Exploring the Madlands

(June 12, 2017)

13: Just after the Nick of Time

From the Journals of Dipper Pines: Monday, June 12—I probably should have guessed that Fiddleford and Grunkle Ford would be in the helicopter. I didn't, though, so when it emerged over the treetops, about a quarter of a mile to the east of us, I saw it silvered in the sun and wondered who in the world would dare to fly over the Valley, where magnetic anomalies make navigational instruments go nuts.

"Dip," Wendy said, "I bet they're lookin' for us!"

But they weren't going to find us, not way over there. Wendy had a solution, though. She grabbed the improvised lance that the centipede-thing had tried to shove us out of the circle with and started chopping. "You run into the pines over there," she said. "Find a dead limb with a lot of needles still on it."

I did, and by the time I got back, she had enough wood to tent up and make a small campfire from. I gave her the dry, dead pine bough and she stripped off the needles, used them and the pine twigs as kindling, and in a couple of seconds had a fire burning. "There. Now what we need is more pine needles, handfuls of them—OK if they're damp, 'cause what we're shooting for—"

"Is smoke," I said. It took me about five minutes to bring back a load of fragrant, though damp, pine needles, with a few cones thrown in for good measure. Wendy heaped them over the fire, now crackling away, and soon a column of white smoke poured up into the air.

The helicopter was long since out of sight, though we could hear it thrumming away over near the cliffs. "I hope it doesn't set down in that secret valley," I said. "I wouldn't want to go in there to rescue anybody."

"If they're halfway alert, they'll see this before long," Wendy said, throwing more smoke-fuel onto the fire.

Sure enough, in about a minute the helicopter sounded like it was returning, and a few seconds later it passed over so low that the rotor wash sent the smoke rolling over us, and both Wendy and I had a tough time seeing as tears rolled from our eyes and we coughed. "Dude," she said, "Dump sand over the fire. Douse it."

We both scooped handfuls of sand from the circle—didn't matter now that we disturbed it and the already obliterated sigils—and covered our signal fire. By the time the chopper had circled around, the smoke was no longer an issue. We had to go over to the edge of the woods as it settled down, and then I saw Fiddleford at the stick and Grunkle Ford leaning out on the passenger side. Fiddleford killed the engine, and the rotor blades slowed with a whicka-whicha-whicka sound.

Grunkle Ford stepped out and stooping low, walked toward us. "Mason! Wendy! Are you all right?"

"We think so," Wendy said. "Now, anyways. You won't believe what happened—no, scratch that, of course you will. Nobody else, though."

"We got turned into animals," I told him. ""Something in that small side valley did it. It might be the source of all the weirdness in the Valley. But don't go in there!"

Fiddleford joined us, and Wendy and I told the two of them about what had happened.

"A real-to-goodness loopy garou?" Fiddleford asked. "'Scuse my French, I mean was you a four-footed wolf or—"

"She was a beautiful bipedal werewolf," I told him. "Look." I showed them the two photos we had taken.

"My word!" Grunkle Ford said. "You developed full canine features, except your hair became a kind of full mane, and—that is a beautiful tail!"

"Watch it," Wendy said.

Grunkle Ford turned red.

Fiddleford shook his head at my photo. "Dipper got sheepy-fied? Kind of a blow to the ego, ain't it?"

"Wasn't his fault," Wendy said.

"I've thought about that," I told them. "Whatever force rules in that valley, I think it's protective of its own secrecy. Anything human that goes in there, it changes so it can never get out—or maybe, if there are two people, it makes them into natural enemies. Probably the predator would kill and maybe eat the prey—but then the predator would, I don't know, be sealed forever in that form? Does that make sense?"

"Lore does say that if a werewolf hasn't killed a human, the person can be rescued," Ford said. "As we did with Gideon. But Wendy resisted the urge to attack—"

"It's a long story," Wendy said. "I came close to breaking, but Dip thought of a way to snap me out of it. He made me laugh."

"Made you—well, we'll have to go into that."

Both Wendy and I were thirsty and hungry. Grunkle Ford had a canteen, so we each drank some, but he hadn't brought food. "You can eat when you get back home. Right now, let's just get you out of here. The helicopter can carry four of us—I think."

"Calculations are a mite tricky," Fiddleford warned.

"My car's not all that far off," Wendy said. "If you take what's left of our camp gear, me and Dipper will hike down to it. We'll meet you back at the Shack—"

Ford held up a forefinger. "First, let's meet at the clinic. I want Dr. le Fievre to check you both out—"

"Of course you do," Wendy said. "OK, take us about an hour, little more, all told, to get there. You guys go on ahead and tell them we're coming."

So Wendy went down the hill, dug up the bobcat—it was stiff—wrapped it in a ground cloth and tied the cloth in place with what we would normally have used for tent ropes. "You gotta have this body tested for rabies," she told Ford.

"I'll expedite it," Ford said. "We'll take it to the Institute so Dr. Framer can take care of that."

We stowed the pack on the helicopter. Ford hunkered near the remains of the centipede monster. "What on earth is this?" he asked.

"Used to be a person," Wendy said. "That's what the hidden valley did to him. Or maybe her."

"You want we should take samples?" Fiddleford asked.

Ford stood and shook his head. "I don't think we'd learn anything. Stand back a little, please. All in all, I think this is the best solution."

He took out a pistol—one of the quantum destabilizers, a third-generation model—and disintegrated the remains.

I can't say that I felt any remorse.

They got to the car—Wendy still had the key around her neck—and she slammed down the trunk lid. Dipper asked, "Are you OK to drive? How's your wrist?"'

"Still sore, but not swollen." She showed it to him. "I can drive. But let's go by the Shack before we hit the clinic."

"Why? Grunkle Ford will be there ahead of us—"

"Underwear," she said. "I don't mind so much that we were there in the circle and both naked, because, well I wouldn't have minded anyhow, but mainly because we were too preoccupied with trying to stay alive to get hot and bothered. But you know doctors—I don't want to explain to him or even a nurse how come I'm braless and going commando."

"Good thinking," Dipper said.

They were quiet for a time as Wendy maneuvered the Dodge Dart around and headed back to paved roads and Gravity Falls. Then she said quietly, "Bothers you a lot, doesn't it?"

"Yeah," he said. "I don't know, maybe because I was a freaking lamb at the time. I really didn't mean to kill the bobcat. And I wish that—you know."

"Wish there had been some other way of dealing with the creepy-crawly, yeah, I know," Wendy said. "You're a good guy, Dipper. But realistically, if you hadn't killed the bobcat, it would've killed me, maybe. And if it had done that, it would've gone for you."

Dipper sighed. "I know. But it was just being itself. It still bothers me. Look, please don't tell Mabel, all right? I'll tell her myself after I get used to the idea myself, but for right now—"

Wendy took one hand off the wheel just long enough to zip her lip. "How are the scratches?"

"All nasty and scabby," Dipper said. "I'll bet I have to get a tetanus shot. I had one back when we started high school, but I don't know how long they last."

"Hope the rabies test comes back negative. If it doesn't—well, nowadays you'd have to have like four shots of the vaccine. But I don't think that'll be a problem. Dip, for what it's worth—you were a real badass back there. And thanks for singing that dopey song."

"It's embarrassing," he admitted. "But, you know—I had a good idea that singing it would snap you out of it. So, you've tasted blood."

"I don't want more," Wendy said. "This ain't a midnight movie, dude! I don't sing those lyrics."

"But how did I taste?"

Wendy chuckled. "I don't remember—salty. But it's weird, I know that when I was all wolfy, I had this fantastic sense of hearing and the smells—they were like—I don't have the words. Like a music lover being in the front row of the best symphony ever performed. But now I can't remember the exact feelings! I can remember seeing you as something available and potentially delicious. Sorry, man."

"Good to know I'm a man of good taste," he said. "Funny, but I don't feel as bad about the monster as about the bobcat."

"'Cause you know in that case it meant to kill us—and not for food, but just to destroy us. And because, well—it begged for an ending."

"Do you think it could have been turned back to a human?"

"No, Dip. We were in time, but it was way too late for that thing. And it knew it. I think—if it had been in its human mind when it found us—it would have asked us for the exact same favor."

They had a lot to think about. Mabel was in the Shack when they got there, and she had questions, but Wendy shrugged them off and Dipper made the excuse of going to the bathroom—where he put on boxer briefs and changed his pants—to avoid them. And then after Wendy had changed clothes and brushed her hair, the two of them had to go to the clinic.

They got there around nine-thirty. Dr. le Fievre had been warned to expect them, and he first examined Dipper—"You came close to needing stitches," he said. "But I think we can use butterfly stitches to take care of this big gash. The other one's really just a deep scratch. You may have a bit of a scar."

First he numbed the area with a couple of Novocain shots—the most painful part—and then he had his nurse shave the area. They carefully cleaned both wounds, and the doctor used narrow strips of adhesive skin closures to pull the wider one closed. He treated the other with antibiotic. "How current is your tetanus shot?" he asked.

"I had one nearly five years ago," Dipper said.

"Well—a booster won't hurt," the doctor told him.

That meant another shot, this one in his bicep. "Massage that," the nurse told him. "It'll make it less achy later on. So about once every hour, massage the injection site for about a minute."

He went and waited in the waiting room—a lady brought in her six-year-old who had either a bad head cold or severe allergies—while Wendy went back. She came out in twenty minutes, and the nurse called the mother and daughter in. "How are you?" Dipper asked.

Wendy held up her wrist, which now had an elastic half-glove around it. "Nothing broken, mild sprain. I'll wear this and put ice on the sprain every couple of hours for three days. Not so bad. You?"

He showed her his arm. "Looks like football laces," he said.

"Looks a lot better cleaned up. Tetanus shot?"

"Yep, booster."

The nurse came back and Dipper asked, "Can we go now?"

"No, Dr. le Fievre had word from your great-uncle that they're doing a rabies test on the animal that scratched you." She checked the clock on the wall. "They started the test already, and it takes two hours, so you can either wait here until one, or if you want you can go have lunch and then come back."

"We'll take that option," Wendy said.

They drove out of the Valley for lunch, in a little farmhouse-style restaurant. They ordered comfort food—mashed potatoes, which came with lots of butter, a three-bean dish, and meatloaf, a surprisingly tasty version. Wendy said, "Man, I'm sorry our camping trip was such a flop. Next time we're going someplace totally mundane. I'll have to buy some more kit—"

"I'll get the tent this time," Dipper said. "Yeah, I'd like that. There was that place where you showed me the waterfowl—"

"That would be a good spot. And there are sites all along the Columbia that are gorgeous. So—you're not scared off? You're still willing to go overnight camping with me, even after-?"

He reached for her hand. —It wasn't your fault, Wen. Sure, like a shot. Let's plan it for one of the weekends when the Shack's getting all crazy as the Fourth of July's coming on.

Deal. We'll find some real secluded spot where nobody will notice if we get real friendly, you know? And then we can do it.

—You mean-?

Yep. You can not only sing the "Lamby Lamby" song, you can do the dance for me!

A waitress said, "You folks are tickled about something! Dessert? We have fresh apple pie."

"Why not?" Wendy asked. "A la mode, too!"

"What flavor ice cream?"

Dipper grinned. "Surprise us!"

The waitress played it safe with vanilla. They got back to the clinic just at one, and Dipper wasn't too surprised—though a little alarmed—to see Ford's Lincoln parked out front. "May be bad news," he said.

They went in and found young Dr. le Fievre talking to Ford—and three new patients in the waiting room.

"Here they are now," Ford said.

"What did they find?" Dipper asked.

"The animal tested clean," the doctor told him. "You're off the hook. Now go home, take care of yourself, and don't get hurt again."

"We'll try," Wendy said. "What do we owe you?"

"Nothing," le Fievre said, smiling. "As long as you invite me to the wedding."

And that was almost the end of it, but then Dipper had to show Mabel the photos, and she had to ask a ton of questions. Among them, she was intensely interested in how it felt to have a tail. "Tripper's is so expressive! Was yours expressive? Did you like wrap it around my sheepish brother?"

"We were being attacked by wild animals," Wendy pointed out. "Wasn't hardly time."

Tripper showed more interest in Wendy—maybe her clothes carried some lingering wolfish scent—but he wasn't hostile, just inquisitive and sniffy.

He treated Dipper the same as he always did—happy, friendly, wanting to chase balls and romp.

Anyway, the danger had passed, though Dipper understood that Ford was working on some way of fencing off the tunnel so no one would venture into the treacherous valley. That would come later, time enough to worry about it in July and August.

That evening Teek and Mabel went bowling, but Wendy begged off because of her wrist, and she and Dipper just settled for a long walk out to the meadow near Moon Trap Pond, where they sat on a ground cloth, held hands, and looked up at the stars.

They passed guilts back and forth—Wendy felt sorry for her bad judgment in suggesting the trip to the hidden valley, Dipper for his admittedly necessary but regrettable killing of the two enemies.

At one point, he asked, "Badass? Me? Did you really mean that?"

Wendy considered. "Well, maybe I misspoke. Actually I got a pretty good look at you as we were changing back to human, and I gotta say—badass? Nah, it looked pretty good to me."

That got them into a giggly shoving match, and that got Wendy into a tickle attack (she had learned Dipper's vulnerability from Mabel), and that got them into—

Well, never mind. They came back under the stars, feeling better and leaving most of their regrets behind them. And as they neared the Shack, the still fat but waning moon rose, and they looked up at it with a feeling of relief and gratitude for its pale, clean light.

The End