Big Game

by Stuart Gibbs

  One of her pink shoes slipped off her feet, cartwheeled down through the air, and plopped into the crocodile tank.

  Didgeridoo’s attack instincts triggered instantly. One moment, he was still as a statue; the next, he was an explosion of energy. He whipped around, sensing prey, roiling the water as though a depth charge had gone off. His massive jaws snapped shut, and the shoe was gone. Didgeridoo gulped it down easily, then remained on the alert—as did the other six crocs, who’d been roused by his actions. Two slithered off the bank into the water and began to circle ominously below us.

  The branch Summer hung from splintered some more.

  “Teddy!” she cried. “Help me!”

  I was already on my way, climbing down as quickly as I could, taking care not to put any more weight on the branch she was dangling from. Soon I was even with her, but to my dismay, she was hanging four feet away from the trunk, as far as I could reach. I propped one foot on the jagged stump of the branch that had broken beneath her, hoping it would hold, then extended my hand toward her. “Grab my arm! I’ll pull you back!”

  “I can’t!” Summer looked to me. Her breath was coming in quick, ragged spurts. I could tell she was terrified but fighting to remain calm. “If I fall, both of us will go.”

  I hadn’t thought of that. And now that I did, I realized she was probably right. I quickly looked around for any other way I could help her but saw nothing. We weren’t far from the highest rope bridge now. I could have shimmied along a branch over it and dropped to safety, but that wouldn’t help Summer. I could have phoned my parents for help, but they were certainly at least five minutes away, if not more, and Summer didn’t have that kind of time. The branch she hung from was splintering more every moment. And there was still the hunter to consider. Hanging out in the open over the crocodile pit, Summer was an easy target.

  There was no other choice. I wrapped my left arm as tightly as I could around the tree, then held out my right arm again. “Summer! Grab on! We won’t fall! I promise!”

  The branch Summer clung to cracked a bit more and bent lower. Summer gave a yelp of fear and reached for me.

  Far below, Didgeridoo had spotted us. He opened his massive mouth wide like a bear trap, waiting for us to fall.

  Summer’s fingers grazed mine. I fought the urge to simply grab her hand, knowing that I’d never be able to keep hold of her that way. I’d learned this from my father, who’d been in more than his share of tough spots. Our hands were slick with sweat; hers would slip right out of mine. The trick was to grasp each other’s wrists, which would be far more secure.

  Only, Summer’s wrist was too far away. And her arm was waving wildly as the branch she hung from jostled and cracked.

  “Summer, keep still,” I ordered.

  “I’m trying!” she yelled, panic starting to kick in now. “It’s not easy!”

  “Just try!”

  Summer did her best to steady herself, stretching her free arm toward me as far as she could, desperation in her eyes.

  She was too far to reach with my left arm locked around the tree trunk. I found a branch to grab instead, which gave me another few inches but left me in a far more precarious position, and extended out as far as I could.

  There was now nothing between me and Didgeridoo but air.

  Summer swung toward me and desperately lashed out her arm. We clenched our hands around each other’s wrists.

  Right as the branch in her other hand snapped off.

  There wasn’t even time for Summer to scream. It happened so fast, neither of us was fully aware of what was going on. All I knew was that suddenly I felt as though both of my arms were going to rip from their sockets. I’d braced myself well, though, and held on tight, as did Summer. Instead of tumbling down through the branches into Didgeridoo’s mouth, I stayed put, while Summer swung like Tarzan into the tree below me. Within a second, she had found hand and footholds and was clinging on tightly, safe and sound.

  The broken branch dropped downward and landed right in Didgeridoo’s mouth. His bear trap jaws snapped shut so hard that the branch shattered into toothpicks. The other crocs, sensing prey, pounced on top of him, and the water boiled as they thrashed about.

  Summer was now right by the branch that extended over the rope bridge. Without a moment’s hesitation, she scurried along it and dropped down to safety. I followed only a second behind her. The rope bridge jounced as we hit it and shook wildly, and we tumbled onto its wooden slats, tangled up together.

  Somehow, our faces ended up only inches from each other. I was looking right into Summer’s eyes and saw her panic fading and relief flooding in. “You saved my life!” she exclaimed.

  And then, before either of us even realized what was happening, she kissed me.

  It was the opposite experience of jumping over the crocodile pit. Neither event took very long, but while the jump had felt like it lasted forever, the kiss seemed to barely exist in time at all. It seemed to be over before it had even started: not a big, smoochy movie kiss, but a quick, thankful peck on the lips. And yet it was the first time I’d ever been kissed by a girl—a girl who I actually liked, no less—and as brief as it was, it still rocked my world. All the scares and near-death experiences of the past few minutes seemed completely worthwhile in exchange for it.

  I was so startled by it, I didn’t even notice the hunter had arrived.

  THE SLOTH

  Summer noticed the hunter first. She suddenly pulled away from me and leaped to her feet, staring fearfully toward the end of the rope bridge.

  The hunter was standing on the wooden platform. Rather than following us through the window and down the tree, she had taken the much safer route, through the hatch in the roof—the same way Summer and I had gone up. The moss-covered door hung open behind her. The hunter was in the shadow of the big tree there, the ski mask still pulled down over her face, the rifle in her hands.

  There was another staircase behind us, at the opposite end of the bridge, but it was too far away; we didn’t have time to run to it. So Summer did the only thing she could think of. She grabbed the closest large object and threw it at the hunter. It turned out, the closest large object to us was the sloth.

  It was the same sloth we had startled earlier. The entire time we’d been up on the roof and dangling above the crocodile, it had gone a whole two feet along the branch and was now hanging right over the railing beside us. It went a lot faster once Summer threw it. Her aim was dead-on. The sloth hurtled straight for the hunter’s chest.

  The hunter instinctively dropped her rifle and caught the sloth. The sloth—even more startled now that it had flown for the first time in its life—instantly sank its claws into the hunter’s arms. Meanwhile, the hundreds of moths that had been roosting in its fur took to the air, creating a living cloud. The hunter staggered backward, either from the pain of being clawed or the shock of suddenly finding a smelly, moth-infested mammal clinging to her, and slipped on her rifle. She crashed to the ground, and the sloth landed right on her face. The sloth gave a surprised bleat, the only sound I’d ever heard a sloth make in my life. The rifle skittered across the wooden platform, flew over the edge, and tumbled down into the rainforest. It caromed off a branch, spun through the air—and plopped right into the crocodile tank, where Didgeridoo, desperate to eat something besides a shoe and a tree branch, immediately pounced on it. Several of the other crocs lunged at it too, churning the water into froth as they battled for it.

  Now unarmed, the hunter shoved the sloth off her face and scrambled down the stairs from the platform, spitting out sloth hair as she went. By the time Summer and I made it off the wobbling rope bridge to the platform ourselves, the hunter was already two flights down and moving fast. She darted across the long bridge below us, cutting past where the crocs were fighting for her rifle, and disappeared under the cover of the trees.

  I started down the stairs after her, but Summer blocked my path. “No,” she said firmly. “We’ve faced enough danger to
day.”

  “She’s getting away!” I argued.

  “Or she’s preparing to ambush us. For all we know, she has another weapon. A knife or something.” Summer whipped out her phone and told it, “Call security.”

  She had a good point. Besides, I was wiped from our experience in the tree. Now that the adrenaline rush was over, I felt weak in the knees. I sagged against the railing of the platform while we waited for the phone to ring.

  “You threw a sloth at her,” I said.

  “It was self-defense,” Summer informed me. “I grabbed the closest thing I could find. I didn’t even realize it was a sloth until I’d already thrown it. I thought it was a big old fruit or something.”

  A dispatcher answered the phone. “Security.”

  “This is Summer McCracken,” Summer said. “I’m in World of Reptiles and I’ve just been attacked by the hunter who’s been trying to kill the rhino here. She’s still in the building, but she’s on the run. I need all available security here now!”

  “Is this a joke?” the security officer asked.

  “No!” Summer snapped. “It’s really me! Check the caller ID if you need proof! And then get everyone out here right now! If the poacher gets away, I’ll make sure my father knows it was your fault!”

  “Yes, ma’am!” the security dispatcher said, cowed by Summer’s threat. “I’m sending out all available officers right now.”

  “Tell them to hurry,” Summer said.

  “Can you stay on the line?” the dispatcher asked. “In case we need more information?”

  “Sure,” Summer told her.

  The sloth was still lying on the platform near us. It appeared to be exhausted after its ordeal, having worked very hard for a sloth. Something dark was wadded up in one of its front claws.

  I knelt down to inspect it closer. It was part of the hunter’s ski mask, a clump of cotton that must have torn off when the hunter had yanked the sloth off her face. I reached down to take it.

  The sloth, already on edge, attacked me. However, since it was a sloth, the attack wasn’t very fast. Its arm swung at me in slow motion, claws extended. I probably had a minute to get out of the way, but I stepped aside quickly anyhow.

  The sloth bleated at me angrily. It wasn’t very frightening. Instead, it looked like a perturbed teddy bear.

  The dispatcher came back on the line. “Security is en route. Can you describe the perpetrator?” he asked.

  “Sure,” Summer replied. “She’s wearing camouflage gear, a hunting jacket, gloves, a ski mask—”

  “A torn ski mask,” I corrected.

  “A torn ski mask and boots,” Summer said. “She had a rifle, but it kind of got eaten.”

  “I’m sorry,” the dispatcher said. “Did you say eaten?”

  “Yes,” Summer told her. “By a crocodile.”

  “A crocodile?” the dispatcher repeated.

  “A big one,” Summer said.

  “Right.” The dispatcher seemed to be taking a moment to make sense of this. “Can you describe the perpetrator herself—not merely what she’s wearing? Height, weight, hair color, eyes, distinguishing birthmarks . . .”

  “Um . . . hold on.” Summer looked to me blankly. “What did she look like? I didn’t get a good look at her.”

  I realized I hadn’t either. I’d only seen the hunter in the dark, or the shadows, or with a sloth over her face. And she’d been wearing heavy clothes and a ski mask. I didn’t even know the color of her skin. “She’s medium height, I think. And kind of skinny.”

  “Medium height and skinny,” Summer reported.

  “That’s all you’ve got?” the dispatcher asked, sounding somewhat annoyed.

  “She might have some claw marks on her from an angry sloth,” Summer suggested helpfully.

  “What’s a sloth?” the dispatcher asked.

  The sloth in question was coming at me again. Slowly. It was crawling across the platform at about two miles an hour. I wasn’t really worried about it, but I signaled Summer we should head down the stairs anyhow. The sloth had experienced enough excitement that night.

  Summer followed me down. “A sloth,” she repeated to the dispatcher. “It’s a medium-sized tree-dwelling mammal. Lives in the rain forest. Hangs upside down its whole life.”

  “Are you making all this up?” the dispatcher asked.

  “No!” Summer said. “It’s a real animal! You’ve never heard of one? You work at a zoo, for Pete’s sake!”

  “Can you add anything else to the description of the hunter?” the dispatcher asked. “Like ethnicity?”

  Summer looked to me. I shook my head. “Er . . . no,” Summer said.

  The dispatcher sighed. “That’s not very helpful.”

  “It’s a woman dressed in hunting gear with claw marks on her arm, running away from World of Reptiles!” Summer said angrily. “How many of those could there be? You know what’d be helpful? If your people got out here faster and caught the criminal!”

  “I told you there were agents en route,” the dispatcher replied curtly. “They will do their best, but it’d be useful to have a more accurate description. Clothes can be changed. Skin color can’t.”

  Summer and I reached the long bridge that veered closest to the crocodile tank. The huge reptiles were no longer battling for the rifle. Either they had realized it wasn’t prey—or one of them had swallowed it anyhow.

  “Freeze!” someone yelled.

  Summer and I did, reflexively putting our hands in the air.

  A security guard had entered the rain forest. It was Kevin, the exceptionally young guard we’d met at the entry booth the day before. He looked very nervous and unsure of himself. His gun was pointed at us. “Security!” he announced. “Get your hands up!”

  “They are up,” Summer said.

  “Oh,” said Kevin.

  “We’re not the bad guys!” I told him. “We’re the ones who called for you! The hunter was running out of the building.”

  “Oh,” Kevin said again. He lowered his gun sheepishly. “I didn’t see anyone out there.”

  Another guard suddenly entered the other side of the room, having come in through the exit. She looked slightly older and seemed more competent. But then, the sloth seemed more competent than Kevin. “Any sign of her?” she asked.

  “No,” Kevin said. “You?”

  “Would I be asking you if you’d seen her if I’d seen her?” the second guard asked.

  “Oh,” Kevin said once more. Then he looked at Summer and me. “Sorry, guys. Looks like she got away.”

  “Great,” I muttered, staring down at the crocodile tank. “The hunter’s gone, we nearly died, and all our evidence got eaten.”

  “We chased her off and got her gun,” Summer pointed out. “So maybe she won’t come back again.”

  “You really think so?” I asked.

  Summer considered it, then frowned. “No.”

  “Me neither,” I said.

  DAMAGE CONTROL

  Within the next half hour, dozens of adults descended upon World of Reptiles. Some had still been at the park when the alert had gone out, but many had raced there from their homes.

  Chief Hoenekker was there, along with every security guard he could round up. Some of them took statements from Summer and me about what had happened. Others went up on the roof to search for clues. Large Marge simply lurked in the rain forest, pretending to be busy while giving me the stink eye.

  Then there were the keepers. Vicky Benbow, the shy rhino keeper, had come from Rhonda’s quarters. According to her, Rhonda and all the other rhinos were unharmed; Summer and I had stopped the hunter before she’d had a chance to shoot. All available herpetologists were making sure that none of the reptiles had been hurt, while the crocodile specialist was helping security fish what little remained of the rifle out of the exhibit. And a biologist had examined the sloth; she reported that it was exhausted, but otherwise fine.

  J.J. McCracken was there too. Once he’d made sure
that Summer was all right he had chewed out Hondo for letting her ditch him, and then ordered him to take her home. Then he’d shifted into business mode, trying to determine what had happened and what could be done about it. Pete Thwacker and Kristi Sullivan were close by. So was Athmani, who was now pressing J.J. to consider removing the rhino horns once and for all.

  And my parents were there. They’d come directly to World of Reptiles after I’d called them to let them know what had happened. (It had taken them a little longer to get there than it usually might have since Mom was on crutches.) Both were relieved I was all right but upset at me for putting myself in danger once again. Mom was particularly angry.

  All of of us were gathered in the atrium. The animals had finally calmed down after all the excitement. The crocodiles had gone back to being practically motionless. The birds had returned to their roosts. The sloth had climbed back up into a tree and was contentedly eating leaves.

  “Why on earth did you and Summer decide to investigate this yourselves?” Mom demanded. “Especially after what’s happened to you in the past?”

  I glanced toward J.J., feeling more annoyed than ever that I couldn’t tell the truth about what was going on. Especially now that I was in trouble for helping investigate. “We didn’t think we were going to find the hunter,” I explained. “We were only trying to see if the shot might have been fired from up there.”

  “That’s no excuse,” Mom said angrily. “Going out on that roof would be dangerous whether the hunter was there or not. That’s why it’s off-limits. If you thought there was a lead up there, you should have called security.”

  “Summer didn’t trust Chief Hoenekker.” I spoke as quietly as I could, since Hoenekker wasn’t far away.

  “Why not?” Dad asked.

  “He just hasn’t been that good at investigating stuff,” I replied.

  “So you don’t have any concrete evidence against him?” Dad inquired.

  “No,” I admitted.

  “Teddy shouldn’t have any concrete evidence against anyone,” Mom pointed out; then she shifted her attention to me. “You shouldn’t be investigating this case, period. We have a security division to handle things like this. This is their job, not yours.”