Meddling Kids by Edgar Cantero

Author:Edgar Cantero
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
Published: 2017-07-10T16:00:00+00:00

An actual canary perched in its cage, oblivious to the giant luck-dragon snout puffing against the bars. Tim couldn’t care less about any of the other stuff Captain Al was still unloading from his pickup.

“Glowsticks…flares…phosphorus markers…”

“Cap, where do you even keep all this stuff?” Andy wondered, already alarmed at the size of the impedimenta parked on the anecdotic sidewalk.

“I live in a junkyard, Andy,” Al said, with as much pride as any mentally sound person could convey through those words. “The one advantage is that there’s seldom a tool or instrument you don’t have within a hand’s reach. Provided you don’t mind tetanus, that is.” He finished unwrapping a new piece of equipment. “Two-way radios. I doubt they’ll do any good underground; if they don’t, just chuck them into a shaft; there’s more in the pile these came from.”

Nate stepped back to catch in midair one of the transceivers as the captain tossed it to him, inadvertently kicking the bird’s cage; the canary tweeted in protest like a fenderbent driver. Tim leaned even closer, English microbiologist eyes fixed on the compact featherball inside, tail producing enough aeolic power to feed a small city.

The plastic penguin between his jaws squeaked.

The bird, in turn, emitted a single new chirp.

Tim stepped back in shock, searched for the approval of the audience who had just witnessed that milestone in animal communication.

“Try not to get too attached, Tim,” Kerri advised. “He’s gonna be the first to go.”

“Not really; it won’t just drop dead,” Al said. “If you encounter gas, it will start chirping and fluttering first. At that point, either turn back or, if you must, put on your masks and set the bird free. It will instinctively go for higher ground.”

“Are these masks really gonna help?” Nate asked, banjoing the string of a simple respirator.

“No, those you wear all the time to prevent inhaling silica dust. If the air goes bad, you switch to these.”

Al opened one of the rucksacks and showed them the large, insect-eyed breathing mask inside, a long, flexible proboscis connecting it to a tank the size of a bike water bottle. Andy had had one chance to try one on in the academy; Kerri and Nate had seen them worn only by Tom Cruise in Top Gun.

“Don’t worry, these ain’t from the junkyard,” Al comforted them. “I drove to Umatilla Airbase yesterday to borrow them. This one’s a different story—I had to call in some real favors for this baby.”

He pulled out a cone-shaped, khaki-colored leather bag with stenciled letters: E12R8. He unlatched the cover and extracted a fourth respirator. Andy squinted at the distance between the air filter and the two visors, until she figured out the shape of the face that would fit in that mask.

Everyone turned to Tim, way too engrossed with interspecies talks with the canary to care about their travel preparations.

“They stopped making these after World War II, but,” Al italicized for attention, “it comes with no oxygen, so the dog will have to stay with the bird.

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