Lion Down

by Stuart Gibbs

  Mom turned off the volume on the computer. What little she’d heard had made her look nauseated.

  “I guess we’re going to get even more hunters here now?” I asked.

  Mom nodded sadly, then said, “Let’s go for a walk, kiddo.”

  15

  PREPARATIONS

  “I’m not saying your getting involved in this mountain lion mess is a good idea,” Mom told me. “But I understand why you want to do it. Honestly, I want to do more too.”

  Even though night was falling and Mom was done with her work for the day, we hadn’t headed straight home. Instead, we were walking around FunJungle, which was a much more interesting and prettier walk than heading along the construction site to our trailer. And there were fewer mosquitoes.

  The park had closed, but there were more employees around than usual. The moment the last guests had left, Park Operations had begun to prepare FunJungle for the big anniversary celebration the next day. Already, decorators were hanging banners and bunting, while landscapers were planting fresh flowers. A team of men armed with clippers were trimming all the topiary animals to perfection. On the big lawn in front of Carnivore Canyon, where the main celebrations would take place, the stage was finished. To the side of the lawn, a team of fireworks technicians was setting up a remote launching control center.

  “Do more like what?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” Mom said with a sigh. “I don’t want Rocket to be killed any more than you do. I’d like to figure out a way to chase every darn one of those hunters out of here with their tails between their legs. Or to get that idiot Lincoln Stone to admit he’s made a mistake.”

  “If you help me prove that King was murdered, then Fish and Wildlife won’t issue the permit to kill Rocket.”

  “That’s not going to stop every knucklehead with a gun from going after that cat. Not when Lincoln has offered such a huge reward for killing her—and volunteered to pay their legal fees, too. I’ll be surprised if Rocket survives the night.”

  “Well, we should at least try to do something, right?” I asked.

  Mom stared at me for a long while before answering. Then, to my surprise, she smiled. “You’re right, Teddy. We should. Tell me what you’ve got.”

  So I did. I ran through all the leads I had so far: Walter and Petra and Harlan and the Mystery Guest and Lincoln Stone himself. I put forward my idea that the Mystery Guest could have been a politician putting pressure on Stephanie Winger, and the possibility that a random Lincoln Stone hater had murdered King just to cause the man grief. Mom listened to all of it thoughtfully, never interrupting me, while we wandered along.

  Everywhere we went, decorations were going up, and trucks were rumbling around, moving things into place for the next day’s events. Three whole pickup trucks full of fireworks passed us, heading for the launching area in the Wilds.

  I saved my suspicions about J.J. McCracken for last. Mom’s frown deepened as I laid out this theory for her.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked. “You don’t think it’s possible?”

  “No, I think it’s extremely possible,” she replied sadly. “J.J. has been worried about Rocket for months now.”

  “He has?” I asked.

  “He’s written memos alerting the keepers to make sure all the exhibits are secure against the lion, and I know he had a conversation with Doc and Hoenekker about trying to sedate her and relocate her somewhere else. Doc refused, though.”

  “Why?”

  “First of all, FunJungle doesn’t own Rocket, so it’d be illegal. But even if it was legal, there are plenty of dangers for her.”

  “Like if you don’t sedate Rocket just right, you might kill her?”

  “Yes, but there’s also the question of where you move her. A lot of places aren’t suitable for a lion to live, so relocating her there might as well be a death sentence. Humans have moved into a lot of the other places, so you can’t put Rocket there without causing more human/wildlife conflict. And the few remaining places that are suitable are probably the domain of other mountain lions. You can’t just move one lion into another’s territory. They’ll kill each other. More lions in this country are killed each year by other lions than by hunters.”

  “Really?” I asked.

  “There used to be a lot more room for these animals,” Mom said. “But every day, there’s less. There’s new homes, new schools, even places like this”—she waved a hand around FunJungle—“and that means fewer and fewer places for lions. Rocket lived here before Lincoln Stone did. And before FunJungle was built. This was her territory first. And now, people are upset at her because she’s doing what she must to survive.”

  “Did J.J. ever suggest trying to kill Rocket?”

  “That, I don’t know. Although I’m sure that, knowing J.J., he’s looked into every option. And the man has a lot of power in this area. He’s the number one employer, by far, and every decision he makes has a huge economic impact on the region. The politicians will do anything he wants them to. He could put a lot more pressure on Stephanie Winger than Lincoln Stone could.”

  “If that’s the case, why wouldn’t he just ask for the permit to kill Rocket? If he really felt she was a threat to FunJungle, and he’s that powerful, he could probably get someone to give it to him.”

  “That’s true,” Mom said. “Or maybe . . .” She suddenly seemed unsure about continuing the thought.

  “Maybe what?” I pressed.

  “Maybe J.J. decided to go after Rocket without bothering to get the permit. After all, I highly doubt he only hired that hunter after King died.”

  I stopped walking, thinking about that. I had seen Jerry at the Raging Raft Ride on Sunday night, only two nights after King had died. He had known his way around the ride quite well for someone who had only started work that weekend. “When do you think he hired him?”

  “Honestly, it could have been months ago,” Mom said.

  “So then, J.J. might not have had anything to do with King?”

  “Maybe not. But then again, maybe J.J. had already hired the hunter and then realized he needed a better excuse if he actually killed the lion.”

  “And then he might have told Jerry to kill King!” I suggested. “He’s a professional hunter, after all.”

  “I suppose it’s possible,” Mom said, although she didn’t sound so sure about it.

  We were now close to SafariLand and the giraffe feeding area. A dozen employees were on the roof of the monorail station, hanging banners from it. One proclaimed 365 DAYS OF AMAZEMENT! while the next said WITH MANY MORE TO COME!

  A flatbed truck with ZOOM painted on the side pulled up alongside us. Sanjay Budhiraja, the inventor of the fish cannon, was at the wheel. The back of the flatbed was laden with various pieces of his machine. He leaned out the window and said, “Hey, Teddy! How’s it going?”

  “Pretty good,” I said. “This is my mom, Charlene Fitzroy.”

  “The primatologist?” Sanjay grinned cheerfully. “It’s an honor to meet you!”

  Mom appeared flattered to be recognized. “It’s nice to meet you, too,” she said, then eyed the equipment in the back of the truck. “What are you doing all the way out here? I thought you were working with the penguins.”

  “I am!” Sanjay looked to me enthusiastically. “Teddy, we’ve made some amazing progress since the other day. The cannon works perfectly, and the penguins love it. So the PR department wants me to put on a display tomorrow for the anniversary celebration. There’s a guy in charge, Pete someone. . . .”

  “Pete Thwacker,” I said.

  “Yes!” Sanjay exclaimed. “That’s the guy! He’s very excited about the fish cannon! He wants everyone to see it. So we’re going to get some penguins out on the stage and shoot fish all the way across the great lawn to them, right over the crowd! There’s one king penguin, Louis the Sixteenth, who can catch a herring from fifty feet away. We’re hoping he can do it for the fans!”

  “Are you sure that will be sa
fe?” Mom asked.

  “Absolutely!” Sanjay said. “I know it’ll be hot, but we’re going to have some big tubs of ice out there for the penguins to chill in.”

  “I meant for the crowds,” Mom said. “What if some tourist gets hit by a fish?”

  “Oh, I don’t think that will happen,” Sanjay said reassuringly. “I’ve already added some safety precautions to the cannon. But Cindy Salerno and I are going to run some tests tonight, once I get everything set up and some of these people clear out. Man, is it always this crowded here at night?”

  “No,” I said. “This is really unusual. Although there’s always a few people here. . . .” As I said the words, I was struck by a thought.

  “Is something wrong?” Mom asked me.

  “No,” I said. “I just had an idea. I need to check something out.”

  “Well, I’ve got to get the cannon set up myself,” Sanjay said. “Maybe I’ll see you guys at the demonstration tomorrow?”

  “Sure,” I told him, although I was barely focused on him anymore. As Sanjay drove off, I raced to the top of a small rise so I could see the giraffe feeding area.

  Night had fallen, but the giraffes were still out in their paddock. The temperature was similar to that of the part of Africa they were from, so there was little sense in locking them up in their building. Although there were a good number of people around, putting up decorations, no one was watching the giraffes.

  Mom came up alongside me. “What’s going on?” she asked.

  “I think we made a mistake with our giraffe investigation,” I said. “A big one.”

  16

  THE TRUCK

  “We only did our stakeout during hours when the park was open,” I told Summer.

  It was Tuesday morning, right before school began. I had tried to reach Summer the whole night before, but she’d had a big report due and her parents had banned her from any texts or phone calls until she was finished. Now we were crossing the front lawn to the steps of the school.

  “What’s wrong with that?” Summer asked. “That’s when all the tourists were at FunJungle.”

  “Who says a tourist poisoned the giraffes?”

  Summer stopped, surprised by that idea. The surge of students heading into school swarmed around us. “What are you saying, that a keeper did it?”

  “No, not a keeper. But there are lots of other people working late at night at FunJungle. And at the same time, it’s not too crowded around the giraffes. Or any exhibit. I mean, there’s a few security guards on duty, but the park is huge. They can’t patrol the whole place at once. Has anyone even looked at the video feeds from Sunday night?”

  “I don’t know.” Summer pulled out her phone. “I’ll text Daddy about it, though I don’t know when he’ll be able to get back to me. He’s insanely busy with the big anniversary celebration today.”

  “I’m sure.” I was annoyed I had to be at school that day, rather than at FunJungle, and I knew Summer was too. Fortunately, most of the festivities were going to happen that evening, and her chauffeur was going to take us directly to the park the moment school ended, along with Xavier, Violet, Dash, and Ethan. Summer was wearing a pink dress that her mother had bought specially for the occasion; since Summer was as big a star as any of FunJungle’s mascots, the PR department wanted her to be noticed and photographed as much as possible that night.

  Most of our fellow students, who all had annual passes, were also heading to FunJungle that afternoon. So were the teachers. The celebration was such a big event that all after-school classes and practices had been canceled that day and no homework was assigned.

  “Hey, guys!” Xavier hurried across the lawn to catch up with us. For the first time I could recall, he wasn’t wearing a FunJungle T-shirt. Instead, he was wearing a regular blue polo shirt, and he was acting like it was made of sandpaper, tugging at the collar and wriggling about uncomfortably.

  “Nice shirt,” Summer observed, really meaning it.

  “I hate it,” Xavier groused. “Stupid Putterman and his stupid rules.” The moment he said this, he paled in fear, realizing that Mr. Putterman might be somewhere close enough to overhear him. He swiveled his head around wildly, like an owl homing in on a mouse, before confirming he was in the clear. “The moment I’m out of here today, I’m swapping this itchy thing for something way better.” He unzipped his backpack and removed a brand-new FunJungle First Anniversary T-shirt. “Ta-dah! What do you think?”

  “It’s cool,” Summer said, though I could tell that, this time, she didn’t mean it. Summer might have loved FunJungle, but she wouldn’t have been caught dead in one of their T-shirts. She thought they were ugly and tacky. (I didn’t know much about fashion, but I didn’t like the shirts much either. Most of them featured garish art and horrid puns like “Iguana go to FunJungle” and “This park sure isn’t boaring.” The one Xavier was showing us had a lot of mammals and proclaimed “Happy Anni-Fur-sary!”)

  “My mom got it for me for tonight,” Xavier said proudly. “How psyched are you guys for this party?”

  “Pretty psyched,” I said.

  As we started up the front steps into the school, an engine revved loudly behind us. A pickup truck had pulled into the drop-off lane. It looked a good deal like the one the Mystery Guest had been driving.

  Summer seemed to realize the same thing. We both stopped to see who was driving it.

  The truck was covered with a thin layer of dust, indicating that it had been driven off-road recently, and there was a gun rack in the rear window loaded with four rifles.

  The truck jounced up on the curb, nearly clipping a sixth grader, and came to a stop with the engine clanking.

  The Barksdale twins leaped out of it. They were dressed for hunting, clad in camouflage from head to toe. It was possible they had already been hunting that morning, as there was fresh mud splattered on the cuffs of their pants.

  Xavier groaned. “I can’t wear a T-shirt, but those jerks can show up dressed for war? Why doesn’t Putterman threaten them?”

  “Because he’s afraid of them,” Summer said, then looked to me. “Think it’s the same truck?”

  I shrugged. “We’d have to see the license plate. And the rear bumper had a dent in it.”

  Summer immediately started back down the steps toward the truck. I went with her.

  Xavier stayed where he was, equally afraid of the Barksdales and getting a tardy. “Where are you guys going?” he asked nervously. “School is about to start.”

  “We just need to check something out really fast!” I called to him. “I’ll meet you in science class!”

  Xavier held up his hands, signaling he wanted no part in whatever Summer and I were up to, then slipped through the front doors.

  The Barksdales didn’t appear to be in any hurry to get to class either. They were still at the front curb. As Summer and I got closer, I could see that both their parents were in the front seat of the truck; it must have been quite a squeeze for the whole family to cram in there, though now that the boys were out, their mother had slid across the seat to the door. “I’ll see you out here, the moment after class ends,” she told the boys through the open window. “And we’ll get back out there!”

  “Assuming we haven’t bagged that lion already!” their father crowed.

  The Barksdale parents were also dressed in camouflage gear. They were locals, having gone to our school two decades earlier, and the rumors around town were that they were no smarter than their sons were. Both had been troublemakers and had continued to be so; they got arrested so often that the holding cell at the local police station was known as “the Barksdale suite.” Neither could hold a job for more than a few weeks before getting fired. They were supposed to be good hunters, though; sometimes they had to be, as their kills supplemented their food supply. Neither was a fan of rules or regulations. They were avid trespassers, and had often killed things on land they weren’t supposed to be on. Recently, Ma Barksdale had shot someone’s cow that s
he had somehow mistaken for a deer.

  “Don’t you get that cat without us!” Tim protested.

  “There’s a hundred grand on the line, son,” Pa said. “We can’t sit around waiting for you.”

  “In fact, we’d better get going!” Ma exclaimed. “Or someone else’ll shoot it before we do!”

  “No way! That cat’s ours!” Pa Barksdale gave a war whoop and floored the gas, even though there were still lots of kids around. Students scrambled out of the way as the truck leaped back off the curb and peeled out of the parking lot.

  I still had time to see the bumper. It had plenty of dents in it—and possibly some blood splattered on it—but the Mystery Guest’s had only had one dent. It wasn’t the same truck.

  The Barksdale twins were coming up the walk now, and they noticed Summer and I were staring after their pickup. They misunderstood why, though. They thought we were upset about them going after the lion. (Given, we were upset about that, but that wasn’t the reason for our stares.)

  “Worried about your precious lion?” Jim taunted. “Well, you should be! That thing’s gonna be mounted in our house by tonight!”

  Rather than take the bait, Summer simply looked around, pretending to be confused, as if she couldn’t figure out where Jim’s voice was coming from, making fun of the fact that he was wearing full-body camouflage in the middle of town. “Did you hear Jim Barksdale?” she asked me. “I thought I heard him, but I can’t see him anywhere.”