Wereduck

by Dave Atkinson

  The duck flapped its wings at Marcus, pecking at his hind legs. Annoyed, Marcus released his attacker and lunged at the duck. His teeth sunk into its flesh. He gave the duck one mighty shake and dropped its limp body to the ground.

  John emerged from the woods with Bobby and Kate close behind. He surveyed the scene and saw what his father had done. On the ground beside Marcus lay the lifeless body of a duck. An injured black wolf was just picking itself up from the ground.

  “Grandma!” yelled Bobby. “And Wacka?”

  Rage welled up within John. In that moment, without taking time to dwell upon the consequences, his allegiance became clear.

  John charged, growling and gnashing, toward his father, knocking him into the dirt. Marcus lay stunned, looking into the snarling face of his son. He rose up and bared his teeth.

  John stood tall. He was joined this time by Marge, who was ready again to fight. Bobby was there, too. And Kate.

  “You need to go now, Marcus,” said Bobby. The group advanced. “You need to go far away and never bother us again.”

  Marcus stood his ground. He growled.

  Kate couldn’t stop herself. She threw herself at the giant wolf. She hated him for what he’d done to her grandmother and to Wacka. She flapped. She quacked. She scratched and pecked, forcing him to continue his slow retreat.

  Bobby landed a kick into Marcus’s haunch. The giant wolf let out a surprised yelp.

  John and Marge stood shoulder to shoulder, hackles raised.

  Marcus looked into the faces of his attackers. This wasn’t how this night was supposed to turn out. It couldn’t end now, not like this. He took one last look deep into the eyes of his son and saw only contempt.

  He turned and fled into what remained of the night.

  The group stood frozen for a moment. Marge was the first to move. As she laid down to lick her wounds, her grandchildren rushed to her side. The older wolf was tired and scratched, but seemed okay.

  Kate waddled toward the body of Wacka. Streaks of blood stained the feathers of her breast. Kate laid her head upon her friend’s wing. She was still breathing.

  “Wacka,” said the injured duck softly.

  Bobby knelt at her side. “Think she’ll be all right?” he asked.

  Kate looked at her brother. She hoped so.

  “What about you, John. You okay?” asked Bobby. He placed his hand on the wolf’s head.

  John stood staring down the logging road.

  “Dirt Bag got away,” muttered Bobby, understanding at once.

  The group was silent.

  “He’s got pictures of us,” said Bobby finally. He shook his head. “There’s no way we could catch him now. Not without wings.”

  Bobby, John, and Marge turned as one to look at Kate.

  Dirk steered his truck from a small dirt road onto the highway. He popped the shifter into fifth gear and smiled as the engine roared to catch up with his heavy foot pressing the gas pedal to the floor. Nothing could stop him from getting to that television studio. He switched on the radio and searched for a country music station.

  At this rate, he’d never make it across the border in time to be on America This Morning. Luckily, one of the show’s producers had found a little TV studio just an hour’s drive away. By the magic of satellite, Dirk would become a journalistic celebrity in America, broadcasting from the middle of nowhere, Canada.

  One of Dirk’s favourite songs came on the radio. He turned it up.

  Dirk looked at the clock. He was a few minutes ahead of schedule. He decided to stop in the next town to pick up a snack. He downshifted as he approached a stop sign.

  Finding Dirk’s truck was the easy part. Kate had followed the old logging road to a bigger road to a bigger road until she’d finally spotted the white pickup speeding onto the highway. Catching him now that he was driving at full speed was the hard part. She flew higher in the sky to keep a better eye on the truck and maybe pick up a bit of speed.

  The truck drove faster than Kate could fly—that was a problem. But the truck had to follow the road, which turned and bended to follow the contours of the land. Kate found she could gain on Dirk if she flew in a straight line, as the crow flies. Still, she knew couldn’t keep up this pace for long.

  In a few hundred metres, she saw the truck would reach a stop sign. This might be her last chance. Her muscles burned from pumping her wings so fast, but she was making up some of the distance between herself and the truck as it slowed to a rolling stop. She flew lower as the truck pulled through the intersection; the tailgate was just barely out of her reach. She put on one last burst of speed, closed her eyes, and dived.

  SLAM.

  Had Dirk been paying attention to anything but the music on the radio, he would have heard the distinctive sound of three pounds of feathers, bill, and webbed feet slamming into the steel bed of a Ford Ranger pickup truck.

  Kate laid still just behind the cab of the truck. She shook out each wing and leg, finally deciding she hadn’t broken anything. The sounds of a steady pounding beat and steel guitar spilled out of the truck’s back window.

  Dirk was singing along to the music. Clearly, he hadn’t heard Kate’s less than graceful landing. So far, so good. Now all she needed was to find Dirk’s camera and delete the photos.

  The only other item in the back of the truck was a dirty old knapsack. There was no way Dirk had had time to pack his camera in it before speeding off. Kate decided it must be in the cab with him.

  Street lights passed overhead. The truck slowed again as it entered a small town. Kate hid behind the knapsack and listened.

  The truck stopped. The driver’s side door opened and shut. A bell tinkled. Kate peered over the edge of the truck’s bed and saw Dirk had entered a twenty-four-hour convenience store.

  She jumped to the narrow ledge beneath the truck’s sliding back window, then pushed her bill into the gap between the panes. It open was just a few inches—not quite wide enough for her to squeeze her body through.

  She ignored the stench of rotting food and body odour in the cab as she wedged the rest of her head inside the window. Pushing with her whole weight,

  she tried to pry apart the windows with her tiny shoulders.

  Just a bit more….

  She pushed harder and felt the glass panes budge.

  A tiny bit more….

  With a final push, her body popped through the narrow slot and tumbled onto the seat. She pulled herself up on two shaky webbed feet and looked around for the camera.

  Dirk paced up and down the aisles of the store, looking for something to satisfy his ravenous, if particular, tastes. He picked up a bag of potato chips and scanned the list of ingredients.

  “Ugh,” he said. He threw the bag back on the pile.

  “Is there a problem?” asked the clerk, watching him from behind the counter.

  “No,” said Dirk. Then under his breath: “Nothing the hydrogenated-potato mafia won’t kill me over.”

  “What was that?” asked the man.

  Dirk coughed. “Nothing. Just trying to find a snack.”

  Kate simultaneously discovered the camera and the source of the smell. A layer of black banana peels carpeted the floor of the truck. Sitting among the peels was Dirk’s camera.

  Kate hopped to the floor and examined the camera’s control panel. She poked her bill at the power button. The display screen lit up as it came to life.

  “You want how many pickled eggs?” asked the clerk.

  “Six, please,” said Dirk.

  The clerk winced. For the nine years he’d worked in this store, a jar filled with eggs in cloudy yellow brine had sat on the counter. A piece of paper taped to its side said they sold for a quarter a piece. No one had ever asked for one before. Ever.

  “They’ve been in there a long time, man,” he said. “You sure ab
out this?”

  Dirk scoffed. “Of course I’m sure.”

  While Dirk had reservations about DNA tampering in chicken eggs, everyone knew the brain-control side effects were neutralized by pickling brine. Besides, he was pretty sure these eggs predated the government’s mind-control technology.

  The clerk unscrewed the lid and plunged his hand into the cold liquid. He fished out six eggs and placed them in a large paper cup.

  “Is that it?” he asked, wiping his hands on a paper towel. He reached for the bottle of hand sanitizer he kept under the counter. He wanted to bathe his arm in it.

  “Just these,” said Dirk. He slid a bunch of bananas across the counter. “And a couple of these,” he said, grabbing a few sticks of beef jerky from a box beside the cash register.

  The man rang up Dirk’s total and began counting change. Dirk looked at his watch. He needed to get back on the road. He grabbed his purchases and walked out of the store.

  Kate scrolled through the photographs and video of her family on the camera. There were dozens of them. She scanned the control panel again and found a button with a trashcan icon. She pressed it over and over with her bill.

  Deleting image flashed the message on the screen. This was going to take a few minutes. She didn’t have a few minutes.

  Through the open window of the truck, she heard the jingling of the convenience store door. Dirk was coming back.

  Dirk strode across the parking lot and grabbed the door handle of his truck. He pulled it open and lifted his foot to step inside.

  “Wait!” yelled a voice from the store. “Sir!”

  Dirk left the door ajar and turned back to the store. The clerk waved a small piece of paper in the air.

  “What?” asked Dirk, taking a step towards the clerk.

  “I almost forgot. We have a promotion on bananas,” said the clerk. “Buy a bunch, get a free scratch ticket.”

  Dirk shook his head. “I don’t do scratch tickets,” he said. “They rigged.”

  “But it’s free.”

  “I don’t want it,” said Dirk. He turned to his truck.

  “How can you not want it? Here, I’ll scratch it for you.”

  “Scratch away.” Dirk climbed into the cab and reached to pull the door closed.

  “You won!”

  “Really?” Dirk’s eyes lit up. “What’d I win?”

  “Twenty bucks!” The clerk held the ticket in the air. “Look!”

  Dirk climbed out of his truck and grabbed the ticket.

  “No kidding? I never win anything!”

  “Congratulations,” said the clerk.

  Dirk slid the ticket into his shirt pocket. He’d redeem it after his interview and use it to buy himself a nice breakfast. He climbed back into his truck.

  “Must be your lucky day, sir.”

  Dirk grinned and turned the key in the ignition. “Oh, I think you’re right,” he said as the engine roared to life. “‘My lucky day.’ Say, you got a TV in that store?”

  “Yes, sir,” said the clerk.

  “Turn it on to America This Morning in about half an hour. See exactly what kind of lucky day I’m having.”

  Dirk pulled the door shut and put the truck in gear. As he pulled out of the driveway, he raised his hand to wave goodbye.

  What a nutjob, thought the clerk, waving back.

  He shook his head and walked back to the store. He hadn’t even noticed the mallard waddling across the parking lot.

  Kate pumped her wings hard and fast,

  racing the sunrise back to camp. She was still in the air when the first ray of light broke over the horizon. Her feathered body began to tremble. Each flap of her wings made them more useless. She grasped at the air with what were becoming open fingertips. The ground rushed toward her as she tumbled from the sky.

  “Ooof!” she cried, landing in a heap. She laid perfectly still on her back in the neatly trimmed grass behind a small country house.

  All was quiet. Looking up, she saw streaks of sunlight stretching across the early morning sky.

  Kate raised one arm, then the other. She turned her neck from side to side. For the second time in an hour, Kate decided she wasn’t hurt.

  She closed her eyes and smiled. What started as a chuckle grew into an uncontrollable belly laugh. She’d managed to erase all the pictures and video of her family from Dirt Bag’s camera. They were safe.

  She gasped as she remembered Wacka. Her injuries seemed pretty bad. Kate hoped her family had been able to help her.

  “Who’s out there?” called a voice from a dark window of the house. “Is there someone out there?”

  It was only then that Kate realized she was naked. Her clothes were still crumpled in a heap in the clearing where she’d become a duck. She leapt to her feet and scurried into the woods.

  It would be a long, cold walk home if she couldn’t find any clothes. She trudged through the woods for nearly twenty minutes before finding a full laundry line. She dashed into the yard and pulled down the only two items that looked as if they would fit: an orange and yellow spotted skirt and a little boy’s Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles T-shirt.

  A while later she discovered a pair of dirty old sneakers in someone’s gardening shed. They were a few sizes too large, but by now her feet were so raw she was relieved to have any protection at all.

  Kate decided to brave the road for the rest of her journey home. Though it would still be a long walk, she had nothing but time.

  Her parents and family would be worried about her and whether she’d been able to find Dirt Bag. If the reporter had been able to tell the world about her family, they’d have no choice but to pack up and flee to a new spot, far away.

  Kate shuddered at the thought. She’d never realized how much she loved this place until she thought she might have to leave it. But Kate had won. Dirt Bag was gone. She was elated.

  “I don’t even know where to start looking for her.”

  Brian leaned forward in the passenger seat of the van, his eyes drifting back and forth scanning the trees as Lisa drove slowly down a dirt road.

  “This is the direction Bobby said she flew,” she said. “I really don’t know how far she could have gotten. Or what trouble she could have gotten into with that reporter.”

  Brian didn’t answer. His leg pounded up and down. His wife rested her hand on his knee to stop him from shaking.

  “She’s a big girl,” said Lisa. “She’ll be fine.”

  “I know,” Brian replied. He didn’t sound convinced.

  They drove on. They took a few short detours down laneways and logging roads that veered off the main road. But they always returned, keeping on in the same direction Kate was last seen flying.

  “I don’t like this,” said Lisa after another half hour of searching.

  “Neither do I,” said her husband, his eyes still scanning the trees.

  Lisa slumped back into her seat, then quickly sat bolt upright. She’d spotted something further up the road. “There’s someone walking ahead,” she said. “Maybe they’ve seen something.”

  As they got closer, the figure walking down the road—despite the mismatched outfit—started to look familiar. Lisa pulled the van up alongside the young teenage girl with the cartoon T-shirt and bright skirt.

  “Thank goodness we found you!” called Lisa out the driver’s window. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” said Kate, running to the side of the van and sliding open the door. She climbed in and hugged them both. “Did Bobby and Grandma tell you about Marcus and the reporter?”

  “Of course,” said her father. “But we have to hurry back. Everyone is packing up camp. We’ve got to get out of here as soon as we can.”

  “We don’t!” said Kate. “I did it. I erased the photos on his camera.”

  “How d
id you manage that?” asked her father.

  Kate gushed out her tale as her mother drove toward home. As she finished, she leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes. She dreamed of the long nap she’d take when they got back to camp.

  Her parents sat silently in the front seat.

  “What’s wrong? I did it! We can stay,” said Kate. “Ah-wooooo, right? No packing. No moving.”

  Lisa pursed her lips. “That is really great, Kate. You’ve bought us some time. But we still have to go.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If this reporter knows where we live. He’ll be back.”

  Kate deflated. Her mum steered the van into the driveway of camp.

  “We’ve got to leave, Kate. I’m sorry,” said Brian. “I know you liked it here.”

  “‘Liked?’” repeated Kate. “You’re talking like we’ve already left! Where will we go?”

  “Well,” began Lisa, “Bea is going to put us up for a while, at least until we find a place of our own. It’ll be a tight squeeze, but she’s got space for all of us.” She paused a moment, then added, “And John.”

  “And John?” repeated Kate.

  Well,” said Brian, glancing from his wife to Kate, “John is going to come live with us.”

  Kate’s jaw dropped.

  “We can’t just leave him here,” said Lisa. “His father’s gone.”

  “Are we sure he’s not coming back?”

  “It looks like it,” said Brian.

  Kate was breathing heavily. Leaving this place. Moving. Taking John with them. Her victory suddenly didn’t seem so victorious.

  “Hey, everything is going to be okay,” said her dad. “It’s been a few years since we’ve had to move, but don’t worry.” He smirked. “Your mum and I have done this before. We’re actually kind of good at this.”

  Kate’s mum parked the van next to a pile of suitcases and gear that had amassed in front of the cabin. Bea stood waiting for them.

  “You’re back!” said Bea, pulling Kate close as she stepped out of the van. “You are going to love it at my place. Katie, we are going to have so much fun. You’ll see.” Bea grabbed Kate’s hands and pulled her towards her station wagon. “Hey, come here. I want to show you something.”