Tentacles

by Roland Smith

  “Are you doing all right?” he asked cheerfully.

  “Yes,” she answered.

  “I’m glad to finally have you with me, Grace. This is how it should have been from the very beginning. We’re going to have a wonderful life together. But I do have a question for you.”

  “What is it?”

  “Why did you decide to come with me?”

  Grace knew this question was coming and she was prepared for it. “Curiosity,” she answered. “I landed in the middle of this family feud, but I’m not a part of it. Someone had to put an end to it. I don’t want anything bad to happen to Wolfe, or to you.”

  “Wolfe is going to come after you,” Noah said. “He’s going to come after the dinosaurs.”

  “I decide who I stay with,” Grace said. “It’s not up to either of you.”

  “I have another question,” Noah said. “What did you mean by squeezing the monkey’s arm?”

  “It’s a private joke between Marty and me. Bo doesn’t like it when we squeeze her arm.”

  “For your information,” Noah said, “Bo is a bonobo chimpanzee, therefore she is an ape, not a monkey.”

  “Wow,” Grace said, although she knew full well that a chimpanzee was an ape.

  “Oh, the things I’ll be able to teach you,” Noah said.

  He turned back to the front, his hand resting on the remote detonator, debating with himself. He wanted to see the Coelacanth explode, but he might have to forgo that plea-sure. If he blew up the ship in front of Grace, he would probably lose her forever, even though he had her in hand. The detonator had an effective range of fifteen miles. At that distance he wouldn’t be able to see or hear the explosion, but neither would Grace. “Let’s head out,” he told the pilot, taking note of their exact position on the chopper’s GPS.

  “Where are we going?” Grace asked.

  “One of my private jets is waiting for us in Wellington, New Zealand. We’ll fly back to the States. We need to get our two friends to a proper facility as quickly as we can.”

  “Good idea,” Grace said. “I’m sure they’re not very comfortable in those bags.”

  Grace allowed herself a small smile. Noah had people working for him on Cryptos Island, she thought. Now Wolfe has someone working for him at the Ark.

  This was the only way she could save Laurel and Marty, protect the hatchlings, and find out who her grandfather really was.

  At exactly fourteen miles, Noah Blackwood pushed the button on the detonator. He closed his eyes and imagined the explosion and the expressions of surprise on the crew’s faces. He allowed himself a small smile, too.

  * * *

  Five minutes after the detonator was pushed, Theo Sonborn said, “I guess I better get down to the engine room and see if I can get this rusty bucket of bolts started. I could use some help.”

  “I’ll go,” Luther volunteered.

  “I’ll help you, too,” Laurel offered. “But first I’m going to check on Bertha and Ana.”

  Wolfe said he would be down in a few minutes. He joined Marty at the rail, where he was staring at the empty sky where the helicopter had been.

  “We’ll get her back,” Wolfe said. “And we’ll find your parents.”

  Marty kept his eyes fixed on the sky and did not respond.

  “I should have left you and Grace at Omega Prep,” Wolfe continued. “I should have never come back into your life. If I’d stayed away, you’d both be safe. None of this would have happened.”

  Marty looked at his uncle. “You’re right,” he said at last. “But the thing is, if you hadn’t showed up, we’d still be living a lie. I know now that Grace and I aren’t twins, but we’re still connected like we are. I know what she’s thinking. She went with Blackwood to save me and Laurel, but that’s not the only reason. She went because she wants to know the truth. And the only person who knows the whole story is Noah Blackwood. Grace had to go with him. We’ll get her back, but not until she gets what she wants.”

  Marty let go of the rail and started to walk away.

  “Where are you going?” Wolfe asked.

  Marty stopped and looked back at his uncle. “Grace knew this was going to happen.”

  “How could she know that?”

  “She just knows things,” Marty said. “I don’t know how and neither does she. What I do know is that I squeezed Monkey’s arm.”

  “And what was that all about?” Wolfe asked.

  “A promise. I told Grace I would untangle the things in that old trunk. Ted snagged a giant squid. Blackwood snagged Grace and the hatchlings. It’s time I put out my tentacles to see what I can snag: ‘Below the thunders of the upper deep …’”

  “Tennyson,” Wolfe said. “From the poem ‘The Kraken.’”

  “Right,” Marty replied. “Do you want to help?”

  “I guess I’d better,” Wolfe said.

  They went below to see what they could discover in the upper deep.

  From the darkness of his wooden den the chupacabra sensed everything…. The whir of fans. The click of the flickering lights. The drip … drip … drip of water. The hiss of doors opening. The grating sound of human voices before the doors hissed closed again. The sharp scent of his own urine in the corners of his cage. The scratching of rabbits and rodents against cold steel. The bleating of a kid goat. His belly churning with hunger….

  The kid goat bleated again. It had been several sleeps since the last one.

  The night before, the woman with the box had made him go to sleep. At least he thought it was her. It only happened when she was nearby with the box she held.

  “Sleep!” she had shouted.

  A sharp, piercing pain in his head, then the darkness.

  When he woke there was something wrapped around his chest and back. He tried to scratch it off with his razorlike claws, but his claws could not reach it. He tried to bite it off, but his long, sharp fangs were not long enough to pierce it. He had tried to rub it off on the bars of his cage, but that had made the chafing and constriction worse. Finally, he had given up and simply accepted the discomfort, crawling into his dark den, his head toward the opening, watching, listening, scenting the air.

  The man with the white coat and shining mirror eyes opened the door down the hallway. The chupacabra moved farther back into his den, his powerful hind legs pressed into the corner. He was not afraid of the man, but he was fearful of the things that happened to him when the man was near.

  “Hungry?” the man said.

  The chupacabra did not move. He stared at the man’s hand from the darkness. The hand was wrapped in cloth as bright as the man’s coat. He had tasted the man’s blood and wanted more, but he stayed where he was … still, silent, waiting.

  “I have something that will get you out of that box,” the man said.

  The man disappeared from the chupacabra’s view. His feet clicked on the concrete floor. The kid goat started bleating louder. Steel doors rattled. The bleating got closer with every door rattle. Closer. Closer. Closer.

  The chupacabra knew what was coming. He felt liquid dripping from his jaw. His belly rattled like the doors. But he stayed where he was. Watching. Waiting.

  The final door opened. The kid goat jumped into his cage, prodded by the man with a long stick through the steel mesh.

  The kid goat pranced back and forth in front of his den, bleating, bleating, bleating. The chupacabra could smell its fear.

  “Dinnertime,” the man said.

  The chupacabra wanted the frightened creature, but he didn’t move. He wanted the man more. He had been studying this man for days. Watching him. Listening. Trying to lure him closer.

  “Suit yourself,” the man said. “Eat or don’t eat. I don’t care.”

  The door hissed open. The man stepped through. The door hissed closed. But the man did not go away. He watched through the small window in the door.

  The chupacabra waited. He watched the man. He watched the kid goat pacing back and forth.

 
The door hissed open again. The man re-entered the room. The kid goat bleated.

  “Are you okay?” the man asked. “Are you alive?”

  The chupacabra didn’t move.

  The man stepped closer and squatted down to peer into the den, inches from the wire mesh.

  This is what the chupacabra had been waiting for. He launched himself from the den and hit the steel mesh.

  Bang!

  The man screamed and fell backward. His shining eyes flew off his face and clattered on the concrete floor.

  The man breathed through his mouth. Big, deep breaths.

  The chupacabra tried to reach him through the mesh with his claws, but the man pulled his feet away and curled into a ball.

  The kid goat bleated. It stood in the corner, shivering.

  The chupacabra jumped on the kid goat, sunk his long fangs into its neck, shook it once, and began to feed.

  As he lapped up the warm, salty blood, he looked at the man curled up next to the wall. He could smell the man’s fear. It somehow made the blood taste better.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I’ve said this before, but I have to say it again … “Novels are written in solitude, but they are never written alone.” I don’t have the words to thank all the people who helped me with this long-awaited sequel to Cryptid Hunters. My fantastic editor at Scholastic, Anamika Bhatnagar, who “labored” over this under difficult circumstances. Siobhán “Dash” McGowan, who picked up the story and ran with it. Suzanne Murphy, who was always willing to talk, even when she had the flu. My wonderful agent, friend, and fearless advocate, Barbara Kouts. Ed Masessa, friend, fan, and (okay, I’ll say it, Ed) #1 New York Times Bestselling Author. Larry Decker, who always makes me sound and look better than I am. My wonderful readers, Joan and Doug Arth, Naomi Williamson, Scout and Kim Hornkohl, Hannah and Melanie Gill, J. R. and Bethany Culpepper, and, of course, my wonderful wife, Marie, who makes it possible for me to write all of my novels. Thanks also to everyone else at Scholastic for your support, enthusiasm, teamwork, and intelligence. And finally a special acknowledgment to Meena, who was along for the ride throughout the entire voyage.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Roland Smith is the author of numerous award-winning books for young readers, including Zach’s Lie, Jack’s Run, Sasquatch, Cryptid Hunters, Peak, Elephant Run, I.Q., and, most recently, Storm Runners. For more than twenty years he worked as an animal keeper, traveling all over the world, before turning to writing full-time. Roland lives with his wife, Marie, on a small farm south of Portland, Oregon. Visit him online at www.rolandsmith.com.

  Chase Masters and his father are “storm runners,” racing across the country in pursuit of hurricanes, tornadoes, and floods. Anywhere bad weather strikes, they are not far behind. Chase is learning more on the road than he ever would just sitting in a classroom. But when the hurricane of the century hits, he will be tested in ways he never could have imagined.

  This book was originally published in hardcover by Scholastic Press in 2009.

  ISBN 978-0-545-17816-7

  Copyright © 2009 by Roland Smith. All rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Inc. SCHOLASTIC and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.

  This edition first printing, February 2011

  Cover art & Design by Phil Falco

  e-ISBN 978-0-545-28152-2

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, write to Scholastic Inc., Attention: Permissions Department, 557 Broadway, New York, NY 10012.