by Peg Kehret
Nowhere to run.
“If anybody takes one more step,” the man said, “this kid won’t live.”
What have I done? Ellen thought. She stood still, staring in horror at her brother and the man with the knife.
The man looked around. His eyes dropped briefly on Ellen and then, after waiting for a few more seconds, he looked at her again and said, “Come here.”
She whirled and started to run.
Behind her, Corey cried out.
Ellen stopped and looked back. The man held the knife in the air now, pointed toward Corey’s chest.
She couldn’t run away. Slowly, she turned and walked toward the man. “Who are you?” she whispered. “What do you want with us?”
“A fast-moving and well-constructed tale.”
—Booklist
“Will appeal to animal lovers looking for a spook story [with] plenty of suspense.”
—SLJ
BOOKS BY PEG KEHRET
Cages
Don’t Tell Anyone
Earthquake Terror
I’m Not Who You Think I Am
Nightmare Mountain
Searching for Candlestick Park
Terror at the Zoo
TERROR
at the
ZOO
PEG KEHRET
PUFFIN BOOKS
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Putnam Books for Young Readers,
345 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, U.S.A.
Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R ORL, England
Penguin Books Australia Ltd, Ringwood, Victoria, Australia
Penguin Books Canada Ltd, 10 Alcorn Avenue, Toronto, Ontario, Canada M4V 3B2
Penguin Books (N.Z.) Ltd, 182-190 Wairau Road, Auckland 10, New Zealand
Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: Harmondsworth, Middlesex, England
First published in the United States of America by Cobblehill Books, an affiliate of Dutton Children’s Books, a division of Penguin Books USA, 1992
Published by Pocket Books, a division of Simon & Schuster Inc., 1993
Published by Puffin Books,
a division of Penguin Putnam Books for Young Readers, 2001
Copyright © Peg Kehret, 1992
All rights reserved
THE LIBRARY OF CONGRESS HAS CATALOGED THE DUTTON EDITION AS FOLLOWS:
Kehret, Peg.
Terror at the zoo / by Peg Kehret.
New York : Cobblehill Books/Dutton, 1992.
131 p. 22 cm.
Summary: Twelve-year-old Ellen and her younger brother Corey are excited about their overnight camp-out at the zoo, until they discover that they are locked inside with a desperate escaped convict.
ISBN: 978-1-101-66151-2
[1. Zoos—Fiction. 2. Mystery and detective stories.]
PZ7.K2518 Te 1992 [Fic]—dc20 91025728 CIP AC
Except in the United States of America, this book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
This book is dedicated, with love and gratitude,
to the women who gave birth to my children.
Special thanks to Elaine Bowers, Carol Raitt, Katharyn Gerlich, Ira and Delaney Gerlich, Carrie Rhodes and Alex Alvord, and the Woodland Park Zoological Society, Seattle, WA.
TERROR AT THE ZOO is a work of fiction; all people and events described in this book are imaginary.
Table of Contents
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
About the Author
1
ELLEN STREATER looked across the yard at Prince, her German shepherd. Silently, she directed her thoughts to him: Come, Prince. Come to me. She didn’t call his name aloud, or whistle, or clap her hands. She only sent her thoughts.
Prince quit sniffing the grass and turned to look at Ellen.
Come, Prince, she thought again. Then she closed her eyes and imagined Prince walking across the grass toward her.
When she opened her eyes, Prince stood in front of her, wagging his tail.
“Good dog,” Ellen said. “What a fine dog.” She patted Prince’s head for a few moments and then wrote the date, time, her command, and Prince’s response in her notebook.
Her experiment was turning out far better than she had expected. The last six times she had called him silently, Prince had responded. Once he even came when he was sitting under the big maple tree, waiting for a squirrel to come down. Prince had been trying all his life to catch a squirrel and was not easily distracted when he saw one. But when Ellen directed him, in her mind, to come, Prince took his eyes from the squirrel and walked straight to Ellen.
Ellen planned to enter her animal communication experiment in the annual All-City Science Fair. Her science teacher had suggested the subject last spring and loaned Ellen a book on animal communication.
Ellen had been skeptical of success, despite the claims in the book, but she had worked on her project all summer, carefully recording her efforts with Prince.
With summer nearly over, Prince frequently obeyed her nonverbal commands to come. Now she wondered if he might be able to understand other thoughts, as well.
She closed her eyes again, focusing all her attention on Prince. Get your ball, she thought. Get your ball.
“Hey, Ellen!”
Ellen’s eyes flew open, startled by her younger brother’s loud call.
Corey yelled again. “Mom says to tell you it’s time to quit playing with Prince and get ready for dinner.”
Ellen glared across the yard at him, her concentration shattered.
From the back porch, she heard her mother scold, “Corey! I could have shouted at Ellen myself. Next time, go out and speak to her quietly.”
Prince loped toward the porch, hoping, no doubt, that he was going to get dinner, too. Ellen sighed and started toward the house. She didn’t know which irritated her more—Corey’s yelling or the fact that her mother had instructed her to quit “playing” with Prince.
Mrs. Streater knew about Ellen’s science fair experiment in animal communication. Why did her mother insist on calling it play, as if Ellen were still a little kid talking to her Barbie?
Today, of all days, Ellen thought, I should think Mom would realize that I’m finally mature.
Mature. She liked that word. As she washed her hands for dinner, she decided that this birthday was a turning point. Now that she was twelve years old, she would always act mature.
Maybe after tonight’s birthday dinner, her parents would realize that Ellen was no longer their baby girl. Maybe they would treat her like a grown-up, for a change. Maybe they would quit lumping her together with Corey, as if she and her brother were Siamese twins, when he was a mere infant compared to Ellen.
The kids. That’s how Ellen’s parents always referred to her and Corey. “Let’s take the kids to a movie.” “Would you kids please clean up your rooms?” “Dinner’s ready, kids.”
Now that she was twelve (and Corey wouldn’t be eight for two more weeks) surely her parents would realize she was no longer one of the kids. She was one of the adults.
“Hello! Where’s our birthday girl?”
Ellen smiled as she heard her grandparents arrive. She was certain that Grandma and Grandpa would acknowledge her new mature status by givin
g her an appropriately adult birthday present. Grandma and Grandpa always seemed to know exactly what Ellen wanted, even when she didn’t know herself.
Maybe they would give her a makeup kit or one of those big scarves that were so fashionable now. At least she could count on Grandma and Grandpa not to buy her a doll or some kiddie game, like the stupid one Corey wanted for his birthday.
Ellen hugged her grandparents. She noticed that they didn’t carry a wrapped package. They put a large white envelope on the table where the other birthday presents were.
It’s a gift certificate, Ellen thought. Maybe they bought me a make-over at a fashionable beauty salon. I’ll get my hair styled and my nails manicured and I’ll be able to pass for fourteen, if I want to.
The more she thought about it, the more she was positive that’s what the envelope contained. She had been trying to grow her brown hair long enough to wear it in a French braid but meanwhile, it just flapped around her ears, like fringe on a blanket. A good styling salon would change that. She would be gorgeous. Well, maybe not gorgeous—even the best salons can’t work miracles—but anything was bound to be better than her hair the way it was.
She decided to open the envelope last, to save Grandma and Grandpa’s surprise for the very end. The grand finale.
After dinner and the birthday cake, and after she had opened a gift from her parents and one from Corey, she finally reached for the envelope from Grandma and Grandpa.
As she did, Grandma said, “Before you open that, we need to tell you that it is a joint birthday gift for you and Corey.”
“You mean,” Corey said, “what’s in the envelope is half mine?”
“That’s right.”
Ellen could not believe her ears. A joint present with Corey? That infant? How could this be? If her present was something Corey would like, it would be way too babyish for her. Especially now that she was mature. And what about her hair? She tried to hide her disappointment.
“Do I get to see it today, too?” Corey asked. “Even though my birthday is still two weeks away?”
“Yes. We didn’t want to make Ellen wait, so you get your gift early this year, Corey.”
Ellen forced a smile as she opened the envelope. She didn’t want to seem ungrateful, no matter how much she wished they had given her a present of her own instead of something to share with Corey.
There was a certificate inside the envelope. “What’s it say?” Corey cried. “Hurry up and read it!”
THIS CERTIFICATE IS GOOD FOR AN
OVERNIGHT CAMP-OUT
AT THE WOODLAND PARK ZOO
Corey, who was leaning over her shoulder, read the words out loud and then let out a whoop.
“No kidding?” Ellen said. “We get to stay overnight at the zoo?”
Ellen loved the zoo. Grandma and Grandpa had given her some good presents before but never anything like this. She forgot all about her hair.
“The zoo is closed at night,” Corey said. “How will we get in? Are you sure they’ll let us camp there? What if the zoo people call the police and have us arrested for trespassing on private property and what if we get taken to jail and locked up with the drug addicts and . . .”
“Whoa,” Grandpa said, holding up his hand to silence Corey. Ellen knew Grandpa wasn’t being rude. Sometimes you have to interrupt Corey when he gets started on one of his what-if stories. Otherwise he’d babble on all night.
“The camp-out was one of the auction items this year,” Grandma explained.
Ellen knew which auction she meant. It was a charity auction, an annual event which benefited several community organizations. Grandma and Grandpa went to the auction every year and they always bought some unusual item donated by the zoological society.
Once they paid four hundred dollars for the chance to give an elephant a bath. With the elephant’s trainer supervising, Ellen and Corey got to help Grandpa and Grandma wash Hugo, a gentle old African elephant. Another time, Grandma and Grandpa went fishing in the moat inside the lion exhibit. They were on the other side of the moat from the lions but still, it was pretty exciting.
Last year they bought a portrait with a python. Ellen thought that purchase was gross but Grandma and Grandpa had their picture taken with a humongous python draped around their shoulders, and sent prints to all their friends.
“We’re going with you,” Grandpa said. “The camp-out is for four people.”
“When is it?” Ellen asked. “When do we go?”
“September tenth. Since your folks will be in San Francisco that week and we were going to stay with you anyway, we thought it would be the perfect time to do the camp-out.”
“September tenth is Friday,” Mrs. Streater said. “Dad and I will get in late that night. We’ll come to the zoo in the morning to take pictures.”
Corey scratched himself under both arms and made chattering sounds. “I want to sleep in the monkey house,” he said.
Where he belongs, thought Ellen.
“The zoological society will decide where we sleep,” Grandpa said. “Wherever it is, I’m sure we will have quite an adventure.”
“Thanks, Grandpa and Grandma,” Ellen said, as she gave them each a hug. Her smile was genuine now. Even though it wasn’t a salon make-over, it certainly wasn’t a babyish gift, either. Her parents still liked to go to the zoo. Lots of adults do. An overnight camp-out at the zoo would be wonderful, even if Corey was there, too. She went to the calendar and drew a big red circle around September tenth.
2
TONY HAYMES waited until a woman with two small children entered the secondhand store; then he went in, too. Kids would distract the clerk. Tony didn’t know if the story of his escape from prison was on the news yet but the last thing he needed was for someone to recognize him.
He went straight to the housewares section and examined several trays of kitchen utensils before he spotted what he wanted: a sturdy butcher knife. Tony felt the six-inch blade with his thumb. Good. It was sharp and strong.
While the salesclerk helped the woman shopper find shoes that would fit her children, Tony slipped the knife up the sleeve of his jacket and left the store.
Too bad he’d lost the first knife, the one he stole from the prison kitchen, when he jumped. The rest of his plan had worked perfectly. He had crawled through the secret hole he’d cut in the roof of his cell, then slithered across the rafters in the attic and out onto the roof.
The jump from the roof to the top of the prison wall had been the big gamble. For weeks, Tony worried that he would miss, that he would fall and break a leg and be carried back inside the prison walls on a stretcher.
But September tenth was his lucky day. He had planned the escape for his birthday, thinking it would bring him good fortune and it did.
He didn’t fall. All of the knee bends and push-ups in his cell, night after night, had resulted in a lean body with powerful muscles. When his hands hit the top of the wall he had swung easily over the top. Except for losing the knife, it was a perfect leap.
He dropped to the ground, landed running, and didn’t quit until his breath came in such painful gasps that he thought his chest would burst if he didn’t stop.
After that, everything went his way.
The clothesline was an incredible piece of luck. He had planned to look for a do-it-yourself laundromat near one of the motels on the outskirts of town. People often put their clothes in the machines and leave them unattended while they go somewhere to eat or shop. He could help himself from one of the clothes dryers.
But as he walked toward the city, staying in the ditch of the old, seldom-used road that had long since been made obsolete by a freeway, he saw a white farmhouse. In the yard, rows of clothes fluttered dry in the breeze.
He circled the house and approached it from behind. A shaggy yellow dog barked once from the back porch; Tony flattened himself in the grass.
The dog came closer, its ears back.
“Go away,” Tony hissed. “Scram! Get out of here.�
��
The dog gave a low growl. Tony hated animals and they always seemed to sense his feelings and return them.
In the grass, his finger closed around a small stone. Tony flung the stone at the dog. It hit the top of the dog’s head and bounced off. The dog yelped. It turned, put its tail between its legs, and slunk back to the porch.
Tony stayed low in the grass a few minutes, in case someone came to see why the dog had barked. His ears strained to hear possible footsteps.
Nothing.
Slowly, he raised his head and looked in all directions. The dog was curled up beside the back door; it appeared to be asleep. Tony saw no one and heard nothing. He stood and walked quickly to the clothesline. He jerked the clothespins loose with one hand and grabbed the clothes with the other. A faded pair of overalls. A bright red shirt. A khaki jacket.
Later, when he was safely away from the house, he hid in a clump of bushes and changed into his new clothes. The sleeves of the red shirt were an inch too long, so he rolled them partway up. The overalls were a bit big, too, but overalls are always loose fitting. The length was just right. Whoever owned those overalls must be very close to Tony’s height of six feet one inch.
He found a large rock, dug a hole in the dirt beside it, and put his prison clothes in the hole. Then he sat on the ground and, using his feet, pushed the rock over the hole.
Dressed in his red shirt and overalls, with the khaki jacket tied around his waist, Tony returned to the road. This time he didn’t stay low. He hiked in plain sight along the shoulder and when he heard a vehicle approach, he boldly put out his thumb.
An old pickup whizzed past, then slammed on its brakes and backed up. A young man, seventeen or eighteen years old, was driving; two girls of about the same age were with him. The girls giggled as they looked at Tony.
“How far are you going?” Tony asked.
“Seattle,” the driver said. “If you don’t mind riding in the back end, hop in.” The girls giggled again.