Why the chicken crossed the road

To save his hide from getting fried, he had to get to the other side

Art by @RESLUS

Lightning flashed, casting shadows across the alley and over the two-piece combo of still bodies, the Lieutenant and the Captain. A lone rooster made his way through: Cluck Feathers was his name. 

They were on to him, his cover blown into 11 herbs and spices, and he was on the lamb. Things were in dire straits, but Cluck wasn’t some boneless chicken — he had a few sides of his own to dish out. 

He checked the empty street before he rushed across to the safety of the other side. He opened his coat, checking that the flask of sauce was still intact. All good, at least he hadn’t risked his giblets for nothing. With no backup, he had to wing the rest of the plan and make his own way out. 

And Cluck wasn’t some spring chicken, he could hatch a plan like nobody’s business.

He made his way to the safe house, an abandoned warehouse at the edge of town, nicknamed “The Coop.”

He had to figure out how he had been caught, it was too convenient that they had doubled the guard, he suspected fowl play. 

It could have been some fresh-from-the-egg rookie running his mouth, but Cluck suspected it ran deeper. No one else knew the plan other than him and his command, so the Roost itself may have been compromised.

If that was true, he might be grilled already.

That was the dry rub, but he’d been in situations with sticky sauce and no napkins, just a matter of perseverance and creativity.

He finally made it to The Coop, no one seemed to be tailing him, that was good. He needed to find the leak, who had cracked their shell and sold them out by the dozen. 

He made his way to his office, his own personal nest in the safe house. The door was unlocked, and he felt his feathers bristle.

There was a fox in this coop.

He saw his desk at the far end of the room, the chair facing the window rather than the door. As he approached, the door slammed shut. He turned to see two goons in red aprons.

“Mr. Feathers, I was wondering when you’d make your way back.”

Cluck’s blood ran cold as the chair slowly turned, revealing the Colonel. His white curly hair and dark glasses framed a smile much too big to be genuine. 

“You know what they say, revenge is a dish best served cold. And Cluck, it’s finger lickin’ good.”