Chapter 7. Elsewhere in Lone Tree
Ferdy Chicken was in his garage, his head buried deep in the engine compartment of his Chevy Cavalier. His yellow Cavalier, with the orange chicken painted on the hood.
The car wouldn’t start. Every time he turned the key, it gave a sluggish “rurr rurr” sound, followed by a metallic clank. It was that clank that most bothered Ferdy. It sounded fatal, somehow, as if the car were dropping some vital part onto the concrete floor. It wasn’t, of course. Ferdy had checked. There were no car parts of any description on the floor. There soon would be, however. It obviously needed a major overhaul. He started to take off the air filter.
He hadn’t seen the school newspaper. He was unaware that the sense of unease he had felt had finally erupted into an actual threat.
Had he known of the trolls, he would have burst into action. His garage had a wall-sized aerial photograph of Lone Tree, taken from such a height that each house appeared to be the size of a quarter. Of course, some folks had larger quarters than others. Maybe fifty-cent pieces. His own quarters, he noted, were more the size of a nickel. “Ah, never mind,” Ferdy said. He shook his head.
Whatever the size of people’s quarters…uh, houses, Ferdy had an eagle’s eye view…or maybe a chicken’s eye view? Not, he thought, not a chicken’s eye view, because chickens couldn’t fly worth a crap…. He shook his head again.
Had he known of the threat, he would have used this chicken hawk’s-eye view of Lone Tree to map out appropriate escape routes for the town’s citizens. Just in case. That was Ferdy’s motto: Just In Case. If the nature of the emergency warranted it, he could use the red phone on his desk to call the mayor’s office with these plans.
Also, he would have checked and rechecked his equipment. “Rope—check. Tripwire—check. Grappling hook—check.” Ever since he had been a child, Ferdy Chicken had wanted a grappling hook, and now he had one. It was the centerpiece of his arsenal. In case of a terrorist attack, he would be ready with his grappling hook.
In fact, had he known of the trolls, he would have gone all the way, and readied his grappling hook for action. Except then, he’d only have two items to check. “Rope with grappling hook tied onto the end of it—check. Tripwire—check.” Somehow, that didn’t sound so impressive. So, he kept the rope separate from the grappling hook for as long as possible. Perhaps, he thought, he’d have to think of another useful item of equipment. One should always have at least three items of equipment. He remembered, from his distant past, the Superhero Motto: “Be prepared.” No, wait, that was the Boy Scout Motto. But it was a good idea for superheroes to be prepared as well. Just In Case.
Yes, had Ferdy Chicken known of the trolls, he would be prepared. As it was, however, he was a superhero with car trouble. A Chevy Cavalier, though it might be a good sensible family car, was not the ideal car for a superhero. Especially when it wasn’t running. The air filter, now free of the engine, hit the garage floor. “Clank.” Ferdy Chicken reached for the spark plug wires. He didn’t know how to fix an engine, but he knew enough to take a few of its pieces apart. If he took enough parts off, surely he would be able to see where the trouble was.
Someday, he hoped, he would be settled into the job of superhero sufficiently that the mayor would buy him a car. A Mercedes, an Audi, an Infiniti, he didn’t care what it was. Just a hot car that he could drive around while he was saving people. Something that wouldn’t break down. Some kind of sports coupe.
Ferdy Chicken stopped and lifted his head. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Yes, a coupe would be ideal. Every chicken, he pondered, should have a coupe.