Raids and Rescues

by Bryan Chick

  They soon came upon PizZOOria, the largest restaurant in the zoo, and waited at the front entrance. When two kids with wet globs of cotton candy stuck to their cheeks pushed their way out of the building, the Crossers, one after the other, eased through the doors before they closed.

  The restaurant had a decent crowd for such a cold fall weekday. Five groups of people sat munching pizza, hot dogs, and corn chips. Cups of hot chocolate steamed, and jackets were draped across empty tabletops. The long front counter curved to follow the shape of the building. Behind it, hot pretzels warmed in glass cabinets and popcorn poppers popped. The air smelled like cheeseburgers and chocolate, and it seemed to have a weight, as if permanently saturated by the grease from all the years.

  Noah felt a tug on his arm and moved in that direction until he bumped into someone. In one corner of PizZOOria, the Specters and scouts huddled.

  “Go get your snack . . .” Lee-Lee whispered.

  “You first,” Ella whispered back.

  “We already went,” Lee-Lee said. She crunched a potato chip.

  “How?” Ella said. Her voice was somewhere to Noah’s left. “We just walked in, for crying out loud!”

  “Not hardly,” Lee-Lee said. “We’ve been here at least a full minute.”

  Ella said, “I guess you girls get extra points for being speedy.”

  Lee-Lee crunched another chip.

  “Go,” Sara said to the scouts. “And don’t get caught.”

  One of the scouts bumped Noah, who realized it was Ella when her fuzzy earmuff touched his cheek. Then, as either Richie or Megan bumped his other side, Noah felt the patter and prick of clawed feet as a few chameleons moved to new spots on his body.

  He scanned the long, silvery curve of the countertop and studied the snacks stacked upon it. Bags of pretzels, chips, and caramel corn. M&M’s and Milky Ways and 3 Musketeers. Pumpkin seeds, sunflower seeds, bubble gum, breath mints.

  About thirty feet away, wire shelves were attached to the half wall of the counter, candy bars stocked on them. It would be almost no effort to ease up to them and slip a candy bar into one of his pockets.

  Noah rounded an empty table, stepped around a garbage bin, then ducked beneath a wooden rail. Several feet in front of him, the candy rack waited. He took a few more steps and turned his hip toward a neat pile of Kit Kats. As he reached for one, his hand halted. He knew it wasn’t right to steal—he’d been taught that all his life—and now something inside him was trying to keep the candy bar out of his pocket.

  But for some reason it felt good to be doing something wrong. It seemed like he was about to punch through a wall of rules—something built brick by brick by the people he loved.

  A restaurant worker suddenly appeared beyond the counter, less than two feet in front of him. A teenage boy, he had bad hair, a splattering of red pimples, and a wisp of whiskers on his chin. A name tag reading, “Hello! My name is Derik!!!!” was pinned crookedly to his shirt. He was chewing bubble gum, his lips smacking wetly. When he let a silent burp escape his mouth, Noah turned his face away.

  Noah stood perfectly still, his invisible hand hovering above the Kit Kats. He and the teenager, Derik, were now practically nose to nose. Beside them on the counter sat a pretzel warmer—a steamy glass cabinet with wire racks and a little door. Derik grabbed a napkin, reached into the cabinet, and plucked a pretzel from a steel bar. Noah took in a breath of fragrant, humid air from the cabinet, and stifled a sneeze. But Derik heard the sound and shifted his eyes directly toward him. Then he squinted.

  Noah held his breath and became aware of his beating heart. His dangling fingers began to tremble. Should he turn and run? Maybe he could slip out of PizZOOria before anyone else could mark him?

  Another restaurant worker, a boy with scraggly brown hair, walked behind Derik and playfully bumped into him, saying, “Don’t be checking out the ladies, man.”

  Derik’s cheeks flushed, and he quickly crammed the pretzel into a bag and walked off to the registers. Noah let out a quiet gush of air and felt his shoulders slump. He looked behind him to see what Derik had been staring at: a curvy teenage girl with flowing blond hair.

  Noah grabbed a Kit Kat, slipped it into his jacket pocket, and ducked beneath the rail. He hurried back over to the Specters, his careful footsteps soundless on the floor.

  “Who is that?” one of the Specters whispered.

  “Noah.”

  “You get something?”

  Noah nodded and then remembered no one could see him. “Yeah. Kit Kat.”

  Ella and Megan shared what they’d taken: a Twix and a pack of bubble gum, respectively. Just when Noah was about to ask where Richie was, Ella said, “You’ve got to be kidding,” and he realized a bunch of customers were curiously looking around. There was nothing to see, but Noah heard a tick! tick! tick! tick!—like pebbles bouncing in a box. The noise drew closer and louder and then stopped altogether. Richie.

  “Let me guess . . .” Ella whispered to Richie. “Tic Tacs?”

  “They had Cherry Passion,” Richie said. “My fave.”

  “Okay . . .” Ella said below the noise of the restaurant. “There are two things wrong with this. One . . . Tic Tacs are for grandmas. And two . . . they’re noisy. Kids trying to be inconspicuous should not put them in their pockets.”

  “Wow,” Richie said. “Inconspicuous . . . a five-syllable word. Nice work, El.”

  “All right, enough,” Sara said to Ella and Richie. “C’mon—let’s get out of here.”

  Someone brushed past Noah and he headed to the exit, where the Crossers followed a mother and her two children out the door.

  “See the trees over there?” Evie asked. “Go.”

  As they headed that way, Noah whispered, “How’s that bubble gum?” to his sister. When she didn’t answer, he said, “Meg?” a bit louder than he should have.

  No response. Noah looked over his shoulder just in time to see one of the restaurant doors crack open a foot and quickly close, as if someone had slipped out. But no one was there.

  Noah thought he heard footsteps, and then he sensed someone standing beside him.

  “Meg?”

  “Yeah?” Noah realized she was out of breath.

  “How’s the gum?”

  “Oh . . . not bad, I guess.”

  It was obvious that she was lying. His sister wasn’t chewing gum. She’d slipped back into the restaurant to return what she had taken.

  “We got one more stop,” Evie said. “Back in the Secret Zoo. Follow me.”

  As Noah headed off following Evie’s marks—a shake of a branch, a step in the snow—guilt struck him again. He turned his attention to the invisible candy bar in his hand, its weight and shape. Maybe he should return his too. It wouldn’t take long to run back into PizZOOria. The Specters wouldn’t even need to know.

  Instead, he tore open the wrapper and bit down, never remembering a time when chocolate had tasted so sweet.

  CHAPTER 13

  THE FEATHER, THE QUILL, THE HAIR FROM A MANE

  “You got to be joking,” Richie said.

  “Nope,” said Evie. “Dead serious. It’s a great test.”

  Evie had led the scouts to Tarsier Terrace, a winding balcony attached to a building in the City of Species. In the nearby trees, thousands of tarsiers went about their business of training for perimeter patrol, a nightly surveillance of the Clarksville Zoo. The Specters were sitting at one of the many tables across the terrace, sipping drinks, their legs kicked up in various ways: on the tabletop, ankles crossed; over the arms of chairs, knees bent; on the terrace railing, heels against the stone.

  Evie’s cheeks sank into her face as she sucked from a straw. Then she said to the scouts, “Look—just ghost up and go out into the city. You need to bring back three things from the Descenders on post at the city gateways without being noticed. A red feather . . . a quill . . . and a hair from a mane.”

  “Do they know about this?” Ella asked. “The Descenders?”
r />   Evie shook her head. “What would be the point then?”

  “What if they catch us?”

  Evie shrugged.

  A tarsier jumped down from an overhead branch, landing on the tabletop. It tried to sniff the bow in Lee-Lee’s shoelace, perhaps thinking it was a bug, but the Specter shooed it away with a not-so-gentle thrust of her foot.

  Without a word, Noah opened his left portal pocket, inviting the chameleons to crawl out and camouflage him.

  “Okay,” Ella said. “I guess we’re doing this.” As she unzipped her pocket, so did Richie and Megan. Chameleons scattered across them, and within seconds, they were out of sight.

  “Let’s go,” Noah said.

  “A red feather, a quill, and a hair from a mane,” Evie reminded as the scouts walked off. “You got thirty minutes.”

  The four friends walked down a winding staircase and stepped out onto the streets of the City of Species. Overhead, birds skipped across branches and sunlight streamed through open places in the colorful canopy of leaves. Hummingbirds darted from spot to spot, their tireless wings whirring. Sprays of water rose stories above the stone fountains set in the streets.

  “Okay,” Megan said, “where do we start?”

  Noah turned to look at his sister, forgetting she was invisible. “Pick a sector,” he said to what seemed an empty space beside him. “Every city gateway is guarded by a Descender.”

  “Whoa!” Ella said. “That elephant almost flattened me!”

  Noah glanced back for a close view of a wide gray rump, tail wagging. “I totally forgot the animals can’t see us,” he said. “Don’t get squashed.”

  The scouts rounded a bend in the road, careful to sidestep a trotting rhino, and came upon the Secret Penguin Palace, a massive building with bricks the size of pyramid stones. The weighty eaves of its roof rested on marble columns that were sculptured to look like tall blocks of ice. Its entrance, a single velvet curtain, was being guarded by a Descender.

  “C’mon,” Noah said. “Let’s get close.”

  He eased his way toward the building, confident that his friends were in tow. He stopped about twenty feet from the entrance. The guard, a boy in his late teens with a sparse, wiry beard, wore a leather jacket with a series of curved blades on the outsides of his sleeves. Noah nudged his friends and headed back out into the street. When they were a safe distance away, he said, “Let’s check another one.”

  They passed coffee shops and grocery stores. Noah sometimes forgot that the City of Species was full of people who worked and shopped and went to school and did other everyday things—just alongside animals.

  Another sector came into view—the Secret Butterfly Nets. The glass building was so tall and narrow that the butterflies inside seemed to be shooting toward the sky like a volcanic eruption. At the sector’s portal, a guard stood by. His clothes contained animal armor in strategic spots: elbows, knees, shoulders. Because he wasn’t wearing feathers, quills, or a mane, the scouts quietly circled back into the city streets.

  As Noah led the way, he marked his location with his voice: “I’m here.” “Over here.” “I’m here.” “It’s me.” They stepped over several sloths and dodged a peacock’s tail feathers. They splashed through narrow streams and squinted through the drifting mist of waterfalls.

  At the Secret Giraffic Jam, the scouts inched up to the velvet gateway, where a girl Descender was dangling upside down from a branch by an artificial tail. When they were back out of earshot, Ella said, “How does she keep from fainting? The magic?”

  Noah shrugged. Despite having crosstrained for a year, the scouts really hadn’t learned much about the Descenders, the kin of those murdered in the Sasquatch Rebellion. The scouts knew the Descenders were part of the Secret Zoo’s army, people who used magic to take on animal powers, but that was really all.

  Noah glanced back and saw the girl dangling upside down again, and he wondered what it would be like to be a Descender. To fly with wings. To swing a tail. To slice through his problems with razor-sharp blades. To be so powerful.

  When they reached the Secret Forest of Flight, a stadium-sized birdhouse with a giant domed roof, they discovered a guard who looked a lot like a porcupine, quills dangling off every part of his body.

  “Check it out,” Ella said, her voice coming from somewhere behind Noah. “Solana’s twin.”

  “And he’s got just what we need,” Noah said. “I think only one of us should go. Who wants—”

  “I’ll do it,” Megan said.

  She brushed past Noah as she made her way to the guard. Noah waited and watched. The Descender looked left, then right, then coughed into his fist, causing quills to quiver. A few birds flew out from the curtain and soared past his head.

  “Where is she?” Richie asked.

  “Who knows . . .” Ella said.

  But just then, all three of the scouts found out. A loose quill on the guard’s shoulder rose into the air, where it quickly disappeared, undoubtedly in Megan’s grasp. The Descender glanced at his shoulder, as if he’d felt something there, and then casually looked away.

  “She got it!” Ella screamed under her breath. “Man—she rocks!”

  Megan’s voice came from beside them: “One down, two to go.”

  “Girrrlll . . .” Ella sang, “I’d high-five you right now if I wasn’t afraid to miss and slap your face!”

  “C’mon,” Noah said. “Let’s get the others.”

  He led them up the street with another chorus of “I’m here . . . Over here . . . I’m here . . . It’s me.” Beside a coffee stand, he was nearly plowed over by three men in green lab coats—magical scientists. The scouts turned down an alley and came out near the portal to the Little Dogs of the Prairie sector, where another Descender stood guard. A lionlike mane fell from the raised hood of his jacket across his shoulders and down his back.

  “Number two,” Noah said.

  “Speaking of which,” said Richie. “Remember that question I had about using the bathroom while we’re ghosted?”

  “Tell me you’re joking. . . .” Ella said.

  “I can’t help it!” Richie explained. “All this sneaking around—you know I have a nervous stomach!”

  “Dude—you’re going to have to hold it,” Noah said curtly. “Okay . . . I’ll take this one.”

  He stepped away from his friends and eased across the street, ducking a snake coiled around a low tree branch. As he drew close to the portal, he saw how the Descender’s furry gloves had bare, meaty pads on the palms. No doubt he could strike out with the strength of a lion, and Noah worried that he would if he felt Noah pulling his hair.

  Noah stepped in between the back of the guard and the velvet curtain. As he stood gathering his courage, a line of prairie dogs trailed out from the portal, a few trampling over his invisible feet. Once the rambunctious rodents were out of sight, he reached out, pinched a thick hair in the Descender’s mane, and then thought better of plucking it. He spotted a loose hair on the Descender’s jacket and took that one instead. Then he tiptoed back to his friends, who responded to his “Where are you?” whispers.

  “You get it?” Ella asked.

  “Got it.”

  “Awesome. One more to go . . .”

  “A red feather,” Noah reminded them.

  The scouts headed out again, navigating alleys and streets. They quickly came across Platypus Playground, where a frowning Descender stood, long red feathers trailing down his arms and back.

  “Who wants to go?” Noah whispered. “Richie?”

  Richie’s answer came quick: “Nope.”

  “I’ll do it,” Ella volunteered.

  Noah felt the air swirl as Ella moved past him. He fixed his eyes on the Descender and waited. A platypus walked out of the portal and ran between the Descender’s legs, its flat bill looking like a giant shoehorn sweeping across the street. A minute passed, then another.

  “What’s taking her so long?” Megan whispered.

  “I don’t k
now. Maybe—”

  Just then, a bright red feather floated off the ground near the guard’s feet. A second later, it disappeared, and Ella quickly returned, humming the theme from Mission Impossible under her breath.

  “You go, girl,” Megan said.

  “C’mon,” Noah said. “Let’s get back.”

  With all three items in their possession, the scouts turned and headed back toward Tarsier Terrace, Ella still humming, this time louder than before.

  CHAPTER 14

  TALKS ON THE TARSIER TERRACE

  Back at Tarsier Terrace, Noah, Ella, and Megan dropped their spoils onto the table in front of the Specters. On their way across the city, the scouts had sent back their chameleons, and they were once again in plain view.

  Evie swung her legs down and leaned over the table. She sniffed the hair, twirled the feather, and poked her palm with the point of the quill.

  “They from Descenders?” Sara asked Evie.

  Evie confirmed that they were with the slightest nod. To Noah, she seemed to be working hard to keep her expression flat.

  “That’s right,” Ella said. “We sort of rock.”

  Evie allowed a small smile onto her face. “Nice.”

  From off to their side came the sound of clapping and a man’s voice: “Indeed it was!”

  Mr. Darby was walking toward the table with at least three tarsiers perched on his velvet jacket, their big cartoonish eyes staring out. One kept nipping at the old man’s bushy beard. At his side was Solana, her long hair tucked behind her ears, her Descender gear retracted into her blue jacket and fingerless gloves.

  “All items are accounted for?” Mr. Darby asked the Specters as he stepped up to the table.

  Sara nodded, her tall Mohawk slicing through the air.

  “Excellent! And in how much time?”

  Noah checked his watch. “Twenty-three minutes.”

  Mr. Darby smiled. “Well done, my young Crossers! I’m here to inform you all that Council is finalizing a time for our rescues. I expect to hear from Marlo soon, and I’ll be able to send the scouts home with this information if they can afford the time.” He looked expectantly at Noah, who quickly checked with his friends and then nodded. “Excellent!” As Mr. Darby stretched his arm to pat Richie’s shoulder, a tarsier on his shoulder fixed its gaze on the pom-pom on Richie’s cap.