"Wake up, RJ! You've been asleep long enough, now it's your turn to help out!"
RJ stirred and opened his eyes. He shut them again almost immediately, however, because sunlight was streaming in through the hole in the tree trunk which he was currently looking out of. Spots danced in his eyelids; he had looked directly at the sun. He groaned. Not a great way to start the day.
"Well, son? You heard your mother. Are you going to get up or will we be waiting here till next century? Because we will wait, you know. No child left behind and all that."
"Dad..." RJ groaned, sinking back into his soft pile of leaves again as he heard his father laugh at his own joke. Finally RJ stood up. "Fine, fine, I'm awake... come on, Raymond," he called over his shoulder. "If I have to help out, so do you."
"Mmmmph," came a mumble from the leaf pile behind RJ, as the raccoon stood up. "Okay, okay..."
A raccoon slightly younger than RJ popped out of the pile and gave a cheerful grin. Unlike his brother, Raymond was a morning person. Wheras RJ preferred to go to bed late and get up even later.
RJ sighed. It was true what his parents said: he was becoming a teenager. If sleeping till noon and exchanging banter (both lighthearted and heated) with your parents was any proof. Which it probably was.
"Oh, I cannot get over how much you two look alike," said their mother from outside, peering in through the hole and beaming from ear to ear. "Except the fur tone. RJ, you're a dark brown, and Raymond's —"
"A light brown. Tan. Yes, Mom, you've told us this many times before."
"But the eyes," she murmured, not paying the slightest bit of attention. "Both of you. Such deep and intense blue eyes ... your father's eyes."
The father in question jumped out of the hole in the trunk to meet his mate; he was smiling. "Come now, Jill, it's time to focus. We have a task before us and we have to finish it. Of course, I understand how hard it is to concentrate with these gorgeous eyes gazing at you all day..."
"Oh, Tim, modest as always," laughed Jill, beckoning her children forward. "Follow us, boys."
The four of them scurried down the tree trunk together and onto the forest floor, reverting to all fours for faster running speed — all except for Tim, who with a grunt hoisted up an empty bucket, which was bigger than he was, and carried it over his head, scrambling to keep up with the others. It was the same routine, as it had been, every day, day after day, month after month, year after year. RJ had been collecting food like this for as long as he could remember.
The only thing he didn't understand about the whole process — and he had asked his parents about this many times, and every time they refused him an answer — was where exactly all the fruits, and vegetables, and plants they collected from the forest went. Sure, his family had enough to tide them over for awhile; they always did. But they usually ended up collecting two, three times as much food as they kept. So where did the rest of it go?
And RJ resolved that today he would find the answer. Today he would follow his parents and find out what they did with all that food. It certainly couldn't be that bad, could it? His parents were good raccoons. They were honest workers. And as much as RJ refused to say it aloud these days, he loved them. He honestly didn't know what he would do without any of them, including Raymond.
"I'm tired, RJ," his little brother puffed from beside him, still running. "Are we almost there?"
"Raymond, you've only come here every day of your life since you were able to walk. You should know by now."
"Oh yeah, I remember!" chirped the raccoon. "That big tree right there means we're right next to the Field. So we can slow down now, right?"
"That we can," said RJ, as he ceased running and stood up, walking normally again. Raymond followed his lead, and soon the four of them had reached what his family liked to call "their" clearing. Here the natural forest plants, like berries and such, were plentiful, with a large field that was chock-full of fruits and vegetables on the other side of a large wooden structure. A "garden," his parents called it. With "crops". RJ wondered why that meant something.
"You boys know what to do," his father said, smiling. "Ready? One, two, THREE!"
On "three", all of them scattered in different directions; Jill and Tim climbed the fence and into the crop field and began shuffling along, looking for the best fruits and veggies. RJ and Raymond, meanwhile, went through the bushes, picking berries that looked ripe (and eating some of the bigger ones). Anytime the load got too heavy, they deposited it in the bucket that their father had carted along and went back to looking.
"RJ," the raccoon heard his brother say, a couple of bushes away, "let's make this a contest to see who can bring back the most! What say you?"
"I would say yes if you hadn't suggested that every day since we started picking berries," replied RJ, dumping another armload into the bucket. "They only started getting ripe a week ago and you've said this to me, what, nine times?"
"Who's counting?" his brother laughed, popping another berry into his mouth. "It'd just be something to do. You know, to break the monotony of it all."
"It's not monotonous," said RJ, now shuffling through the branches, looking for berries he may have missed. "I find it interesting. There's always something new going on every day. Sometimes it's grapes, sometimes it's strawberries, sometimes it's oranges, sometimes it's pears ... and speaking of which, we'd better look through these trees. They should be ripe too by now."
So RJ and Raymond grabbed the bucket, climbed the fence, scaled a couple of trunks and jumped through the branches from tree to tree, picking the pears, apples and other fruits off and chucking them into the bucket below. They were careful not to miss; any bruised pears couldn't be used and had to be thrown out. RJ had learned that the hard way several years ago, when he had started to practice dive-bombing the fruit into the bucket. His parents' reaction to that wasn't something he wanted to live through again.
"Okay, I think that's everything for now," Raymond called to him a few hours later, by which time the sun was shining brightly in the middle of the sky. RJ wiped his brow; he was sweating. "We should see if Mom and Dad need any help."
"That we do!" said Jill from below, having heard their conversation. "Grab the bucket and follow us. There's a really good crop over the next fence."
"Will do," called RJ, and he and Raymond followed accordingly. Ignoring the sign that said, HARVEST FIELDS, KEEP OUT (RJ never knew what that meant, anyway), the four raccoons scaled the next fence and were soon running through the fields, picking out husks of corn from the tall stalks, pulling up carrots, radishes, and beets from the ground; digging up celery, lettuce, broccoli — not too much, of course, just enough to fill the bucket.
"These won't even be missed," said Tim cheerfully, still several hours later, as he dropped the last of the vegetables into the bucket. "All right everyone," he called, "bucket's full. You know what that means — quittin' time!"
"But we're having so much fun ..." RJ said sarcastically, wiping his brow yet again. Thank goodness the sun was starting to set; he was boiling.
"Hoo boy, I'm tired," said Raymond, coming toward the three of them. "Long day today."
"Well, it's not over yet," his father puffed, struggling with the bucket. "I'm gonna need all of your guys' help to get this thing back. Ready?"
"First let's make sure the food is nicely crammed-in," said Jill cheerfully, reaching inside the almost-overflowing bucket. She fiddled around with it for awhile before saying, "All right, everything's in order. Let's go!"
With another grunt, RJ lifed the bottom of the bucket with his dad, while at the other end Jill and Raymond took the top. True to Jill's word, the bucket was packed firmly and didn't spill. Carrying it horizontally over their heads, the four of them made the long treck back through the field, over the fence (which required some fancy handling of the bucket), and through the forest back to their tree. By the time they had made it, the sun was fully set and the stars had started to emerge in the night sky. RJ made a mental wish as he saw the first one: I want to find out what my parents are up to ... I'm pretty sure it isn't anything bad, though.
"We're back!" said Jill cheerfully, bringing RJ back to reality. Carefully the four of them set the bucket upright again. Tim then climbed up the side and burrowed into the pile, tossing out a few good fruits and veggies while keeping the rest inside. Presently he had emptied a quarter of the bucket, and RJ and Raymond gathered up the foods he had tossed out.
"Okay, guys, you know the drill," said Tim as he and Jill hoisted the (now considerably lighter) bucket up on their shoulders again. "RJ, you and Raymond store the food you have in the tree while we —"
"Go off to store the rest, yes, we know," Raymond smiled, and scurried up the trunk without a backward glance.
"Be careful," warned Jill as she and Tim strolled away, disappearing through the dense foliage of the forest. RJ spared one last glance back at them, making a mental note, then followed Raymond up the tree to their hollow, where he stashed the food in their usual stack.
"Our crop seems to be running a little low this year," RJ's brother commented as he counted out pears. "Did you notice?"
"Hmm?" muttered RJ, distracted. "Oh. No. Um..." He needed to get out there quickly if he had any hope of following Mom and Dad. Barely realizing what he was doing, RJ tossed the food into the stack without counting it and went back to the hole, scurring through it to the edge of a large tree branch.
"Hey, RJ, where are you going?" he barely heard Raymond call.
"I ... have some business to take care of," RJ called back semi-truthfully, and turned his gaze downward. There! He could just make out his parents walking through the grass, still carrying their faithful bucket, in a clearing some distance away. If he strained his ears, RJ could hear them talking. And their voices sounded worried. Determined to find out once and for all what they were doing, RJ scuttled down the trunk and made for the clearing.
"RJ," shouted Hammy, "RJ! Can you hear us?"
All of the Hedgies had gathered round the unconscious raccoon, back in the little area that they called home. They had placed him on a blanket and treated his burns with a small first-aid kit. They had been relieved to discover that RJ was still breathing. But for how long? Would he ever regain consciousness?
"RJ!" shouted Hammy again, exhausted, "please wake up!"
"It's no good, Hammy," sighed Verne, holding his head in his hands, "he can't hear us."
"Is — is Uncle RJ gonna be all right, Mom?" asked Spike nervously, as he and his siblings clung to each other.
"Of — of course, dear," said Penny nervously, even though she had know way of knowing.
Katrina listened to RJ's heart with a tiny (but functional) toy stethoscope; her face was grim and serious. "His heart's still beating," she said, "but it's slowing down."
"S-s-slowing down?" said Marissa nervously. "But it — it won't stop, will it?"
"I don't know, Marissa," said Katrina quietly, removing the stethoscope, "I just don't know."
"Of course it won't," said Hammy firmly. "RJ's been through worse than this. He'll survive. I know it."
But behind the squirrel's confident features, Hammy was more nervous than ever. Could he live without RJ? Hammy doubted he could, not anymore. And it was his fault if RJ died —
Hammy suppressed a sob. He didn't exactly know what — what this feeling he was experiencing, as he watched RJ's chest rise and fall steadily, was. All he knew was that RJ needed to wake up — for his own sake as much as Hammy's.
"Please don't die, RJ," the squirrel pleaded softly, as he sat down and wrapped his paws around his legs. "It wouldn't be very nice of you to prove us wrong."