part 16
The Sweet Smell of Revenge
by Matthew Atanian
©2000 by Matthew Atanian
The Sweet Smell of Revenge
by Matthew Atanian
©2000 by Matthew Atanian
Bill Gelinas continued down the maze, gobbling up the little pellets as he went. The maze had no exit, and the only way to get out was to gobble up all the pellets. He had to do it quickly, or else they’d find him...
He heard a noise and turned around. There they were! The ghosts were right on his tail! He hurried onwards, gobbling up pellets as he went, desperate to escape the menace.
He turned a corner. What was that ahead? Salvation!
He rushed forward and gobbled up the coveted “Power Pellet.” Now he’d show those ghosts who was boss!
He chased them down, and caught up with the first of them. A moment later, he had gobbled Blinky up. 200 points!
Suddenly, a bunch of cherries appeared in the maze before him. “All right, bonus points!” he exclaimed as he ran towards the fruit...
Bill Hughes, meanwhile, was sitting in a field. He wasn’t sitting on the ground, but rather on a comfortable wooden chair with an afghan draped over it. He was sitting at a table with a lacy tablecloth, and a fine china tea set was on the table. Hughes poured himself a cup, and then poured a cup for each of his companions.
There were three of them, Bessy, Matilda, and Gertrude. They sat with him in a field having tea.
“That is really an interesting point Gertrude was making, don’t you agree, Bessy?” Hughes asked.
“Oh, yes, quite,” Bessy said. She looked at Hughes. “Would you like some milk in your tea?”
“Yes, please,” Hughes responded.
Hughes grabbed one of Bessy’s teats and pulled on it, depositing some milk in his teacup.
Gertrude, meanwhile, coughed up some cud and chewed on it a bit before swallowing it once more.
Matilda reached for her tea and dropped the fine china cup to the ground, where it shattered. “This would be a lot easier with opposable thumbs,” she bemoaned. The others laughed politely...
Mike was sitting in a chair upon the frozen lake at Moses Scout Reservation. He had three companions, Byers, Langly, and Frohike. The four of them were seated around a hole in the ice, and they all had fishing lines dangling into the hole.
Mike sighed, his breath instantly turning into vapor in the cold air. “Not biting much today, are they?”
The four of them forlornly regarded the hole in the ice. They all turned when they heard someone approaching.
It was Scully, and she was carrying a large thermos and three mugs. “I thought I’d bring you guys some hot chocolate,” she said. “It’s so cold out here, after all.”
Frohike smiled as he accepted the first mug and Scully poured the steamy, chocolate flavored liquid into it. She then repeated this for Byers and Langly.
“Um, don’t I get any?” Mike asked.
Scully sauntered over to Mike and whispered into his ear, “Oh, I’ve got something else in mind to warm you up. Why don’t you come back to the cabin with me?”
Mike jumped to his feet faster then... well, it was so fast that there is simply nothing to compare it to. He and Scully walked arm in arm back towards the cabin.
Once there, Scully closed the door and turned to Mike, a mischievous grin on her face. She took off her coat, and Mike was happily startled to see that under it was no shirt., but a ribbon tied into a big bow across her chest.
“I got you a present,” Scully said to him. “Why not come over here and unwrap it?”
Aaron grabbed his sword off of the table just as the Kurgan swung his, cutting the table in two. Aaron countered, his blade cutting into the Kurgan’s throat. Unfortunately, it was not deep enough.
Gargling in fury, the Kurgan clasped his throat. Warding off Aaron’s attack, he began to climb the staircase spiralling up the tower’s outer wall.
Aaron and the Kurgan continued their battle, climbing up the stairs.
“You’re getting weak, Aaron,” the Kurgan rasped.
“I see my cut has improved your voice,” Aaron quipped back.
Savage forces were unleashed. Sparks flew from the clanging blades. Outside, thunder cracked overhead. Despite his wound, the Kurgan fought on like a mad dog.
Aaron was beginning to loose ground. The fury of the battle was reducing the stone tower to rubble. All that remained is one wall and the staircase rising to nowhere.
Outmatched, Aaron retreated up the stairs. Unstoppable, the Kurgan followed.
Kirstin, paralyzed with fear, crouched by a wall watching the desperate battle. Aaron and the wounded giant were silhouetted against an electric sky.
Aaron and the Kurgan were hanging in space at the top of the stairs. Aaron could can retreat no further. Smiling sadistically, the Kurgan ran him through. Lightning seared the sky.
Gasping, Aaron sagged to his knees, his sword falling three stories to the ground. Below, Kirstin screamed. Aaron tried to rise, but to no avail. The Kurgan grabbed his hair, pulling him close.
“The Highlander. Where is he?” the Kurgan asked, his voice a metallic gargle thanks to Aaron’s blade.
“You're too late. I have prepared him for you,” Aaron retorted defiantly.
“You waste your time. He is nothing.” The Kurgan glanced at Kirstin. “Who is the woman?”
“She's mine.”
“Not for much longer.”
Aaron spat in the Kurgan’s face. The Kurgan went mad, raising his weapon.
“There can be only one!” he exclaimed, as he swung his weapon...
Matty and Sarah were out for a leisurely walk around a park somewhere.
“You know,” Matty said to Sarah, “there’s something I’ve kind of, sort of been meaning to tell you about myself,” Matty said.
“Hmm?” Sarah responded.
Matty tried to speak, but her voice would suddenly not work. Finely, she said, “Never mind, it’s not important.”
“If you say so,” Sarah responded. “But you know you can tell me anything, right? Friends are supposed to support one another.”
Yeah, Matty thought, but if I tell you this, I’m sure you won’t want to be friends much longer...
A voice from behind them suddenly said, “You should tell her, you know. You’re only making things worse by dragging it out.”
The two of them turned, and were surprised to see a penguin standing there, sipping a glass of iced tea.
The penguin continued, and Matty recognized the voice as that of the actor David Warner. “She’ll find out eventually, and the longer it is before you tell her the more she’ll hate you for it.”
“What is he talking about?” Sarah asked.
“Nothing! Nothing!” Matty insisted, grabbing Sarah’s arm and beginning to walk away. “Don’t listen to the talking penguin!”
“If you’re not going to tell her,” the penguin said, suddenly producing a bucket of hot water, “then I shall have to show her!”
The penguin propelled the bucket’s boiling content towards Matty.
“No!” Matty screamed as the water rushed towards her...
"Okay, everybody,” Mr. Shmuler excitedly exclaimed, “it’s morning! Everybody ready for some fun?”
Almost everyone in the troop instantly bolted awake. Aaron and Matt were both extremely relieved. “Thank god it was just a dream,” they said in unison, the former rubbing his neck as he spoke.
The Bills were less relieved, Gelinas in particular. “I had almost beat the high score!” he said.
The least relieved was Mike Quadrozzi. His eyes filled with tears, he looked towards the heavens above. “Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!” he exclaimed in utter torment. “Damn it!” he then muttered under his breath. “Just when it was starting to get really interesting!”
Slowly, the members of Troop 192 crawled forth from their sleeping bags and reluctantly accepted the concept of consciousness.
It was cold in the cabin, but Kenny was already adding some wood to the heater and things would soon warm up. Becker and Matt Swett were in charge of breakfast and so, traditionally, they had somehow escaped waking up with everyone else. Aaron set about the difficult task of waking them, and fifteen minutes later they began to cook the morning meal.
The very last to wake up was Justy Yung. After breakfast was finished being cooked, Proctor went and chose the best looking pancakes, loped a wad of butter on each of them, and smothered them in real maple syrup he had personally brought special. The fake stuff that the rest of the Troop used wouldn’t be good enough for Justy, no sir. He brought this, along with a freshly brewed cup of coffee (Proctor had ground the beans himself earlier that morning) to Justy’s bunk and gently nudged the SPL.
“Captain? I have your breakfast.”
“Eh... hunghf... wha?” Justy said. He then bolted upright and out of his sleeping bag, already in uniform. Somehow, the uniform looked completely fresh despite having been slept in.
“Why thank you, Proctor,” Justy said.
Proctor grinned.
Justy took a sip of his coffee and frowned. He brought his baton down on his assistant’s head.
“You moron! This coffee is exactly three and a quarter degrees too cold!”
Proctor took the cup from Justy and ran towards the stove. “I’m sorry, Captain! I’ll warm it up for you right away!”
Mike watched this all with an attached bemusement as he chewed a piece of pancake. He swallowed, turned to his friends, and commented, “Another typical morning in Troop 192.”
Although most of the staff for the event who had stayed overnight had stayed at Cabin II, their breakfast (and other meals) were being had at the Training Lodge. The reason was simple. The T‑Lodge had a kitchen, Cabin II didn’t.
In the kitchen was the man most likely to be found there at various Council events when a staff was in need of food, and he also prepared food at the various Order of the Arrow events. In fact, with the exception of Summer Camp, whenever food was needed it was Mr. Ron Wilson, Sr. that was most often called upon.
Richard Palmer was next in line for food.
“What can I get for you?” Mr. Wilson asked, smiling the kind of smile that only years in the service of the Council can produce.
“A big plate of blueberry pancakes with maple syrup, eggs over easy, and five sausages,” Richard responded.
“Anything to drink with that?”
“To drink,” Richard said, “a tall glass or orange juice and a black cup of coffee. After that, I'm going to have a slice of pie.”
“Pie for breakfast?” Mr. Wilson asked, surprised.
“Any time of the day is a good time for pie. Blueberry pie to go with the pancakes. And on top, a thin slice of melted cheese...”
Richard was cut off as Mr. Wilson pulled out an ice cream scoop filled with a thick substance that was probably supposed to be oatmeal, plopped it onto a plate, and handed it to him. Mr. Wilson then handed him a small paper cup filled with orange colored water.
“What’s this?” Richard asked.
“Oatmeal,” Mr. Wilson responded brightly, as if oatmeal could solve all of the wrongs in the world.
“Oatmeal,” Richard repeated as he walked away.
Next in line was Dan Wellington. After receiving his plate, Dan poured some lighter fluid over his lump of cold oatmeal and took a match to it. He smiled. “I like mine flambéed.”
Richard watched Dan and frowned.
Meanwhile, over at Cabin I, Troop 192 was heading out the door. Lagging behind was Perry, who waited until everyone else had left to get something out of his backpack.
It was a sword. Quite an impressive looking one, too. Big blade, slight curve to it. Not the kind of sword that you would want to meet in a dark alley somewhere.
Perry smiled.
Just then, Scoutmaster Will Shmuler walked in. He took one look at this and frowned.
“Perry, you know that it’s against the rules to have a knife with a blade longer than six inches, and also it doesn’t look like that blade folds into the handle.”
“Is not knife,” Perry explained, “is sword!”
“Oh, okay then!” Shmuler grinned stupidly. “No problem. But maybe later we could work on your totin chip a bit.”
With that, he turned and walked out of the cabin once more.
Perry smiled and concealed the sword on himself in that weird way that immortals in the Highlander TV series seem to be able to, and walked after him.
The Klondike began with an opening ceremony no different than any other opening ceremonies (or closing ceremonies, for that matter) when the Council had this sort of thing. Matt missed the good old days of his youth when some effort was made to actually put some variety into these things, and felt sorry for his friends who were still youth who would never know Scouting as it had once been...
Now, the only variety seemed to be some cosmetic differences that were purely to attempt to fool the scouts into thinking that this camporee or that derby was going to be different from the last one, yes it was! Sadly, predictably, it rarely worked.
“Another Klondike Derby, eh?” Aaron said.
“Yup,” Mike responded.
“Wow, I can’t wait to see what new and exciting events they have planed for us this year!” Swett added, his sarcasm in super-smooth mode.
Kenny just stood there silently, listening. But if the truth were to be told, as this was his first time he was somewhat excited. If the others knew they would envy him greatly.
“Eh, these things are always the same,” Hughes said.
“WHAT?!” Becker responded.
“I said, ‘Eh, these things are...’ Oh, never mind...”
“Well, there’s something that doesn’t happen at every Klondike,” Gelinas said.
“What’s that?” Mike asked.
“Oh, just Perry charging at us with a sword.”
“Oh, that does sound interesting,” Aaron responded.
Someone blinked. It doesn’t matter who, suffice to say was that it was only the time it takes someone to blink before it dawned on the group that they were possibly in peril.
“Perry’s charging us with a sword!!!” Aaron said, much less calmly then Gelinas had.
Perry ran towards them, full speed, madly waving the sword at them. “I kill you!” he exclaimed as the distance between them shortened.
Matt, Mike, Aaron, Bill, and Bill all quickly scattered, all going off in different directions. Mike’s luck was not doing to well, as it was he that Perry happened to follow.
“Shit!” Normally Mike disliked using such language, but he felt it justifiable under the circumstances.
He ran on, Perry close behind and quickly lessening the distance between them.
“Shit!”
He quickly pushed branches out of his way as he ran deeper into the woods, away from the path and his friends. Deeper still he went, leaping over snow-covered logs and low branches.
“Shit!”
Perry was still close behind him, waving the sword frantically, cutting a new path through the forest. Where were they, anyways? They’d been running for some time, and were past where Cabin III was, which was pretty far out. Was this part of camp even used much?
“Shit!”
Suddenly, there was a puddle of slush in front of Mike, and he tripped and fell into it. A second later he was a squirrel, but he wasted little time pondering his new status as he continued running deeper into the woods.
Quite a while later he came to a stop in a small clearing, breathing heavily and clutching a forepaw to his chest.
I think I lost ‘em, he thought.
Just then, in the woods behind him, a branch snapped.
“Well,” Swett commented, “that was interesting.”
“Certainly invigorating on such a cold morning,” Matt said dryly.
“Well, now that that’s over with, I suppose we should hit the first event,” Aaron said.
“Hey, Mike,” Hughes asked, “where we going first?”
“Where’s Mike?” Gelinas asked.
“Eh, he’s probably just lost in the woods somewhere,” Aaron said.
The others agreed to this.
“Anyway, didn’t he give all of the information to Swett?” Hughes asked.
“Hey,” Swett said, pulling out the little folder containing the information, “cool!”
Swett led the way to the first event, and everyone followed. Somewhere along the way, a missing member of their patrol joined them. Unfortunately, it wasn’t Mike. It was Will. Soon, they had reached their first event. They were happy to see it was being run by Dan and Colin.
“Hey, Dan. Hey, Colin,” they all said.
“Hey,” they responded.
“So what event is this?” Gelinas asked.
“Let me guess...” Hughes said. “Fire building?”
“Well, that’s the event Dan and Colin always do, so what ever could have given you that idea?” Swett asked.
“The object of this event is to build a fire in one of these fire pits,” Dan said, “and burn through the string suspended over it. Unfortunately, the guys in
charge said all you can use is wood you find here and no more then three matches. I told them it would be more fun to soak the string in nitroglycerine and use sticks of dynamite instead of wood... but those bastards just don’t know what fun is. Any questions?”
“What would happen if you ate dynamite and then lit a fart?” Shmuler asked while doing a handstand and holding pacifiers between each of his toes.
Dan ignored the question.
“Okay, begin,” Colin said.
The Garden Snake patrol set about their task, as did the other patrols from other troops that were there. A patrol from 180 was there, and was headed up by Derek Provost.
Matt went over to Dan and Colin.
“So how’s it going?” he asked.
“Okay,” Colin said. “Breakfast sucked, as usual.”
“What’d you have, oatmeal again?”
Dan and Colin nodded.
“Doesn’t that man know how to cook anything else?” Matt asked. “Let me guess... Lunch and dinner are...?”
“Oatmeal,” Dan said.
“You know,” Matt said, “I’m not too excited about what my Troop is making for dinner. You two have money? We can go out.”
“Hey, good idea,” Colin said.
“Yeah, I got some cash,” Dan added.
“Great. Right after closing sound good?”
“Sure. Where we going?” Colin asked.
“How about the Russell Inn?” Dan suggested. The Russell Inn was a rather nice restaurant / bar / pizza place that was not too far from camp.
"Sounds good,” Matt added.
They looked over to see how the various groups were doing. The Garden Snakes were in the lead, and the string was actually starting to burn slightly when...
“I can fly!!!” Shmuler exclaimed, throwing himself into the air. He flew up a couple of inches before gravity decided to show him who was boss, and he fell down hard... right over the fire... smothering it completely.
He then proceeded to make snow-angel-making motions where he lay, oblivious to the fact that the snow around where this event was being held had been cleared away.
Meanwhile, Troop 180’s fire was going strong... the fire was touching their string... and the string snapped in two!
“All right guys, good work!” Dan said.
“Now is the part Dan likes the least,” Colin said. “Put out your fire and clean up the area. There’s water in those buckets over there.”
Provost took one of the buckets and dumped it’s contents onto the fire. However, there was no hissing sound of water hitting fire. Instead, there was a soft thud and a rising plume of black smoke.
When the smoke cleared, Provost saw what had fallen out of the bucket onto the small fire, crushing it and putting it out. It was a can. It was a can of juice. Kiwi/Mocha fruit juice.
Provost screamed and ran off into the woods, not to be heard from for the rest of the weekend.
Mike turned slowly around, fully expecting to see a huge sword a half inch away from his face and rapidly closing. Instead he saw nothing, except the trees behind him.
There it was again – a branch cracking in the forest. There was definitely someone... or something... out there.
Then he saw it. It was a person, who stepped into the small clearing and stopped suddenly upon seeing Mike. Mike couldn’t tell who it was under the large coat, but he was sure it wasn’t Perry.
The person spoke, and Mike discovered it was a woman. “Hello,” she said to him. “Hey, you’re a cute squirrel, aren’t you?”
Under his fur, Mike blushed. Then he sneezed. He realized he was still wet from having fallen in the slush, and he began shivering.
“Oh, but you’re freezing!” She stooped down and gently picked him up. “I’ll get you all warmed up,” she said soothingly as she headed off deeper into the nether-woods of Moses.
A short time later they arrived at a cosy looking cabin that looked as if constructed by hand. She opened the door and set him down on the table before closing it once more behind her. There was already a fire going, and it was quite warm.
“I’ll put some water on,” she said, “and we’ll get you all warmed up.”
She took of her coat, and Mike got a good look at her for the first time. She was no Scully, but if anyone could come close to comparing to the X-Filian Goddess it was this woman.
Her cute face was framed by fluffy blonde hair, and behind a pair of Aviator-style glasses, her deep brown eyes had a smile in them as they looked at him. She was wearing a smart looking outfit, rather like a business woman would wear, although if the rest of her clothes were anything like her coat and gloves (which Mike had gotten a close look at on the journey to the cabin) then while they were exquisitely crafted, they were all hand made.
Everything in the cabin looked to be hand made, now that he thought of it. It was all wonderful work, to be sure. The work of a master. He knew that if he were to ever set out on a voyage aboard the S.S. Minnow, he would want this woman along.
“Burr...” the woman said. She pulled a sweater depicting allegiance to the Green Bay Packers on. “This is the one thing I saved from civilization, you know,” she told him. “Couldn’t part with my Green Bay sweater.”
“Now then,” she added as she set a hand made kettle upon a ingenious stove of her own design. She sat at the masterfully constructed chair before the fine table Mike sat upon.
She took a hand woven towel and proceeded to dry Mike off. As she did so, Mike noticed a stack of drawings on the table... they looked like drawings for a comic book. Inwardly he smiled. On top of everything else, she’s a fellow artist! he thought. He was somewhat amused to notice the star of her comic was a squirrel.
The kettle began to whistle and she stood again and went to get it. She poured water from it into two china teacups. Each cup had a painting of a squirrel on it. She then opened the cupboard and took out some of the tea she had grown in her garden, and a moment later she dropped a hollow metal ball into each cup. She sat down again and set one cup in front of herself and the other before Mike. She smiled and also put a few acorns down in front of him.
“It’s not often I meet someone new,” she said. “I already know most of the squirrels around here, but you I’ve never met before.” She smiled again.
There was a strange sound from her coat, and they both looked over to it.
“Oh, I’d forgotten about that other strange little fellow I found!” she said. As she said this, a small head poked out from under the coat, followed by a small body, and finely a little curly tail.
A little black piglet stood there. It had a yellow bandana tied around it’s neck.
“Bwee bwee!” the piglet said.
“I’m sorry, did you want some tea, too?” she said. As she rose to prepare another cup she accidentally hit Mike’s, spilling the cup’s contents right on him.
He heard a noise and turned around. There they were! The ghosts were right on his tail! He hurried onwards, gobbling up pellets as he went, desperate to escape the menace.
He turned a corner. What was that ahead? Salvation!
He rushed forward and gobbled up the coveted “Power Pellet.” Now he’d show those ghosts who was boss!
He chased them down, and caught up with the first of them. A moment later, he had gobbled Blinky up. 200 points!
Suddenly, a bunch of cherries appeared in the maze before him. “All right, bonus points!” he exclaimed as he ran towards the fruit...
Bill Hughes, meanwhile, was sitting in a field. He wasn’t sitting on the ground, but rather on a comfortable wooden chair with an afghan draped over it. He was sitting at a table with a lacy tablecloth, and a fine china tea set was on the table. Hughes poured himself a cup, and then poured a cup for each of his companions.
There were three of them, Bessy, Matilda, and Gertrude. They sat with him in a field having tea.
“That is really an interesting point Gertrude was making, don’t you agree, Bessy?” Hughes asked.
“Oh, yes, quite,” Bessy said. She looked at Hughes. “Would you like some milk in your tea?”
“Yes, please,” Hughes responded.
Hughes grabbed one of Bessy’s teats and pulled on it, depositing some milk in his teacup.
Gertrude, meanwhile, coughed up some cud and chewed on it a bit before swallowing it once more.
Matilda reached for her tea and dropped the fine china cup to the ground, where it shattered. “This would be a lot easier with opposable thumbs,” she bemoaned. The others laughed politely...
Mike was sitting in a chair upon the frozen lake at Moses Scout Reservation. He had three companions, Byers, Langly, and Frohike. The four of them were seated around a hole in the ice, and they all had fishing lines dangling into the hole.
Mike sighed, his breath instantly turning into vapor in the cold air. “Not biting much today, are they?”
The four of them forlornly regarded the hole in the ice. They all turned when they heard someone approaching.
It was Scully, and she was carrying a large thermos and three mugs. “I thought I’d bring you guys some hot chocolate,” she said. “It’s so cold out here, after all.”
Frohike smiled as he accepted the first mug and Scully poured the steamy, chocolate flavored liquid into it. She then repeated this for Byers and Langly.
“Um, don’t I get any?” Mike asked.
Scully sauntered over to Mike and whispered into his ear, “Oh, I’ve got something else in mind to warm you up. Why don’t you come back to the cabin with me?”
Mike jumped to his feet faster then... well, it was so fast that there is simply nothing to compare it to. He and Scully walked arm in arm back towards the cabin.
Once there, Scully closed the door and turned to Mike, a mischievous grin on her face. She took off her coat, and Mike was happily startled to see that under it was no shirt., but a ribbon tied into a big bow across her chest.
“I got you a present,” Scully said to him. “Why not come over here and unwrap it?”
Aaron grabbed his sword off of the table just as the Kurgan swung his, cutting the table in two. Aaron countered, his blade cutting into the Kurgan’s throat. Unfortunately, it was not deep enough.
Gargling in fury, the Kurgan clasped his throat. Warding off Aaron’s attack, he began to climb the staircase spiralling up the tower’s outer wall.
Aaron and the Kurgan continued their battle, climbing up the stairs.
“You’re getting weak, Aaron,” the Kurgan rasped.
“I see my cut has improved your voice,” Aaron quipped back.
Savage forces were unleashed. Sparks flew from the clanging blades. Outside, thunder cracked overhead. Despite his wound, the Kurgan fought on like a mad dog.
Aaron was beginning to loose ground. The fury of the battle was reducing the stone tower to rubble. All that remained is one wall and the staircase rising to nowhere.
Outmatched, Aaron retreated up the stairs. Unstoppable, the Kurgan followed.
Kirstin, paralyzed with fear, crouched by a wall watching the desperate battle. Aaron and the wounded giant were silhouetted against an electric sky.
Aaron and the Kurgan were hanging in space at the top of the stairs. Aaron could can retreat no further. Smiling sadistically, the Kurgan ran him through. Lightning seared the sky.
Gasping, Aaron sagged to his knees, his sword falling three stories to the ground. Below, Kirstin screamed. Aaron tried to rise, but to no avail. The Kurgan grabbed his hair, pulling him close.
“The Highlander. Where is he?” the Kurgan asked, his voice a metallic gargle thanks to Aaron’s blade.
“You're too late. I have prepared him for you,” Aaron retorted defiantly.
“You waste your time. He is nothing.” The Kurgan glanced at Kirstin. “Who is the woman?”
“She's mine.”
“Not for much longer.”
Aaron spat in the Kurgan’s face. The Kurgan went mad, raising his weapon.
“There can be only one!” he exclaimed, as he swung his weapon...
Matty and Sarah were out for a leisurely walk around a park somewhere.
“You know,” Matty said to Sarah, “there’s something I’ve kind of, sort of been meaning to tell you about myself,” Matty said.
“Hmm?” Sarah responded.
Matty tried to speak, but her voice would suddenly not work. Finely, she said, “Never mind, it’s not important.”
“If you say so,” Sarah responded. “But you know you can tell me anything, right? Friends are supposed to support one another.”
Yeah, Matty thought, but if I tell you this, I’m sure you won’t want to be friends much longer...
A voice from behind them suddenly said, “You should tell her, you know. You’re only making things worse by dragging it out.”
The two of them turned, and were surprised to see a penguin standing there, sipping a glass of iced tea.
The penguin continued, and Matty recognized the voice as that of the actor David Warner. “She’ll find out eventually, and the longer it is before you tell her the more she’ll hate you for it.”
“What is he talking about?” Sarah asked.
“Nothing! Nothing!” Matty insisted, grabbing Sarah’s arm and beginning to walk away. “Don’t listen to the talking penguin!”
“If you’re not going to tell her,” the penguin said, suddenly producing a bucket of hot water, “then I shall have to show her!”
The penguin propelled the bucket’s boiling content towards Matty.
“No!” Matty screamed as the water rushed towards her...
"Okay, everybody,” Mr. Shmuler excitedly exclaimed, “it’s morning! Everybody ready for some fun?”
Almost everyone in the troop instantly bolted awake. Aaron and Matt were both extremely relieved. “Thank god it was just a dream,” they said in unison, the former rubbing his neck as he spoke.
The Bills were less relieved, Gelinas in particular. “I had almost beat the high score!” he said.
The least relieved was Mike Quadrozzi. His eyes filled with tears, he looked towards the heavens above. “Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!” he exclaimed in utter torment. “Damn it!” he then muttered under his breath. “Just when it was starting to get really interesting!”
Slowly, the members of Troop 192 crawled forth from their sleeping bags and reluctantly accepted the concept of consciousness.
It was cold in the cabin, but Kenny was already adding some wood to the heater and things would soon warm up. Becker and Matt Swett were in charge of breakfast and so, traditionally, they had somehow escaped waking up with everyone else. Aaron set about the difficult task of waking them, and fifteen minutes later they began to cook the morning meal.
The very last to wake up was Justy Yung. After breakfast was finished being cooked, Proctor went and chose the best looking pancakes, loped a wad of butter on each of them, and smothered them in real maple syrup he had personally brought special. The fake stuff that the rest of the Troop used wouldn’t be good enough for Justy, no sir. He brought this, along with a freshly brewed cup of coffee (Proctor had ground the beans himself earlier that morning) to Justy’s bunk and gently nudged the SPL.
“Captain? I have your breakfast.”
“Eh... hunghf... wha?” Justy said. He then bolted upright and out of his sleeping bag, already in uniform. Somehow, the uniform looked completely fresh despite having been slept in.
“Why thank you, Proctor,” Justy said.
Proctor grinned.
Justy took a sip of his coffee and frowned. He brought his baton down on his assistant’s head.
“You moron! This coffee is exactly three and a quarter degrees too cold!”
Proctor took the cup from Justy and ran towards the stove. “I’m sorry, Captain! I’ll warm it up for you right away!”
Mike watched this all with an attached bemusement as he chewed a piece of pancake. He swallowed, turned to his friends, and commented, “Another typical morning in Troop 192.”
Although most of the staff for the event who had stayed overnight had stayed at Cabin II, their breakfast (and other meals) were being had at the Training Lodge. The reason was simple. The T‑Lodge had a kitchen, Cabin II didn’t.
In the kitchen was the man most likely to be found there at various Council events when a staff was in need of food, and he also prepared food at the various Order of the Arrow events. In fact, with the exception of Summer Camp, whenever food was needed it was Mr. Ron Wilson, Sr. that was most often called upon.
Richard Palmer was next in line for food.
“What can I get for you?” Mr. Wilson asked, smiling the kind of smile that only years in the service of the Council can produce.
“A big plate of blueberry pancakes with maple syrup, eggs over easy, and five sausages,” Richard responded.
“Anything to drink with that?”
“To drink,” Richard said, “a tall glass or orange juice and a black cup of coffee. After that, I'm going to have a slice of pie.”
“Pie for breakfast?” Mr. Wilson asked, surprised.
“Any time of the day is a good time for pie. Blueberry pie to go with the pancakes. And on top, a thin slice of melted cheese...”
Richard was cut off as Mr. Wilson pulled out an ice cream scoop filled with a thick substance that was probably supposed to be oatmeal, plopped it onto a plate, and handed it to him. Mr. Wilson then handed him a small paper cup filled with orange colored water.
“What’s this?” Richard asked.
“Oatmeal,” Mr. Wilson responded brightly, as if oatmeal could solve all of the wrongs in the world.
“Oatmeal,” Richard repeated as he walked away.
Next in line was Dan Wellington. After receiving his plate, Dan poured some lighter fluid over his lump of cold oatmeal and took a match to it. He smiled. “I like mine flambéed.”
Richard watched Dan and frowned.
Meanwhile, over at Cabin I, Troop 192 was heading out the door. Lagging behind was Perry, who waited until everyone else had left to get something out of his backpack.
It was a sword. Quite an impressive looking one, too. Big blade, slight curve to it. Not the kind of sword that you would want to meet in a dark alley somewhere.
Perry smiled.
Just then, Scoutmaster Will Shmuler walked in. He took one look at this and frowned.
“Perry, you know that it’s against the rules to have a knife with a blade longer than six inches, and also it doesn’t look like that blade folds into the handle.”
“Is not knife,” Perry explained, “is sword!”
“Oh, okay then!” Shmuler grinned stupidly. “No problem. But maybe later we could work on your totin chip a bit.”
With that, he turned and walked out of the cabin once more.
Perry smiled and concealed the sword on himself in that weird way that immortals in the Highlander TV series seem to be able to, and walked after him.
The Klondike began with an opening ceremony no different than any other opening ceremonies (or closing ceremonies, for that matter) when the Council had this sort of thing. Matt missed the good old days of his youth when some effort was made to actually put some variety into these things, and felt sorry for his friends who were still youth who would never know Scouting as it had once been...
Now, the only variety seemed to be some cosmetic differences that were purely to attempt to fool the scouts into thinking that this camporee or that derby was going to be different from the last one, yes it was! Sadly, predictably, it rarely worked.
“Another Klondike Derby, eh?” Aaron said.
“Yup,” Mike responded.
“Wow, I can’t wait to see what new and exciting events they have planed for us this year!” Swett added, his sarcasm in super-smooth mode.
Kenny just stood there silently, listening. But if the truth were to be told, as this was his first time he was somewhat excited. If the others knew they would envy him greatly.
“Eh, these things are always the same,” Hughes said.
“WHAT?!” Becker responded.
“I said, ‘Eh, these things are...’ Oh, never mind...”
“Well, there’s something that doesn’t happen at every Klondike,” Gelinas said.
“What’s that?” Mike asked.
“Oh, just Perry charging at us with a sword.”
“Oh, that does sound interesting,” Aaron responded.
Someone blinked. It doesn’t matter who, suffice to say was that it was only the time it takes someone to blink before it dawned on the group that they were possibly in peril.
“Perry’s charging us with a sword!!!” Aaron said, much less calmly then Gelinas had.
Perry ran towards them, full speed, madly waving the sword at them. “I kill you!” he exclaimed as the distance between them shortened.
Matt, Mike, Aaron, Bill, and Bill all quickly scattered, all going off in different directions. Mike’s luck was not doing to well, as it was he that Perry happened to follow.
“Shit!” Normally Mike disliked using such language, but he felt it justifiable under the circumstances.
He ran on, Perry close behind and quickly lessening the distance between them.
“Shit!”
He quickly pushed branches out of his way as he ran deeper into the woods, away from the path and his friends. Deeper still he went, leaping over snow-covered logs and low branches.
“Shit!”
Perry was still close behind him, waving the sword frantically, cutting a new path through the forest. Where were they, anyways? They’d been running for some time, and were past where Cabin III was, which was pretty far out. Was this part of camp even used much?
“Shit!”
Suddenly, there was a puddle of slush in front of Mike, and he tripped and fell into it. A second later he was a squirrel, but he wasted little time pondering his new status as he continued running deeper into the woods.
Quite a while later he came to a stop in a small clearing, breathing heavily and clutching a forepaw to his chest.
I think I lost ‘em, he thought.
Just then, in the woods behind him, a branch snapped.
“Well,” Swett commented, “that was interesting.”
“Certainly invigorating on such a cold morning,” Matt said dryly.
“Well, now that that’s over with, I suppose we should hit the first event,” Aaron said.
“Hey, Mike,” Hughes asked, “where we going first?”
“Where’s Mike?” Gelinas asked.
“Eh, he’s probably just lost in the woods somewhere,” Aaron said.
The others agreed to this.
“Anyway, didn’t he give all of the information to Swett?” Hughes asked.
“Hey,” Swett said, pulling out the little folder containing the information, “cool!”
Swett led the way to the first event, and everyone followed. Somewhere along the way, a missing member of their patrol joined them. Unfortunately, it wasn’t Mike. It was Will. Soon, they had reached their first event. They were happy to see it was being run by Dan and Colin.
“Hey, Dan. Hey, Colin,” they all said.
“Hey,” they responded.
“So what event is this?” Gelinas asked.
“Let me guess...” Hughes said. “Fire building?”
“Well, that’s the event Dan and Colin always do, so what ever could have given you that idea?” Swett asked.
“The object of this event is to build a fire in one of these fire pits,” Dan said, “and burn through the string suspended over it. Unfortunately, the guys in
charge said all you can use is wood you find here and no more then three matches. I told them it would be more fun to soak the string in nitroglycerine and use sticks of dynamite instead of wood... but those bastards just don’t know what fun is. Any questions?”
“What would happen if you ate dynamite and then lit a fart?” Shmuler asked while doing a handstand and holding pacifiers between each of his toes.
Dan ignored the question.
“Okay, begin,” Colin said.
The Garden Snake patrol set about their task, as did the other patrols from other troops that were there. A patrol from 180 was there, and was headed up by Derek Provost.
Matt went over to Dan and Colin.
“So how’s it going?” he asked.
“Okay,” Colin said. “Breakfast sucked, as usual.”
“What’d you have, oatmeal again?”
Dan and Colin nodded.
“Doesn’t that man know how to cook anything else?” Matt asked. “Let me guess... Lunch and dinner are...?”
“Oatmeal,” Dan said.
“You know,” Matt said, “I’m not too excited about what my Troop is making for dinner. You two have money? We can go out.”
“Hey, good idea,” Colin said.
“Yeah, I got some cash,” Dan added.
“Great. Right after closing sound good?”
“Sure. Where we going?” Colin asked.
“How about the Russell Inn?” Dan suggested. The Russell Inn was a rather nice restaurant / bar / pizza place that was not too far from camp.
"Sounds good,” Matt added.
They looked over to see how the various groups were doing. The Garden Snakes were in the lead, and the string was actually starting to burn slightly when...
“I can fly!!!” Shmuler exclaimed, throwing himself into the air. He flew up a couple of inches before gravity decided to show him who was boss, and he fell down hard... right over the fire... smothering it completely.
He then proceeded to make snow-angel-making motions where he lay, oblivious to the fact that the snow around where this event was being held had been cleared away.
Meanwhile, Troop 180’s fire was going strong... the fire was touching their string... and the string snapped in two!
“All right guys, good work!” Dan said.
“Now is the part Dan likes the least,” Colin said. “Put out your fire and clean up the area. There’s water in those buckets over there.”
Provost took one of the buckets and dumped it’s contents onto the fire. However, there was no hissing sound of water hitting fire. Instead, there was a soft thud and a rising plume of black smoke.
When the smoke cleared, Provost saw what had fallen out of the bucket onto the small fire, crushing it and putting it out. It was a can. It was a can of juice. Kiwi/Mocha fruit juice.
Provost screamed and ran off into the woods, not to be heard from for the rest of the weekend.
Mike turned slowly around, fully expecting to see a huge sword a half inch away from his face and rapidly closing. Instead he saw nothing, except the trees behind him.
There it was again – a branch cracking in the forest. There was definitely someone... or something... out there.
Then he saw it. It was a person, who stepped into the small clearing and stopped suddenly upon seeing Mike. Mike couldn’t tell who it was under the large coat, but he was sure it wasn’t Perry.
The person spoke, and Mike discovered it was a woman. “Hello,” she said to him. “Hey, you’re a cute squirrel, aren’t you?”
Under his fur, Mike blushed. Then he sneezed. He realized he was still wet from having fallen in the slush, and he began shivering.
“Oh, but you’re freezing!” She stooped down and gently picked him up. “I’ll get you all warmed up,” she said soothingly as she headed off deeper into the nether-woods of Moses.
A short time later they arrived at a cosy looking cabin that looked as if constructed by hand. She opened the door and set him down on the table before closing it once more behind her. There was already a fire going, and it was quite warm.
“I’ll put some water on,” she said, “and we’ll get you all warmed up.”
She took of her coat, and Mike got a good look at her for the first time. She was no Scully, but if anyone could come close to comparing to the X-Filian Goddess it was this woman.
Her cute face was framed by fluffy blonde hair, and behind a pair of Aviator-style glasses, her deep brown eyes had a smile in them as they looked at him. She was wearing a smart looking outfit, rather like a business woman would wear, although if the rest of her clothes were anything like her coat and gloves (which Mike had gotten a close look at on the journey to the cabin) then while they were exquisitely crafted, they were all hand made.
Everything in the cabin looked to be hand made, now that he thought of it. It was all wonderful work, to be sure. The work of a master. He knew that if he were to ever set out on a voyage aboard the S.S. Minnow, he would want this woman along.
“Burr...” the woman said. She pulled a sweater depicting allegiance to the Green Bay Packers on. “This is the one thing I saved from civilization, you know,” she told him. “Couldn’t part with my Green Bay sweater.”
“Now then,” she added as she set a hand made kettle upon a ingenious stove of her own design. She sat at the masterfully constructed chair before the fine table Mike sat upon.
She took a hand woven towel and proceeded to dry Mike off. As she did so, Mike noticed a stack of drawings on the table... they looked like drawings for a comic book. Inwardly he smiled. On top of everything else, she’s a fellow artist! he thought. He was somewhat amused to notice the star of her comic was a squirrel.
The kettle began to whistle and she stood again and went to get it. She poured water from it into two china teacups. Each cup had a painting of a squirrel on it. She then opened the cupboard and took out some of the tea she had grown in her garden, and a moment later she dropped a hollow metal ball into each cup. She sat down again and set one cup in front of herself and the other before Mike. She smiled and also put a few acorns down in front of him.
“It’s not often I meet someone new,” she said. “I already know most of the squirrels around here, but you I’ve never met before.” She smiled again.
There was a strange sound from her coat, and they both looked over to it.
“Oh, I’d forgotten about that other strange little fellow I found!” she said. As she said this, a small head poked out from under the coat, followed by a small body, and finely a little curly tail.
A little black piglet stood there. It had a yellow bandana tied around it’s neck.
“Bwee bwee!” the piglet said.
“I’m sorry, did you want some tea, too?” she said. As she rose to prepare another cup she accidentally hit Mike’s, spilling the cup’s contents right on him.
As the Garden Snake patrol was on their way to yet another mind-numbing event, they were being watched.
Any minute now... Perry thought. He watched the hated ones as they travelled down the path... closer and closer... and then they were right there! And then...
And then they kept walking, unhindered, until they turned a corner in the path and disappeared from sight.
“What happen?” Perry demanded. “Why no work?” He got up and walked over to the spot. Nothing happened. He jumped up and down a bit. Still nothing. He knelt down and pounded on the ground. No response at all. He screamed as he jumped up once more, hit the ground, continued downward, and hit the earth beneath him with all of his might.
Suddenly the earth beneath him was there no more, as it fell away.
“Aaaaiiiiiiiiiiiaaaahhhhhh!!!!!!”
He grabbed the edge of the pit and stopped himself from falling further. He looked down at the spikes waiting for him at the pit’s bottom.
“Aiah,” he said as he crawled out. “This plan no work. Time for plan two.”
The next event had been mind numbing. As they walked away, Hughes was repeatedly slapping himself in the forehead, trying to bring back the feeling to his brain.
“Help!”
“Hey,” Hughes said, “did you guys hear that?”
“WHAT!?!?” Becker responded.
“Help!”
There it was again.
Hughes started off in the direction of the shouting. The rest of the patrol continued on, oblivious to Hughes’ detour.
“Help!” It was definitely a woman’s voice that was calling out. Could it be a damsel in distress?
“Nah,” Hughes said to himself. “That’s too silly.”
Then he saw her. A woman was lying, seemingly tied down to the railroad track.
She saw Hughes. “Help!” she said. “Train coming soon!”
“I’ll save you, miss!” he shouted as he started towards her. Wait a moment, there’s no trains in the middle of Moses!
As he continued forward, propelled by inertia, he noticed that the track was only one small section of track that had been recently dragged into place, if the marks in the snow were any indication.
In the next instant, still propelled forward, he noticed who the woman was. Sure he had never seen her in a dress before (certainly not a dress that looked like it would have seemed fashionable in the old west) nor had he seen her in a blonde wig before (and a bad looking wig, at that) but there was no mistaking Perfume.
It was too late to stop, and as he continued forward he stumbled on something hidden in the snow and came to a stop kneeling before her. She rose, not having been tied down at all, and reached behind her back. Something came flying out in an unbelievable speed and...
Hughes quickly clapped his hands together right above his head.
He looked up.
He was surprised to discover that he had actually caught the blade of Perfume’s sword right before it had split his head like a watermelon.
Perfume looked at this as well.
She opened her mouth to comment on it, but found she did not have the words. Not in English, and not even in her native Chinese.
Hughes smiled. He swung his hands back at the wrists, still gripping the sword blade between his palms, and tore the hilt from Perfume’s shock-weakened grip. He then swung his ands down again, smiling at the satisfying thud that the sword hilt made when it hit her head.
She fell backwards, unconscious.
Hughes’ grin widened.
“That was so cool!” he said.
He dropped the sword and left to catch up with the rest of the patrol.
Mike Quadrozzi sat naked upon the table, covering up certain bits with his hands folded neatly over his lap. “Um, hi,” he said.
The woman blushed a bit, but her blushing did not match Mike’s. She also had a look of wonder upon her face.
“You were a squirrel...” she said. “Now you are human. You are both squirrel and human.”
Mike flashed her a smile, albeit an awkward one. Not that he was often in this type of situation, but he tended to be awkward at most things when sitting nude in front of someone he had just met.
The woman settled back into her chair. “You must be the one foretold by the Prophecy of the Squirrel,” she said. “The messiah who will lead the squirrels to true freedom!”
“Um, what?” Mike asked. He didn’t think he had heard her right. However, he had.
“You’re the chosen leader of the squirrel race! The one destined to lead the squirrels to their rightful place as masters of the Earth!”
“I hate to change the subject,” Mike said, “but do you happen to have anything I can wear?”
“Did you have your own clothes?” she asked. “Clothes that you lost when you were transformed?”
This woman is weird, Mike thought. I like her, but she’s weird. Not that that’s bad...
“I did, actually,” he responded. “One item in particular is irreplaceable. A hat. Red. A few years old, looks a few hundred. Says ‘Troop 192’ on it. While I’d like the hat back eventually, however, at the moment I’ll settle for anything.”
“Oh, of course!” she said. She got up and brought him a blanket, which he wrapped around himself. She then snapped her fingers... and they appeared.
They came from everywhere. Under the bed. From the closet. From the cupboard. From behind the oven. They dropped down from the ceiling.
They were squirrels.
The woman then spoke to the squirrels. She wasn’t speaking in English, or any other human language for that matter. Mike recognized the sounds well. They were sounds made by squirrels.
Mike couldn’t speak squirrel, actually. Oh, when he was a squirrel he could make sounds like one, but he couldn’t actually speak the squirrel language. He hadn’t even been aware that there was one. But as the woman spoke, the hundreds of squirrels that were in the cabin with them all paid apt attention to her, nodding their cute little heads now and then.
Finely, she opened the door and the squirrels all went out.
“They’ll find your clothes,” she told Mike.
“Um, thanks. I’m Mike, by the way. Mike Quadrozzi.”
The woman smiled again. “My name’s Martha Wadley. I’m honored to meet you, Sir Mike,” she said as the last of the squirrels began to make their way through the door.
Over by her coat, the pig squealed.
“Oh, I’d forgotten about you,” Martha said. She laughed. “Wouldn’t it be funny if spilling tea on you would turn you into a human as well?” She looked at Mike. “Think we should try it?”
The pig eagerly nodded its head up and down vigorously, making a squeaking noise with each nod. This went unnoticed by Martha as she laughed and said, “Isn’t that silly? No pig is comparable to the Great Squirrel Messiah!”
The pig sighed and followed the last of the squirrels out just before Martha closed the door. She brought Mike a fresh cup of tea, as well as a chair of his own so he could stop sitting on the table, before she sat down once more herself.
“So how did end up here?” Mike asked. “And what is your connection to squirrels?”
Martha smiled as if about to reveal a secret. “It all started, I suppose, with a simple study project. I was studying Behavioral Biology, and had gone into the field to do a study on squirrels for a paper I was working on. I spent three weeks living with a family of squirrels and studying everything about them. They’re magnificent creatures. Upon my return to,” she laughed, “civilization, I found myself incontent. I had been happier with the squirrels, you see. Squirrels are much better then humans. My psychiatrist, Dr. Murakami, said that it will all pass, but she was wrong. It didn’t pass. With each day, I found myself longing more and more for their company. Until one day, I couldn’t take it any more and I just left everything behind and returned to the forest to live with the squirrels. I’ve been here ever since.”
“I see,” Mike said.
“And now that you have appeared, it cannot be much linger before the time of prophecy will come to pass. The squirrels will rule the Earth, and it is you who will lead them to it!”
“Um, yeah, okay,” Mike said. He really didn’t know what else there was to say.
After lunch, there had been a few more events, and now was the last event before the big sled race on the lake. The guy running this event was unfamiliar to the group from 192, and he introduced himself as Richard Palmer.
“This event is on fire safety,” Richard said. “We have here a fire, and you have to put it out using any means necessary. Then, there will be a quiz on unsafe fire practices.”
“That doesn’t sound very fun,” Bill Gelinas commented.
“Fire is not a fun thing,” Richard responded.
Off in the distance, Dan sat and watched. He smiled that kind of smile that would cause perfectly sane men to throw themselves off of cliffs rather then stay and look at that smile. “He must be destroyed.”
All of the different patrols were gathered at the Waterfront, their sleds positioned at the beginning of the ice covering Russell Pond. Their goal: the Aquatics Lodge on the opposite shore.
“So what is that stuff he’s putting on the sled’s runners?” Aaron asked. Kenny was kneeling down applying something to the bottom of the sled, spraying it on and heavily soaking the runners. “Is that the stuff Mike mentioned yesterday at the Church?”
Hughes nodded.
“Where is Mike, anyways?” Gelinas wondered. When no one else seemed interested, he just shrugged and lost interest himself. Camporees and derbies were funny like that – no one seemed to care when one of their friends went missing, even when there was a homicidal amazon after them. They all just assumed he had wandered off and would be back later.
“It’s all set,” Kenny said. He put the spray can away.
“So who rides?” Swett asked. In the sled race, one member of the patrol was required to be a passenger while everyone else pushed.
“Well, Shmuler’s the smallest in the patrol, isn’t he?” Gelinas noted.
“Yes, but if you recall, he’s unavailable at the moment.
In one corner of Cabin I, Will Shmuler sat tied and gagged.
“Oh yeah,” Gelinas responded. “I’d forgotten about that. I guess it’d be Kenny, then.”
Kenny smiled.
On the opposite shore she waited for them to come. She would spring her trap as they crossed the finish line.
She would finely have her revenge!
“On your marks!” Danny Mashia, a curly-haired man known for leading popular sing-alongs at Council Campfires shouted.
Kenny braced himself in the sled, as the Garden Snake patrol prepared to push. Likewise, all of the other patrols got ready.
“Get set!”
On the opposite shore, Perfume smiled.
“GO!!!”
Simultaneously all of the patrols began to run forward pushing their sleds. All but the Garden Snake patrol. They had started pushing their sled, but then all fell flat on their faces as the sled seemed to vanish.
They heard a crash from the opposite shore. Looking across, they could just make out a hole in the wall of the Aquatics Lodge.
“Whoops,” they said.
Perfume stood in the trees near the opposite shore, her face ready to explode in anger. They had slipped through her grasp once again, it seemed. She had one more chance this weekend, and she was determined not to screw it up!
Kenny had thrown himself out of the sled right before it had crashed into the Aquatics Lodge, and now he stood and turned to inspect the large hole in the side of the cabin. He then walked around to the opposite side of the cabin and inspected the exit hole. Lying on the ground about fifteen feet from the exit hole was the sled. All of the snow around where it had come to rest had melted away, and the sled itself was half buried in the earth.
He walked over to it and found it to be hot to the touch. He looked at the sled, then back at the hole through the cabin.
He took out his little notebook and pencil and began to jot down a few things. He spoke aloud as he did so. “Minor miscalculation in the dilution of the
lubricant, but otherwise the experiment was a complete success!”
The squirrels had returned with Mike’s clothes, and Mike had gotten dressed. He was warm and dry, and it was time, he felt, to make his way back to his patrol.
“Are you sure you have to go?” Martha asked. “There’s so much to do before the Revolution!”
Mike smiled. “Yes, there is,” he told her, “but I have other obligations, you see.”
She returned the smile. “Of course, I understand. I’ll be waiting!”
“We can keep in touch in the mean time. Let me give you my e-mail add... oh, sorry, you wouldn’t exactly have a computer out here, huh?”
“Not yet,” Martha responded, “but soon. I’ve got most of the boards all completed, and I was planning to do some more carving on the casing for the monitor later. Another month and I should be done.”
“You’re amazing, Squirrel Lady,” Mike told her. He scribbled something down on a piece of paper. “Be sure to write when you can.”
“You’ll be the first person I e-mail,” she told him.
“Well, good bye!” Mike said.
“Good bye, and good luck!” Martha told him. They hugged like old friends, and then Mike walked out of the door.
It was another typical closing ceremony. Awards were handed out. Provost’s Stag Patrol got first place in the fire building competition. The award had to be accepted by his Assistant Patrol Leader, Brian Abert, as Derek was still hiding in the woods somewhere.
“Hey, guys!” someone said, startling the members of the Garden Snake Patrol who were standing there. They turned around.
“Squid!” Aaron said. “Where you been?”
“Oh, here and there,” he said, a secretive smile upon his face. He changed the subject. “So, how’d the day go? We pick up any awards?”
“Yeah, twice as many as last year!” Swett said.
“So a grand total of zero then, eh?” Mike responded.
“Well, there’s still one to give out,” Hughes said.
“We’ve got a good chance on this one,” Gelinas said.
“Oh?” Mike inquired.
Kenny quietly smiled.
“And now, the sled race,” Harris Tanner spoke. “Third place: Troop 359, Flaming Popeye Patrol.”
A patrol shouted out enthusiastically, “I yam what I yam!” as their patrol leader went and accepted the ribbon.
“Second place: Troop 815, Raging Bullwinkle Patrol!”
Jim Anderson stepped forward to accept the ribbon as his patrol shouted, “Hey, Rocky, I coulda been a contender!”
"First place...” spoke the venerable leader, “with a time of point three nanoseconds, the Garden Snake Patrol of Troop 192!”
“Hey, neat,” Mike said as he stepped forward to receive the ribbon. His patrol shouted out with an enthusiastic nothing at all, because they felt they didn’t need such things to have spirit. Perhaps that’s why they never won the spirit awards.
“And now,” Tanner said, almost as if he had read the previous bit of narration, “the spirit award! This goes to the Summarizing Proust Patrol from Troop 179!”
The Patrol Leader stepped forward to receive the award as his patrol sung out in perfect harmony with, “Proust in his first book wrote about, fa la la... Proust in his first book wrote about, he wrote about...”
And so the Klondike Derby ended.
Matt had changed into something that didn’t quite look like a Scout uniform and met up with Dan and Colin, who had similarly changed. They were just about to hop into Dan’s car, when...
“Hey, mind if I join you? Can’t take another fuckin’ serving of oatmeal, you know?”
There stood Richard Palmer. He had changed out of his uniform as well, and was wearing a cheep black suit with a thin black tie.
The three friends conferred. “I don’t trust this guy,” Dan quietly said.
“I don’t want to seem rude, though,” Colin said.
They looked at Matt. Why do I get the deciding vote? “Why not,” he said. “Come along.” Little did Matt know that he would later regret this.
Dan was driving, Matt and Colin sat in the back. Richard had the passenger seat next to Dan. From the back seat, Colin and Matt would swear that there was a dangerous field of electricity between the two.
Somehow they had gotten into a conversation about where they’d like to travel in their lives, and when Dan had mentioned Amsterdam, it had turned out that Richard had actually lived there for a while.
“You'll dig it, Dan,” Richard said. “And you know what the funniest thing about Europe is?”
“What?” Dan asked.
“It's the little differences. A lotta the same shit we got here, they got there, but there they're a little different.”
“Like what?” Dan asked.
“Well, in Amsterdam, you can buy beer in a movie theatre. And I don't mean in a paper cup either. They give you a glass of beer, like in a bar. In Paris, you can buy beer at McDonalds’s. Also, you know what they call a Quarter Pounder with Cheese in Paris?”
“They don't call it a Quarter Pounder with Cheese?”
“No, they got the metric system there, they wouldn't know what the fuck a Quarter Pounder is.”
“What'd they call it?”
“Royale with Cheese,” Colin supplied. Richard frowned.
“Royale with Cheese,” Dan repeated. “What'd they call a Big Mac?”
“Big Mac's a Big Mac, but they call it Le Big Mac,” Richard responded.
“McDonald’s is evil, anyways,” Matt felt it important to add. “I’ll take Burger King any day, but I wouldn’t touch McDonald’s if I had just come out of a desert and had been starving for days.” Matt wasn’t joking, he actually had a deep psychological hatred of McDonald’s food.
“What do they call a Whopper?” Dan asked.
“I dunno, I didn't go into a Burger King.”
“Your loss,” Matt said.
Richard ignored him. “But you know what they put on french fries in Holland instead of ketchup?”
“Mayonnaise,” Colin said.
Richard frowned.
"Damn!” Dan exclaimed.
“I seen 'em do it, Richard insisted, working himself back into the conversation. “And I don't mean a little bit on the side of the plate, they fuckin' drown 'em in it.”
“Well, I’ve dipped my fries in kerosene,” Dan said. “Quite tasty. So I guess mayo isn’t too weird.”
“I’ll stick to ketchup,” Matt said. “From Burger King.”
Richard frowned.
They had arrived at the Russell Inn.
They got out of the car, and Matt was startled to recognize the car they had parked next to. “Hey, Dan, you got a sec?”
“Sure.”
The two went off for a moment.
“What is it?” Dan asked once they were away.
“Could you three kind of go on with out me?” Matt asked. “And don’t be surprised if you see a familiar red haired woman walk in a few minutes later.”
“What’s up?”
Matt pointed. “That’s her car.”
“Her?”
“From camp?”
“Oh, her!” Dan grinned knowingly, and then went to rejoin his Colin and the other person. Together, the three of them went in.
“Matt coming?” Colin asked.
“He just remembered something,” Dan said. “He’s going to walk back to camp.”
“Bit of a walk, especially in this weather.”
Dan shrugged, offering no explanation.
“What the hell’s going on in here?” Colin then asked, having gotten his first look at the inside of the Russell Inn.
Gone were the usual tables. In their place were booths made up from the cut-out bodies of 50’s cars. Posters were all over the walls, mainly posters from 50's A.I.P. movies such as Rock All Night, High School Confidential, Attack of the Crab Monster, and Machinegun Kelly. Somehow a large dance floor had been installed, although normally Dan and Colin would have never thought there would be room for one in this establishment. A sign near the dance floor proclaimed, “No Shoes Allowed.”
There were quite a few waiters and waitresses this night, and they seemed to be wearing attire appropriate to the 50’s. In fact, some of them bore a striking resemblance to certain 50’s icons, such as Zorro, James Dean, Donna Reed, Martin and Lewis, and The Philip Morris Midget.
They were shown to a table made from a red 59’ Edsil. After studying their menus for a while, a man came over to take their orders. He was dressed as Buddy Holly, and there was a button on his chest that read, “Hi I'm Buddy, pleasing you pleases me."
“Hi, I’m Buddy. What can I get’cha?”
Richard ordered first. “I’ll have the... um... Douglas Sirk steak.”
“How d’ya want it? Burnt to a crisp or bloody as hell?”
“Bloody as hell. And to drink, a vanilla coke.”
“How about you?” Buddy asked Dan.
“I’ll have the Durwood Kirby burger, burnt to a crisp, and a five-dollar shake.”
“How do you want the shake? Martin and Lewis, or Amos and Andy?”
“Vanilla,” Dan said.
“Martin and Lewis, then?” the water asked.
“Yes, vanilla,” Dan repeated.
Frustrated, the water turned to Colin. “And you?” he asked.
“The Wolfman Jack Omelette, and... um... Sprite with that.”
The water walked away, and Richard said to Dan, “Did you just order a five-dollar shake?”
“Sure did.”
“A shake? Milk and ice-cream?”
“Yup.”
“It costs five dollars?”
Dan nodded.
“They don’t put bourbon in it or anything?”
“If they did, I couldn’t order it,” Dan reminded Richard, not that Dan had ever let a thing like age stop him in the past if he had ever wanted a drink.
“Just checking,” Richard said. He got up. “I’m going to go to the bathroom and powder my nose while you two sit here and chat amongst yourselves.”
“We’ll do that,” Colin said.
“Hey,” Matty said, “imagine running into you here!”
Sarah and her sisters looked up. “Oh, hi, Matty! Want to join us? We haven’t ordered yet.”
Matty smiled. “Sure.” She took a seat in the car next to Kirstin and across from Sarah. She looked around. “What the hell happened here?”
“It’s 50’s nostalgia night,” Sarah explained.
“They remodeled the entire interior of the restaurant for one night?” Matty replied, finding the fact quite incredulous.
“Neat, isn’t it?” Nicole responded.
“So what are you doing here?” Matty asked.
“There’s a camporee at Bonnie Bray this weekend,” Sarah explained, “and I thought I’d take the gals out to diner tonight. You?”
“Boy Scout thing up at Moses,” Matty responded.
“Ah,” Sarah said.
Their waitress came over, and Matty recognized her as Marilyn Monroe. “Hi, I’m Marilyn, and I’ll be your... oh, hold on a minute, sugars.”
Marilyn ran off for a moment to stand over a square vent in the floor. The sound of a subway car filled the Russell Inn, making everything shake and rattle. An imaginary subway train then blew the skirt of her white dress around her ears as she let out a squeal. With the exception of two tables, the entire restaurant applauded.
Her task completed, the waitress returned. “Now can I take your orders?”
Richard returned right after Buddy had brought their food to the table. Colin and Dan immediately began to consume their meals. Richard sat there watching them, his own food left untouched.
“Don't you love it when you go to the bathroom and you come back to find your food waiting for you?” Richard commented.
“We're lucky we got it at all,” Dan said.
“Buddy Holly doesn't seem to be much of a waiter. We shoulda sat in Marilyn Monroe section,” Colin added.
“Which one, there's two Marilyn Monroe's,” Dan said.
“No there's not,” Richard said. He pointed at Marilyn in the white dress, taking an order from a table of four women, two red heads and two younger twins. “That's Marilyn Monroe...” He then pointed at a blonde waitress in a tight sweater and Capri pants, taking an order from a bunch of film geeks.
“...and that's Mamie Van Doren,” Colin interrupted. “I don't see Jayne Mansfield, so it must be her night off.”
“Pretty smart,” Richard said, frowning.
"I have moments,” Colin responded.
Dan wrapped his lips around his straw and took a sip of his shake.
“Can I have a sip of that?” Richard asked. “I'd like to know what a five-dollar shake tastes like.”
Dan hesitated, then said, “Be my guest.” He pulled out the straw and slid the shake over to Richard.
Richard noted this, and commented on the straw removal by saying, “I don’t have cooties.”
Poker faced, Dan replied, “Yeah, but maybe I do.”
“Cooties I can handle,” Richard said as he slid in a fresh straw. He took a sip. “Goddamn! That's a pretty fuckin' good milk shake.”
“Told ya.”
“I don't know if it's worth five dollars, but it's pretty fuckin' good.” He slid the shake back to Dan, then eyed Dan’s burger. “Mind if I try your burger?”
Normally at this point Dan would in no certain terms have told Richard to go to hell. But these circumstances were different. Richard was unholy, and Dan had to see just how unholy he was. He gave no response at all, remaining poker faced, waiting to see what Richard would do.
Richard took the burger.
He took a bite of the burger.
He put the burger back down in front of Dan, as he proceeded to slowly chew the piece he had bitten off.
He swallowed.
“Uuummmm, that is a tasty burger. Of course, I prefer bloody as hell, but to each their own. Right, my friend?” He turned to Colin. “Colin, you ever try a Durwood Kurby burger?”
“No.”
Richard grabbed the burger again and offered it to Colin. “You wanna bite, they’re real good.”
Colin looked at Dan, then at Richard. “No,” he said simply.
Richard put the burger down once more in front of Dan. He pointed at Colin’s glass. “What’s in this?”
Startled, Colin failed to respond for a moment. Then he said, “You were here when I ordered it.”
“Well maybe I forgot, motherfucker. What is it?”
“Sprite.”
“Sprite, good, mind if I have some of your tasty beverage to wash this burger down with?”
“Yes, I do mind.”
Richard grabbed the glass and took a sip.
“Uuuuummmm, hits the spot!”
All this time, Richard’s own food continued to sit untouched.
Dan continued to sit there poker-faced. Colin placed his palms on the table and rose from his seat slightly. However, before he could confront Richard, he was interrupted as someone on the dance floor spoke into the microphone.
“Ladies and Gentlemen,” Ed Sullivan said, Marilyn Monroe standing next to him, “now is the moment you’ve all been waiting for. The world famous Russell Inn’s twist contest. Now this is where one lucky couple will win this handsome trophy that Marilyn here is holding.”
Marilyn posed with the trophy, holding it up for all to see.
“Now, who will be our first contestants?”
“I wanna dance,” Richard said.
“I’m not much of a dancer,” Dan responded.
“Don’t look at me,” Colin added.
“I never said I wanted to dance with either of you motherfuckers!” Richard said. He got up and walked over to the table that they had seen Marilyn at earlier. “Would you care to dance?” Richard asked one of the red heads.
“Um, sure,” Sarah responded.
“Sarah, no!” Matty blurted out without thinking.
“Um, are you sure that’s a good idea?” Kirstin added.
Sarah shrugged as she kicked off her shoes. Richard took off his boots. “Right here!” he called out to Ed Sullivan.
“Let’s here it for our first contestants!” Ed responded as Richard and Sarah made their way to the dance floor.
“Now let’s meet our first contestants here this evening,” Ed continued. “Young man, what is your name?”
“Mr. Richard Palmer,” Richard said into the microphone.
“Now how about your lady here?”
Richard deepened his voice for no apparent reason. “Sarah,” he said into the mic.
“Porter,” Sarah added from where she stood.
“Let’s see what you can do,” Ed told them. He turned towards the man at the record player. “Take it away!” he said.
The man at the record player put the needle upon the spinning disc, and “You Never Can Tell” began to play.
Richard and Sarah faced each other for that brief moment before you begin to dance, than they both broke into a devilish twist. Sarah's version of the twist was that of a sexy cat. Richard was pure Mr. Cool as he got into a hip-swivelling rhythm that would make Mr. Checker proud.
Matty sat with Kirstin and Nicole. Nicole watched with minor interest. Kirstin had a worried look on her face. Matty’s face held sadness, and anger barely kept in check.
After dinner, Sarah had brought her sisters back to Bonnie Bray before taking Matty back to Moses, which was where they were headed now.
“You okay?” Sarah asked as they turned into the Boy Scout camp. “You’ve seemed upset since before we left the restaurant.”
I’m fine,” Matty lied.
“No you’re not.” She had seen right through her. “What is it? Tell me?”
“I just... I just don’t think you should have danced with that guy.”
“Is that it? Why, did you like him or something?”
“NO! No, that’s not it... It’s just...” Matty paused. “I thought you weren’t interested in seeing any guys at the moment.”
“Why, Matty, if you were a guy, I’d think you were jealous!” Sarah laughed.
“That’s not it at all,” Matty lied. Fortunately for her, this time Sarah didn’t notice the deception.
“Well, you’re right. I don’t want any relationships at the moment. But that was just one dance with a guy I’ll never see again, so what’s the harm? Besides,” she added, glancing at the object in the back seat, “I got a trophy out of it!”
“Yeah...”
“You’re still upset, aren’t you? Why?”
“Well... I know you don’t like to hear about him, but I’m good friends with Matt, and you know how he likes you,” Matty said.
Sarah looked at Matty as she parked the car. “You care about him, don’t you?”
“I care about all of my friends.”
“Look,” Sarah said. “How about we don’t mention this to him? If he doesn’t know about it, it won’t upset him.”
A little late for that, Matty thought ruefully. She forced a smile for Sarah’s benefit. “Okay,” she said.
They stepped out of the car.
A moment later, Perfume jumped out of nowhere, grabbed Sarah, and ran off into the woods.
“Sarah!” Matty shouted. There was a piece of paper on the ground where Sarah had been standing. Matty picked it up and read it.
“You want woman,” the paper said, “you alone follow Perfume.”
Dan walked through the quiet night forest. His hands were in his pockets and he held no flashlight, his familiarity with Moses allowed him to navigate quite well once his eyes were adjusted to the darkness. He heard a branch snap behind him. He turned around to face Richard Palmer, standing there with his hands behind his back.
“So there you are,” Dan said.
“How you doin’?” Richard asked.
Dan didn’t respond.
“Am I trippin’, or did I just ask you a question?”
“I’m doing okay,” Dan responded at last. He still had the poker face he had put on at dinner.
“Do you know who I am?”
“Richard Palmer.”
“Do you know who I work for?”
“No.”
“I am an associate of a group of men who like to call themselves The Committee. They are also known by the few others who know of their existence and are still alive to know them by anything as The Elders, but they don’t like that name that much.”
“So?”
“So, motherfucker, The Committee has deemed you to be a thorn in their plans.”
“What plans? Why should I care?”
Richard answered Dan’s question by revealing in his hands a Czech M61 submachine gun with a huge silencer on it, which he used to put three holes in a nearby tree.
Dan stood there, hands still in his pockets, his eyes transfixed on the powerful weapon.
“Oh, I’m sorry, did I break your concentration? I didn’t mean to do that. Please continue. I believe you had some questions.”
Dan stood there, silently.
“Whatsamatter? Oh, you were through anyway. Well, let me answer your last question. Why should you care? Because while you aren’t the only thorn in the plans of the Committee, you are a thorn whose death could be easily made to look like an accident. The others, especially your friends in Troop 192, if they were taken care of, they’d become martyrs. We don’t want that, now do we?”
“Are you crazy?” Dan asked. “You can’t kill me.”
“What do I look like?” Richard responded.
Dan became silent once again. Richard took a dangerous step forward.
“What country are you from?” Richard demanded.
“What?” Dan sounded petrified.
“’What’ ain’t no country I know! Do they speak English in ‘What?’”
Dan seemed on the verge of a heart attack. “What?”
“English-motherfucker-can-you-speak-it?”
“Yes.”
“Then you understand what I’m sayin’?”
“Yes.”
“Now describe what I look like.”
Dan’s voice was now dripping in fear. “What?”
Richard stepped forward again and placed the silencer hard against Dan’s cheek. “Say ‘What’ again! C’mon, say ‘What’ again! I dare ya, I double dare ya motherfucker, say ‘What’ one more goddamn time!”
Dan began to relent, and struggled to answer the question. “You look like... like... big harry guy...”
“Go on!”
“In a bad... poorly fitting suit...”
“Do I look like a bitch?!”
“What?” Dan asked without thinking. Richard slammed the barrel of the gun down hard on Dan’s shoulder, and then pressed the tip back to Dan’s cheek. Dan screamed with the pain shooting through his shoulder, and he fell to his knees.
“Do I look like a bitch?!”
Agony fighting with terror to fill his face, Dan struggled to say, “No.”
“Then why are you trying to fuck me like a bitch?!”
“What do you expect?” Dan bit back the pain. “You’re here to kill me after all!”
“You’ve got a good point, there, my friend.” Richard backed away a bit, keeping the gun pointed at Dan. “You ever read the bible, Dan?” he asked.
“Not really,” Dan confessed.
“That’s too bad. It’s a good book. There’s this one passage in particular I have memorized, seems appropriate for this situation: Ezekiel 25:17.
“"The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the inequities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men. Blessed is he who, in the name of charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the valley of darkness, for he is truly his brother's keeper and the finder of lost children.” Richard’s voice began to fill with a cold fury, and excitement filled it as he reached the climax. “And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who attempt to poison and destroy my brothers. And you will know my name is the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon you."
Richard began to squeeze the trigger, but something caused him so stop. It was Dan’s face. Gone was the agony. Gone was the confusion. Gone was the pain. The poker face had returned.
Dan pulled his hands from his pockets, where they had remained all this time until now. Something was in one of his hands. It looked like a small switch. He pressed it.
Matty raced into the woods, heedless of the danger. She had to rescue Sarah! She had to!
There they were! She had caught up to them.
“I get my revenge, Matty!” Perfume exclaimed. She dropped Sarah and pulled out her sword, charging towards Matty.
“Matty!” Sarah called out. “Run!”
“No!” was all Matty had time to respond with before she had to jump back to avoid the swing of Perfume’s blade. Matty grabbed a fallen branch upon the ground and swung back. Perfume swung her sword again and the branch Matty held was in two pieces. With another swing, Matty cried out as her sleeve was torn open and a thin red line appeared on her arm.
“Matty!” Sarah exclaimed. “No!”
Matty fell to the ground, dropping her broken stick. Perfume moved in, swinging her sword in for the fatal final blow...
The ground shook beneath them. Perfume lost her footing and fell. Sarah ran by, pulling Matty to her feet, and the two ran off, leaving the amazon behind.
"What was that... all about?” Sarah asked between heavy breaths as she leaned against her car. “Oh, your arm, are you okay?”
“It’s just... it’s just a scratch,” Matty responded between her own breaths.
“Still... you could have... been killed! What were you thinking?”
“I couldn’t loose you,” Matty said.
Sarah looked at Matty.
“You saved me,” Sarah said. “Thank you.” She gave Matty a hug. “I don’t know how much I can thank you.”
Matty returned the hug. Sarah felt warm against her, especially on this cold winter night.
“I love you,” Matty,” Sarah said.
Matty’s heart skipped a beat.
“You’re the best friend I could ever have,” Sarah added.
Matty smiled, although she was a bit disappointed. I should have saved her as Matt, she thought, although she knew deep down that she’d have never wasted the time to change back to her normal male form when Sarah’s life was in danger. “I love you, too,” she told Sarah, although she meant it in a slightly different way.
Sarah stepped back. “You going to be okay?”
“Yeah, you?”
“Yeah. Well, I’ll see you later.” She got into her car.
Matty waved. “Careful driving in the snow,” she said.
Sarah laughed. “After what we’ve just been through, snow doesn’t seem that scary. Weird camp you’ve got here, Matty.”
“Good night.”
“Good night.” Sarah closed the door and drove away.
Sunday morning, Matt was saying good bye to Dan and Colin as Troop 192 packed up to go home.
“What happened to your arm?” Colin asked.
“Nothing,” Matt responded. “Just a scratch. What ever happened to that jerk Palmer?”
Dan smiled. “Who?” he asked.
Sunday afternoon, Nicole was sitting in the living room when she heard a scratch at the door. She went and let Neko-chan in.
Neko-chan sneezed as he walked in, and Nicole laughed.
“You silly kitty, you’ve been out all weekend and you caught a cold!”
Nicole returned to the couch and Neko-chan leapt to her lap. Nicole then went back to her studies.
She had many files on people. Never knew when information on a certain person might help. She hated to think of it as blackmail, rather she thought of it as protecting people from the facts about them.
One of her thickest files was on this guy named Jason that she’d been seeing now and then. Of course, she never used his file against him, but she liked to keep tabs on him. Besides, he seemed to like spending money on her without her persuasion.
She put Jason’s file down, and picked up two others. One was labelled, “Matt Atanian.” The other was for, “Matty Hayes.” Matty’s was much thinner then Matt’s, but a lot of what was in Matty’s bore similarities to things in Matt’s.
There was a definite connection between the two, she had suspected it even before the pervious fall when Kirstin had admitted that Matty was in on her plans to get Matt and Sarah together. But what was the connection between the two of them?
She placed the two files inside a third file, which she labelled, “Matt / Matty.” This would definitely merit more investigation.
The next Wednesday saw an uneventful scout meeting. One member of the Garden Snake patrol was absent, giving five members of Troop 192 hope that perhaps s/he had given up and gone home.
The following week, as the next Scout meeting began, Perry’s continuing absence strengthened their hope.
Hughes sneezed, still getting over a cold he’d caught at the Klondike. “Maybe she did go home,” he said.
“Any one check if the pizza place is closed again?” Gelinas asked.
“No,” everyone responded in turn.
“Well, gee, that would have seemed a simple way to confirm if she was still here or not,” Gelinas responded.
“SHUT UP, BILL!” they told him.
Suddenly, the twin doors at the front of Walker Hall burst open. They looked up to see who it was.
It was Perry.
Everyone sighed.
This has ceased to be interesting,” Aaron commented.
Disclaimer and Notes
Richard Palmer is based on a real person, the winner of the Boy Scouts ½ Website’s first anniversary contest. Of course, as I finish this story, it is shortly after the website’s second anniversary. He he.
Martha Wadley is also based on a real person. She came to my attention through Mike, who told me about this woman he had met through e-mail after she had read some Boy Scouts ½ stories. Apparently, she is as obsessed with squirrels as Mike is. In fact, they are in truth plotting the squirrel revolution discussed in this story (and the recent Quadrozzi written side-story Conversations with a Squirrel: A Day in the Life of Me). One day walking to work a month or so ago, I just had the sudden idea of Mike getting lost in the woods and meeting her... and that idea became incorporated into this story.
Unfortunately, adding it to this story did considerably complicate this story. In part 15, I had set two almost completely independent plots in motion, and here I added a third. I knew as I began this that it would be considerably longer than most of the other stories in the series, which is odd as it comes after one of the shortest in a while. In fact, aside from the Christmas special, this story is the longest in the series so far! (This does not include part IV of the spin-off series Perspectives from the Food Court, which is probably between this one and the Christmas one for length, and Jason plans to go for the absolute longest of them all with Perspectives V, he tells me.)
Now for the usual disclaimer stuff.
It should be mentioned that many moments from this story were written looking at a copy of a script for the film Pulp Fiction, by Quentin Tarantino.
Also, one small segment was adapted from the script for Highlander.
The X-Files was created by Chris Carter. Characters appear here without permission.
I’m sure someone owns the rights to Pac-Man, and it isn’t me, so that was used without permission.
Certain members of Troop 192 and other troops are based on real persons, some are fictitious, and some may be based on real persons but we’ll
deny it! This story is not endorsed by, nor does it reflect the views or opinions of, the Boy Scouts of America.
Jusenkyo curses and the character of Ryoga (P-Chan) come from Ranma ½ and are used without permission.
Have a nice day.
Martha Wadley is also based on a real person. She came to my attention through Mike, who told me about this woman he had met through e-mail after she had read some Boy Scouts ½ stories. Apparently, she is as obsessed with squirrels as Mike is. In fact, they are in truth plotting the squirrel revolution discussed in this story (and the recent Quadrozzi written side-story Conversations with a Squirrel: A Day in the Life of Me). One day walking to work a month or so ago, I just had the sudden idea of Mike getting lost in the woods and meeting her... and that idea became incorporated into this story.
Unfortunately, adding it to this story did considerably complicate this story. In part 15, I had set two almost completely independent plots in motion, and here I added a third. I knew as I began this that it would be considerably longer than most of the other stories in the series, which is odd as it comes after one of the shortest in a while. In fact, aside from the Christmas special, this story is the longest in the series so far! (This does not include part IV of the spin-off series Perspectives from the Food Court, which is probably between this one and the Christmas one for length, and Jason plans to go for the absolute longest of them all with Perspectives V, he tells me.)
Now for the usual disclaimer stuff.
It should be mentioned that many moments from this story were written looking at a copy of a script for the film Pulp Fiction, by Quentin Tarantino.
Also, one small segment was adapted from the script for Highlander.
The X-Files was created by Chris Carter. Characters appear here without permission.
I’m sure someone owns the rights to Pac-Man, and it isn’t me, so that was used without permission.
Certain members of Troop 192 and other troops are based on real persons, some are fictitious, and some may be based on real persons but we’ll
deny it! This story is not endorsed by, nor does it reflect the views or opinions of, the Boy Scouts of America.
Jusenkyo curses and the character of Ryoga (P-Chan) come from Ranma ½ and are used without permission.
Have a nice day.