The Puzzling Prototype

Chapter 4-Work Day

2005-10-04T05:19:00.000-07:00

The next morning, the even tempo of hammers filled the air.
It was a Saturday, so there was no school, and the Walker’s father was off work. The treehouse building crew included: the boys, their father and grandfather, and their big German shepherd dog, Launcelot.
Everyone except Mrs. Walker had pitched in Friday night to draw up plans for the treehouse. The quintet had laid out the sloppy plan on an old easel that they found in the attic.
The big dog barked up a storm as the men and boys hammered away. They hammered, sawed and built till lunchtime, then welcomed the break and trooped up to the house to eat a picnic lunch on the lawn.
Grandpa, known as "Gramps", spoke up, "Bret," he said, addressing his son,"I think these here boys can do the rest of the workin’ by themselves," he pointed his fork at them, "they was doing even Better than me," Mr. Walker laughed. “They are pretty strong." Ken started to look worried. Scott looked across the blanket at his brother and guffawed, "Their just joking us," he paused,"we could never do it without them. Am I right, Dad?" Their father laughed again. "Yeah, we were just joking you."
Mr. Walker started talking about Gramps’ flight home on Monday, and Scott summoned his brother to come with him.
The boys walked towards the woods planning what they should do next. They were already halfway done, and all they had to do was work on the ‘crow’s nest’ and the roof.
The "crow's nest" was going to reach up above the other trees. They could see all the way to the highway from there with an old telescope, which was another discovery from the attic.
It was late in the evening, and the weary workers were sitting in the living room, reclining on the couch. It had been a long, fun but tiresome day. The treehouse was almost finished, all except for a few nails here and there, and the finishing touch on the “crow’s nest”.
Gramps soon retired to the extra bedroom, his old frame creaking up the stairs. The boys got in bed also, leaving the dinner dishes till tomorrow after church. Ken yawned, his jaws popping, “Full day, huh?” Scott dreamily answered, “Very full; too full for me.” He laid back on the bed. Ken yawned again, and as his head hit the pillow, he fell asleep. Scott thought about the day’s accomplishments, and his head spinning, he fell asleep.
* * *
Everything was still. The clock, seated on the mantel in the living room, struck midnight. Dong! Dong! Dong! Scott’s eyes fluttered open. What had awakened him? The dog whined.
He sat up looking around sleepily. The clock usually didn’t wake him up. Ken lay on his bed, snoring loudly.“He didn’t wake up,” Scott thought, smiling. He fell back onto his pillow, and immediately fell into slumber.

Chapter 3-Pursuit!

2005-09-21T06:29:00.000-07:00

"Well, I see that you boys already guessed," said Mr. Walker merrily. Ken winked at his brother; but Scott was deep in thought. They hadn’t told their father about the spy yet. Suddenly, Scott realized that the black sports car they had seen before was stopped at the same light they were! Scott blurted out their whole story in less time than it takes to say “Treehouse”.
“Aw, don’t worry, kids. It’s probably just a coincidence.” Mr. Walker tried to reassure the kids as the other car turned. “See? They aren’t following . . . oh.” Mr. Walker’s sentence was cut short by an amazing sight. The black car fishtailed around another turn, and raced toward them. Mr. Walker hit the gas, and the old truck started to pull away. But the drivers in the other car knew what they were doing “They’re coming closer!” cried Scott. “We’ll see what we can do about that,” said Mr. Walker grimly, but the car kept getting closer.
As the duo neared the Kawkawlin river, the crook’s car slammed into the back of the truck with a loud ‘CRUMP’. “Those idiots just rammed us!” yelled Mr. Walker furiously, as he fought to keep the truck from fishtailing out of control. Ken turned around and saw that the newer car’s plastic bumper was partly crushed. The truck, on the other hand, was still fine. Its all-iron construction made it a veritable tank in conflicts.
‘CRUMP!’ As the boys and their dad mounted the Kawkawlin river bridge, the crooks rammed them again, forcing them toward the edge of the river. Mr. Walker’s face was pinched. “They can’t do this; I’ve had enough. Hang on, boys.” Mr. Walker slammed on his brakes, jarring every bone in the boys’ bodies. He whipped a pocketknife out of his jacket, reached through the open rear window, and sliced the cords holding the lumber down.
Just then, the car slammed into them again, but Mr. Walker had the brakes set. The effect on the sports car was devastating. It was the same as slamming into a brick wall at 50 miles per hour. As the air bags inflated in the crushed car, Mr. Walker threw the engine into reverse and floored the accelerator. The truck leapt backwards toward the smoldering wreck. “What are you doing?” asked Scott, but Mr. Walker was in no mood for talking. He slammed on the brakes just as the truck reached the car. A dozen two-by-fours that had been piled in the back flew into the windshield of the now-ruined sports car; a thousand hairline cracks spread across the screen and the boards plowed through into the interior. Mr. Walker put his car into gear and quickly pulled away from the crash.
“Don’t you think we should help them out?” inquired Ken. “Maybe that would be a good idea,” said their father. He pulled a u-turn
and took the truck back to the scene. But the criminals weren’t about to give up. As the Walkers opened the truck doors, one of the crook’s arms came up out of the partially crushed sunroof. A crack resounded through the air, and a bullet spanged off the concrete. “It looks like they don’t want help,” quipped Ken as the trio jumped back into the truck.
When they got home, there was another surprise. As the boys jumped out of the car, their grandfather was waiting for them.

Chapter 2-Spies?

2005-08-21T15:20:00.000-07:00

"Let’s go, boys." Mr. Walker chuckled to himself. He was a tall, husky realtor with a great personality. Ken, Scott, and, he piled into the old Ford pickup. As the motor rattled to life, Ken deliberately asked, "Um, Dad, where are we going?" Mr. Walker smiled slyly at the boys. "It’s a surprise." He turned back to his driving. The boys exchanged knowing glances. "Hmm." said Scott sarcastically.

* * *
"Um, yes," said Mr. Walker in a low voice. "We are building a large treehouse. What kind of lumber will we need?" The yard, Central Michigan Lumber, had some of the best wood in the state. The manager pulled at his long beard. "Come with me, I’ll show you what you need."
As the men walked off, the boys discussed the matter of the treehouse. "How big will it be?" Ken wondered. "Knowing Gramps, it’ll have everything but a kitchen sink," remarked Scott happily.
But now, Ken was watching something else. Scott looked confused. "What are you staring at so intently?" Ken replied, "Let’s go around here where we can talk." Ken walked casually around a pile of lumber. Scott did the same, glancing around suspiciously.
By the time Scott came around the corner, Ken had lost his nonchalant pose and was very excited. "Now listen," whispered Ken, "there is a guy that has been watching us ever since we got here." Scott looked thoughtful for a moment, then said, "I didn’t think anything of it at the moment, but I saw someone following us, too. A black sports car was behind us ever since we got on the main road." "I just wonder who it is," Ken queried. * * *
As the boys withdrew to talk in privacy, someone else backed away from a nearby woodpile. The spy clandestinely crept towards a black sports car parked right outside the lumberyard. It appeared to be empty. But a moment after he arrived, a gruff voice from the inside of the car asked, "Is that you, Mike?" "Yeah, Rip. Those boys and their dad are buying some lumber. I’d hate to be within a hundred miles of the boss if they are building some kind of structure on the tree." Mike jumped into the car and pulled a cellphone from his pocket. In a moment he was talking with someone. "Hey, Karl. You’ll be interested in what we saw."

Chapter 1 - A Visit

2005-07-24T17:56:00.000-07:00

"He’s here!" yelled an excited voice. Fourteen year-old Scott Walker, who had just returned from a spring vacation to Florida with his family, tumbled down the stairs in an attempt to get to the door before his brother, Ken. It was a Saturday afternoon.
Every day, around 2:00, when the mailman would come to deliver the mail, each boy made it a big deal to get the mail first. Ken was closest, since he had been eating a snack next to the front door. Flinging it open, Ken looked up at the mailman. Crash!!! Scott slammed into Ken, throwing his brother to the floor.
"Well, hello," boomed a voice. The mailman looked down at tangled mass of boy. "Here is a letter for your father," he said,"A few bills, and," he said with excitement, "A letter for you two!"
He walked off, laughing as the boys tore into the letter. "It’s a letter from Gramps!" yelled Scott excitedly. It read:
Dear boys:
How are Y’all hanging in there in Bay City? I’m comin’ up for a visit over the weekend! My, my, my; MICHIGAN. Sounds great. There will be a surprise for you when I come.
Hint: find a good, big, tree.
In the letter I sent to your father, I asked if he could go with you boys, to the lumber yard to get some lumber. Your father will know what size of lumber to get.
Love, Gramps
"Gee, that’s real great."said Ken sarcastically."And here I was just recuperating from last week’s vacation!" He went back to his snack. Scott loved vacating and having people stay at their house, and he felt annoyed that his brother was so downcast. He read over the letter again. When he came to the words,"find a good, big, tree", he thought for a moment. Find . . . a . . . tree. A TREE! "Why, that must mean a treehouse!" he exclaimed. Ken came running. "Huh?" he asked. Scott shared his idea. "How about waiting until Dad gets home, and when we get the lumber,
then we can surprise him by telling him that we
know already." By now Ken was a little more excited. "I’ll bet Dad will have already known from the letter that he got." remarked Ken, as they strolled down the walk to the woods.
Ken was thirteen years old, and though he was slightly shorter than Scott, he had a more muscular build and was always ready for a scrap: The Brawn. Scott, fourteen, was taller and more cautious, but he also had his brother’s determination and always planned things out before jumping in: The Brain.
The duo searched through the woods behind their house, looking for the right tree in which to build their treehouse. They needed a tree that was bent over, with many branches and a lot of space. It had to be perfect. They saw big ones and little ones, tall ones and short ones, fat ones and thin ones.
Finally, they found the right one. It wasn’t too tall, but it wasn’t too short, either.
The trunk had a gentle curve, and the branches had space in between them, so that if they were to build a treehouse, they wouldn’t even need nails. Ken decided that they could wedge the boards in between the branches to make doors, windows, walls, and a roof.
Meanwhile, Scott carefully mapped out the whole area in which they were, marking the tree itself, and the trees around it. "This way we can find it again," he said importantly. His brother grinned.