Guerrillas in the Glen
Gordon Stearns

Chapter 7
The Horrid Eel-Tooth
page 1 of 3

Whiteness smothered the glen. Figan and Hyde shivered in the cool morning air as they picked their way through the dense fog. Today the humans were returning and the chimps were searching for a lookout post. But Hyde felt as if he had stumbled into a nightmarish world. Everything was familiar, yet strangely different.

Like a massive gnarled giant, the great black cherry tree loomed up in front of them. It was the oldest and biggest tree in the glen. This ancient tree had endured through the years while other trees had sickened, toppled, and decayed.

"This weather is as cold as when we first came," complained Figan.
"Too chilly for us chimps," agreed Hyde.

The favorite tree shyly emerged from the ghostly fog. Hyde rushed over and hugged it joyously.
"Beautiful, lovely, favorite tree, they not get you and they not get me."
"Hyde," Figan exclaimed in amazement, "that's your very first poem."
Hyde grinned happily. "I getting real smart."

Figan and Hyde continued their search, peering through the billowy white fog. Figan noticed a stand of bushy evergreens. Quickly, they climbed up and clung to neighboring branches in the heart of a big blue spruce. The fragrant scents of pine enveloped them as they talked quietly.

"We attack the humans when they come, Figan?"
"Well," cautioned Figan, "we really can't hope to stop the humans by attacking them head-on. They're just too strong. We need to fight a guerrilla war against them."
"We too small to be gorillas," grumbled Hyde.
"Not that kind of gorilla," laughed Figan. "A guerrilla war is hit-and-run warfare. We make surprise raids against the humans. We ambush them. We wreck their supplies and equipment. Then we escape into the woods so they can't get us."

Hyde vigorously nodded his little head and proclaimed proudly, "We will beat those humans again and again, for we are the guerrillas in the glen."

A blood red sun appeared and began to burn the fog off the land. The glen slowly emerged as from a dream. Sounds of morning filtered through the vanishing mists. But other sounds - the sounds of humans - abruptly pierced the peacefulness of the glen. The humans were approaching. The "guerrillas in the glen" flattened themselves against the branches and peered down through the blue-green curtain of pine needles.

Only wisps of fog remained as the two boy humans ran breathlessly into the glen. Joe carried a small hand saw while Brett twirled about in excitement.

"I'm going to help," shouted Joe waving his little saw as The Mom and The Dad appeared.
"Me too," piped up Brett still dancing about.
"That's great, boys," encouraged The Dad. "Mom and I could use some help."

Figan cringed as sunlight suddenly glinted off the gruesome, eel-toothed blade of the chain saw The Dad held.
"Unn-NHH," Figan murmured," it's a horrid eel-tooth."

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Guerrillas in the Glen Copyright 1997, 1998 Gordon Stearns
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