Kingdom Keepers VII (36 page)

“Kid!”

Finn spins his head back to see a paralyzed Craig at the far end of the car. In his moment of distraction, Cruella slaps Finn across the face with so much force, he hears his neck crack. He loses his grip, staggers, falls.

“Who the…What the…?” Craig shouts.

Cruella steals out the car’s rear door, with Finn following close behind.

* * *

“Are you kidding me? It’s called Oil Field Road?” Austin says from behind the wheel. Their car looks as if it has been tarred and feathered by the devil himself. The wipers have carved twin apertures through the goo, affording the only clear line of sight the four kids have.

Austin turns onto a paved road bordered by expanses of cocoa powder–like dirt, dotted with oil rigs that look like giant primitive birds endlessly dunking in rhythm.

“Yeah, I know,” says Brooke. “Lame. But at least we found some.”

“Where to?” Austin asks. “Back to campus would be a good answer.”

Philby rolls his window up and down repeatedly, trying to scrape it clean. Then, abandoning the effort, he simply leaves the window down in order to see. Willa matches him.

“We’ll know it by sight,” Philby says. “Start high and get an overview. We’ll work our way down to the various wells.”

“There’re so many!” Brooke says.

“And we have no idea if these are the right ones,” Willa adds.

“Soil composition tells us they’re strong candidates,” Philby says, reminding her.

“And those ravens trying to stop us,” Willa says, nodding. “We can’t forget those.”

“I will
never
forget them,” Brooke says. “I’ve read about what you guys do. I’ve heard the stories. But let me tell you something: Being
right there
, a part of it? It was terrifying.”

“Well,
I
have not read or heard what you guys do,” Austin says, “so what
do
you do?” He’s trying to look brave for Brooke, but wins only an apologetic look from her.

“We…fix things,” Willa says. “At least we try.”

“Like oil wells?” Austin asks skeptically.

Willa glances toward Philby, silently seeking his approval for what she is about to say. “Listen, if we’re right about the oil well, about Tia Dalma, then there’s no telling what to expect here. You guys understand that, right?”

Brooke nods. Austin’s head swings side to side.

“What Willa means,” Philby says, “is that if things go like they did back there, you need to let her and me handle it. Okay, Austin?” Philby leans forward to make eye contact with Austin in the rearview mirror. “We’ve dealt with these…
things
…before, and they can be super-dangerous.”

“I kind of think you’re pranking me,” Austin tells Brooke. “But that bird thing—I mean,
how did you do that?
That was awesome!”

“If either of you got hurt, it would be bad for you, for us, for Disney,” Willa says. “Okay?”

“Got it,” Brooke says. When Austin fails to agree, she pokes him in the leg.

“So Disney’s behind this? Like special effects or something?”

“You’ve got to promise,” Philby says.

Austin’s silence produces an awkward moment. He steers the car up a hill through two hairpin turns and arrives at a large sandlot with a couple of shuttered trailers.

“You’re pranking me! A fraternity hazing? Is this because I wouldn’t pledge?”

“No cars. There’s no one here.” Philby pops open the door and climbs out. He walks the perimeter of the lot, joined first by Willa, then Brooke and Austin.

“Amazing,” Brooke says. She directs this to Austin, disappointment coloring her words.

There must be seventy or more oil rigs, all pumping. Narrow paved service roads twist around the contours of the hills, but mostly the fifteen acres they’re looking at is sand and scrub vegetation—dwarf trees and chest-high shrubs.

“There!” Philby says, pointing to some equipment a little way below them on the hillside. “That’s the one we want. Those extra machines could be for injection.”

“There’s a pickup truck,” Willa says.

“Yeah. Stay low.”

They all scramble down the rocky slope to the next level area of sand and dirt, hunching over and staying in the scrub, using it as cover. The footing is inconsistent and the going tricky. Philby motions for Brooke and Austin to stay put. He and Willa move forward, closer to the machinery.

“Too many of us,” Philby whispers. “We don’t need a parade.”

“They’re helping. Be nice,” Willa replies.

They continue another twenty yards. Philby glances back to make sure Austin has not followed. “Wait,” he says, stopping Willa in her tracks. Brooke is crouching where they left her. Austin is not.

Willa tugs on Philby’s sleeve and points out a lumberjack of a man, previously hidden by an open panel on the side of the equipment. He’s well over six feet tall, broad shouldered, with a full red beard. He taps one of the dials and makes notes on a clipboard.

Philby scans the scrub for signs of Austin and finds him squatting on the opposite side of the lot, straining to reach into one of the mountain mahogany bushes.

“Idiot,” Philby hisses.

Willa spots Austin. “He’s okay.”

“No, he’s not!” Philby’s anger gets the better of him, and he raises his voice.

The worker leans back, swinging the open panel out of his way. He moves stiffly, as if in pain, his head and neck swiveling mechanically atop his massive shoulders. He peers through squinted eyes directly at Willa and Philby, who remain stone still. The worker looks at them—through them—without any indication of seeing them.

The sound of breaking twigs turns the man’s attention in the direction of Austin, who has leaned so far forward, he’s fallen into the bush.

“Help—you?” the worker calls.

Austin’s mistake is that he runs. Or tries to. He struggles free of the bush that claims him, calling out, “Brooke! Hit it!”

“Hey!” the worker hollers, moving toward Austin. The boy scrambles up the short hill to the parking lot above with Brooke following, drawing the worker in their direction. “You!” the man shouts.

Willa looks back at Philby—but he’s gone. Searching with her eyes, she finally catches sight of him behind the open panel, studying the dials. The worker spins around and sees Philby as well.

“Don’t—touch—that.” The man needs only three strides to reach Philby and take him by the arm. “What’s—going on—here?” His words are disjointed and robotic.

Willa is getting to her feet, but Philby’s eyes tell her not to. She cowers lower in the brush.

“School!” Philby says. “A school project on the environment!”

The man loosens his grip, but does not let go.

“So…what’s with the other…guy taking…off like that?”

“We don’t exactly have permission to be here,” Philby says. “But you’re a big guy…with a strong grip.”

“Sorry—’bout that.” The man loosens his hold—then squeezes tighter. “What kind—of environmental—camp? Anti-…fracking?” He looks at the panel and back to Philby. “What are—you and your—friends up to?”

A car engine starts in the upper lot, briefly distracting the worker. Philby breaks free and takes off.

“Go!” he shouts.

He reaches Willa and tugs her along. They’re running down the slope through cypress, coastal sage shrub, and scrub oak, the worker close behind.

“You—come—back…” The worker stumbles, falls. Then he’s back on his feet as if catapulted up, flaming mad.

Brooke’s friend’s car appears to their right, motor racing. Philby spins out in front of the car as Austin brakes to a screeching stop. Willa’s in. Philby’s car door is still open as Austin guns it and speeds off.

“Fracking!” Philby hollers, too loudly for the car’s interior. Only then does he realize he’s sitting on Brooke’s lap. Willa has the backseat all to herself.

“And there’s this,” Austin says, reaching into his pocket. “I found it in the bushes.”

He pulls out a stumpy voodoo doll made of twigs and twine.

* * *

Finn pursues Cruella down the narrow aisles formed by the train tracks. She’s headed for the back of the building a short distance away.

Finn is not guided by thought or planning, but something more primitive. He snatches a wrench from a portable workbench sitting near a partially disassembled train car, reduced—or is it elevated?—to the level of a caveman with his club. He’s a faster runner than she. The distance between them closes quickly.

Cruella’s fur coat sweeps behind her. She hasn’t surrendered her cigarette holder, which she holds like a runner’s baton. Reaching an exit door, she spins and shoots Finn a look that should stop him cold. Instead, it eggs him on. He wants her head on a stake.

Her coat is snagged in the closing door. Finn yanks the door open and swings his wrench, only to cleave air. Cruella has abandoned her coat, but is still wrapped in the ermine-trimmed mink stole she has been wearing underneath as she scurries on, trotting like a trained pony in her high heels. Layers of fur—so Cruella.

Finn is a matter of steps away when the dogs appear.

They come as a single wave out of the landscaping by the fence. They are not Dalmatians, but mutts and street dogs, savage and hungry, with wild eyes and dangling pink tongues. There must be two or three dozen, their wet noses aimed at Finn, their legs propelling them at ferocious speed. Finn is not going to outrun the dogs. They’ll tear him limb from limb.

Finn’s one chance is a passing golf cart. Its driver yanks the wheel away from the oncoming pack, away from Finn, who hurls the wrench at Cruella de Vil, several feet ahead. The heavy tool rotates end over end, like a prehistoric bone weapon hurled at a fleeing deer.

Finn has no time to see if the wrench connects as he dives, catching a metal rod that supports the golf cart’s roof. He tightens his fingers around it, is lifted higher and slammed onto the rear-facing seat.

The cart driver regains control as the lead dog leaps and lands atop Finn. The driver slams on the brakes. Finn and the dog smash into the seat back, but Finn holds on while the dog cannot. As the cart bumps, the hound is sent flying out the open back of the cart, cutting the legs out from under the advancing pack. Dogs go down like bowling pins. The cart races off.

Finn looks to where he last saw Cruella. She couldn’t possibly run fast enough to be out of sight, yet she’s not visible. Only as he lowers his eyes does he see a mass of black-and-white fur and realize it’s the Overtaker he was chasing, collapsed in a heap. The white ermine trim of the stole is stained red. The bloodstained wrench lies alongside.

What’s black and white and red all over?

The cart turns sharply left, then right, as it follows the train tracks toward the park. Finn, sweating and out of breath, sits alone on the rear-facing seat, his hand held over his brow, his eyes searching.

There’s nothing to see but a pack of crazed dogs scattering in all directions, the leader limping painfully and slowly toward where Cruella fell.

S
ATURDAY AFTERNOON IS
a solemn occasion. The Keepers board a van to go to Wayne’s memorial, dressed in the formal clothes they’ve pieced together from the studio’s wardrobe department.

The van’s driver is a Cast Member not known to them, a woman who looks to be nearing retirement. Philby asks her to turn up the radio; the kids huddle together toward the van’s middle seat, and conference in whispers.

Philby goes first, describing the search for the oil rig, which ended with the discovery of a voodoo doll. To punctuate his point, he pulls the doll from his suit coat pocket; it’s passed around, eliciting varying degrees of shivers from those holding it.

Finn follows with his discovery that Cruella de Vil is living or plotting inside the luxury of Lilly Belle, and his hurling the wrench at her. “I know this may sound stupid,” he says, “but I didn’t mean to hurt her. I mean, I did—I wanted to hurt her. But when it was over, I felt awful. Like two wrongs, you know? If they turn us into them, then who’s won?”

Amanda reaches over the seat back and places her hand tenderly on Finn’s shoulder. Maybeck gives an exaggeratedly heavy sigh and Charlene punches him in the shoulder.

“There’s something else,” Finn says, winning their undivided attention. “If she’s living in Lilly Belle, where are the rest of them? The Evil Queen? Tia Dalma? Chernabog? We didn’t think about this: these OTs show up from Disney World and the cruise, but their characters are already here—all but Chernabog, and he’s not easy to hide.”

“Interesting,” Philby says.

“It’s a small park,” Charlene says. “It’s not like there are a million places to hide.”

“Storey might be able to help us,” says Maybeck—the guy who never wants help. “She found a place to stow away in the park. She must have tried others.”

“We need to find her,” Philby says. “She may know others things we don’t.”

“What about Wayne’s warning about Mickey?” Jess asks Finn. “I know you’re all desperate to track down the Overtakers, but honestly, from where I am—from where Amanda and I are—Wayne has always known what matters. The rest feels like a distraction.”

The van’s wheels whine on the freeway. The radio blares.

Finn looks at the others. “She’s right.”

“I don’t want to sound cruel,” Jess says, “but what if that’s the point? The Overtakers know how we feel about Wayne, and from what you all say, there’ve been a couple times in the past when they could have killed him.”

“He sacrificed himself,” Finn says. “He let it happen.”

“Okay. I’m sure that’s right,” Jess says. “But would he have wanted us to spend our time on revenge? A few minutes before, he was sharing secrets with you, Finn. Things he
needed
you to hear. But for the past couple days, you’ve been focused—”

“On your sketch,” Maybeck says, cutting her off. “There was an oil rig in your sketch.”

“There’s Mickey Mouse, octopus tentacles, fire, a grasshopper or something,” she reminds him. “Wayne’s message to Finn was about the original sketch of Oswald.”

“Of
Mickey
,” Finn corrects her. “He said the OTs destroyed Mickey: ‘A single sketch kept in a file in his office. Never far out of reach.’ Whatever that means.”

“But if they destroyed Mickey, wouldn’t the magic be gone?” Willa says.

“Maybe it is,” Charlene says. “Maybe Wayne and the Imagineers have kept things going by sheer will. But with the OTs reorganized and Chernabog rebooted, Wayne knew it wasn’t enough. Look, he could have told us this years ago, right? So why now? Because time’s running out, and he felt too old to get things done. He brought us in, coached us, spent time training us.” It’s the athlete in her speaking. “Now he’s passed the baton. He sacrificed himself to save us—absolutely. But what if he also did that to push us?”

“Dang,” Maybeck says. “I wish I could say that that sounds ridiculous.”

“But it makes sense,” says Willa.

“Times ten,” says Philby.

“This sketch,” says Jess. “Do you suppose it’s still around?”

“That couldn’t have been what the OTs stole from the Archives, could it?” Amanda asks.

“We’ve seen that stuff,” Finn says. “There’s nothing like that in there. They’re looking for the sheet with the invisible ink. We don’t know if they found it, if they even figured it out.”

“We keep going around in circles,” a frustrated Maybeck says. “It’s driving me nuts.”

“Jess is right,” Finn declares. “Going after the OTs makes no sense. Stopping them is way more important.”

“But they’re the same thing,” Maybeck says. He sounds increasingly agitated. “If we go after them, we stop them.”

“I think what Jess and Finn are saying,” says Charlene, “is that there’s something bigger going on. It’s like in cheerleading.” Maybeck stifles a groan. “There’s your individual routine, but there’s also the team’s routine. Wayne talking to Finn was about the team routine. Not our team, the Overtakers’. He decided we were ready to coach ourselves.”

Willa says, “If that’s a metaphor, I don’t think it works. What exactly is our team routine?”

“Something bigger,” Finn says. “Charlie’s saying we’ve got to see the bigger picture. We’re chasing oily footprints instead of trying to figure out what Wayne was saying about Mickey.”

“But those footprints led us to this,” Philby says, holding up the voodoo doll again. “And you found Cruella. It’s not like we’re wasting our time.”

“It starts and ends in lightning,” Jess says, recalling the revelation that came to her in the Indiana Jones attraction. “There’s lightning in my sketch. And fire.”

“We have to follow the leads we’re given,” Philby says. “To defeat an enemy, you have to establish his vulnerabilities. All we’re doing is pursuing leads. We have to do that!”

“But following the footprints,” Charlene says, “is following leads given to us by the Overtakers. Whose leads do we trust, theirs or Wayne’s?”

The van slows. The Cast Member turns the radio down. Ahead, the Keepers glimpse the mortuary, a stucco building called Sunny Skies, which looks like a country club. There are cars everywhere, and dozens of people streaming inside.

A woman wearing a spectacularly colorful dress and a big red flower over her ear greets guests at the door.

“Look!” says Charlene. “It’s Wanda.”

* * *

As Finn approaches Wanda in the long line of arriving guests paying their last respects, a lump closes off his throat and his eyes brim with tears. As they hug there’s an energy that passes between them. Wanda pours out stuff about how much Finn meant to her dad, how grateful she is that Finn came into his life even if late in his years. She talks about Finn being the “son Dad never had,” which makes Finn feel guilty for causing a man’s daughter to feel this way. He cries all the harder, thanks her, pulls away and moves on, comforted by Amanda and Jess.

“Can you wait a moment please?” Wanda asks Charlene once everyone is done with their condolences.

Charlene steps to one side.

Fifteen minutes later, with the last of the guests inside, Wanda pulls Charlene deeper into the building and corners her.

“I need to ask you to do something for me.” Wanda’s eyes mist over. She takes Charlene’s hand and presses something into it. “My dad’s watch. He wanted Finn to have it. Made me promise to give it to him. But honestly, Finn is just so much like my dad that when I…you know, just now…I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I knew I would just fall apart. You know? Keep it. Give it to Finn for my dad. He wanted me to tell Finn ‘It’s all about time.’ He made me promise I’d say it just like that.”

Charlene nearly interrupts to tell her that Wayne
already
passed along that same message to Finn when they met in Club 33, but the timing, the mood are all wrong. She keeps it to herself. Instead, she nods a little too fast, overcome by emotion herself. “No problem,” Charlene says.

Wanda thanks her profusely. They hug. Charlene is still overcome when she sits down at the end of a row next to Maybeck. She looks down the row at Finn. He catches her staring at him and she waves. This is no time to bother him; she wouldn’t be able to get a word out without bawling. Besides, it wouldn’t be fair to Finn.

He’s listed in the program as one of the speakers.

* * *

“I didn’t know I was going to be up here,” Finn says from behind the lectern. He and Wanda exchange a look. “Wayne was always full of surprises and I guess his daughter is carrying on the tradition.”

Those gathered chuckle. Finn is facing a sea of smiles, which makes him feel much more comfortable.

“Wayne was actually my boss. He hired me to model for Disney. I met a group of kids because of that and they’ve become my best friends on earth. The best friends, ever. Like any friends, you go through a lot of challenges, and we’ve had our share, for sure.” The Keepers grin up at him. Amanda and Willa are weeping openly.

“It’s too late now to thank him, but I think when you give someone else a friend, you give the most awesome gift ever. He gave me
six
friends. So I guess that makes it exponential or something. Philby’s the math guy.”

More laughter from the crowd.

“I have wonderful parents and grandparents, so I don’t know where exactly a guy like Wayne fits in, but he was sort of all of those and more, and all at once. I guess what I’m saying is he taught me a lot of things. And I don’t mean facts. Not like that. Not like school stuff. He taught me that fear makes us”—Finn addresses the Keepers now, who are all nodding at everything he says—“imperfect and vulnerable.” When Finn feels he’s about to lose it, he looks away from his friends’ eyes. “Wayne taught me there’s real magic in the world and to trust that. To believe it. To live it. Easier said than done.”

Again the crowd chuckles, but Finn didn’t mean his remark as funny and the reaction takes him aback.

“Wayne taught me that leadership is about what you do, not what you say. That sometimes you feel super alone when you’re doing the right thing and that’s what makes it so hard. But you do it anyway.

“He lived all those things. That’s the thing about him, what made him so different. He always kept his cool, always knew exactly the right thing to say. He knew stuff no one else will ever figure out or understand. Not ever. Particle physics. Stuff that only people like Einstein understood.”

Finn feels frustrated as he’s getting
Isn’t he cute!
looks from most of the adults—all but Joe, Brad, other Cryptos, and Imagineers, all of whom are sitting together in one long row, all of whom seem to be hanging on Finn’s every word, afraid he’s going to spill state secrets.

“My guess is, there will be books written about Wayne and everything he’s done. Someday there will be. Maybe movies. People will come to the Disney parks and see them in a whole new way. See them…for what they really are. Wayne was more than a dreamer. I know I could never have dreamed up everything he gave me and my friends, everything he gave the company—Disney, I mean—and the parks, and everything. There’s only one Wayne Kresky.” Finn feels tears running down his cheeks; he didn’t know he was crying. “And I don’t know about stuff like heaven and immortality. Maybe I’m too young; maybe I’m too naïve. But if real immortality—can you even say that?
real immortality?—
is about never dying because all the people around you, all the people who loved you, will never let you out of their hearts, and if they never let you out of their hearts then you’re never gone in the first place, then Wayne’s already immortal.” Finn touches his chest and, to his surprise, the Keepers all stand and place their hands over their hearts as well. And then, almost incredibly, one by one, two by two, others in the crowd stand and do the same. Some are weeping; others, laughing. Some look up to the ceiling; some hang their heads.

An infant cries in the back of the room. It breaks whatever spell held the audience in thrall.

As Finn returns to his seat, Wanda stands and embraces him fiercely. There’s a collective sigh, and then a teary-eyed Wanda faces the crowd and speaks. “Like Dad always said, I love this boy.”

* * *

Finn is nearly mobbed after the service by well-wishers and people thanking him for his eulogy. Charlene has passed him Wayne’s watch, but the gift feels wrong in a way he can’t explain. More than one person tells him it was the best part of the service. He and the other Keepers keep close to Wanda and are with her when the main room finally empties out. Tea and cookies are being served down the hall, but no one’s hungry.

Wanda praises Finn for being brave enough to share his emotions honestly. She thanks all the Keepers for making the end of her dad’s life “mean something.”

“It isn’t over,” Philby says. “Just like Finn said.”

“I wanted to give this back to you,” Finn says, proffering the watch.

Wanda instinctively yanks her hand away when she sees it, and the watch falls to the carpet.

Philby bends to scoop it up. “Huh!” he says. “Check this out. There’s stuff on the back.”