The Lost Country, Episode Two

Chapter 2

The Lost Country: The Series

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We would have been quite the sight had there been anyone left alive to see us, rumbling up N. La Brea Avenue in Gargantua One—we’d disengaged the electric motor and were running the 16.1-liter diesel only, but that’s another story—the expedition vehicle’s stainless steel hull glinting back at us from the shop windows and its parabolic antenna whirling; its great pistons rattling.

“Rollin’ down—the Imperial Highway, with a big, nasty redhead at my side,” Sam sang along with the stereo. “Santa Ana winds blowin’ hot from the north, and we were born to ride ...”

“Jesus, not again,” moaned Lazaro. He reached past her toward the deck but she batted his hand away.

Nigel, meanwhile, had to shout over the music: “You want to follow La Brea all the way to Hollywood Boulevard—then hang a right. We’re looking for Gower Street.”

“Looks like it’s going to be smooth sailing,” said Sam.

I glanced out the side window as we passed Pink’s Hot Dogs—the awning of which was covered with moss and vines—saw startled Compies scatter like mice. “Let’s hope Roman’s mission is going as well.”

Black Mr. Fantastic—please; he’d nicknamed himself—was skeptical. “At a big base like Lewis-McChord? I doubt it. That place is one big Army surplus store now. You really think he’s going to just waltz in there and fly out with an Apache?”

“Hard to say,” I drawled. “But I do know this: If he succeeds, and if we’re successful in securing Eagleton’s bunker, nothing will be able to touch us again. That is, if it’s still, how shall I say it? Available.”

“It will be,” said Nigel. “Because nobody knows it’s there.”

“Except you,” sneered Lazaro. “His former lawn guy. Isn’t that it?”

“Ya, mon—that’s right. I told you: he showed it to us while we were working. Just rolled up in his 1947 Packard one day and started jabbering like we were best friends. Nice guy—sharp as a whip. I knew it was him right away because I’d seen him on The Tonight Show; and because he was wearing those same tinted glasses he likes so much.”

“Well, what if he’s there?” asked Sam.

“He won’t be. He never actually lived there, as I said. It was just one of his passion projects—like this rover was for Steve Dannon.” He fell quiet as though in deep thought. “Ain’t it a shame. All those luxuries—the swimming pool, the indoor park, the gourmet galley—not to mention the food stores and hydroponics—all of it just sitting there, collecting dust. Meanwhile, there’s people living in cardboard boxes.”

“Or was,” said Sam.

“Yeah, but, he gave, too. Like, a lot,” I said. “I went to college on one of his scholarships. Read him all the time when I was younger—he was kind of a hero to me. Never thought I’d be barnstorming one of his homes.”

“You never thought you’d be running from dinosaurs, either,” said Sam. She reached over and wiggled my cheek—roughly. “And now look at you go.”

“Okay, here it is,” said Nigel. “Take a right.”

I took a right—swinging the giant rig onto Hollywood Boulevard, watching the big streetlights pass absurdly close to the windshield. “It won’t be long. We’re going to want to—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” said Mr. Fantastic, having noticed the thing—its startling blue, its clean, perfect white—even before I did. “Slow, slow, slow. Go back.”

I left off the gas and applied the brakes—which hissed and squealed, like scythes—bringing us to a complete stop. Then I backed up—the different torque causing the gears to rap and wind—until we had drawn alongside the banner and the cycad trees supporting it.

At last Sam said: “Okay, Batman, riddle me this. What’s stranger than a Donald J. Tucker banner in the middle of L.A.?” She turned to face Mr. Fantastic.

We all turned to face him—our very own Reed Richards; the Nutty Professor to our Desert Isle. Our Dr. Zarkov.

“How about a Donald J. Tucker banner that was put here recently; as in, after the Flashback,” he said—and nodded at the trees. “Because those are cycads—bennettitales, to be precise, from the Upper Jurassic—not palms. And what that means, kids, is—we’re not alone.”

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