-8-
Sam rode shotgun as PJ drove his Camaro, and the two pale strangers pouted in the cramped back seat, surrounded by road trip garbage.
“If you are not in charge, you must let me speak to your superior,” the albino man demanded. He’d been griping the entire trip and spoke like he thought he was quite important, though Sam estimated he was only a couple years older than PJ.
PJ slammed to a stop at the end of the road in the woods. “Look,” he turned and glared, “I got a panda-gone-bad whacking me with a Funny Foam bat. I got you two medieval freaks with togas and swords. And I just spent twenty minutes mopping up the most disgusting goo I’ve ever seen, felt, or smelt so that my dad, who happens to be the town police officer, won’t find it at his place of business. I am not letting you speak with my ‘superior’ until I figure out what’s going on, and probably not then either!”
Sam watched their reaction. They seemed a bit surprised by PJ’s assertiveness.
“Now the first thing I want to know is,” PJ continued, “what in the heck was that ugly, hairy, nasty thing?”
The strangers looked at each other. The man nodded yet again for the woman to remain silent. She frowned back, clearly wanting to say something.
“Fine!” PJ harumphed. “I drove you back out here like you wanted. Now if you and the evidence can just evaporate and leave me in peace, that would be great.”
PJ stepped from the Camaro to see if the coast was clear. As soon as he was out of earshot, the young woman turned to the man and pointed out the window. “There is the post in the ground, Whitey. The tunnel is directly beneath it. When we get back down to UnderEarth we can tell the other soldiers that we caught the goblin, and…”
“Bree, wait.” The man called Whitey shushed her and pointed to Sam, who stared at them over the back of the seat. She’d clearly forgotten he was there.
“Whoa!” Sam blurted. “A goblin! And there are more of you?”
Bree looked at Whitey apologetically. He glared back at her. “That’s why you need to keep quiet and let me do the talking,” he hissed.
“I can’t believe you came from underground,” Sam jabbered excitedly. “Man oh man! What’s it like?”
“Very secret,” Whitey growled, showing Sam a dagger in his belt. “Understand?”
Sam shrunk away.
“Wait Whitey,” Bree said, and she examined Sam. She gave him an approving once over and a kindly smile. “This one appears worthy.”
“What?” Sam said.
“What?” Whitey said.
Bree winked at Whitey. “I’ll wager this fine young boy has the heart of a warrior. Alas, we cannot take him with us.” She turned to Sam, serious. “But we can trust you with our sacred vow of secrecy, can’t we young warrior?”
Sam nodded, fascinated. No one had ever called him “worthy” or a “fine young boy,” and certainly never a “warrior.”
Bree held out her hand. “Okay then, press your hand against mine and repeat after me…”
Sam lifted his hand up carefully and placed it against Bree’s.
Clack!
PJ pulled open the door. “All right, the coast is clear,” he said.
– End Chapter Eight –
