner of her eye. His finger stays smoothly in place on the tip of the lever, steering the magical ride that would leave any unacquainted animal speechless. It takes all her will to even attempt to replace the raccoon's figure with that of another. Nothing comes of it.
Lowering the device, RJ grins. "Guess what Verne's votin' tonight?"
"Takeout," both say in cool approval.
Now in a narrow alley between the houses of 2 streets, RJ shares the map of restaurants in the area with her. "So, got any picks-?"
Her decision was already settled before he had even started. Without any hesitation, she was practically bouncing up and down at the possibilities. Yet only one could be so consistently appealing. "Yo, we GOTTA get Arnie's."
"Really? AGAIN?!" he snaps back. "It's the 3rd time this week!"
"Yea-uh, and the week's almost over!" comes her complaint. "How else you plan on hittin' a high note?"
RJ steps back. "Lemme guess, lemme guess." The best imitation he could bring forth comes to take her order, crossing his eyes like an absolute dork and making a pitiful effort to raise his pitch. "'Oh hiiiii, welcome to Arnie's. What's it gonna be ma'am, another fish sandwich?'"
Simplification like that was simply insulting! "Dude! You're not gettin' down with the gift of Arnie's Crispy Fish Combo King! It's not just some dumb FiSh sandwich."
He insists, "It's a dumb fish sandwich."
Suddenly, just one human boy walks by the small alley, wearing some drab, ragged attire and a full-on hoodie pulled up to hide his anxiety-ridden self. In the warmth of a sunny afternoon. And what was he holding in his puny grasp? You guessed it, a fish sandwich.
"It's a dumb fish sandwich…" Heather gasps.
"Close," RJ obliviously corrects her obliviousness, taking in the whiff of overused deodorant as a surefire indicator. "THAT's a human teen."
She grabs his head to jerk it higher. "No! The dumbest, bestest-est fish sandwich there is…"
RJ watches her pitter-patter with arms reaching out to grab the item of interest like it was right in front of her. "Oh yeah. Fish sandwich. Mouthwatering," he pretends to agree.
"Dude, it so is," she whispers with a survey of its irresistible texture. "Crispy; tender; and it's got, like, just the riiight bit of edge…"
An entire gang of teen boys follows through their sights. Some with sunglasses, some earbuds, hell, some with both, but there was a common trait among them: pure, angsty energy. One distinctly tall with a dirtied backwards-facing cap immediately points out the animals and announces in a voice reminiscent of that of a surfer's, "Yoooo, check it out! It's a gnaaarly raccoon and some muuutant rat."
Painful, painful reflections of her own nature back Heather up. "Hey, hold the edge, HOLD the edge!"
"O-kay, back in the car!" RJ decides in haste. The roof edges were no longer the only obstacles casting formidable shadows over their being.
They leap back into the cramped seats, RJ beginning the soothing process of slamming the lever up repeatedly with a finger to get the car accelerating. Watching in a panic, the boys run amongst themselves like a flock of geese towards them, throwing out some excited ramblings. Despite RJ's friendly hammering on the lever, the car continues at a snail's pace.
The surfer-slob prances forward with the rest of the crowd in excitement - the feeling of invigoration that could spread between hunting tribesmen like a wildfire in the blink of an eye. "C'mon, duuudes!"
The footsteps come ever closer as they drive through the grassy alley, eyes frozen wide straight forward. RJ, for one, refuses to glance back at the lame gray shoes and insecure blue jeans trampling toward them. "God, this place REEKS of angsty, hormone-y teens!"
That's enough to break Heather's trance to stare his way.
RJ does not look, though lowers his face in response. "You still ain't got half the angsty-ness."
"I'm workin' on that part," she frowns.
Another teen steps out menacingly at the end of the path to block them with a dorky laugh, legs wide.
"Agh!" RJ yells in their startlement before glancing at the remote. "They leave me no choice…"
A tiny sticky note had been covering the bottom of the front side all this time. RJ rips it off urgently to reveal an intriguing red button labelled "MAXIMUM OVERDRIVE". Without hesitation, he slams a hand onto the button and revs the car up to the max, energizing what was a painful lack of movement. The lackadaisical motor within the car and its deep pitch heightens to a roar as the wheels rotate rapidly in place. The car takes lift-off right away.
Between the legs of the human it zooms, jolting him into improvised action. Just at that moment, his arms had been reached down to grab at them. In slow-mo, Heather does limbo to dart her upper body back and avoid the instinctive attack.
They reach the sidewalk with the teens on their tails. Heather can't build up the motive to take another look. Thankfully, the sunlight coming over the nearby roof sends the horde's sensitive eyes back into the darkness. "Woooaaah man, turn the lights out, yo!"
The car picking up some serious momentum, the cracks of the sidewalk bring a comforting feeling. Each house passes by in a blur. Yet one yard coming up on the left alerts all senses. 2 kids playing a vigorous game of soccer (considerately choosing the exposure of the open suburbs, of course) volley the ball back and forth between them. It only takes one stray kick to send it propelling at RJ, jerking his entire body and bringing the car up onto only the left wheels, nearly shoving Heather out in the process.
The tip of Heather's nose comes dangerously close to scraping away on the hard pavement. "Dude-!"
But she isn't the only one being left missed by an inch. The flying ball whizzes by the very end of RJ's muzzle, forcing an "AH!" out of him.
A slim woman ahead, holding a newspaper in one hand, flips her phone shut in the other at the growing whirr coming from behind. In a formal gray suit she turns around, boasting no identity more than a silver pen tucked into the breast pocket with its curvy clip. Silently, she stares them down with the rigid corners of her mouth stiffening.
The pitch-black shades reflecting RJ's image hurls him back into action, thrusting the vehicle onto 4s and the remote control held tenser in his hands than ever. Time for options.
They're addressed by the woman being sped towards, newspaper defensively in hand. Heather points a little ways off of the sidewalk to an upcoming 'SIDEWALK CLOSED' sign angled up diagonally on its stand. Not too steep as to be impossible to utilize; just flat enough to transform the bright diamond into a route of their need. "Right turn, taxi man!"
RJ confronts the orange metal sign, its surface sure to be heated by the afternoon sun. He promptly extends an elbow to her. "Hold onto yer butts!"
Lever tilted to the right. Heather links her arm into his pronto just as the car hits the slope of the sign. The contact of the front wheels against the corner ushers her highest responsiveness immediately.
The woman watches as they fly up to meet her at eye level, bodies flailing back with a tight hold of the front window. She slowly brings an eyebrow up once the opossum shares a gaze with her in the split-second moment.
The adrenaline pumps in her veins. Heather's countenance of distress morphs into exuberance as the invigorating air blows throughout her fur. Meanwhile, the human is in pure awe. The dumbstruck creature, the rooftops at the summit of each villa of a house, and the rich personality of all encapsulate the scene. It was all so alive; so animated. And with an eye-to-eye engagement with the human, an equally fluid wink is relayed from Heather before the car smacks down with a jerk.
The woman observes them pass with unusual curiosity before storming back up to her colorless abode in an apparent hurry, despite nothing in her expression suggesting such a rush. She slides a peculiar card into a mechanical slot in the gate of the black aluminum fence surrounding the land. As she does, an absolute overkill of locks bordering the gate all click open 1-by-1 and allow access into the plain front yard.
There stands the dullest-looking structure to be seen in the realm. Grim windowsills, formally elegant in their design. Only a single flower could be spotted in the landscape - one of a low blue shade in a lonely pot under the protection of the porch. Gray paint spotlessly covered the walls in immaculate quality. It all made the neat blonde hair stretching down to her shoulders the most colorful sight in the setting.
RJ and Heather resume positions with loud huffs of ease. The sidewalk is torn up ahead, blocking off their half of the road with cones and equipment. Trees between the sidewalks and road shade the area, all leading up to the Hedge as the target at the end of the road.
"Roadblock inbound!" RJ broadcasts.
"RJ…" comes Heather in urgency. "What the hell's the plan...?!"
The right side of the road was still as right as ever, being free for them to traverse. "Juuust some road work. Every roadblock's got its weak point," he reassures. "And when we got some road to juke the roadblock on the road… we hit the road!"
Then comes the slam! The stick is pushed to the very right, creating an identically jolting movement that throws their upper bodies to the side. RJ swerves to the right onto the road, launching the car off the bump and landing on the pavement with a crash.
It takes Heather a good second to regain herself from the brief impact as the road is crossed. "Oh, sick. That's, like, WAY safer than I thought it'd-"
A car horn is sounded from the side. A real one. Both yelp at the behemoth of a convertible, making the plastic imitation look like a pipsqueak. The wheel strikes right into the side of the toy car's front and sends them spinning viciously down past the road work. After whirling around in a frenzy, RJ regains control of the wheel. Just as it gets back on course, not enough time is given to react to the curb on the other side of the street that they now collide with head-on. They scream as the collision flings them out of the seats forward at dangerous velocity.
Their bodies scrape against the differently textured concrete surface they had now landed on side-by-side stomach-down, rather rocky for its kind. The driveway was slanted up to make a path to the side of the house just up against the Hedge, with something special there to greet them… A trash can. It's just a trash can. But was it just a trash can? A brilliant sparkle comes from the lid to enlarge the pupils of the two, just begging to know what could be wasted inside, tossed out without ANY purpose.
They stare at the trash can. But the Hedge was just on the left. But the trash can. But the Hedge. Trash can… The sunlight gleaming off the silver surface makes up their minds. The Hedge was dull; the human object was bright. The square piece fits into the square hole - simple as that. In clumsy butt-raised positions, their eyes attract.
The top of the can comes timbering down onto the surface, spraying out trash in all directions as loud as can be, as if advertising their antics to the world. From above, Heather comes raining down into the heap of plastic, knocking objects all about.
Backflipping gracefully from the top of the diving board, RJ comes down after her. "Woo!"
Both emerge seconds later, mouths full of scraps carelessly left behind by the owners.
RJ pops out the last bit of a chocolate bar from its wrapper in his position laid-back on a mound of garbage.
Heather flops her head onto the ground in front of the remains of a hamburger. Gaping her mouth open, unexplainable telekinetic abilities allow her to slide the thing layer-by-layer to inhale every ingredient like a vacuum.
They collide head-first into the open lid of a jumbo container of Ultra Mega Cheese Balls, only two left waiting for them at the very bottom. Tops of their heads stuck against one another, the desperate struggle to thrash arms about at the cheesy goodness strains every muscle inside and leaves none eaten after all.
Time passes. Binging does not. RJ, playing the bartender, passes a half-empty plastic Bepis bottle across the ground, rumbling on each tiny pebble yet maintaining a jarringly smooth trajectory. Sliding in comes the thirsty customer to snag it into a hug of delight. "Ha-hah!"
It takes not a minute to set up a piece of a wire mesh with square holes like a tennis net suspended into the air. Wrapped around the tall wire stakes of a yard sign, the contraption was jammed into the crevice between 2 of the large concrete tiles making up the patio. An entire unscathed potato, apparently tossed out for no real reason, is hurled by Heather into the metal screen. In the blink of an eye, it's cartoonishly cut into french fries shaped to perfection out the opposite. RJ awaits the swarm open-mouthed with a bent knee and glorious arms wide to receive the divine offering sent to him by the gods of erratic physics.
Together, they take a large bag of gummy bears, a hole torn out right in the center, and release the load into the sky to rain down in celebration, cheering all the while.
RJ's unbelievably-fattened stomach is now the first sight to come into view. From the perch of his lavish garbage throne (forged out of a million scraps), he rests easy while spectating the kingdom below. Thumping a fist on a scavenged pie tin, he orders, "BRING me the Wacky Whip, maiden!"
Heather steps away from her own antics to present him the can with the bent stance of a knight. Staring at his inflated belly takes her aback. "Okay, I think I've totally seen somethin' like THIS before. The deja vu's, like, sooo hittin' home right about now."
RJ snatches it. "Trust me: if you think, you have."
Heather bounds away. Steps are taken flawlessly - RJ jets out whipped cream in a fancy spiral into his open mouth, drizzles it with hot fudge, and precisely sets a dull cherry on top to finalize the masterpiece. By the time he gobbles it up, the phone rings once again.
He listens to Verne's words. "Mmm-hmm. Uh-huh. Oh yeahhh, we got-" RJ pauses to burp. "-food alright."
Verne sounds like a broken record in his reminder. "I was REALLY banking on you guys helping make UP for yesterday. Not, I dunno, making out with a receptacle?" He groans deeply, "Dooon't tell me you two've seriously been dumpster diving for the past half HOUR."
"Noooooo!" RJ instantly rejects. "Maybe. Yes." He holds up the tattered bag of gummy bears. If only Verne could actually see them. "Want some gummies?"
Audible grunting through Verne's teeth makes it out of the speaker. "Just… forget the gummies. Leave whatever… vacation spot you're making outta that place."
"Aw c'mon VeRnE, I could soak up some rays here all day!"
The chase is cut. Cut to. Just… narration is hard. Go with it. "We both know this isn't about you, RJ."
RJ looks to Heather, making an angel with her body in the junk.
"Ah."
A careless toss sends the walkie-talkie behind him into nothingness.
Heather now frolics around the paradise. "Ya got me dude," she jokes. "Like, screw the dang Arnie's. I've got allll the meats right here."
It takes much unwanted effort to get back on RJ's feet and shake off the fatigue. "Shh," he suddenly breaks in to silence her. "Hey, ya hear that?"
Leaning up from her business below, she's left unaware of the supposed noise with an entire hotdog shoved between her front teeth like eating the prey whole. "Hear wha now?"
But he was already headed off to the Hedge with a hand to his ear. "Listen, I think I'm pickin' up the narrative signal!" He makes sure Heather has no time to reach, as he had already made his exit. "The plot's callin', 'possum pal!"
Leaving his company so suddenly exposes her to the true awkwardness of the scene she had been left in. "Wha- Wait!" Spitting out the wiener is an effort too late to make any difference. All she could do in the vacancy of the pillaged receptacle was set hand on her forehead. "Oh my god… Thaaat's gonna be another stupid bit, isn't it…"
No reason to linger in the seclusion. The leaves rattle with her leap to the flipside. But just at her leave, the unmistakable clamor of heavy equipment rumbles the pebbles on the concrete from far away.
The bag of gummies plops at Verne's feet. A continuous stream of gatherings from their little adventure is shaken out of RJ's bag, the turtle watching sternly. Both simply remain dead silent, as no words were necessary to acknowledge the fact that a majority of the items RJ had been dumping out were empty wrappers and containers, marks left from some 'light' binging still intact.
"They're half empty," comes Verne to bluntly spark up the inevitable talking-to needed.
Light still shines bright over RJ in the awkward predicament, or at least, attempted to. "I like to consider it 'half-full'."
There was only so much words could do. Verne only keeps his eyebrows lowered.
RJ sighs, "Well, gotta respect me for bein' committed to my choice."
"That's how you start a war, RJ."
"Hey, I never said I commit to the right ones."
"That's how you lose a war, RJ."
What's last to fall? A blue box of Twinkies, of course.
Verne finally comes to share the meat of the discussion. "So where're you planning on putting all this?"
"Eh, just throw 'em with the others."
Up against the Log, an entire mountain of identical Twinkie boxes was just waiting to avalanche down. A box at the top slowly tumbles down the stack and rests on the soil.
Somehow, a huff of amusement slips out in a mix with Verne's speech. "I think we've hit the peak of that mountain. How about we…" he starts his suggestion. "...find ourselves a new place for this stuff?"
Elbow against the golf bag, RJ was too occupied twiddling with his fingers to mind the idea. "Oh yeah? Talk to me."
"That ol' cave's still empty, I presume?"
Some low drum sounds to put RJ's worryless face into blank distress; all idle fidgeting comes to a stiff standstill. One image in the corner of his mind was all it took to scream caution into his lowering grin. He jumps up, hurrying closer to Verne. "WOAAAHHH woah woah! That cave?"
Verne raises an eyebrow. "THE cave."
Tugging on his shell after pitter-pattering behind him only incites a fierce reaction from Verne. "I think that shell's on just a liiitle too tight," RJ says. He can't help but laugh breathlessly while making his dramatic, jittery gestures. "Besiiides, who'd wanna leave our pristine vault in that smelly ol' cave, right? Right?..."
Verne just stares with arms crossed, unmoved by the persuading words. Too bad Cricket was on break having an outing back in town, courtesy of that fish sandwich the emo kid dropped during the latest ordeal.
RJ's arms flop down. "I suppose I don't need an answer, do I?"
"RJ, I say it all the time." Panning back to the site illustrates the bustling city. "We've got everything. And SOMETIMES, that's not always convenient!" His tone grows in sincerity. "RJ, you've built us a kingdom here. But you gotta help us take care of it."
Heather frolics by the area just indicated. Strides shortening to a tiptoe once she comes across, she makes an effort to not disturb the pleasant tranquility of the obnoxious chitter-chatter between 2 flightless birds. Some more lines are squawked back and forth. The involuntary temptation of her cutely-eager foot to shimmy off the trail forces her leg back firm at her side. Only one last glance is taken before her own matters resume focus.
"You call this private!? It's like we're on reality TV!" Verne laughs at whatever remark RJ had just made. Hushing himself to a whisper, his head darts in all directions. "We've got to stay hidden. Isolated. But we've got humans watching all around us-" One glimpse in particular has him flinging a hand out above the Hedge to shout: "Okay, and THAT one's not even subtle, mister!"
Dwayne was atop the roof of a house closest to the Hedge, spying on the pair of animals through high-tech binoculars. A close watch of their motion enkindles the crackling of a dastardly chuckle. "Slick as a snake, Vermie."
Any next course of action couldn't be improvident. Verne would make sure of that. He displays the true nature of the city - including all the piles of food and empty containers spread about. "Look, there's only so much we can THROW around here."
"We do have a fridge."
"We do?"
RJ holds his arms out to the side to present the supposed attraction. "Mmm-hmm. We got everything."
Magically, an entire white, spotless refrigerator was standing tall next to RJ.
"Okay, where the he-"
RJ didn't wanna talk about it. It had only been a minute since the executive order had been enacted, and he was already trudging on his way. Hammy was lying forward atop the soil, the mini console keeping him engaged with all the satisfying bleeps, bloops, and dings it could muster in its overuse. Little did it know that nothing could be enough to please the user indefinitely.
With a sulky sigh, RJ plucks him up by the tail to drag him along, forcing frequent stomps to keep balance in his slouch. "I'm nominating you, Hammy."
The sudden yank sets the DS free from Hammy's grasp. In the loss of his prized possession, desperate grabs from his extended arms were the best he could manage, torso sliding through the dirt. "WAIT, I need to give Linda a froggy chair!" He starts to plead just before being hauled out of view: "It's her… BIRTHDAY-!"
He's yanked out of sight, the DS left to tease him with its dormancy.
Somewhere beyond, parents call kids home all down the street. The sky was starting to dim - its bright hue no longer beamed onto the tiled rooftops. Cars screech into place; the busy bees return to the hive, only to repeat the same old cycle next daybreak. Doors shut. Back lights click on. And the animals were nowhere near a break of the same. While the clock was on repeat, it would present them with a unique chime every hour.
Stella makes a slick knocking pattern against the wooden pole she was leaning against of a tall opaque fence stretching high over the perimeter of the yard inside. At the signal, a large bag of Feline Feast cat food plops at Stella's side from above. Out comes Tiger squeezing under the troubling gap at the bottom of the fence, managing his head but getting the bulk of his torso trapped between both sides.
Stella rushes over, only for Tiger to valiantly extend a paw to halt her. He strains to pop the rest of his body out, but manages nonetheless. A proud look comes over her as Tiger's back reemerges, slickly slipping out the familiar broad structure of his body but lacking a noticeable bit of the chubbiness that had held him back from such capabilities oh so long ago. Anyone would think he'd be living in his 20s with such mobility.
"And to THINK they'd be careless enough to leave it right in the open air…" Tiger scolds.
Stella points to the fence with praise. "And tuh think you'd be able tuh pull one like that."
With grace, he sweeps her in to brush up the ragged white hair now grown out freely in all directions, even back over her eyes. It uncovers the real beauty underneath even a skunk's messy fur. The feral appearance no longer needed to hide Stella with, sarcastically fancy tone here, 'Stella'. "And to think you'd return to who you truly are inside…"
Warmly placing a hand on the back of his head, Stella says, "Once a street cat, always a street cat."
They come close. Closer. Everything fits right into place as usual for one heck of a scene. But once a can of Cheese-o-Rama spray cheese stumbles out of a drawstring bag they had used as a sack for just a few findings, focus becomes the main focus.
Any romantic tension building is abruptly ended by Stella's voice: "Oh. Ye'uh."
It takes some of a couple's lollygagging before they ruffle through the Hedge, the sack being mounted atop Tiger. Another clank after the exit, seemingly from miles away, pierces through the skyline.
Right as Tiger drops the bag down beside a small pile of other food items back at the site, Heather digs into it on cue and claims a delightful pack of peanut butter crackers.
Facing her, only Ozzie could produce a tone suggesting a formal declaration of 'that was goddamn stupid'. "Heather, I'm sorry."
"Dad, c'mon, it wasn't THAT bad." She starts reciting with rolled eyes: "You're sorry, I'm sorry… yeah. That's it."
Both opossums stand still in each other's company, one hand on an arm. Ozzie clears his throat.
"Yeah," Heather repeats.
They continue, refusing to make eye contact. Finally, Ozzie breaks with enthusiasm. "Would you like to just settle for a game?"
The offer puts the pep back in her step. "Nooow we're talkin'. Then I gotta go chill with RJ."
Ozzie's smile lowers a bit into something more bittersweet at the loyalties issued by the influences over his creation. He points out, "Why, he's… out to the cave with Hammy."
Crunchy peanut butter cracker engulfed, Heather shrugs wide with a hip to the side. Too much effort was put into the 'engulfing' part to prevent crumbs from sprinkling out her mouth while she speaks. "Duhhh, he'll be back by the time I win. We're chillin' fancy tonight!"
By this time, the sun had been drawing near to the line of the horizon some ways across the suburbs. Its orange glow had just seen its first signs of life. A beacon emerging in ferocity over the Hedge, radiating the future's own judgement.
And in a distant location, the sun had met at the tips of the far trees just the same. RJ takes a deep breath and places a strong foot back with the rod angled upward toward the cliff of the old cave.
"Just like ol' times…" he reassures himself in a low whisper. "Y'know, hurling a fishing line up a cliff, snaggin' some Spuddies from the bear…"
He takes a step back to hurl it up and hook it onto the sturdy root lodged into the edge. Hammy watches him lift himself away higher and higher up the steep height.
Pulling himself up, RJ surveys the mouth of the cave. Overgrowth edges the gaping arch. Some bushes on the sides, grown in its vacancy, stretch their twisted branches out to take a grab at the unlikely visitor. The yellow warning signs on the right, decayed with rust, moan 'beware's. A single, wicked tree rests in its dormancy atop the roof, patches of bark left to rot away by critters of the smallest stature.
What murky envisionings creeped about to beleaguer the intruder? Darkness within couldn't answer, nor speak their history. Only the light of curiosity could carry the torch to bid away the ambiguity.
RJ takes a deep breath before placing a foot inside, facing a whiff of the damp odor. Messy cobwebs line the corners of the roof in random increments. A click of a flashlight reveals all the dust floating about the vicinity. Nothing more than the grim, jagged walls marked the path deeper in. Another wall in the back ended the span of the light - the center had been completely emptied. Low rumbling from the deepest depths fills both ears to the extent of drowning out all but the moans of the boulders with each pace.
The barren walls are scanned. His face grows timid, lips tensing up and the corners of his mouth stretching in opposite vertical directions. Bringing his left arm up, he hesitantly places his fingers against the left side of his neck and runs them through the fur as if scratching the skin hidden underneath. A different texture of the surface, ever so unmistakable in its feel relative to the perimeter. The smooth feel sends sharp thoughts through his mind, just barely distinctive enough to serve as a grave reminder.
A spider crawls right past his feet. Of course such pests would take a liking to this abandoned place. But abandoned it was not. It would never be. The man in the mirror would relentlessly stare him down from the end of the main chamber, tireless eyes still tracking even when not in direct sight. But RJ was here now, and not just for a scouting trip. The reflection of the fingerprinted rocks gaze at him in exposure, yet indifferent to the circumstances.
RJ stomps a foot down into the center of the cave. It was as if a pedestal had been activated. All around, the scene drowns out to imprison him in the radius of the circle. Now clear from his position, the flashlight illuminates the massive paw print of a beast implanted on the back wall. His breaths become heavier. An image blips into his mind - unseen by even his own self. Its aftermath, however, lingered as a scar nonetheless.
His head zips to the right, unable to remain under the influence of a surface so homely in its yore - turned to a shameless stab right in his chest for himself to watch with no subtlety.
Another being emerges from within. RJ speaks to RJ, yet the tone of the sender is slightly off-beat. "Cave's empty, man." RJ darts in all directions to view the enclosing walls, fearful doubt in his dreary jaws pressing his teeth close. "But ya don't really believe that… do you?"
Quietly tapping, a stuttering melody is played from the floor behind him, shivering him into immobility.
"The breadcrumbs are set, y'know."
RJ turns around with great hesitation.
"All ya gotta do is follow 'em."
There the small pile of pebbles now lies on the opposite wall. RJ breathes a sigh of relief and slowly approaches it with timidity abnormal in his typical movements. As he drifts over, a tall, dark brown shape uncovers more of its size. The mass of a monster; the texture of a dormant object.
And dormant it was. It was an entire, cracked wooden door leaning up against the wall. The hinges served no purpose - 'twas merely a barricade for whatever it shielded. Ripped clean off from whatever home it had originated from. RJ stares and scales the thing up with the light. Large, deep claw marks in the wood tear their way into his eyes; he could practically feel a razor-sharp tickle running up his back.
The doorknob marked the halfway point, its golden paint peeled and picked off to dull it down into gloomy neglect. Squinching up with determination, RJ shoots a glance at all 4 corners before returning to the knob. He slips a finger into the loop of a white string sticking out of his bag and slings out a slick, black yo-yo with an orange outline. In the center was a large, neon-blue circle on both sides with disabled lights installed inside.
Raising an eyebrow, the object is swung around in his other hand before being released to wrap around the doorknob several times in a flash. RJ leans a leg back before yanking back on the string with swift force. The door is roughly torn out of place and tilts enough to reveal the pathway hidden behind. Toppling into the narrow tunnel ahead, endless dust is swept airborne with a horrid bang.
Floating away into RJ's waiting arms, the ancient air brings a sudden cough about him. But the 'ancient' part of it couldn't do anything but comfort his soul. His shoulders loosen from vigilant posts.
Yet his legs don't dare act. The flashlight banishes the filthy cloud, giving way to a stretch of obscured unknown. Not even the light of the heavens could pierce its way through an abyss as deep as such. Just as a foot finally declares investigation as the course of action, some alarming voice might as well have given RJ a heart attack. And it nearly succeeds.
"Uncle RJ?" Hammy loudly echoes from the mouth of the cave.
RJ lets out a gruesome scream at his entrance, jolting his karate hands out and a leg up in defense.
"Can I borrow quarters?" Hammy calmly resumes, unfazed by the violent reaction. There was no scream at all.
Frozen in place, RJ spews out: "How'dyougetuphere?"
Up and down Hammy bounces, wiggling an itty finger off to the side. "Oh! I just went through that spoOoOoky tunnel at the bottom and then up the staircase!"
RJ's eyebrows lower. "The what 'n the what now?"
To the right of the opening outside, Hammy skips down a set of large, flat rocks spiraling down the side of the mountain. He giddily embraces the 3 quarters against his chest. "Oh nacho cheee-ese," Hammy calls. "Here comes HAMMY! I'm gonna bury 'em behind the girls' restroom."
He wasn't stupid. RJ steps out to watch from the top, scratching his head all the while. "I am stupid."
Returning to the tunnel, RJ clicks on the light once again. He moseys down the ruined path until reaching a small gap on the left, hidden amongst the surroundings. The walls were tightly compact so as to make its presence undetectable to any unsuspecting animal. RJ walks up to it without fault.
A small pole, propped up against the walls against the ceiling of the entrance, was draping down a dark gray shade. RJ scans all directions as he pushes it away, entering some secret hideout.
Once inside, he clicks the button on a camping lamp set in the corner. Through the thin fibers of the cobwebs covering it, the back room is illuminated. Before RJ towers an entire leisurely stash of human objects and ornaments, all lined up ordered in size - ending with a ripped couch and full TV carrying a satellite dish in the very back. 40% capacity. Not the roomiest, but it'll do.
Body slackening in a cozy manner, he takes no time to analyze any of the individual relics, maintaining focus solely on the objective. They all stare at him blankly, a peep coming from none. "Lucky day, Verne. We could cram some stock in 'ere…"
An ignorant pace of inspection kicks his foot into a thin brown rope tied into a lasso on the floor, catching it and tugging the rest of the rope's hidden length forward. Concealed on the dim roof, the abrupt force drops the other end, tied to a weighty metal dumbbell, down from a pulley to strike the surface with enough strength to quake the entire cave. Rebounding off the enclosed walls is the piercing clank signaling the capture of some unfortunate soul.
RJ is that unfortunate soul. He's left hanging (quite literally) upside-down by his ankle, arms inertly dangling to satisfy gravity. He growls. "Hammy!"
The walls relay the message:
"Hammy!"
"Hammy!"
"Hammy…"
Outside, Hammy hums in the gorgeous, merry sunset as he pats the dirt on top of his chosen spot against the wall on the back of the small tiled building. As some incomprehensible noise leaves the cave, he wiggles a finger in his ear and mutters some aimless lyrics to accompany the bubbly tune.
RJ huffs.
Huff.
Huff.
Huff...
Berating the trap doesn't change the fact that it couldn't even recognize its own absurdity. "Since when'd you show up?!"
The last spot in the cave with any sign of valuables. Its dusty neglect certainly meant it was guarded with no keeper. He recalls the entrance. The main chamber had been looted once… and never saw any use again. Seems this room refused to fall to the same fate.
"Awesome sauce."
Just then, gravity remembers one other thing. The head of RJ's golf club slides down his back, bringing a panic onto him. It slithers away, brushing over the dark line running up the center of his back side. The second the club falls out, his entire unfathomable vault is vomited and bounces about in random directions below. The last object to leave is a single Twinkie in absolute prime condition, teasing him by landing in optimal trajectory on its fluffy exterior without fault.
He grinds his teeth together in a desperate plea. "Nooooo!" Right under his hands it enjoys the simple scene; his stretched arms are in a wild spasm. "Just… get it! GET IT!"
RJ's sheer resolve, unattentive to any of his other belongings cluttered here and there, slips his foot out of the rope and sends him toppling to indulge in the Twinkie with his forehead rather than his mouth.
Hammy's paw presses into the dry dirt, every occasional passing car quaking their side of the road now opposite the mountain. It's immediately followed by RJ's. RJ was still slouched and occupied sweeping up Twinkie cream off his forehead with a finger, relayed into his mouth.
"Y'know one time, I buried a quarter," Hammy retells, prancing all about. "And then the next day, the quarter was GONE!" Now in a whisper, his very last wish was to be overheard. "Do you know what it was?"
Consecutively, Hammy and RJ speak in turn:
"The wooorm people."
"A metal detector."
That challenges Hammy's assumptions. An interesting update on the investigation to be sure. "Wait, the worm people have metal detectors?"
"Oh yeah, invented 'em!" Hand on his heart, the other is held out to present the slumbering woods on the left. "Now tell me, you think the humans would ever need to disturb the sacred beauty of nature for their own gain?"
While firm in place, another semi-truck comes down the endless road splitting the otherwise untouched land in two, leaving a barren border in the treeline. A dust storm of trash is swept up, an empty bag of chips smacking right into RJ's face.
He flicks it off. "So, hold on here. What's your gameplan for snaggin' some chips?"
"Ha, it's easy! You see, I take the quarters," he explains like RJ's a toddler in a calm, babyish voice. Elaborate gestures illustrate the steps. "And I, uh, I put 'em in the slot. Toink toink toink. Yeah, uh-huh. Then I press the funny buttons, aaand…" Thankfully, he freezes far enough in front of RJ to prevent them from slamming into one another. "Ta-da! CHIPS!"
RJ raises an eyebrow for a second before brushing Hammy away with a puff out his nose. Loud and leisurely comes his final query: "Hammy, I've got one more question… A pop quiz. Where's your family?"
"I love pop quizzes! Hmm… I dunno. I found Verne and Stella right after I left when I was… what was it… 2 plus 10, maybe a feeewww more… 16? Uh, somethin' teen. Yeah! I think I have a sister somewhere…" He briefly scratches his head. "Hey! Did you have a bedtime song?"
"A what-?"
By the time he was finished, Hammy was already reciting: "It went like this: 'Hush, my Ham-my-'"
"Beautiful."
"'-it's nighty-night…'" His singing fades out into the distance.
An energized force grows stronger the closer they tread to the suburbs. With quiet pants of exhaustion, RJ carries himself up the hill that would be overlooking the suburbs at its peak. All is still, and almost unsettlingly so. The silence is only marginally interrupted by a gust coming down the slope in his direction, brushing back the hairs on his head with some unseen wariness in the territory ahead. It was almost a calling - straight from the suburbs to communicate something. Whatever it was, it certainly wasn't gonna spill.
There comes an intriguing racket from afar, immediately stiffening RJ's ears. Metal penetrates the earth, scattering some fireflies just beginning to emerge from the surrounding trees. Vague occurrences of this afternoon bustle could've been ignorable earlier. But its volume would only fester and fester until the sun had given way.
An equally intriguing call comes from a squirrel. "Uncle RJ, we've got big scary yellow death trucks!" Hammy shrieks out of nowhere at the top of the cliff.
RJ's pace hastens to a brisker climb, puzzling the remark as he approaches the edge. The first, expected sight is the suburbs, stretching its influence far into the horizon on the left, with the Hedge bordering it below. The long stretch of road to the right that they had just travelled led to a single orange sign sitting beside the corner of the Hedge:
'WARNING
CONSTRUCTION ZONE'
He freezes. "Hmm?"
Another sign further down the road:
'CHECK THE MAP'
His countenance becomes uncertain. In the bat of an eye, a dated map, stiff corners slightly bent from use, is unfolded and lifted up to cover his face with a fwoosh against the idle air. He stretches his arms out to view it over the landscape.
As he peruses, a bubble of text near the top stands out:
'FUTURE DEVELOPMENT'
Reading those words lowers his eyebrows in tension. His eyes follow the arrow all the way to a familiar small patch of forest surrounded on all sides by suburban structures. It takes RJ a long while to process. They weren't surrounded… A wide green line marking the Hedge was even drawn south of the miniscule area, separating the suburbs below from the forest above… including the extra houses walling the other sides. But where were these extra houses? RJ pulls it down and gets his bearings. All forest. Suburbs only on one side.
But his sights draw back to the signs. A set of dirty cones lead him to a 3rd:
'CHECK THE OTHER MAP'
"Oth-er…?" RJ falters.
From somewhere in the great beyond, another map had been placed on the ground near the edge of the cliff close to his right, flaps wobbling in the heavy breaths of the breeze. He seizes it to unfold.
It was the same map, but polished and scaled further out to reveal more of the surroundings. The left side of the marked Hedge was now visible, as well as the adjacent road he knew well. But from the bottom, a crane symbol marked the start of an alarming red arrow stretching all the way up to the corner and weaving right to their side of the forest with an obnoxious target planted right where the Log was sure to be.
That's when it hits. RJ drops the map and observes. At first, there were no similarities. But in a panic, he holds the map back out and flips it upside-down. Now when he pulls down, it lines up flawlessly with the scenery.
There was a crane truck far off in the distance down the road. RJ and Hammy's jaws drop.
Not too far beyond, the violent sound of a splintering crash brings them to the opposite side of the road, where a large tree is snapped out of its stump by a feller buncher. Jaws drop lower.
The hearty shout of a man inside the vehicle forces RJ to whip out binoculars. A beefy man inside the contraption, massive arms in mighty control over the levers, tightens up the hard hat atop his bushy-brown-bearded boulder of a head.
The fresh tree is dropped down onto an alarming pile of others. But what was the point of the machine? After all, the tremor created by the merry tone of this man could fell the whole forest with a single boom. "TAKE a seat, boys! We've got Christmas DINNER! HA-HA-HAHH!"
Their jaws practically drop to the floor.
The trembling pulse in RJ's speech shivers in shock. "They don't mean it…"
The final sign across the barren road reads:
'No really, WE MEAN IT!'
He gradually dares to angle up his binoculars higher and higher. Behind the sign, an entire square of forest was there. Emphasis on 'was'. It had been overrun by empty, dug-up land already encroaching far off into the distant wilderness, just like that. Audible construction equipment was scattered throughout. Thin wooden poles incremented close to the main roadway were already lining up like soldiers to mark a row of soon-to-be houses. The orange tint of the sky filled the landscape with a fiery, threatening essence. It was all in an instant - another domain wiped out without warning. Their paths had to cross soon enough.
RJ stances up on top of the cliff and drops the binoculars to his feet subconsciously. He stands there in silence at the catastrophe before his head vigorously shakes itself back into reality. "That's it…" he snarls in a need to act, all deep urgency suppressed to pump throughout his veins.
Hammy cowers back. RJ seizes his twitching arm and zips off, storming across the blades of the spiked grass.
END OF THE PROLOGUE
DON'T BE LATE.