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Road Runner has been running a long, long time.
If you asked him for how long—well, you probably wouldn’t get close enough to try. But even he likely wouldn’t be able to tell you. It’s not something he thinks about, really. All that matters is that there’s still road under his feet, still the vastness of the sky above him. It’s all he’s known for so, so long.
There’s no predator who can match him—coyote or bobcat or hawk or owl, he easily slips from any of their grasps. It’s simply fact, an immutable truth: the Road Runner cannot be caught. So he lives his life free—free from fear, free from the hunt.
And alone.
That’s why, when he first catches sight of the lanky coyote at the side of the road, he doesn’t pay it any mind. This one looks even less impressive than most, scrawny and a little mangy. Certainly not a coyote who could ever pose a threat to him. For just a second, their eyes meet. The coyote’s ears shoot up, his back straightening. And something sparks in his gaze.
But Road Runner zips past him in a flash.
Beep beep!
The sun, the sky, the road, that’s all Road Runner chases after. Day turns into night, and he runs. Night turns into day again, and he runs.
Only this time, there’s something on his tail.
Not close enough to catch Road Runner, of course. But close enough for him to notice. A quick glance behind him is all it takes. Scraggly brown fur, a line of sharp fangs, and yellow-tinted, red-rimmed eyes, an unmistakable hunger in their gleam. That same coyote from yesterday, Road Runner only now remembering its existence.
It must be really desperate, Road Runner thinks, as he watches it struggle to keep up with him. Arms flailing out, claws slicing through the air. Road Runner almost feels sorry for it.
Not enough to let himself get caught, though. And with hardly any effort at all, he speeds up, leaving the coyote with only a cloud of dust to chase after.
Beep beep!
The sun, the sky, the road. That’s been his company for countless years. The freedom of running on forever.
Road Runner knew how to hunt—and well—but far be it from him to turn down some bird seed in the middle of the road. And for free! He was feeling a little peckish, anyway.
As he quickly pecks away, a loud crash behind him makes his neck snap up. It takes a moment for the dust to settle, and—oh. It’s that coyote again. It looks a mess, limbs tangled around each other as it lies in the middle of the road. Road Runner zips over to it.
Did it leave the seed here for him? He quirks his head, smiling.
Beep beep!
The coyote’s swollen eyes blink open. Look up at him. And, even as its bones crack, swipes out at Road Runner with its paw. It doesn’t even come close, and Road Runner dashes away down the road.
This one’s kind of strange, isn’t it?
What Road Runner thought was an anomaly somehow becomes a routine.
He doesn’t think much of the coyote, at first. It’s fast, but scrawny, and Road Runner easily outpaces it. He doesn’t even need to look to know when he’s left it far behind. Not to mention how clumsy it is, more often than not getting caught in its own traps—and it takes a little time for Road Runner to realize that’s what those are, so little do they actually come close to catching him. He’s more confused—and, admittedly, entertained—than he’s ever really threatened.
This predator is very bad at catching him. Maybe the worst. Even the most tenacious gave up after a few tries. A day, maybe two, and then they were gone from Road Runner’s life forever. Forgotten in the cloud of dust and beeps he left behind.
But this coyote keeps coming back. Day after day, without fail. Though certainly not without failure.
Surely there’s other prey in the desert. Even other roadrunners. Is this a long play? To make itself seem incompetent so Road Runner will let down his guard?
Road Runner twirls around at the sound of an explosion behind him. There, lying in a cloud of smoke, is the somehow still mostly intact coyote. Though looking worse for the wear, it nevertheless peels itself off the asphalt, looking up with dazed, spinning eyes.
Road Runner quirks his head. Seems an awful lot of trouble for that. Their eyes meet, and the coyote’s gaze sharpens. No, this wasn’t an act, Road Runner can tell.
He can’t help a beep of laughter at that revelation. It’s a little funny, actually. After all this, the coyote still thinks he stands a chance? The coyote shakes his head, dust and soot flying off of him. Road Runner sticks his tongue out. The coyote’s lips pull back—in a smile or a grimace, Road Runner can’t tell—and he claws himself forward, legs crawling weakly against the road.
He does. He does think he stands a chance.
Road Runner’s heart flutters. He watches the coyote inch ever closer. Sees the hunger in his eyes. The desperate marks his claws leave on the asphalt. Road Runner knows he can’t be caught. But, still—a thrill jolts down his back. His feathers ruffle as he shivers.
Maybe…maybe being chased could be fun.
He leaps in the air, unable to contain his excitement, and speeds down the road. Was this what he’s been missing, this whole time? He thinks about tomorrow. Thinks about seeing the coyote again.
Maybe he’ll get closer. Maybe one of his traps will work this time. What would the coyote do, if he ever caught him?
Well. He’d escape. Road Runner knows he could. Or—if worse came to worst, he’d get eaten. And that wouldn’t be very fun.
So he just has to not get caught.
Speeding down the road, looking at the coyote far, far behind him—and getting farther, still—he can tell that’ll be easy enough.
The coyote doesn’t get close. Not for a long, long time.
But that doesn’t stop Road Runner’s excitement. How every day, he looks forward to seeing what his would-be predator has in store this time. He’s very creative, hardly ever reusing the same idea twice—though he does have a lot of them that explode. Always to the coyote’s detriment.
And he does like leaving bird seed out, no matter how many times it doesn’t work. Road Runner can’t help but appreciate that.
So Road Runner watches him from afar, and even from a distance is he able to see the glint of dogged determination in his eyes. Always from afar, never reaching close.
Until he does.
It’s well into the afternoon, past when the coyote usually makes his appearance. Surprisingly, Road Runner finds himself worrying. He hasn’t missed a day since they met. The coyote is resourceful, yes, and resilient, but there’s also a sharp desperation to his hunger. His body gaunt, marked by starvation.
He doesn’t want to think about the worst happening. Maybe he simply…gave up. Finally realized he’d never catch the roadrunner. Perhaps he decided to be sensible and chose another prey.
Road Runner frowns. He finds that thought isn’t much of a relief.
That’s when he sees it, in the distance. An enormous pile of bird seed. Road Runner’s heart flips. He speeds down the road, peeling paint from asphalt. He’s never been so happy to see bird seed before—and he’s always happy to find bird seed. He skids to a halt in the middle of the road, right before the pile. It’s just about as tall as he is. Well, he certainly can’t eat all of this, but he appreciates the gesture. He happily pecks away, glancing up every now and again. Eagerly awaiting the appearance of the coyote.
He’s so relieved—so elated—that he doesn’t notice as he pecks a big, red button.
But he does notice the sound of something very, very heavy rushing through the air above him. He beeps! before racing forward. And—finds himself slowing, just a little. There’s something sticky under his claws. Is that glue? That’s pretty clever, he thinks, nevertheless easily slicing through it. It splatters over the road, leaving a clean trail in his wake.
Road Runner thought that was the end of today’s antics, just as his legs cut clean through a trip wire.
The net flies at him. Curls around his limbs, trapping him. He spins head over heel, twisting into the net the farther he flies. For once, he’s the jumbled pile sitting in the middle of the road. Dazed, he tries to shake the dizziness from his head. And finds he can barely move.
It’s a strange feeling, panic. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt it before. But now it grips him as he flails his legs and flaps his wings in his attempt to free himself.
He expects the coyote to spring up and pounce at any second. For once, he freezes. In his haste to escape, he’s only getting more tangled. He needs to do this carefully—slowly—slowly. In a way that’s almost painful for him, he gingerly twists his limbs from the net, extracting himself. All the while, his heart pounds wildly in his chest. In fear. In anticipation. Each making it beat all the faster.
Finally, he shakes free. Looks around with a quirk of his head. Surely the coyote wouldn’t just leave a trap unattended. And especially not after getting so close. Road Runner’s heart is still a rapid flutter in his chest. His eyes dart over the desert, and—yes! There’s his coyote! Plastered on the side of the road—quite literally, as he’s covered head to toe in glue, stuck to the asphalt below.
He has to resist the urge to run up to him. That’s not how this works, right? He’s a little disappointed, but still! At least his friend is alright. Covered in glue, but he’s still alive, and that’s what counts. The coyote gives him a withering glare as he jumps and beeps! Maybe he doesn’t know that’s him saying hi!
Still, Road Runner supposes as he zips down the road, it’s the thought that counts, isn’t it?
Road Runner considers breaking the rules, sometimes.
The coyote chased him. Road Runner ran. But—that was because the coyote always seemed to know where to find him. The right place to set up his traps. He knew Road Runner. Studied him.
Maybe it was time Road Runner did the same.
It’s not like he ever had trouble escaping. But he couldn’t help but be curious about the coyote, after all this time. What was he like outside of the chase?
So Road Runner decides to follow his trail.
The desert was Road Runner’s home. He had been running it for countless years, learning its every curve. And for all his cleverness, the coyote was predictable—and not particularly subtle. He was easy enough to tail, his elaborate traps an easy indicator. Road Runner just had to catch him while he was setting one up.
He really didn’t think it would be so easy, though.
It turns out to be as simple as following the drag marks of some large contraption. This almost feels like cheating, Road Runner thinks as he zips over the trail, finding himself at an outcropping of rocks. What was the fun, if he knew what the coyote was planning beforehand? Still. The coyote can forgive him this one time, right?
Speaking of the coyote—there he sits, perched with his legs dangling over the edge. The contraption, it turns out, is a huge trampoline. It looks like it would be pretty fun to bounce on. But—no, Road Runner can’t get distracted. His gaze darts back to the coyote and, oh—is that a book he’s holding? Road Runner can’t help but be curious. He’s never actually read a book before.
The coyote is lucky Road Runner doesn’t want to hunt him. He’s surprisingly defenseless, seemingly not expecting his prey to come to him. Which is exactly what Road Runner does, taking care not to beep as he approaches. With every step he takes, he’s sure the coyote will notice him, but—even as he reaches his back, he’s oblivious. He must be really engrossed in that book. Road Runner peeks over his shoulder. Is that—a recipe book?
The coyote’s ears perk up. Oh? Did he finally notice Road Runner? He twists his head around and Road Runner ducks to the other side. Narrowing his eyes, he quickly whips his neck around again—but, as always, Road Runner is quicker, still avoiding the coyote’s gaze. Road Runner chirps out a laugh and the coyote rockets into the air. That makes Road Runner laugh even harder. His friend is really funny, sometimes.
The coyote flops back down onto the ground. He shakes his head, nearly jumping again as he catches sight of the Road Runner. They stare at each other. Friend? Is that what they are, now? Road Runner blinks. Considering. Then peels down the road before the coyote has time to react.
Maybe the coyote doesn’t think so. The coyote probably doesn’t even like him. But Road Runner can’t help it, now that he has someone to play with. He always loved running. But now, he had a reason that made it all the more thrilling.
A competition.
A companion.
It’s some time before Road Runner finally learns his name.
Something whizzes just behind Road Runner, landing with a loud thunk and a meaty squish. That doesn’t bode well for Road Runner’s friend. He spins, zipping back down the road.
A huge anvil sits in the middle of the road. Not the coyote’s best idea, he thinks. Would he even be able to eat him, flattened like this? He looks over the anvil, where the coyote is an unfortunate splatter underneath. There’s something engraved on the side, different from the usual ACME logo. Road Runner quirks his head to the side to read it.
Property of Genius Wile E. Coyote.
He blinks. Wile E. Coyote. Surely that had to be the name of his coyote. He leaps in the air, wings flapping.
He hadn’t really thought about it before. The coyote was the coyote. It feels a little bit like learning a secret. But—it wasn’t a secret, was it? Wile E. left his name for Road Runner to see. The thought makes him giddy.
Wile E.’s having fun, isn’t he?
Well—maybe not right now, as he slowly squeezes his way from under the anvil. But he must enjoy their chase, coming back day after day, with invention after invention, even failure after failure. He could have any prey in the desert. But he chooses Road Runner, over and over.
Road Runner quirks his head. He doesn’t have a name to give. Not really. He’s always just been Road Runner. Watching Wile E.’s arm finally pop free and scratch along the dirt, he thinks. Taps his talon on the anvil, above Wile E.’s name. And scratches out the simple shape of a feather.
Beep beep!
He leaves Wile E. behind, before he has a chance to free himself. He hopes he notices. He hopes he understands.
I’m having fun, too!
This goes on for years and years and years.
The sun shining high in a cloudless sky. Air rushing over Road Runner’s face. His heart thrilling at the sound of Wile E. closing in behind him. He could do this forever. Maybe they would do this forever, him and his coyote on the endless chase. A grin spreads over his beak.
He wouldn’t have it any other way.
That is, until Road Runner’s coyote goes missing.
It all starts when Wile E. leaves for the city. Road Runner sees him, in his many attempts to leave, finally catching a ride on the train. He follows along as it rushes out of the desert, only stopping as it reaches the city bounds. There, he stands in the middle of the road, watching until it disappears into the distance.
That’s not where Road Runner belongs.
Night falls. The already deserted road grows even quieter. Road Runner speeds along, all the same.
Maybe Wile E. had run out of parts for his inventions, Road Runner rationalizes. Surely he’d return soon, with exciting new gadgets. All the more ready to begin their chase again.
Road Runner looks behind him, despite himself. Nothing but empty road.
Soon. Surely. Hopefully.
Who were those humans?
It is “soon”, when Wile E. returns. Only a few days gone. Days spent in tedium. Days spent waiting. Road Runner doesn’t know how he stood it before.
Yes, his coyote had returned. Only, Wile E. wasn’t alone. And he didn’t seem all that primed to start their game again, either. Even from a distance, Road Runner can see him at the side of the road. Waiting. Watching.
Road Runner’s eyes narrows as he rapidly approaches. What a shoddy trap! The bird seed wasn’t even right. He doesn’t bother slowing down to eat it before he races past. It clearly wasn’t Wile E.’s, so it doesn’t matter.
Maybe he was busy with something, Road Runner supposes. They were doing a lot of poking and prodding around, Wile E. seeming too preoccupied to bother with the chase. Road Runner finds himself very unamused by that. And, for the first time in a long, long time, he’s restless.
And lonely.
He stops in the middle of the road. Watching Wile E. as he measures some crater in the ground. Road Runner calls out to him with a beep! Wile E.’s ears shoot up. Their eyes meet, for a moment. Road Runner recognizes that stance. The tension coiling over him. He’s ready to chase. But it ends when Wile E. ducks his head, his shoulders slumping as he rips his gaze away. Turning back to his work.
Road Runner’s tail feathers droop. Reluctantly, he turns, speeding down the road, though without much enthusiasm.
And then—Wile E. is gone again. Leaving not as much as a trap behind.
Or a goodbye.
One of the humans did leave a phone number, though. But he was a bird. He didn’t have a phone. He pecked at the seed, anyway. (It wasn’t as good as Wile E.’s.)
Days stretch out, turning into one week, then two. All the while, Road Runner waits.
The sun, the sky, the road, those were all unchanging. But something was missing. Wasn’t it a little boring, now?
Road Runner knows where Wile E.’s cave is. He doesn’t even think about it before he finds himself rushing down a familiar path.
He’s never been inside before, but on more than one occasion, he’s seen Wile E. staggering back to his home to recuperate for the day. To plan his next scheme. And to sleep, probably.
Road Runner speeds up the cliff. He knows he won’t find him there. He’s certain he’d notice Wile E.’s return, one way or another. But his feet are drawn there, anyway. Maybe to look for a clue as to where he’s gone.
Or maybe Road Runner just missed him.
He pings to a stop just outside the mouth of the cave. Glances inside. It’s difficult to see anything through the darkness. He doesn’t know why, but he’s a little nervous. Still, it doesn’t stop him from stepping inside.
His eyes dart every which way. Years and years of plans, of half-scrapped gadgets, of Wile E.’s genius. Covering the walls, reaching to the ceiling.
It really is impressive. Overwhelming. And—
And it’s all for him.
Everywhere he looks, his own visage stares back at him. Stacks and piles of blueprints, plastered over every inch. All to capture and eat him, yes. But…there he is, roughly sketched, pinned in the middle of the cork board. His rendition, on countless pages scattered over endless cabinets. An etching of the feather he carved, tucked away in the corner of Wile E.’s desk.
Road Runner, Road Runner, Road Runner.
He knew it already, of course he did. But to see it all laid out like this, so plainly…
He flaps his wings, unable to contain the thrill that shoots through him. His heart fluttering, he feels the sudden urge to do a few laps around the desert before remembering what he actually came here for—searching for signs of Wile E.’s whereabouts.
And his return.
He pokes around, flitting from cabinet to desk, but if Wile E. left any indication of where he was heading, he hid it well. And Road Runner peeks in every corner he can find.
Surely he wouldn’t give up without finally catching Road Runner. Surely he wouldn’t abandon their chase so easily, not after all these years. Surely…
Surely Wile E. wouldn’t just leave him. Would he?
Road Runner doesn’t know what he’s looking for, and he doesn’t think he’ll find it, anyway. Maybe he should have paid more attention to those humans, he thinks; a belated regret. With a last backwards glance, he flits from the cave, scattering a few gadgets and blueprints behind him.
And now, all he can do is wait.
The thing is, Road Runner was never very patient.
They got his hopes up! It’s not fair.
Road Runner really was excited, when he saw the massive pile of bird seed in the distance. Overjoyed! His coyote had come back to him!
But that happiness lasted only a brief moment. Something was wrong. The usually peaceful air was filled with a din of noise. Multitudes of tracks littered the ground, all leading to the same place. The pile of bird seed. This didn’t feel like Wile E. at all. Still, Road Runner had to see. Had to be sure.
Road Runner could already tell, by the time his feet trailed over sticky glue. Vehicles surrounding him. Helicopters in the air above. And a tiny yellow bird, chirping away.
Road Runner is more than a little bit annoyed. There is no chase. No fun. Just an ostentatious pile of bird seed. He looks around, quirking his head.
Did they really think he’d let anyone but Wile E. catch him?
It’s a trifle to rocket through their vehicles, a cacophony of screams and explosions erupting around him. He could just run away. But he’s been more than a little frustrated lately. And they did try to trick him. It’s only fair, isn’t it?
It’s over in a flash. They won’t be bothering him anymore, Road Runner is sure of it. He hopes his beeps! help drive his point across as he puts that farce behind him. Maybe a little of his frustration was vented, but it still feels like there’s a hole in his chest.
He just wants his coyote back.
It’s pure chance that blows the newspaper onto the road.
Road Runner could spot Wile E.’s face from a mile away—and he does, pinning the paper to the ground as his eyes zip over it. ACME. Washington DC. A lawsuit. So that’s what he’s been doing the whole time. Road Runner’s feathers ruffle. Couldn’t he at least have left a note?
He stamps his feet a couple times for good measure before looking off into the distance. Without a second thought, he speeds down the road—fast, fast, faster than he ever has before.
There are a lot of places that aren’t desert, Road Runner learns. Places of lush green and dense forest, places with buildings tall enough to scrape the sky, highways and dirt roads and winding streets.
They all pass as a blur in his periphery, a mere blip in his perception. He can’t slow down. Not for anything.
His friend needs him.
And he needs his friend back even more.
Road Runner answers the lawyer’s questions. That’s one of Wile E.’s new friends, he thinks. Maybe. He probably should have paid more attention to him the first time around. That might have solved a lot of problems.
Is he helping? He hopes so. He looks over at Wile E. He’s never seen him look like that before. Never seen Wile E. look at him like that before. Why didn’t he tell him sooner? That they’re friends.
He can tell him now, though. That he misses him. That he needs him.
Are you coming back?
He doesn’t need to wait for Wile E.’s answer. He sees it as soon as he meets his eyes. The certainty of it. He dashes out of the courtroom without a backwards glance.
They need each other, don’t they?
Wile E. really is back!
Road Runner can’t help it. He spins around, facing Wile E., who skids to a halt with wide eyes. Road Runner zips circles around him, unable to contain his glee. Wile E. spins, trying to keep up, but ends up tangled over his own feet, falling to the ground. Road Runner’s heart races, maybe faster than it ever has before.
Something is different now, Road Runner can tell. The chase is just as fun, just as exciting. Maybe even more so. But now Wile E. gets it. He understands: Road Runner wants this as much as he does. Maybe he even feels that same tug, deep in his chest. The pull that’s only ever gotten stronger. The one that ties them together.
Still. Wile E. has new friends now, Road Runner thinks as he stares down at him. He has to make sure, shoving the sign in front of him.
ARE YOU STAYING?
Wile E. squints, blinking up at him. His grin is lopsided, showing a flash of teeth.
WHERE ELSE WOULD I BE?
He doesn’t miss a beat as he springs to his feet, swiping at Road Runner. His claws barely grazing across the feathers of his chest. Road Runner leaps into the air, just out of his reach. His head spins with thrill and adrenaline and joy. He sticks his tongue out at Wile E. and zips down the road.
Road Runner knows Wile E. will follow. Knows that, even when he’s gone, he’ll always return. To his home—to their home. To their chase. To Road Runner.
He doesn’t have to say it, even as the craving of it burns deep in his chest.
Come back to me. Always and always.