a junker?”
It seemed Ted did not limit his disguise to his body. A trashed truck was exactly the kind of vehicle that Theo would drive.
“Not much to look at,” Dylan said. “But it runs. I’m just happy to have wheels. It was nice of him to loan it to me.”
“How long have you had your license?” Marty asked.
“A couple of months.”
“Shotgun!” Luther jumped into the passenger seat.
Marty wedged himself unhappily into the crew cab but was soon redeemed when Luther started sneezing from his plunge into Puget Sound.
“We need windshield wipers on the inside !” Dylan said, his head pressed against the driver’s side window, trying to duck the fallout.
Marty decided that he liked Dylan.
Twenty-seven sneezes later, they arrived at a condo that overlooked Lake Washington.
“Nice digs …” Haa-choo! “… dude.”
As soon as they were inside the foyer of the condo, Dylan handed Luther a box of tissues. Farther down the hallway, he opened a door. “My bedroom’s in here. Spare clothes in the closet. The bathroom has a washer and dryer.”
“My clothes don’t need washing,” Luther said, “but the dryer will come in handy.” He looked at Marty. “Lucky I fell inthe drink and not you. You have the graphic novels in your pack. That would have been a disaster.”
Marty had more important things than their novels in his backpack, like the Gizmo and the dragonspy and the Moleskines. It would have been an even worse disaster if they’d lost any of those. He fished the Gizmo out of his backpack and slipped it into another cargo pocket for safekeeping. PD was still dozing in his makeshift papoose.
“Graphic novels?” Dylan said.
“We’re artists,” Luther said grandly.
Marty gave him an eye roll, which Luther ignored.
“I love graphic novels,” Dylan said. “Can I see them?”
“They’re kind of rough,” Marty said.
“Two volumes so far,” Luther said. “They recount our adventures all over the world.”
Our adventures was an exaggeration. Luther had not been in the Congo when Marty and Grace found the Mokélémbembé eggs, but he had been aboard the Coelacanth when they hatched.
“The third volume is a work in progress,” Luther continued. “We live these stories. That’s where our inspiration comes from. I can’t promise, but we might be able to turn your Bigfoot encounter into a graphic novel — if it’s interesting enough.”
“It’s pretty interesting,” Dylan said. “I actually wrote the story down, but didn’t want to put it out there for public consumption.”
“You have a title?” Luther asked.
“Right now I’m just calling it Sasquatch .”
“Bet I can come up with a catchier title,” Luther said.
Marty gave Luther yet another eye roll, then looked at Dylan. “I’d like to read it.”
“Sure. As long as you keep the story to yourself.” He turned to Luther. “I’m surprised Dr. Wolfe let you write about his exploits. I thought he liked to keep what he does quiet.”
“They’re not just his exploits,” Luther said. “He’ll come around.” He walked into the bedroom and closed the door behind himself.
Dylan looked at Marty. “Is he always like this?”
“Sometimes he’s weirder,” Marty answered. “And he’s wrong about my uncle. Wolfe will never change his mind about going public. He likes to keep things secret.”
“Cryptic,” Dylan said.
“Yeah,” Marty agreed.
Dylan reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper.
“What’s that?”
“A note to you from Wolfe.” He handed it to him. “Theo gave it to me.”
Dylan is on the team. You can tell him anything.
No restrictions. Stay out of trouble. I mean it.
Wolfe
“What do you know so far?” Marty asked.
“I know about the dinosaurs and that Noah Blackwood nabbed them from the Coelacanth . I know your cousin Grace went with Blackwood. I assume that’s why you want to go to Noah’s Ark?”
Marty nodded.
“Does your uncle
It seemed Ted did not limit his disguise to his body. A trashed truck was exactly the kind of vehicle that Theo would drive.
“Not much to look at,” Dylan said. “But it runs. I’m just happy to have wheels. It was nice of him to loan it to me.”
“How long have you had your license?” Marty asked.
“A couple of months.”
“Shotgun!” Luther jumped into the passenger seat.
Marty wedged himself unhappily into the crew cab but was soon redeemed when Luther started sneezing from his plunge into Puget Sound.
“We need windshield wipers on the inside !” Dylan said, his head pressed against the driver’s side window, trying to duck the fallout.
Marty decided that he liked Dylan.
Twenty-seven sneezes later, they arrived at a condo that overlooked Lake Washington.
“Nice digs …” Haa-choo! “… dude.”
As soon as they were inside the foyer of the condo, Dylan handed Luther a box of tissues. Farther down the hallway, he opened a door. “My bedroom’s in here. Spare clothes in the closet. The bathroom has a washer and dryer.”
“My clothes don’t need washing,” Luther said, “but the dryer will come in handy.” He looked at Marty. “Lucky I fell inthe drink and not you. You have the graphic novels in your pack. That would have been a disaster.”
Marty had more important things than their novels in his backpack, like the Gizmo and the dragonspy and the Moleskines. It would have been an even worse disaster if they’d lost any of those. He fished the Gizmo out of his backpack and slipped it into another cargo pocket for safekeeping. PD was still dozing in his makeshift papoose.
“Graphic novels?” Dylan said.
“We’re artists,” Luther said grandly.
Marty gave him an eye roll, which Luther ignored.
“I love graphic novels,” Dylan said. “Can I see them?”
“They’re kind of rough,” Marty said.
“Two volumes so far,” Luther said. “They recount our adventures all over the world.”
Our adventures was an exaggeration. Luther had not been in the Congo when Marty and Grace found the Mokélémbembé eggs, but he had been aboard the Coelacanth when they hatched.
“The third volume is a work in progress,” Luther continued. “We live these stories. That’s where our inspiration comes from. I can’t promise, but we might be able to turn your Bigfoot encounter into a graphic novel — if it’s interesting enough.”
“It’s pretty interesting,” Dylan said. “I actually wrote the story down, but didn’t want to put it out there for public consumption.”
“You have a title?” Luther asked.
“Right now I’m just calling it Sasquatch .”
“Bet I can come up with a catchier title,” Luther said.
Marty gave Luther yet another eye roll, then looked at Dylan. “I’d like to read it.”
“Sure. As long as you keep the story to yourself.” He turned to Luther. “I’m surprised Dr. Wolfe let you write about his exploits. I thought he liked to keep what he does quiet.”
“They’re not just his exploits,” Luther said. “He’ll come around.” He walked into the bedroom and closed the door behind himself.
Dylan looked at Marty. “Is he always like this?”
“Sometimes he’s weirder,” Marty answered. “And he’s wrong about my uncle. Wolfe will never change his mind about going public. He likes to keep things secret.”
“Cryptic,” Dylan said.
“Yeah,” Marty agreed.
Dylan reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper.
“What’s that?”
“A note to you from Wolfe.” He handed it to him. “Theo gave it to me.”
Dylan is on the team. You can tell him anything.
No restrictions. Stay out of trouble. I mean it.
Wolfe
“What do you know so far?” Marty asked.
“I know about the dinosaurs and that Noah Blackwood nabbed them from the Coelacanth . I know your cousin Grace went with Blackwood. I assume that’s why you want to go to Noah’s Ark?”
Marty nodded.
“Does your uncle
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