Cure for Wereduck

by Dave Atkinson

  “And she would have loved to have known you,” said Netty. Her eyes brightened as she thought of something. “In fact….”

  She dashed from the kitchen to the study. The kids followed.

  “I think she’d want you to have this,” said Netty, digging through a deep pile of papers and books. Somewhere near the bottom, she found a yellow, canvas-bound book, identical in every way to Local Flora before it was destroyed. “Aunt Muriel made a couple of copies of that book. This is the only one left that I know of.” She handed it to Kate.

  Kate beamed. “I know a librarian who is going to be very happy to get his hands on this!”

  “Are you done chopping the beggar’s buttons?” asked Kate, stirring a steaming pot on the stove.

  “Yeah, they’re right here,” said John.

  He picked up the wooden cutting block from the kitchen counter and scraped a pile of finely chopped grey and purple flowers into the pot.

  “What’s next?” he said.

  “I think just the sap and the silver nitrate, and we’re done,” she replied. She carefully poured the syrup into the pot. John offered her a test tube filled with white crystals.

  “This is the part I don’t like so much,” said John. “I’m okay with drinking icky stuff you found in the ditch, but this stuff looks like bad news.”

  Kate took the test tube. “I looked it up online. Too much of it gives you something called argyria. It turns your skin and internal organs blue.”

  “Cool,” said Bobby.

  “But we don’t need that much,” she said, using a thin strip of wood to pull out two tiny grains of crystal. She dropped them into the pot.

  “This stuff smells horrible,” said John, pinching his nose. “And I thought it would look more, y’know, potion-y.”

  Kate frowned. The simmering brown mixture didn’t look terribly appealing or magical. Bits of herbs floated on the surface.

  “Maybe we should strain it?” she suggested.

  John examined the faded recipe card. “Doesn’t say anything here about straining.”

  “What about the shot of silver?” said Bobby, reading over John’s shoulder.

  “What do you mean?” said Kate. “That’s the silver nitrate.”

  “Yeah, but the poem says a shot of silver,” he said. “I wouldn’t call two tiny pieces a shot.”

  Kate frowned. “But that’s just the poem, right? A key ingredient. ‘A shot of silver, a soothing balm; still the beast that lives inside.’”

  “I can read,” snapped Bobby. “I’m just saying, it’s weird.”

  “Well,” said Kate, feeling unsure. She turned to John. “He’s right. This whole thing is weird. This entire plan relies on a potion that we haven’t even tested.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” said John. “If it doesn’t work, we’ll go with my backup plan.”

  Kate and Bobby stared at him.

  “Do you want to share it with us?” said Kate.

  “Y-yes,” he said tentatively. “When it’s finished. But I’m sure this potion is going to work. Netty said it would.”

  “No, she said she didn’t have a reason to believe it wouldn’t,” said Kate. “That’s not the same thing.”

  “You worry too much,” replied John.

  “But what happens when we’re on the train, the full moon comes out, and this stuff doesn’t work?” she said.

  “Then there will be a werewolf and a wild flapping duck on a train,” said John with a smirk. “It’ll be exciting for everybody.”

  “I don’t think this is funny,” said Kate.

  “Neither do I, so relax,” said John. “I promise we won’t get on that train without a solid backup plan. My dad wouldn’t let us go anywhere without a plan for getting out. I’ll think of something.”

  “He taught you a lot, huh?” asked Kate, arching an eyebrow.

  John leaned against the counter and crossed his arms. “A lot of stuff like this, yeah,” he said.

  “Do you miss him?”

  John shrugged. “I dunno.”

  “But he’s, like, your dad,” said Bobby.

  “A dad who abandoned me in the middle of nowhere with people he barely knew,” said John, getting angry. “A dad who lied to me my whole life about my mum. If that’s what a dad is, no thanks.”

  Kate and Bobby looked nervously at each other.

  “Look, I’ll come up with a backup plan. I promise,” said John. He looked Kate in the eye. “I won’t let you down.”

  “Bobby,” whispered Kate, shaking him gently. “Bobby, wake up. It’s time.”

  Bobby opened his eyes. The room was still dark. He looked at the clock. It was just after five in the morning.

  “It’s too early,” he groaned, his head collapsing on his pillow.

  “We gotta go, Bobby,” whispered John, sitting at the end of the bed.

  “Okay, okay,” said Bobby, tossing aside his blanket. “I’m up.”

  “Meet us outside in two minutes,” said Kate. “We need to get Wacka packed.”

  Bobby dressed quietly in the dark. He grabbed an apple from the bowl on the kitchen table and let himself out the back door. In the faint light of the moon, he could see Kate fixing the latch on a pet carrier.

  “I hate to put you in there, Wacka,” said Kate through the door of the carrier. “It’s just for a little while. I promise.”

  John crouched beside her. “It’ll be fine, Wacka,” he said. “Thanks for doing this.”

  “Wacka.”

  “Do you think she can understand us when she’s a duck?” asked Bobby.

  “For sure,” Kate assured him. “We came up with a system. One quack for yes. Two for no. Wacka, do you want a treat?”

  “Wacka!” quacked the duck.

  Kate slipped a few sunflower seeds into the carrier. “Now, do you think John’s backup plan is reckless and a bit ridiculous?”

  “Wacka,” quacked Wacka, bobbing her head up and down.

  “Good girl,” laughed Kate, giving her another treat.

  “Hey!” said John. “It’s a great plan!”

  “Wacka wacka.”

  “Well, who asked you, anyway?” teased John. “Listen, if the cure works, we won’t even need the backup plan. But if we do, I know we can trust Wacka.”

  “Wacka.”

  “Great,” said John. “The train leaves in less than an hour. We have just enough time to walk into town to the station. Let’s go.”

  “So, what am I supposed to tell Mum and Dad?” asked Bobby as the train came into view, lumbering toward the small town station.

  “You don’t have to tell them anything,” said Kate, hitching her backpack higher on her shoulders. She picked up Wacka’s cage. “I explained everything in the note.”

  The noise of the train grew louder as the engine roared slowly past, pulling a line of passenger cars behind it. The train rolled to a stop. A porter climbed down from a car and opened a set of collapsible steps.

  “All aboard!” he called.

  “Did you tell them in the note where you’re going?” asked Bobby.

  “No, dingbat,” said Kate. “I don’t want anyone chasing after us. We’ll be back before too long.”

  “Can you at least tell me where you’re going?” asked Bobby.

  Kate rolled her eyes. “You’d tell, for sure.”

  “No, I wouldn’t!” he protested. “I’m good at secrets.”

  “Like my secret about the cure?” said Kate. “What, did you wait a whole day before you told John? Look, it’s for the best. I’ll tell you everything when we get back.”

  John tugged at Kate’s arm. “We really need to move,” he said. He turned to Bobby. “Take care, Bobby. See you in a few days.”

  “See you,” said the younger boy.

  Kate hu
gged her brother. “It’ll be okay,” she reassured him. Inside, she wondered if that was true. She’d felt so confident in the plan earlier, but now that they were about to actually step on the train, she wondered if they were just being reckless. But she couldn’t let Bobby know she was feeling doubtful. “Please tell Mum and Dad not to worry.”

  “Okay,” said Bobby. He hugged her back. “See you.”

  Kate and John walked toward the porter, who smiled as they climbed into the passenger car. Kate turned and waved at Bobby.

  “Bye,” she mouthed.

  Bobby waved back. “Be careful,” he shouted.

  “I will,” she said. She turned and walked into the train car.

  Bobby’s feet crunched the gravel driveway as he walked back to Aunt Bea’s house. It felt so weird knowing Kate and John were already miles away on the train and getting farther away with every passing moment. He hadn’t thought it would make him feel this way. He felt so alone. He missed them. He wished he wasn’t coming home to an empty house, but he knew his mum and Bea were at work, and his dad and grandmother were in town to run errands. He stepped through the back door into the kitchen.

  A pair of hands grabbed him from behind. One wrapped around his mouth to muffle his screams. The other wrapped around his body so tightly he could hardly move.

  “Quiet,” hissed a voice from behind him. “Stop squirming.”

  Bobby thrashed against his attacker. He knew that voice: it was John’s father, Marcus. Bobby wrenched his body back and forth, trying to free himself, but Marcus was too strong. He breathed deeply and choked back the tears that welled up behind his eyes.

  “That’s better,” said Marcus, when Bobby had stopped struggling. “Let’s be reasonable people.” He pushed Bobby into a wooden chair at the kitchen table. “Now,” said Marcus, crossing his arms, “where’s my son?”

  “I don’t know,” said Bobby. He thought quickly. “I haven’t seen him since we left New Brunswick.”

  “Oh, no?” sneered Marcus. “So that’s not his bag by the couch? That’s not his shirt hanging on the clothesline? Try again. Where’s John?”

  Bobby looked at the ground. “I don’t know,” he said finally.

  “Shall I help you remember?” said Marcus, looming tall above him.

  Anger burned in Marcus’s eyes. Bobby glanced around the kitchen. His gaze fell upon an envelope on the counter—the note from Kate to their parents. They must not have found it before they left. He looked quickly back at the ground to avoid revealing too much, but it was too late. Marcus followed his gaze.

  “What’s this?” said Marcus, picking up the envelope. Scrawled across the front in Kate’s handwriting was: Mum and Dad. Don’t panic.

  “‘Don’t panic’?” read Marcus. “What would your parents have to panic about?” He tore open the envelope and pulled out the folded paper. “‘Dear Mum and Dad,’” he recited. “‘By the time you read this, John and I will be miles away. Please don’t try to follow us. John has discovered his mother is still alive.’” Marcus cursed under his breath before continuing. “‘We know where she is. We’re going to find her. We don’t know what will happen after that. Please don’t worry. We will contact you in a few days and will be home very soon. Love, Kate. P.S. Bobby doesn’t know anything.’”

  Marcus balled up the paper and shoved it into the front pocket of his pants. He paced the kitchen floor and ran his hands through his hair. A corner of the note hung from his pocket.

  “When did they leave?” Marcus demanded.

  Bobby was silent.

  Marcus placed one hand on each of the armrests of Bobby’s chair and put his face close to Bobby’s. “When did they leave?”

  Bobby winced. “Just now. Half an hour ago.”

  “How are they travelling?”

  “T-train.”

  Marcus stood up and thought a moment. “Okay,” he sighed. “Here’s what we’re going to do.”

  He crossed the kitchen and started yanking open drawers. On the third try, he found a roll of silver duct tape.

  “Get up,” he said to Bobby. “Put your hands behind your back.”

  Bobby paused for a moment. He wanted to be the kind of guy who could fight his way out of this situation. Even if he wasn’t strong enough to overtake Marcus, maybe he could outrun him—find some slippery trick to get past him. But no. Marcus had every advantage: he was bigger, faster, and he was standing between Bobby and the only exit. If Bobby was going to get out of this without getting hurt, he’d have to go along with Marcus. For now.

  Marcus wrapped Bobby’s wrists with tape. “Put your feet together,” he ordered, before wrapping Bobby’s ankles. Bobby could see what was coming next. If there was any chance to get that note out of Marcus’s pocket, it was coming.

  Marcus slung the boy over his shoulder and marched toward the kitchen door. Bobby writhed back and forth. “Put me down!” he shouted. He aimed his foot at the corner of paper sticking out of Marcus’s pocket. He worked at the paper until half of the balled-up letter was exposed.

  “Quit thrashing,” growled Marcus. He carried Bobby behind the shed where an old car sat. Marcus tossed him into the backseat. It was littered with dirty clothes and empty fast-food bags. Bobby kicked one more time at the paper hanging from Marcus’s pocket and watched it fall to the ground.

  “Now,” began Marcus, “we’re going on a little trip, you and me. Are you going to come quietly, or do I have to put a strip of tape across your mouth, too?”

  “Don’t. Please,” said Bobby. “Just let me go. I won’t say anything. I promise.”

  Marcus scoffed. “Too late for that.” He slammed the back door and then let himself into the driver’s seat. He started the car and began to drive.

  In the back seat, tears streamed down Bobby’s face. He was angry. He was terrified. His one tiny hope was that someone would find Kate’s crumpled letter and figure out that something had gone seriously wrong.

  Kate and John walked down the crowded aisle of the train, trying to find a pair of seats together. The car was packed with grumpy-looking people in business suits. Some tapped away at laptops, others read newspapers or fiddled with their phones. None looked like they wanted to yield their seats to a couple of teenagers.

  Near the back of the car, they found two seats across the aisle from each other. Kate squeezed herself into one with Wacka’s cage on her lap. She smiled in greeting at the woman sitting next to her. The woman frowned and turned to stare out the window.

  “Do you think the whole ride will be like this?” Kate asked John across the aisle, who sat beside a large, snoring man.

  “Dunno,” said John. “It’ll be a long trip if it is.”

  They sat in uncomfortable silence for a few minutes before a man came down the aisle in a conductor’s uniform. With his stiff cap and thin moustache, he looked as if he had stepped out of a railway car from the 1930s. He stopped in front of John and Kate and stood with his hands behind his back.

  “You’re my new passengers, yes?” he said.

  Kate and John looked at each other. “Yes,” answered Kate.

  “Tickets, please,” he said, extending a hand.

  Kate dug her ticket from her backpack. John fished his from his pocket. The conductor snatched them up and stared at them long enough that Kate worried something was wrong.

  “You’re with us all the way to Moncton?”

  “Yes,” said John.

  “It’s a long trip.”

  John looked from Kate to the conductor. “Yup.”

  “And it’s just the two of you, is that right?”

  “Yes, just us,” said Kate. The corner of Wacka’s carrier dug into her knee. She readjusted herself in the cramped seat. “Will it be this crowded the whole way?”

  The conductor looked up from the tickets. His eyes twinkled as he flashed Kate the smalle
st of grins.

  “It is a bit stuffy in here,” he said, ripping the ends off their tickets and handing the stubs back. He leaned forward. “Most of these people are business commuters on their way to Toronto. A troupe of clowns could burst in and they wouldn’t notice a thing.”

  Kate and John smiled.

  “Tell you what,” said the conductor, “come with me.”

  Kate and John followed the conductor to the back of the car and through a door.

  “We’re not supposed to open the next car until we get past Toronto,” said the conductor, leading them through the noisy space between cars and through another door, “but you’ve got a big trip ahead of you.”

  Besides being empty, this car was much more comfortable, with wider seats and space to spread out. The conductor led them to a set of four seats facing each other, two and two, across a table.

  “I think this will be a bit nicer,” he said, pushing Kate’s bag into an overhead bin.

  “Wacka,” came a small quack from the pet carrier.

  “And who have we here?”

  Kate smiled. “This is Wacka. She’s my pet duck.”

  The conductor stuck his finger into the grill of the cage door and stroked her beak. “I’ve worked on this line for twenty-six years,” said the man. “I can honestly say, you, Wacka, are my first duck passenger. Welcome aboard.”

  “Thank you so much,” said Kate. “This really is much better.”

  “We move a lot of people on this train, but I like to take special care of the folks who are in it for the long haul. So, settle in. You’ve about thirty hours to Moncton. If you need anything, just ask.”

  He smiled one last time and left.

  “Wow,” said Kate, smiling across the table at John. “This is…nice.”

  “Yeah,” he said, looking out the window to watch telephone poles whiz past. “This really couldn’t be going any better.”

  “Quit crying,” said Marcus from the driver’s seat. “I mean it. Quit that.”