Big Game

by Stuart Gibbs

  I stared at them, struck by a thought. The trash can was even heavier than I’d realized. The sanitation guys were big and strong and they were having trouble moving it together. A new one had already been placed where the old one had been taken from. With the built-in solar compactor, it was a big, blocky object. I shoved against it and found I could barely budge the thing.

  Suddenly, I had an idea who might have trashed the ice cream shop. And the candy store.

  I ran the rest of the way to the veterinary hospital. Normally, I wouldn’t have been allowed past the lobby, but the moment I entered, Roz, the receptionist, greeted me by saying, “Hi, Teddy. Here to see your mom?”

  “I heard she’s with Doc,” I said.

  “They’re in operating room two. I’m sure she’d love to see you.” Roz pressed a buzzer under her desk, and the door to the hospital clicked open. I stepped in the tub of disinfectant to get any contaminants off my shoes and then passed through.

  I couldn’t help but peek through the windows in operating room one as I passed. Two vets and a nurse had an unconscious kangaroo on the operating table. I couldn’t tell what they were doing, but I figured it wasn’t an emergency, because if it had been, then Doc probably would have been in there with them.

  Sure enough, Mom and Doc were in operating room two. The operating rooms looked very much like regular human operating rooms, only much bigger. Even the doors were enormous, so that something as big as a water buffalo could get through them. Mom sat on the operating table in the middle of the room, while Doc perched on a low stool, wrapping plaster around her ankle. Athmani was there as well, although it was evident his presence had nothing to do with Mom’s ankle. He was talking to Doc.

  Athmani and Doc were both facing away from me. I slipped inside so quietly, neither of them noticed me. Only Mom did. She grinned and gave me a wink as I came in.

  “You won’t even consider removing the horns?” Athmani was asking.

  “No, I’ll consider it,” Doc grumbled. “But only as a last resort. And we’re not there yet.” Doc really cared about animals, but he wasn’t so good with people. The only person he seemed to truly like was my mother. (He had a wife and a grown-up daughter, whom I assumed he was nice to as well, but I’d never met them.)

  “Not there yet!” Athmani cried. He seemed extremely frustrated with this conversation. “Two attempts have already been made on Rhonda’s life!”

  “One attempt,” Doc corrected. “As far as I know, that intruder didn’t take a shot at her last night.”

  “He still had a rifle,” Mom pointed out.

  “That’s right!” Athmani exclaimed. “If Charlene and Jack hadn’t stopped him, we’d have a dead rhino on our hands right now.”

  “That’s only speculation.” Doc wrapped another strip of plaster around Mom’s ankle. “The only thing we know that Charlene and Jack’s actions did for sure was get Charlene’s ankle busted.” He turned his attention to Mom and said, for what probably wasn’t the first time, “What were you even thinking, running around in that exhibit at night?”

  “We weren’t thinking,” Mom replied, more to me than Doc. “We were worried about the animals.”

  “Exactly my point!” Athmani agreed. “We all should be worried about the animals.”

  Doc ignored him and stayed focused on Mom. “You really should have had this treated last night.”

  “I didn’t realize how bad it was,” Mom said.

  Doc gave her a hard stare. “And you should have gone to a real doctor.”

  “You are a real doctor,” Mom told him.

  “I’m only seeing you because you let this go too long without attention as it was,” Doc said. “You’re lucky it wasn’t worse.”

  Athmani interrupted, determined to get answers. “Exactly how bad do things have to get before you will admit we have an emergency on our hands here? Does a rhino actually have to die before you will act?”

  Doc stiffened. Although his back was to me, I could tell he was angry. “I’m not making this decision lightly. Cutting off a rhino’s horn isn’t easy.”

  “I’m well aware of that . . . ,” Athmani began.

  “I’m not so sure you are,” Doc snapped. “It takes quite a long time, which is complicated by the fact that the rhino doesn’t want it done. Which means you have to sedate them. And sedation is always dicey. You put an animal to sleep, and there’s always a chance it won’t wake up again. I’m not about to do it for some unnecessary surgery. Especially not on a rhino that’s pregnant.”

  “This surgery isn’t unnecessary,” Athmani protested.

  “It very well could be,” Doc shot back. “From what I understand, Chief Hornblower or whatever his name is has got men doing everything they can to find this hunter. If they can find him before he tries again—or scare him off for good—then we don’t need to deface our rhinos.”

  “It’s not defacement,” Athmani argued. “The horn will grow back after a while.”

  “And you know as well as I do that removing the horn doesn’t always—” Doc froze in midthought. He suddenly spun to face me, having sensed I was in the room somehow. “Teddy! What are you doing back here?”

  “I came to see my mom.”

  “Go wait in the lobby. You can see her when I’m done.”

  “Doc!” Mom chided. “That’s my son you’re talking to!” She always seemed to think Doc was only pretending to be crotchety, like it was a joke. It wasn’t, though. Doc was pricklier than an angry porcupine.

  Athmani was far more pleased to see me. He gave me a smile and a slight bow. “Good morning, Teddy. I hear you had quite an adventure last night.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed. “What were you saying, Doc? About the dehorned rhinos?”

  “It’s none of your business,” Doc growled.

  Athmani answered me instead. “He was going to say that removing the horn doesn’t always deter poachers.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  Doc said, “There have been cases in Africa where, even after rhinos were dehorned, poachers killed them anyhow.”

  “Rare cases,” Athmani pointed out.

  “Still, it happened,” Doc said.

  “Why would someone kill the rhinos if they didn’t have horns?” I asked.

  Athmani shrugged. “Who knows why any human does anything so cruel? Some people think it’s because you can’t ever remove the whole horn, and so even the tiny bit that is left is worth killing for. But others think it’s a statement by the poachers, that no matter what we try to do to stop them, it won’t work.”

  “That’s crazy,” I said.

  “Yes,” Athmani agreed. “But they did it anyway.” He turned back to Doc. “This is not Africa, though. Removing the horns here should deter any poacher.”

  “We have an entire security force whose job it is to deter poachers,” Doc retorted. “You ought to be bugging them about this, not me.”

  “I am bugging them about this!” Athmani exclaimed. “I’m doing everything I can to protect these animals! I was hoping you’d care about them just as much!”

  Doc grew angrier than I’d ever seen him—and I’d seen him plenty angry. He put the last bit of plaster on Mom’s cast, then stood slowly, glaring bullets at Athmani. “Don’t you ever accuse me of not caring for the animals at this park. I spend sixteen hours a day, if not more, every day, looking after them. I care for them as much as any person here. And that is why I’m not going to do surgery on them without proper cause. Until there’s concrete proof that dehorning the rhinos is going to save their lives, it’s an unnecessary risk.”

  Athmani backed away, looking a bit ashamed of how he’d spoken to Doc. “And what if I do get concrete proof?”

  “Then we can talk.” Doc turned back to Mom. “It’s going to take a few more minutes for that to set. You’ll be able to get around on that leg, but you really ought to go over to the medical clinic and get some crutches. I don’t have any here. My patients usually don’t know how t
o use them.”

  Mom nodded. “Thanks, Doc.”

  “What’s wrong with your ankle?” I asked.

  “I fractured a bone,” Mom replied. “It’s no big deal.”

  “It’s a very big deal,” Doc corrected. “Injuries like this are nothing to take lightly. You need to be careful. Don’t do anything stupid like chasing poachers through a herd of wild cattle from now on.”

  “Aye-aye.” Mom saluted, then looked at me. “Was there a reason you were trying to find me, Teddy?”

  “Marge came to the trailer this morning,” I said.

  Mom frowned. “What did she want now?”

  “Remember the candy store robbery she thought I did? Well, last night, someone broke into the ice cream shop.”

  “And she accused you of that, too?” Mom asked.

  Athmani had been preparing to leave, but now he stopped, intrigued. “When did this happen last night? At the same time as the poacher?”

  “I think it happened later than that,” I told him. “And I think one of the orangutans did it.”

  Athmani laughed, then caught himself. “You’re serious?”

  “Yes.” I turned to my mother. “I’m pretty sure it was Pancake.”

  I couldn’t quite read the expression on my mother’s face. She looked a bit amused herself but also concerned. “Teddy, that’s not possible. Pancake hasn’t escaped.”

  “Well, what if he’d figured out how to get out of his cage and then got back in again?”

  Mom pursed her lips, considering this. “I’ve never heard of that happening before. . . .”

  “But it could, right?”

  “Why are you so sure this was Pancake?”

  “I saw the wreckage of the ice cream shop. Whoever broke in threw one of those big solar-compactor garbage cans through the window. But those things are so heavy, I don’t think most grown-up men could even do that. Orangutans are a lot stronger than we are, though.”

  “That’s true,” Mom said. “But . . .”

  I plowed on before she could contradict me. “Also, the way the shop was all smashed up was weird. It didn’t seem very human. Like, the thief punched through the freezer window instead of just opening it. No human would do that. But an ape might.”

  “Unless a human wanted us to think an ape had done it,” Athmani suggested.

  “Maybe,” I admitted, then looked back to Mom. “But also, Pancake’s not feeling well. Is it his stomach?”

  Mom grew a bit intrigued. “That’s right. Doc said he had indigestion yesterday.”

  “From eating too much candy?” I asked.

  “I didn’t determine the exact cause,” Doc said sourly. “Pancake merely had an upset stomach. There are hundreds of things that could have caused that.”

  “He still looks sick this morning,” I told him. “Maybe he ate too much ice cream last night! Is there any way we could figure that out for sure?”

  “The best way would be to comb through his feces for any signs of undigested candy,” Doc said. “You’re welcome to do that if you’d like.”

  I shot him a sidelong glance. “Me? You’re the doctor.”

  “And you’re the junior detective. I’ll make him feel better. You can look for clues.” Doc checked his watch and started for the door. “Speaking of which, I have plenty of other sick animals to attend to today. I’ve wasted enough time on humans as it is. So, I need you all to clear out.”

  “Sure,” Mom agreed, then looked to Athmani and me. “I could use a little help until I get my crutches, though.”

  “Of course.” Athmani hurried to Mom’s side even before I could and helped her hop off the table.

  “Careful now, Charlene,” Doc warned. “That cast doesn’t give you free rein to do anything you want. Your ankle needs time to heal.”

  “I understand,” Mom said. “Thanks.”

  Doc gave her the tiniest hint of a smile—which was the most smile I’d ever seen him give anyone—and then slipped out of the operating room.

  I came to my mother’s other side so she could put an arm around me, and we headed for the door. “So? Do you think I could be right about Pancake?”

  “It’s hard to believe,” Mom said. “But if I had to bet on any animal being clever enough to get out of its cage and then get back in again, it’d be an orangutan.”

  “Why is that?” Athmani asked.

  “They’re incredible escape artists.” Mom limped out of the operating room using Athmani and me as crutches, trying to keep any pressure off the foot in the cast. “Much more than the other apes.”

  “I thought chimpanzees were smarter than orangs,” Athmani said.

  “It’s not an issue of intelligence,” Mom explained. “It’s about temperament. Suppose you accidentally leave screwdrivers in the cages of a chimp, a gorilla, and an orangutan. The chimp will probably try to use the screwdriver as a weapon. The gorilla will try to eat it. But the orang will hide it, watch you until it figures out how to use it, then wait for a quiet night when no one’s paying attention and take its whole cage apart.”

  “Whoa,” Athmani said, sounding impressed.

  “There’s an older orangutan here named Bung,” I told him. “He used to get out all the time when the park first opened.”

  “Yes,” Mom said. “Though all the security systems at Monkey Mountain weren’t in place yet. And we devised some new ones after watching Bung. They all seem to have worked. We haven’t had an escape in months.”

  “That you know of,” I told her.

  Mom said, “Why on earth would Pancake break out of his exhibit, attack the ice cream and candy stores, and then break back in again?”

  “Because that’s his home,” I answered. “It’s nice and warm in there, but it’s freezing outside. Pancake isn’t used to cold weather. He’s from Indonesia.”

  “Also, his family is in there too,” Athmani added. “Apes are very close to their families, yes?”

  Mom looked at him, surprised. “You’re on board with this idea too?”

  “In the safari camps, you wouldn’t believe what the monkeys get into,” Athmani told her. “No matter how hard we try to lock things up, they always figure it out. We had a vervet monkey in Kruger who not only stole bottles of wine, but even learned how to use the corkscrew to open them. And he always stole the expensive bottles. Never the cheap stuff. That’s only a monkey. If orangutans are as clever as you say, I’m sure they could cause a great deal of trouble.”

  He and I held open the doors to the lobby, and Mom hobbled through them.

  Roz beamed from behind her desk. “Looks like Doc fixed you up nice and good, Charlene!”

  Mom smiled. “He did.”

  Roz said, “I’ll bet he appreciated working on something with only two legs for a change.”

  “I’m not so sure,” Mom replied.

  We continued out the front doors, into the cold.

  “Can you check the security cameras at Monkey Mountain to see if Pancake got out last night?” I asked.

  “I will,” Mom agreed. “Although I think I have to ask security for help with that. They’re the ones who control the recordings.”

  Athmani’s phone beeped as a text message arrived. He paused to check it. “Speak of the devil. It’s from Hoenekker.” His eyes widened in excitement as he read on.

  “Well?” Mom asked. “Has he found something?”

  “Security footage of the hunter,” Athmani replied excitedly. “We have a lead!”

  SECURITY FOOTAGE

  Once Athmani and I got Mom to the FunJungle medical clinic, Mom insisted we didn’t have to sit around and wait to get her crutches with her. After she’d hobbled inside, Athmani surprised me by inviting me to come to his office to see the security footage Hoenekker had found.

  “You’re okay with that?” I asked.

  “Why wouldn’t I be? J.J. said you should be involved.”

  “Chief Hoenekker seems annoyed about the whole thing.”

  Athmani laughe
d. “He’s annoyed that J.J. wants me involved as well. But we had a saying back in Africa: The more lions on the hunt, the better the chance that they eat.”

  Athmani’s office was in the administration building, where most of the offices at FunJungle were. It looked like it had barely been used, which made sense because Athmani hadn’t been working at FunJungle very long and he was usually out in the park. There was a desk, a computer, and plenty of office supplies that hadn’t even been unpacked: boxes of pens and pencils, stacks of shrink-wrapped legal pads, a printer that was still in its original packaging.

  “There’s no chairs,” I pointed out.

  Athmani looked around, surprised. “It seems there aren’t. I’ve never had anyone else in here.”

  “Don’t you need one?”

  “I’m rarely in here long enough to sit down. And besides, I prefer to stand. It’s better for your health. It keeps the blood flowing.” Athmani checked his watch. “I expected Hoenekker to be here by now. He sounded very pleased with himself.”

  The only personal items in the office were five small stone sculptures arrayed on the desk. They were all elephants, but they were abstract in form, full of delicate curves. One wasn’t finished yet, still emerging from a chunk of rough-hewn gray rock. Athmani picked this one up along with a smaller white stone, which he rubbed against the unfinished rock.

  “You make Shona sculpture?” I asked.

  Athmani seemed surprised by my question at first and then pleased. “You know about Shona?”

  “When we lived in the Congo, we got down to southern Africa a few times. I saw it there.”

  Athmani smiled. “My father is a sculptor in Zimbabwe. He taught me.”

  “It’s very good.”

  “That is very nice of you to say. Though it’s not nearly as good as my father’s. I only do it to relax. It reminds me of home, of my family.” Athmani stared at the sculpture in his hands as he spoke, rubbing it again and again with the white stone. With each stroke, tiny bits of the larger gray rock shaved off.