Free Ticket to Nowhere: Chapter 6
A Stark Mystery
The spiraling funnel of certain doom was hot on our tail. We had only a bolt worth of gas, which comes out to around half a tank. You’d think the sky would be a little more giving. I read in a textbook once that Ben Franklin got a full tank on his first try.
“Hey, Snark Dust, buckle your seat belt,” Fred shouted. “Don’t make me tell you a third time, either. I’ve got a sack full of yellow bricks in the back with your name on it.”
“Do you really think you can outrun that thing?”
“Depends, if it’s one of Dorothy’s tricks I may as well slam on the brakes and hitch a ride on the clouds.”
“Aren’t we headed towards her anyway? May as well take a shortcut.”
“Check the rear-view, pal. That twister is throwing red bricks left and right. If we’re to meet Dorothy we’ve got to be stealthy about it. You’re wearing a trench coat, so I assume you know a little about the business. A real sleuth slips through the shadows. You’re a real sleuth aren’t you?”
“I bought this coat at a thrift shop.”
“We’re doomed.”
I heard a sharp crack at the back of the car. I turned and saw a red brick lodged between the defogger lines.
“She’s got us,” said Fred. “I’m calling it. Just follow my lead once we get there and hopefully she won’t throw us on guard duty in a wheat field. Wait, what’s — ”
The car flew through the air as the twister barreled past us. The bolt powered buggy hit the ground and rolled three times.
“Seat belts,” I said, with weighted breathes, “I love seat belts.”
“What happened?” croaked Fred. “We should be halfway to the moon by now.”
I got out of the car and dusted myself off. The nagging pain in my back, from an old high-school injury, returned and there was no massage parlor in sight.
“Fred, you able to get out? Fred?” I ran around the car to find Fred sprawled out on the ground, a striking figure stood beside him.
“Who’re you?” I asked, puffing my chest out. “Are you the one who saved us?”
I looked the stranger over. It was a man, dressed as a lion, with face-paint and the whole gag. He stood tall, an ammo belt strapped across his chest and a red bandanna tied around his head. A cigar with a bright orange cherry was wedged between his cracked lips.
“Come with me if you want to sing,” said the man with fur wrapped around his head. The cigar between his lips bobbed as he spoke. There was a tail that dangled between his legs, but I wasn’t impressed.
“I don’t want to sing,” I replied. “Do you want to sing?” I asked, looking down to Fred.
“Just shut up and follow the guy,” replied Fred. He got to his feet and staggered a bit at first. “Dorothy knows we’re hot on the trail. He’s our best bet at making it out of here alive.”
“I still don’t want to sing, though.”
“Eventually we’re going to have to. It’s just the way it is. We’ve lucked out for now, since that’s a problem future us will have to deal with.”
“Glad I’m not that guy, yet. So, does our hero have a name?”
The lion ignored us as he trudged onward at an alarming pace. Both Fred and I tumbled forward like toddlers fresh from a nap just to keep up.
“Sometimes I wish the earth was flat so I wouldn’t go rolling so often,” said Fred.
“That’s just your concussion talking.”
“Concussed or not my legs are about as fried as an emerald city in July.”
“That’s not a phrase, nobody says that.”
“Around here they do.”
I licked my lips as I watched the lion light another cigar.
“Hey, pal,” I said, feeling the prospect of sobriety looming over me, “you got one of those for me? It’s been a while since my head’s been this clear. Any longer and I might stop believing everything that’s happened.”
“You’ll sing,” said the lion.
“When, when will I sing? I’ve got a beat in my chest and a tune on my tongue.”
“When we get there.”
“Where’s there, exactly?” I asked. I had a hand out for a cigar that I knew wasn’t coming.
“Dorothy’s home,” replied the smoking feline.
I glanced down at Fred and shrugged.
“There’s a house in Liberal,” whispered Fred, “claims to be the real house of Dorothy. Some think it actually belongs to someone else just trying to make a buck, who really knows. Thing is, I’ve been whispering too long and it’s starting to feel weird.”
“How far is Liberal from Wichita?” I whispered back.
“Now it’s really getting weird,” whispered Fred.
Fred coughed and beat his chest.
“Uh, lion,” said Fred, “low budget Rambo, King of Kansas, my friend, well he’s more like an acquaintance, Snark Dust and I were actually trying to head in the other direction. Think you could escort us the other way? We appreciate your help, and trust us when we say we need it, but — ”
“Dorothy’s house. You sing.”
“Looks like we’re doing a song and dance,” said Fred.
Continues in Chapter 7…
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