Traps and Specters

by Bryan Chick

  The man gasped and craned his neck in new directions. All the color had washed from his face. As Evie stepped around him, he turned left and right. He’d sensed Evie—felt her body stir the air.

  “Who’s there?” he asked. “Is someone … there?”

  She smiled. Then she turned toward the man, putting the briefcase between her and him. She knew he probably didn’t deserve this—but maybe that was the point. Evie, after all, hadn’t deserved what she’d got.

  None of the Specters had.

  The man hunched over and rushed for his briefcase, the hard heels of his dress shoes clapping against the pavement. Evie kicked the case as hard as she could. It slid through his legs, toppled over, and spun to a stop at least ten feet behind the car.

  The man’s bottom lip trembled. He lurched toward the rear of the car, tripping over his own feet. Forgetting about his briefcase, he ran for his driveway, his limbs flailing like a string puppet’s. He kept glancing over his shoulder, his face frozen in fear, then pushed through his front door, sheltering himself from the unknown thing in the darkness. Evie. The leader of the Specters.

  CHAPTER 25

  HALLS ON HALLOWEEN

  For two weeks, things continued as planned. The scouts were able to fit in three more crosstrainings, strictly classroom stuff. The animals and Descenders kept up their nightly patrols, and the Specters moved through the scouts’ neighborhood in their magical camouflage. DeGraff wasn’t spotted again.

  Now it was Halloween night, and Noah and Megan were headed down their street toward Clarksville Elementary with plans to pick up Ella and Richie on the way. The Halloween party at their school was scheduled from six to seven o’clock, at which point the residents of Clarksville would light their jack-o’-lanterns, turn on their porch lights, and invite kids to accept candy at their front doors.

  Megan was wearing a pirate costume: a black skirt with a large skull-and-crossbones emblem, a leather belt tied above one hip, tall black boots, a plastic sword, an eye patch, and a thick silver necklace and plenty of silver bracelets. Noah was dressed as a soldier in a desert camouflage uniform—cargo pants and a loose-fitting jacket. He’d streaked camouflage paint over his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, and he also carried a plastic machine gun.

  At Richie’s house, Richie ran across the lawn to join his friends. He was dressed in a white, collared shirt; checkered pants pulled high above his waist; black shoes; and a large black bow tie. He’d wrapped a wad of white tape around the middle of his glasses. His shirt pocket bulged with pens, pencils, highlighters, a short steel ruler—he’d even added a plastic pocket protector. “Ta-da!” he said, his arms out to his sides. “Mega-nerd!” He ran his thumbs beneath the waist of his pants. “Check out these things—they practically touch my armpits!”

  The three of them laughed their way to Ella’s house and stopped at her mailbox, where Ella was waiting. She was dressed as Wonder Woman. Red boots with vertical white stripes. A blue, star-spotted skirt. A red, sleeveless shirt with two gold Ws on the front. A short red cape. A gold headband with a red star. Wide steel bracelets. And a gold rope on her hip—the superhero’s Lasso of Truth.

  “You look like the flag,” Richie said, still laughing. He put his hand to his heart and spoke in a monotone: “I pledge allegiance … to your costume … and to the United States of America.”

  Megan playfully pushed Richie aside. “Don’t listen to him, Ella—you look totally cool!”

  Ella spun the way Wonder Woman does and said, “That twirl—yeah, you guys should probably get used to seeing that.” She eyed Megan’s costume, then added, “Check out the bling! You go, pirate girl! Arrrrr!”

  Megan pulled out her sword and pressed it to Richie’s neck, saying, “Avast, ye scallywag!”

  As Richie’s eyes widened, Ella said, “Who could have known you were born to plunder?”

  Megan lowered her sword and took a slight bow.

  To Richie, Ella said, “What are you supposed to be?”

  Richie pulled his pants up higher, exposing his ankles. “I’m a nerd!”

  “Yeah—we know,” Ella shot back. “But didn’t you want to dress up for Halloween?”

  “Oh … you should make fun. …” Richie said. “Nice bracelets. If they were any bigger, you wouldn’t be able to bend your arms.”

  “Maybe,” Ella said. “But check this out.” She swatted his shoulder with her left forearm.

  “Ow!” Richie groaned.

  “They’re used to defend against all manners of attack—including verbal.”

  Richie lowered his eyebrows, pursed his lips, then reached into his bulging pocket and pulled out a pen. He aimed it at Ella, pressed the plunger, and a blue stream of ink sprayed from the tip, wetting her costume.

  “Richie!” Ella gasped. With her jaw dropped open, she stared down on the inky mess on her clothes.

  “Don’t worry!” Richie said. “Disappearing ink! It fades over time.”

  Ella closed her mouth into a frown. “How much time?”

  Richie thought about this for a moment. “Ten minutes?”

  “That sounded like a guess.”

  “It’s supposed to be funny!” he explained. He lifted the pen to his eyes and slowly read the words on the side of it. “‘The Squirt Pen of Merriment. The pen that sprays ink and spreads laughter!’”

  “Great,” Ella said as she dabbed the ink with her fingertips. “I’ll let you know when the merriment kicks in.”

  As they headed up the street, Ella lassoed Richie’s head, Megan batted Ella with her plastic sword, and Noah rolled across the street to do battle with an imaginary army, firing his plastic machine gun and hurling invisible grenades. The magic gold key for the Clarksville Zoo shot out of a pocket in his cargo pants and fell to the street.

  “Noah—you’re going to lose this!” Megan chided. She snatched up the key and snapped it into a small leather pouch on her pirate belt. “I’ll hold on to it tonight.”

  Noah opened his mouth to protest and then stopped himself, figuring the key was more safe in a pouch with a latch than in a baggy pocket.

  By the time they reached their school, Ella declared that Richie was no longer in danger of death by lasso, since the ink had faded on her costume. They pushed through the big double doors of the entrance and nearly crashed into a Transformer and a very young Frankenstein with chocolate smudged over his green cheeks. The principal, a kind old man with narrow bifocals, sat dressed as the Tin Man, his face painted silver and an oil funnel fastened to his head. In his lap was a huge bowl brimming with candy. As the scouts walked by, they wished him a Happy Halloween and stuffed their pockets with miniature Snickers and Milky Ways.

  Clarksville Elementary was dressed for Halloween. Streamers dangled from the ceiling and looped around poles. Jack-o’-lanterns lined the halls, glow sticks revealing their carved-out innards. Yarn spiderwebs covered the walls. Even the characters in the “Reading Is Your Key” posters had on witch hats and masks cut out from construction paper. Other than a life-size mummy, some bony hands reaching out from the lockers, and a few tombstones with the names of upper elementary teachers, there wasn’t much to be scared about.

  Richie frowned. “Where’s all the terror? The severed body parts and stuff? There’s not even a hint of carnage here.”

  Ella said, “I think the school’s going with merry, not scary.”

  “On Halloween! Can’t we save that stuff for the gentler holidays? You know, the ones with turkeys and stuff?”

  “Look around, Richie. This place is full of first graders.”

  Richie glanced around to see SpongeBob SquarePants, a miniature Iron Man, some princesses, and at least five girls dressed as Dora the Explorer.

  “Let’s check out the gym,” Noah said. “It’ll have cooler stuff.”

  The scouts rushed through the halls. Just past the open doors of the gymnasium stood a wide ficus tree decorated as if for Christmas, only with rubbery eyeballs instead of bulbs.

 
Richie pinched a fake eyeball between two fingers and said, “Now this just says Happy Halloween to me!”

  Across the huge room, kids were running through an obstacle course, crawling through a haunted maze, and jumping around inside inflatable bounce houses. Smaller games and activities were stationed along the walls: Pin the Stem on the Pumpkin, a candy corn relay race, a skeleton scavenger hunt, and boxes that kids reached inside to guess at their gooey and gross contents.

  At the maze, the four friends crawled into the darkness and steered clear of the pop-out-at-you zombies that looked a lot like their teachers in white face paint and smears of eye shadow. They navigated the strange terrain of the obstacle course and then spent time on the inflatables, bouncing off the walls and one another. Noah realized how great it was to be himself again—to not worry about the Shadowist and all the Secret Zoo’s problems. Once their foreheads were amply beaded with sweat, they took a break and headed for the punch bowl. As they leaned against the wall to sip their drinks, Wide Walt and his two brainless companions strolled up. Noah tossed his cup into a garbage can and took a step toward Walt, but Ella grabbed his wrist and held him back.

  “Don’t,” she said. “That’s what he wants.”

  “Walt!” a voice rang out.

  Their group turned. Standing under the nearby basketball hoop was Mr. Kershen. Dressed as a zombie, he looked meaner than ever. He was the first live corpse that Noah had seen with a full mustache.

  “Walter—find somewhere else to stand!” Mr. Kershen said.

  “Yeah, Walter,” Ella said, emphasizing the er because Walt hated his full name. “Park your wideness somewhere else.”

  Walt grunted, gave the scouts a dirty look, and headed out of sight behind an inflatable pirate ship.

  “C’mon,” Megan said. “Forget about that jerk. Let’s just keep away from him.”

  They headed toward the gym exit as the party came to an end. Students began to spill out onto the concrete courtyard.

  The first thing the scouts noticed was a strange, dense fog that had rolled in.

  CHAPTER 26

  THE PECULIAR FOG

  As students poured out of Clarksville Elementary onto the streets, Tank stepped across the Clarksville Zoo, his size twenty-two boots thumping against the concrete. The once-dim day had eased into night. He stared into the outdoor exhibits. Most of the animals were watchful, but quiet. His thoughts were on the children of Clarksville, the way they’d now be roaming the dark streets where DeGraff had been spotted. The idea horrified him.

  He rounded Creepy Critters and headed toward the Forest of Flight. On his way, he exchanged nods with a few security guards. Like him, the guards seemed worried.

  A tiny bird swept out of the sky and landed on his shoulder. Marlo. The kingfisher was chirping wildly, tipping his head from side to side. Something was wrong.

  “What is it?” Tank asked.

  Marlo twittered loudly, sprang off the meaty mound of Tank’s shoulder, and flew straight ahead. Tank knew what to do. Follow.

  The kingfisher led him across a grassy landscape. As they rounded the Forest of Flight, the southern side of the property came into view. Fog covered everything—fog that seemed to originate from somewhere inside the zoo to Tank’s far left.

  “What—?”

  Marlo chirped, as if to respond to Tank’s unfinished thought, then flew off. Mist dotted Tank’s cheeks and cooled his throat. His movements swirled the cloudy air. The farther he ran, the less he could see. He followed Marlo by listening to his chirps.

  PizZOOria came into view. Tank soon stumbled over the tracks of the Fast Train Through Clarksville. At Ostrich Island, the fog was thicker than ever. At Rhinorama, he raced over the bridge above the perimeter trench and followed Marlo across the open yard, where an empty exhibit meant Little Bighorn was in the Secret Zoo. As Tank neared a concrete mountainside set in a natural hill, a voice rose in his headset, startling him.

  “Tank? You out there?” It was Charlie Red.

  “Roger that.”

  “You seeing this fog?”

  “Yep. I’m with Marlo at Rhinorama. I can barely see a thing.”

  “I’m along the west wall,” Charlie said. “I can see the fog moving over Koala Kastle. It’s so thick … like the castle’s being swallowed!”

  Tank’s nerves spiked. The west wall was near Clarksville Elementary—close to the students.

  “Tank?” Charlie said.

  “Yeah?”

  “I don’t like the looks of this. This fog—it ain’t natural. And it’s like … it’s like it’s coming from the zoo.”

  Tank became very silent, then said, “The Descenders aren’t tuned to our channel right now. Get them. And the guards—get anyone you can.”

  “I’m on it,” Charlie said.

  Tank peered at the fake mountainside. Marlo shot out of the fog—a faint spot of color in a world gone gray—and perched on his shoulder, chirping wildly.

  “What?” Tank asked. “You see something?”

  The kingerfisher dove into the air, touched down on the rocky wall beside the mouth of a cave, and chirped at Tank, who jogged toward him. The fog was so thick now that Tank felt it beading on his bald head and trickling along the ridge of his brow.

  The dark cave, which Tank had seen hundreds of times, looked eerie. Remembering his flashlight, Tank plucked it off his belt and aimed its bright beam into the darkness. The cavity was so cloudy that Tank was certain the fog was coming from there.

  Into his headpiece, Tank said, “Charlie, you there?”

  No answer.

  “You got to be kidding me. Charlie—where’d you go?”

  And the big man followed his light into the dark recesses of the cave.

  CHAPTER 27

  TRICK OR TREAT

  Outside of Clarksville Elementary, the younger kids found their parents and the older kids found their friends. In groups, they headed toward the foggy neighborhood and its promise of free candy. An uneven chorus of “Trick or treat!” sounded as Jenkins Street was invaded with miniature monsters and superheroes and ballerinas swinging plastic bags and plastic pumpkins.

  As the scouts ran from house to house, they cut through lawns, dodged bushes, and squeezed through hedges. On porches, they held open their bags to claim their sugary loot. The fog continued to thicken, but the scouts barely noticed. By eight o’clock, their bags were half full.

  As the four friends headed down Phlox Drive, a man ran up to them. Charlie Red. He stopped in front of the scouts.

  “Charlie?” Noah said. “What are you—”

  “We got a problem,” Charlie said.

  “What’s going on?”

  “This fog …” Charlie gestured with a sweep of an arm. “It’s all over the Clarksville Zoo. We’re worried DeGraff might use it to move on us.”

  The thought sent a wave of panic through Noah—and a splash of shame. The scouts had been running up and down the streets with nothing but candy on their minds. They’d been behaving like children, not like Crossers, not like select individuals pledged to protect the world.

  “What do we do?” Megan asked.

  “We’ve already sent the tarsiers out. And the Descenders—they’re moving into position. We have—”

  “The Descenders?” Ella said. “But there are people everywhere! What if—”

  “We got no choice!” Charlie said.

  Understanding this, the scouts kept quiet.

  Charlie continued, “The Specters—they’re out, too. And Darby’s making sure every possible portal into the Secret Zoo is guarded.” Charlie’s face changed with a new thought and he said, “You guys have your headsets?”

  The four friends shook their heads. Again, Noah felt a bit disgusted at himself.

  Charlie reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out four headsets, the sort the scouts had learned to use. “Take these.” He threw one to each of the friends. As they fitted them into their ears, Charlie added, “Divide up. If you spot anyth
ing, radio it in.” Then he turned and ran. Within seconds, he disappeared into the darkness, the misty air swirling in his wake.

  The scouts stared at one another. It was Noah who finally broke the silence.

  “Let’s go.”

  The scouts split off in different directions, hoping to cover as much ground as possible. Noah found himself glancing all around, suddenly sure DeGraff could be anywhere.

  CHAPTER 28

  THE HUNT BEGINS

  Noah headed down Jenkins Street, which bordered three sides of the Clarksville Zoo, and turned onto Timber Trail, a winding road surrounded by old homes. Tall oaks stretched their mighty limbs across the street, making Timber Trail seem like a tunnel cut through a small forest.

  He walked briskly, trying to remain calm and not call attention to himself. Empty-handed, he’d since dropped his bag of candy and toy machine gun. Along the curbs sat jack-o’-lanterns, their expressions seemingly carved out of the darkness rather than the pulpy shells of pumpkins. Children rushed between houses and chants of “Trick or treat!” sounded from all directions. Adults followed their kids, and wagons carrying costume-clad toddlers rumbled along.

  In Noah’s head, a sudden thought washed away all others. What if DeGraff was in a costume? He turned to the adults, many of whom were dressed up. He saw a princess, an Indiana Jones, and the grim reaper, the shaft of his scythe propped against his shoulder.

  “Man … this is not good,” Noah said to himself.

  “Excuse me?”

  Noah looked over to see a man dressed in a beige jumpsuit with a patch of a cartoonish ghost stitched to one shoulder. The ghost was enclosed in a red circle with a diagonal line. A ghostbuster.

  “You say something?” the man asked.

  “I …” Noah’s sentence faded away, and he hurried off.