“Perhaps,” Grayson said, fishing the motorhome’s keys from the visor above the driver’s seat. “But even if it has, with the oscilloscope, we should still be able to more accurately determine if there indeed was a distortion in time and space, and help zero-in on the its location.”
“How long does the distortion last?” I asked.
“Who knows?” Grayson said. “Perhaps millennia.”
“Then what’s the hurry?” I said, desperate to stall him at any cost. “Shouldn’t we think this through a bit more? Come on. What’s it gonna take to make you at least sleep on the idea?”
“A miracle,” Grayson said.
He slid into the driver’s seat and turned the ignition. The RV wouldn’t start.
I smiled up at the heavens.
Thank you, Universe!
“Uh, Mr. Gray?” Garth said, sticking his red nose into the driver’s cabin. “I hate to slow down the project, but Sherman’s not allowed visitors after 9:30.”
Seriously? You’ve outdone yourself, Universe!
I shot Garth a sideways smirk. “Let me guess. Psychiatric facility?”
Garth cocked his head like a bespectacled donkey. “Nope. His mom’s basement.”
I glanced over at Grayson and caught him wince as if he’d been shot through the temple.
“Gee. That’s too bad,” I said.
Grayson exhaled a long sigh. “Very well,” he said, and pulled the keys from the ignition. “It appears we’ll have to resume efforts in the morning. In the meantime, Earl, you’re in charge of diagnosing what’s wrong with the RV.”
“I’m on it, Chief!” Earl said, sticking his head in the driver’s cabin next to Garth’s. He turned and smirked at me. “So who’s the buffoon now, Bobbie?”
Given the prime choices around here? Tough call.
“You are,” I said.
Earl showed me his suck it face. “That’s right, Cuz. And don’t you forget it!”
Like I ever could.
Chapter Twenty-Two
I stared blankly into a cup of coffee almost as black as Earl’s face and hands. I’d been up since 4:13 a.m.—the exact time my brilliant cousin had decided to start taking apart the engine on the RV.
I’d been sitting at the banquette drinking coffee and listening to him bang around for over two hours when he finally poked his grease-covered head inside the door and leered at me.
“I found it!” he said, grinning from ear to ear.
“What?” I asked. “An oil slick?”
“Nope. That’s just occupational hazard. I had to take the dang engine apart. It’s the water pump what’s busted.”
I handed Earl a cup of coffee. “Where we gonna find a water pump around here?”
Earl took a steaming slurp. “Wake up and smell the junk, Bobbie.”
Ew! I’d rather not...
Earl poked a hitchhiker thumb over the left shoulder of his blue coveralls. I glanced out the door. The sun was just beginning to cast a faint, pink glow on the mountain of rusted-out stoves and refrigerators littering the compound.
“Oh,” I grunted. “That junk.”
“We can pr’olly find an old water pump somewheres in this heap a garbola Garth lives in,” Earl said.
“Ahem,” a voice sounded from amid the apocalyptic debris. Garth stepped out from behind an old Buick chassis and cleared his throat again. “It’s not all garbola.”
Earl winced. “Uh ... no offense, buddy.”
“None taken.” Garth started to say something else, but instead sneezed so loudly my hand instinctually moved to cover my coffee cup. He wiped his bulbous red nose with a hanky, then nodded toward his trailer. “I’d say your best bet for a water pump that’d fit the RV is in the hangar out back of the doublewide.”
“Thanks,” Earl said. “I’ll head over there soon as I finish my coffee.”
“You want a cup?” I asked Garth.
He smiled weakly, giving me a glimpse of his bucktooth choppers. “That’d be great, Pandora.” Then he blew his nose like a foghorn.
“I’ll get the coffee,” Grayson said from behind me.
The sight of Grayson already neatly dressed in his uniform of black jeans and black T-shirt made me cringe. It really raised the bar on my gray sweatpants and a Who Farted? T-shirt.
“Good morning, clan,” Grayson said as he padded over to the stove. “Earl, I see you’re already hard at work. Do you require assistance with your rudimentary operation?”
Confusion marred Earl’s blackened brow. “I thought she was a Winnebago.”
“He meant do you need help with the water pump,” I said.
“Oh.” Earl shook his head. “Nope. I got it all under control, Mr. G.”
“I can see that,” Grayson said. “Very good. Carry on.”
“Will do, Chief.” Earl saluted, drained his coffee cup, set it on the floor by the door, then disappeared into the junkyard like a redneck chimneysweep.
Grayson handed Garth a cup of coffee. “Let’s go pick up that oscilloscope, shall we?”
Garth sat on the couch and blew on the hot brew. “Uh...sorry, Mr. Gray. It’s barely past seven o’clock. Sherman usually sleeps till noon.”
“You don’t say,” Grayson said dully. “Well, no bother. We have other things we can do in the meantime.”
My nose crinkled. “Why don’t you just go to Walmart and buy your own stupid Oscar Mayer scope thing?”
“Oscilloscope,” Grayson corrected. “It’s not exactly the kind of thing they carry at Walmart.”
“He’s right, Pandora,” Garth chimed in. “And a good digital o-scope can set you back six or seven grand.”
The two techno-nerds exchanged smirks, making me feel like a doofus.
“Fine,” I grumbled, reaching for a box of Pop Tarts. “So what else is on the agenda?”
“Retrofitting the back bedroom to contain our alien quarry, for one thing,” Grayson said.
I nearly dropped my blueberry toaster pastry.
“Retrofitting?” I asked. “I thought you said that room was already reinforced with monster-proof trapping stuff. In fact, I distinctly remember you telling me it was strong enough to hold Godzilla.”
“Physically, yes,” Grayson said. “But in this case, we’ll need to add certain accoutrements to entice the space creatures in.”
“Accoutrements?” I snarled. “Like what? A Star Wars bedspread?”
“Hmm.” Grayson’s eyebrow raised as if he were actually contemplating my suggestion. “I was thinking more along the lines of gustatory and auditory lures. Sweet treats and a homing beacon, if you will.”
“Of course!” Garth said excitedly. “Just like in
