Eight Barred Rocks - Prologue

The first chapter of a story I've been writing.

Tucker was a normal dog.
            Normal by his standards, that was, and by the standards of those he lived with. Which was to say that he was capable of talking, and carrying things, and making some delicious cheese toast.
            Tucker lived in a house in Monkton, Vermont, with two adopted siblings and the three humans. At the moment, he sat in the master bedroom, on the edge of the bed, holding a video game controller.
            Xander, the youngest of the three humans (his full name was Alexander, but everyone just called him Xander) was sitting in his dad’s armchair, holding the other controller. “You ready, Tuck?” He spoke a mix of Dog and Human, whatever words he didn’t know in Dog replaced by ones from Human.
            Tucker glanced towards him. “I guess.” He used the same method as Xander, just with the two languages switched.
            Xander hit the button, and the game started.

            More than forty miles away, down a long dirt road and nestled into the trees, was a large building. The sign planted at the edge of the grass read 'Happy Hen Hatchery.’
            Within the hatchery, through a door labelled ‘Chickens’ and down the hall, was another door with a picture of a Barred Rock chicken on it. Through that door were a dozen Barred Rocks, pacing back and forth in the woodchip-filled room, pecking at the food trough or the water bowl.
            In the corner were two bars, stretching about two feet from one wall to a wooden plank at the halfway point of the room. A large plank of wood provided a cover, even though there was no sun and no real need for a cover.
            The bars were meant for the Barred Rocks to sleep on, and most of them did, but one Barred Rock had spent the last three weeks in the opposite corner, never leaving for more than a few minutes at a time.
            As she shifted, one of the eight brown eggs she was sitting on top of rolled to the side, and with a small cluck of concern she used her beak to push it back under her wing. She’d been sitting on these eggs for the last twenty days, ever since she laid the first two, and six more had been added in the following four days after that.
            Yesterday, one of the eggs had started peeping, a sign that the chick inside was close to hatching. Maia the Barred Rock stared down at that same egg. She thought she’d heard-
            Crack.
            As she watched, a tiny crack appeared in the side of the egg, and the beak of her chick poked its way through.

Tucker easily won most of their games, and the two out of fifteen that he lost, he still came quite close to winning.
            Xander threw his hands up in defeat. “When did you get so good at this‽” he cried.
            Tucker shrugged. “I’ve been practicing.”
            Xander stared at him. “All you ever do is sit by the window and stare broodingly into the distance. When have you had time to practice?”
            Tucker shrugged again. “I’ve been wrestling with Bonus and Zoë, too.” Bonus and Zoë were, of course, his adopted siblings.
            Xander shook his head. “Why? Why the sudden non-laziness?”
            Tucker scowled. Everyone always thinks I’m lazy. Even H-M. Human-Mom (so named because she had one human child and three adopted dog children), was currently making lunch in the kitchen. “I’m not lazy! I was never lazy! I just…” His voice broke and he sighed.
            “Sorry, Tuck,” Xander said, reaching out to pet him. Tucker allowed him to do so for a few seconds, then moved his head out of range. I don’t want to be comforted. I don’t want to be pacified. Especially not by him. By that boy who only cares about Bonus, who has no clue about-
            He clamped his jaw shut, doing his best to wipe those thoughts away. At least I’ve gotten a lot of practice doing that over the last eight months.

            One of the Barred Rocks came wandering over, her beak wet from the water she’d been drinking. “Is it hatching?”
            “This one is,” Maia said, tapping the cracked egg. “One of the others has started peeping, too, but none of the others are cracked yet.”
            They both stared at the egg, cracks steadily spreading as the chick inside worked to free itself, peeping all the while.
            “Did you ever decide on names?” the other hen asked.
            Maia smiled fondly. “Of course. All Greek, like mine. It’s a family tradition.” Even though six of the eggs weren’t hers, she still got the honor of naming them all, since she was the one doing all of the work to hatch them.
            “You can do it, my sweet Bellona,” she whispered to the egg. Bellona, the Roman goddess of war and leadership.

            Xander had left to make himself lunch as well a few minutes ago, leaving Tucker alone in the bedroom. He stared at the Tucker reflected in the blank TV screen, lost in thought.
            Xander’s right, at least partially – I HAVE been more active lately. Maybe I’m getting restless. Without the Regresarás, without the Agency, without SOMETHING, then life is just a boring, endless cycle. But I left the Agency more than a year ago, and the Regresaras haven’t even contacted me in nine months.
            Although… it is kind of nice. I like my work for the Regresaras, but it’s dangerous. Normal life isn’t. I get to relax on the couch with H-M, watch Human-Dad play games, wrestle with Bonus and Zoë even though I’m not very good at it…
            A memory from two days ago surfaced: Tucker, making his famously delicious cheese toast and handing it out to everyone. Seeing the happiness on everyone’s faces made him so much happier himself.
            He sighed, and climbed down off the bed. There’s only one way to make sure they stay… if not happy, then at last safe.
            No matter the cost.

            Maia watched her sweet, perfect egg rock back and forth, cracks widening until it split fully in half, and the chick that she’d decided to name Bellona flopped to the woodchips.
            Maia reached out to help her, but the chick flailed back onto its tiny talons and flapped its wings, peeping madly.

            Forty miles away, Tucker’s ears perked up.