by Bryan Chick
Noah spotted movement from the corners of his eyes and turned to look. Richie was charging back toward the cave, his eyes wide, his arms swinging wildly at his sides. He bounded a bush and then brushed past Noah into the cover of the cave. Noah swung around, saying, “What is it?”
Richie straightened his glasses, which had slid down to the tip of his nose to be fogged up by his excited breaths. “On the other side . . . there’s a place where the railing”—he pointed to the railing along the pit—“is bent real bad. The python showed me by climbing along a branch.”
“So? Maybe some fatso stood on it or something.”
Richie shook his head. “The wall is damaged right below the railing. It’s cracked . . . and a few places are punched out. And there are tufts of hair lying in the grass. The sasquatch . . . it grabbed the railing and scaled the wall, but it didn’t escape. I saw its tracks on the ground of the Python Pit.”
Noah moved his stare to a dark spot of the cave to explore his thoughts. “It could have escaped and it didn’t. Why not?”
“The same reason the sasquatch beneath the Knickknack and Snack Shack didn’t. It’s scouting the grounds . . . preparing for something.”
Noah turned back to Richie and again saw his nervousness.
“C’mon,” Noah said. “Let’s go tell Tank.”
Richie nodded, and the two of them rushed to the end of the short cave and pushed through the curtain back into the Grottoes, Noah wondering how their news would change things.
Chapter 13
Wide Walt in the Monster Dome
The next day, the scouts forced themselves to go to school and tried their best to feign interest in their class work. But being part of a secret civilization responsible for the safety of the world was growing to be quite a distraction. It was hard to solve for x and memorize state capitals when you knew monsters were prowling around in underground tunnels, threatening your neighborhood.
At lunch, the friends ate at a private spot on a cafeteria bench and quietly discussed the Grottoes and the things they had seen there. Around them, students drank their chocolate milk, ignored their vegetables, and shouted at friends. Spills occurred every few minutes, and crumbs flew like shrapnel from grenades. After eating, the four of them headed outside for recess and hunted down another place to talk. They settled on the vacant space beneath the large dome climber toward the rear of the playground. More than eight feet tall, the old steel climber was affectionately called the Monster Dome. It lacked the appeal of modern play structures, which sprawled in all directions, connecting slides and bridges and platforms. The Monster Dome frequently went unused, except by upper-el students to hide out from second graders.
Just a few minutes into their conversation, three kids approached: Wide Walter White and his two cronies, Dave and Doug. As they neared, their big, angry feet kicked through the wood chips, stirring dust.
“Oh great,” Richie said. “This doesn’t look good.”
Noah glanced around. As usual, there wasn’t a playground attendant in sight. The scouts were alone, and Walt was undoubtedly aware of this. For him, bullying was a science.
The scouts hadn’t confronted Wide Walt since their most recent altercation with the broad-shouldered thug. Just weeks ago, Noah had shocked Clarksville Elementary by tripping Walt in the cafeteria, nearly dropping him to the ground.
“Well, well,” Walt growled as he approached. “The Action Dorks, all together . . . and all alone.”
Walt and his friends slipped through separate openings in the bars and stood just beneath the curved peak of the dome. The scouts jumped to their feet and nervously faced the schoolyard bullies. As Noah took a step forward, Megan lightly coiled her fingers around his wrist, holding him back.
Walt smiled at this. He crossed his arms over his chest, resting his forearms on the bulge of his gut. His shoulders were so wide that his head seemed puny in comparison. “Little sis going to fight your battles now?”
Walt’s buddies erupted in exaggerated laughter. The chill air carried the fog of their breath, a stench of corn chips and cheddar cheese.
Walt grumbled, “We got some unfinished business, dork.”
Noah shook his head. “I don’t have any business,” he said. “Not with you.” He discreetly scanned the playground in search of an adult. Behind Walt, a few kids had noticed the unfolding scene and were now busily alerting their friends, who began leaping off rock walls and throwing themselves from swings. Within a minute, they’d have the Monster Dome surrounded.
“I think you do,” Walt said. And he reached up with one arm and shoved Noah. Hard.
Streaks of pain shot across Noah’s chest and curled over his shoulders. He struggled for balance and stood his ground.
Kids were already crowding the scene. Some were hollering. A young girl started to cry and ran off. Inside the open space of the dome, Noah suddenly felt like a fighter before a crowd of spectators—a wary gladiator in the pit of the Colosseum.
“Keep cool,” Megan said.
Noah refused to turn his gaze from Walt. “Why do you want to do this? You ever stop to think that you create a lot of problems for yourself?”
“Oh, I create a lot of problems,” Walt agreed. “But not for me—for other people.” He held his open palms out to his sides in a what-do-you-think-about-that? fashion and glanced over at his buddies, a smug look on his face. “Whoever said I’m not a generous guy.”
Grunting, Dave and Doug nodded their approval. Noah realized how small and insignificant they appeared beside their leader. Without Walt, Dave and Doug would be nothing—stardust in the galaxy of Clarksville Elementary.
“I got something I want to share with you,” Walt said.
“What?” Noah said before he had time to think better.
“This.”
Walt thrust his arms forward and pushed Noah again, harder than before. This time the pain shot all through his torso. He stumbled backward, toppled, and barely prevented himself from falling.
Ella jumped forward and shoved Walt, who barely budged. Walt turned to her and let out a disbelieving chuckle.
Ella propped her hands on her hips and pushed her elbows out to her sides. “Keep laughing, fat boy. I’ll kick your—”
“White!” A voice rang out.
The crowd parted, revealing Mr. Kershen, the toughest sixth-grade teacher in all of Clarksville. He had a broad back, a shaggy mustache, and crooked yellow teeth. In another life, he might have been a Viking.
“White!” Mr. Kershen repeated. “You have got to be kidding me!” Everyone assumed that Wide Walt was the aggressor in any altercation.
Walt spun around and tried to looked surprised that something was wrong. “What?”
“Don’t what me, Walter!” Mr. Kershen jerked his thumb toward the school. “To the principal’s office. Now.”
Wide Walt slouched his gargantuan shoulders and kicked at the wood chips. He squirmed and squeezed his oversized body through a triangular opening in the dome climber and headed toward the school.
Mr. Kershen turned to watch the bully go. Then he faced the crowd of students and waved them away, saying, “Get! Go do something, for crying out loud!”
As the children scattered, the scouts climbed out of the dome, Richie breathing a loud sigh of relief. Mr. Kershen stepped up to them.
“You guys okay?”
All at once, the four of them answered yes.
The rough-looking teacher looked them over. “That clown’s bad news,” he said at last. “Try to stay away from him.”
“We do,” Noah said. “All the time.”
Wrinkles moved across Mr. Kershen’s face as he formed a concerned expression. He nodded, knowing Wide Walt and knowing what Noah had said was true.
The scouts turned and headed for a new spot. Once again, they’d narrowly avoided a beating from the school bully.
Noah wondered how long they could continue to be so lucky.
Chapter 14
Back into th
e Grottoes
Later that day, their thoughts still on the incident with Wide Walt, the scouts reported to the Clarksville Zoo for crosstraining. They met Tank outside the Forest of Flight, where the big man stood with his arms crossed, his head gleaming. Tank turned and led them into the building. Inside, the air was thick with the earthy fragrance of grass, soil, and tree bark. A giant glass dome seemed to hover above a space filled with leafy branches and free-flying birds. The Forest of Flight was like a tiny jungle.
As Tank led the scouts down the visitor path, Richie said, “Shouldn’t the exhibit be closed for this?”
“Nope,” Tank said. “You got to learn how to do this in the middle of the day.”
They followed the path to a clearing where a family of four was staring up into the trees. They stopped along a rail and stared out, pretending to be interested in a rainbow-colored macaw perched on a branch. Noah realized how Tank loomed over Richie like a giant, his dark skin in stark contrast to Richie’s pale color.
“Are we supposed to be keeping a low profile?” Noah whispered. “Because you guys aren’t looking too much like father and son.”
Tank chuckled and clapped Richie on his back, sending his pom-pom into a dance. Richie bumped against the rail and then reached up to correct his glasses.
After a few minutes, the family walked off around a corner and soon left the building. Tank glanced over his shoulders to make certain no one else was around.
A loud voice suddenly came from in front of them: “Bwwwaccck! Tank! Secret Zoo! Bwwwaccck!”
It had been the macaw. Now it was staring down at the Crossers, repeatedly tipping its head in new ways.
“You nuts, bird?” Tank said.
The macaw turned away and stared off into the distance, seeming slightly ashamed.
Shaking his head, Tank pointed into the exhibit. “See that tree? There’s a big hollow in the trunk on the other side. It goes down to the Grottoes. All you got to do is run out there and climb into it as fast as you can.”
“But what about the other people?” Richie asked.
Tank looked around. “What other people?”
“There’s no one here right now, but someone could walk in at any minute.”
“Just be quick and you won’t have nothing to worry about.”
“But—”
“Megan,” Tank said. “Show my boy Richie how it’s done.”
Megan smiled at the invitation and quickly slipped through the railing. She ran forward, startling birds into the air. Seconds later, she ducked behind the tree and was gone.
“See that?” Tank said. “Nothing to it.”
“Maybe not for Megan,” Richie said. “But she’s like . . . like an empress of adventure. Me? I sort of trip on air.”
Tank gently pulled down on Richie’s shoulder, directing him between the rails. “Well . . . just make sure you trip into the right hole then.”
Richie squirmed through the steel bars and then tore across the exhibit, the bright decals on his running shoes twinkling. He lost his balance, staggered a few feet, then ducked behind the tree and was gone. Ella went next.
To Noah, Tank said, “You’re last, bub.”
Noah shimmied through the railing and ran behind the tree. When he ducked into the hollow, he saw a dark passage dropping down about fifteen feet. A series of steps were built into one wall. He took them and landed in an adjoining tunnel with stone walls and an arched ceiling. The Grottoes. Tank fell in behind him, and the group gathered together.
“That was too easy,” Ella said.
“It sometimes can be that way,” Tank said.
Feathers of all sizes and colors surrounded their feet. Tank flattened them into the ground as he headed down the Grottoes, saying, “C’mon, gang.”
The scouts chased after him. Birds swarmed from around a corner and flew up into the Forest of Flight. As Tank passed the portals, he called off their names: the Secret Metr-APE-olis; Koala Krossings; the Secret A-Lotta-Hippopotami. He led the scouts into a gateway marked “Grottoes WSE,” and Noah felt the magic move through his body.
This new area of the Grottoes was much like the others. The difference was that the ceiling and walls were covered with small lizards. They were dotted and striped and patterned in ways that rivaled the designs in Richie’s running shoes. Crawling all around, they created prismatic swirls of color. They were concentrated around a portal marked “A-maze-ing Geckos!,” a Clarksville Zoo exhibit where visitors made their way through a maze with gecko-covered walls.
“Why aren’t they in the Secret Zoo?” Megan asked.
Tank shrugged. “No idea. They like it down here for some reason. A lot of the animals do.”
As the scouts moved forward, a few geckos jumped down to their shoulders and crawled along their backs. One landed in Megan’s hair, looking a bit like a bright blue bow. Another one landed on Tank’s bald head and clung to a spot just above his ear.
They crossed though a portal marked “Grottoes NNE” and walked past new gateways: “The Secret Cari-BOO!,” “Little Dogs of the Prairie,” “PizZOOria.” Tank explained things as they went: when the gateways were built, why they were built, which ones were best to get to certain spots, which ones to avoid, which ones to plan on getting wet in, which ones might send you amiss. As they neared a gateway marked “A Fuss of Walrus,” a broad, whiskered snout and two ivory tusks poked out from the curtain. Out came a walrus, clumsily walking on its flippers. Halfway into the Grottoes, it stopped, the curtain draped over its body like a bedsheet. As the scouts walked past it, they patted its blubbery side.
The scouts continued to explore for the next hour. They kept to the Grottoes and didn’t venture into the exhibits or the sectors. Toward the end of their crosstraining, Tank stopped so suddenly beside a portal that Richie walked straight into his backside. The big man crouched low and picked up a matted tuft of hair. It matched the one they’d found near the Knickknack and Snack Shack.
“Sasquatch . . .” Noah said.
Tank nodded, his big, bald head rocking up and down. He stared at a spot on the ground, then ran his finger along a curved impression in the dirt. “See this?” he asked, his voice brought down to a whisper. “This is the heel.”
The scouts squatted beside him. In front of the footprint was the indication of a second print. It showed how the sasquatch had walked through a nearby gateway. From their crouched position, the curtain seemed to loom above them, a velvet curtain on an ancient stage.
Noah felt a chill work across him. He suddenly realized how cold and quiet the tunnel was.
Tank said, “He went that way, that’s for sure.”
From the nearby curtain, something suddenly swung out—an arm with a mangy mess of hair. Curled claws sliced through the air, and a muscular hand seized Tank’s arm. The big man was pulled off his feet and yanked through the portal.
Noah moved to go after him and stopped as the curtain was flung aside and two monstrous figures appeared. Sasquatches. They snarled, saliva gooping over their lips.
Noah stepped back and stumbled over his friends, who were still crouched down. On all fours, he peered across the tunnel and spotted a gateway. He crawled to it, yelling, “GO! GO! GO!”
On their hands and knees, the scouts did.
A second before reaching the portal, Noah stared up to read the name of the place beyond it.
The Secret Polliwog Bog.
As the curtain stroked across his back, Noah realized the scouts had never been here.
Chapter 15
The Secret Polliwog Bog
Just beyond the portal, Noah’s palms pressed against something hard and flat and slick. Beneath him, the floor dropped a few inches and gave out in strange ways. Looking around, he realized that he’d crawled onto a stretch of lily pads across a dirty body of water—a bog or a swamp. The lily pads continued straight about fifty yards and stopped at a muddy shore. Not far into a wet, moss-covered woodlands, Noah saw a curtain dangling from a tree—the g
ateway into the City of Species.
Ella slammed against him and yelled, “MOVE! MOVE!” Noah sprang forward, almost like a frog, then took off crawling across the dense patch of lily pads. The floating leaves sank a few inches beneath his hands and knees, but were firm enough to keep him out of the water. His body dropped and shifted in odd, unexpected directions.
The lily pads were covered with frogs, green and brown and speckled. Hundreds sprang in all directions, their twiggy legs dangling beneath their bodies. They landed on Noah’s back and struck his head like rubbery pellets fired from a toy gun. He peered back at the other scouts. Like him, they were struggling to crawl across the shifting lily pads, and like him, they were quickly being covered with frogs.
The curtain to the Grottoes flew to one side, and through the opening charged two sasquatches. Their weight was too much for the lily pads, though, and the monsters plunged in the water, leaving behind a series of circular waves. Noah stopped, and the other scouts turned back to see what he saw: the sasquatches were gone.
The four friends kept perfectly still and stared out. No one dared to speak. Around them, waves lapped at the lily pads, and frogs continued to hop. Fog hung in the air, and winged bugs buzzed by—dragonflies the size of hummingbirds. The distance played the rum-rum-rum sound of bullfrogs, constant and throaty.
A sasquatch rose in front of the curtain like a monster on the stage of a horror show. It stood still, water dripping from its fangs. A few lily pads clung to it, their stems wrapped in its stringy hair. It snorted up water, then locked its eyes on the scouts.
It was blocking their way back to the Grottoes.
The water was up to the monster’s chest, which meant it was over the scouts’ heads. Noah looked out in all directions. Their best escape was into the City of Species through the portal on the shore.
“Guys . . .” Noah said.
Just then, the other sasquatch reached out from the water beside them and swung its arm down at Megan, barely missing her.