by Lija Fisher
Clivo reached for his backpack to grab his tranquilizer gun, but found nothing but air. He whirled his head around and saw the backpack lying by the stream, where he had left it. He gave the Otterman a sheepish smile. “Wanna give me a head start?”
The Otterman opened its tiny mouth, which was unfortunately filled with razor-sharp teeth, and let out a high-pitched scream. Clivo took that as his cue to run, and he ran.
He grabbed his backpack and kept running, opening the zipper as he went. He ran into the forest, not bothering to look behind him. He could tell by the thrashing of branches that the Otterman was close behind.
His hand fumbled for his tranquilizer gun, but it wasn’t there. His stomach dropped as he realized he had left it with the Luxembourgers. Great, now he had an angry wereotter chasing after him, and he had forgotten his gun. His hand closed around a tranquilizer dart that was going to have to be delivered up close and personal.
Clivo ran until he reached a clearing. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure the Otterman was still following him, which it was, its fat legs and clawed feet stumbling through the snow.
“Okay, Wren, you’ve got one shot at this,” Clivo said.
He planted his feet and came to a stop, quickly pivoting and running back toward the Otterman. A high-pitched scream came from the Otterman’s mouth, and Clivo found a shout of attack coming from his. The beast bounded through the snow, its long arms and pointed claws reaching out as Clivo held the dart in front of him like a sword.
The second before the claws grabbed him, Clivo dropped to his knees and slid under the grasping arms. The massive hands sought to wrap him up, but were too clumsy to reach him; at the last moment he twisted his body and stabbed the Otterman in the leg with the dart.
The Otterman screamed even louder, its hands grasping at the dart protruding from its chubby thigh. It pulled out the dart, its roar turning into a pitiful whimper, and it stumbled a bit as the tranquilizer took effect.
Clivo crouched on his heels ten feet away, ready in case the creature tried for one last attack. But the beast didn’t turn toward him; instead, it lifted its nose in the air and sniffed as it stumbled toward Clivo’s backpack, which Clivo had dropped in the snow. The Otterman fell to its knees and rummaged through the pack, finally pulling out a chocolate bar that had been shoved to the bottom. With a sigh of joy, it unwrapped the chocolate and took two large bites before sliding into unconsciousness.
Clivo blinked in amazement. Apparently space-made Ottermen had a taste for candy bars.
Clivo shook himself out of his thoughts and grabbed the blood sampler from his backpack. He placed the needle on the Otterman’s arm and was about to press it in when he paused. Was he really ready for this? He had faced death several times over the past week, and if this was the immortal, all he had to do was inject some of its blood into his own body and he would never have to face death again. He’d live forever, like a superhero. He could observe centuries passing, witness kingdoms rising and falling, but he would continue on, watching the world change while he lived forever, never becoming a part of history.
Then he thought of Aunt Pearl. And Jerry. Would he really want to live forever without them? Mr. and Mrs. Cooper flashed through his mind; even the Myth Blasters. Who would he go to when he needed someone to talk to? Sure, he could make them immortal, too. But then who would they want to turn immortal to comfort them during the long days and nights of their eternal future?
Clivo realized there would be no end to it. Nobody wanted to travel through eternity alone. The most important thing was the friends and family people traveled through their time on Earth with.
Clivo’s fleeting desire for immortality suddenly faded. All he wanted was to be back at home with his friends, with Aunt Pearl, even with the cats. He wanted to hear Jerry’s laugh and have his cheeks pinched by Mrs. Cooper. He wanted to feel the warmth of Mr. Cooper’s hand as he shook it, and smell the incense in his home in the mountains. He even missed the clinking of wind-bells on his front porch.
Clivo thought of his parents. Living forever without them suddenly seemed very, very lonely. He pictured his mom’s smile and felt his dad’s hand ruffling his hair. He realized that he would gladly give up the gift of immortality for just one more day with them. Time was nothing; it was the amount of love packed into it that mattered.
With a deep exhale, Clivo pressed the needle into the Otterman’s arm, knowing that he would stay true to his task of keeping its secret safe because he had no use for immortality. The scanner blinked and blinked while the blood slowly traveled up the chamber. With each second, Clivo came closer to possessing the greatest power known to man, and also the most dangerous. He knew there were others who didn’t fear living alone forever. They desired power over friendship, craved riches over family. Those were the people who found immortality to be the greatest gift, and Clivo knew it was those people he had to keep it away from.
The blood finally slid up the chamber and the scanner quit blinking, revealing two words that both disappointed Clivo and made him sigh with enormous relief.
NOT IMMORTAL.
XXII
Clivo leaned against the snow, all the energy leaving his body. He was exhausted from the sprint and sudden loss of adrenaline. He looked at the Otterman, its razor-sharp teeth covered with chocolate.
“You’re not such a dangerous guy after all, are you?” Clivo said, marveling at the mysterious creature in front of him. He held the Otterman’s paw. “And don’t worry, I’m not going to let anything bad happen to you. You’re safe with me.”
He took a photo and sent it to Douglas, cringing as he texted that it was not the immortal. Then he took a selfie to share with Jerry later, of course.
He was just beginning to figure out how he was going to get back to the airport without a snowmobile when he saw some movement in the trees.
“Fabulous,” Clivo muttered to himself.
Lana and Thomas came running from the forest, their eager eyes locked on the Otterman.
“What does it feel like, chief?” Thomas asked, grabbing Clivo and squeezing his limbs as if checking for an injury. “Do you feel stronger? Did your heart stop beating like a vampire’s? Are you hungry? I’d be starving if I became immortal!”
“It’s not the immortal,” Clivo said, shoving Thomas away.
“It has to be,” Lana said, pushing her way toward the Otterman. “Our research was flawless.”
“Obviously not,” Clivo said. He grabbed a box of wilderness matches from his pack and pulled a bit of fur from the creature’s head. He struck the match and lit the fur on fire. It didn’t burst into silver sparkles, it simply simmered and emitted a horrible smell like rotten onions.
Thomas screamed with frustration and went into a massive temper tantrum, kicking and punching the snow like a child having a meltdown.
“Well, all is not lost,” Lana said with a sigh. “We still have a cryptid. A very popular one, at that. I’m sure we could sell it to science for research, or to a zoo. We’d make millions.”
“Excuse me,” Clivo said, raising his hand. “I caught the Otterman, and he’s not going anywhere. Not to a zoo and definitely not to a laboratory to be experimented on.”
“I didn’t realize you thought you had some say in the matter,” Lana spat.
Clivo took a protective stance in front of the beast. “I guess I’ll just have to fight you for him, then.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Lana said with a condescending smile. “Shoot him, Thomas.”
“With pleasure,” Thomas said. He raised his gun and took aim.
Clivo threw his satellite phone like a Frisbee. It hit the Luxembourger squarely in the face with a crunch and he dropped the gun with a yelp, both hands holding his nose, which was once again dripping blood.
Clivo grabbed the weapon and threw it as far into the forest as he could. “I’m really getting tired of you shooting at me.”
Thomas took off running with a yelp and Clivo was ab
out to follow when Lana surprised him with a solid punch to the face, sending him sprawling, dazed, onto his back.
Lana sighed. “I wish you had let him shoot you. Freezing to death is going to be so much less pleasant. But I’ll be sure to say a few words in your memory when we come back for the Otterman.” She punctuated the statement with an evil laugh.
Lana took off running, as well. Clivo tried to stand, but he stumbled back to his knees, his head still ringing from Lana’s punch. He watched them head for the trees and instantly knew Lana was right: without a snowmobile to carry him out of there, there’d be no way he’d survive the night. He hadn’t brought a tent or sleeping bag, and with part of a jacket sleeve gone, the dropping temperature was already cutting through to his bones.
Clivo heard a thumping and for a moment thought it must be the pounding in his head. Then he looked up and saw a magnificent sight—a huge helicopter flying low over the trees. It hovered over the Luxembourgers, who shielded their faces from the ice and snow kicked up by the rotating blades. A large net fell and landed on them, followed by sparks as clamps were injected into the snow, pinning the net to the ground.
The helicopter came in for a landing and when the engines were cut, the sound of Thomas’s wails replaced the whirring of the blades.
A door slid open and Douglas’s unmistakable head of unruly gray hair peeked out. Clivo had never thought he’d feel so happy to see the old man.
“Ugh, I hate nature,” Douglas spat. He hobbled out of the helicopter and immediately lit a cigar. He limped over to Clivo and gave him a hand up. “You okay, kid?”
“I am, Mr. Chancery, thank you,” Clivo said, resisting the urge to give the old crankypants a hug. “How did you get here so quickly?”
“Bah,” Douglas said, puffing away on his cigar. “When you said you were going after the immortal, I figured I better hover close in case the excitement made you go all catawampus.”
“I’m glad you did,” Clivo said gratefully. He backed up a few steps as he said the next part, readying himself for Douglas’s anger. “It’s not the immortal.”
“Yeah, I got your text,” Douglas said with a sigh. “Did the dummies tell you it was?”
“Yeah,” Clivo said, surprised that Douglas wasn’t furious.
“Well, good to know they’re still dummies,” Douglas said with a raspy laugh. “In the future, kid, be careful who you believe, about anything. When you’re dealing with the elixir of life, there aren’t that many of us good guys out there. Or smart ones.”
“I will, Mr. Chancery. Thanks for coming to rescue me.”
Douglas patted Clivo on the shoulder. “Don’t get used to it, kid. I just happened to be in a good mood today due to a lack of indigestion. Now, come on, let’s load the otter thingie into the helicopter.”
“What are you going to do with it?” Clivo asked, suddenly concerned that Douglas was going to sell it to a zoo or loan it to science.
“Don’t freak out, kid. I’m taking it home,” Douglas said. “I think it’d prefer to be back in the rain forest, don’t you?”
“I definitely think so,” Clivo said, relieved. “And people need their Otterman sightings, too, to keep the sense of magic alive.”
“Yeah, whatever.” Douglas looked at the creature and wrinkled his face. “I’m not even going to ask why it’s covered in chocolate. As long as you keep catching cryptids, that’s your business.”
Clivo heard Thomas’s wails and looked toward the Luxembourgers, who were still struggling in the net. “What are you going to do with them? You’re not going to let them freeze out here, are you?”
“Don’t worry about them,” Douglas said, heading back to the helicopter, where he pulled out another net to wrap the creature in. “I’ve got a call in to the Forest Service about some foreigners doing illegal bear trapping. They’ll pick them up shortly and deport them back to their embarrassingly small country. Their passports should be flagged due to criminal activity, so they’ll be banned from our majestic nation. You won’t be hearing from them for a while.”
“Good,” Clivo said, his shoulders finally relaxing. “I think I’ve had enough of Luxembourgers for a while.”
“They really are absolutely the worst, aren’t they?” Douglas snarled.
Clivo and Douglas loaded the unconscious wereotter into the helicopter and took off just as a Forest Service helicopter was swooping in to pick up Lana and Thomas.
* * *
Seven hours later, Douglas landed the helicopter in a field near Clivo’s house. It was dark out, save for the moon shining brightly in the night sky. Clivo exited the aircraft, the comforting pine smell of the forest greeting him.
“I’m going to say this once, and only once,” Douglas said, turning around in the pilot’s seat. “You did a good job, kid. Your dad was right; you turned out to be a good catcher, even though I thought it was highly unlikely.”
“But I didn’t find the immortal,” Clivo said, hoisting his backpack onto his shoulders.
“There’s always tomorrow,” Douglas replied, “unless getting shot at a few times and knowing there’s multiple heinous groups of people out there who want you dead has scared you off?”
Clivo laughed. He was scared of the evil resistance, especially if the Luxembourgers were the least dangerous of them. But he was more scared of what would happen if one of them found the immortal first.
“I’ll let you know when I’ve found the next cryptid,” Clivo said.
“Good,” Douglas said with a warm nod. “Now, get out of here. I got sick of your company about five hours ago.”
“Okay,” Clivo said, letting out another laugh. He was actually beginning to feel a slight bit of affection for the cranky man. “Oh, wait.” He pulled some chocolate bars out of his backpack and handed them to the Otterman, who was still tied securely in the net. The creature sniffed the chocolate happily and looked up with what Clivo swore was a grateful smile. “Take good care of him.”
“Always, kid.”
XXIII
Clivo ran inside his house, taking a moment to enjoy the comforting incense smell of the place.
“Hey, Bernie,” he said, knocking on the suit of armor.
He pulled out his laptop, figuring that even though it was late, the Myth Blasters would still be awake waiting for word of what had happened with the Otterman.
“Clivo! Oh my gosh, are you okay?” Stephanie asked, the other Blasters crowding in behind her.
“Dude! We’re awake waiting for word of what happened to the Otterman!” Adam said, eagerly peeling an orange.
“Otterman! Otterman!” Charles chanted.
“Once again, you guys were right,” Clivo said, pulling out his phone and showing them the photo of the Otterman.
“AAAAAYIYAAAAA!” Charles yelled, punching the air in extreme exultation. “Wait a second. Is that a chocolate bar? I’m sorry, the Otterman eats flesh, not chocolate, dude.”
“It wasn’t the immortal, though, was it?” Amelia asked with a sly grin.
“How did you know that?” Clivo asked.
“Pay up, Charles,” Amelia said, holding out her hand. Charles slapped a five-dollar bill into it with a moan of defeat.
“It hurts so much losing a dream,” he muttered, shuffling to the back of the room.
“While you were gone, we did some research on the Otterman fur you had, as well as this International Secret Order. We’ll start with the fur and a little demonstration by Hernando.” Amelia gestured to Hernando, who was standing back from the group. “Whenever you’re ready, Hernando.”
Hernando nodded and held up a clump of fur that looked exactly like what Lana and Thomas had presented. He flicked a lighter and the fur went up in an enormous ball of silver flame.
“Yipe!” Hernando yelped, dropping the flaming fur.
“Fire in the hole!” Adam yelled, running in with a bucket and dousing Hernando with a splash of water.
As the chaotic scene unfurled behind her, Amelia continu
ed undeterred. “We looked into past Otterman fur hoaxes, and there were a lot. Most fur samples were deemed to be from modern-day animals—dogs, bears, even porcupines.”
Stephanie chimed in. “But of course your sample wasn’t, since no animal that we know of goes up in silver flames like that.”
“So where is the fur from?” Clivo asked, intrigued. “The Order also said they did DNA testing on the fur, and it didn’t match any known animal.”
Stephanie began to giggle. “That’s because it’s kind of hard to pull DNA from this.”
From under the table she pulled out a large brown teddy bear. Clivo raised his eyebrows in disbelief. “That was the fur sample that made the Order believe the Otterman was the immortal?”
“We actually had to do quite a bit of research to find this particular hoax, because it’s hard to call something so obvious a hoax,” Stephanie continued. “It was only mentioned once, years ago, on one of the chat rooms. Apparently some tour guides got a kick out of fooling people with this stuffed-animal fur. It was a very short-lived hoax, and it was easily debunked. The Order was obviously too blinded by their excitement to check it out thoroughly.”
“Or they were stupid,” Charles said, still sulking in the back.
“It’s actually not that uncommon of a phenomenon,” Amelia said. “Sometimes our desire for something can be so great that we believe what we want to, and no amount of science can get us to see otherwise. It’s called ‘hope.’”
Stephanie leaned in and whispered, “Which is why we finally had to temporarily remove Charles from the research team. His hope that the Otterman was the immortal kept messing up our data.”
A sob of despair emanated from Charles.
“So, back to this International Secret Order of Mythological Beasts, Legends, and Cryptid Catchers,” Amelia continued.
“I’m sure you’ve already figured out they were from Luxembourg,” Clivo said, accepting the fact that the Myth Blasters would always be one step ahead of him.
