“This is camp alright, but where are Dr. McCleese and Denise?” asked Nebraska Rooster as he, Alise and Deloris Squirrel stepped into the clearing.
“Look,” said Deloris Squirrel, “the campfire is still hot. Someone was here not too long ago.”
“Uh, guys,” Alise said, “do sheep usually eat s’mores?”
Before anyone could answer, a very fluffy sheep walked back into the clearing, popping the last of the tasty treat into their mouth. It muffled greetings that just came out as a grunt because of the sticky marshmallow in their mouth.
“Heey,” said Deloris Squirrel, “that sheep looks familiar.”
“Yeah they do,” said Nebraska.
“You know this sheep?” asked Alise?
The sheep finally cleared their mouth of stickiness and addressed the little group. “I drive, yes, no?”
“The driver!” Exclaimed Nebraska Rooster, “they must have stayed at camp and come through the archaeological site when we weren’t looking.”
“I follow . . . dark tunnel,” they said, smiling through Graham cracker crumbs.
“But,” said Alise, “I still don’t understand – where are Dr. McCleese and Alise?”
The little sheep smiled sheepishly. “They run into dark night,” they said.
“Run into dark night?” Nebraska Rooster was confused.
“Yes,” the sheep said, obviously pleased with themself.
There was a moment of quiet as they all kind of just looked at each other. The sheep nodded and smiled, while trying to lick the s’more off their face.
“Well, they’re not here now,” Deloris Squirrel said with finality.
“So, um, can I just ask? What’s our plan here?” Alise looked at the rest of the group, and they all looked at each other.
“Well, we need to figure out if Crimson Hen is in this reality, and if so, where,” Nebraska said matter-of-factly.
“Right, okay,” said Alise, “where do we start with that?”
“Well,” said Deloris squirrel, “if I were Crimson, I’d be trying to get back to this site. So maybe we just need to wait.”
“We can’t do that,” said Nebraska Rooster.
“Oh, right,” said Deloris Squirrel, “the Window is closing. We have to hurry.”
“So,” said Alise, “we’re right back where we started. How do we find Crimson Hen, and what can we do to help her?”
“I help,” said the little sheep.
The little group all looked down at the smiling face, puzzled.
Nebraska broke the confused silence. “Thank you,” he said, “but what can you do to help us?”
“I drive,” was the simple answer.
Again, the group was silent for a moment. Then Alise had an inspiring thought. “Of course! The sheep is a driver, right? Maybe the sheep can drive us back to the capital. If Crimson is in this reality, and trying to get back here, she’ll have to come through there, right?”
“Well,” said Nebraska, “what if we miss her coming and going?”
Alise answered quickly. “One of us can stay here, and we can make an agreement to come back to camp after a certain amount of time. If we haven’t seen her, we’ll come back and check in. It’s only a, what hour drive?”
“Yes. One hour only,” the little sheep said with a big smile. “You come now? There is car?”
“We do have a car,” said Alise. It’s, over there. And the keys should be in it. Should we go?”
“Who’ll stay?” asked Nebraska Rooster.
“I’ll stay. You’ll need Alise as a member of this reality, and I know if I were in your shoes, Nebraska, I wouldn’t want to stay behind,” said Deloris Squirrel.
Nebraska took her paw and said with great grace, “thank you.”
“Alright, let’s go!” said Alise.
Alise, Nebraska, and the little sheep headed to the car. Without a word, the sheep slid into the driver’s seat. They had to pull the seat way up to be able to see over the steering wheel, but somehow they fit. The car roared to life, and then sped into the night.
Later
“Denise?”
“Yes professor?”
“I’m cold, and I’d like to go back to the fire. Do you . . . do you think it’s safe?”
“I’m not sure, professor, but I’m cold too. Let’s go back to the fire.”
“Ok.”
“Ok.”
“Ok.”
“Maybe you could go first, professor.”
“Right, here we go.”
“Is it far?”
“I don’t think so. I think it’s just, ah, yes, the fire has burned down some, but we can easily build it back up.”
“Do you see a . . . a . . . a sheep?”
“I do not. There, see? All is well. In the morning all will feel clear and right. What . . . what’s this?”
“Aww…It’s a cute little squirrel, professor . . . all curled up asleep.”
The Continuing Adventures of Crimson Hen 