Family Night

“You don’t look like an Ewok to me.”
“It’s not Ewok, Grandpa, it’s Emo. E-M-O.” Maddie blew long, black hair from her forehead.
“Emo, then. You don’t look like one of those either; do you?” The old man turned to his son without waiting for an answer. His voiced dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “What’s an Emo?”
It’s an angst ridden kid being by a suffocating society that is sucking the life from her like a pair of her sister’s hand-me-down jeans. Which, by the way, look incredibly good on me.”
“Gotcha,” Grandpa said with a wink.
Maddie followed the roll of her eyes and disappeared into her bedroom.
“Something wrong dad?” Don asked.
“I don’t hear any music. You kids always cranked up the music after a conversation like that.”
“Ear buds.” Don continued a curious study of his father’s face. A moment of clarity passed. Don pointed at his ears. “Like head phones only smaller.”
The elder man nodded understanding. “No wonder kids can’t hear nowadays.”
“Huh?”
“Good one.” Grandpa bumped fists with his son.
“You two are soooo lame,” Drew said from his spot on the floor. Drew, a younger version of the two men, frantically flipped switches and levers on a game controller without taking his eyes from the television screen where soldiers and zombies vied for world domination.
“Well, we’ll see who lame in about...,” Grandpa looked at his watch, “...an hour and a half.”
“Ah, dad do I have to? I was going to go over to Tim’s house.” Drew’s protest didn’t interfere with the on-screen slaughter.
“Every body's going. Your Grandma and Grandpa came all this way.”
“Besides,” Grandpa added, “it’s your patriotic duty.”
“My what?” Drew asked oblivious to the look that passed between his father and grandfather.
“I was going to let you tell them.” Don softly kicked his son’s backside.
“Then, they’ll just have to wait.” Grandpa checked his watch again; rose and headed for the door. “You know the place, right?”
“Don’t worry, dad, we’ll be there.”
“On time?”
“Yes, on time. I promise.”

At exactly seven-fifteen Don loaded his mother, his wife and his kids into cab of the family’s F250. The truck rolled back into the road; stopped and rolled forward again.
“Get back in there and get some descent clothes on,” Don scolded.
“Teenagers,” Grandma growled.
“It’s not fair,” Maddie whined.
“You better hurry before something really unfair happens to you,” Don warned.
“What you’ll make me stay home?” Maddie’s hope vanished with one look at her father’s face.
Five minutes later she was back in the Ford and the trip began anew. It was only eight miles to the spot on the county line where the bridge crossed Otter Creek. Don was determined not to be late and Maddie had already eaten up five minutes of the cushion he’d built into the schedule. There was still enough time, barely. The urge to speed up was biting like a swarm of ants, but Don kept his foot steady. The last thing they needed was to be stopped by some gung-ho county mountie.

Grandma had a white knuckle grip on the padded dash. The fire in her eyes wasn’t fear of her son’s driving or of the local police. A silvery thread of saliva slipped from the corner of her frozen smile. She didn’t seem to notice.

A mile further the headlights flashed on the steel beams of Otter Creek Bridge. Don eased the Ford over a rise and to within fifty yards of the span before cranking the wheel hard left to block the road.

“Everybody out,” Don said.

“I thought we were going out to eat,” Maddie moaned.

“We are.” Steel crept into Don’s voice. “Now, everybody out.”

“Ew, not steak again,” Maddie said.

“I think it’s time you and Grandma tell us what’s going on,” Don’s wife said.

“You all know about the problem Mr. Delbert is having with immigration?” Don asked.

“You mean smuggling illegals in to work at his farm?”

“They’re not illegals,” Don explained. “They have work visas. It’s just they don’t go home when they expire. They tend to stay on for less money or sneak off to other farms.”

“So?” Drew said.

“So, we happen to be in a unique position to help.” Don looked around at the faces of his family. “There’s a chance they could disappear without going home or staying here illegally.”

“That’s where we come in,” Grandma said.

Don cocked an ear toward the bridge. “Here they come now.”

An old deuce and a half rumbled around a bend in the gravel road and onto the bridge. The driver dimmed his lights when he saw the Ford blocking the way. It was the last mistake he would ever make.

A shadow dropped from the steel superstructure of the bridge to the cab of the truck with a metallic crash. The figure shattered the truck’s window with a single blow and hauled the driver through broken glass. The copper tang of fresh blood filled Don’s nose. The body bounced along the gravel and came to rest against an oak tree. The shadowy assailant jumped free of the truck. The driverless vehicle veered right and found an oak of its own.

The dark figure silhouetted against the moon waved the family closer. It was Grandpa--only he didn’t look the same. His howl of victory was echoed by Grandma. Her excited smile was now part of a long, toothy snout; her lips pulled back in a ravenous snarl.

“Fiesta!” Maddie shouted, but the word forced through semi-human vocal cords sounded little like the real thing.

Grandpa ripped open the truck’s back doors. The sight of an upright, silver-haired wolf froze the twenty migrants in the box. They thawed a few seconds later. That’s when the screams began. Otter Creek Bridge was a long way from ears interested in hearing. Drew and Maddie buried the scraps.

“What do you think of your old Grandpa now?” the old man asked.

“We love you, Grandpa,” the two said in unison. The words were punctuated with warm muzzle rubs.

“Did you get it all?” Grandpa asked.

“Fifty new one hundred dollar bills.” Don help them up.

“Leave it on the seat of his truck,” Grandpa said. “Delbert will have a crew pick it up in the morning. They’ll need it in another six months when the next set of visas expire.”