The new wilderness first arrived in the form of a signpost.
That had been five years ago. When the fox met the sign at the forest’s edge, it was half-buried in leaves and mud and warped with rust. Underneath the grime, CONSTRUCTION ZONE was still stubbornly visible. At one point it had announced its presence atop a stiff wooden post; now only a ragged stump clung to the metal.
The fox, careful not to drop the rabbit in his jaws, wriggled underneath the sign. When they first met, his mate dug a tunnel below it that led to her home. But even in the fading starlight, he could see the opening tightly sealed with cement — though whoever discovered it hadn’t bothered to discard the sign. He might be able to dig around the plug, but daybreak was fast approaching, bringing predators and people alike. The only option left was the unfamiliar wilderness past it: suburbia in all its glory.
The passage was a foolish hope from the start; his mate hadn’t used it in months. Aboveground is faster, she’d explained. Fewer pipes and basements to avoid. I’ll guide you through and you’ll see, she promised. Eight days ago he refused her offer yet again… and then she vanished. He was out of excuses. Guide or no, his only chance at seeing her again was through the neighborhood.
He brushed past the sign and underneath a wiry fence. As he crept, the tough wild grass under his paws became soft and docile, cropped too short for cover. He snuck into someone’s yard and darted under their porch before peeking out. Wasn’t it too early for most people to be awake? But lightbulbs peered out from half-open shutters. Further out, a group in workout clothes jogged down a winding sidewalk. On the terrace directly overhead the fox, a couple sipped coffee while their toddler crawled around and shrieked with delight. Once a similar child cornered his mate and squeezed her until she nearly choked. She had to bite it to escape, and nearly lost an ear fleeing from its furious parents. Such incidents were rare; still, thought the fox, better safe than sorry. With so many awake, sprinting through under cover of darkness wasn’t an option.
“Foxth!” The toddler peered down over the railing, its fingers making grasping motions towards his tail. She couldn’t reach him, but the couple was running over to pull her back from the rail. He was exposed. Did they consider foxes a hazard to their child worth eliminating? If they spotted him, would they pursue him too?
He glanced around frantically. At the other end of the enclosure, a massive hedge heavy with champagne-colored flowers wound through the neighborhood. Where it ended, it intersected with a vegetable garden — and past the garden, an iron gate in front of the sewer tunnel. It would be a tight squeeze, but what choice did he have? The fox tightened his grip on his prey before slipping into the hedge. It was barely wide enough for him, and the interior was a gnarled labyrinth of branches. The thick leaves blocked out what little light shone. But he was no longer visible. Soon the toddler’s screams quieted, and then faded into silence while he picked his way through.
Traveling in the hedge took a long time — too long. Just halfway through, a thorny limb caught the rabbit’s leg. It was embedded too tightly to pull free; the fox resorted to chewing off the stick piercing his prey. On the very first bite a dog bayed in the distance. The fox froze. Now? He gnawed faster, the barking rising in volume. Through the leafy foliage, he saw two beagles barreling down the lawn, straight towards him. The rabbit’s tail! With every bite, it waggled enticingly, a dangerous taunt. If he fled now he would make it… but it had to reach the den. The fox couldn’t afford to leave it behind.
Twenty yards away. His jaw ached from tearing apart the rough bark. The fox bit hard into the core. Sharp bitter sap stung his tongue, and he resisted the urge to recoil. The barking rose to a sharp crescendo. Fifteen yards away. Jaws on the stick, the fox yanked his head back. The core snapped, but one ragged strip of bark still clung to the bush. Ten yards away.
He jerked back one last time and finally — finally! — broke through the branch. The beagles were barely five yards away from him. The fox clamped down on the rabbit and dove as fast as he dared through the branches. Behind him, the dogs slammed into the hedge, shaking it so hard he nearly broke his back on an outstretched branch. Only when he was in the neighboring backyard did the fox slow to catch his breath. Barking dogs, screaming people, thorny hedges — when did it end?
Finally the fox emerged into the (thankfully empty) garden, damp with mist from automatic sprinklers. The garden’s fence was heavy with deterrents — noxious chemicals and barbed wire — but he knew better than to try sneaking a few berries from behind them. Though the sewer gate was locked, the bars were plenty wide for a skinny fox. A few nudges and he slipped into the cement drainage tunnel. Evening rain and morning dew left the air warm and ripe with moisture. The sewer extended for several blocks up until the end of the development. Beneath the opposing gate, a shallow puddle reflected the rising sun… and then the car that whipped past. Paws heavy with dread, the fox splashed through the puddle and peered out the gate.
The sewer emptied into a shallow man-made channel, stretching endlessly to both sides. Its pale concrete banks lined a treacherous river of smoky asphalt. In the day the highway was terrifying: cars would roar past with bestial speed, mirages seething underneath their wheels and desiccated trash whirling in the gales they left behind. He’d only seen it once before — when he and his mate returned from a hunting trip to find his first den crushed under a sheet of blacktop. The fox hesitated. The asphalt wasn’t too hot yet, but the highway was never quiet. Forget the dogs, the screaming toddler, the thorns… if a car hit him there were no second chances. Even a glancing blow to the leg would slow the fox down enough for other cars to run him over. This was his last chance for retreat.
The fox pricked his ears, sensing the rumble of oncoming cars. It was almost rush hour; this was his best chance to avoid the incoming wave. He tensed, glancing to the neighborhood… to the road… to the neighborhood… then sprang across the pavement. The rumble grew into a growl. A train of cars emerged from behind the bend, their headlights glaring at the fox. He sprinted across the lanes. The beagles had been nothing compared to this! They closed in like hawks.
He was barely halfway across. If nothing came from the right, maybe he could slow past the double yellows. But no such luck: on the other end of the road, a hulking red semi-truck roared into existence. Now the fox was caught between the two lines of traffic. He bolted, bounding over line after line. The truck towered over him, four tons of force about to make a fox pancake. His paws thundered into the ground — the fox sped so fast he resembled nothing more than an amber blur. One final leap and he flew over the curb, his tail barely missing the truck’s wheel. It screamed past… then shrank into the distance and vanished down the road. True to his prediction, a steady stream of traffic followed the vehicles both ways. Panting, the fox dropped the rabbit on the side of the road while he rested. Too close… far too close.
On the other end of the highway, a different housing development’s sewer drained into a marshy swamp. Cottonwood trees lay scattered around. On one, an old tire swing on a rotting rope dangled precariously near the ground. The fox inhaled one last time and picked up the rabbit again, trotting forward apprehensively. He hadn’t seen his mate’s den since the pups were born. Were they still in there, safe?
It had been eight days. Eight since his mate left to feed the pups and didn’t return. Eight days he paced, trying to reassure himself of her safety, of their well-being, to no avail. Eight days it took him to gather his courage and plunge into the neighborhood.
Eight days his pups were alone and hungry, left to face the dangers of the wilderness outside. What would they think of the father who was too busy wrestling with his own fears to protect them from theirs?
He braced himself. A few leaps across scattered rocks and wood planks and the fox was at the base of the tire swing. He nudged it aside only to be tackled from something behind — a cannonball of fur and teeth. The pup was only half the size of her father, but she nearly knocked him over with her sudden ferocity. He dropped the rabbit in surprise. It took the fox a moment to realize that his daughter wasn’t attacking… but playing. She batted at her father before pressing against his chest and licking his nose.
Two more pups emerged from the den behind the swing, blinking at the sunlight and sniffing the abandoned rabbit. The father shook himself free and trotted over to greet them. He wanted to apologize, make up for all the time lost, but before he could the second pup nudged him inside the den. Inside were two nibbled field mice and a cracked jar of applesauce a quarter full. They had dragged it together from the dumpster two doors down; there was plenty left for him. The fox gratefully accepted the food, leaving the other siblings to feed on the rabbit.
While he ate, the father watched his children with dawning realization and pride. His ancestors, and their ancestors, and theirs, had all faced their own trials. Whatever the world threw at them, they had survived. Learning to adapt to the new dangers of civilization — this was theirs. Though he had been slow to accept the new world, his children — his mate — had all proven it was possible. If they could do it, so could he. And the fox was proud that his children would be the first to face the wild — the first to succeed in the sunrise of a new era.
The new wilderness had nothing on them.