For a moment, no one moved.

Scout remained where he was, watching the foreman. The foreman remained where he was, watching Scout.

And the beavers?

They kept right on working.

Alder carried another branch toward the dam. Bracken disappeared beneath the water and surfaced a moment later several yards downstream.

As far as the beavers were concerned, it was just another day of work along the river. But for everyone else, it was anything but.

The landmen were still trying to figure out just how many skunks surrounded them – and Scout intended to keep them guessing.

Seven years earlier, the skunks had driven the landmen away before they could clear the land and drill wells.

But this time was different.

The wells feeding the Predator Pipeline had been drilled elsewhere. And the pipeline itself was no longer a line drawn across somebody’s map. It had been built.

But now, buried beneath the earth were miles of pipe worth millions of dollars—an investment its owners had no intention of walking away from.

Scout understood that.

The foreman did too.

For Scout, that meant one thing.

Another stink might send the landmen running, but Scout knew that wouldn’t be the end of it. The Predator Pipeline was still there, and its owners would surely try again to get the ethane flowing to Hell’s Bells.

For now, though, the beavers had done their job.

Slowly, Scout lowered his tail.

The foreman’s hand loosened around his rifle.

Across the river, Alder slapped his tail once against the water.

WHAP!

The sound broke the silence.

Quinn glanced at Wiley.

QUINN: “Think this is over?”

Wiley kept his eyes on the landmen.

WILEY: “I’ve been around humans long enough to learn one thing.”

QUINN: “What’s that?”

WILEY: “Never assume a man carrying a rifle brought it for decoration.”

Quinn swallowed.

QUINN: “That’s not particularly reassuring, Wiley.”

WILEY: “Wasn’t meant to be.”

WHAP!

This time, everyone turned.

Hmmm. Must be time for the beavers to have a say, Quinn thought.

And the beavers’ response?

They kept on working.

Branches splashed into the water. Mud was packed between logs. Stones were pushed into place.

The foreman watched for a moment, then looked back at Scout and the hundred skunks gathered behind him.

Scout held his ground.

Neither needed to say a word.

Finally, the foreman turned toward his men.

FOREMAN: “We’re outta here.”

The landmen headed toward their trucks, one hurrying to catch up with the foreman.

LANDMAN #1: “What are we going to tell the Boss?”

Another glanced back toward the river.

LANDMAN #2: “You think he’s gonna believe a hundred skunks chased us off?”

The foreman stopped and looked back.

FOREMAN: “We? I’m the one who has to tell him.”

He climbed into his truck and slammed the door.

The skunks remained along the river bank, settling beneath bushes, behind rocks and among the trees.

For now, they would stand guard.

And the beavers?

They kept right on building.

The foreman wasn’t looking forward to telling the Boss what had happened at the river.

By the time he arrived back at the office, he was prepared for the worst.

He expected shouting.

He expected questions.

Most of all, he expected to be sent back with more men and a new plan for dealing with the beavers, and the skunks.

Instead, the Boss seemed strangely unconcerned.

“Sit down,” he said.

The foreman sat.

FOREMAN: “What do you want us to do about the Predator Pipeline?”

The Boss leaned back in his chair.

BOSS: “Maybe nothing.”

FOREMAN: “Nothing? But then we won’t be able to transport ethane to Hell’s Bells.”

BOSS: “I know.”

The Boss rose and walked toward a large map hanging on the wall.

BOSS: “For years, we told everybody plastic was the future. We built pipelines. We built Hell’s Bells. We spent billions.”

FOREMAN: “And now?”

BOSS: “Now Hell’s Bells is looking more like yesterday’s news.”

The Boss pointed to another place on the map.

Hundreds of acres of fields and forests had been circled in red.

Inside the circle were two letters.

AI.

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