Eerie, Indiana fanfiction: Rubber Duck
May. 2nd, 2017 12:22 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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The old humpback bridge at the northern end of Deadwood Park was packed with people in bright coloured shirts bearing cutesy team names. The water-logged timbers strained beneath the weight and the worm-eaten wooden safety rail creaked and bowed as contestants pushed and shoved to get closer to the water.
A net of coarse rope dangled mere inches above the fast-flowing stream, bulging with hundreds of rubber ducks bearing hand-written labels around their necks. Passing mud-snakes lunged from the water, their long jaws snapping at a target held tantalizingly out of reach.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” boomed Fred Suggs, adjusting a duck-shaped floatation device taped to his baseball cap. “The forty-second Annual Eerie Rubber Duck Race is about to begin. Please be upstanding for the starter’s pistol!”
The crowd massed on either side of the river bank quieted, standing to attention with their palms crossed over the place where the human audience members kept their hearts.
“Five!” bellowed Suggs, and the crowd chanted with him. “Four! Three! Two!”
Sergeant Knight held the gleaming silver pistol aloft and the retort echoed across the park as he fired. On the southern bank, Officer Derek shrieked and shied backwards, releasing the rope that held the ducks suspended. They poured from the sagging net in a tidal wave of yellow and orange, splashing and spinning and bobbing away over the foamy wake.
Marshall and Simon moved away from the sagging guard rail, Mars already plucking at the hem of a Team Unflappable shirt in the same hunter-green as the New York Jets. Mister Radford, resplendent in a cobalt-blue Fowl Play shirt, waved them over as they passed.
“Marshall Teller!” he exclaimed. “I didn’t think the annual Rubber Duck White Water Rapid River Race was your kind of thing.”
“It’s not,” Simon explained, as Marshall pulled the team shirt over his head and tugged himself free with unnecessary force. “We’re spying on the tuxedo ducks and this is our cover.”
“Oh,” said Mister Radford. “Well, shouldn’t he keep his disguise on?”
The old man and the small boy glanced over at Mars, who had thrown the cheap tee on the ground and was stamping it into the mud.
“I don’t think he’s all that invested,” whispered Simon.
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