Superlatives

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” says Diana.

“Says who?” Carl packs a flashlight, some sardines, and some crackers into his generic backpack. Eastpak without the hint of luxury.

“Says your girlfriend,” she says, pleading. “Says common sense. Says any mental health practitioner from even unaccredited institutions.”

“It’s not stupid, Diana. It’s what we need, what we all need!” He stops filling his backpack with toilet paper when the thought parachutes through his tough skull. “Oh I see what this is. You’re jealous.”

“What!” says Diana.

“Yeah, you’re jealous.”

“Of who?”

“Of whom.”

“Don’t you dare start with me, Carl. Who are you banging on the side?”

“No, you’re jealous of my quest.”

“Come again?”

He swings the backpack to get it over his shoulder, but it gets stuck on the fullness of his parka. “I have a quest, Diana. A mission. And you don’t. Maybe you will someday, but my purpose is calling, and I must answer.”

“A mission? Are you kidding me? I lead the fifth battalion?”

“And that’s great. And you’re a terrific addition to the union. But we’ve all got to do our part. And that’s why I must find him alone.”

“Honey.” Diana cups his face. Her green eyes, like magnets, capture his focus for just a moment. “Smokey the Bear isn’t real. It’s the stress. They used to call it shell shock.”

Carl breaks her grip. “Think about, Diana. Just think about it for a second. Think about the tactical advantage we would have if we could broker an alliance between the union and the rest of nature. He’s our go-between. Just think about it. Harnessing the power of every owl, every deer, hell, every tick. All working together to fight the Verxa. And you know he’d be on our side. Who hates fire more than Smokey?”

“Carl, Smokey the Bear was an advertising campaign from the 1950s. ‘Only you can prevent forest fires.’ That’s it.”

“But where do you think they got the idea of a talking bear? Where do you think people came up with fairies or gnomes or the yeti? Because someone saw them first, and then the legend spread. Those aren’t billboards, they’re altars to this mythic creature. And Smokey has got to join us, or else we’re doomed.” 

Carl and Diana share a moment of semi-silence in the bunker. The buzz of data banks and radar detectors vibrate the room.

“Oh Carl, I wish we could go back in time when you were ‘funniest guy’ in the year book and I was ‘most likely to marry young.’” Carl kisses her and tastes the salt of battle sweat.

“I’ll be back,” he says. “I’ll find him.”

She walks him to the door of the bunker guarded by her lieutenants. “I love you Carl.” A nod from her to her second in command and a quick hit with the butt of the soldier’s rifle later, an unconscious Carl is dragged back to the safety of darkness.