Lion Down

by Stuart Gibbs

  “I told you this would be a hit,” Pete said to J.J. proudly. “Our polling shows that penguins are the eighth-most popular animal at FunJungle—and the most popular bird by a landslide!”

  I saw Dashiell, Ethan, Violet, and Xavier by the flatbed, eagerly watching Sanjay load the cannon. There was no time to say hi to them, though.

  A VIP area was cordoned off close to the side of the lawn, reserved for special guests who had paid an exorbitant “party fee,” celebrities, and FunJungle animal keepers. (One of the perks of the VIP area was that it allowed you to mingle with keepers.) This area was slightly less crowded than the rest of the lawn, and instead of having to wait in long lines to pay for food, there was a buffet.

  The guard stationed at the entrance to the VIP area immediately recognized J.J. and unhooked the cordon for all of us to pass through. By now, J.J. had his tuxedo shirt buttoned, but he still hadn’t managed to knot his bow tie. In exasperation, he yanked it off and threw it into a trash can.

  I figured my parents were somewhere in the crowd, but at the moment, I was looking for someone else. I scanned the sea of faces, spotting plenty of keepers I knew, the center for the San Antonio Spurs (who was easy to find as he was a good six inches taller than anyone else), and a few actors from TV shows. To my surprise, I also saw Lincoln Stone. He was chatting up a B-list actress who mostly did horror movies.

  Summer saw him too. “What’s he doing here?” she asked indignantly.

  “He paid his VIP fee,” Pete replied, then escorted J.J. toward the main stage. “You’ll be making your speech right after the penguins,” he said.

  It occurred to me that, with his short stature and his tuxedo, J.J. looked a bit like a penguin himself.

  As he disappeared into the crowd, shaking hands and welcoming guests, I spotted who I was looking for by the buffet and hurried over. Summer ran along behind me.

  “Hi,” I said to Natasha Mason. “Can I talk to you?”

  Natasha, like most of the keepers, was still in her work clothes. She was trying to wrangle Grayson and Jason, who had entirely loaded their buffet plates with candy. They had obviously eaten a lot of it already. Their faces were smeared with chocolate, and they were so amped on sugar I could practically hear them buzzing.

  “Hi, Teddy!” Grayson said exuberantly. “They have chocolate-covered caramel apples here!” He held up a half-eaten one to show me. It was half the size of his head.

  “I’m busy with my family right now,” Natasha said. “Could it wait until tomorrow?”

  “No. It’s urgent,” I said. Then I lowered my voice and told her, “I know you killed King.”

  Natasha had pale skin to begin with, but it turned out she could go even paler.

  By my side, Summer gasped, surprised by my accusation, but she didn’t interrupt the moment.

  Natasha didn’t deny what I had said. She took a few seconds to collect her thoughts, then said, “Let’s discuss this away from the children.” She tapped the shoulder of a tall man who was loading his plate at the buffet. “Hon, can you watch the children for a bit?” she asked. “A work thing has come up.”

  The man turned around. He looked at Summer and me curiously, probably wondering how we qualified as “a work thing.”

  “This is Summer McCracken, the daughter of the FunJungle owner,” Natasha said as a way of explanation. “And Teddy Fitzroy, whose mother works with primates. Kids, this is my husband, Mason.”

  “Mason Mason?” Summer asked. “Really?”

  Mason Mason didn’t get a chance to respond, as his sons had run off to the dessert buffet again and he had to go after them.

  Natasha led us away from the buffet to a space where there weren’t so many people. She still seemed pale and confused about what to do next.

  On the stage, Cindy Salerno was introducing a king penguin named Louis the Sixteenth to the crowd. “Louis has proven to be quite adept at catching herring in the air,” the keeper said. “Would anyone like to see him?”

  A cheer went up from the crowd.

  “How did you know . . . ?” Natasha began, but then didn’t seem sure where to go with that question.

  “You left something behind when you tried to make it look like King had been eaten,” I said. “A tiny bit of wolf poop.”

  Natasha blinked at me, startled. “You know what that looks like?”

  “I know what hyena poop looks like,” I said, then turned to Summer to explain. “They’re one of the few animals in the world that have white poop. Because of all the bones they eat. But wolves are another.”

  “Oh!” Summer exclaimed, understanding. “That’s what tipped you off! When I mentioned the hyenas!”

  “Right,” I agreed. “For days, I’ve been trying to remember what that white stuff we found at the crime scene reminded me of. Now I know: dried hyena poop.” I turned back to Natasha. “You must have stepped in some wolf poop at work. It dried on your boot, and you left it behind at the crime scene.”

  “And that was the only evidence you had?” she asked.

  “No,” I said. “Your boys also made a big deal about telling me how nice King was. But it turns out, King wasn’t very nice. Lincoln’s own friends didn’t like him very much. And when I called Animal Control, it turned out you had complained to them about the dog before. Three times.”

  “He attacked my sons,” Natasha said, still sounding angry about it. “King might have been little, but he was mean as a wolverine. Once, Grayson had to get stitches from him. Grayson was minding his own business in our yard and King ran right under the barbed wire and bit him on the leg. And that jerk Lincoln still let him run free. So I called Animal Control to complain, to see if maybe they could force him to keep the dog inside. Or keep it on a leash. But they couldn’t make him and he wouldn’t do it.”

  “So that’s why you killed King?” Summer asked. “To protect your kids?”

  Natasha glanced nervously at her family. Grayson and Mason were ignoring their father and stuffing their faces with more candy.

  I suddenly understood. “It wasn’t you, was it?”

  “No,” Natasha said softly. “I had told the boys to be ready to protect themselves. In case King tried to attack them again.”

  “The croquet mallets,” I said, remembering that one had what I had thought was dried paint crusted on the end. I now realized it had probably been blood. “They weren’t only for mountain lions.”

  There was a distant whump as the Zoom cannon launched a fish over the crowd, followed by a huge cheer as Louis the Sixteenth caught it.

  “Grayson left his sneakers out on the back porch last Friday night,” Natasha explained. “He’d gotten mud on them. But I wanted him to bring them inside overnight, because of scorpions.”

  I understood that. You couldn’t leave your shoes outside at night in Central Texas because scorpions might crawl into them. Then, when you put them on, they’d sting your feet.

  Natasha went on. “All Grayson did was go out on the porch to get them, and that awful little dog was out there. Lincoln and his idiot friends were off shooting their guns. We could hear them. And they’d been drinking. They probably didn’t even know the dog was out. Well, King came running up, barking and snarling at Grayson, scaring him to death. And he’d already been attacked by the dog once, so . . . The croquet mallet was right there. He was only trying to protect himself. He didn’t even hit King that hard. . . .” Natasha sniffled sadly. Even though she hadn’t liked the dog, she was obviously still upset by its death.

  “So you made the death look like a lion kill to protect Grayson?” I asked.

  Natasha nodded sadly. “He felt terrible. He still does. He even wanted to tell Lincoln what he’d done, bless his heart . . . but I couldn’t let that happen. Lincoln is awful. He terrorizes my sons even when they haven’t done anything wrong. If he knew Grayson had killed his dog . . .” She shivered at the thought of what Lincoln might do. “I knew Rocket had been around, and I knew Lincoln knew about her too. So I
thought I’d make it look like King had been eaten. I snuck over the fence onto his property and laid out the scene.”

  “But you made mistakes,” Summer said.

  “On purpose,” Natasha said. “I thought if I didn’t leave some things behind, like King’s collar and a little fluff from his tail, Lincoln might never figure it out. I wanted him to be convinced a cougar had done it—and not one of my boys. Only, I never . . .” Her voice hitched, like she was about to cry. “It never occurred to me that he’d go on a crusade against Rocket. I thought he’d just have a funeral for King and move on.”

  Out on the lawn, the fish cannon display was wrapping up. Louis the Sixteenth caught his final herring to massive applause. It was almost time for J.J.’s speech.

  I said to Natasha, “So that’s why you tried to point the finger at someone else the other night? You were trying to protect Rocket?”

  “Yes.” Tears welled in Natasha’s eyes. “I never meant for any of this to happen. I didn’t want Rocket to be killed, but I also didn’t want Grayson to get in trouble. I figured, maybe if people thought one of Lincoln’s idiot friends had killed the dog, it would cast enough doubt for Rocket to be left alone. . . . But now I’ve heard that the permit has been issued to kill her.” She broke down and sobbed.

  I had a good idea what was upsetting her. The woman worked with wolves, which had been unfairly vilified and nearly hunted to death all over the world. And now, because of her actions, the same thing was happening to an innocent mountain lion.

  On the central stage, Pete Thwacker strode to the microphone and flashed his million-dollar smile. “Hello, everyone!” he said. “I’m Pete Thwacker, head of public relations at FunJungle. Is everyone having a good time tonight?”

  The crowd cheered back enthusiastically.

  Summer told Natasha, “You still might be able to save Rocket. But you’ll have to admit the truth. It’s the only way.”

  “I know,” Natasha sobbed.

  “My dad can protect Grayson from Lincoln,” Summer assured her.

  Onstage, Pete Thwacker said, “Now, here’s a man who needs no introduction at all. . . . So I won’t give him one!”

  There was a smattering of polite laughter.

  Pete looked upset that his joke hadn’t gone over better, but he soldiered on. “Ladies and gentlemen, the founder of the FunJungle Family Adventure Park, Mr. J.J. McCracken!”

  A chimpanzee walked out onto the stage, wearing a tuxedo and holding note cards.

  The audience laughed much harder at this than they had at Pete’s joke.

  Then J.J. McCracken walked out, pretending to be flustered. He glared at the chimp and said, “What do you think you’re doing, buster?”

  The chimp made a face for the crowd, then handed the note cards to J.J. and walked off the stage.

  The crowd loved it.

  I could see my mother at the edge of the stage, helping out with the chimp. He leaped into her arms, allowing J.J. to have the attention to himself.

  “That guy looks a lot better in his monkey suit than I do in mine,” J.J. said, getting more laughs. He then launched into his speech, but I didn’t really listen. Something else had caught my attention.

  Stephanie Winger, the head of the local Department of Fish and Wildlife, was shoving through the crowd in the VIP area. Four Fish and Wildlife agents followed her. They were all carrying long, thin metal cases. Tommy Lopez was in the rear, moving the slowest. He looked awful, like it made him sick to be there.

  A lot of guests seemed to be under the mistaken impression that the agents were FunJungle characters, like the mascots. They nudged their children excitedly. “Look!” one exhilarated father told his kids. “It’s the animal patrol!”

  Lincoln Stone noticed the agents too. Their presence intrigued him enough that he abandoned the B-movie actress to follow them.

  The actress looked very relieved to not have to talk to Lincoln anymore.

  I had a bad feeling about the agents’ arrival, and Summer and Natasha obviously did too. Without saying a word to one another, we followed them as well.

  On the stage, J.J. McCracken was welcoming all the guests and thanking them for being a part of the FunJungle adventure.

  Stephanie Winger found who she was looking for: Chief Hoenekker. He was at the part of the VIP section closest to the stage. A lot of guests weren’t paying much attention to J.J.’s speech; it wasn’t nearly as interesting as penguins or flying herring were, so they had taken the opportunity to go to the buffet, the bar, or the Porta-Potties. But up near the stage, people were watching J.J., and Hoenekker was watching the crowd.

  Hoenekker saw the Fish and Wildlife agents approaching and frowned, clearly not happy to see them. He abandoned his spot and moved away from the most crowded area so that he could talk to Stephanie Winger away from the guests.

  The least crowded spot, by far, was around the control panel for the fireworks display. Another cordon separated it from the rest of the VIP area, probably so no guests would push any buttons or trip over any of the electrical cables. A lone guy in a FANTASTIC FIREWORKS T-shirt sat before the panel, running through a series of safety checks. Hoenekker slipped under the cordon.

  “Hey!” the fireworks guy snapped. “This is off-limits!”

  “Can it,” Hoenekker told him, flashing his badge.

  The Fish and Wildlife agents slipped under the cordon too. So did Lincoln Stone.

  Summer, Natasha, and I stopped at the cordon; we could see and hear everyone on the other side just fine.

  Hoenekker glared at Lincoln. “Get out of here,” he said. “This doesn’t concern you.”

  “Oh yes it does,” Lincoln said.

  Before Hoenekker could argue with him, Stephanie Winger interrupted. “Chief, we need to talk. It’s urgent.”

  The tone of her voice made Hoenekker forget about Lincoln. “What’s wrong?”

  “We’ve been triangulating the location of T-38,” Winger said, referring to Rocket by her official number. “As you know, her collar has been indicating that she has been inside the park for the last twenty-four hours. As we get closer to it, we can pinpoint its location with more and more accuracy. But our current readings are causing us some concern.”

  “Why’s that?” Hoenekker asked.

  “Because they’re indicating that T-38 is out on that lawn,” Winger replied.

  We all looked to the lawn, which teemed with people. The crowd was so thick we wouldn’t even have been able to see a mountain lion in it. But we certainly should have seen people reacting to a mountain lion.

  “That’s not possible,” Hoenekker said. “Your readings must be wrong.”

  “That’s what we thought at first,” Winger answered. “But we’ve checked them a dozen times. The cat is out there. We’ve heard that some theme parks have tunnels underneath them, so all the characters and employees can get from place to place without being seen. Lions like to hole up in dark areas, like caves or dens. So we figure she might be in one of those.”

  “There’s no tunnels underneath this lawn,” Hoenekker said. “Though there’s some back in Carnivore Canyon.” He pointed to the area beyond the stage.

  Stephanie Winger shook her head. “That’s not where the signal is coming from. Our tech might not be the most up-to-date, but it’s not that inaccurate. And it’s telling us the lion is somewhere out there. . . .”

  She pointed to the lawn again, only this time, as she did it, understanding dawned on her. Concern creased her face, because she’d realized where Rocket probably was.

  The other Fish and Wildlife agents seemed to realize it too, as did Hoenekker and Natasha and Summer and I.

  Only Lincoln Stone didn’t. “Where the heck’s the lion?” he demanded.

  “I think she’s under the stage,” said Stephanie Winger.

  21

  THE HUNT

  The central stage where J.J. McCracken stood was raised three feet above the ground, so there was plenty of room for a mountain
lion under it. A black tarp draped over all the sides, hiding the area below the stage from view of the crowd, so it would have been dark and sheltered, like a large cave or den. It was also in an area free from people with guns, it was close to the water source of the Raging Raft Ride, and there was plenty of prey around. To a cougar on the run from hunters, it might have looked like a nice, safe place to bed down.

  So it was conceivable that Rocket had gone to sleep under the stage, unaware that, once daylight came, thousands of people would be surrounding her hiding place. And while Rocket might have been agitated by the presence of all those people, she probably would have stayed put, where she felt secure, rather than emerging into the daylight where everyone would see her.

  “She’s there?” Lincoln Stone asked, pointing at the stage, at once shocked and excited.

  Stephanie Winger told Hoenekker, “You’re going to have to evacuate this area right away.”

  Hoenekker groaned at the thought, but obviously knew it was the right thing to do. “All right,” he said, “I’ll clear the crowd, but I need your people to stand down until that’s done.”

  “Fine,” Stephanie agreed. “Though I’ll have my agents get prepared, just in case T-38 needs to be contained.” She nodded to her team.

  The four of them set their metal cases on the ground and opened them. Inside each was a rifle. The rifles were in pieces, which were nestled in foam. The agents set to work assembling the weapons behind the fireworks control panel, where they were hidden from the crowd.

  Tommy Lopez looked even more miserable.

  Hoenekker pulled out his radio and spoke to his own agents. “Attention all FunJungle Security, we have a Code Green at the main lawn. The mountain lion is underneath the central stage. I repeat, the lion is underneath the stage. I need a sedation team in position immediately—”

  “A sedation team?” Lincoln interrupted. “That cat needs to be killed.”

  “Not by any of my people,” Hoenekker told him.

  “It shouldn’t be killed at all!” Summer announced. “It didn’t eat your dog, Mr. Stone! And I can prove it! Listen to your neighbor!” She turned to Natasha Mason expectantly.