Mr. Chickee's Messy Mission (21 page)

Buster B. Bayliss hollered to Russell, “Just what I was afraid of. He
is
getting smarter. He'll bring death coolly.”

Russell said, “But Mr. Bayliss, he doesn't seem real smart to me. You've only got a pen, and I don't want to be the one to burp your bubble, but even a city boy like me sees this isn't going to be much of a battle. Bucko's great-great-granddaddy's mean old dictionary would say this is gonna be a rout.”

Mr. B. raised the pen over his head, preparing to bring it down in a stabbing motion, and said, “Oh, no, Russell, this thing is smart, he can't afford to be injured in any way, he
needs to be healthy to hunt. The Ursa Theodora-Saura has never faced anything like me, so he's going to take his time and make sure I can't hurt him.

“The good news is this is going to be over quickly. The bad news is our odds of surviving just dropped to one in
five
quadrillion.”

The Ursa fell to all fours.

Russell said, “Mr. B., I was thinking, you created that thing, and that's the only reason he's here in H.A.L.F. Land, right?”

Buster B. Bayliss kept his eyes on the monster.

“Correct.”

“Then doesn't that mean he has to follow all of the rules here?”

The Ursa Theodora-Saura reared onto his back legs, showing his terrifying twenty-five-foot height.

“Right, he has to follow all of the rules.”

“Then doesn't that mean if you'd ever written an ending to his story, he would have to leave?”

The Ursa leaned down and threw another tremendous roar inches from Buster B. Bayliss's nose. The author's dreads flew back and bear slob splashed on his face and dripped off of his eyebrows and chin like he'd been caught in a hurricane. Another couple of his gray dreads turned black.

But he never flinched.

He said, “Oh, that stinks! Worse case of funk-a-tosis I've ever smelled.”

Russell yelled, “Wouldn't the Ursa thingy have to disappear if you finished writing about him?”

Mr. Bayliss looked surprised. “You know what, kiddo? That's the first thing I should've thought of. Never occurred to me. My goodness, the prophecy was right, you
did
have the answer.”

The Ursa violently swung his left paw at Mr. B. He seemed to have sensed that the only threat to him, regardless of how tiny, was the ink pen. Its aim was perfectly accurate. The pen flew like an arrow for forty feet, then with a resounding THUNK, lodged in an old oak tree.

The beast was toying with his creator.

Russell's hands covered his ears as the Ursa roared again. And it wasn't a roar like you'd hear on television or in the movies either, it was a roar that reached all the way down into both of the outdoorsguys' cells, all the way into their hearts.

Buster B. Bayliss said, “You really had the answer all along.”

Russell's voice cracked with fear and sorrow. “Yeah, I had the answer, but I didn't think of it in time.”

Mr. Bayliss said, “Well, technically you did. One of the rules for authors who are sent here is that if we ever want to return to the door to Ourside, all we have to do is recite a line from a certain old R & B song.”

The Ursa Theodora-Saura had decided how he was going to kill his creator.

Slowly.

Painfully.

He waddled up until he was so close that Mr. Bayliss began throwing punches into his cottony-soft, cuddly underbelly.

Russell screamed, “He's going to try to crush you! Say the words!”

Buster B. Bayliss threw a right and a left, an uppercut and a cross.

The Ursa began to shift his weight backward, preparing to bring all 3,541 of his pounds down on Mr. B.

Buster B. Bayliss kept swinging and said, “Bad news, Buckaroo!”

Right cross.

“Can't remember what the words are.”

Left hook.

“Kind of wish I had different musical tastes. Don't know if you noticed the Pink Floyd T-shirt. Folks used to tell me I'd pay a price for being a brother who liked rock and roll. But oh well.”

Left jab.

“Never could see the sense in being a fan of a group called the Funky Smellics.”

Right, left, right.

Russell screamed, “Funkadelic! Not the Funky Smellics! And I know the song!”

Russell charged up the hill, tackled Buster B. Bayliss around the waist and hollered out, “Bow-wow-wow-yippee-yo-yippee-yay!”

The Ursa's front paws landed firmly on Buster B. Bayliss's head. With Russell's arms wrapped around the woodsman's waist it looked like both of them were going to be driven twenty feet into the ground!

The next thing Russell knew, he and the author were tumbling to the ground back on the grass-covered street between the winter world and the thick forest.

Buster B. Bayliss said, “Thanks a million, kiddo! It's funny, just as he attacked, I decided I really wasn't quite ready to see what the other side of the northern lights looks like!”

Rodney Rodent helicoptered over to where the two were sprawled on the ground and began licking Russell's face.

“Rodney! Man, am I glad to see you! You aren't gonna believe it when I tell you what happened!”

Buster B. Bayliss yelled, “Face time, my poochies,” and his sled dogs appeared out of the wall of snow. He rummaged around in the back of the sled, pulled out a laptop computer and squatted.

Russell had never seen a pair of hands move so quickly on a computer. Fifteen minutes after he began typing, the keys of Buster B. Bayliss's computer got so hot they burst into flames. He quickly pulled a disc out of the drive and said, “Darn keyboards last a lot longer in the cold.”

Russell said, “What did you do? Did you finish the story about the Ursa?”

Buster B. Bayliss said, “Better than finish it. Did
something else. If you can hold your team, buckaroo, in about five seconds you'll see how I corrected my mistake with the dreaded Ursa Theodora-Saura.”

Russell jumped to his feet and stared at the forest wall. The sound that was coming from between the trees terrified him! Even though it sounded like it was coming from ten miles away, there was no doubt that it was the Ursa Theodora-Saura! And man, did he sound mad!

Russell quickly shot a look at Mr. B. and realized that the author had lost his mind. He was laughing insanely! Coming so close to death had done something terrible to Russell's favorite author.

Russ said, “Mr. Bayliss! You were supposed to finish the story! That's the only way the Ursa would disappear! Now the computer is ruined and you can't do any more writing! I don't wanna see that thing again!”

Russell ran toward the door to Ourside.

Buster B. Bayliss kept laughing and said, “Hold on, buckaroo. The Ursa has gotten so smart that he's figured out the rules and knows where we are. He should be here any second now.”

Russell couldn't remember if he should turn the doorknob three and a half times to the right or to the left. He fumbled at the knob.

Before Russell could wiggle the knob, the Ursa Theodora-Saura burst out of the woods with a vicious roar.

He had come to finish the job. To finish the lives of Buster B. Bayliss, author, and Russell Woods, future detective.

Some very strange things started happening. And those of you who know about strange things remember they always happen in threes.

The first strange thing was Buster B. Bayliss laughed so hard that even his sled dogs were giving him worried looks.

The second strange thing was that even though he was only ten feet from them, it
still
sounded like the Ursa was ten miles away!

The third strange thing was that the Ursa Theodora-Saura was now about the size of a hamster!

And if you were ever to see something the size of a hamster standing on its rear legs, roaring to intimidate and frighten someone, you'd do the same thing Russell and Mr. Bayliss and Rodney Rodent did; you'd just about bust a gut too!

The hamster Ursa thingy dropped to all fours and charged at Buster B. Bayliss. The only thing he could do was chew on the brown fringe of Mr. B.'s left moccasin.

Grabbing him by the scruff of his neck, Buster B. Bayliss brought the tiny teddy bear up to his face. “I'd say you're in need of an attitude adjustment, little fella.”

Russell felt a chill run down his back. The way the Ursa hamster was snarling and snapping and yipping and yapping reminded him of a certain group of small Mexican dogs, an unfortunate meeting at Halo Burger and a couple of stolen fish sandwiches.

His heart skipped a beat when he noticed a flurry of movement coming from the floor of the forest side of the boulevard.

Had the Chihuahuas found him again?

Russell whipped his head around and said, “Whew!”

There were no Chihuahuas, but there was a gathering bunch of rabbits staring at the cute little Ursa hamster dangling from Buster B. Bayliss's hand. And it was obvious from the expression on their faces that they had something no-good in mind!

Buster B. Bayliss saw the disgruntled bunnies, turned to the dangling Ursa hamster and said, “Uh-oh! I think these rabbits might have some questions about your eating habits they'd like to discuss.”

The group of rabbits was growing larger and larger and making a very unbunnylike grumbling, growling sound.

Buster B. Bayliss set the Ursa hamster on the ground. He did a cartoon double take at the river of growling, charging rabbits and tore into the land of ice and snow, running with his tail between his legs and yipping like he was on fire.

It took five minutes for the parade of vengeful rabbits to pass.

When the last little cottontail had disappeared into the land of ice and snow, Buster B. Bayliss gave Russell a certain look and said, “Well, buckaroo, I guess all of the prophecies for my county have been fulfilled. Looks like you might be one of the Old Souls after all.”

He offered his right hand.

“You've done a lot of growing in the short time we were together. You've learned a lot. A lot about the woods. About living. Not sure how much is going to stick. The
longer you're away from the forest, the more of your learning you'll lose.”

He put his left fist over his mouth and cleared his throat.

“You know. Never thought I'd say something like this. Been pretty much a loner all my life.”

The great outdoorsman cleared his throat again.

“But if you'd like to stay here, I'd …er-erm …be proud to have you as a …uh …as a sidekick.”

Buster B. Bayliss gave Russell a certain look.

A look that he usually reserved only for the animals in the woods.

The animals he understood.

The animals he felt one with.

The animals he loved.

It was a look of well-earned respect.

It was either that or the beginnings of constipation, for Mr. B. had also discovered the delightfully robust and tangy flavor of fresh mosquitoes and, when Russell wasn't looking, had been himself scarfing down mouthfuls for the past three days.

Whatever this look was, Russell wanted no part of it.

“Thank you, Mr. Bayliss, but I've gotta find Bucko and Richelle and we have to get back to Flint before the Oops-a-Daisy goes off. But if we don't make it, I'll come back and see you.”

Buster B. Bayliss had been right, for Russell was already losing his knowledge of the woods.

His need to be super attentive.

His ability to notice every little thing.

Because he didn't even notice that the final time Buster B. Bayliss seemed to choke up and put his hand over his mouth and clear his throat, it was actually a burp, and three terrified mosquitoes fled from his mouth and headed back to the forest, full of tales of imprisonment and terror.

Russell was suddenly very nervous. He swallowed twice, looked at his little dog and said, “Rod-Rode, or Ahjah, whoever you are today, are you staying here or are you coming home?”

The little Madagascar Mountain Munchker looked at Buster B. Bayliss, then at Russell. Three times his head turned from one to the other.

Finally he helicoptered over to Mr. B.

Russell's heart sank and his mouth turned into a giant lowercase letter
n
. He knew whatever Rodney Rodent chose was the best for him.

That didn't make saying goodbye any easier, though.

Rodney Rodent gave the outdoorsman's cheek a quick lick, then hovered over to Russell's shoulder, where he landed and sat down.

Russell quickly shook Buster B. Bayliss's hand, got his Oops-a-Daisy back, gently set Rodney Rodent in his shirt pocket and opened the door to Ourside.

He might have started forgetting all he'd learned about the woods, but it seemed like he had learned one new thing. All at once the whining that Rodney Rodent was doing started making sense!

He was talking!

And Russell understood everything!

He looked down into his pocket and was shocked to hear his little dog say, “Big buddy! I'm telling you the truth right now, I'd never lie to you. I loved my job in Bayliss Land, I love to work, it's true. But olive burgs and weather-balls have been a giant hint. I'm a Flintstone to the bone, big bud, let's bounce on back to Flint!”

Of Munchkers and Men …

T
HE DOOR FROM
B
USTER
B. B
AYLISS
C
OUNTY
shut behind Russell. Marvin Surly-Guide smiled and snarled, “Aha! What did I tell you? Exactly one week. And thank goodness the goof got away from that monster! Now I'll have a clean record.”