Surviving the Improbable Quest (5 page)

“You get to come home.” Rubic flipped the remote around in his hands nervously. “Don’t worry, not my crappy house. Home, home. Your parents made me your legal guardian. They left your house to me. To us.” Tears swelled in Allan’s eyes.

“Don’t worry, kid. You don’t wanna go there? No problem. We’ll go stay at a hotel. Any one you want.”

Allan was not excited about going home, but he didn’t fear it. Like everything else that surrounded him, spoke to him, happened to him, it just was nothing to look forward to.

Chapter
6

Following Cake

As Allan lay on the forest floor, sweat soaked and aching, he remembers the last thing Rubic said that day. “Come on kid, home is better than this place. You’ll see. I’ve filled the entire refrigerator up with ice cream.”

Rubic tried so hard. Allan will try, too. He sits up and keeps heading uphill, hopefully toward camp.

Thunder booms overhead. Allan looks up to find that dark clouds have rolled over the blue sky. Lightning flashes.
Just what I need, more water and mud.
Allan drags himself under a colossal, fallen tree trunk. He scoots up another incline. As he pushes through a bush with purple leaves in the shape of W’s, he notices a trail. It’s just what he has been looking for. He presses his cheek to the dirt on the trail, thankful that there will be no more crawling through strange plants and over sharp rocks. Allan hears his dad’s voice in his head: “There is a path to all things good. Follow good things and you’ll never need a map.”

If the path doesn’t lead to camp it should lead somewhere where he can get help. He’s getting good at scooting backward, crawling on his knees and hopping on his hips.

“Oh scanta landra panta pong. Beautiful pinta pom.” Sings a strange high-pitched voice. The song is in a different language, but that doesn’t matter. Allan’s expectations lift to the tops of the trees. Here comes someone that will help. From behind a tall fern steps something other than a human. But it’s not entirely an animal. It is something of a mix. It has the head of a salamander but the body of a man. The thing wears a grey threadbare jacket more suitable to a homeless man than an amphibian. Its black glossy skin looks almost slimy. Its eyes are large and its pupils are vertical like a viper’s.

“The dina is good, the dina is great. The more I serve the more money I make.” it sings this time in English. It carries a large tray with a cake surrounded by purple grapes as big as golf balls. A twig with a leaf sticks out of the cake, but the salamander-man doesn’t bother cleaning it off. He struts by Allan without noticing him. Allan rubs his eyes.
Why didn’t it see me? This is nuts! I must be hallucinating.
The thing continues around a large outcropping of rock. Allan doesn’t see anything scary about the thing. In fact, it looks quite domesticated. And, well, it carries cake. That’s not only a good sign, it’s a miracle. After all, it’s probably some guy in a costume.
Yes, it’s just some dude in a funny costume.

              Allan pauses. What if he’s wrong? What if the person is bad? Just like a bully can trick you with a smile and a wink. Life itself seems intent on delivering Allan pain and sorrow and nothing more, so how can he trust anyone or anything?

The image of the tall cake tips his decision. The salamander-man will save him and Rubic. Allan follows the salamander-man, but he can’t go fast enough. After Allan rounds the rocky outcropping there is another twist in the trail that cuts through large trees. The salamander-man is too far ahead. Allan scoots and hops. His palms ache and his muscles shake, but he must catch up.              

Come back
salamander-man
!

Allan opens his mouth. Nothing comes out. His arm gives out and he falls to his back. He waited too long. Indecision cost him. On occasion, Allan’s father would get impatient with his indecisiveness. He advised Allan to choose or life would pass him by. Even his mother told him that irrational fear led to indecision.

Allan pounds the dirt. Why does it always take him so long to decide? Indecision is why he didn’t complete that science project. Indecision was why his parents were mad at him and why they crashed their car. Snot and tears run down his face.

Allan pulls himself up and starts scooting. A squeal turns his attention to his hands. He lifts it to find a small creature smashed into the mud. The creature squeals again, a painful sound. It has a small head, no bigger than a gumball and a snout like a frog. Its neck is long and its body is covered in scales. Little horns adorn its head like a mohawk, and it can almost be a large lizard, but it isn’t. Its body is more like a human’s, just like the salamander-man. Allan picks the sad creature up. It cries out and Allan drops it. He’s never seen anything like it.

From the shadows of the purple plant come a dozen creatures of similar form. They attack Allan by grabbing, hitting and biting. It doesn’t hurt, but they still try. Scowls mark their faces and angry shrieks color their yells.

Get off me!
Allan thinks as one biter draws blood from his forearm. He bats one away and scowls the most evil scowl he can muster. The small creatures flee in a panic, their hurt comrade in tow.

If this is my imagination then I’m not even awake. I must be lying in that stream, unconscious or even dead. Maybe this is the afterlife.
Allan looks around
. I do have an amazing imagination. My parents and teachers always said so.
Just like in class, when Allan tries to concentrate, his brain switches to his drawings instead of paying attention. He’s good at imagining odd things. It seems most likely he is still next to his uncle lying unconscious in the riverbed.

Allan laughs and continues crawling, satisfied that his mind is the culprit of all the strangeness. He has to stay focused. No matter how tired he gets, he has to keep going. Dream or not, he’s got a job to do.

Chapter
7

Tea Party Rumors

Allan pursues the salamander-man. It is his best option. He follows the trail through the dense forest, the trees on either side towering over him like skyscrapers.

The daylight darkens leaving twilight in its wake, and a fog creeps in. Dark clouds crowd the sky above filled with flickering lightning, but no rain. Not yet.

Voices snap him out of his thoughts. The fog has obscured the trail completely. Allan drags himself toward the voices and peeks around a tree. Forty feet away sit a table and chairs. Sitting at the table are two smaller salamander-people. They, too, have black shiny skin. One has orange spots on its neck and head; the other has yellow markings. They wear funny clothes. One has a collar of towering petals; the other’s collar is made of wires with colorful balls at the ends. They laugh and sip from teacups. The taller salamander-man with the suit cuts the cake into slices and serves each salamander-person.

The orange-marked salamander-person shovels a large bite of cake into its mouth and licks its lips with a long black tongue. “Oh, ho-ho. This is good. I’m enjoying this vacation though I cannot see a thing now that the fog is in and the day is leaving.” It takes a fork and reaches for the cake. The fork lands off to the side clinking on the plate. “Oh, ho ho. I just had you cake, now where have you gone?”

“The cake is good, but the tea is better. Can you acquire a sugar cube for me please?” The yellow-marked salamander-person asks. It fumbles for a teacup, bumps the cup then catches it, but not before spilling half the tea on the table. The spilled tea releases steam into the air. “Pardon me,” the yellow one apologizes then lifts up the cup and holds it closer to its friend.

The orange one reaches out blindly and searches the table until it finds the plate of sugar cubes. It tries to drop a cube in the other’s cup, but the cube hits the lip, falls off the side and rolls off the table. Neither creature notices.

“Thank you.” The yellow one sips from the cup. “That sugar cube is just what the tea needed.” It sips again. “Though I might need one more.”

“You’re so welcome. Now where is that cake?” The orange one fumbles with its fork, but can’t find anything.

Allan feels like laughing because he can’t believe his eyes or his ears.

The orange salamander-person finds the cake and crams a bite into its mouth. “Have you heard the bad news?”

“Oh my, what now? Has the Testing gone terribly wrong again? Has someone passed on?”

“No, but there were sightings of Jibbawk this week. Three times. It leaves ‘X’ scratch marks on the trees. The ‘X’ marks bleed. Oh, I shiver to think of it. They say it’s hungry and looking to kill.”

“Who will it kill? It’s picky you know.”

“How should I know? Maybe one of us. It might be hunting in this very forest.”

Rubic had said something about Jibbawk, but Allan had thought it was just a scary story. If these salamander-people are real, then maybe Jibbawk is real too. Allan makes a noise that sounds like a peep. The salamander-people look in his direction. Though they cannot see, they know he is there.

“Who’s there?” The orange one cries, its eyes open wide. “You are trying to scare me, aren’t you?”

“I did not make that noise, and I am scared, too. Roggy will protect us.”

“We have cake.” the orange one says, looking back and forth, as blind as a rock.

From the fog Allan sees a head pop up. It is a furry, shaggy head with large floppy ears. It has a dog snout with large jowls and thick sharp teeth. It growls then leaps and gallops toward Allan. It slides in the moss and stops just inches from Allan’s face. Another peep comes from his mouth as fear hits him over the head with the force of a sledgehammer. The dog speaks. “What is this? A human boy?”

“Oh my! How did a boy get out here?” asks the orange one. “We vacation out here to avoid the riffraff.”

The yellow one slaps its head. “Oh, thank the DoGo it wasn’t Jibbawk.” Holding its three-fingered hands out so as to ensure it doesn’t run into any obstacles, it stands and stumbles toward the growling dog.

“Mr. Killian will want to test him.” The orange one remains seated. “Whether or not he survives.”

Roggy leans so close that Allan can smell its rancid, dead-squirrel breath.

“Help me,” Allan says. He hears his voice. He spoke! The vibration warms his throat and sends a tingling sensation into his brain. His voice isn’t broken. Rubic was right. “P-please help. My uncle is hurt.”

“Zip it boy,” Roggy growls. His deep voice gurgles. “It is illegal to speak until you get Tested. If you don’t come with us we’ll take you by force.
Everyone
gets Tested.”

A cold rain begins to drizzle.

Then, as if things couldn’t get any worse, a dark metal object crashes through the canopy of trees and slams into the trunk of a tree. A rope, frayed and oily, is attached to the metal anchor that is securely imbedded in the tree trunk. Someone crashes through the canopy, zipping down the rope. The person hangs on to bicycle handles that stick out of the sides of a copper box. The box has wheels in front and back that pinch the rope.

The person is a girl. Her short leather boots crunch the dried leaves when she lands on the ground. Her hair is brown and tied in a ponytail. She has a narrow face and big golden eyes. She wears a faded, blue tank top, shorts and a pack held by a single strap crossing her chest. Water cascades off her body like she emerged from a car wash.

The surprise visitor’s skin is tan, scratched and scarred. Her arms are well defined by muscles. Strapped to her thigh is a large buck knife. She quickly steps toward Allan.

Allan squeaks, “Help?”

“What is
this
?” The girl unsheathes the large, crooked knife from her thigh. “A boy? Crawling on the ground like a walrus?” she chuckles. “You need to be hung by your feet and left for Jibbawk.”

The orange salamander-person says loudly, “Oh, you’re always late, Asantia. But you’re just in time, I think.”

“He should be Tested,” croaks Roggy. “It is the law.”

Asantia laughs. “That’ll do him in. Though maybe someone will pay for him.” She kneels and takes a good look at Allan. “Prat got your tongue?”

“My u-uncle. H-he’s hurt.”

“I came for some cake with these two cotton-candy heads, and instead I stumble upon you. It’s amazing what comes out of the Waiting Place,” she muses. “I’m a little hard up for cash, so I’ll sell you to the highest bidder. I hope you can work. If not, you’ll have to be fed to Jibbawk.” She touches the tip of her blade to her chin. “Now how to get you out of here.”