Untitled

    Judy Hopps knew the stories about Beetown. Hell, everyone from Bunnyburrow knows someone who knows someone who has a friend that lived one. Being it’s the only majority-pred farming town around, it’s got itself a reputation over the years. Just a stone’s throw from Bunnyburrow, but prey don’t visit it. Not if they can help it. Judge all you want, but most agree that there’s just too many stories for prey to chance it. This is one of those stories. Tonight, I’ll tell you how Judy Hopps met the Queen of Beetown. And it’s true. You want proof? Take a walk down Pack Street and you’ll see it spray painted there on the overpass.

 

    “Who put Bella in the wych elm?”

 

    But I’m getting ahead of myself. You probably haven’t even heard of the town before now, have you? Most folks from the city haven’t. Well now, let’s see.

 

    They say they used to grow beets there before the soil went sour. They say that’s how it really got the name. But folks from Beetown don’t have a reputation for telling the truth that much. They do keep bees there, though. That much is fact. Always have, at least since the soil went sour. That’s probably the more likely namesake. But nothing about that town is quite right, so it’s hard to say. For example, nobody from Beetown spells it with a capital “B”. “welcome beetown”, says the sign at the town limits.  If you ask someone who lives there why they always write it lowercase like that, they all get the same damn grin and lean in and say the same damn thing.

 

    ”’Cause bees are little.”

 

    Now, Judy Hopps hadn’t thought about the place in years until her mother called. Isabella Brown, the matriarch of the old Brown burrow, went missing on Tuesday. Her truck turned up two days later, nice and neat, save for a flat tire, and parked next to the sign at the edge of Beetown. It was all over the news in Bunnyburrow. No mention of it the Beetown’s tiny paper, though. Because it wasn’t news there. Because folks in Beetown, well, they know something about life.

 

    Sometimes, things go missing.

 

    Now, Judy Hopps knew that there wasn’t much to be done. At least, not according to the rules. No jurisdiction, see. But that didn’t stop her from taking the week off and the first train home, towing along a fox who was none too pleased about the matter. None too pleased, but not about to let her investigate a missing mammal off the books all by her lonesome. So there she went, towing him along, to bother the sheriff in those parts, who told them to bother the deputy, who told them everything they knew. Which was all of jack. Judy Hopps was starting to think that they weren’t terribly concerned about it  in the first place, which wasn’t exactly true. They just knew better than to drive themselves batty looking for a bunny that went missing in Beetown. No, that was a town for losing things, not finding ‘em.

 

    But Judy Hopps? Well, she thought she knew a thing or two about finding mammals. So one hot day--at least, hotter than a day that late in October had any right to be--that pair jumped into the old Hopps pickup and rode on down the road until they reached that ramshackle excuse for a town. Now, there wasn’t much to go on. Her husband was the one to find the empty truck, and police interviews with townfolk weren’t much more than a report on recently shrugged shoulders. Still, she was hell-bent on getting to the bottom of it all.

 

    She reckoned that if old Bella had a flat, she’d most likely try the first door she came across for help with the spare. Mister Brown had said as much. Said Bella was never one for getting her hands dirty if she could help. What’s more, the first door happened to be the gas station, a beat up old thing that never looked open but was more often than not. Now, the fox wanted to do the talking, this being a mostly pred town and all, but Judy Hopps wouldn’t hear it.

 

    The old coyote working the counter bade them good afternoon without looking up from his paperback, but when he heard Judy Hopps say it back his eyes sparked up like a trick birthday candle. He leaned a little too far over the counter and smiled a little too wide and inquired just what he could do for her on this fine afternoon. She flat out told him that they were friends of the Brown family and wanted to ask him a few questions. He asked if they were cops, and before the fox could get a lie in edgewise she told him yes, yes they were, but they weren’t here on official business.

 

    The old coyote told her that he told the sheriff all he knew, which was nothing, and if she cared to wait for the coffee to finish brewing, he’d be more than happy to tell her nothing too. Judy Hopps, never being one to leave well enough alone, knew that surely someone had seen something, and she said as much. The old coyote smiled just a bit wider and declared that in that case, she’d be seeking an audience with the Queen of Beetown.

 

    The fox didn’t like the sound of any of this, but that didn’t stop that rabbit from asking who that was and where to find her. The shopkeep told her that oh, she’d be about, and they’d be liable to meet her before too long. Best advice he could give was just to take a walk and see the sights.

 

    Judy Hopps thought that at least sounded like a start. She thanked the shopkeep for his time and took off. Just as the fox was following her out the door, the old coyote caught his ear with a “Say, officer.” He stopped halfway out the door, looking none too pleased.

 

    “Say, officer. You ever shot someone before?”

 

    The fox looked cross and said that no, as a matter of fact he hadn’t.

 

    That dog grinned even wider at him and leaned over the counter. “Well, you lookin’ to?”

 

    They left the truck parked at their motel and set to walking. The fox didn’t like the idea of staying the night, but the sun would start setting before too long and Judy Hopps didn’t fancy leaving before the job was done. The town didn’t have more than a handful of roads, so it didn’t take them long to find its center. There weren’t a lot of folks out and about, but those that were didn’t seem to pay them any mind. Nobody jumped out as royalty, but she suspected that the coyote had been pulling her leg anyway. She was just about to stop a passing grizzly when that fox noticed someone shuffling down the sidewalk just behind them. In truth, he smelled her before he saw her, but there she was: a hyena wearing a dirty gold paper crown and a big ol smile and muttering something he couldn't quite make out. He gave his partner a nudge as she strolled past the pair, so of course Judy Hopps felt compelled to interrupt the lady’s conversation with herself.

 

    She was terrible sorry to bother her and all, but she just had to inquire if she might be the Queen of Beetown they had heard so much about. The old hyena, who I’m told is actually more middle aged but doesn’t look it, just laughed and trembled a bit and shook her head in a manner that didn’t really indicate if she was saying yes or no. Never to be deterred, Judy Hopps went straight into her speech about who they were and why they were here, but Her Majesty’s gaze kept roaming the street and she didn’t seem to catch a word. That is, until they mentioned the name Isabella Brown. When she heard that, her eyes got big and sad, and she shook her head slowly and wrung her hands and muttered something about poor old Bella. Poor old Bella and how she didn’t like it in there. What a shame, what a shame.

 

    Now the fox felt like someone had doused him with cold water. He asked, “In where?” of course, and I’m sure you knew what the answer was.

 

    “Why, in the wych elm.”

 

    You would’ve thought someone turned that pair to stone. They tried to get more out of her, but she just kept on shaking her head and muttering on about poor old Bella. Finally, Judy Hopps just about grabbed her by the shoulders asked her where in the world they could find the wych elm.

 

    “The Hives, the Hives,” she said, eyes wide and thunderstruck.

 

    So Judy Hopps and her fox tore off for the apiary, which was only a short jaunt from the town proper. The sun was already setting, so by the time they arrived they were low on daylight. The Hives lacked the organization of your typical apiary. It wasn’t much more than a field scattered with dozens of old wooden hives with no rhyme or reason. And at its center stood the old, dead husk of a tree.

 

    The fox tried to tell her to be careful, but she rushed on over to it, weaving through the buzzing hives until she reached the tree. Its bark was covered with names and carvings left by the sort of folk that takes a knife to a tree, but she didn’t see any sign of a missing rabbit. That is, until she saw mud caked on a branch just a few feet over her head. She scrambled up onto it, and there she saw it. The center of the tree was hollow, scorched clean through by lightning years ago. And in the guts of that old tree, Judy Hopps found old Isabella Brown.

 

    Well, most of her.

 

    I won’t get into the details. They aren’t pleasant, and I don’t know which are true and which are exaggerations, and I only mean to tell the true parts. Suffice it to say, it wasn’t pretty. They didn’t have any phone service out in the field, so they high-tailed it back to the motel and called the sheriff, who said he’d come out to handle things...first thing in the morning. Well, that settled it. Judy Hopps had a feeling that this investigation was fixing to be botched, so there was no chance of the pair leaving town tonight. First on her list: track down that old hyena and find out just how the hell she knew what she knew. But by that time it would be night, and everyone knew that the only place stranger than Beetown during the day was Beetown after dark. So they called it a day.

 

    Judy Hopps spent a long time that night lying awake, thinking about what she saw and wracking her brain for suspects and motives. The old hyena, the Queen, knew where Bella was, and the gas station shopkeep knew that she knew, or at least had an idea she might. She knew that she wouldn’t be able to sleep until she figured the whole mess out.

 

    Well, she was wrong about that. Judy Hopps dreamed that night. She was back at the Hives, except this time they stretched out as far as the eye could see. As she made her way toward the old wych elm, which now stood a good three stories tall, a thick, buzzing cloud enveloped her like a fog. It hummed so loud that she couldn’t hear herself think. Before long, it had grown so dense that she was afraid to breathe in, certain she’d get a lungful of sharp, venomous stingers instead of air. She held her breath, but she could feel the insects crawling on her, nestling down in her fur and trying to find skin. Just as she thought her lungs would burst, she gasped and found herself still lying in bed. She hopped up to her feet, heart going a mile a minute, and stepped out into the hall to visit her partner’s room next door. She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw his door wide open.

 

    He was nowhere to be seen. His things were still strewn about, so she knew she had the right room. And unless he had just decided to leave his phone behind and wander about the motel in his skivvies, she had a feeling he was in trouble. Judy tore off for the truck and found it with four slashed tires. The closest source of help was the sheriff, but of course the office’s phone went to voicemail. After leaving a hurried message, he ran through town as fast as her legs could carry her, hell-bent on reaching the Hives. She felt the eyes of every pred in town peering out from the drawn shades of each house she passed, but she pressed on. Her lungs burned like fire and her legs felt like they were about to fall off, but she reached the Hives in record time and didn’t stop until she reached the old, dead tree.

 

    She heard her fox call out her name from exactly where she knew he’d be: the rotten core of the wych elm. She groped for that low branch, wishing there was some sort of light. And lo and behold, suddenly there was. More than one, in fact. She turned to see what must’ve been at least a dozen flashlight beams aimed square at her face from among the beehives, blinding her and leaving those that held them wreathed in shadow.

 

 

    “Well, it looks like the Queen has an audience tonight after all,” came the familiar voice of the old coyote from the gas station. At least a dozen other voices laughed to themselves in the dark all around her like it was the funniest thing they ever heard.

 

    Judy Hopps shielded her eyes and knew she had to do something quick, expecting the preds to start closing in on her any second. Except they didn’t. One by one, the lights winked out, and she could just make out dark figures passing between the hives, backing away. For a moment, all she could hear was her own heartbeat and the indistinct cursing coming from the treed fox. Until the hum started.

 

    She couldn’t be sure if it truly started, or if she had just now noticed it. A deep, low thrumming sound coming from somewhere. Placing a hand to the trunk, she felt the tree tremble and shudder with the sound. Her partner’s increasingly frantic cries snapped her into action. She scrambled up the branches and found him wedged in the hollow trunk, arms pinned to his side. She just barely got a grip under his armpits and tried to haul him out, her aching legs shaking from the effort. He didn’t budge. The low, mad thrumming sound had grown even louder, and it was increasingly obvious that it had its source under the knotted roots of the tree. It wasn’t the sound of a swarm. No, whatever this infernal creature was, it was singular, and it was getting closer. The branches shuddered and shook as the bark vibrated so hard the whole tree threatened to splinter. The fox’s pleas grew more and more desperate as he felt a hot, swirling wind stir up from the hollow shaft of the tree. But try as she may, Judy couldn’t free him.

 

    Then something grabbed her ankle. She shrieked and nearly fell, but managed to catch herself just in time. Looking down, she saw a ratty paper crown bobbing in the darkness. That old hyena let her go, regripped on the branch and hauled herself up, flashlight clutched between her teeth. Without a word, she grabbed on to the fox where she could, and with one well-timed heave, the pair of them were able to pull him free enough to use his arms. He clambered out and shouted for them to move it, his voice hoarse and panicked. He didn’t have to tell them twice. They dropped from the branch like a trio of overripe apples just as the maddening thrum reached its deafening crescendo.

 

    Their friend was already on her feet and off at a full sprint. But for a moment, Judy and the fox sat where they fell, transfixed. The buzzing had stopped. From the chimney of that tree, barely visible in the nervous light of the hyena’s dropped flashlight, came one long, thin, segmented something, then another. That was all they cared to see. They took off as fast as they could, heading back the way they came without a glance behind. Judy almost cried from relief when they reached the road and found a pair of red and blue lights waiting for them. The back door of the police cruiser was already open, and they piled into the back seat without a second thought. The deputy looked back at them with a weary expression, then pulled onto the road. He didn’t stop at their motel or at the sheriff’s office. He didn’t even slow down until they reached the property line of the Hopps farm, ignoring their frantic questions entirely. The car finally stopped at the end of the dirt road leading to Judy’s childhood home.

 

    “We’ll get the truck towed back in the morning,” was the only thing the deputy said as they climbed out.

 

    Judy Hopps wasn’t surprised when she never heard back about the truck, just like she wasn’t surprised when she heard that an official investigation never turned up a single hair of Isabella Brown. Find something in Beetown? No, that was a place for losing things, not finding ‘em. It nagged at her from time to time, sure. They never spoke of it, but they both knew. See, for all her courage and lofty ideals, Judy Hopps learned some important things about life there in Beetown. There are some places you just don’t go, not if you have any sense. There are some folk that just aren’t decent, no matter what you’d like to think. There are some roots that ought to stay buried, no matter how foul the fruit.

 

    And sometimes, things go missing.