Read “Let the Good Times Roll: A Note from John Luke Robertson.”
TO KILL A MOCKINGDUCK
“SO YOU HAD TO GO WITH THE COWBELL, didn’t you?” Willie asks John Luke.
You let John Luke pick the weapon this time.
“It’s just a hunch.”
Willie shakes his head. “Sometimes you gotta know when to say no to your hunches.”
You’ve been walking along the river all morning when you finally see an animal. An unexpected kind of animal. Right there in the middle of the shallow water. Floating so happily downstream. Glistening in the sun.
Willie squints toward the river. “Is that a duck?”
“Looks like a gold duck,” Cole says.
“We’re going duck hunting?” you ask. “With a cowbell that explodes things?”
You realize right then that you’re doomed. You might as well start packing your bags now.
Willie aims the cowbell toward the duck. “So can you set off these explosives underwater too?” He sets the device in the river and strikes it with the drumstick. A plume of water bursts out of the river. “Well, that answers that.”
Sure, it missed the duck by about twenty feet, but at least it worked in the water. The duck looks your way, and you swear it does something you’ve never seen a duck do before. It opens its beak wide and blinks slowly.
“Did that duck just yawn at us?”
“No way,” Willie says.
“I’m pretty sure it yawned. Sorta a taunting yawn.”
“I think you’ve spent too many hours in the duck blind.”
You get closer to the edge of the river, point your cowbell toward the duck, and tap it with the drumstick. Another explosion in the water—this time closer, but still nowhere near the target.
The duck flies into the sky, but it doesn’t abandon you. It circles above, then lands on the bank across the river and strolls back and forth, totally at ease.
Willie seems to have a plan. “John Luke and Cole, cross the river—you can wade where it’s shallow. Maybe we can try to trap the duck somehow.”
“That thing’s gonna keep flying away,” you protest as the boys make their way across.
“We’ll see.”
Of course, an hour later, all you’ve done is blow up some parts of the riverbank and watch the golden duck fly back and forth. It’s hanging around as if to drive you crazy. It doesn’t ever fly away. No, that would be too logical. Instead it lands in the water in front of you every time, sometimes diving and splashing playfully.
It’s definitely mocking you. And what’s worse, it seems to be enjoying itself way too much.
You notice a dense but moderate-size tree beside the flowing water.
“I have an idea,” you tell Willie.
“Oh no.”
“Seriously. It could work.”
Moments later, as the duck is preparing to land in the river again, you tell Willie where to stand.
“Every time, it floats about ten or fifteen feet away from us, right?”
“For some reason, yes,” Willie says, obviously as annoyed with this bird as you are.
“Fire off the cowbell as close to the duck as you can. It’ll head in the direction of that tree like it always does before flying away. And then I’ll set my blast off.”
“And that’s going to do what?”
“Just watch.”
Sure enough, after John Luke and Cole miss with their cowbells, the golden duck coasts over to your area and stops in its usual spot. It’s like the thing wants to die. A duck with a death wish. Maybe. But you believe that, just like the boar you encountered, this is a special kind of duck. It’s got a personality, and that personality reminds you of a girl who plays hard to get. She ignores you but keeps coming around. Every time you ask her out, she turns you down. But she keeps letting you ask her.
And now I’m gonna blow her to bits.
Okay, sure, not all metaphors work very well.
“Whatever you’re up to, are you ready?” Willie asks.
“Born ready.”
He hits the cowbell with the drumstick, and the water in front of the duck shoots upward in an explosion. The duck isn’t harmed, naturally, and it ends up right where you expect, splashing and preening.
You set off your own bomb blast. Except this time you do three in a row, and you point at the base of the tree.
BOOM!
BOOM!
BOOM!
The tree tears apart and begins to fall. Right in the direction of the flying duck.
Like a bunch of falling, flailing arms, the thick tree limbs claw at the duck and take her down with them.
You and Willie rush over to the duck. John Luke and Cole trail behind.
“Is the thing flattened?” Willie shouts.
But sure enough, the duck’s still alive. It’s pulling and tugging, trying to get out from underneath the massive tree branch that has it pinned. Willie pulls up the limb while you grab the duck.
It makes a strange sound, not much like a quack. Instead it sounds a bit like a smoker’s cough, low and rumbling.
“Sounds like it has asthma problems,” Willie says.
The golden duck has an exceptionally long beak. It keeps coughing and squirming in your hands, trying to get its beak in optimal pecking position. But you’re not letting it go, and you’re sure not letting it peck you.
“Can we bring it alive to the count?” Willie must be getting attached.
You glance at the duck, then back to Willie, shaking your head. “Sorry, Susie Q,” you say.
“The duck’s name is Susie?”
“Yeah. She was playing hard to get.”
Willie stares at the duck in your hands. “Funny how it took a cowbell to capture a duck.”
“Life is full of many great mysteries.”
You look at the duck. She sure is pretty.
Oh, well . . .
Go here.
TABU ISLAND
WINCHESTER GUIDES YOU to a large meeting room with a huge table in the middle holding a scale replica of the island. On the walls surrounding you are mounted animal heads. You see a massive deer with enormous antlers, then a tiger, then a full-size bear in the corner.
“These are some serious animals staring at us,” you say.
The four of you approach the model island, probably about twenty feet tall and twenty feet wide.
“This, of course, is an exact replica of our island, Tabu,” Winchester begins. “Here you will note the island’s distinct features.”
“Here’s where we’re at,” Willie says, pointing to the building on the edge of the mountain.
“There are six places you may hunt in. You must hunt as a group. Unless, of course, you accidentally become separated, which is bound to happen sometimes.”
“Why’s that?” you ask.
He seems not to have heard. “You will observe the six different sections here as I point to them. First of all, the largest section of the island is the jungle. You can see that right here.”
Dense trees cover the vast majority of the model. It looks like a massive place to hunt.
“Right in the middle of the jungle, basically cutting the island in half, is a river that goes from here to here,” Winchester says, indicating this with his hand. “On one of your days here, you will be hunting along the riverbank.”
“What happens if we wander off and head into the woods?” Cole asks.
“Good question, young man. There will be no need for you to do that.”
“But what if we do?”
“Let’s just say it would be a bad idea.”
That sounds a little ominous.
“Will we know what we’re supposed to be hunting?” Willie asks. “I mean, what if I’m on the river, and suddenly a bear comes in view?”
“The creatures you end up hunting will gladly make themselves known. And if an animal from an area you didn’t choose wanders into your zone, well, the more the merrier. Isn’t that the saying?
”
Willie still appears a bit perplexed, and you probably do too.
I just want to know what I’m hunting.
But you can hear Missy’s voice in your head: “This is part of the fun, Jase. Come on and go with the flow. You wanted epic. This is epic.”
“So the jungle and the river are two of the locations,” Winchester continues. “Then, on the side of the mountain, there’s a cave—you’ll be hunting in there too. And farther up, you have the mountain itself—Mount Fear.”
“Mount Fear?” you ask. “Why is it called ‘Fear’?”
“Mount Happy wouldn’t sound like a particularly thrilling place for hunters to track down animals, would it?”
“I guess not,” you say.
“The fifth area is the beach. Right along here, on the north and west sides of the island.”
“Hunting on a beach?” you ask.
“Could be worse,” John Luke points out. He looks pretty excited about the idea.
“Listen,” Willie says.
You roll your eyes at him. “I’m just saying . . .”
“Shhh.”
Winchester continues. “The final area is right here, a place you have already experienced.” He is pointing at the lodge complex, the very same one you’re currently standing in.
“Are you saying there’s a hunt on the property?”
“That’s right.”
“What would we hunt for here?” John Luke asks.
“That’s the point, John Luke,” Willie answers. “To discover what we’re hunting for. Right?”
Willie finally seems to get it. But you still have no idea how you’re going to hunt for something in the place you’re staying.
“You will have dinner with the count tonight, and afterward he will give you some more guidelines for the hunt. I hope you make wise decisions about it.”
“So you’re sayin’ there are bad decisions we can make?” you ask.
“I never said the word bad,” Winchester replies. Then he smiles. “Shall we continue?”
If you haven’t been to the weaponry room, go here.
If you’ve been to the weaponry room, go here.
YUM-YUM
YOU ENTER THE ISLAND LODGE and come face-to-face with an animal head on the wall that you’ve never noticed before. It’s a koala bear. Yikes.
The count is waiting for all of you right outside the dining room, and he gives you a strong handshake.
“Good job, gentlemen,” he says, his bald head looking extra shiny tonight.
You point over your shoulder. “Did you shoot that one?”
“The koala? You know, most people think they’re warm and cuddly. But they can be quite fiery.”
“It looks really sweet from here.”
“How did your bear look today?” the count asks, smirking.
“We didn’t exactly have time to study his facial expressions, did we?” Willie says. “I gotta say—I’ve never seen a bear that big. And I haven’t ever seen a bright-red bear either.”
“The animals on this island are unique. That’s the reason the hunting expedition can always be an unpredictable thing.”
“Where do all these animals come from?” John Luke asks.
“I can’t give my secrets away, can I?” Count VanderVelde wags a finger. “Is everyone ready for dinner?”
He leads you through the doors of the dining room. Place settings line the table. Each place setting includes a container, but no two containers are shaped the same. And each setting is a different color.
“I thought we’d have a bit of fun tonight,” the count says. “Before tomorrow’s hunt.”
“Fun? Are we gonna shoot our dinner too?”
The count laughs. “You are a funny man, Jase Robertson.”
“He’s more funny when he’s not even trying to be,” Willie adds.
“Tonight I’m going to serve you an island delicacy. I trust you will enter this dinner with an open mind and an adventurous stomach.”
“This can’t be good,” you whisper to Cole.
But you must have whispered kind of loud, because the count responds. “It’s very good. It just depends on what culture you happen to be from.”
“We’ve eaten some pretty exotic fare,” Willie says.
“Yes, I imagine you have. Well, I’m letting you choose what you eat. Except, well, you won’t know what you’re choosing.”
“Let me guess.” Willie points to the table. “We have to pick a color.”
“Yes.”
“Red, orange, yellow, green, or blue.”
“The rainbow,” John Luke says.
“Yes. Makes it easier to remember.”
Which color do you pick?
For red, go here.
For orange, go here.
For yellow, go here.
For green, go here.
For blue, go here.
WILLIE AND JASE
OH, SEE WILLIE AND JASE.
Oh, oh, oh.
See Willie and Jase run.
Oh, see Willie and Jase run with daggers in hand.
Funny, funny Willie and Jase.
Chasing a funny, funny golden duck.
Oh, see the golden duck.
See how it flies.
See the golden duck fly every time Willie and Jase come close by.
Funny, funny boys.
Come, Willie and Jase.
Come see.
Come, come, and see.
Come see the golden duck fly, fly away.
“Look,” says Jase. “See it go. See it go up.”
See Willie.
See Willie and Jase run.
See Willie and Jase run back home empty-handed.
Oh no.
See them go.
THE END
Start over.
Read “Let the Good Times Roll: A Note from John Luke Robertson.”
FOOT-AND-MOUTH DISEASE
YOU TAKE A SIP from your camo-patterned canteen, which matches the pants and T-shirt you’re wearing. The shotgun in your hands is lightweight, just like the pocketknife and .38 you’re carrying as additional backup for the hunt. Willie is point man, and so far it seems he’s gotten y’all lost.
“You need me to take over?” you ask.
“No. I got this.”
“I swear I think we’ve gone in one big circle,” you say.
“I swear I think you’ve already said that,” Willie replies.
The sun is a scorcher today. It’s one of those days when you feel like you’re wearing a rug on your face. ’Cause, well, yeah, you sorta are wearing a rug on your face. But it’s a handsome rug and makes the face all the more attractive.
“Hey, I think I spot some tracks,” Willie says.
You and the boys come beside Willie and look down at the dirt he’s staring at.
“You think that’s an animal track?” you ask.
“Yep.”
“It looks like a footprint,” Cole says.
“That’s right,” you add. “It looks a lot like the back of my boot!”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“We’re totally backtracking.”
“No, we aren’t.”
“We’re going to find nothing out here with you leading.”
Right then you hear something that is either a wild animal having a bad case of the stomach flu or your own stomach about to give the good ole heave-ho.
“What’s that?” Willie asks.
“Sounds like Uncle Si when he’s angry,” you say.
They all laugh, but the noise continues. It’s getting louder.
“Whatever that thing is, it’s absolutely the worst sound I’ve ever heard.”
Willie is looking around, his shotgun pointed at the ground. You study the round barrel that’s attached to it, containing the 12-gauge, double-ought shells.
A thought crosses your mind for a random, fleeting second. The barrel of that thing’s pretty close to my—
Chaos comes stomping out of t
he trees in front of you. Then the blasts start going off, and you feel the worst pain in the world in your right foot.
He shot my foot! Willie shot my foot!
You hear the automatic boom-boom-boom-boom right in your ear. Something low and thick and heavy and lightning fast barrels past you like some kind of lone ranger.
My foot is shot off—my foot—I can’t feel my right foot!
You go to the ground as the automatic shotguns rip and tear up the trees and foliage around you. Yet you can still see the thing moving.
It’s a gigantic hog.
The meanest, ugliest hog you’ve ever seen.
Its face looks like a bunch of intestines stuck together. Rolls and rolls of them on top of an ugly, goober-wet snout and ears that stick out.
It chases Willie for a minute as the boys fire their shotguns at random.
“Stop shooting!”
They finally run out of shotgun shells, and Willie finally finds a tree to run up. You manage to stand again and see the wide, ugly backside of the hog wiggling into the woods.
That thing moves like a cheetah.
Hunting for an oversize hog that runs as fast as a cheetah isn’t anything like what you were expecting.
The hog disappears just like Willie did. You hobble over to the tree he’s hanging from.
“You shot me!”
He peers down at you. “No, I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did. Look! You can see my boot. It’s all cut up.”
“Well, what was your foot doing there?” Willie asks.
You shake your head, then turn on the boys. “And what were you two shooting at? The birds and the bees?”
They glance at each other and shrug.
You realize that you probably need medical attention since you’re starting to feel kind of light-headed. Oh, and yeah, there are little red-and-orange dots coming all around.
The hunt is over.
No fried pork tonight, gentlemen.
THE END
Start over.
Read “Let the Good Times Roll: A Note from John Luke Robertson.”
DOG OF THE HAIR THAT BIT YOU
Jase & the Deadliest Hunt Page 10
