Falling Platypus - Chapter 11

“Don’t worry about food. Joe made me some farewell pancakes.”
—Serena Mayfield

“What’s the point of being on vacation, after all?”
—Marilyrilarilyn

“That’s extraordinary,” Marilyrilarilyn said when we’d finished telling her the tale. “If it came from anyone else, I would never believe it.”

“But you do believe us, right?” I asked.

“Absolutely,” Marilyrilarilyn said. “First things first. We have to get rid of that junky old rust-bucket. Second, we’re going to strike camp. Right now.”

She raised her voice so everyone would hear. “Hello! Hello. This is Marilz on the ground. Marilz on the ground says, ‘Strike camp!’”

“Marilz on the ground!” the camp chorused. “We strike camp!”

“They just do whatever you tell them to?” I asked, and cor­rected: “That is, I’m wondering if that’s the case.”

“They ought to,” Marilyrilarilyn said stiffly. “The amount I’m paying them. Right,” she went on, and dusted her hands on her dress. “You two climb straight up to my elephant and sit in the sedan chair. By the time those charity nutcases find out what’s going on, we’ll be halfway to Tennessee!”

“We don’t need to go that far,” I said quickly. “Just to the nearest outreach camp for the Sisters of Mercy of the Jungle.”

Marilyrilarilyn looked at a map she’d had somewhere on her person. “Looks like there’s one here, about twenty miles off,” she said, and pointed it out to us. “It’s called Camp Mercy. We’re heading that way anyway.”

* * *

The sedan chair rocked gently with each step the elephant took. Around us, in the dark, tromped the others, all in formation, the handlers close by with torches so they could see. The Land Cruisers puttered along around us with their lights dimmed. Only the one leading the safari kept its brights on.

“You know what I think,” Marilyrilarilyn began, but we never found out what she thought, because suddenly the night outside became bright as day.

“What’s that?” Serena Mayfield cried as Marilyrilarilyn jumped to her feet and drew the curtains.

I peeked between them. “There’s a hundred Land Cruisers out there,” I said, “two ambulances, and a helicopter.”

“Charity Food,” Serena Mayfield sighed. “Even when I try to disappear off the face of the earth, that makes headlines.”

She began to cry, like a faucet had been turned on.

“Now, now,” Marilyrilarilyn exclaimed. “That’s not going to help!”

“I don’t want to go back there,” Serena Mayfield said between sobs. She shuddered. “I can’t.”

“I don’t want to go back there, either,” I said. “But at least they’ll be glad to see you! What do you think they’ll make of Serena Mayfield’s kidnapper?”

Marilyrilarilyn frowned, the first time a question had upset her—though these were exceptional circumstances.

“Is this the Marilyrilarilyn Safari?” someone shouted through a megaphone. I stole another peep through the curtains. It was the camp director of The Wheel. He stood in the open skylight of the Land Cruiser in the very center of the lineup. Somehow, they’d all managed to park perfectly in formation, like a rank of soldiers. Some­how, they’d managed to sneak up on everybody. They must have had their lights off.

“I repeat, is this the Marilyrilarilyn Safari?” the camp direc­tor shouted. “Is Marilyrilarilyn present?”

Marilyrilarilyn ground her teeth. “Stand out of sight,” she told us, and strode to the curtains and opened them.

“Yes, she’s present,” she shouted. She didn’t have a mega­phone.

“Um,” the camp director stuttered, and lowered the mega­phone to talk to his aides.

“She’s the smartest woman in the world,” one of them mut­tered, but the megaphone was still on, so we all heard it.

“Our apologies for interrupting your suspiciously stealthy night safari,” the camp director said, megaphone again to his lips. “We believe you may be harboring fugitives.”

I pressed an eye to the edge of the window. The aide was saying something else.

“You may not realize they’re fugitives,” the camp director added. “But they are. We’re looking for the most beautiful woman in the world, Serena Mayfield. Is she present?”

Marilyrilarilyn ground her teeth again.

“And her kidnapper,” the camp director went on. “Is he pre­sent?”

Marilyrilarilyn ground her teeth a third time. If this kept up, she wouldn’t have any teeth left, I thought.

“What’s it to you?” she demanded. “And so what if they are? Perhaps they are my guests.”

“If they are,” the camp director said calmly, “and if you know that’s who they are, then you are aiding a kidnapper in a matter of international importance. Did you know that?”

Marilyrilarilyn’s fists clenched.

“Hello,” said a second voice, and I peeked again to see who it was: a reedy man in a suit. “I’m from the Diplomatic Party for World Harmony,” he said, and cleared his throat. “Serena May­field is our representative in Africa. We mean her no harm. We only want to bring her back to safety.”

“She’s perfectly safe with me!” Marilyrilarilyn shouted at them. “And for all you know, she doesn’t want to come with you!”

Serena Mayfield was sobbing outright now.

“So she is there,” the camp director said triumphantly. “As proof of your goodwill, show us!”

“Will you give me a moment?” Marilyrilarilyn said.

“Certainly,” the camp director said. “In fact, take two.”

“And as proof of good will on your end, will you dim those lights!” she added.

The camp director must have agreed because the lights dimmed. Marilyrilarilyn drew the curtains.

“What do you think?” she said. “We’re trapped.”

“Did they have weapons?” I asked.

Marilyrilarilyn made a squinchy face.

“Sorry!” I said. “It’s just that, if they don’t, we don’t really need to worry too much.”

“I have no idea,” Marilyrilarilyn said. “Frankly, I couldn’t see anything with all that light.”

“Ask,” I suggested, and she went back to the window.

“Do you have weapons?” she called down to them.

The camp director hesitated. “Yes,” he said.

“No!” said the reedy man from the Diplomatic Party for World Harmony. “We don’t have weapons, and we mean you no harm. Just give us back Serena Mayfield, and her kidnapper if he’s there, and you can go on your way.”

“Otherwise,” the camp director said, “we’ll have no choice but to take you all to the nearest law enforcement facility. Which is six hundred miles from here.”

“Serena,” Marilyrilarilyn said gently, and the world’s most beautiful woman drew into a huddle on the cushion. Even crying, she was beautiful. “Serena,” Marilyrilarilyn said again, “I think you’ll have to show your face.”

“If only to stall for time,” I added. “I’m thinking of a plan.”

With Marilyrilarilyn supporting her, Serena Mayfield went to the window. Marilyrilarilyn opened the curtains.

“She’s alive!” the man from the Diplomatic Party for World Harmony cried. “Oh, thank heavens, she’s alive!”

“She’s crying!” the camp director shouted, enraged. “What have you done to her?!”

“NOTHING!” Serena Mayfield yelled at them. “And I’m not coming with you!”

The camp director’s eyes popped. I knew, because I was peeping out the window again.

“And there’s the kidnapper,” he growled through the mega­phone. “I can see his criminal eyes!”

I withdrew hastily. My heart seemed to be beating a new solo inside my chest. Then I looked out again.

At least they knew me. I’d finally done something worthy of attention.

“He’s brainwashed her!” the camp director went on, and he shook a fist. “I’ve seen it before. Well, actually, I haven’t seen it before, but it wouldn’t be sur­prising.”

The man from the Diplomatic Party for World Harmony tugged on his sleeve and they both stepped down into the car. Marilyrilarilyn drew the curtains, cutting off my view.

“What now?” she said. “I don’t think they’re going to give up.”

“Is there anywhere to hide?” I asked. “I haven’t come up with a plan.”

“Here,” she said, and brushed aside all the seat cushions, re­vealing the wooden frame of the seat. She lifted one of the boards. The in­side was hollow. “Hide in here,” she said. “If you push against the side, there’s a trapdoor that opens onto the left side of the el­ephant. They shouldn’t be able to see you. Hanging off the side, attached to the harness, is a sturdy rope. Grab hold of it and fol­low it down the elephant’s front left leg. Then, stay close to the ground and head that way”—she pointed—“and you should come to Camp Mercy. I’ll go down and negotiate.”

I took Serena Mayfield by the shoulder and we climbed in. Marilyrilarilyn closed the lid on us and rearranged the cushions. “Marilyrilarilyn,” I whispered.

Marilyrilarilyn hesitated, cushion in hand. “What?”

“Thank you.”

* * *

Serena Mayfield had regained herself sufficiently to get to work on the trapdoor. She had to, because she was closest to it, and there really wasn’t any room to move around, even by the standards of someone who lived in a vending machine. I watched Marilyrilarilyn between the slats of the sideboards.

She opened the curtains.

“Why hello,” said the camp director, who was standing on the other side.

“How did you find us?” Marilyrilarilyn asked him without missing a beat.

“With this,” the camp director said, and I could just see the bottom of the map he was showing her, a map marked with a squiggly dashed line in red pen. “I’ve come for Serena Mayfield,” he added, in case she’d somehow forgotten.

“You can’t have her,” Marilyrilarilyn said frankly.

“I will have her!” the camp director declared. “And I will bring him to justice. And her to safety.”

“You really can’t have them,” Marilyrilarilyn protested. “They’re not here.”

“What?!” cried the camp director. “But we just saw them!”

“Let’s have a glass of hot water and talk about it,” Mari­lyrilarilyn said, and poured a cup each for herself and the camp director, from the merry and perpetually boiling kettle.

The camp director sputtered. “B-b-wa-wa-what?”

“It’s open,” Serena Mayfield whispered, and she pushed her­self out and into the night. I crawled on my elbows to the en­trance. The night air felt good on my face.

I looked to the left, at the elephant’s flank. I looked to the right, at the elephant’s ear. I looked at the rope, which Serena had already grabbed hold of. She was shimmying along the elephant’s body, toward the leg.

“Where are they?!” the camp director shouted behind and above us in the sedan chair. “Where are they? What have you done with them? Where?!”

Marilyrilarilyn screeched like a banshee. “STOP INTER­ROGATING ME!” she yelled. “I’M ON VACATION!”

There was a splashing of water and the teakettle flew out the window. The camp director roared.

Serena and I slipped down the leg of the elephant unnoticed. It eyed us reproachfully out of one eye.

We made a beeline for the dark, then turned round to watch.

The camp director and Marilyrilarilyn had both exited the se­dan chair and were on the ground, he with a hand on her wrist. He had a red blotch on his face. She must have splashed him with the boiling water.

Then the handlers, man and wife, who’d escorted us when we first visited the Marilyrilarilyn Safari, appeared from no­where, spears at the ready. They came between the camp director and Marilyrilarilyn, and the line of Land Cruisers.

Two of the camp director’s aides jumped out of the main vehicle with pistols cocked and stood behind them.

The man from the Diplomatic Party of World Harmony stood by the door, wringing his hands, useless.

“Let’s go,” Serena Mayfield whispered. Her eyes reflected the headlights that showed tears still drying on her face. And for a second, I thought I saw something else, something that was both white and all the colors of the rainbow, something that was its own prism. But it was gone so quickly, I couldn’t be sure.

“We can’t help her now,” Serena Mayfield said. She took my hand with hers, soft and warm, and dragged me away from the Marilyrilarilyn Safari and the Charity Food Land Cruiser line. But I couldn’t take my eyes off the floodlit pool in the dark savanna. I was still watching when they shot the handlers.