Away From it All
By: Stitch
Part 3 - 'Attack of the woodchopper doohickey.'
I'm not really sure how long I went stomping through the undergrowth before I finally stopped. I was panting and nearly out of breath, both from walking fast and because I was kind of mad. Well, okay, I was really mad.
It wasn't like I was being unreasonable with everybody, or asking for the moon on a silver platter. All I'd wanted was a little cooperation. We're a team, after all... was it too much to ask that we act like one? Besides, I was only trying to help everybody have a good time.
What a warm and toasty display of appreciation I got for all my efforts. They didn't like the lunch I fixed. They blamed me for that scuffle with Dale. They didn't want to go hiking with me. 'Okay, fine,' I thought. 'I'll have a great time all by myself.'
I crossed my arms and waited for my heart to stop hammering. Scowling, I looked around and saw for the first time where I was. Sunlight was streaking through the tangled branches of an oak tree, casting twisty shadows on a vast carpet of soft green moss that covered the clearing I was standing in. The tree was old, ancient, its bark cracked and grey and dripping with lichen. It's gnarled roots stuck up from the ground, partly covering a huge white boulder that sparkled with flecks of quartz crystal. Small fan-like orange mushrooms were growing from the sides of the trunk on slender stems. All around my feet were fallen brown acorns. Everything was silent, save for the whispered rush of wind in the uppermost branches.
'How beautiful,' I thought. I wondered if anybody else had ever seen this little piece of the forest before. Sighing, I reached down and picked up an acorn. I picked off the cap, then nibbled down through the brittle shell to the nut inside. It was a good one, nice and crunchy, so I sat down and chewed at it. As I did so, my belly started to gurgle and I realized that I was still kind of hungry in spite of having just finished lunch.
Before long I had four empty acorn shells at my feet. I stifled a burp and leaned back on the moss, looking up through the branches at little patches of blue sky that peeked through. I wasn't angry anymore, but neither did I really feel like going on a hike. What fun was it, really, without my friends?
Maybe I had overreacted, a little. Maybe I shouldn't have fought with Dale. Maybe I should have gone swimming with everybody.
My good intentions aside, was it possible my friends had a point? After all, everybody else seemed to be having fun... could it be that I was pushing too hard? Maybe I was missing the whole point of going on vacation in the first place. Maybe I really was just a big ol' stick in the mud after all.
I sighed again and kicked at an acorn shell.
It was about an hour later when I came back to camp. Monty was sprawled in one of our fold-out chairs, snoozing away with Zipper draped over his shoulder like a limp blue slinky. They were both snoring. No sign of Gadget... she was probably taking a nap too.
I was just starting to wonder where Dale had gotten to when I caught a flash of orange and yellow out of the corner of my eye. Turning, I saw him rocking gently back and forth in his neck-tie hammock, which he'd strung up between two nearby shrubs. He had his arms folded behind his head and a dreamy little smile on his face. I thought he was asleep, but after a moment he opened his eyes and looked over at me. He reached a paw up and waved.
I walked over to him. He looked up at me, still smiling. "Heya," he said softly so as not to wake the others. "How was your hike?"
"Ah, it was okay," I replied. "I didn't go very far."
"You should'a stuck around. Monty made cheese and crackers."
"Sorry I missed that... I guess my lunch didn't really hit the spot, did it?"
He grinned, showing off those two buck teeth of his. "You just need to remember the caramel sauce next time."
"Oh, that reminds me," I said, digging my paws into my backpack. "I brought you some acorns." I set a pair of fat brown acorns down by his side.
"Oooh, western striped," he said, nodding appreciatively. "We never get these back home. Thank you."
"No problem. Well, I think I'm gonna take your advice and go read a book. I'll be in our tent if you need me." I turned and started to walk away.
"Say, Chip?" he said.
I stopped and turned back around. "Mm?"
He was regarding me with an uncharacteristically thoughtful look on his face, one eyewhisker arched up. "Are you feelin' okay?"
I blinked, surprised at the question. "I... well, yeah. I'm fine. Why do you ask?"
"Oh, well, you know... just checking." He continued to regard me with that thoughtful expression. It took me a few moments to realize that he was genuinely concerned about me. Maybe I still looked upset, or something.
Not wanting him to worry, I gave him another smile and a thumbs-up, then kept walking back to our tent. I couldn't see it, but I'm sure he was still watching me all the way up until I stepped inside and buttoned the door shut.
I curled up on top of my sleeping bag and opened up my brand new rodent-sized copy of 'Sureluck Jones and the Case of the Mysterious Puddle'. Nothing soothes me quite like a good mystery novel, and this one is shaping up to be a real corker (as I write this I'm still only on chapter 6). I devoured the first four chapters in what seemed like a flash, lost in a twilight world of fog and gaslight, cobblestone streets and shadowy alleyways. But as I started in on chapter 5 my eyelids started to droop, and by the time I got to the part where Sureluck breaks down the door at the chemist's shop to find the key witness gone and only a large puddle of orange juice in his place, I was having a hard time keeping my eyes open.
I don't usually take naps, but right then I decided that I'd like nothing better. So I took off my jacket and hat, then crawled into my sleeping bag and shut my eyes.
The next thing I knew, I was being woken up by somebody gently but insistently shaking my shoulder. I managed to get my eyes open and found myself staring straight up into Dale's face. "Whaaa?" I groaned.
"Wakey wakey, sleepyhead. Time to get up," he said, still nudging at my shoulder.
"I'm 'wake," I said, pushing his paw away.
"About time, too. You've been asleep for hours. Come on, it's almost time to start dinner." He scooted back over his own sleeping bag and disappeared through the open tent flap. A moment later, though, his face reappeared. "Wow, Chip, you've gotta get out here and see what Gadget built! Come on, up up up!" Then he disappeared again... I heard his feet padding hastily away.
I groaned again and let my head flop back onto my pillow. Had I really been asleep for hours? Apparently so, because the sunlight on the tent roof had gone pale and grey, while the shadows from the branches overhead were lost in the evening gloom. From far off, I could hear the crickets starting up their nightly songs. It took me a few minutes, but finally my vision came back into focus and the last cobwebs of sleep drifted out of my mind. I sat up, stretched, then got dressed. What is it about camping that leaves you so exhausted, anyway? Maybe it's all the fresh air.
I stepped outside into the cool air, stretched again, and buttoned up the tent flap. I'm not sure what I was expecting, but when I turned around, my jaw popped open and I nearly did a double-take. The others had gathered around our makeshift fire pit in a little circle, Gadget waving her arms as she spoke excitedly and pointed at... at... actually I'm still not completely sure what to call it.
It was large and made of what looked like cobbled-together parts from a blender. From a distance it resembled a space probe, with its cylindrical metal body and three spindly tripod legs. The center of it was hollow; I could see the top end of a thick piece of wood sticking up from it. Above that dangled some kind of scary-looking three pronged hook with a large and very sharp blade pointing down from its middle. I could hear Gadget telling the others, "Of course, it started off as an ice cream maker, but you know, once I started tinkering..."
At least I remembered to close my mouth before I walked cautiously over to the fire pit and stood beside Dale and Monty. "Uh..." I said.
"Oh, there you are, Chip. We were waiting for you," Gadget said, beaming.
Trying to ignore the ominous implications of her words, I pointed at the whatever-it-was over the fire pit. "What...?"
"Oh, right. You've probably never seen a high-pressure self guiding rotary bit 6000 psi timber bisector before, have you?"
The rest of us exchanged puzzled glances. After a moment, Dale leaned forward and pointed at it. "Can it fly?" he asked tentatively.
Gadget raised a paw to her mouth and giggled. "No, but it can do this." She flipped a little red switch. Immediately the air was filled with an ominous humming sound, which grew louder until it was almost enough to vibrate your teeth. Suddenly the metal hook lowered itself down on a thin cable. The tip of the blade buried itself in the piece of wood with a soft *thunk!* Then the three prongs straightened out and began whirling around and making really scary gnashing sounds.
Now, I've seen plenty of creepy science fiction movies over the years... hardly a week goes by that Dale doesn't park us all on the couch to watch some marathon of rampaging alien monster flicks. But I've never seen any futuristic gizmo quite as frightening as Gadget's 'bisector' in action.
Apparently I wasn't the only one having concerns, because we all took a step backwards in unison. Everybody except Gadget, of course. She was leaning over the thing, her head much closer to the spinning prongs than I would have liked as she tinkered and poked at a side panel with a screwdriver.
"Say, Gadget, love!" called Monty. "Are you sure that's safe?"
She glanced over at us. "Sure I'm sure. It's harmless... as long as you're careful," she replied, still poking at the side panel. "There, that ought to do it," she said to herself. Suddenly there was loud crunching sound as the whirling prongs stopped spinning and buried themselves in the piece of wood. "The self guiding mechanism is a bit wonky," she told us with a bashful shrug.
For a moment the only sound was the ominous hum that rumbled from somewhere in the depths of the machine. Then the blade shot down through the piece of wood with a sound like a gunshot. A spray of brown splinters puffed up into the air and sprinkled down over Gadget's shoulders, which I don't think she even noticed.
The rest of us all yelped at the same time and leaped backwards, nearly falling over each other in a heap. I steadied myself by grabbing onto Monty's arm. I looked back at the 'bisector' in time to see the prongs retract and release the piece of wood... actually I should say pieces of wood, because a moment later a pair of perfectly split sticks of firewood dropped down into our firepit.
"Crikey," said Monty. "All that song and dance for a bit o' kindling?"
"Well, sure," Gadget replied with just a hint of indignance in her voice. "We do need firewood, after all."
"Gadget, love, I know you're a mechanical whiz and all, but don't you think that's a bit of overkill? Why, I could do the same job with a good old-fashioned axe in a couple of seconds!"
"Yeah, but you couldn't cut as perfectly as the bisector does. These log halves are precisely identical down to their weight in milligrams." She crossed her arms. So did Monty.
"I may not be precise, but I do know a thing or two about starting a campfire," he grumbled. Meanwhile, Dale, who was clearly a lot more impressed than Monty, had darted over to the 'bisector' and was poking his nose around its various openings.
"Wowie, I bet you could punch through concrete with this thing!" he chattered excitedly.
"Or a chipmunk's head," I snapped as I grabbed the scruff of his neck and pulled him back. "Gadget, I don't mean to doubt your abilities, but to be honest I'm a little concerned about this thing..."
"What do you mean?" she asked. "I told you, it's perfectly - "
She didn't get a chance to finish her sentence, because at the same moment there was a loud electrical pop and a bunch of glowing yellow sparks spat out of the side of the 'bisector'. Gadget's eyes went wide and she sort of froze in place, as though the short circuit had happened in her head instead of in the machine. Then she spun on her heels, screwdriver in paw, and advanced on it. It continued to spark and make weird grinding sounds, and smoke had started to pour from the side panel too. "Golly, I thought I had that activator circuit fixed," she said. She turned to face us. "Dale, did you...?"
"I never touched it," Dale said defiantly as he shook his head.
"Huh, you're right, this short is way back in the secondary router..." She'd started poking her paws around in the side panel, heedless of the sizzling sparks that popped out of it.
"Gadget!" I cried, stepping toward her. "Leave it!" I reached my paws down around her shoulders and tried to pull her away, but she shrugged me off and I stumbled backwards.
"It's okay, I can fix this in a jiffy!"
Suddenly the air was again filled with that horrible metal gnashing sound. I stared up and saw that the metal prongs had begun to whirl around again. Only this time they weren't just spinning, they were weaving and bobbing in the air on their cable, which was dangling loose. The blade in the center started whipping back and forth not inches from Gadget's head. "Gadget, come on! We don't need firewood that bad! Come ON!" I started tugging at her shoulders again. Suddenly Dale was at my side. Without a word he reached down and wrapped his arms around her middle. Together, we were able to pull her away from the side of the machine.
"Guys, really, it's not that bad," she complained as we started dragging her away, screwdriver still in paw. There was a dark smear of oil on one of her cheeks.
The humming had risen to a high-pitched whine that was accompanied by grinding sounds. Suddenly the machine started making noises like popcorn bursting. Then its sides began to crumple like a tin can, causing the tripod legs to bend. The whirling hook started whipsawing back and forth, zooming through the air like a little helicopter blade. Dale and I continued to drag Gadget away, but at least she wasn't struggling anymore. Instead she stared at her self-destructing machine with what could only have been a mournful look on her face.
All of a sudden Monty passed us by - he was marching right at the berzerk contraption with, of all things, the axe he'd been talking about slung over his shoulder. Zipper was pulling frantically at the back of his shirt, to little avail.
"Monty, what are you doing?" I cried.
"By crikey, I'm gonna show this tin-plated monstrosity a thing or two about precise cuts! Menace my friends, will ya?"
"Are you crazy?" I hollered. "Just leave it!"
But he wasn't listening. Monty stomped straight up to the machine with a determined scowl on his face and started to raise the axe. Zipper ducked behind his back and covered his eyes.
"Uh oh," I heard Dale say.
Then Monty swung. At the same moment, the whirling metal hook shot out at him like a striking cobra. The cable twanged as it yanked the hook backwards, causing it to fly straight up in a flash of gleaming steel. There was sudden loud crack, like wood breaking. Then, with a thunderous bang, the whole machine crumpled in on itself, belching little orange flames and puffs of black smoke. As if in slow motion, it toppled over on its side, one spindly leg sticking straight up... I half-expected it to twitch, like a slain creature in one of Dale's horror movies.
Slowly, Monty turned around to face us. His eyes were glassy, his moustache drooped. Clutched in his paw was half of the axe handle. It had been sheared off just above above his fingers. Zipper's head peeped up over his shoulder, eyes wide.
"Monty, are you okay?" I called.
"Crikey," he said, his voice hoarse. After a moment he reached up and started touching his nose, as though reassuring himself that it was still there. We all rushed over to make sure he wasn't hurt. He just stood there while we checked him over, staring down at what was left of the axe in his paw.
"Monty, tell me you're fine!" said Gadget as she patted his arms up and down.
"Gadget, love," he said after a pause. "I am really, really glad you're on our side."
She broke into a broad smile and hugged him. "Golly, I'd never forgive myself if anybody ever got hurt because of something I built... you're sure you're okay?"
"Not so much as a scratch," he said as he hugged her back. "But
next time, build an ice cream maker, okay?"