Sequel to The Off Season
The dark green slopes of Wolf Mountain were crawling with men in orange jump suits. A small crowd had gathered in the paved parking area which marked the entrance to the hiking trails and stood watching the proceedings with upturned faces. A hot dog stand bearing the World o’ Stuff logo and manned by two middle-aged women who both answered to the name of Radford had sprung up seemingly out of nowhere and was now doing a brisk trade with the interested bystanders.
“What’s going on?” asked Simon, the question muffled by a double-bacon chilli cheese dog that required the use of both hands.
“Dunno,” said Marshall, who was observing the jump-suited workers through a pair of army surplus binoculars. “Those guys look like they’re from the Bureau of Lost, but the focusing ring for these stupid glasses is missing, so I can’t see well enough to be sure.”
“Eerified again,” said Simon solemnly. “Can I have your nacho dog?”
“Sure,” said Marshall, switching the field glasses for a battered telescope. He put it to his eye, then lowered it with a huff of irritation. As usual, the other dimension was no help.
“Can I have your soda?” asked Simon.( Read the rest of the Trusted Associates verse )( Read the rest of Lost )( Read the rest of the Microwave verse )