This week: Doug and Gus arrive at the Golden Years retreat near the summit of Mt Costo searching for their missing friends, and things are heating up — literally: the sun is out and it’s boiling! Luckily, the new agers have set up a kombucha stall… But what’s with all the creepy kids dressed up like animals, following Doug and Gus around?
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THE PREVIOUSLY DESERTED retreat was now buzzing with visitors. At that altitude, the mountain winds swept away the evaporating water immediately, making the forest air fresh and sweetly fragrant. Out on the plateau, under the direct sun, it burned.
The blue metal walls surrounding the cantonment had been decorated with a trim of dark green branches and cut ferns. These had been woven into the bows, the wreathing punctuated with late seasonal wildflowers of yellow and blue. Posted up around the retreat’s entrance were dozens of July’s bright pink missing posters, her happy face smiling out.
“You weren’t joking when you said it was institutional,” Gus wiped sweat from his pink forehead. “I mean, they tried… But man, all those posters of July? I get that they’re just trying to help. But it looks creepy. It’s like they’re… I dunno, mocking her…”
Gus continued his stream-of-consciousness monologue as he followed Doug and joined the crowd of people entering the retreat’s main gate. They had decided that they should scope out the retreat, and try to slip away from the crowds to search for any clues that might lead them to their missing friends.
Inside, hundreds of people were wandering around the windowless prefab buildings. Each of the bland structures had also been trimmed with lush foliage. Folks mingled and chatted while children played. Doug recognized many of the people as locals, but just as many looked to be from off-island.
Dotted around the cantonment were kiosks made out of driftwood. From a distance, these strange assemblages looked arachnid, crustacean and prehistoric in their bleached bone-like material. Each had a theme of its own: “Plant-based Hot Dogs & Burgers,” “Tarot Readings & Astrology,” “Massage & Chillout,” “Bespoke Garments,” “Eco-psych Therapy,” “Endless Wellness & Community Alignment,” “Cryptocurrency Top-up,” and so on. One of the larger and most popular kiosks had “Job Information and Enrolment Centre,” posted above it.
Doug spotted the perfect place to slip away — the “Kombucha Refreshments” kiosk was right in front of a small alley between two buildings that led back to a cordoned-off section of the cantonment. He and Gus could line up and buy some drinks, then sneak off behind the kiosk when no one was looking.
“… I’m all into carnivals. But this is straight out of a horror film,” Gus had stopped in his tracks, and was now almost hissing as he pulled on Doug’s elbow.
“What do you mean?”
“What do I mean? The kids in animal costumes!” Gus explained, nodding his pink head toward a kiosk.
Doug glanced over to where Gus was motioning.
Just outside the “Massage & Chillout” kiosk, a small figure dressed in red leotards, a fox mask covering their face, was slowly writhing up and down, lurching playfully at passersby.
“Messed up…” Doug muttered, the heat was making him dizzy. “Let’s get something to drink, then try and get away behind there…”
“Man… Déjà vu. I’ve seen that before…” Gus stopped again. He was staring at another dancer. This one, dressed in gray leotards and wearing the mask of a hare, was prancing around outside the employment kiosk, teasing the visitors, its long felt ears flopping around.
“Shit!” Gus whispered, eyes widening, face pinker. “I can’t believe it!”
“What can’t you believe, Gus?”
“It’s my old mask. The one my mom made. For the pagan performance protests they’d take us to.”
Doug squinted impatiently at the bouncy hare-person. “Wasn’t that like, over fifty years ago, Gus?”
“I’d recognize that mask anywhere. I can feel my face getting itchy just thinking about it. Those ratty ears, and the crappy whiskers that kept breaking off… How the goddamn hell did they got those costumes?”
Doug was parched, and started back toward the kombucha stand. Gus stayed put.
Doug turned, whispering, “Come on, Gus, we gotta get going.”
But Gus, his face now red, was belligerently scrutinizing the prancing hare. “They woulda had to break into the farmhouse to get them! Those mother-fucking creepy assholes!” Gus marched through the crowd toward the hare.
“Gus!” Doug called, trying with minimal success to sound casual. “I’ll wait for you in the kombucha line, okay?” But Gus was already out of earshot.
He joined the end of the line at the kombucha kiosk. As he slowly shuffled along the line, he looked around at the crowd. People munched on snacks; they sized themselves under 3D scanners for bespoke t-shirts of hemp, emblazoned with the Golden Years logo; they had their fortunes read, their chakras enervated, or discussed prospective employment at the retreat. Everyone was enjoying the weather’s turn, despite the storm warnings.
He tried to spot Gus. But now the employment kiosk had a sign up over the entrance “Back in 5!” Neither Gus nor the dancing hare were anywhere in sight. But through the crowd, standing outside the plant-based hot dog stand, a small lion-masked figure was waving, seemingly at Doug. Then closer, outside the crypto top-up stand, a deer waved in Doug’s direction, one of its antlers bent and lop-sided. And closer, a wolf stood outside the tarot stand, also waving at Doug.
He hunched and lowered his head to try and ignore the waving animals, but the blurry and waving lion and wolf waving stuck in his peripheral vision, joined by a red blur of what Doug assumed must be the fox. It felt like they were corralling him.
An amplified voice boomed above the throngs of people: “Welcome one and all! Sternumites! Humans! Beasts, spirits, and otherwise all wanderers of earth! Welcome to our little kingdom on the mount!”
Doug had to think for a moment, about where he recognized the voice from.
“My spirit animal is snake and elephant, my spirit object is god and trident and column! Welcome welcome welcome to this gathering, please do mind the foggy ectoplasm, and stay moving with the layered borders you’ll see along each path! It’ll help you enjoy the galley perks available to all attendants — clabbering sing song! Soon, very soon my particulars we will dance with the sultry drabness of Canis Major Dwarf Galaxy! We’ll drink from the cracked mustard glass of the Andromeda, Segue 1 galaxy; then the linen and fine citrus of Sagittarius Dwarf Spheroidal!”
Some cheers came up from the crowd.
“In just a few minutes, we will be hosting a variety performance, in our New Atlantis Sweat Lodge at the center of the grounds. The performance will feature entertainment of all genus, and tell the story of Golden Drive time moments. A binge that goes back some 60,000 pieces of the finest ceramic handwork that you’ve ever seen… Well, plus and minus the cost of housing, that is. Count ‘em! Two wolves followed by four asian-breasted cone birds. You do not wanna know how many Christmas cards we had to send out last year! Anyhoo, we love your new haircut! Happy happy day day day, and come say hi at me for all y’all y’all y’all y’all y’all all y’all!”
Doug transferred some Sternumcoin to the kombucha sellers as the aggressively incoherent blabber continued over the crowd. He took a sip of the briney liquid. The tang hit the middle of his mouth. It had an acidic aftertaste, followed by a pleasant fizz up his sinuses, then seeped out his nostrils like some heavy swamp gas. His eyes welled up a little.
The blotches of waving animals in Doug’s peripheral vision had disappeared. But the crowd started moving toward the centre of the retreat, taking Doug along with them. As he balanced the kombucha cups in the push, Doug searched around for Gus again. He was nowhere in sight.
“Happy day! You made it up, Dougy!” Dr Hubble grabbed Doug’s shoulder. “You wanna join the meditation circle later?” The doctor had wildflowers woven into his big white beard, and was wearing a costume that made him look like a Jedi knight out of some Star Wars spinoff. He had been leaning on the corner of one of the buildings opposite the path, as if waiting for Doug.
Doug shook his head. “How long have you been with them?”
Hubble looked down at his clothing, then smiled. “The force is eternal, Dougy, don’t you know your lore?”
Before Doug could reply, the small figures in animal masks swarmed around him and pushed Doug back into the stream of bodies.
“Happy day, Dougy!” Hubble called out behind him. Doug craned his neck to look back. But Hubble was gone, and so were the animals.
Doug held fast to the frothy kombuchas, as if the cups could keep him afloat on the crowd. They shuffled along slowly into a narrow gap between two windowless prefab buildings, and continued toward the centre.
CHAPTER 48: Driftwood & Kombucha