Silas flew to Council headquarters. He circled the barn; no sign of life inside or out. Council Member Don Quail's murder scene was much the same as when they had found it. And when had that been? Just yesterday? Silas couldn't believe it; it felt like a distant memory. Now the birdcage was empty, the string from which Quail had hung swayed in the breeze; the side of the barn was still painted with dark red strokes, asking, Silas? Silas?
Silas flew through the open door on the barn's upper level, landing in the hay loft. Barnes wasn't in. Silas preened his feathers on a bail. They were filthy; he vowed to himself to take another bath, to finish getting the smell of dirt and Crazy Berries off his plumage. Soon he grew bored of his self-grooming, and began exploring the loft.
It was austere, utilitarian. Hay bales stacked around the perimeter of the loft; a corner had a neat deposit of small, dark cocoons of fur about the size of prunes. Silas examined one, pecking it with his beak. He pried one open; it came apart like a cotton ball tearing, the interwoven fibers offering little resistance. Silas jumped back when his beak pulled out an arm bone belonging to a small animal. He shivered, realizing what the cocoons were. Owl pellets. They were packages of regurgitated animals, fur and bone crushed and formed into tiny macabre parcels. Silas wondered if he himself was eaten and spit out as a dark wad, if anyone would be able to ID his remains among all the other owl pellets.
Silas flew from the corner. He was going for the loft doors when Barnes landed between him and the open sky.
"Silas Oaktree. If you didn't come find me, I was going to go find you."
"Why's that?" Silas couldn't help a glance back at the owl pellets. Barnes clucked with his tongue, the closest Silas ever heard him come to a laugh..
"Not to make you dinner, Oaktree. That's for the animals who don't pay their tribute to the forest's Food Stores. Last I checked, the Oaktree account is current. Now, we need to talk about the next Council meeting. It's at the next empty moon; that's coming up soon."
"Oh. Yeah. Of course." Silas exhaled a deep sigh. "I don't know what came of over me. Wound up, I guess. Perchman Barnes, I have to tell you something! Fox admitted to —"
"— To kidnapping Spike and Joe Bear, I know."
"How did you … Did you already —"
"— Already know? Not until half an hour ago." Barnes tutted. "You know as well as I: birds spend more time gossiping than they do flying. By now everyone in the forest probably knows what you told the others at the Chapman feeder."
"Great! Then you know we have to get some big animals together … take down Fox, shut down the Den. I'm sure the cubs are in there somewhere…."
"Sure? How can you be sure? Oaktree, you know a delegation from the Council and me personally searched the Fox Den. And let's not pretend I don't know you made a search for yourself — unauthorized — last night. It is fortunate you got out unharmed. I hope it taught you a lesson about the dangers of vigilantism…."
Silas sputtered. "That's what you're taking away from this? That sneaking around is dangerous? What about getting the cubs back? Shutting down Fox? Isn't that what matters?"
"It does matter,” Barnes said patiently. “All in due course. And that is precisely what we need to discuss: How you WILL accept the nomination for Council, and how you will accept the post when elected to it."
Silas wasn't sure he was hearing Barnes right. Was he guaranteeing him a Perch on Council?
"What are you saying? The election is going to be rigged?"
Barnes twisted his head in a three-sixty, his eyes bugged angrily. "Fix the election?! Oaktree, I am the only one trying to fix democracy in this forest! The broken democracy! How do you think there is even a Forest Council at all? Or, how it can have members as low in the food chain as a mole, or a quail —"
"— Yeah, that worked out —"
"— Or even enforce to the tiniest degree rights for all animals, no matter their size, so they have a chance to make for themselves something that hints at being more than just survival? No, Oaktree, what I'm saying is the system is already rigged. Despite my best efforts, Fox has maneuvered into position to win that fight."
"What do you mean?” Silas asked. “Who would vote for Fox besides his cronies? … especially knowing now he took the Bears and is killing off Council Members? Everyone loves the cubs. Fox just can't get away with —"
"Oh yes he can. The first lesson you have to learn about politics is, Oaktree, is might is right. Fox has the might. You're taking that Council Perch because this forest needs you. I don't agree with a lot of your methods. You try to do good, so I turn a blind eye most of the time. But you're a vigilante. Lawless. Admittedly, you get some things done. And that's something we need right now. We need to show this forest that right can have might, too."
"What do you mean, Fox has the might? He's got a lot of goons, I know, but he won't win the vote —"
"You're right, he won't. He never planned to run a clean race. He plans to take the forest, starting with wiping out the Council. Two down, if you've taken notice, and we were already one down with Ten Point Tom's untimely death.
"Fox, he's hired on mercenaries. Some human chawbacons with assault rifles and dynamite." Barnes produced two blown up photographs from his pile of papers. The first one was a close-up of a human male, mid-thirties, medium length dark hair, a face with more pronounced features than the average flat human face, but still flat by any self-respecting bird's standards (though, as Barnes had a rather moonish face, Silas chose not to voice this, remembering the owl pellets in the corner). The man was standing in front of a large black truck, with chrome accents.
Silas whistled. "Shiny. I think I've seen that truck before." He couldn't remember where.
Barnes said, "Hayden Townsend. He's the alpha human of the two Fox hired. Human police verified he doesn't perform typical human work roles. Rather, he specializes in drug trafficking, fitting in nicely with Fox's niche —"
Silas cut in. “Fox’s Den looks like it has enough drugs to supply the whole state.”
Barnes nodded. "Fox is rich in a currency forest animals and humans alike will pay dearly for. Maybe Fox wagered this Hayden Townsend and won, but however he did it, Fox certainly has some form of leverage on this character, because Fox is calling all the shots. He’s been having this human do dirty jobs for him for a while now, keeping his own paws clean.
Silas didn't know what Barnes' intelligence sources were, but he was impressed; he hadn't given Barnes his due. Clearly Barnes took his job as Top Perch seriously. Still, Silas knew Fox’s paws were anything but clean. "And the other human?"
Barnes showed Silas the other photograph, another human male, long hair going past his shoulders but balding prominently in the front, making his forehead grotesque. The man had scruffy beard growth around a large tattoo of a cross on his cheek; he wore a leather vest over a bare torso, showing sleeves of tattoos down his arms.
"Buck Lowell. Violent and volatile. He works under the other human, Hayden Townsend. But my sources say he is too unpredictable to be completely controlled, even by his alpha."
Buck Lowell. Zig Chickadee had just told him about a homicidal beaver that destroyed his life in Maine. Hadn't he been a Buck, too? Nature followed patterns.
"What does this have to do with the Council meeting coming up?" Silas asked. "And me being on Council?"
Barnes put the photos back on the stack. "I have reason to believe Fox plans to set a trap for us at the meeting. The meeting is when we are electing the new Council. It's less than a week off, and if he hasn't killed again by then, I think he plans to finish the job then at the empty moon. I'm guessing here, but it stands to reason when he has the forest all gathered in one place, he'll use these human mercenaries, and his other goons. He'll make his move to take over the forest. Fox is going to subjugate the forest by force. If animals don't submit, he'll kill them.
"As far as you go, Oaktree, I need you to stay alive. Your stunts last night at the Fox Den — and who knows what else you’ve been up to — lead me to conclude you aren't serious about your safety. You welcome danger, even though you have a wife and eggs to think about, not to mention the investigation I charged you with. I need you to go into hiding. I have already instructed Rex Washer to do the same. I need you to lay low until after next week, after the meeting."
"What about you?" Silas asked.
"This forest needs leadership,” Barnes said. “I will work with the proper channels, start the process of charging Fox, and whoever works with him —"
"That's not good enough!" Silas burst out. " 'The proper channels' is exactly where Fox expects to find you, Top Perch Barnes, no offense, and that is where he's going to take you down. If we are going to stop Fox, we need to act — now! Today! We can't wait for him to hatch his plan when he's prepared to take us all down!"
Barnes shook his head, like Silas was being a chick chirping selfishly for attention. The condescension infuriated Silas. Barnes headed him off. "There are ways of handling problems. We cannot shed our rules and processes just because they seem inconvenient — inexpedient, even. I know I asked for your help because you had experience. And you will be helping the forest, if you can cool down that head of yours. Do what's best by hiding out until this issue with Fox is resolved. The forest will need your leadership when the democratic process resumes —"
"No!” Silas was shouting now. “Your 'democratic process' has so far been nailed to a tree, the other mutilated to look like a robin hung in a cage —"
Barnes stretched to his full height. "That is enough!” he boomed, feather moustache blowing. “I will not have —"
The barn shook.
"What was that?"
A tremendous crashing rocked the two birds where they perched.
"It's coming from downstairs," Barnes said. A loud plodding sound moved around the floor below them. Silas heard grunts. He couldn't be sure what was making those sounds; they were coming from whatever was downstairs, or maybe from floorboards under tremendous stress. Barnes hopped over to the hatch in the floor, pulling the thin wooden cover off with his beak. He peered down the hatch.
"I wonder what that is? I just use the bottom floor for storage —"
"Barnes, don't! Get away from there! —"
"Maybe it's —"
Silas flew full speed, launching himself into Barnes full force. It was just enough to throw them aside to avoid a huge paw coming up through the hatch, it's three inch long claws raking the floor where Barnes had been standing a moment before. The beast let out a feather-raising, huffing grunt. Silas recognized it.
"Momma Bear?"
Silence. Then, "Silas? No, no … You shouldn't be here, Silas! Go! It's supposed to be Perchman Barnes!"
"Momma Bear, what are you —"
Barnes cut in, blustering. "What is the meaning of this, Momma Bear? Back down that ladder! I'm flying down. We're going to talk about this!"
Silas' eyes bugged. "Barnes! What are you thinking? Don't —"
Barnes was already down the hatch. Silas could not believe the owl’s arrogance, thinking because he operated through diplomacy, everyone else did too. Barnes' voice carried up to the loft, muffled by the floorboards. "Momma Bear, I'm in a meeting right now with Silas Oaktree…. We're discussing a private matter. If you could come back another — Aaaaah!"
Silas had no choice. He flew up, plunging down the hatch to the lower floor. The ground level was dark, the only narrow slats of light coming through gaps in the walls; dust motes floated thickly in the air. In the far corner, past the support posts, Silas saw Barnes backed in a corner. Momma Bear was trying to get around old farm equipment between her and Barnes, making lethal swipes through the air.
Momma Bear roared frustration. She slammed down on the thresher between her and Barnes, a double-paw slam of such force the metal shrieked, denting. Rusted metal snapped and the machine collapsed. Barnes had just enough time to fly as Momma Bear bodyslammed into the wall, shaking the barn. The wall made an ominous crack.
"Up the hatch!" Silas shouted. "Get to the loft!" But Barnes wasn’t listening. He flew between the vertical support beams, headed for the other side of the barn. Momma Bear lumbered in pursuit, slamming and ricocheting off the posts, rattling the upper floor. Silas saw her mouth froth with spit from her exertion. She made a straight line for Barnes, running heedlessly into the last support post. It buckled in the middle, the barn creaking like a dying ship. Silas looked up nervously at the tons of lumber above him.
"Barnes! Not another corner! That doesn't work!" Barnes had flown into a corner on the other side, edging against stacks of yellowed paper and dusty jars networked with cobwebs; he pecked against the wall, as if he could somehow work through it. Momma Bear was knocking aside a sea of collectibles.
Silas knew Barnes had less than a minute. Barnes' hoarding had bought the old owl time, but that time was running out. Momma Bear tossed aside a dining room table displaying full skeletons of small animals. They reminded Silas of Fox's skull collection, though Barnes' seemed more scientific in nature than Fox’s trophies. Momma Bear’s cymbal-sized paw demolished a skyscraper stack of papers, causing Barnes to wince. An old-fashioned loom threaded with a long-abandoned project stood between her and Barnes; her claws went to work breaking through the wooden structure. Silas cupped his wings over his beak, shouting at Barnes.
"Move! Fly! You've got time!"
But Barnes wouldn't fly. The owl watched Momma Bear work closer, his eyes large.
Silas steeled himself, not believing what he was about to do. He flew at Momma Bear.
Silas dove between her paws smashing the loom, dodging the flying splinters of wood. He picked among the spindles the strongest roll of thread he could find, jumping out of the way of a wooden shuttle Momma Bear broke off. Silas took the end of the thread in his mouth and flew. He didn't get far before he was jerked back by tension in the thread, dropping it.
He cursed, flying back to where a wooden spindle held a bobbin of thread through its middle. Silas rammed it. The bobbin was stuck. Years of dust cementing the roll to the loom worked against Silas. He held the end of the thread in his mouth, kicking at the spool — "Mother-plucker!”— kicking it again and again. A cloud of dust filled the barn, choking him, making it hard to see.
Momma Bear roared at either the dust or a splinter, backing off for a moment to huff and paw at her eye. Silas got the second more he needed, and with a final kick, the bobbin loosened on the spindle. He took off again with the thread, now unrolling freely behind him. He flew the length of the barn, turned back and flew back toward Momma Bear. She was almost through the loom now.
Silas flew back this time on the other side of the broken support post, wrapping the thread on the high part of the beam where it had buckled. He dipped under Momma Bear’s flank, past her chest and over her shoulder, making another loop around the post. He continued this, weaving and dodging her thrashing limbs. When Silas was running out of the length of thread, he tied it off at the post.
Silas landed back at the spool on the loom, which was now almost completely destroyed. He hefted the spool of the spindle. He put his claws in either side of the spool. It was so heavy he could barely take off. Wings pumping hard under the load, Silas reinforced his weave. Momma Bear was on her back legs, putting the finishing swipes on the loom, exposing Barnes behind it. Silas' breast, lats and feet burned from the strain as he darted around the bear and the post.
He made one last pass, dropping the spool, evading the paws sweeping less than a foot from Barnes, landing beside him.
"We need to fly … Now!" Momma Bear reached for Barnes. Her claws came within an inch of his beak. Barnes' eyes were squinted shut; he opened them a slit, daring a peek them open to see if he was dead yet. Momma Bear was struggling to push forward, scores of thread webbing her to the post. She pushed forward again. The post groaned.
"Go!" Silas shouted.
As she fought with the threads, Silas pushed Barnes off the shelf. The owl flew reluctantly along the wall, slower than Silas would have liked. They flew for the hatch to the loft. They weren't going to make it.
Momma Bear turned to chase her prey. That did it. The tension on the thread pulled the weakened post. It gave way with a splintering crack. Time stood still as all three looked up at the ceiling, sensing the shift in the barn.
"Down!" Silas slammed his feet down on the top of Barnes' head, turning their trajectory into a dive. "Fold your wings!"
Barnes did, a fraction of a second before they hit the ten gallon bucket, landing inside. Their impact flipped the bucket over as the barn collapsed.
Earth and sky shook. A deafening crash. Then, in an instant, it was over.
Barnes and Silas were squeezed tight together in their hard plastic bunker, Barnes' mass taking most of the space. Silas' beak was pressed into the older bird's feathers; figuring by the smell, it wasn't prime real estate on the owl. He then realized Top Perch Barnes, great leader of the forest, had crapped in their shelter.
"Oh, come on …" Silas bit back a crop full of reproofs. He opted instead to ask Barnes if he was alright. Barnes seemed not to hear him. His voice echoed in the bucket.
"My papers …"
Silas closed his eyes. He waited. It could have been minutes or hours when the shifting through the wreckage reached them. Was that Momma Bear, unburied, come to finish the job? The bucket tipped over.
"Over here! They're here!" Silas looked up at a long brown face, a baseball cap between a rack of antlers. He sighed relief.
"John Deere." Silas said. "I don't care what your wife says about your face. It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."
John pursed his lips. "You know, I was having a pretty good day. I should flip this bucket back over, pretend I never found a big-mouthed bird in the wreckage.… Who's that with you? — Is that Perchman Barnes? Is he okay?"
"He's fine. Now help me out of this bucket, before our wise leader's poop runs down onto my beak."
Out of the bucket, Barnes straightened his feathers, favoring his tail, which had been partially smashed by the bucket. Within minutes, though, Barnes had fallen back into his old role, taking control of the scene. Animals swarmed the barn — rather, the wreckage of what used to be Forest Council headquarters. Dust settled over the heap of collapsed lumber and roofing. Silas took flight, doing circuits to survey the damage. From the air he could still see the words left for him at Quail's murder, now broken up, jumbled into a heap of red letters and question marks.
Larger animals shifted boards, worked into teams coordinated by Barnes, who pointed here and there with his wings as he gave orders. Bill Foreman, a human hunter Silas knew from the few times they chatted, and his sons Jake and Benson came out of the woods. They put their guns down and helped move debris. They jumped back when they uncovered Momma Bear's head, awake and roaring. The other animals laughed at the humans' reaction, though they themselves had been spooked.
Everyone was focused on Momma Bear when Silas looked back at the edge of the forest. A huge black shape watched the animals work the wreckage. The animal turned its head up to Silas, watching Silas watch him. The figure disappeared back into the forest.
Momma Bear was not severely injured, but she was dazed from the collapse. A length of wood had speared her leg. The rescuers removed the wood and cleaned the wound, causing a roar that threatened to knock Silas out of the sky.
Barnes landed on a rise in the wreckage above Momma Bear, keeping a generous distance. He kept smoothing his moustache against his beak with a wing.
"Momma Bear … Why? Were you … were you trying to … to kill me?"
Silas bused out with a caw of laughter. He couldn't help it. The animals looked at him for an explanation.
"Well, it's obvious she was, isn't it?" Silas gave another short laugh. "I mean, by the looks of it, Momma Bear didn’t come to tickle your tummy with her claws."
Despite being saved by him minutes before, Barnes gave Silas an icy stare before turning back to Momma Bear.
"Well, Momma Bear? What do you have to say for yourself? Is Oaktree right? Were you trying to kill me?"
For someone as well studied as Barnes, Silas continued to be astounded how thick he seemed when it came to taking in the reality right in front of his beak. Momma Bear looked at Barnes. She nodded slowly, putting a paw over her face. She wailed.
"Ye-ye-yesss. Perchman Barnes, I'm sorry! I — I —" She broke off, sobbing. Her wails gave Silas the willies. "My cubs — they're … Fox said if I didn't … didn't — Oh! This is horrible! — He … he said if I didn't kill you and — and the other Council Members — I guess it's just Rex Washer now.… Fox said he'd kill my cubs! If Silas didn't take down the barn, I don't — I don't know what would have happened!"
Momma Bear was inconsolable. The animals looked around at Silas. Rob Robin sounded unbelieving.
"You're saying Oaktree destroyed the barn? How?" A murmur repeating the question ran through the group. Rose Topbranch glowed as she looked at Silas, presenting him her feathers in an approving display. Colin Squirrel gave Silas an A-OK sign. Cougar was kneading Momma Bear's back, trying to sooth her; she gave Silas a sultry look, purring how impressed she was.
After some minutes they got Momma Bear to tell the story. When she had come into the Forest Council meeting two days ago, she had known as much as the rest of them: that her cubs were missing, nowhere to be found. That night, after Peter Mole was found pinned to the tree, Fox had showed up at Momma Bear's den. He told her he had the cubs, that they were safe … for now.
Fox said he had a challenge for her that she couldn't pass up. Otherwise, Spike and Joe Bear were dead. He said she had a week to kill the entire Forest Council. He didn't care how she did it. She said she wouldn't do it. But, like any mother bear would, eventually she caved in. Fox had had all the leverage he needed.
The next morning Silas had visited Momma Bear, asking about what happened. Here in her story Momma Bear looked guiltily at Silas, saying repeatedly, "Silas, I'm sorry, Silas! I'm sorry!" They eventually were able to pry her out of her remorse enough to continue.
Momma Bear felt so bad about everything — not just about her cubs, but about Pete Mole. She suspected Fox, but she was more worried about the challenge he had charged her with. After talking with Silas, Momma Bear had been hopeful. She had been confident Silas would find her cubs before anything happened. So Momma Bear decided to wait a couple days before she did anything. She was scared, having in her whole life she had only killed to eat; never murder.
When Don Quail came up dead, Momma Bear's worries redoubled. She thought Fox was losing patience with her, going ahead with taking out the Council without him. If he didn't need her to do the job, then he didn't need to keep the cubs safe as leverage. That’s when Momma Bear heard about the Council searching the Fox Den, finding nothing. That's when she feared the worst: Fox had killed her cubs, deciding she was not up to his challenge. She had retreated to her cave, despondent. When she woke up today from her stupor of sorrow and buckets of fried chicken, Momma Bear had decided she would save her cubs, no matter what.
If there was even the slightest chance that Fox had not done anything yet to them, Momma Bear would do her best to get them back. That's what had brought her to the barn to work on Fox's challenge, and kill Barnes.
Momma Bear lied in the wreckage of the barn, surrounded by an audience of mostly sympathetic animals. Barnes chewed his beak, studying her. Through Momma Bear's sobs, he got her promise she would not try to kill him, Rex Washer, or anyone else who became a Council Member. Barnes looked pointedly at Silas.
Barnes appeared older, more tired, as he surveyed the pile that used to be his loft. He went to work recovering papers. The other animals got busy again, too, sifting the wreckage.
Silas looked down at his feet standing in the debris. Rattling in the wind under his claws were two pictures. A man with dark, glittering eyes stared up at him.
Silas tightened his claws over the photos. He took off for the city.