Going Bovine
Page 115“Whoa, your yard gnome … talks?” Middle Guy asks, openmouthed.
“Prototype,” Gonzo and I say at the same time. Fortunately, the guys are just drunk enough to believe our story that he’s a cutting-edge computerized toy. But I hope Balder knows what he’s doing.
The guys are steadily working their way through a case. Gonzo’s had just two beers, but he’s flying. I take a pass. Somebody has to be on the lookout for cops and fire giants and wizards, oh my. Plus, I’ve got a tabloid to scour, starting with the story on Gonz and me.
teenage terror plot hatched
in high school bathroom!
There’s a photo of Kevin, Kyle, and Rachel showing off the fourth-floor urinals. Nice.
SHOCKNAWE NEWS—CALHOUN, TEXAS
The two teens responsible for a wave of destruction and violence across the country were notorious juvenile drug fiends who hatched their terrorist plot from a fourth-floor bathroom, Shocknawe News has learned. Were Cameron John Smith and Paul Ignacio “Gonzo” Gonzales ordinary teens who stumbled onto a dark path? Or were they human time bombs waiting to go off in the way that time bombs so often do—like time bombs, only human.
Smith’s parents maintain that their son is very ill and needs medical treatment for his Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease, otherwise known as bovine spongiform encephalopathy or mad cow (see box). Paul Ignacio Gonzales’s mother blamed video games and a spot on his lung for her son’s sudden turn to violence. (Do video games cause terrorism or mad cow disease? How safe are you? See other box.)
United Snow Globe Wholesalers has raised their $10,000 bounty to $15,000 for the capture of the Teen Terror Team. Any tips should be directed to the hotline at 1-800-555-1212.
Down in the left corner is a photo of my family in happier times. It’s one of the pictures from our trip to Disney, I realize. We’re on line for the Small World ride. The euphoria I felt earlier falls away, and I wish I could crawl into that photo. I ball up the paper and toss it into the campfire, then rest my head on my knees and fall asleep.
A doctor is standing at the end of my hospital bed. He thrums his thumb across the sole of my foot, but I don’t feel it. Mom and Dad are sitting in chairs beside the bed. Mom’s eyes are red and puffy and her hair’s a little greasy. Dad needs a shave. He’s watching the doctor poke at me. I can’t move my body at all.
The doctor says something about “tough decisions.” He says something about hospice to Glory, who leaves and comes back with a business card. She gives it to Dad, who stares at the raised black lettering on the crisp white background. Glory and the doctor mumble a few words about “giving you time to think things over” as they leave the room. The respirator keeps humming. Mom and Dad sit there in their chairs, alone together.
Dad moves the card in his fingers like he wants to give it away but can’t. Dad always makes all the decisions, but he can’t make this one. Finally, Mom’s hand comes to rest on top of Dad’s. She takes the card. In the set of her shoulders there’s a grim determination I’ve never seen before.
“It’s okay,” she says. “I’ll do it.”
“Hey, you,” I say, rubbing sleep from my eyes.
“Hey, you, back.”
“Did I miss anything?” I ask, surveying the scene. Middle Guy’s down to his boxers. He’s telling Gonzo a story, or slurring it, mostly. Gonzo’s drooling and his eyes are half-closed. Left Guy’s lying on his back on the ground. He rubs his stomach and moans.
“Middle Guy dared Left Guy to down an entire package of hot dogs, which he did,” Dulcie says.
“That was some stunt you pulled today,” I say, stretching. “You almost got us killed.”
“But I didn’t.”
“But you could have.”
Right Guy drops a log into the fire drunkenly. It hisses and sparks.
“Whatever,” I say. “Thanks.”
“For what?”
“For saving me back there at the Food Court of Despair.”
“You’re welcome.”
“This has been one hell of a trip, man.”
“Yuppers.” She tilts her face toward the night sky and smiles in that way that makes her so very Dulcie.