twenty-four-hour pharmacy so I can pick up a few more supplies.”
“We have to go straight to the airport.”
He sighs. “OK, well, I guess we’ll just have to make do with what we’ve got.” He throws back the sleeping bag flap — he’s fully dressed, never having gotten out of his street clothes — and starts rummaging inside his backpack, pulling out and stacking various boxes, tubes, and pill bottles: six bottles of alcohol gel, three types of analgesic, an intestinal sedative, oral antibiotics, antibiotic cream, two kinds of antihistamine, anti-diarrheal, anti-malaria tablets, potassium permanganate, Dramamine . . .
“You leave any room for clothes in there?” I ask.
“Mock all you like,” Charlie says. “We’ll see who’s laughing at whom when you’re hunched over a hole in the ground, violently voiding your watery, blood-soaked stools and pleading for a sip of my Kaopectate.”
I laugh. “We’re going to a national park, not the Australian outback.”
“Ignorance is the silent killer, Dan,” Charlie says, carefully repacking his medications. “And instead of worrying so much about me, I suggest you make sure that you’re fully prepared to engage the enemy.”
“Don’t worry,” I say. “I’m all set.”
“You’ve got your dummy sketchbook?” he asks.
I nod.
“And your carry-on items?”
“All packed.”
“Did you memorize the list of code words I gave you?” Charlie asks.
I sigh. “Yes, Charlie. I’ll listen out for them.”
He cocks an eyebrow. “And Baby Robbie?”
“Locked and loaded.” I hold up the Baby-Real-A-Lot doll, clad in a fresh diaper and the blue-and-white baby sweater that Erin made, and press the initiate button on my ID bracelet.
The doll’s eyes flutter open. It makes a little cooing noise. I grab the tiny bottle and begin feeding it.
Charlie spent a few hours yesterday working on the baby. He managed to hack into the doll’s programming so he could increase the frequency and force of its “biological” functions. Then we replaced the colored water in the baby’s bottle with a chocolate yogurt drink. Finally, Charlie loosened the joints at the baby’s shoulders and hips.
Charlie has triple-promised me that he’ll be able to alter the Care Score on my ID bracelet before we go back to school. I’m praying he’s right, or I’m going to fail big-time.
I look down at the little bundle in my arms. It’s probably just my imagination, but I do see a bit of Erin in his features: his nose, his mouth. I feel a twinge of guilt for what we’re about to do.
“Are you sure this is going to work?” I ask, squeezing the bottle to get the rest of the thick brown goo into the baby’s mouth.
“Trust me,” Charlie says. “That kid’s a ticking time bomb.”
And, as if on cue, Baby Robbie blows a massive, sputtering cheeser, his instantly full diaper vibrating in my hands.
“Jesus,” I say.
Charlie grins and waggles his eyebrows. “Let the games begin.”
“I’m not really sure how this works.”
Hank has the wailing Baby Robbie on the kitchen table. He fumbles with the loaded diaper, trying to figure out how to get it off. Some of the “poo” is starting to leak down its legs. “Is there any way to keep him quiet while we do this?” Hank glances at the ceiling; Mom’s bedroom is directly above us.
“Not until we’ve got him cleaned up,” I say.
Charlie is busy snapping photos of the scene with his camera. The flash blasting our eyes with each shutter click.
“Could you please stop with that?” Hank says, blinking hard. “You’re blinding me.”
“I am a photojournalist, Mr. Langston,” Charlie states, rifling off several more shots. “I have vowed to document our entire trip for the school newspaper. The photo-essay from this excursion could be the very thing that saves the
Willowvale Oracle.”
“Yes, well.” Hank squints, holding up his hand. “Could you maybe turn off the flash?”
“Would you ask Martin
“We have to go straight to the airport.”
He sighs. “OK, well, I guess we’ll just have to make do with what we’ve got.” He throws back the sleeping bag flap — he’s fully dressed, never having gotten out of his street clothes — and starts rummaging inside his backpack, pulling out and stacking various boxes, tubes, and pill bottles: six bottles of alcohol gel, three types of analgesic, an intestinal sedative, oral antibiotics, antibiotic cream, two kinds of antihistamine, anti-diarrheal, anti-malaria tablets, potassium permanganate, Dramamine . . .
“You leave any room for clothes in there?” I ask.
“Mock all you like,” Charlie says. “We’ll see who’s laughing at whom when you’re hunched over a hole in the ground, violently voiding your watery, blood-soaked stools and pleading for a sip of my Kaopectate.”
I laugh. “We’re going to a national park, not the Australian outback.”
“Ignorance is the silent killer, Dan,” Charlie says, carefully repacking his medications. “And instead of worrying so much about me, I suggest you make sure that you’re fully prepared to engage the enemy.”
“Don’t worry,” I say. “I’m all set.”
“You’ve got your dummy sketchbook?” he asks.
I nod.
“And your carry-on items?”
“All packed.”
“Did you memorize the list of code words I gave you?” Charlie asks.
I sigh. “Yes, Charlie. I’ll listen out for them.”
He cocks an eyebrow. “And Baby Robbie?”
“Locked and loaded.” I hold up the Baby-Real-A-Lot doll, clad in a fresh diaper and the blue-and-white baby sweater that Erin made, and press the initiate button on my ID bracelet.
The doll’s eyes flutter open. It makes a little cooing noise. I grab the tiny bottle and begin feeding it.
Charlie spent a few hours yesterday working on the baby. He managed to hack into the doll’s programming so he could increase the frequency and force of its “biological” functions. Then we replaced the colored water in the baby’s bottle with a chocolate yogurt drink. Finally, Charlie loosened the joints at the baby’s shoulders and hips.
Charlie has triple-promised me that he’ll be able to alter the Care Score on my ID bracelet before we go back to school. I’m praying he’s right, or I’m going to fail big-time.
I look down at the little bundle in my arms. It’s probably just my imagination, but I do see a bit of Erin in his features: his nose, his mouth. I feel a twinge of guilt for what we’re about to do.
“Are you sure this is going to work?” I ask, squeezing the bottle to get the rest of the thick brown goo into the baby’s mouth.
“Trust me,” Charlie says. “That kid’s a ticking time bomb.”
And, as if on cue, Baby Robbie blows a massive, sputtering cheeser, his instantly full diaper vibrating in my hands.
“Jesus,” I say.
Charlie grins and waggles his eyebrows. “Let the games begin.”
“I’m not really sure how this works.”
Hank has the wailing Baby Robbie on the kitchen table. He fumbles with the loaded diaper, trying to figure out how to get it off. Some of the “poo” is starting to leak down its legs. “Is there any way to keep him quiet while we do this?” Hank glances at the ceiling; Mom’s bedroom is directly above us.
“Not until we’ve got him cleaned up,” I say.
Charlie is busy snapping photos of the scene with his camera. The flash blasting our eyes with each shutter click.
“Could you please stop with that?” Hank says, blinking hard. “You’re blinding me.”
“I am a photojournalist, Mr. Langston,” Charlie states, rifling off several more shots. “I have vowed to document our entire trip for the school newspaper. The photo-essay from this excursion could be the very thing that saves the
Willowvale Oracle.”
“Yes, well.” Hank squints, holding up his hand. “Could you maybe turn off the flash?”
“Would you ask Martin
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