The Worst Night Ever

by Dave Barry

  Jon turned to me and yelled, “I need to get on the PA system!” He started shoving his way through the crowd. I got off the scooter and almost fell down from the pain of my right foot touching the ground. I started hobbling after Jon, using my left foot mainly.

  “The walking dead!” A guy dressed as Iron Man was pointing at me. “Nice job!” A bunch of other people looked at me and started laughing. For a second I didn’t understand. Then it hit me. I had blood all over my face and arms, and I was walking weird. They thought I was a zombie for Halloween.

  I zombied after Jon as best I could, but with my foot on fire I was having trouble keeping up. He got to the edge of the stage and climbed up onto it just as the DJ started playing “Monster Mash.”

  Jon—who still had his Wookiee head on—ran across the stage to the DJ, who looked surprised. Jon said something to him, which I couldn’t hear, then reached for the microphone. The DJ yanked it back and yelled something. Now the DJ and the Wookiee were struggling for it, and people were starting to notice.

  Finally Jon managed to yank the microphone free.

  “EVERYONE PLEASE LISTEN!” he shouted, over the sounds of “Monster Mash.” “THIS IS AN EMERGENCY! THERE ARE DANGEROUS ANIMALS IN THE AREA! YOU NEED TO LEAVE THE AREA IMMEDIATELY!”

  I think Jon seriously thought everybody would listen to him and leave the area. But there were two problems. The first was, everybody already knew there were dangerous animals there, because the exhibit was called Killer Kritters. Dangerous animals were exactly what everybody came to see. Of course, Jon was talking about a different bunch of killer kritters, but the crowd didn’t know that.

  Second, people generally do not expect to get serious information from a guy in a Wookiee costume.

  So nobody left the area. A lot of people laughed. I think they thought Jon was part of the entertainment. The DJ was not entertained. He was trying hard to get his microphone back.

  “PLEASE,” Jon was saying as he shoved the DJ away. “THIS IS NOT A JOKE. YOU’RE ALL IN DANGER IF YOU STAY HERE!”

  I heard shouting behind me. I turned around and saw a police officer coming through the crowd in a hurry. Behind him were two more. They were heading straight for Jon. Somebody must have reported the crazy Wookiee scooter driver.

  “YOU HAVE TO LISTEN TO ME!” Jon was shouting.

  At that point he seemed to realize that the Wookiee head wasn’t helping. He yanked it off and threw it at the DJ, who ducked away. Seeing his face, one of the cops yelled, “That’s him!”

  “PLEASE LISTEN TO ME!” Jon was shouting into the microphone. “I’M AN AGENT WITH THE U.S. FISH AND WILDLIFE SERVICE, AND I’M TELLING YOU THE TRUTH. DANGEROUS ANIMALS ARE ABOUT TO BE RELEASED IN—”

  An officer tackled him before he could finish. Two more jumped on him while he was down. The crowd was shouting, whooping, taking phone videos. There were a few screams. The microphone was rolling across the stage. The DJ grabbed it.

  “Everybody calm down!” he said. “Everything is under control! Nothing to worry about, folks.”

  The police were putting handcuffs on Jon. He was shouting at them, but they weren’t listening.

  I stood in the crowd, trying to think what I could do. As I stared at Jon’s frantic face, something in the background caught my eye. Past the back of the stage, a dozen or so feet away, was the high chain-link fence that went around the zoo property. There was movement on the other side. I shielded my eyes from the stage lights and squinted. Now I could see them—just barely, because their lights were off.

  The trucks were arriving.

  “Monster Mash” finished playing.

  The DJ started a new song.

  “Thriller.”

  I turned around and starting hobbling back through the crowd. Everybody was still looking at the stage, where Jon was still pleading with the police, who were still not listening.

  I won’t keep bringing this up, but my right foot was still killing me.

  I had the beginning of a plan. That was all I had. I had no middle, or ending. So it was probably not going to work.

  But it was all I had.

  The scooter was where Jon had left it. I looked around. Nobody seemed to be watching. I got on the seat and pressed the ignition button. Nothing happened. I looked down and saw a key. I turned it and tried the button again. The scooter started and the headlight came on.

  It took me a few seconds to figure out how to get the scooter down off the parking stand. (If I were still mentioning my foot, I’d mention that this part really hurt.) Then I twisted the throttle thing on the handle, and almost fell off backward when the scooter took off.

  I’d never driven a scooter before, but I figured it would be pretty much the same as riding a bicycle. That was not totally true. It’s a lot heavier than a bike, and it can get away from you. I almost hit some people and then a bench before I got it under control. Even then I was wobbly, and a couple more times I almost hit people. A few people yelled at me. I yelled “SORRY!” back, but I didn’t dare slow down, because there wasn’t much time.

  I scootered back along the perimeter path to the main walkway, and turned left. I could see the main entrance archway ahead. There were still zoo workers there. This time they saw the scooter from a long way off, and got out of the way when I blasted through yelling “SORRY!” In a few seconds I was going past the parking lot and on the zoo driveway heading out. I reached 152nd Street and turned left—but on the sidewalk, not the street.

  The good news was, there were no people on the sidewalk. There were no houses on this side of the street, because it ran along the zoo property. I drove on the sidewalk, looking for the dirt road Jon talked about. I went for what felt like a mile, although it probably was only a hundred yards or so. Then I saw two posts with a chain running between them, and a NO TRESPASSING sign. On the other side was a dirt road. I didn’t bother with the chain. I just went around the posts and started down the road.

  Pretty soon it went into some woods, so I was in the dark except for the scooter headlight. To my left I could see the chain-link fence that went around the zoo. Up ahead, on the other side of the fence, I saw bright lights, which had to be the stage at the Killer Kritters party.

  Which meant I was getting close to the trucks.

  Which meant now I had to come up with Part Two of my plan.

  I stopped the scooter and fiddled around with the controls until I figured out how to turn off the headlight. Then I started going again, more slowly, steering by the light coming from the stage. The road curved right, then left. And then I saw the trucks, maybe fifty feet ahead of me. I steered the scooter off the road behind some bushes, and stopped the motor. I hobbled forward to take a look.

  The trucks were parked next to each other, with the backs facing toward the zoo party. The cargo doors were still shut. The men were still wearing their white hazmat suits, but now they had heavy gloves on, too. I guess to avoid getting bitten. One of the men was talking on a cell phone while the other three watched. The DJ was taking a break, so the stage was quieter. I could hear the guy talking but couldn’t make out what he was saying. I figured he was talking to Frank Bevin.

  I pulled out my phone to check the time. 9:23. The party would be going on for another hour and a half. Plenty of time for the things in the truck to crawl over there.

  Then I noticed that I had a bunch of new texts.

  They were all from Taylor.

  They all said call.

  I hobbled back into the bushes and pressed CALL. Taylor answered right away.

  “Wyatt, I’m in the truck,” she whispered. “With the snakes and stuff.”

  “I know,” I whispered. “I’m here. Near you.”

  “You are?” She sounded relieved.

  “I can see your truck.”

  “Are we at the zoo?”

  “Behind it. Next to where the party is.”

  “Is help coming?”

  “I don’t know,” I whispered. Which was basically a lie
.

  “Oh.” She was quiet for a few seconds. “Can you see what they’re doing?”

  “Right now one of them is on the phone. I think they’re getting ready to unload the trucks. Is there someplace you can hide when they open the door?”

  She was quiet again. Then she said, “When they open the door on my truck, stay out of the way.”

  “Why?”

  “I gotta go. Don’t want them to hear me.”

  “Taylor, what are you going to do?”

  “Just stay out of the way.”

  Then she disconnected.

  What was she going to do?

  I hobbled a little way back out to have another look. The guy on the phone finished his conversation and said some stuff to the other three. Then all four guys went to the first truck, the one Taylor wasn’t in. One of them lifted the cargo door. Inside the truck, filling up most of the cargo compartment, was a big shiny metal container, reflecting the lights from the zoo party. That had to be the ants. The side facing out was basically a big door, with latch handles on either side at the top and hinges on the bottom.

  The four men climbed into the truck. They squeezed past the container, two on each side. They started shoving it—it looked heavy—and for a second I thought they were going to push it out of the truck. But instead they slid it to the edge of the opening and stopped. Then they went back into the truck and started doing something to lift the back of the container so the front part started leaning forward.

  That was when I figured out how they were going to do it.

  First, they were going to prop up the back of the container so it was tilted out over the ground. When the door was unlatched, it would fall open and dump out the ant colony, dirt and all.

  Then they’d open the back of the second truck. They’d find Taylor inside, of course, but she’d be no problem for four grown men. They’d get her out of the way—What would they do to Taylor?—then they’d slide the animal crates to the edge of the truck.

  When they were ready, they’d have one guy in the driver’s seat of each truck, and one guy in the back of each. The guy in back of the first truck would unlatch the container and dump the ants onto the ground. The guy in the back of the second truck would open the crates and dump out the other animals. Both guys would be safely up in the trucks, not on the ground with the animals. When they were done, the trucks would drive away with the men and the empty cages, leaving all the animals loose behind. The whole thing would take less than a minute.

  And maybe a few minutes after that a black mamba would slither under the fence, into the mass of human legs on the other side. Or maybe it would be a deathstalker scorpion, or a Brazilian wandering spider. Or even the Komodo dragon.

  Maybe the ants would head that way. I remembered what Jon said.

  When the driver ants come out, after being cooped up in there…You would not want to be in their way.

  People would panic, and the panic would spread fast. People would be injured. Or worse. Way worse.

  It was only a matter of time, unless somebody stopped the men with the trucks.

  But there was nobody around to stop them except me, a kid who could barely walk. And there was no way now I could stop them from letting the animals go. That battle was lost. The only thing I could do was try to get Taylor out of there. I decided I’d wait until they were opening the door, then charge them on the scooter. Maybe I could take them by surprise, throw them off-balance, and Taylor could jump on the back and we could get out of there.

  It wasn’t brilliant. But it was the only plan I could think of. I hobbled over and got back on the scooter. The four men were still working on the ant container, trying to get it propped up. They were struggling with the weight, but they were getting there.

  The DJ had started playing music again. He put on “Werewolves of London.” It’s an old song, and I don’t totally understand it, but I always liked it. It’s kind of crazy.

  “AOOOOO!” went the singer. “AOOOOO!”

  I was hearing that, watching the men in the truck, waiting to make my rescue attempt, when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I jumped and turned around so fast I almost dropped the scooter.

  “Hey,” said Suzana Delgado.

  “You’re here,” I said, when I could finally talk.

  “Apparently,” she said. “What happened to you? You look horrible.”

  “I’ll explain later. Why are you here?”

  “I did what you said. I didn’t want to, but you pissed me off so much, telling me I was wrong about the Bevin brothers, that I decided to prove you were wrong. So I told them I wanted to go to the zoo party.”

  “And?”

  “They totally freaked out. They basically ordered me not to come here. But I insisted, so they said, ‘Okay, we’ll give you a ride to the zoo.’ They picked me up at my house, but instead of taking me here, they took me to the Grove and followed me around, making sure I didn’t leave. Can you believe that? They kidnapped me. Jerks.”

  “So what’d you do?”

  “I escaped. Said I needed the ladies’ room, went into a restaurant, and snuck out the back. Got a ride with some Coral Cove kids headed this way. They dropped me off at the end of the dirt road. I ran the rest of the way.”

  Suzana, in addition to being the prettiest girl at Coral Cove and probably on earth, is a really good soccer player who can basically outrun a Ferrari.

  “So what’s happening?” she said, pointing ahead at the men. “Are the poison things in those trucks?”

  “Them, and my sister.”

  “What?”

  I explained, as fast as I could, what was going on, what I thought was going to happen, and how I planned to try to rescue Taylor. Fortunately, Suzana, in addition to being beautiful and athletic, is really smart, so she followed me, no problem.

  “Okay,” she said. “Your plan is stupid.”

  I should mention that, in addition to being beautiful, athletic, and smart, she has strong opinions.

  “Why?” I said.

  “They’ll knock you off the scooter. They’ll grab you and your sister, and they’ll probably feed you to the ants. They’re not going to let witnesses get away.”

  “Oh.”

  “Also,” she said, “it’s not just about rescuing your sister. We can’t let them release the animals.”

  “So what do we—”

  “Let me think,” said Suzana, holding up her hand. Ahead, the men had finished propping up the ant container, which was now leaning out over the ground. One of them unlatched the latch on the upper left side, so that when they were ready to go, they’d only have to unlatch the right side. The men were climbing down from the back of the truck. Now they’d go over to the second truck, and they’d find Taylor.

  “Okay,” said Suzana, apparently done thinking. “Get out your phone.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Just get it out, and do what I do.”

  I got out my phone. I had no idea why.

  The men were at the second truck now. One of them started to lift the cargo door.

  “HOLD IT!” shouted Suzana. She left the bushes and started walking their way. She was holding her phone in front of her, aiming the camera toward the men. I hobbled out behind her, holding up my phone. The men were staring at us. The one guy still had his hand on the cargo door.

  “WE’RE LIVE-STREAMING YOU,” shouted Suzana. “DO YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT THAT MEANS? EVERYTHING YOU’RE DOING NOW IS BEING TRANSMITTED OVER THE INTERNET AND RECORDED IN A REMOTE LOCATION. IF YOU LET THOSE ANIMALS GO, THERE WILL BE A VIDEO RECORD OF YOUR CRIME.”

  Of course I wasn’t live-streaming anything. I didn’t think Suzana was, either. She didn’t have time to set it up.

  Three of the men looked toward the one who’d been on the phone before. Apparently he was the leader. And apparently he had decided Suzana was bluffing.

  “You two,” he said to the two men closest to us. “Grab them.”

  They started toward us.

&nb
sp; “YOU’RE MAKING A MISTAKE!” shouted Suzana.

  The men kept coming.

  Behind them, the man at the back of the truck finished opening the cargo door.

  Then he shouted, “HEY!”

  Then a thick white cloud of fog came whooshing out of the back of the truck, surrounding the men. The door guy shouted “HEY” again, and then there was a loud CLONK. Suddenly the door guy was lying on the ground. There was more shouting and another CLONK. Now the leader was also on the ground.

  The two guys who had been heading toward me and Suzana spun around and ran back toward the truck. They plunged into the fog, and I heard Taylor yell, “Let me go!” One of the guys came staggering out, with his arms around Taylor, who was still yelling. She was holding a fire extinguisher that was still shooting out fog. The other guy yanked it away from her, shut it off, and threw it into the woods.

  Everybody stood still for a few seconds. The fire extinguisher fog melted away, and by the lights from the zoo stage, we could see the situation. Two of Bevin’s guys were now on the ground, having been clonked on the head with a fire extinguisher by my little sister. One guy was moaning and holding his head, which was bleeding. The other—the leader—was out cold.

  But the two remaining guys were okay. And one was holding Taylor. He had his arm across her neck. He was looking at me and Suzana.

  “Hand over the phones,” he said.

  “Don’t do it!” said Taylor.

  “Shut up!” said the guy. He squeezed Taylor’s neck. Suzana and I looked at each other.

  “Okay,” I said. We handed our phones to the other guy, who threw them on the ground and stomped on them.

  I just want to say that, even when there are really bad things going on—things that are much worse than losing some electronic gadget—it still hurts to see your phone get smashed.

  “All right,” said the guy holding Taylor, like he was about to say something important. But he didn’t. He just looked at the other guy, who looked back. I realized they didn’t know what to do.

  And then I heard myself speaking up.

  “Just go,” I said. “Just leave. You can’t do your plan. You need four guys. You can’t do it now. So just take your friends and go. You can get away. Go.”