Amberville by Tim Davys

His face was concealed by a large hood. He was carefully leading an older parrot out of one of the buildings. As they came down the steps, the glow of the streetlight fell such that Tom-Tom was able to see that the Chauffeur was nonetheless a stuffed animal.
    It was a wolf.
    Perhaps the wolf didn’t appear particularly fear-inducing, but the circumstances caused a cold shiver of terror to pass down the crow’s back. The Chauffeur and the old parrot got into the pickup, which immediately drove away, and Tom-Tom—who had still not put the brakes on during these ominous seconds—continued straight ahead, after them.
    As though in a trance, the crow followed the red pickup onto South Avenue and farther out of the city. Tom-Tom had never been outside the city limits. He turned off the headlights and continued in the darkness. The red rear lights on the pickup in front of him were soon the only thing he saw.
    They drove deeper and deeper into the dense forest. Hundreds, perhaps thousands of trees were dimly seen in the darkness to the sides of the narrow road. After half an hour they arrived at an enormous, hangar-like structure standing dark and deserted in the middle of nowhere. The red pickup stopped there.
    Tom-Tom pressed the brake pedal to the floor, and without turning off the engine saw the door on the passenger side of the pickup open and the old parrot got out.
    Quickly and simply the Chauffeurs then turned around in order to drive back.
    The road was so narrow there was scarcely room for two cars to meet, and the crow didn’t know what he should do. He couldn’t reveal himself. In pure panic he threw the car into reverse. He stepped on the gas and turned right into the forest. That the little car inserted itself between two tree trunks instead of crashing against them was pure chance. Only ten seconds later the red pickup passed, and Tom-Tom waited half a minute before he returned up onto the road and followed the distant rear lights back toward the city.
    He was not interested in what the Chauffeurs did with worn-out animals like the old parrot. Tom-Tom’s mission was to find out where the Chauffeurs themselves hung out. And it was obviously not in the forest.
     
    Sam and Snake drove around Amberville for almost an hour before they gave up.
    “The crow went the wrong way, and he’s struggling to find his way back,” said Snake into the walkie-talkie. “Or else he’s still wondering how the walkie-talkie works.”
    “Whatever,” replied Sam. “I’m going home and sleep now, old man.”
    Snake kept him company, and they turned both of their cars and drove back toward Yok. But Eric could not give up.
    The bear continued untiringly, driving from east to west and from west to east through the dark streets. However deeply this part of the city was sleeping, it was pure chance that no one called the police; seeing the same car drive back and forth during the darkest hours of the night ought to have aroused suspicion.
    Finally the walkie-talkie crackled to life.
    Eric slammed on the brakes in pure terror.
    “Hello? Come.”
    “It’s me,” Tom-Tom’s voice was heard. “I have contact. Come.”
    Holy Magnus, thought Eric to himself. It had been more than two hours since the crow had been in touch. “Where? Come.”
    “In Yok. Come.”
    “I’m on my way.”
    Eric turned east at the next intersection and drove quickly through the empty streets. Driving was something he’d devoted all too little time to in his life. He was an unaccustomed driver, but each time he sat behind the wheel he was filled with a kind of childish joy. The adrenaline again streamed out into his body and there was no trace of the tired resignation he’d felt previously.
    “Passing South Avenue. Come,” he let Tom-Tom know.
    Only a few blocks into south Yok, however, Eric’s frustration increased anew. The rectilinear streets in Amberville, where the cars stood neatly parked along the sidewalks and made the streets easily