by Peter Nelson
The pink dolphin’s flipper slapped at the glass awkwardly. “SQUONK!” It flailed around a bit, then went still. It began to shudder.
Then it began to change.
Its tail flukes formed into human feet. Its thick, muscular tail divided into two legs. Its flippers morphed into arms and hands, and its thick, smooth pink torso sprouted black hair as it turned into the unmistakably manly chest . . . of Señor Manuel Boto.
The Buckaroo Crew had hidden behind the couch. Buck stood staring in awe.
The very wet, very naked Manuel Boto sat up and took the smoothie from Jordan. He took a deep sip, licking the extra juice from his bushy black moustache. “Mmmm . . . that’s a good smoothie,” he said. “Do I detect a touch of acai berry?”
“Dry him off,” Jordan said. “I’ll be right back to interrogate him. And for goodness’ sake, give him some clothes!”
Their flight path had them clearing Central America in no time, and they were soon zooming north over the South Pacific, heading toward the equator. Jordan programmed the autopilot to fly low to the water to stay off radar. He didn’t have exact coordinates yet, and he needed them. He’d put out a signal to the CKCC and asked Buck to stay in the copilot’s chair in case there was a response.
Jordan climbed back down into the RV. He needed information, and knew that Manuel could be slipperier than, well, a wet dolphin. He found the bronze-skinned bartender relaxing with a smoothie, kicking back in Buck’s robe, wearing a Buck Wilde trucker cap over his bald spot and blowhole.
“I know it was Chupacabra you were talking to that night at El Encantado,” Jordan began.
“Such a smart boy!” Manuel’s bronze face flashed a perfectly white smile.
Jordan held up his grandfather’s journal. “I’ve also figured out what it is he was after. Your tears. You’re a cryptosapien. You can change from creature to man at will.”
“HAHAHAHA—squonk! Another win for the smart boy! So. You know who I am, and you figured out my secret. And in return, I am eternally grateful for the delicious smoothie. Now may I go, please?”
“Not ’til you tell me what your tears do,” Jordan said.
“Ah, so the smart boy does not know everything, no?” Manuel said. He suddenly spoke in a low voice. “All I can say is this, senhor—the tears of a cryptosapien can be, for some, transformative.”
“How? Like change-into-animals transformative?” Jordan said. “And what do you mean, ‘for some’? Like who? Men? Women?”
“Unfortunately, not women, no. If they were, I would now have a half-dolphin, half-lady girlfriend. Sadly, I do not.”
“Silvana told me about your creepy teardrop concoction. Kind of a turnoff, crying in a girl’s drink on the first date, dude.”
Manuel shrugged. “There are plenty of fish in the sea. HAHAHA—squonk!” He covered his mouth. “I beg your pardon. But you got my joke, no?”
“What did Chupacabra want with your tears? I need answers, Manuel.”
“Trust me, smart boy. There are some answers that may be too dangerous for you to know. Or for me to tell.”
Jordan stared at Manuel. “You’re scared. You’re afraid of Chupacabra.” Boto shot Jordan a glance. “You and he made a deal that night. What did you get in exchange for giving him your tears?”
“A promise! That when the time came—when it was time to choose sides—I would be looked upon as a creature. Not a man!”
Something about the way this conversation turned sent a chill down Jordan’s spine. “And what did you give him in exchange?”
“You already know the answer to that.”
“Your tears. So he ensures you will be seen as a creature rather than a human . . . and what exactly do your tears do for him?”
Manuel thought about this for a moment. Then he smiled. “Exactly the opposite.”
BLAM! WHOOOSH! The RV door suddenly slammed opened, sending a blast of cold ocean air whipping around the trailer. Buck climbed in from above.
“Jordan! Someone’s on the radio! Name’s Ed—says he’ll only talk to you!”
Jordan got up. “Watch Manuel,” he said to the Buckaroo Crew. “Don’t let him out of your sight. Not even for a second.”
37
The dawn spread across Sasquatch Provincial Park, over Echo Island (formerly and briefly known as Wilde-Isle), all the way across the waters of Harrison Lake until it reached the foot of Mount Breakenridge. With the new sunlight came a clear view of the aftermath of all that had happened the night before.
The Badger Rangers had spent the rest of the night helping the disheveled and disoriented ex-BuckHeads off the island and back to the mainland, where they packed up their cars, campers, and tents and silently rode off in the chilly dawn.
Then, once the bonfires were extinguished and all the trash gathered and separated for responsible recycling, the Badger Rangers held a brief closing ceremony for the Forty-Seventh Annual International Badgeroobilee. They said farewell to Echo Island, boarded their bus, and rode silently back to Vancouver Airport.
Long after everyone had left, when there wasn’t a soul to be seen or heard, a slight ripple disrupted the glass-like surface of Harrison Lake. The Creature Keepers’ submarine broke through the water, slowly gliding northward toward Mount Breakenridge. In its wake, a green head bobbed up and down.
The Loch Ness Monster and the submarine both slowed to a stop near the end of the lake. The submarine’s hatch opened. The crew, weary from searching for Gusto all night, climbed out slowly.
“You think he might be dead?” Abbie said, stretching and yawning.
“We can’t assume that, I’m afraid,” Eldon said.
“Maybe he never came down to earth at all,” Bernard said hopefully. “What if he just shot into the atmosphere, and exploded somewhere in space?”
“That would be so awesome,” Doris said.
“SKRONK!”
“Well, wherever that howfin galoot is, Haggis-Breath says he ain’t in the lake. She’s checked every nook an’ cranny.”
FLUTTER-FLUTTER-FLOP-SPLOOSH!
Kriss attempted landing on the deck but flitted about at the last second and slipped off the edge of the submarine. Nessie lifted him up and dropped him in a soggy puddle onto the deck. Abbie couldn’t help but giggle.
“Nothing from the air, either, I take it?” Eldon said. Kriss shyly shook his soggy, waterlogged head.
Eldon looked off at the sunlight slowly creeping its way up the dark mountainside. “Well, that settles it. It’ll be broad daylight soon. With all the commotion and television coverage last night, I expect this place won’t stay this quiet for long.” He turned to the others. “I’m not comfortable having this many cryptids out and about. Wherever Gusto is, he’s likely injured and lying low. When he makes a move, we’ll find him. Until then, I’m calling off the search.” He turned to Alistair. “Mac, could you ask Nessie for one of her scales, please? This lake may be Gusto-free for now, but I want to know if that changes.”
“Aye.” Alistair plopped down on the bow of the submarine and whistled. Nessie floated over and gave him a look. “Knock it off, willya? I know you don’t like this, but it has to be done.” She let out a “humph!” and flopped her head upside down on his lap.
Abbie noticed something on Nessie’s underside. There was a large patch of pink skin, completely unprotected by the Hydro-Hide. “Alistair, what’s that bald patch on Nessie?”
Nessie popped her head up. She snorted and ducked underwater. Alistair turned to Abbie. “Wish ya hadn’t pointed that out. She’s pretty prideful about her looks. That’s a patch that didn’t grow back after—y’know, what happened.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Abbie said. “I didn’t mean to upset her.”
“No one ever does,” Alistair said. “But it never keeps her from overreactin’.”
Nessie popped her head up again, but refused to look in either Alistair’s or Abbie’s direction. She made a tense face and emitted what Abbie thought was a very unladylike g
runt. Clink! A single shiny, sparkling scale popped off her neck and flew through the air. Alistair caught it and smiled at his cryptid. Then he got up and handed it to Eldon.
Eldon took off his Badger Ranger hat, placed the scale inside, and pulled his hat tightly back on his head. “Thanks, Mac,” he said. “And please let her know we appreciate the donation.”
“Nah,” he said. “She don’t deserve it, the big baby. I’ll go below and sync up the sub’s navigation system to her tracker collar so she can at least lead us home.”
“Sounds good,” Eldon said. “Abbie, Syd, and I will see you there in a few days.”
“You’re not coming?” Alistair said.
“We’re not coming?” Abbie and Syd said.
“We’ve got a homeless Creature,” Eldon said. “There’s a protocol when this happens. We’ve got to get up on that mountain, assess the damage to Syd’s house, destroy any evidence, and figure out a relocation strategy.”
“Speaking of relocation, what’s the plan for my brother?” Abbie said.
“I’m sure he’s enjoying his well-deserved post-hoax leisure time getting to know Izzy. The Amazon’s a beautiful place, if you’re not being chased through it by an angry Mapinguari. Once Kriss gets a day or two of rest, I’ll have him fly down and bring Jordan back.”
Abbie smiled. “Hey, Eldon, you’re still a dork and all, but I appreciate you letting me stay behind to tag along with you and Syd.”
“Tag along?” Eldon looked genuinely surprised. “You’re Syd’s Creature Keeper. You’re leading this trip. Let me know what I can do to help.”
“And I’ll let the both of you know,” Doris said from behind them. “If you think I’m not coming with you, you better think again.”
Roxanne’s fallen cliff had buried the smooth-stoned beach, covering it with craggy, jagged rocks that stretched much farther out into the lake and creating a new, much less welcoming coastline.
Bernard steered the submarine as close to the mountain as he could without running aground. Abbie, Eldon, Doris, and Syd said their good-byes to Bernard, Kriss, Mac, and Nessie, and jumped in the deep water.
They watched the submarine glide away and submerge beneath the surface of Harrison Lake. Eldon carefully removed his hat and handed something to Abbie. She looked down at the sparkling green scale in the palm of her hand. “Go on,” Eldon said. “Toss it.”
Abbie tossed the scale high like a coin. It shimmered in the sunlight as it flipped through the air, then hit the water with a soft plunk!
SWOOF! A wave of green immediately blasted out in every direction, flashing the surface of the water. It left a salty film on Abbie’s skin and a briny taste on her tongue.
They swam toward the mountain until the water grew too shallow. Abbie felt the sharp, sheared rocks that had tumbled off the mountain and carefully waded toward the craggy, defensive barrier onshore. The base of Mount Breakenridge looked completely different buried under the fallen cliff. They climbed over the pointed crags, searching for the trailhead, or anything at all that seemed familiar.
“Over here!” Abbie was crouched atop a jagged chunk of cliff, where she poked at something green snagged on the rock. The thin, flesh-like clump had a spongy feel to it, and sparkled in the sunlight. Abbie scraped at it, and held a small, sparkling object up to the sunlight. It was a scale. Gusto had passed through here, and torn a bit of his Hydro-Hide on the rock.
“And look at this,” Doris said. Lying on a flat stone was a tiny black cork surrounded by bits of broken glass. The rounded bottom of a vial was still intact, but whatever it had held was gone.
The four of them stood and turned to face Mount Breakenridge. Directly beneath where Roxanne’s cliff had fallen, a jagged pile of spiky rocks towered up the mountainside. Hidden in the shadows of the large slabs was an opening, like a cave entrance, but cracked and smashed inward, as if by a battering ram or wrecking ball. The stone on the ground near the entrance was broken into bits, and there in the pulverized powder of the crushed rock was a famously familiar set of footprints.
“Soil-Sole tracks,” said Doris.
“Gusto,” said Eldon. “He must be inside.”
“Well,” said Syd. “Shall we knock first, or just pop in on him?”
38
Climbing out of the RV and up into the Heli-Jet was a bit more challenging while rocketing over the North Atlantic Ocean. Jordan carefully clambered into the cargo space cluttered with MADE IN BRAZIL–marked boxes, then sat down in the pilot’s seat, and grabbed the radio microphone.
“This is Jordan Grimsley, OVER!” Jordan said loudly. “Creature Keeper Jordan Grimsley here. CKCC do you read me, OVER!”
“Jeez Louise! You don’t have to yell!” Ed’s voice crackled back over the radio. “I’m not deaf! And you don’t have to say ‘over,’ either. I’ll know you’re done talking when you stop. . . . See? I didn’t say over, and you knew I was done, ’cause I stopped. Over.”
“Ed! I need your help! What’s going on up in Canada?”
“I just got a status report from the recon group,” Ed said. “They’re all fine, and heading back to base in the sub. A few of ’em are going up to Syd’s place to examine the wreckage, destroy evidence, you know, the usual cryptid relocation protocol.”
“Wreckage? Ed, what’s going on up there? Is everyone all right?”
“Yeah! Like I told ya, most of ’em are heading back as we speak. Eldon stayed up there with Doris, Syd, and your sister to tie up some loose ends, that’s all.”
“What about Gusto? And the Soil-Soles?” Jordan noticed Buck climb into the cockpit and sit in the copilot’s seat. Buck gazed out the window at the ocean whizzing by below.
“No sign of either, I’m afraid,” Ed’s voice crackled back. “Gusto’s gone, and they weren’t able to find him. The lake’s been sealed, and the Sasquatch perimeter’s secure enough that Eldon decided to send the recon team back to base.”
Buck looked up. He’d been casually listening until he heard the word Sasquatch.
“With Gusto still at large?” Jordan was growing more anxious by the second.
“Report said Nessie blasted him clear across the lake,” Ed said. “Eldon’s assuming Gusto’s been injured or worse. He’s only human.”
Buck looked up again. Nessie?
“Listen to me, Ed,” Jordan said. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this. Gusto survived getting blown out of a volcano, so I highly doubt we’ve seen the last of him. I need to get to Syd and the others, ASAP. I need the coordinates to where they are. We have a cryptid who could be in danger, do you read me?”
“Loud and clear, Jordan. Let’s see . . . Sasquatch. I’ve got ’em right here. Forty-nine degrees, forty-one minutes, ten seconds north latitude, one hundred twenty-one degrees, fifty-four minutes, six seconds west longitude! Lead you right to Syd! Didja get all that?”
Jordan leaned over in front of Buck and punched the coordinates into the navigational system on the console as Buck stared wide-eyed. Jordan went to hit Enter, then stopped.
“Wait. Ed, what are these coordinates?”
“You should know, it’s your invention! The Global Cryptid Positioning System coordinates for the Sasquatch. Take you right to him!”
“No, Ed,” Jordan said. “Listen to me. That won’t work. Syd doesn’t wear his GCPS collar. It’s on his Teddy Squatch.”
There was a long silence. “His Teddy what, now?”
“His Teddy Squatch. Which is back in the Amazon. Those coordinates are useless.”
Buck looked disappointed. He stared down at the navigational control panel in front of him as Jordan sat back down in his seat.
“I don’t know what in tarnation you’re talking about, Jordan,” Ed said. “But I’m checking out these coordinates, and they drop you smack-dab in the middle of Mount Breakenridge.”
Jordan’s mind was reeling. This was impossible. He kept playing over in his head what had happened in the jungle, the place where he last saw Teddy Squatch—or
what was left of him—after Chupacabra bit his head off and swallowed it whole.
“But the only way that collar could lead us to Canada is if—”
CLICK. A soothing computerized voice spoke from the terminal. “Congratulations. You’ve successfully entered your destination. Autopilot engaging now.”
Jordan looked up. Buck stared at Jordan from his seat in front of the navigation console. Then he reached over in front of Jordan and cut the radio transmission. “We’re on our way,” Buck said. “Over and out.”
“Buck, what are you doing?”
“You made me look like a fool,” Buck began in a low, angry tone. “You let me believe the only thing I ever lived for—catching the Squatch—had been a waste of time. When all along you knew he was alive—you even had a homing device on him!”
“Listen, Buck, let me explain.”
“There’s nothing to explain,” Buck said. “If these coordinates are right, we’re now flying straight for the Squatch. When we get to him, he’s mine. He’s finally all mine.”
Jordan didn’t have time to fight or argue or even explain the situation to Buck. He needed to get to Syd, too, now more than ever. There was something strange going on. He needed to ask Manuel one simple question. Even if he refused to answer, the look on the cryptosapien’s face would tell Jordan what he needed to know.
He climbed out of the Heli-Jet and carefully made his way down toward the RV door. He swung himself inside and found Buck’s Buckaroo Crew tied up together in a circle on the floor, each of them gagged with a passion fruit jammed in his mouth.
“Manuel! Where is he?”
They all nodded toward the door. Jordan spun around to see a naked Manuel standing in the open doorway, his bare backside facing Jordan.
“So long, amigo! Thanks for all the smoothies.” Manuel prepared to jump.
“Wait!” Jordan cried out. “I just have one question for you! You have to tell me, when he took your tears, who did Chupacabra transform into? Please!”