Stanley cowered before the unexpected outburst, his tears going from trickle to Niagara Falls in an instant. Apparently satisfied that she’d made an impression, the witch let go of his shoulders and gripped his cold hands instead.
“Listen to me. Who knows more Final Jeopardy answers than you?”
Stanley choked back a sob and gave a weak shrug.
“No one,” Lois said. “Who knows more about Columbo, or Veronica Mars than you?”
The sobs diminished to loud sniffles, and Stanley shrugged again.
“No one,” the witch repeated. “Not a single person on this green earth. Who in Wisconsin has a bigger collection of bugs than you? Who figured out all of those riddles the Society left for Dallas?”
“Nobody,” he sniffed, “and me.”
Lois nodded. “That’s right. You are you, Stanley. That other Stanley might’ve been the first one, but the second that you woke up on that soccer field back in high school, you were your own person. Your life, your choices, your experiences. Your friends.”
A slow smile broke across Stanley’s face. “And you g-guys are my friends. You and Herb and Big-D, you really are.”
“ME TOOUH,” a low, gentle voice offered from behind a nearby tree.
Stanley and Lois both turned in silent shock and watched an unbelievably tall shadow detach from a nearby tree and walk toward them, feet leaving impossibly big prints in the snow.
“HIUH,” Kevin the Sasquatch said with a friendly wave.
Stanley gaped openly. Around the time Dallas had learned he was a werewolf, a sick Sasquatch had appeared at his doorstep. The Society had left town and headed north after hearing reports of a giant, mythical, simian somewhere up in Michigan’s northern peninsula. When they’d caught its trail, the hunters had left poisoned muffins out to try and catch or kill the beast. The young ‘squatch had eaten one of the bad muffins and sought out help. Stanley’s friends had fixed him up, and in return, Kevin had helped Lois when she relocated Herb’s soul from an old beer can into a new body. That particular event had been more than a little scary and sent Kevin running into the night. No one had seen him since, much to everyone’s regret. Lois, Herb, Stanley, and even Dallas had all agreed that Kevin was pretty great.
“And here you are,” Stanley breathed. “What in the h-heck are you doing here?”
Kevin pushed a thick digit up a wide nostril and poked around for a bit before responding.
“MUFFINSUH.”
It took a little coaxing and some creative interpretation of the ‘squatch’s one or two-word answers to get more details, but Lois finally put the puzzle together. Campers and hikers often threw treats out for the squirrels and deer that filled the surrounding woods. It was one of Kevin’s favorite spots to snag the occasional treat.
Lois shook her head. “But it’s winter, Kevin. It’s not real likely that hikers would be here in the winter.”
“PLAYERS WIN. WINNERS PLAYUH.”
The witch shook her head. “You and Stanley, I swear. When will you learn?”
Stanley added his own admonishment. “Stealing from squirrels? That’s not n-nice, Kevin. No sir.”
“SQUIRRELS SMALL,” he protested. “KEVIN BIG. NEED MUFFINSUH.”
“Is that Kevin?” Herb’s voice called from the truck’s cracked window. “What’s he doing here? Good to see you, Kevin,” he added. “Just surprised you’d be hanging around, what with all the zombies and stuff. Aren’t you scared?”
The Sasquatch shrugged. “SMELLY’S SLOWUH. KEVIN FAST.” To demonstrate, he pivoted and stretched his long legs. A moment later, their big-footed friend had vanished.
“We c-can follow your footprints, dummy,” Stanley chided as he set out hopping from one large print to the next. “See? You’re right… here!” he declared.
But Kevin wasn’t. The tracks turned behind a wide oak and simply stopped. Stanley looked up, down, and all around him, but the ‘squatch was nowhere to be seen.
“Hey! Where the heck d-did ya go?”
A laugh that sounded like a diesel semi trying to start rumbled from further into the trees, followed by the appearance of a giant hand and shaggy head. Kevin smiled and waved as Stanley sputtered.
“How the heck d-did ya do that?”
“SECRETUH,” Kevin answered, a coy grin showing white, wide teeth.
The Sasquatch walked alongside Stanley as they made their way back to Deloris, Stanley’s legs working double-time to keep up with Kevin’s long strides. They joined Lois next to the truck’s cracked-open rear window. After Kevin and Herb traded a few short pleasantries about the weather and the best kinds of muffins, Lois told Kevin why they were hiding out in the woods.
“Dallas is coming back, and we couldn’t wait for him in town.”
“SMELLIESUH,” Kevin agreed sagely.
Lois laughed ruefully. “They are, aren’t they? But they’re also our friends. We want to help them, but the Society are there, too. They don’t want to help. They’re just killing as many zombies as they can.”
Herb chimed in, his muffled voice working its way out from the truck’s interior. “Dallas is gonna kick their asses. Once we run those hunters out of town, we’ll find a cure and save everyone. Pretty great, right?”
“If Dallas can find us before the zombies or the hunters do,” Lois amended. “We didn’t get a chance to tell him where we’d be.”
Stanley shook a finger at Kevin. “You shouldn’t b-be here, though. Bad Kevin. B-bad. It’s dangerous, even if you are qu-quick. And besides, we d-don’t got any muffins,” he added, and then turned a questioning look on Lois. “Unless you’ve g-got a muffin spell?”
When Lois shook her head, Stanley reiterated his point. “Well, there you g-go. No muffins. Please, Kevin. You g-gotta get someplace safe.”
Kevin’s large, brown eyes contemplated Stanley and his friends, his internal struggle clear.
“DALLASUH. HELPUH?” he asked.
When Lois and Stanley nodded enthusiastically and Herb added a quick, “Darn right!” from where he was hunkered down in the shadows, Kevin made an “OK” sign with his thick fingers and thumb.
“OKAYUH. KEVIN GOUH.”
Before they could even start to say goodbye and be careful and all the other things they wanted to say, the Sasquatch turned and sprinted into the trees. Even though the trees were bare and there was plenty of space between the trunks, they lost sight of the brown, furry giant almost immediately. A short moment later, a strange, low hooting sounded out from somewhere deep in the woods. It sounded like a child tugging on a tugboat’s horn. Stanley, Lois, and Herb had just enough time to start wondering about the unexpected noise when they heard it again. Similar, but not the same, and from much further away.
“K-Kevin, right?” Stanley asked. “That’s g-gotta be Kevin.”
They had no way of knowing, so they climbed back up inside of Deloris and waited for a desperately needed friend to find them soon.
Chapter 19
They’d been sitting in Deloris for hours. The sun had climbed far up into the sky, a faded disc obscured by a high layer of thin clouds, its weak light darkened further by the truck’s tinted glass. Even so, Herb groaned and tossed fitfully in the back seat.
“We should go,” Lois said. “We’ll head north until dark, and then I can try another spirit walk.”
“But we might miss Dallas,” Stanley objected. “Like two ships in the night. He’d b-be a werewolf ship going south, we’d b-be a pickup truck ship going north. Then you’d astral project, and we’d g-go south, and he’d g-go north. Happens all the time. Ships in the night.”
Lois chewed her lip. Stanley surreptitiously picked his nose. Herb moaned and grumbled in the back seat. A half hour passed. Forty-five minutes. An hour.
“We can’t stay here,” Lois declared. “There could be zombies heading right for us, or worse, the Society, and Dallas’s music is terrible.”
Stanley couldn’t disagree. Not knowing where the zombie horde was headi
ng, or where the Society hunters were was an itch he couldn’t scratch. And Dallas’s music was terrible. They’d tried a few of the CDs he had in a holder on the visor. Nickleback was just too Canadian, and Neil Sedaka’ Greatest Hits was just too American.
“But Dallas is a really g-good tracker,” he reminded Lois. “With that supernatural nose of his? Heck. He c-could find a marshmallow in a mud puddle. He’ll find us. Don’t you worry.”
Lois didn’t look convinced, but kept her reservations to herself for another twenty-seven minutes.
“That’s it, we’re going,” she said.
The truck’s engine rumbled, the tires crunched on the snow-covered lot, and Dallas burst from the trees and ran straight for the truck. Lois managed to hit the brakes a second before he flopped over Deloris’s hood.
“I’m so sorry!” he cried loud enough for Stanley to hear even though the windows were rolled up. “I won’t leave you again. Not ever. Did they hurt you? Did those rotten zombies hurt you?”
Lois and Stanley burst from the truck, followed a moment later by Herb.
“I t-told ya! What did I say?” Stanley crowed, slapping Dallas’s broad shoulders. “B-best tracker ever. Big-D could find a buffalo nickel in a wishing well.”
Dallas finally stepped away from Deloris and wrapped Stanley and Herb up in a massive hug.
“You’re damn right, Stanley. And I sure did. Track you, I mean. Tracked you all the way.”
“NUH UH,” Kevin said, strolling into the clearing.
Dallas rounded on the ‘squatch and shook a fist. “Of course I did! I’m a wolf. What would you know about it, ya big ape?”
Kevin swatted playfully at Dallas’s raised fist. Even though it was gentle, the werewolf’s arm whipped to the side.
“SHOWEDUH YOU.”
Dallas turned back to his friends with forced nonchalance. “Aww, don’t listen to him. He’s got muffins for brains.”
“CALLED FRIENDSUH. FOUND DALLASUH,” Kevin explained, and then tilted his head back and hooted.
The low tug-boat whistle was exactly what they’d heard after Kevin had run off. Just like before, a faint hoot echoed back from a long ways away. Dallas scuffed at the snow with a boot and looked at nothing before finally saying that okay, maybe he’d had a little help.
“But how did you get here so fast?” Herb asked. “I mean, holy crap. You were, um, where were you again?”
Dallas’s swagger returned with a vengeance. “Far enough into Canada to smell Santa’s poop. As for how? Best damn tracker and a top-tier athlete, Herby,” he explained. “Ran the whole way. Only stopped to pee.”
Kevin clucked his tongue. “LIAR LIAR, FIRE PANTSUH.”
Dallas threw up his hands in disgust. “Could you just not for a minute? Christ on a stick, Kevin! Man’s got a reputation to protect.”
It took a little coaxing, but Dallas finally confessed that he had been walking, not running, since no one in the werewolf commune owned a car. A Sasquatch had materialized out of the trees, scared the bejeezus out of him, and pointed him in the right direction. The werewolf had hitched a ride and put some long miles behind him before the long-haul trucker turned to head west. He’d only been trudging down the shoulder of the road for couple of miles when another Sasquatch appeared, scooped him up like a little babe, and carried him at an incredible pace as the crow flies, or Bigfoot runs, or whatever. He didn’t know how far they’d gone, but a third Sasquatch showed up, took Dallas like a relay baton, and kept heading south. That happened a few more times before he was finally passed to Kevin about twenty or so miles up. The comparatively little guy carried him the rest of the way.
“And I mean it. Kevin’s a runt. Seriously!” Dallas exclaimed. “You gotta see some of his cousins. Big as houses!”
“Oh, that’s so cute!” Lois exclaimed. “You should knit them some great big booties to say thanks.”
Dallas glowered, but couldn’t keep the expression up for long. “Yeah, well. Don’t start, okay? They really are a good bunch up there, and old Dallas learned a few unexpected things about himself. Let’s not make it a thing.”
“My hands are so cold,” Lois complained. “Some nice, knitted mittens would be just wonderful.”
“That’s not ‘not making it a thing,’ Lois,” Dallas complained.
While the group fell back into familiar banter, Lois rekindled the fire. Evening was fast approaching and there was a lot to discuss. Since Kevin would never fit inside of Deloris, they resigned themselves to a palaver outside. Stanley and Herb found a few small logs to serve as benches. Kevin and Dallas squatted comfortably in the snow. For a little while, the witch, werewolf, vampire, Sasquatch, and clone of an alien abductee simply enjoyed the warmth of a good fire and the closeness of friends. Eventually, Lois cleared her throat and began filling Dallas in on all that had transpired. She, Herb and Stanley took turns telling the story. They had an attentive audience. Kevin would go wide-eyed during the exciting parts and cower during the scary parts, while Dallas blurted out exclamations like, “The hell, you say,” and, “Unbelievable!” and, “Fumble in the red zone, how many Stanleys are there?” When they brought up Aletia, though, Dallas was unusually subdued. He asked how she looked, and if she seemed happy. Lois sputtered at that, but Herb said that from what he could tell she seemed to be doing fine.
Having never really been in love, Stanley struggled a bit to understand his friend.
I g-guess that’s what real love is, he decided. Someone tries to cut your head off with a sword and you still care.
“Well,” Dallas said when they’d finished their tale, “sounds like things have definitely been on the south side of crazy since I left. The important thing is that everyone’s okay.”
Stanley thought it was rather amazing how virtually anything Dallas said could send Lois into the stratosphere.
“Everyone’s okay?” she repeated. “Were you listening? Did you not hear a single word we’ve said?”
Herb placed a hand on Lois’s arm, but the witch angrily shook it off.
“They’re all zombies. Everyone. And the Society is out to slaughter the entire town. Us, too, in case you forgot. How in the hell does that equal ‘everyone’s okay,’ Dallas?”
The werewolf held his hands out. “Whoa, calm down. First, I meant everyone here. You guys and Deloris. You’re all okay.”
“Your truck,” Lois growled.
“Yes,” Dallas agreed. “My truck, but she really does prefer to be called Deloris. Now, we’re gonna fix this. I skipped town and y’all let things go to hell, but we’re gonna fix this.”
Herb and Lois protested the notion that any of this was their fault, Dallas retorted that it certainly wasn’t his fault, and Stanley basked in the warm glow of having all of his friends back together. After a while, though, the cold realities that faced them pressed back in. Raising his voice, he forced his way into the bickering.
“G-guys! Hey g-guys!” he yelled.
“What?” everyone yelled back in unison.
“We’re not g-getting anywhere just arguing. We g-gotta be smart. G-gotta plan. W.W.J.D, right?”
Herb frowned. “What would Jesus do?” he asked, obviously surprised to see Stanley get religion.
“Gosh no, Herby,” Stanley scolded. “What would J-Jessica do?”
When the vampire blinked his confusion, Stanley let out a resigned sigh. “Jessica Fletcher. Murder, She Wrote? Geez, Herb.”
The vampire blushed. “Oh, right. I, ah, I was going to watch it, but. Um. There was the…” he started and then looked to the others for help.
Lois and Dallas shrugged, making it clear he was on his own. Kevin just said, “I LIKE DIFF’RENT STROKESUH.”
Stanley shook his head, amazed at his choice in friends.
“I’ll t-tell ya what,” he started, then made the rare decision to let it go. “D-don’t matter. I’ll just tell you what that J-Jessica would do. First things first, she’d get some food.”
The bickering resumed,
but the topic had shifted. Everyone was arguing about whether to try the grocery store or a convenience station, whether Ronnie’s was still serving or if they should try Weasel’s on the outskirts of town. Finally, Dallas took everyone by surprise when he offered to hunt.
“What? I’m a frickin’ wolf, remember?” he challenged when faced with four sets of very skeptical eyes. “And I’ve been living off the land for the past few months. There aren’t any grocery stores in Mammamattawa. Trust me, I checked. So what I’m saying is, if we want food, I can get us food.”
Dusk was quickly approaching, which meant deer would be feeding. Dallas explained that he’d just run one down, catch it, and they’d have venison steaks for dinner. Without waiting for further discussion, the werewolf sniffed the air, turned, and jogged off through the ankle deep snow. Lois turned back to her small fire, banking embers around rocks they could use to cook the meat on. Kevin slipped off in search of seeds and nuts. Herb apologized through a long yawn and said he’d be happy to help more once the sun set. After the swaddled vampire had climbed back into Deloris’s back seat, that just left Stanley. He wanted to help too.
“Watercress,” he announced, earning a confused look from Lois. “And c-cattails. You can eat ‘em, you know. Not the fluffy stuff. No sir. B-but them stalks, you can eat ‘em like uncooked spaghetti. They g-gots the vitamins A, B, even C. They g-gots the potassium and phosphorus. That’s real good for your b-bones and teeth and g-gums.”
When Lois still looked confused, he raised his chin and straightened his back.
“I’m going to the lake. I’m g-gonna get us some winter forage, yes sir.”
Before Lois could object to his going off alone, Stanley set off through the pines and conifers and wider trunks of maples, their bare limbs crisscrossing above his head. The small lake wasn’t far, especially not by rural Wisconsin standards. While not exactly a creature of the woods like Kevin or Dallas, Stanley still made good time over the frozen ground, and soon the shore was in sight.
The lake was a gentle expanse of white ringed by green and blue spruce and cedar. As he’d hoped, he saw large masses of cattails pushing up through the frozen water at what had to be the shoreline. He had just muttered, “Told ya so,” when he saw the deer. It was twenty or thirty yards from where he assumed the bank was, a young two-point buck taking careful steps across the ice.
Undead Cheesehead (Monsters in the Midwest Book 3) Page 14