Owlbert prayed to himself that the behemoth would not slaughter him upon this next action.
CRUNCH.
Tubman gasped and held her paw at her mouth. There was a momentary silence that felt like an eternity, that is, before Hitbear finally woke up in a fit of rage that would rival a tyrannosaurus in heat.
“JESUS. FUCKING. GOD. DAMN. CHRIST,” roared Hitbear with a refrain he learned from Gora. He soared up from the ground, tossing Owlbert into the air in the process. “WHAT THE FUCK?” Owlbert couldn’t manage to fly properly whilst spinning in the air and landed roughly on his face. Owlbert slid and tumbled across the dirt crater.
Hitbear began to swing his paws around and roared loudly. His eyes were shut tight.
“Oh shit,” yelped Tubman. She hopped away quickly from the enraged Hitbear.
Woosh went Hitbear’s swinging paws in quick succession. Woosh woosh woosh.
“Are you all right, Owlbert?” shouted Tubman. “We’ve got to calm him down now!”
“Ja,” said Owlbert weakly. “I need ein moment, fraulein.” He flew up to a low hanging branch to find a safe spot to examine his body for any injuries. He had many feathers missing and had bleeding scrapes on each wing. Although it was nothing dire, Owlbert was satisfied with staying in the tree to regain his energy. He was happy to leave Tubman to the enraged bear.
“It’s us, Hitbear. It’s us!” cried Tubman to her companion.
Woosh woosh woosh went Hitbear’s paws toward Tubman’s voice. Woosh woosh woosh.
“Don’t kill the dogs!” screamed Hitbear. “Don’t kill the dogs! Don’t do it!” A final few swings – woosh woosh woosh – by Hitbear were made before he fell down to his knees and began to cry. He rubbed his eyes harshly.
“I don’t want to hurt those dogs, or anyone that doesn’t deserve it. Please don’t hurt the dogs,” cried Hitbear loudly. His crying turned to wailing and his eyes finally were opening, only to be filled with bear tears the size of Texas.
Tubman, albeit warily, made her way to the crying bear. “What dogs, Hitbear?” she asked. “What dogs are you talking about?”
“Tubman is that you? I’m so happy to see you,” said Hitbear through his tears. “I had a vision of my past life. It was horrible, I hate it. I hate him. I hate me!”
Tubman, now sitting in front of Hitbear, placed her paws on her companion. “Remember what Gora told us? We aren’t them. Anything our human side did – good or bad – does not, should not count towards our current lives.”
“But why do I feel such a strong connection to that fucking monster?”
“I’m not a scientist, Hitbear,” said Tubman, “but all I can surmise is that it has something to do with that machine Gora used to create us. She likely added our human side’s, um, historic achievements. Your – his, I mean – achievements just happened to be absolutely ghastly.”
“Ugh! I hate him, I fucking hate everything he did or stood for!” cried Hitbear. “I’d much rather have visions or dreams from my bear side! Why can’t we have the animalistic side for our visions?”
“I just don’t know Hit-“
Tubman quickly stopped talking and put one of her fingers to her mouth to signal Hitbear to be silent. She could hear footsteps coming toward them from a distance.
“Hitbear,” whispered Tubman, “we need to head into the woods. There are people coming! I don’t think it’s Gora! Go, go!”
Hitbear nodded and swiftly made his way into the nearby woods; Tubman hopped behind Hitbear, making sure he made it into the woods.
The pair, forgetting about Owlbert, made it fifteen or so feet into the woods before turning around to face the crater. “Have you determined if it’s Gora or not?” asked Hitbear.
“No,” replied Tubman with her paw making the shushing command again, “but stay quiet and keep your breathing as soft as you can.” Tubman’s ears, normally droopy, perked up and widened to optimize her hearing ability. One ear faced toward the ground to pick up any vibrations while the other ear faced toward the original incoming voices and footsteps.
The voices were too faint for even Tubman’s powerful sensing ears, but the footsteps were generating enough vibrations. “There are only two people,” said Tubman quietly. “Their footsteps are pretty distinct.”
Tubman was correct about the distinct footsteps. One set of the footsteps were sloppy and all over the place, like an excited puppy. Pit-pit-pat, pat-pit-pit, and pat-pat-pat the footsteps went, in seemingly no order. The other footsteps were methodical and, mostly, hit the ground with little to no ruckus. Tubman was only able to pick up on the softer footsteps after the person apparently got stuck in a muddy or sticky patch of forest. Tip-tap, tip-tap, and tip-tap the methodical footsteps went.
“What do we do?” asked Hitbear quietly. Hitbear hoped Tubman had an escape plan in her mind, while his mind was still quite scattered and mush-like after that horrible vision. Hitbear was going to rely heavily on his companions for survival, if this turned out to not be Gora. He couldn’t think straight, he couldn’t think much at all. “Where’s that damn owl?” Hitbear looked around quickly and found nothing by plant life.
“God damn, do I have to be y’all’s babysitter? Shut up and let me listen in to these footsteps, I can somewhat hear them now.” Hitbear frowned and rubbed his head, hoping to cease the visions somehow.
“It’s definitely two women, which fits it being Gora and that doctor,” relayed Tubman to Hitbear, still rubbing his head. “They’re talking about… ah, they’re talking about volcanoes and whale semen? What the hell?”
“That somewhat sounds like a topic Gora would enjoy,” said Hitbear.
“True; however, wouldn’t they be talking about that global climate warming thing?” asked Tubman.
“That stuff is bullshit and you know it,” said Hitbear loudly.
“Shut up! This is not the time to argue over that, damn,” said Tubman angrily. Her ferocity made Hitbear slink back and return to rubbing his head.
“But what does the semen from a great blue whale have to do with ocean acidification?” asked one of the incoming voices to the other.
“It has everything to do with it,” said the other voice. “Their semen, which is extraordinarily salty, kills off species that would help fight off any and all of the acidification!”
“That sounds like complete nonsense.”
“I wouldn’t expect someone like you to understand the complex processes that our oceans go through every single day; so, where’s this natural source of pollution I’m supposed to be seeing?”
The voices stopped, as did the footsteps.
“What is happening?” said Tubman. “They were walking and talking then suddenly everything went silent.”
“What were they saying?” asked Hitbear.
“Something about a ‘natural source of pollution’?”
“That’s Gora! That’s definitely Gora!”
The voices and footsteps abruptly began again as quickly as they had stopped, much to the irritation of Tubman.
“It’s this way!” said Gora loudly. “My GPS was off by a few ticks! No troubles, though!”
“Finally,” said Doctor Borehole lethargically. “It wouldn’t have been a Gora trip without a Gora screw up.”
Gora gave the pompous Doctor Borehole some side-eye glare, but smiled because she knew Doctor Borehole’s minutes were numbered.
“Oh you…” said Gora sweetly. “It’s just through this brush!”
“Okay.”
“And here is the…” Gora’s voice fell short. She was peering out into a crater, instead of open grassland with a hidden pitfall. Her GPS was swiftly pulled back out and she began to recalculate the coordinates.
“Where is it, lovely? It’s rather dark out tonight, even for my strong, beautiful eyes!” clamored Doctor Borehole. “Are you sure we’re in the right spot?”
Gora’s GPS reiterated that they were in the correct spot. “Yes, so says my GPS, but,” said Gora nervously, “
there wasn’t this large hole. It was open grassland with a spout shooting out carbon-dioxide.” Gora sat down. Her face was a combination of confusion and sadness.
Doctor Borehole, noticing Gora’s confusion and sadness, stepped down into the crater. “I will look through the crater. It’s highly likely you just misremembered the spot, hm?” Gora was unaffected by any snide remarks from Doctor Borehole, she was only worried about her beasts.
The ever-so-modest Doctor Borehole made her way to the center of the crater, with the help of her smartphone and a handy flashlight application she looked about for the natural source of pollution. The light from her tiny device was quite blinding and helped project strange shadows onto the trees from piled up rocks and dirt.
Neither Hitbear nor Tubman could notice which human was in the center of the crater. If they knew that it was absolutely Doctor Borehole, they would jump in and nab her. Then, at the behest of Gora, kill her right there. Break her neck or slash her throat. It wasn’t the original plan, or even a good plan, but it was their current plan and it needed to work.
“I can’t find anything, lovely,” shouted Doctor Borehole back at Gora, thus alerting Hitbear and Tubman that it was in fact Doctor Borehole in the center. “How very typical of you, hm?” She smiled at the fact that Gora was wrong, but then quickly frowned because she knew her career of climate change denial was over.
“I’m sorry it ended this way, Gora, I truly am,” said Doctor Borehole. “I am going to switch my stance, change every wrong that I have helped perpetuate, and help change the world for good! All of what I said in the car was true! Thank you for bringing me out here to realize that. I needed this. The world needed this.”
Gora, only partially listening, smiled meekly at the smug doctor trying to repent for her sins. “Yeah, sure, whatever,” said Gora quietly.
Doctor Borehole started to walk toward Gora with her flashlight application still on. Suddenly a loud, wawk sound from above could be heard, drawing the attention of Doctor Borehole, Gora and the two mammalian beasts. A continuing wawk could be heard as a creature from above dove down and made a direct hit on Doctor Borehole.
The creature knocked Doctor Borehole to the ground, causing shrieks from the doctor. Her flashlight application caused the blinding light to flicker everywhere as she struggled to fight off the creature. The fight did not last long as a loud scraping could be heard and a loud POP was made. Doctor Borehole made no more shrieks and her flashlight application was positioned in a perfect spot to show an incredible amount of blood gushing from her body, specifically her throat.
Hitbear and Tubman decided to not enter the fray, out of cowardice and curiosity of what the creature was trying to do.
The creature could be heard spitting out Doctor Borehole’s larynx. The faint shadow of the creature could be made out: it was licking its body clean of blood. After this quick moment of tonguing its body, the creature sprung up and headed toward Gora.
Gora, shocked by seeing Doctor Borehole killed forty feet in front of her, was still apathetic toward her life since learning that her beasts may be gone forever. She raised her hands up as if she were telling the creature she were ready to be taken.
“NOOOO!” yelled Hitbear and Tubman as they rushed from the opposite side of the crater. Their cowardice and waiting left them too far from being able to reach Gora in time.
The creature landed mere feet from Gora and said, “Vas ist zee matter, Frau Gora?”
Gora smiled as large as humanly possible and picked up the bloody owl. She hugged and spun around the injured owl.
“It was Owlbert!” screamed Tubman. The injured owl had waited in the tree branch for an opportune moment to strike Doctor Borehole down. “It was Owlbert!”
Tubman and Hitbear locked hands and danced cheerfully with one another.
“Ja, danke,” said Owlbert. “Can du release mein body? Ow!”
“I’m just so happy,” shouted Gora. Tears ran down her face. “I have no words to explain it!”
“Ja, ja!” chirped Owlbert weakly. “Glad to see du as vell, but vas are vee to do with zee doctor’s body?” Owlbert extended his injured wing towards the hard to see bloodied, throat-less body of Doctor Bridget Borehole.
Chapter 32
El Dorado
His tie color remained purple for this debate, but Chairman Obelis’ suit color went from gray to black. A subtle change McCarthy of all people suggested. “You’re out there to win them with your voice, not your damn fashion sense!” His undershirt remained white. His nerves were non-existent, a good sign for him since many more eyes would be on him tonight.
Unlike Bella Vista, the city of El Dorado allowed non-city residents to attend the gubernatorial debate. This meant any media outlet could attend, and, with the craziness of the last debate, many of the mainstream media outlets sent a legion of reporters.
El Dorado was more prepared than Bella Vista to accommodate residents by having the debate in the local community college’s ballroom. Cameras from national media outlets were set up all along each wall. The community college had their own camera placements too: a camera was set dead center from the stage about fifty feet away, and two smaller ceiling cameras were pointed where the candidates will sit when it is not their turn to speak.
It was difficult to tell which camera and reporter represented which network, but, regardless, Chairman Obelis knew that he had to be sharp tonight. “No slipups; just bide your time and give them what they want to hear.” If he were to rile up the crowd again, it would definitely be recorded and everyone would know what he said to rile them up – not some flimsy disdain for a football team.
Luckily, El Dorado wasn’t as wild for the Razorbacks as the citizens of Bella Vista. This meant that Southwyck wouldn’t already have an advantage over Chairman Obelis or Steenburgen. Unfortunately, El Dorado was a huge oil and gas town. Headquarters or small outposts of oil and gas companies were located in the town. Companies such as Arkansas Oil and Gas, Gaxxom, Frack-Tech (out of Canada) and OEG (Oil Expedition Group) all laid claim in the city of El Dorado. This gave an absurd advantage to Southwyck, as he was going to lift regulations, lower corporate taxes, and make life easier for big business in Arkansas.
“Welcome to the cozy South Arkansas Community College,” said an announcer. He was not the same announcer from the debate at Bella Vista; rather, he was an anchor from one of the major networks. Either ABC or CBS, Chairman Obelis couldn’t remember. His name was Don McSuede and he was more of an entertainer than anchor. Ratings motivated him, not truth or news.
The Republican National Convention leaders did not do Arkansans many favors, but they did push for McSuede to help guide Southwyck through the debate since Chairman Obelis proved to be at least a capable opponent to their candidate Southwyck. The Democratic National Convention leaders still did not offer to help Steenburgen in any way, shape, or form. She was still left to her own accord.
“Or South-Ark as they pleasantly call it! El Dorado is truly a fantastic gem of a town. One of the best towns in these United States of America. Gas is so cheap here! I filled up my Miata for only $17.” McSuede laughed obnoxiously. He was dressed in a dark blue suit and wore a loud yellow tie. “Now let’s get this thing started. Who here is ready for a gubernatorial debate?”
The crowd cheered, louder than the beginning of the Bella Vista debate, but it was a restrained cheer. No one in the crowd was wearing overalls or smelled of pig slop, but their faces still held the pain of the harsh economy that had befallen them.
“How about I simply introduce our candidates and then we can just begin the debate? Don’t want Huxley Obelis to start another riot!” laughed McSuede. The crowd laughed along with the announcer. Chairman Obelis standing at his podium, along with the other two candidates, began to laugh as well. There wasn’t anything he could to rectify the situation.
“The republican candidate is Mr. Ryan Southwyck!” The crowd cheered and clapped loudly. Southwyck waved to the crowd during his introdu
ction. “He prefers Jesus, low tax rates and football!” The crowd cheered and clapped loudly, again, but zero ‘pig sooie’ chants could be heard, to the delight of Chairman Obelis. “He would make a fine governor.”
“The democratic candidate is a Ms. Felicia Steenburgen,” said the announcer flatly. A few pity claps, along with some cheering from her mother and friend could be heard. It was pathetically quiet. “She, um, believes that Love and Charity will bring Arkansas back to the forefront of America. She also thinks cats are the fantastic.” The crowd didn’t even give her pity claps after that.
McSuede covered the microphone and asked the producer next to him, “Is that really what she fucking put down? Unbelievable.” Steenburgen stood behind the podium emotionless, breathing her heavy breaths. McSuede removed his hand from the microphone. “Thank you, Ms. Steenburgen, for coming out tonight!” Zero claps, zero cheers. It appeared her mother and friend got stage fright or didn’t even want to support Steenburgen’s silly idealistic ways anymore.
After a brief moment of awkward silence, McSuede stated, “And, Mr. Riot-Inciter himself, Huxley Obelis!” The crowd clapped loudly, roughly the same volume as for Southwyck. “He didn’t give us any information for a short introduction tonight, unfortunately, but wanted to tell you that he does not hate the Razorbacks football team!” Chairman Obelis waved around to the crowd, forcing a big smile on his face, opting to avoid his bored looking face as much as possible. The crowd cheered loudly and a man could be heard yelling, “GO LONGHORNS!”
Upon hearing a man yell, “Go Longhorns!” the crowd cheered loudly. “GO LONGHORNS!” the crowd kept chanting. Louder and louder it got.
“GO LONGHORNS!” Hands were raised into the air to make tiny longhorns, signifying that person’s allegiance to the University of Texas’ football program.
“Another strange ritual of chanting ‘Go Team’,” noted Chairman Obelis on a piece of paper. He looked up from his podium and the crowd was still chanting feverishly. Southwyck, albeit a Razorback fan, motioned his hands like the crowd’s to hype the crowd up further. “Easily riled up when it comes to anything sport related. They, seemingly, love football more than life itself.”
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