“Are you sure we’re following the monkeys?” I asked him after a half hour of walking on pine needles and struggling through underbrush.

“I’m sure we’re following them. I’m not sure they’re taking us to Gail.”

We were on an ATV path, and the next moment, we stumbled into the Easter Bunny’s yard. He was back in his chair, wearing the same sad rabbit suit, and he was still smoking.

“Hey, Bernie,” Diesel said. “How’s it going?”

“It’s not Bernie,” he said. “It’s E. Bunny.” He took a long drag, pitched his stub of a cigarette onto the ground, and lit another. “Oh hell, who am I kidding, it’s Bernie. The bastards retired me, suit and all.”

“You don’t have to work anymore,” Diesel said. “This is the good life.”

Bernie nodded. “It ain’t bad. I get to sit here and smoke all day. Toward the end, they came in with all that no-smoking crapola. That was a bitch. You know what it’s like trying to sneak a smoke in a rabbit suit? It’s the shits.”

“Did you see a couple monkeys go past?”

“Yeah. One of them was wearing a scarf.”

After an hour, I was thinking everything looked familiar. “Have we been here before?” I asked Diesel.

“Yeah. The stupid monkeys are leading us in a circle. Bernie’s homestead is just ahead.”

“How did you know his name was Bernie?”

“I Googled Easter Bunny.”

“And it told you the Easter Bunny’s name was Bernie?”

“Okay, so I asked around.”

“Who did you ask?”

“Flash. He has a friend at the DMV, and he looked up the rabbit’s license plate.” Diesel draped an arm across my shoulders. “Do you believe me?”

“No.”

Diesel grinned. “People believe what they want to believe.”

We ambled back into Bernie’s yard and stopped to watch Bernie blow smoke rings.

“Looks like you’re still following the monkeys,” Bernie said, squinting through the smoke at us. “You’re about three minutes behind them. And watch out for the Jersey Dev il. He’s been in a real bad mood lately.”

We walked about a hundred yards, and ran into Carl. He was sitting back on his haunches, looking dejected.

“Where’s the other monkey?” I asked him.

Carl looked up. The monkey was in a tree.

“What’s he doing there?”

Carl shrugged.

“This was a stupid idea,” I said to Diesel.

“Yeah, but at least you walked off your sausage-and-egg sandwich. It would have gone straight to your ass.”

“I’m going back to Gail’s house, and then I’m going home. I don’t care about Munch. I don’t care about Wulf. I don’t care about their wicked weather machine. I don’t care if it rains rhinoceroses.”

“What about Gail Scanlon?”

“She’s on her own.” I looked around. “Which way do I go?”

“Wait,” Diesel said. “Do you hear something rumbling?”

I stopped and listened. “It sounds like Elmer’s truck with the broken muffler.”

We walked through the woods, following the sound. Carl tagged along, but the scarf monkey stayed in the tree. The truck cut out, but we kept walking in the general direction. The trees thinned, and we came to a large patch of scorched earth. A small, egg-shaped Airstream travel trailer sat on the edge of the clearing. Elmer’s truck was parked next to the trailer.

Diesel knocked on the trailer door, and Elmer answered.

“Holy cow,” Elmer said. “What a surprise. Nobody ever visits me. Do you want to come in?”

I gnawed on my lip. I didn’t want to be rude, but there was only one door. If Elmer farted and the trailer went up in flames, I’d die a horrible death.

“No thanks,” I said. “We were just out for a walk.”

“We’re looking for Gail Scanlon,” Diesel said.

“That’s the monkey lady,” Elmer said. “I met her once. She was real nice. I heard she was missing, and all her monkeys got loose.”

Elmer looked past me at Carl.

“Is that one of her monkeys?”

Carl gave Elmer the finger.

“Yep,” I said. “That’s her monkey.”

“Do you have any neighbors?” Diesel asked.

“The Easter Bunny is a couple miles through the woods. And one of the Sasquatch boys lives down the road a ways. Used to be a young couple living in a little house at the end of Ju nior Sasquatch’s road, but they moved out, and then the house burned down. I swear, it wasn’t my fault.”

“Anyone else?”

“Not in this little patch of the Barrens,” Elmer said. “There’s some businesses on Marbury Road. A couple antique shops, the Flying Donkey Mine, a bed-and-breakfast that don’t serve breakfast.”

“Is it a real mine?” I asked him.

“I suppose years ago it might have been. I don’t know what kind of mine, though. Then it was a tourist attraction. Only thing, there was hardly any tourists. It closed almost as soon as it opened, and it’s been closed since. And, of course, there’s the Dev il, except he isn’t much of a neighbor.”

“Do you know the Dev il?” I asked him.

“Not personal. I hear him flying over the trailer at night sometimes. Lately, he’s been flyin’ a lot. I tell you, the Barrens are strange and getting stranger.”

“Have you ever been in the mine?” Diesel asked Elmer.

“Nope. I thought about it, but it got closed before I got around to visiting. I thought it might have been interesting.”

“I think we should take a look at it,” Diesel said.

“You can’t go in. It’s all boarded up.”

“Then we’ll look at it from the outside,” Diesel said to Elmer. “You feel like driving us over there?”

“Sure,” Elmer said. “I’ll get my keys.”

I glanced over at Diesel. “I thought you said it was a bad idea to get in a truck with the fire farter.”

“He’s what we’ve got. If we don’t go with Elmer, we walk two hours through the woods to Gail’s house. That’s two hours less to find Munch and Wulf.”

“Yeah, but what if we’re in the truck and he farts?”

“If he farts, we’ll jump out of the truck and run like hell.”

Elmer came out with the keys. I got in front with Elmer. Diesel and Carl climbed into the back.

“Do you ever explore around in the woods?” I asked Elmer.

“Hardly ever. I got a creaky knee. Makes it hard to walk in the pine needles. And the truck’s gotta have a road. I hear them ATVs riding around behind me, going in the woods, but I haven’t got one of them.”

It took twenty minutes to get to the mine, and Elmer was right about it being closed. A large, weather-beaten sign advertised tours of the Flying Donkey, but the sign was more of a tombstone than anything else. The Donkey’s gift shop windows were covered with crudely nailed-on sheets of plywood. The plywood was warped and water-stained. The shop door was boarded shut. The parking lot was large, made to accommodate tour buses that never came. Weeds struggled to grow in the cracks in the blacktop. The mine itself was several yards behind the gift shop. A path led from the parking lot to the mine.

Elmer parked close to the gift shop. We left Carl in the truck, and Diesel, Elmer, and I got out and took the path. Another sign was posted at the mine’s entrance. closed was spray-painted over the tour times. A half-assed chain-link fence was propped across an entrance that looked more like the approach to a cave than a mine.

A dirt path continued past the mine entrance. A smaller, barely legible sign announced that this was a nature walk.

“I’m feeling in the mood for nature,” Diesel said, setting off on the path.

Elmer and I walked along with him, and it occurred to me that this was a maintained path. It should have been overgrown by now, but the brush had been weed-whacked away. Diesel stopped after a couple hundred feet and then quietly walked several yards into the woods. We followed him and stared down at an air shaft. We returned to the trail and found six more air shafts at regular intervals. We stood over the last air shaft, and muffled voices carried up to us. Diesel motioned for silence, and we quietly walked back to the trail.

“This is why we couldn’t see it from the air,” Diesel said to me. “These underground caves can be huge and wind around for miles. Everyone walk in a different direction. Go two hundred feet and come back. Look for any disturbance in the undergrowth.”