Black & White Croakies

by Sam Cheever

  Donia tugged me into a haberdashery and yanked the door closed behind us. I blinked at the grass and dirt under my feet, spinning back to look at the front of the room.

  Nothing but unpainted wood.

  It was just a set, consisting only of a front façade and nothing else. Donia reached for me again. I yanked my arm away. “Whoa, girl. I’m not moving again until you tell me where we’re going.”

  She expelled a frustrated breath. “I’m trying to help.”

  “Okay. Help how?”

  “You don’t belong here. I happen to know that somebody’s looking for you the next show over.”

  Alarm made my chest tighten. “You do work with Andrew.”

  She snorted. “Not hardly. If it was up to me, we would have welded that guy into his big ugly car a long time ago.” She frowned. “I’m friends with a certain old Irish guy. We got here about the same time.”

  The tightness in my chest eased. “You know Dugan?”

  She nodded. “When you disappeared, they told me to keep an eye out for you.”

  I grabbed her hand, “Are they okay? My friends?”

  Donia sighed. “I think so. I only talked to Dugan for a minute. We’re under careful watch. The only place that’s safe is Behind the Scenes.”

  “Like here?” I asked, waving a hand around the open lot.

  “No. This is just a backlot. They can still see us here. We can’t stay. We need to go back out there. I just wanted to warn you that things are heating up. The best you can do is pretend you’re where you’re supposed to be. And don’t eat anything.”

  I shook my head. “We need to get out of here. I have no idea how much time has passed back home. I’ve got responsibilities, people counting on me.” What I left unspoken was my debilitating fear of getting stuck in that horrible place. I figured that was a given.

  Donia leaned closer, her gaze on mine. “We’re working on that. We’ve been working on it for years. We could use your help. But let me make one thing very clear. We won’t allow you to screw things up. If you get in our way, we’ll treat you just like we treat them. Do I make myself clear?”

  By the way she said them, I figured she wasn’t talking about her friends.

  It was a threat.

  Gulp.

  “Look, I’m not going to get in the way, but I need to find my friends. I need to know they’re okay.”

  Donia shook her head, clearly disgusted with me. “This is bigger than just you and your friends. There are a lot of people here who want to get back to their families and friends. I need to know if you’re with us or not.” The clear implication was that, if I wasn’t “with” Donia in the way she wanted me to be, then I was against her.

  I didn’t want to be against her. She and I had the same goals. And I didn’t need any more enemies. So, I nodded. “I’m with you. What do you want me to do?”

  She grabbed the door we’d come through. “You’re about to get kidnapped by Indians. But don’t worry,” she said as she shoved me through the door ahead of her. “The cowboys will rescue you. I just hope it happens before you lose all that pretty brown hair.”

  I didn’t miss the implied threat. Icy fingers slid down my spine. Donia was crazy. I didn’t need friends like that. I already had enemies like that.

  But, I needed to play along, bide my time. And look for a way to get back to Mayberry to find my friends.

  As I stumbled back toward the tree I’d hidden behind before, I couldn’t help noticing the irony. When had Mayberry become my happy zone?

  17

  I’m never watching TV Again!

  I crouched in the grubby street, my hair hanging in my face and dust thickening the air as ponies and horses cavorted around me in a terrifying dance, the stench of what I hoped was faux gunpowder making my nose itch.

  My hands were tied behind my back, the rough rope rubbing painfully against my skin, and a nasty tasting cloth was jammed into my mouth. I was pretty sure it was somebody’s sock. From the smell and taste, I was convinced it hadn’t been clean when it was jammed between my lips.

  I scrambled away with a yelp as a painted pony sidestepped toward me, its small neat hooves leaving imprints in the dirt where I’d been. Not for the first time, I wondered if Donia had actually decided I was against the group of rebels and was trying to take me out after all.

  The sun beat down on my head, turning the skin on my pale, pale bosom pink. Toasted tarantulas! I was going to be burned to a crisp even if I managed to survive my faux captivity.

  A bullet kicked up dirt three inches from my foot and I screamed behind the dirty sock, scrambling toward a nearby tree as fast as my bound feet and hands would allow.

  Dramatic music swelled around me, making my pulse spike as it gave the impression something dire was coming. Dum, der, dum, dum, dadadadadum!

  I shook uncontrollably, knowing I’d never look at a soundtrack the same way again.

  Sighing with relief, I managed to find a ribbon of shade in the scalding street. The music turned insistent, the notes pounding with tension. I held my breath and looked around, gaze widening with fear.

  A thick bank of gray clouds skimmed by overhead, momentarily crowding out the sun as a moisture-filled breeze skimmed past.

  Was the artifact going to throw another tantrum? And, if it did, would I survive? I was trapped out there in the open. Bound and helpless against anything it decided to fling my way.

  I struggled against the ropes, ignoring pain from my tearing flesh as I fought to get myself free.

  Dum, der dum, dum, dadadadaDUM!

  Two figures appeared out of the dust.

  The bass warning in the music throbbed in the center of my chest, followed by the shrill slash of string instruments that scraped across my already taut nerves. I stilled, feeling the tension change around me.

  The Indians lifted their spears and shrieked, the sound a call to battle in the face of new danger.

  The cowboys took protected locations, their guns falling silent as the soundtrack formed an emotional path for the newly-arrived gunmen to follow.

  I swallowed hard, forgetting the ropes abrading the flesh of my wrists and ankles, as the two new players stopped at the end of the street.

  The sight struck me breathless. I sucked back, pressing against the tree in renewed terror. I shoved at the stinky gag with my tongue, frantic to get my mouth clear so I could shout a warning.

  The nasty cloth stuck to my tongue, making me retch.

  A wiry figure stood in the distance, hat set low on his round head. His features were hidden, his stance taut. The gun in his hands was huge, glinting in a flash of sunlight as the clouds moved on past. The cowboy wore two more guns in holsters slung low on his hips. He stood with legs braced, long-fingered hands wrapped confidently around the rifle.

  As I watched, he racked a shell into the chamber of the big gun and spit something nasty into the dirt. “You’re not takin’ the girl,” he called out. “Best you just take yourselves out of my town, or you’re gonna be talkin’ to the spirits of your ancestors sooner than you were expectin’.”

  I frowned. Bad dialogue. Really bad.

  The gunman’s partner was shorter than him and widely made. But his hat sat just as low on his head, his features obscured by the dusty felt. The guns still holstered on his hips told the people watching the stand-off that he didn’t think he needed to draw down on the intruders. He was almost cocky in his dismissal of them.

  I knew better. If push came to shove. He was gonna die. And there was nothing I could do about it. I tried to cough the rag from between my lips. It stayed glued to my tongue. Refusing to be dislodged.

  In desperation, I attempted to bend closer to my knees, hoping I could trap the cloth between them and tug.

  But I’m not bendy. And I’d never regretted it more than at that moment.

  The tension between the two factions in the street broke suddenly as one of the Indians jumped down from his painted pony and, with a bloodcurdling scr
eam, launched his spear toward the taller cowboy.

  The street went silent as the deadly weapon sliced toward its target.

  The cowboy squeezed the trigger in answer, the sound exploding through the waiting street.

  I wanted to close my eyes, but they wouldn’t close. I was trapped in the agony of expectation, certain I was going to watch the cowboy die.

  Three things happened at once.

  One, the slug found the Indian with the bow and arrow and threw him backward off the pony. He hit the dirty street with a pain-filled, “Umph!” and went still.

  Two, the music shrieked in a crescendo of shared agony.

  And three, the spear slammed into its target.

  The point drove deep, the shaft quivering violently as it met the resistance of an unyielding surface, and flew back into the air again smacking the cowboy right between the eyes.

  His oversized hat flew backward, spinning across the dusty street.

  All around me, gasps sounded beneath the softly throbbing music. We all stared at the spear lying in the street, and the cowboy rubbing his bleeding nose.

  We waited.

  I fought to spit out the rag.

  And the shorter cowboy swallowed hard, looking up at his pardner.

  Then the taller cowboy smiled, grabbing the shaft of the spear off the ground and screaming, “Again!”

  The tension burst, the music swelled in happy tones, and the Indians whirled their ponies around and headed out of town, defeated.

  The shorter cowboy hopped a few times with joy and said, “Ribbit!”

  I sagged back against the tree. Spent. I’d thought for sure I’d lost them both that time.

  “Cut!” Someone yelled. “That’s a wrap.”

  A moment later, hard hands tugged at my ropes. I felt warm metal sliding between my palms. “Stay still, Naida.”

  My eyes shot open and I looked up into Grym’s worried face. He forced a smile. “We thought we’d never find you.”

  I closed my eyes, fighting tears. I’d thought they’d never find me too.

  Grym helped me stand and held onto my arm as the blood rushed back into my feet.

  “I’m never watching TV again,” I told him.

  To my surprise, Grym pulled me into his arms and held on tight. “You really scared us.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to. Sheriff Andrew grabbed me.” I frowned. “He said he’d blown up Mayberry. Is that why you’re all here?”

  He shook his head. “He was just playing mind games with you. Unfortunately, Mayberry’s fine.” He jerked his head toward the woman standing across the street. “She told us you were here.”

  Donia’s eyes flashed with some emotion I couldn’t read. It sure looked like hostility, but I had no idea why. She slowly inclined her head and then turned to re-enter the saloon without a word.

  “Come on, the group’s waiting for us.”

  I didn’t get a chance to move before a bony, big-eared projectile slammed into me, nearly taking me down to the street again. I looked down at the hobgoblin wrapped around me.

  “We were so worried, Miss.”

  I wrapped myself around him, hugging him tightly in return. “I’m okay, Hobs.”

  He nodded, finally stepping back. He wiped tears from his cheeks. I pointed to his bleeding nose. “Are you all right?”

  He grinned. “That was fun.”

  “Ha!” I said, shaking my head. “Your definition of fun and mine are vastly different.”

  “Ribbit.” I looked down at the dusty frog, grinning. I couldn’t help myself. The getup was just so cute. “Hey, Slimy. You make a darn cute…erm…handsome cowboy.”

  “Ribbit!” He hopped again, turning his back on me. I got the distinct impression he wasn’t thrilled with me calling him cute.

  Reaching down, I scooped him up, kissing him on the nose.

  “Come on,” Grym said.

  I followed him and Hobs out of town, into the countryside.

  It didn’t take me long to forget I was glad to see them. It was hot and dry and I was so tired. “How far is it?”

  Grym skimmed me a smile. “Not far.” He pointed toward the sparkling pond in the distance. “They’re waiting for us in the culvert.”

  “Why?”

  Grym didn’t respond for a moment. I nudged him with an elbow. “What’s up?”

  He sighed. “They found us at Behind the Scenes. We had to move.”

  “We almost didn’t escape,” Hobs added, earning himself a glare from Grym.

  Apparently, there was a plan to keep me in the dark. Did they think I’d blame myself? Or, did they think I’d given them away? Yikes!

  “To the culvert?” My voice was decidedly shrill. I immediately shut it down, clearing my throat. But fear slipped cold fingers around my heart and squeezed. The artifact was closing in on us. We needed to make our move and fast.

  I hadn’t wanted to talk about what I’d figured out when I’d been imprisoned in the moldy hut. But I realized we were running out of time. I turned to Grym. “I think I have an idea how to shut the artifact down.”

  “Oh, oh,” he said.

  I followed his gaze toward the large, boxy car speeding toward us in the distance.

  Sheriff Mayberry had found us!

  18

  Gobsmacked Grasshopper Snot!

  Grym grabbed my arm and started running, pulling me along behind him. I stumbled over a rock and almost went down, my grip on Mr. Slimy making him croak out his dismay.

  I regained my balance and let Grym drag me toward a line of tall evergreens. A nearby tree exploded in a wash of wood splinters and biting needles. The peppery scent of evergreen tar filled my nostrils, and we picked up speed as another bullet slammed into the dirt by my feet.

  I yelped, lowering my head and trying to ignore the burning pain in my chest as my body ran out of juice. It had been a tough couple of days. I’d been running on little food or water and not much sleep.

  Grym never wavered, his feet unerringly finding the path ahead of us and his strong hand keeping me upright. Hobs easily kept ahead of us. Even unenhanced by magic, his speed was easily three times ours.

  As we ducked between trees, zigging and zagging through their dense, prickly branches, the bullets gradually fell away, striking well behind us. I knew it wouldn’t last. Andrew and Fiff would eventually catch up. But I had to bite down on a request to stop, wanting only to catch my breath. Grym ran on, his purpose unwavering. And I realized we were no longer heading toward the pond.

  I jerked away from him and stood panting, bending at the waist until I could talk. “We’re going the wrong way.”

  Barely breathing hard, Grym shook his head. “We can’t lead Andrew to the culvert.”

  Through my weariness, it took me a beat to realize what he was saying.

  We were on our own.

  Again.

  Gobsmacked grasshopper snot!

  The sound of guns firing got me moving again. I took off after Grym, Hobs skimming the ground ahead of us.

  Then Hobs dropped from view, only a surprised yelp alerting us as we flew up behind him. By the time we realized what had happened, it was too late to adjust.

  Grym’s arms splayed wide and he plunged downward. Too close behind him to stop, I yelped as the ground fell away from my feet and then screamed as I dropped into the earth.

  We probably plummeted for several seconds, though it felt much longer. I eventually smacked into something smooth and slick, caterwauling like a cat in heat as the smooth surface turned my fall to a fast glide. I was in a semi-vertical tunnel, like an upright coffin that was trying to dump me out.

  Stars burst before my gaze as panic raced through me. My chest tightened to the point of pain. I’d never thought too much about whether I was claustrophobic. I realized in that moment that I definitely was.

  Suffice it to say, it was a bad time to come to that realization.

  Light flared past me as I slid toward the center of the earth. A soft lig
ht that was an eerie green color which felt somehow wrong. The illumination seemed to come from the spaces between the rocky layers as if it was seeping from somewhere else.

  The temperature of the space increased as we fell. I pictured us plummeting toward the earth’s molten center. Then I remembered we weren’t on the earth.

  Or at least I didn’t think we were. I really didn’t know where we were.

  The abyss? But where was that? Outer space? Inner space?

  My brain hurt from trying to figure it out.

  A happy shriek made my pulse spike, followed by Hobs’ not too surprising, “Again!”

  If I wasn’t plunging into the earth at a terrifying rate, I might even have smiled at that.

  Far below me, I heard Grym’s heavy body smacking into the ground and bouncing a couple of times, then his long, drawn-out groan.

  The vertical tunnel narrowed further, teasing my newfound claustrophobia to new heights. The enveloping rock brushed against my wider hips and shoulders, slowing my descent.

  The tunnel finally opened up into a massive cavern and pooped me out onto the ground beneath. I hit a moss-covered floor that was made of moist clay, which didn’t give a lot when I hit. The bright green moss was just enough to transform my impact from bone-breaking to merely painful.

  Green! My mind finally registered the return of color. Something had changed.

  Maybe we weren’t in Kansas anymore.

  I lay there a moment, my face buried in cool green froth, and groaned out my pain. My whole body hurt.

  “You okay?” a deep voice asked.

  I rolled over and groaned again, just in case he’d missed it the first time. “I think I broke all the bones.”

  Grym didn’t reply. I lifted my gaze to find him. He was standing in the center of the huge space, hands on hips, looking around.

  I rolled over and shoved gingerly to my feet. “What is this place?” Pain tweaked down my spine and through my hips when I tried to walk. Instead of exacerbating it, I dropped inelegantly to the flattish surface of a big rock, letting my gaze slide around the space. It was an enormous cavern, filled with odd-looking formations that rose from the floor, rounded and smooth as if they’d been manually shaped.