Waking Zippy

Road maintenance isn’t what it used to be. When my dad had this job, there were downed trees after a storm and occasionally a mudslide or some fallen rocks. Nothing that required biology, or worse, psychology.

It was 8:00 am, right around peak rush hour, when I got the call.

“Hey, Juan, Zippy’s blocking Route 50 again.”

Well, great. When the snake people called the Tatacoa showed up and we (eventually) made peace with them, part of the treaty said that they wouldn’t block the highways. We made thousands of underpasses for them under the highways, which was easy since they’re just big snakes and all our culverts are round anyway.

But then there was Zippy. We called him that since he was anything but. He had to be the biggest Tatacoa in existence or close to it. He lived up in the mountains around Route 50 and it could take 15 minutes for him to cross the highway if he was in a hurry. And he usually wasn’t.

I drove up Route 50, putting on my flashing lights to pass the long line of cars already backed up. Up ahead I could see Zippy’s huge bulk stretched across the road, rising higher than the roof of my truck. He was literally 50 meters away from the special underpass we built just for him, too. Idiot.

“He’s not moving,” I said into the radio.

“I think he’s asleep,” my assistant Carlos said.

A few cars were honking their horns in wild optimism that it would accomplish anything, but most drivers were sitting quietly or recording videos to prove to their bosses that they had a very good reason to be late to the office that morning.

“Does anyone know what he likes?” I asked. “Meat, I assume?”

“You want me to call a Tatacoa expert?” Carlos asked. I’d been requesting one for months, but it was a pretty new field and there weren’t enough experts for any to be assigned to road maintenance yet.

“If you can find one.” I parked the car next to Zippy’s massive body and then after guessing which way his head was, I set out, pushing my way through the smashed foliage.

Luckily, I’d picked correctly, and I arrived at Zippy’s head after five minutes. Sure enough, he was asleep. I don’t think snakes snore, but the Tatacoa do, or at least Zippy did. He was making these little ppoo ppoo ppoo noises as he breathed out.

“Hey!” I shouted near where I guessed his ear was. It took a few tries, but he finally opened a massive eye. It was the size of a manhole cover and black with a ring of milky blue in it.

Zippy said something in a surprisingly high-pitched voice, considering he had to be at least 100 meters long. I pulled out my phone and opened the Tatacoa translation app, the only tool my bosses had given me for these situations.

Zippy said something again. I am tired, the translation on the screen said. Yeah, no kidding.

“You are blocking the road,” I said into the phone. I turned up the volume to the max and held up the phone as the app played the translation.

“It was a busy night,” Zippy said through the translator. “We had an event.”

Great. I had a giant, hungover snake blocking the highway and it was my job to move him.

“Are you hungry?” I asked. “You want breakfast?”

“I would not be unhappy to eat,” Zippy answered after a moment.

“Sure, what do you want?” I asked, not thinking more than a few minutes ahead.

Zippy said something that the phone couldn’t translate. “Sounds good,” I said. “If you can just go down the hill here, we can get anything you want at the bottom there.”

Zippy made a little whistle sound and then, to my immense relief, the gigantic form began to move.

I waited until his head was out of sight before calling Carlos. “One problem solved, one more to go,” I said. “Get down to the bottom of the hill and meet Zippy.” I told him about our conversation.

“Will do,” he said. “Hey, Juan, you don’t think he’ll just learn that if he wants food, he just needs to block the highway, do you?” “I hope not,” I said. I was going to talk to my directors that day. If they wouldn’t pay for walls to surround the highway, they needed to give me a diplomat. Or at the very least a caterer.

This story is in response to the Muse on Monday prompt for January 8, 2024.