Page 8 of Lost

3

Other Kevin

“Sap-a-loop-ah? Really, G-ma? Talk about the middle of nowhere,” Kevin said as G-ma directed him to exit the Turner Turnpike.

“Kevin, pronounce it correctly.”

“Fine.Sapulpa. Still—really, G’ma? Why here?”

“Because, as you said—middle of nowhere. Which is an excellent place for the headquarters of the Resistance, as Sapulpa is only about thirty minutes from downtown Tulsa. Close enough to be useful, but still a rural town with nothing to interest vampyres except several ranches that grow some of the best alfalfa in the state.”

“So, they have just enough going on to be protected by Neferet, but not enough going on to interest her into actually hanging out here or anything.”

“Exactly. Take a left at the next light. That’s South Hickory. Then follow this road for about a mile until we go through a couple of stop signs. After the smoke shop look for Lone Star Road and turn right onto it.”

“Where the heck are you taking us, G-ma?”

She smiled seraphically. “To one of those lovely little alfalfa ranches, u-we-tsi.”

They wound along Lone Star Road, passing rolling fields, some left fallow to ready for the spring planting, and some already green with winter wheat. As per usual for Oklahoma, the houses went from gorgeous almost-mansions to crappy trailers, and back to mansions.

“Hey, check it out, G-ma. It’s the Okie white-trash trifecta—a trailer house, an above-ground pool,andan old mattress those pit bulls are using as a bed—all in one yard.”

Grandma Redbird’s nose wrinkled. “I believe those are boxers, not pitties, Kevin.”

“My mistake. That’s what I get for stereotyping.”

“Well, it was definitely a good guess. Slow down, now. See on your right where that pretty white fencing begins?”

“Yep.”

“There’s a gate just beyond it. Pull in, roll down your window, and press the intercom button. I will do the talking.”

Kevin did as he was told, turning into a lane that was blocked by a large iron gate. He did a quick glance around as his window rolled down and saw that the easy, tidy look of the little ranch didn’t tell the entire truth.

The gate, like the well-tended white fence, was threaded with several strands of thick conductive wire. Kevin’s eyes followed the wires.

“That’s a super-serious electric fence, G-ma.”

“Yes, I am aware of that. Press the intercom, please.”

Kevin pressed the white button next to the speaker and a little red light lit up, drawing attention to the high-tech camera pointed their way.

“Who’s there?” came a woman’s sharp voice punctuated by a symphony of yapping dogs.

“Sylvia Redbird. I hear you have a litter of puppies. I’d like to take a look at them, if you still have one for sale.”

There was a pause, and then, “I see a red vampyre with you.”

Grandma Redbird slid over and stuck her head beside Kevin’s. “It’s me, Tina. This is my grandson, Kevin.”

“Red vampyres are not welcome on my property or in my home.”

“This red vampyre is different. I give you my word on it,” said Grandma.

“Of course you do. You’re under his control. No. You may not enter my property. You may not enter my home.”

“Tina, send Babos out here.”