by Bryan Chick
Mr. Darby stopped her with a raised hand. “I will say nothing more about him today. During your crosstraining, you’ll learn more about DeGraff—more than you’ll care to know. In the end, the story will haunt you as it haunts us all.”
“Sounds great,” Richie squeaked. “Sounds like something I’ll look forward to. You know—like summer vacation.”
“For now,” said Mr. Darby, “let’s return our attention to your crosstraining.”
“When do we begin?” Noah asked.
Mr. Darby scratched P-Dog’s head. “As soon as possible.”
“Okay, but how?” Noah held up the ugly shirt with the big collar, his recent gift from Tank. “I mean, you gave us these, but what—”
“I’ll let Tank address that.”
Tank leaned forward. “So, you guys are pretty sure your parents will be cool about you volunteering at the zoo?”
The scouts traded stares.
“I think so,” Noah said. “It’s hard to guess. Our parents know we love the zoo—I mean, we’ve lived next to it our whole lives. And they encourage after-school stuff, sports and stuff like that. But with Megan’s disappearance, everyone’s still kind of freaking out.” He turned to his sister. “Meg, what do you think?”
“If we can convince them that the four of us will always be volunteering together, I think they’ll go for it.”
“Okay,” said Tank, “then I think this will work.” He picked up a stack of pamphlets beside his chair and tossed one at each of the scouts. “Volunteer brochures. For the Clarksville Zoo. Show them to your folks and find something you’d like to pretend to be.” As the scouts leafed through the brochures, he continued, “On cross-training days, you guys will get dressed in your . . .” He caught sight of Noah’s shirt and searched for the right words. “Man, those things are ugly! Mr. D, who picked those nasty things out?”
Mr. Darby pointed to the Descenders, who were smiling half wickedly.
“Figures,” Ella whispered to her friends.
The big man pried his eyes away from Noah’s shirt and went on. “Anyway, you guys will get dressed in those ugly shirts and come down to the Clarksville Zoo—any time of day, any day of the week, it doesn’t matter—and we’ll train you. Some of the training will take place in the Clarksville Zoo, and some will take place in the Secret Zoo, in the sectors and the City of Species.” Tank jabbed his thumb at the Descenders. “These bad-looking dudes over here are going to be doing most of the crosstraining. I’ll be instructing them. You’ll learn how to slip into the Secret Zoo in the middle of the day during the busiest weeks of the year. You’ll learn how to use the animals to cross the sectors in record time. At the end of your crosstraining, you’ll be able to cross from anywhere in the Clarksville Zoo to the City of Species in less than ten minutes. Always. No exceptions. For a Crosser, speed is critical.”
“This is going to be way cool,” said Megan.
Mr. Darby said, “Blizzard, Little Bighorn, Podgy, and P-Dog will be permanently assigned to you throughout your development as Crossers.”
A wave of excitement rippled through the scouts. Noah held out his palm toward Podgy in a high five, but the penguin only stared blankly at his hand.
Mr. Darby continued. “As for Marlo, he’ll serve as a messenger between us all. I’ll have him check in with you periodically to see if you have messages for me or anyone else in the Secret Society.” He paused. “Crosstraining will be difficult, I assure you. You’ll need to maintain your lives on the Outside and not raise suspicion. This will be especially difficult with your parents. You are being tasked with a great responsibility, one that carries a high degree of honor in our Secret Society. Knowing your heart and character, I am certain you will respect this.”
The scouts nodded.
“Now, assuming your parents permit you to volunteer at the zoo, when can you begin?”
The scouts huddled together. Whispers flew.
“Tuesday,” Noah said as he turned back to Mr. Darby. “I think we can do it then. That will give us a few days to talk to our parents. From there, we can arrange other times, a couple of hours after school, or whatever.”
Mr. Darby and Tank smiled and nodded. Excited, Blizzard growled, Little Bighorn grunted, and Podgy waddled in place. Everyone was enthusiastic—everyone but the Descenders, who simply stood there, showing no emotion at all. They were careful not to look at the scouts. Hannah stared at her nails; Solana at the fallen leaves; Tameron at the fountain; Sam at a monkey high atop a bookcase.
“Now then,” said Mr. Darby as he rose from the chair, softly sweeping the prairie dogs from his lap. “Let’s get you home.” The old man extended his arms to Blizzard and Little Bighorn. “Might the two of you assist our newest members of the Secret Society back to the Clarksville City Zoo?”
Blizzard and Little Bighorn turned and lumbered back among the towering bookshelves. The prairie dogs returned to their familiar shenanigans, darting in circles and tunneling through the leaves. The Descenders, Mr. Darby, and Tank followed.
As the motley group crossed the Library of the Secret Society, eyes lifted to watch their steady path toward the exit doors. Monkeys stopped stacking books and stared. It seemed to Noah that everyone in the library knew what had just occurred—that Mr. Darby had invited the scouts to join the Secret Society.
Blizzard and Little Bighorn poked their snouts through the dangling beads at the exit and plodded out onto the landing, high above the streets of the City of Species. There, the magnificence of the scene that greeted the scouts rivaled anything they had encountered so far.
Chapter 12
The Chickadee Ceremony
Around the Library of the Secret Society, an immense gathering of animals erupted in noise. Hooves clattered and paws thudded on the hard streets. Growls and grunts ricocheted off the city walls. Squawks descended from the partial canopy of colorful leaves.
Noah turned to Richie. “Gee,” he teased, “think they know what just happened?”
Richie was too stunned for words. His mouth hung open in an oval of surprise, his eyes as large and round as quarters.
Leaves and mist rained down over the scouts as they sat perched on Blizzard and Little Bighorn at the top of the staircase. The animals covered the streets, sidewalks, rooftops, awnings, trees—everything. Birds packed the sky, and the strokes of thousands of wings stirred the air. Monkeys dangled from branches, ledges, and lamps, and stood on the backs of bears and hippos. Snakes coiled around posts and railings, flicking out their forked tongues. The building walls seemed to move as geckos and lizards scuttled across them.
Mr. Darby rattled the dangling beads as he stepped out onto the landing. He bellowed with laughter at the spectacle before him.
“They’re welcoming you as new members to the Secret Society—and as Crossers!”
“Word spreads pretty quick around here,” said Ella.
“Indeed!” said the old man. “Here the gossip truly flies on wings.”
Blizzard and Little Bighorn began to lumber down the steep staircase, the scouts lurching on their backs. The animals in their way melted aside to open a path. Blizzard’s massive paws threatened to make pancakes out of the smaller animals—chipmunks, turtles, meerkats. To avoid the crowded steps, Podgy took to the air, soaring down the staircase just above the heads of the taller animals. When he reached the street, he veered toward the roof of a tall mailbox and attempted to touch down, but lost his footing on the slippery surface and tumbled over, his flippers flailing.
Noah grinned at the sight. Then he leaned toward Mr. Darby and said, “I don’t understand why the animals like us so much.”
Walking between Blizzard and Little Bighorn, Mr. Darby replied, “They see something special in you.”
“But what?”
“A reflection of the better parts of themselves.”
Noah’s brow wrinkled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Mr. Darby smiled and said, “You’ll let me know when it becomes o
bvious, yes?”
Sometimes, thought Noah, Mr. Darby didn’t make a bit of sense. The old man liked to talk in riddles.
As the group proceeded down the street, a little bird landed on Noah’s shoulder right beside Marlo. It was black and white and as round as a ball—a chickadee. Marlo, startled and possessive of his space, pecked at the newcomer, who jumped back. Another chickadee landed on Noah’s other shoulder. Noah shared a glance with the chubby bird.
“Hello?” said Noah.
The bird’s round head tipped to one side.
A third chickadee landed. Then a fourth. A fifth. They began to touch down everywhere on Noah’s body—on his arms, his shoulders, his back, his legs, even on the brim of his cap. In a matter of seconds, Noah was covered. Tiny talons pricked his clothes.
He glanced back at Megan, who looked dressed in chickadees. On Little Bighorn, Ella and Richie were covered, too. The birds perched on their arms and legs, on their backs, on the fluffy pink globes of Ella’s earmuffs and the fabric of Richie’s red cap. A pair even clung to Richie’s glasses.
Still walking between Little Bighorn and Blizzard, Mr. Darby called out to Tank, “The Chickadee Ceremony? So soon?”
Smiling, Tank shrugged his shoulders. “Looks like everybody loves the scouts, Mr. D.”
Richie said, “Can someone please tell me what the heck the Chickadee Ceremony is?”
Mr. Darby and Tank erupted with laughter. Finally, Mr. Darby said, “It’s the only way for you to meet the animals—all of them!”
“What are you talking about?” asked Richie.
Before Mr. Darby could say any more, the chickadees fluttered their wings and rose into the air, lifting the scouts. Suspended by tiny claws, Noah flew forward, his toes skipping over Blizzard’s head. A spasm of excitement rippled through the crowded streets. A hundred animal voices—grunts and growls, hisses and howls—rose as a singular sound. The four groups of chickadees merged together above the heads of the animals, carrying the scouts through the air, side by side. Giraffes ducked their long necks to avoid being hit.
Noah glanced over at his friends. They were flying parallel to the street with their legs straight out behind them and their torsoes dropped, as if floating on invisible beds. Half crazed, Richie was screaming something, but his words were lost in the surrounding noise.
Like so many moments in the Secret Zoo, this one had a dreamlike quality. Buildings of all designs and materials rose around the scouts, their tops too high to see. Trees filled the landscape and animals crowded their branches—possums, snakes, monkeys, lizards, squirrels, owls, and hundreds of other creatures, furry and scaly, that Noah couldn’t name. Bright autumn leaves fell like strokes of momentary color across an imaginary canvas. Animals jumped and reached out to the scouts with paws, claws, and wings. At one point, an elephant’s flexuous trunk jabbed Noah in the stomach.
Noah realized what the Chickadee Ceremony was. A parade. A spontaneous parade, welcoming the scouts into the Secret Society and its circle of friendship.
Still flying forward, the chickadees started to swerve back and forth across the street. They swung around columns, dipped below vaulted ceilings, and wove through tree limbs. An ostrich’s head bumped Noah, and swept off ten of the chickadees. The little birds darted around nervously before finding their perches again.
For the next five minutes, the scouts soared over the streets of the City of Species as the animals kept up their celebration. Podgy joined them, finding a spot between Megan and Noah. Noah noticed the graceful stroke of his flippers and could hardly believe how well his friend was flying. The big, clumsy penguin had learned so much since his first flight with Noah, when the two of them had narrowly escaped the clutches of the sasquatches. Now he soared like a natural, his flippers effortlessly fanning the air. Noah reached out to give Podgy a thumbs-up, and a chickadee jumped to the tip of his thumb, thinking that Noah was providing yet another perch.
The chickadees slowed their flight as they approached the curtain of a sector gateway. Animals opened a spot on the sidewalk—crawling, hopping, and slinking aside. The chickadees landed the scouts in the clearing and then exploded into the air in all directions, leaving the four friends behind.
The scouts stretched the tension out of their arms and legs. They tugged at their pants, adjusted their hats, and dusted tiny black feathers off their jackets. Poor Richie’s face was as white as the chickadees’ plump underbellies. His big eyeglasses sat crookedly on his nose, and his hat was an inch away from springing off the crown of his head.
Richie muttered, “And so concludes another nightmarish adventure in the story of Richie and the Secret Zoo.” He pulled a glob of wet chickadee feathers out of his mouth.
“C’mon, Richie!” said Megan. “That was absolutely the coolest thing ever!”
“Sometimes . . .” said Richie, wriggling to straighten his pants, “sometimes I swear I have no clue what’s wrong with you people.”
Just then Mr. Darby, Tank, and their animal friends stepped through the crowd into the clearing. Seeing Richie’s pale face and obvious discomfort, Tank buckled over with laughter, his massive shoulders rocking.
“C’mon, man!” he said. “They’re chickadees!”
At this, everyone laughed—everyone but Richie. When they quieted down, Noah spied a wide banner hanging between two columns at the front of a tall marble building shaped like a massive cathedral. Stitched to it were flowing gold letters that read “Sector 109.”
“Sector One-oh-nine, huh? This must be our way home. What’s beyond the curtain?”
Mr. Darby patted Blizzard and Little Bighorn and said, “Why don’t you answer that for our new Crossers?”
The two animals lowered their hefty bodies to the leaf-littered sidewalk so the scouts could climb on. Once the kids were aboard, they hoisted themselves up and lumbered toward the sector that would take the scouts home.
Mr. Darby said, “I’ll have Marlo check on you guys over the next few days. Unless something changes, plan to meet one of us Tuesday afternoon in Butterfly Nets.”
Noah nodded.
As Blizzard prepared to push through the curtain, Mr. Darby added, “Oh, and scouts—”
“Yes?” Noah answered.
“Please do what any good scout would do.”
“What’s that?”
“Come prepared.”
“For what?” Noah asked.
Mr. Darby said, “For anything, my dear scouts. For absolutely anything!”
Chapter 13
Butterfly Nets
“Are we ready?” asked Megan.
It was Tuesday afternoon. School had just let out, and the scouts were now standing in front of Butterfly Nets, the Clarksville Zoo’s butterfly house. Shaped like two intersecting rectangles, the building had gabled glass rooftops. Leafless stems of ivy spread like a web of cracks across the brick walls.
Three days ago, when the scouts had first mentioned volunteering at the zoo, their parents had the usual concerns: What would the children be doing? What kind of hours would they be working? Who would they be with? The scouts said they’d be volunteering about three or four hours a week and would never be apart from one another. When their parents worried about how they’d get to and from the zoo, the scouts told them they planned to walk together. The scouts had an answer for everything.
Given Megan’s recent disappearance, Noah’s mom was the most worried of the parents, and the most reluctant to let her children participate.
Less than a month ago, Megan’s amazing homecoming had been national news. Everyone had bought the cover story invented by the Secret Society to explain her three-week disappearance. The idea centered on the house-turned-museum where Mr. Jackson—the wealthy businessman who’d built the Clarksville Zoo and was largely responsible for creating the Secret Zoo—had once lived. The basement of the house was connected to a hidden cellar, which had been used in the first years of the Secret Zoo to temporarily shelter animals waiting to enter the hidden p
art of the zoo. Megan claimed to have accidentally trapped herself there while exploring the museum. The Secret Society had done the rest—creating the impression that a girl had lived in the basement, luckily stockpiled with food and water, for three weeks. Only the Secret Society and the Action Scouts knew the truth—that Megan had spent those harrowing days held hostage by sasquatches in the Dark Lands.
Despite their many concerns and fears, Megan’s parents finally decided to support her desire to learn and grow. They permitted her to volunteer at the zoo as long as she promised to never be alone, and to never go anywhere near “that dreadful museum.”
Now the scouts stood on the wide stoop of Butterfly Nets. The entrance to the exhibit was blocked by a sign that said, CLOSED FOR CONSTRUCTION! From behind the doors came the faint sound of spinning saws and pounding hammers.
“Shucks!” said Richie, trying to sound disappointed. He spun away from the entrance. “I guess we’ll come back another time.”
Ella reached out and seized a handful of Richie’s jacket. “Hold up!”
“Hold up for what? There’s clearly been some kind of miscommunication. After all, it’s been a few days since Mr. Darby told us to—”
“Noah,” Ella broke in, “you have the key, right? The one Tank gave you?”
“Of course,” Noah answered. Under the dark cover of night, Tank had had a cheetah deliver a key to Noah—a key with magical properties that allowed it to melt and fit any lock at the zoo.
Noah glanced over his shoulders: no one was around. He plucked the key from his pocket and eased it into the lock, its jagged edges softening like butter held to a flame. Once inside, it solidified again. Noah turned his wrist and—pop!—the door opened.
Everyone but Richie stepped around the sign and slipped through the doorway.
“Nice!” Richie’s muffled voice called out from the other side of the door. “I wonder who’ll be the first to play catch with a falling rafter!” But within seconds, Richie pulled the heavy door open and wormed his way through, calling, “Guys! Wait up!”