Lunar Colony
Page 7
All his expeditions had the same goal: the discovery of cryptids, strange creatures whose existence has been mentioned, suspected, talked about in hushed whispers—but never truly confirmed by science. Creatures such as Bigfoot, the Loch Ness Monster, or the Atlantic Sea Serpent. Cryptids were Harold Mews’s obsession, and they had become Annie’s, too.
So, despite her parents’ protests, Annie packed her bags, prepared the hot-air balloon, and took to the skies.
She was getting close now, and she saw that she was not the only one drawn to the contest. She had a bird’s-eye view of the road leading into Bucky Cove; it was lined with hundreds of vehicles, all approaching the small town.
And it wasn’t just cars and trucks! All manner of adventurers in all manner of vehicles were drawn to the contest:
Another hot-air balloon, far in the distance.
A zeppelin, high above her.
An old biplane zooming past her, sputtering and coughing.
Below her, a man in a hang glider swooping and diving.
It would be quite the contest indeed. But Annie had a leg up. She had studied cryptids. She knew where to look and she knew—
Annie’s thoughts were interrupted by a high-pitched howl. Annie gripped the side of the basket and spun.
It was a jet! Futuristic and fast. And it was rocketing toward her . . .
“Oh, bananas!” Annie shrieked as she furiously adjusted the heat and jerked the propeller.
“C’mon, c’mon . . .” Annie said, eyeing the fast-approaching jet.
With a shrill shriek, the jet blasted past her. Annie caught a quick glimpse of the pilot: a bug-eyed woman with bright pink hair interrupted by a white lightning-bolt-shaped streak. Across the side of the jet were the words GRIMLOCK GLIDER. The Grimlock Glider—shiny and silver, with upturned wings and purple lines—looked like something out of the old science-fiction magazines Annie loved to read.
“Watch it, ya flying jerk!” Annie shouted.
The jet left a hot trail in its wake, causing an updraft that rocked and tossed Annie’s balloon. Next came the downdraft, which forced the balloon toward the ground. Annie cranked the propane heater, but the air currents were too strong. The balloon was out of control and sinking fast.
Annie groaned as she desperately jerked the propeller back and forth. This adventure is off to a fantastic start . . .
Annie peeked over the side of the basket. The ground beneath her was growing larger and larger as she spiraled down faster and faster . . .
The Contest
Mere feet above the road and just seconds before crashing, Annie flung the propeller lever and the balloon swooped back up, catching a wind current.
Annie may have avoided becoming a splattered splotch on the road, but she wasn’t out of the woods yet—in fact, she was heading straight into the woods! The balloon was careening toward a small grouping of trees. She needed to get the balloon higher.
She spun the gear on the propane heater, giving it as much gas as it could handle.
Annie looked up. Incoming tree!
There was a loud CRACK! and then a WHOOSH! as the basket clipped the treetops. A leaf with a big bug on it flew into Annie’s mouth and—Yechh!—she spit it out.
A long plastic banner was strung across the Main Street entrance to Bucky Cove. It read HAROLD MEWS WELCOMES THE WORLD’S GREATEST ADVENTURERS!
With a rip, Annie tore right through the banner. The plastic wrapped around her face so that she couldn’t see.
“Bananas!” Annie exclaimed.
Thankfully, the wind ripped the banner away—just in time for Annie to see that she was on a collision course with a tall brick chimney poking out of the top of a cute old house.
“Double bananas!” she screamed. She threw the propeller lever again and sent the balloon swinging to the side. The basket scraped against the side of the house. A very round old woman with blue hair in white curlers stuck her fist out the window and called Annie all sorts of names.
“I’m really sorry!” Annie cried out as she swept past.
Annie and her balloon continued spinning and spiraling down Main Street. Annie deftly dodged awnings and trees and flagpoles and TV antennas and satellite dishes and weather vanes and everything else.
Annie squeaked. Higher! I need to get higher!
Then—oh no!—Annie spotted electrical lines up ahead, near the Mews mansion. Those would put a very quick, very shocking end to her adventure.
Lower, lower! I need to get lower!
Annie dropped the heat and threw open the vent, forcing the balloon to plummet downward. A rough landing was better than being barbecued!
The balloon slammed into the ground, and the basket crunched and scraped down the street, tossing Annie to the side. She quickly threw an armful of sandbags over the side. When they hit the ground, the whole contraption finally began to slow and then, at last, came to a stop.
Annie gulped in air and let out a huge sigh of relief. “Phew,” she said, wiping her brow. “I hope no one saw that!”
And then she looked around.
Oh . . .
Man . . .
Annie had landed right smack dab in the middle of the massive crowd of fortune seekers that had gathered at the gates of the Mews mansion in anticipation of the contest announcement.
Everyone stared at Annie: gruff men and stern women, all with wide, judging eyes that said, “Some adventurer you are! Be gone, young one!”
Annie felt her face turn bright red. She waved her hand and smiled meekly. “Um, hi guys. I’m—
ah—I’m here for the contest?”
Thankfully, Annie’s embarrassment was short-lived. The gate to the Mews mansion was opening! A hush fell over the crowd.
Is this him? Am I going to see him? Am I finally going to meet my hero?
A figure stepped out from behind the mansion gate. Annie frowned. No, it was not Mews. It was a man with the strict appearance of a butler. The man unrolled a single scroll of paper and loudly hammered it into the mansion’s wooden gate.
The huge crowd continued to gather at the gate, all of them clambering to see what the butler had posted. Annie, smaller than all of them, was able to sneak her way through the crowd.
She saw the scroll nailed to the gate. As she read the words, her face lit up.
REWARD
$1,000,000
For irrefutable proof of the existence of FOUR cryptids.
Search the world and bring your proof to Harold Mews to claim your reward.
The first to return with proof will be named the winner!
Annie grinned. She was right! It was a cryptid hunt. More than that, it was a race!
Murmurs of excitement spread through the thick throng of adventurers. Annie heard the words on their tongues.
“Contest!”
“Cryptid!”
“Race!”
Finally, one of the adventurers called out, “What are we waiting for?! The contest has begun!”
False Starts and Rough Beginnings
They were off!
Hundreds of adventurers leaped into action, setting off in hopes of finding proof of a cryptid, departing in balloons and boats and helicopters and gyrocopters and big cars and small cars and off-road vehicles and on-road vehicles—everything imaginable!
Annie had hoped to meet Mr. Mews, to talk with him about their mutual love of and belief in the strange creatures classified as cryptids. But to meet him she’d need to win the contest. Annie grinned. No problemo!
Annie cranked up the heat, and the balloon lifted into the air. Beneath her, she saw that some other contestants’ journeys had already ended:
A bright red hang glider was lodged in a tree, and its pilot was hanging upside down by a shoelace.
A hot-air balloon not unlike Annie’s had landed on a roof and was deflating fast. The owner of the house was out front, swatting at it with a rake.
A woman stood on the side of the road, hands on her hips, looking at her motorcycle a
s clouds of smoke billowed out of it.
Annie wondered if the same villain—the woman behind the control stick of the Grimlock Glider—had knocked these rivals out of the contest. Annie ignored the thought. No time to feel sorry for the competition, I’ve got a contest to win!
Soon, Annie was soaring past the sandy beaches of Bucky Cove and out over the sea. She inhaled the rich aroma of the Atlantic Ocean and smiled. The adventure had begun.
Annie was heading east to Scotland, in hopes of getting a glimpse—and a photograph—of the most legendary cryptid of them all: the Loch Ness Monster.
Seagulls flapped and squawked, confused at the small girl in the big balloon taking up their airspace. One doofy-looking gull landed on the balloon’s ledge.
“Hey there,” Annie said to the doofy seagull, smiling. “You coming for the ride?”
The seagull squawked.
“You sure?” Annie asked, laughing to herself. “You’re more than welcome to join me!”
The seagull’s head cocked to the side, and it looked down to the ocean below. In a flash it flapped its wings and soared away.
“Guess not.” Annie shrugged.
A moment later, Annie saw the reason for the gull’s sudden departure: There was a speedboat drifting in the water below. It was purple and black with sharp silver lines. Its markings looked to be of the same design as the ones on the jet that had sent Annie spiraling out of control.
Annie floated closer and closer. She saw the words GRIMLOCK GUNNER in bright white on the side—beside them, an image of a woman with bug eyes with pink and white hair.
Bananas! It is her!
Annie watched as the cockpit shifted and slid back, revealing the same woman who had piloted the jet.
“Hello there, girl,” the pink-haired woman shouted up to Annie.
Annie scowled and shouted back, “I’m glad to see you down on the water. You shouldn’t be allowed in the sky—you nearly killed me!”
The woman laughed—a high-pitched cackle, like a hyena’s. “Only nearly? Then I failed.”
Annie scowled. Stupid pink-haired jerk.
“I’m sorry to be the one to tell you,” the pink-haired woman continued, “but that million dollars is mine.”
“Well, I’m sorry to be the one to tell you,” Annie shouted back, “but you’re in a boat, and I’m up in the sky. So there isn’t a whole lot you can do to stop me!”
The pink-haired woman smiled a thin, wicked grin. She leaned forward and pressed a button on the boat’s control panel. Suddenly, the back of the boat began to transform. A metal section slid back, there was a mechanical hum, and something began to rise from inside the boat.
It looked an awful lot like a cannon.
“Blast!” Annie exclaimed.
“Sorry to burst your balloon, but I suspect your first adventure will be your last,” the woman said, reaching down. She was reaching for something . . . pressing something . . .
Uh-oh.