This week has been hectic incarnate, but that’s partly my fault.

While I can’t do anything about how the ongoing pandemic affects my family, and I can’t do anything about the wildfires that are currently blazing across the west coast, I am responsible for a portion of the added pressure I experienced.

I have been participating in the weekly Reedsy writing prompt competitions for the last two weeks and this week I decided to create a flash fiction piece that went along with my Reedsy submission.

That means that I had to make some changes. I had originally planned on putting out a different piece of fiction for this week’s flash feature, but I decided that the best thing to do was put out the two pieces at the same time.

Thus I had to draft two stories that went together, do a flash fiction recording, a blog post and a submission. Maybe once upon a time this would be all in a day’s work for me (or for SOMEONE, anyway). But not these days. I scrambled to get it done from the moment of decision all the way to the creeping deadlines.

This week I wrote with a nursing baby, a sleeping family, a squirming toddler, and all of those things at once. I wrote during tummy time, while walking in the moments of almost decent air quality, and I’m pretty sure that I did some writing in my sleep (trust me, it wasn’t good!)

I got it done, and I’m very proud of that.

Let’s get right to it.

Albert Baker and the Power Lines

Jill N Davies

“It’s the darndest thing, Al. They’ve been there since yesterday, just staring.”

Harold put a sun-spotted hand over the expanse of his belly and chuckled as if it were the best story he’d heard all year.

If there was a joke, Albert sure didn’t get it. The stoic line squirrels resting on the fence unsettled him. There was definitely something unnatural about it. Squirrels were supposed to chitter and run, squabble with one another and bark at loiterers. These squirrels bore more resemblance to his daughter’s plushees than that.

“You sure they’re real, Harold? Could it be a joke them Harvey twins put together to mess with you?” He asked, keeping a close eye on the line. He wasn’t sure he’d even seen one blink yet.

“No, they’re real squirrels, alive and kicking. I watched them come down from that tree there and line up myself. Unless Pip and Marley suddenly became robotics savants, there’s no way,” Harold said.

The last time Albert had seen the Harvey boys they’d been coaxing their poor old basset onto a skateboard at the top of Knickerbocker hill. The chances they could pull off something half as brilliant were slim to none. Therefore, the only thing he could do was believe Harold. The problem was this only served to unsettle him further.

“What are you up to,” he muttered, gazing out the window.

Harold was busy packing up his things, his cheeks flushed with the effort. He let out a mighty huff as he hoisted his pack.

“Other than those squirrels, things are in ship-shape here. You should have a quiet weekend.”

Albert looked back at Harold, startled. “You aren’t just leaving me with them, are you?”

“They’re squirrels, Al! What’re you afraid of?” Harold guffawed.

Albert’s cheeks flushed. “You know it was a squirrel that caused the Oakwood fire.”

“That’s why they redid all the lines. And we’ve got those fancy critter-covers on the breakers too. You ain’t got nothin’ to worry about, Al.”

Harold’s hand was on the door. He paused, a mischievous grin spreading across his wide face. “If you’re worried, you could always grab up ol’ Bessy and play target practice.”

Harold roared laughter at his own joke as he made his final exit. The engine of his 12-valve roared to life as Albert returned his attention to the squirrels. Sure, they unnerved him, but he had no intention of using Harold’s pellet gun on the little buggers.

He’d nearly managed to let go of the odd phenomenon when something out the window caught his eye.

He looked out to see the squirrel’s continued vigil. Nothing more.

“Your mind is playing tricks on you,” He said.

Then he saw it again.

He focused his gaze along the bottom of the fence where puffs of dirt danced on the breeze, dragging a few leaves to waft aimlessly. Albert would have to sweep those leaves up. It must’ve been the leaves.

Albert would’ve been satisfied with his conclusion if he hadn’t seen the truth. A flick of dust, and then another, as though tiny hands were flinging dirt into the air.

All along the fence squirrels were tunneling. The longer he watched the more he spotted progressing toward the substation equipment.

Why were they tunneling when they could just come down the fence? Albert didn’t like it, not one bit. None of it was natural. The squirrels were up to something.

He grabbed his safety vest and hard-hat before heading out. Albert wasn’t sure what he was going to do, but he knew he had to shoo them off. Some squirrels in national parks could be semi-tame, but this area was remote. The squirrels would run from him.

The second Albert stepped out the door he regretted it. There were so many squirrels. He was right about one thing; they were affected by his presence, but it wasn’t how he’d thought.

The squirrels lining the fence descended upon him, scratching and biting as their tiny feet pittered across his body. Albert shrieked, then spat out mouthfuls of dirty fur. Before this moment Albert might have thought that his worst fear was heights, but from this moment and forever forth he knew it would be squirrels. He thrashed and flailed. Squirrels few in all directions. His hat fell off his head. In its absence the squirrels clung to his hair. He couldn’t see more than fur, but he could hear them. The zzzap of electric discharge as they bridged wires they shouldn’t have been able to cross, tearing into the breakers and transformers as easily as if the protective covers were nothing more than bedsheets.

Overcome, Albert fell to the ground. The squirrels rolled his body under the fence where his vest hung up in the chain-link. The squirrels swarmed over the hang-up like flies on manure, giving Albert a glimpse of their activity. They were at war with the substation and they were winning.

They planned this, Albert realized as the squirrels carried him off. It may have been his last coherent thought.

The fire department responded approximately 70 minutes after the first blaze. It would’ve been faster, but Albert wasn’t there to report it. Their first clue that something was amiss was the blackout in Warshaw county. It was the largest one recorded in the state.

Harold Durk, whose story of statuesque squirrels was so wildly unbelievable that he was arrested under suspect of arson along with the murder of Albert Baker, whose body was not recovered.

Albert would corroborate Harold’s story if he could, but he’d have to figure out how to escape the squirrels first.

The End

To read the other side of the story, check out my Reedsy submission, the Oaknut Company.

Hungry for more?

I’ve been published in a winter anthology. Check out my short story Shipwrecked Santa in Angry Eagle’s winter anthology, Apocalyptic Winter- Book 2. You can get your copy on Amazon today

If you’ve got an idea for a flash fiction story send it to me at author@jillndavies.com

Tune in next week for more Flash Fiction.

If you’ve got an idea for a flash fiction story send it to me at author@jillndavies.com.

Tune in next week for more flash fiction.

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