The youngest dropped to his knees and cried. "No!" he said, hammering his fists
on the ground. "No no no no!" George watched in alarm as the boy went all the
way over to donkey. His cries turned to brays, and his shorts split around his
haunches and tail. His shirt went next, and George smoothly vaulted the counter
and stood in front of the donkey, blocking him from passers-by. The other two
made a run for it. George snagged the middle by his collar, but the boy tore
free and took off down the midway. George looked about wildly for security, but
they still hadn't arrived.
Then Joe tore past him, moving faster than George had ever seen him go. He
caught the boys and stuffed one under each arm, kicking and squirming. He
grinned ferociously as he pinned them beneath his knees at George's feet. He
clamped his hands over their mouths. "Got 'em!" he said to George.
A security team emerged from the utilidor beside George's booth, wearing clown
makeup and baggy pants. Two of them tranquilised the boys and the third fitted
the donkey out with a halter and bit. The clown slapped the donkey's haunch
appreciatively. "He's a healthy one."
The security team disappeared down the utilidor with the Mitchell brothers: two
boys and a donkey. Joe smacked George on the back. "Did you see me catch them?
Like greased lightning! Bounty, here I come!"
George didn't mind sharing his bounty with Joe, so he just smiled and nodded and
went back around to his booth.
#
Bill named his son Tom. Names weren't very important to their people, but the
soft ones' world demanded them. Within a week, Tom was eagerly toddling through
their cabin, tasting everything, exploring everything. His eyes shone with
curious brilliance. The clever son of a clever son.
George loved Bill's son. He loved to watch Tom as he gnawed at their bedding, as
he dug at the floor in search of grubs. Tom was clearly delighted with his
surroundings, and George basked in Tom's delight. Bill could barely restrain
himself from picking Tom up and hugging him every moment. The only time he left
George alone with Tom was a few precious moments after each evening's meal, when
he would duck into the woods to find some new toy for Tom: a crippled chipmunk;
a handful of pretty rocks; a discarded beer can. The son built bizarre towers
out of them, then knocked them down in a fit of giggles. Tom ate all day long,
and spoke a steady stream of adorable nonsense.
Bill hardly spoke to George. Their evening meals were given over to watching the
son eat. George didn't mind. Talking to the Guests all day wore him out.
When Tom was two months old, Joe came by George's booth.
"Well, it's final. Tomorrow, we shut down the midway. Too old-fashioned -- it's
only stood this long because some of the older Imagineers had an emotional
attachment to it. I told 'em: 'That's _your_ demographic, not the _target_
demographic.' So we're knocking it down. HorrorZone's gonna be _huge_." He
skipped off before George could say anything. His ears were long and pointed. It
wasn't the first time George noticed it, but now, he could see that Joe's
hunched-over gait wasn't just because of his belly.
George built a dozen cones for the Guests, but his heart wasn't in it. Besides,
most of the Guests already had their hands full of gummi spiders and snakes,
from the Actionland Jungle Treats buffet. His thoughts were full of Joe, and he
turned them over in his slow, cautious manner. Joe was turning into a donkey. He
didn't think that one of their kind could turn into a donkey, but this was
Pleasure Island. Indulging your vices was a dangerous pastime here. He should
tell Bill, but there was no phone at the cabin. He couldn't send a runner for
him, because this was family business. His shift wouldn't end for hours yet, and
this was too important to wait.