“Now I’m not sure I want you to come in,” he said seriously.
“Oh, shut up,” she said, and she pushed past him into the RV.
The inside of the Winnebago had been custom retrofitted into a mad scientist’s playground. The cooktop had been ripped out and replaced with two rows of Bunsen burners. There were white racks bolted to two of the walls, snugly securing dozens of beakers of various sizes. A counter in the rear held three different centrifuges, and there was a blue box next to the tiny bathroom that held no fewer than five different types of scales. A small refrigerator stood next to that, the type that Mallory had had in her college dorm room, once upon a life. Microscopes were scattered all around the space, and a jumble of canisters, jars, flasks, and retorts were stowed wherever room could be found. Most of them held various liquids of bright and unusual colors. A dark blue fluid dripped slowly out of the flute of one retort near the Winnebago’s cab, and each little drip smoked and sizzled into the floorboard. A giant fume hood hung from the center of the ceiling, and a poster of a bear wearing lab goggles hung on the back wall. It read, ONLY YOU CAN PREVENT BAD SCIENCE.
“Whoa,” Mallory said. “This is…pretty weird.”
“Glad you like it,” the small man grinned. He hopped inside, closed the door, and wiped his hands nervously on his lab coat. She took a good, long look at him. He wore a green-and-yellow-checkered shirt under the lab coat topped with a pale blue bow tie. His shirt was neatly tucked into a pair of pressed khakis, and a pair of old Keds tennis shoes covered his feet. His light brown hair was short and a little hectic, and his square-rimmed glasses seemed to not quite want to stay on his nose where they belonged. Sizing him up, Mallory guessed that he wasn’t used to having company…especially company of the female persuasion.
“Would you like something to drink?” he asked.
Mallory looked doubtfully at the brightly colored liquids in the beakers. Some of them seemed to be bubbling of their own volition, even though they were nowhere near a direct heat source. “I’m fine,” she said. “I had breakfast wine.”
The man in the lab coat looked at her strangely and shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He picked up a beaker from the Bunsen burner counter and filled it with an amber liquid from a canister marked with a giant X. He took a long sip.
“Um…what is that?” Mallory asked, preparing herself to be disgusted.
“What? This?” The man nodded down at his beaker. “It’s tea.” Then he sniffed the liquid. Then he sniffed it again. “I think it’s tea…” He sounded genuinely concerned.
Mallory rolled her eyes. “All right, Dr. Honeydew. Let’s hear those answers.”
“Mm! Dr. Burnish ,” he corrected her, swallowing another sip and extending his hand. “Dr. Lewis Burnish. You can call me Lewis,” he added with a little blush. He looked away shyly, becoming suddenly very interested in his beaker of tea. “So what would you like to know?”
“We can start with the flies.” Mallory’s arms prickled with goose bumps at the memory. “What is that all about?”
“Well…” Lewis said uneasily. He cleared his throat and hemmed and hawed a bit. “I…may have lied. I mean, I did. I did lie. I have no idea why she shoots flies out of her mouth. But isn’t it fascinating? ” he beamed. “ Everything in Anomaly Flats is fascinating!”
“Okay,” Mallory said, throwing up her hands. “It’s been fun.” She moved for the door, but just as she reached for the handle, something solid pinged off the roof of the Winnebago. Then a second something struck, then a third, and a fourth, and soon the RV was being positively pelted from above. “What is that? Hail?”
“No; it’s rain,” Lewis said. He set down his beaker of tea and rubbed his hands together excitedly. “You’re going to love this.” He reached over and pulled the cheap curtain that
“Oh, shut up,” she said, and she pushed past him into the RV.
The inside of the Winnebago had been custom retrofitted into a mad scientist’s playground. The cooktop had been ripped out and replaced with two rows of Bunsen burners. There were white racks bolted to two of the walls, snugly securing dozens of beakers of various sizes. A counter in the rear held three different centrifuges, and there was a blue box next to the tiny bathroom that held no fewer than five different types of scales. A small refrigerator stood next to that, the type that Mallory had had in her college dorm room, once upon a life. Microscopes were scattered all around the space, and a jumble of canisters, jars, flasks, and retorts were stowed wherever room could be found. Most of them held various liquids of bright and unusual colors. A dark blue fluid dripped slowly out of the flute of one retort near the Winnebago’s cab, and each little drip smoked and sizzled into the floorboard. A giant fume hood hung from the center of the ceiling, and a poster of a bear wearing lab goggles hung on the back wall. It read, ONLY YOU CAN PREVENT BAD SCIENCE.
“Whoa,” Mallory said. “This is…pretty weird.”
“Glad you like it,” the small man grinned. He hopped inside, closed the door, and wiped his hands nervously on his lab coat. She took a good, long look at him. He wore a green-and-yellow-checkered shirt under the lab coat topped with a pale blue bow tie. His shirt was neatly tucked into a pair of pressed khakis, and a pair of old Keds tennis shoes covered his feet. His light brown hair was short and a little hectic, and his square-rimmed glasses seemed to not quite want to stay on his nose where they belonged. Sizing him up, Mallory guessed that he wasn’t used to having company…especially company of the female persuasion.
“Would you like something to drink?” he asked.
Mallory looked doubtfully at the brightly colored liquids in the beakers. Some of them seemed to be bubbling of their own volition, even though they were nowhere near a direct heat source. “I’m fine,” she said. “I had breakfast wine.”
The man in the lab coat looked at her strangely and shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He picked up a beaker from the Bunsen burner counter and filled it with an amber liquid from a canister marked with a giant X. He took a long sip.
“Um…what is that?” Mallory asked, preparing herself to be disgusted.
“What? This?” The man nodded down at his beaker. “It’s tea.” Then he sniffed the liquid. Then he sniffed it again. “I think it’s tea…” He sounded genuinely concerned.
Mallory rolled her eyes. “All right, Dr. Honeydew. Let’s hear those answers.”
“Mm! Dr. Burnish ,” he corrected her, swallowing another sip and extending his hand. “Dr. Lewis Burnish. You can call me Lewis,” he added with a little blush. He looked away shyly, becoming suddenly very interested in his beaker of tea. “So what would you like to know?”
“We can start with the flies.” Mallory’s arms prickled with goose bumps at the memory. “What is that all about?”
“Well…” Lewis said uneasily. He cleared his throat and hemmed and hawed a bit. “I…may have lied. I mean, I did. I did lie. I have no idea why she shoots flies out of her mouth. But isn’t it fascinating? ” he beamed. “ Everything in Anomaly Flats is fascinating!”
“Okay,” Mallory said, throwing up her hands. “It’s been fun.” She moved for the door, but just as she reached for the handle, something solid pinged off the roof of the Winnebago. Then a second something struck, then a third, and a fourth, and soon the RV was being positively pelted from above. “What is that? Hail?”
“No; it’s rain,” Lewis said. He set down his beaker of tea and rubbed his hands together excitedly. “You’re going to love this.” He reached over and pulled the cheap curtain that
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