I pulled Rocko back and looked for a way to get past the were-gorilla into the forest part of the exhibit, which lay beyond.
“We’ve got to get to the trees, Rocko. How do you get to the trees if you don’t walk?”
Rocko pointed up to the network of swinging ropes and rope ladders installed to give the gorillas an opportunity to swing and climb.
“Let’s go, big guy.” Rocko led me a few feet back into the cage area, both of us keeping a close eye on the were-gorilla. His gorilla face was scrunched up in a human look of confusion as the man part of him tried to figure out why he was just sitting there. Alupo scratched his head and wiggled in the water, shifting back and forth but not getting up.
Rocko led the way, climbing the first vertical rope with ease. I followed, not using my left, still-booted foot because the sole of the boot was slick, and I couldn’t get purchase on the rope. I flashed back to my training with Ovid and wondered if he had a touch of soothsayer to him.
“We have to keep him away from food,” I explained as I hauled my body up, arm over arm to the top, where we met a series of looping ropes. Rocko swung one to the other, but I knew my short arms wouldn’t be able to do that, so I turned backward, grabbed the horizontal rope with my hands, and lifted my feet to pull myself backward to the next rope. By the time I finished all three, Rocko was all but looking at his watch. He patted my head when I finished.
There were a few more ropes to go when Alupo figured out he didn’t have to sit there. He gave a roar that shook the ropes, making them swing so that my stomach flipped, and I thought I was going to throw up.
“Scoot, Rocko. Go!”
The ropes thrashed and swayed from Alupo’s roaring and Rocko’s climb. I shimmied to the next obstacle, which was a cargo net, narrowly avoiding Alupo’s hand as it sliced through the mesh webbing, tearing it from its moorings, so it hung from one corner only, and I couldn’t reach the last rope to the trees. I dropped down and attempted to scoot between Alupo’s feet, but he caught me by the hair.
My skull was on fire as he pulled a chunk full of hair out by the roots, and I shrieked with pain. I still had my shard of glass, which I had shoved back in my sweatshirt pocket. I grasped it, giving myself a shallow cut on my hand in the process, and slashed at my hair and his hand until I hacked myself free. I wiped my eyes with the back of my hands and flicked away blood from my forehead, where I’d also carved a deep gash.
The vervets called to Rocko from the top of the trees, and he followed their call, while the were-gorilla behind us finally collapsed to the ground, unable to support himself on one ankle any longer.
We ran through the trees as fast as possible, the vervets shrieking up ahead like kids at a birthday party. Unlike everyone else, they seemed to be having a blast. I stopped a few trees in and put my hands on my knees to catch my breath. “If he stops eating long enough, he’ll change back, especially now that he’s wounded.” I waited until my pulse was down to a normal rate, and then I looked around for Rocko. I couldn’t find him, until I looked up.
Rocko was up a tree, his face a picture of bliss.
“Good. You stay up there. Just don’t get any splinters.”
I took off again. Never having seen the back of the habitat, I was dismayed to find that the “forest” was ten trees deep, so calling it a forest was a stretch. I hit a back door running and burst through. A dozen or so policeman stared at me.
A cop with a name plate announcing he was Captain Morgan, stepped forward and asked, “Ma’am, why you were in there with that thing? Didn’t you get the order to evacuate? When we learned of your presence in the enclosure from the news broadcasts, my people were obligated to go in there to rescue you. Your presence is putting them and everyone else at risk.” The poor captain’s face was red, and his eyes bulged with fury.
I got distracted when several firefighters arrived wearing T-shirts, overalls, and fire-retardant turn-out pants with orange stripes. I stared in open admiration, and the only thing I could think was that they’d make a great calendar. The guy with the beard would have to be the cover model. His cheekbones were amazing.
The captain didn’t like that I was ignoring him and barked, “Bob, I thought we evacuated everybody?”
“We did, sir. No one was supposed to be in there.”
Morgan squinched his entire face up and let the muscles relax one at a time, letting out a huge breath. “Ma’am, you come with me now, and we’ll take care of you. Officer, arrest this woman for trespassing and get her some medical help.”
I waved my hands in the air, flinging God-knows-what at the poor cops. “Sorry, gentlemen, and ladies,” I said, nodding to the female police officers. “But, what we have hereah is a failure to commmmunnnicate.”
Not a flash of recognition. “Oh, come on, no one’s seen Cool Hand Luke?”
Not a twitch.
“Ma’am, I’m losing my patience. This is a crime scene, possibly terrorism, and given the transformation of that gorilla, there may be biochemical agents involved. At this point, we are cordoning off the area and calling in the DEA and FBI. You need to let the experts deal with this.”
“No, siree can do, sir, ‘cause that there is not a regular gorilla. He’s a were-gorilla, which means he falls under my jurisdiction, as bestowed upon me by the Pope himself. Or at least the Catholic Church. And my rabbi.”
Captain Morgan gave me a pained look and, showing bravery above and beyond the call of duty, placed his hand on my arm. “I think you need some rest, and maybe a doctor. Let me help you…”
I chopped my hand down on his elbow, twisted, and flipped his arm behind his back, and found myself facing a dozen or so guns with rounds in their chambers.
I let him go and held my hands up in a gesture of peace, giving them what I hoped was a friendly smile, but was probably more of a scowl. “Captain Morgan, love the name, by the way, I’m telling the truth.”
“That’s it! Officers,” he said, gesturing to a man and woman in uniform behind him, “grab this woman and cuff her.” The male officer’s tag just said Bob, which must have meant it was his last name, or perhaps he only used his first? I couldn’t tell.
Morgan turned to me. “I’m arresting you for assaulting a police officer and trespassing, and anything else I can find to charge you with.”
“Sir, please don’t do this. I apologize for my smart mouth and my belligerence, but I get annoyed when I’m touched without permission. Besides, you have to believe me.”
“No, lady. I don’t.” He cringed when the vervets screamed overhead and then scampered off.
“What the hell are those things?” Captain Morgan demanded.
“Vervets, sir. They’re devious devils, and we should thank them because they’re giving Alupo a hard time, which is slowing him down.” Alupo bellowed from within the enclosure.
“What the hell is an Alupo?”
“A primatologist named Dr. Alupo. He tried to publish about were-gorillas, and the academic community ridiculed him. The rest is textbook. ‘They’ll believe me now; I’m all powerful,’ kinda thing. Yada, yada.” I moved my hand in a yapping motion.
Morgan turned to the male officer. “Bob, get Dr. Barlow.”
“Who’s he?” I asked.
“The primatologist that consults for the zoo. He teaches at Ohio University. I want to hear if this story makes any sense to him. In the meantime, don’t move or I’ll throw you in Bob’s cruiser.”
Bob blanched. “Mine, sir? We just got it cleaned.”
The captain, a former Army man if ever there was one with his shorn hair and big neck, castigated his junior officer. “Now, Officer! Or, we’ll send you back to police academy.” Bob skadoodled.
“Captain.” Another cop, an older guy who looked like he been around a while, pulled the captain aside. “Robert, one of the witnesses said that thing can talk. I don’t know of any gorilla that can talk. Let’s hear what she has to say. You can throw her in Bob’s car later.”
“Wer
e-animals don’t exist…” Captain Morgan trailed off.
“Robert,” said the other cop, in what was supposed to be whisper. “Remember those things from last October?”
Morgan gave an involuntary shiver.
I perked up. “The scarecrows? I burned them. A little Pam cooking spray and a match. Works wonders. They won’t come back.”
Captain Morgan gave me a wide berth, wiped his hand on his pants, and called his people together. They huddled while I tapped my feet and let out conspicuous, aggravated breaths.
I couldn’t wait anymore. “Sir? With all due respect, we need to get that thing before the moon comes out. He’s going to gain power then. He’s eating now to fuel the change, but when night comes, he won’t need to do that, and he’ll be on the rampage.”
A young man came forward wearing wire-rimmed glasses and a squint, escorted by Officer Bob. He didn’t give my appearance a second look and wasn’t bothered by the smell. I figured he was Dr. Barlow and used to gorilla stink. I told him the story.
“That’s Dr. Alupo?” Dr. Barlow exclaimed, reaching out with his hand for a shake. I held up my hands, and he pulled back fast. “I remember this story. He tried to publish in multiple journals, but no one believed him. He had no proof. His photos were grainy at best, and the other scientists with him denied his claim. Besides, there is no scientific evidence supporting lycanthropy.”
I shook my head at the ignorance of people and plopped on the ground to take a quick rest. I rubbed my hands over my eyes, a terrible idea given the grime I’d collected, and said, “Yeah? Well, he’s sorta holding a grudge and means to take it out on Cleveland, which I can’t allow.”
“What are you?”
“Monster Hunter Mom, at your service. Some of the baddies call me the Buckeye Bitch, but that’s a little harsh, wouldn’t you say?” We needed to move, and I was done with the chatting. “We need to tranquilize that great ape and put him out in the sun while it’s still shining. Baking him should turn him back into a man.”
“I still don’t know,” Captain Morgan continued, but I hauled my ass up and got in his face. He was short; it worked out.
“Sir, with all due respect, this is not your call. Like I said, I’m on a mission from God, with apologies to the Blues Brothers, and that is exactly what we have to do.” I dragged a ragged, filthy card from my back pocket. “Call this number.” Morgan screwed his eyes up but walked off to do as I suggested.
Dr. Barlow hopped up and down as the scientific discovery dawned on him, and he peppered me with questions. “How does were-ism work? Is it a virus? It is a whole new species? Or class even? Maybe a new phylum. The taxonomy for this is going to be complicated.” He rubbed his hands together. “This is amazing.”
“Look, Mr. Attenborough, I get that you’re amazed, but what you should be is scared. That were-gorilla ate the cryptobiologist that zoo personnel brought in, and he will be unstoppable by this evening, and the longer he stays gorilla, the less man he’s gonna be. So, get your head out of your ass and help me.”
Captain Morgan double-timed back, eyes glassy. He took a large inhale and gestured to me. “She’s legit. Do what she says.” He whispered to me, “Did I just really talk to the Holy See?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never called the number,” I replied. I turned to Dr. Barlow. “Barlow, we need tranquilizers, a lot of them. All of them. Let’s get that together first.”
Chapter Eight
Zoo staff fanned out to grab all the tranquilizer darts they could. Some wouldn’t be much use on a gorilla since they were meant for reptiles, and the avian drugs came in tiny doses, so they weren’t going to be effective. The only ones that could do what we needed were the large mammal ones, and it turns out, not as much of that stuff is kept on hand as you would think.
“Can we get some human tranquilizers from the local hospitals?” I asked. “We’ve got University Hospitals, the Cleveland Clinic, Metro…they all have anesthesia. Is there anything we can put in a dart?” Captain Morgan gave a sharp nod and dispatched a deputy to call the hospitals.
While we waited, I scoped out the park, looking with a new eye. High ground, hiding spots, vantage points, places where sharp shooters who could fire off tranquilizer darts without risking themselves? I wandered down the deck walk, examining every nook and cranny, every climbable tree, and searched for the best angles and line of sight. I focused on this task, absorbed by the plan I was sketching in my mind, when a screech made my skin crawl. I knew that sound, and if there was one thing for sure, I didn’t have time for this.
I spied a broken bench, probably cracked apart during the melee earlier. I picked up a strong piece of the seat, approximately bat length, swung it over my shoulder, and followed the sound, relying on Alupo’s injury and the mischievous vervets to slow him down.
I found the phoenix considering the lorikeet cage, blowing huge snorts of air as it got increasingly frustrated by not being able to reach the pretty birds who pressed their beaks to the glass to stare at him.
“Hey, phoenix. Are you a bad phoenix or a good one? Are you the same one I met in the playground?” I held the “bat” in front of me so he could see it. “I can’t keep bashing your head in, so maybe we could come to an agree…”
I bolted down the path encircling the Australian Adventure section of the zoo as the giant bird came running at me, emu style, shrieking a battle cry. I now had no doubt this was the same one. This bird had murder in his eyes. His tail feathers were still a brilliant display, and now his wings were out, making him look like a Boeing airliner. The bronze armor clinked as he ran.
I was tired, covered in thick, toxic gunk, and worried about the were-gorilla. My legs were heavy, and filth got up my nose, making it difficult to breathe. I blew hard and hacked gray-black chunks that fell to the ground with a worrisome clunk.
I couldn’t care about black lung disease now, I told myself and took a shortcut through the Australian Adventure exhibit, which wasn’t heavily gated, and bolted through the marsupials.
“Sorry! Sorry! Didn’t mean to disturb you.” Kangaroos bounded in every direction. The phoenix hopped the fence, rudely ignoring the door, and chased me again. I scrambled up a tree in the kangaroo enclosure, using only one hand because I still held the piece of wood. Once I was up high enough, I mustered the wherewithal to look down. The phoenix was pacing a circle around the tree, snapping its beak.
The dingoes on the other side of the fence howled, pawing at the ground. The roos boxed among themselves, and even the normally friendly koalas, hid high up in their eucalyptus trees. The rabbi’s words came back to me. “The natural order has been disturbed.” I needed to deal with the were-gorilla fast, but first I had to deal with the damn chicken-hawk.
I went for broke. I sat on a mostly horizontal branch, just outside of the phoenix’s reach, held the purloined lumber from the broken bench, swung down penny-drop fashion, and brought my feeble weapon up with as much force and acceleration as I could muster, hitting him right in the underside of his beak. A crack rang out as the tip of the beak snapped off.
The phoenix stared at me, looked left and right, then down and up, and blinked a few times. I turned, ran out of the enclosure, and beat it back up the hill, only to hear the slap-slap of giant chicken feet following, although not as steady as before, a fact that I found only mildly reassuring. I rounded the corner and leapt for the lorikeet feeding exhibit, pushing through the self-locking door. As my legs slipped from under me and I fell hard on butt, I recalled an important tidbit about the lorikeets. These colorful birds drank a sweet nectary syrup all day long out of these tiny paper cups, but today those cups lay discarded in a heap, dropped during the brouhaha, and were now congealed on the ground in a sticky glissade, forming a death trap for Monster Hunters. I caught myself with my hands, felt something in my wrist go, ignored it, popped up, ran my sticky fingers through my shaggy hair, and kept going. No time for pain, but boy, if I thought about it at all, I was sore.
; The phoenix didn’t hesitate and followed me into the small lorikeet space while I ran out the exit. I shot a look over my shoulder. The phoenix couldn’t figure out how to work the electronic door and was stuck, hanging his head as the lorikeets flew about him, but instead of attacking him, they hovered around him like he was a rock star. I guess in the war of plumage, he won, wings down.
My feet hurt something awful, particularly the bare one, but I shoved that out of my mind because new voices and strangled gurgles caught my attention. Now, I may occasionally hear voices in my head, but these voices were the ones of policemen and firefighters being chased by a were-gorilla with a mangled ankle. It is a distinctive sound.
Captain Morgan, still red-faced but calm and in-charge, issued directions to his officers in a clipped, measured tone, which was remarkable considering a police officer’s head lay at his feet, the body flung yards away. Police were stationed at every bend on the paths that led from the gorilla exhibit to any other place in the park, all armed with shotguns with rounds big enough to bring down deer. The problem was that the were-gorilla was a gazillion times the weight of the lowly white-tailed deer that ate my hostas.
“What happened?” I asked the captain, who was belting orders as fast as he could.
“Shut up,” he replied. “I’m busy.”
I scuttled to the side to let him do his thing, but even with disciplined, trained troops, the landscape was a nightmare.
Alupo twirled in the middle of a path in front of the gorilla enclosure, spinning like an off-balance tornado, whooping, “Wheeeeee!” as he turned like a lawnmower blade chawing weeds. He’d stopped eating long enough to have both hands free, and as he whirled, he ladled a cop up in his hands, pretended the man was a hard-to-open jar, and twisted the officer’s head, tearing it right off. Then he hurled the head and the body in opposite directions. He repeated this action one more time while the officers fired their rifles. A few bullets hit him since he was such a large target, but Alupo’s swirling, manic dervish made a lot of the bullets miss. One cop was caught in the shoulder by friendly fire and fell to the ground moaning in pain. His partner army-crawled in and pulled the fallen officer to safety.
The Devil's Been Busy Page 6