Everything Joseph Stalin told the melting man was coming true, right before Leonard Fountain’s eyes.
The Beaver King really was hiding out in a place near the Little America Mall, which Leonard Fountain had driven past on his way to Lake Moomaw—Lake Beaver Dam. And Poppa Bear himself affirmed to the melting man that the three bears also used to live where his younger brother Larry worked, Camp Merrie-Seymour for Beavers.
It was all working out, and the melting man’s masterpiece would finally be put to good use.
“You are driving. You are driving,” 3-60 said.
And Crystal Lutz played her accordion and sang along with Igor Zelinsky:
He said to me, “Why don’t you run?
I see you don’t have any gun.”
Whereas the melting man had been weeping earlier, now he was very happy.
Joseph Stalin was happy, too.
He said, “You are finally going to amount to something, Leonard!”
“You sound like my father,” the melting man said. “I hate my father.”
“You are driving. You are driving. Oh, Lenny, you’ve lost another tooth!” 3-60 said.
It was true. One of the melting man’s large molars had dislodged from the mushlike putty of Leonard Fountain’s infected gums. The melting man nearly choked on it, and when he spit it out onto the dashboard, it left a black gooey smear of pus and blood.
Leonard Fountain—Igor Zelinsky—was exhausted.
Actually, Leonard Fountain wasn’t merely exhausted, he was nearly dead. He only had one more thing he needed to do, then everybody would finally be satisfied with Leonard Fountain.
“You see the posts of the camp up ahead on the left,” 3-60 said. “It is getting closer. It is getting closer.”
The melting man’s atomic U-Haul had finally arrived.
“You are parking on the side of the road,” 3-60 narrated.
And Leonard Fountain looked across the street at the electric metal gates that were swinging open—almost as though to invite him in—between the hewn log posts and the sign that read:
Camp Merrie-Seymour for Beavers
Where the Beaver King Has Been Hiding from You!
So this was it, Leonard Fountain thought.
This had to be it.
And as the gates to Camp Merrie-Seymour for Beavers swung open, a black Town Car pulled out and then paused before turning down Route 600.
Leonard Fountain noticed the license plate on the car as it rolled through the gate. It was a personalized plate that said NUS BOMB. But Leonard Fountain was too far gone to actually read the plate. He didn’t need to, because the only thing he could see was BVR KING.
“That’s him!” The melting man was so excited, he urinated bloody piss all over himself.
Martha Nussbaum was leaving Camp Merrie-Seymour for Boys for the weekend before the fat kids came. In fact, Martha K. Nussbaum, MD, PhD, was leaving Camp Merrie-Seymour for Boys and Alex Division of Merrie-Seymour Research Group for good. Her bags were packed, and she had a one-way, first-class ticket on Lufthansa.
“The Beaver King!” Joseph Stalin said.
The melting man spun the U-Haul van back out onto the highway and followed the Beaver King.
“Don’t fuck this up!” Joseph Stalin said.
Leonard Fountain began to cry again. “I promise not to fuck this up, Dad.”
“You are crying. You are crying,” 3-60 said.
And Crystal Lutz played a song called “Warm Leatherette” on her accordion. She sang to Igor Zelinsky as he pursued the black Town Car down the road:
Quick—Let’s make love. Before you die.
And in the air above the melting man’s poisonous vehicle a small metal object hovered along, watching, watching.
Somewhere not terribly far away, sitting in separate offices at Merrie-Seymour Research Group’s Alex Division facility, Colton Benjamin Petersen Sr., Jacob Burgess, and Harrison Knott were watching it all unfold; had been watching even as a lunatic from a botched droning experiment fired a pistol at their own sons.
“Pull the plug?” Colton Petersen asked.
“I think he’s past the point,” Major Knott answered.
- - -
“You are melting. You are melting,” 3-60 said.
Leonard Fountain was liquefying behind the wheel of his festering U-Haul van.
“Activate the switch, Leonard! It is time!” Joseph Stalin commanded.
The timers ticked and ticked and ticked, and Crystal Lutz played wildly. The melting man forced the van up closer and closer to the tail of the black Town Car ahead of him.
“Oh, Lenny! Your phone is ringing again!” 3-60 said.
“Huh?”
It was all so much, inside and outside the melting man’s head, all at once.
Leonard Fountain looked at his phone. His little brother was calling. He’d forgotten about visiting his little brother, like he said he was going to. There were more important things to do now.
“Don’t answer the phone!” Joseph Stalin told him. “Activate the switch! It’s time, Leonard! It’s time!”
“You are driving. You are driving. You are answering the phone,” 3-60 narrated.
“Huh . . . Hello? Larry?” the melting man said.
“Hey, Lenny. You nearby? I thought you’d be here by now.”
“Something came up.”
“Get off the phone!” Joseph Stalin shouted.
The melting man steered with his knee and pressed the timers into his head.
Crystal Lutz played and sang.
Flying fish leapt up from the asphalt sea of Route 600. They flitted along beside Leonard Fountain’s van. They smiled at him, and several splattered—thunk! thunk! thunk!—into the windshield.
The melting man was melting.
“Sorry, Larry. I gotta go.”
And it was on the John Lederer Bridge that the melting man lost sight of the Town Car, which was speeding on its way to Dulles Airport.
- - -
Here we see the melting man, a flawed biodrone from Merrie-Seymour Research Group, being decommissioned by remote control.
Here, kitty-kitty.
So much for the John Lederer Bridge.
So much for the melting man.
One step closer to male extinction.
Mrs. Nussbaum noticed a bright flare in her rearview mirror; it was like one of those annoying traffic-signal cameras firing machine-gun flashbulbs at an inattentive line-crosser.
One day, humanity won’t need such devices, she thought.