Cody And The Frack-Attack Pack

Chapter 1

Squeezing The Hoovey

CHINNY FINSTER POINTED one of his long boney fingers (with the crispy, salty fingernails) at Mayor Hoovenhauer, "Once you’re reelected alls you’d have to do is carry out a few simple company directives…in exchange for which we’d be more than happy to keep your campaign coffers flush now , today ." The mayor took a few feeble steps away from the warty abomination before him.

"Come on Hoovey, you certainly wouldn’t be the first politician to take some special-interest money from the fossil fuel industry." Chinny breathed down on him like a lusty dragon, his breath rank like a sewer.

Finster’s words lashed out at him like a thousand little sticky tongues, each grabbing a tiny fistful of his swollen mind so as to pull him closer…and closer. Pressed up against his own desk Hoovenhauer felt cornered, and in his own office no less. Baroo was just below hiding out in the kneehole, his ears pert with attention, at least as pert as any Basset’s flippity-floppy ears can ever be.

So far he’d managed to resist all the greased palms and backroom deals today’s pollies were constantly being swayed with, yet Hoovey was starting to crack under the pressure. He wondered if he just might be melting as everything seemed to turn red all around him. Rivulets of sweat cascaded down his meaty brow, the starch in his collar finally admitting defeat.

"Get with the program," Finster leered as he rubbed his thumbs under his index and middle fingers at the beleaguered mayor. The crunchy fingertips made sandpaper kisses as they gently scraped against each other, releasing a barely visible dust…which the mayor inhaled.

Hoovenhauer saw his own reflection begin to change in Finster’s large glassy eyes, the left side of his face mottling as if from an inner rot. The other side of the mirror had a different set of intentions altogether…

On second thought all that easy money would help my reelection for sure: State-of-the-art muckraking TV spots, fancy-schmancy fundraising dinners, posh designer attire, and some great big gulps from a replenished slush fund.

The wants were beginning to course through his veins like black blood as his hands began to tremble.

Who am I to turn down $300,000 which would serve ME just fine!

Hoovenhauer’s reptilian metamorphosis came on fast, dark green scales violently ripping through his skin like tissue paper. They hardened over his cheeks, plated his brow, and leathered his lips. Splitting right down the middle, his forked tongue darted over his sharp teeth as wanton greed and icy ambition overtook him. His nails were now razor-like talons and he began

to drag them across his desk, leaving ragged grooves in the wood.

My success would be all but guaranteed… the Hoovey-thing hissed.

He was falling so far so fast through these red skies at night, like a burning star streaking to its death on the horizon.

Then through all the murky blackness, a tiny sound from within his own coffin…

…scratch-scratch…

What?

…SCRATCH-SCRATCH…

Hoovey stopped dropping then, easing his fall until he was bobbing up and down in space as something bright caught his attention.

…SCRATCH-SCRATCH…

BAROO! It was Baroo under his desk…not a coffin after all.

Grrrrrrrrrrrrrr….

His big old Basset Hound issued a low growl from below and that brought him back.

That neural pathway - once blocked up in his skull - broke through and began to surge once again as faces emerged out of the gloom…

There was little Jordan, Alicia, and Melody. David and Michael. Lisa, Chris, Molly, and Vivian. Mary Kay and Marcella. Anne and Esther. Marilyn and Rayna. Debbie and Zach. Martin. Ahmed. So many…

His scales smoothed over and the dark green color faded.

There was Siobhan, Brian, Juan, Nina, Trey, Monica, Craig, Amy, and Paul. Brian, Rick, Mrs. Knight, Effie, and Edith McCullough.

There were people everywhere who deserved better.

Breaking the spell, Hoovenhauer snapped a pencil in two, causing Baroo to wince. Hoovey took a deep breath and swallowed. The cost of giving in to Finster’s unscrupulous demands was too great. Deregulating Timberton’s anti-fracking law so as to make some serious bank was signing their environment’s death warrant.

Brought back to Chinny’s foul presence, newfound clarity washed over Hoovenhauer like fresh spring water.

Did he really want to be just another venal politician?

No. He did not.

"And then we’d lose our most precious asset, our environment. And along with it, the Rumblebarry." Hoovenhauer said, one moment almost drowning in corruption, the next grounded once more. Baroo’s tail began to wag.

That’s my Hoovey. Baroo grumbled sweetly.

Chinny’s bulbous toad neck puffed out indignantly, Psphbt! With the kind of loot I’m offering you, you could own your own greenhouse…IN OUTER SPACE!

Hoovenhauer had finally found his backbone and thankfully (for Timbertonians on both sides of the Borschtissippi River) his moral compass pointed him away from any selfish desires he might’ve been harboring and redirected him towards the best interests of those he’d sworn to protect. Hoovey’s heart swelled up with an earthy paternal love.

(Thinking of all the compromised aquifers…)

"When all the WATER in Timberton is undrinkable and toxic, the money will be useless." Hoovey countered with sound logic.

Chinny scowled, You can always…

(Thinking of all the wastewater dumping and runoff…)

"WHEN all the SOIL in Timberton is poisoned so that nothing will ever grow in it again, the money will be useless." Hoovey continued.

Just go buy some artificial plants, they don’t need wa... Chinny said.

(Thinking of all the VOC pollution from the wells…)

"WHEN all the AIR in Timberton is unbreathable, the money will be useless." Hoovenhauer spoke with fierce determination.

Chinny grimaced, You can SELL air too just like on Mars, you fool! Cans of it…all fresh and like…breathable.

Baroo silently snarled at Chinny. Hoovenhauer raised his head, jutting his chin out, "NO, I’m afraid you are the fool. Money is ephemeral, a tool that is supposed to enhance peoples’ livelihoods, not rob them of it. Our land here is precious, a true asset. It’s not cheap like currency. You can’t just go print up some more of it when you run out. You are under the impression I can be bought just like most politicians these days."

Chinny’s blank eyes bulged in anticipation, his girthy tongue slathering over his lips. "Well? Well?!"

"NO Finster, I can not. Your pockets might run deep, but fortunately my sense of integrity runs even deeper. Rumblebarries are indigenous to Timberton in our lush valleys and fertile soils. And they will continue to do so, unthreatened by fracking, which is a completely unnecessary means of energy production. We will stick to SOLAR and WIND POWER you shortsighted buffoon!"

Baroo nodded his floppy head in stern approval.

Chinny bounced up out of his seat then, suddenly opening one of his corny claws towards Hoovenhauer.

"Know this Hoovenhauer. Mayors come and go. And sometimes they go quite fast, if you catch my drift," the claw clenching into an upraised fist. Hoovenhauer only glared at him as he quickly whisked a pen across a pad. Thinking his intimidation was swaying Hoovey, a dry breathy chuckle erupted from Chinny’s cavernous pie hole.

Startled by Finster’s ghastly laugh, Baroo let out a high-pitched whistle-like whine, catching Finster off guard.

Whaaaa….?

When Chinny looked up Hoovenhauer was gone. In his place was an empty desk with a note resting on top. Finster grabbed it and read it aloud, "I WILL NOT be seen in public with you. End of story. Mayor Hoovenhauer." Chinny scowled, slowly crumpled up the note and popped it in his gob, swallowing down the declination with a loud gulp. He had a strange urge to dip his fingers in sour cream dip and bite his nails.

Tucking himself even tighter under the desk, Baroo watched Finster as he packed up his stuff into a slimy valise, mumbling his disappointment in a creepy conversation with himself.

Don’t wanna play the game, huh Hoovey? Well, maybe I just need to play hard ball.

Baroo’s ears perked up to catch Chinny’s sour grumbling with even better reception.

"You shale regret betraying me Hoovenhauer, Chinny spewed with a bitter tongue, Your town will become Chesapuke’s new drilling turf with or without your help. So at tonight’s town meeting, I’ll just have to lay it on extra thick. The warty demon cleared his throat, hocked a loogie on Hoovey’s ficus, and asked himself in a creepy conspiratorial voice, How is that going to happen, oh great Chinny-chin-chin Finster?"

"I’ll bring out the heavy artillery so as to seduce the gullible townspeople with the old one-two-punch of money and propaganda. These feeble-minded bumpkins will be bought and brainwashed, Chinny cackled as he answered himself in a deeper, darker tone, and then hung out to dry."

His laughter was hollow, cold, and full of spite. Baroo fretted under the desk, that inhuman sound sending shivers up his spine.

"This time we’re playing for keepsss..." Finster hissed.

What a hoary cliché, he really is just a bumbling pumpkinhead. Baroo thought, rolling his eyes in his droopy sockets.

Next a loud drilling sound blared up - another frightful noise to get under Baroo’s thick doughy skin. Chinny took out his smart phone and began reading under his breath, sighing in frustration. Baroo grimaced that Chinny would actually use such a grating racket for his phone’s text alert.

Yet it fit the scoundrel to a t.

Chapter 2

Pick-a-Fight

NESTLED DOWN IN the valley was Timberton’s rumblebarry orchard and today was a beautiful day to be working outside. With brilliant sunrays cascading through the canopies of the trees, the entire orchard was ablaze with autumnal color. A soothing warm breeze whispered though the branches, lightly rustling the leaves.

Four solar-powered arbor-drones hummed in their charging bays like kittens purring in their sleep, their panels absorbing the heat of the sun. Once replenished they’d collect a fresh drink from Effie the water tower, to deliver throughout the irrigation network. High above them, like giant pinwheels against a blue sky, the large blades of the wind turbines swept gracefully through the sweet country air, spinning around and around…lulling even a diligent dog into a decidedly drowsy one.

Cody pawed at the air, ascending the heights of a full-fledged fever dream. Grinning from floppy ear to floppy ear, the happy chocolate lab rolled over on his back to hug the Sun.

CODY! three dogs barked in unison.

Cody’s eyes sprung open to see Mister Sparky, a chubby pug, Skip, a frisky Jack Russell terrier, and Fibbledip, a spazzy Boston terrier all looking down at him. When Cody just stared at them in bewildered silence, Fibbledip nipped his tail and gave it a good tug.

Hey! Cody growled as he was yanked back into reality.

You kinda looked frozen in time there pal. Had to make sure you were really awake. Fibbledip explained.

Yeah-Yeah!! Mister Sparky barked.

Cody rubbed some crusty sleepy winkers from his peepers, coming back to the day.

Skip nodded his head toward the empty baskets. "We’ve got an hour to fill up those three baskets or Aunt Vivian will not be making rumblebarry pie – from scratch - this weekend!"

Silence.

That’s right, Skip continued, Before she left to go home and make Timmy’s lunch, she let me know the score.

Cody bounced to his paws with renewed vigor. I want you three dogs to hop up into the tree and shake those branches like you would thrash teddy bears!

Within moments they had the tree a-shaking and a-shimmering in a berry-dropping dervish like only a pack of pie-hungry chow hounds could. Cody raced back and forth on the ground, catching the plummeting berries in the baskets. The dogs’ teamwork was so effective in fact, they finished the job with a good twenty minutes to spare.

From a nearby tree, Mote, a mischievous snow-white rat with beady red eyes, snarled at the dogs down below. Clobber, a quick cat (and Mote’s faithful steed) began to whimper and hiss as Mote began to dig his tiny claws into his tender kitty sides a little too roughly.

Sorry Clobber, but today I’ve decided those filthy mutts just happen to be the bane of my existence. the trickster rodent said.

Clobber sighed. Here we go again.

Mote was feeling more sinister than usual. He’d driven Clobber relentlessly through the treetops of the orchards, chuckling as he wrought havoc and chaos. He was a rat though, so causing undue hilarity from time to time was not to be unexpected.

As the rat’s claws sunk into his back, Clobber’s talon-like nails grasped the branch in a death-grip. Almost invisible amongst the fiery crimson leaves, Mote’s beady little red eyes widened as a wicked idea occurred to him.

Loudly clearing his throat: Well if it isn’t Cody-Cobbler, Dog of the Wild Frontier. Mote seethed with sarcasm. And his little furry flunkies too! All of the dogs’ ears immediately perked up and they were up on their paws in no time.

Mote! Cody growled.

The angry rat shook his head from side to side, baring his little vermin teeth in a vicious snarl.

Hey Cody, maybe you’re barking up the wrong tree.

Mote was furious now, his frothy spit hanging off his own whiskers like poisonous dewdrops. He lashed his own tail out as if cracking a whip.

SNAP! CRACK!

Oh great, the little pipsqueak’s having another spell. Cody groaned.

What’s that rotten rat up to now? Mister Sparky wondered aloud.

Yesssssss, yessssssssss, Mote hissed as he eyed the branches thickest with rumblebarries.

Mote picked some, Now…

And whipped them down, "…let’s make some JAM."

Pegging the dogs in a series of kersplats, the