Vernon stared at the guards. “Those guys sure aren’t celestial musicians, and I noticed you didn’t mention assault rifles in that list.”
“Only one way to find out for certain,” Emerson said. He turned to Riley. “Hold up your wrist so they can see it.”
“We’re the new recruits,” Emerson shouted, pointing to the ink tattoo on his wrist. “Tin Man assigned us to recon.”
One of the guards got out a pair of binoculars and looked in their direction. He said something to the second guard, and lowered his gun.
Emerson waved at the guards as he approached. “Don’t worry about a thing,” he whispered to Riley, Vernon, and Wayan Bagus. “I’ve read several books on improvisational acting so I know what I’m doing. The most important thing is not to break character. Just follow my lead and wait for me to give the signal before we jump them.”
“Let me see your identification,” the first guard said.
Emerson waved his hand in front of the guard’s face. “I am Park Ranger Kenobi. You don’t need to see our identification.”
“Protocol is to require identification.”
“It’s critical that I get these droids to the commander,” Emerson said.
“Say what? Are we getting pranked? Billy put you up to this, right?”
“Let me try this again from the top,” Emerson said. He shook his hands and rolled his neck. “Red leather. Yellow leather. Red leather. Yellow leather. The tip of the tongue, the teeth, and the lips. The tip of the tongue, the teeth, and the lips. Okay, I’m ready.”
“What are you ready for?” the guard asked.
“To give you my identification,” Emerson said. He reached into his pocket and rooted around. “It’s in here somewhere.” He pulled his hand out and gave the guard the stiff middle finger.
“I reckon that’s the signal,” Vernon said, jumping on the back of the nearest guard and wrestling him to the ground.
Emerson punched the other guard in the temple, temporarily disorienting him. He flipped him around into a sleeper hold, and in a matter of seconds the guard lost consciousness and slumped to the ground.
Riley stepped in and disarmed both guards.
“We need to get these guys into the guardhouse and secure them before someone comes along,” she said.
“I love it when a plan comes together,” Emerson said.
Fifteen minutes later the two guards were sitting on the floor, handcuffed to a woodstove in the center of the gatehouse and stripped down to their underwear. Vernon and Wayan Bagus were outside changing into the guards’ uniforms. Riley and Emerson were foraging for food.
“You boys don’t mind if we borrow your uniforms for a while, do you?” Emerson said. “We’ll return them just as soon as we find out what you’re hiding behind this fence.”
The guards glared at Emerson and struggled against their restraints.
“Screw you,” the older guard said. “We’re all dead men. Tin Man’s going to kill you, and then he’s going to kill us.”
“Then it might be time for you to reconsider where your loyalties lie, since your survival is predicated on ours,” Emerson said, confiscating a box of granola bars.
Vernon and Wayan Bagus walked back into the gatehouse. “I’m telling you right now, nobody better laugh,” Vernon said.
Vernon’s khaki pants were three inches too short and tight in all the wrong places. The khaki button-down shirt fit him even worse. Wayan Bagus had the opposite problem. He was absolutely swimming in his clothes, and was holding up his pants with one hand.
“And I thought I looked ridiculous with an octopus on my back,” Riley said.
Vernon cut his eyes to Wayan Bagus. “I told you we looked like a couple of grade A morons. But no, you think they fit great. Look at me. I can barely walk, and I can’t tell where my doodles end and my dongle begins.”
Wayan Bagus hoisted his pants. “You must look on the positive side. Vanity can create a very cruel space for you and, by extension, your doodles, if you don’t know how to manage it.”
“Lord Buddha?” Riley asked.
Wayan Bagus shook his head. “Lady Gaga. I’ve recently become one of her Little Monsters.”
Vernon rolled his eyes. “Lady Gaga never wore anything as stupid looking as this, and she wore a dress made of meat to the MTV Video Music Awards.” He turned to Emerson. “What now?”
“The plan is that you and Wayan will stay at the gatehouse. Riley and I will go inside the fence and investigate.”
“When will you be back?” Vernon asked.
Emerson gestured toward the two guards. “We need to be back before sunrise, when the day shift comes to relieve these two. I don’t expect there will be too many visitors through the night, but if there are, just ask anybody who comes to the gate for their identification and wave them through.”
There was the faint noise of an engine in the dark woods accompanied by a faraway glow of headlights. “Looks like we’re getting at least one visitor,” Riley said.
Emerson gagged the two guards and handed Vernon his campaign hat. “Just let them through. Riley and I will hide behind the gatehouse until they’ve passed.”
An armored Humvee followed by a heavy-duty military transport truck rumbled slowly out of the woods and approached the gate. “Well, that’s something you don’t see every day,” Emerson whispered to Riley from their hiding place.
Riley leaned into Emerson. “What’s an armored military transport doing in the middle of Yellowstone?”
“It’s a transport. It’s either making a delivery or a withdrawal.”
“Of what?”
“You don’t send an armored militarized truck to deliver a pizza,” Emerson said. “I want to get on that truck.”
“How the heck do you intend to do that?”
“Wu wei.”
“For once, I agree. There’s not a lot of downside to doing nothing in this situation.”
Vernon and Wayan Bagus walked outside to greet the Humvee. Vernon was carrying the assault rifle. Wayan Bagus was carrying a clipboard in one hand and holding onto his pants with the other.
“Namaste,” Wayan Bagus said to the driver. “May we please see your identification?”
The driver leaned out the window and handed Vernon his ID. “Why do you look like you’re waiting for a flood?”
“Wardrobe malfunction,” Vernon said. “Anyone else in there?”
The driver handed over two more ID cards. Vernon looked at all the cards and read them aloud for Emerson’s benefit.
“Miles Bemmer, Timothy Mann, Bartholomew Young,” Vernon said, slightly louder than necessary.
“Tin Man and the director,” Riley whispered to Emerson. “What the heck’s going on?”
“Proceed,” Vernon said, returning the IDs to the driver.
The Humvee drove a short distance, stopped, and idled, and the transport moved up to the gatehouse.
“Namaste,” Wayan Bagus said to the transport driver. “May we see your identification?”
“What’s with the ‘Namaste’?” the driver said, handing over his ID. “Are you on loan from some other army?”
“Many apologies,” Wayan Bagus said. “You are correct to be confused. It is my understanding that it is customary to offer a salute in these situations.” He snapped to attention, raised his right hand sharply to the brim of his campaign hat, and his trousers fell down around his ankles.
“Cripes,” the driver said. “What kind of underwear are you wearing? It looks like a diaper. Is that what central supply is handing out now?”
Wayan Bagus looked down at himself. “I humbly accept whatever gifts the universe bestows on me. I found this in my laundry basket.”
“Looks like a towel,” Vernon said. “Little Buddy, when we get back to civilization we gotta take you shopping and get you some Calvins.”
The transport driver snatched his ID back, rolled up his window, drove through the gate, and both vehicles disappeared into the night. No one in the truck noticed the two hitchhikers who had snuck up behind and grabbed on to the rear handholds.
EIGHTEEN
RILEY AND EMERSON HELD ON TIGHT AS THE truck rolled and bumped along the rough terrain, navigating around thickets of woods interspersed with bubbling hot springs and mud pots. The smell of sulfur filled the air, getting stronger with every passing minute.