By the time Wynne returned to the sheriff's office carrying a large plastic bag filled to the rim with sandwiches, salads, sodas and - of course - beers, it was obvious to all but the ignorant that Mandy's day had taken a sour turn during the brief absence.

As Wynne put the bag down on the small table by the coffee machine, she cast a sideways glance at her sweetheart who had her private smartphone to her ear while she strode around the back of the office. The grim expression etched onto the senior deputy's face proved that not all was well.

Blackie soon strolled over to her denim-clad owner in the hope there would be something for her inside the bag - perhaps jerky, barbecue chicken or at the very least a can of spicy meatballs. The black dog wasn't disappointed as Wynne soon pulled an entire pack of beef jerky out of the bag. It proved less easy to find a clean plate to present it on, but everything was soon lined up and ready to go.

While Blackie sunk her teeth into the jerky and lapped up fresh water from an appropriated soup bowl that had been pressed into a second career, Wynne shuffled over to Rodolfo to inquire about the telephone conversation. "Who's Sheriff Mandy talkin' to, friend?  That there fa-shal color o' hers don't look too good," she said quietly so she wouldn't disturb too much.

Rodolfo took a break from updating the paperwork to look over at the acting sheriff. "Deputy Kincaid," he said and rolled his eyes.

"Ugh. That charactah sure ain't among mah favorite people, nosirree. Naw… ta tell y'all the truth, that there fella be creepin' me out with them stares o' his. Evah seen how he be lookin' at them gals walkin' past?"

"Oh, yeah… like he's just waiting for an excuse to harass them."

"Ya durn right, friend. An' because he got that there star on his shirt, ain't nobodda can slap 'im silly without riskin' makin' it all worse. So what's the nasty de-per-ty done this time?"

Rodolfo doodled his name on the last page of the latest case file before he closed the folder and put it away. "Well, he didn't come back here after dropping off Sheriff Rains at home. He was supposed to, but… I guess something got in the way."

"Yuh?  Whatevah it wus, it sure wussen his sense o' doo-ty, huh?"

"No," Rodolfo said and let out a brief chuckle. Shaking his head, he reached for the next folder and went back to updating all the paperwork. Although the Sheriff's Department had in fact been allowed to buy a new typewriter to replace the one that had literally thrown a rod the previous summer, it was such an advanced electronic model - the instruction manual was two inches thick - that it was much faster to do the paperwork by hand save for those forms that needed to be filled out in triplicate.

Wynne went back to the bag of goodies and found herself a corned beef sandwich in a plastic case that she put on the table next to the coffee machine. After rummaging around a little more, she dug up a dark-brown can of H.E. Fenwyck Dark Lager. She stared at the regular beer for a long while until she put it back in the bag and took a silvery Double Zero instead. It was soon cracked open and enjoyed.

Once she had wiped off the inevitable foam mustache, she grabbed her sandwich and rested her right buttock on the small table while she ate. Moira's sandwiches were of an excellent quality as always so the corned beef didn't last long. After she had licked her fingers clean of the inevitable spillages, she looked over at the friendly deputy at the watch desk. "Ya hungry, there, Rodolfo?  'Cos I got a li'l o' this an' a li'l o' that in this he' bag o' food."

"Yeah… I could eat. Would you happen to have a chicken sandwich or a ham-and-cheese?"

"Ah sure do, son!" Wynne said and dug into the bag to produce a pair of plastic cases. "Lookie he', I got both!"

"Well, give me both, then!"

"Lawrdie, ya tryin' ta fatten up or som'tin?" Wynne said as she put both sandwiches on the watch desk. She remained there for a little longer than absolutely necessary to give Rodolfo's slick hair and handsome Latino features a closer study. "Yuh, from this he' distance an' all, I can deffa-net-ly see that y'all need'a get in bettah shape. Y'all be lookin' a li'l scrawny from where I be standin'. Us cowpokes ain't too hot on them there scrawny li'l kittens… we kinda be goin' fer them there panthahs, if ya catch mah drift. Mountain lions. Cooo-gahs. Poo-mahs. Yuh. Real killahs an' all."

Rodolfo let out a chuckle as he cracked open the plastic case containing the ham-and-cheese sandwich. "Uh-huh?  Well, for your information, Dolores isn't complaining. In fact, she's quite pleased with certain aspects of me. And that's all I'm going to say on that subject."

"Mercy Sakes, I sure do be thankin' ye fer bein' so considerate, son!" Wynne said and mirrored the deputy's chuckle. She took a long swig of the Double Zero that lasted until she could see that Mandy had finished the conversation with Deputy Kincaid. Getting up, she shuffled down to the other end of the office.

It soon became obvious that Mandy was in no mood to talk about her chat with the perennially workshy deputy, so Wynne changed tactics and grabbed the bag of food instead. Mandy immediately sprung for a roast beef sandwich and a Coke to suppress her frustrations.

---

Twenty minutes later, the surge of urgent calls made to the Sheriff's office had leveled out to regular levels. It seemed that all who had been affected by the strange phenomenon had reported it, and that meant Rodolfo and Mandy could finally begin to wade through the vast pile of notes that had been compiled.

After splitting the piles equally among them, they had each hunkered down at the two desks to try to get a clearer picture of the day's events. Mandy had found an old city map of Goldsboro at the bottom of a broom cupboard inside the crew room, and she had pinned it to the wall as a replacement for an old anti-crime campaign poster that had been years out of date.

At regular intervals, she and Rodolfo went over to the map to place a colorful pin at the addresses where people had disappeared - that the map had been drawn in 1969 was less important as hardly anything had changed inside the city limits since then.

The strip lights had been turned on in the office as the day had turned to late afternoon, and that small procedure had added yet another item to the already lengthy to-do list around the office: one of the strip lights refused to come on, and a second one had literally gone on the blink.

Wynne closed the front door behind her as she and Blackie returned from a little 'business' trip. After putting her beloved cowboy hat next to the coffee machine, she grabbed another can of Double Zero from the goodie bag. "The weathah be holdin' up. It's gettin' kinda humid, tho'… more like Septembah than Jan-ooh-ary. An' dark, but I guess that's got som'tin ta do with that there time goin' bah, yuh?  But anyhows… ain't nobodda around nowheah. I reckon they be scared o' bein' outside jus' in case anothah o' them there weird flashes gonn' race past or som'tin. I'm tellin' ya, the mood out there is the dang weirdest I evah felt he' in Goldsborah. An', Lawrdie, we sure seen some weird shit ovah the years, ain't we?"

Rodolfo grinned as he returned to his desk after adding yet another colorful pin to the old city map. "We definitely have," he said before he took the next note from his pile.

"Yuh!  Hoah-brothah, an' I ain't jus' talkin' 'bout them there butt-ugly goblins or that there nekkid garillah, neithah… haw, 'member them there freaky ghosts with them there dead stares who done showed up the othah year on Hallah-ween?  Lawrdie, they wus-"

Suddenly realizing she had been about to spill the beans on the ghostly encounter she and Mandy had had when she had been working at Otto Kulick's Gas 'n Go! gas station up in the hills, Wynne clammed up in an almighty hurry. Though many of the supernatural dramas that had struck Goldsboro in recent times were common knowledge, there were still a couple of things that she and Mandy had agreed to keep secret from the public at large - the ghosts were among them.

She pretended to cough a couple of times while she racked her mind to come up with something that could satisfy the curiosity of the experienced deputy at the watch desk. Rodolfo already had a puzzled look in his eyes, but it seemed he had become so accustomed to strange, otherworldly events that he didn't want to ask. Ultimately, Wynne just grinned at him, grabbed her beer and forgot all about her slip of the tongue.

---

Mandy, who had been using her personal telephone to keep the landline free, closed the connection after speaking to one of the people who had contacted the Sheriff's Department earlier in the day to report a missing person. The corresponding addition of a colorful pin to the city map was soon accomplished as well - that particular case revolved around a customer down at Holly Lorenzen's Holly's Homey Hair & Nails hair-care salon who had vanished without a trace from one snip of her locks to the next.

After tapping a stack of notes into order at the smaller of the two desks, Mandy's eyes fell on the note she had written countless hours earlier. It listed the name, number and recent address of one of the retired deputies who had been working in Goldsboro during the years where the old Plymouth Fury patrol car she and Rodolfo had located in the desert would have been on active duty. "Hmmm," she said as she leaned back in her swivel-chair.

Wynne had been watching her sweetheart with pride written all over her face. She rarely had an opportunity to witness just how efficient and systematic Senior Deputy - now acting Sheriff - Mandy Jalinski was when it came to the all-important clerical aspects of police work, so she was lapping it up. "Wotcha hemmin' 'bout, there, Sheriff Mandy?" she said with a grin.

"I had planned to call one of the old deputies, a Mr. Darnell Scott, about the Plymouth we found, but then all of this happened. Hmmm," Mandy said as she glanced at the white digits on her smartphone that read a quarter past seven in the evening. "I think I'll call him. He might be able to provide a clue," she continued as she tapped in the number for the retired deputy.

Once she had pressed the green bar to lift the virtual receiver, she put the smartphone on the desk and turned up the volume so Wynne could listen in as well - Wynne grinned even wider and hurried over to the smaller of the two desks to be as close to the action as possible.

'Hello, who is this?' an elderly male voice said at the other end of the line.

"Good evening, Sir. This is Senior Deputy Mandy Jalinski from the MacLean County Sheriff's Department. I'm calling from the Goldsboro office. I would like to speak to Mr. Darnell Scott, please."

'Oh!  Well, you already are. I'm Darnell. Goldsboro?  I worked there for nearly a decade. What can I do for you, Deputy?'

Mandy leaned a little forward so she didn't have to shout into the telephone. "Sir, I was wondering if you could provide the information we needed regarding a patrol vehicle from the late nineteen-seventies. We've recovered a Plymouth-"

'What in the world?!  Where did you find it?  My God, that damn thing cost me dearly…'

Mandy and Wynne shot each other a puzzled but fascinated look. Wynne broke out in a grin and scooted even closer to the telephone - she had always loved a good mystery. "Sir, what can you tell us about it?" Mandy continued.

'The damn thing was stolen from right under my nose!  A deep, dark night back in the spring of 'eighty-one!  Man, I'll never forget that… I was on patrol out at the Fredericksen poultry farm. Mort's old man was still running it then… what was his name… something Swedish… Lars-something. Lars-Gunnar!  Yep, Lars-Gunnar Fredericksen. Morton was off doing something else, but…'

"So your patrol car was stolen, Mr. Scott?" Mandy said to steer the old deputy back on course.

'Uh… yes. Anyway, I was on a regular late-evening patrol of all the farms and ranches there. We only had one four-by-four then and that was busy elsewhere so I had to do it in the Plymouth… that was always a pain 'cos the ground clearance really wasn't high enough for those damned rutty wagon trails out there. Oh, and back then, several different people owned small claims on those fields so there were all kinds of ramshackle huts and sheds. That's different today with Mort Fredericksen buying up all the land in the late 'eighties, but… uh… uh… where was I?'

"The late-evening patrol," Mandy said, looking up to wink at Wynne who sent a warm smile in return.

'Uh, right!  I discovered a hole in one of the wire mesh fences behind the barns and stopped to investigate. It turned out to be nothing, but when I got back to where I had left the patrol car, it was gone!  Man, I had my radio and everything in it so I couldn't even call the base. I didn't want to disturb the Fredericksens in the middle of the night so I had to walk ten damn miles to get back to Goldsboro… it damn near killed me.'

Mandy chuckled as she looked up at Wynne once more. "Oh, I know a thing or two about walking home in the middle of the night, Sir. No fun at all," she said with a wink - the embarrassed grin on Wynne's face proved she remembered the situation all too well: it had been at Halloween the previous year, and it had involved Ernie's truck and an empty gas tank that was supposed to have been full.

'Some things never change, huh?  Well, Ben Keating was sheriff then and he chewed my ass out so royally when I told him about the G-T-A that I couldn't sit down for two weeks straight!'

Wynne furrowed her brow and mouthed 'G-T-A?'

Mandy quickly wrote 'grand theft auto' on the same piece of paper she had used to jot down Darnell's name, number and address - she earned herself a big thumbs-up in return.

'But tell me, Deputy, where did you find that old thing?  Was it stored away in a garage somewhere after all these years?  And do you know who stole it?'

"Well, Sir, we found it in the desert not too far from Mr. Fredericksen's turkey enclosure. Right behind the large barns-"

'What?  No way… I'm sorry, Deputy, but that can't be right… that's exactly where it was stolen!  I'm telling you it wasn't there. I searched the entire area inch by damn inch for an hour and there wasn't any sight of it!'

Wynne and Mandy shared a quick look - Darnell Scott's explanation matched exactly what had happened in town and down south in the trailer park nearly forty years later.

"I understand, Sir, but that's where a fellow deputy sheriff and I found it earlier today. It's certainly hard to believe, but I'm afraid it's about to get even more so. When we located it, it was in a bad shape. It was obvious it had been sitting at that spot behind the turkey enclosure for a very long time as nature had reclaimed it. Perhaps it had never left."

'I mean… that makes no sense!  Look, I hope you're not thinking I was drunk on duty or something…'

"I don't, Sir. It's nevertheless a fact that we found it behind the barns. We took several pictures of it that I could send to your email-"

'Oh, I don't… ah, I don't have any of those computer things. My son takes care of all that for me.'

"I see. It's been taken to the impound yard here in Goldsboro," Mandy said and furrowed her brow. Reaching across the desk, she pulled the note where she had jotted down Darnell Scott's address toward her. "Sir, according to the information I have, you live in Culpepper?"

'That's right…'

"Are you able to visit us tomorrow to verify that it's the same vehicle?  Just so we can eliminate any misunderstandings."

'No, I'm… I can't. I'm sorry, Deputy. I've had to give up my driver's license because of illness. A couple of years ago, I had a blood clot in my left lung so they had to remove the whole thing. I also got rheumatism and a bunch of other things that the job's crazy hours gave me. My son drives me where I need to go, but he's away on business right now.'

"All right…" Mandy said and put down the note once more.

'But, uh… uh… there's a… God, I haven't thought about that damn car in years, but… uh… if you flip down the sun visor on the driver's side, you might find a photo of my late wife. Uh… she passed away a couple of years ago from cancer. If you do find it, would you mind keeping it safe until my son and I could swing by?  It would mean a lot to me to see that particular photo again.'

Mandy nodded though Darnell would not be able to see it. "I'll look for it, Sir. If I find it, I'll make sure it's safe. You have my word."

'Thank you.'

A random glance at the bright-red can of soda she'd had to the sandwiches made Mandy furrow her brow. "Ah… Sir, one more thing. Do you remember anything about an unusual weather phenomenon back when the Plymouth disapp-"

'Oh boy, do I ever!  It was the creepiest thunderstorm I've ever been in!  It had these eerie, red lightning bolts. Man, I damn near filled my shorts when one of those bolts struck the desert floor not three feet from where I had stopped!'

"A red thunderstorm…" Mandy said and looked up at Wynne - they exchanged a knowing look. Even Blackie let go of the final strip of beef jerky to add a short Woof! to the conversation.

'Yes!  It never rained, though, and that was even stranger. You know… thinking back, that lightning bolt might even have stuck the patrol car. I can't say for sure, but it got so damn loud inside it I nearly spilled my coffee… actually, I think I did spill my coffee when it happened. That couldn't have been much more than ten-twelve… maybe fifteen minutes before the car was stolen or whatever happened to it.'

"I see," Mandy said and drew a box around the words Plymouth cruiser? on the notepad. "Thank you very much, Sir. You've been a great help. Like I said before, if we recover the photo, we'll keep it safe until you can come by and pick it up."

'I'd appreciate that, Deputy. I really would. Say… do you still have those great get-togethers where all the old deputies show up to chug down beers and brag about their exploits back in the day?'

"I'm afraid we don't, Sir. Our budget won't allow it these days."

'Now, where have I heard that before?  I know, every damn day back then!  We Can't Afford That… that was Sheriff Keating's motto. He even had it on the office wall. Ha-ha. Perhaps we could get something set up privately. I'll give it some thought. But in any case, it was great to hear from one of my old colleagues. Goodbye, Deputy!'

"Goodbye, Mr. Scott. It was a pleasure talking to you, Sir. Stay healthy."

'Why, thank you!  You too!'

Closing the connection, Mandy tapped the tip of the pencil against the notepad. "There's something fishy going on with that Plymouth, Wynne. I can't shake the feeling it's at the center of the whole thing."

"Lawwwr-die… y'all reckon it be like that there mooh-vie… uh… whut wus it… the one with that there neat-lookin' red cahr that wus possessed or jus' plain ol' evil or som'tin…" Wynne said and scratched her forehead. Furrowing her brow, she fell silent as she tried to get enough neurons into perfect goose-step so she could come up with the title.

Down on the floor, Blackie let out a Woof-woof-wooooof that sounded suspiciously like she was saying 'Christine', but her owner didn't pick up on it. When the German Shepherd found herself thoroughly ignored, she rolled her doggy eyes and returned to chewing on the last inch of the beef jerky.

Wynne still hadn't given up trying to recall the title: "Hoah-boy, it had that gorgeous dame in it. Uh, the mooh-vie, not the cahr. Well, I sapose the cahr did, too, now that I think 'bout it. What wus her name… Mercy Sakes, I be gettin' old ovah he'. Mah memory's jus' 'bout worthless. Like I fergot mah phone jus' now!  Perdy soon, I ain't gonn' be 'memberin' mah own name or where I live or how ta turn on that there teevee or nuttin'… durn. That sure ain't gonn' be no bundle o' laughs, nosirree…"

Mandy had more pressing matters to deal with than the name of an actress or Wynne's grumbles, so she got up from the desk and moved over to the map of Goldsboro in her customary stride.

The pins they had used to mark the addresses seemed to mock her in all their colorfulness. There was something there staring back at her from the map, but she literally couldn't put a finger on what it was. "Rodolfo," she said while she continued to search for a pattern to the many disappearances, "how many reports regarding missing persons have we created by now?"

"Ah, let me see… fifty-something… yep, fifty-seven," the younger deputy said as he made a quick count of the piles on the desk. Although he had sorted all the notes in chronological order, so many had arrived in such a short amount of time that he'd had to sort them alphabetically as well to keep track of them. "Actually, that doesn't include Deputy Simms. So it's fifty-eight disappearances."

"Hmmm," Mandy said as she took an orange pin and squeezed it into the spot where the sheriff's office would be on Main Street. She tapped a finger against the map while she racked her mind to see the pattern - that particular section of the map only had a few pins while the adjacent sections all had countless. Not only that, but they seemed to fan out from the center of the section like a child's point-to-point drawing of a flower or a sea shell. A theory was slowly developing in her mind, but before she could introduce the others to her train of thought, she was interrupted by Wynne:

"An' mebbe mo' than that!  Is Ernie an' Diego an' mah bayu-taful dawggie Goldie alreddy included in that there numbah, or…?"

When Blackie heard Goldie's name mentioned, she let out a sad Wooooof… that proved she missed her golden-furred companion just as much as her owner did.

"No, they're not, Wynne," Rodolfo said as he tore off two pieces of paper and got ready to add the names of Wynne's missing friends. "Or not yet, anyway. I need their names and the exact time of their disappearance. I presume they live in your trailer park?  And I'm sorry… missing pets don't count."

"Izzat a fact?  Well, Goldie dang well counts fer me, son!  But yuh, they be livin' at the trailah park. Mah neighbahs be Ernie Bradberreh an' Diego Benitez. I ain't too sure if mah othah neighbah Frank Tooley be missin', too. He wussen there, eithah, but he might not ha' been there at all or som'tin 'cos I hadden seen 'im all day. An' when?  Snakes Alive, I ain't got no clue when they be gone. I didden look at mah watch 'cos I had plentah ta worry 'bout at the time, if ya catch mah drift."

Over at the map of Goldsboro, Mandy turned to look at Wynne though she kept a finger pressed onto the pin-less section so she wouldn't lose the connection she was trying to establish. "How much time passed after the red flash, hon?"

"Aw… how much time… aw… mebbe ten minutes aftah that there creepy flash," Wynne said and rubbed her chin hard. "Deffa-net-ly no mo' than that. Naw. 'Bout ten minutes aftah, that be 'bout right. Yuh."

"Rodolfo," Mandy continued, "you can insert Mr. Bradberry and Mr. Benitez at zero time plus ten minutes. That might help later."

"Will do. Which means we have sixty disappearances," Rodolfo said as he finished updating the latest paperwork. He glanced over at Mandy and the map to try to figure out what she was working on. When he couldn't, he turned his attention onto the next folder instead.

Mandy turned back to the map and used an index finger to trace the few sections that didn't have many pins near it. There were three such sections in total, but two of those were at the outskirts of Goldsboro. Both had little in the way of housing and thus had a low number of residents - or, more chillingly, it was possible that everyone living there had vanished and simply couldn't file any missing-person reports.

The third section was right in the center of the town, and right in the center of the sea-shell-like spread: a small square at the back of the block of buildings that housed the sheriff's office and the adjacent holding cells. "The impound yard… and that damn Plymouth," Mandy said in a semi-whisper.

"Whassat, darlin'?" Wynne said; she had found another can of Double Zero from the bag of goodies, but Mandy's tone of voice meant she put it down unopened - a rare occurrence that happened once a blue moon at the most.

"We need to take a closer look at that Plymouth. Rodolfo, get over here so I don't have to repeat myself." Once the younger deputy had joined them at the old city map, Mandy continued while she used both hands to illustrate her point: "Look at this pattern. The impound yard is the epicenter. Everything exploded outward from that spot."

"Yuh!  Like rings in the watah…"

"Exactly."

"Lawrdie… so… y'all be sayin' that there red flash that done snatched away all them folks started at that there ol' po-leese vee-hickel y'all found this morn'?"

"It looks that way," Mandy said and tapped an index finger at the empty section of the old map of Goldsboro.

Wynne scrunched up her face. Needing to parse the latest developments and what it might mean, she moved away from the map and took the beer. She cracked it open and took a long swig while she looked out onto the dark, nearly deserted Main Street.

Rodolfo seemed less convinced as he moved closer to Mandy to fill the gap left behind by Wynne. "I understand what you're saying, and I definitely recognize the pattern you described, but… I mean… we're talking about a car here. Glass, metal, nuts and bolts. It's an automobile, not a living being. How can anything mechanical cause all those disappearances?"

The senior deputy rubbed her chin as she looked at the map on the wall. "What if the Plymouth is only the… well, vessel, for lack of a better word. Darnell Scott said the car might have been hit by one of those red lightning bolts. Even if it wasn't, it was very close to one. So what if it was charged with some kind of energy or matter that was subsequently unleashed when the new thunderstorm came by the other night?"

"Well… okay… but how the hell can a thunderstorm cause people to disappear?  Oh, I don't get it," Rodolfo said and broke out in a wide shrug. "I'm gonna bust my brain if I try to figure it out. I better stick to something simpler… like world peace." Chuckling, he moved back to the watch desk.

Mandy chuckled as well as she eyed the piles on the desk. "It's been quiet for a while now so I think we can risk going out back to look at the car. If anything happens, call me at once," she said and tapped the portable radio on her utility belt.

"Will do, Deputy," Rodolfo said and pulled his own radio closer so he wouldn't need to waste time finding it.

Wynne quickly emptied the Double Zero and plonked her cowboy hat down onto her dark locks. Once the rim was down low and the collar of her wool-lined denim jacket was up high so she looked her very best, she jumped over to stand next to her partner. "Hoah-brothah!  Me an' Blackie he' be volunteerin' fer a li'l mis-shun o' explora-shun, yessirree!  Lawrdie, ain't that excitin', huh, Blackie?"

Wooooooof!

"Yessir!  An' besides, I ain't leavin' y'all outta mah sight fer but a second now, De-per- naw, make that Sheriff Mandy!"

"Well, I'm just going to take a look at it… and look for the old photo Darnell Scott mentioned," Mandy said with a tired chuckle.

"Yuh, yuh, but still!  Ooooh, how 'bout we distri-booted them there scatterguhns, Sheriff?  That kinda fiahpowah might come in handy an' all… naw?"

"No," Mandy said and strode over to the wall behind the watch desk to get her Mountie hat and her winter jacket. Once she was fully dressed, she moved over to the door and put her hand on the handle.

Blackie's tail wagged harder than ever to show that she was more than ready to kick some major behind; she glanced up at her two owners and let out a Woof! to get them to move faster.

"Aw, nuttin' ventured, nuttin' gained… ain't that right, Blackie?" Wynne said and shuffled after her partner empty-handed save for a new can of beer from the bag of goodies.

An impatient Woof-woof! was the predictable answer. The fierce German Shepherd didn't care much for any kind of firepower - her teeth were just as effective. Beyond that, her paws and doggy rear were only too happy to leave the cracked linoleum behind.

*

*

CHAPTER 3

After leaving the sheriff's office, Wynne and Mandy strolled along the sidewalk to get to the alley a short stretch further down Main Street. The hard heels of Wynne's cowboy boots played a fast tap dance to keep up with the senior deputy who made great headway in her customary purposeful stride.

Blackie's paws made nary a sound as she ran along next to her two owners. Her black fur billowed in the gentle evening breeze, and her tongue wagged merrily like she couldn't wait to sink her eye teeth into some otherworldly flesh or supernatural ectoplasm.

Only a single truck rumbled past the two women as they marched along the sidewalk that was illuminated by cones of light shining down from Main Street's infrequent lamp posts. Most residents of Goldsboro seemed wary of going out though the situation wasn't dangerous as such - of course, a good deal of the residents couldn't go anywhere after they had vanished earlier in the day.

If the many blacked-out houses were anything to go by, the pattern that Mandy had been able to recognize from the colorful pins that she and Rodolfo had added to the old city map had been confirmed - a great deal of the vanished citizens had lived close to the impound yard.

"Hoah-brothah… step on them air brakes, pardner!  Y'all tryin' ta beat that there land speed rekker'd fer de-per-ties or som'tin?" Wynne said as she reached for Mandy's sleeve in an attempt to get her to slow down. A positive side effect of grabbing hold of the uniform jacket came in the shape of a hand being offered to her.

Grinning, Wynne took it and swung their hands and entwined fingers back and forth. "We be the only folks he', dontchaknow, an' that there ol' Plymouth out back ain't goin' nowheah. How 'bout we took it real nice an' slow-like so we ain't gonn' run outta breath or nuttin' befo' we get there?  Whaddayasay, there, Sheriff Mandy?"

"We need to get to the bottom of this before another disaster occurs," Mandy said without slowing down at all.

"Yuh, yuh… I be gettin' that part an' all… but… Lawrdie, y'all know what allll-ways happens when we be rushin' ahead ta get ta som'tin befo' it can do this, that or whatevah. We allll-ways end up in mo' trubbel than we wus in ta begin with!  An' that sure ain't no lie, nosirree… but anyhows, I thank ye fer wantin' ta hold hands 'cos that sure put a shiny crown on this he' dang-blasted shitty day, dontchaknow."

"You're welcome," Mandy said as they made a left-hand turn at the liquor store to enter the alley that ran parallel to the jail house. Though the lights were on in the fully-stocked store, the owner Grant Lafferty was the only one in there; the bespectacled gentleman leaned against the counter while smoking a pipe and reading a newspaper.

"Haw," Wynne said when she performed a quick wave at Lafferty who happened to look up as the two women strode past, "the Grant-Mastah didden vamoose or nuttin'. That also be good news right there 'cos if he had vamoosed, I woudden ha' nowheah ta buy them there beers or nuttin', yessir. Mebbe things fih-nally be lookin' up, huh?"

"Wynne…"

"Yuh, Ah know, Ah know, there Sheriff Mandy… knock on wood an' all. Dad-gummit, Ah ain't got no wood ta knock on!"

The alley wasn't as well lit as Main Street so the striding senior deputy and the fast-moving Cowpoke needed to be careful where they put their boots - the somewhat intrusive smell offered a hint that more than one cat considered it their personal litter box.

Blackie tip-pawed through the dark spots as well until the cone of light from the first lamp post at the impound yard cast a semi-dimmed sheen of light onto the ground. Woof'ing, the black dog upped the pace and ran ahead to be the first on site.

Wynne and Mandy soon arrived at a wire mesh fence that had been built to a height of eighteen feet to dissuade any juvenile delinquents or drunken rowdies from attempting to scale it. Before the perimeter fence had been built, it wasn't unusual for the local kids to steal spare parts, wheels or entire body panels straight off the impounded vehicles for their own cars.

No less than three heavy-duty padlocks took care of the security arrangements, but Mandy was on top of that through a large bundle of keys that she kept in a pouch on her utility belt.

The words most often used by the citizens of Goldsboro to describe the impound yard were bleak, grim and a terrible eyesore. The coarse gravel on the ground and the dark-gray walls of the nearby buildings only added to the somber mood; four tall lamp posts shone down upon the center of the yard to keep everything bright during the dark hours. A small amount of graffiti had been smeared onto the lower parts of the walls and on some of the warning signs, but it was nothing compared to the look of the central depository yard up at the Sheriff's Department headquarters in Barton City.

At present, the impound yard was home to seven vehicles. Three of them were in good condition as they had been confiscated from people driving under the influence or with an expired license, or for various traffic code violations like a lack of insurance. The remaining four were in varying states of disrepair and had been brought in by one of Otto Kulick the Third's wrecker trucks from the Bang-N-Beatin' Body Shop. One of those four was the old Plymouth Fury that seemed to be at the center of all the drama.

While Wynne and Blackie caught their first glimpses of the dilapidated police cruiser, Mandy strode over to a metal locker resembling a mailbox that had been attached to a wooden pole. Unlocking it, she took a flashlight, a crowbar and a pair of sturdy work gloves before she moved back to the Plymouth.

After donning the gloves, she tried manipulating the remains of the broken door handle on the driver's side to see if she could avoid taking the heavy-handed approach. It refused to function and in fact became even more broken from her attempts at being gentle. Shrugging, she rammed the flat, forked end of the crowbar into the gap and gave it a strong twist.

As the lock and the crowbar wrestled for supremacy, the struggle produced a metallic whine that caused Wynne to grab hold of her cowboy hat. "Snakes Alive, that sombitch whines jus' like that there gosh-darned dentist drill Ah hate so much!  Oooooh-eeeh!  Mah teeth!"

Mandy chuckled as she managed to get the lock disconnected so the door could be pried fully open. Turning on the flashlight and poking her head inside the old vehicle, she crinkled her nose at the distinctly unpleasant concoction of smells she found in there - animal feces, mold, ancient desert dust and general rot greeted her nostrils.

It was clear Blackie could sense something fundamentally amiss with the old police vehicle apart from the abominable scents her sensitive nose picked up. Her heckles rose as soon as the door was opened, and she bared her teeth and let out a throaty growl. Even beyond that, she refused to come anywhere near it which was most unusual for the fearless German Shepherd.

"Wotcha pickin' up, there, Blackie?  The cahr?  Or som'tin in it?" Wynne said as she crouched down next to her dog. She cast a glance at the Plymouth without seeing anything untoward, but Blackie's strong reaction showed it was somehow a threat to their safety. "Ya be feelin' som'tin spooky 'bout the cahr?  Yuh?  Lawrdie, this gonn' be anothah chaptah in that there book o' woes I be writin' some day…"

A couple of loud barks were produced to spell out quite clearly that something was indeed spooky about the old vehicle.

Aided by the flashlight, Mandy cast an experienced eye at the interior. The back seat was empty save for the inevitable filth, random bugs, twigs and piles of sand. The cone of light soon caught a rusty thermos on the passenger seat up front. It had a jagged hole near the lower end, and whatever had been in it had rotted out the upholstery on the seat.

The thermos had a strange-looking bundle next to it, and it took Mandy several seconds to recognize it as a knapsack containing what could only be Darnell Scott's forty-year-old patrol lunch. A huge, clumsy portable radio rested in the center console; though appearing brittle, the rubber antenna was still attached so it appeared ready for use, however, chances were the batteries had leaked and corroded everything inside it decades earlier.

"Sheriff Mandy, what wus it the ol' De-per-ty said 'bout his late wife's pic-chure or some such?" Wynne said as she tried to peek past Mandy's shoulder while pinching her nostrils. "Wussen that saposed ta be in he' somewheah?"

"That's right… up here," Mandy said and let the cone of light move up to the sun visor. The passing of time had made the hinges holding it in place get stuck at the upper stop, but she simply yanked it downward in a shower of brittle plastic bits as well as other debris from the headliner. An old photo fluttered down and landed in the footwell. Reaching in, she picked it up from the moldy floormat.

The faded photograph showed a young woman dressed in typical late-1970s garb and with a huge hairdo straight out of Charlie's Angels. Smiling to the camera, the woman sat on a dark-brown wicker chair with her legs neatly folded to the side and her hands resting in her lap. The pose was perhaps a little too staged but followed the standard of the time.

"Aw, she wus perdy," Wynne said, still looking over Mandy's shoulder before the senior deputy put the photograph in her uniform shirt's breast pocket.

Before they could go on, Blackie growled again and ran around to the front of the vehicle. The black dog still didn't want to get too close to it, but she stopped at the hood and nodded her head at it repeatedly like she was requesting that one of her owners opened it.

Wynne and Mandy shared a look before Wynne shuffled up to the front of the Plymouth. "Try poppin' the hood, there, Sheriff Mandy. Lessee what's in he' that got Blackie so durn riled up an' all."

"It probably won't work," Mandy said; the words had barely left her mouth before the old handle under the dashboard came off when she tried to pull it. "No. It broke. You'll need the crowbar."

"That's a big ten-four, good buddy," Wynne said and took the heavy tool. Moving back up front, she studied the areas just above the cracked headlight clusters and the grille to find a spot that would hold up to the harsh treatment it would be subjected to. "Naw, I need'a borrah that there flashlight y'all be holdin' there… the central latch oughtta be around he' somewhere but I ain't seein' nuttin'… an' the ol' hood ornament is long goh-ne so I can't use that as a pointah, neithah."

Mandy cut to the chase by moving into position and shining the light upward from underneath the front bumper.

"Aw-yuh, much obliged!  There we got that there li'l crittah. Hang on, Sheriff Mandy… I'mma-gonn' get this he' suckah open in no time," Wynne said and rammed the crowbar into the gap between the shut hood and the rear section of the grille. She used enough strength to make the forked end go all the way in; then she yanked the crowbar's shaft toward her to break open the front latch.

Oh-point-nothing later, a tremendous - but eerily silent - bright-red explosion originating somewhere inside the engine compartment of the Fury blew Wynne, Mandy and Blackie completely off their feet and into the weeds at the far end of the impound yard.

Wynne's beloved hat went flying as she landed upside-down in an unruly pile of arms, elbows, cowboy boots, denim and shrubbery, but the fate of her hat needed to take a back seat for a change. Her own fate was deemed more important as she was forced to scramble out of the way of the heavy crowbar as it hurtled toward her.

The heavy-duty tool tumbled end-over-end through the air before it clanged hard against the brick wall above her head. From there, it dug itself into the coarse gravel and balanced on one end for a second or two before it fell over - it eventually came to a rest next to her legs. Predictably, she let out a croaked: "Lawwwwwwwwwwwwr-die!"

Blackie was on her feet in an instant and let rip with a series of thunderous barks in the general direction of the evil Plymouth. The black German Shepherd was in full-on attack mode, but now she had experienced the unearthly powers of the old vehicle, she was even more wary of getting too close to it.

Ten feet away from the barking dog, Mandy came up for air amid a pile of old auto parts. She had torn the right-hand sleeve of her uniform jacket wide open upon landing, but her skin hadn't been nicked. Her expensive Mountie hat - that she had to pay for herself, unlike the jacket - had survived without being crumpled or dented. As she sat up, she could hardly believe her eyes.

"Lookie there, De-per-ty!" Wynne cried at the exact same time as she plonked her cowboy hat back onto her dark locks. "Them red lightnin' bolts!  Why, dog-gone it, ya wus right!  It be them there red lightnin' bolts all ovah ag'in!"

The hood of the Plymouth had been pried fully open by Wynne's rough work with the crowbar; the subsequent silent explosion had made the metal buckle upward like the lid of a can of sardines. The red thunderstorm taking place inside the engine compartment meant nobody in their right mind could go anywhere near it.

Crackling bolts of red energy streaked out of the old car in all directions; they zigged and zagged through the air like proper lightning until they were absorbed by flat surfaces or ricocheted off slanted planes that made them head for the heavens. One of the latter went straight up and struck one of the lamp posts - the bulb exploded in a shower of shards and orange sparks which rained down upon the impound yard. The remaining three posts all blinked several times before they went out for good. An inky darkness that was only illuminated by the ominous red lightning bolts fell over the yard and the people there.

The entire Plymouth seemed to pulsate at an increasing frequency until another of the feared red flashes burst forth from the engine bay. It resembled the one that had swept through Goldsboro and the trailer park earlier in the day, but perhaps less strong.

Wynne grabbed hold of herself and her hat as the flash aimed straight for her. It shot through her and the wall behind her at high speed without leaving any residual effects, but she still counted her fingers and patted down all her limbs to make sure she hadn't vanished. "Mercy Sakes, that done felt too friggin' weird!  It tickled like a sombitch… but Ah can see mahself… Ah think… Mandy, can ya see me?  Mandy?  Blackie?"

After the red flash had been created, the Plymouth seemed to calm down. The intensity of the lightning bolts decreased until they no longer had the strength required to escape the engine bay.

"Mandy, ya he'?  Blackie?" Wynne continued as she clambered to her feet and dusted off her jacket and jeans.

A croaking "Still here," proved the former was present somewhere in the darkness, but when Blackie didn't reply at once, Wynne jumped into action and began tearing around the dark impound yard to search for her dog.

She let out a cry of relief when she found the German Shepherd in the farthest corner of the yard locked in a stare-down match with a hissing alley cat that hadn't been there before the red flash had been created. "Awwww, Blackie!  Mah sweet, li'l badass Blackie!" Wynne said as she fell down on her knees and pulled the confused dog into a strong rub-and-hug session - the tough-looking alley cat grabbed the opportunity to zip out of harms' way.

"Ah wus so dang-blasted worried y'all had vamoosed, too!  Who loves ya?  Who loves ya, girl?" she continued as she buried her face in the black fur.

A puzzled Wooooof-woof-woof? that meant 'I appreciate the notion, but I had that ugly kitty right where I wanted him…' was Blackie's only verbal response.

Back at the Plymouth, Mandy inched over to the car ready to dive for cover in case the whole thing would kick off again. Instead of approaching it directly from the front, she came at it from the side until she was close enough to put her gloved hands on the severely buckled-up hood. Nothing happened, and that made her breathe a sigh of relief. "Wynne!  Wynne, get over here quick!" she shouted over her shoulder.

"Yuh, yuh!  Y'all got the one an' only Wynne Donohue comin' yer way in an almi'ty hurry, there, Sheriff Mandy!" Wynne said before she went off in the wrong direction altogether. Fortunately, Blackie's sensitive doggy-eyes were able to penetrate the darkness and steer her owner back to the patrol car. "We be he'!  Yup, we deffa-net-ly be he'!" Wynne shouted once she was within sight of where she needed to be.

"Do you have your sheepskin gloves with you?"

"Yuh!  I nevah leave home without 'em!" Wynne said and patted her rear pocket. "Uh… nuh. I guess I done left home without 'em… sorry," she added after a short while.

Mandy had to let out a chuckle despite the drama they were caught in. "No problem. Find something to wrap around your hands. We need to get the hood forced down and secured. I can't do it by myself from this angle."

"Will do, Sheriff Mandy!  Uh… uh, lessee what we got he'… Lawrdie, it's so gosh-darned dark back he' I only be seein' a whoooole lotta nuttin'… aw-yuh, y'all can still see me, yuh?"

"I can see you just fine, Wynne. C'mon, it needs to be today!"

"Yuh, yuh, clap them hosses, pardner!  Yuh… naw… yuh… naw. Aw, shit. Ain't nuttin' he' I can use or nuttin'. Dang-it. Lawrdie, now why didden I think o' that befo'?  I'mma-gonn' take off mah jacket an' turn it around an' all. That oughtta do it," Wynne said and slipped the wool-lined denim jacket off her shoulders. Holding it so the sleeves were between her hands and the hood, she put them on the metal surface.

"Good. Now push it down."

Working together, they soon succeeded in getting the buckled engine cover down near its original position. The red lightning bolts had bent it so badly out of shape it wouldn't stay shut, and Wynne's previous actions with the crowbar had made it worse by breaking the latch clean off as well.

"That's not enough," Mandy said as she tried to slam her gloved fist onto the leading edge of the hood to make it line up better. "Either we'll need a sledgehammer, or… Wynne, jump up and sit on it while I search for something to tie it down with."

"Sit on it?!  Lawrdie, mah caboose gonn' turn inta a moon rocket if that there evil thing explodes all ovah ag'in while Ah'm sittin' on the can!  Aw, can't we find som'tin ta put… a tiah… a wheel… must be a loose wheel around he'… naw. Ain't no tiahs or wheels or nuttin'. Aw, this ain't mah day," Wynne said as she hopped up onto the dented hood to hold it down. "May Ah ask that y'all be hurryin' the hell up, there, Sheriff Mandy, 'cos them there dents in this he' hood be pokin' mah buhtt som'tin fierce, Ah'm tellin' ya…"

Mandy soon returned with a long string of rope that she attached to the underside of the hood; getting down on her knees, she tied the other end to the car's frame and gave it a couple of strong yanks to test its strength. "It'll hold. You can jump off now."

"Mah bee-hind sure be grateful, Sheriff Mandy!" Wynne said as she hopped off the Plymouth and straightened her pants. She donned her denim jacket and was about to speak when somebody stormed through the dark alley yelling at the top of his lungs.

"Dammit, now what?!" - "Lawwwwwwr-die!  An' jus' when ya thunk this he' deal wus all ovah!" Mandy and Wynne said as one the moment they heard the cries.

The person doing all the yelling turned out to be Roscoe Finch, one of the junior players in the Goldsboro Pool Association. In his mid-twenties, he wore blue-jeans and a white down jacket that he hadn't had time to zip - the gap revealed a green flannel shirt and a shiny belt buckle. The baby-faced Roscoe tried to grow facial hair to avoid being carded everywhere he went, but the irregular patches of fuzzy downs he sported on his chin and cheeks only provided ammunition for his friends for a continued ribbing about his youthful looks.

"Whoah, whoah, whoah, there, young fella!  Me an' the De-per-ty he' sure be a lotta things, but deaf ain't one of 'em!  Y'all can quit that there infernal hollerin' o' yers," Wynne said and put up her hands. "Anyhows. Howdy, Roscoe. I be guessin' y'all got one helluva problem fer that kind o' yellin'?"

Roscoe needed to take several deep breaths before he could answer: "Moira came back!  For, like, five seconds and then she vanished again!  And man, was she hot under the collar!  Everyone over there is completely freaking out… you need to come quick to get folks calmed down!"

"Holy shit… that there red flash… it really wus the dang-blasted red flash that done it. Lawrdie…" Wynne croaked as her mind connected the dots for her while she glanced over at the Plymouth. "Yuh, we be comin', Roscoe. Not sure whaddahell we can do, but we deffa-net-ly gonn' come. Mandy?"

Mandy looked up from the portable radio with a concerned expression on her face. She had been trying to hail Rodolfo back at the sheriff's office, but either the radio had been damaged from all the electrical surges that had escaped the Plymouth, or Rodolfo had vanished as well. "You go ahead. I need to check up on Deputy Gonzalez. He isn't answering."

"Mercy Sakes, not ag'in!" Wynne said and threw her hands in the air. "Dontcha worry 'bout a thing, there, Sheriff Mandy. We be goin'. Roscoe, lead the way, yuh?  C'mon, Blackie!  Ovah ta Moira's," she continued as she patted her hip and pointed down the alley to make the clever canine understand where they needed to go.

A strong Woof-woof! followed before Roscoe, Wynne and the German Shepherd set off in a semi-fast jog to get back to the Bar & Grill across the street.

Mandy stayed behind at the Plymouth a short while longer to make sure it really had returned to its dormant state. When no lightning bolts or red flashes had appeared after two agonizingly long minutes, she followed the others' footsteps through the alley. Instead of crossing over Main Street to get to Moira's, she turned right and ran up the sidewalk to get back to the sheriff's office.

---

Barging inside, she became aware of four things within a few moments of arriving: One, Rodolfo wasn't there. Two, the Bakelite telephone on the watch desk was once more ringing off the hook. Three, the portable radio stood next to the telephone. Four, someone pounded on a door and cried for help somewhere in the building.

"Dammit, Rodolfo… we're running out of deputies!" she mumbled as she flew through the office to get to the crew room. Her first stop was a bust since that room was empty as well, but now that she was down at that end of the building, the pounding and the voice calling for help stood out much clearer. Groaning, she ran over to the door to the restrooms and went inside - and sure enough, Rodolfo occupied one of the stalls, pounding on the door and yelling his lungs out to attract attention.

"Deputy Gonzalez, what in the world is going on here?!" she said while slamming her hands onto her hips. She had to suppress a belly laugh that threatened to come to the surface despite all the serious issues floating around town.

'Mandy?!  Oh, man… I'm locked into the crapper!  Try to pick the lock or something!  Just get me outta here!  Please!'

"We don't have time for picking anything!  Stand back, I'm going to kick down the door!" Mandy said while she aimed her boot at the lock. Thrusting her powerful leg ahead, she smashed through the wood and the metal latch like a hot knife through butter.

She had to hide a smirk as Rodolfo shuffled out of the restroom stall in a most dejected fashion - he had a mortified look upon his face and stared down at the floor. "Well, at least you didn't have your pants down," she said while she surveyed the damage to the door.

"I've never been so embarrassed in my life," Rodolfo mumbled as he and Mandy went back into the main part of the office. "I've been stuck in there for ten damn minutes… I needed to go real bad but then the damn lock wouldn't release. Hey, what happened to your jacket?"

"Long story. There's been another of those red flashes so you need to get back to work on the double," Mandy said and gently pushed her colleague over to the watch desk. "We'll follow the same procedure as this afternoon. Take all the notes you can… names, addresses, everything. We'll sort them when I get back."

Rodolfo let out a long sigh as he hurried over to the uncomfortable chair at the watch desk. He had barely sat down before the telephone rang again. "When you get back?  Where are you going?"

"I'll be over at Moira's. She came back only to disappear again," Mandy said as she strode over to the other desk to take a new portable radio. When she tried hitting the transmit key, the signal went through to the one on the watch desk at once. "All right. We've had a unit malfunction. Keep me posted if anything urgent comes along," she said as she hooked the new radio to her belt.

"Will do, Deputy," Rodolfo said and picked up the old-fashioned receiver. "Good evening, this is- oh… Sheriff Rains, Sir…"

Mandy's eyes grew wide for a moment; then she shook her head vehemently and stormed out of the office. Behind her, she could hear Rodolfo say: "Deputy Jalinski?  I'm sorry, Sir, but we've… uh… had a radio malfunction. Ah, yes…"

---

Across the street, Wynne and Blackie tried in vain to deal with the ear-shattering wall of noise created by the Bar & Grill's fifteen patrons who all hurled questions, comments and profanity at them at once. Wynne had long since lost her illusions of being able to get a word in anywhere, and she could only clamp down on her hat so it wouldn't fly off all over again due to the massive breath of hot air that spewed from the patrons.

Blackie tried to woof, bark, and even yap now and then to explain what had happened, but when she found herself thoroughly ignored by the humans in the room, she gave up and shuffled over to the doggy-cave underneath the pool table - there, she and her much-missed canine companion Goldie had spent many happy hours while their owner had been working at the stoves.

Mandy only stopped running when she entered the Bar & Grill, but the noise pollution inside nearly made her run back out again. She knew it was only fair to provide a few answers, so she put her hands in the air and stepped closer to the unruly patrons. "People!  People, listen up. Yes, we're aware there's been a new red flash similar to the one this afternoon. No, it doesn't appear to have caused any further disappearances, but it's too early to say for sure. Yes, we know exactly where it came from. No, we don't actually know what is causing it as such. Yes, it's connected to the red thunderstorm last night. No, we don't know how to prevent it from happening again. Any further questions?  Good. You may go about your business. Thank you," she said before she strode over to the fellow who had alerted them. "Roscoe, tell us exactly what happened with Moira. From the top, please."

The young man needed to pick up his jaw from the floor before he could go on. After shaking his head to get everything back in place, he ran over to a spot halfway between the pool table and the refrigerators. "Okay… once the new flash had flown through here, Moira popped up for… what… five, eight, ten seconds or so. Right here where I'm standing. And boy, was she spit-flying furious. I mean… she has a temper, but that was-"

"Did she appear to be in good health?" Mandy said while she took notes on a notepad.

"Well… yes. I suppose she did," Roscoe said and broke out in a shrug. "It all happened so fast. She hadn't turned into a zombie or anything… at least I don't think she had."

Wynne let out a dark grunt on her way over to the refrigerators - now she was there, she might as well restock a little. "Aw-yuh, trust me when Ah say y'all woulda noticed if she wus, son!  'Cos, dang, them there zombies sure ain't funny ta play pattycake with, if ya catch mah drift."

"Huh… not really," Roscoe said and scratched his fuzzy cheek.

Wynne just shrugged and opened a wing of the refrigerator to get a can of Double Zero. Cracking it open, she drank half of it in the first sequence of swigs alone. "All Ah'm sayin', son, is that y'all woulda known if Moira wus a zombie. Or a ghost 'cos then she'd be glowin' kinda pale-blue or som'tin," she continued as she used the back of her hand to wipe off the inevitable foam mustache. "Wait… she wussen glowin' or nuttin', wus she?"

Roscoe stared at Wynne for a short while before he shook his head. "Not that I noticed… no," he said in a monotone.

"Aw, that there be perdy dog-gone good news, yessirree. Now all we hafta figger out is where all them there nice folks an' dawggies end up when they vamoose away from he'," Wynne said before she chugged down the rest of the can of non-alcoholic beer.

Roscoe nodded somberly. "Yes, like Foo-Foo…"

"Uh… who-dere, exactly?" Wynne said over the rim of the empty can.

"Mrs. Skinner's new dog."

"Lawrdie, that li'l toy dawggie be vamoosed too?" Wynne continued as she opened the refrigerator door a second time to take another can of Double Zero. "Foo-Foo… Mercy Sakes. Who done call their dawg Foo-Foo, anyhows?  I mean, Coo-jo or Shreddah or Killah or Rex or Blackie an' Goldie, wa-hey… them be awesome names fer awesome dawggies!  But Foo-Foo…"

While Wynne spoke to the increasingly perplexed Roscoe Finch, Mandy noticed that the television over by the bar counter had been tuned to a news station rather than the local affiliate of one of the nationwide sports networks. It showed a press conference featuring several concerned-looking people with long titles like Professor of Theoretical Meterophysics. The TV had been muted so she looked around for the remote in order to turn up the volume - it was soon found and put to good use.

"Quiet… can we have some quiet, please?" she said to little effect. Everyone continued to yap in a cacophony of voices, so she decided to use a martial tone that Artie Rains used from time to time whenever he needed to cut through the din: "Everybody shut up!  Now!" she barked at the top of her lungs.

It worked a treat as the entire Bar & Grill fell quiet save for Wynne who hacked, coughed and spluttered several times after choking on her beer - some of it had even spewed out of her nostrils. Until she had recognized her sweetheart's voice, she had thought the Sheriff had shown up to ruin her evening after all.

---

While the press conference ran on the TV, Wynne kept herself amused at the pool table with a little trick-shooting display using one of the slightly warped rent-a-cues and a selection of the colorful balls. She still felt guilty for tearing the old felt surface during the sudden black-out back at the Goldsboro vs. Cavanaugh Creek pool tournament in December, but at least Moira MacKay's insurance company had covered the damages that had been caused.

She stopped playing and racked the warped cue when Mandy strode over to her. To stay sharp, she took another can of Double Zero from her jacket pocket and cracked it open at once. "So… whassup, there, Sheriff Mandy?"

"What did you make of the professor's conceptional thoughts and theories?"

"Yuh… that ol' bearded fella. Aw, I sapose he… well, he wus sorta, kinda… right 'bout a couple-a things…." Wynne mumbled while she shuffled around a little to hide her embarrassment. It dawned on her through the warm, understanding smile playing on Mandy's lips that she could come clean. "Aw, gosh-darn'it, I wussen payin' that much atten-shun ta him, ta be honest. It all sorta went ovah mah head. He kinda lost me from the start there when he done intra-dooced himself with that there high an' mi'ty title o' his. Did he say anythin' worthwhile?"

"Not as much as I had hoped-"

"Naw. Figgers," Wynne said and took a long swig of the beer.

"-but he did say the red lightning bolts seem to be created by some kind of super-charged ionization process within the thundercloud. Our eyes see them as red, but that's got something to do with the color spectrum."

Wynne cocked her head.

"They're able to break through the barrier between the dimensions and create a disparity between the various realities."

Wynne furrowed her brow in addition to the cocked head.

"So the red bursts that cause the disappearances are just like regular lightning bolts produced in regular thunder cells only shaped differently… they're created because of unequal levels of charging between the planes. Or in this case, between the dimensions. Or realities, whichever you want to call it."

Wynne needed to push back her beloved cowboy hat to have room for the deep furrows along her brow - not to mention her scrunched-up eyes that only added to the 'severely lost' look that was etched onto her face. "Lawrdie… Ah didden get a word o' that. Nuttin'. An' Ah mean nuttin' like in nuttin' with a li'l nuttin' on top. All this he' technobabble ain't good fer mah self-esteem… ya lost me at the supercharged crayons or whatevah y'all done called it, Sheriff Mandy…"

"It doesn't matter, Wynne. I only understand a tiny part as well. Don't fret about it," Mandy said and reached out to touch her partner's elbow.

"Naw, naw, I'm sorta hangin' on by mah fingahnails. Sorta. So y'all be sayin' them there red flashes 'r like when ya open a door an' y'all can feel air rushin' in 'cos it was hottah or coldah in the othah room, yuh?  Naw!  Naw, I gotta bettah explana-shun… they be like a baby needin' ta burp aftah bein' fed. Yuh. Milk in, burp out. Yuh?"

"Well… possibly…" Mandy said and scratched her cheek.

Nodding to herself like she had just solved the Riddle of the Sphinx, Wynne drained the latest can of Double Zero and put it on the edge of the pool table. "Okie-dokie. So now we know what that there ol' Professah fella thinks. But how's all o' that gonn' help us get them missin' folks back?  An' Goldie!"

Mandy shook her head. "I don't know that yet," she said and rubbed her forehead.

"We need'a revuhrse that there dang-blasted process somehow… we need'a… need'a… need'a… I need'a-nothah beer ta think on," she said and reached into her other pocket to find the next can of Double Zero. Once it had been cracked open and swigged from, she wiped off the foam mustache and once more assumed a thoughtful pose.

"Wynne, you're a genius!" Mandy suddenly said and reached over to slap her partner's arm. Down below the pool table, Blackie stuck her head out of the doggy-cave and let out a Woooof? that sounded just like she was saying 'Huh?'

"Why, Ah sure am!  Uh… regardin' what, exactly?"

"We need to reverse the process!"

"We sure do…" Wynne said in a monotone that revealed she had been lost all over again.

"By adding enough voltage and amps to the old Plymouth, we can create a small-scale thunder cell of our own. It'll hopefully overpower the atmospherical conditions and suck in the reality-equalizing flash instead of blowing it out!"

"It sure does suhck, awright…" Wynne mumbled around a swig of beer. "But I ain't got no clue whatso-friggin'-evah how y'all reckon y'all can accomplish that!  Didden ya see what that there durn thing did ta us back in that there impound yahrd?  We got blown clean off our dang-blasted feet jus' by lookin' at that there dog-gone thing!"

"So we'll take cover. All right," Mandy said and held out her right hand so she could use her fingers to count off. "First we call NorPower and get them to send out a skilled technician on the double. Then we tow the Plymouth down to the southern transformer substation. Then the technician will hook it up to the high-voltage cables that come in from the desert. And then, once the car has become a live wire, we'll turn up the juice. If we're in luck, it'll do the trick."

Wynne blinked several times; then she drained the beer. "If we're in luck. Yuh. Haw. Yuh. Now… pardon me a whoooole bunch fer sayin' it, there, Sheriff Mandy, but whendahell did we evah have even the teeniest-tiniest amount o' good luck?  That there plan o' yers does seem ta be jus' a li'l half-cocked, pardon mah French… what if that there durn thing jus' explodes all ovah ag'in?  Ain't we riskin' blowin' the yooo-niverse apart at them there seams or som'tin?"

"We'll deal with that if and when it happens."

"Huh!  Yuh, but-"

"Come on, let's set the plan in motion," Mandy said before making for the door.

In the small doggy-cave underneath the pool table, Blackie let out a happy bark and took off after her owner - she was finally going to be allowed to take part in a little action.

Wynne scratched her cheek, rubbed her chin and pinched the bridge of her nose before she put down the empty can and followed her sweetheart over to the exit. "Yuh… yuh, that be easy ta say now, but, Lawrdie… I sure ain't plannin' on visitin' Joo-pitah or Venahs or Mahrs or any o' them there long-distance hollahday desti-nay-shuns any time soon, ya know… Mercy Sakes, I ain't even got no passport or nuttin'!"

*

*

CHAPTER 4

A short fifteen minutes later, the stores on either side of Goldsboro's Main Street were once again lit up by a light show that would have no problem measuring itself against any of those seen in the World Capital of Poor Taste & Slot Machines - Las Vegas.

The first clue that the creator of the new light show was far more benign than the evil entity possessing the Plymouth was that the lights were yellow rather than red. The second clue came soon after when a deep rumble heralded the arrival of Otto Kulick the Third's lumbering Ford F700 wrecker truck that drove down the center of the deserted Main Street like it was part of the Fourth of July parade. The final clue was provided when the driver waved her beloved cowboy hat out of the open window and let out a "Yeeeeee-haaaawww!  Watch them truckahs roll, ten-four!" as it rumbled past Moira's Bar & Grill where Roscoe Finch and several others were gawking.

Wynne needed both hands on the large steering wheel as she turned off Main Street and entered the narrow alley next to Grant Lafferty's liquor store. She only had a few inches to spare on either side of the wide vehicle, but she managed to avoid scraping off the paint - not to mention getting stuck anywhere - on her way to the dark impound yard.

Coming to a halt by the wire mesh fence, she pulled the cord for the air horns which created a long Hoooooot-Hoooooot! that echoed between the houses. "Lookie he' what I brought y'all!" she said as she jumped down from the tall wrecker truck.

Mandy and Blackie had been waiting by the opening in the fence, but they both moved ahead to intercept Wynne. "Oh, that brings back a few memories…" the senior deputy said with her tongue stuck firmly in her cheek.

"Yuh," Wynne said and looked back at the truck. "Yuh, it does. Perdy bad mem'ries now ya men-shun it. Lawrdie, I ain't nevah gonn' ferget that there time when that Durangah we wus towin' done wrecked itself when we drove back from Silvah Creek… well, I sapose it wus them butt-ugly goblin crittahs that ack-chew-ly wrecked it, but… yuh."

"Did you square it with Mr. Kulick before you borrowed it?"

"Uh… naw," Wynne said and looked anywhere but at the dedicated, stern law enforcement officer she was standing close to. "I coudden 'cos Mista Otto the Third wussen there. He had alreddy gone home. Ol' Tuckah Garfield wus one o' those who done vamoosed, but mah ol' buddy Cletus Browne wus there… he's the shop foreman ovah yondah at that there auto repair biz, yuh?  An' I kinda bribed him inta lettin' me have them there keys. It cost me all them beers I took ovah at Moira's, but… yuh. He' we be. Aw, an' the flatbed truck wussen there, or I woulda taken that instead."

"Dammit, Mr. Garfield has disappeared too?"

"Yuh… ol' Tuckah gone bah-bah like Ernie an' all them othahs. An' Goldie…"

Mandy turned to look at the Plymouth with a thoughtful expression on her face; then she turned back to Wynne. "When the first flash raced through town this afternoon, Tucker Garfield had just unloaded the Plymouth. Rodolfo told me over the radio."

"Huh. So?"

"So what if the powerful red flash was caused by him fiddling around with it?  Just like what happened to us before. I watched him pull the old car onto the flatbed out at the Fredericksen place. He just attached the chains to it and dragged the whole thing onto the hydraulic flatbed… he never tried to open the hood out there."

"Yuh, that would be like ol' Tuckah, awright," Wynne said and pushed her cowboy hat back from her brow. "Always cuttin' cornahs if he can get away with it. I guess he done tried cuttin' one cornah too menneh or som'tin."

"Yes. The mechanism was broken, but he couldn't know that. So maybe he accidentally released… or unleashed… something when he wanted to get the chains off. And it got him. And the flatbed truck as well because it was right next to the epicenter."

"Lawrdie… ol' Mista Sourpuss Tuckah Garfield done started it all…"

"There's a good chance he did. Oh, we'll have to sort that out later if or when he shows up. First things first," Mandy said and strode over to the fence. "I managed to get hold of NorPower. They're sending down a technician from their central office in Barton City so it'll be a while. That gives us time to get the show on the road… literally," she continued as she unlocked another section of the gate so it would be wide enough for the wrecker. "All right. Back it up so you can hook the chains to the old patrol car."

"Yes ma'am, Sheriff Mandy, ma'am!  On mah way!" Wynne said and hopped back up behind the steering wheel. After driving a short distance ahead to get the proper angle, she turned on all the rearward-facing work lights the wrecker truck had and began reversing through the opening in the gate. The F700's dual rear tires made the coarse gravel crunch, but the surface held up to the large vehicle.

---

Though it had been a while since Wynne had tried to operate the crane and all that went with it, she had soon hooked a pair of sturdy chains around the Plymouth's frame. The chains were clicked onto the belts that came down from the hook on the hydraulic crane itself to make everything ready for the operation.

"Y'all need'a stand clear, there, Sheriff Mandy… jus' in case that there rope y'all used ta tie down the hood gonn' snap or fall off or som'tin," Wynne said as she began to manipulate the levers that operated the crane.

The powerful hydraulics were able to lift the front of the Plymouth off the ground without problems, but no sooner had Wynne grinned at the success before the grin turned to a frown and then a "Sombitch!  Lookie there… Lawrdie, we be havin' real trubbel now…"

It became obvious the old patrol car had suffered greater structural damage from spending decades in the desert than had appeared on the surface. As the crane lifted the front off the ground, the center section under the seats began to bend like cooked spaghetti. Desert dust and flakes of rust rained down from the frame and the chassis, and loud cracks were heard as various metal parts gave up the ghost.

"Stop, Wynne!  Stop lifting it!" -- "Naw, Ah bettah stop, dog-gone'it…" Mandy and Wynne said as one as they cast depressed glances at the sorry remains of the patrol car.

While Mandy knelt next to the Plymouth to investigate the extent of the damage to its underside, Wynne took off her cowboy hat to scratch her hair. "Dad-gummit, that there durn thin' jus' hadda come back an' bite us in the buhtt… ya be seein' anythin' down dere, Sheriff Mandy?"

"I see plenty," Mandy said as she dusted off her hands and leaned back on her thighs. "The frame's almost cracked in half. Crooked like a damn banana. We'll never get it up in the air now."

"Aw, sombitch!  That means towin' ain't gonn' work, neithah… not if that there frame is bent outta shape alreddy. Not only is that there towin' eye gonn' be rusty as all hell, pullin' at the head jus' gonn' tear the whole, darn thing in two like wet toilet papah. An' there ain't no way I can attach them chains ta anythin' but the front suspen-shun 'cos they ain't long enough for nuttin' else."

"Dammit," Mandy said and rubbed her brow.

"Yuh, but woudden it be possible ta push it by hand or som'tin?"

Climbing to her feet, Mandy continued to rub her brow before she let out a long, deep sigh. "Only if you have the number to the Incredible Hulk."

"I ain't even got mah phone!  Naw, I bet us wimmenfolk could push that there darn thing out ta Main Street. I mean, it ain't even a hundred yards out there an' we be strong an' reddy ta soar, dontchaknow."

"True. Very true. You can have the first fifty yards. Four flat tires and up to the axles in gravel, Wynne."

The Cowpoke in question had already opened her mouth to provide another pep talk, but all that came out was an emphatic: "Shit."

---

Over the next three minutes or so, Mandy hemmed, Wynne hawed and Blackie just sat there with her tongue and her tail wagging. A little more time went by where Mandy hawed, Wynne hemmed and Blackie began to get bored with the complete lack of action and excitement.

"Mebbe we could… naw," Wynne said as she used both hands to scratch her hair. "Or mebbe… naw. Lawrdie, this he' deal sure ain't easy, huh?"

"Has anything ever been easy for us?"

"Haw!  Good point, there, Sheriff Mandy…"

"In any case, I have an idea," Mandy said after measuring the distance around the old patrol car by counting her strides. "Can you make the wrecker fit around the back of the Plymouth?  If you can, we could let the truck do all the hard work by simply shoving the car out of here and into the alley."

"Yuh… yuh, I might be able ta squeeze the big, ol' wreckah in he'," Wynne said and looked back at the truck before she squinted to get a feel for the space she had at her disposal. "Dog-gone'it, it ain't gonn' be easy-peasy or nuttin', tho'."

"You'll pull it off. You're a good driver, hon," Mandy said with a smile - Blackie backed her up by woof'ing.

Grinning, Wynne sent a little kissy and a large wave with her cowboy hat in her sweetheart's direction. "Haw, much obliged… yuh. Well, we sure ain't gonn' find out if I can or not by standin' he' yakkin' 'bout it. Les'give it a shot."

---

After plenty of tender-footed driving, careful positioning and cussing out of the open window at the lumbering truck's reluctance to turn on a dime, Wynne had made the Ford F700 line up in a perfect line-astern formation with the Plymouth.

Although the large truck was equipped with a shovel-like front bumper that enabled it to push wrecked vehicles off the road without damaging any vital parts of the truck's own bodywork, the sloping curvature of the old patrol car's rear deck meant it wasn't a good match - even beyond that, the lack of tires had left the Plymouth so low to the ground there was only a small overlap between the trunklid and the wrecker truck's bumper.

"He' we go!  I sure hope y'all be crossin' ya fingahs, there, Sheriff Mandy, 'cos this he' thing might still turn inta' disastah!" Wynne shouted out of the open window after checking the angle of attack for the umpteenth time. Selecting the super-low gear only used for getting away from a standstill when the wrecker was carrying a load, she made the truck lean hard against the patrol car's rusty trunk that began to buckle and cave in almost at once.

Working with great care, she managed to get the old thing rolling without too many hiccups. The punctured tires flopped around on the wheels and the axles dug deep into the gravel, but she just planted her cowboy boot on the gas pedal to make the wrecker force its load further ahead - it made black diesel smoke billow out of the exhaust pipes as the engine was asked to perform a heavy-duty task.

To get the Plymouth Fury through the alley and out onto Main Street, they needed to make a right-hand turn just at the exit of the impound yard. Mandy volunteered for that task by opening the patrol car's door and grabbing hold of the steering wheel. She tried to sit down on the semi-dissolved driver's seat so she could use both hands, but the windshield had turned so milky and opaque that she needed to get out almost at once to see where she needed to steer.

Though she grunted from the exertion of forcing the unassisted steering wheel to turn to the right when the Plymouth only wanted to go straight on, she was able to persuade it to enter a lazy turn that eventually saw it line up with the narrow alley. "Keep going!  Nice and slow, Wynne!" she shouted to be heard over the wrecker truck's rumbling engine.

Wynne pulled the cord for the air horns and shouted: "Yes, ma'am!  Ah be takin' it nice an' slow, there, ma'am!  Ten-four!"

Blackie ran alongside the strange-looking convoy offering various suggestions of what to try next through a series of barks, woofs and yaps. When everything seemed to be going without hassle, the clever dog upped her pace to reach the mouth of the alley before the vehicles so she could warn any pedestrians of the impending danger.

---

The second turn onto Main Street was soon accomplished as well, though not without a grunting senior deputy, a cussing driver, a barking dog and a banana-shaped chassis that constantly scraped against the asphalt - from there, the distance to Goldsboro's southern transformer substation was manageable.

Wynne had the wrecker truck going at a steady walking pace so she wouldn't be caught out by anything unforeseen. She continuously monitored the gauge measuring the transmission temperature as she kept it in the super-low gear. Though the needle was creeping closer to the red zone and there was a foul whiff of hot transmission fluid in the air, everything seemed all right.

Countless sparks were created from the patrol car's undercarriage as it made contact with Main Street's asphalt, but the risk of a fire was minimal considering the fist-sized hole in the gas tank that had made the contents leak out decades earlier.

Even though the oft-tormented residents of Goldsboro had seen plenty of bizarre events over time - ranging from a weevil infestation once upon an eon ago past four-day sand storms, otherworldly visitors, undead invaders and up to the latest meteorological phenomenon - the sight of a ruined police car being pushed by a wrecker truck had lured several of them out of their houses and onto the street.

One of those interested spectators was Councilwoman Mary-Lou Skinner whose Chihuahua Foo-Foo was still missing; so was her closest friend Wyatt Elliott, but she was less worried about him as she was fairly confident he would be fine wherever he had gone - the itty-bitty dog was another matter entirely. Mary-Lou had wrapped an overcoat around her rotund figure as she took in the strange sight out on the street. Even so, the evening air was too chilly for her so she went back inside before long.

"Fifty yards to go, Wynne!  Then we'll have to turn it again!" Mandy said loudly as she strode along next to the Plymouth. "Forty… thirty… twenty… okay, simmer down!  Easy does it!" she continued as she ducked into the old car to once more turn the heavy steering wheel.

"I read'cha loud an' clear, there, Sheriff Mandy!  Simmerin' down… an' easy does it," Wynne shouted out of the window before she added a little two-tone music from the air horns just for the hell of it. As Mandy began wrestling with the reluctant steering wheel, Wynne let the wrecker truck move slightly to the left side of the Plymouth's crushed rear-end to help shove it into the right-hand turn.

Blackie added a few loud barks to tell her owner she had done a good job; then she ran ahead to organize everything at their destination.

Before long, the old patrol car was pointed straight down a dirt road that led to the southern substation. The square, non-descript brick building formed the connection point where all the high-voltage cables from the various pylons met, and it was protected by two rows of fences and countless bright-red warning signs. Mandy had keys for both fences, so after steering through the turn, she ran ahead to unlock the outer gate.

Just as she had slid the first of the outer sections aside, a bright-orange GMC van from NorPower inched past the wrecker and the patrol car and parked just outside the first row of fences. The female technician soon donned a white hard hat and stepped out of the vehicle. Dressed in black boots and a bright-orange boilersuit that carried reflective stripes on the front, the back and on the outside of the pants, the technician stuffed a clipboard under her arm and stepped forward to greet Mandy. "Senior Deputy Jalinski, I presume?  Good evening, I'm Chief Faye Morgan, the technician on duty for section Four-B. What is it you need me for?"

"Good evening, Chief," Mandy said and shook hands with the technician. The gesture made her ruined sleeve flap in the wind; she noticed Faye Morgan staring at it. "We had a little accident and I haven't had time to change my wardrobe since. Well, I don't know the proper jargon so I'll just tell you in layman's terms. We need you to attach one or more high-voltage cables from the substation to the old police car you see arriving over there. The car needs to be powered up to the point of melting."

Faye Morgan narrowed her eyes as she turned to look at the Plymouth that Wynne was still pushing toward them at slow speed. The sight of the rusty and thoroughly destroyed police vehicle made her furrow her brow as well. "This is one of those candid camera shows, right?  Or have you been smoking pot, Deputy?  I'm not going to attach anything to anything without a damn good reason!"

"Chief, it's imperative we punch another hole in the barrier between the realities and pull back all those people who disappeared earlier today," Mandy said with a completely straight face.

A long pause followed before Faye finally said: "You're not joking, are you?"

"No."

An even longer pause - that was filled by plenty of scraping noises produced by the Plymouth as it was shoved along the dirt road - went by while Faye Morgan seemed to weigh her options. Ultimately, she shrugged. "It wouldn't be the strangest thing I've ever done at work… all right. But I'll need a couple of minutes to prepare everything."

"You can have as long as you wish, Chief. Thank you," Mandy said and put out her hand again for the traditional greeting.

The undercarriage of the Plymouth naturally dug in harder on the dirt road than it had on the gravel over at the impound yard, so Wynne had to really step on the gas to make the wrecker truck continue its forward motion. At the same time, she had to make sure she didn't overdo it and push the crooked patrol car off course. The dirt road was lined with grass verges that would see it bogged down for all eternity if it veered out there - at least the connecting road was straight as an arrow. Had it been curved, Wynne's task would have been near-impossible.

"C'mon, ya ovahsized piece o' cow flop… Mercy Sakes, ya dang-blasted Plymouth… dontchaknow it ain't Suhnday yet?  Ah'll let ya know when y'all can flake out on yer back porch sippin' lemonay-de. Keep them steel wheels rollin', yessir!" Wynne said while she leaned out of the window to look down at the patrol car - the truck's bulky hood meant she couldn't see much of the low-slung Plymouth down below despite having enough running lights turned on to illuminate the average baseball stadium.

Mandy ran up front guiding Wynne through the final stretch. Although they were able to go past the outer fence, they had to stop before the inner section was reached since it couldn't be opened wide enough to allow either of the vehicles through. She kept a firm eye on not only the front of the Plymouth but the distance to the brick building as well. "Closer… closer… closer… and stop. Stop, Wynne!" she said and waved both arms in the air as the front of the patrol car had nearly reached the inner fence - from there, the closest wall of the transformer substation was a mere fifteen feet away.

"That's a big ten-four, good buddy!" Wynne cried out of the window as the wrecker truck came to a halt with a squealing whine from the brakes. Pulling it into neutral created a short crunching noise from the hardworking transmission, but the oil temperature was still within the green zone. "Lawwwr-die!  We ack-chew-ly gone an' done it, Sheriff Mandy!  How 'bout that, huh?  Wimmen-powah all the way, dontchaknow," she continued before she pulled the cord for the air horns all over again to add a little Hooooot!-Hooooot! to the happy scene.

Blackie responded to the cheerful sounds by adding a few barks of her own and wagging her tail to the point where it produced a little dust storm on the ground.

Working as fast and efficiently as always, Mandy ran into the substation to watch Chief Morgan go through the various stages of their hair-raising plan. The first thing the experienced technician did was to turn on the strip lights in the ceiling; the second was to don a pair of insulating gloves so she wouldn't accidentally zap herself by touching the wrong cable.

The entire brick building hummed and crackled with electrical power which only grew more intense when the chief threw a switch and disconnected a thick cable from one of the panels. "This is nuts," she mumbled to herself as she removed the first cable and attached a second one that she had unspooled from a drum beneath the panel.

Though the comment had been said in a mumble, Mandy couldn't help but overhear it. "I can't argue with that, Chief. It's crazy, but crazy seems to be the new normal these days. Especially here in Goldsboro."

"Yeah… tell me about it…" Faye Morgan said as she dragged the far end of the new cable across the floor after preparing it.

Mandy suddenly noticed that a three-deep group of interested spectators had assembled on the dirt road not too far from the exciting goings-on. Even while she watched, a few of the braver ones came even closer. "Dammit, I better get those people moved back. We don't want any accidents if we can avoid it," she said and quickly ran out to the group of residents who had come far too close for their own safety.

Dragging one end of the extension cable out to the old Plymouth, Chief Morgan needed to stop to scratch her neck at the sight of the badly damaged vehicle. The buckled hood, the busted tires, the opaque windows and the bent frame all worked together to offer one of the strangest things the experienced technician had ever worked on.

Wynne jumped down from the wrecker truck and came up to stand next to the NorPower employee. "Howdy, there, Chief… uh, I didden catch yer name befo'. Anyhows, y'all got the one an' only Wynne Donohue he', yessirree. That's Wynne with a Dubya-Why-Enn-Enn-Eee, dontchaknow," she said and put out her hand for the traditional greeting - she pulled it back when she noticed the chief's hands were already more than full dealing with the cable.

"Good evening, Wynne. I'm Faye Morgan."

"Howdy, Chief Morgan. Tell me, wus y'all workin' at NorPowah when that there pylon wus busted las' Halloween?"

"Yes, I've been with them for a couple of years now. I wasn't involved in the actual clean-up, but I heard about it. Definitely a strange case. Now… where do you want to me to attach this cable?  They're not exactly meant to be mated to each other, you know."

"Lawrdie, I ain't got no clue whatsoevah where ta put that there darn thing," Wynne said with a shrug. "Naw, we bettah wait fer Sheriff Mandy ta lay down them rules. I ain't too sure 'bout nuttin' concernin' this he' weird, weird deal, anyhows."

"Sheriff?  I thought she was the senior deputy?"

"Uh… yuh. Figger o' speech. She's kinda the actin' sheriff, but it's a long story, dontchaknow."

"Okay. So… would you mind explaining to me what we're actually doing here?  Frankly, I'm a little lost right now."

"Aw, yuh, well… lemme try," Wynne said and took a deep breath. "Ya see, jus' las'night, yuh?  Las'night, we had ourselves a freaky red thundahstorm out he' that woke me up som'tin fierce. Lawrdie, them boom-booms wus loud!  But anyhows, som'tin happened an' then som'tin else happened an' this he' ol' Plymouth done popped outta the blue… or outta the red is perhaps a bettah way ta put it… an' returned from bein' away fer almost forty years, yuh?  An' then som'tin else happened that sent some kind o' creepy red flash through Goldsborah an' the trailah park me an' mah sweet, li'l Sheriff Mandy there an' a bunch o' mah friends an' mah dawggies live in down south… an' then people started vamoosin' inta thin air!  An' that ain't jus' a figger of speech, neithah, nosirree, them folks really done vamoosed!  An' it wussen jus' people, but mah wondahful dawggie Goldie, too!  Can ya bah-lieve that?  I sure coudden, but it done happened. An' then a whoooooole buncha stuff happened an' there wussen none o' it that wussen creepy, lemme tell ya!  Like when that there durn teevee turned itself on an' started showin' an old Nascahr race an' I found some beers in mah refri-gy-rator I hadden put in there. I wus like 'screw this' an' then me an' my dawggie Blackie… that bein' the gorgeous black dawggie ovah yondah, see?  Anyhows, we done borrah'ed mah good friend Ernie's truck… Ernie's done vamoosed, too… but we borrah'ed his Fohrd truck an' done raced ta Goldsborah 'cos I wus thinkin' that mah sweet, li'l Mandy wus gone too. She wussen, thank the bearded gah in the skah fer that, but then othah things happened an'-"

By now, Faye Morgan was more convinced than ever that she was caught in a demented version of the old TV show Candid Camera. She began to look around for tell-tale signs of being tricked by professional actors, but she couldn't find any. As the denim-clad woman kept up her long-winded explanation, Faye began inching away from her.

Mandy strode back to the old Plymouth after having taken care of crowd control. "Right. Are we all set?  Chief?"

Faye Morgan cast a stern glare at the senior deputy as she came closer. "Look, I don't know what the hell kind of game you people are playing here, but I want no part of it. This is insane!  And your tall friend there must be sky high on mushrooms because she's babbling like a maniac. I've had enough. Good night and goodbye!" she said and began to drag the cable back to the substation.

Wynne scrunched up her face into a sour mask; Blackie let out a puzzled Woof? before she began growling at the technician for insulting her owner.

"No, wait…" Mandy said and put a hand on the sleeve of the bright-orange boilersuit. "Chief Morgan, we need you to attach that cable to the old car. Please. I obviously understand your skepticism, but it'll all be much clearer once the car's been powered up."

Faye Morgan cast another stern glare at the law enforcement officer from the MacLean County Sheriff's Department. Then she let out a long sigh. "Oh… all right. But I don't want anything to do with that woman over there," - she nodded at Wynne - "and I'm going to get really angry if this is a waste of time for myself and NorPower. And I still don't know where to attach the cable."

"Inside the engine compartment. Wynne, come help me get the rope untied," Mandy said and strode over to the Plymouth. Working as one, Mandy and a grumbling Wynne were able to release the rope without making the dented hood open up too far - even so, a red sheen became visible all the way around the small gap. A hum, a buzz and finally a crackle of lightning could be heard from the old car.

"Whoa…" Faye said as she took a long step back. "Where the hell did you find this thing?  Did the mothership from Close Encounters drop it off in your backyard?"

Wynne was still severely peeved at the chief's words about being high on mushrooms so she didn't quip about seeing a real-life UFO. Instead, she shuffled over to Blackie to give the equally annoyed black dog a little fur-rubbing.

"Not in our backyard, no," Mandy said, "but we did in fact find it in the desert this morning. All right. I don't think it matters where the cable is attached as long as it touches conductive metal. It's an unpredictable beast so we need to handle it with extreme care. Wynne, would such an old car have an iron or aluminum radiator?"

"Lawrdie, I ain't too sure, there, Sheriff Mandy," Wynne said as she stepped away from Blackie; she made a big show out of ignoring Chief Morgan. "It bein' a Chrahsler Corpora-shun vee-hickel an' all. They sure ain't my spe-shul-ty. But it might be iron. Y'all be plannin' on tearin' off that there grille so we don't hafta open that there hood all ovah ag'in?"

"Exactly."

Wynne shrugged. "Les'try it. If it don't work, we jus' gonn' try som'tin else."

Though Chief Morgan seemed even more skeptical about the whole thing than she had been before, she moved closer to the Plymouth while Mandy and Wynne worked together to yank out the rusty grille. As the old radiator came into sight a short distance behind the recently formed hole, the Chief scrunched up her face and paused. "I'm not sure I really want to do this. It goes against every single safety precaution in the book… and I should know because I helped write the latest set of guidelines."

Mandy took off her Mountie hat to wipe her damp brow. "Either my theory works or it doesn't, but I guarantee you there's no way you or NorPower will be held accountable for anything that transpires," she said before she plonked the hat back onto her fair locks.

Faye Morgan didn't seem overly convinced, but she went down on her knees so she had a better view of the interior of the engine compartment. Moving the cable inside the gap, she continued sliding it forward until she was sure the tip was firmly pressed up against the metallic component.

"Haw!  Ain't nuttin' happenin!" Wynne said and threw her hands in the air. "Mercy Sakes, we ain't nevah gonn' get Goldie back from wherevah she be!"

Getting to her feet, Chief Morgan dusted off her sturdy gloves before she shot the denim-clad woman a pointed look. "And I suppose you expect a light bulb to shine before you flick the switch?" she said in a surly tone that made Blackie growl even louder at her.

"Uh… whut?"

"Never mind, Wynne," Mandy said and put a calming hand on Wynne's elbow. "Just let the Chief do her job."

"Yuh, but… Lawrdie," Wynne grumbled as she moved her cowboy hat further down to cover her brow so she would look a little more dangerous. "Ah ain't sure Ah be likin' her attah-toode… Ah need a beer. But Ah ain't got none, dang'it."

"You can have all the beers you want later on. Come on, we need to find cover."

While Mandy and Wynne spoke, Chief Morgan moved inside the substation and got ready to literally flick the light switch. "Are you ready out there?" she shouted.

'We're ready!  Hit it!' Mandy shouted back.

After moving a large circuit breaker into the Active position, Faye Morgan strolled out of the building expecting to see a whole lot of nothing. What she did see made her come to an abrupt halt and break out in a wide-eyed stare.

An evil-looking red shine burst forth from the engine compartment of the old Plymouth as the electricity from the power cable began to crackle and pop. Now and then, red lightning bolts escaped through the gap where the grille had been and through the cracks around the dented hood. The red shine soon flowed from the front of the car until it had swept over every dented panel. As a result, the car and the ground underneath it began to tremble, shimmy and shake like a grizzly bear building up to a large-scale sneeze.

It came a moment later when something inside the Plymouth seemed to let out a supremely angry - and certainly otherworldly - roar. All the opaque windows exploded outward in a shower of shards, the driver's side door fell off its hinges, and the far-side front fender split straight down the middle. The rope that tied the hood down snapped in half, and as an inevitable result, the hood blew clean off and went hurtling through the air as a lethal discus.

With the engine compartment fully exposed, the red, loudly crackling lightning bolts grew exponentially and soon zigged and zagged around the area to find something to get intimately acquainted with. Moving in unpredictable patterns, they licked along the coarse ground and up the walls of the substation.

"Chief!  Chief, get over here!" Mandy cried at the top of her lungs. When the technician just stood there like a marble statue, Mandy ran over to her, grabbed hold of the bright-orange boilersuit and hustled her behind the small mound of dirt that Wynne had found. The mound wasn't too tall, but it would provide a modicum of protection if they - and Blackie - moved down onto their stomach.

It wasn't a moment too soon. Chief Morgan had barely landed with a bump when the spot where she had stood was visited by a crackling lightning bolt that left a yard-long scorch-mark along the ground. She ducked her head down as far as it would go while holding onto her hard hat with both hands.

Mandy rolled over to the other side to be closer to Wynne and Blackie. While she held onto her Mountie hat one-handed, she pulled their beloved dog up close to protect the tender, black fur.

At the same time, Wynne couldn't fight an urge to peek over the upper edge of the mound. All she had time to say was an emphatic "Hoooooooly shittttt!" as the Plymouth started pulsating in various shades of red.

A moment after Wynne's exclamation, the car's shimmies and shakes grew so violent it began to bounce itself off the ground. It boomed, creaked, roared, groaned and growled like the evil entity inside it was on the verge of exploding. Wynne stared wide-eyed at the power cable that ran up to the old Plymouth - if the shaking got much worse, the live cable would fall out onto the ground. If that happened, there was no predicting what would come next.

They were spared finding out when the red thunderstorm inside the old Plymouth increased its intensity even further. From one moment to the next, a perfectly spherical and brightly illuminated evil-red tidal wave of shimmering energy appeared on the horizon everywhere around Goldsboro. The approaching tsunami that seemed to reach miles into the sky imploded down toward the old Plymouth at an insane speed kicking up so much dust as its lower edge tore through the arid desert that it resembled a sandstorm.

Wynne and Mandy only had time to share the briefest look of pure worry and love before the red tidal wave washed over them. Like someone snapping their fingers, everything was bathed in an eerie shade of red that drowned out every color, every sound and every smell. The red flash remained at maximum strength for what seemed to be an agonizing amount of time; then it was gone.

Desert dust and general debris continued to fly through the air for a while longer, but everything else had turned dark and quiet. After a few seconds, the debris fluttered to the ground like nothing at all had happened there.

"Lawwwwwwwr-die…" came Wynne's predictable response. She had managed to hold onto her beloved cowboy hat, but that, her denim jacket and everything else in the vicinity was covered in a thick layer of desert dust. "Mandy?  Y'all still with us?" she croaked before she had to spit out a small quarry of grits.

"Yeah…" Mandy said from somewhere underneath a pile of sand to the right of the Cowpoke. Since the senior deputy's brown Polyester uniform had already been hideous and beyond salvation to begin with, the added filth didn't harm its looks all that much.

"Blac-"

Woof!

"Awright, girl!" Wynne said and began to brush the black fur free of desert dust.

Blackie preferred to do that herself and soon backed away from the mound. Once she was in the clear, she shook and shimmied even harder than the old Plymouth had done. She hacked and coughed for a short while to get all the dust out, but even so, she appeared to be in the best shape of the intrepid raiders present.

Chuckling at Blackie's shimmying - while continuing to spit out grits - Wynne turned to her left. "Chief?  Chief, ya be he'?"

"I'm still here… I think," Faye said before she broke out in a rattling cough and started spitting out grits like everyone else. "Man… nobody's ever going to believe this…"

"Welcome ta Goldsborah, Nevada!  This wus one o' them there spe-shul deals, tho', I agree," Wynne said as she turned to help Mandy dig her way out of the sand trap. When she happened to look up, she let out a concerned "Hmmm… seems ta me we done lost som'tin… like a Plymouth patrol cahr…"

Mandy was finally able to lean back on her thighs. She looked up from surveying the damage to her uniform to see what Wynne meant: the spot where the Plymouth had been was empty. The ground had become pitch-black from all the lightning scorching it, but that was the only clue offered that anything had ever been there. Grunting, she unzipped her uniform jacket to reach into her shirt's breast pocket. Another grunt escaped her when she could feel that the faded photo of Darnell Scott's late wife was still there - if nothing else, she would still be able to give her retired colleague the prized memento.

"Awwwwwwww-hell no!" Wynne suddenly croaked when she clapped eyes on the smashed windshield of Otto Kulick the Third's Ford F700 wrecker truck. The headlights, the lightbar on the roof and the large side mirrors were destroyed as well leaving the large truck in a sorry state - a large piece of desert debris was still stuck halfway through the shattered remains of the windshield explaining in graphic detail what had happened. "Ah don't bah-lieve it… Snakes Alive, whaddahell did Ah do ta desuhrve all this he' bull dung!  Good shit almi'ty, Ah musta pissed in somebodda important's picnic basket once upon a time…" she croaked before she thumped her fist into the dusty ground.

Mandy slowly clambered to her feet. She tried to look out at the group of spectators she had ordered to remain at a safe distance, but when she couldn't see anybody there, an icy trickle ran down her back at the prospects of having made everything worse. "Stay here, Wynne… we might have a problem."

"A problem?!  Ya sure ain't kiddin' there, Sheriff Mandy!" Wynne growled as she slapped her cowboy hat against her leg to get all the dust out. "Lookie there at that dang-blasted wreckah truck!  Lawrdie, I might as well bend ovah an' kiss mah bee-hind goodbah!"

Mandy was already thirty yards up the dirt road so she couldn't reply. Running out onto Main Street, she whipped her head around several times to find any signs of life. The icy trickle returned when she found herself all alone; then she heard a furious, high-pitched yapping somewhere close.

A moment later, the door to Mary-Lou Skinner's house was flung open and the councilwoman appeared in the doorway. "Foo-Foo!" she cried as the long-lost Chihuahua came running out of the darkness and hopped up the short flight of stairs. She picked it up at once and clutched it to her bosom.

Once the tiny dog had made an entrance in the present reality, other residents of Goldsboro started turning up on the sidewalk as well. Some of them had been reported missing while others had been there the whole time and had only taken cover when the sphere of energy had approached the town.

Mandy held her breath as more and more people started appearing. Although their little science experiment had been improvised from start to finish, it seemed to have fixed the damage and closed the portal between the realities rather than blowing it apart even further - still, there was a risk it might only be temporary so she wasn't about to open the champagne just yet.

When everyone seemed to remain in the present reality, she let out a deep sigh of relief. She needed to bend over and put her hands on her knees to catch her breath, but she soon stood up straight and presented an impressive figure so it wouldn't look as if the town's law enforcement officers were weak.

The next person to appear was none other than Wyatt Elliott. Goldsboro's biggest dandy wore a pastel-blue Western suit, a ten-gallon Stetson and a highly puzzled look upon his face. Chuckling, Mandy waved at him while letting out a shouted "Mr. Elliott!  Nice to see you!"

"Deputy Jalinski?" Wyatt said as he approached Mandy with a certain amount of trepidation. "Goodness me… where did you come from?  The sidewalk was empty two seconds ago!  What happened to your jac-"

"It's a long story. I've been here the whole time, Mr. Elliott. You were gone."

"Oh, I'm quite sure I wasn't, Deputy. Quite sure!  I took Foo-Foo for a walk… wait… it's dark!  Why is it dark?" Wyatt said and looked up into the heavens like it was the first time he had ever noticed the sky was dark at night.

"Because it's late. It's half past eight!"

Narrowing his eyes at the surprising news, Wyatt reached into a pocket to find a classic silver watch on a chain. "No it isn't… it's half past noon. Look. Well… on the other hand…"

"It's a very, very long story, Mr. Elliott. You should visit Mrs. Skinner… she's been worried about you. Excuse me," Mandy said with a smile before she turned around and ran back to the transformer substation.

---

Back at the wrecker truck, Wynne sat on the aluminum step below the driver's side door with her head propped up on her arm. A deep frown tainted her face despite Blackie's attempts at cheering her up.

Chief Morgan was still busy brushing desert dust and general debris off her GMC van; the bright-orange vehicle from NorPower had survived the ordeal unscathed unlike the large wrecker truck. She cast a few sideways glances at the somber Wynne but had little to say to her.

When Mandy came running back, Wynne and the German Shepherd moved out to intercept the senior deputy. "Ah sure do hope y'all be bringin' good news, 'cos Lawrdie, Ah got plenty o' them there bad newsies alreddy…"

"I am. The missing people are returning!  They're unharmed. And better yet, it doesn't look like anyone was swept away by the latest flash. I think we accomplished what we set out to do."

"Mercy Sakes, that be gen-oooh-ihne good news right there!" Wynne said and whipped off her cowboy hat. "Aw, then it be Millah time!  Or Fenwyck time, anyhows… but Ah ain't got time fer a beer, dog-gone'it. Ah gotta be racin' home ta Goldie!  Ah bet she done gobbled up half o' that there ten-pound bag o' yummy doggy treats we bought las'week. Blackie, ya wanna stay he' or go home ta Goldie?"

A quick Woof! followed that explained the black dog wanted to go home and say hello to her much-missed golden companion.

"Yuh, I kinda figgered y'all would be sayin' that, ya wondahful dawggie!" Wynne said and reached down to rub Blackie's fur.

Mandy mirrored her partner's actions which meant Blackie was the recipient of a glorious double-rub. "Hon, I'm sorry, but I don't have time to go with you. The rest of the night is going to get crazy… even crazier than the day has been."

"Aw, that be awright, there, Sheriff Mandy. I be callin' ya with an update anyhows. Then y'all can say howdy ta Goldie ovah the phone. Yuh?"

"Deal."

Faye Morgan used the gap in the conversation to step forward and put out her hand. After shaking hands with Mandy and Wynne - Blackie just growled; she still hadn't forgiven the Chief for the mushroom comment - she cast a gloomy gaze at the transformer substation. "I need to clean up the mess we made… that's going to take a few hours at least. I'll bet every single panel and connector must be singed or worse. We'll probably have to replace everything. I'm amazed the power's still on, actually. The next time you need a qualified technician for something like this… call someone else, okay?  Thank you."

"Haw, yer welcome an' all," Wynne said and scratched her neck. She and Mandy shared a look and a shrug as Faye Morgan walked over to the GMC van to get all the tools she would need for what would undoubtedly be a lengthy inspection of the substation.

'Deputy Simms to Deputy Jalinski!  Deputy Jalinski, are you on this frequency?' Barry Simms' voice suddenly said from the portable radio on Mandy's utility belt. As always, the request was followed by a hacking, rattling cough.

Grinning, Mandy took the radio off her belt and pressed the transmit key. "Go ahead, Barry, over!"

'I've just been told by Deputy Gonzalez that you've had, uh… certain issues here. He also told me I've been gone for most of the day. I think he's found the Sheriff's secret stash of booze because I know for a fact I've been here the whole time taking care of the incoming calls, over.'

"I can't say about the stash, but Rodolfo's right about the other thing, Barry. I'll be by in a short while to explain. I hope you have enough cigarettes left… it's going to be a long night. Oh, and please tell Rodolfo everything's back to normal, over."

'He's listening in… and I have plenty of cigs, over.'

"Good. Deputy Jalinski out," Mandy said and hooked the portable radio back onto her utility belt.

A grinning Wynne just had time to lay a wet'un on her sweetheart's lips before she and Blackie set off in a fast jog to get to Ernie's truck that she had left in front of the sheriff's office on Main Street.

-*-*-*-

The strong headlights of the customized Ford F350 Super Duty truck were able to cut through the darkness and illuminate the two-lane State Route like it was in the middle of the day.

Wynne kept her foot to the floor which made the desolate landscape race past in a blur. The eight miles between Goldsboro and the trailer park were soon covered, and she stood on the brakes and spun the steering wheel left when the dirt road presented itself.

She hardly slowed down at all which made the truck rumble and rock along the coarse access road until it reached the smoother grassy area between the trailers. After stopping next to her own truck, Wynne jumped out at once and held the door open for Blackie.

Together, they ran around their trailer to get to the front door. The screen door was soon flung open and Wynne stepped into the narrow corridor that ran between the sleeping area and the living room. The doggy bowl was still on the kitchen floor where Goldie had left it, the forgotten smartphone was still connected to the charger, and everything else appeared to be the same as when she had fled several hours earlier. There were no strange sounds or smells, nor were there any evil-minded boogeymen waiting for her with red, trans-dimensional lightning tridents, pitchforks or any other types of magic wands.

"Goldie?  Goldie?  Ya he'?  Goldie?  Ohhhhhh, please be he'… I sure do hope ya be he'… if y'all can hear me, jus' woof or bark or yap or whatevah ya wish ta do… mebbe whissel Dixie. Anythin'!  Goldie?"

When the trailer was just as devoid of human and canine life as it had been earlier in the day, Wynne ran back outside in the hope she would have more luck in finding the Golden Retriever there. When her luck was the same as always - rotten - she pulled down her cowboy hat and buried her face in it. "Lawwwr-die… ain't no Goldie no-wheah… mah sweet, li'l Goldie… aw, gosh-darn every las' rotten sombitch ta hell an' back!  If anybodda done hurt mah bayu-taful Goldie, Ah'mma-gonn'- Ah'mma- Ah'mma… gonn' get real unpleasant, ya hear!  Why, Ah'mma'gonna roast them there sombitches' walnuts in mohlasses!"

A moment later, Blackie's sensitive ears picked up a familiar sound. She tried to get a Woof in edgewise, but her desperate owner had gone off on such a lengthy and heated tirade through all four hundred shades of the most famous four-letter words that it soon became clear she needed to take matters into her own paws. Turning around, she ran around the trailer and into the area that overlooked the desert. The familiar sound was fainter there, so she ran back through the grassy area to get to one of the other trailers. She stretched up and tried to work the door handle, but found herself unable to. Instead, she let out a long line of barks and woofs that would make the human inside open it.

Frank Tooley and his young daughter Renee soon appeared in the doorway to see what was going on with all that woof'ing. After a few more barks by Blackie, a shock of golden fur came storming around the humans' legs and out to the grassy area.

As Blackie and Goldie were reunited, they nudged, tousled and rubbed each other's fur and muzzles to celebrate the glorious moment. Countless woofs were exchanged that chronicled the day's events to the golden dog who seemed a little skeptical about the whole thing.

All that happy woof'ing had alerted Wynne who came running around the corner. In her haste to see her beloved golden pet again, she had even stormed out without donning her cowboy hat, and that only happened once a year at the most. Throwing herself down onto her knees, she grabbed hold of the Golden Retriever that was treated to the biggest rub-and-hug session since the Dawn of Dawg. "Awwwwww, mah Goldie!  Mah wondahful, wondahful Goldie!  Who loves ya?  Who loves ya, girl?  Awwwwww… c'mere, Blackie!  Y'all earned yerself anothah big ol' huggin' right this he' minute!  Oooooh, now Ah bah-lieve in the good o' the world ag'in, yessirree!"

Goldie wasn't too displeased with the plentiful loving that was being dished out, but it was easy to tell by the puzzled look on her doggy face that she was unsure why it was even necessary - after all, she had been there the whole time, and she told Blackie so in a series of woofs and yaps.

Blackie nodded; she understood the conundrum perfectly.

Once Wynne pulled back, she whipped out her fully charged smartphone and found Mandy's personal number in the registry. No sooner had the connection been made before Wynne held the telephone over to Goldie who did her bit by letting out a long series of happy yaps. "Lawrdie, guess who that there dawggie wus!  Yuh, yuh, we got our Goldie back!  Ain't that jus' the most abso-friggin'-lootely wondahful thing evah, Sheriff Mandy?"

'That's just great, Wynne… actually, it's great simply to hear from you,' Mandy said from the other end of the connection. Her voice was accompanied by a rattling, hacking cough in the background that offered a hint as to her whereabouts.

"Uh… yuh… well, I done said I wus gonn' call as soon as I had found Goldie an' all, didden I?  An' I did. Find her an' call ya. I mean, it ain't even, what, twentah minutes since we said goodbah-"

'No, but Ernie just called me to say you're missing!'

Wynne's eyes slowly moved into a somewhat grotesque-looking position where the left one was wide open and the right one was half-closed. "Uh… buh… whut?  Ernie done called ya?  Ernie ain't he'!  When he call ya?"

'Oh, just shy of ten minutes ago.'

"Ah wussen even he' ten minutes ago!  Uh… Ah mean… Ah hadden arrived yet. Lawrdie, Ah'm gettin' a headache from all this… but Ernie ain't he' now… where's that ol' sombitch at?  Aw, shoot."

'I don't know where he is. Listen, hon… it was great to hear from you and Goldie, but I'm real busy, so…'

"Yuh!  Yuh, I jus' wanted ta letcha know 'bout the good news an' all. Love ya!  Stay safe fer the rest o' the night, yuh?" Wynne said and sent a kissy through the telephone.

'Will do… love you, too!'

Wynne clambered to her booted feet and shoved her telephone back into the right-front pocket of her jeans. She scratched her scalp using both hands to try to rub some sense into the whole thing. "Mercy Sakes… jus' when Ah reckoned it wus safe ta be happy, life kicks me up mah bee-hind all ovah ag'in. Mah rotten luck is jus' un-bah-lievable. Whadda dang-blasted mess… an' wheredahell is that Ernie fella?!"

For once, Blackie didn't seem to know, either - she cast a quizzical look at Goldie who could only shrug her doggy shoulders.

---

Eight minutes later.

Inside her trailer, Wynne poured a healthy portion of doggy treats into Goldie's food bowl before adding a large splash of water to the other one. While the dogs ate, she leaned against the kitchen counter. "Lissen, gals… I'mma-gonn' run a couple-a things by y'all, yuh?  Mebbe ya clevah dawggies can gimme some dang ansahs. Ernie ain't in his trailah. I checked. All em'ty. He ain't out back, neither. I checked. All em'ty. He coudden ha' driven anywhere 'cos we had his truck. Yuh?  With me so far?"

Woof! - Yap, yap!

"Okie-dokie. Now les'see… Diego is back from wherevah he wus an' he's jus' fine an' dandy. Ol' man Petrusco nevah left. Estelle an' Renee nevah left… well, they did, but they wus only in Goldsborah an' we jus' missed 'em comin' back 's all… an' Frank Tooley wus jus' seein' a fella 'bout a job down in Cavanaugh Creek so he hadden vamoosed eithah. He jus' happened ta be away."

Blackie looked up from the water and let out a Wooooof? that seemed to say 'Was there a question in any of that?'

"Naw, I wus jus' gettin' ta that. So wheredahell is Ernie?  He gotta be around he' somewhere 'cos he done called Sheriff Mandy. Did he come back from wherevah an' vamoosed ag'in?  Did he perhaps borrah Frank's truck ta search fer me?  Or did he… naw. Lawrdie, this jus' keeps gettin' weirdah an' weirdah," Wynne said and rubbed her brow. When nothing came to her, she shuffled over to the refrigerator. "Naw, I ain't be thinkin' too clearly right now. A beer 'll help. Mebbe one o' them there stouts might do the trick. Lessee what we got he'-"

She came to an abrupt halt as her eyes took in the sight of four mostly empty shelves in the refrigerator - all that remained were a single can of Double Zero and the bowls of sour cream dip she had whipped up much earlier in the day. "What. The. Hell… where all them stouts go?  An' mah chili-bean salad?  An' Mandy's cream cheese spread?  An' the rest o' mah awesome wienah casserole from las'night?!  An'… an'… an' the… Blackie, somebodda done ate all mah dang-blasted food!  Ain't nuttin' left but… but… the dang-blasted sour cream dip!  Aw, fer cryin' out loud!"

Before she slammed the door shut, she grabbed the final can of non-alcoholic beer so she could at least wet her whistle. A persistent gnawing in her gut told her that the two sandwiches she had eaten in the sheriff's office had already moved on in her system, so she opened the door to another cabinet half-fearing that it had also been raided. All their packs of instant meals were still there, though none of the cup noodles or the quick-heat soups spoke to her. A pack of microwave pork rinds did, however, and she grabbed it and proceeded to throw it into the proper appliance.

---

Wynne's face was set in stone as she shuffled into the living area a short minute later with her beer and pork rinds. The TV and the VCR that had both been turned off when she had returned from Goldsboro remained off, so at least some parts of the spooky goings-on seemed to have ended - even so, just thinking about the day's freakish events sent a frosty chill trickling down her spine.

Another plus-point was that although Ernie was nowhere to be found, he hadn't been replaced by space aliens, ghosts, goblins, gorilla-like creatures or any of the other foes that Wynne and Mandy had been plagued with over the past decade or so.

Sighing, she moved around her three-seater couch without paying too much attention to where she was going. She did happen to notice their large throw had been spread over the seats, but didn't think anything of it.

Then all hell broke loose.

As she sat down at the center of the couch like she always did, the entire piece of furniture bucked like a bronco. A split second later, the couch let out a roar and a surprised "ZZZZZzzzz- Ooooffff!  Whaddahell?!" in a voice that sounded suspiciously like the one belonging to her long-lost friend Ernest 'Ernie' Bradberry.

Wynne didn't have time to celebrate the return of her good buddy as the sudden sequence of events - and the wildly bucking couch - had sent her over the edge and onto a collision course with the carpet. As she slipped down onto the floor uttering a howl, the final can of beer she owned slammed into the corner of the coffee table and was knocked clean out of her hand. The box of hot microwave pork rinds followed soon after; the snacks flew through the air before they came down all over the living area in a pitter-patter that resembled an indoor hail storm.

Alerted by their owner's howling, Blackie and Goldie raced into the living room and began to bark like crazy just in case the scene wasn't chaotic enough already.

"All right, ghost or no ghost, Miss Nice Gal jus' done moved ta Ala-bammah!  Now Ah'm mad!  Whaddahell is goin' on he'?!" Wynne cried from somewhere down on the floor.

Up on the couch, Ernie finally got himself untangled from the throw and swung his legs over the edge while clutching his belly - his socked feet nearly gave Wynne a whack over the head, but a further collision was avoided at the last moment through a quick parry. "Ya askin' me?!" he said as he held onto his abused stomach.

"Ernie?!  Ernie, ya ol' sombitch!  Lawrdie, Ah'm so gladda see ya!"

"I wish I could say the same," Ernie said as he scooted to the side so he had room to get up. Once he was in the clear, he pushed the coffee table aside to give Wynne more space to clamber to her feet. "Damn, Wynne… you're heavier than you look!  You used my gut as a pillow!"

"Yuh… sorry 'bout that, there, friend… I mean, howdahell wus I ta know y'all be sleepin' on mah dang-blasted couch!" Wynne said as she shuffled around down on the floor to get her long legs lined up. The escaping can of beer was soon located - it had rolled under the couch - and she grabbed it before she clambered to her feet. "I got a bone ta pick with ya!  Why didya eat mah wienah casserole?  That wus saposed ta ha' been mah suppah!"

"Well, you disappeared!  And I didn't have any food in my own fridge, so…"

"Ah didden vamoose nowheah!  Y'all vamoosed, friend, not me!  An' then the teevee started playin' that there Nascahr race from North Wilkesborah an'- an'- an' now I ain't got no food in mah refri-gy-rator, neithah, dad-gummit!"

With the situation seemingly resolved, Blackie and Goldie shared a brief look before they went back to the kitchen - they had plenty of food so they weren't really concerned about the empty refrigerator.

Ernie narrowed his eyes as he parsed what Wynne had told him. "The hell are you talkin' about, Wynne?  I ain't moved an inch in any direction all day 'cept when I had to take a leak. Apart from those seven or eight times, I was right here. When you didn't come back from makin' the sour cream dip, I got worried about you."

"Lawrdie," Wynne mumbled as she used her free hand to rub her face. "Well, I deffa-net-ly thank ya fer that, there, friend, but it's a giganto long story that y'all only know 'bout half of. Hell, ain't even half… mebbe only a quartah. Aw, I'mma-gonn' tell ya all 'bout it, but y'all gonn' hafta call fer some takeout or som'tin 'cos I be dang hungry."

"Well… okay. I guess I owe ya."

"Dang straight ya do!  Eatin' mah wienah casserole!  An' y'all bettah dig up some o' them there beers o' yers, too!  All Ah got left is this he' brew!" she continued as she acted on instinct alone and cracked open the can of beer.

A split second later, the can of H.E. Fenwyck Double Zero non-alcoholic beer exploded in a shower of amber liquid and white suds. Ernie took a hasty step backward and fell down upon the couch that sent out a wild creak in the process - that the legs held up and the wooden frame remained in one piece could only be categorized as a near-miracle.

Most of the exploding beer went all over Wynne's face, hair and clothing, but there were a few drops that accidentally went between her lips and into her mouth where they belonged. "Lawrdie… now if that ain't the story o' mah life right there, I ain't too sure what iz…" she croaked as her final beer dripped down from her brow, nose and chin.

Ernie looked as if he was about to add another explosion to the mess - one of laughter. Though he tried to keep his cool, it was clear he was hard pressed to hold it all inside.

The comical look on Ernie's face made Wynne start chuckling. The chuckles grew louder, louder and louder still until she could no longer contain them. Leaning her head back, she let out a hugely long, liberating belly laugh that soon claimed Ernie as well. Their unbridled laughter echoed through the trailer at such a volume that Blackie and Goldie came back into the living room to see what on Earth was going on.

The dogs exchanged a few puzzled looks before they joined their owner and her friendly neighbor in the wild moment by woof'ing, wagging their tails and generally behaving like cheerful, little puppies having the time of their lives…

*

*

THE END

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