Project Elfhome

by Wen Spencer

  Something moved in the fog. She tensed. They couldn’t be so lucky as to spot the saurus immediately—could they? The answer was no, as the forms resolved into cows grazing lazily.

  She swore softly. “Shit. ‘Beef4U.’ A damn farmer sent in the tip.”

  Taggart laughed, his voice dipping down almost to bass.

  Jane snorted out in disgust. “Okay, the good news is spotting the saurus just got a hell of a lot easier. Plus we’ve a ton of free bait.”

  “The bad news?” Taggart asked.

  “Smart boy. Cookie for knowing that there’s bad news.” Jane eased her SUV across the worn divided line to drive along the berm. “Bad news, Pittsburgh beef cows are the meanest son-of-a-bitches.”

  “So, we have to dodge several tons of pissed-off sirloin while filming one hungry dinosaur?”

  “Welcome to Pittsburgh.” She drove slowly along the converted golf course. “Keep an eye out for oncoming traffic.”

  “What are you looking for?”

  “Tracks.”

  The farmer had gone to town on fencing, putting up eight strands of barbwire to create a six-foot wall around the golf course. Jane suspected that Beef4U was trying to keep animals out as well as in. Considering that wargs were a growing problem in the area, she couldn’t blame him for trying.

  “There!”

  She automatically jerked back to her side of the road and then realized that Taggart hadn’t spotted an oncoming car but a monster. He had his camera already trained on the massive creature poised to attack.

  “Oh! That’s where that went,” Jane said.

  Truth was sinking in on Taggart. “That’s…not real, is it?”

  “No, that’s a proper T-Rex. Saurus are more velociraptor in shape, although just about the same size. I think that’s from a miniature golf course that was like ten miles away. Yes, this is Sunset’s stuff. There’s Skull Mountain and Batman. I wonder where they found the pirate ship. Oh, God, they’ve got the dragon den statue from Sandcastle!”

  “Pittsburghers love castles.”

  “It’s an abandoned water park down on the Mon River. They couldn’t keep the water fairies out. And yes, we do; it’s part of the American dream.” She was going to drive past but realized that Nigel had pulled into the parking lot. “What are they doing?”

  “Oh, we can’t pass this up.” Taggart motioned for her to go back. “It’s far too surreal. This is what we came to film. The real Pittsburgh.”

  “This makes us look like redneck nutcases.” Jane backed up so she could pull in behind the production truck. Nigel and Hal were already out, gesturing at all the statues visible from the parking lot.

  “We’ve got to get this, Jane!” Nigel cried as she and Taggart climbed out of her SUV.

  “All right.” She waved to get them to keep Hal from chiming in. They only had a vague tip on the saurus and so far they hadn’t seen any sign of one. Certainly the cows seemed unconcerned and the fence hadn’t been breached. Most likely the putt-putt was as safe as any other place in Pittsburgh; which was to say, only somewhat harmless. “Set up so the T-Rex is in frame and you can do basic biology comparisons.” She turned to Taggart. “Keep an eye and ear open. I’ll be in the truck.”

  She would have liked to put Chesty on guard duty, but he would only guard her. Elfhounds were very loyal to a very small set of people and she’d never been able to get him to include Hal into that unit.

  Because she and Hal killed their show’s subjects every week, often with fire, they used the production truck to make sure they had good footage before fully engaging the creatures. After the actual fighting started, whatever they got, they got. They’d also learned that while a smoking body afterward rarely made great material, it was worse to come back the next day and discover that predators had found the corpse.

  She flicked on screens and put in an earpiece to link her with Taggart and Nigel. “I’m set.”

  Taggart had a perfect frame already. Nigel waited until Hal got a light reflector in place.

  Nigel stood a moment in profile, looking up at the T-Rex looming over him and then turned toward the camera. “No more than this statue can capture the true essence of a dinosaur can our cameras convey the primal silence of this place. We’re standing in the heart of the displaced zone on a Saturday morning. At one time two million people lived in this area. A sunny day, like today, would have heralded thousands of lawnmowers growling to life. Cars coming and going to one of a dozen malls. And across the street, people would have been lining up to tee off. Cows graze there now. We haven’t seen another car for half an hour. All there is to be heard is the rustle of the wind through the trees.”

  Hopefully just wind, Jane thought.

  “This miniature golf place stands almost abandoned. Someone is keeping the grass trimmed. There’s clubs and a bucket of golf balls and a sign that reads ‘play at your own risk.’ Someone has added ‘be careful of the water trap on third hole.’ This place stands as a monument to what is quintessential Pittsburgh. The people of this city adapt and go on.”

  Jane was impressed that Nigel had taken all that in the short period of time that they’d arrived. Judging by the torn earth around the dragon statue, the owners of the park had only recently looted the abandoned water park in Homestead and dragged it halfway across town. Apparently, there was enough interest in the putt-putt to improve it but not make it a viable business.

  “This fellow is Earth’s Tyrannosaurus, or T-Rex. He was a theropod dinosaur, which means he’s bipedal, or walks on two legs. He’s been extinct for sixty-five million years. We are here today seeking something very much alive. The Elfhome saurus.

  “This distant cousin is very much like this fellow here. The saurus grows to a massive forty feet in length from nose to tip of tail, and fourteen feet high at the hips.” Nigel raised his hand and demonstrated that if his knuckles were the dinosaur’s hips that the saurus would be considerably taller if it straightened up from its running stance. “This effectively doubles its reach. And unlike the T-Rex, the Elfhome saurus has very functional forelegs that can reach and grasp.”

  Nigel lifted his right hand slightly.

  “Done?” Taggart asked.

  “Done,” Nigel said. “For now. I could talk for hours about the saurus but it would only be worth it if we catch one on film.”

  “How was that, Jane?” Taggart asked.

  She checked lighting and sound. “It was perfect.”

  “I want to do the water trap.” Nigel pointed past Mario and the mushroom castle of the second hole. The moat of the castle extended out into a small pond with stepping stones out to an island that acted as the tee for the third hole. The cup lay somewhere on the shore beyond the larger-than-life Batman standing guard on the flat roof of an old-fashioned police station.

  “What do you think is in there?” Taggart filmed the water trap on the third hole.

  “The mind boggles.” Jane eyed the murky green water on her monitors. “The most dangerous things are in the river, not ponds.”

  Hal pulled out his grab stick and gave the water an experimental stir.

  “Hal!” Jane barked.

  “I’m being careful.” For Hal, these were often famous last words.

  “Just stay out of the water and keep back from the water’s edge,” she ordered.

  “We could just throw a stick of dynamite in,” Hal said. “Just to be sure.”

  “We don’t have any liability waivers signed, so no dynamite.”

  Taggart gave a bark of surprised laughter. He was getting hauntingly beautiful shots at amazing speed. The nearly abandoned golf course in the early dawn light seemed luminous and yet achingly sad through his lens.

  “Hush, you,” Jane grumbled, feeling mildly jealous. She wanted to be outside, filming too, but time didn’t allow for that.

  The men carefully picked their way around the water trap to where rooftop Batman stoically guarded the cup.

  Nigel reached up to pat the statue’s foot
. “The stories you could tell.”

  And hopefully they wouldn’t add any new interesting ones today.

  Nigel leaned against the miniature police station and grinned with boyish glee. “It’s really starting to hit home. I’m on Elfhome. I was eight when Pittsburgh suddenly vanished from Earth. It was like Christmas. The first Startup was in the middle of the night and we woke to a changed world. I remember how all the television channels for days played endless footage of the forest that sprang up without warning where the city once stood. How completely and totally dumbfounded the world was on how to explain what had happened. And after the first few hours of the wall of trees, the stories of the strange and wondrous animals rampaging through the suburbs that remained on Earth. For me the most amazing were the two saurus that made it to the Monroeville Mall parking lot…”

  Jane saw a movement in the background. Something big and black was charging down the hill behind the Batman statue. “Cow!”

  “What?” Nigel asked as Hal took off running, reflector held over his head.

  “Cow!” Jane shouted again.

  A big black angus bull came thundering toward the men, who scattered in all directions. Jane swore as she realized that the loose bull could only mean a break in the fence, which meant something had taken the eight strands of barbwire down. Worse, Taggart and Nigel weren’t heading toward the safety of the trucks. They looped around Batman with the bull chasing them.

  The idiots didn’t understand that the bull wasn’t the real danger.

  “Stay!” She gave Chesty the command to keep him out of her line of fire. Snatching up her weapons, she charged from the production truck. She ran toward the water trap, shouting as she ran. “Nigel! Taggart! Stop looping!”

  Taggart shouted, waving his arms to get the bull’s attention as Nigel scrambled up onto the roof with the Batman statue. Once safe from the bull’s charge, Nigel yelled and kicked at the passing bull, trying to lure it away from Taggart.

  “No, no, no. Incoming!”

  Jane flung the stun grenade ahead of the bull and then ducked down, hands on her ears. Even with sight and hearing shielded, the explosion was a loud brightness on her awareness. The bull staggered backwards, disoriented by the light and noise.

  Luckily, Taggart still had his combat reactions. He’d shielded himself from the blast. Unfortunately, he still seemed flabbergasted into inaction. “What the hell was that?”

  “It’s a flashbang.”

  Taggart swore, uncovering his ears. “I know what the hell it is! Why?”

  “Because I can’t shoot the damn bull without having to pay for it! Get to the truck!” She pointed toward the production truck. Hal knew the drill; he was already clambering into the back.

  “Nigel?” She turned to order the Scot down off the low roof.

  A saurus loomed over the Batman statue.

  “Nigel! Down!”

  “Huh?” Nigel hadn’t shielded himself from the stun grenade. He was blinded from the flash. He clung to Batman’s arm and shuddered like a worm on a fishhook.

  “Down!” Jane grabbed Nigel by the leg and yanked him down.

  The saurus struck even as Nigel came tumbling down onto Jane. She shouted in wordless dismay as she saw the massive head lunging downward at them as she and Nigel slammed onto the ground, all elbows and knees. The smell of rotten flesh blasted over them on the saurus’ breath.

  Nigel twisted and kicked at the mouthful of daggerlike teeth. The jaws snapped shut on Nigel’s foot and the saurus jerked him upward, off of Jane. For a moment, all she could do was watch in horror as the saurus gripped Nigel in its claws and tore his foot from his leg.

  Feel the fear, but don’t be it, Jane! Feel the fear, but be Jane, and Jane can kill anything that crosses her path.

  She scrambled up, swinging her rifle off her shoulder. Nigel was in the way for a heart shot, so she aimed for the wide left eye. Hold your breath. Squeeze.

  Even fifty caliber wasn’t strong enough to move the massive head. And like a beheaded chicken, the damn lizard didn’t know it was already dead. Something misfired in its brain enough, however, for it to open both claws and drop Nigel. It was all Jane needed. She unloaded the magazine into the saurus’ chest.

  The massive beast staggered to the right and then toppled with a heavy thud.

  Her ears ringing from the gunfire, she reloaded and then caught hold of Nigel and dragged him back, keeping her rifle aimed at the still monster. Nigel’s booted foot stayed beside the dinosaur even as she pulled him to safety.

  “Hal! Call 911!” she shouted. “Get an ambulance out here.”

  “No, no, I’m fine,” Nigel said weakly. “Just a few scratches.” He had parallel furrows on his back, seeping blood. He tried to sit up and she pushed him down.

  “Lay still!” Jane jerked off her belt and slapped it around Nigel’s thigh and twisted it tight. There was surprisingly little blood. No blood actually.

  “Jane. It’s all right.” Nigel gave a weak little laugh. “I don’t have feet.”

  “What?” Jane cried.

  “I was born without all the bones in my legs. The doctor amputated them at the knee when I was baby. I’ve never had feet.”

  Right. She knew that.

  * * *

  It was a typical Pittsburgh Backyard and Garden production in terms of content: angry creatures trying to eat them, explosions, screaming, yelling, occasional gunshots, and eventually a dead monster. The actual saurus attack was gorgeously filmed. A true professional, Taggart had locked back on Nigel moments after the flashbang had gone off and kept focus on him despite the fact that he could have been filming the man’s death.

  Jane comforted her pang of jealousy in the knowledge that Taggart had only been able to get the footage because she was dealing with the saurus. If she and Hal had an actual crew, they could get shots just as good.

  “It’s good!” Jane reported to the others. “Let’s film a closing.”

  Nigel’s wounds had been sanitized and bandaged but he opted to put the torn shirt back on to wrap up the episode. He thought it counterbalanced the “very dead” state of the saurus, and Jane had to agree. The men set up to film. With Nigel sitting on the ground beside the massive head and the foot it had torn free, they started to film.

  “This is not how I wanted this segment to end,” Nigel said. “Considering the alternative, I’m happy to be alive, thanks to our brave and wonderful producer, Jane Kryskill.”

  Jane blushed hotly. She would have to edit that silliness out.

  “Unbelievably, this is an adolescent male,” Nigel continued on a more professional vein. “The elves say that saurus typically live about a hundred years, which makes them fairly short-lived for an Elfhome species. This male is probably ten years old and would have reached full maturity around fifteen. That’s lucky for us, since if he was an adult, he probably would have had a mate and up to a dozen young nearby.”

  There was an odd noise over the microphone and after a few seconds, she recognized it. A police siren echoed off the hills as the squad car raced toward them. Had someone actually called the cops on them?

  “Hold up, guys. We’re getting company.”

  A few minutes later a Pittsburgh Police black-and-white came down the road, braked hard when it spotted their trucks in the parking lot and came up the driveway at a cautious speed.

  Jane went out to meet it, careful to leave all her weapons in the truck.

  The responding officer was her best friend, Brandy Lyn Pomeroy-Brooks-Abernethy, which could be a good thing or very bad. Brandy had grown up with a burning desire to be Wonder Woman, complete with golden lasso and bullet-deflecting wrist guards. She’d settled on policewoman as the nearest thing, much to the dismay of Honorable Lissa Pomeroy, her grandmother and Pittsburgh’s only judge. Brandy gave out tickets to anyone that pissed her off, friend or foe, on the theory that it made it easier to find out who her true friends were. At any hearing, the offenders would find themselves locked in a le
gal battle between Judge Pomeroy and Brandy, as if it were a contest for Brandy’s soul.

  Thus Brandy was the only cop in Pittsburgh who would arrest Hal and anyone else rather than ask for an autograph.

  “Hey, Jane. We got a call that a war was breaking out. Are you okay?”

  “We’re fine. Things got a little hairy, but I’ve got things handled.”

  Brandy looked at the Chased by Monsters truck, then at Jane, and then back again. “Is Hal okay? I heard he set himself on fire the other day.”

  “He’s fine. Network just has us working on this show for a few weeks.”

  Brandy eyed the CBM’s sharp-toothed logo and shook her head. “What do they think you are? A Monster Hunter?”

  “Yeah, that’s just about right.”

  Brandy caught sight of Taggart. “Spend all day filming that? Your life is so hard.” She noticed then Nigel’s bloody, one-foot condition. “What the hell happened to him? I’ll call for an ambulance.”

  “No, don’t!” Jane waved her down. “The scratches look worse than they are and he’s got a spare foot in the truck.”

  Brandy’s face went to neutral. “A spare?”

  “Yeah.” Jane felt giggles coming on. It had been a stressful hour. If she laughed, though, Brandy would go into Wonder Woman mode and arrest them all. “It’s supposed to come off like that. We’ll just pop the other one on.”

  Brandy put her hands on her hips and glared at Jane. “You didn’t shoot any of the cows, did you?”

  “We haven’t touched the cows!” Jane covered her mouth to keep the giggles in. Technically, they hadn’t touched the bull. “I shot the saurus; many, many times. We’re just wrapping up.”

  There was the rumble and snarl of a big diesel engine, and a half-ton Ford pickup came growling up the road. It turned into the drive and stopped behind the police car. For a moment, the truck seemed to have no driver. Then the driver’s door swung open, a set of steps unfolded, and a tiny old woman climbed down out of the truck, muttering obscenities the whole way. She looked like she was several inches under five feet tall, seventy pounds wet, and close to a hundred years old if not over it. She slid a cattle prod out from behind the pickup’s seat before walking over with a gait that belied her age.