Wyvern Page #3

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And in a few weeks or months

or whatever,

when you get

your insurance claim

and you take off

in your shiny new rig,

I'm still here.

So is she.

- Okay. Um, say,

thanks for coming by.

What do I owe you?

- It's on the house.

- No, really, you don't have to.

I--

- It's okay. And, uh...

I thought you liked her.

Sorry about the

misunderstanding, all right?

- No problem.

(groaning softly)

(country music playing)

(GPS):
23 miles

until destination.

- No way.

Oh, bingo.

(alarm beeping)

Ooh.

Ah...

(flapping)

(zipping)

Come on.

(flapping)

(roaring)

(dramatic music)

(snarling)

(growling)

(suspenseful music)

(alarm beeping)

(snarling)

(screaming)

(slurping)

No!!

- Yee-haw.

The Solstice Festival

is less than 24 hours away.

Bring your appetite.

The roasted pork butt

is to die for.

(distant screaming)

- Terry!

Terry!!

- Jake, it's crashing!

- Terry!!!

(screaming)

(soft music)

- To the woman who called in

claming to have spotted

the great Alaskan cockatoad

circling high

above Beaver Mills.

The biggest bird you'll ever see

in Alaskan skies

is a bald eagle.

And, believe me,

unless it has the same skin rash

as Thomas's or Hass's minks,

all eagles have feathers.

But Vinyl Hampton really wants

some of whatever you're on.

- Nice, huh?

Gotta love our summer weather.

Early bird catching the worm?

- Yeah, I couldn't sleep.

- Ah, most cheechakos can't.

Not in the all-day sun.

Takes some gettin' used to.

Like not having

cellphone signals,

or not being able to grab

a non-fat, no-whip,

soy mochaccino

frappa-thingy latte

on every street corner.

Ah, truth is, most people

can't get used to it.

Most of 'em move down

to Mexico this time of year.

Yeah,

gets kind of desolate out there,

with most of the town gone.

- You're up early.

Or is it late? I.. don't know.

- Uh, 5:
00 a.m.

Festival day is always busy.

Thought Claire'd be here early

and have some coffee brewin'.

(Jake chuckling)

- I hear you.

Knock yourself out.

- Argh,

that smells like it might.

(laughing)

I think I'd, uh...

take one of those mochaccino

frappa-thingies about now.

(sniffing)

- Whew.

(flies buzzing)

That ain't moose nuggets.

(whooshing)

(flapping)

(snarling)

Ah-ah-ah-ah!

(gunshot)

(distant barking)

- Ah, it's started.

- What's started?

- Festival of crazies.

People get a little...

rambunctious.

- So I heard.

- Susie, shots fired

in the south woods.

I'm gonna check it out.

- Copy, Chief.

- Go for a ride?

- Sure.

- Wouldn't get too excited.

Probably just Farley or Hass

shootin' at moose pies.

Shoulder your weapon out there!

It's Chief Dawson!

(gunshot)

All right, whoever's firin'

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